#and my respect for him plummeted when I read that

[flootzavut]

if Henry was that keen on book accuracy for Geralt then I have to wonder why he chose to make Geralt monosyllabic in s1 which absolutely was his choice as confirmed by Joey in a post S1 video interview and by Henry himself in a print interview; the most likely scenario is that he thought he was gonna earn a shit ton of money doing Superman (and honestly I don't even blame him for that, you can't do big pretty boy action roles forever, at some point Hollywood is gonna stop calling or you're gonna injure yourself), but making out that he sacrificed himself on the altar of book accuracy is just silly.

[peterparkersnose]

Jealousy, Jealousy.

pairing: Joel Miller x reader

word count: 2k

warnings: angst, jealousy, fighting, partial nudity, domestic violence and toxic relationship description, drunk reader, respectful Joel with a hint of pervert Joel

a/n idk why but when i wrote this i imagined the reader having a southern accent. optional if you want to apply it but idk. i don’t have one myself, i got my midwestern accent here.

summary Joel is jealous seeing Y/N with another man across the bar

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read time: 7 mins 15 seconds

Part 2 here

Joel felt his shoulders slump. He wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was the alcohol fueling his emotions, but he really wanted to punch the douchebag that was hanging off your face. It was embarrassing to watch, the man was so drunk that he basically just licked your lips. But just as you do, you elegantly gave a small chuckle, reached your hand up to his cheek and rested your forehead in the crook of his nose. Your smile melted into his lips. At the same time across the room, your smile almost took Joel out.

If there wasn’t live music playing and people circling him on the dance floor, you could have heard Joel Miller’s fragile heart crack.

He couldn’t believe you were with such a douchebag. Why should he care? Why should he care?

He shouldn’t. It was a stupid crush. That’s all.

He wasn’t a jealous man.

“You alright?” Tommy asked, his energy taking Joel out of his trance. Joel grunted in response. “You seem like you ‘bout to kill Bradley over there. Blowin’ him up in your mind ‘n stuff.” Tommy chuckled. Joel didn’t say anything in response. “Is it because he’s sucking on Y/N’s face?” Tommy whispered in his ear, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you back the fuck up,” Joel spit at him.

Tommy walked backwards holding his hands defensively in the air with a smirk on his face. “Quit bein’ so obvious, big brother. Do something before you loose something.”

Joel turned back to look at you, but the two barstools were now empty. He hated imagining what was currently happening between the two of you. It made him cringe even thinking about it. His face scrunched as he began to feel overwhelmed by the bar scene of the night. He slipped out the front door and on to the porch of the bar.

Fresh snow fell and left a thin sheet of snow on the streets. He wasn’t sure if a storm was coming in, but he could definitely see himself early the next morning helping shoveling the streets.

He grunted as he sat back in one of the old rocking chairs. Cold calloused hands rubbed the sides of his jeans. The light from the windows peered outside, giving small reflections of the windows on the ground. The shadows of couples dancing displaying in front of his eyes made Joel long for something he hadn’t had in over a decade.

His thoughts dissolved him as he finished his drink dreaming of what could have been. He continued to mindlessly watch the reflections of the happy couples dancing.

The dancing seemed to slow suddenly, more violent and quick movements started to show in the reflection. Joel turned and peered in the window to see what was happening.

A large brawl of people seemed to be holding someone back. Mostly the most intimidating looking men and women who were scattered thorough out the bar had come together to hold back a person he couldn’t see. He turned his head and then saw you; Your hand was sprawled over your chest trying to cover the bit of shirt you had left. Tears had stained your cheeks as you watched the scene unfolding. Dina and Maria were at your side trying to keep you modest next to the bar. Joel caught a glimpse of your purple bra just as his attention was thrown back to the middle of the dance floor.

Bradley had let loose from the people holding him back. Joel darted quickly into the bar, almost as fast as Bradley’s hands went for your throat. It wasn’t even a second thought.

Dina let out a loud gasp as Joel’s fist plummeted into Bradley’s face. He brought up his arm for another punch but Bradley had already fallen on the ground from the first one. Joel shook out his fist. He hadn’t punched anyone in a while, Jackson was making him soft.

Joel smirked as he looked down at the pathetic man on the ground. “Better get out of here before I raise hell on ‘ya,” Joel said slowly, kicking him in the side as the man whimpered. “Go on,” he yelled, pointing towards the back door. Bradley scuffled on his bottom, looking up with pure terror in his eyes. Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy this.

Joel turned his back on Bradley and met eyes with you.

He took off his jacket without a second thought and handed it to you. He gave you an honest smile, trying to make you feel a bit better.

“You alright?” he asked. The rest of the bar was now trying to break the defining silence and go back to the flow of the night, but now the scene was just so awkward. Joel needed to get you out.

“Mhm,” you sniffled, shaking your head. “You wanna get out of here?” he whispered in your ear, helping you zip up his jacket on yourself.

“Mhm,” you repeated yourself, wiping a tear falling from your eye.

“You got it from here Joel?” Dina asked him. “I got her,” Joel said, wrapping his arm loosely around your waist. Dina trusted Joel with you, she knew there’s no way he could ever hurt you.

“You still living on fourth street?” Joel asked, shielding you from the cold. “Yeah but…” you sighed. “I-I don’t want him coming after me. Later tonight, I just know when he sobers up he’s gonna be looking for me.”

Your voice began to shake and Joel could tell you were genuinely scared. “You could stay at my place tonight. I doubt he would be comin’ around there any time soon,”

Your eyes met his as you looked up at him. “Really?” you asked, holding on to his bare arm. “Anything for you, darlin’.”

The snow had began to pick up as he opened his creaky front door.

“Come with me,” Joel said leading you upstairs. You looked at the pictures hanging on his walls going upstairs. You didn’t take Joel for an art guy. Apart from one picture with a much younger version of himself and a young blonde girl in it, it was just old art on his wall that was in desperate need of restoration.

“These yours?” you asked him. “Nah. Was in the house when I got it. Nice to look at sometimes though,”

“And the girl?” you asked.

Joel stopped half way up the stairs.

“Old friend,” he spit out. He took a deep breathe and turned around and extended his hand to you. Gracefully, you took it.

His room was most definitely a mans room. He scrambled over to the bed and pulled up his sheets quickly in an attempt to tidy up. “I-I wasn’t expecting guests,”

You stood and looked around his room as he rummaged through his closet. A pile of unwashed clothes sat in one corner. A few rifles and a bow sat on his dresser. He carefully placed his revolver from his belt next to them.

“Here, which one?” he asked you. He held up a red flannel or a blue tee shirt. “Hmm,” you questioned. “Can I borrow the flannel? S’pose to get cold.” you asked. “Have it if you want. I barely wear it anymore.”

That was a lie. It was his favorite flannel.

“I’ll bring it back, I promise.” you smiled, zipping off his coat. You almost forgot your shirt was torn into basically two strips of fabric lying on your shoulders.

Joel’s eyes shot up to the ceiling as you peeled off what was left of your shirt. “You got a trash bin in here?” you asked, holding the straps of fabric in your hand. “Uh, in the bathroom yeah.” Joel grunted, head still glued to the ceiling as he pointed in the direction of the closed bathroom door.

“Damn shame, I really liked this shirt.” you sighed from the bathroom. His gaze fell to his mirror reflection he could see from the bedroom.

Joel kept telling himself no but he couldn’t resist. Your skin had a few scars like his. It suddenly made his insecurities about those loosen up a bit. You had a tiny blood stain under your lip he didn’t notice until now. His eyes kept moving from your face to your body to the floor, trying to keep his perversions on the low.

“You sure it’s okay if I stay here?” you ask, emerging from the bathroom in his flannel. Something about seeing you in his clothes drove him crazy. This had to be a dream, there was no way this was happening. Y/N L/N standing in front of him in his clothes, tying her hair up asking permission if it’s okay for her to stay the night. Joel had to resist the urge to pinch himself.

“Uh, yeah. Make yourself comfortable. If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs.” he said nervously, dragging himself back in to reality. He was half way down the hallway when your head poked out of the door.

“Whatcha doin’ downstairs tonight?” you curiously asked.

“Sleeping?” Joel asked confused, a slight smirk appearing on his face.

“Oh no please. Take the bed, I-I can’t do that.” you insisted. Joel sighed.

“Well I’m not letting you sleep on my couch.” he bantered, placing his hands on his hips.

“I’ll sleep on the floor. How does that sound? I used to do it all the time as a kid and I-”

“Don’t be ridiculous Y/N. C’mon.” Joel sighed, re entering his room.

He folded back his sheets once again. He prayed there wasn’t any dirty socks or crumbs left in there from late night crackers. (JOEL EATS CRACKERS IN BED???)

The thought of sleeping on the floor left your mind when you saw how comfortable his bed looked. And it was.

Your face plummeted into a pillow, the alcohol in your system making itself present. “It smells like you,” you muttered into the pillow. Joel pretended not to hear that as he pulled the sheets over you.

He grabbed the other pillow and plopped it on the floor.

“Everything smells like you. The shirt, the bed. Smells like man.” you giggled.

His heart was beating so fast in his chest.

“You comfy down there?” you asked, your eyes appearing over the bed’s edge along with two hands adjacent to your head.

“Yup,” Joel sighed, placing his hands behind his head.

“Why don’t you come up here with me? I can’t let you sleep on the floor. I mean, I gotta respect my elders.”

Joel opened one eye at you and scowled. “Joke, joke! I’m only joking. I tell bad jokes when I’m tipsy.”

“Oh your tipsy alright.” he muttered.

“Please?” you whined.

Even as much as Joel wanted to he knew he couldn’t. You were very obviously drunk and was in no way able to give consent to anything. He was a true gentleman, what could he say? Even if it was as innocent as cuddling, he didn’t want sober you to regret anything.

“Not tonight Y/N. Come back sober and we’ll talk.”

“Promise?” you asked, rolling back over in bed. He heard his old frame creek as you did.

“I promise. Get some sleep, pretty girl.”

“He called me pretty girl!” you whispered to yourself a little too loudly.

As Joel drifted off to the sounds of your soft snoring, he thought to himself.

Was Tommy right all along? Did you really have some sort of feeling towards him or were you just acting this way because he brought you home and gave you a place to stay.

I mean, how often did he really interact with you. If it wasn’t a passing Hello when you were with Ellie or you switching off on patrol and asking how his went, there wasn’t much there.

He tried not to let his intrusive thoughts linger.

The one thought that did linger though was that Y/N L/N was asleep in his bed.

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25

Part 2 here

[josephquinnswhore]

Hello

I’ve had this idea for a while :}

What if reader and Pedro had a la la land moment when they break up and then reunir two years later at an awards show and realize they still have feelings for each other

Like right person wrong time :>

Finding Our Way Back

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader.

Summary: you and Pedro rekindle your relationship after seeing him at an award show, it’s been two years since you’ve separated and he looks better than ever.

Word Count: 3.7k

Content Warning: allusions to reader that worked in a shit workplace, fluff.

Note: thanks so much for requesting. Thought I’d do the MTV awards since he’s nominated and I’ve already written about Pedro at the Oscars! I hope you love it 🫶🏼

As an interviewer for Vanity Fair, you knew it was highly likely that you’d run into your ex boyfriend, Pedro Pascal at the MTV awards as he was nominated with Bella Ramsay in the category “best duo,” after his latest role as Joel Miller. Although things had ended amicably on both ends, it had been two years ago since you split; your maturity, respect and the love you still had for him played a part in that clean break. You wanted to beg for him to stay with you, to try and make things work; but he was having a big breakthrough in his career and you couldn’t be selfish with him, after decades of his hard work to get to where he is now, so you let go. After years of smaller roles, despite you reassuring him he was incredible in all roles he played, he knew this one would change his life, working on a project with his idol Nick Cage.

Funnily enough, being in this situation was how you met. You standing at an event in a dress that was too tight and itchy on your skin, waiting to interview the nominees for this award show. Although all those years ago you didn’t work for such a well known, respected company as VF.

You worked for a small company called For You Entertainment, they were working their way up the ladder attending small events with D-List celebrities when your producer thankfully got you a breakthrough, an interview with the cast of Narcos at the end of season 2 premiere. You were nervous and fidgeting with your lilac sequin dress that was so tight you were cursing your stylist internally for making you wear clothing that was a size too small for your waist. Your lungs felt heavy as they couldn’t inhale fully, the feeling of being claustrophobic in your own skin was dizzying, along with the sweatiness of your hands and the bright light from your film crew, it was all too much. A staff member from the event, led Pedro to you and you knew you were screwed, the knowing look in those chocolate brown eyes, he knew how anxious you were feeling, he read you instantly. Your co-workers were ready to begin filming when Pedro held his hand up, signalling for the men to stop momentarily, and they did.

