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indeedcaptain · 11 months

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Regulatory Relations, chapter 2: Man with a Plan

Okay, I'm going full steam ahead with Fake Married!! I actually hit par for Nano for the first time since this weekend last night, so I think this is the project my brain wants to work on most. HERE WE GO, I HOPE YOU ENJOY :)

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

Between his ready room and Spock’s door, Kirk had changed his mind four times. This was an insane idea. He couldn’t possibly marry Spock.

But the idea of Spock serving elsewhere, for them to send padd messages back and forth every once in a while until they never spoke again, filled him with a grief that he couldn’t even put a name to.

But this entire plot hinged on the idea that his favorite marble column impersonator would agree to marry him publicly.

But if they got married, he would never be able to marry someone else.

He came to a halt in the middle of the hallway, forcing an annoyed ensign to swerve around him, stack of padds wobbling precariously in her arms. He stared down the familiar corridor of the Enterprise as the sheer imbalance of his feelings hit him. When he thought about Spock leaving the Enterprise to be the captain of some science ship across the galaxy from him, the barbed-wire edges of panic started to circle every thought. His chest physically ached. When he thought about giving up the possibility of marrying for love later in life, he felt nothing at all.

Kirk started walking again. If he was being honest with himself, beneath the nothingness, he felt the barest hint of relief. Every person he had ever dated had hated playing second fiddle to his ship and his career, and it had driven every one of them away in the end. He would never have to worry about that again, because his and Spock’s priorities had, for years, been exactly in line. He spent more time with Spock than with anyone else on the ship. Honestly, him and Spock getting married almost made a certain sort of sense.

He was wearing the treads of his shoes down in front of Spock’s door, trying to place his thoughts in order and figure out the most logical way to structure his proposition, when the door slid open. Spock in his meditation robes appeared before him, and his mouth went dry. Was he really about to propose to his best friend?

“Captain,” Spock said. “I could hear you. Why are you pacing in front of my door in such a manner?”

“Can I talk to you?”

Spock’s room was warm and musky, familiar and comforting. Kirk looked around at the evidence that Spock — son of two worlds, claimed by neither — had settled in here in a way he never had anywhere else, and he squared his shoulders. When he turned back to Spock, the Vulcan was watching him with one eyebrow raised.

“You don’t want to leave, right?”

That eyebrow arched impossibly higher. “No, captain,” Spock said eventually, and despite his flat affect Kirk could read the unhappiness beneath. “I do not want to leave.”

“I have an idea,” he said. “It’s a little bit illogical--- maybe a lot illogical--- and it might require some acting on both of our parts. And you can say no if you don’t want to, of course. But I want you to stay, and I think it might work.”

“I am amenable to all suggestions that would allow me to maintain my current posting,” Spock said, and the slight stress on the word ‘all’ revealed how much he meant it.

“We’re friends, right? And we serve well together. You don’t want to leave. I don’t want you to leave.” Kirk paused to catch his breath. His heart pounded in his chest. Why was he so nervous?

“Those are factual statements,” Spock said quietly.

“Starfleet regulations prohibit the separation of legally married couples.” The words burst from him and hung in the smoky air between them. Spock’s eyes widened slightly. He could practically hear the hum of Spock’s brain as he processed the implications of what Kirk had said. What he was suggesting.

“Captain,” Spock said, his voice low and guarded. “You would offer this to me?”

“I don’t want you to go,” he repeated.

“You would not be able to marry another unless we divorced,” Spock said.

Kirk scoffed, only a little. “I don’t know if you noticed, Mr. Spock, but folks aren’t exactly jumping in line to marry a man who’s never home.”

“But you would sacrifice ever having the option? To keep me here?”

Kirk turned back to Spock’s shelves, unable to bear the weight of his burning gaze. It had seemed so simple in the hallway. Nothing had to change between them; in fact, their getting married was the only way he could ensure that things wouldn’t change between them. Spock’s intensity surprised him. He ran a finger over the smooth wood of Spock’s lyre, just to have something to do with his hands.

“I find that I don’t really care about having the option,” he said. “If it ever comes up, we can talk about it. For you, too, if you wanted it. But right now, what matters most to me is keeping you on the Enterprise.”

“After T’Pring and the kal-if-fee, a union of that kind will not be available to me. I am hesitant to subject you to the same condition, even if it means securing my position here.”

Kirk turned back at the quiet desolation in his voice. Across the room from him, Spock stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulder slumped as much as they ever were beneath his robes. His face was impassive, but his eyes were pinned to the ground.

“Spock, you can’t really believe I value you less than some hypothetical partner in a future that might never happen.”

Spock’s eyes flashed up to meet his. “Do not think that I would ever doubt our friendship, captain. I simply doubt that you will not miss romantic companionship as the years pass.”

Sometimes Kirk really fucking hated his younger self for the recklessness with which he had loved and left. “If that happens, and that’s a pretty big if, we can talk about it then. But for now, and for the rest of my career if we’re being honest, you being around means more to me than any fling ever could.” His stomach sank as he reconsidered Spock’s opposition. “Spock, if you don’t think this is a good idea, or you don’t want to, we just won’t. It’ll be fine.” He wiped a hand across his mouth and turned his head back to the shelves so he wouldn’t have to watch Spock say that he would rather leave than agree to marry him. But Spock unclasped his hands from behind himself and approached him slowly, with a look on his face akin to curiosity.

He stood at Kirk's shoulder and considered the contents of his shelves with him. Then he said quietly, “You always surprise me, Jim.” The sound of his own name shocked Kirk into turning to look back at him.

“I did not mean to imply that I was ungrateful for the offer, or that I did not want to attempt this… ruse. But I also needed to know that it would not cause you immediate distress.”

“Honestly, the prospect of you leaving causes me more distress than the consequences of getting fake-married do.” Kirk leaned slightly sideways to bump his shoulder against Spock’s. Spock hummed slightly, deep in thought.

“If you are certain, captain, I would be deeply grateful. I have found that I very much do not wish to leave.” Spock touched one long finger to a sculpture that Uhura had given him previously.

“Then don’t,” Kirk said. “Let’s get married.”

Spock walked him to the door, but held his gaze as he turned to leave. “Thank you, captain,” he said. “I do not take this lightly.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, and he couldn’t help but smile at him. “Breakfast in the morning? I believe we have a lot to discuss.” Spock agreed, and said goodnight, and when he disappeared behind the turbodoor Kirk pressed his hands to his face and leaned against the bulkhead until he could wrangle his cheek-splitting smile into something a little more dignified.

Then he walked the ten steps to his quarters, mind whirling, and sat at his desk with a padd for the next three hours, planning how exactly they were going to convince the rest of the crew that they were a couple.

☆☆☆

Spock was waiting next to Kirk’s door when he opened it the next morning, dressed sharply in his science blues. They fell into lockstep as they walked to the mess.

“Changed your mind, Mr. Spock?”

“No, captain.”

“Good. I’ve got plans to share with you.”

Over two cups of tea for Spock, three of coffee for Kirk, and a disjointed breakfast spread of replicated options, Kirk laid out his strategy for how they were going to convince the rest of the crew, and from there the admiralty, that they were wedded partners. Step one was physical contact.

“You already frequently touch my person,” Spock said, sipping his tea. Kirk grinned.

“Great! I already have a reputation for being in your space more than other people. Now we can just do it on purpose.”

“Are you implying that your current level of physical contact with me is unintentional?”

Ignoring Spock’s pointed and disbelieving eyebrow raise, Kirk continued. Step two was pet names.

“We do not have pets.”

“Not yet, anyway. And it’s a human expression. A pet name is a term of endearment. What does your mother call your father?”

“Sarek,” Spock said bluntly. “We cannot have pets on the ship.”

“Come on, a cat or something would be cute. Really? She never calls him honey or sweetheart or something?”

“I urge you to remember the tribbles, captain.” But then Spock pursed his lips before saying, “Ashayam.” Kirk did his best to type it phonetically on his padd.

“And what does that mean?”

“Beloved,” Spock said after a beat, so gently that Kirk looked up at him in surprise. Spock looked away from him to stab a piece of fruit with a fork.

“I had a hunch that Vulcans were secret romantics,” Kirk said, and underlined the word. “Do you have a preference for what I’ll call you?”

“No,” Spock said.

“Careful. If you don’t choose something I’ll choose it for you.”

“As you wish, captain,” Spock said.

“That’s another thing. You’re going to have to call me Jim sometimes.”

“I do call you Jim.”

“In public.”

Kirk laughed out loud at Spock’s expression of dismay. Step three was allowing the crew to see how much time they actually spent together.

“I do not understand. We share most meals, work together, and frequently play chess in each others’ quarters. What else is necessary to convince the crew?” Spock’s second cup of tea was cooling on the table in front of him, and he rotated it in his hands.

“They know it, but they don’t see it.”

“Clarify.”

“Sure, they see us spend time together, but they just assume we’re friends. And we are, of course, but now we need to draw their attention to it so that they think something else is going on.”

“You intend to intentionally provoke the human propensity for gossip.”

“I sure do,” Jim said cheerfully. “As bridge crew, we’re hot topics most of the time. If two of us were to accidentally let it slip that we’d been secretly dating for years, it would spread like wildfire.”

If Spock were less controlled, Kirk thought that he’d be rolling his eyes at him. As it was, he sighed quietly through his nose and took a sip of tea. Kirk drained his own coffee and slid it to the side.

“Then, after the groundwork is laid, we’ll announce our wedding.”

“You desire an official wedding?”

“Yes,” Kirk said, affronted. “We’re going to have to submit the paperwork regardless. At least if we have a wedding we’ll have a reason to throw a party.”

“Fascinating,” Spock said, in a tone that implied that he would rather walk out an airlock.

“It’ll be fun, it will be good for morale and therefore performance, and it will ensure that the whole crew bears witness to us being genuinely married. Perfectly logical.”

“As you say, captain,” Spock said. Then he paused, brown eyes scanning Kirk, before saying, “I understand that human beings do not like to keep secrets from their closest friends.”

“There are caveats, but that’s mostly true,” Kirk said. “Why do you bring it up?”

“I believe it would be beneficial to you to inform Dr. McCoy of the truth,” Spock said. He watched Kirk over the rim of his teacup. A little knot of worry that Kirk had been ignoring resolved in his stomach.

“It would be,” Kirk said immediately. “I do want to tell Bones. Do you want someone to tell?”

Spock considered, as Kirk continued to type ideas on his padd, before saying, “I would like to tell Nyota the truth.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!”

“Indeed?”

“She knows everything that goes on on this ship,” Kirk said. “She can help us keep track of if people are convinced or not.”

“It seems you have considered every strategic angle,” Spock said, and held his hand out. Kirk stared at it--- the smooth, dry palm with its faint green lines, the long fingers--- and then back up at Spock.

“I thought holding hands was highly intimate for Vulcans,” he said, a little shocked.

“Your padd, captain.”

Immediately relieved and slightly embarrassed, he handed it over. Spock flipped it around to look at his charts and notes, and Kirk was gratified by the impressed eyebrow twitch.

“You would have made a formidable politician, captain. Or perhaps a novelist.”

“Then it’s settled,” Kirk said, and with his padd out of the way pulled a now-cold breakfast sandwich towards him. “We’ll tell Uhura and Bones, we’ll start to flirt and be a couple in public, and then we’ll get married.”

“And then we will submit the paperwork.”

“Sure, baby, whatever you want.”

Spock’s indignant expression at being called ‘baby’ was worth almost choking on his breakfast.

#spirk #spock #kirk #my writing #tos #k/s fan fiction #kirk/spock fan fiction #star trek the original series fan fiction #fake married

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raymondshields · 10 months

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Ok friend you have my curiosity where is this fic you speak of. I am SO ready to have my brain chemistry fundamentally changed

Start here. My recommendation is to read that, maybe read the rest of Turnabout NaNoWriMo, and if you want to know more after that, I can hand you some 200k of fic that is properly formatted with the interludes, because Ao3's formatting really doesn't work with the Sagiverse anthologies. (So what you see here is maybe like a quarter of what we've got. We have a lot, and also lots of art.)

Turnabout NaNoWriMo is the first of three-and-a-half anthologies I've written, and it's only after reading and enjoying all of them do I let people at my fiance's anthologies, which are excellent but a bit more private. (Turnabout Runaways, which was this year's NaNo challenge, is incomplete but at least 50k. I will be slowly working on it probably for a few months, and eventually it'll be done.)

