#gonna just tag what applies to this chapter

[five-and-dimes]

Rating: Mature Status: Incomplete Chapters: 2/8 Words: 5,932/???? Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Post-Inception, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Crossover, Lucid Dreaming, Dreamsharing, pasiv, Trans Ariadne (Inception), Heist, Forging (Inception), Missions Gone Wrong, Hob Gadling accidentally help frees Dream of the Endless, BAMF Hob Gadling, dream suicide of background character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

It was supposed to be a simple job. All they had to do was enter Alexander Burgess’s dreams and convince him to go away with his lover Paul and leave behind Fawney Rig for good. Simpler than Inception. Safer than Extraction.

Yet when Hob Gadling and Arthur Freeman get inside the head of their mark, they realize that not everything is as it seems. Alexander Burgess is hiding a much darker secret, one that is deeply hidden within the basement not just at Fawney Rig, but also inside of Alex’s mind. And Paul refuses to tell them what it is.

Or: What happens when Dream is set free after a hundred years and he discovers that humans have created the technology to infiltrate dreams?

(A collaboration fic between myself and the amazing @seiya-starsniper for the @sandman-connect4 challenge!)

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“The mark’s name,” Arthur says, tossing the file on the table in front of Hob, “is Alexander Burgess.”

Hob raises an eyebrow at the case file, then turns his gaze back to Arthur. Arthur stares back down at Hob expectantly, his perfectly slicked back dark brown hair glinting in the sunlight of the Mexican sun. He’s blocking Hob’s sunlight and doesn’t even care. Bastard.

It’s tense between them for just a moment longer before Hob sighs, sitting up from his comfortable position on the cabana lounge chair and reaching over to pick up the folder. It’s a thick file, which means there’s a lot of dirt on the man, and a lot of people Hob may need to impersonate. Hob vaguely remembers the name Burgess from the early 1900s. Likely the man Hob had known was Alexander’s father, or grandfather even. The centuries tended to blend together after a while.

“You couldn’t have waited until after my vacation?” Hob asks as he takes another sip of his pina colada, trying to put off having to open the file for a little bit longer. He’s trying to sound annoyed, but in reality he’d been feeling restless lately. Hob had never been the type of man to just sit around aimlessly for long.  

“Can’t wait,” Arthur responds, with a small wry smile. He sees right through Hob’s bluff, damn him. “The client’s in a hurry and paying our team triple our fee to get started right away.”

Hob whistles, his interest thoroughly piqued, then finally opens up the folder.

Alexander Burgess is old. Older than Hob expected him to be really. It suddenly makes sense why the client was in a hurry. Whatever decision they needed the old man to make needed to be done quickly.

“You sure this man’s not gonna die on us mid-mission?” Hob asks dubiously. He and Arthur had only been in a dying man’s dreamscape once, and the man had died while they were on their case. Hob really didn’t care to repeat the experience. 

“He won’t,” Arthur responds. “He’s ancient, but healthy.” Hob holds back a laugh, but can’t help the snort that comes out instead. Compared to Hob, Alexander Burgess was a baby. Hob was the one who was ancient, and they both knew it. 

“His lover, Paul, will be helping us with setting up the whole thing too,” Arthur continues, his tone still serious but his eyes betray their amusement. “He’ll monitor the mark’s vitals day to day and clear him for each session before we take him under.”

“So the client’s his lover, then?” Hob asks, as he thumbs through the file, reading up on Alexander Burgess’s life history. It wouldn’t be too hard to imitate most of the people on the list Arthur provided, and it certainly helped that he’d have direct access to Paul, the most important part Hob would have to play, to study.

Arthur hums in agreement, then sighs. “Apparently he’s been trying to get Alex to move out of his father’s manor for the better part of their marriage,” Arthur says. “They’re old men now, and Paul is desperate not to die in that manor.  He says it’s haunted by demons or something, I don’t know. Seems like a superstitious kind of guy.”

“Well based on this, he has a right to be. Looks like old Roddy Burgess was a famous occultist back in the day,” Hob says, memories flowing back to him in bits and pieces. He’d definitely been to one of Burgess’s parties back in the day, come to think of it.

Arthur chuckles. “For all the good that studying in black magic did him,” he replies. “Didn’t save him from tripping and falling down the stairs of his own basement that’s for sure.”

“Are we sure he just fell?” Hob asks, feeling dubious. “Or maybe—Alex’s dirty little secret is that he pushed his daddy down the stairs, and that’s why he doesn’t want to leave.”

“Well that’s what we’re gonna find out,” Arthur replies with a grin. “And then we’re going to make sure he gets the fuck out of dodge and rides off into the sunset with his husband.”

Hob hums. “Fine. When do we start?”

“Tomorrow.”

(Continue on AO3)

[div-divington]

Lavish Lair - 'Fortnite'

[fonulyn]

since I've seen it talked about in several places recently:

if you are going to do a whump- or kink- or ANY-tober or other similar challenges please please please don't post them as one fic with 31 chapters unless it actually is one coherent fic. if they're 31 completely separate fics or ficlets then please just make a collection for them or just post them as separate fics. it doesn't matter if they're only 100 words or if you think they're too small or insignificant to post alone, they're not.

and why this?

because if you post all 31 of them in one fic the tagging is absolutely useless. if I look for things to read on ao3 I'm gonna look at the tags, and if the tags include something that's a dealbreaker for me, i won't even click on the fic. I might not even SEE the fic because I've filtered out the nope-tag! so I'm gonna lose out on reading 30 perfectly nice fics because of one fic that my nope-tag applied to.

ao3 is about archiving. it's about clear tagging and being informative. there is nothing informative about it if the tags in the fic apply to random chapters while others have nothing to do with it. it makes so much more sense to have each work as an individual fic with its own individual tags and warnings, so readers can make informed choices.

of course, you do you. I can't police what other people decide to do. but personally, I find it incredibly frustrating to weed through 31 chapters to find the ones I actually want to read. so I don't. I automatically scroll past all works posted like that. and I know some others do, too.

there is absolutely no shame in posting short things on ao3. there is no minimum word count. no one is going to look at you funny if you post a small ficlet on its own, I promise. it's just going to make some readers very happy when they can actually find the things they want to read.

so, please. at least consider the upsides of posting each work as their own fic.

signed, one very frustrated fandom grandma.

[guiltyasdave]

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)

[mayajadewrites]

could've been you - shouta aizawa x fem! reader, hawks x fem! reader

chapter eleven

this chapter is all about this sexy ass man so we're all gonna stare at this beautiful photo of him thank u

✦ story synopsis: You're the new teacher at UA with a rocky past with one of their beloved teachers, Shouta Aizawa aka Eraserhead. You'd rather never see him again but alas, such is life. You also meet Keigo, aka Hawks, who is the opposite of Aizawa. Smiley, golden retriever energy.

✦ chapter content warnings: unprotected sex

✦ relationships: aizawa x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader

ao3

TAG LIST:

@come-away-with-me87, @kxshdoll, @evilsanzu, @friendly-neighborhood-turtle, @lili-pond,

@the-unhinged-raccoon @falling4fandoms @cherry-cosmoz @kkgraham @big-denki-energy @aphrodite-xoxo @keiweeny @minminroie @skazewrld @crimsonsaki

You took an everything shower, making sure to scrub every crevice of your body. You applied your sweetest smelling lotion - notes of vanilla.

You take a deep breath as you look in the mirror. You almost didn't recognize the woman in front of you. You're finally, finally giving Shouta a chance to prove himself.

Just 24 hours ago, you were tangled in the sheets with Keigo.

But that is the past. The past that needs to stay in the past.

Keigo is younger than you, not too much but enough to where you feel as though you're from two different worlds.

He has fans. You're not used to women fawning over a man you were with - a man they would take in 2 seconds if they could.

"Tch." You suck your teeth as you turn to your closet to sift through your clothes.

"Shouta's favorite color is black." You tap your chin with your index finger. You pull out a black, off the shoulder crop top with long, mesh sleeves. Your tits look phenomenal, honestly. They're pushed up and the shimmer from your lotion hits the lighting perfectly.

You grab black washed ripped jeans and your favorite pair of simple black heels before you put on your makeup. Your hair was loosely curled as you ran your fingers through the ends with oil.

7:55 PM.

You heard a knock at your door. You were skeptical, since it wasn't 8 yet. Did Keigo come back?

You look through the door hole and see Shouta with his hair pulled back in a bun, dressed in all black. He had a giant bouquet of red roses - had to be at least 5 dozen.

"You clean up nice." Your eyes ran up and down his body as you opened the door.

"You still stink." Shouta smirked as he walked into your place. He handed you the flowers for you to put in a vase.

"You're 5 minutes early, sir."

Shouta didn't answer you, he just sat down on the couch and pulled his phone out. "So whatever you need to do in the next 5 minutes, do it."

You spray your favorite perfume on your skin before taking one last look in the mirror.

"Ready."

-

Shouta opened the passenger door of his car, a black sedan. Practical.

The inside was very clean though, which you appreciated.

"Where are we going?" You turn him, crossing your ankles.

"You'll see."

He started to drive, his eyes every now and again finding their way to you. You look down at his large, veiny hands. You wanted to touch them. You wanted them to touch you.

He must've felt the same, because the next thing you knew his hand was wrapped around your thick thigh. He squeezed the sides gently, smirking at the plushness of your skin.

You look out the window as his hand caresses your leg, always coming back to your thigh. You bit your bottom lip, hoping he didn't notice how flustered he was making you already.

He picked out a cute sushi restaurant - the inside looked beautiful with twinkly lights and waterfalls.

When he let you out of the car, he took your hand gently and lead you to the door. You felt his hand squeeze yours, as if to make sure you're actually there.

You were led to your table, in a more secluded part of the restaurant.

"It's so pretty in here." You look around.

"You don't remember what you said about this place, do you?"

You shook your head.

"We were on patrol one day, and this place just opened. You said you wanted to try it when you had money to, since we had just become pro heroes."

"How do you remember that?" You cross your legs under the table.

"I remember everything." His eyes stay on you as he sips his miso soup.

You felt bold, so you dragged your foot down his leg gently under the table. You watched him almost spit out his soup, which made you laugh.

"Feeling brave, hm?" Shouta kept his eyes on you.

You nod, continuing to rub his leg with your foot. You tilt your head to the side as you take a sip of your water, your lips wrapping around the straw.

Shouta turned his head to look at a fish tank, trying to get his mind off of the fact that he wanted to take you on the table right then and there.

The rest of dinner was filled with sexual innuendos, reminiscing on memories, good memories, and more sexual innuendos.

Your pussy was already soaked thinking about what will happen when you get home.

-

"Well, here we are." Shouta deliberately went past your door to his as his hand squeezed yours. You smiled as he put his key in the door, turning it quickly. You take a few steps in before you bend down to take your heels off.

"Let me help." Shouta kneeled down to the floor, his chocolate eyes boring into yours. He unbuckled your heel, sliding it off your foot slowly. You let out a breath from being let go from the tight heel, your foot finally being able to relax. Shouta kissed your ankle once before moving onto your other foot.

You watched from above as Shouta took your other heel off, his hands dragging up your legs to your hips as he stood up.

Your eyes were filled with lust as you leaned into Shouta's body, your hands pressing against his muscular chest.

"Are you still feeling brave?" He purred.

That's it.

You pressed your lips against his gently, gripping his shirt in your hand with a fist. Shouta grabbed your face with both of his hands, making sure you stay close to him.

You tilt your head as you kiss him, his thumbs rubbing your cheeks as he slips his tongue in your mouth. A breathy moan escapes your throat against his lips - a sound that was filled with lust and need.

"Should we move to the bed?" Shouta's words sounded like music to your ears. You nod as he lifts you up by your hips, planting his large hands on your ass. His lips find yours again as you wrap your legs around his waist. He lifted you like it was nothing.

Once you were back in his room, he gently laid you down on his bad, your hair pooling around his pillows. He was hovering over you, his arms caging you in. He unbuttoned his shirt, which was so unintentionally sexy. You followed his lead and took your shirt off, your tits bouncing when they released from the fabric.

"No bra?" Shouta kissed your lips again as he threw his shirt to the floor. "Dirty girl."

"Bras hurt." You wrap your hand around his wrist with your dainty hand, bringing his large hand to your breast. "Touch me, Shouta."

His movements were timid at first as he stared at your beautiful, supple chest. Your tits are huge, in a way that makes Shouta want to bury his face in them. His fingertips grazed the skin on your nipple, goosebumps immediately forming. You bit your lips with anticipation as he finally took a handful of your breast in his head, squeezing it gently.

"God, Shouta. Your touch is like fire." You throw your head back as he massages your breasts. His eyes flicker to yours as he lowers his head to your chest, his mouth wrapping around the nipple on the other breast.

You gasp as he starts sucking on your sensitive nub, his other hand kneading your tit. "Fuck." You press your head to the back of his head as his mouth let go of your nipple with a 'pop'. He kissed the valley in between your breasts as he made his way to your soft stomach, kissing right above your belly button, them to the top of your jeans.

You were getting impatient. Your pussy was throbbing with need, but Shouta liked to take his time. He knew you were getting fussy, too.

"Impatient one, hm?" Shouta smirked as he undid the button to your jeans.

"Shouta, please." You pout. "I need you inside of me."

"Inside of you... is that right?" He grabbed your belt loops, pulling your pants down to reveal your black thong.

"Yes." You nod, reaching for his pants. He did most of the work in taking them off, but hey, you tried. You were too full of lust to truly assist him.

He slowly pulled his boxer briefs off, his long, fat cock springing against his abdomen.

This man is ripped and he never shows it. What a shame.

But you get to be the one to see him.

Truly see him.

You watch his cock with amazement - you've never really thought about how big Shouta is - but you had a feeling he wouldn't be on the small side. A few pieces of his hair fell out of his bun to frame his face as he pulled your thong off of you. He tore the fabric so easily that they ripped right there.

"You're too strong for your own good, Eraserhead." You smirked as you looked at your broken pair of panties. "You owe me a new pair."

"I'll buy you as many panties as you want. I'm keeping these though." Shouta leaned into your neck, placing kisses marks on your skin. He sucked on your sensitive spot - his tongue swirling around the new bruise.

The cold air of Shouta's room hit your pussy as he kissed you. He was so close to you, but not enough. You wanted to feel him, all of him.

"Do you have condoms?" You felt your pussy clench around nothing.

"I don't. And I prefer not to use them." Shouta removed himself from your neck to look at you. "Did you use them with the bird?"

You nod, bringing your hand to the back of his head.

"Once I'm inside you, you're mine. Ok?" Shouta kissed your lips roughly, his cheeks a shade of pinkish-red.

"Yours?"

"You heard me. That means no more bird. That means there's no reason to use condoms. I'm clean, you're clean."

You watched Shouta's movements, trying to decipher if he's joking or not. But there was no sense of softness in his eyes.

"I want to fuck you when I want." Shouta kissed your lips. "Wherever I want." He placed a hot kiss on your neck again. "I want to feel all of you, got it?"

You nod. "I'm yours, Shouta."

Those were the words that ignited something in Shouta Aizawa. You felt his fat tip rub against your slits, coating them with his pre-cum.

You spread your legs to give Shouta a better view. He used one hand to guide his cock inside of you, his other hand on your plush hip.

You felt his tip slide inside of you, a cry leaving your lips.

"Shhh, it's just the tip baby." He slowly pushed himself inside you, finally going past the tip. Your pussy clenched against him as he watched his cock disappear inside of you. "So tight, fuck." He slid the rest of him inside of you, watching your eyes roll back.

Shouta brought his hand to your face, caressing your cheek as he established his rhythm. Your tits bounced with his movements, the sound of his balls hitting your skin filling the room.

Your back arched as he leaned down to your neck, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pounded into your plush walls.

"Fuck, baby." Shouta's moans were sinful. You could feel your pussy clenching his cock tightly, the coil in your stomach tightening. "You're so wet, so tight, damn."

The sound of your wet pussy was all Shouta could hear. He started to pound into you faster, his hands squeezing your hips roughly. His fingertips left marks on your skin.

"I've dreamt about this pussy, did you know that?"

A whimper left your lips, the coil tightening again. You turn your head to the side as you feel your orgasm approaching. Shouta took notice, bringing his thumb to your swollen clit. Your body twitched at his touch, bringing your euphoria that much closer.

"Shouta I'm gonna come." You moaned his name, tangling your fingers in his raven hair.

"I didn't say you could." He rubbed circles on your clit, using your own arousal to coat the nub.

"P-please."

"No." He slammed his entire length into you as he rubbed your clit, the sound of his cock pounding into you making your ears ring.

You couldn't hold it anymore.

"Shouta, please."

"Daddy."

"D-Daddy, please."

He moved his hand from your aching clit, bringing his lips to yours as he thrusted into you. You took that as an okay, so you let yourself free. The coil broke, your body involuntarily squirming. "Shouta." You moaned when you wrapped your arms around his neck, his skin sweaty. His face was in your neck, biting the skin as his pace became sporadic. You felt his muscular chest against yours, your fingertips dragging along his back - which is also very muscular. You dig your nails into his skin as he reaches places you never thought anyone could.

"Where should I come?" His voice was so low you almost couldn't hear him.

With lust on your mind, there was only one answer.

"Inside." You let out a breathy moan.

"Trying to trap me already?" He smirked. "Don't worry baby, this cock is yours forever whether you like it or not."

"I'm on the pill."

Shouta pushed himself into you one last time before he released himself inside of you, his white juices covering your walls. He was at the hilt of his cock - a ring of a white substance around his member.

You whimpered when his cock retreated from you. From the sudden loss of him. Shouta kissed your swollen lips before going to the bathroom to grab towels. He helped clean your body up, kissing your forehead when he was done.

You both stared at each other in that moment. Lost in each other's presence, in this moment. You couldn't help but kiss Shouta's lips again and again, savoring this moment.

"Yours." You kissed his lips once more as he wrapped his arms around your naked body.

"Mine." He pressed his cheek to the top of your head as you laid your head on his chest, drifting off to sleep.

[staytinyville]

Towards the Light Masterlist (2K Followers Special)

↣ Summary: You’ve lived eight different lives, all of which they couldn’t save you. Now they will do all they can to keep you alive and within their arms. 

