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sl-ut · 3 months ago

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the dangers of our desires

(OH MY FUCKING GODDDDDDD why did i actually eat this up so hard (it could be actual hot garbage wrote this while stoned and dont have the patience to edit it)

pairing: stepmother!alicent hightower x targ!stepdaughter!reader

description: as if alicent didn’t have it hard enough, her youngest stepdaughter is returning to the capitol after spending most of her life in the vale, bringing with her more trouble than alicent could have ever imagined for herself.

warnings: stepmother alicent is most def a warning causssseeeee, alicent actually being so homophobic lmaooooo, some religious themes (guilt, trauma, sacrilege of a fictional religion), swearing, smut, unedited (VERYYYYYY, i got stoned and wrote this in one sitting so dont have high hopes for grammar), probably lowk kinkier than anything i’ve ever written but we gonna rock with it anyways, viserys traumatising yet another one of his kids, slight reader description (silver hair and purple eyes), sort of dub-con? (reader and alicent are both a lil tipsy in the end but they both want it so its fine)

words: 5.8K

date posted: 09/09/24

Alicent had been queen all of five months when her youngest stepdaughter was sent to the Vale, both as a political move recommended by her own father, the Hand, in order to restore a connection between the Crown and the Vale following the untimely death of Queen Aemma, and as an act of mercy the king, who wept each and every time he looked upon her little face–guilt and rage consuming him for what decision he had been forced to make in order to her to have survived her birth.

The day of her departure is engraved so firmly into every single one of their minds, the king’s blank stare, his eldest daughter’s red and tear-streaked face scowling as she barked at her father, the Hand, truly anyone to change their minds, Otto Hightower’s stern order for a Kingsguard to take the eldest princess to her rooms in order to put an end to the scene she had been causing. Alicent felt vacant that day, silently staring into the distance to avoid watching as the princess was loaded into the wheelhouse before it began pulling away and out of the Red Keep. Of course, the entourage that followed her was almost ridiculously large for a child so young, larger than any that had previously accompanied the king himself, but both Rhaenyra and her father had a hand in ensuring maximum protection for the youngest member of the royal family for her long journey. As difficult as Viserys found it to be around his infant daughter, he certainly did not ignore the fact that she was the last piece of his late wife, and he felt that she needed to be well protected because of her status and out of respect for her mother’s memory. The girl was eleven months old.

Alicent made an effort to stay as distant of the young princess as possible; lingering in the doorway as Rhaenyra visited her nursery, avoiding looking directly at her friend as she held the babe to her chest and wept; taking on her duties to the youngest princess as her stepmother from a distance, insisting that any matters of the princess that did not concern the Crown could be dealt with by the princess’s personal household. It was more of a blessing to the new queen that she was being sent away–she no longer would be plagued with guilt each time she shirked away from the motherless girl.

Rhaenyra and Alicent’s already fractured relationship only suffered further after Rhaenyra’s sister was sent to the Vale, especially since Alicent soon after gave birth to her own child with Viserys, and Rhaenyra seemed to be under the impression that Alicent was far more involved in her sister becoming a ward of Lady Arryn than she truly did in order to put her own newborn son ahead.

The first three years to follow were strangely calm in King’s Landing. Rhaenyra had married Laenor Velaryon, Alicent had given birth to three children of her own, and the realm was still, for the most part, at peace with itself. The youngest princess, last that Alicent had heard, had begun her early education, something that Alicent was supposed to be mostly responsible for arranging, though Alicent told Lady Jeyne in a letter that she trusted the lady’s judgement and faith to the Seven to see that the princess would receive a proper education befitting a Targaryen princess. Jeyne Arryn was a notoriously pious woman, often referred to by the crudest of Westerosi lords as the Maiden of the Vale; any noblewoman who takes an oath of chastity was to be noted with a nickname as such, Alicent noticed, though she’s certain that a man would be honoured and highly regarded for such piety.

The queen’s perspective of the young princess had shifted in the years to follow–amidst the chaos that Rhaenyra and even Alicent’s own children had been causing at court, Lady Arryn’s letters of praise for the princess were a relief for the Hightower woman, she was the only of the king’s children who was able to refrain from causing her grief, only giving her a touch of a headache by association every time that Rhaenyra fought with her over the decisions being made for her; she needed to have the finest of Valyrian tutors, needed to be as connected with her dragon as possible, deserved to have dozens of new dresses and other luxurious gifts sent to her on a semi-regular basis. If Alicent was not willing to spoil the princess for her mere existence, Rhaenyra was more than willing to do so herself, writing to her younger sister as if she were her own daughter that had been sent away. From the way that the princess had been praised for her beauty, piety, and intelligence, Alicent had felt a breath of fresh air when the king made the decision to call his daughter home in hopes of securing her a suitable husband.

By this point, the princess was ten and eight, far older than most other Targaryen princesses had been permitted to remain unmarried. Rhaenyra had offered to assume the role of her guardian and host her younger sister at Dragonstone while they search for a husband, but Alicent was not blind to her intentions and refused to allow the heir to her sister to Prince Jaecerys–Alicent always been particularly disapproving of the traditional practice of incestuous marriage among the Targaryen dynasty, though she herself had permitted her own two children to be married in order to prevent her sweet Helaena from being swept away by Rhaenyra as a bride for her bastard son.

In the first few weeks of her presence in the capitol, Alicent found her to be very pleasant. The letters from the Vale could not have been more truthful when they boasted of her beauty and wit, and she had proven to be just as charismatic and cultured in her Valyrian heritage as the most ideal Targaryen princess. She attended her lessons, enjoyed spending time with her younger siblings–even taking an interest in learning of little Daeron’s achievements in Oldtown. Then, as she seemed to become more settled in her new environment, rumours began to reach Alicent’s ears, and she was entirely unsure of how to deal with them.

She had noticed, on several occasions now, that the princess’s sworn protector, Ser Thomas, seemed to be far too comfortable around his charge, and could even be accused of caring for the princess far more than any white cloak should. Alicent was concerned by this, but beyond an intense questioning of both the princess and the knight about some of the rumours being spread, there was very little that she could do (especially considering that her own sworn protector did not hide his affections for her very well, either). The queen had hoped that this would be the worst of the drama, but she would be sorely disappointed in the months to come.

Princess Y/n had made an effort to surround herself with some of the other young ladies at court, constantly being accompanied by some, if not all, of her entourage at all times. Alicent saw nothing truly wrong with this, it was healthy for a girl her age to find companionship with the other ladies at court, but she quickly became alarmed at the sort of company she was choosing to keep.

Most of the ladies flew far below Alicent’s radar, all self-absorbed and desperate as the rest of the court to be any true threat. However, one Lady Mathilde appeared to be different; the girls were very close, often sleeping in the same bed, breaking their fast together, walking in the gardens together… Alicent saw from the beginning that she was cunning, and much too forward for Alicent’s tastes, often being found gossiping or flirting with anyone who would give her the time of day. She feared the impact that such a friendship would have on the princess, but Alicent could not risk insulting Mathilde’s house, who was already quite critical of the Hightower rule.

When she first caught wind of the impropriety that was supposedly taking place among the princess’s social circle, she knew she needed to step in. Far too many times now she had received complaints of the princess and her closest companions enjoying far too much wine in the gardens, or being quite loud well into the night when they all should have been abed, and her response to Alicent’s questioning was becoming more and more irritating for the queen; the modest, obedient girl had turned snarky and unapproachable.

Alicent had reached her wits end, getting the third complaint of the day for the princess’s daily activities, pushing past the knight at her door with a few tense words of dismissal, climbing her way up the stairs and through the unguarded door of the princess’s chambers, noting to herself to have Ser Thomas punished for leaving his post unattended.

Her feet stopped abruptly, eyes widening at the sight before her as her breath caught in her throat. Before her, on the extravagant four-poster bed, Princess Y/n was splayed out with her shift unlaced to leave her chest exposed as the skirt was bunched around her hips to make room for the girl who knelt between her thighs. Her eyes were closed, silver curls splayed out on the mattress as she arched her back, fingers lacing through the dark locks of Lady Mathilde to hold her face snugly against her cunt.

For a few moments, Alicent watched. The curve of the princess’s spine lifting from the feather-stuffed mattress, breasts lifting towards the ceiling as the cool of the evening air caused her nipples to harden into tight little pebbles; The sounds of her pleasure, whimpers and curses falling from her lips as the brunette sucked and nibbled at the sensitive folds of her womanhood. Alicent felt her lips purse in response to the involuntary watering of her mouth, fists clenching as she pressed her thighs together for a brief moment.

She blinked a few times, coming back to herself. Neither of the young ladies seemed to notice the queen’s presence until she loudly cleared her throat, shaking her head to refocus.

Both girls sat up in surprise, the princess rushing to cover herself as the other hastily readjusted her hair and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. The queen stared at them sternly for a beat before glancing up at the ceiling as she let out a deep sigh.

“Get out,” her voice was clear and commanding, stare coming back to the two figures on the bed and scoffing as either moved, “I said out.”

Lady Mathilde rushed to the door, pulling her robe over herself to protect her modesty as she escaped the princess’s chambers. Alicent did not spare her a second glance, instead choosing to stare directly at her stepdaughter, who seemed uncertain of whether she would be embarrassed or cocky for being caught in such a state.

“Your Grace,” The princess sat up straighter, “Apologies, but I did not hear your knock. As you can see, I was quite… indisposed.”

Alicent scoffed again, “Indisposed. Have you no shame? No decency?”

The princess rolled off of the bed, moving to pull her wine coloured robe over her shoulders and sitting at her vanity, “Decency. I was alone in my own chambers, it is not my fault that you do not feel the need to uphold some boundaries, stepmother.”

“I shouldn’t think it necessary, given your recent behaviour. How else could I prevent you from indulging in your depravities?”

“Worry not, Your Grace, my maidenhead is still intact, if that is your concern. My prospects for marriage will not be harmed.”

“No?” Alicent laughed cynically, “And when the court hears of your indecency? What then, when lords begin to refuse to entertain a woman of such immorality?”

“I think my Valyrian blood would be enough incentive for most,” The princess scoffed, brushing through her silky hair, “I doubt any would truly care, so long as I provide heirs and a few moments of pleasure. My title and connection to the Crown is of much more importance than my chastity.”

Alicent stormed forward, grasping her stepdaughter’s wrist tightly in her own grasp, “Listen to yourself! Your father, the king, has spent more money than you can even imagine on bringing suitors here for you, hosting feasts and tournaments for you, offering you the finest of lifestyles and education–Think of the opportunities he has given you, and this is how you act?”

“My father,” The princess sneered, pushing herself up to speak directly into her stepmother’s face, “Wasted his coin in doing those things, not for me or for my future, but himself. He could not, in good faith, let me rot in the Vale until I am old and withered, so instead he calls me home, only so he can be rid of me for good. Nothing that fool has ever done has ever been for anyone except for himself–even now, he allows you and your father to rule in his stead, slipping the realm and his family into chaos and not willing to step in and protect anyone but himself–”

The room went dead silent after the loud clap of Alicent’s palm across the princess’s cheek. Both women gasped, Y/n reaching to prod at her swelling cheek while Alicent collected herself.

“You forget yourself. Your father is the king, and you will treat him as such. Everything your father does is in honour of your mother and the love he holds for you and the memories of her that he sees in you,” Alicent gulped, looking away as tears fell over the princess’s cheeks, “Lady Mathilde will be removed from court on the morrow. I should have never allowed her to accompany you in the first place. You will accompany me to the Sept for prayer tomorrow morning, and you will be taking extended lessons with the Septa. You will break your fast and sup with only myself or alone, and you will learn to respect your father, the king, and me, your queen. Now go to bed, and bathe yourself tomorrow morning–Your sin alone is enough to disgrace the sept, let alone any physical signs of it.”

With that, Alicent turned and fled the room, rushing down the stairs and ignoring the greetings of the white cloaks patrolling the halls as she marched into her chambers. She paused, raising her hands to grasp at her face in frustration.

She cursed silently, then quickly blessed herself. Shaking her head, she began to pull at the laces of her own robe, falling into her plush bed and curling into herself. She was still for a few moments, waiting for her handmaidens to put out the candles and leave the room before she rolled onto her back, shakily pulling her skirt up to her hips and slipping her fingers between her thighs, head rolling back in both pleasure and annoyance at how wet she had become from watching the princess in such a primal, exposed state, breasts heaving with her stuttered breaths and husky moans. Alicent felt that angry bubbling eating away at her gut, intense jealousy surging through her at the thought of that girl touching her, tasting her in the most intimate way possible–what Alicent wouldn’t give to know how it felt to taste a Targaryen princess, a thought she had not entertained in many years.

Alicent grunted, hips stuttering into her own touch as her brows furrowed, unable to find a steady enough rhythm. She quickly rolled herself over, face pressed into her pillow and back arching to lift her dripping core into the air. She reached beneath herself, quickly moving to circle her clit with a steadier, more confident pace. A surprise jolt of pleasure wracked her body, shocked at how sensitive she was with that first touch as a heavy, dragged out moan filtered out of her, brows creasing in concentration as she fell into a steady, but rapidly quickening pace. Her fist tightened into the sheets, arm tensing to push herself up into a sitting position, legs widening impossibly further as she began riding her own fingers, hips stuttering as she reached her peak, and then gradually slowed to a stop. She slid her fingers out of herself, gliding them up her body until she was able to wrap her lips around them, tasting her own juices and imagining it was the princess’s instead. When she finally collapsed back on the bed, rolling onto her back and taking heaving breath as her heart slowed to a normal, steady beat. She laid there silently for a few moments before she finally closed her eyes in embarrassment, cheeks burning red at the memory of what she had done, and more importantly, what had stirred her on.

In the following weeks, she noticed the princess’s behaviour reverted to one that was more akin to how she had acted when she had returned from Vale. In the public eye, she had continued to portray the perfect princess, years worth of practised grace and charisma coming to aid her in impressing the visiting suitors, and even regularly accompanied Alicent to the sept for prayer. Alicent wondered, in the beginning, if she truly just had been in need of a reality check, to be put in her place in order for her to behave. Then, Alicent realised, no one–especially someone so deviant as the princess–returns to the light so easily without still being tempted by the sins of their past. The Hightower queen knew better than anyone that the princess was most certainly still indulging in her desires, and Alicent had just made it more difficult for herself to catch the princess in the act by sending Lady Mathilde away.

For now, at least, the queen would have to settle with this arrangement. In truth, there was nothing that she could truly do to stop the girl from doing as she pleased, she just hoped she would keep it a private matter. That way, the queen would not have to deal with the matter, nor would she find herself in the position of witnessing and being influenced by the princess’s depravity.

In fact, Alicent found herself coming to enjoy the princess’s company. She was, after all, dangerously charismatic and carried a wit that kept the queen on her toes. On a personal level, she truly did feel for the princess; her father made little effort to know her after months apart, and yet she was being forced into a marriage with some lord that she doesn't even know for his advantage. Alicent was once in a similar position, and she had a deep understanding of exactly why the young woman was so hostile towards her father.

The eldest son of House Tyrell seemed to be an ideal match for their own young princess. He was handsome, and seemed to have focused much of his time on earning a greater understanding of the princess’s Valyrian culture and heritage. He seemed quite taken with the silver-haired beauty, stealing her away to the dance floor at any given opportunity during the grand feast being held in his honour. Alicent was glad to see it, hoping that this issue would be resolved easily enough once she was focused on a husband of her own, but that itching feeling of suspicion at the base of her spine returned as she watched the princess be dragged away by her potential betrothed’s elder sister, spinning around the dancefloor hand in hand.

The queen found herself lost in her cups that night. She had been sitting in between her frail husband and the droning lady of Highgarden, her high-pitched voice turning into an annoying ringing in her ears as she watched over the crowd, emerald eyes constantly in search of her stepdaughter in the crowd. On top of everything else, Aegon had been acting up once more, and Rhaenyra’s insistent involvement in her sister’s betrothal leading to the king’s heir, her husband, and all five of her children arriving in King’s Landing.

She had found it difficult to relinquish some of her everyday activities with the princess to Rhaenyra, who had been at her side since they had arrived, fingers gracing her cheeks affectionately and insisting on doing her sister’s hair on her own. The youngest of Aemma’s children did not belong to the red haired woman, that much she already knew, but Rhaenyra’s presence seemed to pose a threat to Alicent.

Her wandering mind had drawn her eyes to the heir to the throne, where she and her husband stood off to the side conversing with some other lords. She shook her head, rolling her neck back as Lady Tyrell’s blabbering returned to her. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the recognisable head of silver braids amongst the court, lips curling down as she failed to find her.

Alicent grasped her cup, downing the remainder of the sweet wine and forcing herself to her feet. She barely offered Lady Tyrell a glance as she excused herself, quickly manoeuvring through the crowd. The queen spared no time, immediately turning and taking the far too familiar route to the princess’s chambers, though she only made it about halfway there before she discovered exactly where the princess had escaped to.

Princess Y/n of House Targaryen was pressed against the stone pillar in a small alcove, helplessly pressing herself against the full figure of the eldest Tyell girl, moaning wantonly into their kiss and paying no mind to the fact that her stepmother had just caught her for the second time.

“I thought we were past this,” Alicent frowned, the lack of emotion in her voice betraying exactly how enraged she truly was, sending a nervous shiver down Y/n’s spine.

“Your Grace,” the Tyrell girl curtsied, separating herself from the princess in embarrassment. Alicent felt a touch of relief at how flustered she appeared in comparison to Lady Mathilde. “I–I…”

“Leave us,” Alicent did not remove her eyes from the princess, who shrunk into herself as the lady rushed down the corridor, barely gone for a moment before the queen was grabbing her bicep with a bruising grip and dragging her up the stairs. “I cannot believe you, just when I thought I had gotten through to you.”

The door to Y/n’s bedchambers slammed shut behind them, Alicent dragging the younger woman across the room and throwing her onto the bed, face first. The queen felt her own face burning red, unsure if it was caused by the burning anger inside of her, the wine, or the familiar feeling squeezing at the bottom of her stomach. The princess whimpered, pushing herself up to attempt to turn and face the queen when Alicent’s hand fisted itself into her silver locks, forcing her back down on the mattress.

“You will stay, I think I need to get my point across more thoroughly,” Alicent muttered, using her spare hand to tug at the princess’s skirts until her bare ass was left to the cool evening air.

The queen took a moment to admire her soft, plump flesh, dimpling skin leading down to the silver curls that peeked out from between her thighs. The Hightower woman inhaled deeply, collecting herself, before she finally brought her flat palm down against the meat of her ass. The princess cried out, skin singing with pain as her ring-clad fingerprints were burned into her flesh, limbs fighting to escape her punishment, though the queen seemed to be much stronger than she looked. Alicent continued her assault, watching with a sadistic satisfaction as her handprint was left repeatedly in the princess’s skin.

“You forced my hand,” The queen grunted, “Everything I have done for you, everything everyone has done for you, and you still betray your duties.”

“I’m sorry!” The princess wept, “I tried, I did! I cannot help it.”

Alicent ignored her and the small pang at her heart, continuing to spank the girl before halting as her fingers landed on the apex of her thighs, a squelching sound echoing from the slap as her fingers found her dripping mound. The queen gasped at the wetness that soaked her fingertips, slowly pulling them away to stare at them.

“Look at you,” She muttered, “No matter the circumstance, no matter the woman, you are dripping and desperate.”

She finally released the princess, allowing her to turn and face her, whimpering as her sensitive ass pressed against the textured furs. She stared up at the queen for a few moments, letting out stuttering breaths as silent tears fell down her cheeks, then she pushed herself up, forcing her face into Alicent’s chest as she wrapped her arms around her, sobs wracking her body.

“I am sorry,” she wept, “I cannot help it, believe me. I wish I was never afflicted like this, but everytime I try to stay on a straight path, I find myself lost once more.”

Alicent’s hand came up to grasp at the back of the princess’s head, engulfing her in an affectionate embrace that was frighteningly soft in comparison to her previous actions. She whispered calming words to her, forcing her face back so she could speak directly to her.

