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worldoftom · 2 years

Text

Blep! 👅 [18+]

words » 16.3k

verse » Fantasy & Putts [18+]

pairing » roommate fwb actor Tom x fem reader

warnings » all smut, explicit warnings under the cut

disclaimer » this story is 18+ ; unsuitable for minors

special thanks » @hypnotized-so-mesmerized ; @nowayhomeparker ; @spidey-sophie ;

b’s note » hey everyone! this came out of nowhere, but in the fantasyverse Tom gets so much oral and y/n not so much, which isn’t fair, right? our poor y/n. so here it is, a oneshot feat. *drumroll please* cunnilingus! lots and lots of it! and the best part is: it can be read as a standalone, no need to read what happens before :D a very special thank you to my hoes because this wouldn’t exist without our fascination with that picture of Tom in the pink polo, you’re the best 😍

fantasyverse masterpost | main masterlist

explicit warnings : Tom eats out a lot (not at a restaurant) aka oral sex, fem receiving in several places, including standing by a window (they don’t get interrupted, but the Harries are aware of shenanigans) and the garden + creampie & y/n recording it on camera, Tom gets so excited about it, it’s adorable + oral sex, male receiving in a bathroom. i think that’s it! also please don’t try this at home, it’s just fiction, nobody should be expected to have such a short recovery time!

~ ⛳️ ~

(timeline: springtime, six months after MFL)

So. Here’s how it happened.

It was just a roommates night out and it was all about fun because it had been too long since you’ve all hung out together. You have been the one to spend the most time at home, thanks to your now full-time job at the Toasty Den and the vlog channel you still manage to create content for every week.

As for the boys, Tuwaine is the one you see the most, even though he comes and goes; as far as you know, he spends a lot of time at his family home. Tom’s been out of the country for a month and will go back to work in only a few days. Sometimes Harry goes with him, but when he doesn’t, he’s always going in and out of town with Harrison to work on their doctrails—or so they say. And Sam spends most of his time away because he’s enrolled in a twelve-week culinary course, and when he isn’t in class, he applied to an apprenticeship in a restaurant a couple of towns over.

This means it’s really tough to gather them all for a few hours of fun. Not knowing when it might happen again in the future, you wanted to document pretty much everything, which was why you brought out the new camera that Tom bought for your half anniversary.

Harry freaked out when he saw it, twirling it around in his hands. “This was such a good choice, oh my god, you’ve gotta let me try it out.”

“Nope, sorry mate,” you said, making ‘gimme’ gestures with your palms turned upward. “This baby contains very sensitive pieces you don’t wanna be messing around with.”

Harry let it drop onto the kitchen island counter right away. “You’re gross.”

After that, since he wanted to check the quality so badly, you went upstairs and deleted anything that could compromise the original purpose of the new camera and later, you took your new baby out for a spin. Harry experimented a little like a boy with a new Christmas present, you took some pictures of everyone as well, and by the end of the night the memory card was filled with plenty of great moments among friends.

Tuwaine and Harrison were in charge of the night’s activities. And boy, was it messy and fun. It started with a drinking card game at home to get you all pumped, then a late dinner at a new pub Harrison had been obsessed with, a short visit to this ‘Glow In The Park’ party that was being held at the city park —though you all spent more time getting drunk by the spiked ice cream sundae bar truck than anything else— and finally you went clubbing. Tuwaine’s choice. And it was perfect.

In the club, neon lights distorting everyone’s sight, it was dark and loud and hot. Especially Tom. He was in a tight patterned shirt and your favorite jeans, scrumptiously snug around his perky bum, and he was all glowing and toned and huge because he’d been on a serious muscle-up plan at the gym for his next acting role. His thighs had gotten thick, his shoulders massive, his biceps no longer fit in any of his tops so he kept dragging a finger under the sleeves to, you believe, alleviate the pressure of being a proper hunk. And of course, you being absolutely smitten with his fingers, that’s not news to anyone, you kept staring at him and he always caught you just when your eyes were skimming down his veiny arms and focused on his gorgeous hands. Fuck.

“Take a picture, darlin’, it will last you longer,” he taunted you one of those times, wrapping an arm around your waist and blowing a raspberry into the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder.

“I’ll take a picture when they’re in my cunt,” you nearly spat at him as you grabbed his hand and tugged him closer.

“I will gladly make that a photoshoot, just name a date and a time.”

Then you dragged him to the dance floor, but all you wanted was to fuck yourself on his hand with the music loud around you and everybody lost in the sway and sweat of the crowd. Tom, however, he’d be enraptured by the column of your throat and the curve of your ass and the curl of his fingers kneading your sweet spot on repeat. But sadly none of that happened.

You do have a little decorum. Occasionally.

After a while, you followed like a kitten as he strolled towards the bar to fetch another round, but when you got there, he must have sensed your presence —or probably saw your reflection in the mirror behind the counter— because he turned around with a couple of beers in his hands and bumped into you. Spilling them all over your cleavage.

“Fuck. Meee,” you cursed at the cold liquid slithering down between your breasts.

Tom’s face showed no surprise, only a smug grin. “Whoops. Guess we’re gonna have to go home.”

Asshole.

You went home right after, as he expected you to. Tom’s hand was heavy on your knee on the taxi ride over, nails digging into the pliant flesh on the underside, his leg bouncing anxiously as he tried to contain his excitement. And as soon as you stepped foot inside the house, the lock barely closed behind you, his mouth was on you and that same leg slipped between your thighs, pressing up. Shoes were thrown into the hallway, your purse lost somewhere in the middle. You pressed the camera into your chest and sneaked your other palm inside Tom’s shirt, all while his hands groped your body.

You started going up the stairs with him in tow, lips sucking a wet kiss into your neck, but you tripped on nothing and he tripped on you when he tried to catch you, and you fell on your ass, and he ended up with his head at the level of your waist. Both of you laughed like crazy at the mess of limbs spread everywhere. Being slightly touched by alcohol as he was, he bit on the side of your breast and kissed your half exposed tummy, and then tugged on the edge of your skirt until it was all hiked up around your hips.

Before you noticed it, he was pushing your knickers to the side and diving headfirst between your thighs. It was so good while it lasted, his hands holding you up, his nose breathing over your clit, the relentless jabs of his tongue past the ring of tight muscles. Though after the first, heaven-sent stretch of his fingers into you, the lock on the door clicked and you had to bolt out of there.

By the time you got upstairs, you were laughing so hard at the mess of the night and slightly disgusted by the stench of beer on your bosom, and the mood faded. It didn’t help that Tom was fast asleep by the time you got out of the shower, either.

So here you are now, sitting on the window seat in your shared bedroom, in a flimsy top and your knickers because your bottoms were driving you mad, extremely horny and extremely wet, thinking of Tom’s crooked mouth and his beautiful dick. That loser really had to leave for a work meeting at morning-fuck o’clock, didn’t he? He’s unbelievable. He lets you sit on his lap, teases you, and then bails on you. It’s ridiculous. Although he did suggest a self pleasure fest in bed after he left, and you did try, but it ended in frustration. You couldn’t stop picturing his fingers and his thighs and his cock, but had absolutely nothing like them to bounce on.

You sigh.

You’re waiting for him to come back home after his meeting, though you think he mentioned a brunch with his mates or something like that. This means it might be a while before he returns, so you have to entertain yourself somehow.

Adjusting your position on the cushion to keep your legs from being cramped under your ass, you pull the camera out of its bag and connect it to your laptop. It’s propped on the large windowsill, and you click through the photos from last night, from the pub to the Glow In The Park party and many more.

From group pictures to singles and doubles and trouples, there’s a bit of everything hidden in the memory card. Tom is in most of them, either with all of his friends and their silly ways, or with Harrison because those two love sharing the camera, or under Tuwaine’s arm reaching up to kiss his neck or his face, or with his brothers in what you have learned to be a tradition of theirs, Tom in the middle with his arms around them. Pictures of the two of you, of course, and of just him with his tongue out or in his favorite poses, a wide grin with his eyes scrunched closed or his middle finger pointed at the photographer.

There’s a sequence of images on what you think might be the way to the club at the end of the night, clearly taken by Harry from the back. You’re walking ahead of him, showing something on your phone to Tom, who seems unaware of it in the first picture, looking over his shoulder and flipping the camera in the second one, a third one where he’s looking at the phone, and a last one where you’re both laughing at whatever you had found, his arm around you by then. You don’t remember the specifics of that moment, but it did result in a few cute shots.

Already at the club, the next photos are darker and less frequent. A few interesting ones at the table where you were stationed with your drinks that you take note for later, but for the most part it’s pictures of the six of you. You do click onto ones of just Tom, flipping you off and with his mouth open trying to tell you something, and then his palm getting closer and closer to the lens because he wanted you to stop taking pictures and go dancing with him.

And apparently, you did. On the dance floor, it’s obvious that you tried to take pictures, but they came out dark and blurry. There are videos, though, and they’re all pretty decent, the boys having a good time though the focus shifts to Tom. He’s hilarious when he thinks he’s being a sexy dancer. You shake your head at his laughable dance moves on the screen. After, you find a couple of selfies of you, of you and the boys in silent cheers, arms in the air and all because they’re silly and dramatic like that, and finally of you and Tom. You’re both smiling in one, in the next you’re smiling and he’s wiping something off your brow with a sweet look on his face —you totally stop on that one for a few seconds, saving a copy into the cloud— followed by one where his mouth has dropped to an affronted ‘oh’ because you’re shoving his face off camera. And in the next one, it’s just his ass.

You remember this moment in particular quite well. After the selfies, you were going to take another one with Tom’s squinty face in the background when someone knocked into you and you had to move the camera away. It seems to have clicked anyway, so all you got was a shot of his ass in the dark. You adjust a few filters to brighten it up just to check, and yep, that’s a pretty centered picture of Tom’s remarkable bum. You’d find it hilarious if it wasn’t so pretty.

A couple of random pictures of the crowd later, there’s another video. A shorter, sneakier one, though you don’t recall what was going through your mind at the time. The scene in itself doesn’t seem familiar, but it was clearly filmed by you. Tom is mouthing the lyrics of the song with his eyes closed, sipping his beer next. For a little while, the image zooms in on his face —well, on his jaw, let’s be honest— as he sways along to the music. When it zooms out, Harrison’s face comes into shot and you can perceive him shouting, “You’re here to dance, missy!” and then there’s your laugh and when the video freezes at the end, Tom’s very furrowed brow is front and center.

Anything after that is blurry as hell. What is supposed to be a group photo after you left the dance floor for more drinks, one of the twins making a toast, another of Tom, Harrison and Tuwaine making a stupid pose you believe was their hallmark in acting school, and several others, it’s all a mess of color and distorted faces.

“What the fuck.”

It seems as though someone wasn’t in a good state by that time. You don’t remember drinking that much, but clearly you were wrong.

Laughing at it, you realize that not all of the next photos are like this. There are very, very clear photos of Tom’s hands and Tom’s forearms and Tom’s neck, which leaves you questioning your drunk self’s intentions. In one of them, he’s standing by the table, his brothers around him having a conversation, but he’s staring at the dance floor, a beer bottle between his hands, and his tongue is poking out of the corner of his mouth. If you remember correctly from what you’ve seen so far, it’s something you caught him doing a lot throughout the night.

A lightbulb turns on brightly in your mind.

You figure that Tom’s meeting must be over by now, so you decide to send him this picture because it won’t bother him if he’s already at brunch or on his way over. You save the photo in a folder in your cloud and grab your phone to crop it to an appropriate size, with his face at the top and his veiny hands at the bottom, blurring out the background around him.

When it’s ready, you open Tom’s favorite messaging app and send it to him.

You: what do you think about when your tongue goes 😛

Not expecting him to answer right away, you go back to the laptop and search for those pictures of what you believe are accidental close-ups of his body. You want to save those as well. For a rainy day…

Tom’s reply comes after you’re finished deleting them from the camera’s memory card.

Tom: depends

Tom: but mostly ⛳️!

You: Why did i even ask

Tom: you tell me darling

Tom: what do you want me to be thinkin about 😏😏😏

You: I’m gonna wipe that f-ing emoji off your phone

As it is, his response turns you on more than it should. You hate those damned smirking emojis, but you can imagine his face while he’s choosing them from the huge list of yellow little faces at his disposal. You’ve seen it so often by now. He’s a cheeky little fuck by nature, but things get naturally more difficult for you when you’re as extra horny as you are at the moment.

The problem was that while Tom was gone for the last month, he kept traveling back and forth and the time zones were tricky to get a phone call in, so you did most of your talking to him via text message. Which sucked. When he came back on Wednesday, he was exhausted, and Thursday was an awful day for you at the Den, and on Friday he had a few errands to run and then you went out with the boys, so there was no time to quench that one month old thirst.

Hence the state of your legs right now. They’re weak, craving him, and wet in the middle.

Instead of sitting there in frustration, you take a few pictures of yourself and choose the perfect one to send to him. It’s mostly your naked belly, panties peeking at the bottom and a hint of a nipple at the top. First, you send him a little heads-up:

You: 18+ picture incoming

You: Watch your back!

Then you select the picture and choose the temporary message option at the bottom to make sure it won’t stay visible in the chat after he sees it. The message status turns to ‘seen’ almost immediately.

Tom: tease

You: Blep 😛

Tom: its pussy oclock and i’m stuck at brunch 😡😡😡

You: 💦🐈 waiting for 👅

You’re not sure if that sequence of emojis makes total sense, but Tom has seen it and he sends back a cheeky emoticon:

Tom: :D!

He must have understood the message.

Afterwards, every half hour, you send another message: a 💦 emoji after a clock emoji, always showing a different time up to 12—which you interpret as a countdown to zero. He doesn’t respond until after the third message, sending you three middle finger emojis and his favorite exclamation points.

Tom: 🖕🖕🖕 !!!

You stop with the texts and focus on flicking through the photos, paying more attention to detail. In one of the pictures at the pub, Tom has once more his tongue poking out of his mouth, and you send that picture to him.

You: BLEP 😛

You: Blep my pussy as often as you do this mf

He replies a few minutes later.

Tom: is this your idea of sexting

Tom: (its working)

You laugh at his response because how could you not. He gets you.

Later, a while after you’ve put down your laptop and started working on a rich salad for lunch, you have your phone resting on the kitchen island counter when it pings and buzzes once.

Tom: guess who

Shortly after you read it, he sends a selfie. A close-up of his face with his tongue tipping at the corner of his mouth. And a second one of him with his eyes all wide and fully sticking out his tongue. From what little you see of the background, it seems like he’s in the car already.

You want to send something back that follows the mood of your previous conversation with him. Something that will show him how you’re still craving him for more than just a sweet welcome home hug. The loveseat in the corner of the kitchen catches your attention. You sit on it and spread your knees, taking a picture of your thighs with a space large enough for Tom in the middle.

You: There’s an empty spot waiting for you

Tom: 😛😛😛

Tom: actually no

You: WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO

Tom: I MEAN

Tom: 👅👅👅

You: Oh

You: 🤤

Safe to say, it isn’t a salad that you want to have for lunch.

When Tom arrives, he marches up to you with his mouth in a tight line and greets you with an intoxicating kiss, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand grabbing and squeezing a butt cheek. It’s full of tongue and teeth and pure hunger, leaving you breathless in a matter of seconds.

“What’s gotten into you?” you gasp out a question, thumbing at the corner of your mouth to wipe a little spit.

“Nothing,” he says, breathing heavily. “But I’m getting into you.”

You chuckle at him, but have no time to react. He smacks your butt and says, “Get that hot arse upstairs, young lady. Gonna blep that pussy so hard you’ll pass the fuck out.”

“Uh, excuse me?”

The Harries are right behind him. Not even you had seen them. Tom apologizes, but dismisses them with a gesture of his shoulder, adding, “We’ll see you at dinner.” And as he pushes you past the living room and up the stairs, your bottom lip doesn’t leave its spot between the two rows of your teeth.

You expected this, after being interrupted last night and not getting it off your mind this morning, but you didn’t think he would be this raw with you. Or with them. Nevertheless, you follow the touch on the small on your back and trek all the way to the bedroom, with the ghost of Tom’s breath hot on the nape of your neck.

“You look so pretty today, baby,” he whispers into your ear once you cross the invisible border between the hallway and the bedroom. Kicking the door closed, he grabs your hand and twirls you on your feet a couple of times, stepping forward and stopping you mid-turn so you’ll crash against his chest. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this morning the whole time.”

“How come?” you tease, wrapping both arms around his neck.

“Can’t believe that stupid alarm went off when you were about to sit on my dick,” he grunts into a peck.

“Guess we need better time management skills,” you say to him, collecting his soft, smiling lips into a proper kiss.

It lasts less than a few seconds. Tom pulls away with a smack and says, “Now. Where’d you take that picture?” You blink at him, unsure which one he means. “The one with the legs. ‘Cause I fucking loved it and I want to claim the spot you saved for me.”

You hum into his mouth, then say, “Sadly that was downstairs, so—”

“Okay, that’s out of the question.”

“The Harries would kill you.” You chuckle, thinking back to his brother and friend, your roommates and friends too, and to how tired they must be of sharing a house with two people like you and Tom. “And me.”

Truth is, you both have caught them in the action as well in the past six or so months. The house is big enough for the six of you, but it’s not a freaking mansion. Not to mention that the walls are thin and the piping in the bathrooms is the same as every other smaller house in the country. Sound travels. Fast. So you and Tom have had your scares, too. It’s not often, but it happens. In the end, it’s tit for tat.

“Yeah, they would, and I’m already on very thin ice.”

“Maybe you should control yourself a little,” you suggest with a giggle.

Tom gasps and smacks your butt jokingly. “Uh, I’m sorry, miss, who climbed on who’s lap this morning?”

“But that’s different,” you remind him. “They weren’t here this morning.”

“And I didn’t think they were there just now,” he groans, rubbing an eye with one hand, the other wrapped around yours now. “Oh, I know just the spot. Here, sit over there.”

You look at where he’s pointing even though you know exactly where he means.

“The window seat?” Tom shrugs like it was so obvious. And okay, knowing him and his exhibitionist ways, it was.

“Do you not want to? We could do—”

“No, no. It’s fine, champ. It’s just a little… narrow, that’s all.”

It’s a 24-inch wide bench, so you can see it working a little, but judging by his haste right now, it could end up in disaster.

“We’ll make it work.”

He makes sure to push the curtains to the side before tapping the cushion where he wants you. It’s right in front of the largest of the three windows surrounding the seat. As you turn on your heels to do sit down, he stops you and keeps you turned to the window, tilting your torso forward a little bit. You look for support on the glass and look behind you at his puzzled expression, sensing the hand on your waist before you actually see it. Tom undoes the button at the front of your shorts, the zipper, then removes them and your underwear at the same time, exposing you to the room. He throws both garments somewhere behind him, but you don’t check where. Then, he needs just a couple of seconds to slide his hand up the inside of your thigh, seeking your wetness between the legs.

“Had a better idea,” he says with a grin, giving your butt a light slap, adding, “Knee on the seat, baby. Lean forward and push those lovely hips backwards, will you, hm? For me?”

With each of his words, his hot hand massages your sex, fingertips resting at the top of your mound when he cups you there. Tom helps you get into position, placing your left knee further apart than you would have and pushing your head until your cheek rests on the glass, ass tipped back in an angle that would require him only to drop to his knees to get a face full of cunt. Which is exactly what he does.

You moan at the very first sight of him down there, at the first press of his tongue in your slit, at the first poke of his nose so close to your needy hole. Hips pushed back, you enjoy the little licks and the little dabs and the really pointy tip of his tongue slithering over every inch where it’s wet. His hands grasp your butt before they move downward and spread your lips apart so he can reach your clit with an acute angle of his neck. He keeps moving up and down, dipping it here, lapping up there, with the tip or the whole pad or even the sides from what you can tell, sucking on your lips or the nub that’s starting to swell up with blood, or even on the patch of skin right under your thigh, which shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does.

When he grasps your hips in his arms and pulls you even closer to his face, his mouth opens over your pussy and he applies an insane amount of suction. Bits of slippery skin sucked into his mouth with a loud wet noise that drives a shiver up your spine and burns in your ears. Your eyes close at the sensation, but then you flutter them open at what you see outside. Downstairs.

Harry is doing something in the garden. All it would take is a glance to the upper floor of the house and he’d get a very explicit view of your face against the glass and the top of your breasts showing through your top. You try to move away, not wanting to expose yourself like that and make things worse between the two brothers, but as you do, your hips flinch back and Tom has his mouth open and his tongue slides straight into your hole.

“Fuck,” you can’t help but moan, calling Tom’s name in a hoarse voice, followed by, “Again. Fuck yeah.” And he does it again and again and again, fucking your little hole that clenches around his tongue when it slips inside. It’s so good, and it shouldn’t be because it’s so thin and small compared to what you usually have up in there.

Tom drives forward with his shoulders and your body slams against the window. So much for not wanting to expose yourself. Your mouth fogs the window and your nipples chafe on the back cushion despite the fabric, knee sliding in the seat and spreading you open even more. You ride his tongue just like that, letting out desperate tiny ‘oh oh oh’s through your open, panting mouth.

You’re getting so fucking close by now, your insides churning with it, but you must say something or make some kind of noise that Tom recognizes because he pulls back and smacks your ass hard.

“Not so fast, young lady,” he says, slapping your cunt right after. The force of it jolts through you at lightning speed.

“Uhh, Tom,” you whine and try to press back into him, but he’s already gone.

He’s up on his feet and grabs you by the hair. You think he’s going to pull backward, towards him, but instead he presses your face against the glass and licks a straight line from your jaw all the way up to your temple.

“What were you looking at, darling?” he asks in a murmur, biting into your ear lobe.

“Nothing,” you say, flicking your eyes to the garden and finding both Harries out there now.

“It’s never nothing with you, uh,” he taunts, his face really close to yours, eyes also seeing what you saw just now. “Fucking Harries, y’know? I mean, I love those dudes, I do, but sometimes I really wish we had kept the other flat.” You moan at the thought. Unspeakable things would happen if you and Tom were to live by yourselves, you just know it. “Would you have liked that, baby girl? Just me and you, getting naked everywhere, as loud as you fucking want.”

You try to respond, but your cheek is too tight on the glass and your throat is too tight from his previous ministrations, so all that comes out is a garbled, “Nghhhhh.” It means absolutely nothing at all and everything at the same time.

“We’d have so much sex on that bloody balcony,” he moans. “You know that, right?”

There’s no denying that the balcony sex was pretty hot, and that you have rarely said no to anything he suggested in bed. It’s safe to say you would have sex out there every other day if that’s what he wanted. You truly just can’t resist him and that’s the truth.

“Alright, enough of scaring those two to death,” he says, letting go of your hair and dropping a sweet kiss on your cheek. When you look through the window, the Harries are nowhere to be seen. You can only hope they didn’t look up.

