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Tempered in the Fire - Part Four

See the Series Masterlist for complete content warnings, historical event information, and series notes.

Cross-posted to AO3. Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications for updates.

Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F! Reader

Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

Word Count: 7.1k

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI (chapter; series)

Content (chapter specific): Blacksmith!Din AU; historical setting; angst; smut; violence; unprotected PiV sex; oral sex (F and M receiving); racist (anti-Traveller) language; period-typical misogyny; references to domestic physical, emotional, and sexual abuse; references to family loss and death; abusive and derogatory language; strong language.

Translations for the Irish language provided throughout as needed, though I have not translated mo chuisle as a term of endearment (it literally means 'my pulse', more usually used as 'my love').

A/N: I am so, so sorry for the gap between chapters here and am grateful to the readers who've been so patient! Thanks, too, as ever, to @paulmescal-s for working through the gnarlier bits of this story with me and being such a great sort-of beta.

In the future, after many years had passed, you would find it hard to remember exactly how much time you had together, at the forge, before the hard reality came knocking at your door. Those days and nights of domestic happiness could never have been enough.

By day, you keep house, sew, and bake. Each morning, you do some basic reading and writing with Gró, or take the little boy around the hedgerows and trees at the boundary of the property, teaching him the names of plants and animals. Din had explained your presence to him, and he beamed every morning when his father carried him down the attic ladder and he saw you again.

Din, so used to being the lone adult in the household, insists on contributing to the routine: cooking, cleaning, setting the fire. It feels so natural, so right - and yet a blade dangles over this strange little found family, ready to drop at any moment.

Each evening, Din readies Gró for bed, sometimes bathing his son in a tin bath in front of the fire while you tell him a story by way of distraction. It has quickly become a highlight of the blacksmith’s day, these moments where he watches as you make his beloved boy squeal with laughter, or hold his rapt attention with the twists and turns of a tale.

They were content and settled, this clan of two. But Din couldn’t help the daydreams about a clan of three that sometimes flashed through his mind.

He took every opportunity he could to touch you throughout the day. A squeeze of your hand at the breakfast table as Gró drained his cup of milk. A discreet kiss to your cheek as he made his way into the forge for his morning’s work. A gentle caress of your waist as he passes you while you’re laying the table for the main meal, taken in the middle of the day.

With Gró settled and asleep in the loft, the two of you moved more hastily in the evenings, now, to sort the things for breakfast and smother the fire. The sooner the chores were done, after all, the sooner you could shed your clothes and climb into his bed together.

The nervous caution of your first time together soon dissipated as you grew more familiar with each other, more in tune with each other’s needs and desires. For all his inexperience and your difficult past, the two of you are perfectly-matched lovers. The feeling of Din’s broad body on yours, glistening with sweat, begins to exorcise the demons of the past. You ride him on top, one hand intertwined with his as he squeezes your breasts and watches you come. He slips his cock inside you one morning as you’re lying together, your back pressed to his chest, and fucks you slowly and carefully until you’re both coming quietly, mouths pushed into the pillows. One evening, he was even too impatient for bed, hitching up your skirts and taking you over the heavy wooden table, hand pressed against your mouth as you whined against his palm.

“I want to learn you,” Din whispered one night, easing your long shift off so that you were completely bare, lying alongside his own naked body.

You traced your fingertips along the softness of his lips. “Learn me?”

His strong, clever fingers roamed over you as he nodded. “Learn you. Know you, all of you.” He squeezed your tits softly, sucking gently on each nipple. “Commit you to memory. How you feel, how you fit together. Do you like this?”

You wound your fingers through his messy curls and nodded. He followed the curves of your body with his broad, calloused hands, moving over your waist and holding your hips firmly as he reverently kissed your belly. He took his time, hands memorising the exact shape and volume of your form.

“You are a beauty, mo chuisle,” he murmured, dark eyes looking up at you from between your legs. “So lovely and soft and warm.”

His fingers pressed into the meat of your thighs as he mapped you out, and you felt the wetness between your legs as your hips bucked upwards, legs parting instinctively.

“Can I…see, mo chuisle?” Din’s palm grazed over the hair covering your mound. “See you…see you here?”

“Of course, my darling.” You opened your legs wider for him, watching as his eyes grew round in awe, before darkening with lust. He reached for his cock, whimpering a little as he stroked himself.

“That’s beautiful.” He had shifted his head closer to your centre, his expression a little bashful. “I’d like to kiss you here. Would that be alright?”

“Please, darling,” you hissed. “Put your mouth on me.”

“I’ve never…” He exhaled nervously as he settled between your legs, fingers already playing with your wet folds. “Never even thought of this, but…”

You ran your fingers through his hair and smiled, understanding what he was trying to say. “You’ll know just what to do, love.”

This was new to you, too, though you had heard of men doing it to their girls, especially if they were not meant to lie together. Your friend Mary had, just prior to her marriage, confided in you that she and her betrothed had found a way to sate their passions without the risk of her falling pregnant before the wedding.

“The mouth is a great thing, all the same,” she’d said, dangling her bare feet in the cool water of the local river on a warm summer day as the two of you lazed on the grassy bank, skirts hitched to your knees. She had explained the mechanisms of it to you, chuckling at your sceptical expression.

“Just wait, girleen. Just you wait and see.”

Now Din’s soft, plush lips were pressed against your slit, tongue tasting your wetness, and you finally understood what she meant. It was heaven: the way his lips brushed against the little bundle of nerves and made your whole body convulse with pleasure, the sensation of his patchy beard against your thighs, how he began to slip his tongue in and out of you. His grunts and moans vibrated against your core and you came hard against him, giggling when you saw the slick glistening all over his smiling face.

In the nights to come, you returned the favour, languidly sucking and licking at his perfect cock while he held your head in place with his broad hands, hips bucking up against you as he groaned with sheer pleasure.

You paused, reminding him that he needed to be quieter, before slipping his cock between your lips again. “‘S not my fault, mo chuisle,” he panted, eyes locked on how his hard length disappeared into your pretty mouth. “Feels far too good.”

As he came in your mouth for the first time, you’d looked up at his beautiful face, release and pleasure and affection written on every part of it, and begged whatever deity might listen to let you stay here forever.

Din is more comfortable showing his feelings through actions, physical gestures, than words. Little by little, though, you notice him opening up more, saying more. Not that he’d ever be what you could consider a talker.

One night, nestled together, you ask him to tell you about himself.

"I want to hear your story, Din.” The comforting caress of your hand against his face makes him smile softly.

"I don’t know what there is to tell.”

You cuddle closer to him, enjoying the feel of his solid frame against you. “Well, I don’t know much about your family, for one…”

He shifts a little in bed and for an instant you worry you have overstepped the mark.

“It’s not a very happy story, mo chuisle, but if you want to know…”

A kiss to the expanse of broad, tanned chest exposed at the neck of his nightshirt. “I want to know. If you want to tell me.”

He finds your hand and presses it to his chest, seeking reassurance in your familiar touch, and taking a deep breath before he begins to whisper his story to you.

"I’m a travelling person. I don’t know where I was born - other than that it was probably somewhere towards the west of the country, on a campsite. I have - had - an older sister, a younger brother. Lived off the money from whatever work my father could get - fixing pots and pans, mostly, sometimes farm labour, depending on the season.”

"A hard living.”

He nods, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. “Hard, but loving.” He inhales deeply, again, before continuing.

"We were never really wanted anywhere. Moved on, camps disturbed, even attacked, sometimes. We learned quickly how to hide at the first sign of trouble.”

He closes his eyes, a flash of sorrow crossing his beautiful features in the moonlight coming through the little cottage window. “I suppose that’s what saved me.”

For a few moments, Din is quiet.

“We had camped on land that was part of some big estate, belonging to Lord somebody or other. The usual situation. My father and a couple of our other men went fishing the first day and poaching the first night, to get us some food. I can still see the scales of the big salmon he caught, glinting in the firelight as my mother cleaned it.”

"A feast.”

He nods, a little smile on his lips at the memory, before his features darken again. “But not our feast to take. The lord’s feast, by virtue of the land being given to him by some far-off king.” He shakes his head ruefully.

"I was coming back with some cans of water the next morning when I heard shouting. The glimpses of red moving towards the camp - the yeomanry. The landlord set them on us, and they gave us no quarter. When some of our men and women tried to defend our few possessions, they - well, they turned violent.”

You hold him close, feeling the anguish in his breathing.

"I saw my father fall, killed by a blow to the head with the butt of a yeoman’s musket. My mother caught a glimpse of me, roared at me to run, to hide, and to my eternal shame I did just that. I didn’t go to them. I ran.”

"She wanted you to live, Din. She was saving you.”

He swallows hard, audible in the stillness of the night.

“The local priest found me a couple of days later, still carrying the empty can. I’d hidden in a ditch, ate blackberries to survive. He arranged for the local blacksmith and his wife to take me in, train me as an apprentice.”

He pauses again. You realise this is the most he’s probably ever said to you in one go.

“When the time came, I took to the roads myself, honing the craft before I could set up on my own. I wasn’t long back when the priest called, saying a cousin in the east knew of an empty forge in need of a good smith.”

"And that’s how you came here?”

Din nods. “That’s how I came to be here.”

You venture a sensitive question. “Din… what happened to your mother, your siblings?”

"Poorhouse. No other choice.”

Silence.

"I didn’t know where they’d gone. So much sickness in those godforsaken places…”

Another pause.

”My brother died first. Then my sister, and then my mother.”

Your voice is tiny, barely a whisper. “Did you… see them?”

"By the time we found out what poorhouse they were in… it was too late.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you do your best not to let them fall. This is his story, his grief, not yours. Instead, you shift up the bed a little, still holding his warm body close, and lean in to caress and kiss him.

There’s a wet, salty tang on his cheek. You kiss away the silent tear.

For a moment, you think of what Din told you about how he came to adopt Gró: his unwillingness to let the boy go to a poorhouse or orphanage, his desire to protect and train the child, just as he himself had once been taken in by the smith and his wife. Just as he, himself, had once been a lost little boy.

You press your lips to the messy curls at the crown of his head.

There are times when you almost forget that you’re not really meant to be here, so natural and right does it feel. And then you are jolted back, reluctantly, to a reality where you are still technically the wife of a violent, cruel man who could claim you at any moment.

That afternoon, you hear the sound of horses approaching and immediately disappear up to the loft, as usual, until you know it’s safe to descend. You listen attentively as the door opens and breathe a sigh of relief when Gró’s delighted little voice greets Peigí, here on one of her regular visits. You hear Din enter the cottage from the forge, chatting companionably to his old friend, and make for the ladder.

You’re a few rungs down when you hear a second, less familiar voice.

“So where is she, Din?”

He stutters, the panic evident in his voice. You wonder if you can make it back to the loft.

Too late.

Father Carthy hears the sound of your skirts and turns, greeting you by name in grave tones.

“You might as well come and join us, my child.”

