#My fics

[adragonprinceswhore]

Aemond Taking Nude Pics of His Darling

A/N: Like the migrating birds return after winter, I come crawling back here when I’m ovulating. Based on an anon request. Can be read as a continuation of this.

Warnings: 18+, smut, AFAB reader, naughty pictures, degradation, teasing, edging, manhandling, orgasm denial, P in V

Aemond runs the soft pad of his thumb under your eyes, collecting the tears of frustration spilling from your tired eyes.

“Poor thing can’t take a bit of teasing”

He’s tone is infuriatingly smug, tutting and interrupting you when you open your mouth to protest.

”Doesn’t feel nice, does it?”

No, it doesn’t feel nice.

Or does it?

You honestly don’t know what’s pleasurable anymore, being forced to the edge of pleasure but denied release time and time again.

Aemond’s fingers, lips, tongue and teeth had coaxed you into pleasure-drunk submission. They’d made you beg for permission to cum, cry for permission to cum, plead for permission to cum. But to no avail.

“Tell you what-”, he starts, seeing eye boring into yours with an intensity only ignited when he was feeling particularly bloodthirsty.

“-I’ll take some photos of you, to enjoy when I win next week’s away game, and then I’ll let you cum”

You’re beyond feeling embarrassed, head instantaneously moving up and down in a furiously eager sign of compliance.

Aemond’s teeth sink into his bottom lip to stop the amusement bubbling up inside of him from making itself know.

He must admit that he likes you best like this; completely at his mercy. His to do whatever he wants with.

Grabbing his phone from the nightstand next to the bed he’s got you caged within his arms in, he swipes his thumb over the screen to open the camera.

He admires you through the lens. The way the short, delicate hairs by your hairline stick to your sweaty forehead. The way your naked breasts still heave from exhaustion; skin damp and glistening. The way your agape mouth pants softly.

And then, your features change.

“Stop doing that”

“What?”

Aemond looks stern, like he’s about to lecture you, “Faking it. You’re posing”

“I’m not!”, you defend yourself with a high-pitched protest.

“You are”

Mind still fuzzy from the strenuous, extensive foreplay Aemond had insisted upon, you don’t know how to appease him.

What does he want?

Sensing your confusion, he places two large palms on each side of your waist, leans down to offer you a soft kiss, and flips you over so you’re on your stomach.

Being manhandled by Aemond while your senses have left your head and relocated to your throbbing centre feels comforting, so when he grabs your hips to pull your ass up, you mumble a muffled “thank you” into the mattress.

He always moves your body with soft yet commanding hands, making his display of dominance feel more like an act of adoration and care.

And he’s always so warm, soothing your exposed skin from the chill air of his bedroom

“Look at me”, he commands softly, tracing his fingers from the small of your back down to the velvety skin of your buttocks.

Turning your head to the side, you meet his eye, watching as he picks up his phone once more with one hand, while the other grabs his hard length, stoking it briefly before lining it up with your dripping cunt.

As he finally enters you, after god knows how much excruciating teasing, you feel your body turn into jelly; pliable to his every whim.

Your fists grab the sheets of his bed with a cramp-like grip, your mouth falls open with a loud moan, and your back arches in pleasure.

And you hear a click.

Aemond smiles behind the camera, satisfied with getting the picture he’d wanted all along. He moves it down to inspect the way you eagerly take him in, swallowing his cock over and over like the greediest of gluttons.

Enthralled, he admires the way he goes in and out; stretching and shaping you from the inside.

He puts his phone to the side, both hands once again finding home in the dip of your waist. His eye flickers to your bliss-filled face, an amused, condescending laugh leaves his lips,

“Are you drooling?”

You don’t care about his taunting anymore; too filled with him to care about anything else. Aemond moves forward, resting his face right next to yours.

The damp skin of his cheek sticks to yours, his breath fans hot air over your face,

“You’re so pretty like this”

You wait for him to kiss your cheek and award your endurance by finally paying attention to your aching clit.

Instead, he leans back once more, and pulls out.

“Aemond!”, you cry, unable to hide the utter devastation you feel at being denied your peak yet again.

“If you want to come you’ll have to work for it”

He’s smug again, enjoying your desperation a bit too much for your liking. Irritated and impatient, you push him to lay on his back and sink down on him in a selfish attempt to chase your own pleasure.

To your surprise, he allows you to take command; placing one of his hands on your hip, thumb coming down to flick your clit. The other hand picks up his phone again.

“You’re close?”

“Y-, yes”

His thumb continues to rhythmically circle your bundle of nerves as the grip he has on you tightens. His hips roll up to meet yours each time you sink down.

You grab his bicep, anchoring yourself to him with nails that harshly dig into his flesh.

So close.

A few more rhythmic movements and you feel fierce pleasure erupt inside of you, causing your mouth to fall open again as you whine out your pleasure.

Click.

Click.

Click.

You’re still sitting on him, breathing heavily as you try to catch your breath and come back to reality after feeling the release of seven denied orgasms wash over you.

Suddenly, you’re on your back again, Aemond hovering over your panting form. Your face is flustered and your hair is even messier than it was before.

Click.

The smug smile on his face has morphed into pride, and perhaps there’s something more, something far more vulnerable than he’s ever allowed himself to show you, hiding behind his miss-matched gaze.

“Gevie”

#aemond targaryen x reader #modern!aemond #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fanfic #my fics #aemond targaryen drabble

[thefrogdalorian]

My Pain Fits In The Palm Of Your Freezing Hand

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: When you and your Mandalorian companion are ambushed by a group of bandits, you hope that his stubborn nature will not make the task of treating his wounds any more difficult than it needs to be. But that is not the only obstacle. You also hope that the depth of your unrequited feelings for Din will not impact on your ability to care for him...

Word Count:  2.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Canon typical violence briefly described, reader provides first-aid to minor, bloody injuries. ✯ Author's Note: A daydream about holding the stubborn tin can man's hand turned into whatever this is!! I've never written unrequited feelings for Din before but it made my heart ache in the best possible way. Hope you enjoyed!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

Once the adrenaline of your latest brush with death subsides, your focus immediately pivots to caring for your Mandalorian companion. Although the heightened emotions leaving your body render you a trembling, shaky mess, your priority is to ensure his well-being. Maker knows he will never take care of himself.

As you approach the Razor Crest, you mentally scan yourself for painful areas. Casting your mind back towards the encounter as you try to recall anywhere you could have been hurt. After all, you will struggle to assist him if you are not healthy.

You recall that you had taken a couple of painful blows to the side during the skirmish, but your clumsy assailants had fortunately missed all of your vital organs. Aside from a pounding heart and dry mouth, you have mercifully made it through the ambush unscathed. 

Satisfied that there are no immediate areas of concern to treat, you turn your attention towards Din. You cast your mind back over the altercation, towards any wounds he may have sustained. It is easier said than done, considering how many of them leapt out of nowhere and caught the two of you off-guard as you walked through the thick forest towards the ship.

You remember how many of them Din fought off with his bare hands. Well, through his gloves. Still, you know they will have provided scant protection, so you are keen to check them for injuries. 

You momentarily struggle to remember what happened after Din had seen most of them off as you crouched behind a bush, hiding. 

Then, you recall how one of your assailants had slashed at Din’s hands when he grabbed the remaining pair of them around the throat. It had been a frenzied attack, which momentarily worked as his grip loosened. Just when you had feared that all hope was lost and they were going to escape, Din brought his boot up to deliver a swift kick in the stomach to the slower of the duo, which sent them careening into each other.

Din had used many parts of his body, as well as all of his wits and expertise as a warrior to see your attackers off. He had done a formidable job, considering how much they had taken you by surprise.

Still, the state of his hands concern you.

You are pretty sure they sustained the most severe damage. Plus, as they are vitally important for everyday function, treating them takes priority.

It is settled... Din’s hands are the first area you will treat. 