“I understand,” She said, “Everyone struggles with their own afflictions…myself included.”

“Even you?” The princess sniffled, “You seem so perfect.”

Alicent scoffed, “If I were perfect, my children would be well behaved, the realm would be at peace, and I would be satisfied without my own guilt and sin.”

Y/n exhaled, eyes flickering to the queen’s pouty lips for a brief moment before leaning up, nose brushing against hers. Their breaths mingled, lips ghosting one another’s in order to test the waters, allowing for Alicent to pull away before the decision was made.

She did not.

Alicent wishes she could blame the alcohol that she had consumed, but as her lips crashed against those of the princess, she was brought back to the many nights she had brought herself to her blissful peak with swirling thoughts of the silver-haired woman. Her hands grasped her face, holding her tightly in place as she continued her new assault, this time one that the princess was glad to receive.

“We will fight this together,” the queen murmured, “We will help one another.”

The princess nodded, desperately pushing her face closer for another kiss, which the queen was happy to offer to her. She moaned at the princess’s taste, the sweetness of her tongue mixed with the sharp taste from the wine she had been drinking. Alicent finally pulled away, forcefully turning the princess around as she made quick work of the lacings of her dress, eagerly helping her remove and step out of the many layers of clothing she’d been wearing. She allowed herself to stare in awe as the princess turned back to face her, breasts heaving in anticipation of the queen’s touch.

“Beautiful,” Alicent murmured, fingers gliding up her sweat-glazed flesh to pinch tightly at one of the princess’s pebbled nipples and smirking at the whimper that escaped her kiss bitten lips. The queen released her touch, turning herself around and calling to the younger woman over her shoulder, “Take off my clothes.”

Y/n giggled behind her, hands finding the queen’s waist as her lips trailed her pale neck. Her voice escaped her in a husky whisper, breath hot against the queen’s ear as her fingers slowly pulled at the green gown, “Yes, Your Grace.”

Alicent felt a shiver of desire ripple down her spine as her own clothes joined the princess’s in a heap on the floor. She turned as soon as her chemise removed and her skin was left completely bare, pushing herself as close to the princess as possible and capturing her lips in another kiss, both women fighting each other with ferocity and passion before Alicent finally subdued the princess’s attempt to seize control. Y/n pulled back, lips trailing down the queen’s neck, shoulder, and collar bones before she went to work on her breasts. Her tongue dragged over every inch of her bare chest before she finally focused on the hardened pink buds, sucking each into her mouth and offering them equal amounts of attention as she sucked, licked, and nibbled away.

Alicent moaned out, head tilting back as she felt the pleasure course through her. The thick red curls between her thighs felt matted with the amount of juices that had escaped her, and she’d finally had enough. She pulled the younger woman away from her breast, noting the whimper of disappointment that left her lips. Alicent kissed her again, indulging the princess’s desperation as she kissed back eagerly, before she pushed her back, pinching her cheeks together to force her lips into a pout.

“Get on your knees,” Alicent ordered, “Show your queen the fruits of the company that you keep.”

The princess wasted little time, kneeling between the queen’s thighs, leaning forward with an exploratory lick into the mass of red curls. Alicent gasped at the contact, fingers curling into the younger woman’s hair and forcing her face closer. The princess had not been at work for five minutes before Alicent raised her leg, resting her foot on the edge of the bed next to them, using extra support to begin thrusting her hips forward. She chased her orgasm ferociously, rolling her hips against the princess’s tongue, gripping her hair tightly as she guided her face into her and fucked her face ruthlessly.

“Gods, yes,” she sighed, staring down at the violet eyes of her stepdaughter, “You were born for this, to obey your queen.”

She let out a cry of pleasure as her orgasm rolled over her, caused by another person for the first time in her life. Alicent continued to roll her hips, slowing until the aftershocks came to a halt. She pulled her hips back, hauling the princess back to her feet to catch a taste of her own juices on the princess’s lips. Her hands carded down her back, down her back and grasping at the meat of her ass snugly, completely forgetting the tenderness of the flesh until the princess whimpered in discomfort.

“My apologies, sweetness,” Alicent instead turned to gently massage the flesh, “Allow me to make it better.”

The princess was malleable for the queen as she helped her onto the bed, pushing her onto her belly and forcing her ass up into the air. The queen felt a stab of guilt as she stared down at the swollen skin of her ass, bringing her lips down to press gentle, loving kisses into the flesh before her fingers gripped the skin as softly as possible to spread her cheeks, mouth watering at the sight of her silver curls glistening with arousal. Alicent wasted no more time, pressing her face into the princess’s core with vigour, tongue working her tight hole before lowering to suck at her swollen and throbbing clit. The sounds escaping the princess were more than enough to encourage Alicent’s movements, working her sweet bud until her own release was gushing out, oozing onto Alicent’s tongue. The queen moaned at the taste, slurping up every last drop that she could find.

Cries of pleasure left the princess’s lip as she shook with the aftershocks, offering no resistance as the Queen rolled her onto her back and paying no attention to what she was doing until another burst of pleasure shot through her at the unexpected feeling of Alicent’s hot, wet core pressing against her own. Both women sighed at the contact, Alicent’s hands coming to rest on either side of the princess’s head as she rocked her hips, pressing their lips together in a weak attempt at silencing their moans as she found a steady pace.

The only sound heard in the room was the soft clapping of skin on skin, a squelching of their juices mingling together, and the desperate moans escaping both women. Y/n’s hands gripped Alicent’s waist tightly, raking her eyes over the queen’s body as she rode her, fingers crawling up her torso to find her breasts, squeezing and tugging on her heavy breasts.

“Your Grace,” the princess cried out, back arching off of the mattress, “Pleas–Your Grace, I am close.”

“As am I,” Alicent muttered, head tilted back with her eyes closed, “Gods, gods, yes.”

The princess reached her peak first, body thrashing in the sheets as the wetness between her thighs dripped down onto the sheets, soaking both herself and the queen above her in her juices. Then, Alicent fell over the ledge, fisting the sheets tightly with one hand while the other grasped the princess’s throat, pulling her up to kiss her once more.

The queen collapsed on top of the princess, red curls mixing with sliver as they lay entirely pressed together. Alicent pressed sweet kisses to the princess’s face, soothing her with gentle praises as she smoothed her hair away.

“I love you,” The princess muttered, her voice strained with dehydration, “I love you, I love you.”

The queen fought back a smile, “I know, my sweet girl. I know.”

They kissed, this time slow and yearning, a silent agreement of the change in their relationship.

“This changes things, more than you know,” the queen sighed, “But the decision has been made, and I will do everything in my power to protect you from the dangers of our desires.”

“As will I,” the princess whispered, leaning up to taste the queen’s lips once more, both completely unaware of the figure peering at them from the doorway.

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #lesbian #alicent hightower fanfic #alicent hightower imagine #alicent hightower is a lesbian #alicent x reader #alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower

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svsssfanonarchive · 9 months ago

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Examining SVSSS Canon: 2/∞

THE PRE-CANON TIMELINE

This post will attempt to provide an answer to several questions, including the ages of some of the current peak lords, as well as a rough timeline of events in the extras relative to the current day. A simple, bullet-point timeline will be at the end of this post, with relevant quotes and analysis above.

The timeline of SVSSS isn't particularly easy to piece together, and many fans are unsure of things such as the ages of certain characters, or how long the current generation of peak lords has been in power. As a matter of fact, it seems like even Airplane himself doesn't have a set timeline in mind for the events of PIDW pre-LBH:

“Your ages?” To tell the truth, Shen Qingqiu didn’t really know the precise age of this body. He raised his head at Shang Qinghua. “Wouldn’t you know better than I do?” Shang Qinghua twirled the brush in his hand. He’d never thought about this question either, so he figured he might as well just say whatever. Therefore he randomly wrote a number down in a couple of strokes. (7 Seas, Ch. 31)

It would be easy enough to take this quote and call the timeline a mystery-- however, there are a surprising amount of clues in the text, enough to at least put together a decent idea of when things happened and how old certain characters are, depending on which theories and interpretations one ascribes to.

There are two particular facts which are our most important hints as to the pre-LBH timeline, upon which this entire analysis hinges.

First, we have the spacing of the Immortal Alliance Conferences:

After much difficulty, Luo Binghe managed to turn seventeen, at which point he finally participated in the event the cultivation world held once every four years: the Immortal Alliance Conference. (7 Seas, Ch. 1)

And next, we have the length of time since Shen Qingqiu began to cultivate:

Before, Shen Qingqiu had thought that this body’s qualifications were already incredible, to have formed a core in only ten or so years when he’d begun cultivation so late. (7 Seas, Ch. 19)

Notably here, what is translated as "ten or so years" is 十几年， which is more accurately "ten and a few years." This means that at the time Shen Qingqiu formed a golden core, he had been at Cang Qiong Mountain for around 10-15 years, but likely no longer or shorter than that.

This tells us quite a bit already-- because we know that Shen Qingqiu only reached core formation after becoming peak lord, as well as after Luo Binghe had already become a disciple:

Luo Binghe was using the incorrect cultivation manual that Shen Qingqiu had handed him; he should have long since died bleeding from the seven apertures, his body rupturing down to his bones, skin, meridians, tendons, and flesh... Shen Qingqiu was filled with paranoia; he forever felt like everyone was secretly talking behind his back, discussing how he’d been unable to attain Core Formation even after this long. (7 Seas, Ch. 24)

So this tells us that it could not have been any longer than around 15 years between Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe joining Cang Qiong Mountain, and was likely at least a few years less than that because it has already been awhile since Luo Binghe was given the fake manual, which likely occured shortly after he arrived, and Shen Qingqiu reaches core formation at some point after this scene.

This means that the Qing generation's ascenscion likely occured no more than ten years after Shen Qingqiu joined the sect-- putting the ages for Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan respectively at roughly twenty-six and twenty-nine when they became peak lords.

The timeline can be clarified further and expanded, however, due to the spacing of the IAC. We know that the IAC occured when Luo Binghe was seventeen, and that it occurs every four years-- meaning that there would have been IAC taking place also when he was thirteen, nine, five, one, and three years before he was born.

However, we also know that it had not actually been fourteen years since Luo Binghe's birth at the start of SVSSS.

In the translation, Luo Binghe says the following when Shen Qingqiu asks his age:

“This disciple is fourteen,” Luo Binghe obediently replied. (7 Seas, Ch. 1)

However, the original says:

洛冰河乖巧地道：“弟子虚岁十四。”

"虚岁" here would be better translated as "nominal age." In ancient times, a child was one year old on the day of their birth, and aged up by one year with each new year-- so if a child was born the day before the new year, then at two days old he would already be counted as two years old. Sometimes, this would be counted on the spring festival new year, but other times it would be counted on the winter solstice.

As for Luo Binghe's precise chronological age, that is up for some determination. We know roughly the time of year he was born:

Immediately after birth, Luo Binghe was abandoned by his parents, swaddled in white cloth, and put in a wooden basin that was lowered into the Luo River. This occurred on the coldest days of the year... (7 Seas, Ch. 1)

The "coldest days of the year" here is 数九寒天, which refers to the nine periods of nine days each following the winter solstice. The winter solstice typically occurs on December 20-21, meaning that Luo Binghe's birth date is somewhere between December 20-March 12. If nominal age is being counted by winter solstice in this world, then that makes him chronologically thirteen at the start of SVSSS, but if it is calculated by the spring festival, then he is chronologically either twelve or thirteen at the start of SVSSS, as the Chinese new year can fall anywhere between January 21 - February 21, meaning that LBH could have been born either before or after this time.

So, let's just say that LBH's chronological age, for the purposes here, is thirteen, and then adjust our IAC timeline as follows：

There was one when he was chronologically sixteen, twelve, eight, four, the year he was born, and four years before he was born.

Now, how does this help us determine a timeline?

Well, we have the following statement:

Yue Qingyuan’s knuckles slowly brushed along Xuan Su’s hilt. “I was able to meet Senior Su Xiyan once at an Immortal Alliance Conference, many years ago." (7 Seas, Ch. 18)

Because we know that Su Xiyan died when Luo Binghe was born, we know that this meeting could not have occured at any conferences after his birth. It also would be unlikely that they met the same year Luo Binghe was born, as Su Xiyan would likely already be dead at that point if LBH was born after the new year. So, the latest that Yue Qingyuan could have met Su Xiyan would be twenty years before Luo Binghe was thrown into the Abyss.

We now combine this with the earlier discussion of the ages of Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan, and here I will note the following:

Yue Qingyuan slowly said, “At age fifteen, I entered Qiong Ding Peak." (7 Seas, Ch. 21)

This puts Yue Qingyuan roughly three years older than Shen Jiu:

“When [Shen Jiu] was twelve years old, he was but a slave my family had purchased from traveling child traffickers. " (7 Seas, Ch. 6)

Shen Jiu joined Cang Qiong Mountain at sixteen:

Liu Qingge didn’t even grace him with a sideways glance. “But certainly more success than a nobody who only began proper cultivation at age sixteen.” (7 Seas, Ch. 19)

This happened most likely directly after reuniting with Yue Qingyuan at an Immortal Alliance Conference. This puts Yue Qingyuan's age at nineteen during that conference, at which point he is head disciple, and has already gained some fame. However, this reunion has to occur before Luo Binghe's birth, Su Xiyan's death, and Tianlang-jun's defeat. This is because at this point, Yue Qingyuan has only been in Cang Qiong Mountain for four years-- thus, this particular conference is almost certainly the first one he has taken part in, and likely the first one he has attended at all, since a brand-new disciple in early stages of training most likely wouldn't have gone, therefore if Tianlang-jun had already been sealed by this point, Yue Qingyuan would not have had the chance to meet Su Xiyan.

So, the latest Shen Qingqiu could have joined Cang Qiong Mountain, at age 16, is twenty years before the Abyss, which would put him at age thirty-six at the youngest at that time.

Now, what about additional conference cycles?

It's possible that the conference in which Yue Qingyuan met Su Xiyan and/or after which Shen Qingqiu joined CQM may have been the one before this-- but that would also add four additional years to the time SQQ had been cultivating.

The earliest that Luo Binghe could have joined CQM would be when he was a little over ten years old, as that is when his mother dies:

On the bed lay a haggard old woman. With great effort, she tried to prop herself up, but from beginning to end, she was unable to do so. A small figure rushed in from outside. A tender-faced Luo Binghe, only a little over ten years old, supported the woman. Around his neck hung that jade pendant. (7 Seas, Ch. 3)

Shen Qingqiu had not reached core formation when Luo Binghe joined the sect. This means that if the IAC where SQQ joined the sect was four years before Luo Binghe's birth, then by the time Luo Binghe joins the sect it has been about fourteen to fifteen years since SQQ began cultivating.

Adding an additional four years would bump that to eighteen to nineteen years, which exceeds the "ten and some" years that SQQ took to reach core formation.

In my opinion, this also tells me that LBH joined CQM when he was absolutely no older than ten or eleven, and likely went to join immediately after his mother's death, because pushing LBH's join date later would also stretch the timeline of SQQ's cultivation. Now, this part does not specify whether the ten years old is nominal age or chronological age-- but because LBH's age of seventeen at the conference is referenced to his nominal age of fourteen, with a distance between of three years, then I am considering all age-numbers to be nominal age rather than chronological. This only really matters in regards to Luo Binghe for this analysis, though, as his birth year is the only one which has bearing on the timeline in regards to Su Xiyan's status.

With all of this information, we can determine with good confidence that the conference in which Yue Qingyuan met Su Xiyan was the same conference during which he reunited with Shen Qingqiu, which occured four years before Luo Binghe was born and twenty years before the Endless Abyss.

So because of this, we actually do have a relatively precise timeline of characters' ages, as well as events in the cultivation world.

This short timeline is also supported by the fact that Ming Fan is the most senior of Shen Qingqiu's disciples, and he is only sixteen, about 2-3 years older than Luo Binghe:

A youth around sixteen years old, tall and thin, promptly ran in through the door. “This disciple is here. What instructions does Shifu have?” (7 Seas, Ch. 1)

Had the Qing generation ascended too many years prior to Luo Binghe's joining the sect, it would be strange that the most senior disciple of Shen Qingqiu's was only sixteen, as in xianxia a disciple typically will not "graduate" at a certain age or cultivation stage, meaning that older disciples will maintain their role well into adulthood.

As for the rest of the peak lords, we have little to no information regarding the ages of Wei Qingwei, Qi Qingqi, or Mu Qingfang. However, we do know that Liu Qingge is quite young, and joined the sect both at an optimal age and a significant length of time before Shen Qingqiu:

At this point, Liu Qingge’s formal ascension to Bai Zhan Peak Lord, too, had likely only happened a couple years ago. There was a visible air of immaturity about his features, his gaze fierce and sharp, and within his every action was a young man’s spirited vigor. (7 Seas, Ch. 19)

and

Therefore, even though he’d entered the sect quite some time after Liu Qingge, because Qing Jing Peak was ranked second—only below Qiong Ding Peak—while Bai Zhan Peak was ranked seventh, Liu Qingge still had to address Shen Qingqiu as “Shixiong,” if through gritted teeth. (7 Seas, Ch. 24)

So, Liu Qingge is likely a year or two younger than Shen Qingqiu, but not by too much, since they still behave very much like contemporaries as teenagers-- let's say that Liu Qingge is likely around 14-15 when Shen Qingqiu joins the sect at age 16.

The other peak lord we know a bit about the age of is Shang Qinghua:

The older-than-average outer disciple Shang Qinghua, who currently occupied a seventeen-year-old body, looked around in all directions as he trailed behind the main team, who were unloading goods from the ship onto the docks. (7 Seas, Ch. 26)

He is seventeen here, and an outer disciple of An Ding Peak. We can place this a bit more definitively on the timeline by the fact that Shen Qingqiu is already a head disciple at this point in time:

“What I don’t know is how Shen Qingqiu got chosen as head disciple after starting cultivation so late,” said another outer disciple who’d joined Cang Qiong Mountain at an older age, his expression sour. (7 Seas, Ch. 26)

Unfortunately, we cannot place the exact point in time where Shen Qingqiu became head disciple-- one possibility is that it couldn't have happened until after Tianlang-jun's defeat, which occured about four years after he joined the sect, since he did not participate in the battle. But that is a weak argument, since none of the current generation besides Yue Qingyuan participated in that battle:

Of the current peak lords, only Yue Qingyuan had participated in that battle, as the head disciple of Qiong Ding Peak. (7 Seas, Ch. 17)

If using this argument, then that would mean that aside from Yue Qingyuan, none of the other peak lords had been chosen as head disciples at that time-- while that is a possibility, I think that a more feasible explanation would be that Yue Qingyuan was an exception, and participated in the battle specifically because of his wielding Xuan Su.

One thing we can extrapolate, however, is that Shang Qinghua was most likely an inner disciple for at least three years before the Qing generation's ascension. This is because of the following:

One day, Shang Qinghua’s concise Great System delivered a new command: Become the An Ding Peak head disciple within three years. (7 Seas, Ch. 26)

Now, it is somewhat loose evidence, as there is nothing to say that "three years" means for certain that the ascension would occur three years from that point, but it does mean that it occured no earlier than that. By now, Shang Qinghua has already been an inner disciple for some time, long enough to have been assisted by Mobei-jun a few times and to have gone on several missions-- most likely around a few months to a year or so at minimum.

Of course, how long has passed between Shen Qingqiu joining the sect and this point? Well, since Shen Qingqiu is still described as a youth:

Shang Qinghua suddenly heard the tinkling of sword tassel pendants, and a youth wearing Qing Jing Peak’s uniform slowly approached him. (7 Seas, Ch. 26)

Because of this description, I would say that Shen Qingqiu is most likely between seventeen and his early twenties, since it isn't particularly likely that he would become head disciple in less than a year after joining the sect. Of course, within this age range, there is one important event that occurs-- the battle of Bai Lu mountain, which would have occured when Shen Qingqiu was twenty and Yue Qingyuan was twenty-three.

