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gridzdoodle · 1 month ago

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hmm tf2 comic 7 got me feeling things here's a one shot

December 5, 1987

(2.7k wordcount also cross posted to ao3)

December 5, 1987: 5:30 am

On the dot, Spy found his body rousing to awakeness, at the same time and in the same way it had for an irrelevant number of years. He unceremoniously shoved off the thick blanket that he recalled Jeremy had bought on discount several years ago. A small lifetime ago, he might have yearned for the fine silken thing that he’d gifted his son at some point. Now, he was just warm.

There was that one constant, even as his life took him every which way. Up before the team (save for Jane, who was easy to avoid if he pleased). Up before the kids for a moment of peace (though anything was peace to him after it all). Up before Jeremy, to relieve the man (he really was on now, wasn’t he?) of some chores so he could rest just a little while longer. He really did need it nowadays, in his condition.

Before all though, Spy would be afforded a moment to himself.

December 5, 1987: 5:52 am

Currently clocking in at four weeks of continuous residence, Spy had found himself falling into routine. The air was cold and the sky was dark and the flame that lit his cigarette was warm and he was content. The Willis family would enjoy the cozy embrace of sunlight when it came, but this moment would remain his. In this moment, there was nothing to do, and wasn’t that beautiful? He could go about slowly, methodically, knowing that everything was going to turn out just fine.

The sky was lightening. Judging by every other morning he had spent staring at the same sky at the same time, Spy could guess that the sun would be peeking up from behind the neighboring house. As good a queue as any to duck back inside to start the day properly.

December 5, 1987: 6:30 am

The little ones would be getting up one by one, between now and 7:30. Jeremy might get up between 7:30 and 8:00 depending on how his body would decide to treat him that day. Yesterday he seemed more active, so the earlier end of the spectrum was more likely. That gave Spy around an hour of interrupted time to take care of things before Jeremy would be insisting that he could do it himself.

He would start off with breakfast. The kids were always starved first thing in the morning, natural of growing children. Something simple, generally applicable, and all around practical. He went to the cupboard and reached for the oats. Weaning the household off whatever prize-inside cereal their father had the habit of buying was certainly a task. But four weeks of consistent no-budging breakfasts had practically solved that problem, thank god. Now it was just a matter of who took their meal what way, which wasn’t rocket science.

By the time Spy had fetched the oats, milk, and almost brought the water to a full boil, he could hear the squeal of a little voice ricochet from the door, to the hallway, to his ears. That would be little Tammy, no doubt. He killed the heat and followed the sound.

December 5, 1987: 6:42

“Eeek!” Tammy squeaked, and Spy was only a little surprised to find her on top of the dresser thrice her height. To his left, he found the top bunk bed vacant with poor Tommy down below clenching a pillow over his ears to try and get a few more precious moments of shut-eye.

“Quel est le problème?”

A sniff, “Spider! ‘n my bed! Get it off!!”

Well, that was two accounted for, though he didn’t trust Jeremy’s construction skills enough to leave the girl up there for a moment more. In a few strides, Spy’s foot brushed the foot of the dresser, and he extended his arms to the top. When the girl’s squirming jostled it, he opted to plant his hands on either side to stabilize it.

“I’m afraid I will not be taking care of that until you get down from there. Please get down from there, by the way.” and he extended his arms once more. Tammy looked about anxiously, yet ultimately decided to make her way into his waiting arms. Though when Spy went to place her on the floor, he found her limbs wrapped so tightly around his torso that something in his spine might have rearranged itself.

Spy nearly shook her down.

“What if it’s on the floor?” she blubbered. Spy did a once-over.

“It is not.”

“Are- are you sure..?” Spy looked again.

“Oui. Very.” He crouched to the ground, giving Tammy little choice but to part with him. There was no struggle, reassurance a success. “Where did you say it was?” She made a gesture to her own bunk. It was not a very tall one, so he simply leaned over the top and found it completely vacant of creepy crawlies.

It is gone, he would have said, if he was not interrupted by the squeal of another little voice. A foot below, Tommy flailed his arm wildly, and a little something careened and collided with the bedframe. There was the offending spider, all gangly limbs and jerky movements while making a mad dash from the danger, a sight now unfamiliar to Spy. In a swift movement, he had its abdomen pinched between gloved fingers. It wriggled with all its might before he disposed of it in a tissue, and then the wastepaper basket by the door.

“I’m making breakfast. Be ready.” which was only a formality.

December 5, 1987: 6:55

Peace on earth existed for ten minutes each morning, when Spy quietly worked on breakfast while Tanya worked on her book as she waited. Idly, Tanya’s finger toyed with the edge of To Kill a Mockingbird . Parallel to her, Spy fussed between stirring the pot and preparing the mix-ins for each bowl.

A splash of milk in the bowl for Tommy and Tammy, plus a glass for each while he had the jug out. Tammy absolutely refused any large chunks of fruit, so he mashed the handful of blueberries with the back of a fork. For Tommy and himself, he left them whole.

A spoonful of strawberry jam would later turn Todd’s bowl of oatmeal pink, and he knew that would be enough for him. He stirred, it was cooked by now, and filled a couple glasses with water. Heat killed, Spy reached for a little ceramic dish, and then for the highest shelf in the cupboard.

Jeremy’s bowl received a small splash of milk and the faintest drizzle of honey. On the side, a glass of water and a little dish of AM pills. The heart, pain, and renal medication met the bowl with a satisfying clink.

Now that left one bowl.

“Is there anything you’d like?”

“ I’d like to see pa at the table in the morning again, maybe with a side of Tam-Tom being quiet for once?” Spy sighed. Her frustration had only multiplied as the weeks passed, and it seemed she could only catch her father for minutes a day when he wasn’t asleep or when she wasn’t at school. “But I could settle for a nice tall glass o’ make my English teacher stop making us do so much stuff .”

Junior high and an increasingly absent father had been tough on Tanya, but Spy knew she was tougher. The least he could do was make himself an unapologetic ally, listen to her woes whenever she came to him. It had taken them this far, through years of babysitting and now indefinite residence, and he had no intention of stopping now.

“Let me see about that one. Hmm.” Spy made a show of looking through the refrigerator, then the pantry, then the cupboard. “Ahh, I’m afraid I used the last of the ‘quiet kids’ mix last night. As for the ‘lighten the workload juice’, I believe– oh, did you hear that?” Spy noted, in perfect flatness while Tanya was failing to suppress her amusement. In a couple strides, he made it to the door and opened it.

“Now let us see this,” Spy murmured, leafing through the newspaper, serious facade unwavering as he read the headlines aloud. “Unimportant, weather, unimportant again, oh, how interesting…” he peeked up from the page, pleased to see Tanya fully invested in his bit. “This news story, ‘Local English instructor, assassinated!’ No leads, no fingerprints,” he peeled his gloves off and set them down next to the paper, “all classes to be postponed indefinitely!” At this time, Tanya’s book was flat on the table as an unfettered laugh streamed from her lips. Victory.

Spy glanced back down for a quick moment, “Ah, but breakfast is not. What would you like to have, genuine requests only please, unless you’d like to take some plain oats.” After the girl’s laughter had trailed off, she considered, and piped up: “Cinnamon! And brown sugar in it too!” Now that was doable. He was happy to add a dash of cinnamon and a conservative spoonful of sugar to her immediate chagrin.

“What, that’s nuthin’! You could’nt’a added a little more?” She pouted. “Non, I’m not in the habit of serving sweets in the morning.” which earned him a melodramatic slump from her. He sighed. Spy was becoming weak in his old age. “And I will remain firm in my decision. Oh. What is this. It looks like the oatmeal is ready to plate. I will now turn around, and since this matter is so urgent, I will leave the spoon in the sugar.” Which wasn’t entirely a joke.

December 5, 1987: 7:13

“Can we go watch cartoons?”

“Yes-”

“Can we go now?”

“Have you finished your breakfast?”

“No-”

“Non.”

“But you said-”

“I would have said yes, when you finish eating.”

“Why?”

“You could tip your bowl on the couch, and I won’t clean it up.”

Todd conceded, and switched tactics to shoveling as many oats as he could eat at once. On the other side of the table, Tommy was falling asleep into his bowl while Tammy went on about nothing entirely discernible. Tanya, thank god, was taking care of the cleanup. Spy had already cleared his ingredients, so there were only the dishes to attend to. First the cooking pot, followed in quick succession by the first two bowls. She had to scrape bits of residual mush from Tommy’s bowl, but Todd and Tammy had practically cleaned theirs for her.

And then.

“Pa’s stuff’s gonna be cold…” Tanya muttered, looking at the last dish. Spy cautioned a glance behind him, the kid in a clear struggle of indecision. He came to meet her, true to her words his fingers met a bowl barely above body temperature. Hmm. “I guess I will just have to bring it right away.”

He got to go, at which point Tanya wasted no time taking the glass of water and dish of medicine. “I got it, don’t worry!” She said, as though she needed an excuse. Spy let it happen. They made their way down the hallway, which he couldn’t help observing each time he walked down it. Dozens of frames lined the walls, little snapshots of their lives slowly connecting. There were most of the kids by far, and the stark contrast between the pigtailed toddler to the young woman before him might have given him whiplash so bad he would have dropped the water if he was the one holding it.

He was forever grateful that Jeremy had taken so many pictures of all of the children, it filled in the seven year gap, and when he looked at them it was like he hadn’t missed a moment. Of course, pictures couldn’t compare with memories, but it was another thing entirely when they coincided. Todd’s smile of pride as he correctly guessed 1,782 jellybeans was just as infectious as that day.

Naturally there were plenty of pictures of Jermey, granted, less pale.

They made it to his door, and Spy turned the knob with his free hand. The bedroom was spacious, and the bed was too large for one. There were even more pictures, of Jeremy himself, of his mother, of him, of his friends, of his children most of all. A picture of Jeremy from his mercenary days was accompanied by a clock which read 7:22, and a tear-away calendar which read December 4, 1987. The practical decor clashed with the seven Tom Jones posters, but whatever made him happy, Spy told himself.

Right now though, he was laid on his side tangled up in some sheets. It seemed that he didn’t hear the door open.

“Jeremy?” “Pa?”

Spy set down the bowl on the nightstand, and Tanya mirrored his movement. He would have to be woken up, it seemed. She looked near ready to do it herself, but it had been too many times that Spy had to remind her to be gentle. He would have to do it himself.

Spy sat on the vacant side of the bed, the one that might have been occupied by a spouse if that sort of love decided to stay with him. “Jeremy,” he repeated, to no response. In perfect carefulness, he connected his hand with the once sticking out of the bedding, perhaps the tactile input would rouse him like several mornings before.

A backstabbed Sniper on his shoulder. The gibs of teammates fallen to an enemy Demo. Gray Mann. Years of mercenary work. Jeremy fourteen years ago, still moving, that slowed in his arms. A coldness and a stiffness that could never be mistaken was found in his son’s hand.

A tiny squeak behind him. Tanya, clever and perceptive Tanya. Why did she have to come?

“Is he okay..?” and the wavering of her little voice near made Spy lose composure entirely.

“I believe he has a fever.” he decided, and pressed a palm to his frigid face. “Merci, Tanya, but I would not want you to become ill as well.”

“What about you?”

“Please, you had better worry about your siblings instead. Make sure they have not destroyed the living room. Leave your father to me, yes?” Tanya, in her childish trust, only looked once over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

December 5, 1987: 7:51

“My friend, you must remember that Herr Mundy’s case was a very special one–I had begun work almost immediately, a near infinite budget, all necessary parts on hand, a fully stocked infirmary–even if I flew out this very minute I doubt I could replicate my results.”

“I understand.”

“Do you really?”

“I understand.”

“I am very sorry.”

“I understand.”

The telephone slotted neatly back in place. The room was cold. The bowl was cold. The bed was cold, except for the part Spy was sitting. The blanket cast aside when he searched for any sign of life certainly was not doing Jeremy any favors. That would never do.

With the fabric draped over him, he could pretend. Pretend that he was the grandfather when Tommy and Tammy played house. Pretend that he hadn’t seen the effects of gravity pooling blood to the parts of Jeremy’s body that rested against the mattress.

A mad giggle and excited squeal from across the hall. What was the game of choice this week again?

“Boom!” Todd shouted. Right. This week they were outlaws in the southwest, two against two.

“Wait, what town isn’t big enough for both of us?” Tommy scratched his head. He always preferred a more thorough worldbuilding in his pretend play.

“How about…” Todd fiddled with his toy sword, “Teufort New Mexico! Y’know, like the place on papa’s mail!” At that point, he charged right for his brother, who jumped a foot in the air.

That day, Spy recalled, Jeremy was busy in the kitchen fixing himself another cup of coffee, but was quick to join in the fun.

Spy had lingered alone in the room long enough, he decided. The little ones would soon look for a new playmate, and perhaps he could distract them from the fact that he was the only one who could.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 fanfiction #fanfic #written work #tf2 7th comic #tf2 spoilers #tf2 the days have worn away #tf2 comics #sorry for potentially bad oatmeal representation #my preferred breakfast porridge is chao ga #i'm experiencing emotions and need 5-7 buisness days to recover #beta reader? I hardly know her!#hopefully this is passable I have been odd af for the last few days #tf2 medic

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verfound · 1 year ago

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MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 19: Space Ghost (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

...anyone up for some casual flirting? 👀

For @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge 2023.

Read on Ao3

To Feel Alive Again: Ch19: Space Ghost

“Do you think there are reapers in space?”

Mendeleiev looked up at Marinette’s question, her eyebrows lifting above her glasses. Luka snorted and looked at her, but the apathetic derision the head reaper had grown so accustomed to was missing from the kid’s face. He looked…amused. She would almost say smitten, but she liked to think she knew Luka better than that.

“What?” he asked, shaking his head. Marinette looked up from her ice cream – that weird dot stuff they’d started making a few years ago, which the mayor had bought special for the announcement of the city’s new space program.

“Well, people die in space, right?” Marinette asked, tapping her cup with her spoon. “Not like…rocket explosions. People actually die on missions. It’s in the movies.”

“…there’s a lot of shit in space movies that doesn’t actually happen, Marinette,” Luka said, rolling his eyes. He poked her side, making her giggle, and Mendeleiev’s eyebrows rose even higher. “Ex-ter-min-ate.”

“Dork,” Marinette giggled. He scoffed.

“I am not,” he huffed. “I was in a band, Marinette. A rising rock star. I was cool.”

“Jules assured me you were a total loser,” she giggled, bumping her shoulder against his arm. “And I’ve seen your Netflix queue. Dork.”

“You’re so cruel,” Luka lamented, his voice dry. “See if I ever invite you over for movie night again.”

“I invited myself the last couple times,” Marinette snorted. Mendeleiev dropped the pamphlet she’d been flipping through when Luka dropped an arm across Marinette’s shoulders and tugged her against his side.

“See if I let you in next time, then,” he sighed dramatically. He glanced down at her, grinning. “Or ask you back.”

“…they’ve gotten chummy,” Théo grumbled beside her. Mendeleiev was too surprised by whatever the hell was going on with her other two reapers to jump at his sudden appearance. “I don’t like it. Don’t we have some rule about…fraternizing?”

“…you were trying to fraternize with her just this morning,” Mendeleiev said, glancing at him. Théo snorted and bent to pick up her pamphlet. She took it back robotically.

“I’m harmless, though,” he said. “We both know nothing will actually come of my attempts at fraternizing.”

Mendeleiev hummed. She watched as Marinette rested her head against Luka’s shoulder and he didn’t shove her off.

“Luka’s a lot more harmless than you could ever hope to be, Théo,” Fred said as he walked up to them. He handed Mendeleiev a coffee. Théo pouted until he handed him an ice cream cup. “He’s a better person than you.”

“Now that’s uncalled for,” Théo sniffed. “I’m a delight.”

“You’re a menace,” Fred sighed, sipping his own coffee. “Let them be. This is the first time in years I’ve seen Luka actually smile. Shouldn’t we all grab at happiness, wherever this cruel world chooses to give it?”

“I still don’t like it,” Théo huffed. His head perked up when a voice in the crowd called for a Frank Hawkins to get back here. “Well, duty calls!”

He slipped off into the crowd, and Fred sighed as he shook his head. Mendeleiev was still watching Luka and Marinette, who had finished their reaps and were sticking to the outer edge of the crowd, talking. Marinette was still leaning against Luka’s side.

“What does happen to reaps in space, anyway?” Fred asked after a moment. Mendeleiev shrugged. “She has a point. I’m sure someone’s died on a mission before.”

Mendeleiev had a few theories, mostly involving souls getting popped before the missions left orbit, but she was too busy watching her reapers to tell Fred that. She was also a woman of science, and until she had empirical proof…

“Beats me,” she said, sipping her coffee. “I’ll let you know when we have one.”