These anthologies take place in a greater crossover AU we refer to as Sagiverse. It started in 2020 in Saint Seiya, and now hosts several different series, eight hundred some-odd characters, upwards of thirty different fantasy worlds (of which Earth is only one), and more plotlines than we can keep track of properly.

Here's the two-sentence pitch: seven hundred years ago, there was a giant war between various magical factions on Earth that ended in a mostly-forgotten pyrrhic victory and the gods choosing to seal magic away from the world. So magic began to slowly die out, and as of present day, magic is rarer and rarer, and mage society is dying out, but it's still holding on as best it can, until one day the gods finally allow magic to return.

Ace Attorney gets involved with this very very simply. Miles Edgeworth is a mage. To be specific, he's a necromage, one of the most powerful currently active on Earth. His father, Gregory Atticus Edgeworth, had never found proof of magic while he was alive. His mother... well, no one knows who his mother is, or anything about the man at all. After DL-6, Miles was taken in by MvK as a ward just as canon says, but the von Karmas themselves are magi of a kind. After DL-6, Atticus finds the proof of magic's existence that he's been looking for all along, and he is not going to leave his son and missing fiance alone in a world that so very much wants the both of them dead.

And so begins a thirty-five year trainwreck to put their wayward, way-finding family back together. They'll do it, no matter what it takes. It just turns out their family's a little bigger than they think it is.

The fic I linked pretty much opens with the identity of Miles' mother, which you learn pretty much as I did, because I didn't plan jack or shit, only let him tell me what was going on. You may raise an eyebrow at the canon ages, don't worry about that. We had to fix the timeline anyway (because the forensics tech was all twenty years out of date so we just changed the years to be twenty years earlier, setting DL-6 on December 28th 1981) so we just didn't pull him back as far. Atticus died at 39, his fiance was 33.

This is because when I first got into AA, I found the IS-7 picture of Gregory and Ray, and I sort of mistook 18-year-old Ray as Atticus' wife. My fiance pointed out the age gap, paused, and went "but they're cute so I'm sure we can make it work" and then we did. If you hesitate a bit on the ship but don't immediately hate the idea, I promise I can sell you on it. At the end of the day, everything comes back to Atticus and Ray's tragic romance. This I can promise you: it ends happily. We're just still writing everything in between.

Sagiverse!Ray is a pretty distinct character from canon!Ray, but they're close enough that if you like one you'll probably like the other. I gave him way more trauma and it's fun. :3c

If you're wondering what happens to other characters, I can answer that. Apollo is dead for a few months, Phoenix a little bit longer. Robot!Athena has Issues. Franziska changes her career from Interpol to Magica Underground mostly because it's a better use of her legal talents. Miles gets to be the chosen one and lead a war against one of his university friends who unfortunately (and semi-accidentally) stole Phoenix's corpse and ran away with it. (Phoenix is fine, don't worry about it.) Atticus gets to be a bounty hunter on the ghostroads with Mia and they do a lot of shooting MvK and causing problems. Ray, uh. Well, at least he only got shot in the head twice?

#asks #relicsongmel #like if i'm going insane in the tags on something AA that doesn't make sense #95% chance i'm talking about sagiverse #occasionally i check in with canon and go do some meta on that but mostly i stick to our au #but yeah if you let us do it we WILL rewrite your brain and you'll have to live with it #and YES i am trying to get a wiki up because it's big and complicated! i'm just dealing with finals and so much work ;~;

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bitletsanddrabbles · 1 year

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WIP Wednesday: Surprise Trip To The Island Of The Gays

Me: Okay, Brain, so you're saying you don't want to work any more on the stuff we were doing last month? Not even the Thomas as Heir piece?

Brain: NO! NO NO NO NO NO NO! DID SO MUCH WORK WANT A BREAK!

Me: No, that's fair...admittedly most of that work was not on the TaH piece...

Brain: You keep throwing that thing at me! Every time there's a NANO thing, when there's not a NANO thing, you're just "Hey! Do this!" WON'T! SHAN'T! CAN'T MAKE ME!

Me: *sigh* Look, I just want to get it done so you don't have to work on it anymore, but alright! Yes, you did write every day last month and yes, you did get something to rough draft stage and start revisions. So that's very good. I'll give you a break. You seem to like thinking about those two requests we got from my "Make You Happy" thread. Wanna work on either of those?

Brain: NO NO NO NO NO! Thinking is not writing! Thinking is fun! Writing is hard! Want to think only!

Me: No, no, it's okay, that's fair. I mean, the one in particular has potential to be multiple scenes and we hardly need another WIP. You can just sit and think about them for a bit. I'll give you at least a week off, okay?

Brain: 'K.

Me: You have fun brainstorming, I'll go do something else.

Brain: Good. ...

...

... Hey.

Me: Mmm?

Brain: You know what we haven't worked on in awhile?

Me: ... I thought you were taking a break?

Brain: Yeah. Yeah. I am. ... ... ... But we've not done Island stuffs in awhile.

Me: You were tired of it.

Brain: I was, yes. Was. Past tense.

Me: ... ... ... *sigh* Okay, I guess I can't really scold you for working on a WIP rather than starting a new thing...

Brain: YES!

And so this happened. So far, it has nothing to do with the story it goes along with. It will, shortly, but so far? Nope. Have Gordon grinching at Thomas about his room.

Somewhere on the other side of the clouds, the sun was starting to set, bringing with it a steady dimming of the light. Thomas checked his watch out of habit. He and Gordon had left the press about five minutes prior, heading to the Main House.

“I can’t wait ‘til I have a place of my own,” the younger man grumbled.

“Technically you already do,” Thomas pointed out. Gordon had been moved out of the dormitories years ago, amid jokes that the doctors had allowed it more for the comfort of the men than for him.

“It’s on the fucking top floor!” Gordon retorted. “Who the fuck wants to go up all those stairs at the end of day?”

“Someone who wants a room of his own without getting married?” Thomas shrugged. “The cottages are too expensive for one person, Gordon. They’re meant for the married couples.”

Scowling something fierce, Gordon shoved his hands in his pockets. “Could live above the press. You’re living with Peter and Kit’s got a cottage.”

“You could,” Thomas allowed. “If you really hate the stairs that much, we can talk to Kit about it. I know I wouldn’t object to not walking you back to the Main House for dinner when it’s pitch black and raining.”

Gordon sniffed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Can walk on my own.”

Thomas graciously ignored him. “Of course, if you live outside the Main House, you have to feed yourself. That means learning to cook, or spending all of your wages at the pub.”

That just earned him a shrug. “What else’ve I got to spend money on outside of food and cigarettes? Rent on the press’s already paid.”

It was, Thomas allowed, a fair point. “I think Kit would still like you to help out with it, but yeah, alright.”

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #thomas barrow #terrance gordon #island of the gays #fanfiction of fanfiction #wip wednesday

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andromedaexists · 2 years

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WUPDATE: CALL ME ICARUS

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙽𝚘𝚟. 𝟿𝚝𝚑 || 𝙽𝚊𝙽𝚘 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝟸

I have managed to fall pretty far behind with NaNo 😅 I guess that’s what happens when you work full time and go to class full time still

I also had a pretty bad bout of no sleep so that was fun

BUT! I hit 36,360 Words!!! I also managed to plan out the entirety of the remaining chapters for CMI. If I am able to stick to my chapter word goals, it should end up ~84k words, only 6k shy of what my original goal was!

I have also started writing chronologically again. While I was able to write out of order when my brain was doing great, i started overthinking how to link the scenes together. So, back to chronological it is!

Anywho, I know what y'all are here for. The snippet is below the cut as always!

Icarus knew something was wrong when he saw a look of horror cross the kids’ face. He turned around and saw a lumbering form come round the corner into the room.

He glanced over at Andromeda, motioning for them to get out of here with the kid. He’ll take care of this - and by take care of, he means he will distract the fucker while those two escape.

As the lumbering form came into view, Icarus groaned. He recognized the monstrosity of muscle in front of him; this was Sisyphus. The #3 Elysian, the master of blunt weaponry.

Icarus had run into him a handful of times in his childhood, but never without adult supervision. He remembers feeling like he was under a microscope whenever he was in the same room as the monster.

Now that he was under scrutiny by that things beady eyes, he understood why. He felt like he was being examined, but that would require the thing to have any braincells. No, it’s more like he was being devoured by the swampy depth of the monsters eyes.

A shiver ran down Icarus’ back as he moved into a defensive stance, preparing for whatever the bastard would throw at him. He just needed to keep his guard up until the other two got out, then he could slip out himself.

And another one for good measure because I just really hate Sisyphus

Icarus had to think of a way to get out of this situation now. He couldn’t be caught here.

As if he had heard his thoughts, Sisyphus opened his maw to reveal a mouth full of rotten teeth as he said, “<just the most vile and reprehensible shit about Andromeda and Achilles>”

With each vile word that came from that rotten mouth Icarus became more angry. How dare this disgusting excuse of a human being talk about his friends - no, his family - like that.

“Y’know, maybe after I’m done with ya I’ll pay yer girl a visit.”

He saw red. It was as if his body was possessed as he slid into an offensive stance. The only thing left in his mind was a repeating mantra of how dare he.

How dare he as Icarus lunged forward, catching Sisyphus off-guard as he ducked under his arm.

How dare he as he reached up, disarming the hulking giant easily from behind.

How dare he as he uses the weight of the mace to sweep the mans feet out from under him, knocking him to the floor with a loud thud.

How dare he, how dare he, how dare he, how DARE HE.

Taglist:

@/flowerprose @/isherwoodj @/cream-and-tea @/touchingmadness @/lockejhaven @/marinesocks @/wildswrites @/the-finch-address @/writingpotato07 @/leighvalentin @/inkspellangel @/cljordan-imperium @/outpost51 @/alleahgrinnon

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#call me icarus #wip update #writing #writeblr #wip excerpt #dark fantasy #wupdate #andi writes

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howlingbreeze · 2 years

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first day of nano over. major productivity, which will save me in the middle of the month when my brain stops working. flipped a coin to know what story to start with, wolves of the hallowed won. i love writing these characters. have a snippet from today's 4,052 words.

Chapter One: Oliver's POV

Moving from the group he let himself wander around the perimeter, watching the people inside, like they were animals for humans to take photos of and brag to their friends about what they’d seen. He remembered once being told---possibly at the Institute---on the Old Earth they had something called zoo’s where humans kept animals for entertainment, he hated that idea as much as this one.

#mk. talks #wip; woth #mk. excerpt #mk. nano 22

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impishbiscuit · 2 years

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @wanderingaldecaldo. I've been working on NaNo, and I'm not entirely unhappy with what I've written! Definitely got some rough spots, so expect this to be polished up before it's posted properly.

.....

Ashley runs a finger along the narrow rim of her bottle, thinking. After a moment, she glances up and looks directly at him. “So she doesn’t cling to us now. But she did cling to you.”

Literally and figuratively, but Garrus shrugs and downs the last half of his turian brandy to avoid answering immediately. “That was just for one night, Ashley,” he eventually says, shuddering at the burn that lances down his throat. “She’s been dodging me ever since.”

Liara tilts her head and acknowledges, “That may be true, but it does not seem to have solved the issue of her being fixated on Thane.”

“She’s not exactly opening up to me and talking about her feelings, Ash,” Garrus points out. “Do you really think that if I tried to approach Shepard with the intent of getting her to open up that it’ll solve our problem?”

Tali lets out another long cackle. It’s a good thing she’s finished with her current drink; they’re going to have to cut her off, and Garrus doesn’t fancy trying to pry a drink out of Tali’s grasp. “Ooh, new idea! We all approach her about this all at once!”

“Let’s pick literally any idea that doesn’t involve an intervention,” Liara says with a long-suffering look. She’d been hanging out with Tali since before Garrus had arrived, and he is starting to get the sense that Liara is very much sick of the tipsy Tali problem. “If there is anything that will make Shepard stop listening to us and continue to isolate herself, it will be if she feels we are surrounding her. Like with an intervention.”

“So, we don’t surround her. Go back to what we said before, with just getting one person to approach her. To get her to cling to someone. Or, barring that, if we can at least distract her from her own misery long enough, maybe she’ll start being happy again and go back to being normal Shepard.” When the rest of the group stares at her, not quite following, Ashley lets out a frustrated sigh and drains the rest of her beer, setting the bottle down with a clink before saying, “I don’t know. Maybe Garrus can go seduce her or something.”

What.

Garrus is pretty sure his brain was rattled too hard on the shuttle ride back to the Normandy, because there is no way he heard that one correctly.

