#I was not prepared for that moustache

[mxmollusca]

Rhys Darby's Saying Funny Things Society, April 11th, 2023

[ecoterrorist-katara]

why does this keep happening to her

[jessieren]

A lovely soft-stache (copyright: @too-antigonish ) to brighten up your rainy Monday morning

[everyday-is-brighter-with-you]

Buh-( study chain 2 )

Is it two or three who cares !! I'll say two

Also I went to a wedding. The food was NOT worth it but the OC research I got out of it was VERY WORTH it

[foolishlysunny]

My girlfriend knows me so well <3

[peachpitfics]

Wildest Dreams

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Your Father has betrothed you to his eldest, most despicable friend. You confide in your closest friend, Benedict Bridgerton, that you wish your first time could be with somebody else, somebody you liked.

Length: 3.5k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Propositioning a friend, first time, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, orgasm.

a/n: Wildest Dreams is part i of iii ~ requested by anon here.

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

The blood drained from your face, your hands clasped together in clammy nervousness – your father had just told you that since you have failed to successfully find a husband within the first year on the marriage mart, he will be arranging a betrothal between yourself and Lord Roger Howard. Lord Howard was six and sixty, he was your father’s eldest friend. Every interaction you ever witnessed was filled with contempt and disrespect, especially with service staff. His words were often filled with bigotry and unfairness. You found him repulsive, his yellowing chipped teeth in his villainous smile. The way his poorly maintained fingernails curled at the ends. His white moustache stained into unsightly colours from cigar smoke. The thought of having to be near this man, be intimate with this man, nearly drove you toward deaths door.

Your knees shook, standing from your armchair in the sitting room, not speaking a word to your father as you exited. Scurrying up the stairs, throwing yourself onto your bed, you felt your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Tears streamed down your face, you did your best to suck in deep breaths, but panic continued to wash over you. There was nothing you could do to save yourself from this fate. There had been some suitors interested in you, but you had chosen to wait, to see if the one person you had wanted would make himself available to you. Now it was too late, those suitors had moved on with other young ladies, and the man you wanted was nowhere to be seen.

Your lady’s maid knocked meekly on the door, having come to prepare you for this evening’s ball. The Queen would be there, and you knew she would be disappointed in this match your father had forced upon you, not that that would help you.

“Shall we get the family jewels out miss? I hear it is to be quite an exciting night” You could tell she was putting it on, trying to sound excited. It seemed to come off as patronizing instead.

“Whatever you should think is appropriate” You tried to keep your feelings to yourself, but the streaks through your makeup sold you out at first glance. You spent the rest of your preparation in silence, usually the two of you indulged in a little gossip, it was supposed to be fun.

All evening you hid behind larger groups, behind servers carrying trays of champagne, doing your best to ensure the inevitable could not happen. Finally, considerably late in the evening, your closest friend deigned to arrive. Almost surging across the dance floor and into Benedict’s side, you linked arms and impishly whisked him out through the conservatory doors.

“Miss Y/n” Benedict exclaimed, “What is the meaning of this?”.

You breathed heavily, ducking, and weaving through overgrown plants and florals. You scouted each entrance, paranoia clinging to your side like a child in a sack race.

“My father has committed a most heinous act” You spill to Benedict, there is only concern etched on his face, “I am to be married to Lord Howard”. Your breath never steadied, sweat beaded where your forehead met your hair line. There was that panic you remembered so fondly, only hypervigilance had eliminated that feeling from the centre of your chest.

“Oh lord,” Benedict’s mouth hung open, utterly flabbergasted, “I cannot believe he would do that to you” Both of his hands found their way to your shoulders in compassion.

“And yet he has. My own father has bargained me away to some elder beast! There is nothing I can do to stop it” Your hands ran through your hair, untangling one of the twists.

Benedict did not know what to say, all he could do was lurch forward and take you into his arms. His strong arms reached around you, pulling you tight. The sound of his steady breath and rhythmic heartbeat calmed you quickly.

“When I was a little girl, I wished on a falling star I would find someone who loved me as their equal. I now wish for that same thing on this very night. To think that I have wasted my life dreaming about love, finding someone like me, with the same interests, the same age as me even!” You thought aloud. Benedict was always someone you could tell your innermost thoughts to, he never judged you once, and he was the kindest of listeners.

Benedict Bridgerton also knew exactly who you were dreaming about – it was him. You had been friends for several years, and it had always been obvious to anyone with sight, that you and Ben were infatuated with each other. But Benedict was young, and impulsive, unlikely to marry at this time.

“I do not want to spend my life with that old simpleton! I want to experience life and love!” You cried out, “My elder sister divulged what it is married couples do on their wedding night – I do not want that with him! I cannot live my life without having ever experienced the touch of a man who cares for me!” Your cries turned into whispers; whimpers scattered throughout.

He held you close to him, making a caring swishing sound, it kind of sounded like the ocean. Benedict sure knew how to comfort you when you were in need.

“Y/N! Where are you?!” Your father’s voice echoed off the glass walls, sending you into a frenzy, quickly separating from Benedict, dabbing your cheeks with a handkerchief.

“Yes father?” You responded.

“Lord Howard is here with me. There is something he would like to say to you” Your father called. Benedict hid low amongst the broad-leafed plants, the darkness of the conservatory shading him. You appeared from the shadows without explanation, not that your father was seeking one. Lord Howard stood hunched next to your father, who was 20 years his junior. It appeared as though he bowed, but it was hard for you to discern.

“M…m…miss Y/n?” He stuttered, struggling to see through the spectacles at the end of his nose, “There is a question I must ask you. With the permission of your father, I am here to ask for your hand in marriage” Spittle flew from his mouth in between sharp consonants. Dread flooded your body, you felt like you were being submerged in a pool of water, the tears in your eyes, simply the only way for the water to escape.

There was animosity in your father’s gaze, warning you there was simply one answer to the question asked. Taking in a deep breath, “Yes, Lord Howard, I will accept” You murmured. Lord Howard did not look pleased, he did not appear bothered either, he simply nodded once and turned about, marching back to the main ballroom. You wondered if this was what your marriage was going to be like? Would he ignore your existence and leave you to your own life if you produced an heir? You could not ascertain whether this was a good thing or not.

Benedict hung his head, having watched this entire exchange from the shadows. There was an element of guilt on his part, he blamed himself, unable to give you what you wanted in time to save you. When your father had left you standing still, tears staining your dress, Benedict slid out from the darkness.

“I think I am going to ask the footman to take me home… I only have so much time before my time is not mine any longer” You lower lip trembled; the peaceful silence of the conservatory disturbed by the soft sounds of sobs.

“Y/n,” Benedict muttered, his hand running down your upper arm. Electricity connected your flesh in a zap, your breath caught in your chest as his skin joined with yours. His tender hands grazed yours, tickling the palm of your hand.

“Benedict” You shook your head, moving to take your hand away before he closed his around it. His tongue flicked over his lips several times as he contemplated what he had to say. Sometimes you heard the other young ladies tell stories about Benedict, you never knew if they were true. They spoke of how he was finest of the Bridgerton brothers, they also spoke of his rakish tendencies, however mostly in a jealous fashion.

The forecast in Benedict’s eyes swiftly shifted from clear blue to a stormy grey. You had not noticed how tall he was before, looming over you like a dark cloud. His face illustrated apathetic gloom, his hand boring you into him, like he was the eye of the storm.

“There is something I must speak with you about, in private” Benedict rolled his tongue aggressively on his teeth as he spoke. Everything about his demeanor was confusing, you felt strangely like prey, wondering why it felt good. Benedict snuck out the conservatory door, your hands clutched together while he led you to his carriage, asking his footmen to make way for the Bridgerton house.

“What is this about Benedict?” You asked as soon as the door was secure and the carriage moving.

“Y/n, please give me a moment and I will explain everything. I do not know if I have a solution to your problem, but I may be able to offer a compromise. Something I would only do for you, if you asked, because I care about you so deeply” Benedict paused, this intense look of thoughtful worry about him, “If you would be agreeable, I would like to suggest that I… bed you for the first time” Benedicts voice was low and resounding.

Your lips parted abashedly, your cheeks flushed pink, blinking became uncontrollable. All you could do was sit completely still, astronomically stunned by what Benedict had proposed. You understood that for whatever reason, Benedict could not give you everything you wanted, but he was offering you something. He was offering you an experience you may never have gotten to have otherwise, a chance to feel loved and wanted in intimate affection with another person.

“Say something, anything, please. I cannot stand this silence” Benedict rubbed his temples after a few minutes. His eyes were still dark with longing, he looked over with you a deviating sense of ownership.

“You would do that for me?” You entreated, hands shaking so hard you nearly sat on them to make it stop.

Benedict nodded surely across from you, the carriage pulling up at the Bridgerton house. Your eyes locked, the carriage completely still and silent, you took a moment to consider the ramifications of your choice. Ben’s posture was resolute, his gaze expansive, eagerly waiting for your reply.

“Yes” You swallowed hard, Benedict snatching your hand from your lap and dragging you from the carriage, running up the walk and into the house. You made short work of the very many stairs on the way up to his bedroom, sure that nobody could have seen you, as you ran that fast.

Blood rushing around your body, you stood just inside Benedict’s door, trying desperately to catch your breath. Benedict shuffled about the room, lighting a few candles, closing the windows for the evening. He looked back at you, having already stripped into your underclothes while his back was turned. A most shameful lust driven smile sketched lightly onto his face, he made the long voyage acrost the bedroom to stand a foot or two in front of you.

“Thank you for doing me this favor. I will owe you always” You remarked, your eyes dancing figure eights on the lush carpet squishing under your wiggling toes.

Benedict’s shoulders were more relaxed than you had ever seen them, his posture always just so. Strands of hair bled onto his sticky forehead, dark eyebrows brewing overhead transfixed eyes. That charming smile, filled with foolishness, had not been seen since leaving the ball – this was something so chronically serious to him. He effortlessly tugged at his maroon cravat, casting it to the floor, his proud neck craning to get another glimpse of you from another angle. His throat bobbed when he stepped closer again, just one more step. Fiddling with his waistcoat buttons ardently, watching the frustration set into your eyes, Benedict finally shed his coat and pitched it across the room, knocking over something unbreakable in the corner. It did not steal his gaze; his eyes were set on you. Benedict lifted his suspenders off his shoulders, allowing them to dangle by his hips, the chest of his white, silk undershirt gaping open. Your teeth instinctually bit into your lower lip at the slightest sight of skin you had not ever seen before. The corner of Benedicts mouth upturned smugly, his lips rolling together as his breath became audible. Standing just one foot apart, the tension between you was palpable. You wondered if someone had struck a match, might the room simply explode, there seemed to be so much chemistry between the two of you.

“Please, continue” Your hands pressed to your stomach, you watched as Benedict unlaced his boots, one foot at a time on the stool at the end of his bed. His blistering eye bore into you even still. Making his way back to you, still at hardly an arm’s length, his brawny arms crossed his body to pull his undershirt off over his head.

You swooned audibly, almost gasping seeing the entirety of his torso bare for the first time. Your lips wet, your eyes unblinking, Benedict smiled cheekily, knowing the effect he had on you. His hands moved past his navel, your eyes following, to the button atop his breeches. Benedict made quick work of his trousers, having teased you plenty. Your back straightened, your gob smacked jaw snapped shut at the sight of his naked body.

Benedicts tongue flicked over his teeth, “Would you like me to redress, y/n?” He badgered, pretending to reach for his shirt on the floor. You careened forward, lessening the space between you to essentially nothing.

“I do not know what to do, not truly” You admitted, feeling yourself choking on nothing. Benedict reached out to your hands, taking them in his, placing them on his chest. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head at the feeling of his light chest hair beneath your fingers. His sculpted pectoral muscles and taut stomach, a trail of dark hair leading you downwards made you feel ravenous for him. He looked at you as you looked at him, eyes filled with desire, faces pink in the candlelight. Benedict leaned in to kiss you, pulling away left at the last second to place a single kiss on your neck.

“You. Are. Wicked” Your face flitted over his, grazing your noses and lips together in potential kisses. Benedict leaned into you, his kiss soft, warm, and breathless. You gasped at the first separation, taking in hasty breaths before crashing back into each other. Everything you were doing felt completely wrong, reprehensible – but with a kiss as intoxicating as Benedict Bridgerton’s, you were afraid not even heaven could help you.

Your hands slipped into his thick, dark hair, pulling him down and into you, wrapping your arms around his neck and climbing up onto him. His hands rested under your thighs, carrying you toward his bed, you could feel his hardness pressing against you. 

This was not what you had been expecting, this was no impish boy. Everything about his movements was intentional, well-practiced. His hot, amorous kiss; the way his tongue slipped thankfully over yours, how his teeth greedily nipped at your auspicious bottom lip. His hands moved passionately across your back, his long kisses surprisingly hard on your neck, laying you down on the pile of bedding. He frantically shoved it off the bed, throwing pillows, knocking himself in the face once or twice. You laughed together, slow sizzling tongues dancing as one as Benedict removed your floor length under gown.

Benedict knelt above you on the bed, gently stroking himself, looking down on you. There was that dark cloud you had noticed earlier.

“I want you to enjoy me” Benedict rumbled, making you a promise. You did not yet understand, but you would. Taking his finger, Benedict dipped it into your mouth, bringing it to your nipple, rolling it between his finger and thumb at a glacial pace. His touch was peculiarly possessive, his lips rested around your other nipple now, sloppily dragging his tongue around in spontaneous circles. Big open-mouthed kisses surrounded your breasts, your shock and surprise manifesting in noiseless writhing.

Benedict positioned himself between your legs, lying down forcing your legs apart. Wanting to snap your legs shut, you refrained, trusting Benedict with your life. His breath was agonizingly warm on your inner thigh, his lips parted and gliding up from your knee. Benedict dotted small, chaste kisses along your hips – you deduced he was headed for the pinnacle of your thighs, a place you had never felt burn and ache quite like this.

His tongue slid gently up the slit of your pussy, you breath shuddered, his harmless laps amazed you with every movement. Eye lids fluttering, breathy moans filling the room, Benedict’s graceful tongue swirling your clitoris in curious patterns, drinking in your wetness as though you were a drug to him. Your fingers crawled down into his hair, your hips bucking toward his retreating tongue, you squealed lowly for more.