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kuwdora · 2 years ago

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My brain continues to be waterlogged from burnout/PTSD and late stage capitalism. I either have two speeds: zooming everywhere like I'm golden Sonic and vibrating with New Ideas. Or I'm stuck in molasses and I'm having a hard time following through with my current tasks and responsibilities. It's still an uphill battle navigating the dysregulation and dysfunction since all of this is manifesting slightly differently than what I'm used to dealing with. I was telling a friend the other day that I have a TON of fucking spoons, they're all just melted into the most useless shapes and abstract renderings that kind of hypnotize me. Like...what am I supposed to do with these things? Gonna try to melt them back into a proper shape with habit stacking, accountability and continuing to be gentle to myself in the face of uncertainty and things outside my control. I am doing a lot, even when it doesn't feel that way. Anyway, thank you friends for tagging me in all the fun tag games and sharing pretty pictures or sending me delightful DMs. I have approximately 29 blog posts about all the randomness and fannishness bouncing around in my head that I'll b shoving into my queue. Oh, my queue which is actually almost maxed out because I had gone on a queue-stuffing frenzy in December since I couldn't stand having my drafts folder so large anymore and I've only just been adding since then. And now it's like 900 posts long? So maybe you'll see a random reblog of your post in six to eight months into your future. Sorry? I ought to make some sort of mini "about me" post or something since I'd gotten a lot of new witcher folks followin' me in the last few months. And now all my vidding and multi-fandom friends are tricklin' in over from Twitter. I just have to let you all know that I am so fannishly all over the board with my interests that I will just keep trying to over-tag things for people's filters. I am 1 half witcher fixation, one quarter vidding, one quarter all my other media interests. yeah, yeah, this has been an actual post. what a marvel. I keep telling myself I used to blog more but that was probably like a decade ago now. But the desire is still there. I was more chatty on Twitter in the last few years (until recently). I have more than enough to say about this or that when rolling around in DMs. Just gotta try to let myself noodle in my own tumblr space some more.

#braindora #aboutdora #but truly the witcher brainrot is like glowing in my head #and my Star Wars feelings an other sci-fi feelings are circling closer and closer again #and god i have so much witcher fic i want to talk about but i just need to finish too #and and this and that and this again. i just keep stumbling over myself #really it's a lot #heh #my posts #textpos #textpost

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chaoticsorceressztc · 2 years ago

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A Jokester Gone Mad

(A Sona Guild Story)

Chapter 2: A Horrible, Horrible Idea

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The lights were out, of course they were. Zabin had torn out their wiring himself. The only light now was the fire seething from his back, hidden within his sweatshirt.

"Ya' know Silence, I only ever heard of the inventor working with tech', never thought I'd be doin' it me'self," Zabin muttered to the wall.

He lit the furnace in the corner of his shop and shoved some spare cans into it.

"You're right Silence, I COULD use my blast seeds," he randomly replied to no one, "But then how do you wager I'd fight off the beast-ies here in the deep dark tunnels o' doom? He hee hee"

Seemingly, as if on queue, the subway car was rustled slightly from something outside.

"See? They agree Silence!" Zabin told no one, "Means this has got to work!"

Zabin hammered away at the cans, they seemed to be easy to melt, and his fire typing prevented him from burning himself. He gleamed a smile of madness as the hammer hit the metal, bam, bam, bam.

"Ya' know Silence, these are only the display cans, they ain't got nothin' in em', nothing at all!" He pulled out a can from his sweatshirt pocket, "These are the reeeeaaal deal tho! Dis' one is... ummm... Heeeeeeyyy. I dun' remember makin' anotha' of these"

The can had an orange label on it "The Blasty Birby" it read.

"Hmmmmmm, that'll probably come in the handies later!" Zabin said with maddened glee, "I do wonder when I found ze' time to... oh. Wait. Thas where I put my secret stash, gotcha! Thanks for reminding me Silence"

Zabin put the can back in his pocket, but noticeably less delicately than he normally would, had his sanity still been intact.

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The first test of his creations failed; attaching them had singed his nubs to a dull grey. The wires didn't connect to him right, didn't connect to his nervous system. How else would he have powered them? He wasn't an electric type, even if he did know Wild Charge. No electric typing meant no easy connection point, no electrical power well within him.

The next test he put on too early, the hot metal not being able to hurt him, but definitely furthering the discoloration of the fur on his nubs. Not like anyone would see them anyway, his plan would conceal them under the metal after all.

Failure, the singes crept further up his arms.

Failure, the singes at the tip of his nubs turned a stark black.

Failure.

His arms were completely consumed in darkness.

Success.

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The dungeon mons' outside were getting restless. Zabin knew it, his madness knew it. They nearly tipped it over a few moments ago. But that was of no concern to Zabin, he was ready.

The many Joltik and Galvantula outside all jumped at a loud "DOOONG!" coming from the door of the strange contraption that had come to rest in their abode a few days ago. The door had been dented from the inside, a 3 fingered fist imprinted deep into the protrusion.

When the second hit came, they were now paying more attention and able to hear a shout of "WIIIIILLLD CHARGE HAHAHA!" before the sound repeated and another heavy indent was made in the door. It happened two more times before, on the 5th impact, the door flew right off and into one of the onlooking Galvantula. The lucky shot just happened to knock said Galvantula out, but Zabin wasn't gonna be able to just rely on chance anymore now that he was out of the subway car.

His audience saw him, a Cyndaquil with slightly more unkempt hair style then usual, blackened fur from his arms to his shoulders, and his new machines of destruction: Two cybernetic arms with 3 pronged hands that concealed his nubs within them, they had been connected to his arms through wires that dug into his skin.

"ANY OF YOU IDIOTIC CHUCKLE BUGS WANNA TUSSLE?" Zabin yelled out before breaking into maniacal laughter.

Then he saw just how many "Idiotic chuckle bugs" there actually were. Despite his appearance, none seemed too phased.

"Silence... I think it's time to improvise..." He whispered over his shoulder to the empty void.

Zabin reached into his sweatshirt's pocket, pulling out one of his many cans and throwing it to the ground.

"HA! SMOKE BOMB!" Zabin said... only to realize it was in fact just an "Ekans in a Cans" as the fake Ekans spread across the floor in front of him, "oh. that's not good."

Apparently his madness had also messed with his ability to identify what kind of can he was grabbing.

The spider mons came at him in a rush, one after the other. His cybernetics may have been able to make up for the strength difference between him and these dungeon mons', but due to how deep into the dungeon they were he knew his endurance would run out before all of theirs. He couldn't keep using Wild Charge 24/7 to keep the cybernetics working at full power forever...

One Joltik was bashed into a wall from one of his hits, KO. Another hit to the wall, KO. Another down, another KO. One smashed on the head mid jump into the floor, KO. A Joltik grabbed at his leg, a Galvantula started closing in. A mild shock from the Joltik. Can't be that bad. Another Joltik rammed their mug straight into Zabin's mechanical fist, KO. One Joltik lunged, Zabin caught them and chucked them into the side of his subway car, KO. The Galvantula was still on it's steady pace. More Joltiks were on him, the shocks getting more and more closer together, soon all of them would shock him at once.

His stamina was waning, he couldn't keep up the precision of KO'ing the small Joltiks, and he knew once that Galvantula got close enough he was done for, not to mention the Joltik dog pile forming over him. His maddened mind still felt the pull of fight or flight, and it really craved the flight option in the current circumstances.

Then he looked down. He saw the webs weaved into the track. This wasn't gonna go his way.

"Silence..." Zabin worried, "I'm not getting out of here am I?"

He wasn't. He was doomed the moment he escaped his subway car. The Galvantula began to charge up, and then discharged the electricity into the surrounding webs. The webs connected to the tracks. The tracks Zabin was standing on.

Everything went black.

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#sona guild #writing #my writing #A Jokester Gone Mad #Chapter 2

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lonelywhalien22 · 2 years ago

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LMAO I truly don't mind the long messages! I'm a fairly straightforward person, They're fun! I have no idea who would read through them other than us so 🤷🏻‍♀️

I don't mean to break anyone's heart but my own! LOL - realistically and with my luck when it comes to BTS, I've just never had a good experience trying to see them. I do wish anyone else all the best though - you included!!!

I think if the audience is 21+, I can do GA �� I went to see Epik High recently and most of the audience were in their 20s or older, so it was less chaotic. Not to be that adult LOL, but sometimes, the younger fans are kinda wildin' and disrespectful 😅 Epik High isn't like one of my favorite favorite groups (they were my intro into Kpop), so I wasn't expecting myself to be knocked off my feet, but I was LOL! It was just like fun and chill vibes. I feel like the audience can really make or break your experience.

I'm so glad you had a good time at The Link!!! Even if they didn't do their new album, still sounds like the song selection was pretty good???

Great minds just think alike!!! 🤣😂 No shame at all - if Yangyang's part made you flustered, then he did his job and that is not a bad thing LOL 🤣 Imo, Yangyang is just really dorky and endearing - not necessarily in like a "must protecc" kind of way, but he just makes me a giggly at the dumbest things I normally wouldn't AHAHA. OKAY! Confession - Xiaojun is very much like . . . my type when it comes to who in a group I fall for first LOL. I love his brows, he sings super well with his pretty low ranges, and at least from what we can tell he has a fun personality hahaha.

I'll check out some of the songs you have down for ATEEZ and get back to you!! Screenshotted and will queue them up~ I do listen to Wave, Turbulence, MIST, Light, and Promise regularly!!!

Omg omg omg omg!!! My turn to go wild!! LOL. So long story, short when it comes to SVT: I was a casual fan for a long time, but only started during L&R era. I'm embarrassed to admit, but the combo of Kidult and Mingyu really shoved me to explore their discography (and them as a group LOL) further 😂😅 All this to say, I've only been a carat for ~3-ish years now, so I'm sure there are other ppl who can give you a more seasoned and in-depth look into their discography, but I'll make a separate post sharing my favorite pieces from them! Noted about HHU - Wonwoo/Mingyu were 2 of my very first biases, so I definitely have stuff for you LOL.

RED VELVET MY GIRLS!!!! In my humble opinion, their concept is so timeless - I hope they last a long time 🥺 I definitely went through a Taeyeon phase as well a few years ago (was it really a few or more? T^T) LOL. Why is still my favorite from her!!

The way I was just vibrating when you mentioned StayC LOL - I have friend who LOVES them with all her heart and it's so cute and fun to see y'all be big fans of them!! I did listen to YOUNG-LUV.COM and agree so much!!! I think Young Luv was definitely in my Top 10 most played on Spotify this year hahaha.

LSFM is probably my second most favorite gg after Red Velvet 🥺😭 I mostly started following because I wanted to support Yunjin who I've been keeping my eye out for since her green melona basement room days 😭 (yes, the same one as SVT LMAO). She used to be a Pledis trainee, but then got bounced around a lot between different agencies because she never quite fit any of the concepts. It warmed my heart when she debuted after almost giving up! I ended up really liking LSFM overall after watching their docu-series and then the Anti-Fragile comeback! Blue Flame and No Celestial have a chokehold on me hahaha.

Have you heard Lovin' Me by Fifty Fifty!!!?? I think you might like it a lot!!! I have no idea who they are either lmao, but I really liked that one!! 100/10 would recommend checking out XG - I think they have something a little different to offer the kpop gg scene and it's refreshing! They're latest comeback was really good 🤩

I listen to all the other gg's you listed as well casually LOL, but I'll stop here since I don't have anything else to add hahahaha.

Please look foward to the SVT playlist AAAHHH hahahaha - I love doing things like this 😍🥰

Thank you for the well-wishes 🥺 It's kind of intimidating bc some ppl in my life aren't being the most supportive, but I'm the slightest bit hopeful, it'll work out okay for me in the end :')

AFTER ALL SVT SAID FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE 😂💀😎

Hm, ok you've got me considering GA for real, because there are a few artists I've skipped out on because the venue is only GA 😭...but like maybe this is a me problem but all of the concerts I go to definitely attract lots of under 21 so...💀😂

As an Ateez MIST enthusiast (like personally that's one of my top top top faves from them), I love that you like that song! And omg a fellow stayc girl YESSSSS lol. Blue Flame by LSFM is so great too, and I believe they're about to release a whole album in May so look forward to that! I will def be tuning in! Will definitely check out XG and that song you mentioned from Fifty Fifty as well!

Length of time doesn't matter!!! I've been an Atiny for the same amount of time! Very much looking forward to your SVT playlist!

~Fight for your life~ friend!!!

#dee:asks

0 notes

myherowritings · 4 years ago

Text

PART 1. A VERY WELL-DESERVED TIP

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.0k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. my brief work as a barista is finally paying off. i suffered at sbux all to write this fic ✌︎('ω'✌︎ ) LMAOOO i frl had so much fun writing this and i’m very excited to share the next parts ;) i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i do!! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

You were not looking forward to your new work schedule for the next month.

The employee who usually came in for opening shifts at four in the morning gave her two weeks notice...two weeks ago. And since you had your availability open (you knew you should’ve blocked it off and said you had morning class), your manager asked you to fill her place.

The night before your first—of many—morning shifts, you tried tricking yourself into thinking it was a good idea. And it almost worked! Sort of.

You told yourself waking up early when the sun rose worked with your body’s natural circadian rhythm and this experience may adjust your sleep schedule for a healthier one in the long run. Better health and wellbeing and lower risks of cardiovascular disease. Or something. You weren’t too sure exactly; you never paid much attention in biology but it sounded like something you’d find in a textbook, right?

When you arrived on your first day, the morning shift was just as hectic and chaotic as you expected. People in business suits with name brand bluetooth earphones in their ears and the latest new smartphone in their hand filled the shop and waited for their online order. It was as if they wanted the least amount of social interaction possible, which would be fine if being able to make connections with customers wasn’t the most interesting part about being a barista.

Although the cafe you worked at was a small business who actually (tried) to pay their employees fairly and wasn’t a purely money hungry franchise like the certain green siren, it surprisingly had gained enough traction in the area to rival one of those cheap, chain stores.

Good for the business, bad for sleepy workers who could barely function in the mornings.

But you enjoyed working here and the owners were kind, so you did your best to shove away the tiredness and put a bright and cheery smile on your face. The customers were grumpier than you were used to, but who wouldn’t be a little ill-mannered having to go to work at 5 a.m. and probably not leaving until 6 p.m. or later because of bosses who overworked them? Trying to get them their morning coffee with an amiable attitude to start off their day right was something you were more than happy to do.

It was too bad barely any of them gave you the time of day. They just wanted to get their caffeine and leave with as little human interaction as possible. It was understandable, of course, but it wasn’t the lively cafe environment you were used to during later shifts. You sighed, hoping the atmosphere would be friendlier when it wasn’t a major rush hour.

“Hi! I can help the next person in line,” you called for the twentieth time this hour. When they moved forward towards the cash register, you gave them a smile. “Good morning. I hope your day has been going well!”

“It’s been okay, thank you. And yours?”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you almost sputtered over thin air. Someone who actually replied back to what you said and asked about you in return? Even if the intent was a courtesy conversation that was meant to be quick and brief, the sentiment was there—the upholding of the values of common courtesy and human decency. Something too many people seemed to lack.

“I’m good as well! A little tired but what’s to be expected a quarter ‘til 6 a.m.?” you said with a laugh. “Thank you for asking.”

The customer gave a small smile in return and you internally celebrated for finally seeing your first pleasant expression this morning. “Must be even more tiring dealing with all these people. Doesn’t seem easy. I have to commend you for it.”

He was a tall, handsome man with a pretty face, soft-looking hair, and genuinely nice? There was no way this was real; you had to be dreaming.

You twiddled with the pen in your hands, taken aback and mildly embarrassed by the praise. “Just doing my job,” you said with a bashful look. “Thank you, though.” You cleared your throat, not wanting to hold the line up for too long, even if the customer was one you would rather keep talking to than the others. “Now, what can I get started for you today?”

“Right. Can I get a flat white in the medium size?”

“Of course.” You typed in his order into the register before asking, “And is there anything else I can get for you? Like a pastry? Today we have some freshly baked cheese danishes that are really yummy if you’d like to try!”

He thought for a while before shrugging. You weren’t sure if it was your eyes playing tricks on you or he actually had an amused look on his face. “Sure, I’ll take a couple dozen of those as well.”

“A couple dozen—?” your voice faltered. The suggestion of a fresh pastry was one you made to almost every customer, though most turned it down on the spot.

The cafe had a little weekly competition between workers to see who could sell the most pastries in the week and the one who sold most got...well, a free pastry and bragging rights. Admittedly, it wasn’t much, but nothing revved up sales like friendly rivalries. An order of a couple dozen was sure to land you in the top spot this week! Still, you had to make sure he meant it. You’d feel bad if he was just spending all his hard-earned office work money because he was trying to be courteous. (Or at least, you assumed he was some office employee.)

You cautiously asked, “Are you sure?”

Either your eyes were playing tricks on you yet again, or the look of amusement on his face grew even more than before as he said, “I’m sure. One medium flat white and, say, three dozen boxes of cheese danishes, please.”

“C-Coming right up!” you said, quickly entering his order and celebrating your free end-of-the-week pastry in advance. “That will be $42.81. Would that be card or cash?”

“Card.” He pulled out a sleek, black card with gold detailings on it and you never knew you could be sexually attracted to a credit card until now.

“Perfect! Go ahead and swipe, insert, or scan your card now. In the meantime, can I get a name for your order please?”

He scanned his card over the machine before looking back up at you. “It’s To— Ah, Shouto.”

“Shouto?” you asked in confirmation. You assumed it wasn’t ‘Toahshouto’. That sounded too much like the abbreviation used to remember how to find sine, cosine, and tangent.

“Yeah. Shouto.”

You smiled. “Well, Shouto, your order will be ready in a few minutes. Please wait over to your right to pick it up!”

He nodded.

“It was nice meeting you!” you called, waving goodbye. “I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

“Thank you,” he glanced at your nametag, “Y/N.”

