#James Conrad

[caribbean1989]

Tom Hiddleston as Captain James Conrad in Kong: Skull Island (2017)

My GIF masterlist

[shaunashipmn]

And you? Isn't shooting a mapping mission a step down for a photojournalist? The right photo can help shape opinions. And win you a Pulitzer. Okay, Captain Conrad. What about you? How did British special forces get dragged into this? Just "Conrad." I'm decommissioned. They offered me money. You don't strike me as a mercenary. You don't strike me as a war photographer. Anti-war photographer.

[miladyamalthea]

The shoulder rig is the male equivalent of a corset. In this essay, I will…

[ashurizzzz]

it's been a while gang👅👅👅👅

@ceeisatlumon @temcatt @queenofstarsign85

[insanityclause]

Tom Hiddleston Rewatches Thor, The Night Manager, Crimson Peak & More 

[spacemonolith]

Just simply looking at his shapes makes me go GRRR GRRR HARR HARR

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Off the Record 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: James Conrad

Summary: you sign up for the university newspaper and find yourself in controversy. (Professor AU)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A crush of bodies moves you like tides. You barely keep from going under as you sidle against the wall, seeking shelter from the crowd as they swirl madly with furor of the first week on campus. Your eyes are pinned to the banner hung from the railing of the overlook, right across the bustling foyer; Student Journalists Needed!

Your heart flips over at the thought. You're a novice at best. You wrote some poetry for a few contests in high school and helped with the yearbook the last two years. Nothing very noteworthy. Still, it's intriguing.

You should do something. Especially after orientation went over like a burnt pancake. A real flop.

You recede into the crowd and let it carry you to the dining hall. You sit at a table as students mill in and out of the cafeteria turnstiles. Your foot wiggles as you contemplate the year ahead. Your eyes wander and take in the haze of strange faces.

You don't know anyone. Not yet. Your efforts at introducing yourself the day before were of little result. Mandy, a pretty tall brunette with glowing auburn skin laughed in your face and Astrid, the artsy one with her sides shaved, rolled her eyes. You didn't try again.

A new city, a new home, a new school. You're terribly lost in it all. You're starting to question why you didn't just settle for the community college in the small town you grew up. At least you know where you stand with the people back home. They don't like you either.

You take out your phone and search for the social events and clubs page in your email. The depth of information sent to you about housing, sports openings, and frosh week is tantamount to spam. You find a link at the bottom of an email and click.

Scrolling and flicking through gets you to the school paper page. A digital banner similar to the one hung in the foyer headlines the page. Below, the mandate of the publication, then a subheading above pictures of the current co-editors and secretary.

Scrolling further to the new section, you stop the page under your thumb.

'Are you a writer? Bring your portfolio to the Stellan Building, room 28a....' Tomorrow. So soon?

You cradle your phone between your hands and sigh. What are the odds you get in? You shake your head. You'll go, embarrass yourself, and next month, it will be just another forgotten calamity.

📰

To your surprise, there is no line up ahead of you as you hurry down the hall. Maybe the unrenovated basement has eluded or even deterred your fellow aspiring journalists. It wasn't exactly hard to find and you're not so sure you're on the right path.

You can't help but be relieved. You're already burnt out from the sheer number of people around you; in class, in the halls, even in your dorm. There's a reason you're interested in writing and not the cheer squad.

You slow as you read the plaque beside them only open door. The rest appear to be storage. 28a. This is it.

You lean forward to peek around the frame. You don't hear anything.

There's a solitary figure in the room. An older man sat in a chair behind one of the tables. The furniture is outdated unlike those in your lecture halls. The surface of the tables is scratched and a few chairs are missing bolts on the back.

The man has a chair pushed back at an angle, his feet set wide as he reads from a faded paperback. His posture is both staunch yet casual.

Hm. Did you read the time right? You pull back and weigh your options.

"Come in. If you like," the deep voice lilts through and sends a shiver up your spine. How did he see you?

You poke your head around again then move into the door frame. You clutch the folder in your hands and look around. You know you're not early. You didn't want to seem too eager.

"Erm, hi. I... Saw a thing about a journalist club..." You begin.

He marks his page and sets the book down. The cover curls up from the pages. He drags his chair closer to the table and folds his hands.

"You are indeed in the right place," he assures you.

"Oh, cool. Right." You exhale.

"Come in. Let's have a look." He gestured to the folder in your hands.

"Sure," you nearly trip over the threshold.

"James Conrad." He stands to introduce himself, extending his hand across the table. "Professor. Writer. There's some other letters they say I should tack on but I've not much concern."

You shake his hand awkwardly. His grip is firm and his long fingers easily wrap up your whole hand. He's taller the closer you get.

"And your name? Best to start there." He drawls and lets you go.

You stutter before you can choke out your name. You can smell his cologne, a soft citrus underlined with something richer.

"Please, sit," he prompts. He waits until you sit before he does the same. "Now then, why are you here?"

"Um... To apply to the paper?"

"Mm, that's all?"

"Oh, uh, well... I want to write. I enjoy it and I thought... I wanted to make some friends and... I don't have much experience." You bite your lip and cringe. You shrug, "I'm sorry."

"No need for sorry," he says and flutters his fingers. "Might I have a look?"

You flinch and look down. You slide the portfolio across the table. You lean forward anxiously

"I don't have much. Poetry mostly but I want to learn." You explain.

He opens the folder, his blue eyes flitting over the first page. Your stomach mulches violently. You class your hands tight and bounce your knee.

"What are you studying?" He asks without looking up.

You look down. "Statistics."

"Why?" He asks.

You shake your head. "Um. Oh. I... My guidance counselor said there were jobs. Or I could apply it to a Master's."