↣ Characters/Pairing: Fallen Angel!Ateez x Reader

↣ Genre: Mature

↣ AU/Trope info: Fallen Angel!Au, Reincarnation!Au

↣ Word Count: N/A

↣ Warnings: Topics of suicide in one of the one-shots, mental illness, violence, marital abuse and violence, murder, smut (More warnings apply within each chapter)

↣ A/N: This was just one of the few stories I was inspired to write after my concert. It was one of the greatest things I got the chance of experiencing and I am so excited to see them again. I don’t know when but I am hoping to. Tell me what were your favorite parts of the concert!

Staytinyville’s Permanent Taglist

↣ Affiliates: @cultofdionysusnet , @cromernet , @monsterfvckersunited , @pirateeznet , @k-labels , @k-vanity

↣ Special Thanks: Thank you @saradika-graphics for the amazing banners! Please go check her out if you have specific banners in mind. She is great!

Was there really someone watching over you? Someone who would protect you from any harm? The idea that someone–something–would drop everything just to see you live another day, was beyond comprehensible. Was their love for you so powerful they would ruin their grace for you?

**

You could remember the time when things seemed to have changed within your soul. It had been when your family was slaughtered within your home by the invaders. Or could it have been when you had gotten sick and landed in the hospital? No, it must have been when you proverked those men to attack you. No–No–

There were so many things that led you to be confused when you truly felt like things were taking a turn. You weren’t too sure what was real and what was just a story you might have heard. You couldn’t even decide if you were a real person living in the modern day world. The only thing that kept you going was the fact that others still acknowledged you at one point or another. 

You didn’t live in a village. Didn’t live in Victorian era London. You for sure weren’t married. 

You lived on the 12th floor of a high rise building. You had a fridge that held all the food you would eat for the week. You had a fat cat that owlishly blinked at you from its perch on the window every time you came in frazzled from work. You had a plant in a pot that would sometimes smell from the water you had given it the day before. 

No–No. You lived in modern day times where genocide was a war crime. Where medicine was now able to contract a sickness you might have. Where women had more voice than ever before. 

Where looking over the side of a building caused for concern from your peers because suicide was not something to be taken lightly. 

It was modern day times, and yet you still always thought about the past. 

You weren’t a skeptic but you were a paranoid person for some reason. You felt like you were being watched for years–even going as far as seeking help for schizophrenia. But your paranoia never changed, however your feelings did. 

You grew used to looking behind your shoulder in hopes of catching whoever was looking at you. Feeling the shivers go down your spine as someone gets too close. But the moment you let your guard down, that was when the dreams started. 

One by one you saw them each in your dreams–each more different then the last. But still always watching you.

1960s - Jongho - October 1

1910s - Wooyoung - October 5

1880s - Mingi - October 9

1830s - San - October 13

1740s - Yeosang - October 17

1700s - Yunho - October 21

1690s - Seonghwa - October 25

1620s - Hongjoong - October 29

2024 - ATEEZ - October 31

Be sure to apply to my Masterlist on Google docs if you would like to be tagged in the series. I was gonna do Kinktober but bro I didn’t catch up quickly. I don’t have time because I’m going on vacation in October so yeah. My smut writing is trash atm bro. I can’t

[enrichment-time-in-my-enclosure]

Chapter 1 - Girl Time

<-last-masterlist-next->

!!Written portion under the cut!!

"Is it weird? Y'know, going to school with a bunch of normies after basically having worked in the field for years already?"

After Todoroki left to rest in his room before the night's get-together, you and Mina got to talking about anything and everything while painting each other's nails. You were glad to have made a friend already, someone who wouldn't treat you differently due to your status.

"Maybe a little. I wouldn't consider you guys normies, though." Mina let out a small, amused hum in response as she finished brushing the pink polish onto your pinky nail. "so you've seen our work?" she jokes, blowing on your nails lightly to accelerate the drying process.

Of course, you'd seen their work. Class 1A had become something of a media spectacle in the past year. Villain activity had been ramping up, and they were called on to help tamp down any beginnings of an uprising. News outlets were constantly covering their interactions with the League of Villains, a group that was being dubbed the biggest threat to hero society since the original reign of All for One.

You let out a soft chuckle as Mina leans in to attend to your response.

"You guys are pretty damn incredible. Some of the strongest heroes I've ever encountered, and I've been around quite a few. I'm really excited to be learning alongside everyone-"

"And using that totally amazing healing quirk!" she interrupts, smiling up at you momentarily before going back to applying a clear coat on each of your nails.

"It seems I'll need to use it quite a bit. Class 1A has an affinity for getting hurt. Honestly, that's better for me though... I need the training."

"You're basically a pro already, though!" Mina responds, screwing on the lid of the nail polish bottle and walking across the room to place it back in her vanity.

"It never hurts to get some more training, " you say, looking down at your freshly painted nails, admiring the color and design Mina had created.

A knock on the door rings through the room.

"Ladies, whenever you're ready, you can come over to my dorm! We've got pizza and drinks, and Mirio was awesome enough to go grab us a couple cases of beer." Kirishima's muffled voice calls out from the other side of the door, his volume lowering at the end of his sentence to try and be discreet.

"What kind?" Mina calls out, straightening her clothes as she stands up.

"I dunno, he's just bringing it. I'm gonna go get the others. See ya there!" You hear his footsteps getting further away before he knocks on another door, gathering more people for the supposedly "small" get-together.

"You comin'?" Mina asks, holding her hand out to help you up from where you're seated on the floor.

"Yup, you lead the way."

A/N- Hope you guys like the chapter!! It's kinda short, but they'll get a bit longer as I put more out! Lmk what ya'll think and if you want a tag list.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Woooo chapter 3 finally

Probably going to at least start the next chapter tonight because I’m so looking forward to writing Mihawk again. He is in this chapter as I promised, but...we do not wake him from his nap. We know better.

But Bogard and Garp have been so much fun honestly. Especially Garp giving Luffy vibes because the brainless dumbassery for sure runs in the family.

Not sure if that applies to Dragon but…look it’d be hilarious if it did—

Anyway, chapter threeeeeeeee

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 3 of like four or something maybe six at most idk, I have a clear ending in sight but I’m not sure how long it’ll take to get there

Brief summary of The Story So Far: So Garp, in his infinite wisdom, had this brilliant idea about how the Marines could use reader's devil fruit ability (zoan type, gray parrot) to spy on this particularly dangerous and elusive pirate up close, and now reader is stuck scoping out Kuraigana Island to see if there are any signs of him there. Bogard may have a coronary before this nonsense is said and done.

First Chapter link, Next Chapter link

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

Possible trigger warning for blood. Possible future trigger warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later

Word Count: 3,057

Haven't really proofread this much but I will in a minute I promise

No tag list yet, I do not expect one but if you're interested in seeing where this bullshit goes just lemme know

♫♬I’m Gonna Be Your Elvis — The Fratellis♬♫

I could not pretend that I was even half amused

When all they ever told me left me shaken and confused

It would have been a beautiful night for a flight, if not for the destination ahead of you.

Kuraigana Island loomed closer as your wings cut through the soft breeze in your transformed state, and catching the wind would ensure that you could simply glide most of the way there without expending too much energy. The chilly night air barely cut through your thick coat of gray feathers, and your dull coloration and the dim light of the crescent moon gave you some reassurance that you would be able to see any potential threat before it could notice you.

Something near the shore by the forest caught your eye, and you swooped in a bit closer to be positive of what you were looking at—and your stomach did a backflip as you confirmed it.

A small vessel was moored there, a boat in the shape of a coffin.

That was confirmation enough that he was here. Part of you considered circling back around the battleship cutting silently through the water a mile or so behind you and reporting this alone to Garp.

But…no. You had been told to fly over, to see what you could from a high enough elevation to avoid detection, and you intended to do just that. This was your first real chance to show your value as a Marine. You couldn’t blow it by turning tail and running the moment you felt the slightest pang of fear. Hardening your resolve, you regained your elevation with a few flaps of your wings, circling the island until you were at a height where you felt safe.

As safe as you could, at least.

The forest was quiet enough—there were no signs of the population of primates Garp had mentioned to you, perhaps all asleep for the evening. Save for the sound of nocturnal birds and insects cutting through the night air, nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the dense forest, or the narrow path that cut through it from the shore. You flew a bit lower, squinting down across the path.

His boat was there. You knew he had to be there somewhere. He never worked with anyone else, so chances were slim to none that he could possibly be anywhere else.

The clearing around the castle was half overgrown itself, littered with ruins and evidence of battles long since ended beneath a thin veil of fog, but the castle itself seemed mostly intact from your vantage point.

Intact, with a dim orange glow glimmering from one of the windows that made you briefly halt in midair, flapping your wings lightly to keep yourself aloft. Fire light. It had to be, there was no other explanation, perhaps the dim glow of a candle or a lantern. There was someone there, someone in a high room of the tower straight ahead of you. That would be enough for you to go back with, more than enough information to all but confirm the reports.

But…if you could get just a little closer, if you could confirm it with your own eyes…

This was a bad idea. It had to be a bad idea. Garp had told you to keep your distance, but you were already swooping down, stopping just beside the window and gripping your talons against the grooves between the stones that comprised the solid wall.

Folding your wings back behind you, slowly and quietly creeping closer to the window.

Closer, just a bit closer, craning your neck the slightest bit to the side to glimpse inside…

The light, as you had thought, came from an oil lantern situated on a small end table, illuminating what appeared to be a sizable den. Most of the visible surfaces in the room were covered with a fine coating of dust that glinted eerily in the flickering glow, from the bookshelves lining one wall to the adjacent hearth. It was quiet at the moment, still, but there was one sign of life that made your heart skip a beat and your breath catch.

Leaning alongside the hearth, unmarred by a single speck of dust, stood a massive sword with a jet-black blade and hilt in the shape of a cross, a glimmering blue gem set into the base of the hilt that seemed to glow in the firelight. Holding your breath as you stared at the weapon, unable to take your eyes off of it, you realized that the room wasn’t quite as silent as you had thought.

The faint whisper of slow, even breathing met your ears.

He was there. He was really there. You considered the likelihood that you were the first Marine to ever get this close without being killed within seconds, considered the idea of taking off back for your ship right that instant.

And then you slowly shifted a little closer to the window, looking around the edge of the windowsill to the other side of the room.

You barely stopped yourself from letting out a gasp.

Reclined back in an old armchair, a book open across his lap, his boots propped up on the table in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted down slightly—it was him. There was no question about it. Even with the small difference from his most recent bounty poster of the angular moustache and goatee, there was no question. You were barely ten feet away from the Marine Killer himself, Dracule Mihawk.

And he was fast asleep.

His chest rose and fell slowly with his deep, even breaths, his eyes closed. His plumed hat sat to the side on an end table, his signature trench coat draped across the back of his chair. You had done it—more than simply scouting for activity, more getting the lay of the land, you had found the man himself.

You jolted in alarm when he shifted in his sleep, quickly pulling your head out of the window, your heart racing.

That, you decided, was more than enough for you to report back. You shifted a careful distance across the wall of the tower, taking care to ensure that your talons didn’t so much as scratch against the stone surface, and took flight back toward the shore, toward the battleship barely visible against the dark water and midnight sky. Gliding just above the treetops, buzzing with adrenaline, you were already swelling with pride. You, a cadet that had spent weeks being taunted and treated like a joke, had managed to use the very ability that had made you a laughingstock to do what no other Marine had yet managed.

For the first time, you had more than just a glimmer of hope that this plan, however ridiculous it sounded on the surface, could actually work.

And then something whizzed past your left wing.

You faltered in your flight, looking around as you flapped your wings a few times to regain your equilibrium. Whatever it was had passed by so fast that you had registered no more than the whistle of wind around it. Maybe a smaller bird or a large bug—

And then it happened again.

And again.

And, as you realized that the objects were coming from below you and looked down, you let out an audible gasp that left you like a strangled squawk.

You were too close to the trees, you realized disjointedly, as you took in the sight of several enormous, ape-like creatures below you. You were also the only bird in the air, which you guessed had a great deal to with the fact that these particular apes were wearing what appeared to be some sort of armor and wielding very human weapons. Swords, spears, axes, and—to your stunned realization—bows.

Another arrow zipped past your right wing, close enough to brush across your feathers.

What the hell what the hell what the hell—

Soaring higher into the air did you little good. The beasts had already spotted you and were following your flight path with ease, still firing arrows, throwing spears (though these, thankfully, didn’t manage to come nearly high enough to pose any threat). You were more than halfway across the expanse of the forest, you could make it, you knew you could.

Nearly to the end of it, dipping higher and lower, zig-zagging through the air to throw off the aim of the strange primates.

Right there, right at the edge of the trees, when a searing pain tore through your right wing, causing you to screech out a swear, glancing down to watch the offending arrow fall and land on the shore below you.

You didn’t even dare glance toward your wing to see how bad the injury was. As long as you didn’t look, it might have only been a scratch. It might have just been a light graze. You tried to ignore how unsteady your flying was, to ignore the fact that you were slowly losing elevation and seemed unable to regain it, that you were swerving to the left no matter how hard you tried not to.

You did focus on the fact that if you fell now, you wouldn’t ever make it back. You’d fall into the nearly black waves below you and sink down into the ocean like a sack of stones, and that would be the end.

Your ship drew closer and closer, growing larger and larger in your line of sight, and you focused on that.

Until you were close enough to glide awkwardly onto the quarterdeck, where Garp and Bogard seemed to be arguing quietly in front of the doors of the Vice Admiral’s cabin, and skid past them across the floorboards, hitting the railing on the starboard side.

Whatever argument your superior officers had been engaged in ceased the moment you transformed, pulling yourself up to sit against the railing, already half-shouting at the older man, “You could have told me they knew how to use weapons!”

You didn’t like the way they stared at you for a long moment, both of their gazes flickering to your right arm, no more than you liked how limp the appendage felt at your side as you gripped at the railing with your left hand.

Garp mumbled something to Bogard, who gave a short nod before disappearing into the cabin.

Garp tilted his head the slightest bit to the side, lifting his eyebrows as he slowly approached you. “That—exactly who knows how to use weapons?” he asked slowly.

“The goddamned apes, that’s who,” you said through your teeth, briefly forgetting every ounce of formality that your time as a Marine had instilled in you. “They had swords! And bows! And armor and spears and—”

“The ap—never mind that for now,” he said slowly, holding up a hand. “You need to calm down, cadet. And we need to get you patched up.”

“Patched up—I could have been killed!”

You still hadn’t looked at your arm. The adrenaline still coursing through your veins made the sharp, throbbing pain seem like an afterthought, like a distant reality as you pulled yourself to your feet. “By a bunch of damned monkeys that evidently—”

“Enough.” You jumped at the harsh command, straightening yourself out completely and snapping to attention in an instant. Your eyes briefly darted to the cabin doors as Bogard emerged, unwinding a belt as he strode over quickly, tossing a quick glare at Garp before lifting your arm and wrapping it around a couple inches below your shoulder. “We can discuss it in a few minutes. We need to get you down to the sick bay first.”

You still didn’t look down, shaking your head at Garp as you stared at him in alarm.

“It was just a scratch, I’m fine—ow—” you added as Bogard abruptly tightened the belt around your arm, glancing over.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the large, deep gash extending nearly from your right elbow to your shoulder.

At the blood steadily spurting out from what was no doubt a pretty important vein or artery.

“O…oh,” was all you could force out, your eyes lowering to the puddle of blood at your feet, the adrenaline rush fading in nearly an instant, leaving you more than a little light-headed. “That’s…”

The makeshift tourniquet around your arm did gradually slow the bleeding by the time you sat down at the edge of one of the cots in the infirmary, but you were still woozy from the blood loss, still lightheaded from everything you had witnessed during your flyover of Kuraigana Island, only catching the vaguest gist of Garp and Bogard’s continued bickering.

“And you didn’t think to inform me of this hare-brained mission beforehand?” Bogard was saying, and while his face was shadowed by the brim of his hat you were sure his expression matched his sour tone.

“It was just recon,” said Garp, sitting at the edge of a cot a few feet away, striking a match and holding it to the end of a cigar clamped between his teeth. “In and out, ten minutes. Didn’t seem like a big deal.”

“And yet here we are,” he said through his teeth, not bothering to glance up at your flinching as he cleaned the gash with an alcohol drenched cloth.

“How the hell was I supposed to know a bunch of goddamned apes would know how to use weapons?” he said, slouching over against the wall. “Wonder if the psychopath trained them…”

“Seeing as we know next to nothing about him aside from the fact that he seems to derive joy from committing mass murder, I don’t suppose anyone knows,” said Bogard, tossing a sidelong glare at the vice admiral, who gave a noncommittal shrug. Bogard tossed the cloth aside with an irritated growl and shoved a clean one into your hands. “Put pressure on that.”

“Yessir,” you said automatically, wincing as you pushed the rag against the wound.

“With all due respect, Garp, this entire farce was your idea,” said Borgard, straightening out from where he had been kneeling next to your cot to cross the room and begin rifling through drawers and cabinets. “I’m sure you can imagine what we’d have to deal with were we to return to headquarters and have to inform Sengoku that our operative was killed en route by a bow-wielding monkey.”

“Eh…” Garp shrugged a shoulder, his own expression souring at the thought. “But hell, at least we know why no one’s made it out of the place now. So we did get some information.”

“And suppose the target had been there?”

“He was.”

Both men froze when you spoke up—Garp halfway through pulling his cigar from his mouth to flick the ashes from the end, Bogard with a drawer halfway shut, both of them slowly turning their heads to look toward you.

“You should probably tell someone at headquarters to update his bounty poster,” you added, tapping at your chin. “He, ah, has a goatee now.”

Both men continued to regard you in stunned silence for several long, tense seconds, glancing at each other as your words slowly sunk in.

Garp’s face split into a grin, and his hearty laughter a moment later completely drowned out his partner’s weary sigh. Bogard slowly closed the drawer, turning around to lean back against the counter behind him, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Were you not instructed to keep your distance?” he said loudly, glowering over at Garp as the older man threw his head back in laughter. You sat up a bit straighter when Bogard turned his glare on you, crossing his arms, frowning at you with the same measure of exasperation. “Had you been seen—”

“I was careful,” you said quickly. “I noticed a light in one of the castle windows. Most of the place is in ruins but the castle is still standing. I only peeked through the corner of the window, he was asleep.”

You decided as his frowned deepened that it was best not to mention how long you had lingered in the windowsill.

“Sounds to me like the kid passed her test with flying colors,” said Garp, still chuckling to himself. He gave you a nod of approval, pointing toward you with the smoldering end of his cigar. “Good work, cadet.”

