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naiadonis · 1 month ago

Text

popular — b. barnes x f!reader (18+)

word count: 5.1K

summary: some people are destined to be famous, and others just need a little ..help to get there. what happens when an aspiring actress is given the opportunity to climb a little higher on the social ladder?

tags: mdni 18+ only, modern au, y/n is able bodied and uses feminine terms and pronouns, one-shot, power dynamic (reader is a struggling actress, bucky is a wealthy film producer) smuuuuut, oral (m! + f! receiving) unprotected sex (always wrap it before you tap it, folks!)

a/n: please be gentle it’s been a while… thank you to my bffs who read this first <3

The industry party is already half a blur by the time you get to your third glass of champagne. Los Angeles feels like it’s been chewing you up and spitting you back out for months, and while you’re good at faking confidence, lately you’ve been questioning whether this city has a place for you at all. The last agency you were with booked you for a toothpaste commercial and a recurring role as “Hot Girl #3” in a show that didn’t even survive its pilot. You’d had enough.

You’re about to retreat to a corner when a familiar voice calls out.

“Y/N!”

You turn, exhaling a relieved laugh when you see Joaquin Torres, your longtime friend and occasional lifeline in a sea of snakes. He pulls you in for a hug that smells like cologne and tequila.

“Thought I wasn’t gonna find you,” he says, glancing down at your drink. “You good?”

You give him a tight smile. “Define good.”

He winces. “That bad?”

You shrug, eyes scanning the glittering crowd of producers, actors, and people who only exist in photos. “It’s just all…exhausting. This is the latest I’ve been outside in over a month. I should be binging Real Housewives right now.” You say, and then almost as an afterthought, you add, “And these stilettos were not meant to be worn long term.”

Joaquin huffs out a laugh that’s mostly swallowed by the din of the crowd. “Well, tonight might be different,” He says, tilting his head. There’s a glint in his eye that you recognize; Clearly he’s up to something, and you don’t even have a chance to say no because he’s already reaching for your hand. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Your brows lift, but he anticipates your answer with an easy smile, disarming you before you’ve even had a chance to properly turn it—whatever he’s thinking—down. “Not Scorsese,” he says, a knowing smile on his face. “Bucky Barnes.”

You blink. “The Bucky Barnes? As in—”

Your stomach does a small, traitorous flip. You hesitate, your gut twisting with the now familiar cocktail of hope and dread. “I don’t know.. I’ve done this exact song and dance so many times.” You take a nervous sip of what’s left of your champagne, your eyes scanning the crowd once more. “I don’t think I can stomach another disappointment anyway.”

Joaquin studies you for a beat, but it’s clear his mind has already been made up and he’s not taking no for an answer. “C’mon. You’re not even auditioning for anything, not right now anyway.” He jokes, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “It’s just a little meet and greet, no harm, no foul.” He said, and with an exasperated sigh, you give in.

His hands slip from your shoulders, and weaves you through the crowd and toward the back patio, where golden lights bathe a group of people standing around with drinks in hand. That’s when you see him.

Bucky Barnes.

He’s not what you expected.

For all his credentials and the air of mystique that surrounds his work, he’s surprisingly…lowkey. He’s standing casually, one hand cradling a drink, while the other is stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans, listening to someone with an easy half-smile. He’s dressed in black, the sleeves of his shirt rolled, a few buttons left undone at the collar. He looks like someone who knows exactly what he’s doing—but doesn’t need to prove it.

You steel yourself.

“Buck,” Joaquin calls, breaking into the circle. “This is Y/N. She’s the actress I’ve been telling you about.”

Bucky looks up, and suddenly, all your nervous energy dulls. His eyes land on yours, and everything slows for a second. There’s no judgment in his expression, no boredom, no performative interest. Just calm curiosity.

“Y/N,” he repeats, like it tastes good in his mouth. “Nice to meet you.”

His voice is smooth, unhurried. You offer your hand, and he doesn’t rush the moment. Doesn’t scan you up and down. Doesn’t launch into small talk like he’s got somewhere better to be. “Nice to meet you,” you say, surprised by how steady your voice is.

He shakes your hand, and you can only hope that he doesn’t feel how clammy your palm is.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” He said, and your gaze darts to Joaquin, who only gives you a grin and a thumbs up before stepping away.

“All good things I hope, though that would explain the ringing in my ears.” You reply, and he chuckles. The sound sparks something in your chest, but you choose to ignore it for the time being.

He glances at your almost empty champagne glass, and he gestures towards the party. “You want something better than whatever they’re calling champagne in there?”

You laugh—more than you meant to, but you go with it, nodding. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He waves a waiter over, and orders a cocktail for you, and the two of you find yourselves in an easy flow.

The conversation that follows is effortless, surprising even you. You talk about the state of the industry, the uphill climb for actors like yourself, and how exhausting it is to be underestimated in rooms full of people who smile too much. He listens—actually listens—with a kind of calm intensity that makes you feel seen in a way you hadn’t realized you were craving. He wants to know what drives you. What kind of roles scare you. What you want to do that no one’s let you touch yet. It’s been so long since someone has looked at you like an artist instead of a résumé.

And he’s funny. Dry, understated. Every sarcastic quip you throw at him, he volleys back with ease.

When you call out the hypocrisy of producers who say they want “fresh talent” but only cast the same five people, he chuckles and raises his glass.

“To burning the house down.”

You tap your glass to his.

“To rebuilding it better.”

There’s a beat where the conversation lulls and neither of you fill the silence. You glance over at him, and he’s already looking at you, head slightly tilted, like you’re a puzzle he’s just beginning to enjoy solving.

“You know,” he says slowly, “I’m putting something together. Casting’s still in early stages.”

You arch a brow. “That sounds suspiciously like a pitch.”

“Maybe it is,” he says. “Or maybe it’s just an excuse to get dinner with you.”

You blink. “Dinner?”

“Strictly professional,” he adds, his grin betraying him.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your cool. “I usually avoid producers who make vague offers over free cocktails.”

He laughs then—a genuine laugh, that makes the corners of his blue eyes crinkle. “Understandable. But I’m very persuasive, and I don’t make promises that I can’t back up.”

You pause, heart racing a little faster now—the traitorous thing. Then you nod.

“Okay. Dinner.”

He pulls out his phone. “Can I get your number?”

You give it to him, trying not to show the slight tremble in your fingers. He types it in, saves it, then looks back at you with that same, magnetic calm.

“I’ll text you,” he says. “We’ll talk shop.”

You nod, lips curving despite your best efforts. “Looking forward to it.”

You smooth your hands down your dress—a silky, low-cut number you’ve only worn once, and never with this much confidence.

You kept telling yourself it was just dinner.

You told yourself the extra twenty minutes you spent curling your hair wasn’t for him. That the subtle shimmer on your eyelids, the gloss on your lips, the soft sweep of highlighter on your collarbone—those were all for you. Because you wanted to feel your best. Simple. Empowering. Strategic, even.

It had nothing to do with how Bucky Barnes looked at you that night on the rooftop. Nothing to do with how your heart had skipped when he saved your number. Nothing to do with the way his voice had settled into your head and lingered there like a song you couldn’t quite shake.

Right.

He picked the place—low lighting, real candles on the table, waitstaff that smiled like they already knew his order. It was intimate but not too forward, elegant without being stiff. Like him. He stood as you approached, and for a beat, just stared. Not in the uncomfortable, lingering way some men did—but in that quiet, appreciative way that made you hyper-aware of your own skin.

The restaurant is dimly lit and intimate—modern Italian with moody lighting and quiet music. Definitely not the kind of place where deals are typically made.

You raise an eyebrow as you slide into the booth across from him.

“So,” you say. “What kind of role are we pretending to talk about tonight?”

Bucky laughs, tilting his head. “You always lead with sarcasm?”

“It’s a defense mechanism,” you say sweetly.

“I like it,” he says. “Keeps me on my toes.”

You fight the smile tugging at your lips as the waiter comes over. Bucky orders a bottle of wine without looking at the menu, and you wonder how someone can be so effortlessly confident without being unbearable. The waiter comes and goes. Wine is poured. Small talk is easy—dangerously easy.

Bucky asks about your recent auditions, your dream roles, the kinds of stories you want to tell. And when he talks about his work, his voice gets lower, more thoughtful, like he’s letting you in on something sacred. And you surprise yourself by how freely you answer. With most producers, it’s all strategy and filters. But with him, it feels easy.

Safe, even.

Still, there's something beneath the surface. A tension. A current.

It starts small. His gaze dropping a beat too low when you lean forward to reach for your glass. The momentary pause when his eyes catch the way the neckline of your dress curves—and dips.

You notice.

You definitely notice.

And when he looks up and sees you watching him catch himself, there’s a flicker of guilt in his smile—followed by something else. Something darker. Bolder.

“You’re staring,” you say softly, amusement coloring your voice.

He doesn’t flinch. Just leans back in his seat, expression relaxed but eyes locked on yours.

“Can you blame me?”

You tilt your head, letting your fingers toy with the stem of your wine glass. “You said this was strictly business.”

“I did,” he says, voice lower now. “And I meant it. But I’m not blind.”

He runs a hand through his hair, the movement slow, like he’s trying to ground himself.

“You walk in like the part’s already yours,” He says, eyes locked on you like he’s seeing something everyone else missed. “Then you start talking, and somehow you’re even better than how I pictured. You really think I’m not gonna look at you?”

Your lips part, heat rising up the back of your neck—and not just from the wine.

He watches your reaction, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes, as if he’s waiting for you to shut this down. To draw the line.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean forward, just a little—enough to let him look if he wants to.

And he does.

“I thought we were here to talk shop,” You tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

“We are,” he murmurs, his gaze briefly flicking to your cleavage before snapping back to your face. “But you’re making it really hard to concentrate.”

You smirk, resting your chin in your hand. “Maybe I’m testing your professionalism.”

He exhales a soft laugh, eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “So that’s what this is.”

You don’t answer, but the way your leg brushes his under the table speaks for you.

The moment hangs there, suspended in candlelight and tension.

Then you lift your glass again, cool as ever. “So. Tell me about this role you had in mind.”

He picks up his drink, but he’s not even pretending to be unaffected anymore. His voice is rougher around the edges now, dipped in something thicker.

“I think you’d be perfect for it,” he says. “But I’m starting to realize the real challenge is gonna be keeping things…professional.”

You smile, sipping slowly.

There it is.

That slow pull in your belly, the warmth that curls beneath your skin and spreads all the way to your throat.

He’s trying to behave. You can see it in the way he clenches his hands now and then. In the way his gaze keeps drifting—just below your neck, just a beat too long on your lips before he forces himself to look away.

“You’re making this very difficult, Y/N.”

Your smile widens, slow and knowing. “I haven’t done anything.”

“That’s the problem,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your mouth again. “You don’t have to.”

You sit in the silence that follows, tasting the tension between you like the wine on your tongue. Part of you knows you should pivot—say something smart about your range or your process or whatever—but you don’t.

Because it feels good, being looked at like this.

Not like a product. Not like an audition.

Like a woman.

And Bucky Barnes, for all his restraint, is very much a man who’s interested.

The waiter comes with the check, and Bucky doesn’t even glance at it before sliding his card across the table. You let him. You don’t argue.

Outside, the night is cooler than before, and you shiver slightly as you step onto the sidewalk. Without thinking, he slips off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

There’s a charged silence between you, and Bucky’s gaze lingers on your face, on the curve of your neck where the jacket slips just so.

He clears his throat. “I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come back with me. For a nightcap. Nothing fancy. Just some whiskey and quieter company.”

Your heart skips.

The sensible part of your brain screams No. You just met him, you barely know this man, and—let’s be honest—you’re tired of people promising things they don’t keep.

But the reckless part—the part you’ve been trying to ignore—whispers Yes. Yes to a night where you forget the struggle. Yes to being wanted. Yes to whatever this is.

You hesitate, searching his eyes for any sign he’s not serious.

He’s watching you, patient. Respectful. But there’s something fierce beneath it, an invitation you can’t quite refuse.

Finally, you breathe out.

“Okay.”

He smiles, half-relieved, half-triumphant, then holds out his arm. You wrap your hand around his forearm, and together you walk towards the sleek, black car he’d parked just around the corner.

The door to Bucky's penthouse clicks shut behind you with a low thud that seems to echo through the sleek, open space. You step forward slowly, taking in the minimalist design, all dark wood, clean lines, and soft lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city skyline, glittering like spilled diamonds.

“This is…” you begin, turning in place to admire the view.

“Overkill?” Bucky cuts in, lips twitching.

You smirk, shrugging off his jacket and laying it over the back of a velvet armchair. “I was gonna say impressive. But sure, overkill works too.”

He chuckles and makes his way to the bar in the corner, where a decanter of dark amber scotch glows under the low light. You follow, watching as he pours two generous glasses, his forearms flexing as he lifts the crystal bottle.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, handing you a glass.

You take a sip—smooth, smoky, expensive. “I figured I owed you a nightcap after dinner.”

His eyes flick down your body before snapping back to meet yours, and this time, there’s no polite veil. No public persona. Just him. And you.

“You don’t owe me a damn thing,” he says quietly. Then adds, with a crooked grin, “But I’m sure as hell glad you’re here.”

You blink once. Twice. “Well,” you murmur, swirling the liquid in your glass, “You did say you wanted to talk more.”

“I did.” He throws back half his drink in one gulp, eyes still locked on yours. “But let’s be honest, sweetheart. I didn’t bring you up here to talk about casting calls.”

There it is.

Blunt. Shameless. Heat flares low in your belly.

He watches the way you react—how you shift slightly on your heels, your breath catching just enough to betray your interest. He sees everything. He’s looking now, really looking. At your mouth, your neckline, the rise of your chest under your blouse. His gaze drags over you like a physical touch, and he doesn’t bother hiding it anymore.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, the words landing like a strike to your core. “You walk into a room and every man forgets his name. But what gets me the most—what’s driving me fucking insane—is that mouth.”

Your lips part, stunned at the turn. “My… mouth?”

He steps closer. His glass clinks softly on the counter as he sets it down. “You’ve got this sharp little tongue and all I can think about is what else you could do with it. Now that we’re alone, I’m not in the mood to play coy. I want you, Y/N. Plain and simple.”

You don’t speak. You can’t. Not with him standing this close, not with the way his voice has dipped low and rough like velvet dragged over gravel. The warmth of the scotch turns molten in your chest. He steps forward, each stride measured, confident, until he stands just a few feet away from you. The low light accentuates the angles of his face—his jaw, his cheekbones—making him look predatory in the most intoxicating way possible. You glance at his mouth, then back up—his expression hungry, dangerous, focused.

You finally find your voice. “Do you usually mix business with—”

“I don’t,” he cuts in. “But I’ve been thinking about you since the second Joaquin introduced us. And I’m not about to stand here and pretend I’m not imagining how you’d sound underneath me.”

Your knees nearly buckle. He’s still not touching you, but you feel the pull in every inch of your skin, every nerve ending tuned to the moment he might.

“And if I said I wasn’t here for just a nightcap either?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

A slow, sinful smile spreads across his face. “Then I’d say stop pretending, and let me show you exactly how much I want you.”

You don’t wait. You set your glass down beside his and he closes the distance, your fingers curling into the fabric of his button-down. His hands are on you in an instant—one at your waist, the other sliding up your spine. He kisses you hard, deep, like he’s been holding back all night and has finally cracked. His mouth is demanding, tongue sliding against yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he exhales a growl into your mouth.

You gasp as he lifts you without warning, setting you on the edge of the marble counter. His hands slide under the skirt of your dress, thumbs dragging along your thighs until they reach your hips.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs into your neck, already knowing you won’t.

“Don’t even think about it.”

That’s all he needs.

He slips one hand between your thighs, fingers dragging along the damp heat between your legs through your panties. His groan is immediate, deep and primal. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re soaked.”

You tilt your head back as he mouths at your throat, sucking a bruise just beneath your ear. “You’ve been driving me crazy all night in this little dress, pretending you weren’t doing it on purpose.”

“I wasn’t,” you lie, breathless.

His eyes flash as he pulls back to look at you. “Sweetheart, you wore this knowing damn well I wouldn’t be able to stop looking at your tits all night.”

You bite your lip.

“See? Not denying it now,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragging them down, slow and deliberate.

He drops to his knees, parting your legs, and when his mouth finds you, your head hits the cabinets behind you. He’s not gentle—he’s ravenous. His tongue moves with confidence, circling, flicking, devouring until you’re moaning, shaking, fisting his hair as he pushes you closer to the edge.

“Bucky—” you gasp, thighs trembling as he grips them tighter.

“I know,” he murmurs, mouth still moving against you. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste you.”

And you do—your body snapping tight as your orgasm crashes over you. He doesn’t stop until your hips buck, until you’re whining and breathless and begging him to give you a second to breathe.

He rises, mouth glistening, and kisses you again—filthy and deep and tasting like you. Then he scoops you off the counter and carries you down the hall toward his bedroom.

The bedroom door closes behind you, and the room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of streetlights filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A king-sized bed dominates the space, sheets the color of storm clouds draped neatly across the mattress.

Bucky doesn’t waste a second. He steps in front of you, pressing you against the wall with a force that sends your breath scattering. One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back so he can lean in and kiss the column of your throat. The other hand works on the infuriatingly tiny zipper to this damned dress. He’s about to tear the damn thing off of you, but he finally manages to unzip it.

