#I’ve already read temptation on the war front

[nevvaraven]

can someone do me a solid and rec me some drarry fics? I’ll love you forever and give you my first born

#I’ve already read temptation on the war front #and the devils white knight #but any others ? #drarry

[christianbelievers]

FREED FROM DESTRUCTION

As I was going over some notes that I took this week, I came across one that didn’t have a Scripture reference scribbled next to it. I must have written it down during my time of prayer. It simply said, “Thank you Lord for not letting me fall into destruction.”

It’s been an unusual time for me lately, spiritually speaking. It’s been unusual because I’ve been getting glimpses of who I used to be, the me that I would rather forget about. As I lay in bed at night, struggling to fall asleep, I’m often bombarded with random thoughts. I spoke about this briefly in a previous writing, about times when I might be thinking about something as simple as blueberry muffins, when all of a sudden there it is, some kind of obscure thought, picture, or whatever runs across the front of my brain. As quickly as I can, I turn the channel in my head to something more pleasant, like what I had been reading from the Bible earlier.

“For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” (2nd Corinthians 10:3-5)

Because some of these “glimpses” can be traced back to my past, I sought the Lord, asking Him to help me bury those things for good. But there was actually something good that came out of praying about these memories, or whatever you want to call them. They reminded me of just how much I truly needed God. When I see the person that I used to be, I can truly say that I hate that person.

“Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” (John 12:25)

I always thought that I was a pretty decent guy, someone that would never hurt a fly. But when those glimpses started coming up, I began to see little bits and pieces of a broken man. That man had taken in a lot of junk over the years, physically, visually, and emotionally.

I’m not sure why these glimpses have come to me. My first instinct is to blame the devil. But could it also be from my flesh that had been corrupted so badly, and from such an early age? The world too, has done its damage to me and many others. It’s amazing that anyone can live in this world and not be corrupted in their minds somehow. Just a few hours of watching television will prove my point.

The devil, the world, and the flesh are our three biggest enemies as Christians. The devil will often find ways to remind us of our past, wanting us to feel condemned. The world is so full of temptation to sin in one way or another, that avoiding it all together seems like the best course of action…if only that were possible. And the flesh, that set of skin that we’ve been wearing for a long time. It often desires things which are totally contrary to what God wants us to have.

“Therefore, brothers and sisters, we have an obligation—but it is not to the flesh, to live according to it. For if you live according to the flesh, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live. For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God.” (Romans 8:12-14)

Most of us are doing the best we can to walk as “the children of God”. And because His grace is so good, and so powerful, we don’t have to worry about the devils attempts to shame us. When I led a Bible study at the Rescue Mission, I often saw men come in week after week saying “I slipped up this week.” Some of these men had been born again, and it grieved them terribly to feel like they had let God down. All I could do was hug them and remind them that Jesus already died for their sins. But I would also remind them of one of the most important things that the Apostle Paul ever said…

“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death.

For what the law was powerless to do because it was weakened by the flesh, God did by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh to be a sin offering. And so he condemned sin in the flesh, in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fully met in us, who do not live according to the flesh but according to the Spirit.” (Romans 8:1-4)

Jesus went to that cross… “in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fully met in us.”

I guess you could say that the glimpses that I, and perhaps some of you have had, should cause us to once again kneel at the cross, and seek Jesus’ words, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." (Luke 23:34)

When I look back at all that happened to me, and all that I did, I can only look to God and say “Thank you Lord for not letting me fall into destruction.”

He saw me hurting and lonely. He saw me confused and unsure of which way to go. He saw where the evil of this world was taking me, and how it was trying to destroy me. But then finally I cried out “Please God, help me”.

If you are needing help, ask Jesus to save you from destruction. Ask Him to take away the pain and the hurt of this world. Ask Him to give you a new life, one that is overflowing with hope and joy. Your hope and joy are exactly why God sent his Son Jesus into the world.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because they have not believed in the name of God's one and only Son.” (John 3:16-18)

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." 

He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" (Revelation 21:4-5)

When I asked Jesus to be my Savior, he removed my pain, and replaced it with His peace. I knew then that He really did love me, and that He really did die for me, so that my old life could be washed away, and the new one could begin its journey into eternity.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14:27)

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” (2nd Corinthians 5:17)

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:7)

God Bless!

#christian #christian bible #christian blog #christian faith #christianity

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summery: You and Tom bet on who will touch the other first after he comes home from filming. Both refusing to give in you resort to some teasing measures to get the other one to break.

Pairing; Tom + female reader.

Themes: Light-hearted, lots of teasing. Established relationship. Fluff. Cocky Tom. Cocky reader too, let’s face it. They are both stubborn idiots. Lots of horniness all around. To be honest, very little plot and mostly smut. Bit of fluff as well though. 

Warnings: Unprotected sex in established relationship. Masturbation. This work is strictly +18.

A/N: Not beta-read, I’m wine drunk and wrote this in like 2,5 hours so it is what it is. 

It was such a stupid fucking bet and he wish he never agreed to it. It is all your fault, he decides, as he watches you bend over into downward dog, your breathing rhythmic and even as you stretch your beautiful body. He tries to look away from your ass, honestly he does, but you’re wearing those light grey yoga pants that practically has him drooling and the fabric is hugging your body so perfectly it would be a crime to look away. 

Plus, he’s pretty sure that’s the whole point of you doing this, practicing yoga in the living room right in front of him as he’s supposed to be working. The whole point is to have him staring, so he doesn’t feel too bad about it. 

It had all started the week before he was set to return from filming. He had teased you (and sure, in retrospect that was a terrible idea and he should have known better) had said that you would jump him the first chance you got, that he probably wouldn’t even get through the door before you had him out of his jeans. You had retaliated with an accusation that he would be the one all over you and obviously he had to deny that.

It had spiraled, neither one of you willing to give in and admit defeat and now here you are; a full day after his return and he hasn’t as much as hugged you. 

Because whoever touches the other first loses the bet. 

And now here you are, in front of him; wearing skin tight yoga pants and bending over. 

A part of him, the midsection of his body to be precise, wants to just give in; to hand you the victory - fuck his pride. But the part of him, the rational part he likes to think, that has him bashing up golf clubs every time his dad beats him in a golf round; refuses to give in.

So what if he hasn’t seen you, hasn’t felt your body in over three months? Or that he now has your magnificent ass right in his face as he’s trying to concentrate on his dull emails. So what? He’s not faced by that, he’s a man of the world after all. 

You lean forwards again until you’re on the ground, turn to your back and start to slowly but steadily push your hips up and down, in what Tom can only assume, is referred to as the ghost fucking position. 

“Aren’t you supposed to answer emails?” You ask and he doesn’t even need to look at your face to know that you have a smug smile on your face.

“I am” he mutters, looking away from your body on the floor and back to his phone screen. 

You laugh, and he pretends not to hear it, while you pretend that the visible hard-on he’s sporting doesn't make you want to climb into his lap and give in to both of your temptations. 

The bet was stupid and totally his idea.

Tom comes out of the shower, drops of water still pouring from his wet hair onto his sculpted chest. The only thing he’s wearing is the white towel wrapped around his waist and the silver Rolex on his wrist. Seeing you standing in the kitchen and slicing tomatoes he sends you his widest smile. 

And you thought you were playing unfair with the yoga. 

He sits down by the bartop, all bare chested and golden. “Anything I can help with?” he asks as you place the tomatoes in the salad bowl. “A change of music perhaps?”

You throw a left over piece of tomato at him and it hits him square in the chest. He just smiles wider, completely unfaced. “Leave my dinner playlist alone, yeah?” You tell him, resisting the urge to give him the finger. 

“So tense” he snickers and leans his head to the side, “I know what could help you relax.”

“Throwing more tomatoes at you? Because we need them in the salad, Thomas.”

He stands up and moves around the kitchen island until he’s behind you, careful as not to touch, framing you against the bench with his strong arms on either side of your body. You can smell him, fresh out of the shower, feel the warm radiate from his body; it is as he’s already holding you. He’s so close, it’s like every cell in your body is reaching out for him. 

And it’s been so long. 

Three months of twisting and turning alone in bed, of only your own hands as company and him on the phone screen as he encourages you; tells you how goddamn gorgeous you look fucking yourself for him. Three months of only seeing him on the phone; not being able to touch him and feel him for yourself, to taste his skin. To just see him spill all over his own hand instead of being there, catching it all with your tongue. 

But it will have to wait a little while longer, because although you might love him, and the way he makes you feel, there’s no way you’re giving in just yet. 

Slowly turning around, carefully as not to touch him, you reach for the bottle. “You can open this, since you wanted to help” you say and hand him the wine, “that would help me relax.”

He smiles, unbothered by his failed attempt at luring you to defeat, and steps back. You stir the pasta sauce, trying not to look at his bare chest as he’s leaning over the kitchen counter, looking for something. Finally he finds the corkscrew and sits back again at the bar table. He gets to work with opening the bottle, his strong veined hand wrapped around the throat of the bottle, as the other inserts the screw. His brow is furrowed in concentration and he’s biting his lip. Around his wrist the Rolex watch reflects in the light. Uncorking the bottle he pours blood red liquid into two wine glasses and hands you one before taking a sip from his own, brown eyes looking at you from over the rim of his glass. 

“Put a fucking shirt on, Thomas” you mutter, going back to chopping vegetables.

The song and dance of torturing each other continues for the following two days. What goes on between you can only be described as a red-hot war. 

“Oh for fuck sake!” Tom’s voice booms over the living room. 

“Too direct?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“No, no not at all” he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm, “no please, keep deep-throating the banana, it’s incredibly subtle.”

Slowly he wakes, blinking into the dark night. The alarm clock on his bedside table tells him that it’s just after 2 am and for a few long seconds he stares at it.

A rustling of sheets beside him in bed and it hits him. He’s home, home in his own bed with you laying next to him, as it should always be. Except that things aren’t the way it should be. 

Because of that stupid goddamn bet. 

The sheets rustle again and he wonders if you are awake as well. But then he hears it; a soft moan. 

Turning over in bed at lighting speed he stares down at you. “Are you fucking touching yourself?” He asks, heatedly. 

Your answer is another soft moan as you look up at him, pupils blown wide and lips parted. Tearing of the duvet he looks down at your naked body, at you hand, covered in slick, moving over your clit.

Fuck. 

He moves over, leans over you; his legs on either side of yours and his arm on each side of your face, carefully making sure that he isn’t touching you. A slight catch of breath is all the sign you give of having been surprised, your hand keeping it’s gentle pace. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, voice low in the quiet room. 

“You” is your breathless reply, “you touching me.”

“Think this is how I would touch you?” He asks, snickering. He’s holding his body over you, looking into your lust-filled eyes. “I’d go much slower at first, tease you. Slowly move around your clit until your hips are bucking up and you're begging me for more”.

He moves his head, so that his lips are almost touching yours. Almost. 

“You’re so good at begging after all” he murmurs against your lips, moving his boxer clad hips so that they almost touch you and you groan, your face telling of vexation and volatile bliss. But you do as he says, follow his instruction with the movement of your hand. 

“Good girl” he whispers softly against your lips. 

“Then I’d slide one fingers inside that wet cunt, still slow; still teasing.” 

You whine, but you do as he says. Slowly you move one finger in and out of yourself, as the other hand is still circling your clit. “Need more” you moan but he just smiles.

“Such a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He teases with a devilish grin, tilting his head to the side, looking down at you with sparkling eyes. “But your hands are smaller than mine, so maybe you should add another finger.” 

You insert your middle finger as well; and moan. “Faster” you beg, but he shakes his head and so a string of curses fall out your mouth and all he can do is smile at it. 

“That filthy fucking mouth of yours” me mutters. 

“Well if you shove your dick into it instead then this stupid fucking bet will be over and we’ll both get off.”

“You know, I’ve really missed your fantastic sense of humor while I’ve been away” he answers dryly, but with a smile. 

“Tom” you whine. “I need more.”

He wants to kiss you so badly, to press his lips against yours and taste you; to remove his boxers and sink into you in one swift movement until your hoarse and wanton whines turn into satisfied moans, soft and sweet like honey. 

“Go on then, darling” he says, voice huskier than usual in the dark night. “Speed up for me.”

You do, your body hungry for satisfaction, hunting your orgasm with determent, sharp movements. 

“Fuck,” he swears, “fuck you’re soaked.” He looks down at your wet slit, your rapidly moving fingers, your hips bucking up to meet your hand. Looking back into your wild eyes he groans, his mouth still dangerously close to yours.

“The whole room smells of you” he moans, and it’s true. The scent of your arousal mixes with the scent of your perfumed skin and this is the closest he’s been so far to falter; to give in to temptation.

Your head is thrown back against the pillows, throat exposed, soft moans escaping freely. He wants to touch you everywhere, feel the softness of your skin with his rough hands, his wet mouth, his teeth. He’s breathing hard and he hasn’t even been touched, but he feels the want of touching you in his bones.

He wants to wrap his lips around your hardened nipples. To suck, bite, lick and kiss them until you fall over the edge. 

“So fucking beautiful” he breathes out. Even if he had wanted to he wouldn't have been able to look away from you. “But it’s my hand your fucking, remember? Think I’d wouldn’t fuck you harder than that?”

And god, he wish it was his hand you were fucking, wish he could feel you come; hot and wet and pulsing around his fingers. Instead he is left to watch. Watch as the movements of your hand speeds up until fucking yourself with a carnal kind of need, until you fall apart at the seams; luscious bliss spreading over your features, and your tense body relaxes until you soften against the mattress;  loose limbed and starry eyed. 

And he is left to take care of the his erection all on his own.

A thin layer of sweat is covering his chest and his muscles are taut as he forces his arms to carry his weight into another push-up. 

“Thirty-six” he groans out, his voice strained and deep from the physical effort, curls of brown hair falling over his face as he lowers himself to the ground again. “Thirty-seven.”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried, your eyes fixed on the muscles of his back, and the way they move as he moves. 

You feel agitated and frantic and in that moment you want nothing more than to lay down beneath him; look up at him as move above you with swift, powerful moments. It’s beyond reason, the carnal tug inside you as you watch him and it is absolutely maddening that he hasn’t given in yet to his desire; because you know he desires you, have seen it in his dark eyes, always following you around the room, over the last few days. 

But you are not going to be the first one to give in. 

“Forty-two” he moans out, and the sound of his heavy breathing and deep groans vibrate somewhere far inside you.

You’re not. 

You just need a change of tactic, that’s all.

The pub is packed tonight, but the more secluded pool area section is scarce of people. Tom sips on his beer, scrolling through instagram; waiting for you, as the speakers blast out ‘Galway Girl’ for what feels like the hundredth time since he came in. He’s been visiting a friend while you’ve been at work, having decided this morning to meet up at the pub after for a meal and a game of pool. 

A text pops up on the screen, beside your picture. It simply says ‘Look up’. 

He does. And fuck. 

Oh, fuck no. 

Oh, for all that is holy, surely you wouldn’t be that cruel to him.

Not the white shorts.

Not the white shorts you had worn last summer, the ones you know very well turns him on like nothing else. The ones you had worn that time when you had driven down to the beach on bonfire night; the time when you pulled him aside from the rest of the company and he had ended up fucking you against the birch wood tree just some meters away from all your friends, your shorts around your ankles and your nails digging into his back as you tried to bite back you moans.

Surely you wouldn’t be this cruel to him, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to die. He hasn’t had sex in over three months and you show up looking like this  and he’s pretty sure he’s going to die. 

He’s just not sure about whether this is going to be heaven

or hell. 

He watches you as you walk through the pub with long confident strides, the goddamn heels you're wearing extending your legs, and the fabric of the white tank top stretching over your chest. Your lips are painted blood red, as if you are ready for battle.

He’s not the only one in the pub staring at you but you keep your eyes fixed on him, burning into his eyes, as you move across the floor. 

“Honey” you greet him. “Got one of those for me as well?” You nod to the beer in his hand, frozen mid movement to his mouth. 

“Why?” He asks, trying to regain the upper hand. “Feeling thirsty?”

You laugh dryly, looking down at his crotch, where he’s painfully aware a bulge is showing. Instead of commenting on it he hands you the other beer bottle he ordered and watches as you wrap your red lips around the opening, swallowing down. He feels warm all over in the stuffy pub and he pulls at the collar of his t-shirt. 

He reaches for the cue sticks and hands you one. “Alright, darling” he sighs, knowing very well what kind of teasing hell you are about to put him through tonight, “let’s play.”

The playlist has gone from Ed Sheeran songs to Mumford & Sons and the pub is still packed with people, though the pool area remains empty apart from you and Tom. It's warm in there and Tom takes big gulps from his third beer of the night. He can feel sweat forming on his back, his brow, his chest. 

You’re not helping the situation. Although he’s pretty certain that helping is opposite of what you’re trying to do. 

“You’re so fucking annoying” he whines, as he watches you hit the white ball perfectly, resulting in two of your striped balls ending up in the pockets. He’s leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and mouth in a thin line.

He fucking hates losing. 

“You know what you should do?” You ask, lining up against the table, arched back as you bend over with your cue stick; giving him a full view of your fucking fantastic thighs, “try to fuck it out of me.” You hit another perfect shot and a third ball goes in. You look over your shoulder at him, still bent over the table, and wink.

Standing up straight you turn to him. Swaying your hips to the music you lift the beer bottle to your red lips and you swallow a mouthful. Placing the bottle next to you on the side of the pool table you walk over to him, standing so close you’re almost touching. 

Almost

In fact, you might as well be, for he can smell your perfume, mixing with the scent of your shampoo. Can feel the heat radiate of your warm body. It’s been so long since he’s held you and his entire body is painfully aware of it. 

With your lips just centimeters from his you whisper; voice husky and low, “I know how bad you want me, honey.” You move your face so that you’re almost kissing the stubble on his cheek, mouth nearly pressed against it. 

“You want my hands” you whisper again, looking up at him, your hand hovering right over his erection, carefully as not to touch it, and he nearly bucks out to meet your hand. He’s glad that the area is more secluded, part of the wall hiding the pair of you from view. It feels like there’s just the two of you in the entire world; might as well be for all he cares right now. A blush colours his cheeks as he stares back at you.

 “You want my mouth” you breathe against him, your lips curled into an evil smile. “You want my tongue” and you lick your lips before biting it, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“You wish I was on my hands and knees right now, so you could fuck my mouth.” you finish. 

His skin feels tight and overheated, but he keeps his tone casual as he replies, “actually I wish you were bent over the table so spank that arse of yours, but sure, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie.”

“What’s stopping you? You think you can hold on forever? You know I’m not going to give in, Tom. You know me. Can you imagine going to sleep tonight? Untouched? Again?” 

There’s no use he thinks as he plunges in for a kiss, pulling you tight against him; eager to touch as much as you as possible with impatient hands. 

He tried to beat the devil at her own game and he lost.

“Think you lost, honey” you say between kisses as he’s pressing you up against the front door. 

“Don’t give a flying fuck love, just keep touching me and I’ll die a happy man.” His voice is breathless and hoarse and his hands are all over you; as if he can’t get enough. Your hand is in his soft hair, holding on, as the other is cupping the bulge in his trousers, stroking him through the fabric as he whimpers in your ear. 

“We should probably get inside,” you whisper. “Unless you want your neighbors to witness me give you a hand job on the front steps.” 

He groans, but steps away from you. His hair is ruffled and his pupils are blown wide, spit from your previous kissing covering his lower lip. You imagine you look just as disheveled. 

“Think you need to learn a lesson in delayed gratification” you tease, not being able to stop yourself. 

His eyes go even darker and he takes a step forward again, cups your chin and looks you straight in the eye in a way that has bolts of excitement shoot up your spine. “Before the night is over” he says in a slow, gruff voice, “I will teach you all there is to know about delayed gratification.”

He digs in his pockets, pulls out his keys and unlocks the front door, guiding you in with a hand on your lower back. 

He feels as if someone has lit a match under his skin. His whole body is screaming with vehement urgency for yours. His hands can’t get enough of you; his lips never want to leave your soft lips again. Your soft little noises are filling his head and he hardly even registers your hands unzipping his jeans; until you’re pulling them, alongside his boxers, off of him in a sharp tugging notion. 

“Filthy girl, I fucking love you” he moans out between kisses as you wrap your soft hand around his hard cock. 

He pulls at your tank top and for a moment your skin separates entirely from his as you step away, so that he can remove the fabric from you. Yanking at the goddamn jeans shorts he pulls them down around your ankles and you step out of them.  Your underwear soon follows suit along with his t-shirt until you both are free of any inconvenient clothing. 

He needs your warm and soft skin pressed against his, needs your soft little moans in his ear as he fucks into you, needs the taste of your sweet skin on his tongue. 

He lifts you up on the bed and soon follows suit. Reaching down he slips a finger between your legs, feels how wet and warm and slick you are and groans loudly against your shoulder. 

Lining up against you, cock in hand he looks at your lust filled eyes. “Next time I’ll go slow, yeah? I’ll take my time.”

Your answer is your hands on his shoulder, pulling him against you and he slips inside you with an ecstatic moan. You moan as well, wrap your legs around his hips. He starts moving, thrusting in and out of you with greedy dragged out jabs. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room and mixes with your whimpering mewls. 

You are so hot and tight and wet around him and the pleasure is so intense it’s bordering on painful. His face is so close to yours, it is as if you are sharing breaths. 

He wants to punch himself from denying himself this for several days when he already had to go without for months.

“Did you think your hands could stand in for mine while I was away? That it could measure up at all?” He asks you, voice thick with lust. He’s so full of want for you and you’re all soft noise and wandering hands. Your warm breath on his even warmer skin. His lips on your nipples; kissing, sucking, biting. 

You writhe beneath him, unable to lay still as you buck your hips up to meet his; fucking into him. He’s not going to last long but neither is you and holding on is a losing battle. Like he said, next time he will go slower, gentler, softer. Drag it out for an entire night. But you both have too much built up pressure inside you to last now. He feels like a bomb about to go off, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, as he fucks into you with even greater force. You’re hot and swollen and hugging onto him so perfectly he feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to come soon. 

But he knows that you are close. Feels it in your nails, dragging along his back, in the sharp movements of your thrusts, in your laboured breathing against his shoulder. He feels it in the way your cunt squeezes around him.

“I’m coming” you whimper and he wants to cry from the relief as he feels you spasm around him.

“Fuck” you moan out as your breathing calms down, and he’s holding you pressed against his chest. “Haven’t had a decent orgasm in months, I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“You really can’t function without me, can you?” he says with a smug smile and honestly, hadn’t you’ve been so blissed out you probably would have bitten him. 

A/N: I honestly don’t know if any of this made sense. I’m drunk and tired and I’m going to bed. If you read it, please leave your thoughts. 

