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sailorshadzter · 6 months

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Can you write a parallel with canon where Dani is Cersei, Viserys is Joff, and Sansa is to marry him. Jon could be in Jamie’s role as royal bastard. I live for salty teen, angst with happy ending!

okay anon

so hear me out

this has been in my inbox for.... well... forever. lol.

i apologize for the amount of time its been & for the lack of angst??? but i think??? this could span a second chapter???? or more??? i really love this setting & its not one ive done yet. so i can easily be tempted to do a little more to it.

anyways. i felt compelled to write this randomly so here's what i have for you SO FAR. be on the lookout for more! and anon, if you see this (or anyone really), feel free to request more, if you even remember sending this lol

send me prompts

The South is unlike her home in every way possible.

She looks up at the daunting Red Keep before her, knowing that after this day, everything in her life was to change. The eldest daughter of the Warden in the North, she’s come to King’s Landing to marry the young King Viserys Targaryen, a madman some might say, spoiled and prone to violence when he doesn’t get exactly what he wants. Her father had been against the match of course, but when the King sought your daughter’s hand, there was little he could do but bring her South and hope for the best.

And so, as they climb the steps to the double doors, they’re already swinging open, revealing to her and her entourage the young and beautiful Targaryen princess, Daenerys. She’s soft-faced, with violet eyes and silvery hair that she wears twisted back in braids, gems sparkling in the sunlight. Her powder blue gown is of the latest fashion, with long sweeping sleeves and an elegant waistline. “Welcome to King’s Landing,” she says with a glittering smile, eyes sweeping from one face to the next before they settle upon the redhead she knows is the girl who will marry her brother. “Lady Stark, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.” She says these words but somehow, Sansa doesn’t think she quite means them. But, she smiles and dips her an appropriate curtsy, as she knows to do. Her manners are that of a well bred, noble born girl, a girl who had perfected her curtsy at three. There would be no one at court who could rival her in courtly demeanor. “Come, let me bring you inside…” She gestures for the small group to follow after her and they step inside the castle, which to her delight, is as beautiful as she imagined it would be.

“Thank you for the welcome,” Sansa finally speaks as she turns to face the Targaryen princess, surprised when for the first time she notices another standing there. It is a young man, perhaps only a little older than she is herself, with dark hair and eyes that remind her of home… Why, she knows at once who this young man must be, her very own cousin Aegon, born of her aunt Lyanna Stark and the famed Rhaegar Targaryen. A bastard son, but a royal bastard, raised there among the Targaryen family he had left in Viserys and Daenerys. Some might even say he was the real claimant to the Iron Throne, but the boy had never seemed interested, and so it was Viserys who ruled as King of the Seven Kingdoms. There were some who even whispered rebellion in his name, but such whispers had yet to reach the palace spies.

Aegon looks solemn as he stands there in all black, opting to leave behind the finery his aunt wears, wearing instead something that could have been homespun for all she knew. He is every inch a Stark born man, looking more like her own father’s son than even Robb looked, his features reminding her mostly of Arya. At once, she feels a twinge of homesickness, for the North would never be her home again. “The King is waiting for your arrival,” Daenerys is speaking once more, drawing her attention away from her cousin and back to the present. “I will have you shown to your rooms, so you may rest and refresh, then I shall have someone bring you to him in the throne room.” Sansa nods, pushing away the flicker of fear, holding her head high, like the queen she knows she must become. A queen would not be afraid.

A queen would be strong.

[ x x x ]

He can’t believe how beautiful she is.

Of course, he’s seen her painted portrait, but even that did not do her justice, certainly not when she smiles. From where he stands beside his uncle’s throne, the young bastard watches as she appears in the doorway to the throne room, on the arm of one of Viserys’ nobles. She’s in a new gown, one of gray damask, sewn he can see in a fashion more like the South than the one she’d arrived in. Her red hair, so vivid, so long, is pulled half back, a knot of braids pinned into place with a dragonfly comb. The rest of her hair falls long and loose down her back, nearly to her waist, and his fingers ache with the need to know just how soft it must have been.

“Welcome my lady,” his uncle speaks from where he sits, violet eyes sparking at the sight of the young woman that now approaches the dais. Viserys too notes the beauty of the girl before him, with red hair and eyes so blue they are unlike any color he’s seen before. She sweeps him a beautiful curtsy, dipping so low he wonders how she could ever rise back up, but she does so in a fluid motion that would put even his most noble women to shame. “I am delighted to finally meet you.” Their betrothal has been a long time coming, that was for certain, with many months of negotiation and delay. He rises up, surprising her, to come down the steps from his throne to stand before her, reaching to take her hand and bring it to his lips for a feather soft kiss. From behind him, his nephew wonders who has replaced his uncle, for this was certainly not the man he’s known all of his life. “You are a beauty.”

She blushes beneath his compliments, dimpling prettily when she smiles. “Thank you, your grace,” she murmurs in a soft, but Northern accent. “I am happy to finally be here,” she goes on with a flutter of her lashes, her hand still in his, daring to give it the gentlest of squeezes.

“I know you have met my sister, Daenerys already… This is my nephew,” he turns, gesturing towards the young man that looms behind his throne. “Come, Aegon and meet your future queen.” Though he looks as if he’d rather do anything but, he comes down the dais as well, offering the young woman a bow. “Aegon will be captain of the queensguard, you know, so I imagine the two of you will become fast friends. Show her around, won’t you Aegon? And tomorrow evening we shall have a banquet to celebrate your arrival.” He’s smiling, but much like Daenerys, Sansa feels as if what he says, or in this case, what he does, doesn’t really equate to the truth. But, she smiles and nods all the same, for this was her life now.

This was her family now.

[ x x x ]

Aegon turns out to be more like a Stark than he knows.

He’s sullen, quite like Arya tended to be, and that thought alone brings a smile to her face. “This way, my lady,” he says, speaking for the first time, gesturing for her to follow after him. Instead, she falls into step at his side, as was her right, and he casts a sidelong glance her way as they step out of the halls and into the bright afternoon sunshine, to visit first the gardens.

“Oh! How beautiful,” she says as they step into the lush greenery, the floral scents overwhelming as she sinks down to the nearest of bushes, simply to breathe in the sweet scent of the flowers growing there. From where he stands, Aegon watches her, surprised by this seemingly uncharacteristic act, for she seemed like the perfect courtier, never slipping from the role she’s taken on. But here in the garden, for a split second, he realizes he is seeing her for who she really was. “The gardens in Winterfell are never in such a bloom,” she says as she stands upright, brushing off her gown with a smile. “I’ve never seen such beautiful flowers before.”

“This is only the beginning,” he says as they continue on their way, passing only a few others as they go. “The season has only just begun, after all.” Her eyes widen and she seems delighted by this knowledge and Jon leans over, plucking one of the blooms from the bush, simply so he might tuck it into her braids. “Come, there’s more to see,” he says next and she cannot help but to giggle at his expense, hand to his elbow so she might once more walk alongside him, her skirts sweeping across the stone walkway as they go.

“We are cousins you know,” she says after a moment, her turn to look sideways at him. He’s already looking her way, those gray eyes dark, eyes that seem to stare right into her very soul. Aegon nods, he knows this information well enough, his uncle never ceases to remind him that he’s only a bastard born son. “You look like my father, like my sister.” She goes on as they cross the path, his steps leading her towards a stone bench that sits in a far corner.

“I have heard,” he says, for another thing his uncle has never let him forget was how un-Targaryen he looks.

“I never met her, but you must look like your mother. My father always says that Arya is like Lyanna in all ways but the gown wearing and you have her likeness.” She thinks of her little sister left behind, never close, but certainly loved, and wonders what she was doing right then, right now. Probably causing trouble of some kind. “I wonder…” She trails off, tapping her chin in thought, head tilted back just enough that her hair cascades down her back, prompting him to wonder just how soft it might be beneath his fingertips.

“You wonder what, my lady?” Aegon asks when she doesn’t finish what she’s started.

When she turns her face back to him, her blue eyes are quite serious in their gaze. “I only wonder what you’d have been named, if you’d been born in the North.” She doesn’t mean to offend, but for some reason, his Targaryen name just doesn’t seem to fit.

He’s surprised by these words, for all of his life he’s struggled with an identity that never felt as if it belonged to him. Aegon, though his name for nearly eighteen years now, has never felt as if it was truly his. As if it fit who he was supposed to be. Aegon, the name of his dead half-brother, a stolen name his uncle sometimes says in a rage, a name he does not deserve. “Well, had I been born in the North I’d be a Snow,” he replies to which she nods, staring at him as if she were inspecting him.

“Jon,” she finally says with a smile.

“Jon?” He questions, to which once again she nods.

“It would be Jon, most certainly. Jon Snow.”

“Jon… Jon Snow,” he tests it out, the name feeling familiar upon his lips, despite only just hearing it now. Somehow, this name seems to fit far more than his given name has ever. She’s smiling triumphantly, clearly proud of herself, and he finds he’s grinning himself, a strange warmth flowing through him.

She opens her mouth to speak, but is silenced by the approaching footsteps of another. It’s a woman that stands there now, a little older than even Jon, with dark hair and eyes, dressed in the traditional garb of a handmaiden. “My lord, your grace,” it takes Sansa a moment to realize the woman is speaking to her with such a title and she reminds herself that she was queen to be, as good as married, considering the binding betrothal contract. “My name is Shae, I’m to be your handmaiden,” the woman continues only when she’s swept them both a curtsy. “The King has asked me to return you to your rooms before supper,” she adds, shooting a quick glance at the young man beside her.

“Oh, yes, please let us go,” he gets up alongside her, issuing her a quick bow as she turns to go. She turns back only once and when she’s gone, he’s left there wondering why he feels so empty without her by his side.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #anon asks #writing prompts #this gives me so many ideas lol #i wrote this #my writing

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phoenix-before-the-flame · 1 year

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Im sorry im sot sure how to word this right but, how do you manage to change the characters race while still making them look like well, them? I've tried but it never comes out right.... they allways look like a new character when i try.... again im sorry to ask....

Tis not a problem at all dear comrade! I'm always happy to try and answer art questions, but just a heads up i might get a lil bit rambly in some spots so i do apologize beforehand.

First off, change that negative tone!

I understand how you feel and its easy to feel down when the piece isnt turning out how you picture it but that's ok. You're setting foot into new artistic territory, something you havent tried before thats still a fairly big unknown. Instead of seeing it as a failure see it instead as a step in your artistic growth. No one starts off god tier right? Changing your framing of how you see your 'bad' drawings can really help you see em in a more positive light (and help with motivation when you attempt something new another time!)

Ok but onto what you actually asked about. How do you change a character but still keep them the same? Well in my eyes to do this, you have to

Break down thedesign

Let's take in the character we wanna redesign. We gotta really look at their original design and identify all their relevant features and shapes that make them easily recognizable as them.

Lemme grab my assistant Gajeel to illustrate my point.

So we have our Gajeel, yea we know what he looks like but! What exactly are we looking for here? Well we're looking for the key features to his design, features important enough where if he had a completely different hairstyle and colour palette ( and perhaps even body type) would make you go 'yea that's gajeel'.

So in breaking it down we note that he has:

Triangular shaped eyes with a bit of a dark outline

Small eyes with slit pupils

Prominent cheekbones

Jacked up hairline

And of course the most noticable feature, the multiple piercings

These- to me- are the most important parts of his design so i leave them generally unchanged when i go about drawing him. Which means everything else is on the table to change!

Though for me when I got about my redesigns i focus on changing 3 things mostly- nose, lips and hair. These really push a race change design, specifically in this case, makin em black

Now of course with this you are going to change skin tone that's obvious but relying solely on colour palette change makes for a somewhat weak redesign. If you turn off the colour and you can't tell if the character is nonwhite then it needs some work.

Noses and Lips

Now there are a great many ways to draw wider noses and it can be a bit difficult figuring out to interpret em without em lookin janky but i find that less is more!

I only ever really show the base of the nose where the tip part is and the nostrils, the bridge of the nose is only ever shown in my style when the head is a bit turned.

The same goes with lips, you only really need about 2 or 3 lines at minimum to emphasizs thick lips- one for the actual lip line, one for the top lip and one for the lower lip. Some people choose to leave out the line for the bottom lip and thats fine. Just don't do this-

If you do that im putting you in the ground myself.

Hair

Hair is a bit of a 50/50 for me to change most times because i really enjoy drawing that spiky anime hair lol. But I think that the important thing to keep note of changing the hairstyle to a more natural one is to keep the overall silhouette of the hair recognizable.

The silhouette being y'know, the shape and all that. If you're a pokemon fan then you already know how much a silhouette builds recognition. So as an example, Juvia's first hairstyle was that straightened looke with the tight curls at the end. The shape of that hairstyle was mimicked by using braids with puffs at the ends to help with maintaining that silhouette.

Gajeel has very big, spiky and wild hair so I tried to mimick that with dreads

(Also to note with the Gajeel redesign is that his face is slightly wider with the features a bit lower but thats more of a liberty I took than anything hard and fast so dont even worry about that)

Again, if i am changing the hair then i try to follow the shape of the original design as closely as possible. Even with a design such as my Black Gray design with a vastly different hairstyle i still sketched out the shape of his og hair to maintain the overall spiky shape (with a few liberties lol)

So uh, yea! I think that's the most basic breakdown of how to go about doing a black redesign. Identifying the key design traits i think really is the most important step to do as it really helps to cement what's necessary to keep and what can or cant be changed.

But some other stuff to be mindful of when redesigning:

Refs naturally are your friend. If you have difficulty with interpreting irl refs then theres no shame in using someone elses art as a reference to help you to learn and understand (just no tracing!)

Please for the love of god use saturated browns for the skin tone. I cannot tell you how often i see designs with a gray-brown skin tone. It makes the character look ashy. Please don't make them ashy.

Also speaking of skin tones, be mindful of being accidentally colourist, where all your darker skinned characters villains or angry, loud, violent, sexual, etc. Not saying you can't redesign characters who have those traits to be dark skinned. But if all the characters you redesign to be dark skinned have those traits while others with more positive traits are lighter shades you may want to step back and do some reflection.

Don't be let down if you don't get a redesign on the first try! You don't see behind the scenes for other artists, it definitely takes a few tries to get it right so dont get hung up on it!

These are not hard and fast rules, just really what works for me and how I do things. If you need anything clarified better or wanna ask anything else feel free to! Happy redesigning comrade!

#talking to the firebird #uhhhhhhh #this got longer than i intended #should i tag this with something #uhm #art tips #i guess?

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aubstacle-of-course · 3 years

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Obligatory transmasc comic about hair, trauma, and gender

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potter-imagines · 3 years

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Being Thor and Loki's Little Sister and Dating Peter Parker Would Include...

Notes: wow I haven't written a marvel one in a long time pls don't read too much into the timeline lol I know things overlap but just go with it (:

Warnings: none... I think ??

Word Count: 3.6k (sorry its a bit long for a write like this but I couldn't help myself)

You managed to do a decent job at keeping your relationship under wraps from your brothers for quite some time

Of course every other member on the team knew before the two of you even begun officially dating

Peter had spent three months ranting and raving to Tony Stark about how cute he thought you were and how much he liked you

Tony insisted time and time again he should tell you but Peter’s fear of rejection was much too large for him to find the courage for that

Unbeknownst to him,

You had spilled about your crush on Peter to Wanda and Nat almost a week after living in the compound

Being the only other girls there besides Pepper, it was easy to confide in them

Day after day you would wander to Wanda’s room and lay on her bed and gush about how handsome Peter was and how kind of a heart he had

Wanda found it adorable

And Bucky, Steve and Sam had placed the pieces together after days on end of watching Peter and yourself flirt like school kids in the gym during training

Even after being frozen for years, Steve recognized the look of smitten on Peter’s face when he talked to you

Bruce on the other hand had to sit through most of the kids talks with Tony in the lab so he figured it out fast

So when the two of you finally confessed your feelings for one another and Peter asked you out, there was only one road block holding the moment back from perfection

Your brothers

You and Peter shared the news with all the other team members expect the two, possibly most important in your case, members

You’ve been close to your brothers since you were brought into this world so it wasn’t like you didn’t want to tell them

It was more or less how overprotective they could be that made you bite your tongue

And as nervous as you are, Peter is 1,000% more worried about your brother’s finding out

Like honestly can you imagine how petrified Peter would be to tell Thor and Loki you two were dating

He’d purposely walk in the opposite direction every time he saw either of the two for the first week

Couldn’t stop fumbling with his words when he spoke to either of them

Like he was terrified

It’s sort of a cliché to have protective older brothers but older brothers who were also both Gods ????

Peter felt like a deadman walking

When the day finally came that you did tell your brothers about your relationship with Peter, it was absolutely cringe worthy

Peter had been coming home to the tower after a long day at Midtown High School when he spotted you the second he stepped foot out of the elevator

His excitement had clouded his judgement as he failed to check and see if the coast was clear

“Y/n! Hey!”

He nearly tumbled over his own feet as he rushed over to you

His face was gleaming with happiness and for a brief moment you felt a smile creep to your face until you were pulled back to reality by his hand reaching out to grasp yours

Your eyes widened in shock as you stared at Peter and before you could warn him to stop, he had planted a soft kiss on your cheek

That adorable smile was glowing from his face as he reached down for your hand only to fall once you pulled your hand away

He gave you a look of confusion, clearly surprised by your lack of response

But when an awkward cough sounded from behind him, he suddenly knew why

Peter didn’t have enough time to make any sort of a move when a husky, all too familiar voice spoke up,

“Hello, man of spiders. May I ask why you just kissed our little sister?” “Oh shit- I uh, well you see I…um...she had something on her face so I uh…”

Loki would snicker in amusement at seeing the boy squirm and prolong his torture “So you kissed her?” “Yeah…” “Hm, there something you’d like to share, little one?”

It wasn’t exactly the way you were hoping to break the news to your brothers

But it was certainly one way of doing it

The rest of the night was filled with awkward tension as you and Peter had to confess the truth to your brothers, who then made you share the news with the rest of the team

Thankfully, the rest of the team pretended they were just hearing about your new relationship for the first time, seeing as no one wanted to deal with an angry Thor

Now let’s get into your relationship with Peter

Peter Parker is the most caring person in the universe

Honestly

And dating him certainly came with it’s perks

You can expect to wake up every morning with a fresh coffee and a pastry on your nightstand, courtesy of Peter

He’ll also write you a sweet little ‘good morning’ note with a sketch of spider-man hanging from a web

(( he’s actually pretty talented in the doodling department ))

Makes cute sketches of him as spiderman and you as a princess ( vv fitting)

But also draws you as a total badass saving the galaxy bc… well you are

Count on him to be the first person to greet you when the sunrises and the last person to wish you a goodnight when it falls

Gets Mr. Stark to buy you an iphone so he can teach you how to use it

Has your name as “goddess” in his phone

The first thing he does is teach you about texting so he can pay you in imessage games

Refuses to play you in battleship since you somehow have crushed him every single time

Gets slightly annoyed with the overwhelming amount of random photos you snap of him

But he knows its all new to you and finds it irritatingly adorable

Loves it when you walk home with him from school

Will also keep reminding you that you shouldn’t have walked alone all the way to Midtown High School alone

Peter often forgets that you’re Asgardian and can protect yourself just fine

But it’s so cute how protective he is

He’s very observant and notices nearly everything

Like when you’re feeling a bit homesick

He picks up on it right away and will ask Thor and/or Loki for advice

Or when you start to become bored and tired at one of Star’s parties

Peter made his way over you before you even had the chance to turn and search for him

He’d escort you back to your room and lay with you until he was positive you had fallen asleep

Kisses to the top of your head

Is the boyfriend that will take your makeup off for you if you wear any

(( and sets yours lashes on the nightstand so neatly and labels which eye they were on cause the poor boy doesn’t understand ))

Spends weeks learning how to master the intricate braids that adorn your head

It’s so cute cause he’ll sit and look up Youtube videos and try to learn how to make the different braids and is just so confused but so determined

Taking Peter to visit Asgard

“Woah- this place looks like something from Lord of the Rings! It’s awesome!” “Lord of the Rings? I’ve never met that God.” “Uh, no, it’s a movie from Earth. We can watch it when we go back.” “To Midgard?” “Midgard? No, to New York.”

Loves it when your people refer to you as “Princess Y/n”

For some reason it makes him blush

Will tell everyone back on Earth that he’s dating a princess

I could def see Peter getting annoyed and frustrated with the Asgardian men trying to flirt and win your heart

Although that’s something that already belong to Peter

And even though Peter trusts you entirely

He’s still insecure from time to time

Especially when he sees how much taller and stronger Asgardian men look in comparison to him

But he finds reassurance in the feeling of your hand in his and the gleeful smile adorning your face as you show him around your homeland

Attempting to help Peter study

Although you’re not much help to Midgardian school work “Peter, darling, I don’t have a clue what a watergate is and I haven’t an idea how that could be scandalous.”

Maths however you excelled in

And Peter was thoroughly surprised to find you had the sequence of PI memorized to the one hundredth number- and in song form

Holding your hand 24/7

Endless cuddles on the couch

And when you’re walking around together, he does that thing where he swings your hands and back forth

Movie theater dates… at the tower b/c your brothers feel the need to be in close proximity the you guys at all times

Trying ice cream for the first time with Peter at two in the morning

One of Peter’s favorite things to do with you is take you through a walk in his world

At least three times a week Peter and you will walk around the city and find new things your Asgardian self has yet to experience

Like pizza

New York pizza to be exact

And hot chocolate

Ice skating at Rockefeller Center once the weather got cold

Loves to take you for drives in the more woodsy land of New York once fall set in and the leaves began to change

But by far his favorite thing is showing you Midgardian films and movies of all sorts

He loves that you don’t judge him for nerding out over his love for films

Not to mention you actually sit and watch Star Wars with him

(( maybe it was the whole space element but Peter was just thrilled you liked it ))

But then he shows you ‘Alien’

And it was an instant regret

It took him the rest of the night to convince you that the movie was fake

You made him sleep in your room just for reassurance

Your favorite out of the films Peter played was called ‘Toy Story’

Buzz Lightyear reminded you of Thor

In terms of TV shows

F.R.I.E.N.D.S. which quickly became your guys comfort show

Parks & Rec too “That Andy fellow looks an awful lot like Starlord, don’t you think?”

Peter refuses to let you watch Black Mirror

After the whole incident with Alien

Black Mirror didn’t seem like a good idea

Constantly teasing from the rest of the Avengers

Tony just can’t help it

He loves tormenting the two of you

Especially when Thor and/or Loki are around

“Hey Peter, I thought I saw you go into Y/n’s room last night but I didn’t see you leave until the morning. Heard a lot of noise too- thought Y/n was getting attacked. What was that about?”

“Kid, I got you those condoms you asked for. How’d you manage to run out of that last box so quick? I just bought it for you a week ago!” “Messing with you, they’re just sugar packets- Thor put Peter down right now!”

Aunt May absolutely adores you

Always tells Peter how sweet you are and is constantly inviting you over for dinner

Lets you two have sleepovers in his room at her place

As long as the door stays open

Peter can’t stop laughing when you compliment May on her ability to make an amazing bowl of cereal

She thought it was a joke seeing as she burned dinner the night before to a crisp and laughs until she’s in tears

And you’re literally sitting there so confused, clearly not understanding the joke

Peter then takes you on a trip to a grocery store for the first time to show you a whole aisle full of cereal

It is then that you realize Aunt May didn’t hand make the fruity pebbles

She still laughs about it to this day

Befriending Ned and listening enthusiastically while he gives you a full speech on the franchise Star Wars

And his rant on how terrible Star Trek is in comparison

Is shocked when you ask questions out of genuine interest

Ned immediately takes a liking to you after that and asks Peter daily to invite you to hangout

Whenever Stark adds an upgrade to his suit, you’re the first person Peter shows it to

He shares quite literally everything with you

As do you to him

The rest of the Avengers love gossiping about you guys

Nat and Wanda have already started planning the wedding and Pepper has the perfect venue in mind, much to your brothers dismay

For some reason

Thor and Loki are always within reasonable distance, enough so they can keep an eye on you but also give some sense of privancy

Thor is def always the first one to step in

“Peter, please remove your hand from my sister’s behind.” “Oh uh, ye-yeah… sorry, Mr.Thor.”