The dress pools at your feet like water, and his eyes trail shamelessly down the length of your almost-bare body, lingering on the swell of your breasts and the curve of your hips with an audible, appreciative exhale. He presses hot kisses along the valley between your breasts, and then back up again.

“On your knees,” he murmurs, voice thick. “I’m half-hard, and I want you to take care of it.” And you nod obediently. He snatches the pillow from his bed, tossing it at your feet before you kneel before him.

You reach for his belt buckle; fingers fumbling just enough that he chuckles low in his throat. With an impatient sigh, he hooks his thumbs into his belt loops, jerking his jeans down in one swift motion until they puddle around his ankles along with his boxers. The sight of him—naked, upright, unashamed—makes your fingers tremble as you close the gap again, dropping to your knees.

His cock is already slick with precome, aroused at the thought of you. When you take him into your hand and slide the head across your lips, he shudders, throwing his head back softly. You swallow him slowly, lips gliding from head to base, tongue flicking against the sensitive underside. Already he’s gripping your hair, gentle but firm, encouraging you without forcing. He groans, hips jerking ever so slightly, and the vibration through his length is electric against your tongue.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Just like that. Don’t stop.” He leans against the wall, one hand bracing him while the other fists your hair. You swirl your tongue around the head, then hollow your cheek in a speedy, almost desperate motion. His breath hitches, and his eyes close as though he can’t bear to watch.

When the coil in his body tightens, he pulls you from him and helps you stand, his mouth on yours again. You’re acutely aware of every curve: collarbone, breasts, the hollow at your sternum. He cups you, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice husky. “So perfect.” He flicks his tongue across one nipple, then the other, and you arch into him, mouth falling open.

His clothes—and yours—have long since been discarded on the floor, a trail of temptation from the hallway to the bed. He pushes you down onto the mattress with a steady hand on your shoulder, the sheets cool against your heated skin. You sit up on your elbows, breath catching in your throat at the sight of him: thick, heavy, and achingly hard, veins pronounced along the length, his tip flushed and glistening. Every part of him is sculpted, taut with restraint, like he’s been holding back since the moment he laid eyes on you. And now, he isn’t.

He stands at the edge of the bed, his hand wrapping around himself with deliberate, unhurried strokes, gaze fixed on you like he’s memorizing every inch of your body—the way your lips part in awe, the way your thighs instinctively press together in aching anticipation.

“You want this?” he rasps, voice ragged with desire. His thumb swirls over the slick head of his cock, drawing a low hiss from his throat. “Tell me you want me, baby.”

You shift closer to the edge of the bed, legs spreading wider, like you’re offering yourself up to him. “Quit being a tease,” You murmur, eyes locked on his cock as he strokes it slowly, “And come fuck me like you mean it.”

He groans at your boldness, that shameless invitation tipping him over the edge of restraint. He pulls you closer to him, then steps between your spread thighs, the heat of his body searing against yours. His hands roam your sides—firm and possessive—before gripping your hips with purpose. You can feel him, thick and pulsing, as he drags the head of his cock along your slick folds, lining himself up with a low, reverent curse.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, barely holding back, and then he thrusts in.

The first thrust is slow but impossibly deep, stretching you inch by inch until your breath escapes in a broken gasp. He fills you completely, the pressure overwhelming, perfect. He pauses there, buried to the hilt, savoring the moment as your body tightens around him. And then—he moves.

His rhythm starts punishing and purposeful, each thrust punching the air from your lungs, knocking moans out of you that you don’t bother to muffle. Your fingers claw at his shoulders, nails dragging down the sculpted muscle as he pounds into you, over and over, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. The bed creaks beneath the force, his hips slamming into yours with delicious brutality.

Bucky’s free hand braces against the headboard, gripping it so hard his knuckles go white. His head falls back, sweat-damp hair brushing his temples, jaw tight and mouth parted on a ragged groan as he loses himself in the feel of you—tight, wet, wanting.

You can feel every inch: his cock slick and hot, the way your walls clamp around him with each pass, the slick, wet friction. Your breaths come in ragged pants, and you hook an arm around his neck, tugging him down for a fierce, open-mouthed kiss. Tongues collide, teeth graze, and in that kiss you taste the same hunger you feel in your core.

He pulls back just enough to stare into your eyes, voice rough. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, then drives into you faster. “So fucking wet for me.”

You moan, head falling back on the pillows as he hammers into you. The thrusts come harder now, each one a sharp stab at the center of your heat. Your cunt clenches around him, and you can feel the coil tightening—your orgasm building like a star about to explode.

“Bucky!” you cry out, fingers carding through his hair. “Oh God, Bucky—”

He dips his head and sinks his teeth into the hollow of your collarbone, and a bolt of heat races through you, shattering whatever control you had left. Your back arches off the mattress, hips lifting into him as a tidal wave of white-hot pleasure crashes over you. Fingernails graze his shoulders, leaving trails of need, while your breath tears from your lungs in ragged gasps.

He doesn’t relent. With one last series of punishing, relentless thrusts—each harder, each deeper—he drives you even higher. His voice breaks as he grunts your name like a benediction, and you feel the weight of him shuddering as he swells and spills into you. Your body trembles beneath his, every muscle trembling in the aftershock of his release. Then, spent and utterly raw, he collapses beside you. Together you lie there, chests rising and falling, hearts pounding, breaths mingling in the hushed stillness of the penthouse.

The city hums quietly beyond the penthouse glass, a soft backdrop to the silence stretching between the two of you. The air still smells like sex and skin and scotch, and your limbs feel heavy—sated, warm, anchored beneath the lazy sprawl of his arm around your waist.

Bucky’s chest rises and falls gently, the heat of him pressed against your chest. His fingers graze slow circles into the dip just below your navel, but otherwise, neither of you moves. Not yet. Not when everything is still humming between you.

You let the quiet sit for another beat before speaking, your voice sleep-rough and teasing.

“So… that role you were pitching to me earlier...”

He freezes above you. Just for a second.

Then a breathless laugh bursts out of him, low and startled. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a groan. “Jesus Christ, Y/N. We just had the kind of sex people write bad poetry about, and you’re still chasing your next gig?”

You smirk, tilting your head to glance at him. “I’m just saying. If you’re done defiling me, I’d like to circle back to the business portion of this evening.”

He laughs again—truly laughs this time, the sound warm and sharp and so completely disarmed that it makes your chest squeeze a little.

“You’re fucking ruthless,” he says, still grinning as he tightens his arm around you, tugging you closer like he already doesn’t want to let go. “Alright, alright. We’ll talk casting.”

You smile, eyes fluttering closed as you sink deeper into the pillow. He kisses your shoulder once, slow and lingering.

“In the morning.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #hollywood au #marvel #x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #actress au #joaquin torres #celebrity au #oneshots #oneshot #fanficition

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its-luna-noel · 2 months ago

Text

sun & shadow | gojo x reader

01. SUN: six-eyed dragons

summary: satoru gojo is one of the most powerful and prolific mafia bosses in tokyo. he's ruthless, murderous, and absolutely insufferable. you've been his personal assistant for the past year, perfectly content with your current dynamic. but there's change on the horizon and shadows lurking in every corner. being a mafia boss's assistant comes with its perks... and its challenges.

contents: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, mafia au, crime boss!gojo, smut, fluff, mafia dynamics, blood & violence, implied torture, guns, drinking, dangerous but infuriating gojo x capable and baddie reader, it's giving tony stark/pepper pots from iron man 1

word count: 7.5k

chapter: 1/2 next chapter

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hi there! i've been reading jade city by fonda lee, so i've been wanting to write a mob/gang au since! i'm really happy with how this turned out, so i hope you enjoy! xx additional warnings for this chapter: eventual smut, oral (f! receiving), squirting, pulling out, cum eating, reader is bossy

Timid footsteps pad across wooden floors of Satoru Gojo’s lavish penthouse. Unfamiliar eyes searching, prying into corners, examining the modern art on walls and abstract sculptures on shelves.

Finding…you.

You’re standing in the living room, dressed in loose-fitting slacks and a sweater with a leather portfolio folder held in the crook of your elbow as you watch her freeze, caught snooping. You smile professionally at the young woman in front of you, who blinks at you in surprise. She’s pretty, exactly Satoru’s type, with her striking features and model-like legs that go on for days. But, unfortunately for her, she’s outstayed her welcome for the night.

“Good morning,” you say, keeping that respectful, almost clinical smile on your face. You hand her a garment bag, keeping your eyes respectfully off her body as she leans forward and grabs it. She’s dressed in Satoru’s button-down shirt, rumpled and wine-stained, and nothing else. She, in turn, averts her eyes, fidgeting and looking slightly embarrassed to be standing there with you. “I had your clothes dry cleaned overnight; your belongings and shoes are by the door when you’re dressed and ready to go.”

Her eyes stay averted. “You his girlfriend or something?” she asks.

You let out a little laugh; it’s not the first time you’ve been asked, but it never fails to amuse you, the idea of dating that obnoxious man. “No,” you say, smiling kindly. “I’m just the help.”

She nods and seemingly relaxes, now that she knows she wasn’t just caught being the other woman. She turns over her shoulder and looks back towards the bedroom. “Can I… say goodbye?”

“That won’t be necessary. Mr. Gojo is very busy this morning.”

She looks strangely disappointed, and you feel a little bad for her. Every girl comes in here, even knowing Satoru’s history, and hopes she’ll be the one to change him, to make him want to see them again.

It never turns out their way.

You gesture to a guest bathroom near the entryway to the penthouse. “Please, take anything you need from the bathroom. There’s toiletries there for your use. There’s a car waiting for you outside to take you wherever you’d like.”

She just nods and turns away to get dressed. She shuts the bathroom door behind her, and you leave her to it.

As you make your way towards the dining room, the surrounding bodyguards make sure the girl leaves through the front door and gets into the car.

Satoru’s head pokes out from around the corner. “Is she gone?”

You turn to him and sigh, putting your hands on your hips. “You’ve gotta start taking care of your own problems, Satoru. I can’t keep kicking them out for you.”

He grins and finally fully emerges from the hallway, coming towards you dressed in only his form-fitting boxer briefs, his hair tousled with sleep and sex. You avert your eyes as he comes to join you in the kitchen. “You can do whatever I want you to. You’re my assistant, my little shadow; you’re supposed to do all the shit I don’t feel like doing.”

You grumble under your breath as you sit at the breakfast table, “Wasn’t in the job description.”

He just laughs and sits across from you, stretching his long legs under the table. He leans back against his chair and watches you for a moment with a slight smirk on his face. He nudges your leg with his foot. “You’re not really mad, are you?”

You sigh and look up at him, examining his insincere expression, and still finding that you can’t be angry at all, because this is, indeed, what you signed up for. So you just huff and look back down at your breakfast, and Satoru grins, taking it as a no.

You eat your breakfast in companionable silence, like you have ever since you were hired and moved into his penthouse.

When you first started as personal assistant to Satoru Gojo, you tried to keep your old apartment, citing that it was only a twenty minute commute by train so why would you relocate your entire life to revolve around him? It was even nice to get your mandated time away from him. But one month into your new job, you realized how the odd hours were affecting you; you weren’t leaving until late into the night, and rising to be at his place before his morning alarm woke him up was exhausting.

So, you took his offer to move in, getting your very own ensuite and walk-in closet. It was a pretty good deal in return for dealing with his aggravating ass all day, every day.

“What’s the plan for today?” Satoru asks when he’s done eating, fingers interlocked behind his head, showing off his carved chest and biceps.

You keep your eyes firmly on the binder in front of you; you are all too aware of what kind of teasing one moment of staring could get you. “You have a meeting with the elders this morning about safety for local business owners. The higher ups are concerned that, with the rising tensions between us and the Hellhounds, businesses will take a hit.”

Satoru grumbles and grits his teeth. “This is a clan war; of course numbers will be down. At least we promise them safety and don’t throw them out on their asses to defend themselves.”

You give him a stern look. “Their loyalty and tributes pay our bills, Satoru. You need to respect their wishes.”

It’s a conversation you’ve had several times. Satoru, part of the recent movement that believes businessmen should honor the clan’s wishes and not the other way around, has never been soft on the wealthy populace like his father and grandfather once were, which frustrates those businessmen who feel they’re not being represented. Which, in turn, frustrates the leaders whose pockets they line.

He huffs and pushes away from the table. “I’ll go to the stupid meeting and put their minds at ease. Like I’ve done fifty fucking times.”

Despite his attitude, you relax into your chair. “Thank you.”

He nods, walking back to his bedroom to get dressed. You take the opportunity to watch him go, watch how his back and thighs move as he leaves…

“Stop staring!” he calls over his shoulder, and you curse under your breath as he laughs.

When Satoru returns, he’s dressed in his typical crisp suit, trying to cinch a silver watch on his wrist.

You set down your folder and come over, taking his watch and helping him buckle it. Your fingers brush against the warm skin of his wrist. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he grumbles, pulling away to fix his cuffs. “Is Suguru here?”

You shake your head. “He’ll meet us at the office, he said.”

You hear Satoru swear under his breath. “Can’t even meet him to brief on what we’re supposed to say?” he asks rhetorically, sounding more frustrated than he actually is.

“You know what to say,” you tell him. “Assure them that their profits will be protected while you and the Hellhounds battle, and everything will be fine.”

“I can’t guarantee that!” he argues, not for the first time. “I’m not a medium; I can’t see the future.”

“Neither can mediums, technically. Mediums only talk to the dead.”

He waves his hand. “Whatever. You know what I mean. I can’t tell them I’ll make sure they keep making money, not when there’s so much hostility from the Hellhounds. What I can guarantee is I won’t let them be slaughtered in the crossfire.”

You sigh and follow him down to the private garage, where his favorite cars are parked and free from threat of damage from tenants of the condos below his. He walks over to the black Bugatti and climbs in, the engine rumbling sensually as he turns the key.

You get in the passenger seat and sigh, clutching your portfolio to your chest as he rolls out of the garage. You stare out the window at the passing city. Abruptly, you ask, “Why do you hate them so much?”

“Hate who?”

“The businessmen, Gakuganji and the others. Even Senator Yaga.”

He takes a deep breath, eyes on the road. He says, “I don’t hate them. I hate what they stand for. I hate that they get to live in their pretty estates and watch my men put their lives on the line, and yet complain about inflation rising and profits falling. I hate that I have to bury some of my best fighters, and they get to dictate which rulings pass, which bills are signed. It’s not fair. They’re not out here dying for the clan. Why do they get to be the ones making the final calls?”

You can see the storm in the ocean of his eyes, the turmoil in their blue depths. It’s clear what the problem is; if he’s inherited all this power as clan leader and crime boss, why is he still beholden to everyone else’s wants?

Why isn’t he the god of his own destiny?

You don’t have an answer for him.

Satoru continues the drive to the office building silently, the only sound between you the music playing through the speakers. Finally, when you reach the Six-eyed Dragons headquarters, a three-story office space above local government offices, Satoru kills the engine and looks at you.

“You must think me childish,” he says softly, “whining about fairness and justice in a world like ours.”

You slowly shake your head, meeting his gaze. “I don’t,” you admit, just as softly. “I don’t think you’re a child. I think… you have an ideal of what you wish this world was. There’s no harm in that.”

He huffs, a smile curling his lips as he grabs the keys. He glances back at you ruefully. “Let’s get inside before Yaga throws a fit and comes to find us.”

You smile back and follow him inside.

Suguru is there, dressed in similar finery to Satoru. Where Satoru wears a button-down beneath his gray suit coat, top two buttons undone to show off his white gold chains, Suguru wears a black turtleneck, form-fitting across his chest. You try not to ogle as you make your way over.

Satoru glances over and rolls his eyes. “Get it out of your system,” he sighs dramatically, nudging you playfully with his elbow before he walks over to his underboss. Suguru just gives you a friendly wink, and you roll your eyes at both of them before they duck their heads together and speak in hushed tones all the way to the board room.

You follow after them, stopping right before the threshold of the meeting room. Then, as always, Satoru holds up a hand to you and shakes his head. “Not today,” he tells you, and you simply nod before retreating and taking your seat at one of the desks outside.

He wasn’t telling you that you were incapable of listening or understanding. Instead, he was protecting both you and the clan; you weren’t trained to sustain torture like other clan members were in the face of questioning. If he allowed you inside these meetings, you could be a weakness to the Dragons, and you could get yourself killed.

So you sit, and you wait, like a good little assistant as Satoru and Suguru attend their meeting.

“Sir,” Satoru says, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’m saying–”

“I understand what you’re saying, young man!” Gakuganji snaps, pointing one gnarled finger at him from across the board room table. “You’re saying you can’t protect us in our time of need!”

The rest of the higher ups sit there, watching the argument unfold. Senator Yaga seems uncomfortable with the display.

Satoru tries again. “If I may–”

“This is the thanks you give us, those who push your legislation on drug control and violence?” Gakuganji continued. “Those who have paid tribute to your father, and to your grandfather before him? Those who–?”

Satoru stands abruptly and slams his hands against the table, shaking the wood with a low creak. This, finally, is what stuns the old man into silence. “It seems,” he says, his voice dangerously low, “that you and the others have forgotten why you pay tribute in the first place. It is not to garner favor from us, or to convince us to let you run free. It is in return for our protection during war time. It is to keep you safe, to save your lives. Not your profits, nor your businesses. That is why you pay tribute to the Dragons.”

He can feel the unrest in the room, the disapproving glances thrown towards him. He knows they don’t like him as clan leader; they wish he was still a simple underboss, a man under the rule of another, simply a weapon with no direct say over what violence he committed.