If he will let you, that is.

Your Mandalorian companion does not possess a reputation for being the easiest man in the galaxy to take care of... a willing patient, Din Djarin is not.

As the two of you ascend the ramp up to his beloved ship, you hope for both of your sakes that he makes this process as painless as possible.

“Din, sit down and let me get the medkit,” you order when you finally enter the familiar old ship's hull. 

“Let me initiate the launch sequence first,” Din stubbornly responds.

“No,” you reply, shaking your head as you fold your arms, glaring at him.

“Fine,” Din mutters in annoyance. 

It seems your sternness has done the trick. 

Din perches atop a crate as you grab the medkit in preparation to treat his wounds. You hope he does not make it harder for you than necessary. Din has never made any secret that he is comfortable being fussed over. You are no stranger to the fact that he hates being taken care of like this, but if you do not tend to his wounds, you know he will never do so himself. 

“Your gloves,” you nod towards the two-toned leather which covers his hands, “Take them off, Din.”

Din sighs and lifts his gloves beneath his helmet, seemingly biting at each finger to loosen them before repeating the process with his other hand. You feel like a voyeur and wonder whether you should turn your head and look away, as though his gloved hand disappearing beneath his helmet is somehow sacrilegious. Despite your inner turmoil, you cannot help but watch, unable to tear your gaze away until finally, he slides the gloves off and bares his flesh to you. 

It is not the first time Din has removed his gloves in your presence, yet you still feel a thrill travelling across your body at the faintest sight of his skin. 

For Din Djarin’s bare hands provide you with the tiniest peek at the man that lies beneath the cold, hard beskar. To catch a glimpse of the human side of the formidable warrior, the side of him you yearn to know entirely.

You remember how stunned you had been the first time he had removed his gloves in your presence while he was repairing a blaster several months ago. 

You had been sitting elsewhere in the hull as he worked at the bench, tools spread out as he dutifully performed much-needed maintenance on one of his many beloved weapons.

A grunt of frustration indicated that the parts had been far too intricate to repair with his cumbersome gloves. So, he had pulled on each finger one by one, tugging them off. Seemingly uncaring about baring himself, even ever so slightly, in your presence.

You had tried your best not to look, but you had been unable to resist sneaking a glance at who he was underneath his armour. Although for the most part, you kept to yourselves, there was no lingering frostiness in your dynamic. You and Din were amicable, possibly even friends... if he could even have such a thing.

That day, you watched as his hands meticulously repaired his blaster. You noticed the smattering of dark hairs across the back of his hand, the surprisingly tanned skin and the calluses and scars which littered the back of his hand. It was a fascinating glimpse into the man who hid so much of himself from you, yet you still felt you knew enough about him to believe he was, deep down, a good man.

Your mind ran wild with so many questions. Was his skin a similar colour elsewhere on his body, or was it tanned because his hands were the only parts of him that saw the sun? Did the dark hairs on the back of his hand mean that the hair on his head–if he had any–was a similar colour?

They were questions you knew you would likely never get answers to. Nor did you expect to.

When Din had hired you to care for The Child and attend to maintenance on his ship, he had informed you of the rules regarding his armour and helmet. He would remove neither his helmet nor armour in your presence. You were never to question the reasons why or attempt to subvert this stipulation in any way.

That was why glimpsing a sliver of his skin had thrilled you. It had exposed the man you had been yearning to see in a way that was not a violation of his Creed.

Yet, when you see his hands this time the circumstances could not be more different. Neither could the emotions Din’s bare hands provoke in you. 

Rather than feeling a thrill at the sight of his skin, now you cringe when you see the wounds that litter his flesh. His knuckles are split and bloodied, contusions that will surely colour shades of blue and black before eventually healing. There are also angry red gashes in all directions, a result of the bandit’s vibroblade making contact with his hands. 

You steady yourself, mentally preparing for the gargantuan task of providing first aid to a stubborn Mandalorian. Din values all you do for him. You are certain of that fact, even if he does not often vocalise it. Still, having someone take care of him is an uncomfortable prospect for a man who has spent so long leading a solitary, nomadic existence.

When you finally take his calloused, yet soft, skin in your hand, Din sucks in a harsh breath at the sensation. The sound is amplified and crackles slightly through the vocoder. A reminder that, although he has bared some of himself, he is still mostly hidden from you. He feels like more machine than man sometimes.

You take a bacta wipe from your medkit, and the antiseptic’s sour smell lingers unpleasantly in the air. You hold Din’s hand still, as you carefully bring the wipe towards his skin, your brow furrowed in concentration. 

“This is going to sting,” you murmur apologetically. 

Din nods. You hear him inhale deeply as he braces for the first contact with the remedy. You prepare yourself to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to make the process needlessly painful for him. 

At the first touch of the bacta wipe against his bronze skin, he jerks away from your touch, groaning slightly in pain at what you are sure is an uncomfortable, stinging sensation against his cuts.

“Hold still,” you sigh, flashing a disapproving glance in what you hope is the direction of Din’s eyes, hidden by his helmet. 

“Sorry,” he huffs.

You cannot help how your lips curl upwards at the sight of him sulking. This hulking man, all broad shoulders and gleaming beskar, reduced to a wounded child. You wonder if he is pouting beneath his helmet.

Din flinches again when you resume your task, but this time, you do not chastise him. Instead, you are thankful that he is not making this any more difficult than it needs to be. 

At least he has not told you he can look after himself. 

Content with his behaviour, you diligently tend to Din’s wounds. You ensure each one is cleaned thoroughly with the bacta patch and then wrapped in a bandage. It will take a few days to heal, but he will have plenty of time as you hurtle through hyperspace towards Nevarro again. Unfortunately, it will mean he likely has to refrain from being the hands-on father you know he loves to be. 

When your task is almost complete, you move to sit by his side on the crate. You need to steady your hands by placing your elbows against your thighs as you wrap a particularly nasty wound, which already streaks angry red tendrils across two knuckles. 

Din groans again in pain, and you quickly reassure him, “Almost there,” you whisper encouragingly. 

With the task finally completed, you cannot resist gently taking his hand in yours. Ostensibly, to check him for any wounds you have missed. In reality, it is borne out of a selfish desire to feel his skin against yours. Precious contact you had been yearning for since you first laid eyes upon his skin all those months ago. 

If Din notices the way you subtly lace your fingers with his and hold his hand in your lap for a few moments longer than necessary, he does not say a thing. Only when you disentangle your fingers from his grip does he speak again.

When you move to stand up from the crate, he places his arm across your stomach to stop you. You look at him questioningly, wondering what is going on beneath that bucket of metal. 

“Thank you,” Din finally whispers, voice thick with emotion.

You move to open your mouth, to respond. Before you can, Din’s deep voice cuts through the stillness.

“For everything… I…” Din pauses, sighs deeply, then continues, “I appreciate everything you do for me.”

You simply nod, too taken aback to speak. It is unlike Din to be sentimental or emotional, not with anyone other than Grogu. It is part of what makes him such a respected and feared hunter. Yet, here he is, confessing his appreciation for you. It causes hotness to creep up your neck and face, embarrassed by his earnestness. Desperate to respond, but not entirely trusting that you can keep it together. 

“You’re worth it, Din,” you smile, daring to believe that this moment will change something for the two of you. You hope he will finally realise the depth of the feelings you hold for him; that you have always held for him. 

As you take his hand in yours once again, you sit back on the crate. You take up a more comfortable position and daringly lean your head against his shoulder. The pauldron is bitingly cold beneath your cheek. But with how warm your skin suddenly feels at his words, it is an altogether welcome sensation.

Din noticeably inhales at your gesture, and you momentarily fear you have hurt his tender skin. Until he relaxes once again and squeezes your hand as best as he can considering his injuries, a reassuring gesture that soothes your worries.

As you sit there holding hands in the relative darkness of the hull, you imagine a shooting star passing somewhere far in the skies above.