“Are you quite alright?” Benedict groaned into you, the vibrations of his voice set you on edge, your toes clenching in different ways.

“I do not know what you are doing, but I would like for you to keep doing it” You moaned intermittently, between gasps as his tongue flicked roguishly at your clitoris.

Benedict spread your legs wide and high, taking his finger and resting it at your entrance. He tediously sunk his finger inside you, curling up, making you yelp out in astonishment. Finding a steady pace, his finger already snug inside you, Benedict began at you again, never failing to find exactly the spot he was looking for. His alteration of speed and pressure backed you onto a cliff face, body incandescent and damned to revelry. Pressing his fingers into you rhythmically, Benedict pushed you over the edge, the sensation of falling and flying all erupting at once as you moaned and yelped uncontrollably. In the aftermath of your pleasure, you watched Benedicts eyes, his head still clutched between your legs gently sliding his tongue over you, his charming, sexy smile reflected in his eyes.

Slowing rising to his knees, Ben positioned your legs higher, resting your calves on his shoulders. Taking his cock in his hand, his pressed his tip against your wet skin. Your skin erupted in a tingling sensation, unbridled attraction and hunger liquefying your brain.

You looked up at Benedict in clear understanding, nodding gently, your eyes focusing on the powerful look of restrained urgency on Benedict’s face. He pushed forward smoothly, eliciting a groan from each of you, not even pressed to the hilt yet.

When Benedict filled your pussy fully, it felt like being winded. Panting like a dog under him, Benedict stilled himself, noticing how full and tight you felt, his cock twitching with pleasure. Benedict moved slowly at first, long unbroken strides forward, thrusting into you. Every drive forward, simultaneously blissful, and hot, curving to pound into that sensitive spot just inside you. While every drawback, was likened to slow-motion, devastating deprivation. Ceaseless, savage moans made Benedict grin above you, thrusting harder, wholly triumphant in setting you alight. You knew you would burn for him for the rest of your life.

“Make that sound for me again” Benedict grunted sinisterly, thrusting back into you brutally, forcing that loud intonation from you again.

Your fingers clawed at his back, your hips moving with his in most divine unison. Benedicts teeth grazed your ear, your breathing syncing in ceremonious adoration; his momentum increased, driving into you with new eagerness. Your nails buried in his plump behind, pulling Benedict tighter into you. With propulsive sureness Benedict plunged into you one last time, his cock twitching inside you to his irrevocable release. Never had you felt so full before, his face exquisite above you, leaning down to a soulful kiss.

“I’m proud of you, taking me like that” Benedict panted, taking a second before withdrawing and rolling next to you. He lay on the flat of his back, chasing his breath, his heart thumping through his chest, beating so hard you could almost hear it. His words made you blush, hiding your face in your hands, his seed leaking out of you onto the linen.

“It is not always going to be the same, is it?” You pondered aloud, staring at the detailing on the ceiling above you.

“I will not lie, y/n darling, I do not think every single instance will be the same” Benedict reached over, gently slapping your thigh in solidarity.

“That is disappointing to hear” You sighed dramatically.

Benedict chuckled sweetly, “Perhaps at his age, he will not have the capacity to complete more than the marital act”. You knew he was joking, trying to lift your spirits, but you genuinely hoped that might be true. Other worries began to plague your mind, worries of potential children. What if you were unable to conceive his heir due to his age?

You rolled onto your side, looking into Benedict’s clear, sky-blue eyes, “There may be another favour I ask of you, dear friend”. Benedict's eyes widened curiously, prepared to do most anything for you.

--------------------------------------------------

Tag list: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr // @marvelouslyme96 // @moreover-clover // @saintmagx //

If you would like to be tagged in Bridgerton fanfiction written by me, please let me know!

[rileyslibrary]

Ghost is forced to dress up as Santa for the day and talk to kids.

You’re ordered to tag along as his Elf and do some damage control if necessary.

———————————————————————

You lean against his armchair, watching the chaos in front of you. Children are crying, tugging at their parents’ clothes, shouting both in excitement and fear, all while looking at you. A young boy keeps waving at your lieutenant, desperate to get his attention, but Ghost is too preoccupied with coming to terms with his new reality to notice.

You return his wave with a smile.

“Try to stay still, Santa,” you remind Ghost as you nod towards the boy. “Kids are watching.”

He snaps back into focus and redirects his attention to the queue. He stretches one last time, pushing on the armrests, before settling into the chair.

“Try not to tell me what to do,” he murmurs and waves back at the child.

You straighten up and tweak your green hat, triggering the bell at its tip to jiggle in your ear. You feel for him; you really do. He’s not supposed to be here; he’s not built for this. Unfortunately—for him or the kids, you haven’t decided yet—the “real” Santa broke his hip at the last minute, and your military base stepped in to provide a new Santa for the local community.

And what better replacement than Ghost, you may ask? Well, literally anybody else.

Dressed in a red costume with white faux fur trim, the lieutenant looks nothing like the man you experienced on the battlefield. His shoulders threaten to rip through the rented outfit, and the seams at the back hold onto each other for dear life. Since his belly wasn’t big enough to simulate Santa’s, you asked him to stuff a pillow under his uniform. Surprisingly, Ghost complied almost instantly, leaving you to wonder if he was using the pillow as Kevlar, a barrier between him and the kids or if he was secretly enjoying this.

You also convinced him to ditch the balaclava for the time being since he would now have plenty of props to conceal his face—a wig, a long beard, glasses, and a red hat with a white pom-pom, to be exact. Additionally, you attempted to trick him into applying some blush on his cheeks, but he side-eyed you and told you to ‘be careful now’—ironic for a man who paints his face daily.

You rub your temples, trying to keep calm amid the chaos of the mall as you prepare for what’s about to happen during the next few hours. You have no idea why Price chose him to be Santa, but you didn’t question it either. Ghost seems to be the least qualified for the job out of everyone in the base. It feels like a last resort, so to speak—a ‘that’s all we have left in the store’ solution.

On the other hand, you know precisely why the captain chose you to accompany him. “To monitor the situation,” he said—“To make sure we don’t get sued,” you heard. And, under normal circumstances, you’d be happy to tag along with Ghost—be it on patrol, on missions, or even transporting confidential documents. But in this situation? Acting as a troubleshooter rather than a teammate? You’d rather be anywhere else than here, with anybody else than him.

You take another look at him while he sits on the chair. He’s tugging at the uniform, scratching his head, and instinctively pulling the beard to his nose.

“Stop doing that,” you whisper. “It’s a beard, not a balaclava.”

“Price would have been perfect for the job, for fucks sake,” he spits. “He has the fucking moustache for starters.”

“Stop with the ‘fucks’ and the ‘fucking’ Ghost; you’re about to talk to kids! And, as for the captain, he said he couldn’t do it.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, lifting his hands from the armrests. “And what makes him think that I can?”

“I wish I knew, to be honest, but we don’t have time to go through this again,” you murmur, looking at your watch one last time. You approach the barrier, unclip the rope from the stanchion, and turn over your shoulder.

“Operation ‘Santa’ begins now,” you declare. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” He replies, shrugging, and gestures for you to proceed.

And so it begins. Your first ‘customer’ arrives, and many more follow. You guide one family at a time into the enclosure and escort them to Ghost, who handles the rest. Some children are hesitant, peeking out from behind their parents’ legs, while others are much more direct with their intentions as they scream in horror at the sight of him.

On the other hand, Ghost is neither your typical jolly Santa nor the irritated lieutenant you’d expect. He appears to be... understanding. He reassures parents that it’s okay and there’s no need to force their children onto his lap if they feel uncomfortable. He initiates conversations with the kids from a respectful distance. He smiles with his eyes and hunches his shoulders to appear less imposing. Sometimes, he lures the shy ones into a handshake, a fist pump, or a high five by lowering his gloved hand to their level.

And then there are those other types of kids: the curious ones, the social butterflies. The ones who look forward to sitting on Ghost’s lap, diving into full-blown conversations with him. That’s when you stiffen up and switch into damage-control mode to ensure he won’t lash out at them. You begin hovering above them, listening, jumping into their conversations and sometimes interrupting Ghost and replying to the kids instead of him.

You would have thought he’d be grateful to have you managing the situation. Ghost, however, seems more irritated by you than by the little girl who’s currently playing with the pom-pom on his hat.

“Oi, Elf!” he says calmly, yet visibly annoyed. “Emma and I are chatting about how she spilt tomato juice on her Elsa costume and wants a new one for Christmas. Could you please falala off and go wrap some presents?”

“B-but I need to know because I’ll be sewing it for her,” you reply, smiling at the little girl. “Isn’t that right, Emma?”

And, although Emma nods her head, more out of necessity than agreement, you get his point. He’s doing surprisingly well with those kids, even without you. Actually, he’s doing remarkably well, especially without you.

More kids come and go, and Ghost slowly adapts to his new persona. He starts making bets with you, predicting which kids in the queue might ask for a PlayStation or an iPad and even speculating who might wipe snot on his costume. You, in response, adopt a more laid-back approach and let him do his thing. After each child’s visit, Ghost turns towards you, whispering in your ear about their Christmas wishes, as if he’s indeed Santa, and keeps logs.

“My man wants a full-sized car wheel,” Ghost murmurs as the young boy leaps off his lap, “can you believe him?”

“What did you say to him?” You ask, stifling a laugh.

“I told him I’ll get it for him,” he shrugs. “What else should I do?”

“Alright, but what did you really want to tell him?”

“That his dad already has four of them screwed in his car.”

As the day winds down, and the final announcement for the day echoes through the speakers, parents and children walk past you and towards the exit. They wave at Ghost and occasionally at you. The parking lot empties, the stores shut their doors until tomorrow, and the holiday lights that decorate the inside of the mall switch off one by one.

You stretch your back and tap on his shoulder, signalling that both of you should pack up and return to the base.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, grasping your wrist with one hand and tapping his thigh with the other. “You didn’t tell me what you want for Christmas.”

You’re exhausted but still manage to smile as you comply with his request. You sit on his lap, and he leans back to take a better look at you.

“Let’s think about it another way,” you say. “What would you, as Santa, give me for Christmas?”

“Coal,” he replies. “And a muzzle, so you don’t interrupt me while I’m talking. What was that all about?”

“Was afraid you’d say something bad,” you explain. “But you were pretty good with those kids.”

He shakes his head and plays with the fur trim on his sleeve. “Nah,” he murmurs. “I’d never say something bad to a kid.”

“Speaking of bad and coal,” you say, combing his fake beard, “you never asked the typical ‘have you been a good kid’ to any of them.”

“There’s no bad kid in the world, love,” he whispers. “All kids are good, even the naughty ones.”

You smile at him, but he doesn’t look back at you. He’s examining his uniform as if trying to find something else to discuss. He finds some crumbs a kid left on his suit and brushes them off.

“Ready to head back to the base, Lieutenant?” You ask, tapping his thigh before standing up. You extend your hand to him, and he gladly accepts it, helping him rise from the chair he’s been sitting in all day. You begin walking towards the exit, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. You reciprocate by hugging his waist.

You walk up to the parked military vehicle that brought you here earlier, still discussing the day. He opens the door but pauses and turns to look at you.

“Resilience,” he declares. “That’s what I would gift you for Christmas.”

“Why?” You ask, turning to look at him. “You think I need it?”

“We all do,” he replies softly, just like when he used to talk to those kids. “Since I can’t protect you from every obstacle life throws your way, I might as well give you the ability to recover from them.”

“That would make me very happy, Lieutenant.” You say, smiling.

He smiles back at you and reaches for your hat to fix it better on your head. His hand moves to your forehead, and he tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

“It’s Santa to you.” He replies.

———————————————————————

A/N: Bruh, I was so tempted to make the reader pull off a Mariah Carey and say, “All I want for Christmas is you,” when Ghost asked what they wanted, but my gag reflexes kicked in every time, and I was cringing galore.

So, there you go: resilience. That’s what I would like to gift you as well. I wish I could shield you from whatever has troubled you in the past or is currently doing so. To protect you from future worries and make everything ‘falala off’. Unfortunately, I can’t do that, neither for you nor for myself.

But this is why comfort characters and stories exist—so we can imagine, when no one is there for us, that someone actually is.

Just like Santa. Just like Ghost.

[ladybirdswritings]

sweet thing - dbf!joel miller x reader

Summary: Your life is in disarray. Your father is overbearing, your boyfriend is unkind— and blooming into adulthood is just about the most difficult season you’ve braved. Things only become more complex when feelings begin to develop between you and an old friend of your fathers. DBF!Joel Miller (dad’s best friend). Alternate universe as well, there is NO APOCALYPSE.

Notes: Girl I have been radio silent but this picture awoke me from my slumber because oh my God??? Look at this beautiful, haunted man. Pls enjoy the ideas that came from this still. Idk how well this will do but if u guys enjoy, lmk (I LOVE comments / interactions) and I will add to it <3

A03 | masterlist

sweet thing…

Your father did the best he could. You knew that very well. Charlie was a man respected and adored by his humble community. A hard working father turned single parent when your mom fell ill and god— you were his little flower. His sweet thing. His angel.

Flowers are fragile, though. Gentle, moldable petals and stiff, snappable stems.

It is why he kept you so close to him, so prized like painted porcelain just ready to crack.

It is why you were here. Here at Jackson’s golden hued dance with more powdered, jam-filled pastries and red, roasted meats then you could count on one hand. Here. Instead of the alternative option which was the party your boyfriend decided to attend without you.

You got the invite, sure, yet even as a legal adult— what daddy says? Goes. So long as you remain under his roof, at least. It was infuriating, though. The freedom of all your dear friends, the spontaneity. If only that could be you…

Your eyes drifted to the moustached sponge of all fun and joy in the world, wrapped in a flannel with bourbon in hand. Your dad was seated next to Joel, as he often was. His presence was a newfound thing for these recent years and though Joel would never say it, you had an inkling that he wanted to stand by his friend’s side after your mother… well.

You didn’t know Joel well. No, not at all. His visits were always the occasional dinner or drop in for fishing or some awfully manly thing. You knew well that your mother adored him, though— so that was enough to make him alright in your book.

