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writingjourney · 5 months ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭

Your betrothal period feels entirely too long. You and Benedict make the most of the wait, especially once you spend your days together at Aubrey Hall. Or: Five times you and Benedict have to restrain yourselves before your wedding and one time you don’t.

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

content: 6.5k words, regency romance, secret meetings, stolen kisses, smut (morning sex, v fingering, p in v), 18+ MDNI

Masterpost – Ao3 Link

───── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ─────

1 Closet

“Ben–”

“Shhhhh.”

His mouth closes around your nipple, breasts spilled over your stay that he tugged at desperately mere seconds ago. You tip your head back, fingers tangled in messy brown curls. His tongue draws a soft moan from your lips, the kind you could not hold back if you tried.

Benedict removes himself with a pop and looks up, innocent eyes over pink, kiss-swollen lips. “They are going to hear us!”

His scandalised tone is what lures the giggle from you.

Benedict, alarmed but no less amused, brings a hand up to seal your treacherous lips. “Shhhh!”

An incredulous smile spreads across his face and you tug at his lapels, intent on kissing it away. His weight has you pressed against the shelf behind you, the hard edge biting into your lower back. You moan into his mouth with the combined vigour of pleasure and pain.

Benedict breaks the kiss with some effort, brow furrowed in distress. “Do you want us to get caught?”

“It is too tight in here I rather think,” you bemoan and urge him to switch places with you. He has the height to his advantage. “Besides, we are already betrothed.”

“Betrothed, yes, but not wed.”

You ignore his complaint as you fix your state of undress, then wrap your arms around his neck to remedy the offending distance. A second of hesitation passes before he leans back in and resumes to bruise your lips. You wonder, sometimes, if the passion you share is of concerning strength.

As air becomes scarce he breaks away to attend to your exposed skin. His lips press to the round of your bosom, your clavicle, then softly venture forth to your sensitive neck. He lingers as long as he can get away with, then pauses by your ear. “How long have we been in here?”

“I should think a few more minutes will go unnoticed…” you whisper.

Benedict hums, the sound deep and warm against the shell of your ear. You rake your fingers through his hair and he bites your earlobe in turn. You are moderately concerned for your jewellery but then his nose tickles the inside of your ear. Another giggle escapes you as the tingle runs through your body and leaves you shivering in its wake.

Once again his hand moves to cover your mouth as his eyebrows rise in alarm. The warning look under his enviably long lashes is a sight you have grown rather fond of. The thrill of these stolen moments makes them all the more memorable, rare as they are.

You smile against his fingers before pressing an apologetic kiss to his palm. “I shall endeavour to be quiet from now on.”

His gaze softens with a twitch of his mouth. “One of these days Anthony will have my head…” he whispers before leaning in to kiss you yet again.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

2 Music

The music is unmistakably yours. The practiced tunes lure him from the sweltering heat of the gardens into the cooler corridors of Aubrey Hall where they arrived just yesterday morning. Anthony insisted on hosting the wedding here, of course, and how could Benedict not rejoice at finding himself under the same room as you at last?

He stops, leans against the frame of the open door to the drawing room and drinks you in. The piano is angled away from the open windows, your back turned to him. Bare skin shimmers in the sunlight, diffused by sheer white curtains that stream dreamily in the mild breeze. He follows the line of your shoulders where they rise and fall as your hands dance across the keys, then up the curve of your spine where your neck is exposed under pinned-up hair. The music seems to carry the ease with which you hold yourself.

He notes that your maid is not with you, a sign that the staff is kept busy with wedding preparations. Or perhaps you sent her away as you are prone to do, craving solitude – and opportunities to meet him. Benedict finds himself chasing these moments in which he gets to have you to himself like they’re his sanctuary, so precious that he has to pile them up with care like gemstones in the shrine of his love for you. One day soon he will be able to display them more openly. For now he has to grasp them as they appear.

You only hear him when his steps have reached so close that not even the rugs can muffle them anymore. A few weeks ago you might have been startled by him appearing out of nowhere but by now it is rather natural that he should find you when you are alone. It seems he has a sense for it.

When you look up he is already urging you to scoot over. The double piano bench is rather narrow but you think he might be closing in more than necessary. You’re acutely aware of the press of his thigh against yours.

“Do not let me disturb you, dearest,” he says in the dulcet tone you know means mischief.

“Is your goal not to disturb me, Mr Bridgerton?”

“My goal,” he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, “is to be closer to the music.”

His breath on your neck does nothing to enhance your ability to focus. The first few notes are not quite rhythmic as a shiver runs through your limbs and down your fingertips. You soon find your footing, however, and the song comes to life in the form of a moderately slow but all the more magical sonata of your own composition. Sheet music is quite expensive and your collection rather limited. To add some variety you recently began to write your own, significantly inspired by Benedict and his artworks.

“Beautiful,” he whispers to himself and you smile as you transition into a faster section of the song that reminds you of fairies frolicking in a meadow, drunk on honeydew and starlight.

However, you soon realise that he did not talk about the music. His hand dances along your back, fingertips drumming over your spine until they come to rest on the swell of your hip on the other side. It is the closest thing to an embrace, his arm a comforting support behind your back. His proximity, if thrilling, does not deter you. Your hands remember exactly what they must do – over a decade of tutoring has left its marks.

Your confidence is short-lived. His hair tickles your ear as he leans in, a soft press of his lips to your shoulder, devoted, sensuous and… lingering. Your fingers slip but for a moment. It is enough to draw the wrong tunes from the instrument, a cacophonous quake that has you wincing in surprise.

“You must stay focused,” Benedict warns, lips still warm on your skin, “or everyone shall hear that you are… rather distracted.”

“How fortunate that I am known for my stable countenance.”

“Hm, yes, that is what they say about you, my darling, “ he whispers. “If only they saw you as I do, falling apart at the mere idea of a kiss.”

You close your eyes and recollect yourself, trying desperately to ignore how he feels against you. Despite his warning he shows no signs of stopping, not even as you resume your play. The next kiss hits the crook of your neck. You feel his nose against your jaw as he inhales your scent, rose oil and soap. For a moment his warm exhale against your throat overshadows the fact that is fingers curl at your hip, a not so innocent squeeze that you feel somewhere between your legs.

You’re aware that both of your families are just outside in the gardens, that the open windows and the steady breeze carry your tunes far out on the premises. Muscle memory serves you and you finish the hardest part of the song without more than one or two off-key notes. Benedict has been silent, lips lingering just below your ear. Just as you move on to the conclusion his mouth gets more insistent, sucking gently at your delicate skin as he gets carried away.

”Benedict,“ you warn. Crooked tunes are one thing, a vivid red kiss mark another.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, pressing tiny kisses along your neck now. “I cannot help it.”

You finish the song with a relieved exhale, wondering if a musical number has ever felt so painfully long before. Benedict has lost his patience, it seems. His free hand comes to rest on your sternum as though he needs to feel the agitated rise and fall of your chest. You only have a moment to relish in the soft feel of his palm on your bosom before he curls his fingers over your jaw and forces your head to turn to him. His kiss is dizzying, starved. He tastes of the strawberries he must have had outside just earlier.

You allow him to kiss you breathless before you remove yourself. He tries to chase after you, as he is wont to do, but a finger on his swollen lips has him halting. His expression rivals that of Newton when he is in want of a treat.

“We must go back outside before they find us,” you say. “It is already suspicious enough that I played off-key the moment you stepped inside.”

“I blame you for being such a flawless musician.”

“I blame you for being such an irresistible distraction. Now come on, my darling, I am suddenly in want of some sweet strawberries.”

He sighs woefully and you cannot help but kiss the pout from his face.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

3 Painting

You see the corgi’s bottom disappear around the corner. The Viscountess runs after him to retrieve the pall mall ball he stole from the lawn, her mallet swinging from her side as the heated game between her, Anthony, Colin and some of your own relatives is interrupted. The laughter of little children accompanies your every step as you and Eloise take a turn about the house, exerting your legs for a stroll after the small luncheon you had earlier.

Perhaps mere intuition. You glance up to one of the windows upstairs just as it gets pushed open. The rolled up white sleeve and bare forearm disappear from view and you have to resort to using your parasol to hide the direction of your gaze as it lingers long after. A purposely given sign or mere coincidence, you are eager to find out.

“Excuse me, Eloise, I would like to… cool down inside for a moment,” you lie. “I am running quite hot in the sun.”

“Ah, yes, cool down,” she murmurs. “I am sure it is not at all because you cannot bear to spend even a minute without my insolent brother.”

She waves you off, her words mere teasing. You have no doubt she is rather glad to return to her books instead of parading around with you.

Thanks to the many diversions offered in the gardens you manage to slip back inside mostly unnoticed. Aubrey Hall, as grand as it is, is still more of a maze to you than a house and you wander around for longer than expected. A waste of your time with Benedict, certainly, but the manor more than makes up for it in beauty and family history at every turn.

When you reach the right corridor, you note that one of the doors stands ajar. With the window open you can feel the soft breeze carrying you towards the room, the mildly chemical smell of paint assuring you that you are correct.

Benedict is busy. He is seated on a wooden stool, wearing nothing but his ruffled white shirt, the collar open wide to reveal most of his chest, suspenders sitting somewhat tight on his shoulders as he moves his brush across the canvas like it’s his sole purpose in life. Your stomach warms at the sight.

Everything he does inspires love, the way he holds the brush, the way his face is scrunched up in concentration, lips slightly parted and tongue wetting the corners of his mouth. When he spots you by the door his expression morphs into the crooked smile that never fails to have your heart aflutter.

“Do not let me disturb you, dearest,” you echo and he cocks his head to the side.

“Is your goal not to disturb me, Mrs Bridgerton?”

“Not my name quite yet,” you correct. “Though I do rather like the sound of it.”

“Hm. So do I.”

He picks up more paint with his brush and you approach the easel, watching him work. The subject is a still life, for lack of better choices you assume. The fruit in the small basket has seen better days, though he omits the putrid details in his painting.

“I should have you sit for me,” he comments, noticing your doubtful gaze. “That way I might not get as much painting done but at least I would have something worthwhile to look at.”

“If we were to be left alone in a room for hours I doubt you would get any painting done.”

He chuckles, depositing some more of the red paint on the cheek of an apple. “Are they all distracted outside, then?”

“Mhm, your brother is busy ruining my family at pall mall,” you say. “He should give them a chance at winning or they might call off the engagement after all.”

“Are they quite ambitious?”

“Not as much as your brother and the Viscountess, I daresay.”

He sets his palette down to give you his undivided attention but before he can stand and seize control you’ve already wrapped your arms around his neck from behind. Without his waistcoat there is hardly a barrier between you now, the thin shirt allowing you to properly feel his shape underneath as you press against his back. Your lips find his cheek, your hands the opening of fabric at his shirt and you can’t help but pull at your gloves, desperate to feel his skin. The moment your warm palms connect with his chest the brush slips from his fingers, clattering to the floor.

“You must stay focus, remember?” you tease.

“What if I don’t want to?” he whispers, suddenly breathless.

“Then you can focus on me instead.”

He does. You crave more room so you slowly run your fingers up his suspenders and let them slip from his shoulders, one by one, until you can open his shirt even wider. You admire his bare torso, the freckles that litter his body like stars in a pale night sky, soft hair and even softer skin.

The kisses you press to his neck and shoulder are nothing short of reverent, the muse admiring the artist. Benedict gives you full access, one hand gently resting on your wrist and the other in his lap. Braver now, you run your thumb over his nipple and the deep moan he releases is nothing if not obscene. You smile to yourself, repeating the movement to which he reacts by letting his head fall back against your shoulder. His hand reaches for his knee in a tight grip.

“You are certain everyone is occupied outside?” he asks, voice strained.

“It seemed so,” you reply. “Though, if you keep making these noises, they will hear you through the open window and knowing your brother he will sense my presence up here.”

“Hm perhaps Anthony will challenge me to a duel if he finds us.”

“Don’t even joke about that. Besides, he would have to challenge me to a duel since I am currently dishonouring you.”

“And whatever would you duel in? Who can vex me more?”

“Do I vex you, dear?”

“You do, s-so much. Ah.”

“And how so?”

“Do you really have to ask, you little temptress? How am I expected to wait another week?”

His patience has run thin. Before you can react he has swivelled around. Two broad hands grab at your hips and he pulls you into his lap with a fluent turn of his upper body. The stool wobbles precariously under your combined weight but somehow, miraculously, Benedict manages to balance it out. His thumb feels wet when he swipes it over your cheekbone, drawing you in for a proper kiss.

Benedict has a tendency of getting carried away when you’re alone. You slow him down with a tug at his unruly hair. His tongue swipes across your lips and you allow him to lick against yours for but a moment. Somewhere in the back of your mind, prudence and common sense battle with the unhinged desire that his touch provokes at all times. You pull away with a regretful sigh.

“Do not think I am handling this any better than you,” you whisper.

His lust-filled expression has you doubting your own sanity. You are close to losing your composure at the way his lips curl in discontent when a childlike squeal outside reminds you that you are in fact not the only two people in the world. Benedict reluctantly eases his grip on you and you manage a safe distance.

“I shall let you get back to your painting,” you say. “I expect someone will be looking for me soon.”

“I will join you outside in a moment.”

You smile and make for the door before your senses leave you yet again. The corridor feels violently empty without his presence but you are not yet around the nearest corner when you are met with the broad frame of another Bridgerton. Anthony spots you with an expression that borders on disapproval but carries the same hint of perpetual fondness he cannot shake ever since marrying his wife.

“Has your… game ended, my lord?” you ask, trying to appear innocent.

“Hm, I see yours has as well. You should… wash your face.” He gestures to your cheek with a raised brow, brisk steps carrying him past you. “And I shall have a word with my dear brother.”

When you bring your fingers to your face you are met with the wet texture of undried oil paint, apple-red. You notice another stain by your hip soon after, fingerprint-shaped no less. Even though you will have to change into a different dress now you can’t bring yourself to regret your impromptu visit, not when Benedict’s taste still lingers on your lips. The shouting from the other room stays out so you assume his brother found mercy on him as well. No duel today after all.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

4 Picnic

The weather is most pleasant as you traverse the vivid green meadows with Benedict by your side, hand placed securely in the crook of his arm. It was decided that two days before the wedding the whole party would embark on a picnic to enjoy the outdoors. The chosen destination is a nearby lake and while the servants set up the location you are all taking an extensive walk across the countryside to see more of the surrounding lands of the Bridgerton’s ancestral home.

The walk is short in distance but with both of your family’s making the trip it is a rather time-consuming endeavour. Your relatives have decided to inspect every single tree and field on the way, complimenting the Viscount and his mother on the beautiful piece of land his family calls their home. The smaller children are meanwhile distracted by pebbles, sticks and the odd insect that crosses their path, particularly intrigued by the colourful butterflies that flutter excitedly over a plethora of blossoming weeds and flowers and refuse to be caught by their eager little hands.

You and Benedict use the time to focus on each other. You have fallen back just enough to speak freely and you count the amount of love-sick smiles you receive every time he lures a giggle from you. He is adorable when he’s with others, more adorable still when he is with you.

By the time you reach the lake you are at twelve smiles. The set-up is too lovely and serene, a shame to be disrupted by two dozen people swarming to it for refreshments. In the shade of high broadleafs and so close to the water the heat is much more bearable.

“Benedict, fetch your betrothed a lemonade, will you?”

You find Violet, as you are now allowed to call her, with her hand reaching for your gloved elbow. Benedict and her exchange looks that speak of their intimate knowledge of the other’s thoughts, his challenging and hers that of a mother who has to remind her son of his manners. You fight off a smile as he excuses himself. He never likes to leave you alone with his family.

“Will you sit with me, dear?” Violet asks. “It is rather difficult to catch either of you alone these days.”

“Forgive me, I know we are toying the line of propriety by spending so much time together already–”

“Oh, nonsense! I am sure neither Anthony nor your family mind. In fact we are rather excited to see you getting along so well.” She leads you to one of the blankets by the side of the picnic arrangements, littered with pillows of sky-blue embroidery that invite you to rest. “You must know that a love match is all I ever wanted for dear Benedict.”

You do your best to find a graceful sitting position on the uneven terrain, keeping your latest encounter with Anthony to yourself. “I daresay it is rare to find a love that is so genuine.”

She smiles at you, a motherly smile that is all the proof you need that you have long since been accepted into the family. “I am inclined to agree, my dear. It is rare indeed.”

For a moment you sit in comfortable silence as the breeze sweeps through the clearing, leafy-green canopy swaying and rustling to the rhythm of the cooling wind. You spot several ducks gliding across the lake, some more sitting in the gras by the shore. It is idyllic. If a life with Benedict means spending more time in this part of the country you know you will spend many a happy summer with him.

When you focus back on the party you notice your betrothed approaching the scene with a somewhat hesitant smile, still adorable in its crookedness. A reassuring look is exchanged and he slowly lowers himself to your level, hands occupied with refreshments.

“I shall take my leave,” Violet says. “I hear Daphne and sweet Augie require my presence.”

You are certain that they are alright on their own but you will not miss an opportunity to be alone with Benedict if she offers it so willingly. Once she is out of sight Benedict hands you the lemonade. The first sip is just what you need after the walk.

“And… since you are so fond of strawberries,” he says, “I secured you the last few before the children get their hands on them.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

He smiles genuinely now and you lean a bit closer. A comfortable silence settles between you, even though the party more than makes up for it in noise. The strawberries are sweet as they only come in June, picked ripe and fat with juice, staining your gloves red at your fingertips. You care not. Not when Benedict secured them for you, not when his eyes are fixed on your mouth with every bite you take as though he envies them every sinking of your teeth.

You offer him one but instead of taking it he leans in and presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, sucking the juice from your lips.

“Ben–” you warn.

“Shhh.”