“Hey, I’m Pedro. It’s so nice to meet you…”

His hand meets your own as you introduce yourself, he catches the wobble in your voice as your confidence plummets to the ground beneath your heels. He offers a kind smile and you’re enamoured by how kind he’s being, how gentle and attentive he is; he was doing whatever he could to make you comfortable.

“Are you okay?”

You let out a shaky breath and huff out a small laugh,

“this is my first ever interview with like, a real celebrity and you’re my celebrity crush. Plus this dress is a size too small which they picked on purpose, something about making my boobs perkier.”

The speed at which your mouth rambles leaves your brain unable to comprehend the words that leave them for a few seconds, the moment you register what you say your eyes are wide and Pedro is laughing sweetly.

“It’s a pleasure to be here with you, don’t be nervous, I think you look stunning. You can do this, I’m here to help you make things go smoothly! Shall we?”

How wrong he was, he wasn’t just like any other guy, that’s what drew you in, he sucked you into his orbit, the gravity holding you down to him. Alas, you agree to start the interview. Your nerves somewhat shaken and cheeks a deep shade of red, along with a tingle of heat on your face you’d never experienced prior to Pedro’s flattery.

“Let’s do this.”

You bare a shy grin and give the camera man a thumbs up as they prepare to start the interview.

There was nothing wrong with your relationship with Pedro. It had just seemed like the relationship had run it’s course through the years. You were studying and working full time, 60 hours a week you were in a chokehold of being underpaid and overworked, being younger, new to the industry and vulnerable, you let your boss expose you to the cruelty of the profession when you had several employees that treated you like a doormat. Pedro had always insisted he hated how much you worked for them; how terribly they treated you and crushed your potential within months, that you could achieve more.

Pedro has just gotten a main role in “the unbearable weight of massive talent” when things fell apart, he was incredibly hard working and committed to his work life, the man that was practically married to his career left you in a position of what felt like roommates more than actual lovers. The conversation was hard and you almost didn’t go through with it; you knew you’d regret it but it was necessary, you couldn’t live like this anymore. You missed the intimacy and the connection, feeling like you were in a loveless relationship even though you loved him endlessly.

He had gotten home from a long day of filming, body slumped as he walked through the door, hours and hours on end of filming had him exhausted, he was surprised to see you sitting on the couch with the light and tv on when he walked through the front door.

“Hey, you’re up?”

The confusion in his voice was evident and you inhaled a shaky breath, turning to face him, you nearly backed out of your plan like a coward. Instead you invite him to sit next to you.

“Yeah, we need to talk, will you come sit?”

Pedro’s thick eyebrows are pinched in a frown, looking his age when the wrinkles in his face become evident. The lounge dips as he sits next to you, his large hand on your knee as his brown eyes watch you.

“Is everything okay?”

His voice is cautious and you just exhale, not questioning your own judgment.

“I think it would be in both our favours if we part ways, I’d prefer if we could do this amicably and still be friends afterwards. There’s no connection or intimacy anymore, we’re both too busy. Maybe if,” you sigh loudly unable to find the courage to finish the sentence. Luckily, Pedro knows what you’re thinking.

“If we were at a different stage in life, right?”

He finishes the thought in your head and you nod, fat tears falling down your face, his arms are quick to pull you into a hug, your head rests on his shoulder and he kisses the back of your head.

“I still love you, maybe things will work out for us one day, hm?”

You chuckle, the noise wet as you choke back your tears, “that would be a dream wouldn’t it?”

Having worked for Vanity Fair for the past 12 months, you had met some well known A-list celebrities, some in which would be here tonight at the mtv awards, some people attending not as well known but still nonetheless attending and perfectly deserving of your attention. Your black cocktail dress hugged your figure perfectly, hair pulled upward and styled neatly. Your faces natural beauty was accentuated by the light make up that had been carefully applied by the companies make up artist. The shades of pink and gold on your eyelids were glistening in the lights that shone a bright white overhead as you stood in the middle of the walkway right before the entry to the building where the awards were being held.

Your manager had warned you sympathetically that Pedro was one person you’d be interviewing, it didn’t take much reassuring on your behalf to assure her that although and and Pedro hadn’t really spoken since you broke up; besides the yearly birthday messages and him liking your Instagram posts, that things were okay between you and you were happy to interview him.

When you see him, he’s looking as handsome as ever. His brown hair had a few greying strands on the side of his head near his temples. The purple suit he wears clings to his body and he wears it with finesse, the grapefruit colour makes his skin look its glowing in a golden light, the suit hangs off his broad shoulders with no room to spare. A small heart-shaped patch in his black and grey beard was still failing to fill with hair on the left side of his face. He smiles so widely when he sees you, quickening his casual pace to a speed walk to bump his body into yours, wrapping his strong arms around you to pull you into a hug, his big muscles bulging against your dress-clad skin. You accept the hug and pull him into you, squeezing him as your arms wrap around the back of his neck, the cologne he wears compliments the natural musk of him that you recognise and miss so dearly.

You fight the urge to look at his plump lips a second time, the shade of pink whispered sweet words to draw you into him like a hypnotist, threatening you to kiss him against your will. He pulls back and stands tall next to you, he towers over you, even in your 3 inch heels.

“Pedro Pascal, what a warm welcome. Thank you so much for joining us this evening.” You greet warmly, holding the microphone between the small gap between your bodies, he misses the redness on your cheeks as he grins so widely his dimple exposes itself.

“Thank you for having me, it’s so great to be here, and it’s so great to see you, look at you, you’re looking stunning this evening.” He stands a little too close to you than he does anyone else that’s trying to get an interview from him, his fondness of you showing through the camera that records you.

“You always were a charmer weren’t you. This suit is incredible, you’re looking dapper tonight.” Your free hand that isn’t holding the mic gently runs a hand down his suit, keeping your hand on his chest, getting a feel for the material. You grin at the redness of his cheeks before getting to what the fans really want.

“Now, there is something your fans are begging me to address. As the self proclaimed biggest daddy on the internet, are your fans all your children?” Pedro laughs, the sound is ringing in your ears like the most delightful song you’ve ever heard. He takes the microphone from you and turns to the camera, “yes, you are all my children. I will warn you, grogu may get a little jealous.”

“That’s so sweet, why do you think you chose these roles that have you as basically a father figure?” You muse, eyes batting unintentionally as you’re drawn into his charming character. “I mean, truthfully I would love to have kids someday. Since that’s not an option right now I’m opting for the role of playing dad.” Your heart starts racing, both in awe and disappointment, knowing you would never be the one to bare his children, as his girlfriend or wife, you had missed your opportunity years ago.

“Now we do have a question that a lot of people are begging us to ask you and who are we to deny them?Does Joel Miller in the tv series meet the same fate as the game?” Pedro bares his teeth in a grimace and looks directly into the camera. “It’s going to be almost exactly the same, sorry kids.” He shrugs casually before turning back to you.

“Well Pedro it’s been such a delight to talk with you this evening, we’re wishing you and Bella the best to win an award, have a wonderful evening!” Pedros hands cross in front of his torso, fumbling with the silver ring that sits on his pinky. “Of course it’s amazing to see you. Thank you, have a great night.” He waves to you sweetly as he walks off with a staff member that’s leading him into the building. You stop filming and let out a big sigh.

“How are you feeling?” Your cameraman Andrew asks, “I’m okay, just feels like an open wound still, I guess.” He offers a sympathetic smile, “you did great. That was an awesome interview, everyone’s going to love it. Your chemistry is off the charts.”

You silently agree. The chemistry was still there, maybe you should just, text him later as a “it was so good to see you” curtesy text. Regardless of how terrible he was at texting, it would show you made an effort.

It’s been hours since you saw and spoke to Pedro, his image ingrained in your brain every time you close your eyes, where you’re normally met with blackness this night you’re met with his smile, the smell of his natural musk, the scent of his cologne lingered on your own skin as if he lie next to you. The heaviness of his hands as he hugged you felt as if he was still touching you, it made you restless. You were struggling to sleep even when the streets below your apartment began turning off their lights, one by one you seemed to be the only one wide awake in the neighbourhood.

11:28pm. After changing your mind about half a dozen times on what to write, you settle on something kind and friendly, and you send the text: “it was so good to see you tonight, you look great.”

To your surprise it’s barely a minute before he replies: “it was such a pleasure to see you, can I ask you something?”

Your heart is racing as you can barely think about what he could possibly ask, you assure him: “of course, anything.”

The bubble comes up as if he’s typing, then disappears. You grown as you watch him type and delete this message before it finally comes through after a few minutes: “going to bed anytime soon?”

You raise an eyebrow to yourself and whisper, “seriously that’s what took you so long?” And reply to him: “nope, wide awake.”

“Want some company? I can bring coffee.” You rub your eyes in disbelief, wondering if this is real or an illusion.

“Please do. You know how I like it.” You send through your address as you’ve moved to a newer and slightly bigger apartment in the last year. “Be there soon.” He replies without a moments notice.

“Shit.” You mutter to yourself as you rush to the bathroom, attempting to make yourself look presentable, brushing your hair down neatly before braiding it, smoothing out your pyjamas and turning on some lights in the living room as you turn on the tv to Disney Plus turning on Moana as you attempt to sit comfortably.

There’s a soft knock at the door and you get an alert on your phone that someone’s outside, you check your phone, seeing Pedro standing in black pants, a white shirt and a large black trench-coat, a cardboard cup holder in hand with two Starbucks coffees occupying the space. You smooth out your pyjamas once again and unlock the two locks to your front door, feeling winded as you see your ex boyfriend standing there looking as beautiful as ever with a shy smile on his face.

You open the door and step to the side, “please, come in.” He shudders slightly from the breeze that drafts in from outside, your house abnormally warm and the feeling is welcome on his cold skin. “You have a nice place here. How long ago did you move in?” You take the coffees and sit them down in the cup holders in your lounge as he takes off his trench-coat, the atmosphere too warm for the accessory. “Coming up 12 months now. Right after I started working for Vanity Fair.”

You gesture for Pedro to sit on the lounge after he hands his coat on the coat hanger by the door, he keeps a respectable space between you, unlike earlier in the evening where he stood entirely too close. “Moana always was your favourite.” Pedro muses to himself. “Somethings never change.” You reply with a shrug, the statement having a double meaning behind it.

“Yeah, I guess. What’s new in your life anyway. Other than work and all the formalities?” He questions, the hopeful look in his eye beams as you sink comfortably into the grey couch, “nothing really, I’m quite boring these days. The same girl you know.” You sip your coffee and hum in contentment, missing the way Pedro whispered “and love.” After your statement, “thanks so much for the coffee, it’s perfect. It’s any wonder you still remember,” you admit.

“How could I forget my girls coffee order?” Pedro freezes, realisation of what he said sinks in. “I mean, I meant- I didn’t..” he stutters and you rest your hand on his, trying to diffuse his panicked state. “It’s okay, I’ve missed you you know. Seeing you tonight made me realise how much I never got over you.” The admission has both of your skin burning with desire and slight embarrassment. “You feel that way?” His voice is sweet, you wish he would just talk to you all night, you’d simply sit and listen.

“Of course I do. I’ve always loved you Pedro.” Just like that the bomb has dropped, the elephant in the room is too large and suffocating to ignore, you still love him, years later you still love him.

“I’ve been needing to hear that for such a long time. I love you, I was a fool to let you go,” you lean into the warmth of Pedro’s hand as he caresses your face, your heart rate spiking at his touch and confession. “We can always just.. pick up where we left off,” you offer sweetly. Pedro’s eyes raise at your offer, the ball was in his court and he was going to take it. Without another word he pulls you into him, your lips smashing into his, moulding together like two unique puzzle pieces that were made for each other.

You part your lips and grant him access to deepen the kiss, years of unspoken love and missing each other all came to surface with this kiss. When you pull apart you’re both heaving, foreheads pressed together you stare into his chocolate orbs. “Please be mine. I don’t think I could go another day knowing you’re not mine.” You exhale a shaky breath, the taste of him still on your lips, “I was always yours Pedro. We just had to find out way back.” Pedro’s thumb strokes your cheek and let’s put a small laugh, almost in relief. “I’m grateful we did. Everything feels right again.”

You nod as you silently agree with him, the hole left empty now felt overfilled, you knew your cup would never be empty again with Pedro by your side again, “stay the night.” Your nose grazes his cheek as you whisper. He pulls you into his lap, strong arms holding you in place as he kisses your shoulder. “When have I ever been able to say no to you?”