You wish on it and dare to dream that, one day, Din Djarin will love you, too.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

#din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fluff #pedro pascal characters #my fics #pleasE LET ME HOLD HIS HAND AND TAKE CARE OF THIS STUBBORN MAN #JUST ONCE PLEASE I M BEGIGIN YO UU1!!

[munsonkitten]

Sub Eddie Week day 3: Brat Eddie (with spanking & daddy Steve) | Read the full fic on AO3 [Explicit] @subeddieweek

Eddie gets into this mindset when he’s on stage. This headspace where he’s the most important person in the world because everyone’s singing his words and screaming his name. He’s a fucking diva, Steve won’t even deny that. He struts and he moves a certain way and he does whatever the hell he wants whenever he wants to do it. 

And he gets a little mean. Just a tiny bit. Steve would call him bratty, but everyone else would probably say mean. 

Steve has him in the dress tonight, skimpy underwear underneath, plugged up and ready to go the second he gets off stage because Eddie gets like this. He gets in this headspace, he floats up into the clouds, and Steve’s there to make sure he comes back down to earth gently, makes sure he doesn’t fly too close to the sun and come crashing down. 

He makes sure Eddie doesn’t say anything he regrets when he gets off stage each night. 

That’s kind of how this all started — Eddie had been high on god knows what, he’d been drinking, he’d been too fucking self centered, and Steve just… Snapped, really. He snapped because Eddie demanded another drink after a set and almost made someone cry.

He told Eddie to get his shit together. He told him to apologize. 

That made Eddie stop dead in his tracks, and his eyes cleared, and he slumped a little bit, stumbled into Steve a little bit, and Steve steadied him because that’s what he does, and Eddie apologized, and then he turned and apologized to the person he yelled at, and after that — well, after that, they figured out Eddie responds well to Steve. 

They’d been fooling around for a few weeks at that point. Nothing serious, just… Two guys in close quarters who trust each other, getting off together. They’d both been realizing things about themselves, both of them having only been with girls before that, both of them realizing it was never as good doing anything with girls as it is to get a simple handjob from a guy, and well… 

It wasn’t hard to figure everything out. Their system for before shows and afterwards. 

When Eddie needs to come back down to earth and Steve’s the one who gets him there. 

Steve’s the one who really runs the show, after all. 

Just as expected, Eddie takes a different guitar halfway through the set and he’s not entirely nice about it. Steve lets him go this time because now isn’t the time to remind Eddie who he belongs to. Eddie belongs to the crowd right now. 

The crowd belongs to Eddie. 

Steve just needs to wait, watch as his boyfriend acts like a whore for nearly twenty thousand people, watch as Eddie soars, his fingers dancing on his guitar, as he wails into his microphone. 

He watches from his spot side stage, and he waits. He waits until the moment he needs to reclaim Eddie, and not a moment later. 

The last notes of the set fall silent, but the venue lights stay dim. The crowd screams for an encore, and Eddie’s running around backstage trying to keep his energy up. Steve forces a bottle of water into his hand and makes him drink a few sips of it. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, tugs anxiously at the hem of his dress, making sure it covers everything because he won’t have his guitar during the encore because he goes down into the crowd, standing on the floor as everyone parts around him, and sometimes he stage dives, but not tonight because Steve told him he can’t. No one can touch him tonight, not when he’s dressed the way he is with barely anything on underneath. He’s not flashing his dick to every poor sucker who gets stuck underneath him while he crowd surfs. 

Before Eddie goes back out, Steve drags him in for a kiss, hidden in the safety of the darkness. They’re not exactly open about their relationship, the world isn’t quite ready for full openness, but they don’t exactly hide it either. Steve knows he’s allowed to do this, and Eddie needs it right now or he’s going to jump out of his skin. 

He feels the moan against his lips more than he hears it, a sound just for him in the middle of a roaring crowd. He squeezes Eddie’s hip possessively, pulling him in even closer. 

“Easy there, daddy,” Eddie says with a smirk. “They’re not done with me just yet.”

Steve’s blood burns red hot in his veins. That makes him want to take Eddie back to the dressing room and have his way with him right now. 

But he can’t, so he just turns Eddie around by his shoulders and playfully smacks his ass to send him away. 

Then Eddie’s off, running back on stage while the band kicks off their final song. 

Hometown shows always get Eddie extra revved up. Something about being so loved in a place so close to where he was so hated. Steve knows assholes from high school are out in the crowd pretending they loved Eddie all along, telling stories to strangers about how Eddie was back then. 

It makes Eddie feel bigger than the entire world. 

When the last notes ring out and Eddie climbs back on stage and the lights come up, Steve’s there. He’s there to catch Eddie by the arm and drag him down the hallway to his dressing room. Everyone else has instructions on packing away equipment, everyone knows to give Steve and Eddie enough time to sort things out. They know not to touch any of Eddie’s guitars, even the ones that Steve already put away in cases when they were done being used for the night. 

They know that Eddie will be useless after all of this, that he’ll follow Steve around like a lost puppy while Steve packs up amps and guitar cases and makes sure everything else is in order before they head to the next city. 

“Stupid,” Eddie grumbles as Steve pulls him down the hallway backstage. “Fucking. Ex. Why the fuck — no, it’s — it’s fine. Maybe it’s not fine because why the fuck does she think — no. No, it’s fine.”

He’s always muttering about something or another after a show, and Steve knows he just needs to forget about everything, to be able to let it go. Steve likes when he gets like this — all mouthy and annoyed. It means they get to have fun, that Eddie will be mouthy and talk back to him and give Steve more to work with. It means he gets to put his hands on Eddie and make him fucking whine. 

“You forgot who you belong to,” Steve tells him the second they’re behind a locked door. 

“Oh yeah?” Eddie taunts. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Gonna have to remind you,” Steve whispers before pushing Eddie up against the door and crashing their lips together. 

Eddie’s reaction is to push back, to shove Steve over to one of the old couches up against the wall, but Steve doesn’t let him. He pins Eddie where he is, a knee shoved between his thighs, hands on his wrists above his head against the door. 

“I don’t think so, baby,” Steve warns. “Need you to remember.”

“C’mon, then,” Eddie says. “Get on with it.”

“Be patient,” Steve says. But he knows Eddie can’t be. It’s why he’s in a dress and just a pair of panties that can easily be pulled to the side — because they both need the easiest access they can get, no time for extra constraints tonight. 

They learned their lesson last time they were in Indiana, when Eddie decided to wear fishnet tights, underwear, and a pair of ripped up jeans. Only the jeans made it through that encounter, and that’s only because, try as he might, Steve can’t rip through denim with his bare hands. 

Eddie still pushes back against Steve, but he’s half hearted about it, already slipping down where Steve likes him. 

“C’mon,” Eddie grunts, pushing his dick down onto Steve’s thigh. The dress is riding up, showing Eddie’s cock straining inside his underwear as it hardens against Steve’s jeans. 

“Go over to the counter,” Steve tells him, releasing Eddie from his grip. “Bend over.”

“Make me,” Eddie challenges. 

And so it goes like it always does — Steve picks up Eddie around the waist and carries him over to the counter. He shoves him down over it, pushing the dress up over Eddie’s ass to put him on full display. He tugs the black panties up by the waist band, making them disappear into his crack. Eddie whines, and Steve knows the plug just got pushed even deeper inside him.

He’s beautiful like this and Steve tells him. Scars and tattoos on pale skin. Steve thumbs at a scar on his back, slides over to the edge of a tattoo on Eddie’s side.

“So pretty,” Steve says again. He lightly grazes his fingers down, presses at the base of the plug inside Eddie. 

Eddie jolts beneath his touch. He makes a noise of protest when Steve draws his fingers away, and he sighs in relief when Steve tugs the underwear down. A light tap to Eddie’s thigh has him stepping out of them and kicking them to the side, automatic in his movements. 