Another kiss before he pulls away. You glance around nervously but everyone seems too occupied to notice. On the blanket you place your hand next to his and toy with the ring on his pinkie, hooking your finger in his bigger one. Benedict looks at the strawberry still in your hand, then back to your eyes, a honey-sweet smile gracing his lips.

“Perhaps I would like one after all,” he says, “now that I know how delicious they are.”

He is a tease but you lift the fruit anyway, holding it up to his mouth. He takes his time to take a bite, eyes intensely glued to yours. Perhaps you are too far gone to care, perhaps it’s the way he commands all of your attention with a mere look, but the world around you blurs into nothingness. It is unfair, you think, how every freckle and dimple you discover on his face makes him even more beautiful.

As he swallows you finally notice a few pairs of eyes on you. Heated cheeks have you sitting back, covering the worst with a press of the back of your hand. But before you can compromise yourself any further one of the children squeals in terror and the whole party shifts their focus to sweet Augie who has got too close to one of the ducks. The bird has spread its wings to run to safety, quacking in sudden irritation. The other ducks follow swiftly and soon the whole swarm flutters back to the lake in a whirlwind of feathers and chatter.

You use the distraction to grin at Benedict. His eyes are fixated on you as though the turmoil around you is of no significance to him, a soft, affectionate expression no doubt prompted by your flush. You dare to lean in once more, kissing the sweet strawberry juice form his lips. He looks down to your intertwined fingers, removing his in favour of fully grasping your hand.

You cannot bring yourself to care what it looks like to anyone else as you both let yourself fall back into the pillows, watching the fluffy white clouds travelling across the sky.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

5 Night

A sudden bang like thunder has you shooting bolt upright in bed. You are momentarily confused, the room not as familiar as your own quite yet. Bright moonlight, blue sheets, sheer curtains. Aubrey Hall.

It is the night before the wedding.

You can’t remember falling asleep, only the anxiety that kept you up all evening. Another, quieter bang and you realise that it is your door. Not a knock though. It sounds like someone is using their entire body to get it to open.

You think the whole house must have woken up but beside the ruckus at the entrance to your bedroom everything is eerily quiet. You’re entirely too trusting. Perhaps bringing a makeshift weapon would have been helpful but you approach the door in just your nightgown, barefoot, empty hands. Intruders would attempt to be quiet, would they not?

You are met with Benedict tumbling straight into you. His body is heavy with the lack of his own coordination to support it and you struggle to hold him upright. He recovers before you can fall, stemming a hand against the doorframe.

“Whatever are you doing here?” you yell-whisper, sleep still clinging to you in such a way that it seems absurd and almost dreamlike to find him in your room.

Benedict giggles. He does not laugh, he giggles. “I am here to see you, of course.”

His lull is evident and reality clicks into place. “I believe you are quite drunk!”

“I believe I am quite in love,” he corrects. “And is that not the same thing?”

Suddenly you feel very bare in your sheer, lace-trimmed nightgown with your hair undone and face still crusted with sleep. Benedict is hardly noticing your state, half-leaning on your shoulder, half-leaning in the doorframe. He smells of liquor and smoke.

“Where are you coming from?” you ask, trying to steady him with your hands. He is falling against you again, though you suppose he is doing it to be closer now and not for lack of balance.

“Spent the night with my bro‘ers,” he explains. “A ugh… tradition.”

“Getting drunk the night before our wedding? You are going to feel awful tomorrow!”

“I am not that drunk,” he argues, though his pupils appear wide in the relative darkness of the room. “Just enough to… calm the nerves. Now, do I get my goodnight kiss, pretty please?”

“You are too drunk for a kiss,” you argue, even though his exaggerated pout is rather convincing.

“I am not that drunk, love, I swear.”

“Too drunk to know that you should not be here. Have you lost your mind?”

Another pout, this time, unfairly so, combined with that pleading tone you can never resist. “I had to see you. Make sure you’re… still here.”

His words confuse you more than they enlighten you and you know that the noise combined with your talking might wake someone else any moment now. You cannot draw attention to the rather compromising position you find yourself in, no matter how soon the wedding takes place – if only to save face in front of your relatives.

He may not be too drunk to walk but his unsteadiness is concerning you enough to make an impromptu decision. “Let me take you to bed.”

He giggles again, clearly misunderstanding, and rubs his nose against your cheek. You stop, returning the clumsy embrace you find yourself in. He continues to nuzzle, inhaling deeply in a way that tickles your neck in all the sensitive spots and his hands wrap so tightly around you that he squeezes the very air from your lungs. Your heart swells. Being in his arms unties every tense knot in your body. It is the home you never knew you were missing.

“Oh Benedict,” you whisper, “whatever have you done to me?”

“To bed, hm?”

You gently push him off of you. “Yes, but not mine.”

He grunts but his complaints stay silent as you usher him back into the hallway. You can tell he is more coordinated now but when he uses you as his crutch you allow it anyway. To your dismay, you realise that it is going to take you forever to get to his room. His pace is sluggish, multiple times you have to shush him and he refuses to walk without touching you in some shape or form.

By the time you finally arrive at his bedroom, you are not sure if you’re sleepwalking or actually awake, the sudden rush of excitement upon waking up now slowly catching up with you. It is sheer luck that you enter without anyone taking notice. Benedict exhales a loud yawn that rivals the roar of a lion. You use the opportunity to undress him.

Perhaps it is for the greater good that you do not get further than his waistcoat. He rather suddenly drops himself onto his bed and drags you right with him. The impact has you tumbling across his body, landing in the soft sheets and pillows that are as yet untouched. Benedict pulls you close, eyes half-lidded and heavy. His hands roam your body but it is not sexual at all. He follows your curves as though it is the natural thing to do and with only your nightgown covering your skin his hands feel closer, warmer than ever. You raise a hand to brush back his curly hair, tracing the tired lines of his face, connecting each freckle like the stars in a constellation of your own making.

You think he must be falling asleep, lulled by your gentle caress, but then he suddenly furrows his brow. His eyes find yours as though he suddenly remembered something important.

“You won’t say no, will you?” he asks. “Leave me standing by the altar a fool?”

You smooth out the crease on his forehead. “Are you truly afraid that I would?”

“You must admit… this all rather feels like a dream.” His hand stops at the dip of your waist, resting in the natural valley underneath your ribcage. “A part of me is still waiting for the painful morning after when I wake up and realise that none of it was real.”

“It is real, so very real, Benedict.” You smile, reassuring him. “Though I daresay it is natural to be nervous the night before your wedding. Is this why you came to my room?”

He ignores you, fingers denting your flesh in insistence. “Tell me that you will say yes. Promise me.”

“Of course I will. I promise. There is nothing I want more than to marry you.”

He seems satisfied, eyes falling closed again. His lashes tickle his reddened cheeks. They feel hot underneath your thumb as you smooth it over his skin and you hope he won’t feel too exhausted tomorrow. Even now he is so very beautiful, so lovely, so yours.

“Don’t be scared, please,” you whisper, and then, because it feels right, “I love you.”

His eyes blink back open, the words, so explicit, a novum between the two of you. Your reward is the crooked smile you so adore and he presses his forehead to yours. “I love you.”

You decide that he earned his good night kiss now. It is soft, unexcited, but it lingers and he does his best to kiss back. You note a bitter hint to his taste but it does not bother you. When you break away Benedict is practically asleep and by the time you finally control your love-sick smile you can hear his quiet snores.

You slip from his bed on the empty side and bring your hands to your lips, touching them as though you just kissed him for the very first time. The way back to your room feels like a dream in itself. But you know, you are so perfectly sure, that you will wake up to the happiest day of your life.

⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

+1 Wed

Mornings start with a soft press of his lips to your shoulder.

No matter which position you find yourself waking up in, it is always the first thing you feel. The kiss is so soft that it tickles and you can never pretend that you are asleep for much longer. Benedict won’t let you because the first kiss is always followed by another and another and another. So many kisses that you can’t hold back your giggles, not when he reaches the ticklish spot by your ear.

You think it is the very reason he does it.

A heavy freckled arm wraps around your front, dragging you across the mattress until you are met with the solid chest of your husband. He is warm against your back, familiar, welcome.

Benedict hums, a hand closing around your breast and squeezing. His lips return to your neck but they are less soft now. If you do not pay attention you have to walk around with your silk scarf again. Paying attention, however, is hampered by his other hand sneaking down your belly and dipping between your legs.

“Good morning,” he whispers, “my beautiful wife.”

“Good morning,” you echo, still quite hazy with sleep.

The bright light streaming in through the curtained windows tells you it is rather late already. However, your eyes flutter closed the moment his fingers slide between your folds. He rubs you gently, waking up your body with the tingles of carefully built pleasure. You can feel his hips shifting forward as well, his cock growing hard against the small of your back, and suddenly getting up is the last thing on your mind.

By now you are customarily late for breakfast.

For the past few days he has done nothing but explore the previously unknown land that is your body, map out its hills and valleys and find the sweetest spots to linger. No matter how much information you thought you had clandestinely gathered, nothing truly prepared you for what it means to love someone, to lean into your passions so freely. But then perhaps Benedict makes it easy.

You gasp when his finger probes further down, slipping into you effortlessly. He adds a second digit soon after. Even so he remains unhurried, taking his time to gift you the sweetest strokes, the gradual build-up of warmth and desire you now know is the most rewarding. The rhythm of your bodies is slow like a dance to one of your ballads but soon your moans grow louder and you roll your hips into his hand with impatience. Your peak draws near and his other hand knowingly rolls your nipple between his fingers, lips pressed firmly to your neck. The touch is enough to take you to the release you so crave. You keen and shiver in his arms as it tears through you, one hand grasping at his biceps and the other buried in the sheets.

“Ben–” you whisper and he chuckles at your breathless voice.

It is evident that he enjoys showing you how good he can make you feel. That it pleases him to worship you whenever an opportunity arises. Mornings in bed are drawn-out, nights short and sleepless, slow hours during the day filled with spying for empty rooms and available surfaces. You wonder if you could extend your honeymoon indefinitely, to spend your days like this forever.

Benedict gives you a mere moment to breathe before his hand releases your breast and cradles your cheek instead. He gently turns your head, thumb pressed to the tender underside of your jaw, and then his lips descent with an impatient hunger. You bury your hand in his soft hair, one of your favourite things to do, and he groans when you tug at his strands. His body has become familiar to you as well, your own map of him ever-expanding.

Slow as your mornings begin, they quickly turn sensual and needy. His other hand grabs your thigh and opens you for him, spreading you apart. You can feel his cock hard against your wet cunt, an anticipatory whimper leaving your throat. Benedict slowly pushes into you, making sure to avoid any discomfort you might feel before he finds a more satisfying pace. Your limbs are still tangled in the sheets, every movement bringing forth a symphony of rustling of fabric and the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin.

Kisses deepen, lips swell and your bodies move in practiced sync. You feel the warm tingles spreading into every corner of your insides, his softer moans and your higher ones drowning out the world around you until all you know is him. You are still tender and when you come the pleasure feels like liquid fire in your veins. You hiccup as he picks up his pace with you still tight around him, prolonging the sensation. Then he rather suddenly stills, smothering a deep moan with an uncoordinated kiss. You feel his release warm inside of you and smile.

As the world comes back into view, you begin to stroke his hair and lace your fingers with his. He laughs, satisfied, then kisses you again with less insistence. His arm once again wraps around your middle, pulling you close while his lips stay firmly planted on yours. His chest is damp and your own body feels hot as well. You’re grateful for cool sheets and silken pillows.

“I don’t think we should rise today,” you decide, eyeing the window.

“Mhm, I don’t think we should either.”

───── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ─────

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

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genshinluvr · 1 month ago

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Smug-a-Saurian(s)

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: After the failed tour of Natlan, you decided to return to Natlan to complete the tour! However, you end up bringing something back to the abode. Was it intentional? No. Do you plan on letting it happen? Sort of, but you knew better.

Note: This is a spin-off mini-fic of The Nation of War fanfic! I was going to write something longer, but due to my impending night shift for work (tomorrow), I was not able to. My brain has been in shambles the entire week due to work preparations and the passing of Liam Payne (my 11-year-old self is incredibly heartbroken and in tears). Idk how my new work schedule is going to impact my updates, but we'll have to wait and see :< Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (also Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: I wrote this with a lot going on in my head, so this fic is most definitely ass 🥲

Word Count: 3k

It’s a peaceful day at the abode, and everyone is lounging in the estate, keeping to themselves and occasionally chatting with one another. It’s a quarter to eleven in the morning, and yet the others haven’t seen you at all today. Your bedroom is vacant, and your shoes aren’t on the shoe rack close to the front door, so it’s safe to assume that you’re currently out and about somewhere in Teyvat. Do they know where you’re at? Not really, but they assume it’s Natlan since Mualani and Kachina wanted to hang out with you today.

“Who gets up that early to hang out with people?” Itto mumbles, waddling into the living room with a dramatic sigh. “I miss my Onikabuto booboo bear!” He pouts, plopping on the couch beside a mildly miffed Scaramouche.

“If I had to deal with you every day, I would leave to hang out with other people at the ass crack of dawn, too,” Scaramouche grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

Itto and Scaramouche glare at one another while Ayato sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Footsteps echo throughout the estate as Gorou walks down the stairs, rubbing the back of his head. The tension once present in the living room evaporates as the men wait for Gorou to speak.

About ten minutes ago— it’s probably less than that— Gorou volunteered to check your room to see if there’s a way to pinpoint when you left the estate. The men have nothing against you leaving the estate and abode whenever you want, but you leaving the abode at an ungodly time is something you would never do (unless you have something really important to do, like having to show up to the Akademiya to prepare for your research presentation).

Thoma stands up, approaching Gorou anxiously. “So? Did you find anything?”

Gorou sighs, propping his hands on his hips. “Their bed is moderately warm, so that means [Y/N] didn’t leave the estate at the crack of dawn. However…” Gorou trails off, stroking his chin. “That makes me wonder how they were able to leave the abode undetected.”

Again, the men aren’t against you leaving the estate and abode alone. You have as much freedom as any other person on Teyvat. What they’re concerned about is your safety— totally not because they’re clingy and want to be around you 24/7! However, they can’t really speak on Zhongli and Neuvillette’s behalf, considering the two men became quite clingy (well, even clingier than usual) after the unsuccessful tour around the Nation of War.

Paimon sighs, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about them! I’m sure they’re fine somewhere! If you guys are worried, why not communicate your worries with them? Isn’t that how relationships work?” Paimon asks, propping her hands on her hips as she bobs up and down in the air.

Everyone in the room nods, agreeing with Paimon. While they could communicate their worries to you, they don’t want to put any pressure on you after voicing their concerns. Plus, what’s there to worry about? You’re hanging out with your new friends! It’s not like you’re going to be smuggling a wild animal back to the abode or doing some illegal activities while on Teyvat, right?

Meanwhile…

You stand outside the teapot, debating on what you’re going to do with an army of issues before you. You bite your nails and glance at the teapot, then at the Saurian Whelps standing before you, staring at you expectantly. You’re so fucked. You went to Natlan to hang out with Mualani and Kachina to complete the tour of Natlan— of course, Kinich and Ajaw did show up for the first thirty minutes, but they left because Ajaw was being a little shithead that Kinich had to leave earlier than planned.

After hanging out with Kachina and Mualani, you head back to where the teapot is resting. Dakarai is the one to walk you back to the abode because he’s an absolute sweetheart and was eager to spend some extra time with you after not seeing you for who knows how long. However, on your way back to the teapot with Dakarai, you and the Tepetlisaur Whelp failed to notice certain creatures following from a safe distance. When you notice them, it is already too late to try to outrun them because you and Dakarai are surrounded by Saurian Whelps. Dakarai stands before you, curiously inspecting the other Saurians surrounding both of you.

“I don’t think I can bring you guys with me,” you say, tapping your feet on the ground as you try to remain strong in the face of Saurian Whelps.

The Tepetlisaur Whelp tilts its head, gazing at you curiously. You can see a visible question mark appearing above its head. You sigh, rubbing your temples. You’re trying your best to hold in your squeals. The Saurian Whelps are too cute, but at the same time, you cannot bring them into the abode. Saurians are from Natlan, and you don’t know if they can survive in an environment that isn’t Natlan. But how can you not bring them back to the abode with you!? Look at their little faces! They’re literally giving you the puppy dog eyes, almost as if they’re begging you to take them with you!

You turn to look at Dakarai— Aether and Paimon’s Tepetlisaur Whelp companion. “What do I do, Dakarai? I can’t bring them back because I don’t think the abode is a suitable environment for them.”

Dakarai roars in response.

You shake your head. “I don’t know if the abode is suitable for you either, Dakarai. But I guess we won’t know unless we try, right?”

Dakarai roars again in response, flailing his arms around cutely. You hold back a squeal and pat Dakarai’s head instead, hoping that’ll stop you from wanting to bring him into a tight hug. The other Saurians around you and Dakarai roar and whine in response, almost as if they’re demanding you to give them attention.

The Yumkasaur Whelp hops toward you, tilting its head to the side with a questioning gaze. “?”

You shut your eyes and turn around, hoping that will make you become invisible to the eyes of the Saurian Whelps (it doesn’t). Surely, you can enter the abode without the Saurians trying to go with you, right?

The warm sun of Natlan beams down at you, heating the back of your head the longer you have your back facing the Saurian Whelps. If only Mualani, Kachina, and Kinich were here with you, then maybe they could lure the Saurians away. Unfortunately, it’s you against the world and the Saurian Whelps. Of course, Dakarai is with you, but you’re sure that he wants to come along with you to the abode.

“Fuck it!” Without thinking, you touch the teapot with your eyes closed, not wanting to see the outcome of what you just did.

When you’re finally in the abode, you open your eyes to see the beautiful estate where you and your beloveds reside. You nearly sigh in relief, glad that you’re finally home and can finally take a nap after who knows how long you’ve been gone. You stretch as you walk to the front door of the estate, listening to the birds chirping in the distance.