“I’ll teach you how to stop being such a people pleaser one day you know.” You jest lightly. “As long as I have you, none of that even matters, baby.” You turn to kiss him, the intoxicating sweetness of his lips is almost impossible to pull away from. “You’ll always have me. Promise.” A few moments of silence pass before you ask, “did you win the award?” Pedro hums before he realises what you’ve said, pulling his eyes away from the tv, “yeah we did, Bella was stoked, it was such a big moment for them.” You lean into his chest, smiling in content with how perfectly things were falling into place.

[ilovehimyourhonour]

hiii! can i request riki with prompt 41, if thats okay? thank you!!!

end live

📂 bf! idol! nishimura riki x idol! fem! reader . youre baking cookies and niki worries for your safety. mentions of broken glass?? , reader is portrayed as a female and is apart of a kpop group , wasnt proofread. inspo — prompt 41: them having a moment when their lover drops a glass, checking them over for injuries .

navigation

Sometimes you hate yourself for making promises, and right now was one of those times.

Yesterday, in the spur of the moment, you had promised your fans a live. But now, you wanted nothing more than to stay where you sat—your boyfriend’s head nuzzled in your lap as he pretends to watch the drama playing on the tv.

“Ni-ki,” you mutter. Nothing. “Ni-ki?” You place your hand on your boyfriends forehead, attempting to turn his head to face you.

His eyes are hooded, sleep practically begging to take over. “Hmm?”

“I gotta get up, baby.” He simply nods, aware of the promise you made to your fans—mostly because he heard you groan about it all day. “You can sleep,” you smile at him once your off the couch. He lays back down across the cushions and you crouch next to him.

“Wake me up when your done, I want you to play with my hair again.” You cant help but grin wider, you hum softly and press a delicate kiss to his forehead.

As you gathered your baking supplies you had the live propped up and streaming, the viewer number grew with each second, comments flooding in—fan’s greeting, asking questions, and proclaiming their love for you and your group. As you measured and mixed ingredients you mindlessly spoke anything that popped into your head, recent schedules and upcoming events your group would be partaking in—and once you had nothing left to say you started humming songs produced by your group.

As you placed the cookie pan into the oven three of your group members enter the kitchen, happily throwing themselves into the live stream. They read and answer questions and complement the smell emitting from the oven.

“She’s our little baker,” one of them grins as she scans the comments, looking for another subject or question to read aloud.

“Hey, did you know your boy-” the final missing member enters the kitchen, her thumb pointed over her shoulder—directing to the living room, where Ni-ki laid asleep on the couch. You casually take a step out of the camera’s view, a finger coming to your lips and your leader catches the hint. “Did you know your baking is really good? Smells incredible.” She chuckles rather awkwardly as she appears on screen and peers over the other girl’s shoulders, trying to get a glimpse at the comments—hoping no one had caught her nearly slip up.

Once the cookies come from the oven you place all but one onto a glass decorative plate, the five of you devour the warm sweets and the girls return to their respective lives. You wave them each goodbye and begin cleaning up the mess you had made throughout the whole process. As you wipe the counter directly in front of the camera you seem to forget the glass mixing bowls close proximity, your elbow bumps against the side—sending the bowl plummeting to the floor, barely missing your feet as it shatters. You automatically jump backwards, trying to avoid cutting your feet.

A soft thud is heard from the next room and a figure comes flying into the kitchen, and the figure just so happens to me the Nishimura Riki. Just your luck. As he steps into frame he falters in his steps as he takes in the location of the broken glass. He eventually takes a risk and steps into a spot he hopes there isn’t any hidden shards.

“Are you okay?” He worries, his hands coming to cup your cheeks, eyes flickering over your face and all the way down to your feet. “Did you get cut?” He frowns at your silence. “Sweetheart? Please answer me.”

“The lives still going,” your voice is barely a whisper, but you feel his tender touch stiffen. He slowly peers over towards the phone, still propped up and recording. Why hadn’t the company shut it down the moment he stepped into the shot?

The picture on the screen was the two of you, him cradling your face as the two of you glance at the screen. Comments flood in faster than ever before as you pull yourself from Ni-ki’s hold.

“See you guys…um…next time.” You smile awkwardly, casting Ni-ki a glance before turning back to the screen. A comment catches your attention as you click the end live button.

Now we know who she saved that cookie for.

© ilovehimyourhonour

[scaranation]

Hai! this is my first time request something in here, so i kinda nervous xd and English is not my first language 😅 (sorry if there any mistaken word)

Ok so, can i request readerxtighnari modern au, with a reader is a cat and they really like to tease tighnari about his ears/tail all the time they meet but then tighnari try to against it (it fails). Then reader give him a (It's up to you) sfw please:) but a little fl-

Thank you for taking my request if you read this:) and i hope you get what i actually mean (i'am bad at explaining)(⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠) , once again i apologize if there are any mistaken words in here (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

(By the way, I really like your writing style, keep the spirit !!:))

i wasn’t sure if i interpreted this correctly but i love the idea of tighnari being teased 🥹❤️ i also made reader a descendant of the Kätzlein bloodline like Diona, I hope you enjoyy

༊*·˚ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃

Pairing: Tighnari x Cat!reader

Content: Fluff, sfw

In which you’ve made it your greatest mission to pet Tighnari’s ears - no matter what it took.

Tighnari’s non-human traits never went unnoticed by your feline gaze, and your greatest passion was to latch onto his tail or tease him about his ears, much to his annoyance. Despite his vehement protests - usually gritted out between clenched teeth as he hid his blush behind a book - you simply loved to mock Tighnari’s foxlike features, asserting the superiority of your own Kätzlein lineage.

Tighnari’s impeccable hearing, when coupled with your natural stealth, made for an interesting scene. The other residents of Gandharva Ville would always watch in amusement as you snuck up on the ranger, desperate to stroke those silky ears at least once. It was clear however that - in spite of his irritated rejections - Tighnari certainly held a soft spot for you. After all, no other person could possibly go unpunished after attempting to not only sneak up on him but also let his ears. As both a well respected botanist and a director of the nature reserve, many were slightly afraid of the man.

-

Tighnari awoke to the sound of banging on his apartment door. He groggily rubbed the last dregs of sleep from his eyes, lumbering over to look through the peephole in a daze.

The sight of your face pressed against the other side of the peephole greeted the tired ranger, and he reluctantly let you in - taking note of the aromatic smell wafting from the takeaway bag you had in your hands.

“Breakfast is served! No need to thank me, I’d usually sleep in, but I heard you had an afternoon shift today. Pity I won’t be able to catch you then.” You treated Tighnari’s modest loft as if it were your own, stretching out on the couch and placing the food down.

“If you’re thinking about trying to grab my tail again, I’d advise against it.” Tighnari frowned disapprovingly.

“Come on, I’m just here to have a nice chat with a friend. No need to be so wary.” You rolled your eyes as you took out the breakfast you’d ordered from a cafe down the street, beckoning for the man to sit beside you.

“Breakfast on the coffee table? And sitting on a couch?”

“Would it kill you not to be so picky? Besides, it’s more comfortable here.”

As Tighnari sat down at your side, you glanced at him mischievously. Of course, you hadn’t been intending to touch his ears or his tail before, but they looked so soft and velvety. He was sitting right there, and he was focused on eating - it wouldn’t hurt to just give his ears one tiny stroke, right? You weren’t sure if it was your personal inclination or your feline compulsion, but the urge to feel that soft fur was unbearable.

Your plan didn’t get very far however, because Tighnari lunged away from you quickly - quicker than you could react. You’d thrown your weight into reaching out for his ears, and nothing could stop you now as you plummeted into him. Now sprawled sideways across the couch on top of the poor Tighnari, you could only gape.

You expected the man to shove you off and scold you harshly, but he stared back in shock - face quickly turning red. Perhaps, you thought, he was having a delayed reaction and his face was flushing in anger.

Instead however, you found your two faces drifting closer until Tighnari braced his hand on the back of your neck and closed the remaining distance, pressing his lips to yours.

You could feel the heat simmering on his cheeks, see each strand of the lashes that fanned down from his closed eyes. The slightly messy state of his hair. You could feel his hand shake slightly on your nape, his lips tasting like maple syrup.

You took the liberty of shoving away from Tighnari quickly, retreating backwards and staring. You realised your eyes had never closed, and they now met his dejected gaze as the two of you stared at each other from opposite ends of the couch.

“You-”

“You-”

Both you and Tighnari began stuttered attempts at processing what’d just happened, but simply shut your mouths. Tighnari snapped his eyes away from yours, adjusting himself to sit properly on the couch again. You narrowed your eyes, the back of your neck prickling at the awkward tension.

Finally, after a long pause, you felt your pride as an honoured feline hybrid slip as you sheepishly turned to look at Tighnari.

“Can we… do that again?” You avoided eye contact, internally furious that you were feeling nervous - in front of Tighnari, no less. Usually you were supposed to be the one teasing him.

Without a moment of hesitation, Tighnari pulled you in again. You had to remind yourself to close your widened eyes as you sank into the warm exchange, your hands finally managing to stroke his delicate ears.

Mission accomplished.

[the-traveling-poet]

hullo!!! i just wanted to say i really enjoy your writing and i was wondering if you'd be so gracious as to write a levi x nonbinary reader, in which the reader is asexual and gets overwhelmed by physical touch so levi tries to comfort them. you can make it as angsty as you like

thank you so much in advance ε>

Ace

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You’d always stood out.

Never taking a partner, never seeking one. Out of spite to those who jeered your way, you refused to acknowledge them when they attempted to address you as ‘Ma’am” or “Sir”.

It didn’t matter that they didn’t, or rather wouldn’t, understand. Because at the end of the day, he understood. And he loved you all the same.

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Pairing: Levi x Asexual!NB!Reader

Warnings: language, bullying

taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe

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A/N: Oh my god anon this is a blessing of an ask like-

Being ace myself, i really appreciate this ask. Finding ace related content is a strUggle. I’ve only ever read ONE ace!reader x AOT fic before and I literally teared up. So in a way, writing this request was like actually writing MYSELF into a fic. And a Levi fic at that. Well, except I use she/her pronouns, and per your request this is non-binary, so I’ll do my best!

Since being ace is a different experience for everyone under the ace umbrella, I’m writing this from my own perspective on the matter(s), as this allows me to speak my truth :)

(N/N: Nick Name)

Hope you enjoy!

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All your life thus far, you couldn’t help but to feel disgusted by at least fifty percent of the people around you. Both as a teenager making your way through bootcamp away from your controlling home, and even after you’d joined the Survey Corps and surpassed the cadet rank to become a Captain despite the jeers.

One comment after another; “faker” “liar” “prude” “confused” and so many more followed you around like a dark cloud whenever you turned someone down from their advances. And many there had been.

You’d have loved nothing more than to retaliate and lash out at them about how they were wrong about you in the moment, but you’d learned long ago it was a waste of breath.

It was around the time you were promoted to Captain that you’d given up on any chance of finding anyone decent that would respect your boundaries, and kept to yourself and your duties. Sometimes, you’d even had to cut friends out of your personal life for trying to push and pull you into directions you weren’t comfortable going.

But it wasn’t until you’d been selected by Captain Levi to participate in his squad that you began to think maybe, maybe…another shot at friendships was okay.

Your Captain treated you with respect, despite your hesitance to open up in the beginning. With the experiences you’d had thus far, you weren’t all too keen on making another friend to let you down. And somehow, he seemed to completely understand that without either of you uttering a single word on the subject.

As time went on, you both grew closer as teammates, and the idea that you could find a real, valuable friend within the brutality that was the Survey Corps sparked into your mind once more.

Many a time you’d accompany him for tea late into the afternoon. Idle chitchat would follow, perhaps even a soft laugh or two as the candle between you two melted past the wick and melted in its tray.

It became a routine of sorts, checking in on one another throughout the day and sharing tea by night. These days, your steps were lighter. You mind, less bogged down with negativity. He was certainly the first thing you looked forward to when you awoke, and the final thought that soothed you to sleep every night.

This provoked a realization within you, with a feeling of both dread and excitement making your heart plummet to your stomach. Despite having never felt this deep of a connection with someone before, you’d known exactly what you then realized you felt.

Which led you to now, standing before the only other friend you had accompanying you through this mental struggle.

“Well if you like him, go tell him!” she encouraged, grinning ear to ear as she squeezed your hands in excitement.

Pulling back slightly, you internally cringed. She knew how you felt about physical contact, yet always brushed it off with a simple ‘that’s just who I am’. And at this point, with this being her only way of overstepping, you decided to just deal with it. She was really the only one who didn’t judge you otherwise, anyways.