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader

[satorinnie]

love and war

pairing; gojo satoru x f!reader

genre; angst

wc; 3,6k

warnings; jjk manga spoilers

notes; i think its obvious the ending is a bit rushed but i still tried my best :/ got the motivation to write the ending but then lost it again...but i wanted to post it today so here it goes. would love to hear feedback on it!

it wasn’t meant to play out like this. no, he wasn’t meant to find out about it, not like this at least.

that was the last thing you ever wanted.

everything was going so fine, maybe too fine, but still, nonetheless, things were perfect between the two of you just this morning. how did it come to this?

he was looking at you, blindfold off, crescent blue eyes reflecting each emotion he held so so openly. the only times you saw him this vulnerable was when the two of you had talked about his past, his regrets, and what if’s. his eyes were full of adoration at that time, looking at you like you were a pure blessing from the heavens, an angel sent to save him from his drowning thoughts, to let him be himself.

but now, now they were looking at you with so much hurt, anger, regret, and oh so heartbroken.

you had seen, witnessed, first-hand what the receiving end of gojo’s furious gaze ended with. it wasn’t pleasant, that’s for sure, and you had sworn to yourself you would never be on the receiving end of it.

oh, how the tables have turned.

it was understandable why he was so mad; god knows you would be too. because you, who had delicately pieced back his broken heart and trust after the events of getou, had now broken it, by your very own hands at that.

how did it all come to this? you had no idea. you knew starting a relationship with him was wrong and off-limits from the very beginning, but the temptation had surpassed your rationality just like eve when she bit the apple. you never thought you’d fall this deep down the hole, so deep that you forgot–no, ignored your true mission.

to monitor gojo satoru and sukuna’s vessel and kill them when you got the order.

it was last year when the head sorcerers in england had given you this mission. if gojo was unbeatable and unrivaled in japan, you were the same in england. perhaps your curse technique wasn’t as strong as his, but it was versatile and a very reliable technique.

after itardori yuuji became the only sukuna’s vessel, japan wasn’t the only country sour about the thought of it; in fact, it had caused a panic in europe as well. and as england was the country that ruled the jujutsu world in europe, you were assigned with monitoring the vessel and the owner of the six eyes. they wanted their eyes and hands on the boy with the infinity.

but you befriending everyone there, joking with the curse himself, and becoming lovers with the one and only gojo satoru was definitely not how you planned for things to go. it spelled trouble from the beginning, getting close to the shaman who had an ego and power rivaling the gods. but, unfortunately, you were now too deep to just leave without explaining everything to him, and even hoping for a chance that he’d forgive the lies you fed him throughout your times together was a little farfetched.

how could you make him believe that everything you said was genuine, and out of true love? the answer was you couldn’t because the betrayal in his eyes was enough for you to gulp down those hopes, taking a deep breath to prepare for the argument that was about to come. “look–satoru, please let me explain and don’t jump to conclusions.” you lifted your hands in front of you as an act to calm him down, walking closer to him with a futile attempt to hold his hands.

“explain what?” a laugh escaped his throat, one mixed with desperation and madness, “that everything between us was a lie? a mission for you? how do you plan on slithering your way out of this now, huh?” his voice rising with each word he was spitting out of his mouth.

you were desperately trying to keep up the expression that you had everything together, when in fact, you didn’t at all. your hands were starting to shake because you were scared of losing the man in front of you whom you were utterly in love with. the boy with the infinity held your heart in his palms, and he had no idea about it. “nothing was a lie, alright! i know how that document looked, and i can’t lie and tell you that isn’t true, but my love for you is–”

“keep those fucking lies to yourself y/n–you know, everyone knows already. megumi, yuuji, maki, even shoko–”

“stop cutting me, gojo! i know it might be unforgivable, but you have to believe me when i say i forgot about the mission. i love you, okay? i am undeniably and utterly in love with you, and that’s why i’ve been ignoring every call, every message they’ve been sending me about the task because i can’t do it!” you were screaming now, hands in the air, trying to voice out every single emotion you were feeling in that moment.

“well, it’s too bad that i don’t love you anymore! you know, i’ve known about this for a few weeks now and was hoping you’d open up to me about it, but–”

you froze at his last sentence.

“–you what? so you’re telling me that everything that happened in between us during those weeks was an act? all fake? you were just waiting for me to open up so you could what, break my heart in a more grand way?” now you had to give it to him, not only was he secretly smart, he was also a great actor who had you fooled for weeks now. the room was silent after your words, both your eyes staring deep into each other; you, waiting for his answer.

and you watched as he opened and closed his mouth, not sure how to answer your question. but you knew what that meant; with his hesitance, you had found your answer. breaking your eye contact, you looked down at the floors of the home you used to share; you could hear your heart shattering into millions of pieces with just the sound of his breathing.

“alright,” you whispered into the air. running your hand over your face, you leaned back against the kitchen counter. “so how will this go? are you going to let me go or are we gonna have a full-on fight right now? or is everyone already waiting outside the door to capture me?” you were doing your best to avoid eye contact, it was already too heard keeping your tears from falling, and you knew one more look at the eyes you loved so much would break you.

there was silence for a few minutes, but in your eyes, a few minutes was an eternity long. the fact that he was debating the question you left was heartbreaking already. but you weren’t afraid to fight; you had come to japan prepared for the worst-case scenario, and getting to know satoru up close, you believed you had a fair chance at winning.

“–im giving you twenty-four hours to leave this country. if you don’t–you know what’s to happen.” this had you lifting your head in the speed of lightning, eyes wide mouth agape, you could only watch as gojo satoru left your shared house without sparing you a single glance.

he was oblivious to how he carried your heart out the door when he left you stranded in the middle of the kitchen.

it was an hour after your discussion, and you were still in the same spot he left you. still standing, still too paralyzed to move. the reality of things being over was just starting to weigh on you, but you knew you had to start packing because not only gojo; but england was going to be after you too.

you failed the mission. and you didn’t plan on returning back.

war is a slippery slope. what would you do? becomes what will you do? becomes what have you done?

looking around the now-empty home, you built with gojo; tears started falling from your hallow eyes. so many memories resurfaced in one moment; it was overwhelming. the day your first saw him when he was trying to crack a joke at nanami to get him to smile. or the time he first asked you out admitting he had found you a force to be reckoned with and how you had managed to bewitch him. the day you accepted, the day he made you see stars behind your eyes from pure bliss. the day he proposed living together. the day you danced around the living room with his obnoxious music playing at the back, head laid against his chest humming to the melodies. how you felt like a family when you saw him and the students act so close–

how long has it been? how long have you been pushing your actual task behind the lies and excuses you fed yourself. was that person you? the ever so stone-hearted y/n breaking her facade for the boy with infinity.

my god, my god, whose performance am i watching? how many people am i? who am i? what is this space between myself and myself?

it was all getting too much. when had you fallen down the hole to never leave again? should you be grateful, or should you curse the fact that despite all misfortune, you can still feel love and unearthly love but still for earthly objects?

finally getting a grip on yourself, your feet moved down the hall to your shared bedroom, and without wasting a glance at his side, you quickly started to pack your stuff to leave japan.

gojo wasn’t doing well himself. he thought he had finally found true happiness after all the loss he had to go through, and it all turned out to be nothing but an act built on lies. after he left your shared home, he had wandered around in the streets with no destination in mind and the cold chilly air blowing past him. his blindfold was still off, the moon making his crystal blue eyes shine even more, still with unshed tears at the brink of it—a dam about to break.

he knew he lied to you when he told you he didn’t love you anymore and only hoped the years of the facade he had to keep up was enough to fool you into believing his words when in fact, it was the very opposite. he loved you so much–so much that it broke him when he read the document that was mailed to you weeks ago. you and him were an inseparable duo–the strongest and his tamer. the boy with the infinity and the girl who held him down with gravity.

upon wandering the streets for god knows how many hours, he found himself in front of a riverbank. the light of the moon was radiating, creating a painting of a million stories for the broken boy. but while being so engrossed with the view in front of him, he had failed to feel someone creeping up behind him; with his infinity down, nanami was able to lend a hand on his shoulder. “i’m assuming you talked with her.” he broke the silence.

his silenced gaze worried his friend; they promised to keep it between themselves. while nanami believed letting the kids know would be the better choice, gojo was adamant about keeping your good image in front of them. he knew how much they adored you, and he would hate to be the one to break it to them. “i did.”

“and what choice did you go with?”

“i gave her a full day to leave, and if otherwise–” he gulped down the lump forming in his throat, “–if otherwise, i told her i would fight her.” tears now slowly starting to trail down his porcelain skin, an odd view to see for his foes.

“you did the right thing.” nanami tried his best to console him in a way. this was a new image for him; he never saw gojo break down like this; the last time he saw his best friend (he would never admit that to his face, though) like this was when he had to kill getou, even then he had managed to keep up the aloof facade. but he knew his feeling for you ran much, much deeper than that. he has witnessed what your companionship had done to him. it was what pieced him back, and now what broke him.

it’s been years since you left, but you were back now. back in japan after two years of staying away, traveling to many different countries, on the runaway from the higher-ups in england. you would’ve preferred your return to be on good news and such, but unfortunately, it was the opposite. your friends back in england had informed you about how they planned on ending gojo’s life once in for all today with a team of experienced sorcerers, and although you wanted to keep away from trouble as much you could, you couldn’t let the man you love die.

with your hood covering your face, you walked down the streets of shibuya, the once war zone that led to many disastrous events in the past years under your feet. you heard about everything; the culling game and the capture of gojo satoru, thank god those were all in the past now, and everyone was well–except nanami, and the new had broken you. just like gojo and the students, he also had a special place in your heart, his calm attitude always grounding you. you don’t think his last thoughts of you were good–considering what gojo had told you the night you left, but still, his death was unexpected news to you.

you didn’t know how you were going to approach the topic; there was a big chance they’d attack you the second you entered their line of vision, not allowing you to voice out the news–but it was worth the try nonetheless. taking your hood down, you entered a cafe; the need for caffeine after the long flight back here was strong, the anxiousness and stress not allowing you to sleep. what you didn’t expect was seeing the three first years–now third years–you loved so much sitting in the cafe chatting idly, not noticing you. you wanted to keep it that way, but on your way out, a feminine voice called out your name. “y/n sensei? is that you?”

your steps halted, freezing in your stop. the confrontation was inevitable now, causing a stir in a crowded place was the last thing you wanted so you turned around to see nobara staring at you with wide eyes, megumi and itadori behind shocked just as her. what you didn’t expect was her running straight at your engulfing you with wide arms; a big grin plastered on her face. “where were you! you disappeared out of nowhere, and gojo sensei wouldn’t tell us anything! we were really worried; you left me alone with these two idiots–you know you’re the only one who understands my pain–”

“–i’m sorry, i had to go on an abroad mission, and it took too long. it’s good to be back.” you hugged her back tightly, still trying to process the new information she threw at you. gojo had lied, and that made you question everything you believed in. had he also lied about his love for you back then? but that was for later–for now, you wanted to cherish this news and spend time with your favorite students, learn about their well-being and their stories.

“come on, let’s sit shall we? we got lots to catch up on.”

it was now midnight, and you were waiting somewhere in the middle of the forest for your dreaded meeting with gojo. you managed to convince the kids into telling gojo to meet you here without actually letting him know it was you. they were excited, to say the least, talking about how you and he were the epitomai of soulmates, two pieces meant to find each other, filling up the gaping hole you both had. you were very nervous, fidgeting in your spot, hiding behind the tree waiting for him to arrive, and when you heard footsteps nearing you–you knew this was it, heart pounding like crazy.

walking out of your hiding spot, you slowly made your way over to him, hands stiff at your sides anticipating his reaction. “gojo.” he looked at you, blindfold on this time. still, you could see his displeasure from how his body stiffened at your voice, looking at you with a straight face. “what’re you doing here? i thought i told you to leave.” you sighed, walking closer to him, “i know, and i am going to leave again, but before that, i need to tell you something–” you were cut off by the powerful shake of the ground, throwing you off balance resulting in you falling to the ground.

behind you were your old friends from england, standing tall and mighty together–a force to be reckoned with; you were once one of them, but alas, that was the past. “thanks you leading us straight to him y/n.” elizabeth smirked looking at your fallen state, “you made things a whole lot easier for us.” she continued. looking back at gojo, you were surprised to see his hands locked in some type of chain. how did they manage to get past his infinity–unless he didn’t have it on in the first place. did let his guard down once he saw you? why would he do that?

“no, no, no– leave him alone, elizabeth! i swear to god i’ll rain hell upon all of you!” you stood up desperately trying to leave the makeshift cage your friend had put you in when a sudden idea came to you. it was risky, but it would save him, and that–that was all you needed, your purpose of coming here in the first place.

“lover boy is being quite over there. what is it? cat got your tongue?” she was taunting you and definitely enjoying it too. walking closer to you, she neared your face while the others were beside gojo, “you’re both fools believing you guys could be together in the first place, that’s how it works–” she was cut off by the stomp of your foot on the ground lifting a piece of rock–the one gojo was on, up to the air, away from your ex-friends. if you couldn’t save yourself, you could at least save him; apologize for your past mistakes.

from where you were, you couldn’t do much, but you used all your might to send rock flying in the air towards them meanwhile keeping gojo away from them. your cursed technique was called upon the tainted sorrow, the ability to manipulate gravity, and it was unrivaled in europe. you trained too much to reach where you were, the strongest just like gojo, but even the strong can fall, and all it takes is the blink of an eye.

you were on the ground again, but this time blood pouring from your insides, a deadly piercing through your abdomen. while you were so engrossed with trying to keep gojo safe, you hadn’t realized he was already off the piece of rock fighting the rest. and he had made the mistake of underestimating them, resulting in the struggle. but that distraction was enough for elizabeth to pierce the cursed knife through you.

one second you were on the ground; the next, you were in someone’s arms. looking up, you were met with the crystal blue eyes you had grown to love staring right back at yours. this reminded you of the moments where you used to lay on his chest, hands tangled in his snow-white hair, his hands keeping you tight against him, eyes staring at each other with nothing but love. how unfortunate things weren’t that way now. you bleeding onto his hands which hopelessly applied pressure to your wound in hopes of saving you, his blindfold now off, tears slowly caressing his face. it was a sight for the eyes. you lifted your hand up to cup his cheek, imprinting a red hand mark right where you touched him, “satoru–”

“save your breath, i called for shoko; she’ll be here any minute, and we can save you–” you silenced him with your thumb on his lips, “satoru, this was inevitable, even if you save me now, they’ll still be after me. it’ll be a never-ending cycle.”

“no, i can keep you safe, y/n. remember? it’s us against the world, baby. always has been and always will be.” he kissed your forehead, still keeping you close. his eyes were shut tight; he could feel your consciousness slipping away and knew he couldn’t save you. but can’t a man hope? and as you uttered your last words, body temperature turning cold, breathing stopping, he knew right then and there this was where he lost it all. this was how he lost the light of his world, in his own hands, between his arms.

“for what it’s worth, i love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard.” and he knew those words would haunt him for an eternity. follow him wherever he went. the ghost of you will always be with him, never leaving. you will hold him down by gravity with just your soul. yet he still wanted to curse the gods for taking you away from him, his fresh breath of air, his anchor.

your love was strong, but the timing was wrong, and love decided that you both didn’t belong.

#jjk gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst

[stellarstarwarsimagines]

To Be Alone With You

Pairing - Din Djarin x Reader

Summary - You had only had guesses, brief moments in time where you thought that Din might reciprocate the feelings that you have for him. Now, he’s about to make it very clear he does. 

Word Count - 4.8k

Warnings - Soft smut, 18+, Unprotected sex, Star Wars cuss words? 

There weren’t words to describe it, how the tension that had been building for so long between the two of you snapped like a rubber band that had been stretched to its limits. You weren’t even sure what had triggered it. One moment you had been telling Din that the kid was fine. He was now sleeping it off, comfortable in his cradle. The rogue bounty hunter who had tried to take him was now knocked unconscious and lying in a ditch somewhere after you had stunned him with a blaster. 

The next moment your back was against the wall of the Crest with Din’s gloved hands tight on your hips, no space to speak of between the two of you other than the hard beskar protecting every vulnerable part of him, inside and out. His actions left you breathless, your heart in palpitations from the closeness of him. You had been close before, it was hard not to be on a cramped ship like this, but this time it was different. It was purposeful. His presence had always intoxicated you to your very core, making your whole body feel weak with so much as a tilt of that helmet in your direction. To have him take up every inch of the space around you with his towering presence left you dizzy. “Din?” You whispered, your voice breathless in the silent room filled with the sounds of hyperspace around you. You weren’t sure what you were asking, but it seemed as if he didn’t need to know your unspoken question. 

“I-I want you.” Din’s hands tightened on you, as if afraid you would vanish between his fingertips if he didn’t hold on to you. “Can I -?”

His words, so simple, meant so much. He wanted you. There was no other way to take those words other than that. “Yes,” you interrupted. He didn’t need to say anything else, because as embarrassing as it was, you would let Din Djarin do anything he wanted to you. That was how bad you wanted him to. 

While you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew that they were focused on you, watching every emotion that you couldn’t hide on your face and measuring it. It was always as if he was expecting you to take off at a run from him. Like he was going to scare you away. 

But you had seen the man behind the mask, not physically, but deeper than that. There was no way you were ever going to run from him. 

With a quick movement from one of Din’s gauntlets, the whole ship was plunged into pitch black darkness. Surprised at the suddenness of it, your hands reached out to grab him, clutching onto the beskar as his hands let go of you. “Din, what are you-?” 

There was the unmistakable sound of beskar hitting the floor, and you were sure that your heart stopped. 

Had he . . . ? Then you felt his hot breath caressing your lips and there was no doubt what he had done. Even in the blackness where you had no hope of seeing even a glimpse of his face, your eyes closed in panic. The temptation was too much. You clenched your hands bunching into fists in the fabric of his clothes, telling yourself over and over not to reach out and touch his face, that face you had been aching to see, the face you had imagined in your dreams over and over. Here it was, right there in front of you, and yet . . . you couldn’t do that to him. You weren’t even sure if anyone had ever touched his face like you wanted to. 

It was as if he could read your mind. “I can’t - I can’t let you see my face, but I wanted you to hear me. Just me. Not through the helmet.” 

You’re not prepared for the smoothness of his voice, the emotion in it, the way it makes you cling to his arms harder to remind yourself that this is happening. You’re hearing his pure, unfiltered voice for the first time, and it’s already making you fall even more in love with him. It would seem like something so small to anyone else, just hearing a voice, but it was Din, and anything he chose to trust you with was a gift. “I want whatever you’re comfortable giving me, Din.” You told him, letting out a gasp as you felt a stubbled jaw brush against your neck, followed by a full set of lips. 

“Mesh’la,” The Mandalorian word coming from his voice combined with the softest touch of his lips against your bare skin had your hands trembling. “You have no idea how bad I want you.” He murmured. 

It was at that moment that you realized that Din Djarin was going to wreck you, and he had no clue. “Show me,” you replied, clinging to him to make sure you could stay steady. His words had such an effect on you, you weren’t sure you could stand by yourself. “Whatever you want, you can have it. I’ve wanted you for so long.” You admitted even though you knew you sounded desperate. If you could rewind and hear your own voice, you knew you would be embarrassed, but right now his lips, his lips, were so close to your own you couldn’t even begin to think straight. 

He let out an actual groan at your words, hoarse and deep as his breath came out in a huff against your neck. “Touch me,” he requested, his voice rough and strangled. “Please, cyar’ika, touch my face.” 

Well, he wasn’t going to have to tell you twice. Your hands let go of his clothes, sliding up to place your hands on the exposed skin that you couldn’t see, but you found with your eyes closed, you could almost imagine it. As you had already felt, his jawline was splattered with stubble, so your trembling fingers traveled higher. The skin wasn’t smooth, but you hadn’t expected it to be, not in his line of work. When you felt eyelashes fluttering against the tips of your fingers, you spoke, soft so as to not break the moment. “What color are they?” You couldn’t help but ask, knowing he didn’t have to answer. 

But he didn’t hesitate. “Brown.” 

A little smile formed on your face even though he couldn’t see it. “Knew it.” 

The most beautiful sound, a soft chuckle, natural and raw, filled your ears, and you sucked in a breath as you felt him turn his head in your hand so those full lips could place a kiss on your palm. Warmth spread from your hand throughout your whole body from the touch, and your heart was filled with longing, wanting nothing more than to feel those lips against your own. “Can I kiss you?” You asked, your hand moving down so you could brush your fingertips against the heat of his lips.

Din didn’t respond. He didn’t even give himself the chance to. Not in words anyway. His hand grabbed yours, putting it back against his cheek as his lips found your own with surprising accuracy in the dark. 

You had imagined this several times since you had met Din Djarin. All in various places for different reasons. You had imagined it to be mind blowing, dizzying. You had imagined it to be filled with passion and tension that had finally exploded, and it was all those things. 

But it was also sort of . . . timid. That probably wasn’t the right word, because you had no doubts that Din wanted to kiss you. The way his hands clutched at you, holding you as close as he could against his hard beskar told you that, but it was almost as if he didn’t know what to do, and that’s when the realization struck you. If he had never taken off his helmet in front of someone before . . . 

Had he ever been kissed? 

Realizing this, you decided to take the lead, setting a rhythm with your lips that he followed without hesitation. You altered the pressure of your lips every so often, soft kisses leading to hard ones, hard ones fading back to soft, slipping your tongue into his mouth and moaning with encouragement and pleasure when he did the same. He got the hang of it very quickly, like the fast learner he was, and pretty soon you were nothing but putty under his touch, weak and boneless with every touch of his lips. 

Your hands slid up from his cheeks into his hair, surprised by how soft and long the tresses seemed to be, and the man in front of you practically whimpered. His hand slid around your back, dipping under your shirt until his gloved hand was against your bare skin. You gasped at the sensation and almost immediately he jerked back as if he had burnt you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“No!” You reached out blindly for his arms, which you were thankful to find, and tugged them back around you, slipping his hand back under your shirt and shivering when he came back into contact with your skin. “It feels good.” 

Din seemed to relax somewhat, and you felt his nose bump into yours as he searched for your lips again, but you turned your head, tightening your grip on his arms. 

“Do - do you want me to take it off?” You asked, your voice breathless at the thought, but also not wanting to push it if he didn’t want to go any further. 

While you couldn’t see it, you could feel the way that he tensed once more, the tightening of his arms, and then the nod, his nose brushing up and down against your cheek. “Can I?” He asked. 

Like you were going to deny him that. “Yes,” You replied, and lifted your arms over your head to help him out. 

But his hands let go of you and didn’t grab your shirt. Instead there was a bit of shuffling around for a moment, and you heard something get tossed to the floor in the dark. When his hands returned to you, you realized what he had done. Because no longer were you feeling the rough leather of gloves against your skin, but warm, calloused hands instead. He held them at your hips for a moment, kneading the skin, and then you heard the sound of beskar hitting the floor once more. This time he hadn’t taken anything off though. Instead he had sunk to his knees in front of you, bringing his lips to the softness of your belly, and as he lifted your shirt, he kissed every new bit of skin that was revealed to the cold air. 

By the time that he had lifted the shirt off of you, your chest was heaving with your breath. You felt the cool beskar of the mudhorn necklace he had given you fall onto your overheated skin and small tremors exploded over your body as his fingers brushed the pendant that marked you as part of his clan. You reached for that hand, keeping a light grip in case he wanted to pull it away, and brought it back to your skin. “Now touch me,” you told him, letting go of his hand. 

His fingers spread across your skin as if he was trying to touch as much of you as he could. You closed your eyes at the feeling, your head falling back against the wall behind you as he explored your body. As heated as you already were, his hands were more so, massaging into your skin while he dropped his head onto your shoulder, whispering beautiful words in Mando’a into your ear. You had no idea what he was saying, he could be talking about the weather for all you knew, but it didn’t matter. You were savoring the sound of his unfiltered voice, committing it and the way his hands felt on your skin to memory. 

When his leg slipped between your thighs, you didn’t think it was on purpose, and you tried to control the desperate urge you had to grind down on his thigh, unsure of what his reaction to that would be. Moments later, you felt his thumb brush across your nipple, and you couldn’t control yourself. Determined to let the pleasure keep building inside of you, you found yourself pressing down against the beskar of his thigh, surprised at how nice it felt against your skin. It felt so good you couldn’t hold back a whimper as Din’s hand cupped your breast, squeezing it. “Does - Does that feel good?” He asked, rubbing his thumb across your nipple once more. 

“So good, Din,” you reassured, tugging on his hair a bit and shivering at the groan that came out of his lips from it. “You feel so good,” You added, and used the grip you had in his hair to tug his lips back into a kiss. When you did, there was no hesitation this time in his lips. They moved in perfect sync to your own, and you pulled on his hair once more in pleasure. 