Loki would find Peter amusing

He loves to mess with him whenever given the chance

“Ah, Peter. Good to see you. I’m sure Y/n informed you of our task today. Very impressed that you offered yourself as the sacrifice to the aliens-” “Wait, what? Y/n?!” “He’s kidding, Peter.”

Everyone in the Avenger’s tower knew Peter was lactose intolerant and knew the repercussions of the boy consuming any sort of dairy

(( he physically cannot leave the bathroom for a full day ))

Yet Loki regularly will swap Peter’s specially labeled almond milk with a jug of skim milk just for the hell of it

There’s something so hilarious to him about the look of panic and alarm that smacks abruptly across Peter’s face as he quickly stumbles out of the kitchen to his room

It keeps him laughing for days

You’ll just shoot your brother a look of disapproval, clearly certain it was his doing

“Loki, why did Peter run off?” “Not sure, darling sister, maybe he’s got one of those stomach bugs. I’ve heard Midgardians are prone to them…weak bodies and such.” "You switched out his milk again didn’t you.” “I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re accusing me of, little one.”

Thor is a bit more hesitant on accepting your relationship with his fellow Avenger

He trusts that Peter would never harm you

Although he did not trust that you would never be harmed because of Peter

It was risky enough that both your brothers were big names in space, as well on Earth, however

Thor knew Loki and himself were capable of protecting you but Peter?

He was just a kid, in Thor’s eyes

However the one thing that kept him from telling you this was seeing how happy Peter made you

As your older brother, Thor trusted your judgement and tried his best to be accepting of his little sister dating

And as much as he wanted to deny it, he saw crystal clear the care and love Peter gave to you and he wasn’t willing to break that for you

Still

Thor is the type of brother to barge into a room and shove himself between Peter and yourself without warning

This man does not care at all

At least Loki has the decency to give you two space as a couple

Thor does not

He is constantly third wheeling on your dates and will ‘accidentally’ walk into rooms he knows you two are in claiming he forgot something

Not that he ever grabs anything,

He’ll usually just stand and stare at the two of you until you either leave the room or ask him to leave

To which he always answers,

“No.”

But with a smile

A smug smile

PDA is something he will never be okay with

Thor will yank Peter back by the collar every time he sees his lips on yours and glare at him, “Man of spiders, I know you’re in love with my little sister but kissing her infront of me is too far.”

And Loki will physically gag just to piss you off

For the most part, your relationship with Peter is nearly perfect

It would be entirely perfect if you weren’t constantly worrying about him dying on a mission or getting hurt

But still, just like any couple, you had your moments

And when you did fight, it was typically over Peter’s safety or him not wanting you to tag along for a mission

Your common way of dealing with conflict was the silent treatment

Which is pure torture for Peter

Not only does he miss the sound of your voice

He misses having you around

Seeing your smile

Hearing you laugh from something he said

He felt terrible everytime

He’d go to Tony for advice and spend hours rambling on to him about how sorry he was for yelling at you and for adding to the fight

Tony would half listen while he worked away on a new system and suit, offering a ‘yeah’ and ‘hmm’ every few seconds which pleased Peter who thought his mentor was fully listening

And after almost two hours of his non-stop talking, Tony Stark had reached his limit

Setting his wrench down on the metal table with a thud he turned around to face the young boy

“Kid, why’re you saying all this to me and not her? I mean, I’m all ears but I’m also not Y/n. I know we’re both good looking so I can see why you mixed us up, but you should be talking to her right now.”

Similar to Peter you also had someone to confide in when the road got rocky

Loki had always been the one you shared all your secrets with

As children you were attached at the hip to both your brothers but Loki a smidgen more than Thor

Your father, Odin, had Thor at his side 24/7 growing up

While he was busy learning the ropes to ruling Asgard, Loki and yourself run amuck causing trouble left and right through the royal palace

Through the years of bonding Loki become your best friend, and you his

So when trouble struck in paradise, your older brother was the one you ran to

He’d welcome you with open arms and a questioning gaze

Loki is by far the best listener in your family

Instead of telling you what to do, he asks what you want, which is a refreshing change

After a long talk with Loki you’d search the tower high and low for Peter while ironically Peter was doing the same thing

When you did finally make-up, it felt like coming home

The apologies were so sincere and genuine

You’d end up having a sleepover in your room watching 80’s films that Peter claimed were ‘iconic’ and laying in his arms

And that’s where you felt complete

Fights never occurred often but bickering ???

DAILY

You two bickered playfully over everything under the sun

Like who’s the better superhero; Ironman or Captain American

Debates between living in New York and living in Asgard

Loves to pull up Midgardian inventions and ask you to guess what it is “Princess, what do you think this is?” “Oh! Oh! I’ve seen this one! Tony has one in his kitchen!” “Okay, so what is it?” “Yes, it’s a chicken nugget maker!” “It’s actually an air fryer but we only ever make chicken nuggets in them so I’ll give you a half point.”

Peter sneaking out of your room at the crack of dawn and sprinting to his

As much as Thor and Loki liked him and supported the relationship

He was sure they’d both team up to murder him if they caught him sleeping in your bed

Steve and Tony, who seem to be incapable of sleep, have watched him tiptoe out of your room numerous times but they only share a look of amusement then go back to their previous discussion

Playing hide-n-go-seek and tag on rainy days at the tower

Cuddling in Peter’s bed while he asks you to tell him stories about Asgard

Loves hearing about your childhood and what it’s like to grow up with siblings

Is fascinated when you tell him about Heimdall

Stealing Peter’s hoodies

Especially his Midtown High School ones

They’re insanely soft

Sweet little kisses throughout the day

He's just so sweet and gentle

Loves getting to hold you and snuggle in his bed

Most weekends you spend lounging on the couch with Peter’s head in your lap while you play with his hair

Other times you’re sitting next to Peter on his bed watching him play some video game and asking a million questions “Who is that man, Peter?” “That’s me, he’s the main character of the game. That’s Mario, babe.” “You’re not Mario- you’re Peter.” “No, the main character of this game is Mario, I’m just playing him.” “Oh… and what is that green dinosaur creature?” “That’s Yoshi!” “Adorable.”

Making out between games

In terms of... y'know... sex

Neither of you were keen on rushing the process

You had tip toed on the line multiple times yet never fully crossed it

Until you had decided to make the first real move after being together for about five months

You trusted him with all your heart so it wasn't exactly scary, but rather exciting

He had a way of making you feel safe, comfortable, and loved all at once

Lets be honest, Peter nearly fainted the first time he saw you naked

And still, no matter how many times the two of you have sex,

He worships every inch of you like it was your first time all over again

You couldn't have asked for a better lover

Dating Peter means a new adventure everyday

You’re constantly learning new things about each other and from each other

Despite coming from two very different worlds

You’ve never felt more connected to a soul until Peter came along

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baya-ni · 3 years

Text

The Queer Appeal of Sk8

Recently @mulberrymelancholy reblogged a post of mine with a truly galaxy brain take about how Sk8 “is a show made for queer fans” and generally how sports anime often depicts love and relationships in a way that’s more accessible and relatable to ace/arospec people than other mainstream media does.

Just, *chef’s kiss* fucking brilliant. I urge you to read their post here (note I’m referring to the reblog not the actual post).

And basically, it got me thinking about this concept of Sk8 as a Queer Show, and the kinds of stories and dynamics that tend to attract queer audiences in droves, regardless of whether its queerness is made explicit or hell, whether that queerness was intended.

And that’s what I’ve been pondering: What are the cues, markers, or coding, in Sk8 that set off the community’s collective gaydar?

I obviously can’t speak for the community. So here’s what aspects of the show intrigued me and what, for me, marks Sk8 as a Queer Show beyond the subtextual queer romances: a punk/alternative aesthetic, Found Family, Shadow as a drag persona, and The Hands.

1.) The Punk Aesthetic

All three of the above screenshots are taken from Ep 1, and every single one of them depicts background characters. They’re nameless and ultimately unimportant characters, yet each of them designed so distinctly and so unique from one another, one could mistake each of them for the main character(s) of another story.

Of what little I know about Punk subculture, I do know this: that the ethos of Punk is heavily built around a celebration of individuality and non-conformity. Sk8 seems to have incorporated this ethos into the very fabric its worldbuilding, and the aesthetics and culture upon which it takes inspiration appeals specifically to a queer audience.

I don’t really need to explain why Punk has such deep ties with the queer community. For decades, queer people have found community and acceptance within punk spaces, and punk ideology is something that I think is just ingrained in the queer consciousness as both lived experience and a survival tactic.

Therefore, a show that adopts punk aesthetics is, by association, already paying homage to Queer culture, intentional or not.

Queer fans notice this- like recognizes like.

2.) Found Family

This also needs little explanation.

Too often, queer individuals cannot rely on their “born into” families for support and acceptance. Too often, we are abused, neglected, and abandoned by those who we were taught would “always be there for us.”

And so, a universal experience for queer people has been redefining the meaning of Family, having to build our families from scratch, finding brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers in people with whom we have no blood relation, and forming communities tied together by shared lived experience rather than shared genetics.

And this idea of Found Family is also built into Sk8′s narrative.

Like, for example, the way that Reki promises MIYA that he and Langa will “never disappear from [his] sight,” filling the void that MIYA felt after his friends abandoned him.

And in the way that JOE becomes a paternal figure for Reki, teaching him ways to improve in skateboarding, and ensuring that Reki doesn’t self isolate when he’s feeling insecure.

And in the whole Ep 6 business with Hiromi acting as babysitter to the Gang.

Hell, even ADAM (derogatory) is associated with this trope. Abused as a child, he finds solace in an underground skateboarding community and culture he helped create- his own found family (or some powertrippy version of it anyway).

Again, queer fans see themselves depicted in the show, but this time in the way that the show gives importance to Found Family relationships between its characters.

3.) Shadow and Drag

This is one that’s more of an association that I personally made. But I was intrigued by the way that Hiromi adopts his SHADOW persona. He wears SHADOW like a mask, and adopts a personality seemingly so opposite to his day-to-day behavior.

Further, the theatricality and general “gender fuckery” of his SHADOW persona, to me, just seemed so similar to a the characteristics of a drag persona (I don’t know a whole lot about drag but enough that I’m drawing superficial similarities).

There’s also this aspect of a “double life” that he, and actually all the other adult characters of the show, have to adopt, which is a way of living that I’m sure a lot of queer viewers see themselves reflected in.

4.) The Hands

Ohhhh the Hands.

One of the things I noticed very early on is the way the show constantly draws our attention to Reki’s hands, which I thought was a little strange for an anime about skating. After all, skating doesn’t really involve the hands, or at least the show doesn’t really draw attention to hands within the context of skating.

I count 3 times so far between Eps 1-9 in which hands are the focus of the frame.

First, when Reki teaches Langa how to fist pump after Langa lands his first ollie, second, when Reki and Langa make their Promise, and finally, when Langa saves Reki from falling off his board.

And you know what they say, twice is a coincidence but thrice is a motif (no one else actually says this I think I’m the only one who says this lol).

I’m not really certain why hands seem to be such a shared fixation among queer people (at least among those I interact with). All I know is that gay people are just fucking obsessed with them.

I have a Theory as to why, and at this point I’d love for other people to chime in and “compare notes” if you will, but I think it basically has to do with repression. And in the same way that queer people have had to redefine the meaning of family, we’ve also had to redefine intimacy.

Being overtly physically affectionate with someone of the same sex, even if they’re your significant other, or often specifically BECAUSE they’re your significant other, can still be dangerous, even now despite the “progression” of society. Queer people know this, this vigilant surveillance of our environment and ourselves, always asking ourselves, “Am I safe enough to be myself?”

Already, Western culture is pretty touch-averse. That is, it’s considered taboo to touch someone unless they’re a family member or a romantic partner. And to touch a person of the same sex in any way that could be misconstrued as romantic (which is most things tbh) is a big no no.

There’s just A Lot to unpack there.

But basically I think that queer people, by necessity, have had to learn to romanticize mundane or unconventional ways of being physically intimate so that we can continue to be romantic with one another without “being caught” so to speak.

Kissing and hugging is too obvious. But a handshake that lingers for just a second too long is much more likely to go unnoticed, braiding someone’s hair can easily be explained away as just lending a helping hand, touching palms to “compare hand sizes” is just good fun.

But for queer people, these brief and seemingly insignificant touches hold greater meaning, because it’s all we are allowed, and all we allow ourselves, to exchange with others.

God, I’ve gone off and rambled again. What’s my point? Basically that the way the show draws attention to Reki’s hands, and specifically how they’re so often framed with Langa’s hands, is one of the major reasons why I clocked Sk8 as a Queer. It’s just something that resonated with me and my own experience of queerness, and I know that I’m not the only one who noticed either.

So in conclusion, uhhhh yeah Sk8 the Infinity is just a super gay show, and it’s not even because of the homo-romantic subtext (that at this point is really just Text).

Because what’s important to understand is that Queerness isn’t just about same-sex romance.

Queer Love isn’t just shared between wives/girlfriends, husbands/boyfriends, and all their in-betweens. Queer Love can be two best friends who come out together, queer siblings who rely and support one another, a gay teacher who helps guide one of their questioning students, a queer community pitching in to help a struggling member.

And that all ties with another important thing to consider, that what we refer to as the “queer experience” or “queer culture” isn’t universal. In fact, it wrongly lumps together the unique experiences and struggles of queer BIPOC all under one umbrella that’s primary White and middle class.

So I think what drives a lot of my frustration about labeling a show like Sk8 as Queerbait is this very issue of considering queerness and queer representation within such narrow standards, and mandating that a show must pass a certain threshold of explicit queerness to be considered good representation.

I get that someone might only feel represented by an indisputable canonization of a same-sex couple. That’s fine. But labeling Sk8 as Queerbait for that reason alone ignores the vast array of other queer experiences.

The aspects of Sk8 that resonate most deeply with my own experiences of queerness is in the way that Reki and Langa share intimacy through skating (intricate rituals heyo). For me, them officially getting together ultimately doesn’t matter- I’ll consider Sk8 a Queer show regardless.

Similarly, @mulberrymelancholy finds ace/arospec representation in that very absence of an on-screen kiss. A bisexual man might find representation in Reki, not because he enters a canon relationship, but in the depiction of Reki’s coming of age, growing up and navigating adolescent relationships. A non-binary person might feel represented through CHERRY’s androgyny.

That’s the thing, I don’t know how this show will resonate with other members of the queer community, and it’d be wrong to make a judgement on Sk8′s queer representation based on my experiences alone.

That being said, Straight people definitely don’t get to judge Sk8 as Queerbait. Y’all can watch and enjoy the show, we WANT you to enjoy these kinds of shows, and we want you to share these shows and contribute to the normalization and celebration of these kinds of narratives.

But understand that you don’t have a right to tell us whether or not Sk8 has good or bad queer representation.

And even members of the queer community are on thin ice. Your experience of queerness is not universal. Listen to the other members of your community, and respect that what you might find lacking in this show may be the exact representation that someone else needs.

#and scene #i was up till 4am writing this instead of doing my hw #bc i hav Opinions dammit #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 meta #sk8 theory #queerbait

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ahkaahshi · 3 years

Text

a parenting moment [miya atsumu x reader]

pairing: miya atsumu x fem reader

genre: fluff

warning(s): none

word count: 2.3k

overview: when yours and atsumu’s five-year-old daughter gets into trouble at school, it’s up to him to practice his good parenting skills

note: though this is a reader insert story, it focuses more on atsumu’s relationship with his daughter and sheds some light on how I think he would be as a dad :) also I wrote this months ago and am just now posting lol hope you enjoy

Atsumu’s features settle into a look of discontentment as his honey colored eyes scan his young daughter’s short figure, taking note of her dirtied shoes and the slightly disheveled appearance of the French braids he’d woven into her dark hair that morning. Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead and letting out a small sigh, he asks, “What happened, girly?”

She turns her (e/c) gaze towards the polished wooden flooring of the large gym and mutters, “I got in a fight at school and they made Mommy pick me up.”

Instead of towering over her, as he had inadvertently been doing before, Atsumu kneels down in front of her and places his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, look at me, (daughter’s name),” he requests, making her tilt her chin up the smallest amount so her eyes can meet his. When their gazes connect, he purses his lips before saying, “We’ll talk about it when we get home, ‘kay? Right now, Daddy’s gotta practice, so jus’ sit tight with Coach Foster for a bit ‘n hang out.”

She nods slowly and Atsumu lifts her light blue backpack off of her shoulders to carry it with him over to the bench beside the court where his team is currently running through serve-receive drills. The head coach gives him a small nod of acknowledgement and a promise that he’ll protect her from any rogue volleyballs as she takes a seat.

Knowing that his daughter’s safety is in good hands and that she’s occupied--since she had pulled out a notebook from her backpack to doodle and write in--gives Atsumu a sliver of comfort as he returns to his practice. It takes himself some time to get his thoughts off of her, however, given the situation.

Minutes earlier, you had appeared at the gym with (daughter’s name) and offered a brief explanation of the matter at hand. You’d had to pick her up from school after receiving a call that she’d gotten into trouble, but, because of your own responsibilities at work, you’d had to drop her off with your husband. According to what the teachers had explained, she had gotten into a physical altercation with another student that had ended in tears, screaming, a few scrapes, and a dropped popsicle--your daughter’s, unfortunately.

(Daughter’s name) was a well-behaved, studious girl--though she did have a bit of a wild, energetic streak in her, thanks to Atsumu--so to hear that she’d been involved in a fight was understandably shocking to both of you. Sure, she enjoyed roughhousing with her dad and her uncle, but you’d been adamant about reiterating that real fighting was not allowed.

Atsumu hated seeing his daughter so distressed. It broke his heart. Usually, she was upbeat and full of life, but, now, she looks so defeated and ashamed. In an attempt to cheer her up in any way he can, he enlists the help of Bokuto and Hinata to tell her funny stories during each water break; and while they provide her some temporary relief, the cloud of sadness casting a shadow over her still lingers.

Though she holds onto his hand and clings to his side during the commute back home, she’s unnaturally quiet, and goes straight to her room upon returning to the house. He decides it best to leave her alone for a bit, but he can’t ignore how quiet the house feels without the sound of her favorite show blaring from the television in the living room. To busy himself for some time while you’re at work and she’s in her room, Atsumu sets himself to whipping up a snack after he’s taken a shower, and icing his aching joints.

After preparing some onigiri that looks rather sloppy compared to that his brother always serves, Atsumu shuffles down the hallway towards his daughter’s room. Her door is open, so he can see her sitting on her bed with a selection of colored pencils strewn across the comforter, and one in her hand that she’s using to color in a project she has to complete for class.

“Hey, girly,” he greets her and stands in the doorway, “Wanna eat some onigiri with me?”

She doesn’t respond verbally, but nods her head without lifting it to look over at him. So, he walks into her room and plops down on the bed beside her, setting the plate down in front of him. Before he can even get so far as to offer her one of his homemade creations, he hears her sniffle loudly.

Turning his honey-colored gaze to her brings him to the realization that she's stopped coloring and, instead, has her hands pressed against her face as her body shakes with quiet sobs. His paternal instincts to protect and comfort her immediately kick in, and he pushes the plate aside so he can sling an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer to him.

“Hey, hey, li’l princess, what’s goin’ on?” he murmurs.

She leans closer to him but keeps her hands over her face. “It wasn’t my fault, Daddy,” she whimpers softly, the sound of her strained voice nearly shattering her father’s heart, “There’s a really, really mean girl in my class. She always pulls my hair, a-and takes my markers, and cuts in line so she gets the last orange popsicle--and that’s my favorite flavor--and... I hate her!”

Atsumu grabs a tissue to dab at the tears spilling down her cheeks once he gently moves her hands away from her face. He’s silent for a moment as the previous sadness he felt at his daughter’s suffering morphs into anger upon hearing that she was being bullied. “Didja hit ‘er 'cause she was bein’ mean?”

She nods and cries, “S-She pushed me during recess ‘nd I got mad and pushed her back,” before finally lifting her head to gaze up at him with watery, (e/c) eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Daddy! I-I was just scared she was gonna hurt me!”

Wrapping both of his arms around her small frame, Atsumu brings her face to his chest and holds her tightly in his embrace in an attempt to comfort her. “It’s alright, (daughter’s name). Mommy ‘nd I will make sure this gets fixed, ‘kay?” The grip she has on the back of his t-shirt tightens slightly as she presses her face into his shoulder. One of his hands rubs her back to calm her down while the other smooths down any stray hairs sticking up from her head.

After a few minutes of crying, whimpering, and venting, she’s finally relaxed enough to let her dad lead her into the living room so they can sit and watch a few episodes of her favorite show together while snacking on onigiri.

“Hey,” he calls out to her, making her tear her wide-eyed gaze away from the television screen, “I know me, Mommy, ‘n Uncle ‘Samu always say that fightin’ ain’t the right way ta go about things, but I’m proud of ya for stickin’ up for yourself, girly.”

A small smile sprouts across her lips that’s made even cuter by the fact that her cheeks are puffing out from the amount of rice she has in her mouth. The sight makes him chuckle and ruffle her hair.

“But don’t go tellin’ Mommy I said that. Instead, use yer words, find one of the teachers, ‘n let ‘em deal with whoever’s givin’ ya trouble, alright?”

When she’s finished chewing her food, she replies, “M’kay.”

“Mind tellin’ me what started the fight in the first place?” he asks, one of his thick eyebrows raising in curiosity.

She twiddles her thumbs and slowly directs her gaze back to the television. “She made me drop my popsicle when she pushed me.”

“And it was your favorite flavor, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah...”

With a hearty laugh, he comments, “Man, you really are yer mom’s daughter, ya know that? She don’t mess around when food’s involved.”

The sounds of his daughter's giggles ripple through the air, sending waves of warmth over him as he continues telling her stories about all the times he’d dealt with you getting on his case about food or treat-related issues. He made sure to include an anecdote about a time when you’d nearly knocked him over after he’d jokingly swiped your candy bar during lunch in high school.

Needless to say, he never did it again out of the fear that Osamu wouldn't let him live it down if he got destroyed by a high school girl over food. However, the passion and unrelenting desire he’d seen in your eyes that day had made him absolutely sure that you were the one for him.

By the time you step into the house a few hours later, your daughter--being the mature, young girl she was--has moved her schoolwork from her bedroom to the living room table to do her assignments while her dad snoozes on the couch. Upon noticing that she’s in a better mood than she had been when you’d dropped her off at the gym with Atsumu, your heart lifts slightly.

“Hey, honey,” you greet her as you slide off your shoes and set your purse down on a table in the entryway, “What’re you up to?”

She holds up a piece of paper with colored markings on it that vaguely resemble Atsumu’s tall figure holding what you assume to be a volleyball, along with a few, familiar faces in the background. “I have to draw a picture of what you and Daddy do at work to show my teacher.”

You smile at her and plant a kiss atop her head before commenting, “Looks good so far. You drew Bokuto-san’s hair perfectly.” She chuckles and quickly returns to her masterpiece, since your compliment seems to spur her to keep creating. “I’m gonna talk to Daddy, real quick, okay? I wanna see how you draw Omi-san’s hair when we’re done.”

With that said and your daughter on a mission to produce her version of the prickly, outside hitter on Atsumu’s team, you rouse your husband from his nap so the two of you can head into your room to talk about the situation. Once out of earshot, he explains what your daughter had told him and the two of you work together to devise a plan and time to speak with her teacher about the true story. Amazingly enough, this entire exchange occurrs without your usual, good-natured--but sometimes cumbersome--squabbling.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu,” you call out to him, reaching for his hand and wrapping your fingers around it gingerly.

He had been on his way to the bedroom door so he could head to the kitchen and start making dinner while you showered, but he stops in his tracks and turns to face you once more. When your eyes meet, your heart skips a beat, like always.

