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2lim3rz · 3 months

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IN THE EYES OF THE LION (VHA) (Lion El'Jonson x Reader) (WH40K)

As a gift to a friend (you know who you are) Enjoy! Hopefully I can write more! (Part 2 to Gulliman's fic should follow shortly)

You were a nobody amongst the privileged servants. Performing your duty as you always had. Cleaning where no one trusted servitors to. Polishing all the nooks and crannies their bulky metallic bodies couldn't. It wasn't too uncommon for one of your rank and file to be in the same room as one of the primarchs in the grand hall. Yet every time it took your breath away. One of you would stow away and whisper it over your meals. Describing in your meager words of the might. The beauty. The magnificence.

The one visiting your resident Primarch's fortress, Rogal Dorn you recall his gleaming golden figure, was one you hadn't seen before. His steps were somehow lighter and as you peaked around the corner, fighting your human need to scamper and hide, you saw his armor etched delicately with foreign symbiology. Another planet's cultural markings. On his chest in the sea of silvery-blue was a sword with wings. Held in one hand with respect towards his brother was a winged helmet.

Yet it was his face that stole your breath, as all the primarchs did but this one was somehow more intense, an impossibly handsome face passively greeted Rogal Dorn. Elegant blond locks crowned his head and the similarly colored beard didn't look as course as an average man's beard did. Indeed it somehow looked soft.

Though as he spot, no, barely was past the first words of introductions, you saw (hard to see as it was from your hunched ogling manner) the way his steeled face gave a strange twitch. His nostrils flaring and eyes giving the briefest flicker about before settling undeniably where you were.

"Lion?" Rogal Dorn's low voice echoed in the empty chamber hall. You felt a shiver down your spine. A human's predator instincts switching to prey animal overdrive. Your heart thudded. Your palms sweated. All the while the new primarch, Lion (a name so fitting your breath hitched in its nerve wracked fear), just stared and stared and stared.

"We have a spy." his voice was somehow higher than Dorn's and still perfectly masculine. Your skin shivered again so strangely as he idly pointed an armored hand towards you. As if you were somehow so beneath him. You were. A mere mite in the glory of the higher beings.

Rogal Dorn, though his back was against you now, gave a full turn to where his brother's hand was pointed. Looked at you. Little groveling you as you trembled and shook and stared and stared and stared back at the glowering Lion.

Familiarity flashed in those eyes. Amusement on his features. The snapping of his gauntleted hands made you shriek and fall backwards. You saw the minute twitches in the solidly armored Astartes performing ceremonial and true guards. The trusted few around the Lion had their hands twitch to weapons.

"Come here." the primarch's voice, though not harsh, left no room for patience. Though as you stood on trembling hands you only watched Lion's face give those soft twitches as though fighting a snarl. The metal of his helmet gave a protesting groan as you started walking forward.

Rogal Dorn, thank the Emperor you mentally would praise later, noticed the actions of the fellow Primarch. His head looked towards him impossibly quick. The Lion reminded you of a feline. All subtle tensing muscle.

You didn't know it then how out of character it was for the Lion to be so out of characterly ill-mannered. The heavy and fast way Rogal Dorn's hand all but slammed on the breastplate of the other primarch. Steel eyes glaring into the luminated green of the Lion's face face.

"You are dismissed. Leave." Rogal Dorn's angered voice struck you to your core. You turned and scampered away like a punished canid. Yet before you could abscond through servant's corridors, the Lion's smooth snarl of a voice pierced your heart. "You must be rid of that one, brother."

You recounted the tale to your fellow servants during evening mealtime. Holding your hands together during the moments they threatened to shake. The gasped and held your hands during your dismissal. They tutted their worries, hoping that you would not be fired. Surely, it was just a case of wrong moment and wrong times. Surely, surely, surely.

As sure as the winded runner that panted and breathed you were needed. Personally requested by the supervisor. Worried looks. Murmured rumors already beginning. You were a gossipy lot. The supervisor shouldn't have seen to you. You were just doing your job as scheduled.

You were given a parcel. A location (the loading docks) and a time of leaving. You were being sent off. Punished worst than you ever would have thought. Lashings were preferable to totally being sent away.

Fighting your tears, you made your way at the selected time to the docks. Fighting through the blurry world as you choked sobs and the overwhelming presence of more and more Astartes about you. You were so used to the presences of them and yet there was more than usual, different ones and-

You stopped at the dock you were told to go. Your meager belongings in your arms.

You stared, disbelieving. Waiting for you were stone faced or helmeted Astartes in that familiar silvery blue. Fear washed over you as you mutely followed them. Fear froze you completely from your woe was me sulking. Fear chewed and chewed and chewed. Was Rogal Dorn giving you over personally to the Lion for punishment? He was not like that. He was a kind, if not impersonal, master.

Stepping off with a nudge to your back from a ceramite encoated fist, you nearly fell to your knees as you looked up and up and up. The Lion stood in front of you. Your heart stuttered in your very chest. "Leave me be." Lion did not need to shout his orders. His men obeyed in silence. Slinking off like the predatory beasts in men's flesh that they were.

You were alone.

Watched by the Lion.

#warhammer 40k #primarch x reader #x reader #lion el'jonson x reader #lion el'jonson #volatile hearts au #VHA

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hughiecampbelle · 4 months

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Waves Pt. 1 (Kendall Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Kendall, Logan

Word Count: 1,518

Inspired By: Liquid Smooth - Mitski (Audiotree Live Version)

Requested: Ok I have no idea why I was so drawn to these but if any inspiration strikes, maybe a fic or something with Shrink from the description prompts and Clawfoot Tub from Object/Thing prompts. To me it vibes with Kendall but I'd be happy seeing it written with anyone that comes to mind - @locke-writes

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: Noah I'm sorry it's literally been a million years. I got bit by the writing bug this morning and I saw your request and I just wanted to hurt everyone's feelings lol. Please forgive me!!! I hope you're doing okay and that this isn't too late/total garbage!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Succession Masterlist / REQUESTS ARE OPEN / Waves Pt. 2

He can close his eyes, he can plunge himself beneath the water, he can hold his breath until his lungs begin to burn, set fire in in his chest, exhaling smoke and ash, but, he cannot forget. It wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t hurt. It wasn’t anger. It was heartbreak. Pure, genuine heartbreak. It was visceral and agonizing and bloody. You were shattering before him, across the room for him, and he could do nothing but watch. Stare. Like a fool. An onlooker to the breakdown of a stranger, a pedestrian, instead of the love of his life. Shrinking deeper, smaller, until you were nothing but a mite atop the fabric of the cushions. Wine stem in shaking hand, a coffee table between you littered with various glasses and room-temperature alcohol. There was sweat of the outside, the ice cubes long forgotten, beading down into the coaster. Behind him, faintly, he can hear the rest of the party. A steady, low murmur of voices fills the pulsing air between you. His father, a man made of rot and stone, spoke those awful words to you, about you, right in front of you. He berated you. He spat at you. He called you a worthless nothing, an appendage growing from his son, sucking the life out of him. Sucking the blood and money from this family. Then, to him, he insists that he could find someone better, smarter, better looking. There is no rebuttal, there is no last straw, there is only a cowering of his spine, as if this lecture has been triggered by the roundness, proudness of his shoulders, his posture and chest. He braces for impact. He flinches. When his show is over, when the last lines have been spoken, he takes his bow and exits off stage.

There is an audience of two and no one is clapping.