That got an immediate reaction. You frowned a bit as he pulled away from you and removed his hand from your chest. You wondered if you had somehow done something to offend him, but that thought was taken from your head at once when Din’s hands found their way back to you, lifting you up in the air so that he didn’t have to bend down to kiss you anymore. 

It would have been one of the sexiest things anyone had ever done to you, especially when you felt how hot and hard he was against your thigh, if he hadn’t lifted you too high, and you hit your head on the ceiling. “Ow, dank farrik!” You groaned, dropping your head on top of Din’s. 

Din let out a sigh, and you felt him bury his face in your skin. “I’m terrible at this.” You heard him murmur. 

Terrible? The man had you so worked up you couldn’t think straight, and he thought he was doing terrible. You knew he wouldn’t be thinking that if he could feel how wet you were for him right now. “You’re the farthest thing from terrible, Din Djarin, but . . . this might be better on the bed. If you want to . . .” 

You felt him nod against your chest, leaving a soft kiss against your skin. Instead of putting you down, he gripped your thighs, and much better than you could have in the dark, he carried you over to his too small cot, putting you down on it as if you were made of glass. When he did, you waited for him to join you, but he didn’t. When the moment became longer, an irrational fear that he had somehow snuck out, too embarrassed to tell you he wasn’t interested any more crept into your mind. You sat up on your elbows, and whispered his name into the dark, wishing you could see him. 

“Just a minute,” his soothing voice replied, putting your fears at ease. In the dark, with your vision gone, your hearing seemed to amplify, and you had your suspicions about what he was doing. They were confirmed when Din finally joined you, no longer covered in hard beskar, but instead the only article of clothing he seemed to be wearing was his pants. With such a thin layer of material separating the two of you, you tugged him as close as you could, and he complied, slipping between your legs and kissing up your stomach until he found your lips once more. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of kissing you, which you were thankful for, because you couldn’t get enough of kissing him either. 

No longer afraid to let your hands wander, you let them, sliding over the hardest and softest parts of his chest, shoulders and back. You let your hands trace over every scar, and swallowed every groan and gasp you drew out of him with your lips. There was something symbolic, you thought, about how this man had shed all the parts that protected himself for you, in more ways than one. He was being vulnerable with you, and it was almost as if he was trusting you to keep him safe this time. 

It was a job you would gladly take on. 

You could have laid there for hours, covered in the comfort of his body and eased by the soothingness of his kisses, but then he began a slow grind with his hips against yours that left you whimpering and craving more. Realizing you could now show him how well he had been doing, you took his wrist in your hand, and slid it down the loose elastic of your pants. You heard his nails dig into the blankets by your head as you did so, and kept moving his hand down until it was against your underwear. The groan he made into your ear was downright sinful as you dragged his fingers up and down the wet fabric. “See how good you are? You did all of this. This is all for you cyar’ika.” You added on. You didn’t speak Mando’a, but you had heard him call you that enough times you hoped you said it correctly. 

The word for sure got a reaction out of him. He withdrew his hand from you, gripping the waistband of your pants in his fist. “Can I?” Din asked, his voice desperate and weak as he tugged on them to make sure you knew what he was talking about. 

Instead of answering, you lifted your hips, and he got the message. Within seconds you were laid out bare beneath the Mandalorian, and even though you knew that he couldn’t see you, you had never felt more exposed. His hands slid back up your legs at an agonizing pace, occasionally pausing to knead or smooth some of your muscles, until his hands were back at your hips. “You’re sure you want to do this?” Din asked, leaning down and brushing his lips against yours. 

Was that even a question? The man above you was someone you had been longing for, aching for, and dreaming of when you slept in your cot at night. Din Djarin was everything you could ever hope for and want in a partner, and there was nothing more in the galaxy that you wanted right now than to be with him in every way possible. You reached up until you found his face with your fingers, cupping his cheeks and brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. “Yes, I want this. I want you.” 

You felt his nose brush against yours for a moment, nuzzling against it. “You’ve had me for a long time, my runi.” He told you, but before you could ask what that word meant, he captured your lips in a kiss full of passion and intensity, distracting you as he shuffled to get the rest of his clothes off. Of course it was an even bigger distraction, in more ways than one, when your bodies met for the first time with nothing in between them. 

There was a jump in your heart as you felt his size, and you slid your hand down his body to grip him in your hand. You hadn’t known what to expect, but it was more than you had ever had without question. 

As soon as you touched him, he let out a grunt, thrusting his hips into your hand and letting out an even louder groan as you brushed his tip with your thumb, capturing some of the essence from it and using it to stroke him. “Shh . . . You’ll wake up the kid,” you teased, pulling away from his lips to kiss a line down his neck. 

“Your fault.” Din murmured, his body tense against yours as you continued your stroking. This was a man who you had seen not the least bit tired after chasing a bounty all over a town, but was now panting against the top of your head as if he had run across the whole galaxy in a minute. You had that much of an effect on him, and it went straight to your head. 

“Do you trust me?” You whispered, your hands sliding down his face to press against his chest. 

“Yes,” he answered, his voice breathless and rough from your touch. 

You pushed on his chest until he was on his back, and you threw a leg across him, settling on his hips. You both let out a moan when you settled on top of him and began to slide up and down, getting him soaked through your folds. The friction felt so good and delicious you almost didn’t want to stop, but then you felt his hand on your back, tugging you down enough so that he was able to find your breast with his mouth. You knew you had to get him inside of you. 

When you gripped him this time, Din’s hands tightened on you, and you took a deep breath as you lifted your hips and began sinking down on him. You could feel his muscles tense where your hand was keeping your balance on his shoulder, and you had to force your own body to relax, knowing it would go much easier if you did. 

It was a tight fit. Din was not only long, but thick as well, and every inch you slipped down him felt like there couldn’t be any more, but then there was. Thankfully, the pleasure more than outweighed any pain you might have felt. The ache of the stretch he put you through had you leaving nail marks in his shoulder, but when you settled on his hips with him fully inside of you, it was more than worth it. 

Never had you felt so filled, so stuffed, and in pure bliss. You now had both of your hands on Din’s strong chest, and you could feel how hard his heart was beating underneath it. When you grabbed a hold of his hair to tug him back up to you, your forehead pressed against his. The cold metal of your necklace pressing against both of your chests. “Are you okay?” He asked, and you could hear the strain in his voice, the stiffness in his muscles, and you knew that he was holding himself back. He was keeping himself from hurting you. 

“Yeah, Din, I just . . . I just want to stay here a second.” You said, giving yourself a minute to adjust as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

You felt him nod, and he kissed you with such softness for a hard man. You melted into him, clinging to him and letting him spread more of those kisses across each bit of skin that he could reach with those full lips. After a few moments, you had caught your breath somewhat and lifted yourself off of him. Even if it was just for a moment, the emptiness he left inside of you left you wanting more, and you slid back down him with a roll of your hips. 

He let out a muffled groan into your neck, biting into your skin somewhat before soothing over it with his tongue. His hand that was wrapped around you held you tighter against his body, his fingers digging into your skin so hard you were sure there were going to be marks tomorrow. You heard the creak of his other hand settling on the bed, and he must have used it to help support himself because he met you on your next downward thrust, and it made stars appear behind your eyelids. “Kriff,” you gasped out. “That feels so good.” 

“You feel so good,” Din replied, his voice rougher than you had ever heard, and the sound of it went straight between your legs, clenching down on him the next time he met your thrust. He let out another strained groan as you did, “I’m not - I’m not going to last much longer.” Din warned as he picked up the speed of his thrusts, “so tight.” He grunted. 

“It’s okay,” You told him, fingers tugging at his hair as you did so, and it was okay. You could care less right now if you had an orgasm. Being with him in this way was more than enough. “Let go, cyar’ika.” You told him, remembering the effect you speaking Mando’a had on him earlier. 

It was almost as if the words had a power over him, and his hips stuttered in their rhythm with yours. With a few more hard thrusts inside of you, there was a warmth that filled you up. You fell backwards with him on the bed, and decided to leave your own little kisses across his face, trying to imagine what he would look like right now if the lights were on. His hand had loosened its grip, but stroked up and down your back in long, languid lines. After he caught his breath, you felt his hand on your cheek, and turned into the touch, leaving a kiss on his palm. “You didn’t-?“

“It’s okay,” You reassured him, “It felt so good to have -”

Before you could say another word, he had flipped you over on your back and was kissing down your stomach. “‘S not okay. I’m going to take care of you.” Din said, his large hands spreading about your thighs as he settled there in what couldn’t have been a comfortable position. “Tell me what feels good.” He said, and you felt him bend down, lifting your legs over his strong shoulders. 

For someone asking for you to tell him what felt good, Din Djarin sure did have amazing instincts. Your head fell back against the pillow and your hips arched towards his face as you let out a gasp. Din did not waste any time, his tongue gliding up your folds, and then sliding inside of you. Your hands felt around until you found his hair once more, and you started using it to guide his movements. He seemed eager to please, and it wasn’t long until you were clenching down on his tongue and grinding against his face. “Din,” You gasped out. “Fingers. Please use your fingers.” You begged him. 

He did so at once, moving his lips out of the way so that he could slide three of his large fingers inside of you. You moaned his name out, moving your hips in time with his fingers. You didn’t feel as full as you had when he was inside of you, but it was more than enough. With your hands, you guided him to that spot that made your toes curl, and he took it into his mouth, sucking lightly. Pleasure shot through your whole body, and you found yourself edging closer and closer to a climax. When Din reached up with his free hand and squeezed your breast, that was all you needed. 

You pulsed around his fingers, pleasure washing over your body in a wave, your muscles tensing and releasing as your hips rode it out. Din extended it for as long as possible, not stopping his mouth until you pushed him away with tired arms. 

He kissed his way back up your body, and then he turned you to face the wall, squeezing into the space behind you. You let out a satisfied smile as he left kisses on your shoulder and in your hair, his hand running up and down your arm like he didn’t want to stop touching you yet. 

When you had woken up this morning, you had never dreamed this was how the day was going to end. You had never thought that Din cared for you as much as you did for him. There had been hints, the lingering touches, the fierceness with which he protected you, the nicknames in Mando’a . . . “Din?” You spoke up, your hand finding his in the dark and covering it with your own. 

“Mhmm?” He replied, his stubble scratching against your skin in the best way. 

“What does runi mean? I haven’t heard you use that one before.” You asked, your voice a mere whisper in the dark room. 

Din was quiet for several moments, but his thumb began to stroke your hand now, so you knew he was awake. “It’s not a common word. It’s used mostly in poetry and songs.” He pressed another soft kiss on your neck. “It means soul.” 

That took your breath away. Your hand squeezed his tight as you spoke. “You care about me that much?” 

There was no pause, no thinking in his response. “More.”

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x you #star wars imagine

[cozy-the-overlord]

Funny Little Ups and Downs

Summary: Loki is having a bad day. The love of his life is being sent away to marry some ridiculous Vanir prince, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Then her little sister shows up to give him a pep talk.

Word Count: 3,824

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: Sound the alarms! Alert the media! Cozy wrote something happy! I actually wrote the majority of this over three months ago, then got stuck on the ending and forgot all about it until a few days ago. It’s inspired by “I Love Melvin,” a silly little musical from 1953 starring Debbie Reynolds and Donald O’Connor that employs my favorite trope of all time: the main character’s little sibling bonding with the romantic interest. It’s fun, it’s cute, and I just had to write it. Consider it an apology for all the angst I’ve been throwing your way XD

Warnings: None

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Spring in Asgard was truly something to behold. The last dredges of winter melted into memory, leaving behind a crispness in the air and a radiance in the land as vibrant life bloomed across the planet. It was a kind of brilliance that one could hardly resist, and so it was no surprise that the palace gardens were alive with activity— novice warriors sparring in the field, strolling couples engaged in lively conversation, giggling children chasing each other through the labyrinth of brick and shrubbery.

It seemed the very universe was mocking him.

Loki held his head in his hands, huddled in a despondent heap at the edge of the garden bench. It was truly amazing how quickly the sweet spring air turned foul. The day had started with such promise, and now …

“Hi your Highness!” Loki jumped when the little girl plopped down next to him without a warning, crumbs spilling into her braids as she munched on a cookie.

He sighed. “Oh, hello Milla.” He couldn’t say he particularly cared for company at the moment, but he couldn’t find the energy to shoo her off.

Milla studied him, chewing intently. “Are you crying?” she asked.

“Of course not!” Loki bristled. Was he now so pathetic that he was garnering the pity of a child? He huffed in indignation.

She patted his arm as if in consolation. “It’s okay to cry, Prince Loki. I cry all the time.”

Norns.

He swallowed the temptation to shove her away and abandon the bench, electing instead to change the subject. “Did Sigyn send you?”

It wouldn’t have been the first time she delegated her little sister to the position of messenger. Perhaps Milla was here with some kind of news, that the whole thing was a misunderstanding and Sigyn wasn’t getting married after all. But deep down, Loki knew that was nothing but wishful thinking. If that were the case, Sigyn would have come herself.

“No,” Milla said, dashing what little hope he had against the brick walkway. “I saw you leaving from my window. You looked sad.” She paused, cocking her head to the side. “Was Sigyn mean to you?”

It was such a childish question that Loki laughed, although there was no humor in the sound. Sigyn didn’t have a mean bone in her body. It was something of which he was in perpetual awe. It didn’t matter how badly her day had gone, how grievously she had been wronged—she always had a kind word or a sweet gesture and an eagerness to help. There was a grace about her, a grace that Loki had never seen from anyone else in court.

The way she had broke the news to him, pushing him into the hallway outside her apartment before he even had the chance to knock … it was cruel, but it wasn’t a cruelty she had chosen. He understood that at least.

Loki heaved another sigh. “It wasn’t her fault.”

For a moment, Milla was quiet. He turned away from her. It seemed he really was that pathetic.

“Sigyn got all upset after you left,” she finally said. “She went running upstairs and hid in her room. Now Daddy’s mad because Prince Sverrir is coming over and she’s not ready.” Sverrir. Loki dug his fingernails into his palms. Milla didn’t seem to notice his tension.

“Do you know Prince Sverrir?” she asked.

Loki grit his teeth. “I’ve met him.” It was astonishing how his opinion of the Vanir Crown Prince had changed from aloof indifference to outright hatred within a matter of words. Loki had known Sverrir since they were both children, when Vanaheim’s royal family had come to Asgard for a few weeks to celebrate the millennial anniversary of the end of the Aesir-Vanir War. He had found him to be tiresome as a boy, a trait that did not improve upon adulthood. Loki had avoided him when he could.

Sverrir had only become relevant to him within the last few years, when after one royal visit he began to express an interest in Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir. At this point, Sigyn and Loki had been seeing each other in secret for quite some time, and while a public courtship was still out of the question, Loki had no intention of allowing the foreign prince to pursue what he already called his own.

The court was appalled when it discovered that Sverrir had been hiring harlots and bringing them into his chambers—his guest chambers, the very rooms in which the Asgardian royal family had so kindly allowed him to stay! His insistence that he had never even interacted with the ladies of the night, let alone allowed one on to palace grounds, fell upon deaf ears and Sverrir was forced to return home to avoid further scandal. Loki remembered watching him cross the Bifrost, with his unnatural posture and his idiotic attempt at regality, certain that they’d seen the last of him.

But now here he was again, back with a few years distance and an ailing father, and suddenly every woman in Asgard was ready to fall at his feet. Which would’ve been fine, except for the fact that he decided upon the only woman who didn’t want him in return.

Loki groaned, rubbing his temples. Besides him, Milla prattled on.

“He’s very dull, isn’t he?” she was saying, brushing the cookie crumbs off the front of her dress. “The last time he came over he just sat in the parlor and talked about how much Sigyn would like Vanaheim. I don’t think she was all that interested. And he kept calling me Mina!” She scowled at the ground, as if Sverrir was there, sitting at her feet, before turning back to Loki. “I like you better. You’re nice to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yeah!” she grinned, tapping his shoulder enthusiastically. “You know my name, at least. And you gave me my good-luck charm!”

She pulled the charm out from under her top, fastened to her neck by thin strip of leather. It was nothing special, just a simple wooden carving of a cat’s head that he had whittled himself during his time serving as diplomat in Alfheim. He didn’t have near the talent for woodworking of the Elven carvers, but he was patient in his practice. By the end of the trip, he had spent hours upon hours working on the carving of a wolf’s head, Sigyn’s favorite animal, to give to her upon his return. Milla’s cat had been something of an afterthought. Still, he hadn’t been able to hide his smile at the way she squealed in delight when he presented it to her, and Sigyn had seemed more touched by the fact that he thought of her sister than at her own gift.

“Has it worked for you?” he asked.

“I think so,” Milla said, running her finger across the cat’s ear. “Good things happen when I wear it.”

Loki laughed bitterly. He could use a bit of that now. “Have good things happened today?”

She didn’t look up. “I’m still waiting to find out.”

A silence fell over the two of them, heavy and stiff. He wondered what Sigyn was doing, if she was still hiding in her room as her sister claimed. She had been waiting for him that morning, ready to push him out into the hall with shaking hands the moment he arrived at her doorstep. He knew immediately that she had been crying—if her swollen eyes weren’t enough of a giveaway, then the little hiccupping gasps that peppered her words certainly were.

“You can’t be here right now,” she had hissed. “If Father sees you, he’ll lose his mind!”

“What happened?”

“Sverrir made an offer for my hand. My father—Loki, he accepted.”

It had taken a moment for those words to sink in. When they had, he had demanded to speak with her father.

“Loki—”

“He can’t do this! He can’t sell you off like cattle—”

Only he could, and they both knew it.

“Prince Loki?” He turned away from his thoughts and back to Milla. She was looking up at him with wide eyes, her voice suddenly very small. “Is Sigyn going to marry Sverrir?”

Loki found he couldn’t answer. There was a threatening lump in the back of his throat, making him unwilling to trust his voice. Sigyn … she was always supposed to marry him. He had been sure of it from the moment he met her, back when they were taking their lessons together. He had pretended to trip when walking by her desk and spilled his potion all over the floor just to have an excuse to talk to her. Thor had rolled his eyes when he heard of it (“could you not just speak to her like a normal person?”), but Sigyn had laughed and offered to help him clean it up, just like the angel she was. And when class ended, he offered to walk her back to her apartment.

Sigyn had smiled, that shy little smile she seemed to reserve for only him. “I’d be honored, my prince.”

Loki was smitten.

And now he was heartbroken.

“You know she doesn’t want to marry him, right?” Milla asked, tugging at his sleeve. “She doesn’t even like him.”

Loki inhaled. “Marriage isn’t just about who you like.” Sigyn had explained this to him just now in the hallway. Her family may have been prestigious in her great-grandfather’s heyday, but a series of poor investments and bad choices had set them on a steady decline. Her marriage to Sverrir would secure their position permanently. Her father would condemn her to a life of loneliness to maintain their status. And Sigyn would accept it, because she was far too good a person to refuse. “You have to think about your future, and your family, and Sverrir is a prince—”

“But you’re a prince too!”

“I don’t have a throne.” Loki sighed. He had never been jealous of Thor’s position as Crown Prince, not really—kingship came with hundreds of little hinderances and headaches that Loki was perfectly content to live without. But if he could stand before Sigyn’s father, not as Odin’s forgotten son but as Asgard’s future ruler … well, he wouldn’t be having to stomach discussion about some Vanir prince, that was for sure.

Milla yanked on his sleeve even harder. “But Sigyn loves you.”                        

Loki’s eyes widened. “She told you that?”

“No.” She said. “But I know she does. She reads your poems every night before she goes to bed.”

He flushed crimson. “Does she?” Oh, those poems. He had never considered himself to be much of a poet, but there was a soft sense of familiarity in words that he had never found anywhere else. And Sigyn … how could one not write about Sigyn?

He never had the courage to read them to her in person, silly, romantic things that they were. Instead he kept to leaving them hidden in spots where only she would find them—wrapped up in her napkin at dinner, buried in her bag at the healing ward, slipped into her dress pocket as they danced. She never said anything about them to him, but he lived for the way she’d squeeze his hand after he passed one to her.

Milla nodded, grinning. “She has them all in a little book, and she keeps it under her pillow.” Loki smiled too at the image, just for a moment, but then reality came crashing back down. She could hold on to as many poems as he could write—it still wouldn’t change anything. He buried his face in his hands once more.

He felt another tug at his sleeve, and he turned to find himself face-to-face with a creased brow. “You love her too, don’t you?” Milla asked. “That’s why you’re so upset.”

Loki huffed. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! It has too!” she insisted, shaking his arm. “You can make it matter.”

“Make it matter?” Suddenly, looking at her there, with her braids and her “good luck” charms and her childish hope was too much to bear. “What would you have me do?” he snapped. “Kidnap your sister?”

Milla flinched. “No … But—”

“There isn’t any ‘but.’ Your father will never allow her to settle for me when there’s a superior option. My father will never care enough to intervene on my behalf.” Norns knew he had tried. But Odin had nothing to gain from a marriage between Loki and Sigyn, and if Odin had nothing to gain, he saw no reason to act. “It’s useless to pretend otherwise. Now are you just going to sit here and bother me all day or do you have somewhere else to be?”

She gulped, abandoning her place besides him on the bench. “I’m sorry, your Highness. I’ll go.” Loki watched her slink off back towards the palace, head down like a whipped pup. Somehow, he felt even worse.

…

Dinner was miserable.

Loki picked at his food out of a sense of courtesy, with no real appetite to be found. How could he eat, when four seats to his right Sverrir was regaling his audience with descriptions of his perfect bride-to-be? The prince hadn’t yet mentioned Sigyn by name, but he didn’t have to. Loki could see the way his gaze lingered on her table as he described her “perfect form.”

It made him sick.

He had still barely touched his meal by the time many of the merrymakers had moved to the dance floor. Sverrir had gone, too—Loki watched him practically slither across the room to Sigyn’s side to ask her for a dance, watched Sigyn’s nearly imperceptible nod in assent. Now, they commanded the whole of the floor, gliding through the steps as flawlessly as a couple could, Sverrir grinning ear to ear and Sigyn the epitome of quiet repose.

Loki wished he could return to his rooms. He didn’t want to sit there, watching his heart spin and twirl in the hands of another man. But he couldn’t seem to rip his gaze away from her. Her sea-blue skirt matched Sverrir’s cape as it twisted about her, giving her the appearance of some sort of oceanic goddess. He wanted to hate the color, but of course it was beautiful on her. Everything was beautiful on her.

“Prince Loki!”

He was startled out of his despondent silence by the child shrieking his name. Loki barely had the chance to turn around before Milla was upon him, grabbing at his arm and trying to pull him to his feet.

He frowned. “What are you doing up here?”

“Come on!” She yanked at his cape. “You have to dance with Sigyn.”

Wary of making a scene, and too flustered to push her away, Loki stood. “Milla, I—”

“You have to,” she insisted, giving him a push towards the dance floor. “Go! Dance with her!”

He stumbled forward, but the little girl kept corralling him down the podium stairs, towards Sigyn and her aggravating prince.

“Milla!” he hissed. “Can’t you see she’s already dancing with someone?”

“Who cares?” she hissed back, shoving him again. “Dance with her!”

And so Loki made his way down to the dance floor, cheeks burning, holding himself with as much dignity as one could after a literal child herded them like a sheep away from their meal. Luckily, few in the the ballroom seemed to be paying him any mind.

One of the positives of being the forgotten son, he supposed.

Sverrir and Sigyn were in the middle of the floor, still wrapped up in the music. At least, Sverrir was. Sigyn was holding herself as if someone had strapped a wooden board down her back. He couldn’t remember a time where he had seen her so tense. The sight made Loki stiffen.

