#it would work so perfectly for his character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buckets-and-trees · 1 day ago

Text

Rank and Promotion

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Alpha!Ari x curvy Female!Omega!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Summary: Ari Levinson receives a visit and a gift from Governor Barnes. (part of the Fine Line collection but can be read fully on its own)

Content/Warnings: omegaverse (alpha-omega dynamics, scenting, etc); power dynamics; loss of virginity; explicit smut: thigh riding, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse and insemination, cum appreciation; omega trafficking

Author Notes: I said there would be more alphas in this verse, and HERE'S THE FIRST OF THEM! It is not necessary to read anything else in this story. Relevant information is relayed directly and/or insinuated in the narrative for this piece. But for anyone who has followed the Bucky parts of the story, this takes place immediately after the council scene in No Way Out.

Additional Note: I need to give credit where it's due to @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me figure out how to best approach sharing this storyline for new characters/a new reader into an existing verse!

Fine Line Collection

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Five years ago, Ari would have been pacing impatiently across the floor of this opulent living room in the penthouse of Skyline Tower, but now he’s learned how to control the impatience, to cage it, let it undulate deep inside of himself to be used to launch into action at the right moment.

And so he sits in a comfortable armchair with a view of the mountains in the distance out to the west of the city, studying the view, reading on his phone, and looking out into the distance again.

Twenty-seven hours ago he’d received a summons from the Governor’s executive aide, told he was expected in the capital by sundown and to pack for an indefinite stay. The order had not been entirely unusual - he’d been instructed to move to different locations many times given the nature of his work, and many of those reassignments had been with unknown expectations for how long he would need to be there.

Ari arrived in the capital the night before and had been escorted to this penthouse in the city’s tallest building, and thathad been unusual. Typically his assignments were fulfilled in ordinary, unremarkable areas, not the a place like this.

The space balances luxury with functionality – sleek lines and modern fixtures softened by plush seating and warm lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the sprawling city below, but automated privacy screens can be adjusted for comfort. The leather couch looked genuinely used, not merely decorative. Books lined built-in shelves, their spines showing wear. The kitchen gleams with high-end appliances, yet remains approachable with its open layout. Even the temperature is perfectly calibrated – cool enough to remain comfortable, but not so cold as to require additional layers.

This attention to livability rather than mere display speaks volumes about its owner. Bucky Barnes may be Hydra's conquering fist, but he clearly values practical comfort over ostentatious wealth. It's an unexpected insight into the man who seized control of the territory mere weeks ago in a swift, brutal campaign that left the previous government broken, but not obliterated left with just enough strength and infrastructure to remain viable and powerful on the continent.

His phone buzzes, and there’s a message indicating that Governor Barnes has just arrived at Skyline Tower and will be with him presently.

Ari frowns.

Having been summoned, he expected to be called to the Governor’s office or his mansion.

A personal visit was yet another anomaly.

Only a few minutes later, there’s a brief knock and a man enters the penthouse, making way for a tall, imposing alpha, and his omega.

Ari man rises from the leather armchair. "Governor Barnes," he greets Bucky with a slight inclination of his head.

"Levinson," Bucky responds, stepping forward to clasp his hand firmly. "I trust the accommodations are satisfactory."

"More than," Ari replies, gesturing around. His gaze shifts to the female at Bucky’s side, curiosity evident in his expression. "And this must be your new omega. The former governor's daughter."

Bucky's hand moves to the small of her back, a possessive gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by anyone in the room. "Yes. She's mine now."

Bucky steers his omega and gestures for her to sit on the plush leather couch with him. She settles beside him, and he drapes his metal arm possessively across her shoulders. Ari can see it’s not a demonstration for his benefit, but for hers.

Ari takes his seat again in armchair opposite the couch and waits, deferring to the governor to speak first.

"Your work in the eastern territories has been exceptional," Bucky begins, his tone matter-of-fact. "The intelligence you've gathered over the past three years has been invaluable to our acquisition of the territory."

"Just doing my job," Ari responds with a modest shrug, though there's a hint of pride he can’t hold back in his tone.

"Which is precisely why I've called you here to the capital," Bucky continues. "Every weakness, every vulnerability you identified in the territory's defenses proved accurate. The takeover was executed with minimal resistance, just as you predicted."

"Minimal resistance is generous," Ari remarks with a slight smile. He heard every report, saw footage online and on television. "Your tactics were... thorough."

And in line with many of the intel and suggestions Ari himself had supplied to Barnes and the others in the Hydra network for this very purpose.

Bucky leans forward, his posture shifting subtly from casual to intent. "Which brings me to my proposition. I need someone to lead my military forces—someone with your strategic mind and field experience."

Ari keeps his expression carefully neutral, though he is more than intrigued if Barnes means what he think he means.

Still, he doesn’t want to misstep by assuming or betraying any eagerness.

So he waits half a moment before saying evenly, "You have STRIKE teams already in place. Rumlow seems capable enough."

"Rumlow is a blunt instrument," Bucky replies dismissively. "Useful for specific tasks, but lacking the vision required for what I have planned." He pauses, studying Ari with calculating eyes. "I'm offering you the position of General of my armed forces.”

Ari raises his eyebrows slightly. "General?"

"Yes," Bucky confirms without hesitation. "The current military leadership lacks vision. They're competent at maintaining order, but we need more than that to secure our borders and expand our influence. You understand the larger picture."

He assumed there would be a special assignment, but he hadn’t anticipated this. Though his pulse has accelerated, he keeps his voice even. "What exactly would this entail?"

Like himself, Bucky is a man who respects cool heads.

"Authority over all military operations, reporting directly to me," Bucky explains. "A seat on the territory council, but also a member of my personal cabinet.”

Ari considers the Governor’s words, drumming his fingers lightly against the armrest. His gaze flicks between the alpha and his omega - a woman who has remained stoic, silent, and still through all of the exchange, though certainly studying every word and action, thoroughly paying attention.

"Think about it,” Bucky continues, “this territory has resources, manpower, and strategic positioning. What we lack is someone with vision to utilize them properly."

Ari weighs his options, calculating the benefits against potential risks.

Bucky shifts, squeezing the back of his omega’s neck before standing. "I don't expect an immediate answer. Consider the offer." He gestures toward the door where the man who entered with them has remained, clearly waiting for this signal. "In the meantime, I've brought something to mark your acceptance."

To mark your acceptance… So this is an edict, no room for negotiation, refusal an impossibility.

The man - a beta, Ari can tell - nods and opens the door. A moment later, an older looking beta female enters, leading five omega women in behind her.

"Alphas like us have... certain needs," Bucky says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, watching for Ari’s reaction.

Ari stands, and something in his chest rumbles unbidden. He’s enjoyed an omega here and there, though they’re difficult to find. To have five in a room together is rare. Five unmated? Unheard of.

Bucky steps forward, his hand gesturing toward the line of omegas with practiced smoothness. "These fine specimen come from Whitecrest," he explains, voice carrying an unmistakable note of pride. "Perhaps the most prestigious omega training facility in the northern hemisphere."

All five are dressed modestly in cream-colored, simple yet exquisite dresses - each cut and tailored to show off the omegas in the best way possible. They appear to range in age from twenties to thirties. Their hair is neatly styled, their postures submissive but dignified, eyes downcast.

The beta male - Marcus, according to his silver name badge - steps forward with a slight bow. His suit is impeccably pressed, his manner formal yet approachable.

"Whitecrest is an institution with over a century of tradition. Interested families who are interested contact us when they have a child who identifies as an omega within days of their presentation, usually between thirteen and fifteen years of age," Marcus elaborates. "Only those with exceptional potential are selected. From that moment, their education becomes comprehensive. We identify their natural aptitudes and enhance them through rigorous education."

One of the omegas lifts their gaze momentarily before lowering it again. The brief glimpse reveals intelligent eyes that seem to assess the room.

"Our curriculum for all our omegas is comprehensive—multiple languages, of course, with each omega mastering a minimum of four. They study diplomatic companion relations, learning to navigate even the most complex international negotiations at their alpha's side. Our political training ensures they understand governance structures worldwide, while our history program contextualizes modern power dynamics."

Marcus's voice takes on a reverent quality as he continues, "And naturally, we provide thorough instruction on what an omega's role should be—how to anticipate an alpha's needs before they're expressed, how to manage a household of any size, how to present themselves in society. They learn to navigate hierarchies with grace and dignity."

Ari's eyes travel down the line of omegas, each one a testament to careful cultivation. "And their families simply... give them up?"

"They entrust them to us," Marcus corrects smoothly. "Most come from prominent families who understand the value of proper training. Others are discovered through our scholarship program, which identifies exceptional potential regardless of background. In either case, the families are generously compensated."

Bucky watches Ari's reaction carefully. "Each of these omegas represents years of investment. Their training costs more than most people earn in a lifetime.”

Ari feels a primal hunger growing within him as he studies the five women. His alpha instincts, normally kept under tight control, rise to the surface. He hasn't had the luxury of an omega companion during a rut in years, though he had been able to find sufficient satisfaction with betas to get him through.

"And now, one of them will be yours," Bucky says.

The implication hangs in the air, heavy with expectation. Ari feels his pulse quicken despite his practiced control.

"You're offering me one of these omegas?" he asks, careful to keep his tone measured despite the sudden rush of alpha interest surging through him.

"Consider it a signing bonus," Bucky replies with a slight smile. "A general requires a proper companion. Someone who can manage your household, accompany you to diplomatic functions, and of course," his voice drops slightly, "satisfy your more... primal needs."

The older beta female steps forward. "If I may, Governor Barnes?”

Barnes nods, “Certainly. Levinson, I’ll leave you to your selection. Marcus and Elsie, send the final contract to my assistant.” Then he turns to his own omega, and reaches a hand out.

The Governor’s wife rises from the couch with her own grace, and follows her husband out of the penthouse.

The older woman speaks again. "Each omega has been specifically selected based on compatibility with your profile, sir," she explains, her voice crisp and professional. "We've studied your background, preferences, and needs extensively to ensure an optimal match."

Ari's brow furrows slightly. "You've been researching me?"

"Of course," she replies without hesitation. "Whitecrest prides itself on creating perfect matches, not merely providing bodies. These five were hand-selected from our entire cohort as potential matches for your specific temperament, career demands, and genetic compatibility. Governor Barnes provided us with your dossier months ago. We've analyzed your service record, psychological assessments, even your dietary preferences to identify the most compatible candidates."

Ari shoots a glance toward the door where Bucky has just exited. Months ago. Before the territory was even conquered. The realization that Barnes had been planning this role for him all along settles like a weight in his stomach – both flattering and unsettling.

"And what exactly did your analysis determine about me?" Ari asks, unable to resist his curiosity.

Elsie - Ari notes her own silver nametag - smiles politely. "That you're disciplined, methodical, and intensely private. You value competence above all else. You require an omega who can anticipate needs without constant direction, who can function independently when your duties demand your attention, yet submit completely when you require it."

Her assessment is uncomfortably accurate, even identifying elements he may not have thought to consider for himself but sound satisfying to him.

Ari walks slowly along the line of omegas, studying each one with careful consideration. They remain perfectly still under his scrutiny, spaced out evenly approximately a meter apart from each other, enough room for him to circle them physically and assess their smells somewhat individually.

As Ari approaches the fourth omega, he catches a subtle shift in demeanor – not defiance, exactly, but a certain alertness that distinguishes you from the others. While the rest remain perfectly still, your head tilts almost imperceptibly, but he does catch it. He recalls that you’re the he noticed looking up before, during Marcus’s thorough explanation about the education omegas of your kind receive.

He steps directly in front of you, drawn by that subtle difference. "You," he addresses you directly, his voice low.

Your eyes remain downcast respectfully, but your posture straightens a fraction more. Unlike the others who remained unmoved around him, you appear to become more present.

"May I?" He extends his hand, palm up, an invitation rather than a demand. The gesture reveals more about him than perhaps he intends – a preference for consent, even in a situation where he holds all the power.

You lift your gaze to meet his, just for a moment, before lowering your eyes again in practiced deference. With fluid grace, you extend your wrist, turning it upward to expose the delicate skin where your scent is strongest.

Ari's fingers close gently around your offered wrist, bringing it to his nose. The first inhale is cautious, analytical – but the moment your scent fills his lungs, something shifts fundamentally in his gut.

Your scent hits him with unexpected force. It's not merely pleasant; it’s complex and resonates with him on a primal level, setting off a cascade of reactions he hasn't experienced before. His pupils dilate slightly, and he finds himself drawing a second, deeper breath.

"What's your name?" he asks, still holding your wrist, his thumb unconsciously tracing small circles against your pulse point.

You respond, answering in a calm, controlled tone, but he can feel the way your pulse races beneath his thumb.

Elsie steps forward. "A fine choice, General Levinson. This omega has excelled particularly in languages – fluent in seven, including Mandarin and Russian – and has specialized training in military history and strategic analysis. We believed these skills would complement your new position admirably."

Ari barely notices her words, as he's entirely absorbed in the scent that envelops him. However, his keen sense of movement and awareness of those around him ensures he catches Marcus signaling the other omegas to leave the penthouse.

Marcus approaches with a sleek digital tablet in hand, clearing his throat discreetly. "If you're satisfied with your selection, sir, we have just a few formalities to complete."

Ari reluctantly releases your wrist, though his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before turning to Marcus. "Of course."

"Standard transfer of guardianship documentation," he explains, gesturing toward the tablet. "It confirms your acceptance of this omega and outlines your rights and responsibilities."