Now, this gets into more of a speculation than anything else-- just before this point, Mobei-jun attacked Huan Hua Palace and the An Ding Peak disciples. If the battle of Bai Lu Mountain had already occured, it would have happened no more than a few years earlier. We also know that there is a tentative truce between the demon realm and the cultivation world:

This suggestion was solid. For many years, the Human and Demon Realms had maintained an uneasy balance and had yet to drop the pretense of peace. Eliminating Sha Hualing and her mob wouldn’t be impossible, but it would likely light a fuse. The demons definitely wouldn’t let her death go unanswered, and it wouldn’t be worth it if they stirred up an even greater conflict. (7 Seas, Ch. 3)

I suspect that this pretense of peace was likely set in place after the battle of Bai Lu Mountain, when the demon realm had just lost their ruler.

Since just a short time had happened since the demons' defeat and a likely truce between the realms, I find it unlikely that Mobei-jun, a prominent member of demonic nobility, at this time would be actively antagonizing the cultivation world by attacking Huan Hua Palace and Cang Qiong Mountain. Now, of course, there is a potential alternate storyline that this is exactly what happened, and Mobei-jun went rogue as an act of lashing out, and that interpretation would be perfectly valid on its own.

Personally, though, I believe that Shang Qinghua's meeting with Mobei-jun occured before the battle of Bai Lu Mountain, while the cultivation world and demon world were in the tense state on the edge of war. This means that Shang Qinghua most likely became an inner disciple when Shen Qingqiu was around 17-19 years old.

With this information, we can determine some relative ages:

Yue Qingyuan is three years older than Shen Qingqiu, who is a little older than Liu Qingge. Because Shang Qinghua was seventeen when Shen Qingqiu was already head disciple, it is most likely that he is around Liu Qingge's age, give or take a few years, as it is not particularly likely (though potentially possible) for Shen Qingqiu to have gone from new disciple to head disciple in the space of a single year.

Aside from these four, there are no other ages that can be determined for the peak lords.

With all of this information, a fairly decent timeline can be created. Characters' ages will be listed with each notable year.

《 THE TIMELINE 》

*counted up to the start of SVSSS. If using this timeline, keep in mind that the earliest and latest notes for date ranges can overlap-- do not accidentally have a disciple join the sect before the current peak lords ascend, or have SQH become head disciple after ascension! Dates with ranges are colored green (earliest) and red (latest).

Earlier than -21 YR

LQG: <;10-11

(earliest) Liu Qingge joins Cang Qiong Mountain

-21 YR

LQG: 10-11, SQQ: 12, YQY: 15, QHT: <16, QJL: 16

Shen Jiu sold to Qiu Jianluo

Yue Qi joins Cang Qiong Mountain

--IAC--

-19 YR

LQG: 12-13, SQQ: 14, YQY: 17

(earliest*) Yue Qingyuan enters the Lingxi Caves with Xuan Su

-18 YR

LQG: 13-14, SQQ: 15, YQY: 18, QHT: <19, QJL: 19

(latest*) Yue Qingyuan enters the Lingxi Caves with Xuan Su

Shen Jiu kills Qiu Jianluo and burns down Qiu Manor

Shen Jiu becomes Wu Yanzi's disciple

(earliest*) Yue Qi leaves the Lingxi Caves

(earliest*) Yue Qi becomes head disciple

(latest) Liu Qingge joins Cang Qiong Mountain

-17 YR

LQG: 14-15, SQQ: 16, YQY: 19

(latest*) Yue Qi leaves the Lingxi Caves

(latest*) Yue Qi becomes head disciple

--IAC--

Yue Qingyuan meets Su Xiyan

Shen Jiu kills Wu Yanzi and joins Cang Qiong Mountain

-16 YR

LQG: 15-16, SQH: 15-17, SQQ: 17, YQY: 20

(earliest) Shen Qingqiu becomes Head Disciple

(earliest) Shang Qinghua meets Mobei-jun and becomes inner disciple at age 17

(earliest) Shang Qinghua receives the directive to become head disciple within three years

(earliest) Shang Qinghua becomes head disciple

-14 YR

MF: 2, LQG: 17-18, SQH: 17-19, SQQ: 19, YQY: 22

(latest) Shen Qingqiu becomes Head Disciple

(latest) Shang Qinghua meets Mobei-jun and becomes inner disciple at age 17

(earliest**) Su Xiyan imprisoned and subjected to torture in Water Prison

(earliest**) Battle of Bai Lu Mountain

(earliest**) Tianlang-jun Sealed

-13 YR

NYY: <1, LBH: 1, MF: 3, LQG: 18-19, SQH: 18-20, SQQ: 20, YQY: 23

(latest**) Su Xiyan imprisoned and subjected to torture in Water Prison

(latest**) Battle of Bai Lu Mountain

(latest**) Tianlang-jun Sealed

Luo Binghe is Born

Su Xiyan Dies

(earliest) Qing Generation ascend to become Peak Lords

--IAC--

-11 YR

NYY: 2-3, LBH: 3, MF: 5, LQG: 20-21, SQH: 20-22, SQQ: 22, YQY: 25

(earliest***) Ming Fan joins Qing Jing Peak under Shen Qingqiu

-9 YR

NYY: 4-5, LBH: 5, MF: 7, LQG: 22-23, SQH: 22-24, SQQ: 24, YQY: 27

--IAC--

-8 YR

NYY: 5-6, LBH: 6, MF: 8, LQG: 23-24, SQH: 23-25, SQQ: 25, YQY: 28

(latest) Shang Qinghua receives the directive to become head disciple within three years

(earliest***) Ning Yingying joins Qing Jing Peak under Shen Qingqiu

-5 YR

NYY: 8-9, LBH: 9, MF: 11, LQG: 27-28, SQH: 27-29, SQQ: 29, YQY: 32

--IAC--

(latest) Shang Qinghua becomes head disciple

(latest) Qing Generation ascend to become Peak Lords

(latest) Ming Fan joins Qing Jing Peak under Shen Qingqiu

-4 YR

NYY: 9-10, LBH: 10, MF: 12, LQG: 28-29, SQH: 28-30, SQQ: 30, YQY: 33

Luo Binghe's adoptive mother dies

(earliest) Luo Binghe joins Qing Jing Peak

(earliest) Shen Qingqiu reaches Core Formation

-3 YR

NYY: 10-11, LBH: 11, MF: 13, LQG: 29-30, SQH: 29-31, SQQ: 31, YQY: 34

(latest****) Ning Yingying joins Qing Jing Peak under Shen Qingqiu

(latest) Luo Binghe joins Qing Jing Peak

-2 YR

NYY: 11-12, LBH: 12, MF: 14, LQG: 30-31, SQH: 30-32, SQQ: 32, YQY: 35

(latest*****) Shen Qingqiu reaches Core Formation

-1 YR

NYY: 12-13, LBH: 13, MF: 15

--IAC--

Year 0

NYY: 13-14, LBH: 14, MF: 16

SVSSS Begins

-----

This timeline operates under the following conditions. For some of these conditions, alternatives are discussed in the post above-- if you wish to use any of the alternative calculations, then you're more than welcome to adjust the timeline as applicable for your own use!

"Years" are counted from the first day of the spring festival/Chinese new year, rather than January 1

All character ages are nominal ages, so they were born in the year they are counted as age "1"

Luo Binghe was born after the new year, and so his nominal age is only about one year higher than chronological.

Shang Qinghua met Mobei-jun before the battle of Bai Lu Mountain

The system's time limit for SQH does reference the time of the Qing generation's ascension

The Immortal Alliance Conference takes place roughly in the middle of the year. Based on the fact that it is warm enough for the disciples to dip their feet into a stream and find that pleasant, it would make sense for the IAC to occur in a warmer season (Ch. 4)

Further References and Footnotes:

*Yue Qi was in the Lingxi Caves for more than one year and Qiu Manor had already been destroyed by the time he got out (Ch. 21)

**The birth of Luo Binghe occured a few days after the battle of Bai Lu Mountain. Depending on when LBH was born, it could be at the end of year -13 or the first few days of year -12 (Ch. 21)

***We do not know the earliest a child can join Cang Qiong Mountain, even though the appropriate age for cultivation most likely cuts off somewhere around 15 (due to YQY joining at that age and no comments about him being "too old"). For the purposes of this timeline, I am setting the absolute youngest to age 5, but more realistically a disciple wouldn't join until age 8-10 at the earliest.

****It is unknown whether the only time that disciples can join Cang Qiong Mountain is during the recruitment trials. Therefore, there remains a possibility for Ning Yingying to have joined the sect in the same year as Luo Binghe, but at some point before the recruitment trials due to connections. This can potentially be supported by Shen Jiu joining after the IAC, but at the same time, it is not confirmed that SJ joined CQM immediately, or if he had to wait until the next recruitment trial, so there is no clear canon precedent-- nonetheless, it is still possible. Note that Ning Yingying can only join at this late point if Luo Binghe joins at age 11, and after her. The only hard requirement is that NYY joined at some point before LBH.

*****I have placed this as the absolute latest time SQQ could have formed a golden core because this puts him at having been cultivating for sixteen years. It is a bit of a stretch already , but I don't think that "ten and a few" years could really be any longer than this. It is also worth noting that by the time SQQ reaches core formation, every other peak lord has already done so, with Yue Qingyuan first, Liu Qingge and Qi Qingqi next, and Shang Qinghua most likely last (Ch. 24)

Please let me know if you notice any errors in calculation, formatting, or missing details! This was quite substantial so there's a good chance I may have missed something.

Some of the points in this analysis and timeline calculations were brainstormed with the help of @zykamiliah , @cum-villain , @furbygoblinxiv . Many thanks!

#svsss #canon examined #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #yue qingyuan #liu qingge #shang qinghua #svsss timeline #resource

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farfromstrange · 2 years ago

Text

Customer Service | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!reader

Summary: After a particularly rough week, all you want to do is cry. It has you on edge and makes you say things you don’t mean. After letting out your anger on your boyfriend, he makes it his mission to take care of you for a change.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), Matt Murdock eats pussy like a champ, fingering, squirting (I feel filthy), emotional hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, no pronouns, reader has female body parts, 1st person pov (?)

a/n: As someone who quit their job in customer service for the exact same reasons I have stated in this fic, this is very personal to me and self-indulgent, again. I wrote this after a particularly bad day. Sometimes I wish Matt were real so he could actually do this to me.

There is nothing in all of existence that I loathe more than people. Why I chose to work in customer service in the first place has become more and more of a mystery to me. I could have quit after the first week, I should have, but whenever the thought crosses my mind, I tell myself: ‘It’s going to get better. You will get used to it.’ I did not, in fact, get used to it. Or, I did, I just started to hate myself even more. Every day I get home from an eight-hour shift, I’m tired, I’m exhausted and I feel the desperate need to throw myself off a cliff.

There are days when it’s easier. The elderly couple who comes in every Sunday, for example, to drink their coffee and have a lengthy conversation over a piece of cake, never fails to make me smile. They’re always kind, and forthcoming and they tip, even though I know they don’t have the money to.

Or the woman who likes to pick up lunch for her husband, she always calls me sweetheart, and she’s never bothered if her order takes just a little too long. The regulars chat me up and I like it because it makes me feel less alone behind the counter, as life passes me by and I can’t help to stare at the clock every five minutes to calculate how many hours of the day are left. They make it easier to forget about the overtime I inevitably have to put in every night. They know I don’t eat enough or smile enough or drink enough, and so they make me smile because they’re good people.

But some continuously want to tell me how to do my job, the one I’ve given blood and sweat for to master down to the smallest detail, and those who treat me like I’m responsible for their bad days and those who don’t care that I’m human, I just have to serve.

It’s so exhausting that some people don’t care about the workers behind the counter. I hate that my boss doesn’t seem to care either, that we don’t get paid enough, and that I’m expected to jump whenever they want me to. I got a life too, but that doesn’t matter because I’m cheap and they love to use those who never learned how to say no.

I physically can’t tell them I can’t work whenever I’m asked to pick up an extra shift, or when I’m sick or have to do anything else. It’s not even my main occupation and yet, here I am! Every day, I tell myself, I should just quit. It’s not my responsibility if they can’t treat their employees right. It’s not my responsibility they’re understaffed. I’m a student, I go to college, and I’m working hard on my degree - why should I prioritize my job over the thing that will determine the rest of my life?

And yet, every day, I go back. I go back and I work until my feet hurt and I’m sick and I’m tired and all I want to do is just cry. I go back because I, for the life of me, can’t say no. I can’t quit. I want to, but I can’t, and it’s killing me inside that I can’t talk about it the way I want to. In the end, I will always feel like everything is my fault and that I messed up, even though all I did was show up to work and turn into everyone’s punching bag.

My stupidity is what got me here. Usually, I would be home now, studying, but they asked me to pick up a late shift at the cafè again, and I worked for seven hours with only a fifteen-minute break in between - I look horrible, I smell of coffee and cake, and my body is hurting in all the wrong places. The weight is heavy in my stomach. I’m nauseous. I ate, but not enough. I’m hungry. I feel sick. Even the smallest sounds make me want to jump up the wall, kill someone, or perhaps even both. I’m angry, and I don’t even fucking know why because nothing happened. Other than a rather messy day with too much to do and too few people to do the work, the people weren’t even rude and I’ve had worse days - still, I feel everything at once and it’s ridiculous, really, because I’m an adult and I should know better than to let a rough day affect me. I don’t.

When he called and asked if I wanted to come over, I said yes. I didn’t want to, but saying no? Not something I would do, especially not to him. I walked into his apartment with a lump already in my stomach. The door creaked - God, I told him to oil it - and that was the first strike. I tossed my key into the bowl and it promptly fell back out. Second strike. My coat slipped from the hanger the second I hung it up. Third strike. I breathed, I had to, then went to the kitchen to make some dinner. Cooking usually works, usually, but the day must have gotten to me because the fourth strike - the fucking milk being expired - happened way too soon and it hit me, hard. After that, I was pretty much done for, and I knew, I just chose to ignore it.

Of course, I should have known I would screw up everything else, too.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is kind and soft in my ear as he presses a kiss to my cheek. His stubble has never been something to bother me before until that very moment. I flinch away, not sure why. If he realized it - which I’m sure he did - he doesn’t show.

“Smells good,” he says.

I put the garlic into the pan. It smells too much like garlic and I hate it.

“What you making?”

“Pasta,” I tell him.

He kisses me again. “Mh-hm. How was your day?” the question is stupid, but it’s normal and he always asks. He gets himself a beer - only himself - removes the cap with his mouth and then leans against the counter.

He shouldn’t infuriate me. He shouldn’t make me angry just by standing there and asking me questions couples ask themselves, but inevitably, he does. And I hate myself all the more for the way my voice sounds when I answer him.

“Fine,” I say.

“Fine?” he asks. “How was work?” I feel like he’s getting suspicious. “You only had two lectures today, right? English lit and what was the other one?”

“Linguistics.”

“Ah, yes. Your least favorite.”

Perhaps that’s why I’m angry.

“You know,” he says and the tangent he goes on after revolves around him and only him, and while I don’t like talking about myself, that doesn’t mean he has to unload all of his stress on me - I don’t know why I think that way and it’s scaring me because I don’t actually feel that way, but at that moment I do and it’s all very confusing.

I just want to lock myself in his bedroom and cry. He looks so good with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. He’s wearing his glasses, still, but his tie is loosened and he smiles because he knows I love that smile. I should love it. I should love the way his muscles tense underneath his shirt or the way his dress pants hang impossibly low on his hips, but for the first time, I don’t. I don’t love anything, I just feel anger, which makes me hate everything, but mostly myself.

I must have zoned out. Suddenly, he’s calling my name and he’s calling me sweetheart and he’s poking me with his hands - no, he’s stroking my hips, hugging me from behind, and it’s all too much. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lie. He knows I’m lying. He can hear it in my heartbeat. He can feel it in the way I move away from him to rinse the now-empty pan in the sink.

How is the food already finished?

“You didn’t listen to a word I just said,” he dares to sound offended.

“No, I did.”

“Really, what did I say?”

“You and Foggy had a case, didn’t go well, bla bla bla. Same as every day.”

He sets the bottle down. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s wrong? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh, so just because I don’t care about hearing the same story repeat itself every day and you whining about it means there’s something wrong with me?”

He’s taken aback. Quite frankly, I’ve never snapped at him before, not like this, not out of nowhere, and we’ve been dating for over a year. With his super senses, there is little that eludes the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, especially when it comes to his girlfriend. I hate that it’s like this. I hate not having any privacy, even when I try to. But I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want privacy. Or, I think. I don’t even know what I want. I know I want to be around him, but at the same time, it hurts because the anger is too damn hot to swallow, and his concern doesn’t make it any better. It should be, but it’s not. I’m a lost cause.

“I was just telling you about my day,” he says. I would yell back at myself if I were him, but he knows me. He knows yelling doesn’t help. He knows I’d cry, but maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want him to yell just so I have a valid reason to cry, to be angry.

I want him to hate me the way I hate myself.

That’s why I can’t help it anymore. “Maybe I don’t want to hear about your day.”

“What?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Matthew!”

He’s confused. I don’t blame him. The second the words left my mouth, I regret them. They make me sound like the most selfish person on the whole planet. I can’t take them back though. If I did, he’d know something is wrong and then he’d worry, he’d pity me and no, I don’t want that. I want to rile him up. I’m not sure why, but it makes me so angry that he’s so calm and I’m… well, I’m me, but I’m also not me. I’m a stranger in my own body.

I put the pasta in a bowl. It stinks of alcohol and tomatoes and garlic, too much of it. I wonder how anyone could eat that.

“Here,” I shove it into his hand, “You’ve been served. I’m gonna take a shower.”

I’m a bad person. I’m pretty sure I am. Who yells at their boyfriend because they can’t deal with their own problems? Who makes the person they love more than life itself feel like shit on purpose for no reason whatsoever? A sane person wouldn’t. We have never been a normal couple, Matthew and I, but we’re trying. Turns out, I suck much more than I thought I would.

It’s not the age gap, I’m sure of it. I’m in my last year as an English Major and he’s a defense attorney. Somehow, we make it work. He loves me, I know he does. He’s afraid of rejection - he thinks everyone he loves will leave him, which is why it took us a while to find together. I should have known my words were going to hurt him unimaginably. He thinks he did something wrong, but it’s not him. It’s never him. He’s damaged, but he’s nothing if not perfect to me, most of the time.

I’m heavily crying at this point, trying to conceal my sobs, but it’s not working. The water is loud, not loud enough to fool Matt’s hearing, but even if he were to hear it, he knows better than to provoke me any further. He doesn’t know what’s going on and neither do I, so it’s just the two of us silently waiting for the other to come around. He shouldn’t have to feel that way. And so I cry more because God, I do not deserve that man. I don’t deserve his kindness or his love. I don’t. I really, really don’t.

And once I’m out of the bathroom, I remember why I don’t deserve him.

The table is set for two. Candles substitute for the harsh ceiling light. He knows it gives me headaches sometimes. He put a bowl out for me and a glass of wine. White wine. The sweet kind. The kind he hates but keeps around in case I ever need a glass. He’s drinking red wine. It’s cheap, but it looks expensive and he likes to feel special from time to time.

I hug my arms around my body. He has his back turned to me, fixing a salad in the kitchen - I must have forgotten it. The way he moves is almost angelic. He moves as if nothing happened, as if I didn’t just treat him like a bitch. He’s singing my favorite song or humming it, anyway. The room smells of him and me and the food I loathed before, but watching him do all of this for me, even now, is sucking the air out of my lungs and suddenly, I don’t mind the thought of eating with him.

I only want one thing. I don’t want to ask for it and he’s not going to do anything unless I talk. We agreed on that from the beginning, no matter what kind of intimacy it involves. Without consent or a proper conversation, nothing will happen. And I curse myself for not being able to speak without the tears blocking my view again.

“There’s a sweater on the couch,” he states. He knows I’m cold. “And some fuzzy socks, if you want.”

The clothes smell like him.

“I put some more salt in the pasta. I think you forgot to salt the water, so I took it upon myself. I hope you don’t mind. Also, I tried to make your favorite salad dressing, but I’m not sure if I managed to get it right this time.”

