#i spent the majority of the week daydreaming about what i could do for him to just consider thinking about me for just a second | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

officialfoxsquadron · 6 months

Text

Home Stories: Chapter 7

A day in the life of Luke Skywalker on the Rebel base on Rostah. | 8.5k words | no major content warnings

Read on AO3!

Full text below the cut:

War was many things, but above all, it was boring. Even getting blasted at could get old, after a while.

The punctuality of Rostah’s swaying, singing monks meant a monotonous routine. Luke was already sweating by the dawn bell, training with the Rogue Squadron. Showers, and then drills until the noonday bell. Short lunch-and another shower, if he could get it, but sweat and grime seemed to stick permanently to his skin now. Afternoons could vary, but were usually a combination of training or strategy meetings or maintenance until the sunset bell. Dinner in the mess. Nights by the fire. Sleep in the Alliance bunks, wedged into the abandoned homes. Wake up and do it all again.

He worked the night shift two nights a week, and he had a standard day off in there somewhere. But the schedule took his toll; he had never slept so little in his life. He could be awoken at any hour, not by the monks’ bell, but by ringing alarms. Sometimes they were drills or false alarms. Sometimes they weren’t. He treated them all the same.

Time slipped by easily, one month, and then another. For Rebellion fighters, there is no such thing as future or past, not really. Just now.

Now, Luke was at the tail end of an escort mission, his foot jiggling as his X-Wing glided through hyperspace. For missions like this, he could be up thirteen, fourteen hours straight. The pilots got stim shots - straight in their neck - to keep them awake. He was glad Lottie always seemed to find time to give him his. She had a way of sneaking up on him with the needle gun, in between catching him up on the latest gossip. He was always too distracted to feel the pain, and she gave him a sweet smile and a pat on the back and a “Don’t die. May the Force be with you,” before moving onto the next pilot.

It was a little embarrassing, how much of his time he spent thinking about her. It wasn’t like she was all he thought about. The Rebellion was a constant barrage of new thoughts and ideas. He felt every other sentence he spoke was a question; “What’s that?” “Why?” “How?” And there was always someone who could teach him something interesting. He was stretching and growing in ways he didn’t expect. But when his mind wandered, thirteen hours into the mission, he let himself daydream about seeing her.

Today’s daydream revolved around her eyebrows. They were orange-red and bushy. She had a funny way of quirking their arches to make a point, a habit she picked up from Wedge. She even had hair in between them, little tiny tufts barely noticeable, in the space where the bridge of her nose and her brow met. It was adorable.

Okay, Luke. This is getting ridiculous.

He turned back to his datapad and the book he was reading. He wasn’t supposed to be reading, not really, but there were plenty of things that were commonplace in the Alliance that were technically outlawed. Smoking, drinking, gambling. The group was called the Rebellion, after all, and its history was one of disparate bands of freedom fighters, all joining together.

“The fire of rebellion, once lit, is impossible to quench.” A line from The Choking Fist , a book Leia gave him, that had been rolling around in his brain. He supposed they all had their own rebellions, private and public. He was a Rebel now, and as such, he had his own; reading in the cockpit, and daydreaming about a vicious and vibrant woman.

Artoo chirped from behind him. Typically, Luke liked to be in control of his X-Wing-after all, what was the point of being a pilot if you didn’t fly? But he enjoyed letting Artoo pilot on the flight home, giving him time to rest.

He read the translation in front of him.

[PLANETSIDE IN TWO MINUTES.]

“Right,” he responded, putting the book away. “Starting the landing cycle.”

He began the dance of switches and gears that had become second nature to him. Artoo chirped in the back.

[PRIVATE REYNARD WILL BE OFF DUTY THIRTY MINUTES AFTER YOU.]

He chuckled. He had gotten in a habit of asking Artoo to look up what her schedule was on the flight home. “Thanks, Artoo.”

More beeps and whistles.

[SHE HAS REMARKABLY GOOD BONE STRUCTURE.]

Luke sighed. “That she does, Artoo.” He flipped on his comms. “Rogue Squadron, this is Rogue Leader. Great work, everyone. Let’s go home.”

Rostah was all green and white from above, a marble of mountains and clouds and grass. He smiled. Green, and all its shades, were slowly becoming his favorite color.

It was just past midday on Rostah when he landed. He was greeted with a cacophony of familiar sounds; the many organic beings, droids, and machines that made up the chorus of an army, greeting him as he lifted the hood of his X-Wing.

He leapt out, turning, giving Artoo a friendly pat on his dome as the droid was lifted out of his ship. He bounded from the ladder on the side of it, hopping down onto Rostah’s grassy ground.

“Commander Skywalker.” A medical droid rolled next to him. “Welcome back. Please, allow me to check your vitals.”

He nodded, ripping off his white pilot gloves and extending his right hand. “Sure, Two-Bee.”

The droid beeped, extending a soft clip over his finger, glowing with a red light. He sighed, glancing absently around the hangar-if one could call it that, the adjoining valley where the snubfighters were kept. He watched as his fellow squadron members began exiting their X-Wings. Just at the edge of his hearing, he heard a soft ‘click,’ and smiled.

“You are clear for discharge, Commander Skywalker.”

“Thanks, Two-Bee. Hello, Jax,” he said, waving to his friend. He was perched on one of the droid transport vehicles, legs crossed as he lowered the camera from his eye. He smiled, waved, and began to walk over towards Luke. “What’s the name of the exhibit today?” It’s an old Rebel joke, Jax’s ever-changing name for his dream holophotography exhibit. He smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “‘Notes on an Orange Jumpsuit,’ maybe,” he suggested. “But I still like ‘Rebel Soul.’ Give it another month, I’ll come up with something better. How’d the mission go?” He clicked another photo, aiming his camera off towards the clock tower, far in the distance.

“Well. Boring,” Luke shrugged. “A few rogue TIEs, but nothing major.”

“Good, seems like they still haven’t caught on,” Jax sighed, putting his hands on his hips as he saw Artoo. “Hey Artoo. Ready to get some grass outta your wheels?” The droid whistled and beeped his response, and Jax cocked his head towards the transport. “Go on. Threepio’s been wanting to see you.”

Artoo beeped angrily, a beep Luke was learning meant, roughly, “bucketbrain.” Jax looked pointedly at Luke. “Trouble in paradise, I guess. I’ll see you at home sometime, I got eleven more hours of this.”

“See ya there, Jax.” Jax clapped him on the shoulder, and he met the taller man's hand, tapping it as they shared a smile. Luke broke from the embrace, and ran to catch up with Tycho, who was already standing on the first transport back to base. “Tycho! That banking maneuver, that was great.”

“Thanks. Came up with it back home. Really came in handy, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Luke said, climbing onto the transport. “Is Hobbie coming?”

“Nah, Two-Bee didn’t clear him from med.” A few other Rogues climbed onto the transport, and they were off, speeding their way toward their quarters.

It was late spring in Rostah’s season cycle. Things were growing at a somewhat alarming rate. It seemed half of the time, their meetings were discussing cutting grass and trimming ivy as much as battle strategy. Sometimes, as Luke did his daily walk from the transport drop to his quarters, he swore he could feel the ground beneath him moving, the worms and bugs working diligently to make more life.

It was early afternoon, Rostah’s sun beginning to reach its heights. Despite that, there was a chill in the wind. His body had adjusted to the thinness of mountain air, but the cold still nipped at his bones, harsh and unfamiliar. He gazed skyward; there were a few darkening clouds on the horizon. Rain. He smiled. It had rained the past three nights, and he loved the sound of it; the pitter-patter of droplets against the window, the whistling wind. He knew not to stand outside in the rain for too long, but he always took a moment to enjoy it, to feel water dance along his skin.

Luke’s walk was warmed by the many fires that had once defined Villinvaru City. Each garden had a fire pit, and it had become standard practice to keep one lit at your quarters, a place to gather and meet and forget. It was almost cloying-domestic scene after domestic scene, house after house filled with soldiers gathered around a fire. It made it easy to forget he was at war. If he closed his eyes, forgot that he owned an aching, tired body, forgot that a good night’s rest continued to evade him, he could imagine that this was all war was.

This was the longest Luke had spent just being a Rebel. Flying missions. Moving through the grueling routine of war. Life had moved so quickly after the Death Star. He became more and more grateful for the time on Ethamaia training with the Fox Squadron. Despite the pace of it, he was able to pause, catch his breath.

He was strangely carefree. Sure, there was death’s imminent presence, hanging over them like a storm could, but he had escaped that plenty of times.

And there was just a sense of optimism on Rostah. People were less frantic now that they had lived in a place two months, and still hadn’t been found. He could taste the hope around him, sweet like honey. There was death and hard nights, yes, but there was also laughter and jokes and camaraderie.

He’d been a Rebel for six months, seen half a year go by, and had never been happier in his life.

That was the honest truth. It left him guilty, sometimes, knowing that so many had died to get him here. But look! He wanted to say to Aunt Beru, Uncle Owen, and Obi-Wan, wherever they were. Look at what we’ve built. You’d be so proud, I think.

He missed them, so desperately it hurt. He berated himself for not constantly thinking about his dead, and then berated himself for only thinking about his dead. The only relief was the fact that he was surrounded by hundreds of living beings who knew how to grieve.

There were many pods in the Rebellion. Little family units, made up of soldiers that ended up sticking together, for better or worse. Whatever brought them together was ancient history, lost to all but a select few. What mattered was that they had bonded together-through battle, criminality, or revolutionary ideals, no one really cared.

Luke felt lucky that in a way, he had several of these pods. He had lost one family and joined three others.

These families were crashing and melding together when he reached his quarters. Wedge, Han and Leia were playing sabacc-something that had become a lunchtime ritual for the three. Shara Bey, Commander of Green Squadron, was sitting in a chair, sipping a glass of water as Pazima cut her hair. Any time Pazima had a day off, she cut hair-trading her services for more supplies on the Rebel black market. Their voices carried on the wind, along with the tinny sound of a radio, propped on the garden wall near the sabacc table.

Pazima squinted as he entered, gesturing for him to come over. Luke nodded to the sabacc players-only Leia acknowledged him, briefly, the three of them too wrapped up in their game. “Luke, what is this I hear about Tycho’s wing?”

Word traveled faster than speeders on Rostah. Luke sighed, shook his head. “Oh, he nearly got it blasted off by some TIEs. But he didn’t, so it’s probably not as bad as people made it out to be.”

“For you, maybe,” Pazima grumbled. “I start a shift once I’m done with Shara’s hair. I swear, him and Klivian are going to be the death of me.”

“Good to see you, Commander Skywalker,” Shara said genially. “Can’t wait to hear your report tomorrow.”

“Don’t expect greatness, Commander Bey. Just a routine escort mission.”

Han called to him. “Hey, kid! You want in or not?”

“In a minute, I gotta hop in the ‘fresher.”

“Oh! While you’re there, could you put away the stuff Shara brought?” Pazima pointed to a bag of supplies near her feet. Luke nodded.

He wandered into the house, rifling through what Pazima had traded. A few razors, sanitary pads-and a bottle of fragrance that was definitely not Alliance issue. He chuckled. Pazima and her vanities.

Their shared refresher was a small room in-between the two bedrooms on the second floor. It was almost always occupied, and one of the worst things about their living arrangements. He was exceedingly lucky. He was alive. He was breathing. But it was hard to remember that when five people shared one refresher.

The Force was on his side today, because the ‘fresher was blessedly empty. He didn’t think as he closed and locked the door, stripping off his flight suit and underclothes, turning on the sonic shower. He stepped in, immediately sighing in relief. As the sonic vibrations scrubbed the sweat and grime from his skin, it scrubbed the mission too. This was how it started, the come-down from stim shots and adrenaline rushes. Later tonight, his bones would be tired and heavy, and he would be able to rest-hopefully dreamlessly. The busier he kept, the more tired he became, the less he dreamed. He preferred that to the nightmares.

He stepped out, wrapping his lower half in a towel. Beyond the closed door, he began to hear voices floating up to his ear. He smiled to himself-he recognized Lottie’s instantly, and after a few moments, recognized the other as well. It belonged to Magali, a Mirialan medic Lottie often traded with.

Shit. In his rush to shower, he had forgotten a change of clothes. Not a huge deal, of course. This was the Rebellion. It was a small place. You saw each other bleeding. You saw each other sleeping. You saw each other half-naked, or even fully naked, in some of the communal freshers. Everyone was already so casually intimate with each other.

But the idea of Lottie seeing him in nothing but a towel was one that made him a little nervous. Maybe if he was quick-

He unlocked the door, stepped outside, and Lottie crashed straight into his chest.

“Ow, fuck,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. “Oh. Hello Luke.”

“Hello,” Luke said, attempting not to blush as he adjusted his towel. Medics typically changed and scrubbed before they left their shifts, so Lottie was already dressed in her day clothes-an old shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of cargo pants, her hair in two messy braids. She looked quite handsome, he thought.

“Hello.” Lottie shifted a little, and rather uncharacteristically, her eyes were blatantly pointed anywhere but Luke’s. “Erm, I’m just picking up something for Magali. She’s on the lower floor.”

“Oh. Right,” Luke said. “I’ll-um, could you grab some clothes-”

“ Yesicangoodbye ,” Lottie said, all one squeaky breath, a red blur down the hallway.

Luke suppressed a laugh. Maybe he’d have to start forgetting his clothes more often.

Lottie tossed a bundle of clothes at him before shutting the door.

He caught them, going back into the bathroom, stepping into his clothes quickly. He briefly checked his appearance in their grubby, splotchy mirror, swiping hair out of his eyes and straightening his black shirt. He retreated to the lower floor, greeting Magali.

“Hello, Magali. How are things in med?”

The green skinned woman shrugged, snacking on a pear plucked from one of Rostah’s trees. “We got to pop someone’s shoulder back in, that was fun. Lottie tells me you’re learning medicine?”

“Just basic field medicine, that’s it. Figured it could be useful.”

“I’m impressed. Most of the Commanders brush off the mandatory training.”

“Seems like a bad idea,” Luke said. “Especially medicine, I know nothing about it. I once nursed a baby krayt dragon back to health, but that hardly counts.”

“Luke, you’re doing that thing again,” Lottie called, bounding down the steps.

Luke rolled his eyes. “What thing?!”

“Saying something crazy and then pretending it’s normal,” Lottie said, pressing a bag of items into Magali’s hands. “Here, love. We’ll walk you out.”

“You know, you do that too, Lottie,” Magali said, the two medics linking arms and laughing as they walked out of their quarters and into the garden. Luke followed close behind.

“No I don’t,” Lottie protested, then turned to her sister, who was sweeping up her makeshift salon. “Oi! Paz! Burn the hair this time, I swear Runa cursed us.”

Luke burst into sudden, ebullient laughter. Magali hid a smile behind her hand.

“My point is made,” she whispered to Luke. “See you, Reynards.”

Both women waved and said their goodbyes to Magali. Pazima then rolled her eyes at Lottie, shaking her head.

“The Runa Incident wasn’t a curse. It was one of Wedge’s many spurned lovers.”

“Many?!” Luke exclaimed.

Lottie crossed her arms. “That spider was huge, though.”

“Do I even want to know what this is about?”

“Ask Wedge,” Pazima shrugged, pointedly tossing a glare her husband’s way. “I’m off.” The older woman bent to kiss Lottie’s forehead before she strode out of the garden.

Lottie bounded over to where Wedge was sitting, causing him to start with the force of her embrace, arms thrown around his neck, her chin resting on the top of his head. A smile spread across his face, and he rested one of his hands on hers.

“Hello, Wedge.” She greeted him with a mockery of her own accent, pointedly dropping the “H” in hello.

“‘Ello,” he replied, in equally goofy fashion. “Fancy a smoke, darling?” Wedge’s Coruscanti accent was surprisingly good.

“Would you please, love?” She took one from his pack, and Wedge held a lighter for her as she stuck it between her lips.

Luke felt a pang of jealousy as he sat in an empty chair. Lottie was plenty affectionate with him, but he wished it was him who was lighting her cigarra, their heads that were knocking together.

“Good to see you both,” Leia said. Her voice was thick with some concealed emotion as her eyes flitted between Luke and Lottie.

“Nice to see you too, Leia.” Luke looked at his friend quizzically. She had a knowing look in her eyes, one that disappeared as she returned her attention to her cards.

Luke’s stomach flipped.

“Oh, Han, bet big, Wedge’s cards are shite.”

“Lottie!” Wedge smacked her hand lightly as she pulled away snickering, plopping into the chair next to Luke with a huff.

“I can’t tell if you’re lying or not,” Han said, looking over at Lottie. She took a drag, eyes the picture of innocence.

“You tell me, you’re the big time gambler.”

“What motivation would she have to lie?” Leia asked, cocking an eyebrow at Han. “She’s not a part of the game.”

“She’s a little shit,” Han said. “Trying to stir the pot.”

“Is she? Or is she playing you?” Leia considered the man across from her. “Draw, trade, or stand, hotshot, I haven’t got all day.”

“So they’re just…always like this?” Lottie whispered, leaning closer to Luke as Han and Leia continued their argument.

He took the opportunity to draw nearer to her. “Last week they somehow fought over who fought more.”

Lottie laughed, which turned into a cough as she blew smoke. “And are you alright, my love?” She tilted her head, knocked her knee against his under the table, and gave him a smile.

“I’m well,” he said, and meant it. He was now. “You?” “Glad to be home.”

“Table, reveal your totals.” Wedge said decisively, laying his cards down. “Seven.”

“Fifteen-damn, you weren’t lying after all.” Han rubbed his temple.

Leia laid her cards on the table with a light slam, unable to resist her excitement. “And that’s twenty-three. Full sabacc!”

“Again?! I gotta start bringing you to some real games, Leia,” Han said, impressed. He began shuffling the deck.

