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mermaidxatxheart · 1 year

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Ribbed*

You guys, I am feral for this man. And you can thank @musings-of-a-rose for this story.

Pairing: Benny Miller x Reader

Word Count: 2117

Warnings: smut. unprotected sex. Garrett Hedlund, who needs a warning all on his own.

Master List

The paper fan swings back and forth in your hand lazily. It doesn’t do much to dispel the stifling heat in your apartment, or the heat radiating from your body. But mentally, you have to be doing something. Stop drinking would probably help, but why would you do something stupid like that?

Benny Miller, your brother’s best friend is propped next to you on your couch, working on his 8th jack and coke. You have him beat by about three and a half drinks.

The air conditioning is currently out in your apartment, going on the second week. You’ve put in several requests, but they’ve all gone unanswered. So, you asked your brother’s best friend to try and figure it out. But it stumped him, so the both of you resorted to drinking. Why? Dunno, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. You drag an ice cube across your chest, not caring how the quickly melting liquid seeps into your thread-bare tank top.

Benny lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face and your eyes catch on his abdomen. Muscles on muscles. He’s so ripped, even his sides have washboard abs. Okay, maybe you’re drunk, but god damn, you can’t help but stare. Beautiful mother fucker. You’d love to smack the good looks right off his fucking face.

You don’t quite manage to smother the laugh that escapes and he looks at you.

“What?” He asks, his own lips twitching up into a grin, even though he doesn’t know why.

“Benny, what the fuck?” You gesture and he looks down at himself.

“What?” He repeats. He drops his shirt and picks his hat up off his head. He scratches his fingers through his soft hair before tucking the hat back securely backwards on his head once more. The move entrances you, turning you on for some unknown reason. Mysterious kink. Why is the hat a thing?

“Nothing.” You mumble, downing a big gulp of your drink. You’re gonna need a refill in a moment.

“Didn’t seem like nothing.” He challenges.

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t wanna say it.” You shake your head, the fan fanning a little faster now as if you can wave the words out of your brain. But they repeat on a loop and you know if he pushes you, you’ll come right out and say it. And that would be embarrassing.

He grabs your wrist, stopping the fan and making you look at him. His eyebrows arch up in the middle end, giving him the softest puppy dog look and you’re melting. “Tell me?” He says, and you know it’s a fucking ploy. You’ve seen that look on him when he’s flirting with girls at the bars, but you never once thought it would work on you. Lord, were you wrong.

“Fuck.” You exhale roughly. “Fine. I was just thinking that you’re ribbed for her pleasure.” You rush and he stares at you for a long minute.

He sits back and you think maybe he’s gonna leave, or make fun of you. Either option isn’t ideal. What you don’t expect is him to sit forward and peel off his sweaty shirt, revealing his taut, rippling muscles in all their glory. “Okay.” He says, adjusting himself on the couch and you’re staring at him.

“What?”

“Ribbed for your pleasure.” He says, patting his abs. “Come on.” The thin gold chain around his neck glints in the dim light, distracting you for just a second.

“You can’t be serious.”

“You’re the one who said it, sweetheart. You think about riding me a lot?”

“That’s not-“ you stammer.

“Not what?” He prompts.

“The point.” You finish lamely and his grin widens.

“You afraid?” He challenges. You shake your head. “I won’t let you fall. Come on.” He repeats. “I know you’re going through a dry spell. I am, too.”

Fuck. Are you really going to do this? Could you even orgasm from doing something like this? Thigh riding has never really been your thing. But maybe…

You stand up from the couch and he grins.

“That’s my girl.” He says proudly and your knees get weak. You’re such a slut for praise and he seems to know it. You move to straddle his abs but he stops you by holding up one of his long fingers. “These need to come off, baby.” He says, slipping said finger up the closest leg of your cotton shorts.

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and sliding them down your thighs slowly. He watches like a hawk and you feel the temperature in the room rising quickly.

“Pretty girl.” He praises softly and you’re steadily getting slick between your thighs. He takes your hands and guides you closer. “Knee here.” He cups the back of your knee and you jerk, not realizing how much it tickles. He grins.

“Sorry.” You mumble but he just shakes his head.

“Tickle spot noted.” He guides your knees, without touching them, to either side of his waist. You can feel him under you, all solid and warm.

Fuck.

He guides your hands to his broad shoulders, letting you lean forward over him. “Use me.” He says softly. “Let me be your leverage.” His big hands slide down your thighs, squeezing the flesh there and you rock forward slowly, cautiously. He hums approvingly and you squeeze your eyes shut against the sight of him under you. Your brother’s best friend, the guy who’s supposed to be off limits.

His hands blaze a burning trail up your thighs, over your hips, under the back of your shirt where he unclasps your bra with practiced ease. You feel the release of your breasts and it triggers something primal in you. You rock a little more purposefully now. He pulls the bra straps off your shoulders, freeing it from under your shirt. He presses the lacy fabric to his nose for a second and hums before tossing it over the back of your couch. His blue eyes stay trained on your face as he pulls on your hair tie, freeing your hair so it spills down around your shoulders.

“That’s it.” He mumbles, brushing some back behind your ear. “So fucking pretty.” His thumb strokes along the corner of your mouth and your lips separate, breathing heavily. He slips his thumb inside and you wrap your lips around it, sucking and rubbing it with your tongue, lost in delirium as you grind on his stomach. His free hand, that isn’t in your mouth, slides up the front of your shirt, cupping your breast. He brushes over your sensitive nipple, teasing it into a point, drawing a desperate moan from you.

“Oh fuck.” He exhales, watching you. He guides you forward, arching your back slightly and you hit a whole different angle on your clit. You whimper, grinding faster, chasing your pleasure. “Yeah, sweetheart. Come on.” He urges. He pulls his thumb out of your mouth and tugs your shirt over your head, tossing it with your bra.

He guides you up higher, getting you better purchase, and also allowing him to mouth at your nipples. His hands squeeze your hips,your ass, urging you faster. The friction is just right, his hot mouth and tongue are perfect on your nipples and you’re about to cum. Your rhythm falters and your body locks up as an orgasm floods your system. You gasp out his name, unable to move as it grips you.

He kisses up your chest, sliding you down to his thighs and supporting you. “Look what a mess you’ve made. So pretty when you cum.” He praises, touching the slick covering his abs. “Such a good fucking girl.” He licks it off his fingers, watching you.

You hold his gaze for a second before pulling his hand away and kissing him deeply. Tongue and teeth and lips clashing as you knock his hat off his head. Your fingers curl into his silky hair, pulling on it as you kiss him with a fierce desperation. He moans, rocking his hips up against yours.

In one swift motion, he stands up and flips you over onto your back on the couch. “Later, I’m gonna eat you until you can’t fucking stand. But right now, I’m so goddamn hard it hurts.” He mutters, shoving down his jeans. His cock is rising up to meet you and you reach for it, mesmerized by the thick vein spiraling up to the tip. He grabs your hand, stopping you. He strokes it once and kneels between your thighs.

He pauses, the crown resting at your entrance. “Can I?” He asks softly and you nod, banding your legs around his hips.

“I’m gonna cry if you don’t.” You promise. He pushes toward and your head falls back as he enters you. The stretch. Oh fuck, oh fuck.

You whimper, holding onto his straining biceps. He’s struggling to go slow so he doesn’t hurt you, you can tell that much. His arms are shaking, his eyes are slightly unfocused on your face. His hair, no longer trapped by his old ball cap, is hanging in his pretty face. The gold chain is hanging down, swinging gently as he slides in slowly.

“Trying not to-“ he mutters and you roll your hips, begging him to fill you.

“Gimme.” You plead, brushing his hair back. “Gimme. I can take it.” You promise.

He hesitates for a long second before thrusting in completely. You arch off the couch, mouth falling open as you cum instantly around him. Fuck, he feels so amazing inside you, so thick, so full, so deep. A throaty whine escapes you but that’s nothing compared to the feral growl he releases. Your fluttering walls are clinging to his every inch, stroking and kissing along his shaft.

“Baby,” he groans, shifting his arms. You wrap your thighs around him, urging him on. He pulls out and thrusts back in, picking up speed and depth as he pounds into you. Your name is a ghost on his pretty lips as he falls into you. He drops to his elbows, nearly all his weight on you now.

“Benny,” you moan in his ear and he fucks you faster. You roll your hips, pulling on his shaft and grinding him against your clit. Whimpers fall from your lips as you wind your arms around his broad shoulders. “Harder.” You beg and he looks down at you, his pupils blown wide, needy. His hand grips your thigh, holding you in place as he starts to rut inside you, his thrusts becoming shorter and harder as he reaches deeper into your velvety tightness.

“So good.” He moans in your ear. “So fucking good, baby.” He praises, burying his face in your neck. The chain drapes against your throat, cool in the humidity of the room. You flex your wall around him, urging him deeper.

Your third orgasm is fast approaching, it’s going to hit you like a wall, you can feel it. He’s fucking you so good. He bites along your neck, finding the perfect spot and you practically levitate into his chest as you cum again. You’re so fucking wet it’s dripping down your ass. Your body locks up around his as you cum, vision dimming, legs shaking, whimpers and gasps escaping.

“Oh fuck, baby girl. That’s it. Cum on my cock.” He praises, pressing you tight into the couch. “Gripping me so good.” He moans, fucking into you faster. “Gimme one more. I’m so close. Want you to cum again.” He pleads. “Wanna feel you cum on me again.” He kisses up your neck, making his way to your lips as he pounds you stupid into your couch.

Your whimpers are growing in volume, you’re so sensitive now, so close. He never really gave you a chance to come down. He kisses you desperately, messily. Your nails dig into his back and he growls possessively.

“Please, please.” He whispers and you lift your hips to meet his thrusts. “Where? Baby, where can I cum?” He rushes, his breath skating across your cheek.

“I-inside.” You mumble.

He reaches between your bodies and strums your clit rapidly. You cry out, cumming once more and gripping his shaft so tightly he can barely move. He thrusts in deep and unleashes a torrent of cum, burying his face in your neck. You can feel him sucking a mark, but you’re too fucked out to care. He finishes pumping inside you, rocking slightly before stilling. He looks down at you softly, brushing your hair back. He kisses you softly, his lips tender against yours now.

Now what?

@everythingisoverrated @musings-of-a-rose

#benny miller #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller x female reader #benny miller x you #reader fic #female reader #reader insert #x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier au #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #one shot #mermaidxatxheart-writes

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kawarikisaki · 7 months

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Funny thing given how knights work and your theory that Kid is a queen in chess the knights are the Detective Boys so despite his name Hakuba isn’t a chess knight. (Works even better because when Kid wanted to have them unwittingly help him acquire a big jewel he put all but Conan in a corner. (Given that knights in a corner are tricky at best.) Then he put him in a metaphorical corner by tasing him. Which I think which convinced Agasa, Conan and Ai to not allow the kids involved in Kid heists anymore because they don’t want that to happen to literal children. Because at that time Kid didn’t know Conan is actually about his own age.)

Alrighty, so you said a lot of stuff there but my brain is only really latching on to one part of it. So you're getting another round of me kinda debating myself. And the topic this time is: We don't actually know whether or not Kid knew Conan's identity at that point. We do know that he knows now, after all in Fairy's Lip heist Kaito's internal monologue acknowledges that he's up against two high school detective's. But that was fairly recent (2019) in the grand scheme of Detective Conan. So when did he find out? He found out in Movie 3, so it could be argued that he's known since then (which is generally what I go with since there's never anything that contradicts that), however the movies are second degree canon (I could probably do a whole ramble post about what I think about the movies and their canonicity), so it's not really solid that he learned at that point.

That said, if that movie isn't when Kid officially found out Conan's identity then we don't actually know when he did, because we're not shown it. But Arguments can and will be made: 1. He's known since the black star pearl heist. After meeting on the roof Kid looked into Conan and those he was staying with as part of the process that led to him disguising as Ran on the ship- with how intelligent Kaito is it's not unreasonable to consider that he may have learned that had a childhood friend that went missing around the same time that Conan showed up, and Kaito knows magic is real so it's not too much of a logic jump for him to put two and two together. 2. He needed to see him in action a few more times before he made the connection, but knew before the gathering of great detectives (just because if he didn't know at that point it's super weird that Kid included Conan in the phrasing of 'they're like lovers that you don't want to meet'. No Kaito, don't compare someone you think is a child to a lover, not good.) 3. The hint that Conan gave durring the Ryoma heist/case about his mom gave Kid the pieces he needed to make the leap in logic. (Already after the heist with the detective boys at this point) 4. Somehow he didn't know but then seeing how Heiji and Conan interact in the aforementioned Fairy lips heist Kaito just kinda went 'oh, they're bros- wait did he just call the little meitantei 'Kudo'???' And while the idea of option 4 amuses me to no end. And the same with if considering the possibility that Kaito could have tazed Conan thinking he was a real 6 year old. .... I already mentioned that I'm on team 'he figured it out in the movie'.

#dcmk #kuroba kaito #asks

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cremthehive · 8 months

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Sun in My Eyes; Chapter 2 {Viktor X Fem!OC }{SFW}{1.8k}{Modern!AU}

Summary: Eveline is in the anxiety inducing homestretch of her last year before she graduates with her degree from the academy. An opportunity to work with Hextech’s founders lands right in her lap, which she gladly takes. Only to find out a beautiful stranger she’s been seeing around campus, drawing, and obsessing over... is her boss. CW: Slow burn asf! Talks of anxiety, pining, college stress, cursing A/N: Chapter two is here, ahhh! I hope everyone is enjoying it as much as I am; feedback is more than welcome if you guys have any!

Nothing could’ve prepared Eveline for the thought process that was looming over her head, giggling like a school girl while she kicks her feet wildly before having the revelation that this man could be her boss. The stranger now named Viktor examined the classroom, offering no wave but a subtle nod instead. When those golden eyes of his skim over Eveline in the back, she averts her gaze to the table below her. With her pages of work strewn around in front of her, it was hard to ignore all of her drawings standing out to her like a sore thumb. Insecurities plague her brain as she starts to nitpick over her work. The stress was getting to her in the worst way. It was like this opportunity popping up caused a ten car pileup of stress, anxiety, and her exhaustion catching up to her. To say Eveline wasn’t prepared would be an understatement at this point.

You really can only say you’re ready to move on from a particular chapter in your life until the next chapter pops up, making your statement completely false. Next thing you know, you have new kinds of stress that you have to adjust to and it’s an endless cycle. Like, what if this guy becomes her boss, and he is an utter creep who follows poor Eveline home and kills her in her sleep? For her father’s sake, she didn’t even think of that being an option. Potential love interest gone absolute killer.

But what if he was kind? Helped her when things got rough, bandaged her scraped up knees when she fell and made a mistake? What if there was all these new stresses, but there were all of these rewarding things to look forward? She could help people, make a difference, help those who need the most help. Positivity finally opens a door after all the hardship you go through and welcomes you with big, open arms. Eveline closes her eyes at the pleasing thought as she brushes the loose strands of her hair that framed her face behind her ears to join the rest of her hair clipped with a claw.

Get a grip, focus on the task at hand. There isn’t time for playing pretend. This is job or death time.

At this point, Eveline couldn’t even listen to Jayce’s introduction to the project which was probably, obviously important because her thoughts were a screaming crowd of jesters that insulted and encouraged. Breathe, relax your jaw.

Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. Take this deep breath. Then another. Finish with a third while your shoulders relax. The perfect, cautious lines and curves of Eveline’s work help her to focus on something other than the cold, death-grip that anxiety had a hold on her brain. Look up, focus. Jayce talks with his hands a lot. He’s excited about this project because he’s getting somewhere with his dream. His best friend is at his side, and all of these people that told him it was forbidden and he couldn’t, were praising him now.

“All of the work you’ve put in will be turning into real buildings, it will be paid off. Your jobs are not just drawings which you’ve been doing for the past how many years, they’re art. Plus, you’ll be able to get an inside look on what Hextech really is and what these Hexgates are for. Remember, that these are in the works, but we’re pretty close to being finished.” Jayce was confident, but he was nervous standing in front of everyone. There was sweat on his forehead travelling down the side of his face. Nervous chuckles ended plenty of his sentences, but he never let that slow him down. He takes a deep breath before turning to Viktor. “Viktor, anything to add?” He asks. Viktor leans on his cane with a thoughtful look before nodding.

“To make this easier, we’ll go down the roster that Professor Viola has provided us. Once your name is called, you’ll come to us and present your pieces.” The rich accent rolls off his tongue, that Lanie and her friends obnoxiously swoon over.

“So, as soon as everyone’s ready, which I’m assuming everyone is, we’ll get started.” Jayce adds in, looking around the room for people who weren’t ready. Which was half the class but no one was really prepared for this big opportunity.

“Great. Alright, Juliet Arquette.” Jayce calls, the girl sitting next to Eveline standing and making her way to the front with her work.

Eveline sits impatiently as the first few people go up, both Jayce and Viktor looking through their work with compliments and small talk. Viktor writes down notes for each person while making sure everything looked good to Jayce. All Eveline could do was sit there and trying to fight back the overwhelming feeling to get up and fucking run. No, she was going to endure this. If this fails, at least she tried and that’s more than okay. The important thing is that she gets her foot in the door and shoves it open before it closes again. “Eveline Conti.”

Okay, let’s do this. Eveline stands with confidence, gathering her amazing work before she heads down the steps. A smile graces her lips as she approaches the two men. Her gaze gravitates towards the cane again before trailing up to Viktor. Oh gods, how the hell was he even more attractive up close. The way his eyebrows were tweaked with concentration on finishing the note he was making about the person before her was inspiring. The mole above his lip catches her eye, threatening her mission by plaguing her mind with thoughts on what it looked like right before they kissed but she sets herself straight. Don’t be weird.

“Hello. I’m Eveline. It’s nice to meet you both.” Eveline greets, taking Jayce’s hand as he offers it to her to shake it. Viktor’s head lifts up finally—taken aback as he looks her over. He eventually nods towards her with a smile. She gets the hint and simply offers him back a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you! I’m safe to assume that this is your final year, correct?” Jayce asks, Eveline nods excitedly.