Just as you reach for the doorknob, the door swings open, and you come face-to-face with Diluc, who sighs in relief when you two make eye contact. Without hesitating, Diluc pulls you into his arms and buries his face into your hair.

“Welcome home, angel. We’ve been worried about you,” Diluc whispers into your hair, tightening his arms around you.

You peek at Diluc, wrapping your arms around him. “Sorry for worrying you and everyone else. I was in Natlan completing the tour with Mualani and Kachina!” You say, pulling away from the hug. “Kinich and Ajaw were also there, but they left early because Ajaw was being mean.” You scratch the back of your head.

You and Diluc walk into the estate, where the others are waiting for you. The minute twenty-seven pairs of eyes land on you, everyone stands up and nearly lunges at you. The first person to get to you is, of course, Childe. The man has his arms wrapped around your shoulders, rubbing his cheek up against yours.

“Snookums!!! I haven’t seen you at all today, and this is how you greet me!?” Childe exclaims, pouting at you.

You pat Childe’s head, letting him cling to you. “I didn’t even get to greet you today, Childe. In fact, I barely entered the living room, and you’re already on me.” You reply, poking his cheek.

After coaxing Childe to release you from his iron grip, Childe reluctantly releases you after guiding you to the couch. Zhongli walks over to you, handing you a cup of tea. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Zhongli before taking a sip of the warm drink.

Heizou sits across from you, bouncing his right leg with excitement as he leans forward. “So? How was Natlan? Did you see anything cool or interesting there?” His gorgeous eyes shimmer with curiosity.

You nod, taking another sip of your tea as Neuvillette holds out a plate of macaroons toward you. You take a pink macaroon from the plate and take a bite of the sweet treat. Now that you think about it… you didn’t have breakfast before leaving for Natlan— nor did you eat anything while in Natlan. Then again, you didn’t feel hungry because you were so focused on exploring the new region with your new friends.

You eating one macaroon ended up being the entire plate of macaroons. Neuvillette looks almost horrified as he watches you scarf down the sweet treats within five minutes. Wriothesley chuckles and pats your head, watching you happily sip your tea afterward.

“You’re quite hungry, aren’t you? Don’t tell me your tour guides didn’t take you out to eat,” Wriothesley teases, wiping the crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

You lick your lips and press your lips into a thin line before answering, “They didn’t, but that’s because I was so engrossed in wanting to explore the region that I completely forgot about needing to eat. But! But… I wasn’t feeling hungry at that time.”

Xiao suddenly appears beside you, his eyebrows furrowing. “You didn’t see that Kinich person, did you? I don’t like him,” Xiao states, crossing his arms over his chest before turning his head away from you.

You blink at Xiao, unsure of how to answer him. You technically did see Kinich, but again, it was only for a brief moment because of Ajaw’s lack of behavior.

“Kinich and Ajaw were at the tour, but they left early! It was just me, Mualani, and Kachina! Oh! And Dakarai!” You reply, nodding.

Xiao huffs, still not pleased to hear your response. Ever since the day of the failed tour around Natlan, Xiao has been voicing his distaste for Kinich’s relic companion. More so, the relic’s unnecessary and rude comments are aimed at you. If Ajaw isn’t making fun of you, he’s making fun of the men and their taste in a partner— or the lack of taste. You appreciate the men coming to your defense, but Ajaw’s comment doesn’t hurt you as much as it should. The relic reminds you of a younger sibling who loves roasting their siblings. Or the spoiled youngest child who gets what they want no matter what— that is what Ajaw reminds you of.

“Anyway, I’m finally home now, and we can relax in the living room together!” You say, placing the half-empty teacup on the coffee table.

You lean back on the couch and yawn; the urge to take a nap is slowly taking over. Before Childe can get the chance to have you snuggle up against him, Lyney tugs you in his direction and has you resting your head on his chest. Childe grumbles, shooting a glare in Lyney’s direction, only to receive a shit-eating grin from him.

Tighnari and Gorou’s ears twitch at a strange sound. The two men lock gazes, not saying a word. Everyone in the room is migrating to where you’re sitting while both Tighnari and Gorou remain standing in their spots. Gorou points at the entrance, wordlessly asking if Tighnari heard the same thing as he did. Tighnari nods, confirming Gorou’s suspicion.

You peek from Lyney’s chest, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hand. “Tighnari? Gorou? Are you guys okay?”

Gorou and Tighnari stare at you. Tighnari smiles and nods. “Yes, we’re okay! But do you guys hear that?”

Everyone falls silent, trying to listen for whatever Tighnari and Gorou supposedly heard. Coming from the entrance of the estate, if you listen closely, you can hear faint scratching. It’s almost like something is trying to burrow into the floor of the estate but is unable to. Then, the sound of a familiar roar snaps you out of your sleepy haze. You sit up, looking around frantically at everyone in the room.

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me…” you trail off, getting up from the couch and making your way to the front door.

Dainsleif raises his eyebrows at you. “[Y/N]... do you have something you want to tell us?”

You nervously laugh, “I have no idea what you guys are implying.”

It’s a lie. You actually do know what they’re implying, but you’re really hoping that whatever you assume is trying to burrow under the estate is the complete opposite of what you’re actively trying to avoid.

Before you can reach the door, Al Haitham wraps his arms around your waist while Kaveh walks to the door to see what the commotion is. When the door swings wide open, all you see is a small army of Saurian Whelps at the entrance.

“Dear Archons…” you whisper, covering your mouth.

Kaveh looks at you with wide eyes. “Did you smuggle Saurian Whelps into the abode!?” He demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that why you were out in Natlan for so long?!”

Al Haitham leans over and stares at your face for a moment. You can’t help but feel like a specimen being examined by scientists with the way Al Haitham’s looking at you. Archons, you can just die right now.

Al Haitham sighs, shaking his head. “Given their facial expression, I highly doubt they smuggled Saurians into the abode. However, it seems like [Y/N] was very aware of the Saurian Whelps following them to the abode.”

You hear a small roar coming from the entrance. Your head perks up, and you see Dakarai at the entrance. When making eye contact with you, Dakarai shakes with excitement and waves at you before barreling past Kaveh and toward you.

“Dakarai! It’s good to see you again!” Paimon exclaims happily, waving at the Tepetlisaur Whelp.

After seeing Dakarai enter the estate with ease, the other Saurian Whelps follow not long after. The Saurian Whelps surround you and Al Haitham, roaring and mewing with excitement. You go limp in Al Haitham’s arms, sighing in defeat.

So much for returning to the abode without the Saurians coming along; it’s not like you’re against the Saurians becoming residents of the beautiful abode that you share with the loves of your life. However, the people who do mind are your beloveds, and seeing the looks on their faces is concerning.

The majority of them look baffled, and then there’s Zhongli and Neuvillette. While they’re both masters of masking their emotions (most of the time), you can see slight annoyance on their faces. The once clear sunny skies of the abode have quickly turned to a dark gray sky with thunder crackling in the distance.

Kaeya snorts, shaking his head. “Perhaps [Y/N] wanting to complete this tour around Natlan is another excuse for them to see the Saurian Whelps,” Kaeya teases, pinching your cheeks with a smirk.

Zhongli pinches the bridge of his nose. “We need to have a serious conversation about smuggling creatures into the abode, dearest. While I understand that is not your intention, you still manage to unintentionally bring a wild animal to the estate.”

You open your mouth to protest, but seeing the looks on other people’s faces makes you shut your mouth. The thunder in the distance grows louder and louder with each passing minute. You look at Neuvillette, who casually tucks his hair behind his ears, trying to act nonchalant about the entire situation.

You squeak, “Neuvillette?”

Neuvillette clears his throat. “I agree with Zhongli. We need to have a serious conversation about this situation. While it’s not your intention to bring back fifteen wild Saurian Whelps to the abode, they are here illegally.”

Oh, shit. For once, Neuvillette isn’t calling Zhongli Deus Auri. You’re fucked. You’re going to get scolded by Zhongli and Neuvillette for unintentionally smuggling Saurians into the abode. The Saurian Whelps whimper, huddling close to you while shivering with fear the longer Zhongli and Neuvillette furrow their eyebrows.

You raise an index finger. “Before you guys scold me for something I didn’t do intentionally… can we pretty please keep the Saurian Whelps? Maybe we can get a license? I don’t know how it works in Natlan, but I can do my research, and then maybe, just maybe, we can let them live in the abode?”

The glares you receive from Zhongli and Neuvillette are bone-chilling, sending shivers down your spine. You sigh in defeat, pouting. You slowly turn to the Saurian Whelps, trying not to melt under the puppy dog eyes the Saurian Whelps are giving you. So much for trying to convince your beloveds to let you keep Saurians in the abode.

“If I can’t have Saurian Whelps in the abode, then can we have Ajaw instead?” You joke.

“Absolutely not.”

“Are you crazy?”

You pat the top of Dakarai’s head as he continues to examine his surroundings. If you can’t have an army of Saurian Whelps in the abode, will they make an exception for Dakarai? After all, he is Aether and Paimon’s Saurian companion.

Note: I just fell to my knees. I am finally done writing this fanfic, and it's nearing 3 AM 😭 I officially will not be able to write or post fanfics at my usual time (in the middle of the night) because of my new work schedule 😔 I will make an announcement regarding that in the morning, and it will be pinned. I will make a new navigation post later— it'll hopefully be more organized than my current navigation post. Anyway, To all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

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plutoswritingplanet · 7 months ago

Text

Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader)

a/n: as promised, here's the full chapter. as a person who's only played skyrim and oblivion, writing for fallout is like throwing a hot dog into an empty corridor (i will not elaborate)

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Attempted Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Cooper is a mean old man with a boner. Takes place before the events of the TV series.

Summary: The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew. Cross-Posted on AO3

PT. 2

Copper knows this job will be different, before he even decides to take it up.

Scribbled with flaky charcoal, your face looks at him from the notice board every time he delivers a bounty. For months now, a humble title of "The Healer" hangs without change, between criminals, raiders, and people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Cooper hasn't considered going for you, it was never his first choice. The bounty on your head was moderately low, in comparison to your notice board neighbors. He had other priorities, bigger than a smeared over pretty face, for half his usual reward.

Until one day, as he stomped his way through the dusty floor, his eyes caught onto your wanted poster yet again.

Well, to be frank, his eyes strayed towards your portrait almost every time he crossed the threshold, but he would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Like a constant companion, overlooking all his accomplishments since he decided to stick around the place, your empty gaze followed every transaction, every head delivered onto the table. Some semblance of a routine, he supposed, looking over the board.

There, under the regular information, freshly painted numbers stared back at him. A new bounty, significantly bigger than any reward on the board. The red paint was still dripping down the yellowed paper, the addition must've been made quite recently.

A hefty price. One, that would supply him with enough chems to last for half a year at least. Tempting. Especially now, that he's down to only a couple of vials, his coughing fits becoming longer and closer between. So tempting, in fact, that he tears your wanted poster from the board, finally getting a closer look, a deliberate one.

Booker gives him a raised eyebrow, all the commentary needed, encapsulated in this simple gesture, and Cooper shoots him a nasty look. There aren't many requirements regarding the job, except one, annoying detail.

You have to be alive and in good condition.

Now, alive Cooper could do. Alive is easy. Good condition, however, opened a whole shitbag of problems, which he would be a fool to overlook. Still, the prospect of such money couldn't be ignored. And, he'd be damned to admit it, but he was curious. Who were you? Why haven't you been caught for such a long time? What caused this sudden raise in bounty?

- Did you piss someone off that bad, little lady? - he asks the yellowed paper, and gets no answer, as expected.

***

The bar is filled with patrons, all tripping over themselves to loose as many caps on cheap alcohol and chems from under the table. It's not as rowdy, as one would expect. This settlement must be one of the few more civilized ones, for the Wasteland's standards at least. Farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, they all clam together, smelling of smoke, sweat, and alcohol.

You're here too, hunched over your drink with a sour expression. Your shoulders are slumped, covered by a piece of cloth, that used to be a shawl, but currently looks more like a rag used to wipe down countertops. Despite that, Cooper sees in the way your body is poised, taunt and graceful, that you're neither a naive Vault Dweller, nor a scruffy raider. A skinny scarf is tied around your neck in a fashion, that reminds Cooper of the old westerns he used to star in.

The sudden influx of memories is neither wanted, nor useful, and he clicks his teeth in annoyance at his own betraying mind.

The Healer, he thinks to himself, making his way through the crowds, until he reaches the side of the bar, one seat from you. Not a glance is spared in his direction. The townsfolk must be used to seeing Ghouls run around the place. Still, when he orders a glass of moonshine, out of the corner of his eye, he can see you peaking at him with curiosity. There's a intelligent glint in your eye, and Cooper feels a shiver of curiosity climbing up his back. He scolds himself for being too old imediately after.

By all that's holy, you look tired. And not the kind of tired, that sticks to a person living in the Wastelands, no. It's the exhaustion of a shitty day, dragging your eyelids down to flutter against creeping up sleep. The alcohol can't be helping your state, however, it will most definitely help Cooper. He almost feels sorry for you, but if your dumb enough to leave yourself in the open like that, while being hunted, there's nothing more he can do but take advantage.

Cooper turns his face ever so slightly towards you, looking over your expression for any signs of recognition. He sees none, more than that, there is no emotion at all, not even a blink at his fucked up face. Raising his hand, he touches the rim of his hat in a wordless greeting.

That finally wrenches some resemblance of a reaction out of you, and with a blink, you tip your glass towards him, before downing its contents. Your cheeks are flushed, lips wet with remnants of moonshine and there's a lock of hair falling out of place, and damn it, Cooper suddenly feels so old.

Ordering drinks while in your current state wasn't the most intelligent thing you could've done. The harsh taste of alcohol burned your throat in a way that was less than pleasant, and for a moment you consider turning to some good old chems for help with... Well everything really.

It started with Old Lady Sal.

You've replaced her hip a while back with some scrap metal and a fuckload of reused body parts. Now, every other day she demands you check it out, make sure it's in working order. Which it always is. This isn't your first replaced hip, you know what you're doing.

Then, you had to sit through the insanely uncomfortable marriage offer from Old Lady Sal's grandson, who is not only dumb as a bag of rocks, but also fourteen.

And to top it all off, suddenly everyone needs you to solve their particular pains of the day. There must be an epidemic of aching heads sweeping through the town, because as soon, as you flee from Old Lady Sal's home, you're being hounded by everyone and their mother, looking to you for help. You were in town for two hours, and your herbs reserve went down to one fucking leaf.

The Ghoul keeps looking at you from under his hat, and at this point it's gotten from uncomfortable, to straight up creepy. You were not about to pretend this stranger's interest in your particular person didn't unnerve you. Although, thanks to your mother's efforts, and later your own, the town practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the same could not be said about the rest of the Wasteland.

You had enemies. You had people, who would love to get their hands on you. You were also deeply aware of the bounty placed on your person. Last you checked, it was quite small, but Ghouls don't have it easy out there, and if there's anyone looking like a bounty hunter in this fine establishment, it's the shady guy giving you a shameless once-over.

So, you place a couple of caps on the counter, and gather yourself best you can.

Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was not the best idea, because as soon as you slide off the barstool, your head does a flip. Your balance completely off, you trip over your own feet, already accepting the floor, as your soon-to-be companion.

That's when something strangely warm wraps itself around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter. The Ghoul smells just about as pleasant as one would expect, but moonshine is a powerful sedative, and instinctually, you lean into the warm embrace. Eyelids flutter, as you look up into the sunken eyes of your savior, and you can see his throat move, as he swallows thickly.

- Careful now, sweetheart - the voice is low and reminds you of wind whistling through leaves - Gotta keep you in good condition.

Now, if you were completely sober, or at least less drunk, those words would fire an orchestra of alarm bells in your head. Instead, you smile, teeth on full display, as you reach up, to undo a tattered scarf from around your neck.

- Mmm - you sigh, throwing the piece of cloth across the Ghoul's shoulders - My hero.

Then, you grab onto his arm, still holding a tight grip around your waist, and lift it up by the sleeve of his coat. Despite your drunken disposition, you duck under the limb gracefully, and shoot the Ghoul a nasty, fully aware smirk. Realization flickers across his face, but before he can move to catch you, a series of body-wrecking coughs shakes his entire frame.

You hesitate just for a second. The instinct to help is ingrained into your very being, passed down like a mantle from your angel of a mother. But then, self-preservation kicks in, and as the strager reaches into the pocket of his coat, to find his inhaler, you're already out the door, throwing yourself into a mad dash towards your cabin.

You were drunk, not stupid.

***

The sun has barely had time to rise, when you're rudely awoken by the sound of a fist, pounding desperately on your front door. Hard enough to make the hinges squeak and shake.

It tears you from your already light sleep, and you scramble to your feet, hastily pulling a shirt over your head, as you make your way towards the entrance. Hand on your pistol, you look out through the small space between two planks, which make up your door.

It's not hard to understand what is happening. You remember one of the men standing outside your door from the nearby town. Benny or something like that, you were never good at remembering names. Hanging on his arm was another, barely breathing man, who was currently bleeding out right onto your porch. Pete. This one you recognize as a farmer and a hunter. You've treated multiple bites and scratches on him. So did your mother.

Cursing under your breath, you undid all the makeshift locks with record speed, throwing the door open.

- I'm sorry to bother your so early in the morning Healer - you wince at the title, already making a beeline for the table in your kitchen - Pete and I were just...

Both men follow you closely behind, Pete's boots making a disgusting, sloshing noise.

- Put him here, face up - you command, throwing a couple of papers to the floor.

- ...Coming back from a night hunt, and this fucking Ghoul was asking around town about you...

- Cut his shirt - another command, thrown over your shoulder, as you begin to rummage through a cabinet filled with chemicals and various herbs, barely registering the words.