“It sounds,” said Bogard, pulling the drawer next to him open sharply, “as if our cadet was taking wholly unnecessary risks for the sake of an unnecessarily dangerous and unauthorized ‘test’ of her abilities.” Garp rolled his eyes at the indirect scolding, leaning against the wall of the infirmary again. “Needless to say,” he went on, fishing through the drawer and retrieving a suture kit before shoving it closed, “the next time any of your commanding officers sees fit to pose you with such a mission again…”

He grabbed a clipboard off of the counter, flipped over an empty medical report to its blank side, and tossed it onto the cot next to Garp, before heading back over to sit at the cot across from yours. You watched as he retrieved a large, curved needle and set to threading it, tossing a sharp look at you.

“…you are both advised and encouraged to run it by me first. Understood?” You nodded quickly as he pulled the cloth out of your hands and away from the expansive gash across your arm. “Good. Then you’ll relay what you witnessed during your reconnaissance, and our esteemed vice admiral will take down the report—”

“Why the hell do I have to—”

“Because you’re terrible at applying stitches,” Bogard snapped before Garp could finish his protest. The older man rolled his eyes, snatching up the clipboard and digging a pen out of his pocket. Bogard leaned over with the threaded needle in his hand and added, “This is going to hurt.”

“Probably not much more than nearly having my wing shot off,” you reasoned.

Garp snorted.

Bogard sighed, muttering something under his breath about being surrounded by idiots, before grabbing your wrist and pulling your arm straight, not bothering to give you any warning before jabbing the needle through your skin.

“Just stay still,” he said over the sharp hiss of air your drew in through your teeth at the pain, “and relay your report, cadet."

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

First Chapter Link again, for your convenience

[tennessoui]

kit's list of obikin fic recs in no particular order

y'all asked and i finally answered.....here's a list of fics i've read and adored this year! note that i've tagged things that i think could squick people (a/b/o dynamics, weird biology, dub con, heavy kink, etc), and i've noted the ratings (explicit, mature, teen), but i have not noted top/bottom (this list contains a pretty even split of both) and i haven’t indicated which are WIPs - take a chance! i've left little paragraphs as to why i liked the fic but i tried to keep spoilers out of them so the story can be a surprise :D

remember to leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed the fic :D

Igneous - zimriya Notes: Explicit, A/B/O dynamics, canon compliant, series!

Trying to find this fic so I could reread it was the thing that prompted me to make this list. That’s how amazing this fic is. It tears out your heart strings. It hurts. I love it. It’s soft. It makes me cry. I am never going to recover from this perfect retelling of canon. This hurts just as much as the kenobi show. I owe this author a medical bill and a thank you card. I don’t care if a/b/o isn’t your thing or omega obi-wan isn’t your thing i need you to try reading this fic i really do because it’s just honestly superb and beautiful prose and i think about some of these lines near daily. Ok, fine. Daily.

I’d Never Be Me (Without The Support of Your Loving Arms) by euryrice  Notes: Explicit

i don’t think i’ll ever stop talking or thinking about this fic, it’s up there for me….such a good take on a bond/spy au that I don’t think I’ll ever seriously try at one myself because it’d never be ‘i’d never be me without the support of your loving arms’; it’s just so well thought through. Canon lovingly applied. Kit beautifully moved and hungry for a second part of the series, even though it doesn’t even need a second part and is perfect as a stand alone. Witty banter rating: 10/10

Hooked On You by @whohatessand Notes: Explicit, infidelity, side anidala (padmé is being cheated on)

Dirty bad wrong never felt so good though; Anakin is cheating on his wife with her campaign manager. Anakin is very not satisfied with being a trophy husband, and honestly it’s so valid of him. This is so well-written that Anakin’s frustration with his life, his wife, his duties all feels very real and understandable. Does that excuse the cheating and the spit-as-lube fucking at a donor ball? Nah, but they know it doesn’t. And it ends on a very hopeful obikin note, which is my favorite

The Final Frontier of Pleasure by @jedibongrip Notes: Explicit, bp!Anakin, virginity kink (ish?)

“Just the tip” made into a very hot 2k fic wherein anakin’s definitely not a virgin anymore, but obi-wan’s gonna go along with it if it makes him happy (and means that he gets to keep touching him, god bless); note to say that all of this author’s stuff is very good!

Stars To Fill My Dreams by hidden_humours Notes: Explicit, reverse master/padawan, dark Anakin

Anakin is teetering on going off the walls insane in this fic and I am so here for it. This is just amazing. I love a padawan obi-wan and I especially love this time-travel with a twist (which I won’t spoil!); the summary even says “yeah this anakin isn’t all there” and the author is right!!! 100%!! I love it. I want to poke this Anakin with a stick. I want to push him off his metaphorical cliff of sanity. I want to push Obi-Wan off a cliff just to see what this Anakin would do. What a fic. What a goddamn fic.

Obi-Two by @virahaus Notes: Explicit, Obi-Wan/Anakin/Obi-Wan

Guys, holy shit I am so excited for this WIP you have no idea. Everything about it is delicious so far. The Obi-Wan that gets zapped back in time just before ROTS/Order 66 is living to see twunk Anakin again and he is so soft yet so commanding about it. Ben!Obi-Wan literally kills me in this fic. If there’s never another chapter, I’m begging you to read this anyway, it’s that good.

Vast as the sea, constant as the tide by @moonlightatnoon Notes: Explicit, pirate!anakin, captain!Obi-Wan

So maybe Kit’s attention was captured and held by the sea-themed title…she’s a simple lady. But this fic is absolutely beautiful.  I love the intrigue, the history, the pining of it all. My attention, much like Obi-Wan, was gently captured and held hostage by pirate Anakin and the way he’s like ‘my obi-wan <3 mine <3’ while also being a whole ass pathetic lil mew mew of a pirate. He is so possessive and fearsome and clingy and needy I love this Anakin and how much he needs his Obi-Wan. I love the ending especially! Beautifully done.

Buns of Steel by @ragnarlothcat Notes: Explicit, humor, himbos the both of them 

Put this under Fics That Make Kit Want To Join A Gym. I love the humor here (Rag has such a legendary way with a great turn of phrase and pacing of jokes that just makes the fic fly by) and the ridiculousness of it all. Obi-Wan here is extremely lovably bitchy and I adore it. His dialogue is quite polite, but this is a fic where the narration really makes the characterization pop. Also the amount of lusting after his beautiful aerobics instructor that Obi-Wan does…and how UNFAIR he finds Anakin’s beauty. Just amazing. Cheering for Obi-Wan living his best life and getting the hot aerobics instructor in the end.

My Thoughts I Confess (Verge On Dirty) by @artemisthehuntress Notes: Explicit, horny, horny, horny Obi-Wan

This is, of course, the other fic filed under Fics That Make Kit Want To Join A Gym. I love Anakin in booty shorts. I love Obi-Wan, head empty and no thoughts because his dick is too goddamn hard to see straight. One should not be exercising under such conditions. The humor here is impeccable. Love all of Obi-Wan’s fantasies with the hot guy working out next to him. If you’re a fan of horny-grip Obi-Wan, this is the fic for you! If you’re not as into horny-grip Obi-Wan, I’d say this fic is still worth the read because it’s just written so well.

just like the days we’d burn by @travellingcircus Notes: Explicit, PTSD mentions, heavy

I was always going to rec one of travellingcircus’ fics of course. They are a fantastic writer and I love their fics - especially the long oneshots that consume my entire night when I see that one’s been posted and I get to delve into a new side of obikin I could never imagine. This fic is one of my favorites by them – and maybe one of my favorite modern aus all together. Anakin has a racing career until he has an accident. Then he goes back to his small town and decides to have Obi-Wan instead because first love (I love first love fics especially in modern aus)!! Also Obi-Wan has a motorbike. This is excellent news. He also has helmet hair. I love Anakin in this fic so much. He’s crazy. He’s wounded. He’s obsessed. He’s in love. He’s desperate. And Anakin makes Obi-Wan all these things too. Such a good modern au for these characters. They feel so close to their canon characters, it’s marvelous.

Where Every Mask Cracks by skyl_tales Notes: Explicit, a spin-off of one of their other fics, but can be standalone

Skyl_tales’ fics for me are the very definition of fandom classic. They were the first fics I read and I continue to reread them roughly maybe once every year at least. They’re just all very readable. The writing style is something I have always loved and envied – their fics are approachable and entertaining, no matter how much you know or don’t know about Star War at the time of your reading. Tbh I think this is the fic author who has influenced my writing the most! I love this fic in particular because I do have a soft spot for vaderwan. Old Ben being delightfully torn up over Vader and Vader being delightfully unhinged about his former master…..with a magical fix-it device that restores both of them to their younger, strongest selves (if only to make the fucking easier and the horny insatiable)

Gay Chicken by zimriya Notes: Explicit, enemies to lovers, light daddy kink

Where to begin with this fic!!! I guess I cannot stress enough how much I love humor in fics when done right and this is done so well. Like it is literally so funny and so normal. There is something so beautiful about putting these space monk superheroes into like. Just situations. This fic is about laundry. But also upstairs neighbors. But also lost loves??? I’m always a bit hesitant for fics with a lot of notes/messages, because I can find that hard to read, but this was very, very easy to read, both format-wise and flow of the story wise. I love them both being assholes to each other.  Love them slowly becoming friends through notes under the monikers “501” and “212”. LOVE the twist.

wildest dreams by kidhuzural Notes: Explicit, 5+1 fic

Basically: Baby Anakin wants to get married to Obi-Wan. Teenager padawan Anakin wants to marry Obi-Wan. Clone Wars Anakin wants to marry Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan wants to marry Clone Wars Anakin. I love love love fics that start out with baby padawan Anakin and have him grow up. It places so much emphasis on their master&padawan relationship and how important they were to each other before AOTC or TCW, which I think is the strongest basis for obikin. Also this Anakin is just so cute and Obi-Wan cares for his baby padawan so much!! All in all, this fic is just so sweet. Obsessed.

In Pursuit of Cold Water by @jswander Notes: Mature, Merman!Anakin

Can I have a fic rec list that doesn’t include this fic?? I love this fic. I think I reread it like twenty times while waiting for the last chapter, and it was worth it and gripping and incredible each time. I am fascinated by writers who can worldbuild, and Jo worldbuilds so well in this mermaid AU. I love the descriptions of their fins; the possessiveness, the hurt, the anger, the jadeness, and the naivete of Anakin somehow all existing in the same character and all being so justified. There’s some really heavy moments and also really silly moments (they dress Anakin up as an old lady to avoid detection at one point). I love the development of their relationship and especially the growth of their mental bond. Such a good translation  of their Force bond in canon (and such a clever work-around for a mermaid not speaking English!) Just an amazing fic. So good.

The Devil’s In The Details by @ragnarlothcat Notes: Explicit, demon Anakin, darker!Anakin (because of the demon bit)

Back at it again with my Rag-writing obsession! I’m loving this WIP and how evil and innocent Anakin is. Yeah, he’s a demon haunting Obi-Wan’s new house; yeah, he’s killed like. A ton of people. But he’s so pathetic. So very eager to please. So very attractive. As a reader, you’re like Obi-Wan’s friend, Quinlan, who discovers Obi-Wan sleeping with a literal demon, and you’re like ‘bestie, do you not know? That’s a literal demon?’ and obi-wan is like ‘he is quite polite and does so good on our walks around town’ and you’re like ‘you’re taking him on walks???’ but also you can’t help but root for demon Anakin and poor decision-maker Obi-Wan. Also, once again, I love Rag’s humor and timing of it. The narration Obi-Wan has is so colorful and so fucking funny, I snort all the time. He’s such a bitch. He’s amazing.

By Omission by @posthumousvigor Notes: Explicit, reverse master/padawan au, drunk sex

This writer is very quickly becoming one of my favorites. I love their prose and the way they write Obi-Wan—especially padawan!Obi-Wan with Master Anakin. One of my favorite dynamics for obikin aus, and this writer gives me so much good food. TBH one of my all-time favorite cliches/tropes is one of them getting dressed up out of their Jedi robes to be put in Situations, and I especially love this for Obi-Wan cause Anakin got a whole movie of dressing up for funsies, and this fic delivers. Master Skywalker comes back early from a mission to find his padawan slutting it up in the Lower Levels, and what is a man to do other than snap?? And he snaps so beautifully in this fic. I love it when they’re horny beyond reason for each other.

how to stay by answersinahauntedclub Notes: Explicit, professor/student relationship

I know logically that this fic probably will not update again, but it is so beautiful and I think about it all the time. It is like. The peak of college/university aus in this fandom. Bold statement, I know, but I love this fic and characterization so much that I am stating it. They’re both disasters. They can’t resist each other even if they really, really should. It’s an incredible read and I am fascinated by both this Obi-Wan and this Anakin. Cannot stress enough the lovable disasters that they are. In writing this, I took an hour break and reread it again.

we’re swimming with the sharks (until we drown) by @obiwaned Notes: Teen, fake/pretend relationship

Getting this update notification felt like such a sweet sweet win for me. I loved the premise as soon as I read it and it just keeps getting better. Fake marriage for any reason is always amazing. I also LOVE non-linear timelines and this writer does it so well because you as the reader don’t get lost and confused trying to keep the timeline straight. It’s delectable, it’s straightforward, it’s so easy to devour, and I am obsessed with this fic and even the possibility of more.

Self-Insert by ZenyZootSuit Notes: Teen, crack

God this is so funny in a very crack way. Short and funny and perfect. Darth Vader writes self-insert fanfiction about being with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Darth Sidious finds out. Imperial secrets are leaked, but I’m sure those were important details he needed to include!! For context! Realism! Absolutely perfect; no notes.

Open Circle by Calyss Note: Explicit, Dark Obi-Wan, dom/sub (under)tones, seduction to the Dark side

This is also one of my annual rereads, and one of my absolute favorite Sith Obi-Wans in the fandom. I love how out of control this sith Obi-Wan is, how very obsessed with just Anakin he is. Sith Obi-Wan really said “he’s mine” and he’s gonna destroy Anakin’s marriage and the whole galaxy to prove it. And also Anakin is not going to say no or resist much at all because that’s his master and he loves him and has weird feelings for him he has not really examined. This is also such an id fic of mine. But no regrets putting it on the list. When I saw it updated in October 2022, I literally cleaned my room and improved my life before I sat down to read it.

How to Save a Galactic Republic Without Really Trying by @sharpest-tongue Notes: Mature, Post Kenobi show

So many amazing fics came out of the Kenobi show but this absolutely has to be one of my favorites. There’s humor, there’s touching moments, there’s Star Wars lingo I didn’t know but that made the whole thing feel very much in-universe (and that I have now incorporated into my Star Wars Wikipedia slash Dictionary for later use, even if it’s all made up). I love a time travel fic, has to be said, and this one delivers perfectly. The Jedi as family in this fic really made me emotional. Extra special shout out to Obi-Wan, raising his padawan again in a do-over, and thinking, ‘i was not this bad as a teenager wtf?? Yeah ok whatever i MAY have fought in TWO WARS at that age but still!!!’ love him. Love his obvious blind spots for anakin and also for himself. Such a good fic!!!

broken bones, thunder drums by @maragny Notes: Teen, hurt/comfort

There is so much to love about this fic and I love it all. Clone War fics are like my bread and butter in this fandom. I love obikin fics that take place in the middle of battle where the reader is confronted with the reality of either Anakin or Obi-Wan fighting – and this fic really starts by throwing you into the action in such a visceral, effective way that I was stressed! I was gripped! It makes Anakin hiding his injury feel not only understandable but also like the only option. Good think Obi-Wan is there to save the day and help Anakin through his pain because he is overprotective and in love with him. Also the first chapter is told from Rex’s point of view, which just. One of my favorite outsider POVs for obikin is Rex.

no news is good news by @rhymenoceros Notes: Mature, crack, relationship reveal, breaking news/news cycle format

This fic is so funny! The tone is perfect for what the writer sets out to do — that is, make the reader feel like they’re caught up in a social media news cycle! There’s talk shows, there’s paparazzi, there’s space reddit, there’s leaked Jedi text conversations….the Jedi screen names are hilarious and easy to tell who is who while still staying true to the joke. Cannot recommend this fic enough. Cute, funny, horny, and with that sweet sweet Palpatine downfall that the best cracky fics always have.

Falling Deep Into You by @dark--whisperings Notes: Explicit, dom/sub tones, so much pining

Any fic that has the tag “Obi-Wan Kenobi is a freak in bed” has my attention and my interest. This writer describes Anakin subbing and Obi-Wan domming so very beautifully that it’s almost a manifesto in 8k. Lots of good sex here, but I really love the opening scene and the push and pull the writer’s given the characters. They want each other so much—Obi-Wan wants so much, but alas! Religious guilt on par with catholicism! Of course the nasty freaky sex fiend in Obi-Wan wins out over the Jedi Master, but I really enjoyed the guilt and the way he gives in and goes to find Anakin because of course he does. And then the ending! A resetting of the chess board so that the game can start over tomorrow. A great fic all in all!

you took my love so tenderly by @billboguspreston & @acrylicsalts-inspo Notes: Explicit, prince/guard dynamic, exhibitionism

I started reading this fic when it was first posted, and I followed it attentively and with baited breath. I love the reverse age dynamic (I know, it’s not for everyone, but I lovelovelove it), and I love that this Obi-Wan is such a spitfire. He knows what he wants and that’s for his silent, restrained, older, handsome bodyguard to snap and fuck him and he WILL brat his way into getting what he wants as is his right. Anakin being both incredibly horny (Anakin horny-gripping the pommel of his sword because Obi-Wan has decided to get off right in front of him to see if he can tempt him into fucking him) is amazing. Obi-Wan being both the aggressor and also the inexperienced one is chef’s fucking kiss and a dynamic I do not see often enough. So worth the read. And there may be more sequels??? Be still my beating heart!

I Wanna Be Owned by @kyberkenobi Notes: Explicit, 5+1 things, light BDSM

Speaking of horny grip lol, I had to think for a bit about which fic from this writer to choose because all of them are very good and very very smutty with all sorts of kinks and dynamics. The writer you go to for mean dom Obi-Wan and if you’re feeling up for discovering a kink you weren’t sure you were into before. There’s plenty of amazing fics on her ao3 (I was also immediately obsessed with the recent alpha/alpha one), but this fic is one of my favorites. I love the style of a 5+1 for a fic, and I am obsessed with casual slut (affectionate) Obi-Wan and Anakin’s blinders of his master slowly being pulled away until he HAS to confront the reason Obi-Wan can untie and hogtie a criminal they caught so damn quickly. It’s indecent. It’s amazing. 