“Deal us in, Han,” Lottie said, tapping her cigarra on the table’s ashtray. “What are we listening to?”

Han expertly dealt the cards. Wedge answered Lottie’s question. “Imperial radio. Hayford is scheduled to give an interview.”

Lottie spat on the ground next to her. “Fuckin’ traitor.”

“You know I met him once,” Leia said, leaning forward to look at Lottie. “When I was a junior legislator.”

“What was he like?”

“Creepy. Ambitious. But he never disputed his heritage. He was proud of it.”

“Proud of it, but the rest of us here must hide,” Lottie said, voice thick with venom. The second round of dealing was over, and each player had two cards. Luke lifted his.

Damn. Two pip cards-three and two. He groaned.

“Sabacc face, Luke,” Lottie reminded him under her breath.

“Yes, it’s very hypocritical,” Leia said. “As the Empire tends to be.”

A line from The Choking Fist popped into Luke’s head. “The Empire flaunts their power so we forget our own.”

“You’ve been reading,” Leia said, impressed.

“I’ve never read anything like it. I-I didn’t realize the life of Imperial soldiers was that bad,” he said.

The clipped voice on Imperial radio came into focus. “-still reeling from the deaths of one point five million Imperial heroes on the Death Star, we are joined by newly promoted Grand Moff, Tem Hayford-”

Han cleared his throat. “Draw, trade, or stand, Wedge?”

“Stand,” Wedge said. “Have you spoken to Janson about it yet? He’s a dumbass, but one with shockingly good taste in revolutionary literature.”

“No,” Luke said, grateful for the distraction. “It seems a lot of people have read it.”

“I’ll draw,” Leia said, taking a card from the middle deck. “It’s one of the more popular manifestos. We didn’t know much about the Executor before it.”

“Or Vader,” Wedge pointed out. “It’s the only first-hand accounts of his tyranny.”

Luke’s blood went cold. Leia shifted in her chair.

“Luke? Draw, trade, or stand?”

“Trade. With you, Han.”

The two men traded cards. Luke grinned-his two was replaced with a ten. Lottie’s foot nudged his again, and he wiped the smile off of his face, trying to fix his mouth in a straight line.

“I used to think Vader was just a machine. Just parts,” Lottie said, to no one in particular as she drew a card. “Oh. Draw.”

“He’s not, unfortunately,” Luke muttered. Vader was all too real. He could understand Lottie’s thinking-but having heard Vader breathing and having been meters away from him, Luke knew. Underneath all the apparatus, he was disturbingly flesh and blood.

“I’ll draw as well,” Han said.

Their conversation reached a lull, filled by the radio.

“-and this method has proved much more effective than the Inquisitorius. Our Emperor is devoted to keeping the galaxy safe-”

“He sounds High Coruscanti now,” Lottie mused. “He’s lost our melody.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?” Wedge asked sarcastically. Lottie gave him a rude gesture.

“Cards down, folks.”

They set down their cards. Han won this round, much to Leia’s disdain, and Hayford continued to discuss a method of “peacekeeping” that sounded a lot more like genocide. He understood why Wedge wanted to tune in, but he wanted nothing more than to shut the tinny sound off.

It was Lottie’s turn to deal, and she dealt cards well, continuing the conversation and engaging in Han and Wedge’s ribald jokes. Luke couldn’t help but notice how at ease she seemed. She slouched in her chair, legs spread, arm loose. Somehow, even her slouch was artful. Not for the first time around her, he longed for a pencil and paper. His old sketchbook was long gone-probably in flames with the rest of his house.

“Oh! Luke! I almost forgot.” Leia reached down into a small bag she carried, and pulled out…what else? A set of pencils and a thick sketchbook. “A diplomatic gift from Horuz.”

“How did you-”

“You told me on the Falcon, remember? Coming back from the Death Star?”

Yes, he had mentioned his love for drawing to her. But he definitely did not tell her he was thinking of it just then. How strange.

“Thanks, Leia, this means a lot. Really.” He took the book from her and squeezed her hand.

He didn’t feel Lottie’s ease; rather, he felt he and Leia had a shared sense of unease in their new life. He knew Leia was comfortable enough; she had been playing cards with Han and Wedge nearly every day. But still, he could tell she felt out of place. She sat straight up in her chair, sometimes flinched at one of the Rebels’ more off-color comments.

A difference of time, Luke supposed. Lottie may be younger than him, but she had been in this life far longer. He and Leia were the same age-exactly the same age, as a matter of fact. Even though Leia had been doing work for the Alliance her whole childhood, she and Luke became soldiers on the same day. And being a soldier, Luke had discovered, was very different from being a princess, or a farmboy, or anything else in the galaxy.

There was a oneness to being a soldier, a uniformity. He appreciated it. He had never felt so welcome before. So much so, that the grating orange of his jumpsuit had started to grow on him.

He was still the odd one out in a lot of ways. Hero of the Rebellion. Lightsaber clipped to his belt. He could see how the Jedi path could be a solitary one.

And yet. He regarded the two women next to him. One with her hair in Alderaan’s traditional buns and braids, not a lock out of place. Another with a crysknife strapped to her thigh. He was not alone. He was a survivor, like Leia, like Lottie, someone who, by fate or by chance or by the Force, was left carrying the weight of forgotten history.

“Does it ever bother you?” Luke blurted out. “That we’re sitting in the garden of someone we’ve never met, someone who’s dead?”

That brought the mood of the conversation to a sinking low.

Wedge spoke first.

“All the time,” he said in a quiet voice. “It’s not the first abandoned place we’ve used as a base, though.”

“What do the monks think?” Luke asked, to no one in particular. “They’re the only ones who remember what it was like before…everything.”

Leia considered Luke’s question. “Their Mother Superior was the one who made the arrangements with us. She said it was better for the city to come alive again, even if it’s a military. She hopes-“ Leia paused, sighed. “She hopes once we win the war, people might want to stay. But most of all, I think they just want us to win.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, kid, but I don’t think they mind the money or free labor.” Luke and Leia glared at Han, but he put his hands up in defense. “Look, look, I’m not saying what we’re doing isn’t noble, or meaningful, or anything. But c’mon. Place was overrun with weeds two months ago, and now look at it. Still growin’ with weeds but-well, a little nicer.”

Leia opened her mouth to argue, but Wedge cut her off.

“Han has a point, however crude,” he said, putting his hands between Han and Leia as if he was stopping a fistfight. “We are helping keep this place alive, in a way. Lottie, you-you and Jax have been visiting the monks, right?!” Luke’s ears perked up. Why hadn’t she told him?

“I think Rostah’s haunted,” Lottie said, eyes somewhere far away. “I think everywhere we go is haunted, and all we do is make more ghosts.”

Everyone sat silent for a moment. Then Han spoke.

“Well, that’s depressing.”

Leia launched into her political argument, Wedge’s attempt at placation pitifully discarded. Luke turned to Lottie.

“You didn’t tell me you were visiting the monks,” Luke said, trying not to whine.

Lottie shrugged again, exhaling smoke. “It’s a part of Jax’s project, and one of them has a bad back. I make him a paste.”

“Can I come next time?”

She quirked an eyebrow, smudging the last of her cigarra in the ashtray. “We usually go while you’re drilling. But if you can get off, sure.”

“I can’t get off drills,” he grumbled. He really tried not to feel dejected.

“We don’t really talk to them,” Lottie said, partly apologetic and partly irritated. “Or even see them, honestly.”

He was whining now. “They might have information on the Jedi!”

“And if they do, you think I’d keep it to myself?” Lottie put a hand on his arm. “Fuckin’ hell, Luke.”

“Sorry, I just-I wish you woulda told me.” I wish I could spend more time with you.

“I’ll try and see if they’ll let us come at a different time.”

A chirp went off from Leia’s comm-meaning it was 1300, and lunch was over.

“Well, that’s the war,” Leia said, standing abruptly. “Wedge, I’ll see you in a half hour.”

“Right,” Wedge said, clearing up the cards. He looked pointedly at Han, and then Luke, a smug smile on his face. “I think Magali said she’s free, so gentlemen, I am off.”

Lottie mimed vomiting.

“Girls can never resist a Corellian, can they?” Han said approvingly, eyes roving over Wedge as he stood.

Luke wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground. He settled on rolling his eyes and shaking his head disapprovingly. Corellians and women.

Leia cocked an eyebrow at Han, and then looked at Lottie. Luke could practically see the gears turning, a plan formulating behind her eyes.

“Lottie,” Leia said, all politeness and decorum. The red-headed woman’s eyes widened in surprise, blinking a few times. “Did you ever learn how to do that thing-what was it called? Hayford was obsessed with it, the rude poems-”

“Oh, flyting?” Lottie giggled. “Yeah, ‘course I did.” Suddenly, she wrinkled her nose. “Ew, he did that while you were in the Senate?”

“Yes. I was sixteen.” Leia shook her head. “Trust me, he was hardly the worst one.”

“Still. Gross.”

“What’s this about?” Han asked.

Lottie narrowed her eyes, looking between Han and Leia. “Shall I treat Han to a little flyting, Leia?”

“Please,” Leia said, her arms folding. She tapped Luke’s foot, muttering “Watch this!” under her breath.

Lottie theatrically cleared her throat, standing from her chair.

“I once knew a man from Corellia-” she gestured to Han, “and dear sister I’m sorry to tell ya. He lifted my frock, so I searched for his cock,” Lottie lifted her pinky finger, “and I couldn’t even find the poor fella!”

Luke and Leia laughed, so hard that Luke clutched his sides. Lottie smiled proudly at both of them, before giving a little bow towards the two Corellian men across from her who sputtered, dumbfounded.

“Lottie, thank you very much,” Leia said, grabbing her bag from her chair. She kissed Luke on the cheek and squeezed the other woman’s arm. “I’ll see you at the meeting, Wedge, try not to be late.”

“That’s unfair,” Wedge said, grumbling. “And you’re a traitor,” he said, pointing a finger at Lottie.

Luke was still catching his breath when he spoke. “That was really funny, Lottie.”

She turned to Han, eyebrows furrowed in mock pity. “Oh, what’s wrong? Can’t take a joke, boys?”

“Last time I play sabacc around here,” Han grumbled. “Luke, Wedge, I hate your roommate.”

“Yeah, she’s annoying,” Wedge agreed, returning Lottie’s rude gesture before leaving the garden.

Lottie shook her head, sitting back down and beginning to undo her braids. “Oh, Han, it’s just teasing. I’m sure your penis is quite large and you’re a fantastic lover, blah blah blah.”

Han looked at Luke, eyes bulging, practically shaking as Lottie snickered.

“I think she’s neat,” Luke said gleefully, chest suddenly filling with pride. “See you tomorrow, Han.”

Han left, and then it was just the two of them-Lottie and Luke.

“That was great,” Luke said, giddy with excitement. “Can you do that every time Han says something gross?”

Lottie smiled warmly at him. “I’d love to, but I don’t think I’d ever leave the Falcon.”

“True,” Luke agreed.

“I’m exhausted,” she said after a moment, switching to the other braid.

“Same,” Luke said, sitting next to her, mesmerized by her fingers moving in her hair. “But if I sleep now, I won’t make it to morning meeting tomorrow,”

Lottie turned to him. “Hour nap, then we walk to the Prophet to train?”

He got up, stretching out his back. “Sounds perfect.”

“I know one about a whore from Tatooine, would you like to hear it?” Lottie began walking next to him.

“You know, I actually would.”

Lottie spoke again, the same sing-song tone from before. “There once was a whore from Tatooine, whose satin sheets were never clean-“

“We don’t have satin sheets. That’s just innacurate.”

Lottie glared at him. Luke laughed, which only made her glare more.

“You’re funny,” he said again.

She poked his temple, muttering. “I think the stim shots are scrambling your brain.”

It was raining when they walked to the Prophet. Lottie called it “drizzling.” The rainfall came slow and lazy, occasionally splashing his forehead or foot, a cool, wet reminder of everything new in his life.

He tried to sleep, he really did. But the prospect of spending time alone with Lottie was as invigorating as one of her stim shots. Someday, he thought, he would really have to sort out exactly what all these feelings meant. But for now, he was happy just to be around her, to feel her near him.

The Prophet was hidden away in a cave, one of many carved into Rostah’s green valleys, about a mile or so from the city. Lottie and Luke walked there together whenever they could, stealing away a couple of hours to spar in front of the ship. Occasionally, Jax or Artoo would join them. Today, it was just the two of them, and more and more, Luke longed for it to be just the two of them. Sometimes they would spar together, sometimes Luke would practice blocking blaster shots with his lightsaber as Lottie looked on. Sometimes, they got there far too late to do much of anything, beyond lighting torches and checking on Lottie’s garden.

“Again. You’re slouching.”

Lottie tilted her head back and forth, rolling her shoulders and twirling her swords. Luke nodded, miming a parry and thrust with his broadsword, determined to get the feeling ingrained in his body. They had been sparring for the past forty-five minutes, and both of them were already sweating, Lottie’s shirt discarded somewhere on the ground.

“Alright, again.”

Lottie lunged with both of her swords, and they met Luke’s broadsword, durasteel on durasteel. He poured his strength into his foot, pushing her swords away. He swept, and their swords met again.

“Good. You’re getting better,” Lottie said.

Their swords clashed, and clashed again. Not the hum and crashing percussion of lightsabers, but a piercing whine, like a bell, like a screech.

“Good enough to beat you?” Luke said. He had been trying out cockiness recently, despite Han’s warnings. Mostly when he was with Lottie, mainly to see if she would be cocky back, if she would treat him to a devilish smirk and a toss of her hair.

Of course, she did. It was glorious. “You wish, Jedi.”

She called him Jedi only when they were alone. If anyone else called him that, he would be tempted to correct them. But not her.

It was enough to distract him, and he stumbled against a rock. One of Lottie’s swords swiped the air by his belly, another at his neck.

“Double dead, Skywalker.”

He shook his head, smiling. Nope, he wouldn’t be beating her anytime soon-but what a joy it was just to train with her!

“I think my stim shots are fading,” he said.

“Excuses, excuses.” She withdrew her swords with a flourish. “Go on, then.”

“Am I getting better? Actually?”

She nodded. “You said so yourself, you’re able to block things with the lightsaber easier.”

Luke grimaced, sitting himself on the ground. “Very different from a battle though.”

Lottie sat next to him, drinking from a water bottle. “True. But don’t you feel more comfortable? More used to a sword in your hand?”

“I guess so.” He didn’t, really. He didn’t feel comfortable with much of anything. He still felt like, at some moment, it would all come crashing down. But when he was with others- with her , that pesky part of his brain said-it was easy to forget.

“Is this what it will be like? A lightsaber battle?” he asked.

“I dunno. Maybe,” Lottie said, considering before launching into lightning speed. “Durasteel is different, y’know? The only way it can hold its own through a lightsaber battle is electrification or enchantment. And even then, it’s not an advantage, just making the odds even. So I guess the-the feel could be different, the weight.”

“Right,” Luke said. He smiled to himself. Sometimes, when she was thinking through something, she spoke so fast that her accent grew thick and clumsy. It was hard to understand, but very charming.

“But Pazima always says, ‘It’s not the weapon, it’s the fighter.’ And I think that’s true. It’s all a mind game. A dance.”

He considered that. “And someone who can wield a lightsaber can play more mind games.”

“Exactly. Mental sharpness, too. Not just the weapon.”

Luke grumbled as he sat down. “I wish Ben was here.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Ben?” He realized he had only mentioned him to her in passing, when he briefly recounted the events of the Death Star escape to her. “Well, he was, uh, an old wizard. He said he served with my father in the Clone Wars. He was a Jedi, before Tatooine. He used to come around a lot, even before I met the droids.”

“So you knew him well?”

“Not really,” Luke admitted. “My uncle didn’t like him. But any time I ended up in some sort of scrap, he was there for me.” He recalled a few such scraps on Tatooine; a half-baked plan to free some slaves during yet another water tax, an ill-advised race through Beggar’s Canyon. He had gotten out alive on sheer luck. Obi-Wan’s rescues happened only a few years ago, but they felt like memories from another lifetime.

“Ben’s an odd name for a Jedi. Like Luke,” she said, nudging his shoulder playfully.

Luke chuckled. “No, no, that was just his fake name. His real name was Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Lottie spit out her water, standing up, eyes bulging. “You’re telling me that your crazy old desert wizard Ben is Obi-Wan fuckin’ Kenobi?”

“Uh, y-yes,” Luke said. “Is this like the time when you told me about my father?”

“Yes, except I actually know shit about Obi-Wan. He was a diplomat. Very well loved. He was the only Jedi that would visit Uscru, apparently.”

“Wow.” Luke sat back, lost in thought.

He thought of Obi-Wan, of that voice in his head. It was so faint, he wasn’t sure if it was Obi-Wan or himself or someone else entirely. He wished for someone, anyone to tell him where his path lay, how to explain the connections he felt to everything and everyone. He felt. So much, so acutely, and he wished for someone to explain what it meant.

Lottie got up, sheathing her swords, rolling her head from side to side, humming something barely audible. She stepped forward with her right foot, hum turning into groan as she stretched her back, arms folded above her head. Luke could see her shoulderblades roll into their sockets underneath her freckled skin. Her neck, graceful and long, formed a straight, proud line, her face turned to the setting sun in the west, eyes closed.

“Wait. Stay like that, just a moment.”

Lottie furrowed her brow, turning her head. “What are you-oh!”

Luke’s new sketchbook, sitting next to him, was now in his lap, as he reached for a pencil.

“Sorry, is this…extremely weird?” He blushed a bit. His friends on Tatooine had begrudgingly accepted his desire to document the world around him. Biggs was the only one that accepted it without comment or eye-roll.

“No, no, it’s um…Quite flattering, actually,” Lottie said quietly, cheeks beginning to flush pink.

Well. Even Biggs hadn’t said that.