He smiles and then his glasses are gone and he has an apron on and he looks like he loves me, really loves me, and that’s it. I pull my legs up to my chest, falling deep into the couch and I cry. All the pain just comes exploding out of me like an active volcano.

The leather dents next to me. “Comfort or solution?” he asks. It’s so casual, I get the feeling he’s not mad at me.

“I don’t know,” it sounds so broken.

His arm finds around my shoulder. “Is this okay?” I can only nod. Yes.

He moves me gently so I’m in his lap and he can rock me like a baby. It feels good to be loved like this, but it’s also suffocating. Still, I can’t help but fall deeper into his hold because this is, in fact, all I needed. Too stubborn to ask for it, I almost ruined something good. I know I did. He knows, too, but unlike me, he knows the difference between me being mad at him and being mad at the world. He knows I don’t mean what I say unless we’re fighting, and this isn’t it. We’re not fighting. I’m just angry and I want to cry, even while crying, and that makes me cry even more.

“You want to talk about it?” he asks once I can finally breathe again.

I blow my nose like a disgusting person and say, “Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.” And that about sums up all of my life.

“Is it school?”

I shake my head. If it’s not school, it can only be one other thing.

“Work?”

I nod.

“Anything happen or just a bad day?”

“Bad day.”

“That’s why you yelled at me? I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No,” I say truthfully for the first time. “I’m just angry. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Maybe next time try telling me though. I was actually scared I did something until I heard you cry in the shower.”

I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I tell him that, to which he only chuckles.

“You know how many times I acted hostile towards you after a long day?” he says. “It happens. It’s okay.”

“I just… I’m so stressed all the time. I hate work and I hate people and I hate not getting paid enough or on time, but I can’t quit because you know, I’m me and they know that, so they take advantage of my inability to say no, and it sucks because I’m so tired of working more than I go to school, but I need the money, and so I can’t leave until I’ve found another job, but no one else wants me, so now I’m here, trying to see the good in this stupid job, but I don’t. I can’t. I hate it. I hate everything and everyone and I hate myself and I think I’ll get my period soon because this should not be upsetting me this much.”

His hand on my back manages to soothe me.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

He smiles down at me, all loopy, and his sightless eyes are focused somewhere on my forehead, which makes everything so much better.

“I love you.”

And yes, I love him too. I love him so fucking much, it hurts.

“I love you too, Matty.”

As soon as I say his name, he knows what I want. He knows I need to destress. He knows I can’t eat until I can forget.

“Is there something I can do?” he asks, but damn him, he already knows.

“Can you…” no, I can’t ask him for that.

“Yes?”

“Matt, can…” No. “You know what, never mind.”

“No, sweetheart. Tell me. What do you need?”

“I just…” my chest heaves a frustrated groan. “IneedyoutoeatmeoutuntilIcantremembermyname.”

He enjoys it. He gets off on it, my desperation. “Sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did. Can you repeat that?”

“God.” My face is burning.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, this is the first time you actually asked me and I love hearing you ask for the things you want. It’s sexy.”

Somehow, that’s even worse. My thighs clench like I’m some pathetic little schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher.

“You know, maybe you can ask for a raise tomorrow, or quit altogether,” he says. “But for that to work, you have to tell me what you want right now.”

“I asked you to eat me out until I can’t remember my fucking name!”

“Thank you. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

If there is one thing Matt Murdock is incredibly skilled with, it’s his mouth. And I don’t just mean the words that come out. Essentially, it’s all in his tongue. He’s managed to render me speechless on more than one occasion, and he knows. He knows I love when he touches me, but there are times when it has to be about me, and only me, and he’d gladly suffocate between my thighs. He’s told me that time and time again.

He keeps telling me to ask him if I want something. I never do. I hate asking for it because it’s embarrassing. It’s good that he knows what he’s doing, that bastard because if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be cumming and I wouldn’t tell him. Somehow he always gets the job done, no matter how stressed I am.

That’s why I need it so badly. I need him to take care of me, no matter how long it takes. I know it might take a while because I’m tense and he knows too. He reads my body like an open book. That’s how he knows I’m horny before I even do.

He doesn’t move for another minute. He just stares at me. “You want me to take care of you?” he asks.

“Please,” I beg.

“Guess I’ll have dessert before dinner today then.”

He lifts my head and then he’s suddenly on top of me. He’s sliding me up the couch so he can fit in between my legs. I’m dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and his sweater and for a second I wonder if it’s even worth it. I’m ovulating, I’m bloated. I feel like shit. My hormones are all messed up. I can feel the weight of my boobs tear on my back and I’m pretty sure the hairs on my legs prickle his cheek as he kisses them. It’s making me want to take back everything I asked of him.

My confidence has taken a low blow this past week.

Though Matt doesn’t care, he never does. He digs his nose between my thighs and takes the longest whiff I’ve seen him take in a while. To be fair, the last time we saw each other, he was busy with work. We didn’t have time for intimacy, which hardly ever happens. He moans.

Smug bastard.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells me. It melts my heart. The compliment means so much more knowing he can’t physically see me. To him, I’m beautiful. He couldn’t care less about what I looked like. Although sometimes I wonder what picture he has made up of me in his mind.

His lips are on mine fast. I can’t help but sigh. They’re so soft. He doesn’t rush, he just kisses me and then kisses me some more. I tangle my hands in his hair. I’m sure, this is what heaven must be like.

“Let’s take this off.” His sweater joins my shorts on the floor. “May I?” He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of my panties. “Or do you want me to keep them on?”

I have no doubt he could do it with five layers in between and still make me cum.

“Off,” I say. I want this. I have to remind myself that my insecurities mean nothing – he loves me. He wants to do this for me. He wants to do this because he likes it, or else he would say it.

Matt is vocal, but I’m not. If he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll say. Can’t say the same about me, which is why he asks repeatedly, even after I already told him it’s okay. He wants to make sure I’m on board, that I don’t feel pressured and can pull out any time I want, but I don’t, because the second the cold air hits my bare cunt, all I want is him.

I can feel his eyes searching for me. “Hey,” he says my name. “We’re not playing this time, okay? You can cum when you need to and how many times you want to. You just have to lay back and relax. I’ll take care of you.”

He intertwines our fingers on either side of my spread thighs before he dives into me. It’s slow and steady. He doesn’t care about fucking me with his tongue like he usually does. He licks and bites, but mostly, his tongue and lips stay around my clit and they suck. They suck so good, I see stars behind my eyes. His touch sends shocks down my spine. My sensitive walls clench around thin air, but his head is so far between my thighs, I still manage to feel full.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t focus. It feels so good, way too good, and on any other day, I would’ve come by now. His beard burns into the inside of my thigh as I rock against him. I try to, but it’s exhausting. I can feel the coil in my lower belly clear as day, and yet it’s too far out of reach. I need it, I crave it.

I can hear myself saying, “This could take a while.” And he laughs because he finds it funny. It’s not funny though, it’s serious. I hate the fact that he makes me feel so good and I can’t find it in myself to enjoy.

“Close your eyes,” his breath fans hot against my folds. “And just stop thinking.”

He makes it his mission to ruin me. I close my eyes and as soon as I do, he’s on me. It’s not just his mouth. One of our joined hands reaches up to touch my breast – he twists my nipple through the shirt until it’s hard and has his attention. The other reaches behind me and lifts my hips. The next thing I know, he has me propped up on a pillow. The muscles in my lower back relax. I sigh. It’s so good.

He’s given up on slow and steady. His head moves in circles as he abuses – I don’t have another word for it – my clit and eats the rest of me like a man starved. I realize I need it fast and I need it hard. He knows it before I do. His tongue expertly parts my wet folds, a mix of arousal and spit trickling down my thighs, but I could care less. He’s inside of me and then his thumb is there and it’s rubbing and rubbing and rubbing and I’m so fucking close, the knot in my stomach feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, and it’s applying sweet, sweet pressure on cunt.

“Fuck!” I throw my head back into the leather. My back arches impossibly high, and his head squished tightly between my thighs. I need him closer. His hair is so soft, it makes me want to cry, and I do. I cry, but not in a sad way. I cry out because yes, God yes! and then I’m cumming, suddenly and without warning, hard, all over his face, and it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop.

The growl is animalistic. It vibrates perfectly through my pussy and I can’t help it – it barely takes two minutes until his lips start hurting so good as they keep sucking my clit, a series of ‘one more’ leaves his lips in a plea, and I’m rocking against him hard. I’m begging him, “Matt,” but I’m not sure what for.

“C’mon,” he says, “you can give me one more.”

He’s right. God, I hate when he’s right. My toes curl and I push his face so deep into me, I’m convinced he’s running out of air, but that’s what makes him moan and it sends me over the edge.

I’m pretty sure I passed out. The pleasure is so intense, my stomach feels like it’s being torn apart and then put back together. The world is dark and for the first time today, quiet.

Something nudges my cheek softly. It’s his hand. Matt kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips. “Hey,” he coaxes me back into lucidity. “There you are. Are you okay?”

I nod.

“You need anything?”

It’s a reflex, reaching for him. He gasps slightly when my hand touches between his thighs, expecting to find a visible bulge, but there is none. I’m not sure if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but there is a visible wet spot where his dick is supposed to be.

“Did you-“ I finally open my eyes. He looks so drunk in the candlelight. I realize then that he is drunk on me.

He buries his head in my neck. “You’re not the only one who’s been worked up all week,” he says.

“You just- oh, my God.” I never thought it possible that it could be enough for him. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. You’re always so good to me. Good girl. But I think-“ his finger steals my breath as it circles my entrance and promptly slips it inside of me. “You can cum for me again.”

I arch into him. My chest brushes against his. Our shirts suddenly feel like too much clothing and I’m desperate, so I tear at the buttons until they come apart. He has his arm back underneath me, holding me flush against him as if he’s afraid I might slip away.

A wanton moan escapes me. “That’s it,” and his praise is even better. “Think you can take another one?”

He adds a second finger. It burns but only because even after a year, I’m still struggling to take any part of him. His fingers are thick and they’re rough and they’re scratching my inside walls just right. They massage the flesh. He’s pumping his fingers in and out and in and out, and he adds his thumb back on my clit because he knows I won’t be able to cum without it.

All of the stress falls off my shoulders. I feel him everywhere, his kisses, his touch, his hard nipples against mine. He’s hard again, poking against my thigh. I reach for him and he whines, he whines into my mouth. I’m not sure which one of us will come first. I suppose it’s me, it’s always me. He makes sure it will be me.

He hits as deep as he possibly could. His fingers curl inside of me and then, “There it is!” Is so victorious, it makes my eyes roll back. He keeps hitting that particular spot over and over again. My hand clutches his shoulder. I want to scream, but all that comes out is a series of whined and pathetic moans. I can’t help it, my muscles contract around him.

“Damn, you’re gonna break my fingers,” he says. His chuckle is breathless. “You close?”

I hum.

“Do me a favor,” and I expect him to tell me anything but what he requests, “Don’t cum.”

It’s rude. It’s cruel and it’s vile and I want to murder him because just as he says it, the coil tightens impossibly tight and I need to let go. It’s painful to hold it in, especially now. But I do as he tells me nonetheless. I want to please him.

“Matt,” I moan. He’s so unfair and he knows it.

He smirks. “Just hold on a little longer.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

“St- oh, fuck!” He hits my sweet spot with twice the intensity. I almost cum, but only almost. I keep it together, no matter how much it hurts, and it’s making tears prick at my eyes. “Please, just let me cum,” I hate begging him. “Please, Matty.”

“Shhh. We’re almost there.”

His thumb speeds up. I can see heaven. God is reaching his hand out for me. My stomach is in a tight knot, so tight, the silk might rip any second. The pressure is unreal. My muscles have been trained by him, I admit, but nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare you for the times when Matt has his mind set on something and he’s going to take it. He’s going to take you.

I can’t think. It’s too much. I know I’m going to disappoint him. The animal inside of me is beyond satisfied and she wants out. She wants to let go. She loves the feeling of his fingers buried to the hilt inside of her. She loves him, and loving him tends to turn into sweet, sweet torture.

I moan his name again. His cock twitches underneath his dress pants, hot against my fingertips.

“Almost,” he promises. “I just want to try something.”

What could he possibly want to-

“Cum.”

I’m flying. My back lifts off the couch and if it wasn’t for him, I would be dead by now. My body is shaking. It’s earth-shattering and it’s wet and it’s everywhere. I can feel the orgasm tearing me apart from the inside, blood rushing in my ears. My senses go black. I can’t see, feel or breathe. Everything is too much. It’s burning, it’s heavy, but it’s amazing.

His fingers don’t stop until he has milked the last drop of me until even the last ounce of stress has left my body and I’m limp. I’m a corpse. I’m barely breathing, a wet sack of potatoes in his arms.

God, the look on his face. He’s cumming too. The wet patch on his pants has doubled. It’s not from me, although I’m suddenly very aware of the fact of what he just made me do.

“Oh.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “That was amazing.”

I never expected to have it in myself. “Oh, Jesus.” My words are highly blasphemous but I don’t care. I’m not even sure how to feel. The blush creeps up my cheeks and I close my legs a little. Everything is so wet. It’s all me and some of him, but mostly me. Just spurts of cum all over his hand and his couch.

He clicks his tongue, shoving my thighs apart. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he says.

“No, it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? Sweetheart, I’ve never felt more proud of myself.”

“I just- your couch. Oh, God.”

“I’m pretty sure the couch will survive it. Leather is easier to clean. How do you feel?”

I sigh, snuggling against his chest. “Better,” I have to admit. “Much, much better.”

“Good.” He kisses my neck. “Can I have my fingers back now?”

“No.” I like the feeling of him inside of me, even if it’s just his fingers. It makes me feel complete, almost.

“Okay.”

“Just gonna rest my eyes now.”

“You do that, sweetie. I’ll be here.”

And he is. He always is. I wake up, and he’s there, and he always will be because he promised me this is forever. Us. Me and him. And I realize then that I’ve never been more in love with another person than I am in love with Matt Murdock.

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock imagines #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x afab!reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil smut #smut #fluff #matt murdock angst #hurt/comfort #stress relief #I hate customer service with a passion #I also hate retail #I hate work in general #Matt Murdock rail me challenge

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scandinavianfairytale · 9 months ago

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Safe in your arms

Pairing: Tangerine x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, misogyny, threat of violence (not towards the Reader)

A/N: I decided his real name is Ethan, with no context or back story. I just like the name and it would suit him 😁

Tangerine had your number memorized - he ought to, given how many times he has dialed it. In fact, he memorized it as soon as you wrote it on the piece of napkin when he met you in that rooftop bar in London.

He was working with Lemon, completely focused on their target, until he saw you getting harassed. He stepped in, kissing your cheek, and met the man's eyes. The dude was visibly shaken.

"You didn't say you had a new toy."

"I don't owe you anything, Marcus. Least of all a list of who I'm seeing." You glared at the man.

"Have fun with a used woman." Marcus spat at Tangerine. As he turned around, Tangerine wanted to grab him by the neck and throw him off of the roof, but your hand stopped him.

"Leave him. His ego is wounded, and he's lashing out." You waved your hand and let go of the situation.

"What a child." Tangerine muttered.

"Male fragility more like it."

"Do you usually go for men like that?"

"I don't date boys - him included." You finally met Tangerines' eyes.

"So what happened to him?"

"I told him I'm not interested, but he has yet to grasp that idea."

"How many times did you have to say no?"

"I think now it was the fourth time."

"Why keep being polite?"

"Because being mean might get me in trouble."

"Well, I'd be happy to assist you. If you want him to stop bothering you, just say the word and you will never hear from him again."

Your eyebrows shot up and you considered the man in front of you. He was very handsome. Strong, but at the same time still delicate.

"I don't doubt you'd do that, but I don't need your help. Thank you, though. That was very kind of you to jump in before." You smiled at him and jumped off the bar stool. Only then did you realize how much taller he really was.

"Wait. I know that this is a bit forward of me, but I was hoping you'd give me your phone number?" Tangerine wanted to bite his tongue immediately after saying those words.

He was glad his mouth was quicker than his brain. Five years later, and you were still in his life. The phone rang six times, before he heard your still groggy voice pick up.

"It's nine am, Love. Are you still in bed?" Tangerine grinned.

"Ethan, morning." He could hear you smile. He loved hearing his name roll from your lips. He could picture you right now, lazing around, still in your underwear with his T-shirt, with the work laptop turned on, giving the illusion that you were already working.

"It's already evening here." He almost scolded.

"When are you coming back? I feel like it's been weeks since I saw you."

"Have you been thinking about me?" Tangerine smirked as he whispered into the phone, looking around to see if anyone was listening.

"You know I have." You smirked into the phone on your side of the world. "Although I appreciate that no one is hogging the whole bed every night." You joked.

"I hate to tell you this, Love, but you're the bed hog."

"Agree to disagree." You smiled. "Are you okay?"

"I'm doing good. How are you holding up?" Tangerine looked out of the window at the passing landscape.

"I'm okay. I met some friends yesterday, and we ended up going for cocktails. It was a bad idea, drinking on a work day." You giggled.

"I'm glad you had fun. But take it easy today, and please don't go out jogging if you feel sick."

"Ethan, stop worrying about me, just come home as soon as you can, okay?" Your voice got serious.

"Okay. We are almost done, I'll be there hogging the bed again in no time." Tangerine smiled.

"Okay. I love you." You smacked your lips, sending him a vitual kiss.

"I love you." He smiled and hung up.

Contrary to his fantasy, you have been up for the last 3 hours, worrying about your boyfriend. He should've been back several days ago, but he took an extra job since he was already in Tokyo. But something felt off to you, and you have been worried since then. Going out drinking helped you out with putting the nagging feeling away at least for a bit. But then you woke up from another nightmare, still drunk from a few hours before.

However, hearing him just now made you feel so much better and you were able to focus and stop dreading what may go wrong. You went back to hoping and impatiently waiting for Ethan to be back, safe in your arms.

Thank you for reading ✨️😊

The GIF belongs to the amazing creator 🙏✨️

#aaron taylor johnson #bullet train #tangerine #tangerine imagine #tangerine x reader #fluffy #safe in your arms #short story #fanfic

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just-wrting · 1 year ago

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Undercover

Title: Undercover

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: Working on a case, leads to you and Hotch pretending to be a couple to lure out an unsub. While you're aware of the impact it has on your crush, you're unaware of the impact it has on Hotch.

Word Count: 4892

Master List

A/N: This has been my longest sitting Hotch draft so I sat down today and wrote this! It only took me a few hours cause I couldn't stop watching Criminal Minds while writing this. This is also so that people who aren't enjoying the Babysitter series a break. This was also gonna have smut but I want sleep more than that.

You had lots of feelings about Hotch. As your boss, he was good at his job. He was usually level-headed, calm, and direct. He did well in a leadership role and was able to command the team well. On top of that, his voice was smooth and his hands warm. He took good care of everyone, even you. That led to your biggest issue with your job at the BAU, you had started to develop a crush on your boss.

The gentle sound of papers rustling is what makes you realize that you’re not alone. You’ve managed to zone out while on the plane. Thankfully it’s in the last part of the trip, the part where you all mostly read the files on your own and tried to piece things together.

Emily slides back into her seat next to you and pushes a cup toward you. “I don’t think I’ve seen you have a single thing to drink on this flight.”

You take a sip from the cup and gave her a small smile. “Yeah, I tend to be a little squished into the seat by the window and don’t want to interrupt someone’s thoughts. I know no one’s going to be mad, but I’d rather not risk something that could be important.”

“Dehydration will just make it harder for you to focus, (Y/N). Granted the effects take much longer to set in, but the average adult doesn’t drink nearly enough water.”

You look over the table at Reid. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind before I choose my coffee.”

“You sure it’s a cup of coffee you’ll be choosing? I’ve seen you with more soda in your hand than coffee.”

You shake your head at Morgan before looking back at the files in your hand. Morgan had been right. Maybe not about the soda but about the fact that no matter how many cases you did, it wasn’t any easier. Each victim was someone that could no longer be saved. They all had a family that wanted them back, and there was nothing you could do.

