#again I will never get used to how little tags you need in the op fandom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raeinyourdreams · 6 months ago

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'call it what you want.' | l.h x reader

pairings: logan howlett x sway!reader

tags: fluff, no established relationship but.. there's something there, mutant!reader (they call her sway due to her mutation.. i love her i wanna talk ab her someone PLEASE ASK AB HER), AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, no specific petnames for reader (just bub and her hero name.. gets called kid like twice), no use of y/n, written with x1/x2 logan in mind... sigh... save me x2 logan.. anyway, he gives reader his dog tags before a mission in case he.. you know.. so maybe angst? but only til the very end.

wc: 2k!!

a/n: OKAY SO BOOM! this is my first actual work that's not a drabble and i'm so anxious to post AAHHH, i got the inspo from a post i saw a while ago while fried as fuck from someone requesting a fic ab logan giving reader his dog tags, pref fluffy and angsty so i hope i did ur vision justice OP!! tysm for inspo, my reqs are always open 🫶🏻 also i know this is a very burnt card but if something in the wording is off lmk PLEASEE english isn't my first language 😭 anyway enough yapping plz enjoy!! any type of interaction is appreciated

'just know these are yours now.'

you've never seen him without his dog tags, he never took them off, not ever since the first time he came into the mansion. you'd been there the first time, you were a teacher in the school, and you'd seen him occasionally roam the halls and stay by the door, listening in on your class, quietly. but very rarely interacted otherwise, just a simple nod or a 'good morning' that he'd return out of good manners, but he'd mostly keep to himself.

you're a teacher. you're the fun teacher. at least that's what your coworkers seemed to agree upon, seeing how your students appeared to leave your classroom more cheerful than they entered. you'd be lying if you said you didn't use your mutation as an advantage in this situation, being able to read your students' moods every day, how they were feeling and why came insanely handy, especially when it came to giving each student the type of care they needed. which is why you were also a student counselor.

on the days you didn't teach, you'd put that psych degree to work and counsel. in your classroom filled with drawings and fairy lights and stained glass that looked straight from a fairytale, and a door you'd lock for privacy as a student came to confide in you.

obviously despite your title, it wasn't only students who'd come to your office to let a feeling go, teachers too, needed a space to blow off some steam, cry a little sometimes, because they knew you'd soothe them in the end, touch your hand feel the pain dissipate, make it seem as if they'd never felt that way.

up until now, only teachers and students seemed to come to you for help. teachers. and students.

so it did surprise you when the wolverine started showing up in your office after coming back.

"must be tiring. to handle others' emotions like your own all day." he'd say, sitting down on a chair, to which you'd playfully roll your eyes and shake your head. "i don't treat them as my own, i just do what i have to do so they feel better." you'd reply, walking towards the door to lock it out of policy. figured that he was here for counseling as well.

"you treat everyone with so much care it seems like it." he said, which made you stop in your tracks, turning heel to face him, your hair cascading on your shoulders and moving ever so softly as you spun. before you could speak, stunned, he asked again.

"don't you get tired? i mean mentally. it must take a toll on you to be around so many emotions all the time." the way he seemed to read you stunned you, he seemed like a very gruff, cold person from the brief interactions you'd had with him before. truth be told, this was the closest you'd been to logan since he came back to the mansion. it's what other people thought of him, anyway.

but you weren't other people, you were different.

the feeling in your body when you perceive others emotions is strange. you could never put it into words. your mutation was mostly contact based, a small brush of the hand was enough to let you know that person's feelings, the reason behind them, what they needed to feel better and it made it easier to help everyone. you could, however, see and feel the emotions, sometimes even smell them if they were too strong, no need for contact necessary.

with logan, you almost didn't need to be in the same room as him to feel the amount of physical, mental, emotional strain he was constantly under, his superhuman body subconsciously tuning it out, making him oblivious to it. once, after a very dangerous mission, he isolated himself in his room for days, his expression cold and unfazed, but every time you'd walk past an area he was in, the emotions hit you like a truck. so strong you even cried over pain that wasn't yours, a life you hadn't lived.

you looked at him sympathetically, taking a deep breath to concentrate less on the seemingly invisible fog around you two as you sat on the chair, your expression calm and collected. "i'm okay, i promise. thank you, logan."

"like hell you are." "neither are you."

he stays quiet at your retaliation, a weak smile forming on his lips, letting you understand that you were right, not that you needed confirmation.

sometimes, when emotions overpower you, you feel compelled to speak, give words of reassurance, even if you didn't quite know if they'd help or not. "logan, you should let people into your heart, stop living in fear.." you blurted out, unsure of why you were telling him this, but you'd learned to not question it and just speak, because it helped to just hear the words sometimes. it certainly did get you a reaction from logan, as the overbearing feelings you were perceiving faded.. briefly, before they slowly crept back into vision.

it was the faintest of reactions, but a reaction at least.

he nodded, taking in the words silently, as if he were contemplating. you remained stoic, analyzing his demeanor out of pure habit. "did.. you come here for counseling?" you asked, suddenly aware that you were still working, and you weren't even sure if he was here for another reason, or if he did need your help. instead, he shook his head, looking at you as if he were conducting an analysis of his own.

"nah, just came to see you.. sway."

a knock on the door interrupted the brewing tension, a gloomy, childlike presence behind the door, to which you looked at logan apologetically. "i'm sorry logan, i have a student to attend.. but think about what i said." you spoke softly, your warm voice reverberating in his ears like a hug.. something he longed for but couldn't bring himself to ask.

you started seeing him around the classroom more, or rather, he started seeking you out more. in between breaks, before his training, during counseling. it got to a point where your children started greeting him hello and goodbye if he was in the classroom, interacting with him, playing with his hair, always styled like kitty ears. the way he just smiled and let them made something in you bloom, a feeling you couldn't recognize in yourself, but it was pink and warm and fuzzy all over. you couldn't help but wonder if he felt about you this way, too.

slowly, you noticed how, little by little, the gloomy cloud surrounding him would go away when he entered the classroom, how it would be replaced with a pink haze when he looked into your eyes, or made you laugh.. it would quickly fade away, but you'd notice, and noticed how much it resembled that feeling inside you: pink and warm and fuzzy all over.

as time went by, you got used to seeing him around, swinging by your classroom as if it was his haven, a small break from the world he knew, because you were in it. you'd be lying if you said he didn't make you day too, the gloomy atmosphere that once came along with him every time he entered your classroom slowly changing into a lilac haze.

one day, he showed up as the kids were leaving for the day, no colored cloud, but something seemed off. you invited him to sit down as he locked the door after getting in, his expression serene. before you could even speak his hands were on you, pulling you close to him in a hug, and you swore you could feel him shaking slightly. the realization hits you like a bucket of cold water and you just hold him tighter to you, since it feels like the only correct thing to do.

"you're scared."

"no one gets to see me like this, so feel special." said he, almost as if he was confiding a secret in you, which he was.

"oh, trust me, i feel quite special." you replied jokingly, which caused him to let out a chuckle, though it was dull and almost no feeling was tied to it.

you two let go and you asked him what was wrong, and he opened up like it was routine.

"i leave tomorrow. there's a mission out of state and they're asking me to go.. might be off the grid after that for a while." he explained, his voice remained calm but his eyes seemed to reveal to you more of how he was actually feeling.

"i dunno.. thought someone should've known in case.. things go south." your expression changed at that, and logan noticed. "ah, c'mon bub, change that frown, it's just reality. sure, i might be a piece of work to kill but it doesn't mean i can't die."

the silence that fell upon the classroom as you two finished speaking made the words fall with more weight into your heart, it did little to nothing to comfort you as you came to terms with what he said. it shouldn't have been hard - he was just stating a fact -, but it didn't mean that it didn't cut deep for you. you opened your mouth to speak, unsure of what you were even going to say, but he quickly cut you off.

"logan-" "listen, bub, you told me to start letting people into my heart.. i'm letting you in."

slowly, his hands went to unclasp the chain that always dangled on his neck, dog tags adorning his neck with his names, his identities. you looked in awe as he held them out to you. "gimme your hand, kid." and surprisingly, you did as you were told, holding your hand out as he placed the piece on your hand, feeling the cold metal clink softly as it fell and heat up under the temperature of your palm. you looked up at him, unsure of what it meant, of what this changed between you two, but it felt undeniable, even if unspoken.

“now, these.. they’re very special, bub. a reminder of everything that happened that led to here.. and it’s leading me to you right now.” he explained. “feels right for you to have them, i guess.. keep them safe, kid.”

the silence that fell between you two again was more comfortable, filled with a newfound tension that left much to question, but it didn’t feel right to interrupt with all that noise yet. the only sound filling the room was the breathing and a faint humming of the white noise machine you kept in your room, next by the door. you opened up your mouth again, your mind utterly blank and filled with thoughts and questions at the same time, unsure of which one was going to breach through your mind to materialize out in the cold, tense air.

“.. why me? trust me, i’m flattered, but i’m no one special, logan..” you questioned, and it made him frown.

“you are special. you're special to me.” your eyes widened at the confession and you watched as a soft smile settled on his face, one that made your heart flutter with the sheer tenderness he held in his gaze. “call it what you want.. just know these are yours now.” he said it so calmly, you wouldn't have tought he was handing you his heart, placing it in soft, tender hands and pleading you to not break it, not change it, and instead embrace it and accept it as it came, rough around the edges.

with that, he stood up from the chair, took your hand to squeeze it briefly, and walked out of the room, not before looking back at you one last time, the heaviness that he carried as he entered the room seemingly gone, all that you could perceive was a haze, all too familiar, one that left as quick as it came as his eyes met yours.

pink, warm, and fuzzy all over.

additional author's note: BOOM SHAKALAKA I POSTED FINALLY!! i think it's a little rushed BUT!! it's cause i have a (smutty) part 2 planned for this HEHEJEHE i don't like writing (or reading) series bcs i get sad when they end but i just might.... hehehe... anyway pls lmk what u think!! or i kill off logan 🥰🥰 your choice 🥰🥰

taglist: @allen-444

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grimalkinmessor · 1 year ago

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The parallels between Tsubomi and Reigen drive me so fucking insane you have no idea like—that shit had to be at least SOMEWHAT intentional even if not in a specifically romantic way.

For one, Tsubomi and Reigen are two of the only few people that call Shigeo "Mob" consistently. (Yes Tome also calls him Mob eventually but she starts out calling him Kageyama-kun and likely picks up "Mob-kun" from Inukawa or Reigen later on). We don't know how Reigen started calling Shigeo "Mob", though we can assume that Tsubomi was likely part of the group of kids that originally misread Shigeo's name as Mobbu to begin with so she's less of a mystery on that front. Maybe Reigen saw it written on his backpack or his shirt tag and started calling him that too, or maybe Mob even just told him that that's what everyone else called him and was what he prefered to be called at the time. Either way, it's a little odd that Reigen's one of the only people who use that nickname when we don't really get a reason why beyond "it can also be read like this", especially since Reigen is a grown man with (presumably) full literacy of kanji and would know how to read it.

Then there's the other obvious parallel that's made in the show; how Tsubomi and Reigen treat Mob. How they see his powers. They're not special, they're just a part of him. Nothing to be scared of—even though they kind of,,,,are lmao. The fact that Tsubomi continues to sit in the park even though a literal hurricane is approaching because she thought Mob sounded upset on the phone happens at the same time Reigen goes sprinting full-tilt into said hurricane because Mob is in trouble always stands out to me. It's less obvious than Mob's own words: "She never treated me any differently because of my powers" "Master never treated me any differently..."—but it's still a pretty blatant parallel to me.

Not to mention that both Reigen and Tsubomi's personalities are actually very similar as well! They're both described as people that hide behind a mask, a facade, while still being brutally stubborn. If Tsubomi doesn't want to do something, she's not gonna do it. While Reigen is more laid back because he's used to getting his hands dirty for work (money), he's still very stubborn himself when he doesn't wanna do something. He'll find a way to wriggle out of it and talk circles around you if you let him. Dimple even says that Tsubomi is the type of person who can't be swayed by words or peer pressure. She and Reigen were actually, again, two of the only people brainwashed through airborne Vibes™ instead of through food like everyone else. The biggest difference between them on this is that while Reigen lies fairly blatantly, Tsubomi seems to only lie through omission. Tsubomi is more of an introvert too, compared to Reigen's extrovert (though you could argue that both of them are good with people, with the only difference being that Reigen enjoys being the center of attention while Tsubomi presumably does not).

Plus they're both pretty goofy too once you think about it lmao. They're both prideful and hate to be humiliated, but they also care a lot about their public image and how people perceive them. Every time the scene with Tsubomi and her friends outside cleaning up leaves comes up, her expressions and panic always remind me of Reigen. And then there's Mob, calm and unjudgemental, willing to help her with no questions asked. Mitigating her humiliation, just like he does for Reigen :)

Another thing that always strikes me is how Mezato says, "If you can accept her for who she really is..." followed by Reigen's echo during his confession: "This is who I really am". Mezato essentially tells Mob that Tsubomi isn't who she seems on the outside and that if he wants to be accepted by her, he needs to also be ready to accept her as well. Which, we don't get to see much of Tsubomi's life outside of Mob—wow just like Reigen—so we don't ever really know who she is beyond that outer mask, but we see her slowly opening up to Mob later, as a friend. But the fact that Reigen's own confession mirrors Mezato's words to Mob about him accepting Tsubomi always makes me vibrate in place a little like,,,Confession Arc my beloved 🙏

I don't know man, there's just so much there, it makes my head spin. I could go on and on about it but I better cut myself off because if I don't I'll start crawling on the walls going feral about it because what, what was the point of this if not to make it clear that the relationship between Mob and Reigen is supposed to parallel his relationship with Tsubomi like what do you MEAN—

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nuttersincorporated · 3 months ago

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Tumblr: A Beginners Guide

Hello and welcome to Tumblr!