Neighbor Betsy told you once that Joel had lost his wife and daughter too, and that maybe he was trying to keep your father from going through what he went through alone.

You only laughed at that.

Joel Miller was gruff and cold. Could he have such a warm heart beneath his sherpa coat?

You dazed out, the fingers snapping in front of your eyes made you blink back into the golden hues and roasted sausages on pointy little sticks.

“You alright, honeybee?” Your father asked, laying a heavy arm upon your shoulders. Joel was slower in his approach, eyeing you up and down with confusion and something else in his eyes.

“Peachy.” You only muttered, taking a sip of your freshly squeezed lemonade. Jackson’s finest.

“Oh come on now angel… now you know I can’t have you runnin’ off with that boyfriend of yours. I always told you he was trouble. Member’ when he ditched you down by Church Road during mosquito season? Well you were ripe as a red tomater and who had to pick you up?”

You were riper, redder now. Your cheeks an embarrassed hue not even on the color wheel, not even identifiable. You bowed your head, huffing out your frustrations before simply muttering: “you did, dad.”

He nodded proud, squeezing your shoulder. “That’s right, I did… what?”

Your eyes drifted up to see your father’s oldest friend with an odd kind of expression on his face. Brows pinched and raised, wrinkles plaguing his forehead deeper now.

Joel only cleared his throat, shifting on his boots and taking a sip of his bourbon in preparation. Then? He spoke.

“You ain’t lettin’ her be.” He gruffly offered, eyes set and sure. Your father only stilled for a moment, wondering if it was even Joel’s place to have an opinion… maybe it was.

“Why’s that?” He asked Joel, and the rough looking man only took another swig.

“Mm. We were both young once. We both made mistakes, y’gotta let her make her own— can’t hide her from em’. Just ain’t how it works.”

Poppies blossomed like springtime had finally begun in your eyes. Finally— someone understood. You didn’t expect him to be so… wise?

Your father only huffed, taking a long glance your way as he mused.

“Even if I wanted to loosen the leash tonight, Joel, I can’t. Maria needs me here to keep an eye on crazy old Arthur.”

Joel’s brows relaxed at that, a purpled hand running along the zipper of his flannel coat. His eyes were a chocolate kind of brown, dark and quietly encasing his thoughts within them.

He hummed, gaze drifting back to you.

You wanted to shrink. Perhaps it was because you were on the spot, perhaps it was because the way he stared would make anyone feel small.

It seemed like centuries before he cleared his throat again.

“I’ll take her.”

What?

You didn’t understand it, not one bit. Why was he kind enough to offer you an out here? Kind enough to test your father’s words.

Discomfort radiated through your father’s coat, tension molding its way into his already stiff bones. A long sigh, a glance back and forth as he truly considered. His expression was far too plagued with worry, and you knew well that it was now or never.

You had to slam down the last nail in the oak wood coffin.

“Please, daddy? I’ll check in every half hour, I promise.”

Tension eased, slightly but— still. Your eyes were doe-like and sweet, and he gazed into them for a moment far too long before allowing his arm to drop.

“Every fifteen minutes and you’ve got a deal. Miller, you make sure my daughter gets in and out of that bastard’s house safely.”

Joel only nodded once, jaw tense and expression stoic. Your grin was wider than a field of flowers, and you immediately wrapped your father in a hug. Your thank yous seemed endless, and it made him laugh.

When you parted, Joel had keys grasped in his rough hands. You realized for a moment that you had no idea why he was doing this. What did he owe you? Maybe it was pity. You were half an orphan, after all.

With a cautious glance, your eyes met his own. He nodded once as if to urge you closer, and you stumbled his way. Before you knew it? You were out the door, trailing behind him like his shadow.

Of all the people who cared enough to convince your father to let you go to this party tonight? Joel Miller was the last person you expected it to be…

¿to be continued?

[shugarmelon85]

good morning darling, i love you (he’s up early to prepare their date) [ID: This is a four-panels digital illustration of Edward and Stede from Our Flag Means Death. The scene takes place during a bright early morning, some time after they have reunited and made up. In this, Edward is asleep on their bed, sporting a short beard and shirtless, body turned towards the viewer. In the first 2 panels, only Stede's hand is in the frame, gently brushing away a stray lock of hair from Ed’s face and caressing his cheek. In the third panel, Stede appears in the frame, dressed in his nightgown, yellow robe, and sporting a moustache. He leans over to kiss Ed on the cheek. Ed doesn't wake, instead in the fourth panel he smiles dreamily in his sleep. Stede watches him with his own smile, completely besotted. /. End ID]

[shadowtriovibes]

fever (what a lovely way to burn)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Word Count: 4.8k

Rating: M

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, friends to lovers, character with fever/illness, mild sensual content

Summary: request: "since you saved Sebastian from Azkaban, he has met you in the common room every morning and you have gone to breakfast together. One morning he isn't there so you go to his room looking for him to find him in bed, poorly."

“I’m disgusting,” he groans. “I can’t stop coughing, I’m sweating everywhere, I feel like I’m going to be sick but there’s nothing to–” He cuts himself off with several dry, pathetic coughs. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him firmly. “Ominis is going to go to class and come back this afternoon with some Muggle medicinals. In the meantime, I’m going to help you eat a bit of food and have a bath.” “N-no, absolutely not,” he stammers. “You think I want you seeing me like this any more than you already have?”

Monday, October 5, 1891

Even a month after the start of term, it’s unseasonably warm in the Highlands. The heat from the dog days of summer persists well into the arrival of autumn, permeating the ancient stone walls of the castle and settling like a thin layer of fog across Hogwarts’ students.

Professor Sharp’s N.E.W.T.s-level Potions class meets promptly at nine o’clock every morning. Despite the early time slot, the dungeon-level classroom starts to become warm rather quickly thanks to the heat of two dozen bodies and six potion stations, each with their flickering flames preheating the students’ pewter cauldrons.

Your little trio is usually the last to arrive from breakfast. Sebastian sidles up to the doorway just as Professor Sharp is preparing to close it, gallantly offering to hold it open for you and Ominis as you take your time sauntering down the hall, arms linked together and chatting happily about the latest gossip to have surfaced in the Great Hall.

Then you settle in at the potions table squarely in the middle of the classroom, which you’d unabashedly claimed at the start of term. (Ominis can hear Professor Sharp most clearly here, and Sebastian, as always, gets to remain the center of attention.)

Finally, with Ominis’ dictation quill hovering over his parchment, Professor Sharp begins his daily discourse.

“Dittany, as you’ll recall, is one of the most useful herbs for creating a wide range of healing draughts,” he explains, showing off a tendril of the fiercely pink plant clipped from Professor Garlick’s greenhouse just that morning. “Can anyone give me an example of one?”

“Wiggenweld Potion, sir,” Amit chimes in.

“Very good, Mister Thakkar,” Sharp replies with an approving nod. “Another?”

Adelaide Oakes timidly raises her hand. “Essence of Dittany, sir?”

“Well done, Miss Oakes,” he murmurs. “Though not as effective as a properly-brewed bottle of Wiggenweld, dittany on its own can be used to craft a powerful restorative tonic – especially useful in preventing the occurrence of scars. Five points to Hufflepuff.”

Then Professor Sharp glances around the room expectantly. “One more, perhaps?”

“Moustache paste, sir?” Sebastian mumbles under his breath, and you quickly elbow him in the side.

“What was that, Mister Sallow?” Professor Sharp drawls.

Sebastian bites the inside of his cheek. “Er, the Antidote to Common Poisons, perhaps?”

Professor Sharp levels Sebastian with a dubious look. “I’m afraid not. While dittany is a broadly useful herb, its powers are generally limited to healing, not curing. When considering its uses, think ‘paper cut,’ not ‘influenza.’”

You raise your hand and ask, “Sir, are there any potions that do cure illnesses?”

“Yes, in fact,” Professor Sharp answers. “The Pepperup Potion will quickly resolve any common colds or cases of the flu, with the enigmatic side effect of generating steam that will pour from your ears for hours on end.”

You wince a bit. “I suppose that’s worth being over a cold in a day.”

“I should think so,” he replies with a slight grin. “So has the majority of the wizarding world since the twelfth century.”

As Professor Sharp segues into a lecture on the history of healing potions, you pull out a piece of parchment and start to take down some notes.

“Sebastian,” you hiss. “What does Pepperup Potion taste like?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says. “I’ve only had it once, and it was a decade ago.”

You frown. “Why’s that?”

“I can’t drink it,” Sebastian says simply. “I’m allergic to bicorn horn.”

You blink, surprised. “You’re… allergic? How did you even discover that about yourself?”

“Oh, it was gruesome,” Ominis chimes in gleefully.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Well, I had my suspicions as a child when my parents gave me Pepperup Potion and steam poured out of my ears, nose, and mouth for a full week. Simply suffering through the cold would have been better.”

“And then?” you prompt.

“Well… in our third year, Anne and I made some Polyjuice Potion,” Sebastian admits, glancing around furtively. “We wanted to see if we could attend our classes all day as each other without anyone noticing the difference.”

“And Polyjuice Potion has bicorn horn,” you surmise.

Ominis looks delighted. “They were both in the Hospital Wing for three days, stuck as half-formed versions of each other.”

You gasp in disbelief. “That sounds awful!”

“It was the one and only time in their lives they were truly identical!” Ominis crows. “‘Sebastianne,’ we called them.”

You can’t help but giggle at Ominis’ delight while Sebastian sulks.

“In any case,” Sebastian grumbles, “I can’t take Pepperup Potion anymore, but luckily I never get sick.”

“Really?” you ask skeptically. “Everyone gets a common cold once in a while.”

“Not me,” he says proudly. “I haven’t been sick since I was a child. At the very least, if I have been sick, it must have been so mild that I wasn’t slowed down in the slightest – no need for Pepperup, thanks.”

“I’d be careful, Sebastian,” Ominis demurs. “Wouldn’t want to tempt fate, would we?”

With a lazy shrug, Sebastian turns to his potions station and begins to roughly chop some dittany leaves for a new healing potion Sharp intends to teach that afternoon. He glances up surreptitiously while you tie your hair back with one of those green ribbons you like to keep around your wrist for when the Potions classroom becomes especially humid with cauldron steam.

Though it’s unwise to lose focus while holding a knife, Sebastian has become quite skilled at multitasking while tending to his lovesick heart with stolen glances and half-formed daydreams.

He becomes so distracted staring at the column of your neck that when he suddenly feels a bit dizzy, he merely attributes it to the thick, heavy air in the room.

—

Tuesday, October 6, 1891

“You look dreadful,” you tell Sebastian cheerfully as you take a seat at breakfast.

Across from you, Sebastian looks a sight. His generally unruly hair is sticking up in every direction, and his face, which until this morning had still been sun-kissed and freckled from his time carrying out summer chores in Feldcroft, is ghostly pale.

“Cheers,” he grumbles, his head in his hands as he stares down at a plate full of untouched tattie scones.

You know for a fact they’re his favorite. In fact, you’ve stolen countless scones from the Great Hall on weekends when he treats himself to a bit of a lie-in just to make sure there are some left for when he finally emerges, hair rumpled and cheeks creased with pillow lines.

“Late night?” you ask him as you pour yourself some juice.

“The opposite, actually,” Ominis explains. “Sebastian was asleep before I even finished my Runes assignment last night, and I practically had to drag him out of bed this morning.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” you comment, frowning. “You’re usually up half the night reading. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Sebastian shrugs weakly. “I’m fine, I just… It’s dreadfully warm in the castle, and my head is aching.”

Without thinking, you reach across the table and press the back of your hand against his forehead.

“You’re quite hot,” you mumble.

“Wh-what?” Sebastian stammers, his eyes going wide. “What did you do that for?”

“You have a fever,” you explain to him. “Old Muggle trick. And your eyes are quite glassy. I think you might be coming down with something.”

Ominis unsubtly slides further down the bench.

“I’m not sick,” Sebastian protests. “It’s just the heat, it’s making me tired.”

You eye him warily, and as if to prove that he’s not ill, Sebastian lifts one of his hoarded scones to his mouth and takes a bite.

“See?” he asks with his mouth full. “M’fine.”

You grimace. “Lovely.”

Sebastian determinedly joins you and Ominis for Potions and manages to remain upright until the very end of class. He sways just a bit as he gathers up his belongings, and you offer him your shoulder while you make your way toward the stairs to Divination.

He balks when he sees the twisting spiral steps.

“On second thought,” he mumbles, “I think I’ll skive off today and get some rest.”

“Will you be alright?” you ask him concernedly. “I can come with you…”

“No, it’s fine,” he insists. “I’ll just lie down for a bit and then I’ll be grand, I promise. Save a seat for me at dinner, will you?”

Later that evening you linger in the Great Hall until the last of dinner melts through the tables down to the kitchens below, but Sebastian never shows up.

—

Wednesday, October 7, 1891

“You do not want to go in there,” Ominis tells you warningly. “Trust me, he’s a mess.”

You scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Sebastian still hasn’t emerged from his dormitory in nearly eighteen hours, and you’re starting to worry for him. Ominis had brought him back some food from dinner the night before, but according to him, it had gone untouched.

When he’d failed to show his face at breakfast, you knew you had to step in.

“He wouldn’t want you to see him like this,” Ominis tries. “Sebastian is hardly a gentleman, but some things are sacred.”

“He’s our best friend,” you remind Ominis. “I really don’t care if he’s not entirely put together.”

Ominis opens his mouth as if to say more, and then seemingly changes his mind.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll tell Professor Sharp you’re tending to Sebastian, and I’ll ask Amit if you can borrow his notes.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Ominis,” you breathe, quickly pulling him in for a hug. “What would we do without you?”

“Rot in Azkaban, most likely,” he grumbles, which… is fair.

Once Ominis leaves for class, you gently knock on the seventh-year boys’ dormitory door. “Sebastian? Can I come in?”

Through the door, you hear him whine, “Go ‘way.”

“Sebastian,” you call out patiently. “Ominis told me you’re sick, and you haven’t gotten out of bed in too long. I’m coming in.”

He protests weakly from his bed as you open the door and slip inside, carefully pressing it closed behind you. As you’d expected, his other roommates have all gone for the day. Only Sebastian remains – or at least, you think it’s Sebastian.