They’d rather answer to his father, but unfortunately for them, he was dead.

Satoru takes a deep breath and continues, calming himself once more. “Ryomen Sukuna and the Tokyo Hellhounds killed my father. It would call down his wrath to not retaliate. But wartimes will not treat us kindly; civilian foot traffic will decrease, as will spending at large. I am sorry to admit that. But we cannot let that be what stops us from taking revenge for my father’s death.”

The table remains quiet, but instead of frustration and indignation, Satoru sees begrudging acceptance in their gazes. Even Gakuganji nods, grimacing.

Glancing at Suguru out of the corner of his eye, Satoru sees that he’s smiling.

Then he returns his gaze to the men in front of him. “If you have any questions, please direct them to my assistant, and she will get you in contact with either Suguru or me. Thank you all for coming.” And with that he excuses himself from the meeting room, breathing a sigh of relief.

Suguru claps him on the shoulder, grinning. “Well done. You had Yaga shitting bricks in there.”

Satoru lets out a huff of a laugh, but he doesn’t respond as you stand from your desk and gather your paperwork. His eyes are fond as he watches you approach. “What do you have for me?”

You dutifully hand over a stack of papers. “I need you to approve these for me, and Senator Yaga already called; he wants a private meeting with you about the charity auction he’s having this weekend. He wants you to attend.”

“Damn,” Satoru sighs, “that’s right. That hardly gives me enough time to find a date.” He looks quizzically between you and Suguru, like he can’t decide which one of you he’d rather see dolled up as his date for a charity gala. Finally, with a shake of his head, he turns back to you. “Guess you’re coming with me.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “I have better things to do on a weekend than be your unwilling guest. Find somebody else.”

“It’s your job!” he replies indignantly.

“Dressing up like your date instead of your assistant is not in the job description!” you insist, equally disgruntled.

“Like we already established, your job description is to do whatever I need from you.” Satoru crosses his arms across his broad chest. “And this weekend, I need a date.”

You huff, throwing your hands up. “I don’t even have a dress to wear!”

So Satoru reaches into his pocket for his wallet and takes out a platinum card. He brandishes it towards you. “Get whatever you like. Just be ready for the auction.”

You growl under your breath and throw a look at Suguru, searching for sympathy. He just watches the exchange with an amused curl to his mouth. You sigh in response and snatch the credit card from Satoru. “Fine.”

Satoru flashes a dazzling smile, all teeth. “Great.”

“But I’m taking Shoko.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but concedes. “Fine.”

You smile back at him brightly. “Great. Am I relieved of my duties for the rest of the day?”

He sighs, but takes the folder from your hands and starts flipping through the pages. “I guess we can hold down the fort for a while without you for a few hours.”

Suguru chimes in, “Which means I’ll–” he grabs the portfolio, “–take care of this.” He winks at you. “I’ve got it, little shadow. Go have fun.”

You thank him, tossing one last questioning look to Satoru: Will you be okay? He waves you off. “Go have fun,” he repeats Suguru’s words.

And so, because you’re not one to disobey your boss, you turn and head out of the building, digging through your purse for your phone.

You hit Shoko’s number, calling the gang’s medical doctor. She answers on the third ring. “Something happen?” she asks, her usual greeting for you.

“Yes,” you say. “Satoru gave me his card. We’re going shopping.”

Immediately her attitude changes; you can hear her voice brighten up considerably. “Oh. Great. Come pick me up from the clinic; I’m treating a few of the kids.

You sigh. You hate it when the gang’s soldiers – the young members on the front lines day to day – get hurt. “I’ll be there.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye. As is her typical routine on a busy day.

You walk downtown to the clinic, and you tell the receptionist that you’re there to pick up Shoko. She smiles at you and nods, letting you know she’ll go tell Shoko you’re here.

So you sit in the waiting room, scrolling through your phone as you wait. A text from Satoru pops up.

|| Satoru Gojo: Miss you~ :( Suguru’s a terrible personal assistant

|| You: it’s been fifteen minutes

He doesn’t respond. You just shake your head fondly before slipping your phone back into your bag.

When Shoko appears, her face is drawn. “Ready to go?” she asks.

“Yeah.” You stand, examining the dark bags under her eyes. Your brows crease in concern. “You doing okay?”

She waves you off. “Just need a smoke. Let’s get out of here.”

You follow her out, watching her shake free a cigarette from the box. “Rough day?” you ask.

She chuckles quietly. “You could say that.” She puts the cig between her teeth and pulls out her lighter. “Itadori, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki were all injured by Hellhound soldiers. I’ve had to stitch all three of them up.” She sighs, letting out a breath of smoke. “I’m just tired.”

You look at her sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Sho.”

She waves her hand, dismissing your apologies. You’re the only one who’s not actually involved in the crime organization, having no say or action to do with the Six-eyed Dragons besides doing the paperwork and scheduling meetings.

You're not the one to be angry with.

“Anway,” she sighs, starting to walk down the street towards the shopping center. “What are we shopping for?”

You make a disgusted noise in the back of your throat. “A dress. Satoru’s making me go to a gala with him this weekend.”

“Why haven’t you two just fucked already?” she asks dryly.

You choke on your own spit.

As you cough and splutter, drawing attention from the passing people on the street, Shoko just smirks at you. Finally you croak, “What?”

“You heard me,” she says. “Why haven’t you–?”

“Don’t say it again!”

She laughs, glee written in her brown eyes for the first time since you picked her up. “I’m serious, though!”

“Shut up, Sho!”

She just shakes her head. “Aren’t you even a little curious?”

“Curious about what?”

“What he’s like in bed! Christ, you guys even live together, don’t you ever hear him with someone else and wish it was you?”

“No!” you cry.

She laughs again. “Fine,” she says, waving off the topic, “I’ll drop it. For now.”

You groan and lead her into the dress shop, listening to her chuckle under her breath the whole way in.

“Satoru!” you call from your bedroom.

“What?” comes his muffled reply.

“I need help with my zipper!”

There comes a begrudging sigh from the other room, and then you hear Satoru’s dress shoes on the hardwood floor as he comes down the hall. When he walks in, he’s adjusting his cuffs, looking at them instead of you. “You know, for my personal assistant, you sure are–” And then he looks up, and the words die in his throat.

You’re dressed in a mauve dress, with your hair down and makeup expertly applied. The sleeves of the dress are off the shoulder, accentuating the expanse of your throat to the top of your chest. The bodice fits you perfectly, and at the waist the fabric spills over, running off of you like a waterfall. You’re reaching backwards to try and tug the zipper further up, but it’s caught around the bottom of your rib cage.

You huff. “Can you stop ogling and just help me?”

He shakes his head free of the thoughts swirling there and steps up behind you. He wiggles the zipper a little. “Damn, you really got this stuck.”

“Don’t force it, you’ll rip the dress.” You try to ignore the sensation of his warm hands at your back, his skin brushing against yours.

Now it’s his turn to scoff. “You think I’m stupid or something?”

“Sometimes,” you tell him.

“I should punish you for that, you know.”

“Please, spare me,” you say dryly.

You can’t see him smile behind you, but you can hear it in his voice when he says, “That’s more like it.” Finally, with one last little wiggle, he gets the zipper free, and he slowly slides it up, his fingers tracing up your spine as he does.

You shiver.

He likes that, it seems; he leans a little closer, his warm breath tickling the hair at the back of your neck. “Shadow–” he says, using his little nickname for you.

You step away, trying to catch your breath. “We should go.”

His hands, frozen in air where they had once been resting on you, slowly fall to his sides. He nods and clears his throat. “Let’s go, then,” he says, and he gestures for you to lead out the door.

You do, grabbing your clutch on your way out. Your heels make an impressive sound on the hardwood. “Is Ijichi driving us?”

“Yes.” Satoru, who would usually be chattering about god knows what, is unusually quiet.

You don’t have much to say, either. So your ride in the backseat of the sleek black sedan is silent. You watch the city as it passes by.

When you pull up to the charity auction, it feels like a red carpet event. There’s journalists and photographers lined up along the entrance, and suddenly you feel a swarm of nerves in the pit of your stomach. But Satoru puts his hand on yours, and when you look at him, his ocean eyes are soft and encouraging. “It’ll be okay,” he says. “I got you.”

Then he comes around and opens the door for you like a gentleman, and you can’t help but think of what Shoko said.

“Why haven’t you two just fucked already? Aren’t you even a little curious?”

Well, now you are.

He holds your hand tightly as he leads you past the photographers, a dashing smile on his face as you head into the venue.

The entranceway leads right into a grand ballroom.

Satoru leads you to the front of the room, where a table is reserved for him and other notable members of society, including Senator Yaga and Gakuganji. Satoru pointedly ignores them in favor of speaking to you instead.

The dinner goes by quickly, with Satoru slowly learning more about you than he ever has, about your family and your childhood and your friends outside of work.

You find that, despite the fact he likes to run his mouth, he’s actually an attentive listener.

Then, once the dinner is completed, the auction starts. Satoru himself bids on a couple art pieces for the penthouse and his office, and once the last piece is sold, the ballroom starts to fill with dancing people.

Satoru looks at you. “You wanna dance?”

You shrug, holding your wine glass. “Not really a dancing person.”

He grins. “Liar. I’ve seen you at the club.”

You scoff, smirking. “That’s different. I’m not drunk.”

“I can change that.” And without another word, Satoru grabs your hand and tugs you up from your seat.

“Satoru–”

“Shh. Just trust me.”

And so, because you do, you follow him. And he buys you both a round of shots, letting you slowly sink into a tipsy stupor.

Once you’re happy and swaying to the music, he smiles and takes your hand, leading you to the dance floor. “I don’t think those moves of yours from the club would really match the vibe here, shadow,” he says, smirking at you as he wraps you up for a slow dance.

You smile and let him, resting your hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, I’d probably give Gakuganji a heart attack.”

“Actually, on second thought, I think you should.”

You giggle and rest your head on his chest as the two of you sway back and forth. He tightens his arms around you. “Thanks for bringing me tonight. I was a little pessimistic but…I had fun.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for being my date on such short notice.” He bends down to put his lips near your ear. “And for looking so beautiful doing it.”

You let out another giggle, not moving from his chest. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” you tell him.

He huffs a small laugh, and he rests his cheek on your head. “I know.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Ever the humble one.”

“You know it,” he teases warmly. And as you continue to dance, you feel yourself sinking into him further.

It’s over too quickly.

He nudges you lightly, breaking you out of your thoughtless dancing. “C’mon, my pretty girl,” he says, and your heart flutters with the compliment, and the ownership of what he said. “Let’s go home.”

As he does, his words wrap round and round your drunken, fuzzy brain.

My pretty girl.

It’s quiet between you as you walk back into the penthouse.

Satoru quickly sheds his shoes, and you reach down to do the same, but he stops you with a hand on your arm. “I’ll do it,” he murmurs, his voice hushed in the darkness of the penthouse.

He kneels down and starts unstrapping your heels, his fingers warm and gentle on your ankles. You hold his shoulder as you step out of your shoes, finally letting your aching feet rest bare on the hardwood.

Satoru looks up at you, blue eyes shadowed. His hand trails up your ankle, up your leg, feeling the muscles of your calf. His touch is warm, like a blaze of fire up your leg, burning into your core. Looking at him down there, on his knee for you, if he wanted to he could just lean in and–

“Satoru,” you breathe, hand moving from his shoulder to his hair.

His breath catches, and he removes his hand from your leg and stands, rising to his full height in front of you. He pulls you close, his hands on your waist. “Little shadow,” he whispers, his lips pressed against your ear, “I need–”

You’re breathless. “Satoru–”

He groans at the sound of his name on your lips. “Please.”

“We shouldn’t–”

His hands come to cup your cheeks, and your breath catches as he leans in, his eyes fervent on yours. “I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. I need to touch you, to feel you, I need–” His words break off, his shoulders heaving with each breath, pupils blown wide.

You stare at him for a long moment, long enough that he’s starting to look desperate, aching. Finally, you whisper, “Okay.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

His lips crash against yours, claiming and totalitarian. It’s like he’s trying to merge the two of you into one entity, to crush you so hard into his chest that he swallows you whole. He moves his lips so deliciously against yours, so dextrous, so demanding, that it makes you weak in the knees. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you up as your legs threaten to give out. His tongue brushes against your lower lip, and you open up for him readily, breathing a soft moan into his mouth.

He grins at the sound. At the proof that you want this as much as he does. He threads his fingers into your hair and holds you there, opening your mouth further for his exploration. You sigh softly, letting him hold you right where he wants you.

His other hand roams your body, gripping at your hips, your waist, your thighs. Gathering up your long skirt and inching beneath it. Then both his hands move back to your zipper, slowly inching it down and opening the back of the dress.

“Satoru,” you whisper, pulling back slightly to look at him.

“I never should’ve even zipped this dress up,” he says, letting the fabric fall down your shoulders, off your body, pooling at your feet. He helps you step out of it, right back into his arms. “I should’ve laid you down and fucked you when you called me in, shouldn’t have gone to the stupid fucking auction in the first place.”

You huff a laugh, tilting your head back as he starts kissing down your neck again. “You had to go,” you say, eyes falling shut.

He grumbles, “I don’t have to do anything. I’m the leader of this fucking clan; I can do what I want.”

You smile at how petulant he sounds. You don’t say anything, you just let him believe he has his own free will as boss, and let him lick down your neck, sucking little marks into your flesh. He takes a step forward, forcing you to take a step back, then another, until he’s guiding you down the hall to the bedrooms. He shrugs off his suit jacket and drops it in a heap on the floor, then moves his hands to cup your tits, kneading them and thumbing over your nipples.

He steers you into his bedroom, nudging you backwards onto the bed.

You crawl backwards up the bed, watching as he undoes his tie and tosses it aside, before climbing up after you. He returns his lips to yours in a mess of tongue and teeth, and you both laugh when your teeth catch in your fervor.

“Sorry,” you whisper, head falling back as he starts kissing down your throat again.

He shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry for, pretty girl.” He pushes you down against the mattress and kisses down your chest, starting to suck on your nipples.

You hum, fingers dipping into his hair. You tug softly. “Kiss me.”

“I am kissing you,” he mumbles around your nipple.

You shiver at the vibrations of his words. “You know what I mean.”

He hums and lets go with a pop, before looking up at you. “I don’t know what you mean,” he teases. “Can’t know if you don’t use your words.”

You groan and tug on his hair. “Kiss me on the mouth.”

He moans as you pull his hair and willingly comes up your body to kiss you. His mouth is fervent on yours.

He kisses you for a while longer, tongue tangling with yours, before he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths as he breathes heavily. “Can I go down on you?” he asks.

Your pupils dilate. “Are you sure?”

He chuckles, leaning in to quickly kiss your mouth one last time. “Yeah, baby. I’m sure.” And then he slowly inches his way down your body. “Can I?”

You nod, watching him as he kisses his way down your stomach, towards your pelvis. He slowly drags your lace panties down your legs, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. Then he tosses them aside, and he’s kissing up your thigh, throwing your legs over his shoulder as he mouths his way closer and closer…

Then he slowly licks a line up your pussy, stopping when his tongue gently nudges your clit.

“Fuck,” he groans, his tongue flicking over your clit again, “your cunt tastes even better than I imagined.”

You’re starstruck, barely able to comprehend what he’s saying. And yet, “Y-you imagined this?”

“All the time, pretty girl,” he says, sucking at your clit, gazing up at you through thick white lashes. “All the fucking time.”

Your head falls back, a soft cry escaping. Your hand tightens in his hair. “Oh, fuck, Satoru.”

“Oh, you like that, huh?” he teases. “Like when I suck on your clit like that?”

“Y-yes!”

“Such a good fucking girl.” He wraps his lips around your swollen clit and sucks again, repeating the same amount of pressure as before. He continues to babble between slowly working you up, eating you out like he’s savoring you. “Fuck, so goddamn pretty like this.”

“You really are, you know?” he asks after a moment.

You stutter, “A-are what?”

“A good girl. Such a good girl. You always do exactly what I need, when I need it, don’t even have to fucking ask you twice. And you take my attitude and throw it right back at me – fuck that’s so hot. You’re perfect, little shadow, just perfect.”

“Satoru?” you say, gripping his hair.

“Yeah, pretty?”

“Shut up and eat me already.” And with that you shove his face further between your legs.

He groans loudly, lapping animatedly at your cunt. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “So fucking bossy all the goddamn time, so fucking sexy.”

“Satoru, stop talking.”

He glances up at you, showing off a shit-eating grin. “I’m talking to her, not you,” he says, and then he presses a kiss to your outer lips, and it’s clear he means he’s talking to your pussy.

You go to roll your eyes, but then he moves one of his hands and slowly pushes a finger inside you.

You yelp, not expecting the intrusion. His finger is long, and it’s immediately searching, trying to find a spot that’ll make you see stars, to make you cry out his name over and over…

When he finds it, curling his finger up against the top wall of your pussy against the spongy tissue there, you gasp. Your hips jump at the sensation. He chuckles quietly. “There it is,” he whispers, diving back in to start flicking his tongue against your clit again. He adds a second finger and starts gently stroking your g-spot as you writhe and cry out, hips bucking. His free hand comes to steady your hips. “Now, now,” he teases, eyes glinting as they gaze up at you again, “behave, pretty girl, or I’ll have to put you over my knee.”