Siently, your eyes widen and well up in tears. He swears, though he can't say definitely, he cannot verify yes, it truly happened, you let out a single gasp of air. A wretched sound to anyone listening. The screech of tires before it crashes. The burst of porcelain across the hard wood floors, the remnants scattering, running, scraping on impact. The wet squelch of a someone rummaging around inside of someone’s open torso, trying to find and stop a bleed before the patient dies on the table. It is unfinished. It is dirty. It is obscene. It is a sound one wishes to take back, to unhear. Childishly, he wants to press his hands over his ears. He wants to beg you to stop, please, please! But just as it occurs, it is over. A single gasp. A single breath. Proof of life. You were never one for the dramatics. Your personality had always been shy. This was no different. Wounded animals did not announce their wounds. Instead, they dragged themselves off into solitude and assessed the damage. He’s not sure why he knew this was happening, why this was going to happen, only that he does. He stands, his eyes never leaving you. As if on cue, you set your drink down and take your place parallel to him, on your feet. You don’t wipe your tears away. You don’t even realize they’ve fallen. You move towards the closet by the entrance. He tries to stop you, to help you, to comfort you, but all that comes out is begging. Pleading. Please don’t go. Please, y/n. Excuses. You know dad, he wasn’t- he didn’t mean it. Please don’t go. Please. . . You find your coat on the hanger and slip your arms through. It was beautiful today, the weather, but the nights get cold and vengeful and you have already been bitten. Your skin resembles the inside of Logan’s mouth: you are covered in teeth marks and spit. You were his chew toy, for a little while, for a long time, before he decided he was bored. Before he decided he was done with you.

He catches your arm, places his fingers around your bicep as if you are a lifevest and he a survivor of drowning. Scared. No, petrified, he cannot make full sentences. He stutters his way through something that does not resemble anything else. There are no apologies, from him or his father, so it must not be an apology. There is bargaining, but there is no deal. There is only a smattering of words that come to mind, a mess, a diaster of drastic proportions. No one else has notice the mess before you, preventing you from leaving. They have not bled out from the dining room yet. If you want this to be quick, painless, you have to do it soon. Wordlessly, you tug yourself free. You meet his eyes: hazel, warm, pooling with conflictions. You know this. You have seen this before. Torn in half: his left goes to Logan, promises that he will one day make him proud, his right throws himself into you, at you, and you must clean him up. You must clean up the crime scene. Even now, after what his father’s said, after what he’s been saying all the years you’ve been together, and still he can’t make up his mind. He can’t decide. You’ve grown tired of half. Half of him, his love, his attention. Half of the man you endured pain, and hatred, and disgust for. This family never liked you. This family never gave you a second thought. It was supposed to be worth it, being ith him, staying with him. How foolish you feel. How stupid you are, standing here, watching him go back and forth. You put your hand on his, squeeze it, before pulling away from him. You eye his form before the elevator doors shut. He wore the suit you loved, with the tie his father had chosen for him so long ago. His shoes resembled Logan’s, but his socks, the one’s you’d watched him pick out this morning, were one’s you’d gotten him this past Christmas. If he could have, if he had the ability, he would have cut himself to pieces and gifted half to you, half to Logan. He was already doing that, just without the wrapping paper and bow. Without the hacksaw. Without the gore.

He’d call your phone, over and over, listening to the familiar of your voice as it directs him to leave a message. He doesn’t stop until the box is full. His siblings make their jokes when they notice your absence. Cruel, harsh, Roy-like. He is grateful you are not here to listen, to hurt anymore than you already are. Logan pats him on the back, inviting him into his good graces as if the past hour hadn’t happened, as if your entire marriage hadn’t happened. Stunned, shocked, Kendall goes along with it. He tries to speak up, to stand up, but it is ill timed, ill received, and Logan shuts it down before it has the potential be anything impactful. I see y/n had better plans than to be here with their family. His defense gets stuck in his throat. He nearly chokes.

The water is cold, frozen, and he splashes in over his face. The look in your eyes. The gasp. Stop, he thinks, stop, stop, stop. You took the car and disappeared. He called and called and you never picked up. He thought, he hoped, you might be home, but when he let himself in the place was dark and uninviting. He searched for signs, clues you might have left him, but everything lay undisturbed. Tipsy and full of regret, he lets the faucet run in the tub. Had you been here. Had this whole night not happened, you might’ve joined him. He always felt the most at home here, with you, in the bath. You would have laughed at him, yelped that the water was too cold, before dipping your head under. You were so much braver than him. Now he sits, knees to chest, his back arched into a C. He is shivering and unhappy and cursing himself. If he could just say something, anything. If he had been doing it since you got together, all those years ago, instead of making you his fathers personal pin cushion. If, if, if. If he had been a better man, a better husband, a better son. Isn’t that what’s wrong, though? He was a good son, he was better than good, but he was not a worthy husband. All these years he watched you get torn down. He watched as something withered and died inside of you. But you still showed up. You braced yourself for impact. You laughed along to jokes made at you expense. And at the end of every night, every party, every event, you went home with him. Hand in loving hand. He didn’t know where you were, what you were doing, only that he was overwhelmed with the terrible feeling, while staring at the empty side of the tub, that he had made a horrific mistake that he could not take back.

#requested #writing #kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy imagine #succession #succession x reader #succession imagine #succession fic #kendall roy fic #series

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distinguisheddwarffriend · 6 months

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My brain is FULL of TH fic ideas but I've already got 3 WIP and most of them are just "what if"s with no plot so I'll just post them here I guess and maybe some writing god hears me/ reads them and someone else actually uses them.

Here's Nr. 1:

Frerin did in fact NOT die at Azanulbizar but was transported into our modern world, sometime in the second half of the 19th century.

After some adjusting (industrialization is in full force but it's still not as 'bad' as it would be rn) he builds a life, him being a dwarf meaning that he ages extremely slowly compared to us lowly humans so he has to move after a while and again and again.

He lives in the UK, US, France, Germany, Italy, Finland.....

He fights in both world wars depending on where he lives during that time (WW1 on the German side, WW2 on the UK's), other than that he goes to university and works all kinds of jobs like policeman, fireman, soldier, teacher, carpenter,smith, weaver, factory worker, violinist etc etc etc

Around 1900 he meets this fella J R R Tolkien and befriends him, and after a time finds out that his friend is writing books about middle Earth, not only that, but one about his very own brother. Tolkien apparently is a seer of some kind because it's still almost a century until "The Hobbit" would happen (he does the math).

Frerin helps Tolkien with authenticity for his books, because the dude is smart and found out about Frerin after he corrected his Khuzdul one time too many.

Anyhow, after reading what will happen to his family, he becomes a mite bit obsessed with returning to Middle Earth and having ammased quite some wealth and with the help of some friends in high places starts founding various research projects into things like teleportation, multiverse, magic, alchemy, you name it. He also becomes a member of the Freemasons due to his occult knowledge.

In around 80 years there's almost no progress towards Frerin's goal of returning home, he does still have a research company but only a small group of mostly students works on the multiverse hypothesis, the rest does all kinds of stuff, technology, energy, whatever.

He has for the time being settled somewhere in Scandinavia, is a College Professor for Sociology and Political Science and volunteers as a social worker for troubled children.

He is fostering 2 or 3 children himself (ages 6 - 16) and has two grown up adopted children that still live & work with him (they found out about him), a guy & a lass ( both early twenties).

Somehow (don't ask I don't know) the whole household (meaning Frerin, his two young adult children, the foster children, his south American householder, her tiny dog and their personal Butler (more of a live-in family friend by now, think Niles from "The Nanny")) all get sucked into a portal or whatever end get spit out into Middle Earth.

Not at Ered Luin of course, that would be easy, no, but somewhere extremely inconvenient. The Lone lands, the Brown lands, Moria, something along the lines of "we are so fucked".

So now it is a few years (1-3, or the characters have too much time to become Mary-Sues), before the quest to Erebor, and they have to reach Thorin before then and somehow survive a world filled with orcs (and elves!) while juggling a 6 year old, a tiny & barky dog, a cliché Mamacita, a British butler, and Frerin's realisation that he has gotten much too used to modern convenience.

(my weak ass would probably include some romance between one/more than one of the original characters and the canon characters, I'm a sucker for Fili or Kili x OFC and rare pairings like KilixBifur or ThorinxNori and I want Frerin to date an elf or Bard I think.)