All you can see sticking out from underneath the pile of pilfered blankets on his bed is a mess of curly, brown hair.

“Oh, dear,” you sigh.

“Jus’ leave me alone,” he mumbles from beneath the covers. “...I think I’m sick.”

“Finally facing the music, are you?” you tease him, taking a seat at the foot of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like death warmed over,” he groans. “I’ve never been this ill before.”

“Should I take you to see Nurse Blainey?” you ask him. “I know you can’t have Pepperup Potion, but perhaps she has something else that would help.”

“No,” he sighs. “Ominis already sent for her, she said I’m a dafty and I’ll be fine in a coupl’a days.”

You bite back a laugh at Sebastian’s deteriorating accent; for how posh he usually sounds, apparently that rougher Feldcroft vernacular tends to slip out when he’s feeling poorly.

“Poor lamb,” you croon. “Can I do anything for you? Have you eaten?”

“M’not hungry,” he sulks. “Ominis made me drink some water before he left.”

You hum softly as you start to slowly pull his piles of blankets down low enough that you can see his face. Quickly you realize that Ominis had been exaggerating – Sebastian doesn’t look entirely a mess.

His eyes are a bit wet and glassy, you observe, and his nose is bright red from persistent rubbing with a handkerchief abandoned on his bedside table. He looks a little swollen beneath his jaw, but otherwise, he looks like he’d merely stayed awake all night, and you’ve seen a sleepless Sebastian countless times throughout your friendship.

There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw that you’ve never noticed before; it’s the same rich brown color as his wild, unkempt hair.

(Honestly, how dare he still look handsome even when he’s ill.)

“Hello, you,” you tease him in a voice just above a whisper. “Was beginning to wonder if you were even there under all those blankets.”

“I’m cold,” he complains.

“That’s the fever talking,” you tell him. “You should probably–”

But before you can tell him that he’d be better off with less covers, the blankets shift lower and you realize he’s not wearing a pajama shirt.

(Your disobedient mind immediately raises the question of whether he’s wearing anything at all, and subsequently, if you could get away with having a look. Immediately you scold that particular thought away.)

“Er, you should… don’t overheat yourself,” you finish lamely.

He’s flushed down to his chest, fever-pale skin burning red where the blankets had been piled on top of him. You discover that he’s got a thin smattering of hair here, too; he’s grown into the body of a man much sooner than many of your classmates, you imagine.

Sebastian watches as you swallow, your own eyes raking down his body.

“You’re missing class,” he observes. “You never miss class.”

“It’ll be alright, just this once,” you say softly.

For a moment you aren’t sure if you’re talking about missing class or being in Sebastian’s bed.

Then Sebastian suddenly starts to cough and hastily reaches for his handkerchief. He sounds utterly pathetic as he coughs and groans in discomfort, rolling onto his side and looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

“My chest hurts,” he whimpers. “I’ve been coughing all night.”

You reach across him and gently stroke the backs of your fingers down the middle of his chest. His skin is noticeably hot to the touch and damp with sweat.

“I can put some Muggle herbs in a warm compress for your chest,” you offer. “I know they’re not as effective as a potion would be, but it always helped me feel better when I was a child.”

“Alright, I suppose that’d be nice,” he mumbles.

But when you move to stand, he quickly snags your wrist.

“Wait,” he says. “Er… where would you go? For how long?”

“Well, I’ll have to go see if Nurse Blainey has any, and if not I can go look at the edge of the Forbidden Forest,” you explain. “It might take a bit of time, I’m afraid.”

“Then, just… stay,” he whines. “Keep me company? That’s better than some plain old herbs.”

You shift onto the bed, curling up on your side behind Sebastian. It’s a tight fit, and you’re dangerously close to falling off the edge, but you’re able to leave enough space between your bodies that you can make the argument that it’s friendly, and it’s fine.

“Can I rub your back?” you ask him softly. “It might help with the soreness.”

You have no idea if it will help his aching body, but you’re eager to try it nonetheless.

“Go on,” Sebastian rasps. “I… I might fall asleep.”

“You should,” you croon. “Your body’s telling you that you need to rest.”

“S’pathetic,” he grumbles. “I never get sick.”

“You had a good run,” you tease him. “But the common cold comes for us all eventually.”

He falls silent after that, his leanly muscled arms curled around a pillow while you stroke your hand up and down the length of his back. He’s so warm, and you’re a bit anxious about letting him ride out a fever as long as he has, but soon he drifts off to sleep.

You learn two things while he rests: he snores when he’s on his back, and he frowns whenever you take your hands off of him.

—

Thursday, October 8, 1891

Ominis had managed to talk you into returning to your own dormitory for the night, promising to look after Sebastian while you got some rest. When you return the following morning, you find him in even worse condition.

His sheets are bunched down to his hips, and he’s still bare from the waist up. His entire body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, and the bags underneath his eyes have worsened – despite how much rest he’s getting, he seems more fatigued than ever.

“What happened?!” you ask Ominis.

“He’s had a fever all night,” Ominis says grimly, looking just as worn out as Sebastian. “He hasn’t eaten a thing, and I’ve barely been able to get him to drink some water.”

“Oh, Seb,” you sigh, taking his clammy hand and resting it in your lap as you sit on the edge of the bed. “You poor thing.”

“I think I’m dying,” he rasps. “This is it, right?”

“Hush now, there’s no need to be so dramatic,” you gently scold him, pressing your hand to his forehead. “You’re quite warm, but I’m not worried about your imminent demise.”

“I’m disgusting,” he groans. “I can’t stop coughing, I’m sweating everywhere, I feel like I’m going to be sick but there’s nothing to–”

He cuts himself off with several dry, pathetic coughs.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” you tell him firmly. “Ominis is going to go to class and come back this afternoon with some Muggle medicinals. In the meantime, I’m going to help you eat a bit of food and have a bath.”

“N-no, absolutely not,” he stammers. “You think I want you seeing me like this any more than you already have?”

“You’ll feel better,” you promise him. “And I swear I won’t, er… look, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You argue back and forth until Sebastian, utterly depleted of his typical stubbornness, loses energy and gives in. Ominis promises to stop by J. Pippin’s to see if the shopkeeper has any draughts suitable for Sebastian’s allergies before leaving to go to class, and you help Sebastian get out of bed with his arm around your shoulders and your own around his waist.

(He’s got pants on, thank Merlin, but you have to help him into a pair of pajamas to make the walk to the Slytherin baths.)

Sebastian balks when you enter the boys’ baths, but you both quickly learn there are no enchantments in place to keep you from joining him. You offer him an arm to lean on while he takes off his pajamas and coughs – this time pointedly – for you to turn around while he sinks into the lukewarm bath you’d drawn.

“This does feel nice,” he finally says once he’s settled in the opaque, murlap-scented water.

“Good,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice how your voice has gone up a bit higher than usual. “I’ll be back in a few moments with some fresh pajamas for you.”

“I’ll try not to drown while you’re gone,” he drawls, and even though he still sounds exhausted, you smile to yourself knowing that the bath is already helping him feel more like his usual self.

Hogwarts’ house elves were exceptionally fast in tidying up the boys’ dormitory while the two of you were out, so when you finally lead a clean, dry Sebastian back to his room, you’re thrilled to find freshly laundered sheets and a new pair of pillows waiting for him.

“Gods, I love magic,” he groans as he collapses into bed.

You stay all afternoon and into the evening. Ominis returns shortly before dinner with a brew from Parry Pippin himself, similar to the Pepperup Potion but with cinnamon instead of powdered bicorn horn.

(Sebastian seems to emit thin tendrils of steam straight from the top of his head after he drinks it, but he perks up all the same.)

Feenky herself brings a tray of soup and some leftover scones from breakfast once Sebastian regains his appetite. While he eats, he tells you about how he used to sit with Anne during the summers when she was particularly ill from her curse.

“At the time, I wondered if my being there was more of a help or a hindrance,” he says ruefully. “She was… hard to read, then. I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed by me or appreciated me staying.”

You pause before shyly asking, “Am I helping? By being here?”

“Of course,” he says without thinking.

“Then I’m sure you were helping Anne, even when she was annoyed,” you tell him reassuringly. “That’s all we ever want to do really, isn’t it? Help the ones we love?”

Sebastian glances up at his tray with an inscrutable expression on his face. His eyes are still glassy and he’s a bit peaky, but the cinnamon-laced, not-quite-Pepperup Potion has restored some of the usual warmth in his gaze.

“Right,” he echoes. “Help the ones we love.”

You end up staying the night in the boys’ dormitory. Only Ominis knows you’re there, as he draws the curtains around the both of you before the boys’ other roommates return from the common room. Given that Sebastian seems to be feeling better already, it’s not strictly necessary.

But it feels nice all the same.

—

Friday, October 9, 1891

Sebastian’s fever finally broke during the night.

When you wake up he’s wrapped around you from behind, one of his legs jammed between yours with his arm curled possessively around your waist.

You’re sweltering, but he’s cool to the touch.

“Sebastian,” you whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

Judging by the way sunlight pours over the top of Sebastian’s bed curtains, it’s well past when you’d usually wake up during the school week. You can’t hear any other snoring boys around you, either.

“Sebastian,” you hiss. “Wake up.”

He groans tiredly into your hair as his arm tightens around your waist. “No.”

“N-no?!” you sputter. “It’s morning! We… we should, er.”

You trail off when you realize you aren’t quite sure what you should be doing. Evidently you’ve missed breakfast, and you’ve likely missed the start of Potions for the third day in a row. Professor Sharp will have no choice but to give you a detention; just as well, you suppose, as you can use the time to make up what you’ve missed.

But now that the damage is done…

“How are you feeling?” you ask him softly, your eyes still fixed on the green curtains in front of your face.

“Loads better,” he says, only this time his lips are pressed against the sensitive spot behind your ear.

You gasp as he rolls more of his weight toward you, pressing you more firmly into the mattress.

“Sebastian…” you sigh.

“I had a dream about you last night,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper beneath your ear. “I’ve heard Pepperup Potion can give one strange dreams.”

“St-strange?” you whisper back. “Why was it a strange dream?”

“I suppose it wasn’t really ‘strange,’” he acquiesces. “But it was nice. Really nice.”

“Tell me about it?” you ask breathlessly.

“Perhaps I’ll show you instead,” he asks, and when you nod, he slides his hand down to your hip and turns you onto your back.

Then quite suddenly he’s leaning over you, one knee still between your thighs. He rests on his elbows so his face is just centimeters from yours, and it’s the first time you’ve gotten a good look at him since the boys put out last night’s fire.

Sebastian looks so much better. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are clear and bright, and the sickly sheen of sweat he’d worn for days is entirely gone. (His hair is still a bird’s nest, but that’s to be expected.)

“We were like this,” he tells you.

“Were we just talking?” you ask him, but you’re met with only silence.

After a beat, he asks you, “Why have you been so kind to me this week?”

“You’re my best friend,” you tell him softly. “I – I wanted to help you feel better.”

“Is that all I am?” he asks. “Am I simply your friend?”

You bite your lip hesitantly and his gaze dips down to your mouth, his brown eyes nearly black in the soft morning light.

“Do you want to kiss me, Sebastian?” you ask.

Rather than answering, he surprises you by leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he lifts one of his hands to gently tip your face toward his, cradling your jaw while he deepens the kiss into one that’s hardly sweet at all.

It feels like it’s perhaps the first time in days that Sebastian has felt hunger.

You gasp his name into his mouth and then he’s the one biting your lip, just a quick graze of his teeth before he soothes your ensuing whine with another slow kiss. He shifts his weight onto his hip to rest on the mattress beside you, using that leg between yours to coax you into lying next to him. He rewards your body’s assent with a filthy kiss – the kind you’ve only read about in those Muggle romance novels you hide under your pillow, the kind where the hero kisses the girl with his tongue in her mouth and his hand in her blouse.

“Seb,” you moan.

“I didn’t know,” he confesses against your lips.

“Didn’t know what?” you whine.

“I didn’t know you loved me until last night,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours.

You’re so distracted by how red and swollen his lips look that you nearly miss him saying, “You stayed with me all week, you held me, practically healed me, and I still didn’t know.”

“Of course I love you,” you tell him.

“You love Ominis, you love Poppy,” he counters. “This – us – is different. Right?”

And the truth is, you would have done anything you’d done for Sebastian for any one of your friends. You would have helped Poppy into a warm bath and back into bed, and you would have sat at Ominis’ bedside all day and torn up pieces of scone to float on the surface of his soup.

But you would not have let them press you into their bedsheets and trace their lips along your neck, and right now Sebastian is eagerly doing both.

“Yes,” you whimper, both in answer to his question and as a plea for more.

“I love you, too,” he sighs against your jaw. “I have for ages, and I didn’t want you to see me all pathetic and poorly, but you still love me anyway.”

“I’ve loved you through worse,” you quietly remind him.

He nips at your throat for that remark; you’ve both agreed to speak of your fifth year as little as possible. Truly, the only reason you’d ever bring it up now is to remind Sebastian that you’ve long since made your choice – him, over duty and the law and perhaps even reason.

“Stay with me,” he pleads. “We have all morning, we have the dormitory to ourselves. Let me take care of you now.”

He pulls your thigh across his own and tangles his fingers in your sleep-mussed hair, holding you against his warm, bare chest.

“That’s tempting,” you breathe. “B-but perhaps we should check with Nurse Blainey, to see if you’re ready to return to–”

You cut yourself off with a gasp as he grinds his hips against yours. There’s no mistaking that he’s aroused, and that alone convinces you that he must be feeling well – you’re positive that he would’ve been too weak for this type of debauchery yesterday morning even if you’d gotten fully nude before him and begged.

“Trust me, I feel excellent,” he moans into your mouth. “Love, please.”

You don’t come up for air for a long while after that. By the time Ominis stops by during lunchtime to check on Sebastian, he nearly trips over your skirt, hastily tossed near the doorway.

“I take it you’re feeling better,” he deadpans.

“That potion of yours worked like a charm, Ominis,” Sebastian drawls. “Cinnamon, who would have thought?”

“I don’t suppose I mentioned that Muggles find cinnamon to be an organic aphrodisiac?” Ominis says innocently. “At least, that’s what Mister Pippin said. He told me you might have some rather amorous dreams while you recover.”