You scoff and say, “Like to see you try– ah!” Your words cut off when he starts fingerfucking you with fervor, moving his hand hard and fast against your g-spot until your body is writhing beneath his. He keeps you pinned to the bed, grinning at you as he laps at your clit, riding each wave of pleasure with you.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, “cum for me.”

His fingers don’t stop working, and neither does his tongue, and all of a sudden you gasp, head flying up to look at him in panic. “Satoru, stop, I-I–”

He shakes his head. “Not happening.”

“Satoru, I’m gonna–”

“Give it to me, pretty.”

And as his fingers hit your g-spot again, and again, your back arches off the bed, and you’re shaking so fucking hard, and he’s wearing that same grin, and then–

A rush of white-hot pleasure, and then your thighs feel hot and wet.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers in surprise.

“S-Satoru, I tried to warn you,” you pant, body still locked in ecstasy, eyes rolled back.

“Warn me? Baby, that was so fucking hot.” He licks his lips. “Let me see it again.”

So he starts slamming his fingers, the same way he did before, into your g-spot, until your walls are fluttering and you squirt again, orgasming so hard your vision goes black for a moment.

He groans, and he looks like he might cum right there in his pants. “Fuck, baby, so fucking good.” He pulls out his fingers and licks them clean, keeping his ocean eyes locked on yours.

Your gaze is hazy, pleasure-ridden. Dazed.

He grins again and crawls up your body, kissing you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue. You moan and kiss him back enthusiastically, sucking on his tongue.

He groans back before pulling away, panting. “You think you can take my dick now, pretty?” he asks.

You nod, already reaching for his belt.

He huffs a laugh and lets you unbuckle the belt, one hand coming up to gently stroke your jaw. “Such an eager thing, huh? You want my cock that bad?”

You growl under your breath. “You’re getting a big head.”

He winks. “I’m big everywhere else; it’s only fair.”

And when you finally get his pants down his thighs, you realize he’s not lying.

He is big, long and girthy and beautifully imprinted against his tight boxer briefs. You’re practically salivating at the sight of it, and your fingers dip into the elastic band of his underwear and slowly push those down, too.

His cock springs free, hard and blushing a pretty shade of pink.

You moan at the sight, eyes flickering from the pink tip to his face, where he’s still smiling down at you. “Ready for it?” he asks.

You nod again.

So he grabs your hips and puts you where he wants you, on your back with your legs hitched around his hips. He takes his dick in hand and slaps your clit with the tip, watching your body jolt at the stimulation. Then he gathers your wetness and slowly pushes in.

Both of you moan in time with each other, heads bent together as you both watch the intrusion. He pushes past the first ring of resistance slowly, gently, and then the rest of his thrust is effortless until he bottoms out.

You feel like he’s about to come out of your mouth with how deep he is.

Then he starts moving his hips, and it’s like he’s ravaging you.

He’s moving so fast it’s nearly blinding, drawing cries from your lips as he fucking demolishes you. Pleasure arcs up your spine as he thrusts into your dripping pussy, pornographic sounds filling the bedroom as he pulls out and slowly pushes back inside, groaning and praising you the entire time.

“Good girl,” he grunts, hands roaming your body. “Good fucking girl.”

Satoru grabs one of your legs and throws it over his shoulder, stretching you out until your hips are perfectly aligned. At this angle he hits something fucking devastating inside you, thrusting his beautiful cock up against your g-spot with every thrust. Each roll of his hips draws another cry from between your lips, another “Oh yes! Fuck, Satoru!”

He’s wearing a cocky grin as he fucks you into the bed.

He turns his head, licking a line up the side of your calf before leaving a quick kiss to your ankle. “That feel good, pretty girl?” he asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious.

You can’t even reply at this point, fucked so good on his dick that you’re seeing stars. You just reach down and grip his muscular forearms, nails digging into flesh as you gaze at him, eyes hazy and lips parted.

He grins a little wider, clearly pleased with himself.

“F-fuck, Toru,” you whine, eyes rolling back, “I’m gonna cum. I-I’m gonna cum again!”

He’s never heard you call him that before. He can’t deny that he likes it. “That’s it, pretty girl, cum for me. Cum for your Toru.”

Your Toru.

At his words, your body convulses and shudders as you orgasm again.

He groans as you grip him so fucking hard it almost milks him dry. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grits through his teeth. “Feels so goddamn good.”

You whimper, eyes still rolled back. “Oh please.”

“Please what, baby?” He kisses your ankle again.

“Want you to cum.”

He laughs softly, his hand coming down to rub at your clit again. “Give me one more and I will, okay?”

You sob, head falling back. “I-I can’t,” you cry.

“Yes, you can,” he says, his voice low and soothing instead of mocking. “You want me to cum, you’re gonna have to work for it. Now, give me another.”

As if he commanded it, you climax, your thighs shaking around him as you squeeze him once more. He throws his head back, the rhythm of his thrusts finally starting to falter.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes screwed shut. “Gonna cum. Where you want it, pretty? Can I cum on your gorgeous face like a good girl?”

You just nod, eager to give him whatever he wants in return for him fucking you so goddamn well. And so he shuffles up your body until his knees are by your shoulders, and you watch him jerk himself off as he moans over you.

“So fucking pretty,” he whines, and he pumps his hand up and down his length over your face. “Close your eyes, pretty girl, close your eyes and open your fucking mouth. Open it, please open it–”

You do, letting your eyes fall closed and dropping your jaw to stick out your tongue. You hear him moan again, high and pathetic, before he cums, spurting heat over your cheeks and mouth. “Fuck, good girl, good girl, baby,” he chants as he fucks his fist over your face, squeezing out the last few drops of cum onto your lips.

You can hear him panting, and you open your eyes slowly to see him staring down at you. He groans. “Close your eyes, baby, I can’t take looking at you; I’ll cum again.”

You giggle softly before reaching up and dipping your fingers into one of the strings of cum. You gather the sticky warmth from your cheeks and dip your fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean.

He whimpers again. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

You smile up at him around your fingers.

He slowly lowers himself down beside you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, and he tugs you towards his chest until your head rests on his shoulder. Both of you are breathing heavily.

“Satoru,” you whisper. “I have to clean my face off.”

He hums, closing his eyes. “Just give me a second; I’ll get you a washcloth. Need a second to recover.”

You huff a laugh, but let him take his breather. Finally, after a moment, he pats your hip. “Lemme up,” he says.

You roll over onto your back, letting him stand from the bed. He walks to the ensuite bathroom, gone for only a few moments before he comes back with a warm washcloth. He sits on the end of the bed and leans over you, gently cleaning off your face, quiet and thoughtful as he washes you off.

You watch him the entire time.

Then he tosses the washcloth into the hamper and climbs back into bed, tucking you against his chest once more. He takes a long, deep breath, closing his eyes once more.

“Satoru,” you whisper.

He opens one eye and looks down at you. “What, baby?”

“We’re not gonna…wake up in the morning and regret this…right?”

He lifts his head, suddenly realizing your question is serious. “Of course not,” he says, sounding a little stung. “Is that really what you think?”

You examine the look in his eyes. “I-I don’t know. It’s just…you’re my boss, you know? I’m just your assistant, I–”

He takes your jaw in his hand and tugs your face towards his. You blink in surprise. His eyes are hard and emphatic. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. Get that thought out of your mind now. You’re special, and I already told you I thought of doing this for ages. I should’ve done it before, but I was too chicken shit to do anything about it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

He throws up his other hand, laughing. “Cause you’re you! You’re perfect and beautiful and give me shit all the time, and I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But you, in that dress tonight… I couldn’t not.”

You giggle.

He smiles at the sound and pets your hair, tucking a lock behind your ear. “I want you, baby,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Trust me on that.”

And so you do, and he holds you for the rest of the night, crushed against his chest. And every time you start to doubt his feelings, he tightens his arms around you, holding you a little bit closer.

You suppose you can trust him, just this time.

thanks for reading! -luna link to ao3 | next

(taglist: @heyl820)

#banners by cafekitsune #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo fluff #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #satoru gojo #fanfiction #angst with a happy ending #angst

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 1 year ago

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Another celebration ficlet request! The original ask for this one seems to have gotten deleted, and it was sent on anon, so I can't even tag the person who sent it in. 😫

I hope you still see this and enjoy, nonnie! 💖

Heaven's in the backseat

Rated: E

Words: 1,000

Tags: Mafia AU; Hitman Eddie Munson; Mob boss Dick Harrington; Mentions of Stommy; Knife play; Dubious consent; Obsessive behavior; Violent thoughts; Car sex; Eddie has anger management issues and Steve is a little slut

Notes: Previous part | Part 1

Eddie has just lit his first cigarette of the night when one of the waiters informs him that Mr. Harrington wants him outside. As he grinds the cigarette under his boot, he imagines doing the same thing to Dick’s stupid head.

Working for a mob boss is so goddamn exhausting.

A week where Eddie doesn't come close to kicking the proverbial bucket is a good week - especially now that Dick has been taking him along as a bodyguard more and more often. He’s not complaining about that, though. Occupational hazard.

No, what’s really annoying is the damn black tie affairs. As if squeezing into a fucking suit wasn't enough, the social dynamics of the underworld are mind-numbingly complicated. All of the big mob families are either related or out to kill each other - more often than not both at the same time. It makes events such as this an interesting affair, to say the least. All night long, Eddie has been hovering at the edge of the room while the boss ate and drank and shook hands with other important farts. Always vigilant, always ready to pull his knife from its holster under his suit jacket. And now he can’t even step out for ten minutes to have a fucking smoke?

The car is parked in the driveway when he arrives. Next to it are the boss himself and a swaying figure with disheveled chestnut hair wearing a rumpled suit.

Eddie’s blood bubbles and his steps speed up.

“-fucking disgrace,” Harrington says just as he flies down the stairway leading to the car. “You’ll do anything for attention, won’t you?”

Eddie doesn’t catch the slurred reply, but it must’ve been the wrong one, because Harrington slaps the boy across the face before wrestling him into the backseat. Eddie’s hand is already on the knife when the asshole turns. For a heartbeat, he revels in the temptation of lodging the blade right in the middle of that ugly face, but he reigns himself in. Too much security, too many witnesses.

“My son is drunk,” Harrington says. “Drive him home.”

Before Eddie has a chance to reply, he has stalked past him and back into the venue.

“What the hell took you so long?”

Eddie casts a look into the rearview mirror to see the venue disappearing behind them and Steve straightening up in his seat. His voice is still slightly slurred, his eyes a bit unfocused - but he's nowhere near as drunk as he appeared seconds ago. Eddie's mouth tugs into a grin.

“What, I don't get a thank you for driving you? Where are your manners, little nymph?”

“Why should I thank you for doing your literal job?” Steve’s mirror image scoffs at him. His bottom lip is pink and a little puffy where his father slapped him. “And don't call me that.”

“I'm a bodyguard, not a chauffeur,” Eddie says. “There's a difference, y’know?”

“You're a dog,” Steve drawls. “You do whatever my dad tells you to.”

Eddie’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. Steve’s mouth curls at the edges, but his eyes stay bored.

“How about you?” Eddie asks, once he has blinked the crimson shadows from his vision. “What did you do to incur his wrath? Must’ve been pretty bad, if you feigned being so wasted he’d send you home like some misbehaving child.”

“None of your business, is it?” Steve snaps. Then, after a second or two, the aloof facade slips back on and he shrugs. “He caught me in the bathroom with Hagan.”

Something slithers low in Eddie’s gut, dangerous and deadly like a coil of venomous snakes.

“What? That ugly, freckled fuckface? C’mon, you can do better than that.”

Steve laughs, a sound like the edge of a knife - bright and pretty and sharp-edged. “Why do you care? You don’t own me. What is it to you if Tommy fucking Hagan shoves his cock up my-”

He doesn’t get any further than that. Eddie pulls over to the side of the road and slams on the brakes. One fluid motion later, he has scaled the middle console and has Steve pinned on the backseat, wrists trapped over his head in a one-handed vice grip.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, voice low and lethal. “But this is where you’re wrong, see? You are mine. And one of these days, I’m gonna make sure everyone knows it.”

Those pretty eyes go wide as he slides the knife from its holster. The blade gleams, catching what little light there is in the dark car. With one flick of his wrist, he slices away the top button of Steve’s expensive shirt, revealing the long, graceful line of that neck. Steve exhales a shaky breath and his throat bops with it.

“One of these days,” Eddie murmurs, trailing the tip of the blade over tan skin, leaving just the thinnest of red lines. “I’m gonna kill everyone who ever looked at you or touched you wrong and claim you as mine. Stuff you so full of my cock you forget about everyone else, until the only word you remember is my name. Carve my initials into that pretty skin of yours so nobody ever forgets who you belong to.”

Steve looks up at him, eyes bright and hazy, and a little whimper falls from his perfect lips. He writhes deliciously in Eddie’s hold, and for a moment, Eddie thinks he’s scared, that he’s gonna plead for mercy.

But then he slots his leg between Steve’s thighs to hold him in place and he feels it. He looks down at the boy in awed surprise and can’t help the grin that creeps over his face.

When Steve speaks, his voice is hoarse and breathy, but not from fear.

“Do it, then,” he challenges, rolling his hips and grinding his hard cock against Eddie’s thigh. His lips strain to meet Eddie’s, breath warm and wet against his skin. “Make me yours.”

Eddie has never been so happy to obey in his life.

Part 5

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hype's 1k follower ficlets #kiss that ring #mafia au

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videnrambles · 3 months ago

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JJK Small AU/Plot/Thing/I have a lot in my head and I need it out

I have this mini AU thats very self-indulgent where Junpei lived and became window. He has an apartment near by Jujutsu Tech so that he can do Window training on the weekend. Nanami, Yuuji, and Todo visit/stay with him constantly because I saw fanart of them together once and I haven't been the same since.

They basically roleplay a single dad and his 3 kids who have their own apartment and their lives aren't constantly in danger when they are there.

Okay this is long as shit, so I'm adding a keep reading thing.

Anyway I have a bunch of soft little ideas for the AU:

In this AU Sukuna teaches Yuji how to use shrine when he stayed over night at Junpei's because Yuji kept complaining about how all the knifes were always dull or damaged.

Usually all forms of CE and Jujutsu talk are banned from the apartment. But when Todo rushes into the kitchen to tell him off and sees his brother with headphones, softly humming as he practices shrine on food, finally looking his actual age. He quickly becomes the exception.

Yuuji gets really fucking good at using shrine, it's not very strong yet but he's able to use it in rapid succession. He basically learned to use it at the same speed of vegetable chopping. Yeah he could make multiple cuts, but he just found it relaxing to make single cuts in quickly. So while he may not be as strong a Sukuna, he some how trained himself to be significantly faster.

Junpei still has his technique, the shikigami roleplay as normal pet jellyfish. They sit in a bunch of different tanks spread around Junpei's house.

Junpei has an extra bedroom with bunkbeds Todo and Yuji. Nanami takes claim over the pull out couch. On the rare occasions someone outside their group stays over(Gojo wants to roleplay normal too, but keeps failing), they get a sleeping pad and the floor.

Junpei's apartment has a pretty big apartment (Gojo bought it knowing Yuji would likely stay over a lot): 2 bedrooms, 2 offices, a living/TV room, dining room, a bathroom with a shower and tub, a surprisingly large kitchen, and a small balcony.

Nanami has taken up one of the offices in Junpei's house, its another area that falls under the grey zone of the no jujutsu rule. Nanami is allowed to do jujutsu paperwork in their but he has to pretend it's like spread sheets or smth.

Despite owning the house Junpei views the kitchen as Yuji's domain and always texts/calls when he wants to use something.

Todo and Junpei share the other office, Junpei uses it to watch movies and Todo uses it for video games. Nanami bought them a really high end PC that runs basically everything.

Todo once told Mai about his weekend roleplay get away and she was very judgmental about it. No one has actively discussed it with "non-family" since.

Dad Nanami, eldest brother is Todo, second eldest is Junpei, youngest brother Yuji

Gojo keeps trying to get in on the family dynamic but keeps failing miserably. Yuji one time took pity on him and made him the family cat.

Ijichi gets to be their Uncle because I want him to have something that Gojo doesn't.

Sukuna is referred to as the problematic grandpa

Todo and Junpei bond over knowing a lot about filming. Junpei because he's a film buff and Todo because he watched the BTS for every Takada-chan video ever made.

Tsukamoto is given to Yuji and kept at the apartment because I love that weird little bear and there is zero chance that Yuji didn't trauma bond to that fucker.

They have family movie night and they all sit together on the couch cus holy shit these bitches need hugs. Yuji needs to hold Tsukamoto during movies nights or he will subconsciously push CE into whatever he sets his hand on, this usually results in an explosion.

Todo tutors both his brothers, Yuji needs help in academics, Junpei needs help in sorcery.

aro/ace Junpei?

When Todo asked Junpei his type he said he'd honestly just rather have garlic bread and it moved Todo so much that he got hit with a whole new set of memories linking all 3 brothers together.

When Todo asked Nanami, he looked at Todo dead in the eyes and said Money. Todo believes his father to be a gold digger who simply finds Satoru Gojo not worth the effort.

People born into sorcery families are not allowed in, they can't do much against Gojo except ignore him, but Todo will fist fight everyone else. He will still attempt to fight Gojo, it just doesn't usually work.

People who were raised by sorcerers break the roleplay immersion.

I think Miwa could come over sometimes and be like a cousin

Mechamaru onetime came with and Todo acted like an overprotective brother and ripped the puppets head off. The head is now in one of Junpei's fish tanks.