- ...And when we started asking questions back at him, he just shot Peter, right then and there...

You pluck a couple of twisted, dried herbs into your trusty, stone mortar, spitting into it, to gather some moisture. Throwing a semi-clean rag at the man, your voice cuts through his rambling.

- Put pressure on it.

There is no exit wound, and you almost sigh with annoyance at the prospect of fishing out a bullet. It had to be done, however, putting your sleep depriation and a building headache aside, you scoop out some of the herbal paste with your fingers, before pushing past the man.

- Hold his legs down - you mutter, taking a blink-and-you-miss-it moment to check Pete's temperature.

- ...Thankfully, he didn't kill Pete on the spot, so I brought him here straight away.

Pete flinches on the table, as you apply the paste to the wound. That's about as big of a reaction he's capable of, given the amount of blood he just spilled onto your porch. Another thing to clean up, after you take care of the table. What a way to start a fucking day. You can see his eyes follow your movements, barely conscious, but still alive. Sweat beads and gathers at his brow, and you reach out with a clean rag, to dab it off his skin.

Then, as if coming out of a stupor, your eyebrows scrunch together. The story of this faithful encounter finally registering in your brain.

- A man was asking about me? - you ask, despite already knowing the answer.

- Well, kinda. A Ghoul.

You knew which Ghoul, it was not difficult to piece together.

- And he didn't kill Pete, just injured him - you can feel another headache brewing just behind your eyes, as the sheer stupidity of the man in front of you finally comes to the surface.

They led him to you.

Three, steady knocks to your door, smug and confident, interrupt the conversation, and deep down you can see the future of every person present in this cabin. As if you've developed some magical powers.

Stilling your suddenly trembing hands, you settle the mortar back on the table. Thenyou instruct the man to keep pressure once more. Covering yourself with a robe you got as payment for stitching up a sliced finger, you make your way to the door. Fabric flows around your feet, shuffling like the wings of a moth.

Your eyes flicker to the side, where, placed against a wall, stands a small end table. Under it, you've hidden a rather large kitchen knife, and for a second you debate, whether going for it now would be the best course of action. Call it dumb optimism, but deep down, you pray this is some big misunderstanding, and you'll be allowed to go back to your patient, preferably sooner than later.

There's no need to bother with a gun, no time too. Pete is bleeding out faster than a stuck pig, and you were not one to leave your customers unsatisfied. Or, in this particular line of work, dead.

The door opens with a slam. There's a small indent in the wooden wall, where the door handle has hit the surface. The cabin is slowly entering the state of ruin, although, some places are more taken care of than others. Still, it has a roof, a semi intact entrance and even a window with actual glass in it. Quite the luxury in the Wastelands.

Cooper didn't know what to expect, not really. Seeing you for the first time gave him a mixture of varying feelings, as well as a rather uncomfortable throbbing in the nether regions. Who could blame him, really? Your wanted poster gave you no favors, and although he was able to recognize you almost immediately, he still felt slightly short of breath.

He scolds himself for getting distracted by his thoughts, and as your eyes lock down on him, he lifts the barrel of his gun, touching the rim of his hat. Your eyes shift like little sparkling gems onto the weapon, before your jaw locks.

- Salutations Ma'am - his voice is rough from lack of use, the southern twang even more prominent, than usual. - I believe our introduction was cut short.

Yellowed teeth flash in a mirthless smirk, and then his expression tightens.

Cooper is used to people reacting, let's say, negatively towards him. Fear is the most common, and he can't blame the masses, he really can't. Disgust, as well, happens quite often. But as he looks over your feverish gaze, he can't really see either one of the emotions.

No, what you give him is an annoyed roll of your eyes, and he's surprised to say, it bothers him more than he'd be comfortable admitting. He's a goddamned bounty hunter, a ruthless one at that, and a fucking Ghoul. Fuck you mean, you're annoyed by his presence?

- Look - you're already turning away from him, shooting a look towards your kitchen, where he can see a leg twitch in a spasm on top of your table - I ain't got time for whatever this is - your hands wave around in Cooper's general direction. - You'll have to wait your turn.

- Ah, well, I'm not the patient kind.

A squeak of surprise leaves you, as the Ghoul pushes past your body, entering your house gun first, murder clear in his deep set eyes. His steps take him through your living room, dangerously close to your kitchen. You know exactly, what's going to happen, and your arms shoot out on instinct. His body is unnaturally warm, even through layers of clothing, as you wrap yourself around his waist, tugging him back with all your might.

He looks down on you, more bothered by the sudden contact, than the fact you're trying to stop him. It gives you a small leverage, and you push him back a couple of steps, settling yourself between the entrance to the kitchen, and the bounty hunter, raising your hands and getting ready to fight.

- I don't have time for this kinda bullshit. Git. - Cooper snarls at you, his gun-free hand coming up to grab at your hair.

Before you have time to react, five fingers twist hard into your roots, and you stifle a scream, as the Ghoul pushes you off of him. On instinct, your hands come up to tug against his wrist, nails digging into the leathery skin. He lets you go with a hiss, and you use that second, to throw yourself towards the end-table.

Your fingers find the handle with a practiced ease. Then, your body twists like a radioactive viper, and all Cooper sees is a flash of metal. The blade is rusty and chipped, but it could still do some damage. Especially now, that it's pressed against Cooper's jugular, the dull, cold presence halting all his movements. Your eyebrows raise in small recognition at the thin fabric tied around his neck. The scarf. Your mouth goes dry.

- Everything okay back there? - Benny asks from the kitchen, you can hear his approaching footsteps.

- All's well, kee pressure on the wound - your voice is tight with nerves, but the man obeys.

Cooper watches your face carefully, his gun tucked neatly into the meat of your stomach, ready to fire, should the situation escalate. You can feel it, pressed right into the hollow space under your spleen, a good place to be shot, if you could even say that. You're dealing with a professional, apparently.

- We seem to have a bit of a conundrum on our hands, little lady - Cooper drawls, voice bordering on a whisper, his eyes follow the way your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips.

- I have a patient, he needs help - you explain in an even tone, breathing shallow - After that, I'll deal with you.

Despite being at a loosing position, you refuse to back down, your eyes glued to the Ghoul in front of you. You're bracing yourself for the imminent pain, should he decide shooting you would be easier, but it never comes. Instead, the barrel of the gun presses further into your flesh, before lightly retracting. The cold metal is dragged up, across the expanse of your stomach. You bite the inside of your cheek, and surpress a shiver, when it travels between the swell of your breast, and settles into the dip of your collarbones.

You swallow thickly, Cooper's eyes catching the movements of your trachea like a hungry vulture. The tip of the gun touches the underside of your chin, pushing your head to one side, then the other, as if the bounty hunter is taking inventory in a butcher's shop. Once he's had his fill, he lifts the gun completely, raising his hands as a peace offering.

- Git - you whisper back at him, and a flash of something rushes through his mangled expression.

You take a step back, chest rising in falling rapidly, blade still in front of you, just in case. Then another step, and the bounty hunter dusts off his coat, before sitting down on a stool in your cluttered living room. You don't like the way he looks at you, eyes shining from under his hat, as he occupies your space like it belongs to him. Long legs apread in front of him, and you try very hard not to sneak a peak between them. Finally, you cross the entrance to the kitchen, and the knife is tucked under the leather belt of your pants.

A sigh, a roll of shoulders, and you're off.

Cooper watches with curiosity, as you immediately start to work on the poor bastard stuck on your table. Your back is taunt, hands bloodied but steady, as you lean down to take the metal bullet out of the wound. The herbal paste you've provided earlier has dried up, and is currently working wonders for the bleeding, while you reach inside with not-so-sterile pliers.

- Hold him down - he hears you say, as the legs on the table start to twitch again.

Finally, a metallic sound of the bullet hitting a dish is heard, and you stand up, making your way towards the cabinet filled with chems. There is a grace to your movements Cooper wasn't expecting. Reminds him of dancers, ballet ones.

Back in the day, his ex-wife would drag him to all those ballet shows, ones that made him feel stupid and uncultured. He swallows around the memory, willing it to die down, as you shoot him a cautious look over your shoulders.

He wiggles his gun at you lightly, a reminder, that all this is happening because of his good humor. You scoff.

Pete starts screaming as soon, as you begin to dress the wound properly. Chemical smell fills the air, and although Cooper lacks the nose to feel it, his eyes water all the same. You seem to be unbothered, years of doing this exact job must've hardened your senses. Finally, it's done. There's nothing more you can do for the man, and you wipe your hand on your forehead, leaving a large smear of red.

- He'll be fine - you mutter towards the other man in the kitchen - He needs rest, and a loads of it too.

A couple of small bottles and dried herbs land onto a checkered cloth, and you tie it closed, like a small care package.

- Dress his wounds twice a day - you press the package into the other man's hands while he helps his partner off the table - Good luck.

Cooper glares at the men, as they stagger out the front door. They don't seem to pay him any mind. Well, the shot one definitely doesn't, he can barely walk on his own. His friend is too preoccupied with keeping him on his arm, to even acknowledge that this whole situation was orchestrated by Cooper himself. Or perhaps, he's to stupid to connect the dots. It's hard to tell these days.

The door closes with a click, and Cooper stands up from his stool, sauntering over to the kitchen.

You're currently trying to wash blood off of your hands, which are stained crimson almost up to your elbows. It goes about as well as expected, and as you dry your arms with a rag, there's still a pinkish stain to your skin.

The table is a mess, blood and herbs seeping into the wooden planks which make up the surface. Cooper leans against the doorframe, as he watches you splash some chemicals onto the wood. It bubbles up in a disgusting mixture of red, green and yellow. You let it sizzle for a moment, before taking that same bowl of water you've been using to clean up, and dumping it all onto the table. The mixture flows down to the floor, the residing surface looking much cleaner.

- Now, as much as I'd love to sit around and play house with you, honey - Cooper starts, and has to clear his throat, when you look up at him wordlessly, blood on your face and fire in your eyes - I have a bounty to collect.

Sighing, you push your hair back from your forehead, exhaustion, which is synonymous with living in the Wastelands seeping off of you like a tidal wave.

- Do you have a name? - you ask, reaching for a leather bag sitting on one of the chairs.

- I do - he says, and you roll your eyes at the deliberate lack of information his answer has given you.

You mutter something that sounds scarily close to "asshole", and begin to chuck a couple of vials into the bag, then some herbs, then a water canteen. It's like you're ready to move out at any time, and a sneaking suspicion arises in Cooper's mind. This isn't the first time you're in this situation, if your calm demeanor is anything to go by. Suspicious, highly so, and as you turn around to face him, Cooper raises his hand ever so slightly.

Your eyes fall onto the bundle of rope in his grip, eyebrow raising in annoyance.

- You serious?

- As a funeral, sweetheart - he sways the bundle lighty, his other hand pointing the gun at your abdoment - Now, are you going to be good, and come over here? Or should I come over there and make it unpleasant for us both?

- You're already making it unpleasant - you mutter, but cross the kitchen towards him, raising your hands, palms up.

- Wait.

Confusion hits you, when the Ghoul reaches into his pocket, producing a small piece of torn cloth. Your entire body goes still, as he grabs onto your chin, cold metal of his gun digging into your cheek, the barrel settling into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Then, despite your best efforts at freeing yourself from his grip, he brings the cloth to his lips, wetting the fabric with his tongue.

The bloody smear on your forehead is wiped down rather roughly, and you twist in place like an impatient toddler, when Cooper leans his head back, to look at his handywork. You shiver with disgust, at the feeling of his drying saliva on your skin, and as soon, as he lets you go, you begin to rub at your forehead with the sleeve of your robe.

- Good condition - he rasps, and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

He gives you a nasty smirk, settling his gun down for just a moment, and grabbing your wrists together, so he can tie them up. Which is all the time you need to make a decision, and kick out your knee, nailing him right in the crotch. He doubles over, cursing loudly, hands shooting out to grab you, but all he catches is your tattered robe, which you slide out of easily.

Fater than he would've anticipated, you grab at your bag, and bolt to the back of the kitchen, where he watches you jump over the table and all but slide out of the house through an open window. It's like a choreographed dance, the way you move out of his grasp. When he reaches the window himself, there's no sight of you, other than the rustling of tree branches somewhere in the woods behind your cabin.

- Fucking women. - Cooper whistles.

He can't deny the shiver of excitement running down his back, as he secures the hat over his eyes. If that's how you want to play, he would oblidge. It's been far too long since he could actually enjoy a more challenging bounty. Cooper slowly walks out of your cabin, looking over all the little trinkets you've gathered inside. Then, almost lazily, he lifts the robe you've left him to his nose. He feels nothing, of course, but he has quite a vivid imagination. Vivid enough to supply him with a memory of a scent from his past life. Lavender, he'd bet you smell like lavender.

Your tracks are deep and visible across the ground, and so, the hunt begins.

#my writing #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout smut #fallout x reader #fallout tv series #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #i walt on his goggins till we fallout

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clairelutra · 1 year ago

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hey so uhhhhh just a heads up: ao3 may or may not be in deep legal trouble. specifically for mistreatment of volunteers and lax compliance with certain laws, afaict.

i highly recommend you back up any stories you have and any favorite stories/authors you'd miss.

here's how i'm doing it:

download calibre. it's an open source ebook reader. link here.

it has a plugin called fanficfare. download that here.

open calibre and go to the dropdown next to "Settings", and then select "Get plugins to enhance calibre"

Find and install FanFicFare (sort by title and scroll down to F to find it easier)

go to the dropdown menu next to the fanficfare icon in the top bar and select "Get story URLs from Web Page"

when prompted for a URL, you can post any URL that displays a list of stories, e.g. "https://archiveofourown.org/users/[username]/bookmarks?page=7" or "https://archiveofourown.org/series/[number]" or "https://archiveofourown.org/users/[username]/pseuds/[username]/works"

click "Yes", then wait for it to gather the metadata and download the stories (you can give it another URL to grab stories from once it's done with gathering the metadata if you want)

it will give you a little popup in the lower right corner once it's done, telling you how many it was able to download (usually all of them) and how many it didn't.

if it misses one or two, you can click to see the details and find out which one didn't get downloaded, and go back to the page you got it from and download those yourself if you want.

tell it to update your library.

voila! all the stories on that page are now backed up on your computer.

notes: it will skip any fics that are locked to archive users only (the ones with a blue padlock next to the author's name in the listing), and you'll have to go back and grab those yourself. if your whole account is under archive lock, i highly recommend unlocking it for the duration of the time it takes to grab and download them (a few minutes to a few hours, depending on whether you have <20 or multiple hundreds like i do lol) before locking them again.

back up everything you love!! back up everything you moderately like!! back up anything you wouldn't like to lose!! even if the ao3 mess pans out to nothing, it's always good to have a "just in case".

EDIT: check replies and reblog comments for further information on the legal trouble they may or may not be in. if anything happens, it will likely be in the scale of months or years. i still recommend backing everything up, but it might not be as dire as this makes it sound.

#ao3 #pro ao3 #writing #fanfiction #backing up fanfic #calibre #fanficfare #the ao3 mess //

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olderthannetfic · 6 months ago

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hi, as someone who is tragically gen Z and only ever read AO3, can I ask: what was so great about LiveJournal? Like, I know that there were fics posted there (and I've even read about the "purge", so I get why it isn't used anymore) and that it was sort of a forum-type thing. But what I don't understand, wouldn't Tumblr fill in the latter function? How was that site any different? I see a lot of people reminiscing about it and I'm confused

A big factor in LJ's greatness is timing and nostalgia.

It was genuinely great, but it wasn't quite as great as all of the Lo, shall the Golden Age ne'er come again? posts suggest.

LJ arrived at a pivotal time in the development of the internet both in terms of technical stuff and how many people had access. Many fans who are now in their thirties to fifties first discovered fandom through LJ and many were at a time in their lives when they were feeling energetic and up to making lots of new friends—and to figuring out how to make a site work for them.

I got on LJ in 2002 when it required invites. Fandom arrived in droves in 2003, first via coordinated campaigns to get invites to key people and then when LJ opened up free account creation to everyone. Back then, LJ's features sucked. It was impossible to search properly, among other things. At its height (2005-7, let's say), there was a reasonable site search, and fans had developed all sorts of community resources for finding each other.

People often remember this phase but not the early days of suckitude.

This development parallels how Tumblr used to not have that private chat feature and how a lot of fuckyeah[whatever] type tumblrs have helped curate the site and make it much more usable for fans. Fandom draining away from LJ after strikethrough also parallels people draining away from Tumblr after the purge.

There are people who talk about Tumblr the way my cohort talks about LJ...

And to the shock of no one, they are people who came of age on Tumblr, who found fandom via Tumblr, who were on Tumblr during pivotal times in their lives and ones when they had energy to make friends and figure out how a site worked.

Those same Tumblrites are now making all the same geriatric-sounding posts we LJers do about how other sites lack the required features to be good for fandom while missing that 90% of tumblr's "features" at its height (2012-2016, let's say) were actually fan-created and were basically the same as any fandom newsletter or links page or all the versions of this kind of personal curation stretching back to long before the internet existed.

What life phase you hit a site at matters.

With all of that said, no, LJ was not a forum. It was a blogging site with threaded comments.

The key point to understand is that conversation was always happening in a specific person's space. Unlike on a true forum, people were in the comments on a particular post in a journal owned by another fan. (On a forum, there's the first post in a thread, but it's still more of a communal space with less of a hierarchy.)

Overall, the LJ format can have a feeling a bit like you're over at someone's house for tea. There's more of a sense of intimacy and also behaving yourself in front of community members.

Tumblr being obscure and impossible to find anything in does give it some of the same vibe relative to Twitter, but it's still part of modern social media that tries to shove every rando into the face of every other rando.

But it wasn't just vibes: LJ also had robust privacy features where you could lock a post to this or that group of friends. You could moderate your comments section properly. Tumblr has far fewer controls to force people to behave or leave on a technical level.

