#I'm so close to 1 million words on AO3

[peachesofteal]

Help I'm Alive

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Explicit sex. Threesome - M/M/F. Praise kink. Past relationship trauma. Mention of an accident, drunk driving. Pre-relationship, complicated feelings. Simon and Darling heavy. This is a flashback and takes place before Chapter 1, after Calculation Theme.

You’re decidedly not checking the clock.

It’s only five minutes. Five minutes late is not a huge deal. Traffic exists, so does minor inconvenience, little snafus that get in the way of making it somewhere on time. Five minutes, is not the end of the world. Be rational, you chide yourself. You’re a big girl. Still, they’re never late. Neither one of them. Your bag, primly sitting on the ground near where your foot taps impatiently, agrees. You packed me for what? For them not to show? For them to forget? Sure, it’s been nearly two weeks. Sure, they promised. But honestly. What did you expect? They’re in love with each other. Not you. You close your eyes, avoiding the screen of your phone. This is what happens, when you get ahead of yourself. When you act like a lunatic, instead of a rational human being. It’s fine, it's fine. You’re okay. You tap at it, waiting. Watching. Tap, tap, tap. Did you miss something, did you miss a call, did you read it wrong, get it wrong, hear it wrong, miss- Knuckles rap against your door. Your stomach unties itself, unloops from the twisted rollercoaster, and you release a long-held breath. See?

“H-hi.” The greeting comes out in a stumble, tongue tripping over itself doing nothing to hide your surprise. “I thought Johnny was picking me up?” Simon raises an eyebrow. “He ran into a complication. With dinner.” He motions to where you’re standing in the doorway, staring, and you balk. “Oh. Right. Yes, come in, sorry.” You glance around your flat. “It’s a bit of a mess, I’m sorry. I was busy this week and trying to paint in my downtime, I guess I kind of got distracted from like, normal day stuff you know? Like I-“ “Darling.” Simon calls, big body practically blocking out the frame of the door. It’s not just a pet name now. It’s something more. It’s a million different things, built into two syllables, and sometimes when he says it, the world stops. “Are you alright?” There's concern in the question, in his face, and you swallow. “Yeah.” You assure him, because you are. Today. This week. Last. You’ve been fine. “Are you sure?” “Yes, Simon.” You quip, with an eye roll, and there’s a sharp intake of breath behind the mask, fire and metal and something you can’t explain flashing in his eyes. It forces your spine straight, your thighs together. “Are you packed?” He murmurs, stepping closer, leaning down, clothed lips pressing to the top of your head. “Yes.” You whisper, half pointing to the bag, half reaching for his jacket. “Let’s get you home, then. Johnny’s impatient.”

“How've ye been?” Johnny coos, mouth hovering over your ear. He's got you pressed to his body, coveted, chest to your back, curled over you like a mountain. He's warm, skin hot to the touch, and a little flushed, strands of grown out mohawk tickling your chin. He's been fussing over you for ten minutes, peppering you with kisses, lovely words, physical touch and affection. It feels so safe, so real. It's hard to remember that it's not, in these moments. That you're on the outside. That you're not a part of them.  “Good.” You answer. “Missed you guys.” “We missed ye too, darling. So much. Ah thought about ye everyday.” Your eyes roll on instinct, trying to play it off, but your heart trips, mind and body working itself into a state over the idea that he was even thinking about you. “We both did.” Simon's finger trace over your shoulder, before they tilt your face upwards by your jaw. “We have a surprise for you.” “For me?” You squeak, and Johnny chuckles, mouth in your hair, on your neck, teeth against your earlobe. “Aye, love. For ye. Only for ye.” “What… what is it?” “You'll have to wait.” Simon tells you gently, and your face screws up into a pout. “Til when?” “Until I say.”

“Close yer eyes.” Johnny tells you, and your stomach tightens, storm brewing in your mind. What are they doing? What's going on? “D'ye trust us?” You nod. Simon cocks his head, brow furrowed, but stays quiet. He looks almost… stressed. Upset, even, and it does nothing to quell your anxiety. “You're not gonna like… do something… weird, right? We talked about boundaries and stuff…” Johnny chuckles, pressing his lips to your collarbone, your neck, achingly slow, slow enough that you can feel the imprint of his smile, the shiny flats of his teeth. “No, love. We'd never cross yer boundaries.” He promises, but it's not enough, and you fidget, shifting on your knees, fingers clenching into palms. You look to Simon. He's watching you now, very seriously, but with something softer in his eyes. Something almost sweet, something that feels like a tether, a rope, tied around your heart and tugged tight, something full of promise. Johnny mirrors it, but more openly, easily, and you take a deep breath. You trust them. You're okay. It's okay. You close your eyes. Johnny's hand covers your face, blocking out the residual light. It only last for a second or two before there are more hands on you, cupping your jaw, lifting your head backwards. Lips touch yours. Then they ask for more, and you meet it equally, parting to allow him exploration, tongue inside you, smell of his skin in your nose. Simon. The pressure across your face relents, light coming back to try to peek beneath your eyelids, but you keep them shut, almost tightly so, like you were asked. This, you can do. This, you can give them. “Open your eyes darling.” Simon asks, and your mouth draws downward. “It's alright.” When you do, you can't control the smile that stretches across your face. You're looking up at Simon's face. His whole face, no mask, no cover of darkness. You're looking at the scar on his cheek, the one near his lower lip, stories etched into his skin, sliced into his memory forever. You're looking at a twice broken nose, a five o'clock shadow. You're looking his jawline, etched from stone, plush lips that have brushed over your body in the night, quirked to the side into a small smile. You're looking at the man who made you feel seen, made you feel understood, all without ever letting you see his face. “Hi, Darling.” He murmurs, still cupping one of your cheeks, thumb working methodically across your skin. Johnny laughs, the sound surprising inside the intense moment, and you blink in near shock when Simon fully smiles, revealing his teeth. “Surprise.”

Simon’s face is not the last surprise of the night.

The next one comes decidedly quick, after he hauls you to your feet and Johnny carries you to the bedroom, sitting you upright on the edge of the bed. His hands don’t lose contact, continuing to skim over your clothes, your hair until Simon steps forward, bending over your body, two palms splayed across your thighs.

“You’re so good for us, darling.” He tells you at the same as he urges you onto your back, feet still dangling over the end of the mattress. “Such a good girl. We’re so happy we found you.”

Skilled fingers work the buttons of your pants, and a mouth, Johnny’s, lingers across your cheek, down to your neck. He’s shirtless now, a change you hadn’t even noticed, and you look at the two of them, trying to discern the direction. To understand. Johnny kisses you over and over, laughing with a whisper when you whine, the throaty chuckle warm, soft. Luxurious enough you could get lost in it, Simon smiling when he hears it, something you’re not used to seeing at all, the sight of making neurons light up across the switchboard in your head. His mouth notches to yours, and then to Johnny’s, and when he comes up for air, he licks his lips with a smirk. “Take off your pants.” You do, quickly. Johnny follows suit, and then so do the rest of your clothes, thong, boxers, shirts, your bra, until you’re both fully naked, on your back again, in the bed. The covers have been pulled down, so you’re between the sheets, Johnny on his side next to you, fingertip stroking patterns into your body, flicking over your nipples, your ears, bellybutton. He glances at Simon, the look too lingering to be inconsequential, and then his touch resumes, pattering over the scar on your hip. “What is this from?” Simon murmurs, lips dotting your throat, and your stomach tightens. Fuck.

“It’s from an accident.” You automatically move to cover it with your hand when he snatches it out of the air, pinning you by your wrist against the bed.

“Ye dinnae need to hide anything from us, love.” Johnny’s thumb traces over the puckered line, the raw, raised flesh that gnarly and disgusting, an awful thing. An awful reminder.

“I’m not it’s… it’s from a car accident. I was a passenger.”

“When?” Simon demands, but still manages to sound gentle.

“A few years ago. My- my ex-boyfriend was driving. He… was drunk.” You take a deep breath. “We were leaving a friend’s place. I didn’t want to get in the car with him, I thought… I thought he was too intoxicated. He convinced me, I guess. He was mean about it,” Johnny blows out a startled breath, and his hand flexes. “and then- he wrecked. Spun out into a guardrail, hit another car. I…” You trail off, Simon nodding to encourage you. “I lost consciousness and when I woke up, he was gone, and I was… bleeding. Pretty bad. Had to be transported to hospital.”

“He left you there?” You shrug. Something insane flickers across Simon’s face, something terrifying, and it’s enough to make you shift next to Johnny, instinctively seeking the heat of his body, Simon’s expression softening when he notices. “Thank you, for telling us darling. I know it’s not easy to talk about something like that.”

“Oh.” You don’t know why you say it, the oh. It kind of leaks out, sneaking past your lips. Oh, for the gratitude. Oh, for the acknowledgment, Oh, for the feelings that are spilling over inside your heart, mixing with lust and affection and something much deeper, more confusing.

“Are ye alright?” Johnny asks, cuddling you close with a kiss. You hum into it.

“Yes, I… it was a while ago, I’m okay.” It’s mostly true, but you consider yourself lucky when neither of them continues to push the subject, and Simon moves onto something else, teeth and tongue now painting a swath down your side, your hip. He kisses the healed gash, and your thighs press together.

“Open.” He taps, and you giggle, nervous, but move your heels wide, letting your knees fall open. Simon groans. “Look at you.” His face lowers to your cunt, mouth just over where your clit is aching, breath blowing across your skin in a warm, gentle way that feels nearly damp, more so when he licks a lengthy stripe from bottom to top, making you gasp, palm smacking down into the sheets.

“Isn’t she so perfect?” Johnny’s mouth sucks a mark into your chest between his words, and Simon’s tongue circles around your clit in response, your chest heaving, mind already starting to swim, lightly overwhelmed. Not perfect. Not good. The thoughts occur so rapidly, humiliatingly so, that you squirm a little, eyes opening to fix to on the ceiling. They don’t know you. They have no idea. Don’t get this confused. Don’t get lost in this, don’t- 

“What is today’s date?” Simon interrupts the runaway train barreling through your skull, and you reel for a moment.

“Friday, it’s Friday.” He pauses, mouth hovering over your cunt, eyes fixed on yours.

“The date.” He prompts, and you rattle it off, Johnny cupping your cheek, tender concern in his eyes.

“How old are ye darling?” That one is simpler, it doesn’t require thinking, and you answer immediately, hoping to assuage the rising disquiet in the room.

“I’m okay.” You assure. Simon cocks his head and stands, rising over both you and Johnny, rubbing a thumb against your temple.

“Get lost for a bit? In here?” You nod. “Want us to turn it off?” Your eyes widen. How does he know? 

“Yes. Please.” He kisses you under your neck, tonguing your pulse, slow and steady movement calming the rapidity of your heartbeat, the roar and rush of your blood becoming molasses, slowing down until it feels like you’re dying, like the world is grinding to a halt, everything in the room falling away until it’s just you, and Johnny, and Simon, bodies folded and melted together into a six armed monster, tongue and teeth and the gnashing of jaws. You wrap a hand around Johnny’s cock, tugging at him, thumb dabbing over the red, pulsing head, drips of precome smearing down his length as you stroke your fist up and down.

“Fuck.” You breathe when Simon plunges a finger, and then two, inside you, Johnny working his own fingers across your clit with aching accuracy, muscles seizing in fire and pleasure with every passing second. The world goes dark inside closed lids, and then Simon is cradling your face.

“Look at me.” Simon instructs, as Johnny moves, shifting so you’re more propped up in his arms, wide open mouth across your jaw, holding you. For what? He’s usually where Simon is, you muse, a little dazed, a little bit wondering. Everything feel feverish, imbalanced, like a scale is tipping, leaning too far to one side and taking you with it, until Simon climbs over your body, and you feel the blunt head of his cock against you.

Oh.

You gasp. It slips out, spurred on by the imbalance, and he freezes in response, eyes wondering, waiting.

He asks your name.

You give it before he gets a chance to finish speaking, and then he fucks you.

It’s slow, and wild, at the same time, your mind fracturing as your jaw drops open, fractured words fighting their way up your throat. He's so big, sting of the stretch searing inside your pussy, like he's burning you, lighting you on fire the same time as he's wringing delicious pleasure from your body. 

“How does he feel, love?” Johnny whispers, a hand holding yours. Grounding you, letting you squeeze him, snarled breath spitting from your nose as Simon moves deeper and deeper, nearly kissing your cervix.

“Fu- big.” You hiss, Johnny nodding, brows knitted.

“Ah know, ah know. Ye can take him, darling. Ye were made for us.” Simon grinds to a halt when he bottoms out, and you keen, curling forward, looking up at where they kiss one another, tangling together and returning to you, Simon’s nose against yours, his lips against yours, your body adjusting to him, splinters of pain and pressure turning into sublime floating feelings, walls convulsing around him, squeezing him just like you’re still doing to Johnny’s cock.

“There you go.” He encourages. “Just like that. You’re so- bloody tight, fuck.” You trace his jaw, his naked, unmasked jaw, with your free hand, as Johnny reaches down between you, finding your clit again, wet fingers circling through the sopping mess, the slick and the slide of Simon slowly moving in and out of you, both of them building tension and pleasure through your body. Johnny nips at your throat, and you twitch, legs coming around Simon, eyes finding his in the low light.

“We’ve got you, love.” He keeps fucking you, harder and faster as he talks, words building a wave in your chest, emotion swelling beneath your skin. “We see you.” No. No, no. You close your eyes, trying to cinch them shut, block it all out, fight off the tears, but Simon stops at the same time, and so does Johnny. “Look at me.” He says, and when you do, your lashes are wet.

“P-please. Don’t stop.” He draws back, nearly all the way, Johnny’s finger hovering right over your swollen clit, your entire body aching.

“Don’t hide from us, and I won’t.” Fuck. You stare at him, hopelessly, tears continuing to swell, heavy, heartsick feelings thrumming through your veins, and he pinches your jaw between a thumb a forefinger when you try to turn away. “No.” He grunts, slamming into you, and you curl into Johnny, eyes wide. “Let me see them, darling.” Simon demands, grinding his hips against yours. See what? See- His tongue lavishes your cheek, licking where your tears track across your skin, and you choke, shocked, elated, confused… millions of things and feelings and forbidden moments exploding, erupting the same time Johnny presses harder against your clit, all of it shattering inside you.

“Ah, ah- fuck, I’m-“ You seize, coming with an intensity that makes your head spin, and Simon fucks you through it, Johnny still stroking your clit at a brutal pace through the peak.

“Bloody hell.” He falters briefly, before thrusting deep with such an intensity you can hardly breath, cock battering into your body, Johnny murmuring something sweet in your ear, while bucking into your relaxed fist, looking for friction around his cock. You tighten around him, at the same time Simon makes a strangled noise, his face buried in your neck, entire body trembling as he comes, fills you with himself, sealing his hips to yours with a huff.

“Darling.” He kisses you, knocking his forehead into yours, and wraps his hand around where your fist strokes Johnny. He’s close, panting, staring down at the two of you, one hand in Simon’s hair, the other on your cheek. It doesn’t take long, Simon’s hips jerking when Johnny’s do, and you moan, creamy spend spilling over your fingers.

“Christ.” He collapses, curling around you, around Simon, three of you linked together, three pieces of a puzzle you're not sure how to solve, Simon licking your hand clean, wet sloppy kisses swallowing Johnny’s come until he’s satisfied, and tucking you into his chest.

“Wow.” You breathe. They both chuckle, and you let your eyes close, falling into a white fluffy cloud, purely content, happy. You feel cherished, special, and Johnny rubs your back, little kisses against your ear as Simon runs a warm washcloth between your legs.

“Bathroom?” Simon asks, and you nod, but reach for him instead, pulling him close.

“Can we just, stay here for a second?” He wraps himself around your back, tucking you between his body and Johnny’s, mouth against your scalp.

“For a second.”

#dead disco #peaches writes #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #ghoap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #john soap mactavish #soap x ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish

[inmyicyworld]

Wakanda pt. 2

pt. 1

Summary: Bucky's trigger words are being removed and you finally talk about your feelings.

Word count: 5k.

Warnings: Bucky's trigger words, smut and fluff, a pinch of angst, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), nipple play, size kink?, dirty talk, pet names.

Author's note: so it's the second part of this work. Also, I did some research this time about Bucky's clothes that he was wearing in BP. I read some things about African culture, and I believe that his red piece of clothing is called a shuka. Please correct me if I'm wrong!

Btw, my inbox is open, so y'all can share your ideas or whatever🤍

*English is not my first language, sorry if you find any mistakes*

I posted it again because the first time it didn’t show up in any tags

masterlist my ao3 ko-fi

After that night, you woke up with Bucky holding you tightly to his chest, and it was really one of the best mornings you even had. But unfortunately, Fury called you not so long after because apparently you were the only one who was able to do that mission. 

You two didn’t have enough time to talk about whatever happened between you, and after almost the whole month passed by without any contact, you finally got a call from Shuri, who told you that in a couple of days Ayo is going to officially remove trigger words from Bucky, and if everything goes well, he’ll get a new arm and will be a free man. 

Sitting in a quinjet a few miles away from Wakanda, you felt nervous as hell. You didn’t know what Bucky felt toward you. Were your feelings mutual? Was it just sex for him? Or maybe he regretted everything and wanted to be your friend again. 

Honestly, you wouldn’t be able to handle that. After that night, after you finished your mission and were again alone in your room, the aching feeling in your chest made you want to cry. You wanted Bucky with every piece of your body, and living for a month with a million questions and scenarios was too tough. 

When you finally landed, one of the Dora Milages met you to guide you to the place of the ceremony. It was in the woods, far away from the city and anyone’s eyes. At first, you saw Ayo, who only nodded to you with a small smile. 

But then your eyes fell on him. 

Bucky was already looking at you, and you didn’t quite understand how he felt about your presence. He was sitting near the fire in his usual Wakandian clothes and with a cute messy bun. The fire in front of him danced on his face, and he looked so beautiful but scared and nervous at the same time. It took everything in you not to run closer and hug him. 

Bucky couldn’t believe that you were really there. You came to Wakanda for him, to support him in such an important moment, even though you didn’t have to. You looked gorgeous as always, and the soft smile on your face calmed his overthinking mind. Mumbling a quiet “hey” under your breath, you saw the soft smile blossoming on Bucky’s face and his lips slightly moving as he said it back to you

“Are you ready, James?” Ayo interrupted your silent conversation with each other and came close to Bucky. 

“Are you sure about this?” Bucky looked at the fire, now feeling scared because of this whole situation again. He couldn’t fight the feeling that there was no chance for him to heal and that the piece of the Winter Soldier was forever immortalized in his brain. 

“I won’t let you hurt anyone.” Bucky’s worried eyes slipped back to you for a second, as if the thought of you being there when everything might go wrong scared him the most. He just slightly nodded back to Ayo and took a deep breath.

Honestly, you had never heard or even read Bucky’s trigger words because they created a weird, disgusting feeling in your stomach, so when Ayo started to say them, it sent goosebumps down your spine.

Желание.

Your blood froze in your veins by the way Bucky’s face expression changed. His eyes were glued to one spot, and any piece of that soft and warm look that he had for you disappeared.

Ржавый.

Семнадцать.

“This is not gonna work.” His body started to tremble, overwhelmed with the emotions and memories of his past. 

Рассвет. 

Печь.

Девять.

Bucky’s eyes filled with tears, and he gripped his clothes in his right hand to control his body. You silently cried with him, praying to whoever was up there to let this man be free. You knew that he was strong and that he could fight against people who messed up his head, and seeing that he was not giving up made you feel so warm and proud inside.