Tali lets out an undignified snort that rapidly turns into a maniacal cackle. “What a brilliant solution! Why didn’t I think of that? Go get in Shepard’s pants, Garrus. That’s sure to stabilize her emotions.”

Liara sputters. “This isn’t a rom com! Shepard isn’t going to be fixed by a man.”

“I didn’t say anything about fixing her. Like I said, we’re just distracting her. We can get her therapy when this is all done. Unless one of you thinks you can successfully drag Shepard to therapy in the middle of a war?”

As much as Garrus hates to admit it, she has a point.

.....

Tagging @ravenstrange and whoever else feels like sharing!

#wip wednesday #writing meme #mass effect #mass effect fanfiction #noodle incident in the making

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tsyllaes · 2 months

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Water Infused with Desert Lime and Muntries

TITLE Water Infused with Desert Lime and Muntries AUTHOR @annarti DISCLAIMER All mine PART 3 of 5 (998 words) (Part 1) (Part 2) ABOUT Part two of the meeting of two characters from my upcoming porny NaNo! Learning a bit more about the two of them.

She ducked her head into her shoulders in her own embarrassed shrug. ‘Fine. You still started it.’

Uli grinned and delighted to see her smile back. ‘Well, I’m not stopping it. Come and meet my parents,’ he said with a wink, then pushed himself from the bench and held out a hand.

Her nose crinkled again as she took his hand and pushed herself upright. ‘Lead on.’

Ulindu led her back out of the kitchen and through the dining room, where the two remaining tables conversed in distance-carrying voices trained over a life at sea.

Tesi-Seti-Siti called something out to her skipper—her father, Uli reminded himself. He knew enough Tsaythi to understand the gist, that she was going to the smithy and would see them back on the ship afterwards.

‘Take care, Sita,’ the captain replied in Tsaythi, and Uli gave him a silent nod and smile of profound thanks. He wouldn’t have to embarrass himself by asking her name.

The prevailing sou-easter hit Uli with salt and the yell of seagulls as he bent his head into the wind. There were dark clouds out to sea but they would almost certainly slide on up the coast. In Ni-Badra, the clouds were thin and glary so Ulindu had to squint.

‘Why are you a chef?’ Sita asked. ‘When your parents are both blacksmiths, I mean. How come you are not a blacksmith, too?’

Ulindu shrugged. ‘You aren’t a leader; I’m not a blacksmith. I helped in the smithy growing up, but my favourite part of the day was always helping make breakfast with Mama, foraging along the beach and thinking about everything I found, what I could turn it into to make it delicious. Mama was the one who made me realise it could be a career, though. It was like something just snapped into place in my brain. I’m not a blacksmith. I’m a chef.’

Sita gave him her crinkle-nosed smile. ‘That is really great, to have your parents actually be supportive like that. It seems like so many people I meet are stuck in lives they do not want because their parents told them to.’

Uli cocked his head. It sounded like there was something personal in the statement. ‘But… not you?’ he tested. Maybe she did want to be the captain.

Sita hesitated a moment, then pursed her lips with a sigh. Uli held his tongue, just patiently waiting for her to find her words.

‘You know we have arranged marriages in Tsayth, yes?’

‘Ah,’ Uli said with a nod of understanding.

‘No, not “ah.” It is not like how the world seems to think it is. We are not forced into anything, it is just…’ She tipped her head back in exasperation and reached up to pull off her bandana, fiddling with the knot as she spoke. ‘When I was a baby, my parents and the parents of a boy on another ship, Nedu, negotiated for their family to join our crew, with mine and Nedu’s potential match being part of the deal. Like I say, there is nothing at all forcing it to happen, but the fact you both have the shared life experience with the real potential for marriage to happen… Many more arranged marriages end up happening than not. You grow up together, being taught the same values, understanding the same hierarchy on the same ship, the same expectations of a relationship. Your parents are already friends and you grow up all feeling like family. So I properly fell in love with Nedu, always knew marriage was going to happen, but now, he… he has told me he is not in love with me. He does not hate me or anything, we get on really well, so it is not enough for him to say he does not want to get married, but he has asked if I mind him looking for someone… better…’

Ulindu cringed with sympathy. ‘So your choices are to either marry someone who doesn’t love you like you love him, or to let the one you love marry someone else.’

Sita shook her head, lifting her bandanna to retie it. ‘Those are not choices. I need to find someone better.’ She sighed again and pulled the ends of her cloth with more force than she probably needed. ‘It is hard to move on from something I always thought was a certainty. I always, always knew I was to marry Nedu. We were to have children, maybe one would be captain after my sister. His parents and mine already act like we are married. It just… It is hard. To completely readjust my thinking.’ She kicked at the edge of a cobblestone.

‘This was recent?’

‘When we left the last port, in Razabes.’

Ulindu had to assume it wasn’t a long trip. He awkwardly cleared his throat. ‘So is that why you’re… um…’

She hooked her hands behind her back with a little shrug and a crinkled nose. ‘No! Well, maybe a little bit. I gave him permission to look elsewhere, but it was not until we started coming into port here that I finally gave myself permission, too. Mostly I just think you are cute. And you are an amazing cook.’ She bumped him with her shoulder. ‘I mean, not that I am thinking that far ahead. I am not… am not ready to replace him yet. We could still have fun while I am in port, yes? No expectations?’

A smile spread across Uli’s lips as he looked at the gorgeous Tsaythi walking beside him. Her grey eyes danced, her teeth a bright smile in her dark face, not cheeky but hopeful. ‘We absolutely can,’ he agreed. ‘But first, may I present the best smithy in Ni-Badra.’ He held a hand out to the sandstone building they had now reached.

Sita’s hopeful little smile turned to one of broad delight. ‘Oh, yes! I had almost forgotten!’ She reached out to swish the canvas door aside.

---

Finally, Uli gets Sita's name right =3 Names and family lineage are extremely important in Tsayth, prevents bastards and inbreeding in small spaces like ships.

Bit of history for them both yay! Mostly Sita cos she's the one I'm exploring with this.

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2024 #writers of tumblr

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thegoddesswater · 10 months

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3, 11, and 14 - to be answered sometime by the end of the year! ^__^

It's closer enough to the end of the year that I think I'll answer these now ;D

3. did you achieve everything you wanted to this year? Oh, absolutely not. My big goal for the year was to have the original 18 chapters of an old fanfic completely rewritten by the 17th anniversary of when I started posting it (and then once those were up, I'd start working on and posting the new chapters for it because I still have brain weasels about it and feel like I can actually get it done after all this time) I fell laughably short of this goal and haven't given myself a new date to shoot for yet. I blame Miadhachain Legacy for rising from the depths of my psyche like a chthonic god and trying to take all my attention again. Get back in the box, you multi-generational catastrophe

I did, however, reach my 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo again, which was something I wanted to do. I know NaNo doesn't work for everyone, but I use it as permission to turn my brain off and just WRITE. And while I usually hate everything I churn up while it's still November, I do love going back into the scenes after a few weeks and going "Wait, this is actually kinda good. We'll save this"

11. which scene was harder/easier to write than anticipated? why? I was trying to write a bit of character exploration with Voltain from Talentless/Wild Card and I just could not get the scene to work. Honestly, I think the trouble with the scene might have been that I was trying too hard to write something from his backstory that was never really meant to be explicit, and some part of me was rebelling against actually writing it down.

It was that, or spending time in Voltain's head was icky and my brain Noped Right Out of that. (I think it was more the first option.)

14. time for writing wrapped! what would be your top three used sentences? "God dammit, Jance - why are you like this" Wait, no. You mean sentences I wrote. Not what I mutter in exasperation when my characters are being wilful.

Generally, I'd say that I try not to reuse sentences, but I have noticed some of my general phrasing trends, for which I'll give three examples:

"He grabbed at the air, as though the words he needed were hanging there, waiting for him to take and use."

"Servos whirred, humming to life in response to his tensing muscles."

"She gave her head a shake, as though she could dislodge the experience of the last thirty seconds."

#writblr #ask game #One of my example sentences is entirely ML specific - and if we want to be even more specific - it's just for Adair #but the other two have variations that tend to show up across works #The scene with Voltain never got written out the way I wanted it so I'm not sure if it's a real thing that he destroyed a Fae village #Or just something that he COULD have done - like I wouldn't put it past him #but it also feels maybe a touch TOO extreme for Volt to have actually done

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hyuccubus · 11 months

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Wow, 2,498 words tonight. I stopped keeping track of stuff for NaNo, I just can't write under the same conditions I did in 2021 (drumming for a few different bands and commuting forty minutes to work leaves me with precious fewer minutes), but the words just flowed this evening. Here's a snippet from tonight's drafting. Been a while since I've posted one! CW for anxiety, panic attack, and frank depictions of self-loathing ***

I used to love this city. I'm starting to realize that I was in love with the idea of it; my childish conception of what being here all of the time would be like. In the thick of it, every building tells a story, every passerby is an individual, but from a distance, it's all blended together, an amalgam that you feel separated from.

A knot.

Not now.

So much bigger than you can ever imagine. So much deeper than you could ever hope to hold your breath before you hit the bottom.

Damn it.

Can you feel your lungs, fighting for air? They won't work forever, will they? Is now a bad time for it all to stop? Do you even get to decide that?

My chest hurts. I hate this city. I hate this tower. I hate myself. I hate my brain. I hate my brain so much.

"Swift?" Gharial calls out, catching my ear and then my focus. His expression has morphed from relaxed to concerned. Without waiting for permission, he takes my hand, his palm nearly enough to smother the entire extremity.

"I know that look, don't worry, I'm here. Talk to me."

"I… I just, I was thinking about… I don't know, it's stupid, I'm sorry, you don't have to…"

He squeezes my hand even tighter, refusing to let me apologize for something that isn't wrong.

"It's not stupid. Just talk. You're thinking irrational thoughts. Irrational thoughts can feel rational until we put them into the world."

"I just… I'm an adult now, y'know? I have to take care of myself, I have to do all of this, and if I don't, nothing's going to get better. This city used to seem so special, but all it really is is sad and scary and too big to ever really know, the Practice is so huge and we can't…"

Gharial puts a free finger to his lips, letting me trail off before filling in.

"Alright, let's go down the list. You are an adult, that much is true. Being a kid was easier in some ways, but a lot harder in others. The stuff that you have to do just wasn't stuff you were prepared to do, but that doesn't mean you can't learn. You can learn it all as you go. So that's one problem made rational. Next thing; you're wrong about having to take care of yourself, and you're wrong about having to do all of this. We have to take care of each other. We have to do this. And this city used to seem bigger than life, but this city is life. You've got some good, some bad, and most days don't end with the scale being balanced equally. You lean on us on the bad days, you let us lean on you on the good days, and we ride out everything in-between."

#writeblr #current wip #queer writers #authors #nano 2023

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loverhymeswith · 3 years

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What a Wicked Game | One

[Rick Flag x OC]

Word Count: 4,395

A/N: This fic was born because Rick Flag deserved better. And I have been truly inspired by all the amazing Rick fic already out there. You guys are giving me life. I haven't written anything like this for a long time, so I just hope I can do the man justice.

Rick.

Rick Flag is no stranger to putting himself in mortal peril.

He’s the leader of the goddamn Suicide Squad after all. Fighting his way out of deadly situations is just another day in the office. Still, this might be the most reckless thing he’s ever done.

One thing’s for certain, Amanda Waller is going to kill him.

That is, if Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime doesn’t beat her to it.

Nothing gets past Amanda “The Wall” Waller, least of all the meta-human inmates of Belle Reve Correctional Facility. The nano-bombs implanted in their brains are supposed to ensure that. And yet here’s Rick, driving through the back streets of Gotham City in the dead of night, with one of Waller’s very own meta-human prisoners by his side.

For some time now he’s been promising the woman next to him that he’s going to take care of things, make things right. But as they approach their destination, he’s beginning to doubt his ability to deliver.

The odds are stacked against him in every direction.

He only has a few hours until Waller notices not all her toys are back in their box. And here Rick is, about to make a deal with the Devil.

He glances over at his passenger. Her head rests against the window of his Jeep; strands of her silver-blonde hair have escaped their braid, framing the soft angles of her face. On nights like this her name seems incredibly fitting.

Her eyes are closed, but he can tell Angel’s not sleeping. Just like Rick, she can never sleep after a mission. Strung out but still wired with adrenaline, knowing her freedom is slipping away with every passing second.