“No, I think you forgot to mention that,” Sebastian replies just as innocently.

Ominis simply hums and says, “Well, now that you’ve been made aware, I’ll be off to Herbology. I’d recommend locking the door if our dear friend is going to be keeping you company this afternoon, Sebastian.”

You’re too embarrassed to say a word, but Sebastian cheerfully thanks him as he pulls the door shut and reaches for his wand on his bedside table to magically lock it behind him.

“We’ve become menaces,” you whine as he rolls on top of you once more.

Sebastian grins wickedly down at you. “Not yet we haven’t, but thank Merlin we’ve got all afternoon.”

[seonghwaddict]

showering with ateez — masterlist

requested by anon. genre. hc, fluff rating. pg-13. warnings. showering together, kissing, mildly suggestive. wc. 944.

[ lilo’s notes . . . ] thank you for this request anon~ hope you enjoy it!! :3

hongjoong

you love your boyfriend very much, but you can’t deny that he’s a workaholic sometimes he’d forget to take care of himself, but luckily you’re there to help!

so when you notice he hasn’t showered in around three days, rotting on the couch with his work laptop glued to him, you gently walk over a hit the save button, closing the machine and setting it on the table before you pull him off the couch and into the bathroom.

he doesn’t protest, letting you wash him with the soft hands that he loves oh so much. he returns the favour happily, though lazily in his tired state. it’s a quiet activity, barely any words exchanged, but it’s comfortable and intimate in an innocent way.

seonghwa

seonghwa likes things clean and organised. which is why he usually showers twice a day—morning and night. while his morning showers are private and used partially to wake himself up, his nightly showers are reserved to be shared with you.

it happened once, then again, and soon enough it became a routine. you arrive home just slightly earlier than him, and when he comes he wastes no time in pulling you into the master bedroom and then the bathroom.

it’s usually a quick shower, helping each other scrub areas that were hard to reach. and afterwards he dries you off and dresses you and forces you to rest on the couch as he prepares some dinner.

yunho

he’s the one that asks you to shower with him.

he absolutely love love loves the feeling of you washing his hair for him. and when you’re not doing that, he’s clinging to you and just holding you under the pouring shower head. he especially likes using shampoo that will make plenty of bubbles.

if you’re having a bad day, he likes to be the one to take care of all the work—washing your hair and massaging you in the warm shower.

yeosang

he wouldn’t be one to share a shower or anything but i think yeosang would prefer a bath with you. sitting in a warm pool of water and bubbles, relaxed enough to just fall asleep right there.

he’s so shy at first, not wanting to face you but he’ll relax soon enough and have you sit between his legs, facing him with your legs around his lower torso. not a lot of washing gets done, instead the two of you just converse softly and enjoy each other’s presence.

using the bubbles to make a beard and moustache so he can hear your pretty laugh. practically falling asleep against the back of the tub as you rub the vanilla scented soap on his body, drawing little patterns.

san

he loves showering with you, especially after activities in the bedroom. whether or not there’ll be another round in the shower completely depends on you, he’s always happy to cater to what you want.

he prefers for you to sit on the little shower bench, kneeling on the floor to wash legs and areas easier to access in this position. after that he’ll stand up behind you and give you a light massage, occasionally pressing fleeting kisses to your wet hair.

though you try to return the favour and help him get clean, he scolds you playfully and tells you to relax. when it’s all done and your both dried off and in clean clothes, he makes sure to coddle and pamper you for the rest of the night.

mingi

he’s not for or against to showering with you, per se. some days he loves nothing more than to feel your wet skin against his, other days he needs his own space.

usually he loops his arms around your waist and pulls you close, letting the water hit his back as he hugs you. when he’s satisfied, he takes a step back to let you do whatever you need to do in the shower while he takes care of himself.

some days he’s the opposite of the above, way more affectionate throughout the whole process. his hands caress your body and occasionally his lips find yours and kiss you gently. then he’ll whine about getting soap in his mouth.

wooyoung

jung wooyoung is a very playful man and that extends into every activity, thank you very much.

of course, he constantly checks if you’re comfortable, asking before he touches you in any way. but once you give him the green light, he’s playfully flicking water at you. he can’t help but tease you.

he clings to you from behind while his hands slide all over you, mouthing at your neck and shoulders affectionately as you whine because you’re just trying to shower. but, really, you love him and whatever he’s doing. and for a moment you think the situation will take a turn, but then he’s pressing one last kiss to the back of your neck and smearing a dollop of bubbles on your cheek before he steps out, giggling as he wraps a towel around his waist and walks out of the bathroom while you’re left in the shower in bewilderment.

jongho

he’s not big on showering with you, either. but! he does like calming baths.

jongho specifically likes to light some candles in the bathroom before sinking into the warm water with you. you’re sat between his legs with your back pressed against his front, the dense bubbles concealing your intertwined bodies beneath the water.

it’s a really intimate atmosphere; bathing with you. his hands caress your waist, hips and thighs, underwater as his chin rests on his shoulders. neither of you say much, other than him humming little songs or muttering sweet nothings into your ear.

　　[ networks ... ] @cromernet @blankjournal

　　[ perm taglist — open ... ] @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo

[sansaorgana]

I had a dream last night for Buck, and it's kinda a cute request idea ✨️

So like obvious Buck x Reader, them being married after the war and they have a daughter that was like 3 years old. But the boys were there too Bucky, Rosie and Croz (who also bought his daughter with him) and everyonemet up at a park.

The two children were ✨️forcing✨️ the males to play with them and at the end of the day they were renamed to Uncle Bubu (bucky), Uncle Rose, Uncle Bug (buck) and Uncle Croco (don't ask me why or how but I dreamt it like that 😂)

hello! thank you for these requests 💝 the story is so adorable and domestic, I wish I could live in it, honestly 😭 I looked up popular 1940s girl names because I didn't feel comfortable with looking up the name of real Crosby's daughter for obvious reasons lol 😅

I have about 10 requests with Buck at the moment in my inbox to write lol (and one about Bucky) so please, go easy with them for a while 👉🏻👈🏻 especially that I also want to open my requests for Feyd, too 🤩

Little Gloria had been excited since the early morning for the arrival of uncle Bucky. Her godfather lived in a different part of the country and she was seeing him only a few times a year.

You were in the kitchen, preparing Bucky’s favourite food to greet him with it, while Gloria was on Gale’s lap as they were both sitting by the window to make sure not to miss Bucky’s arrival.

When she started to squeal and clap her hands, you realised that Bucky had to be already outside.

“What the hell,” your husband muttered and you furrowed your brows.

“What? Did he bring some lady?” You asked and approached the window curiously.

Bucky’s car was parked on your driveway but he was not the only one leaving it. However, there was no lady but two other men and a little girl who looked more less your daughter’s age.

“Who are these people?” You asked Gale. You didn’t know every person your husband had served with personally.

“The one with the moustache is Rosie and the other one is Harry Crosby,” he looked up at you. “I guess the girl is Crosby's daughter. She should be about a year older than our little Gloria,” he put your daughter down on the floor because she was getting impatient to finally run outside and greet her favourite uncle.

“Well, I don’t mind finally getting to know them but we don’t have enough beds for them all to stay over,” you worried.

“We’ll settle it somehow, come,” Gale stood up and took your hand to lead you to the hall.

Gloria was already waiting by the door and struggling to reach the doorknob. Gale chuckled at her and opened the door for her as she ran outside. Bucky smiled widely at the sight of her and crouched down as he opened his arms. Gloria hurried to hug him and you followed her.

“Hello, Princess,” Bucky squeezed her tight and carried her up. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Cleven,” he greeted you and your husband with a wink. “I’ve gathered some company on the way, I hope you don’t mind,” he pointed at the men behind him. “Little reunion, how about that?”

“Oh, it’s nice to finally meet you!” You reached your hand out towards the man with the moustache.

“Nice to finally meet you, too, Mrs. Cleven. I’m Rosie,” he introduced himself.

“Please, I’m just (Y/N),” you giggled and shook his hand before reaching it to another man.

“Harry Crosby,” he nodded at you. “And that little lady is Connie,” he introduced his daughter. “My wife wanted a weekend for herself and I thought that it would be nice if our daughters could meet. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I hope you don’t mind us in general,” Rosie added.

“I don’t mind at all,” you chuckled nervously as your husband hugged Crosby and Rosie. Little Connie was staring at him with big wide eyes before shyly hugging him, too.

“Hello, Connie,” Gale booped her on the nose and she giggled. “I’m uncle Buck and this is aunt (Y/N),” he pointed at you.

“Connie, what do we say?” Harry looked down at her.

“Hello,” she blushed.

“Oh, she’s adorable,” you smiled.

“I am adorable, too!” Gloria exclaimed. “Right, uncle Bucky?”

“Of course!” He assured her with a laugh and kissed her on the cheek.

Gale helped Rosie to get the bags out of the trunk and you all walked inside and into the living room, chatting about the weather and what the ride had been like.

“I’m a little worried about the beds,” you explained. “Girls can sleep together, we have a guest bedroom that I have prepared for Bucky. Someone can sleep on the sofa of course. But we’re still one bed short,” you sighed.

“A professional worrier,” Gale teased you. “She’s like you, Croz.”

“Excuse me, that seems like a serious problem to me!” You put your hand on your hips.

“You’re really adorable, (Y/N),” Bucky patted your shoulder and you furrowed your brow. “We’re military men. We can sleep on the floor,” he explained.

In the evening you were all sitting in the garden while Gale was managing the barbecue and you were helping him. Bucky – as energetic as always – was running around with Connie and Gloria. Rosie and Croz were sitting by the table and drinking beer while watching them and you were sighing every time one of them ran over your flower patch.

“Daddy, daddy, look!” Gloria was calling for Gale all the time, hoping he would join the fun.

“Go to them,” you pushed his shoulder lightly. “I’ll take care of the grill,” you promised.

Your husband leaned in to place a kiss upon your cheek and ran to Gloria, trying to catch her and attack her with tickles. Harry put the bottle of beer down and did the same to his daughter.

Rosie stood up and joined you by the barbecue as if you needed a male’s assistance while turning the meat and vegetables over.

“I can handle that, really,” you chuckled. “You men act like we haven’t been managing everything on our own while you were gone,” you pointed out.

“You have?” He asked playfully and you rolled your eyes.

“Do all people in New York run their mouths?” You asked with a cheeky smile.

“Yes,” he winked at you.

“Then I wonder why I wasn't born there,” you laughed.

“You run your mouth, too, Mrs. Cleven?”

“Gale thinks so sometimes. Right, Gale?” You looked at him and he furrowed his brows at you. Little Gloria was sitting on his shoulders as he was pretending to be an aeroplane.

“What?” He asked.

“I’m telling Rosie how you think I run my mouth sometimes,” you explained.

“A lot,” he answered before turning around and ignoring you once again, focusing on the play-pretend.

“Rude,” you mumbled and sighed while Rosie chuckled.

“Love and marriage, eh?” He asked.

“Love and marriage,” you nodded and took one of the plates to put the sausage and potatoes on it from the grill. “We’re out of ketchup,” you pointed out. “I’ll go for it,” you told Rosie and he nodded his head as he took the plate from you to put it on the table.

You went inside to the kitchen but the phone rang as you were opening the fridge. It was your mother calling so you stayed on the line for about ten minutes, chatting about the upcoming weekend with the guests and asking her about the new recipes she had been trying recently. When you were finally done, you grabbed the ketchup bottle from the fridge and went back outside.

You froze at the sight of four adult men running around with two little girls giggling and laughing as they were trying to catch them. Bucky was standing on the garden chair that was barely stable on the grass and Rosie was wearing a cap made out of an old science magazine that had been laying on the garden table for a month now because Buck had been insisting that he was still reading it.

You focused mostly on him – your husband. His cheeks were flushed and golden hair was ruffled, reminding you of a little boy. It brought a smile to your face to see his eyes sparkling with joy. Ever since he was back from the war, his beautiful blue eyes were often filled with melancholy but in rare and pure moments they reminded you of the Buck you had met all those years ago. And nothing was bringing you more happiness than his joy.

“Gloria,” you put the ketchup bottle on the table and smiled at your daughter, “Nana called and she sent you a million kisses,” you told her.

“Oh!” Gloria smiled widely. “I’m sending her a million, zillion kisses back!” She told you. “Mummy, look at uncle Rose, he’s a sailor,” she pointed her finger at Rosie.

“Uncle Rose?” You laughed and he winked at you.

“And daddy’s uncle Croco,” Connie approached you shyly to tell you.

“Croco, mhm,” you smiled at her. “And that handsome fella?” You pointed at Bucky who was grinning like an idiot.

“Uncle Bubu, at your service, ma’am,” he saluted you and nearly fell off of the chair as everyone laughed at him.

“Guess what’s our daddy!” Gloria pulled on your skirt excitedly.

“I’ve no idea,” you shook your head.

“Just guess!”

“Uncle Bucket?” You tried as Gloria and Connie giggled and Buck shot you an annoyed glance.

“Uncle Bug,” Gloria revealed.

“Oh!” You laughed. “I’ll try to remember all of these,” you promised. “Now, it’s time to eat, uncles-funny-names,” you told the men and arranged all the plates on the table. Connie started helping you without being told to and you looked at your daughter. “Do you see that, Gloria, how Connie’s helping me?” You asked her but she only rolled her eyes with a sigh and sat on Gale’s lap.

“Connie is older than me! When I’ll be as old as her, I will do that, too!” She told you and you laughed because she apparently wasn’t realising that the age difference between them was only a year

“I will remember that,” you assured her.

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[sadesluvr]

Turbulence

You join the mile-high club with a mysterious English gentleman. 

A/N: First BT fic! Been obsessed with this movie, and just had to make something with one of our favourite assassins. I had to do a weird amount of research on flying for this... It won’t be my last so follow for more! :)

Set pre movie. 

Word count: 2.5K 

Tags: SMUT / Porn with little plot / Minor spoilers for references in Bullet Train (2022) / Unprotected sex / Creampies / Hookups / Mentions of birth control / Quickies / Canon-typical language / Canon-typical banter / Minors + Ageless blogs DNI

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome onboard Flight 4B7 to Tokyo. We are currently second in line for take-off and are expected to be in the air in approximately five minutes time. At this time, we ask you to please fasten your seatbelts and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartments. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and cell phones. Smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. I’m Goldie, and thank you for choosing our airline. Enjoy your flight!” 