Peigí’s gaze is apologetic as you climb down the ladder and move to join the little cluster of adults, Din having sent Gró outside to play. You stand beside him, arms wrapped protectively over your body, resisting the urge to reach for his hand.

“I’m sorry, girleen.” Peigí wrings her hands, expression anxious and sorrowful. “Father came to see me today before I left for the forge, I couldn’t turn him out.”

You meet Father Carthy’s eyes with a look of defiance, straightening yourself to your full height, silently demanding an explanation.

“I am not here to force you home. I know your…situation.” The priest exhales deeply, fingers fiddling with the little black buttons on his long robes. “And between us and the wall and the Lord Almighty, if that kind of cruelty and abandonment was grounds for annulment… well.”

The back of Din’s hand brushes almost imperceptibly against yours.

“But you are still a married woman, and…” The cleric sighs apologetically. “My child, you were seen here. Out in the back field, with the boy. And if I’ve heard it, and people are talking, then it’s only a matter of time before -”

You interject in a low, steady voice. “Before Searlas finds out where I am.”

The priest nods sadly. “That’s why I came here. Why I came with Peigí, specifically. We… have a suggestion.” He looks expectantly at Peigí, who offers you an encouraging smile as she nods in agreement.

“My sister, Rosie - she’s in the next county, big farm, spinster, plenty of space and could do with the help. You could stay there for a bit and then come home to your own place - until they change the garrison, surely, or that wastrel Searlas can be warned off…”

You bite your lip, mulling it over.

“I mean, maybe he’s not going to come looking for me.”

Peigí and the priest exchange a concerned glance. The cleric clasps his hands together and looks at you sympathetically.

“The thing is… I have eyes and ears, as it were, in the barracks, and in the public house preferred by the garrison. I didn’t want to tell you, my dear, in case it frightened you - but he has been talking about you.” He purses his lips, almost afraid to tell you the truth. “He has openly talked about finding you, about… claiming you. And if he finds out you’ve been staying here, with a bachelor - think of your reputation, my child.”

You let out an involuntary sob, and Peigí places a comforting hand on your arm. “I think you need to be gone tomorrow, girleen. At the latest. I’m sorry, I know it’s awful quick, but…”

For the first time, Din speaks. His voice is low, controlled, serious.

“But you - I mean, she must be kept safe.” He looks at you, dark eyes full of care and concern. “If you want to stay, I will keep you safe. I promise.”

There’s nothing more you want in the world than to throw your arms around him and let him protect you, just as you long to protect him from the sorrows of his past. But his description of the day he lost his parents echoes in your mind, as does the tension that crackled in the air the day the soldiers were at the forge. You cannot - will not - bring that down on him again, nor on Gró.

“Din, if I stay here I fear that none of us will be safe. Not you, not me, not Gró. I couldn’t take that risk, my d-” You catch yourself just in time. “I mean, my dear friend.”

Peigí’s wise, inquisitive eyes dart between you and Din, and she emits a low, intrigued hum.

Din exhales in frustration. “I said I would keep you safe, here. I mean it.”

Father Carthy places a paternal hand on Din’s shoulder, expression gentle but resigned. “She’s right, Din, and you know it. Apart from her own reputation - you don’t want a troop of redcoats landing on the doorstep, do you? Think of your home, your livelihood - your son.”

The blacksmith’s expression is defiant, but you can see the reality of the situation dawning on him as the light fades from his beautiful eyes. He nods, silent, a hand twisting at the soft, worn leather of his apron.

“Early as we can after dawn tomorrow, then?” Peigí squeezes your hand as she waits for your answer.

You cannot bring yourself to look at Din as you nod in agreement.

It is still bright outside, just about, when Gró is settled for bed and the dinner things cleared and tidied away. You have packed up your saddlebags in silence, fighting the tears that threaten to fall at any moment.

Din’s broad hand reaches around your waist as he moves past you, pulling you close to him. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, kissing the delicate skin.

“Can we take a little walk, mo chuisle? Before night falls?”

You face him, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingers. “A little one. Don’t forget there’s a little boy asleep in the loft, we can’t go too far.”

He presses his lips to your fingertips before kissing you on the forehead.

You walk hand in hand in the dusk, wandering through the field at the back of the forge towards the old oak tree that stands at the boundary of the property. Din is quiet - even quieter than usual, just casting occasional glances in your direction and squeezing your hand with a gentle smile.

In the shadow of the oak, he kisses you deeply, pressing your body against the tree as he holds your face in his big, strong hands.

“I don’t want to go, Din.”

“I don’t want you to go, mo chuisle.” He kisses you again, chastely, and looks in your eyes. A question hovers on the tip of his tongue.

“Tell me, my darling.”

He holds your hands, grounding himself a little in your comforting touch.

“I want you to take Gró to Peigí’s sister’s. Please.”

Even in the half-light, he can read the shock on your face.

“Oh, Din, I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t see the two of you parted, he’d be lost without you and you without him and-”

He shakes his head firmly. “I have to keep you safe - both of you. And if a gang of redcoats turned up and it was just me and him…”

He saw his father die.

“He’s your son.”

Din nods. “He is. And I can’t leave him alone again.”

He lost his entire family.

“He might not want to leave with me.”

“I’ve explained it to him. He knows it’s not forever, he understands the reasons why.” You catch a glimpse of his smile, a beacon of hope in the twilight.

“Mo chuisle, you’re the closest thing he has to a mother in this world.”

You hold each other close through the night, afraid to sleep lest you miss a single second of this time together.

Din tucks his face into the side of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply and softly kissing the exposed skin of your shoulders. You wind your fingers through his hair, trying to memorise the rhythm of his heartbeat and his breath.

"You should sleep, mo chuisle,” he whispers against your body. “Tomorrow will be a hard one.”

"Says you,” you whisper in return, enough to elicit a muffled chuckle from the blacksmith.

He pulls away to look you in the eye, fingers mapping the shape of your features. Even in the low light, you can see how his beautiful eyes glisten: this strong and stoic man, fighting the tears that threaten to fall.

You take his hand and guide it down your body, pausing to hitch up your shift and open your legs. You inhale sharply as his fingers find your pussy, well-practiced now from nights and early mornings spent pleasuring you.

With a shift of your hips you roll onto your back, bringing Din on top of you. You pause to take in the sight, suppressing the gnawing feeling that this might well be the last time. The glint in his dark eyes. The moonlight illuminating his features. The feeling of his strong, broad body above you, perfectly positioned between your thighs.

“Make love to me, Din.”

He does so slowly, carefully, anchoring himself with one hand on your hip and the other still caressing the side of your face. You kiss as he fucks you, your whines absorbed by his soft mouth. No man had ever made you come before Din, you muse, as your cunt pulses around him and you near the edge. No man had ever made you feel like this - not just physically, but emotionally, too. Sex was presented to you before your marriage as a duty, not a pleasure. With Din, though, lovemaking felt like the most beautiful, natural expression of the spiritual connection that existed between the two of you.

You come almost simultaneously, Din groaning into your shoulder as he fills you with his seed, you biting your lip to stop yourself from crying out. Still inside you, he kisses you, over and over, your hands trailing through his wavy brown locks and fingers grazing against the rough, patchy stubble of his jaw.

For a moment, you think he’s about to say something. But all he does is kiss you.

It’s still dark outside when you wake, but there’s a comforting glow inside the cottage. You sit up in bed, turning to see Din stoking a small fire in the hearth. He has lit the lamp on the mantle, its flickering yellow flame casting light and shadow through the glass.

You dress quickly, shivering as your body adjusts to the colder air after the warmth of your shared bed, and cross the room to the little cupboard that holds the few pieces of crockery Din owns. By the time he has climbed the attic ladder to rouse the boy, you’ve set the table for a simple breakfast of bread, butter, and the last of the jam you’d brought with you.

Gró’s fair hair peeks over his father’s broad shoulder as Din carries him down the ladder. The little boy is still half-asleep, eyes still closed and nestled into the blacksmith’s frame. Din carefully slides him into his usual seat at the table, ruffling his son’s hair as Gró rubs his eyes and yawns.

“I think some bread and jam will help wake you up, hmmm?” You take a couple of slices of bread from the dish and place them on the boy’s little plate, before pushing the jar of jam in his direction. His dark eyes widen as he looks at you, astonished. This is a rare treat, indeed: usually it’s you or Din who spreads the sweet conserve on his bread, as Gró is liable to be heavy-handed. But this is not a day for rules or restrictions.

“You can have as much as you like, little one.”

The tears threaten at the sight of Gró enthusiastically scraping the jam out of the earthenware pot, a huge smile on his face as he spoons it liberally onto the soda bread. He takes a huge bite and hums delightedly, before turning to you and beaming. The little boy already has blobs of jam on his cheeks and nose, and the sight makes you chuckle.

Din returns to the main room carrying a small knapsack containing Gró’s things. He places it alongside your saddlebags before he joins the two of you at the table, giving your hand a squeeze that, you suspect, is intended to reassure him as much as it is you. He keeps a smile on his face, keeps his tone cheery and light, even as his eyes glisten with tears.

You are saddling Réaltín in the dawn light when Peigí appears down the lane, wrapped in a rough brown cloak and riding her small grey mount. She dismounts swiftly and nods to you.

“All set?”

“I think so. I left the two on their own for a little bit, just to… well, you know.” You swallow hard and look in the direction of the forge. “It’ll be hard for them.”

Peigí hums in agreement. “Aye, ’twill. But Din’s right. And hopefully that bollocks of a so-called husband will be out of the picture soon enough and you can come home. The prick.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the venom in her tone. “Hopefully. I’m awful grateful to you and your sister, Peigí. I mean, maybe we’re being overly cautious, but…”

She shakes her head, russet curls bouncing. “Not a bit of it. You can never tell with a fucker like that.” The cottage door opens, and Din appears, Gró securely held in his strong arms.

“And there’s the best boy in all of Ireland!” Peigí races over, taking the knapsack and planting a kiss on Gró’s cheek. “We should probably get going, girleen.”

She tactfully retreats to the horses, giving you, Din, and Gró some space to say your goodbyes. You feel the blacksmith’s broad arm snake around your waist, uncaring as to whether Peigí saw the affectionate gesture - or, more likely, all too aware that she knew exactly what was going on.

The little boy brings a hand up to touch his father’s handsome face, big eyes scanning Din’s features as if he’s committing them to memory.

“Ná bíodh eagla ort, grá mo chroí.” [Don’t be afraid, love] The blacksmith smiles, but he’s fighting back the tears as he kisses his son’s golden hair. Instinctively, you rest your head on Din’s shoulder, trying to keep your own emotions in check.

Gró’s dark eyes fill with tears and his father comforts him with cuddles. “You’ll have a lovely time on the farm, won’t you? And you’ll look after her while you’re on your visit.” He looks at you, and you nod, smiling at Gró.

