#5555 event fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wri0thesley · 3 years ago

Note

I’d love to see Faerie AU Gojo with praise kink

at this point this isn't really a kink fic, sorry anon i got carried away!!!

the machinist and the faerie - gojo x reader (8.5k)

the woods feel more home than any cottage ever could; and for the white-haired not quite mortal boy who was the playmate of your youth that goes double.

warnings: not sfw, minors dni. fantasy au. faerie gojo with praise kink. childhood friends to lovers. virgin reader, fingering, piv sex. afab reader with neutral pronouns, with a few references to marriage and ‘carrying on a family line’.

Your parents warn you never to go deeper than a hair’s breadth into the forest that edges your cottage. They watch you, when you’re a small child with poor impulse control, from the doorway of said cottage – call out to you, or run out when your toddling seems like it’s going to lead you too far in. They scold you with their carefully guarded words, always saying the same thing;

“It’s dangerous,” they tell you. “There’s no telling what kind of things you might encounter in there. We’ll tell you why when you’re older - but for now, little one, heed our advice. And stay away.”

When you’re a little older, they tell you more – they tell you the stories of the children from the village who go into the forest and never return. They tell you the stories of a poet who sees something so beautiful (or perhaps so hideous) that he spends his life wandering the forest for another glimpse of it, until he fades to bone and dust and nothing. They tell you of a beautiful lady from town who shares one kiss with an elfin knight she meets in the forest, and finds herself never satisfied with the life of a mortal, until she too goes into its dark depths and is not seen again.

The stories are somewhat sanitised, you find out, through whispers of the village children who do not like to play too close to where you live. They do not like to play with you at all; they think you strange, for your family’s superstitions and their insistence on living so close to what terrifies all of everyone else who lives near.

They think the gifts your mother hangs around your neck (for protection, she insists) are witchcraft more than they are charms; they call her so much, wonder aloud if perhaps there is something wrong with you too--

So you learn to play alone. You learn to make up entire universes in your head, and sit in the sun-warmed grass behind the cottage (never too close to the forest) and whisper to yourself furtively, imagining yourself a princess or a dragon or a knight in turn.

But children grow up and they grow wilful, and though the village holds little glamour for you, at twelve years old with skinned knees and tangled hair, the forest seems to represent a wealth of possibility.

Your parents no longer watch you; they trust you, now. They think that their stories and their warnings have sunk down deep into your very being – that you will heed them, and stay away from the tempting darkness and deep that lingers just on the edge of your universe. They have forgotten, then, what it is like to be twelve years old and so very alone in the world.

You slip into the forest one day when your father is in the small workshop that he makes little wooden trinkets to sell at markets within, and your mother is in town fetching a length of fabric to make new aprons. You do it with little preparation, not wishing to give your plans away. You stand as if merely to stretch your legs, and you let your feet carry you towards it, and before you can let out the breath you hadn’t realised you had been holding you are beneath a canopy of green leaves with the scent of earth all around you.

The thing that the adults don’t realise, you think, as you venture yet further and deeper into the unknown, is that the forest is a dream for someone like you. Somewhere entirely untouched by the hand of grown-ups, where you can dream whatever dreams you would like without a nagging voice disproving them. A place where anything could happen.

You are happy to be utterly alone; you are happy to be able to play your games and sing your songs softly and daydream without another soul near.

You do not see the bright blue eyes watching you from the shadows, or the mass of pale hair, or think for a moment that there is any child in the whole world (your world, of course, having narrowed to the confines of the gnarled oak trees) except you. And for that time, you are correct, and you leave the forest when the skies start to dim and lie to your parents about how you must have been just out of sight when they scanned the land for you.

You go back.

How could you not, having discovered exactly what real freedom felt like?

You go back the next day, and the next – and your parents trust you to be smart and not to go into the forest, and you always pat down your clothes and smooth your face in the hopes that no stray twig or streak of mud will tell of your guilt before you go back into your house.

It is two weeks of this before Gojo reveals himself to you. He does it with little fanfare; one day, you are sat cross-legged in a clearing with tongue poking from the side of your mouth as you string daisies together – and then there is a pair of bare feet in front of you and a curious voice ringing out;

“You shouldn’t pick those, you know!”

You look up to see this intruder to your peaceful fantastical world, and for a moment all thoughts go out of your head.

Eyes that blue and shifting do not belong on a human child. Hair that pale white does not belong on a human child. And though he is, perhaps, your age . . . there’s a bearing to him that suggests otherwise.

You want to snap back that you’ll do what you want, that you have no need of some silly boy to come and give you orders – but you see this boy-creature for the first time and all of the stories you have ever been told come rushing to the forefront of your mind.

“Why not?” You ask him, instead.

(At twelve years old, you are too bold for your own good, and even knowing that this boy is nothing like you is not enough to deter you from your dogged curiosity).

But the boy looks delighted you’ve responded. He crouches in front of you and reaches out to touch one of the daisies that has not fallen victim to your culling; he’s gentle with it, like it’s a breathing thing.

“The land doesn’t like it,” he tells you. “Silly! Everyone knows that.”

You wrinkle your brow and scrunch your nose and he laughs like the pealing of a bell.

“The land?” You ask. “I don’t think it feels it.”

“Of course it does!” This one is almost a scoff; the arrogant nature of a boy who has never been told he is wrong. “It feels everything.”

“Then surely we ought to stop walking upon it, too.” You counter-offer. The boy’s eyes gleam, like he’s unused to being challenged. You’ve amused this faerie child then, you think – and you wonder on those stories of poets and scholars, and wonder too if perhaps it is enough to spare you.

“That’s pedantic,” he says. “The earth is made for walking upon. The daisies do not grow to be plucked and chained!”

But he does not seem dangerous. He seems . . . you think, despite the way he’s trading verbal jabs with you, that he seems lonely – and you think of the rustles you have sometimes heard in the forest and the sensation of being viewed from afar. You deflect the conversation.

“Have you been watching me?”

It throws him pause. A cloud passes over his face. He opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

(You recall your mother telling you that faeries are unable to tell lies when asked a direct question).

“ . . . Yes,” he says, eventually.

You smile at him, bright and wide.

“You can play with me,” you tell him. “If you want.”

And his face lights up like he’s never had an offer the like, this creature that lives in the forbidden parts of your life. This thing you’re supposed to be scared of, that your parents warn you about, that the children in the village live in fear of. His face lights up, and he is just . . .

He is merely your ilk. He is small, and lonely, and dreaming.

He is just like you.

He tells you his name is Gojo, and you do not push any further because the tales have taught you that a name is something powerful in realms like this one. In return, you give him only your first name, and you keep your family’s name and the sweet nicknames your parents call you and everything else held close to your chest so that you have some weapon against him, if the tales do one day prove to be true.

But you turn thirteen, and then fourteen, and Gojo is still your friend and your playmate and he never raises so much as his voice at you in anger.

(He raises his voice in excitement, in bright exclamations, in joking laughter – but never, ever in anger. You flinch from him once, when your friendship is new and he reaches out to touch your shoulder, and his entire face seems to fall in on itself before he can catch it. It’s natural to fear him, considering what the stories tell you – but Gojo, you think, is afraid of being feared like that).

The other children in the village leave behind games and stories; but you have never really been like them, as much as you like to pretend. You do not get tired of the wind in your hair and the grass beneath your feet and trading snatches of narrative with Gojo as if the two of you are writing some kind of book together, and years and years pass and you remain a little too wild and a little too strange for anyone but him.

Your parents speak to you in worried tones. They talk to you of your marriage prospects, of your prospects for work, of the future that seems to creep closer and closer to you despite how you long for the world to stop, just for a little while.

You do take up work, for you are not that uncaring of a child – you would not ask your parents to keep you for nothing. You apprentice a tailor, and you draw chalk patterns on fabric and run silvery huge scissors through it to make the shapes that will turn into clothes, but you have no real aptitude for the sewing. Still, the tailor is pleased with your dogged dedication to trying, and you bring home your keep to your parents -

And head out into the forest on an evening, saying that you are going into town to meet friends you have made.

Gojo always sends you home before real nightfall comes, but you snatch moments together all the same – and you realise, at seventeen, that the heat in your stomach and the fluttering in your heart when Gojo’s loping form emerges from the bushes is more than mere friendship.

At nineteen, he has grown into a man. His hair is still unruly pale, falling into those brilliant blue eyes no matter how often he runs his elegant fingers through it. His shoulders have broadened, any awkward gangliness come to a stop. He was pretty as a boy, but as a young man . . . you think it no wonder that maidens and knights alike in stories find themselves so utterly bewitched by faeries they meet.

Sometimes you catch him looking at you and you wonder if he feels the same.

For this is not a friendship that should have come to be; you know that much. Gojo does not speak much of where he comes from, and you are polite enough to not outright ask him and force him to lay it bare (and perhaps you are afraid, a little, of what he might confess) – but he drops hints, all the same. And you learn that his kind have little care for mortals like you.

But when you see him looking at you out of the corner of those eyes like the sky and sea all at once, your heart skips a beat nevertheless.

You have never felt as understood, as at home, as much like you belong, as you do with Gojo. A hand on your shoulder (once an ordinary, playful gesture) suddenly has more meaning than ever before; a quirk of his lips makes you giddy and light-headed. You skirt around the issue until one balmy midsummer evening, when you decide to throw all of your caution to the wind.

Gojo is asking you about your day at the tailor’s, fascinated as always by all of the little ways that humankind works without the help of magic that he has grown so accustomed to. You are trying to describe the great industrial sewing machine that is the centrepiece of the workroom, as you have so many times before; trying to explain how the pedal makes the needle punch, without the knowledge of why exactly it does such. And Gojo is staring at you, utterly engrossed in the way your hands move and listening harder to the words you say than anyone in the real, waking world outside of the forest ever does – and you seize your chance with both hands, and you lean in and you kiss him.

It’s your first kiss.

You don’t know how to do it; you don’t know the angle at which to hold your head to present your noses from clanging together, nor do you know what to do with your teeth – your hands move to cling to his shoulders, but they are awkward in how they dig into more muscle than you’re expecting to find. You don’t know whether to close your eyes or not, though the moment your lips meet his you squeeze them shut anyway so as not to see if disgust fills his gaze instead.

(Or if, indeed, it is pity that colours them. Pity, you think, may be worse than any other option).

Nothing. There is no response from Gojo at all, and you draw back all warm and breathless with your heart hammering like a battle drumbeat in your chest. You stare at Gojo with all of your cards laid out on the table; your soul laid utterly bare for him.

He whispers your name like he can’t believe what’s happening, but you can still not read the tone. There’s a quietness to it that’s almost fear, that sets your back prickling.

“What have you done?” He asks you, hand coming up to his mouth, fingertips ghosting over the places your own lips just learnt for the first time.

You feel your face crumple. A cold pit at the centre of your stomach, like you are a bruised peach fallen from a tree.

You think of those longing looks and lingering touches and Gojo by your side for years and years and years.

“Don’t you . . . don’t you feel the same?”

Your voice is whisper quiet, but it’s not that which makes Gojo flinch as if you have struck him. You know what you’re doing.

It is a direct question. A ‘yes’, or a ‘no’.

And by birth, by virtue of what he is, Gojo is not allowed to lie in response to it.

Those eyes so wide and blue and fathomless. He’s so beautiful, now. He stands up, his gaze still stuck on you even as it seems like he folds in on himself and despair begins to fray away at his edges.

“You shouldn’t have asked me,” he says, raggedly. “You shouldn’t have done it.”

“Don’t you?” You repeat, a little more forcefully.

Gojo’s eyes flicker closed. He breathes it out into the universe, even as he turns away from you. Even as you’re rooted to the spot as he disappears once more into the thickets of trees that you sometimes think feel more your home than the cottage you were raised in.

There’s a finality to the syllable. A quiet resignation; it sounds like the last word of a dying man, though you know Gojo will live your lifetime a hundred times over.

Even as he disappears, the word seems to stay suspended in the breeze, hovering in the echelons of your mind and echoing through your ears despite how it hadn’t been louder than a breath.

Don’t you feel the same? You’d asked, knowing that it would make everything between you shift and willing to gamble on the chance that perhaps he did.

And Gojo’s response.

(It did change everything. It does change everything. You’d gotten the answer you wanted – but oh, it came at a price).

“Yes.”

You come to regret the question.

You come back from the tailor’s the next day, ready to tell Gojo about how the machine had gotten stuck and you’d watched the tailor pry it open and seen the insides of it, all silver and bronze cogs and wheels and wires like the organs in the belly of some non-living creature.

But Gojo is not there, in the clearing that you two have made your home. All of the forest has been a playground, but this clearing has always been somewhere special; a home base, that the two of you have mapped every single inch of. Gojo taught you the names of every flower and leaf and bush and tree that grows here. Your feet have tramped across every blade of grass a hundred times over; you have tended to bruises and scrapes, fallen asleep in drowsy golden light on hot days and shivered in your staunch refusal during winter to not have time with your best friend.

But it is most familiar with Gojo at its centre, his smile wide and bright and his eyes glowing with excitement.

And he is missing from the picture.

You think of what happened the evening before; you think of the ultimatum you issued him in the form of a question, and though fear gnaws at your guts, you convince yourself that perhaps he just had other matters to attend to tonight.

Tomorrow, then, you tell yourself – tomorrow, Gojo will be here, and everything will be as it has been.

He is not.

And he is not the next night, or the next, or the next week.

The next month.

You do not stop going into the woods. You do not stop waiting for him to return, even as the seasons shift. Even as time marches on and you grow older and the first and second and third winter that you have not seen Gojo pass, you cannot stop your feet bringing you into the clearing and looking about yourself for his laughing face and his too-tall frame and those eyes that you dream about every night without fail.

You become more than the apprentice. You learn how the insides of the sewing machine work; you learn, too, to tame it as one tames an unwieldy beast. You do not have the nimble fingers for embroidery, or the artistic sense for design – but the big creature in the middle of the workroom becomes your domain, and you long to tell Gojo exactly what it is that makes the needle punch through the fabric in perfectly neat stitches. You know that, now. You have so much to tell him about – but he remains out of reach, too far away, and sometimes you wonder if he was ever real at all.

You think about going to the village doctor about it, even; but then, you have to check yourself. The village people accept you a little more now that you work among them, but there is still a distrust of the child who never came to the village square to play and lived perhaps too close to the domain of the fair folk.

If you were to go to the doctor, and tell them about the beautiful but so very not mortal boy you played with and told stories too and loved, any semblance of trust you may have found yourself with would be shattered. So you are quiet and calm and you never give away how your heart beats fast in your chest only when you think of the wind and the grass and the woods that have always felt like home.

Suitors attempt to woo you. But they are never possessed of Gojo’s silvery pale hair, or his brilliant eyes, or his laugh or his teasing wicked smile. They dull in comparison to him; a stone beside a pearl.

The stones, at least, stay in your hands while the pearl slipped too smooth through your fingers.

Your parents notice when you’re walked home from the tailor’s by admirers; tell you this one’s rumours and that one’s faults, coo in delight when it is the child of the town’s judge, knowing the family to be wealthy.

They never walk you home more than once, and you fend off advances thinking only of Gojo even though it has been years since you have seen him.

(The irony is not lost on you, when you think of that folk tale of the young maiden who spent a night in a faerie ring and could never think of anything but that again, until she wasted away in her bed through wanting. You sometimes think that you want to see Gojo again so badly that it’s like a physical ache).

They grow tired of having their child at home. You provide far more to the household income than they do, now – but the principle of you, unmarried and approaching an age where you will be considered no longer a prospect, casting a sour light on their rearing of you . . .

Your parents have been loving if cautious your whole life, but as time goes on they begin to needle and pick at you. Your hair. Your clothes. Your bearing.

“We had such high hopes for you,” they say, sighing, and it hurts like stitches being snipped. Your parents fading away from you.

You are a burden on them, and sometimes you go into the woods on an evening before true night has fallen and think about lying there, in the clearing, and waiting for the things that come when the moon is high to take you away.

(The only reason you do not are Gojo’s warnings; Gojo’s insistence you should always leave before then, and the fear in his face when it seemed that you did not want to. Even no longer in your life, you are unable to shake the hold that he has on you. You do not want to disappoint him).

But simmering resentments are bound to come to a head, and the simmering resentment of your family when it came to the presence of their child who ought to have been long married and raising children is no different, and one night your father drops over dinner thus;

“You haven’t been inclined to do it yourself, so I’ve arranged a marriage for you.”

Your head snaps up from the plate before you, to meet your father’s cold eyes. They never used to be so cold.

“What?”

“You heard him.” Your mother’s eyes are trained on the fine embroidered tablecloth given to you by your employer as a gift on the first year anniversary of your working for them. “It’s getting embarrassing, having you still here. People think there’s something wrong with you.”

“I’m . . . I’m not going to marry some stranger,” you say, when the lump in your throat has been swallowed down. “That’s not your decision to make.”

“We’re your parents,” that’s your father, his voice commanding. “It’s time for you to fly the nest. It’s time for you to carry on the family bloodline.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide, Father.”

“You live under our roof, in our house--” He raises his voice, slams his fist down on the aged wood of the table. “You know the things they say about you in town, don’t you?”

“And you know,” you try and counter, “that none of them are true.”

“Do I?” His eyes bore into you. “Maybe there is something strange about you. Maybe that’s why you’re still here.”

Your mother’s eyes dart up and look at you pleadingly.

“Darling,” she says, trying to wheedle. But too much coldness and too many needles of her insults have lodged themselves into your heart; you know that this pleading is falsehood designed to make you bend to what your parents want.

You won’t marry. Not ever. Not when you’re still in love with something you should never have so much as spoken to. Time and distance do not bend your heart’s wants for a moment.

“It’s your duty,” your father hisses. Tears are gathering in the back of your throat, and you try to maintain some dignity and stop your voice from waving like reeds when you speak.

“No,” you say. “No. I won’t do it.”

Your mother says your name in an attempt to placate, but your eyes are burning fury as you stare at your father and see a man that you don’t know staring back.