Tom moves first next, helping you straighten back on your feet. Your legs aren’t too wobbly, so you let go of his hand right after with a faint thanks and a quick peck on the lips. He disappears to the left, and the next time you see him, he’s lying down on the window seat, his eyes on you and his bare feet climbing up the seat next to your legs.

There isn’t a lot of room for him. It’s barely enough for a person to sit up straight, really, but he looks so small lying there on his back, though one of his shoulders isn’t supported by the bench at all. He’s become so massive that it makes sense that he doesn’t fit, but somehow he does make it work. Just like he said he would.

“C’mere,” he asks, patting his chest. “Come sit on my face, darling.”

“Can’t say no to that,” you giggle, unwary of the risks. Of course you won’t fit with your knees around his head, his neck and shoulders take up too much space, so you prop your foot on the bench the best you can and the other stays on the floor. You’re a little slanted to the side, but Tom has both hands on your ass and pulls you onto his mouth before you can make sure the position is right.

Everything is misaligned down there, and he ends up kissing the cleft of your ass instead. Tugging you to one side and then even closer, Tom lifts his neck and gives you a long lick from top to bottom. Your hips hesitate and press down on him to find an open mouth awaiting. He manages to suck on your lips and on your clit a little, but he can’t make his arms work to keep you spread open, and you need both hands to balance your weight on top of him. You can see what’s going to happen mere seconds before it does.

“Fucking— fuck,” he curses and tugs on your ass again. As if that would be a good idea.

You topple over him and collapse with your face on his groin, his cock almost poking your eye if you didn’t swerve to the side, your legs give out and you hit your ankles on a piece of wood and his hands don’t provide support enough. So you end up rolling off of him, and he rolls off of the seat, and you both drop to the floor with muffled painful cries.

“Fuck.” You half sigh, half giggle.

“Fuck indeed,” Tom fully laughs, hiding his face in his hands. “Moving on. This is part of it, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” you say, still giggling, accepting his hand so you’ll both get up on your feet. Tom guides you back onto the seat, sitting your butt on it this time and keeping your legs apart with both hands on your knees.

“There we go,” he says, kneeling in between them.

“Now that’s your spot.”

“Exactly. What the fuck was I thinking?” Tom giggles, placing a small kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Let’s go back to business.”

The moment Tom leans forward and grabs your hips to dive back into kissing your pussy, you immediately regret his choice. You’re fully seated and you won’t fall from here, probably, you think, and he’s on the floor which is fine, but the bench is too low for what he’s trying to achieve. At least with a torso as large as his right now.

Somehow, he manages to slip his shoulders under your thighs and he gets a little lick on your clit, but then he pulls back and sighs. “This isn’t what I expected, it’s too—”

“Low,” you complete the sentence for him.

“Yeah.” He sighs, caressing your thighs as he looks around. “You can’t move any further on this thing, can you?”

“Nope, I’m right at the edge. Maybe we should—” You want to suggest the bed since you both know that will be a secure place for what he’s planning to do, but he shushes you before you can speak.

“We can make this work,” he insists. “Hang on. Put this foot up— No, no, no, wait. I got it. Lie back.”

He proceeds to place you where he envisions it will be a decent spot. You lie down on the seat with your left side pressed against the pillows on the back, your left foot on it with your knee propped up. The other leg is still stretched in the cushion beneath you, but then he moves it upward and to the right, spreading you open. He’s still kneeling on the floor and slips his head underneath your right knee, so you sort of lay your thigh over his shoulders. You must look ridiculous from a distance, but the determined gaze in Tom’s eyes keeps that embarrassing thought at bay.

“This is so not gonna work…” you trail off. There’s no way you’re not putting too much weight on him, but if you lift your leg from where it’s resting on him, you will be all tense and you’ll feel nothing.

“Of course it will work,” he says with a kiss on the bottom of your belly. “Alright, here we go.”

His face is lined up with your middle but sideways, so when he sticks a thumb into you and sucks on your clit, it’s different but good and just as intense as before, and you let yourself enjoy it. You’re somewhat comfortable and he seems okay as well. The laps of his tongue and the fingertip he keeps buried at your entrance help you forget everything, first quietly, but soon bucking your hips up to meet him halfway.

At one point, you have to shift your back because there’s something weird pressed at the bottom, probably one of the pillows you forgot to remove, which means you move your leg to the side and your knee knocks against Tom’s head.

“No violence please,” he giggles into your cunt, angling his head in such a way that his tongue licks at the top of your hole while he slips a long finger in and out of you. He pumps it repeatedly for a little while, and at a particularly sharp brush on your spot, with his nose nudging your clit, the pressure builds inside you, your back arches, and your mouth fills with a moan.

There’s a little pleasure and a little pain, the odd position keeping things new and innovative. It’s not a traditional approach, Tom’s nose rubbing from side to side on your clit as he fucks into your hole, and it’s really good after you figure out how to distribute your weight and how to control your hips and your legs to avoid suffocating him. And once you get the hang of it, Tom and his miracle mouth get you really close to an orgasm, head spinning from it.

It’s when you try to grab his hair to press him against your core that things get a little complicated. Your hips lift up, your legs squeeze together around his neck, and Tom tugs on the right one to stay in position. And that’s the movement that gets you rolling to the floor again, as you crumble down onto your ass and with your legs still tight around his neck.

“What did I fucking say?” you yelp, rubbing the back of your thigh where it hurts a little from the fall.

“Sorry…” Tom sits up with his side against the window seat, rubbing his neck with a faint ‘ow’. And then he bursts out laughing.

“You…” you grunt, sitting up to rest your back against the bench. If you kick him in the process, it’s by accident but deserved.

“Okay, that fucking sucked,” he says through a few more laughs, getting up on his feet with a couple of groans as his legs refuse to stretch on the way. “C’mon, let’s regroup.”

“Are you kidding me?” you almost yelp, but accept his hand just the same.

When you get up on your feet, he says, “You asked me to blep your motherfucking pussy, y/n. It’s what I’m trying to do.”

“Ugh, no,” you scoff. “I mean, yes, I said that, but like, regular oral sex is awesome too. The bed would’ve been fine for that.”

Tom laughs at you again, smacking your butt and squeezing you there. You give him a side look, squinting eyes and pursed lips, the whole ordeal.

“C’monnn, baby,” he says with his lips puckered as if he’s about to lean into a kiss. You refuse him so, and he pecks your cheek instead. “What would be of us if it weren’t for this kind of fun stuff in the bedroom? It keeps things interesting.”

“Sure it does. It’s not your pretty ass on the fucking floor.”

“Hey,” he calls for you and holds you under the jaw, squeezing. “I’ve fallen plenty of times on my arse. Remember the wellies?”

You chuckle at the memory, one of so many moments where a minor slip-up could have ended up in a really big problem. You’ll never forget that day. Inevitably, with the amount of fluids the both of you produce during sex, things down there started slapping way too loud and he had the brilliant idea to say, “Maybe I should have brought my wellies.” Enough said, you laughed at his comment and shoved him to the side until you were on top, but he was just as cheeky and rolled you both over again until you were on your back, except his leg slipped off the mattress and he hit the floor and almost dislocated his shoulder. If you remember correctly, he was in pain for a couple of days after that.

“Yes, I remember the wellies,” you say with an eye-roll.

“Hell, one time you whacked me across the face with my belt.”

“Because you wanted me to use it like a whip!” you say, laughing into your hand at the memory. Tom doesn’t think it’s that funny. “All right, fine,” you add, refocusing on his pouty lips and kissing them back to normal. “But I’m getting on that bed right now.”

“Be my guest…”

As you do, standing by the foot of the bed with your hands on the mattress, ready to climb on it, Tom’s face suddenly appears between your legs.

“Hi.”

He’s sitting on the floor, though you have no idea how he got there so fast, with his back to the bed and his face to your middle.

“Nuh huh, I’m getting on this bed,” you warn him, ignoring his puppy dog eyes and his delightful grin.

“I don’t think you are, darlin’,” he threatens, leaving little kisses on your sex with each word.

You roll your eyes in response, but that’s all you can really do. After calling you ‘darling,’ Tom covers your hot nub with his mouth and starts to suck hard. Your head tilts forward between your shoulders from the immediate pleasure.

He holds your hips with both arms around your thighs and with his eyes on yours, he teases, “Tell me you don’t want me right here, my whole face shoved up your cunt. C’mon, say it…”

“Fuck you,” it’s what you say, bringing a hand to the back of his head and darting your hips forward until his awaiting mouth wraps around your whole pussy all at once.

His eyes are on you when he kisses your mound, sparkling while his hand caresses your inner thigh. You’re wet and his lips are hot, creating an incredible sense of fire straight to your nipples. They're really fucking hard and poke out of your top so much, you have to use a hand to soothe them. In the end, you stay there cradling your breast as the tip of his tongue teases between your folds, collecting beads of pre-cum where it’s been pooling up since this morning.

“Best bloody taste in the whole damn world,” he mutters before his teeth tug softly on your nether lips.

You’re about to say he’s too cheeky, but he dives tongue-first into your pussy. Nose brushing your clit in every direction it goes, sucking on the skin first, then scissoring it open with the help of two fingers to expose you to his hot breath. He looks at it for a second and sucks the little nub into his mouth, lightly using his teeth around it too. You hiss but moan at the same time, the mix of pain and pleasure absolutely divine, feeling your fluids trickle down to Tom’s chin.

Pulling away for a moany breath, Tom licks you a few more times, thumb grazing your clit alongside his nose. You’re throbbing down there, the idea of the bed forgotten by now, hips tipped downward to seek all the friction you can find. Tom splays his hands on your thighs, squeezing the flesh, to keep you in place as he drops kiss by kiss across your folds, up your mound, down to your legs, one at a time.

Without warning, his hand finds your hole and you push down onto it. Riding his fingers while he watches your face, but your eyes close at the sudden press against your spot.

“Fuck, Tom,” you whine, rolling your hips around and downward and in every direction that plunges his fingers further into you.

“You getting close, huh, pretty thing?” he chimes in a teasing tone, the smirk obvious against your so sensitive skin.

You grab his head and push him closer, knocking your clit against his nose by accident, but with a swift tilt of his head, he’s got two fingers stroking your spot and his lips around your swollen nub. Sucking and applying pressure, drawing pants from your chest, shivers up your spine, fluids out through every pore.

“Fuck,” he says at some point, pulling away. His breath scorching on your skin. “You’re dripping all over my shirt, baby.”

“Tom, I’m gonna come,” you warn him, fisting at the curve of his head. Your legs keep him hostage as his mouth suckles your clit and your folds and everywhere. His fingers deep in your cunt, in and out at a restless pace.

“Fuck, fuck,” you whine and almost shout, pushing your legs together. His hair is soft and tantalizing on your skin, searing everywhere like kindle. Your nails carved into his scalp. His fingers at the right spot, massaging it inside so fast you’re a bomb about to explode. Your clit is stuck between his lips as he sucks and licks and pulls until all you see is a bright light behind your eyes.

Your legs give out and you totally knock into his teeth, but Tom never stops. He sucks your orgasm out of you, fingering you to help ride it out. When your thighs stop shaking, you let go of his head because you’re about to collapse, pushing both hands on the mattress and looking down through hooded lids.

Watching as he licks your clit a couple of times, toying it with the very tip of his tongue. Teasing it downward to your hole. Circling around it, around his fingers, collecting drops of fluid where he finds them. He hums into your pussy, vibrations reverberating everywhere, all the way to your toes and traveling straight to your brain until your vision is restored.

When you can see again, you can’t stop the gasps and little moans that fall from your throat. Tom remains sitting between your legs, watching as you’re surely still clenching around him and dripping profusely.

One last peck to your clit, his eyes find yours and you can tell he’s smirking. From the glint in them, and from the shape of his jaw against your cunt. You know it so well by now, you can tell when he opens and closes his mouth around your folds, pulling on them between his lips to tease because that’s what he does best.

Then he dips his fingers inside and pulls out, over and over again, making you tremble with oversensitivity. Yet you seek nothing but his touch, hands curled around the bedding, feet adjusting on the ground because the soles are sweating so much.

“Tom,” you pant, knees almost buckling.

“I got you,” he says, his eyes on you just to test your reaction, you know this much, but there isn't much you can do. Not after such a fucking great orgasm.

You love coming on his mouth. He’s skilled and attentive, pressing in all the spots where you inadvertently lead him to. Applying pressure and letting go in perfect timing, keeping you at bay or stimulated just right. Fuck, he’s so goddamn good. Your legs are still trembling with it when he places a final kiss and emerges from where he’s sitting.

Tom pushes up between your body and the bed, and you move away so he will fit. Hands tight on his shoulders so you won’t collapse. Covering his mouth with yours when he’s close enough. Your arousal tastes delicious mixed with the spearmint that’s all him, spread all over the softness of his lips and on the tip of his tongue that you claim into your mouth.

It’s when you press closer to him that you notice how hard he is in his jeans. They’re unbuttoned like he needed to relieve the pressure at one point. His cock fills the v of his crotch completely, reacting with a twitch when you nudge a fingertip on the head.

“Want me to help you with this, baby?” you mumble into his mouth where he collects yours into a short kiss.

He nods into it, as expected, so you grab the hem of his briefs with both hands and tug them down until his cock springs out for attention. It’s leaking, red at the tip, and very, very stiff, twitching harder when you grasp a hand around the shaft. Tom moans as you start to pump immediately, feeling the flow of his blood in your palm. He probably won’t last long, so you waste no time. You sit him on the bed and lean over him, your breasts peeking out of your top at the level of his eyes, with your hand jacking him off at a fast speed.

It takes only a few pumps before he’s begging you to stop.

“Wait, wait, get the camera,” he says within a moan. You obey without a question. Grabbing the camera from where it’s propped on the windowsill next to your laptop, and disconnecting it from the cable. It’s turned on and ready to fire by the time you get to the bed.

“Where do you want me?”

“Oh, uhhhh…” he trails off, thinking about it, one hand squeezing his cock so it won’t end the party before it’s truly over. “Oh, I know. Sit on the edge of the bed and lie back?”

“Mhmm. I see where this is going,” you say, practically foaming at the mouth at the thought of him releasing his explosion of cum all over and around you.

Following his instructions, you sit on the edge of the mattress and lie back, the camera propped just under your breasts and pointed at his middle. He’s standing in front of you, between your spread legs, and you need only a minimal adjustment of the lens until it’s perfectly centered on his leaking, neglected dick.

“Photos or video?”

“Video,” he says, grabbing a hold of himself and starting to pump. “We can, fuck— we can screenshot it later. Fuck, ‘m not gonna last at all.”

His fist jacks his cock expertly, twisting and pumping and thumbing at the head in regular intervals, and his hips keep jabbing forward as his moans start to garble in his throat. You send him little incentives to help him release, but it takes less than a minute before he’s all curled in on himself. Gasping and making these small noises like he can’t hold them back. His hand grasps your thigh and props it up, with your foot on the mattress. You reach out for his hand there, squeezing it under yours, and watch him surrender, so giving and pretty.

At the raise in tension in the air, you sit up and hold your weight on your elbows, watching him closely.

“Tell me,” you say, licking your lips at the beautiful sight of Tom thrusting his cock into his hand rather than the opposite. “Tell me when you’re there, okay? Wanna record this from a different angle.”

Right now, you have the camera pointed at his face, zoomed out enough that you can see the shift of his muscles under the tight shirt and the clench of his jaw from his wide open mouth.

“Please— fuck—” he moans and curses all around you, leaning his head forward until he meets your forehead. You’re both sweaty from the effort, but you let him be and angle the camera downward so you have a full view of his cock where it’s pressed just under your clit. His dick is swollen and just on the verge of busting out. You focus on the little screen to make sure it’s centered on the right spot.

It is, so you glance back at him and lick your lips at the sight of his tongue peeking at the corner of his mouth now, before he draws it back inside to moan really fucking loud and bend over you again. One, two, three strokes of his fist and he spritzes all over you, jerking back and forward on his little legs, his upper body shaking. His hand never stops moving on his cock as it spills mostly on your mound. Some of it gets on his clothes and your legs and his face, on your mouth a little too, a few drops hitting the lens making it blurry and wet.

As for Tom, he looks like his brain has sparked out, hips jerking forward a few more times before his body slumps and falls on the bed next to you. You smile at his satiated expression and film everything that you can. The cum between your legs, his spent dick still clutched in his fist, the up and down heave of his chest and that gorgeous fucking smile on his face when the camera catches his eye.

“You got everything?”

You nod. “Mhmm, you’re gonna love this one.”

Tom lies there on the bed with his arms spread open, clothes still on except around his crotch, a hand caressing your naked bum where it’s dipping down the mattress. You don’t move otherwise, clicking the button to stop the recording and putting the camera down in the middle of the bed.

With a single glance at your middle, you can tell that Tom got most of his cum on you this time. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of damage in your surroundings today. That’s awesome. It’s what he wanted to do and despite the odds being against it from his history of exploding cum all over the freaking place, he’s managed to coat your pussy in the majority of it.

You want to take a picture of it, want to see how it really looks from his point of view, but you don’t dare grab the camera again. Instead, you place a hand on his belly and ask, “You all right?”

“Fucking brilliant.” He grins wide. His breathing has slowed down by now, cock deflating on his lap, and he tucks himself into his briefs before he sits up next to you.

He smiles and kisses your mouth and says, “Look at you, not a single drop of cum on your face. What a day.”

You laugh at him, but show him an approving smile. “I got a little on my mouth, but I licked it clean. Other than that, most of it is right… there,” you say, pointing at your crotch.

“Oh I know,” he says sprightly, getting up from the bed next. “Let me take a picture of this, I bet it’s fucking gorgeous.”

With a giggle because you’d just had the same thought, you hand him over the camera and wait for him to take a couple of pictures. He insists on taking a few of you in different poses, all of them with your legs open and his seed proudly sitting in between, but after a while you tell him to stop so you can clean up.

“Oh no no no,” he says immediately, setting the camera back on the bed without turning it off. “I’m going to take care of that.”

“Oh really?” you ask, but it’s to no avail because he’s already kneeling between your legs and holding them apart by your thighs.

“I’m calling it, it’s Pussy Lickin’ Weekend, baby.”

You fetch the camera again, beaming at the wonderful idea he’s just had.

He grins at you when you point the lens at him, but wastes no more time to reach out and get it done. Your thumb presses record right as he starts to tease you in all the places where it tingles, even though you believe you won’t have much of a response. Nonetheless, Tom still has a broad smirk on his face as he licks you clean with his twinkling eyes on yours. You caress his hair in return and focus, breathing calmly through the bliss that is his smooth touch.

“‘ove this pussy,” he mumbles against your still hot and very wet skin. You tilt your head at him, laying back on your elbows and propping both feet on the bed so he’ll have more access. His face still centered in the image on the little screen of the camera. “It’s so pretty,” he keeps saying, with tiny licks between his words. “And juicy. Mmm, delicious. Finger-licking good.” At this word, he wiggles his eyebrows from where he’s looking at you and pretends to lick his thumb, pressing it into your hole right after.

“Stop…”

“I’m not going to, don’t worry,” he tranquilizes you. “Wish you could taste this, though.” Before you can stop him, he presses the pad of his tongue against your clit and hums into it. The sensation travels across your body and up to your head way faster than you expected it to.

He pulls away completely after that, however. Taking the camera off your hands and turning it off, he says, “C’mon, let’s get into the shower. Then I want to check if you’d be any good at directing porn.”

You chuckle and place your hand on the one he offers to you, palm up. Your fingers enlace almost immediately with his.

After a much deserved though quick shower, you run downstairs because you’re starving. For food, this time. Your sexual hunger is satisfied for now at least. That was a good one. Like, really good. Despite the accidents and the hysterical laughter, Tom makes a pretty amazing lover and you can’t believe how lucky you were to have fallen for him. It took a while, and it was really freaking complicated, but things worked out for the best. Six months into a proper relationship —because unlike Tom, you do not count the time you spent fooling around with him and fooling yourself— and no sign of regret just yet.

The rest of the boys don’t seem to be home when you get your salad from the fridge, chilling outside on the porch under the warm London sun. With sunglasses on, feet propped up on the sunbed too, you dive into the colorful bowl in your hands.

It’s empty as is the bottle of water on the floor by the time Tom comes find you out here. He’s now in a pair of comfortable shorts and a loose t-shirt, making you feel underdressed in short shorts and a tank top.

“Oh, hey, there you are, look at this,” he says all excited, crouching by the sunbed and practically shoving the camera in your face. You slide your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose and look at the screen. He’s showing you a portion of the video you recorded earlier in the bedroom, a clear up-close shot of his dick covering your skin with white liquid of bliss. “Look how beautiful it is.”

“Uh, no?” you say with a giggle, putting the sunglasses back on your face. “I would make a darn good porn director, I guess, but that’s all.”

“What? C’mon…” he trails off, and from the sound of it, he’s replaying the same section of the video. Perhaps he cut it somehow— no, that can’t be it. He’s not that tech savvy with this new camera yet, you think. “I mean, I’m going to delete it, but fuck me I could watch this every day, I swear. Look at the curve of your—”

“You don’t have to delete it,” you tell him in a calm tone. He looks at you surprised, but you don’t get why. After all, you were the one who wanted to start filming yourselves in bed. Close-ups like this are a little strange because you can see everything good but also every flaw, but technically they are better because there’s no risk of identifying either of you.

“Right,” he chuckles, looking down at the screen and rewatching it again. “If only. You know if I keep this, someone else will see it. It’s my curse. Me and tech, yeah, we no match.”

“I guess, but still. I could save it for you.” You smile genuinely. His whole face lights up at the thought. “For a rainy day.”

“For a rainy day.” He hums as though he’s considering it.

“Yeah. Like,” you sniffle dryly. “I don’t think I ever told this, but I have my own rainy day folder. Personal, private, encrypted, everything you could ask for, so.”

“Really?” he chuckles. “Pics of me?”

“No. Michael B. Jordan and your mate Chris Evans, of course.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “Of course.” When you roll your eyes in response, his grin lights up his face. He’s too damn smug for his own good sometimes. “Anyway. I could actually keep this?”

“Absolutely. As long as that disk never leaves the house,” Tom ‘mhmm’s as he listens to your instructions, “and you don’t accidentally use it for something else, we’re fine.”

“That’s brilliant!” He grins so fucking wide, the sun reflects indirectly on his teeth. You laugh at his childish enthusiasm, leaning backwards when he presses a kiss onto your mouth until you’re lying down on the sunbed. “Thank you, thank you, thankyou…” he says on repeat.

“You’re welcome. Now get off me before you get any ideas.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Oh boy. You’re screwed. “Ideas have already been had. Did you see the note on the fridge?”