“I-it’s not that simple…You know I don’t have a lot of experience admitting what I feel. And to someone I like? I don’t know how.” You sighed, once again letting your hands slip out from hers.

Her exasperated huff made you raise your eyes and take in her perplexed expression.

“Now how in the hell do you think you’re gonna pursue a relationship with that hunk of a man if you can’t even handle holding hands? Relationships are a lot more physical than that, N/N.”

Immediately you froze, trying to find the right words to say next. “You know how I feel about that. I’m not comfortable with any of…that.”

“Psh, you never are. So what’s the point of even liking anyone, anyways? Anyone can be polite and understanding, but everyone has needs yknow.” She chuckled, patting a hand onto your shoulder.

You started to tense up, feeling your breathing shallow out. Not only for touch she laid onto you, but for the words she spoke that sank your heart further into your chest. For so long you’d overlooked this one trait of hers; being touchy and clingy, and this is how she would repay your tolerance? By ending up on the same road as everyone else had with you?

Feeling your heart pound in your chest, you averted your gaze and scooted away. Maybe she was right…

“He’s nice to me. He’s never hinted at anything more than being my friend…And he certainly has never laid a hand on me; friendly or other.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” She scoffed, furrowing her brow and retracting her hand. “I’m just being honest. You told me yourself once; you prefer honesty over a sweet lie. Should I lie to you and say ‘Oh don’t worry N/N, this guy’s different than anyone else on earth. He’s got no human emotions or desires; your perfect match!’ ? Cause I won’t lie to you. That’s the truth.”

Taking another step back, you fought to keep control over your shaking. But little by little your composure was breaking away.

“That-that’s not true. Not wanting to be touched doesn’t equate to being emotionless or having no desire, innocent or other.”

“Oh so now you’re not “ace” or whatever it is? This asexual thing you explained to me means no desire or attraction!” She chuckled exasperatedly.

“That’s not how that works for everyone-“

“No. You. That’s not how it works for you. Because there’s no one else out there who thinks up this bullshit like you do. You can think whatever you want for yourself, that’s fine. Just don’t confuse it with the truth.” She cut you off, crossing her arms over her chest with a sigh.

“Listen, I’m just saying that, as a woman, you gotta expect these things, yknow?” She continued on, using a softer tone paired with a sympathetic smile.

“I don’t go by woman, or man. You know that,” You cried out in exasperation, hugging your arms tightly.

“And that! First with the contradicting ‘sexuality’ and always with the in between gender! You cant just stay in between these lables and expect to live a normal life anyone could understand!”

Tears brimmed your eyes as you watched her storm out of your dorm room with her last insult stinging your heart, and your wanted nothing more than to run and hind when you heard her continue to mutter to herself as she paced down the halls. Now left alone, you contemplated your choices.

She could be right about him; he could simply be someone who knew how to hide his intentions and you’d end up trapped in a situation your rather die than be in.

But…

Who were you to trust? The woman who never quite accepted your request for physical boundaries, or the man who had applauded you for keeping to yourself out of self-comfort?

The man who had been your comfort these past several months.

With your mind made up, you left your room in a hurry. Though your tears kept you from seeing exactly where it was you were stepping, you knew this rout by heart and could follow it blind.

A short moment that seemed to last forever with how hard your shoulders and sides shook and your heart pounded, you came at last to his door. Knocking quickly, you found it hard to find the patience to wait for his monotone voice to call out for your entry.

Pushing the door open quickly, you all but slammed it shut behind you with a stifled gasp. Immediately Levi’s gaze left the paperwork before him, shooting you a once over look of concern.

“The hell happened to you?” He muttered softly. While he might not be so soft with his words, his tone was never anything but gentle with you.

“M-my friend. She…She said…That I can’t do this-I can’t…” as you struggled for both your breath and train of thought to return, Levi stood from his desk and approached you slowly.

“Oi, you’re shaking like a damn leaf. Take a seat on the couch, I’ll get some tea for your nerves.”

He stood close, but didn’t try to reach out. Somehow, he always knew how to approach you, no matter the state you were in. Instead, he just stood beside you for a moment, letting you see he was only a pace away and listening. You could have cried from relief right then and there had his offer not reminded you why you were here.

“Yeah…Yeah, thanks,” you mumbled, shuffling over to his couch and plopping down in the corner seat. After a moment, he joined you with two cups of tea. He sat yours on the coffee table, then took a seat on the other side of the couch to observe you. After you’d downed a couple of sips from the warm mug, you sighed and closed your eyes.

It was now or never.

“So, your friend. Do you want to talk about it, or keep guzzling down the drink like a horse in their troft and rob me clean of tea?”

Nearly coughing over the chuckle you tried to suppress, you showed him a thankful smile.

“If you have the time, I’d like to get it off my chest.” You admitted, deciding to keep your eyes fixed on the mug in your hand rather than meet his inquisitive stare.

“I have the time. You think I poured us both cups if I didn’t?” He mused. To others it would have sounded like a scoff, but you knew him well enough to know he was only attempting to lighten your mood with crass humor.

“Well, I’ve told you before how she…oversteps my boundaries often.” You started slowly.

“And I’ve told you before you should kick her ass to the curb. You let one get away with it, and suddenly there’s a line of people demanding ‘their right.’ “

“Okay, firstly,” you chuckled, setting your tea down. “I have. She walked out, and I’m done entertaining her. Secondly, you’re one to talk. You let me get away with all kinds of things.”

“…That’s different,” he muttered from behind the rim of his cup, switching his gaze from your face to the window on the adjacent wall.

“Well, I uhm…She’s gone now. But, didn’t leave without a few harsh words. I’d hoped so hard she wouldn’t be like the rest, but in the end…A simple difference in preferences had her changing her attitude. I’ve always respected her decisions, I’ve always addressed her by she or her, and I’ve always respected how she feels about partners. But she can’t do the same for me? Because I’m not like her?”

You took in a deep breath, shuddering as you reached for your mug once more. Levi watched on in silence as you drank your fill and slowed your breathing, mulling over your words.

“Well, for starters, it’s a damn good thing you aren’t like her. She sees everything at face value; doesn’t dig deeper for any sense of meaning or value, and couldn’t even if she tried.”

You chanced a glance his way, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over yet again.

“She told me…She said that I can’t stay in between lables and expect to live a normal life anyone could understand. And maybe she’s right. Either way I’ll stay myself. But to think there might be some truth to what she said…”

“I’ll stop you right there. There isn’t.” He stated in a tone so sure and confident you nearly believed it yourself.

“Who gives a fuck if you’re a man or a woman? Or neither? Or both? Or what’s in your pants? Or whom you sleep with, and who you don’t. You don’t truly fall in love with one’s body or gender. Real love is seeing that person’s soul and understanding it. Learning with it, growing with it, healing with it, and all that other mushy shit.”

You took a moment to really absorb his words as your tears flowed freely now. You couldn’t be sure which emotion was running strongest through you at the moment; sadness, or relief?

“I…I never mentioned to love?” You whispered, chancing another glance his way.

With an expression similar to a child being caught in a wrongdoing, Levi’s eyes widened slightly and his lips were quick to close tightly.

“I…Just meant that, either way…Whom you love, whether they be a friend or a partner, shouldn’t be based on their preference of your identity.” He muttered softly, his eyes trained back on the cup in his hand. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have sworn you saw the tips of his ears flush a slight pink hue. Then again, maybe you didn’t know any better just yet.

Again your heart stopped, but this time not out of grief or fear. Turning to the side so as to face him better, you brought your knees up to your chest and cradled your cup close to your chest.

“Well…Since you brought it up…” you swallowed nervously and cleared your throat. “That’s what I was talking about with her. As much as it scares me…And excites me…I think I’ve finally found that.”

“Found what?” Levi asked slowly, eventually meeting your gaze with curiosity.

“Love,” you replied softly, feeling your face heat up and your hand begin to shake once more.

“I was telling her…Maybe I’m ready to take that chance, now that I understand what I feel. She was telling me that…I have to expect that every guy has needs, and while that’s not something I’m comfortable exploring…Love is. Romance, and affection found through things other than touch.”

He listened to you intently, looking deeply into your eyes as if searching for a question he hadn’t yet asked. But of course, you knew it was there. Eventually his silence made you worry, and you tucked in on yourself a little tighter.

“M-maybe she’s right, that any guy would get tired of waiting for something that may or may never happen but…I’d like to think she’s not.”

“She’s not,” Levi finally murmured, never breaking eye contact with you from across the couch.

“Not everyone feels or acts that way. Some of us feel the same way you do.”

“ ‘Some of us’? “ You asked, your tone just as quiet as his. He only nodded, giving you all the answers you needed with a simple gesture.

“So then…you…” A crack in your voice halted your question as your throat seemed to dry out.

Could he really, truly understand?

“Never been interested, never cared. Not after everything I’d seen growing up.”

Normally he would have closed off more when the conversation drifted to his life down in the slums, but it seemed he truly wanted you to understand something now.

“The things I’ve seen, and heard…The things they forced my mother into doing for table scraps…It was a deterrent from something I didn’t want any part of to begin with.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to drag the conversation here-“ He cut you off with a shake of his hand.

“No, it’s fine. I want you to know I understand, in some way or another, that you aren’t alone in feeling this way. And that…I won’t ever judge you for any of it.”

Uncurling your legs and loosening the grip on your mug, you fully faced him with a warm smile.

“And neither will I, to you.” You promised him softly, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your cheeks.

He turned too, so that he could face you fully from across the furniture.

“So then…What you said about love?” He asked cautiously, and you could practically feel how he sank further back against the armrest.

“Yeah, I may have been talking with her about you,” with an embarrassed chuckle you drained your mug and set it back onto the table.

“If-if that isn’t something you were thinking about before I won’t-“

“Would I be gripping the armrest with worry for your response if I hadn’t? I didn’t just open up for nothing you know,” he muttered, averting his gaze once more. And this time, you were sure of the color that filled his cheeks.

Relief washed over you, filling you with the courage it took to scoot a little closer to his stiff figure. Looking back over to him from only a cushion away now, you smiled.

“In that case, would it be too much for me to admit I like you a little?”

“Only if it’s not too much for me to confess I return those feelings, Y/N.”

[mostthingskenobi]

CASSIAN'S RECKONING - Chapter 18: The Reach

CHAPTER SUMMARY: A blatant proximity trope. That's what fan fics are for, right?!?!

This is one of my favorite chapters :) Because I am always here for a good proximity trope. If you think about it, the entire Rogue One movie is a forced proximity trope...Tony Gilroy and Gareth Edwards, I thank you.

In this chapter, Cassian says something in Kenari. I did some research about the language and I read that it's a mix of Spanish and Hungarian. Sadly, I don't know anything about Hungarian, but I learned a smattering of Mexican Spanish when I was in high school. So, I decided my version of Kenari would just be Spanish (firstly because I don't speak Hungarian and secondly because I wanted to show Diego respect). Thank you to my dear friend Adela for double checking my translation and helping me make it more accurate. (It's a small moment, but there's more to come in future chapters.)

I hope you enjoy!

READ THE FIC ON AO3

THIS IS A WHUMPY FIC W/GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS ON AO3.

——————–

CHAPTER 18: THE REACH

“One way out! One way out!”

Prisoners were pushing past him by the dozen, shouting their freedom chant as they jumped from the platform to the waves below. The crowd’s momentum pulled him backward, inch by inch getting closer to the edge. He stretched out his hand, reaching through the bodies. “Come on!” he shouted.

Jyn, dressed in the dehumanizing Narkina 5 uniform, cowered, pressing against the prisoners behind her. “I can’t,” she said shaking her head.

He could see she was terrified but this was their only chance. If they didn’t jump now, they’d be prisoners forever. “Jyn, take my hand! We have to go!”

She began to collapse to the ground. “I can’t swim.”

A large figure appeared at his side. He turned and found himself face to face with a man who preyed upon his memory. Kino Loy’s eyes were hard and filled with fury, his hulking body crowding Andor back until he teetered on the platform edge. Paralyzed by fear, the rebel’s own eyes widened with horror; he only had time for his gaze to shift from Kino to Jyn and back before the huge man brutally shoved him overboard. Jyn disappeared as the prison’s exterior wall rushed by. The fall lasted long enough to panic, but the plummet was so sickening Cassian couldn’t even scream. Instead of hitting icy water, he smashed into a durasteal beam, bouncing until he landed on a metal grate inside a citadel tower, every bone in his body bursting like stardust…

…Cassian’s eyelids dragged open.

He lay still for a long time, face down in his bunk, letting his heartrate and breathing return to normal before he allowed himself to move.