Ari scans the document quickly but thoroughly, his years of intelligence work having trained him never to sign anything without reading it first. The legal language is precise, transferring all rights to him while acknowledging Whitecrest's continued interest in your wellbeing – a formality more than an actual limitation on his authority.

"Everything appears to be in order," he murmurs, pressing his thumb to the digital pad in the appropriate spot.

Elsie, who has guided you to stand slightly apart while the men handle the paperwork. "The omega comes with a complete wardrobe and personal effects," she explains, her tone businesslike. "All items have been selected to complement your lifestyle and preferences."

Ari nods.

“They will delivered to the concierge downstairs within the hour. Whitecrest provides a six-month adjustment period," Elsie explains, “should you wish to make any changes or find any incompatibility or unwanted behavior from or with the omega.”

"And we'll need your signature here as well, confirming receipt of the omega's medical records and maintenance instructions," Marcus says, swiping to another screen on the tablet.

Ari raises an eyebrow. "Maintenance instructions?"

"Just a formality," Elsie interjects smoothly. "Dietary preferences, exercise regimens, heat suppressant schedules as long as you wish to suppress them. Nothing you wouldn't expect."

Marcus taps several more fields on the tablet before sliding it toward Ari once more. "Just your signature on the final acceptance form, General. This confirms receipt of the omega and acknowledges Whitecrest's fulfillment of our contract with Governor Barnes."

Ari signs with a practiced motion, his eyes flicking toward you. Marcus taps a few more buttons before the tablet emits a soft chime.

"Congratulations, General Levinson. She is officially yours," Marcus says with a practiced smile.

Elsie straightens her jacket. "The omega has been thoroughly briefed on her duties and expectations. She'll serve you well." She gives you a final appraising look, a nearly imperceptible nod that seems to convey some private message, before turning back to Ari. "Should you require any assistance during the adjustment period, our support staff is available at any hour."

"That won't be necessary," Ari replies, his tone making it clear the conversation is concluded.

With a final nod, Marcus and Elsie depart, leaving Ari alone with you for the first time. The door closes with a soft click, and the sudden silence feels weighted with possibility.

Ari studies you, still standing precisely as you had undoubtedly been trained to do, hands folded neatly before you, eyes downcast. The perfect picture of omega submission—yet he hasn't forgotten that brief moment of alertness that drew him to you initially.

"You can look at me," he says, his voice neither harsh nor particularly gentle. "I prefer direct communication."

You raise your eyes to meet his, and he's struck again by what he sees there—intelligence, assessment, and something else he can't quite define. Not fear, which is interesting. Perhaps caution. Certainly awareness.

"I imagine this is... unexpected for you as well," he says.

“On the contrary, General Levinson, I’ve known for two decades I was being held in reserve, training and preparing for the alpha who would claim me.”

Ari notes that your tone doesn’t seem to harbor any resentment towards that statement or the reality of it either.

"Two decades is a long time to prepare for something without knowing when it will happen," Ari observes, moving to the kitchen area. He pours himself a glass of water, then, after a moment's consideration, pours a second. "Would you like one?"

"Thank you, Alpha," you respond, joining him in the kitchen and accepting the glass with graceful movements. Your fingers brush against his, and he notes the controlled steadiness of your hand.

"You can call me Ari when we're alone," he says, watching your reaction carefully.

You take a small sip of water before responding. "As you wish... Ari." The name sounds intimate on your lips, a privilege you understand the significance of.

"I should inform you," you continue, your voice measured and practical, "that I'm currently on a regimen of heat suppressants, as is standard protocol before a Whitecrest omega is transferred to the care of an alpha." Your voice is measured, professional. "However, I can discontinue them immediately if you prefer. The medication will clear my system within seventy-two hours."

Ari's expression remains neutral, though his scent shifts subtly with interest.

"That won't be necessary just yet," he replies, studying your face. "We have time."

You nod once, acknowledging his decision. "Regardless of my suppressed state, I am fully capable of satisfying any and all intimate requirements you may have." Your tone remains matter-of-fact, neither coy nor embarrassed. "While I am a certified virgin omega, Whitecrest's curriculum includes comprehensive training in all aspects of physical intimacy."

Ari's lips twitch beneath his mustache. He told you he appreciates direct communication, and he likes that you seem to fall into it naturally with him. “How does that work? A virgin but with comprehensive training?”

At this, you do drop your eyes for a moment shift slightly from one foot to the other.

"Whitecrest, as explained, always adopts a thorough and methodical approach to educating their omegas," you explain, your voice remaining professional despite the intimate subject matter. "My physical training included extensive work with beta partners—men and women both—to master techniques of oral gratification. I can pleasure with my mouth, hands, and body in a myriad of distinct ways."

You take another small sip of water before continuing, "We were also thoroughly schooled in self-pleasure, to understand our own bodies' responses. This knowledge helps us better anticipate and accommodate an alpha's needs."

Ari watches your face as you speak, the blood in his veins pumping more heatedly as you speak.

"There were practical vaginal applications too," you add. "Specialized stretching exercises to gradually stretch and prepare our bodies to accommodate an alpha's... dimensions."

You meet his eyes directly now. "However, nothing has ever penetrated my vaginal canal deeply enough to break my hymen. That honor is reserved exclusively for my alpha. For you."

“Fuck,” he says.

The word escapes his mouth before he can stop it, his careful control slipping for just a moment. Your eyes widen slightly at his reaction, and he sees a flash of something—satisfaction, perhaps—cross your features before you compose yourself again.

"I apologize if I was too forward," you say, though your tone suggests you don't believe you've overstepped.

"No," Ari says, setting his glass down on the counter with measured precision. "I said I wanted direct communication. You're giving me exactly that."

He moves closer to you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. Your scent shifts subtly in response to his proximity, and he catches it immediately—a sweetening, an unconscious response that makes his alpha instincts stir with primal satisfaction.

"I want to be clear about something," he says, his voice dropping to a lower register. "You were trained to be what Whitecrest believed an alpha would want. But I'm interested in what lies beneath that training."

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, your carefully constructed demeanor wavers. "Whitecrest doesn't encourage individuality," you admit, tone laced with wariness.

You’re incredibly intelligent, strategic. He likes that.

"I consider it essential," Ari counters. “I want to know who you are beneath the training."

You tilt your head slightly, a gesture that seems less practiced and more natural. "What would you like to know, Ari?"

He steps back, creating space between you again, regaining his composure. "Let's sit," he suggests, gesturing toward the living area. You follow him, moving with elegant efficiency, and take a seat on the couch while he chooses the armchair opposite you.

He studies you for a long moment, taking in the details of your face, your posture, the way you hold yourself. There's a precision to your movements that speaks of years of training, but underneath it, he senses something more—a natural grace that couldn't have been taught.

"Tell me something that isn't in your file," he says. "Something Whitecrest doesn't know about you."

Your eyes widen slightly at this unexpected request. For a moment, you seem to wrestle with it, your training having conditioned you to present only what would please an alpha. But he sees the moment you let go and relax from that expectation.

"I steal moments," you admit finally, voice softer than before. "When I'm supposed to be meditating during quiet hours, I sometimes watch the stars instead." Your hands rest in your lap, perfectly still, but he notices the slight tension in your fingers. "There's a constellation that as visible from my dormitory window that wasn't in any of our astronomy texts. I named it myself."

Ari leans forward slightly, genuinely intrigued. "What did you name it?"

The question seems to surprise you, you’re clearly not expecting his curiosity to extend beyond a surface level. "Libera," you answer after a moment. "It means—"

"Freedom," Ari finishes for you, his expression thoughtful. "I speak Latin too."

Something shifts in your eyes—a flicker of deeper interest in him, the man, not the alpha.

A current seems to pass between you both at that moment. Ari's eyes darken slightly, and the air in the penthouse grows heavier with unspoken tension.

"Come here," Ari says, his voice low as he extends his hand toward you. His command is gentle but unmistakable.

You hesitate for just a fraction of a second—another glimpse of the real person beneath the training—before rising gracefully from the couch. You cross the short distance between you and place your hand in his.

With a smooth, deliberate motion, he guides you onto his lap, your body naturally finding position across his thighs. Without a word, Ari's hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your lower lip. His eyes search yours, seeking something beyond the polished veneer of your training.

His eyes never leaving yours, Ari leans forward, closing the distance between you. His lips brush against yours—tentative at first, almost questioning. But when you respond, parting your lips slightly, his restraint crumbles.

Ari deepens the kiss, hungry for more of you, exploring your mouth, the way you taste. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair to hold you in place as he tastes you thoroughly. You taste of mint and something else—something uniquely you that makes his alpha instincts surge with possessive pleasure.

You respond with the technical precision of your training, but there's something more authentic beneath it—a genuine response to him that makes his blood heat. He can sense it in the air as your scent shifts to something more heady. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming, exploring, and you match him movement for movement.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing harder. Your eyes have darkened, pupils blown with a desire he believes matches his own.

His hand travels from your neck down your spine, pressing you closer as he leans in again. This time his lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you shiver involuntarily at the contact. He grins against your heated skin, and continues his exploration, trailing kisses along your jawline, down your neck, lingering at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder.

"Your scent is..." he murmurs against your skin, inhaling deeply. "Intoxicating."

Ari shifts beneath you, adjusting his position in the armchair. He slides his hands to grip your waist, then guides you to straddle his muscular thigh, positioning you so his quad presses directly against your core, the fabric of your dress forced up around your hips.

His eyes, dark with desire but still observant, study your face. His hand slides to your hip, fingers applying gentle pressure.

"Ride my thigh," Ari commands softly, his thumb stroking your hip. "Show me what brings you pleasure."

You hesitate, confusion flickering across your features. "I don't understand. My purpose is to—"

"Your purpose right now," he interrupts, his voice firm, "is to give me what I want, and what I want is to see you please yourself."

The concept seems foreign to you, and Ari can see the conflict in your eyes—your training has conditioned you to focus exclusively on an alpha's pleasure, not your own. This slight deviation from your programming fascinates him.

"I..." you begin, uncertainty coloring your voice.

"This isn't a test," Ari says, and he moves from your hip to cup your face, his touch gentle but commanding. "I want to see what feels good to you. I always study my subject, that’s my expertise. I want to watch you come apart, know what your body craves so I can meet out pleasure to you like you’ve never experienced before."

Something in his words seems to unlock something in you. Your body responds to his reasoning, beginning to move slowly against his thigh. The friction sends visible shivers through you, and your eyes widen slightly at the sensation.

"That's it," Ari encourages, his gaze intense as he watches your face. "Don't hold back."

Your movements grow more confident, planting your hands on his shoulders and finding a rhythm. Your breathing quickens as you grind against his muscular thigh, the rhythmic movement causes your dress to ride up further, exposing more of your thighs. Ari's hands move to grip your hips, not to guide but to feel your movements, to learn your rhythm.

"Look at me," he commands, and your eyes lock with his. The vulnerability in your gaze is intoxicating—this isn't the practiced performance of a Whitecrest omega, but something raw and genuine.

A small moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you immediately tense, as if surprised by your own loss of inhibition so quickly.

"Don't," Ari says, his voice husky with desire. "Don't hide those sounds from me. I want to hear every one of them."

Your movements become more urgent, more desperate as pleasure builds within you. Your body trembles against him, and Ari can feel the dampness growing between your legs, seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear and onto his pants. He finds the evidence of your arousal deeply satisfying.

"That's it," he murmurs, one hand leaving your hip to slide up your back, pressing you closer. "Show me what you need."

Your movements become less controlled, more instinctual as pleasure builds. Your head falls back slightly, exposing the elegant line of your throat. Ari can't resist—he leans forward to press his lips against your pulse point, feeling it race beneath his mouth. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there. Not a claiming bite—not yet—but the promise of one.

"A-Alpha," you gasp, forgetting his instruction to use his name in the haze of your building climax.

Ari doesn't correct you. There's something primal and satisfying about hearing his designation on your lips in this moment of abandon. His own arousal is painful against the confines of his pants, but he ignores it, focused entirely on your pleasure.

His hand tightens on your hip, urging you on, his other hand sliding from your back to slip beneath the neckline of your dress, exploring the soft skin he finds there.

Your movements become frantic, chasing the release that hovers just out of reach. Ari slides one hand between your bodies, pressing his thumb against the exact spot where you need it most, even through the fabric of your underwear.

"Let go," he commands, his voice a low growl. "Show me."

Your rhythm falters as pleasure overtakes you. Your thighs tighten around his, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body shudders with release. A broken cry escapes your lips, raw and unfiltered.

Ari watches, transfixed, as you come apart for him. The sight of your genuine pleasure, the sounds you make, the scent of your arousal—it all combines to stoke his own desire to nearly unbearable levels. His hardness presses insistently against his pants, but he makes no move to seek his own release. Not yet.

As the aftershocks subside, you slump slightly against him, your breathing ragged, your forehead resting against his shoulder as your body continues to tremble with aftershocks.

"Beautiful," he murmurs against your hair, his hands still gripping your hips.

In one fluid motion, Ari lifts you from his lap. His movements are controlled yet urgent as he lowers you to the plush carpet. Your dress has ridden up around your waist, and he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of you—flushed, disheveled, still trembling slightly from your release.

"That was just the beginning," he murmurs, his voice deep with promise as he positions himself between your thighs.

His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs with deliberate slowness. The garment is damp with evidence of your arousal, and Ari inhales deeply, his pupils dilating at your scent.

"Perfect," he whispers, mostly to himself.