.... Does this sound like something you would read/write? I'd maybe try to write this with someone else, alone I don't dare to. What do y'all think?

#the hobbit #tolkien #middle earth #fili and kili #fili durin #thorin oakenshield #fíli #the hobbit fanfiction #kili durin #kíli #frerin #hobbit au #fanfic #fanfic ideas #the hobbit imagine #MGiME #modern character in middle earth

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west-brooke · 2 years

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Lyrics: The 2nd Law: Unsustainable- Muse

Back at it again with more art for New Hardware (ch 9-10: Biomechanical)

I’ve had this scene stuck in my head for a long time, so I’m super exited to now not only have written it, but drawn it at well! I played a round with a lot of perspective, lighting, and poses that I haven’t really done before, and I ended up really proud of the end result.

(The lyrics “you’re unsustainable” are from the song The 2nd Law from my New Hardware playlist that lives rent free in my brain, especially when I was writing/drawing for this chapter )

Base color version

Closeups

Biomech Concepts

They have names, but the turtles wouldn’t know them yet. These aren’t drawn to scale, since Mites are pretty small. The Antlion was the big boy attacker this time, but the Mites were also present, if you noticed them! Their eyes work a lot like security cameras, no?

These guys were a ton of fun to design! Monster/creature design is definitely something I enjoy and I love getting the opportunity to do so for my fic. The Krang are really great sources of inspiration on that front.

Time Taken: 6h 26m

Program Used: Procreate

Please do not repost, trace, or claim my art as your own on this or any other social media site. For those interested in reading this fic, see the pinned post on my profile!

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt art #rottmnt new hardware #new hardware #rottmnt krang #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt leo #rottmnt fic #new hardware spoilers #rottmnt movie #cw eye

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blubushie · 10 months

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I'm going to be completely honest, you are extremely cool. I do have an actual question though: When did you start using tumblr and why? What made you decide to share your story via this account?

Sorry this is a mite late, I typed all this up and then my browser crashed and I had a 5-second breathing exercise so I didn't lose my mind over my lost 5 paragraphs.

I actually had a Tumblr account from 14-17. I first joined because I had the understanding that Tumblr was largely a safe haven for the Other Crowd—people like me that were social outcasts or didn’t fit in anywhere else. I deleted that account when I was 17 because Back In My Day they were too many creeps on Tumblr that were obsessed with the sexualisation and anatomy of an intersex 16 year old boy. I had too many questions about what was under my clothes, I had too many chasers flirting with me and talking about my anatomy in ways no child should ever be spoken to or of about, and I’ve been down that road before and it got to be too much so I shot through (luckily that hasn’t happened since I’ve been here now except for the occasional hate asks).

I came back after meeting Lozza (who I’m aware is active here—please fucking DM me if you’re reading!) who got me into TF2, and I came for the TF2 crowd and to talk about my fic. Funnily enough, this all started because of Learnin’ the BLUs, and how I wanted to reach people with my writing and my take on Sniper from someone who’s been in his shoes long enough to get it.

I stayed because TF2Tumblr largely doesn’t seem to understand much about Sniper. I haven’t seen an instance of anyone really getting him down as a character—hell, I don’t think even I fully get it. I impart a lot of my own experiences onto him, but I’m lucky (or unlucky) enough that I have the ability to do so. I’m a bushman, a functionally extinct species. I’m a sniper. I’m a bounty hunter. I understand Australia and what it would’ve been like for him to grow up there as an Other, I understand the culture—a major problem with people writing Sniper in Australia is that they base him off city roo things when this bloke is from the outback. Australians aren’t a monolith. We’re not the same across towns in the outback, let alone across states and territories. And city life and outback life are two VASTLY different experiences. The outback covers about three-quarters of the Australian continent but only holds 5% of its people.

You’re alone out there.

A lot of people don’t understand, or even know, a bloody thing about sniping. There’s a helluva lotta maths involved. It’s rocket science with a rifle. They don’t understand camping, or what makes a bushman a bushman, or what drives people to be bushman, or that there’s some kinda magic in Australia itself that sings in your blood and pulls at you like a noose when you leave. They don’t think about how he wouldn’t recognise a single star when he looks at the sky in New Mexico, how the moon would be upside-down, how there’s suddenly people everywhere when most of his life he’d be lucky to see a total of five people over the span of a month. That shit affects who you are as a person. They also don’t understand that shy, gentle Sniper wouldn’t be a thing—shyness and gentleness is not something people are looking for in someone who deals with other people through violence. Clients want confidence, determination, they want someone cold but friendly enough that they themselves aren’t afraid to approach them.

He's a professional, and a businessman. I am too.

The fandom has a tendency to tip the scale in one of two directions far too often. It lacks nuance and balance. Me being here, a bushman and sniper and bounty hunter, hopefully provides some much-needed perspective to a fandom that I sometimes feel is lacking it.

Over the year I’ve been here, I’ve sparked friendships and connections and I’m so glad I made the decision to come back. People are reading my fic and liking it, I’ve got mates, and all’s good. My being comfortable in the hole I’ve carved out for myself in the escarpments of our little hellsite has made me feel I can be more open about who I am and what I do. That’s how you ended up with me telling my stories about the things I’ve seen out in the bush, the things I’ve experienced, the people I’ve met over my adventures and the person I’ve grown up to be.

I also came because (if you haven't noticed already) I have a Whole Lotta Thoughts about a Whole Lotta Things. And I stayed because, for what's felt like the first time in my life, people want to listen.

I’m glad I’ve come back, and I plan to stay for much longer this time. :]

Also thank you for calling me cool! It always surprises me when people say that cuz I just see myself as some bloke tbh 😅

#blu whos #tw csa #sniperposting #learnin the blus

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got-into-worm-by-mistake · 23 days

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Arc 16, Reflections

Arc 16 was definitely a faster read once we got past the Dragon Suits.

My own unwillingness to just knuckle down and read it because Taylor was annoying me with her 'playing along with Coil' shit because Wildbow was keeping too much close to the chest about Tattletale's schemes.

Also, the Dragon Suit shit annoys me because like... Dragon is a big deal. Her suits are supposed to be good against S9, right (Though, clearly not since they... well, fail, entirely, for two years.) and the Undersiders, who are clever, yes, but not actually that well-powered, are able to beat them?

Traveler help, too, granted, but still. Honestly makes Dragon seem a mite lame. Just a mite.

The arc picked up afterwards, but... I mean, the fanfic is just so much more enjoyable to read.

It's not that the fanfic is 'better'. Fanfic can't be 'better' than the original because it's contingent on the original. But it can be better technically written. It can more to someone's taste. It can be more enjoyable. it can be more fun.

I wouldn't say that 'the fanfic is better'. But the fanfic is less depressing, And I know it will tend to stay less depressing, on average, as long as I avoid the fics where the authors want to wallow in the swamps.

Worm is depressing and frustrating right now, and more importantly, it's just gonna get more depressing.

And I know for a fact that the Noelle/Echidna shit is going to drive me batty. It's gonna feel like more gratuitous disasters to throw at the characters, at Brockton Bay, at the setting. Sure, it's outing Cauldron and builds on the story and yada yada yada, but it involves yet another 'unkillable' cape and she makes EVIL COPIES and I am... just not looking forward to reading it.

Or the travelers isekai arc, because I don't care about them. Maybe I will.

There are advantages to not coming in blind. And honestly if I didn't know how it was going to go in the broad strokes, I'm not sure I would have kept reading at some of the points where I got most exhausted or annoyed.

But... if I'd come in blind, and made it this far, I may have chugged through Arc 16 faster, since I wouldn't have known Echidna was coming.

I do find it funny that Tattletale used Noelle's constant waking up rages to fuck with Coil, because I'd be willing to be Noelle not getting enough sleep is one of the things that made her even more inclined to go nuts at the end.

