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jusvibbbin · 7 months ago

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Soulmate

Tom Paris x Reader

2365 words

Note: I literally didn't know Tom's mom was alive until i was already writing this. Just don't think about it.

Tom didn't believe in soulmates. He did, once. Before his mom died.

He can remember laying in his bed while she read him some bedtime story- something cheesy, where the main characters lived happily ever after, and the hero of the story called the love interest their soulmate.

“What's a soulmate?”

She'd looked down at him curiously as she thought, shutting the book closed. In the moment, he was so sure it was such a powerful thing that she was having trouble putting it into words.

As he grew up, it felt more like she was trying to make it feel more magical than it was.

“A soulmate… is like your best friend. Someone who will stick by you through everything. Who would drop just about anything for you. Who loves you just as much as you love them. Like your dad and me. You just… click.”

He'd scrunched his face up, disgusted at the idea of love, of his mom and dad kissing, and she'd laughed at him, putting him to bed for the night.

It was about a year later, when he was in the hospital, watching doctors try and call his father while other doctors tried frantically to keep his mom from succumbing to her injuries from the hovercar crash, when the illusion of soulmates started to fade.

Most of the girls he dated were nice, sure. But he’d never really felt that click. Nothing that special. He liked them. They got along. That was enough.

None of them stayed, either. Which, when he landed himself in the penal colony, he figured that was for the best. Nobody to miss, nobody to miss him. Admiral Paris certainly didn’t.

Being recruited for Voyager didn’t really change any of those thoughts. And aside from Harry, no one was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt anyway.

He first met you after the dust settled- once they were far enough from the explosion and the Ocampa homeworld that everyone could breathe and settle into the new normal.

With both Harry and B’Elanna putting in extra hours helping on necessary repairs, he was taking his dinner alone. Some awful leola root stew that he could barely stomach, but he had to be careful with his rations. He might end up needing something big. Or Neelix could cook something even worse.

He shivered at the thought.

He’d been pulled from his loathing musings by the clink of a tray being set down at his table. When he glanced up, he met your eyes. You were dressed in a yellow-topped uniform, one gold pip pinned to your collar.

“Hello, Ensign.”

“Lieutenant.” You’d taken your seat, looking down at your tray. “Enjoying tonight’s menu?”

“Enjoying is a stretch.” He’d poked at it, listening to the way you snorted at him. “It’s erring on the side of edible.”

“Surely that’s dramatic.” He’d blanched as you took a big bite with your spoon, paling quickly and trying not to cough. “It’s- it’s quite edible, actually.”

He’d almost laughed then, wholly amused with the way you were trying to convince him, or maybe even yourself, that you could eat the dish no problem. It was almost comical.

“Right. My bad.”

You’d offered him a smile, busy taking a drink from your water. “Hope I’m not interrupting your brooding.”

“Brooding?” He scoffed.

“Yes, brooding. It’s all you’ve done since you arrived on board.”

“Have you been watching me?”

“No.” You snorted. “No, this corner just always has this awful foreboding energy coming from it.”

“Foreboding?” He’s incredulous now, and rightfully so. “It’s not foreboding.”

“Why do you think the tables around you are empty?”

“Because,” he’d leaned forwards conspiratorially, “no one wants to be associated with an add-on from a penal colony.”

“Bah.” You tried another bite of your soup with a frown. “As if that makes you any worse than anyone else here.”

“Makes me worse than a good chunk of the people here.” He’d almost smiled as he leaned back.

“Maquis, Starfleet,” you’d shrugged, “I don’t see why it matters. As long as we’re all trying to get home, it’s all the same to me.”

He raised a brow at you. Novel thought. “Not everyone sees it that way.”

“They should. What’s the point in fighting amongst ourselves when we just need to get back in one piece?”

You’d talked together much too long, only pulling away from the conversation when Neelix dimmed the mess hall lights, looking a tad embarrassed. He’d learned quite a bit about you- you were security personnel. You’d done your physical training in America. Your family was very close, and you, like most of Voyager, were dreading the long ride.

You shot him a smile as you got up, taking your tray to dispose of it. “I’ll see you around, Paris.”

You were gone before he could think of a reason to walk you to your quarters.

The next time he sees you is at Sandrine’s. You’d come in off-duty, while they were keeping the program running to people to have breaks as often as they needed. He’d been busy- surely you had too. He’d seen you around, sure, but you hadn’t really had time to chat.

He smiled, ordering a couple of drinks from the lady of the bar before coming over, drinks in hand, handing you one. “Welcome to Sandrine’s.”

You’d looked down at the drink skeptically. “What is this?”

“Sex on the beach.” Your ears flushed, but the look on your face didn’t change. “I figured a drink where you don’t really taste the liquor was safe.”

You nodded, taking a long drink before looking up at him again. “So this is Sandrine’s.”

He swept his arm out, presenting the space to you. “Plenty of pool tables and darts.”

“Do you play pool?”

He scoffed. “Do I play pool? I did my physical training in the same city as this place, of course I do.”

“Play me.” You headed for an empty pool table, and he stifled a grin.

“I won’t go easy on you.”

“I’d be offended if you tried.”

You’d practically mopped the floor with him. “Ah, I let you win.”

“Bullshit,” you laughed at him, a sweet, mirthful sound, and all he could think is that, God, he wanted to hear that again.

“I did!”

“A rematch then. Once you fetch us a couple more drinks.” You began re-racking the table, and he grinned, setting the pool cue down and heading to order a couple more drinks from Sandrine.

“Who’s that?”

He almost jumped, glancing at Harry. “...An Ensign. In tactical.”

“You’re spending a lot of time together.”