He smiled back, shaking his hair a bit, determined for it to fall and hide his own blush.

The pencil felt like an old friend. He began to sketch out the shapes of her, the horizon line, the jagged edges of the shallow cave framing the scene.

He could draw a human body well enough, knew how to find the rectangles and triangles beneath one’s skin. And he did a fine job finding her sharp bits, her harsh scar lines, the diagonal slope of her collarbone. But the closer he looked, the more softness he found. The curls of her hair, falling in a ponytail, were obvious. No, it was the curve of her arm, starting over her head and blending into her shoulder, a sprout of red hair beneath the arm, into the gentle swell of her breast that entranced him. The way her back arched just so, displaying a strength and flexibility that took years to master, and yet looked as effortless as breathing. This was what he discovered as his eyes roamed her body.

“I’ll have to switch arms,” Lottie said, glancing at Luke. She stood remarkably still. “And probably feet at some point.”

Luke cracked a shy smile, only making eye contact for a moment. “That’s fine. You can move if you want, I’ve got the outline.”

She switched her arms and legs, moving her neck from side to side again, then returning to the position.

“Did you draw often on Tatooine?” she asked.

“Every day.”

“Other people?” “Sometimes.” Other people, ships, the sand dunes, it didn’t matter. When he drew something, the galaxy, for one glorious moment, made sense. Aunt Beru had given him his first set of pencils. Uncle Owen always seemed to find the money to buy him replacement supplies, even when things were tight.

“You’re left handed?” Lottie asked again, after a moment.

“Uh, yeah. Kind of,” Luke said. “I write and draw with my left.”

“But you favor your right when you shoot.”

Luke considered it. “Huh. Yeah, I guess I do. I hadn’t really thought of it. I pretty much do everything with my left, except shoot and…” His voice faded. Okay Luke. Maybe don’t tell her that part.

“And what?” Lottie asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Just shoot,” Luke replied, smiling warmly and returning to his sketch.

This was the first time he was drawing anything, anyone, that wasn’t from Tatooine. The thought thrilled him. His mind raced with more ideas of things to draw. The bell tower, Chewie when he roared, X-Wings in flight. They all paled to the way sunlight danced on her skin.

He finished, looking over the drawing for a moment, satisfied. Well, he wasn’t satisfied, not really. His lines were still too hard, too angular for his taste. But any longer, and he suspected poor Lottie might freeze in the position.

“Done.”

“Really?” Lottie asked, dropping her hands and jumping lightly from foot to foot, shaking her head, as if to expel the stretch from her body. “Can I see?”

He added a note, a habit from daily drawings on Tatooine.

“DANCER AT REST. ROSTAH,” it read in his blocky handwriting. Then the date.

“Sure.” He handed the book to her, drumming his thighs anxiously. Suddenly, he was hit with all of the exhaustion of the past two days. Perhaps if he was more alert, he would have been shier, more hesitant to let her look at the drawing. But his mind was too tired to come up with more than the flimsiest excuses.

She blinked once, then twice as she looked at the drawing. She wore an expression he hadn’t yet seen before; contemplative, mouth slightly agape. She drew a breath, as if she was drawing up strength from the ground below her.

His stomach twisted as he waited for her to say something, anything.

“Wow,” she said, after a moment. “This is…” She laughed, shaking her head, returning to a cocky smile. The expression left, replaced with her usual devilish glint. “Fucking hell. Luke Skywalker, Rebellion hero, Jedi, and artist? Save some talent for the rest of us, my love.”

“Oh, good,” Luke said, his relief evident. “I thought you hated it.”

“No, Luke,” she said. He saw a glimpse of that expression again, burning behind her eyes. They met his own, and suddenly he was acutely aware that there was nothing between them but dirt and air.

Her fingers brushed his as she handed him the sketchbook.

“I don’t hate it.”

That was enough. He smiled, blushed, and packed the book away. They both began to get ready to depart, Lottie zipping up an old pilot’s jacket, Luke throwing on the gold one Han gave him. They stowed a few things in the Prophet, checked through Lottie’s plants, and then began to trek back to base.

She stretched again, rubbing the back of her thigh. “Urgh, my legs are killing me. Been on my feet all fuckin’ day,” Lottie gave him another nudge with her foot, eyes sparkling mischievously. “You’re gonna have to carry me back to base.”

“I mean, we can try,” Luke said, shrugging and standing up, slinging supplies along his shoulder. He bent down and put his arms behind him, motioning for her to jump. “C’mon, Reynard.”

She jumped on his back with a little grunt. He stumbled, but caught her knees in either of his arms, her own arms wrapping around his neck. Him carrying her was friendly, but intimate-her warm weight on his back, her hair spilling onto his chest, her chin resting on his shoulder. Despite exhaustion weighing on his body, it was the easiest thing in the world to hold her.

“Good catch.”

“Thanks.”

“Y’know, apparently Obi-Wan had quite the reputation back on Coruscant.”

“Oh?”

“As a flirt,” Lottie said, lifting her eyebrows. He had a great view of them now, gazing at her as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She had a small scar on her cheek he had never noticed before, opposite the one on her eye. It pulled at the edge of her lips, making them a little lopsided when she spoke. Not for the first time, he thought about kissing her.

We are friends. Good friends. Nothing more.

“Apparently he was really good-looking back in his day.”

“Wow,” Luke said, turning his head. He wanted to look at her-honestly, there was nothing he wanted more in the whole galaxy. But he was afraid to drop her. And if he kept looking at her-

He had kissed three people in his whole life. It was an easy enough thing to forget about on Tatooine. He lived miles away from anyone beyond his aunt and uncle-and only saw kids his own age a few times a week at ag-school. He didn’t sleep across from anyone he kissed, that’s for sure.

He hoisted her higher against his back. Friends. That’s it. She let out a little squeal of surprise, a sound he very much enjoyed. “Obi-Wan, you dirty old man,” he joked.

She giggled. “His Force of Love plotline was probably amazing.”

“Next time I see him, I’ll ask.”

She giggled again, and Luke felt pride swell in his chest. He had never really made someone laugh like this before. Not this much, not this genuinely. “You see him?” she asked.

“More like a voice in my head,” Luke admitted. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Yes,” Lottie replied. “But not because of that.”

“I’ll take it.”

They walked a little more in silence, and then-

“Put me down.”

Luke smirked, sensing his chance to tease her. “Why? I feel fine.”

“Lu-uke!” His name was a whine, a protest, a surprised laugh. He laughed heartily in turn, feeling it bubbling in his chest, as he squeezed her closer to him.

“You said your legs hurt. I’m just being a gentleman.”

“You’re being an arsehole.”

“That too. Alright-wait.”

Luke’s voice dropped to a whisper. He tapped the back of Lottie’s thigh, nodding to an abandoned home to his left.

“Woah.”

It was dark, but Luke was able to make out the shape of a fox in the moonlight. They had foxes on Tatooine too-but not like these, muddy brownish-red with pointy ears and delicate paws.

Lottie jumped from Luke’s back, landing silently. She stepped once, and then twice, feet tracing half-moons. There was no sound but the wind and the hum of a war machine. Lottie lowered to the ground. Luke followed her lead. She opened her bag slowly, fishing out a kebroot she had picked earlier. The fox still hadn’t noticed them, or if it did, it hadn’t told them.

“Shouldn’t be poisonous,” she said, just at the edge of his hearing. His instincts knew she was right.

She passed it to Luke. He broke off the end as carefully as he could. It still made a loud snap, and the fox’s ears perked up.

“It’s okay, friend,” Luke whispered, smiling at the fox. He tossed the food away from him, closer to the creature. “Probably better for you than the grass.”

Tentatively, the fox began to sniff the white vegetable, then ate it in one gulp.

Luke giggled, actually giggled. He tore off another piece and held it, gesturing for the fox to come closer.

“Careful,” Lottie whispered.

“Don’t worry,” Luke reassured her. “Animals usually like me.” Key word usually , Luke thought. But the little one didn’t seem like it would be much trouble.

Its black snout sniffed the food again, and nibbled gently at Luke’s hand.

“Aww,” Luke cooed, tilting his head as he saw the fox a little better, moonlight beginning to illuminate its face. Its white muzzle was stained green, and it had a bad eye. “See? It even has your eyes, Lot.”

She smiled. Their eyes met. “Seems we were meant to meet.”

Luke handed her a piece of the vegetable. He tilted his head to the fox.

Friend .

The fox made a whimper, as if in recognition, and trotted over to Lottie, beginning to eat out of her hand.

She laughed-Force, her laugh really was a kind of music. The fox chirped, and allowed her to scratch its chin in return.

It walked back to Luke, and tilted its head.

Okay buddy. I made her happy. Gimme the rest of the food, please.

“Alright. Go on, friend.”

He tossed the kebroot, and the fox scurried after it. It picked up the food between its jaws, and wandered into the night, returning home.

#home stories #chapter update #luke skywalker/oc #luke skywalker fanfiction #eowyn speaks #my writing #LOWKEY ONE OF MY FAVE CHAPTERS YET THIS ONE IS A GOOD'UN BOIS

4 notes · View notes

zak-shit · 8 months

Text

this is the turth, the whole turth, nothing but the turth

been home from le trip for like over a week now, it was the best time. I drove the majority of the way home and I loved it, i love a long drive. my music, roads that will always seem foriegn, theres a certain kind of appreciation for roads on a road trip, even if you make the trip a few times a year, theyre so temporary in the big picture, every bit of each mile can be appricated. at least when youre in a good mood and optimistic. which I am sometimes believe it or not!! got wicked sick soon after being home though and spent a good 4 days in bed. actually thinking that was the end. I've been thinking alot of my health as of late. nothing going on, just a new fear developing??

this morning i woke to take Cecilia to school and 2 secs after exiting my neighborhood i hit someones car!!! Its the smallest scratch on the sides of our cars. everyone was super chill praise the lord! but damn what a way to start the day.

I want to quit my vices pretty badly, but then what the hell am I to do?! thats the question... and honestly I dont want to quit, i kinda just want them to work better lmao. I cant feel a nic hit right now, also because my coil is going out and I need a new one. but im on a money saving journey! I dont wanna spend that money!! :/ choices!

It's is wild it being 10 years now, and I'm still in love with my first love. at least a large part of me still is. idk our relationship is nice right now, and has been for a long time now. I like talking to trey like I do, but truthfully, I wish I could be with him more. this isnt the only reason, but a big one and an important one, but i just feel so safe with him still. He's the only one who really knows allll parts of me. the good, the silly, the sexy, the angry, the crazy. he was always so nice to lay with. i want him, and i guess what gets to me about it now, is that I cant just be with him right now, hes pretty far away, and i just dont know how he feels anymore, he could just be protecting himself, but he hasnt expressed how we are end game or wanting to be with me in a while and i just :/ idk! we were both so young yes, but we went in so hard, and the love was always real. we're both so much better now, i was bad for a while, MIA, wishy washy. i could be a bitch too! idk maybe its a daydream but im picky asf and i still want to choose him, that says a bit.

#diary entry #love #lost love

0 notes

breathplayed · 1 year

Note

4, 6 & 8 💜

below cut to save dashboards!!

(4) what is the plot bunny you've been carrying the longest? ooouuuuhhh..... so many............ So many............ i have full fic outlines from 2017 LOL but the most viable one is a jikook au where they're both vampire hunters + jimin is Turned + jungkook swears to hunt him and be the one to kill him bc it's "what he would have wanted" some good ole lovers to enemies bullshit Once Again. every year since 2018 i've thought it'd be a fun three-part fic i could post for halloween and have never gotten around to it. lately i keep thinking it'd be good for an original novel (hello lesbians <3) but then i would have to actually worldbuild and write well which is daunting......... so back to the drawing board every time...... Maybe Some Day

(6) do you have any kind of consistent writing schedule or just hoping for the best? 💀 i always tell myself i will try to write a little bit every day, and there's been periods where that worked well enough for me, but tbh i write the best and most when i am daydreaming about a fic idea and get batshit possessed and fuel a Fixation. in those moments i am seized by insanity and sit down to write for about 4-6 hours straight in the dead of the night and manage several thousand words in one sitting. the record is 10k for DSD pt1 in like a day, and when i wrote the 90k fic that is WBIO in like 3 weeks off the high of not having any responsibilities in early lockdown (incl almost 20k in one sitting)

So kind of a mix.... When I have more free periods of the year i tell myself *trying* to stick to a schedule is good, like "ok i should go TRY to write at least a little every day, and if it doesn't work and im not feeling it today that's fine" but I can't lie, most of what I put out is the product of a feverish manic haze. Where i daydreamed too hard about a fic idea and accidentally came up with the whole plot and exact dialogue lines and need to bullet point it immediately before I forget it all. I am tormented by visions

(8) what’s your relationship with constructive criticism and feedback like? do you seek it out? how well do you take it? Constructive criticism: not exactly a fan unless I ask for it lol, just bc I think it's kinda rude to offer constructive criticism unless it's asked for? So I already automatically feel a lil cornered. I spent a year as an art major bringing paintings in for concrit sessions, I can take it, but that feels like a facilitated environment where I knew I was opening myself up to hear things so I could improve..... however, I'm not super interested in 'improving' writing beyond naturally improving by doing it.... bc it's just a hobby if that makes sense? I'm also usually super aware of how/where one of my fics is weak (example: i Know my worldbuilding and side characters and settings are not the most fleshed out, that I usually only focus on the main pairing/conflict and let everything else be a cardboard cutout, RIP) and just didn't put the work in to improve it bc I want to have Fun doing this hobby and struggling with fixing weaknesses is not super fun. Yes i am very lazy but it's ok it's fanfiction posted for free not something I'm trying to publish ukno. I'm a perfectionist in other ways! It balances out

Important to note I define constructive criticism as like "it would have been better if you did x instead" and a lot of times in fanfiction that's just people's personal tastes. I do consider everything readers say to me! Like someone said they didn't think the side characters served any point in "folie à trois" and it's just me inserting my faves, I Considered that opinion. There's been times I consider feedback and changed how I continued in a story, like in TLG people said they wanted more Jimin pov/motives and I said hmmm yeah that's valid I'll do more of that. In the aforementioned case for Folie, I considered it and decided (1) no, they're there for jk to see that Everyone is a lil fucked up and (2) it's my fic i can put my kpop girlies in it if i want lol. So sometimes 'concrit' is really just someone saying 'what you wrote wasn't to my personal taste' and not actually anything to do with the quality of the story/plot/style whatever itself.

Feedback overall tho, I do always want to hear from readers!!??! How a story made them feel especially. Tbh , TLDR, I think it really depends on the tone.... My relationship to it is on a case by case basis..... like I'm fine hearing that a character/plot frustrated someone, that they disagree with a character's actions, etc.... because that's Conflict in the story and I think good writing makes the reader Feel something..... it really just depends on what is being offered? if something is obviously mean spirited (which I have gotten) or offering concrit without asking like telling me "btw this would have read better if you didn't write like a possessed failed poet" i'm like ok well i have no plans on improving that. I am down to clarify any points of confusion on a scene/character/etc but I will not be improving. Lol

I hope that makes sense sorry I rambled as always. I took one of my adhd meds for the first time in weeks and now I am tachycardic and overexplaining myself worse than usual. Thank u for the ask <3

#ask game #myfic #ask

1 note · View note

mackjlee9 · 2 years

Text

Hasegawa Langa x Top!Male!Reader [Smut]

Requested by Kendall_leonard on Wattpad.

Warning; classroom sex, creampie, rimming, dumbification, feminization, use of the word pussy.

Masterlist.

Oh, my hand is better now, my fingers are still a little numb but the pain is gone :)

With the annual culture festival coming up, every class was busy selecting what they were going to do. (M/n)'s class wasn't an exception. But their theme was already chosen.

They'll be doing a play, what it was going to be had yet to be discussed. He didn't care much about it, as long as he doesn't have to play a major role in it. He was more interested in whatever Langa's class was going to be doing.

At the end of the day, the trio, Langa, Reki, and he walked together on their way home, and (h/c) haired male decided to ask them what they'll be doing for their class.

"So... what is your class' theme for the festival?" Both males next to him blushed and avoided looking him in the eyes. (M/n) looked left at Reki and right at Langa, both had the same expression on their faces and were stuttering.

"A... c-café...?" Reki ended up saying with a shaky voice, to which Langa just nodded in agreement, completely silent. (M/n) stated at them, but just shrugged and changed the subject.

He was going to check their café after the play was over.

///////

The following day, the first hour of the morning, (M/n) took his place as class rep, and walked to the front, he wrote the name of the play they were going to act on and listed down the characters.

The Little Mermaid, read on the board.

"Okay, we have to pick the princess... who's gonna be Ariel? Any suggestions?" None of the girls raised their hands, and instead, some boys gave suggestions as to who it could be.

Like that, every character was picked. And unfortunately, (M/n) got the role of Prince Eric.

Well, they had almost a month to prepare for it.

//////

Weeks went by flying, and it was already the day of the festival. His class got dressed and ready, as relaxed as they could, and started their play.

He didn't see Langa or Reki in the audience, which meant they were busy with his café, so as they were done, he changed into his gym uniform and ran towards Langa's class. There was quite a line when he got there, but he patiently waited.

When he reached the door, he realized two things. One, the butler at the entrance was a girl, and two, the sign above the door said 'Crossdressing Maid Café'. Well, that explained why Langa and Reki were so flustered about telling him what their class was gonna do.

He entered the room, and was guided to an empty table, he looked around trying to find a light-blue-haired boyfriend, or at least his redheaded best friend, but they were nowhere in sight.

He sighed, and picked up the menu, reading over and deciding what to pick.

"H-hello, master... I-I'll be your designated m-maid..." a quiet voice he knew quite well reached his ears, and he looked up.

His breath hitched, his stomach tingling and goosebumps showing on his skin when a shiver ran down his spine.