I complain a lot in this liveblog. Complaining is sorta a thing for me. If I have no complaints... I don't usually have as much to say. When I like a thing, unless I'm consciously reccing it or forcing myself to praise it, I tend to don't talk as much about it.

When I have complaints, I talk about them.

I do like Worm. This isn't a hate read. And my desire to finish Worm to write fanfic can only fuel so much.

Taylor is much more compelling than I expected, getting into it. I like this, I do.

But, there is a lot about Worm that annoys me. Specifically and generally. Conceptually and plotwise.

But it is good. It is compelling. Sometimes it's compelling the way a trainwreck is. Sometimes it's compelling the way a puzzle you just want to solve and move on is compelling.

But a lot of is compelling because I genuinely want to see where this story is going, pick up the little details I didn't know about. Get into the character heads, and so forth.

But also... yeah.

Man is it fucking despair inducing. And I know I ain't seen nothing yet.

And the worst part is, It wouldn't have been hard to tell this same story with less depression, Wildbow. This isn't necessary. You just like suffering.

#Kylia Reflects on Worm #Arc 16

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sinisterexaggerator · 1 year

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Can you please write more Hondo?

Finish what you start

Hondo Ohnaka x Fem! Reader

Summary: Hondo Ohnaka catches you pleasuring yourself in his absence.

Word count: 3k+

Warnings: Masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, pining, blowjobs.

Notes: I wrote a fanfic like this for Shriv Suurgav and decided I wanted to try the same scenario for Hondo. Cad Bane may be next! Let's make it a series! ;D Shoutout to @allsystemsblue and @downrightembarassing for cheering me on and letting me bounce ideas off them - we all agree Hondo smells fabulous and practices good hygiene.

*This will probably be the last time I can post a fic before moving, but I have another Hondo one shot in the works - stay tuned! ;D

P.S.: I POSTED THIS FROM BATUU (Yes, I waited. I’m literally in line for Smuggler’s Run this very minute and they are talking about Hondo on the comm. 😭😭)

For once, you were bored. Florrum was all fun and games until the ringmaster of this circus abandoned his big top - Hondo Ohnaka had left you stranded by your lonesome in his lair with some dozen Weequay whose names you could not recall. You wandered its dingy corridors, dined on its sumptuous and delicious foods, drank of its rare and expensive beverages, and even sampled the more local fare – the green ooze known as “pirate’s brew” was an acquired taste and your palate preferred lush, full-bodied wine. Luckily for you, there was plenty to go around and then some, yet Ohnaka’s men did not seem all too pleased that you were there.

However, this did not bother you, going so far as to stick your tongue out in disrespect to one burly pirate who would not stop giving you the stink-eye. You were immune, as Hondo had long ago instructed them to give you anything your heart desired, one additional rule being that no harm should come to you as long as you resided within these halls.

Still, that did not mean it was their job to entertain you – that was Hondo’s area of expertise – and currently your jester king had decided it was best to leave you in the dark on his present whereabouts.

No doubt his exploits were dangerous and full of thrills. You were a mite jealous, wondering if one day he might take you along, or, if on another day he might simply tire of you. He was a fickle lord, and you were his lady - at least for now, and you were well aware your good fortune might come to a hasty end.

But, in that moment, you found yourself to be missing him. Hondo had been gone two days already and no other being on this dust ball of a planet wanted to give you the time of day.

After imbibing more than your fair share of drink for the evening, you retreated to your quarters – Hondo’s quarters – desiring nothing more than to be held tightly in his arms. You sighed deeply, knowing that you were not to get your way.

As your inebriation caught up to you, you sashayed forward, though the scourge of the galaxy was not here to watch you sway your hips. You fell face first onto the bed for the sake of playing into your own imaginary holodrama; you guessed you must appear to his crew like a forsaken hound waiting for its master to return.

Oh, but that is when you caught his scent, the Weequay’s sweet-smelling pheromones mingling with his cologne. The man was a fop for lack of a better word, his personal hygiene at the top of his priorities list. You were thankful for it; he smelled like dreams made of candy, dark undertones of something more sultry and seductive comingling together with sugar and spice, though you could never put your finger on what exactly it was he liked to wear.

You took a deep inhalation, burying your nose in the blankets and sheets beneath you as you let a dejected noise escape, wishing so badly that it was his crimson coat beneath your groping hands and not his ornate coverlet. Still, even in his absence, his heavenly aroma had roused within you a sleeping giant, one that demanded to be attended to – a sudden, all-encompassing lust that you were afraid would not be quieted lest you do something to ward it off.

But you could not pry yourself free of your plush prison, doomed by the provocative fragrance that had already flooded your nostrils. You flipped your body over to stare at the ceiling, all thoughts replaced by your truant pirate king. His toothy golden smile, the butter smooth intonations of his voice – it was the auditory equivalent of velvet, those sweet nothings he whispered in your ear enough to set your loins on fire.

Just thinking about it had already prompted your body to react as if preparing itself for the man’s admittance. You groaned at your desperation for him, somewhere between annoyed at yourself and in dire need of his patented affections. Instead, you took to hiking up your skirt, your own fingers sliding beneath the hem of your panties - you were honestly surprised with how wet you already were.

You cursed his name as your writhed gently atop his luxurious bed, not bothering to even lock the door, though you were sure no one would dare disturb you - not that they cared to, anyway; you were positive the rest of Hondo’s men preferred it when you kept to yourself.

You gently massaged your clit, taking your time with yourself, mind focused on the idea of Hondo mounting you, his cock so unbelievably flawless you wished he was there to ram it inside you. He would do anything you asked; he would give it to you any way you might be keen to try, for Ohnaka was not one to skimp on lovemaking as he liked to call it.

You giggled to yourself before it turned into a moan; you were so entranced with your daydreaming that you did not hear the door slide open or the act of your beloved sitting himself down in a chair that was located just adjacent to the bed. Had you noticed, you would have seen the grin etched onto his striated face, Hondo settling in by way of a leg tossed casually over one of the chair’s two arms.

With eyes closed, you bit into your lip, turning your head in your self-sought pleasure to make yourself more comfortable. As you opened them once more you gasped, though you made no other sudden movements, having been caught red-handed by the scoundrel as he carefully scrutinized you with slanted, stormy greys.

“Please, continue,” he stated nonchalantly, though his mood was difficult to determine by his tone.

With your mouth open in shock, you simply stared at him; that was his cue to lean ever so slightly forward, Hondo’s eyes gleaming from beneath rectangular cuts of transparisteel as the grin he wore coiled into something a tad more lascivious.

“What are you tinking about?” he questioned, quickly followed by another query. “Es et me?” Then, he answered himself on the next beat, even as you continued to gaze straight through his goggles into slatey irises. “Of course et es.”

You moved to rise, barely lifting your neck before Hondo interjected a command: “Ap-ap-ap! Stay right dere, my dear. You must finish what you started.”

You gave him your best pout, but he was not convinced to interfere, motioning with a dismissive wave of one hand for you to proceed with touching yourself as he stayed seated before you. Observing that you chose to remain immobile, he had an idea.

“Let me add some reality tu dis fantasy of yours,” he quipped, rising to turn on some music that he favored.

The man began to dance, removing his signature coat one sleeve at a time for it to be tossed haphazardly onto the back of his chair. It was obvious he was making a show of it, putting no real effort into the act of being seductive, though his hands traveled the expanse of his own torso, waist, and hips before he sillily flipped his braids over the edges of his shoulders.

You couldn’t help but to laugh as you kept laying there, Hondo halting his performance abruptly to press a hand to the center of his chest. He scoffed, asking you something in a tone indicative of offense, yet you were sure he was only kidding: “You dare laugh at me? Am I not sexy tu you?”

Your giggling paused, Hondo walking away from you and back toward the seat he had vacated earlier. “Den you entertain me,” he said with finality.