Добросердечный. 

Возвращение на родину. 

Один.

Грузовой вагон.

“You are free.” You deeply inhaled, only then realizing that you had held your breath. Bucky completely broke down with Ayo’s words, looking to the ground with tears running down his face.

Ayo looked at you, and that was everything you needed to rush closer to Bucky. You fell to your knees right on the ground in front of him, wrapping your hands around his shoulders and bringing his head to your neck. He sank into you, crying harder and gripping the back of your shirt with his hand. 

“I’m so proud of you. I’m so, so proud of you, James. You did amazing.” Your soothing voice filled his ears while you held him close to you with one hand and rubbed his back with another. 

“‘M sorry.” The hot breath touched your neck when Bucky started to mumble and apologize with a shaky voice. 

You pushed him back by his shoulders and immediately put your hands on his face when you saw the panic on his face. “No. No, Bucky. There’s nothing to be sorry for, okay? I’m here for you. You are so strong, and I’m so proud that you fought back and got rid of these stupid words. You can live a normal life now, and I’ll be there for you as long as you want me to.” Your fingers wiped the tears, not missing how Bucky leaned into your touch.

“Thank you for coming here. It means everything to me. I missed you so much.” He was clearly unsure whether he should say it or not, but you gave him another soft smile, feeling how the tension left his body a little bit.

“I missed you too, Buck.” Your faces moved closer, eyes glued to each other's lips. Bucky almost kissed you, but this little intimate moment was interrupted by the voice of Wakanda’s princess. 

“Sorry to disturb your peace, but me and my brother have a little present here. And I’m not a fan of looking at other people making out, by the way.” Your face got hot when you looked back and saw Shuri, T'Challa, and Dora Milaje all staring at you. 

Bucky quickly stood up, helping you get up from your knees and then leaning lower to dust off your knees. He looked back at you with a frown on his cute face, as if only then he realized that you had been standing on the ground this whole time. You only grabbed his right hand and bit your lip, trying to hold on to your growing smile. 

You led Bucky closer to everyone, and when two women brought a large vibranium box, put it in front of Bucky, you freed his only arm, putting your left hand on his lower back in a supportive gesture.

“Congratulations, White Wolf.” T’Challa nodded his head, and one of Dora Milaje’s stepped in front of the case and opened it, revealing Bucky’s new arm. 

It was truly beautiful. Slik dark vibranium arm with golden pieces. 

“It’s completely my design. This arm is much better than the last one; it’s stronger, it has some cool options, and you can take it off whenever you want to. But what is more important is that I worked hard and found a way to connect it to the nerves so you can feel everything. Not as good as the real one, of course, but still.” Shuri said with her hard accent, obviously being really proud of her own masterpiece. You couldn't hold back the tears, overwhelmed with the fact that she made it for Bucky and didn't ask for anything in return. 

“I can feel?” Bucky’s voice almost broke, and you came closer, pressing your body against his back. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Shuri. And you too, T’Challa. I can't express how grateful I am that you allowed me to stay in Wakanda and are now giving me this.” 

“It’s an honor, Sergeant Barnes. So do you want to try it on?” 

Dora Milaje easily lifted what looked like a really heavy arm; Bucky rolled up his clothes, and, with a quick motion, it was connected with his shoulder. He stayed silent for a few seconds as if he were getting used to the feeling, but then he rotated it 360 degrees, and you heard the soft swirling of the plates. 

He looked down at his new hand, clenching and unclenching his fist, moving each finger, and you stared at this in awe. 

“Can I... hurt someone with it unintentionally?” His eyes quickly shot to you before looking back at Shuri. A smirk appeared on her face, and she exchanged knowing looks with her brother. 

“No. Speaking in simple terms, it’s connected to your brain. Like your right arm, the brain just sends electrical impulses there. If you have no intention of doing something, it won’t happen. I promise this.”  

“Well, I think we can finish it here. You both can be guests here as long as you want to; our country is always open for you. Have a great night.” T’Challa lowered his head, and you mumbled a little ‘thank you’, and after that, you and Bucky were left alone near the fire. 

You felt the tension between you two as you both stayed silent. But what were you doing, for fuck’s sake? It shouldn’t be awkward. You were best friends, and even if you had feelings for him, nothing changed. 

“Can you show me?” You stretched your right hand, waiting for Bucky to feel confident enough to allow you to touch his new vibranium arm. He looked at you curiously, with a hint of fear and insecurity. “It’s just me, Buck, remember?” 

He deeply inhaled before putting his left hand in yours; his eyes were staring at your face, closely looking at your reaction. 

Your hands wrapped around his vibranium wrist, holding it gently and getting used to the feel of the smooth metal. Your right hand went higher to trace golden plates with your fingers, absolutely stunned by their beauty.

 “I– I can feel your touch.” Bucky got a lump in his throat because of your gentle movements and how softly you treated him, even though he didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t exactly how he felt with the right hand, but it was something. The thought of finally being able to hold you and hug you sent a warm feeling through his stomach.

“You deserve it, James. I’m so happy for you.” One of your hands flew back to Bucky’s face, and you bit your lip when the feeling of the moment that you two shared before you were disturbed came back to you.

Bucky once again leaned into your touch, showing how much trust he had for you, while his eyes never left your beautiful, lit by the warm light of fire, face. He stepped closer, finally realizing how much he needed to feel you again. Since that day, almost a month ago, he has thought about you non-stop. Even if the rational part of his brain told him that you just couldn’t call or visit him whenever you wanted, he still convinced himself that it meant nothing to you. That it was a mistake, because how could you possibly want him, out of all people?

But now you've come back. You came here again to visit him on such an important day. You supported him, you touched his metal hand without fear, and you were staring at him in that weird way that made Bucky weak in the knees. 

He didn’t know what to do or how to talk about that night in his hut, but when he nervously licked his lip and your eyes immediately shot there, Bucky couldn’t think straight anymore.

Before you could even process what was going on, Bucky’s hands were on each side of your face, dragging you higher and closer. His slightly chapped lips attacked yours, moving quickly and almost desperately. You were taken aback, but you didn’t mind, kissing him with no less passion. Your tongues were connected, dancing around each other, making you both moan and trying to get your bodies as close as possible. 

It was overwhelming—too hot to handle, actually. If you thought that you just missed Bucky, then during the kiss, your mind and your body screamed for him to take you right on the spot. You needed him closer—on top of you, inside of you. 

You suddenly moaned into the kiss, remembering how fucking good it felt to be so full of him. Bucky freed your face, instead finnally gripping your waist and hips, pressing you closer to his hard chest. 

“Bucky– James, please, I want you so bad.” You whined, clinging onto his shoulders. He pulled his face away, licking his lips to get more of your taste, and when you locked your eyes again, your body tensed, and you unconsciously started to squeeze around nothing.

You both already looked so messy, with red cheeks and hot skin. Bucky stayed silent for a moment, still getting used to being able to hold you with both arms.

“Are you sure, doll? I don’t want you to regre–” 

“No, no, Bucky. I won’t regret it. The last time was the best fucking night of my life. I wish I could stay, but you know that they didn’t allow me. I missed you, and I thought about it so much that it’s embarrassing to admit.” You blurred out. Bucky’s hands tightened around you at your confession, and he nodded more to himself.

“C’mon, my hut is not far away.”

It was really not far away, but still, while Bucky was leading you by your hand, you almost fell. You were just so mesmerized by his strong back that you completely forgot to look under your feet in the almost complete darkness. Bucky’s reflections helped you stay on your feet, and mumbling something like “It’s faster that way, anyway,” he casually lifted you off the ground, making you wrap around him like a koala around the tree. His right arm was under your ass, and the metal one was protectively lying on your waist. 

It was so effortless for him, as if your weight was nothing, and it made you even more wet and excited than the kiss. 

In just a few minutes, Bucky got to his hut, turning on the small light and closing the door. He dropped you down but didn’t let you go far away. 

“You can’t imagine how much I want you, Y/N. Even before our first time. You are so beautiful, so gorgeous, fuck.” He dragged you closer, connecting your foreheads. Your chest felt tight after his words, and you gently rubbed his bearded cheek.

“I want you the same way. Since the day we became friends. I wish you could see yourself the way I do.” You mumbled, not breaking eye contact.

Bucky shook his head, but then leaned closer and connected your lips. It was much softer, without a rush. You both were just enjoying the feeling, happy to be in each other's arms again. You grabbed his clothes, not ending your kiss, and started to go back until you felt the pile of soft blankets on the floor. You then lowered both of your bodies and laid back, so Bucky was now on top of you.

He stopped kissing you and pulled away to look at you. 

It was and felt much different than your first time. He was on top of you, holding himself with his left arm near your head. Even if Bucky knew that you truly didn’t care about it, the fact that he was now capable of pleasing you and treating you the way you deserved made him feel a little bit better about himself. 

Bucky’s eyes slowly checked your whole body, from your pretty eyes and plump, swollen lips down to the soft skin of your legs. He couldn’t help himself and put his large and warm hand on your left thigh, then traced your whole body as if it were his first time. You were shivering under his eyes and touch, but you still didn’t move and let him do what he needed too. 

You understood how hard it was for Bucky to be almost without control the last time you were together. He needed to feel in charge after everything he had gone through, and you didn’t mind letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

“Let me take care of you, doll. Please.” He almost whispered, looking back at your face.

“Do you remember what I told you the last time? You can have me, Bucky.” You put your hands around his body, feeling tensed muscles under his clothes.

I promise that when you get your new arm, I’ll let you fuck me however you want to, okay? 

Bucky growled when he remembered the exact words you told him. 

He caught your lips in a kiss again, rubbing your thigh with his hand and then getting it higher until it rested on your breast, covered in a bra. His mouth moved lower, slightly pinching and biting the tender skin of your neck and collarbones. At the same time, he dragged the cups of your bra lower, finally getting to your boobs. Two fingers took your sensetive nipple in them, slightly pressing on it and making your body shake. Your fingers slid up on his body until you were able to bury them in the soft brown locks.

“So sensitive, hm?” His hot breath on your chest made you unconsciously nod in agreement, and you could swear that you felt how Bucky’s lips curled up in a smirk. “I need to take it off.” 

Suddenly, he was not lying on top of you anymore but sitting in between your legs with both hands on your thighs. He looked flushed and had that kind of shine in his eyes that you had never seen before.

Bucky’s hands moved higher, pulling up the shirt over your head and throwing it somewhere on the floor. Then he looked at your bra, but didn’t do anything.

“You can take it off, Buck. If you remember how to do it, old man.”

The tension in Bucky’s body immediately vanished after your joke, and his brows flew to his hair. 

“Well, then you fuck with an old man, sweetheart. And I do remember how to do it.” He proved his point by sliding his hand behind your back and, with one swift motion, unclipping your bra. “Shit, I almost forgot how good they looked.” 

His hands hesitated for a few seconds, and when you saw that slightly distant look in his eyes creeping back, you decided to slightly push him. 

“Give me your hands, Bucky. Both of them.” He looked at you unsurely but still obeyed your request.

“I’m not sure—”

You completely ignored his words, instead taking both wrists into your hands and placing Bucky’s hands on your boobs. The feeling of cold metal made you hiss, but it felt good against your flushed and sensitive skin.

“Do you remember what Shuri said? You won’t hurt me until it’s your intention. And you don’t want to do it, do you?” You playfully arched an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.

“No, God, no, doll. I would never, I swear.”

“Then I want you to properly touch me with both of your hands and finally take off your damn clothes.”

“You’re hot when you're being bossy.” Following your instructions, he finally gave in and started to play with your hard nipples with his thumbs. His head lowered back to your chest, and then his hot mouth was sucking and gently licking your nipple while the metal hand took care of the other one.

It felt amazing and addictive. You couldn’t control your moans and the way your hips tried to rub onto something, but only met with Bucky’s lower stomach. You were desperate to get more without feeling shame grinding on his torso, and finally, when Bucky was satisfied with giving attention to your boobs, he went lower, kissing your belly down to your shorts.

“Need to taste you, doll. Please let me do it.” You just nodded, and it was everything Bucky needed to quickly drag your shorts and panties down your legs and lay flat on his stomach, trowing your legs over his shoulders. 

Your mouth slightly opened at this picture. You would’ve never thought that Bucky Barnes, your best friend and deadliest assassin, would be in between your legs, asking to taste you.

He didn’t hesitate, instantly diving in and licking a long stripe across your folds. You both moaned. Your head fell back, and Bucky gripped your thighs only tighter to hold you close. He was obviously enjoying it himself. You felt it in the way he circled his tongue around your clit, then went lower and put it in you to get every drop of your juice; by the way he was slightly moving your hips, as if he just wanted you to ride his face; and by the way he moaned into your soaking core when your hand slipped into his long hair and gripped them.

Your orgasm came quick and unexpected, washing all over you and making you desperately moan and squeeze your thighs around Bucky’s head. He licked you softly and gently, helping you to go through it but still wanting to taste your sweet cream.

“S’ pretty, baby. Can spend here all fucking day, I swear.” His face and beard looked soaking wet, but he didn’t seem to mind when the self-satisfied grin appeared on his lips. 

You thought that you liked him that way. You felt good that you were able to bring it out of him, even for some time. Bucky looked different, as he forgot about everything else in the world and even about things that happened just an hour ago. He looked younger and happier, and you bit your lip to not smile like an idiot.

Bucky moved higher up your body, kissing you again. You moaned into his mouth as soon as you tasted yourself on his lips, while your hands started wandering around his body and trying to feel more bare skin. Finally, you unfastened his belt and were able to take off his red shuka, revealing pretty and tanned skin that you hadn't had a chance to see fully the last time. 

He moved away, watching your face while your soft hands touched his skin. You were so delicate, tracing with your fingers from his abs to his left shoulder. Bucky’s body shivered when you finally reached the rough, bumpy skin covered in scars. Besides the Wakandian doctors, you were the first person he allowed to see that, and the fact that your face didn’t show any sign of disgust or fear almost brought Bucky to tears.

“You're really beautiful, Bucky; you know that?” Even in the dark light of the room, you could see the pink flush covering his cheeks. “C’mere, I want you.” You dragged him back on top of you, kissing his soft lips. Bucky finally got rid of his clothes with a free hand, and when you felt the weight of his hard cock on the lower part of your belly, you instantly moaned into the kiss. 

Bucky’s flesh hand gripped your thighs, lining his own perfectly that way, so his cock was sliding back and forth on your wet core. You wanted to continue kissing him, but it was hard to concentrate when his tip bumped into your still-sensitive clit every single time. 

“B-bucky…” 

“Fuck, I missed your moans. Baby—so wet for me, huh? Can just easily slip in…” There were only a few inches between your faces, and your lips were touching with each word, but your head was so light and fuzzy with the stimulation that the only thing that you were able to think of was his dick inside of you.

“Please, Bucky, please, I need you inside.” Your legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist, pulling him closer, and your hands were tightly holding his shoulders.

Bucky bumped his nose into yours in an affectionate way, and the next thing you felt was the way he slowly entered you. 

Your eyes rolled back with the loud gasp escaping your mouth. Bucky growled in your neck, settling in and stretching you out so deliciously. His hand probably left fingerprints on your delicate skin, but he just couldn’t control himself with the way your wet pussy was so welcoming and warm around him. 

“My good girl. Fuck, I won’t let you leave again; you’re mine now, baby.” Bucky quickly pulled himself together, standing on his knees in between your legs, and finally started moving. 

He didn’t hesitate when both of his hands held you tightly in place, so you wouldn’t move with every thrust of Bucky’s hips. He set the perfect steady rhythm, pushing his cock all the way in and then drugging it out so only the tip would stay inside.

You were just a moaning and whining mess, trying to find anything to hold onto. Bucky was standing over you, and as much as you wanted to enjoy his pretty face and perfect body, your eyes were hazy, and you couldn’t really concentrate on anything. 

“That’s right, baby. Feel so good ‘round my cock, takin’ me so well, fuck!” A quick look at the place where the two of you connected almost made Bucky instantly cum. You looked much smaller than him; your pussy gripped his cock so hard, and he was basically drenched in your wetness.

Bucky stretched his right arm to squeeze your nipple, and the change in the angle of his body made the base of his cock touch your clit with every thrust. You couldn’t control the volume of your moans when you dug your nails into Bucky’s arm, and your legs started shaking from the coming orgasm. 

“Bucky, ah—don’t stop, I’m gonna cum! Please!” 

“Cum with me, babydoll, just let it go.” He didn’t stop. He fucked you even harder and faster, moaning your name out loud. You both were in your little bubble, touching each other, scratching and moaning, trying to reach your highs.

It didn’t take you long to fall over the edge. You whined, arching your back from the floor, as your vision became white with a loud noise in your ears. The way you were spasming around him brought Bucky to his final, and not being able to hold himself anymore, he filled you up with his semen, collapsing on top of your body.

You both were quiet for some time—maybe minutes or even hours. Your mind was floating somewhere because the heavy and warm body on top of you made you feel incredibly safe and comfy. Only when Bucky slightly moved away and brushed sweaty baby hairs from your forehead did you open your eyes.

He was flushed and sweaty too, but he had the biggest smile you’ve seen on his face.

Bucky couldn’t help but stare at your pretty face with dreamy eyes. You were so perfect—literally the best human being in the world—and right now you were with him. You accepted everything he had done; you showered him with your attention and your kindness, even before this happened and when you were best friends.

He wondered who you were for him now.

After that, he couldn’t be your friend anymore. Not when he saw you naked, kissed you, or heard you moaning his name. Even if before Bucky tried to silence the voice in his head and lock away his heart, it was impossible to do now. Lost in his head, his mouth finally worked on it’s own, saying things that were created by his stupid brain. 

“I love you.” 

Bucky froze in your hands, as if he had surprised even himself with those words, but you didn’t let him pull away and become distant again. You grabbed his face and couldn’t hold back your bright smile.

“I love you too, Buck. I’ve been in love with you for so long.” Bucky couldn’t believe his ears and stared at you in pure disbelief.

“I—but I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want to ruin everything between us.” Your foreheads touched as you both closed your eyes to enjoy each other's presence.

“Well, me too. I guess we’re both just stupid.” You chuckled. 

“Yeah, definitely.” Bucky smiled back at you before he closed an inch between your faces and kissed you again. Sweetly and softly, this time showing you all of the emotions that he kept for you.

“So what’s next? What do you want to do? You are free now.” Bucky fell near you on the floor, pulled you closer to his chest, and deeply inhaled.

“I don’t know... I like to be here, but I want to go back to New York, to Brooklyn, and I want to be with you.” 

“Then stay in the compound. Stay with us. Stay with me. We can spend a few more days in Wakanda and then go back to New York. I bet that Steve and even Sam miss you.” Your fingers traced the lines on his stomach, and you looked up to see Bucky's reaction to your words.