Nanami keeps a shrine to Haibara in his office, Yuji has one for Wasuke in his and Todo's room, and Junpei has one for his mom in his room.

Idk man, they just kinda show up when they feel done with Jujutsu society and that they have a normal life. It's prolly not the healthiest coping mechanism but they got each other :D

I just really wanted to put my comfort au into words, its been a long day

I wish I had more for Todo ;-;

This was mainly inspired but the shrine and fast cutting thing but then I kinda just kept typing.

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welcomingdisaster · 7 months ago

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Rec List: Favorite Fics of the Year!

hey hey hey! here are my favorite fics that I read this year. This is not an all-encompassing list, and I know I am missing some fics I read and loved. I always appreciate more fics recs. That said, here are some things that really stuck with me this year!

before the black gate by TheChasm ( @thelordofgifs)

Lôminzil would mark her, if she could: leave the indentations of her fingers on Abraphêl’s hips and thighs and kiss-bruises on her neck, carve her name into Abraphêl’s flawless skin so that all who set eyes upon her might know to whom she belongs.

Lôminzil does not much like her job as one of Tar-Míriel's attendants, but there are consolations. Her secret work spying on the Queen for Ar-Pharazôn, for one: and Abraphêl, too.

This list in in particular order, but I am putting this one first because I believe it is CRIMINALLY underrated. The odds are stacked against it as a femslash, original character, Numenor centric fic but listen it is SO good. The tragedy and inevitability is SO peak Silmarillion to me. The character work is delicate and intense at once. It is both soft and violent at the same time. It makes me feral. It makes me cry. Please read it.

Also, because I feel weird recc'ing ghosti without including any M&M fics (which are all excellent!) - her little one shot, crowns and other trinkets, somehow stuck with me a lot. It's quiet and understated and just catches something about the characters to me.

A Common Chord by sallysavestheday ( @sallysavestheday)

I loved him first, Maglor liked to tell himself. Fingon and Maglor and Maedhros, loving.

Just so obsessed with this dynamic. Sally's language is as always so creative and vivid and good to read; the characters in this are so vivid and breathing. This fic is warm and cold at once. Please read it.

Silence Stretched as a Shadow Between the Trees by Melesta ( @melestasflight)

This is what Maedhros wanted all along, this is why he selfishly stole Fingon from his duties and brought him here at the edges of Beleriand. Because here, there are no houses or banners, no wars to fight, no rules of propriety. They are not the eldest sons of great fathers, nor lords of mighty kingdoms. To the forest and its cycle, they are no more worthy than the mayflies that emerge and die within a single turning of the Sun.

A late entry, published a few days ago; but I've already read it twice, so I think it has to count. I'm always a sucker for art writing and location writing, and this has both in droves. Just really beautiful writing and great character work; this is kind of cheating as a compliment to Melesta, but what a wonderful wonderful Fingon. Aurgh. Love the osanwë work in this as well.

I was also going to include Red by the same author, but I think I actually read it last year. Go read it anyways.

Oh everybody waits so long by polutropos ( @polutrope)

In the summer of 2017, Fingon is called to the scene of hit-and-run while on duty. He's shocked to discover the victim is Maedhros, his ex-boyfriend he hasn't spoken to in two years. Over the next six months, they stumble and fumble their way back to each other.

I am jealous of this fic's ability to render the Silmarillion believably in a totally different world. It takes a lot of writing chops and a lot of brain juice to do an AU this different, and boy do you pull it off. This is emotional, intense, and quite often funny. I think about it a lot.

The ficlet collection in this universe is also so so fun!

On the same note - Hearken Still Unsated by the same author.

“For how many years have we two listened for the echoes of the Music of Creation in the oceans and lakes and rivers? And yet we will never be sated. Like the water in which they say it lives, the Song does not rest but ever moves and changes. It may pool in a great lake for an age and then pour down into the Sea in another. It fills whatever spaces it can and flows by whatever paths most easily open before it.”

When the Noldor return to Middle-earth to make war on Morgoth, only rumours reach Menegroth of their reasons for coming, but Doriath's minstrel experiences their loss and longing through his connection to Music and the gift of his Queen. Years later, he is sent to the Feast of Reuniting and meets the Elf whose grief he felt. A story about the Eldar returning home, their connection to the land and to each other, and their relationship to Music and fate, love and free will.

Not a fic from 2024, but I did read it in 2024. One of the most lovingly-crafted, carefully made fics I've read. No word is out of place. Foundational to the ship. Check it out.

arrangement of flute and harp by jouissant ( @jouissants)

“What sort of man leaves his lover abed with his brother? Fingon, hast thou ever heard of such a thing?”

Incredibly tasty character dynamics in a lot of ways. The writing is delicious and vivid and extremely witty at the same time. I love the character voices in this most of all - so sharp and well-defined, fitting for the ebb and flow of the fic. The way the characters are intertwined and tangled up together is so striking. And the smut was really hot, which goes without saying for the author.

Mockingbird by littlewhitemouse @littlewhitemouseagain

One of his captains had asked him, “Maglor, do you not sleep beside with your brother when visiting him?” and Maglor had replied, “I do, as it makes it easier for me to sleep,” and his captain had said, “Which is good, because you do not usually sleep,” and Maglor had said, “I do not.” But his captain had then asked, “but doesn’t Prince Fingon also bed with him, on account of their completely secret and frankly astounding incestuous affair that no one knows about (and I certainly don’t myself)?” and Maglor had replied, “Yes, and that makes it harder to sleep.” On account of that being a full and complete explanation, Maglor’s captain had said, “Ah,” and that was the end of that conversation.

This caught me from the absolutely-hilarious description and kept me for each word. You can probably tell this is a very funny fic, but it is also an extremely thoughtful and earnest fic, an incredible Maglor character exploration, and a gorgeous rendering of the world and customs and clothing and jewelry and AHHH. Love this fic. Frequent re-read.

In Memory to Dwell by EilinelsGhost ( @eilinelsghost)

"I was healed, they told me. As ready as a soul could be." Bitterness laced through Finrod's words and he drew the robe close about him once more. "In what way is this readiness? Is there no longer healing in Námo’s halls?"

Immediately after his reembodiment, Finrod shuts himself within his chambers and allows none but his mother to come near. When Eärwen is called away, Finarfin must navigate his grief at this new separation and both father and son wrangle together with the toll the First Age has left upon them.

Really thoughtful and carefully crafted examination of elven culture, disability, reembodiment. The author is extremely precise with her language and her characterization; the little details in the text really make this fic very striking and real. I loved how this balanced the family dynamic (and Finarfin's longing for his son as a child again) against the adult separation. Bittersweet in the best way.

And a lot of philosophy, which is suitable for Finrod, ha.

Finrod/Sauron One Thousand Nights Esque AU by am_fae @meadowlarkx

In which Finrod does not die at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, but begins an extended game of wills as Sauron's captive. Mairon is intrigued by the mysterious Elf singer. That's all there is to it.

Cheating by posting the whole series but GAUGH this is just so good. I was chomping at the bit to learn how Lark was going to wrap this one up and it SO delivered. This is tender, brutal, and so crisp. It left me wanting so many contradictory things for the characters (escape. love him. escape. stay) and dug at the core of goodness and corruption in such an interesting way. As always I am blown away by Lark's dialogue and POV writing. Just really great stuff.

And that is all, for now! I unfortunately read less fic than I wanted to this year, so I know I missed out on some gems. I'm thinking of putting together a quick list of some favorite short fics and drabbles, if I can find them (I have lost more than I thought) - keep an eye out for that! And always feel free to add on to this post with your own recs. :)

#lena speaks #silm recs #silm fanfic #the silmarillion

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demonictumble · 1 year ago

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fic rec list (1/??? )

this is a fic recommendation list for whomever wants a good read. All of these are on AO3. I have not provided links, so just search them up!

If you do end up reading any of these, or really any fic in general, remember to leave the author comments!! They deserve them, esp because they do this for free and they deserve to know how beautiful their writing is and how appreciated they are.

My PSA: COMMENT ON FICS AND DONT TAKE AUTHORS FOR GRANTED

DC..

IMPORTANT NOTE I am not a religious fan where I only like a fic when it adheres to canon characterization or texts. I can enjoy fics even when they completely throw off what's actually canon and that's okay for me, but it might not be for you. So just keep this in mind and the back button exists for a reason if you don't like something.

Buy Back the Secrets by Sundiscus (incomplete)

Tim Drake and Kon El centered!! OH MY GODS. I could rave on and on about this fic all day but I'll have to keep it brief. I've reread at LEAST 5 times. It's brilliant. The writing, the plot, the characterizations!! They are incredible. If I had to use a phrase to describe it, it would be "identity shenanigans and timkon" but that simplifies the absolute masterpiece that it is SO MUCH

Executive Assistant to the Batman by heartslogos (complete)

Tim is basically Bruce Wayne's assistant and is desperately trying to avoid letting them know that he knows. This is complete crack, but it is hilarious. The writing is so funny and It's what I need after a bad day or anything tbh. It may not be completely true to characters or whatever, but it makes up for it a thousand times over in spirit and the laughs it's produced from me.

anything (not the title because literally ANYTHING) by IzzyMRDB

I can rave about them all day because the dc/batfam fics I have seen them right are all so delicious and I devoured them far too fast and momggg its just so good. and I love their writing style <3

Reverse Robin AU by yellow_cabellero (complete)

I CANNOT DO THIS SERIES JUSTICE WITH MY WORDS. IT is a must read for me. The writer writes spectacularly and the characterization, even though its a reverse robin, feels on point, especially considering the circumstances (Im a huge believer in circumstances shape a person's personality, which is what I think occurs beautifully in all of these fics). They're just so GOOD.

Also this author has a STEPH FIC that is stunning. 10/10. Steph is a character that doesn't get the appreciation she deserves, so this fic was especially more touching for me. It was terrific seeing her girl bossing in the 90s (IT ALSO FELT SO PERIOD ACCURATE CAN WE TALK ABOUT THAT). Not to mention, the author shows off character flaws in a believable manner and nobody is a Mary Sue and it's just EVERYUTHING IS JUST *chefs kiss* by them.

The Fishbowl by LordLuxury (complete)

This is Dick Grayson centered. THEY HAVE MADE A MASTERPIECE. I genuinely mean it. Dick is constantly trying to pull the family together, he is trying to be the glue as everything tries to go the opposite. LET THIS MAN HAVE HIS FAMILY. This had me in shambles. Bad Dad Bruce hurt me, but it was just so realistic. That's what gets me. The whole dynamics portrayed in The Fishbowl are so goddamn realistic and it feels so real. Everyone is flawed in their own way and its just... PLEASE READ IT I BEG OF YOU.

Love and Bruises by Acin_Grayson and Hoebiwan (complete)

Despite what the title may suggest, this is actually funny! Jason thinks Batman is abusing Bruce. And I just remember dying of laughter as I read this. Terrific! Would read and Will read again

Marvel (I am a movies fan so most if not all fics I recommend from here on out will be probably based on movies!)

Tennessee Outreach for Spider-Man and Friends by ciaconna

GREAT FIC. Harley (potato gun kid in one of the iron man movies for those who don't remember) gets an internship with Tony stark for college application reasons and its to help Spiderman. Peter Parker and Harley whateverhislastname is such a funny duo and they made the fic spectacular. Terrific writing omg.

Peter and the Jailbirds by beautifullights

I THINK THIS FIC HURT ME. I don't really remember much bc its been a year and a half, but I think my emotions remember because I feel mildly sad when I think about it. Peter is on the raft and bonds with the ex-avengers also on the raft. The premise of a teenager possibly spending the rest of his life in prison is terrible, but I swear this fic has funny moments and the conversations that occur are to die for because the WRITING. WHEW.

O Brother, Where Art Thou? by theskeptileptic

Tony survives and it's set after No Way Home. Where I'm pretty sure the only people dead are May and Pepper. Morgan saves the day by remembering her big brother (Im a sucker for big brother Peter arc). Peter is kind of a mini Tony in this one I think, which is such an interesting take. And it's such a coming home story and its just so beautiful.

Cross Overs:

Even Heroes Have the Right To Dream by Bounemr (complete)

mlb/dc crossover!! where marinate and Jon are retired superhero and go to college together! Great writing and plot with a good ending. Fluffy for the most part as far I as I can remember (it's been a year since I've read it so you know it's good if I can still remember)

Hired Hands by neighborhood_yogurt (incomplete)

Percy Jackson/ DC crossover!! It's been a while since I've read this one too but It's stuck with me. It's hilarious and I need to reread it but Percy is accidentally on Penguin's payroll because he's just a dumb blonde at heart, but it's okay we all love him. And Shenanigans occur. I don't remember exactly what happens so reminder to read this again for myself as well!

(IDK if any of these authors have tumblrs, if they do, someone please tag them and I will forever be in your debt)

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mytragedyperson · 7 months ago

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So I'm once again having BSD x death note thoughts. I don't know what it is about these two shows that makes me want them but I do.

So new (or new to me) crossover fic idea. I probably won't ever write this myself, so if you want to write it, please do feel free to do so and either tag me or send a link in comments or reblogs. Or if you've seen a fic like this, comment it.

So, basically, my idea is, during the two years Dazai is keeping a low profile. He's left the mafia but isn't yet with the ADA. He pulls some strings and gets enrolled as the same school as Light Yagami. Him and Light kind of become academic rivals as they're the only ones in that class who really pose a challenge to each other. Light secretly hate Dazai. Dazai is mostly indifferent but also curious about how smart he is.

Dazai picks up the Death Note instead of Light. He uses it to take out people who pose a threat to him or Chuuya. Except Fyodor. Dazai's problem is he'll let smart monsters live so he has a challenge. So like in the show people notice. Dazai isn't bothered about being discrete because he knows they won't be able to catch him unless he wants them to.

Enter L, who, like in the show, decides he wants to catch Kira. He does the same test as in Death Note. And Dazai basically springs the trap on purpose because he's heard about L and wants to test him. L still thinks Light is Kira at first and starts testing him. Meanwhile, Chuuya learns about this and knows its Dazai. He pops in regularly throughout the fic when he's not doing port mafia stuff.

Eventually it's Light that suggests Dazai as a potential suspect, and L decides there's a % chance that it is Dazai, so now they need evidence.

Also, Misa still comes. She also thinks it's Light initially, she still falls in love with Light. Light treats her with the same indifference as he does when he forgets he's Kira and just doesn't really entertain it. Since he's not Kira it's less Light vs L and more Light and L vs Dazai, and this is, in my head a Lawlight AU. I don't really know about other ships, I imagine Soukouku. Obviously you don't have to do this if you're writing it, you can decide the ships.

So, after a while of back and forth and L and Light actually getting close enough to catch him, Dazai decides they might be useful whenever the Book starts causing trouble, so basically let's them catch him by letting them find the Death Note.

I can't decide what kind of dynamic Dazai and Ryuk would have, I just know it would be different than with Light.

So, after they find out Dazai is Kira, they ho to arrest him, but Dazai basically tells them they can't because he's one of the only people that can stop an angry god of Calamity from destroying this world. Yes he means Chuuya, no he doesn't tell them that. Instead he tells them about the book situation and, in this AU, Dazai doesn't know where the book is, he doesn't have it, and that's what he sets L and Light to do, find the book and keep it safe. He even agrees to stop using the Death Note since by this point he's tired of it.

Also he refuses to use the Death Note for Fyodor because he wants to stop and kill him on his own. He joins the ADA, and brings L and Light with him because I need them interacting with Ranpo. BSD happens with L and Light involved. At some point they find out the god of calamity is sealed inside Chuuya and think Dazai lied but he actually wasn't, because if they had killed Dazai, Chuuya would've snapped and the world probably would've ended. Not that Chuuya has told Dazai that. Somehow, Dazai, L and Light win. They also all become friends because they're all super smart, morally grey, manipulative and willing to do whatever they have to do to accomplish what they set out to accomplish.

You can decide how involved Watari, Misa and the whammy's kids are involved. I could see Watari kinda being disappointed over not knowing about Ranpo when he was younger. I feel like he could have an interesting relationship or dynamic with Fukuzawa and Mori, especially since he's very clearly noticed Dazai being suicidal and, well, Dazai. If he finds out Mori partially raised him, I feel like he'd have shit to say. You could also get some interesting L and Whammys kids backstory in this fic.

I don't know, I just feel like, while these animes are fairly different, the idea of the characters interacting is really interesting.