“Aw, look at you,” Steve coos. He can’t hide the slight laughter in his voice. “So sweet and obedient for me.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie shoots back, looking at Steve over his shoulder with a playful glint in his eyes. The words aren’t all there, like Eddie’s forcing the front today, like he wants to give up the performance and just let Steve have him. 

Read the rest on AO3

#steddie #my fics #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steve/eddie #stranger things #subeddieweek #rockstar eddie munson

[sarinskymonteagudog]

#yoo taeyang #my fics #car girl #lucy hale #ds9 #tumblr music #creepy #the viper #anime gif #battlevest

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

1k request: Stede has his own version of a merman dream. But. Ed's a catboy instead.

You are an absolute genius. This possessed me mind body and soul. Absolutely inspired.

--

Stede Bonnet was dying, probably.

The world was hot and strange, and their bedroom felt weird and empty. His head felt swimmy. The last thing he really remembered was Ed trying to feed him some soup and looking terrified when he couldn’t finish more than a few spoonfuls, and he remembered wanting to fight the entire world for making Ed look so scared.

He remembered Ed putting a wet cloth on his forehead, and it had felt like heaven, and he remembered Ed whispering that he was just burning up, begging please don’t leave me - he wasn’t sure he’d been meant to hear that part.

And now the world was dark and hot and strange. He registered being in his bed, but it was lonely, and he tried to focus on breathing. He didn’t want to go, he wanted to hang on, but it was so hard. He wanted to rally his strength, find the will to choose to live, but he was so fucking tired.

He felt the world start to slip, bleeding away at the edges-

“Stede?”

Stede gasped as he opened his eyes. He was used to the sight of Ed in bed with him becoming the new most beautiful thing he’d ever seen every morning, but this was on a whole new level.

The Ed that crawled into bed with him had big, adorable, soft-looking gray kitty ears, and a long, fluffy tail that curled up into a curious hook, and his movements jingled with the bell on his collar. Stede’s heart absolutely melted at his big, adorable eyes, and the way his ears were slightly folded back with concern.

“You can’t leave me,” Ed pouted, curling up into Stede’s side, fingers starting to knead nervous biscuits into Stede’s chest. “I love you, I need you! I’d be so sad without you!”

Stede reached out to touch his adorable, soft ears, and Ed headbutted his hand, leaning into the contact with a cute little mrrp?

“Please don’t go,” Ed said, leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek cutely against Stede’s shoulder, the bell on his collar jangling. “You promised you’d never leave me again.”

Stede had promised him that. It would be an absolute dick move, to abandon his boyfriend when they’d only been living together for a couple months. Stede Bonnet, taken out by a little head cold? Ha! If his throat wasn’t so sore, he’d laugh at the thought.

“Please come back to me.” Ed pressed his nose under Stede’s jaw, purring softly, an adorable little noise. His fluffy tail thrashed anxiously over the covers. “We’ll keep each other safe. We promised each other, didn't we? I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I can’t lose you.”

Stede took a deep, rallying breath, and he tried to sit up. All he really managed was a groan in the back of his throat and a twitch of his hand.

“Yes!” Ed’s ears pricked forward with excitement, his eyes getting somehow even bigger and more adorable. “You can do it, babe, c’mon! Fight it! You’ve got this!”

Stede thought he might be able to manage a word. “Ed,” he groaned.

“That’s it!” Ed wiggled happily, pushing his head against Stede’s shoulder before doing this sort of adorable stretch onto his back, his shirt riding up to show off his adorable, soft tummy. As usual, the sight made Stede want to brush his fingers adoringly through his happy trail, bite gently at the soft skin there to make Ed squirm and giggle…

He couldn’t be finished. He wasn’t going to die before burying his face in Ed’s tummy one last time.

With a prodigious effort, Stede opened his eyes.

That was a little strange. He’d thought his eyes were already open, but when he opened them again, the cat-Ed in his lap was gone, and their bedroom felt more real than it had just a few moments ago. He could feel the soft quilt under his fingers, and as he sat up, the cloth that had been placed on his forehead, which had long since stopped being so pleasantly cool against his skin, kind of flopped down into his eyes.

And…there. Stede’s entire body relaxed when he realized Ed was still with him, asleep in a chair at his bedside. He’d fallen over so his head was resting on Stede’s thigh, his soft snores like a cute little purr.

Stede reached down to pet Ed’s hair. “Ed?”

“Mm - Stede?” Ed rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles as he sat up, starting to smile at him automatically before the realization hit. Shit - Stede! How do you feel?”

Stede let Ed press the back of his hand to his forehead. “Pretty great, actually.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ed groaned in relief, climbing into bed next to him so he could hold his face and pepper his cheeks with kisses until Stede was laughing. “You were so warm, and I couldn’t get your fever down, and I didn’t know what to do-”

“It’s alright.” Stede held Ed’s hand to his chest, letting him feel the steady beat of his heart. “You saved my life, I think.”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Stede sighed in fond reminiscence. “I was thinking about how I felt like absolute shit, and then you just appeared to me.”

“Woah,” Ed breathed. “Like a mermaid? What color were my scales?”

“More like a cat,” Stede said, scritching at Ed’s beard, smirking at the way Ed’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into it. Still very catlike, really. “You were so cute. You had these big soft ears, and a cute fluffy tail, and I knew why I had to stay alive.”

Ed humored him. “Why’s that?”

“So I could do this.” Stede lunged forward, gently pushing Ed over so he could press his face into his soft, adorable tummy. Oh, yeah. The world felt right again.

Ed snorted, wrapping his arms around Stede to hold him close. “Never change, Stede.”

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fics

[bidisasterevankinard]

for the prompts can you do 1 and 8 I feel like they fit so good together

Nonnie, it's a little got way from me (1211 words) because I have strong Tommy feels so. here you are(I know it's not just fluff and I'm so sorry)

Sometimes there are days Tommy just doesn’t want to get up from the bed. It can be simply because he is exhausted after a long and hard shift or because it’s rainy, and cool wind, which walks all around, makes his bones and old wounds ache.  Those days are pretty easy to get through. Just take it easy, take painkillers, make sure you’re warm and watch Love, Actually in bed with cocoa. Simple and comfy.

But they're also days when he can’t get out of bed, not because of a little pain, or at least it’s not because of physical pain. There are days in his life when his head attacks him with memories of the army, or bad calls, or all the years he was looking for someone to love him, and, most importantly, for a reason to love himself. Because there were more than enough days he was rough, rude and just simply awful to himself. And all this darkness around him forever found a place in his heart and head, mainly staying low, being overpowered by his self-growth and reasons he founds to love himself anyway, by hanging outs with Eddie, sometimes with Chim and even Hen, and of course, by dates and smiles of Evan. 

Evan, this adorable dork, found the way to give him the sun to light his life enough that darkness is scared to get out. But it still is waiting for the moment when he will be too distracted and unprotected to hit again. 

Like today.

Yesterday was … a lot. He accidentally met his mother on the market where he went to get some good groceries for the meal he was planning to cook for Evan to make him feel good after the shift. The literal bumping into each other near the vegetables quickly became a screaming match, mostly from his mother’s part, because Tommy way long before stopped to try to to prove that just because he likes men, doesn't mean he's a bad person, or son, or chose the wrong way.  Eventually, he just ran away from there.

Then the dish he tried to make burned because he was too distracted crying in his bathroom. He had to order take out.

And then Evan texted him that he couldn't come tonight because they had a long and hard call, and the only thing he wanted was to fall into his bed.They changed plans from a little dinner together yesterday to spending all day together today. 

Yesterday ended as awful as it was all day. The nightmare of one of his close calls made him sleep badly after, turning half the night in his bed, trying to get the best position for sleeping, but not succeeding for more than two hours. 