Taking a deep breath, you tell him, “Even though we may argue from time to time about parenting, and you sometimes let her have just a tad too much sugar before conveniently deciding to take a nap so you don’t have to deal with her going berserk, there's nobody else in the world that I’d rather share a kid with than you. She loves you so much, and so do I.”

His unoccupied hand finds your waist to pull you closer to him, and he leans down towards you to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. As per usual, the tender moment you shared doesn’t last long, since he always has something smart to say. “What’s gotcha all sentimental, (f/n)? Does seein’ me doin’ fatherly things give ya the hots for me, or somethin’?”

“Oh, yeah, sleeping on the couch while our self-starter of a child does homework by herself is so fatherly.”

He frowns. “I had a long practice. Bein’ a professional athlete is hard work, baby.”

With a sardonic smile on your face, you mention, “Working a nine-to-five is pretty tiring too, baby.”

“Fair,” he groans and slides his arms around your back, “But, seriously, what’s got you feelin’ all in love with me, huh?”

You snicker at his tone and the mischievous look on his face as you brush his golden hair away from his eyes before letting your hands come to rest on his cheeks. “It’s just that when I picked (daughter’s name) up from school today, she was all sad and mopey. Yet, when I come home after dropping her off with you, she’s all smiles and rainbows again. It just reminds me of how good you are to her and it makes me happy that she has you as a father.”

A genuine smile rather than a sly one appears on his lips, and you press your own against them to give him a few, affectionate kisses.

“You know I’d do anything for my favorite, li’l girl, (f/n). She’s only as good of a kid as she is 'cause of you, anyway.”

Your lips form a giddy grin, as if he’s a high school crush who’s just delivered the sweetest of compliments to you, and you allow him to pull you closer so he can shower you with more kisses. “I love you, baby,” you murmur as you plant another peck on his cheek.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a short moment of silence as he pulls you into a tight hug that seems to wash away all the stress that you didn't even realize had been building up within you at the day you’ve had. His breath fans across the tender skin of your neck when he nestles his face there and allows his hands to roam up and down your back. However, after the two of you release each other, you notice a sneaky smile playing at his lips that oftentimes makes you wary.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go see (daughter’s name)’s rendition of Omi-Omi?”

Chuckling and following him out of the bedroom, you agree, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

masterlist ⭐︎ treat me to a coffee!

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @krynnza, @yamagucji, @tendo-sxtori, @dinablossom, @newfriendjen, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin, @kac-chowsballs, @osamusmiya, @nit-sir-hc, @arixtsukki, @shinsurou, @ichorizaki, @dominikmagnus

atsumu: @pretty-setters, @misora-msby, @why-aminot-dead, @lotsoffandomrecs, @tsumue, @heyhinata

#haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!#hq!!#x reader #reader insert #anime #manga #miya atsumu #fran writes hq!!

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writingwife-83 · 3 years

Note

If you are willing to write Sylki, here´s one for them: “What? You want my heart? My soul? Go head, take them. Take everything I have!” thank you!! <3

Hello, my friend! ☺️ Ok so for you and anyone else reading this, here’s the disclaimer- I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!! 😂 I’ve never written anything for Loki, let alone the Sylki ship, so this is new and daunting for me. This was just kinda what came to me and if something about it makes no sense based on something in canon that I missed, I apologize in advance to those who know lots more than me lol! Also, this is un-beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Despite all that though, hope you enjoy! 🤣 🙈

Are You Ok?

He knew it was her even before he felt the point of a dagger against his back.

“If you think I haven’t known you were here for the past hour, you don’t know me at all,” Sylvie hissed.

Loki grinned, glancing over his shoulder and lifting his hands in a show of peace.

“Oh…but I think you know that I do,” he murmured low, turning very slowly until he was finally facing her. “I do know you.”

Her gaze was as sharp and steely at the dagger she still clutched in her hand, and she looked him up and down in suspicion.

He noted that she certainly did look the part; clothed in a simple gown made from coarsely woven fabric and wearing a heavy cloak around her shoulder. She didn’t stand out at all. At least, not to anyone except him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He let out a short laugh. “What do you think? It may have taken me a few months, but I finally followed what little trail I could decipher and tracked you here.” Glancing around and pursing his lips, he nodded. “Not bad, though the thirteenth century in England isn’t what I’d call the most luxurious holiday.”

Sylvie sheathed her dagger, clenching her jaw as she pushed past him and continued on her way without a word, forcing Loki to follow after her, a little confused as he navigated around some chickens roaming free on one of the paths she took.

“Hang on! Just- would you hang on a moment? Where are you going?!”

“Home!” Sylvie barked back.

She hurried down a pathway and opened a door, disappearing inside. Loki stopped for a breath, standing outside the closed door and frowning to himself. Then he squared his shoulders, throwing open the door and letting himself in before closing it behind him.

Sylvie stared at him agape as she hung her cloak by the fireplace. “And what gives you the right to barge right in?”

Loki threw his own cloak off as well, part of the disguise he’d conjured, taking quick strides over to her. “Oh, I dunno, perhaps the principle of hospitality, seeing as I came all this way.”

She turned her back, working with the fire. “Yeah, well…you shouldn’t have.”

He could feel himself getting a little fired up, not having expected this cold of a reception. Maybe he’d fooled himself, maybe things between them weren’t everything he hoped…but this?

“It’s not as if nothing else was going on that deserved my attention, you know. There’s a bit more chaos than usual, in case you hadn’t noticed. But I’ve still spent every spare moment doing this! Tracking you down!”

She said nothing.

Loki’s hands balled up into fists at his side. “And this is how things go when I finally see you again? Six months later and you-“

“Two years!” Sylvie fired back, suddenly whirling to face him.

He froze, staring back at her, realizing her eyes were rimmed with red.

“Time passes differently, remember?” She let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “I’ve spent two years here, hiding, just trying to blend in…to forget. And now this? What are you doing here, Loki? What do you want from me?!”

“I told you before,” he replied, his voice soft in contrast to her angry tone. “I just want you to be ok.”

“That again.” She rolled her eyes, fidgeting with the locks of hair which had grown longer and was now half braided at her crown. “You came all this way to spout some sentimental rubbish?”

Loki shook his head, advancing a little. “It’s not rubbish, and you know it.”

She laughed again, trying to appear unfazed even as he saw a tear escape.

“What? You want my heart? My soul? Go ahead, take them. Take everything I have!” she practically yelled, her face now inches from his. “Will that make it all worth your trip?!”

He simply placed soothing palms against her shoulders, fingers conforming to the shape as he watched her draw ragged breaths.

“You haven’t told me yet,” he whispered.

Sylvie gulped, her brow furrowing. “Told you what?”

“Are you ok?” he asked slowly.

Her features crumpled before his eyes and she chewed her lip for a moment before finally shrugging, giving him a crooked smile. Loki gathered her in against his chest before she could say another word, feeling her stiffen for just a moment before he felt her hands press lightly against his back and her cheek nestle against him.

“Things didn’t exactly go the way I thought they would,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the top of her head. “But I’d still like to do what I said that last day.”

Sylvie lifted her head, gazing up at him, her eyes warmer than they had been before. “What’s that?”

“Figure it out…” Loki whispered, his eyes flickering to her lips as he noticed hers do the same. “Together.”

#sylki #dialogue prompts #why did I imagine her in medieval England?#who knows lol #idk this was just what came to my head #so hopefully it’s appealing to those of you who have enjoyed the ship as much as I do #and now I’ve stayed up late and need to sleep…

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honestsycrets · 3 years

Text

Extra Hands [ Ivar x Reader, Ivar/Hvitserk Platonic ] VD7

❛ pairing | ivar/hvitserk, ivar x reader

❛ type | drabble for @youbloodymadgenius ‘s 1k event that I’m so, totally, late for. i’m so sorry that i’ve been slow, cat. i’ve been in a strange funk. other requests filled: you’ve never had a Valentine’s date and right, like you could do so much better. / You bet your ass I could.

❛ summary | hvitserk knows when his brother is nervous.

❛ tags | implied first date, modern ivar

“I dunno why you’re making all of these. Is that a homemade box?”

Hvitserk picked the chocolate chunks out of Ivar’s drab vanilla cookie mix. It was the first time that he had tried this particular recipe. It was a painfully simple recipe of chocolate chip cookies, but that was the point. He made a note to use sea salt to give it some life. Who, after all, disliked chocolate chip cookies? Ivar gripped the wheels of his wheelchair, scooting himself around the kitchen.

“Bro, this is a fuckin’ homemade box!”

“Stop eating the dark chocolate,” Ivar lurched up, smacking his elder brother’s knuckles. Hvitserk sneaks his fingers back in to take three morsels back with him. “You’ll throw off the proportions.”

“So what? It’s just for us, right?”

“As if I would put this much effort into something for my brothers.” Ivar oils an ice cream scoop. He digs into the dough, scooping pieces that were-- of course, the perfect size. “It is for my woman.”

Hvitserk about chokes on his chocolate morsels.

“A girl?!”

“Yes, a woman, Hvitserk.”

But you’ve never had a bitch for Valentine’s!”

“Don’t call her that,” Ivar bobs his head toward Hvitserk in a nod. He spent the better part of the afternoon in preparation for his date this evening. It was his first-- with a mother like his-- it had been previously impossible to date. But the ever-growing litany of questions that Hvitserk had for him began to pile up.

“I gotta see this. Is she hot?” Hvitserk laughed, bouncing up and down in the question. “That why you’re making so many fuckin’ cookies? Chocolate chip cookies, thumbprint cookies, sugar cookies. Sweetheart, you can’t buy the necessities of life--err dick-- with cookies.”

“Don’t Burton me. Why don’t you go fuck another one of your failed film students and leave me alone?” Ivar bit out. It was easier with his help, no doubt, but this was something he did with the express intention of seeing your smile. It had been years. Years that he spent changing your mind about dating your boss. He wasn’t about to ruin this now.

Hvitserk swept the cookie sheet from the granite countertop and eased it into the oven. Ivar’s mind swims in the vast lake of his mind, wondering exactly how he could make sure that nothing went awry. It was, after all, his first date.

“I just wanna see what she’s like. I mean, when have you brought a girl home? Suddenly you open up this publishing company, and bam, pussy.”

Ivar looks at the other steaming cookies. They would have to cool first. His kitchen was perfumed with the scent of vanilla, almond, and delicious brown butter from the oven. Ivar eyes Hvitserk sharply, reaching for the glittery homemade box. “She’s not just pussy. She’s--”

“Look at you being all romantic and shit.”

“You are annoying me.”

Sometimes, he wished he was an only child—most days. Today was one of them. His hands trembled around the box of delicate cookies. His brother’s expression was hooded for a moment before Hvitserk took the handles of his wheelchair, dragging him out of the room with nothing more but Ivar’s booming complaint. Hvitserk knew how much he hated it when he did this. It was like a mother dragging a child by the braids!

“I’ll come check them fuckin’ cookies, don’ worry. What’re you gonna wear?”

They come to a stop in Ivar’s room. He looks toward his crutches, settled on the wall, and decides to reach for them so that he could stand. Hvitserk rustles in his closet. He had a wealth of handsome suits-- it happened when you needed to impress a good author or attend an important meeting-- but they all seemed wrong. His practiced expression melts off his face. He thought it all through: the date, the dinner simmering on the stove, but when it came to himself. He dropped his eyes to the floor before returning Hvitserk’s look.

“That suit, I suppose.”

“That shit is ugly,” Hvitserk returns.

“Right, like you could do so much better,” Ivar hisses.

“Bet your ass I could. You gotta wear something hot. You want her to fuck you, right?”

“I told you--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not jus’ some pussy. But you wanna fuck, don’t you?”

He would be lying if he said he didn’t. Something hot ends up being some black slacks that contrast against a burgundy button-up and a tight, black vest. He feels more exposed than he has in a while when Hvitserk comes back from taking out his last batch of cookies. He likes it-- and he hates it.

“That’s hot,” Hvitserk clapped. Ivar runs his finger under the rolled-up sleeves, noting how they formed to his muscles. “No way she doesn’t fuck you.”

“This isn’t about that.”

“It’s Valentine’s day,” he told him. “It has to be about that.”

His phone trills. What he hates, but truly hates, is Hvitserk’s nosiness. He lurches toward it before Ivar could even move. He produces Ivar a decent nod. “She’s beautiful,” he flicks the phone at Ivar on his way out of the room. “Has a pretty smile, too.”

His heart pounded in leaps in his chest. You must be here; already. He’s not yet put the cookies in the box. He makes his way toward the front door with the bundle of flowers against his chest, cognizant of the sound of a scratching spatula dragging across his cookie sheet.

Well, Hvitserk is good for something.

Ivar isn’t sure of what the etiquette for Valentine’s Day is, but he could hardly care, knocking the door open to let you in. You slip in beside him, drawing your fingers over the v of his waistcoat.

“Is this new?” you asked. “It looks… amazing.”

Hvitserk, of course, is skittering somewhere inside. Ivar can hear the stifled giggle marked by the painfully unapologetic, I told you I could do better. You draw your head toward the inside, peeling the edge of your mask off. You roll your ruby red lipstick in, then out, and smile at him once again.

“Is someone inside?”

“Sadly,” he sighs as he hands you the flowers under his arm. “That is my brother Hvitserk. I don’t expect him to stay in the kitchen long.”

Ivar lingers on the word stay. You laugh, drawing the flowers up to inspect them more carefully. It’s a full bouquet of romantic red roses: painfully cliche, but painfully Ivar. They are his favourite shade.

“He’s kicking me out of my own kitchen,” Hvitserk calls back. You make your way into the house, drawing the bottom of your skirt lower: if you could manage such a thing. It wasn’t necessarily short: but the slit on the side of your leg was something Ivar knew Hvitserk would point out later.

Evidence, he’d shout. Evidence of nothing, Ivar would say back.

Your fingers graze Ivar’s free hand, clipping around the corner where Hvitserk stood with cookie crumbling in between his fingers. Ivar’s forehead creases, the anger bubbling up in his stomach into a roiling boil. At that moment you snatch Ivar’s hand, lacing your fingers together, and throwing cool water to the boil.

“You must be her,” Hvitserk mumbles. “Ivar’s first date.”

“First date? Really?” He’d kill him. He’d kill him, he’d drag him out to sea, throw his body over to the bottom of the pond and-- you lean up, planting a kiss at his jawline. “I like being the first.”

“Yes. This is my older brother Hvitserk. He likes to eat anything he can get his grubby little fingers on. Including things that I did not make for him,” Ivar returns. He leans against the cabinet and slams his crutch on the countertop. At times his brother can be overbearing. Today, like most days, Hvitserk needed his company. Unlike most days, Hvitserk doesn’t have the patience.

“Why don’t you,” he rubs his twirls his hand in a spin. “...fuck off, Hvitserk?”

“Ivar.”

“Don’ worry about it. He’s just all wound up because he’s brought me home a girl to meet.” He wiped his chocolates fingers over his basketball shorts and extended his hand out— “Name's Hvitserk.”

“I heard,” you smiled, bringing the hand not cupping Ivar’s hand to squeeze his bicep. “You’re Ivar’s lit agent?”

“One of them.”

“Ain’t that like— sexual harassment?” Hvitserk folds his hand back in, quickly catching on that you’re not a touchy type. At least, not with him. Fair enough.

“Why don’t you take a bottle of wine to your room, Hvitserk?” Ivar grumbles.

“Ain’t that for your date?”

“We don’t need it,” you shout.

“Huh. Well if you insist.” At last, he folds, taking the bottle and a stolen plate of food with a bounce. Although he doesn’t say anything— he has that dopey smile. He waits until the door slams behind Hvitserk to exhale an apology. Ivar began to think that he would never leave.

“I made those cookies for you.”

Your lips curl into a smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Hvitserk hollers something from the back room about having helped— and you pat his chest. His cheeks pinken as he looks over the dinner he’s made and the cookies he baked. His nosy Hvitserk— always killing his mood.

“Take me to your room.”

“Hm?” he asks. “You’re not hungry?”

“Not for pasta.”

Oh. For once, Hvitserk was right.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm @superwolfchild-fan

#vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless/reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #modern ivar x reader #vikings/reader

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babyybitchhh · 3 years

Text

Ogun x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 8,375

Warnings: established relationship, cunnilingus, brief mention of breeding/pregnancy implication, piv sex, creampie

A/N: I really did not think I'd finish this and yet, months later, here we are. I said I wanted to do Ogun's hair for him so that is exactly what I did. 😤 A LOT of research went into the first half of this fic, I can't even tell you how many braiding videos I watched or how many haircare blurbs I read through, so if my ignorance shows I really do apologize. I can barely do my own hair let alone someone else's and I put in a lot leg work for about 5 paragraphs of relevant information. lol Best boy deserves it though, so please enjoy!

♥♥♥♥

The quiet drone of the TV against the far wall was the only source of noise in the small apartment and neither of you were paying any attention to it. Hadn’t been for the last few hours, but that was how most wash days went. The background chatter was superfluous at best when you had all of your attention zeroed in on your boyfriend's hair and Ogun was pleasantly dozing at your feet, lost in his own little world of pampered bliss.

It did, however, serve its purpose in helping you better keep track of the time. If left to your own thoughts, you would have all too easily slipped into the same comfortable lull as him and forgotten about everything else you had to do. Like think about food, for example.

Briefly glancing up at the sound of cheesy sitcom music, you mentally check off another half hour. It was starting to get late which meant he’d probably be starving by the time you were done and that wouldn’t exactly come as a surprise given you’d been at this for the better part of the day. All that hard earned muscle mass of his certainly wasn’t going to maintain itself.

And, now that you were thinking about it, you were starting to notice the creeping pang of hunger in the back of your mind, buzzing faintly like an incessant afterthought.

Drawing a breath, you start to ask if he’s in the mood for anything in particular but Ogun manages to beat you to it.

“What should we do for dinner?”

You smile to yourself, fingers deftly moving through his hair with practiced ease -- under, scoop, under, repeat -- while you give that question some thought. Surely there was something you could whip up with what you had on hand in the kitchen. The real question, however, was what.

Doing a quick mental checklist of your cupboards, you rapidly narrow down your options. A fast and easy pasta dish was out of the question without the sauce or any ingredients to make it with. No meat for hamburgers. There was still some salad mix in the fridge but he needed something far more substantial than that. Damn. You should probably go shopping soon.

“Hmm,” Gently tilting Ogun’s head forward, you pick back up on the half finished braid you were working on. He was almost done, with only two rows left to go. The argan oil and shea products you’d put in his hair left your fingertips feeling buttery smooth and soft, their lingering smell as warm as it was soothing. It permeated the air in the living room, enclosing you both in your own little bubble for two and making for an altogether pleasantly relaxing Sunday afternoon.

“Let’s see …” You murmur at length. “I could probably make a stir fry with some vegetables and shrimp. How’s that sound?”

“As much as I love your cooking,” He shifts on the floor and glances over his shoulder, forcing you to pause what your fingers are doing. “I was thinking we could order in tonight. My treat.”

Your smile grows even when you try to ignore the unmistakable flutter in your chest. “Oh? And what’s the occasion?”

“There isn’t one.” His mouth curls up, mirroring yours. “But if you need an excuse, consider it thanks for doing my hair.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m not finished yet.” Placing a hand atop his head, you pointedly turn him around straight again and Ogun laughs, very softly, when you release him so you can get back to work.

You enjoyed getting to do this for him and the fact you liked playing with his hair was no secret either. It was wild and thick, very close to being untamable, but it was also incredibly healthy -- something you would have all too happily taken credit for if it hadn’t been in the same enviable condition as when you’d first met him. That he trusted you enough to let you do this was, perhaps, more intimate than anything else you’d ever done together, and with a few more twists you put the finishing touches on the braid.

Letting it hang next to the others, you direct him to lean back so that you can easily reach the front of his hairline again. He acquiesces without a fuss and sinks into the couch, letting the back of his head settle comfortably in your lap. Ogun’s shoulders brush your knees when you hunch closer with a pink rat tail comb in hand and you’re acutely aware of him watching you as you begin sectioning out the next row. You start to smile again, even though you try not to.

“What?”

“I’m still waiting on an answer.”

You shoot him a quick look.

Golden eyes gleam back at you, reflecting endearment and humor alike, and you quickly focus in on his blown out, fluffy hair again before he can successfully distract you. “I don’t know. You pick.”

“Nope.” He hums goodnaturedly. “That’s not how this works. You can’t just push it back on me when I asked you for a reason. Tell me what you want.”

“I really don’t know - hey!” You squawk when he gives the back of your calf a sharp pinch in retaliation for being so uncooperative and you squirm, giggling. “Don’t do that! I’m honestly not sure what I’m in the mood for.”

“Then think about it.”

“I am.” You intone, gently pushing Ogun’s head forward just enough to get at the crown of his head. Relative silence claims the room once more while you consider an almost endless list of potential choices and finish up the second to last braid. Thankfully without any more pinching attacks on his end. He was going to look so nice when you were done.

“What about a pizza?” You suggest at last.

“I’m game.” He murmurs, slouching to the side so he can rest his temple against the plush cushion of your leg. It gives you the perfect angle to attack the final strip from and you get to work weaving coarse strands into his preferred fashion, your fingers moving quickly but efficiently. You’d practiced tirelessly just to ensure he wouldn’t have to go to someone else for this without skimping on the finished product's quality and it certainly showed.

A few moments later, the task is complete.

Grabbing an elastic band, you gather Ogun’s styled hair into a neat little ponytail and tie it off at the back of his head. You finish up by running your fingertips across one shaved side of his scalp, affectionately feeling out the new growth before deciding he can go another week or two until you have to bring out the clippers again.

“Alright. You’re all done.”

Lifting a hand to feel over his hair, he twists around and peers up at you with an expectant grin. “How do I look?”

“Like the most handsome man in the world.”

Ogun positively beams. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Leaning close, you press a brief kiss to his smiling mouth. “What sort of pizza do you --”

He cuts you off when he suddenly pushes up on his knees and catches your lips again.

Your eyes go big when broad hands find the meat of your thighs and gently squeeze them while he kisses you much more impassionedly than you’d kissed him. A sound of surprise rises in the back of your throat but he quickly swallows it, making your heart race.

Heaving a quiet sigh through your nose, you lean into the gesture and meet him halfway, eagerly kissing him back.

Grinning knowingly, Ogun tilts his head and slots his mouth more securely over yours to deepen the exchange. You find yourself slowly melting against him and you bring your hands up to grab onto his shoulders. God, he was unfairly good at this. Not that you were complaining, but a polite segue from one topic to the next would have been appreciated. You’d been thinking about dinner, what sort of toppings you wanted on your pizza, and now you were thinking about …

You groan, very softly, when his palms drag up along your sides, bunching the cotton of your t-shirt in the process. It allows for the briefest skin on skin contact and an eruption of goosebumps spreads across your body, as anticipatory as they were impatient.

Lips parting, you grant him access and Ogun jumps at the chance, eagerly sweeping his tongue into your mouth to lav yours with warm, wet attention. The smooth, flickering strokes he graces your palette with inspires a flood of molten heat in your gut that leaves you wanting more. Always more. It was never enough where he was concerned - and you slide one of your hands higher still to tenderly cradle the curve of his skull.

Much to your whining disappointment, however, he pulls back a moment later to give you some space and you whimper at the loss.

“Ogun …”

“Shh. I’m right here, baby.” He whispers, leaning back in to press a quick peck to your lips before doing the same to the corner of your mouth.

It’s not enough to pacify you though and you loop both arms around his neck, trying to pull him back in again. He obliges with an affectionate nuzzle, pressing close to settle against your lap and pin you to the back of the couch under his sturdy weight.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?”

You pull your mouth in an imploring pout. “I’d like for you to finish what you started.”

He laughs, sweet and boyish as he pulls back to fix you with a big grin. “Oh? And have I ever left you wanting?”

“No, but I’d hate for you to start now.” You sound a little whiny. Needy.

Another quiet laugh and Ogun comes in to kiss you again, much more sedately this time. His soft lips mold seamlessly to yours, working against your mouth at just the right speed, with the right amount of pressure to steal the air from your lungs.