"Sounds practical. Statistics major, writes poetry." He peers up at you, his long nose lending him an intimidating air.

"Yeah, I guess maybe I should join the math club or something." You murmur.

"Practicality is a virtue. You won't make much of a writing degree in this day and age." He leans the folder on the table as he refocuses on you. "Military man myself. Reckless youth. Climbed through the ranks, meandered around in some high level work but I hated the politicking of it all. Spent my last few years of service as a correspondent." He explains lightly. "Suppose this is my retirement. Or penance."

He puts his attention back to the folder. '...wilted and weeping....'" he reads aloud. "Provocative. You have a way with words. It needn't all be dry."

He closes the folder and sets it before you. He keeps his fingers on the edge. He leans forward.

"The editors prefer digital. Might you forward this to my email and I will put in a good word for you." He asks.

You blink. "The editors."

"Oh yes. Students like yourselves. High and above this little meet and greet. I suppose there is some event down along the Greek side of campus." He scoffs.

"I can email," you promise. "Thank you."

"Don't get lost in those numbers, dear," he stands and offers his hand again. "It would be truly tragic for this world not to hear your words. Read them, rather."

"I.. thank you." You shake his hand again. He squeezes before letting go.

"No, thank you. You're the only soul brave enough to show. I fear this paper's time is washing to the wayside." He sighs. "We need a spark. Perhaps you are more a firebrand than you seem."

You smile sheepishly. You don't have the heart to tell him otherwise. You are more the type to stick between the lines.

"I look forward to hearing back from the editors." You say.

"From me likely. These editors are not so good at follow up. You'll find I'm more here as a figurehead." He explains. "It is up to you lot to figure out all that writing."

"Okay, um, got it." You stand and reach for the folder. "Thanks again. Have a good day."

"Actually, do you mind if I borrow this? I'd like some time to read the rest."

"Uh, sure," you rescind your reach. "Er, enjoy."

"How could I not?" He grins as he sits back down. He ignores the paperback and instead takes the folder. "Oh and if you see any lost souls looking for my cave, do try to point them in the right direction."

[sarahscribbles]

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐.𝟔𝐤

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The vial slips from between your fingertips just as you’re about to finally seal the top. Almost in slow motion it falls to the workbench below, shattering with a mockingly musical smash and sending tiny shards of glass scattering in a million different directions. 

For a second, all you can do is stare silently at the pale blue liquid pooling on the surface, but a steady stream of curses is quickly unleashed as you move frantically to save the detailed notes spread out around you. You gather them to your chest like a mother would gather her children, and drop them on the bench behind with an irritated, angry groan. 

An entire days worth of work ruined because you couldn’t do something as simple as hold onto a vial. 

Some scientist you are. 

From the corner of your eye you see James raise his head. When you told him you’d be alone in the lab all day doing research for MONARCH he insisted on joining you, even in spite of your protestations that he’d be bored out of his skull watching you work. 

“It’s not exciting work,” you had told him with a smile. “It’s equations and formulas and mixing chemicals. You’d hate it.”

James had only given you that soft smile that he knew was your weakness. “I barely see you enough as it is, love. I won’t make a sound. Scouts honour.”

It’s impossible to deny him anything, especially when he looks at you like you hung the moon, and so he’s sat quietly at an empty bench reading a two week old newspaper while you work. 

His Scout’s honour lasted roughly thirty minutes. Naturally curious, he had followed you around the lab like a child all morning, asking detailed questions about every step of your process. But, if you’re being very honest, it’s been nice to have him there to alleviate some of the loneliness of your work. 

He’s been banished to the other side of the lab for the last half hour to allow you to concentrate, but you can feel him watching you as you begin to clear the mess from your workbench, and you can almost hear the wheels in his head turning as to whether he should approach or leave you be. 

Ultimately, it’s the former that wins. 

There’s a quiet rustle as he folds the newspaper up neatly and places it exactly where he found it. It attracts your gaze and you watch him unfold from the bench like an elegant housecat, hesitating for only half a second before he closes the short distance between you both in several large steps. 

James loops his arms easily around your waist and pulls you back against his chest. His closeness brings with it the clean scent of his soap and the subtle pine of his shaving cream - that alone is almost enough to ground you. “You’re tired, love,” he says softly. “And you’ve barely left this lab all week. You’re going to exhaust that brilliant mind unless you take a break.”

His lips then press firmly to your temple. It’s his favoured soothing gesture and it never fails, not even when the inside of your mind feels like a hamster on a wheel. Slowly, the rolling wave of rage swirling inside you begins to quiet until there’s nothing but the feel of James’ arms wrapped around your waist. 

You hate how good he is at that. 

“This brilliant mind can’t take a break,” you reply tiredly, suddenly feeling all the exhaustion of the week settle over you. “I’ve got a deadline biting at my ass that can’t be pushed any further. There’s no time to switch off and have a pina colada.” 

James hums in your ear, immediately awakening a trail of goosebumps along your arms. “You did an excellent job at switching off last night.”

The tip of his nose nudges your jaw. It’s so simple, so small, but you curse the man to hell and back. 

Of course he’s going to bring up the night before when you had spent hours tangled beneath the sheets, bracketing his broad body between your shaking thighs while your name was a prayer on his lips. Of course he’s going to make you think of the way his lips had thoroughly worshipped every inch of your body, and how he’d had to cover your mouth to silence your cries lest you wake the entire building.  

Of course he’s going to make you think of the pleasure he’s capable of ripping from your body, because he knows you well enough to know that it’s a foolproof way to distract you.