“Of course he will. He’s a big, brave lad.” The little boy grins at the praise before flinging his arms around Din’s neck for a final tight hug.

“Be good, and take this.” Din reaches into his pocket to produce a small, silvery chain, evidently made by his own hands. A metal disc dangles from it, and you realise that Din has engraved it with his son’s name. He places it over the boy’s head, smiling at Gró as he picks up the pendant and coos at the shiny object.

“We should get going, lads.” Peigí’s voice carries in the still of the early morning, and Din passes his son to you. Gró nuzzles against you, still holding on to the little pendant that hangs from his neck.

Din’s long fingers find your hand and press something into your palm. He leans in to kiss your cheek. His voice, warm but wavering with emotion, whispers in your ear.

“Is tú mo ghrá thú, mo chuisle.” [You are my love, my darling.]

You stifle the sob that’s rising in your chest.

“I love you too, Din.”

Peigí’s sister Rosie shares her sister’s hardy, forthright personality and her tightly curled auburn hair, but not a lot else. Where Peigí is small, Rosie is tall; where Peigí is talkative and open, Rosie is quiet and reserved. Still, her welcome is genuine, her home comfortable, and you feel at ease from the moment you cross the threshold after a long day’s journey to some semblance of sanctuary.

You retire quickly once you’ve been fed and watered, Peigí sharing with Rosie while you and Gró make do with a settle bed. The little boy falls asleep almost immediately, and you gently kiss his soft cheek, willing him to know that it comes from his father, too.

With the household abed, you can finally look again at Din’s parting gift to you: a chain and pendant, similar to Gró’s. Where the little boy’s bears his name, however, yours carries a symbol, evidently engraved into the metal by the blacksmith himself. Three interconnected spirals - an ancient symbol, one that you recognise from a dolmen tomb that stands in a field not far from your birthplace, one that people in the locality have long speculated about.

Father Carthy would say it is a symbol of the Holy Trinity: three divine beings in one, a sign of early Christians in Ireland. But the storytellers in the townland say it’s far older than any church, its meaning lost to the mists of time.

You trace the three spirals with your fingertip in the darkness. Three as one. For you, that is meaning enough.

He was alone for a long time, Din reminds himself - alone before you, alone even before Gró. He can be alone again.

That said, though, there’s being alone and not knowing anything different, and being alone now. He still automatically goes to the foot of the attic ladder every morning, ready to wake his little boy. He hides the bowl and cup Gró usually uses, because the sight of them makes his heart ache. He throws himself into his work, distracting himself with glowing-hot metal.

And then there is your absence. He had never lived with a woman, not like this; never shared his bed night after night, never loved like this. For the first few days, he wakes with a start when he reaches for your warm, soft body and realises you’re not there.

He tries not to think about the reality of the situation: the fact that, even if you were to return home tomorrow, you could never be together, at least not while Searlas lived. There are nights when, alone in his bed and desperate for the embrace of your arms, violence tempts Din. In his younger years, he might already have taken matters into his own hands.

As the days and weeks tick by with no sign of your so-called husband, and no word from Father Carthy, the blacksmith reminds himself to be patient - and not to fall into complacency. He had never really lost that sense of looking over his shoulder: from childhood, from the rebellion, and now he felt glad of it. No one from the community mentions you to him, though he knows they must have heard by now that you had been hiding from Searlas at the forge. He does his repairs as usual, driving into the village with his pony and trap to return items and collect others, pulling his kerchief over his face as he makes his way through the main street lest he spy a troop of redcoats.

One of the regular customers asks about Gró when he’s returning her extra-large soup pan, newly mended. Din hesitates, but keeps his expression steady.

“He’s spending time with some…cousins,” he explains. “On a farm. It’ll be good for him, he’ll learn from the experience.”

The woman doesn’t ask further, pays up, and retreats back into her little house as Din turns his horse and cart for home. As he gathers speed, he hears a voice calling his name. Father Carthy, clad in his long black cassock and wearing a broad-brimmed hat, is waving to him from the end of the laneway that leads to the chapel.

“Could you spare me a few moments, Din? Follow me up to the parish house.”

The priest’s house is a decently-sized cottage, larger but not too dissimilar to the majority of the dwellings in the village. Father Carthy might be responsible for the majority of the believers in the community, but his is not the “established” church, the official church of the state and gentry, and as such his home is a far cry from the grand, double-fronted manse occupied by the vicar who tends to the local worthies. Even the location of the chapel, tucked off a narrow laneway behind the main street, is a testament to the lower status of this particular branch of religion.

Din enters, taking off his hat and kerchief, and follows the cleric’s gesture to take a seat near the hearth. Father Carthy does the same, pulling his chair closer to Din.

“I have news. I haven’t been able to find a way to dissuade Searlas from seeking her out, but a little bird tells me that they’re going to change the troops again in a week or so. The current crop has been…rowdy.” The priest purses his lips, mulling over the stories he has heard of public drunkenness, fighting, and even soldiers nonchalantly carousing with women in the pubs and on the street. He decides not to give Din too many of the gory details.

“So they’re going to be sent elsewhere, split up. Clonmel, I heard, for some, and Castlebar for others. Maybe a few to Cork. There’s ructions, as you can imagine - a rare thing to break up a regiment - but…”

Din meets the priest’s meaningful gaze. “But…he would be gone.”

Father Carthy nods. “It’s not a solution, not forever, but it at least would let her come home to her own place again, and Gró home to you. You were right to send the boy with her, too - who knows what might have happened had he come knocking?”

Din closes his eyes and furrows his brow at the priest’s turn of phrase: “her own place”. It was a reminder of the truth, that you were not - and could not be - his.

Father Carthy gets to his feet, a signal to Din that it was time to go. “In the meantime, I’m going to look more closely into the canon law around annulment. I’m not hopeful, but maybe she might be able to build a case for it. He did abandon her, after all. Anyway -” he opens the door, and Din exits “- it would free her, at least, from the threat of him.”

The blacksmith thanks Father Carthy as he saddles up to head back to the forge, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. On the road home, Din smiles to himself as he thinks about seeing Gró again, holding his little boy in his arms, watching you give him an extra spoonful of jam at breakfast, tucking him in to sleep at night. He thinks about your eyes, your smile; the feeling and taste of your mouth; the scent of your skin.

No matter what, he promises himself, no matter the rules or the law or whatever a piece of paper might say: he’ll kiss you again, hold you, take you to bed, and show you how much he missed you.

A couple of days later, as dusk settles, Din lights the lamp and finishes clearing away his lone dinner bowl and mug. Anticipation courses through him as he thinks about seeing two - no, three - places set for the evening meal again. Soon. Soon, they’ll be home.

He yawns and stretches, a hand reaching up to scratch his wavy, dark locks. It had been a hard day in the forge: a run of horses that needed to be shod, urgent repairs, and the difficulty of managing the work itself as well as the bellows and the fire, all by himself. An early night, he decides, might be in order.

He’s in his shirt and breeches when he hears the sound. A horse, its footfall cautious and uncertain, as though it had not been down the laneway before. A rider, barking commands and swearing at the animal. Din pulls his kerchief from his pocket and fastens it around his face before climbing swiftly up the attic ladder. His hand reaches into the thatch, on the other side of the house from Gró’s little bed, and retrieves a pike, smaller in design than the ones he’d hammered by the dozen in 1798 but no less lethal in the right hands. He grips the pike in his right hand, hidden from view while he opens the door with his left.

The rider struggles off his horse, evidently drunk. His scarlet tunic is unmistakable. The light from the cottage illuminates his features: pale, washed-out complexion; unhappy mouth set in a miserable line; hard blue eyes that offered nothing but coldness.

“Where the fuck is she, then, the stupid fucking bitch?”

Din’s fist tightens around the pike, but he holds his ground, still peering around the door. “Who is it? Who are you?”

Searlas swaggers drunkenly towards the house. “I know you’re a tinker, but you don’t have to play thick with me. You know who I am.” He beats his chest, peacocking as he nears Din’s threshold. “I’m a soldier of the fucking crown, so I am. And I’m here for what’s mine.”

He pokes Din’s broad chest, seeming a little startled at how solid the blacksmith actually is. Searlas’s watery eyes meet Din’s stern gaze.

“So… where the fuck is she?”

“Whoever you’re after,” Din says, maintaining the same tone he’s used throughout the encounter so far, “they’re not here. I live alone.”

Searlas pushes Din in frustration, and Din recoils a little at the stench of cheap poitín from the other, smaller man. “I know she’s fucking here. The whole fucking place knows.” He steps back and starts to roar upwards, as if addressing you in an attic hiding place.

“Did you not think I’d find you? You’re that fucking stupid, you would think that. I’m here now, time to go home. You’re mine, remember?” He shakes his fist, swaying a little.

“She’s not here. And even if she was, why do you care so much now? You left her on her own for years, apart from all the other things you did to her.”

Searlas stares at Din, a look of disgust on his face. “So you do know her? She’s full of shit, so she is. Full of lies. Not to be trusted.”

He wheels around again, almost losing his balance completely this time. “You were seen, you lying cunt!”

Din’s fingers clench and release over and over around the pike. He swallows the urge to run this miserable fucker through.

The soldier looks at him through glassy, drunken eyes. “She’s mine, see. And I think I want to take what’s mine. Time she was taught a lesson.” He roars the last word, as if hoping you’ll hear him and emerge.

The blacksmith edges out slightly and stands firmer, broader, in his front door. Searlas stares at him accusingly.

“D’you fuck her?”

Din holds his body and face completely still, focusing on the grip of the pike and his breathing.

“I said, did you fuck her? Did you fuck my wife?”

Din takes a deep breath. “Do you have the right to call her your wife, after what you did?”

Searlas’s jaw drops in astonishment. Din knew that he was just a bog-standard Irish Catholic soldier signed up for cannon fodder like all the others, but it was clear that the other man believed his uniform made him one of the “betters”, no matter what.

“What did you say to me?”

“I said, do you have the right to call her your wife?”

Searlas almost growls with drunken fury. “I have the right to call her whatever I fucking like.” Din notices his fist tightening by his side and steels himself as the other man approaches, menacingly.

“I’ll call her what I fucking like,” Searlas repeats, “including calling her what she is. A slut. A liar. A frigid, barren, useless excuse for a woman. And now? She’s filthy, tinker’s whore. That’s all she is. A stupid, ugly, disgusting tinker’s whore.”

The speed with which Din moves takes the soldier by surprise, as does the bright flash of the pike’s blade as it reflects the moonlight. The blacksmith uses the long handle first, roaring as he beats Searlas away with some well-placed blows. He moves with agility and confidence as the soldier fumbles in his sleeves for a weapon, and produces a narrow switchblade dagger.

“I’ll fucking show you, tinker,” he roars, the poitín giving him an exaggerated confidence. “I’ll skin you alive, fucking another man’s wife.”