You let loose a soft moan as you arch underneath him and push your chests together, basking in the fleeting contact despite how unsatisfying it is. What you really want is to have his body working over yours without the impediment of bothersome clothes in the way. To feel the chorded steel muscle he’d worked so hard to build flexing and driving into you.

A shudder ripples through you when the thrumming desire that wells inside slithers out from between your legs to ignite the rest of your body in heated flame. An all powerful compulsion which you wouldn’t have fought even if you could.

His mouth still working in tandem with yours, Ogun gives your waist a possessive squeeze and it sends a fresh wave of sharp arousal racing down your spine. You whimper, pushing up into him a little harder, more fervently, as you clutch at his shoulders. The need to have him laid out on top of you has taken over your higher functioning mind, all thoughts of pizza long gone out the window as the velvety push and pull of his mouth draws you further under his spell.

Willingly, you surrender to the exigent summons and curl your legs up around his narrow hips to tug him even closer, urging him into action.

A hot puff of air fans across your face when he abruptly disengages from the kiss, moving to press his lips against the apple of your cheek, your jaw. There’s a noticeable haste in his actions now and you turn your head to give him better access, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to his seeking mouth.

Ogun wastes no time and immediately swoops in, pecking his way down the column of your neck with an occasional love bite here or there for good measure. Each one seemed to make your toes curl that much tighter to the point where you could hardly stand it anymore.

“You play dirty …” You mumble, lightly running your nails across his nape.

“Mm, how so?” He sounds distracted and preoccupied, too busy mouthing at your pulse to pay it any mind.

“You told me to decide on dinner …” You trail off when he latches onto the juncture of your neck and shoulder, immediately succumbing to the tantalizing suction Ogun applies with his lips. You let out a soft, faltering groan, brows furrowing in pleasure when it makes the simmering heat in your gut double and then triple as teeth sink into delicate skin.

Shuddering, you deliberately wrack your brain in an attempt to finish your train of thought but that proves much more of a struggle than you’d been prepared for.

“But … nngh, but now all I want is you …”

He comes up at your somewhat dreamy admittance, a mischievous look camping out on his face even as big hands push at the hem of your shirt. “Oh yeah? Anything you want in particular, sweetheart?”

Lifting your gaze, you peer up at Ogun from just a scant few inches away. The shallow rise and fall of your chest has no doubt clued him in that he’s got you all worked up now but you aren’t exactly trying to hide it. He already knew just how weak you were for him, knew precisely how well your body always responded to his advances, so there really wasn’t any point in pretending otherwise.

You were powerless against his undeniable charm and he seemed to get just as much enjoyment out of that as you did. And looking at him now you think, not for the first time, that you just might be the luckiest girl in the world.

“Let’s start with that talented mouth.” You murmur, reaching out to take his smooth jaw in hand and pull him, grinning, into another kiss.

Noising quietly against your mouth, he leans further into you until it feels like you’re being pleasantly crushed under the hard, muscular weight of his frame. It only serves to get you even more riled up, now well and truly desperate to feel his bare skin flush against yours as you roll your hips forward and drag your clenching pussy across the front of his pants.

Lips parting on a heady groan, he returns the favor by slowly thrusting his pelvis forward so you can feel the stiff outline of his cock caressing your clothed slit. You keen at the sensation and cant your hips into the pressure, the two of you gradually picking up a steady, unhurried rhythm together that damn near drives you wild.

Hands staying busy while he sedately humps you, Ogun patiently works your shirt up higher and higher until it’s bunched under your armpits. Reaching around for the clasp of your bra, he gives it one good tug and the satiny soft material loosens around your shoulders with a near silent slither. Bringing his hands to the front again, he shoves the cups up out of the way before letting them descend on soft, pliant breasts that seem to fit just right in the curve of his worn palms. Giving them both a gentle squeeze, he kneads your chest until you groan and tip your head back, breaking apart from the kiss in favor of sighing up at the ceiling.

He takes that opportunity to dip his face close and press an open mouthed kiss to the center of your sternum while he carefully squeezes your tits in a pinching grip. It makes you shudder, wishing you could clench your thighs and ease the growing ache there, but that’s impossible when he’s slotted between them like this. You have no choice but to endure the thrumming tension and you squirm underneath him, needily bucking up to meet the next thrust of his hips with a frustrated little groan.

“Ogun,” You gasp, letting your fingers scrabble to grab hold of his black t-shirt and tug on it. “I need you. Now.”

Bringing his head up, Ogun allows himself a moment to drink in the wanton expression on your face while he cups his hands around your breasts almost reverently. “How do you need me, baby?” He mumbles, letting his thumbs brush over your stiff nipples in a feather light caress. “What do you need?”

“Your mouth …” You whine, practically choking on it.

“Where do you need my mouth, huh? Tell me.”

“On my pussy.” It’s more a plea than a statement and you shake for him even as the words leave your mouth.

Ogun shifts against you and bends down, mouth opening wide over the pebbled peak of your breast. You watch on, mesmerized, when the pink of his tongue darts out to lap at the fleshy bud before sealing his lips around it and suckling. Your eyes slip shut as you arch, pushing your chest up to meet him while your fingers cling to the cotton of his shirt. Ogun doesn’t linger long though and he soon comes up off the first with a dull pop before catching your other nipple between his lips.

Briefly worrying it, he slides his hand forward to tweak the spit lathered bud between thumb and forefinger, making you outright seethe. You give up on getting his top off with an impatient little huff and bring your hands down to grasp at his arms instead. The firm, wiry muscle under his skin offers little give no matter how hard you squeeze or dig your nails in, and he remains ever unperturbed, casually sucking the tip of your breast to stiff, throbbing attention.

“Please, Ogun …”

With a faint hum, he comes up off your chest and presses a quick peck to the puckered nipple. “I know, baby. I know.” Moving back to the first nipple, he kisses that one too. “Just be patient, alright? You know you don’t have to beg me to go down on you …”

You groan at the velvety suggestion and tuck your chin down to pin him with an imploring look. Ogun offers you a lopsided grin in return, pinching both your nipples between his fingers and carefully tweaking the sensitive flesh until you outright gasp. You feel like you’re running on autopilot now as you reach up to sandwich his face between your palms and pull him into yet another kiss, lips crashing together with an intensity that makes your pussy flutter.

His mouth parts against yours, opening wide as if to swallow you whole, and all the while he keeps plucking at your tits until they’re aching almost as much as your neglected cunt. You couldn’t take it anymore ...

Tightening your legs around Ogun’s waist, you dig your heels into the small of his back and draw him right up against you so you can feel the hard weight of his cock digging into the spot where you need him most. A frazzled, high strung wail claws its way up the back of your throat as you jut your pelvis up and rub yourself against that thick, pulsing heat in search of some relief but very little is forthcoming like this.

He pulls back at the sudden friction thoufg and issues a faltering groan that seems to echo off the walls for as quiet as it is. “Shit … you really want it that bad, baby?”

“It’s your fault …”

“I know, I know.” Bending close, Ogun presses a hard peck to the center of your chest. “And I’ll take responsibility for that, don’t you worry.”

Lower he trails, slowly kissing his way down your fluttering stomach as his hands come around to unbutton your shorts. The zipper quickly follows suit and then he’s tugging them down your thighs while you eagerly twist to help get you undressed just that much quicker.

Thoughtlessly tossing them aside, Ogun reaches for your panties next but he’s much more subdued in removing these. One torturous fraction at a time, he carefully pries the thin cotton away until they’re low enough to expose your puffy slit to the air. He lets out an appreciative noise of approval when he sees the sticky mess you’ve made along the seam and your heart pounds in your ears as you draw your legs up so he can slip the dainty cotton the rest of the way off.

He discards them somewhere on the floor, probably right alongside your shorts, before palming your bent knees. Gently, Ogun eases them apart so he can peer down at your sticky cunt with an unconcealed expression of hunger.

“Look at you, baby. Just look at this pretty pussy, already so wet for me.”

Smoothing big hands up along your bare thighs, he bends close and presses his mouth to the apex of your mound in a surprisingly chaste but hungry kiss. Digging your fingers into the couch cushions, you enticingly wiggle your hips at him and gold eyes flash at you from between your legs, amusement and something much more dark shining within them.

You feel his lips eagerly curl against you then, and he shuffles closer to the couch so that he’s hunched directly over your prone body. Hooking long fingers under one of your legs, he hauls it up and over his shoulder before repeating the process on the other side. Grabbing big, grasping handfuls of your hips, he uses his hold on you to drag your lower body just to the edge of the seat, making you squeak at suddenly finding yourself completely vulnerable and laid bare. Your pussy clenches tight in anticipation though and you tremble, drawing a steadying breath when he pecks at the soft swell of your inner thigh, warm breath puffing against your skin.

There was no denying that he had you completely at his mercy like this and you would have been lying through your teeth if you said that didn’t excite you.

“Comfortable?”

At your nod, Ogun leans forward just enough to bend your legs towards your chest and fold you against the top of the couch. He settles on his knees and dips his head down, mouth parting so his tongue can take a quick swipe from the bottom of your gushing cunt up to the top. The sight of it has you groaning for him, your vision swimming as you force yourself to keep watching.

That proves exceedingly difficult when he presses in close, making the meat of your pussy lips squish and mold against his face. Slowly kissing at you to work them open with his mouth, he flicks his attention up to regard your face and you practically vibrate on the cushions. Another swipe of his tongue hits its mark, wetly knocking your clit, and you let loose a seething mewl.

“O - ohh! Yeah …”

Ogun’s fingers dig into your twitching hips to keep them spread while he takes his time slowly swirling around that sensitive pleasure button. He starts at a wide breadth and then gradually works his tongue in tighter and tighter circles until he’s finally grinding it into oblivion. The soft, gooey friction of his mouth is enough to have you wheezing in pleasure as sweat beads, unnoticed, along your lower back and you arch, making your tits jiggle with the motion.

“Right there … don’t stop!”

Issuing a low sound of agreement, Ogun opens his jaw wider and drags his tongue straight up through your slick, juicy folds. You can feel every little thing - every nerve ending and every meaty bit of flesh that tries to cling to the textured muscle and your legs jerk at the sensation.

Tossing your head back against the couch, you blindly reach down to grasp his knuckles in a death grip. “Ah, haah … feels good ...”

In lieu of a proper response, he tilts his head and attacks your thrumming clit from a different angle. He’s relentless, mercilessly battering that delicate little pearl back and forth with such fervor that it leaves you quaking under his attention, struggling just to breathe. You’re not sure how much more of this you can stand, the threat of tipping over the edge before you can even fully enjoy it looking like a very real possibility now, but then Ogun seals his mouth around the fleshy nub and sucks.

Hard.

“Oh!” You choke on a haggard, stuttering gasp of pleasure, lurching underneath him.

Confidently humming, he comes up off you with a dull pop and a sticky breath of air. “Looks like you’re already getting close.” Ogun murmurs, sounding really quite smug about that.

Never one to leave you hanging though, he crowds one of his hands between your legs and presses blunt fingers into your slit. Finding your throbbing clit again, Ogun starts to rub it in fast strokes made smooth by the viscous mix of saliva and arousal that absolutely coats your pussy and this time you practically shriek.

“Yes! Yes, I’m getting close! … nngghh … please, please, pleeease! Ogun, please!”

But he refuses to let up on your poor little cunt just yet. “Please what, baby?”

You twist, thighs flexing and going ramrod stiff around his head. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges, reflexive tears pricking at your eyes. It’s hard just to think straight let alone form a semi coherent sentence when he’s relentlessly rubbing your clit with roughly calloused fingertips like that, the friction almost too much to bear and quickly riding the line of overstimulation. You couldn’t handle much more of it.

“Pl - please put your dick in me! Please! I wanna’ come on your cock, Ogun! I’m buh - aaah - ah! - begging!”

A low, rumbling groan rises up in his chest but, still, he doesn’t stop. “I thought you wanted to come on my mouth?”

“I - I changed my mind!”

He grunts, deep and primal in his acknowledgement, and the sound races straight to your throbbing cunt.

You respond with a broken groan, only to nearly come right up off the couch when he withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his mouth. Supple lips part and work you open again so he can worm his tongue into the crease of your body. He delivers a series of taunting flicks to the straining bud hidden within, making you sensitively twitch, before dragging the flat of his tongue across it in broad, sweeping strokes. You could feel yourself tipping ever closer to the edge and, with a wheezing gasp, you reach down with both hands to cradle either side of his head.

You’re not sure if you want to push him away or draw him closer - as if that were even possible at this point.

“Oh - Ogun, wha - wait! Nngh … if you keep going - -“

Smacking his lips, he comes up just enough for you to hear him say “You’ll cum? Good.” Before diving back in.

The way he immediately opens his mouth wide and plunges his tongue into the satiny soft folds and creases of your cunt, teasing at your entrance, has you jolting as if you’ve been electrocuted. Gritting your teeth, you clutch him all the tighter while the building pressure inside you steadily inches towards blissful discomfort. Your heaving body was truly hanging in the balance now, entirely at his mercy (of which there seemed to be none) and your legs uselessly flex in the air when you squeeze them around his head. You could almost taste it in the back of your throat.

“Fuck! Right there …” you whine as you rock your pelvis against his mouth, the motion stiff and halting. “Right there, baby … I’m s - so - ooooh - close!”

Ogun grunts in approval and drags his tongue up to the top of your slit again, burying his face somehow even deeper into the cushiony give of your pussy. He glances at you, very briefly, from under the fall of dark lashes and the heady, masculine glint in those burnt gold irises sends a powerful shudder rippling down your spine. Your mouth drops open as if to scream but nothing comes out. For a worryingly long moment, it feels like you forgot how to breathe.

All you can do is watch on in thrumming suspense when he drops his gaze and gives his head a shake to jostle all the nerve endings in your cunt. The braids you’d worked on all day give a little bounce in their ponytail before settling again, and your eyes start to roll back when he flattens his tongue to your clit so he can grind down on it again. Static shoots through your system as you arch against him, so fitfully your back starts to ache in protest, but it was much too late. Nothing could stop it now, not even if you wanted to.

You suck in a haggard breath and the coil snaps, just like that. With an almost violent jerk, you devolve into a fit of convulsions that has you wailing up at the ceiling in total disregard for the upstairs neighbors. They probably heard you every time you and your boyfriend had sex but it’s not as if you could very well help it. Ogun was a talented individual by nature and that certainly transferred over into bedroom activities too.

Helpless, all you can do is cling to him through the full bodied tremors that shake you straight down to your core while he leisurely laps at your throbbing clit to ease you through it. He always seemed intent on milking your orgasms for all they were worth, and that certainly didn’t help your case with your neighbors either. It always felt like something of an out of body experience when he was the one going down on you and you couldn’t exactly say you disliked him for that.

The exact opposite, actually.

“Oh, god …”

With a stuttering groan, you slowly go limp as you come down from your high one piece of you at a time. It was hard to tell which jagged edges fit where, but you’re still acutely aware of the mess he’s made of your cunt when Ogun finally straightens and you feel a rush of fresh air hit your drenched slit. You shiver at the sensation and crack your eyes open to peer down at him, whimpering.

“You didn’t listen …”

Snorting a quiet laugh, he shifts against you and brings a hand up to swipe the glistening moisture from his mouth. “I only did what you initially asked for, sweetheart. That doesn’t mean I can’t give you the second request, too.”

Your lips curl in a warbling smile at that, and he grins right back.

Letting your head loll against the couch cushions, you contentedly watch as he brings your legs down off his shoulders so he can move to stand. Leaving you spread out and feeling like silly putty, he yanks his shirt over his head with one quick, fluid motion that makes his abdominals tantalizingly ripple before reaching for his pants next. He makes quick work of the button and then the fly, anticipation evident in his body language when he shoves them along with his underwear down to his feet.

Ogun’s thick cock bounces eagerly when he steps out of his discarded clothes, and the sight alone is enough to make your pussy clench tight. You still felt sensitive and over wrought, so fresh off the tail end of your orgasm, but that doesn’t stop you from moaning faintly at the sight of him.

You’d never known a more attractive man in all your life.

“Ogun …” You murmur, eyes slipping shut when your desire flares back at full force dizzyingly fast.

Your eyes immediately pop back open, however, when he slides his arms under your knees and leans forward to brace against the couch, folding you up like a pretzel. Your toes flex as you squirm underneath him, glancing down at your defenless little cunt with an excited squeak. Puffy lips can’t help but spread in this position and you easily catch sight of your swollen clit straining towards him in obvious need, not yet satisfied.

Hovering just a scant breath away, his straining cock - all silky smooth and heavy - twitches in anticipation, eager to sink into you. It doesn’t look like it's going to fit. It never does but, somehow or another, he always manages to squeeze every girthy inch of himself inside you and the thought alone has you throbbing in sharp, sporadic pulses.

It was almost embarrassing how fast you were bouncing back from the first round, but you can’t quite complain when you watch his hanging ballsack sway with the motion of getting himself situated and your pussy responds in kind with an intense pulse. He had the body of a breeder and you were sure he would’ve already had you heavy and round by now if only you weren’t on birth control. Maybe someday, though …

“Ogun …” You were starting to feel well and truly delirious now, and you reach up to dig your nails into his forearms for leverage to ground yourself with.

He doesn’t seem to mind it though, and he merely issues a soft grunt of acknowledgement as he rocks forward a bit to angle your defenseless pussy up at him more. You can feel yourself squeeze down and you groan, dazedly watching your own thighs flex in their bent up position but there was simply no way out of his hold now. The thought alone is enough to have you breathing out a stuttering puff of air, which you promptly choke on when he starts to lower his pelvis towards yours.

“Yes, yes, yes, please give it to me, I need it, I need it, please --”

You’re whining. You realize that on some level, but you’re much too consumed by this desperate hunger to have him rearranging your guts to care about that right now. It wouldn’t take Ogun long at all to have you creaming around him at this rate.

Unperturbed, he casually adjusts his position over top of you before swooping down to catch your babbling mouth in another heated kiss to silence you. The passionate force behind the gesture pushes your head back against the cushions and you relent, groaning into his lips as your hands fly up to offer his sides an encouraging squeeze.

Luxuriating under the strength of his body, you drag your palms up across his chest and higher still to grasp his shoulders. With a weak, halfhearted jut of your pelvis, you make a sad little attempt at angling your hips up enough to feel his leaking cockhead against your sticky cunt but it’s no use. He has you thoroughly pinned and at his mercy like this. His for the taking whenever he saw fit to skewer you on his sizable length and not a moment sooner.

It was too much.

You suddenly break from the kiss in favor of keening in soft desperation. He pulls back, stopping just long enough to regard you with that infuriatingly attractive, heavy lidded look before pointedly glancing between your bodies.

Slowly, you follow his lead only to swallow hard when his thighs flex forward and the underside of his cock skirts along your parted pussy lips. The crude way it bumps against your clit has you jolting at the sensation and clutching him all the more fervently. Your whole body positively shakes as Ogun shuffles his feet a little further apart and tries again, the bulbous glans slipping and sliding through petal soft folds once, twice - until it abruptly finds its mark on the third stroke.

Catching at your entrance, he pauses for a moment and then slowly starts to sink in. Your breath hitches, mouth opening on a silent scream as you watch the ruddy pink head slowly disappear into your body. The stretch is immediately felt, and it’s more than enough to make your greedy pussy flutter around the intrusion even as it gushes more sticky slick to ease the way.

But the more of him that slides into the gummy sleeve of your insides, the less good it does. He’s just too big - wider than he is long, yet still large enough to push your heaving body right to its limits. You hold your breath, head spinning, when he pushes further in and forces your squeezing passage to make room for him. More and more, until he’s about half of the way inside where he finally pauses to let you adjust.

You twitch, weakly writhing like a small animal caught in the merciless maw a steel trap. You were utterly powerless underneath him.

“Oh - Ogun! Fuck … fuck me - dear Sol, please just fuck me!”

He draws a slow, calming breath. “You’re still so tight, baby … I don’t want to hurt you.”

Whimpering, you reach between your legs and wrap trembling fingers around the base of him. Ogun moans after a few awkward pumps of your hand and tilts his face up at the ceiling, basking in the sensation of you jerking him while he’s half wedged inside your body.

It must feel good because it takes him a prolonged moment to get his bearings again and when he does, he carefully eases himself back just enough to give a tiny thrust forward. You can feel the moment he slips in a little deeper than before and you guide him into it, one sedate thrust at a time. When you stroke up, he pulls back and when you stroke down, he pushes into you. It’s a maddeningly cohesive rhythm that has you panting like a bitch in heat long before he finally slides home and you outright choke when the fronts of his thighs settle against the backs of yours a small eternity later.

“Shit,” He hisses, brows knitting as he peers down to admire the sight of his pelvis flush against yours. “That’s a tight fit … how’re you doing, sweetheart? It’s not too much, is it?”

You give your head a numb shake and roll your eyes up at him, teasing your fingertips through the mess of curls at the base of his groin while you do it. Words couldn’t even come close to describing how stuffed full you felt, but you loved it.

“N - no … it’s perfect … feels - ngh - good …”

Smiling, Ogun dips his face close to press his mouth to your forehead in a chastely sweet kiss. He stays like that as he carefully angles back until just the tip remains and then, so slowly you can feel it in your bones, he pushes back in. The drag is exquisite and it feels like you’re practically suffocating on the intense pleasure of every solid inch, each throbbing vein. You could feel it all.

A wordless cry of pleasure bursts out of you when he slides back out and in again at that same staggered pace. He’s so big you can feel the pressure on your cervix and when he wiggles his hips, grinding into you, oh god, it feels like he’s pushing the glans right on that raised ring of puckered flesh. Your mouth drops open but nothing comes out. It was hard just to keep your eyes focused anymore.

Haltingly, he starts up a gradual but steady pace as your body adjusts around the intrusion and makes room for him, your pulpy walls clinging to the length of him on each drawn out stroke. It comes as a great relief, particularly when the building pressure swells into high strung arousal and replaces the initial discomfort of being stretched right to the breaking point.

In a matter of moments, the sticky wet clicking that noises each time your pussy sucks him in deep on the downward thrust comes to dominate the living room. The sound of it only seems highlighted by your sensitive bleating and the husky groans slipping out of him, the drone of the tv so much an afterthought now that you forgot it was even on. Even when he picks up enough speed to drive the fronts of his thighs against your upturned ass, creating a sharp, fleshy slap, it’s nothing compared to the hungry slurping of your cunt.

You probably would’ve been embarrassed by the whole thing if only it didn’t feel like he was spearing you straight down the middle. It made your eyes cross, mouth hanging open in doped out bliss while you cling and clutch at him for dear life. There wasn’t a single inch of you that he didn’t touch like this and it lit up every nerve ending along the way like a goddamn firework.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was going to break you in half.

“Such a pretty baby. Look how well you’re taking my cock ....”

You gasp. “Hnng, s’so big …!”

“And you’re taking all of it,” he murmurs, just this side of breathless. “Like a champ. Do you have any idea how good you look right now? Huh?”

You warble out an incomprehensible response, far too overwhelmed and riveted by the way Ogun’s cock glistens obscenely every time it makes another appearance between your thighs. Your fingers dig into his forearms, leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin and try not to scream in ecstasy while he carves out a space within you.

You loved watching him fuck you like this for a multitude of reasons, the most pressing at the moment being that it drove you absolutely wild.

“If you keep squeezing me like that … ngh, I won’t last much longer.” He warns, his tone far too strained to hold even a hint of real reprimand.

“I want it,” you blubber wetly. “I want it, Ogun, please …”

“You want me to cum in you?”

A jerky nod accompanied by a mewling whimper.

He lets out a shaky breath as the speed of his thrusts quicken and you jerk underneath him, bleating like something wounded. The muscles in his arms flex and twitch around you when he smoothly adjusts the positioning of his hands, hunching further over you without so much as missing a beat.

“God, you drive me crazy …”

You’d like to tell him the feeling is mutual but you don’t get the chance. A particularly sharp snap of his hips knocks something loose inside you and you uncontrollably shake, legs kicking up uselessly at the air with a wordless noise of soaring pleasure. Cumming again doesn’t seem like such a far off possibility and a frazzled whine claws at the back of your throat when he presses his sweat slick forehead against yours, prompting you to glance up.