So, here he is, miserable and alone in his bed, looking at the clock which shows him that Evan will be here in less than five minutes, but he is still in his bed, in his the most comfy, but really old hoodie and boxers. 

Tommy kind of wishes Evan would text him now and rain check again, not wanting to drag the man into his mess, but of course as he thinks about this, Evan opens the door.

“Hey, sleepy beauty, I brought us coffee and your favorite burgers from this cafe you like so much,” Evan’s voice, as always sunny as his face and smile, spreads throughout the small house.

The sound of the sneakers being taken off, then steps to the, as Tommy suspects kitchen, as next he hears sounds of the plates taken out. Next he hears footsteps again and then his bedroom’s door is open, to reveal his boyfriend in his dark skin jeans and burgundy hoodie, Tommy pretty sure Evan was wearing during the tour. 

“Hey,” Evan smiles at him, putting plates and coffee on his nightstand, and sits down near his face, putting his hand to stroke his hair.

Tommy will never admit he melts into the touch. But he melts and ready to purr like a kitten being pet.

“Are you having a blanket burrito day?”

“Blanket burrito day?”

“Yeah. I call the bad days, when I can’t get out of the bed because of my leg or  because of bad mood, or both,  ‘blanket burrito day’,” Evan kisses his forehead. “Are you having this today or you just want me to jump into your bed?” his boyfriend smirks and winks at him and Tommy smiles a little too.

He knows he can joke about that. Say that yes, it was his way to get Evan into his bed and maybe make out or even something more, but he doesn’t want something like that.

He needs someone to hold him. Just hold him and show him he’s not alone and it will get better.

“Can you hug me?” Tommy doesn't like how small his voice sounds and he hates how quick he folded looking at his boyfriend who with one glance knew he was having a bad day. “If-if it’s ok.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course it’s ok. I love cuddles,” Evan smiles at him, taking his jeans off and lying down behind him, putting his hands around his waist.

He makes sure Tommy can feel himself touching every part of Evan’s big body behind him and Tommy wants to cry from the feeling of being safe. Protected. Loved.

They stay like that for half an hour, not talking and Tommy breaks the silence, needing to know.

“You don’t ask questions. Why am I having a bad day? What happened?,” Tommy plays with Evan’s fingers on his waist, “Or you are not even trying to tell me to stop. You aren’t telling me to male up,” he whispers it but in silence and with how close they are he knows Evan hears him.

Hands on his waist only squeeze tighter and then he feels a careful little kiss on his neck.

“We all have bad days. Especially on our job, with everything we saw. It’s normal to have them and you deserve to let yourself be sad if you feel it without trying to move on. You deserve someone to take care of you. And the reason for your bad mood isn’t so important for me to find out, if you don’t want to talk right now. You can do it on your time. Just,” Evan turns them so he can look him in the eyes. Blue to blue. “Don’t push me away. I want to be here, with you not just on good days. I want bad days too. Because you can’t live without them. But,” Evan smiles at him and kisses him so chaste Tommy wants to cry, “you can be not alone. Especially on bad days. You can share the pain with your person, making the burden easy to bear.”

Tommy just nods and lets himself get comfortable in Evan’s hands, feeling how slumber takes over him because the warmth from Evan and his breath lull him into sleep.

“I’ll tell you after the sleep,” Tommy mumbles before falling asleep.

“Take your time, baby,” Tommy feels the kiss on his shoulder, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tommy knows it’s not the promise only about today.

read on ao3

prompts

#my fics #evan buckley #911 #evan buck buckley #911 abc #tommy kinard #tuck #bucktommy #tevan #kinkley #911 on abc #bucktommy fic #buck x tommy #buck buckley #9 1 1 #evan buck buckely #911 show

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

I am SO curious about the SQH Burnout Fic 🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️ i beg <333

i have a bad habit of writing a new sickfic to cope every time i feel unwell 😂 this one is SQH gets anxious about the future, overworks himself, and gets pneumonia. excerpt from near the end of the fic, which i wrote first for some reason?

Shang Qinghua isn’t sure what makes him aware of the change in the room. A shift in the air, a sound, maybe just the slightest drop in temperature. He blinks, sleepy and bleary, at the pages of the novel he was failing to read, feeling warm and syrupy from whatever was in the medicine Mu Qingfang was dosing him with. “My king?” Mobei-jun steps from the shadows silently, and comes to sit at the edge of his bed. He’s dressed down, unarmored— just soft silk robes and simple boots, no weapons or jewelry save a pendant around his neck. Shang Qinghua recognizes it as one he gave his king when he was still a disciple, some ridiculous one-of-a-kind protection artifact that he’d known to snatch out of a crumbling temple thanks to special author knowledge, about forty years before it was going to become plot relevant. He hadn’t realizes that Mobei-jun still had it. Had he been wearing it all this time? Mobei-jun’s cold claw-tips brush through his bangs. “Shang Qinghua,” he says, rumbling and familiar. Shang Qinghua blinks up at him. “My king,” he repeats. And, suddenly struck by the memory of exactly what position(s?) the king of the Northern Desert last saw him in, feels his face heat in a way that has nothing to do with any lingering fever. “My king! I’m so—” Mobei-jun halts him with a raised hand. “You are recovering?” “Yes, my king,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m doing much better already.” “Good.” Mobei-jun pulls over the chair that Shen Qingqiu was sitting in earlier. The sight of his hulking form dragging over and delicately maneuvering into the small chair sparks something warmer than amusement in Shang Qinghua’s chest. “This king… must apologize.” Shang Qinghua’s gaze jerks up. “W-what?” “You were sick. Humans are weakened by the cold. I allowed you to stay and work in the North anyways, and missed the signs of your ill health. Qinghua could have died.” “But I didn’t. I wouldn’t have! My king, I was just sick, it wasn’t… as bad as all that. I’m a cultivator, it takes more than some cold weather to take me out.” He gives an awkward laugh. “It does take more than the cold. Qinghua was overworking himself, and was hiding from this king.” “But I overwork myself all the time,” Shang Qinghua says, the words coming out more earnestly than he means them to. He drops the book and wraps his arms around himself, looking away. “I’ve been working like this since I was a disciple. I don’t understand what’s changed. I should have just felt bad for a little bit and then dealt with it and gotten better. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal.” “I am sorry,” Mobei-jun repeats. He runs his fingers through Shang Qinghua’s loose hair again, and Shang Qinghua leans tiredly into the touch. “I… regret. The part I played in not allowing Qinghua to rest. Then, and now.” Shang Qinghua’s face feels hot. He scrubs at his eyes, the feeling only intensifying as Mobei-jun continues to run his cold hands through his hair, his claws pleasantly scraping against his scalp, the touch comforting. “It’s fine, my king,” he says. “It is not. But I will endeavor not to make the same mistake again.” Shang Qinghua leans miserably into Mobei-jun’s cool touch.

#listen.... comfort genre #if im suffering i make my favs suffer #svsss #thank u sm for the ask :)) #scum villain #sqh #mbj #moshang #shang qinghua #mobei jun #scum villain's self saving system #svsss fic #burywrites.pdf #buryspeaks.mp3 #my writing #my fics #classic bury writing mbj sadly teleporting into sqh's room moment

[calaisreno]

My Fics: Time Travel

A year ago, I was still posting The Traveller, my longest time-travel story.

In that story (103k words), Sherlock travels back from 2050 to 2010 to make sure Moriarty dies and doesn't go on to cause the apocalypse, as the Ministry of Time has predicted. A lonely mission, but he isn't alone. His uncle Mycroft, whom he remembers as an old man, is still young, working in a government office few people ever visit, or even know about. Sherlock will report to him. And then there's the ex-army doctor who saves his life. Sherlock may have been briefed on the rules of his mission, but that doesn't mean his heart won't belong to John Watson.

As Mrs Hudson advises him: "You are the one in the moment, making the choice to play each decision point in a certain way. They chose you because they trust you to improvise, to use your judgement in the moment, even your biases. If they wanted a technician, they would not have given you this kind of freedom."