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qwevy · 3 months ago

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@shadexxxx ITS NOT LETTUNG ME REPLY TO YOUR ASK IVE TRIED LIKE 10 TIMES UAGHHH!!!! im just gonna copy paste my reply here >_>

—

okay so its a bittt tricky to explain it but i can try 😵‍💫😵‍💫

(also i wrote. so. fucking. much. saved it as a draft. and it all disappeared. so. actuallykms. im kinda pissed i have to try to remember my whole ramble but WHATEVER!! i will try!! T_T)

so for lost kitten, “youve got by eyes” “youll never be mine” is like. they are the same. “youve got my eyes” in the sense like. they look into eachothers eyes and kinda see a mirror of themselves. they are truly two sides of the same coin, they both have these fronts they put on. they have to be tough and strong, and they play up these facades to the point it consumes them (cough cough martyn) but. they see through it. they can see what the other is trying to pull, because they do it themselves. also like in once more to see you “we do have reputations, we keep it secret, wont let them have it” ough. that paired with “you’ll never be mine” because. they cant have eachother. they cant be friends, they cant be allies, they cant be, anything. they both are smart enough to know that putting too much of yourself into one thing is a fools game (martyn already made that mistake with ren) but. they are both fools. they kind of get lost in eachother. they meet in secret. they laugh, they bond, but. on the outside they are strangers. i think they both realized they have a soft spot for eachother, and just instinctively know, “we cant let this get exploited”. so they dont let anyone else in on what they have. also i feel like their dynamic to me isnt necessarily a romantic one. i see it as a lot more of qpr kind of unspoken situationship, though i can see a more romanic interpretation.

though for like slight au purposes i feel like if they ever properly teamed up they would be unstoppable. like. immovable object and unstoppable force team up and destroy the world. they would be equal partners in crime and im im. the song sharks specifically is more for this angle. its not one speaking to the other but rather the song speaking about both of them as a unit. (if that makes any sense 😭😭) i just have a reallyyy cool edit in my head to this song with them so i added it. similar thing with breakfast its so gem coded i couldnt not add it 😭😭. gem has already played with fire before so martyn doesnt scare her one bit. and he recognizes this immediately. like. “there’s something different about her” gem shuts down anything martyn tries to pull but does it in a very playful way that intrigues martyn so much. she matches his silly and matches his insane. i feel like a lot of these songs are very sad and emotional but i do think one of the most important elements to their dynamic is their silliness. their back and forth banter, playful jabs and jokes and i dont want that to be forgotten. (plus i think it adds so much more when the angst and seriousness comes in)

okay i could ramble 5ever about them but im having trouble remembering what i originally wrote so >_< and i am dogshit at character analysis so this is probably slightly ooc but idc. also heres my fav clips from gems secret life since i rewatched it (i have more but i didnt know there was a limit and im not editing a whole video together so blehh)

#gemwood #trafficblr #life series #secret life

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dracrownian · 3 months ago

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Here's the second (and final) part of the BO!Rei au. Now with more Scotch. Enjoy!

(It does end kind of abruptly, sorry about it. Apparently I didn't know how to continue it from there. It's a WIP for a reason, I guess.)

[ Part 1 ]

The grin that stretches across Morofushi’s face when he sees Shuuichi matches his enthusiasm as he greets him with a jovial, “Akai!”

“Morofushi-kun,” Shuuichi returns, subdued. He hadn’t expected to be interrupted in the middle of their important talk.

Noting the tension in the air (and let it never be said that he can’t read a room), Morofushi eyes Shuuichi and Rei carefully. “I can see that I’ve interrupted something. Do you need more time alone?”

“No,” Rei answers immediately, then falters, walking it back. “Well, yes, but I can’t right now. I need to feed my cat-”

“Already taken care of,” Scotch interjects.

“-and I’m supposed to be meeting a client soon – what?”

Morofushi grins at him. “I fed your cat.”

Rei stares at him in disbelief. “Did you break into my apartment?”

“Of course not,” Morofushi answers with a smile. “I used a key.”

“You don’t have a key.”

Morofushi shrugs, then pulls a key out of his coat pocket. “Sure I do. Here, you can have it back now.”

“You stole my key?!”

“I prefer to say I borrowed it.”

“Without permission, I think that still counts as theft!” Rei grumbles.

Morofushi snorts. “Sure, then. I stole the key to your apartment for the nefarious purpose of feeding your cat. You’re welcome.”

Shuuichi finds himself chuckling at their argument, the nostalgia of it warming him. He had missed this dynamic. The cat is new, though.

“Why?” Rei demands, and Morofushi fixes him with a flat look.

“What do you mean ‘why’?” He glances pointedly at Akai. “I knew you’d be meeting with your lover – former lover? Whatever he is to you – and decided you should have one less problem to worry about.”

Morofushi valiantly does not flinch at the withering glare Rei throws his way at his calling Shuuichi Rei’s lover, even if it was true at one point.

“Why wouldn’t you just ask me?”

Morofushi shrugs. “My way was more fun.”

“You are the weirdest cop ever.”

-----

“You know,” Morofushi says, bouncing slightly on his heels, clearly feeling awkward. “If you two want to keep talking – or, you know, whatever – I can stall with your client. Just tell me where you’re meeting them and who I’m looking for.”

As much as Shuuichi hopes otherwise, he already knows what Rei’s answer will be. They’ll have to continue their conversation another time.

Predictably, Rei shakes his head. “As tempting as that is, I can’t.” He briefly meets Shuuichi’s eyes, apologetic. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Rei-kun. We’ll have more time later.”

There’s a pain in Rei’s eyes that Shuuichi doesn’t like, but not much he can do about it right then. Instead, he can only watch as Rei pulls on his coat and hat, then takes his key from Morofushi.

“I assume you’ll find me when you have a chance to talk again?” he asks, and Rei nods.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promises. Shuuichi studies him for a moment, piquing Rei’s interest; he pauses. “Was there something else?”

“You said you wanted to leave the Organization. Do you still feel that way?”

“I want out,” Rei confirms, his eyes growing dark with suppressed anger. “But what I want even more than that is to bring the entire Organization to its knees. I want them to pay for all of the blood they’ve spilt, all the pain they’ve caused. Given the opportunity, I’d put a bullet in Gin’s head myself, just so I know he can never hurt anyone else.”

There’s a fire in his words and his eyes that Shuuichi has sorely missed these past two years, the spark that led him to fall for this supernova of a man in the first place. Shuuichi grins.

If Rei just wanted out, that would be fine. Shuuichi would make any arrangements necessary to be sure he didn’t have any trouble. But this? This drive to fight back against the people who hurt him all his life, that took important parts of his life from him? That is the man Shuuichi fell in love with.

Rei matches his smirk with a half-smile of his own, and slips near-silently out the door, which Morofushi closes and locks behind him.

Then, Morofushi turns to him. “Tell me it wasn’t a complete disaster.”

Shuuichi shrugs. “Definitely could have gone a lot worse. There’s still some air to clear, but I expected him to punch me, and he didn’t, so that’s something.”

Morofushi nods and drops onto the bed next to him. “He missed you. He’ll likely never admit it because he’s not good at being vulnerable, but he definitely missed you. None of this has been easy on him.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t,” Shuuichi agrees. “You two seem to be getting along better.”

“It took a while. Months before he would even look me in the eye. Half a year before he’d let me be even remotely friendly with him.

“We’re still working on it. He’s starting to trust me again, and he’s actually working with Public Safety now – indirectly, through me. They know Bourbon is my collaborator, but they don’t know who Bourbon is.”

Then, in a complete change of subject, Morofushi nudges him in the side teasingly. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you fell in love with him all over again. Adorable.”

And Shuuichi’s not even going to try to dispute that. He knows how far gone he still is for Rei, and if it’s obvious to Morofushi as well, there doesn’t seem any point in denying it.

Sensing he won’t get a response, Morofushi continues. “I assume you still haven’t told your team about him.”

“Of course not.”

“Not even your ex-girlfriend? Jodie, right?”

“Definitely not her,” Shuuichi answers with a shudder.

“Oh?” Curious, Morofushi leans in closer. “She wouldn’t take it well?”

“I don’t think she would care that he’s a man, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Shuuichi rubs a hand over his face. “She would be a little more preoccupied with the fact that I broke up with her because I fell in love with a criminal, long before I knew he had any desire to leave.”

Morofushi lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair. That might be a tough pill to swallow.”

“She’ll find out eventually,” Shuuichi muses. “Especially once she realizes I have no intentions of returning to the States.”

“Oh?”

“My family is spread between here and London, and Rei-kun is here. There’s nothing for me in America. It’s not like I joined the FBI out of an overwhelming sense of loyalty to my country.”

#pt's wip tag #my let hiro and akai be friends agenda going strong in this one #also hiro being a little bit of a troll again #love that for him #akam #morofushi hiromitsu #akai shuuichi #furuya rei #whiskey trio #in case anyone needed to know #rei's cat is black with green eyes #for no reason in particular

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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years ago

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fic rec friday 54

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

all i want for christmas by tusslee

“Listen,” Lance squeezes Keith’s fingers in his hands, “I’m as bad at this as you probably are and this is going to be really cheesy, but that’s the way I was raised and I know I act like an idiot around pretty girls, but I’m an even bigger idiot around you. Go ahead and try to guess why that is. No, actually don't do that."

this one is gonna be an xmas special!! even though im writing this before halloween lol. anyways. this was so cute!! lance being all stressed about what he should get keith bc he's all in love w him any everything. so real.

2. You're Here (Where You Should Be) by @blue-wanderer

"And if you’re worried about the cameras just take care of them.” “Take care—! Take care of them? With what, Keith?” “I don’t know?” Keith asks, busily testing his foothold in the gate and generally ignoring the rising storm cloud of ire behind him. “With a gun?” “A gun? This isn’t some sort of black ops storming an enemy base thing! This is a Christmas tree thing!” “I don’t see a difference? You’re the sharpshooter. Shoot out the cameras.” “Let me just pull a gun out of my ass, Keith!” “OK, problem solved,” Keith agrees, taking another step up the gate. “Nothing is solved you dumb country space redneck!”

Or Keith and Lance may be disasters at decorating, but Christmas still manages to work its magic on them.

i bookmarked this like a year ago and let me tell you all i needed to hear was dumb country space redneck and i was hooked 😭😭 and it lived up to the name fr. hate the canon ending? want lance to not be a farmer while still acknowledging his struggles with homesickness? want some whipped keith and meddlesome kosmo? want some cheesy xmas feels? click ahead!

3. make my wish come true by angelbolt

“A world where one has to fight for custody of one’s boyfriend is a godless one,” Lance muttered, slumping so he was leaning against Hunk. Shiro exchanged some final words with Kolivan before the screen blipped out. Ah yes, the ideal Christmas Eve: long boring talks and war meetings. Wonderful. ❆❅❆ keith comes home for christmas.

fun game idea: take a shot every time you see a klance xmas fic with a mariah carey lyric. lol. ANYWAYS yall know me and established relationship + early season dynamics!! i am obsessed!! and this fic delivers!! grumpy lance pov who just wants the rest of the world to fuck off for a couple days so he can have his bf around. he's such a voice of the people

4. i'll be home for christmas by @thespacenico

A severe bout of winter weather threatens to stop Shiro from making it home for his first Christmas with Keith. Shiro is ready to do whatever it takes to keep his promise.

okay this one is from darcy's i've got you brother, which i am obsessed with and have cried over several times, and which just recently updated! this fic is so cute and a adashi with young keith always fucking gets to me, man. they're just so. shiro being so desperately determined to keep his promise to young keith who has had so many promises broken that he doesnt even expect shiro to try. but is happy that he does. sobbing.

5. the greatest gift of all by dumpsterdiva

Keith’s mouth hung open for a few seconds before he stammered, “D-do you really mean that?” Lance looked a bit sheepish as he said, “I… It’s crazy, right? I mean, it’s way too soon. You know I was kidding.” Keith straightened up. “Well, I’m not. Marry me.” “What?!” “You heard me, you coward. Marry me.” “That’s the worst proposal ever!” “Worse than you threatening me with marriage so I would stop talking about how amazing you are?”

YOU GUYS KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT PROPOSAL FICS. i feel ksjbskdbqjdbqwlwd about them. okay. and throw in a christmas setting??? and banter?? and a MODERN AU?? i am doing my best, people. this fic had me shoving a pillow into my face and screaming.

that’s it for today!! happy holidays! merry christmas!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

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cloudlessly-light · 2 years ago

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But you make my heart race (Prosecutor Hotch/secretary Emily AU one-shot)

A/N: This is set in the middle of Emily working as Hotch’s secretary since I wanted to keep the prosecutor/secretary thing going, I hope you like this little one-shot!

Title: But you make my heart race Summary: Emily wanted to push his buttons, if only just a little. It worked.

One shot from my AU Chills on a summer day but can be read on its own. Word Count: 3,1k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, power dynamics, spanking, rough sex

She’s been working as Aaron’s secretary for almost two months now, been sleeping with him for more than half that time. And she’s been having the best time of her life. Sure while they’re at work he can be demanding, pushing her for more, to be better, but she takes it in stride because she knows that he’s working twice as hard.

She wasn’t sure what they were, or where things would lead, but what she did know was that she didn’t want to stop whatever they were doing. It was something she hadn’t ever experienced before, how easy it was, how fun, how thrilling it could be.

It was carnal, exciting, the type of desire she’d only ever read about before. And then there he was, showing her the most unexpected realms of pleasure.

As she’s getting dressed that morning she smiles to herself, he had spent the previous night teasing her until she was ready to beg him for any type of release, and when he had left she had planned her revenge. Aaron might be in charge most of the time, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t fight him a little for it sometimes.

He had spent the previous evening in her apartment but hadn’t spent the night because he had court the next day and wanted a few more hours to prepare. She doesn’t fault him for that, he’s a fantastic lawyer. But it was a case they both knew he would win, so she was allowed to have a little fun with him. Or at least that’s what she thought.

With that thought in mind, she capped her lipstick and grabbed her purse. It was going to be a good day.

“I’m off, I’ll be back late so I’ll probably see you tomorrow.” He says, stoic as ever with his briefcase in hand, his Rolex glimmering just under the cuff of his suit.

“Okay Mr. Hotchner.” She smirks, always enjoying their little charade at work. As she looked at him there was something suggestive lurking in her dark orbs and he raises an eyebrow at her. “Want me to pick up dinner for you before I leave for the night?”

“Not necessary, I’ll pick something up on the way.” He gives her a questioning look, the teasing smile still on her face makes him take a moment. She was planning something, he knew it, he knew that look.

“See you tomorrow then.” She winks at him and he feels the familiar pull in his gut as she spreads her legs just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her smooth thighs, the hint if a hickey showing. But he’s late so he can’t drag her into his office like he wants to. Instead he nods, grips the handle of his briefcase a little harder and walks towards the elevators, still feeling Emily’s heated gaze on him.

But as he gets closer to the courthouse he forgets about everything except the case. A case he knew he’d win. In court he was feared, superior to most. It made him feel powerful only adding to the slight arrogance that Emily would tease him about.

He’s watching the testimony, listens as the frail man on the stand tries to defend himself from what he’s accused off, and memorize what he knows is far from the truth. He can tell that the defending lawyer is starting to close up and he gets ready to stand up for his own line of questioning.

And then his phone buzzes on the table, Emily’s name flashing on the screen with an incoming text. He knew she wouldn’t reach out while he was in court unless it was important, she never had before, so curiosity gets the better of him and he opens the message.

When he does he has to do a double take, a low grunt escaping him that thankfully no one seems to hear.

It was picture of Emily, dressed in the tiniest underwear set he’d ever seen, posing on her knees in front of her bed, legs wide apart and one hand inside her panties.

Good luck today, Mr. Hotchner.

The large hickey he’d sucked into her thigh was fresh, meaning that she had taken that picture after he had left the previous night. And he was furious.

Then another picture came through, this one with Emily in the same panties, minus the bra, bending over, her plump ass arched up.

Aaron clears his throat, arousal stirring in his belly at the sight, eyes trained on the picture.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

He looks up at the sound of his name, and finds the judge looking at him with annoyance.

“Do you have any questions for our defendant? Or do you have something more important to attend to?” The judge asks, her blue eyes intent as she stares him down,

“Sorry.” He mutters, his phone landing on the desk with a dull sound and he stands up. For a moment he’s unsure what do say, his mouth dry as the pictures of Emily play on a loop in his mind.

“You- uhm.” He stops mid-sentence and clears his throat, he’s off his game and that’s never happened in court before. He takes a moment, centers himself and then looks back at the defendant who’s looking at him curiously. “You say you were alone at home at the time of the assault.”

“Yes.” The man says, voice steady and Aaron narrows his eyes.

“That’s not completely true is it?” The second the man swallows harder, Aaron knows he has him and he smiles to himself.

By the time he sits back at his table he knows he’s proven that the man in front of him is guilty and he feels confident. He looks at his phone and there’s three more messages from Emily, all more and more risqué, the last picture of her completely naked as she poses on the bed. He feels the dull ache of arousal settle between his legs, his cock stirring at the sight. He knows she’s doing this to rile him up, knows that he shouldn’t fall for it so easily, but he does, anger at her for trying to throw him off his game and arousal mixing.

He couldn’t wait to get out of there.

When he comes back it’s late but he knew she would be there, waiting for him. As he suspected the office was empty, almost eerie quiet as he walked through the space towards his office. As he got closer he could hear the familiar clicking of the keys on the keyboard and when he turned the corner Emily sat there, eyes on the screen but a smug smirk on her lips.

“Good evening, Mr. Hotchner. How was court?” She met his hard stare and her smirk turned into a grin. If it weren’t for the security cameras he would have grabbed her right then and there.

“My office.” He muttered, voice thick with pent up frustration. When she didn’t move a muscle he leaned over her desk, effectively towering over her. “Now. I won’t ask you again.”

Emily waited another second, debating with herself if she should listen or not, but she knew that she would only make things harder for herself if she didn’t so she slowly stood up. When she started to walk the short distance to his office she could feel him behind her and her breathing was already coming out a little faster.

Aaron closed the door with a soft click, but the second the door was shut all pretense of calm disappeared and he grabbed the back of her neck. When she hissed in surprise and pain, it was his turn to smirk and he bent her over the large desk.

“So you think it’s fun to tease me huh?” He growled against the back of her ear and Emily shook her head the best she could. “Use your goddamn words.” His grip tightened and she whimpered.

“No.” It came breathy, her voice trembling slightly from excitement and fear.