You say nothing as he continues to trail lazy, haphazard kisses along the back of your neck and across your shoulder. The notes you saved only a few minutes earlier stare back at you from the workbench, and you know you should get back to the deadline at hand, but how can you be expected to focus when James is twisted around you like a viper?

And surely a few seconds of distraction isn’t going to cost you your career. 

“I should tell you to piss off and let me work,” you say, biting back a sigh when James bites gently at your earlobe, “but some stress relief would be really nice right now.”

James laughs in your ear, soft and low and genuinely amused, but his fingers are already dipping beneath the hem of your shirt to dance across your bare skin. “Is that all I am to you? Stress relief?”

You hope he knows he’s anything but. 

James Conrad is the very reason you’re standing in this lab because he believed in your abilities when you didn’t even believe in them yourself. He’s the person you want to share every miniscule detail of your life with no matter how ridiculous. He’s the first person you look for in a room, and his are the only lips you want to kiss at the end of the day. 

He’s the love of your life, and you pray that he never reduces himself to merely being the person who distracts you from the stress of your job. 

Even though he’s very, very good at it.              

His fingertips trace a familiar path along your abdomen, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as your entire body responds instantly to his touch. Those practiced fingers then slip easily inside your bra to twist your nipples, as though emphasising his displeasure, but it only pulls a satisfied smile across your face. 

“You’re the one who said I needed to take a break and then offered yourself up. What would you call it?” you tease him. 

There’s another twist of your nipples, enough to make you gasp, but the pads of his thumbs are quick to soothe. “I’d call you an impudent brat,” he replies, beginning to trail a lazy path of kisses along the column of your throat.           

You grin wider and tilt your head onto your shoulder, offering him as much of you as you can. “We established that a long time ago, Captain. You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“Brat,” he says again with a smile in his voice. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

James presses a final kiss to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, so gentle and so chaste that your heart skips in your chest, and you’re once again left marvelling at the emotions that this man can awaken in you. In the space of five minutes he’s made you feel calm, desired, playful, and infatuated, and, not for the first time, you think about how stupidly lucky you are to call him yours. 

Your jungle man, as you’ve taken to calling him.

Much too soon he untangles his weight from around you, but you feel two firm hands come to rest on your hips. They give you a squeeze and, before you can complain at the sudden coldness his absence brings, James is quickly spinning you around to pin you back against the workbench. His grip tightens only a fraction, as though he’s labouring under some absurd belief that you might bolt, but then one hand rises from your hip to cup your cheek. His touch is so familiar to you that you can’t help but lean into it, even more so with the almost reverential way his thumb strokes your skin. 

“How many cups of coffee have you had today?” he asks, blue eyes boring into you. 

You hesitate for only a heartbeat. “Three,” you reply, but James is quick to cock an eyebrow. “Four.” 

He sighs softly and pulls you close enough to press a kiss to your forehead. “Oblivious girl,” he teases quietly. “I know how important this project is to you, and I know that it requires a great deal of your time and energy, but you have exhausted yourself, love.”

There’s a brief moment of nothing, then James is taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “This brilliant mind is done for today. Understand?”

His voice is still velvet soft, but there’s no mistaking that this is a command he expects you to obey. Even so, the urge to be a brat rises like a storm inside you because you know how much he enjoys the game, but another larger part of you is already folding like a house of cards.

How can you not with the devastating promise that’s glittering in those blue eyes?

You nod quickly in response, eager to experience his unique form of stress relief. “Yes, Captain.”

James tilts his head to the side, fixing you with a gaze that’s full of fond exasperation. “Careful, my sweet girl, or you might bite off more than you can handle.” 

“Maybe tomorrow when you have more time to teach me a lesson,” you reply with a smirk. 

James laughs at your wit, smiling so wide that you can see the soft crinkles that form at the corners of his eyes. “Reckless. Utterly reckless,” he replies softly, and the next thing you know is his lips on yours. 

James kisses you slowly and so deeply that it takes your breath away. You melt into him easily, letting him coax your arms around his shoulders in time with a large hand pressing against the small of your back to clamp you against his chest. A moan flutters from your mouth to his as you grip him like a vice, digging your fingers greedily into the defined muscles of his back while he kisses you like you’re his only source of oxygen.

You feel dizzy, and it’s as good a distraction as any, but you realise it’s nothing more than a precursor when his lips eventually leave yours and he folds to his knees before you. 

Still drunk on the taste of his kiss, you can only watch as he makes himself comfortable on the unforgiving laboratory floor. He looks sinfully perfect kneeling in front of you, and when you see the raw desire that’s swirling in those pretty blue eyes, it almost has you fold. 

“If it’s stress relief you want, love,” James murmurs, sliding his hands underneath the hem of your skirt until it bunches at your hips, “then I’m only too happy to provide.” 

Cool air winds its way around your thighs, but James’ lips are quick to dispel the chill. He teases a slow path along your right thigh while his thumb traces nonsensical patterns on the other, and both combined raise a molten fire of arousal to life in the pit of your stomach. 

Each press of his warm lips to your flushed skin makes your cunt pulse with need, and it doesn’t take long before a desperate whimper floats from your lips. You feel James smirk then suck a particularly rough bruise into the top of your thigh. 

“Jesus Christ,” you moan shamelessly, letting an eager hand fall to twist into his hair.

You wait expectantly for him to climb higher, but, much to your irritation, he pulls back to lift his eyes to yours, though not before curling lazy fingers around the waistband of your underwear. 

“Well, don’t -,” you begin, only to be immediately silenced by James ripping away the flimsy material of your underwear. 

“Would you like to continue?” he asks, already placing two hands on your thighs to coax them apart.

You shake your head. “N-no. Not important.” 