If you're new here, this post is a little guide meant to help you understand how things work on Tumblr. I’m going to give you some guidelines and explain a little bit about Tumblr culture. Hopefully, this will help you settle in, avoid unnecessary pitfalls and enjoy your time here. I hope you’ll like it here on our hellsite (affectionate).

1. First and most importantly, please change your userpic and put something on your blog.

If you don’t, other users will think you're a bot and you'll be reported/blocked. It’s nothing personal but we are at war with the bot accounts. Most older users will automatically assume that a blank blog= bot.

You don’t need to do much. If you aren’t comfortable rebloging things or making your own posts yet, just change your userpic and add a short description to your blog.

Here’s an example of a description you can use.

‘Hi! I’m new here. I’m still working out how this place works but I promise I’m not a bot so please don’t block me.’

2. Go to your settings, then to your dashboard settings and change things to how you like them. I suggest-

Make Tumber show you posts in chronologically order, rather than pushing ‘best stuff first’

Pick a colour palate that doesn’t give you a headache

Make Tumblr show timestamps on posts and reblogs. While a post is never too old to reblog, you don’t want to accidentally signal boost something as ‘news’ when it's acutely years out of date and no longer relevant.

Choose not to shorten long posts

3. Go to the top of your dashboard, press on the toggle and arrange things how you like them.

I suggest pinning your ‘Following’ first. It means that when you go to your dashboard, the first thing you’ll see are the blogs that you’ve actively chosen to follow.

Some older users will tell you that the ‘For You’ page is useless and should be ignore. This is because for a long time it was either non-existent or terrible so most older users – myself included – just don’t bother with it.

However, nowadays it’s fine so use it if you want. ‘Following’ should still probably be pinned first though because you know what you like better than the algorithm.

4. Please don’t censor your words here. Tumblr doesn’t shadow ban you for saying random words.

Shadow banning does happen but it’s mostly at random or because you were targeted by trolls. If it happens to you, you’ll need to fight to get unshadow banned.

The point is that you won’t get shadow banned for saying ‘death,’ ‘murder’ or ‘rape.’ Don’t do things like saying ‘graped’ instead of ‘raped.’ If you do, you’re just going to piss people off and make it harder for people to avoid triggers.

5. Don’t spam the tags!

You can ramble in the tags all you want and nobody will mind. However, if you tag an unrelated post with a popular tag, you will be reported for spamming. It’s against the Tumblr terms and conditions, it’s annoying and it’s something the porn bots do.

When you are making your own post, the tags you use should be to help other people find your post. When you are rebloging other people’s posts, the tags you use should be so you can find that post again if you want.

The other thing that tags are for – both in your own posts and reblogs – is for adding things that don’t really fit in the post itself but you still wanted to say. You can add paragraphs in your tags and no one will bat an eye but if you tag a post with a trending but unrelated tag, that’s spamming.

6. Please, reblog things. It helps posts spread a lot more than liking them does. Think of your blog as a scrap book where you put stuff you like.

If you aren’t comfortable adding to a post, that’s fine. Just reblog it and share it with others.

7. That said, Tumblr posts are collaborative and we like it when you add to them. It doesn’t have to be much. You don’t have to add something every time you reblog a post but it is a part of the fun to do it sometimes.

If it’s an art or fanfic post comments like; ‘good post op,’ ‘I LOVE THIS!’ or even ‘OUCH my heart!!!’ will make an OP’s day.

If it’s another sort of post; you can add your thoughts or join in on committing to the bit. Try matching the energy the post is already giving.

If you aren’t comfortable commenting directly, you can always put it in the tags.

8. The follow and block buttons are your friend. You decide what you see here. If your dashboard doesn’t spark joy, you can always follow someone new and/or follow an interesting tag. If someone is making your time here unpleasant unfollow and/or block them.

9. Tumblr likes to commit to the bit. Sharks are smooth (they are not) and the 1973 Martin Scorsese movie ‘Goncharov’ is the greatest film ever made (it doesn’t exist).

10. A post is never too old to reblog. We like old posts here.

Every now and again, you will see a post that is over ten years old. The reblogs will probably be full of people expressing delight about seeing the original post again or seeing it for the first time.

11. You don’t want to be Tumblr famous.

There are niche blogs that are dedicated to one thing and are well liked e.g. @the-haiku-bot (the one bot we love), @writing-prompt-s and @cantheykillmacbeth. However, they are either side blogs or blogs run by multiple people.

Your main blog should just be somewhere you like to spend your time. There are no benefits to being Tumblr famous on your main blog.

12. Tumblr spreads news with this meme

13. Tumblr loves dates. Whether it’s the Ides of March (it sure would be a shame if certain world leaders got stabbed), Halloween (which we start celebrating in about July) or just a random day of the week e.g. ‘Out of Touch Thursday’ there is always something happening that you can celebrate.

14. The staff always pulls a silly and harmless prank on Apil Fools Day. Last year we got to boop each other.

15. We like a silly poll

Okay, I think that’s the basics covered. You’ll get the hang of everything else as you go along.

I hope you have fun here and that you manage to avoid Apollo’s dodgeball of prophecy (try not to joke about a specific way things could get worse or you might be hit).

Yours faithfully,

A Tumblr Cockroach

PS If you are a Tumblr oldie, please feel free to reblog this to help out newer users.

#tumblr #how tumblr works #destiel news meme #i love you meme #sharks are smooth #Goncharov #long post #tumblr polls #Tumblr throws you in at the deep end #Hopefully this might help someone new #I think this covers everything you need to know to get started #Tell me if I missed anything important #These tags are an example of point 5 #I’m talking in them which is fine #But I’m not tagging this post with a tending TV show #You know what?#I'm pinning this post #If you come to my blog and you're new here it might help

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theglassesgirl · 5 months ago

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Thank you for your insightful tags @a-bottle-of-tyelenol !

And I hope you don’t mind me using this opportunity to mention Calypso because i refrained from doing so in my initial response, after having written a whole thing about her a few months ago, but I do understand it being a polarizing creative choice to make it ambiguous.

A brief (for me at least) analysis of Sexual Assault in terms of Calypso and its parallel to the suitors under the read more:

My thoughts on it on this specific subject compared to what I’ve talked about before are as follows and serves as a parallel to what Penelope went through on her own island while her husband was trapped in another;

To be fair, I don’t think it’s necessarily sexist of Jorge to have removed the assault aspect of Circe and Calypso (as some are saying in the OPs own post which…is a take, I guess)

I DO think it was absolutely a choice he made because he did not feel equipped to broach the subject that way and I’ll explain that a little bit, but he still absolutely understands the necessity of it throughout the musical and works to make HIS choice work for the overall arc - and well! Mind you! I think he succeeded even when he held back.

If we look at the source material, it’s certainly intriguing that the MAIN character of the story is a victim or assault by two different gods across the years, who essentially imprison and abuse him. Because of this, I feel it ADDS to the terror and fear by the time we the readers make it to Penelope and Telemachus’s POV in the poem. Because by that point, we have SEEN the antagonists “win” - Odysseus, like his family, has been a prisoner strip of any agency and options, and if HE has suffered sexual violence, it becomes a very real possibility for his WIFE to face

(in a lot of ways, we could also view Oddy killing the suitors be a sort of catharsis for him in that aspect, to be able to kill these violent men the way he couldn’t the goddesses who did all that do him, before they could hurt his wife and son)

Jorge’s musical is MUCH tamer, because he himself might be uncomfortable with depicting that subject matter as a physical action, but it still has a similar vibe.

We see Odysseus was able to respectfully reject Circe, but she still came onto him (albeit to kill him, but he had to account for all possibilities) so when he’s faced with Calypso, it’s VERY shocking and upsetting that he isn’t able to do the same with her.

The ambiguity of the seven years has caused so much discourse yet I argue, and trust me I’ve argued about it so much, that in some ways it’s exactly the ambiguity that Penelope and Telemachus faced.

We will never know what EXACTLY happened to Odysseus on that island, and we will never know what EXACTLY happened on Ithaca either.

As far as we do know, Antinous and who knows how many others feel very comfortable using sexually violent language to Penelope’s SON. She’s clearly put up a strong and unaffected front that Telemachus admires her for, but I’m sure it’s taken a heavy toll on her - the same her husband has faced, and that Athena has seen. And as far as we know, whatever calypso has done, given her words (like Antinous’), made Odysseus openly suicidal at least once!

While one spouse has to look strong, the other is visibly very weakened. This dynamic is missed when we don’t see both Penelope and Odysseus as complimentary partners, even after two decades of being apart!

But anyway. Having said this, Jorge’s version still provides a sense of urgency and plays on the audiences psychological need for Penelope to get a happy ending.

Because we’ve seen Odysseus successfully turn down one goddess, and we’ve seen him suffer under another without the privilege of knowing the depth of what he went through - for Penelope, its once again utterly inverted.

She CANNOT turn down any of the suitors successfully (hence the impossible task being her last ditch high stakes gambit, because SHE knows none of them can do it, but also doesn’t know how violently they will react to discovering that) and Antinous and the other suitors have completely cast aside pretense and are planning to assault her - no more ambiguity.

Where her husband has survived his own assaulters (though not unscathed) we are made very aware that Penelope’s situation is far more dire and her options much more limited. We are made to feel RUSHED, urged to see her helped (by Athena, her son and FINALLY her husband)

Jorge’s creative choice is still true to the integrity of this arc, Circe and Calypso still represent a parallel and an inversion to Penelope’s own plight.

Is it frustrating that not having a definitive answer to the boundaries Calypso pushed Odysseus - very much, I personally DO see her as someone who got physical based on much of her lyrics but I don’t mind people who don’t. As I have oft said, even without her “successfully” assaulting him, even if all she did was stand in front and look at him for seven years straight - it’s a violation of his autonomy and truamatizinggggg

but we’re not talking about her so much as how her role now fits/changed in the story. Mostly it hasn’t, is my point! If we really take a step back and follow the thread of this particular arc, it serves its purpose as well as when what Calypso did WAS explicit. Which again is why I feel Jorge made the creative choice to make the suitors intention MORE explicit.

For me, at least, it’s a careful balance that makes you LOOK at these two storylines and forces you to consider their similarities. We might not approve of the change, but unlike the heinous suggestion that the suitors should be innocent victims and Penelope be made their pal, Calypso’s role STILL works and fits the narrative.

Nevertheless, it’s perfectly fine if you still feel that way about it, because lord knows I’m constantly debating several aspects of Calypo’s character with other people across social medias lol and I’m sooo sorry this response went beyond the scope of your initial comments (please let me know if you’d rather untag you! 😭)

#epic the ithaca saga #epic the musical #epic odysseus #epic penelope #epic calypso

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 7 months ago

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Do think I’m your babygirl? I think the fuck not.

Pairing/au: Joel Miller x afab!reader, no outbreak

Words count: 4095

Rating: +18, NSFW, minors please don’t interact

Warnings/Tags: pov second person, smut with very little plot, angst, casual sex, no use of y/n, reader is described having breasts and vagina and wearing a dress and heels, no other description of her is given, reader’s thoughts in italics, mention of infidelity, swearing, pet names (babygirl, good boy, baby, princess), reader is bad at feelings (she has her reasons though), soft!Joel, brief mention of Sarah, a lot of kissing, fingering (f receiving), oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but still, do better irl, please!), reverse cowgirl, balls grabbing, a little of bit of scolding during sex 😈, plot twist, neck kissing, nipples play, teasing… I think it’s all? If I realize I forgot something I'll add it right away.

A/N: First of all, if you happened to read something similar but badly written on AO3 don't worry, it's still me, no one stole anything from me and I didn't steal anything from anyone lol

I've been wanting to rewrite this for a long time and I think I'm pretty happy with how it came out this time. I really hope you like it too. As always, English is not my first language, I don't have beta and I finished writing it last night at 3am (ops, I did it again!), so please forgive me if you find any mistakes.

To anyone reading this, thank you for your time! I added a brief A/N at the end, see you there!

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

“Should we get out of here?” he whispers in your ear and you nod “where?”

“My house”

You give him a quick kiss on the lips agreeing “okay”.

You just met him but he’s the most handsome man to ever approach you in a bar so you don’t care.

You’ve already been the good girl, the one to introduce to someone’s parents, the one who’s always kind and modest, who never says a word too much and does everything in her power to make her man happy.

Turns out it didn’t do you any good.

You were engaged, a year ago.

You and Mark had the whole plan.

The wedding, a house with a white picket fence, a nice yard, a dog, a big family.

It was all decided, until you found out he was cheating on you with one of his coworkers.

All those “babygirl, I’m going to be late”, “babygirl, don’t wait for me for dinner, that asshole of my boss gave me a ton more paperwork to deal with”, “babygirl, tell John I’m sorry I couldn’t come to his party today but I still have a million things to do here at the office”, “I miss you, I wish I didn’t have to work so much” texts…all bullshit.

One day you came home early from a work trip and found him on the couch of the house you had rented and where you had lived together for two years with his dick stuck in his colleague’s pussy.

What a piece of shit.

You spent four years of your life with him and yet it felt like you had never really known him. You wondered how he had managed to lie so well, for so long, without even flinching.

You cried, you screamed as he made up some lame excuse to justify himself, you wondered how you had wasted all those years with someone like that. How come you hadn't noticed before how fake and manipulative he was? How come you hadn't noticed that every time you argued he tried to make you feel guilty even though he was the one who was completely in the wrong?

Oh yeah, you were in love. Blind, dazed, completely drunk with love.

Love that chews you up and spits you out.

What a huge scam.

Never again, you thought.

Mark could have gone to hell with his colleague, you were done.

You would no longer let feelings get the better of you.

Sure, men were still nice. When they were quiet and fucked you good and then went back home, no strings attached.

He says his name is Joel.

You put a finger over his mouth to silence him when he tries to add his last name. “I don’t need it,” you tell him.

“Whatever you say, beautiful,” he replies.

His voice is definitely a plus. Deep, husky, charming. It goes straight to your cunt.

Even his beard brushing your cheek as he speaks in your ear to make himself heard over the chaos of the bar isn’t bad at all.

A small talk later you decide he is the perfect one night stand.