Your lips trembled; he was always so hard to read, the pirate’s true nature still a mystery to you. Presently, you kept your gaze trained on the man as you cried a pathetic sound of longing. He was not impressed, that one leg kicking itself back up as he idly stroked the frills along his jowls.

“Come, my love,” he encouraged you with a sudden change in his disposition, his somewhat confusing demeanor melting away as it was replaced with something softer and more genteel. “Touch yourself for Hondo.”

That was all it took, at once your body’s arousal rekindling as you began to fondle the little nub between your legs.

“Yes, yes, just like dat, little one,” he complimented, his words urging you to refocus your attention.

He watched you for a time, Hondo’s own carnality easily being activated by the study of just how you chose to caress your little cluster of nerve-endings; they were housed between flower petals of flesh and blood, the pirate beginning to feel a twitch down below his beltline.

“Now, imagine my fingers gently exploring de curve of your waist, de … soft tissue of your breasts, hm? Maybe my tongue would like tu explore as well, ah?” he crooned, his voice low and licentious.

The pirate was deliberately working you, even as his own hand came to rest against the outside of his trousers. His cock jumped at the first sign of acknowledgement, as if just as greedy as the minx upon his bed to be stroked and coddled, which was not out of the realm of possibility.

You quivered on his lavish sheets, the fodder with which he was feeding your depravity effortlessly invading your mind’s eye. How you wished he would just shut up and actually touch you, yet you stopped yourself from voicing your sentiments out loud.

“Maybe et would like tu work at suckling dose exquisite tits,” he mused. “Or perhaps et would like tu very, very slowly invade your mouth for a most warm and wet kiss.” He punctuated the last word of his sentence just so, his statement having a questioning lilt, as if he were also curious what he might do should he allow himself access to your pleasing form.

“Hm, yes-” he started, his tone turning a shade darker, “-et might swirl and flitter with yours, plunging far, far down your throat, so deep dat you will never forget de feeling.”

His teasing sent shivers up your arms and down your legs, radiating outward from your core as you wriggled like a pinned insect among folds of deluxe bedding, your body aching for release.

You were so lost in his dirty talk that you failed to notice Hondo unbuckling his belt; it was emblazed with the symbol of his gang, though for now it lay slack to either side as he carefully unbuttoned his trousers to remove his cock from its cloth imprisonment.

“Ah, but remember, I will not be satisfied with just. one. taste,” Hondo reminded you, his long, ring-bedecked fingers beginning to caress the length of his prick as he settled more snugly in his seat.

“I would trade en lips above for lips below,” he whispered throatily, his words a deep rumbling in his chest. The pirate began seeking his own high, eyelids drifting to half-mast as he leisurely thumbed the head of his hardened cock.

Your teeth returned to tug at plump flesh as you ever so slightly quickened your pace, the increasing friction of your fingertips gliding vertically over your throbbing bud causing you to expel a pitiful mewl. You looked over to your king, at once whining your disapproval – you wanted to be the one handling his cock.

Still, the sight only aroused you further, but not as much as the next few utterances that passed beyond the witty thief’s gilded teeth.

“My tongue tracing de folds of your cunt - and ah - you are already so wet, aren’t you?” he asked, though he had not expected any sort of answer from you.

You gave him one anyway, breathing out an airy “yes” which he ignored, but a discerning eye could see the hint of a smirk smugly twitching at the corner of his thin-lipped mouth.

“Et sweeps across your slit, delving inside you. Maybe et tickles, but ah, et feels so good.” He placed his hand more succinctly around his girth, beginning to pump himself by way of an enclosed fist, Hondo deciding to take part in this daydream to the fullest extent.

“Mm, but I pay de most attention tu de little button dat resides at de tippy-tip-top. Dat es your favorite part,” he mused, the visual aid of him eating you out causing you to whine in yearning as you fretted all by your lonesome on his bed.

“I would flick-flick-flick your clit with de utmost precision and care,” he assured you, “lapping up every. bit. of pleasure you so graciously proffer me.” He hummed to himself for a moment, relishing the perfect speed at which he had taken to addressing his own needs.

“Den I would suck et between my lips, continuing tu dine on you as if you were a delicious meal I must consume. And my dear, you are,” he confirmed, as if there had ever been any doubt.

You moaned again as you were close to the brink, your constant rubbing in addition to Hondo’s narration of your masturbation session nearly having worked its magic. You kept your gaze trained on the man and his decidedly pretty dick, pining for it to be snug within your walls. It was as if the scoundrel read your mind, picking up his tale where your imagination had left off.

“Now dat you are so very ready for me, darling, I would take de plunge. Oh, and you take et, so, so well. Every inch es so satisfying, hm?” He subsequently snickered, peering at you from across the way with drowsy eyes.

“Your desire for me es practically palpable, little bird,” he announced despite it being obvious, yet your thoughts did not wander far from the imagery he had placed inside your head even as he playfully derided you.

Hondo picked up his tempo, palming the full breadth of his cock as he envisioned himself steeping his stout prick in and out of you, your depths warm and slippery with your excess.

You had sulkily frowned in agreement, your breath quickening as you approached the edge of your orgasm. Nearly there, your hips gently bucked beneath the soft fabric of your dress, your heart anxious for the pirate to stop narrating and start fucking you until you couldn’t walk straight.

Instead, you were left to your own devices, Hondo apparently close as well as his storytelling capabilities were dwindling, though he still had sense and wits enough about him to weave the next bit of his risqué yarn.

“So slow at first, just a steady en and out, like de ebb and flow of an ocean on some distant, watery planet.”

“Mmn, mhmm,” was all you had the capacity to say in return.

“I hit all de right angles, for I always do. And you know dis,” he confirmed. “Back and forth, deeper and longer strokes, all de while my deft fingers massage your pretty pearl.”

He beamed at you, his smile brighter than the highly charged particles dispelled at lightspeed off the backs of ion engines, though you were only half cognizant by now of your surroundings.

“And den,” he added simply, “you will cum for me.”

The low notes spoken in that deep baritone, the glint in his glacial grey eyes behind his ever present goggles – you unraveled at the seams as Hondo praised your obedience to his surprisingly well-timed command.

“What a good girl you are,” he concluded.

Delectable mewls escaped your lips in intervals, the air stored inside your lungs expelled in spurts along with them; your hips gyrated gingerly in place of their own volition as you rode the wave of pleasure to its end.

Hondo all the while studied you as he unabashedly continued to guide himself toward the finish line, using the beautiful visual before him to assist him in this process. Then, the Weequay hummed once more; it was a little melody you did not recognize and meant for no one but himself.

You relaxed for all but ten seconds, feeling your own body lose its tension as the breathing of your lover increased its rapidity and fervor; he was about to climax — you refused to let him, not without your aid — you would be damned if you didn’t have your way.

He had his, after all.

You sat up straight, gathering the edges of your skirt so as not to trip as you launched yourself theatrically forward. You tumbled purposefully onto your knees, though making an effort not to bruise yourself, the pirate’s askant eyes expanding before instantaneously contracting. Gold teeth were exposed as he eagerly watched you collect his cock, his upper lip curling outward to add a smidge of something villainous to his expression.

Oh, but it quickly faded from his handsome face as you imbibed his member to the base of its shaft, your tongue running semicircles around raised ribs before you puckered your cheeks to suck greedily to your heart’s content. You sighed languorously at the feeling of it brushing against the back of your throat, murmuring a happy sound as you knew he would not last long.

Hondo’s breath hitched in his lungs before he lifted one hand to fiddle with your hair, mind clouded with buzzing thoughts as he tried to get a handle on his speech.

“So eager,” he muttered, tenderly tracing the curve of your cheek with the back of his index finger. Thick quadriceps tightened, overall the Weequay’s muscles clenching before your mouth finally received the prize it sought.