He spreads your thighs wider, exposing you completely to his gaze. He can see the mixture of anticipation and interest as Ari lowers himself, planting his shoulders between your legs. He senses his intentions are in no way unwelcome, but not what you were told to expect. His breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, already swollen and slick from your previous climax. The first touch of his tongue against you sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching involuntarily off the carpet.

"Ari," you gasp, forgetting formality as sensations overwhelm you.

He hums against you, the vibration adding another layer to the pleasure coursing through your body. His technique is methodical yet intuitive – exploring, learning, cataloging every response. When his tongue circles your clit and your thighs tremble, he takes note. When he flattens his tongue against you in a broad stroke and you whimper, he files that information away too.

"You taste even better than you smell," he murmurs against you, his voice rough with desire.

Your hands flutter uncertainly before settling on the carpet beside you, fingers curling against the plush rug.

Ari shifts his approach, abandoning the methodical exploration in favor of something more primal. His movements become unhurried, indulgent—almost worshipful as he parts your folds with his fingers and drags his tongue through your wetness with deliberate slowness. The meticulous pace makes every sensation more acute, more overwhelming.

You gasp as he laps at you with broad, leisurely strokes, and he knows his beard is creating a delicious friction against your sensitive skin - he’s looking forward to seeing the evidence later. His technique is less precise now, messier. He's savoring a feast rather than executing a strategy. Slickness gathers at the corners of his mouth, but he’s unconcerned, focused entirely on drawing out your pleasure.

"Please," you whisper, the word escaping before you can contain it.

He glances up, meeting your eyes over the landscape of your body. His mustache is slick with your arousal, his eyes dark with desire. "Please what?" he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath teasing you.

You struggle to articulate what you need, your training suddenly inadequate for this unexpected experience. "More," is all you manage.

A low chuckle rumbles through him, vibrating against your core. "Like this?" He seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bundle of nerves with precision.

Your back arches off the carpet, a strangled cry escaping your throat. Your hands move instinctively to his head, fingers threading through his dark hair. For a moment, you freeze, but Ari responds by pressing closer, encouraging your touch.

He slips one finger inside you, careful to maintain the barrier of your virginity while still providing the pressure and fullness he knows your body craves.

"That's it," he murmurs against you, feeling your inner walls begin to flutter around his finger. "So responsive.”

He adds a second digit, and his fingers continue their teasing exploration, never quite breaching you but applying just enough pressure to make you ache for more. All the while, his tongue works against your sensitive bundle of nerves with deliberate, focused attention.

Your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of everything he's giving you. He responds by increasing the intensity, his tongue circling your clit with relentless precision while his fingers press deeper, stretching you without breaching that final barrier.

"Ari," you gasp, your voice breaking as the tension coils tighter. "I can't—"

"You can," he growls against your sensitive flesh. "Come apart for your alpha again."

His tongue flattens against your clit, applying firm, consistent pressure while his fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot. The dual sensation shatters you completely. Your release crashes down, your body convulsing beneath him as waves of pleasure radiate outward. Your cry echoes through the penthouse, uninhibited and raw.

As you tremble through the aftershocks, Ari's control finally shatters. With a fluid movement born of years of military training, he flips your limp body over, and he hoists your hips up with powerful hands, positioning you on your knees.

"Present for me," he growls, his voice barely recognizable even to himself, thick with primal need.

Your body responds instinctively to his command, your back arching, hips raising to offer yourself to him. The position is vulnerable, submissive—exactly what your alpha demands.

Ari's hands caress your exposed flesh, appreciating the curve of your spine, the perfect roundness of your ass, the sight of you ready and waiting for him. He quickly unfastens his pants, freeing his straining erection. The cool air of the penthouse against his heated flesh makes him throb with anticipation. He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against and then parting your slick, swollen folds.

"Mine," he growls, the single word laden with possession and promise.

Without further warning, Ari drives forward in one powerful thrust, breaking through your virgin barrier and burying himself to the hilt inside you. The sensation is overwhelming—your tight heat enveloping him completely as your virginity yields to his claiming.

Your cry echoes through the penthouse, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your body, still limp and sated from your previous releases, offers little resistance to his invasion. Your inner walls stretch to accommodate his considerable size, pulsing around him as your body adjusts to this new intrusion.

Ari remains still for just a moment, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he fights for control. The primal part of him wants to rut into you with abandon, to claim and mark and own. But the more controlled part of him—the strategist, the soldier—knows to temper that instinct.

"Breathe," he commands, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. His hand slides up your back to grip the nape of your neck, applying gentle pressure—a steadying, grounding touch.

You whimper beneath him, your body trembling as it adjusts to the unfamiliar fullness. Your inner walls flutter and contract around his length, instinctively trying to accommodate him. The sensation nearly makes Ari lose his hard-won control.

"So tight," he groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip. "So perfect for me."

You whimper beneath him, your body trembling as it stretches to accommodate his invasion. Your inner walls flutter around him, adjusting to his girth, your body producing more slickness to ease his passage.

"Good omega," he murmurs, the praise falling from his lips unbidden. His hands return to your hips, gripping firmly as he begins to withdraw slowly, almost completely, before driving back. Each thrust is measured, calculated to stretch you perfectly while minimizing discomfort. The warrior in him wants to claim you roughly, but the strategist wins out, conquering your body with deliberate precision.

"Alpha," you moan, your fingers curling into the plush carpet beneath you. Your voice carries a note of surrender that satisfies something primal in Ari's core.

His pace increases gradually as your body yields to him completely, your initial discomfort giving way to unmistakable pleasure. Your scent changes, sweetening with arousal, and Ari inhales deeply, letting it fuel his desire.

"You were made for this," Ari growls, his rhythm increasing as he feels your body responding, accepting him deeper, your inner walls gripping him like a silken vice. "Made for me."

Your gasps and whimpers spur him on, each sound a testament to your pleasure. He shifts his angle slightly, searching for that spot inside you that will make you shatter again. When your back arches sharply and a broken cry escapes your lips, he knows he's found it.

"There," he murmurs, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Right there."

He maintains that angle, hitting that perfect spot with each powerful thrust. His hand slides around your body to find your sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it with his thumb in time with his movements. The dual stimulation has you trembling again, your breath coming in short, desperate pants.

"Let go for me again, omega," Ari commands, his voice rough with exertion and desire. "I want to feel you come apart around my cock."

The pressure of his skilled fingers combined with the relentless stimulation of that perfect spot inside you push you over the edge. Your entire body convulses as pleasure crashes through you, more intense than before. Your inner walls clamp down around him in rhythmic pulses, drawing a guttural groan from deep in his chest. Your cries are uninhibited now, echoing through the penthouse as your body surrenders to him entirely.

With a final, powerful thrust, Ari buries himself completely inside you, his body going rigid as his climax overtakes him. His release floods your insides, hot and abundant, marking you from within. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you firmly in place, ensuring every drop remains inside you.

As the waves of pleasure gradually subside, Ari remains buried deep inside you, leaning forward. His breath comes in harsh pants against your neck, his chest pressed to your back as he covers you completely with his larger frame. The position is intensely intimate, possessive in a way that satisfies something primal in his bones.

For several long moments, neither of you moves, your bodies joined and slick with exertion. Ari's hand slides from your hip to your stomach, splaying his fingers across your abdomen where he can almost feel the evidence of his claiming deep inside you. The thought sends another pulse of satisfaction through him.

"Mine," he murmurs against the shell of your ear, the single word carrying weight beyond its simplicity.

You shiver beneath him, your body responding to his declaration with another small aftershock that ripples around his still-hard length.

With utmost care, he eases out of you, his cock still semi-hard and slick with the evidence of your joining. Satisfaction courses through him as he watches his release begin to seep from your entrance, marking you in the most ancient way.

He will clean you soon, but for now he wants your thighs sticky with his seed, your slickness, and traces of your claimed virginity.

He helps you collapse gently onto the plush carpet. You fold your arms together and rest your head on them, turning your face to your alpha, your body still trembling with aftershocks.

Ari stretches out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow to study your face. His other hand traces lazy patterns on your back, unwilling to break physical contact. Your eyes are half-lidded, your breathing still uneven.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice softer now.

You nod, meeting his gaze with a new openness. "Yes, Alpha... Ari," you correct yourself, reconditioning yourself from the instruction you’d surely been given to only call him Alpha. He imagines he will always find satisfaction from both falling from your sweet lips.

He reaches out to brush some hair from your face.

"You're remarkable," he murmurs, his eyes studying your features with newfound appreciation. "I didn't expect..."

You wait for him to finish, but he merely shakes his head slightly, surprised by his own thoughts.

"What didn't you expect?" you press, your voice still slightly breathless.

Ari's thumb traces the outline of your lower lip, his expression thoughtful. "To feel this... connection. This quickly."

The admission is wholly unexpected. He didn’t expect the feeling or to be ready and willing to share it with you, but you seem to be an element weaving itself into his inner alpha.

Your eyes soften at his words, a warmth spreading through them as he continues to hold your gaze. Your hand lifts hesitantly to touch his face, fingers tracing the edge of his beard with unexpected tenderness.

"I feel it too," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "They taught us to expect... many things. But not this."

Ari turns his face slightly to press his lips against your palm, a gesture that feels more intimate than the joining of your bodies moments before. His alpha instincts purr with satisfaction at your admission, at the vulnerability you're willing to show him in return.

The silence between you stretches, comfortable rather than awkward. In this quiet moment, Ari feels something settling into place inside him—a certainty he hasn't experienced before. Outside these walls, he will still become General Levinson, the calculating strategist who helped Barnes conquer a territory, the ruthlessly efficient military leader who will shape and command armies. The world will see the same disciplined, controlled alpha who has built his reputation on precision and detachment.

But here, with you, something different exists. Something private and separate from that external identity.

I know I was just writing a very different Alpha!Ari last week, but IT'S ALPHA APRIL! And I've had this idea swirling in my head or about six weeks. I hope he was satisfying... 😏 There's at least one other alpha I'm going to introduce to this verse very soon.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#ari levinson #ari levinson smut #omegaverse #ari levinson fanfic #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x yn #ari levinson x y/n #aspen wrote something #alpha ari levinson #fine line collection #alpha april #female reader

104 notes · View notes

torueater · 2 days ago

Text

SUITED UP.ᐟ - KENTO NANAMI

“Is this really necessary?”

He’s bent on one knee fixing the edges of your newest dress suit like a fussy stylist. Tailored just to your shape and height, snug where it needs to be. Never mind the perfectly fine suits still unworn from the last time he’d gotten some tailor made. Blues matching blues, sandy hues matching sandy hues. Nothing screamed ‘married coworkers’ like tacky matching outfits, right?

It’s so out of character that it still has your head spinning because this isn’t even the first matching set he’d done. The last time could be written off, navy and black suits were common work attire colors – but the pinstripe? The pocket squares that match his ties?

It’s your third matching outfit of this quarter, you’ve officially ran out of excuses to tell yourself. “Baby, everyone’s gonna look at us crazy again.”

He hums, like he’s only half-listening, too busy smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle near your shoulder. "But you said you liked this colour.”

“On you, yes. I love this colour on you.” The comment had not at all been an invitation to drag you into his antics.

“And I like it on you.” Nanami rises to full height to fiddle with the lapels of your suit, thumbing the smoothness of the expensive fabric, lifting his gaze to you. “You weren’t against the fitting.”

“The fitting that you filled me in on when we were already 2 minutes to the place?”

“Minor details.” He says in return, waving a hand in an empty motion before dipping to kiss your forehead. “Looks perfect. Look.” His hands lower to skim the edges of the suit that taper at your waist, spinning you to face your reflection. “Should’ve started doing this sooner, honestly.”

Despite your apparent disinclination, you can admit (grudgingly!) that the fits looked good together. Not the exact same shades this time, but complimenting each other embarrassingly well – almost like puzzle pieces that are made to fit together. You catch him eyeing you in the mirror, all sharp-eyed, smile satisfied in a way that makes your stomach do a little flip. “Does this make you that happy?”

“Oh, extremely. I’m elated. You look beautiful.”

Keep-work-and-personal-life-private Nanami, mind you. Over-the-top displays are tacky Nanami, mind you. Polite and professional Nanami that now looks at you like you hung the moon yourself.

You wonder if your past self would look at you like you had two heads if you told her that you’d be married to the intimidating man that had sat across from you in your first meeting working for the company. That he’d someday put a shiny ring on your finger, custom made based on things you’d brought up in passing. That he’d be fitting you in suits matching his with no care for how ‘corny’ it might seem.

“You’re so silly,” you huff, turning to face him again, own hands lifting to toy with his tie, tightening the knot, “What happened to the man that hated tacky displays?”

"He married you," Kento says without missing a beat, shrugging. Lengthy fingers find your waist, tugging you in until your chest bumps his. "and now he has far better things to prioritize." His head dips to bump your forehead against his lightly, "Plus, it's not corny when we do it."

You huff out a breath, fighting the building heat in your cheeks as you pick at invisible lint on his shoulder. Suit’s far too new, too crisp to even have a singular ball of lint but it helps with the bashfulness that had washed over you. “So silly.” you repeat, biting the soft inside of your cheek to stop your growing smile. “I miss boring Nanami.” Though, he hadn’t ever really been boring, not really. Maybe more reserved, stoic – but never boring. He entertained you plenty, you seemed to like his humor and antics far more than anyone else. You wonder if you should’ve taken the whimsical little cheetah tie as a sign.

His hand smooths down your head in a soothing gesture like some small, pitiful creature. “I think you’re lying to yourself.”