“You’ll do it or you’ll leave the house and not come back,” your father returns, just as stone-cold stubborn as you yourself. Your mother whispers his name and tugs at his sleeve – but the edict that issues forth from his mouth makes a sudden certainty settle about you with a chill.

“Then I’ll leave,” you say, and you stand yourself from the dinner table.

You do not head for the little room upstairs that you sequester your few belongings in. You turn from the dinner table and go for the door.

You hear clatters from behind you as your parents follow, but you are suddenly hit with a clarity that you’ve never felt. You do not belong with them. You do not belong anywhere but where you’ve always known you do, deep in your heart. You’re not wearing shoes when your feet sink onto the grass, and your mother calls your name as she watches you walk the length of the cottage’s fields and head for the forest.

“Don’t!” She says. There’s real terror in her tone, now. She’s right to be afraid, you think. You have no intention of ever coming out again.

You wonder how your father feels, watching his only child (the only one to carry his bloodline, the one who is shirking their duty and responsibility with every padding footstep) slip into the forest that all are so afraid of. You do not care if watching you do this makes them realise that all of those other times you’ve said you were playing by the back of the cottage, or in the village, or a hundred other places have been lies. You do not care for anything except how your feet follow the same path you’ve trodden a hundred times before.

The daisies have closed their flowers in time for nightfall. Gojo would be hurrying you out of the forest by now.

But Gojo is not here to offer his protection any more.

You find the clearing that feels like home. Since yesterday, a small ring of mushrooms has sprouted in its centre. You recognise their colour, their spots, the shape of them – poisonous. But that doesn’t matter either; any ring of any kind is bad news, here in the forest where mortals lose their wits and become characters in stories more than people.

You look at it for only a moment before you talk towards it.

If you give yourself over to them, you think, perhaps they can tell you something of Gojo before they break your mind and your bones or set you out as bait for the Wild Hunt. Maybe you will even get to see him again.

There’s just enough space in the centre of the circle for two people to stand comfortably. You are on the edge when you feel it.

Something barrels into you, and you’re tackled to the ground beneath something heavy and large and real with your foot still half in the air in preparation to give yourself over to the fair folk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You know that voice; deep and musical and just a touch whiny, just a touch over-familiar and arrogant. “Do you realise what you almost did?”

You stare up at the man above you. Features that have burnt themselves into your mind, but with little changes that assure you that Gojo has finished growing up in the same way you have. The same familiar strands of silvery moonlight hair, the same eyes like fractured stars glittering at you in a perfect face.

How often have you dreamed of those eyes?

“Gojo,” you say, struck a little dumb to finally see him again after all of the seasons that have past. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” he says. “You were going to do something very stupid, and I know you’re not.” He looks at you, and his face softens, and you are children and best friends all over again and you realise with a painful pang that you have never ever for a moment stopped loving him. “Well. Not in this way, anyway.”

“You asked me a long time ago,” Gojo says, sitting beside you on the ground, “if I’d been watching you. I answered truthfully then, and . . . I’ll answer truthfully now. Yes.”

“I learnt how the sewing machine works,” you tell him, and he gives you one of those wide, bright smiles you loved – you love so much.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I missed you,” you return. “I came every day.”

“I know,” Gojo replies, and then he pokes you in the arm. “It was a little pathetic, honestly.” He winks. “Not that I didn’t like you being pathetic over me.”

You take a deep breath before you address the real elephant in the room; the one that’s hung over you for years and years. You’ve gone over that meeting, the one with the kiss, a hundred times in your dreams since then. Tried to do it differently. Wished and cursed over it.

“Why did you run?” You ask. “Why didn’t you ever come back?”

His eyebrows furrow.

“Can’t you guess?” He asks you. There’s patience at war with frustration in his tone. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It’s because of the question, isn’t it?” Your throat is dry. “Manipulation.”

Gojo stares at you.

“I’m going to have to rethink what I said about you being stupid,” he said – and for that, he wins a hard tap on the arm. Now is not the time for jokes, you hope your expression says – and Gojo quietens, and you think he got the message.

“I won’t say I was thrilled to hear the question,” he says. “I don’t like being forced to give answer like that, and I thought that our . . . relationship was at a point where you’d never ask me something so blatant. But . . . I didn’t come back because. Well. I.”

It’s another question he can give nothing but truth in reply to, and this particular truth is making his face heat. It’s unusual, to see Gojo like this; he’s always been so sure and certain of himself. The Gojo you knew was a boy who had never had ‘no’ said to him and carried himself with all of the arrogance that such demanded.

This Gojo is older. Wiser, perhaps.

“I knew if I gave in,” he says, “you’d never get to go home again.”

“Gojo,” you say, softly. You lay a hand on his arm. “I am home again. Finally.”

There’s a tenderness in his eyes that you’d seen before only in stolen glances. His hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb sliding along the apple of your cheeks.

“You have a family,” he says, all quiet. “You deserved to live out that life. I didn’t want to steal all of those joys away from you. My realm . . .”

“I’ve never fitted in,” you breathe to him. “The others have never really believed me one of them. I have felt displaced everywhere my whole life, except when I’m with you.”

He looks at you, and there is that smile again – the one you love, the one you’ve missed, the one that is seared entirely onto your soul. The needle of your heartbeat has stitched him there forever.

“I have never felt more at home than by your side,” he admits. “In my realm . . . Well. I suppose there’s no hiding that I’m a man of some importance, is there? But with you . . . with you, I didn’t have to be the heir. I didn’t have to be the prince. I could just be-- I could just be Gojo.”

“I’m never going to call you ‘your majesty’,” you tell him, and Gojo (Prince Gojo) laughs.

“I would never expect you to bow before my kingship,” he says. “You’re far too proud. I’d have had to lead you to your execution first.”

“Will you?” You ask him. “Have me executed? Is that what faeries do to mortal trespassers in their domain? If I’d stepped into the circle--”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t want to think of it.” He grips suddenly, tightly against your arms. “You have no idea what could have happened to you.” He swallows. “I’m a selfish creature. I want you in my realm. I want you for myself. I want, I want, I want . . .”

“I want you,” you breathe in return.

His tongue flickers to wet his lips, and there’s hunger in his eyes as they slide up and down your form.

(You do not want to admit to anyone the nights you have spent thinking of Gojo’s eyes and Gojo’s hands, in these long lonely expanse of years. You do not want to admit that you thought of them and let your hand slip between your thighs and touched yourself and wished it were him. But the way that Gojo is looking at you right now, you think perhaps he may have done the same).

“If I went beside you,” he says, “If we stepped into the circle together and I made it clear you were my intended, beloved, betrothed, to be by my side forever-- then they’d have no choice but to accept you.”

You stare up at him. You had expected to end this night dead or worse. You had not expected to have this offer put in front of you.

(Your father would not need to worry for his bloodline, you think, dimly. Though perhaps with faerie blood running merrily through their veins, he would rather there be no children at all).

“I’d go with you.” You say to him.

“Would you?” He cups your face. “It’s not easy. It’s selfish of me to even ask-- my life is not simple. My darling . . . there’d never be real peace for us.”

“I’d do it for you by my side.”

This time around, it is Gojo who begins the kiss – who presses his lips hungry and needy against yours. And this time around, you know how to kiss back, and it is clear that Gojo does too. He tugs at your lower lip with his teeth, begs entrance to your mouth with his tongue, and devours you body in the way that the thought of him has devoured your soul.

You lose sense of anything but Gojo before you, and the feel of his hands as one cups the back of your head and the other pulls you towards him as if the smallest iota of distance is a problem to be solved.

When he breaks for air, his chest is heaving and his lips are swollen.

“Let me have you to myself for one night,” he says. His eyes and hair are wild. His gaze is wild. His smile is one of a conqueror; arrogant and breathtakingly beautiful. “Before I share you with my court . . . let us spend one night out here in the woods that we met, and let me have you.”

“Perhaps if the having is mutual,” you reply, and Gojo laughs a wild, wild laugh, and then he is kissing you again.

Gojo has more experience than you; this much is clear in the way he touches you and the surprisingly gentle way he relieves you of your garments, the soft cadence of his voice as he murmurs;

“I’ve dreamed about you like this – you’re even prettier in the flesh--”

You’re nervous, but Gojo murmurs gentle praises still. Tells you about the softness of your thighs and how warm your skin feels beneath his palm and how beautiful you are, how he is going to take care of you entirely. His fingertips skim your bare skin, palms grazing your nipples as your back arches and you whimper and he smiles.

“So responsive,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect--”

He returns to your nipples with his mouth, lowers them and sucks one into his mouth in a way that makes your thighs clench. Even the earth beneath your back is soft, as if it knows that there’s a moment too important to be interrupted by errant twigs and discomfort. Gojo sucks and licks at your nipple, sending shock waves of pleasure down to the place between your thighs and making you gasp out his name. Teeth dig only gently into the supple flesh, and that intensifies the shock waves threefold.

It is not just your nipples he sucks and kisses and licks – he does the same across the hollows of your throat and collarbones, your wrists and the shell of your ear and places you never realised would make you feel so burning hot to be touched before Gojo set upon them with a wicked mouth.

“So pretty with my marks on you,” he tells you, in a thick voice. You feel his own hardness pressing against your thigh – and still, Gojo maintains an air of patience to make sure that you are ready and comfortable and pleasured.

It’s at odds with the arrogant persona he wears, of a prince who is given whatever he wants – but it is a Gojo you know, one you are familiar with, and one that makes your heart full.

When his fingers drag up your thighs and urge them to part, he whispers in praise again;

“You’re so wet for me. You’re doing so well.”

The praise feels all the sweeter for coming from Gojo’s mouth, his lips like rose petals as he seals them over your own at the same time as his fingers delve between your slick-wet folds. This time, you cry into his mouth in surprise at just how much better someone else’s fingers feel between your legs than yours ever have.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” He murmurs, kissing, sucking on your lower lip. “You feel so good on my fingers, too – I know you’ll feel better inside, if I may--”

One finger pushes inside, the copious slick making the intrusion easier than even when you’ve been alone and fantasising. The reality of Gojo’s long fingers inside of you feel better than any daydream ever could, and as his finger crooks and he gently stretches you open, two syllables fall from your mouth in a haze of pleasure.

“G-Gojo—”

He looks down at you so tenderly.

“Satoru,” he whispers. “Satoru Gojo. That’s my name.”

You blink hazily up at him, this faerie prince who you have loved for what feels like a lifetime. You correct your own whimpers of pleasure, your voice pitching and breaking.

“Satoru—”

He pumps the finger in and out of you slowly, stoking the fires within you like a poker in a flame. He kisses you and murmurs your name in between the kisses – and though you could give him your full name in return, it no longer feels right. You do not feel as though you belong to anything but Gojo – Satoru – and the woods.

Satoru does not ask. You think he knows it too.

Two fingers, curling and stroking within you – finding a spot inside of your tight walls that you have never been able to reach yourself but that Satoru manipulates with ease. He presses against it over and over with the thrust of his fingers, and your hips begin to rock up to meet him with soft whimpers and moans.

“That’s right,” he breathes. “You’re even more beautiful like this.”

You think you must be sweaty and wild-eyed, but it doesn’t matter. Not when his fingers feel like sin inside of you and you can’t bring yourself to care about anything but chasing that hot ball of fire that Satoru has put start to within you. You have to let it explode, you think – you have to chase the peak until it washes over you.

His thumb strokes across your clit and you break for him.

Your cry is of his name, distorted by burning hot slack-jawed pleasure that washes over you like great waves on a shoreline. You feel yourself clench around him, your sex pulsing yet more slick over the fingers buried inside of you as Satoru continues to rock his fingers gently to allow you to ride out every last pulse of rapture that the digits have brought you.

“You can’t imagine what you looked like, when you came--” Satoru breathes, staring at you like he has never seen anything like you in his life. “You can’t imagine how you make me feel--”

“Kiss me,” you beg him, and he is more than happy to oblige and bend and kiss you so sweetly that your heart aches for him. When he breaks the kiss, breathing hard, you’re reminded of the thing pressing into your thigh with his own desire. He has given you pleasure tonight, but . . . you want to feel him completely. You want to bring him to the same hills and peaks that he has brought you.

Relationships are about giving to one another, and sharing, you think. And Satoru has shared so much with you tonight – his name, and his lineage, and the cold, hard truth. You want to share what you have to give with him.

“Satoru,” you whisper, and the name still seems a novelty dropping from your lips for him, one that gives him smiles and brightens his eyes. “I want you to-- I want us to--”

“Are you sure?” He asks you. “I know you haven’t--”

“I want you in every way,” you say, all certainty. You are certain about this. You have never been more certain about anything in your life. “Please.”

“You really do want me to have you,” he teases, but he is moving above you – shedding his shirt, to reveal a body that is just as pale as the rest of his skin and just as beautiful. “Who am I to say ‘no’ to a request from the one I hold most dear?”

The way he phrases it makes you giddy, but you bite back the smiles and the laughter when you see his cock for the first time, flushed and hard and leaking from the tip.

His fingers fitted inside you, but this--

He sees the anxiety that pulls at your features and gives you a soft smile, a reassuring touch to your hair.

“You’ve done so well already,” he says, heaping compliments upon you. “If you need me to stop, say so – but, my darling, if you don’t mind me saying . . . You’ll take me with ease, and you’ll do it well.”

“I want it,” you say to him, and Satoru smiles as he places himself between your thighs on his knees and big hands fasten about your hips, gently pulling you up towards him. He slides his cock between the lips of your sex, wetting it even further in your slick – and you gasp and sigh and moan softly as the feel of it pulsing hot and stiff. The knowledge of what he is rubbing against you and where he is going to put it serves only to reignite the sparks of pleasure that have already exploded once tonight – and as Satoru teases more, merely rubbing and rutting against you, you huff out a noise of impatience with any anxieties about it fitting inside of you already dissipating.

Satoru clicks his tongue at you childishly.

“Have some patience,” he tells you, with a lazy slyness. “Be good for me--”

“I’ve had patience,” you tell him. “I came here every day for years, did I not?”

“Ah! Your invocation of that is cruel but fair, I suppose.”

“Then I’ve been waiting for this for years, too,” you tell him, though your brain feels like a mass of gelatine and making your mouth form words seems a challenge when all you want is that rolling pleasure again, but this time joined with Satoru. “So . . . give me it--”

“Who am I to deny my beloved anything?”

Satoru takes his time sliding into you. Your fingers clench about his shoulders at the initial sting of his head stretching you out – a soreness that isn’t entirely unpleasant, but is nonetheless new. But once the initial stretch is over, the wet pop of his head finally fitting inside of you . . . there is nothing but the strange half pain-pleasure of being opened up and being filled.

“There we are,” Satoru murmurs, but his own voice is starting to shake. “Taking me so well. So pretty. So good.” He slides further into you, his pale eyelashes fluttering as your body welcomes his cock as if it was made to harbour it. You feel right, bound together like this. As if this is how it has always been writ to be.

“Big,” you breathe, and Satoru preens for it. “Feels good--”

“Yes,” Satoru agrees. He bottoms out inside of you, and the two of you have chests pressed against one another and twin matching heartbeats like one soul in two bodies. “Good. Right. Meant to be.”

Fated.

He tries, a few times, to shape more praise and compliments for you, and ease whatever anxieties he may think you have – but with him inside you on the floor of the woods, you have no anxiety. This is always how it was supposed to go.

There’s nothing but the wet noise of his cock driving in and out of you and the slap of skin on skin and both of you, breathing heavy and whimpering and moaning and speaking in only that language which comes when two people who love one another give themselves over to the earthly pleasures.

He feels so good and right – his mouth seeks yours out for hungrier, messier kisses. His pale hair is slicked to his forehead with sweat as powerful hips pump into you, and you know your own brow is beaded with such too. Heat suffuses every inch of you, but none so much as inside, where the two of you meld and pleasure mounts insurmountable once again.

You reach your peak, this time, with Satoru’s cock buried inside of you. Clenching and pulsing and dragging him further and further into you, your thighs locking about his hips and your feet finding purchase in the curve of his lower back.

The tightening of your sex around him and the noises that come flying from your throat (noises that speak only of pleasure, of fulfilment of the promise of years and years without him) push Satoru over the edge too, and he spills himself inside of you with a whimper of your name that makes your toes curl and your heart know it has finally found a real home.

His hips stutter as every drop of his release is fucked into you, and then he simply stays there, inside of you and on top of you, gazing down at you like he’s seeing you for the very first time.

“I love you,” he says – and though you are surprised that he is the first one to say it, it’s hardly unwelcome. You smile up at him, all sated and pleased and finally finally home.

“I love you, Satoru Gojo,” you say. And then;

“But you’re heavy on top of me, and I’d rather be held.”

Night has well-fallen around you, and this time Satoru Gojo does not bid you leave for your safety, for his body is coiled around yours and nobody would ever bother a faerie prince and his lover lest they feel his wrath.

It’s the golden fingers of dawn that wake you; the sun warming your bare shoulders. Satoru is already awake, beside you – those beautiful eyes full of love and adoration and all of the things you have always wanted them to be.

“Beloved,” he says to you, and he kisses you hungry and magical and perfect. When he pulls back, he grins at you and plucks a twig from behind your ear. “The perils of sleeping rough.”

“I love you,” you tell him, and his cheeks pink again. To think that you’re the one capable of making this being blush. To think that you’re the one capable of making Satoru blush.

“I love you,” he says – and he leans forward and presses a kiss onto the tip of your nose. “Have you changed your mind? Because if you have, I’m not saying I’m going to be mad, but--”

You laugh.

“No,” you say, as the two of you stand up and you pull back on the clothes you were wearing last night. “No, I could never. I belong with you.”

“I think there’s something of my kind in my blood, you know,” he says, taking your hand, smoothing his thumb over your palm. “The woods call to us like they call to you.”

“They don’t call to me half as much as your presence does,” you tell him, and he winks at you in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Flatterer,” he says. “Come.”