“It’s a couple rounds of pool.”

“Is that the same Ensign you spent hours with in the mess?”

He flushed a little, trying to shake it away as he took the drinks. “You’re looking into it too much, Harry.” He motioned back to the dart board. “And you’re losing.”

He darted away while Harry’s attention was turned, bringing drinks back over. “Hope you don’t mind a plain screwdriver.”

You took it with a little smile. “Thank you. Your break.”

He lost. Again.

“Well now you’re just getting lucky.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Paris.” You grinned at him, pushing some stray hair back as you checked the time. “I gotta ditch.”

“Tired already?”

“Paris, it’s 0100.”

He checked the time. Oh. It was.

“I’ll see you.”

He looked up, but once again, you were gone before he could say much more.

But, unlike the first time, you started to seek him out more often. Or maybe he was seeking you out. He wasn’t really sure. It didn’t really matter either.

You were wedging yourself in wherever you could- mostly mealtime of course, but slowly, you started hanging out outside of the mess. First the holodeck. Then, his quarters. Never yours- you’d told him once you didn’t like having people in your space all the time. You’d never offered, and he never asked. He liked having you in his space, anyway. You just sort of… clicked, it felt like.

You’d said as much, once. Huddled on the opposite side of the couch from him, wearing casual clothes, the first day off duty you’d both had line up. You’d agreed to one Scooby-Doo movie marathon, and you seemed to be enjoying yourself.

“You know,” he’d turned his head to look at you as you spoke, “I actually like having you around.” Your tone sounded like this was some novel concept.

He’d barked a laugh at you, shaking his head. “Is that shocking or something?”

“Just didn’t expect to like you that much.”

Your eyes were trained on the viewscreen, so you probably didn’t see the look on his face when his heart skipped a full beat. Honestly, it wasn’t as romantic a feeling as he thought it would be. He felt a little like he was dying.

“Well, get used to it. Everyone likes me that much.”

“Right.” You peeked at him, looking much too amused for his liking. “Name one person-”

He opened his mouth to speak.

“-Besides Harry.”

He gave you a mock-offended look. “B’Elanna.”

Later, he’d recognize the way you deflated, but in the moment, all he saw was the way you shrugged, returning your gaze to the movie. “Touche.”

You’d left as soon as that movie ended. He’d almost whined, since you were supposed to stay much longer- it was only 1700- but he didn’t, just walking you to the door and trying not to wilt at your terse goodbye.

It’s maybe a week later he decides he’s going to ask you on a date. He’s either got to try or he’ll lose his chance, he figures, and he’d rather say he tried.

That’s also the day you tell him about your date with Nozawa.

“A date? With Nozawa?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “All he does is spend time in the gym.”

“It’s nice to have a hobby,” you shrugged.

“Is pulling muscles a hobby?”

You swatted at his arm. “Be nice, Thomas, I’m telling you because I’m looking for support.”

“I’m being supportive. I’m just saying you could do better.”

You scoffed, shaking your head at him. “I have to go get ready.” You moved to get up from the table, and he felt a little empty.

“Have fun!” Harry called his encouragement after you before turning to look at him. “Dude. Really?”

“Really what?”

“You know what. It’s not her fault you took too long to ask her out.”

He scoffed again, digging at his food.

“...But she could probably do better.”

It was just two hours later he opened the door to his quarters to see you, looking irritated. Your hair was… puffy, was how he’d describe it. You were wearing a shiny, halter top jumpsuit with flared legs.

“...What kind of date was that?”

“Disco.” You shoves past him into his quarters, taking his neat whiskey and downing it, despite his protests.

“What is up with you?” He asks, incredulous. “Was the date that bad?”

“You were right.”

“What?”

“It was boring.” You look at him, and, for a moment, he could swear you were about to hit him.

“I’ve never heard of a boring disco,” he tries, hoping to temper your irritation.

“He wouldn’t even dance with me.”

That takes him a minute to process, gears whirring in his brain as he looks you up and down. “Why would he even bring you to a disco then? I think dancing is, like, a given.” He moves past you, further into his quarters, retrieving you each a water, handing yours over as you thanked him.

“Beats me. And, I mean, the music is so loud in those things-”

“-Can’t even talk if you wanted to,” he finishes for you, sympathetic as he sits down on one side of his couch, motioning for you to sit.

He’s shocked when you sit directly beside him, leaning into his side.

“You feeling alright, butterscotch?” A nickname he’d settled on based purely on your yellow uniform.

“I’m just… this is so annoying.”

“Yeah, most boring dates are. You can probably just let him know it's not a good match.”

“Oh, I think he knows.” You sound miffed, and he looks down at you.

“What do you mean?”

“I told him I was leaving because I was fucking bored.” He’s stunned by this revelation, giving you a doubtful look.

“No you didn’t.”

“Oh yes, I did.”

He stares at you for another few minutes, shaking his head. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it was true.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” You roll your eyes.

“You know he’s gonna tell people you said that.”

“Yup.”

“Word travels fast, small ship.”

“I know.”

“Your dating chances, totally squandered.”

“Or maybe I’ll get more interesting dates.”

“I could plan a more interesting date.”

There’s an odd stillness in the air as you turn to look up at him. “You could, could you?”

“Yeah. I’d at least dance with you. That gives me points over Nozawa already.”

“That’s the bare minimum.”

“I’d use saved up holodeck time and do something like a beach date. Get some ice cream, walk the shore… maybe push you in.”

You snort, shaking your head at him. “Pushing me in isn’t a good first date.”

“But you’d laugh.” He reaches to tuck some of your hair back. “I like your laugh. You’d laugh harder if I fell in with you.”