The maid dress Langa was wearing was a little short for him since he was one of the tallest in his class, the headpiece he had on made him look even better, and (M/n) was having a hard time holding back.

"M-master...?" Langa's shy voice made him snap out of his daydreaming state, and he let out a nervous chuckle. "What are you go-gonna order?"

"Uh... I don't know, whatever is fine, I guess." Langa just nodded, knowing exactly what he was gonna give to his boyfriend, and he turned around with a small smile.

The next ten minutes he spent there, (M/n)'s eyes couldn't help but follow Langa everywhere he went, frowning at the squeals of the girls from other classes whenever he walked by. But, he already had to leave the classroom, but before that, he called Langa over and made the male lean over enough for him to whisper something in his ear.

"I'll be waiting for you until your break starts, okay?" Langa blushed but nodded and he bowed towards (M/n) as a goodbye.

The (h/c) haired male waited right outside Langa's classroom, standing next to a window as he watched people walk by him, he only waited for almost ten minutes, and thankfully, he saw Langa walking out still wearing his maid.

"Sorry, I have to go back in fifteen minutes, so they didn't let me change," he whined looking down after he stopped in front of (M/n).

Even if they didn't have much time left (M/n) was thankful that Langa didn't change clothes, he had been feeling quite... horny for the past twenty minutes, so he knew it'll just take a few minutes.

He smirked and held Langa's hand, rushing down the hall and to his classroom. On the way, he felt inside his uniform pocket and he cheered to himself when he felt the keys there.

(M/n) dragged Langa inside and closed the door behind him, locking it and making sure the other door was also closed, it was, so he went back to Langa who walked to his desk and sat on it. The light-blue-haired male stared at him with an innocent look in his eyes, but it turned into a nervous one when he noticed the lustful look in his (e/c) eyes.

"(M/n), what-?" Langa couldn't finish his sentence, (M/n) slipped a hand under his thigh and lifted it to his waist, holding him by the back of his neck as he leaned down. Langa had to place both hands behind him to prevent falling off, and the next thing he felt was (M/n)'s lips on his, soon pushing his warm tongue in.

Langa couldn't help but whimper at the intense feeling (M/n)'s kiss sent through his mind and body.

"I'm sorry, Langa, but... fuck, you look so good in that outfit," he muttered against the male's lips, his hand reaching for his underwear and pulling it off his body. Langa was left gasping on the desk, his legs spread open, one of them bent on the desk, exposing his half-hard cock and twitching entrance.

Kneeling on the ground, (M/n) gripped tightly onto Langa's thighs, dragging him closer to the edge of the desk and going down between his milky thighs.

"Try not to be too loud, or we'll get caught," he muttered with a smirk before putting his tongue to work. He licked all around his rim, teasing him with just the tip of his tongue. Langa pressed his hand over his mouth, eyes gathering tears at such a light stimulation. He let out whimpers, his legs shaking as they struggled to stay spread open, but the urge to wrap them around (M/n)'s head was too strong, and the moment his tongue was inside him, his light-blue eyes rolled into the back of his head, he moved his hand away to grip tightly onto the desk as he closed his twitching legs around (M/n)'s head.

(M/n) looked up, groaning at the mess he made of Langa when he barely even did anything to him. His cum dripped down his thighs, and backing away to take a breath, (M/n) licked it off his skin before it fell on the floor.

Standing up, (M/n) held Langa's waist and brought him closer to his body, making him get off the desk, keeping a hand behind him on the desk while the other one reached to hold onto (M/n)'s shoulder.

"Turn around," he muttered against Langa's lips, the male nodding and slowly turning around, whimpering when he felt (M/n)'s erection pressing against his ass. He lifted Langa's skirt, caressing the pale skin of his hips, holding him a little bit tighter as he started humping him, clenching his jaw when the thought of fucking Langa while in a maid outfit crossed his mind, "Fuck, I can't hold back any longer..."

Hurrying to take his erection out, he pressed the wet tip against Langa's entrance, the male biting his lip as he felt (M/n)'s cock entering him.

Langa's legs trembled, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, his hands gripping tightly onto the desk, shivers running down his spine when he heard (M/n)'s satisfied groans, feeling every inch of his throbbing cock stretching his insides.

"Look at you, princess, taking my cock in your tight pussy," biting his bottom, Langa let out a choked moan when (M/n) moved his hips, thrusting deep inside him, his cock pulsing as it started leaking pre-cum, and for a split second, he remembered that he was wearing clothes that didn't belong to him.

"W-wait, the maid is go-gonna get... dirty~" he whispered in between whines while glancing back with glossy eyes, (M/n) slowed down the rhythm of his thrusts, and smirked, leaning closer to Langa's ear.

"Well, you're gonna have to hold it up, princess," (M/n) reached the front part of the skirt and held it up with his index and thumb, waiting for Langa to do it instead. The blue-haired male hesitated for a moment before grabbing it with both hands, leaving his red cock in plain sight, "Good girl~"

Langa let out a short but loud moan after those words, his body being held tightly by (M/n) who had started pounding his warm insides, stretching his walls, and hitting his prostate with every move. Langa's mouth was wide open, ragged breaths getting out of him, his eyes clouded with pleasure and crossing momentarily before rolling into the back of his head yet again.

It was so good, (M/n) knew exactly how to fuck him to make his knees weak, how to make him cum untouched, and how to make him moan like a whore, but sometimes, when his mind was too dumb on pleasure, he was unable to say a word, only heavy panting left his mouth as his tongue slightly poked out.

He was already so close to cumming, and his break was about to be over, "(M/n)- please-" moaning next to his ear, (M/n) took a deep breath, his fingers gripping tight on Langa's hips, his pale skin was surely gonna have bruises in a couple of hours, but it's not like any of the really cared about that.

"I know, I'm... gonna cum too, baby," clenching his jaw, (M/n) sped up his thrusts as they were getting sloppier by the second, a deep groan resonated in his chest when he came, Langa let out a high-pitched whine as his cum spurted out of his cock.

They took a few deep breaths to calm themselves before (M/n) pulled out, and Langa felt his cum slowly dripping out of his gaping hole.

"Is the maid dirty?" Langa looked down and checked the skirt before shaking his head no in response, quietly whining when he realized what did get dirty.

"But... I dirtied your desk..."

#sk8 the infinity #sk8 x reader #hasegawa langa x reader #langa x reader #male reader #reader insert #x reader #one shot #smut #anime #.mackjlee9 writes

595 notes · View notes

shycoconutt · 3 years

Text

I Need You (Kakashi x Reader Smut)

A/n: Oh boy do I got some smutty smut for you. This is my first time writing smut and I think I did okay! Please let me know what you think and, as always, feel free to send some requests my way! 🤍

Summary: You find yourself unbelievably horny waiting for Kakashi to get home from work. The night goes exactly as planned.

Word Count: 4200

Warnings: NSFW ( minors, there's the door -> 🚪), fem!reader, vaginal sex, rough sex, doggy style, cunnilingus

Gods, why am I so horny?

Sat in the reading chair in the corner of your and Kakashi’s bedroom, you find yourself unable to focus on the new novel you picked up at the bookstore this morning. Each time you try to focus on the words in front of you, your eyes start to drift off the page and fall on your bed across the room. The bed where Kakashi and you have had sex now maybe a dozen times. You two have been platonic partners for years, but it wasn’t until recently where you both allowed your feelings to blossom into romance. Some would say that your relationship with Kakashi came on fast, but those who say that don’t truly know either of you.

After the war, and after keeping your feelings for each other bottled down for years, Kakashi took you on a vacation to a quaint village on the outskirts of Konoha. During your stay, you two could finally relax and find comfort in each other. The future seemed less uncertain, and you allowed yourself to open up in ways you never had before. You both knew you loved each other, that you were meant for each other, but the stress of war and the lack of knowledge that either of you would come out alive prevented anything from happening. The last thing either of you wanted to do was take the other’s heart six feet under.

It was the third night on the trip when he proposed to you. Kakashi and you were naked together in the natural hot spring, embracing each other in the water. The words he spoke to you that night are etched in your brain, never to be forgotten.

“My whole life I’ve been fighting; fighting for Konoha, fighting for my team, fighting for our friends, fighting my demons, fighting the truth, and fighting the feelings I have for you. I never understood why it was so hard to escape you, but it isn’t until now where I finally understand. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. Our love is so natural, so pure. It pains me to know that our reality has muddled it for so long. You are the best thing that’s ever come into my life, and the gods only know how thankful I am that you have been by my side through it all. Everything I’ve ever gone through, every challenge I’ve had to overcome, you’ve guided me along the way. I used to think I was undeserving of your love, but now that we both are standing here, bruised and battered by our past, I realize that it was always supposed to be this way. You and me. Forever.”

That was the night you and Kakashi shared your first kiss. The night you first held each other in a naked embrace. The night you touched the skin normally concealed under each other's clothes. The night you trailed kisses down his chest, to his stomach, his hip, and up his shaft. The night you grabbed him in your hand and stroked him while looking into his eyes. The night you felt his tongue draw across your nipples. The night you felt him suck and nibble at your neck. The night you felt his fingers, god his fingers, trace up your wet heat to rub onto your most sensitive spot. The night he held onto your hip and slid into your tenderness. The night you whispered sweet nothings in each other's ears while he pumped into you. The night you made love, four times.

It’s been a week since your mini-vacation of ultimate bliss. Immediately after arriving back to the village, you both moved out of your individual apartments and moved into the Hatake estate, per Kakashi’s request. When you asked him if this is truly what he wanted, he assured you that this was the place he wanted to make a home with you and your future children. He also liked that the estate is largely removed from the Hokage tower, where he will be spending the majority of his time in the future. Renovations are far from over, but your bedroom was the first area of the house to be set up. It’s your shared sanctuary, and to be completely honest, you’ve never felt more at home.

The only word to describe this week between you and Kakashi is passionate. Even with opposite schedules, you both make time for one another every day. You’ve been insanely busy at your new job that you acquired post-war, spearheading the mental health resource center for war veterans and shinobi still in active duty. Kakashi is busy shadowing Tsunade while she sorts out post-war rehabilitation plans for the village. This is your first day off and, unfortunately, Kakashi is out doing future Hokage duties. Though frustrating, both of you are super understanding of each other's roles in this village and you respect that time with each other may be limited in the coming years. That’s why any chance you get, you both check in on each other throughout your day. Whether it’s offering to take his ninken on a walk while he’s in the office, or him bringing you breakfast when you get to work, you find opportunities to be present in each other’s daily lives.

The evenings, however, are a whole other story. Both of you are usually home a little after eight, and you’ve adapted to having late dinners with each other. After cleaning up, the rest of the evening is spent wrapped up in each other. One thing you weren’t expecting about being with Kakashi is that he is constantly touching you when you are alone together. His hands are either on your thighs, wrapped in your hair, caressing your face, squeezing your arms, massaging your shoulders, touching your lips, or any other way he can get them on you. You crave his touch, so to say that you enjoy this side of him is an understatement. Not only does Kakashi adore touching you, he also adores being touched.

Touching leads to caressing, caressing leads to groping, and groping leads to passionate lovemaking.

Well, geez (y/n), maybe if you stopped daydreaming about Kakashi’s hands all over you then you wouldn’t be this goddamn horny.

Here’s the thing with you and Kakashi’s newfound sex life. You are in the early stages. All the sex you have is all about romance, making up for the lost time, and finally expressing your feelings with your body. It’s amazing and you wouldn’t change your lovemaking for the world.

But right now, you don’t desire lovemaking. You desire rough, animalistic, dirty, dirty sex.

The kind of sex that makes you shudder in desire and fear.

The kind of sex that makes in between your legs sore the next day.

Realizing you’ve been daydreaming for the past fifteen minutes, you close your novel shut and toss it aside. You look over at the clock on your nightstand to find that it’s almost time for Kakashi to be home. Usually, you would already be cooking something up for dinner, but you have a feeling that any food you make would just get cold. Eating is not your priority right now, Kakashi is.

A devious smile forms at your lips when you consider what you plan on doing with him when he walks through the front door. Should you take him right there? Get down on your knees and beg for him? Run a warm, candle-lit bath? Put whip cream on your tits and tell him that you’re his dinner? All great options, but none are really representative of how much you need him.

In one swift movement, you are up off your chair and running towards your closet. He could be here any minute and there’s no time to waste. Once there, you take in how disorganized your closet is. You have yet to unpack any of your clothes, as all you’ve worn the past week is your jonin uniform and your pajamas. Rummaging through the boxes sprawled out on the floor, you finally find which box you are looking for. The box looks like any other box, but written on the side in marker is the word intimates.

Bingo.

One might think you are a sex fiend with all the lingerie you own, but that is far from reality. The truth is, lingerie has always made you feel sexy. Most of all, it’s just so pretty. You love the power it gives you. You love the fact that no one knows that some days you are wearing the world’s skimpiest lingerie underneath your uniform. It’s like you have an edge on someone that they don't even realize. Also, when you did happen to end up in bed with a man, you were over-prepared. The look on their faces when you stripped off your clothes was priceless. It was your way of telling them that you expected them to want you.

There are way too many options to choose from, and you find yourself starting to panic as time passes on. You know you’re overthinking this as, honestly, Kakashi would love anything you put on. Some things you know about Kakashi are that his favorite color is blue, he loves your thighs and is obsessed with how soft your skin is. Therefore, you should obviously go for the baby blue lace and silk set. It includes a lace balconette bra, a thong connected to thigh garters, and a silk robe to go over the top. After putting it on and taking a look at yourself in the mirror, you knew you made the right choice.

Before finding a comfortable spot on the bed, you quickly grab some baby oil and rub it all over your body. The oil will allow Kakashi to slide his hands all over you effortlessly, which is exactly what you need. Satisfied, you grab your book and lay on top of your made bed. You weren’t planning on actually reading, but you think your casualness while wearing such a sexy outfit will have Kakashi’s head spinning.

So there you were, belly down, ass out, feet intertwined, book in hand, when you heard the lock click and the front door open. Perfect timing.

You could hear Kakashi kick off his shoes and take off his vest as he walked into your home. Usually, you would be standing in the kitchen where he would come and give you a warm embrace and kiss you until you told him that he has to eat dinner. But, you're not there, and you can sense his confusion.

“Where’s my babygirl?” Kakashi’s voice projects throughout the house, a hint of concern in his voice. You smile at the thought of the pout that’s probably on his face right now.

“Sorry sweetheart, I’ve been caught up in my new book. I’m in the bedroom,” you call back to him.

You hear what sounds like a sigh of relief as his footsteps make their way down your hallway in the direction of your bedroom, the sounds of pieces of his uniform dropping off of him every few steps. You make sure to keep your head turned to the door so you can take in his reaction to your state.

“Oh, the new book you got this morning? How is it? Let me guess, you already finished-”

An indescribable feeling shoots through your whole body as Kakashi enters your bedroom. He just finished pulling his mask down his face, as his hand is still caught to the fabric pooling around his neck. With a smile on your face, you soak in his expression as he’s stood in the entrance of your room, a deep blush forming on his cheeks and his mouth still agape in mid-sentence. His eyes dart back and forth from your face to the bottom of your ass that’s hanging out of your silk robe.

Damn, you really did that (y/n).

“What’s wrong, Kashi?” You say in the most innocent voice you can muster. You bat your eyelashes and flip over to sit up so he can get a good look at you. You let your book drop off the bed and land on the floor.

There’s another pause before Kakashi slowly walks towards you on the bed. Without speaking, he reaches a hand out to you. You take it and he pulls you up so you're kneeling on the bed as he stands in front of you. His dark eyes bore into yours as both of his hands drop to your thighs. Slowly, he grazes them up over your hips, your waist, up the sides of your breasts, to wrap around the back of your neck. You can feel the hairs on your skin stand in anticipation. With his hands still wrapped around you, he brings his head down to you and grazes his mouth on your jawline. From there he plants small kisses up the side of your face until he reaches your ear where he nibbles before speaking to you in a strained, low tone.

“You’re a very dangerous woman, (y/n).”

He must have felt you shudder because you could feel him smile against your cheek. Standing up straight again, Kakashi’s hands drop to the tie of your robe around your waist.

“May I?” he asks, giving you the sexiest look you’ve ever seen. Kakashi has been so effortlessly attractive since you met when you were young. Having these intimate moments with him almost seems surreal.

“Of course, Hatake,” you smile up at him.

Taking the tie in his hands, he starts to unravel the knot keeping your robe together. Once loose, he lets it fall over your shoulders and off your body completely.

After a few moments taking in the sight of you, Kakashi lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head.

“You’re so out of my league,” he confesses to you.

You let out a small giggle.

“Absolutely not,” you protest.

Without missing a beat, Kakashi grabs on to you and tosses you back on the bed so you are laying down underneath him. One of his hands wraps around the back of your head while the other cups your breast. Pulling the fabric of your bra down, he kneads your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. One of his knees lands in between your legs and he brings it up to press on to you. You can’t help the moan that escapes as you feel him all around you.

“So what’s the deal?” Kakashi teases. “I leave you alone in the house for one day and I come back to this?” He looks down at your body and back up again. “Where did you get this outfit, hm?”

“Oh baby,” you start teasing him back, “I guess one thing you don’t know about me yet is that I wear lingerie like this all the time.”

“Oh really?” he questions.

“Yep, all the time.” You smirk at what you’re about to say next. “Actually, remember that one time we were stationed together in the Earth country for a month for that S-rank assassination mission?”

Kakashi nods, confused where you’re going with this story.

“We let our guards down and almost hooked up the last night before we came back to the village.”

“I remember.”

“Well,” you pause for effect, “guess what I was wearing underneath my uniform that night?”

Kakashi remains silent, brows furrowed waiting for you. You smile at him deviously as you say your answer.

“This.”