“My good girl,” James praises you with another kiss to your lower stomach. “I expect my contributions to be noted in your final report,” he says with such an air of seriousness that you can’t help but laugh outright. 

“A footnote in my Nobel Prize acceptance speech is the best I can offer,” you reply. 

“Beautiful, brilliant, and remarkably humble. Any wonder I adore you,” he teases back, and finally, finally, you feel his mouth on your cunt. 

He feels better every single time, you can’t help but think. He’s a man who takes pleasure in giving, and nowhere does that shine through more than when he’s between your thighs. His tongue caresses your cunt like a long lost lover, ensuring that no part of you is left neglected. 

“James…fuck.” They’re the only words you’re capable of saying as he pays particular attention to your clit.

He groans low in his throat and the vibrations are enough to have you slamming your hand back on the bench behind to keep yourself steady. You chance a glance down at the devil between your legs, and your eyes immediately lock with his. You watch as he pleasures you, watch as he curls his hands around your hips to pull you closer to his mouth, then closes his eyes at the taste of you.

You know you aren’t going to last long. 

A storm of pleasure is quickly rising in your core, swirling faster and faster with each second James’ tongue remains buried in your cunt. Your hand curls like a vice in his hair to guide him and he obediently follows. Those strong hands squeeze your hips - a silent request - and you quickly flick your eyes back down to his. 

“I know…I know. Just keep going…please, James,” you plead. You’re climbing higher up the ascent and ready to topple, so it’s only too easy to grant him his one request. 

Let him watch you fall. 

His blue eyes are boring into you, not willing to risk even a second of you falling apart, and when you catch a glance of your own arousal coating his upper lip, you know you’re gone. 

Your orgasm rips through you so violently that you lose the ability to breathe, to form thoughts, to do anything but keep your eyes on James. But when you finally do find your voice, James’ name is imprinted into the very foundations of the laboratory. He fucks you through it all, until you’re a quivering, boneless wreck above him shaking through the aftershocks. 

You’re still panting when he finally pulls back, unable to do anything but watch mutely as he pulls your skirt back into place and gets to his feet. Instantly, he’s gathering you in his arms and holding you against his chest, letting one hand run slowly along the length of your back. 

“Better?” he asks, pulling away just enough to catch your chin between his fingers. 

You nod slowly. “Uh huh, but I can’t remember why I needed to feel better.”

James laughs and presses a kiss to your forehead. “My poor girl. Why don’t I take you home so you can lie down?” 

You let him loop an arm around your waist and pull you against his side. “I feel like there might be a double meaning to that.” 

“There is,” James replies, not missing a beat. 

“Then take me home, Captain.”

[maeintree]

into the hollow | j. conrad

Summary: You were supposed to be on a beach in Hawaii, drink in hand, finally taking the vacation you had waited months for. Instead, you're standing on Pier 45, watching as a classified expedition unfolds before your eyes, all because Bill Randa decided to drag you into one last mission. Pairing: James Conrad x field medic!fem!Reader Author's Note: i’ve always loved kong: skull island, so i couldn’t resist turning it into a fic series! there’s just something about the thrill of adventure, the mystery of the unknown, and of course, james conrad—easily one of the most underrated (sexiest) characters. this story will follow a field medic!reader as she’s thrown into the chaos of skull island, navigating danger, survival, and maybe even an unexpected connection with conrad himself. hope you enjoy the ride!

── ✦ CHAPTERS

Prologue Chapter I. Chapter II. Chapter III. Chapter IV. Chapter V. Chapter VI. Chapter VII. Chapter VIII. Epilogue

[holdmytesseract]

a/n: Welcome to my Hiddles characters masterlist! Have fun reading!

🌙 Afterglow

🌙 I Won't Let Go

🌴 Dangerous Paradise

🍸 I got a Man - but I want You {18+}

🍸 Miracles

🍸 All The Right Moves

🕯Mine

🕯In Love and Pleasure {18+}

🕯Hearts Aflame

🕯Attraction

🔍 Knight With Curls and Blue Eyes

[loki-cees-all]

I'm Dreaming of A White Christmas

Cee's James Conrad Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : James Conrad x Female Reader

Summary : After another long journey through the hot jungle with Conrad, you come to the startling realization that it’s actually Christmas Eve.

W/c : 2.8k words

Content / Warnings : Non-traditional Christmas smut, Non-traditional Christmas fluff.

Author’s Note : This fic is dedicated to Climate Change, for making me have to suffer through 20+ years of Christmas without a single fucking flake of snow to show for it 🙃

18+ Only - Minors DNI

━━━ · · ━━━ … ━━━ · · ● · · ━━━ … ━━━ · · ━━━

Sweaty would have been an understatement. 

After two days in the jungle, after traipsing through endless amounts of grimy mud and sticky bushes and shouting yourself raw, it felt like no amount of cold showers was ever going to bring your body temperature back down to something reasonable.

Hell, it was damn near midnight now, and the outside humidity was still hovering well over 90%. But even in those conditions, the entire ordeal was worth it in the end. 

You probably spent over half an hour in the shower once you made it back to the hostel. Just standing there, letting the water run down your scalp and skin, until your muscles were too heavy and exhausted to even reach for a bar of soap. Instead, your eyes fluttered closed while your mind replayed the dramatic events over the past two days. 

Eventually you forced yourself to actually wash yourself and dry off. Conrad would surely be back soon, if he wasn’t already, and you wanted to be waiting for him when he finally returned. You wanted to hear about the look of joy on that poor mother’s face when her child was finally returned safely. 

After dressing in what passes for clean clothes these days, you begin to sweat again before even making it back to the room. Cursing God, and Lucifer, and Jesus, and anyone else you could think of, you pushed open the door and flopped unceremoniously onto the stiff bed. 