You lean towards his hand, and his eyes flick down towards your mouth. You pull up to kiss him, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders to hold you close, despite the briefness of the kiss.

“Take me on one then.”

“Huh?”

“A date. Take me on one.” You give him a shove, and he laughs.

“Okay. Easy. How about tomorrow?”

“I thought you’d need some holodeck time saved up?”

“I’ve been saving up holodeck time to ask you on a date. Just say yes.”

Your face softens, and he can’t help grinning wider.

“Yes, idiot.”

You pulled him in for another face, and he could almost hear something sort of click together in his head.

Maybe… maybe he could believe in soulmates. If it was you.

#tom paris x reader #star trek voyager #friend's fic #omfg i love it

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jusvibbbin · 7 months ago

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What the fuck were they putting in the water back then.

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jusvibbbin · 7 months ago

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art by @BottlngSunshine

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jusvibbbin · 8 months ago

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Babycakes

Word count: 3836

Gordon Malloy x Reader

//Warnings: Smut. Drinking. Cursing.

Gordon was always so good at throwing parties. It was like he thrived on it, though he endlessly complained about the clean-up every time.

The first time you even met Gordon was at one of his parties your friend had dragged you to, back at Union Point. She'd left you standing alone in the kitchen as she fawned over some dark-haired man in the corner.

You were just standing there, nursing a shitty beer when he entered, all boisterous and redheaded and freckled, expertly weaving around the crowd and taking up the empty space next to you as he poured some shots. He glanced up at you with a casual “Hey,” as he grabbed a bottle of hard liquor from a high cabinet, looking back down at the shots he was pouring and continuing to peek at you. “You wanna shot?”

“Is the host okay with you stealing his liquor?” You questioned curiously, and he'd laughed at you, shaking his head.

“Thankfully for both of us, this is my place,” he motioned with his free hand. “Shot?”

It was probably better than your shitty beer, and would surely get you to feel something quicker, so you agreed, and he gave you a shit-eating grin, reaching for another mini red solo cup and pouring another shot.

“Ed! Get your ass over here and take this shot, man!”

“I'm coming, dude, chill out.”

You glanced towards the voice to see the same dark haired man your friend supposedly abandoned you for, said friend nowhere in sight.

“Where'd that girl go?”

“No idea man.” He spotted you, and offered a smile. “I'm Ed,” he'd informed, and you nodded, giving him your name.

“Gordon, by the way.”

“You poured her a shot but didn't get her name?”

“Look, man, I was pouring shots-”

“Dude you're the host-”

“It's fine,” you cut in, glancing between them and trying not to laugh at the argument happening in front of you. “Not a big deal.”

Gordon smiled at you, slipping the little red cup in your hand. “See, man?”

Ed rolled his eyes, picking up another little cup.

The three of you clinked your crappy little cups and threw the shot back, Ed gagging almost immediately as you made an unhappy face.

“This liquor sucks, dude.”

The ginger just smiled again, shaking his head at the two of you. “Weak.” He slung an arm around Ed to tug him away, glancing back at you. “I'll see you around!”

And that was that. Or so you thought.

You were lounging in bed the next morning when your comm started ringing, and, blearily, you answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” You heard a thunk, and the caller cursed. “Hey, it's Gordon. We met last night?”

You paused, looking around your room in confusion, as if the walls could explain this interaction to you. “...Uh, yeah?”

“I looked you up.” A clang, and another loud curse. “Sorry, I'm still cleaning up.”

“You aren't calling to ask me to help, are you?”

He laughed, and you couldn't help but smile a little. “I thought about it, but nah. I actually wanted to see if you wanted to come by next Friday? I'm having another party and you seem chill enough.”

“Chill enough?”

“Yeah. Maybe we can all get to know each other, be friends or whatever.”

You smiled a little wider. “Yeah, that sounds cool.”

“Sweet. Starts at 2100, so I'll see you, babycakes. Malloy out.”

And the rest is history, as they say. He'd invited you to basically every party he'd thrown since, the only exceptions being when you were posted to different places.

When you took an opening in the Orville's science department, you weren't even sure if he was still there. When he was busy, messages and calls were few and far between, and he'd been pretty busy since taking the posting five years prior. Not to say he didn’t make time for you! He had insisted that the two of you find time at least once a month to catch up, and it was… nice.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t fallen for Gordon over the years. He was cute! Both back when you met him and now, with scruff on his face and his pretty brown eyes. And you learned to love the way that, in some ways, he never really grew up. Gordon was still the party guy you always knew, and he still called you to complain when he was cleaning up.

When you first boarded the Orville, you were greeted by Ed, who gave you a big grin, glancing at the security officer at his side.

“Lieutenant Commander!” He reaches to shake your hand, excited. “Been a long time!”

“It’s nice to see a friendly face,” you laugh at his enthusiasm, nodding at the Xelayan woman behind him.

“Malloy’ll probably be psyched when he sees you.”

You snort, shaking your head at him as he motions you forward.

“Come on. I’ll show you the lab.”

“Perfect. I’d love to see the place.”

He grins, motioning you along. “How’s headquarters?”

“Same as always. Boring.”

“Well, you’ll get plenty of excitement here.”

“So I've heard. You guys have been crazy busy, huh? Kaylon fights and trips to Krill…”

“You’re listing all the not fun stuff,” he sighs exasperatedly, leading you into the lab.

It’s… pretty bare. You don’t see a whole lot of staff milling about. You glance at Ed, who looks sheepish.

“We’re working on getting it back up to snuff.”

“Right.” You sigh, looking over the small crew, a few of which wave at you.