He lunges at Din, but a swift, measured flick of the pike’s bladed end knocks the dagger to the ground and tears a hole in the scarlet tunic. Now Din presses his advantage, driving Searlas back to his horse.

“Get out of here and leave her alone. Forever. Don’t you ever come near her again.”

A more sober man would have cut and run, and would do so wisely. But Searlas’s selfishness combined with his drunkenness made for a terrible cocktail of aggression and abuse.

“And what will you do, tinker? They should have hanged every last one of you rebel scum in ‘98. Pity that scalp wasn’t ripped from your skull with a pitchcap.” He pats his thighs, as if seeking another blade. “You couldn’t defend yourselves then, why do you think you could stand up to the king’s army now?” He cocks his head and looks at Din, eyes menacing.

“Or are you just that desperate to defend a thick, useless slut like my wife?”

The grunting, the roars, and the sickening sound of a strong, sturdy fist meeting flesh and bone resonate in the stillness of the twilight. And then another sound, louder still: the unmistakable thud of a man’s body hitting the cold ground.

#tempered in the fire fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #din djarin au #blacksmith!din djarin #blacksmith!din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #historical AU #the mandalorian AU #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedrostories #the mandalorian #din djarin #tempered fic

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darkserenity24 · 3 days

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𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒎 & 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔 - 𝑪𝒉. 4

Loki x Reader

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘬𝘪 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘴.

𝘈/𝘕: 𝘛𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰 @aintnooooway 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 💚. 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 {𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 🥺}

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒊𝒕𝒚 🏙️

You walked down the corridor with a pep in your step, feeling much better than you had in a long while. Loki fell into step beside you, looking the complete opposite of how you felt. His dark brows were low on his forehead and his lips were thinned. He looked as if he was ready to turn back around at any moment.

You glanced over at him with raised brows. “If you keep this up I’m afraid you’re going to be the one blowing a gasket soon.”

Your comment had its intended effect, his displeased expression instantly morphed into one of utter confusion.

Green eyes squinted in your direction. “I beg your pardon?”

I knew that would work, you thought to yourself.

“Listen, I know this is the last thing you want to do, but since you can’t go back to Asgard yet the plan is to get you accustomed to life here on Earth. Or at least, the city of New York.”

He made an unimpressed face at that before opening his mouth to speak.

“And yes, it’s necessary,” you added before he could ask that exact question in his petulant princely manner.

A week had passed since you and Loki had reunited in your bedroom, the night ending with you in tears as you peacefully fell asleep in his arms. When you awoke the next morning, he was gone, only leaving a note placed on your nightstand stating that he did not want to scare you when you woke up and discovered that he was still there in your room, so he had left.

Strangely, you felt a pang of disappointment and loneliness surge through your chest at the knowledge that he was gone, but you understood why he had left. If you were being honest, you didn’t know what you would have said if you woke to him still in your bed with you. Tell him sorry that I cried like a five-year-old and blubbered all over you?

Maybe you would’ve thanked him for providing you with the much-needed comfort you didn’t know you needed until he was there. Who knows.

You had dressed and went about your day, deciding to reach out to Loki yourself and ask to meet so you could discuss things further. Tony had given him an iPhone, which you could tell he was not a fan of but it did come in handy when you needed to contact him and had no idea where he was.

When you got the chance to meet with him again (in a setting that was not your bedroom), you informed him about the details of his image rehabilitation and how you were going to go about it, but not without thanking him for what he did for you the night before.

Maybe he expected that you’d be upset with him for some reason, but to be relieved at your more relaxed state around him. The news that he’d have to actually participate in making himself look more personable to humanity fully didn’t sink in until a bit later. Hence why he was currently in the grumpy state he was in at this moment in time as you both walked through the tower’s lobby.

“I know it’s your favorite pastime but unfortunately you can’t continue to stalk around the tower brooding and hissing at people all anymore. We need to make you more likable to the people here just as much as we want you to have a better public image.”

Loki raised a dark brow in challenge. “Firstly, I do not brood or hiss, and secondly I am an exceptionally likable being. Do you not agree?”

“Yes, I know you can be very charming when you allow yourself to be, but unfortunately other people don’t get to see that. We have to make you seem more approachable to others. If not the team, the average person needs to see you as friendly and harmless.”

“I am not friendly,” he grumbled. “Nor harmless for that matter.”

“Well, you’ll learn to be because today we’re taking you out of the tower so you can be around other people. It’ll just be a day trip around the city but eventually, I’ll bring you to some cool events so you can make friends and stuff like that.”

“This is needless. I don’t want friends.”

You shook your head, lightly touching the back of his arm as you continued the trek to your destination. “You may not want them, but you need them. Everyone needs friends, silly.”

You nodded your head at the two heavily armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who were waiting for you at the entrance of the tower before glancing over at Loki.

“I know you’ve um, sort of visited before but your view of the place was kind of obscured by everything that was going on back then,”

The agents opened the doors and you peered out at the blue skies and crowed sidewalks, smiling in excitement.

“Now, let me show you the real New York.”

Loki’s first outing had been interesting, to say the least. You wanted to catch the subway but realized on second thought that would be a bad idea since you didn’t know how people would act around him yet in such a jam-packed space. You doubted that they’d immediately recognized him but you didn’t want to take any chances. Thankfully Tony provided you with a driver and you took the town car instead.

You decided to take him on a tour around the city to introduce him to its wonderful infrastructure and historical sites. Unfortunately, he did not seem to be impressed. He came from a place where they were probably way more technologically advanced than humans were even a millennium ago.

Still, you decided to drag him around to your favorite spots, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents trailing not too far behind you. There were more than a couple of times (several, actually) when you had to pivot Loki’s attention away from the many people who were staring at him. He didn’t seem to like the idea of practicing smiling at them, instead producing something akin to a grimace.

You stopped by an old greasy food truck to get some lunch when noon hit. As you got closer to the truck, Loki twisted his face in disgust, asking you if this was what Midgardians ate in this city and you nodded with a smile.

“Yeah! I know it’s not the healthiest but if you’re out and about and in need of a quick bite, food trucks are the way to go.”

You offered to buy him a sandwich to try which he quickly declined.

He seemed to be even more disturbed when walking on the crowded and messy sidewalks filled to the brim with bustling New Yorkers. He did not want anyone touching him, instead, deciding to charge through the crowd while dragging you along by your wrist. You stumbled past the annoyed onlookers, apologizing profusely as you tried to get Loki to slow down.

Needless to say, the S.H.I.E.L.D agents had a hard time catching up with you both, eventually pulling you to the side and giving you a warning that Loki had to be within their sight at all times or he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the tower anymore.

Taking them at their word, you kindly asked Loki if he could slow down a little, empathizing with him that you knew this was a lot to handle all at once. However, he had to work with you at least a little bit in order to make any progress that the team (and Nick Fury by extension) would find acceptable.

He stared at you with a blank face until his gaze finally dropped, sighing heavily and nodding his acquiescence. You didn’t expect for him to listen to you so quickly, but to his credit, he did behave in a more acceptable manner for the remainder of the outing. That was until you visited your favorite local bodega.

You sent Loki to the checkout counter to purchase a few items while you continued to look around the store to see if there was anything else you needed. A minute barely passed by before you heard a commotion coming from the front of the shop, one of the agents swinging by to get your attention.

When you arrived at the checkout counter, Loki was glaring menacingly at the nervous-looking cashier who looked as if he was ready to duck under the counter.

“What’s going on?” You asked, glancing from Loki to the shaking middle-aged man.

Loki spoke first, an irritated growl shrouding his voice. “This mongrel is insisting that I provide him with more payment than I deem necessary for such a small amount of items we are purchasing.”

You frowned in confusion, looking at the calculated total on the cash register. It appeared to be at a normal rate. Was it still a bit pricey? Yes, but that was just the average inflated NYC prices.

“I-It's the right amount man, I promise. I ain’t trying to swindle you or nothin’.” The man stammered, causing Loki to scowl at him even more.

You placed a hand on his arm and backed away. “Loki, he’s right. That’s the correct cost,” You mumbled, wondering if you should have spent more time explaining to him how currency worked on this planet. “We have to give him the money or we won’t be able to buy anything.”

“What? That’s preposterous,” He voiced out, “Am I not to bargain with him until he concedes? That is how we operate on Asgard. He was close to yielding under my gaze until you interrupted us.”

You actually slapped a hand to your forehead, not knowing whether to laugh or be taken aback by his unusual shopping methods.

“No, that’s not how that works here. If we don’t give him the correct amount of money he could probably ban us from coming back here, or worse, call the police on us.”

Loki smirked conceitedly. “I have never been one to back down from a challenge.”

You crossed your arms, giving him a somewhat stern look. “Yeah? Well, you will today. I know you can’t help but be mischievous and all but I do not want to have to explain to the team how we ended up in jail on your very first outing. That wouldn’t be a very good track record for either of us.”

He had the nerve to look disappointed at your words, pouting like a child. “Fine. If I must.”

He reluctantly handed over the cash to the man, who accepted it with trembling hands before whispering for you both to have a good day.

You had no doubt that both you and the cashier shared the same amount of relief when you and Loki left the bodega with no one getting hurt in the process.

You returned to the tower after that, deciding that was enough of an adventure for one day. Loki looked absolutely worn out. When you gave Tony a report of the outing later that night, he seemed to be pleased with the turn of events, only raising a skeptical eyebrow when you mentioned having only a “minor misunderstanding” at the local convenience store.

It was a few days later when you decided to take Loki on his second outing. You were planning on waiting until at least a week later to take him out again, but the team was still being extremely standoffish with him and it was not helping anyone. They didn’t include Loki in any activities or even attempt to have any meaningful conversation with him.

Besides Thor, Wanda seemed to be the only one who made any attempt to interact with Loki, though he only seemed to hum and grunt in response to her questions.

He appeared to be just as uncomfortable inside the tower despite your best efforts. He had even snapped at you once when you simply asked him a question about Asgard, to which you only raised a brow at him in response.

He quickly apologized but he didn’t really need to. You understood how he felt. Loki was homesick, and being stuck on Earth for so long was really getting to him.

So you decided to get him out of the tower again as soon as possible.

The next outing went similarly. This time, you took him to a grocery store. He looked appalled at how large it was inside and asked if every human in the city came to this one place for food.

“No, silly. There are lots of supermarkets around the city. This isn’t the only one.” You laughed at him and he appeared to be both confused and offended at the same time.

“There are more?” He questioned in an incredulous tone. “Humans do consume quite a lot.”

You nodded. “Food is life. Literally.”

Later that day you ended up at a nice little cafe located in Brooklyn which you thought Loki would enjoy a bit more. He liked drinking tea and the occasional coffee which the cafe had plentiful brews of both. He appeared to be more relaxed and a bit more in his element as you both sat at a table in the corner, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents idling right outside of the shop’s exit.

“How’s your tea?” you asked, taking a careful sip of your oat milk latte.