—

Once you had landed, Hotch sent you with Morgan to go look at the crime scene. It is your least favorite task, not to mention your weak stomach after a flight, you don’t like looking at the blood longer than you have to. Thankfully, Morgan is good at keeping you calm and is willing to check on rooms first. He’ll always give you a warning, your own little one-to-five scale, on how bad the room was.

“The bodies were found still in bed. The neighbors said they didn’t hear anything so maybe the first thing he did was make sure they couldn’t scream.”

You nod as Morgan walks around the bed. “Based on trauma on the head I’d go with at least one woke up. The husband had an indent on the back of his head. Given that there wasn’t anything left at the crime scene, the killer took it with him.”

“Okay so, the unsub gets into the house and comes upstairs to the couple sleeping. Maybe he makes a noise or something. Husband wakes up and the unsub hits him so he stays quiet.”

“What about the wife? I’ve heard men are deeper sleepers so wouldn’t she have woken up? Plus this isn’t the first murder. Wouldn’t the unsub know better than to make noises?”

“Maybe he killed the wife first. The blood or the smell could’ve woken the husband. Maybe even the wife moving before she died woke him up. It didn’t take him long to kill both of them. Time of death for both was around 3 am.”

“If he was done with the wife, why not just kill the husband right away? Why bother knocking him out?”

With that, Morgan shrugs and looks at you. “I don’t know. Maybe it was easier. All I know is that there isn’t much else here.”

“Do you think this couple was having fun?”

Morgan blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Well for starters, there’s not much in here to suggest that they had intimacy. Besides the blood, this bedroom looks like it was set up for a showing. There are no pictures of them together besides a wedding photo. I doubt you’d find sexual items in here.”

Morgan gave the room a once-over. “I guess so. A loveless marriage that didn’t even have kids. I wonder what kept them together.”

—

“So we’ve got multiple couples murdered. They all have their similarities. The men all have some sort of desk job and made decent money. The wives all did some sort of work with people. For example, wife number one was a teacher, and wife number two was a tour guide for the museum. Beyond that, they didn’t have any other things in common. No common places they went or people they knew.”

Morgan held open the door for you. “Actually, I don’t think any of them had kids. Where are the crime scene photos?”

Emily hands you a file that you pop open and show to Morgan. “They all seem to be set up the same. All master bedrooms with the victims inside on the bed.”

As you flip through them, you start to feel queasy. The pictures still contain the bodies in their posed positions on the bed. The walls and furniture are covered in blood. You do your best to pull your eyes from the bodies. You want to look at what was in the rooms.

“It’s the same in these. There are no signs of love or a happy couple. Not a photo besides the wedding one.”

Hotch gives you a glance and you hold out the file. “What do you think this could mean?”

“Well, maybe it’s all staged. The photo happens to be on the wives’ side of the bed and they all happen to sleep on the right side. While that may happen to be the most common side for the wife to sleep on, it’s all preference. They’re posed in a way that makes them look like they’re in a mattress commercial.”

“So the unsub could be acting out a fantasy with the couples. But what sort of fantasy could it be? He’s not pretending to be the husband, there’s no sexual aspect to it,” Rossi wonders while he rubs his chin.

Emily takes the files back from you. “Maybe he’s jealous. Maybe he doesn’t do well with women or doesn’t have a stable job.”

You awkwardly let your hand fall to your side. Hotch is being a little colder than usual today, but you can’t let it bother you. Just because you want the little “thank you” in his eyes when you hand him something, doesn’t mean anything. You just want what everyone wants. You want his approval.

—

“(Y/N).”

Hotch says your name for what is probably the tenth time. You are too lost in thought to notice the other times, but now you look up. You meet his eyes as he tries to pass you a cup of coffee. Scrambling to move the files around, you shoved the papers around until you had a small space for the cup.

“Thanks! I was sure I was going to have to use all these files to take a nap,” you joked. “Nothing like sitting here and looking through papers to make me excited.”

Hotch raises a brow. “Find anything yet?”

You give a sigh. “Nope. Unlike Reid, I can’t read super fast or remember everything. Going through paperwork feels like hell, but at least today I had a savior to bring me my coffee.”

You make eye contact with Hotch and give him a soft smile. You are so happy that he looks out for you. It makes you feel special, even if you know he does it for everyone. You know that it is stupid, but every little nice thing he does gives you butterflies.

Hotch gives a chuckle. “I get to be your savior? Just for bringing you a coffee?”

“Mhm. You tend to be there when I need something so why shouldn’t I call you my savior?”

He shoots you a quick smile as Morgan walks in behind him. “You don’t say things like that because I’m here to tease you, (Y/N). If Hotch is your savior what do I get to be?”

“You, Derek Morgan, can be my one and only nuisance. Only you tease me about the little things.”

Clearing his throat, Hotch asks, “Find anything yet?”

“Well if by anything you really mean anything then yeah. I found a bunch of random things that make no sense and have no use. If you meant anything by useful, then no, I have nothing. I did come up with a few more ideas about our unsub though.”

Hotch gives you a nod to keep going, while Morgan leans against the door frame. “Well, the first murder doesn’t differ from the others. Normally it's the one where they develop a pattern but there isn’t anything out of place.”

“So perhaps this isn’t his first murder,” Morgan says.

You shake your head. “There’s no other murders in the area that match. It might be his first kill but it’s not his first violent act. Not to mention I thought it was odd that he focused on hurting the men more than the women. Perhaps he had an issue with his parents. Or resentment towards a male figure in his life.”

“Like a child of divorce or perhaps an abusive father.” This time Hotch acknowledges what you are saying. “He might even have a record for aggressive and violent behavior.”

“Well we can have Garcia look into that but right now we don't have much else to go on. Besides knowing the unsub is only half the battle. We need to know what connects the victims. Where could he have met or seen all of these people? There has to be a place or a person that connects all the victims.”

You choose to let Hotch glance at the files on top while you down your coffee as fast as you can. You don’t want to be a downer on the fact that Morgan is right, but you’re starting to feel tired. You aren’t sure if you could handle even another five minutes staring at paperwork.

“Do you think that figuring that out can wait? I mean everyone else is still doing their interviews on the families. That could bring something to the table.” You set the empty cup on the table. “Besides, if I have to look at another file in the next ten minutes I might go nuts.”

Hotch gives you a soft smile. “Sure. How about you go and take a break? Actually, if you don’t mind, maybe you could get something for the team to eat when they get back while we go over the information. I doubt most of them have had lunch yet.”

You stand and stretch. “Absolutely! I’d do almost anything to get out of this stuffy room with all of this paper.”

“Hey cupcake, get me some good coffee while you’re out,” Morgan gives a cheeky grin. “Oh and maybe a donut, since you’re not giving me enough sweetness.”

You roll your eyes and give him a light shove. “Your little tech goddess wouldn’t be happy with you shooting words like that at someone else. So tone it down, Muscle Man.”

Morgan puts his hand to his heart and makes a fake groan. His silly little act makes you giggle. You know it's all jokes, but you can’t help smiling at it. Morgan always knows how to lighten the mood.

“Hotch did you want anything in particular? Since Morgan’s trying to boss me around with his orders, I figured the real boss should have a say in what I get him.” Your hand rests on the doorway. “Feel free to send me a text about it.”

You turn and walk out the door before Hotch or Morgan can say anything else. You can feel your heart race. Telling Hotch to text you feels so personal despite it not being personal at all. To make matters worse, you hear your phone chime with the ringtone you have set for Hotch.

Despite wanting to look at it right away, you choose to wait until you get into one of the vehicles. You feel like if you look while still in the building, it’ll give away your feelings. It's bad enough that Emily gives you crap about it, Morgan would be a nightmare. Besides you don’t trust him to not slip up and spill it.

Thankfully the coffee shop isn’t far, no more than a ten minute drive, and it gives you time to think. As much as you’d like to avoid thinking about the case, you know you should. That and it’s subconscious at this point. Almost every waking moment on a case is spent thinking about the case.

There’s only so many places that people could have in common. Only one family was religious so that rules out church. They didn’t have any of the same sort of hobbies or even work near each other. The only thing they had in common was budget. Similar houses and similar cars made it easy to spot, and Garcia checked on their credit.

After placing the order, you aren’t even sure how you’ll carry that much coffee into the precinct, you take a seat and people watch. It’s nothing special, a few students studying, a mom and child planning on how to best utilize play time, and a younger couple are all that occupy the tables.

The couple appears to be getting along, and you made note of how badly you wanted a coffee date. That’s when a thought occurs. What if the couples had gone on a date? You remember reading about a case that involved a couple murdering to respark their love after a marriage counselor suggested finding something like that.

After making sure that your order is correct and strapping it firmly into the car, you call Garcia. The Bluetooth connects in the car and within seconds Garcia picks up.

“BAU tech genius at your service!”

You smile as you reply, “My tech genius, are you able to see what purchases the couples made the days before their deaths?”

“Do kittens have whiskers? Of course I can. What am I looking for?”

“Can you see if they all went to the same restaurant? My hunch is that since most of them were seeing counselors that resparking romance was suggested so they might have tried to have a romantic date.”

The keyboard clicks away. “I’ll look into it. Now I hope you don’t mind but I’ve got officer sexy calling me so I need to let you go.”

You laugh. “Just make sure if he asks you to do what I’m having you do, tell him it was my idea first.”

“Will do, sugar. Bye!”

With a click, Garcia is gone. You know by the time you get back to the precinct, she’ll have your answer. Which will be amazing since the faster you solve this case the faster you can go back to smothering your feelings.

It’s not that you hate the fact that you have a crush on Hotch. It just makes your job hard. Standing next to him makes your heart pound and when he smiles at you, you know you’re in deep. Not to mention how gentle and warm his hands are, despite being calloused, when he checks you over for injuries.

Thankfully, by the time you walk into the precinct, everyone else is there. J.J. and Ried help you bring everything in. As you pass out the food, Morgan puts Garcia on speaker.

“Alrighty. I looked into an idea that (Y/N) had and struck gold. Almost literally. All of the couples did in fact go on a fancy schmancy date to a place called the Golden Roast the day before they were found murdered.”

“What made you have the idea to look into that?” Morgan asks. “How did you figure it out?”

You glance at Morgan before continuing to unwrap the sandwich in front of you. “Well, multiple of the couples had marriage counselors and I’ve heard that one of the things they tell couples is to try and find that romantic spark. Going on a fancy romantic dinner date seems like it would be a good idea.”

“A place that like that may want us to bring a warrant. We can go and look but we should still have some sort of backup plan given that we don’t have much to go on to find the unsub,” Ried says as he eats his food.

“So let’s have two people go undercover. We send two other people in to talk to the staff about the couples. The undercover couple acts like the victims and we can use them to lure out the unsub.”

You raise your eyebrow at Morgan. Sure, sending people undercover would be the fastest way to find the unsub but that didn’t stop the fact that apparently one person alone murdered two people. Something about it was still bothering you.

“So, we send two people undercover to pretenc like they’re married. Who do we send?” you ask.

Emily gives you a sly smile. “Since you’re asking who’s going, why not you? Pick someone out.”

You quickly realize what she’s up to. “Maybe you should go since you’re avoiding it. Afraid the tension will be too much for you?”

Rossi nods his head. “Well since (Y/N) is going undercover for practically the first time why don’t we send someone seasoned? I’m far too old to pretend to be their husband, but perhaps Hotch could.”

You nearly choke on your coffee at his words. It sounds like a poor plan, granted you wouldn’t mind playing Hotch’s wife, you didn’t want to argue with him. Everyone else seems to be in agreement on the plan, and your fate is sealed.

—

The fancy clothes feel constricting and you do your best to not touch your hair. The atmosphere is far too romantic for you, and you feel so nervous. It takes all of your willpower to stay on task and not just admire how absolutely hot Hotch is.

“Do you know what you plan on ordering?” Hotch asks. “Or are you going to look at the menu all night?”

His voice is a little harsh and it pulls you back to reality. You need to get on his nerves and pick at everything he does. Or at least that’s what Morgan told you after talking to the staff.

“Well, maybe if you knew that this place isn’t what I like, I wouldn’t have such a hard time picking something to eat.”

The waiter offers you a glass of wine and you decline. The one that seems to come preset with the table is going to be hard enough to pretend to drink, and you don’t need more of it on the table. You can hear the murmur of other couples, and you realize that an argument would definitely draw the unsub to you.

“How am I supposed to know what you like? You don’t talk to me much.”

“Maybe if you weren’t married to your job, Aaron, I’d have time to talk to you.”

His gaze is icy and you know that hits a nerve. You’ve both heard before in a relationship. It’s what your job brings. You feel bad about it, but you know this has to be realistic.

The conversation between you and Hotch simmers down as the waiter takes your order. You take the time to scan the restaurant looking for a possible clue. No one sticks out, and you return your eyes to Hotch.

“You know that work keeps me busy. I have a lot of paperwork and it keeps me at the office late.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Sure it’s not one of those pretty little ladies at the office?”

Hotch clenches his fist. “Are you accusing me of something?”

You meet his eyes. You’re doing your best to be convincing as an angry wife. It seems to be working, as a couple of tables are doing their best to look at the two of you. Hotch’s gaze remains cold, and you don’t like it.

“I didn’t say anything. Why are jumping to conclusions if you have nothing to hide?”

You trace the rim of the wine glass. Hotch’s eyes follow your hand as you do this, watching as you pretend to drink. The waiter jumps at the chance to bring you your meal.

The entire meal is silent. You watch each other over the candle light, and you make note about how nervous that makes you. Crossing a romantic candle lit dinner off the bucket list is happening, and its strictly for the firehazard.

“Since you aren’t replying, I’m going to assume you have something to hide.”

Hotch’s fork clatters against plate. “I don’t have anything to hide. Can you stop jumping to conclusions for one dinner? I’m trying to make this work.”

You make a face and push your plate away. “I think I’ve lost my appetite, thanks. Can we hurry this up, please?”

Hotch waves the waiter over and takes care of the check. You watch as his jaw unclenches, and you really want to kiss him. The romantic dinner may help you catch the unsub, but you know it’s making your crush worse.

—

The car ride to the sheriff’s house is silent for the first few minutes. You are making sure to face away from Hotch due to a bit of a hunch. There was a few people who had bumped into you and Hotch. If one of those people is the unsub, they could’ve left some sort of bug.

“(Y/N)? I didn’t mean to-”

You cut him off. “Save it, Aaron. I need some space to calm down. Talking about it isn’t going to help.”

He looks shocked, but keeps driving. At a stop sign, he glances over at you and you give a small smile. You mouth ‘I’ll explain to you later’.

—

You know that you don’t have the bug. You make sure to gently touch the areas that you had been bumped, carefully feeling for any sort device. There’s nothing there, and you know you’ll have to check Hotch. Just how to do it without letting the unsub know.

“You’re right, Aaron. I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions. Here. Let me take your jacket.”

You move closer to him. You slide your hand up under his jacket and up over his shoulder. Hotch is too shocked to stop you and you are able to successfully pull his jacket off. Hidden under the collar is a little device.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing?”

“What do you mean, Aaron? I’m just trying to have some intimacy. It’s called make-up sex if I’m correct.”

“I don’t think-”

You huff. “Fine. I get it. Don’t forget to check your jacket for stuff in the pockets because I don’t want another incident like last time. I’m going to bed, Aaron.”

In the hallway, you start to panic. Did you take it too far? You know that the team could hear what you were saying and that thought makes you die a little inside. At least one of them will be giving you shit about it tomorrow.

—

You’ve been in bed for about four hours before you hear anything. Aaron is in bed next to you, a respectable distance away. The sound of a door creaking leads him to roll over to face you. His hand on your arm would be reassuring, if you didn’t happen to have a gun tucked under the pillow.

You both do your best to stay still as you wait for whoever it is to enter the bedroom. By now, the tem is most likely getting into position. None of the murders have been done with a gun, so you feel less nervous about the unsub entering the bedroom. Besides, Hotch has amazing aim.

The next noise is the bedroom door opening. Gentle footsteps enter the room and walk closer to the bed. Before a hand even reaches the sheets, Aaron shoots up. You grab your gun with one hand and flip on the light with the other.

A man stands at the foot of your bed holding a knife and baseball bat. With two guns trained on him, he’s frozen.

“Drop the weapons.”

The bat clatters to the ground and the unsub starts to back up. You know he’s about to make a dash for it.

“Don’t even think about it! One of us will shoot you before you can even make it through the doorway.”

You and Hotch get out of the bed. Within seconds, Hotch has the unsub pinned against the doorframe, the knife skittering across the hallway floor.

—

After that the case wraps up easily. The man caves easily as the submissive partner looking for the ideal romantic relationship with a woman who was using him to get rid of couples who argued at the restaurant, reminding her of her parents.

The plane ride is quiet. Most of the team seems asleep, and after double checking, you sit down next to Hotch. You slide him a cup of water and fold your hands on the table.

“About the things I said, I’m sorry. Most of it was stuff that my ex had said about me so I figured it would work.”

Hotch gives you a smile. “It’s alright. I also wanted to apologize. I hope I wasn’t too harsh.”

“Well, it worked out in the end. You’re a much better actor than I am. You played the part of a man who loved me and wanted to yell at me at the same time.”

“I wasn’t acting.”

This time it’s you who’s too stunned to speak. You open your mouth and then close it while staring at him.

“Acting about what?”

Hotch looks bashful. “About you. This case has officially made it clear that I have developed feelings for you. In fact, if you’d like, I would like to take you out for dinner properly.”

“I-I think I’d love that. Maybe later in the week. I could use some relaxing after this.”

Hotch unclasps your hands and holds them in his. You can feel your heart race, but give his hand a gentle squeeze. The two of you spend the rest of the plane trip in a comfortable silence, occasionally give each other smiles.

Once you land, you make your way to your car and slide into the driver’s seat. Turning the key leads to a sputter without much else. Of course having an amazing thing happen is immediately followed by something bad happening. Your bad luck stops there, as Hotch knocks on your window.

“Jack happens to be with a friend tonight, if you want to spend the night. Not that you have to of course.”

“I didn’t take you for the type of man that moves faster than Morgan,” you tease. “But in all seriousness that’s better than keeping you up longer than you need to be so you can take me home.”

“Helping the team is what I’m supposed to do. You aren’t a bother to me, (Y/N).”

“Aaron? Can I be honest for just a moment?” He nods as he takes your bag. “I’ve had feeling for you for sometime. Longer than I expected.”

He loads both duffle bags into the car. Just like a gentleman, Aaron holds your door open and closes it behind you. You’re tempted to try to hold his hand, but you let him focus on the road instead.

“Then I suppose I should be honest as well. This case might have been eyeopener, but if you talk to Rossi, I’ve been trying to avoid my feelings for. I just didn’t want it to affect you at work.”

You think back and try to remember if Aaron had shown any signs of liking you. Sure there had been times you had noticed him watching you, or the times he’d stand closer to you than other people would. They were all just subtle signs that as a profiler you should’ve noticed.

By the time you’ve connected all the dots, you’re in front of his place. Aaron lets you in, and sets about setting things down. This includes all the of the stuff you both have to wear as agents and your bags. Your grateful as he takes yours and sets them off to the side as well.

The two of you settle into the couch and curl up together as the TV plays some mindless show. You can’t focus on the TV with the sound of Aaron’s heartbeat in your ear. Not to mention the gentle rubbing of his hand on your arm. It’s hard to focus on anything but him.

The exhaustion hits you, and you find yourself dozing off. Aaron guides you off the couch and lets you fall into his bed. The last thing you process before you pass out is Aaron pulling you into his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

#reader insert #criminal minds #aaron hotch #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner #criminal minds aaron hotch

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epersonae · 7 months ago

Note

Do you think you could fall in love again?

On the one hand, this is a wildly personal question, anon, and from the reaction of my knitting group, it would be totally appropriate for me to just abandon this in the depths of my unanswered asks.

On the other hand, if it is possible to know one thing about me as a person, just from my blog, it’s that I was deeply madly in love, and that that person died. And also: you have in fact activated my trap card.