“Come on.” He motions back out of the lab. “It’s almost dinner and I wanna see Gordon lose his mind when you walk into the mess.”

“‘Lose his mind’ is dramatic,” you roll your eyes as you follow him. “It’s Gordon. He’s almost always happy and excited.”

“It’s different when it’s you.” He shrugs, and you let the suggestion roll off your shoulders.

Ed makes a lot of suggestions after all, and always has. Even when Gordon has had a girlfriend, Ed would have something to say that suggested Gordon wanted you. Asinine.

When the pair of you step into the mess, someone calls out to Ed, and you prepare to duck away, but he takes you by the elbow, dragging you towards the table mostly comprised of strangers.

“Gordon,” he calls once you’re closer to the table, nudging you in front of him.

The redhead turns from his conversation with another crewmember, and he brightens up when he sees you, moving to scoop you into a hug. “Hey, babycakes!”

You groan loud, returning the hug. “It’s been almost twenty years. You can’t drop the nickname?”

“Nope. I like it.” He pulls back to grin at you. “Fits you.”

You can feel Ed’s eye roll as you pull away. “You gonna introduce me?”

“Yeah! Yeah,” he pulls back the rest of the way as you smooth your hands over your uniform.

He introduces you to the group around him, which, of course, just so happen to be the senior officers of your new posting. Joy.

“Babycakes?” LaMarr chuckles at you, and you sigh.

“It’s a long story.”

“No, I’ve heard of you.” You flush. “Good to put a face to the name.”

“Uh… right, yeah.” You nod.

Gordon ushers you to sit, and if you didn’t know any better, you might think he was a little flushed, but you knew Gordon. Come hell or high water, he was never embarrassed.

The next week or so you spend getting settled in. Taking a new posting is hard, from learning the inner workings of a new lab, to getting to know your coworkers, to… hanging out with Gordon.

You can’t help it. Something about him is just sort of magnetizing to you. Always has been. He’s an ass, but also the most sociable people-person you know. It’s nice having him around. He’s the fun and free to your occasionally stuffy and lame.

He’s taken to hanging around your quarters as you decorate and put things away, blabbing mindlessly about both things you already knew and things you didn’t.

“I’m hosting a party tomorrow,” he offers one day, and when you peek at him, his eyes are fixed on your viewscreen.

You return to hanging the picture of the two of you. “Oh?”

“You’re gonna come, right? 2100.”

You sigh, listening to him shift on your couch. “I dunno, Gord…”

“You have to. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You sigh at him again, shaking your head. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, Malloy, I said okay.”

“Sweet!” He darts up, grinning at you and heading for the door. “Just dress, like, a little nice but mostly comfy. It’s gonna be in the sim, and we’re going for, like, a 1990s club look.”

You raise your brows. “1990s?”

“Yup.” He’s already halfway out your front door. “See you!”

Once you get the picture hung, you settle in to do some research. Gordon and his theming. What did people even wear in the 1990s?

It takes a while, but when you head to bed, you have a pretty good idea for what you’ll wear.

The next workday is slow. The day before your day off usually is, but your nerves around the party don’t help. You’re realizing you haven’t been to a party since Gordon was posted on the Orville, and it’s messing with your head a bit. You’ve never truly been a party person. If you were being honest, you only went to Gordon’s because… well, it was Gordon.

But when the workday ends, you suck it up, heading to your quarters to get ready. You’d settled on baggy dark cargo pants and a shiny tube top. It felt and looked like the right combination of supposedly stylish and comfortable, but looking in the mirror, you’re just a little unsure.

You try to make yourself more sure by doing up your makeup and hair, completing the look with dark liner and hair down and fluffed out. It… doesn’t quite work, but when you look up it’s 2200, and while you can be late to a party, you know if you’re much later, Gordon will come looking.

So, you usher yourself out the door and to the sim. You enter into a dark room with strobing lights, and John catches your arm when you almost run smack into him.

“Woah! Careful,” he laughs, holding his drink up and to the side. “I almost doused you in beer.”

He looks a little weird, in his jeans, tee, and useless open button up, but it fits. A brief glance around, and you notice all of the men are dressed this way. Cheaters.

“It’s okay. Sorry, man.”

“It’s cool! You look good.” He looks around, clearly searching for someone. “Gordon’s at the bar.”

“I didn’t ask where Gordon was?” You scrunch your brow at him, and he grins.

“You don’t have to, man. I know.” He pats your back, pushing you along, and by the time you gather yourself to say something back, he’s gone.

You move towards the bar, Ed passing by as you go and giving you a thumbs up. You just wave him off, settling against the bar next to Gordon, raising your voice over the noise to order a drink from the simulated bartender.

You think you see Gordon look you up and down, but when you turn your head to look at him, he’s looking at your face.

“Hey, babycakes.”

“Hey, you.”

You know he looks you up and down this time. “You wanna shot?”

“Aren’t we a little old for shots?”

He snorts, ordering shots from the simulated bartender. “Nope. No such thing.” “What did you just order?” He smiles wider as a bunch of little yellow glasses are set in front of him. “They’re called lemon drop shots. Perfect for you.” He hands you one.

“Why is it perfect for me?” You give the little glass a curious look.

“Can barely taste the alcohol.”

You raise a brow as he clinks his shot glass against yours, and, on his count of three, you tip them back.

You can still taste the alcohol, but it's more manageable, and you don't argue when he holds another one up for you to take.

The two of you do a few shots, until your face is a little too flushed under the club lights and he’s laughing at you, sliding your cocktail in front of you. “Okay, no more shots for you.”

“We can’t all be heavyweights, Malloy.”