The biggest thing many people miss about LJ is the threaded comments. At least by late LJ and on Dreamwidth, you can expand and collapse threads, making it far easier to deal with a massive comments section. But more than that, things are properly threaded with multiple levels of hierarchy that are all easily visible in the same place.

On Tumblr, it used to be extremely difficult to find all of the actual commentary on a post. Nowadays, it's far easier, but you still have to scroll chronologically, and multiple versions of a post with a long chain of commentary may be much more divorced from each other than what would happen in a LJ comments section.

But could we use Tumblr pretty much how we used LJ?

We could.

I do.

The key things that people tend to miss about LJ, aside from the younger and more excited version of themselves or the friends they've lost since then, are:

Heavily text-based

It may sound odd on the modern internet, but there are a lot of people whose brains don't like or handle an image-heavy site well. They were everywhere in SF book fandom. They were everywhere on the early internet. Today, they're hanging out on Dreamwidth and still going to their SF cons. They're usually not on Tumblr.

You could follow the discussion

Threaded comments help, but a lot of it is about having some place you can check for updates. It wasn't actually that easy to follow big LJ discussions unless you were subscribed to comments and reading along as things were happening instead of coming along after the entire mass of comments had been left.

The tone of the discussion is intellectual and one's enemies are "idiots", not "problematic"

All this requires is a penchant for longwindedness and an itchy blocking finger to remove anyone slinging ad hominems from the comments section.

On tumblr, it's as simple as conversations happening in the replies on a popular account and that person not tolerating suibaiting and threats.

(And make no mistake, a lot of LJ discussion was in the comments on popular accounts, not spread equally between everyone's.)

It does require that multiple people like that tone and want to engage in that way, but lots of people do want to.

These days, I interact with tumblr by checking my askbox and reading my activity page. The vast, vast majority of my posts are ones where I'm the OP, so if I block someone, they're booted from the discussion entirely.

For me... yeah, Tumblr functions almost exactly like LJ.

Also like LJ, while I'm hosting the conversation, if you hang around, you'll see the same people again and again in the comments. They may or may not also host that kind of conversation in their space, and there's a larger pool of lurkers who have some notion of which people count as regulars. Other people are watching from the shadows, enjoying or deriding the takes of the usual crowd.

People presumably do like reading my lengthy commentary or they wouldn't be here, but my tumblr wouldn't be popular like this without a healthy pool of other people who chime in regularly. It's not just that there are more people: it's that you see the same people over time. There's a bit more sense of place and community than on some parts of the internet.

So, in my opinion, the failure to just recreate LJ fandom on Tumblr was a skill issue.

Threaded comments were great, but LJ culture came from mailing lists, and mailing lists had the same issue as tumblr with the diverging threads.

We solved that back then by clipping out only the parts we wanted to respond to (you'd write "snip" around the quotation to show it was incomplete). We solved the smaller LJ issue by linking to other posts we were referencing and doing discussion link roundups. We solve it on tumblr by, again, linking to what we're talking about and even quoting multiple reblog chains in our own reblog of just one chain.

Tumblr's technical features and even general crap-ness aren't really the problem. 90s and early 00s sites regularly went down for periods of time unthinkable today.

The missing piece is people.

When one is in an active fandom with others who curate or with friends who let one know what's up, a site with imperfect features is easy to figure out and retrofit for fandom's needs. When one already feels out of touch and is between fannish passions—or at least fannish passions anyone else cares about—seeing the potential in a new site is hard.

Threaded comments are different and better.

LJ's built-in way to see everyone's blog in your own style was better. The automatic timestamps and the ease of seeing a paginated archive of an entire blog was better than tumblr's endless scroll and lack of clear date labeling. But some of that can be fixed with xkit or knowing your way around tumblr well.

A lot of it is nostalgia for the lj era and a refusal to take the time to figure out how to use tumblr in an oldschool internet way.

So by all means, people, weigh in about what made LJ great or how the culture felt at the time...

But if I see one more god damn response going "You can't have a conversation on tumblr!" in reply to my tumblr, which contains nothing but conversation, I am coming for you.

#fandom history #fandom meta

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sammis-svsss-brainrot · 6 months ago

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Theoretically if I were to host an event in which the Scum Villain Fandom tried to write PIDW would people be interested?

I discussed this with my good friend @spaced-out-scribbles a while back but here few details that I have in my head, please stop me if someone has already done something like this before

As we all know PIDW, written by Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, was the source material that Shen Yuan transmigrates into

So wouldn't it be funny to have a "canon" source material for people to reference?

Step 1 would be to compile every reference to PIDW in SVSSS to figure out how long Binghe's white lotus arc lasted and how long actual plot occured before it devolved into shitty smut

Step 2 would be to compile a list of fic writers and maybe artists perhaps that would be interested in recreating PIDW based off of the information occuring in Step 1

A discord server is put together with everyone interested in this project

There could maybe be a list of people assigned to each referenced arc that would maybe hold applications the way that a zine would perhaps? With people applying to write specific portions of PIDW if they wanted to write the marriage of a specific wife or a portion of a specific arc

And anyone else that wanted to participate is assigned a random wife number and told to go wild with the longest, shittiest description of how Luo Bingge was a total stallion lead, and married his new wife of the week

All of these fics and/or accompanying art are submitted to a GIANT ao3 collection (bonus points if everyone involved creates a pseud that's named as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky for this project) and with everyone's contributions all put together you get a semblance of what PIDW would have looked like

Bonus points if no one else has any idea what happened in a previous wife plot, so the story is not at all coherent towards the later chapters, because I fully believe Airplane had no idea what the fuck he's written before as he got to the end of PIDW

Someone is assigned to write the final shitty ending that made Shen Yuan so mad he died and transmigrated

If anyone wants to contribute to PIDW after the project, the collection could remain open but moderated to make sure chapter numbers/wife numbers stay consistent and that's about it

Obviously this would be a huge project to wrangle and would need a lot of people involved to actually make it work and take a lot of time, so if this is something people are actually interested in, it would more than likely not be able to come to fruition until the start of 2025 at the absolute earliest with all the prep work it would take to get a project like this accomplished but I thought I'd throw it out there to see if people would be interested, so reblog to spread the word if this is something you'd like to see!

Once again, if someone has already done something like this please let me know, I've only been in this fandom for like a year and a half so I'm aware that a lot of fandom events have occured before my time in the fandom

#svsss #luo binghe #sammi speaks #airplane shooting towards the sky #pidw #proud immortal demon way #poll #tumblr polls #fandom event #fandom #fan event #if this gets enough yes votes ill make a separate blog or hell even a Twitter account and send out a formal interest check/timeline

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arcanarix · 1 month ago

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Make That Double, Ch5 - Yan!SatoSugu x Fem!Reader [AO3]

Word Count: 4.7K

Warnings: lactation kink, mommy kink, exhibitionism, piv sex (protected), non-con (w/ geto, more gojo-centric stuff next chapter)

After the first time, Geto can’t get enough of you.

As someone who prides himself on being a principled man (the definition must have changed over the years…), he does follow through on allowing you a week of recovery before picking back up where he left off. He’s become bolder now. Makes you sit on his lap with his cock buried inside your pussy (protected, of course), as he gazes upon his non-sorcerer followers while they worship the ground he walks on, kissing at his feet, kissing up his ass.

He doesn’t seem to give a damn if he has spectators when they’re non-sorcerers. He can’t care less, even. Almost as if him pleasuring you is yet another way to impose his power over them. They’re all beneath him, and they can all bear witness to how well he can draw pleasure from you.

“Mamma,” he drawls as he secures his slender arms around your waist. “Observe them. Look how they kneel before us. They know you’re special. Exceptional. After all, not just anyone, especially not monkeys like them, get to have me all to themselves like this.

“They don’t get to know how good you feel,” he goes on, his hips bucking as he hits that right spot, and you can’t even hold back the low moan rumbling from deep in your chest. “They’ll be so close to you, but no cigar. Watch them while I fuck you.”

Your pupils dilate as your lower lip quivers.

“Suguru?” you whisper, but his possessive hold on your waist tightens as a snap of his hips fills the air, and you’re gasping again, his cock keeping you full and brushing against that right spot again and again until—

“—Come for me,” he demands in a low, sultry growl. “Let them see.”

Your walls clench around his girthy cock and you come down from the high in ragged breaths.

He pecks your forehead. “Good, Mamma?”

You reluctantly nod, twisting your head around to kiss him. You tell yourself to play into this, to keep pleasing him. “Yes, darling.”

“Then let’s go again,” he whispers, fingers spreading your pussy. “Look how wet you are for me. How wonderful.”

His fingers circle your clit, drawing a gasp out of you.

“Suguru…” He groans when his name slips from your sweet lips, as he buries his head into your shoulder. “The prayers are almost done.”

“Are they?” Suguru’s eyes rest on his devotees, who have remained in a kneeling position since their last prayer. “Dismissed, all of you.”

The devotees waste none of their valuable time emptying the room.

And Geto wastes no time in disrobing you so he can feast his eyes on his pretty trophy.

His lips seize yours as he pins you beneath him, his body melding and clinging to yours like a fitting puzzle as he mouths down your neck. His cock is still rock hard inside of you, and his fists are clenched on either side of your head as he maintains a moderate rhythm. He doesn’t seem too keen on the idea of finishing just yet, but he’s proven before that he can last hours without coming. More focused on seeing what kind of reactions and sounds he can coax out of you with every little thing he does, almost like he’s studying you, figuring you out. Understanding what gets you going. Almost…

Almost as if you matter at all.

He grunts as your walls clench around his stiff cock for a third or fourth time now; you know better than to keep count at this point. He’s thorough, tossing out the used condoms and replacing them each round. He wants to ensure no accidents. He’s not interested in breeding more. It’s unlikely any of that will work out in his favor. It’s for the same reasons he’s settling on a non-sorcerer partner.

It’s funny how easily you can adapt to even the worst of situations. He noses into your neck again, inhaling your perfect, natural scent—he seems so drawn to you, yet you can’t even fathom the reason why.

“Suguru,” you moan unwittingly, and he growls into your ear.

“Yes, Mamma?” he replies, nibbling on the shell of your ear.

“Please,” you beg, mouthing at his jaw to appeal to him. “I don’t think I can…”

“You can, Mamma,” he assures you with a low hum. “You’re most beautiful like this.”

His hips snap as he thrusts a bit harsher into you, and your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging deep into his flesh, but he can feel you tremble beneath him, desperate to flee from his grasp but you know you can’t go anywhere.

“You’re so beautiful,” he goes on, rolling his hips as he thrust into you again. “Knowing your place.”

Another snap of his hips, and you arch your body into him, as he coos encouraging words to you, pleased by such a reaction. You hate yourself, biting back the curses you feel threatening to spew from your loose cannon of a mouth, but you can’t upset him in moments like these, or ever. Not unless you want your situation to get much, much worse than it already is.

“But darling, you’ve already made me feel so good,” you mumble, as your timid eyes meet his steely violet gaze. “We can rest now.”

“No, Mamma,” he sighs as his brows knit into a disapproving scowl. It almost makes you shudder. “You don’t get to decide when we stop. I don’t want to stop.”

“Suguru…” Your fingers drag down his hips, resting at his waist. The protests die on your tongue as he shoots you a warning glare, and your defenses shut down entirely. Your body already feels like jelly. He takes his time with you, making sure you finish. The worst part is how good he can make it feel even if you desperately wish to reject it.

You almost find yourself not entirely hating it. Yes, for a while, you have desired something like this, but obviously consensually and with a partner you fully trust. You won’t ever come to trust Geto, but maybe that doesn’t matter anymore.

A breathy whine escapes your lips as he nips your collarbone, already marked up with bruises and hickeys. He doesn’t hold back. His fingers reach your neck to fiddle with the gold chain he gave you, resting his chin between your breasts as he admires your aroused, debauched state. Even if you don’t admit it to him, he knows how good he makes you feel, and that alone seems to be enough for him.

“Let me get one more out of you, Mamma, and then we can rest,” he vows, kissing between your breasts before his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue lapping around the bud as he picks him a faster, harder rhythm.

You don’t stop the chorus of sounds you make; that seems to make him happy. That’s what matters now.

Things don’t quiet down for you. Whenever the mood strikes for him, you find yourself locking with Geto at any open opportunity. And you mean quite literally any open opportunity. You find you’re already used to it. There’s no reason for you to dwell on the things you can control, and only on the things you can…which is still very limiting.

You can’t allow yourself to drift off too much in thought in the presence of either Tweedledee or Tweedledum, either. You’re constantly on high alert. You have to be. They always want to be all over you, no matter what. You don’t remember having even a moment to breathe when they just want to take, and take, and take.

Geto is away on some business with other members of his ‘family.’ During which, Gojo has stopped by, and Geto entrusts him to remain hidden from the cult members. You’re found in the underground again with his long arm looped over your shoulders as he makes you binge watch some of his favorite movies.

At least he’s not handsy with you this time, you figure, but he does enjoy keeping very close to you. Probably he knows it best not to overstep when Geto isn’t present in the room with the two of you, and there are probably other rules to this arrangement that you aren’t aware of yourself. Not that it matters anymore what you know or don’t know.

“Satoru…” you start in a concerned tone. He peers at you while lifting his sunglasses slightly, his lips parted as he waits for you to continue. “You seem kind of wound up.”

Testing the murky waters, your hand ghosts over his lap where there’s a visible tent growing, and he shudders before grasping that hand to stop it, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I am, a little bit,” he admits, as his eyes flit to the gold chain around your neck before meeting your eyes. “But that’s nothing for you to worry about right now, Princess.”

You do notice him gulping at the idea of playing with you.

“Don’t you want to do something about it?” you insist, “Or does Suguru keep you on a tight leash?”

Gojo absently runs his tongue past his lips as they twitch into a half-hearted smirk.

“Something like that,” he replies, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss along your knuckles. He’s allowed this much, at least. Just nothing too overt while Geto’s gone. “I promised to play fair.”

“And you still are,” you point out to him in a syrupy sweet tone, peering up at him through your lashes. “Right?”

His breath hitches again. You can see it through those brilliant blue eyes of his—he’s warring with himself, teetering over a dangerous edge he knows he shouldn’t jump off. Not unless he wants to invite a certain kind of Hell to himself. He wants to act on his own desires, and you want him to, if not for no other reason than to piss Geto off further because what other way can you get him back right now?

But to your utter shock, he relents, keeping his hands away from less modest places. Your mouth is agape. He actually does have some self-restraint, and you can’t believe you’re saying this, but you’re disappointed as all Hell.

“We can’t, Princess,” he finalizes with a pout. “Not without Suguru here.”

Ah. So there are rules to the arrangement you don’t know about then. You still don’t understand their weird dynamic, but you have to accept that you probably never are going to understand. All you can do is make inferences, at best.

“Even if I wanted to do something, Satoru?” you ask, tone so innocent, that it even surprises you. “You wouldn’t deny me, would you?”

“Don’t,” he warns, his lips pressing into a thin line as he loosens his grip on your hand. “You don’t want to get on his bad side. Believe me.”

You cock your head to the side as your brows furrow in contempt.

“What do you mean?” you reply, “What would he do to you? Doesn’t he love you? I mean…”

Not like you really know anything about either of them.

Gojo sighs, smiling at you, but it doesn’t go to his eyes. Uh oh. There really is trouble in paradise for them. “It’s nothing for you to worry about, remember? Just—we—you have to listen to him, okay?”

You nod, nuzzling into him, which he happily accepts and returns, burying his face into your neck.

“Okay,” you mumble, but then add: “But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

“Baby,” he sighs again, his patience wearing thin with you, and himself. He wants to so bad, and you wish he would, but he won’t, and you can’t stand the fact that it makes you angry. “We can’t.”

That’s your signal not to push the matter further. You have all you need to know. Better not to continue whacking the hornet’s nest, right? You can always find other opportunities for that.

With another sigh, and feeling rather bolder than usual, you slip into his lap, allowing him to cage you into his arms as you rest your head on his chest.

“So sweet for me,” he murmurs with a contented sigh. “I feel all special knowing you like me more.”

You say nothing because it isn’t true, and he tightens his hold on you as on the screen, the main character of the movie is just about to encounter their enemy.

It isn’t true. You hate him as much as you hate Geto.

When Geto returns, Gojo still doesn’t make a move or get too handsy. Geto doesn’t seem very in the mood to engage in anything with him, requesting him to get back to that organization he works for or something before they start suspecting things. You don’t know what that’s about but you don’t realize you’re going to find out more than you care to know about it in just a few moments.

“Satoru didn’t do anything with you while I was gone?” Geto inquires as he guides you back to his bedroom.

“No,” you tell him, “He listened to you.”

Geto sighs through his nose as he gestures you to rest on the bed. You follow his silent order, careful not to push any buttons (not yet, anyway). You have noticed that he’s only vulnerable around you, and you don’t know if that’s flattering or not. It almost likes he expects you to be the answer to all of his inner turmoil, and you’re no trained therapist.

Maybe he just wants someone more emotionally available than him or someone like Gojo who seems stinted in more ways than just socially?

“I haven’t been happy with him lately,” he explains, averting his gaze to a far corner of the room. He seems to hold quite a bit of apprehension over something, and you don’t know what it’s about, but maybe if you can find a way to coax it out of him… “Not because of this, not directly, but because he’s been coming here more than he should be. I’m just worried about how that might look for him. I don’t want him to unnecessarily complicate things for himself.”

He disrobes and sets the clothing aside before joining you, securing an arm around your waist.

“Suguru?” you whisper, daring to inch closer to him and resting a comforting hand on his knee. He returns the gesture, resting his hand over yours. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, little dove,” he answers as he pecks the tip of your nose. “These concern matters that are well out of your scope.”