Our Man From Tatooine by kazmir Notes: Explicit, a/b/o dynamics, intersex omegas

This story is such a good, quick, enthralling read. I really can’t say much without spoiling it, but it’s worth the read. Dark Obikin, twists and turns, roleplaying, horny mates being unable to resist the other’s draw….so good….One of those fics I paused to reread while reccing it lol

Acts of Contrition by @marycontraire Notes: A series, ranging from Gen - Explicit

Cheating a little bit to rec you all a series instead because I just reread this fic series and fell in love with it all over again. Literally a fandom classic for me. The world building is amazing, the realism and research really pays off because it creates such a rich world for people to dive into. The Tatooine culture is so rich and interesting, and I love this Anakin especially. It’s a very realistic take on if Anakin had been expelled from the Order for the Tusken massacre. This Anakin is darker and clingier and Obi-Wan is trying to keep himself level and sane and something Anakin can cling to while still being a Jedi in all but name. Every installment of this series is gold and worth reading as quickly as possible just to have this in your mind faster. Also worth a slow read to savor it because unfortunately, you can only read a fic series like this for the first time once.

You can call me baby (you can call me love) by @lilredghost Notes: Explicit, 5 + 1

This fic is so sweet that I honestly forgot it was explicit - even though, yes, it opens with a sex scene lmao! But I love this writer’s explicit fics so much (their ao3 is worth a browse) that I am not disappointed in it being explicit, no sir. Obi-Wan gets upset when Anakin calls him an old man repeatedly and I’ve read this fic so much that when I see repeated use of “old man” in other fics I’m like “! no! His feelings!!!” this fic ALSO has anakin calling obi-wan baby <3  so good so sweet so perfect.

take my hand through the flames by @atornpage Notes: Explicit, vaderwan, seduction to the Dark Side

Oh this may just be the WIP I am most excited to see updated! It’s such a clever and unique concept that I’m on the edge of my seat to see where the writer takes the story next. There are not enough stories where a character falls into a coma and time passes around them, and this is so perfect. I adore fics where baby Anakin is clingy and obsessed with Obi-Wan and everyone around them is like ‘this is not REALLY the Jedi way, guys’, and this fic has SO much of that. I can’t wait to see all the promises of the tags come to fruition and am massively enjoying the ride to get there!

Heal Me, My Darling by @wasureneba Notes: Explicit, sick fic, idiots in love

Who doesn’t love a sick fic?? The tender healing…the care…the rotten work…not to me, not if it’s you, etc etc…this fic is such a good sick fic too, I was here for the entire thing! Anakin is in top whiny form and Obi-Wan is cuddling him left and right! I also love Anakin having a praise kink in this fic – it made me soft and so receptive to the idea again when I was getting tired of seeing it as a default in a ton of fics. But this fic said “Obi-Wan tells Anakin he’s doing good while touching his ass to administer a very important for plot reasons shot and Anakin bursts into flames” and I said “absolutely and understandable, please tell me what happens next.” This is like a perfect sick fic for me. The right balance of sweet and horny. Caring Obi-Wan and whiny because he’s bored! Anakin. God-tier combination.

Νόστος by NFx Notes: Explicit, stockholm syndrome typical of hades & persephone aus

I am always here for a good Hades&Persephone AU and I feel like this is a great one! I especially love AUs that carefully place Star Wars GFFA characters into an established world (like Greek mythology in this case), and take care to match up the side characters of the GFFA with the AU characters they’re being transposed on. I like the pace and narration of this one too, the way the tone feels both readable and still old — the dialogue and narration don’t read like a BBC documentary set in Ancient Greece where everyone just sort of speaks like they’re in a Shakespeare play for some reason, but it’s still sorta oldish/stiffer dialogue that really keeps you in the fic universe without alienating readers. Also, horny. But dark horny. Love a darker Anakin. 

Hunting the Homeward Light by GreenQueenofClubs Notes: Teen

One of my all-time favorites, I think, and if you haven't read it or haven't reread it recently, you need to! There's so much tension build up and detail put in with such an amazing pay off that I could literally read this fic every month and probably find something new to enjoy all over again. I don't even have strong opinions about mace training anakin, but this fic convinced me it could work and work really well. also poor poor obi-wan </3 his emotional support padawan goes missing </3 but then is found :) as a twunk :)

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 68 | Part 69 | Part 70

Lmao nice.

Side note- I know I’ve been more active on Tumblr as of recently, though I haven’t been posting more of this fic. I think I needed that hiatus more than I thought I did. Trying to keep up the posting schedule I had was draining me too much, and I was overwhelmed. So I’m going to do things a little different after this fic. For starters, if you’re not following #starambles, please do if you want to keep up with what I’m writing. That’s my writing tag. I also link everything in my masterlist. I’ll have separate fic tags for each multi-chapter fic, but I will no longer be doing taglists. This does not apply to IISS: I will complete this fic with the taglist it’s amassed. However, I will no longer be adhering to my previous schedule. Instead I will post whenever I’m ready to. It may take a while, but I figure if it’s this or no more IISS, the answer would be this. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, that’s completely fine; just let me know! Also someone please confirm this tagged you in the correct way. Thank you for understanding.

Steve takes stock of himself, smiles a little as he says, “I am, yeah.” He’s a little surprised, but only a little. Eddie’s proven himself great at getting Steve out of his head. “Thank you.”

Eddie gently squeezes his hand. “Wanna stay up here a little longer, before we face the circus downstairs?”

Steve hums. “You can go back down, if you want.”

“You do that a lot.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“You do that a lot. You put everyone else’s comfort before your own.”

Steve shrugs. “I’m good at going without. I don’t need a lot.”

Eddie leans his head back with a sigh. “I’ve got a feeling going back in time will change that. Now you’ve got me and Alli to tell you when you’re being a self-sacrificing idiot.”

Steve winces. Covers it up with a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Eddie looks at him, brows furrowed. “What?”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. Steve.”

Steve tilts his head back, squeezes his eyes shut. “Just. It won’t make sense, in this time, because half of it hasn’t happened yet, but you’ve known Dustin for all of a day and I’m willing to bet you already know how he’d act when I don’t know something he does. And-” he takes a breath. It only stutters a little. “Nancy. It was- she meant it in a sweet way, y’know? But she’d tell me, you’re an idiot, Steve Harrington. And… I know I’m not the smartest. I know there’s obvious things that I miss all the time. And I can only blame so much of it on the concussions, y’know? But at the same time… I’m not actually stupid. Impulsive, maybe, sometimes, but I do have a brain that actually works most of the time. So.” He shrugs. “I dunno. I just don’t like being called an idiot.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Sorry, Stevie.”

“‘S okay. You didn’t know.”

“No, but I should know better than to call people stupid. Wayne would box my ears for that. In fact, I think I’ll go downstairs right now, ask him to remind me.” He makes to get up, but Steve, laughing, pulls him back down.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve chuckles. “I like your ears un-boxed, thank you.”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees. “I’m not gonna call you that again. How’s asshole sound? Self-sacrificing asshole has a nice ring to it.”

Steve collapses in giggles. “I guess if I deserve it.”

“You do,” Eddie promises him, then grumbles to himself. “Trying to get me to go downstairs, I swear.”

Steve giggles some more. “Okay, I get it,” he swears. “I’d like to stay up here for a few more minutes, then we can go back downstairs.”

“Okay.” Eddie grins at him. “I’ve got a couple ideas on how we could spend a few more minutes.”

“Oh?” Steve asks, leaning closer. “And what would that be?”

“I think you know,” Eddie murmurs, close enough to Steve that he’s practically speaking into Steve’s mouth.

Neither of them mind, clearly, because in the next second they’re kissing, Steve’s hands on Eddie’s shoulders for stability, Eddie’s hands gently stroking Steve’s back, up and down, up and down. He moves out a little and grabs at Steve’s hips, and Steve hums into his mouth. Eddie grins into the kiss, so in retaliation Steve twines a hand into Eddie’s hair.

Eddie gently bites Steve’s tongue, and Steve holds in the noise that wants to come out. He gently pulls back instead. “Eddie,” he murmurs. “We should stop.”

Eddie sighs and rests his forehead on Steve’s collarbone. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Steve snorts. “I’m not. I like what we just did. But I also know we should get back downstairs soon.”

Eddie hums in agreement. “Yeah. Lemme just sit here for a minute and think about, like, grandmas with dentures, or something.”

Steve laughs. “That’s probably a good idea,” he admits. He shifts, rests his back against the bed again, sighs. Smiles when Eddie grabs his hand again. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” He pauses, just long enough for Eddie to start to fidget, before finishing with a smile. “Here at the end of all things, Eds.”

Eddie groans and flops over on top of Steve. “And you know Lord of the Rings? Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Fly?” Steve asks, which causes Eddie to laugh.

“Nah,” he says, rolling so his head is pillowed on Steve’s lap. “I think you could just ask gravity not to work and it would let you fly.”

Steve snorts and cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “I think you’re biased.”

“I can be biased and right.”

Steve just hums. “Your hair is surprisingly soft.”

Eddie blinks. “Um. Thanks?”

Steve chuckles. “I just mean it’s surprising because of how frizzy it is.

Eddie snickers. “You want to take care of it, don’t you?”

“So bad,” Steve agrees, also laughing. “Your choice, though.”

Eddie smiles. “Maybe once the chaos has calmed down?”

“Sure.” Steve sighs. “Ready to go downstairs?”

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

Steve smiles. “Then let’s go.”

Eddie rolls off of him so Steve can stand. He then offers Eddie a hand up.

“Wait,” Steve requests, right as Eddie’s reaching for the doorknob.

Eddie pulls back, turns to Steve. “Yeah?”

“Kiss first?”

“Kiss always,” Eddie agrees, and happily leans in.

After they pull apart, there’s a knock at the door, and a tentative voice. “Steve? Eddie?”

It’s Dustin.

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[the-mad-starker]

Starkercest Smut: Quick Tips For Satisfying An Alpha (2/4)

For @starkerfestivals Summer Bingo! (Coming Untouched)

Oops, this chapter came outta no where and so my expected chapters for this fic got bumped by 1. I stg next one will be for Battleship. Until then... 🥺

Rated: E

Notes: omegaverse, starkercest, alpha tony, omega Peter, intersex Omegas, tags to be updated

Ch2 notes: cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, coming untouched

WC: 2550 (AO3 Link | Tumblr Ch1)

Peter was eager for instruction.

💗💗💗

He was ready to drag his dad back to the master bedroom and learn all there was to know. Even if he didn't know the depth of what he wanted to learn, he knew there was a lot his dad could teach him. His enthusiasm was plain and clear and it made the corner of Tony’s mouth tip up in amusement.

But when Peter grabbed his hand and tugged, his dad didn't budge.

“Dad?” Peter paused. “Aren't we gonna start now?”

Tony chuckled, the sound soft and low. And yet, the way it affected Peter was all heat and electricity.

“Eager, huh?” Tony teased and with an effortless tug, brought Peter into his arms.

Peter’s breath caught in his lungs as he pressed his palms flat on his father’s firm chest.

“Can't we?” Why was his voice so breathless…?

Tony leaned down and nuzzled his cheek. Instinctively, Peter’s face tipped up, offering his neck, and oh– he's never felt the need to do that before. It felt so right though, and Peter realized a second later that he wanted his dad to dip down and do something. Maybe bite him? Maybe not a bite, he thought, ‘cause the thought of teeth and pain had Peter both confused and feeling fuzzy. Maybe he just wanted his dad to nuzzle him there or… something… He wasn't sure what but he knew his dad would know what to do.

Either way, regardless of Peter’s confusing wants, his father didn't take the offer and instead kissed his forehead in a sweet and gentle manner. Normally, this show of affection would make Peter purr in contentment, but his alpha daddy had ignored feeding the foreign kind of want that had sprouted inside him. He wanted to explore it. Now.

“Nuh-uh,” Tony denied, voice low and seductive. It shot heat into Peter’s body, making him all the more eager to get to it that he didn't realize at first that his dad had said no.

“What? Why?” Peter demanded, falling back into a petulant, childish kind of whine.

“You, Peter Stark, promised that Ned kid that you'd hang out with him before his family goes off on vacay,” Tony reminded him.

Peter internally screamed and his head dropped, thudding softly on his dad’s chest.

“I did,” he said miserably.

Would Ned understand if he canceled…? No, no, he couldn't do that to his best friend, especially if he wasn't going to see Ned for the next few weeks.

So with a sigh and a soft grumble, Peter said, “Okay."

He made to leave but his dad wouldn't let him go.

“Dad?” Peter asked, curiously.

His dad was looking down on him with a calculating look.

“You're frustrated,” Tony pointed out.

Well, duh.

“I won't ditch Ned, but I just got excited cause… ‘cause I thought I'd get stuff started already,” Peter sighed. “But it's fine. it's fine, dad, I can wait… Would probably be a good idea too, you're always saying I need to plan these things out more– Eek!”

He had babbled until he was suddenly being pushed against the kitchen counter, hands instinctively scrambling to balance himself.

“Dad?!” He squeaked when his dad’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades and applied a light but demanding pressure.

“An alpha takes care of their omega,” his dad said nonchalantly behind him. “If I let you go out there, all frustrated and crap, you'll be distracted. You won't have a good time and then later on, you'll feel bad that you couldn't hang out with Ned the way you wanted to. You're too frustrated to go out like this.”

So what if he was frustrated? He’d get over it.

The logic took Peter a second to understand and then the first part of that sunk in.

An alpha takes care of their omega.

“What are you going to do, Dad…?” Peter asked, so excited that he could barely get any breath in his lungs. Maybe they didn't have time for everything Peter wanted clarification on, but they had time for something and that was enough for Peter. For now.

The answer was given to him in the form of an action.

His boxers were tugged down, over the curve of his buttocks and even further down his thighs until they pooled around his ankles.

“I'm gonna take care of my omega,” his father said, the warmth of his breath tickling the back of his thighs.

Immediately, every hair on his body raised in excitement. Peter's heart felt like it had jumped up his throat and he became so tense. His scent perfumed out, thick arousal signaling yes yes yes, I want this, I need this with an underlying hint of trepidation. No matter how much he wanted, how much he trusted, this was still new territory and he wasn’t scared– he was not. He was just… inexperienced and new things could be scary.

Even so, Peter swallowed the lump in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut. Without his sight, it made the reactions of his body all the more clear. There were butterflies fluttering in his belly and it felt like his lower body was starting to heat up, like molten lava was looking between his legs. He realized quickly that his body was reacting, slick starting to gather between his thighs.

Without his boxers, there was nothing to catch it and he felt a line of wetness drip down his thigh.

“Dad…” he said weakly. He wanted to turn around, to look, but at the same time, he was afraid that moving from the position his dad put him in would ruin everything.

So he stood there, legs starting to shake, and so, so incredibly turned on.

“Relax, kid,” Tony murmured and then spread his cheeks apart. “Daddy's here. Daddy's got you.”

Peter’s breathing quickened because he could feel the warmth of his dad's body heat as he leaned even closer. He could hear the audible sound of his father breathing his scent in and the resulting groan of appreciation that was made right after breathing it in.

“I–I…” Peter stuttered. Doing that was the opposite of helping him calm down!

“Fuck, you smell so good right here, Pete,” he heard his father say. “So fucking good, you're making my mouth water…”

His father's large hands held his ass spread open and Peter was vulnerable and his hole was exposed to his father’s eyes. Then, to make it even worse, Tony positioned him the way he wanted, tugging lightly so that Peter had to stick his ass out in offering.

“So pretty, Pete,” his dad said. “My son has such a pretty pussy. Already so wet for me… You really were frustrated, huh? Don't worry, baby boy, Daddy will take care of you.”

Everything had happened so fast that Peter barely had any time to react, let alone think about what was really happening.

“Dad… W-What are you–” He couldn't even bear to ask so what came out after was a pitiful whine.

Peter didn't know what he was going to do but he had an idea. Would his dad touch him there? Finger his pussy, massaging the tips of his fingers against Peter’s hole… Subconsciously, his legs spread apart a bit further, inviting his father to take his place between them.

The omega almost jumped when something soft run along his pussy lips.

“Dad!” Peter squealed when his father’s tongue ran up and down, dipping between the plump lips of his pussy.

He felt the firm ridge of his father’s nose, an afterthought, because that dexterous tongue of his continued to move, never stopping its trek over Peter’s sensitive pussy. His eyes threatened to roll to the back of his head and he clung to the kitchen counter for dear life as his father ate him out.

Dirty slurps and appreciative moans sounded in the kitchen. Peter's gasps of “Dad… Dad…” were intermingled with the wet sounds of his father licking and slurping at his sensitive cunt.

Slow and sweet, his dad’s tongue explored the most intimate place on his body, drinking up his arousal like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. It was like he was determined to not leave a single drop behind and Peter was so wet… His dad only made it an even worse mess, his spit mixing in with the sticky clear slick as it made its way down his thighs. They didn't go far before being lapped up, only leaving a shiny sheen of wetness behind. And yet, no matter how much his father's tongue swiped at his hole, his body continued to provide, slick still dripping right into Tony’s greedy mouth.

Peter didn't know if he could survive his father’s attempt to drink him down.

“Mmm… ah… ah… Dad, I can't–” Peter babbled, knees shaking.

His dad was eating him out… His dad’s face was buried between his legs, his tongue licking up any bit of slick and tongue fucking his dripping pussy.

He whined when he felt his dad cup his little cocklet but he didn't do anything else beyond holding him.

With his dad now fondling him somewhere new, Peter realized he was not only dripping wet, he was also rock hard. He was dripping from both parts, his cocklet stiff and held in place between two of his dad’s thick fingers, and his pussy drenching his father's mouth and chin.

Pleasure was building from both his pussy and his cocklet. There was more attention on his pussy, but he couldn't help the instinctive little jerks his hips made to feel some friction on his omega cock. His dad wasn't really doing much there, just idly holding his cock, letting his son hump against his fingers if Peter wanted.

If his dad wasn't so busy licking his hole, maybe Peter would've been distracted by how hard his cocklet was and turned his focus there.

The pleasure he was getting from his pussy, from his dad’s attention on his pussy, far outweighed the tiny sparks he was getting from his cocklet.

He’d never felt like this before and so, his attention stayed firmly on his dad’s hungry, wet mouth playing with him.

Every now and then, his father would slip into his hole, firming up his tongue into a stiff point and pushing it into his eager pussy. Peter cried at that, muscles trying to squeeze down and capture that elusive tongue. It was just enough pressure… Feeling something slipping in and spreading him open.