With a sudden burst of confidence, he tapped on the Vanir prince’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, not bothering to hide the tightness in his voice. “Would you mind if I cut in?”

Sverrir started. “Oh. Uh—” he glanced back at Sigyn. “Do you mind, darling?”

She shook her head, features still perfectly neutral. Only then did Loki notice that, while she was wearing blue, the ribbons weaved through her braids were emerald green.

“Oh!” Sverrir seemed surprised, but quickly shook it off. “Well, then, of course not!” He stepped aside, making a grand gesture towards Sigyn as Loki took his place in her arms with a rigid nod.

For a moment, they only stared at each other, slowly swaying to the notes of the waltz in silence. Sigyn looked away first, turning to watch her feet on floor as if she were a girl in pigtails still learning to dance.

Loki swallowed the desert on his tongue. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Well enough, I suppose,” she murmured. When she looked up again, her eyes were glossy, her features twisted in an attempt to hold back the tears. “Loki—I’m sorry.”

There was a lump in the back of his throat. He wished he could hold her to his chest, cup her cheek and promise her that everything was fine. Instead, he only shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I just …” She inhaled. “I wish things were different.”

Don’t we both?

“Is he kind to you at least?” he asked. He would at least be able to rest easier knowing that Sigyn was well cared for, and as irritating as Sverrir was, Loki had never seen anything to suggest that he was cruel. Although … he almost wished Sverrir was a beast of a man—horrible, vicious, barbarous— just so he could have another reason to despise him.

Sigyn shrugged. “He talks a lot.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Absolutely nothing!” she cried. “I’ve never heard of a man who could go on so long without a single thing to say. It makes my head ache.” Sigyn sighed. “But Father finds him interesting.”

Loki scoffed. “Your father would be fascinated by grass growing.”

She laughed. “Probably.”

They danced in silence for a while longer. He liked the silence—the soft, soothing movement was almost enough to make him forget why this night was different from every other he had spent dancing with her. But soon enough, the song came to an end, and he made ready to bid her farewell.

A familiar voice cleared his throat, rasping across the hall. The hum of conversation stopped as everyone turned to face the royal podium, where Prince Sverrir stood, smiling over the masses.

“Ladies and gentleman, if I may have your attention!” he called. “I would like to make an announcement.”

“Here we go,” whispered Sigyn. She reached out to grasp Loki’s hand.

When the crowd thronged around the podium had appeared to reach a size to his liking, Sverrir continued.

“As many of you know,” he said. “My father’s health has been failing for the past several months, and he has voiced that it is his greatest wish to see me married before he passes. Therefore, I am overjoyed to announce my engagement to one of your very own Asgardian ladies—” He stretched his hand out towards Sigyn, grinning widely as the rest of the nobles whipped around to follow his gaze. “The lovely Lady Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir!”

The ballroom erupted into applause. Sigyn sighed, but quickly masked it with a gracious smile, letting go of Loki’s hand in order to make her way to the podium.

To her fiancé.

Loki didn’t even think. When he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to his side, he was acting off pure instinct.

“That’s impossible!” he cried to the crowd, to Sverrir. “Completely impossible, your Highness. She can’t marry you.”

The applause fizzled out as quickly as it begun. Confused whispers began skating through the onlookers.

“Loki!” Sigyn hissed. “What are you doing?”

Above them all, Sverrir frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Prince Loki,” he said. “Lord Yngvarr had given me his permission, and Lady Sigyn has accepted. Why can I not marry her?”

Loki didn’t blink. “Because she’s already married to me.”

The crowd exploded into outraged gasps.

Besides him, a wicked grin was blooming across Sigyn’s face.

Sverrir seemed to have been rendered incapable of response. He stood stuttering on the podium, any words he did manage drowned out by the commotion of the entire court processing what was turning out to be even more of a scandal than the last time the Vanir prince came to visit.

Until finally one voice cut through the chaos.

“Liar!” yelled Yngvarr, pushing his way through the crowd. “My daughter would not betray her family in such a manner.” He turned back to Sverrir, fuming. “Your Highness, I’m afraid Prince Loki seems to be playing a prank, and a decidedly unfunny one at that, at the expense of my daughter’s reputation.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest his offense, but before he could find the words, yet another voice joined the foray of madness.

“It’s not a prank, Daddy!” Milla grinned, materializing seemingly out of thin air to pull at her father’s sleeve. “It’s real! I heard them talking about it a week ago.”

Yngvarr whipped around so quickly that one of his whiskers caught on his shoulder plate. “What?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded. “Prince Loki came through the window! They were talking about how they were going to get married as soon as possible, because they love each other so much and they’re soulmates and … and …” she trailed off, seeming to only just be realizing that every pair of eyes in the ballroom was on her.

“And what?” snapped Yngvarr.

Sigyn stepped forward. “And I’m pregnant!”

The roar was deafening.

She turned back towards Loki with a smirk. He could only gape at her.

“What?” she asked. “Did you think I was going to let you have all the fun?”

Loki didn’t bother trying to find words. He just planted his lips on to hers. “I love you,” he whispered when he pulled away. He had never meant anything more in his life.

She laughed. “What now?”

“Well,” he said, grinning as he offered her his arm. “It seems we have to get married. After that—” he stopped abruptly. There was something in his pocket, something that he knew hadn’t been there before, bulky and solid. Frowning, he pulled it out to find the rough carving of a cat’s head tied to a loop of worn leather.

He looked up again in confusion. His eyes landed on Milla, beaming at him from across the room. She winked.

Good things happen when I wear it.

Loki smiled, slipping the charm back into his pocket. Next to him, Sigyn tugged at his arm.

“After that?” she repeated.

“After that?” he shrugged, smirking. “We improvise.”

#loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki x sigyn #funny little ups and downs #cozy writes

[runwithwolvcs]

You Know I'm No Good - t w o

Temptation vs Freedom

Warnings (future chapters): Drugs/Alcohol, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Jealousy, Mental Health, (Mentions of SA, but no details)

I don't like memories because the tears come easily, and once again I break my promise to myself for this day. Its a constant battle . A war between remembering and forgetting.

Back in her darkened bedroom, Tallulah still couldn't wrap her head around her current situation. The rest of the night consisted of her being introduced to people who seemed to know more about her then she had wanted, clearly word spreads fast around La Push. Josie had introduced her to some of her friends that had arrived later, after the tribal stories. Clearly only there for the party. They seemed nice, but they were definitely not the type of people she would choose to be friends with herself.

Lenna had made herself scarce throughout the entire, to which her twin stated was typical behaviour. But Tallulah figured it had more to do with her presence than anything else. Tally couldn't help but look for the tan boy she had locked eyes with, something about him was so alluring. It was almost frustrating, Tallulah Forester doesn't get captivated by anyone, not ever. She was the captivating one, at least that's what Xander had always said. “You're like a tornado, with pretty eyes and a heartbeat. Luring in bystanders until you’ve ruined their lives..That's what I enjoy so much about you”, that was the last thing he had said to her before she had left his house party the night she had been caught. Their relationship was a mess, both of them struggling for control, even if it meant hurting each other in the process. It was a rollercoaster of emotions, but it was all she ever had. She craved it in an almost masochist way.

Tallulah's phone had been off all night, not in the mood to deal with the onslaught of messages she was sure to get, now that she had a moment to breath by herself she figured she may as well read them, 1 5 messages from Lina and 3 missed calls, her best friend, was more than likely freaking out, consumed by guilt over the fact that their lies to their parents had been crossed. 7 messages from Kit, who she figured was already trying to plan how to spin this to make herself the victim, as Kit does, and 1 lone message from Xander, the only one she read before she shut off her phone to go to sleep.

That sucks :(

Was all that it said.

-

After a lot of tossing and turning in the bed that was almost too soft, mixed with the pillows that weren’t soft enough, Tallulah drifted off to sleep. She dreamed of the boy who had taken her by storm, his smile seemed brighter than the sun and the way he laughed was like music to her ears. They were on a cliff overlooking the ocean, she could see that he was talking, but couldn't hear what he was saying, she watched as he stood up and walked towards the edge of the cliff, looking as though he was about to jump, she stood up in a panic--

Tallulah startled awake to Kira shaking her shoulder gently, a soft smile graced her face. It was raining, but Tallulah could tell it was early morning.

“Tally, sweetie, you’re dad and I would like to speak with you before he goes to a meeting” she said quietly, “Get dressed and meet us downstairs in ten minutes,” she spoke, the smile never leaving her lips. Tallulah groaned, not one to be a morning person in the slightest, she swung her legs out of bed, toes touching the cool hardwood floors. She could hear low murmurs outside her door as she heaved herself out of bed, still not used to her surroundings she walked to her two duffle bags and sifted through the clothes before settling on an oversized, green long sleeve to cover the stick and poke tattoos that littered her arms, with ripped, loose, blue jeans. One disappointment at a time, she thought to herself as she got dressed. She grabbed her hairbrush from her bag and ran it through her hair, leaving it to lay in its natural waves down her back before quietly heading downstairs to whatever talk she was awaiting.

She was met with Kira and her father sitting at the kitchen table next to each other, and as they beckoned her over to sit, she noticed the thin, blue rectangle laying in the middle of the table. The same blue rectangle she had so carefully hid in her room back in Seattle, or so she thought. She could feel anger begin to bubble in her belly as realization dawned on her, her mother had been through her room.

She sat expectantly, waiting for her dad to chastise her for using drugs, or even alcohol, as a minor and how that could affect her future, but he looked to Kira to begin. The gentle smile that was near permanent on her stepmom was almost comforting in the moment, almost. “Tally”, She starts, “We are aware of your.. pastimes, in Seattle, however, we will not be encouraging that same behaviour here.” she sounds like a damn counselor, Tallulah thought to herself. She’d honestly prefer being yelled at. “We have a few ground rules that we expect you to follow, as we do Lenna and Josette.” Kira continued, “Under no circumstances, will we allow drugs under our roof, including nicotine,” she says referring to the vape sitting in between them, “Or alcohol that does not belong to your father and I. If you are to partake in these activities and are caught you will have consequences.” She looks at Joseph, as if they had rehearsed their own parts, looking towards her dad expectantly, “Secondly,” He speaks up, “As we expect with the twins, any boy, or girl, that you are,, having relations with, we expect to meet, no sneaking them through bedroom windows.” Tallulah cringes internally, it was one time, she wanted to yell. “Curfew will be 11:00 pm on school nights and midnight on Fridays and Saturdays, no exceptions.. Understood?” he asked, looking at his eldest daughter. She wants to argue with them, tell them that policing her life won’t make her change, not the way that they wanted her to at least. That was something her mother learned the hard way. She had taken the door off her bedroom when she had found out she was sneaking out in the night, which only caused Tallulah to start sneaking out the front door instead, right in front of her.

“You done?” she asks, yawning, this wasn’t new to her at all, and she really didn’t care to be frank. The two adults look at each other, Kira nodding her head in Tallulah's direction, Joseph sighed before tossing a key chain on the table next to her vape. A small house key was connected to what looked like a car key. “Choose one.”

Temptation or Freedom?

Tallulah spent the rest of the day running errands with Josie, who had offered to show her around the reservation. They had stopped at Monets, the local cafe, run by the Littleseas, its the go to hangout spot, according to Josie. Who happens to be friends with Colin Littlesea, the eldest son of the owners.

Tallulah picked at the half eaten muffin sitting in front of her as she waited for Josie to return with a refill of both of their coffees. They were so different from each other, Tallulah drinking hers black, while Josies consisted of mainly cream and sugar, just like their personalities, but for some odd reason they clicked.

The car her father and Kira gave her was originally supposed to go to Josie, so that the twins no longer would have to share their current one. Finding out that alone made her reconsider her choice, at least a nicotine addiction only really affected her, but with a lot of reassurance from Josie, and the simple ask that Tallulah help run her errands eased her guilt. She didn't want to upend the twins' life, it wasn’t their fault her parents decided to force her to move to La Push. While Josie seemed to enjoy her presence, Lenna did not, and it's clear now she was avoiding her.

Tallulah gazed around the quaint yet homey cafe, its hand painted walls consisted of the same trees that surrounded the reservation, it was peaceful. She looked towards the door as it chimed, alerting the staff of new customers entering, a group of extremely tall, good looking men walked through the door, causing the calm energy to shift with their booming laughs, everyone seemed to be used to this behaviour, considering she was the only one to look in their direction.

Her eyes followed the group of boys, taking each one in, by the time she reached the last, he was already looking at her. Paul Lahote. The largest of them all, in height and muscle, she thought to herself as her eyes raked his body.

Josie setting her coffee down in front of her broke her concentration on the boy, her attention fully shifted to her half-sister. “What do they feed the men here? They are all so tall” Tallulah asked jokingly, to which Josie laughed, shaking her head. “Not all of them. Just the ones who hang around Sam Uley. Some people say he's giving them steroids but dad swears against it. So does mom.” She watched Josie grimace, and cut her off before she could correct herself, “--I’ve seen boys roided, they look nothing like them.” she spoke before taking a sip of her coffee. Josie nodded, an almost fascinated look on her young face, “So it's true then..” At this, Tallulah raises her eyebrows, “ what's true?”

“Your mom sent you here because you got mixed up with some guys who did drugs or whatever. At least that's what Lenna said she heard dad say”

Of course she did, so much for a fresh start, she thought.

Tallulah rolled her eyes, “Sort of, I guess --”

Now she was being interrupted, a large looming figure was now standing at the edge of their table, greeting Josie, she watched as the younger girl blushed in response, before saying “Hey, Ethan. Uh, this is my older sister, Tally or um, Tallulah,” Josie fumbled over her words as she introduced her. Tallulah looked up at the towering boy with a half smile, nodding her head as a way to say ‘hey’ , Ethan nodded back before asking, “I didn’t realize you guys were sisters. Do you go to school off the rez?”

Tallulah shook her head, “I did but I just moved here from Seattle. I start at the rez school tomorrow.”

He nods before engaging with Josie in conversation about some project they were working on and she can’t help but look over at the boisterous table in the far corner, she can see Paul and another boy glance at her as they talk, she excuses herself from Josie and Ethan, the coffee in her mug no longer appetizing and itching for her little blue rectangle in that moment.

Tallulah makes her way up to the bar-like counter, the waitress coming to take her order almost immediately. She orders a sweet tea, hoping to wash some of the lingering bitterness from her mouth, hoping it would help curve her cravings. She can feel someone come up next to her but doesn't bother to look who it is as she fiddles with a napkin, the waitress comes to take their order and their voice sounds like velvet in her ears despite the hint of gruffness to it.

“You're Joseph Forester's daughter, right?” She hears him ask, she looks in his direction to see he's already looking at her, a small cocky, smirk toying on his lips. He already knows the answer clearly. She wants to roll her eyes and tell him to fuck off, but she can’t bring herself to do so. So, she nods and softly says, “Yeah, Tallulah.” This causes him to actually smile, like he's thankful she didn’t just blow him off. That hot, cocky persona is nearly untraceable now,

“I’m Paul Lahote.”

#paul lahote imagine #paul lahote x oc #twilight wolf pack #paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #embry call #leah clearwater #collin littlesea #seth clearwater #chapter 2 #you know im no good #sam uley #emily young #quil ateara #jacob black #rachel black

[bangtanbetchfics]

friction | iii - knj (m)

genre: office au, romance, smut rating: explicit // 18+ pairing: kim namjoon x reader word count: 4.5k suggested listening: better - boa | up no more - twice | temptations - boa | mmmh - KAI | playlist warnings: explicit language, explicit/casual sex, masturbation, enemies to lovers, light bondage, light dom/sub, sex toys summary: your pesky and overworked assistants meddle in your relationship with your sexy rival -- kim namjoon -- and find themselves caught in the crosshairs of love and all-out war. notes: this is one of my favorite pieces i've written! i hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. content is too hot to put above the fold, so go ahead & dive in. ;) finale & last chapter coming next week. encouragement favs & kudos help! :') navigation: ch. i | ch. ii | ch. iii | finale | m.list | ao3

“Namjoon...what kind of game are we playing?”

You smile through the question -- because no, it couldn’t be true that Namjoon tied you to his bed and left you there. The vibrator in your underwear suddenly changes speeds, and your mind is immediately drawn away from the thought.

“N-Namjoon?”

Your nipples stand up from the stimulation below, and your wrists twiddle around in your restraints. Your toes press into the bed and you gasp as the vibration grows a tick more intense.

You groan at the fact that you’re unable to control your pleasure, and you wriggle around the mattress trying to find some form of release.

The vibrator slows down for the first time and you whine as you toss your head side-to-side out of frustration.

Your eyes are shrouded in black -- still no sense of time or space around you. Your interview with Yoongi was definitely today, and you gasp as you recall.

Suddenly, it dawns on you that Namjoon removed your smartwatch before he tied your wrists to the bedpost.

“Okay Google, f-fuck,” You groan, biting your lip.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t quite get that.” Your watch responds, and you continue to whine and tug at your restraints -- nearing the peak of your release.

“Okay Google, what time is the event: my interview with Yoongi?” You plead, gritting the question through your teeth.

“The event: your interview with Yoongi was at nine A.M.”

“What time is it now?” You ask, feeling your underwear start to dampen.

“It’s nine forty-five A.M. Is there anything else I can help you with?” Google inquires. You whine before the watch shuts back off from a lack of response.

Just as you’re at the tip of release, the vibrator cycles through a variety of speeds repeatedly, and you feel a gloss of tears form over your eyes.

Your desire for relief causes you to hump the air, but you yelp when the vibrator kicks to top speed -- erupting your body into a bright, white heat.

The sounds of your frantic breaths start to fill your skull -- your throat running dry from your moans. The vibrator was still going, and you whine, knowing that it meant you were at rock bottom again before you could reach another release.

Despite this, your senses now seemed to be heightened -- your body aware of every neuron within and around it. You could now sense the earthy breeze coming in through the bedroom’s slightly ajar balcony door; your body slick from the heat you formed working your way up to an orgasmic release.

You could feel sweat droplets trickle down your skin -- and you notice the remnants of Namjoon’s cologne in the space.

After a moment you realize Namjoon really is gone.

The smell of his cologne floating in the air was always the last step in his routine before he left for work.

✹✹✹

Namjoon waits outside of Yoongi’s office, looking down and studying his phone.

The screen has a choice of three buttons to press: low, medium and high -- and he toggles between the three quickly. He looks up and sees Yoongi approaching him, and Namjoon’s fingers hesitate over a final button. His thumb settles on high and he presses it, his lips curling into a slight smirk.

“I’m ready. You comin’ in?” Yoongi asks, hanging out from his glass doorframe.

“Yeah, totally. I’m all set.” Namjoon replies, clicking his phone off and slipping the device into the front pocket of his slacks. He grabs his leather portfolio and stands up, making his way into Yoongi’s office.

Namjoon sits down and crosses one leg over another, looking over a few notes in his portfolio.

“So, before we get started...do you know where your Vegas partner in crime is? Haven’t heard from her today. It’s so unlike her.” Yoongi states, looking at his watch.

“She was actually supposed to be my first CEO interview this morning.” He mentions, sucking his teeth in disappointment.

“That is strange. I’m not sure. She just might be tied up with something at the moment, I suppose?” Namjoon shrugs as he responds before looking up at Yoongi.

“Maybe...” Yoongi’s eyes drift into his head to think, but he shakes his head and focuses back on Namjoon.

✹✹✹

Your ears perk up as you hear footsteps in the hall and you start to gently tug at your silky binds.

“Namjoon...?” You inquire in a low, scratchy voice -- nearly breathless. You feel his weight compress the bed and you press your head back into the pillow.

Another wave of warmth starts to fill your body as his finger traces a straight line from the top of your abdomen to your bellybutton. You quickly heave as you try to anticipate where his fingers will land, and you moan as he reaches into your underwear.

“You’re soaked,” Namjoon comments, pushing the vibrator closer to your clit, causing you to arch your back off the bed.

“Let me g-“ Before you’re able to protest, you let out a pleasurable cry as the speed increases on the vibrator. You bite your lip as more moans try to escape your lips.

The sensations coursing through your body send you into an elusive wave of pleasure that washes over you for the sixth time that afternoon. You hum before your body jerks up furiously from the overstimulation and ends in a tremble.

After your comedown you’re only able to lay still as your chest heaves, and Namjoon slips the silk ties from your wrists.

You groan at the relief, your wrists tender from the restraints. You feel his lips tenderly kiss and soothe your wrists, and you use your now-free hands to lead him down toward your lips.

You kiss him passionately, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You feel him remove his wool coat and toss it to the ground, the warmth of his body enveloping you as he climbs on top of you.

“Ow-” He suddenly feels a hard nip at his lip and he looks down at you, watching you remove your blindfold.

“Are you happy you made me miss my interview?” You snap as you glare up at him, shoving his chest away from you. You reach into your underwear and slam the vibrator onto the night table.

“Classic asshole move,” You grumble, reaching to the floor and slipping your body into your skirt.

“Fuck, baby. Please,” Namjoon dabs at his lip with his finger, looking at the slight blood on his fingertip.

You throw your suit jacket on followed by your coat and heels as he sits up on the edge of the bed. He tries to grab your wrist, but you whip around to look at him.

“You used me. You’re insane. Let me go.” You grit through your teeth.

Namjoon looks at you in shock, his eyes wide.

“You made me miss something I’ve been working for my entire life. Endless nights -- alone to get where I am. I can’t believe I let a few nights with you rob me of that.” You scoff as you think about it, loosening your wrist from his grip.

“God. Don’t speak to me ever again.” You say firmly before you leave the room. He reaches his hand out in vain behind you, watching you walk away.

“You know what? I’m the insane one...” You mumble to yourself, your heels clicking across the wood floor as you head toward the front door.

✹✹✹

The next night, your eyes focus on your computer screen -- the familiar blue light illuminating your tired eyes. You couldn’t move or blink, feeling imprisoned by the thoughts from the copious amount of interactions for the last nine hours.

Taehyung’s typing outside of your door finally comes into focus, and you sigh -- inhaling first, and then blowing out air from your mouth to release some of the tension from the day.

You throw your head back in your chair and it leans back halfway, a slight release occurring in your tight muscles.

You lick your lips and it brings the slightest twinge of arousal to the top of your thoughts.

Normally, Namjoon’s lips would be buried between your thighs right now -- but not tonight. If you couldn’t have Namjoon by night, it was before work or for a quick afternoon romp. That of course wasn’t the case anymore, and you sigh.

You bite your lip to distract yourself from the thought, and Taehyung raps on the glass of your door.

“Excuse me...sorry to interrupt. Your meeting with Yoongi is in about five minutes, so you might want to head up.” Taehyung looks at you, and you can tell he’s forlorn at your situation.

“Great, thanks Tae.” You nod as you sit up, refusing to hold eye contact with him to avoid feeling any further regret than you already did.

You shut down your computer and gather your things, throwing your coat over your forearm.

“Have a good night.” You say quietly, and Taehyung waves at you as you slowly walk off, head hung low.

✹✹✹

As you wait for Yoongi to return, your eyes scan the glimmering cityscape. You look down and swallow, the appeal of this office -- this view -- not as glamorous as it seemed a few months ago.

“Sorry about that. Had to use the men’s room really quickly.” Yoongi mentions as he closes his door, and circles back around to his desk.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” He sits and stares at you as he awaits a response.

You twiddle with your fingers in your hands, a nail depressing into the flesh of your skin.

“I...” You bite your lip as you feel tears well into your eyes.

“It’s just so unlike you to throw an opportunity like this away.” Yoongi prods, and you look up at him.

“I know. I’m so ashamed.” You respond, your voice trembling.

Yoongi sighs in disappointment, his fingers drumming the table.

“I-I was hoping for another-“ You start, and Yoongi shakes his head.