“Okay, doll. Let’s do it. I'll be happy to do whatever you want to, as long as you're with me.” Bucky kissed the top of your head, tightening his hand around your back, and you nuzzled deeper into his body, finally being happy and calm.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x female reader #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #one shot #bucky smut #female reader #bucky barnes smut #marvel mcu

[effortandmore]

worth all your while (ch.1) | knj x reader

summary: you know kim namjoon from your work, but running into him outside of seoul tips your relationship into new territory and your world upside down. eventually, you wonder how there can be a million ways to say "i love you," and namjoon, a literal genius, can't manage a single one when it comes to you. or: 5 times namjoon can't make himself say "i love you" but thinks you understand him anyway (you do not), and then the one time he gets it right

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: smut, fluff, light angst, au: famous, but not an idol

warnings: smut, swearing, alcohol, here are the specific smut tags for this chapter: kissing, penetrative sex, fingering, spanking, sex in an airport bathroom (do not recommend, fwiw)

word count: ~5.5k

a/n: idk what to say! i needed to write a fic for yoongi's birthday, but i can't for some reason, so i'm writing this. i hope you enjoy 💜 i'll update chapters probably weekly, maybe bi-weekly, isn't it fun when some things in life are mysteries? the title is from "static" by steve lacy - i love him. thank you as always to the cabal: @ugh-yoongi, @hot-soop, and @the-boy-meets-evil for putting your eyes on this for me. love you all. this is posted to ao3 here if you like to read fics there.

next chapter

Unpopular opinion: airports are magical places. 

You didn’t always think that, but you’ve changed. Opinion swayed. All it took was one delay on a layover in London for you to start singing a different tune. 

Seoul to anywhere feels like a long flight lately. You love it there, but getting out, back to where you’re from, takes literal days. The short break at Heathrow is welcome, a chance to move around a little before you get on another almost ten hour flight. It seems like a nothing thing, to wander through the concourses and shops after you’ve made it through the customs check. Each time you’re here is the same as the last. Until it’s not. You’ve done it a hundred times: sniff different scents at Jo Malone, look for a bag you shouldn’t spend the money on at Louis Vuitton, talk yourself out of buying duty-free scotch because you know you’d never drink it in front of your mother anyway… Maybe on the way home, you think (but you never do).

“Excuse me.” You’re staring at the Balvenie you can’t really afford, thoughts drifting, when someone startles you. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping to the side. 

There’s a man there, right there. He’s stepped up close so that your arms are practically touching. He’s tall, with dark hair under a beanie, an expensive jacket that’s made to look like it isn’t, and his face hidden under a mask that isn’t required here. There’s something about him, even though you can only see a stripe of his face, that looks familiar. For some reason, neither of you move; he keeps staring at the thousand-pound bottle of scotch, and you keep staring at him. 

“You can’t drink it on the plane, you know?” You say it more than you ask it, and of course he knows. Everyone knows. But you see the corners of his eyes crinkle a little and you think he’s smiling under the mask. He finally turns to look at you. 

“Was thinking I’d get it as a gift,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders.

“Nice gift,” you remark.

“Yeah…” he replies, turning his attention back to the bottle. “It’s pretentious, isn’t it?”

And at that, you smile. “Maybe a little. Depends on who it’s for.” 

“No one special.” 

“It’s none of my business,” you say, “but I wouldn’t buy ‘no one special’ a hundred-pound bottle of scotch, let alone a thousand-pound bottle.”

The man laughs, and you notice another guy walk up, right next to him. He’s bigger, older, and way too serious looking for your taste. They seem to have a silent conversation and then the would-be whisky buyer turns back to you. “Time for my flight,” he says. “Thanks for the advice.” 

“Anytime,” you nod, still smiling even though you can’t tell anymore if he’s smiling back. Can’t hurt to be polite. 

After he goes, you realize you aren’t going to buy the scotch, either, and it’s probably about time for your flight, too, so you start the scramble to your gate.

One of the bad things about flying all the time is that you feel like you see more than your fair share of delays. And this trip is no different. When you make it to the gate, you can sense the panic before you even see the notification. There’s a particular brand of hysteria that sets in with people when their flights are delayed, and it’s amplified with inter-continental flights in your experience. All of the things that make airports romantic and interesting are the same things that make people think they can behave any way they want and it won’t matter. It's like upon entering, people think they get carte blanche to be raging assholes to the poor airline counter guy who’s just trying to make sure everyone gets where they’re going and probably only makes enough to barely pay his rent. 

So, you know before you’re told that there’s a delay, and you can tell by the level ten panic around you that it’s probably a long one. It’s confirmed when you see the headlines across one of the large televisions at the gate. Big storm off the coast of the Eastern US. All flights are delayed from what you can tell. Yours looks to have a delay of about six hours, but you know from experience it could be more. You’ll just have to wait and see. You’re lucky, you want to get home, but there’s really not a huge rush on your end, so you can wait it out if you need to. 

There’s a quiet spot at a gate with no pending flight, near yours and a few of the other gates with international flights scheduled to leave. You hate sitting, knowing you’ve done it for a half a day already and have another long flight (eventually) in front of you, but you don’t know what else to do and at least you have a couple books in your carry on. 

Maybe thirty minutes passes of you reading when you look up, just to see how things are settling around you as people start to either (like you) become resigned to the fact that they’re not going anywhere for a while, or let their anger hit a fever pitch with the gate agent. 

You see a familiar fancy jacket waiting near the ticket counter, his friend from earlier having an animated chat with a woman who doesn’t seem like she speaks enough Korean to be keeping up. Fancy Coat is watching, looking amused and not chiming in, even though you know firsthand he can speak English perfectly well, and could probably be a help to his travel companion. 

Because you’re one of those people who can never do things as subtly as you think you do, you’re caught out—Nice Jacket turns his head and his eyes lock with yours before you can look away; he knows you’re watching. He tilts his head, eyes widening with what you hope is amusement and not terror that you were looking. Slowly, he brings his hand up and waves at you, then gives you a gesture like he wants you to wait for something before he leans in and says something to his friend. 

You turn back to your book, embarrassed. 

A considerable chunk of whatever willpower you have is used in Not Looking when you hear (and feel) someone plop into the chair next to you. 

“Good book?” Nice Jacket asks. 

“Mmhmm,” you murmur, trying not to make things any weirder than you’ve already made them by staring. It is, in fact, not a good book. But your colleague wrote it, and he’s the special kind of narcissist that will ask you what you thought of it every day you see him until you provide some sort of satisfactory feedback kissing his ass. 

“That guy’s a jackass,” he comments. 

And that gets your attention. You turn to him, a little surprised. “You know him?” 

Nice Jacket nods, eyebrows raised. “Do you not remember me?” he asks. 

“From the duty-free shop?”

He laughs, louder than he means to judging by how he stops himself and looks around self-consciously. “No… I think you’ve interviewed me before…” 

Things begin to snap into place rapidly. Because now that he says it, he goes from looking vaguely familiar to being instantly recognizable. You don’t really keep up with him or his music, but you have interviewed him, when your asshole colleague had passed one of his assignments to your desk, assuming you’d “like that kind of thing.” 

At the time, you’d tried not to let yourself assume the worst about what he meant, and you did the interview over Zoom with no protest to your coworker or your boss. It wasn’t the kind of thing your magazine usually wrote about, but the article was focused on his art collection, and it gave you a good opportunity to learn something you wouldn’t have in a gossip magazine, and a chance to look good for your boss. The whole thing hadn’t lasted more than eight minutes, professional and easier than most of your interviews. Since then, you’ve been in the same room as him a few times at events you’d covered, exchanged greetings and appreciations on both sides for the article, and obviously, you know who he is. 

He’s famous, but not like… idol famous. Stage name RM, he’s a rapper and producer who works with a small collective. You see him in magazines and on TV, his popularity growing over the last few years less for his music and more for his work in art preservation. 

“Oh my god…” you say, closing your book and dropping your voice to a whisper. “Kim Namjoon. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.” 

“Good,” he says with a wink. “That’s the point.” He gestures vaguely to his beanie and his mask and the sunglasses he took off when he sat down next to you. 

“How are you?” you ask, because it’s polite, and that’s what you should do, even though you’re not even sure why he’s sitting here speaking to you. 

“Alright,” he says, but you notice he seems a little amused. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” He raises his hands defensively. 

“No, what? Why’s it funny to ask how you’re doing?” 

Namjoon doesn’t say anything for a second, just watches you with his head cocked. “I guess no one ever really asks me that,” he says. 

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous.” 

What’s more ridiculous is that you’re sitting in Heathrow having a conversation with this sort of famous person who you kind of know, but not in a “run into you in the airport and have a casual chat” kind of way. Or maybe it is like that, because that’s exactly what happens. 

You talk about how he’s doing (pretty well but tired from traveling and ready to be settled in his hotel). Then you talk about your asshole coworker and his not-very-good book. You laugh at a story he tells you about said coworker, and you feel your face heat up when he says how relieved he was that you interviewed them instead of anyone else from your magazine, and how much he’d liked talking to you that day. He’s bluntly honest with you about his preference for doing interviews with Korean-language publications, which you completely understand. He tells you that he didn’t mind doing an interview for your small English-language one because you at least greeted him in Korean and tried out a couple questions in the language. 

“It’s my job to make people feel comfortable,” you say flippantly. It’s true, it is your job, and you talk to a lot of sort-of-famous people and their people, so you know that at the end of the day, they’re just people. You get better results and better interviews when you treat them as such. When you tell Namjoon that, you can see him grinning under his mask, you can tell for sure this time by the way the corners of his eyes pinch. 

“That’s a nice way to think of it,” he finally says. “It’s good to be treated like Namjoon and not RM sometimes.” 

“Happy to be of service,” you say. 

Before you can say more, you’re interrupted by his friend, who you now understand isn’t exactly a friend but a manager or a bodyguard or some combination of both. He explains that it’ll be a few hours, that there aren’t any other flight options, and that he and Namjoon can go make themselves a little more comfortable in the airport lounge. It’s spoken like a suggestion, but the way he side-eyes you as he speaks makes you certain it’s more of a directive. Namjoon nods along until his manager tells him, in hushed Korean, that he can’t just sit out in the open talking to strangers. 

“She’s not a stranger,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. 

After a brief explanation that you’re an acquaintance (which is how Namjoon puts it and is a little more generous than you would have been), his manager lightens up, and even keeps his mouth shut when Namjoon invites you to come with them to the lounge. He does, however, insist on walking alongside you when you agree to go with them, making Namjoon walk a little ways in front of you both. Better safe than sorry, you suppose, even though no one seems to be paying any attention to the three of you. 

At the lounge, his manager has a brief conversation with the airline employee at the desk, and then the three of you are whisked through the entrance, past the service desk and the bar, and into a small, private room at the back of the lounge. Namjoon puts his bag down and moves to the coffee machine, pausing to ask if you want anything as he fumbles with the stack of cups there. Cute. The professional in you hates that you even had that thought pass through your mind, but the rest of you doesn’t mind. He is cute, he gets paid to be cute (at least partially), he knows he’s cute. You have eyes, so obviously you see it, too. 

His manager unceremoniously pulls an eye mask and headphones out of his bag, seats himself in the corner, and announces he’s going to try and sleep and to wake him up if anything interesting happens, leaving the two of you essentially on your own.

When you have your drinks, you pull your masks off, settle into loungers in the opposite corner of the room, and start talking again. It comes easily between the two of you—you’re used to asking questions and he’s used to answering them. He’s going to New York for a “personal schedule,” and you don’t ask for more details because you know he wouldn’t give them to you anyway. His whole face lights up when he tells you about an exhibit at the Whitney he’s hoping to catch, about how he’s willing to suffer through the jet lag for a glimpse at a certain Hockney that he probably won’t ever see in Korea. 

Eventually, the tables turn a little, and he starts asking you about your own life. It’s less interesting (in your opinion) than his, but he’s a good listener, and asks good questions. He seems really excited (and remembers, to your surprise) that you’re an arts reporter, asks what you’re writing about lately, asks if you’ve seen anything new that caught your eye, even asks you for gallery recommendations around Seoul. You have a few, and he actually jots down notes in his literal notebook while you speak, claiming he’ll forget which you recommended if he doesn’t write it down. Cute again. 

Hours pass, and you’d swear it’s only been a few minutes. It’s been a long time since you talked with someone like this—leisurely, candidly (or as candid as he can be, anyway). You get food brought to you by an airline employee, and you know it’s an upgrade from what’s being served in the rest of the lounge, but Namjoon isn’t phased at all. You suppose this is his normal, so there’s nothing out of the ordinary for him. 

“I can’t believe you get special food,” you say when you’ve finished. 

“Special food?” 

“Well yeah, they’re not serving anything other than soup and crackers out there. Maybe carrot sticks.” 

“Oh…” he says quietly, brow furrowed, like he’s really thinking about it. “Do you think I should ask them to bring barbeque to everyone else?” You actually think he means it. So fucking cute, you think. 

After you talk him out of wielding his influence, mostly using the argument that it would be an immense amount of work for the airline staff, you settle in again. He produces a blanket from a cabinet against one of the walls of the room, and it’s an obvious sign this whole experience is totally typical for him. When he hands you the blanket, you can’t help it, you smile at him and probably look a little smitten. You might just be. 

You offer him part of the blanket, and he accepts, pulling it over his lap and asking you if he took too much. (He didn’t). You talk more, and you feel relaxed with him—it’s so easy to forget he’s who he is and you’re who you are. It’s just like getting to know any other casual acquaintance better except he’s stupid good-looking and you start to notice that your faces are a lot closer together than they started out as you talk about Marci Kwon and the interesting work that the Asian American Art Initiative is doing. It was the last article you’d written, and you’re surprised to hear he’s read it. 

You’re saying something about non-hierarchical modes of presenting research in art when you realize he’s not listening anymore, just staring at you intently. You’ve been talking a lot. For a while… Maybe talking too much; maybe he’s bothered.

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

His eyes widen like he’s the one who’s been caught-out this time. “I’m really good,” he says, almost like he’s surprising himself. 

It makes you beam. “Good,” you say. “I’ve liked talking to you.” 

He nods. “I’ve liked talking to you, too. You have a lot to say.” 

The fact that you can feel his breath on your face when he speaks makes you certain that you’re sitting too close, that something is happening that probably shouldn’t be. It makes you forget that “you have a lot to say” isn’t always a good thing. You think that everything might sound good when it comes from his mouth, that even the worst insult would trickle out like honey. Your heart rate has picked up, you now notice, and you both keep just staring at each other—you don’t know why you don’t move or look away, it’s like you can’t even though you know you should. 

Namjoon’s eyes flick up behind you to where his manager is, and you can hear the man snoring, so you know he’s not aware at all of what’s happening right in front of him. 

“They don’t have cameras in here,” Namjoon says. “It’s why we come here.” 

You nod, nothing to say to that—you’re not even sure why he said it unless…

“Can I kiss you?”

That is the exact moment when every coherent and rational thought you have ever had rushes out of your brain like a waterfall. You’re not even sure how you manage to respond, but this very cute, very smart, very interesting person has just expressed interest in you of all people, and you’d be an idiot not to say yes. 

“Oh my god, please,” you say all in one hurried breath. 

And before you’re even finished, his lips are on yours. It’s soft, more chaste than you’d expected, but it doesn’t stay that way when he nips at your bottom lip and licks into your mouth. One of his hands comes to the back of your neck, fingers teasing at your hair and pulling you closer as you practically melt into him. It’s a good kiss, a fantastic kiss, and all you can think is more, more, more as the two of you try and do your best to be as close as you can over the armrests of the stupid lounge chairs. 

When you part, his eyes are a little wild, and you think yours must be, too. 

“I have to wake him up soon,” he says, looking past you. “It’s almost time for our flight.” 

You glance over your shoulder at his manager who’s still totally unaware of what’s happening around him, and then stand, offering a hand to Namjoon, too. 

It’s a rare moment of boldness, but something’s come over you, and you’re acting with very little thought as to what you’re doing and how stupid it probably is. “Come on,” you say, tugging him up. When he’s standing right in front of you, you put your hands on his chest and raise up on your tiptoes to whisper, “Let’s get out of here for a minute.” 

He wipes across his bottom lip with his thumb, pausing probably to think about what you’re implying, and then he bends to kiss you quickly before he agrees. “Okay, yeah, let’s go.” 

It’s not your fault that you know where the ‘family restroom’ is—you passed by it on the way to the back of the lounge and you notice things, you remember things. 

You hope he doesn’t think you do this kind of thing all the time, or ever, although you don’t know why you care what he thinks since you’re also willfully oblivious to any looks you might be getting from any passersby who see you tug him into the room behind you.

It’s sheer luck that your go-to travel outfit is a fairly basic knit dress. It takes him no time to have you pinned up against the door, lips on your neck, hand rucking up the front of your dress so that he can get a hand under your tights. God, it feels good. He feels good, large and solid and his fingers… fuck. They’re long and nimble and he’s clearly not new to this, but neither are you, so you roll your hips forward and moan at the contact when he slips his hand under your tights. 

“You’re already wet,” he says, surprised, pulling his head back so he can look at you properly, his fingertips skimming between your legs. 

You nod and pull him back in to kiss you again—you only know a few things about Kim Namjoon, but you already know you like talking to him, and now you know you like his lips on yours even more than that. 

“Come here,” you say, and slide away from the door, pulling him with you so that you can bend over the small vanity where you can see yourselves in the mirror above it. He’s been polite, almost too nice for what you’re in the mood for, and you don’t know if he’ll take the initiative, so you lock eyes with him in the mirror and slide your tights down from under your dress, stepping out of them one leg at a time. 

In the mirror, you watch as he tentatively sticks a hand out to feel you again, groaning when his fingertips slide against you so easily. One, then quickly two fingers enter you, slowly moving in and out, and he studies your reflection, like he’s trying to learn what you like. It’s a lot of effort for a one-night stand in a Heathrow airline lounge. He pulls his joggers down; he’s already hard, feels big against your ass and the back of your thigh. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he sighs. It’s apparently not lost on him how you watch him in the mirror, pupils blown, because then he asks, “You want to watch me fuck you?” He winds the fingers of his free hand around a handful of your hair and tentatively pulls your head up so he can look you in the eye through the mirror. 

You watch him focus on you nodding and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth; he drops your hair as he stares. He has to know already how much you want it, but he makes you say it anyway. 

“Tell me you want to see me make you come,” he whispers into the back of your neck, breath hot against the shell of your ear. Behind you, he’s rolling on a condom that seems to have appeared out of nowhere—you wonder if he had one in his pocket ‘just in case.’

You smirk, widen your eyes, and nod again. “Please? Will you fuck me? I want—” You pause to turn your head over your shoulder and kiss him again. “I want to watch you make me come.” 

Holding onto your hip, he pushes his cock, thick and flushed, into you quickly; you don’t have much more time before his flight. 

He groans as he starts thrusting, pulling almost all the way out slowly before snapping back into you. 

“Oh shit…” you whisper each of the first few times he pushes into you.

Your head falls as he fucks you—It’s so good, he’s deep deep deep, and you feel so full, and you might cry it’s been so long since someone’s fucked you like this… But he wants your attention, so he brings a hand up and slaps you lightly along the back of your thigh to get you to look up. 

It wasn’t hard, but you’re barely acquaintances, so he seems to hesitate, looking to your reflection for reassurance. In return, you look him straight in the eye and let out a moan. 

“You wanted to watch, so watch,” he whispers. 

“Do it again... please,” you plead softly as you raise your head and push your hips back against him. 

He lifts the other hand and strikes the swell of your ass this time, harder than the first slap, making you suck in a breath. White knuckles grip the sides of the sink as your skin turns pink, but you’re still smirking and soaking wet, asking for more as he grips your hips to fuck you harder. 

“Harder… I need you… feels so good,” you pant. 

You move to lean on an elbow and bring your other hand down to your clit. His hand follows yours and moves it out of the way as he leans forward to whisper, “I thought you wanted me to make you come.”

“Then do it.”

Namjoon slows the movements of his hips to focus on you, rubbing circles over your clit with his fingertips and sucking on your neck, right against your pulse point, sending shivers along the length of your spine. 