Kakashi lets out what can only be described as an aroused, defeated groan when you utter your confession. He quickly comes back down and your mouths crash together in a heated frenzy. It isn’t until now when you realize that his bulge is hard against your leg, asking to be broken free from the confinement of his pants. While making out, you reach down and slip your hand under his waistband and grab onto his throbbing cock, stroking it in your hand. Although rock hard, the skin of his cock is soft and velvety.

Kakashi moans in your mouth when you make contact with him, but quickly escapes your grasp and gets up off of you. Sprawled out on the bed, you watch him strip down naked in front of you, starting with his shirt, then his pants and briefs. His body is truly something to marvel at, as decades of being a ninja have carved his body into perfection. You love the way his member slaps against his lower stomach when he pulls it from its confinement, excited and eager for you. He stands for a moment, contemplating what to do with you.

“I don’t want to take that pretty outfit off of you just yet. I guess I’ll just have to work around it for now,” Kakashi says as he stands at the end of the bed. Grabbing your ankles, he pulls you towards him and bends your legs upward until your knees meet your chest. Holding both of your legs up with one hand, he takes the other and spanks your ass cheek with a loud slap. You whimper from the sting while he rubs the mark he left. Kakashi sucks in another loud breath.

“Ugh, (y/n), you look so good for me.”

Before you can respond, Kakashi takes your thong and slides it over so you are exposed to him. Getting down on his knees, he brings his face to your glistening cunt and flattens his tongue against it. There he gives you one long lick up your slit to taste you. A moan erupts from him as your wetness meets his taste buds.

“You’re already so wet for me baby,” Kakashi breathes before going in to suck on you.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you confess through your moans. “I only get this wet for you.”

“That’s because you're mine and mine only.”

Kakashi takes his time with you, almost as if this is his last meal on earth and he wants to savor it. He’s delicate in some moments and fierce in others. Incorporating his fingers, he slides them into you and curves them up to hit your g-spot repeatedly while eating you. Your hand instinctively cradles his face while the other intertwines with his silver locks. You start to feel tightness in your lower stomach as he brings you close to climax. The sound of his moans muffled inside you is enough to send you over the edge.

“Kakashi, baby, I’m gonna-”

“Come for me, baby,” Kakashi nods, giving you permission to let go.

Letting go of Kakashi, you grip onto the sheets around you, feeling the tightness build and drop out of you. Closing your eyes, the waves of ecstasy ripple throughout your body causing you to scream out in pleasure. Riding with you, Kakashi slowly continues to work you through your climax, cleaning up whatever juices spill over.

“Good girl,” He says to you while bringing your legs back down onto the bed. Slowly, he kisses up your thighs while hooking onto your thong, bringing it down off of them. While he does this, you reach around and unclasp your bra, throwing it aside. Once the thong is thrown aside as well, Kakashi lifts himself off the floor and flips you over so you're laying on your stomach, another smack landing on your ass cheek. The high from your orgasm is immediately replaced with anticipation for what he plans on doing to you next.

You feel Kakashi’s naked body slide on top of you until he's flush against your skin, his body completely enveloping yours. Once his face is level with yours, and his cock is hard against your backside, he brushes your hair away from your face.

“Are you ready for me?” Kakashi whispers into your ear.

You nod into the mattress, chest rising and falling with every strained breath.

“You need to use your words, (y/n),” Kakashi scolds you while tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I need you, Kakashi. Please, I need you.” Your words come out as a plea, not being able to take his absence any longer.

You feel Kakashi’s weight lift off of you as he reaches around your waist and lifts it up so your ass is tilted upwards. From there you can feel him position his tip at your entrance, slowly rubbing it up and down to spread your wetness.

“Please, Kashi, I need your cock inside me,” you beg.

Without further hesitation, you feel every inch of him slide into your folds until he’s bottomed out inside you. The feeling of him deep within you sends you into euphoria and you can feel yourself tighten around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Kakashi whispers.

Starting off slow, he pumps into you with control. You feel pleasure and pain as Kakashi kisses your neck while grabbing onto your hair. After each thrust you feel him going faster and harder, your bodies smacking against each other. To gain more leverage, he lifts off of you and brings you up onto your hands and knees. With his hand gripping your shoulder, he pumps into you with ferocity.

“For years I’ve touched myself thinking about getting to fuck you like this baby. You’re so beautiful and so good to me. Everything about your body draws me to you,” Kakashi says in between moans. You feel him start to twitch inside you, his thrusts getting more out of control. You look over your shoulder and meet his gaze.

“We deserve this baby. You deserve this. Give me everything.” You both know your words mean more than just sex, and Kakashi relishes them.

Lifting you up by your neck, Kakashi brings you toward him so you're both kneeling while he continues thrusting inside of you. He brings one hand around your front to circle your clit and the other cups your breast. Your hands lift up behind you to grab onto his face. Turning your head to him, you kiss him with every ounce of passion you have left. This new position is hitting you at your core and you can feel yourself tighten again. Kakashi must have felt it too, as he broke free from your mouth to tilt his head back in pleasure. Without exchanging words, you know you both are at your limit.

With a few last staggering thrusts, both of you reach climax in unison. Feeling yourself go limp, Kakashi wraps his arms around you to keep you steady. You feel streams of his hot semen pool inside of your contracting walls. With Kakashi’s moans singing in your ear, you can’t help but smirk at his vulnerability. With him still inside, you hold onto each other, trying to catch your breaths. After a few beats, you both begin to laugh at your exasperated states.

“Stay here, I’m going to get a towel,” Kakashi says while shifting out of you. After pulling a towel from the cupboard in your bathroom, Kakashi brings it to you and cleans up between your legs. Before you have time to move, Kakashi picks you up bridal style and spins you around in his arms.

You scream and start to laugh as he plants kisses all over your face. “Kakashi!”

“Hm?” he hums in your ear, pretending he didn’t just lift you with little to no effort.

Holding you up with one arm, he grabs a blanket off the bed and carries you to the chair in the corner of your room. There he sits down and places you sideways on his lap so you’re facing each other. He then takes the blanket and wraps it around you both so you can stay warm while cuddling each other. Kakashi has always had a knack for knowing exactly what you want at any given moment.

“I thought we could get some inspiration for our next round,” Kakashi says with a smirk as he pulls out a copy of Icha Icha Tactics from underneath the cushion.

“What? How did that get there?” you laugh.

“Oh, I have multiple copies of these everywhere,” he jokes, waving the book in the air.

You laugh and lightly hit his chest. Tucking the blanket up closer to your face, you lay your head down on Kakashi’s shoulder while he flips open to a page in the book.

Before he starts to read to you, Kakashi lifts your chin to kiss you. Every time your lips touch his, flashes of your joint past enters your mind. Although it was hard, and you faced many difficult trials on the way, you are forever thankful that you were both able to live long enough to experience these moments. You took care of each other, lifted each other up when they were in the dirt, and now you can finally share the love you’ve always held for each other. You wouldn’t change any of it. After your kiss, before pulling away from you, Kakashi looks deep into your eyes.

“I love you, (y/n).”

You smile up at him, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I love you too, Kakashi. Forever.”

A/n cont.: Well, whattdaya think? :)

#kakashi #kakashi hatake #kakashi fanfic #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi x reader #hatake kakashi #kakashi imagine #naruto fanfiction #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi one shot #kakashi x yn #kakashi sensei #kakashi smut #kakashi hatake smut

1K notes · View notes

cockslutpadalecki · 3 years

Text

I Know Who You Did Last Summer

Summary: When Lance comes back from college, he can't resist a few home comforts. And top of his list is always his sweet, innocent step-sister.

Characters: Lance Tucker x Stepsister!Reader.

Words: 1073.

Warnings: step-sibling relationship (reader is 18), explicit sexual content, dirty talk, the slightest hint of dub-con, a crumb of manipulation, spit as lube, mentions of loss of virginity, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), little in the way of prep, p in v, 18+.

A/N: Late to “The Bronze” party, but bringing with me a monster platter of filth. Hope you’ve got the fucking appetite for it. I am on a major Lance Tucker wave right now, and I can’t help myself. All my love and gratitude to @sweeterthanthis for being such a disgusting enabler. Betas: @river-soul and @emmabarnes but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Subscribe to Patreon and get access to fics, just like this one, two weeks before Tumblr for as little as $3.

With lethargic limbs, you strip down to your underwear and drop your clothes into a pile on the floor, daydreaming about the long, hot shower you intend to take. You’re too preoccupied in the midst of a big yawn to notice your step brother blocking the doorway until it’s too late. You almost walk straight into him.

You rush to cover what little modesty you have, knowing that Lance fucking Tucker has already seen more of you than you care to admit, but it doesn’t stop your skin from prickling under the heat of his stare.

“What the fuck dude, haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” You rebuke, your words hissing through clenched teeth. “Or privacy?”

“You lost that privilege when you started doing that sexy little striptease,” — he wiggles his finger at your half-naked body— “with your door wide open.”

Lance smirks at you, bottom lip caught between his teeth, but you merely narrow your eyes back in return.

“That’s not what I was—” you begin, but think better of retaliating to his comments— “Just get the hell out of my room, Tucker.”

“Then what do you expect me to do with this?” He asks, unzipping his black jeans just enough to give you a glimpse of his already half hard and weeping cock.

Swallowing hard, you push aside any wanton thoughts and take a deep breath before replying.

“You can’t just waltz in here, and think you can get your dick wet whenever you want,” you almost scoff, unable to help yourself from eyeing his length as it swells in his palm.

“Didn’t seem to bother you last summer when you were beggin’ for my cock.” Lance leisurely pumps his shaft to make his point, tongue sweeping teasingly over his bottom lip.

“Or at Christmas. Oh, and your birthday,” he adds with the type of smirk that makes your cunt tighten.

Asshole.

Last summer was a memory you wish you could rewind and take back. It had been hot— too hot, and actively forgoing clothes, you spent half of your time in a bikini. Which meant when it came to Lance returning home briefly from partying too hard at college, he didn’t have much in the way of barriers as he stripped you bare.

Your father and stepmom had been out of town for a few days, and you had the house to yourselves. For the first forty eight hours, you managed to avoid him like the plague until you found yourself in the pool at three am one morning, unable to sleep. When Lance had jumped in naked to join you, things escalated. Quickly.

Even now, you still can’t glance at that particular spot where the pool curves in on itself, without feeling the burn beneath your cheeks, remembering the way your step brother fucked away your virginity.

He wouldn’t let you forget who ruined you for all other men ever since. He held it over you whenever he came home from college for the holidays and special occasions, eager for repeat sessions, regardless of the fact you knew he was quite the manwhore on campus, and had no trouble acquiring new notches on his bedpost.

And much to your contempt for the conceited playboy, you found yourself falling for his charms every time.

“C’mon princess.”

You watch as Lance strides forward, closing the already small gap between you and rubs the tip of his cock with the pad of his thumb, leaving a string of pre-cum clinging to it as he pulls it away.

“Don’t you want this?”

He swaps hands, and brings his thumb up to your mouth, smearing the tacky moisture across your bottom lip.

The way your eyes move down to his now fully hard cock, and slowly back up to his face as your tongue sweeps out to lick up his nectar is more than enough permission for your older brother.

Without even bothering to tuck himself away, Lance grabs your arm with his free hand, pulling you over to the bed where you had just been curled up reading a book. When your knees hit the mattress, his hand finds its way to the nape of your neck, forcing you down head first.

Face muffled in the messy sheets, you feel him climb up behind you, tugging your panties to one side as the blunt head of his cock rubs up and down through your folds, gathering up your slick with a satisfied hum.

Hearing him spit into his hand, you turn your head to ask, “you not gonna get me ready first?”

“Nah,” comes his arrogant brush off, “you’re more than wet enough already to take me, aren’t you, little sis?”

And as if to prove his point, he’s leaning over you, dick poised between your pussy lips before snapping his hips forward, and fills you to the brim. You let out a groan, stifling it into the sheets you have balled within your closed fists.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos from above you as he strokes a hand down your spine, letting out a low laugh when you tremble beneath his touch. “Take me like I know you can.”

You relax beneath him, feeling the pain slowly give way to pleasure as he begins fucking you into the mattress without mercy.

“Shit,” he growls, voice rough and gravelly, “been needin’ to sink my dick into this tight, little snatch ever since I got back.”

Lifting your head, you glance over your shoulder to look at Lance, his eyes distracted by the sight between your legs. You long to lick at the small sheen of sweat clinging to the divot at the base of his neck, watching the hypnotic way his silver chain swings in time with his thrusts. His white v-neck is bunched up around his waist, giving you a perfect view of the way his stomach muscles tense with every drive of his cock back into you. The combination shouldn’t turn you on so much, but it does.

He catches your stare, and curls a large hand around the nape of your neck, forcing your head back into the now damp sheets.

“Ssh, it’s okay, just lay there nice and still for your big brother,” he cajoles under his breath, each thrust more frantic than the last, while you try your hardest not to scream when you splinter around his cock and wake your sleeping parents next door.

***

All Seb: @imanuglywombat @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @sharp-cheekbones-locked @threeminutesoflife

Forever: @amandamdiehl @becs-bunker @buttercandy16 @crashdevlin @castiel-has-bees @daughterofthenight117 @donnaintx @danneelsmain @dandywinchesterbras @dumbbitchenergy17 @death-unbecomes-you @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @gayasslookinass @hoewkeye @heyyouwiththeassbutt @hoboal87 @ilovefanfic86 @itsjustfics @itsthedoctah10 @imyournewfairygodmother @imcastiel-youassbutt @jewelswrites-ish @jenmisheels-bi-kid @letsby @letsdisneythings @multi-fandom-fanfiction @maddiepants @mogaruke @my-fav-imagines-17 @mermaiden09 @nightsbite @notyourtypicalrose @nik2write @onethirstyunicorn @pink1031 @princessmisery666 @petitgateau911 @randomparanoid @rattwritesfics @ssworldofsw @sambucky8 @sea040561 @sillygoose6969 @sweeterthanthis @softie-socks @slutformarvelmen @shindi-cryb4by @stoneyggirl @that-one-gay-girl @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox @zpandaqueen @zooaliaa

#lance tucker #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker x you #lance tucker fanfiction #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction

791 notes · View notes

kerink · 3 years

Note

Please talk about Earl and Roger I BEG

bro earls the love of my life. im an earl stan first and a human second. where do i even start? how do i even vomit my entire love of him, all my thoughts of him, into one ask? heres a summary

the vast majority of my time is spent daydreaming about how pathetic he is. about how in love with cecil he is. about how angry he is that his role in cecils life is not to be cecils husband.

hes hundreds if not thousands of years old. he grew up with cecil, theyve been attached at the hip since they were kids. he and cecil were inseparable best friends.

he remembers the abuse cecil went though, remembers the struggles of being raised by abby. he was there when cecil left home and got the best apartment he could afford on an interns salary (not good). he was there when cecil struggled with drugs and alcohol and parties and a rotating cast of older, much older, men. he was there when city council first scrambled cecils brain.

earls parents felt bad for the palmers but were helpless. abby and cecil would only accept so much, and the harlans watched as their deteriorating family pulled earl down with them. earl not only never went to college or got a job or had a family. he got stuck. he stayed 19 with cecil because thats what cecil needed. cecil was grappling with his lost childhood and fear of adulthood and earl refused to leave him. earls life stagnated because earl was too in love to abandon cecil in his trauma

and then city council reset cecil. they couldnt have their Voice, the conduit to their god, so broken

and cecil moved on

but earl had based his life around cecil. his whole identity was being cecils best friend and his main support person. his entire future was based on the idea that he was going to save cecil and they'd get married and itd all be okay

then slowly cecil forgot him and they drifted apart and then earl was the one stuck. the one with the lost childhood and the fear of the future. so thats where he stayed. 19 and the scout master and aimless. for so long it makes him cold and a bit sick to think about

and then he suddenly wasnt anymore. he woke up and the life he never had but maybe could have had was dropped in his lap. he was an adult, presumably had some training or education, had a good job. he was living in a nice enough house instead of the shitty trailer hed been living in.

he had a kid? a kid he wishes he could pretend was his and cecils but looks like him line for line, curve for curve, angle for angle. earl would have thought it was him except he doesnt remember this. maybe this isnt a kid, maybe this is the ghost of the childhood he never had

except this kid seems to actually need and want things and fuck earl can barely take care of himself. he only used to working as a volunteer, then goofing off the rest of the time. hes not used to having sometimes up to 80 hour work weeks. working and then NOT being able to come home and get drunk and fall asleep in front of the tv? hows he meant to cope with it all?

and then he hears cecils fallen in love with another man. cecils thought he was in love with other men before, but this ones different, this sounds different, earl can hear it in the sigh of his voice, the same way cecil would sigh his name laying in their tent at night staring at each other blissed out and exhausted after sex

and he hates carlos. not for being the one cecil chose (no earl hates himself for that. he hates himself for not being better, not being good enough, not having been chosen by god to play that role in cecils life) but for being a workaholic, for leaving for the desert otherworld. earl watched the life cecil had finally built for himself fall to pieces while carlos was gone. and earl was so happy, so thankful, so grateful that things in his own life worked out so he could slot himself back in to cecils life again, could prop him back up, could give him a shoulder to cry on, to be there to bring him food and make sure he hasnt over dosed.

coming to terms with having to accept that loving someone means wanting them to be happy, even if its with someone else. being a good friend means protecting a good thing. means catering the wedding for the love of your life. means giving a speech and being the best man. means truly believing it when you say im happy for you two means accepting that the role you were meant to play was what youd always been: his best friend

#long post /#wtnv #earl harlan #sorry i dont really thinkg about roger that much

33 notes · View notes

rekrappeter · 4 years

Text

finding a true love’s kiss

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: you couldn’t stand fred weasley, yet you were best friends with george weasley. it was a strange dynamic until you end up in detention with fred and he reveals a secret he has been hiding for years

warnings: not proofread, written weeks a part, inaccurate Harry Potter vocab probably, shitty ending

notes: this was originally for @lunalovecroft‘s writing challenge but I wrote one part like two months ago but hopefully it’s still legible to some extent. prompt used was “you can hate people and still think they’re hot”

"How long have you and George been friends?" Katie Bell aimed the question at you, diverting your attention from the burgundy rug underneath you to the curious eyes of your roommates anticipating your answer. You were all sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, creating a circle as you delved into the usual Friday night gossip session.