“You know I can’t do that. Don’t put me in that position. There are so many qualified people applying for this role.” He says, shaking his head again. “You were my top choice and you just didn’t show up. That tells me that you’re just not ready to handle the pressures of this position -- that you’re not taking it seriously. You can never have an off day leading a company of this size and scale. Do you understand that?” He says firmly and you nod, swallowing your tears down your throat.

“No. I do understand, Sir. Thank you for your time.” You stand up and collect your things and bow deeply to him.

Yoongi lets out a deep sigh in disappointment as you walk out.

You take large strides as you make your way to the elevator bank.

As soon as you hear the ding of a car, silent, hot tears flow down your face and you sob.

✹✹✹

The next morning you head toward the kitchen in your office, the sound of your heels echoing throughout the silent hall.

You open a drawer and reach for a Keurig cup -- choosing an Irish coffee flavor. You purse your lips, figuring its the closest you’ll get to alcohol this early in the morning.

You press the cup into the coffee maker, and you hear the machine pierce the plastic container. You hear the coffee start to flow into the paper cup, and you make your way to look at the city from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

You hear another set of footsteps, and you turn around to see Jimin. You knew he was Namjoon’s assistant, but he seemed to dress sharply for his role despite that.

Jimin stops in his tracks as he notices you staring at him, and he approaches the other coffee maker cautiously.

“Uhm, good morning,” Jimin says, his voice rising at the end of his greeting. He pulls a cup from a stack, looking at you.

“You’re Namjoon’s assistant, right?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest.

Your eyes were somehow incredibly intimidating in the moment, and it causes Jimin to shrink in your presence.

“Can you deliver a message to your boss for me?” You ask, raising an eyebrow and grabbing your cup.

Jimin gives you a silent nod as he stands frozen in position.

“Tell your boss he’s a fucking asshole.” You say cooly, blowing the steam from your cup as you stomp off.

The air returns to Jimin’s lungs, and he sighs as he rests his hands on the cool counter.

✹✹✹

“Sir, I have a message for you,” Jimin says, rapping at Namjoon’s office door.

“Not now Jimin.” Namjoon says curtly, continuing to write on the piece of paper in front of him.

“It’s an important message. It cannot wait.” Jimin says firmly.

“Fine, go ahead.” Namjoon sighs, sitting back in his chair.

“The CMO asked me to let you know...” Namjoon perks up, his eyes growing wide. “She asked me to let you know...”

Namjoon’s eyes grow dark, his stare turning into a cold impatience.

“Just say it, Jimin.” Namjoon demands, tossing his gold pen onto the table.

“Uhm,” Jimin hesitates, but bites his lip once he sees the look on Namjoon’s face. “She said to tell you that...um, and I quote: you’re a fucking asshole.” Jimin cringes as he says it, running back to his seat.

Namjoon sighs and clenches his jaw before he runs his hands through his hair. He chuckles out of frustration as he leans back, looking around his office.

✹✹✹

Taehyung’s phone rings, and he immediately picks up the line.

“God Taehyungie, it’s really bad over here,” Jimin whispers at the other side of the line.

“No, I know. I had to stay until eight last night helping her. She seemed pretty upset.” Taehyung sighs.

“Same here. She told me to tell him that he was a fucking asshole,” Taehyung gasps on the other end. “Normally they’re together, but now they’re both pushing themselves into overdrive at the office instead.” Jimin groans.

One of Taehyung’s vacant phone lines starts to blink.

“Hold on a sec Jiminie,” Taehyung presses the line and he nods as he hears the voice on the other end.

“Okay, yes. 63rd floor. Sure.” He smiles a bit and a glimmer of hope swells in his heart.

“I have to go.” He tells Jimin, hanging up the phone.

“Uhm, miss. Looks like someone is really sorry,” Taehyung says, watching a delivery man hand you a bouquet.

The bouquet screams sorry, the vase filled to the brim with a dizzying array of roses, tulips, lilies and orchards.

You roll your eyes as you see a small card tucked into the flowers: From Namjoon, and set the glass vase on your desk. You toss the card into the trash before diving back into your work, but Taehyung holds his hand up.

The delivery man enters again, this time with two large, differing bouquets: one of one hundred decadent red roses -- the exact number of days you’d been together with Namjoon before you split.

Another bouquet arrives of one hundred pink, white and yellow roses, and you inhale the scent of the flowers as its set in front of you.

You’re unable to process the moment as the man brings in seven more bouquets -- your office filled to the brim with a floral aroma. You close your eyes and inhale the scent of the flowers once more, the look in your eyes forlorn.

Taehyung looks at you with a soft smile, but he watches you quickly come to -- returning yourself to a state of anger.

“The monthly board meeting is in about three minutes as well,” Taehyung’s voice registers in your head, and you look up at him and nod.

You tippytoe and step over the array of flowers lining the floor to leave your office -- making your way down the hall.

✹✹✹

You lean against a wall outside of the conference room, and you check your watch as you wait for people to arrive.

A man in a crisp grey and white checked suit walks down the hall. His black hair is slicked back over his head, and a small wisp of carefully placed hair sits over one of his eyes.

“Excuse me? Jackson?” You squeal, approaching the man.

Jackson turns his head your way and a smile envelops his face.

“My god, look at you?” You bite your lip, slicking your fingers over the fabric of his suit. “You’ve fucking made it to the big leagues, Wang.” You giggle, continuing to look him over.

“Look at you,” He throws the phrase back your way, his bright black eyes scanning your curves. He’d been after you for years and was fully basking in your attention.

Namjoon finally arrives, staring directly at you as he walks past the two of you. He watches people leave the room from the previous meeting, but his eyes dart back over to focus on you and Jackson.

Your giggles fill the hall as you and Jackson interact, and Namjoon feels jealously boil in his blood. After all, you were tied to his bed -- fully his, just a few weeks ago. You weren’t his anymore, but the sexy visions of all of the moments you shared were overtaking his thoughts: your silhouette in the shower, the water trickling from your body underneath the searing Vegas sun, the two of you hooking up repeatedly -- unable to get enough of each other.

The memories of your moans were tangible enough to feel on his lips, and he clenches his jaw as he watches the two of you.

Your eyes float over to Namjoon, and Jackson notices as he follows your eyes.

“Ah, trying to make him jealous?” Jackson smiles as you look at him quickly, and then back to Namjoon. “It can be our little secret.” He whispers, nudging you in the arm before you shake your head.

You glare at Namjoon and roll your eyes before you focus a smile back at Jackson. Jackson pats you on your lower back, lightly guiding you into the conference room.

✹✹✹

As you enter, you pick a seat near the front of the room, and you subtly watch Namjoon hesitate to pick a seat. He exhales from his nose before he gets the gusto to sit across the table from you. You glower at him, and he smirks, satisfied with himself.

“So, the agenda was established previous to this meeting. Let’s just hop right in.” Yoongi starts, flipping through a few papers before him.

“First thing’s first. As you all know, we’re looking to lock a new CEO by the end of the year. That’s going to be challenging with the holidays, but I promise you we’re close,” He slams his fist on the table.

“God dammit, the next person could very well be right here in this room.” He points around the room and smiles, looking everyone over as the room erupts in a light chuckle.

Namjoon leans back in his chair with an air of arrogance, his fingers drumming on the table.

You angrily squeeze the pen in your hand, and look up with a smile -- trying to seem indifferent, but it was hard to be at the moment; indifferent that you were too busy chasing love and lost the biggest opportunity of your lifetime.

Your eyes catch Namjoon’s drumming fingers and you glare at him.

“Now, moving into updates from our CTO,” Yoongi points at Namjoon and he nods in response.

“So, earlier this year I attended the TechX conference to represent the product...”

Halfway through Namjoon speaking, you find your thoughts drifting to what’s happening below you.

You catch yourself hanging onto Namjoon’s lips: his plushy bottom one, the thick Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat, the deep valleys of his voice making you wet.

You find that your eyes shoot up to meet his, and then move to a brow that raises on his forehead.

You clear your throat and try not to look at him, but at the papers in front of you instead. The bundle of nerves between your legs were betraying you in the current moment and you weren’t sure what to do to quench your thirst. 

Your eyes float back up to Namjoon’s again, and this time you can’t help but lace them with lust. Your head falls into your hand as you watch him intently, tripping him up on his words.

After he finishes speaking you stare each other down, a storm swirling in both of your gazes. He swipes his tongue on the inside of his cheek as you stare each other down further, the tension tangible between the two of you.

“Lunch will be served momentarily. We’ll reconvene in ten minutes to finish up what’s left on the agenda.” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the taut revulsion that bounds the two of you.

You immediately stand and head toward the exit -- looking over your shoulder at Namjoon before you leave.

Namjoon stands, buttoning his suit jacket taut over his body.

Yoongi is about to call Namjoon over, but notices him follow you instead. Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, and a series of thoughts finally click together in his head.

✹✹✹

You saunter down the hall and you give Namjoon a look before you enter a small phone room.

The door is frosted and there’s only enough room for a floating desk and chair, and you slide back on the desk.

You raise your brows as you hear the door click open, and your fingers clench the edges of the table as Namjoon enters the room and locks it.

Your eyes scan the breadth of his frame, and you watch him slowly approach you -- his body landing to tower over yours.

He tosses his leather portfolio onto the desk, and your heart starts to race as your lungs fill with the spicy, sinful scent of his cologne.

Namjoon’s thumb and forefinger align with the edge of your jaw, his fingers tensing around the bone as he tilts your head up to meet his. His lips hover over yours in a hot hesitation as he hones his eyes on your dark, unwavering gaze.

His nose grazes over your neck to inhale your scent, now laced with notes from the flowers in your office. His eyes laser in on your lips, and your glare at him intensifies.

“Did you get my flowers?” He asks, still looking down at you.

“No. Not a single one.” You answer curtly, your nostrils flaring as you clench your jaw.

Namjoon blows a hint of annoyance from his nose, your loathing gaze only growing more penetrating.

“Why’d you follow me?” You ask, your voice thick with desire as you look from his lips up to the smoking lust in his eyes.

“You really don’t know?” You’re nearly breathless as his lips draw closer. You try not to let it affect you, but your toes curl up in your heels — your nails sinking into the wood grooves of the desk.

“No, I don’t know,” You breathe in. “Tell me.” You say with a deep exhale, an achy desire coating your throat.

You heart is ready to burst how much you craved him in this moment -- but you refused to give into him first.

“I’m here because I saw you looking at me with those hungry eyes like the very first day I met you,” His voice is rich and velvety, sending chills down your frame.

His lips brush yours, and it makes your own lips vibrate with heat -- the sensation knotting your core.

“Yeah...and what about it?” You breathe out.

He hums before your lips crash together, the room nothing but feathery moans and sucking sounds.

You pull your lips from his, licking the notes of sugar from his morning coffee from your lips as you roll his tie around your wrist. He collapses down and his hands fall to the desk on either side of you.

“I saw you looking at Jackson and I. Were you jealous?” You tease breathily into his mouth, jerking him closer to you by his tie. His nose grazes yours and he smirks.

“No...because you still want me,” He responds, his hands in your hair as he moves in to slip his tongue in your mouth.

“No I, mmh-“ you protest as you come up for air before both of your lips come together again.

“If you wanted him, he’d be here with you right now.” You let out a moan into his mouth at how right he is, grabbing the lapels of his jacket as your tongues intertwine.

“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me,” He whispers, his breath hot in your ear after he pulls his lips from yours.

“I don’t...this is just a one time thing,” You lie, your head falling back as he kisses your neck -- the stubble on his chin scraping your flesh. You let out light moans as he sucks your neck, and his hands move to squeeze your waist.

“Be quiet...do you want the entire office to know how much you want me?” He demands, your breaths shuddering.

Namjoon’s hands press into your lower back and it makes you stand up, his hands wandering to your ass. His lips and hands were like magma, leaving fire in its wake wherever it went.

His desire makes you moan, his tongue swiping under yours as your arms reach around his neck to massage his hair.

“Liar,” He whispers as he backs you up against the wall, his hands gliding over your ass and landing in a smack. You gasp, the tail end of it a whimper that he captures with his tongue.

“Hush.” Namjoon whispers in your ear before he grabs a handful of your ass and smacks it again. You mewl, your hands wandering his firm, broad chest.

“You’re making me so hard right now,” His voice vibrates in the shell of your ear and you gasp as your hand wanders to the warmth of his cock, feeling how hard he is in your palm.

“Stop talking, we have five minutes,” You say breathlessly, and he pins both of your wrists to the wall. He pulls your skirt up to your waist -- sliding his hand into your underwear.

He dips his finger inside of your warmth, and he drags your taste down his tongue.

“Mmm fuck, I could take you right now,” He breathes out.

“Right now?” You ask, breathless. “No...” You say as his lips envelop yours again and you pull away for air.

“I think I’d rather have you tie me up in your room again because you’re threatened by me.” You state, and it makes him growl as he dives back into an open-mouthed kiss.

“Fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” He moans into your ear as his fingers slip inside of you. You groan at how wet you are, and you can feel yourself drip down his fingers.

“How many times did you imagine this?” He whispers, and you clench around his fingers as a burning heat fills your cheeks.

Your arms tighten around his neck and your fingertips crinkle the fabric of his suit as you near your peak. His fingers drag against your cushiony g-spot, and it triggers your release. He seals his lips to yours to hold your moans, and he pulls you close to keep you upright.

He licks his fingers clean and you kiss him, tasting your essence on his lips.

After a moment you pull your lips from his and he grazes his nose across yours a few times to try and recapture your lips.

Your hand smooths from his arm up to his shoulder, and you trail kisses up his neck. You use your free hand to palm him, and you tug at his ear with your teeth before you speak.

“I hope the job was worth throwing all of this away,” You whisper, removing your hand from his bulge as Namjoon gasps.

Your hands move to snap your skirt back down your hips, and you pull your hair from its updo to cover the blooming love bites all over your neck. You smooth the lapels of his jacket back down before you look up and relish in the flabbergasted look on his face.

Namjoon runs his hands through his hair, his cock still rock hard as you leave the room.

“Fuck.” Namjoon grabs the portfolio from earlier on the desk, using it to cover himself as he exits the room.

✹✹✹

After you return to the conference room, you dig in your bag and pull out a compact. You bite your lip as you adjust your hair -- making sure no dark spots on your neck are visible.

You reapply your lip gloss, and Jackson kicks you underneath the table. He mouths “Did you...?” to you and you widen your eyes with an innocent look on your face. You steal a quick glance at Namjoon as he enters, looking down at the portfolio over his pants and back up to his eyes.

Namjoon sits, putting his elbow on the table. His fingers subtly meet his nose, and you watch him inhale the remnants of your sweet scent on his fingertips.

He tightens his jaw and you smirk, clamping your compact shut.

navigation: ch. i | ch. ii | ch. iii | finale | m.list | ao3

#btsbookclub #btssmutclub #namjoon smut #bts fanfic #namjoon imagine #bts smut #bangtanidx

[its-a-can-of-peaches-siir]

Floyd Talbert

Coming off the line from Normandy really couldn't of come sooner for most of Easy company. The first leg of the war for Easy had been a very busy and tiring time, it had drained a lot of the men and even woken some of them up to the Reality of war. You on the other hand just couldn't wait to get off the line so mail would come in. There was only one bit of mail you had missed while being out in Normandy, and that had been the little drawings your 2 year old daughter drawn for you and the letter that your mother sent with it. Reading how fast she was growing up made you get pretty emotional sometimes. Of course you never let it really show when being in front of the guys, none of them knew you were a mother and you didn't really know how most of the guys would feel about it either. There was one man in easy who you wished would never find out about your daughter, you and Floyd had gotten pretty close over the last year almost two years now, you hadn't told him about your daughter, he had asked loads of times who the letters were from and what was in them but you never told him, it did make him feel sad to know you didn't trust him with the information but he never pushed you for it. You had all been off the line for about a day now and everyone was catching up on much needed rest, including yourself. You had gotten sick of waiting for vest to come with mail just like most of the others as well, so you took to catching up on some sleep instead.

While you had been asleep Floyd was on his was back to the tent that easy shared and stopped when he heard a voice."Sargent Talbert! Sargent wait up" looking over his shoulder he saw vest jogging up to him."What can I do for you vest?" Floyd could see a box in his arms and it had been ripped open."While this came in the mail for Juniper and I've been trying to find her and thought you might be able to give this to her?" Looking down at vests hands he took the box and nodded."Yeah I can do that, pretty sure she's just asleep anyway" vest nodded a thanks and turned to walk off but Floyd called him back"Do you know why it's been opened? She's gonna ask" vest gave him a shrug of his shoulder."I don't know maybe the higher ups wanted to see? I honestly don't know Sargent" Floyd nodded before turning to finish his walk back to Easy's tent.As he was walking he looked down at the box, temptation to see what was inside was eating away at him as he walked.Opening the box a little he saw a load of paintings and drawing all together to one side and to the other a load of photos of a little girl and an older lady.Stopping just outside the tent he put the box down on a barrel that was outside and took the photos out to have a look.Flicking through them he saw the same little girl over and over again, be she also looked like you at the same time, confused Floyd flipped over the photos and saw a name on the back and a date,They had all been taken from over the last two years.The name of the back of them said "Melina Golds" which just so happened to be the same last name as you. Floyd was getting a bit worried now, but also still very confused.Putting the photos back Floyd saw a letter which was sat in the box. He knew he shouldn't be doing this but he was to intrigued to know who this little girl was.Picking up the letter he opened it and started to read it.

Dear my dearest daughter

I hope you are doing well out there on the front lines, I keep hearing how awful it is and I pray everyday you aren't in harms way, even though I know it's stupid because you are at war. I suppose you won't get this till you come off the line so I won't make it very long.I know the one question you are dying to ask is about little Melina, and all I can say is she's happy and safe, of course she misses her mummy little any child would-"

Floyd stopped reading and looked up from the letter. Of course she misses her mummy' kept playing over and over in his head. Was you a mum? That was a stupid question he thought. You are a mum, you have a child, you have a partner? But there was no sign of a guy and you had told him you didn't have a partner back home.And then it hit him, you were a single mother. Floyd decided he had read enough and put everything back how it was, he saw a few other things like chocolate and smokes, putting the lid back on he sighed."Junipers a mum" he whispered to himself.He smiled to his self knowing how much work it would of taken to care for a child on your own, to giving birth on your own, but now he had even more respect for you as you took yourself away from your daughter to fight in this war, knowing you may not make it out and that your daughter may not have a mother. It made him fall even more in love with you.You were the strongest women he knew. Waking up you rolled over and heard a lot more voices awake, hearing the tent flap open you looked over to see Floyd walk in with a box in his arm and a smile on his face. His eyes found you in no time at all."Juniper I have a package for you" sitting up as he made his way over you couldn't help but wonder want was in it.Floyd sat next to you and handed you the box."It was already opened when vest gave it to me, I asked why but he couldn't give me an answer" nodding you looked down at the box. It was from your mother and you knew something from your daughter would be in here, you just couldn't afford to let Floyd see.Opening it slowly you got a little look at what was in it before shutting the box fast. Floyd looked at you with a raised eyebrow."Aren't you gonna open it?" He asked.Sighing you knew you wanted to open it but at the same time you didn't want to scar off the one guy that made you feel special and made you feel happy."Juniper" looking at Floyd he grinned.

"Before you go off on one just hear me out okay-" nodding he sighed."I know about Melina" your eyes went wide as he said your daughters name."Sorry what? How do you even know her name!" Then it clicked, he must of looked through your package. You knew you couldn't be mad at him but he had no right to look in your mail."You had no right looking in my mail Floyd" he nodded his head before dropping his head."I know but I got curious and then saw all these drawings and photos and I just didn't understand who she was, but god Junie she's beautiful and so much like her mother from what I can see, I just don't understand why you never told me? Or even told any of the guys?" You thought Floyd would of taken it all a different way, but seeing his reaction made you smile."I guess I thought you'd all look at me different, I'm a single mother Floyd, it's not something any guy would want or even look for and I get that and it was my fuck up in the first place, but when she was born my whole world changed, she is the reason why I fight this war, so she can have a better life then what I or other women like me have had" Floyd saw how much your daughter meant to you and he loved how much emotion you showed when talking about her.Putting an arm over your shoulder he pulled you into his side."You are one of the strongest women I've even meet, and knowing now you are also a mother just makes complete sense when it comes to you being like a mother for some of us" chuckling you nodded."But also I have so much respect for you junie, you did all that on your own, the 9 months the birthing and the bring up, and now you have left her knowing you may not come home, I don't know any women who is as brave and strong like you" a tear rolled down your face at Floyd's words, it made you realise how much you really were putting on the line."Do you miss her?" He whispered as his hand rubbed circles in your arm."Everyday Floyd" he could hear your voice break and kissed your head.He didn't understand how you did it, not seeing her for so long and only going off a letter from your mother.

"The day I said goodbye to her she didn't understand, she kept asking why was mummy going away? And when will mummy be home-" sobbing a little you stopped, Floyd rocking you both from side to side a little trying to calm you down."Take your time" he whispered as he kissed your head again."And all I could say was i didn't know but it would be soon, she hugged me so tight that day, my mother is looking after her and is always reminding her that mummy is still coming back.It just hurts knowing I can't even see her, I can't hear her and I can't touch her, she's growing up so fast and I missing it all" nodding Floyd grabbed the lid of the box and opened it for you. Inside he took the photos out and pasted them to you."Well now you can see her at least" a small sob left your mouth as you flicked through the photos, you dreaded to think how much money your mother had spent getting these photos all printed, but you couldn't of been happier in that moment."Thank you Floyd, really" he hummed and patted your knee."No need to thank me, I'd do anything for you" looking up at him he could see the confusion in your face and it made him smile."After this war I want to meet Melina and I want to be apart of her life, if you'd let me and if you feel the same about me?" You couldn't control yourself any longer and pulled his face down and locked lips with him, there was cheering going around the tent but neither of you took any notice to it.Pulling away you rested your forehead on his and giggled."I'd like that very much, and I know she would as well" Floyd kissed your nose and pulled you into his lap so he could look at the photos properly now.

After the war Floyd did go home with you and he did meet Melina for the first time, she loved Floyd to no end, you ended up moving to Floyd's home and started a new life as the three of you. The day Melina called Floyd "daddy" was the day he cried like a baby. She had always just called him Floyd, but she had decided he was daddy and was always going to her daddy.About two years after the war Melina was 5 years old when you and Floyd told her she was going to be a big sister, your family of three became a family of four and not long after became a family of six when you welcomed twins to the world. Floyd would often tell you how lucky he was for his life and he wouldn't change it for the world.

#band of brothers #lewis nixon #ronald speirs #world war 2 #floyd x reader #floyd talbert #chuck grant #easy company

[druidx]

Family Treasures

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go (2015) Context: A friend linked me a TAG fic with the most perfect description of Lasagna I have ever read. I then got carried away and read nearly every fic she recommended to me... and then I figured I should watch the 2015 version of Thunderbirds (having only seen fragments of the original ‘60s show as a kid)... and then this happened. I’ve also been leaning heavily into the subtext thing still, so constructive criticism, with subtext in mind, is welcome on this piece. Words: 1700 CW: Injury mention, worried people, minor maudlin thoughts Tagged: @viawrites-andacts​​ @strosmkai-rum​​ @scribeofred​​ Read on AO3

Kayo paces. Her sleek leather boots sink into the plush carpet of Tracy Island's lounge. She has been grounded by injury, left to recover while the Tracy boys are out there doing what they do best. She trusts them; knows they know what they're doing, knows they can handle themselves... But it doesn't help. Her fingers itch to activate the comms, but she doesn't. The boys don't need her micromanaging, and she trusts John to forward anything if he thinks she can assist... But still, the ache remains.