Peter moaned, a truly whorish sound that would've had him red-faced and blushing if he wasn't so far gone from pleasure.

“Dadd...!” Peter whined while he rocked back on his father’s tongue. In and out… in and out… His dad's wet tongue flirted with his pussy, the tip of it teasing the insides only to pull back out and give the rest of his pussy some attention.

He could also feel his daddy’s beard… That beard that he often had tickling his temple when he nuzzled innocently against his alpha dad. Now it was roughing up the soft tender skin on his inner thighs… Turning his skin pink as he squeezed his legs together, attempting to stop the impending orgasm that was making his body taut with pleasure.

No matter his wishes, his father was coaxing it out of him and Peter fought against it. He could feel it building, and it was both exhilarating and frightening… It felt so huge, looming just out of sight. He’d never felt pleasure like this, only the short-lived satisfaction that came from quick jerk-offs and too dry fingering in his alone time.

This… He felt like what his dad was doing to him… flooding his nerves with pleasure, stacking the sensations together until he just... couldn't... handle it… This was going to shatter him. He'd finally know what it felt like to be brought to orgasm by another’s hands… From his Daddy’s hands… How could anything he did alone ever feel as good as this?

“Dad… Dad… D-Daddy…” Peter chanted, eyes hazy and unfocused. He halfheartedly fought against his pleasure but in the end, he couldn't do it.

If his father wanted him to come, he’d make Peter come. It was out of Peter’s control and it had him gasping, moaning almost miserably as his dad kept pushing, pushing, pushing… Coaxing Peter’s pleasure into an unbearable peak, just needing that one thing to push him screaming over the edge.

A finger pushing in alongside his daddy’s tongue was what did it. Tony's tongue felt good, but it was too soft and flexible. The thick, solid shape of his daddy’s finger made him cry out, hips bucking hard into the sensation. His dad fingered him with intent, demanding space inside his tight virgin pussy. Whatever his daddy was doing, it made Peter’s body jolt and tore another pleasured filled wail from his throat.

What was that! His daddy did something inside Peter, rubbing something that had Peter's breath hitching. His toes curled tight and tears burned hot in his eyes as it became too good and too much. Rub, rub, rub… The pad of his dad’s one single finger, rubbing gently but firmly, was able to make him fall apart completely.

It was too much. Too much, too much…! He was going to break apart…!

“Dad…!” He cried out, a desperate plea for something he didn't know. Hot trail of tears raced down his cheeks, his mouth gasping open, lips trembling…

He came, his body locking down tight with his muscles fluttering around his daddy’s finger. At the same time, his untouched cocklet released a small load of clear fluid that splattered against the cabinets in front of him. The orgasm rocked through him, undeniable and so forceful that his breath locked in his chest before reality came crashing down.

The sharp inhale he sucked in had him gasping for more breath.

“Mm…!” He whined when he felt Tony lapping up his slick, using the broad flat surface of his tongue to clean him up.

He knew that not a drop was wasted.

His legs gave out the moment his orgasm left him a shuddering mess. His father’s strong arms caught him and brought him close within the alpha’s embrace.

Post-orgasm, Peter could barely form a sentence as he stared up at his father in a daze. Tony’s beard and chin were wet with his son’s slick and the dark gaze leveled at him would've had Peter trying to crawl away because that was a predator looking at him. Ready to eat him up.

But Tony had already done that so what else did his father have in store for him…?

“Feeling better?” His daddy asked as though he hadn't just turned his son into a puddle of pleasure on their kitchen floor.

“Mm…” Peter whined and he would've kicked his legs but they still felt weak like jello.

“I’ll get a bath ready,” Tony decided cheerfully and then picked him up as though Peter weighed nothing at all.

Peter wanted to protest and say he could walk on his own but he really didn't think he could. So he let his dad take him to get cleaned up, basking in the pleasant simmer of an post-orgasm afterglow.

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 17

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Incredible blink and you'll miss it chapter art by @garbagemilkshake this week~

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

You opened the door to the bathroom and let out the steam in a comical puff. You hadn’t felt like you had taken a particularly hot shower, but there were all sorts of factors. The main one being you forgot to turn the vent on. The moisture had thickened while it was trapped in the space with nowhere to go. You hummed lightly as you finished toweling off and addressed your after-shower products.

Skin care went by easily and you switched over to lathering yourself with lotion.

‘The earlier, the better,’ was your mantra and you were sticking to it. You squirted a healthy amount into your hand and hiked up a leg to start there. You worked your way up to your thighs before needing to reapply. Getting another glug, you then addressed your stomach and paused at the angle.

You stood a little straighter.

There was a clear curvature that wasn’t there before. It differed from your stomach’s usual hang and had a certain shape to it that was distinct. You reached up with shiny fingertips and fanned them out over the bump.

That was your baby.

You tried not to get too weepy and finally applied that lotion as it felt like lead in your hand.

After that area was sufficiently soaked in the cream, you sought the mirror which had mostly cleared. You turned for a side profile and refused to slouch. Even with your back perfectly straight, the bump was still there. You welled up again and walked out, nude, to where you left your phone charging. You knew the dates, but you had to double check.

It was a simple search and quickly read what you had hoped.

Just as everything else there was obvious disagreement amongst mothers, but for you, at 17 weeks, your bump was showing.

You brought your phone up to your lips and sat in the knowledge.

Your fetus, as of yet, had been nothing more than something you glimpsed in digital images.

You saw it grow and the parts of it delineate more and more.

You listened to the pitter of its little heart beat through a sloshing sound.

Seeing it on your body was a different experience.

“I wonder how my internally estimated pounds of water vapor compares to calculation.” Donnie wondered as he rose from the couch.

You turned so your back was to him. “You gonna figure it out?”

He thought about it with a hum and you heard him tap his gauntlet for a screen. “Current humidity level is 76% versus 53% prior which means…”

You meant to wait through his experiment, but suddenly couldn’t. “Hey, Donnie?”

He made a soft noise that he heard you as he continued to work the numbers.

“Stop.” You whispered as delicately as you could.

Your husband was slow to take in the tone and you heard his arm fall loose beside him. “Darling?”

“I have something to show you.”

“Other than…” He began to step forward.

“Wait!” You turned only your head.

He stood at full attention with one hand curled for an underhand pitch.

You knew he had meant to grope your butt and smiled to yourself.

You guessed you were nude.

“Stay there.” You let a bit of your excitement leak through so he wouldn’t worry.

You saw his head tilt. “Alright.”

Your vision went into the wall and you tapped your phone to your lips a few more times before you set it back on your nightstand. “Okay…”

You heard him shuffle at the ready.

“Look…” You were slow to rotate and kept your arms out of the way to show him your profile. “… at this.”

If he did a once-over, you didn’t see it.

If he looked somewhere else, it never seemed apparent.

Your husband appeared to look right at your stomach.

“This means… I’m showing…?”

He reached out anew, but froze somewhere in the process. 

From where he was stuck, his lips moved. “At this stage it’s more likely your abdomen is filling out due to uterine expansion. Your bowels are being shifted because of it. The distinct bump you are probably hoping for is more likely to appear around week 20. Then your uterus can be felt in the area of umbilicus…”

“Right!” Your hands flew to cover your stomach instinctually. “Forgot I said that!”

You turned back to face your phone.

“That’s embarrassing! I can’t believe I forgot! I even checked!” You rattled off a laugh. “I guess my search wasn't specific enough…”

“Y/N…” You felt Donnie approach.

“Let me get dressed!” You continued to titter and moved to flee.

Instead of catching you, Donnie’s arm rose to block your exit.

You stopped shy of his limb with your gaze to the floor. “I was excited… I’m sorry…” 

“No…” He urged.

“I’d like to get dressed.” You whispered in a way that haunted you compared to the last time.

You felt a flicker of his despair in your wedding band. “Of… Of course…”

He released you and you moved to get comfortable clothes.

The moment you pulled your shirt down the tiny bump disappeared.

You yanked at the hem.

It was like nothing had ever been there.

Even when you stretched the fabric, the thin layer covered up what seemed like an enormous growth.

Your guts, you reminded yourself bitterly.

It was just your intestines.

You turned to find Donnie standing very much in stasis.

He had inadvertently made you vulnerable, but he was also the one best suited to fix it. “Wanna cuddle on the couch?”

“Yes.” He moved immediately.

It was only a few paces to you before he was stuck again.

It showed on his features.

You couldn’t help but smile and walked to direct.

He followed closely after.

You parted at the couch as he moved to his side and you went to yours.

He extended himself out and invited you into a space along his body. You tucked into it and rooted down against his plastron. His arm came up around you and you felt your torso press against his. There was nothing inhibiting the space between your bodies and you could easily meld to his shape. You hiked a leg up atop him just to offset the sensation.

“Y/N…” Donnie tried.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You told his equivalent to pecs.

“I may have incorrectly discouraged you-”

“Don, please…”

His mouth closed with a sad puff of air.

You nudged his chin with the top of your head. “Hold me?”

“Right.” He seemed to remember the entirety of your request and both his arms came around for a hug.

You settled against him and let the negative emotions leak.

You sorted them as they filtered through.

You weren’t really showing.

Nonsensical.

There was nothing there.

Patently untrue.

Donnie didn’t care.

He was actively upset by his mistake.

You knew he cared.

This was his greatest dream.

Its achievement had nearly toppled him.

He was a usual mess at the mere mention of the upcoming baby.

He used pregnancy facts to calm himself down.

Your eyes opened to cotton.

You repeated the last thought in your head.

Donnie’s beak was pressed lightly to your hairline and he was dotting light affection there.

Non-intrusive.

Data soothed him.

You peeked up at him so as not to immediately alert him.

He thought little of your adjustment and continued to tap his beak on you with closed eyes.

You studied the fine lines in his face.

He still had his telltale bags despite years of good sleep at this point.

He was developing tiny crow’s feet from his routine joy.

He had pockmarks of dimples from the same source.

He was currently unnerved.

He was trying his best to focus on you, but you saw past the usual etchings of his face.

His lids weren’t seated comfortably; they twitched with his unsettled nature.

His brow, though covered with his mask, bunched from nervous pressure.

His lips, sat seemingly neutral, had a hint of his tight teeth behind the line.

You moved your head enough that he couldn’t keep brushing you.

His lids were slow to open.

He reviewed you for a quick study before he found you well enough that his mouth quirked into what was almost a smile.

He wiped down your back and settled a warm weight against the lower half.

“Are you okay?” You asked him.

He blinked a single time. “Y/N.”

“Wait… let me…” You wriggled.

He loosened his grip.

You squirmed until you rolled over and laid your back against him. Slightly reclined, you lowered your waistband first before hiking up your top. You were bent at the waist which accentuated the thing, but your bump appeared, a clear countercurrent shape to the rolls on your abdomen from the position.

Since you were on top of him, you felt every inch of your mate very obviously stiffen.

“Yeah. About that.” You told him with a tip of your head.

He was in the top left of your vision. “Well…”

He licked his lips.

You looked back down at the bump and traced a finger over it.

The lotion had long absorbed and was no longer giving the same glide.

A hand appeared to your right.

You drew a small squiggle below your belly button.

The limb disappeared.

You laid your hand flat over your stomach. “Talk to me, Sweet.”

“I watched you dress.”

You smiled at his odd starting point. “You were right behind me.”

“No.” He adjusted your weight with a small lift.

You were barely disturbed.

“I watched.”

“Not that strange.” You stroked your bump.

“I can’t tell if you don’t or won’t hear the connotation.”

You slowed, but didn’t impart him more attention. “You’re saying you watched with… What’s the word? Lustful? Intent?”

He was quiet.

You tipped your head back to glimpse him again, but predictably read little more than what was already seen. “That right?”

“Yes.”

“Oh no.” You steeped yourself in sarcasm. “Not a loving husband who lusts after his partner.”

“Not because you are my partner.”

“Lately it has been because I’m pregnant.”

Silence took over.

“Does that bother you?”

He didn’t say.

“I don’t mind.” You leaned to the side so your head would touch his chin. “I can’t say that’s new. You’ve been like that for pretty much as long as we’ve had sex. We’ve talked about what it means. I know I still get nervous sometimes about the whole being reduced to a womb thing, but you always remind me that’s not true.”

There was the faintest noise of his mouth opening and closing.

“I’m the important factor. It’s not a pregnant person. It’s that I’m pregnant with your kid.” You dotted your belly with each note.

He nodded.

“What’s bothering you?”

His hand appeared in your periphery again, but only hovered.

You moved yours free of your bump in case he had thought you were the only one that wanted to touch.

His fingers twitched hesitantly before the hand disappeared again.

This time you turned to see where it had gone. He’d thrown his limb all the way off the couch. You stared after where it fell over the cushions and out of view before you went to seek the other. Instead of far away, he’d tucked his other arm half underneath your body where it was pinned. You tried to move to free it up, but he lifted his opposite leg so you’d stay in place.

You frowned once to acknowledge that he was purposefully keeping himself away.

The question was why and you sent it up to him with a flutter of your lashes.

“I’m unsure myself…” He whispered that anxious curse to you.

“Yeah?” A small dose of its fear was shared.

He only exhaled his agreement.

It took only a drop of the poison for it to seize you. “You’re… not…?”

His head pressed gently into yours as the worry dripped through your bond.

“You haven’t… changed your… mind… right?”

You didn’t move a muscle, but there was a black and green blur around you.

When everything settled, you were reclined in exactly the same way, but you were no longer laying on your mate. He had switched out pillows for where he needed a facsimile of his body to keep you comfortable. You blinked out at the same space that no longer held his legs and turned to find him on his knees beside you.

You had still been lowered several inches to the couch and couldn’t comprehend how you hadn’t felt that.

“That was… new…” You told him with wide eyes.

“I’ve been practicing.” He responded like a plea.

Your head gave a slow nod as that made some sense, but left out another why.

“For diaper changes.” He went on.

“Oh.” The sound was the information clicking into place.

You guessed that was useful.

“What’s your record time?”

“Dependent on the mess.”

“You’re testing different messes…?” Your insides were getting gooey while the vestiges of your anxiety hung around like décor.

“As with all of this, there are far too many factors. We don’t know anatomy. We can’t know size. Weight…?”

“But you’ve still been-?”

“Practicing? Yes.” He held up a hand and his ninpo formed a few different sized constructions that reminded you more of flour sacks than children.

You couldn’t help a small chuff. “Donnie…”

He flinched and there was a chipping of pixels away at the edges of the forms.

“Oh… I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-!”

“No! No… That’s… I did it wrong… They’re… malformed… I still haven’t…”

“Okay…” You turned and your shirt twisted along with your body as you reached for him.

He easily caught your arms.

“You’re practicing which means-”

“I want this-”

“I know-”

“Our child!”

“Of course.”

“That you would think otherwise-!”

“It’s just scary because it seems like-!”

“I’m scared.”

“You’re afraid of them…”

“I am.” He spoke as if you unlocked the answer for him.

Your lips wrinkled.

His gaze fell to your belly.

“But you watching me…?”

“How can these hands touch something so perfect?” He whispered softly.

You tackled him.

His carapace hit the coffee table, but he seemed uninjured and he held you close.

“Donatello…!”

“Bloodstained… Dirty… Filthy…”

You broke out of his hold so you could grab his face. “Hey!”

He sent a weary gaze to you.

“You don’t regret what you’ve done.”

“Didn’t.” He corrected.

“When did this start?”

“Now.”

Your fingers loosened where they were pulling his cheeks.

“When I saw you. When I moved to share your joy. I was paralyzed. I saw visions of myself and what I’d done. Smearing that very sludge on your form. On a child’s cheek.”

You thumbed the dimpled space. 

“I need a way to atone…”

“Donnie.”

“A baby! Impressionable youth and I only considered myself among the leagues of piss poor parental units!”

How were you supposed to dissuade that?

You knew he would be a good father.

You had told him so.

You couldn’t disagree that what he had done in the past was bad.

You couldn’t tell him that was okay.

He knew it wasn’t.

He had always carried his choices.

They were facts of their time.

You also couldn’t tell him it made no difference.

You had already wondered if it would.

You were ready in case he had a stress response.

You still wanted him to have that option to run and process.

He would come back.

You knew he would.

How did you explain that to a child?

Especially if they were having an event of their own.

It wouldn’t be Donnie’s fault, but how would someone, new to the world, understand?

Your tears finally broke free from the confines of your eyes.

Donnie’s forehead pressed into yours.

“A little late… for that…” You hiccupped.

He sternly scrubbed the tip of his beak to your nose. “No regrets.”

You were quiet and checked in with his blurry image.

He dotted your face and retreated so he could come into some focus.

“Yeah?”

“I would never regret this.” He told you. “I’d do it all the same.”

“You can’t atone.”

“I know.”

“Will you be able to touch them?”

“Of course.”

“Donnie.” You weeped a little from confusion.

He wiped a few tears from your chin. “I might wear gloves…”

“No…!”

He nosed into your cheek. “Poor joke.”

“Bad timing.”

He nodded in a nuzzle.

“You… won’t though… right?”

“When changing a diaper, yes. Otherwise, no. Skinship is of utmost importance for bonding and socialization.”

“Promise?”

“Swear.” He spoke without hesitation.

You pulled him as you leaned back.

He set you on the couch and came with to barely squeeze in beside you.

He looked over where your belly was still exposed.

“There’s the continuing chance my sins will spill over. The danger is not gone from you. It won’t be for them…”

“It was never going to be totally gone. We knew that.”

Donnie nodded, his focus locked. “I don’t want them to see anything like I have.”

“They won’t.”

“We can’t be sure.”

“Is their life going to be perfect? No. They’re always going to be part mutant, but even if that wasn’t the case, kids come up with stuff. Kids are mean. I don’t want to say that’s normal because it shouldn’t be, but it happens. We are never going to be able to protect them from everything. Life’s like that, but Donnie, nothing like what happened to you will happen to them. They have us. They have more. Friends. Family. Even if we weren’t in the picture, they would have all these people. There’s also Shelly and he gets to be in his own, basically indestructible, category.”

Donnie shook with a little laugh. “A child raised by S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.”

“They’d sure get your morals then.”

Donnie’s lip twitched for a bit of a smile.

“No hands will pass over them and they’ll only get dirty if they want to. I'm talking puddles or mud pies or lake days…”

“Children are messy…”

“So dirty.”

“Do you think… they’ll like to garden…?”

“With you?”

He looked at you.

“Of course. Kids crave that attention and can sense how important something is to you. Maybe they’ll be bored, but even if they are, it’ll be a precious memory for them, with their dad.”