Hondo’s body slowly unwound itself, decompressing with every pump of semen that shot to the back of your throat, lithe digits remaining to lovingly pet your locks as he gazed down into your eyes — you were staring up at him as you guzzled every last drop he had to give, your muscles working overtime to usher his ejaculate down into your belly for safekeeping.

“And so very thirsty,” he purred, dick still sporadically lurching as you drained him dry. He was not one to tap out, but you were capable of detecting when the man was spent. You skimmed the head of his cock with your tongue for good measure, licking up any that had managed to dribble down.

“You. are. magnificent,” Hondo extolled, failing at first to regain his equilibrium. However, he was not exactly in a hurry, more than willing to sit here a while longer than anticipated.

“You left me,” you puled, kissing the mushroom tip of his alien phallus before you laid it to rest against his spreadeagled thighs. You kissed those, too, fingers traveling over what felt like solid rock, pouting as the pirate gently lifted up both your hands to cradle between his own.

“And for good reason!” Hondo declared with renewed vigor, planting his lips against the center of your palm. Then, he released you, moving to adjust his genitals and to refasten his pants.

“Come, let me tell you a story over a proper drink-” he chuckled, “-see if we can curtail dat insatiable thirst of yours, my dear.”

You accepted his invitation, more than thrilled to keep him company, and, if you played your cards right, you were sure you could convince him for another round – drinks or otherwise.

-----

Reblogs / comments / likes appreciated!

Masterlist

Hondo masterlist

#Hondo Ohnaka #Hondo Ohnaka x Reader #Hondo Ohnaka x You #Hondo #Star Wars #Fanfiction #My writing #one shot #reader request #weequay #pirates #TCW #Clone Wars

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mugiwara-rosewolf · 1 year

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Hello, I just discovered your blog via one of your writings, I really love your style ♥

I confess that I never think of sabo with a blind eye. It seems to me that in the anime he has his two eyes.

I thought of an idea: how would Sabo react who, because of the flames, lost an eye to a blind reader. Poor thing, she can't see the beauty of Sabo 😢. The reader is female, with remance. Sabo would be insecure about his scar but would try to get over it so at least the reader can know what he looks like when she touches him.

Have a nice day ♥

Hello! I’m so glad to hear that you’ve enjoyed my writings! Though, I have to be honest, a lot of my headcanons about Sabo’s injuries come from binging @theprodigypenguin ‘s works on AO3 when I first joined the fandom. If you’re looking for deep diving fics about Sabo’s character, I’d highly recommend them!

That said, I absolutely adore this prompt and would love to give it a shot. —Hope You Enjoy!

Love is Blind

Sabo x F!Reader

Note: Reader has color vision & acuity to see shapes, so they are technically classified as having “low vision” as opposed to “total blindness” (aka no light perception)

"Alright, the mission is simple," Koala reminded him. "Infiltrate the engagement, gain entrance to the host nobleman's office, swipe the records and get out. We need to be outta sight by dawn, alright?"

"Ah~ good ole breaking and entering," Sabo grinned. “Just like old times.”

"No, no breaking-" the woman spy snagged his cheek before he could stop her. "Hack was clear about our orders. That means no making trouble for the boss, you understand?"

"Okay, okay, ow-ow!" Sabo swatted her hand away, even knowing that scarred flesh wouldn't bruise. "That was one time, alright? I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

She didn't need to be on his good side for Sabo to know the look she was giving him. That droll side-eye and incredulous brow she had, like he was a child who’d spilled food down his front. Making messes that she always had to clean up. Or so she said. Sabo shook his head with a hand on his chest. "Come now, don’t you trust your own partner in crime?"

"I don't know, should I?"

"...touché.”

***

The light of her father's chandeliers hung above them, casting the space into a twilight glow. Silhouettes like over-large dust mites blurred slowly in circles as the orchestra strung together one waltz after another. Perhaps it'd be a crime to say - but Y/N would rather be out in the pitch dark of the garden than be a withering wallflower in this ballroom.

She knows it's a ballroom because the piano echoes in her ears, low notes reverberating in her chest just as much as if she were leaning against the instrument herself. The cellos of the string section strike a similar chord into the vibrating floors beneath her slippers. A lifetime of thin-soled shoes helped distinguish warm wood panels from the cold, slippery marble her mother loved to decorate the entryway and balconies. All those outward-facing places where their wealth-sighted guests could gawk and admire their purported majesty.

Occasionally, a confection of colour would flash past, jerking her back from her reverie. Coarse crinoline would rub between her fingers. A passing maid would scold her with a tap on the shoulder. The universal whisper of 'stop fidgeting' or 'stop staring' always caught her ear.

Y/N ran a tongue over her teeth. As if the voices in this cavernous space weren't living for the pageantry of being seen and gawked at in one way or another. All this fuss over mounds of crinkly fabric and gnarly colognes. What did they care if her sightless gaze was -There are only so many times one can pretend to scan the room between one feels like they're adrift at sea in a dense fog. It was hard not to get seasick at the feeling.

A hand on her shoulder. A warm, nimble-fingered phantom that lingered only milliseconds before-

"Excuse me, miss?"

Y/N turned to the sound of the voice. Following a rail-thin line of bruising shadows until a shock of pale…everything halted her gaze. Is that the face? Gods, I hope that’s the face and not some obnoxious- “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Ah, pardon,” the -presumably male- voice said, retracting his hand as if he’d touched a hot iron. Something inside her wilted. “This’ll sound strange but,” cloth shuffled, somewhere around the joint between pale and dark. “Could you direct me to the nearest restroom?”

“The restroom?”

“Yea.”

“The men’s…restroom.”

“Yes.”

“Well you were right about sounding strange,” Y/N quipped. Resolute and unbothered, Y/N rose from her seat and offered an arm towards the figure. “It’ll be easier if we walk there.”

“If we…walk?”

“Yes, then I can guide you.”

“But can’t you just-"

“No, I’m afraid I’m quite terrible at giving directions,” at least in the way others understand them. Y/N jerked her elbow out for emphasis. “Well? Is your bladder about to burst, or what?”

If her mother was in earshot, she’d surely earned herself a smack upside the head. But in the midst of a public soirée, no one could do a thing. To her surprise, the stranger didn’t choke in shock or stammer in flustered offence.

Instead, the man…laughed. He bloody snorted. The sound was muffled, as if he too were hiding behind a cupped hand. But the sound was unmistakable. Laughter was so rare here….

“Pfft! You are certainly more brazen than I was expecting,” the man said.

“Oh? And does that trouble you, sir?”

Before Y/N could find another taunt on her lips, a velvet sleeve slid past her own. Hooking elbows to elbows like the links of fine jewellery. All words dried up. She could feel his breath lean close to her ear.

“-not in the slightest.”

Her stomach swooped. She quickly cleared her throat and set her chin towards the nearest black hole in the wall. “Very well then, this way.”

***

All things considered, Sabo was feeling rather proud of himself. He had successfully infiltrated the event undetected. He'd found a viable excuse to escape the main throng and was now on his way to objective number two: find Mister What's-His-Face's office.

Only one obstacle stood between him and his next steps: the stowaway accomplice. Witty, direct and beautifully dressed, the woman marched down the halls of this obnoxiously coloured palace as if she owned it. Even then, he wasn't sure what possessed him to approach a party guest for an excuse instead of just wandering off on his own, as was his usual. But then again, Koala had already chewed him out for his last solo fiasco, so maybe it was a subconscious abundance of caution. Her grip was almost worse than his.

However, what he found most perplexing about the new variable in his plans - was that she still wouldn't look him in the eyes. Even when they first met, she resolutely stared at the crown of his head as she spoke, unblinking. Their entire trek had been deathly silent, save for the tread of slippers and boots on hard wooden floors. Then again, given how he could only see one side of her face at any given time...maybe there was a reason she refused to meet his gaze directly.