He averted his gaze away from something behind you and eyed the drink that had been placed in front of him. “Subpar.” He sniffed and you scoffed at his answer.

“Let me guess, it’s not up to Asgardian standards.”

He smiled at you. “Your words, not mine.”

“I don’t know,” you state skeptically, “You seem to have been enjoying yourself a little more today. See, living on Earth isn’t that bad.”

It was his turn to scoff. “Those words will never be uttered from my mouth.”

“Never say never.” You grinned. “Don’t worry, you’ll be having tons of fun by the end of your stay here, whenever that will be. I’m planning on taking you to other-.”

“What does that mortal want?” Loki groused, eyes narrowing just past you on something you couldn’t see. You blinked, turning around to see one of the baristas behind the counter looking your way. He looked to be around your age, shaggy brown hair falling into his face.

He smiled politely when he caught your eye, and you smiled back awkwardly before turning back around to see Loki still focused on the boy.

“Maybe he’s just curious,” you guess with a shrug. Loki’s disguise was good but it wasn’t that full proof. The guy was probably just intrigued by him.

“Curious? About me, or you?”

“What?” you laugh. “Why would be be curious about me?”

“He has been ogling you the entire time we have remained in this establishment,” Loki stated with annoyance in his tone.

“Oh. Maybe he recognizes me from school or something. There are so many people in my classes that I can never remember what they all look like.” You explained with a small chortle.

“I suppose.”

The boy behind the counter finally noticed Loki’s not-so-friendly gaze, and quickly looked away, focusing his eyes on the espresso machine he was currently operating.

“Don’t scowl at him, Loki. Remember, you want to come off as nice and approachable, not suspecting and accusatory.” You reminded him. “Plus, he hasn’t done anything wrong. People stare sometimes. It’s normal.”

“I do not like it.” He said tersely.

“Yeah, I don’t like when people stare either. I know it makes you uncomfortable but eventually you’ll get used to it and the looks will stop soon enough.”

He focused his gaze back on you. “That is not what I meant. I do not care if I am being observed. After all, I am a prince.”

You raised a brow in amusement. “Then what do you mean?”

He was quiet for a moment before speaking. “I have an aversion to other humans observing you.”

You blinked in surprise, leaning back in your chair. “Huh? How come?”

“I do not trust them. Especially the male species.” He gritted his teeth.

You still didn’t quite understand what he meant by that before it finally hit you. As much as you were both trying to move on from what happened in his cell, what Jacob had done was still pretty fresh for the both of you.

Of course Loki didn’t trust other people. This was evident by the way he worried for you in the safest of places. He saw what Jacob and those two guards had done to you and it still was affecting him. You weren’t the only one who had been traumatized by that incident, and you couldn’t expect him to be okay so soon after.

However, the objective was to get him familiarized with human life, and if he didn’t trust anyone then he wouldn’t be making any progress. You couldn’t let that happen.

You both sat in silence, him likely mulling over his confession and you reflecting on your new revelation. It appeared that you had your work cut out for you more than you originally thought.

You placed your hand over his on top of the round table. “It’s okay. I understand.” You said softly, meeting his troubled green eyes. His gaze softened, and he slipped his much larger hand from under yours only to place his on top, his thumb brushing your skin softly.

“I’m glad you do.” was his simple response.

********

You eyed the countless people dressed in fancy gowns and tuxes like they were attending cocktail hour at the MET.

Tonight was Tony’s and Pepper’s anniversary party and apparently, every person that they knew seemed to have been invited. Surprisingly, this also included Loki, but something told you he wouldn’t show up. He’d rather be anywhere else than at a gathering for Tony Stark, is what you remember him saying when he received the very last-minute invitation.

You bit your lip as you entered the ballroom, smoothing down your silky spaghetti-strapped lavender dress and wiggling your toes in your strappy black heels, all courtesy of Wanda’s desire to dress you up like a doll tonight. You were a little self-conscious about how the material fit on your body but Wanda was insistent that it looked perfect on you so you just went with it.

You glanced around at the hundreds of bodies that filled the space, looking for two particular people while gripping the box you held in your hand. You traipsed around until you finally found who you were looking for.

“Black bean!” Tony exclaimed before waving you over towards him and his beautiful wife. You smiled and greeted them both, giving him and Pepper a quick hug.

“I see someone dressed to impress. I almost didn’t recognize you without that old hoodie covering half of your body. Good job!” Tony grinned and you shook your head at him.

“Not like I had much of a choice. Security probably wouldn’t have let me in here if I pulled up in jeans and a sweater like I originally planned to.” You joked. “I got something for you guys.”

You pushed the small box you held in your hands towards them with a small smile.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you! You shouldn’t have.” Pepper replied with a kind smile and Tony scoffed dramatically.

“What? Yes, she should have! Don’t mind if I do.” He said, plucking the box out of your grasp.

Pepper lightly rolled her eyes at him and gave you a look that caused you to giggle. You spoke to the lovely couple for a few more minutes until you were distracted by the sound of your name being called out from behind you.

Your body instantly froze in place, blood running cold at the sound of the high-pitched bubbly timbre. Slowly, you turned around, meeting a familiar pair of blue eyes. Eyes too alike her older brother’s.

“OMG! I missed you so much!” Kayla ran up to you and wrapped you into a tight hug. You gasped quietly, body still stiff as a board before lightly wrapping your arms around her in return.

She eventually released you, pulling back with a blinding smile. She looked even taller than before, which was saying a lot because you were also wearing heels.

“It’s been forever. What have you been up to?” She asked with genuine curiosity in her voice.

“Oh, um, just working like usual. Nothing crazy really, waiting for school to start again soon… yep.”

You knew you sounded so awkward but you couldn’t help it. You were practically shaking around her. To your knowledge, Kayla had no clue about the incident with her brother that landed you in the hospital for weeks. She didn’t know what actually happened with Jacob, and the thought of her ever finding out put you on edge around her.

“Wow, it’s been like, ages since we last saw each other. We need to hang out soon!” She twirled a piece of her perfectly curled golden locks. “I feel a bit guilty for kind of ghosting for a while. It’s just that Jake left the country and my parents haven’t been taking it very well. I don’t know what’s gotten into him but he needs to come back ASAP. I cannot handle them on my own. It’s been complete hell.” She sighed.

You nodded, letting out a nervous laugh. “Oh, yeah? I-I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, it’s been totally crazy. The last person who saw him was my dad, and he said that Jake had seemed really upset about something, saying that he was quitting his job here at the tower. He took a bunch of money from the family account and left town overnight. I don’t know what’s going on with him but I hope he’s okay. He can be a complete ass sometimes but he’s my big brother, you know?”

“Yeah, of course you’d care about him. He’s your family after all.” You inwardly cringed at your own words, the reminder of the situation being a bit too much for you at the moment.

“Yeah, it’s a lot to handle.” She remarked with a pout before shooting you an odd look. “Although, I think you know something that I don’t.”

The blood instantly drained from your face. “I do?”

“Yeah, you do. You can’t hide it from me.”

Your palms became sweaty.

“I-I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about-.”

One perfectly sculpted brow rose on her forehead. “The alien prisoner, duh!” She proclaimed with a shake of her head. “You didn’t tell me that they released him a few weeks ago and that he’s still here in the tower. I had to hear it by eavesdropping on one of my dad’s “secret” conversations.”

The amount of relief that filled your body at her accusation was substantial. You truly thought that she was going down another path. A darker one that you didn’t want any light to shine on. Ever.

You rubbed your bare shoulders, granting her a look of pretend guilt with a light chuckle. “Oh, that! Yes, Loki’s out of his cell now but he’s still on sort of a probation so no need to worry.”

She didn’t look totally convinced, brows scrunching up in fear. “So you’re telling me that he’s just been let loose around the tower? Oh my god, what if I run into him? What do I do?” She fretted.

“Say hi? He’s not that bad, I promise you. He can seem a little… daunting at times but that’s just him. He’s not out to hurt you or anything like that.” Her constant worrying about Loki was not doing her any favors.

She crossed her arms and adjusted her stance. “I don’t know. I think I’ll just try my best to stay away from him. Avoid him at all costs. My dad says that he’s a complete psycho terrorist who would be better off back on his own planet- oh!” She interrupted herself, looking highly interested in something, or at someone over your shoulder. “Hottie alert!”

You turned around to look through the crowd, attempting to see what she was looking at. There were too many people in your way, she could’ve been looking at anyone.

“That man is a beautiful piece of specimen if I’ve ever seen one. I’m gonna go introduce myself. Follow my lead.”

She fussed over her already flawlessly styled and fitted gown before strutting through the crowd. Your brows twitched in confusion but you trailed after her anyway, slipping between chattering groups of guests as you tried to keep up with Kayla’s long strides across the room. You were just about to give up when she suddenly stopped in her tracks with an elegant practiced pose.

You stumbled in your heels, stopping just in time in order not to run into her from behind.

Placing a hand on her hip, she began speaking to the mystery person. A sickeningly sweet tone emanated from her. “Hey gorgeous, my name is Kayla, and you are?” She inquired sultrily.

You didn’t know why you followed her only to witness her flirt with some random stranger. You couldn’t see who she was talking to as you were still behind her, trapped between people on almost all sides of you. The person wasn’t very quick at responding, as she stood expectantly waiting for his return greeting for a brief moment.

It was extremely awkward, and you were not going to stick around much longer to dwell in the discomforting scene. You were preparing to turn around and go back where you came from before you heard the dark, silky tone that granted her a response.

“I know exactly who you are.” The man said in a guarded and slightly aggressive tone.

Your eyes widened in absolute horror and disbelief as you stepped beside her to get a good look at her acquired target.

It was Loki.

Story Masterlist

✦ 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰. 𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 ;)

✦ 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘒𝘰-𝘧𝘪 ✨: 𝘩𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘴://𝘬𝘰-𝘧𝘪.𝘤𝘰𝘮/𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺24

𝘛𝘢𝘨 𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵: @aintnooooway @mischief2sarawr @talesofadragon @cass0419 @lcolumbia1988 @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @echo-is-worth-more-than-2000

#loki x reader #freedom and chaos #loki fanfic #loki x female reader #loki x y/n #loki x you

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drinkyourvillainjuice · 3 days

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Secretary's Notes

Omg, haiii everybody. This is the Secretary, here with an update of her own! I sure wonder what I'm going to say in this post.

Oh right, bookkeeping!

We are now solidly averaging +200 Canadian dollars per monthly cycle. Most people unsubscribe and resubscribe to get the locked updates (AND THE UNIQUE SECRET THINGS!!!) which is entirely understandable! And for that, we thank you all. This has covered the electricity bill! So officially, you are letting me post on my silly computer.

Next order of business, new poll will happen soon! I will be taking players information: what is your gender, what is your age range, where are you from geographically. Just a couple of fun questions to get to know the audience and all, and especially because I am terribly curious. Plus, there will be questions about content you can answers which is essentially 'did you make a self insert'?