Go ahead and fall in love, Sherlock. John Watson will always save you.

Feeling a bit of nostalgia for that story. (And endless thanks to @keirgreeneyes for her beta work 💕)

Now that I've written eight stories 😮 featuring time travel, and don't see any end to my obsession with it, I've finally decided to make a series of them on AO3. (See link above.) Eight stories for now, more to come!

My parallel world stories can be found in my Off-Axis Series. My WIP Déjà Vu will belong to that one when complete.

As always, thank you for reading! ❤️

#my fics #johnlock #bbc sherlock #time travel #the traveller

[dipplinduo]

Fun fact about me: April 18th is my birthday! :)

And part of what I wanted to do to celebrate this year was to give back. Introducing * ~ a dipplinshipping birthday oneshot ~ * :

Rating: T

Summary:

Today was Kieran's birthday, but it was the last thing that mattered to him. In fact, he vowed it would never matter to him again. Instead, he would focus on things that would keep him strong: his battling, his strategizing, and his crown as the Blueberry Champion. His sister and the Elite Four won't stop asking him random questions, though, and if anyone brings up Juliana any more than they already have since she arrived as an exchange student, he's seriously going to lose it. But...why can't he stop thinking about her? And why is everyone acting so suspicious?!

A bittersweet birthday celebration fic for anyone who's had complicated feelings about their birthday. <3

Take this as a thank you to all of those who have followed my work and/or my Tumblr blog. I wouldn't have imagined having the support of this wonderful community on my last birthday, and I can't even begin to describe how encouraged and inspired I have felt to write since finding you guys. I have never written this much for this long, consistently, and your constant feedback and comments seriously brighten my day more than Juliana brightens up Kieran, LOL. Hope you enjoy this! <333

(And yeah, this fic is the "event based idea" that this poll was about. I thought it was so funny that some of you thought it was gonna be some devastating angst LMAOOOO. That's for after TTPD releases, tysm for the bday gift Taylor.)

#I legit was gonna go a bit of a wholesome route for S&S D but y'all said “nah” so I said “bet” and wrote Chapter 18™ instead #anyways #on a real note #seriously tysm for all the love & kind words & support #I hope this brings you some of the happiness you all constantly bring me #<3333 #my fics #dipplinshipping #kieran pokemon #kieran x juliana pokemon #juliana x kieran pokemon #kieran x juliana #juliana pokemon #juliana x kieran #I had fun with some references see if you can spot 'em all #now Im gonna run to bed #I have a busy day ahead of meeee #bye for now!! <3 #also yes I did lowkey contemplate teal mask Kieran instead #but my bias is allowed for today LMAO #what can I say #indigo disk Kieran is just elite #plus its fun to have the rest of the blueberry squad there #oKAY NOW IM SIGNING OFF BYEEEE #wouldnt be a dipplinduo post without me going back to edit tags #catch me editing typos later too lmfao #yes TTPD release technically falls on my bday in the time zone im currently in #will never ever shut up about that

[wanderingwriter87]

Julian is sick and Garak tends to him. He's very normal about it. That's it, that's the fic

#my fics #my fic #garashir

[moris-auri]

Heaven is not fit (to house a love like you and I)

Pairing: Aemond x Baela

Summary: The war, bloody and devastating, is over. Having bested his uncle over the God's Eye, Aemond returns to King’s Landing and to his elder brother.

But his victory is short-lived when Aegon dies in 131 A.C. without an heir. After more than a half year of peace, the realm is thrown into chaos once again. Made to choose a bride after having the ruby studded crown of Aegon I placed on his head and made King, Aemond chooses his cousin, Baela Targaryen.

And Baela Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, grows more than fond of saying "Fuck the realm."

Warnings: NSFW 18+, spoilers for Fire and Blood (A Song of Ice and Fire)

**

Coming soon!!

#my fics #aemond targaryen #baela targaryen #house of the dragon #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction

[cuubism]

Okay, since it’s not explicitly prohibited to send several asks for the wip game, I’m gonna be adventurous! What about the new king Dream knight Hob fic you mentioned? (Yes, I’m a sucker for king x knight dynamics, sue me🥲)

i too am weak for any king x knight dynamic, go crazy for that shit whenever i encounter it 😂 the premise of the new one (for which i wrote like 4k in 2 days but haven't finished yet) is that Dream is a beautiful prince who swore he would never have an arranged, political marriage, he would only marry for love, and Hob is his devoted knight who's been pining for him for... literally forever, but was always like "a prince would never marry someone who's not another royal 😢 it's fine though it's literally fine I'll just devote my life to him it's fine"

and it was basically fine like that until their kingdom got attacked, they didn't have the forces to defend themselves, none of their supposed allies saw sufficient incentive to help them, so Dream was like "fine you guys are always trying to rope me into some political marriage or other already, how about this time if someone steps up and supplies forces to stop this country getting burned to the ground then i'll agree to marry you (or your son, daughter, etc etc)"

(this is all just the most contrived scenario you can possibly imagine created solely for the purposes of drama and pining XD does it make logical sense? probably not, but it doesn't have to)

their allies are all shitty people apparently because they're like "helping to prevent thousands of civilians from dying? pass. helping to get to marry a beautiful prince? SMASH!"

meanwhile hob

so of course Hob, always a rational actor as we know, is like "I'll just have to figure out how to come up with enough forces so that Dream marries ME instead"

#everything that happens in this fic is UTTERLY implausible but hopefully fun and entertaining XD #prince dream and knight hob #my fics #ask #thistleandpoppies #thank you! :)

[cryptid-ghoulette]

You can always reach me

Some days rain really struggles, but luckily phantom is there to help

(shout out to @sister-nyx for giving me the push to finish this!)

WC - 683

Includes - rain dealing with chronic pain, very mildly injured phantom, but very much fluff with a happy ending.

Rain slumped face-first onto the couch, ignoring the others who were sitting at the dining table. He was too tired to hear anything they might have been saying. His head pounded, and the sound of blood rushing in his ears was deafening and ceaseless. He didn’t even care that he could barely breathe with his face smooshed into the musty couch, and even if he did care, he was pretty sure none of his limbs would respond.

He wondered if this was the time he wouldn’t be able to get back up, if this was the moment his body finally just gave up, leaving him stuck inside his own head, permanently part of the couch until someone came and peeled him off it, like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe.

Eventually, he felt a hand tousle his hair, and a familiar voice said far too cheerily, “Hey, let me join this pity party,” followed by the weight of someone directly on his back, curling into a ball, purring loudly into the crook of his neck.

Of course, it was Phantom. The youngest of the ghouls and by far the sweetest. “Hey bug, comfy?” Rain joked, his voice a little muffled by the couch.

Phantom let out a soft giggle, gently lifting one of Rain's arms. “Yep, very. You okay, Rain? You feel even more floppy than usual,” he said, letting the arm fall back onto the couch with a dull thud.

“Just a bad pain day, nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry about me, Ant,” he said, still face-down in the couch, trying his hardest to hide just how tired and sore he really was. He knew Phantom would see right through him, though. The kid had a sixth sense for lies, especially when Rain was the one telling them.

“Well… if it makes you feel any better,” Phantom started to say, moving off Rain and back onto the couch, Rain rolling onto his side. “I got this earlier today falling down the stairs coming back from Mountain’s room. Tripped over my own tail,” he said, pulling up his pant leg to reveal a large bruise trailing along the side of his knee, already starting to turn a deep, angry purple.

Rain winced. “Ouch, Bug. You do know you control your tail, yeah?” Phantom rolled his eyes. “Ha ha, very funny. Do you want my help or not?” Rain chuckled softly, nodding his head and rolling back onto his stomach with a groan, letting his body settle back into the dent in the couch.