You take the faerie prince’s hand and let him lead you to the outside of the ring of mushrooms. There is no doubt in your heart. You feel more free now than you have in all of your life.

“Last chance,” Satoru says, coyly, looking at you from under his pale lashes.

“Are you getting cold feet?”

He looks down at your bare feet, matching his own.

“No,” he says. “The ground is warm.”

You step into the ring first.

The ballad the poets write about you, they call “The Machinist and the Faerie”. Satoru makes every bard play it for you at every opportunity, and every bard has a different name for you, a different face, a different life. Satoru corrects them all with a wide smile and a grin and a boyish bounce on the throne he has taken.

You like this story better than the warning fables you were told as a child.

“Only,” you tell the latest bard, a young woman bright of eye and bright of hair and bright of voice. “I think they all make the faerie prince far too learned for a man who doesn’t understand the purpose of sewing machine oil. Childish has the same syllable count as clever, does it not?”

Gojo thinks your rewritten version of your love ballad much less fun.

But he sings along with the bard even so.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #not sfw #afab reader #neutral pronouns #jjk posting #writing #5555 event fic

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crackinglamb · 2 years ago

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Fic Author Self Rec

Tagged by @dreadfutures, thank you! 💕💕💕

Tagging @ir0n-angel, @fasterpuddytat, @pikapeppa, @sinsbymanka and @sorrelchestnut. No pressure, as ever.

When you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love.

I've written a lot, you know, over several fandoms. This was incredibly hard. In the end, I determined my own favorites are the ones I have reread over and over. And even then I'm gonna cheat with some honorable mentions at the end.

In chronological order:

1 - Unexpected (FO4, F!SoSu/Kellogg, rated E, 30K words, 'ware the tags). Listen, sometimes you just need to be the change you want to see in the world. Kellogg's arc disappointed me on many levels. From the standpoint of him being a 'villain' to the possibly haunting everyone's favorite synth bait. This was my first truly canon divergent AU, and I never meant for it to become a full fic, I honestly didn't. But I ended up falling in love with the concept I'd created, so I had to see it through to the end. I have a weakness for the broken ones. Tien Xu remains the OC with the darkest backstory. Seriously, pay attention to the tags if you read it.

2 - Accidental Synchronicity (ME, Jack|Subject Zero/Thane Krios, rated E, 17K words). Ahh, rarepairs. Completely unplanned ones, at that. To date I am still 22% of the ship's authors. A one off line in the main fic of my Shakarian series became a plot bunny that wouldn't quit. It grew into a slice of life romance that covered the events of ME2 and ME3, leading to canon's hamfisted ending for Thane. The only reason I didn't change it is because it was already established elsewhere. Still, it remains one of the fics I am most proud of.

3 - Hope Is a Fragile Thing (DA:I, Solas/OFC, rated T, 13K words). In a lot of ways this fic was an experiment. I love to write MCIT's, but it's hard to come up with a backstory sometimes, so I didn't make one. I wanted to write something post-canon, a favorite trope of mine. And I wanted to completely finish a fic before posting it. Many, many of you have found me because of Twist, which is light and relatively fluffy, to say nothing of its sequel that is pure, unadulterated sugar. But angst with a happy ending is my bread and butter.

4 - Of Ruins and Restoration (DA:I, Cadash & Solas, rated G, 3870 words). If you asked me where Lark Cadash came from, I would immediately blame Manka (with all the love, of course), because without her whole entire throng of Soladash works, I wouldn't have fallen down this rabbit hole. Suffice to say, I got hooked. And then I got Ideas(tm). OR&R is the culmination of many headcannons about dwarves, the desire to have more content for a ship I didn't know I needed and the feverish grip of the Muse that sprang out of my head wholecloth at the end of 2021. It is the introductory work for this character I've absolutely gone to pieces with love for. Eventually there will be more of it, but for now it stands alone as a oneshot. There is a companion oneshot that falls outside of her 'canon', as well.

5 - What a Wicked Game to Play (DA:I, Solas/OFC, rated E, 278K+ words, current WIP). 😏 Did you really think this wasn't going to make the list? WG is everything I have ever wanted to put into a fic, and Imogen is the character I have always wanted to write. Aside from being the new shiny (because it really isn't at this point), I have enjoyed almost every moment of digging into the lore and rebuilding it from the ground up. I have so many plans and so much left to tell for my curly haired girl.

Honorable Mentions (in no particular order):

Junkyard Dogs (FO4, F!SoSu/Hancock, rated E, 107K words) my very first fic.

No More My Heart Beats Without You (DA:I, Solas/F!Trevelyan, rated E, 5555 words), sad, angsty pwp. 'Ware the tags.

Unrepentant (DA:I, Solas/F!Lavellan, rated E, 3096 words), smutty dark!Solas Fade shenanigans.

And Maker Damned Fools (DA2-I, Varric/F!Hawke, rated E, 16K words), my vector into writing DA. I will go down with this ship.

#tagged #fic author self rec #dragon age #fallout 4 #mass effect #Lamb writes #...a LOT

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squipjerebmc · 3 years ago

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Squipemy Week: 45 Days

What is “Squipemy Week”?

It’s an entire week dedicated to the pairing Squip/Jeremy from Be More Chill!

When is it?

The ship week is always the first week of November every year. Further information on how to post and submit your content will be posted when it's closer to the week. Stay tuned!

How do I participate?

Every day of the week will have a prompt. You create some kind of Squipemy fan content based on the prompt such as fic, art, cosplay, songs, and anything else you can imagine! What are the prompts? This year's theme is based on Daft Punk's 2001 album Discovery, also known as Interstella 5555.

November 1: One More Time November 2: Aerodynamic November 3: Digital Love November 4: Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger November 5: Crescendolls November 6: Nightvision November 7: Superheroes

Like any song prompt you can interpret it any way you want for the purpose of your content. You can listen to all the songs here: https://youtu.be/A2VpR8HahKc

Do I have to use the prompts?

Nope! While you're encouraged to use the prompts for the ship week you are still free to do whatever you want to celebrate the ship. They're here for your inspiration. The most important thing is to have fun!

Did you know there’s a Squipemy Discord? Send an ask or message and we’ll give you an invite.

How do I post my work?

You can post all works on your own social media. If you want to be sure your work is seen there are several options:

TUMBLR 1. Submit your work directly to this blog by clicking HERE. 2. Post your work on your blog, tag #squipemyweek2021, and @squipjerebmc on your post!

AO3 All works can be submitted to the event fic collection located HERE.

Instagram Post your work on Instagram and tag #squipemyweek.

If you would like your work to be anonymous for any reason please send me a message!

#bmc #be more chill #squip #jeremy heere #squipemy #technical difficulties #squeremy

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andaleduardo · 3 years ago

Note

Where, besides Tumblr, can people find you doing fannish things? (Obviously only mention sites and usernames you actually want to be found at. Don’t expose your secret identities on my account.)

What other names have you gone by on these platforms, including Tumblr, if any?

When did you join the IT fandom? And what got you into fandom, to begin with?

What are your favorite ships, or characters, if any, and why? What do they mean to you?

In what ways do you participate in fandom? (ex. Posting memes, reblogging/commenting on content, writing fanfic, making fanart, creating fanmixes, etc.)

Do you have any in-fandom inspirations? Other members of the community that drive you? (And if you have the time/energy, in what ways do they inspire you?)

Name and link some of your favorite works, please!

Do you have any works of your own that you feel particularly proud of, or wish more people would’ve consumed? Please provide links if possible.

Have you ever participated in a fannish event (ie. IT Week, a fic Big Bang) or applied to be a part of a fanzine? If so, which ones, and can you please link them?

Without any form of bashing or lashing out, what is something you feel this fandom is missing?

We’ve talked about it before but I wanna thank you one more time for all the thought you put into these questions and for sending them to me, honestly <33

Okay this is probably going to be a long post I’m sorry in advance,,

- Besides tumblr and AO3 (it’s the same username) I don’t have any more fannish accounts, I have a twitter so I can keep up with the IT content over there but my account is private I don’t really interact there I just observe 👀

- Jesus what a good question, my first name on tumblr was eds-spagheds, that was also my first name on AO3, but then the second movie came out and I had to make good use of that iconic line

- Okay buckle up I love this story. So, It chapter one came out in 2017, but I hate horror movies with a passion, I never watch them, so when my friends asked me to come see it with them I said no, right. Fast forward one year. One random day in high school I think I caught the flu or something and I was feeling like absolute CRAP but me and my friend (the same one that invited me to see It on the cinema) had already made plans for that afternoon, that were: watch IT chapter one at her house. I tell you, I was laying on her couch having fever dreams while we waited for another friend of ours to show up, I was thinking to myself, I’m gonna go home, I feel like shit I don’t want to watch a horror movie that I’m gonna have nightmares about tonight. Anyway, I didn’t leave, they convinced me because they said “you love stranger things you’ll love this too”. The three of us sat down to watch the movie. Me, a dumbass, said this on the first seconds of the movie: “Can you imagine how bad it must feel to enter a fandom based on a movie? Like, with stranger things you can rewatch all the seasons but with a movie it’s just, the same 2 hours to obsess over and over.” No, I didn’t know there was a book, mini-series, or a second part. Yes, I got to know them all in the following months because as soon as I finished the movie I knew that was it for me.

- Okay favorite ships? We’re all tired of this answer but reddie. However, I like every single ship imaginable between the 7 of them, to me they’re all soulmates and I love all the dynamics possible. I lovE all of them, ships and characters. I think I related most to Ben, because of the unrequited love, body image and food issues. That part on the book about Ben’s mom feeding him unhealthy things and him trying to eat better and then the guilt trip? man, that hit too close. But like many people say, we all relate to every loser in a different way.

- Sighs. I don’t really participate anymore... First 2 years I was on fire with content, I did fanart and wrote prompts, one shots, full fics.. now I literally just reblog things and try to give love to the artists. I guess you can say I’m retired

- That’s a difficult question, all of the art I see inspires me, all of the fics I love inspire me, before, I guess they inspired me to create my own content for the fandom but since I don’t create anymore, they just, make my day really much better. I appreciate every single content creator of this fandom, you don’t know how much joy it brings me

- Okay okay!! This is impossible to get right because I will forget many many people for sure but over all this time there’s some works that really stick with me and that I think about every other day:

a (number) neighborhood of seven by BookRockShooter

I Might Be Dreaming (I Might Be Dead) by batwake

two falling sparks by zach_stone

Predicament Bondage by dgalerab

Now What I'm Gonna Say May Sound Indelicate by IfItHollers

& That's For All Time by tossertozier (rednoseredhair)

In Over Your Chest is Way Too Deep (AKA Surf Bois) by speakslow

5555 by weepies

- Yes! I wrote a handful of things but my absolute favorite one is this: Late at night when I like who I am, in the dark where I’m finally me

- No :( Sadly I never participated in any fandom event as a creator, but I love to see everyone’s work when one happens ! I bought the loser’s zine and it’s my most prized possession

- Hmmmm tough question, I think a little more empathy? There are so many kind and amazing people here but there are also some people who are... not. I see a lot of discourse over useless things like adults being in the fandom is somehow bad because the losers were once kids? like, are we forgetting this story follows these people from their childhoods through their adulthoods? And are we supposed to stop liking things after we turn 20 or? And when people who write Richie’s parents as bad parents are regarded as edgy teens who just want to cause Richie pain??? like what the....? so many people have only watched the movies and i’m sorry but in the movies there’s nothing that shows Richie’s parents as good parents, that’s only in the book, why do we attack these people then? maybe they relate to Richie and they have bad households, don’t we all project ourselves on our favorite characters?

Anyway, that’s all from me, if anyone reads this far I’ll be impressed but I had a lot of fun with these 👉👈

#long post #asks #so many good questions aA #It 2017 #It 2019 #the losers club

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redrobinhoood · 4 years ago

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Index | Whumptober2020

Whumptober is now over! Thank you everyone for the love that’s been shown to my fics on here. This has been a very good writing challenge for me. I feel like I’ve learned a lot about my writing style over the course of this past month and what types of stories are the most compelling from your comments and reactions, so thank you for hopefully making me a better writer!

So as to provide the best reading experience, the index is a summary of every work I did for Whumptober and lists out the all characters, pairings, additional tags, triggers, and level of whump so that you may make an informed decision about what you would like to read. Feel free to ask questions, or for more summary/description if you are unsure if you would like to approach something, in the comments of this post or through DM or ask.

AO3 Index Link

* Lighter whump

** Eek but they at least kinda get their shit together

*** I kill or graphically traumatize someone here

Full index under the break

Single-character focus

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE ** | Tumblr | AO3

Left for Dead

TW: None

Boba Fett

Description: Left to die, Boba Fett refuses to do so.

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS *** | Tumblr | AO3

Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt

TW: Character Death, Depression

CC-5052 | Bly / Aayla Secura

CC-5052 | Bly. CT-6734 | Galle, CC-3636 | Wolffe, Aayla Secura

Description: Bly finds himself in the same situation that he once put Aayla in when he returns to Felucia.

No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME * | Tumblr | AO3

Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

TW: Psychological Trauma

CC-2224 | Cody. CT-7567 | Rex, Alexsandr Kallus, Sabine Wren

Additional tags: Retrospective

Description: Captured by the Rebel Alliance, Cody thinks back on the events that led to this moment.

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS ** | Tumblr | AO3

Disorientation | Blurred Vision

TW: Graphic Descriptions

CT-5555 | Fives & CT-0408 | Echo

CT-0408 | Echo

Additional tags: Canon compliant

Description: Echo makes a mistake at the Citadel and waits for Fives to save him from it.

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD… ** | Tumblr | AO3

Migraine

TW: None

CT-0408 | Echo & CT-5555 | Fives, & CT-7567 | Rex

CT-0408 | Echo, CT-7567 | Rex

Additional tags: Canon compliant

Description: Trapped inside his own mind, Echo relives his final moments of freedom.

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. *** | Tumblr | AO3

Accidents

TW: Character Death, Graphic Descriptions

CT-5597 | Jesse & CT-6116 Kix

CT-5597 | Jesse

Additional tags: Canon compliant

Description: Pinned down, Jesse thinks back on the events leading up to Order 66.

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE *** | Tumblr | AO3

Field Medicine

TW: Needles, Drug Use

CT-6116 | Kix. CT-5597 | Jesse

Description: Kix fights to keep his brothers alive on Umbara, but gives them peace when he cannot do so.

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? ** | Tumblr | AO3

Branding

TW: None

CC-4477 | Thire. Jek

Description: Thire finds that the Emperor has found a solution for telling the identical clones apart.

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? *** | Tumblr | AO3

Abandoned | Isolation

TW: Death, Depression, Graphic Descriptions of Violence

CT-7567 | Rex. Ahsoka Tano

Additional Tags: Post Victory and Death

Description: Rex returns to the wreckage of the Venator once Ahsoka falls asleep to mourn his brothers.

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR * | Tumblr | AO3

Intubation | Reluctant Bedrest

TW: Mentions of Death

CC-3636 | Wolffe. Boost

Description: After suffering serious injuries at the hands of the droid army, Wolffe finds himself on the road to recovery.

Friendship focus/pairings

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN ** | Tumblr | AO3

Possession | Alt 10. Nightmares

TW: Violence, Implied Character Death

Barriss Offee & Ahsoka Tano

Barriss Offee, Ahsoka Tano

Description: Ahsoka dreams about Barriss Offee and the tipping points in their friendship.

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE * | Tumblr | AO3

Sensory Deprivation

TW: None

Barriss Offee & Ahsoka Tano

Barriss Offee, Ahsoka Tano

Description: Imprisoned for her crimes, Barriss tries to sort fact from fiction as she finds herself deprived of her senses.

No 7. I’VE GOT YOU * | Tumblr | AO3

Support | Enemy to Caretaker

TW: Wounds

Cal Kestis & Merrin

Cal Kestis, Merrin

Additional notes: Fallen Order Spoilers

Description: Merrin goes to see Cal with thoughts of Dathomir on her mind.

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO ** | Tumblr | AO3

Panic Attacks

TW: Panic Attacks

Cal Kestis & BD-1, & Merrin

Cal Kestis, BD-1, Merrin

Description: With all distractors gone, Cal’s thoughts wander to old trauma and old wounds.

No 12. I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING * | Tumblr | AO3

Broken Down | Broken Trust

TW: None

CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi

CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ghost Crew (all), Millennium Falcon crew (almost all)

Additional tags:

Description: The Ghost receives a transmission concerning a former Jedi, a farm boy, and the Death Star.

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? *** | Tumblr | AO3

Internal Organ Injury

TW: Character Death, Graphic Descriptions, Blood

CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex

CC-2224 | Cody, CT-7567 | Rex

Description: Cody tells Rex of a new Separatist weapon. Later, Rex comes face to face with it.

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME** | Tumblr | AO3

Collapsed Building

TW: Blood, Mentions of Death

Description: Rex sends some of his best men to steal data from a recently abandoned Separatist base.

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT * | Tumblr | AO3

Oxygen Mask

TW: None

Plo Koon & CC-3636 | Wolffe

Plo Koon, CC-3636 | Wolffe

Description: Captured during the infiltration of a Separatist base, Plo Koon chooses to save the lives of his men over his own.

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? * | Tumblr | AO3

Exhaustion | Sleep Deprivation

TW: Depression

CT-5555 | Fives & CT-0408 | Echo, & CT-5385 | Tup

CT-5555 | Fives, CT-5385 | Tup

Description: Following Umbara, old nightmares come back to haunt Fives.

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY ** | Tumblr | AO3

“Pick Who Dies” | Collars

TW: None

CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker

Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex, Obi-Wan Kenobi

Description: Anakin is forced to choose between three of the beings he loves.

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY * | Tumblr | AO3

Hallucinations

TW: None

CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker

CT-7567 | Rex, Anakin Skywalker

Description: Rex and Anakin find themselves doused with hallucinogenic powder while pursuing Asajj Ventress.

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD *** | Tumblr | AO3

“Take Me Instead” | “Run!”