Which, you are, of course. You secretly love the corny matching suits that he gets for you and how they’re practically a way to stake claim. How it’s his way of showing you off in a…not so subtle way. He also just likes seeing you in suits, quite a bit. It’s cute – not that you’d tell him that. “Perhaps.”

Your chin presses up against the front of his suit jacket, head tilted up just enough to look at him, “Is this going to be a common occurrence? Will we be matching socks and shoes soon as well?” “Oh, definitely not.” he says in answer, idle hands tugging at your jacket to settle it, smoothing it out just one more time. “That’s going a bit too far, a little tacky.”

Drawing the line at matching socks and shoes but not at entire matching suits…never a dull moment with him, really. “Far, far too tacky. just the worst, I agree.”

“Exactly, we’re on the same page here.” he hums, “There are limits.”

Matching briefcases would be cute, though.

a/n: never opening pinterest again! nanami in a suit isn't good for my health.

#torueater ⛅#jjk #jjk x you #nanami kento #im gonna kiss him #jjk nanami #kento nanami #husband nanami #jujitsu kaisen #nanami x reader #jjk fluff #nanami fluff

98 notes · View notes

weaselandfriends · 16 hours ago

Note

hi bavitz, I'd be interested to hear what other webfiction you keep an eye on / recommend

I'm probably not as prolific a reader of web fiction as I should be. My reading has much more frequently tilted toward the classics, where there's a lot less of a need to sift large amounts of mediocrity for hidden gems. The way web fiction is monetized also encourages works that are absurdly long compared to conventional fiction. A million words seems to be the baseline for any big-name webfic; this is the equivalent of three 1,000-page novels. This length, it seems, is often accomplished via bloat rather than variety and depth of things to say, and it also makes actually engaging with these works a full-time job.

That said, here is a list of web fiction I've read that I would recommend to others:

The works of Nostalgebraist: He has four novels, all of which are worth reading. One of the most unique and fully realized voices in the webfic scene, especially with his later output (Almost Nowhere and Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen). The Northern Caves is his most notable and page-turning work.

Worth the Candle by Alexander Wales: Though a million+-worder (and currently stubbed for publication on Amazon), this is a pretty remarkable pinnacle of the LitRPG isekai genre that absolutely infests the mass-market male-readership webfic scene, using the genre as a vehicle for complex and at times harrowing personal introspection. The climax is incredible.

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere by Lurina: Another million+-worder, this time in the vein of Umineko. An intersection between philosophical debate on the goals of medical science and a dissection of the meaning of personal identity. Currently ongoing.

Chili and the Chocolate Factory by Gazemaize: Really funny. Leans into the slasher horror aspect of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which is good because slasher horror is the ultimate form of fiction.

Antilia by Pigoseg: Highly obscure author compared to the others on this list; they're on my radar because they originally wrote fanfiction of Fargo and Chicago. Antilia is their first original work, a short but perfectly-constructed story with an incredible concept. I currently have the first draft of their next novel, a Doki Doki Lit Club fanfic where Monika makes a society of clones of the other characters who then get into a race war, and so far it's shaping up to be even better. Name to watch out for.

CORDYCEPS by Benedict: Another short, tightly-constructed work with a lot of punch. Very strong emotional climax despite the more formalistic puzzlebox construction of the narrative.

Detective Pony by sonnetstuck: Modern Cannibals but more deeply rooted in academic postmodern thought.

How the Questing Beast Chased, and Caught, Her Own Tail by Avunvain: Very interesting prose stylist, which sets this work apart from a lot of the rest. A heady and psychological work that can take some close reading (and rereading) to parse, which is always a rewarding experience. It's Madoka Magica fanfic. Ongoing.

I'm probably forgetting something else (edit: I did, and edited it in) but this is a pretty good list. (I'd love to fill it with some more Fargo/Chicago fanfic like London but that'd probably be too self-indulgent.)

#webfic #web fiction #writing #anonymous #recommendations

95 notes · View notes

degloved · 3 days ago

Text

i've threatened to post yet another sotr opinion, so here i go: lenore dove is a great and valuable character, but her romantic entanglement with haymitch felt completely unnecessary and tacked on. there was something about the two of them that kept bothering me as i read, but i think i was Feeling Everything Too Much to stop and pick things apart. having sat down and dissected my thoughts with bestie though, i've identified my four biggest gripes; their relationship is (a) repetitive, (b) useless, (c) clashes with the core themes of the story, and (d) undercooked.

(a) the main trilogy does "dystopia with a sprinkle of romance" perfectly (though i've certainly debated the inclusion of romance before, i'll pretend i don't hold those stances for the purposes of this post.) romance here is both useful in the sense of giving us a feel for who each character is wrt their view of it and, in general, is as good a vehicle for character development as any (especially given that we're dealing with teenagers here.) in tbosas, the romance takes a much darker and more twisted turn, though it plays a similar role—it illustrates the rottenness-to-the-core of president snow. neither the trilogy nor tbosas would be the same if the focal relationships were to be taken out, they're absolutely integral to both arcs. and yet... it gets to a point. is there not another means of accomplishing everything above? is there not another way to explore the characters' personalities, motives, values, etc.? can't they have a different driving force? wouldn't it have been perhaps smarter and, arguably, more fun to go beyond what's expected of a book within the ya genre?

(b) tying into what i've hinted at in the above paragraph—the four books that came before sotr all depended upon their focal romances to drive the story forward & hammer the point in. sure, we could've gotten a glimpse of snow's cycle path mind by other means—there was sejanus, there was dean highbottom, there were others who snow has fucked over in pursuit of his own ends. but nothing could've quite captured his rancidness, i think, that the way his obsession and attempted possession of lucy grey did. we're all familiar with villains who miraculously change around that one person, who dote on their specialest little boy/girl, yet that wasn't the case here. snow's [redacted] for lucy grey did not absolve him, did not change him, did not halt him in becoming who we know him to be at a rapid pace. as for the romance in thg, i don't think i can say anything that hasn't already been said before & much better besides. the girl on fire and the boy with the bread, we all know how that went. we all know what their love for one another made happen. & with that in mind, what did lenore dove and haymitch's romance accomplish? what did it do? did it alter the trajectory of either of their lives? ...no. did it change anything? ...no. would the story have been 100% the same if they'd only been friends? ...yes. would the story have been 100% the same if lenore dove had, god forbid, not even existed? ...yes. "oh but nico, why must a relationship be useful? why must it serve a purpose? can't we simply be in love?" why, yes! in real life! unfortunately, this is a story, and at that one where every single detail matters. every detail must serve a larger purpose, or else its value is automatically diminished (prime example.) and at times, i'd argue the value of the entire work may be diminished by the inclusion of an extraneous, frivolous plot point (though i wouldn't go that far here.)

(c) perhaps the most offensive aspect of the whole thing—its existence alone completely clashes with, in my view, one of the core themes of the book: friendship. sotr speaks of the biggest in-game alliance between the tributes thus far (and ever since.) again and again it emphasizes the "kad se male ruke slože" of it all (roughly, "many hands make light work.") unlike the tributes in katniss' time, they all approach each other. they talk. they make promises. haymitch isn't afraid to ally with louella on the train, and it doesn't take much at all for him to see loulou—a girl who is no one to him, nothing—as something precious to protect. not to mention ampert (no really, i won't, i'll get upset.) his and maysilee's entire arc is so, so beautiful and touching—his perception changing, the admission he had been wrong about her, the journey from refusing to ally, to doing so begrudgingly, to calling her a friend and a sister. even wyatt found his place in haymitch's heart. friends, friends, friends, it's all about friends. haymitch in the present timeline could've been that sad lonely drunk wreck just as believably after losing them. just as believably if lenore dove had been his friend (i hesitate to say only a friend—a friend can't ever be only.) haymitch has really lost so much, so many, and there is something about the pedestal lenore dove is put on—when it comes to these losses—that i can't get behind. would he have been any different, really, if she'd been spared? would all that misfortune not find him if she had been spared? no. no, i don't think so. therefore... two plus two.

(d) and finally, the total nail in the coffin—it wasn't even that good. we're thrown in medias res of their romance & we're meant to take suzanne's word for it. we're meant to do this from the get-go and throughout, because—in a book that can be summed up as So Much, All The Time—there was really not a moment to spare for haymitch and lenore dove. their romance was given no time to develop—and how could it have? how could it have, when the characters were hardly in physical proximity of each other for more than a page and a half total? he fed her the gumdrops and i felt nothing but a passing sadness, because all i could think about was ampert, was maysilee, was wyatt, was loulou, was anyone and everyone whose haymitch gave his all for & still couldn't save. we didn't need this romance subplot to begin with, and it wasn't even good.

#sotr #sunrise on the reaping #haymitch abernathy #lenore dove #thg #the hunger games #the hunger games meta #katniss everdeen #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #peeta mellark #maysilee donner #thinkpieces #n

72 notes · View notes

athenaluciscaelum · 2 days ago

Note

Can I have a request for DMC 5 Dante x female reader who's immortal?

Dante falls in love with a fellow demon hunter who's an immortal but the reader is afraid of losing someone or just watching her previous lovers grow old leaving her behind. Reader was afraid she'll lose Dante as well.

(I'm not sure if Dante might be immortal too despite he's half-human, any thoughts?)

Note: I am very uncomfortable with the idea of ageing and immortality, not like those people who have a fear of ageing. No. But to think about it, it leaves me in this weird spot where I am looking at centuries and centuries in a span of one play (one stage of life). It's thought provoking, with a little fear being introduced on how irrelevant everything is in respect to time. Is time even real? Anyway. My introduction to immortal characters was the Forever series and The Man from Earth.

That being said, I will still write it because, sure, why not? My writing is lower than beginner; the best I can do is explore the ideas.

Please anon, if you can in any way let me know if you liked it or not. It will be appreciated.

Once Upon a Time

!!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Rated: Mature

Words: 4815 words

Warning: Mature theme, Gore, Sex, Death, Aging

Disclaimer:

Feel free to leave comments, but remember to be nice and civil.

LET'S ROCK!!

You were bad at calculating when you were born? When did it all start? Living for more than 2000 years now. You couldn't exactly remember where and when you were born. All you could remember was the mighty figure that raised his sword, Devil Sword Sparda, they called it. In the air, and declared, "The human world is now under my protection. The gates to Hell are sealed, and nothing shall pass through." It echoed throughout the world.

You didn't know it was 2000 years ago, but when you read the knowledge that came to you. You understand the myth or the legend in history was 2000 years ago. So you were sure you were more than 2000 years old.

You never saw the face of the figure they called Sparda, just his shadow casting on your lifeless body as you were ripped open with your guts spilling on the ground. Demons who did this to you were now vanished or sucked back to hell. You were there, lifeless, on the cold, hard ground. Your iris moved with all the energy you could summon. It looked all blurry and hazy. But something caught your eyes. You were in agonising pain, and you hoped you would die soon. You saw a statue of divinity, so with your spilled entrails. The last breath in you asked you, 'Crawl to it.' It was less than a meter; as you drew your last breath, your bloody hand touched it.

Something happened; you can't tell. But you woke up; it was freezing, your body felt cold, and your clothes were ripped where the demon slashed you, but there was no scar. Your guts must be in now. You felt pain, but it was bearable and subsiding with each second. It was snowing.

You stood up on your feet; they were red, and you made your way to the nearest hut. That's all you remember. You tried to find your first family back, but none were alive. You do not even remember them now.

You blinked, lying in your bed, an ugly way to start your day. You got up from the bed, started to make the bed and then hopped into the shower. You were tired, as you came back to put on your barmaid dress. You loved to wear corsets; they were so perfect. You don't understand why people have to demonise them now. They were perfectly fine even for working women or demon huntresses like you throughout human history. But then you thought, no rights for women were fine throughout most of human history as well. You remembered how much fun it was to blow up administrative buildings during the suffragette movement in England. What days – 'men only understand violence, so we give them violence' – or so everyone used to say back then. In the end, you opted for 'modern' underwear.

You put on your coat and watch. You were on a day off today; you didn't want to deal with any demon. Immortality came with its own benefits; you were a damn good demon hunter, and you got all the time in the world to gain knowledge and hone your skills. You started walking towards the park; sometimes it felt all so lonely to think everyone else who walked this earth has and will perish, but you would not. It won't be long before you have to change your name and place. It was usually every ten to fifteen years. Such a little time in your life span.

You were currently new in this city called Capulet City, a hotbed of demon hunters with someone called legendary devil hunters residing here. You were intrigued. You had heard all the myths, legends, and religions, and you knew what bullocks all of them were.

You were crossing a footbridge, and a man with white hair and a red coat walked past you. You didn't notice, but something stuck out. You turned to look at him without a thought; you shouted, "Wait!" The man did – handsome – first thought, and you berated yourself internally. Yes, he is tall, broad, muscular and handsome, and by your time on earth, you were sure he was packing a lot. But no, this was not the time. He looked at you with a smirk and spoke coolly, "Saw something you like, Miss?" You were lost in thought, and Dante raised his eyebrow. You remember this face; around a century and a half back, the same face in the smoke-filled streets of London. A man with the same face, a purple Victorian long coat, a monocle and features more elegantly framed than this. You remember that person. But you do not know why? But after living for so long, you have no will to challenge fate. You frowned. Could there be another person like you walking the earth for who knows how long?

You walked up to him and scanned him up and down. Man was intrigued, he spoke, "Hello?" You looked up at him, the voice wasn't right. But how could you remember it was more than a century ago? But no, his eyes were purple, and these were icy blue.