Christ, even the bedsheets were sticky and miserable. It’s a good thing you were so unbelievably exhausted, otherwise you might never be able to fall asleep tonight. And a sticky bed was way better than sleeping on the ground at least, but still - you’d absolutely murder someone just for the chance at a crisp, heavy snowfall tonight. 

For a chilly, decadent Winter Wonderland, a fuzzy sweater, and a creamy hot chocolate. It’d been ages since you’d last felt a genuine shiver…

Groaning, you slowly push up to sitting and try to blink yourself awake. While rolling your shoulders to pop your neck, you glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It read half an hour till midnight, and your heart rate picked up a little bit. Only an hour had passed since temporarily parting ways with Conrad, and you already couldn’t wait to see him again. 

To keep yourself occupied while waiting, you step gingerly over to the single table in your room and grab your canvas knapsack from the chair. Inside the bag, nestled between your empty canteen and a seemingly endless supply of empty peanut wrappers, is the journal you used to document your adventures with Conrad. 

The journal has definitely seen better days. Its edges are bent and torn, the cover is littered with mud and water stains - but it was your most prized possession. Inside those pages were beautiful, tragic, tales of both wanderlust and wonderful lust. Traveling with Conrad was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, from midnight skinny-dipping to beach camping and stargazing. 

You’d seen more marvels of the world than most people ever get to dream about. And the fact that you got to experience it all with such a stunning man was nothing more than a miracle. 

In-between those special moments, there would occasionally be a less-than savory or even potentially dangerous mission to take on. They were just in order to fund your more pleasant adventures, but even the stress and peril was well worth it to you. Every moment with that tall, devastatingly handsome, perfectly muscular and very protective former soldier was a dream come true - snowy weather or not. 

A warm breeze drifts in through the open window, charitably stirring the stagnant air in the room. It was a temporary reprieve, and just enough to get you to uncap your pen and begin writing. 

Over the next several pages, recollections of the previous days’ events poured out seamlessly. The stop at this small village, just a day’s walk from Saigon, was supposed to be a quick one; just long enough to find a place to bathe and stock up on supplies for the final trek of your journey. 

But as soon as Conrad heard a mother’s anguished screams of terror down the street, he literally dropped everything and took off running. By the time you managed to pay the vendor, gather the purchased wares from the street and take off after him, he had disappeared. 

A few minutes later you finally managed to find him, down on his knees and comforting the distraught mother in broken Vietnamese while her neighbors and other children shouted additional information to him. Eventually, he was able to determine that the woman’s youngest child, a boy no more than 2 or 3 years old, had taken off suddenly - possibly into the jungle, and definitely terribly lost. 

One look from Conrad was all it took to let you know that Saigon could wait; finding this missing child was way more important than any other task he’d ever been given. Only a monster would ever disagree with him about something like that. 

Shortly thereafter, you were journeying back into the jungle with Conrad, alongside the woman’s brother and his two eldest children. All four of you walked from sunrise to sundown, meticulously searching every inch of the earth in widening, concentric circles - slowly venturing further and further into the jungle, looking for clues and desperately calling out the name of the missing child. 

If it were up to Conrad, you knew he’d keep looking throughout the night, and that he was only stopping at sunset to give you and the others a chance to rest. But as soon as he thought you were asleep, he’d slip out of your tent and go off searching by himself all night, returning to camp just before sunrise and looking more weary than ever. 

But eventually, you all did manage to find the child. When Conrad pulled that scared little boy down from the tree, you wept actual tears of joy. He was mostly uninjured, just frightened and starving and sporting a few more scrapes and cuts than before. And after getting a little bit of food and water into his belly, the former soldier dutifully carried him all the way back to the village. 

He’d directed you to go straight to the hostel to get cleaned up while he returned the child to his mother, and that was where the journal entry concluded for now. Your eyes filled with happy tears once more as you skimmed over the words you’d just written; you’d never ever seen Conrad more pleased or relieved than in the moment when he finally located the little boy alive. 

Finding people and reuniting lost loved ones was in his blood, it was woven tightly into his DNA. It was what he lived for most; the one thing he’d never been able to have himself.  

With a relieved sigh, you flip back a few pages to check the date of the previous entry, and your breath suddenly hitches in surprise. Could this be right?! Maybe all the sweat was seeping into your brain and drowning all of your synapses beyond functionality…

But no. You double- and then triple-check. You count on your fingers, you write out each date individually in the margin of the page. The last entry, written the morning you and Conrad were due to arrive in the village, two whole days prior, was dated December 22nd. Making today…December 24th. 

Christmas Eve. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as a wave of excitement and painful nostalgia crashes over the room. Life is so much different now than when you were a kid; of course Christmas wouldn’t be any exception, no matter how much you loved the holiday. And it doesn’t feel right, sweating and feeling like you’re boiling alive on the day before Christmas - yet, here it is all the same. 

Mercifully, the pain is short-lived as you sense the familiar thud of Conrad’s boots finally coming up the stairs. The sound of his voice, spirited yet exhausted, reverberates off your skin as he laughs with another guest of the hostel. You barely have enough time to bite your lip in anticipation before he’s bursting into the room, a lovely grin on his face and his jeans and knapsack covered in dirt and muck. 

Like he’s Santa Clause, and he’s finally come round to you, bearing gifts of good news and his very own presence. 

You hop out of your seat, matching his giddy grin with one of your own. “Kid’s back home now? Safe and sound?” 

Before he can even finish nodding, you’re across the room and jumping into his arms. Luckily, Conrad is already quite adept with this maneuver and he catches you with ease, bracing his arms underneath your thighs as they wrap around his waist. 