Ogun’s eyes were always beautiful to look at but especially so when you were staring into them from just a hair's breadth away and they were clouded dark with primal need as well something much more weighty.

“Tell me you want it, sweetheart. Tell me.”

“I - ngh - aaaahh, I want your cum, Ogun! I need you to fill me uh - up, please, I want it so baaad!”

A shudder races through him and he groans, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment as if to get his bearings before cracking open again. Keeping his forehead against yours, he tilts his head down to look between the two of you and, once again, you follow suit.

The sinfully rich color of his cock, just a shade or two darker than the rest of him, looks all the more tantalizing coated in your slick. You’ve all but drenched him at this point, the tight curls that frame his length visibly damp and matted together now. You suck in a frazzled breath at the sight, your head spinning alarmingly fast when the building pressure in your gut becomes almost too much to withstand. How was it that one single man could make you feel so primal with need but tenderly cared for at the same time?

“I - -“ You all but choke on it, wheezing at the next stroke. “I’m gonna’ - ahh, cum again … don’t stop!”

“I’m about to cum too, sweetheart.” With a soft groan, he lifts his attention to pin you with a heady look of challenge. “Think we can cum together?”

You frantically nod. “Uh huh!”

The corner of Ogun’s mouth twitches at that, settling into a lazy smirk as he shifts back and slows the motion of his hips. You can’t help groaning in disappointment but you realize what he’s doing quickly enough when he lets up his hold on your legs so he can lower himself down to lay out on top of you. Working his arms under your overheated back, he practically crushes you to the front of him and you bring your own up to wrap them around his neck.

This new position increases the pressure in your guts by a noticeable margin and the air rushes out of you with a stuttering sigh when he crawls up onto the edge of the couch to pin your thighs under his weight. Your legs are just as useless as before, twitching impotently in the air when he eases his hips back as far as he can. He doesn’t make it far, just enough to feel the drag and the subsequent plunge, but it makes you cry out all the same.

Face shoved into your hair, Ogun lets loose a series of heavy grunts when he picks up his earlier pace and the same sticky clicking rises in the air again. It’s much less deafening this time, softer by virtue of his shorter strokes, and you gratefully clutch him against you, glad to hold onto him.

“You feel so good …” he groans, making you shudder at the puff of hot air against your neck.

You can’t quite find your voice though, and you respond with a faltering moan that has him twitching inside you. The thick bands of musculature across his shoulders dance under your fingers each time he moves, emphasizing the raw strength in his lithe body. And yet he was still being careful with you, the plunge of his cock as carefully measured as before so as not to slam against your cervix but still tease it.

It wasn’t even that he was unreasonably large but, rather, he just so happened to fit you like a glove and that was perhaps the most arousing part of all.

“Ogun,” you finally manage to whimper. “Mm’ gonna’ cum …”

“Me too …”

The quietly stricken groan that comes out of him next makes your toes curl. You clench around him in a palpitating flutter, so close to the edge it brought the sting of tears to your eyes. His hips stutter at the squeeze and he trembles against you, struggling to keep up the subdued thrusting he’d settled into.

It quickly proves futile when his body tenses up with a low, faltering moan that rattles so deep you feel it in your cunt. The air catches in your throat and you squeeze him with your arms across his back and your legs around his narrow waist, clutching him to you as he lurches. Blunt fingers dig into your skin and he gives a little jerk, issuing a sucker punched wheeze seconds before you feel the rush of hot seed flooding your cunt.

You tremble wildly, nails clawing into his back when the sensation of Ogun shooting thick ropes against your gummy walls makes your muscles clamp around him hard enough to send you over the edge. Writhing in bliss, you stutter out a groan that he matches with one of his own while the two of you quake through your orgasms as one.

It was transcendental in a way you never would have thought possible.

Dropping his face to the couch cushions when you finally start to grow still underneath him some moments later, he issues a rumbling sound of satisfaction. The ragged quality of your panting quickly rushes in to replace the sticky wet squelching of your cunt, and you go boneless while you try to catch your breath. That was a lot easier said than done though and he, predictably, recovers much quicker than you.

“I’m surprised we really managed to pull that off.” He hums in contentment and turns his face to kiss at your ear, teasingly soft. “That’s a first.”

“And hopefully not the last.” You wheeze, making him chuckle.

“You liked it then, I take it?”

Dislodging your cramping fingers from his back with a certain amount of effort, you bring your hand up to push the hair from your face. “It was amazing … intense. I didn’t think we could do it either.”

Ogun lifts his head to press his mouth to your check, your nose, the spot between your eyes, all with a big smile on his face. “I’m glad we did. I promise I’ll try my best to make it happen again but no promises, okay?”

You can’t quite stop from giggling. “Don’t worry. I have faith in you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Pausing long enough to give your ribs an affectionate pinch, he carefully pushes up from the couch and leans back. His softened cock slips out of you in the process, and you internally wince at the dribble of hot cum that oozes from you without him there to stopper it.

You draw your legs up to keep the mess to a minimum when he stands, gleaming eyes taking in the sight of you curled up on your couch with his semen leaking down the crease of your pussy for a prolonged beat. And then, he grins.

“Wanna’ get cleaned up and I’ll order that pizza?”

“How am I supposed to think about food after all that?” You pout at him.

Sending a sly look down at the spot between your thighs, Ogun starts to turn towards the bathroom. “I’ll get you a rag. I’m sure you’ll realize just how hungry you are once the adrenaline wears off. Besides, you should probably refuel before I try to give you an encore.”

Smiling at that, you appreciatively glance down at his tight ass before he disappears through the doorway. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind he’d be able to pull it off.

#ogun montgomery #ogun x reader #fire force #self insert bullshit #enen no shouboutai #my writing

134 notes · View notes

nightwishesworld · 3 years

Note

Heyy! So this is my first time requesting so i’m sorry if I don’t make much sense lol. I just wanted to ask what qualities do you think each of the sisters look for/like either physical or personality-wise?

As in potential romantic partners? I hope that’s what you mean....

If not just hmu and I’ll make another one. There isn’t enough content for these three!

Bela

No crackhead energy- save that for when you hang out with her younger sisters

You have to be very patient with both Bela and her sisters

Bela wants someone to curl up in the library and share her thoughts and feelings with

Someone that grounds her through all the craziness that ensues in Dimitrescu Castle

Really lowkey dates are ideal (hikes to secluded parts of the forest, going around to all her favorite shops and letting her buy whatever she wants, reading to her in the library while curled up together enjoying a hot cup of tea, etc.)

Another level-headed person to intervene in arguments between her sisters

That being said, her sisters have to get along with you in order for the relationship to work

Just because she’s the oldest and unofficial peacemaker doesn’t mean Bela isn’t anything like her sisters. Quite the opposite actually.

If Cassandra or Daniela get her going she will lose herself in the moment and go absolutely crazy with them

HOWEVER, if they try to get you to join in their antics Bela snaps out of it just enough to become protective over you

As long as your safety is ensured she will let you tag along

Bela’s old and wise enough to know physical attributes don’t matter.

Got scars? She’ll kiss ‘em. Long hair? She’ll braid it. Short hair? Run her fingers through it. No hair? She’ll just rub your head.

Man? Woman? Other? Who cares as long as you love her and her family for who they really are

Cassandra

Dates to the art museum are absolute goals

You don’t have to know a whole lot about art, just show genuine interest and she’ll be more than happy to explain it to you

Her partner has to smother her in love and affection

PDA isn’t an issue for her (unless it is for you, of course)

She loves dragging you into her private Art Gallery in the castle to show off all her amazing works

Sometimes she uses you as her muse

One day you surprise her with a drawing you’d been working on for awhile and feel almost embarrassed giving it to her cause you think it’s nothing compared to what she’s capable of creating

It’s not worthy of such an amazing artist

Cassandra begs to differ. She is so touched by all the hard work you put into making something just for her she’s reduced to tears

She hugs you as tight as possible and whispers how much she loves you over and over again in your ear

She takes caution in handling the artwork until she finds a proper frame to put it in. From there she hangs it in her bedroom so she’ll always have a piece of you with her even when you’re not

Cassandra has very few physical preferences but does appreciate a woman with larger breasts (for cuddling!)

After a particularly rough day, nothing brings her more joy and snuggling in bed with her face buried in your chest

Even if they aren’t that’s ok too! Nothing can stop Cassandra Dimitrescu from cuddling with you (Unless you don’t want to)

Daniela

Daniela is your ride or die

Chaotic energy is recommended

She treats you how you treat her

You need to know how to have fun if you wanna have any kind of relationship with Daniela

Getting yourselves into the most trouble possible is really the ideal date in her mind

Daniela wants someone to topple the social hierarchy with

She’s a tad possessive when you’re around other people, especially if someone tries flirting with you

You can’t be squeamish around her...if you have a problem with blood/gore she’ll try to shield you as best she can

Loves bringing you to her room and going through her weapons collection with you

Every blade and bolt has its own unique story to tell and you’re more than happy to listen to each and every one

Tender moments with Daniela are a rather rare occurrence, but they do happen

She’ll never admit it, but she loves being wrapped in your arms

It always amazes her how quickly you can go from “total chaos” to “cuddly kitten” but she’ll never complain

#bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #Lady Dimitrescu #Dimitrescu Daughters

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years

Text

Diary found in K---D--- : Part 2

So, here's the next little part of this :D

Imagine by @lathalea is indented!

Enjoy <3

Taglist: @shrimpsthings, @mulasawala (so you see where I'm going with this lol)

(Yes, there will be MORE artwork coming, stay posted...)

Fandom: Hobbit

Characters: Ori x OC

Rating & Warning: Fluff and silliness

His name was Ori and he was a scribe in Erebor. It turned out he visited the forest often to sketch the animals and plants. You spent the rest of the day together. In the evening, you exchanged campfire stories, sharing a meal. At one point, he shyly asked about where you came from. Blushing, he admitted, almost whispering, he never saw a person with such beautiful hair before.

You told him that you came from another world, from a region called East Asia, where many people looked similarly to you. He was very curious about your homeland, your culture and your world. You spent hours telling him everything about it and he listened to you in awe.

“Ori.” He replied, his lips quirking a tiny bit as if he was not used to speaking his own name. “I’m a scribe. In Erebor. The Mountain.” He pointed to a tree beyond the clearing.

Thankfully, I was familiar with the Lonely Mountain and did not think that he didn’t know the difference between a living organism and a pile of minerals.

“I have never seen you, neither here nor in that Mountain.” I replied, for I went into the halls sometimes to translate for travellers, but for the most part, I let the king be his grumpy, glorious self.

“I come here often, to sketch, but I seem to have lost my way.” He admitted with a tiny frown. Ah, a real dwarf. They only knew up and down seemingly and if there was no way into a hill, they’d stubbornly trek up until they tumbled off the other side again.

As if to prove to me that he was not lying – dear reader, he had a face that was utterly devoid of malice or dissimulation – he showed me rather good sketches of the fauna and flora of the dense forest surrounding us. “That is really good, Ori, the scribe, from under the Mountain.” I commented which made him blush with a fierce and, apparently, unexpected pleasure.

In an expression of indescribable cuteness, he literally wiped his face with his sleeve as if he could clean away the rosy hue like a stubborn ink stain from under his skin.

“What are you here for?” He then asked, pushing out his chest heroically. As a reminder, he was the one who had lost his way, but apparently, he wanted to defend either the forest from me or the other way around.

“I am here to think…in silence.” I replied; he retreated a few steps. “Oh? I’ll leave you to it then, I guess. It was great to make your acquaintance…”

I gave him my name, after all, he had given me his, and he chewed on it for a few moments before his face split into a smile that was like the sunlight breaking through the cloudy afternoon sky: tentative, warm, and strikingly beautiful.

“Stay. I like your face.” I heard myself saying. Maybe, it was my teasing, mischievous streak acting up, but I had liked his embarrassment so much that I couldn’t help wanting to coax more of these blushes out of him.

“My…face?” In that weird dance he had been engaged in for the last few minutes, Ori stepped closer again, shuffling his feet in the heavy boots dwarrows insisted on wearing.

No, your ass, I thought, but bit my tongue; Ori the dwarf looked like someone who would die on the spot if I said anything even remotely inappropriate…as I was wont to do when nervous.

My sarcastic thought spurred my own interest though and I examined him a little closer: he was indeed swaddled like a babe, beads of sweat pearling down his temples on account of the steep climb and the stubborn blush powdering his nose and cheeks with pink blotches.

“Sit down, you’ll get a heat stroke.” I invited him and pointed to a patch of moss beside me while rummaging in my pack for the flask of ale I had brought.

“Thank you ever so much.” He plopped down in a cascade of earthen-coloured wool and awkward limbs. He did smell warm, I noticed, a blend of cinnamon and comfort.

Also, he had one of those faces that only became better when seen up-close, I admit freely; there were golden stars dancing in the depth of his dark eyes and he had the most adorable freckles as if some outlandish fairy had sprinkled gold dust over that heart-wrenchingly handsome face.

“Are you thirsty, Mistress?” He asked, nodding at the flask in my hand.

Handing it to him rather abruptly, I realised that I had spent the last moments intently staring at his face as if I had never seen a male dwarf before in my life.

“I have work to do.” I snapped, feeling immediately guilty for taking my own embarrassment out on him, but he merely nodded and pulled his sketching supplies into his lap.

Strangely enough, Ori did not disturb me. If anything, the silence felt fuller, richer, deeper with him by my side. As I translated a letter, as a spinster I had to support my family and my insufferable sisters as best as I could, I felt like the chirping of the birds and the vibrancy of the colours around me were even more enjoyable now that I shared them with someone else.

…

The sun crept along its never-changing arc slowly and yet, much too fast.

As I looked up, I wished I was a better painter myself, for this dwarrow was made for sunsets.

The way the last golden hurrah of a perfect day exploded in a halo of warmth around his figure, the way all the greys and the blues seemed to bleed out of the world to leave nothing but warm tones behind, and the way his smile was the perfect expression of this mellow, unhurried mood…it struck me deeper and more violently than a thunderstorm in all its booming rage would have.

“Will you join me for dinner, Ori?” I asked gently, “I shall escort you back down.”

“It would be my honour.” He nodded, tearing out a page of his notebook and handing it over.

“It was an invitation; I do not demand payment.” I said seriously, for the sketch of the doe was so good, it might have been worth actual money. “Oh…” His nose crinkled at little at that.

“I wanted you to…have something beautiful. I have seen you work very hard.”

Of course, he was a scribe as well, he would consider the scribbling work, I thought and gave him a thankful smile. “You’re beauty enough for one day.” I shrugged.

He gasped, bringing his notebook up to his face as if to shield himself from my words.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you? Dori has warned me that girls do that sometimes.” He sounded utterly dejected. “I am not having you on. Has nobody ever told you that you’re handsome?” It was my turn to be wide-eyed with shock.

“And who is Dori?” I followed-up when he didn’t really reply to my question even though I thought I had seen his braids move like strings of pearls in a draft. The minutest of shakes of the head, a quiet admission of inadequacy that sunk ugly, ragged claws into my soft heart.

“He’s my brother. I have two of them. Dori…and Nori. They’re…” – “Older than you.” I completed. “Protective.” He supplied.

He was still holding his drawing out to me, and, after a moment, I took it gingerly and put it between the pages of my own writing supplies. I would hang it in my room and look at it daily.

Nowadays, there were but very few gifts for me; all the money went to my two younger sisters who were still nubile and would, if Mahal willed it so, be able to make a good match.

Busying my hands with making a fire, I asked him to tell me about his brothers.

“Oh, Nori is…agile. He’s…funny and brave and resourceful.” Ori started, his voice warm with affection and admiration. He sounded like a proper rogue to me, and as it turned out, he was, but he also deserved every single ounce of the deep-felt care Ori held for him.

“Dori is…fussy. He’s polite, he’s very caring, and he’s exceedingly proper.” Ori went on as I waved a hand for him not to stop. I enjoyed hearing about the life of other families than my own.

“So, is he the one who raised you to be this…warmly clad and gentle?” I asked, turning to place the foodstuffs I had brought up and stored in the cool lake water on spits to roast over the fire.

“Warm? Oh yes…I was a sickly pebble and he’s been worried ever since. I hope I have behaved in a way that would not make him disappointed in me.” Again, he worried his lip.

“Let’s see, you’ve startled a bird and an unsuspecting dwarrowdam.” I listed with a wicked gleam in my eyes; his face fell, and he looked properly guilty.

“Then, you’ve kept me company, and the best company I’ve ever had, it has been, on my grandmother’s grave, I swear.” I went on and that treacherous blush was back with a vengeance.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He then said in a low voice. “Great beauty is always startling.”

“I am hardly Thorin Oakenshield.” He laughed. Readers, you cannot imagine that sound just by reading my words. If flowers blossoming had melody, if the sun setting on the eternal sea had a song, if autumn leaves dancing on a gale had a tune, they would have sounded like nails on scree, like cats having their tails trampled, and like kettles going unheeded compared to Ori’s laughter.

“There’s beauty in the doe as much as in the wolf.” I replied gently.

“May I…can I ask where you’re from? I don’t seek to be rude, but I’ve never seen anyone quite like you; your hair looks like those fabrics the Elves weave. It…seems so soft, so liquid, so smooth.” He blushed a darker shade yet.

This might well have been the first time that someone had asked me about my origins without making it sound like an accusation; there was honest fascination in his demeanour.

“My family and I have come from the Far East. I have travelled a lot, Ori, I have seen landscapes entirely made up of rock and sand, I have walked forests so stiflingly hot and moist it felt like being underwater, and now, I am here in the land of tall trees and taller mountains.”

I said, surprised by my own frankness.

“That sounds amazing.” He took the food I offered readily enough, and I told him about the people I’ve left behind to be stranded at the other end of the world.

“This is good, is that a recipe of your homeland?” He asked, looking down on the piece of meat I had seasoned with herbs I had grown myself in our small backyard.

“It actually is. I’m glad you like it. I had not planned to have company, otherwise I’d have brought something more palatable to the local tongue.” I apologised quickly.

“No, I like it. You should definitely trade some recipes with Dori…and Bombur…oh, and if any of your delicious herbs are medicinal, Óin.” He laughed again when he saw my dumbfounded expression.

“I make a good honeycake, if I can interest you in that? Maybe…” He fell back into silence.

…

A look at the sky told me that it was too late to go down in the inky darkness.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night.” I mumbled, slightly uncomfortable at the idea of spending the night with a dwarrow who had not lost a single word about a wife.

“Are you married, Mistress? Will that endanger your wedlock?” He asked shyly.

“No, I am not and I have no name to lose…It’s a long story.” I didn’t feel like blurting out my disgrace, lest it give him strange ideas after all, especially as he would easily have been able to overpower me if he so chose.

“Neither am I. I don’t know about my name…Doesn’t look like I’m going to be married either. There’s not enough dwarrowdams as it is, and I think the royal line has a prerogative there.” There was no resentment in his tone; he seemed to accept this as a fact.

How could someone that sweet not be married, I wondered. He was courteous, he was cute, and he would have made the fortune and happiness of someone.

“Well, in that case, I think we can risk our reputation rather than our necks.” I grinned, rolling out a blanket I kept tied to my pack for emergencies and stretched out next to the fire on the moss.

“Erm, yes…Good night…” He mumbled, fidgeting around with his different layers of clothing. Apparently, he was deciding which one he needed least on his body to use it as a bedroll or blanket.

I eyed the proceedings with interest and a good deal of amusement.

“I can offer you my cloak to lie upon…the ground will grow very cold and wet soon.” He said in a low voice, not sure if I had already fallen asleep or not.

“Alright, I can offer you a spot under the blanket then?” I extended my own graciousness.

“With you?” No, with the red bird, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.

“Yes, Ori the scribe, with me. I will not eat you, as you have witnessed, I have had dinner.” Not that he did not look good enough to devour, standing there with his cloak in his hands and his face all crunched up in embarrassment.

“Hmmm…I guess.” He muttered doubtfully, spreading out the cloak and sitting down on it carefully. Impatiently, I scooted over and spread my lousy blanket over the both of us with a flourish.

“Sleep!” I commanded as I turned around only to find him staring wide-eyed at the spot where the back of my head had been only a second ago. Now that he was presented with my face, only inches away from his, his eyes grew even rounder and bigger in wordless distress.

“Friend…Have you never lain with a woman? And I literally mean, lying next to one?” I laughed for there had been friends and cousins aplenty in my own life and the feeling of having another body so close to mine was not a new experience for me.

“Well, I fell down on the battlefield once, next to a foe…I’m pretty sure that was a Lady-Orc. She was dead. There was a…” He gestured, indicating a spear or a lance sticking out of his chest and brushing against my own with the back of his hand. Dear reader, he flinched back as if I was a tiny Durin’s bane wreathed in flames.

“A Lady-Orc, indeed…” I mused; no doubt, he could hear the smile I hid in my voice for his face crunched up in embarrassment.

“I am sorry.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and thinking – there was not a shadow of a doubt about that much – of his brothers who would have mocked him mercilessly for his stammering.

“There’s no need to be sorry” I tried to reassure him, but I admit now that there were things that I did not tell him right away then. We had only just met, and he was blessedly unaware of my shameful past.

How could I have made him understand – without hurting his feelings – how much I enjoyed that air of purity about him that I had squandered myself on an undeserving fiend? As a daughter amongst others, I had been used to dwarrows coming to court or to seduce, their eyes ablaze with greed and their hands wandering.

He would not have comprehended how much the absence of that voracious hunger that had plagued my youth and had ended up destroying my promising future meant to me.

“Sleep.” I repeated, unable to put into words how miraculous and precious the things he seemed to be most ashamed of were to me.

“Good night, Mistress.” He breathed with a soft smile that was nowhere near the wolfish baring of fangs I was used to and so, it was easy to return it.

You who may or may not have stumbled upon this ludicrous account of the most important story in an otherwise unimportant life, you shall hear another confession I did not make at the time.

I was fiercely aware that – had I but leant forward a little – I might have pressed my lips upon his; I was young still at that time and, despite what had happened, parts of me, that should have withered and died in the aftermath of my botched engagement, were much alive.

He smelled like our dinner and warmth, and the gentle reticence of the curve of his smile was more inviting than any flashing grin I had ever seen before.

Yes, in that very moment, on this very first evening, I had already been conscious of the shrewd attraction this self-effacing dwarrow held for me…and it scared me half to death.

…

Part 3

#Fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ori the dwarf #Ori #OC #Fluff #Diary #1st person

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years

Text

heavy is the head that wears the crown; and the heart > bucky barnes

|| pairing: romanian!king!bucky barnes x black!queen!reader

|| word count: 3,273

|| warnings: language words

|| challenge: @marvelmaree‘s birthday challenge: royalty au + “i’ve dreamt about leaving so many times.” “that’s the problem with most people. they dream about what they want to do instead of really doing it.”

|| square filled: @star-spangled-bingo SSB2020 N1: modern royalty au

|| square filled: @buckybarnesbingo Y1: “i regret nothing.”

|| summary: there are many decisions to make as queen; some of the heart, some of the mind.

|| link: ao3

|| note: this is really late for maree’s birthday challenge! i’m so sorry babe, but i hope you like it! i hope it’s okay that i made it a modern royalty au instead of a traditional royalty au!

so, for this to make sense, we have to pretend that after the south seceded from the united states in 1860, they never rejoined the union and the civil war never happened. we also need to pretend that the united states had kings and queens instead of presidents, lol. we also have a cameo by a real life duke and duchess :) also, sis does not play in this.

hope you guys enjoy, and happy juneteenth!

You walk slowly through the trees, the tips of your fingers grazing over the bloomed flowers. The bottom of your dress is caked in dirt as it drags behind you, your black Converse shoes leaving soft imprints in the soft earth. You don’t care - you never have - but your mother surely will. Another dress ruined! My God, when are you going to learn some etiquette! You are thirty one years old, girl! You smile and chuckle slightly as her words swirl through your head. Dinner will be fun tonight.