“No, you’re right. You’re right. You’ve gotta be the lightweight.”

“Shut up,” you chuckle, reaching to push at his arm, letting your hand just rest there. You feel warm, and a little unsteady, and he doesn’t move to get your arm off of him, so surely it must be okay.

He’s got more muscle than you remember, you think absently. Working on a starship must have done a lot more for his figure than sitting at a desk did. You don’t realize you’re caressing his arm until he sort of squeaks, and you tug your hand away like he’s burned you. “Sorry.”

“It’s cool,” he tries, but his face disagrees with his words, and you feel awful. “You must really be feeling it.”

You nod numbly, reaching over the bar to ask for a water. It’s delivered to you promptly, and you give the woman behind the bar a nervous smile.

“You gonna be okay by yourself for a minute?”

You wave him off, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “Yeah, I’m good. Go mingle.”

He flashes you another smile, disappearing into the crowd, and you practically slump into the bar, feeling awful.

You settle in to sober up by drinking water, and by the time Gordon finds you again, it’s nearly two hours later and about four glasses of water, and, really, you feel fine now, sipping away on your cocktail instead, which is pitifully watered down at this point.

He shoots you a grin, and you bristle a bit at the younger woman hanging off his arm as he orders them both drinks. You watch her lean up to say something, and you solidify your decision in your head as she tells him, louder, that she’ll be right back.

The moment she steps away, you lean into the bar and towards him, peeking up at him. “Hey, Gordy.”

He chuckles at you, giving you a curious look. “You drunk?”

“Nahhh,” you shake your head in denial, earning another laugh.

“You should probably head home.” “Home?” You take a stumbling step back from the bar, and he reaches for your elbow. “No, I think it’s time to dance.”

“You’re gonna fall on your face.” He glances in the direction the other woman went, and sighs in defeat. “Let me walk you home.”

It makes you an awful friend, but, internally, you cheer. Victory!

“What? No no no, you don’t have to-”

“Come on.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding you out of the sim as you stumble a bit.

The air outside of the sim feels cold compared to the warmth of everyone dancing inside, and you lean into him, listening to him sigh.

“I thought you were drinking water.”

“I had some water,” you agree, tugging his arm further around your shoulders.

“Uh huh.” “I did,” you insist, slowing to a stop by your door. “Come inside.”

He’s giving you that look again, but you tap your code in and tug him inside, feet firmly under you as you turn to ask if he wants a drink, but inertia nearly causes Gordon to knock you over, and he reaches to steady you by the shoulders.

“Woah! Careful. Sorry.”

He’s actually still pretty close to you, and he hasn’t pulled back, just looking at you like he’s worried.

You’re probably still a little tipsy, but you can't help yourself, and you reach to grab the back of his head, tugging him into a kiss, pressing yourself against him.

You can feel him freeze, hands on your shoulders holding a little harder before they drop to your waist, and, thank god, he’s kissing you back. You nip at his lip and he groans, and, blindly, you take a couple of steps back, one of his hands splaying over the small of your back to hold you close, the other pressing over the bare skin of your waist.

He pulls back from you, and, hey, you can see again, so you keep moving, pulling him towards your bedroom and leaning to mouth at the column of his throat.

He pulls completely away when you cross the threshold, and you whine, watching the way his ears flush when you do.

“You, uh,” it's really cute, watching him try and gather himself, “you should sleep it off.”

“Sleep what off?”

“The alcohol.” He moves towards your clothes to find pajamas, and while your heart warms, you aren’t ready to go to sleep just yet.

“Gordon.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t turn to look at you.

“I’m not drunk.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, okay, babycakes.”

“No, Gordon, I’m serious.”

“Did you not see yourself stumbling around?”

“Gordon…”

“Look, we can talk about it in the morning.”

“I was pretending.”

He does look at you then, brow furrowed. “What?”

“I pretended to be really drunk.”

“Why would you pretend to be really drunk?”

You flush, suddenly embarrassed, even if your plan worked more than perfectly. “...How else do you get your cute friend to walk you home when you both live on a totally safe starship?”

He stares at you a little longer before he comes back over to you, searching your face, and you groan.

“What are you looking for?”

“Here,” he holds up a finger, “follow my finger with your eyes.”

“A sobriety test? Seriously?”

“Just fucking do it.” He chuckles nervously, moving it side to side in front of your eyes, and you sigh, focusing on his hand to follow back and forth.

“Satisfied?”

He doesn’t answer, pulling you in to kiss you again, one hand drifting to paw at your ass as you groan, wrapping your arms around his neck, gently pushing him to your bed, climbing into his lap when he blindly takes a seat.

When you pull back, he’s gazing up at you, huffing softly and looking at you with unadulterated affection.

He leans to kiss at your neck, and your breath hitches a bit as his hands smooth over your skin, sliding his hand up to knead at your breast, hips bucking up against you as you arch into him.

He mutters an apology against your skin, pulling back to take a breath.

You feel a bit lightheaded, and, god, could anyone blame you? You have the man you’ve pined after for far too long in your bed, and essentially under you. In fact…

You brace a hand on his shoulder, pushing him to lay down as you climb off him, stripping off your pants and top, leaving you in just your panties, given that you couldn’t find a good bra for the tube top, and his eyes rove over you hungrily, and if you were unsure before, you certainly aren’t now.

You watch him fumble for a second, sitting up and shedding layers until he’s left in just his boxers, eyes dragging over you.

“You are so fucking hot,” he breathes, and you chuckle a little, moving to push him down against the bed again, climbing over him and settling yourself over the tent in his underwear, causing him to hiss softly, hands coming to grab at your hips. “Fuck.”