Those leather boots softly tap as she reaches the parquet flooring, and Kayo finds herself standing in front of Jeff's desk. It's a big, sturdy, mahogany thing. Impish sunlight glints off the polished surface, winking and laughing. It makes her think of Virgil. The sun drifts behind a cloud, and the laughter vanishes. She turns away.

Her steps lead her to the portrait of Thunderbird One, and the nicknacks beside it. Her eyes slide over the portrait – seen a hundred times before – to an antique barometer on the shelves. And there is Scott: Quicksilver in a glass; carefully controlled vim and daring. She pictures him in freefall, madcap laughter stolen by the rushing wind. The thought of his pack failing at fifty thousand feet is enough to have her leaning against the wall, head reeling like she's nosediving, seconds before the impact that has left her arm in a sling, and Thunderbird Shadow a pile of scrap.

Kayo huffs out her indignation at her weak and maudlin thoughts, wrenching back from the wall. She pinwheels away, her boots marking out time on the parquet as she passes in front of the vast window. Outside the sun glimmers off the swimming pool. Bright. Cheery. Such a laughable contrast to the storm inside. She wishes it were raining, dark skies and tempestuous winds. The bowl of forget-me-not blue is almost mocking in its temptation. She closes her eyes, breathing deeply, and brings herself back to ground level.

Kayo finds herself in the far corner of the lounge, at a kitschy '60s coffee table tucked into the fold of the room. On its surface sits a porcelain pug, which reminds her of Sherbet – and, by extension, his owner. It appears delicate – a dainty conversation piece; but her foot knows it is sturdier than one might think. Her eye catches on a woollen beanie, abandoned next to the pug – and she scowls; Lady Penelope has Parker to keep her from serious trouble. Kayo's brothers are up there without their usual safety net.

She turns back, pacing towards the piano. She plays only a little; her mother insisted, to start with. But after a year of tantrums and sword fights, Mama Kyrano gave up. But the island is empty – even Grandma Tracy is on the mainland – and the house is too quiet.

Kayo sits down at the piano and raises the lid, leaning absently to the side as a small, spring-loaded, plastic frog sails over her shoulder – the latest victim in the ongoing prank war. Her fingers wander over the ivories, and she settles into picking out Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star in the upper third. As the sweet notes fill the air, Alan comes to mind – bright, lively, graceful; effortless as the rising music. Kayo lifts her head as if she might somehow see to the edge of space; see Thunderbird Three shimmering with star-stuff as if picked out in the silver, gossamer notes she plays. She dismisses the fanciful thought with a twitch of the lips, finishing the refrain.

As her hand falls still, she looks across the room, gaze drawn back to Jeff's desk. She remembers the moment he asked her to become his head of security – when Papa Kyrano retired. She'd not long returned from her last field stint with Mossad when he'd called her to the desk. His lips had asked her to help him protect the world; his eyes had asked her to protect his boys.

Kayo sighs, the guilt of disappointing the indomitable Jeff Tracy laying heavily over her shoulders. She closes the lid and turns on the stool, intending to resume viewing life through the plate-glass barrier, when her foot nudges the plastic amphibian, abandoned on the floor. She picks the thing up, lips quirking at the cartoonish features – the bugging eyes and wide, red grin – and is inexplicably reminded of Gordon. Kayo places it on the piano, where it wobbles, brilliant green out of place on the ebony-silk surface. Three birds, two star-men, but only one squid-boy. She purses her lips and tries to tell herself the unease this thought causes is about lack of process redundancy. Perhaps she should expand her skillset in an aquatic direction...

She stands with purpose and walks over to the nook in which sits Goron's transport chute. But as Kayo reaches over to activate the chute, a flicker of something catches her eye. Her free hand is already fumbling for her stun-gun when the interloper reveals itself: a long-legged tropical spider has found its way into the aquarium. It flails and panics, and she wonders if it might drown. But even as she watches, it's already hoisting out of the water and building a complicated nest in the corner of the tank. Kayo watches it work, watches its ingenious use of resources in an unfamiliar environ, watches it engineer a refuge... and thinks of Doctor Hackenbacker. Distracted from her previous thought, Kayo turns away from the chute access, making a note to tell Gordon about the spider. She doesn't think it's a threat to the fish, and the lid is a four-handed affair. Besides, knowing Gordon, he'll want to coddle the thing before he releases it.

Instead, Kayo climbs to the mezzanine. Somewhere in the aether, a stack of security reports grows ever larger, but she is unable to read them, to even consider distracting herself with them at a time like this. Worry still fills the well of her stomach, bilious and vile. There are too many close calls, too many near misses. Too many times she's snatched one of her brothers from certain doom. She's so useless here. Idly, she picks up a blown-glass paperweight. Does John ever feel like this? she wonders as she stares into its nebulaeic swirls. Drifting high above them, like a flame-haired malāk – a messenger of God – with his brothers so far from his grasp, does John ever feel powerless? She wonders how he does it: how he can stay so removed from the action, remaining so calm. She wonders how he manages the silent panic that maybe this is the mission someone does not come back from.

The glass has chilled her hand, chasing phantom skeins of cold and fatigue through her body. Kayo carefully replaces the paperweight and makes her way back down the stairs. She settles into the sofa lining the conversation pit, a hand falling to her side as she allows her body to sink into the plush stuffing. Something rough touches the side of her hand, and Kayo fishes out a blackened cookie from where someone – Gordon or Alan, most likely – has stuffed it between the sofa cushions. Kayo screws up her nose, making a noise of revulsion. It's been at least a week since Grandma Tracy tried baking again. Mouth still in a down-curve of disgust, she leans to put the cookie on the table but finds herself pausing as the light sluices across its dark, oleaginous, undulating surface. It reminds her of the Iceland mission and the pictures of cooling magma Doctor Hackenbacker proudly showed off – and his lecture on igneous rocks. Created by fire, he'd said, melded and reforged into something tougher. Used the world over – even here on the island – as foundations. Unshakable and resistant to all the world could throw. It makes her think of the island's second foundation, of all Grandma Tracy has been through, and yet still stands firm and loving despite it.

She wishes any of her extended family were here, now. Like that spider, Kayo feels out of her depth, could do with someone strong, cheery, soothing; a solidity under her feet. But they are not.

Kayo is a woman who knows when her limits have been met. The island is empty, there's no one around to witness the break caused by cracks of worry, pain and fatigue. Her lip wobbles, vision growing hazy with tears. She gives a small sob, then another, allowing herself the luxury of a little cry.

"Kayo?" She sniffs, swatting at her eyes, and looks up to see Alan's hologram looking down at her, eyes pinched with worry, tone edging towards frantic. "Kayo, is everything okay? John-" "John," comes the even tone of the auburn-haired man who appears next, "should be more careful about what side remarks he makes while on comms to his worry-wart little brother." He rolls his eyes. "Sorry to disturb you, Kayo. But your telemetry did do something unusual a few moments ago-" "Kayo? Alan pinged me. What's your status?" Scott cuts in, as if they are in the sky and all is normal. Before Kayo can say anything, Lady Penelope appears, the picture of decorum and class as usual. "I'm sure it was nothing. Isn't that right, darling? Just a little wobble, eh?" her Ladyship says. "'Wobble'?" asks Gordon, from where he and Brains cluster behind the pilot of Thunderbird Two. "What the hell does- Hey!" Kayo's lips twitch in amusement, as Gordon rubs his head from where Virgil has given him a brotherly love-tap. "It means: keep your nose out, squid-boy," Virgil tells him. "Is everything okay, Kayo dear?" says Grandma Tracy. "John asked me to- Oh," she adds, looking at the packed comm channel. "Well, it looks like you all beat me to the pinch." She smiles and rubs the back of her neck. Kayo looks over her family with a swift, critical eye. Apart from Gordon's head, they all appear healthy and uninjured. Relief floods through her, loosening tense muscles. Her wry amusement turns into a full-blown smile. "I'm alright," she says. "Like Penny said, it was just a little wobble. Everything is F.A.B."

#writing #tanusha 'kayo' kyrano #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fandom #constructive critism welcome #wandering words

[orangedodge]

@dannybagpipesarecalling​ replied to your text post:

I didn't realize those were Destiny's diaries either. If you would be so kind, can you explain how Emma knows? Unfortunately I haven't read enough comics to know this backstory.

I am glad you asked about this, because it gives me an excuse to post about it while hopefully not sounding like a conspiracy blog. I've been slightly obsessed with this idea since Emma first turned up in House of X, so I'm rather excited that “maybe Destiny's Diaries still exist” isn't just my weird crack canon any longer.

Emma was, in short, the last person who can be established to have control over the whereabouts of the diaries. And as one of the top five telepaths in the world, who has expressly defended that secret from the likes of Exodus and Mr. Sinister, she is capable of preventing Professor X from just taking the information from her. So barring new retcons, if Moira has the diaries now, they had to have been obtained directly from Emma.

That's not enough to say that she turned them over to Moira specifically. She could have given them to Charles or Er—okay, no, she wouldn't give them to Charles. There could be a circumstance where she'd trust them to Erik though. But in that contingency, I think there's enough context to support Emma knowing why they'd want them and for who. To be clear though, I would be less confident about making that assertion if Emma hadn't just opened the “Dr. Moira MacTaggert Memorial Public Hospital” expressly to freak out Charles and Erik, and if HoxPox hadn't already linked them by showing Moira to be worried about what Emma was up to.

(This got kind of long so I thought it'd be helpful to say the important part up front before spiraling down the continuity rabbit hole)

The origins and resulting chain of custody for Destiny's Diaries are as follows: One January, decades ago, Destiny began recording visions of the future in a series of diaries. Filling one book per month, she continued writing for thirteen months. This process was described as auto-writing, and Destiny herself did not have a complete memory of what she had written, nor did she understand the meaning of much of what she wrote.

Nonetheless, the July diary contained a recording of the events leading up to the defeat of Apocalypse, and another diary contained information on the life of Hope Summers, so they've been very relevant to the events of the modern era. It's not explicit yet that Krakoa's founding is also in the diaries, but because we know Destiny had at least one separate vision of Krakoa, and because Moira is interested in reading them, it seems fairly likely that whatever Moira, Charles, and Erik have been doing behind the scenes is also in there.

In the decades since Destiny authored them, most of these diaries were lost, except for five that Mystique kept hold of, and a sixth that Irene hid away herself. After Mystique killed 'Moira,' she sent her five diaries to Professor X, hoping that the temptation of using them would consume his life and lead him toward a ruinous fate. Destiny meanwhile had entrusted the sixth diary to Shadowcat (who Destiny met in 1936, while she was time traveling and having an affair with Moira's grandfather don't worry about it), who eventually became so freaked out by something she read in it that she vanished on a mission, let her friends believe her dead for weeks, and had herself deleted from Cerebro, while leaving the diary to Rogue for safekeeping while she was away.

(That last chain of events isn't incredibly important, I just think it becomes kind of lol in light of current canon)

Rogue went on to take that diary and the research that had been done on it to Storm. Storm and Rogue then formed a splinter team of X-Men, to journey the world searching for the lost diaries, believing Professor X could not be trusted. Along the way a seventh book turned up with a treasure hunter named Vargas (don't worry about him), and an eighth was found by Gateway and given to Rogue in a dream. Eventually Storm tried to get Phoenix to collect Professor X's diaries for her, but they discovered that they had already been stolen (Shadowcat did it).

The rest of the diary hunt isn't really important, just that Kitty eventually ended up retrieving the full set, before she rejoined the X-Men, which only happened after Xavier had left Scott and Emma to run the school. This timeline is important for establishing that Xavier has never possessed the full set of diaries himself, and was not involved in collecting the lost books at any point, nor was he present at the time the diaries were brought to the school and fell under Emma's protection. This rules out the possibility that the set of diaries we've previously seen were somehow forged by Xavier.

Xavier would not return to the school until after losing his mutant powers, whereupon he departed for space on an adventure to another galaxy. He was unavailable, therefore, to have undertaken any telepathic shenanigans, so what happens next actually happened, and is not a psychic illusion. While Xavier was gone, Mr. Sinister recruited Exodus and Mystique, and began a campaign of hunting down precognitive psychics, time travelers, and any other sources of information on the future. Scott, Emma, and Kitty meanwhile predicted that they were going to be next, and came up with a bananas plan to keep the books safe.

X-Men volume 2 no. 203 by Mike Carey (Writer), Humberto Ramos (Penciler), Carlos Cuevas (Inker), Studio F’s Edgar Delgado (Colorist), Virtual Calligraphy’s Cory Petit (Letterer), Will Panzo (Assistant Editor), Nick Lowe (Editor), Joe Quesada (Editor in Chief), Dan Buckley (Publisher)

First they hid the diaries somewhere in parts unknown. Emma then altered the minds of “all of us” (everyone who lived at the mansion at that time) to perceive a bunch of decoy books as the real thing. She then erased Kitty's memory, and her own, so that no telepath would be able to extract the information by force, before they gave each other a series of post-hypnotic triggers so they could restore one another's memories if they ever needed the books again. When eventually Exodus attacked the school looking for the books, they restored their memories, and decided to send another team to the hidden location where they'd buried a mystery box. Emma gave this location to Sam and Bobby, who dug up the box, which was never opened, and which was destroyed by Gambit during a firefight with Sinister's forces before anyone could confirm its contents.

This was intended by author Mike Carey to be the end of Destiny's Diaries, a dropped plot from a previous creative run, that was vaguely useful at building up to the Messiah Complex crossover, but was a lot more trouble than it was worth to an author who was writing about the X-Men trying to avert a bad future. But there's a lot of room in the story he wrote for the diaries to have survived after all.

I think it's actually really suspicious that the box was accessible to Bobby and Sam at all. Why not drop it under a mountain? Why not bury it under the ocean? Why not keep it phased in a tree? And it's a big red box with a big red 'X' on it. I know the X-Men love their branding and all, but that's going pretty far.

No one actually opens the box before Gambit blows it up either. It could have contained more decoys, or nothing at all. 

And when talking among themselves, Emma and Kitty never actually say that they're sending the X-Men to retrieve the diaries. They say that they know where the diaries are, and then send the X-Men to a place where they've buried something. The intent of the author is clear, but there's room in the dialogue for a later writer to decide that this just was another plan to keep the books hidden.

So for the entire period of time between assembling the complete collection of thirteen diaries, and their seeming destruction, they are never unaccounted for. Only Emma and Kitty knew the full extent of what they did to hide them, and where they were hidden. If fakes were destroyed instead of the real thing, no one would have known.

We could just be in retcon territory, but I don't think so, because it's fine on its own without any direct changes to canon. And really, faking the destruction of the books to cover up their real location makes a lot more sense than believing Emma Frost actually sent Sam to retrieve the incredibly suspicious looking red box that contained the most important object in the world, while half the super villains on the planet were chasing him.

Believing the diaries weren't really destroyed just requires the reader to accept that Emma would lie to the other X-Men, and keep lying to them for years, and that she'd be willing to put Sam and Bobby's lives at risk to protect that lie. Which she was already doing in that story anyway. She was already lying to everyone when she changed everyone's memories. And she—and Scott and Kitty—was already fine with risking everyone's lives when setting up a decoy trap in a school. So that's why I think this works better as a continuation of the existing, known, story of the diaries, and not a direct retcon to what happened.

In conclusion I think Emma knows about Moira because Moira got the diaries from somewhere, and Emma is the person she could have gotten them from. Nothing proves a direct hand-off in, like, a formal standard of proof or anything, but Emma having access to the diaries for so long, and having been wrapped up in this whole weird plot thread—which involves Moira and most of the Quiet Council—is enough to imply the connection in a story sense.

(ETA - For completion’s sake, there is also a weird story I didn’t go into called Chaos War that was published in 2011 where Moira is resurrected and finds a book in the ruins of the Xavier School that may or may not be one of the diaries, and touching it causes her soul to merge with Destiny’s, who then possesses her and guides her through a quest to destroy an evil god. This was an odd story to place in continuity at the time, and has only gotten stranger, given  1. that couldn’t be the real Moira, 2. Destiny is not merged with her soul. If this is in continuity (it’s been suggested that Moira’s golem was the character in this event), and all of the characters are who they say they are, and if the book in question was actually one of the thirteen diaries (and not some other book that Irene also wrote), then it requires Emma to have deliberately left one of the thirteen books behind for “Moira” to find, which if anything only adds to the likelihood that she knows what’s up)

#x-men #comics #marvel #wednesday spoilers #long post

[sweetestlamb]

Hands On

Summary: Dalmi appreciates the majestic wonders that are Nam Dosan’s hands. 

Author's note: I’ve never seen a ship war before in kdrama land so I was completely unprepared for some of the things I saw in this tag lol but I mean I guess it’s cool that this show is making everyone feel so much. I think Dodal is absolutely adorable as a couple and every time they hug or do anything domestic I swoon like a maiden in an erotica novel. Enjoy whatever pairing you want but I will be writing Dodal strictly as I don’t see any romance between the other pairing. I am many thoughts but not time sadly, I wrote this during my daily commute so excuse any typos and the brevity. 

Those wide palms wrap around her simultaneously comforting and overwhelming her, there are moments when those hands are mesmerizing; clicking at keys and making miracles become a reality. His brilliant mind is the catalyst but those fingers are the agents and she longs to cling to them, thank them and worship them.

Then, there other moments when they grip her face and dismantle her calm systemically taking her apart like a machine, then putting her back together effortlessly with a disarming nervous smile. His eyes squinting the way they always do when his heart is fluttering.

The first time she kisses his hand the blush that blazes across his high cheekbones is adorable, too pure. She feels dirty for imagining wrapping her lips around them and seeing how they taste.

Until she finally swallows them and he looks absolutely dazed and destroyed by the simple act, she knows in that moment she wants to be the one to do everything with him.

She wants him, Nam Dosan.

But she's never had this with anyone before, never had a shoulder to lay her head on or someone to lift her off the ground when she was so happy she thought her cheeks might crack. As much as she puts up a strong front and pushes into any space that he occupies, in the deep crevice of her mind she's just as terrified as he visibly is.

So she takes small steps, takes Dosan's advice and tests her hypothesis that he wants her as much as she wants him.

It starts with a brush of fingers, his sizeable hand is merely inches from her own and stagnant for once. He'd paused into the middle of a fit of genius, worrying his cuticle between sharp teeth. And her response is instantaneous, she snatches his hand away before peering at the skin to ensure it's not bleeding. His hands are beautiful. Strong and capable of making the impossible plausible, they should be protected at all cost.

"Don't do that, you'll make yourself bleed." She lightly chastises, twisting the digit left and right and sighing when she sees there is no permanent damage.

His eyes are bright and frantic, ping ponging between her face and her firm grasp on his hand. Soon his cheeks turn rosy and she almost laughs, even without the E.T she's able to read him like a book; they've kissed until their lips were sore but this is still enough to get his heart racing.

"I'm sorry." He softly replies, making no move to escape from her hold and looking reprimanded as if he's actually done something to her.

She wraps her empty hand around the hand she confiscated, sandwiching his hands between hers.

"Don't abuse these. I like them. A lot." She squeezes his hands tightly, stroking at the smooth skin before bringing them up to her lips and placing two smacking kisses on his wrist.

His silence is deafening but his face provides all the answers she needs, pupils dilated and his teeth now leaving indents in his bottom lip.

She vaguely wonders if he knows the indecent picture he makes, but he frequently does this unknowingly seduces her with this actions.

"You do realize that the rest of us are also in this room right? " Saha's voice cuts through the haze sounding affronted, sneering at them over her phone.

It's only then that she shifts her eyes from Dosan's pretty blush and gazes around the room, the other two members of Samsan tech are pointedly looking at the ground, Chul-san even going as far as whistling and pointing out patterns in the floor regaling about how wonderful the office is as if they haven't been here for weeks now.

She supposes she should feel embarrassed but she can't muster up any shame.

She opts to tease instead. 

Smirking at the other girl she grabs at her perfectly manicured hand across the table, "Are you jealous? Do you want some attention too hmm?"

The prissy designer squawks loudly as Dalmi puckers up and then Chul-san leaps up pushing his chair in a haste to defend the designer, bodily blocking her from Dalmi's gaze and she can't contain that giggle that bubbles up in her chest.

"I'll protect you!"

A glance over reveals that Chul-san is the one who needs protection with the glacial glare being sent his way, Saha stands in a huff leaving without any explanation. No one reacts except the goofy coder who watches her departure with forlorn eyes.

Throughout the commotion, Dalmi never releases the hand in her possession. Stroking him in light brushes that drag from wrist to knuckle.

She knows she should give him back his hand, he's trying his best to type with one hand and honestly still moving quicker than most but still she prepares to free him.

But suddenly the hand is yanked from her capture and she jolts at the sudden movement, turning to him with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He hastily apologizes, even going as far pressing his previously snatched hand back into hers, wriggling his long fingers into her much smaller hand.

Once again his ridiculous antics disarm her and she can't help but smile at him, shaking her head before squeezing his hand and returning to her own abandoned keyboard.

"It's okay you can have your hand back, that's what makes all the magic happen." She teases him internally delighted at the more carnal thoughts that come to mind at her own words.

He's wearing his patented squinty blush™️ face now version 2.0 which includes flushed cheeks and lip biting, but he stutters out a reply after a few minutes of avoiding her eyes.

"Sorry, it's just...I was stuck on something. I couldn't make the right connection but after you....." He trails off but his eyes are fixed on her hands now, still on the table as she listens to him.

After she what? She peers back at him waiting the rest of the sentence that doesn't appear to be coming.

"After I?" She eggs him on staring up at him expectantly, even sitting he looms over her.

"Ummm...your hand. And my hand. It helped me put the pieces together."

Fondness rolls over her like a blanket as she watches this brilliant coder stutter his way through a simple explanation.

After she held his hand.

He starts to spin his chair in little half circles now, before turning back completely to his work space. Then his fingers are moving at a rapid pace, tap tap tap echoing in the room as he solves another issue as easily as he blinks.

"Thank you."

She almost misses the whispered words but she's always listening to him. She begins to shake her head, not doing anything that warrants gratitude but the smile he shoots her way leaves no room for argument.

She can do nothing but beam back at him, heart hitching when he reaches out to squeeze her hand before his friends start grumbling, she sticks her tongue out at them before skipping off to get them all coffee already memorizing all of their orders. If she stays the temptation to touch Dosan will be too much.

Her fingers are still tingling, his magic rubbing off on her.

When she makes her way back to the room Saha is back and as prickly as they're all used to. With a sigh they all throw themselves back into work.

It's been a long day, their app has crashed and no amount of tapping away at the computers is enough to fix it, she can see the way it weighs on Dosan's shoulders as if ever failure is all his fault.

After a prolonged minute he stills, his head falling onto his hands in defeat. Those broad shoulders collapsing like pillars constructed from sand. His fellow coders try to cheer him up, telling him that they will stay late with him but they all know that he doesn't need help. He so often is their lone hero.

"I'm going for walk." His voice is barely above a whisper, as he heaves himself from his chair and lifelessly stalks out the door.

Dalmi feels all eyes turn to her as she watches his exit, she wars with herself wondering if it would be better to give him space. But a voice pushes her to follow him, knowing how hard Dosan can be on himself. He's incapable of cruelty unless the one being stabbed is himself.

"I'm going to the bathroom." She lies, meaninglessly as no one believes her and Chul-san even calls out that Dosan probably went to the roof. She rolls her eyes, she already knew that. Roofs held a very special place in their relationship.

She sprints up the stairs, loose hair swinging wildly behind as she pushes the door open.

Immediately she finds her Dosan, trying to make his large body smaller sitting hunched on a metal bench, taking a minute to smooth down her flyaways she marches over to him. Pep talk on the tip of her tongue.