The small quint took his place on Rain's back again, curling up tightly, purring louder, letting the vibrations rumble through Rain’s body, a warmth slowly spreading, and he could feel his body relaxing, sinking further into the couch (if he couldn’t move before, now it was probably worse, but for the best reasons).

There’s something about Phantom’s purrs that is magical. Rain knows it’s probably the quintessence, but the soft hum settles into his very bones, warming him from the inside out, loosening all the knots and tangles of muscle and sinew.

This little exchange has become an unspoken agreement between the two of them, both knowing more than most what it's like to have a body that is more often than not aching in some way or another, even if for two entirely different reasons. Rain's pain is more chronic, something he can't control, while Phantom’s is mostly out of clumsiness and his seeming inability to fully control his own tail. Either way, the two of them have bonded in mutual agony, with Rain quick to share any heat packs, band-aids, and some of Mountain’s special teas, and Phantom always happy to help with some purrs and a little quintessence.

Eventually, the rest of the pack spotted the two on the couch; by then, both were sound asleep. Phantom continued to purr on Rain's back, while Rain quietly purred into the couch. It wasn’t long before Mountain fetched a blanket, draping it gently over Phantom and Rain without disturbing their peaceful slumber, both completely at ease.

#the band ghost #rain ghoul #phantom ghoul #cryptidrambling #my fics

[gaiaseyes451]

A Little Life - Chapter 7 - Clarity

Rated: E, Words ~49k/~71k. 7/12 Chapters. Read the tags!

Chapter Excerpt (Read on AO3):

A chime rang to signal the lift’s arrival on the third story of the physician’s offices in the medical complex. Ezra laced their fingers together as they stepped out into the bright white hallway. They had always hated hospitals. The gleaming white floors were harsh and sterile rather than bright and buoying. Mass-produced paintings and photographs were deliberately spaced, displaying soulless images carefully selected to be neutral and calming, celebratory or conciliatory depending on the emotions of the viewer. Anthony wondered if hospitals and hotels purchased their artwork from the same supplier.

Even the floor-to-ceiling windows, intended to make the space feel more uplifting, managed somehow to filter out all of the warmth and comfort from the sunlight through their thick, industrial-strength, practical glass. Plastic and pleather chairs in too-dull-to-be-teal-but-too-bright-to-be-gray and mauve squeaked no matter how still he sat, no matter how carefully he shifted. He always worried he’d disturb someone’s grief if he perked up with joy, or mar someone’s joy as he sank into grief.

He wondered which way it would go for him and Ezra today.

*~*~*

Summary:

When Professor of Botany Anthony Crowley met bookshop owner Ezra Fell one November afternoon both knew their lives had irrevocably changed. From that moment forward, Anthony and Ezra’s existence was intertwined. Their story was written in the moments and memories they created as they moved through life’s chapters of coming together, building a family and facing the challenges of being human. This is a story of unconditional love and the joy and humour, obstacles and grief that inevitably come with choosing the same person, day after day, over and over and over again.

*~*~*

A huge thanks to @goodomensafterdark for the writers community. And an extra special thanks to @hakunahistata and @the-literal-kj for beta'ing this story. Finally, a huge thanks to @fuzzygoblin for the song prompt that inspired this work.

#mind the tags #good omens #good omens fanfic #human au #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #good omens fic #my fic writing #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #my fics #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing #best beta's ever! #good omens after dark

[queen-haq]

Fic: Never You (Polin) - Part 7

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV show)

Spoilers: S3 released scenes.

Summary: They may have been friends once but his callous words decimated their relationship. Determined not to have anything to do with him, Penelope is ready to move on. But Colin isn’t giving up, not at all. Friends or not, they are connected for life - and he intends to remind her of that.

Excerpt:

“You would hate me for not wanting to court you. You would be that selfish?”

“Of course you would think that.”

“What else is this if not punishment?”

Masterlist (contains links to previous parts and my other stories)

A03 link if that's more your jam

Chapter 7

“Show me,” Penelope spoke, her voice firm and determined. “Show me how much you want me.”

A mixture of surprise and uncertainty flitted across Colin’s face, causing her to wonder if she overstepped.

After their first conversation at the park since his return, he’d been a different man. Not at all the sweet, charming Colin that she’d grown up with, the one who didn’t see her as a woman, but someone who was unhinged and volatile. Obsessive in a way she had never seen him before, demanding things he had no right to. And the way he looked at her, touched her as if she belonged to him – she didn’t know how to wrap her mind around this change.

Except now there was hesitation on his face, and he reminded her of the Colin from before. Her childhood friend. And she wondered if this was the moment the spell over him would break. Would he finally realize the truth that he truly didn’t want her? That this strange fixation was only temporary? Her heart hurt at the thought, even though she knew rationally this was for the best for both herself and him. “This was a mistake. Please leave.”

She tried to walk past him but suddenly he gripped her hand from behind, his other arm sneaking around her waist to pull her against him. Her back flushed with his front, she trembled when he leaned into whisper in her ear. “Your scent is ingrained into my brain. You’re in my every thought, every fantasy. All I think about is you.”

His lips traced a line from her ear, down the length of her neck, inhaling her in, teasing her with his warm breath, whispering wicked, wicked things. Every nerve in her body was heightened with his one hand trailing down her body, the other cupping her right breast over her dressing robe.

Breath panting, she arched back, gripping his sides for support. “Colin…”.

“I’ve imagined your breasts, what they look like, what they feel like when I cup them.” The need in his voice was potent, shocking her, but it paled in comparison to when his fingers brushed against her nipple. She jumped in response but he held her firm, locking her in his arms. His breath grew labored. “How sweet you must taste, Pen.” His other hand drifted to between her legs, stroking her mound. “Your sweet, tight cunt, so needy for me, begging to be filled with my cock… “

It was all too much, she couldn’t take it. His hands caressing her, his mouth seducing her, she was a throbbing nerve of need and wanton desire. Nothing else mattered, except the thrilling sensation from his hands all over her body.

It wasn’t until she felt him start to untie her robe that some semblance of sense returned. Underneath the robe she was clad in her sleeping gown, free of any undergarments that would give her body a desirable shape. She would practically be naked. Naked. Her large breasts, her too-soft stomach and thighs, all exposed in front of him. Immediately, panic set in. She couldn’t do it, not with him, not when any sign of disappointment from him would destroy her. Using all her resolve she nudged his hands away and attempted to move – but he didn’t let her. Instead he whirled her around in his arms and pulled her in for a kiss.

His mouth closed over hers, silencing every thought in her brain.

There was urgency in his kiss, in his touch, lifting her up in his arms like she weighed nothing. And she couldn’t get enough of him, returning his frenzied kiss while he ravaged her. Her hands frantically unbuttoned his waistcoat, practically ripping it off so she could feel his shoulders, his back, his chest whilst his own squeezed her bottom, his hardness jutting against her stomach.

Suddenly he tore his mouth away, his breath panting, perched above her and she realized they were on her bed. Somehow he had carried her from the door to the bed while she’d been completely caught up in him. Heat coursed through her body at the stark desire etched on his face; his look of awe, as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world, made her head spin. His eyes were dark, so dark, almost brown, piercing through to her very soul, the rhythm of her heavy breaths matching his so they were both breathing in unison. A small voice in her head reminded her this was a terrible mistake, but then there was her heart. Her heart, that had loved him for so long and ached to be touched by him for as long as she could remember. Not just be touched, but also touch him in return. His hair, his lips, his body – everywhere.

Taking advantage of her position, she ran her fingers through his soft, tantalizing curls.

“That feels wonderful,” he sighed, closing his eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

His eyes met hers. “Why didn’t you?”

“You know why.” Her fingers caressed the hair on the nape of his neck. “And I shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

“Wrong. You should do that and more.”

“You can not have your way with me, Colin.”

“And you should not be haunting my every thought, yet you do.”

Her voice was playful, toying with him. “I’m not responsible for the wicked thoughts in your mind.”