“Gordon,” you prompt sweetly, reaching to take one of his hands and guide it to your breast. “Touch me.”

He grunts out another curse, leaning up to kiss you, hard and needy, massaging your skin and gently pinching your nipple.

You grind your hips against him and he makes a strangled noise, hands dropping to your ass again as he pulls back. “Ride my face?”

“What?” You pant softly. “Gordon-”

“No, I wanna fuck you, but I want you to finish. Please? Let me taste you? Let me make you feel good.”

He’s almost begging, and it's kind of hot, so you nod, and he reaches to try and help you rid yourself of your panties, pulling you up his body.

You stop when you reach the headboard, second guessing yourself. Before you can voice your doubts, he’s pulled you down against his mouth, and you cry out, gripping the headboard.

He eats you out like a man starved, and you can’t put your finger on what he’s doing with his tongue, but fuck it’s working for you, and it’s not long before the world around you dissolves into white noise, and Gordon works you through it like a champ, helping ease you down onto the bed as you catch your breath, wiping his mouth absently.

“Holy fuck,” you gasp, looking at his almost sheepish face.

“Is that a good thing?”

You laugh, pushing up and urging him onto his back, tugging his boxers down and trying to reach your nightstand for a condom at the same time.

He chuckles at your efforts, gently pushing your hand away from his waistband, ridding himself of the offending item as you tear open a foil packet, reaching down to roll it over him, reveling in the way he arches into your touch.

“You sure you wanna-”

“Whatever you’re gonna ask, yes, I’m sure,” you interrupt, lining him up before sinking down onto his cock, and his hands fly up to grab at your hips again, grip so hard you think you might have fingerprint bruises tomorrow.

“Oh god,” his eyes drop to where his dick disappears into you, and once you’re seated, he barely manages to rasp out a “Please.”

Never one to turn down such a polite request, you begin riding him in earnest, jolting a little when he reaches to press his thumb to your clit.

You can feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen again, and a choked moan escapes you as Gordon snaps his hips up into you, muttering about being close.

He finishes first, but, to your surprise, you fall off the precipice after him, and he sits up as you do, carefully jostling you as he holds you through it, pressing kisses to your face as you huff softly.

After a few moments, he eases you off him and into your bed, moving to discard of the condom and get you covered up, hesitating at the side of your bed.

“Get in, idiot,” you sigh fondly, patting the spot next to you, and he’s quick to comply, wrapping his arms around you and pull you close.

“So… what… does this make us?”

You tilt your head to look at him, watching him worry his lip.

“...Dinner date tomorrow?”

He furrows his brow, peeking at you. “...Like a real date?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re on, babycakes.”

#the orville #gordon malloy x reader #wiccawrites #friend's fic

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jusvibbbin · 8 months ago

Text

Dinner... Date?

Tom Paris x Reader

Word Count: 2952

//Warnings: Cursing, sex. Reader is described to be female presenting with female genitalia. Also reader has big hair

Your first meeting with Lieutenant Tom Paris was nothing short of electric, to put it nicely. You'd met on the surface of the planet Torealia, and, to make a long story very short, you broke his nose. He was asking for it, in your opinion, and quite deserved to be put in his place.

You didn’t apologize, either. Why would you? He didn’t deserve one. That was evident to you, and clearly to him as well, considering he never asked for one. Granted, a small part of you thinks maybe he forgot all about it. Quite a lot of time had gone by by the time you stepped on Voyager itself.

You ran into some mechanical trouble somewhere around Tolor III, and, having no other options at the time, you accepted Captain Janeway’s help. Your original plan had been to travel with them until you could fix up your ship, but you found yourself… weirdly attached to the ragtag, far-from-home crew. You could help with some of the knowledge you had as far as this area of space, having been traveling on your own for quite some time. Given their only other help was a Talaxian who had never gotten this far, and some kind of hot, ex-Borg woman, you were pretty sure they could use the help, and Captain Janeway certainly seemed to appreciate it.

You’ve made plenty of friends, as well. B'Elanna and Seven were both straight shooters, which was appreciated more often than you anticipated. And, really, you found it hard not to be friends with Harry, who was so god damn sweet and helpful, even when he didn’t need to be.

And Paris…. Well, maybe he wasn't so bad, but you weren't really friends, either. He just sort of… hovered. Often. And for a long time. And, sure, you can excuse that. You’re essentially friends with his friends. Of course he was bound to hover around. And he was quite adept at ignoring any inquisitive glances given by any of his aforementioned friends.

Harry, for example, was consistently giving him this funny look, this sort of brow raised smirk that you couldn't exactly discern the meaning of. B’Elanna often rolled her eyes at him, but she rolled her eyes at everyone, even you.

You tried not to think about it too much, honestly. Whenever you asked, Torres would blow you off and Harry would turn red in the face and redirect the conversation to something else. Clearly, they had some sort of inside joke.

This day was like any other day. You were in the mess, reading up on the maps and headings of the area, when-

“Damn,” Tom called out to you as he entered the mess, interrupting your conversation with Seven. The face she made screamed displeased, but he continued anyways, eyes fixed on your hair. “What the hell did you even do with that? Your hair is huge today.” He reached for it, fluffing the edges as you swatted at him.

“Nothing. All I did was leave it down.”

“You never leave it down! Since when is your hair so big anyway?”

“Since always, Paris.”

“Braids kind of compress your hair,” Harry offers, making you almost jump as he takes a seat with his tray, picking at Neelix’s food, “so you probably never even thought about it.”

“And you did?”