He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a gray T-shirt with a plaid shirt over it.

His hand is wrapped around your waist in a delicious way, just above your hip. Big, expert hand. His brown eyes are staring at you, intense and piercing. Chocolate eyes, and you've always liked chocolate.

His plushy lips curve into a smirk when you say “let’s go cowboy, it’s time to show me what you got”

He chuckles, reaching down and squeezing your butt.

“After you, princess”

You roll your eyes at the pet name but he’s too gorgeous to back down.

He walks you to his pick up truck, in the parking lot.

He drives to a nice neighborhood, full of small houses with well-kept yards and safe streets where you imagine kids riding bikes and playing softball. The contrast between him and what’s around you makes you laugh. Joel doesn’t seem like a friendly neighbor, a candidate for trick-or-treating on Halloween, or the life of the block parties. He seems distant, a man of few words, a grouch. Which is perfect as far as you are concerned. You had stopped caring about men’s chatter.

When you were talking at the bar you noticed that his hands are calloused, rough, you were about to ask him what job he did but you decided you weren't interested.

Who cares, this guy will be out of my life after tonight.

You look at his profile in the truck, his expression when you put your hand on his thigh while he’s driving, his lips that twitch slightly, his Adam’s apple that jump in his throat, his hand that grips the steering wheel a little tighter. Really, truly, delicious.

You like him. His thick raven hair with just a few streaks of gray, his high forehead, his aquiline nose, his strong jaw. Your best friend sent you a tiktok a while ago about her favorite actor with a little song that said Girl dinner playing in the background. Watching Joel in the car you think of that. Except he isn’t just dinner but a six-course meal at a fancy restaurant.

By now your opinion of men is that they are all assholes and cheaters and the guys you met after Mark only supported that theory.

When you met someone cute your new philosophy was legs open, heart closed.

You wouldn't have opened your heart for Joel, but your legs yes, very willingly.

He parks in front of a cute little house, with a rose bush climbing up a trellis to one side and an impeccable lawn.

A small porch with a rocking chair and pots of geraniums complete the picture. “Jesus,” you think “This guy and his house have nothing to do with each other”

Joel has a worn-out, 90s rock star look in a flannel shirt and combat boots, a guy like him could have lived in a shitty loft with a mattress on the floor and wooden crates for nightstands.

“Here we are, princess” he says. He got out of the pick up and come to open the door for you.

“Quaint neighborhood,” you observe.

“See, I’m unmarried but I have a daughter” You stop him right away. “Nah, too much information.”

He has a daughter. You didn’t expect that either. And you don’t want to know, you don’t want to know a damn thing about him other than how good he fucks.

“Okay” he mutters, shrugging. He seems a little confused by all your restrictions but it is essential for you to keep your distance.

Knowing this already bothers you, you should have taken him to some motel instead of his house. He has a daughter, so he's a responsible family man? A guy who never does things like pick up a stranger in a bar? What if he hasn't gotten laid since Bush was president?

You don’t have time to waste on foreplay and cuddles, he’s not the “let’s talk first” type, is he? He doesn't seem like it but at this point you're not sure of anything anymore.

You enter his house and look around. It's a nice place, comfortable, simply furnished, there's too much brown around for your taste but it's okay.

You don't have a chance to process the photos hanging on the wall and scattered around on the tables and bookshelves before he pins you against the wall and kisses you.

It's a hungry, sloppy, passionate kiss, his lips moving over yours as if he wanted to devour you in one bite.

“Great job” you think, at least you were right about something, he is a man who doesn't waste time on ceremony.

His tongue slides warm into your mouth and it tastes like whiskey, his hands run over your body, caressing you.

First the neck, tightening slightly against your throat, then on your shoulders where he slides the straps of your dress. Then on your chest, to pull down the fabric just enough to uncover your bra. He cups one of your breast with his hand, squeezing it. He pulls down the bra and uncovers your already hard nipples. He leaves a trail of kisses and small bites on your jaw and all the way down the column of your neck, until he reaches your chest taking one of your buds into his mouth, you feel the warmth of his tongue and lips, licking greedily at it and then sucking it slowly, his beard tickling on your skin.

Fuck, this guy knows what he's doing.

 You mentally apologize to him for doubting it, as you throw away your heels, kicking them to the floor.

You moan loudly as his heavy hand lifts the hem of your dress and covers your entire pussy. He presses hard on your clit and your body tenses like a violin string, you arch your back seeking more friction. He places his other hand on your hip, caging you between him and the wall. He continues to kiss you, while he dip in your slit through the now completely soggy fabric.

He grunts in your ear “so fucking great mmm pussy is dripping on my floor, isn’t she?”  You don't even have the energy to cringe about him using pronouns for your cunt as he pulls your panties aside and dip two fingers into your slit, moving up towards your clit, rubbing it.

His eyes are settled in yours, you feel hypnotized by his gaze, so overwhelming and beautiful. It pierces you to the wall.  His fingers stroke your clit in small circles, slowly and then faster, applying pressure every now and then. His smile widens as he watches you needily and hotly arch into his palm.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” You desperately clench around his thick fingers when he slides his index and middle into your hole. When he begins to slowly sink inside you you feel like you can’t hold his gaze anymore, it’s almost like he’s digging into your soul, your head crush into the crook of his neck and your arm tightens around his shoulders.  Your brain is completely clouded with pleasure and its scent, wood and leather with a fresh clean undertone. He smells so good. It’s intoxicating.

Your dress is bunched up around your waist, just enough to allow his hands to feast on you. His fingers keeps getting in and out of you reaching your most sensitive spot while his other hand goes back on your tit, playing with one of your nipples, twisting and gently pulling it between his fingers.  You can no longer hold back your whines, they mix with his hoarse grunts, filling the air in the room. “Fuck, it feels so good” you wail and he grumbles “yeah…such a nice cunt, fuck, so tight”  He pumps even harder into you, scissoring a bit, hitting your g-spot again and again, his thumb on your clit and you feel your peak building up from your tummy and raising hot into your chest, you’re gasping for air as he bites in the tender skin of your neck and lowers his mouth back on your nipple.  “mmm I would never stop sucking your tits, God, they are so - fuck” His voice dies in his throat as you clench hard around his fingers whining “don’t stop please don’t stop oh fuck sogoodsogoodsogoodsogood”, you sound almost like you’re on the verge of crying.  He gently urges you “let go, gorgeous, give it to me, drench my fucking fingers”  And you come, as much as you hate being told what to do he’s having the best of you. It’s basically the only moment in which you give yourself the chance to get lost, when your climax starts shuttering all over your body, wave after wave, washing away your control over yourself.  He holds you down as your body shakes uncontrollably.

His mouth leaves small kisses on your sweaty skin, cradling you through your orgasm along with his hands that gently cup your ass, squeezing it. You moan against his neck, clinging to his flannel shirt.

His fingers slide out of you and he brings them to your mouth, he runs them over your lower lip, wetting it with your pleasure and then gliding them over your tongue to his knuckles, you lick them greedily under his satisfied gaze.

You stay hugged against the wall for a while, not saying anything, just breathing on each other's skin.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly when he feels your breathing return to normal. “I’ve never felt better.” You answer, finally looking into his eyes again and running a hand through his hair, ruffling it.

He's cute, too cute, his eyes look at you sweetly and he caresses your cheek, brushing his thumb on your skin.

This is no good, this is no good at all, you think.

You have to do something before you make the terrible mistake of melting like ice cream in the sun for this man. You can't afford that. So you take matters into your own hands.

You push him against the wall in turn and his wide eyes tell you he wasn't expecting it.

You give him a smile as you lower your hand to his pants, feeling him hard under your touch. He’s big. Much bigger than you expected even though you just got a preview of him pressing against your thigh as he finger-fucked you.

Your hands quickly fumble with his jeans, unbuttoning them. You make room in his underwear to reach his cock. Joel grumbles “oh fuck, yes”

“Take off your clothes” you order. Joel undresses in a second, throwing his clothes and boots on the floor. You lick your lips at the sight of his bulging boxers. You move back against him, massaging him from above the fabric, feeling a large stain spreading across the front. He’s dripping profusely, which makes you even more hungry and eager to try him.

You smile at him as you lower yourself to your knees, bringing his boxers down with you.

His cock springs free right before your eyes, hard, uncut, and impossibly perfect. Your hand slides over the line of hair leading to his crotch, slightly beaded with sweat, and wraps around his base. He doesn’t stop staring at you, enraptured.

Your hand moves up and down his length, lingering at the tip, collecting his precum and spreading it out.

You feel your saliva building up in your mouth and as much as it annoys you to admit it your clit twitch, you can’t wait to taste it. Your mind is fighting against this guy, but your body knows exactly what it wants and doesn’t care if it gets carried away.

You place your tongue on the tip, swirling it around and then sliding it flat down his shaft, over his throbbing, engorged vein, down to where your hand encircles him.

You hear him grunt and your mouth twists involuntarily into a smirk.

His musky flavor coats your tongue as you continue to work his length, you look up and there he is, hair tousled, eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape, eyes like ebony that sparkle with lust, beautiful as a painting. He almost hurts your eyes. You squeeze them shut, concentrating only on the heat in your mouth and your movements on his red and swollen tip.

You slurp greedily increasing the pace as you feel him throbbing more and more intensely.

You are enjoying the silence filled only by the sound of your obscene lapping and his hoarse moans when he decides to speak.

“Fuck, babygirl, you’re incredible”

Your blood runs cold, it’s like an unconditioned reflex you can’t escape. An uncontrolled anger rises from the pit of your stomach, you stop and let it out through your mouth. His face becomes confused, you take a deep breath to try to calm the fire that burns inside you and ask him sharply: “what did you call me?”

Mark's face materialized before your eyes, vivid as it hadn't been in a long time. It’s terrible.

He hesitates for a moment before saying “babygirl” in a garbled whisper.

“Don’t ever do that again” you tell him in a firm voice before moving closer to his cock and he mutters “no one has ever complained”

You stop again “It gives me the ick. So if you want me to continue I suggest you stop nagging like a child. Otherwise I can always walk out that door and let you finish with your hand”

“It’s just a pet name” he says, rolling his eyes, like it were no big deal, as if it didn't mean you were going back to where you started, to when you were too blind to realize how much of a liar your fiancé was, to when your heart was in pieces.

He can’t know, that’s true, so you haven’t completely blurted out. But that annoyance still rises in your throat. And you can’t cry, you really can’t. So sarcasm creeps in. “You think I’m a little girl? A princess who needs saving? Fucking Snow White?”

His cock is still standing between you two, waiting for attention. You might laugh at the situation, maybe make a joke about how well he holds his erection, but you're not really in the mood.

His Adam's apple moves in his throat, he gulps air before answering: “no, but…I mean, it’s just a word”

You shrug, looking at him with reproach and resignation at the same time, and try to answer with all the nonchalance you can muster. “Okay. It will mean that pornhub will take care of you, I don’t give a damn” If he can’t compromise then he’s not worth your time, just like every other man.

You start to get up and he stops you, a slight panic in his eyes “oh no, come on, don’t be like that. Ok, ok, I won’t say it again”

You lower yourself again and are about to start over in silence when it occurs to you to teasing him a little, just a little and only because he ruined the moment for you. He did it unintentionally but still. You don't mind the rough play and you think this big guy in front of you can take it. “Let's try” you think “I can always stop”

It’s not like you’re going to hurt him badly, just teasing.

So you look him in the eyes with all the candor you can, taking one of his balls in your hand. You squeeze it and say “Are you going to be a good boy? Are you going to shut the fuck up for me?”  “Yes” he murmurs.  “I’m not your fucking babygirl, we clear?”  “Yes”  “Say it.” “You’re not my babygirl” he whispers. You squeeze hard on his ball, seeing his lower lip twitching with pleasure, his eyes dark with lust. Yeah, he likes that, it’s clearly painted all over his face. “Louder” “You’re not my babygirl” his voice breaking in the attempt as you put your mouth on his ball sucking hard on it. You let go with a satisfied smile “Perfect” You take his shaft back into your mouth, squeezing the other ball gently with your hand and he leans against the wall, eyes shut and whimpering. It’s so good to hear him like that, your clit is throbbing between your leg and your arousal is dripping all over your inner thighs. You stop when you feel him on the edge, another few licks on his red and angry tip would be enough to send him over but you’re craving him into your cunt. And also, you like seeing him all pent up and needy for you.

He’s basically babbling at this point, begging you and swearing, eyes desperate for a release, all his body tense and covered in a light layer of sweat.

He’s totally gorgeous and you’re not done yet.

“Don’t cry baby, I will give you what you want” you coo, your lips curved into a smirk.

You get up and take his hand, guiding him on the couch in his living room.

It’s a nice brown leather couch, there is a little hollow in one of the pillows and you imagine that is where he usually sits to watch tv. This is also unnecessary information that makes him much more human and cute than you would like.

You can see him on Sundays, sprawled out there, his feet up on the coffee table placed in front, a beer in his hand, watching football.

No, that’s too much.

You sit him down in the center, caressing his cheek. You pinch one of his nipples and he lets out a groan. You take off the dress that at this point is practically dangling uselessly from your waist, your now soaked panties and your bra which he took care of pulling down earlier making it useless as well.

You’re finally completely naked before his eyes.

You throw everything aside on the floor, feeling incredibly vulnerable but trying not to show it.

Joel is silent but you can see his eyes feasting on your body, lusting over every curve before settling on your pussy that glistens with your juices.

You move closer and lean him against the back of the couch and sit on him, holding his cock with one hand and gently pushing it into your hole. You are incredibly wet but you proceed with caution anyway, he is too big to take in one thrust.

He pants beneath you, lacing his hands on your hips and guiding you gently. You can't see his eyes anymore, which is good for you, he's already made you feel exposed enough. It’s better this way, you can take what you want from his body without letting him affect you too much.

When you are fully seated on him you start to move, bouncing on his thighs, swinging your hips, he tries to keep up with your pace, thrusting into you as deep as he can, sinking into your wetness.