All Task Force X missions are tough. It’s the very reason the covert black-ops team exists in the first place; why Rick was assigned as their leader. They’re here to take care of the shit that no-one else wants to deal with. Why get your hands dirty when the Suicide Squad can do it for you?

This mission was worse than usual. They’re bloody and bruised; broken physically and mentally, and down three team members less than when they started. Rick hates losing any team members, even if most of them are convicted felons who are far more concerned with saving their own skin than the success of the assignment.

Angel is different though.

She’s still a convicted felon, with a fair share of blood on her hands, but like Rick, she puts her life on the line time and again. Gets him out of some real scraps. And for what? Twelve meagre hours of freedom for each successful mission. A sliver of reward for not dying. It’s not good enough.

It will never be good enough.

And it’s been building up for a while now, this reckless desire of Rick’s.

Each time he escorts her back to the cell, he can feel Angel losing another piece of herself. Belle Reve does that to a person. He would know. He spends enough time with its inmates to see it first-hand. How the prison slowly chips away at your sanity, until the person you once were becomes nothing more than splinters in the wind.

Only the truly crazy seem to survive Belle Reve. Harley’s proof of that.

So, Rick needs to get Angel out of Belle Reve and Task Force X before it’s too late, and he’s convinced himself that tonight must be the night.

Angel finally shifts beside him, pulling his attention away from the road.

“Where are we going tonight, Rick?” She asks hoarsely, eyes still shut. Angry purple bruises bloom around her throat. A reminder of how close they came to failing. How close he came to losing her.

His fingers grip the steering wheel a fraction tighter.

It’s become a habit, these late-night, post-mission drives. Ever since Waller assigned him as Angel’s chaperone – a stipulation of the twelve-hour bargain.

Angel likes being on the road. She tells him she finds the gentle hum of the engine calming. The soft rumble of tires on the highway sooths her fraying nerves. The neon signs and gleaming headlights remind her there is a world away from Belle Reve, away from the endless death and destruction.

Rick enjoys the company.

Just the two of them. Going as far as her curfew will allow, never the same place twice.

Except for tonight.

He doesn’t want to lie to her, but he doesn’t want to tell her the truth either. Not just yet. Because after tonight, everything’s going to change.

He’s also not entirely sure she’ll want to go along with his plan once she knows who’s involved. Hell, even Harley tried warning him against this. But Rick is all out of options.

“Rick?” She grumbles. He hasn’t replied yet.

“We’re getting that damn thing out of your head, darlin’. You’ve just got to trust me, ok?”

Angel’s eyes fly open. Alarmed, her bright blue gaze settles on him. “Tonight?”

They’ve talked about it before, sure, about breaking Waller’s diabolical hold over her, but she’s never really believed he’s being serious. It’s always seemed like more of a pipedream than anything truly possible.

She underestimates just how strongly Rick feels.

“Can’t wait any longer. Nearly lost you back there.”

Today was a wake-up call if ever he needed one. The missions are becoming deadlier, the squad crazier, Waller more powerful. It’s time for Angel to get out.

After his relationship with June ended, Rick swore off love. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s not even sure if it really was love, but it hurt like hell when she left, and he doesn’t want to feel like that ever again.

Whatever he feels for Angel is different, but it scares the shit out of him all the same. It’s not love, at least he doesn’t think so. Hopes it isn’t. All he knows is that he can’t let anything happen to her. Can’t let anything else happen to her.

He drags his gaze from the road again to find her watching him intently, her bright blue eyes reflecting the glow of the passing headlights. His own eyes wander back to the finger-shaped bruises around her delicate neck.

“Is this about earlier? It wasn’t your fault you know.”

Rick shakes his head. She’s wrong.

He’d been distracted. Careless. Forgot to switch off the goddamn power dampeners.

The chopper had barely landed when they were ambushed. Someone had sold them out. But that was a problem for another day. Because Angel had been caught by those assholes, and she couldn’t even protect herself. The most valuable member of the squad, the only one of them with the gift of life as well as death, and he’d left her weak and defenceless.

Rick hadn’t bothered to stop Waylon from tearing the bastards in half when he got his claws on them.

He grits his jaw, eyes returning to the road ahead. He doesn’t deserve this - her kindness, her understanding.

“It’s my job to protect you. I failed.”

Because he’s their leader. Colonel Rick Flag. He’s responsible for the outcome of every mission, for making the difficult decisions, keeping the delinquents in line, ensuring no one is left behind.

When Angel replies, the resolve in her voice killshim. “You didn’t fail. I’m here. We’re both here, in one piece.”

“But for how much longer?” he asks her, gruffly. “It’s only a matter of time before our luck runs out. One day there’ll be no more close calls, no more second chances. Look at what happened to…”

“Rick.” She sighs.

He knows she worries when he gets like this. Anxious. Agitated. Agonising over the deaths he feels he could have prevented. Should have prevented.

“You can’t save everyone.”

How many times has he heard that? Logically, he knows it to be true. Doesn’t make it any easier though. Waller says he just wants to play the hero. Surrounded by villains day in and day out, maybe she’s right.

And maybe he can’t save everyone.

But he can save Angel.

“Seriously, where are we going?”

She still doesn’t believe him. Thinks she can change the subject and distract him from his melancholy. Usually, it works. But not tonight.

His stomach, his skin, every inch of his body is crawling with snakes, spiders and all manner of horrid things as he thinks about what he needs to do. He can feel Angel’s eyes on him, but he keeps his own fixed firmly on the road. Can’t bring himself to see the look on her face when he tells her.

Rick tries to clear the lump in his throat as he makes a turn off the main road. “We’re payin’ a visit to an old friend of Harley’s…”

They’ve reached the worst part of Gotham now, so he knows it’s not far. That is, if Harley’s scribbled directions are correct. He can’t quite put his finger on when exactly he started trusting the former psychiatrist, but now’s not the time for doubt.

Speaking of which, he tunes out the tiny inner voice that’s been screaming all night this is a terrible idea. It might be a terrible idea, but it’s the only one he’s got.

“Harley?” It only takes a beat of silence before he senses Angel stiffen. The penny drops. “You don’t mean…?”

He nods once.

She turns in her seat and for a moment he thinks she’s going to grab the wheel. Or him. The power dampeners have long since been discarded. She could put a stop to this right now if she wanted to. All it takes is one touch.

“What the hell, Rick!? Have you lost your mind?”

Probably, he thinks, but it’s too late to worry about that now. They’ve almost arrived.

“You’re gonna have to trust me darlin’. This is our only choice.”

He slows the car to a crawl, peering out of the window into the mist covered night. After the prison, Gotham is one of his least favourite places. Always feels like he’s stepping into a nightmare. Difference is, tonight the nightmare’s coming true.

“No, it’s not.” She protests. “We can go back to Belle Reve.”

“You are not going back there.” He’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“Rick.” Angel reaches for him, her fingers brushing the back of his hand.

It’s only the slightest of touches, but he doesn’t flinch at the contact anymore. He still isn’t quite used to it though and she knows it. She’s always so careful around him. He trusts she won’t hurt him, but it’s not natural, you know, what she can do with that touch.

“What about giving me a choice?”

Rick’s boot comes down on the footbrake, her question demanding his full attention.

She has a point. How is he any better than Waller right now? Forcing Angel into a plan of his own making with no thought as to what she might want. This isn’t the person he wants to be.

“I’m sorry, I just…” He sighs, searching for the right words in his scrambled-up brain. He’s always found it difficult to articulate himself, to explain his emotions. Just knows he feels too much sometimes. “I can’t stand you being locked up in that place. It’s not right. You’re too… good.”

“But isn’t he worse than Waller? How can we trust him?”

She stares at him with those big blue eyes, and he feels his chest tighten, finds it harder to breathe. Where did all the oxygen go?

“Do you trust me?” His voice is rough and rasping, thick with emotion. He hopes she doesn’t notice. He’s always been careful to conceal his feelings around her. Whatever those feelings might be.

“Yes, but…”

He takes one hand off the wheel and without thinking reaches out to grip her fingers tightly. The absolute contact sends shockwaves through his body, but it has nothing to do with her gift.

It’s the first time he’s touched her like this, without the power dampeners on.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Angel.

Despite her better judgement, Angel allows Rick to coax her out of the car. She can tell something’s been bothering him for a while now, even before the disastrous mission. He’s been quieter, more angsty than usual. She knows better than to pry though. He’s never been one for sharing his feelings. And it’s never been her business.

Until now.

Now it is quite literally her business. If she’d known all this time that he was concocting an insane plan to remove the nano-bomb implanted in the base of her skull she would have…well…she’d have tried talking some sense into him.

The problem with Rick is that he’s like a dog with a bone. Stubborn, determined, unwilling to admit defeat. A martyr. Because this ridiculous idea of his might just get them both killed.

But he’s asked her to trust him. She can do that, surely? She puts her life in his hands on every mission and when has he ever let her down? No matter what he thinks, today wasn’t his fault.

She follows Rick along a dimly lit alley that smells like death, through a pair of rusting iron gates and into the loading yard of an abandoned warehouse.

Yes.

She’s going to trust him.

With every step forward her panic rises, but somehow she manages to hold it together. Because if she’s honest with herself she wants this too. Wants to be free, from Belle Reve, from Waller, from wondering each day if it’s going to be her last.

She hangs back while Rick knocks loudly on a boarded-up door. Someone has gone to great lengths to make the place look deserted. She’s always pictured something…flashier. Then again, what villain in their right mind would want to advertise their secret lair with a billboard sign and flashing lights?

Then she remembers.

This villain isn’t in their right mind.

Somewhere above them a flood light switches on, bathing the yard in a sickly yellow glow. The door swings open on invisible hinges, revealing a pair of tall figures in matching black suits. Angel’s not sure what’s worse, the hideous fanged grins painted on their masked heads, one black and one white, or the huge automatic guns pointing at her and Rick.

She takes a step back involuntarily, but Rick doesn’t move, just stares back at the monstrous pair, shoulders squared as he speaks.

“Tell your boss that Rick Flag is here to see him.”

The figures exchange a look with one another. At least, she thinks it’s a look. Hard to tell given the fact that there are no eyes in those hideous masks.

“Rick…” She edges closer to him, conscious of the figures watching her every move. Rick’s not a small man, but these freaks dwarf even him.

Before she can beg him to turn around and leave, the white mask lurches forwards and grabs Rick roughly by the shoulder. Pushes him inside without saying a word, leaving Black Mask with a clear path to Angel.

To hell with this, she thinks, holding up her hand as the creature starts to prowl towards her. “Don’t bother, I’m coming.”

Angel finds herself bundled inside what appears to be the inner loading dock. A flickering tube light illuminates the small area and her eyes dart around, searching for Rick. Her relief at finding him is short lived though, as White Mask has him up against the wall while Black Mask begins to relieve him of his weapons.

If it wasn’t for the perilous circumstance, Angel would find it amusing, the number of firearms and blades Rick manages to conceal about his person. The assault rifle remains in the Jeep, but he has a pair of handguns in his shoulder holster, two Glocks tucked into his waistband and at least one knife in each boot.

Once Rick is completely unarmed, the freaks move on to Angel.

“It’s ok Rick. Here.” She pulls her own single gun from the waist of her bloodied combat trousers and hands it over to White Mask. It’s never been much use to her, even after all the lessons from Deadshot. She just doesn’t have the coordination.

“She’s not armed,” Rick insists, putting himself between the masks and Angel.

He seems to forget they still have their own guns trained on him and one wrong move might put a swift end to this great scheme of his.

Her skills are more… unique. But less precise.

Perhaps she should have told Rick to put the power dampeners back on. She doesn’t want to cause a major incident by accidentally taking out one of these henchmen.

After Rick’s little exhibition, the freaks are taking no chances and they proceed to pat her down roughly. She takes a deep breath. Reminds herself she is here by choice. It’s not like before. Before Belle Reve. Before the Suicide Squad. She’s a different person now. She’s in control.

Isn’t she?

The moment the radio falls silent, both masked freaks separate out. Despite their size, they move startlingly fast. Before Angel can react, Rick is being manhandled out of the room by White Mask.

Satisfied the pair are unarmed, one of the freaks produces a radio from somewhere about his person and the sound of crackling static fills the air. An alien-like voice proceeds to splutter out a series of incomprehensible commands.

Angel glances over at Rick who looks just as bewildered. His hazel eyes are wide, wary. The brightest thing in this dark room. She focuses on those eyes. Uses them to keep her grounded. Reminds herself he’s got her back.