This one had felt real.

He hated vivid dreams.

His experience on Narkina 5 was so profoundly dark it had burned its memories into his bones. The prison’s clean orderliness had been a veneer barely masking a system that was so sinister, so hopeless, so deeply futile that it haunted Cassian to this day. Kino Loy, a man who commanded respect and led hundreds of men to a freedom he could never share, was one of Cassian’s deepest regrets. If he could go back and change one thing about his past, he would grab Kino and drag him to safety.

But it hadn’t been possible.

Cassian shivered as he realized he’d left Jyn on that platform just like he’d left Kino.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the metal bulkhead.

He knew what it all meant; the nightmares weren’t exactly subtle. He was afraid of missing his chance, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or in the right place at the right time and messing it up, or making a stupid mistake that killed someone he cared about.

But he also knew he couldn’t control any of that. Which ultimately meant the dream was about living with fear, accepting it, facing it, thriving in spite of it.

Cassian rubbed his hands across his face. “I need coffee,” he grumbled.

What he really needed was a solid night’s rest that didn’t include nightmares of Jyn screaming, bleeding, or crying. Tarkin’s torture had pried open a level of vulnerability Cassian wasn’t sure how to heal. His nerves felt raw, like his past was fighting with the present. Everything Jyn said to him the night before lingered in his mind, battling with a lifetime of insignificance. He had grown up the outsider, the selfish taker, the lost boy. He’d been aimless, careless, and angry. But ever since he’d joined the Rebel Alliance, all that pent up emotion was directed into something meaningful. Even so, Jyn had been right; deep down, in spite of his efforts, Cassian thought he was living on borrowed time. He couldn’t imagine himself as an old man, couldn’t even picture where he’d be in a year, and he always assumed that meant he wouldn’t live to be very old. He’d survived by mere chance so many times that he figured one day fate would catch up and want him to pay his dues. After Jyn said she was proud of him, for the first time in his life Cassian began to wonder if he’d survived all the horror for a reason. Perhaps fate had spared him because he was, in fact, trying to give others the freedom and safety he’d never known.

His brow pulled together as an uncharacteristically buoyant idea crept into his mind. He thought of Jyn, of all the moments that, when you added them up, equaled something undeniable; tackling him to protect him from a grenade on Jedha, supporting his injured body on Scarif, rescuing him from Tarkin, sitting by his bedside holding his hand while he recovered in the medical ward. He hadn’t just survived; he’d been protected. Perhaps they weren’t living on borrowed time; perhaps his time with Jyn was a gift, an opportunity for something neither of them had ever dared accept.

The idea almost scared him.

He loved her; he could finally admit that to himself.

But loving someone meant you had something worth losing.

And that vulnerability terrified him.

Cassian had already lost too much.

Could he risk losing her?

That’s just love. Nothing you can do about that.

Maarva’s words made him catch his breath; he could not think of his mother without also feeling the dull blade of grief.

But he relaxed and closed his eyes, letting the feelings have their way. Cassian lay back, tucking his hands behind his head, and turned inward.

“OK, Mom,” he whispered.

——————–

Rogue One gathered in the bunk room again that evening for another round of sabacc. No one had any money to gamble, so for credits Bodhi purchased several boxes of horrendously sour candy in the ship’s exchange. Whenever someone won a hand, they were required to eat a candy. Jyn currently had tears streaming down her face as she stomped her boot on the floor. “You bastard!” she shouted as the others laughed. She went to crunch the candy in half but they all protested.

“No, no, no!” Cassian cried, grabbing her shoulder. “You can’t cheat!”

“You know the rules!” Bodhi guffawed.

Baze was wheezing so hard he couldn’t speak. No one had ever seen him laugh like that.

Chirrut was beaming, basking in the ebullience created by his friends in the Force.

“I’m literally sweating!” Jyn squawked. “What kind of monster are you?” she pointed at Bodhi. The pilot was in stitches, hugging himself while he laughed. “This candy is evil! Why are you punishing us for winning?”

They had never laughed so hard as a group. And they knew it. An air of awareness hung over them, each realizing what a relief it was to feel joy.

“All the blood has drained from your face,” Cassian burst out, bending forward over his knees as he lost control again.

She gently shoved him and smiled, holding the candy between her teeth. “Just wait ‘til it’s your turn, Andor!” Finally, the sweets dissolved and Jyn gasped for air, wiping sweat from her brow. “You absolute bastard!” she glared at Bodhi. “You look all innocent and mild on the outside, but deep down you’re a fiend.”

“Keeps the playing field even,” Bodhi chuckled.

The group threw more candy in the table’s center for an ante.

“I never want to win again,” Jyn said wiping her eyes.

They played for a long time, but, despite his best efforts, Cassian began fading quickly. When the game paused while Chirrut and Baze went in search of drinks, Jyn turned to him and spoke quietly. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You can hardly keep your eyes open.”

He rubbed his face hard before pushing his hands up into his hair. “I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“Is it odd being in a different place? A new ship, a new room?”

A grimace turned up the corner of his mouth. “No, I can sleep anywhere; on the ground, on a ship, in a prison, tied to a chair. I can do it all.”

She forced herself to smile.

“Is that joke too dark?” he teased.

Jyn rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”

He sighed and let his head droop forward.

“Bad dreams?” she asked, her voice serious again but still hushed.

He nodded.

She leaned toward him, her body pressing against his shoulder as she gently touched the fading bruise on his forehead. “No injuries today?” She brushed a rogue lock of hair off his brow.

Cassian turned.

Their eyes met.

And for a moment neither of them could breathe.

“It’s too quiet in my quarters,” he finally said, not breaking eye contact.

“Lets the bad dreams in?”

“I think so.”

She could hear Bodhi rummaging in his footlocker nearby. The members of Rogue One were not fools; Jyn suspected they all assumed something existed between her and Cassian, but she still didn’t like the idea of anyone examining her behavior, no matter what evidence they were looking for. Even so, she couldn’t pull her gaze away from Cassian’s. “What would help you sleep?”

He glanced down at her lips.

She could see that his breathing had deepened.

Suddenly, all Jyn wanted was to push her fingers through Cassian’s hair and close her lips over his. Instead, she swallowed thickly before saying, “Maybe you should try sleeping somewhere noisy.”

Bodhi slammed his locker shut just as Baze and Chirrut arrived with a bottle and glasses.

Cassian blinked and Jyn turned back to the group as Chirrut handed them drinks. “This should get the taste of those awful candies out of your mouth,” the guardian said with a smile.

“You’re a true hero, Chirrut,” Cassian said dryly before tossing the amber liquid down his throat in one go.

“I help where I can,” the guardian responded warmly.

They gathered around the table and shuffled out the cards again, but it wasn’t long before Cassian began to fall asleep sitting up.

“Perhaps I gave you too much,” Chirrut offered as Andor’s head dipped forward before jerking back.

“I’m a lightweight these days,” Cassian replied with a slightly drunken smile.

“I appreciate a cheap date,” the guardian snorted.

“Do you mind if I just lay down for a little?” he asked the group. His eyes shifted to Jyn’s. “I don’t mean to invade your personal space…”

She smiled and gestured with her head that she didn’t mind in the least.

Cassian crawled behind her, stretching out on his back.

“Do you want us to be quiet?” Bodhi asked.

“No,” Cassian replied, his eyes already closed. “I like the noise.”

The bunk was muffled and cozy. His friends continued their game as dark sleep crept around his consciousness. Cassian hadn’t felt this safe in a long time, Jyn sitting by his side, Chirrut laughing, Bodhi shuffling cards, Baze telling jokes. The noise was good. He tucked an arm behind his head, stuffing the pillow into a more comfortable position. His last thought before drifting off was that the soft fabric near his cheek smelled like Jyn.

——————–

When the card game broke up about an hour later, Cassian was deep in sleep. So deep, in fact, that Jyn couldn’t wake him. She shook his shoulder and said his name but received no response. She leaned closer and spoke louder. “Cass.” His left eyebrow pulled up for a second before going slack again. Jyn looked at Bodhi who hovered by her side. “I don’t know what to do.”

The pilot gave her a pathetic noncommittal look before saying, “Nothing you really can do.”

The overhead lights flashed, indicating lights out in five minutes.

“Shit!” Jyn grumbled, throwing up her hands. “Where am I supposed to sleep? I have an early meeting with Draven tomorrow. I need to get some rest.”

“Just get in there next to him,” Baze said, leaning down from his bunk above Jyn’s. “You can fit.”

The thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but she stooped in and found that she could squeeze in by the inside wall.

“If an officer sees you both, you’ll get in trouble,” Bodhi warned.

“I’m an officer, and so is he,” she said hiking her thumb at the unconscious Andor. “If you have a better suggestion, I’m happy to hear it.”

“You didn’t try very hard to wake him up.”

“Be my guest.”

Bodhi took a timid step forward before leaning into Jyn’s bunk. “Cassian,” he said loudly, shaking the commander by both shoulders. A small grunt came from the back of the sleeping man’s throat but other than that, he didn’t budge. Bodhi turned back to Jyn. “Yeah, he’s not waking up.”

“Thanks for your help,” she muttered sarcastically as the pilot retreated to his own bunk. The overhead lights flashed out and orange running lights came on along the floor. Jyn sighed and made up her mind. She grabbed hold of the rack above hers and climbed over Cassian’s body, careful not to jostle him. She pulled shut the long, black privacy curtain then settled against the inside wall. The bunks were incredibly narrow, and since Cassian was flat on his back taking up most of the room, she had to prop up on her right side. Jyn didn’t mind; she’d slept in worse conditions.

A thin line of orange light peeked through the curtain’s edge, backlighting Cassian’s features. Before drifting off she watched him, listened to his steady breathing, felt his weight on the mattress. Her last thought before falling asleep was that seeing him so peaceful was worth getting in trouble.

Hours passed and the room eventually settled and grew silent, apart from the usual sounds aboard a star freighter and the occasional snore.

In the night’s deepest hour Cassian became restless, his arms and legs contracting so much that it shook Jyn awake. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, unsure what had roused her, but when she heard his panicked breathing she knew he was in the throes of a nightmare. At first, she wasn’t sure what to do; anyone startled from a bad dream could accidentally lash out. The last thing she needed was for Cassian to flail around in these close quarters and break her nose.

Eventually, she settled on trying to calm him without waking him, so she ran her hand across his chest and gently stroked her fingers along his collarbone. She tried to send calming, comforting energy through her palm into his heart.

Without warning he rolled onto his side toward her, bringing them so close together she could feel his breath on her cheek.

He sighed deeply.

She could sense he had awakened.

“Jyn?” he asked too loudly.

“Shhh,” she whispered.

“It’s so dark I can’t see.” he whispered back. “Did I fall asleep in your rack?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

He was quiet for a long time. She couldn’t see his face anymore since his shoulders now blocked the light coming in around the curtain’s edge.

He didn’t move to leave.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he finally asked, still keeping his voice quiet.

“I tried and so did Bodhi.” She shrugged in the darkness.

“But now what am I supposed to do?” She could hear the smile in his voice; he was teasing her. “What if someone sees me crawl out of your bunk?”

“Who cares?”

She could feel that his face had moved slightly closer to hers. “You don’t care?”

“No.”

“You don’t care how it looks?”

“I’ve never cared what other people think of me. It only matters what I think of me.”

Once again, they both fell silent. She could feel that he was breathing harder, just like her.

Jyn would be lying if she said this was an unpleasant predicament. Cassian’s friendship, their unspoken devotion, was a lovely, meaningful thing. But she could not deny that she found him absolutely and completely attractive. He was handsome to be sure, intelligent and disarming, but his good looks were magnified by far more important traits. No other man could both challenge and uplift her as he did. He was independent, confident, but not too proud to admit when he was wrong. He laughed with her, spoke to her as an equal, treated her with respect even when they first met and he wasn’t sure he could trust her.

Now that they were only inches apart, rolled together in a narrow ship rack in a room with fifty-nine other people, the rest of the galaxy seemed to disintegrate.

Cassian suddenly pulled her into his arms, breathing her name as he nuzzled against her, their lips brushing together. She cupped his face in her hands and gently traced his jaw, his cheek, his lips. He smelled like clear, fresh water warmed by the sun; she found him intoxicating. His fingers slipped up her neck and disappeared in her hair, pulling her even closer against him. Their eagerness was palpable, but they didn’t kiss. Instead, they clung to each other, as though Scarif’s scars demanded they finally come full circle, holding each other as they had on that deadly beach. Their breath came in shuddering gasps as an untenable dam of emotions threatened to break. Pleasure and pain and loss and joy surged to Cassian and Jyn’s surface. These two people, haunted by wrongs they could not right and misfortunes they could not repair, had finally reached for each other. That feat alone was a massive leap of faith, letting their guard down long enough to not just admit their desire, but to act on it.