One of his hands moves to one of your breasts, cupping it and squeezing it, brushing your nipple with his palm and then taking it between his fingers.

You lean forward slightly to let him reach that soft spot inside you that always makes you see stars. Your ears are filled with his moans, the sound you like to hear when a man fucks you.

Nothing more than his natural, delirious, desire-filled sounds.

You throw your head on his shoulder and he kisses you, you cry into his mouth as you feel his hand move from your breast to your clit and begin to rub it furiously.

His tongue is warm and delicious in your mouth, a small trickle of saliva runs down your chin as you try to chase it and dance with it.

He's at his peak now, you feel him pulsing hard inside you, his moans muffled on your lips.

“Come inside, I’m on the pill” you only manage to whisper.

His pubic hair tickles your ass as he slams into you repeatedly, until you feel long, hot streaks of his cum painting your walls.

You continue to rock on his hips, lacing one hand around his neck, kissing him, until everything gets confusing, blurry, overwhelming in a way you can't explain. You reach him in a state of bliss, sweaty and exhausted but never as satisfied as you are now.

You pull his cock out of you and sit on the couch, he is on your neck in an instant, leaving a trail of small hungry kisses as you both try to catch your breath. You close your eyes so as not to see his, probably softened and vulnerable, nothing more wrong than letting yourself be taken by the tenderness after sex.

After a while he gets up and disappears into the kitchen without saying anything. He returns with a glass of water and hands it to you. “Thank you,” you say, before quickly swallowing it to ease the dryness in your throat. You set it on the coffee table and stand up before he tries to say something stupid.

You gather your clothes, getting dressed as he watches you from the couch, you feel his eyes on you the whole time.

You lean in to give him a kiss and his hand on your hip feels like a silent request to stay.

You don't say anything, there's no need to say anything.

You walk out the door without looking back.

You're not a babygirl.

A/N: I personally don't mind being called "babygirl" and Joel could call me anything, really. LOL I just wanted to try something different, hope you all liked it. Thanks again for reading, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated ❤️

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel tlou #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #joel miller x afab!reader #pedro pascal

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erraomens · 1 month ago

Text

I'll Take My Time With You .

⸻ Chapter 2 . Every Line Tastes Like Him .

Incubus!Noah Sebastian x Unnamed Female . Word Count : 2,158 Summary . She tries to dismiss her encounter with Noah as just a dream, but the ache in her body and the pull of his presence won't let her forget. As she types out the details, her desire grows uncontrollable, and she realizes Noah has claimed her completely. With every word, she surrenders more, lost in the dark hunger that consumes her. Warnings/Tags: Incubus Noah Sebastian, shadow manipulation, orgasm denial, edging, dehumanizing intimacy, erotic writing as worship, sinful seduction, mouth play, sinful author problems, “good girl” energy, shadows in all the right places, desperate typing, spiritual sinning, and one very confused writer falling deeper into the darkness tag list ( i forgot to add this , i am so sorry ) . @lacy1986 , @fadingangelwisp , @bloody-spades , @flowery-mess , @chey-h , @w0manof-flesh44 a/n . You didn’t come here for plot. You didn’t come here for subtlety. You came here because you wanted Noah and you knew exactly what you were getting into. ⸺ 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷 .

She told herself it was just a dream. That’s what dreams do, right? Linger a little, blur at the edges, leaving you aching for something that never really touched you–at least until they dissolve into nothing, forcing you to struggle to recall them.

She kept trying to convince herself it had been a dream. Kept trying to ignore the ache coating her skin, the bruises blooming along her hips, the sudden, insatiable need to feel it again. She told herself it was just a dream—right up until she sat down at her desk, the document from earlier that morning staring back at her. It took everything in her power to click out, to pull herself away from the name, Noah.

Eventually she opened a blank document, and typed the words: “It was softer than breath, darker than anything human—his tongue, his hunger.” Her fingers froze, hovering midair. That wasn’t her phrasing. It wasn’t a line she’d ever think to use. But it was there—on the screen, blinking back at her like it had been waiting. Like it was beckoning her forward.

She didn’t question it. Didn’t try to find the thread. She just let it take her—let the unseen force curl into her hands and guide them across the keys, writing out the night before like it had been waiting to be remembered.

She didn’t notice the hitch of her breath, the way her thighs clenched, just the way that her fingers moved on their own as every detail came back to her in flashes–leaving her in a smoky haze, his voice permeating her senses, trailing down her spine. The ghost of a touch spreading her open, and her body obeying every touch.

He had full control. The way her body trembled beneath every unholy urge—how she gave in without hesitation. And when he groaned against her, it was like he was feeding. Drinking her down.

She couldn’t help but cross her legs under the desk, expecting it to help–the hope for a touch of friction to give her release. But it didn’t. The way he whispered her name, the feel of his lips against her. Everywhere but nowhere all at once. The way he demanded that she said yes–this wasn’t her usual writing. This wasn’t something she would dare to write, but it was sudden compulsion.

She didn’t get off to her own scenes, but there was no mistaking her wet panties, and how every line that she typed out tasted like him. Dream or not, she could still feel his eyes on her, his presence lingering in every corner of the apartment–her sudden urge to pull the curtains and coat herself in the darkness with the hope of feeling it again.

Fingers continued to type, words pouring out like sins begging to be confessed—but no priest could save her from this. Her thoughts bled out onto the screen in long, breathless sentences, each one soaked in memory and need. She didn’t care what he was—god, devil, dream. If last night was salvation, she’d drop to her knees willingly, mouth open, hands shaking, ready to beg for hell just to feel him again.

It took only a couple of minutes to realize her fingers were trembling, words became blurred, and her skin buzzed. The feeling was familiar, intoxicating, and it coated her tongue in sickly sweet desire. It was the weight of his presence, the shadows thickening—but not around her. Beneath her.

Her fingers paused, trembling with the tug of resistance. A part of her wanted to stop—to escape this dark pull. But her body betrayed her, fingers itching to continue. And when the words came, they were no longer hers. He owned her now. She couldn’t fight it.

The chair was still beneath her, grounding her to something real—but the space between her thighs felt alive—humid, electric, like the air itself was waiting to be touched. She didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Her knees eased further apart, not by choice, but like they’d been invited open by something she couldn’t see but could feel.

And then without warning, there was warmth. A breath–lips. Her body stilled, her gasp filling the silence, stilling the movements of her fingers against the keyboard. The familiar touch returned as fingers worked to spread her again, lips pressing against her. The movements slow and deliberate like a promise–maybe even a punishment. But she would take it without hesitation, without complaint.

Her head tipped back, eyelashes fluttering as fingers moved to grab at whatever had settled between her thighs. But nothing was there. Only feeling what felt like electricity against her fingertips.Her head tipped back, a cry catching in her throat.

“Don’t stop. Put it into words, little mortal.” His voice—sinful and unholy—curled up her spine.

“I—” she choked out, hips twitching as his touch tugged at her attention, unable to focus on the words as he continued his torment. “I can’t—”

He teases again, tongue moving against her. Deeper. Slower. He groaned against her, invisible fingers massaging bruises into her thighs. “You’re mine in every way—and I want all of it on the page.” His movements stilled, her breathing hitching as she looked down at the space between her thighs, feeling a sense of betrayal. “You stop, I stop.”

His touch stilled, leaving her aching for more. The air around her seemed to tighten, like the world was holding its breath. For one split second, she thought about stopping—she thought about pulling away. But his words rang in her ears, demanding. And her fingers itched to return to the keys, to feed him, to feed herself.

Every word felt like a prayer, a devotion, a surrender. She didn’t know when the lines between writing and worship blurred, but they did. His presence was in every sentence, and each sentence deepened her submission. Her pleasure clawed higher—an unbearable tension building, both in her body and in the words she poured out onto the screen.

It took everything in her to keep typing, to continue putting words on the page as she inched closer and closer to that unholy release. Every movement, every flick of his tongue pulled another desperate cry from her throat. Each one is more demanding, determined. Desperate.

He moaned against her like her pleasure belonged to him, like he could taste every line she wrote–she tasted like sin, and he was drunk on it. Her fingers faltered on the keyboard, half sentences and fractured words littered the page, but they all made sense–words of absolution just for him.

Her legs trembled violently as her fingers stilled, moving to hold onto the edge of the desk, and him giving her the grace of continuing even as she didn’t. He flattened his tongue against her clit and sucked–her orgasm ripping through her like a tsunami. Like flames had curled up and licked at the inside of her ribs, and her cry echoing through the room.

She lost all control of her body, eyes rolling back and her thighs pressing against something that was not there, and like before–her body broke. Snapped.

The room spun as she collapsed back into the chair, the warmth she felt between her thighs suddenly gone, replaced with the feeling of her release against them. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, a desperate attempt to gain back control of herself. Lips part with the hopes of speaking, to demand to know what he was, and why he kept coming back. But the apartment was suddenly silent, and he was gone.

The document in front of her updated in front of her, words clicking out beneath the last thing that she remembered writing, spelling out. “Keep writing me into you, and I'll come back when called.”

Another appeared, letter by letter.

“Next time I won’t be as generous.”

The sentence made her mouth go dry, thighs clenching as she watched the screen flicker and go black and she stared at the screen in disbelief. Her body shook with need, but something was missing, like a thread she couldn’t pull free. She wanted him. Needed him. The words on the screen felt like a rope pulling her deeper into the darkness she had been trying to escape, and as the cursor blinked back at her, she realized she wasn’t in control anymore. He owned her now.

A single hand moved to slam the laptop shut, standing and looking around her, like he would manifest if she had spoken loud enough.

“That’s not enough, show yourself.” she growled, her voice breaking with something between rage and need. “You hide in the shadows, fuck me in the dark, crawl inside my mind—but you can’t even let me see you? Show me what you really are.”

Her heart hammered in her chest. Her body trembled as she felt the shadows tighten around her, his presence swallowing her whole. “No,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice faltering with need. “Not yet. Show me what you really are.” Her gaze met the empty space where his form was barely beginning to take shape, daring him to manifest completely. She wasn’t completely powerless, not yet—not until he decided. But even as she said it, she felt him pulling at her mind, dragging her deeper into submission.

She waited, breath coming faster, as the shadows thickened around her. No response. The silence was unbearable, and she couldn’t help but feel as though her body was being pulled toward the unknown. Her pulse quickened, and a knot of anticipation tightened in her stomach. 'Show yourself,' she demanded, voice thick with desperation. The room grew colder, the shadows pressing in as her words hung in the air, heavy with need.

The temperature dropped, the lights flickered, and then the shadows moved around her, shadows around her growing heavier, thickening into shapes that danced at the edge of her vision. She could feel it—something in the air pulling, stretching, shifting—until a cold gust brushed her skin, and the dark swirled into a man.

Noah.

Six foot three of muscle, ink bleeding into his skin like a dark promise. A broad chest, tattoos winding up his arms, across his torso—they looked like they were alive, like life had been breathed into them. Hair dark, messy, falling into eyes that burned mocha, molten, glowing like embers. And those lips… soft and inviting, curling with a smirk like he already knew every word that would fall from her mouth.

The sight of him caused her to drop to her knees, she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He was terrifying, dominating–beautiful. Wrong in the way that made her body feel like it was up in flames.

She couldn’t speak, maybe it was her refusing now that he was in front of her. Her hands splayed against her thighs, feeling two fingers tilting her chin upwards, commanding that she looks at him. “Careful, little mortal.” His voice like smoke infused honey, clicking his tongue softly as he shook his head no. “You called me out of the shadows, demanding my presence like you were in control.”

He takes a step back and she can’t help the whimper that follows the movement, eyes never leaving him. She wants to reach for him, wants to beg for forgiveness, but that’s not what he wants. “I gave you pleasure, and you demanded more. You became greedy. That won’t go unpunished.”

The air felt thick with anticipation, her breath shallow as she stared at the space between her thighs, feeling something—someone—pressing against her. Her fingers quivered as she fought to regain control, but the moment she did, the weight of his presence pushed against her again. She opened her mouth, tongue trembling as she waited for him to take her in his own time.

And then he whispered, low and taunting, 'Good girl.'

Her body jolted at the words, trembling uncontrollably now as she closed her eyes. The sound of his voice, satisfaction laced with a smirk, tore through her resolve. She hesitated—just for a breath, just long enough for the weight of her surrender to crush her completely. Her body trembled, eyes fluttering shut as she gave in entirely.

But Noah wasn’t done. “Open that pretty mouth. Let me show you greed.”

She didn’t hesitate as her lips parted obediently. He slid two fingers past them first—testing as he stroked her tongue, watching her gag slightly around him. She watched him wide-eyed, already ruined, giving him full control.

Without warning, Noah leaned down, spitting into her mouth, his gaze burning with possessive pleasure. “Open.”

The taste of him lingered, thick and warm on her tongue, as she swallowed, her body trembling with a mix of lust and something darker. And just as she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he pushed deeper, replacing his fingers with something thicker—his cock.

She was completely at his mercy now. There was no resistance left. Only the savage pull of hunger. He was her every breath, every thought, and she belonged to him.

#omen writes #fic . I'll Take My Time With You #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fanfic #i have descended into the pits of hell #honestly impressed and scared with myself

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strawberriemarswrites · 1 year ago

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ONESHOT - WICKED GAME (Bartolomeo)

Summary: You and Barto have been dating for a while. You want to try something new with him, something a little more kinky. Pairing: Bartolomeo x AFAB!Reader (no pronouns are mentioned, but Reader has a vagina) Rating: Explicit TW & Tags: Consensual Dub-Con, roleplay, dominant Bartolomeo, rough sex, very light bondage, Barto being mean, slightly bratty Reader, oral, fingering, PiV. This is in the canon OP universe, you’re a member of Barto’s crew :3 Word Count: 2,527

“I dunno. Are you sure you wanna do this?” Bartolomeo’s face was rapidly turning darker and darker shades of red as he stared down at the rope in your hands. “I-I don’t wanna hurt ya or nothin’...”