Oh, how nice it felt to be treated like a human by a customer and have them actually address your name— And not to say it in a condescending way either.

“Do individual baristas get to keep the tips here?”

You blinked, feeling your face warm up slightly. “We do, actually.” One of your favorite parts of the job, you had to admit.

“Glad to hear.” Shouto pulled out some crisp-looking bills from his wallet and placed one in your hand that said ‘100’ to you. “Thank you for your kind service, Y/N.”

“Wha—” Your eyes widened. You were expecting something along the line of three dollars. Maybe five at most. But a hundred? By the time you had processed what had happened he was walking away from the cash register. “Wait— Shouto...sir! I think you accidentally gave me the wrong amount.”

He shook his head, only briefly turning back to face you. “Nope. It’s for you,” he said simply. “I’m looking forward to the cheese danishes.”

His words left you stunned, but the next customer in line tapped their foot impatiently, signaling it was now time for you to take their order. You hoped the line died down before Shouto left the cafe so you could return the tip, but seeing as how the queue almost extended out the door, you had the sinking feeling that wouldn’t be a possibility.

“Hello, I can take the next customer in line!” you recited cheerfully, mind still occupied by thoughts of your last encounter.

The next few orders went along uneventfully (though you did manage to sell two more cheese danishes) and by the time Shouto got his coffee and pastry boxes, you still had a handful more customers to get through.

“Pardon me real quick,” you said apologetically to the woman in front of you. “Please give me one moment?”

She graced you with a nod and you thanked the stars above for an understanding patron.

“Wait— Excuse me, sir!” You waved in Shouto’s direction before he could exit the cafe. He glanced at you curiously but walked over. In a hushed voice, you said, “I really appreciate the tip, but there’s no way I could accept this much money from you!”

For the first time today, you say the hints of a frown on his face. “You cannot?”

“No! $100 is a lot! You already bought $40 worth of cheese danish pastries— Are you sure you meant to give that big of a tip?”

“Of course.” He took a sip of his coffee with a satisfied hum. “You getting up at such an early hour to take people’s orders with a kind attitude isn’t easy. Plus, trying to build rapport with each of them all while keeping the interacting swift is a difficult task itself. And it’s probably worth more than your current pay, the $100 tip, and then some.”

You blinked, stunned by his words. This man kept surprising you so many times in just one morning.

“I find it ridiculous how certain occupations are paid an ungodly amount more than others, especially when a lot of it comes from privileges you were born into.” Shouto seemed to mumble the last bit to himself, but you were still able to understand what he said. “It’s bullshit.” Before you could respond, he recollected himself. “Eat the rich, right? All that to say, please accept the tip. You deserve it. And I promise it’s of no detriment to me, so please don’t feel bad.”

Seeing the determined look on his face, you couldn’t help but stare at him before nodding. He didn’t say anything you didn’t already believe yourself, and if someone really wanted to give you $100, you weren’t going to fight them on it. Think of all the dumplings you could buy, you told yourself.

“T-Thank you then.” You gingerly placed the folded bill back into your pants pocket. “I think that was really insightful of you and I’m very grateful.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled before glancing towards the exit. “I’m running a bit late for work now, so I should be going. Have a good day, Y/N.”

“You too, Shouto. And… Thank you again!”

With a glowing expression on your face, you walked back to the cash register ready to face the day and talk to more lovely customers!

“Hey, little barista!” a gruff voice called from the line, snapping you out of your stupor. “Hurry it up already before you force me to complain to your manager.”

You internally sighed. You understood they were in a rush, but they still had no right to be that rude.

“Can you even hear me? Or are you too incompetent?”

Cue another internal sigh.

Yeah, okay. Maybe you did deserve this $100 tip.

Regardless of the rude customers that may have come in, at least you had your thoughts of a cute, kind businessman who went by the name of Shouto to get you through your shift. And you could only hope you’d be able to see him again.

a/n: the end of part one folks!! oh what i’d give to have gotten a tip like this when i worked as a barista BAHAHA only in my dreams. i hope you enjoyed this little intro part and are excited for what’s to come !! :3

what to expect in the next part:

~maybe~ y/n will see shouto again and,,perhaps,,get more tips from him idk who knows

old lady imparts some...helpful(?) advice

we briefly get to see shouto’s pov! ;D

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lustbile · 4 years ago

Text

What Are The Odds?

JungwooxReader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: semi public (restroom) penetrative. some grabbing and groping @ the beginning.

Note: if you’ve never played what are the odds here’s a very brief explanation. Person A wants something from person B. Person A asks what are the odds, person B says a number, for example 25. Both person A and B say a number between one and the given number and if they both say the same number person A wins. I know some people do extra rules sometimes including numbers divisible by 2 or something idk but i don’t care. 💜

Nct Masterlists

Multi group Masterlist

“Jungwoo, get your hand out of my pants.”

It was a harsh command, your words coming out quiet but sharp as you spoke through your teeth. Your less than forceful grip wraps around his wrist, and your foggy mind weakens the way you push at his wandering hands.

“You’re not wearing any pants,” he counters, far too serious for your liking and his greedy fingers desperately trying to dig deeper into your underwear shamelessly.

“Oh so a skirt gives you permission to be a pervert,” you swat at his hands again, huffing and pinching his skin as you turn every direction in search of your friends coming back, “they’re going to be back literally any second so can you please behave?”

—

“You’re no fun,” he finally obliges, his tone completely joking as he accepts defeat but not before pinching the skin of your belly in retaliation, “if they walk over and my hand is in your underwear, I think that’s their fault for being friends with us.”

Exactly on the queue of your hand connecting with his shoulder in an annoyed wack, you see your friends returning to the food court table you two sit at, completely oblivious smiles on their faces as they balance trays of food.

——

“What are the odds?”

“Hrm?” a small sound of confusion slipping out from around the mouth full of food you’re struggling to chew.

It was a small lull in conversation and everyone started to trickle into their own side conversations that had prompted Jungwoo to lean over and breath hotly against your ear with the sudden and confusing question. He had an issue with bringing you into the middle of a conversation that he had started only in his head, luckily for him you had a tendency to find it a bit charming, but at the moment your mind was occupied on willing yourself not to choke.

“What are the odds,” he speaks slower this time, as if a change in pace adds any context in the slightest. You finally look more at him, and notice that he’s all twitchy where he sits, his hands wringing together as he seems anxious and giddy for something to happen, “that you follow me to the bathroom right now.”

“For what?” you ask with a faux ignorance, only partially hoping it’s not for the reason you’re thinking.

“What do you mean for what?” he asks a bit louder than he probably intended, pulling the attention of one of your friends momentarily, but an eye roll and a shake of the head from you perfectly portrays ‘don’t worry, Jungwoo is just being Jungwoo.’

“You know exactly for what,” he speaks in a tone that makes you feel like you’re being scolded, but after a rough swallow, you can only smile at his dramatics, “so what are the odds?”

You huff quietly, dropping your fork clattering onto your plate to add dramatics, your bottom lip becoming your own personal chew toy as you glance around the relatively empty food court and preoccupied friends.

“Fifteen,” you finally respond after a moment of him doing nothing but glaring at you in anticipation. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to follow him and cause some chaos, but you feared saying ten would look too eager, and twenty just left more of a chance of it not happening than you wanted. Yes, you wanted to leave it to fate, but there’s nothing wrong with manipulating fate just a little.

“Fifteen,” he confirms with a grin, his legs wiggling beneath the table as he turns to face you more, his shoulders slouching and his eyes widening as he waits for your completely undivided attention to lay on him before counting down.

“Three, two, one....”

“Eleven.”

It’s in their air, same word, same number, but two different voices speak it. With a sinking heart, but warming belly, you throw your head back with a sigh when you realize he’s won.

“Excuse is up to you, since you’re such shit at what are the odds,” he taunts, only one dial of annoying away from calling you a nerd and taking your lunch money, “but you better be in the single person bathroom in ten minutes or you’re in trouble.”

He stands, giving some unnecessarily detailed explanation about where he was going before tripping over his feet towards the bathroom he’s been eyeing since the idea popped into his brain. You can only sink down into your seat and glance at the time on your phone as you wait for the perfect moment.

——

It was exactly eleven minutes after Jungwoo had disappeared that you decided to stand yourself, hoping he actually found a way to follow through on his earlier threat.

You mutter something about drinking too much water this morning, and a promise to check on Jungwoo if he still wasn’t out when you were done in hopes to mask what you’re really getting up to do. The chorus of acknowledging grumbles and a few playful ‘have fun’s seemed to be reassuring enough, and with a tug at the hem of your skirt, you're scurrying towards the bathroom you saw your boyfriend disappear into not long ago.

You stand at the door for a moment, pushing it another minute past your time limit partially to make the boy on the other side of the door squirm, but also to wrap your mind around what you’ve let him convince you to do.

It’s when you hear him quietly hiss in pain from messing with something he probably shouldn’t be touching at all, that you let out an airy laugh through your nose and lean against the locked door.

You knock gently at the door, whispering a taunting ‘guess who?’ in between taps, and before you could step back, he swings the door open, and you’re stumbling in.

“I said ten minutes,” he wastes no time scolding you for your poor listening skills, his hands grabbing for your waist and pushing your chest against the wall, “ten minutes is a perfectly reasonable time to come up with an excuse and follow your boyfriend to the bathroom to fuck isn’t it? So what could have possibly taken you so long?”

“Well, Jungwoo,” you start, fully prepared to pull something incredibly stupid out of thin air to use as an excuse, but when he presses his hips against your ass and you feel just how excited he had gotten just from his wandering hands earlier, you begin to stutter over your words, “m-maybe I just umm lost track of time?”

“Lost track of time?” he asks in a sarcastic and even borderline bitchy tone, “definitely doesn’t have anything to do with a little threat I made without even thinking earlier would it? Pfffft no how could it?”

You can’t even bite back, deliver the same level of idiotic sass that had attracted you two to each other in the first place. Not with your face pressing against the cold wall and his hands moving faster than you can process down towards your thighs.

He lets out quiet grunts of appreciation when he starts to push your skirt up and around your hips, a big evil smile crawling across his face when he sees that he had guessed perfectly correct, and you were in fact wearing his favorite pair of panties. (He swears he could pick them out from millions of pairs just from the way the elastic bites into his wrist.)

You’re pressed tighter against the wall, your panting breaths almost syncing with his own when he starts to roughly grind his denim clad crotch against you. His lack of snarky comments from the ways you’ve started to whine tells you you’ve lost him, and your thighs start to shake and tremble as you squeeze them together tightly, trying to relieve the pain from your sudden neediness and impatience.

“Jungwoo come on,” you whine, swinging your arm aimlessly behind you to swat at him, “we don’t have all day, they were already getting weird about how long you were taking before I left.”

“Fuck okay,” he says with hesitation before pulling away enough to shove your underwear down to pool around your ankles while muttering to himself.

You begin debating in your head whether or not you should touch yourself, before answering yes, you absolutely should, when you hear him struggling with his belt.

The first minuscule touch of your middle and ring finger touching your clit makes you gasp and press your forehead against the wall, the circling motions falling just short compared to the way he knows how to touch you and you can only huff in frustration from the stupidity of your own hand not knowing exactly what to do.

It’s the sound of his jeans falling around his knees and a small clicking of a cap that pulls you from your inner grumbling, but it’s the cold shock of the jelly on his fingers pushing between your thighs that makes you jerk your hand away from your body to mirror the other laying flat by your head.

“Why do you have lube?” you ask in shock and even a bit of arousal from how much curveball he could be, but you’d never admit the second part willingly to his face.

“I think the better question is why don’t you?” he asks with an air of arrogance as he pulls his fingers away and begins to audibly coat himself in the substance, “looks like im the prepared one between us for once.”

“Yeah prepared for something you weren’t even sure was going to happen.”

“Yeah but you’re letting it happen aren’t you? Loser,” regardless of the name that he throws at you, he seems to have lost his patience with the back and forth you two have started. So with the last last syllable still slipping between his teeth, the hand he doesn’t have wrapped around himself grabs you around the waist and he’s shoving himself almost completely inside you.

You don’t have time to muffle the surprised moan that falls from your tongue, instead all you can do is pray no one was close enough to the bathrooms to hear it as he starts to rock his hips against yours.

“Can’t judge me for the lube now can you?” it was rhetorical, but even if it wasn’t you would have been able to answer him. With the second thrust into you, he had already been able to seat himself fully into you, the size of him still shocking you to this day and you can only clench and squirm against him.

His hands are clumsy as the trace around your body. His non dominant hand struggles to push under the hem of your shirt to grasp at your chest, while his other dips below the skirt he was so thrilled you had chosen to wear in search of the space between your thighs.

His breath is hot and quick pants when he leans his chest against your back and pushes his face into the crook of your neck. You almost feel like you’re suffocating from how much he begins to surround you and you really for the life of you cannot think of a worse placed to pass out in than a food court bathroom with your boyfriend fucking your brains out.

It’s when his own fingers dig into your clit and his warm tongue drags up the side of your neck, so you remember the existence of your own hands. You shove one up your now stretched out top to tangle tightly with the one he has kneading your chest, while the other slams tightly against your mouth to muffle the moans and squeaks that now beat against it.

“I wanna make you come so fucking hard,” he grunts in your ear with every ounce of honestly he can pull from his chest, his hips showing you exactly how truthful he is with the way they thrust roughly against you, pushing and pulling you apart in a way that makes you feel like he’s trying to take you apart at the seams, “wanted that since I saw you put on that cute little skirt on this morning. You just live to taunt me don’t you?”

You can’t answer, too afraid that taking your hand even the slightest amount away from your mouth will expose to the whole food court exactly what’s happening behind the closed door. Instead all you do is push back against him, trying hopelessly to match his thrusts and getting a sharp bite to the soft skin of your neck in retaliation.

“Better come quick before they think we got lost in here,” he says too coolly, his ability to not sound like he’s on a brink of orgasm when you know for a fact he is almost driving you up the wall. But unfortunately, his words and the fact that you're just as much, if not closer to your finish than him, has you melting back into his chest.

Even when your thighs begin to tremble, and you accidentally step back onto his foot, his fingers don’t stutter in the slightest. The arm pushing against your chest keeps you from squirming away from him, and even with your thighs trying to push him out, he keeps his fast and unrelenting pace on your hypersensitive clit.

You’re pushing up on your toes, his one foot still getting crushed under your weight, and your neck inhumanly arching to lean your head against his shoulder as you start to come. You can hear the faint growling noise you make from behind your hand, but your mind is too busy blanking out to control anything that comes from your mouth.

You feel your eyes watering as his fingers keep moving against you to carry you through your orgasm, his own finally creeping up and making him shove himself fully inside you as he starts to come.

The feeling of him spilling inside you creates borderline unbearable waves of aftershocks to wash across you, and you can feel your body fluttering around him as you try to ruin his brain just as much as he did your own. It’s almost like a small competition sparks between you to fight against your own pleasure just to simply torture the other, but eventually once your both sporting lines of sweat on your hairlines and aching shoulders and back do you silently call it a truce.

The small room suddenly feels too hot for either of you to be anywhere close to it, but you’d rather scream than let him take his hands away from your body. You’re more than glad to shove his fingers away from your buzzing clit, but you still keep it wrapped tightly in your fist the way you do to his other.

When he pulls out you feel a disappointing emptiness but an even more embarrassing rush of fear of the evidence of his orgasm leaking onto the floor, so all you can do is whine and squeeze your thighs back together again while you and him both catch your breaths.

“Come on,” he whispers, and that and the way his hands smooth over your burning skin is almost sweet, until he swats at your ass harshly before he starts to pull his jeans back onto his hips.

“Didn’t feel like I was in much trouble,” you loudly sigh in both faux disappointment but also to help even your breathing, “guess you’re all bark and no bite puppy boy.”

He glares to the best of his ability, but his still animated brows and pouting lips makes him look hilariously cute, “you think you’re getting punished in the bathroom? Absolutely not, I’m a man of class and respect.”

“Man of respect? You just fucked me in a public toilet after a game of what are the odds.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies, weirdly focused on redoing his belt and avoiding your eyes, “anyways we should probably go, they probably already think the chicken I got was bad or something.”

“You go,” you push him aside gentle before you begin a awkward trip towards the toilet in the corner, “I’m going to get rid of the mess you made and pee all you’re gross boy germs out so you go and please try to come up with an excuse that won’t make us both look like freaks okay?”

“On it captain,” he salutes to you before ducking out in a way that makes you question if you really truly let him just put his dick inside you, but with a growing need to pee you push it aside to waddle with haste.

It’s not until you shuffling back to the table in what you assumed was a discreet walk of shame do you realize he’s done the opposite of what you asked, as when you finally reach within hearing range to the table you’re immediately met with jeers and taunts about you and your boyfriend being insatiable freaks. But at least Jungwoo has the decency to look a little ashamed and maybe even a dash of apologetic.

#nct smut #jungwoo smut #nct 127 smut #nct imagine #jungwoo imagines #kpop smut #nct oneshot #jungwoo oneshot #nct fic

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years ago

Text

with heart and head you take the edge away (5/?)

yes, two fics today!

this one is for @exesof911week day 1: amicable closure + “regret you? nah. at one point you were exactly what I needed.”

ao3 | 1k | fluff, a tiny bit of hurt/comfort, married tarlos, closure

TK had always known this would be a possibility, but he’s still surprised when a familiar voice greets him in Central Park.

“TK?”