He rolls his hips into her as you grind against him, whimpering quietly, “Fuck, Joon… yes… oh, fuck…” You trail off, not able to focus on anything except his hands and his cock. You don’t even care that you’re already using nicknames with him. 

“Finally got you to stop talking so much,” he teases as he works you nearer to orgasm. 

You’d laugh, okay with being teased, except you’re practically shaking now, close to release, so he puts more pressure on your clit and moves his cock in you a little less deep, hitting you exactly where you need him each time. 

God, you look good together. There’s a sweat sheen on your foreheads, his cheeks are painted with a rose blush, and your eyes are wide, watching yourself with curiosity in the mirror as you start to come. 

You’re close, so close, tightening on his cock as he lets go of your hip and puts a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle the loud cry you make when your orgasm hits. 

Your cunt pulses around him and he drags his hands slowly away from it and your mouth, back to your hips. 

“You ready?” he whispers.

“Good girl,” he affirms as you nod, and that absolutely shouldn’t have you ready to come on his cock again, but maybe you have a praise kink you didn’t know about. You whimper when he starts fucking into you again, resuming his previous faster pace.

It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to come after that, with you babbling nonsense about how good his cock is and begging for him to come inside you. He thrusts into you one last time and releases into the condom, watching in the mirror as you give him a satisfied grin and roll your hips with his. 

When he pulls out of you, he drops to his knees and kisses you where he’d left a handprint on your ass. It makes your breath hitch, feels too intimate for people barely know one another and who’ve just fucked in an airport bathroom. But then he pulls you up to standing, smoothing your dress around your legs. He grabs a bundle of toilet paper and hands it to you to wipe up. 

“Look at you,” you tease, “what a gentleman.” 

He pulls his joggers up and watches you flush the tissue while he discards the condom. You fiddle around for your tights and slide them on under your dress. 

When you’re finished, you lean against the sink and watch him—he’s cute like this: face still flushed, hair mussed, and most of all, he looks as nervous as you’re starting to feel. 

“I don’t do this kind of thing,” you say. Your voice is a little wobbly, and you wonder where any of the self-assurance you’d had earlier when you dragged him into the room has gone to.

Namjoon laughs, bright and dimpled, before he replies. “Fuck, me either. I mean… people sometimes… know who I am and I have to be careful.” The last words come out in a rush. 

“Careful how?” 

He looks fully embarrassed now. “LIke my manager is going to kick my ass when we walk out of here and… well, people back home would have a field day with this if someone saw.” 

You’re not even sure what to say to that. Because of course you know who he is, you get that he’s famous, but the thought of talking about this with anyone just seems… It’s not like it makes you look very good either, so you’d never. It would be professional suicide; you’d never be taken seriously again. You spit out the next words mindlessly, just trying to make it less awkward. “You think this was the ‘something interesting’ we were supposed to wake him up for?” Namjoon just looks at you like you’re nuts before you both burst into laughter. 

When you catch your breath again, you get a little more serious, your voice softer. “I’ll sign something. Whatever we should have done before, we can do it now, you can email me or whatever. God, this is crazy…” You trail off, consequences of what you’ve done starting to sink in. 

“Okay… Thank you,” he says. “I hate how awkward this is. I’m sorry.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling a lot more vulnerable than you can ever remember feeling. Is he sorry that you did this together or is he sorry that it’s awkward? You don’t really know. Maybe it’s both. 

“This was a mistake,” you say without thinking, and his face falls. 

“You think that?” he asks quietly, stepping into your space and reaching out to stroke your arms gently. “Because I really don’t. I know things are complicated with me? But… I liked you when I met you for the interview, I liked you today, and I’d like to see you again. I really wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think anything would come of it. I’m not that kind of guy.” 

“Aren’t all guys that kind of guy?” you ask, wondering if he’s even for real. 

“No,” he says. And you think he’s sincere. “Really. I’ve never done something like this before.” 

You nod, uncrossing your arms and letting your hands slide into his. “So, we should go though… You have a flight to catch, and I guess I have an NDA to sign.” You’re trying to tease, but you think you probably just sound fucking terrified. 

“Can I have your number?” he asks. 

“For the NDA,” you affirm, taking the phone he’s sticking out to you and typing in your contact info. 

“And for a date, maybe?” he says. And when you look up at him, he looks bashful, nervous even, as if you could ever say no to this man with a big brain and a dick to match who has just made you feel at least twelve new things in the last few hours. 

“I’ll be back in Seoul in two weeks,” you say, handing him his phone back. 

He smiles wide at that, and leans in to kiss your cheek. Cute again. 

“I’ll call you,” he says eagerly. “And someone will be in touch about the paperwork… Sorry again.” 

“Not your fault.” You shrug. “But you should head out first so it looks less weird, probably. I’ll freshen up for a minute and then be out in a bit.”

“Right,” he agrees. “Okay. So… I’ll see you in Seoul?”

You can’t help but be endeared to him; the fact that he seems to think you might actually not want to see him again makes you go all squishy inside. “It’s a date,” you confirm.

“Great! Okay… I’m gonna just… go now.” He points at the door, fumbling behind himself for the latch, like he doesn’t want to break eye contact with you. 

“Okay, Namjoon… It was good to run into you and…” You hate that you can’t say anything coherent, your sentence just ending in, “stuff.” 

He laughs and pulls his mask back on. “It was good to run into you and stuff, too.” 

Finally, he’s got the door unlocked, and before he slips back into the lounge he says, “I’m really going to call you, okay?” 

You aren’t sure why, but you believe him when he says it even though you know better, and all the weird feelings you’ve been having about him come together in a bright firework feeling in your chest. Something like hope, maybe. 

“Talk to you soon,” you say quietly. 

And then he’s gone, and you’re left breathless, wondering what you’ve just done.

next chapter

#bts fanfic #namjoon fic #namjoon smut #namjoon imagine #bts smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts fic #bts writing #fic: wayw

[fierymiasma]

 ๑ Five Times....  ๑// Sebastian x f!MC (Part 3)

Summary: Five times Sebastian Sallow Was Jealous and One Time He Didn't Have to Be (Part 3)

Words: 2.7k

|| Masterlist || AO3 || Upcoming ||

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 4 || Full Fic

Chapter 3: Imelda Reyes

Sebastian had hardly slept last night, plagued with thoughts of undeserving Gryffindor boys and pretty Ravenclaw girls wooing his new friend.  Sitting in the Great hall, Sebastian's head felt sluggish from the lack of sleep.  He stared at this breakfast in bleak silence, silently begging for his pastries to tell him the answers he desperately needed.

"What crawled up Sebastian's ass and died?" Imelda asked, cutting through the dark swirling thoughts in Sebastian's head. 

Ominis wished for the millionth time this week to have a quiet and peaceful breakfast in the Great Hall.  "Oh nothing, just Sebastian pining after his crush and not plucking up the courage to do anything about it."  He sighed quite dramatically.  "And yet, somehow, everyone around him must suffer."

Sebastian's head snapped up from its daze.  He glared at his best friend, who pointedly ignored him in favor of spreading more berry preserve on his toast.  "Ominis!  I'm not even interested in her!"  He denied.  "She's just a good friend." 

Imelda waved her hand dismissively.  "Don't worry, Sallow.  It's not like your massive crush on her is any news." She shoved the poor lower year student sitting next to Sebastian off the bench, making herself room at the table.  "You'd have to be blind to not see how whipped you are for her."  She cringed.  "Um…sorry, Ominis."

Ominis rolled his eyes.  Typical Imelda, as tactful as an elephant.  "She's right you know.  Practically everyone in Hogwarts knows you follow her around like a puppy.  If you don't claim what's yours fast, some bloke else would."

Under normal circumstances, Ominis's words would have set Sebastian off.  No one needed Ominis of all people to remind him of how "available" she was.  Merlin knows, she already spent an alarming amount of time alone with the other boy.   But now, with her recent date, Sebastian certainly had more on his plate to worry about.  He scoffed remembering Natty's words from the night before.   "And now, I have reason to worry about girls.  Rumors say that she might bat for both teams, and frankly, I have no idea if it's true."

"Does she now?" Imelda whispered.

Sebastian stared in horror as Imelda started grinning, her eyes gaining a predatory gleam.  How could he be so stupid to let something like that slip out?  He knew better.  Imelda played with girls' hearts like a she was a world class beater and their hearts were bludgers. 

Even without any divination, he could see exactly where this was going.  "Don't you dare."  Sebastian warned.  Never, in a million years, would Sebastian consider Imelda a friend.  But there was honor even amongst Slytherins a code. 

Surely, Imelda wouldn't cross the line and take what was rightfully Sebastian's?

Imelda's smile was toothy like a savage wolf eager for a meal.  "Oh, she would be perfect.  She's the only one amongst you sorry lot who comes anywhere close to my skills on a broom.  Yes, I think we shall make the most powerful couple in Hogwarts.  And after graduation, we'd make co-captains on whatever professional quidditch team we'd find ourselves.  Our manor would be decorated with our quidditch trophies right above the little ones' rooms.  Of course we'd have at least seven of them."

"Seven pets?" Sebastian asked weakly.

She scoffed.  "No children.  At least seven children: strong, and fast, and powerful like their mothers.  Enough to make a quidditch team.  We'd train them of course.  Together we would create a new quidditch dynasty that would rival the Pride of Portree, no doubt."

Sebastian was at a loss for words.  Imelda was loony.  He couldn't tell if Imelda was simply pulling at his leg or actually threating him.  "What makes you even think she would be interested in someone like you?  Merlin, your ego enough would scare anyone away."

Imelda sniffed, turning her nose up at Sebastian.  "It's simple, really.  Power.  The new girl is attracted to power.  She would be stupid to turn someone like me down."

Sebastian's stomach soured.  Did she think Sebastian was powerful enough to stand by her side?  "As if."

"What?  Scared of some competition, Sallow?  Afraid that the only bachelorette worth pursuing in Hogwarts will be attracted to the best flyer in Hogwarts?"  Sebastian spluttered in protest.  "Early Seeker catches the snitch.  One night with me on the quidditch field, and she'll be like a Kneazle purring in my lap."

His hands clenched into tight fists.  Of course, Imelda would be the one Slytherin evil enough to violate the House code.  How did he lose control of the situation so fast?  "You snake.  You wouldn't dare."

She raised one dark eyebrow, "Watch me, Sallow."  She whipped her tight ponytail around, eyes scanning the Great Hall.  "Oi!  New girl!"

Sebastian's head snapped up, frantically searching for his partner in crime.  Surely, she wasn't easy enough to fall for Imelda Reyes.

The poor victim in question was trying her best to enjoy a quiet breakfast.  She flinched at Imelda's shrill voice, ducking as if hoping the Slytherin quidditch captain wouldn't notice her.  Her eyes widening when the two girls accidentally locked eyes.  Imelda, with her nose in the air, took strong strides across the Grand Hall.  Arriving at her destination, the other students at the table suddenly grew deadly quiet, as if the flock of prey were suddenly alerted of a predator's presence.

She sighed into her porridge, "Reyes, is there something I can help you with-"

Imelda slammed her hand on the table next to the poor girl's goblet, causing all the silverware to jump to attention.  She leaned over, boxing Sebastian's best friend in with her long arms.  "Tonight.  7pm.  Meet me at the Quidditch fields.  Bring a broom."

The whole table erupted in chatter.  The tendrils of Hogwarts gossip already working their magic.  To Sebastian's horror, his crush's face erupted in patches of bright pink, as she tried to back away from Imelda's advances.  "Imelda, I would love to, but I already promised Sebast-"

The Slytherin scoffed.  "Enough of him.  What's he going to do?  Show you some dusty old book from three centuries ago?  I'm going to show you a night you will never forgot."

Sebastian jumped to his feet, wand in hand. His pumpkin juice spilled over his trousers, soaking into the fabric.

The hero of Hogwarts was stunned into silence.  Imelda was constantly on her case about "moving on" from Sebastian, but she'd never imagined that the Quidditch Captain would be the one to proposition the pining girl herself.

Natty's advice rang through her mind.  Sebastian had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't interested in her romantically.  It had hurt, to realize that the flirty looks, the indecent causal touches, the intense words, were all the same Sebastian charm that he laid on everyone.  The hero of Hogwarts was no different to him than any other girl.  She had just been too infatuated to see it.

Maybe all her friends were right.  It was time she stop sulking like a children.  It was their sixth year, they weren't getting any younger.  It was time to start courting other people, to live a little.

What was the worst thing that could happen?

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, trying to look at his best friend from across the Great Hall. Her cheeks, so prone to blushing, was now a familiar scarlet.  A weight as heavy as a stone dropped into his stomach as he watched the hero of Hogwarts tuck the loose strands of hair behind her ears, a telltale sign.  Surely….she wouldn't agree to a date with Imelda Reyes of all people, a cackling hag who had nothing better to do than steal other people's soon to be girlfriend? 

He saw how she squirmed nervously, unused to the intensity of Imelda's piercing gaze.  "Um well..I'm sure Sebastian won't mind if I push off one night.  We spend so much of our time-"

"-Excellent." Imelda clicked her tongue.  "I'm so looking forward to seeing you on the field.  Come prepared."

With the last foreboding warning, Imelda turned around, completely unbothered at all the other students staring at her bold advances.  She strode back to the Slytherin table with the same expression plastered on her face as her winning the House Cup. Imelda plopped herself right next to Sebastian, snatching a cold piece of toast from Sebastian's plate.

"And that, my dear Housemate, is how Slytherins get what they want." 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“Sebastian!”

Sebastian walked away from the entrance of the Great Hall even faster.  Maybe if he pretended he couldn’t hear her, his crush would just eventually give up. 

A sharp tug on the back of his robes made Sebastian stop in his tracks.  Reluctantly, he turned to look at her.

Her cheeks were ruddy with exertion, giving her face a natural blush.  She looked rather flustered, an expression that has been on her face too much of late. 

She panted.  It took a lot of energy to chase after Sebastian, almost as if he was actively trying to avoid him. “Sebastian, I won't be able to meet you in the library tonight.  Imelda invited me to some late night quidditch practice.

His lips curled.  'Late night quidditch practice'.  Oh it would certainly be late all right, but Sebastian had very little faith that they would be practicing "quidditch".

Sebastian's throat was too tight.  He felt nauseous.  "Oh great, Ominis.  Me.  Imelda.  You just seem to bounce from Slytherin to Slytherin, I see." 

She flinched at his words.  Her voice turned icy.  "I mean, we study every night together Sebastian.  It's not like missing one night is a big deal."

A hot wave of embarrassment settled in his stomach.  He was an absolute idiot for hoping for anything different.  Their nightly study sessions were the highlight of Sebastian's day.  The candles in the library always seems to frame her beautiful portrait so nicely in the lights and shadows.  Whenever she was stuck on a particularly difficult essay, she would nibble on the tip of her quill, an adorably bad habit that Sebastian had grown quite fond of.  He always saved his fun stories, cute little puns, and teasing for the very end of the day.  On the days that seemed particularly stressed, Sebastian would transfigure some parchment in a flying crane, that would peck at her cheeks incessantly until she started giggling.  Sometimes they would play a game, in which Sebastian would do everything within his power to absolutely distract her from her studies.  Other times, there would just be soft comfortable silence as the two close friends read in the dying candlelight.  Eventually, one of them, usually her, would nod off silently into their textbook, and the other (usually Sebastian) would summon a blanket to drape over their cold shoulders. 

His parents were the same.  Constantly up all night curled on their plush sofas, holding each other's hands as they read their ancient tomes before putting Sebastian and Anne to sleep.  It was some of the last remaining memories Sebastian had of them before they died. 

He thought what they had together was something similar.  Clearly, Sebastian was wrong.  How could he be so foolish getting so attached to that clearly meant so little to her?

"Well, have fun getting your heart crushed.  Don't come crying to me whenever Reyes dumps you." 

Sebastian turned his back to her before he could see the look of utter devastation on her face.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Next part: Part 4

Taglist: @dragonstoneshortcake @tarotwitchy-main @solariia

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hphl #harry potter #sebastian sallow fic #ominis gaunt #harry potter hogwarts game #jealous!sebastian #imelda reyes

[bellaxgiornata]

YOU GUYS!!! I DID IT! I HAVE WRITTEN AND PUBLISHED OVER ONE MILLION WORDS ON AO3!!!

I have been on AO3 almost 1 year and 1 month now and my initial goal was to reach that milestone before one year once I realized how close I was, but it took me a few weeks past that. But holy hell. I have written SO much and I can't even believe it. And most of that is juat Matt Murdock fics 😅 Y'all I am not okay when it comes to him. Clearly.

Okay, but now I'm wondering how long before I reach two million words?

#ao3 author #ao3 #writing milestone #ONE MILLION WORDS 🎉 #can my brain stop yet? #matt murdock #daredevil

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: in your own time

Aziraphale and Crowley grew up together as next-door neighbours on Hogback Lane, classmates at the local Catholic school, and inseparable best friends. By the age of eighteen, both were hopelessly in love with the other, despite the knowledge that they were doomed to live apart, as Crowley aimed to pursue university study in London and Aziraphale committed himself to remaining in Tadfield, dedicating his life to the Church. After almost twenty years spent away from his hometown, renowned botanist Crowley decides to come and visit Tadfield again at a moment's notice; the purpose of his visit is to speak at a Careers Day for the school he and Aziraphale, now a beloved priest and a frequent helper at the school, attended. The twenty-four hours that follow will change both of their lives for ever.

Length: 33,632 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, After Dark, Human AU

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by ineffabildaddy

*Minor Spoilers* I'm proud to say that I was the third hit count on this one and I had no idea it was being posted. This is a STUNNING priest AU, and this is going to be a long rec post.

Crowley and Aziraphale are estranged childhood friends here. Aziraphale was put on track to become a priest, and could not walk away. Crowley had to leave and find his own path. Personally, I love that plotline because it gives me a connection to their 6,000 years of friendship that I like to see revisited in Human AUs. We only get brief flashbacks to their youth, but it is enough to know how much they loved each other then. They go through life content, but incomplete. Each aware that their soulmate is out there, but reconnection feels impossible. That magic is not gone yet, and an unexpected reunion was just the spark they needed.

Crowley's portrayal here is especially soft and tender. His blend of anxiety and genuine confidence is as charming as ever, but it's his understanding and acceptance that truly shine. He never blames Aziraphale for the way things have unfolded. There's no punishment for the past from him, only unwavering support and love. He's so loving and safe, praising and doting on Aziraphale with pet names. I know Aziraphale is going to be cared for now.

Aziraphale's relationship to God and the Church was such a gorgeous journey. He was put on this Earth to do good and provide comfort to his community. Just like the canon though he'll need to separate out the Institution (Heaven/The Church) from God. His moral compass is so strong, "heavy, gilded, reliable". He just needed to learn to trust that voice. And not the voice of those who have forced him to conform to their will. The narrative never villainizes Aziraphale for staying with the church. He just needed some separation and someone to catch him. To be shown that love is holy. The church is not God, he will not be destroyed for acting on his love. I won't quote the whole thing but on Crowley's side, there is a stunning description of what he finds holy and worth of worship. That I am going to reread 1 million times. This story speaks to the late bloomers, the closeted, and the repressed—the queers who have hidden and suppressed their desires to conform to please others. It's for those whose lives seem to have slipped by, filled with missed opportunities and immobilizing fear. It holds us close and tells us, "It's never too late, my love." I often get stuck on "lost time", times I've felt I've wasted in my life. So reading, "It's never too late to do whatever it was you were always meant to do, as long as you do it when you're ready. It's never too late to look into the future, to conceive of a world which makes you grin with excitement and banish all dread from your mind." well, it made me emotional okay!!