Because I thought about this, almost as soon as they died, and not in a way where I was ready to fall in love immediately, but I think I said to @faintvox maybe the next day: can you be polyamorous with a ghost?

Because when I got divorced from my first spouse, I thought I wouldn’t find love for a long time. I expected to be single for years, because I had so much trauma from that, because I had loved him and it had broken me, because I thought it would be too hard to start over after more than 20 years with someone else.

And when I told Ryn that, after we started dating, they laughed at me. “There is no way you were going to be single for five years,” they said, which how long I said I’d expected. (For the record: I left my ex in August 2018; Ryn and I started dating in October 2019.)

Because Ryn and I were in a polyamorous relationship when we started out, and we were just trying to figure out how we wanted to do that again, more deliberately, and instead cancer-wedding-death. Our wedding vows deliberately included that space in our lives, in a way where it also was about our friendships, and was also something that would not be totally obvious to a couple of my older relatives.

Because I realized, after they died, that we together had written me a way through it — the fic we wrote together, one of the central characters is a widower, and the guy who created him always said “Magnus never loves again,” and we said “Fuck that,” and we said (altho this is I think @nekosd43's formulation originally), “Magnus is made for love,” and we shipped him in stories set before his marriage and we shipped him in stories set after. And Magnus’s grief and love for Julia is woven through the love that we gave him in the stories we wrote with him and Taako and him and Lucretia, and the love and the grief are both important. (JFC I WROTE A PIECE ABOUT LUCRETIA ASKING HIM ABOUT A TATTOO HE GOT FOR JULIA.)

Because among many other things, for the benefit of all the broken hearts is in part about what it means to have love that isn’t The Love, what it means to find love in the aftermath of tragedy, to find love in places you didn’t expect.

Because people in my family live a really fucking long time, and the idea of living another 30, 40, 50 years without romantic love, without being in love, is kind of horrifying to me. (No offense to my aromantic pals, but could not be me.) Especially given that I am already of a mindset that it is possible to have romantic love for more than one person at a time — to say that I couldn’t have it again at all is just not realistic for who I am.

No one is ever going to have the exact place that Ryn did and does. No one will ever be them, no other relationship will be the one that we had from when they first messaged me in 2017 until I lay next to their corpse in a hospital bed in 2021. Even in death they are literally my safe space.

And yet.

So the scene in OFMD 1x10, where Stede asks Mary what love feels like. I have always associated that with Ryn, and with my own little montage, because that is what our love felt like. (There are so many things about s1 Ed and Stede that are ridiculously us.) If we’d been married a year later, I bet some of that would have been in our wedding ceremony.

And yet.

I haven’t posted about it on Tumblr, but there is a somebody, and I am quite in love with them, and one time last summer I was watching Our Flag Means Death, as you do. And I got to that scene, and my mind was doing the montage overlay thing with moments of Ryn…and also moments with this other person. And I knew that I loved them, that I was in love with them, but to have that connection happen? I burst into tears.

Because I had known intellectually, but I felt it in a different way, deeply and truly, the simultaneousness of that love, the way it overlaps, and neither makes the other less, and there was love, and there is love, and whatever happens next there will be love.

#anon ask #I hope this helps anon #I have a lot of thoughts about love actually #edited to add tag for findability:#not all exits are made equal

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symphonybracket · 1 year ago

Text

YouTube links: Tchaikovsky 6, Dvořák 9

Comments:

Dvořák 9

I know it's gonna get nominated a hundred times, but I have listened to it four times in a row in the past week so I gotta mention it. Exquisite bliss from first to last note.

it slays <3

When I heard the first movement for the first time, I was GRINNING LIKE AN IDIOT because of how much I loved it. LIKE THIS IS SO YUMMY (link opens to the timestamp)

it's got everything. the interplay between minor and major. themes from the early movements that come back in the finale. the most iconic english horn solo in all of classical music. dvorak wrote it while traveling across the US and was directly inspired not only by his native czech/bohemian soundscapes but the musical languages he heard from black and native americans. there's a tuba part but it only plays for like five measures. fantastic orchestrations, making full use of all the different colors of the orchestra. the start of the finale sounds kinda like jaws. it is physically impossible for me to feel upset while i'm listening to it it's the first symphony i ever played in orchestra and i'm so normal about it that i want to get that EH solo tattooed on my art and also i wrote a paper about it for a university music history class and i got an A on it so it should definitely win the bracket or i'll cry

Tchaikovsky 6

Everyone bangs on about the 4th movement but it's the 3rd movement that really hits

tchaik 6 is what i would listen to if i had an hour to live

the 5/4 movement of the tchaik lives rent free in my mind and i think about it every day

It’s beyond gorgeous. The melodies soar, the orchestra swells, and you just need to lie down for a while after listening to it. It’s Romanticism at its zenith. You want to weep and sigh, and it’s impossible to listen to it without literally feeling something.

Symphony No. 6, titled “Pathétique”, was Tchaikovsky’s final symphony. It is an intensely emotional piece, and to many scholars demonstrates the emotional turmoil that characterized much of Tchaikovsky’s life. He died about a week after its premiere, a fact which leads many scholars to debate about whether the content of the piece itself reflects the possibility that he may have committed suicide. The title itself is often translated to mean “impassioned suffering”, although this was most likely a later addition by Modest and not actually part of Tchaikovsky’s vision. Given these facts, many scholars interpret this piece to be about death and suffering. However, this piece can also be seen to represent life and all its contrasting moments. This interpretation is more holistic and inclusive of all of the moments captured in this piece, and also serves to break down the common narrative of Tchaikovsky as a tragic figure.

More comments about Tchaikovsky 6 below the cut (length warning):

Scholarship surrounding Tchaikovsky’s music tends to focus heavily on the ways his confliction over his homoerotic desires appears in his writing. However, his personal letters reveal a much more balanced understanding of himself that goes beyond the common narrative. In one letter written to Modest describing a new relationship with another man, he writes: “I awoke today with a feeling of unknown happiness and with a complete absence of that emotional sobriety that used to make me repent in the morning for having gone too far the day before.” Many of the letters he wrote regarding his relationships demonstrate no shame and no anguish beyond what can be expected of a man living in a homophobic society. It is important to take this information into account when listening to a piece such as this one that has been discussed so frequently, and to understand it beyond the turmoil and strife that it is seen to represent. Like many of Tchaikovsky’s works, this symphony displays a range of human emotions. It is not only representative of tragedy and “impassioned suffering”; it is a depiction of what it is like to live. It is also interesting to note that this piece is used as a signifier of queer desire in the novel "Maurice" by E.M. Forster, a novel also notable for its radical portrayal of a queer man who gets a happy ending. Much to think about there.

The first movement begins with a lone bassoon soloist playing a plaintive minor melody, which later comes back in the strings. As the movement progresses, it grows in intensity and texture. More instruments are added, and the music becomes more frantic, building and building towards the dramatic trumpet fanfare. Throughout this piece, Tchaikovsky continues to make significant use of contrasting dynamics and melodies, reflecting the emotions he hopes to convey through the music. Dramatic, tumultuous sections are interspersed with pastoral woodwind melodies, and the angry brass fanfares give way to a quiet ending.

The second movement is reminiscent of a waltz, and uses the strings and woodwinds more than the brass to achieve its floating melodies. The dynamics ebb and flow to build tension, but this movement never reaches the same levels of anguish that the previous movement does. Tchaikovsky makes use of pizzicato in the strings to convey a lighter, more cheerful mood, and features the upper woodwinds prominently. He also repeats themes frequently, giving the audience something familiar to listen out for as the movement progresses.

The third movement begins with frantic energy in the strings and woodwinds. As more instruments join the rush of music, the underlying eight note accompaniment does not let up, continuing the vivacious beginning through the whole movement. Instruments pass the melodies between each other and engage in conversations across the orchestra. Like the first movement, the brass play a prominent role in creating dramatic climaxes in the music, as well as supporting the march-like conclusion. Conductor Myung-Whun Chung describes the deceptively dramatic ending as, “one of the greatest, most thrilling, but most empty of victories in musical history,” observing that this movement has the energetic finality of a final movement. The reversal of having the true finale be a slower movement represents a shift away from the “Beethovian model of light over darkness” common in most other symphonies of this time period.

As mentioned before, ending on a movement with a slow tempo was a significant shift away from the standard of the time. This innovation inspired many other future composers to use the same technique, most notably Mahler in his Ninth Symphony. The quiet beginning builds up towards a chaotic rush of fast runs throughout the orchestra, only to stop abruptly and continue in halting, cautious bursts of melody. The movement continues with this cycle of rushing up to a climax and backing away as the movement progresses. Tchaikovsky highlights the horns in this movement, giving them both angry, blaring notes which cut through the string melodies and the flowing, lyrical lines that are passed throughout the orchestra. As the piece ends, the instruments fall away until all that is left are steady repeated notes in the basses, bringing this lament of a movement to an understated close.

#tchaikovsky #Dvořák #the final battle....#round 6 #Spotify

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padfootagain · 1 year ago

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Your Song

Hello! Today we’re answering a request sent by an anon: “Heeey! I got this idea last night for a Ben imagine and it’s so cute that I know you’re gonna kill it. Listen, what about a singer reader writing a love song for Ben??? Like, you are working on your new album and Ben keeps asking you to show him a glimpse of it. He’s just super excited (we love a supportive boyfriend) and you keep telling him to wait, so it’s the single release day and at 12am (that’s the time music release on spotify, right?) he grabs his phone and he listen to the song and he’s just so emotional that you wrote the song about him!!! Like, there’s a specific moment when the lyrics just hit him and he’s like “is this about me?“ JUST IMAGINE. Honestly, I think that writing a love song to someone it’s one of the greatest gestures of love if you are a musician. I’m just a hopeless romantic 💗💗”

Thank you so much for the request! I hope you like what I’ve written for you!

Also, apologizing for the bad poetry of the lyrics…

I hope you all enjoy this cute fic! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: Extreme fluffiness

Summary: You’re a singer, and your new album is about to come out. As he listens to the first single for the first time, Ben suddenly realizes who your songs are about.

Word Count: 2048

Ben Barnes’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Ben was overexcited, to say the least.

Perhaps it was a little ridiculous to get so excited at his age about something as mundane as a song, but then again, he enjoyed simple pleasures in life. And he also had a more important reason to be excited about this piece of art: you were its creator.

A new song coming out was always a bitter-sweet experience. There was the excitement of the release, the relief of the abandonment of something you had worked so hard on. But there was the apprehension of reactions as well, the worry that it might turn out to be a terrible fiasco.

This time around though, you seemed happier than usual about the release, your team had noticed the changes with ease. They all thought it was because of your relationship with Ben, about the fact that it was the first time some of your music was coming out while he was by your side, encouraging you and looking at you with all the pride in the world held in his gaze.

And it was true that his kind words and his support towards you were the main reason behind your calm behaviour. But there was also excitement and tenderness this time around, because of the meaning behind your single.

After all, this song was about Ben.

You had refused to let him hear it before it would come out. You were strict on this decision, no matter how many times he had pouted at you and given you his most adorable puppy eyes. No matter what he tried to convince you, your answer remained the same:

“Not yet. You’ll listen to it when the world does.”

But tonight was the night. Ben was struggling not to fall asleep before the clock would strike midnight.

You laughed at him as he yawned once more.

“You should go to sleep, darling,” you admonished, but Ben shook his head, blinking his tiredness away as he focused again on the page of his book.

You were both lying in bed, your backs resting against the bedpost and your comfortable pillows, side by side under the warm covers, both of you reading.

“I want to listen to your song as soon as it comes out. Do you know for how long I’ve been waiting for this? And you over there… being all secretive…”

“Me?” you answered, summoning your most innocent tone, which made him merely roll his eyes.

“Yes, you. You’re lucky you’re unbearably gorgeous, or I would be very upset about all this.”

“Oh, but my natural charm gets me out of trouble, then?”

“Obviously. What else could it be?”

“At least it makes things even between us, as I find you too charming to ever be mad at you for more than five minutes.”

He grinned at that, rewarding you with a peck on the lips.

He glanced at the time again.

Ten minutes left. He heaved a sigh and put away his book. Instead of reading, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer, and you easily yielded, melting against him.

“I’m so proud of you for releasing your music,” he mumbled against your temple. “I’m so happy for you, darling.”

“You haven’t even heard the song yet. Perhaps it’s terrible.”

“Not a chance! I know how talented you are. I have no doubts it will be wonderful.

You grinned up at him, your smile unbelievably tender.

“Thank you, for believing in me this way.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for, love.”

You let his hand wander under your t-shirt, rest against the warmth of your skin, right across your ribs, his thumb tracing circles there.

“If you hate the song though, you need to tell me,” you ordered, but Ben merely rolled his eyes.

“I will most definitely not hate it.”

“You need to promise!”

He heaved a sigh, but promised anyway.

“You are being absolutely ridiculous.”

“Perhaps. Still, I want you to be honest with me.”

You were surprised by Ben’s tone when he spoke again. The coldness in it didn’t match the tenderness of his embrace.

“Well, you didn’t tell me why I couldn’t listen to it earlier so…”

“It wasn’t ready! And I want to be here. And… I wasn’t ready. It’s difficult to release a song. You know how it feels, you’ve done it too. It’s unnerving, in a good way, but it’s still difficult. You’re letting a little piece of yourself go, show the world something you’ve made out of your own heart… it’s tough, to be vulnerable like that.”

“I know, love. I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”

He kissed your forehead to make amends, and forgiving him was so easy… as easy as breathing.

You cuddled and stole kisses for a while, until Ben’s phone rang, an alarm blearing across the quiet room.

“MIDNIGHT!” he cried, overexcited as he reached for his phone.

You laughed fondly at him.

He hurried through Spotify, finding your page with ease. You both lied down to listen to the song, sharing some earpods, staring at each other with your cheeks smudged against your pillows. You reached for his hand before he would play the song for the first time.

“Ready?” he asked, and you nodded, a shy smile on your lips.

He pressed play, the small triangle turning green and with it the first notes of a love song ringing through your ears.

He was grinning already, pride shining in his dark eyes as he stared at you, listening closely to the intro.

And then your voice was there. Airy, flying high as if to reach for stars, a warm sound perfectly fitted to the lyrics, to the rhythm, to the words you spoke. And he loved it, every second of it.

And it was a love song, it was easy to guess. He listened to the first verses with a smile on his lips, without thinking too much of it. But then, the chorus came, and he frowned hard. Or rather, he was too taken aback to think or breathe and slow down the racing pace of his heartbeat.

Cause there you were by the beach on a summer breeze

Dark eyes darker than the night and

Laughing so much we couldn’t breathe

So that’s what being happy means, holding your hand?

You and the waves and the remnants of cheap beer

You blushing under a streetlight like

You’re afraid I don’t want you near

But you’re everything I’ve ever wished to be mine

You and your accent and the way you pull on

All my heartstrings and now all I can sing is your song

He stared at you, the light of your bedroom shy and quiet, like the night outside. From a proud smile, his expression turned into one of confusion, although it was tainted with hope.

Because the first night he told you he loved you, you were in Malibu, after buying beers at a small bar by the sea.

And for a moment he pushed the thought away. Of course; he loved you, and he knew you loved him but this… you couldn’t be writing about him…

But then the song went on, your voice was back, and details piled up, reminiscence of times shared together, and there was no more doubt to have by the end of the next verse.

I was afraid when you flew across the globe

I was too used to be the one

Running off and letting things die

I was almost surprised when you called the first time

Midnight and lights everywhere and your voice

Rambling about a day wearing someone else’s life

You could have forgotten all about our night

It was strange to be someone else’s choice

Even if it took us three tries

To connect the screens and our lives

You in a green hotel room

Me alone in my bedroom

By then, Ben had tears in his eyes. Because that was you and him. When he left to work on a project in Canada a few months into your relationship. You had confessed that you thought he wouldn’t fight for you, but he did. And that night, when he called, there was such a terrible wi-fi in his hotel room, it took him three tries and fifteen minutes to finally be able to hear and see you.

The chorus played again, and Ben reached for your face, palm spread across your cheek so he could draw patterns on your cheekbone. He let his first tear fall at the beginning of the bridge.

I apologized because I wasn’t used to this

Being treated right and falling asleep

In arms that didn’t hurt when they held me

Not sure how to handle this but I’m trying honey

Writing real love songs are never easy

Still if it’s yours I guess I’ll make it

Turn it in my mouth until it sounds sweet

Like your voice in the morning

The way I love you too much to speak properly of it

One last chorus and then the guitar and piano grew quiet. There was no beat anymore, and Ben didn’t let another song start. Instead, he turned the music off, reached to take off the earpods and put them away. Not a word passed his lips. He dried his wet cheeks on his sleeve, lying down again, in the same position, on his side so he could face you.

“Do you like the song?” you asked in a shy whisper, and Ben laughed, shaking his head as if this was the most ridiculous question you had ever asked.

Still, even if he knew the answer already, it was hard to believe it. So, he asked, just to be certain.

“Is the song about me? About us?”

Slowly, you nodded.

“You wrote a love song about me?” he asked, voice shaking with emotion, and it was your time to shake your head at him as if he was silly for asking such question.

“Of course, I did. Who else could I write about?”

“I don’t know.”

But before you could reply, Ben was leaning closer, holding onto your cheek once more so he could pull you to him and kiss you until none of you could bear the lack of oxygen and the pounding of your hearts.

“I love you,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes still closed. “I love you so much, Y/N. And I’ll always love you. I’ll always be here.”

“I love you too. And well… I take it that you liked your song.”

He laughed at that, holding you close, so close it should have hurt but it didn’t. It never did with him.

“I loved it. Thank you, it was perfect. You’re perfect.”

*********************

Taglist : @sergeantbuckybarnes @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic

#ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes x you #ben barnes x y/n #ben barnes fanfiction #ben barnes oneshot #ben barnes fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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sarcasticmothwrites · 4 months ago

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20 question for writers tag game

tagged by @alexandia03

1. Total number of ao3 works?

2. Total ao3 word count

233,997.

3. Fandoms I've written in

On the AO3: Empyrean, Repo! the Genetic Opera, Xiaolin Showdown, and a bunch of one-offs for Yuletide or other collection/prompt fics.

Pre-AO3, I've written FFVII, FFVIII, Hellsing (how I met my spouse), GI Joe, Babylon 5. Buffy/Angel. X-Men, X-Files. Probably others I'm not thinking about, I've been writing fanfic since before I knew that other people did it and by that I'm talking 1988.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

Scott Pilgrim vs. the Unspoken History - Based on the 2010 film, Scott Pilgrim/Wallace Wells. Written for @copperfirebird

At Lunchtime, in the Wilderness - Calvin & Hobbes + Where the Wild Things Are, Gen. Also written for @copperfirebird.

Time and Time Again and Again and Again and Again - Xiaolin Showdown, Chase Young/Jack Spicer. Written *with* @copperfirebird, just for variety.

A Kiss is a Terrible Thing to Waste - Repo! the Genetic Opera, Graverobber/Nathan Wallace. Written for a request meme.

Sketchbook - The Empyrean, Violet & Brennan, Naolin/Brennan. The most recent of my top five by a LOT, this was my first posted Empyrean fic.

5. Do I respond to comments?

Not unless they ask a question or something similar. I'm not good at writing comments.

6. What has the angstiest ending?

I'm not sure if this is "of the top five" or "of the 54 pieces I've posted on the AO3," but I'm going to go with the latter because the former has angst but not really in the ending. So.

Angstiest ending is Dear Alex, a Yuletide fic I wrote for @copperfirebird. A Wrinkle in Time is one of his very favorite books, and this is Kate and Alex Murray figuring out how to be a married couple again. It made me cry, writing it.

7. What has the happiest ending?

It might be New Year's Welcome, which is FFVIII Seifer/Squall/Rinoa and is about finding a home and a place when you thought you'd lost everything.

8. Have I received hate?

Nope. Possibly because I've mostly stayed in very small fandoms.

9. Do I write smut? And what kind?

Yes, I do. If I had to describe it, I would call it lyrical smut, where it's about the flow of the words and the feeling more than the specifics.