“Mhmm…”

The fridge in the kitchen includes a white board with a couple of markers of different colors and tons of magnetic emojis that every occupant of the house uses for notes and reminders and other shenanigans. It’s easily spotted because it’s big and colorful, and it’s right there when you enter the kitchen. So it was very hard to miss when you came downstairs earlier. The note was signed HH and included a row of disgusted-looking emojis and a very clear message in capital letters.

😒🤬🤢🤮😷

BE DECENT BY 7 YOU PIGS!!! we’ll bring dinner

“Do you think they saw us?”

“On the window?” You nod in response to his question. “Nah, I mean, why would they? They knew we were up there, they heard what I said before we went upstairs. They would have to be very dumb to even dare to look at the upper floor windows.”

You giggle, of course. He makes a very solid point. “I suppose you’re right. Can I interest you in some food, putting on some music and enjoying the rare London sun while we’re out here?”

It takes a while before Tom and you agree on the details, but eventually you both lie down in a couple of the sunbeds on the back porch, one of your phones blasting soft music into the air as he holds a new script he has to analyze for work and you, a book. You thought you could get the laptop down here and do a little research for your channel, but screw it. You have enough material for your next three weeks of posts, so you can lay back and chill. In the actual sense of the word. Not the ‘other’ kind. All in all, it’s a peaceful afternoon.

At least until Tom huffs out loud and throws the script onto the floor, saying, “Uff. This is rubbish. Wanna fuck?”

You give him a look over the rim of your sunglasses. “You’re freaking nuts.”

“Why not?!” he whines, sitting on the edge of the sunbed, turned to you. He uses big gestures for no reason as he adds, “Listen, I’m here. You’re there—looking positively fuckable in those shorts by the way—”

“You say that about pretty much every piece of clothing I wear—”

“Because I’m a good boyfriend!” he argues. You don’t disagree with the logic, but you do a bit with the method and the reasoning, so you roll your eyes and continue pretending you’re reading your book and not listening to whatever he’s going to say next. “The boys are gone and we don’t know when they’ll be back—”

“They said seven.”

“So that gives us… an hour to do this. I always wanted to try this…”

When you glance at him, he’s looking out into the green ahead of you. “Nuh huh, not the garden.”

“But it’s perfect! And,” he pauses, clearing his throat, waiting until you drop your book open on your lap with both hands holding each side of it to continue. “Who knows when all of them will be gone again, not to mention that I’m leaving again. Next week. For another three weeks, baby.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell its only purpose is to add a dramatic tone to when he says, “Three. Weeks. Without me again. Oh, and of course— how could I fucking forget— it’s Pussy Lickin’ Weekend, baby. So let me lick your bloody gorgeous pussy, will ya?”

“All right, fine. You, um, you make a fine point there. About you leaving. This last month was un-bear-able,” you say with a huff. You sit up as well, a finger marking the page you were reading. “Okay. I’m in.” His grin grows impossibly wider. “What were you thinking? That big rock by the shed…?”

You take a look at the garden and that rock has always puzzled you. It sort of looks like a seat of some kind, but you figure it was accidental more than anything because of the way it was put up out there on the grass. Tom confirms it was a happy coincidence.

“As soon as I saw it though, mmmm,” he hums with his lip between his teeth. “As soon as I saw it, I knew I’d have to spread you open on it one day. Might as well be today.”

“Might as well be right now,” you agree with a sly smirk. Tom gets up immediately, making you struggle for the book so you can use your marker to know where you stopped later. He’s too antsy, though, and too handsy, nothing to complain about, but he does end up tickling you and you threaten him, “Oy! You tickle, the clothes stay on.”

He grins at you and says, “I can work with that.”

When he tries to grab your butt or your shorts or something in that area, you flinch to the side and escape his touch, saying, “I’ll get one of the big towels from the bathroom. You go over there and get in position.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It takes you a while to find a decent towel to drape over the rock. All the towels are pretty new which would be a waste, but you’re ninety percent sure that there are still quite a few that you brought from the flat. You find them right at the back of the cupboard, fetching one with a strong pull of your arm.

As you return outside, Tom seems to be waiting out there in the garden. Shirtless, now, the top button of his shorts undone.

“You started without me, I can tell.”

“Not really,” he shrugs, grabbing one of your hands and pulling you into him. “Just don’t want to have to think about it while we’re, y’know. Getting frisky, and things get a little tight down there.”

You kiss his pliant mouth and melt into his arms, either from the warm sun or simply from the hot touch of his palms under your top. The sizzle on your skin, burning your nipples when he cradles both of your breasts, kneading them for a little while as his tongue descends deep into your mouth.

You’re now both standing by the big rock he was talking about. He has mentioned it before, this was a debate you’ve already had out of curiosity during a to fuck or not to fuck sort of game as you discussed which parts of the house would be off limits. You just never thought you’d end up here, mostly because there’s always someone else in the house. Must be his lucky day, then. No one’s home and you’re both in the mood to fuck.

This is going to be quite ridiculous again and a totally impossible position because the rock isn’t leveled. It does look like a chair when you look in a certain angle, but from up close the ‘seat’ is all tilted and you fear you might just topple over if you sit over there and your reflexes are too busy with sex to follow through and keep you up. You just know someone’s back is going to get fucked in a bad way if you have sex on it, probably yours because riding Tom on this block of stone would be a hazard; you’d have to lean forward way too much and that would make it impossible to move over his lap. Although if you suggest it to him, you’re positive he’ll be more than glad to try. He’s the one who always says that laughter is sexy. You agree, it is, especially his —his eyes get all crinkly and you swear you fall in love with him a bit more every time you notice them—, but you don’t mind the uneventful, quiet sex you sometimes have up there in your room.

Nevertheless, Tom looks so giddy about this as he peels off your shorts and your knickers with hands that are shaking in his excitement. The music is still playing in the background, and he’s swaying his hips to the beat, humming the lyrics to himself, his tongue peeking at the corner again. It’s adorable and sexy and he’s beautiful all over, still glowing from this morning’s shenanigans and from the hours in the sun. His skin all soft and smelling good, his muscles on display on his torso, so yeah, of course you wouldn’t say no to this. He’s still very much irresistible. The months of your relationship and the quirks and habits you both picked up since turning official haven’t changed a single thing.

He starts by crouching in front of you to kiss your thighs, one then the other, then the inside of them, slowly making his way up in between them. You’re not in the right mood yet, but all it takes is a few tweaks of his fingers, a couple of licks, and your brain swoons, your gut churns, your legs squeeze at the way he caresses every inch of you like you were made to be blessed by his touch and nobody else’s.

Soon after he crawls back up to your chest, sucks on a nipple through your top, tugging at the fabric until your whole breast pops out. The way he licks the hardening bud is impressive, forcing you to close your eyes and cradle the back of his head, nuzzling his face into your warm skin until he starts sucking and you get a little wet from the obscene laps of his tongue. Tom gives it a tentative bite, not hurting at all, more like grazing his teeth around the areola.

“So hot,” you tell him with a hiss, sucking on your bottom lip. Tom’s mouth pops out with a smack and he gazes up with his warm little eyes glistening from the daylight and his overall glee.

“Can I remove this too?” he asks politely, tugging on the fabric. For a second, you consider it and slowly pluck your other breast out of your top. It stays there all rolled up under your chest, but it feels too exposing. Too vulnerable. Especially because he won’t be removing any more clothes.

His gaze is transfixed by the sight of your boobs as he cradles them both, leaning a bit to lick at the nipples, one then the other, repeatedly until you moan. Your back arches into his soft touch. However there’s a shout from someone else’s garden, and the idea of being fully naked is suddenly terrifying, so you cover up again.

Tom nods in understanding. He then drapes kiss after kiss on his way to your mouth, raising goosebumps in his wake. Before he kisses you, even though your head tilts forward seeking his lips, he plucks the towel from your hands and sets it over the rock, then sits you on it and kneels in front of you, holding your knees together for now. He asks, “Mouth only or with fingers?”

You hum into his soft ways and say, “Mmm, mouth only.”

He widens his eyes at you. “Surprised you don’t want my fingers.”

“Maybe the next weekend you stay home we can host yet another fingering marathon,” you suggest, spreading your legs open so he’ll fit in between. He slides closer immediately, tongue prying your mouth open as his hands lift your thighs up to rest them on his shoulders.

“You good?” he asks with his eyes on you, then flicking them downward to your center.

“Will you just eat it already?”

Tom doesn’t answer anymore. He gives you kitten licks on your thighs, fingers dribbling in the same spots right after where your skin is all tingly and sensitive after his touch. Holding your thighs against the sides of his head, he kisses your navel, your lower belly, your mound and that spot right over your clit, leaving you shivering from the closeness. His hands never leave your legs as he kisses and dabs and sucks on your lips and clit and everywhere around, not only getting you wet, but making you moan his name in the middle of the garden like this.

It’s like your body switches on whenever he touches you, that’s not unusual, but it’s strange when there isn’t the comfort of walls or a bed or the fact that you should be able to see his face, but you can’t. You can’t because your legs are in the way, and your hands are the only thing holding you upright on this motherfucking rock that did not seem this rounded and slippery every time you studied it and considered this very moment from the porch.

“Fuck, more tongue,” you ask of Tom, and he seems to nod and give it to you. Only the tip at first, but soon he laps at your slit and presses the whole pad of his tongue into you and something clicks in your brain.

All the muscles in your thighs are tight, sweaty where his shoulders are pressed on the underside to keep you in place. His head swings back and forth, from side to side, in every fucking direction, darting shots of pleasure with it. When you look down to try and see something, you get a glimpse of Tom’s lips wrapping around your clit, and when the suction starts getting stronger and stronger, you take a deep breath and hold it in, your head tilted all the way back, neck dampening with sweat.

There’s a nip of his teeth right on your clit, and another on your swollen lips, Tom smoothing the two spots with a wet lick from the top down, thrusting into your hole next. You feel it everywhere, from the crook of your knees to your brain that’s swimming around in bliss, and you choke on your own spit as he fucks in and out of you with deliberate jabs of his tongue. Your pussy clenches around him, and your hands squeeze around the towel, nails nearly breaking on the hard rock beneath you, and you totally swear at him and curse him for being so damn fucking good. “Oh, fuck, yes, that, there, more, fuck fuck fuck.”

Your hips buck up against your will and you can tell your butt slides down at least a few inches, but Tom catches you with his strong hands and his massive shoulders, and he holds up your weight like a fucking champion as you shake and lose track of time and location, only thinking of the sparks of pleasure shooting off of your cunt and setting your body alight like a lightning storm.

It pulses through you, the further Tom sticks his tongue inside you the stronger it gets, and then his hands— fuck, his nails dig into the flesh of your thighs and he presses his whole face against your core, slurping up your wetness and sucking on your lips and wherever else he can reach, you can’t even name all the body parts you have down there. Your stomach coils around the feeling, legs starting to shake in his grasp, and your high rolls through your entire fucking body in these waves that are completely different from when you come from his fingers.

“Please don’t fucking stop, that’s so gooood,” you whine and moan and cry, trying your best not to fall off the rock when you move a hand to yank his hair and pull his face further against where he’s rubbing it on you and slathering it with all your cum.

Tom pushes up with his shoulders and dives right back in, using more of his nose than his tongue, but it’s still so intense and good and you want this feeling to last forever. Your hand slips and you can’t move the other fast enough from his head, but thankfully you only end up lying back on the hard surface. Your back all curled backwards in an impossible angle, your legs the only muscles keeping you upright as the blood rushes to your head where it’s hanging off the side of the rock.

You think this is it, you’re about to drop to the floor yet again, but Tom seems to catch you just in time. He gasps away from your core and expertly twists you where you’re laying, so you end up on your front on the rock. There’s just enough room beneath your legs that you can press the knees on the floor and shove your hips back.

Except where you hope to meet Tom’s face, there’s a big nothing.

“Don’t stop now,” you demand or beg or plead. All you know is that your brain is burning for a second round, knees weak from the thought.

“Fuck, sorry,” he says, letting you fist at his hair and press his face against your buttcheek. Then he says, “Was checking— fuck, it’s so close to seven.”

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?” you cry around the empty void of discontempt growing in your belly.

Immediately, he buries his face between your cheeks, kneading them tight in his hands, his tongue lapping quickly at the clenched hole. He sucks your skin and down to your clit, the wet noises mixed with your desperate moans and his eager throaty tips of encouragement. Nose nudging at your entrance and making it so unexpectedly good, Tom rubs himself all over your cunt, and you push back and forth riding his face and his tongue. And in less than a minute, you’re shouting and shuddering and coming all over again.

“That’s it, gimme it, baby,” he moans against your sex, biting into your ass before he dives back in and collects every single drop of fluid that drips out of you.

It takes a while to recover from that. A double orgasm with so little time in between is rare, so it’s not a surprise that when Tom helps you get back on your feet, your legs are totally wobbly and he’s got a motherfucking smug grin on his face.

“Came twice, uh?” he goads before he kisses you and shoves the taste of your cunt into your mouth.

“Best weekend ever.”

Tom laughs into the next kiss, gobbling up all of your mouth with a moan as you slip a hand into his briefs. You grasp his cock and he leans into you, his jaw all shiny from your fluids. He’s blocking you from crouching in front of him and takes a look down at his watch instead.

You see it, too. Less than five minutes to seven.

“Fuck,” he curses, ramming his cock into your fist, but hissing and pulling away next. “We can’t fucking do this here.”

“If not here, then when,” you rush to say. A glance over your shoulder shows you that the boys don’t seem to be back at the house yet.

“Tonight, I don’t know, but not now,” he says, grabbing your wrist. He moves it away and tucks himself into his clothes before he picks up your shorts from the floor. You’re already fetching your knickers and putting them on.

“Okay, okay, I got it, but I’m licking you later, then.” You grin, both hands in the air. “No hands.”

Tom chuckles but nods, looking around to check what’s left to do. You have to move fast before you get caught out here in a hot state of undress. Still you grin at Tom as he fetches the towel and balls it up under his arm, grabbing your hand and walking you into the house as naturally as possible.

As you step into the kitchen, Harry comes into the room with a bag in his hands, which he drops on the dining table with an excessively loud noise. “We heard that, too.”

Behind him, Harrison shouts, “We said seven.”

Of course you have to punch Tom’s shoulder when he laughs.

After the comfort of a homely dinner with friends that refuse to look you in the eye, you sit on the couch with the first batch of beers of the night for a short cinema session. Harrison picked the film, a comedy you believe. You sit there holding a bottle and looking at your feet, thinking back to today’s wet adventure. Legs and brain liquified from Tom’s hot words and erotic actions and from that sinfully skillful tongue of his. Speaking of, he sits next to you and grabs a beer for himself, splaying his arm over the back of the couch in that way he has of wrapping it around you without really touching you. You cozy up to him and smile at his domesticity. It is just as infatuating as anything else he does.

Except Harrison kicks his ankle lightly and tells him to move to the end of the couch. Tom rolls his eyes particularly hard when his brother Harry stands in front of you as well.

“You spent the whole day together, fuck knows what—” Harry gulps down his words as though he’s disgusted. “Anyway. We go in the middle, ‘kay?”

“So dramatic…” Tom trails off.

“I’m okay with that,” you say brightly, squeezing your hip against your end of the couch. Tom sends you a peeved look at your answer, but Harrison sits next to you and his annoyance fades from sight.

Sam and Tuwaine join in a little later, having come home in the middle of dinner. They stare at Harrison and you, Sam points at Tom inquisitively but they don’t ask questions. They only laugh at what they’re seeing. You reckon they’ve heard the lewd and totally incorrect version of the facts from the Harries or perhaps only a repulsed Harrison —who by the way, grabbed the green disgusted emoji from the fridge door and pretended to glue it to your forehead, doing the same to Tom with the vomiting emoji. It was a whole skit after dinner, making you laugh and ‘pin’ the huffing emoji to his tank top.

The movie you’re watching happens to have a non-explicit sex scene. You were familiar with this title, so you knew it was coming eventually, and try to sneak a glance at Tom who’s literally on the other end of the couch. His arm is splayed over the back of the couch even though you’re not there, the other one holding a beer that he sips every now and then. Looking over the back of the Harries’ heads, you stretch your own arm and grab his hand, trickling your fingers over the back. Tom catches your eye next and grins around the bottle he’s drinking from, wiggling his eyebrows when you gesture with your head towards the screen where the characters are prepping their own funny perversion on an office desk.

Out of nowhere, the characters’ voices become all distorted and when you check what’s happening, Harry has the remote in his hand and is fast forwarding the scene. “We get enough of this, thanks very much.”

Tom spits his beer all over his shirt and starts cackling at his brother. You’re amused by Harry’s exaggerated act as well, but you make sure to kick Tom’s shin when you pass by him to grab another round from the kitchen. He swats at your ass in return.

After the movie, the boys want to hang out on the back porch. It’s a lovely spring night, not too cold, not too warm, so you bring them a couple of beers each and excuse yourself to the bathroom. The plan is to distract them. There’s a little something you have to do before you join them. You set it in motion as soon as you close the bathroom door, pulling out your phone to text Tom.

You: Downstairs bathroom, tell them you’re making snacks 🍆>😮

You expect him to take a couple of minutes, so you shove your top down to the middle of your belly and lean against the counter, waiting for his knock. There isn’t one. Tom bursts in through the door with his hands unzipping his shorts in a rush.

At the sight of you opening your mouth to speak, he says, “Shut up.”

Obedient, you reel him closer by his t-shirt and immediately sneak a hand into his clothes, grabbing a hold of his cock and rubbing it to make it hard. His mouth clashes onto yours in a frantic kiss, his hips helping the motions and his dick growing larger and thicker with every stroke. He sucks on your tits for a little while, lathering them up in spit, warm from his moans.

The next moments are quick as fuck. Your brain barely registers them, but you are in control. You yank Tom away from your chest by the hair, keeping him at bay with both arms when he tries to kiss you again, then shove him around until his back bangs against the counter with a muffled sound.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he moans when you drop to your knees. You think he says something right after, but it’s all a strangled moan because you swallow his cock in full right away.

You drag him forward into your throat, quick and messy and hopefully everything he was thinking about earlier in the garden. Bobbing your head over the length, applying suction on every move, you squeeze and swirl a hand around the base and massage his sack with the other.

“No hands—” he reminds you, completely breathless. That had been the deal, so you put both arms on your back, one hand clasped around the other wrist.

Above you, Tom keeps making delicious, garbled moans, way too fucking loud, and when you look up, he’s bracing himself on the crown of your head, his mouth open and wet, just watching as you suck his cock. It takes him less than two minutes of that before he starts cursing filthy fucking words, totally coherent out of nowhere.

“Sweet little mouth, take my fucking cock, swallow, fuck, fuck, that’s fucking right,” and many, many more words that burn in your ears and leave you wet on the bathroom floor.

After that, hips rutting against your face to meet you halfway because you never stop bobbing your head, licking it and swallowing it and unable to take it but taking it all just the same. With his hand fisted around your hair and his cock swelling larger, your lips panging from the stretch. Choking you when the tip hits the back of your throat. It’s too much but it’s just right, and as soon as he sucks in a breath over you, you slap your hands on your thighs and stretch your mouth open as far as it fucking goes.

“Filthy kitten desperate to eat my cum, holy, holy, fucking fuck, I’m gonna come,” Tom says in a rush, the words all mumbled together. His hips jab forward and back, and your head follows the move until he’s nestled completely in your mouth. When you suck and swallow, the taste of hot spunk fills your mouth and he comes, jerking all over the place.

You use little bobs of your head to devour every single drop. He tastes like heaven right now, and it’s all from the knowledge that it was you doing this to him. You look up and moan at the sight, his eyes closed, sweaty lashes fanned out over his cheeks, his mouth crooked and wet from spit where he’s biting into his lip. You love that look on his face, love putting that look on his face. He looks fucking beautiful and blissed out.

“I am so paying you back for that.”

“Do you think we have too much sex?”

Your question makes Tom turn to you very, very slowly, a hand holding his toothbrush where it’s hanging off his mouth.

You’re both in your shared ensuite bathroom, getting ready for bed. Tom is wearing his joggers, you in shorts and a spaghetti strap top you’ve been using to sleep during the warmer nights. He doesn’t say anything yet, but after you inspect his frowning gaze in the mirror and he spits into the sink, he shrugs and says, “I know my brothers do.” Next he goes back to brushing his teeth, like he hadn’t just said that.

A stupid answer to a stupid question, you think. You laugh nonetheless. He makes a fair point.

“We don’t, right?” you insist, going back to your night routine.

“I don’t think so, I mean,” he wipes his face with a towel and stands there, all ready for bed. “I’m not home for about half the year, so it makes sense that when I am… y’know.”

“Yeah.”

That’s what you thought as well, but you have been wondering about the other side of the picture. You do have roommates, and you’re all going to have partners at some point, so it would make sense to dial it down a little and keep things private. The reputation of the house is bad enough from how many occupants it has. Five dudes and you, that would raise some relevant questions.

“No, you’re right. I was just, um, y’know, just asking.”

“Don’t listen to Harry, it’s not like we haven’t seen his bum… or worse in my case, am I right?” Tom points out with a smack of his lips.

Again, he makes a fair point.

On your way out of the bathroom in silence, Tom walks ahead and opens the bedding for you, as per usual. Even in bed he’s a gentleman, that’s so freaking unnerving. He’s too good. Why wouldn’t you have sex so regularly with him? Ugh.

“Did you have a good Pussy Lickin’ Weekend, baby?” you ask him, honestly curious. You don’t want to start anything, hopefully the fact that you’re lying in bed and pulling the covers over you will tell him just so.

“It’s only Saturday night, darlin’,” he replies with a giggle, wiggling his eyebrows. He’s only just draping his first leg under the bedding, but he immediately crawls to the middle of the bed, making grabby hands at you.

“Oh but you’re done,” you tell him rather firmly.

He laughs and tugs you into his embrace, spreading silly little kisses all over your face. When he rolls onto his back, pulling you over him, he smiles his flirtatious smile and says, “That’s what you think.”

“God…” you almost whine, rolling your eyes half in exasperation at his neverending libido, half in delight at his suggestion. A boyfriend who never gets tired of sexing you up, that’s a first.

“It’s Tom, actually.”

You caress his cheek and down to his shoulder, tracing the top and his clavicle with a finger right after. When you look back up, he’s got his tongue peeking at the corner of his mouth.

“Blep,” you say, sticking your tongue out at him, very briefly, like a cat would. Like his kitten would. Curious like one, you ask, “Not thinking about golf, are you?”

“Not at all…”

His reaction is endearing as fuck. He’s still got that stupid beautiful smile teasing at his lips, then he licks them slowly before he licks yours, craning his neck further to collect your mouth into a proper kiss. You chuckle and hum and melt into it by instinct, slithering your tongue inside to harvest the very obvious taste of spearmint from the back of his teeth.