TK looks up, shocked, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline at the sight of Alex before him. He looks good, happy, but there’s more than a hint of nervousness in his posture, his hands shoved into his pockets and his weight constantly shifting from one foot to the other. It’s strange, seeing him again after all these years; he seems so different to the Alex TK had once known, yet exactly the same.

TK blinks back his surprise and smiles, standing and holding out his hand. “Alex, hey,” he says. He’d wondered what it would feel like to meet his ex again, but, as their hands connect, TK realises that there was nothing to really wonder about. It’s like remeeting an old friend or acquaintance—pleasant, but beyond that…uneventful.

Still, Alex is lingering, smiling expectantly, so TK spares a glance over to where Carlos and Isaac are still stuck in the ice cream queue, then waves at the bench he was sitting on.

“Have a minute?”

Alex grins and his entire body seems to relax as he nods. “Definitely.”

The silence between them is only semi-awkward as they sit side-by-side, not quite touching. But it’s enough to set TK’s anxiety tingling, so he casts about desperately for something to talk about.

“How have—”

“So, what’s—”

They laugh, Alex running a hand over his face. “Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. He hesitates a moment then, when TK nods for him to go first, continues, “I just wanted to ask how you’ve been. Austin, right?”

TK nods. “Ever since I left, yeah. I love it there. It’s home.”

“So you’re happy?”

“More than,” he responds, gaze drifting over to Carlos again. “I hated it at first, but I think moving there was the best thing that could have happened to me. I love my crew, I love my job—oh, yeah! I’m a paramedic now, switched about a year after we moved.”

Now it’s Alex’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “But you loved being a firefighter.”

He chuckles lightly. “What I loved was my dad,” TK corrects. “I loved having him in my life for once. But the job… Firefighting was never my choice, not really, but being a paramedic was. It’s what I was meant to do.”

“I’m glad,” Alex says, and he sounds truly sincere. “And, uh…” He pauses and laughs nervously, then nods to TK’s left hand. “Not to be that guy, but you met someone?”

It’s phrased as a question, but the answer is obvious. TK can’t help but grin as he looks between his wedding ring and Carlos, his heart doing that funny little flip, even after all this time.

“Yeah,” he says softly, gaze still fixed on his husband. “His name’s Carlos. We met pretty much right after Dad and I got to Austin, but it was a few months before I pulled my head out of my ass enough to realise I’d be an idiot to turn him down. We married two years ago.”

Alex must follow TK’s line of sight, because, “He’s handsome,” he remarks, then jerks in his seat. “And you have a kid?”

The misunderstanding is common enough that it doesn’t surprise TK, but he laughs anyway, broken out of his lovesick trance and drawn back to Alex. “No, that’s Isaac,” he says. “My brother.”

Alex’s expression turns comical, his eyes going wide and his mouth dropping open. “You… Your brother?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Okay.”

TK sniggers some more, then interrupts Alex’s confused splutters by knocking their shoulders together. “What about you, anyway?” he asks, gesturing towards Alex’s own ring hand. “You’re clearly…”

He waits, and Alex quickly catches on. “Engaged.”

“Ah.” TK nods and quirks an eyebrow. “Mitchell?” he asks, and he’s proud that there’s not even a hint of jealousy or anger in the word.

Alex laughs dryly. “Nah, we didn’t work out. Don’t get me wrong, he was amazing and I loved him, but after everything that happened with you, I just… I guess I felt guilty? And it messed things up with him—he kept thinking I was still hung up on you or that I would leave him or something—so we broke up. Talk about karma, huh?”

“That sucks.”

“I deserved it.”

The conviction in Alex’s voice takes TK aback and he frowns, reaching over to lay a hand on his knee. “No one deserves that, Alex.”

Alex looks up at him, wide-eyed, then clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I know,” TK says. “I hope this guy treats you better.”

“He does,” Alex says, smile returning. “And, you know. Likewise. Speaking of, looks like your husband will be coming back soon, so I should probably leave before then.”

A glance at the ice cream truck confirms Alex’s statement; Carlos and Isaac have reached the front and are placing their orders. Still.

“You don’t have to,” TK tells him. “You can meet him if you want.”

Alex grimaces. “Better not. Besides, I have to meet my mother soon, and you remember what she’s like.”

“Oh, yeah, then you’d better go.” TK laughs; Silvia Morison is not a woman to be messed with.

“Yeah,” Alex chuckles, but he makes no moves to stand up. “Listen, before I go, can I just ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Did you… Did you ever regret us? Regret me?”

“No.” TK’s answer is instantaneous and without hesitation—maybe he had regretted Alex once, but he knows now that that time was too caught up in heartbreak to see the truth. “I regret some of the choices I made. I regret what I did after we broke up. But regret you?” He shakes his head and smiles. “Nah. At one point you were exactly what I needed. We weren’t right for each other in the end, but it was good while it lasted, right?”

Alex nods and grins back. “Right.” He looks past TK, then stands suddenly. “And that’s my cue. Nice seeing you again, TK.”

And he walks away, and it feels like closure.

“Who was that, babe?” Carlos asks, handing TK his ice cream.

TK smiles up at his husband and reaches out to ruffle Isaac’s hair. “An old friend,” he answers. “Nothing else.”

#exesof911week #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #lone star #911ls #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

Flying High, Falling Fast

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; fingering, oral, fucking, subtle creep factor, deceptive charm, the usual fare you know

This is dark!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You meet the new Captain America at an event and impress him with your homemade project, but his interest is more than friendly.

Note: We all need some dark!Sam, right? This is a pretty long one shot, just over 7k words but it was super fun to write a character I don’t get to a lot. But I hope you love him as much as me!

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You’d never been to a meet and greet before but it seemed like the perfect opportunity to meet up with Reese. The two of you met a year and a half ago on a Discord server for PC builds and eventually waded through the awkward blank cursors to real conversations. Little updates on new additions to your machines, memes about coding, and the occasional gaming session. He became a stalwart in your mostly solitary existence between work and your empty private life.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Reese but you felt safer meeting a stranger from the internet in a public setting. Plus, it was his suggestion. His roommate fell through on attending the event with him and you eagerly accepted the unclaimed ticket. Of course, Reese insisted it was his treat but you made him promise to let you pay for lunch.

Even more exciting, you were going to meet the new Captain America. THE CAPTAIN AMERICA. You wanted to squee but had to play it cool as you waited with Reese in the winding queue.

As exclusive as the meet and greet was, it was stiflingly crowded, even more strenuous as you and Reese tried to adjust your rapport to a face-to-face environment. You mostly ended up chuckling and struggling for some cogent thought.

“What’s in the bag?” Reese asked, finally cracking through the stunted small talk.

“Oh, oh my god, I almost forgot,” you carefully lifted the bag and opened the top to let him peek inside, “I made this last year during lockdown. It’s silly but it was fun.”

He poked his finger around the opening of your drawstring knapsack and his brows rose in surprise. The drone had taken you most of your spare time but you hadn’t yet had a chance to do more than hover it around your bedroom. It was an exact replica, or exact as you could get, of the former Falcon’s Redwing.

“Holy shit! You never mentioned it,” he said.

“Oh, well, I guess… I never thought to. I just spent about an hour or so whenever I could, getting it together. Most of the time was spent on programming,” you closed your bag and let hit hang from your elbow, “and that’s another checkbox on the nerd list.”

“Please, look who you're talking to,” he joked with a snort.

You smiled at him sheepishly and looked ahead of the bodies in front of you as the line shifted forward. He wasn’t exactly disappointing, if anything, he was exactly what you expected. Skinny with black-framed glasses and a bright tee with the Captain’s shield emblazoned across his chest. He wasn’t bad-looking and thankfully not an incel.

“So, uh, you gonna give it to him or something?” Reese asked.

“What-- uh, no, I was hoping he’d sign it actually,” you chewed your lip anxiously, “if I don’t spaz out and just walk away.”

“Right,” he scoffed, “the last time I went to one of these I almost passed out.”

“Oh? Who was it?” you wondered aloud.

“Tony Stark. But I was still in high school,” he explained, “everything else sells out before I get to it. These I got by luck. If David hadn’t swiped them, we’d be standing outside wishing we were in here.”

“I can’t believe he passed on the ticket,” you uttered.

“I’m happy he did,” Reese said, “it made it easier to convince you to meet.”

“Well… we didn’t have to--”

“I’m teasing. Sorry. I’m not very… experienced at this,” he fidgeted.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged as you moved with the line, “I’m just nervous about meeting Captain America, you know? You’re not as intimidating… but I like that.”

“Uh, thanks,” he laughed as you got closer to the table and fidgeted with the straps of your bag. You were almost there.

You stepped up when the people ahead of you cleared away and you couldn’t help but stare at Bucky Barnes’ metal hand as he signed Reese’s special edition Blip magazine. He cleared his throat and you looked the Winter Soldier in the face.

“Oh, sorry,” you slid the poster you got from the shop on the way in onto the table and he unrolled it and signed. You tried really hard not to focus on his hand, you were so curious as to how it all worked. “Thank you.”

He smiled through tight lips and said, “your welcome” before you sidled down to Sam Wilson as you rolled up your poster.

“Don’t worry about him,” Sam said, “he hates these things. I can’t take him anywhere.”

His laughter received a sharp look from the super soldier. Sam took Reese’s magazine and asked his name. You were too lost in thought to answer when he asked for yours. You coughed and sputtered as you tried to remember and Reese answered for you, adding that you were nervous.

“I, uh, oh,” you lifted your bag, “I was hoping, maybe, you might sign this instead,” you handed the poster to Reese and reached into your knapsack, “if you don’t mind?”

You carefully placed the drone on the table and his brows shot up in surprise. He lifted it just as you let it go and admired it as he leaned back, “you make this?”

“Yeah,” you answered shyly, “doesn’t have all the cool features like yours but it flies.”

“That’s awesome,” he put it back down and uncapped his marker, “where do you want me to sign?”

“Just on the top is fine,” you pointed, “thank you so much.”

“My pleasure,” he put his signature after spelling out your name and he grabbed the drone again, “hey, Buck, look at this? I don’t see any fancy arms that need signing.”

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled and eyed the drone, “pretty cool, though.”

“Thanks, uh, well, we should get out of the way,” you said.

He handed you the drone and smiled. You began to shuffle away and he called you back to the table, “you code? Do a lot of programming?”

“Mostly just corporate sites,” you answered.

“Here,” he reached into his pocket, “send me a text. I think I know some people who’d like to meet you.”

“What?” you took the card rigidly.

“Sure, we’re always looking for techs,” he said, “and if we can’t find a spot for you, maybe you can see the real Redwing. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Wow, thank you, you… don’t have to do… that,” you stuttered.

“I’d be stupid not to,” he waved off your protests, “you go have fun, you two.”

You backed away and turned to walk away with Reese as you shoved your drone back in your bag with the card, numb with disbelief.

“Wow, I can’t believe…” you trailed off as you mind wandered.

“Me either,” Reese said oddly, “that’s… wild.”

You looked at him and smiled. He didn’t look mad, only serious. You tightened the neck of the knapsack and slung it over your shoulders.

“So what are we doing for lunch?” you asked.

🌠

In the two weeks since you attended the meet and greet, you and Reese kept up mostly online, many arrangements interrupted by your real life responsibilities. It wasn’t until you offered for him to come with you to the SWORD labs that he had any free time for you. After a stressful text exchange with Captain America, you were too anxious to go alone and he was more than welcoming when you asked to bring a friend.

You stood on the subway as Reese sat and played his Switch. He was jittery as you kept your own nerves hidden just beneath the surface. You found it easier to stay standing as you felt as if you might combust if you sat.

“This is so awesome,” he said as he zipped his Switch up in its case, “thanks for inviting me.”

“I figured I owed you since you got the tickets for the meet and greet,” you said, “and it’s been a while.”

“Sorry about that, work’s been nuts,” he stood as you approached your stop and held onto the pole above your hand, “I kinda skipped out on half a day for this.”

“No,” you frowned, “you didn’t have to--”

“And miss a chance to see the real Redwing? Come on,” he scoffed.

“Oh,” you hung your head, “yeah, I guess that’s worth it.”

“I didn’t mean-- I’m happy to see you too, it’s just kinda a big deal,” he said as you approached the door with the few other passengers readying to hop off.

“No, I get it,” you hooked your thumbs under the straps of your knapsack as the doors slid open and you stepped out onto the platform, “I just… I couldn’t go alone. It’s so… scary.”

“Scary? Jeez, Captain America invited you to a job interview!”

“No, that’s not--”

“Uh, yeah, that’s exactly what it is but I promise, I won’t get in the way,” he said as you head for the concrete stairs, “maybe if he needs an extra coder I might piggy back.”

“Uh huh,” you came up onto the New York sidewalk and came into view of the immense SWORD building, “well, I don’t think it’s all that.”

“So why’d you bring this?” he tapped your bag as you neared the large glass doors and men in suits with coiled wires at their ears squared their shoulders.

“He asked me to,” you said as you were approached by one of the big security guards.

“This isn’t public entry,” he said sternly, “no tours.”

“I have an appointment or… I’m expected,” you pulled out your phone and pulled up the electronic pass Sam sent you, “see?”

“Hmm,” he eyed it and took your phone without asking. Another guard came and scanned it with his phone, “checks out but we’re gonna called down Mr. Wilson and get confirmation.”

“Oh, okay,” you fidgeted as he made no move to return your phone. Reese seemed to shrink as the two men spoke into their headset and nodded at each other.

“Hey,” the glass door burst open as Sam appeared and strode towards you, “hey, sorry, these guys are such buzzkills,” he approached and patted one of the men on the shoulder, “they’re with me.” He assured and waved you after him.

“Um, my phone,” you said to the taller man with the buzzed head. He tilted his head wryly and held out your cell between two fingers. You took it and followed Sam to the doors.

“Anyway, we were just going over some basic maintenance today and I thought you might like to observe. See everything that goes into keeping me and my toys in the air,” he smiled as he held the door and nodded at Reese, “nice to see you again, man.”

“You too, Cap...tain,” Reese answered dumbly.

“Sam is fine,” he chuckled back and tailed the two of you across the lobby as he pointed you towards the elevators. He made Reese look even more like a stick bug. “You bring it?”

“Yeah, it’s in my bag,” you stopped yourself from popping your knuckles out of nervousness, “thank you so much for this. I usually work in cubicles so… uh, yeah… I don’t know what I mean.”

“Hey, don’t be nervous, you built that thing all by yourself? I’m sure you’ll fit right in,” he said.

You got off the elevator and had to hold in a gasp at the shining laboratories as the hi-tech equipment gleamed through the glass walls. Sam led you down the curved staircase onto the lab floors as techs and assistants in both lab coats and starched suits milled around the tables along the edge of the room.

“Hey, Greta,” he called out as he showed you to a metal table, “get a look at this.” A woman with twisted red hair approached as Sam tapped his fingers on the table, “show her,” he urged you.

You swung your bag around and took out the little red and silver drone. You placed it in the middle of the table and the woman, Greta, tilted her head curiously.

“You said you can make this thing fly, right?” Sam asked as Reese watched from the other side of the table.

“Um, yep,” you unlocked your phone and brought up the beta app you designed, “just…”

The drone rose slowly and steadied before you as it hovered over the metal. Greta lifted a dark brow and ran a nail along her chin thoughtfully, “cute.”

“Ah, come on, tell me that isn’t awesome? She did it all by herself,” Sam boasted, “so, what do you think? She’d be a great tech, huh?”

“Tech? I…” you blinked and giggled, that was absurd.

“Does she have a resume? A list of her credentials, at least,” Greta rebuffed.

“Greta,” Sam warned playfully, “I’m her credentials. I’m giving her a reference right now. Hire her.”

“What?” you mumbled under your breath and you saw Reese’s eye cling to Sam darkly, almost enviously.

“You know, if I hadn’t let that kid go for hi-jacking the alpha, I’d tell you to go back to breaking your toys,” she warned, “but I trust you and… I cannot say I’m not impressed,” she narrowed her sights at the floating drone, “how long did this take you?”

“A year or so,” you answered, “it was… just meant to be a hobby but--”

“Well, make it your life,” she said tersely, “Wilson, you deal with HR, Sheila likes you better.”

“Leave it all to me,” he grinned and she walked away.

“Here,” he turned back to you, “I’ll show you the operating system for the real deal.”

He ushered you and Reese over to a computer after you lowered your drone. The real Redwing sat on a module next to the screen and Sam punched the keys and took a hooked earpiece from a small stand, “put this on.”

You slipped the earpiece on as he revealed a bracelet and adjusted it on your wrist, a small ring looping up your index finger.

“Bend your finger,” he said and you did it, “lift it up, back… like that.” Redwing rose and you watched in amazement, “tilt your head…” the drone aimed in the same direction as your head, “now back,” it flew higher, “just like that. You’re getting it.”

You steered the drone in a circle and Sam helped you maneuver it back down. He let you hand the controls over to Reese who had more fun with it and nearly took out one of the workers. He apologised and Sam just chuckled, though it didn’t sound so amused.

When Redwing was back in its place, Sam took you all around the room to show you every gadget; his wings, his suit, all his little weapons, and even pulled up some Wakandan schematics of Bucky’s arm. Much of it wasn’t in English however and you could only decipher what was visually laid out.

He left you there for a moment as he excused himself to chat with a tech about his wings. Reese huffed and leaned against the wall. You were quiet, mostly stunned, though your usual reticence could also be blamed.