You nodded, taking one of his hands and placing it on top of the bundle. “I trust you. You won’t hurt me.” You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before turning it over so that when you released, he was holding the rope. “We can start slow. The safeword isn't just for me, either — you can use it if you get uncomfortable.”

He looked down at the rope, then to your face. You were blushing as much as he was, avoiding direct eye contact. His fingers curled around the coil of rope, and he brushed his knuckles against your cheek, then into your hair, before gripping and tilting your head back.

Your breath hitched, and you finally met his eyes.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead, giving you one last out. “You’re sure about this?”

You nodded again. “Yes.”

Bartolomeo let go of your hair, bent down, and hoisted you up over his shoulder. You cried out in surprise, trying to find purchase at this new angle, your legs kicking as he held you in place with one arm. “H-hey, put me down!”

“Not a chance.” He didn’t seem fazed by your tiny kicks, only readjusting his grip so his shoulder wasn’t digging into your stomach. “Just sit tight, you’re comin’ along with me~”

Your face lit up and you started to fight in earnest, squirming on his shoulder and punching at his back. He was hardly moved, making a mental note to actually show you how to throw a punch in case you ever actually were in danger of being kidnapped. Not that he’d ever let that happen while you were part of his crew, but still.

He kicked open the door to his quarters, not caring about the handle he’d need to replace, and tossed you down onto the bed. You bounced on the mattress once, and he was on top of you immediately after, pulling your wrists together in one hand and quickly getting to work winding rope around them.

When he pulled the knot, you gasped, feeling your wrists strain as you squeaked out, “Too tight!”

Initially, panicked, Bartolomeo over-corrected, so you showed him the trick that he should be able to slip two fingers between your wrist and the rope. As he stammered an apology, you grabbed a fistfull of his coat, tugging him down for a kiss.

“You’re fine,” you mumbled between your mouths. “Keep going. Please.”

His heart pounded in his ears. He couldn’t believe you were letting him do this to you, or that he was taking to it so easily. Maybe you’d have to do it more often.

“Ya know, I normally don’t take prisoners.” Bartolomeo smiled and pinned your hands above your head, brushing his knuckles across your cheek again. “But after lookin’ at me with those big doe eyes, I just couldn’t resist.”

You stared up at him, putting on a pathetic, pleading look. “What are you going to do with me?”

He smiled wider, sharp teeth on full display. “I’m gonna help myself to the spoils.”

He then took you by the waist and pulled you down to the edge of the bed, undoing your pants and yanking them off before sitting on his knees before you, lifting your legs over his shoulders. With his face this close to your core, he was practically salivating at the sight of your underwear. He pulled aside the cloth covering your sex and inhaled — the scent alone sent so much blood straight to his cock that he was nearly dizzy.

“Fuck,” he breathed, steeling himself, “if you taste as good as you smell, I’m never letting you go.”

You gasped again as he then shoved his tongue against your folds. Your back arched and you tucked your arms to your chest, writhing and whimpering as Bartolomeo licked long, languid strokes from the very base of your entrance to the tip of your clit. You shrieked when he began to nip and suck on the sensitive bud, twisting your hips back and forth in an attempt to pull away. He held fast, continuing his onslaught, until he felt your legs starting to twitch. Only then did he finally relent, licking his lips with a cocky grin.

Fuck, his face covered in your slick was sexy. You whined, hiding your face behind your bound hands, whimpering incoherently. He hooked two fingers around the knot between your wrists and pulled you upright, not allowing you to hide from him as he slammed his mouth against yours. He took advantage of your startled cry, shoving his tongue past your lips and making you taste yourself on him. Moaning softly, you leaned into the kiss, sliding your tongue under his...

Before giving it a sharp nip.

Bartolomeo abruptly pulled away with a mock scowl. He grabbed you by the chin, his hand large enough that his fingers and thumb pressed into your cheeks. You grinned, sticking your tongue out defiantly.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” He switched his hold from your chin to your neck, the sight and feeling of just one hand almost entirely circling your throat making his cock ache. Your breath hitched again, and you reflexively tried to pull your thighs together, feeling your slick dripping down your leg and onto the bed.

He then stood, tipping your head back and undoing his belt with his free hand, finally pulling his cock free. You moaned again, your face flushing deeper as you playfully tried to writhe out of his grip and put on the most pitiful face you could. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again...”

“I know you won’t,” Bartolomeo said, grinning dangerously as he moved his hand from your throat to the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair and gripping tight. “That’s why instead of knockin’ your teeth in, we’ll put that mouth of yours to good use.”

With that, he shoved his cock into your mouth, pushing himself in until he hit the tight threshold of your throat. He could hardly hear your muffled shout over the sound of his own guttural sigh, his eyes rolling back. Your stifled moans and whimpers sent vibrations all along his length, and he held you there for a moment longer, then held your head in place as he slid his cock halfway out before shoving it back in.

You squirmed on the bed as he slowly started fucking your face, your tied hands settling on one of his legs. Though you whined around his dick, you still responded to every push and pull with veiled enthusiasm, your heart pounding in your chest and your cunt dripping at the feeling of him filling your mouth so completely.

Bartolomeo finally pulled back far enough that only the tip remained in your mouth, and he tilted your head back to see it on your tongue. A bead of precum swelled and dripped out, and you shivered as the salty, bitter substance hit your tastebuds.

Between heavy breaths, he smiled, practically crooning, “What’s the matter? Don’t like the taste of me fuckin’ your face?” He pulled away and leaned down, his free hand reaching for your cunt.

Eyes wide, you tried to push back. “No, no don’t touch—”

He pushed one finger deep into you, causing you to choke on the last word. He laughed, pumping his finger in and out a few times before sliding in a second with little resistance. You moaned wantonly, your face bright red as you feigned fighting back, pushing against his hand. His laughter only got louder, letting go of your head and taking hold of your wrists again, holding them up over your head and out of the way.

“Who would have guessed,” he teased, increasing his pace, “that a soft thing like you is really a cock-hungry little slut.”

“M’not,” you whimpered, feebly trying to pull away.

“Really?” he mocked, giving a particularly hard push into your cunt. “You sure about that?”

You cried out and shook your head, still struggling as another flood of slick burst forth. “Fucking bastard—”

Bartolomeo forced you onto your back, pinning your wrists down above you. “Hey now, that’s harsh — I might be a bastard, but I still have feelings, y’know.” He finally slowed his pace, leaning down until his nose almost touched yours and adding, “Keep actin’ like a brat and callin’ me names though. I might just drag you up to the deck like this for the whole crew to see.”

Your eyes widened, cheeks turning a whole new shade of red as you searched his face. Something in the back of your mind told you there was no way he was serious, but then something else piped up that he might actually be into that sort of thing. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His grin was just a touch below sinister as he said, “Call me another name and find out.”

He then added a third finger.

You jerked your hips upward with a scream, “Fuck me!”

Bartolomeo let go of your wrists and pulled his fingers out, grabbing you by the waist and tossing you further up the bed. He kicked off his pants as he straddled you and spread you legs. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He lifted your legs up and reached down for your underwear, before pausing. “Uh... serious question.”

You cocked your head, your breath heavy from the adrenaline coursing through you. “Everything okay?”

He nodded, tracing a finger along the wet patch on your underwear, biting his lip at the shiver he received in response. “How uh... attached are you to these?”

You smiled and shook your head. “Not at all.”

Bartolomeo smiled back, face flushed, before his expression turned sinister once more. “I’ve always wanted to do this—”

The fabric tore effortlessly, the waistband digging into your skin before snapping as he ripped the offending garment free. You gasped, your cunt pushing forth another burst of fluid, aching with need. He tossed the scraps aside, then turned you over onto your stomach, lifting your ass up level to his hips. After a few long strokes of his cock between your folds, he pushed in, both of you groaning with relief.

From there, Bartolomeo was bent over you completely, his enormous frame neatly fitting over top of your body. He kept one hand on your wrists, pinning them out in front of you, while his other arm circled beneath your waist and kept your ass in the air. He leaned down and began leaving bites along your neck and shoulder, his teeth drawing angry red lines in their wake. He growled low in his chest — he wasn’t even sure why; all he knew in that moment was the angle was perfect and so were you and he was determined to pump you so full of jizz that you’d be leaking for days.

On your end, you were in sheer bliss. You couldn’t believe you’d hesitated to ask Bartolomeo to do this. You shifted slightly to help him push in even deeper, feeling him bottom out in your cunt in a way that made you scream. With every thrust that was deeper than the last, every time his teeth threatened to break skin, the incoherent growling under his breath — you were starting to get dizzy from the stimulation. At this rate, you’d probably go mad with ecstacy.

Pressure began to build. Bartolomeo quickened his pace, his teeth drew pinpricks of blood as he finally broke your skin after a hard scratch. You wailed, throwing your head back and nearly head-butting him. Desperate, you managed to wriggle the knot around your wrists free from his grip, slipping your hands downward to meet his. You repositioned them so the backs of your hands were parallel to the bed, left under right, and nestled under his massive palm, fingers peeking out on your left hand to slip between his.

Something about the gesture, how comforting it was in the moment, how it was the only way you could hold onto him from your position, all of it sent Bartolomeo teetering over the edge. The arm around your waist shifted as he frantically tried to reach your clit, and when he did, he barely even brushed his finger over it before you were screaming again. Your head violently jerked backward, your vision filling with stars as your core clenched and euphoria flooded every one of your senses. He buried his face into your shoulder, screaming an elongated “FFFFUCK” against your skin as he came shortly after, your cunt spasming around him.

Soon, his thrusts slowed, hips jerking forward sporadically as he emptied himself deep inside of you. You whined, biting your lip and dreading the moment when he pulled out.

Eventually, his breathing evened out, and he could feel his dick beginning to soften. He kissed along your shoulder and neck, both of you wincing as he finally shifted his hips back and slowly released his hold around your waist. You flopped down on your side, a satisfied smile on your face, just as he noticed the faint lines of blood on your shoulder.

“AH! SHIT! HOLD STILL, UH—” Bartolomeo leapt off the bed, searching around the room for first aid. You struggled to push yourself upright, trying to get a good look at what he was so worried about. All you saw were a few teeth marks and what you could only describe as cat scratches, barely even breaking the skin.

Before long, Bartolomeo stumbled back onto the bed on his knees, reaching for you and retreating a few times, as if he wasn’t sure if he should touch you in your horribly injured state. He started babbling, “I-I shouldn’t have been so rough — I’m sorry — I can’t believe I hurt you—”

You threw your arms up over his head, your tied hands creating a closed loop as you pulled him down for a soft kiss. He tensed, eyes wide, before quickly melting in your hold, pulling you onto his lap and hugging you close. When you broke away, you were giggling, and he was still trying to apologize.

“Did you ever hear me say the safeword?” you asked, cutting into his thoughts and finally shutting him up. When he shook his head, you continued, “That’s because I didn’t. I didn’t need to use it.”

“But... I hurt you...”

You smiled and kissed him again. “And that’s okay. You did it with my permission.” You lifted your arms back over his head, putting your wrists between your chests. “Now untie me so I can show you the next part.”

Bartolomeo’s eyes widened, his face flushing a deep crimson. “W-wait, there’s more? But we’re — I mean, if it’s another round, it’s gonna be a minute— ACK—”

You tweaked his septum ring, making his eyes water. “Untie me so I can show you how to do aftercare. You’re gonna love this even more than the sex.”

#happy belated valentines~#here's that oneshot I promised <3 #bartolomeo x you #bartolomeo x reader #bartolomeo #bartolomeo one piece #bartolomeo the cannibal #oneshot #one piece x reader #reader insert

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themoppets · 8 days ago

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Day 3 - Op's choice

Woah, writing!? That's not something you see every day from me...

Special thank you to my friend who beta read for me. I would tag her, but I have her blocked on here, so she can't find my cringe era.

-–—–--▪︎☆▪︎--–—–‐

I feel as if context is needed, so this is speculative reverse AU—giving Winry the role of Edward. It's sorta a hybrid between 03 and brotherhood, with some chemical X thrown in.

CW: Strangulation, Homunculus!Winry

Word count : 619 words

She should hate him.

Winry knew that. Well, she wasn't exactly Winry, was she? Winry Rockbell died when she eleven. Winry Rockbell died in a creek. Winry Rockbell was dead.

She wasn't Winry, but she wasn’t anyone else, either. She was a monster—a homunculus. A taboo. An Alchemist's mistake, Edward's mistake. She was his fault, all his fault.

So, yeah, she should hate him.

"I'm sorry," Edward cried. He never cried. And yet here he was—grovelling, choking on his own tears, blubbering out apologies. She guessed he changed. Edward wasn't that arrogant pipsqueak that lived up the hill anymore—he was an alchemist, facing the consequence of playing God.

Winry—no, not Winry. She was dead—the thing he made could kill him. He wouldn't—couldn't stop her. I'd be easy, simple.

She watched as her hands wrapped themselves around Edward's throat. His breath hitched sharply, her fingers digging themselves into his windpipe. He didn't try to stop her—he wouldn't be able to. She knew that. She was stronger, he gave her that strength, didn't he?

He deserved this.

She knew that.

So, why did she feel sick?

No, not sick. It was heavier than that, something that nested deeper, curdling in her gut. Guilt. It was guilt. She felt guilty. She felt guilty looking at Edward, looking at how willing—how accepting he was.

She hated it.

No.

She knew hate. It was erratic. A feeling that gnawed at you like a feral dog, frothing at the mouth, ready to bite.

This wasn't hate.

She couldn't hate him. She couldn't.

She watched as her grip loosened, unwrapping her hands from his neck. Edward heaved, grasping the reddened skin on his throat as he wheezed. His confusion was palpable; eyes still glazed with tears, staring at her.

She wished he wouldn't. She could feel him boring into her, searching for an ounce of logic in her actions.

She should've killed him. He knew that.

She couldn't. She couldn't do it.

Winry—She. She tugged off her jacket. Draping it over Edward's shoulders. She could rationalise it. Edward being alive prevented the possibility of a rampage from Dante. That's always preferable, so it made sense. Didn't it?