Finally, monthly donation? This month is Doctors Without Borders! It aligns with my believes so that's why :) if you need more information, here it is:

#drink your villain juice

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bridgertonbabe · 2 years

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Okay I’m gonna need you to follow up the angst and pining Benedict…

Does he find out she over heard what he said and that’s why she was so dismissive of him? If so how?

How does it all work out in the end??

I am LOVING this and need to know more please and thank you 🧡

Anon asked: Girl, you can't start something like this and not give me an answer!!!! What happens when Benedict realised that Sophie heard what he said? Does he makes it up to her? Come on!! You can give me angst but give me a little Happiness 😭😭😭

Benedict doesn't find out for several years that Sophie had heard what he had said about her at the Yule ball.

A couple of years into the interrailing trip Sophie, Colin, Phillip, and Michael are on, a portkey transports Anthony, Kate, Simon, Benedict, and Daphne to the Greek island the gang are currently staying on to celebrate Michael's birthday. The party spreads out from the hotel villa and down to the beach and everyone's getting pretty wasted during the festivities. Benedict had hoped that after not seeing Sophie for a considerable amount of time that perhaps things would have returned to normal between them, but as soon as he had laid eyes on her looking like this;

Benedict knew he was screwed - his feelings for her hadn't lessened at all, they had only intensified (and that's not to mention the fact that the reason Gen broke things off with him was because one night in bed it had been Sophie's name he had cried out in the heat of the moment).

She was perfectly pleasant when they were part of a group but anytime he saw her by herself in passing, she continued to keep her distance and avoid him. It frustrated Benedict to no end and as he watched her dancing about with Kate and Daphne on the sands to Dancing Queen, he became determined to resolve whatever it was that had made them drift apart.

He thought he would be able to catch her for a moment alone when she popped back to the hotel to fetch some more drinks but when he walked into the bar he found that she wasn't alone - she was sucking face with Michael.

Benedict had run back to the beach, feeling like he was on the verge of his heart ripping in two because of course Michael Stirling would help himself to Sophie. After all these years of friendship it only made sense that someone as gorgeous as Sophie and someone as hot as Michael would get together - Benedict would have been surprised it didn't happen sooner if it weren't for the bitterness threatening to choke him. Michael fucking Stirling could have his pick of every last woman in the world - why did he have to go for the one woman Benedict wanted more than anyone else?

When Colin offered him a beer, Benedict downed the whole bottle before demanding his brother fetch him some Firewhiskey. He continued to drown his sorrow with more and more alcohol, and when he found himself swaying on the spot he decided to sit along the shore. He let the water gently lap at his feet as he stared off into the distance, his stomach then churning when he recognised Michael out in the sea, his hands all over a woman. Benedict was almost prepared to torture himself by watching someone else fondle Sophie, wishing it was him instead, when he suddenly realised that the woman Michael was getting off with was wearing a neon pink bikini.

Benedict scrambled to his feet and hurried his way through the throng of party guests before tracking down Sophie knocking back a cocktail. He grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the crowds, bringing her to a secluded part of the beach around the corner from the rest of the party.

“What are you playing at, Ben?” she asked him once she wrangled her hand free of his.

“Sophie, I don’t know how to tell you this,” he exhaled, hating to be the one to tell her this and see her get upset.

“Tell me what?” Sophie pulled a quizzical frown.

“I... I saw Michael... getting off with another woman.”

Silence stilled between them, the music and the party enjoying themselves off in the distance. Sophie stared at Benedict and then snorted with laughter.

“Bloody hell, Ben, I thought you were going to say something serious!” she cackled.

“Sophie, he’s cheating on you!”

“What?” she squawked. “Cheating on me? What are you talking about? We’re not together!”

“I saw you making out with him!”

“Yeah, we’re makeout buddies.” she shrugged. “It’s what we do. Doesn’t mean we can’t get off with other people.”

Though dumbfounded by her response, Benedict immediately felt lighter; she wasn’t with Michael. There was still a chance -

“Anyway why would you care if Michael is making out with someone else?” Sophie asked.

“Because you’re my friend.” he replied. “I don’t want you to get hurt,”

“Pft! You’re such a hypocrite!”

Benedict glowered. “A hypocrite? Why am I a hypocrite?”

“Oh don’t play dumb!” Sophie dramatically scoffed in her inebriated state. “You’re such a hippo hippoey hypocrite, Ben!”

“Wait... are you calling me fat?” Benedict swallowed as the alcohol coursing through his body made him more prone to sensitivity.

“No, you idiot! You’re a hypocrite! You go around saying stuff and it’s shitty stuff and you don’t care what stuff is stuff someone else is going to be hurt to hear because you’re a hippogriff - no, wait, a hypocrite!”

Benedict was aware he was too drunk to truly follow anything Sophie was saying, not to mention the amount of times she had repeated the word “stuff” had left him confused.

“I’m... I’m not fat.” Benedict limply responded.

“Ugh! I know you’re not fat, you dumb whore!” Sophie staggered forward. “You’re sexy and you know it, Ben, so stop fishing for compliments, you stupid sexy man.”

Benedict’s mouth opened in shock - Sophie thought he was sexy. She had said it twice now. And if she thought he was sexy -

“Do ya think I’m sexy?” he grinned at her, eagerly awaiting her response.

“Ben!” she groaned irritably and butted her head into his chest, resting it there as she grumbled under her breath before looking up at him, her chin still against his body. “You’re so annoying! You know you’re sexy and I’m sick of it!” she whined and then splatted her hand over his mouth. “I mean all you have to do is stand there and you look sexy, it’s not fair! You’re so greedy! If you weren’t such a hippopotamus you would give me some of your sexy! Sharing is caring, Ben!”

Sophie thought he was sexy! She also thought he was a hippopotamus for some reason but the main takeaway was that she found him sexy! And she wanted him to give her some of his sexy!

He then licked her hand that was covering his mouth, startling her and making her drop her hand away as she stared at him incredulously.

“Why’d you do that?” she shouted.

He then grabbed the same hand, holding it to his face and then, whilst maintaining direct eye contact with her, pressed his lips against the palm of hand. He saw the moment Sophie tensed up, her eyes now conveying a want he had never witnessed before as goosepimples tickled her skin.

“Sharing is caring.” he echoed and kissed her hand again.

For a moment neither of them said anything or moved. Voulez Vous was pumping from further down the beach as they continued to stare into each other’s eyes. Benedict wasn’t entirely sure who moved first but in the next second her lips were on his, Sophie’s hands clutching his face as his arms held her tightly to him.

The intensity Benedict had felt during their first kiss several years ago was at long last replicated and burnt even more ferociously as their embrace deepened, their tongues mixing together, teeth clashing, and a moan emitting from Sophie’s throat. At some point they lost balance, stumbling down into the sand together, their kiss unyielding as Benedict rolled over until he was on top of her. One of her legs was wrapped around him, her foot nudging his bottom, as her hands caressed his chest, her fingers trailing across his muscles.

“Sophie.” he groaned as she began to nip at his collar.

It had never felt like this with anyone. The way he had kissed Tessa, Gen, and every other woman in his past paled in comparison to the way it felt to trade kisses with Sophie, to grope her, to be on top of her. He had wanted this for so long and he now knew she was all he’d ever want.

He kissed below her ear as he palmed her breasts, squeezing her nipples through her bikini top, smirking when she gasped his name out as a direct result of his wandering hands. His hand trailed further down her body, reaching her shorts, and he began unbuttoning them, needing to be even closer to her than he already was.

“Yes, Ben. Please.” she whined and surged up to meet his lips with a hunger-filled kiss.

It was only as he pulled down the zip of her shorts that Benedict realised how wrong this all was. It was all so very wrong. Sophie deserved better than a drunken fumble on the beach. She deserved to be of sober mind, as did he, and they should be in a bed, taking things slow and building up their desire, making it as tender and as intimate as possible. He wanted it to mean something when he first made love to her. Sophie Beckett deserved nothing but the best.

He dropped his hands away and pulled back from her kiss, hovering above her as she stared up at him in confusion.

“Sorry. I can’t do this.” he exhaled breathlessly. “Not with you, Soph.” he shook his head. “You -”

But he didn’t get a chance to finish as suddenly he found himself pushed off of Sophie as she scrambled to her feet.

“Soph,”

“No!” she cried down at him. “No, Ben! I can’t believe I let you do this to me again!” she choked and Benedict was astonished to see tears shooting down her face. “Why do you do this to me? Why do you make me feel like such an idiot? It’s not fair! And now you’ve ruined ABBA for me!”

“Sophie, I -” he tried to sit up, to ask her why she was suddenly so distraught, but she kicked sand in his face.

“I hate you!” she wailed. “All you ever do is hurt me!”

Benedict felt his heart lodged in his throat as he watched her storm off back to the party.

Sophie hated him? He made her feel hurt? What had he even done? Surely it was nothing more than a drunken cloud of confusion that made Sophie so suddenly upset.

He managed to get to his feet and hurried after her but when he rounded the corner she was already lost to him within the crowd. He searched in vain for her but to no avail and after twenty minutes made his way up to the hotel, hoping to find her there. When he reached the area where he knew her room to be he came across Phillip emerging from one of the rooms. Just as he went to ask him if he had seen Sophie, Phillip hauled him into another room and threw him down in a chair.

“Phil, what -”

“Stay away from her.”

Benedict was taken aback by Phillip’s stern tone of voice. He had only ever known his brother’s friend to be quiet and soft-spoken. Now Phillip’s low voice matched his towering figure, making him far more intimidating than he had ever been before.

“What?”

“How could you do that to her again?” Phillip snapped. “It was cruel enough the first time around - does Sophie mean nothing to you?”

“Of course she does!” Benedict argued - Sophie meant everything to him. “I’d never hurt Sophie,”

“And yet here we are again!” Phillip barked.

“Again? I don’t understand,”

“The Yule ball, Benedict.” Phillip stated bluntly.

The Yule ball?

“I don’t know,” Benedict began, trying to figure how on earth he had hurt Sophie, considering she was the one who asked him to forget about the kiss they had shared that had turned his world on its axis.

“You kissed her!” Phillip cut him off. “You kissed her and got her hopes up and then you turned around and told your mates that she was nothing more to you than your little brother’s friend and that you only brought her as your date because nobody else had asked her!”

Benedict felt his stomach plummet at this revelation. He had completely forgotten ever saying that to Henry and Wetherby and he had never realised that Sophie had overheard him. Suddenly it all became crystal clear why Sophie had kept her distance from him all these years, why she accused him of hurting her again, why she had called him a hypocrite when he told her he didn’t want to see her hurt.

“You were such a dick to her!” Phillip continued as Benedict processed this stunning information. “For starters there were plenty of guys who wanted to ask her to the ball - you were the one without a date! And you should have known better than to use her as a rebound to get over your ex!”