“Was that doubt I sensed in your tone just now, darling?” he teases playfully against your lips, his large hands shifting to grip your ass. 

You laugh, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck and shifting closer in his grasp to let your lips brush against his. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of doubting you…” 

“There’s a good girl…” Conrad purrs before closing the distance between your lips, kissing you passionately and eagerly. 

You moan into it, shifting one hand to cup his jaw as your lips part between his. Rushed and heated, his kisses taste like salt and sun and rain. Like home; a new one, completely the opposite of where you’d originally come from, but still somehow everything you’d ever needed. 

It’s funny how things work out like that. 

Before you can take another breath, he begins walking you both backwards, his hands squeezing your ass before you both go toppling onto the bed. As soon as you land and arch yourself beneath him, his kisses shift down your jaw to your neck, his teeth gently scraping against the delicate skin there. 

“Christ, you smell incredible…” he groans deeply, his hands sliding up over your hips and underneath your tank top. 

You let out a soft hum, grinning as he pushes the tank top up over your breasts, and then gasping as his lips find your nipple. Conrad was always a hungry man, but never more so than after a win like today. 

“It’s called showering, Captain. You should try it sometime…” 

His smirk grows exponentially after you tease him, devilish and intense as he crawls back up to let his lips hover just a heated breath above yours. 

“Perhaps you should’ve waited for me…washed my back, while I washed yours…” he groans, the sound of it breathless and sinfully delirious already. For good measure, he rolls his hips in an enticing manner, slowly increasing the pressure against your throbbing clit. 

As if you needed any additional reasons to want him this badly. 

With each roll of his hips, you shudder in pleasure, the need at the apex of your thighs slowly drenching the fabric between you both. You need no further enticing and pull his face down, crushing his lips against yours in an even more desperate, more hurried kiss than before.

The next few moments are a flurry of breathless moans and needy groans. Two sets of hands work on one another’s clothing, pushing and pulling and stripping until you’re both as bare as the day each of you were born. 

And then suddenly, Conrad’s inside you. That familiar stretch graces you once more, kindly blessing the ever-present ache that’s existed ever since you first laid eyes on him. Your back arches further, the heels of your feet dig into his hips and you both moan in unison as he sinks in, burying himself all the way to the hilt. 

It isn’t the first time he’d had you, nor will it be the last, but it had been almost three whole days. Too long, practically a lifetime considering how good it always is - but even so, his pace is slow and languid, like he’s savoring it. He’s not a man drowning in a river after almost dying of thirst, but a man who’s been waiting patiently for a reward most definitely well-earned. 

You can’t help the gasping laugh that escapes in a sudden rush of endorphins. Your heart lurches in your chest and your pupils dilate until there’s just a sliver of color left around them. This is a reward, yes, but it’s also more than that - it’s a gift. 

Conrad, a dedicated and well-trained soldier until the very end, doesn’t miss a beat even after you laugh again and your arms tighten around his neck. He merely nips at your jaw while a curious smirk tugs at his cheeks, his hips continuing so smooth and fluid in their undulating. 

“Something funny, dear?” 

You gasp again as he punctuates that final word by slipping a large hand underneath your skull, cradling it gently and tilting it upwards. It’s a stunning move, making you feel so safe and small while he makes love to you. Your eyelids flicker, and he follows suit as you let out yet another breathless laugh. 

“It’s Christmas…” you murmur, almost in a daze. You’re not even sure if the words are audible as a rush of light crashes over you. 

“Is it now?” Conrad grins, mistakenly taking your statement as one of pure praise instead of just a reflection of today’s date. He thrusts harder, and lets out a deep groan as your muscles tighten in response. 

You moan again and start to feel like you’re floating. Consistent breaths in and out are a thing of the past, but still, you manage a frenzied response. You want him to know the truth, to celebrate the special day with him.

“No - it’s…oh, God, fuck - the 25th! It’s the 25th…”

Conrad’s moaning along with you, drowning out any response in a sea of incoherence. His hips thrust deeper, the taut muscles of his back flexing and contracting in a quick rhythm underneath your hands. His forehead falls against yours, his gasps and exhales heavily washing over your cheeks and lips and nose. He’s starting to lose his mind, and the last thing you can see clearly are his eyes rolling back into his head. 

It’s so incredibly hot when he loses control, the shameless passion he openly shows to you and only you. It’s the complete opposite of the winter wonderland you were dreaming of earlier. But when your thighs start to shake, he changes the angle of his thrusts - and then all of a sudden, it finally feels like Christmas. 

Usually when you come, he makes you see stars, but not tonight. This time, you see Christmas lights - reds and whites and greens and blues all sparkling and dancing together in unison. The room instantaneously becomes a frigid, barren landscape and Conrad is the only warm thing left in existence, his fire crackling and popping against the deep and endless midnight sky. 

Keeping you safe inside the great big dark unknown. A guiding light towards the brighter days lingering ahead. 

You whimper as you come, from the sheer force of it, and Conrad tips right over the edge with you. His back arches to push himself deeper, his hips move frantically, pushing and pulling his cock over and over between your tight muscles like he just can’t help himself. 

And why shouldn’t he? He performed a Christmas miracle yesterday. 

It all feels like a dream, but eventually, Conrad’s hips slow, and he collapses on top of you. For a moment, neither of you can move, other than gasping for breath and whimpering with each uncontrollable twitch and spasm of every nerve and muscle. Slick skin marks both the mutual satisfaction and the need for another shower - and as long as you don’t pass out beforehand, this time you’d be honored to wash Conrad’s back for him. 