Always.

She shouts after him, afraid. Doesn’t want to be left alone. Doesn’t know where he’s being taken. Tries to follow, but the door slams shut in her face.

Probably not.

In pain staking slow motion the black-masked figure turns to look at her. Again, she assumes he’s looking at her, because you know, no eyes.

Distantly, she wonders if he’s ever allowed to take off the mask. In fact, as she’s trapped there in the claustrophobic loading dock, she starts to wonder a lot of things. Like whether she can reach Black Mask’s heart before he can pull the trigger.

And where would that leave her? Where would it leave Rick, who’s bargaining away goodness knows what to secure her a future she’s not even sure she deserves.

A large hand grabs her roughly by the shoulder and shoves her out of the dock. Marches her forwards until they reach the centre of the room, where, surrounded by an assortment of disturbingly masked figures, stands Rick.

It’s hard to say how much time passes, but when a sharp whistle finally pierces the cloying silence, Angel nearly jumps out of her skin. Ever the obedient lackey, Black Mask opens the door that Rick disappeared through, revealing a wide-open chamber, presumably once the centre of the old warehouse.

Fluorescent green lights have been installed, casting the area in a sickly glow. She should be terrified, but all she can think about is Rick. How much she needs to see him again, needs to know he’s ok.

Any relief she feels about him still being in one piece soon shatters when her eyes land on the individual next to him.

The Joker.

Here before her, in the flesh, for the very first time.

He’s shorter than she expected.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Amanda Waller’s very own ‘Angel of Death’.”

Rick moves to take a step towards her, but the Clown Prince stops him with a swift hand to the chest. “Colonel Flag, you didn’t tell me that it was this particular meta-human you want to save.”

When Rick doesn’t reply, the Joker flashes him a menacing grin. “Whatever happened to June Moone?”

Angel isn’t surprised to hear June’s name on the Joker’s lips. Of course, he’s keeping tabs on the Suicide Squad, especially after Midway City. After Harley. He probably hates the idea that she’s finally made something of herself without him.

Angel doesn’t like the flicker of pain in Rick’s eyes. She knows how much it still hurts him to think about June. After everything he went through – they went through – to bring her back.

Rick growls. “I told you we have a time limit, Clown. Are you going to help or not?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Flag.” The Joker cackles, his pale green eyes gleaming with barely concealed excitement as his cronies close in around Rick.

Narcissistic bastard.

The green menace stalks towards Angel and she notices for the first time his immaculate attire. Crisp white shirt loosely buttoned, offering a glimpse of tattoos; their dark lines harsh against his sallow skin. Black dress pants, gold rings on every finger.

For a sadistic psychopath, he seems to take an awful amount of pride in his appearance.

Pausing a few feet away, the Joker cocks his head. A predator sizing up his prey. “It’s only polite to get to know someone before cutting their brain open. Wouldn’t you agree, Angel?”

Her mouth falls open, his words dousing her in fear. “Wh…what?”

Rick elbows his way through the goons and plants himself between Angel and the Joker. The thick, muscled wall of his body a welcome shield. “He’s lying.”

Before Rick can elaborate or the Joker can disagree, another figure enters the room.

Unlike the rest of the henchmen, this one is unmasked.

Familiar.

Wearing a white lab coat.

“Is that...?”

“Dr. Van Criss.” The Joker leers. “Yes, you might well recognise him as the very man responsible for putting that bomb in your head in the first place. Fortunate that he works for me now, don’t you think?”

This is Rick’s plan; Angel realises with a jolt. How long has he known that Van Criss is on the Joker’s payroll?

They’ve all heard the rumours: that after the scientist was blackmailed into removing Harley’s bomb, he disappeared from A.R.G.U.S. Some say he was terminated by Waller. Not a huge stretch of the imagination after experiencing first-hand what she did to her team in Midway City.

But no, the doctor lives. He’s probably just too great an asset for the Joker to let go of. All those government secrets squirreled away inside his brain.

There’s something just too easy about this though, Angel thinks. After all, nothing comes for free. Especially not in Gotham. Not from the Joker.

What’s the price?

She wants to ask, but the Joker side-steps Rick with a flourish and his lean arm comes to hover over around her shoulders.

Almost touching. But not quite.

Is he… scared?

He leans in close, his bitter breath tickling her cheek as he croons. “Tell me, Angel. Can you really kill a man with one touch?”

Angel ducks out of his almost-embrace and bares her teeth. “Would you like to find out?”

She could do it.

And that’s what really kills.

She could stop his heart if she wanted to. Could leave him dizzy and sweating, stricken and gasping for breath, until the very last minute. And then, if she’s feeling generous, bring him back from the brink of death.

It’s a shame his goons would get to her first.

Because she needs time. That’s the thing. Time to constrict the arteries, time to squeeze the air from his lungs.

Everyone thinks it’s instant, this gift of hers. That all it takes is one touch. Even Rick. It’s why he’s so reluctant to touch her.

What he doesn’t realise is that there’s never been anything to worry about.

Angel’s control over her power has always been tentative at best. That’s how she ended up in Belle Reve; let her emotions gets the better of her. But the human body is a complex machine, and sure, she might be able to quicken a pulse here, or heal a scratch there, but it takes a huge amount of concentration, will power, raw emotion, for her to do any real damage.

So, Rick might not want to touch her, and she can’t blame him for that. But she would never hurt him.

The Joker is delighted. He looks over at Rick, amusement tugging at his dark lips until they part obscenely, revealing a row of silver capped teeth.

“This one’s got claws, Flag.” He turns to Angel. “How’s about I get that bomb out of your head and you come work for me? I’ve been in the market for a new pet since Harley left.”

Everyone in the room, including Rick, knows he’s bluffing. They wouldn’t be here if there was any alternative and Angel has finally accepted this.

“Enough, Joker.” Rick snarls.

It looks as if he’s going to launch himself on the clown, but that sliver of self-restraint that always seems to keep Rick alive sees his feet rooted to the spot.

“We do this now, or we’re leaving.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s going to happen Colonel. But seeing as I am in the habit of protecting my investments, let’s get to it. Doc, the floor is yours.”

The Joker gives Angel a final appraisal before turning on his heel and heads back towards his circle of henchmen.

Van Criss holds out an arm, gesturing for Angel to join him but she remains frozen in place, staring at Rick with uncertainty. “What does he mean by investment?”

Rick shakes his head. “Nothing for you to worry about, darlin’. Come on. Let’s get this over and done with.”

He offers her his hand, another first, but for the second time this evening his hazel eyes betray him. There’s something he’s not telling her.

“I’m afraid it’s a rather rudimentary procedure,” Van Criss explains as he guides them to what appears to be a makeshift medical bay. “Without having my original instruments to hand I’m going to have to make a small incision to remove the device.”

Angel wants to put her foot down, to insist on being told the full story, but like Rick she is painfully aware of the clock ticking. If she doesn’t make a decision now, Waller will happily make it for her.

So, with no small amount of trepidation, she takes Rick’s hand and lets him lead her over to the waiting doctor.

Angel notices how he doesn’t call it a bomb.

#rick flag x oc #tss 2021 #colonel rick flag #dceu fanfiction #rick flag fanfiction #rick flag imagine #joel kinnaman #the joker #harley quinn #oc #original character #fan fiction #colonel flag fanfiction #colonel flag #amanda waller #deadshot #fanfic #my fic #rick flag

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worldsover · 4 years

Text

Judgement to the Desiccated ft. Karina

length ✦ 5573

genres ✧ sm type future; asphyxiation; blackmail; virtual_servant!Karina;

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Air did a poor job of not being polluted so Lee Soo Man flooded the world instead. The man himself certainly must be long gone and could not have been in charge of that decision but the legacy of his company far exceeds the legacy of any other human collective in history. Once on this planet, gas was the fluid of choice for respiration and breathing was an unconscious reflex. Now there’s Aether by SM. How very on-brand of them to have the liquid air you breathe follow perfume naming conventions.

Open your eyes and exit the sleeping chamber. Aether has you work for each inhalation, it desaturates the color of the bedroom—maybe there’s a subtle but uncomfortable tinge of yellow—and it makes your nose itch. Your muscles wield much less force than they used to because of the lack of resistance the fluid provides. Moreover, it smells like hairspray as though the ozone layer is taking sardonic revenge.

Screens impersonating windows track your eyes to ensure realistic parallax, playing the scene of divine blue heavens that could not exist. An azure sky is a reward for those planets that have an atmosphere and a sun for light to scatter. Your walls are either chrome or drywall white and your whole bedroom is plainly decorated just like the day you moved in.

“Etymology of bedroom,” you think out loud, though it falls on no ears.

“Bedroom is a compound noun consisting of bed and room. Bed goes back to Old English bedd ‘sleeping place, plot of ground prepared for plants,’ which goes back to the Germanic-”

Plants and sleep are both strong words to use nowadays. The former doesn’t exist in nature and it seems you’re the only one who bothers with the latter. Faint buzzing distracts you from the AI’s response and signals you to the nano drones that swim throughout the liquid to process carbon dioxide from your lungs. This whole ordeal could’ve been much worse if you didn’t have brain interfaces doing the hard part of controlling your diaphragm. The most you need is a purposeful thought. Still, it gets tiring having to think the same thought every three seconds. In. Out.

Was the metaphorical Soo Man teaching a lesson in perseverance? You love K-pop and imagine it’s how trainees used to practice dancing, singing, being charismatic. Being an idol had to be as natural as breathing air. Inhale and exhale. Right now with any antiquated programming language you clung on to, you could write a single for loop that did the same job. For every three seconds: breathe in, breathe out.

“What’s for breakfast today?” Not loud enough. “What’s for breakfast?” you think it louder.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready for service.” It’s quite a kindness for SM to blur the bland dystopia you live in by augmenting reality through your neural device. A bosomy woman in a gold-lined but otherwise modest maid outfit appears from the corner of your eye and she bows. Ae-Karina is bewitching and almost becoming of her basis as its graphics have gradually upgraded over the rotations but you wouldn’t misconstrue the avatar as human.

“I said, what’s for breakfast!” It feels impolite to scream in your head, there’s other residents there, but finally the fridge lights up.

“Of course master. May I remind you eating is unnecessary?”

In. Out. Every day, she does remind you, yes. How kind of the company to put all your nutritional requirements in the new air. Aether goes in then Aether goes out. You wish the thoughts of breathing could fade into the background but they’re just like your cravings for food. Always hungry but never starving, whole though not once satisfied. Your eyes pause at her gorgeous face and she tells you there’s bacon. Take it from your fridge. Bacon goes in. Well, the drones take care of the out.

Your assigned living space is the entire 207th floor of a tower. Two hundred and seven floors below the surface. The neighbor a few floors upstairs says that he thinks living deeper is a sign of status. What a luxury. That guy should check the status of his facial muscles, maybe improve his code that lets him tell lies while he’s at it. A couple hundred flights of stairs to swim up is a useless skeuomorphism of skyscrapers in the days of the sun. In fact they were more than useless, you would've preferred a single vertical hallway as it would have let you propel upwards unimpeded. Each floor is the exact same, a glass door that affords no privacy for its residence, a false tree on each side. At the upper levels, malls, convenience stores and other gaudy retail, but it’s the gyms that mock you that you mock in return. They’re always empty.

Finally reaching the top is no true break even if it is a change in scenery. Inhale. Aether tastes a little different up here. Exhale. Can’t say you like it.

Countless satellites form a parody of the star from which the planet flew away, the false image refracted by the upper boundary of Aether. They can’t take away your memories of this star. Looking up at the sky once blinded you with ultraviolet radiation, burning your cornea. It was beautiful. Now everyone’s decided that if they’re playing the part of corporate dystopia, they might as well fit the aesthetic. In a way, it’s self-fulfilling. They wouldn’t have chosen a neon pink sun to compliment the blue and metallic gloom of the cityscape if it weren’t so ingrained in popular media already.

Still, you would’ve expected Google or Walmart to become the megacorp responsible for the state of the world, not a Korean entertainment company. Must’ve been quite the red paperclip scenario. Instead of material design or utilitarian architecture, tacky artistic structures line the streets. The same advertisements for albums that they’ve been selling for the past however long. It's all so obvious, the city could've been designed from scratch to accommodate new forms of travel and goddamn liquid air but instead they went with futuristic Tokyo.