“I don’t think you should’ve brought me,” he said, “I told you it was a job interview.”

“I didn’t know, I thought you would enjoy it,” you felt awful as Reese had given up trying to hide his jealousy.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “well, it is pretty cool but…”

He was interrupted as Sam returned, “sorry about that, guys, I kinda messed up one of the engines on the wings on my last mission.”

You smiled and said it was fine. You hadn’t expected so much attention and thought it would be a brief little show and tell, not an entire tour. You returned to the table where you left your drone and shut down the app. You packed up your Redwing, it felt lighter but you were sure you were just imagining things as your head spun. You looked down at the bold signature across the shell and knotted the drawstring above its nose.

“Sorry, I…” you took your bag from the table, “I hate to bother but is there a bathroom I can use.”

“Oh yeah, just head back up the stairs, left of the elevators,” Sam pointed above, “we’ll wait here, there’s one last thing I wanna show you.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” you headed for the stairs and latched onto the railing before you could trip upwards.

You bumbled up the stairs and after a brief moment of blankness, you found your way to the bathroom. You quickly slipped into the stall and spent a minute at the mirror after washing your hands to get your head straight. It felt like a dream, or worse, a joke.

You headed back out and Sam was waiting just by the elevators to your surprise. You pursed your lips and glanced around, “where’s Reese?”

“Oh, yeah, uh, he left,” he said as he shoved his hand in his pocket, “said he wasn’t feeling it.”

“Really?” you shrunk, just a little, “erm… that’s too bad.”

“Yeah, kinda weird, I don’t think I’ve ever just ditched a girlfriend in the middle of the city,” he said.

“Girlfriend? Well… it’s… it’s early,” you rubbed the back of your neck, “I hope he’s okay.”

“Damn, I hope he didn’t ruin it, I still wanted to show you the shield,” he intoned, “but if you’re not feeling up to it--”

“No, no, I’m here, that would be awesome,” you forced a smile.

Had you done something wrong? Was it rude to invite Reese and have all this rubbed in his face? You thought he’d feel worse if you didn’t invite him. Your doubts flurried in your head as you stepped onto the elevator with Sam, chewing your cheek as you tried not to show your disappointment.

You were brought back to the present as the metal doors opened and Sam nudged you as you stared right through the open space. You stepped out ahead of him and he caught up and walked beside you as he explained what was hidden in every room; mostly offices and training gyms.

He unlocked a door at the far curve of the circular hallway and jiggled until it opened. He pushed it open and the lights flicked on automatically.

“Bucky,” he grumbled, “he almost took the handle right off… so now I gotta fight it.”

“Oh,” you entered as he beckoned you inside and you looked around the spacious office.

“You know, there’s lots of paperwork when you take out a whole bridge, even if it is an accident,” he laughed, “and it gives me a place to show this off.”

He went to the wall where the shield was held on small metal hooks and slid it out easily. The vibranium sung in the air as he turned to you and held it out.

“You wanna?” he asked.

“Sure…” you murmured as he turned it around and held it so you could hook your arm through the straps. He let it go and stood back to look you over.

“It suits you,” he said, “got your own Redwing and you hold that like a real champ. Maybe it’s time I step aside.”

You laughed nervously and shook your head. You peeked down at the metal and lifted and angled around as you admired the smooth curve.

“Thanks,” you offered it back to him and he took it with one hand, “for everything.”

“You’re taking the job, right?” he prodded, “it’s perfect.”

“Mmm, well, I got a job--”

“Better than here? Better than suiting up the Cap?” he chided.

You bent your ankle under you and swayed on your feet. It was a great opportunity and way better than your desk job. It just felt like you didn’t deserve it.

“I need an answer. Greta doesn’t like indecision,” he said.

“O-okay, okay,” you surrendered, “I… if I said no, I’d feel even worse.”

“You won’t regret it, promise,” he said, “if you do, Redwing is yours. The real one.”

“No, no, I’m…” you rocked as you gripped the straps of your knapsack, “I’m sure I won’t.”

🌠

Your two weeks notice rolled by. Your boss was less than pleased by the sudden departure but you didn’t care much as you wouldn’t have to deal with him for much longer. You wrapped up your last day with your replacement and left feeling free, though the anxiety of your job loomed on the other side of the weekend.

In those weeks since your visit to the SWORD facility, you hadn’t heard much from Reese. That night when you messaged him to make sure he was okay, he didn’t say much more than ‘just tired’. After that, he was always offline when you signed onto the server and all your co-op requests were declined. You were ready to give up.

Oh well, it was an online thing anyway, you were stupid to think it could work out.

But you were not entirely isolated. To your surprise, you got several messages from Sam, you still couldn’t help but think of him as Captain America and feel like you had nothing interesting to say to a hero. When he found out you liked to game, he even joined you for a session on headset but again, you were hyper focused and quiet. You were flattered that he was trying to make you feel welcome, that he even bothered to get you a job, but it all felt so above you.

When you got home that night, you logged in and sent a request to Reese, just one last attempt. He didn’t even respond, even after fifteen minutes of waiting. You shut down your PC and grabbed your switch instead. You changed as the system updated your Animal Crossing and flopped onto your bed.

You laid across the mattress, one leg over the edge and the other bent. You ran through, planting, fishing, and selling as you tried not to think too much. You’d done enough of that lately. You zoned out as your eyes narrowed at the small screen but in your peripheral, you felt a shadow move. You shrugged it off as the sunlight playing through the curtains and rolled onto your side to ignore it.

You kept on, ready to log out as you didn’t want to spend another Nook Ticket to go to and island and get nothing but flowers. You heard a subtle whirring and glanced over at your computer. It was sleeping and it was never that loud. You noticed that light shift again and turned. There was nothing. Nothing but your dresser and the signed drone, just as you left it.

You squinted and turned off your Switch. You went out to the front room to drop it back in the dock. You stretched and grabbed your phone from your purse to put in an order for some take-out. You stopped as you noticed Sam’s unanswered messages.

‘Whatcha doin’ tonite?’ and several that assumed you must be busy.

‘Sorry, got caught up gaming,’ you replied guiltily.

Your phone shook before you could close out of the chat and you answered as Sam’s name flashed across the top.

“Hello?” you squeaked.

“Hey, hope I’m not buggin’ you but I thought-- stop, Jesus Christ, sorry, we’re on our way to dinner and we hoped you might join us.”

“We?” you echoed.

“Oh, ha, yeah me and Bucky, Greta, and some of the techs. Not too many of us but you’re more than welcome,” he said, “since you start on Monday, it will be good to get to know some people.”

“Y-yeah, for sure,” you answered. It felt more an obligation than an invite. You didn’t want to come across snobbish or lazy even if you’d rather eat fried noodles and watch some trash reality TV.

“Great! I’ll send you the address,” he growled and hissed under his breath, “sorry, again, I’m just dealing with this-- I’ll see you there. Save ya a seat.”

He hung up abruptly and you stood dumbfounded staring at your jacket. You dropped your phone back into your purse and headed back to your room. You had to find something to wear that didn’t seem like you were trying too hard or not trying enough.

As you entered, that same whirring floated through the air and suddenly stopped. You looked around confused; not a fly, not your PC acting up, nothing. You grimaced at the poster with the star emblem across it and went to your dresser to pick out an outfit. It was probably the neighbour fucking around. Apartment living was rarely peaceful.

🌠

The restaurant was bustling as you were met by the hostess at the door. You told her you were there to join the party from SWORD. She showed you to the table and Sam saw you above the din and waved to you then shoved Bucky over on the cushioned bench.

“Right here,” he pointed as he waved you over and stepped aside to let you past. You sidled along and sat, apologizing to Bucky as he rolled his eyes, “not too late.”

You gave your drink order as a waiter came by and shrugged out of your jacket, letting it bunch up around your back. Sam offered his menu and introduced the people you didn’t know at the table; alongside Bucky and Greta, were Xan and Wyatt. You said hello and opted for the fiesta salad as you set aside the menu.

“Are you excited?” Sam asked.

“For what?” Bucky huffed, “she’s gotta put up with you.”

“Hey,” Sam took the lemon off the rim of his glass and tossed it at Bucky, “he lightens up… sometimes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbled but you could hear the humour in his voice.

You sank into the background as the night went on. You spoke up when you were called on but felt it hard to assert yourself, especially with someone as outspoken as Sam beside you. Still, he made sure to make you feel included when you started to feel forgotten. For that you were grateful and he was right, it made you feel a little less anxious about your first day.

As you came out onto the sidewalk, your wallet painfully lighter, you bid goodbye to everyone but Sam hung around. You clutched your purse and peered down the street.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you said.

“Ah, you know what, I shoulda asked that guy, Reese? How’s it going with him? He your boyfriend yet?”

“Ha, no,” you sucked in your lip and took a deep breath, “I don’t even think we’re friends anymore.”

“Oh no, what happened?” he asked.

“I dunno,” you said wistfully, “but it is what it is.”

“He’s missin’ out. You’re a cool girl,” he said, “building drones for fun. Kinda why I had to snag you, you know? Someone with your skills, that’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” you chortled, “no.”

“Well,” he checked his phone, “how are you getting home?”

“I’ll just take the train,” you said, “my place is only about a ten minute ride from here.”

“You sure? I can give you a ride,” he said.

“Nah, really, you’ve done… more than enough.”

“Alright, well, see you Monday?”

“Monday?” you wondered.

“I’ll pop in before I head out,” he said, “got a mission so I might not be around more than that.”

“Okay, Monday,” you confirmed, “see ya.”

🌠

Monday was a whirlwind. It started on a high as Sam suited up and showed off his wings before he headed up to the jet pad. Greta muttered that she was happy he’d be out of your way before she went through the task of getting you acquainted not only with the tech but with their workplace rituals. It was a lot to take in but you did your best to absorb every word and second.

When you got home, you had a folder full of notes and spent too long going over them before you remembered the groan in your stomach. You ate a lazy super of Kraft Dinner and lazed across your bed doing nothing but watching Youtube tutorials on your tablet. You fell asleep early and woke to your alarm and a dead tablet.

You got up, got dressed, ran out, and did it all again. The first week dragged by and yet it felt like you didn’t have enough time. On Friday, you got home and fell across the couch in your work clothes. You held your phone above you and scrolled dozily through your feed.

A dot popped up and you flicked over to your notifications. The selfie you posted on your first day at the lab with Sam in his suit had lots of hearts but your first comment was less than pleasant. Beside Reese’s icon was all caps: MUST BE EASY SLEEPING YOUR WAY INTO A JOB!

Your heart pattered and you sat up. You deleted the comment but another soon appeared; several as you kept deleting and finally blocked him. ‘Slut, whore, dumb bitch…’ it was the last thing you expected from him.

You opened Discord and clicked on his chat. ‘What’s going on? Why are you doing this?’

The text flicked across the bottom that Reese was typing but he stopped and you sat there for what felt like forever before his response popped up.

‘I can’t believe you brought me all the way there to rub my face in all that shit. And for what? You should’ve just told me I had no chance and I woulda left you alone. If you wanna fuck Sam Wilson, do it, but don’t chain me along like your little bitch boy. Get fucked slut.’

You flinched as you read it and re-read it. You typed shakily as your eyes watered. ‘I’m not fucking Sam and I wouldn’t. I brought you there because I wanted to and thought you would like it. I didn’t know you felt so strongly about it. But I see what you think of me so I only wish you the best and hope you find peace.’

You sent the message but just as quickly, you were blocked from sending any more. You tossed your phone and fell back against the couch. That must have been why he took off but you couldn’t figure out how he thought you of all people were sleeping with Sam Wilson. Really? He was just another incel after all.

You phone jangled with your annoying ringtone and you grabbed it, expecting to be insulted by Reese again but it was Sam calling. You really weren’t in the mood to talk with him. You just wanted to be left alone. But you couldn’t just ignore Captain America.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hey, I just got back in town. Whatcha doing?” you could hear the wind in the speaker.

“Just got home. I’m exhausted. Probably gonna just nap.”

“You okay?” he asked after a moment.

“Fine,” you said dully.

“Don’t sound fine,” he said, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you insisted.

“Oh, so it’s not what that boy said on your photo?”

“You saw that?”

“You tagged me, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, no, it’s…”

“Shit, don’t listen to him. He’s just a boy, he blew his chance and he’s bitter about it,” he said, “how about I come over, make sure you’re really okay?”

“No, I don’t think--”

“Ah, come on, don’t make me worry all night about you,” he chided.

“Sam, you really--” There was a knock at the window and you froze. “Sam?”

The line clicked and you heard the tapping again. You lowered your phone and went to the window. Outside, geared up in his wings and suit, Sam hovered before the glass. You blinked and he rapped again. You snapped out of your shock and unlocked the window and slid it up.

“What are you doing?” you asked, “wait? How do you know where I live?”

He grabbed onto the frame and hooked his leg through as he retracted his wings. He bent under and sat half-in and half-out of the window, “forgive me? I did a bit of snooping in HR.”

“I told you not to come. I really don’t feel up to-- It’s really weird that you’re here,” you sat as he ducked pulled his other leg through and stood, “Sam, I think you should go.”

“You shouldn’t be alone, especially after that moron sending you that shit,” he said coolly as he took off his tinted goggles.

“Well, I want to be alone, so you should--”

“I mean, I haven’t even fucked you yet and he’s jealous,” he snickered, “so I guess we should give him a real reason.”

“What are you talking about? That’s… gross. You should go--”

“Come on, girl, you think this was really about a drone,” he tossed his goggles down and set his shield on the chair as he strode around the room, “convenience. I want you close.”

“I don’t--” you looked down at your phone, “get out, Sam.”

The tone of your finger pressing ‘9’ sounded and he spun quickly to face you. He stormed over to you before you could hit ‘1’ and ripped it from your grasp.

“You’re gonna call the cops and say what? I’m Captain America,” he snarled, “but you can just call me Cap.”

He winked and threw your phone out the window smoothly. You gasped as he chuckled and lifted his wings off his back. He leaned them against the wall and stretched out his shoulders. He looked around as he twisted his tongue between his teeth.

“I like this, looks cozy,” he toed the side of the couch with his boot, “look better with you on it.”

You watched him stroll around the coffee table as he unzipped the collar of his suit. The scene was like some tainted nightmare. Maybe you’d fallen asleep. You were so tired you must have just passed out but you weren’t waking up.

You spun around and ran into the small hallway that led to your door. You were caught from behind, pulled back by the nape of your blazer as Sam tutted. His arm went around your waist and he lifted you off your feet. He turned and carried you back into the front room. You kicked and writhed as his strength enwrapped you.

“Please, please,” you begged, “I… I don’t understand. This isn’t-- this isn’t what I wanted. I didn’t--”

“Baby girl,” he cooed as he brought you close to the couch, “be good and listen to your Captain. Now stop this.”

“No, no,” you gulped at air as the panic rose in you, “I never-- please, you don’t have to do this--”

“You gotta do what I say,” he snapped and flung you onto the couch, “I don’t want to make you.”

You looked at him as you trembled in fear and disbelief. This couldn’t be. He was Sam Wilson, the Captain America; he was a nice guy.

“You have one minute to get naked,” he said and you just gaped at him, “you gonna make me repeat myself?”

Your throat tightened as his dark eyes bore into you. His hand balled to a fist and finally you found an ounce of strength. You pushed your legs over the edge of the couch and slipped out of your blazer. You stood carefully and watched him cautiously. You had to look away as your hands quivered over the buttons of your blouse.

You turned and folded your shirt over your blazer. You could hear him behind you as you unbuttoned your pants and pushed them down your legs. The question of what you were doing flitted through your head but the fear pulsed through you and took over.

“Ah,” he sighed and you peeked back as he freed himself of the top half of his stealth suit.

You turned back and hesitated. You knew there was more, you knew what he wanted, but your body locked up as your fingers curled and your insides knotted.

“Let me get that,” he came close and his fingers tickled along your shoulder blades and he unhooked your bra, “hmmm,” he let go and the cups fell off your chest, “almost there, baby.”

He stepped back and you shuddered. You dropped your bra and hooked your fingers under your panties. You wiggled them down a little at the time and heard the intake of breath as you pulled them down entirely. You stood still, unable to move, too mortified to face him.

“Come on, baby,” he said, “get comfortable.”

You inhaled and turned slowly. You went to the couch as he shed his undershirt and added it to the pile atop his shield. He looked at you and tilted his head as he licked his bottom lip. He snarled as he took in the sight of you and pointed you to the couch.

You sat and hugged yourself as he stripped off his pants along with his boxers in a single swipe. You flicked your eyes away as you glimpsed his hard dick as he stood straight and you stared at the open window. You smushed your lips together in horror and held in the tide of tears.

He came closer and you tried to tune out the room. This couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. You felt his hands on your knees and he urged your legs apart. You resisted for a moment then let him guide your limbs. It would be over sooner if you just let it happen.

He knelt on the floor as his hands kneaded along your thighs and framed your vee as he leaned over your lap. You winced and he kept your legs from closing as he pushed his body between them. His thumb grazed your folds and he pushed between them. You let out a hushed gasp as he swirled around your clit.

“See, it’s not so bad to be good, is it, baby?” he purred, “you’re wet already.”

He slid his thumb up and down and spread the wetness along your cunt. You were shocked and humiliated by your obvious arousal. You shouldn’t be turned on by this. Your body was not listening to your mind, it was obeying his touch.