"Tell me something, miss," he decided on a whim.

"Something important, I assume?"

"Oh no, a trivial curiosity, I assure you."

"Then why bother with it in the first place?"

"For the fun of it," he shrugged. "And because I'm curious."

A heavy sigh. The first time he's seen the noblewoman close her eyes for an extended period of time. "Very well then, ask away."

"-Is there a reason you won't look me in the eye?" Her strides stalled. Both of them came to a stop in the middle of the hall. In front of a glorious painting, Sabo couldn't bring himself to attend. She didn't say anything at first. He offered a sympathetic if self-deprecating laugh for her benefit. "I'm not that atrocious to look at, am I?"

She tilted her head slightly. Turning her e/c gaze to some spot over his shoulder. "No. I wouldn't know. I can't tell what you look like."

"You-" That's when it clicked. The unblinking gaze, the thousand-yard star, the way she tilted her head at certain sounds, how careful her steps were amongst the ballroom crowds. "You're, bli-" His laughter caught him by such surprise he nearly choked.

"Yes, I - I beg your pardon?!"

The irony wracked his body so hard he couldn't stop. Shoulders shaking, stomach seizing, he just couldn't stop laughing: "Oh my-!" His scarred face hurt from the pinch of smiling so much. He wiped a stinging tear from his eye. "I just - it really is the blind leading the blind, isn't it?"

Her offended furrow fell slack. "I...beg your pardon?"

"I'm guessing you still have light perception, then. Eh?"

"You are being awfully casual about this."

"Well, why not?" Sabo shrugged. "I'm completely blind in one eye, figure as long as we're talking here, we may as well speak plainly about it."

"Hmph," Something like a twitch of a smile tugged at her cheek. "Well, now who's the brazen one?"

Sabo chuckled. Hiding his smile behind one hand, he leaned into the warmth of her arm and whispered: "I don't see why we both can't be bold, do you?"

The lady's own smile turned coy. "You're not really a gentleman, are you?"

"Not exclusively," he admitted with a grin. "Why? Do I make a bad impression?"

"The absolute worst," she said with a breathy laugh. "Our chain of islands is too small for me not to know the voices of most noblemen - and yet I've never heard anyone quite like you."

"And I you, my lady."

"You weren't really aiming for the restroom, were you?"

"Not really," Sabo shrugged. "Just needed an excuse to escape the crowds."

The woman chuckled. "You and I both, good sir."

"Sabo."

"What?"

"Sabo. That's what my friends call me."

Her smile grew, the cutest blush streaking across her cheeks. "Then I suppose you can call me Y/N, so long as we're among good company."

"Oh, you're in great company," Sabo assured, squeezing her arm against his side. "Now that we're free, we can go anywhere we want."

"Free..." her echoing whisper was like a spring breeze to his ears. "There's nothing more I've ever wanted to be."

Sabo grinned. Unwinding their arms just enough to dare and weave his hand with hers. "Then today's your lucky day, Y/N. Follow me?"

"Lead the way - Sabo."

#sabo x reader #sabo x y/n #sabo the revolutionary #one piece sabo #ace one piece #revolutionary sabo #sabo one piece #one piece #rosewolf writes #mugiwararosewolf

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distant-screaming · 11 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 君のことだけ見ていたい | Kimi no Koto Dake Mite Itai (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Asakura Sakura/Nagase Yuma Characters: Asakura Sakura Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Internal Monologue, Confessions, High School Series: Part 17 of Whumptober 2023 Summary:

Sakura decides to go boom.

(or: Sakura confesses)

#writing to the void #whumptober2023 #no.17 #collar #kimi no koto dake mite itai #asakura sakura/nagase yuma #fic

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couldsewyouastitchandsavenine · 4 months

Text

twenty questions for fic writers

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

a total of 7

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

36,973

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Pedro Pascal characters (mostly Javi Peña)

4. top five fics by kudos

Given To The Wild (Javi Peña x fem!reader)

All The Kings (Joel Miller x fem!reader)

When It Rains (Javi Peña x fem!reader)

Dancing In The Dark (Javi Peña x fem!reader)

Seasons (SURPRISE Javi Peña x fem!reader)

5. do you respond to comments?

Yes!

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

Hmmm, I don't think I ever did such thing in this fandom.. I mean, I would say some of the parts of Given to The Wild and Dancing in The Dark could be a bit angsty.

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

I like my happy endings okay, and I don't know, but I would say the Joel Miller one (Burn) considering everything has the happiest ending!

8. do you get hate on fics?

No, just the usual bots copy/pasting the same comment about using AI to write my fics.

9. do you write smut?

I attempt to haha

10. craziest crossover:

Don't do crossovers. Been thinking about doing a full AU tho...

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, don't think so.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I did attempt to translate my own fic into a different language. Never finished it, tho

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

Yes, A LONG TIME AGO in a different fandom and in a different era (which we don't speak about anymore)

14. all time favorite ship?

Don't think I have one, tbh.

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Something tells me it will be Dancing in The Dark, just because I get so disheartened by the lack of thumbs up I am getting for it. But I keep pushing a paragraph or two a day so who knows...

16. what are your writing strengths?

Setting the scene, I would say, but I dunno. I am my own worst critic.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

I am very bad at smut. Also, I heard I am very boring.

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Yeah, try to use correct Spanish whenever Javi is included. Also, literally I am writing in my third language so that's that, I guess.

19. first fandom you wrote in?

Twilight

20. favorite fic you've written?

Seasons. Just because it's a pure Javi mush that I wrote for myself when I was cramping and had to deal with spider mites crawling up my plants.

THANK YOU SO MUCH @kteague for tagging me! tagging: @pedgito @undercoverpena @dancingtotuyo @wordywarriorwrites and literally anyone who wants to do this <3

#favourite people #tag game

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tenrousei-kuroi · 2 months

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i came to ask if you’re planning on posting the sequel rapture on the lonely shore but now i’m desperate to hear about the remus/regulus fic!!!

Yes! I am just going to post it. I was originally emailing copies to people but 1. I think I missed a few emails along the way, which is embarrassing, and 2. That was soooo long ago when I thought that what I'd written was too scandalous for the public world and meanwhile I've sailed *way* past that point now, so I think it can just be posted lol. Just gotta' dig it back up out of whatever folder it was festering in on my old laptop. Might should clean it up a skosh, too, that was teenage-me writing, who knows how well it's aged TT.TT

...In regards to the other fic, I too am desperate to hear about my Regulus/Remus story, because my brain's been cockblocking my progress on the very final chapter ೭੧(❛〜❛✿)੭೨ (I kid, I kid, it's getting there. The finish line is in sight, I'm just moving at a snail's pace lately and I'm trying to train myself not to post so many WIPs until they're closer to *done*...)

But here's a snippet of the general vibe, if you're interested:

┏━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┓

On the last day of term, Lupin found him by the lake.

“Oi, Regulus, get through potions all right? I heard you were a mite nervous about that one.”

Regulus looked up from his sandwich. “Who told you that?” He’d been relaxing beneath one of the somber willow trees by the water with a few of his classmates, but they’d both taken off to swim, leaving him alone when Lupin approached.

“Just something I heard,” Lupin said. “So...did you survive without too much strife?”

“Yes, thank you,” Regulus said with a curt nod. His skin tingled warily as Lupin sat down beside him. Regulus looked around nervously.

“Relax,” Lupin assured him, tossing his bag next to Regulus’s and stretching out, arms behind his head on the grass. “I’m not about to start snogging you in public, just visiting. Nothing suspicious, I swear.”

Regulus coughed, choking a little on some bread. “Not as if—I mean, you’d not want—you’re not here to ask that of me, are you?”

Regulus averted his eyes. Lupin chuckled lightly beside him, leaning up onto his side. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against Regulus’s crossed legs. “I don’t know, what would your answer be?”

Regulus sighed deeply. “I suppose yes.”