TW: Character Death

CT 7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano

CT 7567 | Rex, Ahsoka Tano. CT-6116 | Kix, Anakin Skywalker

Description: When their ship comes under attack, Rex and Ahsoka desperately try to hold off the droids from the control room.

No 21. I DON’T FEEL SO WELL * | Tumblr | AO3

Hypothermia

TW: None

CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano

CT-7567 | Rex, Ahsoka Tano. Anakin Skywalker, CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi

Description: Rex and Ahsoka find themselves stranded on an ice moon after escaping from Separatist forces.

Romance pairings

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? *** | Tumblr | AO3

On the Run | Failed Escape

TW: Character Death

CC-5052 | Bly / Aayla Secura

CC-5052 | Bly, Aayla Secura, CT-6734 | Galle

Additional tags: Worse Than Canon

Description: Bly decides to take the execution of Order 66 into his own hands

No 27. OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD? ** | Tumblr | AO3

Earthquake

TW: Suicide

CC-5052 | Bly / Aayla Secura

CC-5052 | Bly, Aayla Secura

Description: Trapped by a collapsed building during an earthquake, Bly and Aayla take different approaches to their survival.

No 6. PLEASE…. ** | Tumblr | AO3

“Get it Out” | “Stop, please”

TW: Blood, Mentions of Death

CC-2224 | Cody / Obi-Wan Kenobi

CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi

Description: Obi-Wan and Cody lead a mission to scout out what appears to be an abandoned Separatist base.

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING * | Tumblr | AO3

Blackmail | Dirty Secret

TW: None

Rey / Ben Solo | Kylo Ren

Rey, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren

Description: A reminiscing Kylo Ren is interrupted by a call for a momentary truce following the near extermination of the Resistance.

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY* | Tumblr | AO3

Manhandled | Held at Gunpoint

TW: None

Riyo Chuchi / CC-1010 | Fox

Riyo Chuchi, CC-1010 | Fox. CC-5869 | Stone

Description: It’s the weekly bounty hunter break in in the Senate. But this week, Commander Fox finds Senator Chuchi to be one of their demands.

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED ** | Tumblr | AO3

Blood Loss | Trail of Blood

TW: Blood, Graphic Descriptions, Character Death

Riyo Chuchi / CC-1010 | Fox

Riyo Chuchi, CC-1010 | Fox.

Description: Commander Fox leads an assault on a team of bounty hunters who have infiltrated the Senate.

No 11. PSYCH 101 *** | Tumblr | AO3

Defiance | Struggling | Crying

TW: Character Death

Riyo Chuchi / CC-1010 | Fox

Riyo Chuchi, CC-1010 | Fox

Description: The Chancellor learns of Commander Fox and Riyo’s relationship and orders his property to be destroyed.

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? * | Tumblr | AO3

Poisoned

TW: None

Riyo Chuchi / CC-1010 | Fox

Riyo Chuchi, CC-4477 | Thire

Description: Thire watches over Riyo at a senatorial gathering after she receives another threat on her life.

#whumptober2020 #index #masterpost #death tw #graphic depictions of violence tw #depression tw

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yaboiisherelove · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555/CT-7567 | Rex, CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe, CT-5597 | Jesse/CT-6116 | Kix, CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura Characters: CT-5385 | Tup, CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555, CT-7567 | Rex, CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-3636 | Wolffe, Plo Koon, CC-5052 | Bly, Aayla Secura, CT-21-0408 | Echo, Cut Lawquane, Suu Lawquane, Shaeeah Lawquane, Jek Lawquane, Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Sinker (Star Wars), Boost (Star Wars), Nanook Lockwood (Original Character), Tallulah Chia (Original Character), Miif'isketn'attou "Fiske" Errvodu (Original Character), Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Clone Trooper Character(s), Rhokan Do (Original Character), Mace Windu, Luminara Unduli, Asajj Ventress Additional Tags: Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Memory Alteration, Lost Love, Jedi, Clone Sex, Secret Relationship, Blood and Gore, Violence, Disguise, Lightsaber Battles, Missing in Action, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Graphic Burn Injury, Graphic Description Series: Part 2 of When You Reach Me Summary:

Three months after the events of When You Reach Me, Rex and his men attempt to return to normal after coming back from what they were told was a botched training exercise on Kamino. Meanwhile, Fives has narrowly escaped being decommissioned by the Kaminoans and lives in hiding with a ragtag group of bounty hunters. With their memories erased of Clover and the rest of the events in the Labyrinth, the seven remaining troopers try to make sense of what remains of their fragmented memories and get to the bottom of the Republic conspiracy, while Fives starts to understand that the events of the Labyrinth left him with more power than he realized.

*READ WHEN YOU REACH ME FIRST! THIS IS A SEQUEL*

Tags will be updated as the story progresses.

I cannot begin to explain the amount of pain and joy this fic has brought me.... But I will. 1: Read the first book SO good and messes with you a hecken lot bruh. 2: This one is also messing with me and somehow the stakes are even HIGHER 3: If you want adrenaline running through your body constantly then you should read it, but not late at night because this is to much energy this late at night. 4: Intense writing and lots of sweet moments. 5: Just read it man

#if you reach me #clone trooper fives #clone trooper rex #clone trooper wolffe #clone trooper tup #clone trooper jesse #clone trooper kix #commander cody #commander bly #commander wolffe #captain rex #star wars fanfiction

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thelazyeye · 5 years ago

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Author Appreciation Day!!

Fanfiction is a truly wonderful experience. I am so lucky to not only be involved in writing, but to get the explicit experience of being able to read what authors share with the world. Every story comes from somewhere inside of an author. Even when they’re silly or fun or seemingly ridiculous, an author has taken the time to write it from inside of themselves. We should ALWAYS appreciate them. Today is just something special to really be loud about it. These are some of my all time favorite fics and authors. Please, read and enjoy.

(I’m not going to hunt down people’s tumblrs if they’re not listed in the fics so if you know who’s blog wrote any of these and they’re not tagged, please feel free to let me know and I will 100% kindly tag them!)

In The Wrong Place, Trying To Make It Right by pininawig (this is the very first Reddie fic I ever read. It got me into the fandom. I have a deep appreciation for it and I reread it all the time. Please go love this story).

"Richie wasn’t sure how the fuck he’d managed to forget Eddie Kaspbrak. Like, now that he’s got Eddie’s hand in his (his remaining hand, Richie’s traitorous mind reminds him cruelly, and he avoids looking at the hospital gown lying flat against the bed where an arm should be) he remembers everything." Or, 27 years later, Eddie makes it out of the sewers alive.

Tear It With Your Teeth by Belby

"We could leave this place, Eddie," Richie says. "God, imagine that? Not having to live in this trash dump anymore. We could go wherever we wanted. A different place every night."

Give The Past A Slip by brodayhey

On his way to a live show for his popular podcast, Richie stumbles into a person from his past. He remembers.

Remember (It Kills Me To See You Without Me) by Kandakicksass

Richie Tozier falls in love with Eddie Kaspbrak, forgets him, and finds him again, over the course of twenty-seven years.

The Purge by leighwrites / @aizeninlefox

In 2014, following an economic collapse and rising social unrest, a political organisation named NFFA (New Founding Fathers of America) formed and overthrew the Government, becoming voted into office. In 2016 the NFFA devised a plan to help stabilise the American society and then in 2017 the 28th Amendment was added. The amendment established a twelve hour event called the purge which would start at seven in the evening of March 21st to seven in the morning of March 22nd where all crime was made legal and emergency services were unreachable.

Stay For The Storm by inoubliable / @hanscom

Richie and Eddie had become friends almost on sight. Since they met, most of Eddie's time in Los Angeles has involved Richie in some way. It's a little different, now that they're both famous. It's a little different, now that they're sleeping together. Well, to be fair, they've been sleeping together for a long time, but. No one knows, not even their friends. Eddie has been very careful about that. It's just not the sort of publicity he needs. So when Beverly calls him that sunny Thursday morning, the last thing he expects her to say is, "You're fucking Richie?"

5555 by weepies / @finnwolfhard

“I am not harmless,” Eddie had said, his eyes thundering—a challenge. “I could ruin your life.”

“I dare you,” Richie had replied, a smug smile on his face.

This is where I leave you (sitting in a palace, covered in gold inside my head) by Enj0ltaiRe

Going blind wasn’t something that Richie had ever even took into consideration. He had joked about it, thinking that having to wear glasses was close enough to being blind, complaining about the fact that there were people that could see for free, while he had to pay for contacts and specs, but he had never actually thought about the possibility of losing his eyesight.

Blackbird by michelllejones

“Ho-ly fuck,” Richie whispers, and Eddie has never been so fucking scared. Not when he saw the leper, not when he confronted his mother about his pills, not when they fought It in the sewers. Never. Eddie screws his eyes shut and clutches at the material of his jeans. Please be too high to notice, please be too high to notice, please be too high to notice “Eddie?”

Scene Stealer by mseg_21 / @jem-carstairs-is-perfection

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” Eddie muttered under his breath, staring wide eyed as the man sat up. “You’re a serial killer, aren’t you? You- you lured me in, with the blood and the- the screams and now you’re going to kill me-” The man just kept on laughing, convincing Eddie more and more that he was a psychopath and that Eddie’s good heart was about to get him murdered. “I’m not going to kill you.” The man said, still laughing. “Hurt me? Kidnap me?” Eddie asked. The man shook his head in response to Eddie’s questions. “No?” The man chuckled. “Definitely not. Why would I want to hurt the cute nurse that came to my rescue?”

Richie and Eddie Were Here by andthewasp

Eddie Kaspbrak is leaving for college tomorrow. He's leaving his best friend, Richie, and the park where they grew up, behind; but he has things to do first. Eddie and Richie embark on one final adventure in an attempt to pick up the pieces they've left strewn throughout their little hometown before they part ways, and end up finding even more.

Grow Through The Dirt by tinyarmedtrex / @tinyarmedtrex

Mike owns a small flower shop next to a tattoo parlor. He's never been interested in tattoos, but he may be interested in one of the owners, Stan.

I Will Make You Hurt by theonlytraveler / @tozierking

Eddie has struggled with school the past couple years, and his last year of high school is already off to a bad start. His mom hires him a tutor from the nearby University and things seem like they might start looking up. But when Eddie's tutor takes an interest in him, everything starts to fall apart, and Eddie is forced into a situation he never even imagined.

A Memory Of Love by stellarbisexual / @stellarbisexual

Richie and Eddie, who haven't seen each other since they were kids, get cast as the lead couple in an indie film.

Into The Dark by nb_richie (shipit)

Richie and Stan have seen and dealt with a lot of cases in the years they’ve been working together, from cults to cartels. A case in Derry, Maine, proves to be one of the most horrific for them and for the two local officers they’ll be working with. And on top of it all, Richie keeps remembering things he’d rather forget.

Hit Me Baby One More Time by richttps @richardtoz

As a child, Eddie always dreamt of becoming a doctor but things don’t always go as planned - especially when you’re still sleeping with a stuffed animal. At twenty-four, he still deals with his fair share of people passing out and crying underneath a needle, but not medically. Instead, he spent his years in college exploring the world of art and went on to work as a tattoo artist in his own shop. In a way, the two are very similar, at least that’s what he tells himself when a newly legal teenager tells him that they’re so grateful that he’d tattooed the word ‘bitch’ on the inside of their lip. His last appointment for the night is especially different.

A Playlist For The End Of The World by gyngersnap / @redactedrichie

It's been a year since the zombie outbreak started, and Eddie and Richie are all that's left of the Loser's club. Eddie's not sure if he can handle it anymore, but Richie's convinced almost anything can be fixed with a little music, an abandoned mall, and a whole lot of terrible dance moves.

Scorpion Grasses by PimpedOutGreenEars

“Tell everyone… Tell everyone I’ll miss them. And Eds, tell him… Just promise to call him Eds for me every once in a while. So he won’t forget me.”

On his last night in Derry Richie shares a bottle of red wine with Beverly. He makes promises to send letters he knows he won't remember to write, cries a lot, and then ends it with the boy he loves who's just dumb enough to love him back.

Love Your Body Right by richietoaster / @richietoaster

Eddie's arm is broken and he enlists the help of his best friend to get off. Richie has a better idea.

A Long Way Back To The Light by slytherincosette / @tozierhargreeves

For Eddie, senior year is supposed to be an under-the-radar kind of year. He's been avoiding all of his friends for months and his mental health has been steadily declining. Why rock the boat and make everything worse? His plans consist of getting into the local community college (easy) and avoiding Richie, the worst sort-of-ex-boyfriend ever (considerably harder.) Then Bill drags him to a stupid party, and Eddie's plans are thrown through a loop. Suddenly, "under-the-radar" seems like a cop-out. Eddie decides, once and for all, to stop settling for decent, for alright, for enough. Eddie's going to take his life back if it fucking kills him.

Baby, I’m Counting On You by PuddingTown / @tozierpunks

Alternately titled: My babysitter's a rockstar. When Richie Tozier breezes back into his hometown of Derry, Maine, he’s expecting to see familiar faces. Of course, he’s not expecting to see an old flame chasing around a baby. With a million questions, nowhere to go, and a help wanted ad for a nannying job, he finds himself at the doorstep of Eddie Kaspbrak.

My Eyes Only by chucknovak / @wonderwheelzier

Eddie accidentally finds Richie's nudes because Richie doesn't understand Snapchat.

Meet Me In The Graveyard by Oldguybones / @oldguybones

After almost five years apart, the Losers club reunites to spend the weekend together at Mike’s lakeside cabin. Armed with booze and total solitude, the gang plans to make up for lost time and catch up with those who were once the most important people of their youths. Tensions fly as lost love is rekindled and friendships are divided. But they soon begin to realize that they are not alone. Someone or something is out for blood and will not rest until they get it. What will the Losers do?

Richie The Ruiner by RanjantheVictor

It takes Richie Tozier a while to realize, but eventually he does. Richie ruins everything, no matter how much he tries not to.

This is BY FAR not a comprehensive list, nor are they ranked in order. I love a lot of pieces and a lot of authors and if I were to combine them all into one post you’d never see your dash board again. This is, however, some of my all time favorites. Some of these fics hold very special places in my heart. Some of these fics shaped me into the writer I am today. Some of these fics are the reason I am here and writing. I love them dearly. I love these authors. Go love them, please. Lord knows they ALL deserve it.

#Em posts #reddie #richie #eddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #fic rec #Stan Uris #Mike Hanlon #Stanlon #Stan #Mike

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ao3feed-jedistorm · 6 years ago

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Past and Future, Friend and Foe

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2QbRzzV

by Jen425

Rey and Finn catch up following the events of The Last Jedi.

Words: 1221, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 12 of The Wheels Keep Turning, Part 5 of Something New (Or, Anakin's Less-Than-Fun Times As a Force Ghost), Part 4 of As If Love Could Stop Our Fate

Fandoms: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen, Multi

Characters: Rey (Star Wars), Finn (Star Wars), Poe Dameron, R2-D2 (Star Wars), BB-8 (Star Wars), Rose Tico, Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader, CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555

Relationships: Finn & Rey (Star Wars), Finn/Rey (Star Wars), Poe Dameron & Finn & Rey, Poe Dameron & Finn & Rey & Rose Tico, CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555/Anakin Skywalker

Additional Tags: Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Fix-It of Sorts, Star Wars: The Last Jedi Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Rey made dumb choices but I understand why, kind of, KRIFF YOU RUIN JOHNSHIT!!!, Anakin and Fives show up as Force Ghosts watching the new heroes, also hello ready for the fic debut of my Finn origin story?

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2QbRzzV

#jedistorm #finnrey #reyfinn #finn x rey #rey x finn

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scarletjedi · 7 years ago

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Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Luke Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555, CT-6116 | Kix, Leia Organa, Ahsoka Tano, Asajj Ventress, Force Ghost Qui-Gon Jinn

Additional Tags: Time Travel, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Drama, BAMF Leia Organa

Chapter Summary: Luke reveals just what happened after, and Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka begin a Very Important Conversation.

Note: This fic is not TLJ compliant, though it does borrow heavily from the events/scenery of that movie. Consider this a fix-it of sorts for certain characterizations that I felt were missteps.

Thank you @hobbitystmarymorstan for the beta!!

If you like what I do, please consider buying me a coffee. I also take commissions.

#old man luke #sj writes star wars #fic update #luke skywalker

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ftwd-nicky · 7 years ago

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Something More

Pairing: Nick Clark x Reader

Author: @ftwd-nicky

Words: 5555 (that’s fucking incredible omg)

Author’s Note: Hey all! I finally finished this damn fic. This will probably be the last one I post for a while since I have like two term papers to write... I hope you all enjoy this. There’s quite a few background to this, so, yeah!

“Do you think you’d date anyone now that the world we know of has ended?” Audrey asked as we drove down the highway. I looked at her weirdly as Jess laughed, shaking her head.

“Are you kidding? How would we even make time for it when we’re always running for our lives?” Jess asked while chuckling. I sat in the backseat, grinning as my two friends bickered over the perks of dating in this new world.

We were driving towards Tijuana, wondering if there would be anything there since there wasn’t in the past two cities we’ve been to. I looked between the two girls as they were laughing, thinking of where I would be if I didn’t have them. Probably dead somewhere.

Before the world ended, I was a recovering drug addict. Aud and Jess have always been there for me when I would place myself into rehab. No one else was there except them… my parents weren’t even there for me in my time of need. I’m grateful to have these two ladies in my life, even in this undead world. The world had ended while I was still kind of recovering resulting in a few episodes of withdrawal, but Jess’ mom was a pharmaceutical and managed to grab some oxycontin before we left for Mexico.

“What about you, Y/N?” Jess asked, glancing back at me and I snapped out of my thoughts.

“I’m sorry what?” I asked, laughing a bit as Jess groaned, hitting her head against the seat. “Sorry! I was thinking.” I laughed, propping my legs up on the console in between the driver and passenger seat.