Oh and it's hot as fuck. So there's also that. Like seriously, it'll creep up on you here. It'll be some gorgeous line about the human condition or whatever, and then the filthiest most delicious line imaginable! It was like an electric shock to me. The confessional scene had me weak in the knees!!!! I can't say enough times I love this story. The first several chapters are safe in public, but you will hit a point that it is not! Proceed at your own pleasure

Read it here, fic by ineffabildaddy

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fanfic rec #aziracrow #good omens fic rec #aziraphale x crowley #in your own time #ineffabildaddy #mostly safe in public #after dark #human au #religion au #plants au #five flames #faves of the blog #medium

[violetsaffron5]

Beautiful Disaster (2)

← Chapter 1 • series masterlist • Chapter 3 →

↳ 2 | Foreplay

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

spending the night with Gojo Satoru

cw: oral sex, face-fucking, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, rough sex, choking, breath play, drunk sex, fuck is said like a million times this chapter

words: 3.5k

an: changed the name of the fic pls don't come after me (or do i'm not your mother)

an2.0: I wanted there to be a known large time gap between the past and present in last chapter, so I changed the "present" to be 2018 (in line with the manga) and "past" to be 2011 (solely bc i didn't want to go too far in the past and think about flip phones and shit)

Taglist • Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

Gojo’s hands linger on your sides before moving slowly down the fabric of your dress, fingertips grazing the bare skin of your thigh before moving his hands back, squeezing your ass and hoisting you up. 

Lips still latched, barely paying any attention to what’s going on around you, he carries you out of the kitchen where you hear a shocked “what the fuck?” from Utahime before squeezing your legs tighter around him as he ascends a staircase.

When he makes it to the landing, tongues still entwined with one another, he removes a hand from your waist and places it against the wall, feeling where he’s going until his hand is on a knob, twisting it open, entering and then using his foot to kick it closed.

Gojo takes a few steps, stumbling when one knee hits the bed, causing you both to topple on top of the plush mattress with a series of drunken giggles between kisses. He grinds his hips down on yours, causing you to gasp when you feel his hard length through his pants press into your core.

There’s moonlight filtering in through the single window of the room, giving just enough light to where you can see his face and make out the form of his body, and he can do the same with you.

Sitting up, he removes his shirt, unbuckles the belt you didn’t realize he had on and kicks off his jeans while you slip the dress off. 

You both groan into each other when he leans back down, lips hastily and sloppily finding one another again, feeling Gojo’s weight push you further into the mattress, his warm chest pressed against your hardened nipples.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he mutters, moving a hand down to your lower back and lifting your hips to meet his at a better angle, circling his hips on top of yours. The only thing keeping you separated is the thin fabrics of your panties and his briefs, the wet spot on your panties growing by the second.

You’re gasping, moaning out his name and rutting your hips further and harder into his when he kisses a trail down your neck and slips one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the hardened bud.

When Gojo nips and tugs on your nipple playfully, he brings his other hand up to tweak the other. You have a hand in his soft, fluffy white hair, pushing him down further into you. He groans as you do this, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through your body - your hand that’s on his shoulder digs in, leaving little crescent moons in your wake.

Gojo moves down, slowly, teasingly. The moonlight is casting a shadow over his face, enough to where to can still make out the hungry look in his eyes, watching you as he licks and kisses past your navel, leisurely sliding himself off the end of his bed where he hooks his fingers through the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs until they’re off.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he says and you can feel your face flush when you sit up and see him pushing your thighs further apart, exposing your glistening pussy.

And then you feel it - the little metal ball attached to his tongue when he dips his head down, licking a strip between your holds, the ball making contact with your clit where he swirls it around a few times.

“Oh god,” you’re moaning, gripping his hair harder than you intended, toes curling at the contact and your back arches off the bed immediately.

You can feel the vibration of his chuckle start at the apex of your thighs, running through the rest of your body, arousal coating his tongue and he continues. It’s messy; spit and slick dripping from your soaked cunt. It’s sure to be all over his face but he doesn’t seem to care.

There’s a knot forming in the center of your stomach, one nobody has ever made you feel without the help of toys, while he sucks and runs the ball of his tongue ring over your clit in small, dizzying circles.

Gojo’s able to easily slip two thick fingers in past your entrance, walls clenching around them as he feels around your soft walls for the spot he’s searching for, and when he finds it, brushing past it several times your body curves up, hips moving on their own against his tongue, needily fucking his face.

And judging by the loud groans he lets slip past his lips, he’s loving every second of it.

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head when the knot in your belly unravels, free falling off cliffs of pleasure as your orgasm rips through you. Legs trembling as he keeps them spread open wide, watching as you squeeze your eyes closed, moving his fingers in and out of your pussy, working you through your release.

As soon as he withdraws his hand, looking up to meet your gaze, your lips are on his, taking him by surprise, accidentally knocking the two of you to the ground where he lands with a “humph,” you on top of him.

“Most girls won’t kiss me after,” he murmurs, flipping you over on to your back as he sheds his briefs, releasing his cock. It’s hard to make it out, in the dim light from the window but you can see the pre-cum glistening from the red tip, and he’s long, pressed against his hard abdominals, a shadow being cast on each dip and curve of muscle.

The sound of his nightstand drawer opening breaks you from your thoughts on his body, and the sound of a toil packet being ripped open before rolling a condom down his length brings you right back to it.

“Gonna fuck you hard,” he says, voice gravely with need.

“Okay,” you whisper with an urgency that tells him all he needs to know. His cock is lined up to your entrance before you’re able to even consider if you can take all of him.

When Gojo pushes in, your mouths fall slack against one another and you let out a low whimper from being stretched more than you ever have before.

On the floor, you’ve become more acutely aware of the bass heavy music being played from the living room below, the vibrations caressing you from every direction as you wrap your ankles around Gojo’s calves when he’s fully seated inside of you.

He moves his hips a few times in slow, shallow pumps before be really starts fucking you. His pace is relentless, the sound of lewd squelching and skin slapping becoming more and more apparent over the muffled music from below.

When he circles his hips into yours he brings a hand up, resting it on the smooth column of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, much at least, just enough to add a little extra pressure, heightening your inebriated senses.

He sighs a breath of relief when you accept it, kissing you hurriedly like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do in life, before sitting back on the balls of his feet bringing your hips along with his, keeping your bodies fully connected.

“Wrap your legs around me.” His voice is demanding, so you listen. With your ankles locked, he grabs both of your wrists, holding them flush against your sides, using them to hold you in place as he moves his hips into your recklessly.

Gojo’s brutal pace has you crying out in pleasure, tears forming in the corner of your eyes each time his cock hits that sweet spot he was just caressing with his fingers several minutes ago.

You’re in a severe arch, shoulders rubbing against the carpet with each pump of his hips but all you’re able to focus on is the immense pleasure he’s bringing you. Your tits are bouncing so beautifully for him in the moonlight, he’s transfixed.

Hooking his arm under one of your legs, he lifts it up to his shoulder, changing your position just enough to push you to the brink of your next orgasm. Before tonight, you weren’t even sure if you’d be able to get off from penetration alone but Gojo Satoru is going to push that theory out the window.

With a few more pumps of his hips you’re crying out, “fuck, Goj-ah- Satoru,” as you shatter around him, hand gripping around his wrists.

He thrusts a few more times, feeling the way your walls spasms and contract around him as you moan his name so breathy and sweet and it’s enough to bring him to his own end, letting out a loud groan.

Gojo holds your hips close to his before pulling out and gently setting your ass back down on the floor, laying next to you. Both of your chests rising and falling, trying to steady your breathing.

“Shit, that was -”

“I know.” Gojo says, leaning over to kiss the smooth column of your throat, nipping at the base of your neck because he just can’t help himself right now.

“Nobody has ever made me cum like that,” your drunken admission makes him chuckle, his large hands wandering your body as if he’s trying to memorize every dip, curve and valley.

Taking a deep breath you wonder why you even bothered to tell him that before swiping your tongue over your teeth, feeling his soft lips move to your jaw, closing your eyes and humming softly at the feeling.

There’s heat radiating next to you when your eyes flutter open, vision blurred from lack of sleep and head pounding from alcohol consumption the night before. Your face is turned, nose pressed into Gojo’s cheek while his face is buried in your neck, light snores filling your ear and hot breaths tickling your neck.

Your phone rings suddenly, causing you to jump slightly, but you already know who’s calling so early. So, rather than answer the call from your mother you grab your phone from the nightstand and turn it on silent. There’s no way you can deal with the amount of crazy she is likely calling you with - and you really don’t give a shit either.

You’re certain she’s calling because you told her you’d let her know when you arrived on campus, which you failed to do. But, she should also know by now, you were never going to actually keep her up to date.

After all, she’s the reason you transferred to Tokyo, to get away.

Gojo’s eyes are still closed so you take the opportunity of him sleeping to take in the position you're laying in: on the bed even though the last thing you remember is falling asleep on the floor. Your legs are entwined with his, so you untangle them and stretch out, noting how unbelievably sore your legs are. The pillow you’re using is his arm, tucked under your head with fingers loosely wrapped around his wrist.

Peeling yourself away, you sit up and look around the room you really weren’t paying much attention to last night, hissing as the soft sheets rub against your back, noting the rug burns from fucking on the carpet last night. It’s clearly his room, with a laundry hamper filled to the brim, clothes falling out onto the floor next to it. There are a couple manga strewn around, a few books thrown onto a chair in the corner of the room, and one of them says something about civil litigation.

You can feel Gojo’s gaze on you, burning a hole on the back of your head while you stand, hissing at the stretch before shamelessly trekking to the door on the opposite side of the room, finding a bathroom, naked.

The bathroom is a decent size, double sinks with a large mirror that’s messy with remnants of toothpaste and water having splashed onto it. The toilet and shower are in a small separate section with their own door to divide the space.

Taking a deep breath and checking yourself in the mirror, you note the several lilac bruises and red marks that developed overnight, strewn across your collarbone and a few at the base of your neck. There are a few others along your hips and thighs from where his fingertips dug in. Turning around and checking your back, you can see the red scraps from the carpet that will take some time to heal.

Your eyes are tired, showing the obvious lack of sleep you got. Pressing your hands to the counter you blow a stream of air out from between your lips wondering just what the fuck possessed you to sleep with him after barely talking to him.

Sure, he’s attractive, and he made you laugh a few times but is that all it really took for him to get you up to his room and buried between your legs?

You shake the thoughts because it really doesn’t matter at this point. Plus, it’s hard to be too mad at yourself for how easily you let him stick his face between your thighs when it was fun and left you fully satisfied for the first time.

After using the restroom, you wash your hands and find a bottle of pain relievers on the counter and pop a few to help with the headache.

Making your way back to the bedroom you plan to gather your things and leave when you notice Gojo sitting on the side of his bed, just as naked as you are, head resting in his hands.

“Any plans today?” He asks awkwardly, like he feels like he should say something just because you’re awake at the same time.

You give a faint laugh and a small smile, walking over and stretching out your hand. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, beautiful eyes just as exhausted as yours, before opening his palm where you drop a few pain relievers.

“Found them in the bathroom, thought you might have a headache too.” He mumbles a “gotcha,” before tossing them in his mouth, easily swallowing before you answer his question, “I have some reading I need to start for a few classes, and meet my roommate. Nothing too exciting.”

He nods, azure eyes roaming your exposed frame before placing a large, warm hand on your hip, rubbing small circles with this thumb. The contact causes your skin to flush, biting your lip.

“C’mere,” he says quietly, pulling you onto his lap where you’re face to face, and once again you just let him because if last night was a good time then this morning has to be guaranteed too.

Gojo doesn’t waste any time locking lips with yours, trailing a hand along your shoulders down to your waist before gripping your hips and rocking you against him again.

“Still so wet,” he practically whines when he snakes his hand between your legs and quickly runs his fingers through your folds before drawing tight little circles on your clit.

You move from kissing his lips to his jaw, down his throat stopping to nip and suck a spot on his Adam's apple - pay back for littering your neck and chest. He groans at the feeling while he leans over to his end table, plastic rustling around as he grabs a condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

He quickly rolls it down his hard length when you raise your hips before positioning you over top him, running the tip between your folds and nudging your clit ever so gently in place of his hand.

You’re whining at the contact, hands in his hair tugging as he teases you a few times before slowly sinking you down on his cock.

He hisses, “god - so tight,” as he stretches you, inch by inch and it feels so fucking good you can’t help but clench around him, “oh good - good fucking girl.”

“S’good,” you murmur once your hips are flesh with his, cock buried all the way to the hilt, “feels so, s’good.”

You roll your hips once, feeling the tip nudge against a spot that almost hurts. He goes slow, helping you bounce in deliberate, short spurts until he can’t take it anymore and he’s lifting you almost all the way off his length and letting you drop all the way down again.

Gojo lifts his hips, meeting each bounce with his own hard thrust, the blunt end of his cock hitting that spot that aches so deliciously each time it happens. You’re a mess, burying your head in the crook of his neck as you deliriously moan “right there” and “please don’t stop,” over and over again.

The thread in your core is threatening to snap at any moment, but rather than the words tumbling from your lips to warn him, you latch your lips with his, eager to feel the little metal ball swirl and glide against your own tongue.

Pulling your bodies in closer, soft breasts against his hard chest, clit rubbing against his abdomen with each pump of his hips - it’s all so much that the thread keeping you together easily breaks, letting you free fall into wave after wave of pleasure.

“Yes, yesyesyes,” you mumble on his lips as your walls clench and tighten around his cock like a noose.

“Oh, damn- oh, fuck,” he groans, pistoning his hips into yours relentlessly, chasing his own high until he finds it, holding you down, fingertips digging into your hips once again as his release floods into the condom so hard he’s actually thankful he decided to put one on.

Sweaty foreheads are pressed against one another as you both work to catch your breaths, the world slowly coming back into focus after a few minutes, making you painfully aware of how loud the two of you may have been when you hear commotion coming from outside the door.

He seems to realize it too, with the way he lifts you off his cock without a second thought before removing the condom, tying it off and tossing it into a trashcan near his bed. He leans back on the mattress, elbow shielding his eyes from the light filtering in through the window.

You take that as your cue to grab your dress from the floor and throw it on, not bothering to even try and search for your panties that are nowhere in sight. They’ve clearly gotten lost in the shuffle of clothes and bodies last night, and you’re not about to search under his bed for the thin fabric.

“I’ll, uh, walk you out,” Gojo says when he stands, grabbing a pair of briefs, jeans and a shirt from his dresser and closet while you slip your heels back on and grab your phone.

When you emerge from his room, you can hear Suguru and Sukuna talking and laughing about something you can’t make out. There’s a landing on this floor, just outside of Satoru’s room that you didn’t notice last night. There are a few chairs, a futon and a television in this space before leading to two sets of stairs; one going to the kitchen where you remember coming from last night.

Gojo places his hand on the small of your back, leading you towards the set of stairs that goes towards the living room and front door. As soon as your foot hits the steps he retracts his hand, slipping them both in his pocket as the two of you walk down the steps.

Most of the other party goers have already left, either last night or this morning - Suguru and Sukuna appear to be cleaning up the cups that have been left behind, and the pile of narcotics on the coffee table, while the pink haired girl from last night and one other you don’t recognize sit on the couch and play on their phones.

You can feel several sets of eyes on you when you come down the stairs, everyone growing quiet from not having realized you had stayed the night too. 

Pursing your lips, you do your best to smile at Suguru who nods his head at Gojo but clearly looks annoyed, not meeting your gaze.

Sukuna, on the other hand, looks more than amused by this turn of events but it doesn’t stop him from raising an eyebrow when he sees Gojo following behind.

“Hey, so I’ll call you or whatever,” Gojo says when you awkwardly open the front door. He places two fingers under your chin, drawing your attention up to him before placing a quick, soft kiss to your lips before you step out of the house and make your way back to your dorm room.

A wry chuckle leaves your lips about halfway to your dorm just down the road about the night before and how fucking awkward that was coming down the stairs only to be seen and greeted by his roommates.

You’re also not sure why he even bothered lying, saying he was going to call you later when he never asked for your number to begin with.

@petalsrdead @sugurunicorn @niki-sun @lilith412426 @sofiaconlaz @lxvephxbic @kash2 @violetsapplejuice @iam-mia9 @laylasbunbunny @creolequeen11210 @xiaosie @lem-hhn @s-witch-bitch @yogurttea @slut-jr @watyousayin

#gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojou satoru angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #gojo smut #Violetsaffronfic #BD

[veliseraptor]

Fic Writer Interview

I was tagged by @anghraine - thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

under my main pseudonym that I actually use these days, 610. total, across pseuds, we're looking at 1,013.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

4,930,564, which is so close to 5 million!!! we'll see if I hit that threshold this year, I might if all goes well with big bang fic

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I thought I could do this from memory and I was so close, only missed two.

Life in Reverse (13,990)

With Absolute Splendor (10,436)

some good mistakes (6,551)

The Villain Wrangler (4,445)

half a league onward (4,437)

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do not, because I don't know what to say, get overwhelmed, fall behind, get more overwhelmed, and ultimately end up with a backlog I don't feel capable of dealing with so I just don't. I feel bad about this periodically (often) but I don't do anything with that feeling. Just kinda feel bad.

5. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I've written a lot of fics with angsty endings but I might have to give this one to Mercy, because that was a very mean fic on the whole. arguably even meaner than my other murder/suicide fic.

6. What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I have a hard time with this question because I feel like most times my happy endings are at least touched with some kind of bitterness or loss or at least underlying open door that could be a problem down the line, or, like, lingering trauma.

but on the other hand I'm sure I have written generally happy endings in my backlog of fics, there's just a lot of fic in there so it's hard for me to pull them out, because they're probably also the ones that I find less memorable.

in some ways I think With Absolute Splendor might get this one, because it feels like it has ones of the strongest sense of earned catharsis, even if everything isn't all the way fixed. there's probably happier endings in terms of world state, but that's one where the ending feels happier because it doesn't start that way. but how this grace thing works is also one of the fics where I feel like it's on the whole softer/tenderer than my usual work.

7. Do you write crossovers?

not really! I wrote a few once upon a time, and a couple pastiches (one fandom in the style of another fandom), but those are years behind me and I'm not generally a crossover person as a rule.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

oh yes. most of it more entertaining than truly upsetting, but there are a few exceptions. my favorite remains the person who was really bothered by the fact that my Black Jewels Trilogy fic wasn't High School Musical fic. still no idea what was going on there.

9. Do you write smut?

sure do. I haven't been writing as much these days (but then, I haven't been writing as much these days, full stop) and I've never been all that much of a pwp writer but it's still very much a part of my writing.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

once, some time ago - I think it was Life in Reverse got posted on Wattpad. oh, though there was also another MCU fic that got reposted on AO3, but the person deleted it pretty quickly when I commented to inform them I didn't appreciate their doing so.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! into a few languages and it's always super cool and flattering to me.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have the one in progress but never anything I've finished/posted. I've done a lot of RP over the years but I always kept it pretty squarely separate from my fic writing.

13. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I've had a lot of all-time favorite ships, and there are plenty for fandoms I'm no longer really in that stick around in my head for longer than I'm really participating in the fandom (Celegorm/Aredhel is notable for this), but I think I will say that Xue Yang/Xiao Xingchen occupies a very particular kind of sort of insane place in my brain that feels relatively unique. so I'll give this one to them.