Donnie searched you with a glistening eye before he cleared his throat.

He was methodical in returning his gaze to your stomach.

“Memory…” He spoke in a whisper.

You nodded.

“Stored recollections that can be warped by time, opinion… any number of factors.”

You kept quiet.

“Past events… What happens to the present…” He reached with shy, extended fingers.

You leaned your head against his shoulder.

He let a single pad brush your stomach first.

He waited for something to happen.

Nothing did.

He rested a microscopic amount of weight against your skin.

He looked to be pointing.

“All clear.” You murmured to him.

His other finger came down and then his thumb.

You closed your eyes.

You felt as he settled his hand against the bump.

He encompassed far more than just it.

He easily covered entire strips of your torso with his fingers alone.

His palm perpetuated warmth.

“It’s just my guts.” You felt compelled to say.

“It’s more.” He churred and spread his fingers out.

“Good?”

His hand left and your lids cracked.

He reviewed his appendage backwards and forwards.

It didn’t have a single mark.

He returned it to your stomach. “Perfect.”

(Check out behind the scenes for this fic and more on my Patreon. You can follow me there, here, or the tag #softspotfic for updates)

Foghorn to the betas @tmntxthings and @unrestrainedhotsoup

[kijosakka]

im not kidding this aftermath chapter is going to send me into an early grave

WEHY IS THIS AFTERMATH SEGMENT SO HARDDDD :(

[schvmacher47]

venus | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem oc

chapter 1 | quick pause in conversation word count: 4044

<– preview. –> next part.

let me know in the comments, if you want to be tagged in future parts :)

» [canyon moon - harry styles] « 1:54 ────〇──3:09 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

   »The egg challenge?« Oscar asked, raising an eyebrow as he eyed the kitchen as if he was preparing for his personal downfall. He didn't look too impressed, if anything, he probably wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. As always. If there was one thing about Oscar I learned immediately, it was the fact that he wasn't too keen on any media activities. Truth or dare? He's gonna shoot you death glares all the time. Wet head? He's gonna complain about not knowing anything about his teammate. The only challenge he showed proper interest in, was the food challenge... Only because he didn't have to try the food himself and was the one enjoying all the chaos.

   »Yes, the egg challenge!«, I said enthusiastically. It was one of my many mastermind ideas, letting two young men, who most definitely were one of the worst cooks in the world, compete in a cooking challenge.    »You know I can't cook... It's gonna be embarrassing.«, he whined.    »Everyone knows you can't cook, especially after your tweets. Knowing you use your oven as a dryer just proves that point even more.«, I grinned as I set up the camera. This was going to be great. I was sure I was gonna be entertained.    »How? It was an emergency! You can't possibly bring that up all the time...«, Oscar protested. I knew it was an emergency, he made sure everyone knew that. But teasing him and getting on his nerves was simply too easy and fun to not do it.    »That's what they all say...«

   »Yeah that's what they all say, Oscar.«, Robert grinned, putting on his apron.    »Oh shut up mate.«, Oscar grumbled. »As if you're that good of a cook.«    »Definitely better than you!«    »This is not a competition, you know?«, I chuckled. »How about you also gear up, hm?«, I handed Oscar the remaining apron and chef hat. He just grumbled something unintelligible, still not too keen on my idea.    »Can you just for once be more motivated when I come up with such a genius idea? Pretty please?«, I sighed. This was definitely not what I signed up for when I applied for this job. I definitely underestimated working with teenagers and young adults and I definitely didn't imagine the young adults to be more stubborn and childish than the teenagers.    »What do I get in return?«    »A kiss!«, Robert exclaimed, but was soon silenced by both my and Oscar's death glares. Somehow everyone at Prema had made it their mission to tease Oscar and me all the time. For no reason. Arthur was the one who started it, claiming there was some sort of 'tension' and everyone just picked up on it.    »Whoa I was just joking, no need to stare me down like that.«    »You can have a cheat day and choose what we'll get, apart from Pizza Hawaii.«, I argued, bribing him into appreciating my idea.    »That's actually a great idea, but can we get this over with now?«    »Sure, ready when you are.«

   »We were told this is not a competition, but it definitely is a competition.«, Oscar said, glaring into the camera. »We have a bunch of eggs and three different ways to prepare them. A soft boiled egg, fried eggs, but over easy and a poached egg.«, he continued.    »We're both terrible at cooking, so let's see how it goes.«, Robert said, clapping his hands. »But, if I win this challenge, then I don't have to drive Oscar to the airport later today.«    »So you're saying that I have to drive when you win?«, I asked, raising an eyebrow, but Robert just grinned mischievously and nodded. I knew he was doing it on purpose.    »Exactly!«    »Deal! But you better win this Oscar, I still have to go grocery shopping, my fridge is the definition of empty and I definitely don't have the time to drive to the airport and back again.«    »I'll try... You shouldn't have too high hopes tho.«

   »You never showed us a video.«, Oscar grumbled as he put his pot on the hob.    »Why should I? You should know how to boil an egg...«, I shook my head in disbelief, he surely must've boiled an egg before.    »I've never boiled an egg...«, Oscar mumbled, a dumbfounded expression resting on his face. »But surely you wait until the water is boiling... It's a boiled egg, not a lukewarm egg that then boils.«    »You genius..«, I grinned. Robert and I exchanged glances, as we waited for the water to boil. I was just waiting for the disaster to unfold, waiting for my personal entertainment which was honestly the best part of my job. Apart from getting to travel the world and watch fast cars all weekend long of course.

   »My water is boiling, so...«, Oscar said, jokingly giving his egg a featherlight kiss for good luck, before not so gently putting it into the boiling water. Robert eyed him sceptically, before following and also putting an egg into his pot with boiling water.    »That's a very aggressive boil..«, Oscar mumbled, eyeing his pot and immediately turning the temperature down.

   »I think I cracked it.« A sigh escaped Robert's lips as he inspected the broken egg shell, before both he and Oscar started to chuckle.    »You did!«, Oscar laughed out loud. »So I win the boil challenge by default.«    »No you don't, I can try again!«, Robert argued, immediately putting another egg into the boiling water. Oscar just shook his head, but was soon also stressing, when he had another look into his pot.    »Oh no, mine's cracked too!«    »Yes!! The competition is back on!«, Robert happily exclaimed, both of them yet again erupting in a fit of laughter. »Oh shit, I didn't turn my timer back on.«, Oscar nearly dropped the second egg at Robert's words, not able to hold back his laughter. This time, he used a spoon to gently drop the egg into the water.    »Masterchef – Oh shit my timer!«, he exclaimed, rushing to set his timer for exactly three minutes. I grinned watching them both behind the camera, as I enjoyed the chaos unfolding in front of me.

   »Well let's go for a visual inspection first, Robert's is cracked, mine's not.«, Oscar said, pointing to the visible crack in Robert's egg. He managed to crack both of his attempts, but was still sure of victory.    »But that's not what you eat, it's important what's on the inside, not on the outside... Never judge a book by its cover!«, Robert exclaimed. »That's the philosophy of Robert Shwartzman.«    »Yeah, right«, Oscar grinned and shook his head as he started cracking his soft boiled egg. »Yeah nah, it's not looking good«, he stated after a first inspection. Robert's attempt didn't look too promising either, but it was the tiniest bit more solid.

   »And that is a win for me!«, Robert exclaimed, satisfied with his winning soft boiled egg.    »Well, if you want a half raw egg, I'm the man to call... Turns out these timers suck.«    »You have never ever sounded that Australian before«, Robert grinned. »Turns out these timers suck«, he mocked Oscar.    »Of course I sound Australian. I am Australian, you idiot!« Oscar rolled his eyes, as he cleaned up his workspace for the next challenge.    »Yeah I know, you just never sound that Australian«, Robert said, following Oscar's lead and also starting to clean up.    »If I would speak in an Aussie accent, there's no way that I would be getting my points across, because you lot wouldn't understand me!«    »Uh-uh, don't you dare speak for me, I'm pretty sure I could still understand you.« I actually wouldn't mind it if he spoke in his Aussie accent more often. But that was just my personal opinion.    »Sure, multilingual queen«, Oscar grinned, making fun of me and my list of many talents. I just rolled my eyes in response and refrained from making further comments on Oscar's lack of foreign language skills.    »Whatever you say, but let's get back to business...«, I mumbled, subtly reminding Robert and Oscar what their actual task was.

   »Well, guess who won the first round?«, Robert grinned, as he reminded Oscar of his first loss of the day. »This egg was broken, it was ugly, no one believed in it, but in the end it was the best!«, he added, making both Oscar and me erupt into a fit of laughter. I quickly wiped away the tears that were forming in my eyes, as Oscar composed himself again and cleared his throat.    »Okay, next up, we have the poached egg. This is probably my best bet of winning anything here today, so let's see how this goes...«, Oscar said, introducing the next part of the challenge. I didn't believe a single word that just left his mouth. The poached egg as his best bet? He couldn't be serious right now. Not after failing to boil a soft boiled egg.

   »I think it's a bit too hot, who put it on 9?«, Robert asked, as he put a tablespoon of vinegar into his pot filled with water.    »I did!«, Oscar said, minding his own business as he cracked open his egg.    »Cheating bastard. He's cheating!«, Robert exclaimed, probably hoping for me to disqualify Oscar from the competition, which technically wasn't even a competition. But he wasn't getting any sort of reaction from me, so he just started swirling his water and carefully letting his egg slip into the swirl.

   »Alright... I don't think that was too bad«, he said, after inspecting his first attempt for a while.    »Like you said, it was ugly before and turned out good... This one's... Ugly now, but probably going to turn out good.«, Oscar said, grinning as he had a look in Robert's pot.    »No wait, I wanna take it out and try again!«, Robert exclaimed and immediately grabbed a spoon and took out the egg.    »Wow, wow, wow, what happened to the hope, huh? Always have hope!«    »Yeah of course, I have hope! I am doing another one that's going to be even better!«    »If you say so...«, Oscar mumbled sceptically, but then also started with his first attempt. »So, no swirling, no vinegar, no salt, no nothing. Let's just hope and pray for the best«, Oscar said as he gently let the raw egg slip into the hot water. He proceeded to lean over the hob, his eyes never leaving the pot, to inspect his attempted poached egg. Emphasis on attempted.

   »Yeah, it's not going great...«, he mumbled, which also brought Robert's attention to Oscar's side of the kitchenette. »It's not the prettiest poached egg I've ever made, it's quite similar to Robert's to be honest, but...«, he added quietly.    »What the fuck!«, Robert said, a shocked expression taking over his face as he had a look into Oscar's pot.    »Aye, we're family friendly!«, I chuckled, taking a mental note to beep Robert's bad word later on.    »Have hope, Robert. Have hope!«    »It's up to you, man. But that doesn't look edible.« A disgusted expression was resting on Robert's face as he was eyeing the mishap. He just shook his head in mere disbelief.

   »And here I was thinking I was gonna get some lunch out of this...«, I interjected and earned a laugh from Robert. He just gave me a look that I interpreted as 'That's most definitely not going to happen'.    »No no, it's fine... This was my practice round, so no need to worry at all«, Oscar said and still seemed to be very hopeful as he took out the egg and prepared the second one.    »Maybe it wasn't boiling enough... Maybe I just have no talent... I think this might be the biggest issue here«, Oscar mumbled. His body language was very much giving signs of early defeat, as if he'd already accepted his fate, when Robert went and whispered something into his ear. I couldn't quite make out what Robert said, but I was pretty sure it was something along the lines of 'You're so doing this on purpose, I know you're not that bad...'.    »There's microphones on!«, Oscar exclaimed and looked straight into the camera, or more like behind the camera, to see if anyone of us heard what was being said.    »They're not listening«, Robert reassured him and grinned knowingly. Sure, nobody was listening...

   »So let's try this again«, Oscar said. »I'm sticking to the 'no swirling' technique«, he added and immediately put the second raw egg into the boiling water.    »This one's even worse!« He sounded very disappointed, especially as he watched Robert attempt and then succeed the challenge with his second try.    »That one's actually pretty good!«, Oscar exclaimed, as he inspected Robert's attempt. Robert started celebrating, being very sure of his second victory in a row. »He actually did a good job on that...«

   »Did I split the yolk? Maybe... Is that a problem? No...«, Oscar mumbled with a wry grin on his lips, as he took out his mishap of a poached egg. Both he and Robert erupted into a fit of a full body laughter, as they inspected the poached egg. »And to think this was my best bet–«, Oscar laughed, as he presented his rock solid poached egg to the camera. I chuckled, innerly thanking God for choosing to make Oscar a racing driver and not a cook.    »I bet Kaia is very impressed by your cooking skills!«, Robert said, laughing.    »Oh I sure am!«, I grinned and also started laughing. Their laughter was simply too infectious to not join in.

   Robert's egg was the definition of a perfect poached egg, the yolk was still runny, when he cut the egg open. Both he and Oscar went to try the poached egg and were visibly impressed by how good it was.    »You seriously have to try it!«, Robert said and waved me over to the kitchenette.    »Are you sure you don't want to poison me?«, I joked, but still got up and left my spot behind the camera, to take the fork loaded with bits of the egg, which Oscar held out to me.    »Poison you? I don't think we're that bad...«    »That's why your egg is rock solid... but sure, you're not that bad«, I grinned, as I finally took the fork from Oscar, our fingers brushing as he passed it to me. I inspected the egg one last time, for safety reasons, before I got over myself and gave it a try.    »Yeah, Robert definitely wins this round... Without a doubt, which also means I get the honour of driving you to the airport...«, I grumbled, giving Oscar my best death glare, to which he only raised his hands in surrender, as if he were rejecting all blame. »Just to warn you now, I get to choose the songs we're going to listen to. Capito? My car, my rules«, I playfully said.    »Yeah, whatever, as long as I'm getting to the airport, that's fine with me...«

   Oscar did end up winning the fried egg, but over easy challenge, but it didn't change a thing about Robert's overall win. As soon as the cameras were off, Robert put on that mischievous grin again.    »Well, I guess you'll be having the honour of driving Mr. I don't get rental cars to the airport. Please do my car rides justice and don't be too nice«, he said, a big grin playing on his lips.    »I'll make sure he'll still get the Robert experience,« I chuckled, as I started packing up the camera equipment.    »I know that's not gonna happen because you're most definitely not as reckless of a driver as Robert. So that's a relief for me because I for once won't be carsick.«, Oscar said, getting rid of his apron and chef hat.    »On the expense of my dinner, thank you very much«, I joked.    »Now you're making me feel bad...«, he mumbled as he helped me clean up the kitchen.    »If I remember correctly you're the one who lost the challenge, so I think that's deserved.«    »Evil!«

***

   »Do you have everything?«, I asked Oscar as I grabbed my bag and car keys.    »Yes!«    »Are you sure?, I asked again, making sure we wouldn't have to turn around. I remembered all the countless times Robert had to turn around because Oscar forgot something. At this point, the only important thing he didn't manage to leave behind was his phone. I hoped I didn't just jinx it... If his head wasn't permanently attached to his body, there would've been a great chance of him losing it somewhere around the world.    »Yes«, he confirmed as he pushed his suitcase to the main entrance. I quickly grabbed a water bottle from the mini fridge before I followed him to the main hall. Oscar had already brought his luggage outside and was waiting for me to unlock the car.

   As I stepped outside, the crisp evening air sent shivers down my spine. The sky was painted in beautiful hues of oranges and pinks, as the sun began its descent. I unlocked the car and opened the trunk for Oscar to put his, multiple weeks worth, of luggage into it.    »Buckle up, you're in for the ride of your life!«, I told him as I got into the driver's seat. I connected my phone to the car's bluetooth and chose a playlist as Oscar also got into the car. The first notes of 'Red' by Taylor Swift sounded softly from the sound system as I pulled out of the car park. Loving him was like driving a new maserati down a dead-end street.    »As long as we don't end up in a dead-end street, that's fine with me«, Oscar said, a knowing smile resting on his lips as he made himself comfortable. It took a minute for my brain to process the ambiguity of his words. He for sure knew how to use his words, how to send my brain cells into a frenzy. Still waters could run deep. Very deep.    »Are you questioning my abilities right now?«,    »I would never!«    »You better not, since you're relying on my abilities right now...«, I said, grinning as I drove onto the carriageway.    »I promise I won't complain«, he said. »This is definitely an upgrade, came here thinking I was going to have to deal with Robert's horrendous driving, but got an unexpected upgrade to first class.«    »As if you didn't lose on purpose to get this upgrade, let's be honest.«, I stated, quickly glancing over to him. He shook his head, but had a knowing grin on his lips. He of course did it on purpose.    »I would never!«, he repeated his statement from before.    »Yeah, as if I'd believe you... Just say it, you enjoy my company.«    »I thought that was obvious...«    »No shit Sherlock, it was obvious from the moment where you all of the sudden forgot how to boil an egg to get me to drive you to the airport«, I joked.    »So where's the problem?«    »I don't know, you tell me?«, I asked, grinning.

   There was a quick pause in conversation, we fell into a comfortable silence, as I focused on the traffic ahead and Oscar was doing God knows what. Probably just staring out of the window for most of the time.    At some point, I turned the music up. I felt the need to fill the void with some background noise. A few songs in, which I classified as my 'warm up', I started humming along to One Direction's 'No Control'. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Oscar glancing over at me. A grin spread across my lips. Oh, he had no idea of what he was going to witness. I wiggled in my seat, as I started to sing along to the last lines of the first verse. The One Direction carpool karaoke video was my roman empire, the choreography to No Control was engraved into every single one of my brain cells and every time that song popped up in my playlist, I couldn't help but dance along.    Oscar chuckled softly next to me, shaking his head in amusement as I belted out the lyrics. Once the chorus hit, the last bit of self-control left my body and my hands left the steering wheel to do the choreo justice. I was challenging my inner Harry Styles. I literally had no control.

   »First of all, I would very much appreciate it, if you would keep your hands on the steering wheel and focus on the street ahead...«, Oscar mumbled, a terrified expression resting on his facial features as he watched my impromptu performance. »Secondly, I sometimes wonder if your mother tongue really is English or you're just fucking with me...«    »Why?«, I asked, once the chorus was over.    »The way you sing these songs with so much confidence really has me questioning if you know what you're singing about«, Oscar chuckled. I raised an eyebrow. He thought this was bad? I made a mental note to introduce him to Zara Larsson's music in the future.    »This isn't even the worst one...«, I said, grinning as I continued to bob my head to the beat.    »There's worse?« I just nodded in amusement and watched him shake his head.