Man was losing his patience. "Okay, babe, I'm leaving..." And he started to climb down the stairs of the footbridge. You followed him down and expressed your distaste, "No! No! We need to talk…"

Man scoffed, "Talk? I don't even know you, Babe...go away...find another man to pester…" You kept following him. You held his hand in the middle of the road and stopped him. "No...we are talking..."

The man resigned. He was out of money and food for days anyway, "Fine...buy me lunch..." You blinked, "What!?" Man shrugged, "You want my time and attention; you better buy me a lunch. There is a great pizzeria around." Man started to point in the direction of the pizzeria.

You have seen a lot throughout your life, but never anything like this, curious. Maybe that's why he stuck out in your memory after more than a century. You frowned, "What kind of man asks a woman to pay?" Men of this generation never ceased to amaze you. Man shrugged, "I don't know, one who knows his value?" You didn't have anything to do better, so you nodded, "Fine... and I do not want your attention, just answers..." Man held up both his hands. "Fine... but I should tell you I'm irresistible...."

You rolled your eyes, "Lead the way..."

You two sat in a pizzeria near the window seat. He ordered two large Chicken BBQ and Pepperoni pizzas with two pints of beer. You didn't think to dress for a date. But he wasn't so bad now, you think. Answer or not, he was a fine lay.

Man grinned at you, "Now that our food and drinks are settled, my name's Dante..." Dante held out his hand over the table. You laughed a little and shook his hand. "Made sure you got paid upfront before giving out any information? I'm Y/N." Dante chomped down on his pizza; the man had some appetite. You can't deny how everything about this man was so intriguing or arousing. You had your fair share of men over the years. Some stayed in your heart deeper than others, but you always knew they were all fleeting and never made any real attempt to forge a relationship or have kids; they were lovers at best. You had to be very careful for the longest time in history since contraception was such a new and wonderful invention.

You looked at him and calculated him, "So what do you do, Mister Dante?" Dante let out a laugh, "Mister? Seriously... I'm not used to getting so much respect from women...especially feisty ones. But I am a handyman…"

You raised your eyebrow, some food for thought, handyman, too vague, as if trying to hide something. You spoke calculated, "What sort of assignments do you take, handyman? Maybe fix the hole in my wall?" Dante sipped his beer. "Umm...nahhh...more of pest control..."

You smirked, "I'm in somewhat of a pest control business myself..." Dante smirked, "Ohho... yeah...?" You nodded, "Pesky pests are so big and reoccurring these days, right?" Dante hummed in agreement, munching on his pizza... "I got the right guns for that..." You nodded, "I believe you do...."

Before you knew it, you were on the first floor of Devil May Cry... in his room, kissing him passionately as he kisses you back... your legs wrapped around his waist. You were rutting to his bulge; it was so big, you doubted in all these years you took into such a big monstrosity. Your hands cupped his face; you appreciated the older man. Though you never aged beyond twenty-five, there was something about older men that just made you feel so wet, especially one like Dante. You can guess he was around his forties... but back to the business.

Dante laid you down on the bed, his coat off; he pulled up his Henley and off ... You admired the beautifully sculpted body – it was muscular, the skin a bit aged, but silver hair on his chest. You were drooling... your eyes looked down to his white happy trail, a little unkempt, but you appreciated old beauty. His hand started to unlace the front of your dress, the way your tits popped out. Dante smirked, "Why will you put such a beautiful pair through such torture...?" you hummed, nuzzling the pillow as he massaged them, "to look good..."

Dante smirked, "They look much better in my hands..." Dante's hands trailed down to your waist as he peeled your dress off. He likes the view; you were in quite intricate and lacy lingerie. He laughed, "Were you out there looking to get laid? You just saw what you liked in the street and stopped me?" You just shrugged, "Maybe...."

Dante found you amusing; you were confident in an interesting way. You were not trying to control, yet you were controlling everything, and he was happy enough to play your game. He didn't know exactly why you stopped him. But he knew you were human.

Dante leaned back, standing between your legs hanging from the edge of the bed; he started to kiss your neck, pecking and then biting. You moaned and pulled his head back. You clicked your tongue, "Undressing a lady and remaining dressed? What I did to deserve that?"

Dante knew you were as aroused as him; he could smell it. But the way you were patient, it was like you had all the time in the world. He will make you beg for him. You will be impatient. Dante stood up, popping open the button of his black leather pants and pulling down his fly. He wasn't wearing any underwear. You just smirked; you should have expected that. He was big and messy, his hair at the base unkempt. He was hard, you were right. You never had anyone this big.

Your eyes met his icy blue ones, and you could see how badly he wants to bury himself deep in you. You sat up on the edge of the bed. His cock dripping pre-cum. You wrapped your soft fingers around his thick cock; Dante hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. You started to stroke him slowly; he panted. You cooed at him, "Such a big boy...stay still?" You looked up at him through your lashes, his handsome face teetering at the edge of bliss. You wanted to kiss that handsome face. How his brows were knitted, so cute. You kept stroking him softly from base to tip. Your tongue flicked out to lick his slit and pre-cum; you tasted him; he was good.

You smiled up at him, the tip of your tongue flicking at his slit to lap pre-cum; he was moaning, his large fingers threading your hair. You smiled and took him in. His tip hitting the back of your throat, you moaned as his cock vibrated in your mouth.

Dante praised, his fingers gripping the back of your wet, "Shit! Y/N, so warm and wet! Fuck! You're good!" You knew you were good as you hollowed your cheeks and bobbed your hand up and down to take him to the base. Your nose nuzzling in his pubic hair, he had a musky scent, and you were getting addicted to his taste.

Was he the person you saw in Victorian London? Who knows? For now, he was quite addictive, and you needed to get in his good graces to let him open up to you, right?

Sure, sucking his dick is the best way to hasten to it. Back to work in hand, your one hand held onto his muscular thighs to stabilise yourself; hell, they were thick, and you were already drooling with how much pre-cum he was producing. Now more so, it was heaven. Your hand slides from his base to his balls, fondling them, making him throw back his head with a loud moan, "Y/N, fuck! So good." His hip bucked involuntarily, hitting the back of your throat; you pulled back. His hand was trying to pull you back. You squeezed his balls a bit more. "Patience... handyman ...or should I say legendary demon hunter?" Dante smirked; he looked divine, his face was blessed out, he was panting, there was a pink tint on his cheeks and his trademark smile, "Same as you...babe!"

Your hands gathered your tits around his cock, surrounding them, and started to massage them. Your bra created a perfect net for him to stay in. Dante needed no clue; you both were wild enough. He started to thrust his cock in the little cock sleeve you prepared for him with your sweet tits. He grunts, "Fuck! Heaven! You're full of surprises, babe..."

His hands replaced yours to squeeze your tits together around his cock. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him into a hungry kiss, teeth clattering, tongue fighting for dominance and lips swollen...he never stopped thrusting in between your tits. His thrust now irregular and chasing his high. You looked up at him with soft eyes. He smiled down at you ...as he came all over your tits, neck and chin.

He pulled back a bit; he was still hard. He smiled down at you; you looked perfect like this, covered in his cum. He gripped your neck and travelled his hand up to cup your cheeks. You smiled at him, "Is that all you got?"

He growled and flipped you on your stomach; you moaned as his middle finger traced and prodded at your wet spot in your panties. One hand unclasped your bra and threw it away. He gripped your hip to pull you up in the air, his hand on the back of your head pushing your face into the mattress. Your hips try to buck to feel his cock, but he wasn't letting you get any. You whimpered a little annoyed, "Dante..."

Dante rubbed the back of your neck, his hand trailing down your spine, making every inch of your body burn. He spoke patiently, "Let me show you what I got..." His hand came down on your ass hard; it stung, and you yelped, "Ahaa!" Dante smirked; he got on his knee on the floor to smother his face in your panty-clad pussy, and he took a long sniff. He loved your scent. His sharp nose poking your sweet cunt. You moaned as he hooked a finger in your panties to push it aside and lick you slowly and shortly. It was like a kitten lick, your legs trembling...you cursed, "Fuck...!" You were flustered to your chest as he started to fuck your little hole with his tongue and alternated by licking broad stripes along your folds. You came on his tongue in no time.

Dante sucked on your puffy clit to draw your orgasm more; you were a whimpering and crying mess, "Dante...Dante...fuck...baby...you're so good..."

Dante stood up... Pulling down your panties to spank you more, you yelped again. He smirked; he loved the way you jolted.

He smiled, "Loving it, baby?" You nodded your head, "Yes, baby...use protection..." Dante nodded, "I intended to..."

Dante retrieved a condom from the pocket of his discarded coat. You smirked, looking back at him as he ripped the foil open and rolled it onto his cock. "You were prepared..." Dante smiled as he rubbed his cockhead slow and torturous to your entrance, "Well...when you're irresistible like me...you have to..."

You laughed but moaned as he filled you to the brim with no mercy. You were aware it might be a stretch and burn given how big he was, but fuck, he was splitting you open. Dante knew you could handle it; he gripped your hips, pulling back all the way out, just leaving his tip in and slamming back in with full force. You moaned loudly and drooled; he knew he had found your sweet spot, and he kept thrusting at the same pace, hitting the same right spot. You cried as Dante held both your wrists in one hand to arch your back, hitting deep and hard. He spoke, not even breaking a sweat. You couldn't see him, but you were sure he had that stupid grin on his face, "liking it rough, strong baby?"

You drooled, "Loving it...yes! Yes!" Dante knew you were close and slowed down...to tease you. You cried, and he set his pace back to fast again until you came all around him. Your body went limp; it was one of the best sex you had. You were satisfied, but...you felt him lifting your body up like a rag doll. He pressed your back to his chest, and he kissed your neck hard, making you cry. While one of his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you in place, his other hand was rubbing and circling your clit, two fingers parting your fold to sink you down his length, and you cried in pleasure as he used you like a rag doll, bouncing you on his cock... a pressure on your clit, and you came crashing again. You were so tired and overstimulated. You begged, "Fuck...it enough..."

Dante smirked as he deposited you on his bed and climbed over you. His hand fondling your tits, "Just one more, baby..."

You could barely protest, and he sank himself in again, pressing you into a mating press, your legs close to your tits and nails raking his back. He kept thrusting in, slow when you were close and fast when your orgasm was again building. You poor pussy was sore and abused; you were in heaven, drooling and fucked senseless. You cried, "Let me cum ...Dante." Dante kissed your lips as he buried himself deep rutting; your pussy clenched around him as you both came together.

You were limp in his sheets, your eyes shut. Dante withdrew himself, taking off the condom, tying it, and throwing it in the dustbin.

You were asleep; he didn't blame you. He maybe overdid it. He had sex again after years; he didn't mind if you stayed a bit long. He craved human warmth but thought himself too filthy to deserve it. Especially from someone as wonderful as you. But if you asked for it, he would make sure no one ever came close. He will ruin it for you forever; this is all he does, ruin everything for everybody.

Dante looked at you naked in his bed; you were soft and sweet. You tugged his heartstrings. He sat up to walk up to the bathroom and bring you a towel. He cleaned your chest and your legs and changed to the cleaned sheets. He didn't mind you staying; he was lonely after all.

Dante came downstairs to hop in for a quick shower. After a cold shower, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was ageing? Dante never knew how he would age. How much? Or how long he will live? He knew he was old. But given his quick healing and regeneration abilities, he cannot exactly slump into old age. No, even he was aware of this much biology. It needed his cell to stop dividing. But they divided and regenerated perfectly, given Vergil stabbed him just yesterday.

He remembers the little talk he and Vergil had in hell that Dante won't grow old or beyond a point. If his healing and regeneration abilities are uncompromised, he can't be old. Maybe it was just stress and depression which made Dante look older than Vergil.

Dante sighed. He changed into his Henley and sweatpants to walk out into his office. You were already on the red leather couch, wearing his t-shirt and with the pizza he ordered in your lap. You spoke with your mouth full, "Pizza again?"

He walked to you, leaned down and kissed your lips. "Yeah..." You smiled at him, "Remove your shirt..." Dante raised his eyebrow, "My! My! Demanding and hungry minx?" You smiled as he removed his shirt, and you stood up to check his back, no traces of your nails; you had just dug them in an hour ago in his back.

You sat back. Dante noticed the lack of hickeys and bite marks on your neck as well. You both looked at each other. You broke the silence, "How old are you?" Dante laughed, "Umm…let's see...near my mid-forties..." You frowned, "Be honest; I know you can heal...you don't have to hide it..."

Dante was confused. "Yeah...but I'm telling you the truth..." You spoke scoffing, "C'mon! I remember seeing you in London; it was the year 1875! My memory is clear as day!" Dante shouted; he was baffled, "What!? What are you talking about...1875!"

You nodded, "Yeah, you regenerate and heal just like me! That's why you cannot die! You're immortal, just like me!" Dante blinked. "Yeah...I do...but...I'm not like you! 1875! How old are you?"

You sank into the couch; you blew your cover, if you knew anything. It was how important it was to conceal...you blew your 2000-year-old perfect cover. Because you followed your heart, what an idiot! You looked at him, "I think I need my pills!" Dante looked at you unsure, "Pills…?" You laughed, "Yeah, pills, I have these episodes! You see, I have a medical condition...I will just take clothes and go!" You were making your way to the door, but Dante stopped you, holding your arm. "Okay, you can keep your clothes; just let me go."

By now, you can see all the Devil Arms this man has and his reputation. You were sure you were not a match for him. Of course, you won't go down without a fight. But such a man is someone you would rather not be enemies with.