But she's intercepted as a new figure enters her field of vision, long amber brown hair blowing in the wind. The unknown woman stalks over to Dosan, Dalmi bristles as she watches the woman reapply lipstick before closing the gap.

She can't hear the words but she instantly knows that Dosan is being flirted with and has no idea of the occurrence, he had jumped when first approached and then after a puppy-esque head tilt started to explain something, hands in motion.

Fire simmers in her veins the longer the conversation drags on, soon the woman has taken a seat and she is all easy smiles and constant hair tucks. Then she starts to lean into his space and Dalmi brightens when he scoots away, maintaining the distance between them.

Dalmi reaches for her scrunchie, slipping it from her wrist and catching her hair up in a loose ponytail.

Marching over she walks until she's right in front of the coder, for once looking down at him before reaching out and taking his hand. Using all her strength she pulls him, at first he's rigid and immoveable and then he's standing and allowing himself to be yanked into her orbit.

The woman glares at her before raising an eyebrow, "Who are you? We were having a conversation." Annoyance drips off every word that falls from her lips.

Dalmi steps forward, as Dosan steps behind her dwarfed by her despite their laughable difference in height.

"I'm his CEO."

She glares harder at Dalmi. Now standing as well, arms crossed petulantly.

"You're just his CEO. Why are you interrupting?"

Dosan's breath hitches in the background and Dalmi wonders if he finally realized what was happening just now.

"He can't fraternize with the enemy. We're going now."

A part of her wonders if she's overstepping her boundaries but when she turns to face Dosan he's squinting into the distance and she knows that her jealousy is not unwelcomed.

When she has Dosan safely away from the poacher, she peers up at him his hand still curled around her own.

"I'm sorry."

His unwarranted apology snaps her back to reality, she almost groans at herself. She wasn't normally a possessive person but Dosan made her act stupid sometimes.

Instead of acknowledging his apology she replies, "Do you know why she was talking to you?"

He stares at her blankly before it morphs to confusion and then realization.

His eyes widen.

He nods solemnly.

"Yeah I know why."

She watches his face avidly as he opens his lips to speak once more.

"She wanted...my coding secrets. That's why she was asking me about myself and for my number. She was probably trying to become my friend to sabotage us. I promise I didn't tell her anything."

Her brain careens as she processes the new information, teeth clenching at the thought of Dosan giving another woman his number.

Then his words sink in and her stomach unclenches minutely, she believes him. But a little voice in the back of her head offers some doubt and she braces herself.

"What if she wasn't trying to use you? Would you give her your number?"

She barely as to wait a full second for a response.

"No. Why would I do that?"

"Maybe you need someone to talk to."

He looks at her as if she's grown another head, "I have Chul-san and Yong-san."

Her hold loosens.

"And I have you." He grabs the point of her chin, drawing her head up until their eyes lock once more. The warmth from his hand sinks into her skin and she nuzzles into his palm before drawing him into a hug, standing on her tip toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

After a pregnant pause he melts into her embrace, deep breaths landing on her shoulder.

"You'll figure it out. I know you will."

He nods slowly, buckled over as he tightens his hold on her waist.

"Thanks for coming for me."

She mentally makes a note to pray the next time she's in church, thank the Lord for putting him in her life perhaps he was her guardian angel sent to make heathens like her believers.

She's drunk. She can feel the alcohol singing her in blood as she sways on the sidewalk. They'd all agreed to go out for drinks to celebrate, they were in the final two for Sandbox. It was surreal and before she knew it she had stumbled from giggly and tipsy into sloshed and incoherent.

Dosan looms beside her, her shoulder bag strung across his wide chest as he watches her in the corner of his eye. The others had bulldozed into Saha's car despite the designer threatening to dump their bodies on the highway.

So here they were alone.

When the bus finally arrived, strong arms lift her taking all her weight before caroling her into a back seat of the bus. She hums happily, fuzzy memory resurfacing of them holding hands on the bus. Without thought she reaches out and catches his hand, needing to feel his skin.

His hands are slightly damp but she doesn't care, she wants all of him sweat included.

She blinks awake at his whispers of her name and soft shoves, groggy she stands up letting him guide her like she's a young child. Her nap has sobered her up some and she's thankful she decided to forgo heels today, instead donning simple flats with a gold buckle.

"Do you need a piggyback?"

She turns at his offer, considering it but that means she would have to let go of his hands and that's simply not an option. She wants to enjoy every second she has remaining with those hands.

She shakes her head in decline, squeezing his hand as they trek up the incline to her house. The moon shines big and bright in the sky, washing them with its rays.

"You're home." He announces, looking down at her fondly before she starts to swing their arms between them.

He starts to pull her bag over his head, and the words tumble out of her mouth, her tongue loosened by all the alcohol she's consumed.

"What do you like about me?"

He stills at her question, eyes widening before his lips shift open. He looks lost for a minute and her patience wears thin as she awaits his response, when none arrives she huffs stomping her feet and repeating louder, "What do you like about me?"

Still he stares wordlessly and she drags her hand away, snatching her bag and turning to enter her house. She takes three and a half steps before he catches her wrist, she doesn't turn around but she pauses her escape.

A deep winded breaths swooshes past her ear and then he replies, "I...I like a lot."

She glares over her shoulder, and he withers under her stare. Large hands reaching out to caress her jaw as he looks at her with liquid eyes.

"Umm your smile, you have a great smile."

Said smile makes a guest appearance and she hums, "What else?" He smiles at her, the juxtaposition not lost on him.

"Your confidence, you believe in yourself." The and me is silent but still there. That brings a sad smile to her face, his own confidence is a work in progress. Suddenly dehydrated she swipes her tongue across the surface of her upper lip, pulling the bottom in and releasing it with a wet smack.

The act lasts all of three seconds but Dosan freezes, eyes fixated on her mouth although nothing is happening now.

His fingers inch towards her mouth until she can feel the heat and she waits for his next move.

When he makes none, she steps closer tugging him to meet her halfway.

Then finally as if that were his cue, he presses his thumb into her bottom lip, running across the plump moist flesh utterly entranced and red faced.

"I like your lips."

His actions are speaking loud enough but his words scorch her up and before she can consider the fact that they are outside her house, she swivels her head and pops his thumb into her mouth, his salty flavor exploding on her tongue. His hand feels even larger inside of her and she moans at the sensation.

His eyes are blown out and he's so still she doubts he's breathing, he looks helpless as he watches her sink further down the wide digit.

She swirls her tongue around the pad of this thumb and she swears Dosan melts into her. All of his bones seeming to liquefy.

When she slides off his thumb he's still dazed and dumbfounded, lips opening and closing like a fish sputtering on land.

She's nothing if not an opportunist and she crashes into him, tugging him down to meet her as she sucks the soju off his tongue. He groans into the kiss but lets her lead, bending when she grapples with his shoulder.

They kiss like that for a few seconds, twisting and turning to devour each other before she feels him drifting away and before she can whine at the loss of his lips, her feet leave the ground and they are eye level.

His hands are vices on her lower back, pressing her immeasurably close to his solid torso.

She wraps her legs around him like a koala and before he can combust from their provocative position she's already licking into his mouth, gripping his hair tightly as she moves him as she pleases.

One of his hands creep up and cup the back of her head, and then she's being moved backwards until her back slams into something solid. He tries to pull away, concern contorting his features but she dives into his neck nipping at the hot skin there. She suckles roughly, knowing that she'll leave a mark and anticipating the pretty mark on his blemish free skin.

Then as quickly as his fingers typically move on his keyboard he backs away from her.

She's unprepared for her legs to crash back onto the ground and she looks up at him disgruntled, question forming before her door bursts open.

Then the sweet familiar voice of her grandmother cuts through the tension that has settled between them.

"Dalmi is that you?"

Dosan grabs her bag swinging it back  over his shoulder again, standing ramrod straight like he’s rehearsing for a role in the army. 

Tipsy now from his kiss, she turns around meeting her grandmother's eyes. Trying her damnest not to look as ravished as she feels, her lips are tender in a the right ways.

"Oh goodness look at you. You look a mess, you stuck your head out the window again didn't you? Look at how red and sore your lips are!"

She pointedly doesn't react to the exclamation but Dosan shuffles in her peripheral. Guilty and nervous. 

Thankfully grandmother hasn't yet learned his many tells.

"Thank you for bringing her home." She thanks Dosan sending an indulgent smile his way, before guiding Dalmi into the house. She twists around to wave good bye to Dosan and notices her bag still over his shoulder. She opens her mouth to call out and get it back before she notices how red Dosan is, his cheeks look painfully tinged but that's nothing compared to his white knuckled grip on her bag which is strategically placed in front of his groin.

Oh.

She's makes a show of looking him up and down before licking her mouth, ever so slowly and puckering at him. The last thing she sees before her door closes is Dosan wringing his hand, looking devastated.

She can't wait to get her hands on him.

#start up #tvn start up #startup #Nam do san #seo dalmi #dodal #hands fic #he's so innocent I have smutty thoughts but I couldn't write them right off the bat #working my way up to it

[t-o-m-hollands]

Warning: Ever so slightly smutty at two parts, but only slightly. However if that’s not you thing at all or if you are too young then do not read.

Summary: You and Timmy were once an item. After a painful breakup you meet each other again at an award show.

Here’s how it goes. For being an actress you’re awfully shy. While in front of the cameras when you’re immersed in a role you can turn it all off, all of your doubts and insecurities dissipates, and you can turn all your focus on the performance at hand and forget about all the people in the studio or the camera catching your every expression.  

Award ceremonies however are a special form of hell. The probing questions from the journalists, the flashing lights of the cameras, the noise of reporters all screaming at you to look their way. The constant watching and judging eyes, ready to tear you apart piece by piece on the internet.

It is not for you. Despite wearing a couture dress from a fashionable designer, you do not feel like you belong in this room, with these people, who all seem to know exactly what do to and say, who seem like they were born to be here. You feel like a fraud.

The afterparty is in full swing when you arrive at the venue. Loud music echoing across the room from the DJ booth, people clinking their glasses while wearing the finest clothes money can buy, and a never-ending stream of cold champagne being served by waiters in black. A few guests are dancing, some on the floor, some on tables.

You’re hiding. Out on the balcony, out of sight. If only just for a moment. Giving in to a temptation you’ve struggled to resist all night you try to lit a cigarette, but the damn lighter just flickers.

“Need a light?” he asks and the effect that voice has on you seem ridiculously disproportionate. You can however not deny that it’s happening to you. Your knees feels unsteady and your hands are shaking and surely the world is spinning too fast around you and surely you have a fever, and you want to blame it on the champagne, you want to blame it on the cold, you want to blame it on the hunger. But it’s him. It has always been him. Whatever it is about him, whatever magic quality that he possesses, that only he possesses, is entirely his own.  And no champagne in the world has ever made you feel as light headed as he has. As he still does.

As he walks up to you the world seems to be spinning and you try not to breath. The scent of him is surrounding you and you don’t want to breath him in. Because he’s not here to stay and he’s not yours to keep and soon he will leave, and you can already feel the wound in your heart pulling at its seams.  

He leans closer, over you, and he holds up a lighter and so you lean closer still with your cigarette. He then lights one for himself and for a while all you do is stand there, your back pressed against the wall and his body still leaning slightly over yours. You can hear the voices and the music from inside, the chaotic roars of celebration and delight. The pounding music. Down on the street the soft noise of never-ending traffic as cars drive by. And yet, you swear you can hear both of your hearts beat, even thought that must be impossible.  

It’s cold up on the rooftop but you can feel the heat of his body, so close to yours. Then he bows his head, almost as if in defeat, and he rests his forehead against yours and he takes a shaky breath.  

“Sorry” he mumbles against your forehead, but what he wants to say is – I’m sorry for the times I left without saying goodbye. I’m sorry I never stayed long enough to talk things out. I’m sorry I never told you how I felt, the way I still feel when you’re around. I’m sorry I was a coward when we met, I’m sorry I stayed when I thought it wouldn’t last. I’m sorry I left. God I’m so sorry I left. I’m sorry for the tear in your heart, but if you want to compare war wounds mine is yet to stop bleeding.  

He wants to say – I kept having this reoccurring dream where I was lost at sea, unable to set ashore and unable to sail away and all I could see was the light of the lighthouse and it blinded me. I couldn’t turn away from it. The rest of the world didn’t exist anymore and everything else paled against the blinding light. There was no sun, no moon, no stars. I couldn’t feel the rain or the cold or hear the screams of the sea. But the point of a lighthouse is to warn sailors of dangerous and traitorous paths ahead. In the end, there was nothing but the blinding light and I had to get closer still, I just had to, no matter the cost. And so, I crash against the rocks and every night I drown, mon ange, every night I drown.  

He wants to say – you are a force of nature and the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. the first time I saw you I didn’t know what to do with myself. It seemed impossible, you seemed impossible, like taken out of dreams I hadn’t realized I was having. And when you walked up to me I wanted to sound clever, make you laugh, impress you but I didn’t know, I still don’t know, what to do with myself when you’re around. So, I offered my hand for you to shake. And you took it in yours and you smiled up at me and I swear you’ve had my heart ever since. Like I’d handed it over to you in that handshake.  

He wants to say – and when you told me you loved me back I got scared, because you were beautiful and clever and funny and bright as the sun and I was half a world away for weeks and months on end and I didn’t understand how that could be enough for you. How you could settle for that. How could I let you? And I thought that surely you would meet someone else, someone better and they’d sweep you off your feet and that there would be nothing for me to do but to watch it happen and wish you the best. So, I thought of it as ripping of a band-aid and I left. Before you could leave me and I’m sorry. I was young and dumb and in love and didn’t know what to do with myself and I’m sorry.  

“Sorry for all of it” he adds, even though is seems heartbreakingly inadequate even to his own ears.  

You look up at him, really taking in the sight of him for the first time that evening. Hair’s a mess, like he’s dragged his hand through it a million times tonight. Dark circles under his eyes so prominent you feel worried for him and his lips pressed tightly shut together, as if he’s trying to keep a stream of words back from entering the world.  

“Let’s leave” your voice a soft whisper.  

He blinks, “wha- really?”, and you almost want to laugh at his puzzled expression.  

“I haven’t eaten all day in order to fit into this dress, I’m starving. Let’s go someplace where I can eat my body weight in fries, and then we’ll talk. Alright?”  

“Alright” he repeats, eyes full of stars as he looks down at you. And then, as if he’s unable to stop himself, he plants the gentles of kisses on your forehead. You smile up at him before reaching out your hand for him to take, and he does. It feels right.  

In silence you walk out of the hotel. In silence you stroll the streets before walking into a 24/7 open diner. It is nearly empty, but the few guests and the waitress inside all notice you when you walk in. The difference between the posh party you’ve just left and this rather dirty old diner makes you smile. You don’t know if they recognise either you or Timmy but you guess that your fine clothes give you away. Timmy leads you to the booth at the far back, away from the windows and from the staring eyes of the other diners. He then waits for you to sit down before sliding in beside you. It feels familiar. In the back of your mind there’s a nagging thought that this isn’t how it should be. Seeing each other again after nearly a year apart should surely be painful, be awkward, be difficult. This is anything but. This is the familiarity of coming home and sleeping in your own bed after having been gone for too long. This is re-watching your favourite movie from childhood. This is the smell of birthday parties as a child, cupcakes with vanilla frosting and strawberries and coffee in the air. This is a shower after a long day. Your favourite meal. A photo album from when you were young. Your most beloved song. It is bliss.  

On the stereo you can hear “I want hold your hand” by The Beatles over the faint sound of chatter. The whole place smells of fried food, yet his scent is so clear to you and you want to just cuddle up beside him, breath in the familiarity of him. So, you move closer and he wraps an arm around you, a big smile on his face. He kisses your forehead again and you smile.  

“And what are you ordering?” A waitress asks you both, tapping a notepad with her pen.  

“Do you have champagne?” you ask, only half joking. You might not have felt like celebrating all evening, but you do now.  

“No” is her answered, not amused.  

“Oh, well, fries? And a milkshake, strawberry, please” You smile at her, but she doesn’t melt, just writes down your order.  

“And you?” She turns to Timmy.  

“Oh, I’ll have fries too, and a coke, thank you”. He smiles too but the waitress still refuses to be charmed. She does however jot down his order too before dutifully rushing off to the kitchen.  

Timmy looks down at you, and the smile he gives you, you swear it is radiant. You swear you see stars in his eyes. You swear he looks at you so fondly you’re more than half in love with him again. But then you think, did you ever stop. Because sure, without him you were still breathing, you still functioned as you should. You still walked your dog, went to work, cooked dinner, showered. You still went out with friends. Still laughed. You went on the business of living. All the while you missing him. It was with you like a constant ache between your ribs. Sure, the first week after he left had been almost insufferable, like something vital had, without grace or ceremony, been ripped out of your body. But you had picked up the pieces of your life and you had dusted yourself off and you had gotten on with it. And here he was, smiling down at you with stars in his eyes. You don’t feel angry, but you wonder if maybe you should. For although he felt as familiar as a cuddly toy from childhood you needed answers.  

“Why did you leave?”  

His smile fades, he takes a shaky breath and leans his forehead against yours, as if to collect himself. Then, with an apparent effort he pulls himself together and sits up straight again, one arm still draped around you.  

“I just” a long paus. “I just thought you deserved better, I suppose”. You sit quietly and think this over. “Was that not up for me to decide?” you ask, gently. He lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah” he agrees sounding bitter, and then, sounding almost embarrassed, “I got scared”. The way he says it sounds like a confession, and a fleeting though strikes you. He wants you to repent him for his sins. “What scared you?” Your voice is gentle and soft as a whisper. While you wait for his answer you find yourself absentmindedly painting little patterns over his hand. It seems to settle him.  

“The intensity of it all, I guess” and again, he sounds embarrassed, almost shy, as he confesses this to you. He nuzzles up closer to you, seeking comfort. Leaning his head against yours as you both observe your intertwined hands. “It never happened to me, not like that” and then adding, sensing your confusion “love, I mean. It never happened to me in that way, like I’d been struck by lightning or something. When it happened before, if that even was love, it grew slowly and then slowly faded. But this felt like, like” he seems at a loss for words for a second “like being thrown out of my orbit and it scared me. Being with you scared me, like I’d do fucking anything for you, be anyone for you. It just got really intense, really quick.”  

You don’t know what to say to that. Before the silence can drag out too long the waitress returns with your food which she places it in front of you before scurrying off. You untangle your hand from his grasp to grab a hold of your milkshake.

“Timmy” you start but he interrupts you, “no mon ange, please, let me explain properly first”. You can tell that the endearment slipped out without him having meant to use it, for it startles you both, and you can feel the wound in your heart pulling at its seams again. You then know that without realizing it a big part of you had just assumed that he was back in your life again, and back to stay. And hearing him call you his angel again in that familiar way, as if he had never gone made you question if he really was yours to keep. He realizes that he has made you tense up and he hurriedly tries to fix it, “shit, I’m sorry babe” and there’s the other one.

And a river of memories flows over you.  

A white room, with white curtains flowing in the wind as sunshine streams through them. Laying on white sheets on the hotel bed as he moves above you. You are laughing and moaning and touching. Then, a shaky whisper that might as well have been a praying in your ear as he comes, dragged out in all its glory, “babe”.

In a cinema at a movie premiere and on the screen your boyfriend having sex with another woman. You know it’s all pretend but it doesn’t stop the sinking feeling in your gut as you watch them. Then, his warm hand grasping yours, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “it’s all pretend, mon ange, I love you”.  

Fighting over a game of scrabble in your apartment “Babe, I really can’t help it if ‘squeeze’ is spelled with a Z and not an S!” “Alright, then you shouldn’t be allowed to spell ‘quickly’ with a CK!” Silence. Then “but that’s the correct spelling, that’s what it should be spelled like!”

“Fuck babe, you look amazing” his admiring eyes from across the room, and then his hands in your hair as he kisses you and you laughing into that kiss. “No, where going to be late!” “Fuck them”. Laughter again and then “No, fuck me”.

A telephone call in the middle of the night. Unexpected. You’re out on the balcony, hoping the cold air will make you feel less numb. “I’m sorry, mon ange, I just can’t do it anymore”.  

And then you’re back to reality again. “Babe, are you all right?” Timmy’s worried voice in your ear as he leans over you, trying to pull you back from the memories. “Look at me, please look at me, babe”. You do. He has tears in his eyes, you can tell he’s not far from shedding them. “Let me explain, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, all I meant was that, that” and he looks so frustrated at not being able to put words on his own feelings. “All I mean is that, is that it felt like, that I felt like I loved you so much that I” he stops again and you wish you could help him formulate whatever it is he’s struggling with. “It felt so intense and it scared me. I wasn’t ready for it to happen to me like that, love I mean. I wasn’t ready for you. It scared me. I was a coward and I’m sorry”.  

You kiss him. Not passionately or fervently but gently and deliberately.

“Alright” you say before finally taking a sip of your now somewhat melted strawberry milkshake. It tastes heavenly, although kissing Timmy might just taste better. You look up at him, and he seems almost frozen in place, staring back at you with stars in his eyes again. “Wanna taste?” you ask, referring to the milkshake in your hand. He nods but doesn’t place his lips around the straw, instead he places them on your lips again. It’s still slow and gentle, but this time there’s a fever behind it. Like he wants to make up for all the time spent apart.  

Eventually you move away, smiling. He’s smiling too. You both tuck into your food and suddenly you feel starving. He’s still got one arm draped around you and he’s playing with your hair. And your chatting with one another. About all the small but important things that has happened in the others absence. You talk movies and music and travel too.  

Before you know its early morning.  

And here is how it goes. You leave the diner, still arm in arm, and make your way out into the morning. The glitter on your couture dress sheen in the sun and your limbs feel heavy with sleep deprivation. He manages to get you both a taxi and you make your way across New York City. His hand is warm in yours. You nearly fall asleep against his shoulder. The sky is a clear blue outside and the sun is beaming, and the taxi driver is humming along to the radio. It is Sunday and outside people are eating breakfast alfresco, enjoying time with their loved ones. The whole world seems to be smiling with you today.

And then you are at his apartment. He helps you out of your dress and you help him with the many buttons in his dress shirt. Body’s exhausted you both lay down in his bed, naked naked as the day you were born.

And this is how it goes. He holds you. He says softly, voice hardly more than a whisper “I won’t be a coward this time, promise. Promise I won’t leave again. Not unless you ask me to”. You turn around and you kiss him. And you trust him. And you fall asleep holding each other.  

***

This is a repost from my previous blog.

#timothee chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee x you #timothee x y/n #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #timothée x reader #timothée x you #timothée chalamet

[mrsalwayswrite]

Perfect (Richard Winters x Reader)

So this lovely piece can be read as a stand-alone or a sequel to The Benefits of Paperwork. 

As always, can be read as reader or OFC. 

A huge thanks to @happyveday​ for the encouragement and idea. I hope this meets your expectations. 

Warnings: Fluff and feels. I think I have a cavity now. 

Words: 1200

"The world's greatest uncle is finally here!" 

 Winters looked up from staring at his hands, sitting outside of the delivery room. He had been awake almost thirty-six hours and suddenly felt every minute of it. His clothes were dirty and rumpled but he did not care. 

 Nixon stopped in front of him, eyebrows scrunched together. "You look terrible."

 That got a huff of a laugh out of the redhead. "Yeah, it's been a long day."

 "Uh huh. You're a proud father now! Are you going to tell me if I have a niece or nephew?"

 "Nephew."

 "I fucking-" Nixon started to exclaim in his excitement before a loud shushing came from a nearby nurse, "-ah, I bloody knew it!" 

 Winters just shook his head at his friend. His own excitement bubbled under his skin like a geyser waiting to explode. He could not wait to introduce his best friend to his son. 