“Okay,” you say when you pull back, chest panting a little from the kiss. Tom’s face is swarming with desire and a cheeky silent proposal. You tilt your head at him and ignore the tongue that keeps teasing you from the corner of his mouth, then say, “I think we’re done for the night, champ.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he protests with a grunt, spreading his legs. You fall in the middle, and between the position and his tight grasp around your waist, it wouldn’t be easy to roll away from this spot. Not that you want to, it’s cozy and comfortable, his body welcoming and warm in a domestic way.

“Don’t listen to those guys, they love it.”

“They what?” You frown.

“They love it… for me, that’s what I meant,” he says with a little laugh.

“Mhmm, sure.”

Tom’s face is lit up in his bliss, either from his usual perkiness, or from the many orgasms he’s managed to literally suck out of you today. And the one you sucked out of him. He pecks and growls into your neck, rolling you over until you lie on your back, on your side of the bed. You spread your legs for him now, letting him rest there. Just him, no second intentions. Except he asks, “Ready for your night class with your expert cunnilinguist?”

“My what?” you giggle. You understand what he’s saying, familiar with the expression he’s trying to invoke here, but he modified it in a way you’d never heard before. “Where’d you learn that word?”

“I dunno,” he says, muffled by your neck where he’s licking you. “Somewhere.” He drops another lick, now much closer to your shoulder, dragging the tip of his tongue down the side of the strap resting on your skin. “Does it matter?”

When he starts kissing further down and tugging on the fabric to expose your breast, you rest a hand on the nape of his neck. You want to tell him to stop, but his mouth is so hot when he wraps it around your nipple, and his tongue is so wet when he licks the little nub up and down, several times in a row, hardening it even though your mind is empty of naughty thoughts. So you embrace it for a little while, popping out your other breast and guiding his face to it so he’ll tend to both sides of your chest.

Yet the second his fingers dribble over the hem of your sleeping shorts, you force your eyes open and pat the top of his head.

“Tom, I meant it,” you hum, back arching up after he stops licking your chest. “Fuck. Sorry, but, um, I really think we’re done for the night.”

The truth is that you’re a little sore. You know he’ll understand, so you’d rather stop him early before he thinks you’re trapping him into sex and then pulling back at the last minute. Understanding, Tom sits up on his knees between your legs and pulls on the hem of your shorts, slapping them back against your hips.

“But the weekend isn’t over yet,” he pouts, puppy dog eyes and everything. “And it’s Pussy Lickin’ Weekend, baby, it’s a big deal,” he reminds you with a smirk. It’s the same expression he’s been saying to you all day, but in a completely different tone. He’s all pitiful and supplicant now, but when you shove his face away with your palm over it, he laughs.

“Mhmm, but sadly this pussy hurts, so no licking for you, champ.”

“Well, you know what?” He grins. His hands rest on the outer sides of your hips now, thumb rubbing the skin between the two pieces of clothing you’re wearing. In return, you caress his bicep a couple of times, moving your hand down to grasp his. He uses that to tug on your arm hard enough that you slide off the mattress with a laugh, eventually following his silent instruction and sitting up to stay at the level of his face.

“I think I could kiss it all better, kitten,” he purrs, nuzzling his nose into your cheek. “Call me Dr. Holland, if you will.”

“Dr. Holland, expert in—”

“Cunnilinguist,” he finishes the sentence for you. You giggle at his cheeky expression. “It’s cunnilinguist, darlin’.”

“Anyway, doctor,” you say with a shake of your head. “My back hurts too. From that rock in the garden you so badly wanted to fuck me on, remember?” He nods, the most pleased and proud expression on his face. You kiss it away, just so you won’t have to look at it anymore. “And I don’t think you can heal that with a tongue, so…”

“Is that a challenge?”

You giggle at him and say, “No.”

Tom grins in response and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you back down and rolling just enough that you’re both lying down on the bed. “It was hot, though. Tell me it wasn’t hot.”

“It wasn’t hot.”

He gasps. “Excuse me?!”

“You asked me to tell you that!” you laugh, shoving him away when he threatens to tickle your sides. “Get the fuck off me, or I’ll call Harry.”

“Which one of them?” he teases back jokingly, tickling you anyway. You almost kick him in the face to avoid his touch.

With an eye-roll, and still reeling him in by the shoulders for a hug, you peck his mouth a couple of times, sort of as an apology for what you said. It was a joke, because he did ask you to say it wasn’t hot, of course, so you settle back down and say, “Yes, it was very hot.”

“Fucking knew it.” He grins up at you, hand softly resting on the small of your back as you cuddle up to him.

“If you couldn’t tell from the double orgasm…” you add. “Will you let me sleep now?”

You expect an answer from him since he has stopped making advances, always respectful when you say no, the same way you are when he happens to not be in the mood. Still, he responds with another question, “Can I wake you up with my tongue?”

You roll your eyes at his suggestion, but the idea isn’t that bad. You can’t imagine anything better than his hot, wet, skilled, perfect tongue licking you awake.

“I love Pussy Lickin’ Weekend, baby.”

~ ⛳️ ~

fantasyverse masterpost « · » main masterlist

final note » this is it, the end of the fantasyverse. thank you for all your support and kind words

#fantasyverse #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #holland #b writes

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uniquevocashark · 8 months

Text

The Forbidden Happy End fic part 3

yeah this is gay nonsense, send post

wherein Alcina and Igraine have a proper reunion

trigger warnings for breaking and entering, possessive behaviour, cannibalism, manipulation, mild torture, problematic lesbians

It had been a long day. Igraine’s skin had grown back too tightly along her abdomen, which pulled and pinched with every movement she made. She had endured far too many examinations; they had drawn blood from her fourteen times that day, and she had been in three different machines that she didn’t have a name for. And the three hours she spent arguing with a doctor and then with a soldier over her brain scans had tired her more than she would admit; it was their own fault for not being qualified in the first place. She rubbed her nose, and cringed when it crunched, the sound reverberating through her skull.

Her day had started at six am; she wandered into her apartment thirteen hours later and the carpeted floor of the lounge looked so inviting she almost passed out from the sight of it.

Her days would, eventually, even back out into only mild paranoia where people only marginally felt affronted when she walked around. But not today.

“Hard day?”

Igraine pursed her lips. She leaned against the doorway to hide her jump. There, reading through one of the books Igraine had bought to fill a shelf, was Lady Dimitrescu. She was squeezed onto the loveseat with her legs stretched out in front of her. She had moved the coffee table to accommodate her legs, about half a meter, though her feet still touched the edge of it.

Igraine hadn’t designed the lounge to be used, precisely, and so moving the table had left the entire effect she was going for fall apart; Lady Dimitrescu’s presence struck a thrum of anxiety through her, pleasantly uncomfortable.

“Not really.” Igraine answered eventually. She pretended as if her delay was because she was checking the door, where she found the door slightly ajar with the lock broken as if someone had taken an axe and cleaved it in two. Or a very sharp claw. At least she didn’t have to pay for it.

“You’ve broken the lock.”

Lady Dimitrescu, pretending obsession in her book, didn’t raise her head. “And?”

“It’s inconvenient.”

“You didn’t notice.”

“I did.” Igraine lied.

Lady Dimitrescu raised a brow.

“I did.” She repeated.

She stalked away, closer to stumbling, and in the twelve minutes it took her to stop her shaking hands she managed to make a cold cup of tea. She had noticed, uncomfortably, how aware the adrenaline had made her. She could hear the swish of Lady Dimitrescu’s skirt as she moved, leisurely, from room to room. Igraine finished one cup and made another in the time that it took Lady Dimitrescu to finish her circuit. The caffeine tingled uncomfortably on Igraine’s tongue; she’d have to give it up soon.

Lady Dimitrescu had come up behind her, taken both of Igraine’s hands in her own, and forced the cup to her lips. Igraine drank the cold dredges of tea before Lady Dimitrescu pulled the cup away, as easily as picking a ripe fruit. She sent the cup down without a sound, leaning with both hands over Igraine.

She leaned against the counter, toying with the mug. This was a test, Igraine was sure of it, as sure as she was that the mug in her hand was made of glass and the counter beneath her was made of varnished wood. What she wasn’t sure of was why. Her thoughts were syrupy nonsense; she had not slept the past two nights and had neglected to eat the whole day.

“You’re slow, darling,” Lady Dimitrescu slid her hand under Igraine’s chin, tilting it back until Igraine was staring up at her. “Did your pretty little brain rot in that pretty little skull of yours?”

Igraine scoffed a minute later, sounding weak and lame even to herself, “No.”

She rubbed a thumb over Igraine’s cheek and leaned on the counter more heavily. It should have been awkward, with the height difference. Her kiss was like a soft touch, the bumping of apples together as they landed into a basket; a brush of her lips to Igraine’s.

Igraine sagged, full bodied, slipping from Alcina’s hold as water does from a pitcher. She blinked and found that she was on the floor, and Alcina, bemused, staring down at her.

“You’re exhausted, little mouse.”

Someone had dressed Alcina in an ugly pair of large boots, grey not black. It didn’t matter, though it did, “a bit.”

“Up.”

Igraine took a deep breath then forced herself up. Her legs were like water, and every muscle in her arm was aching for some rest. She could sleep on the kitchen floor if she thought Lady Dimitrescu would not kill her for such poor manners. Lady Dimitrescu’s face was one of mild interest; it was all in her eyes, however, as if her mouth had forgotten how to move. It made Igraine sick with relief; a smile would have meant death.

She couldn’t find her tongue; she rose unsteadily, and when Lady Dimitrescu moved, she moved with her instinctively.

She should have been concerned, even mildly, that Alcina knew the layout of her home. Igraine felt only a long spindle of relief unwind in her chest; she didn’t have the head to speak at the moment, and still the floor seemed to call at her like a siren. It would be so easy to lay down and sleep.

“Now,” Lady Dimitrescu tossed Igraine onto the bed. Igraine sat up before she could relax into the beds comfort and away from the smell of perfume. Lady Dimitrescu had been here, for a while. “Stay there.”

Alcina eased her shoes off, then popped the buttons lining the back of her dress. It was a plain dress; black, with three buttons near the nape. She wasn’t wearing underwear, though Igraine supposed that custom sized underwear wasn’t precisely high on the list of things to order. She had a pair of shorts on instead, which she stripped without care, and tossed across the room as surely as if she owned the place.

“I own you, and so I own this place,” Alcina said, pulling her hair tie free. It was as short as ever, but had not been curled properly, so the usual bouncy quality it had was missing. Her skin was a supple grey, and her body, newly made, was still adorned in her gorgeous silvery stretch marks. Igraine, remembering herself, looked aside politely. “Do you disagree?”

Igraine kept to her silence, looking for a lie and coming up short. She did not disagree, and that thought seemed to cause Alcina’s lips to twitch upwards, just a bit. Igraine turned her head aside fully, away from her Lady’s nudity, and undressed herself carefully. She removed her blouse and jacket to avoid the buttons digging into her, keeping only a singlet and her skirt on, and moved as far to one side as she could. The mattress was a double queen-sized bed, and thus too small for her Lady, who had to curl to fit her legs on it. Igraine felt a jolt of shame for her carelessness and then scolded herself for thinking of it as carelessness. When she had forced the organisation to get the bed, Alcina had been dead for several years; yet.

Alcina forced her head down with a finger, “Quiet.”

Igraine gave a token resistance, uncertain whether the gentleness was a prelude to her death or not. She decided it didn’t matter. “I am.”

Alcina put a finger to her lips, “Your opinion is not important. Be silent and rest.”

Igraine cringed, stifling the reflexive apology crouching on her tongue. She opted for a pout instead, kept hidden by turning her face into the pillow. Her mind was whirring, the way a broken clocked whirred; she could not seem to think of much else but the danger in Alcina’s mannerisms, and how alarmingly easy her body reacted.

She didn’t want to sleep, but her eyes dropped and closed against her wishes.

…

Igraine arranged her cosmetics by colour, then by fullness level and then by hue. In the mirror she could see Alcina, still nude, reclining against her pillows with a look that was coldly interested. Igraine remembered only snippets from last night; she had spent some hours dozing, failing to fall fully asleep, waking at some points to the sting of Alcina’s claws along her skin. Igraine’s singlet had disappeared sometime in the night and in the morning she had found it in shreds. In the mirror after a shower she found the lengthy list on her back, in scrawling Romanian that she couldn’t read. Her back should have healed; the lines ached slightly, when she had tried to touch them, her fingers had curled as if repulsed. The list was too long to be innocuous.

Her face was marked too; she had been awake for those. Alcina had bent over and bitten her cheeks, tearing a chunk of the left off and draining the blood from the right. And she had planted another kiss, this one hard and full of teeth, bruising Igraine’s lips and snapping the tip of her tongue off.

It was too much to think about.

She tied her wet hair up, rearranged her cosmetics, again, by company, and began painting her face on. It wasn’t much of a difference; she smoothed away the red marks across her cheeks and the bruising around her lips was hidden with a careful blot of overly thick lipstick. Even still, she looked harrowed and exhausted.

“Does that little ritual help you?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Igraine dabbed at her face with a tissue, “You’re very chatty.”

She watched Alcina raise a brow. When she said nothing, Igraine threw her tissue in the bin, “You came to me.”

Alcina exhaled— a sigh would be too charitable a reading of the sound— stretching her body out before curling back up. She turned on her side. “So I did.”

Igraine waited, but when Alcina did not speak again, she started drying her hair with a towel. Alcina sat in a contemplative kind of silence, watching her so closely Igraine could feel herself sweating over the water still resting on her neck.

Igraine took the hour to dress, and in that time the sun rose fully and snuggled under a blanket of clouds. Igraine looked back at Alcina many times over the hour; she had the blanket thrown over her hips, and tucked under her head was every pillow Igraine owned. She looked cramped and casual, but Igraine knew she could kill just as easily from that position as any other.

Igraine looked away when Alcina opened one eye, focusing on fixing the alignment of her perfectly aligned collar. She didn’t really need to get going for another hour; she had used her hunger as an excuse not to stay in bed, and then her sweat, but she longed for nothing more than to be back under those covers with Alcina. It just felt odd for her to stay, unworthy.

“Come back to bed, Igraine.”

By an effort, Igraine stayed at her desk, banishing all thoughts of the warmth. “Why are you here?”

Alcina didn’t respond, extending her claws instead and then tucking them away.

“You were very clear,” Igraine offered tentatively, “and you are not one to change your mind lightly.”

Alcina was more forceful, “Come here.”

Igraine looked over. She had jerked in her chair unthinkingly; her whole body had turned, and she had prepared to step up.

The smell of Alcina’s blood was earthy and unmistakable. Alcina breathed out through her mouth, and again there was a whiff of it. Igraine was thrumming with the urge to get closer; she resisted slightly, though she knew her desperation was plain. If she tried, she could think of something that would help her endure the torture, to relinquish herself to her new, boring life. She didn’t.

Alcina’s mouth was bleeding, somewhere, so very close, “Come. Here.”

Alcina patted the mattress and Igraine relented, crinkling her freshly ironed clothes as she laid on the bed as close as she was comfortable going and a ruler’s length closer still. Alcina leaned closer, covering Igraine’s body easily; she was warm from basking in the sun and softer than the sheets. She placed her hand on Igraine’s cheek as one would with a dog and then ground her teeth together with a horrible squelch; her breath was loud in Igraine’s ears, unmissable and real.

Alcina leaned over, her lips gently parted, and the smell of blood oozed, potent, from her lips.

Igraine tingled all over. Alcina looked at her bemused, though she did not smile. Igraine hesitated and slowly opened her mouth; Alcina’s severed tongue slithered past her lips, splattering blood over Igraine’s face and then into her waiting mouth. She swallowed it without chewing. It tasted like mold, all encompassing, and caught somewhere high in her throat before even half of it was down. Alcina’s hand clamped over her mouth casually, and she used the light from the sun to inspect her nails as Igraine choked and struggled underneath her.

She scratched at Alcina hand, but Alcina would not budge. So she swallowed, horribly, painfully; rewarded with the sight of her Lady’s full blooming smile.

#the forbidden happy end fic #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x oc #alcina dimitrescu #the forbidden happy end fic part 3 #my writing #igraine wesker chief of castle staff

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jerzwriter · 1 year

Text

Just a Kiss

Book: Wake the Dead (prequel)

Pairing: Troy Hassan, F!MC (Zoe Rivera)

Rating: Teen

Category: Fluff - First Kiss

Summary: When Zoe is worried, she knows who to call for assistance. But how will troy handle her request?

Words: 1024

A/N: I decided to try @creativepromptsforwriting 30-Day Writing Challenge, and I promised myself I'd keep each entry under 600 words. Well, fail. lol I'll try again tomorrow :) Also participating in @choicesjanuarychallenge Day 24 Friends

WTD Masterlist 30-Day Challenge Masterlist

Troy belongs to Pixelberry Studios, Zoe is kind of mine.

It was already nine o’clock, an hour after The Tower’s curfew, when Troy entered the cafeteria with his signature grin and swagger. Effervescent and bright, one would never know he was breaking a half-dozen rules that could land him sewage duty… or far worse.

Across the room, his best friend Zoe was a portrait of contrast. Glum and worried, she barely cracked a smile when he glanced her way. He shimmied along the edge of the wall, the one place surveillance cameras couldn’t reach, then tossed an apple her way as he approached her. Finally! A smile. After all, apples were a rare treat.

“How’d you score this?” she asked.

Grabbing her nose between his fingers, he smirked. “A gentleman never gives up his sources.”

A thunderous snort escaped from her nose, and even the unflappable Troy’s eyes filled with fear as it echoed through the cavernous room.

“Shhhh! You’re the one who's going to get us caught!”

“Oh, where’s all that bravado now, Mr. Hassan? I’m sorry, it was just the mention of you and gentleman in the same sentence….”

“Hey! I can be gentle… and I’m a man… so I qualify.”

Zoe raised a brow. “Your source wouldn’t be Leah, would it?” She asked, biting into the juicy apple. “I’m sure cozying up to one of the commander’s daughters has its benefits.”

“I’m not cozying up to her…” he started, but when their eyes met, he gave in. He could lie to her, not even as kids. “OK, so there’s some cozying. But you’re benefiting from my sacrifice,” he laughed, watching her devour the delicious fruit. “So I guess it all works out.”

“Right…That’s why you’re cozying up to her,” Zoe laughed.

“OK, enough about me,” he diverted. “What’s got you so down?”

“I’m not down,” she shrugged.

“Zo, try that with someone else. But can’t fool your best friend of twelve years.”

“Who says you’re my best friend,” she teased. Quickly surrendering, she bumped her shoulder against his. “OK, you are!”

“So, what’s going on?”

“I’m not down… I’m scared.”

“You don’t scare easily.”

“I do when Zaid asks me out. We have a date next week.”

“Nice! Zoe, you’re sixteen, you’ve been crushing on him for a year… I say this is long overdue.”

“Well, that’s kind of the problem.”

“You’re losing me, Zo.”

“Everyone has dated except me… I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“Just go with it,” he assured. “You’re a quick learner. You’ll be fine.”

She sighed, falling back against the wall. “And what if… what if he wants to kiss me.”

“Then kiss him.”

“But, I’ve never kissed anyone before….”

“Ohhhh. I see. Don’t worry, it’s easy. Just do what comes naturally. You can’t screw it up.”

“You’re full of shit! How many hours have I spent listening to you bitching about how poorly half the girls in the colony kiss! I don’t want Zaid telling someone that about me!”

“I need to stop being so honest,” he grimaced. “But I think you’ll nail it.”

“Oh, I will. Because you’re going to help me practice!”

She stifled a chuckle when he turned, his face ashen and his eyes wide with shock.

“Did I manage to render the great Troy Hassan speechless?”

“It’s just… just… us? Kiss?”

“Don’t get all excited. I’m just using you as a test dummy. Plus, if I’m to believe all the rumors, you’re pretty good at it.”

“Well…” he snickered. “If we’re being honest….”

“Then, kiss me? Come on, Troy! I just don’t want to make an ass out of myself.”

“Zoe…” he stuttered. “It’s just… awkward.”

She defiantly folded her arms in front of her chest as she defended her stance.

“Troy! I’m probably the only person in the colony you haven’t kissed… what’s one more.”

“But what if….”

Resting her chin on her hand, she sneered. “Don’t worry, Troy, it’s not going to make me fall madly in love with you.”

“HA! I wouldn’t count on that!” He laughed. “OK, come here.”

Zoe scooted over and sat, legs crisscrossed, on the floor in front of him. They stared at each other anxiously for what probably amounted to seconds, but the unusual discomfort between them made it feel much longer. Zoe’s desire for that awkwardness to end finally propelled her forward. Her lips puckered, she placed a gentle peck on his mouth.

With their eyes still open, they stared at each other, unsure what to do, when Troy slipped his hand behind her neck and pulled her into a tender kiss. Her heart was racing when her lips parted, and she felt his tongue against hers. After a moment, Troy deepened the kiss ever so slightly as she let out a tiny whimper. She put her hands on his shoulders and gently pushed away, placing one more kiss on the corner of his mouth before she sat up.

“So, that’s what everyone makes such a fuss over?” She blushed.

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled. “That’s it.”

“I have to admit, it was kind of nice. Was I any good? Would you know I was a beginner?”

Troy chuckled as his head tilted to the side. “You were great. I told you you’d be a natural.”

“Oh, Yey!!!” She squealed, clapping her hands lightly.

Then she caught a glimpse of the clock. “Oh, shit! It’s almost 9:30. I promised Ana I’d be back by 9:30 sharp! She’s going to kill me!”

“Then you better go, but Zo… please don’t tell her.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? She’d literally kill you!”

Zoe bolted toward the door, moving as quickly as possible without being detected, but she stopped just before exiting.

“Troy?” She said, looking over her shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. I’m kind of glad you were my first kiss.”

With his mind in a bit of a fog, “Uh, anytime,” was all he could muster.

With one last bright smile, Zoe was gone, and Troy slumped against the wall. She was right; he had kissed many before her, but this was the first time he kissed his best friend, and while Zoe traipsed happily back to her room, Troy stood up more baffled than ever before.

Permatags: @a-crepusculo @animesuck3r @annoyingmillenialnewbie @crazy-loca-blog @differenttyphoonwerewolf @doriopenheart @fayeswiftie @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @inlocusmads @jamespotterthefirst @jennieausten @kingliam2019 @liaromancewriter @lucy-268 @onikalover @openheartforeverinmyheart @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @secretaryunpaid @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction @jerzwriter-reblogs-asks @choicesficwriterscreations

WTD Only: @kyra75 @cariantha @lilyoffandoms @missameliep

30-Day Challenge: @mydemonsdrivealimo

#playchoices fanfic #wake the dead #wake the dead choices #troy hassan #choices fanfic #30-day writing challenge #day 1 #first kiss #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week

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llyncooljones · 1 year

Text

behind the scenes - twelve days of rowaelin '22

ao3 || masterlist || twelve days of rowaelin ‘22 masterlist

prompt: accidental mistletoe.

word count: 1357

trigger warnings: language, sexual themes

tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn @rowanaelinn @autumnbabylon @leiawritesstories @backtobl4ck @letstakethedawn @rowaelinscourt

their wedding, the speeches.