“But you are.” His eyes centered on her parted lips. “You’re a temptress, Penelope. In my dreams and out of them.”

“Have you really dreamt of me?”

“Every night this past week.”

He rubbed his body against hers, and a spark of lightning rushed through her blood. Like he’d set her body on fire. Her robe was undone but she didn’t want to cover herself this time, the intimacy of having him be so close to her heated core too enthralling to stop.

“I dream of your smile, your sweet laughter.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “Your fiery mane.”

“That doesn’t sound very tempting.”

“Then you don’t see what I see.” His eyes locked with hers. “Slow taunts, wicked barbs, seducing me with your mind before you begin your true, tender assault on me.”  

Her heart started drumming in her chest.

“When you finally touch me with your hands, your mouth, I’m at the brink of madness.”

It was difficult to breathe with him peering at her, his finger slowly tracing the contours of her face. “There are times I dream about pleasuring you. What you must taste like, what you must feel like when I’m inside you, how beautiful you must look when you come for me.”

Throat parched, she swallowed and glided her tongue over her lips. His gaze followed her every movement, a man enchanted. And he was still stiff, undeniable proof that he desired her. Her. Emboldened by his response, she reached up to cup his face. “I wonder how you look.”

He raised his eyebrow. “When I climax?”

Heat rose in her cheeks.

“Do you want to get me off, Penelope?”

“Would you want me to?”

“I’ve imagined your mouth on me a thousand times. And I’ve imagined devouring your cunt just as many.”

A thrill ran down her spine, both from nervousness and excitement. “Do you touch yourself when you think of me?”

“Yes.”

“Would you… show me?”

He raised his eyebrow. “Are you sure? I’m not sure you would find it enjoyable to watch.”

“I want to see you, Colin. All of you.”

Eyes darkened, he sat back on his knees. Positioned between her legs, he simply held still, studying her for a few seconds before he loosened his breeches and pulled them down. Her eyes followed his movements. She drew a sharp breath when he freed his erection, mesmerized by the sight. He was pink and thick, the length of his shaft beautiful in a way she’d never imagined before.

“I simply have to think of you and it’s enough to get me hard. Your luscious lips, your eyes glazed, looking at me, wanting me, the way you’re doing now.” Wrapping his fingers around his cock, he started to move his hand up and down his shaft. “I think about your full breasts, how soft they felt in my hands, how lush and beautiful they would be when you finally show them to me.”

She held his gaze, wetness pooling between her legs.

“I ache at the thought of your nipples begging for my attention. How rosy and flushed they must look after I’ve spent my time licking them, suckling them, playing with them. Would they be puffy, I wonder.”

A moan escaped both of their lips, their breaths ragged.

“I intend to cover every inch of you with love bites. Some hidden, secret treasures for the two of us. Others on your neck, the top of your breasts, so the world knows you’re mine and I’ve marked you forever.”

The possessive glint in his eyes left her reeling. Instinctively she reached for her core, rubbing herself over the fabric of her nightgown. His gaze wandered down, focused on her hand while speeding up the rhythm of his own movements.

“You deserve to be pleasured for hours… I think about it… tasting you... fucking you… burying my face in your cunt… how good you’ll feel when I fuck you with my tongue… your clit…” He groaned, his cock slick as he continued to work himself.

Aroused, excited, she closed her eyes, arching her body, stroking herself vigorously until she found the secret, sensitive nub that heightened everything even more. And she thought about Colin caressing her there, kissing her there, making love to her as he promised. His guttural groan rung in her ear, ecstasy rippling through her body when his wet fingers sidled up to her own to tease her clit, his cock brushing against it. The reality of his touch was so much more erotic than her own imagination. She was completely lost in madness, everything rushing to a head before culminating in a white-hot explosion in her mind.

The world was abliss.

Fire and light danced in her mind.

She was floating, floating, her body boneless, weightless. Most of her life was spent worrying about taking up too much space and now she felt light and airy. Unburdened.

Eyes still closed, she focused on the rhythm of her breaths. One… two… three… She counted them in her mind, clinging to this feeling so it could last forever. But then things slowly started coming into focus, reality taking shape to interrupt her happiness. Sensations burst through, drawing her mind to the world around her. Colin’s breaths, slowly retuning to normal. Wetness on her body, between her legs, sticky warmth pooled on her stomach, her chest. Friction from his cock sliding down her clit.  

And then emptiness.

Colin was no longer on top of her, his heavy, pleasant weight lifted from her body. An aching loneliness spread through her upon realizing he had left her alone on the bed.

It was bound to happen, this moment was never meant to last. The spell he was under had to break at some point. Maybe it was her own shameless, reckless behavior that expedited the return of his sanity. Once again, she would be relegated back to being just Pen.

She reminded herself this was for the best. Because Arthur-

“Look at me, Pen.”

Her eyes flew open, landing on Colin as he took a seat next to her. Clad in his breeches, his shirt bunched up in his hand, the sheer beauty of him stole her breath. It took all of her resolve not to stare at his broad shoulders, the soft, crinkling of hair spread across his chest. And then he shifted closer, startling her when he started to wipe her chest with his shirt because he had spilled his seed all over her body. “I like you like this. My cum on you, my clothing soaked in your wetness. It’s as it should be.”

His words made her blush. “You should leave, Colin.”

The haunted glint in his eyes returned immediately. “I can’t.” There was desperation in his voice as he lied down beside her, cupping her face. “Let me stay here tonight, Pen?”

“You know that can’t happen. If we were to be discovered-”

“I’ll leave before the sun rises. I swear it.” Distress marked his beautiful features, his eyes pleading with her. “I’m exhausted. I can’t sleep at all. Every time I close my eyes I think of you, I’m filled with anxiety at the thought of losing you… and maybe it’s foolish but if you were next to me, if I could hold you, smell you, maybe I could get some rest then. Please, Pen?”

She wanted to hold firm and insist that he leave, but her heart couldn’t handle the anguish he was in. “Only for tonight, this can not happen again. And you must leave before dawn breaks.”

Relief flooded over his face. He leaned forward to graze her temple, his lips gentle on her skin.

She hesitated, stiffening as he pulled her against his chest. His heated skin seemed to burn through her senses, overwhelming her with his close proximity. While a part of her yearned to wrap herself around him, place her head on his chest, listen to his heartbeat, embrace him fully, she reminded herself to hold back. This was a fantasy. This couldn’t last.

“I’ve dreamt about you sleeping next to me.” His voice was a hushed murmur, his eyes a soft, dreamy blue.

She covered his mouth with her palm. “Sleep, Colin. It’ll be dawn soon.”

The corner of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He pulled her hand away, placing it over his heart. “Goodnight, Pen.”

Gathered in his arms, she stayed quiet as the minutes passed. Soon he was fast asleep, but she wasn’t as fortunate.

Guilt saturated her mind, refusing to give her a moment of peace.

She was angry with Colin, but mostly at herself. She had made the decision to marry Arthur, giving her a pathway to pursue other hopes and dreams, and with simply a few seductive words from Colin and her own selfishness, it all came tumbling down. She risked her carefully crafted future, because she couldn’t resist love.

She took a deep breath, her stomach coiled into knots.

Regardless of the consequences, Arthur needed to know the truth about what happened tonight. He deserved that at the very least, she had to be honest with him.

And then she had to come to terms with the fact that she had ruined her future.

To be continued...

#polin #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #penelope x colin #my fics

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Do you like Ed whimpering and moaning? I've got a treat for you! Here's a fun, sweet little pwp where Ed and Stede have to spend a few days apart (tragic) and have sweet, tender, incredibly horny phone sex when Ed finds Stede's left him a surprise app-controlled vibrator.

3.5k words, rated E, featuring some Stede being oblivious to Ed's sexting attempts, Stede catching on to Ed's sexting attempts, and some desperate, horny, tender phone sex.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fics