What was she meant to do now?

The most obvious solution was to hand him off to his brother; far from her. But, by the smashed state of his automail, he wouldn't be getting anywhere by himself. Meaning she would have to carry him.

Or she could drag him. Though Alphonse might be less than pleased to have his brother dragged around. She'd like to not aggravate Alphonse. There's very little keeping them away from each other's throats.

So, carry was her only option. Great.

"C'mere," She huffed, gathering Edward into her arms. He didn't protest, didn't utter a word. Her stomach dropped when she felt his head fall limply against her shoulder—maybe he was tired. Or a sense of familiarity? She did wear Winry's face, didn't she?

She let out a shaky breath. She could do this; she's carried people before... never Edward. If only she could remember how to use her legs.

Right foot forward.

Left foot, next.

Then right again and— "Why won't you kill me?"

She froze.

"I can't," She replied. That's all she could say. No, pretty words or analogies could better state it. She couldn't, plain and simple.

"Why? " Edward asked. He sounded distressed, confused.

He looked up towards her, frustrated. He was frustrated with her. Funny.

"You should've killed me–I did this to you!" He emphasised, his voice shaking, "I don't- you- why? Why, won't you kill me?"

She didn't say anything. She couldn't.

"I'm so sorry," He sobbed.

She knew that.

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sflow-er · 20 days ago

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Writing tag game

Thank you so much for the tag @starvalisedham!

I'm going to follow your example and put a cut here...

How many works do you have on AO3? Nine. -

What’s your total AO3 word count? 356,524... Sounds like a lot, but the number is skewed by one 238k longfic. -

What fandoms do you write for? Only Young Royals since I started again. I'm not going to name the fandoms for which I wrote before my 14-year hiatus, but most of them were anime. -

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Other people's secrets (1,245) Matters of adjustment (198) The real deal (186) Like you better (161) Last chance (138) I write (mostly ace) fic about background characters in a fandom that leans heavily towards the juggernaut ship, so with that in mind, I'm very proud of these numbers! -

Do you respond to comments? I always respond to comments on my WIPs! Those mainly come from a handful of regulars, and the comment section is a lovely little community for discussing each chapter. I also used to respond to every comment on my finished works, but I've had too much on my plate in the last year or so to keep it up. Lately, I have actually been so low on "spoons" that even a couple of comments from readers who had related to the story in meaningful ways have been left hanging... I don't think I'll ever clear the backlog but I will get to those particular comments eventually! ETA: This game gave me the kick I needed to reply to one of them! Yay! -

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? My August character study/background fic Årnäs, February 2016. It depicts him as an isolated and impressionable twelve-year-old who idolises his manipulative and emotionally abusive father and has difficult feelings about/for his absent mother, and it does not end on a cheerful note. -

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? All my finished Walty fics end happily! It was a conscious choice I made when I started writing them as an ace/allo pairing. As to which is the happiest, I guess it's a matter of opinion. Maybe Other people's secrets, as the long time spent with the characters and their struggles adds to the payoff, but you could also argue for the shorter fics which are fluffier throughout. -

Do you get hate on fics? I have received some anon hate here on tumblr for posting the same kinds of takes that I write in my fics, but the response to my actual fics has always been lovely. Some of my regular readers may occasionally question something, but they are always nice about it. We have great discussions! Oh, and I do have one rude public bookmark on OPS. It upset me a bit but I wouldn't necessarily count it as hate. -

Do you write smut? Not at present, no. I did write some before my long hiatus, but back then, I was just emulating what I had read. Somehow, it was easier to take the scenes and the characters' supposed experiences at face value when I had no personal frame of reference. I mean, smut is always exaggerated fantasy, and there are plenty of ace writers who excel at it! But to me personally, as a grey ace who struggled for years with my very bland experience of sexual attraction, anything I write just feels disingenuous and takes me to a really weird head space. I don't want to write a story or scene where I can't buy into the characters' thoughts and emotions at all, and I just can't seem to manage that with smut. Still, a day may come when I feel differently. You never know! -

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Nah, I'm not really creative enough to combine storyverses. -

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of! Although everyone who's got unlocked works on ao3 has probably had their works scraped into the CommonCrawl dataset (and potentially others) used to train AI, and I only started locking mine halfway through 2023 so... -

Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope. -

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not co-written, I don't think that would work for me as even the thought of a beta reader stresses me out. But I did ask my spouse (who has extremely relevant professional experience) to help me get August and Carl Johan right in ÅFeb16! It was a really great experience. -

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I've got two languishing WIPs on ao3 at the moment, but I fully intend to finish both of those. I also have some unpublished ones: a one-shot of August and Rousseau at Årnäs, and a multi-POV Walty + Stedrika + Madisander fic. I still have some hope of finishing the one-shot someday, but the multi-POV one is probably doomed. -

What are your writing strengths? I've been told my dialogue is good and the more straightforward style I use for it contrasts nicely with my frillier style of prose. Also, people have said they like my characterisations and the way I write (romantic and other) relationships. I'm good at research and worldbuilding, and I like to think the overall quality of my writing is okay when I'm not too stressed. -

What are your writing weaknesses? I'm too wordy and write my teenage characters too mature, but those weaknesses pale in comparison to my problems with compulsive editing, perfectionism, and excessive self-criticism. I get stuck in rewriting loops and easily spiral into writer's block. Oh, and I'm terrible at maintaining a healthy life/writing balance. I neglect my wellbeing and burn myself out when I feel creative, and when real life gets stressful, the quality of my writing declines or I can't write at all. -

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I do not mean to criticise anyone who likes to use it, everyone can do whatever they like in their own stories! But as a professional translator, my work is all about conveying a message written in one language in another language, as fluently as possible. I can't just turn that mindset off for writing. If I write a story about Swedish-speaking characters in English, I'm going to approach it the same way I'd approach the translation of a Swedish story into English. The English dialogue is already understood to be in Swedish, so to me personally, it makes no sense to render random bits of it in Swedish. (Of course, a character suddenly speaking a language other than Swedish is a totally different matter, but I assume the question isn't about that.) Not to mention that languages work differently, from word choice and connotations to grammar and from communicative conventions to thought patterns. My focus is on making the dialogue flow in English, and I'm too much of a perfectionist to mix in phrases or sentences that a native Swedish speaker might not even say in that context. (That goes both ways as I also try my best not to use fully English-based word plays etc., but sometimes they slip by me.) Again, that's just my opinion and the logic I apply to my own fics. Everyone who disagrees with me is just as valid! -

First fandom you wrote for? I wrote a fix-it fic for Final Fantasy X in my English notebook back in seventh grade. Never posted it anywhere, but it still counts! -

Favourite fic you’ve written? Other people's secrets. It was the first fic I wrote after all those years of thinking I'd never write again, and considering how massive a project it was, I'm enormously proud of myself for having finished it. It's one of the best stories I've ever written, and one of the most meaningful (to me personally, and I guess also to some of the people I've heard from). That being said, I am also extremely proud of ÅFeb16, which is my most mature writing so far - and of my outlined version of The Windsor! I've only managed to post one chapter of the latter, but if and when I eventually finish it, I think it will be my third favourite. It's an aged-up retrospective and explores some themes I've actually wanted to write since outlining OPS back in 2021.

Phew, that was the last question! Thanks for reading all this way! <3 No-pressure tags: I feel like most of my writing mutuals have been tagged already, but maybe @silvagrey @sunnyelfs @crownedwille would like to join...?

#young royals #young royals fic #yr fic #tag game #fic writing #writing ask #thanks again for the tag! <3

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irregularcollapse · 2 months ago

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For the wip game please can you share more Christmas fic I know it’s not on The game but if you wouldn’t mind that would be so nice but if not that’s okay could you share some meat fic part 2

Hello anon thank you for the interest! It's so nice of you <3

I've shared some snips of the Christmas fic, but I don't remember if I have a tag for it... I need to search my own blog lmao

I wasn't expecting to finish it before Christmas, because I definitely didn't start it in time and am bad at fake deadlines, and now it's February... it's fine, time isn't real.

I don't think I've talked about the ~~**~*concept*~**~~ because I wasn't sure I'd be able to finish it, but things aren't that deep! It's just fanfic, there's no secret! Hahaha okay so:

It's loosely based on the film The Family Man (2000), which in itself is a loose A Christmas Carol-slash-It's a Wonderful Life riff. The premise is that Bucky, a high-powered film exec living a lonely life and holding everyone at bay with a lot of "I'm fine"s, is yeeted into a version of his life where he never broke up with his college boyfriend Gale. It's an excuse for me to write a lot about mental illness guilt and self-victimisation, and the catharsis of accepting love and help from people who care about you and your mental state! I actually have ~15k of it written up so far, but I'm loathe to guesstimate what the final wordcount could be. I have a plot outline but it's also slightly intense for me to work on because it is. Incredibly personal lmao

It is also a lot for @angelfruittree because when I said I wanted to do an AU of this movie (I watched it for the first time last year) she said it was an all-time fave of hers and I just! Really want to do it justice! Bucky working in film (in both lives 👀) was her idea <3

This one is also featuring The Egan Sisters™ who I invented for my time slip fic, but are phlegmativerse canon now 😂😂😂

Jean "Bean" Egan is Bucky's eldest sister, and has very much been put into the position of being expected to be a third parent: eldest daughters are forced to grow up too fast, but youngest siblings aren't trusted to grow up (especially when they're mentally ill). Bucky is given a glimpse of a version of Bean who does trust him, and it throws him through a bit of a loop:

“My little gremlins ready?”

“Uh—No. They’re eating toast. Sorry.”

“Ope, you didn’t have to feed ‘em! There’s that iHop near the station.” There’s nothing in her tone but a bright kind of harried-ness, like how their mom used to be a lot of the time. None of the clipped impatience that Bucky gets from Bean more and more; she’s still smiling. “Hi, how are ya?” She cranes up to kiss his cheek, fleeting and careless, and then she’s already bustling past him in the direction of the kitchen, working at the toggles on her coat.

“Bean.”

“Yup?” She stops her charging, turning back to face him clear-eyed and happy, flicking her hair out of the way as she shucks her coat. Brown Egan curls, just like Maisie’s (just like Bucky’s), wild and escaping from under her pom-pom beanie. Lines round her eyes creased by her smile, not drooping with exhaustion.

“You let your kids stay with me?”

It isn’t quite what he wanted to ask, or what he wanted to try to tell her. It comes out all parched and strained. Bean cocks her head, tutting a little.

Anyway this is more than you asked sorry bye thanks for the interest again 🫣🫣🫣 I think I've rambled too much to waffle about meatfic too hfhfhffff sorry

#ask game #phlegmatic snip #i don't know my own tag for my christmas fic whoops #i'll find it and add it later #mota fic #mota #beautiful house au

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imrowanartist · 1 year ago

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A silly little thing, based on a thought I had that Price looks a lot younger without his boonie XD

Set in the Rosie AU

Tags: Established PriceGaz, humor, fluff

It’s almost noon by the time John picks up Kyle from the base at Credenhill. His partner is later than usual, due to some unforeseen bureaucracy after the training exercises they just finished over several days, but it doesn’t matter. After three days of his absence, John is simply happy to see him again.

Kyle throws his duffel bag in the boot of the car and John smiles at his rearview mirror as Rosie starts wriggling around in her car seat in the back as soon as she realizes that her dad has returned.

John watches as Kyle pulls open the side door first, greeting a laughing Rosie with a kiss on her cheek. After three years, it still manages to ignite a warm feeling in John’s gut whenever he sees Kyle so affectionate with their daughter.

“You’re back!” Rosie proudly states, and Kyle grins at her.

“Hello, Rosie-Bee, did you miss me?”

Rosie spreads her arms as wide as possible and John melts a little on the inside as she proclaims, “Thisss much!”

She’s been getting better with Kyle’s absences. The first time was a struggle for all of them, as both John and Kyle had trouble adjusting to the reversal of their roles after almost three years, and Rosie did not understand why her da was now home all the time and dad suddenly left. The tantrums she threw about missing Kyle were not fun for either of them or her.

They’ve begun to adjust to it, though. And John is starting to understand why Kyle often sounded just as exhausted as he would after a long op. Full-time caring for a toddler is no walk in the park, he has found.

John wouldn’t trade it for the world, though.

Kyle closes the side door again, and slides into the passenger seat next to John, greeting him with a soft brush of his hand to his thigh. They’re still in the base’s parking lot, and public displays of affection have never been their strong suit.

“Was she good?” Kyle asks, and John hums.

“She was,” he says, then turns around to look at their daughter, “weren’t you, Poppet?”

“I was good!” Rosie confirms with a nod, and they both laugh at the way her eyebrows draw together in a serious expression.

The drive home to Gloucester is uneventful. Kyle tells John about the training exercises and how he feels he might be ready to deploy with the 141 again soon. It’s still something that puts John’s stomach in a knot sometimes, but after six months of retirement, he is slowly getting used to the idea of not being in charge of the task force anymore. Soap makes a fine captain, John made damn sure of that before he left. Kyle will be in good hands.

“Can we go to the park?” Rosie suddenly pipes up from the back of the car, once they’re getting close to their apartment. She’s clearly tired of their adult conversation, and John looks at her in his mirror before glancing at Kyle.

They don’t have much more planned for today, and they’ve both talked about trying to spend as much time together as they can, whenever they’re both home.

John knows Rosie has picked up on this too, the clever girl. She knows she’s much more likely to get what she wants when one of her dads has just returned home.

“I need to pick up some packages at the post office,” Kyle says after a beat, “So we might as well?”

“Sure,” John agrees, and can’t help the fond smile as Rosie claps her hands together in excitement.

There’s a playground near their apartment, and the weather is nice enough. Rosie refuses to let go of Kyle’s hand as they walk there, but when she sees some of the familiar neighborhood kids, she raises her eyes to both of them to ask for their permission to go play along.