 "So, is he a Lewis or Nixon?"

 "She gets to make the final decision. We've talked but she gets to choose."

 Nixon stared at him, mouth gaping slightly before he recovered from his surprise. "You're letting your wife choose the name of your first born son? She knows about the deal right? She knows-"

 "Yes, you have told her multiple times about how you knew we were going to marry and this was your demand for your infallible insight. I am sure she is taking it into great consideration. Also she did just spend eighteen hours in labor."

 Nixon did not seem convinced but nodded. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

 "I was sent out for food." He gestured to the brown paper bag next to him with a bakery's logo on it. "A nurse is checking on her right now."

 "Ah." Nixon sat down next to Winters. "How does it feel?"

 "What?"

 "Being a father."

 "I've only been a father for," he checked his watch, "going on four hours now."

 "Alright, smart-ass."

 Winters sighed, a goofy smile growing on his lips and his eyes twinkling. "I just met him and I already love him. I thought it would be hard to love anyone else as much as I love my wife but from the moment the doctor handed him to me...Nix, I would do anything for him."

 "I know. That means a lot too. The love you have for her...I know I am not the only one to compare it to a fairy-tale."

 The door beside them opened and a nurse stepped out, her white uniform crisp and practically blinding. "I am finished if you would like to join her, Mr. Winters, she is awake. I'll bring the paperwork in a moment."

 "Thank you." Both men stood and walked into the delivery room. 

 A single bed was in the middle of the room, stark white walls making the room seem unnaturally bright. 

 Winters could not help but stare at the beautiful woman in the bed, even with her hair a mess and exhaustion clearly etched on her face, she glowed. How had he ever deserved such a strong, intelligent, gorgeous woman? She meant the world to him and he made sure to remind her everyday how much he loved her.

 Immediately, he went to the side of her bed, depositing the bakery bag on the side table and pressed a kiss to her temple. His eyes drifted to the bundle in her arms and his heart swelled. There lay his son...his child...healthy and perfect. What more could he ask for? 

 His baby lips were pursed in his sleep, bright blue eyes hidden for the moment. A faint dusting of hair could be seen under the cap the nurse had put to help keep him warm. He was perfect. 

 "How are you feeling, darling?" 

 "Tired but that's not unexpected." She smiled at Winters before looking over at Nixon standing at the end of the bed. "Lewis, it's good to see you."

 He winked at her. "You're still lovely as ever. Are you sure you want to stay married to this redheaded Eskimo?"

 She chuckled, "I'm sure. Here, Dick." She lifted up the bundle and moved their son into his father's arms. 

 "So...what did you decide?" Nixon hedged, eyes bouncing back and forth between the two new parents. 

 She looked from Nixon to Winters and back. "Herbert. Herbert Winters."

 Utter silence filled the room. You could hear a pin drop. 

 Then Nixon exploded. 

 "WHAT?! YOU'RE LETTING HER NAME YOUR SON AFTER THAT BASTARD?"

 "Herbert is my grandfather's name." She quietly said, raising a single eyebrow in challenge. 

 "Shit," Nixon stopped and rubbed the back of his neck, "sorry, that's...that's a good family name."

 Winters caught his wife's eye and gave the briefest of winks when Nix was looking down at the baby. 

 Nixon gazed at the baby boy, a soft smile on his face. "He is cute I guess. Hopefully he won't be a redhead like his father. Nothing but trouble those boys are."

 The nurse stepped back in. "Here is your copy of the birth certificate. Anything else I can get any of you right now? "

 "No, thank you, Nurse." Winters said, "Nix, can you grab that?"

 The nurse handed the paper to Nixon then looked back at the happy parents. "I'll be back to check on you in two hours unless you need me sooner."

 Winters nodded but his focus was on his friend's face. Nixon gaped at the form in his hand, unable to resist the temptation of looking at it. 

 "You alright there, Nix?"

 The ex-intelligence officer's eyes shifted from the paper to meet his best friend's, tears threatening to slip out. "You did it, you...you actually did it."

 Winters just smiled, slowly rocking his sleeping son in his arms. He knew what the form said. His wife had been the one to suggest it and how could he say no?

 "Lewis Davis Winters." Nixon read aloud softly, almost reverently.  

 "He's got my middle name. Besides, he should have the same name as his godfather, right?"

 Winters did not think Nixon's eyes could get any bigger but somehow they managed to. Any other time he would have laughed at how flabbergasted his best friend looked. 

 Nixon stepped closer, gently touching his godson's curled fist with heart eyes. "You and me little Lew, we're going to get into so much trouble together. I promise to teach you all the fun things your parents say no too." He cooed out, unable to escape the draw of the new baby. 

 Winters met his wife's eyes, love and adoration flowing between them. They had survived war together, a source of comfort actively sought for during the turmoil. As soon as they returned back to the states, Winters had dropped onto one knee before her. They had a small wedding and honeymooned in New York City. Sure they had their ups and downs but underneath it all was a devotion and affection to rival any love story. 

 Standing here now with his beautiful wife smiling softly at him, their new baby in his arms and his best friend to support them, it was all worth it. Nothing could be more perfect than this moment for him. 

#easy company #band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #richard winters #richard winters x reader #richard winters x ofc #lewis nixon #reader insert #baby daddy #mzwrites

[lukneetoonz]

LITTLE GODDESS PART V

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Summary: As a newer goddess you think back on how you got to where you are; in the throne room sitting next to your husband, the god of the dead.

Pairing: Hades!Aizawa x fem!reader, DadNyx!Izuku x fem!reader platonic, MomSelene!Uraraka x reader platonic.

Warnings: Make out 👀, mentions of drinking, mentions of blacking out, oh and in this I made Dabi a todoroki by making him ares so he's connected in that sense.

Word Count: 2,191

A/N: I feel like- shit that I've been MIA, but I really have had major struggles with my mental and physical health. I beg you, if you’re struggling with something mentally, reach out to someone. Even if you're scared please do, because it’s never easy to deal with it on your own. My dms are always open, and I don’t care if we never talked before, please don’t hesitate to dm me.

NO ARTWORK POSTED IS MY OWN AND IS FOUND ON PINTEREST

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Let’s retrace your steps, you went to the party, you talked to Denki, got your drink spilled on you, went to the bathroom, then- nothing. You remember nothing else. There was no way you could have got that drunk, right? Taking a bite out of the godly crepes that Aizawa made, you snuck a peak at him, blushing because he was perfect. Oh how lucky you were that he couldn’t hear your heartbeat or how it was rapidly beating against your chest. Maybe he did and was being polite and ignoring it….

“Is the headache any better Y/N?” Meeting Aizawa’s concerned eyes, you smiled softly and nodded. “Yes, thank you for the coffee and medicine. You’re a lifesaver.” Aizawa tsked at your proclamation, waving you off, “I’ve just had a few too many hangovers myself to know how much it sucks.” The corners of your lips quirked upward as you nodded, this felt so- natural… maybe a little too natural. “I can give you a ride home little goddess… if you’d like one”

Contemplating the king's words, you smiled and nodded, “I’d like that very much.”

:readmore:

Aizawa tried his best not to blush at your smile that was directed towards him, “I-you can wear one of my shirts and sweatpants if it’s more comfortable? I don’t have any female clothes… I apologise” Why was it that finding out he had no female clothes made you happy? Maybe it’s because of the hint behind it, that he has no female clothes because there are no females over at his house. Shaking your head, you smiled at him, “It’s fine, it’s not your fault. But I could use a jacket or sweatshirt… it’s rather chilly here”

Chuckling, Aizawa nodded and leaned on his palm looking at you, “This is the underworld… Plus I may be friends with Hizashi but I don’t think I could handle him around so much to help bring sun here.” Giggling You smiled at the man, goosebumps running over your skin as a shiver went down your spine. “I rather favor the moon myself” Bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you blushed at your own comment about your mother, thinking how you probably sounded silly. But, amidst Your self doubt, the ravenette laughed, almost a sparkle in his eye. “I think that’s a rather biased opinion, wouldn’t you agree?”

Laughing, you blushed as you nodded, “I think I should be allowed the bias, wouldn’t you agree?” Aizawa shrugged slightly, a teasing look in his eyes as both elbows laid in front of him, letting him lean forward, “You don’t see my favouring Titans now do you? And I am the son of two of them.”

A giggle left your lips as you brought the warm coffee up to your lips and took a sip, “Hmm… touché”. Aizawa sighed in content before slightly frowning as he remembered you can’t stay here… you have a life beyond this place. You didn’t belong being trapped here with him. You deserved so much more in his eyes. Noticing his cold, yet warm stare, you tilted your head as you met his eyes. “Shouta?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, he blushed slightly before coughing to try and cover up his embarrassment, “I- sorry… I was just daydreaming I guess.” Cracking a slight smile, you could see his teeth that were just begging to be shown on full display, but of course they never were. The thought alone of being able to make shouta smile like that, made your heart warm in funny ways. They always did say that god's feel stronger emotions than any other being.

They love faster. They love harder. But they also fight harsher. They also hold grudges the longest. And they also feel the worst of pains. Sighing, you just finished your coffee before a shiver ran down your spine. “Ah, that’s right, you need something warmer” Blushing at his own forgetful mind, shouta walked until he was out of the kitchen and rummaging through his closet for something warm.

*•*

Being left alone gave you more time to look around and appreciate every little detail of the king's house. Taking in the details you started thinking of what it would be like to live in such a house, to dance around on the marble floors. To have x amount of bedrooms to choose from. To sit in the study with the king himself while reading a book that can’t even be found anymore…

“I got you a crew neck sweater of mi- Y/N?” You jumped slightly as you didn’t even hear him coming, blushing you moved to cover your face. “Oh gods- I’m sorry! I was lost in thought.” Smiling at your flustered face, Aizawa moved to stand in front of you, grabbing your wrists gently to tear your hands away from your beautiful face. “Don’t Apologize little goddess, wasn’t I just the one spacing out?”

Peeking up at him, you automatically loosened up from his soft look and touch. Nodding softly to agree, because you couldn’t trust your voice to be straight. There was something so peaceful about the silence that surrounded the both of you, it was so quiet that all that filled the air was your own breaths. In such a trance, neither of you noticed how close your faces had got, not until your lips feathered against each other.

Eyes now only focusing on the temptation of kissing the king's lips, to taste him, to devour him. Your rational side flew out the window as you stood straighter and finally gave into your desires. Shouta wasted no time kissing you back, large hands cupping your cheeks as your own gripped onto his robe. If there was any plus side to how gods feel, it was that they wasted no time in showing the passion you were bound to create.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, almost asking if he could explore you more, and how could you say no to a king? Lips parting, your tongues moved one another as shouta got more dominant with his movements. Hands moved from your face to cup your ass and place you on the counter, your legs spreading to let him be as close to your body as possible. The simple motion was graciously accepted by the man as he held your waist to hold your body against his. Breaking away slightly for air, you both panted as you stared at each other, almost as if you were both giving the other an out if they didn’t want to do this.

Neither of you spoke as Aizawa dipped down once more to capture your lips in a much slower, but much sweeter embrace. Your hands crept up to cup his jaw, just holding him there as this kiss spilled more feelings then the one before. No longer did you need that sweater as your body was hotter than it ever was, not to mention how the Male in front of you was warm and welcoming. Against his better judgment, Aizawa pulled away once again, letting his eyes close as he rested his forehead on your own, lips grazing your nose in a loving manner.

Taking this time, you observed the man up close for the first time, taken away with how truly beautiful he was. Fingers gently brushing the scar that rested on his cheek bone, mouth forming into a frown as you thought about what could have happened. Almost like reading your mind, his deep voice broke the silence, “I got it from the war… There's many more where that came from, but that’s the price for how we live today.”

Dark eyes finally opening to meet your own that were full of warmth and comfort, Aizawa merely moved to hug you close as his head nuzzled itself into your shoulder. Something so soft coming from the one they deemed the scariest god, was truly surprising, but you didn’t let it sway your motions as you hugged him back, one hand finding itself in his hair. “I hope you don’t think of me as a man who does this with just anyone… I would very much like to take you out tonight if you’d all-”

“I would love to Shouta… a-and I don’t. Think like that I mean… I hope you don’t think I’m a goddess who just kisses men whenever she wants.” Your voice Interrupting his own, but it wasn’t unwanted. As soon as your voice disappeared from the air, Aizawa was already answering. “I don’t. I think rather highly of you little goddess. Higher than most.”

Smiling at his comment, you moved your head so you could press your lips to his temple softly. Leaning your head on his, you let your eyes close to enjoy this moment, wanting to bask in all its glory before it inevitably had to end.

*•*

As you thought, the moment wasn’t meant to last forever. Interrupted by a loud bang that represented a door being kicked down, followed by a loud, “I AM HERE FOR FAMILY LUNCH!”. Groaning, Aizawa quickly picked you up off the counter and placed you back onto your own two feet. It would have seemed rude if he hadn’t quickly placed the sweater on your figure and stood in front of you, wanting to hide you from his annoying brother.

Trying your best to stay hidden behind the dark haired man, you both could hear the loud stomps coming towards you. Quickly thinking, Aizawa turned around to face you, giving you an apologetic look as he did, “Trust me I’m saving us both from a lot of trouble” and before you could respond, lips met your forehead in a rushed kiss and you were suddenly back at your house. Of course he fizzed you back… come to think of it, you could have also done that this morning… oh well you made out with him because you had a dumb moment.

Back in the underworld, blonde tufts came into view and Aizawa gave him a bored expression, “and you barged into my house, because?”. Toshinori just laughed before ruffling Aizawas hair, “Older brother, have you forgotten what day it is? Rei sent me just to pick you up since we all know you like to skip or show up late. So for now I’m your chauffeur for family lunches!” With his eye twitching, Aizawa knew he wasn’t getting out of this. Grumbling, he walked past his brother and quickly changed into a more casual outfit of a black turtleneck and dark grey dress pants.

Without even stopping for toshinori, Aizawa walked past him just mumbling about how no one has boundaries or respect. The blonde merely laughed before walking with him to the car, but of course not mentioning the heels he saw next to his brother's front door.

The drive was nothing but quiet and longer than it seemed. Aizawa had no intention of making small talk with his brother, since he had rudely interrupted his morning. His morning with the goddess that seemed to have latched onto his heart, with no intention of letting go, not that he minded. As they arrived at the glorious manner of the golden royals of Olympus, they were greeted with a yelling Touya- no Dabi now since he wanted to separate himself from his father as much as he could.

Eyebrows furrowing, Aizawa could See Natsou already with a glass of wine, laughing at how his father tried dodging his brother's angry attacks. Shouto on the other hand, was making deadly knives and giving them to his brother to help him. Fuyumi was trying to stop them both as rei just smoked a cigarette on the side, looking at the men with an unamused expression. Fuyumi quickly thought of a plan to stop the god of war, aka her brother, from killing her father. Of course she was able to stop them since she was the goddess of war, her brother's counterpart.

Once it was all calmed, the brothers got out of the car, preparing themselves for an interesting family lunch.

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Taglist; @present-mel

@maya-ngpirit

@a-match-into-themoon

@nhievyenne

@negansnumberonewifie

@darkqueenhyde

@minfani

@creolemimi

@lhcartoonist

@fairy-inthegarden

@taylor----wonderland

@the-british-koala

@leeeah-loooser

@vinaios

@astralvante

#mha fanfiction #mha imagines #ely here #mha aizawa #aizawa imagine #aizawa x reader #bnha shouta aizawa #shouta aizawa headcanons #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa fanfiction #littlegoddessfic #mha toshinori #mha dabi #mha shoto todoroki #mha fuyumi #mha enji #mha rei #mha natsuo #im back lovelies

[themadauthorshatter]

Valentine's Day is over, but there's always a chance to be cupid.

I've already made two posts on this, so let's get the third rolling!!!!!

Here's what would happen if Cal was betrothed to Iris headcanons/story Part 3!!!!!

There are a lot of cameras on the way home, and Cal wants to break every single one after being exposed to the flashing lights and yelled at by interviewers.

It's silent when they actually get on the road home and head back, but there is high tension between the father and son.

"Just say it."

"Say what?"

"Don't try to keep it in, Cal. Just say it."

(After a minute of silence.) "There are at least ten ways this can go badly. We can't let our guard down."

"I imagine one of those ways involves those two chaining us to canons and throwing us in the ocean."

(Cue Cal's serious WTF face and Tiberias snickering because he thinks it's funny, even though there is truth in Cal's words.)

"I'm being serious."

"I know." (Tibe's smirk drops and he looks out the window.) "At least the war is over."

(Cal also looks out the window.) "Why did it take so long?"

(He's mostly talking to himslef more than anything because he already knows that Reds outnumber Silvers.)

There's a lot of fanfare when they get back to White Fire, and Cal is quick to escape to change his clothes, as he has a little bit of time to rest before it's back on schedule, with Maven following, after the cameras turn to Tibe instead.

The two talk and Maven admits that Cal probably has it lucky, since Iris seems to part crowds like their the Red Sea.

Cal ponders that Evangeline can do the same, but Maven reminds him of House Samos's reputation.

With Orrec and Iris, the two are approached by Elara, who is miraculous at hiding her disdain towards them both("Filthy Lakelanders in MY palace. Who does my husband think he is?"). Orrec plays nice until he sees and hears his daughter wince at his side.

He asks where Tibe is, to which the Nortan king arrives, fashionably late, and then, very cleverly, I must say, tells Iris to look for her betrothed, as it's best the two get to know each other before their wedding, get comfortable with each other's presence, if you will.

She nods and, after a quick fatherly hand rub from Orrec, leaves the adults to tear each other to ribbons- I MEAN... Converse pleasantly.😁

Tibe notes that Iris doesn't talk much, to which Orrec says he shouldn't be worried, as she is quite outspoken, and reminds him that she already VERBALLY swore herself to Cal.

While Tibe talks, Elara tries taking a peek into Orrec's head, but can only read "up front" thoughts and nothing deeper. Tibe brings up a very darkly colored ring on Orrec's finger, one that seems to be too common for a wedding band or a King to wear.

Orrec holds it up with a smirk and tells them it's "just a bit of silent stone to repel any whispering insects that try to puppeteer them." Elara asks if he's had experience, or any "trouble" with whispers.

"We used to. My men know how to deal with your kind, Queen Elara."

With a sudden chill, Elara and Tibe don't entertain what that means as Orrec asks Tibe to show him around, as he and Iris will be staying for a while.

Tibe obviously agrees.

Elara watches them go and SEETHES as she realizes the slight of hand trick that Orrec pulled with Iris.

I won't give it away, but the only hints I'll give you are they've had experience with whispers, they've erased whispers in the Lakelands, regardless of their House, and the amount of silent stone in Orrec's ring will keep Elara out of his head.

Speakimg of which, Iris wanders around for a bit, unable to find her absent, and undutiful in her opinion, betrothed. She finds herself near the garage and hears more classic rock music; it's blaring this time because she can hear the clanging of tools and metal.

She lets herself in and sees Cal working on the transport like before, more efficiently, I should add, now that he's not being a rebellious teenager.

Here is their conversation:

"Don't you have any Reds that can do that instead?"

(Cal yelps as he jumps and bangs his head on the part of the transport he'd been working on; he didn't really hear the door and got jumpscared.)

"My colors, I'm sorry! Are you alright?"

(While rolling out from under the transport and holding his forehead.) "It's-It's fine, don't worry." (Stands and gives a bow, despite the pain of headbutting what is a ton or two of metal.) "Lady Iris. My warmest welcome to Norta."

(Iris curtsies back, very tense because Cal is underdressed for his first official meeting with Iris and he isn't as threatening as she'd seen back near the Choke. She's also inwardly cringing at the pun.) "Prince Tiberias Calore VII, I presume?"

"Please, call me Cal, Lady Iris."

"Cal. Just call me Iris, then, considering the circumstances."

(Cal deflates and cleans his hands off with a rag, some unease growing on his face.) "Don't remind me."

(Iris takes note of the scars on Cal's arms and the back of his neck before she turns her attention to the transport.) "Is this what you Nortan people do for leisure? Lie under a three ton transport and hope for the best?"

(Cal turns back around and follows her gaze, a smirk growing on his face.) "I wasn't just "lying" there. And it's just under two tons. Good guess, though."

(Iris gives him WTF eye this time as Cal picks up some tools and rests back on the board he he was.)

"You're not REALLY going to go back underneath this, are you?"

"Well, someone has to fix it. It's been leaking oil. I'LL be fine, but I still don't want to take the chance."

(Iris hugs herself as she eyes the jacks holding up the transport and sees Cal working like nothing's wrong.) "And in the event this transport were to... fall on you?"

(Cal's turn to give WTF eyes as he rolls back out from under the transport. Iris is still standing straight and hugging herself out of sheer nerve, but Cal gestures toward the tool box on the table.) "Sorry, do you think you can stand over there? In case I might need something?"

"As in you need another hot on the head?" (Iris still stands by the tool box, just in case; temptation, temptation, temptation to end this betrothal and play it off like an accident on either side.)

(Cal rolls back out and sits up.) "Are you underestimating my ability to build, Iris?"

(Iris holds her hands above her lap, that one formal way princesses hold their hands, and gives a very "don't get ahead of yourself" look to Cal.) "I am starting to believe you are tempting fate, and trying to take the easiest and worst way out of our arrangement."

"Just because I didn't agree with this doesn't mean I won't be going through with it."

(Iris pulls him back out from under the transport and stares him dead in the eye.) "How coincidental that I feel the same way. Allow to make one thing clear, Tiberias: Our houses and countries may be allying, but I will not hesitate to wipe you and the entire Calore AND Merandus lines off the face of the Earth."

(Cal drops the reluctant groom-to-be and sits up, eyes burning through Iris aas he smirks again.) "It's funny you should bring that up, Iris." (The smirk drops.) "I was just about to say the same thing."

"You would really restart this entire war? Are the lives of your drunk father and bastard brother worth more death?"

"I imagine your father's done well in battle, at least enough to stop looking over his shoulder. He may be out of his territory, but I know how to deal with a man like him. And a lady like you."

"Is that a threat?"

"Try me."

The two have a glare down before Iris rises and walks away, warning to Cal to not challenge her again, if he knows what's good for him. And if he doesn't want to have any regrets about their betrothal.

Cal watches her leave and goes back to fixing the transport, slowly realizing that he might be in a similar relationship as Tibe and Elara, which he isn't too happy about. Sure, the same might've happened with Evangeline, but Iris is a blank slate and already they want to kill each other. I don't know about you, but I'd be pretty sad if THIS was the start of my marriage.

Nevertheless, a Queestrial is held FOR MAVEN, and Cal and Iris watch with the family, including Orrec.

NONE of the girls are happy Cal already has Iris with him, but they're not going to do anything because the war's over and they know NOTHING about Cal's betrothed.

Evangeline is especially pissed, giving Iris the same treatment as Mare, but Iris sighs and replies BACK to her this:

"How sad the only thing you people see in someone is how they can be used to your advantage. How sad, indeed."

This shuts Evangeline right up.

The betrothal to both brothers occurs, though Cal and Iris have another glare down before turning to their seats.

Cal notes the tattoo on her back and wonders when she got that done.

Nevertheless, there's barley opposition, because the war's over, but Volo Samos is still pissed, even though he can't argue with the results.

The night ends with Orrec escorting Iris to her room after all is said and done in the banquet. Maven muses that he and Cal sure are lucky, even though this is not what was probably meant to happen.

In his room, Cal hopes that things can at least get better between him and Iris. This may be a political marriage, but if Orrec and Cenra found love, why can't Cal and Iris?

And this has been Part 3! Kind of fanfic-y than parts 1 and 2, but I still hope you guys enjoyed

#red queen #cal calore #iris cygnet #maven calore #tiberias calore vi #orrec cygnet #elara merandus