Harry shrugs, glancing at you. “I mean, we, like, hang out. I’ve seen it down.”

“Harry has been teaching me Kal-toh,” you confirm, giving your dark-haired friend a smile, earning a snort from Tom.

“Harry? Teaching you Kal-toh? Wouldn’t it be better for Tuvok to teach her?”

“Tuvok is busy and it is nice to spend time with my friend.” You pat Harry’s shoulder, and he gives you a smile in return.

They share some kind of look, and you purse your lips at it. “Are you going to eat or hover again, Paris?”

“Eat Neelix’s food? I’m good, thanks.” He does take a seat, though, on your other side, propping his head on his hand. “I like it, by the way.”

“Neelix’s food?”

“No, idiot, your hair.” He reaches and gives it a tug, earning another hand slap.

“Don’t touch my hair.”

“You should leave it down more. Looks nice.”

“It does look nice,” Harry chimes in, mouth full of food.

“If I say I like something, it’s basically never about Neelix’s food. I mean, come on, you’re not even eating it.”

“I cook my own food.” You’re not even sure why you’re offering this information, but this is one of the longest conversations you’ve ever held with the blonde with minimal intervention, so who knows what you’ll say.

“Really?” His face says he’s learned something very interesting, but you have no idea what that could be. “Is it any good?”

It’s bait, and you know it, but something in you tells you to take it anyway. Kind of.

“Why don’t you tell me?” You pack up the PADD you had been reading off of, trying to look as casual as possible. “I’ll see you in my quarters in about two hours?”

You bite back a grin at his baffled look as you stand, pleased to have caught him off guard.

“What?”

“Will I see you or not?”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah!”

You cover your grin as you turn, exiting the mess.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to interact with Tom. Despite your initial meeting, you did find him to be rather attractive. And he seemed kind… enough, anyway. Surely, he couldn't be awful, considering his friends. Harry was much too sweet, and B’Elanna didn’t put up with any bullshit.

So he couldn’t be too bad. Just had kind of a big ego, really.

The main problem you’d come across was your friends. It felt like they always wanted to facilitate conversations you had with Tom. To keep you on safe topics. Which… was fine, you suppose. But…

You entered your quarters, moving to pick up the area to make it presentable for guests. Straightening your bed and setting up your mini kitchenette, prepping food and making sure you have enough clean dishes.

About halfway through cooking, while watching a sauce simmer, something urged you to change. You were still in your work clothes, and dammit, this may not be a date, but you wanted to feel and look nice.

Which left you rummaging through your closet, looking for something that would be the right mix of cute and comfortable. Tom Paris, of all people, did not deserve to think you were trying too hard.

You settled on a t-shirt dress, snapping a belt on it so you would still have some kind of shape, moving quickly to finish up cooking as you glanced at the time.

Any minute now-

Your door chimed, and you tried not to grin. Right on time.

“Come in!” You called, continuing to finish up the dish.

You glanced up to see Tom, wearing a pair of casual pants and a dark-colored tee, giving you a curious look.

“You can sit down. Almost done.” You nod your head towards the set table, and he gives the table that same look before he sits down.

“You always keep your lighting so low?”

“You people keep the lighting too high,” you shoot back, plating your dish before bringing plates over, setting one in front of him as you sit.

“So what do I get if this is awful?”

You give him an exasperated look, a bit amused with his immediate assumption. “If you hate it, I’ll use my rations to get you something hu-man.” You point at him and the plate in front of him with a look. “Try it, Paris.”

He gives you an amused look, glancing down at his plate. “What is it?

“Grilled Zolian air snake. The sauce is made of Neptunemato, and underneath is a bed of horva greens.”

The look he gives you is this weird, amused and afraid smile. “That sounds awful.”

“Well, spuhgedi sounds weird to me. Try it.” You motion at his plate again.

He relents, taking a bite, and you wait patiently for him to say something, anything, as he stares you down.

“I’ve had worse.”

“Fuck you, it’s good and you know it!” You chuckle, digging in yourself. “You have to get used to our food sometime, don't you?”

“I hope I never do. Even if it takes us decades to get home.”

You roll your eyes playfully as he perks up a little.

“...Is that jazz I hear?” He gives you another curious look.

You shrug, face coloring, though you’re not sure why you should be embarrassed. “I enjoy having it in the background.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Eat your food, Paris.”

He does, making casual conversation as he does. As you finish up, you reach to grab the dirty dishes, and he swats at you. “I got it. You cooked. I’ll clean up.”

“I invited you. I can clean it up.”

“Just sit down and let me be nice.” He snags your plate, and you sigh in defeat. “Besides, you’re too pretty to be cleaning.”

He says it so casually, but your heart still nearly skips a beat, and you feel a bit like your body restarted. He, of course, is just looking down at you, amused as he turns your sink on to wash the plates.

You sit there for another couple beats before you move, heading for your couch and taking a seat.

You’re flicking through the viewscreen when he takes a seat directly next to you, swinging his arm over the back of the couch behind you.

You glance at him, and he raises a brow. “What are you doing, Paris?”

“Getting comfortable.”

You think about kicking him out. It feels like you should. You aren’t really friends, and he ate the food. What else is there?

“Why did you invite me over?”

You pause, slowly looking at him. He’s giving you the same curious look he’s given you the entire time he’s been here, brow slightly furrowed and mouth nearly in a straight line.

Mindlessly, you reach up, smoothing your thumb over the spot on his brow, and he catches your wrist, saying your name gently.

“I just wanted to. Do I need a reason?”

“You broke my nose,” he reminds, shattering the illusion he might have forgotten, “and we aren’t exactly friends.”