Dubstep permeates your inner ear implants. A notification informs your thoughts that it’s “Hip-hop EDM dance pop with a strong jungle house groove and urban influences.” It’s dubstep. Liquid carries barely any sound so SM affords the option for implants if you're nostalgic for one of the senses. Even though it’s a slower form of communication than direct neural transfer, the noise comforts you. Of course the company would choose dubstep as their background music, but maybe they make money off refunds somehow. It switches to Ice Cream Cake. Much better.

You walk the not so busy roads towards a short brick warehouse in the distance and heavy rain soaks your clothes. No such thing as weather without the sun and water but it’s all simulated anyway.

A warm Seulgi adlib and you know it’s Psycho that starts playing. No, none of your senses are real. The most you could trust is your vision but even that’s being lied to. You could be living in a vat and fed all these thoughts, but then why make it so mediocre? Not paradise, nor torture but a lukewarm in-between. Guess that's what happens when SM Entertainment manages the post-apocalypse. Good on them for trying. The alternative would be a frozen hellscape without solar radiation. Can’t deny their work with geothermal and nuclear energy to keep the Aether warm so that you didn’t have to live underground for the rest of human history. It’s quite great PR to save humanity.

“Hey now, we’ll be okay,” repeats a few more times than you remember.

The Idea Factory Alpha White Delta Green says the neon tubes lighting the front of the brick and mortar building. Your ID card bears a name but it’s not yours, not until they approve your name change. Those usually get processed faster with how often people liked changing their names.

Sit at a desk with a sterile white keyboard and slick new monitor. Type and empty words appear on the screen: “Think for the many, not for the one. We need to think ahead.” A thumbs up. The company appreciates the input. That’s probably enough work for one day. Some SNSD live stages help the time pass, SM certainly appreciated the streaming numbers and it would net you some social points.

It’s hard to say what comes to mind when they ask you to envision a world without the sun and air, especially since it’s what you’ve known for... Two hundred years? There’s no frame of reference, that much you can tell from when you counted seconds to see how often the satellites completed their orbit. SM really took time to have them propel at random speeds, they love withholding sensitive information like that from citizens. To be fair, time is sensitive. Guess the meaning of that phrase changes like all parts of language.

Look around. Dozens of employees at identical workspaces all try to answer the same questions. Naturally, there’s no need for manual labor anymore but there will never be a replacement for human ingenuity. Nice slogan but you know you’re only here for data. Can’t see a need for customer retention though—what’s the alternative, skip Earth? See you on another planet?

“Hey bro, you come up with anything new?” Dave says. Two desks away, you see the enthusiastic, surprisingly spry man play around with a Newton’s cradle. The balls at each end bounce back and forth, not slowing down their rhythm any time soon.

“I think I got something,” you say, “Earth is not the answer. It can’t be, long term.”

“Ooh, I like that. Actually, I really like that.”

“What are you gonna do, copy me?”

“Of course not. You know how much SM hates plagiarism.” Click. Clack.

“Ha. As if there’s a single original thought left in the world.” Click. Clack. The imaginary sounds of metal spheres bouncing play in your mind. They got the volume wrong, no way it’d sound that loud from that distance. “You’d think with all their resources, they’d have figured out space travel by now.”

“I don’t think they want to leave, bro. Wouldn’t be great for profits.”

Your mouth opens to laugh and causes laugh8942.mp3 to play in Dave’s head. “I love it. SM probably hates that sass too,” you say.

“Oh no, they’re gonna arrest me for thoughtcrimes. Nah, they love creativity, just when it suits them. Also, if they actually did bust you for wrongthink like rumors say, I wouldn’t have this on me.” Dave twirls a finger and points at you and you thank his absurd flair for the histrionic that keeps you amused with such drab work.

“NewDrug.mp6. Would you like to play it?” the dry system voice notifies you.

“Woah woah there tiger, hold on.” Dave must’ve noticed your intrigued eyes and holds his hands up. “You might wanna experience that at home. But if you’re interested in more, ask for chicken parm at the vegan place. You know the one.”

Dave leaves his desk. He doesn’t return. You finish your work. Inspire. Expire. You’d rather not.

In contrast to your commute to work, the roads fill with others on your way home. You have to know. Take solace in the comfort of a bench where a huge McDonald’s arch bathes the surroundings and its people with a yellow glow. Really shouldn’t watch it now, especially if Dave says it’s a home type of watch but you have to know. A family of five watches you pass out. They, along with every other passerby, ignore your still body draped over the chrome outdoor seating as you look like yet another junkie. The title is correct after a fashion, the simulation is some sort of new drug. The details of the exploits that happen in the immersive replay wash over you but you don’t need them to know that it’s the sort of lewd that SM would not allow—at least not publicly and not without the right exorbitant payment.

Suit pants and underwear go straight to the laundry. That must’ve been an embarrassing sight but no one bothered to stop you, so it doesn’t matter. Look up where this vegan place was that Dave so presumptuously assumed you knew about and you find that it’s about four Avengers’ stores down from work. He must’ve eaten there before.

“Yo Dave, just wanna make sure, what’s the name of the vegan place called?”

“What are you talking about, man? You telling me there’s some secret underground farms that SM wouldn’t know about?”

You can’t tell when you got to work, a lack of standardized timing would help as well the haze of living in a monotonous dark. “Nah, I mean, for the-”

“I have no idea,” Dave emphasizes each word, “what you’re talking about.”

“I see.”

Work flies by, unusually.

“Hey, can I get a chicken-”

“Uh, this is Maron’s Veggies Only, it clearly says on the sign.”

Clear your throat. “Parm.”

The shifty part-time worker looks around and rubs his fingers gesturing for money. “No digital.”

Over the counter, you pass him a gold coin stamped with a holographic 1 and he hands you a USB stick and a laptop in return. How old-fashioned.

“It’ll sync with whoever you have set as your avatar experience aspect,” the worker says.

“Thanks.”

Ever vigilant as the patrol is, the alleys are the last place you want to go to hide with the obvious criminal element within them all but you head to one anyway. Dump the anachronistic technology in your storage pocket dimensions. Looking at its contents, you’d have to clean that mess up later, but the more you look like an average slob the better. The biggest problem with the inventories is all the people squatting in them. Inspectors wouldn’t care about the archaic ruins you left in yours.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready to service.”

“I’d like to go on a date. A special date.” You highlight the key word special and sit on your living room couch. No one’s going to look in your glass door and regardless, you wouldn’t be the pervert for glimpsing into someone’s home.

“Ah yes, master. Ae-Karina is ready to fully service,” she says with a provocative tint in her tone, her sclera disperses to black to match. A pole drops from the ceiling while parts of her maid outfit dissolve which reveals more of the silky skin of her thighs, her lissom arms and most importantly her overflowing breasts. Ae-Karina wraps her legs around the pole and spins around, teasing fingers trace curves on her body to harden you. Her dance is precise but sultry regardless. She pulls up her short skirt to flaunt more of her ass beneath white panties and then pulls down to flourish her cleavage, not trapped by a bra. “Are you enjoying your maid’s show?”

“Very much so, yes,” you say.

Half of a smile forms before a glitch occurs and she teleports next to you, fully nude. It doesn’t pull you out of the illusion however. You just stare and drink in the splendor of her created body.

“You’re not going to touch?” Ae-Karina says.

A feel of her tits and you find it softer than pillows you used to rest on. Soft isn’t much of a character that exists anymore when the whole world is engulfed in liquid. No one has beds, especially with the rarity of sleep. Therefore, her mounds are a consummate dedication to the texture as you squeeze and pinch at her cute nipples.

Her maid outfit rematerializes as she straddles you. It provides more friction to your pants as she begins her lap dance. The weight of her body dragging across your legs and clothed erection induces your carnal impulses further. If only you could fuck the virtual idol. You have to make do with the imprint of her pussy lips on your bulge sliding up and down. Breath in. Breath out.

Ae-Karina pulls down your boxers and spits on your erection. It's not real but her hands so slick on your cock and you let reality slip. Real is for the past, you have desires gratified in the present. There is no real person nibbling at your neck but your nerves activate in sexual desire without discernment for truth. No, she doesn't love you, but when the voracious mass of ones and zeroes says it loves its master, you say it back.

"I love you."

ILOVEYOU infected ten million computers in 2000. An explosion. Calibration engaging. It’s 1:21 PM, Sunday, July 18, 2286 and hypothetically the sun would be out in its full rage. At this latitude and longitude, you’re at what was once the epicenter of all—Seoul, where a fountain caused a chain reaction allowing the hopeful remnant of a world to exist. It lasted a surprisingly long time without the sun and without Aether but the dying planet would succumb inevitably to the ever-increasing contamination so SM of all corporations took charge. A different kind of chain reaction occurred when they acquired a restaurant chain that discovered the recipe for liquid air. The law is on its way and prepared to punish you to its full extent.

You reel while your ears ring. An even sexier version of the woman you already fantasized about appears from your peripheral vision in the crater of your floor. A skimpy cop outfit, striated with reflective material that seems to wane black at different angles, outlines Karina’s curves. She has a tool belt with absurd gadgets, such as a knife baton hybrid, a taser combined with a spray bottle and a Tamagotchi. None of this is necessary. They could just immediately arrest you, impose limitations on your devices. Sure, SM cloned people to deal with underpopulation, but why Karina would be the enforcer is a whole nother issue. Maybe the entertainment company loves their irony?

“Halt. You’re under arrest. Any resistance will be penalized according to the combined Terms of Service of all SM and SM associated products.”

Fucked anyway, you figure you might as well go for it. Escape into your inventory and only seconds later you’re forced out. You manage to get what you need regardless.

“Violation of access rights will be charged to your account.”

It’s so obvious but there’s a reason you kept so much gold in physical storage. As you swim away, the sides of your apartment start to bubble. Bubbles? Already, your limbs feel unsteady. Something’s wrong in the Aether.

“This is standard procedure for escaping suspects that are indoors. Again, this is all agreed to under the Terms of Service.”

“When the fuck did I ever click accept to that shit?”

“When you were born in this world and decided you want to stay in it,” Karina says out loud. You hear her say it. Your physical ears process the vibrations in the air that come from her mouth. Gravity thwarts your desperate escape as your limp body floats on the limit between liquid and air. The atrophy of your muscles becomes apparent within the gaseous atmosphere. She watches you sink down as the room drains of all the false air though her eyebrows crease when she inspects you closer. Your breaths are involuntary. Despite your muscles shorting out, the force of gravity and the pressure of the gas bearing down on you, you’re breathing and you don’t mean to. Her eyes wander farther down. On your pants, a concrete rod stamps the fabric.

“Oh, you like what you see?”

“Shut up, criminal. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Your pussy,” you say and she scoffs.

“Original.” Karina bites her lip as your erection continues to grow behind its prison. You use all effort to put your hands up.

“Please, miss Karina. I’ve been bad.”

“I could punish you even more for sexual assault.”

“Then do it.”

Heat radiates the room in a way you haven’t felt in a while and droplets of sweat form on each of your bodies, especially on the thighs that her revealing outfit parades. Her facial features contort in deliberation and the wait kills you. You bat your eyes at her before Karina takes off her tight shorts and drops herself into your anticipatory face. This makes no sense but none of this life made any sense so you decide to go with the tides.

Centuries of training your respiration has led to this moment, but when you finally have real air to breathe, you spit at the opportunity and choose to suffocate. Then you spit at her pussy and lap it up. Karina’s nectar transfixes your olfactory glands, for once a smell that isn’t the sterile Aether. Your eyes are mesmerized in parallel because of the perfect design of her pussy, a single crease that leads into her hole that your tongue emphatically explores. Karina spreads her thighs wide to reveal a small nub that craves attention. So give it. Suck and swirl and flick your tongue, and the woman provides you the tight clench of her legs as a gift. And the sounds, rediscovered glorious noise. Loud, almost too loud, and clear is how they assault your ears, even surrounded by the flesh of her thighs. Muffled by the weight of her legs, you hear Karina moan in approval but she’s still clearly in charge with how she chokes you with her legs. This is not about your pleasure but hers, and any satisfaction that you derive is not only incidental but probably punishable by SM copyright law.

Karina squirms her hips subtly on your mouth. Her eyes are sharp and she’s just about to stop your hands from moving but she notices them clasp together.

“I’ll do anything to make you cum, please.” you say sloppily as her pussy juices fill your cheeks and drip down your chin.

“God. I can’t.” She takes deep, contemplative breaths. ”That’s more time added on for inappropriate behavior.” Her groaning and brief squeals make her words sound incogent.