“Yes. I’m pretty excited to be done with this chapter. I’m ready for the next one, whatever that chapter may be. Speaking of which, here is my prints for you to look through.” Eveline splits the pile and hands each of them a half. As much as she hated that public speaking class she took, it was proving to be super helpful in this moment. “If you have any questions, I’m happy to answer.” She adds as the men took their halves. Silence falls over their part of the room. Eveline swallows hard as she watches them look through her works with unreadable facial expressions. Not bad expressions, but not good either. More like poker game neutral. Viktor quietly sighs through his nose, pausing to make a note. Jayce leans over to look at the words being scribbled on the page with an approving noise. “Your designs are a unique type of elegant yet modern. They really know how to catch someone’s eye.” Jayce comments as he looks over her print of an observatory. Her favorite print was in Jayce’s hand, making her heart beat faster than ever. He flips the page over to look at the interior plan of it. Viktor looks over at the observatory print. “I see what you mean.” He mumbles, making a note. It felt like finals all over again. Like your peers dissecting your every stroke of writing, every answer, preparing to harshly put down the wrong answer in red. Time ticks slowly as Eveline felt herself start to sweat. “Thank you. That one is special to me.” She mentions it casually, clasping her hands together to twist her fingers around themselves. After a few more moments of Jayce and Viktor going over the work, they work together to put it back in the right order and hand it back to her. “Thank you for allowing us to look over your work. What’s a good way to contact you?” Viktor asks Eveline, looking up right in her eyes. “Uh...” Eveline hesitates, his eyes capturing her. They were so pretty. So golden. Viktor shifts in his seat under her stare, his eyes peering back down to his notes. Her cheeks heat up violently as she realizes she was staring. Say something. Hurry up and say something. “My phone. You can call me or text me. It should be next to my name on the roster. Or I’m usually around campus before 5... if you are even available to leave.” The words finally make it out of her mouth. “Sounds good. We’ll contact you by the end of the week.” Jayce reassures her. “It was good to meet you, Eveline.” “You too.” Eveline nearly whispers, turning to make her escape with her cheeks red and her heart racing. Class went by quickly after that. There was so many emotions making their way through Eveline; it was like she was back to being a hormonal teenager. Everyone stands as soon as the professor dismisses the class. She turns back to Jayce and Viktor to finish their small conversation. A smile stuck to the older woman’s face as people started filing out of the room, placing their portfolios on the desk where they originally were. Eveline gathers her tote bag, slinging it over her shoulder while grabbing her portfolio. Just have to be close to him one more time, then you maybe don’t have to think about him for a while. Walking up to the front of the classroom, Eveline drops off her portfolio before turning towards the door. Almost there, five more steps. She smiles at the three people standing there, taking an extra moment to remember where the mole was placed on Viktor’s lip as she started to walk. “Eveline, wait just a moment.” Professor Viola’s voice breaks her stride. Eveline pauses, turning towards her. “Sure.” She responds, tucking her hair behind her ear. Viktor watches her hand’s every moment, his fingers twitching. Jayce turns towards Viktor, the two silently conversing with a nod. With that excited smile plastered on Jayce’s face he turns to Eveline. Viktor stands with the support of his cane, handing her an envelope.

“How would you like to design the Hexgates and work for us?” Viktor asks.

Eveline’s eyes widen, blinking a few times. No. Am I dreaming? Viola is grinning now, her hands clasped together as she waits for Eveline’s answer. This is it, this is my ticket. Eveline’s mouth opens to say something then closes again. Her head shakes as she takes a breath. With confidence, she nods her head as she looks up to Viktor.

“I would absolutely love to.”

#arcane #arcane viktor x oc #viktor x oc #arcane viktor #viktor #viktor arcane #who's ready for the next chapter because ooh it's gonna be a big one

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dreamwritesimagines · 2 years

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HELLO. Just finished reading chapter 21 and i am having so many thoughts and you shall hear these thoughts. beware. this is going to be quite LONG. Hence why I am submitting a post instead of sending an ask bc it really got so long omg so you can have the option to put a read more if u wish too.

first off, I WAS THE ANON WHO SAID THAT ANTHONY WILL BECOME IDIOT PREMIUM™️ AND GODAMMIT I WAS RIGHT. i cannot believe i was right in a few things with my theory AAAH. i feel like i can blame myself for this heartache bc i put it out into the world. i kinda manifested it (even tho you probably already had this chapter set in stone waay before kskssk)

the whole jealousy thing with Anthony. my gOOOODD. obviously Cherie didn’t do it on purpose. i tend to forget how pure she is for this world so vengeance isn’t exactly in her blood nor is pettiness even tho she can be quite fierce when she needs to be. BUT STILL. unknowingly she did make him jealous. but i’m still blaming Anthony for that bc booooooooyyy you should’ve known better!! she wasn’t actively instigating you Anthony! which brings me back to my point! like did he really think someone as kind as Cherie would be so petty?? like Lord Bridgerton do u even know your girl at all???? and know i said in my last ask that it will be Hugh but i totally forgot about Allard bc he was already out of the race for me lmao. but i knew it. I KNEW ANTHONY WOULD ACT WITH HIS EMOTIONS AND ANGER AND JEALOUSY MY GOD YOU !!! IDIOT !!! PREMIUM™️ !!! not to mention this man was probably already drunk!! he’s making it harder for his brain to work as if it wasn’t having trouble working already !!!! braincells out of the window. no braincells 6 feet UNDERGROUND BC HIS BRAINCELLS ARE DEAD !!!!!! and then the fact that he got caught in the act. Which does makes me wonder what he could’ve done if he Cherie didn’t see him with sienna???? would he have kept it??? could it have gone further??? And knowing him he probably would’ve kept it and just expected everything to fix itself and then it will backfire in the long run. which by the way, it was so heartbreaking that Cherie got so see that !!! i’m just so ANGRY. AT THIS MAN. YOU IDIOT !!! *breathes in. breathes out* The way my first reaction after finishing the chapter was “Why are men so stupid.” i am shaking my head, and letting out deep sighs of disappointment.

On a different side (bc I do give people the benefit of the doubt), even tho he said “I saw you with Allard and—" I don’t particularly see it as Anthony seeking revenge or being like ‘two can play at the game’ it’s more him being blinded by his emotions. Like I don’t think he did it bc he wants to purposefully hurt Cherie or make her jealous. He did it bc again, he’s an Idiot Premium™️ and with all his emotions (which is already confusing him to no end) + the bloody wine + he’s a Man™️ in a heavily misogynistic era so he has no idea what to do with all these feelings™️ so instead of talking about it to anyone else or seeking advice he just…used Sienna as a distraction maybe?? Or maybe he did it bc he wanted to blow off steam i.e. thinking with the wrong head?? Like he feels so angry with Everything™️ (more so @ him) and this was him “lashing out” in a way he only knows how…being a rake and all. Like some people blow off steam by boxing or running, and bc he’s Anthony well….he’s being Anthony. and obviously people make the stupidest decision when angry. But who knows what’s going on in this man’s head. Just tumbleweeds probably. Since it’s all empty and dusted.

Now their secret is out in the open. (although not fully bc i am so sure Elias will kill Anthony if he finds out about the sneaking around. no hesitation.) Though I know Elias is probably thinking the worst™️ until he gets an explanation. On one hand this is all chaos and it’s a lot and it will for sure cause so many problems. not to mention THE WEDDING. Goddamn. Awkward™️ it’s going to get paused isn’t it?? Bc Anthony is best man and ugh. But yes, it’s all going up in flames, but on the other hand, i am very glad that it’s now out there? in a sense that Cherie doesn’t have to deal with it alone. bc i am so so sooo sure if that confrontation didn’t happen in the hallway with everyone, she will bottle this up and just keep it to herself in hopes not to affect other people. and my gooood that kills so so much more. so i’m glad everyone is now aware and can help these two (Cherie with her first heartbreak, Anthony with…everything else.) also now, there’s so many people who’s beating Anthony up (figuratively…and well physically lol i want to see Elias beat him up more. violent i’m sorry but i am a sucker for overprotective big bros) Anthony is getting those hands™️ and Elias already has the first…probably 50 slots taken, and then the next 50 slots is reserved for Cecily and then the next 50 is reserved by the Duke and the next 50 by ME. So sorry for the rest you have to wait in line but you will get your turn.

my heart was breaking when she was trying to convince herself it was all a dream. and then it shattered when she called out for her mother :(( when she asked Cecily if Anthony calls Sienna “my siren” as well. Aching. Everything hurts. and then Elias :((( the way Cherie talked about heartbreak killing her and Elias just…i can’t even begin to imagine what he must be feeling bc he swore to protect her and now….he’s probably feeling all kinds of emotions. bc that’s his BEST FRIEND. The betrayal Elias must have felt bc that’s his SISTER and he doesn’t even know the full scope of this yet. ALSO when Elias said, “I just have something I need to do.” am i hearing a WE SHALL DUEL AT DAWN in the horizon?????

and the most heartbreaking part about all of this is that now you have a girl who was so sooo headstrong believing in love. who was so adamant that everyone deserves to love and to be loved and that it is a very beautiful thing…now she doesn’t want it anymore. she’s begging for it to go away. Now she’s learned the lesson of what comes with loving someone so strongly and getting your heartbroken and it’s just the cruelest of ways. now Cherie is so convinced Anthony doesn’t love her (i beg to differ but i also don’t blame her at all for thinking that bc anthony u dumbo™️) and that she’s unlovable and i’m just…

damn you Anthony Bridgerton. DAMN YOU !!!! i am not a queen but if i was OFF WITH YOUR HEAD !!!!!

I saw how you said you’re doing the extra scenes mostly in Anthony’s POV and as much as i am shaking my head at him right now i can’t wait to see his side of things. I also would like to see him catch Elias’ hands in his POV pls. I can imagine him just taking the beating bc he knows he deserves it. AND getting all the earfuls from his siblings + Simon AND PEOPLE YELLING AT HIM TO GET HIS SHIT™️ TOGETHER.

i have a feeling you’ve got something up in your sleeves that will make me hate him less. i mean i am not taking his side rn bc he’s so aggravating™️ but i like seeing the different perspectives in all of this. I’m trying to see all sides of the story so i kinda do ‘understand’ his side in a sense that he’s just a Feelings Confuse Me Man™️ still an Idiot Premium™️ but confused nonetheless. Who clearly doesn’t know how to use his brain. Not making excuses of course. He still sucks rn. but i am quite sure this is hurting him too. More so that he is so so aware how much he’s probably hurt Cherie and there’s nothing more painful than seeing the person you love (…pending for him until he admits it) being so broken and that it’s your fault. And I am pretty sure he drowning in regret and guilt and all that jazz. or maybe i’m just a sucker for groveling™️ but god, if he wants Cherie to trust him again or even just for her to believe that he truly cares about her then. Anthony, you better be ready to climb Mount Olympus and back and then zap yourself with Zeus’ lightning and then take a trip in the underworld and think about your wrong doings to prove yourself worthy and then get resurrected once you do realise bc that might as well be what you’re about to do to win her back. (then again, he’s obsessed with her so I don’t doubt he’d actually be willing to do that)

That was a lot. i’m sorry omg sksks. This is looking like a whole thesis. but in case you can’t tell. i am so so invested and obsessed with this story. you are incredible and amazing so hats off to you!! also i hope i’m not being annoying with this sksks i just talk a lot. and when i have so much feelings i talk even more. If it is bothering you I will try and be shorter with this next time. You for sure will hear about me more so should i just sign myself as Idiot Premium™️ Anon? but then that’ll make me the idiot ahah. Wait. I’m just going to sign as

– TM Anon™️

Omg omg darliiiing!

First of all, never apologize for this because I love love LOVE long asks and like, analysis of chapter/story, it literally makes my day and I got so excited when I got this so I can’t thank you enough! I probably read this like ten times already, you’re amazing! ❤❤❤

So I’m putting my answer under “read more” because I will fangirl over you and this ❤

Anthony definitely became the IDIOT PREMIUM ™ this chapter! 😱

Exactly! Like, Cherie really didn’t do it on purpose, she wasn’t trying to make him jealous! 😁

like Lord Bridgerton do u even know your girl at all???? I think he doesn’t😈 Like, he should have known she wouldn’t do it!

You forgot about Pierre omg 😂

Oh yeah he was drunk, like he was very much drunk 😂 Eloise was telling the truth when she said he probably drank like ten glasses and they weren’t even there for half an hour 😂

Which does makes me wonder what he could’ve done if he Cherie didn’t see him with sienna???? would he have kept it??? could it have gone further??? This is a really good question! So the way I see it, I actually don’t think he would have gone through with it 😈 The whole thing happened very spontaneously but would he and Siena have sex even if Cherie didn’t walk in on them? I doubt it 😁

Oh that’s a good sign 😁

I don’t particularly see it as Anthony seeking revenge or being like ‘two can play at the game’ it’s more him being blinded by his emotions. THIS! THIIIIIS! Omg yes!

That will be explained in the later chapters but you’re absolutely right, Anthony wasn’t actively trying to take revenge or make her “regret” her jealousy attempts or anything like that, he simply was NOT thinking 😂

Thinking with the wrong head sounds about right 😂

Like he feels so angry with Everything™️ (more so @ him) and this was him “lashing out” in a way he only knows how…being a rake and all. Like some people blow off steam by boxing or running, and bc he’s Anthony well….he’s being Anthony. and obviously people make the stupidest decision when angry Oh this is such a good read on Anthony! Inside his head is an absolute chaos right now and just like you said, he has no idea what to do with these feelings so he did the only thing he could think of, the only thing he’s used to doing and knows that it works… only this time it didn’t exactly work 😈

EMPTY AND DUSTED LOLLLL 😂

Oh yes, Elias cannot know the details about that… Like that would surely lead to a duel😈 But yes, if that confrontation didn’t happen, Cherie would be going through it alone, there’s no way she would tell anyone anything ❤ But now that Elias and Cecily know, it will make things considerably easier for her because at least she will have some support through this heartbreak ❤

the way Cherie talked about heartbreak killing her and Elias just…i can’t even begin to imagine what he must be feeling bc he swore to protect her and now….he’s probably feeling all kinds of emotions. bc that’s his BEST FRIEND. The betrayal Elias must have felt bc that’s his SISTER and he doesn’t even know the full scope of this yet. YESSS! Elias is going to be extra protective of her, because like, he knew 💔 He knew if Cherie and Anthony got closer it would end up with her getting her heart broken, and this was exactly what he was trying to stop when he warned Cherie over and over again and even when he talked to Anthony before Cherie arrived there 💔

This heartbreak will actually be extremely hard on Cherie and it will change her completely 💔 Her world and everything she believed about love turned upside down because she actually trusted him wholeheartedly and it didn’t even hit her this could’ve happened until it happened ❤ She is head over heels and all her life she believed it was the ultimate happiness and Anthony just changed that whole belief in the cruelest way possible 😈

Oh yeah, extra scenes in Anthony’s POV! We will see Cherie’s side of this break up in actual chapters and in extra scenes we will see Anthony’s side and…it will be a mess for him 😈

i am quite sure this is hurting him too. More so that he is so so aware how much he’s probably hurt Cherie and there’s nothing more painful than seeing the person you love (…pending for him until he admits it) being so broken and that it’s your fault. And I am pretty sure he drowning in regret and guilt and all that jazz ABSOLUTELY! 😁 Like, this heartbreak and break up will change Cherie BUT it will also change Anthony completely! 😈 His character development started when he got with her but now? It’s in full speed 😁❤

Darling you’ve made my day with this! I love long asks and I LOVE YOU SO MUCH OMG YOU’RE AMAZING! ❤❤ THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU, YOU’VE MADE ME SO HAPPY! ❤❤

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grumpyfaceurn · 1 year

Text

One time I saw an older woman on the train, maybe around 50, with very close-cropped grey hair. I had three thoughts in very quick succession:

- wow she looks cool, I wonder if I could pull that off

- wait no i can’t, my face shape is awful enough with all my hair to distract from it

- wow I can’t wait until i’m old enough that I can no longer care about being beautiful

Today I bought some dark blue fabric. I want to use this to piece into the side seam of a pair of trousers that is a little bit tight and I don’t want to just throw them out because the fabric is a very cool flower print that I’m very fond of. And it feels like this huge momentous decision, like a crossroads. On the one side lies the person I could be, the one that really just needs to focus a little bit and lose a few pounds and then fit into these trousers and all the other unworn clothes that i don’t throw out because maybe maybe one day I will, somehow, miraculously. And then I’ll be who i was always meant to be, slim and fashionable and elegant and beautiful and worthy of love. On the other side lies the long, hard path to maybe, self-tolerance. And a part of me still thinks that i’m giving up on myself - that as soon as these trousers are bigger, I’ll put on weight until they are too tight again. (All this, for the record, from a person who has never dieted a day in her life - my brain is a freaking toddler who throws a fit as soon as it’s denied food, even just by me forgetting to bring lunch. From someone who is probably, judging by the comments on that “I know Victoria’s Secret” video, too thin to be allowed to feel bad about her body. Who has been told that it’s cruel of me to look in the mirror if there is a person in the room who is bigger than me - ironically enough I was not admiring myself but picking over every detail and wondering if it was alright to force the world to look at me).

I’m not actively remodelling my apartment but at least making a lot of plans. My bedroom is microscopic and so many people have suggested to me that maybe I can make more use of the space with a loft bed but after writing to a professional it looks like my plans for that don’t work in various ways and I wouldn’t actually be able to utilize the space as I imagined. The other option would be... a smaller bed. A single bed. A bed that only one person can sleep in at any level of comfort. And this, like sizing up those trousers that i’m unwilling to just donate, feels like giving up. Dedicating myself to this life as an old spinster, a crazy cat lady in the making. Fuck it, I might as well put that kitschy rose wallpaper on the walls because no man is going to enter this bedroom anyway.

I don’t really know what these stories have in common, something about expectations and circumstances that fit my life as it is vs. keeping options open for the life that I’m expecting and am so deeply deeply disappointed that it isn’t actually mine.

#sometimes I stare at my own face during video calls and it looks so strange #absurd even #so much so that I think it might be an absolution - hey even if I was three clothes sizes thinner I still wouldn't be hot so who gives a shi #if I'm never going to be fuckable why not just give up and enjoy things #but i can't let it go #like why is that so hard #when you know it's all bullshit and lies #diet industry and make up and instagram filters #and yet you can't stop believing those lies #what do you do?

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blocksruinedme · 9 months

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22. describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

28. handwritten notes or typed notes?

44. any writing advice you want to share?