“Go ahead, Poppet,” John nods, and after some initial hesitance, Rosie skips over to the other kids. Though she’s gotten more comfortable interacting with them, John has noticed she still always makes sure that she can see either him or Kyle.

“You heading across the street?” he asks Kyle,

“Yeah, won’t be long. Soap said he sent some souvenirs from their last op.”

John frowns dubiously at him. “It better not be more bloody socks, we’ve got enough of those already.”

“Well, the way you keep losing Rosie’s-“ Kyle snorts and John grumbles something under his breath before adding, “Not my fault the fucking laundry machine keeps eating them,”

“Yeah, yeah, blame the machine, sir.” Kyle pats his arm, “I’ll be right back.”

John straightens his hat and makes his way to one of the empty benches scattered around the playground. He sinks down on it, nodding politely at some of the other parents around.

Rosie seems to have gotten wrapped up in some imaginary game with rules lost on John, but she’s having fun at least. It does him good to see her interacting with the other kids. He watches her play for a while, content to do so, and almost doesn’t notice it when someone else joins him on the bench.

When he looks up, he sees it’s an older woman, who gives him a kind smile. Pushing down his ingrained distrust of strangers, John opens his mouth to greet her, when he promptly gets interrupted by Rosie scampering her way back over to him.

“I found a rock,” she tells him excitedly, pulling at his hand to open it, “it’s for you!”

John lets her drop the completely ordinary rock in the palm of his hand, then smiles at her. “It’s beautiful, love.”

Rosie giggles at him, very happy with herself, and John caresses her curls for a moment as he thanks her. He tucks the rock in a pocket as she turns around and hops back to the sandbox.

“Your granddaughter is lovely,” the lady next to him speaks up, and John is about to express his gratitude for the compliment when her words register with him.

Of course it’s also the exact moment when Kyle re-appears, dropping some packages on the bench and John swears he has learned to apparate from Ghost. Clearly, he has overheard the old lady too, because as John starts sputtering, Kyle gives his most shit-eating grin before bursting into laughter.

It’s gotta be the fucking hat. Kyle has been telling him for ages that it makes him look older, but he didn’t want to believe it until now.

He drags the boonie off his head, not caring about how his hair looks underneath, and turns to the old lady with what he hopes is a polite expression.

“It’s my daughter, but thank you.” He tells her between clenched teeth.

Rosie has spotted Kyle’s return too, because she happily squeals “Dad!” then scrambles towards him and launches herself into his arms.

The old lady’s eyes flit between John, Kyle, and Rosie in confusion, as she’s now visibly trying to figure out the relationship between them.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dearie,” She laughs, though it’s obviously uncomfortable. Whether it’s because of her error in judgment regarding his age or something else is unclear to John. “You just looked…”

She trails off and John huffs, fiddling with his hat between his hands.

“Well, I wish you all a lovely day,” she says eventually, before getting up and making her tactical retreat toward another bench. John looks at the boonie again, then after a beat carefully folds it and puts it in his pocket.

“Not a word.” he hisses to Kyle, who innocently readjusts Rosie on his hip, still wearing that stupid grin on his face.

“Alright, Grandpa,” he chuckles, and John gives him a flat look that hopefully conveys how much this whole situation displeases him.

“Where’s Grandpa?” Rosie asks, craning her head as she’s confused as to what they’re referring to. John gets up and reaches for her, pleased as she lets herself be transferred from Kyle’s arms to his without complaint.

“Sorry, Poppet,” he tells her, kissing her cheek, “Grandpa isn’t here right now. He’s back in London, with grandma. Your dad is just being silly.” He gives Kyle a look that dares him to argue with it.

“Okay.” Rosie chirps, her attention already having shifted to the packages on the bench. “For me?” She asks.

“Maybe,” Kyle muses, swiping a finger across her cheek, “I’m sure Uncle Soap will have snuck something in for you again.”

“Can’t wait to see what he’s deemed appropriate for her this time,” John grumbles, setting down Rosie again so she can go back to playing. Soap doesn’t have the best track record of getting age-appropriate gifts, something that’s almost become a running joke between them.

Kyle hums thoughtfully. “I think I was wrong. Clearly, it’s not just the hat that makes you old. I think Rosie just drags it out of you too.”

“You better watch yourself, sergeant,” John jokes back, no longer able to keep up his grumpy demeanor, “I might not be your captain anymore, but I can still put you down any time.”

“Yeah?” Kyle asks, stepping closer as he lowers his voice, “Better show me that later then, old man.”

John glances over Kyle’s shoulder, to where Rosie has gone back to happily playing with the other children, then looks back at his partner with a grin of his own pulling on his lips. They may have a kid together, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t missed moments like these.

“Challenge accepted,” he says, then remembers something else very important.

He levels Kyle with his most serious glare, even though he knows it doesn’t work on him anymore. “You better not bloody tell anyone about this.”

“I swear,” Kyle promises, but by the twinkle in his eyes John can tell it’s a filthy lie.

He already knows he’s never going to live this down.

#kyle gaz garrick #captain price #gazprice #pricegaz #call of duty #modern warfare #Rosie garrick price #ro writes

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year ago

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Vanished!Series Part Four: Live Ammo - Mike Duarte x Reader (feat: Joe Velasco)

Tagging: @resonmalvo @littleone65 @thesandbeneathmytoes @mydarkestsecretlol @evee87 @wooshwastaken @hearthockey @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @rosaliedepp @thatesqcrush @storiesofsvu @whateversomethingbruh @burningpeachpuppy @legit9thlunaticwarrior @kiwiithecrazybird @spooky-pomegranate @telepathay @weiwei0210 @spaghettificationandpretzels @plaidbooks @witches-unruly-heart @magic-multicolored-miracle @cycat4077 @deekaag @cixrosie @upsteadlogic @imaginecrushes @anime-weeb-4-life @hey-dw @alwaysachorusgirl @nu1freakshow

When Mike finds you, you’re clad in a white haz-mat suit with a ventilator strapped over your head. He’s never been so fucking relieved because you’re standing in the midst of a fully operational fentanyl lab and every single person involved in the raid knows just how dangerous that is. When he does the walk through the crime scene, he finds himself standing in a side room with a camp bed and a bin that’s filled with energy drinks and fast-food wrappers. The outside of the door has three different locks on it. It’s very clear you’ve been held prisoner here not because your cover has been blown, but because you’re exceptional at what you do. The evidence of that is stacked up in bricks against the south wall, ready to be packed up and distributed.

“The Niners put pressure on Connolly to pay back the money sooner. It put him into a spin, he needed more product and needed it fast.” You tell Mike when you finally get outside into the fresh air. “He’s been working me eighteen hours a day. Locking me in before starting all over again the next day.”

You’re sitting on the kerb sipping from a bottle of water. It’s the first time you’ve been outside in almost two weeks and it’s nice to feel the breeze on your face. You’ve stripped out of the haz-mat suit and are clad in a white vest and black cycling shorts, your hair is pulled back into messy bun. You would literally kill for a shower.

“Can I… Can I use your phone to call Joe? I just need to see Leah.”

Mike kicks himself because that should have been the first thing he thought of. The problem is he has other concerns. You both left something unresolved during your last phone call, something important and right now it’s all Mike can think about. He slips his phone out of his pocket before handing it to you and stepping away to give you a little privacy.

You’re crying when he returns, and it breaks his heart because he fucking hates seeing you upset. He wraps his arms around you, clasping you close, his palms soothing over your back as you bury your face into his shirt. It’s been two months since you saw your baby girl and he can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now.

“Sorry.” You murmur, drawing away and wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “She’s just got so big since I last saw her. Joe’s going to bring her home when we’re finished up here.”

Mike smiles sadly, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek.

“Mi Vida,” He says, his voice breaking just a little. “You know we need to talk about our other little one.”

You’d discovered you were pregnant again three weeks ago. It had started the same way it had with Leah, exhaustion, constant nausea, tender breasts. You were hoping it was the stress of the op but then you’d missed your period. You couldn’t believe it when that test had come back positive.

“My vasectomy failed.” Mike had told you during your last check in with him. “I checked with my doctor; all this time we’ve thought I was firing blanks, but we’ve been playing with live ammo.”

You both know what this means. There’s a very real possibility that Leah might not be Joe’s daughter and if that’s true…

It would be devastating for all of you.

“I’m scared.” You whisper, your hands smoothing upon the space where your new baby resides, the one that you and Mike made together. “All those fumes and chemicals…”

You had tried to be as safe as possible during your time in captivity, but you were cooking eighteen hours a day. You have no idea what you’d been exposed to during that time, how it might affect your unborn child.

“I know.” Mike says quietly, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “I’m scared too.”

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#law and order svu #svu #law and order: special victims unit #law and order special victims unit #mike duarte #joe velasco #maurice compte #mike duarte x reader #mike duarte x you #captain mike duarte #jose velasco

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writing-in-lesbian · 2 years ago

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A Heiress in love. Pt. 6

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff / Female Reader Tags: angst, fluff, Translations: Hainofi = princess // Strik sis [Strisis] = little sister // Ai hod yu in = I love you // Ste yuj = Stay strong // Yu laik ai kru = You are my people // Oso laik wonkru = We are one clan // Ai hod you in seintaim = I love you too // Em pleni = enough // Ai laik Heda = I’m the commander // Jomp em op en you jump ai op // Attack her and you attack me. Chapter synopsis: As the enemies get closer, our new appointed commander embarks on a much personal journey.

A/N: This story keeps sending me into new research topics! I hope I’m doing them justice. Also since there aren’t a lot of trigedeslang transistors, everything in italics and underlined would be trigedeslang. Again, I’m partying ways from some canon events in the 100 in order for this to work. Work is not beta’d so all mistakes are mine.

Chapter 6 - The prince, the princess and death.

Tuesday 03:30 a.m.

That’s what you think the time it’s based on the stars illuminating the sky. You observe Wanda sleeping peacefully close to the table where you left her, having you decided to meditate a little.

Your soul is restless, for some reason, you can’t stop thinking about the impending war and the consequences it might have, you make a mental note to send Henry a message tomorrow night, the device for communications being at your chambers, just to ask him how’s everything on their side.

The night is silent.

It should feel peaceful but it’s thick with anticipations of something you quite don’t understand. A lot has happened in a few days, and the constant changing of things does nothing to calm your mind. You think of your family, especially your mother, How many battles and wars has she seen already in her life? She deserves a quiet life, For years she was just surviving, making amends with death but then your mom quite literally fell from the sky and well, they both deserve a quiet life already. Haven’t they suffered enough?

Your mind travels to the redhead close to you and how you went from wishing to know her to being betrothed. Funny how sometimes the universe chooses to give us what we wanted. You notice her slim figure and, think how much harder all of this is being for her, and, not for the first time, you wish you could do more, be more, for those you love and care about.

Wondering as well about your other guests, they will probably leave tomorrow sometime during the day, hoping Pietro or Natasha could stay a little bit more, for Wanda’s sake. Taking your eyes off Wanda you look at the sky and the moon, shining bright above you, making her best effort to bring solace to your query mind.

Raven told you once that your mind thought 800 thoughts per millisecond, never shutting up and it would be a good thing for Lexa to start training you on how to effectively lessen them. You should have paid more attention to your lessons, maybe if your mother had been the one to show you instead of Octavia, you would have studied more, ‘cause you definitely want that state of mind right now.

In a few hours, your party will leave for Tondc, despite the political air it has, that’s where you’ll go to get your tattoo done, right at Becca’s bunker. You’re still amazed at how a lot of things changed when it comes to the Commander rituals, thanks to your mother and her rules.

Closing your eyes again, you try to concentrate, inhaling and exhaling slowly, one, two, three times, but before you can reach the fourth inhalation you hear Wanda whining. Your instinct and need to protect her takes over you and you go to her side immediately. Later when you are questioned, you will recall seeing the red wisps coming from her hands but claim you didn’t notice until it was too late.

You touch her shoulder trying to wake her up and receive a blast of red magic, that, upon impact does feel a little weird, but is enough to send you flying and crashing against one of the bigger rocks on the wall. You have to thank Raven for teaching you to cover your head when being sent flying and crashing from explosions. That summer you spent with her and she used you as a dummy test (to the displeasure of your mothers), is proving to be effective now.

Still, the hard impact is enough to leave you unconscious. … … … … … … … … …

You awake (or regain consciousness) to the sound of screaming. Trying as quick as you can, you force your body to get up, opening your eyes but the air is strong, making it harder for you to see, so you instantly close them again.

Putting your hand covering your eyes you walk towards what you think is the table, squinting your way out.

“Wanda?” You scream but your voice can’t be heard.

The noises are too loud.

You somehow see the smoke rising from the way the Tower is. Feeling your stomach drop, you turn and try to look for Wanda but all you see is fire where the table used to be, you still make your way back to it.

“Wanda, where are you?” But the clouds are covering the moon and there’s a lot of fog, making it impossible to see beyond a certain range, you’re not sure if it’s from the smoke or the chill air, but is starting to get into your lungs. Covering your mouth you reach the table.

Nothing.

BOOM

The loud explosions close to you are enough to destroy the rock walls and send you to the floor looking for cover. Eyes closed, not making a move, you hide behind the hidden part of the table, covering your mouth, trying not to make a sound with your coughs. Inhaling, and exhaling, you calm your state but are still stiff as a rock, you’re not sure where the explosions are coming from or if someone is near.

“Wanda, where are you?” You try again, thinking as hard as you can this time, remembering how it seemed to work a few hours ago, hoping it gets to her again.

Silence.

Eery silence.

Not even the wind makes a noise.

Opening one eye you can’t see any fire or smoke. In fact, everything seems exactly as it was before the explosions, the moon and the stars shining bright above you.

Carefully, you start getting up from your crouching position, sword at the ready. What the hell is going on? Your (e/c) eyes scan the area, looking for a sign of Wanda, at this point, for someone, anybody to appear.

“Welcome… Strisis” you remember well that voice.

It lulled you to sleep many times, but it’s impossible for you to hear it again right now. Turning carefully, one foot at a time, forcing your body to move, refusing to opening your eyes. Counting one to three in your head, you slowly bring light to your vision.