You stop and bend slightly to pluck a rose from it’s bush. You bring it to your face and inhale deeply, letting the natural, earthy scent fill your nose. You close your eyes and hum a little as you exhale slowly, letting your eyes flutter back open.

“I knew I’d find you out here.”

You laugh as his voice fills your ears. You don’t turn to face him. Instead, you do just the opposite. You turn away from him and keep on your leisurely stroll as you continue to sniff at your pretty red rose, “I’m not a hard person to figure out, Mr. Barnes.”

“That you’re not. That’s what I like about you.”

You scoff but laugh again, shaking your head softly. You take a few more steps before you shriek when two long arms wrap around your middle. He lifts you off your feet, twirling you around as you laugh wildly. He sits you back down, facing him this time, and crashes his lips to yours - stealing every ounce of breath out of your lungs. He squeezes you to him as you moan lightly and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hi,” he says softly after he frees your lips.

You giggle as he rests his forehead to yours, his eyes still closed from the kiss, “Hi there,” you whisper, “You are awfully brave for pulling this little stunt with my mother being right inside.”

“I don’t care about your mother,” he shrugs, “Do you?”

You send your eyes towards the sky, pretending to give it some thought, “Not really, no.”

He finally opens his eyes and they almost take your breath away. You’ve been staring into those blues since you were kids, but the deepness of them - the emotions that swirl in them at any given time - surprises you every time. You cup his cheek, a dark beard blooming across his skin and rub your thumb underneath his right eye as a dreamy smile covers your lips.

“You’re so pretty.” You say softly, watching as the smile broadens on his face.

You send your eyes down to his chest, finding him in a crisp white button up shirt and a black velvet sport coat and pants, complete with a pair of off white, studded loafers, “You broke out the Tom Ford just to see me?”

“Not this time, darling.” He smiles, throwing his arm over your shoulder as the two of you begin to walk again, “I had an engagement with Prince Harry and the Duchess Megan this afternoon.”

“Ah yes, I remember now. I was supposed to be there.” You laugh, shrugging.

He laughs at your nonchalance, “You were certainly missed. To be perfectly honest though, Harry and I had bet going that you’d blow it off.”

You nod, shooting him a quick finger gun, “Both of you are very smart men.” You giggle, “It’s just one more thing for my mom to be mad at me about. Whatever, I’ll text Harry and Megan my apologies.”

The two of you walk slowly through the vast garden until you are no longer visible from the main house. You wave at the horse handlers as they work your champion thoroughbreds off in the distance. You swallow and let out a breath as your mind starts to wander again, your stomach twisting a little.

“I’ve dreamt about leaving so many times.” You say softly, dropping your eyes to the rose still in your fingers.

You hear Bucky sigh, “That’s the problem with most people. They dream about what they want to do instead of really doing it.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile cracks your face, “Don’t be a smart ass, Barnes.”

“I’m not,” he smiles, threading his fingers with yours, “I mean it. You can do whatever you want to do. You don’t have to marry him.” He stops moving as you continue to step ahead of him, your arms spreading out between the two of you as he continues to hold your hand, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You answer firmly, “I’m listening, I know.”

“You don’t love him.”

“I don’t. I love you.”

“Then marry me. Come back to Romania with me, be my queen.”

“And denounce my country? Just leave them behind with no heir? I can’t do that.”

“Your cousin could be Queen.”

“She’s an idiot!” You laugh, “We’d be in a world war within months.” You drop his hand and step away from him further, spinning on your heels suddenly to face him again, “You could move here.”

He nods slowly, “I could.”

You scoff, “Stop it.”

“I could - I would. If you really wanted me to.”

You shake your head, “You’re too idealistic.”

“And you’re too cynical.” He rebukes, keeping his gaze on you firmly, “We could make this work, you know we can.”

“How can you run a country if you’re thousands of miles away from it?” You sigh, “You’re a King, you need to be there.”

He scratches his head as he closes his left eye, tilting his head towards the sky, “Um, have you heard of the internet? FaceTime, email - Zoom - I hear that’s great.”

You roll your eyes again as you groan loudly, turning away from him. You slump your shoulders as you throw your head back , closing your eyes as the sun beats down on you. You wish this was easier. You wish you had the guts to tell your mother to just piss off so you could run off to Romania and spend the rest of your life in his arms, but then there’s the other side of your heart. Half of you doesn’t want to leave. You want to take your rightful throne. You want to be Queen. You’ve prepared for it your whole life, it’s your destiny - and you’d be good at it.

How could Bucky not be a part of that destiny? That’s the real question you have. That’s what keeps you up at night these days as your calling draws nearer and nearer. He’d throw it all away for you, but you can’t do the same for him - and that makes you feel guilty; and sad.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” You ask, not turning around.

“That,” he says in a way that you know he’s smiling, “Don’t feel guilty.”

“How do you know I feel guilty? I’m just standing here.”

You hear his feet in the grass as he moves towards you, and then feel his warm breath on the back of your neck as he sweeps your braids over your shoulder, “Because I know you.” He whispers into your ear before he pushes away again, stepping out in front of you.

You open your eyes and watch as he spins in the grass, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to give this up for me,” he continues, “It’s 2020, not 1940 - you don’t have to give up everything you’ve worked so hard for just for some dude.”

“I’m glad we agree on that.”

“Just,” his voice trails off as he takes a deep breath, “Please don’t marry him.” He says gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

The him he speaks of is Scott Lang, the appointed King of the South, né Atlanta. He’s a nice man; kind, funny, sweet - and he adores you, but he’s boring. He’s predictable, and your mother loves him. That alone makes you want to scream and run for the hills. It’s bigger than you though, the marriage. It’s not one out of convenience or even one bred from a matchmaker. Your marriage will unite the South back with the rest of the United States. Scott will ultimately relinquish his throne, and you’ll be the first Queen to reign over an intact America in over a hundred years.

But that isn’t what you want - not with him.

Bucky is slightly irrational at times - incalculable almost every time. He has a subtle boldness that’s attracted you to him since you were kids. You remember it like it were yesterday, the first time the two of you met. The annual meeting of the Royal families, this time held in Britain. You were seven, Bucky was nine. Your fathers introduced the two of you in the middle of the great library, telling you both to run along, don’t make a mess. Without knowing each other for a full minute, he grabbed your hand and dragged you through the library, reaching out and tipping random books off the shelves as you ran between the aisles.

You loved him right then and there, and every minute since.

“I’m not going to marry him,” you finally answer, “I just have to find the right time to tell them. There’s a lot riding on this.”

He nods slowly, “I know. The merger is… big.”

“I’ll make it happen.” You shrug, “I always do. The South was stupid to secede in the first place and now they’re reaping what they sowed. A few more years of this and they’ll be destitute, they know it.”

Silence drops over the two of you as you look at each other, just blinking randomly and breathing. He tilts his head and smiles at you slowly, watching you as your mind turns. He knows that in three months time, on your thirty second birthday, you’ll be made Queen. He knows you’re ready, he knows you’re capable; but he also knows you’re scared. Uncertain of what’s to come for yourself, your country; and for the two of you.

He holds out his hand to you, not saying a word, just extending it - waiting for you. You move forward without hesitation, sliding your hand into his and letting him press you to his chest. His large hands sweep around your sides and slide up and down your back as you wrap your arms around his middle. You flatten your hands on his broad back and nuzzle into his sport coat, shielding your face from everything and everyone. You close your eyes when he runs his hand over your hair and presses kisses to the top of your head.

“I’ll be right here,” he whispers softly, “I’ll always be here for you, sweet girl. No matter if you are mine or not. I promise you that.”

“I know you will,” you sniffle as tears start to fall, “I want to be yours forever.”

He hugs you to him again, rocking your bodies back and forth softly, “Just say the word and I’ll pack my bags.”

You squeeze him tighter.

You twist your hands within one another as you stand behind the two great doors. You can hear the muffled commencement speech taking place on the other side, people cheering and clapping. You swallow hard. You let out a focused breath through your teeth. You lower your head and unfold the balled up paper in your hands.

I love you. Always.

Bucky

It’s simple - not even on his official letterhead. It’s just a blank sheet of paper confessing his adoration of and for you. You take another breath and force it out between your teeth as you ball it up again and lift your head. You run your gloved hands down your red and gold military jacket, rolling your shoulders before craning your head back and forth. Your medals clink softly from the disturbance of them, but to you, the sound is deafening as everything else blurs into the background. The doors open and the military men and women before you begin their procession into the Great Hall.

Time to go.

Trumpets start to sound when you make your entrance into the room. Tv cameras zoom in on you as the audience in attendance stand to their feet. You focus forward as you move, painfully aware of all the eyes on you. The room is full of Royal families from all over the world, the press, and your extended family - all ready to watch the transfer of power. You blink, diverting your eyes quickly to your left, catching a quick smile and a secret wave from the Duchess of Sussex. The Duke of Sussex tips his head towards you and you return the gesture, winking playfully at Megan as she bounces baby Archie in her hands.

You blink again and there they are; those ice blue eyes. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, dressed in his military uniform. A white satin embroidered jacket, complete with the numerous gold medals he’s earned along the way. A white and gold sash crosses over his chest as the artificial lights glint off of the gold and silver pins and buttons littered across his jacket.

His hair is trimmed - shorter than you like it, to be frank - his dark beard neatly manicured. He’s a sight - a vision, and if you had any doubt at all, it’s all thrown out the window now. Just with a glance of him.

You walk to the steps where your parents stand, a diamond encrusted crown in your mother’s hands. You kneel on the small red pillow on the top step and drop your head as the speaker begins again.

“Here, on the first of July, in the year twenty twenty and on her thirty second birthday, we honor the change of power from Queen Johana to its rightful heir, her only daughter, our royal Princess. Queen Johana, please remove the Princess tiara and replace it with the crown.”

Your mother bends, plucking the precious tiara you’ve adorned for so long from your head. You close your eyes and focus on your breathing as the official crown, her crown, is rested atop your head. She slips her index finger to your chin and lifts your head so your eyes can meet hers for the first time as Queen. You note the water that builds in her eyes as she smiles at you. You smile back, knowing in the depths of your heart that no matter how much the two of you fight, no matter how different your politics are - you are her only daughter - and her love for you knows no bounds.

“I’m so proud of you.” She whispers.

“Thank you, mama.”

When your mother stands again, the speaker announces, “Queen, please rise and address your court.”

You stand and turn, holding your head high as the room erupts with claps and cheers. Your parents step into the background as you nod and wave, mouthing your thank you’s before you cross your arm over your chest to cover your heart with your hand. Picture cameras click loudly in every direction as the television crews zoom in on you again.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the speaker announces, “Your Queen.”

“I have something I want to say, if that’s okay.” You say, turning towards the commencement speaker.

You move to the podium and clear your throat, waiting for the applause to die down before you start to speak, “I know this is unconventional to address you this quickly, but you all have always known me to be this way, and I do not intend to change. I am very proud and humble to be named your Queen today. This is a long time coming and I thank each and every citizen for supporting me up to this point and beyond.”

You take another breath, “As you know, I am to marry the King of Atlanta, Scott Lang, to unify this great United States of America again at the end of this month.” You lift your eyes and stare straight into the television cameras in front of you, “I have no intention of going through with the marriage.”

Gasps of shock ring through the room, the loudest coming from your mother. You throw your eyes over to Bucky as he blinks back at you, his lips parted, his face flushing red at your impromptu announcement. He runs his hand through his hair in complete disbelief and shrugs at you as he shakes his head, mouthing what are you doing? at you.

You smile, “The King of Romania, James Buchanan Barnes, and I are in love, and have been since we were children. I plan, if he’ll still have me, to marry him on the twenty fifth of July, here in New York. On the twenty sixth of July, I will issue an executive order demanding that the South rejoin the United States within thirty days, and that all members of their parliament dissolve immediately. King Lang will be acclimated into my court and will serve as an advisor to help oversee this merger. If there is any resistance, or the order is not signed by the end of the thirty days, I will have no choice but to find the South and Mr. Lang, guilty of treason, and will send in our military to take control.”

“I realize this sounds harsh, but I’m giving plenty of time for both regimes to come together and iron this out peacefully. But I must warn, do not take my kindness or my generous time frame as weakness. If I have to take control the hard way, I will. We are only strong when we are together, and I fully intend to right the wrongs of the decisions made before me.”

You glance to your right, finding Scott’s dark eyes on you, his mouth set in a hard line as anger washes through him, “I am not my mother,” you begin again, speaking directly to him, “I am not my grandmother, or any woman who has come before them. I will not let the South perish because of stubborn minds and brash, pompous attitudes. I will not continue to turn a blind eye to this situation, but I’ll need your help, Mr. Lang, to make this as easy as possible.” He takes a breath and lowers his gaze from yours, already realizing just who he is up against, “Please, do what is best for all of us.”

You turn, facing your parents, “If I learned anything from my parents, it’s to stand up for what I believe in. I believe in love. I believe in peace. I want to thank you all again, and please know that I look forward to serving you and this great country of ours. Thank you.”

Without another word, you step away from the podium and move down the steps as the room goes haywire, every media outlet shouting and screaming questions at you. You stop in front of Bucky, extending your gloved hand to his. He takes it without hesitation, without fear, and hand in hand, the two of you walk down the center aisle as all hell breaks loose around you.

“It’s been all of five seconds, do you regret this yet?” You ask, laughing a little as cameramen scramble to get pictures of the two of you.

“You know me, babe,” he says easily, shrugging as the two of you push through the doors, “I regret nothing.”

Neither do you.

“Oh, hey!” You smile, “I forgot to ask you, will you marry me in like three weeks?”

He throws his head back, laughing, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

#maree's29thbirthdaybash #buckybarnesbingo2020 #bbb2020 #SSB2020 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #you x bucky #bucky x reader #reader x bucky #bucky barnes x black reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fandom #black reader #avintagekiss24

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fandom-puff · 4 years

Text

Exhaustion

Pairing: Jon Snow x reader

Requested by: anon

Summary: you’ve been up for well over a day, helping Queen Sansa with returning winterfell to its former glory. Jon, back from the Wall now that Greyworm has ventured to Naath grows increasingly concerned for your health as you wear yourself to the bone

AN: so yeah this is totally a season 8 fix it bc we all got incredibly screwed over :) can you tell I’m not too fond of Danaerys after about... season 1? Anyways I love writing for game of thrones lol! Gif creds, as always, to the owner <3 ALSO: YNN= your nickname

Warnings: sleep exhaustion, season 8 spoilers

“There is damage to the wall, my queen, the entrance to the castle as well. The stables were burnt by dragon fire, the armoury... well, most of it is gone. The statues of the direwolves are also destroyed, more so than when the Bolton’s were here,”

Sansa nodded slowly, her hands grasping the ornate wood carvings of the arms of her throne. She looked sideways to you, her closest friend and most loyal advisor, a lady from a lesser house in the north. You turned to the fellow Northman in front of you and surveyed him for a moment.

“For now, we have little need of an armoury. For any horses who survived the dragon fire, we will source wood to build a temporary stable so they may sleep out of the cold,” you said.

“Lord Bronson, please see that the horses are kept sheltered and that any builders hired are paid adequately for their time,” the queen addressed her newly appointed master of coin. “As for the damage to the wall of the castle, we need stone and men to rebuild it. Scope around for volunteers in the keep, they too will be paid for their extra work,” the man nodded and bowed to his queen. “As for the statues... have the Smithy melt down any damaged weapons and use the steel to remodel the Direwolves,” the master of coin scribbled down the funds and nodded.

“That is all, my queen,” the man said.

“And what of the Northmen? Those nearer the wall will have been hit hard by winter and the night king. The harvests were poor, the livestock is weak. We have an excess in our own kitchens. I want hearty food and good ingredients delivered to the villagers to ensure they survive until a more permanent solution is found,”

“Your highness, perhaps we should send a raven to your brother in the south? Out of loyalty to you and his ally, the North, arrangements can be made between the Crownlands and their ports and the fertile grounds of the Reach? Just because the North is now independent does not mean we ought to sever trade links entirely,” you said slowly, your hands clasped in your lap.

Sansa was quiet for a moment. You could see the internal struggle between wanting to do everything herself without help from the south, and wanting to keep the people fed and strong. She turned to you slowly. “Have a message sent to Bran,” she said firmly, nodding slowly to show she trusted you. “Surely there are resources we can trade with Kings Landing. Have another sent to Highgarden, I believe the Reach was relatively unscathed by the Mad Queen,” you bit back a smirk at that nickname. “They have always been fond of our embroidery,” you nodded. “Thank you for your report,” Sansa turned again to the man in front of her. “We will set to work as soon as possible. You are dismissed. Go and see to your wife, my Lord, I believe she is reaching the end of her pregnancy,” she smiled kindly, and with a low bow, the man left the hall.

With no one in the room but herself, you and the master of coin, Sansa sagged into her throne.

“You’re doing wonderfully, your highness,” you said gently, smiling softly at her. “Winterfell is almost restored and I have never seen a ruler show such compassion and sensibility to her subjects. The King of the South will help us- he probably knows already. And if need be, I will tell my brother that I’m staying at winterfell a while longer, should you need me. I trust him not to run my House’s keep to the ground while I’m gone,”

Sansa smiled at you with appreciation, and she soon gave you leave while she went to visit her Maester. As you were reaching the door, she called out. “YN! I’ve had word from Castle Black. Jon is returning to Winterfell. He should be here tonight,” you tried to hide your excited smile, and couldve sworn you saw a sly smirk tugging at Sansa’s lips as you bowed slightly and hurried off to your chamber.

Jon was coming back! You had been furious when the unsullied had him banished to the wall for killing the Mad Dragon Queen. From the moment you saw Danaerys, you did not trust her in the slightest, having heard the stories from across the Narrow Sea. In your eyes she was a glorified tyrant, as mad as her father and as deceptive as Queen Cersei. You knew she was almost nothing without her dragons, which caused more harm than good. Breaker of chains, she had called herself, when in reality she forged chains of her own- bend the knee or die was not a free choice, it was a threat, and had Danaerys Targaryen taken the throne as she was adamant she deserved it, you would’ve been slaughtered for your loyalty to the North, to the Old Gods, to your family, your friends, and not to a glamorous tyrant who would surely burn Westeros to the ground just as her father had planned.

Once returned to the north, you and Sansa had spoken of Jon a few times, and Sansa always got a mischievous glint in her eyes when you did. She must have planned his return, as he had no real need to stay beyond the wall after the Unsullied left for Naath. Smiling to yourself, you set to preparing yourself for dinner, asking a few passing maids to help you draw a bath. Unlike most nobles, you helped the maids, rather than watch them, and spoke kindly as you heated the water for your bath. Once there was enough water, you thanked them and allowed them to leave as you bathed, washing your hair and scrubbing your skin. Once towelled dry, you rubbed sweet smelling oils into your skin, before slipping into your smallclothes and a simple, yet beautiful, dark green gown, discretely embroidered with your house’s sigil at the trim of the neckline and up from the wrists of your long sleeves. Lacing the dress up at the side, you sat in front of your mirror and set about sorting out your hair, towelling it dry and braiding it around your head. Finally, you fastened a simple silver chain around your neck, your sigil hanging over your heart.

Smiling to yourself, you stood, leaving your chamber and walking to the Great Hall where dinner was normally held. When you slipped through the door, however, the room was empty, only a few candles lit. Frowning, you turned, hearing the sound of two sets of footsteps as Sansa and Jon rounded the corner. Sansa trailed off from what she had been saying and smirked slightly as she pushed Jon towards you.

“Er... Lady YLN,” he spoke in his thick, northern burr. You repressed a shiver and have him a bright smile.

“Jon! Just YN, remember?” You said, slowly walking towards him. Gladly, he accepted your embrace, and you buried your face into the thick furs at his shoulder, not caring about the flecks of snow. You pulled away and beamed at eachother, before Sansa cleared her throat.

“I thought we’d take dinner in my chambers,” she said. “The three of us reunited,” you both nodded and followed your queen. “Jon, I’ve had a room prepared for you, there should be a fire to warm you and new clothes there too,”

“But, your majesty, I... I took the black. I’m in exile,” he said lowly, frowning.

Sansa merely smiled and carried on walking. “No. You were in exile, therefore unable to take an oath of any sort. That, however, was when the unsullied insisted on ‘justice’. The unsullied are settled in Naath, and furthermore, you are a Northman. The north is an independent kingdom. Therefore, you are released from your exile,”

You shook your head fondly at your friend as you entered her chambers, were a maid was laying out the table. She turned when she heard the door and sunk into a low curtsey. “Thank you Amya,” Sansa said. “This looks wonderful,”

“Yes m’lady,” the young girl said, smiling proudly as she was dismissed.

Once fed and watered, the three of you retired to Sansa’s personal chamber, drinking wine and sharing anecdotes. Already smiling serenely from the wine at dinner, having more was making you feel a little floaty. You stifled a yawn as you fiddled with your necklace as you listened to Jon. “YN... you look exhausted,” he said softly, tipping your chin up to face him properly. The flickering light of the hearth highlighted the growing bags under your eyes and how glazed over your eyes were.

“‘M alright,” you mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder. “Can stay up a bit longer. Finish your story,” you insisted, but your eyes were already fluttering shut.

Sansa pursed her lips. “YN... after last night’s small council meeting, did you even go to sleep?” She asked gently. “And today... we’ve had about 15 lords and 12 smallfolk coming in for audiences, all of which you attended...”

You smiled slightly. “Was in the library last night, Sansa...” you mumbled. “Needed to look up the logistics and the finances,”

“Oh, YNN, we have a Maester and master of coin to do that,” she said gently, reaching over to place her hand over yours. “What about when the maester called for a break?”

“I went to start on the letters to my brother and the King in the South,” you mumbled. “And Highgarden...” you let Sansa hold your hand and give it a firm squeeze, still nuzzling you’re face into Jon’s furs as the last two days finally caught up with you. “Nodded off at my desk, though, so I’ll have to start the letter to King Bran again,”

Sansa frowned. “YNN, you’re working too hard. I appreciate it immensely, but I cannot expect you to help me if you aren’t taking care of yourself. Tonight you will rest, and when morning comes you may rest some more. You are allowed to care for yourself, alright? You must. Because without you by my side, I question everything I do. I need you by my side. The north needs you in excellent condition. And so does Jon,” you nodded slowly in understanding, but her soothing words and gentle tone were lulling you to sleep. “I want to make you my hand, YN. But first, you need to sleep,” you nodded again and let out a mumbled ‘yes, my queen’ as you finally turned your head fully into Jon’s furs and let exhaustion take you.

What felt like an eternity later, you were jostled awake. You let out a small noise of complaint and nuzzled you’re face further into the soft thick furs in front of you, your fingertips brushing a lock of curled hair...

“Jon?” You whispered, barely audible.

“Shhh, I’m here. Gotta get you to bed, YN. no arguing, now. Queen’s orders,” you nodded, and mumbled ‘alright’ as he carried you to your chamber. He found your bed already turned down, and gently lowered you into it, letting you wriggle out of your dress. He averted his eyes as you tugged the covers over yourself, despite it being dark. You settled into the pillows, already drifting deeper into your slumber, when you heard the door creak open.

“Jon?” You murmured, reaching an arm out for him.

“Yeah?”

“Stay?”

Your eyes were shut and you were practically asleep, but you heard the door shut and lock and the sound of heavy leathers and cloaks hit the ground. Best of all, you soon felt the safe warmth of Jon pressed against your side.

Tag List: @diksy1112 @zodiyack @soleil-dor @sleepylunarwolf

#jon snow x you #jon snow imagine #jon snow x reader #jon snow #game of thrones reader insert #got #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #request #fluff #game of thrones season 8 fix-it #anti daenerys #pro sansa stark

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magalidragon · 3 years

Text

fire on ice | a crackish Jonerys drabble

Soooo... @moggett reblogged this post and well I felt compelled to write a drabble for one of those prompts so I give you this crack fic-- a funeral home meet cute!

I give you....FIRE ON ICE! And this is also partially @youwerenevermine‘s fault, lol, because we literally had same idea for one of the prompts.