She hooked her leg over his and completely closed the distance between their bodies. “Cassian,” she sighed, pulling his lips nearer.

His thumb gently played across her mouth. “Te quiero besar,” he whispered in a language he knew she didn’t understand.

She could feel his breath on her tongue.

Just as he was about to press his lips to hers, the bunk above them creaked and Baze grunted down the rack ladder, his foot shifting on the wrung mere inches from Cassian’s head on the other side of the curtain. Cassian froze, both he and Jyn instantly snapping back to reality. He listened wide-eyed as the guardian’s steps hit the floor and shuffled toward the bathroom.

He refocused on Jyn. “I should go. If I get caught here, we’ll both end up in the brig.”

She nodded.

They were disappointed by the interruption but energized by the wall that had suddenly come down between them. Cassian smiled and quickly pressed his cheek to hers. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered in her ear. He drew back, one final caress sliding over her neck before rolling under the curtain. She couldn’t hear his steps as he walked away. Still a spy, she smiled to herself and pulled the blanket over her head.

——————–

END NOTES

NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED “THE HOLOGRAM” - Jyn finally learns why she wasn't put on leave. She is not a happy camper. Brace for impact.

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome!

Much love!

——————–

READ IT ON AO3- Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 “The Detritus”

READ CHAPTER 7 “The Salt”

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

REACH CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 “The Reprieve”

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 “The Redemption”

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 “The Rogues”

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 "The Reach"

READ CHAPTER 19 “The Hologram”

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 “The Fallout”

[giggly-squiggily]

*sneaks into your room while you're asleep after coincidentally rediscovering a conversation we had and puts a little sticky note saying "bjornskeladd + be my valentine (pretty please ♡)" on your forehead, waters your plants and disappears into the night*

*wakes up with sticky note stuck to face* Oh? Oh :3 *looks around*...when did I buy all these plants?

RJEJREJRJ REY! I'm gonna be real with you- I literally forgot what we talked about, read this- thought "I think Bjorn could get away with tickling if Ladds was drunk" and that's what happened akjrjkarjkaej Then I DID find our conversation and said: "...I need to write this more often" so here we are :D I hope I was able to bring you some good bjornskeladd this evening :3

CW: drinking

Be My Valentine: "I know all your weaknesses!"

Bjorn never thought the day would come, but here they were.

“What are you looking at?” A disgruntled Askeladd stared him down, his expression stern but not dismissive. They’ve been drinking, and while the older man held his liquor well, even he had his limits. His cheeks were the barest of pink- the only indication he was tipsy. “Out with it, Bjorn!”

“You’ve had a bit to drink, eh boss? Sure you shouldn’t slow down?” The comment got him a glare and a scuff, disappearing behind a wooden mug as he took the last swig of his wine.

“I’m fine. I’m no weakling when it comes to..to..” He blinked a few times, glaring down at his mug. “What is this again?”

“You’re done.” Bjorn stood, wrestling the mug out of his hand despite the other man’s grasp with surprisingly little difficulty. “Come on- time for bed.”

“What are you, my nan? I don’t need to be tucked in.” Askeladd batted his hands away, standing up for maximum intimidation factor. This immediately plummeted when he nearly fell over- saved only by Bjorn’s quick reflexes. “Let me go, I can walk by myself!”

“Boss, with all due respect- you can’t.” Bjorn resisted the urge to sigh. It was a level of trust only he earned with Askeladd to witness him in such a state. He felt both honored and mildly exhausted. “Let me help you to bed.”

“I told you already, I’m no weakling when it comes to my drinks!” Prideful as ever, Askeladd began a wobbly stumble towards the rooms. Only it was in the other direction and he nearly walked through a window instead. Bjorn once again grabbed him to steady him. “Why are you here so fast? You holding out on me?”

“Face it, ‘Ladd. You’re drunk. Don’t lie to me- I know all your weaknesses.” Desperate times called for desperate measures. With an arm around the blonde, he pressed his fingers into his ribs sharply. “Time to sober up!”

“Gah! S-Shit, dohohon’t!” Gritting his teeth, Askeladd immediately went to shove him away, but either Bjorn was too strong or he was too drunk; he had no strength in his arms. “Bjohorn, you soohhn of a-”

“Yes, yes. Heard it all, ‘Ladd.” Bjorn chuckled as he made his way towards their shared bed, clawing into his side the entire time. Another rare privilege, getting to tickle the older man. If he were being honest, it was the only way to get him listening in this state. “Come on, bed time.”

“Iihihi tohohold you- I’m nohoohoho brahahhat! Geahha, gehheehhet yooohohur hand-AH!” With a light shove, he was pushed into the cot, slightly dazed at impact. Askeladd opened his mouth to snarl, but the second his face touched the pillow his drunken eyes grew heavy. “I…hm..what was I saying?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bjorn barely held down a laugh as he watched the older man doze off, low snores rumbling from his throat. He wouldn’t remember any of this by morning. Nor would he likely remember the gentle kiss Bjorn pressed into his whiskery face. “Night, boss.”

I snore was the only response he got in return.

Send me a candy heart and I'll write a dabble for it!

[joheunsaram]

Quiet (jjk)

Summary- A long week away from you leaves Jungkook needy. A drabble companion to glitter and disquiet.

word count - 2.6k

pairing- ceo!Jungkook x youtuber!Reader

rating- R

genre- smut, fluff, established relationship, chaebol!au

warnings- sub!Jungkook, softdom!Reader, work stress, edging, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, subspace, aftercare, LOVE.

a.n- Ah I missed this couple! Sorry about the late response anon but I hope you enjoy this! <3

A big warm thank you to @chateautae and @alpacaseok for beta reading this and squealing with me about this Jungkook 💕

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌

-

People assume that leadership of a company is the most stressed when things are not going well, when the stocks are plummeting and market share is dwindling. However, what most don’t know is that the most stressful time is actually when your company is thriving, because unlike the earlier ways there are no problems to solve, the biggest problem is to predict how others might steal your spot, how your consumers might get bored of you, how even a slight mistake might lead to the downfall. It’s a practice in predicting human behaviour – something inherently difficult to quantify.

Collaborating with Saga was supposed to be a reprieve from the workload, it was supposed to be a way for Jungkook to finally gain the respect of his employees as he transitioned from part-time to full-time. Yet, he still overheard their snide comments, still had to bite his tongue when he received scathing looks from people who blamed nepotism for not sitting in his seat, people who made his job inherently more difficult, sending in sloppy reports compiled by interns. It was infuriating, and Jungkook was so so tired.

Running a hand through his hair, he walked into his dark apartment, tossing his jacket haphazardly on the floor along with his bag before trudging towards the couch and sprawling on it unceremoniously. He could feel every muscle in his back ache, a dull pain that made him whine. He didn’t think he even had the energy to turn on the lights, let alone make it to his bedroom. However, as much as he tried, he couldn’t shut off his brain, strategies from the earlier meeting roaming around like flies, buzzing annoyingly.

With a sigh, he sat up, reaching into his pocket for his phone and dialling your number. Talking to you always relaxed him, especially when he was having trouble with work. It helped that you could organise his thoughts, ask him questions that instantly made him see solutions instead of problems. It was reassuring, and his heart eased a little even as the dial tone rang out crispy through his phone.

“Hey Kookie! How’s my baby?” you answered cheerfully, and in his tired state Jungkook couldn’t help blushing a little, the endearments making him feel soft and fluffy. He knew you were equally as busy, your new job taking a bit to adjust. He didn’t want to invite you over. He knew that he should refrain because you had told him about your first big project and all that you needed to prepare for it, but it had been a long week without seeing you. Too long without the caress of your lips against his, and the longing manifested as a quiver in his lip.

“I’m… okay. Sorry, are you busy?” he asked, throat suddenly dry as he tried to control the wobble evident in his voice.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you asked, the concern lacing your tone bringing out his vulnerabilities as he laid his head back, staring at the ceiling, eyes tracing the beam of light escaping his blinds and dividing the darkness into two.

“Long day,” he sighed, loosening the top few buttons of his shirt before continuing, “Long week. Miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby,” you assured softly, the conversation petering out as the two of you sat in silence till Jungkook apologised again meekly. It didn’t take you long to make up your mind, leaving work to catch a cab to his home, stopping only to pick up some food.

When you entered the code on his door, you were met by darkness, eyes taking a little too long to adjust as you took off your shoes and jacket, following the trail of Jungkook’s things to the living room where the man sat hunched on the couch. Placing the take out boxes on the coffee table, you kneeled in front of him, aligning your face to his as you held it in your hands.

“Hi sweet boy,” you cooed, kissing the little pout on his face. Jungkook couldn’t take a deeper breath even if his lungs allowed it, drowning in your intoxicating scent as he wrapped his arms around you and held you tight, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Lifting you up, he placed you in his lap, grip still an iron vice around you as he nuzzled into you, relishing the way your fingers softly massaged the back of his neck.

“I missed you,” he breathed, finally looking at you, eyes roaming your features. It had only been a week and somehow he had forgotten how beautiful you were, how just looking at you made his heart skip a beat. The soft smile on your lips felt like champagne in his veins, bubbling warmth through him till he had no choice but to capture it with his lips.

Jungkook wasn’t a shy virgin anymore, months of practice with you had turned him confident, albeit a little cocky at times about his ability to turn you into a squirming mess within minutes. But sometimes when he was exceptionally stressed and needy, he forgot about his preconceived notions about how sex was supposed to be. He forgot about the worries about pleasing you just right so you wouldn’t leave him, and he forgot about everything else but the taste of your lips and the feel of your touch. In those times he loved the way you pampered him, instructed him, called him a good boy in that sultry tone that made his mind blank and his blood fizzle. The same tone you were using now.

“Does my Kookie wanna be a good boy,” you said against the skin of his clavicle, your kisses having since departed from his lips to his jaw to his neck, leaving him blissfully sinking into the cushions. His breath came out in little pants, his hands flexing by his side because to truly be a good boy meant now touching you with your permission.

“Please baby,” he gasped just when your teeth nipped at the skin of his Adam’s apple, lust shooting through him and manifesting in the tightness of his pants under you.

You cooed at him, always ecstatic when he submitted so easily, relishing how you could provide him the solace you knew no one else could. Your fingers slowly unbuttoned his shirt, feeling the strong muscles he’d work so hard on, mouth relentless in tasting the slightly salty skin. As you kissed down his chest, you swiveled your hips against his, his cock already hard beneath you providing the perfect amount of friction to have those breathy whimpers escape his lips. Usually you would pull his pants down and sink him within you, ride him till he was mumbling incoherently and cumming within seconds, but it had been too long since you’d had him and you needed to cherish each moment, stretch it out so that by the time you were done his knitted brow and bags under his eyes would disappear.

With his shirt wide open and chest decorated with the blooming scarlet granted to him by your lips, you stood up, watching him as he peered at you from below his lashes, head tilted back. His hands quivered by his sides, chest rising with each breath but he didn’t dare move, and a proud smile made its way to your face. You ignored his little whine as you took his hands and walked him to the bedroom, you heart hurting a little at how tired he seemed, steps heavy and shoulders tight.

“Strip,” you commanded as you sat on the edge of the bed, watching how he slowly revealed more of his skin to you, your panties getting damper as he shrugged off his boxer to stand proudly in front of you. You were still in awe of how beautiful he truly was, rippling strong muscles protecting the most gentle heart underneath.

Standing in front of him, you looked up at him, running your hands over his shoulders, slowly coaxing him into contentment. His eyes fluttered, goosebumps rising as you traced the tattoos on his right arm before your fingers moved to his chest, roaming over his pebbled nipples and solid abs and trailing over the little path of hair that led to his hard dick patiently waiting for you.

“Tiger… baby,” he groaned when instead of gripping his cock like usual you just caressed it with a finger, your nail tickling him in a way that made his dick weep. The more you teased, the more he felt his legs shake, mind turning into the pink mush he craved so much around you. He never thought it was possible to lose yourself in someone this easily. Jungkook was used to hiding himself, being strong so his parents thought he was reliable, being stoic so his friends wouldn’t baby him, but with you he felt like he could be himself, raw and vulnerable because you would never hurt him.

When another featherlight touch threatened to make his knees buckle you guided him to the bed, laying him over the sheets and climbing to lie next to him. He looked over at you, confused, expecting you to straddle him and put him out of his misery but you just smiled, kissing him till all his thoughts floated away.