“As I believe many of you know, it’s traditional for the maid of honour to give a speech, for the best man to give a speech, and for the father of the bride to give a speech. Unfortunately, I am not giving any of my friends the chance to tell you about my wild younger years, nor am I giving my husband’s best friends the chance to ruin a two-hour-long marriage. And finally, my father is dead, so no speech from him. Quite frankly, as I stand before you many of you will be shocked to find that the bride giving a speech, nor the groom.

“The thing is, my husband can be a shy man—which you wouldn’t guess given the places we’ve had sex and the number of times we’ve been discovered. These statistics would give the impression that we are shameless perverts—which is correct. Thankfully, my parents are dead, so they didn’t have to hear me say that. My husband, the shameless pervert he is, would hate to have to stand up in front of you, and tell you the story which kick-started arguably the best love story of this century.

“Lucky for all of you, I am shameless beyond sex, so you will hear the origin story of The Newly Wedded Whitethorn-Galathynius’. In fact, you shall the origin story which the Whitethorn half of The Whitethorn-Galathynius’ hasn’t heard. Babe, this one’s for you.”

where it all began

senior year of high school, the winter formal.

Aelin’s dress was by far the best dress on the dance floor. A mixture of Christmas songs, slow dances, and pop was playing over the ancient sound system in the school’s gymnasium. Snowflakes and angels were projected onto the wall, whilst cheap baubles hung from the ceiling. Tinsel adorned the few high tables in the corners, whilst Christmas trees stood on either side of the snack table.

It was the perfect setting, the perfect atmosphere for the beginning of a romance.

Aelin had made sure of it. She’d spent all her afternoons since being elected on the dance committee absorbed in her Pinterest account, saving ideas and aesthetics, scrolling through so Instagram pages her fingers hurt, googling so many colours palettes and decorations suppliers her internet connection lagged.

This was all to say, that she was in control. She hadn’t come off as a control freak, and as cruel, ignorant, and rude to many of her peers for nothing. She had done it all for them. She’d had help, of course.

She couldn’t orchestrate the entire foundation for a relationship just by herself.

All summer she had taken dance lessons from the community centre, afterwards consulting with Lysandra to translate dance to cheer. She’d spent much of summer hanging out with Lysandra and Elide practising her dance and cheer moves, often on the outskirts of the field, the soon-to-be-senior boys played their pick-up football matches.

This time was also used to eavesdrop and find out where his interests were, what he was curious about, and what he liked in a girl. The last one was the most difficult because no matter how hard his—shockingly gossipy—friends tried to get him to talk about the hottest girls in school, he refused. Said he wasn’t going to be so blatantly sexist—Aelin had wobbled in her cartwheel when he’d said that, promptly spraining her ankle.

Aelin’s ankle had still been strapped up with tape and bandages, unable to try out for cheer during the week before school began, but she had watched Lysandra’s tryouts. Which had turned into watching the football tryouts, on the opposite side of the field.

He had waved at her as he walked off, and her heart stopped and kickstarted each time. She realised she was just a teenage girl with a crush, but what did that matter? Wasn’t being a teenager all about having stupid, unattainable crushes, on people you like superficially?

She was merely doing what teenagers did. That’s how she reasoned with herself at least, she was kept up at night by her own thoughts, calling her creepy. But she ignored them when she fell asleep, into dreams of a future with Rowan.

For the rest of the semester, Rowan had waved when he saw her, and she would wave back—ducking her head, or swiftly turning around so he wouldn’t see the blush that raced up her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose.

But now, she was drinking spiked punch out of a tiny, plastic cup and waiting for the moment. The perfect moment. The moment she had planned, the moment she had thought out so carefully, there was no way it could go wrong.

Her favourite song would begin playing—the song she’d been raving about in chemistry, in chemistry where Rowan sits just in front of her, hoping she would get to dance to it, with someone. She’d been planting the idea for so, infiltrating his mind like no one would believe, that if it did go wrong she was liable to explode and cover everyone with over-worked, non-sensical brain matter. But her heart would remain intact.

Trying to locate Rowan, she wandered around the school gymnasium and marvelled at how well the dance committee had handled her dream, her image, her moment. She was worried, that they wouldn’t take her blackmail seriously—but clearly, they had, and they had delivered on the aspect.

She could jump, she was so happy.

She stopped on the fringes of the dance floor and spotted Rowan weaving his way through dancing couples, and the few solo dancers who jumped around during a slow dance. He caught her eye, waving as he always did before his eyes flicked up—above her head. He smiled and dodged further couples, heading for her.

“Aelin, hi.” He was breathless, and his eyes sparkled. She was endeared by it, she didn’t usually consider that teenage boys had sparkling eyes. Clearly, she needed to spend more time considering because she was so absorbed in them that she didn’t realise he’s said something else.

She just nodded, unable to think up the right excuse.

He leant in, hands slipping to cradle her neck and chin, a thumb caressing her cheek. She could barely take in all the points of contact, couldn’t even make sense of it all. Not before his lips hit her own, and the world seemed to go silent, only the beating of her heart audible. And maybe the calmer thrumming of his.

He pulled back, his face serene and pleased, dropping as he stares at her longer, and longer. Never taking his eyes off hers. Aelin can feel the blank expression on her face, shock disallowing the muscles in her cheeks to work. She was unfrozen, and the brightest grin overtook, warming the world with its shine.

“What did you do that for?” she questioned and didn’t pinch herself even if she felt the need to—this couldn’t be a dream.

“The mistletoe, right above you. I told you—you nodded. I thought you were stood under it on purpose, to make sure we kissed.”

“Yeah, I stood here on purpose, mistletoe is always handy.”

No, I stood here not realising there was mistletoe above my head, we were supposed to slow dance and murmur quiet conversations, until the song ended, and I beckoned you down for a kiss. I was supposed to take the credit. Now the fucking mistletoe can.

the wedding, the speeches

“And to conclude, I can in fact say it was all me—even if he took the time to kiss me, and spot the mistletoe, which I stood under accidentally. Because if I hadn’t been obsessed and learning cheer to be a cheerleader to his football player, I would not have been on the field in time to sprain my ankle at the sight of him. Which lead to the wave, which ultimately lead to our kiss, and this wedding.”

The crowd cheered, and clapped, and Rowan could only stare at his wife, and could only love all the creepy, obsessed parts of her.

#twelve days of rowaelin #12 days of rowaelin #llyncooljones' writing #rowaelin fic #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #tog #throne of glass fic #throne of glass #my fic #my writing

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ssplague · 2 years

Text

Chapter 15

Masterlist

‼️Trigger warnings‼️

Sex, manipulation, toxic relationships, yandere, romanticized abuse, verbal abuse, degradation, Narcissistic family, mental illness/instability, delusional thinking, drug use leading to inevitable abuse, hallucinations, gas lighting, hostage situation, fractured psyche, co-dependency, enabling

✨A/N: I’m sorry for such a long wait you guys, truly I am 😣 I got over half of this chapter written and then I just kept hating the various continuations I’d add in. Things get a little hysterical at the end, but remember this is a YANDERE story and it’s honestly been extremely tame thus far. I meant it when I said things were going to start becoming unhinged 😵‍💫 I redid the banner animation again, I think I finally got it right this time 🤗

📑 HONORABLE MENTIONS📭

@angie-1306 @marifujioka @im1nobody @atmyhet @elaineplayz @rainstorm22 @bi-polar-pandas @itadakimasu @cr-33-d @winchescumberholland @po3ticb3auty @maggiecc @lordmypantsaresocool @shoslutt @venussakura @comfycozy @lilmad13 @lunamoonbby @youdoyou-andiwilldome @bookandstar @coffeeginie @bubblebombxbitch @presidentmonica @villanessnoblegirl @ss-aki @girlwithnokatsuki @lizethecookie01

The formatting is all kinds of fucked up AGAIN 🫥 Please excuse it

🏦 💥 💰 ❄️ 🕳

This is Latashia Jackson coming to you live from just a block west of the metropolitan bank in downtown Mustafu, a hijacking’s currently in place and we’ve just received word that the villains have at least twelve individuals held hostage inside. The police department has the entire street blocked off and are working together with the heroes on scene to resolve this incident as quickly and safetly as possibles

You frown as you stare up at the huge building infront of you, glancing down at your phone screen again and again as you circle it. Finally coming to a stop once you find what you were looking for. “You figure something out?” Shotou’s voice comes from behind you, making you jump. “I pulled up the blue prints of the structure online, the building has tunnels running beneath it that lead into the sewer system, if the hostages are being held where we believe they are, then this tunnel will give us direct access to them” you finish your explanation and finally take a breath, your stoic classmate nods his head as the side of his mouth quirks upwards in a lopsided grin, “I take it you weren’t planning on sharing this information with the others?”.

“We don’t need a large group for this cramped type of infiltration, and you already know they are going to have to pull up the blue prints and outline them before even making an attempt at entering” you gesture to what looks like a man hole beside the building “If the two of us go in, we can each take a group of 6 down the parallel running paths in the sewer and emerge on opposite sides of the street, leading to a low risk, simple evacuation”.

The smooth reply Todoroki is known for has you smiling as the two of you lock eyes” Then by all means, lead the way”.

Ground Zero was growing increasingly more frustrated as each minute he spent stationary grates on his nerves.

For the past few hours at least he’d had his princess nearby, her presence and subtle touches were just enough to keep his ire from exploding outwards.

He’d literally turned his back for a second and when he turned back around she was gone. He couldn’t go around yelling for her, so instead he’d taken to standing off to the side of the crowd, just close enough to over hear what was happening.

“Ah um..Kaachan have you seen Todoroki around? I guess I lost track of him, but I’ve walked back and forth-“

“What did you say?!” Katsuki explodes forward to grab ahold of the now startled Izuku “How longs it been since you last saw him?!”.

“I’d say about twenty minutes ago?” Deku offers nervously, only to realize his mistake instantly.

“She took off somewhere with him! Where the fuck are they?! I’ll skin that bastard alive!” The blonde was so angry he was snarling like a rabid dog at this point. “Please calm down Kaachan before anyone notices or hears what you’re saying, I know you’re upset but remember where we are right now” the green haired boy pleads with his furious rival. “I know that you damn nerd, don’t need your pathetic ass telling me shit” comes Katsuki’s gruff reply, slipping back on the look of cold indifference that would soon bring many a fan girl to their knees. Although, he would care for none of them, in this moment as well as in the rest of his life, Katsuki would always have only one female in his heart and in any time of her absence, constantly on his mind.

“We should be below the vault in another half mile” you whisper to Shoto as the two of you trek through the sewer. Sure enough you come to a halt once you reach an old metal latter leading up to a steel trap door. You climb it and immediately put your ear to the door; You hear quiet sobbing and some shuffling, taking a chance you quietly whisper “Can anyone hear me?”. You hear an abrupt gasp from above and something sliding across the trap door “I’m a hero, I’ve come to save you…Is anyone standing guard over you guys?”. A few whispers filled the air above and finally a soft female voice responds “They come to check on us once every ten minutes, Mike how long has it been since the guy last came to check on us?” A male voice now replies “It’s been two minutes and thirty five seconds since the last check”. You turn towards Shoto and he gives an affirmative nod, “I’m going to open the trap door and all of you are going to calmly hurry down the latter so we can lead you to safety”.

The hostages are surprisingly cooperative as they ensure to remain quiet and move quickly down into the sewer with you and Shoto. When the last one comes down you get back up and silently latch the trap door.

“How much time until the next check?”

“One minute and fifteen seconds”

“Come this way, Quickly” you start a brisk walk down the path you’d came.

“The door blended in with the tiles, surely that should buy us some time?” A woman behind you asks. “Not really, once they watch the surveillance footage they’ll know exactly where we went” replies a man behind her.

Once you reach the separate paths you take six people and Todoroki takes six people, carefully helping an elderly woman onto his back, he looks at you and you smile “See you on the surface”.

“Right” he nods and you guys head after your individual groups. Your group reaches the evacuation point within five minutes, and now you stand guard watching the second person start up the latter leading towards safety, then the third, and once the fourth starts, you hear it.

“Someone’s coming, please hurry you guys, I’ll hold them back as long as I’m able!” You whispered urgently, a young woman grabs your arm “No please come with us! We can’t leave you!”.

You shake your head “It’s my job to ensure your safety miss, when my comrade gets up there let him know where I went and send him back down here, okay? Can you promise to do that for me?” She nods and let’s go of you. You get your game face on and head back out of the escape alcove; Remember, you are walking into this with no prior knowledge of what’s coming at you, be ready. It’s not long before Something whizzes past your ear before lodging itself into the concrete behind you. Followed by a loud cackling and a shrieked “Found you little rat!”.

When Todoroki emerged from the manhole with the elderly woman on his back he immediately looked around for you. A crowd of people had gathered around the now freed hostages who had managed to locate one another and now stand in a huddle. He’d carried the old woman to where the other’s were and once he set her down she thanked him profusely. Before he could respond, the booming voice of his father sounded in his ear “SHOTOU!” just as Endeavor began trying to question him, one of the women from the group reached out and grabbed hold of him “Your friend! Please! She’s still down there! They were coming after us and she went back to hold them off! Please you have to go down there and help her!” She was absolutely hysterical as she begged him to save you. Thanking the young woman and ensuring her he was going to rescue you, he’s quick to push past his father, “I don’t have time to explain right now! Y/N is still down there and needs help!” The hot and cold hero begins to hurry back towards the hole he’d crawled out of but was pushed out of the way by none other than Bakugou, who literally jumped down the hole. “I’ll go after him!” Mirko says, patting Shoto on the back, “She’s my student after all, take a break kid, you earned it”. With that she swiftly hopped down the man hole as well. Shoto clenched his fists in frustration; He wanted to fight by your side, he wanted to be the one that protected you, this was a major accomplishment for both of you and now he couldn’t even see it through to the end beside you.

🕳

“Shit” you growled as your arm was grazed by what felt like at least ten needles. They struck the wall behind you in a neat line, some had taken your flesh with them. The villan that came after you goes by the name “Seamstress” and her quirk is called “Needle point”; She can transform her split ends into sewing needles. The worst type of opponent for someone that is better suited to fighting close range. Your suit was torn and your skin had puncture wounds pouring blood everywhere. Surely that lady had told Todoroki to come help you by now, where was he? You were backed into a corner now dammit, should have paid closer attention to where you were running. Just as you were sure you would be skewered alive, the familar heat of an explosion warmed your face. Squinting your eyes against the bright light you see a familiar pair of bunny ears “Katsuki! Mirko!”.

Both of them relieved and happy to see you alive, expressing it in their own way;

“Hey there! Looks like you could use a hand! Or better yet a fist”

“You dumbass! What were you thinking?!?”

A shower of needles is easily reduced to ashes by your irate boyfriend and the brief but bright flash of light served as a good cover for your mentor to land a couple well aimed kicks to the psycho seamstress’s head, knocking her out cold. “Thank you for coming to get me you guys, she’d have turned me into a pin cushion if you were even a second later” you say this while trying to stand on shaking legs. Mirko really takes a good look at you after cuffing the unconscious woman, “Hey lover boy, how about you carry your lady out of here before she drops, I’ll take the dead weight here” after addressing Bakugou she carelessly slings the villan over her shoulder. Katsuki is silent as he knelt down for you to hop onto his back, you almost want to say no, but you think better of it.

The atmosphere is tense; You can sense the swirling emotions simmering beneath the surface, like magma slowly rising inside a volcano. You didn’t know what to say, your injuries were extensive to say the least, but nothing too bad. Though you could still feel where some of the needles had stuck into your skin and pierced muscle. Once you reached the surface you began to feel disoriented; All of the lights made your eyes sting and suddenly everything was just a blur of colors and chaotic energy, the sounds were like a blaring siren in your ears.

This was all too much…

You buried your face into the familiar warmth that you knew belonged to Katsuki, you were safe.

With that thought, you allowed yourself to embrace the silent and black void behind your eyelids.

When you open your eyes again, the dark and unfamiliar surroundings are initially frightening. As your blurred vision begins to right itself, you realize that you are in the school’s infirmary.

How long was I out for?

Your head ache comes back with a vengeance, lifting your arms you immediately notice the many bandages wrapped around them, as well as your legs. The butterfly bandaid on your hand makes you think you’d been hooked up to an IV at some point.

What the hell happened to me? Surely a bunch of pokes couldn’t have put you in that bad of shape.

Uneasiness engulfs you, the pain in your head is god awful, it’s as if trying to make any sort of recollections increases the pain somehow.

Why am I in here all alone?

A change of clothes lays at the foot of your bed and that’s when you finally noticed you only have your underwear on. Snatching up the sweater and yoga pants, you easily slipped the top over your head. Once you started trying to get out of bed to put on your pants, voices began to stir just outside the door.

“You really have some Fuckin’ balls to show up here knowing you aren’t wanted, tch, can’t say I’m suprised”Katsuki’s angry voice Is still loud, even when he’s attempting to be quiet.

“I’m just checking up on my classmate, should have known she’d have an attack dog guarding the door, why aren’t you inside with her?” Todoroki’s icy tone has a fiery edge to it as he addressed Bakugou. “I’m sitting out here because I knew you’d drag your sorry ass up here eventually, and I’m not letting you anywhere near her”.

So he had been with you this whole time! Even though he was angry with you when you’d blacked out. Listening to their conversation takes priority over getting your pants put on.

The hostility beyond the infirmary doorway is daunting; If you could see the air in the surrounding hallway it would surely be crackling with electricity. Or maybe the crackling was coming from hands that were undoubtedly beginning to spark. Though unsure if he was in a particularly talkative mood, or if Bakugou’s words had struck a nerve, Todoroki was quick to respond.

“Who are you to tell me what to do? Or to tell her who she can and can’t interact with?”

“Since her life and well being became my responsibility”

“Did she agree to that?”

“Of course she did!”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but In the past wasn’t the main issue between you two, that you were too controlling? Well that and a few other incidents were why she eventually ended things with you completely, no?”

Your heart skips a beat.

“We moved past that, and our relationship is stronger than it was then, she’s part of my family now, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand anything about that”

You can’t see it but both young men are glaring at one another as Katsuki’s words hang in the staticky air between them. It would have been impossible to not sense the anger in Shotou’s clipped reply, “I’ll talk to her another time then”.

“Don’t waste your time, go find someone else you icy hot bastard, because she’s not ever going to leave me for a pathetic loser like you”

You hear footsteps retreating down the hallway and then a heavy sigh from behind the door. A second later it opens and you quickly try to pull your pants on, but end up slipping and falling backwards on the bed.

“The hell are you doing?! You can’t be over exerting yourself!” The loud shout made you flinch and scoot backwards to avoid his touch, “Y/n come here I need to make sure your wounds haven’t reopened and that the bandages don’t need to be changed”.

“I can do it myself” you whimper, clutching your aching head.

It had to be something akin to primal instinct that was making you wary of Katsuki now that he was infront of your face. A feeling of dread grew in your gut each time he tried to grab for you.

The issue between you guys before…

What was it?

Closing your eyes to combat the painful spike in your headache, an image was projected of you staring in a mirror. You looked terrible; What had to of been Yesterdays make up, made you look like a raccoon, love bites and bruises covered your neck and chest. Swollen lips quiver as you cried quietly staring back at yourself.

The issue that lead to “the incident”

What was the incident? An accident of some kind?

The pain in your head was worsening as you tried to recall the memories. If it was causing you this much agony than it might just be better to stop attempting to trudge it back up at all.

“Y/n…” the gentle voice calling for you was not one you would attribute to the normally loud and brash individual before you. Katsuki sounded unsure, almost fearful as his hand reaches out towards you, the pain in his crimson eyes makes your heart ache.

“I would never hurt you, you love me remember? Please just…come here princess…that’s it, that’s my good girl, easy now” he was practically begging for you to come to him, and despite the initial distrust, you slowly crawled back towards him.

Once you were close enough Katsuki gave up on being timid; His arms wrapped around you quickly and pulled you against his chest. You allowed him to rock you gently as he coddled you, kissing, nuzzling your face all the while. You tried to close your eyes and relax, but every single time you just continued seeing your reflection in that mirror, the face of a broken woman. It was too much for you to process right now, so you kept your eyes open and used Katsuki’s hushed voice to ground yourself. The world around you was still slightly distorted; You’d emerged from that manhole into this dystopian reality, and sleep had apparently provided no escape.

“That psycho bitch you were fighting, she soaked her hair in some sort of neurotoxin before the heist..Luckily one of the on site medics used their quirk to synthesize some sort of antidote, you’re going to feel off for a few days” he pauses and you look up at him, he seems to be having some sort of internal struggle. You pepper kisses along his jaw line, nuzzling his neck afterwards and that encouraged him to continue; “They wanted to take you somewhere and keep you under observation, said you could wake up and be out of your mind, that you could lash out violently, but luckily I had recovery girl and Mr.Aizawa on my side when I told them that would be a terrible idea, of course you were going to freak out when you woke up alone, strapped to a table somewhere…So as long as your wounds haven’t reopened, we’re allowed to go back to my room, and I’ll watch over you for the next 48 hours”. An almost blissful sounding sigh escapes him as he gives you a tight squeeze before looking over your bandages, “Ready to head back sweetness?”. Katsuki carried you into his dorm room and kicked the door closed. At some point during the walk over, tremors had started throughout your body, and as he gently laid you down on his bed he saw you now fighting back convulsions. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he promised to be right back and if he was being honest with himself; It bothers him that you didn’t began crying or pleading for him to stay, but he needed to piss and have a moment inside his own head. What had happened today could never happen again…The last thing Katsuki wanted to do was tell his mother about what happened, but she would have a better idea as to how he could keep you safe. That and the fact that he would be better off explaining the situation himself rather than her seeing it on the news. With a defeated sigh he shuts off the bathroom light and heads back into the bedroom.

At some point in his absence you must have gotten undressed because your naked, and the moon light is once again casting an ethereal glow upon your body. “I got too hot” your voice is shaky, just like the hand reaching out towards him is “Please lay down with me Suki, I need you right now”. You were confused and needed his comfort, but leave it to Katsuki to interpret your words to fit his desires. Ditching his shorts and shirt beside the bed before he climbed in beside you, you immediately snuggled into his side.

“Kiss me” he demanded and you do, using the feel of his lips slotted with your’s in an attempt to ground yourself.