22) my writing process!

be living my life, possibly babysitting or driving (maybe talking about blorbos)

think "hey what if...."

become possessed

from there it splits Version A - the fastest, and rarest, one

A1. get to my couch (or a different laptop place, or a notebook if desperate)

A2. Frantically let words spill out of me, often wishing my fingers could keep up with my brain. It's sometimes almost painful, needing to get the words out

A3. edit for a variable amount of time an post

My first published mcyt was like this - watched ranchers in the crossover at 11am, ideas marinated all day, came up with "what if tango's the key to fix fwhimmy" walking to my car at 5pm, started writing like 5:15 and published at maybe 1am. almost 5k long. Insane. that was MY EX STOLE MY SOULMATE.. | Empires SMP S2 1.19 (rated T) and I'm told also With Their Knife to His Throat (rated M) but I legit have next to no memories of writing that one, I think it was 48 hours from idea to published (4k).

B - normal version. Note: all of this is interspersed with working on a lot of other stories

B1: Have an idea, probably frantically but maybe it builds

B2: Think about it a lot, maybe ideas in a little notebook if they are coming at the wrong times.

B3: write down bits of prose as they come, do a lot of outline in gdocs.

B4: start writing from the beginning based on outline but also what feels right - in any given moment, i know more about the story than i did when i wrote the outline

B5: if i’m lucky write chronologically and work through the outline and add things. Often a section isn’t coming and i skip ahead. If it’s not happening, it’s not time for it to happen. To write the way I really want to, I need to know how it ends, so I can have the story build.

B6: probably fuss a lot

B7: beg people for help and to tell me it’s okay to publish

B8: stress a lot about if it’s good enough and about minor changes i could make

Optional: B9: put it down for 1-7 months (i just published a fic from january, and two of my bang fics are from september and november)

B10: publish it pretty much the same as it was in B8

(I deleted C by adding B9 but already wrote D)

D: Probably just the once

D1: See a prompt for driving after dark and get unexpectedly interested

D2: write 2k of notes while trying to get another story done

D3: Give myself 6 days to write those 2k of notes and then it’s 20k and my longest fic ever and oops needs a lot of typo fixes: The Key to His Problem (rated E)

The editing etc process:

During every version of this I have a gdoc shared with people and am begging for advice. If i can’t decide on a word when i’m writing and have some flow going, i say “they were all [very] surprised” and leave a comment (or just the brackets) to come back later and fix it. THIS IS MUCH OF HOW I WRITE FAST. The first draft is to get out it out of my head, the second draft is to get it into the reader’s head. SOMETIMES the flow is perfect and i don’t need to do this, but like, idk, 10% of the time?

A lot of the words in [brackets] will wind up staying as is, but it gives me permission to move on without feeling like i’ve settled.

Editing sometimes involves a lot of of editing passes, sometimes just because i want to work on it and don’t want to write. This can mean the early parts get soooo much more love.

Sometimes I print out a fic that has gone through a set of editing and do more on paper. It can be great. I just see the story differently, and it mostly keeps me from adding huge amounts, and i catch errors i didn’t otherwise.

Usually i put up the ao3 draft a few days earlier and start adding tags and putting in my text (which i do in html) to look at it. The title often comes the day i publish, cause i wait till the end.

28. handwritten notes or typed notes?

typed unless i don't have my laptop. I started carrying around a pocket sized notebook in march and i'm onto my second one. I got it in a Japanese stationery store and got hooked, i have this line in many sizes, here's my pocket notebook -https://www.jetpens.com/Maruman-Mnemosyne-N184A-Twin-Ring-Memo-Pad-A7-Graph/pd/7379 I've written in this baby in the corner of a club cause i had ideas waiting at the bar for a drink.

44. any writing advice you want to share?

You have to get the words out. You have to get the words out. You have to get the words out.

Good words can be, often are, born of less good words.

Don't be afraid of editing! Great fiction generally comes from editing! Put down some fucking words even if you hate them and get to the next part. I do this, I am not preaching advice I don't take. I'll leave a comment sometimes to tell my future self I didn't think they were good words, I just needed them out. It's fine, I survive every single time.

If you don't need to edit, swell! But if you're stuck, just keep writing something -- or if that won't work, or you feel shitty, take a break. Work on another story, do something else, but if you're miserable and slamming your head against the wall, STOP! Don't hurt yourself! Because you shouldn't hurt, and because you'll associate writing more and more with hurt.

Get other people involved. Share snippets with your friends (if you've got an appropriate discord, make a channel for it!) Trade off reading with your writer friends. If you like my writing, know that not a single word I've ever published hasn't been read by multiple other people. My pre-fic writing was generally group works, so that's what feels normal. The idea of publishing with not even anyone to say "Hey Vee, this makes sense in your brain but not mine" is terrifying. You don't need to Have Serious Beta, it can just be cheerleading or really general "point out if anything is a big problem". I found out this week i am a "phenomenal cheerleader" -- your friends, or some kind soul on a discord, don't need to give you literary analysis to say "this part is cool, your fic is good, i hope you publish!"

Fandom is shared joy. Share your joy in every way - cheerleading others, getting other to share joy with you on your works, leave comments, leave kudos, reblog, make happy posts, keep the negativity to smaller spaces, SHARE THE JOY. I've been in fandom legit longer than some of you have been alive and it's always the joy, that's what it always comes back to. Hold onto the joy, that's what will last in your hearts. <3 <3 <3

#answering asks #me #my writing #writing advice #feels presumptuous to tag that but whatever #yes this is a months old ask but as i say i have to wait for the right time #and today's “woke up crying and need a certain kind of distraction”

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forabetterlifethanthis · 1 year

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Perfect People

Sorry I’ve been away. I have just been so very busy getting rat-faced pissed on a bar crawl and booking a holiday to Marbella. Just in case the irony was lost on any of you, I definitely wasn’t. I was, alas, once again succumb to a day immobilised by pain, and the vestiges of the prior day’s positivity had very rapidly atrophied. Whether I have the mental strength or desire to face pain very much seems to be an arbitrary decision by my brain, and one in which I have little input into. Well, yesterday I did not have the desire or the energy or the motivation to battle my demons, no matter how many inspirational quotes I read. I took the easy option, and spent the day in bed and covered in valium. I wasn’t even feeling particularly bad, just completely insatiable and no desire to live my best life. I was living pretty close to my worst life, and very happily I was. My body probably portrayed a wilting, withering, woebegone figure but in my head I wasn’t bad at all. I was in lots of pain and I didn’t want to face the pain that day. Isn’t that fair enough?

And yes, I know drugging oneself to a state of desultory dullness is not the depiction of a desirable life. But it’s what I sometimes need to do just to get over that line to the next day. I still find myself feeling prosaic and lacking any real motivation or creativity. I did drag myself out of bed just to get this to my millions of fans out there.

I find it hard when I read about all the social events and such that I would have used to have been a part of. I find this hard because poor little me cannot partake in such jovial jollity. It’s sunny outside, and the sun isn’t my friend right now and I am very much hidden in my hermitage. I really miss such simple things. People say to focus on what you can do and to be grateful for it. Maybe I’m just a bit useless, but I am always thinking about all the things I can no longer do. Why? Because I miss them and I fear that I won’t ever be able to do them again. I also feel it unfair that everyone else is (from my skewed simplistic internalised view) able to be happy. I want to be happy. I really want to and I really try hard to. Some days I do manage it. Just not many. The worst part is that everyone hates a mopey shit who doesn’t know true misfortune is, bringing down the positive vibes. That is very me, bringing down the positive vibes since 2013.

In addition to just not feeling like writing yesterday, I also questioned why the flying flamingo I was writing a blog that either harms people, makes them worry or sad, or more likely, that no one would give a shit about. Indeed, the idea of writing often brings a nauseating sense of lackadaisicalness. Although once I start, I do feel as if I am slowly sifting slovenly sludge out of my head. The brain works in wonderful and stupid ways. But for some reason, the transposition of my thoughts, however negative and pernicious they may be, into honest words, makes me feel lighter and more sanguine.

Do I care that my readers are in the tens if not the ones? One of the many positives of chronic illness and pain is that it puts things into perspective. I’ve lost the need for validation from others and I can take the zero likes with pride and nonchalance. What I have noticed is that people my age really tend not to care that much about others. I know, not a generalisation at all. It’s all about the me me me. And I include myself in this. Even the demonstrations of magnanimity are in themselves acts of enhancing the image of the self. There is a lot of people doing wonderful things just to be told how wonderful they are. Am I being overly cynical? That is for you to decide. I do find it quite funny though how certain well-known people in society can be revered for saying things that nobody can argue as being wrong, but are so very easy to say. For example, like “we need to pay the nurses more”. If only I could say something that requires no effort on my half and receive praise lavished upon me.

The change in my life that I hoped looking for solutions to my deteriorating health would erupt into hasn’t quite happened. Life is still hard, the pain is still bad, the flashing is becoming more and more frenetic and lurid, and my future feels very precarious. There is my honesty, and there is your lot.

#pain #depression #anxiety #chronicpain #visionloss #chronicillness #bpd #life #death #ME #EDS

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peachyteabuck · 1 year

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This is a very long reflection post so read if you want to. It’s very word vomity though so watch out

I’m doing an no-buy year, which has quickly morphed into a low-buy year. I’m 21, my partner is 22, and we’re still coming into our own. How can we do a no-buy year when our essentials include measuring spoons and stuff for work? I’m still building my wardrobe. They’re still building theirs. It’s not possible to stave off all buying, in all honesty. However, the low-buy year is going well. Rocket Money is the tool we’re using to keep track of spending. The app isn’t perfect (I’m a freelancer, so keeping track of my income is a nightmare) and i make a lot of purchases that I just charge them 1/2 for, so I’m not sure how much of the spending is accurate. But i think it’s going well. The issue is it takes a lot of time. So much fucking time. To plan out grocery lists and crock pot meals and lunches and strategically buying wardrobe choices. It also sucks when I buy pants for example and they just don’t fucking fit. I want to be body neutral, and appreciate my body for all that it can do, but it’s hard when I try to express that via my dollars and it blows back in my face. Even big bud press pants have their issues, and theyre the only pants i wear regularly

I’m started to realizing i can’t have everything i want in terms of what i want to do. There literally is not enough time. Every day i finish 99% of what i want to leaves me physically wrecked. My brain cannot fit that much stuff in it. I can’t read the books I want because i want to give them time/attention and i just fucking can’t. I hate delegating tasks and asking for help, and when my PCP tried to send me to collections i literally begged my mom to help me. I’m glad she/my stepmom were able to, but that was such a massive blow. Hyper independence is a fucking joke, which sucks.

I need to write more. It makes me feel better. I have commissions to finish. But writing fills me with dread because i hate everything I write. I just want to write and finish things but I literally fucking cannot. I remember watching some lawyer’s expertise talk on a video platform my mom paid for and he was like “writers write despite everything.” I literally can’t fucking do that. I think everyone thinks i have more time than I do. The principal for the school im student teaching at wants to put me in the substitute system so I can work “on my off days.” The 2.5 days I’m not in the classroom i am either at work or in class. Im in student government. I volunteer. What fucking off days. The weekend?? When you’re not open?? BFFR. Idk how I’m going to make up the two snow days we had. Lying, probably. Idk if this is sustainable but i don’t know what my other option is. Everything is too expensive.

I need to buy a pill holder for my Ritalin/caffeine pills/pain killers. I just need to find one with labels bc im an idiot.

The little stuff keeps falling through the cracks and becoming big stuff. I think i need to make a notion page where I track how often things actually take and rate their energy usage bc this is becoming a problem. I just cannot girlboss and work nonstop for 12 hours. My brain literally cannot handle that.

I need to sleep more. But to do that i need to do enough “non-necessary things” to give my brain a break.

I really need my Ritalin back. I was not super regulated to begin with, but the Ritalin helped so fucking much. I could get everything done and sleep at a reasonable time bc my brain was sufficiently worn out in all areas. Im self medicating with caffeine rn but Jesus Christ i want my meds back.

Anyway. My goals for February are to track expenses weekly (sun-sat) and do daily habits in my notebook and not notion bc i constantly forget to do that shit. We’ll see. I wish i was better at this stuff & i wish i was more forgiving with myself & i wish i didn’t feel the need to be The Best all of the time.

#Lukis says things

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c-is-for-circinate · 3 years

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For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

#I don't actually know how to tag this #representation #maybe?#C needs help feeding the dinosaurs #because this is very much about being a fandom old #probably also #driveby meta attack #because that's where I keep my impromptu rambles #CR spoilers #technically I guess?#there's one line that references the finale #fandom history

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dragonsareourfuture · 3 years

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Ways the Death Note Cast Show They Trust You

I lost some inspiration towards the middle there, I’m sorry!!

- he will always have Watari make extra servings of food just for you. It’s a bit startling at first. So suddenly there’s just food in front of you that you think is for L, but when you push it towards him, he pushes it right back to you.

“You don’t want it?” He’d ask, leaving you confused until you finally put the pieces together.

“Oh, I…I guess I didn’t realize it was for me. My bad.” You begin eating. “Thank you.”

L simply hums and continues with whatever he was just up to.

- You know that thing cats do where they’re sitting perfectly still, eyes closed, guard slightly down, but still not quite asleep? I can picture L doing something like this during any moment of downtime he gets. Just sitting, scrunched up in his chair or wherever he happens to be, eyes closed but the cogs in his brain are still turning. You notice him doing this when it is only you and him in the room, simply thinking it’s because of the moment of rare solitude. Little do you know, it’s because he trusts that you won’t hurt him or let anything bad happen to him.

- L is a person who prefers to be in charge of his own life. He likes knowing what’s going on around him at all times and when things are out of his hands he can’t help but feel uncomfortable. However, with a person he’s developed a close relationship with and knows he can trust with everything he has, L will feel more comfortable leaving decisions up to them. You’ll have to start small though, like being the one to plan a surprise date. He might feel a bit uncomfy at the beginning, shifting around and possibly even insisting he sit so that he can see the exits clearly, but he eases into it eventually. Soon you both find yourselves joking around in the odd way that you do and gorging on cake and ice cream.

Mello

- being vulnerable is something Mello isn’t too keen on. He already feels vulnerable most of the time and would kick himself if he let that show through his actions. If Mello truly trusts you, he will feel as though he can be vulnerable around you without any judgement on your end. Small acts that show vulnerability such as asking you to help him with something he can’t quite handle on his own — even if it’s something as simple as not being able to reach something off a shelf or being unsure about how to fix something. Eventually, he’ll work his way up to the bigger stuff like being physically wounded in front of you or having a mental block.

- Sharing his clothes with you or letting you pick his outfit for him. Now, it sounds like he’s just being a little diva and that’s only partially true. But his clothes are important to him, they’re a factor that sets him aside from his plain-dressing rival and in his eyes they make him more interesting than him, visually at least. He’s happy to dress you up, and it is true that he has to have a close relationship with you to want to do so, but you should be especially proud if he lets you alter his appearance in any way.

- He likes to believe that he’s had his goals set out from the beginning. Surpass Near, become the next L, and go on from there. What he pushes to the back of his brain are the moments he’s been studying and he’s asked himself ‘What if I went down a different path?’. He quickly pushes these thoughts away, but they keep coming back. What would life be like if this wasn’t an option for him? What if he were a writer? What if he lived in the city with people he loves and went to the movies every Friday? Unwillingly, he has a whole list of possibilities. If he truly trusts you, he’ll share every single one with you. Whether it’s dropping hints or confessing them one by one late at night, he can’t help but feel that they’re safe with you.

Misa

- it seems a bit surface level, but it’s true — Misa will talk down on Light in front of you if she trusts you. But it’s not straight away. She had developed a lot of courage to actually break up with him, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still doubt her decision to do so. It’s only when she finds out from you how loved ones are supposed to treat each other — with kindness and respect — that she feels her decision to ditch Light was the entirely right one. Slowly, she’ll start to admit to you all the things she hated about Light, starting with some of his mannerisms and building up to something like how he forced her to leave the entertainment business.

- Misa is…dramatic. She likes to go above and beyond for someone she’s infatuated with and make sure they’re the happiest they can be. If she trusts you enough to develop this kind of infatuation and, with some development, less of an obsession and more of a strong, bonding love, you will be doted on to the point where it’s almost ridiculous. You could be at home during one of her work days and you’ll get a delivery of lunch from your favorite takeout place because Misa was ‘thinking of you <3’, as she explains when you text her asking why food randomly showed up at your place. It’s rather sweet.

- Misa’s a pretty talkative person in general, that’s a well known fact. She’ll talk about clothes, a cute birdie she saw on her way home, really anything that comes to mind. But, she’ll do that with about anyone who’ll listen. It’s gradual, so it’s hard to notice, but if Misa grows to trust you she’ll start talking about some of the more serious things that have been on her mind for a while, those things that she thought would scare off anyone she liked because of how personal they are to her. Her family before they died, for example. It’s something that Misa thinks about. So much. But she doesn’t really talk about it. She wants to forget, put the past behind her but because she’s never talked about it with anyone it’s hard to do that. She’ll talk about her family to you, the little things her sister used to do and some things her parents did that she misses.

Matsuda

- Matsuda often begins to idolize those who he thinks are trustworthy and have a good heart. He starts to tell you how much he loves when you do x and that he wishes he could perform as well as you in that area. In a sense, he trusts you with his vulnerability, letting you know that he thinks of himself as less than satisfactory and how he wishes he could do better, only he channels it by pointing out good things about you. If…that makes sense.

- This sounds dire, but he’ll risk his life for the people he completely, without a doubt trusts. He was willing to do so with Chief Yagami, someone he saw as a father figure, and he would certainly be willing to do so with you, someone who he feels he has a deep emotional connection to. Whether you’re in a situation where he would need to or he’s just saying that he would, he means it.

- Matsuda trusts you to not make fun of him when he overshares or talks too much or anything his coworkers brush him off for. He feels that he can talk about things he finds funny and talk about his life without worrying about what you think of him when he does.

Matt

- he would drop everything to help you. Whether that’s dropping his game to help you kill a bug or leaving his duties behind to help you out of a life or death situation. Whichever scenario you happen to find yourself in he’s there no matter what.

- He’ll invite you into his personal life. I know this is kind of a given but Matt had the chance to become the next L. He had the chance to become something “great” and he said “ummm rather not” to it because it wasn’t something he wanted. If he shares this information with you, he trusts you not to leave him for something better when you discover the status he could have had and refused. He trusts you to appreciate him because of him and not the intelligence everyone but him cherishes.