“Mmm,” he hummed as he turned his hand and poked along your entrance with one finger.

He pushed inside and you clenched around his intrusion. He pulled in and out and added another finger. Your nails clawed at the cushion and you pressed back into the couch. He kept his thumb on your clit as he worked his fingers inside of you and the tension clustered between his fingertips.

“Oh, baby, listen to you,” he bet forward and replaced his thumb with his tongue as he kept fingering you.

You turned your face up to the ceiling and squeezed your eyes shut. You bit your lip as the ripples radiated from your core and your breath hitched. His hand moved faster as he suckled at your bud and his free hand groped your chest blindly. You slapped your hand over your mouth as you came, your back arching as you pushed into him.

He teased you through your climax and pulled away only as you quaked and whined at his unyielding touch. He drew his fingers out of you and sat back to lick them clean. You peeked down at him and quickly away as his eyes blazed back at you.

“Up,” he stood and stroked himself shamelessly as he strode around the coffee table, “put your hands on there.”

You rose unsteadily, legs shaking beneath you as your entire being felt like jelly. You went to him and turned your back to him. You bent over and he grabbed your ass and squeezed with a growl. You gripped the table and hung your head as the cool air grazed your cunt.

He shoved his hand between your legs and rubbed you again. He stepped closer and bent his knees as he lined himself up with your entrance, sliding in between his fingers as he spread you wide. You choked as his tip poked inside and he eased himself inch by inch into you. He held your hip as he reached his limit and groaned.

“Baby, oh god damn,” he thrust so that your whole body jerked. It was painfully delightful. Of the few men you’d been with, he was the biggest, or at least the thickest.

He rocked slowly and a moan escaped your lips. Despite the torturous pressure of his intrusion, you could ignore the pleasure laced in the pain. His hand brushed up your as and along your back. He bent over you as his fingers curled over your shoulder and he pressed his body to yours as he fucked you.

You kept your head down as you tried to measure your breaths and the pathetic noises rising from you. He pushed his hand down your stomach and between your legs again to play with your clit. He moved his legs against yours and forced them together so your cunt hugged him even tighter. He grunted and you whimpered as his fingers added to the new pressure.

He sped up so that the table scraped against the floor but kept you up with one arm around you. He rutted into you wildly as his sultry voice filled your chest and his heat consumed you. You cried out as another orgasm swept through you and your cunt quivered around him desperately.

He pulled you up suddenly so you stood on your toes. He tilted into you as he brought his arms up around yours and tined his fingers behind your head. His flesh slapped yours loudly and you opened your eyes as you heard a familiar whirring. The drone flew before you, the signature on its shell, but a light blinking at its nose. Yours didn’t have a light.

“What--”

“Ah, yeah,” he rasped through rampant breaths, “looks like they got mixed up.”

“Huh--” you sucked in your breath as he thrust harder and deeper.

“I didn’t mind, he helped me keep an eye on you,” he said as he nuzzled you above his hands, “you look so cute in your little tee shirts.”

You groaned and leaned your head against him as another rush of fear was met with unwanted bliss. You murmured senselessly as he picked up his pace and the drone came closer. He purred as you felt his muscles tighten.

“Don’t worry,” he puffed, “I’ll make sure the boy knows he was right.”

He buried himself in you, nearly taking you off your feet, and twitched as he emptied himself into you. He rocked his hips subtly as he rode out his climax and stilled you as his voice gristled to rampant pants. His arms fell to embrace you and he kept you flush to him as he lingered inside.

“Or I can keep that little video to myself…” he brought his hand up to cradle your chin and poked his finger along your lower lip, “it’s all up to you, baby.”

#sam wilson #dark sam wilson #dark!sam wilson #one shot #sam wilson x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #tfatws #falcon #captain america #mcu #marvel #bucky barnes #avengers

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moonawrites · 4 years ago

Note

“Is this the moment that we kiss?” Jily prompt.

When Lily asked James to pretend to be her boyfriend at Petunia’s wedding, she had it all figured out.

Petunia had been completely fucking unbearable all summer, bragging about Vernon like the ignorant walrus was something to be proud of. Bragging about her shiny ring and pretty wedding and not being alone. Making snide comments about what a shame it was for the bride’s sister to attend the wedding on her own. So naturally Lily had corrected her. She would, in fact, be bringing a date. And she knew just who to ask.

James was a good friend and always up for a party, even if that party was to celebrate the union of two of the worst people he knew. So of course he instantly said yes. Free booze and an opportunity to irritate your sister? Why the fuck not?

Never mind that Lily had a bit of a crush on him. If a bit meant a massive, rapidly developing, all consuming infatuation that had taken over her entire life. Real inconvenient for that to start when James had already moved on from his a good two years ago, and was perfectly comfortable being Lily’s friend. Inconvenient and painful. Pretending to date him, even for a night, was probably was not the soundest idea… but it was the best she had, and it fed into her fantasy, so she went with it.

Now, though, with James’ hands on her waist and his cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol and the dancing and the warm August evening, his hair mussed and his eyes bright… she’s not sure she should have done this. Not sure she can bear to leave this fantasy when the night ends and they go back to being friends and she makes up some excuse to explain away their breakup two weeks from now.

“They’re watching us,” James whispers, leaning his head in close, and Lily’s breath catches in her throat.

“Who?”

“Your parents. Your sister.” James smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Should we put on one final show to end the night?”

We’re better off as friends. We tried and it doesn’t work. Some generic bullshit of that sort should work. The song changes to something slow and romantic, and the couples around them who had been taking a break and chatting at their tables offer each other inviting smiles. Soon enough the dance floor is packed again.

“Perfect timing,” James murmurs, pulling Lily closer.

They’ve had so much fun. Drinking and dancing and judging Petunia and Vernon’s awful friends. They always have fun. But it’s a different kind of nice when James pulls out her chair and gushes over her to her family and gets her drinks and holds her close for the slow songs. Lily’s heart aches and her stomach twists. She wants this to be real so bad.

“Do you think they believe us?” Lily asks, just for something to say to keep her from spiralling into her traitorous thoughts.

“Hm. Dunno. I feel like I’m quite a good actor.” James nudges Lily’s nose with his and smiles playfully, unaware of the damage he’s just done to her heart with that one small gesture. It’s just acting. He's playing a part. Relax. “You’re a bit rusty though, can’t you pretend to be a little more in love with me?”

Lily laughs, and it’s actually genuine even if it’s a bit painful. God, if he only knew. Pretend to be in love with him, it’s really quite funny. “What do you want from me, director?”

As if on queue, the song swells and rises, that moment when the music wraps around your heart and the couples around them feel an unseen force pull them closer to one another.

James tilts his head and raises an eyebrow again. “Is this the moment that we kiss?”

Lily’s eyes widen. “What?”

“What?” James says innocently. “Everyone else is doing it. We’re supposed to be a couple at a wedding and we haven’t kissed once.”

“Because we’re not a couple.”

“But don’t you want them to think we are? Now’s the perfect time.”

He’s right. She asked him to do this and he’s trying to help and he’s absolutely right, they’re at a wedding and they haven’t kissed once, how convincing is that? But she can’t. Not like this.

“I… no. I don’t want to.”

“I mean, okay.” James shrugs. “It’s just a kiss.”

“I don’t want a fake kiss with you,” Lily admits, and she wants to clamp a hand over her mouth, because who even asked? Certainly not James.

James snorts. “Why? Would you prefer a real one?” And he’s obviously joking, because that’s James’ way. But Lily freezes up like she’s been caught stealing, her heart racing and jumping into her throat and her face burning up.

She laughs a few excruciatingly long and silent seconds too late, but it’s strained and feels like it’s being ripped from her throat. James’ smile is gone though, and he stares at her in… confusion? Concern? …Belated understanding. And finally, shock.

“No fucking way,” he breathes, his smile creeping back onto his face, and Lily wants to melt into the floor. Pathetic. She’s absolutely pathetic. She couldn’t even last one day, all it took was one joke to crack her.

“Shut up, please. Just… shut up,” she begs. She can’t bear the jokes right now.

James laughs, and the sound of it is beautiful and elated. “Why don’t you make me, Evans?” He leans in close. “Kiss me for real,” he dares.

Lily scowls and shoves him away, heart lurching. “Don’t be an asshole.”

James pulls her back instantly, weaves his arms back around her waist. “I’m not being an asshole. I don’t want a fake kiss either.”

When she says nothing, only stares at him quiet and lost, James sighs. “You’re so daft, Lily. How much more obvious can I be?” He cups her face in both his hands, calloused and gentle, and Lily melts. “Kiss me.”

There’s sincerity in his eyes and his words sound earnest even if they’re whispered and he’s really not that kind of asshole. So what’s a girl to do when the man of her dreams insists she kiss him?

Lily can’t help laughing in some mix of disbelief and delight even when their lips collide.

Thank you for the prompt! I had fun with this one. Clearly keeping it short is not my strength, you got 1,054 words out of me! I'll do more tomorrow :)

#jily #jily fic #jily drabble #james potter #lily evans #prompt #moona tries to write #my writing

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falcqns · 4 years ago

Note

hello there! i love love love your winter fics!!! especially little!winter. i was wondering if i could request a little!winter x reader where maybe he hears a song and asks reader about it? maybe it becomes his favorite and he dances whenever he hears it? (this is so very random so im not going to be bummed out if you don't end up doing it but that's okay ofc!) i hope we get to see more of little!winter or winter in general❤❤❤ sending you lots of love, i hope you're doing okay:)

𝖟𝖎𝖕 𝖆 𝖉𝖊𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖔 𝖉𝖆𝖍

☼ 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: little!Winter x mommy!Reader

☼ 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔨𝔫𝔤𝔰: angst, fluff, 40's music, mdlb relationship.

☼ 𝔞/𝔫: i chose this song bc i love the song of the south, and im so sad that disney changed the theme of splash mountain skdfkjuf but can't wait to see the princess and the frog one! thank you for the request and i hope you enjoy, i got a little carried away with this one!

you held Winter's hand, waiting in the queue for your turn on splash mountain.

you were apprehensive about taking him on it, but he insisted, even going so far as to stick his bottom lip out, and give you the puppy eyes. you couldn't say no to his cute little face, and here you were.

"mama go?" he asked, pointing at the log flumes.

you squeezed his hand. "there's a few people ahead of us, then it's our turn, buddy." you explained, and Winter bounced excitedly. a few more minutes passed, and it was finally your turn. you helped Winter into the flume, and sat down next to him.

his vibranium arm wrapped around the lap bar, his flesh one still holding yours. the ride began moments later, and Winter babbled excitedly as the music started playing.

"mama!" he said. "wook!" he pointed at the animatronic duck on his left side, before a sigh escaped his mouth when his hearing was filled with the music from Zip A Dee Doo Dah.

he rocked his head side to side as the music continued, before removing his vibranium hand from the bar, and shoving two metal fingers in his mouth, and giggling as the chorus began.

"zip-a-dee-doo-dah zip-a-dee-day, my oh my what a wonderful day..."

Winter was having a rough day when you realized how much he liked the song. he had asked for it to be played a few times, but it wasn't until he was on his back in his playroom, sobbing with his fingers in his mouth that you figured it out.

"what's wrong, buddy?" you asked, and he shook his head in defiance, his socked feet kicking. you'd checked his diaper, and he was dry. he had eaten less than an hour ago, and just finished his after nap bottle of apple juice. he was frustrated, but couldn't communicate what he needed, and it was upsetting for both of you.

he twisted his body away from you, and reached towards his mickey mouse cd player. your brow furrowed, but you reached forward, and pressed the power button, followed by the play button.

"it happened on one of them zip-a-dee-doo-dah days..." the song began, and he instantly settled with a sigh, letting you replace his fingers with his paci. he suckled on it softly, giggling when the singing began.

not only did it make him happy, it calmed him down, and brought him back from the edginess that HYDRA had beat into him using those words.

a rogue S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had hacked into the P.A. system, and said those words. Winter was already out, and playing at Clint's feet. the words had begun, and he bolted up, desperate to make the words stop.

freight car... that's all it took, and he was hurting everyone in his path. you'd heard the command, you knew his mission was to kill you and everyone that got in his way. instead of running away from him, you ran towards him.

you wrestled your phone from your pocket, and pulled up the song, hoping to whatever god existed that this would work, otherwise you were dead.

the narrators voice was heard just as Winter's eyes locked on you, and he began to charge. you knew he would. from your experience with Winter, if you were in his eye line, you were dead meat. if you got out of the way before his eyes locked on you, you were safe.

the music began, and immediately, your sweet little boy was back.

"m-mama!" he sobbed, falling to the floor. you placed your phone next to his head so he could hear the music, and ran your hands through his hair.

"you're okay, baby. mama's got you bubs." you whispered, just as Sam rounded the corner, Winter's blanket in his hand. he knelt next to you, and wrapped the blanket around the boys shoulders, his own fingers brushing over his cheeks.

"i sowwy Unca Sam." Winter whispered, but Sam shook his head.

"it's all right buddy. not your fault."

Winter was sick. how a super soldier managed to get sick was beyond you, but you couldn't deny that your boy wasn't well. he was coughing and sneezing, and just an overall mess of a little boy.

"m-mama?" he asked, tugging on your shirt as he sat at your feet. he'd crawled into the kitchen after you, and plopped down with his stuffy tucked in his shirt like a kangaroo's joey. "song?"

you smiled, and ruffled his hair. "of course." you picked up your phone, and turned on the song, returning to prepping the bottle as the little man at your feet began bouncing and giggling in happiness.

an idea popped into your head, and you quickly searched when The Song of The South was released, and your heart melted when it came out in 1946.

once a 40's man, always a 40's man.

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taetaespeaches · 4 years ago

Text

“I didn’t think you’d care if I came back.”

yoongi x reader (or oc) genre: angst; fluff word count: 3.2K

a/n: Finally we have some fluff again! I mean, the angst is still here, but we’re getting to a resolution. This drabble is inspired by “this is me trying” off of Taylor Swift’s album, folklore, and it takes place after, “You know that I would ruin myself over and over again for you.” This also includes a hint of crack for some comic relief, and because where Jin and Poopsie go, crack follows. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading! :))

STEPPING into your apartment, returning home from work, your eyes scanned the small space with distaste. You dreaded coming home to your empty sofa and your empty kitchen and your very empty bed. Even more so, you hated the disappointment you felt in yourself for letting another person get so close to you that they started to feel like home.

Dropping your bag at the front door, you kicked your shoes off carelessly before making your way straight to the bathroom to take a shower. Your showers had been doubling in length, perhaps in hopes that the heat of the water would scald the past couple months right off your skin. Or maybe it was just to feel something other than the hurt.

It was just two months of your life. Why was it having such an impact? It had only been three days since Yoongi walked out, so you hoped it was just the newness of it all that had you feeling so hollow.

Yoongi was just stopping by the dorm for a change of clothes and then he was heading back to the studio. He had spent three days straight in his studio, not even returning to the dorms after leaving your place. Whereas his fans would probably think he was working hard on the second Agust D mixtape, he was mostly just sulking.

He did what was best right? You said you were ruining yourself over him. He was ruining you. So, he left. He didn’t try to work it out, he left. For you. That way, you would have a chance at happiness with someone else. Someone more suitable for you. Someone who could give you what you deserve.

Walking toward his bedroom with his overnight bag in tow, the sound of his roommate’s squeaky laughter echoed through the hallway. Yoongi was suddenly very thankful for the isolation his studio provided, as he remembered Jin saying his girlfriend was visiting family for a few days so he wouldn’t get to see her right away upon returning to Korea from Japan. She must be back now.

“I don’t care if the whole game and franchise is named after Mario, Yoshi is hands down the best character in the Mario realm, and that’s just a fact,” her ranting sounded through the closed door, Jin interrupting her with overdramatic sound effects. Yoongi’s hand was on the doorknob and he had half a mind to ignore his need for a change of clothes and escape back to his studio before anyone noticed he was there.

“There wouldn’t even be a Yoshi if it weren’t for Mario because there would be no Mario franchise,” Jin shouted back, Yoongi’s motions still stalled as he stood on the other side of the door in disbelief. Fucking Mario? Really?

With a sigh, Yoongi opened the door, clearing his throat to alert the two idiots of his presence. Jin’s head popped up off the pillows, greeting Yoongi with an, “oh, hey,” his girlfriend sitting up from her spot next to Jin on the bed.

“Oh, Yoongi, thank god you’re here,” she exclaimed, Yoongi flashing her a surprised expression. “Tell Jin that Yoshi is the best Mario character.”

“That’s ridiculous and you know it,” Jin shouted with wide eyes, his girlfriend turning to look at him. “Yoshi can be your favorite character, but you can’t argue he’s the best.”

“Why can’t I?” She complained, Yoongi quickly losing all interest as he escaped to his side of the room, separated from the bickering couple by a large bookcase.

“Because it’s not called Super Yoshi, or Yoshi Kart,” Jin informed her. Yoongi hurried around his belongings, shoving some clothes into his bag so he could get back to this studio without being dragged back into the couple’s pointless disagreement.

“You’re so annoying,” she huffed, Jin laughing at her attitude.

Zipping the bag back up, Yoongi started toward the door, anxious to get out of the dorm, away from everyone.