Dante looked at you concerned, "You can tell me." His eyes were soft and deep, like he saw himself as a freak of nature, in the similar way you did. They were vulnerable. You let out a sigh and started, "It's a long story..."

It was morning, and Dante was beyond confused; there were so many stories, and you two were drinking. You were drunk and laughed, "Soo...the man I saw a century ago in London...." Dante nodded, "That's right, he was my father, Sparda..." You nodded in understanding, "Son of Sparda, I see...that's why sex was so good?" Dante laughed, sipping his whisky. "Hey...those were my skills; don't pull my father into this....ewww!" You laughed, "Ewww? Listen to this! I'm glad I didn't get laid with your father back then; it would have been awkward otherwise..."

Dante covered his ears, "No! No! No!" You laughed sipping your beer, you sighed and thought, "But your mother must be something...2000 years alone, and then she made sense to him..." Dante was serious now and nodded, "Yeah...she was pretty darn amazing..."

You looked at Dante with gleaming eyes, "You're amazing too..." Dante shook his head, "Not more than you, Miss 2K..." You laughed and swatted his arm, "That was so bad!" You both laughed. And now you were yearning to find what Sparda found.

With time, Dante and you paired on missions. You both can take as many hits and casualties. You both came to understand each other in ways. No one can...you can understand that Dante is immortal, just like you, unless he is killed through some extreme means. He isn't dying. If he can heal and regenerate. He isn't getting any older. Or so you wanted to believe.

No matter how deeply or conveniently you loved someone. There was always a pain in your heart, a sorrow that stayed.

If he was just like you, it removed so many issues you had; you were anyway falling for him more and more. He was too. You spoilt him rotten with gifts and paid bills; after all, you had all the money in the world.

You didn't know what to make of it. But Dante felt right; he felt perfect. Everything with him had so much potential. And for Dante, you were the biggest repellent to his biggest fear. You cannot die. No one can ever take you away from him, no matter how cursed he was.

It was a weird situation, a convenient arrangement which didn't need love, only companionship. But there was love, and being loved means being missed so terribly.

You were in bed with Dante, an opulent big bed with four posts and curtains draped; it felt like a room out of Versailles. Dante took his surroundings as you two were cuddling after sex and hummed, "Let them eat cake?" You laughed, "She wasn't the best or blameless, but she never said it..."

Dante was surprised. "So you were there?" You kissed his knuckles. "Yeah, but made it out of there in time... back to London."

Dante thought, "And where were you originally from?" You thought and shrugged, "I don't remember. I kept walking for the longest. I'm pretty sure after my first 'death', I was in Uruk... but where I was exactly born..." You shrugged... Dante nuzzled your shoulder and kissed your neck... "I see..."

Dante looked at the wall in front, a painting he couldn't recognise, but he was sure it was real and vintage. He spoke unsure, "I always thought... how my father walked upon this land for 2000 years...and now I met someone...who also did...what was it like?"

You thought, "You want to die for sure...like everyone else...but you also do not want to...it's weird, and then you just learn to pass by. After all...after so many years, nothing makes sense, and you understand nothing ever will. All those empires, people, and power, gone. Changed by something very similar...yet claiming to be different. It is just all a matter of ... time." You looked up at him with a smile and soft eyes.

Dante was looking around your duplex; he saw all the degrees on the wall… He thought, "Not much considering 2000 years." You laughed as you looked at those degrees as well, "Yeah...for the most part, I was a woman and not allowed in any universities, if that makes sense..." Dante nodded, "When you became a demon hunter?"

You kept looking at degrees, "Always was...just on the sidelines. Always the main business, but never the main business, if that makes sense..." Dante nodded, "It does..."

You walk down to the living room and think, your eyes looking at Dante, who was putting his guns back in his holster to leave. Your heart felt heavy, "Dante..."

He turned and looked at you, "Yeah?" You walked up to him and looked at his eyes. "I love you..." Dante was a little taken aback, not surprised but unsure. "I love you too, Y/N. But what does love even mean to you, though?" Dante always thought this, as he thought of all the lovers you had and what it amounted to. Maybe he was insecure or jealous, but in this life, he was never anything fully. He needed to be something.

You took a long sigh, holding both of his hands in yours. You looked into those icy blue eyes; you knew the answer, "Whatever it meant for your father to fall in love with your mother ...." Dante was quiet, so quiet, you weren't sure if you did the right thing. He just nodded; he had no doubt in his mind that his father loved his mother. He perished loving her.

You waited as Dante opened his mouth to speak but was quiet again. He thought, how did his mother knew if it was the right decision? Was there a right decision? Didn't she die? But he was sure she would do it again knowing she would die. So he took a chance too.

Dante kisses your lips. "Move in with me..." You kissed his back, "I will..."

#devil may cry #dmc dante #dante sparda #dante devil may cry #dante #dante x reader #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry 3 manga #athena speaks #fantiction #dante sparda x reader #dmc 5 #dmc 5 dante #devil may cry 5 #devil may cry 5 dante

79 notes · View notes

baltears · 3 days ago

Text

im obsessed w how the different seasons explore different ways women can try to cope w abusive men

s5 spoilers!

beck -> hes normal! (no hes not. this is the simplest one bc the relationship is the most shallow, he was 100% masking the whole time he was with her up until the end and she was just whistling past red flags in a very typical and normal way for someone who's never been in a relationship with a habitual abuser)

love -> hes just like me! (true - BUT he's still judgmental of himself deep down and in denial about his behaviors atp, and he's a misogynist, so he'll be even more judgmental of you.)

marienne -> he has trauma like mine! (true but also what makes him unsafe bc he didn't respond to it with a real and sustained effort to recover. i do think it's worth noting that she was kinda last in first out as far as joe's gf/victims went, she was resistant to the relationship initially, ran as soon as she had evidence of serious red flags, and managed to just barely escape him bc she has gone through some substantial recovery and has reconnected the most to survival instinct, so was able to respond relatively functionally to the life or death situation he put her in)

kate -> he can choose be good for me! (he technically can but really no longer wants to - she might have recognized this if she ever paid close attention to what was happening, but she understandably chose willful blindness)

bronte -> i can fix him! (you can trap him into listening and then say the perfectly calculated thing in exactly the right way and it will be cathartic and emotional for him, but it's not a substitute for long term recovery that he has truly committed to and so there will not be any lasting change. i lovvvveee how bronte is written btw like truly such a masterful depiction of someone who WOULD be ok with joe not bc she's ok with murder but bc like beck she is in a moment of extreme personal confusion, looking for connection and identity, & does have a side of her that feels similarly to him in terms of wanting 'bad people' to suffer – but ultimately she recognizes that he is a misogynist and not interested at all in doing the right thing bc he's detached completely from caring about reality)

its just such a clever and empathetic fucking show because Of Course traumatized people want to connect with other traumatized people, of course we can and often will empathize with figures like Joe if we come from a background of trauma. I feel empathy for Joe throughout the entire show. But irl empathy will not necessarily protect you from someone who is unsafe and people cannot be saved unless they choose to save themselves. As heartbreaking as Joe's suicide attempt was (for me) to watch and as misguided as I think it was, that was his last real effort toward trying to save himself and trying to stay connected with reality and do the right thing. The self who knew deep down that hurting others was wrong was who died that day, because Joe could not separate the idea of doing wrong things from the idea of being a wrong person, and his survival skewed his reality completely bc he's a person who believes in patterns and the universe telling him things and he thought not dying meant he was being told it was all okay (bc not dying = "I'm a good person"* = everything i do is justifiable). it all comes from such a real place but the harm he does is so real too and that's the dilemma of his character. you can feel such kinship and connection with someone else and that can be very real but it is not a shield. if they don't see you as a human being and are no longer accessible to repeated reality checks, it's not your job to reach them and it can never be fully safe for you to try. and misogyny is not a sleeping curse you can wake someone up from, they have to want to work through it themselves.

*remember this is a false binary, like everyone else he was always a neutral person choosing to do bad things sometimes and good things other times

#you #you series #you netflix #you spoilers

39 notes · View notes

badassbutterfly1987 · 3 days ago

Text

Regarding Bramble's perspective, I think it could actually be interesting if "Firestar was a good supportive mentor" was a delusion of his (like if Lionblaze claimed Ashfur was a good mentor for toughening him up), with the narrative/other characters aware that it really isn't okay, that Firestar's alternating support/distrust permanently damaged Bramble's confidence in himself. This event here could increase that self-doubt, making him more likely to trust Firestar's judgment over his own and therefore a more compliant deputy when they would otherwise conflict.

(Although yeah, a Brambleclaw who is aware and angry over Firestar's unfair treatment of him would be more spicy and work really well with the narrative this arc is trying to tell.)

Now for Firestar thoughts that don't fully diverge from canon but make for an interesting layer:

He knows Starclan chose Brambleclaw to help lead the clans to the lake. He also knows Leafpool had a dream, presumably sent by Starclan, that told them to appoint Bramble as deputy even though he lacked an apprentice.

And if he does exile/remove him from deputy position, then what? He would be punishing Brambleclaw after saving his life/killing his half-brother for his sake. If it's revealed exactly what happened, how much of the clan would agree with Firestar vs those who would side with Brambleclaw? And this will also reflect badly on Firestar's family: either Starclan/Leafpool made a mistake/misunderstood a sign, or she outright lied to get her sister's mate a higher position (as called out by Ashfur). Like-

(are we sure that actually happened that way? are we sure Brambleclaw isn't just caving to Firestar's longheld bias? are we sure Firestar isn't reaching for an excuse to choose a 'better' deputy? does Firestar's opinion outweigh Starclan's trust?)

The least conflict-inducing action is to leave out the Hawkfrost stuff, convince Brambleclaw to step down and say it was his own idea, but that's still going to garner a lot of questions/strong opinions. And then he has to pick a deputy who wasn't chosen by Starclan.

And while yes, Brambleclaw didn't immediately try to save him it's possible that he froze in face of an unexpected threat/hesitation to hurt the half-brother he had recently bonded with. Maybe Firestar misread the situation because he was on the verge of dying in a fox trap. Maybe he didn't hesitate out of ambition, maybe he doesn't have to worry about his new deputy. In which case he can't really punish him for making the right choice (and killing his brother), can he? Would it really be worth the effort and outrage? Isn't he supposed to trust his warriors regardless of their heritage, especially when he's seen Brambleclaw work so hard to be good?

But that doubt still lingers. Because if Brambleclaw hesitated once, he might hesitate again and next time he might make a different decision.

For awhile Firestar chooses to trust him (and keep him close to keep an eye on him), wondering with each conflict if this will be the moment that Brambleclaw fails that trust. Graystripe comes back but nothing changes, it wouldn't be fair to anyone to change the deputyship. But then the truth about Lion, Holly, and Jay comes out.

Sure, Brambleclaw claims he didn't know anything about it, and Squirrel and Leaf are willing to corroborate that, but can he really trust Brambleclaw to be truthful? How can he know for sure that Squirrelflight is just trying to keep her mate out of more trouble? Leafpool loses her medicine cat position and Squirrelflight gets the scorn of their clanmates, so shouldn't there be consequences for Brambleclaw as well?

Graystripe hasn't made bad decisions in a long time. Brackenfur is a perfectly fine warrior. Maybe he decides to change the deputy postion to someone more trustworthy.

Why can't it be about revenge though? Not for the father you rejected, but rather for the way he raised you as his apprentice? The constant judgement and fear, the way in which he instilled in you a sense of shame over something you couldn't change, the way he marked you for life with his name? Plainly, you should be way angrier.

Not to mention how untrue it is to say he is ThunderClan. The institution will remain without its figurehead. The whole point of grabbing the deputy position is to steer it yourself.

In short: stop being a fucking pussy and off him already.

#warrior cats #wc brambleclaw #wc firestar #interesting thoughts #fic ideas #i think these cats could use some therapy #but it's more interesting if they don't and spiral into questionable choices

143 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 2 days ago

Text

it's Post Meta About Obscure Characters hour. let's talk about Scaramouche, and the Hidden Depths to his Secret Ambitions.

Canon facts:

Scaramouche is Aku's #1 (and then #3) assassin, and there's a leader board confirming that this is objectively true

Scaramouche has Aku's phone number

Aku's willing to take a collect call from Scaramouche

Scaramouche knows how to sneak into Aku's fortress

Conclusions:

Scaramouche isn't just some freelance bounty hunter; he's basically Aku's employee and regularly reports directly to him.

He probably doesn't just pick up what jobs he likes; Aku probably assigns them.

Canon facts:

Scaramouche spends several days waiting around specifically for Samurai Jack to arrive so he can kill him.

due to Scaramouche's broken phone, Aku's unaware of the outcome of this wait—if he even knew about it

Very shortly after that, Aku tells his scientists that he totally doesn't care about killing Jack anymore, and if they wanna send their giant beetle drone after him, fine, but it doesn't matter to him.

He shortly after voices the hope to his doppelganger-therapist that somebody could get rid of Jack, but he doesn't seem to know of anyone who can.

Conclusions:

if Aku can't think of anybody who can kill Jack, but also doesn't know Scaramouche lost to him—then he must already think his #1 assassin doesn't stand a chance.

so Aku didn't send Scaramouche after Jack

Scaramouche decided to kill Jack all on his own

and since Aku's shooting down offers to assassinate Jack, Scaramouche is probably lowkey defying his will to do this.

Canon fact:

when Scaramouche finds out Aku's forbidding visitors, he ignores Aku's orders to leave—twice—until he gets his attention.

Conclusion:

yeah, Scaramouche would fearlessly defy Aku's will if he thinks Aku will appreciate the results.