Hanging the speaker up, you smoothed out your skirt as you fixed yourself to take the final walk before take-off. ‘Goldie’ wasn’t your real name of course, but a nickname given to you by a sleazy boss. You would’ve hated it, but you found that it greatly helped with creepy passengers who were searching for a place in the coveted ‘mile high club’, or those who simply flew with the intention of sleeping with flight attendants across the world. On the contrary, it was always cute when toddlers cooed your name from across the plane, calling for you as if you’d known them their entire life.  

As you pushed past the curtain to the business class, your eyes fell on a pair of men; one dark-skinned with curly dyed hair, the other with long, slicked back hair and a moustache. They wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary had the moustached man not been holding a phone to his ear. Great. There was always at least one person who never listened to the announcements, but there was something about those who rode in first or business class that held a different kind of entitlement entirely. 

Swallowing, you put on your best customer service and sauntered over to them. The dark-skinned man noticed you first, raising his brows before nudging the one next to him, who seemed deep into an important, but strained, conversation. 

“...Yeah, yeah. We get the kid and the briefcase, then the train to Kyoto...Yes, we know who we’re dealing with, I forwarded Lemon the briefing. Right, can we go now? Take-offs in two minutes --” 

“Excuse me,” you cut in. “You’re going to need to hang that up...” 

The man did a double take, holding his phone away from his ear as he glanced up at you. If it wasn’t his old English accent that captivated you, it was his eyes, a striking blue with hints of grey that seemed to stare directly into your soul.  

“I’m going now.” He said snarkily to the person on the phone before hanging up, placing the object into the pocket of his navy-blue suit before staring up at you with a charming, but cheeky smile. 

“My apologies darlin’,” he said, his voice as smooth as butter. “Work won’t give us a break.”  

“Don’t I know it?” you replied, shifting your weight as you prepared to move on. “Thank you, sir. Enjoy your flight...” you said before looking down at his hands; strong and adorned with gold rings.  

“...Nice watch.” You finished with a knowing smile. Given the parts of the broken conversation you’d heard, and the elaborate way they were dressed, you figured that they were at least some kind of secret service members - not that it was any of your business, of course. Still, there was something particularly arousing about the blue-eyed man in the three-piece navy suit with the nice watch, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you broke your ‘no-sex-on-the-job’ rule, just this once. If he wasn’t busy with mission stuff, of course. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He replied, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled, watching you as you walked off, admiring the questionably short length of your skirt in the process. Sitting back in his seat, he chuckled to himself before turning to see his brother Lemon hastily swiping through the movie selection on the screens. 

“The fuck are you doing?” 

“Tryin’ to see if they’ve got Thomas...” Lemon said matter-of-factly. “It’s alright though. I always come prepared.” he finished, tapping his laptop pointedly. Tangerine frowned, shaking his head as he sat back in his seat, side eyeing you as you made your way to your jumpseat in the corner.  

It was going to be a long journey, but at least he had a nice view. 

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

As soon as it had been safe to take seatbelts off, you’d wasted no time in making your way back down to the business area. The best part about the job was that you were able to walk about, getting a good glimpse at the passengers you thought were attractive – all under the guise of providing good customer service. The man with watch was reading a book, whilst the other seemed engrossed with whatever was on the screen, with his fingers covering his face in a concerned manner. They seemed like polar opposites, yet seemed to work so well together, something that made your job a lot easier when it came to seating passengers. If only everyone was like them. 

If it hadn’t been obvious, you were rather interested in the blue-eyed gentleman in particular. Whilst he hadn’t given you definite signs he was interested, you fixed your make up in your compact mirror regardless, and opened a button on your blouse so it was just a little lower than industry guidelines. It never hurt to try, and it certainly wasn’t as if you were going to see him again. 

Smiling, you guided a cart down the narrow aisles, stopping at the pair of men. 

“Refreshments?” 

The dark-skinned man, ‘Lemon’, as he had been referred to, answered first, eagerly pausing his screen to speak to you. 

“I’d love somethin’, love,” he said, holding the same accent as his partner. “D’ya have anything fizzy?” 

“Of course,” you hummed. “We have Coke – regular, Diet and Zero, Dr Pepper, Sprite, some SanPellegrino --” 

“I’ll have a Coke, love. Make it Diet...” he said, and you nodded, quickly finding the box for the right can. “It’s a shame ya don’t do any bubble milk tea up here...I got a real craving for one...” 

You laughed as you handed him the can. “Luckily for you Tokyo is full of great places to get one. You probably could even find one in their vending machines...Don’t get those in the West, do you?” 

“Certainly not in London,” he chuckled, opening the can and taking a swig before pursing his lips and tapping a finger on his chin. “Say, I don’t suppose you could settle a little argument for me, could you?”  “Oh here we go...” the other man interjected, drawing himself from his book to huff and look between the two of you. “Fucking unbelievable.” 

Lemon rolled his eyes.  

“That SanPellegrino of yours...Which flavour do you sell the most?” 

You bit your lip. 

“Depends...It’s usually lemon because people think it might taste like lemonade. The orange one never goes to waste, though...” 

Lemon gave the other man a pointed look, and he scoffed before looking at you. 

“Not to completely waste your time, love, but if you had to choose between a lemon or a tangerine...” he didn’t finish, probably because it would’ve pained him to, and moved his hands as if he were balancing weights on scales.  

You stared blankly between the two men, confused but utterly endeared. 

“Tangerines are good on their own, but lemons are far more versatile...”  “See?” Lemon said triumphantly, celebrating with himself before shaking your hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, darlin’.” He grinned before restarting his movie, moving on as if nothing had happened. You chuckled to yourself, conscious of the hundred other guests that needed you, but looked back to lock eyes with the other man, ready to ask him the same question. He wore a knowing smirk on his face, the curve of his pink lips still evident under his thick moustache and tutted chidingly. 

“Really thought you’d be on my side there, sweetheart,” he sighed. “Suppose you can’t trust everyone, can you?” 

“I’m sorry,” you pouted. “You must give it to him though. Lemons are pretty good.” 

“Darlin’ I don’t have a problem with the message, but the messenger,” he said, nodding to the man next to him. “He’s a grown arse lad watching Thomas, that one.” 

You chuckled, glimpsing at the screen to see that it was indeed correct. Shaking your head, you scanned the crafted features of his face before raising a brow. 

“So, what’s your poison?” 

“A gorgeous lady pushing a cart, it seems.” 

“Smooth,” you hummed, unable to ignore the way a dangerous heat shot through your stomach and down to your core, making your legs feel like jelly. He’d hardly done anything, and yet you were under his spell. “What would you like to drink?” 

“Nothin’ at the moment, love,” he grinned. “I’m a bit peckish, if anythin’...” 

Sighing, you quickly checked the man out again, this time eyeing his body. Broad shoulders, muscular thighs, thick legs...The total package.  

“Hurry, up! I’m thirsty!” Someone from across the aisles said. The man was about to argue, but you halted him, nodding in the direction where the voice came from.  

“I tell you what,” you said softly, lowering your voice as you stared into his eyes, your composure so controlled that it would’ve been impossible to tell that your heart was pounding in your chest as you spoke. “-- Us staff have our own snacks. If you meet me by the toilets in fifteen, I can get you some...” 

“Don’t leave me hangin’, sweetheart.” The man grinned, not-so subtly uncrossing his legs and giving a cheeky wink before you headed off down the aisle. Gripping onto the handle of the cart, you tried your hardest to walk straight, excitement boiling in your loins as you counted down those fifteen crucial minutes with every strained smile at a customer. 

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

He was there when you arrived. 

“Took ya’ long enough -” was all he said before cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a passionate kiss, pressing your body against the wall of the bathroom. It was by far the most glamorous place to have sex, but there was something about the sleaziness of it all (with such a put-together man, nonetheless) that made it that more enticing. His scent was an ode to his masculinity; aromatic and woody, and it consumed you as he kissed down your neck, nipping at your collarbone as his large hands caressed the sides of your body. You moaned, writhing your front against his pelvis, desperate to feel the outline of his erection against your own. Admittedly, you weren’t entirely sure what to do with your hands, settling to drape them around his neck in fear of messing up his hair. He seemed like a man who took pride in his appearance, and he certainly wasn’t going to be able to fix it up in an airplane bathroom. 

“Feel me, darling. I don’t bite...” he whispered, his hands now sliding between your thighs as he fought to push your panties to the side. You took this as a hint, and you combed your fingers through his roots with one hand, whilst the other fumbled to undo the button on his trousers, difficult to do with his considerable bulge. You let out a broken gasp as you felt his cock, likely over average sized with a nice girth, and he shuddered in response. 

“Goldie, is it? You’re a naughty one...” he sighed, slipping a finger into your wet cunt. 

“Mhmmm,” you crooned. “’S nickname. I don’t suppose you’ll give me yours?” 

“You’re a bright bird, ‘m sure ya figured it out.” 

“Tangerine, huh?” you hummed, throwing your head back as he began to finger fuck you, his gold rings adding the extra girth that would prepare you nicely for his cock. “I like tangerines...” 

“Ya didn’t seem to back there.” 

“Well, give me a reason to...” you chuckled, and he grinned, grunting before he hoisted your leg up around his waist, his cock dangerously near your entrance. 

“Better be quick,” you teased, staring at him through your lashes. “They’ll get suspicious if I’m not back in five.” 

Tangerine chuckled.  

“I can do that. Just know it’s not a reflection of me at my best.” he sniffed. 

“Good to know.” 

Your words were unfounded as he pushed into you, his girth filling you completely as you moulded perfectly around his cock, gripping onto his shirt as he began to buck his hips. The man grunted, accosting himself to the feel of your warm, wet hole – raw and unfiltered, sighing into the nape of your neck as he fucked you. He steadied himself with his hands, gripping onto your thigh with one as the other rested above you, lending him the luxury of staring into your eyes as he drilled you. 

“God...” you panted, your lips wet and raw from his kisses. “T-Tan -- You’re so good...” 

“That’s it, love,” he beckoned, words rolling off his tongue like honey as he rolled his hips deeper into you. “Say my name...” 

“Tangerine...” you whined, eyes fluttering shut as you drowned out the vacuum-like ambience around you, focusing on the small grunts and sweet nothings the man whispered into your ear, his warm breath sending chills up your spine. The room around you was making a slight creaking sound, and you barely even cared that your calf was banging slightly against the door.  

With every passing second his thrusts became more focused, solely intended to bring you both to that point of ecstasy- yet you didn’t doubt that Tangerine was the kind of man who made sure you finished, even if he himself didn’t.  

His hair was beginning to become undone now, brown strands falling in front of his face, just barely clouding his vision, but enough to make him look even hotter. Both of your shirts became more and more dishevelled as he pressed up against you, the muffled sound of his clothed thigh against your bare ones becoming more frequent as he growled, the sound coming from deep within his muscular chest. 

“Fucking hell, darlin’...’M gonna make a mess...” he hissed through laboured breaths. “I’ve gotta pull out --” 

“It’s alright,” you lulled, and you could’ve sworn that his cock twitched at the phrase. “I’m on the pill...” 

“You naughty girl...You’re gonna get me in trouble --” he groaned, throwing his head back as he gave you a few fast and sloppy pumps, shutting his eyes as you clamped down on him during your own release, creaming around his cock as he filled you with his own. You dug your nails into his clothes as you rode off your respective highs, hair and clothes askew as he rubbed small circles your trembling leg before lowering it to the ground. 

Panting, there was a brief silence as you dressed yourselves, with Tangerine preening himself in the tiny mirror. 

“You look good as gold.” You said with a smirk, fixing your hat.  

“Thanks,” he said with a broad smile, popping some gum into his mouth as he looked you up and down. “You’re a dime a dozen, y’know? Fly this route often?” 

“Sometimes,” you hummed, opening the door so that the sign no longer read ‘occupied’. “Why, are you thinking of coming back?” 

“I’ll be headed to Kyoto,” he said, looking around before he stepped out. “Maybe I’ll catch you there.” 

“Yeah,” you grinned, fixing the final button on your shirt. He’ fucked you so good you could barely even remember what your next journey was. “Maybe.” 

[sserpente]

What makes a Loki a Loki?

Synopsis: Every time the TVA annihilates a timeline in order to “fix” the universe, Variants get left behind. Variants who then get taken to the TVA to be either brainwashed or pruned, deleted from existence. But not you. Not those who fight back. As part of a rebellion against the ruthless time police, you live a life on the run, a life as a nomad, dedicating yourselves to one goal: To destroy the TVA just like it intends to destroy you. Nothing could have prepared you for the God of Mischief himself to interfere with those plans. So what happens when he finds out that in order to protect yourself, you pretended to be a Loki yourself?

A/N: *tiptoes in quietly, gently puts the oneshot on your dashboard, tiptoes out again* This should have been posted weeks ago. I’m so sorry. I was in a writing slump and then I neglected it altogether because I was playing Baldur’s Gate 3 literally non-stop. Also threw in a request from @jazziefeybaby as it fit really well here, you’ll see! ;) SO, WHO IS EXCITED FOR SEASON 2 BECAUSE I AM!

Words: 4421 Warnings: semi-public smut

You skittered around the corner into a narrow alley. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Barbed wire, right in front of you. You didn’t slow down and took a deep breath instead. As soon as you were close enough, you jumped, pushing yourself off the brick wall with one foot to grab the very top of the wire. Pain rippled through your palm, a sticky wetness almost making you lose your grip but you pushed through and pulled yourself up.

With a lot more grace than you would have expected from yourself, you landed and kept on running. The man who was chasing you looked familiar but, being more concerned with your survival, you hadn’t taken the luxury of studying his face. He seemed more skilled, faster than the others.

You’d still outrun him. You knew these streets well enough to find your way about blindly. And that was exactly the reason why you came to a halt with a start, surprised and shocked to find the man chasing you appear right in front of you. Your eyes widened. For just a split second, you allowed yourself to take in his features.