10. Do I write crossovers?

One of my top 5s is a crossover, in fact, but it's not something I do very often.

11. Have I ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah, back in the ff.net days, and it was a very weird feeling.

12. Have I ever had a fic translated?

No.

13. Have I ever co-written a fic?

Many. @copperfirebird and I are partners in life and fiction.

14. What is my all-time fave ship?

I can tell you who my favorite child is (I only have one) but I could not possibly pick my favorite ship. I would have a hard time picking a favorite ship in any given fandom.

I love relationships between people whose feelings are bigger than their abilities to communicate it, but who find understanding in the silences; people who are drawn together despite all the reasons that they should not be; and people who are deeply loyal to one another.

15. A WIP I'll never finish

The Future Waits Without Us was supposed to be a large multi-part story that I wrote two pieces of.

Probably Came Too Far To Die because I have one mostly-written chapter I haven't published yet and then I have no idea what I'm doing. I have never known what I was doing with this fic, but I didn't let it stop me.

16. Writing strengths?

Lyrical prose. Three-part clauses. Emotionally complex characters. Witty banter.

17. Writing weaknesses?

Plot. Too bad that's, like, an extremely important part of story building.

18. Do I like foreign language dialogue?

This is a weird question. I don't have any problems with other people writing in multiple languages. There are bilingual characters who should use multiple languages. I'm more prone to things like, "This sentence is written in the common tongue," he said in Tyrrish.

19. First fandom I wrote for?

Dragonriders of Pern when I was in 7th grade.

20. Favourite fic I've written?

It's hard to pick one, but there are two fics that I'm always breathlessly startled I was able to write. Both of them were Yuletide requests, and I know Yuletide's coming around again when I start getting kudos for these.

The first one is In Two Bodies, Alexander and Hephaestian, inspired by Mary Renault's Alexander Trilogy. If you were wondering what I meant by "lyrical smut," this one's an excellent example.

The second one is Finding Zihuatanejo, inspired by the beautiful Stephen King short story "Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption." It really feels like I got the narrator's voice down perfectly.

tagging: Anybody who hasn't done it yet

#20 questions #fourth wing

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azures-bazar · 2 years ago

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Peculiar Scents

Let's be honest, almost everyone agrees that 1899!John rarely takes baths and is somewhat dirty all day long ! lol

And here is another very weird one-shot my brain managed to work with ! I wrote this between 2 coffees while on a break, please don't mind my awful mistakes ! :')

The gif can be explained later in this one-shot ! This is not a ship.

John Marston x GenderNeutral!reader

Word count : 2k

Short summary : You can’t stand it anymore. This smell is terrible ! John didn’t wash in three weeks... and you can't let him keep going.

A/note : This is NOT A SHIP ! The reader is having a very friendly/sibling-like relationship with John Marston. I’m too much into John x Abigail (or even John x Javier), sorry :’)

Tags : cute, John is terrified of water, ancient rubber duck, flowers, bath, good and bad scents, John is always dirty, chapter 3, siblings

"No !"

John’s voice sounded across camp. You and Sean had been chasing him for over an hour to convince him to wash himself. You had first attempted to be very nice to him, gently asking him to just rub a piece of wet cloth over his body, which did not seem to work much. Sean was more brutal, carrying ropes to lasso him while John kept walking around camp to get away from the two of you. However, despite giving your best effort to convince him to clean himself a little, John was not ready to accept your request. Abigail had begged you while Arthur had given up, you kindly obliged.

"Pa’ always stinks !" you heard Jack say almost twice a day

"I can’t walk by his tent no more." the girls had told you

"Sometimes I feel like there’s a rotting corpse in his tent !" Pearson often complained

"I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’s peeing by his bed every morning to mark his territory…" Bill usually sighed when passing by John’s tent

In fact, you were one of the first victims of his terrible smell. Your tent was right next to his, and his horrible scent of sweat could only make you feel nauseous as soon as you would wake up and while he would open his tent flaps, unleashing his body odours for at least five minutes. The two of you were always paired to go on guard duty at the same time, so it meant that you were sharing the same schedule when it came to rest in your respective tents. Dutch had firmly refused to move your quarters away from John’s, believing it would certainly enrage Ms. Grimshaw and disturb her overall organisation. He also thought it would lead other members to actively start asking the girls and Arthur to move their tents depending on their moods… and Sean would have been the first to ask for his tent to be moved closer to Lenny’s.

As far as you could recall, John had always hated baths, and it was painfully hard to convince him otherwise. When you got inducted into the gang by Dutch, just five or six years after John, you could easily remember his smell and how bad you felt when he was too close to you, feeling nauseous most of the time. You adored him, he was the closest to a brother to you, you were always paired with him and hanged with him quite often, but his overall body odour could not make you stay near him for more than a hour without leading you to get some serious migraines. He would wash every once in a while, probably three times a month, which was a miracle considering his hatred for water in general.

Quite often, Arthur had to hogtie him and drop him into the nearest lake or river, or even go to the closest saloon to give him a proper bath. And, indeed, John hated that. He hated being hogtied and forced into water and would never miss the opportunity to complain whenever someone would do that to him.

"Get back here, Marston !" Sean shouted from behind you

"I said no !"

"Oi, ya ain’t gonna go far, we can track ya with yer bloody scent !"

Arthur watched you pass before him with a smirk, proceeding to draw a scene of you and Sean chasing Arthur in his journal. He could feel empathy for the two of you, despite this sight was probably the most delightful comedy he had ever watched so far. He had been at your place for years, and seeing someone else have to catch Marston to give him a bath was a very nice comedy to watch !

"John, please !" you shouted

"Leave me be !"

You kept walking around camp for a while as Sean was preparing his lasso. John’s quick walk was also quite comical to watch, the way he moved his hips and arms made him look like a real clown. A dirty clown. You grumbled as John started running away from camp, quickly getting on your horse as Sean followed you, climbing on Ennis. He was ready to lasso John, who was trying his best to get away from Clemens Point by running as fast as he could. What a surprising thing to watch, just a few weeks ago, he could barely walk due to his recent scars !

"C’mon Marston !" Sean laughed. "Some water ain’t gonna kill ya !"

"Leave me and my dirt alone !" Marston shouted

"Ain’t got a chance !" you laughed

John was not going to let anyone take him to take a bath. He hated water, he always had. Bessie had been the only one who had successfully convinced him to bathe, he would do it as soon as she would ask. However, since her passing, it had been overwhelmingly difficult to get Marston to take a bath. He was deadly scared of water, for some reason. Arthur did try his best to teach him to swim, but Marston never succeeded, nearly drowning more than once. It always took a few gang members to drag him into water by now, and you were often among these poor fellers that would be chosen to give him a bath.

After a very short time, Sean successfully lassoed John, you went down your horse, you tied his hands in his back. He started swearing, begging you to let go, wriggling as much as he could to set himself free. You had to pinch your nose, what a terrible smell ! Even Sean, who’s overall body odour was mix between whiskey and cigarettes, smelled better than John !

"Yer goin’ to take a bath, Marston !" MacGuire happily said, dragging John to Ennis

"Leave me alone !" he responded, wriggling his arms to get the rope away from his wrists

"I can’t stand your smell anymore, John." you grumbled. "I seriously can’t. So you’re going to take a bath or…-"

"Or what ?! I ain’t a kid no more, Y/N ! You can’t just scold me like a child ! I ain’t a…-"

"Next time, I’ll take our boat right here and throw you into the lake so you won’t ever reach the edge of Clemens Point."

John gasped and grumbled, nodding in shame as Sean dragged him on Ennis. You led the way to Rhodes, heading to the saloon in which MacGuire paid for John’s bath, but refused to come with you. You were going to deal with him alone, while Sean would certainly drink at the counter and probably pass out. All the work was on shoulders, but you agreed with that. You led John to the bathroom, quickly pulling his pants down. Indeed, you were going to have to get him naked, which would certainly be the hardest thing you would ever have to do.

"H-hey !" he blushed

"Wanna get wet clothes ?" you asked

"No, but do you really need to undress me ?"

"Unless you do it yourself."

John rolled eyes. You headed to the door and locked yourself in with him, he rose his hands for you to untie them. You obliged and turned around, giving him enough privacy to undress, grumbling a little while sliding into the bathtub. The water was foamy enough for you to avoid seeing his body parts, making you feel much more comfortable. Indeed, you did not want to see John bare body, so you would not dig your hands in the warm water. You turned back, John was keeping his knees close to his chest, giving you a death stare as you approached.

"You ain’t gonna drown here, John." you said. "Relax."

"I hate you, Y/N. I hate you and Sean."

"No need remind me, I already know that and love you too."

"I said I ha…-"

"Me too."

You walked around the bathtub, looking around the shelves, picking a very peculiar yellowish form into your hands. A rubber duck, you had seen many of these on the shelves of a variety of shops, they were relatively new in stores. John could not relax, you quickly threw the rubber duck in the tub, making him gasp as water got splashed over his grumpy face.

"What the hell is that ?!" he asked, rubbing his eyes

"It’s a rubber duck." you answered. "I think they got these to keep children entertained."

"Do I look like a child ?!"

You nodded with a large smile, causing John to turn shades darker. You had been aware about him being constantly belittled by Arthur, frequently being told he was a child… you even heard Hosea mention that even little Jack was far much docile !

"When you refuse to take a bath, I swear I feel like I’m having Jack right here. It’s funny, though." you laughed

"Damn."

"It ain't my fault if you can't behave better than your four-year-old boy."

"You can't be serious right now."

You laughed and shrugged, causing Marston to sigh. You watched John looking at this strange realistic looking rubber duck while washing his hair, calmly rubbing his scalp. He quickly became obsessed with this rather strange duck you have him, not even realising anything about his current situation. It gave you more space to wash him without a single complaint. You still allowed him to do clean the bottom parts of his body, not wanting to go any further than his chest. John sighed, still keeping the duck under his arm as MacGuire knocked at the door.

"Dead-Eye MacGuire here !" he shouted. "Open the door ! "

"Don’t let him in." John grumbled. "Please, don’t."

"If I make him stay outside, you can be sure this place will be on fire in a few minutes."

"Christ sake..."

Marston sighed and turned his down. You went to the door and opened, making Sean break into the room. While quickly looking at him, you noticed him carrying a broom in one hand, and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

"It’s cleaning time, Johnny !" MacGuire happily shouted

"Wait, what ?!"

"Let’s get this dirt out of your body, fella !"

"Get away from me you damn creep !"

"Sean, wait…-" you gasped

Sean happy sipped some whiskey and dropped an empty bottle on the nearby chair, allowing you to close the door behind him. John curled up into a ball as Sean started rubbing the broom on his soap-covered back. Marston groaned, painfully holding the rubber duck against him while his fists clenched on the sides of the bath. You watched Sean scrubbing John’s upper body until it was red, preparing a new set of clothes while John was screaming how much he hated you. Both of you.

"I want you to rot in hell !!"

Thankfully enough, Sean quickly stopped scrubbing John’s body, allowing him to leave the bath to get dressed while you were not watching. John refused to mount on Sean’s horse and decided to get on yours instead, grumbling all the way back to camp while holding your onto waist. Arthur came to greet you with a warm smile, John pushed him aside and quickly got into his tent, closing its flaps.

"Damn, he smells much better !" Arthur said, gently patting your shoulder. "How d'you do this ?"

"Well, we had to convince him in a rather kin…-"

"We had to use violence, English." Sean stopped you. "Bad business. Very bad business."

Sean walked away as Arthur looked at you with wide eyes. Violence ? What kind of violence did you use ? You gently shook your head, quickly explaining that the treatment you gave to John was not as violent as Sean depicted it to be.

"Violence ?" Arthur smiled. "You really used violence ?"

"Sort of." you shrugged

When the night came, you could finally rest. No more bad smell, you could breathe without feeling like a cow had just covered John’s tent with shit ! However, as the smell was gone, you could hear John groan, and Hosea’s voice sounding inside his tent. You had seen Matthews preparing a mixture to help John’s back to heal after being scrubbed so violently by Sean, and thinking about him applying his balm on Marston made you chuckle to yourself. You could hear how painful it was for him, he kept whining each time Hosea would touch his back.

"At least, you smell better !" Hosea said with a smile

Yes. At least, he did.

#john marston #john marston x reader #siblings #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption fanfiction #sean macguire #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #john marston being dirty af #this man has rabbies I guess #no ships

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plothooksinc · 4 months ago

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Tagged by @loadthebases

Turns out if I search by mentions I can find it immediately! I'm so clever. (And yet. I only just went "oh hey".)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

22! I am not as prolific as some-- a lot of these are one shots. |D And most of them are ancient.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

475,671!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The fandoms I write for that are published are Rurouni Kenshin, Final Fantasy VII, and TMNT '03, '07, and ROTTMNT. Unpublished I also have One Piece, Tiger & Bunny, SPN, FFXIV, annnd The Untamed, most of these just being snippets etc etc. (And then RP is another bag entirely, writing in a different format-- you can include Blade of the Immortal that way.)

4. Top five fics by kudos?

It was only recently I managed to clock the 1000 mark, and I did it on two fics at once, lmao. Uhhh--

Underdark - 1089!

No Rest For The Weary - ....1089. (You guys really are neck and neck still.)

The Zaibatsu Project - 291

Some Rest For The Weary. As A Treat. - 221

Snowblind - 174

Not altogether that bad, considering Ruroken is such a dead fandom these days. /o/

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yup. Unless someone is leaving a whole stream of one word OMG/!!!!/EEEK in which I'll probably just answer the last one they left. I did go through a very long period where I did not because I was too tired, but I started again around the 2020 mark when I actually started reading fanfiction again. And started engaging, etc etc.

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

I write angsty endings? :|a 404 File Not Found. I think the closest I got was the tiny ficlet I wrote for Ruroken which was just Kenshin being depressed in the rain after Tomoe's death, and I'm not sure that really counts. That was like three paragraphs of "well my life sucks" lmao. It never made it to AO3. (It's on ff dot net still, though.)

...OH. But I can tell you which one's going to have the angstiest ending and that's The Legacy. Which given the last chapter I had finished with Raph holding onto his dead not!girlfriend, I would assume most readers are not gonna be surprised by this fact. (File Soon* To Be Found.)

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

Idk man I tend to angle for happy endings in general, so that is very hard to answer as it comes under YMMV - people have different views of happy endings, after all. Probably Underdark as the most distinct "Yes, everything is okay now" ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nah, not really. I did have one serial reviewer that reviewed every chapter of Tanabata Jasmine back in the day with a lot of backhanded compliments and condescending comments? And one person who started off reviewing Misconduct with "well my friend told me to read this" and two chapters later said "okay I'm bored now bye", but none of this is hate. The only actual "hate" I got given was not actually ...for me? I don't think? It was someone who literally said: Why did you delete your slave fics? BITCH!! And I'm like... I have not now nor will i ever write... one of those...? So yeah. Think they mistook me for another author or something. Maybe Kikide. EH. Not my division.

9. Do you write smut?

Nah.

10. Craziest crossover?

Zaibatsu Project is a Rurouni Kenshin/Cyberpunk 2020 crossover, so that's taking all your 19th century samurai types and ditching them wholesale into 2029 Tokyo. It's fun. Maybe one day I will even write more of it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Outright? I don't think so. Buuut I've certainly had people ping me in the past to tell me someone's lifted a chunk of it wholesale or "they've written Snowblind, only with smut!" or there was one person who wrote a BNHA fic which followed the same plot of Underdark complete with dialogue borrowed directly from the fic. That last one I contacted the author and they apologised and offered to take the fic down and I told them they could keep it up provided they credit me for the inspiration somewhere. I'm sure by now some AI has scraped my stuff, but largely I write in fandoms that don't get lifted and sold like others do. And honestly, the above examples are more kinda flattering than anything else.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I believe most of my longer works have been translated into Russian, at the very least. I found Tanabata Jasmine back in the day being re-released onto a Russian forum site and I had a lot of fun translating the site to read responses (and laugh a bit at the machine translations because they kept telling me the readers were legless). Underdark has for sure. I've also found Snowblind.

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

I wrote a few pages of one with @shadowbends at one point! But we didn't get far in and we both got distracted with other projects. And I also wrote half a fic to set up the other half for an author, but she didn't end up going ahead. Alas. So.... kind of?

14. All time favourite ship?

I'm honestly not much of a shipper. I mean-- actually, I ship a lot of different pairings, but only kind of superficially for the most part? Like I really enjoy reading ships but I still vastly prefer gen. I will very rarely read an outright romance fic, there's gotta be a plot. (Or at the very least some interesting smut, god.) It's easier for me to point out ships that make me go UGH GOD NO rather than a preference. (In RP I'll ship a little more if the dynamics between our characters work out really well, but I still won't be crushed if nothing comes from it. This is a hard question for me to answer. I definitely don't have an all time favourite in this lukewarm pile of ships, that's for sure.)

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

Any of the WIPs that I have that I never bothered publishing have been abandoned. Anything I want to finish will get finished. It will just take some time. This is assuming I have a long life; I mean, if I'm scheduled to die, say, three years from now, the only thing that might get finished is Infinite Ricochet, lmao.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Action scenes! /o/ Pacing and tension. The most common review I get is from people vibrating from delighted stress, lmao.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Connective tissue. I can get really bogged down in getting from A to B. You can really see it in the early days of a fic where I'm still writing set up and wondering how to scale up realistically to the things I really want to write. Once everything starts going wrong, it gets much easier, rofl.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Depends on context. Like many I started writing fanfic at the time people tried to pepper as much Japanese into their dialogue as possible for realism or brownie points or whathaveyou - you can see that in my first fic on ff dot net lmaooo. Don't do this. Not unless you have a foreign phrase that just loses its flavour when translated through to English. Or, alternatively, when you actually have a non-English character who keeps dropping into their own language, or some try hard teenager who keeps trying to show off how much Spanish they know, as an example. There are always reasons to do so and reasons it will work. But if you're just going "LOOK AT THE WORDS I KNOW"... I recommend not doing so, you will look back years later and go "oh god".

19. First fandom you wrote in?

....look, technically the first fandom I wrote in was Inspector Gadget self insert fic. But I was nine so I feel I should not be judged. /cough

First time I sat down to write an actual story that was based off a show was for the old Defenders of the Earth cartoon while I was ...15? And then when I moved out my one sofa chair was surrounded by notepads as I wrote out my first 1987 TMNT fanfic. I didn't know it was called fanfic back then. In fact I didn't know anyone else did it at all and I was just weird. Please understand that when I got onto the web proper in the late 90s and found fanfic sites I was over the moon.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

It's gotta be Underdark. That thing is its own island by now. It's closely followed by the more recent There Is No Gravy, which much like Underdark wrote itself and also ended up far longer than I intended. It was just fun. It was a soft warm hug for the Rise fandom, okay, I love it.

Thank you! This was fun to reminisce about tbh. :D

I tag: @calliopechild, @radishhqueen, and @bobtheacorn ♥ No pressure, have at it if you like

* please note that the author's definition of soon may vary to yours. She has 13 year breaks between chapters sometimes, after all.

#loadthebases #writing meme

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b4mpyre-k1zz3s · 5 months ago

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Hail, Asmodeus!

Y/N, a chronicly lonely woman, resorts to some…drastic measures to supplement her nonexistent love life.

Incubus!Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Fluff)

1.9k Words

Warnings: Extremely suggestive content, mention of creepy guys, demonic rituals, stalking, animal death mention, wet dreams, predator/prey dynamic

An: Thank you so much for your requests!! This fic was heavily inspired by this post by @haggarrd and this SPECTACULAR piece of fan art by @the-commonrose which was living in my head for an actual year before I wrote this XD I listened to October Rust on loop while writing this and I think you can tell ;) Anyways, thank you for sending in requests and please, please keep them coming! My inbox is dryer than the desert rn

It was a stupid idea, but you were getting desperate. You were a grown ass woman, and you had never been in a serious relationship. Working from home, you never really got out much and spent a majority of your free time playing video games alone like some antisocial teenager. Even in high school, you never quite developed those oh so important social skills everyone else seemed to have. You yearned for friendship, sure, but you wanted more than that. If not a relationship, as embarrassing as this sounds, all you really needed was affection- something those filthy romance novels you stuck your nose in every night just couldn’t give you. So yeah, maybe you were a little pathetic.