14. What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

oh lord, so many of them. mostly various MCU wips I'll probably never finish but where I'm like "this was a good idea and I like what I have of it so far, too bad the MCU killed my caring about the MCU." outside of those...I'm so loathe to accept that things will or might remain unfinished, so I'll go with one of those and say the "Hela is around when Thor and Loki are growing up" one, which would've been so good and I still sometimes toy with the idea of returning to, only, you know. aforementioned "caring about the original canon" issue making it hard to actually do the writing thing.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I've been slowly filling out this meme for a while and I left this question conspicuously blank almost to the last. I think my strongest area is probably dialogue, though I worry that I'm giving myself too much credit there. I think I'm pretty good at writing it, though. it certainly is one of the pieces of writing that comes most easily to me.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

description and action, for sure. I tend to skimp on description in a way that probably weakens much of my writing (I have so much respect for writers with good descriptive language), and I loathe writing action scenes the way that I loathe writing few things - it always feels like wrestling a bear. I usually know what I want to have happen as a result but getting there is just. very hard.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

something you gotta be very careful with. I was going to say I almost never do it, but the one exception to that is Lymond Chronicles where I do it a lot, but that's because it's a fairly important part of the style of canon and I'm just. following that lead. otherwise, I tend to shy away from it personally, partly because I write from pretty deep in a character's head and if they don't understand what's being said in another language then that's what I want to convey in the story, rather than giving the reader privileged access to what's being said that the character doesn't have.

does that sound really pretentious? probably.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

technically I wrote a cracky Harry Potter fic first, but I consider my first actual fandom to be Wheel of Time.

19. What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

either bingjiu or beefleaf are two pairings that I love and have a lot of strong feelings about but haven't actually managed to write anything for, and both are on my list as like...just #waiting for the right idea.

also hua cheng/mu qing, which is a tiny pairing of my heart that Needs Me (or whatever) and I know the kind of fic I want to write for it but actually executing it is, as usual, proving harder.

20. What's your favorite fic you've written?

it fluctuates wildly depending on mood, but I'll give this one for now to the backyard is full of bones - it was the first project I bound into a book, which I feel like says something for it.

tagging @gloriousmonsters, @curiosity-killed, @mikkeneko, @brawlite, and @feralkwe; not actually sure how many people I'm "supposed" to tag on this one so if you want to do it consider yourself tagged as well.

#lise memes #confessions of a frustrated writer #memeing instead of dealing with my bad feelings

[phoen1xr0se]

New Fic on AO3: Don't Fall Away From Me

Thought I would be brave and post my post S2 fanfic - it's set shortly after the TRAUMATIC events of Season 2 and throws Crowley and Muriel together into an adventure neither of them expected when Aziraphale goes AWOL. Lots of angst, very fluff, a few giggles. Feedback welcome.

Image credit: @mistysblueboxstuff (AMAZING ARTIST)

Don't Fall Away From Me - Chapter One MURIEL

Today is my fortieth day on Earth as a human bookseller. It seemed important to keep records of my time here on Earth - after all, record-keeping is what I do best - and I was inspired by Mr. Fell the traitor the Supreme Archangel's own personal records. I discovered a whole heap of them at the back of the shop on my second day, and although I am unsure who "Diary" is, or what the purpose is of describing how a demon's hair moves in the breeze, I do very much admire dedication to accurate record-keeping. I will be keeping a log of my activities and the things I have learned about humanity.

Here are some of the things I have learned so far:

1 - There isn't much book selling that goes along with the job. Or interacting with humans, really , which is a bit disappointing. Rather, I sit in the shop all day and wait for customers that never come, and read. I like the reading, and I'm used to being alone after millions of years as a scrivener, so it's not all bad.

2 - Books are brilliant! They hold so much information, and somehow make you feel as if you are another person for a little while. I am learning so much about humanity by reading all their funny little stories. I still haven't quite figured out why humans do it, create wild stories and put them in print, but it's jolly good fun.

3 - Maggie (a human) is very kind. She comes in every morning and asks me if I want anything from the coffee shop. I always say no, of course, but she comes by anyway. She is always helping me to understand things better.

4 - Nina (another human) seems less kind but is actually nice. There is a human saying that says "don't judge a book by its cover" and I discovered that it doesn't actually describe books, but people who behave differently than their appearance might suggest. Isn't that funny? But it is a good description of Nina. Nina doesn't speak to me much but did give a bag of clothes to Maggie to pass on to me, which was super kind of her. After all, my human police officer outfit was no longer suitable, and I was a little unsure about miracleing myself a new outfit in case I got it wrong. As it turned out, apparently putting on every item in the bag was also a mistake, but Maggie helped me to fix it.

5 - Every night at sundown, a large black car drives slowly past the bookshop. I always try and wave to Mr Crowley but he doesn't seem to see me, which is odd as I believe he used to spend a lot of time here. This behaviour seems suspicious, especially for a former demon, which is why I am noting it.

Muriel closed the leather-bound journal with a satisfying clap and looked around the bookshop. The sky was darkening outside, and as if by magic, the flickering low-level lighting around the bookshop sputtered into life, casting Muriel and the books into a warm yellow glow.

"Three, two, one..." whispered Muriel, and, just as expected, they heard the low growl of an engine approaching. A black Bentley pulled into view, going as slowly as a car could. As always, Muriel approached the window and waved cheerily. From behind the wheel, the driver gave no indiciation that he had seen Muriel's wave - his face was set like stone and kept on driving, out of sight.

Across the road, Muriel saw that Maggie and Nina had also been following the car's movements from the coffee shop. They were exchanging words. Maggie shook her head and Nina's eyes met Muriel's. She raised her hand in a wave. Muriel went to wave back when they realised that Nina was actually waving at them to come over.

Muriel froze, flustered. They hadn't actually left the bookshop since being appointed to be its protector - they took the responsibility of protecting the Supreme Archangel's personal property very seriously indeed. But why shouldn't they venture out and interact with these humans? After all, they had been so excited to get out of the office and onto Earth, why waste an opportunity? It would look more suspicious to avoid them, Muriel decided, so they left the shop and crossed the street, smiling brightly at the two women.

"Hello Muriel," said Maggie, smiling. "I like your outfit today. Very... bright."

Muriel looked down at their choices for today, green knee length socks, a yellow corduroy skirt, a sparkly purple belt and a rainbow poncho. "Thanks! I love how much colour you... we... humans have to choose from. Colours are the best."

Nina and Maggie exchanged a look. "Hey, come inside for a coffee," said Nina. "We need to talk."

Muriel's face flickered with panic at being offered a beverage, but Maggie gently touched their arm. "It's alright, Muriel, you don't need to drink anything if you don't want to. It's just what... we... humans say sometimes as an excuse to sit and chat."

Muriel beamed. "Oh, well, of course, I knew that."

Muriel followed Maggie and Nina into Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death, and let their eyes wander over the brightly painted walls. Sometimes it felt like their eyes couldn't take it all in, all the colour, all the EVERYTHING, everywhere. It was so vastly different from the infinite, empty whiteness they had been accustomed to in Heaven.

"Right," said Nina, after making two coffees and sitting down at a table in the empty cafe, "we need to talk about our friend Mr Crowley."

Muriel flinched. "He is not MY friend, I barely even know him. I mean, I arrested him once, but not really... and he's a de- de-" Muriel faltered, trying to think of a cover for her mistake.

"A... demon?" suggested Maggie softly.

Muriel let out a very unconvincing laugh. "A... what? A... no, don't be so... I mean, what are you... we humans don't believe in... in..." Their eyes flicked between Maggie and Nina wildly.

"It's okay, you don't have to lie," said Nina with a wry smile. "We may be human but we're not stupid. We know about Heaven and Hell and all you... lot," she finished lamely. "I mean I can't even believe that these words are coming out of my mouth, but here we are. I'm having coffee with an angel! I mean, I'm assuming you are, anyway - you don't strike me as the demon type."

Maggie smiled at Nina whilst Muriel struggled to find a reply. On the one hand, they were meant to be inhabiting Earth discreetly and it was entirely possible that they could get into a lot of trouble for having their identity revealed. But on the other, it would be so nice not to have to lie anymore... and Maggie and Nina had been so very kind to them so far.

"You don't need to worry, Muriel, we're not trying to cause trouble for you. I rather think we may have done too much of that already," said Maggie, her blue eyes clouded with worry. "Do you know what happened between Mr Fell and Mr Crowley on that day?"

Maggie didn't need to remind anybody which day she meant. Muriel shook their head. "No. Crowley said that he wanted them to have some "us" time at the Ritz, whatever that is, and then Azira... uh, Mr Fell, came in to tell him about his big promotion."

"Promotion?"

"Yes!" Muriel beamed, remembering. "You see, he was talking to the Metatron - that's the voice of God, you know - and he was offered the job of Supreme Archangel! Since, you know, Gabriel decided to go off with..." Muriel trailed off. They found the whole thing rather puzzling still. "So that's why I am here now, looking after the bookshop, and Az... I mean, Mr Fell, is, you know..." they pointed upwards. "Up there."

Maggie and Nina exchanged dark looks. "So... he left, then. And... how did Mr Crowley take this news?" asked Maggie. "After all, it seemed as though they had known each other for quite some time. Was he... okay?"

Muriel shrugged their shoulders. "I don't know. Apparently Metatron had told Mr Fell that he could restore Crowley into an angel and return to Heaven... but I don't see how that could have worked, after everything he's done. I mean, he is a demon, after all. I don't really see how any of this works. Mr Fell isn't exactly the first person I should think of when I think of a Supreme Archangel. I mean, he spends time with demons and humans, and... ingesting things..." Their eyes rested on the half-drunk coffee cups on the table and wrinkled their nose.

All three of them were silent for a moment.

"Well we know Mr Crowley didn't take him up on that offer, and we know that he's been coming by here every night since," said Nina matter-of-factly. "I think we can probably assume the poor man is heartbroken." Maggie nodded sadly in agreement.

"What... what do you mean?" questioned Muriel, looking quizzically at Nina.

"You know, Mr Fell and that Crowley. They're in love. We were trying to help them work it out so they'd stop hopping around the issue, but I feel like we were probably too late."

Muriel's eyes were wide as saucers. "In... love?"

Muriel felt a strange feeling pass through their body. They had read lots about love already, and not the celestial peaceful kind of love but the human kind - complicated, confusing emotional love - to Muriel, it all seemed a bit far-fetched but humans seemed to be totally mad about it! They'd read dozens of stories where humans did all kinds of incredible, unthinkable and unexpected things, and all for this very abstract concept of love. With a sudden sinking feeling, they recalled how many passages of Aziraphale's journal were devoted to describing the demon Crowley in painstaking detail. The description of his flame-red hair being tousled by a sea breeze and how the light would catch his shining yellow eyes. They recalled seeing Crowley drape across an armchair with barely an inch between him and Aziraphale. The way Crowley had called Aziraphale "angel" without a hint of irony. The way Crowley now stayed so close to the bookshop once owned by Aziraphale but refused to look directly at it.

Blinking, they looked over at Maggie and Nina, who had fallen into bickering over whether or not they had helped or hindered the couple, blithely unaware of the revelation Muriel was experiencing.

"I... need to get back to the bookshop now," said Muriel, standing up abruptly. "Thank you for inviting me for the 'coffee and chat'."

"Oh, okay... I also wanted to let you know that it's the monthly Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association Meeting tomorrow evening, I've had my arm twisted into holding it here. You'll come?" said Nina.

"It'll be a nice opportunity to meet some of the other traders," said Maggie with a reassuring smile. "If you're going to be sticking around a while, it'll be good for you to get to know the neighbourhood properly. And we'll be there in case you..." she paused briefly, "I mean, to help you if you need it."

"Er, yes, if that's what a human bookseller does then I will be there," said Muriel, pasting on a smile that didn't quite reach their eyes. They thanked Nina and Maggie again and returned to the bookshop, locking the door behind them and making their way to the small bedroom, the soft yellow lights extinguishing themselves as they walked by.

Muriel had taken over the bedroom that had been formerly occupied by Gabriel the amnesiac Archangel, and a small miracle had seen the tiny room turn a vibrant shade of lavender, and pictures of random things that Muriel had drawn lined the walls above their bed. Muriel changed into an oversized Back To The Future T-Shirt and climbed into bed. They had no need to sleep, but they had begun to spend their nights lying in bed reading and feigning sleep to keep up appearances. Tonight, though, Muriel's mind was whirring with brand new information, and they weren't sure that they would be able to concentrate on the unfinished copy of Persuasion on their bedside table.

After a few minutes of staring blankly at the ceiling, Muriel got up from bed and crept back into the bookshop. From Aziraphale's desk, they picked up a book bound in green leather and padded quietly back to bed. They held the book carefully in their hands and, despite having already skimmed through some of it, somehow realised that reading it this time would be quite different. What Nina and Maggie had unintentionally revealed to them, they knew, deep down, somehow changed... everything.

Taking a deep breath, Muriel opened the first page and began to read, and for the first time, also understood.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #neil gaiman #aziracrow #david tennant #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #muriel #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #ineffable bureaucracy #writing to cope with trauma #seriously season 2 destroyed me #but i guess im a writer now #good omens fandom #crowly x aziraphale

[thatonebirdwrites]

Fanfic Writer Questions!

Thanks for the tag, @fazedlight

1- How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 19 works on AO3.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

Do y'all really want to know? Welp. Okay, since you asked.

According to the stats section of AO3, I have published 1,338,126 words on AO3. (Not including my recently deleted fic which was 23,000-ish words).

A million of those words are Korrasami fics.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Korrasami (The Legend of Korra) and Supercorp (Supergirl - Arrowverse).

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Confession (Supercorp) at 854 kudos, which was a rewrite of the end of Season 4.

You are the only one that sees me, trusts me, and believes in me (Supercorp) at 411 kudos, which is a one-shot of Kara telling Lena the truth after Lena is poisoned in Season 3.

Unraveling Realities (Supercorp and sequel to Confession) at 346 kudos, which is a rewrite of Season 5. (Includes Lena's Great Irish Quest and is not a rift fic).

Shared Moments: Book 2 - Spirits (Korrasami) at 329 kudos, and is a rewrite of The Legend of Korra Book 2. I continue this series all the way through to Book 4 (Books 1 through 3 are completed, I'm working on Book 3.5 and 4).

Terminal Velocity, Texts, and Cats (Supercorp) at 215 kudos, and is the story of Lena and Kara's friendship/relationship from season 2 through start of Season 6 (no Totem storyline tho) as told through texts, cats, and carefully woven short scenes. It's a one-shot technically.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes. I will gladly talk to folks in the comments and even have conversations with people! I enjoy it. I do my best to thank commenters too, though it may take me a bit to answer these days.

However, when people shit on my fiction, I learned my lesson, and no longer fall for that trap.

But overall most comments are pleasant and lovely. I love hearing from readers! Feel free to share how you feel and your thoughts on the story.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I tend toward happy endings to be honest, but I'd say the angstiest ending was Shared Moments: Book 3 - Change (Korrasami) because there's no avoiding the angst there. I kept the story arc of Book 3 close to the original, so for folks that have seen TLOK, they know how angst heavy the end of Book 3 is.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of them? Well, except for Book 3 - Change and Book 3.5 - The Mirror. Those aren't happy per se. They are hopeful, yes, but not happy. All other fics have a happy ending.

Maybe Asami's Hidden Box of Letters and Poetry? It's a cute one-shot of Asami and Korra being absolutely adorable, and it ends with them being happy and kissing, so yeah. Probably the happiest?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Ugh, yeah. Weirdly enough I got the most hate on my Korrasami fics, where a few readers would write some really, really cruel things. Or rant about what they wanted me to write. Or engage in fights with other commenters (yes, this happened on the big finale of Book 3 - Change, where the ableist comments squared off with the kind commenters). Or the editor commenter who gave unasked for and unwanted "editing" of chapters.

Strangely enough, I have only had one mean commenter in the Supercorp fandom, and that poster was someone that other commenters warned me about and told me to disregard.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not really? I will write a vague sex scene here and there -- mostly in the Korrasami fics (my Shared Moments series). I haven't gotten to any sex scenes in the Supercorp fics though a few are coming up in Unraveling Realities.

I try to capture the emotion of the scene rather than describing the sex in detail. I honestly don't feel qualified to write a smut scene, which is why I prefer this approach.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I wrote a silly crossover of Supergirl and The Legend of Korra. It's on Tumblr somewhere -- see my pinned post, I think I linked it there.

I do have a WIP, where Lena builds a multiverse portal only for it to open in the Avatarverse, and her and Kara accidentally end up stuck in Asami and Korra's world. So then Korra and Asami have to help them build a portal and find their way home again. I don't know if I'll ever finish it.

I also have a Star Wars Korrasami WIP. This one involves Asami and Korra assisting in the Battle of Endor with Luke, Leia, Han, and crew. They then help with the building of the Republic.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes, I was pissed. Please don't do that.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of. If anyone wants to translate one of my fics, let me know. I'm willing to talk shop.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

@nottawriter and I are working on a Supercorp fic, though it's not published. It's where Lena and her daughter meet Kara, who is their home inspector.

Beyond that, I've only ever co-written original fiction. My friend, Raveneye and I wrote an original science fiction story. It was written in the form of "letters," where one person was on the space station (Raveneye's character) and one person on the alien planet (my character).

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

Korrasami. Supercorp is a close second.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I will finish all my WIPs someday!! Unless I die before that happens. *knocks on wood* But I guess the Supergirl/TLOK crossover is least likely to ever be finished.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Worldbuilding and immersion of reader in the five senses.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Pacing. Honestly. pacing makes me anxious, and I'm always convinced I'll fuck it up, especially in longer works. (And yet, I write mostly longer works. Go figure).

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I have done this. Spanish and Irish in particular. (Kryptonian as well now that I think about it). I include translations in the end-notes.

I do it mostly for the reader to feel the same emotions as the POV character who struggles to understand the other language. Does this trick work? So far comments seem to imply yes? But who knows?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Korrasami.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I have to pick one??? I don't know actually.

I'm pretty proud of my rewrite of Book 2 - Spirits and Book 3 - Change. I'm also proud of Confession, especially how I reworked Lena's role in the Red Daughter fight scenes.

But I like all my fics equally well to be honest. I mean why write them otherwise?

For Tags... ummmmmm.

I have no idea who has done this and who hasn't? If you have done this, apologies for the tag. Let me know and I'll go read your version. @thecasualqueer, @nottawriter, any of my mutuals, and anyone else who wants to play.

#fanfic writer questions #fanfiction #ao3 writer

[wellbelesbian]

20 questions for fic writers!

tysm for tagging me @bazzybelle, it took me a while to get around to this but it was a lot of fun!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

37!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

113,598, not bad.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

mostly the Simon Snow Trilogy, but I have a couple of Greek Mythology/Epic Cycle fanfics too. i used to write for Percy Jackson and Marve, but not anymore.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

two old Marvel fics are right at the top, then it’s:

i want the love on your wrist (oh give me the heart on your neck), the first explicit work i’ve ever written, maybe a sign i should write more.