“Aw, but I got you something in Japan,” Jin told his girlfriend. Her silence piqued Yoongi’s interest, for reasons unknown to Yoongi, enough for him to look back. She was looking at Jin with her eyebrows raised as Jin pulled out a Yoshi figure from his pocket. “It’s Yoshi!” Yoongi watched as the girl held back a smile, trying to keep up her challenging glare. “I may disagree with you, but I support you and your poor judgement,” Jin teased the girl, lowering himself onto his knees on the bed.

“I'm in love with you, so you may be on to something with the poor judgement thing,” the girl teased right back, taking the figure before cooing at it. “It’s so cute, thank you,” she told him, Yoongi quickly exiting the room.

Part of him found the two lovers cute. A much bigger part found them annoying and gross. Shoving their love in everyone’s faces. He felt like a bitter old man as he shuffled out of the dorm angrily. Why was it that Jin could manage a relationship? How was it that Jin could have his shit together, but Yoongi couldn't? And Hoseok for that matter. Hell, even Namjoon was seeing someone. Why couldn't Yoongi do the same? Making his way out of the building, you overtook his mind. You would have called him out on being a bitter old man. “Jesus, Grampa Min, stop being so grumpy,” he could hear you saying with a giggle. You’d probably even press a kiss to his forehead, flashing him a warm smile. All anger and bitterness dissipated from his body, leaving him sad and frustrated with himself, even more so than before.

Another addition to the list of things you were growing to hate about your living space: it was cold. Bundled up in a large sweatshirt, baggy sweatpants, and colorful fluffy socks on your feet, you waited in the kitchen for your water to boil. All you wanted to do was have a cup of tea and plant yourself in front of the TV to waste away while watching the next Netflix series in your queue. Your still wet hair only made you colder, a shiver moving through your body, causing you to let out a groan.

You resisted the urge to check your phone. He surely hadn’t texted, and you didn’t feel like dealing with the pain that struck your heart every time you saw no notifications from him.

As you mindlessly played with the ends of your damped hair, a knock suddenly sounded on your door, and your heart dropped into your stomach. It had to be him. No one ever visited you at 6:30 pm on a Thursday night. You thought about not answering it, but when the knock sounded again, you convinced yourself you could be wrong. It could be someone else.

Then you caught yourself hoping it wasn't someone else.

Hesitantly, you opened the door, and if you weren’t so angry you would have cried at the sight in front of you.

Yoongi stood in your doorway, dark circles just as prominent as three days ago, eyes puffy and slightly red, one of his hands shoved into his pants pocket, the other hanging by his thigh as he held onto a bouquet of tulips.

Your eyes lingered on the flowers for a moment, not because you really cared about the gesture, but because the appearance of the man who had always been so composed before now looking so completely broken on your doorstep was almost too devastating for your heart to bear.

His eyes scanned your features desperately, though neither of you spoke. It was hard to find the words.

It felt like minutes passed by before Yoongi finally opened his mouth to say something, though he struggled to get the words out. “Kid, I-” he started, tears forming in his eyes.

“I don’t want your flowers if they come with disillusions,” you told him bitterly, holding onto your anger, despite the bubbling feeling of wanting to wrap him up in your arms.

Your eyes followed a tear as it slid off his plush cheek, the cheeks you adored so much, landing on the side of his hand. “If you want me to lay out all my mistakes right now, I will,” he told you sincerely, the comment taking you by surprise. “For starters, I shouldn’t have left. I should have fought with you, I should have stayed to finish that fight,” he said in frustration, partly to himself.

Maybe the words should have confused you, but you understood exactly what he was saying. For you both to express your frustrations with each other and with yourselves, the fight needed to happen. With Yoongi leaving, you didn’t get to the point of discussion following the anger. Instead, he walked away, as if you weren’t worth fighting with, or for.

“Why did it take you three days to come back?” You asked, a strange mixture of anger and sadness and hope swirling around your stomach.

“I didn’t think you’d care if I came back,” he admitted sadly, wiping his face with the back of his hand to get rid of the tears, the bouquet messing his fringe as it made contact with his forehead. He avoided eye contact, keeping his stare directed to your fuzzy sock-covered feet.

“Of course, I care,” you told him, taking a step back to allow him space to enter your apartment. His eyes followed the colorful fluffy material as you moved aside. “Now get in here so we can fight.”

You barely noticed the quirk in Yoongi's lip as it curved just slightly into the tiniest of smiles. He entered your apartment tentatively, and his presence already made it feel more like home again. You felt certain in that moment that no matter what room he walked into, it would feel like home.

Turning toward you, still avoiding your eyes but raising his gaze to your waist, he weakly held up the bouquet. "These are tulips," he told you dumbly, finishing the statement off with a sniffle.

You stared at him for a moment but he didn't continue. "I know," you finally said.

Another beat went by as you faced each other, a feeling of awkwardness enveloping the room. “They symbolize-" he started, just as the teapot started screaming in the kitchen.

“Hang on,” you told him, rushing to the kitchen to remove the pot from the stove, turning the burner off. For a moment, you thought about sitting in the kitchen for a moment to gather your thoughts, but with a vulnerable Min Yoongi standing just a few feet away, you found yourself hurrying back to him.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” You asked, Yoongi looking to the side of the room.

“Tulips symbolize-”

"Yoongi,” you breathed out. “I don't care about the flowers right now, what are you doing here?" You cut him off, getting straight to the point.

"I want to fix this," he told you sincerely, lifting his gaze to meet yours.

You shrugged. "And how?" He stared at you for a moment, so you decided to continue. "I'm sick of feeling like I'm not wanted."

Yoongi quickly negated the comment, shaking his head. "I always want you."

"Then why do I feel unwanted by you?" Your volume raised as you asked the question, Yoongi appearing to hold his breath for a moment. Letting it out in a shaky breath, he looked back to your feet. "You say you want me but your actions say different, Yoongi. And you can't tell me how I feel, I feel unwanted."

"I'm sorry," he apologized quietly, lifting his gaze to meet your eyes. "I'm not trying to tell you how you feel, I'm just coming to terms with the fact that I made you feel that way," his voice broke.

"I don't want to hold this over your head, and I don't want you beating yourself up for it," you told him. "I just want you. But if I can't have you and feel good about myself and us, then I need to you to leave and I need you to stay gone." Speaking the words added cracks to your heart, but it also lifted a weight off your shoulders.

"I deal with a lot of shit," he suddenly said, your eyebrows pulling together in confusion. "Mentally. And that mixed with my work- I'm afraid of putting you through hell just because I'm selfish and want you," he told you with tears in his eyes. That’s what he’s afraid of? Putting his burdens on you? "I get so stuck in my head and I was in Japan and all I could think of was you and,” he sighed, looking into your eyes. “Fuck, Kid, I wanted to call you every moment I was gone. But that's for me, what am I giving you?" He shrugged hopelessly.

"You," you told him, your tears threatening to fall. "You're giving me you."

"And what's that worth?" His question shattered your heart. What's that worth?

"Baby, that's worth everything to me," you told him. "When you’re actually giving yourself to me, I feel more like myself. I feel braver and happier and-" looking back at the bouquet in his hands, you asked, "why tulips?"

He stalled for a moment, surprised by the question. "Right now?" Nodding at him, you bit back a grin. A faint smile appeared on his face, scoffing at himself. "Tulips can mean rebirth and forgiveness and true love, and I'm not saying we're in love,” he quickly backtracked. “I mean not yet, but we could be some day, and," he spoke slow but he was lost in his words, panicking over bringing up love, and the sight of him trying to find his way was enough to make you crack a smile. His speech faded out as he watched your face brighten just the slightest bit, a blush overtaking his plush cheeks. "I don't know what the fuck flowers mean, I don't know what I'm doing."

"That much is obvious," you teased, Yoongi letting out a single breathy chuckle at the comment.

"All I know how to do is care about you, Kid," he shrugged.

Tears forming in your eyes at his confession, you shook your head. "Then care about me."

"I'm trying," he told you, staring into your eyes. For a man who usually avoided eye contact, you were surprised by the sincerity he was trying to convey as he held your gaze. "I really am trying."

"I know," you nodded. And he was.

"I wanted to protect you from me," he added, his orbs scanning your face. "But fuck, Kid, I can't stay away from you." You watched him thoughtfully as he spoke. "But when I saw the hurt in your face-" he paused to compose his emotions. "When you said you thought I left that morning," he shook his head. "That's when I first realized what I was doing to you."

"But you don't have to do that to me," you reminded him. "You don't have to protect me from you, I've told you I'm prepared to be with you regardless of your lifestyle and your work." Yoongi stared at you as you spoke, and you cocked your head at him. "I'm ok with the time apart and the late-night dates and the days where we can only fit a few texts in.”

“But are you ok with me? And everything that comes with me?” He asked. He was really asking, he needed the assurance.

“Of course, I am,” you told him definitively. “I want all of you. You don’t need to wear this mask around me, you don’t need to shield me from you. And you’re not the only one with demons,” you told him. “I want you and everything that comes with you. I’m just not ok with feeling like I'm always about to lose you."

"Baby," he whispered.

"I can't keep being afraid that every time you walk out the door, you might not come back," you whimpered, a tear falling down your cheek. "I need assurance too, I need to know you're in this with me as much as I am with you." Yoongi nodded quickly.

"If you want me here, I'm here," he assured you, sincerity coating his words.

"I want you here," you told him. Yoongi suddenly tossed the bouquet onto the table before approaching you. His arms wrapped around your body before you could react, your arms slowly folding over him, holding him close to you as he buried his face in your hair. You felt a kiss on the top of your head, your body responding by relaxing against his frame, turning your face to nuzzle it against his neck. "I'm sorry for the shit I said," you mumbled against his cool skin, still slightly cold from the night air.

"Don't apologize," he whispered into your hair.

"I didn't mean the mean shit," you added, Yoongi chuckling at the obvious pout on your lips.

"You were hardly mean, Kid," he told you, pulling away just a bit to look down at you with a soft smile, his eyes glistening in emotion.

“Well, I’ll never mean the mean shit,” you said with a small smile.

"I missed you,” he told you as he wiped the fallen tears off your cheeks.

"I missed you too," you whispered. “We were supposed to fight, you know,” you added teasingly.

“That wasn’t a fight?” He questioned in feigned surprise. “We still can if you want,” he playfully responded, his eyes widened humorously.

“You came in here trying to explain flower symbolization and I just couldn’t get mad at you,” you giggled, Yoongi smiling adorably just before pushing his lips to yours, giving you a sweet kiss. Before you could deepen it, he pulled away again.

"Yoshi or Mario?"

"What?” You questioned in utter confusion. “Min, I'm trying to make out with you," you complained with a look of dissatisfaction, Yoongi smiling fondly at the expression. With a sigh, you said, "Yoshi, obviously, what do you think I am, an idiot?" Yoongi laughed fully at the comment, his shoulders shaking as he flashed you that adorable gummy smile you were so obsessed with. "Why?" you asked through a small laugh, "what about you?"

"Honestly, I could not care less," he smiled, now your turn to laugh.

"I love that about you," you told him through your big grin.

"My roommate, Jin, thinks Mario is better," he told you, you raising your eyebrows in response. "I think you should come by the dorm to put him in his place. Maybe meet all the other guys too?"

You smiled widely as you nodded. "I'd love to," you said softly, Yoongi nodding before leaning in to kiss you again. "I mean, for Yoshi's honor," you whispered right before his lips pressed to yours.

"Of course," he giggled against your mouth. Pulling back just slightly, Yoongi stared at you for a moment, his eyes appreciating your every feature slowly, taking his time, as you did the same with him. Wrapping his arms around the back of your neck, he tugged you closer to him to hold you against his body once again. "Jin's a moron but remind me to thank him one of these days," he whispered against your temple.

"I will," you giggled. "But for what?"

"For having his shit together."

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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years ago

Text

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 1

Read on AO3. Part 2 here.

Summary: You’re a Lieutenant, stationed on Orinda. You’re content with your trustworthy crew, but issues with a certain ship (spoiler alert: it’s the TIE silencer) end up trapping you on the Steadfast, instead. Your relationship with Kylo Ren isn't how you left it. How many more messes can you stand to clean?

(Yes, this is the sequel to Fix Your Attitude.)

Words: 4500

Warnings: None. Yet.

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: Umm... hi!! I don't have much to say other than I'm very excited to post this, and I really hope you enjoy it! I love you all so much. I'm genuinely lucky and grateful to have you in my life.

You weren’t ready.

Since the alert had come in that the First Order would be sending a transporter to Orinda, your hands had been jittery. There’d been no indication, no hint as to what your team should be expecting when they arrived. In the four months since you’d arrived at the fuel post, you hadn’t received a single visitor from the brass.

“Hey, Chief.”

The voice called you as you were chest-deep in a pile of fuel-cells. Grunting, you wrenched yourself free, patting the reactor dust from your uniform. Certainly there was some in your hair, too.

“Hey, hi Tonis, what’s up?” You tried to restrain your anxiety to the perimeter of your mind. “Can, uh, can I help you?”

Tonis, your third engineer, sighed, wrangling his hands together as he looked to the ground. “Do you know what��s going on with this transport unit arriving?” His thin lips twisted in a frown. “They’re saying that they might be shutting the post down.”

“Oh, jeez.” You shook your head, grabbing a rag from the terminal and wiping your hands. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he said. “Good. I really, really, really don’t want to be moved. Again.”

Grimacing, you looked at your reflection in the terminal facade. “I know.”

“Orinda’s really great,” he said. “All the different ships we get to work on. And it’s so quiet. And our team is so great--”

“I know.” You mussed your hair, as if shoving dirty fingers through it would improve its appearance. Incredibly, it did not. “They’re only sending three people. I’m sure it can’t be that big of a deal.”

“But that’s the thing!” he said. “Don’t you think that a transport unit with only a few passengers must be here for something super-official?”

Your chest seized, and you cleared your throat, turning back to him.

“Maybe.” You ignored the hot burn of your cheeks. “Guess we’ll see when they get here.”

The terminal blipped, a familiar pattern that indicated the atmosphere had been breached. It’d been awhile since you’d felt like you had the power to summon anything of importance with a single thought. The reminder tweaked your heart.

“Or… I guess we’ll see now.”

Tonis squealed, running through the post. “Hey! Hey guys! The First Order’s here! The First Order’s arrived!”

Sighing, you looked into the terminal again. Four months hadn’t changed your appearance too much. Not that it mattered. Or it might. But you wouldn’t worry about it. Only a little.

You steeled your nerves and walked out of the hangar into the dusty outcropping of the fuel outpost. Flat land stretched for miles in diameter from your station, a rolling pitch of blue mountains in the far distance, the wind whipping across the plains, rustling the dry grass. Shielding your eyes with a hand, you gazed up and spotted the transporter, a blooming black spot in the cloudless sky, quickening the pace of your pulse with every passing second.

It was just a transporter. He wouldn’t be on it. There was nothing to freak out about.

Tonis had gathered the rest of your massive crew--all three of them, him included--and they surrounded you, faces taut with anticipation.

“What do you think it is, Chief?” That was Mirna, your second engineer, a short, wide-set thing, with buzzed hair and a gruff voice. “You think they’re shutting the place down?”

“She already said she doesn’t think it’s that,” Tonis replied.

“Well, yeah, but then, why are they just sending three people?” said Lin, your mechanic.

“There’s plenty of reasons they could send three people,” Tonis said, as if he hadn’t just been agonizing over that very issue just minutes ago.

Mirna snorted. “Like what?”

“An announcement,” Lin said. “Maybe they’re canvassing all First Order planets.”

You nodded, chewing your cheek. “Sure. That could be it.”

“Or maybe it’s a survey!” Tonis was almost wiggling with excitement like the little nerd he was. “Does anyone else love filling out those weird surveys?”

“No, nerfherder,” Mirna teased, grinning. “Just you.”

“Could be an escort.” Lin shrugged. “Maybe they’re here to pick someone up.”

Mirna laughed. “Oh, come on,” she said. “Who in the stars could they have an interest in on this planet?”

Blood blazed your face. “It’s a mystery.”

You hadn’t told anyone since arriving what had brought you there or why you’d come. You hadn’t told them when you’d first landed that you still had the cum of the Commander of the First Order leaking out of your cunt. You hadn’t told them that just hours before, he’d held you in his arms, brought you into his mind, and shown you--with a breathless, crushing tangibility--how utterly and completely he loved you.

You hadn’t told them, either, that in the days, weeks, months following your arrival, you hadn’t heard from him at all.

With a dying wail, the transporter hovered and landed, spitting up a ring of dust that smacked you in the face. You sputtered, wiping your eyes, the rest of your crew apparently victims too. Frowning, you crossed your arms, brow cocked as the ramp whined and descended. Something akin to fear needled your heart in the empty space between the sound of footsteps and the emergence of two Stormtroopers stomping to the ground.

Something that was definitely fear gripped it as those two troopers were followed by a man you’d hoped to never, ever see again.

“Engineer.” General Hux had somehow lost none of his smarmy, pink-cheeked smugness--his refusal to say your name was out of petty spite at this point. And his face was just as punchable as you remembered. “I see you are, for once, prepared for our arrival.”

“What sort of facility chief would I be if I didn’t stay on top of our arrival queues?” You hid your hands behind your back to hide their quaking. “Though I believe my rank is Lieutenant, now, sir.”

“Lieutenant,” he replied, with the same amount of disdain he’d probably afford a crying child. “I imagine it’s the lack of distraction.” He smirked. “I loathe to think of the productivity you would’ve had on the Finalizer with a similar environment.”