- He leaves you alone around important technology and software he’s hacked. Unfortunately for him, betrayal comes with the business he’s got himself into and, if Matt really trusts you on both a professional and emotional level, he won’t have a problem worrying about whether or not you’ll take advantage of his coffee break to gather information for some other organization or something. He will literally just go “mkay babe I gotta go fuel up on caffeine real quick, you’re good watching the hacked government database right? Cool cya.”

Near

- Near trusts you to take him to public places. Sounds simple, yeah. But Near has never liked crowds, or even just too many strangers in a wide open place. It’s strange to everyone observing how one day he decides he needs a new toy, his old one having broken due to old age, and asks you to take him to the toy store. He’s questioned, people wondering why he wouldn’t rather you just go alone but Near insists. Apparently the toy that broke is special addition and he wants to make sure you get the right one. He stays close to you the whole way, not really saying much, but he’s there and that’s a big step for him.

- He helps you out with puzzles. Basically cheats for you. When he’s eyeing one specific empty slot, coughing lightly to get your attention, just know that he’s not helping you because he thinks you need it. Quite the opposite actually. With anyone else, he believes that they should be able to solve it on their own. He thinks that if they can’t, then that’s their fault. But with you…it’s as if he trusts that you’re intelligent enough without the puzzle being an indicator of that intelligence, so much so that he thinks the puzzle itself is obsolete when it comes to you. He doesn’t need a puzzle to know how smart you are.

- He’ll eat the foods you make him. Near’s picky eater-ness is above that of a child who only eats chicken tenders and pizza. He doesn’t eat that many people’s food because he knows it’s probably not he way he likes it. But with you, he trusts that you respect his eating habits and know him well enough to get it right the first time. Though he does check the food out for a bit, he’ll eat it. Sometimes all of it. Fuckin astonishing to Rester who had attempted many times to heat up microwave dinners for the guy.

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Commander Buir

Follow-up to this post. Not in any particular order, just spitballing ideas, with contributions from several friends on discord.

Like presumably it takes long enough for them all to meet up again that Anakin and Cody do, in fact, end up treating each other like family, just so I can have that good good "well, guess I'm Dad now" energy. Shmi isn't entirely sure what's going on but she's not a slave anymore and her kid seems to like this rando mando, so.

Anakin gets to have a mom and two dads, though one of the dads is arguably younger than him.

Also when they all meet up again and Cody explains the "General Skywalker got shrunk" thing, there are three reactions: (General) Obi-Wan: Oh, Anakin. Obi-Wan: [gestures to take him, ends up with an armful of clingy padatoddler] Anakin: You can't blame this on me, Obi. Obi-Wan, a little teary, because babies cause emotions: Of course I can, you absurd human being. ------ Rex: That's... my general. Anakin: I am, Captain. Rex: Cool cool cool I'm gonna go stand where I can't, uh, break you. Anakin: I'm not THAT fragile! ------ Ahsoka: [gasp] Skyguy is SKYKID! Anakin: Padawan, this is-- Ahsoka, grabbing him and cuddling: Oh my goodness you're adorable this is the best day ever. Anakin: This is humiliating, Snips, put me down. Ahsoka: Never.

Anakin hates being a toddler because of the lack of independence but Cody keeps picking him up when he's cranky and just holding him until he falls asleep and that's... nice.......

- The brain limitations aren't quite as bad as the situation with Sokanth and Ylliben in the other AU, but - Even if his brain is mostly adjusted he’s still got a tiny body with different needs that he’s not used to. Like, he needs to sleep more but he’s got more energy than usual when he’s awake and it’s all weird.

Cody carrying around toddler Anakin like "God you give me ulcers but you're adorable, you little shit."

Inconveniently tiny body aside, Anakin has a pretty great time in this au. His family are all together and safe and within reach. His wife isn't around, but toddler brain means he doesn't have the Romance Drive, so that's not as bad as it could be It could be significantly worse.

@atagotiak asked: Does Anakin get annoyed about being called cute? - To which I say, He bites the first few times but Shmi tells him that's Naughty so he stops. - Babies are cute so you packbond with them before they’re annoying, Anakin is cute as a self defense mechanism - He’s extra annoying so he needs to be extra cute

You know how you need to keep an eye on toddlers so they don't, like, fall down the stairs or put something toxic in their mouth? - They need to keep an eye on Anakin specifically so he doesn't rewire the ship they're in while they're in hyperspace. - He has less self control on account of being smol. He still has all the mechanical knowledge! Just less comprehension of y’know, consequences.

Anakin, with a sippy cup: This is demeaning. Ahsoka: Your hands don't work great enough to avoid accidents yet. Anakin: It's still embarrassing.

General Kenobi can't just kill Maul, not when Maul is baby right now (sixteen, which is baby enough) so he just. Kinda. Kidnaps a baby Sith. (It's fine. He's fine.)

General Kenobi (not to be confused with Padawan Kenobi) decides to declare Maul his new padawan because someone has to deal with this teenager, and Plo already claimed the rest of Ahsoka's training. And Anakin's three, so.

"What do we do with Maul?" "Eh, I can handle him. I dealt with teenage Anakin getting arrested for illegal pod-racing twice a month, I can work with this."

Maul bites, but only slightly more often than Anakin, it's fine

Ahsoka definitely bullies Maul whenever possible

Consider: Rex holding very still because Anakin wanted to be tall, so he climbed Rex. Being unexpectedly climbed is better than being unexpectedly yeeted. It's still extremely nerve-wracking. - Cody is perfectly capable of running around with a backpacking toddler General, but Rex freezes like a statue. - Ahsoka finds this hilarious

You know how little kids like to be thrown around and swung in circles and stuff like that? This must get even more ridiculous with force users. Can throw a child real high and catch them safely. - Rex panics whenever Ahsoka throws her chibified Master

Literally everyone except Rex loves being yeeted. Even Maul can appreciate a good tactical yeet no shut up he's not having fun this is TRAINING - Rex is Suffering - Cody, a very Tired Dad, deserves to mock his vod'ika a little, as stress relief - Rex, a certified Little Brother, shoves Cody off something tall. Jokes on him, Cody thinks freefall is fun too.

Tia asked: So the people who didn’t exist yet got flung bodily back in time and Anakin did the mental time travel. Why did Obi-Wan not become Padawan Kenobi? (I mean “because I want it that way” is def a good enough answer I’m just wondering if there’s any reason.) - Which, well, it really was mostly "I want to" but here's two options, both of which come down to Blame Daughter and Father. 1. They figured a responsible adult Jedi Master was needed to convince people. 2. Nobody was supposed to get de-aged but Daughter figured they needed to make Anakin less liable to kill things for a few years. - Also IDK the Force God-Manifestations also took away any risk of rapid aging and early death from the clones because uhhhhhhhhhhh I said so

Rex and Ahsoka are fumbling their way through a relationship where ages are just really confusing and awkward, so they're keeping it to just kisses and cuddles for a bit.

Cody is so tired he doesn't even realize anyone's hitting on him until it's been three years of co-parenting with Shmi and his General. - Somehow Anakin knows Cody is in a relationship before Cody does. Cody has never been so embarrassed. - How did he manage to be less observant than Skywalker? -- it was sabotage; all his brain cells were taken up in managing said Skywalker -- Because Skywalker was up at three in the morning whacking a training droid with a stick so he didn't have the energy for Relationships

Also Shmi's come-ons are super subtle, while the General's are... well, Cody's gotten very used to ignoring anything ambiguous on that end because fraternization rules, and also because Obi-Wan flirts a lot with everyone. So.

Please imagine Cody and General Kenobi walking around with Anakin tucked into a toddler sling while they do whatever work they've ended up with at the Temple. - Yes, Cody is helping the Jedi figure out the best plan of attack to take down this slave ring because his grasp on tactics is phenomenal and he knows how to deploy people at greatest efficiency, but also he's got a nosy toddler on his hip who keeps offering his own insane-but-competent ideas. - General Kenobi ends up with a Council Seat just on account of, like, being the kind of person he is. As often as not, he's got Anakin tucked into his robes, chewing on the ear of a stuffed tooka or something.

IDK what Shmi's doing but apparently Legends had it that some of the administrative and support positions in the Temple were held by non-Jedi civilians? So probably something like that.

GENERAL KENOBI LECTURING PADAWAN MAUL WHILE ANAKIN'S BALANCED ON HIS HIP AND GLARING AT MAUL FOR STEALING HIS DAD

General Kenobi: Ahsoka's babysitting. Anakin: I'm her master, I don't need babysitting, this is-- General Kenobi: Fine, then you need supervision, so that you don't blow up a training salle again. Anakin: And you think Ahsoka would stop me? General Kenobi, eye twitching: Fine, I'm leaving you with Plo.

Even if he’s mentally an adult Anakin always needs supervision Look at canon! Anakin was left without supervision for like two days and he became a Sith

Quinlan gets distracted by how attractive General Kenobi is and tells Obi-Wan "dude, you're gonna be so hot once you can get rid of the stupid haircut" and Obi-Wan pushes him into the nearest pond.

They end up with this weird "Uncle Jango" situation (uncle to Anakin, via weird brotherhood-ish to Cody) because Rex and Cody are just like "Uhhhhhhhhh yeah okay" about him eventually, and Jango just like. Drops by. Trying to Earn Affection Of Blood Kin by bringing weird gifts for them and their (ugh) Jedi.

"Okay, Rex'ika, I stopped by Shili--" "What?" "--and apparently this is a delicacy there, so just... your girlfriend will like it." "She's not my girlfriend." "..." "Okay, I can't call her my girlfriend. Jedi have rules about that sort of thing, and--" "This will make your Jedi happy, probably. Just take it, kid."

Baby Anakin got his arm back but for some inexplicable reason still has The Eye Scar. He matches Buir.

#disaster lineage #Anakin Skywalker #CodyWan #Commander Cody #Obi Wan Kenobi #Ahsoka Tano #Captain Rex #Shmi Skywalker #Maul #Darth Maul #Rexsoka #time travel #de aging #baby characters #Quinlan Vos #Phoenix Posts #Commander Buir

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sunflowergyeomie · 3 years

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can you handle it?

sypnosis: jeonghan is a real pain in the ass, we all know that. he always seems to get you to do things you never agreed on doing, you try not to fall for them though. what if one day you accidentally fall into his trap and give in, without knowing at all?

pairing: yoon jeonghan x gn!reader (vagina bearing)

genre: established relationship, fashion design student!au, architect!au, smut (18+ only)

word count: 2.9k

warnings: profanity, m!dom, degradation, lots of cum play, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, pet names, size kink?? if you squint

a/n: bcos the irl girl version of jeonghan (aka my devil angel twin) @shuajeong told me "there aren't any fics of jeonghan lately", thus ✨this is written purely for you and your pain 😘 i have to say though, this isn't my best work :( i kept going back and forth and i rewrote and changed things at least three times so 😖😖 (i'm lowkey done with it so i'm sorry i tried, i really did) please forgive me.

Challenge?

Oh, it’s a challenge, alright.

Annoyed is what it is, lips pressed tightly together as you sink in the indescribable feeling. That’s what was currently happening seeing how there is a huge load of cum in your panties – an ignorant aftermath of your quickie with Jeonghan this morning before he drove you to class.

He even had the nerve to question how long you could stay like that for the entire day. You took that as him asking for a challenge and having been with you for a while now, Jeonghan knew you were never one to back down from them. Having basked in the afterglow of sex sure made you think anything was possible – or more accurately speaking his dick just made you dumb.

Now that it’s almost noon, you’re absolutely starting to regret the choice you’ve made, especially when you’re sitting halfway through your second lecture for the day, simply feeling that load threatening to spill out from the cotton panel, onto your inner thighs and slowly ooze down your legs.

Multiple calls of your name put a halt to your thoughts. A hand waves across your face while your eyes focus and refocus as the silhouettes come into sight. Your friends, Mingyu and Minghao are both staring at you, confusion etched across their faces, anticipating an answer from a question one of them probably asked. But in all honesty, you couldn’t recall the subject matter, nor did you give a shit about their issues because your main concern at this time is to get the hell out of there. “Oh, huh? Oh yes, sorry, yes, I’ll absolutely do that.”

A little laugh escapes from Mingyu’s lips while Minghao frowns. “I said.. What are you thinking about?” Mingyu asks, “You have a weird look on your face.”

“Are you not feeling well?” Minghao chimes in. “We can take n-“

“I’m fine, guys. Just a little tired,” You brush off, not wanting to go too deep into whatever you were currently feeling. It’s not that the guys weren’t close to you. In fact, they grew to be one of the closest ever since freshman year when all three of you showed up in the same pattern drafting class, wary looks on everybody’s faces in a new environment. Since the fashion department itself is small with only a few hundred students enrolled, it also meant that classes were taken with familiar faces, rarely is there a fashion student you haven’t seen before. Not to mention you were always being grouped in numerous projects and that’s how the three of you came to be. Both of them knew of your relationship with Jeonghan, of course, but there’s just some things that are better off left unsaid even if they are your best friends.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the both of them stealing glances at you every now and then. Even though they didn’t buy your excuse, Mingyu and Minghao knew better than not to bug you about it so throughout the whole three-hour lecture, you could just sense their concern emanating off their bodies. Adding on to your growing anxiety, making you more on edge, terrified that at any moment they would catch a glimpse of whatever dirty secret you were holding in – quite literally. Pulling out your phone, you quickly sent a text.

[12:03 PM]

you: I can’t take this anymore.

hannie: what’s wrong, princess?

You groaned, exasperation coating your breath. Was he playing dumb?

you: you know what I mean, han.

hannie: and what about it?

hannie: if I recall correctly, weren’t you the one who practically begged me to cum inside of you? Was just doing what you asked me to, princess :)

Scoffing in disbelief, you ignore his message, tossing the device straight into your bag, now furious at yourself for agreeing to it.

Stupid dick.

You weren’t even that horny this morning.

The cement walkways on campus greet the three of you as you step through the warm breeze. The sun shining through every leaf on the tall oak trees above you signal the firsts of many beautiful days now that summer is just around the corner. The bright weather is a big contrast to your dampening mood as your feet slowly drag along the blocks, leaving a gap between you and your friends while you try to keep up. You weren’t too keen on walking too fast right now. One wrong shift and you could be at risk of having Jeonghan’s gooey, semi-translucent, and not-so-warm release pooling down from underneath your mound. The two paid no attention to you though, they’re happily chatting about lunch options and the next possible location for studying afterwards. Not that you were going to join them anyways, not until you get the mess in between your legs situated.

“How about donkkaseu?” Mingyu turns around to ask, head whipping back mid-sentence to look at you, only to turn around and see that you’re already gone. His head turns left and right, trying to find you in the crowd of students, squinting his eyes for even a glimpse of your backpack but you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where’d she go?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Minghao gives him a pointed look. “Jeonghan.” He says bluntly.

Jeonghan works downtown, a full hour away from your university. He was a busy man, well-equipped with knowledge and never failed to take pride in his work, no matter what it was. Your boyfriend was a well-wanted individual – not only with people who desperately wanted to be in his inner circle but also in his field of work with the numerous clients fighting for a slot in his schedule. Jeonghan has never-ending project proposals, spending most of his hours reviewing alterations and redevelopments on his building designs – a perfectionist, you often say or an obsession as others might call it. Knowing how serious his job was to him, you made sure not to meddle in with his profession, seeing how much it irritated him whenever he couldn’t concentrate, but this time was different – and you couldn’t hold yourself back from making the journey. You bow as you greet the secretary at the front desk. She takes one look up from her screen and already knows who you’re here for, immediately telling you of your boyfriend’s whereabouts while you nod back in thankfulness.

Pushing the heavy doors to Jeonghan’s office, the first thing you notice were his eyebrows deeply furrowed upon his face, a definite telltale to the attentiveness of the task in front of him. A few coworkers were surrounding him, each hovered over what seemed to be like another one of his drawing plans. At the click of the doorknob, Jeonghan’s head perked up when he saw you enter. A smile threatens to pull at his lips, but he bites them to prevent the joy from appearing. He’s been waiting for you all day. Having expected you to cave in earlier so he could have an excuse to take a long break. The current deal he was working on was getting to his head even though he’s gone over it a couple times already. He just needs a reset, a breather of some sort, … a release. Jeonghan fakes innocence however when he asks why you’re here. Simultaneously, his brain has already got his fingers wrapped around the string – pulling once, twice, three times, officially starting the internal mischievousness in him. A devious idea accelerating right before your very own eyes.

You furiously start making your way towards him, hair flying in all directions, nostrils flared in annoyance, your cheeks flamed red from built-up anger since the early morning you got to school, and the wrinkle between your eyebrows. You were a hot-tempered mess, you knew that but god, all he could think about was how beautiful you look. The way your eyes are rounded with the curvature of your nose bridge, adding on to the natural tint to your soft lips. Your lips that pout ever so slightly whenever you want something, your lips that taste like a mixture of yourself and that artificial strawberry-flavoured chapstick you apply every morning, your lips he so badly wants to feel against his own.

Your voice cuts through, interrupting his trance. “Excuse me, can I speak to you privately for one second?”

“Of course.” Jeonghan grins, dropping the pen as his hands start pushing his body up from the plush chair, quickly dismissing his staff with a wave of the hand. They take a hint as one by one, each of them starts leaving. He stands up, arms already going around your waist to pull you close, “Hi baby, how was your day?” He asks, head tilting as his hands are already reaching up to run his fingers through your hair.

You open your mouth to spew words, anger bubbling in letters as they boil up to the back of your throat but all of which dies down when the fire is turned off. Blocked off after the door is shut behind the last person when his demeanour takes a turn and switches a whole 180 degrees. His plan finally comes into action as his acting skills gear up. Licking his lips, his hands drop as he takes a step closer to you, hovering over your tiny figure. He’s finally got you where he wanted you in the first place. His eyes peer down from the lenses of his wired glasses, “Don’t you know better than not to interrupt me while I’m working?” He pauses. “What do you think my staff will think if you’re here for too long?” The back of his fingers gently trails down your face, almost feather-like as you try to press your face against his palm, leaning more into his touch.

“Guess you couldn’t keep it in, huh? I always knew you were a little slut.” Jeonghan tsked, “Was my cock not enough that you needed a second filling? It’s only been a few hours, darling.”

He starts walking back to his desk, hands going into his pockets as he leans against the edge. It shouldn’t have intimidated you, the way his eyes bore into yours but you gulped anyways, a feeling of excitement stirring in your lower abdomen as you clenched around nothing. You opened your mouth to retaliate, only for it to be shaped like what seems like a silent ‘o’. One of his eyebrows raise, a silent gesture for you to come.