“Wanna forget everything today?” you whispered, hand cupping his jaw and lips pecking his nose. He felt as if he was melting into the mattress, nodding breathlessly as you started stroking him in earnest. He couldn’t help the high pitched whine that escaped him when you suddenly picked up speed, eager to reach his end. He was on the cusp, legs stretching out as his head leaned further into the pillows. His toes were tingling, sparks shooting up and down his body chaotically.

Seeing the stretch of his neck, so eagerly displayed for you, your lips started sucking on the skin, bruising it deliciously, his moans a chorus swelling through the room. You knew he was close by the way his thighs were shaking, quivering under your forearm and so with a tight grip at his base, you stopped.

“No no no,” Jungkook whined, fists clutching the sheets below him before pleading at you, begging for a release. But you knew Jungkook, knew that if you edged him a few more times he would melt away his stress when he finally came. With a placating sloppy kiss, you straddled him, legs stretching over his thighs as your hand began it’s movements once again, slowly torturing him.

The way he was keening had you throbbing, your pussy clenching over nothing and when you edged him once again he developed that dazed look on his face that made you almost push your panties to the side and climb on. Yet you decided to pull more of those sweet groans when you decided to lick his tip, relishing the salty bittersweet taste.

Moaning loudly, you closed your lips around him, sucking deep till your nose met the little hair at the base of his dick. One swallow around his flesh and Jungkook felt as if he would lose his mind, his breaths turning into wheezes as he tried his best not to cum, tears lining his eyes.

“Please please please I’m gonna cum,” Jungkook protested, yet you didn’t let go. His brain felt like it was escaping out his ears, muffling all sounds as he concentrated on not cumming without your permission. He wanted to be good so bad, wanted to please you, worship you, love you. His mind was filled with just a chorus of your name, the way your nails were taking over his abs making him heady. When he thought he couldn’t control himself anymore, you released him, his orgasm ebbing away just like his sanity. It felt as if he was in a different plane, floating peacefully in bliss from being so good for you. He didn’t cum and he didn’t care that tears were easily streaming down his face, he was so happy that he followed your instructions, and even happier when you kissed him, whispering affirmations in his ear.

“So proud of my Kookie,” you cooed, lying over him, kissing every part of his face, hands wiping his tears. “My good boy. My best boy. My favourite boy.”

Jungkook repeated your praises, mumbling incoherently, eyes closed and unaware that you had shed your ruined panties. You smiled at him, kissing him once more, as he easily let you invade him with your tongue. You guided his poor tortured cock into you, letting your walls envelope him in your warmth, the stretch making you moan softly.

You matched his bliss when you started rotating your hips, the angle making you see stars. It wasn’t long till you lost your patience, changing the pace to one that was faster, more haphazard, one that made the sounds of your bodies colliding echo around the room even louder than Jungkook’s begging.

“Please baby! Please wanna touch you! Wanna so bad,” he cried, hips thrusting into you trying to match your pace on shaky legs. It seemed impossible how many endorphins were rushing through him, making it seem as if he had already cum when he knew he was still harder than he had ever been.

“Go ahead baby,” you moaned and the words had barely left your lips when he was looping his arms around you to pull you to his chest, his grip so tight that you could barely move. Yet the change helped your clit grind perfectly against him bringing you closer, agonizing him as you got tighter around him. His begging was barely recognizable as words, full of yearning, drool dripping as he mouthed at your chin, bringing your orgasm to the cusp.

“Cum for me Jungkook,” you whispered, right as you fell off the edge, muscles quivering under his hold, his loud whine filling your ears. And seconds later he was cumming, unable to stop how he spasmed, squirmed from the euphoria flowing through him as he breathlessly moaned your name again and again.

When the tide had ebbed, you stayed close, holding him tight and whispering how much you loved him, how proud you were of him. He didn’t care that the two of you were messy, sticky with sweat, his mind too frayed to want anything other than the comfort you provided.

It seemed like hours till he was able to speak again, answering your questions about different video games he liked as you brought him back to earth, your fingers gently running through his hair. He noticed that somehow the two of you had changed positions, his head now laying on your chest as he curled around you.

“How are you feeling, my pretty boy,” you checked in, and Jungkook couldn’t help blushing at the endearment. He never thought being called pretty by you would make him feel so alive but the praise felt like a balm to his earlier torture, the haze melting into love as he looked up at you. You smiled at his glistening doe eyes as you kissed his forehead, loving the grin that showcased his teeth and scrunched his nose.

After pampering him with a bath and listening about his day, you changed the sheets, cuddling your giant loveable boyfriend and assuaging his worries. Sometimes you wished you could take his stress away from him, steal it away so it wouldn’t burden his shoulders. But looking at him now as he cutely kisses you, relaxed and boneless, you were happy to give him at least this temporary reprieve.

“I love you, you know that right?” you asked him, gently stroking his cheek as he gazed at you adoringly.

“I do. Thank you for loving me,” Jungkook whispered, kissing your lips once again. “I love you more than anything, my soulmate.”

You giggled at his silly belief but still picked up his hand from where it laid on your waist.

“My soulmate,” you acquiesced with a kiss to his pinky before intertwining yours against it, enjoying the way he smiled before drifting off to sleep.

-

I hope you enjoyed the smut! For more fics of mine check out my masterlist

taglist- @ressjeon @mwitsmejk @moonchild1 @drumsofheaven @thisartemisnevermisses @kaepjjangiya @emsuzz   @aroseforyoongi @awhnamjoon @agustdjoon @codeinebelle ​@hisunshiine @wearenot7withu ​@jalexad

[yournameoneverypage]

Rude

Word Count: 820 Warnings: A little angst? A/N: I hadn't expected to get this done so quickly, - I started it earlier tonight, - and I apologize that it's one of my more recent requests and not something I've had for awhile, but when I reread the prompt (which surprisingly I hadn't remembered reading when it first came in), it just sparked and caught. I know it's short, but I hope you still like it. I feel rusty, like it may not be all that good, since I haven't written anything for awhile, so please be kind if you choose to comment.

*❤*

Shawn woke up Saturday morning with butterflies already tumbling in his stomach. It was going to be a big day, and it would be an even bigger night. The kind of night that would make or break the future he had envisioned.

He barely managed to choke down even a small breakfast, but he knew he’d need the sustenance. He didn’t want to pass out on the front stoop.

He showered and shaved. He styled his curls into neat waves, trying to disguise their true length. He had considered getting a haircut, but you liked his hair a bit longer.

He stood in the middle of his walk-in closet, trying to determine what to wear to make the greatest impression, finally deciding on one of his best suits, in blue. He’d read that blue signified serenity or calm, trust, intelligence, and responsibility. He also looked good in blue. Beneath his suit he wore a white button-down. White was often linked to sincerity, simplicity, clarity, and peace.

He knew what he wanted. In all sincerity, he had never been more clear.

///

Shawn was on his way, probably driving a little too fast, he realized. Trust, responsibility, he thought to himself. You also need to get there in one piece. He eased up on the gas as he drew closer and closer to his destination. He also began a breathing technique to try to lower his heart rate and another to bolster his confidence.

Too soon he was standing at the door, metaphorically holding his heart in his hand. He knocked briefly in the rhythm of the literal heart in his chest.

“Shawn,” your father greeted when the door opened. “Where’s my princess?”

“I’m here alone, Sir.” He took a deep breath. “I have a question to ask you. Man to man.”

Shawn waited to be invited inside. When he wasn’t, when your father only raised one eyebrow, he nervously rubbed his palms against the fabric of his thighs.

He drew another deep breath. Fine. He'll do it right here then. “I love your daughter. She is the most important person in my life. I will put her above all else. Always. And tonight, I’d like to propose. I’m here to ask for your blessing.”

Your father folded his arms across his chest, grunted, and said, gruffly, "You won’t get it. The answer is no."

Shawn’s heart plummeted and his head began to swim. He thought your father had always liked him, so this was surprising, to say the least. 

He respected your father, but that was an unacceptable response. He stood straighter. He had been folded in on himself, if only slightly, so as not to seem overly imposing. He was taller and wider than the older man.

He inhaled, his chest expanding, and cleared his throat. “Sir, please. Your blessing is important to y/n, therefore it's important to me. So, respectfully, I’ll ask again. May I have your daughter’s hand in marriage?”

Your father stood taller, squaring his chest. “And again, my answer is no.”

It was no secret that he was antipathetic to Shawn’s lifestyle, and very much disliked that Shawn was sometimes away for long stretches of time, leaving his daughter on her own, but you were a grown woman who chose this life with Shawn, who made her own decisions. And Shawn had never, nor would he ever hurt or mistreat you. He was loving and loyal to a fault and thoroughly, wildly in love with you.

“I can’t live without her,” Shawn stated, matter of factly. “I won’t. I’m going to marry her, with or without your approval. This is simply a formality. She’ll say ‘yes’ because she loves me and she knows our life together will be filled with affection, and adventure, and happiness, and undying devotion.

“I love her. She loves me. And she loves you. I’d like to see you walk your daughter down the aisle, and place her hand in mine at the altar. I think you know, deep in your heart, that if you make her choose between us, she’ll choose me. I don't want her to ever have to make that choice. I want you in her life, and in the lives of our future children.

“So, I hope you will strongly reconsider.”

Shawn exhaled, gave a sharp nod in goodbye, turned, and walked away from his future father-in-law. He opened his car door and slid in behind the wheel. He sat there for a few minutes, simply breathing until he was calm enough to drive safely.

He finally turned the key in the ignition, but before he could put the car into gear, there was a sharp knock on his window.

He rolled it down and earnestly met your father’s eyes.

Your father sighed. “Alright, Son. Alright.” He placed his hand on Shawn’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. “You have my blessing. Don’t make me regret it.”

///

@mendesblurb @benito-mi-vida @monikamendes @mendesficsxbombay @hiding-behind-a-flower @silverswallow @chocochipcookie305 @misti-ka @fallinallinshawn @pamelagramm

(Has anyone else requested to be on my taglist that I may have missed?)

[scapegrace74-blog]

Don’t Let Me Fall, Chapter 4

A/N  This chapter sorta poured out of me last night, so here’s a mid-week update.  Don’t get too used to them!  Also, there are a lotta muscles in that moodboard.  You’re welcome.

Previous chapters can be read here.

If the circus performer gig ever fell through, Jamie Fraser had a bright future in prognosticating.  No sooner had the one-month anniversary of my arrival in Montreal passed that I found myself settling into the routine he had promised.  My shoulders widened considerably from all the strength training.  My forearms grew ropey with newly formed muscle.  Callouses now graced the base of each ring finger from countless hours hefting free-weights.  And while I was still no carnivore, I heeded his advice and ordered a burger anytime I felt my energy levels plummet.  I gained five pounds on the scale but put on fifteen pounds of muscle.

For all their differences, the ballet and the circus had enough in common for the latter to feel familiar.  There was the endless repetition of movement, until my muscles recognized their job without any active thought on my part.  The artistic sensibilities and intricate social pecking order of the performers.  The long days that left precious little time for any extra-curricular pursuits.  And mostly, there was the quietly fierce commitment to entertain, to excel, to shine when the spotlight turned your way.

Navigating this new world absorbed the majority of my attention, such that I spent very little time getting to know my troupe mates beyond a casual nod or greeting.  Seemingly recognizing this, Jamie went out of his way to introduce me to other members of the Tropico cast.   There was Yi Tien Cho, a Chinese juggler with a poetic bent and a penchant for off-colour jokes.   We bonded over a shared passion for oolong tea.  Then there was Mary Hawkins, a self-effacing slip of a girl who could quite literally contort her body into knots.  We had a standing date in the common room on Monday evenings to watch The Bachelorette.  A hopeless romantic, Mary’s grey eyes would go misty during each rose ceremony, no matter how often I pointed out that the show was scripted.

Most significant of all was my budding friendship with Jamie. Since that second encounter in the cafeteria, he took my indoctrination into the circus life on as a pet project. I couldn’t have asked for a better benefactor.  In a profession rife with egos and ambition, Jamie was an effortless alpha.  While doing nothing to assert his influence, all the other performers respected him.  I attributed some of this to his sheer size and athletic talents, but the fact remained that he was a natural leader.  By virtue of people seeing us together, a certain amount of that deference rubbed off on me, making my life on campus considerably easier.