“Okay,” you reply, fretting. They keep saying that shit, but you don’t know what they mean by that. You’re trying to understand more about this weird world you’ve been thrust into because of them. “Is there…um…is there anything I can do for you, darling?”

You resist flinching at how you address him. God, do you loathe it, do you loathe the way it doesn’t sit right in your soul the way you try to keep sucking up to them both. It’s the only way for you to get anything out of this right now and yet…

An adventurous finger brushes over an erect nipple of yours through your bra, making you shudder from the contact.

“Always,” he responds in an eager growl. Impatient hands fumble to unclasp your bra, flinging it behind his back before latching his mouth onto an erect nipple. The action knocks some air out of you, and you cradle his head, stroking your fingers through his long, thick locks of hair.

His fingers massage your stomach as he leans you back into the bed. All you hear is the gushing of your milk and the glorp, glorp, glorp from his eager, desperate slurping. Soon his fingers dare to trail lower, slipping into your panties to rub your clit.

Each brush of his tongue against your nipple sends an unwanted jolt of pleasure through you. Your breathing is broken; the tension in your muscles even seem to relax even though you know you shouldn’t let your guard down. Not around him. Not around the man who has taken everything.

You find it feels too good. He knows how to make your body feel good and you hate it so much.

If it means he softens up to you a bit more, therefore you might learn more…it might be worth it. Or it might not be worth it. Either way, what else can you do right now? You’re at a complete loss—running into walls. It’s already the dead of winter and you’re still trapped here with no way out. (Not yet, you hope, you still cling onto that hope.) All because of one fucking decision.

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard you draw a bit of blood; he’s sucking your nipple into his mouth with such desperation, such desire, it’s making you feel a strange tingling sensation throughout your entire body. You feel warm everywhere. Something you have never felt before. You can’t tell if it’s a good thing or if it’s a bad thing…and in combination with his fingers drawing lazy patterns around your clit and between your sensitive, gooey folds certainly drenched and overflowing in your fluids…it’s all too much. The air between you feels heady, weighing down with a kind of need you don’t know if you should voice out loud. Because you don’t want it from him.

But what choice do you have right now? You’re absolutely at the palms of his hands.

And he’s literally drinking up every moment of this.

“Suguru…fuck…” your voice pitches higher toward the end of your words and he chuckles, the vibrations around your nipple making you wriggle in his grasp. You find yourself grinding into his fingers for more of that delightful friction, and you can’t believe this, you can’t believe yourself, so desperate for his touch because it’s become familiar to you now and in such a short time frame. How long has it been at this point?

“Mamma,” he growls into your skin. “So good for me. So perfect. Fuck.”

He peppers kisses all over your plump mounds, nipping and biting at any unmarked skin he can find.

“Please, Suguru…” Your legs are on fire. You hate it. You hate it because he’s making you feel helpless, desperate for more. Desperate for…

“Suguru…!” Your orgasm dies as quickly as it washes over you, and you’re still needy.

“Mamma,” he murmurs, tone a bit sultry while twirling the tip of his tongue around your drenched nipple. “Can’t get enough?”

“Fuck me,” you fight back a wince as you say it. “Please…”

His eyes widen in delight. “I knew you’d come around, little dove.”

He doesn’t waste time prepping himself for you. His cock is fully erect, leaking and swelling with need to be inside of you, and after wrapping his size in a condom, he lines his head to your fluttering entrance. You suck in a breath, fingers digging into the silk sheets beneath you.

He finally breaches you, sliding his length inside with ease, cooing at you as you try to will your body to relax. It’s easier to take if you relax. He feels massive, he is massive, and you’re not used to it still.

“That’s it, Mamma. You’re being so good…”

“Suguru…” A hand reaches up to rest on his bare chest, and he grunts in response.

“Good, Mamma,” he purrs, leaning in to kiss you. “Let me make you feel good.”

Each languid roll of his hips sends a wave of that delicious pleasure-pain you could barely replicate on your own. A part of you enjoys the stretch, the slight burn, the way his size brushes against your gummy walls as they desperately clench around him. A part of you, can’t get enough of this either. It’s a horrifying thing to accept, but what does it even matter anymore?

A final plunge and you come, him following shortly thereafter.

He waits for a moment, exhaling softly before he pulls out, disposing of the used condom.

He scoops you into a protective hold.

“Let me take care of you… Mamma.”

Things quiet down again for a little bit. You're seated in the living room on a cushion while Geto is sprawled out on one of the sofas. The girls have been introducing you to a lot of different video game franchies, and their most favorite, you come to learn, is Animal Crossing.

“Come on, Mimiko! This wallpaper will look way better in the living room!” Nanako pouts as they fuss over their shared 3DS.

“But that goes against the whole aesthetic!” Mimiko shoots back, snatching the device out of Nanako’s hands.

“But I like this one!” she whines again, trying to reach for the 3DS but Mimiko keeps it just out of her reach. She pouts again, and Mimiko sticks up her nose as she manipulates the playable character in the game, decorating the space they’ve been arguing about for the last hour or so now.

“Then just save it for another theme we can do once we finish decorating the house!” Mimiko chides, “We kept to the cottage core aesthetic, remember? This one is super grunge and won’t work!”

You smile to yourself at their banter, while you attend to some household work. Geto has seated himself on one of the plush velvet sofas while skimming through a book he’s already read a few times. This is the most normal things can feel in a situation like this.

The twins are on another Animal Crossing: Happy Home Designer high, huffing and puffing at each other because they can’t settle on anything. You’re not one for video games yourself, either, not anymore, so you’re fine and perfectly content with just watching them, occasionally giving your input when they care enough to ask.

Soon you feel the weight of someone sitting next to you on a cushion. He breathes down your neck like a dragon, and you look up to meet stunning violet eyes, shimmering down at you with something akin to affection.

“You seem pleased,” he remarks, trailing a finger up your arm. Yeah, you agree, until he invades your personal bubble. You still maintain a kindred smile.

“I am,” you say, shutting your eyes as he leans in for a quick kiss. “The girls are fun to be around.”

“I’m so glad you think so,” he replies, brushing his finger down your cheek. “I’m glad it looks like you’re finally settling down.”

Not quite, you think. I’m not letting my guard down. I will find a way to fight back.

“Do I make you happy, darling?” you ask, just to butter him up. You don’t give a fuck yourself.

“You make me happiest,” he answers, pecking your lips again.

“Geto,” a voice calls, catching both of you off guard.

Suda enters the room alongside Miguel, who flashes you a glance in recognition. Geto frowns, tossing his head over his shoulder to see what they might want.

“Your presence is requested. There’s been some issues with other members that must be addressed,” Suda explains. Still frowning, Geto rises from his seat with an irritated sigh.

“I’ll be back,” he announces, “Miguel, you keep an eye on them while I’m gone.”

“Fine, fine,” Miguel grunts in response as he retreats to a far corner of the room. Mimiko and Nanako are now fussing over how to decorate another area of their island. Their voices are practically background noise to you while Geto excuses himself to follow Suda.

Once he leaves, you peer curiously at Miguel as he observes you and the girls. You offer a small smile to acknowledge him, but he doesn’t react. Just stands guard, doing what he’s instructed to do with no questions asked or any qualms.

What a mystery of a man. Why does he work for Geto?

Nanako calls your name and your attention averts back to the twins.

“Do you like this color or that color better?” she asks, and giggling, you answer them while you continue to watch them play. Not without still stealing a few curious glances at the silent, strong man just wallowing in the corner. He probably has better things to do than babysit you and the twins, but he does whatever Geto tells him to do because he seems to respect him a great deal. You really wonder why that is.

Frankly because while Geto may be a powerful sorcerer, he’s still a man, and a pathetic one at that if anyone ever found out what he’s forced you into…

Your name is called again and you try to stay in the moment. Better to do that than to dwell. You beam at the twins while they hand the 3DS to you so you can mess around with the character. They do make quite an effort to make you feel like you’re really part of their family, and you can find some comfort in that.

The twins aren’t the problem, not exactly, but their adoptive father sure is.

After some matters have been settled, Geto finds Gojo after leaving you and the twins under Miguel’s guard. It’s becoming a bit rarer now for it to be just the two of them, and Geto’s come to miss these moments. As much as he enjoys spending time with the both of you together, he wants one on one time with Gojo, too.

He does wish Gojo would prioritize himself a little more, though. They’re tangled up in bed together, something familiar, something warm, and Geto wishes things could be simple between them again but when he thinks about it, their world never has been all that simple. They have been both raised to be tools to the world of jujutsu, and Geto will no longer stand for it. Gojo shouldn’t either, but he seems more keen on the idea of raising the next generation of sorcerers so they’re not like the two of them or what’s become of the rest of their classmates.

Their hands are interlocked between them. They just enjoy the stillness during these moments. They rarely get to anymore. Especially not Satoru, what with raising the Zenin brat he chose to adopt for reasons unknown to Geto (other than the fact that he might become a promising sorcerer). Then there’s also the fact that he can’t hang around as long as he should be…

Speaking of which…

“I know you don’t want me to be here so often,” Gojo tells him, breaking the stillness. His voice is tender, soft, as he nuzzles his face into Geto’s chest. “But I just—I don’t want to leave you, okay? I don’t give a damn about those fucking geezers. You know they can’t do anything about this anyway. Only I can.”

“I do want you here,” Geto retorts, cupping his face, fervent lips kissing his and when he pulls away, his gaze bores into Satoru’s. “Don’t misunderstand me, Satoru. I want you here. But you can’t be here so much. I don’t know how you’re juggling your responsibilities between Jujutsu Tech and risking it all to see me. I’m not worth it, Satoru.”

“Don’t say that,” he begs, brushing his fingers through Geto’s hair. “Please don’t say that. You’re more than worth it. You’re worth risking everything for me. Why do you think I’m helping you with her?”

“I know,” he replies with a defeated sigh. “But you have to remember where else you’re needed, Satoru.”

“You’re the most important thing,” he reassures him, kissing all over his face. “Everything else can wait.”

Suguru bites back a groan. “Satoru…”

Satoru visibly deflates as he pulls back.

“I really can’t convince you to come back, huh?”

Suguru shakes his head. He can’t ignore how that seems to upset Gojo; it’s getting to him ore than it should. Maybe Satoru’s right—his resolve isn’t all that unshakable after all. “Going back there would make me undo all the work I’ve done to reject their ways.”

When realization hits, Satoru hums in acknowledgement.

“You don’t actually hate non-sorcerers, do you?” he murmurs, as his eyes cast downward. “It’s all just a coverup for something bigger, isn’t it?”

“No, not quite,” he admits, “But I’ve made my choice.”

Satoru doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s true; Geto has already gone too far to change his mind about anything he’s been doing. Still…there has to be a way around this. There just has to be.

Gojo’s going to find him a way out.

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aethon-recs · 1 year ago

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Tomarrymort Dead Dove Recs, Part 1 🕊️

Welcome to Part 1 of Dead Dove-themed Tomarrymort recs. I like fluff and soft and light-hearted fic as much as the next reader, but at the end of the day, Tomarrymort is a dark ship, and there are some brilliantly talented writers here creating incredibly dark & twisted absolute mindfucks of works that I want to pay tribute to.

Please note there can be found potentially triggering and disturbing content in the rec list below, so this time I will be placing all 30 of these recs below the cut. Keep in mind don’t like; don’t read, so feel free to scroll on by if non-con/dub-con is not a theme you would like to explore.

This list was made in collaboration with @danpuff-ao3’s Dead Dove Diaries Series. Check it out for other HP dead dove recs!

Tomarrymort Non-Con/Dub-Con Recs

A Single Love by Vera_DragonMuse (E, 23k, complete)

If Tom had been raised by Harry instead, would he have grown up to be Lord Voldemort?

A Special Day by @vdoshu (E, 3k, complete)

“I think a fresh start is important. I’d like one, and I think this can be it.” “It’s a bit late for a fresh start for me, don’t you think?” he retorts snidely.

Aconite; Thistle by @kushimanii (E, 32k, complete)

Voldemort decides to keep Harry alive and impregnate him to bear children that he can raise into loyal Death Eaters.

Aftertaste by @hiredhorse (E, 4k, complete)

Harry noticed the handsome stranger before the game began.

At the expense of the world by @itsevanffs (E, 24k, WIP)

"He had a lover, you know," Jenkins says to Remus once Harry's behind a wall and out of sight again. "A boy, and a gorgeous one at that. Nobody really knew where he came from, and Tom didn't seem to favour him either, at first, but by the end, he was besotted." Jenkins pauses. "Might have been a girl," he says. "We don't have any drawings, and all the texts are warnings that the God-Emperor is a jealous man - do not seek his puer, or you will be slain where you stand."

Cloudy by @dividawrites (E, 5k, complete)

Trapped alone in a prison on an island, there are many things Tom forgets. But he never forgets Harry.

Dark Light by CrazyJanaCat (E, 3k, complete)

Nineteen years after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, the Wizarding World is at peace, and for once, everything seems right. But what no one knows is that their hero has a dark secret...

Eulogy by @meles-merrivale (E, 6k, complete)

You run through the things you have to do for the day. It is, admittedly, a very short list. Wake up. Be clean. Be ready. An empty life, some might call it. You don’t. It is the life He has given you, and so it is what you deserve.

For He is the Sun and I am His Shadow by @aglassroseneverfades (E, 13k, complete)

The date is September 1st, 1996. Lord Voldemort is about to get everything he's ever wanted.

Frigid by @mrviran (E, 3k, complete)

In which one of Voldemort's horcruxes is broken, and needs to be fixed.

golden boy by @exarite (E, 3k, complete)

They thought Harry Potter was dead. Months after the battle at Hogwarts, the last of the Resistance finally gets captured. Voldemort shows them just how very much alive Harry Potter is.

Guaranteed Safety by Assapanick (E, 13k, complete)

The only problem would be convincing the Dark Lord to impregnate him, but Harry doesn’t plan on asking.

Harry Potter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Rut by @neurowriter14 (E, 6k, complete)

Harry goes into the forest to confront Voldemort and his death, and all the while his rut waits in the wings, drawing Voldemort's curiosity.

Heartbeat by @phantomato (E, 24k, complete)

Harry, dumped into the past, communes with dangerous men.

Honeyguide by @cannibalinc (E, 7k, complete)

“I need an Alpha," Tom states. "Someone older. Someone already established within the Ministry with strong connections. Someone kind, a bit stupid, and rich. A Pureblood, ideally. Someone who will soften my image.” “A sweet-hearted, good-looking, oblivious moderate, you mean?” Scorpius asks. “Well, that’s Harry Potter to a T. Too bad he’s married.” This is not the problem Scorpius thinks it is.

in bad faith by @cindle-writes (E, 3k, complete)

Voldemort, despite looking thin and skeletal, is heavy enough of a weight on Harry’s chest that he’s having trouble breathing, each breath feeling like a thick, syrupy effort to draw in. “Don’t worry, Harry, I’ll take care of you,” Voldemort murmurs, hot breath ghosting over Harry’s ear.

Insatiate by @vdoshu (E, 2k, complete)

Voldemort stole both Harry and the Philosopher’s Stone, and doomed Harry to live a half-life. That was ten years ago.

Legacy by Pengress (E, 6k, complete)

His Horcrux stared at him with wide green eyes. Voldemort could see the panic, the fear. He had accepted his place in the ritual reluctantly, but he had given the important permission for Voldemort to use his body, and while the preparation seemed to have scared his Horcrux, Voldemort would make sure he would not go back on his word.

Lingering Warmth by anon (E, 2k, complete)

In the aftermath of Harry's death, Voldemort admires Harry's corpse, and when Harry comes back to life he finds himself in a perplexing situation.

My Lord, Master, My Soul by FletchleyRose (E, 69k, complete)

During the Battle of Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort learns that Harry Potter is his unintentional Horcrux. He decides to make him his – mind, body, and soul. Harry is not on board with this plan. But when the Dark Lord starts using pleasure instead of pain to convince him, will he be able to resist?

on the other side by @philolust (E, 3k, complete)

Someone abducts Harry Potter and the Dark Lord in an effort to get them to cooperate and end the war. It goes horribly wrong.

Precious Horcrux by @loneamaryllis (E, 127k, WIP)

"Precious Horcrux..." The two possessive, cloying words, hissed low, made Harrie feel nauseous. "I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to keep you."

Research and Development by @cannibalinc (E, 6k, complete)

Primary Objective: Establish with certainty that Subject IS or IS NOT a living Horcrux. Captured audio sample from Subject: You can’t keep me in here forever, Voldemort! Why don’t you come in here and face me, you COWARD! I’m not scared of you! Dumbledore will find me and—

rise anew by @duplicitywrites (E, 5k, complete)

“I must thank you for this new body of mine,” Voldemort continues in an amused tone as he flexes the fingers of his new hand, examining the unnatural length of them. “It is unexpected but not… unpleasant.”

silk of midnight and dawn by @ilya-zzz (E, 3k, complete)

Harry approaches, quietly, arms raised in front of him. It doesn’t take long before pale skin transforms into soft fur as dark as the night sky. Red eyes, now green, look at Harry with such an intensity that he has to take a step back. Four-legged and as imposing as he is when standing in two, Tom Riddle has transformed into a panther.

Such a Noble Villain (part 1) / Monster Under the Bed (part 2) by Run_of_the_mill (E, 4k, complete)

Harry and Voldemort are in a classroom, and Harry is stuck to a chair. Some very weird, creepy stuff happens next because Voldemort is who he is.

The Tattoo by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 5k, complete)

Tom gives Harry a tattoo that creates a bond between them, giving Tom some control over his mind.

The Ties That Bind by @mosiva (E, 8k, complete)

Harry finds the locket at Grimmauld Place, but it has a curse laid on it. When Harry triggers it, he finds himself trapped with the locket version of Tom Riddle, both of them stuck within the enchantment until they can find the way out. Or so Harry thinks.