“You put your nose where it didn’t belong. And we aren’t friends because you don’t talk to me.”

He scoffs, tugging you closer by the wrist. “You don’t exactly talk to me either.”

“I talk to you when you talk to me.”

The look on his face screams that you’re being stupid, and god, you know you sound stupid.

“So I have to talk to you first?”

“Do you have an issue with initiating?”

He squints at you, eyes searching your face for a minute, hand still holding your wrist. A couple beats go by until he reaches to weave his fingers into your hair, holding the back of your head and tugging you in and leaning down, pausing when your lips just barely brush.

Your breath hitches, and you move to connect your lips as he releases your wrist, hand moving to grip your waist as he tugs you into him more, crushing you to his chest.

Despite the slow initiation of the kiss, it's desperate, complete with his hand on your waist inching down as you clamber into his lap, settling on his thighs as he groans against you, gently urging you closer.

You feel a little dizzy as you move closer, and you’re a bit shocked to note he’s already hard, hand moving to the back of his head as he trails kisses to your jaw and down your neck, eliciting a soft moan as he runs his teeth over the skin of your neck.

His hand on your head runs down your back and over your ass as you arch towards him, and he kneads the flesh there, earning another groan as you roll your hips against his, and he pulls back, huffing softly, somehow already looking just a little wrecked by you as he starts rucking your dress up.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he breathes, trying to shove your dress up more as it catches on the belt. You move to help, tugging the offending item off as he chuckles at you, tossing it aside and reaching for his shirt.

“You first.” You manage to tug it off him, tossing it on the couch beside you and leaning to kiss him, stopped only by his hand on your chest.

“Hold on,” he flicks his eyes over your face, and you’re sure you’re just as flushed as he is. “I wanna check in. Is this something you wanna do?”

The fact that he’s checking in, even if you’ve been participating enthusiastically, warms your chest a bit. “Yeah. Yes.” You lay a hand on his cheek, squealing as he picks you up, moving your arms to latch around his neck as he moves you the few steps to the bed.

“Thank god. I mean, obviously, if you said no, then no, but you,” he sets you down, hands immediately moving to tug your dress off again, “are insanely hot,” his hands trail over the skin of your stomach, pushing the garment over your head, “and honestly I wanna fuck you so damn bad.”

He buries his face in your chest, reaching around to unclip your bra as you arch against him, nipping at the skin there. Once he manages to unclip it, he’s tossing it across your room, head moving to mouth at your nipple as one of his hands comes to knead at the other, earning breathy moans.

You feel hot, you note, like your skin is on fire, and your fingers move to tangle in his hair, tugging a little as he groans.

He gives your chest plenty of attention, pressing kisses down your stomach and tugging your panties down, settling between your thighs and tugging a leg over his shoulder, stopping you from pressing your legs closed.

“You don’t have to- Oh, fuck.” Your head falls back as he dips his head down, hands gripping your hips as he delves his tongue in, lapping at your clit. One of his hands trails down, and he presses a finger in, groaning as you tug at his hair again.

He’s quick to double down, carefully sucking at your clit as he presses another finger in, carefully fingering you as you tug at his hair again, whimpering softly.

“Fuck, Tom, just like that,” you huff as his hand on your thigh tightens. He tugs back, looking up at you before flattening his tongue against your pussy, and your hips move to grind against him. “Tom,” you tug at his hair again, trying to pull him up, “please come fuck me already.”

He groans brokenly, pulling back and trying to rid himself of his pants, gazing down at you with dark eyes as you pull yourself up to help him, pushing his pants and underwear down his thighs as he nearly trips out of them, and you laugh at him as he pushes you down, caging you in with his arms and legs.

You reach down, wrapping your hand around his dick, giving him a couple pumps. He’s not too big, you think, but not any smaller than anyone you’d been with- granted, you’re incredibly unfamiliar with hu-man anatomy.

He grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away. “Still okay with this?”

“If you don’t fuck me, I’m going to hit you.”

He barks out a laugh, hiking your leg onto his hip and lining himself up before pushing in, hand gripping your hip.

You try for steady breathing, ignoring the slight sting as he leans down, pressing another kiss to your lips as he fully buries himself in you, grunting as he peppers kisses over your face and neck.

After a couple more deep breaths, you roll your hips a bit, trying to urge him to move. He does, leaning over you and sucking a mark into your pulse point as he sets an easy pace.

You arch against him more, bringing your hand up to dig your fingers into his back, moaning louder.

“Tom,” you gasp his name out, and he pulls back to look at you. “Harder.”

There’s a moment where you worry he’s somehow put off, and then he pulls back, straightening up and tugging your hips up as he drives into you, hips pounding into you as you keen.

You can feel your orgasm building, and you’re pretty sure you’re spewing absolute filth at him, hands gripping at your sheets as you beg for him to keep going.

You’re almost there when he starts to lose rhythm, one of his hands moving so he can press his thumb to your clit, rubbing in circles.

It crashes over you, and you cry out, pulsing around him as you ride out your orgasm.

He follows quick behind, holding himself over you with his arm.

You lean up to kiss him again and he grunts, carefully pulling out to lay beside you, pulling you close before tugging back to breathe.

“Please tell me you don’t wanna go again already,” he pants.

You laugh at him, shaking your head as you ease down. “No, you can rest, pretty boy.”

“Pretty boy?” He raises a brow at you, watching you catch your breath.

“Will you stay?” You search his face for a reaction, relieved when he smiles.

“How about a breakfast date?” He offers, wiggling the pair of you around and under the covers.

“Sounds wonderful.” You agree, slowly dozing off.

#wiccawrites #friend's fic #literally love

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