“She wasn’t a rebound.” Benedict said quietly - his family had believed his misery during the latter half of his seventh year had been because he was heartbroken over Tessa; but it was Sophie who he had been struggling to get over.

“And just when I thought she was finally over you, you go and do this to her?!” Phillip spluttered. “You have done nothing to deserve her love. If you had any respect for her you’d leave her the hell alone.”

Benedict wanted so desperately to explain that he only told her he couldn’t continue with what they had started on the beach because he wanted to treat her better, for their first time to be special, to explain how she meant more to him than anyone else. However he was hung up on what Phillip had just mentioned.

“What do you mean she was finally over me?” he gulped - had Sophie liked him?

“You’re so fucking dense!” Phillip exclaimed. “That poor girl has been in love with you from the first day you met!”

Benedict truly felt winded. If what Phillip was saying was true then that first kiss at the Yule ball had meant as much to her as it had to him, and probably even more if she had loved him for nearly five years before that. She had been in love with him and then heard him say she was nothing to him other than Colin’s friend. In that moment he realised just how badly he had hurt her - if he felt pained by having her scream how she hated him in his face, he couldn’t begin to imagine how wretched he had made her feel after she heard him say that after their life-changing kiss.

“I... I didn’t know,”

“No of course you didn’t!” Phillip lambasted.

“Please, let me talk to her.” Benedict begged him. “I need her to know how sorry I am. Phil, please, she means so much to me,”

“If she means so much to you then I’d hate to see how you treat those who don’t mean anything to you.”

“No please, you don’t understand, I lo-”

“No!” Phillip shouted. “You’re drunk and in no fit state to even understand what you’re saying! Just go to bed and leave her alone!”

The next day Benedict woke up with the world’s worst hangover, which only doubled over in pain when he remembered the events of the night before. As awful as he felt, he wanted to speak to Sophie, to apologise for everything and tell her how wrong he was for everything, and even beg her not to give up on loving him; not when he loved her back.

But by the time he finally arose at well past midday, Sophie and Phillip had already left the island on a boat trip and they wouldn’t be returning until after the portkey that had brought Benedict and the others there had taken them back home. He didn’t want to accept defeat but Benedict conceded that even if Sophie hadn’t flitted off that she wouldn’t want to hear anything he had to say to her.

And so he was transported home, taking his overwhelming guilt and broken heart with him, wondering how on earth he could ever make things right with Sophie again and have her love him once more.

#asks #not me adding even more angst #also me: i will pepper in some mamma mia into this bridgerton harry potter au because i am ridiculous #and while i don't see lily james as sophie i couldn't resist that one look from mamma mia 2 #because my my how could benedict resist her #and yet again i know i haven't actually provided the details of how they actually get together in this au #but i will be providing that information soon #i just couldn't help but sprinkle a little more drama to proceedings #bridgerton drabble #harry potter au #benophie #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett

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cheekedupwhiteboy · 7 months

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saw a post abt some israeli musician being a "former member of the IDF" .......you guys know everyone is subject to mandatory military service there right

#like i guess its not untrue abt this guy but it also provides 0 information that someone with a brain wouldnt already know. u know #how soon we forget the twitter swiftie account who went on hiatus to be in jail for refusing conscription

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shadowdianne · 8 months

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I'm trying my hardest not to go into a bg3 rant about storyline BC everyone I could do it with is actively playing their first ran so no spoilers buuuut oh, it would have been amazing getting this game when I was active on fanfiction writing xd

#doing a second run now with an origin character #pretty interesting seeing moments in where i remember getting their approval or disapproval bc the game provides inner narrative to their #own reactions so it informs a lot on wh they reacted poorly or not at certain moments #and nope not talking about the poor emo mew mew rn #my feelings regardind astarion are simple; love the character and his story but absolutely loathe the conversation that is happening around #him from fandom spaces #so i stay the fuck out of those #(was talking about shadowheart? currently yup but I'll be startin a run with laezel and other with wyll soon enough xd)#the only reason i haven't started with him is that in my first run i did a warlock and wanted to play as another type of caster in my second

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airsigh · 10 months

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just had my one-month check in at the eating disorder clinic where i told off the doctor for cutting my treatment short and not doing literally half of what was included in the treatment criteria. and they AGREED WITH ME!!!!!

#accountability ???? in MY public health care provider??????#it’s more likely than you think !!!!!#anyway they told me why they did what they did and validated my anger and said that they’re gonna inform the supervising doctor #and i’ll probably hear back soon about them checking in with me and they’re gonna give me more info about moving forward #and they’re making a note that i didn’t receive the last half of treatment so that if i need to come #back and re-enter treatment; they’ll just reopen my file so i don’t have to redo the referral and assessment processes #and we’ll pick up where we left off #wild day!!!!!!!#now i need a gd NAP #recovery tag

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watchingthefog · 2 years

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Abandoning my og!Elias WIP to write some illegally soft LonelyEyes... They should go on vacation together: Peter planned the entire trip himself, hidden the whole time within the obscuring fog of the Lonely, because Elias hates surprises so of course Peter wanted to surprise him

#Peter has always been good at only letting Elias See him when he wants to be seen. Elias worked hard to get through his barriers‚ early on #but Peter of course needs his time alone. he oft keeps Elias out. it's good for their relationship: absence makes the heart grow fonder :P #(it's enthralling to Elias‚ getting close to someone so good at obscuring his sight. tantalizing to have him close but just out of reach)#but needles to say‚ Peter keeping to himself wasn't suspicious by any means. it was‚ then‚ truly a surprise #when Peter announced on a Friday morning that Elias would be joining him that afternoon‚ as soon as he left work‚ on a flight.#to where‚ he refused to say. and the Eye itself could not provide him with the information hidden so well by the Forsaken #it annoyed Elias all day.#the private jet was manned by long-time Lukas employees. they were not nearly as hidden from his gaze as Peter himself‚#but they were good at staying unseen. it was not until hours into the flight that Elias finally Knew where they were going.#“The Caribbean‚ Peter?” Elias muttered. The Edward Bodden Little Cayman Airfield‚ specifically. he rolled his eyes fondly #Of course if Peter was going to pick a tropical island for his vacation spot‚ he'd choose one with a population of less than 200 #the Institute employed more people than that.#“All this secrecy just for that?” Elias asked. Peter's only response was to laugh at him. Elias scowled.#he was hiding something else‚ and even if Elias didn't Know‚ he could certainly guess. “I am not getting on a boat with you.”#Peter laughed again‚ far too delighted to have tricked his husband into finally going sailing. well. that's fine.#this marriage had lasted too long already anyway. it was their first time celebrating an anniversary‚ after... all... Oh.#Elias blinked. Peter planned this for their anniversary? yes‚ of course he did. he remembered ahead of time‚ without any input from Elias #that was... that was actually touching.#it did Not make up for the motion sickness Elias was sure to suffer from this weekend‚ but it was... something.#in the end‚ Elias got on the boat.#on Tuesday‚ after the long weekend holiday‚ Elias came back to work horribly sunburnt because *someone* didn't pack sunscreen.#this is exactly why *Elias* plans their trips instead of Peter. he certainly wouldn't have forgotten anything #alright now time to turn those tags into a real fic #i have Thoughts about Lukas employees. Peter is sailing them on an absolutely oversized massive yacht btw. sailboat yacht ⛵#of course it has many employees. chefs‚ cleaners‚ a navigator and a captain for when Peter doesn't feel like driving the boat himself.#Peter doesn't notice any of them. the help don't exist to him. Elias‚ however‚ feels their eyes and knows when they think about him #this is a new yacht and those are new employees and they are not Lonely yet. it's a delightful vacation‚ actually #Elias makes sure that Peter and he are heard and that their activities are gossiped about. Peter remains none the wiser #alone (for a certain value of alone) on the ship‚ for a short while‚ they are both content.

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leadmeastraylittlefairy · 8 months

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i should be able to explode my coworkers w my brain

#eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee #i got called into a meeting w my boss’s boss and one of my coworkers bc one of his clients is upset #she’s been trying to get assistance w her mortgage since AUGUST and i’ve been going back and forth w my coworker since then #explaining over and over what needs to be done and he just doesn’t fucking do it #or maybe he doesn’t read my emails truly i do not know #but he was straight up lying in this meeting the entire time that it’s the client who’s not providing what she’s supposed to #AND he apparently called someone’s apartment complex without a release which is ILLEGAL #and i just had to sit there and try to contribute helpful information :))))))))))))))#i told him i had a different question for our boss so he would leave and i told her i’ve been explaining to him #what needs to be done for this client for over 6 weeks now #will there be any consequences for him? no.#will this clients mortgage get paid? not anytime soon #i can’t take it #🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯 exploding him w my brain

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drchucktingle · 1 year

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After a cloudquake wakes George in the middle of the night, he hops onto the social media platform Twiddor in search of information. Unfortunately, instead of emergency services, all George can find are scam accounts and bots posing as the Billings news media to sell cryptocurrency. The strange part is, these are all verified accounts with an official blue checkmark.

George soon discovers that Elon Mork, the head of Twiddor, has eliminated all verified checkmarks and installed a program called Twiddor Blue, providing verification to anyone who pays for it. This chaos has prompted many to start banning every blue checkmark account they see, and George quickly joins in.

But things get strange when a crying dinosaur comes knocking on George’s door in the dead of night. It’s Elon Mork, and he’s begging George to like him.

This important tale is 4,200 words of a needy T-Rex billionaire grappling with the fact that he’s a loser and nobody likes him. There is no sex, but there is plenty of satisfying catharsis.

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new tingler NOT POUNDED BY TWIDDOR CHECKMARKS BECAUSE I BLOCKED EVERY PERSON WHO HAS ONE, DESPITE ELON MORK STANDING OUTSIDE MY HOUSE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT CRYING AND BEGGING ME TO JOIN TWIDDOR BLUE out now on amazon or patreon

#love is real #buckaroo lifestyle #chuck tingle #tingleverse

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ilsanslut · 6 months

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꒷♡꒷ STRESS RELIEF!

♰ featuring: wriothesley [genshin impact]

♰ note: i’m in heat and all i can think about is a stressed and tired wriothesley eating out his pretty gf from the back to relieve his tension.

sypnosis: get you a man who will drown in your pussy and call it “stress relief”! wc: 2.6k content/trigger warning(s): 18+. smut. femme/female bodied!reader. messy pussy-eating. dominant/feral!wriothesley. marking. biting. spanking. squirting. cursing. hand-holding. groping. hair pulling. ꒷꒦

It was almost as though Wriothesley was being crushed under the constant pressure of his job as the warden within the shadowy confines of the Fortress of Meropide. The burden of his obligations bore down on him like the merciless force of the sea that imprisoned them all within the stronghold. When a problem arose or strife broke out among the prisoners, he was the one they all turned to for help. Today, on the other hand, appeared to be the day that he would be pushed to his breaking point. There was a mountain of paperwork that was piled high on top of his desk and seemed to never end; the pipes seemed to trickle and leak indefinitely, necessitating constant repair; the elevators are out of commission for maintenance, forcing everyone to use the forgotten, decrepit, and mildew-smelling stairwell; and, to top it all off, there is a 'Credit Coupon' thief swiping people's credits beneath their noses. And, not to mention, he had been so backed up with dealing with everyone else’s problems that he had already missed his afternoon tea.