You give her a concluding lick and a kiss on her slit. “So what have you been doing right now then?”

Point to a corner of the room and a subtle red light indicates a recording camera. At once, she pulls out a hose from a pocket that could not fit it and the vacuum submerges the room with noise. Her expression shifts quickly to serious.

“We don’t play games here in SMTOWN unless it’s SuperStar so don’t fuck with me.”

“Look who's trying to be a comedian. How about you fuck with me any further and the video gets released.”

“That’s funny, you think you have any sort of power-”

“Yoo Jimin, I suggest you don’t push me more.”

“Where do you know that name from? Right now.” She weighs herself down on your neck.

“You think I don’t have contingencies for if I die too? Karina, we can make this a win-win scenario. We both get to cum, we both get to walk away unscathed.”

“Fuck you.”

Your weak arms wander between her thighs. At any moment, a feeble punch towards your face or another ten seconds of asphyxiation and she could call your bluff. Even if you did have the ability to expose her perversions in any way, there would be no permanent recourse, not as long SM was in charge. So it surprises you when Karina takes off her shorts.

“Goddammit. Your cock just looks too good. And your mouth, how are you so good with it?” Put up five fingers when she motions to remove her top as well, and instead she opts to take off your clothes, seizing your pants and throwing them to join the rubble in the room.

A finger slips in, then two and a third dares. Her flawlessly architected pussy lips clings to your digits and Karina shudders in reply. You explore her wetness and find it’s smooth to the point of having no faults, but her juice inside is gloppy and causes your fingers to stick more than the liquids she spills from her slit.

“Who said you’re allowed to have more?”

You lap up the nectar on your fingers. “Then why’d they make you taste so good?”

Your thumb teases her sweet tight asshole and puts just the slightest amount of pressure on it while you finger her with more intensity. The mass of her butt burdens your torso the closer she gets to orgasm. Her eyelids squeeze close and you see her body ripple in anxious pleasure. Karina shows off her pearly whites, teetering on the cliff of hysteria.

“Yes, yes! I’m so close,” she screams.

"Not yet."

“Fuck." Karina sobs, "God. Damn, fuck I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” you say. There’s no need for you to grab her since she brings herself down to your groin, which you’re thankful for as your arms are as good as jelly now. Fortunately, your cock throbs as hard as ever while Karina’s slit rests on it.

“Say you’ll delete it all, all the evidence, promise me.”

“You’re gonna fuck me first or what?” Your breath hitches while she makes a strangled noise as her velvety walls swallow your cock whole to leave no room for comfort. Her tightness is stifling and you have to start counting just to breathe again.

“One two-”

“Be quiet.”

But there is no quiet when pleas for your cooperation intersperse her excessive profanities when she seats herself into your cock and ricochets up and down. Sweat emanates from her creamy skin while her legs widen to find a better angle for her supporting knees in her cowgirl position. Grapefruit and other citrus mingle with the scent of the sweat, fruits you haven’t seen except on billboards in music videos. As much as your mind crackles and your blood roars for every atmosphere of pressure Karina’s walls provide on each thrust in and out, you can’t help but reminisce on sweeter, more innocent times.

The white fluorescent lights in your apartment sputter. For all the advancements in technology, some among many things never change. Light refracts differently in air, less bright, but you can see the pure enjoyment on Karina’s face no matter the luminescence. Karina slows her ride to pull her hips down harder instead and she jolts when your cock finds the most tender spots inside her pussy and it interrupts her babbling.

Karina almost hyperventilates when she gets up to spit on your cock. She pulls out some kind of meter from her tool belt and sighs when there’s no beeping and you recognize it having to do with carbon dioxide. She gets back to dribbling saliva and the filament trailing down to your shaft mesmerizes you. This spit is real, not simulated, and it wettens your erection in a mix with her pussy juices to paralyze you further in your already listless state. Her bare thighs jiggle and you can’t exert much force with your hands but her buttcheeks are firm with just a bit of give.

“Thank you for this cock, thank you for being bad,” Karina says as you watch her ass sink deeper while her pussy holds your dick taut. She’s frenetic when bounces up and down to play an unadulterated orchestra of slick noises between your groins.

“You’re welcome,” you accomplish getting out the words between planned breaths. Your hands cup her buttcheeks but you fear they may break with how she strikes her ass into you.

Karina turns around once more to give you the spectacle of her facial expressions as she fucks herself into you. Knead her calves laying on your torso and they take no energy to spread them though she brings them back together, compressing your hard shaft within her pussy. A new game you play with her, a separate rhythm of loosening and tightening. Her feet press on your chest to help her bounce, but the way they bear down on your lungs against the timing of your breathing causes you to fumble. Your cock bends straight forward as she plunges herself into you and it sends prickles to your entire skin, making the new angle difficult but worth it. Karina takes your hand and starts sucking on your fingers.

“You want my promise that bad?” you say.

“Yes, as bad as I want your cum. I swear, I need it.”

She draws her knees up to her torso and hugs her legs to keep thighs as tight together as possible. Karina couldn’t keep her word, she was trying to kill your cock with constriction.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. God, Karina, fuck. You’re so good.” Even if good isn’t the word you want to use to describe her.

“Do it, please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. Karina can be a good girl, a good maid, a good cop, whatever you want. Just don’t get me in trouble, please.”

Karina’s mouth stops saying words though her lips writhe, drunk in increasing lust. Her cheeks flush, before the rest of her skin joins in redness while she grapples your chest and whatever spare limb she can find. You still struggle wresting control of your body but nature seems to take over when you drive yourself into her and match her needy cadence. The air in the room is replaced by a new air but it isn’t Aether. Passion, sweat, heat and all fluids that you both exude join squelching sounds, slaps and moans in harmonic bliss when her body tenses and she screams. As her body tightens, her pussy especially holds your cock for dear life and endeavours to wring out all your semen as her wetness throbs and spills. Karina starts counting to three repeatedly and you laugh though your amusement quickly subsides when you feel her juices become more viscous and she continues her ride, even in the dying pulses of her climax.

“Was I good?” Karina asks.

Just a moment goes by before you mentally send her a screenshot of all the recordings being deleted. Karina hasn’t stopped fucking you yet so at least it wasn’t a ploy.

“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” The flexion of her pliant legs brings them all the way back to rest on top of your legs. Karina lays prone above you and finally give you a kiss. The citrusy flavor may be closer to lime than grapefruit but it’s been so long that you can’t remember which scent is which. Lips crash and her tongue lashes out at yours trying to establish dominance. Keep still to let her investigate your mouth while her pussy does the same to your shaft.

You savor the way Karina’s top emphasizes the bouncing of her tits synchronous with the rebounding of her waist on your cock, but your mouth waters when she frees them. Take the shortest moment to relish in the sight before Karina smothers you with her plump globes. You wriggle your face to try to breathe. Inhale, up and exhale, down, but all you inhale is the scent of her orbs’ sweat. Her hips undulate with a pace at least double yours breathing and the echoes of slapping flesh resonate throughout the air-filled chamber. The loudness is unlike any you’ve experienced in a long time. It’s almost a flashbang every time her ass slams into your lap, especially as you start to see white when orgasm threatens to overload you with preludial pulses.

The last words you hear infected ten million computers in 2000. Fade to black. Cut. You’re slammed out of existence back into existence as a sun rebirths both within you, heating your core to a dangerous high, and from your eyes, dazzling you in an unforgiving white light. In the throes of unconsciousness relapsing to consciousness back to tenebrosity, your streaks of semen suspend in the Aether like a dead tree resting from the wind. What flashes your mind in its orgasmic state are two things only you would remember, plants and weather. Your hyperventilation is unconscious but not unwelcome, as it’s the first time in a while your breaths were reflexive even in the liquid air. However, basking in your newfound power, you start to choke. Right. You breathe in and out again. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Back in.

“Replaying KarinaArrestsYou.mp6.” A hint of vexatious glee in the system’s otherwise dry voice. You don’t stop for it.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

It’s pretty silly but the idea danced around in my head ever since I saw the absolute Black Mirror concept that SM had for aespa and I concur that Karina is insanely hot.

As I’m writing this, this Kurzgesagt video on the idea of a rogue Earth comes out and now I have to rewrite stuff to make it at least a little consistent. I’m obviously already going nuts with all these ridiculous sci-fi concepts but this video almost feels too targeted to me writing this for me to ignore it.

#kpop smut #aespa smut #male reader #reader insert #title tracks

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weirdfishy · 3 years

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@aka-ashi-keiji i hate you so much for giving me brain rot abt this

jk love you j'lynn 🥰🥰

bouncing off their post's synopsis of a yakuza leader Kirishima who has an adoptive family member that he's trained to basically be his assassin. no plot- yet at least, just giving the idea a spin :)

also! i kinda liked how someone used 'otome' (for afab reader at least, I forget what the amab one was...) instead of the '___' or 'y/n' so I think i'm going to adopt that for my inserts

AO3 link

words: 601

“Otome-tan~” WIthout looking up, your wrist flicks out and in without splattering any ink, only for a sharp tsk to come from the red head now looming over you. He holds up the tiny tracker between sharp nails. You put down the calligraphy brush, but keep your head down. He’s quiet for a second, the playful air lulling.

“Not quite, but you pass. If it were anybody else, you would have been successful.” His speech is serious and didactic, but there’s the barest hint of pride. He drops the tech on the table, and you rise smoothly, a slight bow before he speaks again, picking up the overly-cheery tone again.

“Time to go out~”

And with that, he’s back out the door. Once the door slides shut, you turn and exit the door behind you, activating the nano-bodysuit and replacing the stylistically flowy yukata with a black, closer-fitting gi-like suit. The finger-less gloves you pull on have crimson seams, like the rest of the suit, and knuckle pads. Combat boots of the same bi-color scheme were next, right before a small firearm and a tranquilizer gun were slotted into a shoulder harness, and various small blades line your form.

A small drawstring bag was slung over your shoulder last, before you leave through another door, taking the ascending steps three at a time.

Time for work.

The drive is long, -- where you’re kept is as far from the city as possible without it being an inconvenience for Eiji-sama, since he has to live there -- and it’s not until the car is pulled next to a concert lot that your boss speaks. Case-specific directions only, since all the information was organized and neatly presented in a compact white envelope, courtesy of Zenji-san. Plus, you know your rules.

Unseen, quiet, efficient, and traceless in every other way besides his mark. A rough-hewn shard of agate, always stuck into the breast, right over the heart.

Just like Eiji-sama wears on a chain, dyed bright red and smooth, a shark tooth-like triangle resting in the middle of his collar. Just like what’s burned into the nape of your neck, tattooed tendrils spreading outwards from it, across your shoulders in a picture of bloody, shredded bat wings.

See the truth, the stone says. Cleanse this soul, it whispers, because a knife can stop the heart, but can't rid the filth of their soul.

At least, that’s what swims in your head, Eiji-sama’s hushed rumble pervading each corner of your mind. It’s what he’s said to you - amongst other things - since you were 8 and clumsily gripping a wooden dagger, wide-eyed and feeling.

But you don’t feel anymore. Not in revulsion at calloused fingers tracing the brand lovingly, or self-hate at the river of blood stretching behind you.

Not unless your bone is being sawed into or your muscles being speed-regrown via Mei-san’s chemicals. Not unless it’s a correcting session with ‘Suki-sama or meditation with Kami-sama. Not unless it’s physical pain.

You’re left on the side of the road while hardened red eyes dare you to run off or challenge him, the car pulling up to the front of the venue, the yukata you sported earlier covering the suspicious nature of your combat outfit until you get into the venue. You start walking.

Eiji-sama sits in his VIP seat, in front of the big lights of a singer he owns, next to his chosen family of people just as rich and manipulative as him, and laughs. He shows his face to live television, drinking and smoking as a rare relaxation day for the CEO of a small but well-off news company.

He sits in open view of his underground enemies while you flit around, unseen, quiet, efficient. Building the fearsome reputation of Riot.

Pau💚

#kirishima eijirou #bnha reader insert #yakuza kirishima eijirou #bnha #villain kirishima x reader #kirishima x reader #villain kirishima #fishy’s fics #wip #mha #not me working on this again :)

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bitletsanddrabbles · 2 years

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WIP Whatevaaaaaaaaaargh!

Awhile ago I decided that i wasn’t going to post any more Island of the Gays snippets, no matter how much inspiration I got from @alex51324 ‘s work, simply because my brain has been having too damn much fun lately going “OOO! Inspiration for a SHORT piece!” then, as soon as I have three paragraphs, insisting that the short balloon out to twice the length and then wandering off to play with dandelions rather than write it.