Long black hair, a sharp jawline and cheekbones to die for, thin lips, and piercing blue eyes… there was no doubt. You had seen this man before. But it couldn’t be…

You turned on your heel, ready to bolt in the opposite direction when you saw the strange man charge toward you yet again. An illusion. The man who had appeared in front of you was an illusion…

“Nice try, you fucker…” you muttered. You turned yet again, running off. It wasn’t until you saw the illusion flicker and solidify that you realised your mistake. A groan escaped your lips when you collided with a hard chest, all air knocked from your body. The recoil threw you off balance and you tumbled to the hard asphalt, hurting your already bleeding palms further. They were burning like hell, adding to your anger. He had teleported. That fucker had teleported.

You glared at the questionable TVA agent, ripping off the black mask covering your face from the nose down. He had you. For now, it was game over. “Who the hell are you?”

The stranger’s lips parted, a frown growing on his face. He was about to speak up when you were joined by another TVA agent with grey hair and a moustache. He slowed down, out of breath entirely.

“Well done, Loki.” Loki. “T-take her,” he continued then, waving at the Minutemen in their silly armour. You growled when they grabbed you by the collar and pulled you back on your feet, fastening one of those ridiculous time displacement collars around you.

They had to drag you through the time door they opened all the while Loki kept on watching you in silence… and, if you were not mistaken, fascination.

“Take her to the interrogation rooms, I’ll be right with you,” the TVA agent with the moustache announced. Loki led the way and the Minutemen holding on to your arms to keep you in check retreated. You would have called them fools if you hadn’t witnessed a live demonstration of Loki’s powers only a moment ago. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

“Sit,” he said upon entering the room, pointing to a table with three chairs—one on one side, the other two on the opposite side. You rolled your eyes. The only reason you did as you were told, so you told yourself, was because your feet were tired from all the running, and thus made a point of it by crossing your arms before your chest.

“If you think I’m going to tell you anything at all, you’re a fool.”

Loki scoffed. “We’ll see about that,” he said, narrowing his blue eyes at you. “Let’s start with something easy. What’s your name? You already know mine by now. I am Loki, of Asgard.”

It was truly one of him then. You would have laughed out loud if it wasn’t for your fucked-up situation. So you told him your name coldly. A nickname, no last name. He didn’t deserve that information yet.

“Look, the more you resist, the harder you are going to make this for yourself. I know from personal experience. They can be quite brutal.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why we’ve been running from them.  And yet…” You smiled at him mockingly. “Here you are, right among them, wearing a TVA uniform.”

“Desperate circumstance,” was all he replied. “It’s complicated.”

It was on you to scoff this time.

“I understand that your group has been wanted by the TVA for a while now. Why? Who are you? Why are they hunting you down?” He stared at you for a few moments. It was like a game at this point. Who would blink first?

“Shit, you really don’t know, do you? They didn’t tell you a thing. Shouldn’t surprise me.”

Loki leaned back. “Tell me.”

“You’re serious,” you spat. “They recruited you to chase us and you don’t even know of the crimes we’ve allegedly committed?”

The God of Mischief remained silent. You had him—for now.

“So? What is a Loki Variant doing working with the TVA of all horrible corporations then? What desperate circumstances prompted you to team up with the enemy?”

“Mobius is not an enemy.”

You shrugged. “He is to me.”

The God of Mischief appeared to think about it for a moment. It was like he was contemplating whether you were telling the truth. Just before you could offer him another snarky remark, however, the TVA agent in question entered the room, breaking the intense eye contact between the two of you for just a fraction of a second.

He sat down as if this was a casual business meeting, fixing his tie in the process. “Any luck yet?”

“Define luck,” Loki said without taking his eyes off of you.

“Well… Loki has probably told you by now but I’m Agent Mobius. And listen, let me make one thing clear. You don’t wanna get on Loki’s bad side.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“Maybe. It could be. Or you could just tell us what you know.”

“And then die anyway? Or turn into a brainless TVA agent like you? No. I’d rather keep my dignity and my pride before I kick the bucket.”

Mobius sighed. “Who is your leader?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“How many of you are there?”

“More than one, clearly.”

You smirked all the while Loki kept glaring at you as if he was trying to figure you out. Which he probably was.

“You’re not going to leave this place either way. But if you cooperate now, then I can make sure to make this more comfortable for you, alright?”

“What? So you won’t wipe my memory, perhaps? Hire me like a puppet? Like him?” You nodded at Loki with your chin. “I’d rather die a slow and painful death.”

Much to your surprise though, Mobius smirked with a start. “Does she remind you of someone?”

Loki did not take his eyes off of you for a second. “Yes. Indeed she does.”

“You don’t think she could be…”

“One of me? Doubtfully. She has no powers or if she does, she was very good at hiding them.”

You frowned, overwhelmed by sudden hot flush. There was no way he could guess that…  “Powers? What are you on about?”

“Who are they, exactly? This group she belongs to,” Loki asked, ignoring you entirely.

“We call them time breakers. Rebels whose only purpose is to kill—us.”

You scoffed. “Wow, you really believe that, don’t you?”

“Oh, were you not trying to kill me back there?”

“I was. And I would try again. But not for the whitewashed reason you believe I would.”

Mobius sighed. “We understand that there is a small group of you here in Manhattan. Why don’t you tell us where your friends are? We could… help.”

“No,” you said dryly, crossing your arms before your chest again.

Mobius sighed once more. “Okay, you know what, let’s continue this tomorrow. See if you’re more approachable after a good night’s sleep. Then you can get patched up too,” he said, pointing at your injured hands.

“Hardly. Hope is a tedious thing.”

The TVA agent ignored your comment. “Thanks for your help today, Loki. Will you take her to the cells? Just in case she tries something.”

You rolled your eyes and stood, too proud to be dragged about again. Right before you could make your way to the door, however, Loki grabbed your arm. “There is something else.”

“What?”

“You looked at me like you recognised me.”

“I did not,” you said quickly. “Clearly I did not.”

You could only hope that the God of Lies himself would fall for your words, for he could not know under any circumstances that this man, the infamous leader of the time breakers… was a Loki too.

Loki led you to the cells without a word. One of the Minutemen guarding it opened one of them for you to step in, seemingly used to agents bringing in new prisoners without asking questions. But unlike what you expected, Loki entered the cell with you.

“Comfy,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “But I actually have a bed. Perhaps I’ll like it here after all.”

“We’re alone now. You recognised me. Don’t deny it.” Damn it.

You rolled your eyes, anxiety rippling through you. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes. You do.”

You scoffed. “Do you wanna know why they’re really hunting us, Loki?”

He waited for you to continue. “It’s because they fucked up. You know how they destroy entire timelines, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, some of us didn’t take kindly to being… annihilated, to be wiped from existence. One of us… one of us was the first, he got away and he came for others, taking them under his wing and building an army with but one goal—to bring down everything the TVA stands for. I’m what they call a Variant, Loki. I’m just trying to survive. And if that means that I have to destroy those who aim to destroy me, I will. You of all people should know.”

“Me?”

You scoffed once more. “You’re a Variant too, aren’t you? It’s as clear as daylight.” You knew he was, so the question was a rhetorical one. He looked just like him, only this Loki… this Loki right before you, he seemed… softer. Gentler. He was just as handsome of course and yet… there was something about him that attracted you to the point it scared you.

“So there you have it. You captured me for a death sentence—but you already know that. They’re never gonna let me go. According to them, I shouldn’t exist. And I’d rather live a life on the run rather than become a mindless soldier like the others. Like you,” you spat. You’d attempted to despise him in the interrogation room. You just… couldn’t.

Loki swallowed. He studied you quietly for a moment and sat down on the edge of the small desk in the cell.

“I’m just like you,” you repeated. “You should be joining me, us, instead of working with them.”

“You don’t know Mobius like I know him. He is not a bad person.”

“Oh yeah?”

“No. He is not what you think he is.” His blue eyes darkened, yours widening when he stepped closer to you.

“Don’t you think we both know how corrupt the TVA is? I understand. I understand your pain and I understand your anger. You don’t have a home. Mobius and I, we can give you one. Not here at the TVA, not as an agent. But in order for us to do that, you have to tell us what you know. Some Variants, they are… dangerous. That Variant who leads you...”

You gnashed your teeth, meeting his piercing gaze. Perhaps that was your mistake. You swallowed.

Loki’s face fell. “He’s a Loki…”

“What?”

“He’s a Loki, is he not?”

You tightened your jaw, remaining silent.

“So that is why you recognised me.”

Oh, fuck it. “Well, unlike you, he truly is a saviour, Loki.”

You didn’t know what to expect from him after that. But certainly not that he would sigh, turn around… and leave the cell, leaving you behind pondering over what the hell had just happened.

He knew. Not just about you following another Loki but also… the effect that he had on you. Both of them. Mobius had kept his so-called promise. You were not going anywhere. Day in and out, they asked you more questions you refused to answer and even started taking you out on the field with them in the hopes you’d sooner or later provide useful information to them. You were on edge, constantly.

The more time you spent with him, the more Loki made you feel things you’d never thought possible. He might have figured out that he was not the first Variant you were dealing with—but he had still not yet found out how you had managed to survive that well.

It was an accomplishment you were rather proud of. The double deception had you reel with excitement and even superiority, for they were desperate for your secrets. Desperate. That’s what they truly were. Both Mobius, Loki, and the entire TVA were reaching for straws at this point. They needed all the help they could get—perhaps that was why you were still alive. Perhaps that was why they hadn’t turned you into a mindless agent. Or perhaps Loki had convinced them to keep you just the way you were.

You had seen the way he looked at you when he thought you didn’t notice. There was a silent admiration in his blue gaze whenever you caught him, along with an urge you hadn’t quite been able to place until you started spending more time together. It was desire. Carnal desire. And whatever connection there was between you, he was giving in to it.

It became a game all too soon. The subtle looks, the dancing around one another—wondering, preying on who would cave first. Sex was not off the table, you had realised that much. Neither of you needed to speak the word to agree that this was inevitably what your odd relationship would lead to. It was a circumstance Mobius had not failed to notice.

“I digress… is there something you want from me?” The man Mobius had managed to track down wasn’t quite part of your group. In fact, he’d tried to kill you before he had realised who you were, or rather… who you had pretended to be.

You kept in the background, quiet and observing, ensuring the slimy git wouldn’t catch a glimpse of your face. You didn’t even know his name.

“You’re hiding something,” Loki whispered with a start.

You flinched. His breath was a little too close for your liking. He enjoyed doing that, so you’d realised. Creeping up on you, catching you off guard like he was a predator and you were his prey.

“No shit?”

“I’m not talking about the Time Breakers. You know this man. Who is he?”

Frowning, you took a step back only to collide with a pillar. Damn it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Instead of responding, Loki nudged you forward—and right into view of the git as you lost your balance and tumbled a little.

“You? Shit, they’re with you? I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I apologise.”

“He’s afraid of you,” Loki stated with wonder in his voice.

You rolled your eyes. “What? Is that so unbelievable?”

“Actually, yes.”

“You don’t mess with a Loki,” the git responded for you.

You gnashed your teeth in response when Loki narrowed his eyes at him. Lucky for you, however, he appeared to think the git was referring to him rather than you.

“I’m sorry… a what?” His confused expression almost made you laugh but then again, the situation was rather sinister. “I‘m a Loki. I am Loki. Not her.”

Mobius clocked it first; and you were overcome with the overwhelming urge of wanting to wipe the shit-eating grin from his face fast.

“Ask her,” he said.

“Ask her what?”

“Ask her how she survived this long. Ask her why she has the respect of her leader.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. His blue gaze travelled over to you as if to silently pass on the question.

When you didn’t say anything, Mobius chuckled. “She’s pretending to be you, Loki. She’s pretending to be a Variant. That’s why Marcus here is so terrified.”

“Oh, Marcus? That’s what the slimy git is called?” Changing the topic did not work in your favour. Loki did not let it go.

“Thanks,” Marcus murmured.

Loki, on the other hand, remained unfazed. “You were pretending to be me?”

“Not you. One of you. A goddess of Mischief. It worked quite well for some time. It was his idea, actually.”

“So you were hiding this under my nose this entire time?” Loki smirked—certainly not the reaction you had expected from him. You’d assumed he’d lash out or feel deeply offended or perhaps both. Instead, you sensed pride.

“You’re taking this a lot calmer than I assumed you would.”

His smirk grew even wider—eerily so, almost. “I am flattered, darling.”

“You’re what now?”

“Well, I must say, it’s quite an impressive disguise. Tell me, did you wear something more flattering whenever you pretended to be me?”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Lokis have style, dear. Dressed like this I might have a hard time believing you.” Your heart skipped a beat when he winked. The way your body reacted pissed you off enough to growl.

“Are we done here? You got what you came for. The git doesn’t know anything else.”

“Wait! I know something. I know where her leader is currently hiding.” Marcus pointed at you.

“I can assure you, you do not,” you interrupted, crossing your arms before your chest.

“The docks, head to the docks! There’s a warehouse there, and it comes with a basement. There’s a hatch to the left of the south entrance. That’s where you’ll find him.”

You wished that Loki wasn’t as perceptive as he was when he noticed you stiffening—and perhaps, that was all both he and Mobius needed to know to confirm the git was telling the truth.

You stormed out before either of them could comment. You had to go back. You had to warn him. The Loki you were with now, you hated to admit that you trusted him. Hel, you even trusted Mobius now—but their cause? You didn’t trust that. Nothing good would come out of confronting the very Loki Variant who had helped keep you alive all this time… right? You owed him that.

You could swear that you heard Loki sigh when you took off, almost as if he didn’t take your attempt to escape seriously. You scoffed at the thought. He’d tricked you once before, he wouldn’t easily be able to pull the same maneuver on you again.

You left the main street fast, diving into a narrower side alley dimly lit by the street lanterns. It was getting dark out—that would make it easier for you to blend in with the shadows. Rapidly moving shadows, too.

Loki was right behind you. Even without turning around, you could practically feel him. His energy, his… his magic?

You gasped when you tripped over something seemingly invisible only to find a horned shadow gliding across the brick wall to your left. It was his shadow. He was making his shadow attack you. Before you were able to react, it wrapped its arm around your waist, ramming you against the wall. You hissed in pain.

“What the fuck!”

Pressed against the bricks, the invisible grip around your neck tightened immediately.