Anyone near could feel the ominous aura radiating off of the iron doors of his office.

Though, amidst the chaos and tension, one beacon of solace shone through—you. His light in the darkness. The one thing keeping him sane.

Your warm smile and unwavering support were the calming forces that held the key to unlocking his cold heart. He craved the comforting words you spoke, the softness of your touch, and the calm you provided amidst the chaos of everyday life. You turned into a haven for him—a haven from the relentless pressure that felt like it would swallow him.

Which is exactly why you weren’t surprised when a guard came to you while you were aiding Sigewinne with a patient, informing you that the Duke requested your presence in his office immediately. Lunch was usually shared by the two of you, but you expected that he would be too overwhelmed with work to remember to eat, let alone take a break, given everything he has been going through. The two guards outside his office gave you a pitying glance as you got closer, understanding that things were not good. Nevertheless, they let you cross the bridge and into his office. You went in, and the first thing you saw was Wriothesley sitting on the bottom two steps, as if he were waiting for you. You noticed that his tie was unkempt, his jacket was completely abandoned, and his hair had a disheveled tousle that suggested he had either been tugging or running his hands through it for at least a while. That, and it was impossible to ignore the worn-out look in his faded hues.

But as soon as your eyes met, his worn-out expression changed to something strange but familiar—something you had seen on many sultry nights spent by yourself with him in the past. His eyes were fixed on you, freezing you in place with an indisputable lust, a carnal hunger, and a burning desire. Pushing himself up from the steps, he moved toward you with calculated, deliberate steps, each one more heavy than the last, like a beast cornering its prey, his heavy steel boots clinking against the copper floors. Soon, he was towering over you, hands twitching at his sides as though he were refraining from tearing you apart where you stood.

“You look good.” You blurted, swallowing thickly in your throat, as you were cornered against the heavy steel of his office’s door.

He chuckled, throaty and sultry, as his hand met your waist, the other one coming to rest it’s forearm above your head as he caged you between the door and his muscular frame, “Yeah?”

His casual drawl had your knees going weak, threatening to buckle beneath you while his thumb rubbed slow, salacious circles into your hip. “I think I’ve been better.”

You shrugged nonchalantly with an indifferent hum, raising your hands to trail absentminedly over his large chest that bulged through his dress shirt, finally coming to toy with his tie. “Mhm. You missed lunch today, you know.”

“Did I?” His voice was husky—deep, the subtle rumble of his baritone voice going straight to your core causing your thighs to squeeze against one another—an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Wriothesley, who’s palms grew hungry on you, manuvering behind you to grope thick handfuls of your rear shamelessly. “I’ve been so swamped with work that it must’ve slipped my mind. But . . . I’m sure you understand, right, baby?” His arm that was poised above your head lowered, his partially gloved thumb stroking at the supple flesh of your cheek. “Why don’t you let me make it up to you, yeah? . . . I have an idea that will make us both happy.”

You had an idea as to what he was alluding to, but nonetheless, you nodded with a hum of agreement. This made Wriothesley smirk in response, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so that he may lean in and press a kiss to your temple.

“Turn around.”

His dominant undertone left little room for argument as you did what he asked, turning around so that you were facing the metal door of his office. Without another moment's hesitation, you felt yourself pushed against it, your body pinned against Wriothesley's heated form with your cheek smushed against the cold metal face of the door. His body pressed firmly against yours, and you felt something unmistakable grinding into your ass, all the while his sharp canines drug themselves up your neck, a silent warning to stay put.

And you did.

Hot, sloppy kisses trailed themselves down the back of your neck as greedy palms groped and squeezed at your body wherever they could reach—almost as though they were attempting to alleviate tension with every heated touch. Sensing his descent, you eventually heard him drop to his knees behind you, his gloved hands reaching up to lift your skirt and turn it over to expose your plump, pliant rear. A growl, something animalistic and ravenous, came from the back of his throat, and one of those large palms rose for a split second before slapping your right cheek, making you squeal and making Wriothesley laugh.

“Careful, Y/N.” He chided, using his palms to massage the abused flesh as an imprint of his hand—ringed fingers and all—slowly began to appear on your ass. “This door may be thick, but this chamber echos. You don’t want the guards and—Gods know who else—hearing you on the other side, do you~?”

You felt your face heat up against the frigid door’s surface, now acutely aware of the silence on the other side, which meant his guards were now undoubtedly listening. Nonetheless, you nodded, casting a shy glance over your shoulder to your lover, who was already gazing up at you with half-lidded eyes and that salacious smirk on his face that just made your knees go weak and your folds gush with arousal.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that though,” He stated nonchalantly, leaning over to press a soft kiss against your ass as sinful digits reached up to peel your already soaked panties down your thighs until they pooled at your ankles. Wriothesley groaned inwardly, his pupils blown, as he used his thumbs to spread you apart in all your glory, admiring how your folds glistened in the dim lights of the lower floor of his office. “*I can’t promise that I’ll be going easy on you either, baby.”

Without saying another word, his hands reached out and took firm hold of both your cheeks, spreading them wide before plunging straight into your dripping folds. Immediately, your knees were buckling beneath you as a pleasured mewl escaped your lips, your nails dragging against the metal surface in an attempt to find purchase. With his hands leaving your ass to wrap around the front of your thighs, his tongue was unrelenting as it ruthlessly claimed every inch of your pussy to himself, drawing you closer to him so he could continue to devour you. His tongue was hot, heavy, and drooling as it spread you wide open, encircling your clit, and slurping up whatever delicious goodness you had to offer. His nose pressed deep into your wetness, drowning in your depths, but he did not seem to care in the slightest. He wanted more—craved more—and one thing about Wriothesley was that he was a man who got what he wanted.

His tongue and ravenous lips wrapped around your tender nub and sucked away like a starving man enjoying the sweetest nectar of life, leaving you a moaning mess above him and unable to stop your hips from moving on their own as you practically fucked yourself against his face. You didn’t care if the guards—or anyone else, for that matter—heard you. All you could focus on was how his sweltering and deft mouth had you practically creaming onto his selfish brims already.

“Wrio~!” You keened, nearly losing your footing had it not been for Wriothesley keeping you firmly in place by his grip. “I-I can’t! I-It’s too much!” You whimpered just as another cry drew from your lips from a jolt of pleasure from your nethers.

In response, you felt another sharp spank rain down on your ass, and Wriothesley finally withdrew, but only so that he could snarl out, “You can and you will. Fucking take it, Y/N.” He was breathless, panting—truly, a man starved in his most primal state.

He pulled away momentarily, strings of your arousal clinging to the lower half of his face, which was glistening in your translucent juices, to turn to your inner thighs. His jaw widened before clamping down harshly on your once supple flesh, biting and sucking the blood to it’s surface to leave furious marks in his wake.

“Wriothesley!” You wept with delight and surprise at the lewd action that made your folds rub together, and you were unable to ignore the disgustingly lewd squelching sound that came from your cunt.

He repeated the same action, this time on your ass cheek, taking the pliant flesh between his teeth and delivering yet another primal bite to your soft skin, effectively marking you. “Shit, Y/N.” His heated breath wafted over your clit, making you clench around nothing as he huffed and panted like a mutt against your thigh, an action that your attentive lover obviously noticed. “The things you do to me . . .~”

Without saying anything more, he plunged back into you, even more intense than before. With his deft fingers reaching around your front and rubbing quick, merciless circles onto your clit, he was aiming at his sole target, your sopping hole. Pushing his tongue in and out of your wetness, he slurped every last drop of your sweet juices onto his tongue. He was milking you like a machine—using your clit as the trigger to release more and more of your translucent fluids onto his tongue, which he rapaciously gluped down. All the while, your toes curled in your shoes, and as every one of his hot, heavy pants exhaled through his nose, you were able to feel it against your pretty asshole.

“Wrio, wrio, baby, please! R-Right there, I-I’m gonna . .” Your hasty pleas were cut off, your hand reaching back to tangle itself into your boyfriend’s smokey locks, holding him in place as you basically rode his tongue.

You felt him chuckling against your folds before you heard him, unable to stop the sharp cry that escaped you from the sudden vibration. His hand left your clit, however, it was soon replaced with his mouth in favor of meeting your hand with his own. He pried your death grip from his locks, intertwining his fingers with your own as his head shook back and forth between your thighs. His lips suckled away at you in such an unforgiving way that it made your head spin and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Anyone within the immediate vicinity could definitely hear the unabashed slurping and squleching sounds emanating from his efforts as they reverberated through his office's chambers.

He took your hand in his and massaged calming circles around your knuckles until you finally came undone in front of him, unable to contain your overwhelming euphoria. A series of cries and mewls left your lips, leaving you breathless as your juices came flooding out of you, drenching your lover’s face and attire in a torrent, which he happily gulped down. Had it not been for his grip on your frame, you most definitely would’ve collapsed, but he held you firmly against him, even using his face to support your weight at one point like your own personal seat—because it was. After all, he was yours just as much as you were his, and he’d be damned if anything tried to change that.

His hurried movements subsided during your high, his tongue now languidly stroking your folds to carry you through your blissful daze; still, you could not control your hips from lurching each time he touched your tender, pulsating nub. Before long, he began to back off, giving you some leverage and giving himself space to finally breathe. His hot breath wafted against your behind, his chest rising and falling with each breath, finally being kind enough to himself to give him the sweet, sweet oxygen his lungs had been begging for.

Slowly, he rose from behind you, your half-lidded gaze meeting his own through the tears that formed on your lash line, which he wiped away with a swipe of his thumb.

“Y’still with me, pretty?” He whispered in a honeyed drawl, placing a soft kiss against your shoulder as the hand that was holding your own moved to your bicep to rub soothing circles along your arm.

You nodded, albeit weakly, still recovering from the mind-shattering orgasm he had just put you through.

“Y’feel better now, Wrio?”

He responded with a hearty chuckle, rolling his neck in a tantilizing way that exposed his throbbing Adam’s apple and scarred throat. His gaze met your own again, this time with a familiar spark burning behind his dusky hues, “Ahh, a’litte bit.”

He leaned over you once again, his forearm resting above your head as his chest pressed against your back. You gasped, your hips jolting as you felt his rock-hard bulge pressing against you, just barely managing to graze your sopping folds.

“Still feeling a little ‘tense’ here . . . but you’d be willing to help me out,” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. Although you couldn’t see him, you could practically feel the smirk beaming from his stupidly handsome face.

“Right, baby?”

Oh, he was going to be the death of you someday.

#genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #wriothesley #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley imagines #vampiiebitez

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