“Don’t lie.” He stood up straight, the hand not pinning her to the desk moving over her body, down to the curve of her ass until he reached the hem of her skirt. When he pulled it up enough to expose her underwear he snickered. “So wet already.” His finger gently traced over her damp silk and Emily moaned softly. “You’ve waited for this all day, haven’t you?”

“Aaron- oh!” She’s cut off by the hard spank that lands on one butt cheek.

“Let’s try this again.” He says, his voice suddenly much calmer, restraint she’d always wonder how he possessed making her shiver in excitement. “You think it’s fun to tease me?”

It’s a moment of silence before she nodded.

“Yes.”

Slap!

“You wanted to distract me while I was in court?”

“Y-yes.” She braces herself for the third slap that made a cracking sound as his palm connected with her skin.

Slap!

“You’re that desperate?” He had to stop himself from palming his erection, the reddening skin and slight whine that came from Emily each time he spanked her made him throb inside his pants. This time she didn’t answer, and he spanked her three times in rapid succession, making her squirm.

“Fuck!” She gasped but made no move to try and get away. She could feel her slick coating her thighs, felt maddening arousal each time his hand came down.

“Answer me.” He rubbed over her red skin as he spoke this time, enjoying the warmth that radiated off her.

“Yes.” She whispered and when he spanked her she pressed her thighs together in a vain attempt to try and get some friction against her clit.

“Yes, what?” He kept his grip around the back of her neck as he undid his belt and then pushed his pants and boxers down his legs. The tip of him was already slick with precum, shaft thick and hard and he slowly stroked himself.

“Yes, I’m that desperate.” Her cheeks burned with humiliation, sweat was gathering at her temples and when she heard the low groan behind her she immediately knew what he was doing.

“Pathetic aren’t you.” He spat the word at her and he saw her clench her thighs again in response. He knew how much she got off on being degraded like this, knew that every second he made her wait only made her more excited. Slowly he pulled her underwear down to the middle of her thighs, just enough to see the way her pussy was glistening.

“Yes, Mr. Hotchner.” She whined, her hands desperately grabbing onto the edge of the desk to keep herself from moving.

“Are you sorry for acting like such a slut?”

Slap, slap, slap, slapslapslap!

She cried out as he continued to spank her without pause and she had to shift her weight from one foot to the other to keep still.

“Yes! Yes I’m sorry.” She cried out, tears of pleasurable pain starting to make their way down her cheeks. When his hand didn’t come down again she relaxed, his hand now gentle as he rubbed her lower back and gently comforted her.

He waited for her to calm down, or to show any sign that she wanted to stop but she only gave a quick nod and he knew she wanted to continue. He moved behind her and pressed his front to her back, speaking right against her ear as he pushed her harder onto the desk.

“You think you’re sorry now?” He whispered menacingly. “Just you wait, Emily.”

Before she had the chance to reply, he was pushing inside of her with one rough stroke. He didn’t give her time to adjust to the size of him. He moved to grip both her hips, keeping her still as he set a pace that was bordering on too fast.

She grunted at the sudden stretch, her hands that had been gripping the edge now fumbling against the smooth wood to try and brace herself. The front of her hips would be bruised from how the edge of the desk dug into her skin, matching marks would be left by his hands, and she loved it, loved every second of it.

“Oh God.” She gasped as he groaned behind her, clearly using her body to get rid of the pent up frustration from the last few hours.

“There’s nothing I could do to you that you wouldn’t enjoy, is there?” He bit the back of her neck and she whined. “So desperate to please me.”

Emily could barely form a single thought, let alone string a sentence together. She felt him everywhere, her sole focus was his breathing against her ear and the feeling of him inside of her. She arched her back, hips moving back to meet his harsh thrusts. He had been right, she had been waiting for this all day, had felt the familiar thrumming of arousal since this morning.

The desk rattled underneath her every time he pushes forward, pain and pleasure mixing together and she sucked in desperate breaths of air.

“Aaron,” She whimpered, eyes rolling back as he rutted his front against her back, making sure to press against the heated skin of her ass. “so good.”

“You’re dripping onto the floor.” He taunted her and she felt another flush creep up her cheeks “Filthy thing, my perfect, filthy girl.”

Before she had the chance to say another word, Aaron straightened behind her, and she turned her head to look at him. He looked powerful, even with a wrinkled suit and sweat gathered on his forehead, his eyes looked close to wild, jaw clenched as he swallowed hard at the sight of her.

“Please.” She whispered, trying to get him to move as he continued to stand still, simply watching her. He smirked, the smugness radiating off him as he stepped further away from her, slipping out of her and she groaned.

“On your back.” He muttered as he rid himself of his suit jacket, watching her as she turned and laid back against his desk and kicking away her panties that were around her thighs. “Unbutton your shirt.” He did the same as she hurriedly got her shirt off, her fingers trembling slightly

When she laid back, her skirt around her waist and bra still on, Aaron stepped back between her legs. He slapped his cock against her clit, making her jump. The wet sound was bordering on obscene and he snickered and did it again. Then again and again.

“Beg for it.” His dark eyes flashed with something predatory at the way Emily’s skin blushed a darker shade of pink. “Beg me for my cock. Show me you know I’m the one in charge.”

It’s a beat of silence, Emily biting down on her bottom lip as she watches him as he starts to jerk his cock.

“I can easily come like this, leave you here unsatisfied and desperate, messy with my cum. That wouldn’t be a problem for me.” His eyebrow arches and he fists his cock harder.

She whines, something low and breathy as she wordlessly shakes her head. She couldn’t imagine not getting the release she had longed for all day, her body screaming at her from unreleased tension.

Her mouth opened and closed, the words somehow not forming, some of her defiance clearly still present. He noticed, his mouth pursing for a moment and then, so fast she didn’t have time to react, his palm slapped between her legs, hitting her clit with a sharp smack.

“Fuck!” She hissed, legs trying to close automatically but his hips were in the way. She looked at him, eyes wide in surprise and he only raised an eyebrow at her.

“Beg.” He said again, his shaft moving along her clit, taking away the sting of his slap.

“P-please.” She whispered but she knew it wasn’t enough. “Please fuck me.” She said louder.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it.” He cooed, his hand gentle as he caressed her cheek and then pushed his thumb between her parted lips. He sighed happily when she immediately sucked, her tongue pressing against the pad of his thumb. With his eyes on hers, he pushed back inside of her, filling her completely and she moaned. “Are you begging for my cock or for me to make you come?”

“All of it.” She gasped around his digit. “I’m begging for all of it.”

“That’s right.” He grinned, a low hum of satisfaction falling from his lips as he started to thrust. “Because you belong to me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Hotchner.” It was enough for her to please him, his thumb slipping from between her lips to her clit where he rubbed quickly, making her cry out.

He keeps her pinned with one strong hand pressing against her hip, groaning and grunting between pants as he picks up the pace of his hips. It’s hard, almost furious, the way he fucks her until she’s gripping the desk and her back is arching.

“Come on, let me feel you soak me.” He encourages her, his voice graveled and strained, his own pleasure building by every second.

She comes with a high pitched moan, her eyes rolling back and body trembling and Aaron groans against her chest. Her mind is still reeling, her ears still ringing when his hips starts to jerk, a telltale sign that he was getting close. Through blurry pleasure she grasps his neck and tugs his hair enough for him to look at her.

“Let go, so I can feel it all the way home.”

The mental image of Emily dripping of his cum on the walk home set something off in him. He growled, the sound raw and deep as he claimed her lips in a desperate kiss. His hips stayed pressed against her, his orgasm intense as his knees buckles at the forceful pleasure that rips through him and with that the last of his pent up tension leaves him.

She hums and rakes her nails through his hair, helping him come down from his high, her own thighs still twitching around his hips.

“I knew you’d like those pictures.” She teased and he chuckled breathlessly, giving them both another moment before he stood back up.

“I should have known you were up to no good after last night.” He smiles and pulls her up, placing a quick kiss to the back of her hand before pulling her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her lips. “You’re such a brat when you want to be.”

“And you love it, Mr. Hotchner.”

She was right, he really did.

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss smut #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss smut #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotch x emily #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss smut

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death-in-a-handbasket · 17 days ago

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Holy heck, your version of the house "staff" is kinda similar to what i did for my oc! (Although this is technically an au for them) The big difference, tho, is that mine was originally a hunter - as in the FIRST hunter. Like, back when the House first gains sentience (tm), they're the one they pulled from the Void (also tm) to help it test stuff out. But instead of sticking to the timeline, it goes by game development, so any updates/fixes/removals is literally the House going "nah i dont like that" and changing or straight up deleting things/people it doesnt like while also bringing other things in to try out.

The oc in question got tired of being hunter (due to personal biases) and basically started throwing matches, so the House tried making them a survivor instead, but then they were doing stupidly good at their role, so it ended up making them part of the staff as punishment.

Anyway, the main reason i mention this, is cuz said oc is technically a machine, so that part with Luca and Staff was extra funny to me 😂 alas, i have already shipped them with someone else (bet you'll never guess who based on the asks ive sent, lol)

(Also sorry this is so long, i never get to talk about my ocs and got excited)

OOOOOHHH THIS SOUNDS SO BANGER....I really love the idea of a First Hunter and the house being able to retcon and change shit, goes really well with the whole "the manor is purgatory and people are just stuck in this shit"

means that the house can just run the timeline over and over and over and change it little by little to suit its fancy. I also find it so so fun that your oc essentially gave the middle finger to the house by simultaneously sucking at their job on purpose AND also being way too good at it. naughty manifestations get put in time out in the staff corner for their sins </3

ALSO LETS FUCKING GO FOR MACHINE W I bet their internal mechanisms look so baller omg, is their body also mutable like staff's or are they more constrained to their mechanical look and/or whatever the house wants 🤔

also I'm gonna take my wild potshot and guess that they're being shipped with andrew, which honestly I'd be curious to know more about given its like a staff x staff thang and I'd LOVE to know what kind of dynamic they have going on since andrew is such a socially stiff and distant guy huehuuehue I always love seeing a character with many emotional barriers get tormented by someone painstakingly weaseling their way into their emotions

also no worries about the long ask ! I think this is neat and I like hearing from people, feel free to stop by for more character talk or oc intel 👀 I can also give more intel on my ocs but keep full well in mind that I wrote these stories with my dick and shit gets wild and unethical as hell

#fuckass crow house #discount confessional

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beannary · 2 years ago

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Hi! Thank you for blessing us all with tlp :) it’s such a cool au and I like it a lot!! I have many thoughts about it so I’ll start writing them now:

With Donnie being raised by Big Mama, the change in dynamics with literally everyone is interesting to think about, so of course my brain has latched onto the concept of how Donnie’s dynamic with his own brain (his neurodiversity/autism) effects his relationships with himself and his family.

(beannary note: putting everything under the cut so this doesn’t get too long)

Comparing Donnie’s relationship with his own neurodiversity in tlp to canon makes me so emotional you have no idea…..in canon he’s never had a need to mask, living in the sewers with a family who accepts him for who he is, so he has difficulties doing so when needed; we’ve seen him in situations where he is unable to mask/act “socially appropriate” (the mystic library episode comes to mind - he can’t control the volume of his voice when he gets excited. Also every single time he is put in a situation where he has to lie but he is comically bad at it. Also the many many instances in which he is shown being unable to ‘read the room’). But in tlp he seems to be masking a lot, either when he’s interacting with Big Mama’s guests or with Big Mama herself (your Masking is Hard comic comes to mind instantly - how Donnie has a hyperspecific role to play as Big Mama’s Son and the pressure to not only be sociable, but be sociable in a way that meets his mother’s expectations. Its a lot to handle, acting a way that doesn’t come naturally to you and no matter how many times you go through the motions you feel as if it doesn’t get any easier and you dont know why). Tlp Donnie can mask far more convincingly than canon Donnie, but only because he’s had to mask frequently throughout his life. It seems to me like he’s been taught at a young age that he needs to stop acting so “weird” (for example, stimming in obvious ways), because that kind of behavior loses its cuteness fast with Big Mama & most of the company she associates with. I imagine lots of his behaviors are discouraged as he grows up because they’re “not cute anymore” and he’s “not a little kid anymore” and he “needs to learn some manners/self-control” even though everything “weird” Donnie does feels like so natural to him, even as he gets older. Although I do think Donnie has instinctively coped with this by making his stims more subtle (this is where I get to be self-indulgent and imagine his stims - humming, tapping his feet, fiddling with any object he can get his hands on, blasting EDM in his headphones etc), and he only pulls out the big guns (aka big stims) when he’s in his own room with the door closed (or when he’s locked himself in a bathroom stall and physically cannot hold himself back anymore).

Unfortunately for Donnie I also figure that this amount of masking makes him more susceptible to meltdowns. In canon Donnie has so much freedom and control over his own life that the only time I can remember him being even mildly close to Meltdown Territory is during the Todd Scouts episode when his tech was taken away. And even then, he immediately knows how to cope with the change by Creating with whatever tools he is able to find, his brothers just accepting his absence as he goes MIA to build the things he needs to make himself feel better (like the wooden battle shell). But in tlp au does he even know how to cope in healthy ways? Does he get to go MIA for long periods of time so he can pull himself together and prevent a meltdown from happening? Oouuggghh I just want him to be happy :( poor guy feels as if he has no control over his life to the point he develops an eating disorder, he absolutely has no idea what a healthy coping skill is. I’m torn in between concepts for how he processes his neurological differences - either he goes the “autism? don’t be ridiculous, everyone feels this way” route or the “I am astronomically Different from anyone else I know. surely this is just due to my superior intellect and not a developmental disability of any sorts”. Either way this dude is not connecting any dots nor processing any emotions in a healthy way. (Now that I think about it, while Donnie lives with Big Mama, his unique and different skillset are probably what he clings onto to feel needed and useful to his mother, so the latter makes sense for him during that time. But the former makes sense when the concept of Different scares him, when it’s not just intellect and fixations and tunnel vision but sensory issues and social awkwardness and repetitve movements, things that very clearly separate him from his family and make him less of the Perfect Son he is expected to be.)

Another thing I’d like to ramble about is Donnie, his autism, and his relationship with his brothers and his dad….you mentioned in an ask that he doesn’t know he’s autistic but that may change when he starts living with the Hamatos. This made me think about how Donnie’s brothers react to his autistic traits in canon versus in tlp (assuming that no one knows that Donnie is autistic; they just know that his brain works Differently than the rest of theirs). In canon, Donnie has lived with his brothers for his entire life. His brothers know his habits, his preferences, his sensitivities, his moods, etc. He may be Different than the rest of them, but not so much that they think about it for more than 5 minutes. Donnie is their brother - any “weird” behavior is not too different from how how he usually acts. Donnie may be weird but they all are in their own ways and it’s not a big deal to them. His brothers are used to accommodating his needs and dealing with his moods. However, in tlp, Raph, Mikey, and Leo don’t know him very well yet. They’ve never lived with him before and when they do accept Donnie into their home as an Official Brother (a development I’m very excited for), they also can’t help but immediately recognize the stuff that makes him Different from the rest of them (if they’re the ones that recognize that it could be autism, than it’s Differences in a way that’s Familiar, if that makes sense). Differences that aren’t just unhealthy habits and mindsets from his previous shitty living situation. Obviously they can be accommodating but it would understandably take longer to adjust simply because they’re not used to Donnie’s specific quirks. They don’t know right away what makes him uncomfortable, or what textures he prefers, or why he moves and talks and acts the way he does. It’s a learning experience for everyone.

As for Donnie and Splinter….they make me so emotional!!!! Your art of the two of them is so so good and captures that emotion. When Donnie lives with the Hamatos, everything changes. Anyone would have difficulties adjusting to this huge change, but I imagine for Donnie it’s a lot harder. How do you cope with leaving your mother, your only family member you’ve known your entire life? And now suddenly he has to stop being His Mother’s Son and become His Father’s Son, another role he has to create and adjust to (he doesn’t realize yet that his father doesn’t need Donnie to try to be someone he’s not - he loves Donnie unconditionally, just the way he is ;-;) because having a role to play is familiar to him, the only familiar thing he can cling onto during these huge changes in his life. Unfortunately though it just makes everything more exhausting, not only coping with the move into a literal sewer but trying to act like a perfect son for Splinter. Donnie doesn’t know yet that he doesn’t have to mask in front of a parent or meet impossible expectations to “earn” parental love and approval. Meanwhile Splinter sees how Donnie acts with his brothers (much more casual because Donnie doesn’t feel as if he has to “impress” his brothers the way he has to with a parental figure) versus how Donnie acts with him and thinks he’s doing something wrong, that he’s the one giving off an impression to his new son that he has to suppress his stims or say the “right” things or do stuff that makes him uncomfortable because he thinks it’ll make his parent happy…..but I have faith that this pressure eases with time, that they get more comfortable around each other the longer they live together. Eventually Donnie won’t be hesitant or embarrassed to take off the mask in front of his father. Maybe one day he’ll get rid of the mask around his family entirely!! Either way I’m excited to see tlp Donnie’s journey :) thanks for sharing your au with us!