Pondering on the question for a second, you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly, "since the beginning of time it seems."

"Yet you've never... did it?" The girls squealed around you, clapping their hands in excitement. With wide eyes, you denied the question to no end.

"Did I have sex with George?" You spluttered out, feeling your face flush, "absolutely not."

"Why not?" Angelina pushed, wanting to get more details from you.

"I'll have you know," you started, lifting yourself from the floor and making your way to your own single bed, "myself and George are only friends, that's it."

Angelina eyed Katie as you turned your back to them, stripping from your white buttoned-up shirt and replacing it with a cozy pyjama top. "What about Fred?"

The silence was deafening, no one dared to laugh or squeal this time around. You stared down at the white material dangling from your fingertips, a sickening feeling forming at the pit of your stomach. When you scoffed, the girls’ shoulders loosened and they let out a sigh of relief when you turned to them with an amused smile on your face. "Fred and I can’t even be in the same room together for longer than needs be, never mind long enough for us to... do the deed."

“I don’t know, y/n,” Katie drawled on, standing up and walking over to you, she squeezed your shoulders as she said, “I think it’s all the sexual tension building up.”

Pushing her away from you, you faked gagged in their direction, “You two are crazy.”

“I just don’t understand how you can be best friends with one twin, and hate the other one,” Katie laughed, changing into her own pajamas and climbing on top of her unmade bed. “But we see the way he is around you.”

“Yeah, an ignorant jackass,” you chuckled, flopping down onto the bed.

“More like a boy picking on the girl he has a crush on,” Angelina said.

“Please, don’t make me sick,” you shuffled into your bed, pulling the quilt up to your chin. Angelina switched the lights off, leaving you in complete darkness. You listened to her maneuver in the dark, trying to dodge the mess you all made. Hearing her muffle profanities made you giggle, assuming she walked into something or kicked a lifeless object.

“You know, y/n, you can hate people and still think they’re hot,” you rolled your eyes at Angelina’s words, twisting in your bed and letting out a loud exhale into the pillow.

“Thanks for the words of wisdom, but Fred Weasley is not hot,” your voice was filled with distaste, your lips smacking together loudly to get your point across but you knew it would fall on deaf ears. Your friends never listened when you told them over and over again that you weren’t hiding feelings for Fred, the relationship you had with him will forever be non-existence.

It was safe to say that the conversation from the night before had left a sour taste in your mouth. You were woken from a sweet slumber by the sound of birds chirping through the opened window; normally, you’d groan in annoyance but enjoy the sound. This morning, however, was different. It was as if the birds had clawed their way into your brain and changed a few wires, you climbed out of the bed with the sudden urge to crucify the loud creatures. One look at your face and Angelina was twirling on her heels and made her way out the dorm room, leaving you to your own devices.

Mornings were usually the quietest time of the day for you. You would get up and skip down to breakfast but this morning you couldn’t even work the courage to plaster a fake smile on your face as you entered the Great Hall and your mood remained foul at the sight of Fred Weasley sitting beside his twin brother. Heaving in a sigh, you sat across from George and started piling the breakfast onto your plate.

“Jesus, don’t you look awful this morning,” Fred’s voice echoed through your thoughts.

Snapping your head in the direction, your eyes narrowed, “you really want to start this early?”

“This started a long time ago,” Fred snapped back at you, the smirk on his face making you roll your eyes to the heavens. You ignored him, looking at George who has a pleading expression on his face.

“Don’t even say it,” you mumbled, reaching for the milk and pouring it into the bowl of cereal in front of you.

“There’s no point, I’m sick of saying it,” your best friend said.

You ate silently, listening to the twins bickering and there was something about Fred’s voice that was eating at you. Despite knowing him for years, it was familiar, more familiar than usual. You glanced up from your spoon, unconsciously connecting your gaze with Fred. You shocked yourself by not looking away or flipping him off, and it surprised you when it looked as if he fell into a dream. The longer you looked at him, a warning signal was going off in your head and then something clicked in your brain. All the color drained from your face, fear striking through your body.

“y/n, what’s going on?” George asked, grabbing your hand but you pulled it back and scrambled from the table, walking quickly out of the hall. Everything came flashing back - everything you dreamt about last night.

“You’re being so damn annoying today,” you hissed, pushing Fred away from you as he reached across the table to grab something. It was just you and him in the kitchen of the Burrow, a place you spent numerous holidays but it was quieter than usual.

“You’re annoying every day,” Fred retorted, taking a bite of the red apple. He leaned against the countertop, looking at you flicking through the book in hand. You rolled your eyes, stalking away from him but you could hear his footsteps follow you, “Why do you hate me?”

You looked over your shoulder, brows creasing in confusion, “What?”

“Why do you hate me?” Fred repeated.

“I don’t hate you, Fred,” you muttered softly, feeling the air thicken around you. You turned to face him, watching him swallow awkwardly and you could see it in his eyes; he didn’t hate you either. Without another word being uttered, you closed the gap between your bodies and connected your lips to his.

“Fuck,” you muttered angrily, remembering the dream that soon turned into a nightmare. You’ve never dreamt about Fred before, he may have been in the background of some but he was never the main character, he was most definitely never the love interest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“That’s a lot of fucks given,” George chuckled, pushing his way past students walking towards The Great Hall, “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, G.”

George raised one brow in the air, his arms crossing in front of his chest as he examined you closely, “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” you popped, brushing your hair out of your face and stepping out to the courtyard, “Just remembered a nightmare.”

“Want to talk about it?” You immediately shook your head, earning a laugh from George who nodded understandingly. “Most likely about my brother being a dickhead, aye?”

“Something like that,” you laughed, trying to push the lingering face of Fred to the back of your mind.

The day slowly passed by, your mood gradually getting worse throughout it. Every free second that your mind was preoccupied with studying or maintaining a conversation with someone, it wandered off to the same red-haired that starred in your dream last night. It wasn’t the usual thoughts that you had about Fred that consisted of wanting to punch him in the face or lock him in a broom cabinet. It was worse than that, you found yourself seeking him out and admiring how he twirled his quill between his fingers. The anger that usually washed over you whenever you looked at him was non-existence. It was more of a longing feeling and it terrified you.

You had spent the majority of the day in the library, not wanting to confront George and definitely not being able to be in the presence of Fred. You were slowly making your way back to the common room, trying to procrastinate it as much as possible hence why you took the long route around the castle. What you didn’t expect was to hear an explosion from up ahead and a strangled yell of annoyance but it was enough to put the puzzles together.

Just as you were about to round the corner, a figure stumbled into you and knocked you to the floor. You gripped out for the robes that made you lose your balance and brought them to the ground as well with them landing on top of you. A flash of red-hair made you groan and your eyes connected to Fred’s wide brown ones. It startled you, the image of him kissing you making your stomach nauseous.

“Shit, get up!” Fred exclaimed, jumping from your body and he waited for you but you were still in a shocked daze. He groaned and gripped your robes, pulling you up and running along the corridor with you trailing behind him. “In here,” he demanded, opening the door and pushing you inside with him.

The rough gesture brought you from daydream, realisation kicking in and you pushed Fred away from you. “What the hell?” you yelled, fixing your robes and hair that was a mess but you were consciously aware of them now.

“Shut up,” Fred demanded, covering your mouth with his hand. Your eyes widened again, feeling your heart hammer against your chest at the close proximity of his body to yours. Your eyes darted around his face, his eyes closed as he tried to listen intently to whoever was searching for him. The freckles danced along his nose, similar to how George’s were but with Fred, they were evenly spaced and spontaneous. His eyes lashes were full and long, you envied them. His lips were uneven, his top lip thin and his bottom lip full but they looked so kissable in that moment. When his eyes fluttered open after seconds of silence, your eyes lingered on his for a moment longer. You wondered if he felt the shift in emotion between you, or if it was one-sided. “I think it’s safe.”

You feigned a roll of your eyes and licked the palm of his hand, earning yourself a look of disgust from him. “I don’t even want to know what you did…” you mumbled, glancing around the room he pushed you in; an unused office except it was piled with broken chairs and tables, unopened boxes were on top of each other, some materials spilling from them.

“Of course you don’t, it’d be too much fun for you,” Fred retorted, stepping away from you and stumbling over a box behind him. You laughed loudly, ignoring him flipping you off as you opened the door to the office and stepped outside, only to be met with the peering eyes of Professor McGonagall.

“Professor..” you gasped, trying not to stare too much at the black ashes swept through her hair, “W-what happened to you?”

“Funny you should ask, Miss y/l/n,” her glasses hanging at the end of her nose, “I’m not at all surprised to see you, Mr. Weasley, however, y/n, I do hope that detention tomorrow will give you enough time to think about your actions.”

“P-Professor -,” you stuttered but you were cut off.

“This office looks like it needs a good tidy,” McGonagall peered into the damp and dark office, “It’ll at least keep you both busy on a boring Sunday, without magic.”

You stalked away from Fred when McGonagall excused you, the anger was bubbling inside you and you ignored his chuckles as he followed you back to the common room. “Wait up, y/n.”

You twirled on your heels, getting ready to give this man a piece of your mind when you looked over his shoulder to spot the other twin making his way towards you. A grin was on George’s face until he spotted the two of you, and it deflated just as quickly. “Where did you go?” He asked Fred, shoving his shoulder.

“I bumped into this headwrecker,” Fred pointed towards you. You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, “McGonagall found us.”

“And we both have detention tomorrow,” you deadpanned, glaring at the twins.

“Oh,” George mumbled.

“Oh? Oh? That’s all you can say,” you sighed in frustration, “Because you two are complete gits, I have to sacrifice a whole Sunday and spend it with this twat.”

“I don’t know which bit she’s more annoyed about,” Fred whispered under his breath to George, but you could hear him clearly. You groaned and marched towards the common room, not seeing George and Fred share a look of amusement.

“I’ll give you one guess,” George laughed, shoving his brother again and following after you.

The dreaded hour of the clock struck and you were leaning against the cold, brick wall with your feet stretched out in front of you. Your eyes were glaring at the locked door of the office you misfortunately got dragged into yesterday evening by your so-called enemy. Your developing feelings for Fred ceased before they even got the chance to blossom into something real. The trouble he caused you left a sour taste in your mouth, a permanent frown on your face.

“Miss y/l/n, good morning,” Professor McGonagall greeted you, her eyes scanning the empty corridor for a certain ginger twin but she sighed and shook her head disappointingly when he was nowhere to be seen. With a quick swift of her wand, the door glides open and you follow her into the room with a heavy exhale. “Please do use these hours wisely, maybe even consider building bridges.”

The frown deepened on your face, first because of what she had implied and then secondly because your eyes danced around the room and it looked even worse than what you remembered. Ignoring her previous implications, you questioned her desire to how tidy she wanted this room. With an echoed laugh, she turned her attention to the door barreling open and Fred slipping through the door, “Ah, Mr Weasley, just when I was starting to get worried.”

You turned your back to Fred, not having the energy to deal with him, and you missed the smile he sent your way. “You know I’d never disappoint you, Professor.” You rolled your eyes at the charm lacing through his tone, distancing yourself as far from him as you could and started stacking tables on top of one another. You grimaced at the layer of dust flying around you and tried to swat it with no success. The sound of Fred chuckling made you glance over your shoulder to see him standing there alone, the door clicking on McGonagall’s way out.

“What?” you snapped.

“What?” Fred mimicked you, sitting down on a random chair. He kicked his feet up on a desk, tilting back in the chair slightly and swinging his arms behind his head.

“So what? You’re not going to do anything?” you asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “You got us into this mess.”

“You’ll actually soon realise that if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have got caught.” Raising your brow in his direction, you challenged his statement. “If you weren’t being weird and staying at the library, I wouldn’t have bumped into you and we wouldn’t have been in this office.”

You scoffed, “If you weren’t such a dimwit, we wouldn’t have been in this office.”

“Dimwit, wow,” Fred chuckled, “What age are you, five?”

You stared at him in disbelief, shaking your head and letting out an annoyed sigh, “Just do some fuckin’ work.” You turned on your heels, letting his next sentence fall on deaf ears as you blocked him out. You tried to ignore him as best as you could, the next thirty minutes passing by excruciately slow. It seemed that after five minutes of sitting, Fred got bored of his own company and started stacking chairs and pushing them into the corner with ease.

“Where are you spending the holidays?” Fred asked, breaking the silence.

“Why do you want to know?” you retorted earning a groan from him. You turned your attention to him, watching him lift his navy jumper over his head. Your eyes fell to the exposed area of his abdomen as his t-shirt got caught in the process, you felt yourself becoming flushed and looked away quickly before you got caught. “I’m going to my Grandma’s,” you gave in, finally answering his question.

“I thought Ginny mentioned something about you staying with us.”

“Y-yeah, that was the original plan but I have to go back home,” you mumbled, feeling the sides of your mouth twitch.

“Is everything okay?” Fred asked, he sat on the top of a desk, his legs dangling beneath him. You found yourself closing the gap between your body as the conversation went on, becoming weirdly comfortable with him. This was probably the longest you have ever been in the same room with Fred alone and the hatred that was so often accompanied between you was elsewhere. It felt strange.

You shrugged your shoulders, not knowing what has got into you, why were you opening up to Fred Weasley? “I got a letter from my parents last week, grandma is ill so..”

“That’s understandable,” Fred sighed, his eyes lingering on your features. You avoided his eye contact, feeling the air thicken between you, “Why do you hate me?”

The question caught you off guard and he could tell straight away when your eyes snapped to his and your brows creased together, “What?” you choked out.

“Why do you-”

“No, I heard you,” you snapped, running your fingers through your hair, “What made you ask that?”

Fred pouted, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he thought of a reasonable explanation as to why he was trying to change the dynamics between you. “Honestly, I don’t know, I just want to know why you hate me so much.”

“Fred, why do you hate me?”

“Because you hate me,” he chuckled. His words made you laugh, shaking your head and when he looked up at you, he couldn’t help himself but start laughing as well and soon enough, you both were laughing together in disbelief.

When the laughing died down, you were standing closer to him with a smile tugging on your lips, “You’re a bit of a twat,” you said.

“And you’re a bit of a princess,” he smirked, his brown eyes sparkling in amusement. It was easy to see the differences between Fred and George; in your eyes, they looked completely different. George’s smirk made you want to cradle his face whereas Fred’s smirk made you want to slap it off his face, with your own lips. The thought awoke you from the daze you were in, panic washing over you to see Fred’s features softening. He let out a shaking breathe before he wrapped his fingers around the material of the checkered shirt you were wearing. The startle movement made you stumble forward, but before you could protest, his lips found yours swiftly. For a split second, you felt yourself float away, to a place where there was none of this back and forward conflict. A place where you could relish in one another's company.

It was a happy place, but that was before your eyes shot open and a loud gasp ceased the moment. You pushed him away, wiping your lips with the sleeve of your shirt. "w-what the bloody hell was that?"

You wanted to smack the smirk off Fred's face, the amusement swirling in his eyes irking every bone in your body. "c'mon, it was bound to happen.."

Any ounce of respect that had developed in the last couple of hours that you gained for Fred completely vanished and he could tell by the way you were gawking at him in shock, “It was never going to happen,” you snapped. You stepped away from him, shaking your head.

“y/n, it’s all too expected,” Fred tried to defend him, sitting up from the table he was leaning on, “in all those movies and tv shows you watch, the two that hate each other the most usually fall in-”

“They’re movies, Weasley!” you shrieked, the walls shaking with the tone, “They’re fantasy, they’re… they’re not real life.”

“Why can’t they be?” Fred wondered aloud.

It took you a moment to process his question, your eyes shifting to look at him finally. You watched him gulped, his bottom lip sucked under his teeth, and it all fell into place. The vulnerable look on his face, the pleading in his eyes, made you soften slightly, your heart hammering against your chest. “D-don’t tell me you love me,” you whispered.

Fred’s shoulders lost all the tension they held, drooping down along with the frown on his face that gave you all the answers you needed. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly.

“Fred,” you breathed out, “This is bizarre.”

“You’re acting as if I had a bloody choice in the matter,” Fred hissed, his long fingers running through his hair, brushing it away from his face.

“Of course you do!”

“No, no I didn’t,” Fred stalked up to you, his body towering over you but he wasn’t angry or annoyed, he was desperate, “I woke up one morning and had these sudden feelings for you, but do you understand how hard it was for me when you couldn’t even be in the same room as me?”

You opened your mouth to answer him, but common sense made you see it was a rhetorical question, so you closed it and only stared up at him with wide eyes. There was nothing you could say in this moment to make it better or to make any sense of it. “When?” was all you asked.

“Christmas,” he answered honestly, making your brows cease together, “three years ago.”

“Three years?” you gasped, “Why did you act like you hated me?”

Fred sighed, creating space between your bodies again, “I thought the more I pretended to hate you, eventually my heart would catch up and stop loving you but..” He turned his back to you, swallowing back the heartache he was feeling and placed his hands on the table in front of him, his hands balled into fists. But he only fell in love with you more.

“I’m sorry,” he heard you whisper, the feign touch of your hand on the back of his shirt before it disappeared just as quick. Fred took a few moments to himself, trying to control his breathing and when he turned around to face you, he was met with emptiness. You were nowhere in sight, your bag that rested on the back of a chair gone as well. “Fuck,” Fred mumbled, wanting to scream into the abyss but pulled out his wand and muttered a quick spell to tidy the rest of the office up, trying to hold back the tears that wanted to escape.