Out of habit, your legs start moving obediently on their own until they reach the fronts of Jeonghan’s dress shoes. Tracing the outline of his long, toned legs hidden underneath the carob brown material of his trousers, you couldn’t help catching onto the small details of the garment. The modern leg-lines seamed in to elongate his legs, waistband wrapped around his torso showcasing his slim but strong build, the button with its holes as imaginary eyes and a crossed thread disguised as lips silently screaming ‘open me, open me!’.

He grabs your jaw, forcing you to tear your eyes away from his lower half to look at him. “I thought you came here to say something, but I can practically see the drool coming out of your pretty little mouth, staring at my cock.”

“I-“, He spins you around, positions changed now that you’re the one leaning against the desk. Jeonghan dives his head to capture your lips with his. You’re taken by surprise as a gasp escapes from your mouth while he takes that as a chance to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past your bottom lip; full of need and desire, desperate to let out his frustrations. All your effort is focused on keeping up, molding your mouths together. Your anger is now replaced with lust. His hands are moving down to grip your ass.

Your breath hitches when his lips start trailing down your jaw, gently nibbling the soft skin on your neck before travelling down the valley of your breasts. He doesn’t bother trying to take off your top, opting to unbutton the first few, just enough to expose your lacy bra. Slipping underneath one cup to carefully knead your honey soft skin before latching his mouth onto your nipple, sucking gently but firmly. You whine as he hoists you up and places you on the surface, his face never detaching from your soft and full chest as he quickly pulls your pants off, leaving you in just your soaked panties.

“Maybe it was a good idea to leave my cum in you,” Jeonghan’s fingers hook onto the waistband. He smirks before pulling them down completely, stopping mid-thigh. “Easier to prepare.”

A trail of your slick follows as his digits spread your pussy, using his middle finger to slowly drag up your wet slit. His other hand is gripping your thigh when he reaches down in between, scooping the leftover cum from the previous session and forcing it back into your pussy. You watch with wide eyes only to have them roll back completely when he finishes by stuffing them all the way into you, resulting in a loud moan.

“P-please”

Jeonghan chuckles, satisfied by your reaction. He had you beckoning at his every move yet you were sure the satisfaction still wasn’t enough for him, not just yet. He pulls his fingers out to strip himself of his own pants, popping his member out. The hand with the fingers that were just inside of you is now rubbing all over his cock, using the little beads of precum along with a bit of your slick to pump himself.

Jeonghan’s cock is pretty, like the boy himself. He’s not too big or too small but he knows his angles and he knows how to use them right. Every time the two of you get intimate, which is quite often, his thrusts are sharp, clean and reach to the most inner parts of you – something that leaves soreness inside of you for days. But that doesn’t seem to matter whenever the two of you are having hot and steamy sex five days out of the seven weekly.

“You better stay fucking quiet.”

One hand is gripping your waist for extra support while the other is slowly guiding his length into you. The growl in his voice sends another wave of arousal between your legs, the wetness starting to spill and gather down your thighs. His eyes diverted down to pay attention to the way his length was disappearing inside of you. Each stroke covering his manhood with even more of your juices.

“F-ffuck, baby.” He curses under his breath. “You’re still so tight.”

His voice was breathy, almost like a whine before he picks up his speed, splitting your folds with a sloppy rhythm, expecting to chase both your highs before his coworkers come barging back in. Although the thought of getting caught in such a compromising position arouses him, Jeonghan couldn’t risk letting anyone seeing you in your most vulnerable state. Not when you have all the right curves, exclusive only for his viewing.

At some point, his hands start pulling you into him to meet his every thrust, your tits bouncing as you start feeling the delicious new angle he’s ruining you from. The tip of his cock rubbing against your cervix with every stretch. The familiar feeling of tension starts to build as your eyes squeeze tighter, your orgasm is approaching faster and faster. You’ve never wanted to scream his name out loud so badly when he slams once, no, twice into you, releasing the coil sending intensifying waves of pleasure throughout your whole body. Your tight heat clenching and unclenching around him causing Jeonghan to groan, “Shit.”

“Cum in me.” You insisted weakly. He gives in as he presses himself balls deep, cock twitching as he unloads inside of you, cum shooting in spurts coating your walls in white. The groan emerging from the back of his throat muffled as he quickly smashes his lips onto yours to conceal it. Your muscles move on your own, hiding your own whimper as your lips move together in unison. His body slumps over yours while he rests his head against your shoulder, pressing a light kiss as a way to say thank you.

In the intimacy of the moment, your arms are thrown around his broad shoulders, subconsciously pulling him closer as the two of you try to catch your breaths. When he lifts his head up, his doll eyes are already staring into your glossy ones. A tender smile spreading across his face, pecking your lips one more time before he slowly pulls out. Straight away, the emptiness is evident as his warmth disappears, your hole gaping while he looks down to appreciate the work done on your ruined pussy.

You feel your panties being pulled back up, now snug on your hips as he lets go of the elastic waistband to hear it snap back on your skin.

“Guess you have two loads to keep in now.” A devilish look covering every inch of his handsome face.

“Jeonghan!” you lunged at him. He cackles maniacally, successfully dodging while you attempt to jump on his back. The blood in your veins starts boiling again, both hands reaching up to cover your face when you realize your mistake for the second time today.

Jeonghan’s dick really did make you dumb.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan smut #jeonghan imagine #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan one shot #jeonghan one shots #svt jeonghan

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bb-8 · 3 years

Text

Tech Savvy

Pairing: Tech x female reader Summary: You’re an ex-imperial who has a crush on Tech. He’s awkward about it. Until he’s not. Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI) Warnings/tags: crack treated seriously, smut, unprotected PIV, awkward flirting, oral sex, first kisses, accidental exhibitionism, lots of bad jokes, slight angst Word count: 5.4K Notes: It’s smutty crack treated seriously, guys. Read on AO3.

The planet you land on isn’t anything special. It’s a humid swamp world in the Outer Rim that offers enough seclusion for even the Empire’s Most Wanted to pass by unnoticed.

You, being the kind and selfless individual you are, decide to help with repairs while Clone Force 99 are on a supply run. It’s the first time the ship has made planet fall in weeks and everyone is a bit stir-crazy, jumping at the chance to stretch their legs. Prolonged time spent in hyperspace has that effect.

Before he left, you told Hunter that your status as an ex-Imperial put an unnecessary target on their back. You’re still wearing your Imperial uniform, after all, and you know for a fact that the Empire is not exactly merciful to deserters. Especially deserters that committed high treason. Like aiding Clone Force 99’s escape from an Imperial prison.

You definitely didn’t just jump at the chance to stay behind because Tech opted to. That would be ridiculous.

You feel your face heat at the thought.

(What? His goggles are cute.)

The truth is, there’s been something – a tension, as it were – between the two of you since you arrived on board. You know it, he knows it. You’ve been orbiting around each other for some weeks now, and this is the first time you’ve been alone –

“Can you spare a minute?” Tech calls out, pulling you away from your thoughts. You swivel in your chair and shift your attention to him, a bit surprised.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t realise I was on board,” you reply as you make your way to the cockpit where Tech is currently fiddling with some wires.

“You’re...very hard to miss,” Tech replies and your heart skips a beat. “The ship is far too small to miss another sentient being’s presence.”

“Right,” you mutter while taking a seat, trying not to sound too deflated. So maybe he didn’t feel that tension. “What do you need help with?”

“I am taking this opportunity to rewrite the ship’s central comm unit to be more covert when passing through areas with increased Imperial traffic. If I can update the ship’s communication infrastructure to resemble that of a first generation Imperial craft, then we will considerably reduce our chances of being identified. Which is why I am particularly glad you stayed behind today. Considering your, er, history.” He fiddles with a mess of wires in front of him, not once looking up.

“And here I was thinking you wanted me around because you enjoyed my company,” you playfully jab.

“There’s that, too,” Tech replies. “Though it would be advantageous if you could list all of the Imperial access codes you can remember. The computer and I can do some pattern recognition to better–,” he cut himself off and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Apologies, you don’t need a long-winded explanation. If you’re happy to share, you can do so whenever you’re ready.”

You consider protesting and telling him that you find his rambling cute, but you decide not to dwell on it for his sake. You list the codes you remember from the Academy. You keep talking, relaying any tangential intel relating to access codes. If it’s irrelevant, Tech doesn’t stop you.

He is silent for a few moments analysing the data you’ve given him. You watch him closely, admiring the way his brow furrows and his lips purse while he’s concentrating.

“You trust me then?” you venture to say. You play with your hands in your lap. “Even though I was with the Empire?”

“You’re helping us now,” Tech replies, as if it’s obvious. He is still inputting data into the datapad he is holding when he continues, “You trust us, it would seem. And we were soldiers programmed upon our creation to destroy the Republic.”

You fumble over your next words.

“That’s – it’s entirely different.”

“And from my perspective, all that matters is where you are now,” he states with finality.

“Well,” you say shyly, “I like where I am.”

Tech smirks despite himself, briefly glancing up at you from his datapad.

You hold his gaze for a moment, before settling into a comfortable silence. You sit in next to him for several minutes, revelling in his closeness like a brezak basking under the Zygerrian sun. It’s only when you notice yourself blushing like a teenager that you decide to make yourself useful and actually help with repairs like you promised.

++++++++++++++++++++

“Would you mind holding this wire out of the way for me while I solder the capacitors for the localised memory bank?” Tech calls, breaking your concentration. The illumination device you were repairing could wait.

You have no idea what Tech means, if his string of words means anything, and you survey his makeshift workbench for a hint. Several panels are detached, limply dangling from a few brightly coloured wires. Tech is focusing his attention on a large panel that is plugged into a cylindrical storage device.

“Maker, that’s a big data stick,” you can’t help but mutter.

Tech makes an incoherent choking sound.

You do as requested and lean over his shoulder to take hold of the wire he specified between your thumb and forefinger. The fabric of your sleeves brushes against his shoulder armour and it feels as though there is a static shift in the air, like the air around you is alive and humming.

And Tech gulps with the contact. He types a few sets of numbers into his datapad with excess force, seriously testing the build quality of the device. His posture is especially rigid as focuses on testing the wires currently in his lap.

Your pulse is racing. It’s as if each second that passes without a confession threatens to rip apart the very fabric of reality.

“Tech?” He has to feel this too, right? “Why...why did you stay behind today?” you ask, careful to keep your voice even. You need him to say it, admit that he feels it, too. You’re desperate for it.

“You can let go now,” he replied, pointedly ignoring your question.

You let go of the wire, but make no move to step away from him. You’re acutely aware of yourself right now and suddenly self-conscious: about the deep shade of crimson enveloping your face, the way you’re breathing, the clamminess you can feel on your palms. You hope you smell alright and silently pray that any traces of caf on your breath are long gone.

Several seconds pass before Tech looks up, over his shoulder at you. His face briefly flickers with concern.

“Your flushed features and increased heart rate indicates that you are nervous,” he remarks.

Maker, is it that obvious, you cringe.

Your mouth is dry and you contemplate making an excuse, but your brain does not want to cooperate.

“Sometimes I –,” you begin. Void, here I go. “Sometimes I get nervous around you,” you admit, attempting to make your confession sound as casual as possible. You bite your bottom lip in a way that you hope will be interpreted as sensual, or, at the very least, cute.

And Tech? Tech is flustered. Like visibly shaken, blushing furiously, two-steps-away-from-hyperventilating, kind of flustered.

“Please do not be nervous,” he responds tightly. Each word is taking considerable effort to be spoken. “I already told you: we trust you. I am not a threat to you.”

The poor guy. There’s no way he can really be misinterpreting that –.

“No, no, it’s a good kind of nervous,” you attempt to clarify.

“Nervousness is not conducive to high quality work,” Tech chokes out.

“No, I mean like giddy. I feel giddy around you.”

Come on, Tech.

“Would you like a chair–.”

“Stars, Tech, I like you!”

Tech...errors. He attempts to start several sentences with no success before mumbling an excuse that he has to go, “fix the reverse polarity capacitive inductor,” which, to your knowledge, is definitely not a real thing.

So maybe that could have gone better. All things considered, he did seem affected by your admission. On the other hand, he also left the room entirely.

Your face burns with embarrassment and, hey, maybe this backwater planet could make a decent home. Maybe the swamp water would be safe for consumption and you could spend the rest of your days foraging for swamp... berries. Sure, it might be a little uncomfortable, but no less uncomfortable than staying here for one more second.

And this is why you don’t admit your feelings to anyone. Ever.

Ugh. You were so confident, too. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to transport to another star system.

The door to the ‘fresher shuts, followed by a slight scuffle of feet, and a thunk that sounds decidedly like a head hitting the door.

You briefly consider leaving the ship to attempt to meet up with the rest of the Bad Batch. It’s been far too long since you’ve breathed fresh, clean, air and you feel a second wave of self-pity wash over you as you contemplate the thought of breathing in the smell of Wrecker’s feet for several more weeks in the Marauder’s circulated air. They hadn’t been gone longer than a standard hour and there was a clear path to get into town. You could still salvage the day, you could still stretch your legs–

‘Oh you want to know why I suddenly decided to join you, Hunter, after promising I’d help fix the ship? Funny story, I was trying to seduce your brother and he rejected me!’

You physically cringe at that. On second thought, maybe just pretending this didn’t happen would be the easier option. Lesser of two evils and all that.

Well, you’ve endured worse situations than this. Swamp berries, if they exist, probably won’t offer enough sustenance anyway, you conclude. You turn your attention to fixing several access panels that require little to no attention.

++++++++++++++++++++

It takes a long while for Tech to exit the ‘fresher. The door opens with a hiss and you stiffen, not looking up until he briskly walks past you and resumes his makeshift work station in the cockpit. Once he is seated and his back is facing you and you can hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his datapad, you allow your entire body to relax.

You look back down to your newest project: fixing the swivel action on a chair. You’re not entirely sure if the chair needed to swivel, or whether it was supposed to, but it does now. At least Omega would have fun with that.

“Can you spare another minute?” Tech says after a considerable stretch of silence.

His comment catches you off-guard. It’s fine, it’s fine, you are just going to pretend like nothing happened. You can just carry on helping with actual repairs like you promised.

“I’m coming,” you say, while putting your entire weight into tightening a screw.

Tech coughs slightly.

“The, uh, I need your help with the cum system. The comm system!” he stutters.

Your eyes widen and decide it’s best not to comment, furiously thinking about the fact that Tech rarely makes mistakes. You wipe your hands on your trousers and stride over to the cockpit where Tech is fiddling with some wires on his lap.

“Take these,” he says while coiling a piece of wire to make a conductor. He pushes right through the awkwardness and places a handful of resistors in your outstretched hand.

You stand there in silence for several moments before you drum your fingers on the back of his chair. He makes no move to immediately utilise the resistors, so you resign yourself to stand there and watch him work. (You suppress a sigh – you wish you weren’t attracted to him at this moment, but here you are, drawn in by his confidence and fixated on watching his nimble fingers work their magic.)

Normally, you’d have already lost your patience. But not now, not when you are trying to decipher just what exactly Tech was trying to accomplish by calling you over and ignoring you. And that’s when you realise that Tech either forgot you were there or forgot to give you whichever menial task he originally intended.

But there’s absolutely no chance that Tech makes two mistakes within the same standard year, never mind two mistakes within the same afternoon.

You start to wonder if he even has any use for the resistors. Your knowledge of technology is limited, but you really don’t see how they’d be useful with his current task. Maybe this is Tech’s uncharacteristically inefficient way to try to initiate conversation. You really hope you’re not completely misreading the situation, but it’s not like you have any pride left to lose.

“Why did you stay behind today, Tech?” you ask quietly, voice tinged with apprehension and perhaps an unmistakable eagerness. You phrase it more like a statement than a question this time.

He continues to fidget, his leg bouncing anxiously as he works.

“I did some research,” he blurts. “Regarding intimacy between human males and human females.”

Huh.

“I read the specifics on how to kiss,” he continues, “but I fear that I am a bit out of my depth as to how I am supposed to initiate it.” He is still fussing with the wires in his lap, not quite able to look up at you.

“You...want to kiss?” you surmise, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “Me?”

“Very much so.”

A grin breaks across your face and the sharp sting of Tech’s previous rejection immediately melts away. You deposit the handful of resistors in a tray containing various tools Tech had been using throughout the day before taking a tentative step forward from behind the chair. He cranes his neck to look at you, an unfamiliar expression that you’re not quite able to decipher written across his face.

You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, and sliding your hand down to his chin to guide it upwards as you bend down to bring your lips to his. The kiss is chaste, at first, but Tech proves himself a quick study as slightly parts his lips to deepen the kiss. His goggles nudge against your face and you’re pretty sure you’re leaving a greasy cheek print on one of them.

You pull away to gauge his reaction.

“Was that... satisfactory?” he asks, seemingly dazed. His eyes are hooded and still focused on your lips.

“It was perfect.” You offer a small smile.

He removes the goggles to clean one side of them with a nearby cloth. So you were leaving a cheek print. Once his goggles are back in place, he’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real, his golden brown eyes blinking owlishly at you.

“I apologise for leaving you earlier. I did not anticipate you returning my affections – it did not seem probable. And I was, regrettably, not prepared,” he mumbles.

“Probable?” It’s your turn to malfunction. You want to usher a thousand reassurances at once.

“Well, no.” Tech shifts his weight uncomfortably, not quite able to meet your eyes. “Hunter or Crosshair usually are the ones who capture the affections of –,”

“I like your goggles,” you interrupt in a rush before you surge forward to press your lips against his, hoping to convey just how much you return his affections. It’s a messy, urgent kiss that Tech returns with equal fervour. His fingers find their way into your hair, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, you straighten your back and take both of his hands in yours and take small, hesitant steps backwards, encouraging Tech to stand. As he does, the project he is working on slides off of his lap and clatters to the floor. He pays it no attention as he closes the distance between you, his eyes darkened with lust. He kisses you with renewed purpose as his hands wrap around your waist, roaming across your body, before they settle firmly on your ass.

Your hips grind into his codpiece and Tech lets out a low groan that goes straight to your core. He moves to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin and making you squirm. The dampness between your legs becomes apparent and you press yourself closer to him, desperate for friction where you need it the most. As if he can read your mind, he trails a hand from your ass and places it between your legs, grazing over your clit before cupping your cunt. You involuntarily rock into his hand and moan into his mouth, hardly recognising the sounds you’re making.