“Thank you so much Mr. Snow.”

Jon nodded politely, solemnly, his gray eyes the perfect amount of sympathetic, sad, and he hoped the right amount of ‘normal’— lest people think him a total fucking creep—while he shook the hand of the Greatjon Umber, whose son Smalljon Umber had unfortunately encountered the wrong side of a chainsaw while out trimming trees.

Greatjon began to go into a tale about his son—who by all accounts had been a horrible person—speaking like he was the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror for all his ‘talents’ and ‘successes.’ “Hmm,” he murmured, walking him slowly to the door. “He sounds like quite a man your son, thank you Mr. Umber, we will speak later regarding tomorrow.”

“Of course, thank you again Mr. Snow.”

The door shut loudly behind him, Jon slumping against it, relieved. He glanced at his cousin, who had emerged from the basement, shaking her chopped bob out of its messy little knot atop her head. “He gone?” she demanded.

“Aye.”

“I had half a mind to sew his arm on backwards.”

Jon closed the doors to the viewing room where Smalljon rested in repose until tomorrow when he’d be taken to the Karstark’s castle for the final funeral and ultimate burial in the crypts, as was custom for the Northerners. He clicked his tongue. “Arya, be nice.”

“Remember when his wife died, and he squeezed my arse?”

“Aye, I remember.”

“Thought so.” Arya checked her phone. “Your beloved texted me. We have another on the way. This one fell from the Wall. Ygritte said he’s a fucking mess.”

He made a face; he hated that she referred to his ex-girlfriend as his ‘beloved.’ “Will you stop calling her that?”

“She works for the morgue Jon, what were you thinking?”

“It’s hard to find women in this line of work.” He heard the bell ringing on the other side of the old stone house that served as their place of business and home—the five-floor monstrosity he knew people in town referred to as ‘Castle Black.’ He did wear a lot of black. Came with the territory. He waved off Arya. “Just make sure you finish up with Mr. Lannister before the end of the evening.”

“The rich dude who died on the shitter? Yeah, no thanks, that’s all yours.”

“Do you want to take this one? Where the fuck is Robb anyway?” Robb was the master of this shit, not him. He was better with the dead.

Arya walked away before he even could try to play ‘Dragon, Wolf, Lion’ with her or answer as to where her eldest brother happened to have gone off. Guess it was all him. He caught his reflection in one of the mirrors in the hallway, adjusting his black tie at his neck and raking fingers through his curls. It did nothing to tamp them down. He schooled his expression, solemn, and pushed through the dark wooden doors from the funeral home side of the floor to the entry way. He let them swing back and folded his hands in front of him.

“Welcome to Three Wolves Funeral Home, may I help you?” he asked, voice gentle; you never knew who might be waiting to speak with you on this side of the building. He’d been accused too often in Robb’s post-services discussions of being too cold.

The woman standing in a dark red dress with long black overcoat was not someone who appeared to be in mourning, but then you never really knew, some people were good at masking emotions. Her silver hair was in an elegant, braided knot at the back of her head and she had large black sunglasses folded in her hands, gazing at the table with various brochures for caskets.

She turned, blinking wide violet eyes at him, her lips crimson, face pale. “Good afternoon,” she greeted him, eyebrow arching. “I’m inquiring as to your crematory services.”

“For yourself?” he blurted, before he realized how it sounded.

She smirked, while he flushed, thrown off by her stunning beauty. He tried to school his expression again; she could very well have been there for her husband, boyfriend, or other, he did not need to stumbling through this. He wished Robb was there. “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? Well, I can assure you I’m not here to burn myself alive, but you know…” She inspected her hand, a couple rings on them glittering gold. She grinned up at him. “I have heard stories my ancestors were immune to flame.”

His throat constricted. “Apologies. Can I help you?”

“Your crematory services?” she wondered again, walking by him and into the showroom, running a finger over an ebony casket.

“Ah…I am afraid Three Wolves does not offer such services. We can, however, assist with selecting one, urns, and preparing a memorial service.” He wondered what she was doing; she was now leaning down to look underneath a massive white casket. No one really cared what the underside looked like. He gestured towards the office. “We can speak in private, if you wish?”

The woman shook her head. “No I’m fine, thank you. Just doing a little bit of research.”

“For a relative?”

“Something like that.” She wore very high heels, which clicked loudly on the hardwood. She glanced sideways; eyes shrewd. “Are you one of the Three Wolves on your sign out front?”

“Yes, Jon Snow, I’m the mortician.” It sounded so creepy like that, but it was the truth. Robb handled the hand shaking, the business side. Arya was their resident makeup artist—she could do wonders with faces practically taking them on and off—but he was the one who handled everything else.

“Hmm, yes I heard of you.” The woman offered her hand. “Dany.”

“Jon,” he repeated, like an idiot. He was put off by her beauty, rather disarming. He swallowed hard again. “Nice to meet you. Is there…”

“This was enlightening Mr. Snow. I’ll be back.” Dany wiggled her fingers, waving, striding out decisively. “See you later.”

What the seven hells was that about? He spun on his heel, about to ask her what else he could help her with, when the front door slammed shut, bell ringing on her exit. He heard the door from the services wing open, Robb walking in. He scowled. “Where were you?”

“Talking with the Umbers, heard it went well, did we have a customer?” Robb adjusted his tie, eagerly seeing dollar signs. “Where are they?”

“They left.”

“Damnit Jon!”

He rolled his eyes, storming by. “I’ll be downstairs.”

“With Tywin Lannister? Better make him look good, the Lannisters are paying through the nose for this.”

“Aye,” he said idly, heading downstairs and to his ‘lair’ as Robb referred to it. He shook his head, preparing in the locker room, putting on scrubs and his protective gear. When he tugged on gloves, walking over to the block of freezer drawers, he rolled his eyes again, making another face. He was better with dead people anyway.

-----

A couple of weeks later, Jon saw the beautiful silver-haired woman again, this time from the front step of the funeral home, while Arya sat on the railing, Robb in shocked horror as the sign went up across the street.

Dracarys Funeral Home and Crematory Services

“How did this happen? We had the run of things here!” Robb exclaimed.

Arya cracked her gum. “Want me to get info?”

The silver haired Dany waved from the front step of her home. “Hello Starks!”

Jon shook his head, appalled. “I thought she was just asking because someone died…like they all do.”

“You didn’t think that she was scoping the competition?” Robb shouted.

“I told you I’m better with the dead than I am the living!”

“Oh leave him alone,” Arya chided. She rubbed Ghost’s ears—his great white wolf—gazing across the street again, shrugging. “Maybe we can make this work. Jon, you were the one who met her, maybe you can get some more info. They do crematory, we don’t. Maybe we can make a deal or something.”

Robb nodded, poking his shoulder. “Go over there, find out more.”

Jon sighed. He really didn’t want to do this. “I have that Wall guy to deal with.”

“Jarl will keep, go find out more.”

He slid away from the column, clicking his tongue for Ghost to follow him, the two of them crossing the street and up to Dracarys. He entered into the front room, seeing that everything was a shade of black and red. He glanced at Ghost, who was scanning the space with his bright ruby eyes, white fluffy tail wagging slowly. “What do you think?” he mumbled.

The walnut wood stairs creaked in the back, drawing him towards the door leading away from the showroom and sitting area. He peeked into another part of the old house, just like how their business was set up, with a viewing room and seating area. He moved to another door, which was open, leading down a set of stairs.

A massive black cat yowled from a sunbeam near the door, hissing at Ghost and running off. Ghost didn’t bark but took off after the cat. He sighed, calling out. “Please don’t kill her cat!”

He went down the stairs and pushed open a set of swinging double doors, pausing at the sight. It was state-of-the art and he scowled at some of the fancy equipment he’d been trying to convince Robb to upgrade to for the last year. He ran his tongue over his teeth, arching a dark brow at the woman who had been wearing head-to-toe designer when he’d met her and now was in black scrubs and protective gear, leaning over a dead man, a kit of makeup and brushes next to her.

“Jon Snow,” she called.

“Daenerys Targaryen.” He used her full name. The proprietress of the competition, he would not refer to her as Dany. “You could have told me you were moving in across the street.”

“And you would have shown me around? I think not.”

He stepped closer, curious at what she was working on. His eyebrows flew to his forehead. “Greyscale, huh?”

“Hmm,” Dany murmured. “Yes.” She looked up, grinning. “I saw you coming over, decided not to stop you from finding me. You’re not squeamish.”

“No I’m not.”

“They call you the King of the Dead.”

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d been called. “And you are?” he retorted.

“The Dragon Queen, I suppose you could call me. Or at least, that’s what they called me at mortician school.” She selected another brush, grinning. “I’m offering a service that your busines does not Jon Snow, that’s all.”

“The North doesn’t burn their dead.”

“I know, but many in the South do. There’s plenty of them moving up here.” Dany stood and pushed the gurney with the greyscale man into the freezer, closing the door. She removed her gloves and gear, walking by him, and began to wash up. She tossed a serene smile over her shoulder. “I think we can make this work Jon Snow. Don’t worry about it.”

“Robb isn’t used to competition.”

“And you?”

He shrugged. “I work better with the dead.”

“So do I.” When she finished, she studied him for a few seconds, which unnerved him. He tore his eyes from her, wondering what she was doing. She approached him, hands on her hips. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

He frowned, nose wrinkling, surprised. “Coffee?”

“A hot beverage, sometimes served with milk and sugar? Other times with various accoutrements like cinnamon or chocolate?” Dany’s smile softened. He saw then how gentle she actually was, how soft. It was comforting and he wasn’t even grieving. She must be very good at her job, he thought. He was numb, unsure how best to reply. She patted his arm, stepping by him. “Come on, I’ve got a lovely blend from Braavos.”

In the kitchen on the third floor of her house, where he assumed, she lived, she prepared the coffee. He wondered where Ghost had gone. “This how you get all the competition?” he managed to get out. “Ply them with coffee?”

“Just you.” Dany sat down across from him at a small bistro table in a large bay window, with a beautiful view of the mountains in the distance. She passed him the mug of coffee and used a small ceramic pitcher to pour milk into her coffee. Lifting it to her lips, she smiled again, warm and eyes dancing. “You intrigue me.”

He sipped his coffee—it was very good—a small smile on his lips. “You are an interesting one, Dany…if that is your real name.”

“Only my friends can call me Dany,” she mouthed.

“And we’re friends?”

“Well I hope we’re not enemies.”

Jon figured he’d have to wait it out and see for certain, but he didn’t think enemies was the best word for it. He was not good at this sort of thing, so he chose to continue drinking his coffee. He set the mug down on the table, sighing and cocking his head, a slight furrow to his brow. “I’m not good at this.”

“I know,” Dany shrugged. “But I am.”

Well that was that then, he figured, smiling at her.

-----

“So where did you two meet?”

Jon wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, as one of Sansa’s friends from King’s Landing had cornered him, trying to get info on Robb. “Where did I meet…?” he echoed, playing dumb.

Margaery Tyrell frowned. “Where did you meet Daenerys? Sansa didn’t tell me. In fact, she’s being really weird about things. Won’t even tell me what Robb does for a living.” Her eyes lit up. “I like a challenge.”

“Um, well…”

His wife of the last two hours emerged at his side, looping her arm through his. “We met at a funeral home,” she said, smiling at Margaery’s wide-eyed, horrified expression. Dany gazed up at him, love shining from her beatific face. “In fact, we contemplated holding the reception there, but figured everyone might think that a little weird.” She smiled even wider. “Also in the future, please keep the Fire on Ice Funereal Services in your thoughts for any funereal needs!”

Jon stifled a snort, glad to be rid of the odd questions. He smiled down at his beloved. “We didn’t actually consider the reception there or…did you?”

“No of course not, I don’t want to mix business and pleasure.”

“Isn’t that exactly what we did?”

“Nah, I came to scope out the competition and this really cute guy who couldn’t look me in the eye without blushing wandered in.” Dany rose on her toes, pecking his cheek. She patted her hand against his chest. She beamed again. “Best decision I ever made. I could have sent Viserys.”

At the mention of her annoying older brother, Jon shivered. He squeezed her close. “Very well then. Let’s at least try to figure out a better story, you’re scaring people.”

“Well it is the truth.”

Jon shook his head, but smiled anyway, his arm around her and hers around him, both of them walking off into the crowd of guests. He even thought that he overheard someone say the King of the Dead had found his queen. He kissed her temple, sighing. He certainly did.

THE END

#jonerys #Jonerys au #Jonerys drabble #worst prompts challenge ACCEPTED #I blame Erika for this one #crack fic totally

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sweetestlamb · 4 years

Text

Lighting Up Your World

Episode 17

Summary: Gang-tae and Mun-yeong continue their road trip, finding themselves and helping others along the way.

Author's note: Here is part 1 of the weekend fic updates! I tried my best to make these interesting and multilayered channeling my inner Jo Yong. The focus is on MY/GT and their healing but I also wanted them to heal others too on this journey so we do meet an OC. If I had time this could be something that continues each weekend, but work and life starts again very soon so I won’t make any promises but I had a really fun time writing this and trying to plot out the story so it felt familiar to IOTNBO with conflicts and resolutions, only they all happen within the chapter lol. Without further ado, here’s episode 17 ;) *Play “Lighting up Your World*

The mood shifts drastically after Sang-tae's departure, they're both sulky and a bit flabbergasted by his sudden decision to leave, this was their first trip as a newly fledged family, it felt monumental, like a rite of passage of sorts; but by the morning they've accepted his choice and set sights on their next location. Gang-tae lays in disbelief thinking about how much his brother has changed, how much their relationship itself, has shifted.

Thanks in part to her, his eyes land on her sleeping form, gorgeous in the low lighting of the camping van.

She had crashed into their lives like a bulldozer, hell bent on having him, but only as an object- something to capture and conquer. Somewhere along the way, despite their unconventional start; love had blossomed. It wasn't an easy start and it took time to nurture but he couldn't imagine his life without her now, their little family.

I love you Moon Gang-tae.

She loved him. Meant it with every fiber of her being, it was detectable in her eyes, swirled in the pools of her captivating eyes. If that wasn't enough her actions proclaimed her love, never turning her back on him despite his sometimes despicable behavior and words that cut her. Running back to defend him from the one person she despised the most, uncaring of her own fate. He hadn't known he could experience love like this, all-consuming devotion. Not until she entered his life.

A smile blooms on his face, it all started with a stab. He knew others wouldn't understand- Jae-su's disbelieving face flashed in his memory- but it made perfect sense for them, she who was so jagged and broken when he met her and him so complacent and selfless, saving others even at his own detriment.

I met your mother after she stabbed me in the hand. Then months later she stabbed me in my other hand.

His chuckles fill the tight space of the van, until he hears a hoarse voice, "What are laughing at?"

With a small jump he turns to face her, adorable baffled look on her face, and he sits up to better see her.

"I was thinking about us."

She looks at him deeply, searching his eyes before continuing, "And that made you laugh? Were you thinking of good things?"

"Well... I was thinking about how we met and how we would tell that story to our future son who looks like me." He responds sheepishly, heart singing at the soft look that forms on her face, that happens often now, her blushing every time he mentions their future. He makes sure to do it often, for both of them. After wrongly viewing their relationship as ill-fated, it seems more important than ever to say the words out loud, breathe them into the world and give them life. Mun-yeong and Gang-tae are destined.

He can’t help but imagine her round with his, no their child, swollen belly protruding from her slim frame, as she demands his attention and curses him for her condition. It would be as beautiful as it was terrifying.

All in due time.

After a few seconds of sustained eye contact she finally snaps out of her daze, craftily switching the subject to escape her own unease, “How are you really feeling about Oppa leaving? Do you want to end the trip and follow him?”

For a moment, he wonders who is the person and what have they done to his Mun-yeong? The woman he first met lacked empathy for others, disregarded their feelings and trampled all over their boundaries; she was a new person, reborn. No, unpeeled, showing another layer to her personality. Considerate and caring with him and with Sang-tae, even putting them first at the expense of her own desires.

Swiftly removing the blanket covering his torso, he strides toward her on the elevated bed, reaching out to caress her head, she is aptly watching his every move head subconsciously leaning into his tender hold.

With his eyes firmly locked on her own he replies, “I...am happy. I am happy that he knows what he wants to do, he finally has a dream of his own. A dream just for him. And...I don’t want to go back. When I told you I loved you, that was my promise to keep moving forward, no matter what.”

Being here, with you, that is my dream. That he leaves unsaid.

He basks in the warmth of her smile, beaming on him, shiny solely for him. His own personal sun.

“You’re so cheesy now.” She teases him playfully rolling her eyes, and he chuckles before shrugging, he’s never had a chance to be cheesy, probably has all that cheesiness packed up inside ready to come out, she is going to get it all.

Curling his hands around her small face, he draws her closer before pressing a kiss to her forehead, watching her eyelids flutter close as she sighs gently. His lips are soft on her smooth skin, nothing more than a peck, a silent thank you for being here with him. For staying.

Then he finally announces, “I know our next destination. While you were sleeping I found another spot for us.” Before she can question him he states, “It’s a surprise.”

Her groan of annoyance is music to his ears, as he rushes to the front of the van, ready for their adventure.

The sunlight brilliantly twinkles on the rippling waves of the water as he pulls up to their destination, a lake sequestered away and roughly hidden by trees and foliage, there is a quaint wooden dock leading to the watery oasis but not much less. He hums in contentment gazing at it, it is almost too peaceful to be true but they of all people deserve some peace after the hell they have been through.

Mun-yeong stumbles out of the tiny bathroom of the van, peering out the window at the view, she stares at him bewildered, “A lake?” Why did you take us to a lake?”

He shakes his head at her question, “To swim. Why else do people go to a lake?” He can hear his brother’s voice replaying in his mind, Why ask such an obvious question?

With a glare she humphs crossing her arms in a symbol that he can read all too well- I’m not doing it- before stomping away, “I’m not swimming.” He watches her back as she defiantly strides back into the small compartment.

He makes them a quick late breakfast of rice and grilled meat, scooping out a hefty amount for his grumpy girlfriend who has yet to leave the camping van. He had nagged and pleaded at the door, eager to get outside and see the lake, it was tempting especially on such a scorching day. But she had ignored all his calls, even childishly responded “I can’t hear you.” Before he had stomped away in the opposite direction, fondly irritated at her behavior.

The van door creaks open as she finally decides to exit, he pointedly does not look up, not wanting to seem too eager at her arrival after she spitefully ignored him. He pushes the food in her general direction, not making eye contact. So she sits down on the unoccupied chair to his left, he is unprepared for the breadth of naked skin he sees when she does.

With his fixed gaze on the food in his lap, the edges of his peripheral vision catch her bare legs, heeled sandals encase her foot but there is no material in sight on her legs. Just bare smooth, inviting skin.

He gulps, reaching for his water.

Drawing in a deep breath to reinforce himself, he slowly begins to raise his head, eyes traveling from her ankles to her smooth thighs, similarly naked before he stops on her torso. She is wrapped in a bathing suit, tight fitting and devastatingly distracting. The devilish suit is black and partially mesh, with her skin peeking through the stomach but solid across her breast and lower region.

His tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth, despite his desperate swallows of water to re-hydrate his heated body. Grabbing his food, he stuffs his face with rice and meat hoping that will prevent him from begging her to let him take her back into the van and peel that suit off her and....

“I am still not swimming, but I figure I can get a nice tan at least.” She offers as away of explanation, he nods robotically, eyes still trained on the ground. Before a white bottle is forced into his vision, he jumps back in his seat, eyes finally landed on her body completely.

Unbelievable.

The glimpse he saw does nothing to prepare him for the entire picture, she looks amazing in the suit as if it was made specifically for her body, knowing her taste and monetary capabilities; the idea isn’t too far-fetched and he curses whoever gave this weapon to her. Atop the bridge of her nose sits her glossy black sunglasses, the same ones she wore when he saw her outside, a beautiful black storm cloud under falling cherry blossoms. Her hair is pulled back into a high messy bun, two braids on her side that disappear into the bun, wisps of hair that escaped the bun frame her face beautifully. In short, she looks like the cover of a high-end fashion magazine and he is at a lost for words.

His musings are prematurely interrupted by her waving something in his face, a thin container, “--Are you listening to me? Take off your shirt.”

He shakes his head, almost dropping his bowl in shock.

Only seconds away from taking another gulp of water before her request. He doesn’t miss the smirk that curls on her lips, he knew she did that on purpose.

“What? What are you talking about?” He shakily asks, pulling his thin white t-shirt protectively around himself.

She tilts her glasses down ensuring that he can see her eyes before dramatically rolling them, “You act like it’s something I haven’t seen before.”

“We’re outside though!”

“So what?” She fires back, looking at him, exasperation farrowing her eyebrows.

He breathes hard, their eyes locked in a heated battle, before he sighs accepting his fate, admitting to himself that he is not as opposed to the idea has he’s acting. Guilt settles in his stomach as he remembers the excitement that coursed though him as he realized that without his hyung, he would be alone with Mun-yeong. All by themselves, at given times no one around for miles. No one to hear their screams. The idea of being alone and unencumbered with her was thrilling.

In one fluid motion, he stands up and grabs the end of his shirt, carefully lifting it up and over his head. Standing in nothing but his slippers and dark blue swim trunks, the only pair he packed, unlike her who probably had endless suits of different styles and colors. In that way they were vastly different, he was practical and minimal whereas she was extravagant and larger than life.

Her eyes burned on his skin as she stood up as well, carelessly tossing her food on the table, before curling her finger at him in a seductively beckoning call, “Come closer.” Her voice was smoked honey, as if in a trance he found himself obeying, stepping forward a half step, “Closer” and closer he went until he stood directly in front of her.

She audaciously looked him up and down, tongue peeking out to swipe across the span of her pink mouth.

Then with anticipation thick in his throat he watched her hands grow closer to his body, creeping closer and closer to his skin and then they were finally on him.

He jolted at the cold. Jumping away from her hands.

“What’s wrong with you? I told you I was going to put sunscreen on you.” Her eyes narrow and he feels a blush cover his cheeks, at his red face she lets out a long drawn ahhhhhhhhhh before speaking, “Why did you think I wanted you to take your shirt off? Were you expecting me to do something else?” She lifts one perfectly threaded eyebrow at the suggestive inquiry while simultaneously moving back into his orbit to rub the sticky white cream into his stomach.

He lets himself enjoy her touch, deliberate ministrations into his skin, her face close enough for him to kiss and only a thread of control keeps him contained. Her hand strokes across his abs, fingers purposefully creeping into the crevices of his body before she trails her manicured finger down to his trunks, so close to where he wants her hand, panting now with anticipation, half hard just from her hand on his skin.

Then she stops.

Pats him on the shoulder with a clipped, “All done.” Impish look clouding her face, he glares at her departing back, the pep in her step; she knows exactly what she just did to him. The wink over her shoulder reinforcing his speculation.

Damn, she-devil.

When she begins to rubs the same sticky cream into her legs, slowly and wantonly, peering at him whilst she does it, his only solution is to run and dive straight into the water, welcoming the cool blanket that soothes the raging heat in his loins.

He swims alone for a few minutes, propelling himself back and forth in the shallow water, before he eventually feels the twinges of boredom creeping in, this was meant to be their adventure, he didn’t want to swim alone, imagining wet kisses and wandering hands under the guise of the water. All new experiences that he only wanted to share with her.

With those thoughts in mind, he silently vacates the water, footsteps light as he tiptoes to Mun-yeong, glowy and alluring from her spot on the lounge chair she pulled seemingly out of thin air. Sunglasses still shielding her eyes he waves his arm to see if they attract her attention, she lays motionless still, breathing steady and unhurried.

Perfect.

Now, knowing that she will not notice his approach, he creeps forward putting on his best imitation of a spy, avoiding twigs and leaves, anything that will alert to his presence. After a measured and timed approach, he looms over her, taking a moment to bask in her tranquil beauty. She is a goddess in that bathing suit and he wants to remember her face in this moment, in a few seconds she will be ravenous in his arms, clawing and thrashing. It is the perfect juxtaposition of her personality. A beautiful disaster.