“Let’s say you found someone and ended up falling in love with them, would you date them?” Aud cleared up and I furrowed my eyebrows. Who has time for love now?

“I feel like I wouldn’t. Now a days not really a time for love when you could die at any second.” I muttered, resting my hands on my knees.

As time went on, we passed a sign that said Tijuana was about 50 miles from here. I started to fan myself, becoming really warm as I slipped my zip-up hoodie off my shoulders, setting it on the seat. My breathing became a little heavier as I laid my head back, resting my eyes for a second.

“Y/N? Hey Y/N! Aud stop the car.” Jess panicked as Aud pulled to the side of the road, putting the car in park.

“Withdrawals?” She asked Jess who nodded in response. I began coughing, sitting up as I opened the door, throwing up on the pavement. Jess had rummaged through her bag, pulling out the bottle of oxy she had.

“I-I thought I was doing better.” I muttered to the two girls, glancing up at them as I laid down on the seat.

“It’s alright, Y/N. You’re still trying to wean off of it.” Aud muttered, grabbing my water as Jess had crushed the oxy into a powder. Jess poured the powder into the water, shaking it before handing it to me.

“Drink this, come on.” Jess muttered as I took it into my hands, taking a few gulps. My two friends stared down at me, worried expressions on both of their faces as my heavy breathing had lightened up a bit.

“I’m fine. Keep driving, please.” I begged, giving them a weak smile as Aud nodded her head, turning around in her seat, starting up the vehicle.

My head was leaning against the cool window, my body temperature returning to normal as I started calming down. The three of us pulled up to an abandoned supermarket, grabbing our guns and knives before exiting the vehicle.

“Use knives if you can, shooting will just attract more.” I told the girls as they nodded their head. I tucked my pistol in my jeans, twirling my butterfly knife as it opens, the sharp blade shining in the sun.

We made our way into the building, searching every corner of the store for the infected before we begin to shop for food and supplies. The three of us split up as I made my way towards the pharmacy part of the store, needing something. My hands shook as I searched the shelves, not finding anything that could give me temporary release. I knocked some stuff off the shelves, letting out a breath as I stood there for a few seconds.

Someone cleared their throat, snapping me out of my daze as I looked up, finding Aud standing on the other side of the counter, giving me a knowing look. I sighed, hopping over to where she’s standing, running a hand through my hair.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, frowning as the two of us walked towards Jess.

Aud shook her head, shrugging her shoulders as she sighed a bit. “It’s okay. I get it, it’s hard, but you have to try and get over it or you’re going to end up dead. Jess and I won’t be able to handle that.” She mentioned and I nodded my head.

Jess ran over to us, panting heavily as she tried to speak. “I-In-fected closing i-in.” She breathed out, placing her hands on her knees, breathing heavily. Shit.

“How many?” I asked her and she stood straight up, shrugging her shoulders a bit. “Alright, come on. Let’s see if we can avoid them.” I muttered, running towards the entrance of the store, Aud and Jess running closely behind me.

We looked out of the window of the doors, seeing at least twenty infected roaming around in between the space of the store and our vehicle. “We can do this.” Aud muttered and I glanced over towards her, eyes widened. “What? We can!” She laughed slightly and I sighed.

“Alright, yeah, we can do this.” I told them, grabbing my gun out of my jeans just in case. The two girls got their weapons ready as I glanced back towards them. “Ready?” I asked and they nodded their heads.

I opened the doors, the three of us running out as we began to stab and shoot our way through the mob. I killed about six of the infected when I heard Aud scream, snapping my head in her direction as I watched one of the infected biting her arm.

“Aud!” I screamed, shooting one of the infected before running towards her. I killed the ones around her, tears pooling in my eyes as she sat on the ground, groaning in pain. I watched her take her cyanide pill she carried out of her pocket before glancing up at me.

“It’s okay. I love you.” She whispered as I kneeled on the ground, sniffling as she gave me a weak smile. Aud popped the pill into her mouth and she begins spasming before she drops to the ground.

“Y/N watch out!” I heard Jess yell as an infected got on top of me. I laid on my back, pushing the walking corpse away from my face as it snapped at me, trying to catch some of my flesh. I reached out for my butterfly knife as it was a few inches from my grasp.

A knife was lodged into their skull before Jess pushed it off of me, trying to help me up when another infected came up behind her, taking a bite out of her neck. She screamed loudly as I grabbed my knife, stabbing them.

Jess held her hand to the side of her neck, her body covered in her blood as I stared down at my two best friends. One already dead as the other was dying.

“Y-Y/N… don’t let me turn into one of those things.” She stuttered, blood seeping from her lips as I nodded my head, the gun in my hand shaking as I pointed it at her head before pulling the trigger. I whimpered as I looked down at Jess, turning my attention to Audrey as one of her limbs began to twitch. I turned my gun towards her, shooting her in the same spot before she could become one of the infected, grabbing both of their bags before running towards the vehicle.

I sped down the highway, my vision blurred by the tears that are constantly spilling from my eyes. I let out a small sob, covering my mouth with my hand as the events replayed in my head over and over again. After about an hour of driving and crying, the car began to slow down, spluttering as smoke evaporated from the hood.

“No, no, no. Come on.” I groaned, hitting my head off the steering wheel. I searched through Jess and Aud’s bags, grabbing the necessities such as food, water, medical supplies, and the oxycotin. I placed it all in my bag, exiting the vehicle as I began to walk down the road, seeing Tijuana in the near distance.

By the time I reached Tijuana I was hot, tired, and in pain. I had rolled my ankle going down some rubble to reach the main road, so now I’m limping. I rummaged through all the small stores, finding absolutely nothing. I sat down in one of the shops, rubbing my ankle as the pain spiked, wincing slightly.

“¿Quién eres tú?” (“Who are you?”) A feminine voice called out and I looked up, seeing a woman and man covered in blood, pointing their guns at me. I put my hands up in surrender, my mouth moving like a fish out of water.

“I-I don’t speak much spanish.” I muttered, looking between the two as I attempted to stand up, my ankle almost giving out. “D-Do you have water? I-I ran out awhile ago.” I asked as they looked at me, not answering me. “Agua? Agua?” I asked in spanish and the guy pulled his canteen off of his hip, handing it to me. “Gracias.” I muttered, taking a few gulps of it before the woman took it from me.

The two began arguing in spanish, their eyes glancing down towards my ankle as I stared at them with wide eyes. The women sighed, beginning to leave with the man, glancing back at me. “Vámonos.” (“Let’s move on.”) She hissed and I stumbled forward, following the two.

I winced when I would put more pressure onto my ankle, gripping the straps of my backpack as we made our way towards a batch of infected. My eyes widened as they made their way in, my feet stopping in my tracks.

“U-Uh, excuse me?” I called out and the woman stopped, turning around. She let out a sigh, walking back towards me.

“¿Qué?” (“What?”) She asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she raised an eyebrow.

“I-I um, is there another way in?” I asked and she shook her head. I frowned, gulping a bit as she grabbed my arm, pulling me through the crowd of infected. I held my breath the entire time, letting it out once we reach inside the bus as I felt my heartbeat pounding against my chest.

“Este es La Colonia.” (“This is The Colony.”) She spoke as I blinked, nodding my head, not understanding what she’s saying. Maybe I should learn. “Vamos a llevarte a la enfermería.” (“Let's take you to the infirmary.”) The woman muttered as she lead me towards a white building.

“What’s your name?” I asked and she glanced back at me.

“Luciana.” She responded, knocking on the doors as I nodded my head.

“Nice to meet you Luciana. That’s actually a really gorgeous name, better than mine.” I muttered, looking around La Colonia. “Mines Y/N.” I smiled.

“Your name’s not that bad, Y/N.” She gave me a small smile and I laughed, shrugging my shoulders. “Alejandro is going to take a look at your ankle, okay?” Luciana mentioned and I nodded my head as the door opened, a tall ethnic man standing on the other side of it.

“¿Qué es esto?” (“What is this?”) The man I’m presuming to be Alejandro asked Luci.

“Ella se lastimó el tobillo, Alejandro. La encontramos en la ciudad.” (“She hurt her ankle, Alejandro. We found her in the city.”) Luci spoke to him as I sat there, wondering what they were saying.

“Alright, come in.” He spoke and I nodded, walking into the place. Alejandro closed the door behind us, motioning me to sit on the examination table. I hopped up onto the table, sitting patiently with my hands in my lap as I looked around. Alejandro grabbed his chair, sitting down in front of me as he softly grabbed my injured ankle. “What happened?” He asked in his thick accent, glancing up at me as he moved my ankle.

I winced, flinching slightly, gripping the edges of the table. “I um, I walked down this hill of rubble to get to the main road and my ankle slipped off one of the broken pieces of concrete and I ended up rolling it, or that’s what I think I did to it.” I told him, taking my bottom lip between my teeth.

He kept digging his fingers around my ankle as I winced quietly, trying not to let the pain show on my face as he hummed. “Well, lucky for you that’s all you did. It’s a pretty bad roll though, especially if you have a limp that heavy. You can stay here in the infirmary for now until we can clear up a space for you.” Alejandro mentioned and my eyes widened.

“Y-You’re allowing me to stay?” I asked hopefully and he nodded his head, grinning down at me. “Oh my god thank you so much. Thank you, thank you.” I muttered, tears pooling in my eyes as I carefully got down.

“No hay problema, señorita.” (“No problem, miss.”) He smiled, going back up the spiral staircase. I placed my bag next to the bed that’s a few feet away from the exam table, laying down on the cot as I stared up at the ceiling. My eyes began to droop shut, feeling the tiredness of today’s hike hitting me square in the face.

I gasped awake, feeling the sudden urge to vomit as I could feel the sweat covering my body. I found a bucket a foot from my bed, reaching for it as I threw up into it. After I emptied my already empty stomach, I laid on the cot, pulling at my clothes as I tried to disrobe. I heard someone hop down from something, coming over to me as I felt them place a hand on my face.

I flinched away from their touch, unzipping my hoodie as I tried to get it off. My breathing became heavier, groaning internally as I began going through the withdrawal stage again. “M-My bag.” I muttered out, looking towards the shadow, pointing towards the small bag on the floor.

“You know what’s happening to you, right?” The mystery man asked and I nodded my head, turning onto my side.

“Y-Yeah, w-withdrawals.” I whispered as he grabbed the bag, giving it to me. I glanced up at the man again, not expecting what I saw. Holy shit he’s cute. Stood in front of me was a man my age with ratty brown hair, gorgeous chocolate eyes, and wonderful lips. He also rocked the pink shirt quite well.

“You’re an addict?” He asked me and I nodded my head again, searching through my bag, pulling out the bag of oxy Jess had for me. “Here let me do it.” He mumbled, looking around for something to crush the pill. The man grabbed a beaker, crushing the oxy before sliding the powder into his hand.

“W-Water. I need water.” I murmured, undoing a few buttons of my flannel. Alejandro came down the set of stairs as the teenager looked towards him.

“Hey, do you have water? She needs this or the withdrawal is going to get worse.” He muttered and Alejandro nodded, grabbing a bottled water from a nearby cooler, handing it to the stranger.

“Is she an addict, like you?” Alejandro asked and the man nodded his head, sifting the powder into the water before giving it to me. I gulped half the bottle, letting out a small breath after I pulled the bottle away from my lips.

“Thank you…” I trailed off, not knowing the man’s name.

“Nick. My name’s Nick.” He muttered, looking down at me and I smiled slightly.

“Hi, Nick. I’m Y/N.” I introduced myself and Nick crouched down, his eyes analyzing my face.

“Hi Y/N. H-How long have you’ve been an addict?” Nick asked me and I sighed, rubbing my forehead.

“Three years maybe. I tried so hard to get sober, so hard. I-I only had my two best friends to help me get through it and now they’re dead.” I whispered, feeling the tears slide down my cheeks. I turned my head towards Nick, my lip quivering. “They didn’t deserve to die. They were such good people. It should’ve been me…” I cried out.

Nick frowned, taking my hand in his, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. “You has every right to be here as did they. I know it’s hard, trust me, but now you have something to live for, for them.” He told me and I stared up at him, my lips parted slightly.

“I guess I never thought about that.” I muttered, looking back up at the ceiling. “Thanks Nick.” I smiled at the cute boy, squeezing his hand.

It’s been about a week and a half since I’ve been at La Colonia and since I met Nick. Luci has been helping me touch up on my Spanish since I haven’t spoken or learned about it since high school, which was about two and a half years ago and I’m pretty much almost fluent in it, which is pretty cool. I’ve also been hanging out with Nick a lot, since he’s one of the only people who actually speak fluent english, plus he helps me with my withdrawals, which are getting better. I learned that he had also been an addict in the old world. Who knew you could fall for someone you haven’t even known for that long.

Luci and I were sitting outside of her place as she was helping me with the whole spanish language. The two of us were laughing as we were pretty close to having an entire conversation in spanish.

I glanced towards the kids who were playing soccer, seeing Nick standing next to Alejandro and I bit my lip softly, stealthily looking him over.

“¿Cómo te sientes acerca de Nick?” (“How do you feel about Nick?”) Luci asked me and I glanced towards her, blushing heavily at her question.

My lips moved like a fish out of water, trying to remember the right words to answer her question as I took a deep breath. “Me gusta mucho Nick, somos muy similares. ¿Ya sabes?” (“I really like Nick, we are very similar. You know?”) I could feel my heartbeat speed up as she grinned, patting my hand with hers.

“Ustedes dos serían lindos juntos.” (“You two would be cute together.”) Luci grinned and I groaned, hiding my face in my hands, shaking my head.

“No hay forma de que él sienta lo mismo.” (“There is no way he feels the same way.”) I muttered, playing with the cap of my water bottle.

“You never know until you try.” Her thick accent spoke as I shrugged. She laughed lightly, looking past me as her grin became wider, nodding her head in the direction behind me. I furrowed my eyebrows together, glancing behind me as I saw Nick walk towards us.

I grinned at the teenager, crossing my legs. “Hola, Nicky.” I chuckled and he tilted his head towards me, giving me a knowing look. “Come on Nick. I like Nicky, it’s cute.” I grinned and he shook his head, laughing a bit.

“You still coming over tonight?” He asked and I thought about it for a minute, tapping my fingers against my chin.

“I don’t know. Luci here has invited me to her place for a few drinks, but if we finish early I’ll definitely stop by.” I told him as he nodded his head, tilting his water bottle back and forth.

“Alright, well the door’s always open. Adiós señoras.” Nick grinned, giving me a cheeky wink before walking towards his trailer. I kept my eyes on him, feeling my heartbeat pound against my chest.

I looked back at Luci, seeing a smirk on her lips. “Shut up.” I laughed and she placed her hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t even say anything.” Luci grinned and I rolled my eyes, tapping the water bottle against the small table.

“Yeah, well your face did.” I chuckled, shaking my head. Luci got up out of her chair, grabbing her bag as Francisco had walked towards us, singling her that he’s ready to go.

She glanced down at me before she left, telling me one last thing. “Dile cómo te sientes.” (“Tell him how you feel.”) Luci muttered as she walked away.

I sighed, rubbing the side of my temple as I got up, heading towards the infirmary. I walked up the spiral stairs to see Nick and Alejandro working with oxy as I blushed involuntarily, admiring Nick’s back.

“Y/N? What do I owe the pleasure?” Alejandro asked me and Nick glanced behind him to look at me.

“Um, I was just wondering if you needed any help.” I muttered, beginning to feel like I’m not helping around La Colonia enough.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to handle this? With the addiction and all?” Nick asked and I raised an eyebrow to him.

“Nick, you’re also an addict. Plus I’m better now, you know that.” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. He stood up, strolling over to me as his hands rested on the side of my arms.

“I know, but I just worry about you.” Nick whispered, his eyes staring into mine as I felt my heartbeat sped up.

“Y-You barely know me, though.” I whispered back, forgetting that Alejandro is in the room with us.

“So? We know almost everything about each other. I know what it’s like going through withdrawals and the feeling of needing something. I don’t want you to go through that anymore.” He muttered, his eyes looking over my face as I swallowed thickly.

“God, Nick.” I chuckled, directing my gaze to the floor, feeling my cheeks heat up. “You’re certainly someone I never expected to make a big impact on my life.” I muttered, wrapping my arms around his torso, resting the side of my head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat.

“I could say the same about you, Y/N.” Nick whispered, nestling his face into my neck, his hand rubbing my back softly.

Alejandro cleared his throat making the two of us pull apart from each other. A blush covers my cheeks as I pointed towards the stairs, tripping slightly on my way towards them.

“I-I think Luci needs me, so I’ll be going.” I muttered a lie, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear before turning around quickly, heading downstairs and out the building.

I walked at a fast pace to Luci’s place, my hands shaking from the nervousness as I held them, trying to get the shaking to stop. I knocked on her door rapidly, glancing around me as the door opened. I barged in, pacing her living room as I could feel my breath get heavier.

“¿Qué pasa?” (“What’s wrong?”) Luciana asked me and I sighed, rubbing my hands over my face.

“Podría estar enamorado de Nick.” (“I might be in love with Nick.”) I muttered, standing still as her eyes widened. She began to squeal a bit, clapping her hands together as I groaned, plopping onto her couch. “Luci!” I hissed, leaning my head back as I tugged on my hair slightly.

“¡Lo siento!” (“I’m sorry!”) Luci laughed as she sat down on the couch next to me. “You need a drink?” She asked and I nodded my head.

“Yes, please.” I mutter taking the glass from Luciana’s hand after she poured some wine into it. I gulp half of it down, scrunching my face at the bitter taste. “Not even a few hours before my best friends died, they asked if I’d ever date someone now that the world has ended…” I trailed off, glancing down at the glass, swirling the red liquid.

“What’d you say?” Luci asked, sitting near me as I glanced towards her.

“I said no. I don’t see any time for love when you’re trying to survive every day.” I murmur, frowning as I drank the rest of the wine. “But now, now I just want to know where things could lead with Nick and I.” I told her, placing the glass on the coffee table.