The Tale of the Two Merwolves, which I wrote with a bunch of other lovely people in the fandom

Everything I Am Not, my COTTA fic from 2020

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes, I always try to!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

definitely crimson, my COTTA fic from 2022, but a close second is Visions, a little Trojan War Helenus fic i still really like.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

well a lot of my fics have fairly happy endings, but I’d say All That She Wants, an Agatha-centric fic, and Happier Memories, a proposal fic, have the most hopeful endings.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

no, I don’t think I ever have, luckily!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

only twice so far, though I have another stewing in my brain that might get written. I can’t really say i'm limited to a certain “type” though, i’m pretty versatile, pun intended.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

no, they’re not really my thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge! i hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

back when i used to write on wattpad i got some DMs asking to translate my fics and i always agreed, but i don’t know if they ever followed through.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes, i really love doing so! I wrote a stucky fic with one of my friends years ago, but we never ended up posting it anywhere. also, the two aforementioned marvel fics were co-written with another (now ex) friend, and the tale of two merwolves was written as part of a group.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

snowbaz, definitely. it’s been my longest-running OTP (do people still say OTP?) and i’ve written so any fics for it.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

hmm, i’ve only got 3 wips and i think i’ll finish them all eventually, but blow on the tinder and we are slaves to the gods are definitely on the back burner for now.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i’ve been told i’m good at writing dialogue, which is good because that’s two thirds of all the words i write.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

descriptions and anything sappy, which gives me second hand embarrassment.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i tend to shy away from it, but if i do i always put it in italics and will put a translation in the notes unless it’s super obvious, and like when other authors do the same.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Percy Jackson! I wrote so much solangelo and was actually pretty popular on wattpad, one of my fics broke a million hits which is still insane to me. i still get the occasional message asking me to come back and finish my fics, but i logged out of that account in 2018 and am not going back.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

oh, that’s hard. i’m really enjoying writing Shoulder To Shoulder right now, but i still love All That She Wants and Liar Liar. i also really love I’m On My Way To Believing, which is a greek mythology Pyrrhus/Hermione fic. they’re my blorbos. but i’d have to say my all-time favourite will always have to be the first carry on fic i ever wrote, which got me out of a years long writing slump: Rats.

i don't know who has already done this, so i'll just tag @ileadacharmedlife @prettygoododds @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @imagineacoolusername @ic3-que3n @forabeatofadrum @aristocratic-otter @larkral @hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @artsyunderstudy @alexalexinii @shrekgogurt and @j-nipper-95

#tag game #long post

[cookies-over-yonder]

i don't know how to say this, 'cause you're really my dearest friend

Five times Taylor and Link almost kissed, and one time they finally did.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | +1 | ao3

[title from Jenny (I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship) by Studio Killers]

4. The fourth time, it was a conversation.

◇

"Have you ever kissed anyone?"

The question catches Link off guard. It's an answer he knows immediately, but he still pauses to think.

"Have you?" Link asks Taylor, who's sprawled out across his lap, with his head against the mattress of Link's bed.

"Another person? Nah," Taylor chuckles, and the sound sends another shock down Link's spine.

He loves that sound.

"Neither have I."

"Mmm," Taylor hums, stretching his arms. "Wonder what it's like…"

"Yeah. Me too."

Then the conversation fades.

Kissing is something so intimate…

"I'm not even sure I would know how to do it," Link admits after a moment.

"I think I would."

"You're confident."

"Hell yeah, baby," Taylor punches the air. It's cute. "Whoever kisses me won't know what hit 'em!"

Link leans in to hover over Taylor.

"Are you planning on kissing someone?" he asks.

Taylor brings his arms down, clasps his hands together over his chest, and smirks.

"I'm a catch."

"That doesn't answer my question, but okay."

"Are you?" Taylor asks.

Kissing is intimate, and Link doesn't think he'd be great at it, and it seems like a pretty special thing…

"Well, I wouldn't want to kiss just anyone, it would have to be someone I trust—"

"Would you kiss me?" Taylor cuts him off, and the look on his face isn't the same teasing expression he was wearing earlier. His eyes are wide, and he's biting lower lip hard. He's blushing hard too, and Link has a feeling he wasn't expecting those words to come out of his mouth.

But they did…

And it's an answer Link knows immediately…

But he still pauses to think.

"Um—" Taylor rolls off his lap and sits up on the bed. There's embarrassment, and regret, and a million other unidentifiable emotions written all over his face. "Uh—"

"I would kiss you," the words fall out of his mouth, without him realizing.

The smile on Taylor's face makes Link's heart skip a beat. "See? I'm," he leans in, "a catch."

Before Link knows it, he's leaning in too, and whispering, "Sure."

Their foreheads are touching now.

Taylor's eyes are sparkling and bright and full of awe and wonder and passion and light.

Their noses touch, and Link thinks he could stay like this forever and have spent every second of his life in the right place.

Their lips are so close, Link can feel the warmth radiating off of Taylor and onto him…

And then Link's phone buzzes in his pocket.

"Ah—" he backs away and picks it up, immediately missing Taylor's warmth. "The food's here."

"Huh…?" Taylor blinks slowly, backing away a little himself. "Oh, let's go eat!"

"Eheh, yeah, let's go eat."

◇

#swiftli #dndads #taylor swift dndads #lincoln li-wilson #cuteness #cookies writes and cookies wrongs #^_^

[bluejayblueskies]

20 questions for fic writers

thank you @three-magpies-in-a-trenchcoat for the tag!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 

130 (more if you count my side accounts and anonymous fics)

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 

958,861 (so close to a million,,,)

3. What fandoms do you write for? 

Right now, primarily Malevolent, but I've written for TMA a lot in the past as well. I also have some ideas for RQG fic since I've been relistening to that podcast!

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The Cube Rule of Food Identification (TMA)

Just Married (Voltron)

it will be this, always (TMA)

a six-step process (TMA)

ten thousand flowers in spring (TMA) (i had no idea this had jumped to spot number 5!!!)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I used to, and I still want to, but I always feel like I need to have something to say more than "thank you so much!" and I get stuck in the paralysis of what to say and then forget to respond at all 😅 but if people ask me a direct question, I will usually answer it!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? 

Hmmm. I write a lot of angst, but I trend towards happy endings rather than unhappy endings, so that's tough.

Oh! So this is on my side account for Malevolent, but The Curation and Preservation of Arthur Lester is probably the closest thing I have to a fic with an angsty ending (that is, it ends very badly for Arthur). Maybe on a more emotionally angsty side, as the pendulum swings? I think that fic generally has an ambiguous/hopeful ending, but only in terms of "they are no longer trapped in the time loop;" all the effects of the loop still remain, consciously or not.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? 

Also a hard question, mostly because I tend to write endings that are a bit.... not open-ended, but more "this isn't 100% resolved but it will be in the future and the steps are there but that's a journey the characters have to take on their own." That said, I think By Virtue of Divine Providence is probably my most straightforward happy ending, where "they lived happily ever after for all eternity" is the general vibe.

8. Do you get hate on fics? 

Not that I know of, though I'm sure it's happened at some point somewhere. Nothing to my face though (yet).

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? 

I do! I typically either write a) sex scenes that fit into the context of a longer fic as a plot point, which tend to be pretty straightforward "sex happened and it was emotional and significant for both people involved" or b) kinky and/or dead dove one-shots that usually get posted on side accounts or anonymously. (Mostly because my bookbinding imprint is tied to this username, and I like to maintain a sort of separation in case anyone IRL comes looking.)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? 

I'm not a big crossover person, reading or writing. I think I maybe wrote a superwholock crossover when I was 14-15? But that's about it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? 

I sure hope not!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

Not that I know of, though people have done podfics or bookbinds of my fics before!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? 

No, but I'd love to try it some day!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? 

100% jonmartin; I'll probably never be over them.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? 

I have an unfinished TMA longfic, Seen, Unseen, Unsung that I have fully outlined but will very likely never finish writing.

16. What are your writing strengths? 

I think I'm good at internal monologues (ie letting the character ramble for a bit), emotional beats (particularly angsty ones), and writing dialogue that sounds like something the character in question would say.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? 

I'm so bad at writing romance (and yet I keep trying 😅). Established romance? Fine, okay, I can do that. Budding romance? I have absolutely no idea and rely pretty much entirely on tropes I've seen in other fics or books/TV shows/movies/etc.. Also, I feel that I struggle a bit with transitions between scenes that aren't hard scene break cuts.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? 

If I do, I usually do something along the lines of, "He said in Spanish, 'Don't go over there!'" for ease of reading and because my translations would probably be horrible.

19. First fandom you wrote for? 

Probably Supernatural.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Hands-down whiskey old fashioned sour. It's such a fun world to play in, and I really enjoyed writing all the little newspaper/extra tidbits for it, and I have many more ideas swirling around in my brain for it. By Virtue of Divine Providence is a close second though.

I'll go ahead and tag @shadow0haven, @organchordsandlightning, @captaincravatthecapricious, @splitting-infinities, and anybody else who's interested!

#tag game #sorry it took me so long to get to this! i kept forgetting

[kasienda]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

thank you @ladyofthenoodle for the tag!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

36!! Insanity. When did that happen?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

971,786 I was trying to break a million this year. It's gonna be close.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Miraculous Ladybug!!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

A Miraculous Reveal

The Five Minute Adventures of Snake Noir

An Open Secret

Restorative Justice (This one broke 1000!!!! Yay!!)

Confessions to a Statue

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! I usually get to most of them. When a fic is old, I don't always manage it. I just enjoy comments so much, and I try to acknowledge and express appreciation for the positive impact they have on me!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Going It Alone (Sailor Moon), though it could be Last Wishes (Ladybug)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'm gonna go with -> Let Yourself Be Happy

8. Do you get hate on fics?

It happens. It's not frequent though.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, when I have to. I write loving wholesome smut that is fueled purely by spite.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No. The idea of crossovers are strange to me.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No? Hope not anyway!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone asked if they could once, but I don't think it got finished.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not technically. But sometimes I push my betas to have a pretty heavy hand.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Probably Lovesquare, but I covet Adrino more in that it's rarer, so whenever I find it I obsess. But I think love sqaure is more dynamic. There's more to do and explore with it. I get more ideas for them. But Adrino has become my comfort ship. When I'm sad or on the cusp of breaking I turn to Adrino.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Coming Of Age (Sailor Moon) - I just don't live and breathe this one anymore, but it's such a good premise.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue. Satisfying arcs/endings.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Imagery/Description

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I use to have Japanese words in some of my Sailor Moon fic. I LOVED honorifics!! I started to use less and less Japanese (besides honorifics. I always kept those. They're versatile in storytelling for showing how a relationship is changing. I love them!) because I felt like it hindered understanding in places. But I can't spell in French for some reason. Can't even get myself to consistently use Monsieur instead of Mr. Haha!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Chrono Trigger Or actually, I did some roleplaying on message boards for Wheel of Time back in the day!

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

I think right now it's Aftermath, but it's not done. Neither is Right Behind You, which is my other favorite. Haha! Of my finished fics, I'd probably choose Restorative Justice.

no pressure tags: @thelibraryloser @jennagrinsoverml @chocoluckchipz @miabrown007 @jattendschaton @coffeebanana @bittersweetresilience, @wackus-bonkus-maximus @pisoprano @bbutterflies @celestialtitania

#life of a writer #tumblr game #my own content #i've written so much #it's crazy

[sweetrevxnge]

Like Phantoms, Forever

Chapter Fifteen | In The Face of Evil

Pairing: Ben Solo x Reader

Summary: Your destiny had never been clear to you, only becoming so when it led you to leaving behind the life you knew to train with the galaxy's sole Jedi Master, Luke Skywalker. His Jedi Academy became your new home, bringing with it the promise of someday becoming a Jedi Knight. While navigating the ways of the Force, an inexplicable connection forms between you and a fellow student—the heir to the legendary Skywalker bloodline, Ben Solo. Together, the two of you must face your destinies and forge the path to your true selves.

What to expect: fluff, violence, sexual content, general angst, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

Additional info: this story is set in 28 ABY, six years prior to the events of TFA

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Masterlist

Spotify Playlist

Word count: 5.9k

Chapter-specific CW: description of injury, violence, blood, abduction, implied domestic abuse, death

A/N: this. chapter. was. a. BEAST, but I'm so proud of it. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (even tho it had me questioning my sanity at times). also, in true george lucas fashion, I went back to ch. 1 and changed some of the details about Ben's introduction, but it was nothing major. anyways... cellphones on silent and shut your fckn mouths, the show is about to begin.

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If you had any weaker of a stomach, you would have vomited all over the Admiral’s polished black boots. But, in a stroke of luck, or perhaps due to the sheer emptiness of your stomach, you didn’t.

You were delirious, you decided. After everything you had gone through in the past day, you were hallucinating a false reality. But as you tried to blink away the image in front of you, it remained solid, too detailed to be an illusion. 

Dressed in a high-collared, gray uniform stood your father, a shadow of the man you had known your entire life. The man who had raised you alongside your mother, the man you should have known everything about. He had always kept his past close to his chest, as well as his family at an arm’s length, omitting the details of his early life when the topic would arise. To someone who didn’t know anything different, he shared everything that a loving parent should share with their child. Come to find out, that had not been the case.

Although you struggled to comprehend what was happening, you immediately thought of his business. Distributing crops to buyers in all corners of the galaxy was the perfect cover, in a way. A former Imperial captain disguised as a simple, Dantooinian farmer who made frequent business trips off-world, owing no explanation to his wife and child. 

At the realization, you thought of her. Your mother. What did she know of this? Did she even know? The meek woman you knew would never willfully marry an Imperial loyalist—let alone be involved with such an organization. You could hardly stomach the idea of her being aware of this deception.

A million questions crossed your mind in the span of a single second, none of which could be easily answered. Regardless, the likelihood of you surviving to even be able to ask her such questions was becoming more slim with every second that passed.

“Captain, I usually trust your judgment without a hint of doubt, but was this really the best option available to us?” Admiral Sloane asked your father, her skepticism evident in her tone. “Why not the Skywalker boy?”

Though indirect, the mere mention of Ben made acid rise in your throat. In your chemically-included sleep, what had become of him? Of all of your classmates, for that matter. All you could hope for was that he was sleeping soundly in his bed, unharmed and untroubled by his usual insomnia. It was all you could ever wish for him.

“It couldn’t have been him. He’s far too indoctrinated in the Jedi’s teachings to be compliant,” your father answered as he slowly moved forward.

Relief washed over you like a crashing wave, melting away your fear. Ben was safe—for now, at least.

“The same could have been said for Lord Vader, sir,” the Admiral argued, raising a dark eyebrow at him.

Despite never living under his reign, Darth Vader’s power still radiated through his name, carrying an indescribable weight. The air felt heavier at the mention of it, like a curse falling over you.

“I suppose you’re right, Admiral,” he said with a sigh. “Perhaps we can extract him later.”

An icy chill ran down your spine at the implication. With the location of the Academy now uncovered, there was no telling what lengths the First Order would go to to eliminate their opposition. 

Your father stalked towards you, his presence suffocating in the massive room. Everything about him was familiar, yet completely different—more refined. The scrape of his boots, a sound that once echoed throughout your home in the early hours of the morning, was now akin to the sound of nails raking over a blackboard. His poised shoulders and lifted chin, once the stature of a proud businessman who provided for his family, was now reminiscent of a soldier’s posture.

As his footfall came to a stop beside the Admiral, his narrowed eyes pierced yours, the eyes you had inherited from him.

You dropped your gaze to the slate floor, unable to bear the sight of him any longer. Besides, the floor wouldn’t betray you, given its composition of a material far more durable than your father’s morals.

“It’s good to see you, my dear,” he said, the sound of his voice grating to your ears.

You said nothing, your erratic breath the only response you were willing to offer. Your eyes stung as traitorous tears began to fill them, blurring the edges of your vision.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” He snatched your jaw between his fingers, pulling your head up to meet his unavoidable gaze. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“Happy?” you said, the muscles in your face straining against his grip. “You expect me to be happy to see you after what you’ve put me through?”

“You wound me, daughter. You are, after all, our guest,” he sneered.

“I’m honored.”

He stared at you for a long moment before directing his attention to the stout man still standing behind you. “General, I do hope that she was not too much trouble for your men to extract.”

“Not at all, Cap. The lecepanine darts you gave us worked like a charm.”

To your surprise, Brendol Hux was not the person who answered your father’s question, but rather the last figure concealed by the shadows.

Every set of eyes in the room locked onto the man as he moved towards the group, stepping into the low light. His face was shrouded by a mask, one with a dull charcoal hue and a collection of glowing, red lines etched into the center of the plate. Draped over his shoulders was a long, black cowl, the tattered fabric trailing behind him like a shadow as he approached the center of the room.

The most surprising aspect of his appearance wasn’t the helmet, or even the threadbare clothing, it was the lack of it. His chest was bare, the carved muscles covered with dark scar tissue from his neck to the waistband of his tactical pants.

“What the fuck?” you whispered, somehow more confused now than upon seeing your own father in an Imperial uniform.

Nearly simultaneous with your remark, the restraints on your wrists buzzed with a current of electricity. Fucking bastard. You shot the General a venomous glare, receiving only a pleased grin from him in return, his thumb still hovering over the remote as a warning.

“Where are your manners?” your father scolded you, quickly releasing your face to slap you across it. “I thought your mother and I had taught you better than this.”

At the mention of your mother, your heart sank. The thought of what evil she might have endured during her marriage, how your father may have treated her behind closed doors. A violent rage grew within your chest at the mere idea of him hurting her.

“My apologies, Sir Ren. My daughter has always had a tendency to speak out of turn, but I assure you, she means no offense.”

“I can speak for myself–”

You were interrupted by another surge of energy shooting through your cuffs.

“None taken. And please, just call me Ren,” the masked man said to your father before turning his shielded gaze to you. “Sorry that this had to be the way we met, kid. But sometimes, you just gotta work with what life gives you.” Despite being modulated, you could tell that his voice was rough—almost leathery—as he spoke to you. Each syllable sent an unpleasant chill throughout your bones.

“And somehow, this is still the most pleasant way we could have met,” you spat.

Ren laughed behind his mask, the sound rattling through the vocoder. Time seemed to slow as his thumbs grazed along the underside of his jaw, unlatching his helmet and lifting it off of his head.

Thick, white hair fell from the helmet, framing his tan face, a stark contrast to his dark brows. He was youthful, more so than everyone else in the room, but easily a decade your senior. His icy blue eyes scanned your form, his gaze lingering on your chest before finally pulling away. 

Pig.

“I like her. She’ll fit in just fine with my men.” Though he was looking at you, his statement passed through you like a ghost, directed at the uniformed men behind him.

“I doubt that,” you said, taking a step closer to him, as if you could even appear threatening right now if you tried.

“Gods, when will you learn to just shut up?” General Hux cut in, smacking you at the nape of your neck with the back of his hand. “You will treat your new Master with respect, or you will suffer dire consequences.”

“What, you’ll kill me?” you snapped. “Your bark is louder than your bite—all of you. If you wanted me dead, you would’ve done so already.” Your response was bold, probably too bold for a girl in restraints who was entirely surrounded by capable beings, but you didn’t care. You weren’t going to give in to their manipulation.

“Death isn’t the only consequence in this world, child,” your father said coldly.

His threat was enough to humble you, but you didn’t cower, slipping in one last jab before quieting yourself. “It’s the only consequence I want.”

“Enough.” Hux was firm as he spoke, stepping between the three of you in an attempt to redirect the conversation. “Ren, I expect a reconnaissance report from you by the end of the day. And Captain, will you do me a favor and put her back in her hold? I must see to it that her next dose is prepared.”

Dose? Your mind raced at the mention of the word. The context made it sound like they were already dosing you with something, causing panic to rise in your chest.

“Dose of what?” you blurted, hardly considering the repercussions of asking such a question.

Hux turned to look at you and as he did, you prepared for another strike across the face, but surprisingly, it never came. The only thing you felt was the bruising grip of your father’s hand around your upper arm as he steered you away from the group.

“Save your breath,” your father said, pushing you towards the dark corridor.