Before he can second guess himself- maybe she was right and he did have a death wish- he grabs her, lifting her out of the lounge chair and wrapping her securely in his arms.

“YAH!” Her reaction is expeditious, nails scrapping across his arms as she tries to break free from his strong hold, he winces at the sharp burst of pain shaking her slightly to dislodge her, but her efforts do not hinder his mission. He laughs at her screams and threats, “Put me down! Gang-tae, I will kill you!” Gaining speed as he reaches the end of the dock, with a bounding leap he flies through the air, weightless, until they crash through the surface of the water. Water splashes onto the dock from their impact and his nose burns with the sudden influx of water, before he scrambles to the top, taking her now suspiciously limp body with him.

The sight that greets him when they burst to the surface, makes his body go numb with regret.

Her face is ashen, almost grey in hue, wet hair plastered to her skull. But what stands out most are her eyes, usually brimming with love and light for him, now sunken and packed with an emotion he never wanted to put there; fear.

He can feel how rapidly she is breathing, her body shaking like a leave under his hold as he keeps her afloat, the air wheezes out through her colorless lips as she begins to convulse in his arms, he is paralyzed under her visible distress.

She begins to keen, “Please, please, get me out. I need to get out!” The sorrowful plead that shatters into a scream breaks his heart into a million pieces, and with only a small hiccup he responds to her cries. Kicking his legs powerfully, swimming as quickly as he ever has in his life, arms protectively wrapped around her shuttering form until the reaches the bank.

It takes a moment to for her to recognize that they are now on land but once she does she leaps from his arms, whipping around and racing to the camping van without another word.

He is left shell-shocked.

Standing alone, wracking his brain to figure out what caused such a visceral reaction and not coming up with an adequate answer. Then he realizes that is not important, all that mattered now was reaching her and comforting her, those eyes would haunt him forever otherwise.

Dashing to her rapidly retreating form, he catches her arm, twirling her around to face him.

The fragments of his heart, shatter into even smaller pieces.

Twin trails of tear stream down her face, dripping off her chin before disappearing into the ground.

“Mun-yeong...” He vocalizes her voice like an apology.

She breaks the connection between their arms, turning once more to walk away and he can’t stand to see her walk away from him, not again, never again.

Softly capturing her hand again, he begs, “Please, tell me what I did wrong?”

Struggling to speak through her choked throat she replies, “I can’t right now. I just need to be alone for a bit, I’m not running away.”

Those words again.

He wants to hold on tighter, recalling how she had run away after uttering those words before, viciously slamming all her doors shut and pushing him out. She reads his face like a children’s book.

“I promise, I’m not running away, this time. So let me go, for now.”

Trusting her words, he releases her hand. Heart sinking as she climbs the stairs and disappears into the camping van. If the sun continues to shine, he is unaware, the dark clouds of shame and regret hanging over his forlorn head.

“When I was young, I had dreams of my mom drowning in a lake.”

His head buzzes at the confession, so intensely focused on the food sizzling on the grill he had missed her reappearance. Lowering the tongs to give her his full undivided attention as she bares another layer of Ko Mun-yeong.

“My dad... I thought he drowned my mother in a lake. And every night I would have dreams about her screaming for my help. Sometimes when I have those sleep terrors, I can see her above me, her body is dripping wet. I....” She takes a pause, sitting down in a chair further away from him and he almost cries at that small amount of distance she is placing between them.

But she is also wearing his flannel shirt, dwarfing her small stature, her fingers clutching it as if needing protection.

Following a deep breath she presses on, “I haven’t been in water since. I’m....scared. I’m sorry that I’m already ruining this trip--”

He doesn’t allow those words to settle in the air for a second before he’s out of his seat and crouching before her, he begs for permission with his eyes, and watches as she ruminates before nodding, with a sigh of relief he gathers her cold hands in his own, warming them instantly.

“You didn’t ruin anything. I didn’t know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I made you cry. I never want to make you cry, I told you I would protect you and I let you down. I am so sorry, please forgive me.” Tears pool in his eyes, as he presses his lips to her hands a kiss following each word of apology, anguish flooding his system.

Silence fills the space between them as he continues to kiss sweet sorries into her skin before she wrangles her hands away, placing them softly on his downward chin, lifting his head until their eyes meet.

Her dark orbs are now swirled with pain, love and something inexplicable.

“I should be asking you to forgive me, I don’t want her on this trip. This is just for us, she can’t ruin this.” Her voice trembles despite the force that she exclaims her wish.

He smiles grimly, “We can’t run from her. You once told me that trauma should be faced head on. You were right, we can’t be expected to be perfect yet. We’re only human, you didn’t do anything wrong. Thank you for coming back and letting me in.”

I love you. He thinks it hard enough for her to hear it.

A sad smile slides across her face, “You’re so adamant these days, I can’t shake you. If I tried to run, you would probably chase me down.”

He doesn’t verbally reply to her assumption, letting the resolve in his eyes speak volume instead, she has always been able to read him like a book, this time will be no different.

She appears so delicate and fragile, he doesn’t even attempt to stop himself from crouching up and pressing a kiss to her lips. She moans at the barely-there touch, hands tightening on his face as she drags him closer, deepening the kiss with a languorous swipe of her tongue. He crawls into her space, tilting his face to transform the kiss from deep to dirty, mouths opening to prod and swallow each other. Her teeth graze across his bottom lip before, pulling it and releasing it with a filthy, pop. His dick jumps at the stinging sensation.

Reluctantly he pulls away from the delicious kiss, worry for her overriding his sex drive, she hadn’t eaten since this afternoon, locked herself away since the lake incident and skipping lunch. It was more important that she get sustenance right now.

She groans at his sudden withdrawal, blindly chasing after his mouth. He laughs at the adorable image.

He presses a piece of grilled beef to her mouth instead, chuckling as she opens her eyes in doe-like surprise. He keeps that comparison to himself, she wouldn’t take kindly to him comparing her to self-proclaimed arch nemesis right now.

“Eat this. My mouth doesn’t have any nutritional value.”

Her face twists as if she is about to argue, but the booming growl of her stomach pierces the air and she blushes before opening her mouth and consuming the succulent piece of meat.

Dinner passes by in a flurry of meat and rice, as they take turns feeding each other and she teases him to retrieve meat from her mouth. They talk about the future and all the places they want to go, he hasn’t smiled this much in his entire life. As he packs up their dishes and chopsticks, he sees her stretching, pulling her body taut from the motion. He wonders if she’s wearing anything under his flannel shirt, her bare thighs taunting him for a second time today.

“I’m sleepy.”

Like a Pavlovian whistle, his body reacts to the innocuous declaration. Images of their previous night together flood his minds, slamming her into the bedroom wall as he sucked wet kisses into her neck, her legs wrapped around his waist as she sensuously grinded into his erection, her head thrown back in rapture as they imitated sex through their clothes, both hungry as they ripped through the clothes, his eyes rolling back as he slammed into her tight pussy, her nails scratching welts on his back. The sweat on their bodies mingling and drenching her luxurious sheets.

The soft click of the van door closing slaps him from the memory and it takes a moment to realize that he is now alone.

He presses down on his erection, hard, embarrassed at how aroused just a memory of her can make him.

Inhaling the crisp night air, he marches into the battlefield.

The camping can is dark upon his entrance, the only illumination provided by the stray moonlight that filters in through the tiny windows, after his quick and efficient appraisal of the confined area, he realizes that she is nowhere to be found. Strange.

Scratching his head he wonders to his bed mat, pausing for a moment before making the decision to remove his shirt, confidence dominating the usual stream of shyness that floods his bloodstream. He lays down on his bed roll, comically similar to Mun-yeong as she had beckoned him to join her on the bed. He had been a fool then, to refuse such a desirable offer, but he wouldn’t be making the same mistakes ever again.

The soft patter of her footsteps approaching causes his heart to skip a precious beat. Then it stops completely when she enters his line of vision.

Temptation.

That is the word that blares like a siren in his head as he takes her in, her hair is down in soft waves around her face, face washed clean and flawless in the light, and finally he looks at the short silk slip that contours to her every bump and curve. Spaghetti thin straps exposing edible shoulders, as the silk ends dangerously high on her thigh, lace dancing around the ends.

Jaw permanently on the ground, he watches in dismay as she barely glances at him, wondering eyes fleeting across his abs almost too fast to catch, as she climbs the stairs to her bed, her ascent making the slip creep obscenely up her thigh almost giving him a wonderful glimpse at her ass.

Pushing past the frog in his throat he croaks out, “Where are you going? I thought we would sleep down here together.”

She absently arranges her sheets, moving them out of the way, putting her body on clear display for his starving eyes. With eyes that glow in the dark she calmly replies, “Why did you think that? It was your idea to sleep separated in the first place remember?”

Yes, he remembered. When Sang-tae was still on this trip with them, she had offered for Sang-tae to take the bunk bed and they sleep side by side. But he had declined anxiously, knowing that he would not be able to keep his hands to himself if they were sleeping in such close proximity, terrified at losing control so close to his brother.

She seemed to take a malicious glee from throwing his words back in his face.

“But that was before.” He whined, “I thought you were sleepy.”

He tried to subtly infuse meaning into the word hoping to remind of their last rendezvous.

She didn’t bite.

“I am sleepy, that’s why I’m going to sleep. Good night Gang-tae.” With a quick wave, she rolled over, facing away from him as he glared daggers into her back.

Fuck.

He couldn’t see the smirk that overtook her face at his obvious frustration.

Time ticked by, or it would have if they had a clock in the van. Instead he marked time with the sounds of crickets chirping in the forest.

Chirp.

Finally he sat up, tossing the blankets from his body as he gazed at Mun-yeong’s still form, the moonlight provided enough radiance to see her perfectly in the dark. He couldn’t resist the pale glow her skin, clearing his throat he called out quietly, “Mun-yeong? Mun-yeong-ssi? Are you awake? Mun-yeong?”

His calls went unanswered.

He sighed.

Then he picked up a shoe throwing it at the wall of the camping van, the sound deafening in the silence. She jolted up, with quicker reflexes than you would expect from someone who was deeply sleeping. “What was that?” She turned to him, shock on her face.

Twisting the truth slightly he replied, “Um.. I don’t know. Sounds like something ran into the van. Probably an animal. But now that you’re awake I was wondering if you’re cold?”

There was a pregnant pause and he vaguely heard her whisper under her breath, “Ran into the van, my ass” before she spoke loud enough with the intention of him hearing, “No, I’m not cold. If you’re cold you should use Sang-tae’s blanket he left it for you.”

He rolled his eyes at her helpful suggestions, that was the last thing he wanted. So he pressed on, “I’m using that blanket too, but I’m still cold.” He gathered the blankets as he approached her bed, resembling a child fleeing to their parents room after a bad dream.

“What do you want me to do about that?” She asked, still turned away from him and that made it effortless to ascend the stairs and slide into the bed with her. His body’s weight sinking into the bed, announced his presence and she looked at him in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m cold.”

“I told you to deal with that on your own.”

“No, I want you to help me deal with it.” He pulled her into his arms, crushing her face into his naked chest. Minutely moaning at the smooth feel of her nightgown on his skin.

With a huff of dramatic annoyance, she pushed him away, turning her back to him again before saying, “Fine you can stay. Please go to sleep, just go to sleep.”

Their night at the guest house surfaces in his mind, her pleas for him as he coldly rejected her once again and begged her to sleep, suppressing his desire to take her right there and then. Karma was indeed, a dish that was best served cold.

He now knows exactly what she’s doing and why. She is serving him a taste of his own medicine, showing him how he made her feel in those moments when he wasn’t quite ready to let her in, but wasn’t man enough to voice that to her either, so he lashed out and hurt her unnecessarily.

Gathering his courage, he swallows his pride, “I’m sorry.”

Silence is his only reply.

Then with a small move, she presses back into his chest, their bodies melding from shoulder to toe.

He wraps his arms around her, humming at finally having her back in his arms. He holds his breath, waiting for the seduction to continue but she simply lays in his arms, contently playing with his fingers while he’s so hard he could hammer nails with his cock.

With a casual grip he begins to play with her fingers too, moving their hands up until they are treacherously close to her breasts, ensuring that every swipe of his thumb on her hand also collides with her nipples. Her breath hitches when he catches her erect nipple, but she doesn’t stop him.

Then he begins to undulate his hips, thrusting his boxer-clad cock into the silk of her slip, groaning at the intoxicating sensation before his control snaps like a rubber band and he surges forward, pulling her close and grinding into her with dark intentions.

She hisses at his cock’s hard crash into her ass, “Aiish you sly fox, is this why you came here?”

In lieu of responding to her obvious inquiry, he pushes his hand down the front of her gown, squeezing her breasts in his hand, harshly pinching the tight nipples until she moaned and squirmed in his hands. He pumped his thick length into her back, haphazardly catching her ass and the crease of her thighs with each rough thrust. With a punishing squeeze to her chest, he retracts his hands only to push his boxers down his hips, cock bouncing out in excitement, ready to play.

His eyes roll back at the feel of her silken gown on his hot engorged skin, precum wetting the material obscenely, as the game ends and she is as enraptured as he is, humping back into him, vigorously. Ripping her panties off from under her nightgown, he tries to plunge a finger into her moist center, but his elbow knocks into the bed railing and he groans at the hindrance. She is a panting mess in his arms now, pressing back into his heavy thrusts, his cock catching on her wet folds, as they both moan in pleasure.

“Can I try something?” Nerves prickly under his skin.

The question leaves his mouth before he can talk himself out of it. She stills at the sudden question but shakily replies, “Yes, just do it. Stop talking.”

He laughs at her impatience, jubilant that she wants him with as much vigor as he wants her. Grabbing her around her waist, he hoists her up into a seated position before sitting up too, using that leverage to turn her upside down, before dragging her onto his body and he lays back down onto the bed.

A perfect 69.

She gasps at the sudden change in position, before looking back at him from over her shoulder, “I knew you were watching porn in the bathroom. Next time, come to my room we can do some hands on learning.”

He swats her ass in retribution, “Now you’re the one talking too much.”

She smirks pressing her lips together and he can’t help but joke, “Well you don’t need to close it completely, just put it to better use.”

Eyes darkening from the proposition, she leans forward and swallows the head of his cock, wet mouth wrapping him in a squishy heaven. His hips subconsciously jerk forward, forcing more of his length in her mouth and she moans around the intrusion.

Then he looks up at the feast before his eyes, her wet and open above him, primed to be devoured by his hungry mouth. He wastes no time in licking her folds, wiggling his tongue into the moist cavern and groaning as she moans at the sensation, vibrations tingling around his cock. They both set off to wreck each other, her tongue relentless as she slurps and licks every inch him, distracting him from wrecking her. At a particularly hard suck at his balls, he shoves two fingers into her, corkscrewing immediately and giving her little room for adjustment.

He grabs her ass cheeks to pry her open further to his onslaught, twisting his fingers into her at the same time licking across her clit, pulling it into his mouth and humming at her addictive flavor.

She pulls off his cock to shout, “Fuck.” Among other expletives and it’s good that he’s not a religious man because pure blasphemy falls from her sinful mouth. He misses the feel of her mouth around him, so he thrusts up wildly catching her mouth as he fucks into her, in perfect synchronization as he fucks into her with his fingers.

She is a drooling mess above him, spit drowning his cock in a filthy river, he focuses on making her lose her mind as he feels his end growing near, tongue and fingers both hammering at her pussy, plunging, filling, worshiping.

Her body twitches violently, drawn tight like a bow, before snapping its release and her juice rain down on his waiting face, bathed in her glory.

His tongue never stops its lap at her until she keens in pain, “No more, it’s too much.” Reluctantly he pulls away, pretty swollen lips closing at his retreat, he kisses them one final time.

Without warning, she leans forward and slides down his cock, pushing past her gag until he feels himself slide down her throat and two quick fucks into that constricting paradise is all it takes to shoot hot cum down her throat, his eyes roll in the back of his head. She swallows and swallows, until finally drawing off as the abundant cum dribbles on his naked thighs, some even pooling on the sheets.

Collapsing to her side of the bed, it takes some effort to meet her eyes in their opposite positions, her head at his feet. But when he does, he sees all the love and fire he knows shines luminous in his own, he worries if this passion might just be too powerful for even them, might it burn them up leaving nothing but their ashes?

What a way to go.

He gathers her pliant body in his arms, moving her until she's sheltered in his arms, she will never have to sleep alone again, she has Gang-tae and Mang-tae. The doll now clutched tightly in her hand.

They drive for days before they come across a small town, pulling into a gas station to refill the van tank. They hadn’t yet emptied it since their first fill and he was working hard so they wouldn’t, loathing the idea of getting stranded on the side of the road with Mun-yeong. She would chew his head off.

“Be careful.” He calls out to her as she wonders into the diner adjacent to the gas station, they’d she’d grown tired of rice and grilled meat and had decided to get some food at the nearest diner. He’d told her to go ahead and get them a table, while he refilled the camping van.

He thinks about how far they’ve come on this journey, literally and emotionally. He has shared stories with her that he has never shared with another soul, not even Jae-su. Has experienced things he never thought he would be allowed to, this trip itself was a life long dream that he'd foolishly given up on but she showed him that it was okay to dream.

He didn't have to suppress his every whim or desire, was teaching him everyday that he was worthy of wanting and receiving.

With all those thoughts permeating his mind, he is completely caught off guard when he enters the diner and sees her menacingly looming over three young boys, a butter knife in her hand. "If you keep bothering her, your parents won't have children." Those are the words, he hears her utter, to children.

All who, trip over themselves fleeing from her screams of “A witch, a witch!” as they scamper back to their tables and said parents glare at the women dressed in black from head to toe, provoking their innocent children.

She smiles at them, waving with the knife still prominently in her hand. He promptly snatches it from her grip, reprimand on the tip of his tongue before a small mouse-like voice cuts him off.

"Thank you lady. Are you a princess?" Appearing from behind the shadow of Mun-yeong's body, a thin child creeps out, twiddling her fingers as she gazes up at Mun-yeong like the stars are hung in her eyes. He's never seen a child look at her like that.

"No. I'm not a princess. They weren't wrong, I'm a witch." She answers deadpan, twirling her fingers to add to the glamour.

She looks very much the part in a bellowing black dress with a full skirt and puffy sleeves, her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail with a black rose pin in the front. She towers above the young girl in shiny black leather pumps, that almost gleam under the fluorescent lights. Armor back on since the lake.

He readies himself for the cries that her statement will evoke.

Flabbergasted when instead he hears, "Cool. You're the prettiest witch I ever saw."

Mun-Yeong preens at the compliment before turning to walk away, but the girl catches the material of her dress, rudely tugging it to get her attention.

The sharp eye at the hand on her dress is enough to make the girl immediately release it but Mun-Yeong peers down in question, "When I grow up will I be pretty like you?"

Without even a second to consider Mun-Yeong replies, "No. No one is pretty like me."

He watches the joy melt from the child's eye and opens his mouth to lessen the blow, take the sting off her too blunt words. But she beats him to it, "You shouldn't aspire for looks, you can't control that. Pick something you can control, like being strong so you can beat up your bullies." Her little shoulders perk back up and she beams at Mun-Yeong, his girlfriend's lip curl up at the side.

Before she walks into the diner, finding an empty table, he watches in shock as the young girl wordlessly trails after Mun-Yeong. The sight so familiar it knocks him in the heart. Just like flies to a fire, people like them were drawn to Mun-Yeong's light, the sparks that singed around her as she boldly did what you only dreamed of.

He joins them both at the table, and finally takes a good look at the little girl. She has a cute round face, rosy cheeks, her hair is pulled back in a disheveled ponytail, what stands out are her clothes, they are too put it kindly filthy. Tattered mess that hand off her thin frame and immediately the need to protect her overwhelms him.

"So what's your name brat?" Mun-yeong's deep voice breaks the silence.

"Min-jo."

He sends a warm smile in her direction, noting that her eyes haven't once left Mun-Yeong. Still he adds to the conversation, "Hi Min-jo, I'm Moon Gang-tae and this is my girlfriend Ko Mun-yeong. She writes children's books, maybe you've read one of her books before."

If her eyes were filled with adulation before, now it is tenfold as she jumps in her seat, "You write books? That's so cool! Do you like it? Are they fun? What are they about?"

Taking a sip of the water, the server brought them a few minutes ago with the menus, Mun-Yeong glances from the corner of her eye, before darkly whispering, "They're about chatty little brats who get eaten when they ask too many questions."

Min-jo's eyes widen in shock, little mouth falling into a perfect O, before her bell like giggles ring through the air, "You're so funny Ms. Witch!"

Mun-Yeong smiles back, a full face crinkling smile, at a child. Someone else's child. He is stunned into silence as he watches them converse, the kid ignoring Mun-Yeong's hint and asking her a million more questions. She even answers a few. He watches the miracle, stuffing noodles into his mouth, utterly charmed and bewildered.

When they've all finished their meals- he's still shocked at the amount of food such a small body was able to consume- he opens his wallet and places down the amount plus a hefty tip. He stands up and they follow his lead, Min-jo still trailing behind Mun-Yeong, before a voice stops her in her tracks.

"Oy! Where are you going? You know better than to bother the guests, get back here!" A woman in an apron waddles out, catching her by her arms preventing her from taking another step.

The woman bears no resemblance to the child, sharp where she is round so he wonders if that's her grandmother, before he asks the question aloud. Min-jo's head bends down until her face is completely hidden, "No. I'm an orphan I don't have anyone." Her voice is barely a whisper, lost in the wind as soon as it leaves her lips.

He watches Mun-Yeong tense at the word, eyes shifting back and forth between the two. Three orphans in one diner, the world's saddest story.

He wonders if that was what drew the girl to them in the first place. Destiny. Then he remembers what he overheard. Definitely destiny, Mun-yeong showed up when she needed someone to help her.

If someone shows up when you need then, I call that destiny.

Mun-yeong sniffs at the tears that are pooling in the child’s eyes, her own eyes dark pools that reveal nothing.

"That's no excuse to feel bad for yourself, you can't control that either. Stop following me and learn how to be a leader, then one day when you're older you can make your own family. I did." Her words are matter of fact with no warmth yet he sees the hope they ignite on the child's face, her eyes large in wonder. Pride washes over him like a wave.

Mun-Yeong turns to leave, before promptly stopping and returning to the girl, bending down to meet her at eye level, "Tell those bullies that a witch gave this to you and if they tease you again it'll turn them into frogs." She unpins the black rose pin from her hair sliding it into the young girl's messy hair, her little hand comes up to touch it in wonder.

Tears swimming in her innocent eyes.

Without another word, Mun-Yeong leaves in a whirlwind of black cloth and witchy flair, and he watches Min-jo watch her, her seemingly cold words had been exactly the balm this child needed. He bids Min-jo farewell, bowing at the older woman who takes the young girl's hand, maybe not her biological grandmother but clearly she cares for her. He hopes they let each other know one day, their true feelings.

Love should be shared and acknowledged, unless what's the point of loving?

"You made her feel better."

She looks up at him from her place on the chair, passively, "I told her the truth."

He noticed a long time ago that she doesn't quite know how to respond to compliments, begs for them but once she receives them she quiets down as if taken back by their presence.

"You did really well Mun-Yeong, I'm so proud of you." Instinctively her head comes forward seeking his hand and he happily strokes his hand across her head, amazed by the woman he loves. He impulsively presses a kiss to her head as well, breathing in the floral aroma clinging to her hair.

That night as they lay together, no facades this time, she walks right over to him and slings into his arms, demanding that he stroke her head to help her fall asleep. He concedes happily. Too tired to try for anything more, he resolves to do it tomorrow. The thing that has been on his mind since he told her that he loved her.

He's going to ask her.

What's the point of having all this love and not showing her?

#its okay to not be okay fic #its okay to not be okay #psycho but it's okay #ko mun yeong #moon gang tae #kdrama #kim soo hyun #seo ye ji #episode 17 #weekend event #fluff #smut #self-discovery #part 1 #meant to be 5k each #this ended up being 7k #I can't write anything short anymore #my details need details lol

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