Tech’s hand abruptly stills as he draws back to meet your eyes. His expression mirrors yours: searching wide eyes filled with longing, a silent acknowledgement passes between you as you reach the point of no return.

And in that moment you are struck with the urge to want nothing more than his cock in your mouth.

“Can I?” you blurt, glancing downward, hoping he is able to intuit exactly what you are suggesting in that moment.

“You may.” You allow the grammatical correction to slip by. “But I’ve never–,” he begins.

You don’t break eye contact and you begin to drop to your knees. He’s looking at you with his eyes wide, mouth slack. Tech’s bulged codpiece is mere inches from your face, and it’s in that moment that you realise that you have no idea how to undress this man.

And this, this is when you start to worry.

Does it have a latch? Does it even come off?

Your eyes dart from left to right looking for some sort of hint as to how it could be removed. You’re half tempted to just plant a smooch on the armour or the kiss inside of his thigh and pretend that all of this was intentional.

“I can get that,” Tech helpfully chimes in, blessedly oblivious to your internal struggle. He removes the pelvic plate with ease and, to your relief, you can see the shape of his erection straining under a layer of thick black fabric. Black fabric that conforms to his body shape exceedingly well. You reach out to feel his length, gently cupping his balls through the fabric before applying more pressure as you palm his shaft. He soft groan escapes his lips.

It catches you a little off guard, actually, to see him so hard. Knowing he’s been hard underneath his armour this entire time. Wondering when else he’s been hard and you had been none the wiser.

His cock has an attractive silhouette – it’s thicker than you expected and you can feel the patch of pre-cum that dampens the black fabric near his tip. You reach for his waistband and pull it down before slowly wrapping a hand around his shaft. He hisses with the contact and brings a white-knuckled fist to his lips.

You peer up at him through your lashes and you lick your lips, preparing to tease him a bit before taking him as deep as you can manage.

And that’s when something inside Tech snaps.

He looks down at you with wild eyes and places his hand on the back of your head to guide your mouth to his cock, apparently unable to continue the role of a passive observer for any longer. Clearly intent at putting his newfound research to good use. You lick a wet stripe from the base to the tip, before taking him in your mouth, the pre-cum tangy on your tongue. His grip tightens on your hair the same time he tilts his hips forward to push his cock further and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard enough to make Tech groan and his knees buckle. He braces himself against the back of the pilot’s chair, captivated at the sight your mouth stretched around his length.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as you’re able. You drag your tongue and press it flush on the underside of his cock, looking up at Tech with wide doe eyes, batting your eyelashes prettily as he struggles to maintain composure. You continue your pace until sweat starts to bead at his temple and his breathing becomes less controlled.

Patience isn’t your strong point and you’re too pent up not to touch yourself. You bring your free hand down your trousers, between your thighs, running your fingers through your wet folds and hum at the sensation. Tech’s hips stutter with the vibrations and his face contorts in what looks like a pained grimace. He takes a miniature step back and your lips leave his cock with a pop. He’s breathing heavily now and his weeping cock is painfully hard, his balls tight.

“I don’t want to finish in your mouth, mesh’la,” he pants, voice low.

You nod dumbly, currently unable to form a coherent thought or tear your eyes away from his erect length, only inches away from your face.

Tech takes hold of both of your forearms, helping you get to your feet, before wrapping his hands around your thighs, picking you up with surprising ease. You lock your thighs around his torso as he strides over to press you against one of the auxiliary control panels adjacent to the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. The incline on the panel is steep and the pressure of his hips against yours is the only thing keeping you from sliding down.

“Let me taste you,” Tech groans against your ear.

You let out a frustrated whine and desperately move to unclasp your trousers as Tech works to open your shirt. You shudder once the cool air hits your sweat-dampened skin and Tech messily palms your exposed breast while nipping at your neck. He helps you shimmy out of your clothing while holding you in firmly place before discarding them on the floor of he Marauder.

And this is how you find yourself spread eagle on the Marauder's control panel in possibly the most undignified position you’ve ever been in.

He goes to remove his goggles and you stop him.

“If they’re not uncomfortable for you, I’d like for you to leave them on.” He quirks a brow at you, quizzical. “What? I told you that they’re cute.”

His face evolves from sceptical to bashful in a few moments.

“Very well, then. I can leave them on.”

Tech moves his hands under your thighs as he lowers himself, draping your legs across each of his shoulders with surprising gentleness for a man who looks like he is ready to devour you. Once he’s on his knees and comfortably supporting your weight, keeping you pressed against the console, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“A-are you okay with this?” you manage to stutter out. It’s not like you haven’t pictured his head between your thighs before, but something about his head actually being between your thighs fills you with a nervousness you hadn’t anticipated.

He mumbles his assurances against your clit. He begins with slow, languid licks and you suck in a sharp breath as you feel yourself craving more and have to stop yourself from violently bucking your hips up.

Okay, so he’s actually really good at this. You know you really shouldn’t be that surprised, Tech is nothing if not thorough with his research and it’s, er, practical applications. Any thoughts of humour at Tech’s expense are, however, ripped from your mind when he sinks a single finger inside your cunt. His finger curls with a precision that only Tech could manage and you moan in encouragement as he pumps it in and out.

You squirm when he hits the spot that makes you want to beg for more and you feel your bare ass hit a button on the console. The next thing you hear is a soft swish swish sound of the Marauder's screen wipers that you inadvertently turned on. Mercifully, it doesn’t break Tech’s concentration and his hands continue to grip your hips, holding your cunt to his face.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you chant. You writhe again and another button sounds its activation. Nothing immediately makes itself known. You hope it’s not something like a proton torpedo firing into the swampy area the Marauder landed in. Not because there’s anything nearby, but because you’ll die if Tech stops here.

He moans into your core as he brings a hand down to grip his leaking cock, desperate for some friction.

“Kriff,” you grunt at the sight of him fucking his fist, only to hear Tech utter the same exclamation at the same time.

“Is there an echo in here or something?” You smile at him, offering a half-laugh before your face contorts with pleasure once again and you hiss through your teeth.

“Yes?” a new, tinny voice chimes in on the overhead speaker system. “This is Echo... You’ve, uh, turned on the short range comm system.”

You knew Tech was a good soldier, but the reflexes in which he slammed the short range comm transmitter with his free hand surprised you. He didn’t move himself from between your thighs and skilfully cut off the transmission while continuing to work your clit with his tongue and your cunt with his finger.

Before you could die from embarrassment and wonder just how much Echo and the rest of the Batch heard, Tech adds another finger and your entire body jerks and tenses.

“I’ve – ah, right there – Maker, that feels good. I’ve never been with anyone who is patient enough to let me come,” you manage to say through gritted teeth.

“My research indicated that it can take around 20 standard minutes for women to orgasm if properly relaxed, why would others stop prematurely?” Tech replies, only briefly removing his mouth from your cunt to reply.

“Selfishness?” you guess.

Tech seemed to take your admission (and ability to form sentences) personally, clearly intent on rendering you incapacitated. He returns to his attention to your clit and maintains his rhythm, teasing a third finger near your entrance. You whine at the sensation and move to hold Tech’s head in place, because if he stops now, there’s no way you’ll ever forgive him. The pressure that’s been mounting in your core finally, finally peaks and your entire body tenses as you surrender to your climax.

“Tech,” you whine, unable to formulate thoughts, let alone words.

He assures you with a soft groan and tightens his grip on your hip. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he guides you through your climax.

As you come down from your orgasm, you feel like you’ve spent a year in bacta. You can’t move. Honestly, your bones are like Andorian jelly. The feeling is only temporary, however, as you’re overcome with the desire – no, need – to be filled.

“In me,” you urge. “Now.”

He adjusts his goggles and looks at you, spread out, completely ready for him.

“Lie back then.”

Tech settles between your thighs and nudges his cock head against your entrance. He takes a breath to steady himself, rubbing his length through your folds, covering it in your arousal.

“So wet and ready for me, mesh’la.”

Your hands wildly grasp at his chest plate, fingernails scratching along the plastoid, desperate to hold onto anything to anchor you. You meet his mouth with a graceless kiss, before he finally sinks into you.

“You’re tight,” he grits out.

He waits a few moments letting you adjust to his size before he begins to move. He restrains himself, slowly rolling his hips as your cunt stretches around his length.

“More,” you plead, breathlessly. “Please.”

Your encouragement is all he needs before he snaps his hips against yours, setting an unrelenting rhythm. He rocks into you harder with each thrust of his hips, his plastoid leg places slapping your skin.

“You feel so good, cyar'ika,” he pants. You surge upwards to greet his lips with a messy kiss, which only spurs him on to fuck you faster. “You’re, ah, taking me so well.”

“Fuck –,” you whine.

His grip tightens and his whole body starts to tense – he’s dangerously close to coming undone. And that’s when you notice his pace start to slow, his movements clearly distracted.

“Tech?” you mumble. You focus your eyes on his face and he looks dazed, you can practically hear him thinking. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you any time to panic.

“Elevate your hips by seven to ten degrees,” he states through heavy breaths.

“What?” Definitely not what you were expecting him to say.

Tech seems unfazed by your apparent annoyance. He wordlessly repositions himself, grabbing both of your hips and raising them slightly, holding your body up so it’s just the sharp incline of the console and Tech’s hands keeping you in place.

He began thrusting in earnest again, his eyes screwing shut in pleasure. And, Maker, he was right. The new angle hits a spot that makes your toes curl and you lose the ability to speak almost instantly and mewl helplessly as Tech fucks into you.

You made an undignified noise as you gripped his bicep, desperate to hold onto something, feeling the pressure mount in your core. With Tech’s hands busy holding you in place as he maintains a brutal pace, you bring a hand down to your clit, still wet with spit and your own essence. You barely have to touch yourself before you feel your body screaming for release.

“’M coming,” is all the warning you are able to give him before your cunt spasms around his twitching cock as your vision whites out. Tech grunts at the sensation, unable to hold his own climax off any longer.

“Where do you want me to –,” he grates out.

“Anywhere,” you cut him off, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Just want to feel you.”

“Fuck, mesh’la, I’m going to come,” Tech groans, desperately chasing his release with harsh thrusts. His hips forcefully buck into you before his cock stiffens and he spills himself inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, slowly pumping you full of his cum, before he slumps against you. “Bid jate par me,” he mumbles into your neck, barely audible. “Gotal par me.”

You don’t know Mando’a, but whatever he is saying, the way he is saying it, sends a pleasant chill over your body.

You’re both still breathing heavily when Tech gingerly places you back down with a surprising gentleness for someone who had just been fucking you within an inch of your life. He’s in no rush to remove himself from you, but when his softened cock does slip out and his cum leaks out of you and onto the console, he helps you slide down. When your feet touch the floor, your legs wobble slightly and Tech has to grasp your forearms to steady you, softly chuckling at the state you’re in.

And when you look at him, he looks positively debauched. Sated, but debauched. You probably look worse.

In one swift motion he bends down, brings an arm down under your knees, and lifts you up. You wrap your arms around your neck while he carries you to his bunk. His cool armour against your overheated skin is a welcome sensation and you press yourself closer.

“Your research paid off,” you mumble into his chest as he sets you down on his bed.

“Please do not act so surprised by that.”

++++++++++++++++++++

You and Tech aren’t quite finished with the repairs by the time the Batch return hours later, long after the moons have risen and the bioluminescent plants surrounding the ship have begun to glow. If the squad notice you’re sitting a bit too close to Tech, your thigh pressing comfortably against his, they don’t say anything.

Neither of you were expecting to defile the Marauder all day and Tech was frantically fixing the lever on a storage hatch access panel, attempting to make up for lost time.

“Wrecker!” Echo shouts. “Clean up after yourself, for kriff’s sake.”

“Why?” Wrecker drawls, stomping towards the cockpit. “What did I do this time?”

“You’ve spilled your juice on the console again, all the keys are stuck in place.”

The access lever snaps clean off in Tech’s hands.

#tech x reader #tech x you #tbb x reader #tbb tech x reader #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #the bad batch #tech fanfic #the bad batch fanfic #the bad batch reader insert #bad batch reader insert #bad batch tech x reader #bad batch tech x you #tech smut #the bad batch smut #my writing #cody writes

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years

Text

A/N: If there’s anything I learned from doing this, it’s that vampirerry is an utter WHORE. Good for him!!!! As for myself, I’m done with the semester and my term projects and finals left my singular brain cell fried, so this was a nice way to get back into writing again. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to the anon that suggested it, this was super fun to do! :D

read you’re someone i just want around here

word count: 6k

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Harry is very attentive when it comes to aftercare with Y/N. The sex they have is often rough and includes toys, degradation, and multiple rounds, so he believes aftercare is non-negotiable. Rough sex can be fun, but if it’s not followed by a lot of communication and post-performance support, it can take a hard emotional toll on a person. Even when intimacy isn’t meant to be inherently sentimental, there has to be a certain level of connection and etiquette surrounding it, or it could end badly for both parties involved. He always checks on her immediately after they finish, simply to gauge her headspace and how her body is responding, and after he’s made sure she’s alright, he goes into his usual routine of skin-to-skin contact and gentle coddling. Reassurance and praise is just as important afterwards as it is during, because it’s good to let a partner know that your appreciation runs deeper than just the physical need felt in the heat of the moment; everyone deserves to feel valued beyond their body.

Harry proceeds to clean Y/N up after every session, because it’s the least he can do since she’s usually the one getting the brunt of the work. He’ll fetch a clean towel dampened under warm water to wipe her clean, or he’ll offer to help give her a bath or a shower— whichever route she prefers. Harry dresses her, and changes the sheets if need be, and tucks her into bed to ensure she’s nice and comfortable. If it’s been a particularly intense session, he’ll go the kitchen and bring back a snack and a drink— a granola bar and a Gatorade, or some chips and her favorite juice, or if she’s feeling especially hungry, he’ll happily go out of his way to prepare her an actual meal— and he insists on feeding it to her bit by bit until she’s come to enough to handle it on her own. If she’s not hungry, he at least brings her a glass of water and urges her to drink it; better to be safe than sorry. After that, more cuddling is the status quo, which normally ends in Y/N falling asleep in his arms, and Harry has absolutely no problem with that at all.

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Harry’s favorite body part of Y/N’s is probably her chest. Yes, he likes it for sexual reasons— obviously— but there are innocent reasons for his fascination, as well. He likes how responsive she gets when he touches her there— how he can get her going just by groping her the way she likes it, or by using his mouth to tongue across her nipples until she’s writhing in pleasure and whining for more. He loves leaving hickies all over her tits, probably more than she likes receiving them. It’s just so fucking hot seeing himself marked all over her, especially when she’s putting on a bra and he can see all of the dark bruises scattered across the cleavage spilling from the undergarment. Filth aside, he also enjoys loving all over her chest. Absentmindedly cupping them while they’re snuggling, nuzzling his head between them while they’re watching television, massaging them under her shirt with his large palms as she sits back against his chest, sipping a glass of wine and chatting away, unwinding after a long day. It’s a form of intimacy; it provides a type of closeness nothing else can.

As for his own favorite body part, it’s a tie between two different areas. He loves his thighs— they’re one of his most prominent features. They’re thick and meaty and sensitive, so they’re the perfect sweet spot to touch when he wants to get riled up. Given his previous response, it can be easily deduced that he likes to get hickies there, as well. The marks look great peeking out from under his briefs (for the short amount of time they last, anyways) and they make a great accessory to the large tigerhead tattoo along his left thigh. It’s artwork, really; a proper Picasso.

His other favorite body part...well, take a lucky guess. It’s likely not that far off— literally, considering it hangs right between his thighs.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Harry’s personal preference is cumming inside. He adores feeling the way Y/N tightens around him when he finally orgasms (she’s just so warm and soft and unbelievably tight; it’s like she was made for him), almost as much as he loves seeing her reaction. Her body will immediately start to wriggle and her back will arch as she releases broken little whimpers, clinging to his shoulders with her nails and begging him to fill her until he’s milked his worth. Hearing her ragged breathing and feeling her sweaty chest stutter against his is enough to do him in, but when she goes as far as to gnaw on his ear and whine a soft little, “Want it all, baby. Want you dripping out of me when we’re done.” Well, that’s enough to kill him all over again.

Of course, there are times when Harry likes seeing himself all over her, too. On her outstretched tongue, or smeared across her pretty face and plush lips (she looks particularly cute when it ends up all over her eyelashes), or streaked over the valley of her tits, or pooled at the center of her tummy. If he’d been taking her from behind, then he likes seeing it run down the backs of her thighs, or splattered across the dip of her spine. And if she’d been giving him a handjob, then seeing himself dribbling down her fingers is just as good. Why? Because those fingers usually end up in her mouth, which means he ends up all over her tongue, and so the cycle comes full circle. How poetic.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Did Harry suggest wearing a matching set of a vibrating cock ring and buzzing bullet to do grocery shopping once? Yes. Did he drop three glass jars of peach preserves by accident as a result, causing them to have to book it out of the bread aisle while trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, which failed horribly because they were literally hobbling like a crippled elderly couple? Also yes. Did they end up fucking in a Target fitting room? Definitely.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A lot of experience. Tons. Immense amounts. Insane amounts. Two hundred years of the same seven continents just means two hundred years worth of sex across every single one. And it gives you plenty of time to find the clitoris, as well as giving you a chance to learn the female anatomy like the back of your hand. That being said, Harry doesn’t doubt he could make Y/N cum with his wrists tied behind his back and a blindfold strapped to his face. In fact, he’s made her cum just by using his thigh, so that in itself is enough credibility to last him several more lifetimes. The toy chest in his closet and the fact that he’s well-endowed are bonuses— he knows more than enough tricks to keep her satisfied with just his tongue. Not to mention his fingers— they’re long for a reason.

F = Favorite position

Funny enough, Harry doesn’t have one. He’s spent so many decades cycling through every possible position in existence, it’s gotten to where he can’t pin-point a preference; all positions are unique, and they each have their own appeal. Reverse cowgirl is nice because he likes watching the way he stretches Y/N open with every plunge of her hips, and it also gives him the luxury of marking his rings across her ass in the process. Regular cowgirl is nice, too— having her chest bouncing in his face is nothing short of a divine miracle, in his opinion. Doggy style is a staple, and there’s always different add-ons he can apply to spice it up; for example, taking her from behind with her wrists tied to her ankles, or bending her over the kitchen counter with her face pressed into the marble, or fucking her against his glass wall with her hands and chest flushed to the cool surface as their breaths fog the floor-to-ceiling window.