HI THIS IS BEANNARY SPEAKING NOW wow this was so much and im sooooo glad that you are enjoying this au! And for real its so flattering that you like?? wrote all this about my silly au this has actually been the only thing that I could think about since you asked if you could send this in and yeah it’s just really nice to see that people like my comic and this little separated au that i dreamed up

One of the big differences between canon donnie and tlp donnie is tlp donnie’s ability to mask really well. When he was a kid, a lot of his stims were cute and adorable so Big Mama didn’t like encourage them? but let him you know stim freely since she thought it was cute, but as he got older and he kept on stimming in obvious ways she started really hounding him to stop. I do really like the idea of donnie starting to stim in more subtle ways, and im definitely going to try to incorporate that in some of the comics! He still needs to stim, because you know of the autism, and so he does tap his feet and play with whatever little object he can get in his hands when he’s in public. His room is his one safe space where he can really be himself, since its the one spot where he’s not being watched by anyone (his safe space isn’t his lab because what he does in his lab is highly controlled by Big Mama so while he does like being in there and getting to do his science, he’s still pretty on edge since he never knows if his mom is watching him or not). Donnie really loves spending time in his room, though he doesn’t really get a whole lot of time there by himself since Big Mama has filled his schedule with as many extra curriculars as possible so she can show him off all the time). But speaking of his room it sure would be bad if something happened to it! Sure would be bad if it was destroyed in some way thereby destroying his one safe space! Haha! ;)

And no! Donnie does not know how to cope in healthy ways! He is very good at figuring out when he is about to have a meltdown and at figuring out a way to subtly get out of a situation so he can go recuperate somewhere in private, but even then, he can never spend a whole lot of time to himself because if he ever disappeared for an abnormally long amount of time, it would draw attention to himself and more specifically to these meltdowns that he’s having and he really wants those to stay off of Big Mama’s radar since if she knows about them then that’s one more thing for her to criticize and then it’ll be even harder for him to deal with them with his mom now being aware of them. And yeah he does know about autism but he’s still like no it simply could not be me but in that way where he’s like 99% sure he’s autistic but is just refusing to acknowledge it so he can keep on pretending to be ‘normal’. if that makes sense alksdjfh

Living with the Hamatos is going to be very hectic and scary for Donnie just because of how different their home is from his current home. In tlp, Raph also is autistic im pretty sure idk I might change that as the comic progresses but at this point that is what im going with but just havent had a whole lot of time to develop, but that’s part of the reason why the hamatos are so accepting of Donnie, its because they’re already used to living with a sibling who is autistic so all of this is second nature to them, it’s just normal and that really throws donnie for a loop because he’s so used to walking on all these eggshells making sure to act as allistic as possible 24/7 only to be suddenly dumped into an environment where its completely normal and accepted for him to just be himself. And sure it’ll be a learning curve for the hamatos because like obviously not all autistic people are the same but it’ll also be a learning curve for donnie since he’ll finally be able to relax and figure out who he is without having to hide himself all the time.

Donnie and splinter’s relationship is what im really the most excited to write about. I really want Donnie’s experience leaving Big Mama to mirror Splinter’s experience. And I really don’t want to spoil too much but Donnie is really not gonna like Splinter much at first, and it’s gonna take a while for Donnie to warm up to his dad, but also Splinter is going to be the most understanding of what Donnie is going through because well, Splinter also left an abusive relationship with Big Mama. I dont really want to say much more about their relationship because I dont want to spoil the good angst I have planned but I’m really excited to explore their relationship more!!!!

Also just for the record I have not like proofread any of this so there may be typos or maybe i said something dumb so just lmk and ill fix it aklsdjhf Im not autistic (or am I! I havent been to therapy in a while and I would not be surprised to find out that I am autistic or that I have adhd or something else) so lmk if i said something stupid or phrased something in a dumb way and I cannot emphasize how fast I will fix it

Ok bye now!!! this was fun!!! and thank you for sending this in!!! Idk it just really warms my heart that someone out there is thinking about this silly au this much, makes it feel like all the work ive put into making this comic is worth it :)

#bean babbles #i guess this isnt an answered ask #answered asks #still gonna tag it as such though #tlp au #the little prince separated au #i might have more to say about this later but i think this is everything i have to say rn #i should really just ramble about tlp donnie more often because this was fun.

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minteaaax · 3 months ago

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A Little Death - REUPLOAD/UPDATE!

I’m reloading the series I started & instead meshing the chapters together to make them longer:) my page felt too cluttered with a bunch of short chapters everywhere.

This is my own little AU where the crow doesn’t get mukduked, and Eric lives on immortally, taking on the world with some new friends.

I’ll add any warnings as the series goes on, here’s the first one

WARNING: this series starts on a cringe note because I wrote the first chapter AGES ago. Have fun!

A leather clad pair of legs rested themselves on the coffee table, Eric flicking open his zippo, “Last one, I promise,” he said with a smirk as he popped the cheap cigarette between his lips. Matt rolled his eyes, sitting down on the sofa, adjacent to the easy chair Eric rested on. “You’ll be the one closing all these windows then. They’re letting too much rain in,” he commented, propping his own feet up next to his friend’s. Eric shrugged, “Deal.” The two sat in front of the TV, static flashing every now and then as the storm interrupted its signal. Meanwhile in the open garage, Chris and Dani were busy loading a dresser into the bed of Chris’ truck. Constantly picking up and setting down what felt like 400 pounds, in an effort to figure out a comfortable grip to lift the piece of furniture with, Dani’s braid caught on the handle, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, ow, stop!” They both quickly dropped the dresser back on the floor, the wood clanking loudly as Chris cursed, “Stupid piece of shit, might as well leave it here.” Upon hearing the commotion, the two boys in the living room ventured out to check on the not-so-dynamic duo. Dani sighed, hands on her hips, “You two having fun in there? You know, for a vigilante, you sure seem to enjoy sitting on your ass,” she scolds. “Off-duty,” Eric corrected under his breath, despite his face still being fully painted. His attention veered down the street, “You might have company.” Chris looked over his shoulder, “Oh yeah, that’s Annie. You two haven’t met yet?” Eric shaked his head.

”She keeps to herself, makes sense you haven’t seen her around before. Love that bitch.” Dani says, pulling the drawers out of the dressers to lighten it up a bit. Chris continues while Matt heads back inside, leaving Eric to watch as the stranger walked up the wet driveway with bare feet. He took another puff, trying not to be too obvious as he eyed her. “I give up!” Chris exclaimed, snapping the man out of his little daze, “Annie, is there any chance you're secretly buff?” With damp hair and her shirt sticking to her chest, Annie shrugged at Chris’ question, making brief eye contact with Eric, “If this guy is too scared to help, I’m not sure I would want to take my chances either.” Eric fought the shiver that ran down his spine at the found of her voice, chuckling as to not seem like such a deer in headlights at the way her eyes locked on him when she spoke. Chris passed Annie a towel, “What are you doing barefoot in the rain? You look like a stray cat.” She wrapped the cloth around her shoulders with an exasperated sigh, “Guess who dropped her house key down the storm drain while getting the mail.” Dani cringed while Chris let out a laugh, “Real graceful,” he teased. Annie rolled her eyes, “Whatever, but yeah, I managed to lock myself out. My back door is unlocked, but jammed.” Eric chimed in, “I can help you out, if you’d like. Bypassing deadbolts is a speciality of mine.”

Annie crossed her arms, “If you’re up to the task,” her eyes momentarily rake up and down his much taller form, unsure, “but don’t feel too bad if you get stumped.” The room fell silent as Eric proceeded to blow his smoke into Annies face with a smirk, forcing her to turn her head away from him; he brushed past her, narrowly missing her shoulder as he walked out of the garage, into the pouring rain without another word. The pair standing off to the side snickered and Annie glared at them, “Let me know when you guys finish moving that dresser,” she remarked, watching their grins falter and eyes roll.

“You live in this one?”

“How did you guess?”

“It’s the only one with an ungodly amount of windchimes.”

Annie rolled her eyes, arms still crossed tightly over her chest while the man in front of her walked leisurely up the driveway, unfazed by the downpour soaking his hair and clothes. He was very well built, she couldn’t help but start ogling at the way his muscles would ripple under his gray, long sleeved shirt. Walking with confidence, his steps were nearly silent on the gravel as he unlatched the gate into her side yard with an unsettling amount of ease, like he had practiced this a million times before; well of course he had, Annie thought to herself, reminding herself of his occupation.

“They’re soothing,” she spoke up suddenly as Eric located a window that lead into her dining room. Confused but curious as to whatever she was referencing he looked back at her with his eyebrows furrowed raised. “They’re soothing, the wind chimes,” Annie reminded him, “it’s too silent out here without them.” He held his expression, but nodded, seeming to at least understand where she was coming from. He turned back to the window, “Do you have any alarm system on this place? This window is only held shut by caulking.” Annie shook her head, giving him a quiet, “no,” which earned a hum from Eric who pressed his palm up against the bottom edge of the window, another hand stabilizing himself against the wall. With a sturdy push, he forced the window up. Eric tisked “You should get one, anyone could come in,” he warned, shaking his head. Annie’s eyes rolled for possibly the millionth time since the two of them met.

“Okay dad…” She mumbled sarcastically. Eric smirked to himself as he stepped aside, “Need a boost?” His face paint was running as he looked down at her, the rain picking up. Shrugging, Annie nodded and Eric knelt down, cupping his hands for the woman to step on. He pushed her up towards the window, respectfully keeping his eyes glued towards the ground instead of the way her flowy pajama pants fit perfectly with the contour of her bottom. His mind wasn’t far from wandering when Annie spoke up from inside the house, “Come around the front.” Without another word, Eric walked away, towards the porch as she shut the window. Half debating disappearing on her, he listened to the locks turning from inside.

Annie smiled, opening the door and stepping aside for… nobody. She stood there in confusion, a little hurt that he would just leave. She didn’t think she’d done anything that would offend him, so what was his deal? Poking her head out and looking around, there was no sign of him, only the sound of the wind chimes blowing with the storm as the sky darkened. She shut the door with a deep sigh, “Men.”

“I am no man,” a voice from down the hallway nearly made her jump out of her skin. She quickly made her way over to the kitchen, seeing Eric leaning casually against the counter, expressionless. “How did you do that?” She questioned him with her armed crossed. His lips slowly curved up into a smile, “I said you would benefit from better security,” his words earned an even more dumbfounded look from Annie. She stammered for a moment, watching his eyebrows raise with amusement as she did so before ultimately giving up. “Whatever, come here,” she commanded, walking to the sink and grabbing a washcloth. Eric obeyed without a word, stepping closer in the dark kitchen. He stared intently at her face, meanwhile Annie was holding the cloth under some warm water, unaware of his gaze penetrating her skull until she finally looked back up at him and lifted it to his face, slowly wiping his cheek with her right hand, her left hand cupping the other side of his face to keep him steady. His expression was stern, trying to read her eyes with his own and decipher the feeling of her fingerprints on his cheek, as if they were a line of braille. For someone so openly herself, she was impossible to see through when she wasn’t choosing to be expressive. Her hands were soft like… what was it? He couldn’t put his finger on it. A sensation he hadn’t experienced since a time long ago, longer than he could remember.

She wiped under his eyes, the black paint relenting against the warm water. Eric closed his eyes as she did so, allowing her to also clean his eyelids before she ran the cloth between his eyebrows, up to the rough skin of his forehead. Opening his eyes once more, they wandered down to her lips; they were full and looked so soft. She took the bottom one into her mouth, chewing on the skin. Bit by bit, Annie cleansed Eric’s skin of the muddied, black, white, and partially gray makeup. Her heart raced as each second passed. She finished up by wiping along his jawline, making the hair stand up all over his body as she took care of the streaks that had run down his neck as well. Her hand shook, worried about crossing any boundaries, but he didn’t stop her from grazing his collarbone too, collecting a little dirt smudge that she conveniently noticed just then.

She handed him a mug, sitting across from him at the small, round table. Eric’s face was bare and his hair was starting to dry off; a towel was wrapped around his shoulders, a lot like Annie was earlier. He pulled a small box out of his pocket, “Got a light? Since you’re holding me hostage.” His new friend nodded, opening a drawer a couple of feet away and grabbing an old zippo for him. “It isn’t a good idea to walk home in this weather, i know you’re all tough and shit, but i wouldn’t be a good host if i just tossed you out there. Besides, Chris will be over in a few with his truck to take you home to wherever you live.”

”I live in the city.”

”I see, not used to us rural folk?”

”Not used to being kidnapped.” Eric crossed his legs, sitting back and lighting his cigarette

”I don’t think it counts if you’re older. At least I think you are.”

”Alright, smarty-pants, how old are you anyway?”

”Twenty-Two. You?”

”Twenty-nine.”

”Fine, elder napping.”

Eric let out a quick laugh, along with the smoke he held in his lungs. The room was dark enough for them to barely see each other since the sun had gone down completely at this point, all that could be seen were his fingers illuminated very slightly by the light off his cigarette. Silence washed over them for a few seconds, but it was quickly interrupted by a knock at the door.

Annie’s POV:

I flinched hard at the sudden rapping and pressed my hand against my chest, my heart beating rapidly. Eric only stared down the hall at the front door, hopefully not noticing my reaction. I sighed, getting up.

I opened the door to see Chris with a very small, but incredibly smug smile on his face. You know, that sort of look someone gives you when they catch you in the middle of doing something you both know you shouldn’t? “Are you two still going at it, or can I collect the precious cargo now?” I rolled my eyes, “Don’t be a freak. He’s over there,” looking over my shoulder and down the hallway, I found that Eric had completely vanished, the table left empty with it’s chairs pushed in like nobody had ever been there in the first place, “…or at least he was. Does he do that to you guys too?” I looked back over at Chris who only shrugged, “Yeah, you’ll get used to it. What’s with the washcloth?” Instead of giving him any answer that would motivate his embarrassing comments, I set the cloth down with a casual, “Spring cleaning,” but it was obvious my words didn’t convince him with the way his eyes narrowed at me, that same look returning to his face from earlier. “Shut up,” I mutter.

The next few days remained just as uneventful as usual; work, sleep, work sleep, work, sleep, work… I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t storming anymore, there was no breeze, and no other sound was filtering through the wind chimes as I sat against my headboard in the dark, aside from one. I couldn’t tell if it was in my head, but I was scared, as much as I hated admitting to any sort of weakness, my heartbeat was in my ears when my lack of self preservation led me out of my room. Making my way to the kitchen, the tile flooring was unforgivingly cold, but I felt something nagging at me to investigate the rhythmic tapping that I could finally make out as something real against the window, behind the sink. The little curtains were closed; I grabbed a long knife from the sink, using the tip to slightly push the fabric to the side and get a peek at what could’ve been going on outside. My grip on the handle was tight enough to turn my knuckles white, the sweat on my palm making it slick enough to probably shoot out of my hand if I were to have held it any tighter. My eyes adjusting to the darkness outside, I could finally make out the white face behind the glass, the sight catching me off guard enough to make me yell out, “Jesus, fuck!” I jumped back, dropping my knife.

”Bravo!” I heard a muffled voice shout; it was one that I could only make out as Eric’s. All I could do was sigh and pull back the curtain to see his stupid, handsome face. All amused. I let it fall closed again, “I’m not letting you in, asshole,” I yelled, walking away and out of the kitchen entirely. The last thing I felt like dealing with after a full days work was getting trolled in the middle of the night. The couch absorbed my weight like a sponge when I flopped onto it like a seal. I reached for the TV remote, but another hand reached from behind me and beat me to it, clicking it on. “I don’t need you to, ‘let me in,” your storm cellar was unlocked.” Eric spoke up, walking around the back of the couch and over to a window next to the TV, “If only I had known this was unlocked. Would’ve saved me some trouble.” With his back still facing me, I sneered at him, “I was wondering where the mildew smell came from,” I stood up just as he turned back around, planting my hands on my hips with a less than pleased expression. He took a few slow steps towards me, but I wasn’t going to let him think I was intimidating, “You scared me.” He smiled at my words, leaning in with a, “Boo!” This made figurative steam shoot out of my ears.

“What do you want anyway?”

His response was accompanied by a more sincere and concerned look as he pulled back, arms crossed, “I haven’t seen you out in the last few days.” For only a second, I could feel my face heat up. Was he worried? “Oh. Well, I spend most of my time at work during the day, so I’m not really around.” I sat back down, looking up at Eric, “You gonna sit too, or what?” He narrowed his eyes at me very slightly, seeing to contemplate something, “I’m not sure… Can I smoke in here?” I shrugged, “Only if you share.”

The TV only served as background noise while we talked for what could’ve been hours, passing his last cigarette back and forth. I poured us a couple glasses of wine, feeling myself warm up to him. Mostly because of the wine. Eric was friendly but also a very philosophical person, seeming to zone out and monologue every now and then. Lost in his words as he went on about the fleeting nature of mortality, I didn’t even notice as he put his cigarette out on his wrist. He looked over at me, his eyebrows raised expectantly, “Nothing?” He said, pulling me out of my daze that involved me just staring at his cheek with an empty head. “Nothing what?” I asked, earning a full laugh from Eric who could only lean back me shake his head. I smiled, sitting up, “What, what was it?” I gave up on getting him to explain, instead leaning back next to him again, a stereotypical warm and fuzzy feeling washing over my skin, as I giggled softly along side him.

I kicked my legs up, resting them on his lap in a casual way, and his laughter cut off. He looked down at my calves laying across his thighs before standing up abruptly, “Sorry, I, uh, I have to go.” He said, practically speed-walking to the window. Rattled with confusion, I watched him open it, “Is everything okay?” He looked over his shoulder for a split second, already starting to climb through as he spoke, “Yeah, it’s just- it’s nothing, I have to run.” My jaw was on the floor when he leaped out of the house; all I could do was stand there, dejected and humiliated.

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