“I think there’s still a time to love even though the world has ended. You two could be great together. You just need to take that leap of faith.” She mentioned and I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes.

“I wish they could be here to see it.” I whispered, staying quiet for a few seconds before laughing. “They would’ve said “I told you so.”” I shook my head, sighing. “I’m sorry.”

Luciana grabbed my hands, holding them in hers. “Don’t apologize, you’re human. It’s okay to grieve over ones you love.” She smiled.

“Thanks, Luci.” I smiled softly. I pulled my hands from hers, standing up. “I’m going to see Nick and if something happens then it happens. If not, then I’ll move on who knows.” I declared, bidding her goodbye as I left her trailer.

I stood outside Nick’s place, shaking my hand as I gnawed on my lip, trying to gather the courage to knock on his door. C’mon Y/N, you can do this. I lifted my fist, knocking on his door and waited.

“Come in.” I heard him call out and I opened the door, peeking my head through the crack. Nick glanced towards the door, his eyes lighting up as he saw me standing halfway into the trailer. “Y/N! Hey, you made it.” He smiled, getting up off the floor, placing the book onto his bed.

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me as I could feel the nervousness crawling on my skin. “Y-Yeah, I did. Whatcha reading?” I asked him, walking past him, sitting down on the bed as I picked up the book. “The spanish dictionary?” I raised an eyebrow as he nodded his head.

“Well, yeah. If I’m going to stay here I gotta find out what you and Luci have been saying. I’m pretty sure you two talk about me.” Nick chuckles and I blush, shrugging my shoulders a bit.

“What?! Nah, no, well not bad things… if that makes you feel better.” I muttered and the grin on his lips widened.

“Oh really? So, you guys have talked about me?” Nick asked and my lips parted, face palming a bit. “It’s alright if you have. It’s not like I haven’t talked about you to people before.” He shrugged, sitting down on the bed next to me, his body facing me as mine faced the bookshelf on the wall adjacent to me.

“Y-You've talked about me?” I asked quietly, glancing over towards him as he nodded his head.

“Yeah, I’ve mentioned you to Alejandro quite a few times. What have you and Luci talked about that involved me?” He asked in return and I could feel my cheeks heating up.

“I-I can’t remember.” I lied and Nick scooted closer towards me, a smirk appearing on his lips.

“Oh come on, you and I both know that that’s a lie.” He whispered, his face gravitating closer towards mine as I could hear my heartbeat speed up. I shivered slightly, Nick’s fingers dipping underneath my shirt, squeezing my side.

“Quiero que me beses.” (“I want you to kiss me.”) I whispered in Spanish, glancing up at his dark eyes. Nick glanced down at my lips, his other hand moving to my cheek, lightly cupping it.

“No tienes que decirme dos veces.” (“You don’t have to tell me twice.”) He whispered before pressing his lips against mine. My heart felt like it was leaping from my chest as I moved my lips against his, my fingers running through his ratty hair, tugging it slightly.

Nick pushed me onto my back, hovering over me as one of my hands laid against his chest, gripping his mustard yellow striped shirt. My eyes fluttered shut, taking in the feeling of his lips on mine as I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks. Nick’s hands pushed up my shirt slightly, his fingertips brushing against my skin as I shivered faintly, a small sigh escaping my lips. His lips left my lips as I emitted a small whine, Nick kissing down my neck, biting softly every now and then.

“Nick,” I breathed, my fingers gripping his bicep as I glanced down towards him, his eyes already on me.

“Do you wan-” I cut him off by nodding my head, a blush covering my cheeks as he smiled softly, placing a small kiss to my lips before returning to his position between my legs.

I was startled awake by a pounding on Nick’s door. I squinted my eyes, seeing Nick getting out of bed, putting some boxers and pants on before reaching for a black shirt. I sat up in his bed, holding the blanket to my bare chest as I ran a hand through my hair.

Nick slipped his shirt on, cracking open the door as Luci stood on the other side, her arms crossed over her chest. I got up, putting my clothes on quickly before making my way towards the door, peeking my head into frame so she could see me.

“Hi, Luci.” I mumbled, giving her a small smile. Luci’s straight face turned into a grin, looking between Nick and I as I rolled my eyes.

“Did you need something?” Nick asked, oblivious to the silent communication that Luci and I have.

Luci glanced up at him, nodding her head as she glanced towards the infirmary. “Yeah, Alejandro said that he wanted to see you.” Nick’s eyes squinted towards the large building not far from his mobile home, seeing Alejandro standing in the window. He nodded his head, heading towards a different area of the house as I held my finger up to Luci, silently telling her I’d be right back.

I stopped Nick in his tracks as he made his way towards the bathroom and he glanced back towards me, looking down at me with a slight confused expression on his face. I gave him a small smile before leaning on my tippy toes, pressing my lips against his. One of his hands rest against my hip as mine was pressed against his chest. Nick began to kiss me back, his other hand grazing my cheek as my heart fluttered.

The heels of my feet hit the ground as I began to pull away, biting his bottom lip as I pull it, hearing a small growl escape his lips. I bit my lip, chuckling lightly as I rested my head against his chest. “I’ll see you later?” I asked him, lifting my head up to look at him.

Nick nodded his head, grinning down at me before placing a kiss to my lips. “Maybe we can have a drink later?” He asked me and I nodded in response.

I waved goodbye to him and he winked at me in return, making me giggle as I walked out of the trailer, seeing that Luci was still waiting for me. The two of us began walking around La Colonia in silence, surprised she hasn’t asked what happened between Nick and I yet.

“How was your night?” I asked her and she shrugged her shoulders, glancing towards me as I nodded my head.

“It was alright. Probably not as good as your night went.” She smirked and I could feel my cheeks heat up, blushing majorly. I scoffed, running my fingers through my hair, shaking my head.

“I don’t know what you mean by that. It was a pretty boring night.” I lied, memories of last night playing in my mind.

“Sure, sure. That explains the hickey’s on your neck.” Luci mentioned and I instantly cover my neck, groaning loudly. God dammit, Nick. “It’s alright. I shipped you guys anyway.” She grinned, continuing to walk as I stopped in my tracks.

I looked at the ground, smiling to myself as I thought about last night, how Nick’s hands roamed my body. A pair of arms wrapped around my waist, making me jump slightly as I glanced behind me, seeing the man himself. Nick smiled down at me, his large hand resting against the small of my back, placing a small kiss to my forehead.

“Come on, beautiful.” He whispered, intertwining our fingers before leading me back to his place. Butterflies soared throughout my stomach, nibbling on my lip as I nodded. “You’re probably the best thing that’s happened to me in this new world…”

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wri0thesley · 3 years ago

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Hey! For the follower event thing, can I request Risotto with 49 spicy add on please? If you don’t want to do it that’s fine, but if you do, then thanks in advance! Have a great day!

unafraid - risotto x reader (1.5k)

you make him feel so different.

warnings: not sfw, minors dni. afab reader, neutral/no pronouns. somnophilia, established relationship.

Risotto feels weary right down to his bones, right up until he slips into the bedroom and sees you.

Something about the sight of you, cradled in the pillows and the blankets, so peaceful and lovely with a soft smile on your sleeping face – Risotto’s heart skips a beat, the weariness replaced by comfort.

And as he approaches--

As he sees the way your lashes lay against your cheeks, the slightly parted lips, the shape of you beneath the covers – something else stirs, deep within him. You’re so beautiful.

So often, he comes home after a hit covered in blood with rage swirling in the pit of his stomach. He’s taciturn, of course – but you know, always, that he’s come close to the end when he grips you by your hips and buries himself inside of you in every way he knows how, as a reminder to himself that he made it.

You take him beautifully. You dig fingers into his scalp and kiss messy and hungry and your heart beats against his chest as his hips piston in and out of you, plunging himself into you deeper than you think you can handle. You let him cover himself in you; in that reassurance that you’re real, and true, and the both of you still have one another for another few hours. Another few days.

He’s not bold enough to think he’ll have you for a lifetime – not in his line of work. So he takes what he can get, and perhaps he takes it selfishly, but you – darling you, beautiful you, perfect you – you let him, and tell him that you love him even with the saddest smile on your face.

You deserve tenderness, he thinks, as he approaches the bed. Big fingers curl around the covers, gently tugging them down to reveal the line of your body.

(“You have me, you know,” you’d told him, once. “Body and soul. You could do anything to me.” Your eyes glitter wickedly. “Take me whenever you want, Ris.” He knows you won’t mind him touching you like this; won’t mind the feel of his fingers brushing soft skin, the same way he wouldn’t mind if it were you doing it to him.)

Big hands. They skitter over you like he’s holding a butterfly; his thumbs barely grazing the soft skin of your shoulders, fingertips skimming your waist. You’re so warm. The gentle rise and fall of your chest makes his heart beat too loud in his chest. The glimpse of your thighs makes his pants feel tighter.

He looks at you and feels like he’s home.

His clothes are too tight. Not even in the sense of how his crotch feels, pressing hot and hard against his underwear in desire to be against your skin – but that they feel like they don’t belong here. Your bedroom is a place that ought to exist outside of the responsibility of his day to day life. He does not want to be Risotto Nero, feared hitman, leader of La Squadra di Esecuzione – not when he’s with you. With you, he wants to be . . .

He wants to be the soft sigh you make when you see him, the pleased hum when he drops a kiss at the junction of your neck and shoulder, the drag of your fingertips along his jawline. He wants to be the noises he brings forth from you with the snap of his hips and trhe brush of his mouth.

His hands move from your form only to strip away the various accoutrements that make up his outfit. He has remained free of bloodstains, today, at least – they pool at the side of the bed, to be ignored until the morning. He does not wish to waste one moment of this precious midnight-soaked time that he gets to spend with you.

Skin bared, he crawls over you, nudging your thighs apart so he can settle between them. He can sense the heat that radiates from between them, but that’s not quite yet of concern to him – instead, his eyes tenderly caress the angles of your face. His mouth moves against yours, tasting you – you sigh through parted lips and the warmth of your breath sends a ricochet right through him. You sigh as one big hand cradles your face, as his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek.

You’re beautiful like this. You’re beautiful always.

His kisses get needier. He nips at your lower lip, urging you to open your mouth fully – and you recognise him even in your deep slumber and you do, letting his tongue explore you. Letting him mark you out as yours. Another of those soft, pretty sighs – and Risotto doesn’t know what to do except groan, press himself harder against the plush of your body.

The groan makes your brow furrow just a touch, and Risotto soothes it with another kiss.

He’s not usually able to express his affection so openly. Something stops him – an awkward voice in his head tells him that he must hold himself back, that he must be the strong stoic assassin and the man who clawed his way up, even when in the quiet and alone with someone he loves. But your eyes are closed. You cannot witness this; cannot see the mask slip, though you know that he’s soft inside.

(You’ve seen him with stray animals, after all – caught him in tender, gentle moments when those inky dark blood-red eyes have looked at you like you’re a butterfly that he cannot believe has landed on his shoulder).

His hand drags from your cheek, down your neck – he feels your pulse beat in your throat and his own quickens as if to match you. Down the curve of your chest. The heel of his band brushes your nipple through the fabric of what you’re wearing and hardens, and he finds himself shuddering. He loves you; he loves the shape of you, the way your body reacts to him, the scent and taste and feel of you. He wishes he could drown deep inside of you and never have to surface for air.

The other hand meets on the other side of your chest, squeezing and playing with them. Thumb and forefinger pinch your nipple, tugging playfully at them until you whimper in your sleep and you try to press your thighs together for friction. He senses the heat; a little dampness, coaxed out from the teasing. He’d never, ever fuck you unprepared. The two of you have worked on you being able to take him, and even now it’s a stretch--

“Ris,” you mumble, tone sleep-dark and heavy. He tugs on your nipples again, squeezing, and you whine outa sound that makes his cock twitch. You make a soft noise, a pleased little ‘mmm’ – and your face slackens again, as deep sleep claims you once more.

He needs you.

He needsyou.

Thighs, urged further apart – Risotto gripping his cock, gently brushing the head through your slick folds to wet it with your own arousal. The movement clearly gives you a reaction, because you twitch in your sleep – your thighs jumping, your heart quickening.

He presses forward, only gently – and your mouth falls open, slack. Your eyelashes twitch where they lay against the curve of your cheek.

Your body welcomes him in; hot and tight as always, but as if it knows it’s him. You cling to him like you’re stretched to your very limits, and Risotto only pushes forth in tiny increments. Your eyes flutter open completely.

Black and red meet your gaze, Risotto’s face so tender that it makes you ache.

He murmurs your name under his breath, a prayer – and you respond by raising your arms, leaning forward, wrapping them about his neck as you pull him into a soft kiss. When you break it, a small smile alights upon your lips.

“Now I’m awake,” you murmur, all softness, all gentleness. His cock feels good half in you, but you know that he’s being gentle, and you’re capable of taking his roughness too. That hot fire in your lower stomach has been stoked, and your skin feels alive with need. “You can stop being careful with me.”

“Amore,” Risotto says, his voice dark and gritty and rough and wanting. “I don’t want to hurt you, you’ve just woken up--”

You bite your lip and urge your hips forth, making what’s left of his cock sink as deep into you as it can. Risotto’s moan is strangled, his own gaze going distant for a moment.

“You won’t hurt me,” you say, self-assured. Risotto loves that confidence in you.

You do not bow from him. You look at him the way you look at anyone else who ends up in your bed; an equal. Not a trace of fear of him ever mars your expression.

“No,” he promises. “Never.”

You toss your head, drag him into another kiss. Against his lips, you whisper;

“But I don’t mind you seeing if you can try.”

#not sfw #writing #jojo postin #risotto x reader #risotto nero x reader #risotto nero smut #jjba x reader #somnophilia for ts #5555 event fic #afab reader #no pronouns

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squipjerebmc · 3 years ago

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Squipemy Week: 15 Days

What is “Squipemy Week”?

It’s an entire week dedicated to the pairing Squip/Jeremy from Be More Chill!

When is it?

The ship week is always the first week of November every year. Further information on how to post and submit your content will be posted when it's closer to the week. Stay tuned!

How do I participate?

November 1: One More Time November 2: Aerodynamic November 3: Digital Love November 4: Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger November 5: Crescendolls November 6: Nightvision November 7: Superheroes

Like any song prompt you can interpret it any way you want for the purpose of your content. You can listen to all the songs here: https://youtu.be/A2VpR8HahKc

Do I have to use the prompts?

Nope!

While you're encouraged to use the prompts for the ship week you are still free to do whatever you want to celebrate the ship. They're here for your inspiration. The most important thing is to have fun!

Did you know there’s a Squipemy Discord?

Send an ask or message and we’ll give you an invite.

How do I post my work?

You can post all works on your own social media. If you want to be sure your work is seen there are several options:

TUMBLR 1. Submit your work directly to this blog by clicking HERE. 2. Post your work on your blog, tag #squipemyweek2021, and @squipjerebmc on your post!

AO3 All works can be submitted to the event fic collection located HERE.

INSTAGRAM Post your work on Instagram and tag #squipemyweek.

If you would like your work to be anonymous for any reason please send me a message!

#bmc #be more chill #jeremy heere #squip #squipemy #squeremy #technical difficulties

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wri0thesley · 2 years ago

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Hey Nat, congrats on the 5555 followers!! I hope you’ll have even more in the future 💕 If you still accept requests (and if tumblr doesn’t swallow my ask >.>) could I ask for Melone with 43?

insatiable - melone x reader (1.8k)

you and melone have a special working relationship.

warnings: not sfw, minors dni. afab reader, no pronouns. pegging. reader uses a strap-on. ass fingering, copious use of lubricant, reader is dominant but it's implied that both melone and reader are switches.

"You can be rough with me," Melone says, his voice teasing, as he watches you from across the bedroom as you slowly and carefully ensure the toy attached to you is as lubricated as you can manage. "Mm, I don't mind, tesoro."

"You won't be saying that tomorrow when you're walking around pouting and rubbing your ass," you say blithely, very much aware that Melone talks a very big game but doesn't always follow through - and, of course, loves an opportunity to pout at you and try and cajole more favours.

Melone pouts now, flopping on the bed, steepling his fingers together beneath his chin. The soft wave of his golden hair and blue eyes make him look deceptively sweet; you know that Melone is anything but.

Despite the sweetness, of course, there's barely restrained hunger in his gaze as he watches.

"You could be getting yourself ready for me," you say sweetly to him, fluttering your lashes. "You've got the indignity to still be fully dressed, Mel! And you don't usually need an excuse to get out of that outfit--"

He chuckles.

"Now's no different," he tells you, immediately wiggling the skin-tight body-suit down. You get distracted yourself momentarily; as his lithe body is uncovered, the muscles shifting just beneath the skin. You know every muscle and every scar of him by heart (Melone likes to be naked in general, you've learnt - a fact that has disturbed many other members of La Squadra, and had not helped your crush before the two of you had become anything more serious), but there's still a little part of you that thrills to be allowed to see him like this.

Despite Melone being so forward, despite how often he'd flirted and winked and made insinuations at you, assassins are not often allowed intimacy. You and Melone are an exception to the rule. You know some of the other assassins would not, but you would trust Melone utterly with your life.

"Like what you see?" He asks, winking, as the fabric is dropped from the side of the bed to gather in a dark purple pool. You're reminded, too, that Melone does not wear any underwear to make sure that the line of his immaculately designed outfit is not disrupted.

He's hard, but that's not a surprise.

You keep your hand on the smooth purple of the toy, rubbing in the lubricant with slow but graceful glides, in a way that you know won't fail to make Melone shift where he is. And true to your thoughts, his mouth parts just a little, his tongue visible and wet, his eyes blown wide as he exhales slowly.

"Get on your hands and knees for me like a good boy," you say to him sweetly, picking up the little bottle and approaching him slowly. You make sure your hips sway as you walk - just enough for him to get the full effect of the apparatus of straps and silver glinting metal and purple silicone that you're wearing. His eyes follow the procession with barely constrained glee.