Missionary is a tried and true option, and just like it’s prior counterpart, it can be enhanced with a variety of extra tricks. Bondage is a good condiment, against the wall is always a nice touch, spread-eagle never goes wrong, and just having her legs wrapped around his lower back is more than enough. However, he does have two favorite variations of the position. The first is when he mounts her legs onto his shoulders or along the inside of his elbows to open her up more, and then just ramming his hips down at a very specific angle that hits her g-spot just right, pounding her into the bed so hard she tears the sheets off the mattress. The second is a cowgirl-missionary hybrid: he sits back on his heels and uses the steep downward slope created by his thighs as elevation, pulling her ass onto his tilted lap and swinging her legs over either side of his hips. He gropes her waist with his palms and yanks her forward, bouncing her against his cock and watching her completely dismantle as he nudges all the right places with as much speed and force as she deems fit.

And then there’s fucking from the side, but that’s a whole other extensive conversation he doesn’t have time for.

Actually, maybe Harry will entertain it for a minute or so. He usually throws one of Y/N’s legs over his neck to get a deeper range, manhandling her roughly onto her side and yanking her closer to his body by her waist, grasping it with stern vigor and holding her down against the mattress, grunting out a gravelly, strict command along the lines of, “Stay fucking still.” He’ll drill into her at a brutal, consistent pace, staining his fingerprints along the curves of her torso and sponging damp kisses onto her ankle, smirking into her skin as he watches her fist at the duvet in a futile attempt at maintaining her bearings. It’s pretty evident that she can’t, though; the way her eyes lull around their sockets from his harsh stride does a terrible job at hiding her lack of self-control, alongside the fragmented curses she gasps out whenever he nudges her g-spot with the head of his cock.

“Oh, that was such a pretty noise. Did I hit that little spot you like?”

Her response will be begrudging, as always, which he thinks is ridiculously useless considering he can see her burying her face into the pillow to hide how her jaw drops open in sheer rapture. “No.”

“No?” The vampire leans forward, stretching her leg towards the headboard and preening at the garbled squeak that escapes her gritted teeth, plunging deeper as he lowers himself to her level. He knots her hair around his knuckles, tugging sharply until her face is tilted back enough to meet his fiery gaze. “Then why are you starting to shake?

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on the mood, honestly. There are definitely serious moments, but Harry enjoys the humorous ones just as much. He already adores making Y/N laugh and smile on a regular basis, and that desire only grows when he’s buried between her thighs, simply because she just looks so fucking cute laughing with her hair splayed around the pillows in a messy halo, her sounds of glee stuttering due to how sharply she’s jolting against the bed. He loves feeling her giggle into his mouth as he cracks sarcastic jokes and makes stupid witty comments that break the intensity in the air, especially because she’s usually clever enough to return them with some of her own. Then they both end up snickering like idiots as he tries to keep a solid pace, which eventually tapers to a messy, haphazard stride as their laughter drowns out their goal to the point where he has to take a genuine break to collect himself. There’s tons of examples— how could there not be? Sex is hardly ever perfect, so awkward moments are not only expected, but guaranteed. What better way to handle them than with a bit of humor?

There was an incident once where Harry accidentally knocked their foreheads together so hard, they both bruised (which he responded to with, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Cosmopolitan meant when they suggested matching couples tattoos.”). Another time, he got so into the moment he didn’t realize he was jack-hammering the top of her head into the backboard until she brought it to his attention (and made a comment saying it sounded like a sped up version of the beat to We Will Rock You). A bad case of the hiccups. Y/N burping right in his face halfway through his orgasm. A random leg cramp that made him think he was going to need amputation to survive. Accidentally rolling off the bed or couch onto the ground and nearly dislocating both of their spines in the process, getting his cross earring tangled in her hair and nearly ripping off his ear trying to get it out, and the unfortunate collapse of a pillow fort he’d spent over an hour building. He even sneezed in her face once, and when she instinctively went to shove him back, she wound up slamming her palm into his nose so hard he nearly passed out. Nose bleeds aren’t necessarily sexy, per se, but he just dug blindly through her nightstand until he found two new tampons somewhere in that black hole she calls a drawer, shoved them in his nostrils, and kept going. No one can ever accuse him of being unresourceful.

Queefing. Lots and lots of queefing, which he usually starts mimicking with his mouth, and then she responds to that by whining and telling him to cut it out, and then he takes to mocking her whining instead. It normally finishes with them laughing so hard that Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so big, but it’s a good type of pain. The best type of pain.

H = Hair (how do they groom?)

Harry likes keeping himself neat and orderly, but he doesn’t enjoy going bare, so trimming is his grooming preference. There’s just something so unappealing about a completely smooth dick— it looks like raw chicken and it’s fucking disgusting. He doesn’t have anything against a good bush, but it tends to get unruly and he’d rather not have to overcomplicate his shower routine. And honestly, he can’t trust himself because last time he had a full front yard going, he got shitfaced and tried to braid it on a dare. Keeping the hedges trimmed is the ideal landscaping option, and it just looks way hotter— a uniform dusting of hair is a good accessory and it just makes everything look more cohesive, given that he also fancies keeping his happy trail thick. It’s all about aesthetics, isn’t it?

I = Intimacy (the romantic aspect)

It’s no secret that Harry’s been somewhat detached from intimacy for the last two hundred years or so. Intimacy is reserved for genuine romance, and that’s something he hadn’t entertained since before the lightbulb was invented. But now that he has Y/N, intimacy has crawled its way back out from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, where it had been shoved into a bottomless pit with the rest of his trauma. He likes it— he likes opening up to her in any way he can, because sharing those obsolete parts of himself with someone again is more fulfilling than he ever imagined. He likes kissing her randomly when she’s halfway through a sentence, just to feel her words die off abruptly in her throat as she gives into his gentle gesture, a delicate smile spreading across her satin lips. He likes whispering sweet phrases of encouragement into her hair when they’re tangled amidst sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets, reminding her of how much he cares for her and how beautiful she looks when she’s so far gone and how she makes him feel like his entire body has been set alight. He likes sponging soft pecks across the stretch marks along her thighs and across the dimples on her belly, her skin candy and velvet on his tongue as she releases a watery sigh that lets him know he’s doing all the right things in all the right places. He just likes letting her know she's special to him, in any and every way he can.

Intimacy forges timeless bonds, and he reckons that assumption is unarguable, considering he knows a thing or two about eternity.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Harry likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? It’s why he has an entire section of his toy chest dedicated to self-pleasuring tools. Vibrating cock rings, an array of lubes that range from temperature-changing to sensation sensitivity, and a few pocket vags that get the job done whenever Y/N is out of commission (usually because of work). His favorite one is an electronic sleek black model that is made of a premium silicone material and has a variety of massage settings, suction strengths, and internal textures. It’s designed to make the session feel more real, and yes, it was expensive, but self-love is always worth the splurge.

The beauty of living on his own is that he can get off wherever and whenever he wants, without having to stress about someone interrupting an important step in his pampering routine. He usually does it in his room and on his bed, simply because Y/N’s pillow is close by and the experience is heightened when her scent is swimming around his hazy, bliss-drunken mind. If Harry is feeling particularly needy, he’ll ditch the toy all together and just hump one out against the mattress or cushion. If it’s a particularly restless day, he’ll take a toy downstairs and lazily play within himself on the couch while browsing through Netflix. Those instances usually average a few tamer orgasms rather than a single large one, but he’s not complaining; his stamina comes in unapologetic waves that stem from a never-ending supply, and he certainly has the time to kill. If Harry gets the sudden urge in the shower or while he’s relaxing in his jacuzzi, he won’t bother fetching a trinket; he’ll just stroke one out with his hand, using the cool metal of his trusty lionhead ring to tease the tip until he brings himself to orgasm. It turns out daylight crystals have more than one use.

There is one common factor amongst all these different choices, though: Y/N is present in every fantasy. And if the vampire is feeling especially bold, he’ll grab his phone and take a video of whatever he’s doing to himself, and then she’ll have a nice little gift waiting for her once she gets out of the café for the day. That usually leads to him receiving a present in return later that evening, and then he’s dialing her contact before the clip is even done playing, and then what he does during his alone time doesn’t require him being so alone anymore.

K = Kinks

Harry has tons— in fact, he has so many, he can’t really keep track. And he also has the sneaking suspicion that if he were to ever jot all of them down, he’d end up locked in some type of sex addict rehabilitation center. Bondage is a big one, so he’ll start there. He’s great with ropes, given that he learned his way around them ages ago. Chains are nice, but they can be a pain to set up without the right equipment; he’s thinking of getting a reinforced metal hook installed into his ceiling, like the one in his storage closet, which he uses to keep his punching bag secure. Handcuffs, obviously— velvet-lined, straight metal, fuzzy coverings, he’s got it all. Dominance, degradation, Daddy, Sir, choking, brat-taming, spanking, flogging, slapping— impact play in general, to be honest— spitting, wax, praise, begging, masochism, branding (mild stuff, no molten metal shit), collaring, discipline, dirty talk, edging, exhibitionism, face-fucking, face-sitting (with him on the receiving end), giving oral (is that a kink? It is now.) gagging (both the action and using the actual object itself), breeding (he hates that term but that’s the official name, unfortunately), teasing, voyeurism, role play, and… he thinks that’s it. Oh, and blood, but that doesn’t really count for apparent reasons.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Y/N’s couch is sacred, at this point. Their entire relationship started on that lumpy, worn excuse of a sofa, and it’s seen them through their progression from strangers to friends with benefits to lovers to more. It’s comfortable enough, the dark color hides any explicit stains, and the cushions always smell of her signature mixture of honey and lavender combined with Snuggle fabric softener. It’s finicky, but irreplaceable. His kitchen counter is a close second. It’s provided a lot, taken a lot, been through a lot— through a lot of Lysol wipes, to be specific. If it wasn’t marble, it likely would have been reduced to chunks and rubble by now, courtesy of his enhanced strength gripping the edges as he slams her against the smooth surface. The backseat of his Cadillac is consecrated, as well; there’s just so much erotic appeal to fucking in a car with rock music blaring in the background, muffling the obscene sounds of bodies connecting and a mixture of fever-pitch moans. The couch, the counter, and the Cadillac— the Unholy Trinity.

The jacuzzi is nice, too, but for the sake of his clever little “c” alliteration, he’ll leave that one as an implied token.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

As much as Harry claims he likes full submission in bed, he can’t deny that he loves being challenged. Delivering punishment and coaxing out an orgasm is so much more satisfying when he has to fight for it; it’s so fucking hot watching his girlfriend try to best him in a power struggle, especially when she finally— and undeniably, since he always wins— caves under his will and winds up begging him for what he otherwise would have gifted her freely. That’s where the brat-taming kink comes into play. He likes it when she mouths off and makes snarky digs, and he enjoys it even more when he tries to set her in place and she amps her disobedience as a result. There’s nothing more attractive than a battle of wits with someone who is a perfect match in every way. And when she channels her attitude into physical gestures, it riles him up beyond compare. For example, when she smirks and rolls her eyes, despite the fact that there’s trails of tears staining her cheeks and mascara smeared all over her waterline? Christ, he could go feral.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No feet, no feces, no beastiality. There’s probably more, but those are the ones off the top of his head.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving oral is great— he highly recommends it, solid ten out of ten— but giving it is so much better. Harry’s always been a giver, even when he was young and barely knew his way around a woman’s undergarments. The stereotypical expectation for a person who is beginning to explore their sexuality is that everything they do, they do for their own gain. It’s a selfish realization, yes, but it’s a primal type of selfishness that no one can truly be blamed for. It’s a simple concept: when you start having sex, you want as much personal benefit as possible. It’s only natural. But from the second Harry became sexually active, he came to find that providing release to his partner outweighed the bliss he could get from letting them pleasure him instead. It’s not direct pleasure, but rather cognitive, which more often than not translates itself physically. And when it comes to Y/N, that euphoria manifests tenfold.

Nothing compares to having his face buried between her legs as she tugs and yanks at his hair desperately, her chest heaving and jaw falling open as he uses his tongue to unravel her from the inside out. Spitting sloppily onto her folds and hearing the raw gasp of aroused shock that escapes her sore throat, which causes his swollen lips to spread into a dirty grin as he latches onto the sensitive bud at the thick of her core, fiddling with it until her legs are trembling uncontrollably around his sturdy shoulders. Watching her features go slack as he bobs his neck fervently between her thighs, swiping the bridge of his nose across her clit over and over until the entire bottom half of his face is drenched in her excitement. Fucking his tongue into her and feeling her buck against his jaw as she holds him in place with her fingers tangled in his curls, whimpering his name repeatedly in a voice so shattered, he could probably build a mosaic with the fractures. Feeling her drip down his chin and into the collar of his shirt, savoring how sweet she tastes as he pins her hips down against the bed and groans feverishly into her cunt, his ego idolizing the image of her so disheveled under his influence.

A measly blowjob is hardly any competition to that. Harry could very well cum just from eating Y/N out. In fact, he has, and that in itself is all the proof he needs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This is one of those other factors that depends on the mood. If Harry has been waiting all day for it, his impatience bleeds into his rhythm, which means he settles for fast and hard. It means he settles for bending her over the back of his couch with one palm around her throat and his other fingers in her mouth, pounding into her with so much force, the sofa starts shifting across the ground. If Y/N has been teasing him endlessly for a decent amount of time, it’ll be rough and deep, but not fast; he’ll drag it out for as long as possible, just to make her regret acting like such a spoiled brat. That’s when he brings out the paddle, or the crop, or just manhandles her across his lap and spanks her until she’s apologizing profusely through her whines. If he’s in a soft, romantic headspace, it’ll be slow and sensual, with lots of gentle caresses, giggly kisses dusted across eager lips and droopy eyelids, and penetrating strokes that make his toes curl and tummy clench.

Pace is relative, but the message behind it is all the same: I want you more than anything, and I’m going to show you just how deeply I mean it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are fun, Harry will admit. They’re filthy and messy, and they show just how far gone two people are for each other to the point where they can’t wait to feel one another at a later time; that they need to be together now, or they’ll go absolutely insane. Quickies are saved for when the urge strikes at random times. For when he’s out with Y/N at a park, sitting under the shade with his head in her lap as she combs his curls out of his eyes and thumbs over his chin affectionately, and the sun filters through the tree canopy just right to where it illuminates her lashes and the suppleness of her cheeks in a manner he deems ethereal. For when they’re at the mall, walking hand in hand and licking at ice cream cones as they survey the shops, and she reaches over to wipe a bit of Rocky Road off the corner of his mouth, replacing the stain with a soft stipple of her lips instead. For when they’re out eating dinner and playing footsie under the table like immature teenagers, and she’s trying to steal a French fry from his plate but he keeps fighting her off with his fork because, “I told you to order your own, but you wanted those disgusting potato skins instead!” And she’s laughing so brightly and unapologetically, giving him a look that so obviously tells him she can’t wait to get him alone, and nothing seems quite as flawless as that fraction in time, then and there and nowhere else.

These simple but memorable moments cause him to get love boners, which he jokingly refers to as “sniffy stiffies,” where “sniffy” has to do with being sentimental, and “stiffy”...well, that one is pretty self-explanatory, no? It always ends with them shagging in the car, or in the family bathroom of a diner, and in the case of the park, in an obscure area of the forest that lines the jogging trail.

Quickies are just that— fast, but meaningful nonetheless, because they come from a place of genuine emotion. They’re fleeting, but unforgettable. Sniffy stiffy quickies, if you will.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Taking risks is the norm in Harry’s life, especially when it comes to his sex habits. He’s proven time and time again that he has no problem riding along the seams of a dare and just barely making it out unscathed, so experimenting outside of the bedroom is just another day in the life. Fingering Y/N in a music room in an antique shop, getting road head during a two hour drive back to Los Angeles, ripping his girlfriend’s panties out from beneath her dress at one of California’s most prestigious restaurants— the list is endless, really. Harry likes to think he has a gift for coming up with inspirational quotes on the spot, so he’ll lend his expertise here and now: “A life without risks is a life that isn’t worth shit.” It even rhymes, so he knows sorority pledges will have a ball putting it in their Instagram bios. A bit of charity work for the bird-brained.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Endless stamina. Literally. Vampires don’t stay tired for long, so he could be ready to go again within seconds. And he can last long, as well; his stubbornness and pride depend on it, and he likes making his partner cum first as an ego boost. He can go as many rounds as Y/N can and more, though he won’t push it. He doesn’t want her to end up in the ER with a bruised cervix.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Harry could run a sex shop from his closet; Y/N doesn’t take the piss by calling him “Fifty Shades” for no reason. He uses them on himself, he uses them on her, and he got high once and tried to sword fight Y/N with a dildo, so it’s safe to say he definitely uses them quite a bit. If his Lovesense Lush 3 vibrator could talk, he’d be drawn and quartered for excessive debauchery.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Harry loves teasing, that’s no mystery. Winding people up is one of his most practiced skills, so of course that would channel into his intimate life. He’s mastered it, though it’s not like it’s hard. A drawn out blink here, or a feathery touch there. An inch of space between his and Y/N’s lips to establish some tension, or squeezing her inner thigh with his palm hard enough to draw a tiny squeak from her chest. Touching her through her clothes, or leaving a trail of wet kisses down her throat and stopping right at her cleavage. Biting the sensitive skin along the inside of her knee, or dragging the tip of his cold nose down the center of her twitching tummy. Lapping slowly at her nipples until they perk up, or sinking a single long digit inside her and keeping it there just to feel her clench around it needily. And once he gets a pattern going, teasing molds into edging, edging molds into begging, begging molds into praise, and before he knows it, he’s hit four of his kinks with one roll of the dice.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Harry is very vocal in bed, and he’s not ashamed of it. He knows for a fact that Y/N loves it, and if him being loud gets her worked up, then he’ll let his throat go out in the process. He’s noticed that in different situations, he has an arsenal of sounds for each. If he’s being rough and dominant, he tends to groan, grunt, and growl. If he’s being desperate and needy, he turns to whines and whimpers to communicate how he feels. If he’s too zoned into the moment to distinguish all his emotions, broken moans and stuttered mewls are his default. No matter the circumstance, they all take the same route: they start low and soft, and escalate in volume proportional to the intensity of the moment. So what if half the building is hearing him orgasm for the third time as he mocks his girlfriends sobbing pleads and calls her his “dirty fucking whore”? Let’s be honest, it’s probably the highlight of their week. He has a great voice— a sultry, deep baritone that compliments his English accent nicely— and anyone would be lucky to hear it spew the filth it does. He’s yet to get many complaints, so he doesn’t intend on stopping.