But after trying to meet guys on the internet turned out to be a bust because you ran into one too many creepy dudes, you decided to swear that off, and given the fact you couldn’t talk to men, dating the traditional face-to-face way was out of the question. So one weekend, when you would otherwise be rotting in your bed, laying with your computer on your chest like an otter, you decided to do a little research. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and your solution came to you from, of all places, a seedy Internet forum on the occult. it’s not like you really believed in any of that pentagram of salt, light five black candles crap, but hell, you didn’t have anything to lose.

So, that Friday night, a time for well adjusted adults to go out drinking, party, and screw, you were trying to summon a demon. Yeah, real picture of maturity here. It was an incubus, the website specified- which you only just then learned wasn’t only the name of a band but also apparently some kind of male sex demon, which was close enough to what you were looking for. You went about setting everything up, with all the candles and saying nonsense in Latin, but even after you smudged enough herbs to make your apartment smell like an Italian restaurant, nothing happened. You really should’ve known better than to trust some whackjob on the internet you thought, deciding to go to bed to avoid the gnawing pit in your stomach. Burying yourself in your sheets with a sigh, you tried not to make yourself sick with self pity.

The way your room was set up, there was this window you could almost see out of from your place on the bed, but not quite. For some odd reason, that’s where your eyes were drawn as you sleeplessly stared up at the ceiling with that whole seance thing from a week ago completely gone from your mind. The days were really starting to blend together- wake up, start work, finish work, microwave dinner, sleep. But you tried to keep positive: life isn’t that bad alone, you thought- there’s a lot worse things you could be. But as you started going through the list and you got right in between ‘dead’ and ‘in high school again’, you were suddenly shaken from your thoughts by this stomach churning noise from the darkness- this slow, drawn out scratching at your window. Even though all signs would point to it being some raccoon or mouse, the eerie chill it sent down your spine made your mind immediately go into survival mode. Jolting to your feet, you fell out of bed and scrambled to double check your windows were locked and that there wasn't some home intruder trying to break in and burgle your PlayStation or something. But sure enough, the windows were firmly locked and whatever it was was long gone. Fuck. You were going off the deep end.

After that night , you started getting a little paranoid. Maybe it was the lack of sleep getting to you, but these odd things started happening out of nowhere. The next morning, after that whole scratching incident, when you were brushing your teeth in the bathroom of your shithole apartment, you dipped your head down in the sink and you could’ve sworn you saw something- someone, standing behind you. But by the time you whipped your head up, the only figure looking back at you in the cracked mirror was yourself. Even in public, there always seemed to be something sitting barely out of your line of sight, watching you.

Or these odd physical sensations that came over you at seemingly random times. For example, at night, when you were laying in bed, cozying up with one of those aforementioned filthy novels- because that's what you do when you don’t have a boyfriend. In the silence, the only sound in the room was the periodic flipping of pages until the AC kicked on, which you used to quickly write off the sudden ‘hairs standing up on the back of your neck’ sensation. What you couldn’t explain away as easily was this heavy feeling you felt pushingpushing your bodyyour body down, as if someone had their hand on your shoulder, looking over and studying your every move. But the second you slammed the cover shut and whipped your head around, it was gone. This wasn't a one time thing either- this was routine, always when you were relaxing or busy with something benign. Take, for example, doing dishes. Standing there, elbow deep in murky dishwater, you would start to feel this…warmth surround you- always from behind, and sort of creeping around the rest of your body. And you could feel right behind your ear, these vibrations against your skin, as if there was something there lurking, growling like a starved animal.

Speaking of animals, it should be mentioned here that you never had great luck with living things, and this fact was becoming really apparent as of recently. I mean, you had no problems keeping your plants alive before this, but out of nowhere they all started simultaneously wilting, then browning…then rotting. You tried everything they said to do online, but no amount of sunlight or ph balanced water seemed to reviveto reviSoSo, without too much modumping, you decided to go outside to dump their flakey corpses in your building’s dumpster and oh. It was difficult to see with your arms full of plant pots, but you were almost sure that the thing lying on your doorstep was a dead rabbit. Now you don’t usually get nauseous around blood, but that’s human blood- dead animals are another thing. And as you stared down at the mess of red gristle and white fur in front of you, you could’ve sworn you heard someone whisper in your ear.

Bam really thought he’d get you with that one. It’s a similar concept to how the best beef comes from those cows that get massages and drink beer all day- human souls tasted best with fear, He was quietly watching you from the darkness, brushing against you with feather light touches, whispering gently in your ear, but it was seemingly impossible to figure out how to could get to your head. He was trying every trick in the book, and this woman was still oblivious! Maybe if she had a little more sense in her, she’d recognize that something was a little off after that third consecutive wet dream he gave her, but noooo! She was surprisingly accepting of all of this. In fact, if Bam knew any better, he could’ve sworn you were enjoying this. To say he was frustrated would be an understatement. This lonely pervert of a woman was either very resilient or just plain desperate, and was airing towards the latter.

It was those dreams he gave you that had the biggest effect on you. See, most humans break down- tenderize, if you will, pretty quickly at this sort of thing, but you were a tough nut to crack. But Bam kept his cool- he knew how to get creative in times like these, so he decided that not only would he be weaving these lusty thoughts into your head while you were none this wiser, at the same time, he’d be standing right by your bedside, tracing his fingers over your sleeping form. Nothing too serious, just gently slipping the linens off of your shoulder with a drag of a single clawed finger here, slowly caressing your cheek there. The touch of any demon is incredibly powerful, especially that of an Incubus. But even when you woke up with little red claw marks etched into the skin of your hips, you flat out didn’t care. In fact, you seemed to be going to bed sooner and sooner, in hopes you’d seen that mysterious figure that had you so transfixed.

So, he had to take things into his own hands.

At your window, which you had since stopped locking, Bam peered in with keen eyes, watching you as you laid there, peacefully bathed in the glow of the night. The only motion in the room was the soft rise and fall of your chest with your breath. Like a wild animal stalking its prey, he took this as his cue, silently pushing open the windows with little effort and inviting himself in. But you weren’t asleep. From under half lidded eyes, you finally got the chance to take in the visage of this bewitching stranger that had been haunting your every waking moment. Standing bare at the foot of your bed, stepping out from the cover of shadow and into the light, Bam revealed himself.

Beautiful, dark filigree stood out against his pale skin, one design spanning his Adonis’ belt and the other winding up his side. Razor sharp, catlike claws glinted in the light and, framed that way, he looked so powerful. With that toned, muscular body, you could have mistaken him for a man if it weren’t for the mouth full of fangs he was sporting, almost salivating over your body. The mattress dipped a little under his weight and the set of strong wings that sat on his back settled down against him as Bam practically slithered closer, pausing on top of you to rake a hand through the dark curls that hung in his face, revealing a pair of piercing, clouded over eyes- the eyes of a predator. But even though every feature of his was purely demonic, once you got a look at his face, you realized that he was strikingly beautiful.

It was either the slight flutter of your eyelids or the way Bam could feel your heartbeat speed up against his chest that tipped him off that you were awake. Oh, this was getting better and better. He could practically smell the fear seeping from this woman’s pores as he buried his face in your neck, anticipation hanging dense in the air between your bodies. And Bam sat there for a second, jaws wide but not quite clamping down on your throat, giving you just enough room to panic and wriggle or squirm before he finally got to that delicious prize he was so eagerly waiting for- because he liked to play with his food. Quivering with desire, you couldn’t be happier, because those same dreams you had night after night were happening for real: in your room, to you.

#jackass #bam margera #jackass fanfiction #jackass fanfic #fluff #jackass x reader #bam margera x reader #y/n is such a girlfail in this #she is so special to me #<3

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danse--macabre · 8 months ago

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20 questions for writers

thank you for @jiubilant for the tag! :)

tagging anyone who'd like to do this.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Across all accounts, 33 works.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

203,958. damn!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

currently, just BG3. in the past I've written pieces relating to elder scrolls (mostly Morrowind), star wars, and avatar: the last airbender though.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The Eyeliner Incident

seeds of darkness planted within you

To pull a heart apart strand by strand

Flowers for Zuko

Considering the Weekend

I've bolded and linked the ones here worth reading; the other two are ancient star wars ficlets that I'm not particularly fussed by.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Where possible I do! If people leave comments on older works or fandoms I've moved on from, I sometimes don't always get around to it.

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

Probably Considering the Weekend. Which makes sense given it's a Disco Elysium fic about mostly-closeted gay/bi cops in love, who will not be able to break their chains until they realise the police is a violent force of capital.

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

A lot of my ATLA pieces have lighter endings given the source material is a lot lighter. The Eyeliner Incident and Follow the Rhinestones are both fics which I think could have had worse endings - but didn't. I wanted to be optimistic in both circumstances.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Luckily, no.

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

Not really?

I wrote exactly one piece of smut for Elder Scrolls (The Sword that Lies Between Them), which was a fairly chaste piece of lesbian smut all about two rival queens/political leaders in the 1st era circling around each other while one is about to be married off, politically, to a man she has complex, not entirely romantic feelings for. It was my first attempt at it and I think it shows.

Since then, I've tried to write smut for BG3, but it hasn't really ever materialised.

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

I don't write these, but I do frequently think about the Elder Scrolls/BG3 crossover where my weird dwarven Elder Scrolls OC Bthemetz gets yeeted out of her universe by the nautiloid -- which, tbh, doesn't feel that out there, Mindflayers are Aberrations that originate from Far Away in at least one iteration of D&D lore.

She'd get on with them swimmingly. She's a highly traumatised 3,000 year old ex-priest + ex-revolutionary who got turned into an automaton after dying in a revolution who is 1. technically undead, 2. had her heart literally stolen for lore/plot reasons, so she is shaking hands very firmly with astarion and karlach for various reasons. She'd have the funniest rivalry with gale given she hides much of her bullshit under the appearance of being an eccentric professor, but also she hates wizards on principle.

It would be a hoot. Nobody would read it. I am not writing something no one would read <3

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, luckily enough.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've had a request for this once on a popular ATLA oneshot I made - but I don't think this was ever realised. I also had one ATLA oneshot turned into a podfic for charity.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I've attempted this, but it never materialised into anything.

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

f!Kagrenac/Bthemetz from my Morrowind dwemer fanfiction. First loves whose codependent 500 year old lesbian relationship turns toxic after the discovery of a deity's remains. Breaks down with an academic feud, treason, attempts at apotheosis, and the revelation they killed each other in a past life. Despite the fact that one sends assassins after the other to kill them, they're still utterly obsessed with each other. Literally nobody else is doing it like them.

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

The Tragedy of Lady Noriko. This was an Ursa-centric ATLA fic that explored her familial relationships & relationship with the Avatar, and wanted to provide an 'alternate universe' Ursa who would not abandon her children - for better or worse. A Covid-19 project that ran out of steam once work picked up.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I have a few! My current favourite thing about my writing is that I think I have a very strong sense of narrative voice. I'm able to capture how different characters sound very well. I have historically (though less nowadays) been very good at poetic prose too.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plots! Particularly mysteries, or plots that require lots of pieces. My writing is mostly embellished character pieces and I would like to tackle something where more happens one of these days. I also think I have issues pacing and knowing when to start/finish scenes.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I think it depends on the audience, the language, the length of dialogue, and the intent. It can sometimes be very meaningful, especially if one is trying to make a point about the importance of languages, languages as a means of bridging divides, and lack of language as something alienating, potentially, or isolating.

However I will say in a large number of circumstances I find it deeply pretentious. I was reading... a well-loved literary fiction classic by a well-loved London novellist recently, and the fact that the French dialogue was not translated drove me up the fucking wall. There is no reason not to provide translation unless you want to show off how clever you are.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

When I was nine years old I wrote a diary from the perspective of Jack Spicer from Xiaolin Showdown. I definitely didn't know what fanfiction was at that age, I just had an urge to create things using fictional characters. I didn't even use the internet back then, I remember this was back on 'the family computer' in 2003 or whatever.

If we're talking about published pieces, I put some (sigh) Eragon fanfiction up on ff.net back in 2010. I was a teenager, obviously.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

it's the Eyeliner Incident. It's a combination of interesting worldbuilding + fun characterisation + formally interesting without being overly wanky. I also wrote it in about five days, in time for my birthday (<3), and because I wrote it in such a short time, I didn't have time to resent it.

A Thesis: On Twelve Tones is close to my heart as well but I have a MUCH more mixed relationship with that in terms of pure writing quality even if I think it's one of the most significant pieces I've written in terms of developing as a writer.

#not bg3

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belit0 · 1 year ago

Note

Alright let’s get weird with it. Watersports/piss kink for Indra and Izuna? Not the two of them together. But two short bits of them x reader contrasting them. For Indra it’s about humiliation and degradation. A punishment of sorts. For Izuna it’s marking his territory and this possessive almost primal play. Framed as a reward and that reader should be honored and thankful he’s chosen to do this and mark them like this. (Lmao feel free to decline or not answer if this is too far.)

This, in fact, was very difficult, because I never wrote a piece with watersports, but I took it as a challenge.

I did extensive research, but I didn't find any particularly written scenes to draw inspiration from, so I improvised on the knowledge I could gather from different forums.

I hope it meets your expectations, and doesn't disappoint you.

Indra

(Y/N) knows her place, knows what she can and cannot do, and still manages to overstep his boundaries. Sometimes, Indra thinks she does it on purpose, given the number of times she falls into the same mistakes.

He clarified on multiple occasions and in several different methods how she cannot interact with any other man, whether a household servant, a soldier in his army, or her personal bodyguard. There is nothing more angering for him than to see his wife exchanging so much as a word with another guy. She has no need.

Today, Indra returns home and finds her chatting with the gardener. He wasn't supposed to come back so early, it's true, but he did it only to test her. Since winning the war against Ashura, life is quiet, and with his new clan stabilized, things can be managed without his presence.

With free time and nothing in particular to do, he decides to surprise his wife, not positively, but to prove what she learned all these years by his side.

Seeing her in the courtyard, sitting next to the man who arranges the roses she is so fond of, his chest heaves with rage. They talk about the man's children, about the peaceful life he leads in the Uchiha clan, and about how grateful he is to Lord Indra, but none of that matters.

She ignores all the directions he's been giving her, and doesn't count on her husband coming home early. That's exactly how he wanted to catch her.

Indra stands behind them both, undetected by either of them, and exclaims "(Y/N)". The gardener rises from the ground in fright, dropping the scissors he was using to cut the roses' stems, as she turns in surprise, dreading what awaits her.

The man bows his head to him, and excuses himself from the scene, grabbing his things in haste and running immediately toward the street.

"You already know what’s coming. Follow me."

(Y/N), at this stage and after so many punishments, knows that contradicting or talking back to him will only make it worse, and she follows crestfallen to the main room. There, Indra subdues her to her knees, and standing in the middle of the room, reveals an already erect member.

Whether her man lives horny all day long, with so much power coursing through his veins he cannot help but be hard, or whether the thought of punishing her has that effect on him, she does not know. She immediately understands the directions, and begins to gently suck his cock, holding his legs slightly and taking her time.

"Pick up the pace, whore." He grabs her by the hair and forces to swallow the full length of his member in one go, hitting her uvula and forcing a terrible gagging from her throat. He holds her in the same position for about five seconds, releases her, and repeats the process, over and over again.

Deprived of air, soaked in her own saliva, and with her husband's hand still locked tightly in her hair, (Y/N) quickly loses track of the situation, allowing Indra whatever release he desires and letting herself be used as he likes.

"Will you continue to disobey, pretty slut?" he asks, in one of the three seconds in which he allows her to breathe, "No-o!" She replies, powerless and jaw weary.

"Who's the dirtiest bitch of them all? Flirting with anybody behind my back and hoping someone will feel sorry enough to fuck her?" The Otsutsuki questions with hatred in his voice, genuinely convinced any interaction from his wife with the opposite sex carries erotic intentions.

"Me-e!" For as much as (Y/N) feels forced to answer what he wishes to hear, there is a dark inner satisfaction being fueled every time she hears her husband speak to her in such a demeaning manner.

Normally, the Otsutsuki would make her choke on his cock until believing punishment was well imparted, but today, he comes up with something new. "Swallow, and if you leak even a little, you're going to be stripped and tied to the bed for the rest of the afternoon." He doesn't wait for confirmation, simply bobbing her head in rhythm with his hips and stealing her breath with each thrust.

(Y/N) assumes he is talking about his cum, deciding to finally finish, but she is overcome with uncertainty when feeling a warm, much more watery fluid running down her throat. The consistency is the opposite of what she is used to swallowing, and Indra presses his pelvis against her nose to make sure it all stays inside her.

"Now look at this filthy bitch, taking everything I give her like a good little whore." She's surprised but doesn't fight it. There is a strange sense of pleasure at being taken by her man in every possible way, literally carrying him inside and being degraded by him as if she genuinely deserved it.

Izuna

"You are mine, completely and utterly mine, do you understand that (Y/N)? You belong to me." Izuna whispers in her ear as he thrusts into her, taking a lazy pace and reciting a bible of profanities while fucking her.

Unprotected, his cock slips in and out, positioned above her and holding her by the neck, legs wrapped around his hips and slowly ramming into her. The combination of his words, the pressure on her jugular, and the feel on her pussy pumps her up with intimidating speed, making her lift off the ground and see stars every time his dick buries itself in her.

Izuna bites her, leaving teeth drawn all over her neck as if he were an animal trying to mark its territory, covering her with signs, identifying her as his property in front of anyone.

There is a primitive instinct born within himself when it comes to (Y/N), a feeling that escapes all rationality and follows no coherence, genuinely acting like the Alpha male he believes himself to be by taking ownership of what is his, what rightfully belongs to him.

She's his whore, his good girl, his wife, and the Uchiha has the imperious need to brand her, make everyone understand who is the presence safeguarding her, the one protecting (Y/N) before everything and everyone, the man no one will be able to defeat.

His hips rise speed with every "I am yours, only yours" she lets out between moans, feeling the urge to fill and overflow her with his seed, to see her explode with his essence and possess her completely.

Izuna loses control over his actions, ceasing to rationalize his movements and allowing his instinct to guide him, to take him through his primitive needs and help him achieve the satisfaction he so desires.

It won't be enough to stuff her with his cum, it won't suffice. He needs more and more, an imperious animal inside him growling to fuck her, to claim her, to brand her, so no one doubts to whom this beautiful woman belongs.

"Fuck (Y/N)... I'll fill you up so good, so good. Fuckin' mine."

The girl can do nothing but surrender her neck, giving up the area Izuna loves to mark and fill with bites, pulling her head back and clasping his back so hard as to shower him with scratches.

The Uchiha needs more.

It's no longer about pleasure, it's about owning, about seizing, about demanding.

He slams on the brakes, refusing to reach his climax before executing whatever sensation just came to his chest. Izuna needs more, and he's going to reach beyond what he's ever dared.

Confused by the sudden stop, (Y/N) looks at him in agitation, connecting glances and meeting a vicious man, consumed by whatever lives inside him, dominated by that side he lets out when they have sex. She gets an intimidating shiver of anticipation down her spine, making her hold her breath and brace herself for whatever he’s about to do.

Izuna kisses her desperately, and as their tongues join in a dirty kiss, he discharges all of his piss into (Y/N)'s pussy. It feels strange, a too-soft liquid flowing inside her and escaping through the small space between her husband's cock and her hole.

It flows down her legs, trickling down her ass and staining the entire bed. The sheets get soaked in what Izuna releases, and he doesn't even let her think about what he did, distracting her with smothering kisses and resuming his brutal pace once released.

A new scene ensues, a wet scenario filling the Uchiha with pleasure, seeing her drenched by the very contents of his body, impregnated with a scent that belongs to him, and (Y/N) accepting it as if she herself had asked for it.

There is new noise between her legs, each time he enters and exits, a splash that stays there until he finally finishes, mixing his seed with his own substance, leaving her completely filled and labeled by him.

"Mine."

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