Melone is quick to assume the position. Hands and knees on his rumpled blankets (housekeeping is the last thing on an assassin's mind; the sheets are clean, at least. Prosciutto insists you keep on top of laundry), his lean thighs spread to present his ass to you.

"Aww," you say, taking your hand and gently trailing it down the graceful arch of his spine. "You look so slutty like this."

Melone shudders pleasantly. He likes it when you get a little sharp with him.

(He likes getting sharp with you too, sometimes. Never let it be said that you're not willing to give up your control in the bedroom. The two of you were made for one another).

You squeeze some more lube onto his ass, down the crack. Melone doesn't even start at the sensation of cool liquid - just lets out a sigh. You follow the squirt of lube with a finger, making sure you're coated in it before you gently and carefully prod at the tight ring of his ass. Melone whimpers in the back of his throat.

"You're teasing," he murmurs, and though you can't see his face you can still almost perfectly imagine it. Barely contained frustration, that cute little pout combined with a savage kind of pleasure at knowing when he does get what he wants it will be spectacular. "You can just go ahead and fuck me with them, you know."

"Oh," there's that angelic tone of voice again. Something about Melone brings it out in you. He's so nice to dominate. "I'm sorry, Mel. I should have known--"

You sink two fingers into his ass, knuckle-deep, and Melone lets out a guttural noise of pleasure.

"Di molto," he breathes, and now when you imagine his face, it's decorated with a lazy smile. "That feel good."

He clings hot and tight to your fingers, the lube helping to ease the movement as you begin to slide them in and out. You feel carefully along his insides - and when he lets out a strangled groan, you know you've found the spot that will make him see stars.

You imagine just fucking him like this for a while. Massaging and petting at his prostate until those muscled thighs shake and he whines and he comes, making a mess of his sheets beneath him. You wouldn't get to hold onto his hips and fuck him, and that would be a shame, but it would serve him right for being so bratty today--

"Not deep enough, tesoro," Melone says, breathing heavy. "I need you . . . deeper inside of me."

"This isn't good enough?" You ask him, with an extra mean rub against that spongy spot of his inner walls. "Melone, I'm hurt--"

"I want to feel you deeper," Melone insists. "I want us to be one. I want to imagine you coming in me--"

Shit. That thought - of fucking Melone so deep he feels it in his stomach, of being able to come inside of him and claim him as yours . . . the toy doesn't allow for that kind of fun, but both of you are plenty well-versed in imagination, and the imaginings that his words have put inside of your head certainly will not be satisfied just by fucking Melone with your fingers. You pull them out of him with a slick pop, and take hold of one of his sharp hipbones.

You climb onto the bed behind him.

"Yes," Melone hisses, as he feels the tip of the toy against the opening of his ass. "Cazzo. I want you inside of me."

"Have a little patience," you say to him, but there's a fire lit in your lower belly too, now. A dampness between your thighs, a heat that suffuses you all over and makes you think of nothing but fucking into Melone until he can't walk. "I'm getting to it."

You use your other hand to steady his other hip - and then, slowly, begin to sink the curved toy inside of him. Melone groans loud enough for anybody walking past the door to hear. It's a noise that goes straight to between your legs, but you're sure has Ghiaccio in the next room over sighing and clapping his pillows over his ears.

"Good boy," you pant to Melone, as you slide more and more of the toy inside of him. It's hardly a small one, but Melone takes it and takes it and you think he's almost disappointed when he feels your thighs pressing against his and knows that there's no 'deeper' for him to beg for. "We . . . we can buy a bigger one."

"It'll feel just as good when I fuck you with it," Melone says, as he gives his hips a little hump. "Mm, tesoro, I really need to feel you pound me--"

"You're insatiable," you say to Melone - but you're insatiable too. It doesn't matter that you're technically getting no stimulation as you pull most of the toy out of Melone and then drive it back in with your own hips; that doesn't even register. The sight of Melone's hole contracting around the silicone shaft, the sound of Melone's breathing getting heavier, the view of his hands clenching in the bed sheets . . . all of those feel like a tiny release in and of themselves.

It does not take long for you to slide into a rhythm. Melone helps by sliding his hips into you when you pull out, chasing the delicious drag of friction inside of him, so that it feels like a perfectly choreographed dance. The slight curve of the toy serves to hit him in that same spot you'd been so enamoured of earlier; his moans almost pornographic, but very much real.

Melone gives himself over to pleasure when it comes knocking.

You keep hold of one of his hips, but use your other hand to slide around the flat planes of his abdomen until your hand bumps against the stiffness of his cock, resting against his stomach. You're still slick with lube, and it's not hard at all to take grip of it and begin to jerk him off at the same time as you fuck him.

Melone's cry of your name is strangled. You get just a brief view of his face - all pleasure-soaked and hazy and fucked out, his forehead sweaty, his mouth swollen - before you pitch forward and begin to suck and bite at the flesh of his shoulders.

"Y-you're . . ." His words are breathless and needy. Now that he has both sides stimulated, he's losing the ability to be articulate.

Despite what people say about him and his one-track mind, Melone is one of the most intelligent men you know, and it never stops making you utterly giddy when you realise how much power you have over him at moments like this.

"Are you going to come for me?" You breathe against his neck. "C'mon, Mel. I wanna see you make a mess of yourself."

Melone pants. Your hips stroke into him hard; once, twice, three times--

And then he's shaking and trembling and you feel the hot, heavy weight of his cock twitch in your grip. You feel the spatter of his come as it decorates both the sheets and your knuckles. You practically hear the channel of his ass tighten around the intrusion inside of him--

And, more than any of that, you hear Melone's wail as all of the sensations converge on him at once and he shouts out his triumph in a voice that will have Ghiaccio banging on the wall.

You ride him gently through the orgasm, with langurously slow thrusts of your hips and careful coaxing strokes of your hand on his newly-sensitive shaft, kissing the spots you'd bitten and murmuring platitudes about how good he was.

But Melone believes in equivalent exchange, and as you're pulling the toy out of him and he's collapsed on the sheets, he murmurs into the blankets;

". . . Your turn next."

#melone x reader #melone x you #jjba x reader #melone smut #jjba smut #not sfw text #writing #5555 event fic #jojo postin #afab reader #neutral pronouns

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wri0thesley · 3 years ago

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Hi Nat, Congrats on your milestone you've earned every single one of your followers as your writing is very good :) Can I please have Nanami 48+51+64+70 angry/makeup + sex with fem reader? Again Congratulations!

not the last time - nanami x reader (2.7k)

nanami disappeared for nine days without so much as a call, and you’re afraid that this time - on your doorstep, apologising, vague and distracted - might be the last time you ever see him.

warnings: not sfw, minors dni. afab reader, neutral pronouns. sex is more ‘make-up’ than angry, but there is some anger there. reader thinks about hitting/slapping nanami in anger. cunnilingus, overstimulation, edging, angsty.

Nanami Kento has been gone for nine days and ignored twelve phone calls and twenty texts when he shows up at your door with his face set like stone. You stand there with your arms crossed, your own face as inscrutable a pool as you can make it.

“Well,” you say to him. “This is a nice surprise, Kento.”

He sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. You’ve seen this expression a thousand times, but something about this one feels . . . different.

He looks even more exhausted than usual; his cheekbones even hollower, the dark bags beneath his eyes looking less like purses and more like suitcases. He says your name, and all of the regret in the world is contained within those syllables.

“I’m not going to let you in until you tell me where you’ve been,” you say to him. “Th-this is no way to carry on a relationship! You can’t just disappear and ignore me! I’ve been worried sick--”

His lips twitch the smallest amount; a smile that’s pulled down with sadness. He reaches out for you – and though you’re angry, though you want to pull away, Nanami Kento has your heart in a chokehold and you let him lay gentle fingers on your bare arm.

“I quit my job,” he tells you.

(You know this; you’d called a co-worker of his, when he didn’t show up, fearing that he was still very much around and simply ignoring you instead of being man enough to break it off the way you’re always half-convinced he’s about to.) You keep your gaze on him, willing him to go on.

“ . . . I . . .” His face looks like it’s going to crack into pieces; the furrow on the bridge of his nose, mouth downturned. “I’m still financially stable, don’t worry about that--”

“Kento—”

Your scandalised tone makes him smile fully for the first time; still exhausted, still clearly in pain you cannot see, but soothed by the knowledge that you have always wanted him for other reasons than his bank account.

“I have something to fill my time with,” he tells you. “But . . . I can’t tell you about it.” Your own expression falls. “Don’t!” The hand not on your arm reaches for your face, cupping your cheek like porcelain he might break. He looks directly into your eyes and his gaze is searing. “I promise. It’s because I want to keep you safe. I came . . . I came to say goodbye.”

You’ve been dreading the words, but you’d felt them sour in the air like the taste of copper pennies the moment he’d knocked on your door. You’d promised yourself you’d be strong, but as your voice comes out as a reedy little thing, your resolve crumbles in the face of losing Nanami.

“Please don’t.”

“I don’t want to,” he says. He’s insistent about it. His grip is strong. His thumb massages the apple of your cheek. “God, I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t. Stay with me. I won’t ask, I promise—”

(You wonder what it is. The yakuza? Something worse? You can’t imagine Nanami – your Nanamin, your Kento, so diligent and hardworking and caring and gentle – getting mixed up in such troubles, but you suppose everyone has their secrets. You should want to know. You should demand to know what business would keep him from you, would be so secretive you can’t even know that he’s doing it – but you can’t bring yourself to. If the price of keeping Nanami in your life is keeping your mouth tightly sewn shut, no matter how weak it may make you seem, you think you’d do it. Anything for him.)

“You don’t mean it,” he murmurs. He looks so much older than he is, looking at you like this – the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders.

“Of course I do,” you reply. You look at him, aware your expression is petulant. “I’ve waited this long, haven’t I? I haven’t sent you packing, even though you’ve told me not one thing about where you’ve been! I haven’t slapped you or shouted or told you never to darken my doorstep again--”

“Perhaps you should have,” is Nanami’s reply – and you’re so utterly frustrated by him, by his refusal to elucidate and the situation and everything that’s been churning inside of you for the past week and longer that the only thing you can think of to do is to hit him or kiss him. It’s of no surprise, of course, that you choose the latter.

He touches you like it’s the last time he’s ever going to be able to. His palms are hot, searing as they curve over your hips and your waist and your thighs as if he wants to leave imprints of him all over you, so in the future everyone will know that you were his. Once.

You don’t lethim. You run your fingers over the sculpted muscles in his chest, brush his cheekbones, grasp his wrists and make him feel you even more intensely. You make yourself a participant in his nostalgia, so he cannot treat you like something that he can look back on in the future and wish he’d done differently.

The two of you are all teeth and tongue and lips and fingers. There are many things contained in the way your bodies intertwine with one another; the way that you pull at one another’s clothes. You’re angry, he’s sorry, you’re glad, he’s adoring, you’re confused and frightened and he’s desperate and desperate and desperate--

He kneels between your spread thighs as you sit on the bed, sinking onto the carpeting like he’s a sinner asking for forgiveness from a higher power. His fingertips burn his brand into the softness of your thighs, as he looks up at you with his eyes both shadowed and worshipful.

“Can I?” He asks, breath ghosting over where you’re aching hot and wet for him.

“You don’t need to ask,” you tell him, one hand coming to tangle into the gold-pale strands of his hair. He takes his time approaching you, breath puffing warm against your heated skin. His lips skim you, tasting you at the edges – before he slips his tongue between your folds and teases at you the way that he’s learnt from much enjoyable practise will have you writhing for him quickest.

Even though he starts slow, there’s a building intensity and ferocity behind it; that same echo of fear it will be the last time he ever gets to do it. You tug on his hair uselessly as the little sparks of heat begin to flow through your body; as the ebbs of pleasure fill your veins like molten gold. You can’t say anything when Nanami is between your thighs. He simply knows how to use his mouth, leaving you breathless and wanting and needy.

Little noises are escaping you as his tongue flickers over the swelling nub of your clit; you’re squirming beneath him, and if it weren’t for the strong hand pinioning your hip to the bed you don’t know if you’d manage to stay there. You’re flat on your back by now, unable to support sitting – and as you’ve moved, Nanami had simply leaned further into you as if he wanted to drink of you more fully and completely. You’re at his mercy, as his lips latch around the swollen bud and begin to suck and suck. Your fingers tighten. You feel inside of yourself as if someone has lit a match to a firework and it is burning, burning, as your climax quickly approaches with white hot certainty--

And he pulls away.

His mouth glistens with your slick, his eyes sparkling dangerously. When he speaks, his voice is low and dark and hungry.

“I want you to remember this,” he says. Your brain is muddled and fuzzy, angry at your peak snatched away so cruelly – but you respond, nonetheless, with;

“Why? We can d-do it . . . again . . . t-tomorrow--”

Surprise in his expression that you’re sticking to the insistence you don’t want him to leave. Nanami looks down at you; where your thighs are spread wide, your chest heaving, your pupils blown wide and dark and your hair mussed against the bedsheets.

(You do not know it, but he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.)

He doesn’t know how to respond; instead, he dives back between your thighs and begins to feast on you once more in earnest. This time, though – he’s more languid about it. He remains just as heart-stoppingly, gut-wrenchingly talented with his tongue, but he takes time to savour you as he laps up your slick like it’s his favourite wine paired with a gourmet meal. Some of that desperation to have you in case he never can again seems to fade, bolstered by your frankness.

If you could lie to him here, like this, with your brain a mess under his expert (if you are to be believed, when you praise his virtues) ministrations . . . you’d be even stronger than he already thought you were. But Nanami knows you, and he thinks in the liquid pools of your eyes and the honey of your tongue you’re telling him nothing but the honest truth.

He pushes you to the edge again. He toys with your clit, licks and sucks along your sex, teases at your entrance as if he is going to fuck you with his tongue – he draws figures of eights and the alphabet and writes your name with the same organ, until you’re sweat soaked and hot and melting into the bedsheets and canting your hips against his face in silent pleas to finally, finally let you achieve what you’re longing for.

“Kento,” you cry out, breathless and cracking and needy. He may be kneeling like a sinner before an altar, but you’re calling out to him as if in prayer yourself. “Kento, Kento, Kento—”

“Shhh,” he soothes against your thigh. You feel the bed dip under his weight; you feel yourself moved like you weigh no more than a doll until you’re legs spread between his own strong thighs, seated in his lap. He kisses at your ear, your throat, your cheeks.

And his fingers delve between your thighs to replace his tongue.

Both your own arousal and Nanami’s generous attentions have made you so wet you fear you’ll leave patches of your slick all over your bed, but as two of his fingers sink knuckle-deep into you and his thumb begins to toy with your aching, needy pleasure-point, you can’t bring yourself to care about it.

“Kento,” you murmur, and his lips curve into a smile against your neck. “Kento, kiss me.”

It’s an order, but he does not pass remark on that; instead, he dips his head to drag you into a kiss that you feel down to your bones.

You come apart under his fingers. You feel yourself pulse and squeeze around them, feel wetness gush from inside of you, feel your heartbeat like the drum of amarching band deep inside of you as you see stars flash and shoot across your vision. The noise you make against Nanami’s mouth is unintelligible but for being clearly the noise of someone lost in their own release.

And Nanami’s fingers do not cease for a moment. They help you ride out the orgasm, but his thumb and its incessant swirling and toying does not soften a whit. You’re squirming hot in his lap as you feel your body half-beg for more and half-beg to stop, caught between the pleasure of forcing another orgasm from you and the light discomfort.

(Your pleasure wins out. Your second orgasm hits white-hot starshine bright.)

And then the third, and the fourth, and your head is pressing into the crook of his neck and you’re moaning and whimpering and begging wordlessly because your tongue is no longer capable of forming the positions that make words come out.

“Please,” you gasp out, slurred more than it is anything else. “Please, I can’t--”

Fingers are pulled out of you with a pop that’s so lewd a sound that, if you were not so far gone, you’d be ashamed about it. Nanami brings them to his mouth, drinks you in once more as if he didn’t get a good enough taste in the time he spent with his head buried between your thighs.

“You’re beautiful,” he says. “You’re perfect.”

“I love you,” you tell him.

And he smiles, and for the first time since he showed up on your doorstep, there’s nothing else behind it at all.

Things seem frightening, in the early morning light, when you wake up and you’re cuddled against Nanami’s chest with his chin on your head. You look up from his embrace to see that he, too, is looking at you. The easiness from last night has gone. Stormclouds are gathering in his eyes.

But it’s not too late yet, you think. The storm could still pass.

"Will you leave again?" You ask him, your voice very small. Nanami hesitates.

"I'm . . . I'm no longer someone you should be tangled up with," he says, eventually. You watch as he moves on the bed, as he rests his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "You'd be better off without having to worry about me."

"Kento," you say, softly. You reach for him, hands against his bicep. He's as solid and warm as ever; you adore him just as much as always. "I'd walk to the ends of the earth for you. Just . . . don't leave me again."

He gives you a smile that's half sadness, half relief.

"Would you wait for me?" He asks. "Would you mind, if I came home covered in blood and I couldn't tell you why?"

"As long as you came home."

Nanami sighs. He moves once more, lying beside you on the bed, crooking his elbow to prop his head on his hand. His other hand brushes the side of your face, tracing your jawline, his thumb brushing against your lower lip.

“You shouldn’t want me this badly,” he tells you. You will yourself not to cry; you will yourself not to beg. You’d been so convinced that you would be strong when he’d come back. You’d stickto your guns. But he’d used his tongue on you and looked at you with those soft, kind eyes and reminded you exactly who he was and you feel like you’re crumbling. “I’m . . . I’m glad you do.”

“I love you,” you tell him. It’s not the first time you’ve said it; but something about this time feels deep and raw like you’re tearing into the ground where your adoration of him has taken root deep and undeniable. “Kento. I’d do anything for you.”

“I shouldn’t feel the same way,” he says, and your heart drops into your stomach. But then, he edges forward, his nose brushing yours. His breath puffs against your lips. “But I do.”