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

An honesty hour moment seems interesting, so he’ll confess a few tales from his past. The first time Harry ever went down on a girl, it was against a tree in a garden and he nearly asphyxiated under all the layers of her gown. A couple of years later, he ended up getting oral from a reverend’s daughter against a tree, too, for the morbid irony and associated religious revenge. And to drive the point home, oral was only the beginning of what she gave him. His first decade as a vampire was definitely his pettiest.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It’s not uncommon knowledge that Harry’s well-endowed. He remembers how insecure he was the first time he had sex— a shocker, he knows; he was insecure?— and how he knew barely anything regarding sizing and how to use his assets accordingly. But it’s been ages since then, and now he definitely knows his way around his own body (let alone his partner’s), and he most certainly knows that he’s above average not only as a person in general, but when it comes to what’s in his trousers, as well. Harry won’t specify inches— he loves how speculation drives others mad— but it was big enough to give Y/N a decent pause the first time she pulled down his pants, and it’s big enough to leave her absolutely fucked every single time, without a single miss. If that’s not credibility at its finest, then he doesn’t know what is.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Harry’s sex drive is insatiable, to say the least. His vampirism combined with his narcissistic tendencies makes the ideal cocktail— cocktail— for the constant fuse that’s always burning under his skin. He’s ready to go at all times; Y/N just has to say the word and he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he grabs his keys, hopping down his complex’s corridor toward the elevator on one foot as he tries to get his last shoe on the other. Lazy morning sex is probably his favorite; he’s come to find it’s when he’s most pent up, usually after a sleepless night of feeling Y/N’s body heat radiating through all of his cold limbs. It also sets a great tone for the rest of the day, and he just loves seeing Y/N wake up to him lying on his side with his temple resting on his fist, his elbow propped against the mattress as he poses the other on his hip in a theatrical diva stance. He’ll smile at her giddily with all his pearly teeth, dimples twitching as his lashes flutter dramatically, dirty intentions written clear all over his face (“Good morning, hon—” “Wanna have sex?” “Harry, it’s ten in the morning.” “Is that a yes? Because it’s not a no.” “I haven’t even brushed my teeth!” “That’s fine, I’m gonna stick my dick in there anyways.”)

All in all, his libido is insane, and he’s lucky that Y/N’s is up to par or else he would have worked her into an exhaustion-induced coma by now.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Harry just...doesn't. Maybe once every few weeks, but definitely more often now than before he had his girlfriend. Sleeping just comes way easier when he has someone he cares about resting beside him, their inherent warmth thawing the stiffness from his muscles and putting his racing mind at ease. He feels safe enough around Y/N to let his guard down— both literally and metaphorically— and that seems to help with his supernatural insomnia; it sedates that nocturnal hyper-instinct in his brain that demands he be aware at all times, muffling the animalistic part of him that has been manning the reins for the better half of the last two hundred years. He doesn’t need to be so on edge anymore when everything he needs is just an arm-length away. Especially when she’s usually willing to lend her chest as a pillow, and who is he to neglect her wishes.

#ysijwa #harry styles smut #vampire!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles mature #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction

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extasiswings · 3 years

Note

“i’ll keep you warm” eddie has a nightmare post-shooting 👀 (or however you wanna write it!)

This was not supposed to be this long...rated M-ish for some mild smut at the end. On ao3 here.

The thing Eddie remembers most about the shooting isn’t the shot itself, or the pain, or even the fear—it’s the cold. The icy numbness of shock curling down his spine, twisting through his veins like tendrils of frost creeping across a windowpane in winter. Cold, as his pulse skyrocketed, his body’s signals all crossed and confused and trying to circulate blood, not seeming to grasp the fact that his blood was seeping out onto the asphalt beneath him, that trying to circulate it faster was just making it worse. Cold, like he was a stupid kid at camp diving into a frigid lake before dawn, except above him was blue sky and a bright sun beating down and the fact that it was Los Angeles in May didn’t do a damn thing to help.

He couldn’t feel it. He could only feel the cold.

Buck, though—Buck, he felt. Buck’s hands burned, on his chest, his neck, his face, so warm that Eddie almost wanted to flinch away, but he didn’t. He was aware enough to realize that if Buck was warm, he was probably telling the truth when he said he wasn’t hurt. And that was good. That was all he needed to know.

The cold—

Eddie’s been through enough in his life to know that his subconscious works in weird ways. After Afghanistan he dreamed more directly of burning helicopters and gunfire, blood in his mouth and smoke on his tongue. Shadows and screams and guilt. After the well his dreams were of Christopher, Shannon, waves crashing on a beach. And Buck. Sunlight.

This time...this time Eddie dreams of drowning. Trapped beneath ice, his hands slamming against it, eventually forced to inhale—water flooding his mouth, his throat, his lungs—cold, cold, cold—

Sometimes after he wakes he’ll spend hours shivering. Phantom chills that won’t go away even when he wraps himself in blankets.

The therapist he’s mandated to see before he can be cleared for work tells him that the brain doesn’t always process trauma by taking the most direct path. Eddie doesn’t know why his has fixated on this. The cold. Maybe it’s just easiest. Because the shooting—

His chest gets tight when he’s walking in open air. Sweat breaks out across his brow when the sunlight glints off of windows. His pulse races.

He can’t breathe.

It feels a little like drowning.

“Do you feel safe?” Dr. Kingston asks one session. And Eddie thinks about freezing in a grocery store parking lot, gripping the edge of a cart to keep his hands from shaking, thinks about Buck curving a hand around his shoulder, solid and warm—

“Sometimes,” Eddie admits. “It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

He tastes the lie on his tongue before it slips out.

“I don’t know.”

When the world shut down and Eddie had to leave Christopher with his abuela so that he could keep working without worrying constantly that he was putting his son at risk, Buck’s was the obvious place to go. And Eddie doesn’t know if things would have been different if it had been just the two of them but Hen and Chim deciding it was also the obvious place for them to go meant there weren’t a lot of options for sleeping arrangements.

So Eddie shared the bed with Buck. And it didn’t matter if either of them wound up wrapped around the other, the lines of their bodies pressed close enough to bleed together. If they curled into one another like plants twisting to find the light.

It was...instinct. To seek comfort. Warmth. Touch. Both of them alone for so long, and just needing—

Needing.

They never talked about it—there wasn’t anything to talk about. If it made Eddie’s heart race, if it made him ache for something he hadn’t expected and didn’t wholly understand, if when he returned home alone again his own bed felt too empty, that was his own problem.

Now, though—

Now, he knows. Because he stood frozen on the street and stared at Buck with Carla’s words in his head—make sure you’re following your heart—and realized oh. It hadn’t just been convenience, it had been love. Need and desire and love.

Now, he knows, but doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge, with the awareness he has suddenly. Buck is living in his house, in his space, helping him with Christopher and with his own recovery, making sure he takes his meds and gets to his appointments and does his exercises. Buck is there all the time and it’s a blessing and a curse because Eddie burns whenever Buck touches him.

And Buck touches him. A lot.

He hadn’t at first, right after Eddie came home from the hospital—Eddie would catch him sometimes looking like he wanted to, but holding back, reaching out but stopping himself, and Eddie never asked why. Even now he doesn’t think he ever needed to—he knows what it’s like to be afraid, to be unsteady, adrift, worrying that touching something you expect to be solid will reveal it’s just an illusion. Not wanting to find out if it is.

But Buck touches him now. And sometimes Eddie will wake up to find that Buck’s migrated from the couch in the living room to a chair by his bed, folded in and fitfully asleep. Buck never says, but Eddie’s pretty sure it’s so Buck can reassure himself that Eddie’s still breathing.

Eddie understands that need too. Sometimes he isn’t sure himself.

The first time it happens after Buck’s relationship with Taylor has flamed out—for himself, he and Ana have been over since just after he left the hospital—Eddie finally just gets up.

“Buck.” He curves a hand around the side of Buck’s neck and passes his thumb along the edge of his jaw.

Buck startles awake, looking somehow guilty.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I? Sorry, I know it’s—I can go back to the—”

“Will you just come to bed?” Eddie interrupts before Buck successfully talks himself into leaving the room. “Please?”

Buck’s eyes flick down to his shoulder. He swallows hard.

“I don’t want to—”

Oh.

“You won’t hurt me,” Eddie promises. “Okay?”

Buck searches his face in the dark, but if he sees anything, he clearly doesn’t mind because he nods and gets up from the chair. When they both resettle on the mattress, Buck only pauses for a moment before curving around him like a parenthesis, his arm falling across Eddie’s waist.

Eddie’s breath catches.

“Is this—?”

Eddie closes his eyes and sinks into the embrace. If it feels just a little bit like cheating because he hasn't told Buck how he feels, that’s between him and god.

“It’s fine,” he assures, then adds to make it a little more fair, “you aren’t the only one who needs—you aren’t the only one.”

Buck relaxes at that, his grip tightening a little with newfound certainty.

When Eddie dreams, he doesn’t drown.

“You look good,” Dr. Kingston acknowledges two weeks later. “You’ve been sleeping better?”

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. “I stopped having nightmares, so I haven’t been waking up as much.”

He catches the surprise that flickers across her face.

“They stopped completely?” She asks. “Have you been doing something different or—?”

Eddie shifts in his chair and clears his throat. What is he supposed to tell her? That he stopped having nightmares when he started sleeping with Buck every night? He’s not really ready to unpack that with his therapist—he’s barely ready to unpack it in his own head.

“Just lucky, I guess,” he says. Dr. Kingston puts down her pen and levels him with a long look that tells him she knows that’s bullshit and is trying to decide whether to push or let it go until another time.

She lets it go.

“Well,” she replies. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Eddie feels like he’s dodged another bullet.

Later, though, he wonders if he shouldn’t have said more. If he shouldn’t have asked questions. Because he goes to sleep and—

The water is pitch black and freezing. Eddie’s eyes sting, but it doesn’t matter whether he keeps them open or not—there’s nothing to see. He kicks his legs anyway, swims up, up, up, even though it hurts to make his limbs work when they’re so cold. There’s a faint light—the surface—and he kicks harder, desperate to reach—

Ice. Nothing but a sheet of ice, solid and thick. His lungs burn from lack of air, his palms beat against the ice—

He can’t keep moving. It’s too cold. He can’t—

“Eddie. Eddie.” Hands seize him from nowhere, almost too warm, and Eddie could have sworn the ice had no cracks, but he’s being lifted out—

“Eddie.”

He snaps awake, gasping. Buck’s face swims into view, worry painted across every line. His hands are on Eddie’s shoulders.

They’re so warm.

Eddie shivers.

“You were hyperventilating,” Buck says. “I thought—”

“Just a dream,” Eddie grits out, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He still feels frozen. Stupid—it was a dream, it wasn’t real, so he shouldn’t—it shouldn’t be this difficult.

He shivers again.

Buck’s brow furrows deeper.

“You’re shaking—are you cold?”

Eddie sits up and scrubs his hands over his face. He swallows back the denial on his tongue, the urge to run away and hide in the bathroom until a scalding shower makes him feel somewhat human again. Maybe he can’t always be honest with his therapist, but he can be honest with Buck.

“Yes,” he admits. “But it’s not—it’s just in my head. When I got shot I—it’s hard to explain but, yes. I’m cold. Freezing. I don’t know how—”

He cuts off and Buck shifts on the mattress, reaches out slowly so Eddie has plenty of time to stop him if he doesn’t want to be touched, and finally wraps his arms around him, pulling Eddie firmly against his chest.

“I’ll keep you warm,” Buck says quietly. And Eddie—

Something in him cracks. Not like ice during a thaw, but resolve after too much time of being worn down, pressure applied in precisely the right spot. He’s raw and ragged and his scarred heart hardly feels like anything anyone should want, but he’s so tired of pretending he hasn’t been trying to press it into Buck’s hands for a year in different ways. He’s tired of not asking and being afraid and waiting. He’s tired—

Buck makes a soft sound of surprise when Eddie kisses him. But he doesn’t push him away. And Eddie can’t help himself from pressing closer, curling one hand into Buck’s shirt and the other around the back of his neck and kissing him again and again and again, feeling altogether too frantic. He’ll probably find it in himself to be embarrassed in the morning, but want and desperation have left very little room for shame at the moment.

Buck kisses him back. His hands drop to Eddie’s hips as Eddie does his best to climb into his lap.

“Eddie,” Buck pants between kisses. “Eddie—I—” His head falls back and Eddie takes the opportunity to continue his exploration down the exposed line of Buck’s neck.

“Should we talk about this?” Buck finally manages, even as his own hands flirt with the hem of Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie freezes. The answer, of course, is yes. But talking is the last thing he wants to do when part of him still feels chilled to the bone, not wholly alive. He wants to be touched, wants to be consumed, wants to fall into orbit around Buck’s sun and never leave.

And it’s late. Dark. The two of them, the bed, the very room caught in a liminal space where anything could happen, anything could be said, anything could be forgiven. Eddie can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a dangerous one.

His mouth drags along the edge of Buck’s jaw.

“This isn’t because I wanted someone and you happened to be here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He doesn’t look at Buck’s face. It’s easier to not, to focus on something else. He stopped going to confession a long time ago, but he never had to look directly at his priest either, always some curtain or other barrier obscuring things, lending the illusion of privacy, anonymity.

“I’m in love with you,” he admits, and Buck’s hands flex on his hips. “I’ve been in love with you. So we can talk about this if you want, but—”

In an instant, Eddie’s on his back, the rest of his sentence swallowed up by the tongue sliding into his mouth. Buck is a warm, solid weight on top of him, pinning him, anchoring him, and Eddie finds he doesn’t mind when it forces him to be in the moment, reminds him that he’s fully in his own body.

“I love you, too,” Buck whispers when the kiss breaks, and then he’s pushing Eddie’s shirt up and off and dispensing with his own—

Shannon was his first. Eddie wasn’t hers and he remembers being glad that at least one of them had some idea of what to do because the second she touched him he was so overwhelmed by sensation that he could hardly think.

This is…not dissimilar. Buck’s chest presses flush against his, all warm, bare skin, and Eddie feels like he could drown in a different way. He arches up, seeking Buck’s mouth again, and Buck obliges.

Eddie’s focus narrows to certain points—the slick slide of Buck’s tongue against his, Buck’s hand ghosting along his ribs, the careful space between their hips and the low burn of heat in his gut that makes him want to close the gap—

His hands slide up Buck’s back slowly, his fingers tracing the knobs of Buck’s spine, the sharp edges of his shoulder blades—they dance along the line of his shoulders too, sketching the breadth that he’s noticed but never allowed his thoughts to linger on. His touch is careful, reverent, as if Buck is a holy thing that his stained, sinner hands have no business touching. Perhaps, in a sense that’s true.

He’s never been a very good Catholic, but sex—sex, desire, love—sex has always been something…sacred to him. In high school, he shied away from the locker room-style conversations about who went how far with whom, kept out of any discussion involving lamentations about still being a virgin at graduation. For one thing, he thought they were usually crass and disrespectful. But mainly he just—he didn’t care about waiting until marriage or anything like that, but he always knew he wanted to be in love. Hence, Shannon. And why there hadn’t been anyone after her.

Until now.

Eddie kisses Buck until his lungs ache, but he’s not close enough, feels like he can’t get close enough. One of his hands slides into Buck’s hair, but the other trails back down, presses lightly on Buck’s lower back as his own hips rock up, seeking friction. Buck swears against his lips and closes the distance—Eddie can feel him hard in his sweatpants and flushes, dizzy at the thought of having made that happen, dizzy at the thought of more, dizzy—

He feels very much like a clumsy teenager again, fumbling his way through on instinct. At least this sort of thing is familiar, even if he hasn’t done it with a man before. Buck grinds their hips together, the friction sending sparks through every one of Eddie’s nerve endings, and kisses down his neck, teeth scraping over his pulse point. Eddie gasps and Buck hums, low and pleased, against his skin.

And then, just as he thinks he’s used to the slow burn of pleasure, Buck shifts his weight and slides a hand down to toy with Eddie’s waistband. Buck meets his eyes in the dark and swallows hard.

“Can I—?”

This time, when Eddie shivers it has nothing to do with the cold.

“Please,” he rasps, and Buck smiles before tugging Eddie’s pants down just enough to wrap his hand around Eddie’s cock.

Buck’s touch is a little tentative at first, clearly unused to the angle, and the part of Eddie that’s still capable of noticing that spends a brief moment feeling grateful that he’s not the only one lacking in experience here. But what Buck may lack in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm, experimenting with grip and speed and pressure to figure out exactly what to do to make Eddie gasp again, to make him bite his lip, to make him hide his face in Buck’s shoulder to muffle any louder noises he can’t quite hold back.

It doesn’t take long. Even before the shooting, Eddie rarely bothered to touch himself with any sort of regularity, and during his recovery he had even less of a reason to do so, what little energy he had in the first few months better spent elsewhere. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed it. But clearly his body did because his orgasm hits him like a train when Buck spits into his hand for extra glide and twists his wrist on the upstroke. He bites Buck’s shoulder and Buck’s hips jerk and then he’s just floating—boneless, breathless, and utterly wrecked in the best possible way.

Buck collapses on the mattress next to him as Eddie’s catching his breath—Eddie reaches out, his hand skating over Buck’s stomach, and makes a questioning noise. Buck laughs quietly and catches his hand, bringing it to his lips.

“I, uh—I’m good,” Buck promises, and even in the dark Eddie can see his cheeks flush.

Eddie curls into his side. “Really?”

Buck kisses him. “I don’t think you realize how long I’ve wanted to do that. Or how good you look. So, yes, I already—yes. Really.”

Eddie’s lips curve up. He presses a kiss to the edge of Buck’s jaw. As the immediate aftermath wears off, his eyelids start to grow heavy, his limbs moving a little less easily.

“We should probably shower,” he acknowledges, although the strength of the statement is likely diminished by the yawn that interrupts him halfway through.

“Probably,” Buck agrees, but he too makes no move to actually get up.

Pressed against him as he is, Eddie is warm and sated and content. He drifts, skirting the edge of sleep.

“I love you,” he says again. Because it feels important.

Buck hums. If he says something else, it’s too low for Eddie to catch.

When he dreams again, he doesn’t dream of drowning. He doesn’t dream of the cold.

Instead, there’s just light. Just warmth.

Just Buck.

#chapel writes #buddie #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 fic

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