“I don’t think so, dear,” Loki purred. Annoyingly enough, he wasn’t even slightly out of breath. He narrowed his eyes at you as he approached you without a care in the world, the tension between you tripling. You struggled against the invisible bonds, unable to budge an inch. Within the twinkling of an eye, he was right in front of you, his hands replacing the shadowy shackles.

He was almost… surprised when he felt it too. Almost as if the constant banter, the unintentional flirting, and all those longing glances would not have led to this very outcome. And then, you could see it in his blue eyes, he realised that he’d won this game of seduction the two of you had been playing without ever setting the rules.

To hel with the other Loki. To hel with the git, to hel with Mobius, wherever he was. Loki was consuming you. Perhaps he already had a very long time ago when you had taken up on your leader’s advice and pretended to be a Variant yourself to keep yourself safe.

His kiss caught you off guard nonetheless, igniting you from the inside out. You moaned into his mouth, all of the bottled-up desire for this man unleashed at once. It felt like you were meant to be kissing, like you were supposed to become his all along.

Loki was met with no objection when he slid his slim fingers under your shirt, swayed by his own longing for you. You only pulled away when he lifted the skirt the TVA had given you to wear, his thumbs hooking under the hem of your knickers.

“You’re not going to fuck me in public!” you hissed, your resistance bleeding away more with every passing moment.

“Such vulgar language… did they truly believe you were a Loki with this mouth?”

“Oh, fuck off!”

Instead, he kissed you once more, pressing you against the wall even further until you gasped for air. That was it—the moment you were done for, taken in by his dominance and submitting, much to your dismay, willingly.

You jumped, wrapping your arms around his middle and holding on all the while he all but yanked the belt off of his TVA trousers, pushing them down just far enough to reveal the growing bulge between his legs. He’d kept his Asgardian underwear—but for now, it was in the way. The moan that escaped your lips the moment you finally felt his hard cock against your pussy lips to test your wetness was unholy if anything.

You had to press your face against his neck to stop yourself from crying out when he sheathed himself inside of you with but one swift thrust. Loki’s groans were heavenly—you could tell it took him every fibre of his being to not lose his composure even though right now… that was all you wanted. For him to fuck you like he meant it.

You threw your head back when he withdrew only to rut back into you, finding a rhythm that had your eyes roll to the back of your head. You didn’t have much time for this, of course. You weren’t keen on getting caught, especially not by Mobius.

And gods, he was screwing you good… working out that tension between you with every single stroke. It felt so right you could burst as you clung to him, inviting him even deeper both physically and mentally. Right now, in this very moment, you were his—and you were rather certain that he was yours. Where you’d go from there, you did not know but that didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was his warm dick sliding in and out of you, making you see stars—and doubling the frustration when he slowed down with a start.

“Why are you… stopping?”

“It’s been a while…” He smirked against your lips.

“Don’t hold back on my account. You’re a prince—I expect you know how to make it worthwhile for your partners.”

Loki growled in response and you knew then and there that he’d accepted your challenge. He ground against you, circling his hips, hitting pleasure spots hidden deep inside of you. He riled you up further and further, almost possessed by the idea of giving you pleasure before he took his own.

Your back was hurting at this point, the rough wall against your skin close to drawing blood. You didn’t care. You wanted more. More of him.

The God of Mischief picked up his speed again, burying his face in your neck now and inhaling your scent deeply—his little grunts had you dig your fingernails into his TVA jacket, and fuck, you never wanted this moment to end.

Faster and faster, Loki brought you closer to shattering into a million pieces. How the hell that was possible, you had no idea—the man had not even touched your clit, and yet, you were about to… gods, you were about to…

You cried out his name when you came, clenching around his cock repeatedly. Your toes curled as you milked him for all he was worth, triggering his own release fast.

With one final stroke, he buried himself inside of you as deep as he could before coating the inside of your pussy with his seed, his member jerking against your walls. And then—silence. Comfortable, relaxing silence.

You whimpered at the loss of him when he withdrew, set you back on the ground, and took a step back, his magic ensuring to make you both look presentable again.

“Thanks. Well, I certainly feel better now…” you muttered.

Loki smirked. “So do I. Well then. Shall we?” He offered you his arm, presumably to take you back to Mobius.

“You’re not…” Panting, you caught your breath for a moment. “You’re not really going to side with the TVA for this, are you?”

Loki sighed. “No. But I won’t let you destroy the TVA either. As much as I hate to say it, we need them—as strategic allies, if anything.”

“Spoken like a true king, huh?”

The God of Mischief narrowed his eyes a little, smirking down at you. “I wonder what else you have learned about me through this other… Loki.”

“More than you think.” You paused. “What about Mobius?”

“Mobius I trust with my life, pet.” Pet. Oh, for Heaven’s sake… “Don’t you worry.”

You wouldn’t. Not about this anyway. For now, you’d worry about not falling in love with him.

A/N: And sceeene! Keep an eye on my socials, will you? I’ll be seeing the first 2 episodes of Season 2 at the BFI on the 5th and I’ll be doing the TVA Experience on the 7th! I’m so hyped! I simply must share it with you all! Also if you’re in London and you see me there… COME SAY HI!

[luveline]

you're writing for bradley!! i am so so excited!! could i request just some domestic fluff with shy!reader and bradley? maybe her coming home from a long day and he's just the perfect boyfriend with a glass of wine and a hug ready for her? love u gorgeous 💗

thank you for requesting, babe, I absolutely adored writing this and him, let me known if you have any more!! —bradley helps you feel better after a bad, long day with wine and a multitude of hugs. fem!reader 1k

You push into your apartment, a ground floor slotting of sandblown terracotta tiles and wooden shutters weakened by termites, and pause. There's something wrong, a humming sound. 

You take a step back toward the door and slide your phone from your pocket. 

Hi Bradley, where are you? I think somebody has been in my apartment. Should I worry? you text him. You've continued a streak of politeness with him even now, too shy to dip into the familiarity you feel when he's holding you close over the phone. You follow it up quickly. Don't worry, I'm sure it's okay. Do you know what time you'll be coming over? Any time is OK.

"It's me!" Bradley calls with an easy chuckle. Couch springs creak as he jumps up, and a second later he appears in the living room doorway with a frankly breathtaking grin, shoving his cell into his pocket. "I'm coming over right now. Holy shit, would you look at you?" 

You hold your bag closer to your side, hair not nearly as neat as it started that morning, the day's chaos etched into the small wrinkles either side of your eyes. "Me?" 

When he smiles, it's all white top teeth and joy. For someone who's been through so much, and who works so hard, he's a shaken bottle of fizzy happiness whenever the moment allows —you barely have time to put your bag next to the rack of shoes (and there, his shoes you must've missed toed off and perfectly aligned with your sandy flip flops) when he's crossing the hall in quick strides and pulling you into an ecstatic embrace. 

"Hey," he says, kissing your cheek, moustache not scratchy but far from soft. It rubs a wonky trail as he kisses without goal. Kiss on your nose, your cheek, close enough to your eye to make you cringe and back away. 

"Hi, Brad," you say breathlessly. 

You need time to prepare yourself for seeing him usually, his sudden closeness catching you off guard. You struggle to make any sense of how much he likes you, but you've given up denying his attention. You want it too badly. 

He doesn't stall at your obvious (embarrassing) flustering; he doubles down. His arms like steel cords behind your shoulders, Bradley noses at the side of your face, his breath warm on your cheek as he says, "Sorry, I thought surprising you might be nice, but I didn't think about your nerves." 

"My nerves," you say. 

"Your bad nerves. You're flighty." He gives it another press, the straight line of his nose digging into your cheek before he pulls away. 

Bradley doesn't give you time to miss his arms around you. He makes for the kitchen, notices you aren't following, and grabs your hand. Tugging, he takes you into the kitchen and elbows open your refrigerator, revealing a better sight than what you'd seen this morning. 

"I had to go out again when I saw your fridge," he says, ducking down to push aside what looks like the makings of your favourite meal to unearth a pretty bottle of red. "Sweetheart, when you said you had a shitty breakfast, I was picturing, like, half a grapefruit. Did you eat anything?" 

He only knows what you'd texted him, shitty breakfast code for the found half of a cereal bar in your jacket. 

You don't like to text Bradley too much in case you put him off, but today was bad, and you know he doesn't mind. He'd told you so only a few days ago. His hand full of your stomach, hot under the collar, you can't remember what you'd been talking about initially, your memory intricately busy remembering the planes of his tightly muscled torso and the feeling of his weight atop you, but suddenly he'd been leaning down, brown eyes pleading. "You can talk to me," he'd said. "About anything. I want to hear it. You know that, right?"

So you texted him somewhere around lunch time and had been delighted to find him puttering around doing a whole lot of nothing. He's been keeping himself busy on leave, staying fit, helping your elderly upstairs neighbour put together her new chest of drawers between half marathons and surfing, regular dreamboat stuff. 

I think I'm having a bad day, you'd said. What are you up to, Brad? Can I still see you tonight? 

Why do you act like I'm not obsessed with you? he'd text back immediately. Kidding. Kind of. What's wrong? Can I bring you lunch? 

Raincheck on lunch? I don't think I'll have time. I'll explain later if that's OK. Miss you. 

Miss you too, baby. I wanna hear all about it tonight.

You blink up from his hands to find him staring at you worriedly. You're in your own head, exhausted and a little muddled after such a long day, and he clearly doesn't like it. 

"Is wine gonna make you feel worse?" he asks, tapping your thigh with his knuckles. 

"Definitely not," you say.

"Before dinner?" 

Your smile turns sheepish. You want the wine much more than the dinner, but if you get both, you won't complain. 

He leans back against the fridge, arms crossed, the neck of the wine bottle held precariously in a confident hand. "Sure you're okay?" he asks. 

"I will be." You take a brave step forward and look up into his face. It's difficult to grasp what it is he sees in you when he's like something out of a movie, all brains, brawn, and bleeding heart. You don't get it, but he wants you, and he's here. "Thanks for coming over, Bradley." 

"This shtick again?" he asks, raising his brows. 

"This shtick again," you repeat, grinning at the implication. 

He hooks your ankle with his. "Thanking me for coming over is like thanking a fish for swimming. Couldn't stop myself if I wanted to." 

Your laugh is a wheeze. Brad does you the generosity of pretending you've made a more intelligible sound and pulls you in for a one-armed hug, rubbing a rough up and down into your side. It's such a nice feeling to be tucked up under his arm that you can almost forget how badly you want a glass of wine. 

"Want the big glasses from the top shelf?" Bradley asks knowingly. 

"Yes. Please." 

[whohasthecards]

Hangster AU -- Firefighter Bradley & Best Buy Employee/Aviator Jake

AU where Bradley is a firefighter and Jake is still an aviator. Jake is on a long leave, probably because of the mission, and he takes another job to pass the time. He works at Best Buy.

Bradley comes to Best Buy to buy something, he's still in uniform, so Jake knows where he works at. And they snark at one another, but Jake manages to throw the box of what Bradley needs at him, smirking all the time.

---

"Can we stop debating the merits of 10 different wires and connectors and just give me the box, please," Bradley said exasperated as he held a hand out for the box this Ken doll was holding.

"Sure, here, catch," Jake said shrugging throwing the box lightly at him. "No need to get as red as your fire truck."

Bradley groans, rolls his eyes, and walks away. He was never wearing his fire department shirt in public ever again.

---

Bradley put his keys on in his bronco. And turn it. Engine sputtering.

"Oh come on," Bradley muttered, moustache twitching.

He stepped down again on the brake and clutch, twisting the key. Nada. Bradley groaned and hit his head on the steering wheel wondering who the fuck to call.

He jumped when he heard a knock at the window, seeing Ken doll, looking sympathetic.

He opened the door.

"Need a jump?" Ken-doll asked.

Bradley, sighed, "Yes please."

"Give me a sec to bring my car over."

"Thank you." ---

"Man, you've been having issues with the lights and radio, too? But you just replaced the bulbs, right?"

Bradley deeply sighed and rubbed the space between his eyes, "Yeah."

"That's fucked up, man, good luck, better bring it to the shop for the wiring."

"No comment on the wires on this one?"

"Car wiring is a whole another thing I ain't gonna touch, too much of a headache for me," Ken-doll said, flicking the toothpick in his mouth to the side.

"How do you know so much about wires, anyways? You work with it a lot at Best Buy?" Bradley said going back inside his truck to try to start it.

"Nah, not really, I studied engineering, and my other job. You pick some stuff up along the way."

"You studied engineering and you work at Best Buy!?" Bradley said fingers slipping from the ignition.

"Anything wrong with that?" Ken-doll said, raising a brow.

"No, I mean-- Oh look the car's starting," Bradley said flustered. "Thank you, man, I'm Bradley Bradshaw by the way, incase you need anything, I'm by the fire station." Bradley said holding out his hand.

"It's Jake, and if you need anything from electronic goods to repair, come to Best Buy for a wonderful service," Jake said shaking his hand and winking.

"Should add auto-repair to that slogan."

---

A series of events caused them to meet again. And they hit it off, go one dates and all that.

Jake likes listening to Bradley's stories about his job, and Jake tells him about some crazy customers he had to deal with.

Bradley never asked about Jake's previous job/other job, and Jake,,, forgot.

---

One day, Bradley's station gets a call for a jet having to do an emergency crash landing. And they have to make sure that the area is clear and be prepared for anything that might happen. If the pilot gets stuck or something gets lit on fire.

And they're listening in on the radio with the pilot and pilot's instructor telling him what to do. Calm, steady, smooth, and knowledgeable.

Familiar.

They arrive on scene, get the pilot out, and the instructor comes eventually in a rush.

"Is my pilot, okay?" A familiar voice asked.

"Yeah, we're getting him checked out at the hospital, nothing severe."

He hears the man sigh, "Good."

The man turns the corner, and his eyes flickered to Bradley for a moment, before focusing back on the fire captain.

"I'm Lieutenant Commander Seresin, thank you for helping during this incident."

---

"You work in the Navy!?"

"Yeaahhh--"

"You didn't tell me!?"

"I forgot!"

A pause.

"Also does the team know we're dating?"

"The station? No, why?"

"Wanna mess with them?"

"I'm listening."