Tom Riddle and the Quest for Vulnerability by lejf (E, 16k, complete)

Auror Harry Potter has eighteen-year-old Tom Riddle bent over the table barely a day after he becomes his ward.

Violent Delights by @katsitting (E, 5k, complete)

“The Golden Boy is no more…” Voldemort whispered, voice high and reedy, amused. Harry was shoved against something hard and unyielding. It scratched along his back, chafing the skin. Harry didn’t so much as flinch, refusing to make a sound when more jeers sounded in the clearing, the words cutting through the rush of blood flooding Harry’s ears—

#tomarrymort #tomarry #harrymort #aethon recs #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #harrymort recs #dead dove #dead dove recs #dead dove do not read #hp fic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #tom riddle #voldemort

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thediktatortot · 7 months ago

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Once again begging writers on Ao3 to make sure none of your fics are in Closed, Moderated or Unrevealed collections without your knowledge.

No one can add your work to a collection without you approving it, but once approved the owner of that collection can make YOUR fic be unreadable if they so choose to by doing one of the above three.

So, do a regular check on your fic and make sure they haven't been hidden from your readers, and if they have been added to a collection that has been closed, moderated or unrevealed, go into that fics Edit settings and remove that fic from that collection.

If you want to stop people from inviting your fics to collections all together, you can go into your preferences and select:

#Ao3 #Archive of our own #fanfiction #fanfic #writers

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autisticempathydaemon · 1 month ago

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Redactober 2024 Day Ten

Prompt: Damien & Dinner

Pairing: Damien/Lasko/Gavin/Freelancer/Huxley aka the DAMN Polycule

cw: suggestive language

“If you two workaholics grade papers through dinner again, Hux and Freelancer are gonna storm in here and quit your jobs."

Available on AO3 here!

<- Prev Day | Next Day ->

“What does this look like to you?” Lasko asks, turning a test sheet over and pushing it towards Damien who squints down at it over his glasses.

“Chicken scratch,” the fire elemental deadpans. “Like a failing grade.”

“I can’t fail someone for having bad handwriting,” the air elemental says admonishingly, pulling the paper away like Damien might mark it with his own red pen.

“You can and should if it’s literally illegible; you choose not to because you’re soft.” He emphasizes his point by crossing out a mis-headed paper with a definitive, lurid slash of red and tossing it onto the pile.

“Is he? I can fix that,” a sultry voice chimes in as Gavin rifts behind Lasko, slipping a warm hand beneath his collar and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “If you know what I mean~”

“Not while we’re working, Gavin!” Damien yells, swatting both the demon and flushed elemental with a rolled up test.

“Not for another thirty minutes, you’re not,” Gavin says, putting his tote down on the table so his boyfriends can hear the thu-thunk of full Tupperware inside. “If you two workaholics grade papers through dinner again, Hux and Freelancer are gonna storm in here and quit your jobs. This was the moderate option.”

“What- what time is it? It’s dinner time already?” Lasko sputters, spinning around in his chair to see the sun setting beneath the oak trees outside his office window.

“Barely. Hot stuff?” Gavin hands a container to Damien, and the fire elemental resignedly sighs as he puts down his pen and heats up his palms, warming up the curry.

“Are they upset?” he asks, kicking the other professor underneath the desk and jerking his chin at their array of tests and essays. Obediently, the air elemental bundles them together and sets them aside while the incubus brings out rice and utensils, rifting himself a chair out of nothing.

“No, not if we hurry it up. Deviant won’t have dessert until we’re all home, and you know what they’re like without their ice cream.

“You’re not allowed to help grade my papers,” Damien says threateningly, pointing his chopsticks in Gavin’s face. “You’re too easy on my students.”

“You’re just mad they like me better than you. Don’t worry, wildfire, you know I’m a teacher’s pet first and foremost~” Then Lasko starts to choke on the rice, Damien lunging over the table to smack him between the shoulderblades, and any talk of Gavin being a pet has to be shelved… for now.

#redactedasmr #redactedverse #redacted asmr #redactedaudio #redacted audio #redacted #redactober 2024 #redacted damien #redacted gavin #redacted lasko #redacted huxley #redacted freelancer #redacted fanfiction

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kybercrystals94 · 1 month ago

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Exposure

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 10 - Prompts: Blow to the Head / Slurred Words / "I can't think straight."

Rated: T | Words: 1566

A/N: I am not a medical profession. Do with that as you will 🫠

Fear takes root when Hunter stops shivering.

The temperature in the shallow cave has not improved, Tech knows that much. He has been monitoring the weather conditions closely, hoping that the storm will pass, that the interference preventing their distress signal will clear. Unfortunately, the concept of hope has little effect on natural events. Hope, however, does prevent panic, so Tech clings to the fragile abstraction, metaphorically, with both hands. His actual hands are numb, even under his gloves, knuckles swollen and sore. His fingers struggle to do what should be the simple function of unclasping his armor.

“What are you doing?” Hunter asks, syllables slurring together almost incomprehensibly.

“Removing my armor,” Tech states simply. It is far too cold to elaborate further.

The Sergeant glares up at him blearily, mismatched pupils blown wide with concussion. “Why?”

Tech does not explain. It is taking all his focus just to remove pieces of plastoid with clumsy, uncooperative fingers. If Hunter would simply be patient, he would be able to see soon enough. Tech liberates himself from his cuirass and backplate and moves to the challenging bits of armor clinging to his arms, silently cursing their smaller latches.

“Tech,” Hunter growls. If he is aiming for authoritative, it is undermined by the weak breathlessness of his voice. However, it does renew the fervor with which Tech fights with his armor pieces.

At last, Tech drops the last segment of armor from his upper portion, leaving him in just his thermal blacks from the waist up. He kneels next to Hunter and begins to repeat the process on his barely conscious brother.

“What are you doing?” Hunter demands again, trying to pull away.

“We need to get your body temperature back up,” Tech explains. His voice trembles, teeth clacking together. At least he is still shivering. That is a bright side.

Hunter makes an indignant sound, as though it is Tech who lost his helmet and received a blow to the head rappelling down the cliff face in ice and snow. “By taking off our armor?”

“We must lend one another our warmth,” Tech continues patiently, “which cannot be achieved through amor. Please hold still.

Hunter slumps back against the cave wall obediently. He watches Tech work, blinking slowly. “I’m not cold,” he says. “Not anymore.”

“I understand you feel that way,” Tech says. “That is a sign of moderate hypothermia. We must work to raise your internal temperature as soon as possible.”

“Not safe,” Hunter mumbles.

“It is our only choice at this juncture. Unfortunately, we lost our emergency packs in the fall. They will be buried in the snowfall dozens of meters below us by now.”

Hunter’s brow furrows. “’s my fault.”

“It was an unfortunate accident,” Tech corrects him.

Tech finds some small sense of triumph as Hunter’s upper armor is more easily removed. He stacks their cuirasses and backplates near where Hunter is situated, retrieves his data pad, then sits down next to his brother. He draws the wounded man to his side. Hunter does not produce any warmth to share, merely absorbing Tech’s limited supply. With his free hand, Tech haphazardly arranges the larger armor pieces in what he hopes will be a small barrier from the elements.

It will not last long. They will die of exposure if help does not arrive soon.

If the storm does not let up soon.

If their brothers do not find them soon.

Soon.

Soon is not on their side.

“You’re shaking,” Hunter mutters drowsily.

Tech wants to explain that shivering is a preferable state to Hunter’s; however, he merely jostles the man a little too roughly. “You have to stay awake,” he orders.

Hunter utters something that Tech cannot make out.

Tech answers nonetheless. “No. I need to rest. You’ve got the watch. Do you understand? You need to keep watch for the others to find us.”

Hunter becomes heavier against his side, deadweight.

Tech shakes him again. “You must stay awake, Hunter.” His voice breaks, only partially from the intense cold plaguing him. “Please. Stay awake. Help is coming.”

Hunter doesn’t respond.

Time slips by.

Tech isn’t shivering anymore.

The landscape is white, clean, and dangerous. Crosshair’s sharp eyes slice across it, searching for imperfections, disturbances. Signs that their missing brothers are out there. Waiting for Echo to pinpoint their location is taking too long. Every lost second carries a heavy cost they can’t afford.

Wrecker crashes through the fresh snow, pacing. “Where are they?” he demands.

Crosshair tips his head, expression shielded by his helmet. “If we knew, we wouldn’t be looking, would we?” he snarls.

“Not helping,” Echo tells him through comms. He’s on the ship, trying to boost the signal.

Crosshair bites out, “Neither is he. Neither are you. They’re probably already dead.”

“Don’t say that!” Wrecker stops his pacing and looms over Crosshair. He looks like he might lash out physically.

Crosshair shifts, squaring up, wordlessly daring Wrecker to try.

“Both of you, knock it off!” Echo orders, ARC voice bladed.

Wrecker deflates immediately, but Crosshair holds his ground a moment longer, claiming a weak and idle victory. He can’t see Wrecker’s face, but his body language, like his voice, is loud. The drop of his shoulders, the angle of his helmet. Wrecker is scared, like the rest of them. They all know the likelihood of Hunter and Tech surviving the elements without proper gear. Crosshair voicing it doesn’t change the terrible facts.

He cannot bring himself to apologize in so many words, so Crosshair bumps against Wrecker’s arm, hard, with his shoulder. “If anyone could figure out how to survive, it’d be those two.”

Wrecker’s posture lifts. “I know they did.”

“I got something!” Echo calls out, making their in-helmet comms hiss in protest. “Putting in coordinates now.”

Crosshair and Wrecker clamber on board, and the ship is already off the ground before Crosshair punches the button to close the hatch.

Hunter wakes feeling trapped.

He can’t move his arms or legs, bound by a strange, encompassing weight. His first, mind-addled reaction is to panic, writhing frantically to free himself from the swaddling confines of whatever is holding him.

“Hey! They’re just blankets, di’kut, kriff,” Crosshair’s voice snaps at him.

The familiar, waspish tone of his youngest brother makes Hunter stop, and Crosshair helps him disentangle enough fabric to free his arms. “How many blankets are there?” Hunter asks, voice rough from disuse, throat sore and parched.

“Too many,” Crosshair admits. “I don’t know where Wrecker keeps finding them. Thirsty?”

Hunter nods, and Crosshair hauls him up into a sitting position and hands him an open canteen. Hunter takes a sip of the tepid liquid, the taste of added electrolytes bitter on his tongue. He makes a face. “How long was I out?”

“Two standard days,” Crosshair says. “Really did a number on yourself. Concussion and hypothermia. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Hunter frowns. “The last thing I remember clearly was checking my cables before rappelling down the cliff face. We were going to hike to the rendezvous point.”

Crosshair scoffs. “That’s it?”

“I remember my head feeling like it got split open,” Hunter grumbles.

“Not quite, but not for lack of trying,” Crosshair says. “Lost your helmet and your emergency packs. Tech is still annoyed about losing his favorite med scanner.”

“Is Tech alright?” Hunter asks, turning to look at where the other cot is empty across the aisle. A faint recollection of panicked words filters into his muddled memories. Please. Stay awake. Help is coming.

“Hypothermia and exposure, but he’s recovering,” Crosshair says with a smirk. “He’s supposed to be resting still; however, he claims he heard a rattle in the ship’s console before the mission, and insisted he had to repair it now. Weak excuse, but Echo let him get away with it.”

Hunter chuckles, the remnants of his concussion protesting with a throb of his skull.

Crosshair’s expression turns solemn. “We almost didn’t make it in time. When Wrecker and I got into that cave...we thought we were recovering corpses.”

Another painful throb pulses, this time in Hunter’s throat as he imagines what that must have been like. He doesn’t want to imagine, doesn’t want to think of any two of his brothers lying so still that he thought they were dead. So, he pushes the horrifying thought away, reaching out and grabbing hold of Crosshair’s arm. “But you weren’t.”

Crosshair scowls at the durasteel floor and gives one, tight nod.

Tech comes into the hold, Wrecker right behind him.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Tech says, something akin to warm smile touching his lips.

Hunter smiles. “Thanks to you, sounds like.”

Tech waves away the comment, taking a seat on the opposite cot. “How are you feeling?”

“Smothered with all these blankets,” Hunter says, tossing a good-natured glare in Wrecker’s direction.

The giant gasps. “You should have seen yourself before the blankets! Have you ever seen blue clones before? ‘Cause it’s something I never want to see again.”

“I agree,” Crosshair mutters.

“I assure you; such is an event I hope none of us experience a second time. On either side of the equation,” Tech says firmly.

There is a haunted expression in his brothers’ eyes, a lingering look of hope snuffed out.

That nearly transparent memory returns. Please. Stay awake. Help is coming.

Hunter thanks the maker Tech was right.

For all their sakes.

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog @omegafett99 @heidnspeak @fionas-frenzy @dreamsight73 @royallykt

#whumptober2024 #no.10 #blow to the head #slurred words #“I can't think straight.”#Star Wars: the Bad Batch #fic #hypothermia #concussion #near death experience #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #clone wars era #hunter whump #tech whump #foreshadowing

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sigynpenniman · 10 months ago

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DID YOU WAKE UP THIS MORNING TO FIND AO3 BLOCKED ON YOUR WORK OR SCHOOL WIFI?

So, something has happened overnight.

Many major companies and institutions use a tech called Cisco Umbrella to block “potentially objectionable” domains - porn, violent content, etc. Cisco Umbrella primarily works using categories, which, while changable by users, are pre-set by Cisco. So Cisco builds a list of websites which are, for example, "adult," and then makes that a category that a company can block all at once from its network. When you, as a network admin, choose to block "adult" websites in cisco umbrella, if you don't make changes to that list yourself, everything in that list is blocked on the domain.

There's another system called OpenDNS. OpenDNS allows you to block websites on your *home* network. If you have an OpenDNS account you can also participate in what's called "community tagging." community tagging allows people to tag certain websites, and I guess if you use OpenDNS you can block things with those tags...idk, I don't use it.

Here's the bit that matters: OpenDNS and Cisco Umbrella are owned by the same company. It appears that Cisco Umbrella, to some extent, uses OpenDNS community tags to sort websites.

Someone on OpenDNS has community tagged Ao3 as a "tasteless" website. Community tags can be proposed by anyone, but they have to be approved by a moderator. It seems a moderator has approved this tag. Because of the moderator approved tag, it looks like Ao3 has been bundled into *Cisco Umbrella's* blocked sites list for "adult" content. So now, any library, school, business, etc which is blocking Cisco Umbrella’s “adult” category is now blocking Ao3.

Here’s how you can help.

Go here (https://signup.opendns.com/homefree/) to create an OpenDNS account. This is free. Don’t do any of the steps to create or configure a network, JUST make an account. Be sure to uncheck any promotional checkboxes. Once your account is made, be sure to confirm your email, and the confirmation may go into spam - mind did, just be aware. Once you have an account made, go to https://login.opendns.com/ and log in with the account you've made.

It should take you here.

From here, click the small "community" button at the top.

It will bring you here. You will be likely prompted to create a display name. Pick something random, you won't need it again.

Click on “domain tagging." It will bring you here.

There's a small searchbox in the top right labeled "check a domain." enter archiveofourown.org in this field and hit go. You should be brought here.

What you want to do now is hit the "Flag for Review" button under "Tagged: Tasteless." Don't worry about the other tags. They are candidate tags, not approved/applied and aren't doing anything. The "tasteless" one that's been mod approved is the only one we're worried about. "Flag for review" will open a small text box.

Type in whatever you like here, but PLEASE be academic and respectful. Focus on how "tasteless" is an inaccurate and offensive description for the content. Hit submit.

That's it, you're done.

I do want to be clear about one thing - I am not 100% sure this is going to remove this domain from the cisco adult list, but I'm hoping. The “tasteless” tag that is present on OpenDNS was submitted in 2015. Now, it is not clear when the moderator approved this tag. They may have approved it last night, or in 2015. That date does not appear to be visible. I’m not sure what happened overnight that caused Ao3 to slip into the Cisco umbrella adult category. My best guess is that either the tag was approved last night, or Cisco suddenly started grouping the “tasteless” community tag under adult. It is interesting to me that previous tags such as pornography have been actively mod rejected, so it looks like this one being approved might have been one person with a vendetta. Either way, right now, this seems to be the root of the issue. Domains can be individually allowed on networks by network admins, so if you have to petition your school or place of work it's possible, but I think if we can fix the OpenDNS tag, we can fix it everywhere at once. Hopefully, if we can get enough flags for review in a short enough period of time, it will force them to review it.

Come, help me out here. Let's try and get Ao3 unblocked on the country's schools and libraries.

#writing #ao3 #archive of our own

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orions-choker · 4 months ago

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Bitter Water (Siren! Jason Newsted x Reader NSFW)

Siren! Jason Newsted, Cum Eating, Ambiguous Ending, Voice Kink

Word Count: 4,205

Reader is drawn towards the seas tender embrace and the sweet song of a pretty boy on the shore.

(Cross posted to AO3, the third installment of my Metallica Monsters collection.)

The taste of salt hung heavy in the air, cool against the skin was the breeze bouncing off the murky waves. The beach was rocky, jagged and unnerving. Nothing like the white sand and crystal clear waters Y/N was used to back home. “Tell me again why we came here instead of somewhere like Miami?” She complained, pulling her jacket tighter around her body as she turned to her friend.

Her eyes drifted across the horizon line, it was a clear enough day, yet fog danced low across the ground. “C’mon it's like a fun spooky adventure.” Her best friend's voice chimed as she slowly crawled down the embankment. Y/N eyed her cautiously, surely there had to be better ways to get down to the beach than that?

“We can’t even swim here.” Y/N grumbled once more, despite this she followed her friends pathing, sliding down the dirt as she tumbled onto the small beach. Waves lapped at the shore, tide pulling in and out leaving a wet sheen against the rocks. “This feels like there should be a lighthouse here and an angry fisherman.” Y/N crouched down, hands grazing against a small stone that seemed to glean in the few rays of sunlight.