When you both separate you’re quick to explain; “I’m not sure what’s real and what’s just inside my head…I’m afraid”.

That’s right, the toxin was probably making you delusional…The silence only increased your anxiety and you started rambling, unaware he wasn’t paying attention until you started audibly panicking, “-Heard you and Todoroki talking earlier when I woke up and I know what it looked like this afternoon, but I didn’t ask him to follow me and I know you were upset but I really didn’t mean to-“

“That’s enough”.

Why did you have to bring that up now of all times? Why did you have to say that assholes name?

When he’d seen that bastard come around the corner earlier, Katsuki had to stop himself from lunging at him. Todoroki seemed to enjoy getting his explosive classmate angry; It was like some kind of game to him. Katsuki had always humored his bullshit to a certain extent, but not this time.

“I dont want you interacting with that fucking bastard, whatever you had going on with him in the past is over, you are back with me now, and no one is going to get between us and our happiness”

Especially not that Fuckin’ half and half bastard and his stupid crush on you. That’s all it will ever be, just a pathetic school boy crush, something that could never compare to what Katsuki himself has with you; Love, loyalty, undying devotion, whatever you wanna call it.

“I wont go near him, and if he approaches me I’ll find an excuse to leave” something in his voice had you instinctively forming and reciting a response he would want. It worked, evident in the way that he rubs noses with you before trailing kisses down your neck and chest. The sight makes you feel ill, or maybe it’s the toxin working it’s way out of your battered body. Either way the nausea is enough to make you clamp your eyes shut, but it’s a brief reprieve as Katsuki chides you from between your legs;

“You aren’t allowed to look away princess, I want you entirely focused on me and what I’m making you feel, no putting me Fuckin’ second again today”.

How could you have made him feel so low? Shame on you y/n!

“Never again, I promise”

The pleased growl that comes from him tickles your pussy and makes it hard to keep your eyes open and locked with his. You were a good girl though, so you fought your heavy eyelids to obey his order.

“Taste so good angel”

The show he makes of licking the sticky sweet remnants of your orgasm off his lips makes your cheeks burn hot. “K-kat-s-suki” you stutter, reaching out and flexing your shaking hands. He moves up towards you, letting your shaky hands rest on his biceps, “Shhh it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay, I’m here, I’m never going to leave your side”. He kisses your trembling lips, the soft moan you emit serving as encouragement for him to deepen it. Your enjoying the feeling of his tongue caressing your own when he slips his cock inside you.

Your squeezing his shaft so tightly it’s making it difficult for him to maintain a steady rythm. “You okay? Am I hurting you baby?” the tone of concern is back in his voice as he pauses to focus properly on your face. “N-No do-don’t stop” you whine, blinking back tears as you look up at him through dialated eyes. Seeing you pleading and looking so fucked out does things to him, an overwhelming rush of emotions has Katsuki spilling his heart out to you; “You’re everything to me, you know that right y/n?” He breathes as his forehead rests against your own “You never get to leave or runaway from me, even if you hate me, I’ll always drag you back into my arms and make you love me again, I’m the only one that deserves to be by your side, forever”.

You aren’t in your right mind whatsoever; The weight of his words doesn’t sink into your toxin and lust addled brain. Somehow you know that he needs reassurance right now, reassurance that you love him, that you are always going to be here when he needs you, so you give it.

Over and over again you stutter out “I love you”, “I promise to always be here with you”, and his absolute favorite “You complete me”.

That’s how your night drags on into the wee hours of the morning; Over emotional, manic, hysterical love making until your both too spent to continue. Certainly not what the doctor ordered but oh well. Somehow such an insane and euphoric rush gave way into the much needed, most peaceful sleep of your life.

Apparently the trauma you experienced during the bank heist today, all turned out to be for the best.

#katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou smut #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugo #bnha x reader

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definegodliness · 1 year

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Full Scrooge

The inner debates have ended. I have decided to go Full Scrooge this year, arguing I’ve been keeping up appearances for far, far too long, and it simply seems ridiculous to, once again, begrudgingly, and forcibly zone out for an entire evening spent in social obligations.

Christmas is cancelled.

I am tired of the mind-numbing, deliberately air-headed conversations. Tired of the alternative: getting drunk to make the whole ordeal somewhat more festive and interesting, with the trade-off of taking a train ride home wherein I get pooped to the point only a wretched disdain for myself and the world fuels me. I am a horribly miserable and lonely creature, and I want to taste a season without having to fake my way with bright smiles and entertaining anecdotes of long, long bygone times.

I don’t want to feel any responsibility of being the light of the party. No, I don’t even want to be a faint glow’s mediator. I reject my role within the whole. This year. It is all too far away from me.

I can’t muster the strength to be lived. Dejection’s rot has at long last settled in so deep that I feel I can trade in my loved ones’��disappointment for a shred of inner peace. This year. I have made that clear.

I’ll get on with the show in 2023.

As such, my act of defiance is one of consensus, and safely worth absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. But, still, I am going Full Scrooge, and saying ‘Christmas is cancelled’ is quite unique. I mean, who could hate the most wonderful time of the year? I find it rather humorous that the answer is ‘me’. I am the one to spit my gall and mutter ‘humbug’ this year. It is my present from me to me. It will be an off and on sit-through of guilt and shame, but at least I will get to be real. Horrid and hopeless and real.

What sealed the deal is the notion that if I am to remain completely unseen, I’d rather have no people within my nearest proximity. None of these half-assed attempts at (re)connection. I know I’m unnerving when one ungenuinely asks and expectedly gets dishonesty. I know the spirited people will feel empathetically obligated to for the first time this year ask how I’ve been doing, and worst, with maintained eye-contact add, “like, really?”.

I don’t want to answer and feel that apologetic shit-eating grin shape my mouth and cheeks.

The only thing I am bummed out about is that I won’t get three spirits to grant me an epiphany to reignite my interest in living, and the living. I am very aware of my past, and present, and I can’t see any Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come doing anything other than shake my hand for not dragging any naive or unsuspecting human being into this utmost jaded hellhole with me. I am not in any acceptable place to either send forth or receive love this year. Honestly, I should be tucked away by any means.

I am looking forward to all of this, as I find it funny. In self-deprecating humor. In enlarged and dramatised senses of self, set free. In unadulterated honesty. I will end this year as I have experienced life, and my own metaphysicality. Horrid, hopeless, miserable, and lonely. Frankly. When the clock strikes twelve come New Year’s Eve, I will be in bed for approximately half an hour. Even though I stay up well into the AM’s three-hundred-sixty-four days of the year. I will curse the fireworks, and all of you. Humbug.

Just this year.

#prose #life of mark #writing

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irresistiibles · 4 months

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was that natasha liu bordizzo? oh no no, that was just irina yang, an original character from percy jackson. they are twenty four years old, use she/they, and are aware that they are not actually from washington dc. too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

how long has your character been here

four months.

what is your character’s job

they're officially unemployed. irina is pretty bad at keeping a job, for reasons mentioned in the extra info, but they have managed to make a side gig that keeps her afloat when necessary. since hypnos children canonically can be memory manipulators and are knowledgeable in memory magic they're available to help when people go unaware, though she charges a decent amount for the service.

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom

slightly after the last olympian but not into the next series (though perhaps i’ll update that further on). they’re far enough along that they got a hypnos cabin but have spent most of their time living in the hermes cabin.

has any magic affected your character

nope!

any other info

born to hypnos and her mother irina was always a startlingly easy infant, to the point where people often worried that something was wrong. she slept perfectly peacefully through every night, even at their earliest of ages.

the same could not be said for their mother. though irinia has never gotten the exact story of how her and hypnos got together what they do know is that her mom could only sleep well when her dad was around

which made it partially difficult when he left quickly, leaving behind a baby and nothing else

it felt like fun at first, going on a bunch of midnight trips as a kid with a mother who anyone else could clock as frantic and sleep deprived, but it quickly got more and more difficult for irina. she did not have the same problems as her mom, able to sleep just about anywhere, and though they couldn't prove it irina always though her mom resented them a bit for it.

no matter what she tried the relationship didn't improve. they could chug all the energy drinks in the world to stay up and go on these crazy road trips and errands in the middle of the night it just didn't make a difference

as they got older irina's relationship with their mom only got more and more tense. though, as the child of a minor god she never wound up having major issues with monsters they basically got dumped at camp half blood at the age of twelve, after nearly causing a major car accident.

they had been arguing with their mom while on the road, and in a fit and unintentional use of powers had her briefly falling asleep at the wheel. the veered off the road pretty much immediately. luckily the worst of it was scrapes and bruises, but irina was dumped at camp half blood pretty much immediately after, and stayed at camp year round

claimed by hypnos pretty much immediately, and had she gotten a rundown of the gods irina could have guessed.

though they never would have sided with luke, haven grown up in the hermes cabin irina definitely understood, and has had a little resentment for the children of bigger gods who got their own cabins and got treated like they were worth more

okay personality wise! tries to be nice, but doesn't always succeed is what i would say

irina can definitely be the bitter type, and it lingers

is either falling asleep on the spot or so hyped up on caffeine to force themselves through the hypnos sleepiness that there is an overwhelming amount of energy.

this has been the job problem. it's hard to explain to an employer that you do want to be a good employee, you swear you just keep falling asleep at the register cause of your dad. they've been fired at least four times since showing up in washington.

sort of a night owl. irina tends to sleep in several longer naps rather than through the night, and due to their childhood is very used to being up at odd hours. she tends to wander the city and scout for twenty four hour shops to hang out rather than being at home in silence

can be kind of cold, especially if you catch them right after sleeping. i think irina has always had really realistic dreams, and right after sleep has a bit of a time distinguishing what's dream and what's not and can't quite work out how much they need to care about what's going on

also very spacey. will ask you to repeat yourself seven times. always forgets plans. terrible at keeping track of things. your resident friend who's a certified mess

likes upbeat things will go out and party but she lasts two hours before they need to go home and sleep

lasts a lot longer on quiet events and hobbies. likes to wander, and find nice quiet

deals with people being annoying by just making them fall asleep which sounds like not a big deal but if you're standing when it happens that could be a whole concussion.

is used to sleeping through classes and lessons and people talking to her and making up what to do on the spot and has an “i’m gonna wing it” sort of attitude about just about everything now

i don't do ocs a lot it will take me a minute to feel her off.

wanted plots:

anyone from pjo to work out dynamics with of course.

an oc half-sibling: listen, i think it would be interesting if after irina and hypnos her mom runs off to a new god, trying to find someone else to soothe her. obviously it would still only be temporary leaving their mom with another child to feel miserable about. we could work out the exacts of the dynamic. i can't imagine irina would hate them or anything, but i think it would be a slightly tense relationship. irina would be the older child but it doesn't have to be by much. i will write up a proper thing for the main for the connection probably tomorrow

night owl friends

maybe the opposite, like a more cozy vibe. irina can make people fall asleep so if anyone needs some help with that they are available

anyone who irina has recovered the memories of. if you've said your character was unaware and now is aware without specifying how and think they'd have the money to cough up for irina to fix the problem let me know

some poor coffee shop employee who has to make irina cups with way too many shots of espresso on the regular

maybe a roommate

some sort of ship. irina is bi though probably not the easiest to date

perhaps some patient business owner to employ them.

#hw: intro #( intro && irina )#car crash tw

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lorekeepersstory · 1 year

Text

Lorekeepers Act One: The Sound of Static

CHAPTER ONE: White Noise

Lore had been lying in bed for the past twelve hours.

Not all of that time had been spent sleeping, mind you. A solid two of those hours had been spent staring at the ceiling. It was really quite riveting, and an excellent use of said time.

Bleary-eyed, Lore turned over onto his side, as that was really all he had energy for at the moment. Through his impaired vision, he took a survey of his surroundings, making sure all his senses were intact.

He could see his bedside table, his round glasses and a case of breath mints resting on top of it, with a digital alarm clock flashing the time.

11:27 AM.

Hm. He must have overslept.

He peered out of the nearby window from his bedside, squinting as the sunlight shone through the curtains, simply staring at the autumn leaves of the familiar tree in his front yard.

The leaves rustled. A pleasant breeze blew through the branches. The birds chirped.

The mechanical whir of his ceiling fan had persisted through the night.

Somewhere, someone was using a leaf blower.

It was at this point, when his observations reached a profound, crushing mundanity, that Lore conceded that there was no point in staying in bed. He was supposed to hang out with Summer today, after all, and he really didn’t have any excuses for flaking on her. She didn’t find his bedroom ceiling nearly as interesting as he did.

Through blurry eyes, Lore’s hand scrabbled uselessly for his glasses, eventually finding them and putting them on, bringing his bedroom into sudden clarity. Rolling lazily out of bed, Lore changed from his well-worn pajamas to his usual outfit. Black jeans, blue hoodie, and yellow scarf, all hanging off of his lanky frame. Same as always. He popped a mint into his mouth to somewhat stave off the bitter post-sleep taste and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair, at least slightly tidying his tragic bedhead. He peered at his reflection in the mirror affixed on his bedroom door.

...Good enough.

It really wasn’t good enough, Lore thought. He looked ratty and unkempt, and the dark bags under his eyes did little to hide the fact that he hadn’t slept a normal night's sleep in months, but what little he had already done to fix himself was as much as he had motivation for, so it would have to do.

This was fine.

Everything was great.

He looked over his shoulder toward his alarm clock.

12:03 PM.

That was… not great, actually.

Lore knew that Summer was probably expecting him to meet her far earlier than this. She was probably really pissed off at him right now. As his breaths began to quicken, stress running through his veins, the sound of radio static reverberating through his mind, Lore began to formulate his next move as he paced around his room. Well, the first thing he would have to do is leave his house. Yes. Then apologize to Summer, of course. How would he do that?

Hey, dude, sorry about holding you up like that…

No, he couldn’t be that casual, that would make it seem insincere…

I’m really, really sorry, I promise I won’t ever let it happen again, please don’t hate me-

Woah, woah, woah, that’s coming on a bit too strong.

Even in this half panicked state, Lore wasn’t stupid enough to really believe, deep down, that Summer would hold a grudge over this. His mind just tended to get away from him sometimes. Most of the time. Lore closed his eyes, slowing his pace, trying to calm down. This is fine. This may not be ideal, but it isn’t the end of the world. Everything is going to be okay-

He stubbed his toe.

Repressing the urge to swear as loud as he could, Lore stumbled backward in pain and landed flat on his backside with a pathetic thud. As he sat up, grumbling, his eyes locked with the culprit for his injury. One of the many journals scattered across the floor of his bedroom, each filled with chicken scratch, half-baked prose, and unfinished stories. This particular notebook was a remnant of a long since abandoned draft for a novel. An inexperienced writer’s first incoherent, muddled attempt at escapist fantasy. Derivative trash. Lore unceremoniously tossed it aside and got to his feet.

Now all he needed to do was go outside.

Easy.

...Easy.

Standing in front of his bedroom door, hand hovering over the knob, wasn’t going to get him outside. Lore knew that. But something stopped him from moving, and for the life of him, he didn’t know what. It had always been like this. Summer being out there in the real world, making life happen, as he stood still, letting life happen to him, watching as the world turned without him. The winds of change grew stronger, day after day, and he stayed standing there like a stone statue, refusing to move.

...Waxing philosophical wasn’t going to get him outside, either.

Eventually he was just going to have to do it.

Lore swallowed, trying his hardest not to think, as he turned the knob and opened his door. Good. That was one step out of the way, now all he needed to do was deal with the rest. Just one step after the other. Left. Right. Left.

The pit that had been settling in his stomach became just a little bit smaller, a little bit lighter for every step down the stairs.

Left. Right. Left.

One.

Two.

Three.

Eventually, finally, he reached the bottom, and in an effort to expedite the process, he took a few longer strides to reach the front door. Using the rest of his strength, he opened the door, stepped through it, and closed it behind him.

The sound of his own sigh of relief echoed through his ears. The leaves of the nearby tree rustled. A pleasant breeze blew through the branches. The birds chirped. Somewhere, someone was using a leaf blower. It all felt… Lore couldn’t exactly put words to the feeling. It felt like nothing, and everything, at the exact same time. The world felt like it should be peaceful to anyone else, but the all too familiar sound of static in his mind would not go away.

Now was not the time to reflect on any of these feelings, however. What Lore needed to do now was to see Summer and, as payback for sleeping through half the day, go along with whatever bullshit plan she’s cooked up, for once. It was the least he could do. The last thing he wanted to do was to keep her waiting.

“Well, you sure kept me waiting, didn’t you?”

Suddenly, the whole world seemed to shine brighter.

She was leaning against his mailbox, arms crossed, posture relaxed. All dark clothes and bold symbols, spiked bracelets and a black leather jacket, offset by a vibrant purple scarf and a shock of poofy red hair. Her smirk was playful, but bright enough to outshine the sun. A familiar warmth filled Lore’s chest, and he grinned, rolling his eyes at her jab as thoughts of apology vanished from his mind.

“Hey, I had to get my beauty rest," Lore quipped. "Lord knows I need it to keep up with you.”

She laughed.

#oc #original writing #original fiction #act one #chapter one #i know i promised pictures #but i just wanted to get something out #soon #i swear

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abwatt · 1 year

Text

getting clients by the theoretical numbers

Yesterday, I spent $10.00 to ‘blaze’ a Tumblr post, so that it would be shown on the walls of 2500 people in America between 11:00 am Eastern time on Saturday 18 February 2023 and Sunday 19 February 2023 at 11:00 am. Twenty-four hours, 2500 people. Ten bucks, or a thousand pennies, and a nominal 5000 “eyeballs” (being aware that in any 2500 people there are going to be some blind folks, some one-eyed, etc). If I haven’t made an order of magnitude mistake, I paid two cents for every 5 people who saw my blazed post.

If you’d like to know more about why I did this...

Now, marketing theory predicts that any ad campaign is going to have about 1.25% return on investment, at each of three levels— if you know you got 2500 people to see your ad, then roughly 31 of them will stop long enough to look at it and read it. Then, roughly 1.25% of those 31 people will click the link. (which is 0.39ths of a person) — which means that you have somewhere between a 1 in 3 chance and 1 in 2 chance that one of those 31 people will be interested enough at that moment to see your product. And then you multiply that single person by 1.25% again, and you’re flipping a coin — a roughly 50% chfor ance or 1 in 2 that they’re interested enough at that moment to buy your product.

So, that’s the game.

How did I do with my blazed post, then? Well, it got three re-blogs and 12 likes. So in terms of engagement, it got a lot... considerably more than the last six astrology columns I posted.

But — (and this is complicated, because a lot more people use anonymizing software or use computers that automatically prevent them from getting tracked, than used to) there was literally not a single tracked visitor from Tumblr to my own website. Not a single person clicked the link — at least, not that I know about, bearing in mind that a lot of people use anonymizers or have built-in ones on their phone or laptop.

In essence, I don’t know if I did better or worse than my baseline performance at all. There’s no reason to assume that I did, though: twelve likes and three re-blogs is above the norm. It’s nearly half of the 31 theoretical people who engaged with the ad long enough to read it. Half the people who the theory said would engage, engaged-and-responded to the ad, That’s astonishing, and very positive.

But.

It also implies that the internet has another 1.25% step somewhere between looking at a given ad, and purchase of something from that advertiser’s website, something like click-throughs. And $10 for 2500 impressions is not nearly enough.

So we have this table.

1.25% of viewers will read the ad; 50 of those will engage with it in some fashion and remix-reblog-like it.

1.25% of ‘lively engagers’ will visit the website;

1.25% of visitors will investigate to buy;

1.25% of investigators will buy.

Based on that, how many impressions do I need to have to make one sale?

Well...

1 buyer / 0.0125 = 80 investigators

80 investigators / 0.0125 = 6,400 lively visitors

6,400 lively visitors / 0.0125 = 500,000 engagers

which is basically a million viewers.

But blazing a post to a million people isn’t an option. There's basically a $10 tier, a $25 tier, a $65 tier, and a $150 tier. It’s $150 to blaze a post to 50,000 people on Tumblr. For that price I get...

625 engagers

312 engagers

3.9 lively visitors

a 4% chance that one of them will investigate deeper

a 6 in 10,0000 chance that this person would buy today.

OH.

And suddenly two things should be clear, if you’ve read this far.

If you want a hundred regular reliable customers, (particularly as something like a Tarot reader or astrologer), this can only be achieved by word-of-mouth, living in the same neighborhood (loosely/broadly defined) as them, or being obviously available to each other somehow (like through a shop or some other sort of marketplace portal). You need a LOT of people, or you need to be a specialty service-provider, or both.

A lot of advertising works by repeated exposure, rather than one-off ads; the hardware store down the road from you in a town of 50,000 has a sign that 80% of the population sees five days a week .... those people represent 200,000 views a week... live there for 10 weeks, and you become part of the two million views, and probably part of that hardware store’s word-of-mouth campaign, too (which has a much higher success rate than 1.25%)

And this means that I have a magical target. I have a sense of what I would like to achieve — more paying clients for my astrology business. I have a sense of what the baseline numbers of an ad campaign would be — what it will cost me financially, and what sorts of numbers I need under ordinary circumstances to get the number of clients I would like to have.... And third, I have a sense of how improbable it would be to go from here where I am now, to there where I would like to be.

Which means I have some sense of how I’ll know when the magic worked.

And that’s pretty elegant.

In a bit, before I do any magic, I’ll think through the ethics of what I want to do and why, and how I’ll structure the work... and I’ll share that thought process here.

#advertising magic #magic of advertising #baseline expectations

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lovely-lynn · 2 years

Text

This is for the amazing @sayuricorner who is an absolute angel. Thank you for being so patient with me!! 😘 I would like to formally apologize for taking so long!

She asked me to write a crossover fic of ML and JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. This chapter is more of an intro than anything else, the exciting stuff is (hopefully) coming soon though!!

Chapter 3

The flight from Paris to Japan took about twelve and a half hours. Marinette would love to say that she was so excited that she didn't mind the flight but unfortunately that was far from true. Don't get her wrong, she was very excited but as she discovered, she HATES flying. The seats were narrow and the cabin stuffy. The people were loud most of the time and she ended up sitting next to a man who smelled of week old garlic. They had also stumbled across several turbulences, all of which made her sick to her stomach. All in all, her flight had not been a wonderful experience. Tikki, who had been trapped within her purse the entire time, seemed to agree with her wholeheartedly.

Needless to say, she was very glad to exit the plane and feel the solid ground under her feet as well as the cool evening air on her face. The slight breeze felt nice after being stuck in that stuffy cabin for so long. Marinette spent another twenty minutes in baggage claim waiting for her bags to come through. She couldn't deny that she began to panic wondering what would have happened if they had lost her bags. She had kept the miracle box with her as a carry on so nothing irreplaceable would have been lost but that still didn't mean she wanted to replace these things. Her worries, however, had been unfounded and the pale pink suitcases had slowly begun to trickle in.