Recovery takes longer than usual. Maybe it’s the culmination of the previous few days, the heat, the date; maybe it’s the reflection of the past year as a whole, or the hopeful promises of what the next one might bring. But when Conrad adjusts, and then tightens, his arms around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and taking in a deep breath, you know it’s all of the above.

You hug him tighter in return. You press your lips to his ear, his jaw, his hair. Anywhere you can reach, anything that’s him. He’s made your year an incredible one, and you were sure that the next one was going to be even better. 

Conrad lets out a deep, peaceful hum. One that reverberates deep into your heart and makes it skip a beat. He tilts his head and presses a deep, tender kiss to your cheek. 

“Is it really the 25th?” he murmurs softly. 

“Yeah, it is…” you laugh, turning your head and nuzzling your face against his. “Merry Christmas, Conrad…”

He chuckles and returns the sweet gesture, adding in a tender caress of your jaw. His eyes flicker up and then down your face, examining and completely mesmerized by everything he finds. Everything you feel about him, he returns tenfold, and it shows in every flicker of light in his eyes, mesmerizing and breathtaking.

“Merry Christmas, darling…”

━━━ · · ━━━ … ━━━ · · ● · · ━━━ … ━━━ · · ━━━

[lokiandbuckysdoll]

Request: Loki and Y/N meet Captain James Conrad while on vacation in South Africa. Y/N mentions to Loki how much James looks like him. Loki denies it. Loki and Y/N end up going on a dangerous adventure with James.

ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪʟᴅ

A/N: I hope you enjoyed what I wrote :)

It was supposed to be a quiet getaway.

You had begged Loki for a “normal” vacation, no Asgardian wars, no magical relics, no portals to realms that smelled like sulfur and misfortune. Just sunshine, wildlife, and a bit of peace. Loki, ever the reluctant companion, had agreed with an eye-roll and a muttered, “Mortals and their heat-stroke havens.”

They landed in Cape Town and began a scenic trip through South Africa, heading north toward Kruger National Park. The golden savannahs rolled endlessly, dotted with acacia trees and wildlife that made even Loki’s frostbound heart stir.

On the fourth day, they met him.

You spotted the man first, tall, broad-shouldered, rugged with a sun-worn face and piercing eyes. He was talking to a local guide near their safari truck, his voice rough with command but tinged with charm.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, elbowing Loki in the ribs. “He looks exactly like you.”

Loki scoffed, adjusting his sunglasses. “Ridiculous. He looks nothing like me.”

You grinned. “Same jawline. Same nose. Same cheekbones. And the smug look? Dead match.”

Loki narrowed his eyes and observed the man closely. There was something familiar, maybe it was the confidence, the way he held himself like someone who’d been through hell and lived to glare about it.

They didn’t have long to wonder.

The man strode toward them, noticing the way you had been looking at him. “You two headed north?” he asked. “I’m Captain James Conrad. There has been some odd activity near Limpopo. The locals are nervous. You don’t want to be caught unaware.”

You blinked. “Captain Conrad? Like, Skull Island Conrad?”

James tilted his head. “That was a long time ago. But yes.”

Loki stepped forward, posture regal and faintly amused. “And what does a captain of monsters want with two tourists?”

Conrad gave Loki a once-over. “You look familiar.”

You beamed. “Told you.”

Loki ignored you and turned to James. “We’re just sightseeing.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Then you might want to keep your eyes open. Something’s stirring in the bush. I’ve seen signs, large footprints, broken trees, and gutted antelopes. Whatever it is, it’s not from around here.”

That’s when the roar came.

It rumbled through the trees deep, guttural, and distinctly not lion-like.

Within minutes, the three of you were in Conrad’s jeep, speeding toward the disturbance. Loki had conjured his daggers without even thinking, and you held tightly to the rail, half-thrilled, half-terrified.

They found the remains of a camp, tents shredded, supplies scattered, and a claw mark across a boulder the size of a car.

“What the hell is that?” You whispered.

James knelt beside the claw print. “This isn’t anything native. And it’s not the first time I’ve seen something like this.”

Loki’s voice was quiet. “This is...not of Midgard.”

You looked between them, the mirroring expressions, the stoic intensity. “Okay, seriously. Are you sure you two aren’t clones?”

James gave Loki a crooked smirk. “Could be worse things to look like.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “You’re too dirty to be my clone.”

“I fight in the dirt. You look like you complain when your boots scuff.”

You raised your hands. “Alright, boys. Focus. Giant clawed monster. Remember?”

The next few days were a whirlwind. The creature, an ancient thing disturbed by illegal mining deeper in the savannah, was stalking nearby villages. Loki, James, and you formed an uneasy alliance, combining James’s survival skills, your sharp mind, and Loki’s magic.

There were close calls, Loki saving James from being crushed under a collapsing ridge, you talking down a frightened village chief, James dragging Loki out of the jaws of the beast (while Loki indignantly shouted that he had it under control).

By the end of the ordeal, the creature was sealed in an ancient chasm, and the three of them stood under the starlit sky, covered in dust, sweat, and the glow of shared victory.

James looked at Loki and smirked. “Still think we don’t look alike?”

Loki sniffed. “Your chin is inferior.”

You laughed, pulling them both into a photo. “I’m keeping this. The moment I got Loki and his rugged twin to play nice.”

James nodded to Loki. “If you ever get tired of royalty, we could use you out here.”

Loki smirked. “And if you ever tire of chasing monsters, perhaps I’ll lend you a kingdom.”

You sighed. “Best vacation ever.”

TAGS 🏷️ add yourself here

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[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

If a movie has a beautiful mysterious island, giant lizards and hot men, I’m there for it.

[kawaiikayla19]

The pose!