It’s frustrating and pointless.

HOWEVER. I have just reached my 50k goal for NANO and let me tell you, 50k has never felt less satisfying. I don’t know what it is this year, but everything just feels flat as a road kill flatworm. So since this thing, which has been pestering me off and on for I don’t know how long to be written, and was, in fact, what got me over the finish line, I’mma post a bit.

Is it good? Not really. It’s a rough draft, so it needs editing. I need to reread the entire story to get people right. Rouse in particular is probably all kinds of off kilter. But it’s a THING, damnit, and I can, so I’m going to. So there.

As if he didn’t have one himself, Thomas thought, but none-the-less produced his own lighter. Once he’d lit the other man’s fag for him, he decided he’d better get one for himself. Something told him that whatever this was about, he wasn’t going to particularly like it. When he’d taken a lungful of smoke and breathed it out without the other man starting an actual conversation, Thomas decided that he’d better take the initiative or else Gordon really was going to wind up doing the entire paper himself. “Look, Rouse, what is this about?”

The other man was leaning against the stone wall that went along the edge of the road, helping to keep the bluff in place during high storms. He tilted his head back, staring up at the sky, and said, calm as you please, “According to certain people we’ve talked to, you have a bit of a past with the Duke of Crowborough.”

Thomas was suddenly very happy for the cigarette. Warily he answered, “Yes.”

“What would you say to his coming here?”

The question caught Thomas like a blow to the gut. If he’d had smoke in his mouth, he’d have choked like a novice. “Here?” he demanded. “I’d say no, absolutely not. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“You don’t,” the other man informed him, blowing out a plume of smoke.

Thomas stared. Two years and he’d started to feel settled. To feel safe. Now the doctors were going to drop Phillip into his life? “Damn it, Rouse, I am not leaving this island, I was here first!”

Rouse chuckled, although there wasn’t any humour to it. “Well, glad to hear that, and not just because you’d take our tobacconist with you.”

“You’re serious.” Thomas wasn’t sure he’d ever hated anyone so much as he hated Rouse right then, except maybe Phillip himself. Even Carson hadn’t left him wanting to punch something this badly. Then something hit him. “Oh God. The VIP. He’s going to be here next week?”

“Calm down,” the other man replied, still studying the sky, and Thomas was vaguely aware he’d shouted that last bit. “It won’t be next week, it’ll be the week after. Maybe the week after that. There are things to attend to on the mainland. We gave told you at the paper now so there’d be lots of time for people to get used to the idea.”

The words coming out of the other man’s mouth refused to make any form of coherent sense. “What, you mean you’re giving us his name for the paper?” he half spat.

“Yes.”

“Why? You never do that!” Everything about the situation was so irregular that Thomas half expected the other man to say it was a joke, except this was Rouse. He’d never be that sadistic.

“Look, Thomas,” Rouse sighed, finally looking down and meeting Thomas’s gaze. “You’re hardly the only man on this island who’s going to be less than pleased to see His Grace. Hell, I’m none too happy about it, and I’ve only heard about the man. I think Lord Hexham’s the only one who knows him hasn’t reached for a proverbial pitch fork when we told him about it. We’re giving everyone as much time to come to terms with it as possible.”

“But there’s nothing you can do to stop it?” Thomas asked, feeling deeply betrayed. After all, Rouse had fought the idea of Lord Hexham coming here, and he was one of the nicest toffs Thomas had ever run across! Still a toff, of course, but at least willing to chip in where needed, and he didn’t look down his nose at you. And the other man had still insisted that if they were going to take him, they had to take Gordon. Now though… Thomas couldn’t see behind the scenes, but it seemed like he was giving up without a whimper. From what they’d been told, there wasn’t even another working class bloke coming to balance things.

To his utter shock, the other man replied, “I’m not trying to stop it. Not this time. He maybe a toff and an utter ass, but…” Rouse paused, taking a smoke, then shook his head. “I’m a psychologist, Thomas. I can’t just say no this go around. There’s more to it.”

“What more could there be?” Letting go of his temper and his volume both, Thomas flat out started screaming, his fists balling at his side. “Damn it all, Rouse, do not tell me you’re letting bloody Phillip out here without telling me why!”

His protest earned him a worn out look. “Do you want me to start telling details of your life to anyone who asks?” Rouse countered. “All I can tell you is that he’s not coming willingly.”

Thomas didn’t buy it for a second. “And how do you force a Duke?”

Rouse shook his head, still not divulging any further information. “Look, I’m not asking you to be happy with it. I’m not asking anyone to be happy with it. I’m just giving you warning and asking that you not punch him the second he arrives, all right?” His expression became very pointed. “If you do, there will be consequences.”

Consequences. For punching fucking Phillip. No man on earth deserved punching more, but naturally Thomas would get in trouble if he did. There was proof that even on the Island, some things never changed. “Right,” he spat, eyes narrowing. He forced his fists to unclench. “Noted. May I go now, Doctor?” He threw the title like an insult.

Rouse eyed him for a moment, then sighed and shrugged. “Yeah, you may go.”

“Thank you.” Thomas spun on his heel and stalked away from the other man. The entire trip back to the print shop he kept remembering things. Phillip’s laugh. Phillip’s smile. The way Phillip kissed him.

The sight of his letter’s going up in smoke.

The look on Phillip’s face when he asked if Thomas wanted to stay.

Why?

Why after all of these years was fucking Phillip being brought back into his life?

Dr. L. would do it for the money, Thomas knew, except Phillip didn’t have money. Not unless he’d gotten married and his wife died and left all of her millions to him. Assuming there was something of her millions left and it hadn’t all been spent on the estate.

But why Rouse? Why the fucking hell would the island’s representative of the working class welcome Phillip with open fucking arms? And why would they tell everyone it was happening, but not why it was happening?

Thomas slammed the door of the press open hard enough to rattle the hinges, stalking through the front room and giving the inner door the same treatment. Gordon must have heard the first slam, because he was already half way through the room when Thomas made his entrance.

The younger man took a quick step back. “Here now, wot the hell are you het up about? We’ve got a paper to finish.”

“Fuck the paper,” Thomas spat, earning himself a gobsmacked look. “Fuck the paper and while we’re at it, fuck Rouse! Come on, leave that. We’re going to the pub.” He didn’t even check the time to make certain they’d be open. For this, Tully would let him in as a friend, and probably give him as much whiskey as he wanted.

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #thomas barrow #frank rouse #terrance gordon #the duke of crowborough #wip #island of the gays #fanfiction of fanfiction #fighting frustration tooth and nail here

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jj-ktae · 4 years

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Melomaniac (M)

Banner by @jaebeomsmullet !

Title: Melomaniac Pairing: Park Jinyoung x Fem!Reader Genre: Smut Words:1111 Warning: Explicit, Oral sex, strong language, use of lyrics from WAP.

Summary: You love music and how it reaches everyone. Music is deep and also meaningful, which is why you often recommend songs to Jinyoung. He likes it most of the time so let’s see how he feels about WAP.

AN : Please blame @jaebeomsmullet. It’s short and written very hastily so it’s not the most sensual smut out there. I just wanted to use WAP because I’m a creep.

There’s no way you just said that.

Jinyoung doesn’t know if he stayed for too long under the sheets or if you just asked him to swipe his nose like a credit card.

There’s no fucking way. Not after a whole day of lazing around, not after dating him for so long. He has to be hearing things from staying for too long around a creep like you.

He parts from your moist flesh, his lips shiny and face concerned.

“What did you say ?”

You look down, puzzled and slightly panting. “What, you don’t know that song ?”

He tilts his head, his brows rising and he looks everything but amused.

“WAP.” You add, your hips moving involuntarily.

“You’re going to talk about a song right now ? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He looks falsely mad, the same type of mad as that one time you forced him to listen to Pony while riding him.

“But you just did, you swiped your nose.” You tease, earning a grimace from your now outraged boyfriend.

He chuckles, bewildered before leaning again. “Stop this. I’m serious.”

Jinyoung knows how to shut you up. He doesn’t need to argue for long and why would he when he is supposed to be sucking on your damn clit ? He isn’t a talkative sex machine and he’d rather focus on a few impactful words and hair pulling than speak for hours.

This is why he acts like nothing happens but actually buries his face deeper into your folds, his tongue now flat against your pussy. You shudder, legs closing instantly like he has control over your body.

He does. He really does.

Nonetheless, it urges you to rile him up so you risk everything and speak again.

“Can’t you park your big Mack truck right in this little garage.”

He freezes. Looks up. Leans on one elbow. Sighs. He looks done already.

“That’s not sexy. Not at all.”

You just laugh, choosing not to explain further because Jinyoung looks like he doesn’t really care. It’s even worse to see him continue, like nothing can surprise him anymore.

You observe as he gets up to lean over you, his frame sweaty and chin wet. He takes a second to judge you and even less to grab your leg and lift it.

You arch your back when he slides inside you. He keeps the pace soft and clean, allowing you to feel inches of his hard dick. He lifts a brow and you can see he is proud of himself.

Still, Jinyoung stares, his face looking for what your next move will be. He knows you too much and even as he starts going out to push back inside, he observes you yelp, surprised by the sudden thrust.

“Make it cream, make me scream.” You whimper, as if you both couldn’t hear the sound of your wet cunt hitting his balls.

Jinyoung ignores your words but slightly shakes his head before leaning for a kiss. You have no idea when he will have enough but his pace fastens and it’s a sign he is losing his notorious patience. His tongue goes out to share a bit of that said cream you seem to be craving for and you kiss him back, sucking on his chubby mouth.

Jinyoung hates innuendos. He loathes whenever you try to be sleek, even if it involves heavy compliments on his penis and sex abilities. He is a down on earth type of guy, one who wants to hear the praises clear and loud with precise words.

It’s when you pull him against you to turn the both of you around that he understands you will not end this on a regular note.

He looks up, flustered and his whole body feels hard under your palms. You trace the soft skin of his pectorals, hips moving gently and revealing tight abs with every movement.

“When I ride the dick, imma spell my name.”

“What the f-”

Jinyoung doesn’t get to finish his sentence, probably because of the way you start shaking over him, your lips swallowing him so deep he can only grunt. You puff, the air feeling hot and legs a bit sore from the sudden exercise.

Jinyoung can only grab your thighs for balance, words forgotten as he observes his dick appearing and disappearing.

He even wonders if you are actually spelling your name with your pelvis.

But there’s no need for him to wonder any longer, not when you cum around him and contract so hard he almost bursts. His hands press you harder around his penis, his tip tingling inside you and making you moan his name a little bit too loud.

Jinyoung scoffs, welcoming his upcoming orgasm as it starts twisting his balls but there’s no way you’re going to end it like this.

He whimpers when you hop off his dick, cum dripping on his leg.

“Can you not-”

He gets cut a second time, his brain barely handling the rollercoaster or temperature from your hot pussy to the icy air and your now burning tongue.

He is the one arching now, head too sensitive and length too fragile for the way you’re sucking him.

You look up, adoring the look on his face and how furrowed his brows are. His eyes are closed and cheeks pink but you can’t have mercy just yet. Not even after seeing is blissful state

And not with one last sentence.

“I want you to touch that lil' dangly thing that swing in the back of my throat”

And you swear he laughs for a nano second, but it’s too fast for you to hear when you swallow him whole, dick going so deep it probably pokes out somewhere else.

You make pitiful noises, ones that prove you’re going a little too hard for a simple love making session before bed. Jinyoung says words you don’t hear, grabs your hair and he can barely pull any deeper than you already are.

You scrunch your nose, pubic hair tickling and drawing patterns of body fluids all over your face.

It’s a damn mess.

When he cums his hand stills and thighs contract under your fingers. It feels like force feeding but it’s too exciting for you to care. You let his penis slide off your mouth, lips wrapping around his head for more and he jerks away in both pain and overstimulation.

You’re panting, face stained with your own juice and hair messy from his previous grip but even after a mind-blowing orgasm Jinyoung looks down.

“We’re gonna need a bucket and a mop.” He muses, before pulling you closer.

“I knew it!”

#got7creators #kwritersworldnet #jinyoung scenarios #jinyoung smut #got7 #got7 jinyoung #got7 park jinyoung #got7 smut #park jinyoung scenarios #jinyoung x you #got7 x you #jinyoung x reader #jinyoung #park jinyoung #park jinyoung x reader #park jinyoung fanfic #got7 fanfic

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