Canon facts:

Scaramouche has been working for Aku long enough to make it to the #1 position

yet, he's never encountered Jack before

when he decides to fight him, he burns down an entire village near Jack's location, and then waits

Conclusions:

Scaramouche has been preparing for this battle for a very long time.

He's put a lot of effort into setting things up to go perfectly, including choosing (and slaughtering) their battlefield.

Canon facts:

When Scaramouche meets Jack, he isn't anticipating the changes in his gear.

As soon as he's introduced himself, he tells Jack to whip out his magic sword.

He's very focused on that sword's status as the sole thing capable of defeating Aku—enough so that, when he learns Jack lost it, he immediately drops everything to try to tell Aku about it, and then spends the rest of the series bringing the news to Aku.

He has a tuning fork dagger that makes any (metal/stone) objects it hits explode

When Scaramouche explains how the blade works, he insists no one plays the blades like he does.

It's the sole time that he seems to fully lose his temper, in spite of the fact that at that point things are going well for him and the rest of the season is a lot more frustrating for him.

Because Jack had two blades, he was able to use the second blade's explosion against Scaramouche; but the first blade exploding took him by surprise.

Conclusions:

Scaramouche challenged Jack with one goal in mind: to destroy his sword.

He fully believes (and Aku clearly agrees) that if Jack doesn't have his sword, he's no longer a threat.

His plan was to lure Jack into battle, bait him into drawing his sword, and shatter it with his dagger.

It doesn't matter if Jack knows what the dagger can do on the second swing, if the first swing successfully destroyed its target.

Scaramouche came there perfectly prepared to take on the version of Jack he expected to meet.

He fully expected to prove that he was the better swordsman.

Even if a lost sword is good news for Aku, Scaramouche is pissed that Jack's missing sword robbed him of his chance to prove that he'd out-strategized the infamous samurai.

Conclusion to the conclusions:

That casual attitude he greets Jack with is a facade. Scaramouche spent a long time hellbent on executing the perfect plan to neutralize the threat Jack posed to Aku—even if he had to defy Aku to do it.

#samurai jack #scaramouche #scaramouche samurai jack #meta

45 notes · View notes

redwolfwoods · 1 day ago

Text

Demon Twins fanfic

I'm righting a demon twins story, which I've decided not to publish until I'm done because I don't work on it often, but I've had some fun ideas for parts I haven't gotten to yet and I figured I'd share some of them.

This scene I'm going to share is where Damian meets Dani for the first time. She's one of my favorite characters so I'm really excited. Also I know most people call Dani "Ellie" but Dani chose her name and i feel the family would honer that so she's mostly referred to as Dani. However, in acknowledgement of the homophone, she is nick named Lidy (Little Dani).

Important things to know for this point in the story: We've got bad parents Jack and Maddie, they sold him out to the GiW when he told them he was a ghost. Danny is 16 and has been phantom for two years, Danny was made physically 10 so now she is physically 12. Danny is the ghost king. Dan isn't a character beyond a one off villain and existential crisis for Danny, Danny badly faked his death and ran away from the LoA when he was young and joining the Fenton family through the foster system. Despite the faking being bad, the LoA told Damian that Danny was dead so he was very surprised when Danny showed up at the manor. Danny left before he could be told that Bruce is Batman, so while he does know that Bruce isn't the Brucie Wayne he portrays himself as, he doesn't know his new family are heroes. Except Jason all he has to do is meet him to mark his ecto signature and always recognize him. The bats don't know about his ghostness yet. Danny is also trans, his birth name was Danica.

........

Danny stared around the large room at all the fancy people. The party was officially in his honor, welcoming him to the Wayne family and presenting him to the high society in the area. He knew it was necessary. Cementing him as part of one of the richest families in the country would help protect him from the GiW, and he would also have to get use to general parties like this as part of that rich family. It was technically good practice for political events he, as the ghost king, would eventually have to start attending. It didn't make him like it any more.

He had been to a few parties like this before. Either accompanying Sam or Dragged by Vlad when Jack and Maddie insisted on them bonding.

He didn't like the suit he was wearing either. It was perfectly tailored to his body, and somehow wasn't actually stiff. this made it the most comfortable suit he had ever worn, but he had never liked this stile of dress, with its boxy outline, thin fabric, and the tie around his neck. Not only has he spent most of his life at this point in T-shirts and hoodies, but given his League upbringing and Ghost unlife, he was rather an old soul when it came to formal wear. Thick tunics, heavy and fancy coats, leggings with no loose fabric and tall sturdy boots were the minimum usually light armor and weapons were involved. This suit made him feel both caged and exposed, as well as being just down right boring in his opinion.

He'd tried to spend the evening sticking to Damian like a leach. Failing that, his plan had been to remain close to one of his numerous new family members, but somehow his plans had fallen short as getting out of a conversation with on of these rich people was about as hard as it was easy to be swept up into one, and all the Waynes had quickly been pulled apart.

Danny had only just been able to pull away from an older woman who thought he was "just too cute!" and also looked nothing like Damian "Are you sure you're twins?" and he was now hiding in the shadows of the stairs.

"I thought you swore off penguin suits," said quiet, but smiling female voice from behind his right shoulder.

"Dani?" Danny spun around quickly and saw his little sister standing there like she always had been. Despite he small size, she wore a very elegant floor-length black dress with long sleeves, a flowy skirt and pale blue embroidery all over it in wisps and curls. Looked very young, because she was, but she didn't look silly.

Danny scooped her up in a hug. "Dani! What are you doing here? How did you get in? When did you get here? You weren't in line when we we're greeting guests."

Dani shrugged when he set her down. "I just got here. Came through the wall. No one noticed me. And I'm here to see you, Dumb-ass. I was worried about you."

Danny smiled at the sentiment, then frowned as he processed a little more. "Did you come alone? I know traveling is your obsession, but we agreed that you shouldn't be wandering alone at your age. Does Pandora know you're here?"

"Hey, I wasn't alone! I was hanging out with Youngblood for a while, then when I came back visit Jazz a few weeks ago she said you'd gone missing, so I went out with Skulker to look for you! We were searching for ages! Then one day, low and behold, I see a picture of you on TV talking about this party and how you're a Wayne now! What happened? Why didn't you talk to me?" Dani finally paused for breath.

"I'm sorry, Dani," Danny sighed. "You don't have a phone, and with all the crazy things going on I haven't had the time to try and find you. But you're right. I should have reached out. Jack and Maddie gave me to the GiW. I escaped and came here to live with my twin brother and bio dad."

Dani floated slightly of the floor in excitement before Danny quickly pushed her back down. "We have a brother?" she asked. "We have a brother and you never told me?"

"Sorry," Danny started. "It's complicated. I had to leave him behind before and-"

"Danny?" both halfas turned to see a dark-skinned boy with similar features approaching them. "There you are. Sorry we got separated." Damian stopped when he saw Dani, his eyes flicking between the two beings before him. "Who's this?" he asked Danny, gesturing to Dani. "She wasn't on the guest list."

Danny looked down sheepishly, then back up at his brother. "Damian, this is our sister, Dani. Dani with an i. She snuck in. Dani, this is my twin brother Damian."

Damian eyed the two of them. His sharp eyes likely noting their physical similarities.

Dani grinned and bounced on her toes. "Pleasure to meet you!"

"Why did you introduce her as "our" sister?" Damian asked. "When you were introducing Jazz, you called her your sister, not ours."

Danny winced but answered the question. "Well, Jazz is my adopted sister, not yours. If you wanted to form that kind of relationship with her you can, but my adoption doesn't automatically make you related. However, as Dani is biologically related to me, and thus you, that makes her our sister."

"As far as I'm aware," Damian scanned between them again. "neither Father nor mother have procreated since our birth. So, how is she biologically related to you?"

Danny took a deep breath. "Okay, you guys have to promise not to get mad."

Damian raised an eyebrow.

"And no stabbing," Danny added.

Damian said nothing.

"Okay, so Dani is actually my clone."

"What?!" Damian stepped forward and Danny stepped in front of Dani.

"It's not her fault. Remember how I told you about the rich family friend who's obsessed with me? He cloned me and made Dani about two years ago. Neither of us asked for this, but it's not like you asked for me. She's my sister now and I won't let anyone take her from me."

Dani peeked out from behind him at Damian. "Do we have a stabby brother? Can I play with the stabby brother?"

Damian and Danny both relaxed as they laughed.

"Not right now," Danny answered. "You're in your nice fancy dress, and we can't leave the party yet, but there's a gym we can use later as long as you behave." He put his hand on her shoulder and pushed down slightly to indicate to her not to use any ghost powers.

Dani sighed. "Okay." She turned back to Damian. "Like he said, my name's Dani, but I understand that can be confusing. If you ever need differentiate us by sound, you can call me Lidy. It's Jazz's nick name for me."

Damian smiled. "I can't wait to see everyone's faces when they see you for the first time."

#danny phantom #dani phantom #dc x dp #damian wayne #demon twins au #dani meets damian #dani is so chaotic #dani loves her new stabby brother #dani: I want to be a stabby assassin too!

38 notes · View notes

cressidagrey · 1 day ago

Note

Finally Fleur picture ❤ she is so pretty white ❤ I wonder if the goal will be the smartest color or it will be a different color? I always loved red roans and liver bays.

The constant recapping of the entire story through Twitter was a bit tirering for me but that's because I know the entire story and I want to reach the point were the characters foggy at each other's throats. But I absolutely understand the need for them.

As always the drivers group chat was amazingly hilarious Fernando politely saying no I am not a sugar daddy is hilarious. And then Charles accused Jos? Like I feel everyone felt gross reading that. I bet Jos felt an unexplainable grossness wash over him far far from here. He just woke up in his bed in cold sweat.

And max. Max ripping Charles a new one. We are all lucky that was over text because if Charles had accused his beloved Wife of banging his dad max would have punched Charles so hard he would have gone back in time and was never conceived.

I wonder if the baby and the foal will be born at the same time or at least close together? What would they name the baby horse?

Also I remember we didn't get a gender on the baby. Any hints as to we get mini Belle or mini max? I know everyone is in favor of max being a girl dad and I don't disagree. He would be so good to them. He is a man who knows how to live women and to take care of them. But I want a boy. I feel like we need max to have a son so he can heal a little hidden part of himself.

What do you think? Max as a boy dad. A boy that looks just like him and he feels like his wife have birth to his child self so he can be lived properly. So he can not be yelled at or hit on the helmet or scared of failing or left at a gas station or left crying. I think about that so I would like for max to have a son.

Let's just have Belle have surprise twins 🤣 that would be hilarious. I'm still gifdy waiting for the pregnancy reveal. And the marriage reveal. I am banging my head against the wall for this.

As always love your work so much.

This message made me laugh and tear up a little — you captured everything so perfectly. 🥹

You're so right about Max: having a son who looks like him would be so healing. Like, he gets to protect and love his little boy in all the ways he wasn't protected and loved growing up. No fear, no gas stations, no yelling — just unconditional, steady love. I think Belle would be so good for that too, because she understands how important it is to make a child feel safe. It would heal parts of both of them.

And honestly? Surprise twins would be hilarious. Max would panic ("how many babies?!") and Belle would just laugh and kiss his forehead and tell him he’s going to be the best dad ever.

About the foal and the baby: Their timelines are meant to parallel a little, but baby horse will be born in like July-ish and Human Baby in December 🐎👶

You’re picking up on everything — I love that so much.

Currently no ideas for baby horse names yet, so suggestions are welcome. I actually have put the thought behind said foal to figure out the father 😂 because I am clearly insane.

(It's Glamourdale, KWPN dressage stallion, currently competing for Great Britain under Charlotte Fry.)

Glamourdale is Black and Fleur is Grey with a Black coat underneath, so baby horse will be either Black or Grey like their mother, the chances are 50/50 according to some calculator online lol.

Also: Charles accusing Jos?? The secondhand ick traveled across Europe, and Jos absolutely woke up from a dead sleep like "someone somewhere is making me very uncomfortable and I don’t know why."

And Max dragging Charles in the group chat? Peak behavior. If it had been in person, Charles would have been seeing stars — and maybe reliving his own birth backwards, because Max would not have held back. 💀

Thank you for such a thoughtful, funny, and emotional message — I love seeing your thoughts every time. 🧡

#c answers #white horse

39 notes · View notes

mountainsandmayhem · 11 hours ago

Text

Maid Discreetly - Chapter Two

Tommy Miller x Female OC - 18+

Story Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man? Chapter Summary: You and Tommy go about your everyday lives and try not to think about your unfortunately first encounter AN: Trigger warnings are underneath the cut in small red letters to avoid spoilers. Please remember to follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for all future chapters. Thank you SO MUCH for all the love on Chapter One, there's so much in store for these two cutie pies! Divders by @saradika-graphics. As always thank you to @lotusbxtch and @for-a-longlongtime for helping me expand on my ideas and add all my punctuation xo. WC: 3k

Story Masterlist || My Masterlist || Joel and Kim

CW: female character is fully developed OC, so are her friends; mutual pining; dirty talk (Tommy has a filthy mouth); dick pronouns; blow job/throat fucking; sub/dom dynamics; aftercare; name calling (but hot)

You

It’s been exactly fourteen days, sixteen hours and fifteen minutes since your unfortunate encounter with Tommy - not that you’ve been counting. You’ve allowed his deep voice to play over and over in your mind more times than you care to admit.

“You know, sweetheart, your little tantrum would be much more believable if you weren’t undressing me with your eyes.”