You met him with as much resistance as you could, trying to sow roots into the stone beneath you, but failed. The faces of Admiral Sloane, General Hux, and Sir Ren grew distant behind you as you were forced back into your cage.

The silence between you and your father was unsettling, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to make light conversation with him. What was there to talk about? The intricacies of the cracks running along the walls? Really, there was only one thing you wanted to speak to him about.

Once you breached the threshold of the cell, you found the courage to break the silence.

“Are you going to leave me here?”

You turned to face him, avoiding his gaze by counting the square tiles pinned to his uniform instead. There were six.

“No,” he replied, shoving you forward into the confines of your cell.

You stumbled over your own feet, landing just inches away from where you had initially awakened. Somehow, that felt like a lifetime ago. It was as if time passed differently in this fortress. An hour or a decade could have passed in your absence and you wouldn’t have known the difference.

He crouched in front of you, grabbing the bar that connected your cuffs in one hand as his other retrieved a remote from his breast pocket.

For a fleeting moment, the naive part of your soul foolishly hoped that he would release you, that he would courageously guide you through the maze and send you off in an escape pod to somewhere far away from here, to somewhere safe. But as he reattached the heavy chains to your wrists, the spark of your hope dwindled into a pile of smoldering ash.

You resisted the urge to curse him, to call him a horrible father and dishonorable man, but the ache in your bones and the exhaustion that clouded your thoughts were becoming impossible to ignore.

You tilted your head back against the wall and allowed your heavy eyes to close, the brief moment of rest so sweet and liberating.

You weren’t sure how much time passed while you sat there, eyes closed, and truthfully, you didn’t care. You were content there, drifting in a place between sleep and consciousness. That was until the squeak of boots treading across the wet floor filled the room. You forced your eyes open, finding that your father was still standing in your cell, watching over you like a sentry. He was adjacent to you, his back pressed against the wall as he stared down at you. 

“I see that you’ve been demoted to babysitter,” you said dryly.

“I believe ‘guardian’ is a more appropriate title,” he replied, seemingly unbothered by your jab. 

You scoffed. “Personally, I think ‘captor’ is the most fitting, but whatever helps you sleep at night, Pops.”

This time, your insult reached him. His nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath, letting it out shakily as he spoke. “From now on, you will address me as Captain.”

“Whatever you say, Captain,” you said, biting back the smile that tugged at your lips. You couldn’t help but feel proud to have finally managed to get under his skin.

As the air fell silent, the questions stirring in your mind became louder. If you were going to be trapped in a cage with him as your guard, you might as well make the best of it.

“How did you do it?” you asked quietly.

“Do what?”

You lifted your chained hands, motioning around you as best you could. “This.”

“That’s a broad question,” he said flatly.

“I feel like I’ve more than earned some answers.”

He drew in another breath, holding the air in his chest for a long moment before responding. “Fine.”

Every question was important, and every would be answered, but where to start? You settled on starting at the same place that the First Order did. 

“How did you find me?”

The question hung in the air. What if he changed his mind? What if you’ve just dug yourself into a deeper hole?

Finally, he said, “The First Order’s technology is cutting edge, but ultimately unnecessary in our pursuit. The lead landed on our doorstep.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean?”

“A few months ago, our scanners detected an anomaly leaving the planet’s atmosphere: a decommissioned X-Wing. After running a painstakingly long decloaking sequence, we discovered that the ship exiting our airspace belonged to none other than Luke Skywalker.”

“No,” you whispered. “That can’t be true.”

“I can show you the report, if you’d like.”

You stayed silent, processing what he was telling you. Admittedly, you were hesitant to trust your father, but you couldn’t deny your curiosity.

“Why was he here?”

“How am I supposed to know? We were not operating here on Zeffo at the time. He was gone long before we could investigate,” he said, pursing his lips in a tight line.

“Wait—Zeffo? As in, the lost Jedi civilization, Zeffo?” you asked, your eyes widening. The reveal of your location felt like a lifeline being thrown to you, but with nothing to communicate with, the information was trivial.

“Yes. I suspect that was why Skywalker was here in the first place.”

“But Master Skywalker says that he hasn’t left the Academy in over a year. It couldn’t have been him.” You were thinking out loud at this point, but you didn’t care. You needed to make sense of what he was telling you.

“Then you must be deceived,” he said. “His ship was here, regardless of what he may have told you.”

You struggled to believe him, sifting through every other possibility in your mind. Master Skywalker has been present at the Academy the entire time you’ve been there. And his ship, it hasn’t left the shipyard in months, not since—

“Ben,” you whispered. A glowing warmth radiated in your chest as you said his name.

That had to be it. When you met Ben, he had just returned from a Jedi artifact search in Master Skywalker’s X-Wing, rather than the Grimtaash. You wondered now if the choice for him and Lor San Tekka to fly smaller, separate ships had been deliberate.

“What did you say?” your father asked, his hearing evidently still as sharp as it had been when you were a child.

“N-Nothing—I didn’t say anything,” you stammered, clearing your throat. “What happened after that, after you discovered his ship?”

He watched you with suspicious eyes, but continued. “With a great deal of effort on our part, and the help of the Imperial archives, we were able to splice the ship’s navigational system remotely and extract the destination log from its data. It was there that we found the coordinates to an unknown location in the Outer Rim.”

You couldn’t tell if you were angry or saddened to learn that all of this stemmed from Ben’s artifact trip in his uncle’s X-Wing. Though, the blame wasn’t entirely his. After all, he had made the journey under the supervision of Master Skywalker and Lor San Tekka.

“I just don’t understand. Why only capture me? Why not destroy the entire temple when you had the chance?” As grim as the question was, you needed an answer to it.

“After some debate, it was decided that we would only extract one student as a candidate for our initiative, and after hearing word of my beloved wife suddenly shipping our daughter away to parts unknown, I proposed that we choose you.”

“But you didn’t even know that I was at the Academy. Mom made arrangements before you returned from your business trip—whatever it may have been for.”

“Truthfully, we were testing a hypothesis. I suspected that you had been sent to Luke Skywalker’s Academy, so, General Hux and I created a plan to infiltrate the grounds.”

Your heart pounded harder against your ribs with every word that left his mouth. Every step of this nightmare had been delicately crafted with malicious intent, and you weren’t sure which part of it was worse—the physical suffering, or the psychological torment of knowing that each day you spent the Academy, you were being hunted.

“It was simple, really. With the aid of an experimental formula created decades ago by Imperial scientists, as well as a contracted team of mercenaries, we were able to test our hypothesis.”

The drug mentioned earlier immediately came to your mind, the one the man named Ren had used to incapacitate you. What did he call it? Lelpanocine? No, that wasn’t right.

“The lel…lelpano—” you started to say before your father interrupted you.

“Lecepanine. No, not that. This task required something more complex than a paralytic alone. Diazexacin was created with the purpose of severing one’s connection to the Force. According to the reports, creating it was a tedious process, but the end result is highly effective. And, to our benefit, quite versatile.”

Why was he telling you so much? It felt too convenient for him to plainly reveal the First Order’s master plan to abduct you, but then again, you were already their helpless captive. What did they have to lose by divulging this information to you?

“Versatile how?” you asked, snapping yourself back into the conversation.

“It can be absorbed through a variety of routes, including the digestive tract,” he answered, a smug expression plastered across his face.

Your father’s words rolled around your head. His mention of the digestive tract illuminated a detail that you had overlooked in the chaos of everything. The day you were abducted, every student you spoke to at the Academy reported feeling off, or otherwise disconnected from the Force. But why? That had been the question you posed to Ben, Tai, and Hennix, who had all brushed off your concerns. In retrospect, you were right to question it, but it was too late now. Now, you needed to find the common denominator, the thing that everyone had to have shared that day.

Just then, the realization hit you, slamming into you like a fiery meteor colliding with a planet. The food. The First Order had found a way to spike the Academy's food supply.

“You drugged the food…” you said, nauseated at the thought.

“Very good, my child. But not all of the food,” he corrected. “Only a select amount of produce was able to retain the diazexacin after the cooking process. Carrots and potatoes were all that we were able to manage.”

The memory of that morning’s breakfast came back to you: diced potatoes and eggs. And that evening, the hearty tiingilar that had warmed your heart and belly. How naive you had been while eating it, trying your best to enjoy the stew as Tai and Hennix poked fun at you. The First Order’s strategy in this matter alone proved them to be a worthy threat to peace across the galaxy.

You rubbed the bandage taped to your neck in thought, digesting the wealth of information being given to you. “Well, congratulations. Your hypothesis was right. Next time, maybe consider peaceful negotiations before shooting a blow dart into my neck and dragging me out of my home. Perhaps I would’ve gone with you willingly.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Is that so?”

“Stars, no. Not in a million light years. But you never know,” you said with a small shrug. A bit of humor eased your discomfort, even if it was just slightly.

Across the room, you saw the corner of your father’s mouth twitch upwards before falling back into a hard line.

Silence filled the space as you closed your eyes again, letting out a long yawn as you did. If it weren’t for the sharp ridges of stone probing you like a human pin cushion, you would almost be able to fall asleep. 

“Dad,” you said weakly, fighting off the weight of sleep that threatened to take you. “I’d like to sleep, but I can’t get comfortable.”

“And what would you have me do about that?” he replied curtly.

“I don’t know. Tell me a bedtime story, or something.”

The request hung in the air for a long moment, as if he were carefully deciding his answer.

“I suppose I could do that. What kind of story would you like to hear?”

There was no cadence in his question, not like you remembered from your childhood. It was as if he had been replaced by a stranger—a staunch, heartless stranger whose lack of compassion rivaled even the most vile beings in the galaxy.

“I’d like to hear the one about the Imperial officer, the one who fooled the world posing as an ordinary farmer for the better part of his daughter’s life.”

His throat knocked as he considered, his lips tight. “Fine.”

At that, you pried your eyes open, looking at him expectantly. 

“Where do I even begin…” he said, lowering his voice. “When I was a young man, I enlisted in the Imperial army, with every intention of someday becoming a Commander. As it were, fate had other plans for me.”

“Before I could attain my goal, the Empire collapsed. I was left to fend for myself, searching the galaxy for a job that wouldn’t look too far into my history. That’s when I met your mother.”

“Neither of you ever did tell me how the two of you met,” you said quietly, the warmth in your cheeks vanishing at the idea of your mother somehow being connected to the Empire.

“No, we didn’t. You wouldn’t have believed us if we had,” he said with a chuckle, the first indication of emotion you had seen from him all day. “We met in a bar in the lower levels of Coruscant. I was a different man back then, placing large bets with credits I didn’t have and drinking away what little winnings I made.”

It was hard to imagine him like that, young and stupid, tossing credits down on a dirty, felt-lined tabletop in some seedy bar tucked away on Coruscant. The image almost made you smile.

“I remember it vividly. It was a particularly busy night, the heavy rain was driving everyone inside. I was already down five thousand credits, with only two in my pockets when I saw her. Your mother stood out from the crowd like a star in an empty sky. She couldn’t help it, of course. Despite her casual attire, she was stunning, and in my drunken stupor, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to ruin my life in a new and exciting way.”

You tried to picture the scene, imagining what she was wearing, how she had styled her hair. It was calming to hear about her, to piece together the image of the woman she was in her youth. 

Your father sucked in a short breath before continuing. “I was so drunk, in fact, that it did not even occur to me that the woman I had spent the evening buying drinks for was, in fact, a Rebel spy.”

The image you had painted in your mind crumbled at his words. “Mom was…a Rebel?”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. How else do you think she knew about Skywalker’s precious Academy?”

The question simmered in your mind as you processed it. In the wake of the discovery of your Force sensitivity, you hadn’t stopped to consider how your mother knew about the existence of the Academy to begin with, being more concerned with getting there than asking such questions.

“If what you say is true and she really was a Rebel, then she would have never married you. Especially not with the knowledge that you were still loyal to the Empire,” you said, your voice raised slightly.

He took a step forward, careful to keep the distance between you wide. “Oh, but she did know. It was not by chance that we met in that bar, not at all. She had been watching me for weeks, learning my routine, just waiting for the right opportunity to strike. You see, your dear mother was operating under the orders of Chancellor Mothma, who had created a task force to exterminate all remaining Imperial officials in the galaxy. Evidently, I had pissed off the wrong person and they tattled on me to the New Republic. It was just my luck that your mother was the agent they had sent to investigate.”

“I…I don’t believe you.”

At that, he let out a low laugh. “You don’t have to. Our vows were proof enough that love conquers all, or rather, did conquer all.”

“What do you mean?” you asked wearily.

Ignoring your question, he continued. “For a long time, there was talk amongst my buyers, talk of a rising power in the shadow of the New Republic. I never gave it much merit, but after a while, the rumors became too much to ignore any longer. I knew I needed to do something, to help restore the Empire to its former glory.”

Spoken like a true sympathizer, you thought.

“I suppose your mother did the same, keeping her connections in the Rebellion just as close as I had kept mine in the Empire.”

There was a tonal shift in his statement, one that left you feeling uneasy. He was choosing his words more carefully now, holding you at a distance once more.

“Where is she now?” you asked, hiding the anxiety that was creeping in.

He averted his gaze at the question, which only made you more desperate for an answer.

“Please, tell me,” you pleaded, swallowing what little remained of your pride.

Reluctantly, he answered, “Somewhere safe.”

It was not the answer you had expected, but still not specific enough to ease your concerns.

“Where is she?” you demanded.

“I cannot speak to where she is at this exact moment,” he said, letting out a long sigh. “But I will say, shooting her was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

In an instant, the world around you shifted. It was no longer gravity that held you in place, but rather a different weight, one that crushed your bones and stilled your breath. You were sinking, plummeting backwards through frigid water as it filled your lungs, the reality at the surface becoming more distorted the further you fell.

“What…” The word left your lips slowly, tumbling through the dead space between you and your father.

Before he could respond, you felt it. A heavy swirl of energy surrounded you, filling your senses as it embraced you like an old friend. It was radiant and welcoming, but equally as dark and demanding, moving through you as if you were a vessel of its will.

“Don’t be mistaken, I did not take any pleasure in doing it. Truthfully, it was like putting down a sick dog, releasing it from its misery…” 

Your father’s voice faded into oblivion as your ears rang, the only sound reaching you being your ragged breath as the Force ripped through you.

Bolts and fasteners bounced across the ground as you pulled against the chains that anchored you, ripping them free from their base. The squeal of metal scraping stone filled the room as you took a step forward. You lifted your hands, sending warm blood running down your arms, cascading down your skin like a crimson rain. Hot, burning pain spread through your body, but you were unbothered. The sensation only focused your anger, channeling it like molten glass being poured along an iron cast, creating something violent and destructive.

“What are you—General! Somebody, please, get in here, NOW–”

Your father’s cry for help was interrupted by a strangled cough as the Force seized his throat, lifting him into the air until he was hovering, flailing his legs wildly. The only thing that could be heard over the sound of him suffocating was his leather boots dragging across the ground as you summoned him to your hand, gripping his windpipe tight when he finally reached you.

For the first time in your life, you saw fear in your father’s eyes. The sight of it fed the dark spirit in your soul, fanning the flames of its rage.

As if he realized this, he squeezed his eyes shut, baring his clenched teeth as he worked to pry your fingers from his neck.

“Look at me,” you said, your low voice almost unrecognizable to your ears. “I want you to look at me when I kill you.”

Against his volition, his eyes flew open, the whites of them now littered with broken vessels as the color slowly drained from his skin. He clawed at your hand, successfully peeling back a few fingers before the lack of oxygen took its toll, rendering his attempts to free himself futile.

“You…w-will always b-be…” he croaked, gulping down what little air he could manage. “Scum.”

His limp body fell to the ground with no resistance, and as it did, the fog lifted. As quickly as it had appeared, the energy surrounding you vanished, leaving you hollow and cold in its wake.

All you could do was stare into the vacant eyes of the man who had murdered your mother, his warm corpse mangled on the floor. No blood pooled around him, and every limb was accounted for and intact. He was nothing more than an empty shell now.

The urge to vomit was intense as you turned on your heels, searching for the exit. Acid burned your throat as General Hux came rushing through the doorway, clutching a cloudy syringe in his hand. 

His pale eyes widened as they fell on you, an image drawn from nightmares. You stood in the center of the room, dark, thick blood coating your arms and running down the broken chains like fresh paint, small drops landing on the corpse lying beneath you.

“What have you done?” he asked quietly.

You whipped your head around to face him. In a rush of adrenaline, you shot your hand out towards him in a desperate attempt to wield the dark energy from moments ago. But it had abandoned you.

The syringe in the General’s hand flashed under the waning sunlight as he barreled towards you. The diazexacin.

You scrambled for your father’s body, frantically searching his uniform for a weapon. The barrel of a blaster peaked out from under his tunic, tucked neatly into his belt. Before ripping it free, the horrid question of what this blaster had been used for crossed your mind, but you pushed it away. You couldn’t dwell on that right now. 

Wrapping your trembling finger around the trigger, you turned to face the General, lifting the barrel to aim at his broad frame.

“Drop it,” he barked, searching his waistline for a weapon of his own.

Shakily, you pulled back on the cold metal, closing your eyes in anticipation of the discharging laser beam, but nothing came. Shit—the safety.

“Idiot,” Hux spat, raising the barrel of his own blaster and firing a shot.

You felt the impact immediately, the tearing of your flesh as the blast ripped through your shoulder, every bone in your arm seeming to shatter. The blaster in your hand clattered to the floor, echoing in the tiny room. The force of the fall released the safety, sending it flying forward until it hit the metal body of the gun with a soft ping, as if to mock you.

“A reckless, idiot girl who–”

The words died in his tongue as you swept your leg beneath his, buckling his knees and knocking him onto his back. His blaster flew from his grasp, landing meters away as it clattered against the jagged rock. 

You were frozen for a moment, waiting for any movement from him. Did you kill him, too? Though his skull hit the ground with the same force as his body, his chest finally rose and fell with shallow, slow, breaths. Strangely, you couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed.

“You talk too much,” you said, groaning as you pulled yourself to your feet and collected the two blasters, holding the smaller one weakly with your injured hand.

You clutched your limp arm against your chest to the best of your ability as you hurried through the hallway to the main chamber, blindly navigating the winding corridor as the edges of your vision turned black. 

When you reached the mouth of the doorway, you stopped in your path, using your good arm to lean against the wall for support. The nausea returned and you hunched over your knees, coughing violently to settle your stomach.

The chamber was empty, with only the flickering lights filling the space. It was an unsettling sight, but you were in no state for an outnumbered fight. There was no strategy in your escape from this prison, only pure instinct guiding you now. 

Distant voices rang throughout the fortress, quickly approaching you as you stood at the precipice of the room, forcing down the adrenaline that rushed through you. 

Just as you stepped into the room, you sensed an unmistakable presence, one that had grown more familiar to you than your own reflection. Immediately, you felt a calmness wash over you.

“Ben,” you whispered.

#I hope the end of this chapter cleanses me of the sin of taking three entire weeks to update #ben solo #ben solo x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x y/n #kylo ren x you #ben solo x fem!reader #ben solo x you #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars self insert #kylo ren smut #ben solo smut #my writing

[satancopilotsmytardis]

We're getting ready to close out the year and I am still making solid progress towards hitting 1 million words published on AO3! With that in mind, are there any kinks you guys would love to see me revisit before the end of the year? I'm choreographing sex scenes for a few more prompts, so if you guys want more blow jobs, prostate milking, cnc, feminization, etc, now is the time to speak!

#tanco speaks