   »Could you take the next exit please?«, Oscar asked, when we were halfway through our journey to the airport.    »Why, do you need to use the toilet?«    »Just do it, okay?«, he practically begged me as we approached the exit he was talking about. It was a service station area that even accommodated smaller versions of supermarkets. I sighed and moved over into the exit lane, slowing down as I reached the parking lot.    »I'll be quick«, Oscar said, as he got out of the car. He rushed over to one of the service points, but then disappeared behind a passing truck. As I waited for Oscar to come back, I decided to also open my door and stretch my legs out of the car. I reached for the water bottle that I'd placed behind my seat, and opened it to take a few refreshing sips.

   A few minutes later, I saw Oscar coming back. He was carrying a brown paper bag, seemingly from one of those supermarkets. I raised an eyebrow when he opened the door and flopped down on the passenger's seat.    »Why are you looking at me like that?«, he asked and fastened his seatbelt again.    »I thought you had to use the bathroom?«, I asked, tilting my head in confusion.    »I lied, my bladder is not that weak –«    »Funny coming from you, when you have to go to the toilet every time right before getting in your race car, but sure, go on«, I chuckled, earning a death glare from Oscar.    »If you'd let me finish, you'd know the reason why I lied«, he stated. »I felt bad, when you said you still had to go grocery shopping and since I am basically the reason for you not having a proper dinner tonight, I got you something...«, he mumbled and pointed to the brown paper bag. I blinked in surprise, caught off guard by his thoughtfulness.    »You did what?« Oscar didn't even acknowledge my question, instead he put the bag on his lap and reached into it.    »I got you dinner.«, he said, pulling out what looked like a big salad bowl, bread and a bar of chocolate. »Consider it a thank you for driving me to the airport.« I couldn't help but stare at him in disbelief.    »You didn't have to do that«, I mumbled. I was at a loss for words. »Thank you...«, I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. »I really appreciate it.«

***

author's note:

hiya everyone, i hope you enjoyed reading! this is just the beginning, and there's more chaos to explore in the next chapters. i'd love to hear about your thoughts and would like some feedback, so i could integrate some stuff into the upcoming chapters :D don't forget to vote and comment, your support is very much appreciated! lots of love xx

next up:  »2 | it feels like a perfect night« get ready for some birthday shenanigans!

read venus on wattpad:

[blackberrywars]

♥️Lambert/Aiden Fic Reclist!♥️

For anybody and everybody interested in Lambert, Aiden, and/or their relationship! I've been obsessed with these two since the start of the pandemic, and they inspired me to start writing my own fic, so making a reclist has always been an idea in the back of my head. Plus, it's come to my attention that the tag can get crowded sometimes, so, Laiden fans, this one's for you.

Parameters: I've decided to divide my recs based on common story types that explore Laiden both in and out of canon. Other ships are allowed, but the focus is Lambert/Aiden. Additionally, I put a cap on 3 fics max per author. These are not arranged in any particular order beyond the categories.

——————————————————————————————

♥️Lambert's Revenge/Aiden's Death or Return♥️

(i know dead people, and you are not dead) by @brighteyedjill (Explicit/5,940/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Lambert finds Aiden after ten years of torture, maimed and broken. They retire and learn each other once again, mind, body, and soul.

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory by CamilleDuDemon (Mature/2,327/Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death)

Aiden dies on a beautiful sunny day, while Lambert waits for him in their usual meeting place. Witchers cannot love and witchers never die in their beds. If only neither of those were true.

No Grave by @blackberrywars (Mature/2293/No Archive Warnings Apply)

A shameless self-rec, because I'm very proud of this fic. To the tune of Hozier’s Work Song, Aiden crawls from her almost-grave, determined to see her baby wolf again.

Fair Trade by Anoke (Mature/40,373/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Karadin sells Aiden to a mage, and he becomes an experiment, trapped in his own head while searching for a way out. It's a series, and this is the part where shit gets ugly.

Very Dark Magic by @bomberqueen17 (Mature/23,683/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Aiden is once more getting tortured and mind-controlled by a mage, but luckily enough and via the power of psychic beams, Keira and Lambert find him. And Lambert's pissed.

Roses Fall but the Thorns Remain by @t4tlambert (Teen/1,458/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert holds Aiden's medallion in his hands, and he knows what it means. He pays for the privilege of having this last piece of his lover, and falls apart for just a moment.

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down by @t4tlambert (Teen/14,414/No Archive Warnings Apply)

A fellow Hozier-lyric-title user. Aiden crawls out of his grave and is found by Eskel, who begrudgingly decides to not piss off his little brother and does his best to keep his Cat alive.

Fortunes of the Fearless by @tumbleweedtech (Teen/627/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert is a vicious bastard, and Aiden is lucky enough to be around to appreciate it, even if Lambert's victim is long dead and drowned.

Survival by @kitdubhran (Teen/1,278/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Aiden wakes up in enough pain that he kind of wishes he hadn't. But he does wake up. And we all know who he's gonna go find.

♥️Getting Together & Being Together♥️

Intent by tnico (Teen/18,551/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert does everything in his crotchety (open to interpretation) power to get Aiden to reveal his devious plans and fuck off, except all he wants is to be by Lambert's side. Incredible characterization, funny as hell, and awesome research footnotes.

Bad Blood (Runs True) by @fairytrashmother (Teen/8,368/No Archive Warnings Apply)

The Tournament never happened, and the Cats and Wolves are actually trying to make peace. A young pup and a young kit might just solve their problems

Silver for Monsters by @crimsonherbarium (Explicit/108,559/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

A canon-compliant look at the development of Laiden with awesome cover art and plenty of angst in later chapters. Lambert is slow to trust, so the burn follows thus.

Lacebound by @heronfem (Mature/39,391/Graphic Depictions of Violence)

Lambert and Aiden as young witchers in winter, lacebound by the fucked-up system they live in, and soon, lacebound to each other. Extremely nuanced politics, people, and circumstances, but also something like a college AU, if Bombs 101 was a class

Denial by tnico (Teen/16,989/No Archive Warnings Apply)

This fic quite possibly wins the award for bitchiest Lambert dialogue in existence, and no one loves it more than me and Aiden. They go a-curse-breakin' and have a grand old time together. More awesome research footnotes

Therapeutic Effects by @laurelnose (Teen/900/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert finds Aiden purring himself back to health, and it's mad cute (but also hilarious because Lambert is Lambert)

Fuck Off: A Love Story (In 5+1 Parts) by @skaldingrayne (Mature/17,080/Graphic Depictions of Violence)

Despite all his efforts to appear the contrary, Lambert is just a bit too noble (and then a bit too horny and a bit too in love) to let this mangy Cat die by his own stupidity. He's still gonna bitch about it tho.

i won't say i'm in **** by @purpurred (Mature/5,848/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Keira arranges for a Cat to fulfill one of Lambert's more private fantasies, and Lambert takes it in the worst way possible. That doesn't mean he can stop thinking about the way Aiden held a poisoned knife to his throat.

ease me of its fever by @inexplicifics (Mature/5,226/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Omega Lambert has spent so many years saying absolutely-the-fuck-not-i'll-rip-your-cock-off that it's more than a little difficult to say yes. Aiden is so, so patient.

mountains that are stacked with fear by @xianvar (Mature/11,171/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert, being Lambert, assumes the beautiful love confession he found in Aiden's bag was actually a prank, and lashes out accordingly. He gets his shit together, and his Cat, eventually.

♥️Meeting the Family♥️

Lambert's two orens' man by Ledgea (Teen/1,861/No Archive Warnings Apply)

One part in an incredible series about the slow development of Aiden and Lambert, but it's just a fun bit of Eskel getting to see his baby brother happy

Hide and seek by Ledgea (Mature/6,617/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert sneaks Aiden into Kaer Morhen, and his whole cohort of bastard pups work hard to cover his ass while causing as many problems as witcherly possible; part 1 of 3

a promise to keep by @all-hail-the-witcher (Teen/983/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Tooth-rotting fluff of Aiden in Kaer Morhen, appreciating the effects of good, regular meals on Lambert's physique. Cutagen biscuits are made.

Winter with the Caravan by @damnbert (Teen/14,229/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert goes home with Aiden for a while, and all the other Cats take the opportunity to take the absolute piss out of them both (and maybe do a little matchmaking on the side)

Lambert's Family by @freudensteins-monster (Teen/5,901/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert hides his biological family until he finally feels safe enough not to. They might be growing up around him, but they still welcome him home every year, and they welcome the Wolves and Cats too.

Did he who made the Lamb make thee? by @tumbleweedtech (General Audiences/1,461/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Being the (asshole) older brothers that they are, Geralt and Eskel constantly rib Lambert about being the littlest wolf, and that his mysterious cat must be pint-sized to match. Lambert is happy to prove them wrong.

♥️Good Old Fashioned Smut♥️

wild green wonder by elizabethgee (Explicit/42,554/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Laiden smut in just about every configuration you can think. Sweet and tender, rough and wild, this one has it all. If you like a dom!Aiden and repressed sub!Lambert, this is stellar

Lambert's (Not-So) Mysterious Vial of Oil by @on-a-lucky-tide (Explicit/11,291/No Archive Warnings Apply)

The Lambert-kicks-ass-at-alchemy headcanon applied to sex. He receives (heh), and then passes his glorious knowledge of lube onto a his student, Aiden

Sweeter Than Pride by @blackberrywars (Explicit/2524/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Another self-rec for the f/f lovers. Lambert is a sweet brat and earns herself a spanking so good she cries. Aiden freaks out a little, but after it all, they fall asleep spooned together

An Evening of Frippery by @bard-llama (Explicit/3,105/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert being a power bottom whose gender is "mind your fucking business," but who nonetheless looks fantastic with his exquisitely tailored skirts hiked to his waist

I Like how the day sounds through this new song by Lynge (Explicit/9,222/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Some porn with plot where Aiden forces Lambert to confess to petty theft and also his deep and abiding romantic feelings (in that order).

Problem by elizabethgee (Explicit/1,977/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

In a fic I've just now realized has the exact same premise as one of my wips, Aiden is obsessed with Lambert's thick ass thighs and will do anything to ride them

Cut You Clean by GreenBird (Explicit/4,203/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert loses a bet and has to let Aiden shave him. It has some... interesting effects on him.

Thicker than Water (and Other Poetic Bullshit) by @kushielsmercy (Explicit/2,835/No Archive Warnings Apply)

A mini-character study of Aiden and Lambert through the lens of some filthy blood-play. They're both far more possessive and codependent than they'd want to admit.

Puppies Don't Talk by @damnbert (Explict/8,725/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Very kink-heavy fic of Lambert going fully into subspace and getting to be taken care of for a while. He can't bring himself to really ask for what he wants, but puppies don't talk anyway.

all dressed up (with no place to go) by @childoffantasy (Explicit/6,707/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert fulfills the redhead contract of wearing green and killing it dead, and there's just enough room under his pretty skirt for Aiden to crawl right up it

Thief's Reward by @inexplicifics (Explicit/1,592/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Maybe Lambert shouldn't reward this handsome Cat for stealing his kill, but it's been awhile, and he might as well get something out of the bargain (it's orgasms. and 60% of the corpse profits)

Dichotomy by @tantumuna (Explicit/25,054/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Extremely kink-heavy fic where Aiden and Lambert switch to see whose methods can get Aiden pregnant the fastest.

Kneel For Me by @alllthequeenshorses (Explicit/2,269/No Archive Warning Apply)

Lambert can only really let go with Aiden, and as soon as he can, it's a freefall. Aiden's there to hold him tight. It's some kinky reunion smut, come get a helping.

Catch and Release by @top-notch-swords (Explicit/9,570/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Aiden is deeply possessive and more than willing to manipulate the situation to remind Lambert exactly who he belongs to. Filthy alley sex and a little codependency that they should probably talk about but actually just fuck about

♥️One-Shot Roulette♥️

A Logical Conclusion by @heronfem (Mature/18,674/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Essentially the thesis of Laiden shippers, seeing Lambert's prickly ass and knowing the only logical conclusion is that he must have loved Aiden very deeply, even across space, time, and AUs

Wheel of the Year by @crimsonherbarium (Explicit/20,717/No Archive Warnings Apply)

A series of Lambert and Aiden celebrating the holidays on the outskirts of society, but finding twice the joy for it. Lots of smut, but also sweetness and angst.

You and I (and what we get up to) by @iwillpooponthefloor (Explicit/19,396/No Archive Warnings Apply)

ABCs of Laiden that focus on them as a team of two. They pull off contracts, schemes, and each other, from time to time.

Purr For Me by @round--robin (Explicit/8,407/No Archive Warnings Apply)

A whole bunch of short and sweet snapshots into Laiden. I couldn't put them on this list, but Robin has a lot of other fics combining Laiden with other ships.

♥️Modern AUs♥️

A Beginners Guide to Exploiting the Kaedweni Tax Code For Fun and Profit by @heronfem (Mature/167,193/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Lambert and Aiden get accidentally married and decide to make it work for the tax benefits. And then they fall in love. And work through trauma. And get a cat. And it's gorgeously written.

What Happens at Waffle House by Anoke (Teen/1,993/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

The rituals are intricate, and Lambert's sometimes involve mutual combat with the Waffle House line cook. Somehow, the feral gremlin gets a date out of it.

All those wonders sit in wait for us by Theladyknight23 (Teen/14,847/No Archive Warnings Apply)

My fellow fem!Laiden crusader with a delightful modern take on witchers as a combination between truckers and pest control workers. Americana themes and the best additional tag ever: "love is like bread."

The Bark that's to Your Bite by @theimpressionablelizard (Explicit/12,976/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Where Lambert is Deadpool pre-mutation and he falls in bounty hunter love with Aiden, who I personally imagine looks like Dev Patel from the Green Knight. A little romance, a little co-worker wolves, and lots of swearing.

Three Cats Walk Into A Bar by @halehathnofury (Teen/2,607/No Archive Warnings Apply

Inspired by the lovely @whyzowl's art, it's the Wolves + Ciri dressing Lambert up to get him laid, and Aiden taking the bait.

Helpless, Feckless, Far Too Young by @keirametzbrassknuckles (Mature/14,605/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

The Wolves are a traveling group after a death in the family, and Lambert is so fucking sick of them acting like nothing is wrong. He meets Aiden, and they get on like a fairgound on faire. Written by my personal mistress of angst.

♥️Miscellaneous♥️

Once, Again by @brighteyedjill (Mature/4,521/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Aiden has to save Lambert in a time loop without explaining anything, but we all know Lambert doesn't trust easy. Sometimes the simplest solution is the right one.

The Art of Living by Ledgea (Explicit/25,636/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Lambert loving people as the story of an art gallery, a skill honed from his cohort to his brothers to Aiden, The Damn Cat, when he makes his appearance.

Fields of color by @witcherscrane (Mature/2,057/Major Character Death)

In the wake of Aiden's death, Lambert follows a beautiful illusion with a smile on his face. His brothers help him find rest.

Give Us A Smile by @etcorsolus (Mature/2,945/No Archive Warnings Apply)

A 5+1 of Aiden making Lambert smile. Textual adaptation of that one post "look at you! you're so handsome when you're not being a bitch."

The Basics by @kushielsmercy (Mature/375/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Aiden gets possessed, and Lambert has a choice to make. Ambiguous ending.

Ashes in His Mouth by Faetality (Mature/3,924/Graphic Depictions of Violence)

Fear makes humans cruel. It makes them not care who gets tied to the stake, so long as they can breathe easy while the victim drowns in smoke. Or, Lambert suffers, and Aiden watches.

remember me as i was not as i am by @all-hail-the-witcher (Explicit/40,248/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Aiden has been dead for a very long time, long enough that Lambert has long since forgotten his face. It's just in time for a beautiful man with green eyes to break in through his window and ask for his services.

Deafening Silence by @wolf-and-bard (Explicit/13,230/No Archive Warnings Apply)

Destiny is a stubborn bitch, but it hasn't Lambert, who doesn't give a rat's ass that he's never meant to see Aiden again.

A Spot of Blood by MsThunderFrost (Explicit/3,440, No Archive Warnings Apply)

How the phrase "Pops didn't raise a quitter" turns into a "sex sent me to the ER" story for Lambert, because he's a stubborn bastard who would rather injure himself than communicate.

——————————————————————————————

Let me say a few things outright, because I want zero drama.

This reclist is for the benefit of Laiden fans, and is not meant as a criticism of any other ship or fic.

The fics chosen for this reclist are only ones I have read. It is by no means comprehensive, and definitely favors older fics, since that was when I was deepest in the fandom.

I actually had to cut this short because I hit some kind of content block limit, which. Oh welp. If anyone wants me to remove their fic from this list for any reason, PM me and I'll do it asap

[tame-the-lion-writes]

Chapter II - Conversation/Confrontation

[michael afton x reader] you -- always you

content warning: (these are implied/referenced) character death, self-harm, underage drinking

tags: GN!reader, romance, fix-it of sorts, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, domestic fluff, friends to lovers, eventual happy ending

Two months had passed since then.

Things went smoother after that first encounter with the infamous Michael Afton. First acquaintances, occasional study buddies, now friends.

Some people shot you odd looks at first, but the way you were able to talk casually with him sparked a little something amongst others. Not in a bad way, though!– not at all. He was starting to interact with more than just you, and that was nothing to be jealous of. On occasion, you’d walk into class to see a random student saying a brief hello, or as he had with you, point out an incorrect answer for someone who’d asked him to look over their math homework. Of course, this was a once-in-two-weeks sort of thing — still rare — but it was something different. Something new. It wouldn't have been far off to presume kids wanted to speak to him but were too nervous to. And now that you’d broken down their initial impression of him, they’d gathered enough courage to say hello.

“Okay, so, if y equals f(x), and f is a differential function, then the differential dx is an independent variable and the differential dy is a dependent variable.”

“What.”

“Dependent means it’s like the outcome. Independent is what you put in. Kinda like with a science experience, except we’re replacing input and output with math. Got it?”

“Kinda. Enough.”

“Alright. So you know how when you change one side of an equation, you gotta equal it out on the other side? Like say y equals x turns into y plus six equals x plus six?”

“Yes?”

“When you turn one side of an equation into a differential, you do the same to the other side.”

With a sigh, you groan and smack your head into the pile of papers that constitutes your homework. There’s a midterm on Monday, and though you’ve gotten nowhere on your own, it’s already Friday. 