The rock seemed out of place amongst the dark gray stones. It shimmered a brilliant turquoise color, flecks of white and dark blue spattered amongst it. It seemed almost as if it emanated its own light. Curiously she scooped it into her palms, cupping it around its eye to test its glow in the dark properties. “Hey! Come look at this!” Y/N called out to her friend excitedly. She pulled away, handing it to the other girl. “Have you ever seen a glow in the dark stone?”

When not focused on the stone, Y/N’s gaze seemed to drift towards the sea each time. Her eyes wandered as the girl inspected the stone for herself. “No way, that's so cool, it has to be fake though right?” She asked Y/N as she handed it back. Y/N nodded slowly, rolling the stone between her fingers. Her eyes caught onto something in the water. Surfacing to the shore a dark black mass slithering its way through the waves. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Big fucking fish.” Y/N declared, pointing towards the sight with her empty hand. She stood up, daring to step closer to the water as she attempted to get a better look. “Sturgeon maybe?” She questioned. Suddenly the water danced at her feet and she jumped back in surprise. Had she gotten that close to the water so fast?

There were hands on her shoulders, tugging her back onto the beach. “Woah there Y/N, don't go walking into the ocean on me.” Her friend's laughter crackled through the heavy air. “What if it's a shark that wants to eat you.” She teased, steering Y/N back towards the incline that led up to the road once more.

Y/N rolled her eyes as she climbed back up to the pavement. “Sharks rarely attack people, you know?” She scoffed. As her feet hit sturdy ground once more Y/N realized she still had the stone clutched tightly in her hand. She smiled softly at it, shoving it gently into the front pocket of her jacket. “C'mon, where's this waterfront hotel you booked us?” She followed the other girl further down the road.

The hotel was old, A sprawling old property, three stories and painted with a peeling white paint. The beach it inhabited was much more like the ones Y/N was accustomed to, more sand less stone. Still the water didn’t look even a bit more enticing. She frowned at the sight. This vacation was becoming more and more disappointing each moment she stayed in this sad seaside town.

Her room impressed her only moderately more. It was clean at the very least, a large balcony door that led her directly out to the beach. She stepped forwards to the large doors and pulled back the billowing white curtains. The waves seemed more aggressive now as she looked out into the ocean, dark storm clouds were on the horizon. Her eyes narrowed in on an odd movement, there she saw the tail of a large fish peak from above the waves and sink down below once more. She gasped in astonishment, that was bigger than most fish you would see along the shoreline.

Patiently she watched once more for a glimpse of this beast, but it never came. She stopped back from her door, pulling the curtains closed once more as she shed her clothing for the day. A long afternoon of traveling meant an early night. Reaching into her pocket she pulled the stone once more, rubbing her thumb across the smooth surface in admiration. She placed it gently on the old wooden nightstand. She stepped into her long nightgown, shivering at the cool breeze that seemed to penetrate the flimsy walls against her bare skin.

The bed was hardly anything to write home about, a little bit too stiff against her back but nothing she couldn't power through, especially not with how tired she was. Exhaustion radiated in each of her bones as she rested her head against the flat pillow. The gentle whooshing of the waves outside served as a fantastic white noise as she surrendered to sleep.

Y/N’s slumber lasted only a short while though. She awoke to the gentle light of the moon dancing across her walls in the shape of the ebbing water. More surprisingly she was stirred by the sound of low melodic singing carried across the air. Confused, she swung her legs over the side of her bed, the wood freezing against the soles of her feet. She shuffled to her sliding door, peeking outside into the dark. As she got closer the louder the singing began.

There, laying casually at the waterline, backlit by the moon was a man. From here she could make out his shirtless form, wild curly hair splayed out beneath him. Her brows furrowed as she squinted for a better look. Her body seemed to move on its own as she pressed the lock open, quietly sliding the door open.

The sand was soft between her toes as she stepped out, the singing grew louder yet. Wind whipped against her legs, jostling the light material of her nightgown. Y/N couldn’t make out any of the words the man sang, a language foreign to her ears yet full of emotions she knew by heart. Wanting, longing, yearning. She took a few more steps forward, he seemingly lay partially in the sea, from his hips down engulfed in the dark water. Perhaps he was hurt? One more step forward and abruptly the soft melody ceased, his head snapped towards her, too far away to make out his features but she could see his body stiffen in surprise. He moved, shifting his body weight onto his hands, ready to push himself up and run.

“Wait!” She called out, the words leaving her without a second thought. She took a long stride forward, hand outreached towards him. She could see his face now, gleaming under the moonlight. He was handsome, strong jawline, slightly squared chin, deep set blue eyes. His hair a wild mane of reddish-brown curls. Just as soon as she saw him he was gone, slipping beneath the waves in one swift movement.

She yelped, running into the sea in a panic, the water rose to her calves, dampening the hem of her gown. In the distance she saw it again, the dark slithering of a large fish, moving away from her quickly. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked out. No signs of the man who had been here just a moment before. The tides were not strong enough to suck a person down below the depths like that, had he been attacked by something?

Soon the freezing water against her skin was too much to bear, she backed up, sand sticking to her wet skin as she walked back towards her room. Looking cautiously over her shoulder to the water once more. There, just for a moment she saw something once more. Peeking from below watching her, those eyes, that hair. It dipped down slowly, fully submerged as she stumbled back into her room.

In a haze she stepped into her bathroom, running the tub to wash the evidence of her excursion from her skin. She watched curiously, the sand and dirt swirling down the drain as the water rinsed her clean. She didn’t catch another moment of sleep that night, her head resting against the pillow, staring out across the beach, desperate for another sign of what she had just witnessed.

Y/N watched the sun rise slowly into the sky, unmoving from her position until there was a gentle rapping at her door. “Holy crap you look like shit.” Her friend's voice greeted her as Y/N opened the door. “Couldn’t sleep?” She asked sympathetically.

“No.” Y/N mumbled in response, rubbing at her heavy eyes. She moved to the side, allowing the girl into her room as she closed the door behind them. “Could really use some breakfast.” She didn’t elaborate further on her sleepless night, knowing the disbelieving reaction her friend would give her. She stepped out of her sleepwear and into another long flowing summer dress, a deep blue color that swirled around her in a breathable fabric.

With a grin her friend dragged her from the room. “Well you’re in luck, eggs benny is on the menu this morning in the restaurant.” She informed Y/N. The restaurant in question was more akin to a hole in the wall diner on the main floor of the hotel. It was surprisingly busy, filled with mostly old couples and the occasionally family unit. In the corner booth Y/N nursed a warm milky tea as her friend aimlessly chattered on about today's itinerary. Her eyes glazed over as she looked across the diner, she prodded lazily at her hashbrown, moving them around her plate in disinterest. “You know, you shouldn’t play with your food.” A soft voice came from behind her. She watched as her friends eyes widened and sparkled with interest first before she turned around to entertain the man,

She was stunned into silence at the person she was greeted with. Unmistakably it was the man from the beach last night, his hair tamed and pulled back into a ponytail, a red flannel covering his chest, sleeves rolled up his arms. Her mouth gaped open like a dying fish. Before she could say anything her friend piped up. “Oh oh my gosh hi!” She introduced herself quickly, tucking her hair behind her ears with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes. Y/N couldn’t blame her, he was one of the most enticing men she had ever laid eyes on. “And this is Y/N!”

Y/N blinked at the mention of her name, quickly snapping her mouth shut and holding her hand out in greeting. “Jason, nice to meet you gals.” The man, Jason, greeted them, shaking their hands kindly. “What brings you here?” He asked, striking up a casual conversation.

The other girl took the lead, Y/N still in a stunned stupor as she watched Jason speak, his gentle laugh as melodic as his singing. She was positive that was out there last night. The whole interaction had seemed so other worldly that she nearly hadn’t believed it was real. She found herself drawn into the way he spoke, luring her in gently.

“It was a pleasure talking to you two, see you around.” His farewell snapped Y/N out of her trance. Panic rose as she watched him walk away, she needed to ask him what last night was all about. Quickly she excused herself from the table, ignoring her friends' protests. She all but ran to catch up with the other man.

“Hey wait up, Jason!” She called out to him, following him outside the doors of the hotel. Her hand grasped onto the back of his shirt as she stopped him. He turned around, eyeing her expectantly. “I saw you, last night, you disappeared.” She tried her best to explain between short breaths.

He smiled at her, lips pulling back to reveal sharp teeth. “You did.” He confirmed with a nod. “You have something of mine by the way.” He hummed, leaning down closer to her face. His eyes seemed to trail across her skin. “Bring it back to me tonight please.” He asked sweetly before stepping away from her once more and turning his back to her.

Y/N was unable to move as she watched him walk away, as if she was under a spell until she could no longer see him. She shook her head in disbelief. Left with more questions than answers she returned to her confused friend in the diner. She couldn’t bring herself to answer any of the girls' probing questions as they paid for their breakfast and moved on.

Before they headed into town for the day Y/N felt compelled to return to her room, pocketing the glistening stone off her nightstand and tucking it away into her bag. The day passed by Y/N in a blur, countless trinket stores entered, mediocre lunch on the pier, a cover band that night at the local pub. There was only one thing on her mind. Jason. What did he mean to bring it back to him tonight? What was it that she had of his? Was this some weird ploy to lure her out and murder her? The sight of the hotel once more was almost an unwelcome one.

She stopped facing her friend. “You go on ahead inside for tonight, I think I want to take a walk along the beach before bed.” She assured her friend with a small smile and a wave, watching her disappear beyond the front doors before turning to the landscape before her. Her sandals sunk heavy into the sand as she wandered, the sky was dark, stars twinkling above her like fairy lights.

To her right Y/N heard a splash in the water, she turned to see nothing, yet still she felt compelled to walk towards the sound. Her eyes strained to make anything out in the dark as she approached the shoreline. This section of the beach was rockier, reminiscent of the first beach they had visited when they arrived. She stepped carefully across the jagged stones.

Then she heard it, the same low singing from the night before, ebbing and flowing, guided by the breeze to her ears. She followed it until she saw him again. Relaxing against a stone partially submerged beneath the waves. “Jason?” She called out curiously as she was pulled forward by an invisible force.

He turned his head lazily towards her, his damp curls caressing the side of his face as he grinned. His lips moved around the words of his song effortlessly. There beneath the water, the flick of an inky black tail, scales shimmering like an oil slick in the low light. Her eyes dropped to his lower half in awe and amazement. Words were lost on the tip of her tongue, and still her legs pulled her forward, deeper into the water.

Her dress floated around her waist as she approached him, only when she stood beside him did the hum of his song cease. She watched with wide eyes as he leaned over, hand dipping into her now soaking purse as he plucked the glimmering stone from its hiding place. Within his hands it seemed to glow brighter, casting a blue glow across both their faces.

“I lost this, thank you for finding it.” He whispered, snapping her from her trance. His eyes were kind as he grasped her hands within her own. “It would be really bad if I lost it.”

Y/N swallowed hard, hands shaking in his old, her eyes drifted back to his face stunned at his close proximity, his body curved towards her. “I…What are you?” She mumbled softly. She could feel the stone pressed against the back of her hand and it vibrated pleasantly as she spoke.

His laugh echoed off in the night like the chiming of bells. “Siren, Mermaid, Sea-Nymph.” He rattled off the mythological species. “Whatever you want to call me.” He shrugged. His hands dropped hers and she found herself grimacing at the loss. “And this pretty little thing is the source of my entire being.” He held up the stone once more before slipping it into the small wire cage that hung from his neck.

“I'm sorry I took it.” Y/N apologized, eyes trailing from his neck down his chest, glistening with water, down his navel to the subtle v shape of his hip bones before it transitions to scales. Her mouth felt dry suddenly as she studied him. Deep within her she felt panic, confusion. But on the surface she felt soothed with each word Jason spoke to her.

He laughed again, shaking his head. “No, really thanks to you I found it, I probably wouldn’t have found it on my own.” He assured her. Gently his hand reached out, thumb stroking over her cheekbone tenderly. “I promise your help comes with reward.” He whispered, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

It was unexpected but not unwelcome, Y/N found herself eagerly returning the kiss. She leaned into his touch as his hands gripped her hips beneath the water, pulling her in deeper. She peered down curiously as he seemingly stood before her now. Where there was once scales was replaced with skin. She pulled back in confusion, her hands gripping onto his shoulders. “Is that something you can just do?” She asked breathlessly, gesturing down to where his tail once was.

Jason leaned forward, capturing her mouth with his own once again. “Yeah, when I feel like it,” He whispered against her skin, sending shivers across her skin. “Do you want this Y/N, I'm not using my voice against you, It’s all up to you.” Suddenly all her questions about the persevering feelings of being drawn to him were answered.

Still now, even without the added pressure of his enticement she found herself desperately wanting more of him. “Yeah, yes, please.” She affirmed. His hands moved to her shoulders, pushing the fabric of her sleeves down her arms allowing him to easily tug the dress down and free her breasts.

Y/N hissed at the sudden cool air against her nipples, pulling the skin taught. Jason hoisted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he moved to press her back against the rock he initially was resting against. Her lower half was lifted out of the water now, droplets running down her smooth skin as she was left exposed. The fabric of her dress was bunched around her waist as Jason leaned down once more to kiss her tenderly.

She placed her hands against his chest as she allowed herself to be completely enveloped by his loving touches. The calloused pads of his fingers moved across her body so gently it almost tickled, finally coming to rest on her spread inner thighs. They pulled away from each other breathlessly. His lips came to rest on the outer shell of her ear, “Beg for me,” He commanded her softly.

A high whine worked its way from deep within her as she felt his fingers inch dangerously closer to her heat. “Please Jason, I want you, want your fingers inside me.” She gasped, the words coming from her all on their own. She felt the tingle under her skin that she was coming to associate with his voice.

He grinned down at her, his thumb came to gently rub over her clit, eliciting a moan so loud it bounced across the water. A heat rose to Y/N’s cheeks as she heard it echo. “You sound so pretty.” He mumbled, kissing down her neck as he slipped a digit into her waiting hole. She sucked him in desperately. He curled his finger, rubbing against the soft spongy spot inside her. Her legs seized around him, back arching up off the jagged rock as she pushed her hips down onto his hand.

“Oh god, Jase’ please more.” She pleaded, her fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders as she clung to him. He complied easily, slipping a second finger inside stretching her out just that little bit more that left her mewling pathetically. “F-fuck.” She stuttered out.

With each curl of his hand, each press of his thumb against her clit she could feel with warmth unraveling from within her lower belly. “Cum for me.” Jason sucked at her collarbone gently, lapping at each bruise he made with his tongue. His next command had her release crashing over her. She came around his fingers, shaking in his hold as she pulled him closer, her head nestled between his neck and shoulder as she cried out softly.

Each breath she sucked in was shaky as she came down from the high, her body shivering as Jason pulled his fingers from her. He brought them up to her lips. “Open,” He spoke, prodding her lips apart as he pressed his fingers coated in her juices against her tongue. Obediently she lapped at them, sucking them clean with a moan. “Good girl,” He praised her with a smile.

Y/N pulled back with a pop, a string of saliva connecting her to Jason's fingers as she looked up at him, her pupils blown and fucked out. “Fuck me?” She asked him hopefully, rolling her hips down to seek contact with him. He raised his eyebrows with another grin.

“As you wish sweetheart.” He rubbed his thumb along her bottom lip. He reached down, grabbing the base of his cock to align himself with her dripping entrance. He rubbed the head against her swollen and abused clit. She hissed in response, body attempting to lean away from his touch but he held her steady in place. He chuckled lightly at her, reveling in the slightly annoyed glance she gave him.

Without warning her sunk into her, in one go fully sheathing himself, their hip bones pressed together as she yelped in surprise. He shushed her with a soothing whisper, pushing her damp hair behind her ears as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “I got you, don't worry.” He sighed, content at the warmth surrounding him.

He rolled his hips against her, without pulling back, putting an intoxicating pressure against her walls and her clit simultaneously. “M’gonna move now, kay’?” He warned her before pulling back just a bit, pressing forward and back slowly. He moved like the ocean on a gentle day, pushing and pulling like the tide as he worked himself inside her. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, breathy moans escaping her each time he pushed forward. “Oh god, Jason.” She whined, tossing her head back. “Fuck, sing to me.” She asked. He stilled his movements in surprise. He stared down at her in awe.

“You want me to sing to you while I fuck you baby?” He asked teasingly, hands gripping tighter at her hips. He leveraged himself forward, thrusts becoming more desperate. He leaned forward, humming his song into her ear gruffly. His voice a little lower, choppier as he fucked into her. The melody had Y/N climaxing a second time, the vibrations of his voice against her skin sending her over the edge once more.

Her body went lax in his arms as he chased his own relief after her. Gasping out the final words of his tune as quickly pulled out, hand grasping his cock as he shot his load across her tummy. Hot spurts of cum coating her skin as his head dropped to her shoulder.

They breathed together, for a moment, the air silent around them as their heartbeats calmed. Y/N reached down, swiping at the release across her skin with her finger and bringing it to Jason's mouth. “Open,” She mimicked him with a giggle. He looked up at her from where he rested his head and parted his lips.

His tongue swirled around her finger, tasting his own fluids eagerly as he sucked the digit clean. He grinned up at her as he swallowed. She watched him in awe, one of her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. “Thanks for the reward.” She tugged him up to kiss him once more.

They lay there for a long moment, in silence as the water brushed against the skin. Slowly the tide pulled them in deeper, Jason's hold on her body tightening as they sunk deeper and deeper beneath the waves. Locked onto Jason's lips, Y/N was unable to gasp for air as she was pulled under into the darkness, the last glimmer of light in her eyes the glowing stone around his neck.

#metallica #metallica fanfiction #jason newsted #jason newsted x reader #metallica/reader #jason newsted/reader

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