As this was a bordering school and she would be staying here for a while, she had brought several bags, which made it awkward to maneuver through the airport. Her parent where going to be shipping several items to her, items that she was too nervous to bring on the plane for fear of losing them, but she was still carrying a numerous amount of baggage. She was convinced that Chloe and her Maman had packed enough clothes to clothe a small army. If that army was made of five foot girls that is. Which, despite one might think, Marinette had it on good authority that they were very feisty and good in a fight.

At the exit there was a man, dressed in a suit and tie , holding a sign that had her name written across the front in big letters. The sight caught Marinette off guard. She had been prepared to call a taxi. Hesitantly, Marinette approached the man.

"Ms. Dupain- Cheng I presume?" The man questioned in a gentle yet sophisticated voice. Marinette nodded nervously but the man smiled, " It is a pleasure to meet you, I am here to escort you to Speedwagon Academy," Without a further word he took some of her bags in his arms and began to make his way towards a grey minivan that clashed comically with his pristine suit and tie.

Once all of her bags had been packed into the trunk of the car, Marinette buckled herself in and prepared for another long ride. The airport was about thirty minutes from Speedwagon Academy which, admittedly, wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things but after her long ,and honestly exhausting flight, every minute felt like an eternity. On the bright side, the car ride gave her time to think about the things that were coming. It gave her a time to process everything that was going on in a way that she couldn't on the plane.

Marinette was so ready for a fresh start. She was so excited to finally be herself again. There was only one problem: Marinette didn't know who she was anymore. She had been quiet and compliant for so long that she didn't know how to be anything else anymore. It was like the outgoing girl who could make friends without even trying, the bubbly girl everyone adored, the girl filled with passion and excitement, it was like that girl was gone. And Marinette wanted her back so badly. She desperately wanted to be that girl again. She hated that she had allowed her classmates and people like Lila to so thoroughly destroy her confidence. But as Tikki reminded her time and time again, from destruction could only come creation. Her self confidence might be destroyed now, but that didn't mean she couldn't rebuild it. Marinette wasn't under the illusion that it would be easy, but that thought at least gave her hope. It made her excited for the future and what it held.

Marinette was amazed that by the time they arrived at Speedwagon Academy, she hadn't drifted off. The combination of the warm car with its soothing vibrations and the soft calming music that had played through the speakers paired with her killer jet lag, was a recipe for a nap. A well deserved one, she might add. It was a statement to her excitement, and maybe her nerves, that she remained fully awake.

Upon exiting the car, Marinette couldn't help but take a moment and stare in awe. The campus, or what she could see of it, was gorgeous. The pictures she had seen online didn't even begin to compare to the real thing. The first thing that caught her eye was the sprawling gardens with all different types of flowers and trees. Marinette couldn't imagine how beautiful it would look in the mornings as light began to filter through the trees giving that glowing effect. She couldn't wait to show Tikki the gardens, she could only imagine the kwami's face when she saw it. The gardens weren't the only thing beautiful about the campus though. No, Marinette allowed herself another moment just to marvel at the incredible architecture of the main building. It was a unique style that she couldn't quite place but nonetheless adored. Everything about it screamed creativity and it filled her with a deep passion for creation she hadn't felt in a long time.

Her thoughts and musings were interrupted when a man, coming from the main building, approached her.

"Welcome Ms.Marinette, my name is Jonathan Joestar. I am the Headmaster here at Speed Wagon Academy," Headmaster Joestar said, A gentle smile on his face. The headmaster was a tall man, incredibly so, with brown hair and equally brown eyes. He wore a white collared shirt and a black tie with a matching jacket over top.

"It's nice to meet you Headmaster," Marinette replied, desperately trying to keep the nerves out of her voice. Based on the soft look on his face, she didn't this she succeeded.

"And you, Ms.Marinette. I must say, you have quite the impressive resume," Marinette blushed at his words.

"Thank you sir." He smiled again and Marinette found herself smiling back as some of her nerves melted away. His happy and fairly calm demeanor was catching.

"If you will follow me, Ms.Marinette I will show you to your dorm," He turned and motioned for her to follow. Marinette looked back, intending to grab her bags but finding that at some point since her arrival they had been moved, presumably to her dorm, " You will be rooming with a girl by the name of Trish Una. I believe the two of you will get along just fine. She, if memory serves me correctly, is also a fan of fashion design, " Marinette perked up when she heard that. She had never really had anyone to truly share her hobby with, somebody who truly understood it.

It didn't take long to make it to the girls dormitories, which was on the other end of the schools campus from the entrance. Marinette, not having anything better to do, had studied the map on the plane and now she was glad she did. There was a very high likelihood of her getting lost if left to her own devices. She had, unfortunately, inherited her mother's sense of direction which had ked to some numerous situations in the past. Namely the summer vacation of 2019. Marinette shivered as she remembered it and the disasterous events that followed her mother gaining possession of the map.

Headmaster Joestar took a key and unlocked the entrance door to the dormitory. He held the door open and gestured for her to enter.

" Normally you will use you student ID to get in and out of this building. I believe you will be able to pick it up in the morning," The headmaster explained. Marinette nodded, feeling at a loss for words as she took in her surroundings. comfortable looking couches and chairs lined the walls in the large room, A shelf in the corner was stalked to the brim with board games, and a pool table sat off to the right side. On depths far left and right of the room their was a staircase that led towards the other floors. Across from the entry was an office that probably belonged to the hall director. Seeing her look of wonder the Headmaster continued,

"When classes have finished, you are free to spend your time however you like, including here. I believe there is also a game room and several study rooms scattered throughout the first floor. Everyone is required to be in their dorms by 10:00pm every week night. On weekends that is extended to 11:00pm," That explained why the common space, was completely devoid of people. Now your dorm is on the second floor, room 22b," He handed her a similar key to what he had been using earlier except this one had her room number carved at the top.

"Thank you headmaster," Marinette said politely as she excepted the key.

"Of course, if you need anything do not hesitate to let me know have a wonderful night Ms.Marinette," And with one final smile, he was gone. Marinette took a deep breath and began to walk up the stairs to her dorm. Her bags were sitting outside the door when she arrived, having already been delivered while she was talking to the head master.

With no small amount of difficulty, mostly do to her shaking hands, Marinette shoved down her anxiety and unlocked the door to her new home.

The sight that greeted her was one that made her feel incredibly safe and at home. One side of the dorm, the one currently being lived in, was in the same state of organized chaos that Marinette lived in. She was incredibly happy that her roommate wasn't one of those people that couldn't handle messes being around.

The girl in question, the girl she would be sharing a room with for the remainder of the year was sitting in the center of her bed obviously studying. Her pink hair had been pulled away from her face, putting her blue eyes on full display. She wore a sunflower covered T-shirt and a pair of tight skinny jeans. She held herself in a way that reminded Marinette a lot of Chloe. She seemed one to put up a front of being arrogant and indifferent but deep down they were incredibly loyal and a huge softy.

"Oh my gosh, you're tiny," were the first words out of her mouth. Despite her nervousness, A small laugh made it past Marinette's lips. The awkward tension in the room melted away after that and Marinette quickly lost track of time. They talked well into the night about their shared love of fashion and Marinette would be lying if she said she didn't love it. Trish was so incredibly easy to talk to. Marinette felt free to say whatever she wanted to say without fear that Trish would judge her. That wasn't to say she wasn't still hesitant, she was, but her nervousness had all but dissipated.

As the night eventually drew to a close a both of them gave in to th call of sleep, Marinette was filled with an overwhelming sense of peace that she had made the right decision and hope for what the future would bring.

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Marinette awoke the next day feeling anxious once again. The prospect of meeting Trish's friends terrified her. It scared her probably more than the thought of attending her classes for the first time. She knew that she was intelligent and so she wasnt as nervous about her ability to make good gradea. Making good friends however, was not and had never been her strong suit. The anxiety was heightened by the fact that she wanted this to work out so badly. She desperately wanted to start new, to explore who she was and rediscover herself. She was tired of being pushed to the side and left alone. She craved some form of companionship.

As they walked through the halls, Marinette couldn't help but notice how much taller people here were than her. It seemed odd to her that a school would have this many people above six foot.

Trish and Marinette passed into the courtyard not far from one of the incredible gardens she had noticed the night before. Gardens which were just as pretty in the morning sun as she had imagined them to be. The pair walked towards the edge of the courtyard, towards a particularly large tree that was surrounded by four people. The closer they got to the group, the mire nervous Marinette felt. By the time they were face to face with them Marinette was sure that her heart would beat out of her chest and that her palms were sweaty enough to form puddles. Trish sent Marinette an easy smile as she began to introduce the group, pointing to each person to indicate them.

"Marinette, I would like you to officially meet my friends: Guido Mista, Pannacotta Fugo, Narancia Ghirga and Giorno Giovanna." Once again, keeping with the trend, all of then were incredibly tall. Seriously, what were they feeding these people? Back in Paris, she had been considered short but their had at least been some people who were close to her in height.

"Guido, how many times to I have to tell you how hideous you smell before you get rid of that stupid calone?" Trish asked, wrinkling her nose. The boy, Guirdo, was in fact wearing a strong smelling calone that while it didn't smell terrible, definitely gave Marinette the beginnings of a headache. Other than that, he gave off a very calming and easy going aura that reminded Marinette a lot of Luka. He wore tight leather pants and a blue turtle neck with a grid pattern and he was wearing a beany that covered the majority of his hair.

Pannacotta had platinum blond hair that had been spiked up. He had bangs that hung low on his forehead reaching down towards his reddish brown eyes. His face was unreadable and his serious look made her uncomfortable. She wasn't sure what to make of him yet. She could tell that he wasn't a danger to her but that didn't really make her feel any better. The daunting image was enhanced by his crisp, perfect looking uniform.

Narancia had jet black hair and green eyes. He had a happy, almost child like air about him that set Marinette at ease. Despite still being tall, he seemed to be the smaller of the group. He wore the same uniform the rest of them did but he had multiple wrist bands decorating his wrists. Some of them had words on them, others did not.

Finally, the last person in the group, was Giorno. Giorno had long blond hair, the way it was pulled back in did little to tame his curls. He was shorter than most of the others, yet still incredibly tall, and had a slim,muscular build. His build was enhanced by the coat of his uniform and Marinette couldn't help but notice the ladybug pin on his breast pocket.

Marinette felt a familiar, completely unwanted, little flutter in her stomach as she took in his intense greenish blue eyes and- Oh great, she had a type. She shoved the feeling down as far as she possibly could, she refused to let any romantic feeling come between her and these new budding friendships.

___________________________________________________________

Here is the third chapter !!!! So this took me an insanely long amount if time to finish and I am so sorry for that!!!! to make up for it here is a longer chapter! So I'm going to be completely honest and say I one hundred percent projected on Marinette for the entire chapter. I also apologize because I'm not very good at writing introductions but let me know how I did!! I am going to attempt to get the next chapter out sooner rather than later!!

So the document where I kept my tag list got deleted so if you would please fill this out So i know what you want to be tagged in, that would be great!!

#jojos bizarre adventure #trish una #marinette dupain cheng #class salt #miraculous ladybug #writing is hard #poor mari #Poor Marinette #marinette deserves better #Marinette gets a hug #i tried #i'm so sorry

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mysticalnightenthusiast · 2 years

Text

S.N.A.F.U CH68 ‘Away From it All’

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Half an hour after the end of his panic attack Daniel finally felt well enough to get to his feet. He stripped off and with Eadaoin’s help stepped into the lavender bath she had prepared.

“Ah ah ah you sit in front of me; it’s my turn to look after you,” the redhead said pushing him forward a little.

Daniel raised an eyebrow in mild surprised but followed her directive and settled down between her legs with a relaxed sigh, the pair sat in silence for several long minutes before Eadaoin spoke.

“Talk to me,” she said in a low voice as she began massaging his scalp.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Daniel confessed with a sigh “the Jem we were dealing with is not the Jem I grew up with and who I was in a relationship with for twelve years that’s the kick. I can totally get being sour your ex has moved on with someone else but the vandalising of your car, the blowing up of your letterbox? The Jem I know or the Jem I thought I knew would never have even considered going that far. The letterbox thing, she could have killed you or Cahir or your parents, that scares me.”

“I don’t know why she reacted the way she did but she won’t do it anymore,” Eadaoin murmured “there’s too much at stake for her, but I’m safe so is Cahir and so are Mum and Dad and you I promise.”

Daniel turned in the sudsy water and rested his head on her breasts.

“I trust and believe you,” he said softly “hey d'you want to head to the farm in the off season?”

“What your farm?” Eadaoin asked in surprise.

“Sure, if quarantine regs allow it, I want to show you everything. Mum’s alpacas, Dad’s Black Angus, Chips their cattle dog, their sheep, Michelle’s horses. Its two hundred acres of silence apart from the occasional moo. I love it.”

“If we don’t have to quarantine then sure I’m down,” Eadaoin replied happily “if we can’t get there how about we spend some time at your place in L.A? Maybe go visit Mick at his ranch in Austin? That invitation is still on the table isn’t it?”

Daniel grinned.

“Yeah it is,” he said “you’ve been thinking about it a lot then?”

“Well the end of the season is near and I have from Mid-December til the end of January off, gotta think abut what to do for some of that time,” Eadaoin replied “I can’t spend all that time on my back with my legs in the air.”

For the first time in a long time Daniel burst into genuine laughter.

“Weeeeeeell you could,” he said in amusement “I’d help you get past the inconvenience of that imposition.”

Eadaoin rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure you could,” she said dryly “whatever we do I want to do it with you, even if we just hang at home. We’ve got a new home to set up and with your schedule it’s going to be harder to get it finished in the usual time.”

“I at least want to spend all the time Mum and Dad and Mish are here, here,” Daniel replied with a relaxed sigh “I don’t get to spend enough time with them as it is.”

“We’ll do that,” Eadaoin promised “this Christmas is going to be the best Christmas. I have you with me, my whole family with me, despite how shitty the latter half of this year has been it’s going to be better from here on out.”

Daniel couldn’t help but smile.

“I hope so darling I really hope so.”

Daniel and Eadaoin spent a relaxing hour in the bath then dried off and redressed.

“You hungry?” Eadaoin asked as she pulled on one of his hoodies and yoga pants.

“Bit, but I’m more tired,” Daniel replied as he pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and got under the covers “I need to snooze first.”

“You do that I’ll head downstairs in a bit and get a drink,” Eadaoin said as she laid down and wrapped her arms around him “don’t worry I’m not going anywhere.”

Very slowly the curly haired driver relaxed and within an hour and a half was deeply asleep. Eadaoin pressed a kiss to his forehead then carefully got up, exited the bedroom and made her way downstairs from where all alluring smell was emanating from the kitchen. Blake and Michael were there and sharing a lively conversation with Cahir who had arrived home from his own day of work.

“Hey kid, heard you had a bit of a shit day,” Cahir said sympathetically as he got up from his stool and opened his arms.

“It was better than Danny’s,” Eadaoin informed her brother as she embraced him “he had a full blown panic attack when we got home and took the longest time to come out of it, fucking hell it was scary I didn’t know how to help him.”

“How’s he going now?” Michael asked from his spot at the cook top where he was monitoring a pot of simmering pasta sauce.

“Better, he’s sound asleep;” Eadaoin replied “a bomb going off wouldn’t wake him up now.”

“What set him off d'you think?” Blake asked in concern.

“I just think everything today finally got to him,” Eadaoin replied going to the fridge and retrieving a bottle of Heineken “beer? Having to sit through that horse shit Jem told the court and the shitty questioning Albrecht put him through, and also to a lesser extent hearing all his friends and colleagues stick up for him. I don’t think he realised just how much he’s valued and cared about in the paddock and that’s got to hit home, emotionally speaking.”

“We’d all do it again in a heartbeat,” Michael vowed.

“And Danny knows that,” Eadaoin replied as she doled out the beer “it’s just a lot to take on you know?”

“I can imagine so.”

“Did you organise anything to get us to Monaco?” Eadaoin asked Blake after she had chugged down several mouthfuls of beer.

“Yep with a little help from Max,” Blake replied brightly “he texted to see how Danny was going and after I told him what happened he said there’s a spot on his PJ for you both tomorrow morning at eleven from Gatwick if you’re interested.”

“Oh that’s great.” Eadaoin said in relief “are you two coming?”

“Nah, you and Danny need a few days on your own, Mike and I will fly in the day before we need to leave for Jeddah,” Blake replied.

“Thanks a ton Blake, you and Michael are the best friends to Danny and I really really appreciate what you do for him, especially since all this shit with Jem kicked off,” Eadaoin said gratefully, her voice thickening noticeably “I don’t know how he would have come through all this without you guys in his corner.”

“That’s alright luv, we really don’t mind,” Blake informed the emotional redhead “remember you’re in his corner too and you’ve had just as much impact on him as any of us have.”

“Aw I dunno abou-” Eadaoin began.

“No he’s right, you have,” Michael piped up “you’re more than just his girlfriend, you’re his soulmate. Someone he can be the real Daniel Ricciardo with, not that he can’t be that with us but with you it’s on a deeper level and that is something that has kept him centred and focused. I think that’s why he was so deeply devastated with what happened with Jem because he thought he had that with her and the hindsight realisation he didn’t crushed him. Meeting you has brought him out the other side and fundamentally changed him-for the better.”

“Well I’m glad to have been of some help,” Eadaoin said “even though I haven’t set out to do anything specific, just be myself.”

“That’s all he ever needs you to be,” Michael said.

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Eadaoin spent another hour and a half downstairs with Michael, Blake and Cahir sharing a meal and several bottles of beer then made her way back upstairs to the bedroom. She shucked off her clothes and climbed under the covers wrapping her arms around Daniel’s waist.

“Mmmpf you smell like pasta sauce,” her murmured sleepily.

“Well that’s romantic,” Eadaoin responded with a snort of amusement “Michael knocked up some Bolognese ravioli if you’re interested.”

Daniel yawned, stretched and rolled over to face her.

“Mmm in a bit,” he said sleepily.

“Max texted Blake to see how you were getting on and told him there’s two seats for us on his PJ tomorrow morning from Gatwick,” Eadaoin said “I know you’re not a morning person but if you really want to go to Monaco Max is lending a helping hand. Michael said he’d drive us there.”

“Oh great,” Daniel said happily “oh my kit bag!”

“Don’t worry about that stuff Michael and Blake will organise everything you need for Jeddah,” Eadaoin informed him “they’ll bring it to Monaco the day before you guys have to leave for Jeddah. All you need to do is pack for out stay in Monaco and you can do that tomorrow morning.”

You’re all too good to me,” Daniel said in a low voice as he leaned in and kissed her sweetly on the lips.

“We’re good to you because you’re good to us,” Eadaoin informed him softly returning his kiss enthusiastically “you’re Blake and Michael’s best mate and my boyfriend-my person.”

“Your person huh?” Daniel repeated a smile tugging at the corner of his lips “your person?”

Eadaoin rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be a tit,” she said running her fingers over his stubbly cheeks “you know what I mean.”

Daniel grinned.

“Yeah I do,” he said in amusement “fuck I’m tired, I haven’t been this exhausted in ages.”

“Go back to sleep,” Eadaoin said snuggling close to him “I’ll stick here by you.”

*******************************************************************************************

Early the following morning Eadaoin and Daniel rose and packed for their trip to Monaco. They got into Blake’s car and made their way to Gatwick airport arriving shortly before 10am.

“Alright this is as far as we can go,” Michael said once he and Blake had helped them through luggage check in “rest up for a few days, stick to your program if you feel like working out, I’m more concerned about your mental health at the moment so if you’re feeling flat, take pause and relax yeah?”

“Yeah man I will thanks,” Daniel said gratefully bumping fists with his friend “right now all I feel like doing is sleeping.”

“Well make sure you get plenty of that,” Michael advised “but you don’t need a lecture about good sleeping habits from me now see you Monday yeah?”

“You got it man.”

Daniel and Eadaoin made their way through security then set off to find Max and Kelly, they found the couple at the far end of the terminal in the VIP lounge dedicated to private jet arrivals and departure. They went through passport control then headed over to Max and Kelly.

“Hey how you doing?” Max asked in concern.

“Better than yesterday,” Daniel admitted flopping down into a leather bucket chair opposite his friend “a few days at home ought to reset the batteries, I’m glad there’s no race this weekend because I am not in the mood to even get into a road car right now.”

“Do you feel up to going out for a meal later in the week, maybe on the weekend?” Kelly asked “we’ve got a booking at Il Tarrazino on Sunday night, you’re welcome to join us.”

Daniel smiled.

“Thanks for the invitation,” he said “see how things go, should be alright though.”

“If you’re not up to going out don’t force yourself,” Max told his friend “you’ve had a shitty couple of days and neither Kelly nor I would blame you for turning into a hermit outside of work.”

Daniel smiled.

“I’m not going to turn into a hermit,” he said in amusement “Michael and Eadie wouldn’t let me.”

“None of your mates will but we also know you’d need some time alone to decompress,” Max said.

“H-how many of the guys know I kinda lost it yesterday?” Daniel asked Max half an hour later as they settled into their seats on his jet.

“None of them,” Max replied “I didn’t go into detail, Pierre texted and asked how you were because he couldn’t get hold of you and I said you were feeling a bit shit but I didn’t go into detail.”

“Yeah I saw his text but I haven’t felt like texting anyone aside from Mum and Dad,” Daniel replied with a sigh as the engines roared to life “really only felt like staying in bed all day.”

“What d'you want to do once we get to Monaco?” Eadaoin asked once the jet was in the air “go to the beach or a walk or just hang at the apartment?”

“Just hang at the apartment,” Daniel replied with a small smile “at least for a couple of days,” then maybe we can go for a drive or a walk on the beach.”

“Sounds great.”

Just under two hours later Max’s jet touched down at Nice airport, the sun was shining and a warm breeze was blowing as Max and Kelly closely followed by Daniel and Eadaoin disembarked.

“I’ve got my SUV here d'you want a ride back to your place?” Kelly asked as they made their way across the tarmac and into the VIP arrival’s lounge.

“Thanks, don’t much fancy trying our luck at the taxi stand,” Eadaoin replied.

“Not the dick extension car?” Daniel asked Max teasingly “you drive that thing everywhere.”

Max rolled his eyes

“Idiot,” he said dryly as Daniel roared with laughter “we dropped P at Daniil’s on the way to the airport and you can only fit two people in the Pista and that is not a dick extension car!”

“Is this an inside joke you two have?” Eadaoin asked in amusement.

“Well he thinks it’s a joke,” Max said dryly “you should see his collection. That’s a dick extension!”

“Oh pfft I don’t have a boner for Aston Martin, you really should drive for them,” Daniel shot back teasing his friend.

“Oooof!” Kelly said with a grin.