“Oh, as do I, sir.” You offered him a gleaming smile. “I can’t imagine a punishment worse than being in your good graces.”

“Chief,” hissed Mirna. “That’s a General of the First Order. What are you doing?”

Cursing internally, you pinched yourself, stood straighter. Your team would have no idea why you felt so comfortable mouthing off to a man who, otherwise, might’ve had you thrust into the bowels of space by now--and to be honest, you didn’t have much of an idea why at this point, either. Your presumed protection was hardly a current presence in your life.

You shook your head, wagged out your hands. “Let me try again, sir.” Clearing your throat, you continued, “General Hux, sir. To what do I owe the honor?”

Hux smirked. “As much as I hate to interrupt, Lieutenant,” he said, continuing to let the word drip with more venom than a snake ever could, “I’m here to order you to come with me onto the Steadfast.”

“The Steadfast?” Obviously the name of a ship, but not one you were familiar with. No news bulletins had made their way to Orinda in the time you’d been stationed. “Why?”

“The Supreme Leader’s TIE fighter has ceased functioning. Every engineer we’ve brought to it has failed to diagnose the issue.” His jaw tensed in real, actual reluctance. “We were at the border of the Rim, and unfortunately, I thought of you.”

You blinked. He wanted you to work on Snoke’s TIE fighter?

And then another question: Snoke had a TIE fighter?

“Uh…” Frowning, you glanced around at your crew. You couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them for days on end. “How long will I be gone?”

His face betrayed nothing but pure disgust. “As long as it takes you to fix a TIE fighter.” He watched as you paused in thought. “I wasn’t offering you a choice, Lieutenant. We’re leaving now.”

With that, he turned on his heels, marching up the ramp. A long, slow breath left your lungs, and you turned to your team, scanning their faces for any reaction. To your surprise, everyone but Tonis seemed rapt in excitement, eyes wide and chins wagging in awe.

“I had no idea you were such a big shot!” Lin grinned. The other two nodded in agreement.

Blushing, you rubbed your arm in embarrassment, looking between them. “No, no,” you said. “Nothing like that.”

“You have to tell us the story, one day.” Mirna was smirking.

“Uh… Right.” You coughed. “So, hopefully I’ll only be a day or so, max,” you said. “Mirna, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

“You got it, Chief,” she said. “Tonis, my first order is for you to please calm down.”

He shot her a glare. “Good luck, Chief!” He offered you a salute, which was both strange and unnecessary. “We’ll be thinking of you!”

Warmth spread in your chest. “I’ll be thinking of you guys, too. Don’t make too big of a mess, okay?”

“Yes ma’am!” they replied in unison--and then broke into laughter.

You shook your head, finding yourself laughing with them. “Okay. See you guys soon.”

Bowing your head, you trudged up the ramp into the transporter, taking a seat far away from Hux and the two Stormtroopers. You wondered why he’d bothered to bring them to a tiny outpost like Orinda, but you supposed that self-importance and paranoia knew no bounds in the higher ranks of the First Order.

As the door closed to the transporter, your heart wrinkled. In the past few months, despite your open ache, Orinda had become your home, your crew had become something akin to your family. You hoped the issue with the TIE fighter was something stupid, like a busted hyperdrive. They were simple to repair, but most engineers wouldn’t mess with lightspeed travel--the mechanisms were so delicate that even a simple mistake could result in splitting the ship.

The transporter rose into the air, and in seconds, it burst into the sky. A windowless cargo meant you could only imagine the faces of your crew as you disappeared into the horizon. You sighed, watching your feet as they jostled with the jerking of the ship. You weren’t sure what the Steadfast was like, but apparently Snoke had moved his operations there. Though you still had no clue what Snoke looked like, you’d never imagined him to be the type to fly--but perhaps a Supreme Leader required multiple skillsets.

The awkward ride finished without a single word being exchanged between you and Hux, which was fine by you, and possibly finer by him. When the ramp lowered, he speared you with his gaze, waiting for the troopers to exit before standing and ordering you to follow him with only his eyes.

You tromped down the ramp into the hangar on the Steadfast--it looked almost identical to the one on the Finalizer. The ceilings stretched high, like a giant’s mouth, the magnetic shields glowing teeth at the lips of the bay. Ships buzzed above you, racing in and out of their docks, the floor crowded with soldiers and officers alike.

The rush hit you--sure, the time on Orinda had been fantastic, engaging, rejuvenating. But it would never match the thrill of working in the presence of fleets and fleets of warships, surrounded by the heady spell of urgent, prestigious labor. You sucked it through your nose, held it in your chest, unable to stop your eyes from lingering on every busted ship they saw. In the distance, a team huddled around the smoking wing of a TIE fighter--you bit your lip to prevent yourself from racing over, from tearing it apart for them.

Another thing you weren’t able to stop looking for was any hint, any presence of the Commander--but in the bay, you didn’t even catch evidence of the Command Shuttle. It was a huge assumption to guess he’d be on the Steadfast to begin with, but part of you hoped he’d trailed his precious Supreme Leader to any place he was ordered. It figured that the one time you might have been within thinking distance, he’d managed to make himself scarce.

Another twine in your heart snapped, joining the collection that’d been unfurling since you’d departed the Finalizer.

Yes, he’d said he would find you. You still believed him now, even.

But really. What was taking him so damn long?

Hux led you to a wide dock toward the very front of the hangar. The crews you spotted along the way seemed detached, working without words, communicating with gestures and mirthless expressions. Tonis’ silly salute would never happen here. You frowned. The lack of thrill was worth your autonomy.

“Lieutenant.”

A snap of your head, and you blinked. You were in front of your charge.

This TIE fighter was unlike one you’d ever seen. Instead of the flat panel wings, this one bore talons, sharp knives capable of cutting space and possibly any ship in its way. Red-paned transparisteel formed the cockpit into a muzzle, imitating an animal instead of a sphere. And it wasn’t a ball suspended on plates, but was rather tucked tight into the body of the ship, creating a seamless, dynamic transition that to you, seemed so new, so modern. It was almost--sexy?

You looked to Hux. “Are you sure this is the one that isn’t working?” Lips parted in awe, you stepped up to it, placing a hand on the solar array. “It’s gorgeous.”

“The Supreme Leader has been unable to fly it for cycles, now,” said Hux. “I’m sure.”

“All right.” You rolled your eyes. “Got it.”

What you needed was a post-flight report. You strode over to the nearest terminal and entered your credentials--thankfully, as a Lieutenant now, they were universal to the entire First Order system. Only one ship was logged underneath the access: TIE/vn space superiority fighter: SILENCER.

“TIE silencer?” you mumbled. “Where do they come up with these names?”

You investigated the reports in the past several cycles that detailed the attempts by engineers to get the thing working: thrusters aligned, check. Solar lines flushed, check. Refuel port cleansed, check. Heat calibration reset and replaced, check.

And yet with each new repair--engine test: fail.

Engine test: fail.

Engine test: fail, fail, fail.

Screwing your lips in thought, you landed on the post-flight report, hoping it would provide you with insight. If he knew what was good for him, Supreme Leader Snoke would be thorough.

You opened the report, and paragraphs of information flooded the screen. Your jaw dropped. Every single system had been left with a meticulously in-depth account of its status before, during, and after flight. The level of specificity contained within each sentence astounded you. It was almost unbelievable that a single person could remember this much, let alone regurgitate it with any level of accuracy. You groaned, lost in Basic.

Hux cleared his throat. “How long do you anticipate this taking, Lieutenant?”

“As long as I--...” You stopped yourself with a grumble. It would be much easier to hear it from the tauntaun’s mouth, instead of pouring over and cross-checking every single detail. “I’m not sure, General. Is there any way I could speak with the Supreme Leader?”

A strange, smug look passed over his face. “Certainly,” he replied. “I’ll take you.”

You blinked. That was easy. Almost too easy. “Uh… okay.”

Hux turned on his heel, clipped stride cutting through the hangar. You hadn’t been prepared to meet the Supreme Leader when you woke up this morning, but you supposed anything was possible when working for the First Order. Swallowing, you shut down the terminal, and followed him into the halls.

Returning to a Star Destroyer, in a way, felt like home--the glossy black tile passed like a familiar path beneath your feet, and you spared fleeting glances to the Stormtroopers who passed you. The halls of the Steadfast maintained their similarity to everything else on the Finalizer--though that did nothing to assuage your anxiety about the memories you’d had on that ship. Or who may or may not be on this one.

“Do you work on the Steadfast, now, sir?”

Hux was silent for a moment, gaze trained forward. “Yes. The Finalizer was decommissioned.”

“Wait, really?” Your heart thumped. The only datapad message you’d received from your friends had come in the first few weeks after your departure. You just assumed they’d been busy. “What happened?”

“A Resistance attack left it crippled,” he replied. “Leadership and surviving crew were transferred to the Steadfast.”

Terror seized you, your pace quickened. “Sur-surviving crew?” you asked. “Sir?” More silence. You stumbled to catch up with him, fighting the tremor in your voice. “Sir--”

“Engineers Foster and Loren were transferred to this vessel unharmed, Lieutenant.” He leered at you. “Satisfied?”

You heaved a massive sigh, hands falling to your knees. They were here. You’d have to catch up with them, soon.

“Yes, sir, thank you--”

By the time you’d finished, he’d already managed to make it what seemed to be fifty paces ahead of you, and you scrambled to keep up with him.

As you did, a grey-haired man emerged from the corner in front of you both, and Hux stiffened, cursing under his breath. Raising a brow, you tried to meet this man’s gaze, only to bump into the general, who’d stopped, limbs pinned to his sides.

“Shit!” Your face burned, and you jumped back, snapping to attention. “I mean, uh, sorry, General, sir.”

The look Hux offered you was similar to one a parent might offer a simpering child. Right before they murdered that child in a fit of blind rage.

“General Hux,” said the grey-haired man. “Just the one I was looking for.”

“Allegiant General Pryde.” Hux’s chin jutted to the ceiling.

The Allegiant General Pryde turned his attention to you, glimpsing your uniform before meeting your eyes. “I’m afraid we’re not acquainted, Lieutenant…”

You gave your name. “Sir.” Clearing your throat, you continued, “I’m Chief of Operations on Orinda.”

“Ah.” His gaze lingered on the fuel cell filth smattering your chest. “Of course.” Something within his eyes categorized you in league with rodents--and something else within them told you he crushed rodents for sport. “Interesting.” His attention whipped back to Hux. “General. Regarding the Council meeting…”

“I plan to present the Supreme Leader with my plan, sir.”

“I know you do,” Pryde replied, “but you failed to run it by me.”

Hux’s jaw tensed. You wished you were anywhere other than this extremely awkward hallway meeting that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

“Forgive me, Allegiant General,” Hux said, “but I didn’t think a basic unit efficiency research required your approval.”

“Everything requires my approval, General,” he said. “Lest we forget the errors of Starkiller Base.”

That was a low blow. You gulped. They both looked at you, and you cleared your throat again, throwing your hands behind your back. The energy radiating from Hux could be classified as skin-scorching.

“Of course.” Hux’s tone grew tighter with each word that left his lips. “I’ll remember that next time, sir.”

“Good.” Pryde glanced between you. “What brings a facility chief from her station all the way to the Steadfast?”

“The Supreme Leader’s TIE fighter, sir,” Hux replied, still staring into the air. “She may be the only engineer capable of repairing it.”

The Allegiant General frowned. “Really. How many resources did you expend picking up a single person from a remote outpost?” he asked. “Do you not consider this to be something I should know?”

“It was a brief excursion,” he said. “I took two Stormtroopers and a single transport unit.”

“Was that unit’s excursion approved?” He circled Hux, a silvered predator, sizing up his prey. For once, you almost felt bad for the ginger bastard. “What if Resistance staged an attack while you were gone? If we needed that unit for more than a handful of bodies?”

Hux’s lips pursed, chin dimpling with tension. “I don’t know, sir.”

“And how do you think the Supreme Leader will feel knowing you acted without approval, all to retrieve a single engineer?”

Silence drifted like fog over the three of you, thickening as this grey-haired power-laden dickhead glared at General Hux. But Hux’s back had aligned, parallel to the wall, every flicker of frustration fled from his frame. The tiniest hint of a smirk curled at his mouth.

“I think he’ll be just fine with it. Sir.” Hux’s brow quirked. “We’re on our way to speak with him now, if you’d like to accompany.”

Pryde grinned, a serpent’s twist to his smile. “Your confidence has failed you in the past, General,” he replied. “Lead the way.”

You trailed behind the Allegiant General and Hux, fingers starting to quake. Now, you’d not only be meeting the Supreme Leader still smothered in space dust, you’d be meeting him accompanied by the two biggest assholes in the First Order--second only to one other, perhaps.

Unfortunately, that particular asshole was a ghost to this ship, and there wasn’t anyone in particular you felt comfortable asking about him. If Hux had been superceded by this new jerk, the last thing you wanted was another opportunity for someone with rank greater than your own to question you about your personal relationships.

Dread pooled in your belly. Supreme Leader Snoke did know about your personal relationship with the Commander. In fact, Snoke had been the one to insist you be his conduit, among other insulting things. You imagined him bringing it up: Ah, yes, the engineer, the distraction… and how have you been, without his cock inside of you?

You shook your head. No, it didn’t make sense for him to bring up his apprentice’s dick at your first meeting. Or any meeting, for that matter. You hoped.

The two men led you through the rest of the journey in silence, animosity prickling like durasteel barbs in the air between them. At least your own team didn’t regard you with vibrodaggers behind their backs--as far as you knew, anyway--and the realization, against the backdrop of your current situation, had you aching to leave. The discussion with the Supreme Leader would be swift and succinct; you’d get the information you needed, diagnose the problem, and be on your way back to Orinda.

In front of you, a massive turbolift sang its arrival, blast door whirring open. You followed the two men inside, heart tingling. Maybe part of you had been hoping that your long-awaited reunion would have occurred during your time aboard--as you thought it, you tried to stymie the resentment that you’d waited this long at all. The rational part of your mind reasoned that he was a busy man, that lack of contact didn’t indicate lack of thought.

But every other part of your mind was staving off bubbling despair. Four months had felt like four years, and you’d only grown more desperate, more anxious for his embrace--then furious that he didn’t appear to return the sentiment.

You knew how he felt. So it didn’t make sense, then, why he hadn’t acted on it for even a single, solitary night in the past sixteen weeks.

When the blast door opened, you crossed the threshold into an obsidian sanctuary. The floor gleamed, a black lake of glass sweeping into high ebony ceilings that twinkled with artificial stars. The only other illumination came from two enormous spheres that hung, suspended in air at opposite ends of the room, their surfaces a swirl of white-grey light, imitation suns with colorless coronas. At the far end of the room was a hovering stone throne, six dark figures crowding it in a crescent.

Your heart stammered--you’d seen them before. In memories that hadn’t belonged to you. All of them were outfitted in clothing that seemed familiar, helmets that hid their identities, and each of them possessed a weapon meant explicitly for assassination. The only conclusion you could draw was that they were the Supreme Leader’s bodyguards.

Whoever they were, to you, they were ominous.

The two men in front of you strode forward, and you followed, catching your reflection whispering by your shoes: your hair was mussed with evidence of engine exhaust, your uniform still glowing with smears of ionization. Internally, you cursed yourself. Yeah, this was exactly how you’d wanted to look when meeting the Supreme Leader of the First Order--like complete shit. Stomach sinking, you sidled behind them as they stood at attention.

“Supreme Leader,” they said simultaneously.

As if on command, the wall of shadowed soldiers parted to reveal the throne.

But no one was there.

You blinked. “Oh.”

Hux’s head swiveled between the strangers in front of you. “Where is he?” He turned to Pryde. “These are his receiving hours--”

“Yes,” replied the Allegiant Asshole. “But perhaps he’s departed early for the Supreme Council meeting. We’d be better off--”

The turbolift doors wailed behind you, and like synchronized chronometers, you, Hux, and Pryde spun to meet the new arrival.

Your brain went blank.

Kylo Ren crossed the shimmering sable floor in a confident stride, his robes replaced now with padded armor that clung to the contours of his powerful, thick chest, his broad shoulders covered with a hooded cape. His fists, still bound in leather, flexed at his sides--and his face...

More beautiful, more arresting than you could have conjured in any memory, his lips still pink and plush, his nose still a long line, his hair still rolling in waves, like black silk-velvet at his shoulders. You met his eyes as he advanced, finding them guarded, resurrecting every fear and insecurity, tempering them with hidden warmth.

“Generals.”

The voice was lightning through your limbs, its owner a perfect match to the soft baritone you’d replayed in your dreams for the past one hundred and fifty two days. All of your systems leapt to life at once: brain spinning, heart soaring, adrenaline coursing. Sweat soaked your neck, your figure thrust whole into a furnace.

“Sir!” Both bowed their heads.

Gazing at him, then, you realized what was happening. This was his throne. You were working on his TIE fighter. Kylo Ren, your lover, your obsession, your galaxy was now the de-facto leader of the actual galaxy. You weren’t in love with the First Order’s Commander, anymore.

You were in love with its Supreme Leader.

Shock anchored your mouth open. Your eyes welled with latent tears. You grinned in disbelief.

“Dude!” You laughed. “What the fuck!”

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren #defy your authority #fanfiction problems #fya2 #SLAPS THIS ON TUMBLR AND RUNS AWAY

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