He kisses you again. You can still taste yourself lingering on his mouth; he’s sweet and desperate and needy, apologetic, a hundred other emotions that you can’t yet put into words contained in how your mouths collide.

“It’s not going to be easy,” he says, breaking the kiss. “There are . . . things I can’t tell you. It’s dangerous. There’ll be times when I’ll simply need to go and you won’t know why, times when I’m injured and I can’t tell you how. But . . . if you’ll have me--”

“Don’t leave me again,” you beg him, finally letting yourself let go. You wind your arm around his neck, pulling him in close. His own arm wraps around your waist, holding you as if he never wants to let you go. “I don’t care, Kento. As long as you do come home.”

He swallows.

“I love you,” he finally replies. “I’ll . . . if you’ll have me, darling, I’ll try to always come home.”

(He keeps his promise.)

(For as long as he can, anyway.)

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #jjk x reader #not sfw #writing #jjk posting #5555 event fic #afab reader #fem pronouns

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wri0thesley · 3 years ago

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hi nat! could i get a fic of hawks nesting, maybe with body worship and praise kink w/ a shy chubby reader ;u; and breeding too if you want jfkxhdfj

refuge - hawks x fem!reader (3.6k)

you maybe underestimated what exactly a ‘rut’ was like.

warnings: not sfw, minors dni. breeding, praise kink, oral, piv sex, ‘ruts’/’heat’ trope. discussion of pregnancy and birth control, bird themed pet names i think they are cute idk. afab reader with fem pronouns.

[a/n: i feel like maybe writing a hawks rut fic is a rite of passage actually]

You had been warned about some of Keigo’s more avian traits before you and he had gotten too serious, with warnings that there was a certain time of the year that he could be . . . intense. You’d smiled at your boyfriend (your boyfriend – it’s still hard to think of yourself as the significant other of the number two pro hero in Japan; you’re nobody special, but Keigo seems to think you are) and insisted that you were sure it couldn’t be that bad. You’d deal with it, together. He’d grinned back at you, shrugging cheerfully.

“Famous last words,” he’d warned you, and you’d laughed it off.

Yeah.

Well.

You’d prepared yourself for the idea of a ‘rut’. You’d figured he’d be more handsy than usual – pretty difficult, considering how much he already liked touching you. You expected him to maybe go a bit longer, a bit harder with you. Those were things you thought you could handle.

You weren’t expecting this.

The mattress has been dragged off the big bed in the apartment and squashed into a corner. It’s covered in just about every sheet and blanket and pillow that you think Keigo owns; a veritable nest of soft, fluffy, squashable things. As you step closer to inspect it, you see that it’s not just bedding – there are other things that Keigo has clearly seen and thought would be comfortable mixed up with it. Cushions from the sofa. Some of your sweaters; some of his own clothes. You’re pretty sure some of these clothes were plucked from the laundry basket, actually--

You guess that’s a scent thing?

You’re so occupied by gently pawing through the soft refuge that Keigo has created that you don’t realise that he’s in the room with you until arms have been tightly wrapped around your waist and a face is nosing into your neck, breathing you in, scruff abrading your sensitive skin.

“D’you like it?” He mumbles, and he’s boiling hot. He’s only wearing a plain, soft t-shirt (with holes in the back, naturally) and softer pyjama pants that are slung low on his hips, but you can feel the heat radiating off of him in waves as his grip tightens possessively. “Made it for us.”

His voice sounds a little thicker than usual; like there’s something in his throat that he can’t get out. He keeps nuzzling into your neck, breathing you in deeply.

“There’s a lot here,” you say, and he laughs under his breath and gently presses his hips against your ass. You can feel the outline of his cock even through the pyjamas; stiff and just as hot as the rest of him. You find your knees almost buckling, but Keigo is very gently helping you down onto the mattress piled with pillows.

“S’to keep you comfy,” he tells you, his hands absent-mindedly rubbing down your sides; brushing your generous hips and the curve of your thighs. He sighs, all hungry and needy. “You’re gonna need it.”

(How bad could it be? Still, you admit that the soft pile beneath your knees is comfortable. - Keigo’s bird instincts obviously extend to his ability to make a nest.)

He’s on his knees now, too – bending over you, still touching you as if he’s trying to map out every curve of your body. Part of you wants to shrink away from it; no matter how many times Keigo tells you you’re beautiful, you struggle to believe it. The occasional paparazzi and gossip forums make you feel insecure next to him; too soft, too round, too much next to the lithe winged hero.

Keigo can’t seem to get enough of how his fingers sink into your plush flesh, how soft and lovely you feel against his lean body, how you look in his clothes (they’re too tight on you, clinging to your chest and hips in a way they don’t on him – but he insists you wear them anyway, and then he fucks you in them because he says he can’t resist the way they make you look).

You let him, though. His breathing is erratic and needy, and he keeps sighing, nosing into the nape of your neck – you feel him grind his hard cock against your ass and you swear that you hear him make a soft chirping noise in the back of his throat at how good you feel.

You turn your head over your shoulder to see him; his pretty eyes blown wide, cheeks flushed, hair gone from ‘artful windswept mess’ to ‘just a mess’. Even his wings look different; a little darker, a little shinier – dare you say a little bit fuller? And it’s not like they were anything to trifle with before--

You’ve moved before you can think better of it, twisting your body around so you’re on your ass instead of your knees, fingers reaching out to gently run through some of the feathers at the spine of his wings. You know from past experience that they’re sensitive, but obviously the rut is making them worse because his eyelids flutter and he whines, bucking his hips forward before his golden eyes narrow as they set on you.

“You’re gonna make it worse, birdie,” he tells you, and he manages to give you – if not an unwavering grin, a grin that makes the part of you between your thighs clench in need. “An’ it’s already pretty bad, you looking all cute and pretty and ready for me—”

You move the hand on his wing to brush over the nape of his neck, shivering as he presses his hot body closer to you. He’s every inch the bird of prey above you; his eyes not leaving your face for a moment. You know that your body must be just as heated as his own – having someone like Keigo look at you like he wants nothing more than to devour you whole can do that to a person.

“I am,” you tell him. Your voice wavers just a little. Now that he’s been presented to you in all of his avian glory, you can’t help but be a little worried that it’s going to be very different from what you were expecting. “Ready for you, I mean.” You stutter over your words. “Y-you can do whatever you want to me--”

He groans, again, rubbing himself hard against your thigh. Hands take hold of your own clothes – just a plain dress, it’s an unseasonably warm day for spring – and he tugs at it, bothered by how it’s covering you from his gaze. You let him pull the offending garment off, as quickly and efficiently as possible (though he’s a little rougher than usual as he tugs at your bra. He pauses before he pulls off your underwear, and you bite back a whimper of surprise as he suddenly lowers his head and his nose nudges at the damp gusset of them; breathing in.

“You smell so good,” he tells you, voice still thick and hungry. “S’this for me? You’re so good to me--” You watch as his wings spread out further, as if to shade you both from view, like a protective barrier. They’re so pretty. He’s so pretty, buried between your thighs, his tongue lapping out to drink you in over the fabric.

Even that makes you squirm, a soft noise of surprise issuing from you – the sensation is once too much and not nearly enough, and Keigo laughs breathlessly at the reaction.

“Can’t hold on for long,” he tells you, bluntly, as he kisses your thighs with a hungry mouth. You clap your own hand over your lips as you realise what he’s going to do, teeth grabbing hold of the underwear and pulling them down. You’re slick and wet and bare for him as he bites at the thigh now, silently urging you to spread them further apart. He’s usually a little more verbose during sex – he’s a tease, really – but his rut’s clearly having an effect on that too.

You guess the only thing he can think about is fucking you, tasting you, touching you – and the thought makes you clench around nothing again, and Keigo moans aloud once more.

“I can smell that,” he tells you, and you squirm in embarrassment. “No! Don’t-- I like it, birdie--” There’s the pet name again; you’d thought it was so cute how he liked to call you bird-themed pet names, so the two of you matched. But there’s something darker and hungrier in the way he’s saying it right now; you know that real hawks often eat other birds in the wild, and you’re getting that distinct impression now.

You get that impression even deeper when he buries your head between your thighs and begins to eat you out. He’s enthusiastic more than he’s skilled right now, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good. You press your hand against your mouth harder, only for it to be forcibly pulled away so your moans instead simply float into the ceiling. Looking at your wrist, you can see that Keigo’s used some of his feathers to pull them away.

He licks a hungry stripe from clit to perineum before he turns his mouth just enough into your thigh to mumble;

“I like hearing you--”

And then he’s back on you, practically fucking you with his tongue. He uses his tongue like he’s worshipping at an altar; groaning when your full thighs press a little closer to his face as if he wants to suffocate between them. He’s always good at this, but the extra air of neediness that he’s giving off right now . . .

And the sensation of his scruff against your inner thighs, occasionally just a little too close to your most sensitive area--

He flicks his tongue against your clit and your hips jerk upwards, a whimper of his name tumbling from your lips as he senses the way you react and turns his full attention to the swollen nub. His tongue swipes over it, rolls it, toys with it using the very tip of the muscle – only to pull the bud into his mouth and suck on it.

That last one makes your brain short-circuit, and your orgasm washes over you in blinding technicolour; like everything in the world has suddenly been painted in a brand new hue and you are the only person able to feel it. You know that you gush over his face, that you make a mess of the stubble – but when he pulls his head from between your thighs and his thumbs dig so hard into your hips that you know you’ll have bruises, you can’t bring yourself to care about that.

He looks so gorgeous with strings of your arousal clinging to his lips, making his already lovely face seem even moreso.

“So good for me,” he mumbles, leaning down and kissing you. The feathers pinning your wrist down return to his wings, so he’s clearly satisfied that you won’t try and hold back your noises from him again. There’s that chirping again, as he kisses you, from somewhere deeper in his throat than the part he’s using to kiss you hungrily. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

Hands travelling up your thighs, touching you, taking great handfuls of your body and squishing it as if he can’t believe you’re really there. He sighs as your own hands scrabble under the shirt he’s still wearing, to press against his lean abdomen – a pleased hum emanating from him, as he blinks his pretty eyes at you again.

“You feel so right,” he says. “I want you to touch me forever.”

(It hadn’t been like him, at first, to talk in such absolutes – Hawks the Number Two Hero is cool and laid back and this was supposed to be a temporary thing. Keigo Takami, though, holds you like he never wants to let you go and tells you that he adores you and makes you feel strange and uncertain but so, so loved).

“Keigo—”

He chirps at the name again, and it’s too cute – the way that he presses himself so closely to you.

“I wanna . . .” He rubs his face against your neck, your cheeks – his hands still running all over you. He seems a little anxious about whatever it is he’s about to say, his body tensing even as he’s still trying to grind himself hungrily against you. He seems to screw up all of his courage, blurting out; “I wanna breed you, birdie.”

Your eyes widen. Your mouth parts into a little ‘oh’ of surprise, and he groans, pressing kisses to your cheeks and your jawbone and your neck. When he speaks, his voice is rough and hungry and right into your ear, like he’s giving you a secret;

“You’d be such a good mama bird, I know you would. You’d look so pretty. You’d take ‘em so well, you’d feel so good full of me and full of our chicks, I know it—”

The hormones that his rut pumps him full of, you tell yourself, are at the root of this. It’s not that Keigo wants to settle down. His brain is just telling him that he needs to breed.

(And you’re on birth control, your mind reminds you, so there’s no harm in letting him fill you up as much as he wants – and your insides give an answering throb as if to agree with your assessment).

“Let me,” he begs you, more desperate and needy than he usually is. You feel like the one teasing him, for once – but his eyes are so wanting, and his voice so achingly desperate--

“Of course you can,” you tell him, and he practically whimpers in relief. Finally, his hands are at the waistband of what he’s wearing, pulling them down and shucking them off so that his cock juts swollen and needy forward. He presses it against your inner thigh, a whine coming from his throat as you put an arm around his neck, rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder just above the wings.

The contact seems to calm him down from being too overly needy, and he nudges your thighs even further apart so that he can settle in between them. His hands urge them up to wrap around his slim hips, and he sighs as the cock head rubs through your slick folds.

“You’re so wet,” he says, “I know you’ll feel so good, so pretty, so good for me—”

He’s babbling as he rubs his shaft through you, thoroughly saturating himself in the mix of your slick and his saliva. He’s breathing heavily; you can tell even with the loose shirt still on him.

(You wish he’d take it off so that you could feel him against you fully, but you think perhaps he’s too out of it to manoeuvre both himself and his wings out of the thing).

“Good, good girl,” he mumbles, as he begins to sink inside of you. Your channel clenches hungrily around his cock, eager to have finally been filled. “Yes-- fuck! Good, you’re so good for me . . . Taking it so well, huh? You’re gonna take my cum so well too, birdie--”

The slurred, mumbled dirty talk and praise makes your stomach twist in pleasure. Keigo is usually so much more sure of himself – almost cocky – that knowing you’re the one who’s reduced him to babbling fragments gives you an ego boost.

And that’s not to mention the ones you get from the other things he says. Things like;

“You’re so soft. You’re so tight. So wet. Feels so good. My best girl, my good girl, pretty birdie, you’re so lovely for me, I wanna fill you up. Love how I fit in you. Love how you fit in my hands. Do you know how much I want you? Pretty, lovely, sweet thing, dove, birdie--”

It’s overwhelming, as he bottoms out inside of you and you can do nothing but cling to him. As he drives out of you for the first time with another chirp, a mumble that he’s not going to be able to hold back--

And then he’s fucking you.

It’s definitely fucking; the fucking of someone whose animal instincts have overwhelmed all of their other thoughts, hungry and wanting and in desperate search of some relief. You’re intensely grateful for the hungry way he’d ate you out; the plunge of his cock in and out of you is much helped by the gush of your earlier orgasm, and all of Keigo’s spit and drool from how enthusiastically he’d used his mouth on you.

It’s all you can do to fist your hands in his shirt and keep your legs locked tight around him whilst he pummels into you, his cock stoking a fire deep inside of you with every stroke of his cock against your trembling, sensitive inner walls. You’re whimpering out his name through the thrusts, clinging to him like your life depends on it.

He’s so hard. He’s so hot. The thing inside of you feels different, somehow; like he’s going to fuck you so deeply that you’ll remember it forever, and you’ll be moulded to the shape of him.

You lose track of time, underneath Keigo’s wings in the little nest he’s made for the two of you. There’s nothing left in the world aside from how he feels plunging in and out, the slick, wet noises of your cunt kissing and sucking in his cock. The only thing you can hear is the slap of his hips on you and his heavy balls hitting you with each thrust; and the chirping, whimpering and occasional mumbled praises that come from Keigo’s mouth, too.

(Your own mouth is earning its keep, with ‘oh!’ and ‘fuck!’ and ‘please!’, but you’re too far gone to even realise it.)

You don’t know how long it’s been, when you finally begin to sense a change in the way that Keigo’s hips are moving – when you feel his cock twitch, and he groans, and he buries his mouth against your shoulder and bites deep into the soft flesh there.

You find yourself coming again around the pulsing of his cock, as he shoots rope after rope of his cum as deep inside you as possible. The angle he’s found makes it feel like his hot seed finds a home directly inside of your womb, settling there hot and heavy and taking root even though you know that it can’t.

He stays there, collapsed against you, for a moment – breathing deeply, his shoulders and wings shuddering and shaking with the effort. His hard cock still inside of you.

Wait.

His hard cock.

Still?

He presses a chaste kiss to the bit of your shoulder that he bit, and you feel the curve of his lips as he mumbles;

“Sorry, birdie. Not quite done yet.”

In the morning, after Keigo has thoroughly exhausted himself and you can no longer feel your legs, you wake up in a tangle of sweaty limbs and feathers, your eyes resting for a few moments on Keigo’s half-asleep face.

It’s unfair of him to look so gorgeous even drooling onto the . . . pillows is not the right word. Even drooling onto the nest, you suppose.

Golden eyes slowly blink open at you, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. Some of the flush from his face and sheen from his feathers has gone, and though you know ruts usually last longer than a day, you silently thrill that you seem to have done a good job at least at suppressing the worst of it. You press a giddy kiss onto his forehead despite how your body screams at you for making your aching limbs move.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Keigo teases you gently. The way he’s looking at you affection-softened and sleepy makes your heart feel so soft. Makes you feel so loved.

He reaches a lazy hand out to stroke over the soft curve of your tummy.

“How’s my mama bird feeling today?” He asks you, and your own smile must be just as soft as his.

“Sore,” you tell him. You blink curiously. “Do you remember much of last night?”

“Just me pumpin’ you about as full as a cutie like you can get,” Keigo says, breezily. “Sorry you’re sore, but I’m gonna do it again today. I wanna make sure it takes.” His hand presses a little harder over your stomach; not uncomfortably, but longingly. “You’re gonna look so cute all swollen and full, birdie--”

“Keigo,” you say, slowly. “You’ve remembered I’m on birth control, right?”

He blinks at you, as if the thought hasn’t crossed his mind – and then, a very slow grin spreads across his face. The best way to describe it would probably be ‘shit-eating’. Keigo looks like the cat who’s got the cream.

“Oh, yeah, I know,” he tells you. He gives you a shrug, and his feathers ruffle with the movement too. “I’m just . . . what’s the best way to put it? Extra potent around this season, s’all. A little thing like that’s not gonna stop me.” He frowns. “Did I forget to tell you? I-it’s not a problem, is it? I really want a big family--”

Heat suffuses through you, at the way Keigo is looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. It’s hard not to feel . . . inferior, when your boyfriend is someone like him. But this is Keigo, reassuring you that he wants to be with you forever. This is Keigo, trying to bind you together permanently – and the way he clings to you in bed, never wants to let you go, tells you that he loves and adores you suddenly all make sense to you.

“No,” you tell him, pushing yourself to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “It’s not a problem.”

“Good,” Keigo grins. “Because I think I’m just about ready to try and put another load in you, birdie--”

#hawks x reader #hawks smut #hawks x you #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #not sfw #writing #bnha posting #afab reader #fem pronouns #5555 event fic

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