“Oh get fucked,” Max returned.

“Actually you know what is a dick extension?” Daniel said “that.” added pointing to the young Dutchman’s jet out on the tamac.

“Eh you got me,” Max admitted.

“Okay if you two have finished having a pissing competition....our bags are on their way,” Eadaoin said pointing to the luggage trolley that was being driven toward the lounge “boys”

Within half an hour Daniel and Eadaoin were on their way into Monaco and no more than 90 minutes after landing Max and Kelly dropped them outside Daniel’s apartment building.

“Stay in touch,” Max said fist bumping his friend “and no pressure about dinner on Sunday yeah?” Send me a text with what you want to do yeah?”

“Yeah you got it thanks for the ride man.”

Kelly and Max disappeared into the bustle of Monaco’s early afternoon traffic and Daniel and Eadaoin made their way upstairs to the apartment.

“Aaaaah home,” Daniel said with a sigh as he flopped onto the bed in their bedroom.

“D’you want to start spending some more time here?” Eadaoin asked sitting beside him “I don’t mind spending the weekends you’re not travelling or I’m not required at the office or Whelan’s here, you seem to truly relax when you’re in Monaco.”

“I relax wherever I am wherever you are,” Daniel replied with a smile as he laced his fingers through hers “I want to be wherever you are, of course I’ll spend time in Monaco but only what is required to maintain my residency certificate.”

“Let’s come back here for a few days after Abu Dhabi,” Eadaoin suggested running her fingers through his messy curls “just to decompress a bit, whatever that involves, clubbing, drinking, road trips maybe some sexy time.”

Daniel grinned.

“The last one sounds fun,” he said “wish I was up to some sexy time now but I’m just not feeling it, hope you’re not mad.”

Eadaoin’s heart broke for the man before her.

“I could never be mad at you for something like that!” she exclaimed leaning in and kissing him sweetly on the lips “I’m not going to force anything like that on you, if you just want to cuddle I’m good and if you want to tie me to the bed and fuck my brains out I’m good. Now’s the time to sleep long, eat good and just tune out from the shitty bits of life.”

Daniel sat up and wrapped his muscular arms around her waist.

“You’re too good for me,” he said rubbing his nose against hers.

“Could say the same about you,” Eadaoin murmured shivering as the curly haired driver pressed his lips to her neck “you going to mark me up?”

“Mmmm maybe,” he replied nipping at her skin “it’s been a while since I’ve left a “Danny Ric Was Here” stamp on you, one that could be seen in public anyway.”

Eadaoin squirmed.

“I have to head out and get something for dinner before the shops shut and when I do I’m going to look like I have leprosy because you can’t keep your mouth to yourself!” she exclaimed as Daniel greedily attacked her neck “there are so many nosy pricks in Monaco someone is going to see me out and assume I’ve left you back at the apartment tied to the bed.”

“You know who would think that?” Daniel said as he finally pulled away from her neck “Gasly, dude is a kinky fucker and leaving someone tied to a bed is exactly the sort of thing he’d do.”

Eadaoin let out a snort of laughter.

“And you know this how?” she asked in amusement “has he left you tied to a bed after one to many vodka sodas?”

“Oh very funny, not me but after a night out at Jimmy’z you know the club? Last summer break we headed back to Max and Kelly’s and got talking about the kinkiest shit we’d ever done in the bedroom and he said he left his then girlfriend tied to a bed with a Hitachi want tied to her leg for an hour and a half while he went out to buy some booze. He said and I quote “she was so turned on I sink she may have pissed ‘erself, zere was definitely a wet patch on the bed that I’m not sure was cum”

Eadaoin couldn’t help it and collapsed in a fit of giggles.

“Pierre Gasly?” she asked in amusement “Like THE Pierre Gasly?”

“Yeah of course, how any blokes named Pierre Gasly do you know?” Daniel replied with a grin.

“That begs the question....” Eadaoin said letting her voice trail off.

“Mmmm?” Daniel replied returning his attention to her neck.

“What’s the kinkiest shit you’ve ever gotten up to in the bedroom?” Eadaoin asked.

“You really want to know?” Daniel asked in surprise pulling back slightly.

“Yeah why not?” Eadaoin asked “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“I don’t know if you’d call my experience kinky as such,” Daniel confessed “mildly adventurous maybe?”

“Go on.”

“Jem and I partner swapped and had a foursome with Nat Pinkham and her husband.” Daniel replied.

“Wha-Natalie Pinkham?” Eadaoin exclaimed “THE Natalie Pinkham? When?”

“Couple of years before I left Red Bull,” Daniel replied “we all got hammered at an end of season party in Abu Dhabi, one thing led to another and well she was the third woman I’ve ever slept with after Alesha my first ever girlfriend and Jem.”

“W-was it good?” Eadaoin asked hesitatingly “sorry if I’m being nosy I’m just curious.”

“Yeah it was,” Daniel replied honestly “I’m glad I experienced it but I wouldn’t do a threesome-well foursome again. Partner swapping or sharing just isn’t my thing. One at a time is my jam.”

“Has that affected the friendship you and Natalie and her husband have? I know you’re her son’s godfather.”

“Nah we’re all good,” Daniel replied “the next day when we had all sobered up we discussed it and decided whilst we had fun it wasn’t something any of us had a desire to do again, though if I’m honest I think that night was where Jem got the idea to cheat on me with Cyril when I moved to Renault. Prior to that she had the same mindset as me one at a time partner wise. She was more open to the idea of being sexually adventurous outside our relationship than I was. I suppose when I moved to Renault and Cyril came into the picture as my boss that was her incentive to step out.”

“Oh wow that’s heavy,” Eadaoin exclaimed “I can see why you wouldn’t want to be that adventurous again. How are you feeling?”

“About the foursome?” Daniel asked “oh that I’m totally comfortable with, it happened, I’m glad it happened it was fun but I’ve moved on with my life. I’m just upset that I was cheated on in the way I was y’know? That’s the issue. I don’t think Jem set out to purposely cheat on me but the opportunity arose and she took it. I just think the seed for it was planted that night in Abu Dhabi.”

“Have you told anyone else this before?” Eadaoin asked softly.

“Yeah Michael, Blake, Mum and Dad, though I didn’t go into tremendous detail with any of them.” Daniel replied “they all know I had a a foursome with Pinks and Owain but I basically said to all of them “D'you think if I hadn’t done it that night in Abu Dhabi that Jem would have cheated on me?” and it was Dad that said to me “Mate I don’t think that night had anything to do with what Jem did to you, no one incident makes anyone cheat on their partner it probably just planted the seed for doing it and when you moved to Renault and met Cyril things went from there.”

“Your Dad’s a wise guy,” Eadaoin informed him, lifting a hand and rubbing his cheek with her thumb.

“Yeah he is,” Daniel replied with a sigh “he helped me a lot at the end of last year.”

“I’m really looking forward to meeting your parents they seem really good people,” Eadaoin said happily “I’m looking forward to meeting all your family really.”

“And believe me when I say they’re all looking forward to meeting you,” Daniel countered happily “this Christmas is going to be the best.”

#Daniel Ricciardo #Daniel Ricciardo FanFiction

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 1 year

Text

I listened to some stuff yesterday, it made me remember some things, I got distracted by thinking about that while working, I wrote it down in the hopes that that would help. It’s going to be another long and rambly one that’s really just for me and is worth skipping.

Yesterday, I felt brought me back to a day in 2021 when a few friends and I were helping another friend move out of his apartment. He’d bought a condo – the first person I know to actually buy property – that, he insisted, was not way out in the suburbs. But it’s the suburbs compared to where we live, right downtown. It’s two buses or a 50-minute bike ride away. He was moving there with his girlfriend.

I expecting helping him move to be difficult, but once I started, I found it even tougher than I’d expected. I’ve helped so many friends move over the years, and before that time, it was always at least kind of fun. I mean it sucks, but we do it together, we play music and talk shit and take things apart, then at the end we all sit on the floor in the new place that’s full of nothing but boxes, and drink beer and eat takeout. Then for years after, whenever we go to that place, we have stories about that time we spent and hour and a half getting this couch through that doorway when they first moved in.

It’s possible that because I haven’t done this in a long time (aside from that one day in 2021), I may be romanticizing it a bit. When you’re actually doing it, the process of moving is grueling and fucking annoying. But when you look back, what you remember is the feeling of satisfaction at the end, and the beer and pizza in a room full of new possibilities.

The one last year was very different. It was the first time I’ve ever helped with a move and not enjoyed it even a bit. I kept volunteering to do the smaller, one-person jobs, because I didn’t want my friends to see how sad the whole process made me. Every time I walked through the apartment, I thought about all the times I’d walked through there before, and all the things we wouldn’t do again.

I didn’t even see his new place that day. I did a lot of work with helping them put everything in the U-Haul (you know you’re growing up when helping your friends move means putting everything they own into one U-Haul, rather than doing what was meant to be four but turned into twelve trips back and forth in a friend’s truck), but by the end I could hardly keep it together. My friends told me that loading the U-Haul was the hard part, they had more than enough people to unload it without me, I may as well not come so far out of my way when I was so close to home already. I took them up on that, and didn’t follow them to the new neighbourhood. I walked the ten minutes home and drank beer and ordered pizza alone in my bedroom, because that’s what life had become by May 2021.

So I didn’t see his new place the day he moved into it. I saw a couple of pictures on the group chat, but honestly I skimmed by them because looking at them made me sad. I never saw the place in person until just a few months ago now, when my best friend and I joined another friend and his girlfriend at the first friend’s house for a dinner party.

Okay, to make things simpler I think I need to give a name to the friend who moved, and in the tradition I’ve used a few times on this blog of telling personal stories but changing the names to those of British comedians, I’m calling him Richard Ayoade. Because I’ve actually compared those two people in a previous post about people who have voices like Sheldon Cooper, and I stand by that comparison.

In August, my best friend and I drove out to the condo of Richard Ayoade and his girlfriend, where we were met by another friend of our and his girlfriend, and we ate ramen that the hosts had cooked. It was very good. They’d spent all day making it, and told us all about the process. We also discussed the efforts of several people in the room to get promoted at work, and the efforts a friend of my friend’s was making to upgrade a car, and the upcoming municipal elections. I’m being a bit disingenuous to include the latter on a list of boring conversation topics, as I do like talking politics, but this particular discussion felt so awkwardly restrained that I didn’t participate much.

I mean, I did participate a bit. At one point the conversation turned to federal politics, and our local MP who’d been bullied out of her job by misogynistic harassment. Ayoade’s girlfriend mentioned a few incidents that had cumulated in the word “cunt” being sprayed on the MP’s campaign office’s window. I said yes, I heard an interview in which she said the “cunt” on the window thing was the last straw after all the actual death threats, because that one was so public.

There was silence for a second, and then I realized that when Ayoade’s girlfriend had told the story, she’d said the window was sprayed with the word “C-U-N-T”. She had spelled it out for the sake of polite company, and I had actually said the word, not realizing the discrepancy until after. I immediately got very socially awkward and apologized, and Ayoade’s girlfriend was very nice, saying she’d only spelled the word out in case anyone else might be offended, but she had no problem hearing it, and it was fine. I think she meant it, but I still shut my mouth for the rest of the conversation.

We all had one beer, and then stopped because people were driving. I don’t mean to make it sound like that makes an evening boring either – I’ve had many great nights when no one was drinking, and many great nights when most people were drinking but friends who don’t drink at all or chose not to drink that night were around, and those friends were still great fun, and if anyone even made a joke about those people being less fun due to not drinking, I’d tell them to fuck off. So I don’t mean a night with insufficient alcohol can’t be fun. But in this case, the reason we didn’t have more was because my friend lived too far away for us to walk home, and we were all being responsible adults, and I didn’t know the girlfriends of Richard Ayoade or my other friend well enough to feel comfortable getting drunk around them anyway, and that depressed me.

I mean, it was fine. It was good, actually. I hadn’t seen those friends in a long time, and it was genuinely nice to spend time with them again. I’d missed them. But also, I just sat there politely eating dinner and not saying “cunt” with them, and felt like we were all pretending. This wasn’t what we did.

It’s only in the last couple of months that I’ve started going back to practices for the sport I coach, and I see Richard Ayoade at most of them. We normally don’t talk beyond a quick hello, which is fair because there’s stuff going on, though there is some room for socializing during practice. We used to make jokes to each other during the practices about what people were doing, but we don’t do that anymore. Not because we’re trying to be more responsible, but just because the shared understanding on which we built those jokes has dissipated. Before COVID hit, all the coaches used to go to a pub after two of the practices per week, and that’s where we did most of our socializing and building foundations for the in-practice jokes. But we don’t do that anymore.

The other day, I saw him at practice and he asked me how I’m doing. He asked if I’ve finished that college program, and I said yes, a month ago. Now I’m back to my at-home job and looking for something better. I asked him how he’s doing, and he said he got promoted at work two months ago and is focused on impressing new bosses. He mentioned in the group chat a while ago that he was shopping for an engagement ring for his girlfriend, but I haven’t heard whether there are updates on that.

So we were just standing there, giving each other the headlines of our weeks-old news, and I felt like we were having this incredibly surface-level conversation and pretending the last seven or eight years didn’t happen. I wanted to tell him, “We don’t do this! You and I don’t stand around on mats talking like this. That’s not our relationship!”

We once drove to Michigan together and slept on floors just to yell at children for a weekend (with their consent, I should add; in our sport you have to yell pretty loudly from the corner or the athletes won’t hear you, also most of the people we coached were actually teenagers and not children, if that helps). We’ve actually shared sleeping floor space in many different areas: my friend’s gym, and several friends’ apartments, and hotel rooms with too many people to fit on beds to save money. Richard Ayoade and I have probably yelled at children and teenagers together in at least fifteen different municipalities over the years, going to most of those a bunch of times. We’ve yelled at refs in at least six of them.

I have pushed him into snowbanks and been pushed into snowbanks. I have participated alongside him in four separate drinking games tournaments, with him in charge of doing the math involved in setting up and tracking draw sheets. I have seen him strip off all his clothes and show off how many chin-ups he could do for the promise of two dollars, and at that moment he was sober. I have seen him run four kilometres and drink four beers in fifteen minutes because that seemed like a fun challenge at the time, and I’m pretty sure clothes came off in the process of that as well. He and I have sat on the curb with our other friends at 3 AM, eating shawarmas after drinking too much, so many times.

I let him talk it out for ages as he realized things were falling apart with his previous girlfriend. I always avoided pointing out the obvious, that the relationship was terrible and needed to end, mainly because I always think people should break up with their boyfriends or girlfriends, so I’m biased. It’s hard for me to tell when a relationship is genuinely bad, and when I just think it is because I always think that. But one day, when it was just him and I left at the pub after everyone else had gone home, he said, “I mean, I know she loves me, and I care about her very much.”

Before I could stop myself I pointed out, “You did not use the same word both times there.” He was drunk and didn’t know what I meant, asked me to repeat what he’d said, and I said don’t worry about it, I was just being pedantic, there is no need to read into what was actually just a slip of the tongue. But he told me again to repeat it, and I did, and he said I was right.

When he ended it two weeks later, he went straight from there to a tournament (a sports one, not a beer one), and we went straight from there to a pub with the coaches, and he told me that day was everything he needed to remember that life was so much bigger than that one relationship. But he also struggled with it, and I came over many times over the next few weeks, when he told me he needed a distraction.

When he started dating again, I got all the stories. The first time he had sex, the woman left straight after, and he called me to say he felt weird because after years in a relationship, he wasn’t used to being alone right after that. So I told him to come over and we watched Letterkenny until he fell asleep on my couch.

And the emotional support in difficult times very much did not go only one way. When I first moved into where I live now, it was because I’d been living with my best friend, but he and I had been fighting about stupid things because I can’t share physical space with anyone without freaking out about it. So we decided to split up, and I moved into this house, with a guy on the team I’d sort of known for fifteen years and was civil with but never really liked, since he needed a roommate and had cheap rent in a good central location, and I don’t have to worry about ruining a friendship since he and I never had one. That was four years ago and I haven’t ruined anything – I spend all my time in my bedroom, my roommate and I say about four words to each other per week, it works fine.

I was really depressed at the time, because I was sad about not living with my friend anymore, and feeling like I was impossible to live with. The one upside was that my new place was only a ten-minute walk away from Richard Ayoade’s apartment. I started going over there all the time. We watched Letterkenny and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and videos of matches from our sport. I listened while he practiced the keyboard. We went on spontaneous walks around downtown in the middle of the night, and he pointed out how moving to the more central location has its upsides, because we could do things like that without even planning it. He experimented with frequently terrible combinations of liquor and soft drinks, and shared the results with me. I walked home from his house at 1 AM so many times, or if we were up later than that I’d just crash on his couch and walk home in the morning.

When my multi-year effort to get a board spot on the organization that oversees our sport and use it to combat just some of the ingrained sexism and general predator protecting that goes on there went up in flames, he let me quite literally cry on his shoulder. I couldn’t bring myself to read the replies to my resignation email, in which I’d taken a chance by writing things I couldn’t write while maintaining my position on the board, risking a bit of my reputation just to try to start a semi-public conversation about the stuff we only talk about in whispers. I only managed to read them while sitting with Ayoade on his couch, getting through the HR-style replies with the same stock lines they’d been using for years, final confirmation that it had all come to nothing and no discussion would be sparked. Then there were more tears, and we drank several brands of whiskey with a number of different soft drinks that night.

When COVID hit, there were a lot of Zoom calls at first. The first time I left my house for non-grocery-shopping-related reasons, it was to sit on Richard Ayoade’s balcony with him, look at the city, and talk about how we couldn’t wait to have our lives back, just like they were before, when this is all over. I told him I’ve been watching a lot of British comedy lately, to pass the time until this is all over and I can go back to my life.

The Zoom chats and the balcony beers got fewer and father between as time went on. I started socially isolating myself as well as physically isolating, and he got closer with his girlfriend, whom he’d met just a few months before the pandemic. Every day ran together when nothing was ever happening, and we lost track of time.

We still met up when we needed it, at least at first. He texted me one day to say he felt like he was falling apart, and we went for a distanced walk to talk about problems with his family. I texted him one day to say I haven’t spoken out loud in three weeks and think I might be feeling suicidal for the first time in years, and he came over and saw me cry again.

When our friend died, it was the height of the delta lockdown, so we couldn’t all gather as a group. But Richard Ayoade and I went over to my best friend’s place, and the three of us had our own little mourning – too small, as the group we’d shared had more people than that, but it was something. We poured out half a bottle of whiskey in our friend’s honour and then drank the rest of it and one more, and watched his old tournament videos and the highlight reel I’d made him as a Christmas gift once, and got our other friends on the phone.

That’s what we used to do together. And that’s just the summary, just a few of the most intense points where our lives have converged, it leaves out so much. It leaves out a lot of the happy times, like when he first got that job that recently promoted him, and he texted me immediately, instead of mentioning it in passing two months later. We all celebrated with him that weekend.

Now we stand there sharing two-sentence summaries of our news, and I knew it would happen. I knew it as I helped him move out of his apartment, a ten-minute walk away, to a place that basically counts as the suburbs. I knew as I moved his keyboard and his couch and the chairs on his balcony, and a box with the glasses and jars he used for mixing whiskey. I couldn’t do it without feeling sad, because I knew it represented all that finally being over for good.

My girlfriend and I broke up last week, and it was really really hard – still is, I’m throwing myself into other stuff and using this blog as a distraction, but it’s been hard – and I didn’t have any friends who felt close enough for me to reach out to them about it. And that, I think it’s fair to say, is not because I had a girlfriend for fourteen months. I hate it when romantic relationships take precedence over platonic ones, or over other things people are passionate about, so I never let mine do that. To be honest, that would be one of the reasons it ended. But the point is that any isolating from my friends that was my fault was not because I was too focused on my girlfriend; it was due to my own mental health issues and tendency to isolate myself as a response to those issues (…another reason the relationship ended). Girlfriend-based pulling away from friends was done by Richard Ayoade, and by a few of my other friends who’ve acquired romantic partners, but not by me. But whatever the reason, I’ve still found myself in a situation of going through something tough and not having someone who will watch Letterkenny on a couch with me about it.

Anyway, yesterday I started listening to a Daniel Kitson show about moving out of his old apartment where he’d shared things with friends who have since moved away and grown up, and about ten minutes in I needed to turn that the hell off and listen to him yell at Tim Key instead. Because the number of times Daniel Kitson has made cry so far is holding steady at three – though I argue that it should be 2.5 at the most because one of those times was actually about my friend who died and all Kitson did was remind me of that, and anyway Isy Suttie was the one who said the actual words that got me so she deserves the credit if anyone does – and I am determined to not let that number go higher. After resisting for some time, I resigned months ago to being the sort of nerd who’s really, annoyingly into Daniel Kitson. But I will not be one who lets him make me cry four times.

So I turned that off, listened to a bit of him doing something else, and then put on music to try to get some work done. I put my entire music collection on shuffle, and of the 11,274 songs, the first one to come on was Sweet Bedford by Gavin Osborn. I don’t think it’s a complete coincidence; I think the supposedly random iTunes shuffle function has a bias toward songs that were recently added or recently played, which that one was. But still, it was strange to have just turned off a show about friendships growing apart, and then immediately have on a song about the same subject. And not just the same subject, but the same person! They both wrote things about growing away from the same person. I looked at my laptop and said, “Fuck off, Gavin,” out loud before skipping the song.

I think the lesson here is that John Oliver needs to stop moving away from places. Or maybe he needs to do it more, because apparently that causes the people he left behind to create great art about it. Maybe he should move every few years to jumpstart the amount of bittersweet nostalgic odes to friendship in the world. Now that I think about it, I did actually listen to some other stuff over the weekend that unexpectedly had some John Oliver moving away-based sad stories, though that was quite a different circumstance. Still though, that’s three on one subject.

I swear I have not intentionally curated my media to mainly consist of stories about John Oliver moving away, aside from the fact that I’ve dived into a fairly specific genre: anything ever made by any comedian who is now in their forties, did a show at Edinburgh at some point between 2000 and 2009, and may have had a chocolate milkshake at some point during those festivals. Turns out there are some running themes within that niche. And I mean, I guess in some ways I have intentionally sought out those stories; I did have a very long and detailed post going recently that collated scraps of John Oliver’s connections to British comedy. But on this specific week, I was not specifically searching to encounter quite so many stories on the specific subject of how people feel after John Oliver moves away from them.

I don’t know if all the art is worth it; he needs to just stay where he fucking is. He’s like Helen of Troy, he broke some hearts and launched a thousand art projects (okay, three, though I think you could count some of Andy Zaltzman’s laments after he left The Bugle as at least one more). If he does it again someone might get killed; I’ve read Greek mythology and no matter how beautiful the art is, these things never end well.

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