You most definitely were not undressing him with your eyes. You thought he was Joel for fuck’s sake, and that goes against every code in the girl friendship handbook. However, once you learned he wasn’t Joel…well, you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that you weren’t sneaking glances his way throughout the night.

Like it or not, Tommy Miller is an incredibly attractive man; dark curly hair, expressive russet brown eyes and high cheekbones. It was too dark in the room to be sure, but you thought you saw a cluster of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His thick moustache was neatly trimmed, sitting perfectly above his plush lips. He gave off cowboy-meets-white-collar vibes. Granted, based on how broad he is and the way his suit jacket was hanging on by a goddamn thread around his biceps, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had been a cowboy at one point in his life. Your stomach flips at the thought of him in a cowboy hat. Even a bonafide city girl like yourself knows when a man looks like he can throw around a bale of hay.

Complete and total prick, you remind yourself, as you adjust your rearview mirror of your Bently before pulling out of your parking space at work. I am probably old enough to be his daughter. Who says something like that to someone that much younger?

You push Tommy out of your mind and shift your focus on the summer ahead as you drive. Kim is positively thriving in California. She’s been cleaning for two of your dad’s very well-connected friends. Based on last month’s customer survey results, they’ve spread the word and have friends who are interested in hiring her, but Kim doesn’t have time with school and internships to take on anyone else. Austin is great for business, but California could be a literal jackpot for Maid Discreetly - celebrities, athletes, politicians, CEO’s; a plethora of potential clients who would benefit from a service like your dad’s. As much as you were hoping for a summer with her, you understand her staying in California for a summer law internship. That leaves just you, your cousin Laren, and Ophelia.

Laren has been busy planning her upcoming wedding while secretly running her topless catering company. Her father, who is your mom’s brother, is still very active in the church and expects the same level of devotion from his children. While they think she’s just an event planner, she’s actually so much more. You wonder if Sean, her husband-to-be, knows what she truly does for a living, and, if not, will she tell them once they’re married and living together? It still blows your mind that your uncle is so old-school that he won’t allow Laren and Sean to live together until after their wedding.

Ophelia was always more Kim’s friend, seeing as they lived off campus together during college. After losing her spot as Miss Texas, and not having any of her modeling contracts renewed because of it, she decided to go to college and is now in her final year of business school.

You turn the dial on your AC, blasting the cool air as you pull onto the freeway. June has come in hot, literally. It’s unseasonably warm, which usually means it’ll be a dry summer and the whole city will panic when the clouds finally decide to bless us with rain. Luckily, both you and Laren have pools at home, and your family is connected enough to have a summer pass at The Wayback hotel’s Cabana Club, so you and your friends are going to be nice and cool.

Laren convinced you to take off early today and meet at the hotel. It’s a short drive from your downtown office, tucked into the hills of Austin, and feels like you’re on vacation while being in your own city’s backyard. You pull into the valet, hand your keys to someone who barely looks old enough to drive and meet Laren in the lobby. After changing into your swim attire, you both head out to two reserved chairs.

“Fuck, this is nice,” Laren whispers under her breath as she unties the sheer black wrap from her waist, now just in a neon pink tie bikini. She already has a golden brown hue to her skin.

“Beyond nice. I think we should do some networking here,” you respond, looking around at the wealth that seems to be dripping off of most of the people. Wives soak in the vitamin D in small swimsuits, the men beside them in linen dress pants and white button up shirts, their eyes glued to a phone or laptop screen. You note the few men who aren’t completely focused on their devices, sneaking glances at the women they are with. It’s quite likely that they are a mistress or inappropriately young girlfriend instead of a wife.

Laren practically melts into her fluffy white pool chair. “Speak for yourself. I’m here to forget about work. Honestly, if I was you and knew I was going to have access to a forty million dollar trust fund on my twenty-fifth birthday, I wouldn’t have half the work ethic you do.”

You shush your cousin and shoot her a glare as you dig through your Stella McCartney tote for your sunscreen; the last thing you need is everyone here knowing who you are. Growing up, your last name was a burden. Kids in your public school were pushed towards you by their parents, everyone wanting to be friends with the rich girl. When you moved to private school, you were looked down upon as the “public school trash” until everyone learned your last name. Being an awkward teenager is hard enough without debutante balls and boys being introduced to you as potential suitors. You’re grateful for it now, and recognize all the opportunities it has opened for you, but having the last name you do is a weight on your shoulders. The only child, the namesake, somehow expected to carry on a legacy.

You slide back on your chair, applying sunblock to your legs. “I’m hoping if I bring in clients, my dad will finally let me take on more responsibility. Kim is going to crush it in California, I know she will, which means my parents are going to have to spend more time there to hire a staff and bring in more clients. I want to take over in Austin.”

Laren reclines her chair and sighs. “Babe, you’re going to take over. You are the most qualified person to do so when your dad is ready.”

You rub some of the coconut scented SPF into your chest as you speak. “I know. I just want to show him that I can do it now. I’m sick of being his daughter who does just the hiring and training, ya know?”

“Hey,” Laren sits up and squeezes your knee gently so you’ll look at her. “Without you, none of those houses would get cleaned to the standards they do. Which means your dad wouldn’t be able to charge out the nose. You are so much more than just hiring and training.”

You click the cap of the sunscreen closed and place it on the small wicker table between you and Laren. “Deep down I know that, but there’s a very real part of me that feels like my dad is going to marry me off and give the job to the husband that he’s deemed worthy.”

Laren doesn’t know all the details and stipulations around your trust fund. Fuck, you aren’t even sure you know every little piece of fine print. The three things you’ve always been told are a college degree, being at least twenty-five years of age, and your nuptials must be approved by your dad. You’re nowhere near marriage, but you are dangerously close to the minimum age.

Does this mean I won't get access to my trust fund soon? Or can my dad just take it away if I marry someone he doesn’t feel is up to his standards? The questions run rampant in your mind. You make a mental note to talk to your mom about it.

Laren uses her free hand to slide her sunglasses down her nose, a line of concern between her brows, “Did your dad say that?”

You sigh, laying back on your chair and rolling your head to look at her. “He didn’t have to.”

Rage flares behind her eyes. Luckily, she keeps her voice quiet as she says, “Did your piece of shit ex tell you that?”

A deep breath fills your lungs and you shake your head, “No, like I said, it’s just a feeling.”

As you lounge back in your chair you swallow hard, trying not to think about Preston. It’s been a few months since you ended things with him. The relief you felt when he walked out of your bedroom that night was like taking a breath of fresh air for the first time, but the words he said throughout your three year relationship still linger.

She follows your lead and settles back in her chair, turning her face up to the sun. “That loser did a real number on you, didn’t he?”

“Unfortunately,” you deadpan, following it with a humourless laugh. You let out a slow, relaxing breath, forcing all the thoughts of him out and then focus on the warmth of the sun splashing across your skin. Slowly, the heat of the day turns your muscles into goo. It’s quiet between the two of you for a few minutes before Laren snickers.

“What’s so funny?” you murmur, rolling your head towards her.

“I just still can’t believe you yelled at Tommy Miller at that gala.” She says with a laugh.

You swat her arm before rolling onto your stomach. “Shut up.”

“Sorry, I just hate that I missed it. Plus, he’s so fucking handsome. I’m surprised you don’t remember him from that poker game. Fuck, I would have loved to see him all dressed up.”

“He’s abhorrent.” You say, holding back a smile.

Laren snickers again, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe.”

Tommy

“Get me hard. Suck on him,” he practically growls at the woman kneeling in front of him as he twists his hand into her hair. He has a full window of onlookers at JMKink tonight, just the way he likes it.

Kya is a new sub to him; she pays him for an hour every other week and this is their second session together. The first one went really well, but of course it did; the algorithm that JMKink uses in their app wouldn’t pair them up if they didn’t have complimentary kinks. She likes to be dominated and, like Tommy, wants people to watch. Tommy is the reason that you can open the windows of the rooms available to rent. It’s optional, lots of people keep them closed, but if you want the members of the club in the dark voyeur room on the opposite side of the glass to watch, all you do is pull open the thick black blind. You can also choose if you want them to be able to hear what’s happening; Tommy always allows for both.

He doesn’t agree with all the rules that come with being a member, mainly the one that states condoms must be worn. Tommy loves watching his cum leak out of freshly fucked pussy just as much as he loves being watched. Him, Joel, and Tess have discussed the rule again and again, and even with the required test results, and everything happening in the club being consensual, it’s just too risky. But, his business partners have agreed that when he finds a sub that he has the right chemistry with, Tommy can have paid performances that can be condom free. This is not that night though.

Tonight, Kya specifically asked for her throat to be fucked after being edged. In fact, she requested for him to not let her come at all. After almost forty minutes of him bringing her to the brink of orgasm only to stop, he uncuffed her from the wall and told her to crawl to him. He knew the rub of her thighs as she crawled would only further add to her torture; it would feel good but wouldn’t be the right angle or pressure to let her come. Now, she has her impossibly soft lips wrapped around his cock, her skin sparkling with sweat as she suckles on the fat tip of his dick, her lips vibrating with each of her moans. Kya is one of the most beautiful subs Tommy has ever had, and stuff like this usually has Tommy hard as steel, but something feels off tonight.

“Keep going, little slut,” he practically spits, trying to get himself there mentally. He closes his eyes and a flash of the brunette that told him off at the gala last week appears. Subtle curves, curious eyes, her matte red lips that he wants to smear his cum all over to make them glisten. His cock twitches at the thought, his hips flexing forward. He hears a gagging sound before he pulls his hips back, imagining that red lipstick staining his cock.

“Look so fuckin’ pretty on your knees for me,” he whispers, a small giggle fills his ears before he pistons his hips forward and opens his eyes. Kya is absolutely stunning, there’s no reason he should have to fantasize about anything, or anyone, when he’s with her. So why is he fighting from closing his eyes and picturing you again?

Insanity, or witchcraft. He thinks to himself, trying to find a reason. Witchcraft, you’re an idiot, Tommy. Fuck, I must be going insane.

Tommy rocks his hips back and forth, and Kya is the perfect sub; hollowing her cheeks and letting the salvia fall from her lips, coating his cock as he fucks her mouth in slow, deep strokes. “Moan for me,” he commands, letting his lashes fall to his cheeks.

Kya moans, and there you are again. In this daydream, he has you on your back; one leg up on his shoulder, the other spread wide for him. He pushes in and out of your tight pussy a few times, watching your eyes go hooded before he sits up, kissing the ankle of the foot still propped on his shoulder. His eyes trail down your body; soft breasts bouncing with each thrust, his gaze burning a path down your stomach, landing to where his body meets yours. His mouth waters at the way your pussy glistens with need. It’s intoxicating and carnal, yet so soft and beautiful - he wants to taste you so badly. That’s when he shatters, opening his eyes to watch as his cum leaks from Kya’s mouth.

“Don’t swallow yet, filthy girl. Not until you show us,” he says through gritted teeth. The moment his orgasm is done he slides his cock free. He’s already soft, which is another thing that never happens to him.

Ya, I’ve slipped into insanity for sure!

“Open,” he commands. Kya opens her mouth and he leans forward and spits. With a nod towards the viewing window he says, “Show them.”

She turns her head towards the onlookers and he watches the way she squeezes her thighs together. This should be making Tommy absolutely feral, yet, it doesn’t. Staying in his dominant character, he grips his hand around her throat. “Eyes on me while you swallow, little cum princess.”

She plays her part equally well, keeping those dark brown eyes locked with his as she swallows, licks her lips and then swallows again. His dick doesn’t as much as budge; if anything, Tommy thinks it may have gotten smaller.

Dude, what is wrong with you tonight? He says in his mind towards his cock.

“Thank you, sir,” Kya hums.

Tommy slides his thumb along her bottom lip gently, his voice softer now and just for her, “Can you get to the bed on your own while I close the curtain?”

She nods her head and smiles sweetly at him. He helps her stand and once he’s sure her legs are steady, he heads to the window. A few of the fellow exhibitionists give him a thumbs up before he shuts them out to do his aftercare in private with Kya. He pushes you out of his mind, focusing on getting some sugar into Kya and then pulls her into his arms. The two of them speak in quiet whispers as he checks in on her.

“How are you feeling?”

She smiles up at him. “Really good. Thank you. I definitely needed this.”

“Good,” he says with a nod. “I have this room for a few hours so we can stay like this as long as you need. I need you to promise me you’ll call me if something changes, okay? I know what we did tonight can be a lot.”

“I promise,” she mutters, her eyelids getting heavy.

After a few more minutes of cuddling she pulls away from him and says she’s ready to go. Once they’re both dressed Tommy walks her out to the main area of the club, the two of them embrace in a tight hug before she leaves and he goes to his reserved booth. The second he’s alone he’s lost in thoughts of the girl from the gala. This isn’t the first time he’s been consumed by you, every quiet moment he has he finds himself thinking of you, of the things he should have said. Flirting and wooing women is easy for him, it always has been, but someone with quick wit and the ability to banter with him isn’t something that comes along often.

That’s got to be what has me so turned around, he thinks to himself. It’s safer that she remains a fantasy, safer that I don’t know her name, safer that I can’t search for her and find out if she likes all of the things I do.

#tommy miller x reader #tommy miller the last of us #tommy miller tlou #tommy the last of us #tommy miller #tommy miller fanfiction #tommy miller smut #tommy miller x you #Tommy Miller x female oc #Tommy Miller x reader #bdsmaid #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us #hbo tlou #hbo the last of us #gabriel luna #Gabriel luna stories

26 notes · View notes