Truth is, it’s not impossible as it seems.

He’s standing there in all his glory, just like you used to remember him. Clad in all black, his blue eyes contrasting his sandy blonde hair, but his hair is well stylish and not as sweaty as normal, due to all the training he’d done. He’s sporting a small smile, the same one he reserved just for you.

“Aden” a whisper you’re not sure it came from your lips.

Tentatively you take a step, he’s the same height you remember him, except this time, you are taller than him. Although you’re not as tall as your mother, you somehow reached Clarke’s height, still, Aden, as you see him now, is shorter than you.

“I have been waiting for you” yet he doesn’t move nor make any intent to come closer. You look at your surroundings, but nothing seems different than when you entered this place.

“How… what… is it really you?” You refuse to believe what’s in front of you. The reality of having him here could mean just one thing.

“I am” he still doesn’t move.

“I don’t understand… am I?”

“Your betrothed holds a lot of power”

You frown at the mention of Wanda. Where is she anyway?

“No need to worry Sistris, despite unconsciously trying, she cannot enter where we are”

“What?” The fog in your brain is going away slowly. You recall the night, meditating, Wanda whining…

And the red sparks.

“We’re in my mind?”

“Not quite Y/N, we are in something similar to the City of Lights. I’m guessing this was a result of her”

“Wanda?”

“Is that her name? I always wondered. Mother used to call her the Lady with magic hands, not the best phrase is you ask, no wonder mom almost choked on her water”

His laugh is remarkable and something you wished to hear more often when he was alive. Wait, your mothers knew Wanda had magic? Is that why they accepted Stark’s offer? But, if they know she has magic, and certainly all her clan know, why would ask for your union? You don’t hold anything compared to Wanda’s abilities, so what can you bring to the table?

“A lot more of what you think sistris"

Continuing to ignore him, for your own sake, a lot of things haven’t made a lot of sense so trying to search for it, under the circumstances will just bring you a massive headache.

“You said we’re in the City of Lights but is not my mind”

“I said, we are in something similar. This is still part of your mind. Lady Maximoff can’t enter this space, more than anyone, you should know and it’s not because of the chaos”

Despite your best efforts, you feel a headache coming. Is that possible? Feeling a headache while inside your head?

“Sunrise is coming sistris”

“Wait, Aden… don’t go” The fear of losing him again makes you act on instinct, recalling the sensation you felt all those years ago, closing the distance an embracing him.

He smells like pine and wood, combined with some citric notes, a little bit different from what you remember. Back in the day, you always mumbled he smelled like rain, Madi taunted him saying you meant it was wet dirt, but to you, it was something fresh.

“I’m here”

Despite the height difference now, you feel his strong arms circling you and comforting you in a way only older brothers can.

You don’t want to let him go and refuse to close your eyes in case he disappears. What if he’s a fragment of your imagination?

“I’m real”

He takes your face and cradles it with his hands, wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“Let us walk” he grabs your hand while you both walk, using his hand as an anchor to calm your rapidly beating heart.

Upon close inspection, you see now the lake where he used to take you and Madi.

“War is coming sistris, and nothing can prevent it, not even chaos itself”

This information is not a surprise to you. Maybe you knew it all along, feared it but hoped for a peaceful resolution. That feeling of emptiness you had and the restlessness you felt prior was a way of rejecting the truth.

“Mother has taught you well. You’re better than I was. No wonder the spirit of the prior commanders is calling and choosing you”

“Aden” the rest of your sentence dies there, hanging in the air because you well know that, if he would still be alive, the commander would have chosen him and you would have been a simple heiress, waiting for her turn to the throne.

Your only reward was avenging his death when you were of age. To be fair, it was a clean duel, Ontari should have known it was coming.

“I never had the flame but I feel them now. And they are all anxious for what’s to come. You have a powerful ally Y/N and your future wife can be the decisive key to win or lose, it will depend on you”

You let go of his hand and stay rooted in place. Wanda have a part in this?

“We are no wiser nor gods to decide someone's destiny”

“And yet here you are telling me I’m the one who will scale the balance”

“I’m just a messenger”

“You’re one of the judges aren’t you?”

“I’m not sistris. I’m here on your request”

What request? What the hell is happening? One sec you’re trying to meditate and the next you’re in some kind of extremely weird dream, talking to your deceased brother like it was a casual walk at your favorite lake.

And now Wanda has come into the equation.

At her mention or more of your thoughts on her, you see red fog covering some bushes at the other side of the lake.

Aden follows your sight.

“Chaos awaits. It destroys and creates, it can never be tamed or understood but it can be beautiful if loved”

“Why do you keep referring to the chaos?”

“Sistris…” his face is filled with genuine curiosity, frowning his eyebrows exactly like your mother. And not for the first time you’re considering, that in fact, you’re the adopted one of the family.

“What Aden?” Yet you don’t look at him.

“Your betrothed has chaos magic”

He’s expecting a reaction from you but it honestly doesn’t affect you the type of magic Wanda has, why everybody is making a huge deal out of this is beyond your mind. The red fog in the meantime seems to get bigger and bigger.

“Y/N” a whisper comes from the bushes.

Your eyes are still glued to the color red, and for a flicker of a second, a silhouette starts forming only to vanish right after. Curios.

“Sunrise is coming and we cannot be late” That makes you turn to him.

You’re back at the ceremonial place but it seems darker, the stars are far gone and the moon seems to hide behind clouds

“Y/N” the voice seems familiar, you hear it so close to you but yet so far.

Aden walks closer to you when he sees the same red fog getting closer and circling the ceremonial place.

“Curios” Aden’s voice seems now like a whisper.

He places his hand on your shoulders, the act making you face him. His face is serious, a carbon copy of your mother.

“There are things I’m not allowed to tell. The knowledge we possess is not carved on stone and there are things that escape my mind as soon as I want to say them”

“Will I see you again?”

“You will know the answer to that”

Feeling a pull, you notice the red fog is close just to you, it plays around your hand. Aden sees it as well.

“Curios indeed” and you feel his strong arms once again around you and you take the opportunity to absorb his scent, to feel secure in his strength.

“I feel the pain in your heart. Mother loves you, don’t doubt it”

Sometimes we just need encouragement to fuel the fire inside of us. Until this point, you never thought simple words could do that.

“Ste yuj sistris” he says almost in a whisper, kissing your forehead. “Yu laik ai kru, Oso laik wonkru. Trust us, trust the commander in you, and tell your betrothed I said that to her as well”

Opening your eyes you see him still in front of you but the red fog is pulling you towards it. You see Aden moving his lips but can’t hear what he says.

“Aden?”

Trying to walk to him your way is stopped by the fog.

“ADEN” you yell and feel the tears falling from your eyes, just like that night many years ago. “ADEN”

“Curios indeed. Ai hod yu in heinofi” his silhouette seems like it’s vanishing from your line of vision, combined with a tinted red from the fog around your body, feeling warm and not unwelcome at all.

And as soon as the words leave his mouth, you’re completely covered in the red fog… and all goes dark. … … … … … … … … …

You can hear noises but they are too loud for you to comprehend what’s happening. Your mind feels foggy and you feel tired, the pain in your head has become a migraine. You can feel the pressure on one side.

Feeling hands on your shoulders, slowly but surely the noises around you have started to get clear and you can identify voices, Madi, Octavia and Natasha are yelling and you feel pretty sure if you were to open your eyes, you can bet they’re doing some type of training.

“Y/N, please wake up”

“I told you to stay away from her!”

“Don’t you dare touch her if you want to keep your hand”

“Aden… don’t go” it scales as a whisper from your lips.

For a moment, you stop hearing Madi and Octavia and all you can feel are the hands on your shoulders, they feel warm and strong. You want to open your eyes but they feel heavy.

Hearing some rustling around you and the warmth from the hands is replaced by another pair, cold and callused, they feel foreign.

“Y/N… what did you say” Madi’s voice seems close now.

Getting up seems difficult. Groaning, you open your eyes, making your body sit up first. There’s a warm sensation on your forehead so you might as well open your eyes. Bringing your hand to the sour of pain you feel the thick and slick liquid. Blood indeed.

“Y/N you’re okay?” Her voice is worried and you detect a flinch of fear in it.

You look at her and see that Octavia has her sword out and is pointing it toward Wanda, Natasha in front of her, protecting her and you feel jealous. Why in the name of Gaia happen?

Madi is the one next to you, kneeling to see if you’re okay. Taking away her hand from touching your forehead, you seek impulse with your hands on the floor and stand up. Madi assisting you quickly. You look at her and nod, indicating you’re well enough to stand on your own, but she refuses to let you go.

“I’m okay”

Yet your words don’t seem to calm any of the situation in place and when you try to go and comfort her, Madi stops you. Seeing this, Wanda tries to go to you instead but is stopped by Natasha, who sees Octavia take one step towards her.

“Care to explain to me what’s happening? None of you should be here” trying your best calming voice.

“I could ask the same Heinofi” It’s been a while since you heard Octavia this exhaled and furious.

Nothing of this makes sense. With all the pain in your head, you find another solution and think as hard as you can, to instruct Wanda, if she can hear you and is ok, to tilt her head. Suddenly you feel a pair of eyes on you, effectively meeting her eye, Wanda’s frown is in place but she tilts her head, slightly but the move is there.

“Madi?” As stern as you can you utter the words.

She hesitates for a moment, probably because she never heard you using that tone or because you know your mother will arrive soon, if not sooner with all this apparent commotion.

“I was setting with Octavia the last supplies you’ll need to use at TonDC, when we heard a loud noise coming from here. When we arrived you were crashed in the rocks bleeding from your head and Wanda was standing a few meters away, her hands clasped around her magic”

“Y/N I wasn’t” but Wanda’s interrupted by Natasha’s hand on her hand. Now you’re the one feeling like seeing red.

“Octavia got the sword out and that’s when Natasha arrived”

“Glad I came when I did, two against one didn’t seem fair”

Now that makes sense. If you were blasted by Wanda’s magic that could explain why you kept seeing red fog but, didn’t Aden say Wanda couldn’t enter your mind? Then how you could see the red, characteristic of Wanda’s magic? Was she trying to enter your mind to see if you were okay, or she was unconsciously doing it?

“Octavia, please take away your sword from my betrothed”

“Can’t do Henofi”

“Octavia. I’m not asking”

That makes Octavia turn to look at you if barely, her eyes never leaving the pair of your guests. Madi’s hold on your body is doing nothing to keep you calm.

“Y/N I don’t think you understand”

“Octavia, em pleni!” And is the stern in your voice what makes Octavia fully look at you and Madi to loosen her grip on you.

“You vowed to protect and obey me”

“I vowed to protect the commander” Out of the corner of your eye you see Wanda taking a few steps out of Natasha’s reach, her eyes although guarded have a flicker of fear in them.

“Ai laik Heda, you like it or not,” you say between teeth. Masking your pain and foggy mind.

Funny things happen when the most calm and peaceful people raise their voices and utter strength into them. Madi lets you go but Octavia has difficulty relinquishing her guard and stance. You see the anger behind her eyes and finally, she puts her sword back in her scabbard.

“Yu laik ai kru” You speak these words towards Wanda specifically but mean to extend them towards Natasha and her clan as well.

Madi and Octavia look at you.

“Oso laik wonkru” you speak to them.

Hearing you speak trigedeslang is so foreign, since you barely use it, They’re more used to hearing from other people but not you, it makes them realize what the words you spoke convey.

“You are my people. We are one clan” you say for the sake of Wanda and Natasha and to make your stance very clear.

“War is imminent”

“Sistris”

“No Madi, it is. Aden told me”

“Aden?” Madi looks at you.

You can’t even if you tried, explain everything that happened inside your head (or outside) you’re still not sure where that place was or if you’ll go again.

“What happened was an accident. I startled Wanda. We cannot be divided. Ai laik Heda ”

The air feels heavy, and the implications of what you said, especially to Octavia, linger in the air. They never have seen you like this, Madi has a newfound respect for you if her kneeling in front of you indicates it. Octavia scans you, her scowl present but kneels.

“Jomp em op en you jump ai op”

“You are right daughter” You turn to see your mothers enter. Lexa was clad in her red stash and riding attire. Clarke is wearing a green cloak, you didn’t think she will travel with you.

“Octavia, Madi, rise"

“War is imminent. Aden has spoken to us”

What?

“Come Y/N, your ascension ceremony should take place today at noon”

Clarke looks at you and her eyes carry so much weight and sorrow.

“Mom?”

She just opens her hands, the flame is nested between the metal box you dreaded to see. What you don’t take into consideration is that there are two little boxes, meaning Wanda will get chipped too.

“Y/N, a flame-keeper has not been in our clans for so many years. Times are changing and for us, it changes as well in our traditions”

“Interesting use of words, Lexa. Remind me to learn to be as political and coherent as you” Stark's voice comes out of nowhere and suddenly you see a red suit floating. It’s close to the floor but you might have imagined it, you certainly will be confused after the blast.

“Natasha, be a dear and take the second box. You have been appointed to be the flame keeper, isn’t that exciting?”

So that’s a no on Wanda chipped but wait. Natasha?'

“With due respect Heda, I will use my right to duel and challenge Duchness Romanoff for the place of the flame keeper”

You all turn to see Octavia slicing her hand in a way that allows the hand to bleed minimally. Before anyone can say anything Natasha’s raspy voice accepts it.

“Lexa?” You hear your mom speak.

And then all goes silent, the calmness you felt before is there and you don’t have to look to see that Wanda has taken your hand and has interlaced your fingers… nor do you see the red magic coming from her hands and taking you once again into darkness.

-/-/-/-/-/

Tag List: @spongebobtentacles @wandamaximoff727 @cristin-rjd @aawake-atnight @msromanoffswife @juno-verse @wandastan-2 @wannabe-fic-reader @cd-4848

#ao3 author #a heiress in love #cross posted on ao3 #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #ao3 fanfic #wanda maximoff x you #they #the 100 crossover

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