[ashurizzzz]

TAGLIST: @ceeisatlumon @temcatt

Cooked up another out of boredom

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Killing Time: Prologue

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a job offer could be an escape from your old life, but the new one, may not hold freedom.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter, August Walker, Lloyd Hansen, James Conrad, God the Bounty Hunter, Court Gentry

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

“Yes, he’s here again,” your voice creaks as your hand shakes. “Please. I called yesterday…” And every other day for months. Almost a full year.

You peer out between the small space that divides curtain from window. The shadow looms, looking up at you. Your phone vibrates as the operator hems and haws on the other end.

“Are you sure it’s him?” She asks. They always doubt you. Report after report, phone call after phone call, and it’s always question, question, question. You sigh.

“Yes,” your voice peeks as you pull back and hide against the wall. “Yes, I know it’s him. He’s texting me.”

You don’t even need to check. It’s the same thing every time. Next, he’ll try to sneak in the front and be knocking at your apartment door.

“Well, ma’am, you say you’ve called before and we’ve sent a cruiser and we’ve filed reports. And this man keeps showing up, so what exactly do you want me to do now? I can’t issue you a safety order over the phone--”

“Excuse me?” You gasp. “Excuse me? Are you serious? I have an order already and much good it does me. I call you and I get accused of being dramatic and questioned. What I want is for someone to protect me.”

“Ma’am, don’t get abusive with me,” she warns. “Have you tried telling him to go away yourself?”

“Wow, wow,” you throw your hand out. “Really? Really? No, I never thought of it,” you say sarcastically, “is there someone else who can take me call? I really don’t feel safe.”

“If it makes you feel better, I can reroute an officer to you. Alright?” She speaks as if you’re a child. You’re too weak to argue anymore.

“Whatever,” you hang up.

You can’t do this anymore. You need to get out of here. Not that you didn’t think of it before but you can’t afford anything else. Your rent control is the only thing keeping you under a roof. You’ve already switched jobs, just to get away from him. There isn’t that much else up there.

You drag yourself through the shadows and sit on the bed. You exist in darkness. You don’t turn on the lights so he can’t see in. You keep the curtains shut. You only leave for work and always take a different exit, never the same route; not always the bus, not always the train.

And friends? What are those? Most of them took his side, said you were throwing around false accusations, and the others accused you of being obsessed. The single coworker you confided in told you to leave town. Wow, well, if you could afford that, you wouldn’t stay in this building with the grinding radiator and rattling fridge.

You look at your phone.

‘I see you.’ The message was sent while you were on the call with emergency services. Several more followed. ‘I just want to talk’; ‘you look so pretty’; ‘please, I love you’.

As you read each text, you can hear the last conversation you had with Jake. He’s a relic of your former friend group, the very reason for your dejection. It’s almost funny how the rest just cut ties but he won’t let go.

It all started with a kiss. A kiss and rejection. New Years Eve and the clock counted down. You didn’t expect him to turn and plant one on you and when you shoved him away, that dreamy look in his eyes turned to fury as you fled. New Year, New you, right?

The new you is scared and paranoid and tired. So, so tired.

You get up and move the chair in front of the door. Just in case. You retreat, keeping your phone close, and grab the extendable baton from the table. You sleep with both, if you can sleep. That night, you won’t.

You settle in on the couch. You don’t use the bedroom. You need an easy escape. You sit back against the cushions and scroll on your phone. It might be hopeless, but you trawl the job board and the apartment boards. You might find a nugget of gold in all the pebbles.

You sign into the job site and see the red dot in the corner. It’s always a marketing promo. ‘Recommending’ a job you don’t qualify for or an invitation for an MLM scheme. It’s a joke. You don’t understand how anyone ever gets a job but everyone seems to have a better one than you.

You tap the inbox to make the red dot go away. You hate it floating in the corner of your vision. Your thumb twitches and hovers over the screen as you read the subject line. Hm.

‘Caretaker Position: Relocation Required’.

Well, you don’t really have the experience for caretaking but the second part sounds intriguing. You hesitate. It’s too good to be true. You’re sure there will be a list of qualifications longer than your resume.

Tap.

You open up the message.

‘Hello,

We’ve reviewed your profile and determined you might be a match for this position.

New Applicants Welcome.

We are seeking an individual to undertake caretaking duties for a property. This role would include the following:

Lawn care

General cleaning and maintenance

Manual labour requiring lifting of up to 60lbs

24/7 tenancy within property (no rent for chosen candidate)

Subsidized relocation

Training on-site

If you are seeking a fresh start and to learn new skills which can take you into future roles in a custodial or caretaking capacity, this is the job for you. To apply, please submit brief profile and resume for consideration.

Applicants are subject to a background check.’

You bite down on the inside of your lip. It sounds interesting but you’re not sure you’re a good fit. It’s so general, too. Would you need to know how to deal with electrical issues? Your apartment sure has taught you a lot about dealing with broken utilities, but your formal training is lacking.

And it’s a big thing. You want to get out of here but it’s still daunting in comparison to your current predicament.

You tense as you hear footsteps in the hall. You brace yourself and lower the phone, staring at the door. The thumping on the other side makes you flinch. Your heart races.

“Baby, I know you’re awake. Please. I just wanna talk.” He keeps tapping. “If you just talked to me, we could figure this out.”

You shudder and look at your phone again. You stare at the big blue button; ‘Apply Now’.

“I forgive you. For lying about me. Everyone knows you were just upset. I’ll tell them all it was just a misunderstanding…” he begs as the door shakes in the frame, the chair knocking against the handle. All that stands between you and him are those hinges and that flimsy piece of furniture.

You press down on the button. It can’t get worse than this.