Fred hid under the radar for the weeks that passed, hardly being the usual trickster that people were fond of. Everyone that passed the sulking boy in the corridor sent him looks of confusion, some even asked if he was okay to which he brushed them off. George had become worried when it was week three without tormenting any of the professors, and because George was worried beyond reason, you were non-stop hearing about Fred and it pained you knowing that you were the reason for his sudden change in behaviour.

Christmas came and went, the snow started to melt and the leaves were blossoming once again. It was safe to say you were enjoying the peace and quiet in Hogwarts, not having to come up with a comeback every five minutes to fight off the irritation that was Fred Weasley. Deep down, however, there was an abundance of loss. You missed him. It shocked you more than anything but it was true. You missed the sound of his voice, you missed his smart ass comments, you missed him more than you ever thought you would. Maybe there were some underlying feelings and your mind was brought back to the dreams that he occupied, the theme of them made it feel more real.

Sighing into your breakfast, you came to the realisation that morning that you had in fact had feelings for Fred Weasley. “What’s got you mopping?” your eyes lifted to see George sitting down in front of you, no sign of Fred anywhere. The Great Hall was rather crowded for this hour in the morning, there was a buzz in the air.

“I just realised I had feelings for someone,” you admitted loudly, earning every inch of George’s attention, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

“And what are you going to do about them?”

Your eyes connected with your best friend’s stare, your brows creasing together. “You know?” you asked hesitantly, earning an eye roll from George.

“It’s not hard to put two and two together, kiddo,” he chuckled, pouring himself some orange juice, “he’s down at the Quidditch pitch.”

There were so many questions running through your mind but there wasn’t much time. The feelings were overwhelming and you were near sure that you’ve missed your chance with whatever could possibly blossom between you and Fred. You darted from the Great Hall, pushing past crowds of students, ignoring their displeased looks and ran like your life dependent on it towards the Quidditch pitch. When you arrived, your lungs burning and your heart racing, your mood deflated seeing the area completely empty. With your hands on your hips, you tried to catch your breath, sweat beading on your hairline. “Fuck,” you breathed out, turning on your heels but only to halt in your step at the sight of Fred Weasley.

“Looking for me, y/l/n?” he questioned, his voice not as daunting as it used to be. It was flat and soft, something new for him.

“You’re the guy that pretended to hate a girl for years to make her fall in love with you, right?” you asked, a small smirk tugging at the ends of your lips. Fred rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “What if I told you it worked?”

“I’d say buzz off and stop messing with me.”

There was a moment between you and Fred, a moment of understanding where he stared at you from where he stood, the pleading in both of your eyes that showed this was just as awkward for you as it was him. It was different. The change in your interactions was something to get used to, wanting to be around Fred was new. Wanting to kiss him was a thought so out of this world that it blew you away. “I’m sorry I had you sulking for so long.”

Fred chuckled, taking a few steps closer to you until there was just enough space to breath in. For the first time in his life, Fred felt nervous staring at the person that he longed for for so long. “It would have been easier for us both if you just told me you felt the same that day.”

“Life’s never easy, is it?”

“Not when you’re involved,” he winked, the familiar smirk making its way back to his face for the first time in weeks, “I know I didn’t ask permission last time, but..”

“Yes,” you breathed out, this time being the one to wrap your fingers around his collar and pulling him towards you. Your lips pressed against his, the kiss soft and expected this time. Your lips moved in sync, his arms circling around your waist and pulling your closer. The kiss was perfect, and it was something you could get used to.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #fred #fred weasley imagines #weasley twins #harry potter #Harry Potter imagines #Harry Potter fanfic #Fred Weasley fanfic #fred fanfic #Fred Weasley tiktok #weasleytok #freddie #fanfic

883 notes · View notes

vina-writes · 3 years

Text

Ten Favorite Drarry Fic Recs

I’ve reached a bit of a follower milestone, and I thought, why not celebrate? I’m happy! This is an incredible feeling that I honestly can’t fully articulate in writing. Knowing someone enjoyed my work and presence enough that they’d want to be notified if I posted again just makes me squeal and want to hug everyone from joy!! Thank you to anyone who has ever left me kudos, a comment, a tag, a note, an emoji, a tag emoji!! I am endlessly grateful to you all for this support and kindness.

Now, since it’s party time, I’ve compiled a personal list of my ten favorite Drarry fics to share the love. This is by no means a stamp of quality (as there are thousands of brilliant fics out there) and neither is it a guarantee that these are everyone’s cup of tea. But they are certainly my cup of tea— my whole buffet honestly.

I chose fics that made me feel deeply. Fics that made me cry, laugh, throw my phone, squeal and wiggle and dance at the end. These (mostly) weren’t fics which answered deep philosophical questions. They were fics which instead showed me love and adventure, joys and betrayals, misunderstandings and occasionally unbelievable (but appreciated) levels of smut (you know who you are). These are stories I read to be entertained, entranced, delighted, and happy. These are stories that made me feel in love.

In honor of that (and of my Canva addiction) I’ve made little banners for each. I hope they do some justice to these works. I’ve tried to capture the feeling of each fic in just one image. Without further ado, read on to find out exactly what my guilty pleasure (as if Drarry isn’t enough) is:

The Songbirds of Avebury Manor by Tessa Crowley [E, 18k]

Summary: Harry Potter presents as alpha at fifteen, and it is supposed to change his life for the better. Instead, it leads him to a beautiful noble omega he cannot have, a political plot he cannot escape, and a threat on his life.

This story. Oh my stars, this story. What can I even say to properly express how I feel about it? This is the Romeo and Juliet, the Pride and Prejudice, the Hades and Persephone of Drarry. Reading this made me feel like an unwedded Victorian lass waiting for her Prince Charming. It’s a wonderful Historical AU that throws around power dynamics and questions of who is worthy of love, freedom, and respect despite them. This is a brilliant portrait of deep romantic love. Harry’s dedication to Draco is all-encompassing, beautiful, intense, intimate— earth shattering, really. The way they fall in love despite class and situation made me want to cry and write poetry. This is a true fairytale romance.

The Pirate and the Prince by @nerdherderette, maniacani [E, 49k]

Summary: Draco can't believe that fate and circumstance have made him a stowaway on the Master of Death's ship. He doesn't know what's worse: the dread pirate's legendary vendetta against the aristocracy, or the fact that his captor is the most infuriating yet irrefutably fascinating man Draco has ever met.

The moment I started this story I knew it was going to be an instant favorite. It’s swashbuckling, debonair yet disheveled, dangerous, fun, adventurous— everything you could desire from a romance on the high seas! Though they come from very different backgrounds, this Draco and Harry are a power couple to the core. Their romance is once again beautiful, intense, and dedicated, but this time it’s mixed with a healthy dose of self-exploration and mutual acceptance. But apart from romance this fic holds delicious secrecy and identity issues, an astounding knowledge of sailing ships, plenty of piratey shenanigans, some heart-wrenching found family dynamics, a cursing parrot, and a glorious angst with a happy ending finale!

Soup-pocalypse and the Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats [E, 104k]

Summary: Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

What can I say about Soup-pocalypse? It will lure you in with tales of Veelas and romance, and then it will kidnap you and throw you in cooking class and therapy. You’ll come out wondering what just happened and how two days have passed. There will, of course, be Veelas and romance aplenty, but it will be a caring romance, a familial romance, a supportive and kind and nurturing romance. This story feels like family, good cooking, sunny days, the deep heartbreak of change, and through all of it, the truth of a real and solid partnership. This is the humorous yet angst-ridden tale of two idiots learning to love as adults, and then in turn learning to face the world together.

you’ve got the antidote for me by Kandakickass [M, 20k]

Summary: When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want.

He's never been selfless before, but for Harry, he can try.

Right then. On to the angstiest story I’ve ever read and truly enjoyed. Not just enjoyed, adored! Worshipped! Come back to time and again whenever I needed a good cry! Here is the beauty of it: this fic is deeply painful and heartbreaking, yet it steers clear of emotions like disgust and discomfort. Never once was it disturbing— only sorrowful, in the purest and most heart-wrenching way. Yet despite the pain strung throughout the majority of it, this fic left me feeling relieved and rejuvenated, the way one feels after crying their heart out over something simple. It’s an emotional release that does not leave you broken.

On the Last Day of Our World by Sansa [E, 84k]

Summary: During a detention, Harry and Draco get locked in a strange room together overnight. When they escape the next morning, they discover they are alone. Love, angst and adventure abound as they struggle to survive in an empty world.

Truly one of my favorite takes on canon divergence. Truly. This is an exploration of isolation and the joys and comforts that come with it. It is the power couple Drarry to rule them all— a Draco and Harry so strongly connected, in love, and attuned to one another that the world could fall at their feet. This story leaves you on the edge of your seat until the very bitter end— one of those where the second things are briefly peaceful the world goes up in a new set of flames. Those of you who daydream about a partnership that needs no others, two souls who are each other’s family, friend, and future, and would gladly abandon everything to spend eternity alone together: this is for you.

The Arc of the Pendulum by brummel [E, 30k]

Summary: After his father casts a mysterious curse on Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy is forced to try to make things right.

Yes. YES. YES!!! The Beauty and the Beast take you didn’t know you needed! Still canon-compliant to an extent, this is realistic and raw and incredible. Draco makes the choice to help Harry here, and the vulnerability of their interactions while Harry struggles with the curse is everything you could hope it to be. There’s a distinct fairytale atmosphere in this fic— both of them confined together, finding support and comfort in one another while struggling through the effects of the curse, and falling in love along the way. I could write sonnets about the ending using my tears for ink, but they shan’t be revealed here.

Picking Up Pieces by Tessa Crowley [E, 43k]

Summary of Part One: Fifteen years after the War, Draco is a social recluse and award winning author. Harry is an auror who works too hard, ensuring his old war wounds never heal. They meet at a masque ball, unaware of each other's identities. In another situation, it would have been love at first sight. But for them, it would never be so simple.

Picking Up Pieces deserves no introduction, but if you haven’t read it yet, please find a blanket, and cup of tea, and a quiet place to read, cry, and recover. I sobbed my little heart out through the entire second half— the tears were really never ending. How does it end up on a reclist by a fluff lover like me? The answer is similar to Antidote— though this story broke me apart, it was never twisted nor ugly, never disturbing. It was an incredibly touching tale of redemption, forgiveness, human nature, and recompense. The writing does put you through the emotional wringer, but it leaves you relieved and whole. I would lay down my life for this Draco. He truly needs to be protected and loved at all costs. Even though I’m usually careful when recommending heavy stories, I would encourage everyone to read this— it made me feel new, it made me feel like I’d spent an hour crying in the shower, but most of all, it really did make me happy.

Two Trees by LakeWitch [E, 36k]

Summary (shortened): In his Eighth year at Hogwarts, part of Draco Malfoy's probation is to see a Mind Healer once a week. Another part, unfortunately, is having to take Muggle Studies.

It wouldn't be so bad, really, if it weren't for the mandatory outing—a 'field trip'—booked at a Muggle lakeside retreat for the better part of five days. [...] Draco is determined to get it all over with as painlessly as possible. He'll keep his head down, and stay out of everyone's way. That is, until Pansy tells him—at the very last moment—that she's schemed to have Draco stay in the same room with Potter for the whole trip.

Just the two of them... in one room.

This is the comfort fic of all comfort fics. It feels like camping, like sitting by a lake in the sun, like marshmallows over a fire and sparks against a starry sky, and cool, feather-soft hotel sheets. Draco is dealing with several different anxieties here, but the brilliant setting and easy plot turn them into a cathartic read. This is a fic about young love and the ability to build bonds on trips. It made me remember my first crushes and the feeling of getting breakfast in a hotel lobby. There’s cuddling, there’s love, there’s some highly emo Draco (both warranted and unwarranted), and there’s a truckload of nature. Go read it!

Your Place Or Mine? by @l0vegl0wsinthedark [E, 26k]

Summary: "This person is so much harder to hate. And I’m supposed to hate Malfoy. How the fuck else am I supposed to limit this to just sex?"

At first I was like, “Damn, Harry,” but then I was all, “Damn Harry!” but then I went, “DAMN Harry!” (interspersed with a lot of whistling and cursing). I could have slapped him, and you will want to. This is another Draco that deserves endless love and hot chocolate, with a Harry that deserves a good smack. I think about this fic weekly, and not just because it’s endlessly hot— although it is scorching hot, like how do you even write something that hot type of hot. Draco’s pining and Harry’s stupidity makes for the angstiest yet most satisfying friends-with-benefits-but-really-there’s-more combination, and the climax (pun intended) and resulting spill of emotions is everything anyone could hope for. Ten out of ten.

The Courting by the Pureblood Who Only Has Five Milligrams of Romantic Intelligence and Thinks He’s Real Smooth by @cibeewastaken [T, 19k]

Summary (shortened): Draco could grab Potter and shove him into a stall before proceeding to suck his soul out of his dick, but secretly, deep down, in the part of Draco that he will never admit to anyone, he is (everyone pauses to shudder) a romantic. Potter is not someone Draco wants a one-off with. Potter is — Draco’s beloved!

So Draco decides to boldly go where no one has gone before: to put himself through scrutiny; their friends’ teasing and pranks; unsound romantic advice from a house-elf; wearing pretty clothes; all to try and win Potter’s heart through courtship...

This thing of beauty is exactly as hilarious as it sounds. However, it is so much more than the endless laughs (although there are many). It is sweet, tender, touching, and filled with glorious pining and misunderstandings. Inside you’ll find extravagant (the word was literally invented for Cibee’s Draco) outfits, confusing customs, a blanket that brought me to tears, one badass house-elf, one very confused beloved, absolutely no fornication (wink), and one hopelessly smitten pureblood. Be warned, this fic is actually three “What the fuck, Draco?”s in a trenchcoat. I read it when I want to laugh, facepalm, and submerge myself in the adorable stupidity that is Draco Malfoy in love. It is well worth your time and is sure to bring a smile to your face.

With this final fic we conclude my list on a happy note! It’s long, it’s tedious, and I had a spanking good time writing it. I hope these bring some joy or happy tears to your day.

Love, Vina

#vina recs #oh my look a new tag!#long post #drarry #drarry fic rec

255 notes · View notes

xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

guilty | knj x reader | chapter two: incheon mall tube tops

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.5K

notes: i really hope you guys are enjoying namjoon’s story! i think there will only be one more chapter after this. and like a true unfocused writer i started daydreaming about a yoongi one-shot to go with it? gah, nevermind. i really hope you guys like this and i’d love to hear how you feel one way or another. a huge thanks to my amazing beta @hobi-gif who does a hell of a lot more than just find typos. and all of my love has to go out to @ladyartemesia @ppersonna @taetaewonderland because all three of you are so much more than tumblr friends.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

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

It didn’t matter how hard you tried to hide your sadness, Namjoon saw it.

It didn’t matter how many hushed calls you tried to sneak, or how many smiles you tried to force -- Namjoon saw right through your act from the very beginning. He’d seen enough to know that you were facing some kind of personal battle. He understood enough about you to know that you were far too private to bring it up or ask for help.

He should have asked.

The question sat heavy on the tip of his tongue for weeks. He should have asked on the days he would spot you at your desk, fingers pressed to your temples in frustration. Or on the days when he would catch you staring out the window, mind a million miles away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he let himself be driven to distraction by the way your blouses fit perfectly against the lines of your body. The way your pencil skirts hugged the curve of your hips. How soft your hair looked pulled into the low, loose knot you favored.

He found himself stumbling over his words when you’d quietly slip into meetings to deliver an urgent message or he’d drift off in the middle of conversations just because he’d caught sight of you outside his office door.

So it wasn’t long before what started as a preoccupation turned into a full-blown fixation.

You’d turn up at his request, poised and professional as always -- and he’d be lost in thought, defiling you a thousand different ways in his head. Fantasizing about getting his hands on you, his mouth on you, his teeth on you.

You didn’t deserve that.

That’s why Namjoon kept his mouth shut -- stuck in a maddening cycle of wanting to help you, wanting to know you, just wanting you.

All of it made him feel guilty as hell.

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

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

Namjoon has yet to figure out how she manages to be underfoot at the most inconvenient times and simultaneously nowhere to be found when she’s needed. She misplaces files and misses calls and forgets assigned tasks altogether. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s passed her desk to find her taking pictures of herself; lips pouted, angle skewed.

Two weeks ago, she was probably selling tube tops at Incheon Mall and now she’s playing gatekeeper to one of the most powerful men in Seoul. So it’s not her fault that she’s woefully unprepared for this job.

And it’s not her fault that she’s not you.

Namjoon has spent the better part of the morning debating the call he’s about to make, picking up the phone and setting it back down at least half a dozen times. But he’s at the end of his rope, running out of patience and options.

So he swallows his pride and picks up the phone just one more time.

You answer on the first ring.

“Mister Kim.”

God, he’s missed the sound of your voice.

“Good morning,” he starts carefully, clearing his throat. “I’m certain you have a lot on your plate but I was wondering if you could come sit with the new girl for a few minutes. She’s struggling a bit.”

The line is quiet for a moment and Namjoon can practically hear your thoughts on the other end of the line. The ones that say well that’s what you get for replacing your perfectly competent assistant with a child.

“I left notes,” is the quiet reply that comes instead.

“You did.”

“Detailed notes. Written, detailed notes.”

“Yes,” Namjoon agrees, rubbing his fingers across his mouth. “I’m certain they were quite detailed. It’s just that she’s having trouble following those notes because --”

“Because she can’t read?”

Namjoon cringes. Any small hope he had that you weren’t taking your reassignment personally dies with the abrupt delivery of that statement.

“Apparently not,” he admits lamely.