Lupin sat up fully, looking at him curiously. “You suppose?” he asked.

Regulus shrugged. “Well I’ve not got much choice, have I? Given everything you overheard in the library between me and my brother...I suppose I’m not really in a position to refuse you anything, am I?”

Lupin frowned. “I didn’t overhear much of anything, Regulus. Sirius told me.”

“He...he did?” Regulus gasped, a hotness prickling at his eyes.

“Yes,” Lupin insisted.

“I can’t believe it,” Regulus muttered, dejected. “He swore…”

“And you believed him?” Lupin laughed pityingly. “Poor thing,” he carded a hand through Regulus’s hair, and Regulus merely swayed back and forth from the force of it, a blank look in his eyes.

“O—okay,” he said shakily.

“Okay, what?”

Regulus sat up a bit straighter. “Okay l—let’s do your suggestion. But later somewhere. Send me a note or something and let me know where to find you,” he added a bit more confidently.

“Do wha—oh, you mean kiss?” Lupin was smiling fondly.

“Yes,” said Regulus firmly. He stood up and began to gather his bag and cloak. “And...and whatever else that we’re supposed to do.”

“Great then,” said Lupin. “I’ll send for you tonight.”

“I’ll come,” Regulus promised recklessly. Then he dashed away before he could change his mind.

#tenkuroi #regulus x remus #ao3 #regulus black #remus lupin #marauders era

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hughiecampbelle · 1 year

Text

Summer Storm (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Characters: Roman

Word Count: 1,228

Requested: Roman interrupting a baking/cooking session but he’s like completely clueless? - anon

Requested: could you do spending a lazy weekend being fluffy spent with Roman Roy pls??💕💕 - anon

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: I decided to combine these requests, I hope you don't mind!!! This fic is currently inspired by the thunderstorm happening rn lol. I love Soft Roman. I love him, I love him, I love him. I hit a bit of a writers block getting this done, so I'm sorry if it isn't my best!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

The thunder rolls in like the tide. You watch the bright sky darken, the clouds pooling in. The heat, the humidity, the thick, sticky air becomes electric. You hear it first, the tantrum. The growling, low and angry. So angry. So breathless. Don't you scare him, you thought, watching the storm. He never liked them. You don't have to say a thing, though he knows. Drink in hand, he pushes your float towards the steps of the pool. The water is warm, not like it was when you first got in. You drag your fingers all the way there, hands pruned, skin burning from the long day in the pool. His sunglasses are big, covering those puppy dog eyes. He holds it in place as you step out, thanking him with a kiss. Don't be here long. You look up from him, his small frame, his red cheeks, to the sudden wind. Strong, passionate, prickling your skin. Suddenly it had gotten cold. Dark. Even in the city you can smell the Earth, the wet soil, the soaking leaves of home. From far away. You stood there a second, on the edge, dripping, letting him take you in. He wasn't the type to look you up and down. Your relationship wasn't like that. There was love outside of your bodies. Now though, something must've caught his attention. Something about you, smelling of chlorine and sunscreen. What are you staring at? You ask, smiling despite your shaking. You're freezing. You're awfully full of yourself, he defends, sipping his drink. You know, even as you turn around, grabbing a towel, he's watching. He can’t take his eyes off you.

The rain pours in sheets. The sky opens like an open wound without a tourniquet. Patting against the windows, leaving tiny handprints, the rain is angry, defensive, falling with all their mite. He left the glass door open, the smell intoxicating. Clean. Fresh. Stormy. The rain patters down the streets, the empty sidewalks, against the rooftop. Cars below honk their horns, everyone forgetting how to drive in the rain. Their tires plunge through the puddles. You stir the vegetables in the pan, watching the lightning flicker. Flashes so fast you question if they're even real. Ooooh spooky! He laughs, pouring you a glass of wine. He comes up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder. Are you scared of a little lightning? Watch out, it's got a knife! You take the stem of the glass, taking it in. A white wine, summery. Chilled. Distracted, he takes his chance, slipping the spatula from your grasp. Do you even know what you’re doing? You laugh. This isn’t rocket science, I hate to break it to you. But the asparagus is beginning to burn. Outside the sky cracks like shattered glass. Low, moaning, the wind blowing through the apartment. The curtains blow violently, dramatic. Beads of rain are beginning to come in. Neither of you make any moves to shut it. There is something too familiar, too nostalgic, about thunderstorms. About this thunderstorm, as if you have lived a million lifetimes together, the three of you. There is safety in this idea. Security.

You take a step back, leaving your back against the counter, taking him all in. He’d taken a shower after the pool, his hair still wet. His stubble was shorter, but never gone. His soap, yours, a vanilla scent, mahogany, woodsy. Warm, inviting, opposite the character he forgets he’s playing. He moves through the wound so uncomfortable, as if existence is agonizing, excruciating. He can’t keep still. He nurses his own drink, his tumbler reeking of gasoline. He stirs lightly, as if afraid to bother, to be a nuisance. The oven timer dings and he turns it off, leaving the rest of dinner in the warmth. You resist the urge to wrap your arms around him, to hold him tight and never let him go. But you don’t, because you know he will jump at your touch, any touch, without warning. And it will ruin it. It will ruin everything. So you watch and want. You want him. You want him to feel full and safe and satisfied. You want to wrap him up and never let him go, never let anyone near him again. There are things in this world too precious for mankind. They get used and abused and ruined all because they are beautiful, because they are something otherworldly. He is one of those things. Your Romulus. Your Roman.

Need any help? You ask, already reaching for the oven mitts. The rain has lightened to a steady downpour. The thunder growing fainter. The lightning is as bright as ever. Sometimes it regains its strength, the storm, and it will throw a punch you have not yet braced yourself for. Your vital organs go unprotected. Your teeth sprawl out across the floor. Sometimes it makes him jump, catches him off guard. He is frozen for a moment, before your hand reaches his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Do you need any help? You ask again, nudging him out of the way. He does not object. It is his time to observe you. You reach in, grabbing the pans, leaving them on the stovetop to cool off. The apartment fills with blinding light, just for a few seconds. Maybe less. You both take another sip. It’s his favorite meal. Your favorite to cook. Easy enough, anyways. The breeze cools your back, your neck, your cheeks. You watch the goosebumps on his arms. Want me to close it? The sliding glass door. No, no- you, you like it. No. He shakes his head. He should be drinking water, you think, he’s spent all day in the sun. But you don’t push it, not now. Later you’ll hand him a glass and watch him drink. He’ll be so full of sarcasm, of quips and jokes and anecdotes, but you will get your way.

He gets two plates for you, handing you one. You know, if it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t even have any vegetables. You give him a fork and knife. Oh yes, where are my manners? Thank you Roman Roy for this delicious meal. Where would I be without you? You kiss his cheek, making him smile. He shrugs. Probably dead in a ditch, I don’t know. You laugh. Fuck off! You sit at the kitchen island across from him, glancing at him. What? What are you looking at? He asks, chewing. Can’t I look at my boyfriend? You finish your glass, meeting his eyes. No, actually you can’t. It’s illegal. You’re under arrest. You get closer to him, leaning in. Do I get parole? Mmmm no. Who’s my lawyer? Tom. Fuck you! Despite himself, you catch him grin. You’re tired. The sun took everything out of you. What you want is to leave dinner, leave the dishes, crawl into bed beside him where you can listen to the rain all night and fall asleep. You don’t want the day to be over though. It was too good to be true. Even the storm, even the rain could not ruin it. Whatever quiet time you had together lounging in the pool, cooking dinner, whatever peace you created was enough. More than enough. It was wonderful, it was everything you wanted. Who gets to be the judge? Greg. Are you kidding me? Nope.

#requested #writing #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #succession #succession imagine #succession x reader #roman roy fic #roman roy oneshot #roman roy drabble #he finally gets his steak #i think lol #i cant remember the exact quote

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