“Well, yeah, I know that. We already did trigonometry differentials.”

“But do you know how it looks, visually ? When you use calculus, you’re not just figuring out the rate of change. You’re figuring out the area between points, and with a second derivative, the volume between points.”

“Okay— okay— slow down, my brain is gonna melt.”

Michael rolls his eyes and grabs your pad of graph paper this time. Within 30 seconds, he’s done sketching two models — a 2D one that shades in the space under a straight slope, and a 3D one that turns the slope into the outline of a cone.

“So you already know that a derivative is the rate of change for a slope. That’s like the basic starter for calculus. Applying it is usually in the form of taking one point—“ he places a dot near the beginning of each diagram— “and calculating the area or volume from that point to another.” He draws another dot halfway through. “Does that make a little more sense?”

You peak out from the shelter you’ve made above your head with your arms.

“Oh. Yes, actually.”

The visual representations help. A lot. And much more than your actual math teacher ever could. Still, he looks unsatisfied with how much you two have done so far.

“Look�� midterm’s on Monday and we’re not even halfway through the material you need to know. Are you sure you’re gonna be fine?”

“Yeah- no,” you hiss quietly, sitting up straight to look at him. He’s perched at the edge of the library table, looking down on you with a genuinely concerned expression. Your grades weren’t everything to you, but they sure as hell were important to your parents, and he knew that. “I don’t understand how you get any of this when you’re not even in the class!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Hey, not like I didn’t try to transfer. Apparently getting an F in your last math class means you can’t move up.”

“But you can do the work!”

“You think school counselors actually care about that?” he snickers, pushing himself off the desk before offering a slow, awkward solution. “How about this – what if you slept over?”

You don’t mind, but you hesitate, biting your tongue. “I don’t want to intrude… You work tomorrow morning, don’t you?”

“I mean, sure, but even if I have to get up early, I can still teach you tonight. Maybe even tomorrow afternoon once I get home. Hell, you could even visit the restaurant. I don’t do much other than exist there.”

“Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want me to meet your dad.”

“To be honest, I don’t think father’s coming home tonight. He’s off opening another branch of Fazbear’s. I dunno – something like that.”

** * **

A sleepover at Michael’s house.

God, it shouldn't have been such a big deal. You’ve been to sleepovers before! You just hadn’t been to a sleepover at his house before, and hell, you hadn’t even been at his house.

Michael had been insistent for the past few months that you stay away from his father. Whatever it was about William Afton that he hated, he hadn’t truly explained in detail, but it definitely had something to do with the incident all those years ago. Living with the memory on one’s own wouldn’t have been easy, but had you been the one involved, you couldn’t imagine the added pressure of facing your parents on a day to day basis.

How do you grapple with the fact that you lost a child because of another?

“Almost there.”

Michael’s voice snaps you out of a daze. You’ve been staring out the window of his station wagon for the past few minutes, having been picked up from home after you’d packed. You had to ride back to your place initially, seeing as you didn’t have your license yet, and needed to pop in to tell your parents where you’d be staying for the evening. Despite stereotypes, your dad was the one who didn’t seem to mind while your mom had to be wrestled into being convinced. It was only after you said that Michael’s mother would be there the whole time, as well as his younger sister, that she was convinced.

“Just use protection, okay?” she had muttered, peppering kisses all over your face.

The thought made you grimace.

Not that you found Michael unattractive! Not at all! But mom, stop, no–

“So what’s your mom like?” you ask Michael, slumping in the passenger seat.

“A try-hard when it comes to acting nice. At least my father’s honest when it comes to hating me.”

“But you get along with her?”

“Well enough.”

It’s not long before he’s parked the car and pulling your duffel bag of clothes out of the back seat. You take in the house before you – much bigger than yours, with a three car garage, second story, and sizable porch. Maybe that was a normal sized house elsewhere, but in the backwater town of Hurricane, it was the biggest and most well-kept around. Even the property itself is big – though there’s no sidewalk outline at the edge of town, from the plants that look well-watered, it’s at least three or four acres of land. 

Rich ass family.

Michael swings your duffel bag over his shoulder before going up to the front door. He raps the back of his knuckles on the wood twice before fishing out his keys and shoving one in the bottom lock. Before he can unlock the door, however, it’s quickly swung open by a middle school-aged girl with bright green eyes and even brighter orange locks that flare out wildly behind her.

“Michael!”

“Hey superstar,” Michael grins, holding out his hand to the girl, palm flat.

The ten year old smiles back and slides her own hand down across his, initiating a ritualistic handshake in the process. “Stop calling me that. I’m not a kid anymore!”

“Yeah? Well if you were an adult, you wouldn’t look or sound so much like a goblin,” Michael laughs, placing his hand briefly on the top of her head before he walks past to welcome you inside and introduce you. “This,” he says, gesturing to the girl, “is my little sister, Elizabeth. She’s a brat, so don’t fall for her charms.”

Elizabeth is quick to stick her tongue out at Michael. He returns it instantly and goes so far as to flick her forehead, though she stuns him without a hit.

“Are you two dating?”

The simultaneous NO that spits from you and Michael practically shakes the house.

“We’re just going to study together, that’s it,” you swear through gritted teeth.

“Mhm,” she hums skeptically, sending Michael the type of shit-eating grin only a sibling could make.

“I help you with your homework, so don’t even,” he warns.

“Yeah, but fact check, dummy: we’re siblings. It kinda comes with the job description.”

“Oh, Michael. You’re home.”

From the top of the staircase, a soft yet tired voice calls. Following the sound, you spot a middle-aged woman on the second floor landing – blonde hair pulled back into tight curls and lilac purple robe tucked over her shoulders. Like Elizabeth, her eyes are a shade of green, but it’s clear that they’ve dulled significantly over the years. Now, they’re almost as grey as the smoke wafting from the cigarette in her hand.

“Mom,” Michael begins, gesturing to you, “this is my friend–” you lift up a hand to wave– “and they’re staying overnight to study for a midterm on Monday.”

“Mm.” 

Her hum shows little interest but acknowledges you at the very least. 

“Go ahead and order some food for dinner. I’m too tired to cook.”

** * **

Michael and Elizabeth have a functional brother-sister relationship. But the rest of the family? That’s a completely different matter. From what you can tell, their dynamic goes like this: Michael and Elizabeth, good. Michael and mom, neglected. Michael and father? Let’s not even try.

There are family portraits on the wall that paint a clearer picture. A singular frame shows them all together, and it lies at the end of the hallway, hidden away. Michael stands behind his father, Elizabeth next to her mother, and there was even another brown-haired boy in Mrs. Afton’s lap – the victim of ‘83. From there, the pictures change. Elizabeth and their parents, their parents alone. Michael is absent. So is the boy.

The only other pictures with Michael are next to his bed, and they’re Kodak prints. No frame in sight. Also no ‘Mr. Afton.’

You finally got to see them after a quick dinner with Michael and Elizabeth. Perhaps at some point, they weren’t the best of siblings. Or rather, he wasn’t the best older brother (-- wonder how anyone could come to that conclusion). But his attempt to atone the past was evident from the moment you met Elizabeth. If he couldn’t make up with his brother, he’d make up with her.

Granted, Elizabeth never mentioned anything of the incident. You weren’t sure if she was ignoring it, if she didn’t take it seriously, or if she didn’t remember at all. From the family portrait, she looked around the same age as the young boy – four or five – so it was possible that she didn’t recall a life before her parents distanced themselves from Michael, or from each other. Mrs. Afton didn’t exactly look like a doting wife or mother. Maybe the type of person who does the bare minimum. But you also couldn’t blame her. Not entirely.

It’s another hour or two of calculus at the dinner table, post-Mexican food binge. You don’t understand how Michael is so patient with you, but now knowing that he also helped Elizabeth, he must’ve had lots of practice. Eventually, however, it’s you who asks to stop for the night.

“I don’t think I can take it anymore. Not today, at least. I think I need to recharge,” you whine softly, snapping your textbook shut after finishing another practice problem. “Got any mind-numbing movies?”

Michael withdraws from the position he’s in, standing over you, and looks toward the glass cabinet in the living room. “Uh– we got Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Little Mermaid.”

“Ooh, Harrison Ford.”

Your dreamy coo prompts him to wrinkle his nose. “He’s forty-seven.”

“Uh- yeah. And?”

“He’s older than my father.”

“And?”

He shoves your face away, instigating a giggle from your lips.

“What can I say?” you smile. “A man who ages like fine wine is…” You trail off, placing a hand in front of your mouth mockingly to imitate a chef’s kiss.

Michael gags and waves you off. “Just go. My room’s the first one at the top of the stairs. I’ve got a TV.”

“You got a TV in your bedroom ?”

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s my family’s old one. Not like we have family movie nights.”

That, you can’t argue with. 

The march up the stairs is brief, and soon, you’re closing the door behind you. Aside from its size, Michael’s room is a typical teenager’s room – mostly. Posters of bands and movies you’ve never heard of, a desk that clearly hasn’t been organized in months. A pile of dirty clothes (-- or clean, who knows?--) has been kicked away in a corner as well, and above an unmade bed is a string of polaroid pictures and doodles on ripped paper – probably torn off the edges of homework. There’s even a Foxy plush sitting upright against his pillow, metallic hook and plastic eye replaced by stitched cloth. In spite of his clear distaste for his father – seen in one picture where the man’s face has been covered by a silly Bonnie sketch – and the mound of childhood trauma you’ve only partially uncovered, it seems that Michael still has some affection for the characters.

The view from the room is nice, too. The sun has already begun to set, casting golden light against the walls, yet as you look out into the trees and scarlet landscape, out of the corner of your eye, a glint of light from the trash can catches your attention. Innocent curiosity gets the better of you, and you kneel by the small bin under his desk to uncover the metallic reflection. It’s covered by crumpled paper and candy wrappers, instigating a smile when you see even more doodles and new badge designs drawn on different pages. That smile drops, however, when you find the source of the reflection: not just several empty cans of beer left haphazardly tossed away – but the razor of a pencil sharpener with the faint hint of suspicious iron brown.

Ah.

“I got the VHS ta—“

He stops short when he sees you staring at the blade in silence.

“It’s…,” he begins, only to trail off and give up on explaining. All he does is kneel down,set the VHS tape aside, and start tossing the papers back into the bin – not even questioning what you were doing digging through his trash.

“... So,” you say slowly, folding your hands in your lap, “how long have you been… you know.”

He’s quiet until he finishes.

“... A while.”

“I– I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“I mean, I know–”

“No, you don’t–

“And if your mom or dad or sister found--”

His eyes snap in your direction.

“Mom doesn’t care enough to go in my room. Father sees me as nothing more than the kid who killed his son. And Elizabeth–” he curses under his breath and rubs his face– “Elizabeth shouldn’t have to deal with any of our shit. But at least she knows not to snoop. ”

For the first time since you met, you find him glaring at you – only this time, not with suspicion, but denial. Denial that he has a problem. Denial that it matters. That he matters.

“Michael,” you whisper softly, looking him in the eye. “You’re not okay, and that’s okay. ”

He holds your gaze for several more seconds before his own softens and the whole of him wilts. “I– I’m sorry, I just– I didn’t think anyone would actually tell me that or– or listen–”

Michael’s voice comes out in broken stutters between shallow breaths. Your heart swells at the sound, and the realization of how alone he must have been finally sets in. It’s been fact before. Cold, hard knowledge. But now it’s tangible – palpable – and horrible, terrible, true. Without another word, you reach forward and pull him into an embrace, arms wrapped tight around a trembling body. He stays limp, hands resting at his sides, but you don’t mind. He doesn’t have to reciprocate. He just needs to have–

You.

And you whisper, again–

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

** * **

It’s four thirty when you wake up.

After a quiet movie session, Michael lugged up a few couch cushions and set them on the floor. He didn’t take no for an answer when he told you to take his bed, though you weren’t sure if it was out of guilt over his outburst or day-to-day selflessness. Maybe both.

Still, you were grateful for the comfort of a mattress over the makeshift couch-cushion bed, knowing the gaps between pillows would make it difficult to sleep. His bed was soft and warm, and though tainted with the faint smell of cigarette smoke, also smelled like him. You could stay here for days.

So of course, it was a surprise when you found yourself unable to go back to bed.

You step over Michael, careful not to make any noise, and brush a stray lock of his hair into place before leaving the room. He’ll have to wake up in about half an hour to get ready for work, so you decide to get a headstart on things and make breakfast. Mrs. Afton doesn’t look like she’d have the energy to make breakfast early on the weekend, and cooking is the least you could do. Maybe something simple so you don’t take up too many ingredients either. Maybe pancakes!-- Elizabeth would probably like that.

The kitchen is large and littered with several cabinets, but you’re able to find everything you need for pancakes, plus a package of bacon and a carton of eggs you plan to fry. It’s simple but plenty, and rolling up your sleeves, you get to work right away.

The eggs and bacon are fried in succession on another pan while you get to work on the pancakes. Flour, egg, milk – they’re poured together in a large bowl, and as you wait for the griddle to heat up, you wipe down the counters to clean any bits of stray flour that’s flown out of place.

Seeing it all come together, you actually feel quite proud of yourself. This would be payment for Michael’s tutoring and make up for your intrusion. Now to pour the batter for the last pancake and—

Click.

The front door, unlocked, now comes swinging open.

There in the doorway, with a silhouette outlined by the light of the morning sun, was a man dressed neatly in a fine suit. His purple vest and the coat hanging off his shoulders reminded you of Michael in his work uniform. Everything about him screamed Michael, really, especially once he stepped forward and the kitchen lights had brightened his face. The same dark hair. The same pale bluish grey eyes. Nearly identical facial features, but paler, and darker, and cold — cold — cold–

“And who might you be?”

Same faint accent.

Uncomfortable silence permeates throughout the room as you lock eyes with the man. There’s something unusual about him, and it’s not just the way he’s an obvious genetic duplicate of his son. It’s in the way his clothes are almost too put together for an entire night of work. In the way his silver-striped hair is similarly slick and styled back. And it’s in the way he looks at you — observing, scrutinizing, flickering. Eyes drifting from the food to you, and in particular, your neck. Like he’s debating how easy it could break—

“Well, child, are you going to answer me?”

The staring contest ends abruptly when you peel your eyes away.

“I’m Michael’s friend. From school. I stayed over to study for midterms last night.”

“I see.”

“You’re awfully trusting considering he’s not here to verify.”

“Yes, and you’re certainly a burglar who stopped to make themselves pancakes. I’m terrified. ”

He tugs the suit jacket from his shoulders and hangs it on the coat rack by the front door, as if he had just come home from a regular nine to five, not five in the morning. A gulp forces itself down your throat before you pour the batter, sleepy fog now thoroughly purged from your mind. Though you no longer look directly at him, you keep him in the corner of your eye, stiffly aware of whatever space he seeks to occupy. And unsurprisingly, he seems intent on occupying the kitchen with you.

“You know, it’s good that Michael’s been making friends,” he comments, heading for the coffee maker behind you. “Boy’s had a hard time getting along with others his age.”

“I heard.”

“You know why, then?”

“I’m not a fool, Mr. Afton. Of course I know why.”

As you go to flip the now-ready pancake, he abruptly takes the sugar from your side, making you jump. Standing like this, you’re practically trapped between him and the counter. Nowhere to go. Your heart doesn’t drop so much as it begins tugging downward like a weighted stone. Seeing the look on your face and the tension in your shoulders, his amusement is audible as he speaks, voice soothing yet visible stature alarming.

“Please, don’t bother with ‘Mr. Afton.’ It’s William. And apologies, my dear. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You shake your head and set the spatula down once done, waiting for the other side of the pancake to brown.

“It’s fine. I guess I’m just a little jumpy since it’s so early in the morning.”

“Not used to waking up early?”

“More like I couldn’t sleep.”

He nods before continuing the earlier topic. “My son… let’s just say that he’s a wounded soul. Always been a troublemaker, that boy.”

You can’t help but scoff lightly at his words. The way Michael talks about his father already has you predisposed to taking every one of Mr. Afton’s words as bullshit. It’s not like Michael would lie about his family for attention. If that was the case, he wouldn’t have self-isolated. It would just be–

“He self-sabotages, you know? My wife and I gave him so many an opportunity. We still do. We’ve encouraged every sport, every hobby – music and art and even robotics. He’s wasted them all.”

“I wouldn’t say wasted,” you defend in a softer tone. “He’s pretty good at art. And I didn’t come here to teach him anything. He’s the one who taught me .” You pause before adding on to soften the tone of the conversation. “... I mean, that’s why I’m cooking breakfast for everyone. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh, he’s smart enough, I’ll give him that. But in terms of effort? In terms of trying to get somewhere with that brain of his? Ha–”

William’s words are bile on your tongue. A part of you knows that some part of it is true, but you also know why it’s true, and that’s what really matters. Michael hates himself. Can’t you see? Can’t you tell? Do you even give a fuck? Do you even care?--

“In any case, I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure Elizabeth will be happy when she wakes up.” He pours a teaspoon of sugar into his hot coffee before backing away.

You’re about to respond when you hear Michael’s bedroom door swing open from up the stairs. Your best friend rubs his weary eyes, halfway through a yawn when he stops in his tracks, gaze landing on his father, you, then his father again.

“You’re home.”

It’s said none too warmly.

William clicks his tongue, his strides now somewhat hurried compared to before. “It’s my house, is it not?”

Wanting to defuse the situation, you raise the pan slightly from the stove as if to show Michael. “Hey– I– uh– I made breakfast for you. And Elizabeth and your mom, too, I guess, but it might be cold by the time they wake up.”

At your feeble attempt to calm things down, Michael mutters a curse under his breath before hurrying over, instantly placing himself between you and his father. Not that he actually interacts with the older man – just gives him the cold shoulder, sticking by your side. William gets the message, but while he continues to move away, it’s not exactly in the most generous manner.

“It’s time I check on Elizabeth. I’ll wake her for you, don’t worry – I’m sure she’ll love the surprise. As for myself, I’ll get to bed. Sleep the day away before I visit the new location again.” He sends Michael a toothy grin, pearly whites shining in the dark. “Have fun, you two. Henry will be managing the pizzeria tomorrow. I’m sure things will be more… relaxed that way.”

Though you stare as William leaves, you can see Michael tense even more out of the corner of your eye and instinctively move a hand to brush his. Still, you shudder. No matter how polite William had seemed, there was something inherently unnerving about him.

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers as soon as his father’s bedroom door has closed.

“Sorry for what? He didn’t do anything.”

“Not yet. Not yet.”