He hears the quiet sigh you take in before answering.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

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

There’s a moment -- just after Seokjin has walked through his office door -- when Namjoon catches a glimpse of you.

You are leaned over the new girl’s desk, lips pursed, pointing something out on the computer screen. Namjoon freezes when you look up and lock eyes with him just as the door swings shut.

Christ, is he ever going to be able to look at you without feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him?

He turns to find Seokjin staring at him, one brow raised.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon exhales, shoving a hand through his hair as he walks back to his desk. “I’m fine. You said you wanted to talk about something?”

“I do,” Seokjin starts, helping himself to a seat. “Two things, actually. Both pertaining to the amazing new assistant you so generously gifted me.”

Namjoon’s nails dig into the palm of his hand.

“Go on.”

“Apparently she’s some kind of whiz with numbers,” Seokjin continues, unbothered by his strained response. “I gave her a few of the books to look over and she already found a couple of our guys in the Songpa district skimming off the top. I’ll bet there’s even more where that came from and she’ll find it. She’s got a good eye.”

Namjoon feels pride stir in his chest. Yet again, you exceed expectations.

“Send Yoongi and Hoseok to Songpa tonight,” he murmurs. “I’ll be curious to hear what kind of explanation our friends come up with for their lapses in accounting.”

Seokjin nods.

“Will do. So the other thing --” he pauses for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out how to carefully deliver what he has to say next. “I know you asked me to try and figure out what’s going on with her and I think I have. You’re right, she’s struggling with some personal issues.”

Namjoon leans forward in his chair, body rigid.

“Let me hear it.”

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

YOU

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

You have yet to figure out why she can’t work the printers or can’t read a simple spreadsheet when you know for fact she knows how to beam her selfies all the way to the goddamned moon.

It’s infuriating.

Just like it’s infuriating to see her seated at what should be your desk, doing what should be your job, working for the man who should be your boss.

Figure shit out, you’d love to tell her. Sink or swim, that’s how the real world works.

The idea of letting her fail so dismally that Namjoon has no choice but to beg for you back is tempting. But then he’d picked up the phone to personally ask you to help.

And apparently you are incapable of denying that man anything.

You’ve stayed late every day this week to review the spreadsheets Seokjin has given you to audit because of the extra time you’ve had to put aside to help the new girl navigate foreign concepts like filing and scheduling.

The numbers tell an interesting story.

The rumors about Kim Namjoon’s skill as a businessman don’t give him enough credit. Money is pouring into the Gajog, hand over fist, from every major district in the city. Billions of won flow into the organization from legitimate and not as legitimate revenue streams alike. Combine the numbers and Kim Namjoon controls an empire worth trillions.

You stare at the sums and your mind flips back to your unexpected pay raise. It’s no wonder Namjoon can afford to be so generous.

It’s no wonder so many of the street-level men who work for him seem to be helping themselves to more than their fair share.

It took you a few days to identify the patterns, comparing the new intake sheets to the old ones, but once you did the missing money practically jumped off the page. Just a few audits in and you’d already been able to find at least 119 million won unaccounted for.

The Kim Namjoon you know is reserved and unflappable -- but this is information that’s bound to piss even him off.

What is a man like him like when he’s angry?

You shudder at the thought.

Before long, the night sky stares back at you from the window across from your desk and you decide it’s well past time you went home. You sort everything into neat piles and leave yourself organized notes before packing up to leave.

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

There’s no answer from your mother when you call to her from the hallway.

You frown as you make your way to her bedroom, worry melting away when you find her asleep in her chair. Her head is bent at a sharp angle, and you immediately move to help her prop her up.

Her eyes open to slits, unfocused from sleep and medication.

“Ttal,” she whispers, grimacing as she straightens out the crick in her neck.

“Eomma,” you whisper in a hushed rebuke. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t fall asleep in this chair, it’s terrible for you.”

She nods slowly, pointing to a glass of water on her nightstand. You hand it to her, but it wobbles in her weak grip and you take hold of it to help her drink before setting it aside.

“I’m hurting tonight,” she admits.

“I know,” you sigh, heart breaking. “Come, let me help you into bed.”

The process is painstaking. You help hoist her frail frame out of the chair and over to the side of the bed then work carefully to help her lie back. There’s no meat on her anymore, just skin and bones, so you tuck her blankets carefully around her legs and arms until you’re certain she’s not shivering anymore.

You know this isn’t working.

It doesn’t matter how many calls you make over the course of a day to check in, or how many well-meaning neighbors drop in to help, leaving your mother alone for hours in this state is a dangerous gamble.

You fight back tears of frustration. You grew up without siblings and your father has been gone for years. Being alone is something you’ve had a long time to get used to.

But you’ve still never felt as alone as you do right now.

You think in the quiet for a while, stroking your fingers across your mother’s upturned palm, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do.

Unsure of what comes next.

“Kim Namjoon grew up to be such a handsome man,” your mother rasps.

The steady stroke of your fingers comes to an abrupt halt as the fine hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

Your mother doesn’t repeat herself.

“Eomma,” you urge, nudging her hand with yours. “What is this talk of Kim Namjoon?”

Her lips quirk when she closes her eyes like she’s recalling a pleasant memory.

“His mother was beautiful,” she breathes quietly. “God smiled on that boy. He looks nothing like his father.”

The dull panic that’s already started to pulse in your chest sharpens to a point.

She has to be hallucinating.

She has to be taking too much medicine because nothing she’s saying makes any sense. You fumble for the bottles on her nightstand, pulling off the caps and pouring the pills out onto the tabletop. You count them over and over until you’re satisfied your mother hasn’t taken a dangerous amount of drugs.

“Eomma, why are you talking about Kim Namjoon?” you plead. “Help me understand.”

But when you look back to your mother, you realize your words are already falling on deaf ears. She’s slipped back into a sleep state once again.

If only it were that easy for you.

When you finally get to crawl into bed a short while later, you toss and turn all night.

Somewhere in the haze between asleep and awake you dream of Kim Namjoon.

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

Your mother’s mental clarity is always better in the morning.

After she’s had a night of rest -- and whatever medicine she’s taken has had some time to wear off -- she’s much more alert, much more like her old self. But you still weren’t able to get anything by way of answers out of her as you made breakfast this morning.

You’d made her favorite cold cucumber soup before carefully broaching the subject of last night’s strange conversation. You’d waited patiently for some kind of explanation about why she mentioned a man she hasn’t spoken of in years.

It didn’t come.

There was something odd about the way your mother went completely quiet at your mention of Namjoon. Something odd about how adamant she was about not having any memory of the conversation at all.

That odd look on her face is the one thought on your mind as you make your way to work in a complete fog. You slip into an open elevator and hit the button for your floor on autopilot.

You don’t even realize that you’re not alone until a soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

“I remember you.”

Your eyes flick up from their unseeing stare at your shoes to a young woman standing against the elevator’s back wall.

“Miss Kim,” you breathe, brushing an errant hair out of your face. Your cheeks are still stinging from the cold. “Good morning.”

Namjoon’s sister is a beautiful woman, without a doubt — but until this moment, you hadn’t realized how much she resembles her brother. They have the same striking features, the same smooth skin and high cheekbones and full lips.

They share the same dark, kind eyes.

“I remember you now,” she repeats, mouth curving into a smile. “I knew I recognized you, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I finally connected the dots.”

“Well, I wasn’t around a lot when we were kids,” you admit shyly. “So that’s certainly understandable.”

“That’s true,” she agrees. “And I try not to think back to those times a lot but you made an impression on me. You were always so sweet.”

Your cold cheeks seem to warm at her compliment.

“Thank you.”

The elevator stops at her floor but she seems reluctant to end the conversation. She leans against the door to prop it open.

“My brother,” she asks carefully, “Is he treating you well? Is he a fair boss?”

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Well, he’s not my boss anymore,” you admit. “He replaced me not long ago. But yes, he was very fair when I worked for him.”

Her lips part in a soft gesture of surprise when you deliver that news.

She’s quiet until the elevator blares a loud reminder that it’s time to close the doors. She smiles at you on her way out the door, opting not to comment on the quality of her brother’s staffing decisions.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmurs. “But I’m still really glad you’re here.”

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

An inviting scent is the first thing you notice when you get home that night.

The second thing you notice are the voices.

You make your way down the long hallway with careful steps, trying to place the sound of the voice coming from your mother’s bedroom. It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Sim -- in fact, it doesn’t sound like anyone you know.

You stop short at the sight that greets you when you round the corner.

A woman -- a complete stranger is in your mother’s room.

You stand frozen in shock as you watch the stranger read to your mother from her seated position in the chair next to the bed. She looks up from the page when she realizes you’re there, giving you a better look at her pleasant, aged face.

“Aish,” she startles, clapping a hand over her chest. “Here I was, worried about scaring you and instead you’re the one giving me a fright.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice.

“Forgive me,” you start weakly, “But who are you? And how did you get into this house?”

The woman stands to adjust the pillow under your mother’s head before meeting you in the doorway. “She’s resting now,” she says, nodding at your mother’s still form on the bed. “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?”

Should you be screaming right now? Calling the police?

There’s no good explanation for why you do neither and decide instead to follow this complete stranger into your kitchen instead. She walks to the stove to stir whatever she has cooking in the pot.

“Get off those feet,” she admonishes kindly. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

Again you comply, inexplicably following orders.

“I made Budae Jjigae,” she explains, ladling some of the stew into a bowl. She sets it down in front of you, and you stare back at her like an idiot. The stew smells amazing, and you’re immediately hit with a well-timed hunger pang.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“My name is Jinjoo,” she replies sweetly, handing you a spoon. “And I work for you now.”

“You work for me,” you repeat slowly.

“I do,” Jinjoo nods. “Mister Kim hired me.”

The spoon clatters loudly against the lip of the bowl when you drop it. For a moment, it’s hard to breathe. You have to wait for the strange sensation that snakes up your spine to subside before you speak again.

“Mister Kim.” You echo her again, dumbly.

Jinjoo takes a seat next to you at the table, radiating a patient kindness that makes you want to give into the urge to trust her. She smiles reassuringly at you, voice soothing when she speaks again.

“Yes. He said you needed help with your mother, and I can understand why. I nursed in hospitals for decades, dear. I can see your mother is in a bad way.”

You blink back at Jinjoo in stunned silence.

“I assure you, I’ll give your mother the best quality care,” she vows, patting one of your hands with her own. “And Mister Kim has already paid me well in advance, so don’t even think about trying to get rid of me.”

That statement almost makes you laugh.

You don’t want to get rid of Jinjoo at all. Ten minutes ago you had no idea she existed and in the span of one conversation she’s become one of the most important people you know. Tears well in your eyes as you stare into your bowl of stew, at a total loss for words.

Jinjoo seems to sense how overwhelmed you are. She gives you some space to process what’s going on, stroking one soft hand over your shoulder when she stands to leave.

“Eat something, dear. I’m gonna go sit with your mother for a while.”

You look up at her with watery eyes and nod, reaching for the spoon.

“This smells really good,” you say softly.

“Well, I’m a great cook. You’ll see,” she promises.

“Jinjoo -- “ you call out after her as she walks away. “Thank you,” you manage, voice thick with emotion. “I can’t thank you enough.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle when her mouth curves into a smile.

“You’re welcome.”

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

Jinjoo’s stew was delicious -- not that you had the chance to fully appreciate it.

You’d sat in that kitchen alone for some time, eating slowly while you tried to process yet another bombshell in what seemed to be a series of them. Everything that’s happened to you since Namjoon reassigned you has been a whirlwind; from the sudden pay raise to the sudden arrival of Jinjoo.

You eat the last of the stew with your stomach in knots.

Namjoon knows your mother is sick. And you don’t know how to feel about it.

A part of you feels exposed when you think about him uncovering the sad details of your mother’s health battle. But knowing that he stepped in to help you fight it makes you feel something you haven’t felt in years.

Cared for.

The sound of laughter from your mother’s bedroom echoes down the hall and you stand to follow it.

Her favorite variety show is playing on the small TV in front of her bed, and it appears Jinjoo is a fan, too. You lean in the doorway and watch the women giggle at the silly skit. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard the sound of your mother’s laugh.

It makes you smile.

“Jinjoo, could you give us a moment, please?”

You almost hate to interrupt the instant camaraderie between the two women but you recognize that your mother is in the midst of a rare moment of clarity. You have to strike while the iron is hot.

“Of course,” she agrees, standing.

You wait until the sound of her footsteps fades away before taking her place in the worn chair next to your mother’s bed. Your mother smiles at you, taking one of your hands into her own.

You squeeze her fingers gently.

“Eomma, no more secrets,” you murmur. “Tell me the truth. Did Kim Namjoon come here?”

Your mother swallows thickly before nodding.

“He asked me not to tell you,” she admits. “He said he didn’t want you to refuse his help.”

You shut your eyes and imagine Namjoon in your home, in this room. Speaking to your mother. Making plans to send Jinjoo. Your chest squeezes so tight that for a moment it’s hard to breathe.

“Okay,” you concede quietly. You maintain the appearance of careful calm because you don’t want to make your mother feel worse than she already does., “It’s alright Eomma, I’m not angry, I promise.”

A peculiar look passes over her face. Her eyes dart away from yours and that’s all it takes for you to know you don’t have the full story. You decide to toughen your stance.

“Look at me, Eomma,” you say firmly. “If there’s anything I don’t know, you need to tell me right now. I need to know all of it. Everything.”

“I -- “

“Just tell me what it is,” you repeat, patience hanging by a thread.

Your mother sighs, lifting one weak hand in the direction of her dresser. You turn to stare at the pile of papers stacked there, realization dawning in an instant. You move on unsteady legs to walk over and take hold of them.

Radiology, pulmonology, chemotherapy.

You know exactly how much is owed on each of those bills because the numbers are burned into your mind. Those numbers are the reason you leave your mother for hours on end every day to go to work. Those numbers are the reason why it’s so hard to sleep at night.

You don’t realize that your hands are shaking until you hear the papers rustling.

Every bill bears the same neat, handwritten marking.

paid -- knj

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

NAMJOON

Namjoon watched his sister leave early tonight with Hoseok. Seokjin is out to dinner with his wife. And Yoongi is off doing -- well, whatever the hell Yoongi does when he’s not around.

There’s no one here tonight to tell Namjoon to go home. No one to point out that he’s had too much to drink or that it’s happening far too often.

So he pours another scotch.

The glass sweats in his hand as he stands in front of his window, deep in thought.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about the way you struggled in silence, caring for your mother alone -- too proud to ask for help. The way you catered to Namjoon’s every need and whim without ever making mention of yours. The way he’d let it go on for far too long, selfishly wrapped up in the way you made him feel.

“That girl is going to get you killed.”

Namjoon tells himself the sound of your voice is a figment of his imagination, an entirely predictable side-effect of too much scotch. But it’s followed quickly by your soft footsteps against the plush carpet in his office and both sounds are too real to ignore.

He turns to assess you, quietly sipping his drink.

Fuck, you are beautiful.

You have no right turning up here tonight -- looking like that -- testing him when he is at his weakest. Your dark eyes flash with something like a challenge and Namjoon feels his blood warm.

“That girl is never at her desk and she has no idea who’s coming or going,” you accuse quietly. “She’s putting you at risk.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow half-smirk that teases the edge of his mouth.

“Perhaps,” he admits. “But there are different kinds of risk. Maybe you put me at risk, too.”

He shouldn’t take pleasure from the way your eyes go wide at that statement. Or from the way you overcompensate by standing taller, chin lifted high.

But he does.

“Mister Kim -- “ you start.

“ -- Namjoon,” he interrupts. “Don’t you think it’s time you called me Namjoon? Haven’t we known one another since we were kids?”

“Namjoon,” you correct yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know about everything. Jinjoo, the bills, all of it.”

Namjoon says nothing for a moment, draining his glass before setting it down on his desk with a heavy thud.

“Why?” you ask quietly. “Why did you do this for me?”

Because I would do anything for you.

He doesn’t voice that thought out loud. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he also knows he shouldn’t be closing the distance between you right now, and he’s doing that anyway. He steps closer, quietly, and you swallow hard, thrown by his silence and his advance.

“That’s not -- that’s not something you do for an employee,” you protest, slowly backing away. You stop only when the ledge of his desk hits you on the backside.

“The late nights and the extra hours. Everything else you did,” Namjoon murmurs, stepping close, chest rising and falling with his deep breaths. “Did you do that for your boss? Or did you do that for me?”

He leans closer, caging your body against his desk. Your lips part in surprise and Namjoon forces himself not to react when your tongue slips out to wet them.

“Namjoon, I -- ” your voice is barely above a whisper when you find it. “-- I don’t understand you right now.”

“How could I have every resource at my fingertips and not help you?” he asks, reaching one hand out to cup your face. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips and you shudder under his touch. “Why didn’t you come to me when you knew I could help?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, pupils blown and cheeks flushed.

“You should have come to me,” he admonishes quietly. You lean into the touch of his hand. “I would have given you anything you asked for. Anything.”

“I understand that,” you say quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying your attempt at calm. “Because I would give you anything you asked for, too.”

Something about the way you say that snaps Namjoon back to reality.

He looks down at you like he’s only just now realized that he’s loaded on scotch, leaning you over his desk -- and well on his way to taking advantage of this situation. He tenses, pulling away.

“This is -- this is not --” he sputters pathetically for a moment. “Go home,” he pleads. “Please.”

He’s never hated himself as much as he does right now -- when you’re looking up at him with hurt and confusion in those wide, dark eyes.

“Go home before I do something I can’t take back.”

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

tag list!

@prettyguardiansailormin @barbikatherine @55west81st @laabellaavitaa21 @codeinebelle @jalexad @trynavibewhileicry @poohsaidhi @eltrain80 @bluewhale52 @sahmfanficbts @midnighttifa

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon mafia #bts mafia #ficswithluv #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub

1K notes · View notes