It wasn’t that we spent all that much time in each other’s company, really.  A quick hello in the hallway when I was on my way to physical therapy, and he coming back from a run, all sweat and shimmer.  An occasional chat in the cafeteria over a prepared meal, just enough information being exchanged for me to know he grew up in a tiny Highland village where everyone knew their neighbour’s business, and for him to hear about my itinerant youth, following my guardian around the globe.  Once, in the weight room, he’d shown me the proper technique for using the cable row machine, his hands precise and impersonal as they adjusted my posture.  He even joined my favourite evening yoga class now and again, his long limbs and bulky muscles surprisingly limber as his curls reflected the dim candlelight.

It came as no great surprise to realize I’d developed a slight crush on him, but it was abundantly clear my attraction wasn’t returned. Unfailingly polite, Jamie never once made any kind of romantic overture or even a lascivious glance.  I’d heard about his break-up with his previous aerials partner from Mary, so it clearly wasn’t a question of not dating a fellow performer.  The lifestyle of a circus artist was so intense and unusual that relationships between co-workers were the norm; so much so that the dormitories had been dubbed the Rabbit Warren for the frenzy of fornication that took place within.

If I had any doubts that Jamie’s interest in me was purely platonic, they were laid to rest when he finally made good on his promise to share some high protein recipes.  I showed up at his door freshly showered and wearing mascara for the first time since leaving London.  Each bachelor suite was the same in terms of layout, with a small kitchen, breakfast bar, living area and separate bedroom and ensuite bath.  Jamie’s was more austere than most.  A small stack of books (a Quebecois novel in French, some true crime thrillers, and Catallus’ love poetry in Latin, of all things), a framed picture of a dark-haired woman, her partner, and two small children, and a few boxes shoved into the corner were the only adornments.

“Have a seat at the bar while I prep these veggies,” Jamie invited once he’d offered me a glass of water.

Keeping up a running commentary on the correct balance of micro and macro nutrients for a high-performance athlete, Jamie proceeded to do exactly what he said he would.  He showed me how to prepare a pork and cashew stir fry (“verra high in iron, Tourist”) then moved straight on to preparing a meatless shepherd’s pie.  

While the second dish was in the oven, Jamie excused himself to take a phone call in his bedroom.  Tired of perching on the high stool that no doubt fit the giant Scot perfectly, I slid to my feet and wandered into the living area.  From my new perspective on his sofa, I could make out a brown leather portfolio like an architect might carry, balanced on the shelf of his coffee table.  I glanced guiltily to where Jamie’s deep voice thrummed from the other room, then carefully slid the mysterious object to where I could take a better look.

Inside was a sheaf of heavy bond paper, each sheet covered in a whirlwind of drawings, some made with charcoal pencil and others in oil pastels with hues of moss and graphite and fiery ochre.  The images were primitive, but at the same time incredibly evocative, like cave paintings or figure studies by Matisse.  There was no doubt in my mind that Jamie was the artist.  As best as I could fathom, the drawings were the blueprints for a truly unique Cirque show centered upon figures from Gaelic mythology.  I recognized faeries and waterhorses, druids and warriors, all represented by circus artists performing a variety of extreme feats.  The throughline was a faceless woman with Medusa-like hair who rose like an angel from a ring of standing stones.  Written below her image in a blocky masculine hand was The Lady of Balnain. I was completely and utterly captivated.

“Those are only the rough drafts.”  Jamie’s voice, immediately behind me, made me jump and drop the page that I had been holding.  It floated to the ground and landed, accusingly, at my feet.

“I’m so sorry for snooping,” I apologized, heat creeping up the back of my neck and I hastened to pick up the stray paper.

“Dinna fash, Tourist.  I shoudna have left ye out here along for sae long.  My sister can be a tad long-winded when the spirit moves her.”

Eager to latch onto a subject that wasn’t my violation of his privacy, I gestured at the nearby picture frame.

“Is that her?”

“Aye, Jenny, with her husband Ian and my niece and nephew. They live back home in Broch Mordha, sae I dinna get to see them verra often.”

“Is she artistic as well?” I could not help asking.

Jamie chuckled.  “Jenny’s idea of art is making shortbread cookies in different shapes instead o’ just round.  Nay, she takes after our Da.  Pragmatic to the core.  I get my artist side from our Mam.  She was a wonderful painter, though she hadna much time to indulge, what with the farm to help run and two rambunctious children to raise.”

“How did you get into circus performing, then?”

“Och, well, there wasna much for a strapping lad such as myself to do back home that didna involve hitting or being hit, and I never did care fer violence.  A nearby town had a gymnastics school and my Da would drive me over every weekend.  A teacher there recommended I try out for the National Circus School in London when I was but fourteen.  I kent it was something I was good at that would earn me a decent living while getting to see the world.  So off I went.”

I was sure there was more to the story than that, but I didn’t want to solidify my reputation for unchecked nosiness.

“I dunno, Fraser,” I teased instead.  “Picking a circus career because you’re a big strong Scot who doesn’t like punching things?  Seems pretty pragmatic to me.”

To my relief, Jamie laughed.

“I really am sorry for looking at your portfolio without your permission, Jamie.  It’s no excuse, but once I saw the story you were telling with your drawings, I couldn’t put it down.   The Lady of Balnain.  Is that a Scottish legend of some kind?”

“Aye, a less well-known one, to be sure.  It’s an idea I’ve been working on for a couple years, no’ that I have much to show for it.”

“Well, what you’ve got looks amazing.  If there’s anything I can ever do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask,” I said.

“Thank ye kindly, Tourist.”

There was a pause, an endless moment when we simply looked at each other.  I wanted to ask him to join me on the sofa, but that seemed presumptuous considering it was his home.

“Well,” Jamie declared a bit too loudly.  “I canna eat all this food myself.  Let me pack some up for ye, sae you dinna have to cook much this week.”

Which is how I found myself walking back to my suite with two large Tupperware containers and the certainty that Jamie Fraser was unequivocally not interested in me romantically.

***

Jamie didn’t know what had crawled up Geneva’s arse, but she was even more erratic and prone to outbursts these days.  One minute he was a lazy oaf whose breathing was too loud to bear.  The next she was a teary mess, clinging to his chest and leaving snot all over his athletic gear.  The conclusion he drew was that she was dealing with a particularly bad case of PMS, so he held back his sharp retorts and tried to make himself as inoffensive as possible until it passed.

It didn’t help that the routine they were learning for Tropico was more complex and technically challenging than anything either of them had attempted before.  They rehearsed with safety harnesses, so it wasn’t a matter of life or death, but Jamie still prided himself on earning his partner’s trust by never letting his grip falter.  Geneva’s mood wasn’t improved by repeatedly dangling from the security line like a puppet on a spring, either.

While the choreographer droned on about primeval gestures and tapping into their bestial natures, Jamie let his attention wander to the neighbouring platform, where Claire was practicing some beginner aerial moves. The former ballerina had improved in leaps and bounds since arrived at Cirque des Etoiles, a testament to her incredible work ethic and the fact that she was already a world class athlete, albeit in a peripheral discipline.  He watched with pride as she executed a textbook upside-down split, her newly developed muscles holding the loops with nary a tremor.

John joined Claire on the platform, and they began working on paired maneuvers.  Jamie’s wistful smile withered away.  He didn’t begrudge his long-time friend working with a partner.  All the principle leads had permanent or semi-permanent pairings whom they toured with and practiced with between shows.  Being matched with Claire was John’s ticket to move out of the corps.

As he watched on, Jamie concluded they were all wrong for one another.  Like most aerialists, himself notwithstanding, John was on the short side and compact.   Claire, on the other hand, was tall for a woman and a regular giantess compared to most of the other female aerialists.  Her lithe limbs were mismatched with John’s boxy form.  And while John’s work on the straps was straight out of a textbook, there was something a bit soulless and robotic about his presence in the air.   Jamie hadn’t noticed it before, but it stood out when compared to Claire’s fluid grace.

“Are you here to practice, Jamie, or stare like a lovesick puppy at our competition?”

Geneva’s high-pitched whine snapped him back to the matter at hand. Both his partner and the choreographer were looking at him in contempt and Jamie’s felt his ears burn with shame. No matter his opinion of John and Claire, he had a routine to learn and precious little time to perfect it before the tour began.

“I’m sorry, I was distracted.  It willna happen again.”  

When she neither tore a strip off his hide nor burst into tears, Jamie graced Geneva with a rare smile.

“From the top, then, aye?  Let’s nail this damn sequence, Gen.”

The block of moves they were learning combined a strength move known as a coffee table, morphing into a one-arm hang, and then finally a rapid corkscrew where Geneva spun like a top while being suspended from Jamie’s right hand.  It was the transition to this last move that had caused them so many problems, but this time Jamie ground his molars together and powered through the pain. Soon, Geneva’s black ponytail was twirling below him like a propeller as the straps released their centripetal force.

When he first began circus school, Jamie had lost his lunch on a nearly daily basis.  His wame objected to the abuse his chosen sport unleashed on his inner ear.  It was only through desensitization that he eventually mastered his motion sickness.  He still recognized its telltale signs, however, so when Geneva’s skin went ashen and beads of sweat amassed on her upper lip, he had the presence of mind to call for an immediate descent to the mat.

Not a moment too soon.  Geneva ran to the edge of the platform, safety harness clanking between her thighs, and hurled into a nearby waste bin.

As he made his way back to the dormitories for an unplanned and leisurely lunch, Jamie pondered what could have caused Geneva, a former figure skater, to have suddenly suffered a bout of motion sickness.  He only hoped that whatever it was didn’t get in the way of their training schedule.

[marc--chilton]

them using their own biology against eachother is fr making me insane because They Would. any thoughts on house fucking around too much and manages to send himself into pre heat??/wilsons reaction to that??

loveee the mgv writing/ideas so so much btw like I genuinely can’t get enough of it it’s incredible. and also like you just Get Them yk. everything I read I go Yeah they would do that.

(also wanted to add the bit you wrote about protective wilson a bit ago has being stuck in my head since i read it it’s just so oouuhgghhh. <3)

AOUGUGHHGHHGHGH

wilson gets a little too clingy and in a pique of annoyance house scrubs his palm against his own glands and covers wilson's mouth and nose with it. but he misjudges how far along wilson is getting into his cycle (read: doesn't realize his teasing has progressed it further along so he's very nearly in straight up rut now) and instead of it startling wilson into backing up, reassessing, and bolting home to deal with his rut alone, it just makes his eyes go hazy...... then wilson licks his palm. and when house flinches away wilson presses forward into his space to scent him right there where they stand, and oh fuck, house knows that all-over hot feeling anywhere.

and when wilson kisses his gland is when house finally pries him off, both of them breathing heavy, and mutters, "go home, wilson."

it's so bad that it takes him a minute to refocus, but when he does he flushes so hard. "oh god, house, i'm--"

"it's fine, just go."

wilson nods once, blinks hard, and he's gone. house puts in his notice the second he can without anyone suspecting they'll spend their cycles together. they're not (not to say they haven't before, but with wilson's marriages even doing it out of convenience was never guaranteed, and that's not even TOUCHING how it affects their friendship) but even if they were, house still wants to protect wilson's reputation, because if anyone thought wilson was involved with such an unpleasant, damaged omega like house, surely their respect for dr boy wonder would plummet

[kanerallels]

For day seven of @jacensyndullaweek!

Prompt: Free day

Rating: G

Read on AO3!!

“Remind me,” Trill said, “why am I the one helping you with this?”

Jacen looked up from his tool box, grinning at her disapproving frown. “Cause you’re nice. And you don’t want either of us to plummet to our doom next time we fly the New Dawn.”

“Fair enough,” Trill said reluctantly as he grabbed a pry bar and wedged it underneath a panel. “But shouldn’t you be asking one of your more mechanically inclined friends to help you with this? I don’t know much about ships. And I’m not nice,” she added.

With a loud clang, the panel popped off, and Jacen pushed it to the side. “You are a different kind of nice,” he informed her, examining the contents. “Pass me the spanner and the wire cutters, please.”

Grabbing the two tools, Trill handed them to him one at a time. As Jacen accepted them, he continued, “Besides, my usual assistants are busy. Poe is off being the poster boy for the Resistance with General Organa, and Ezra and Rex are still off planet.”

“What about Ivri?” Trill asked, wincing as there was a loud zapping sound from inside the panel. Jacen bit back a curse.

“Ow. Okay, so the problem’s not there.” Setting aside the tools, he grabbed the panel as he told Trill, “I don’t trust Ivri around the New Dawn, and I say that with love and respect. His methods of repairs on ships are a little insane.”

“Right,” Trill said, staring as he banged the panel back into place. “Nothing like yours at all.”

Shooting her a wounded look, Jacen said, “He uses the Force on all of it. He’s not hands on at all, and you need to be if you want your ship to run properly. He keeps his A-wing going, but we agreed a long time ago that he’d never work on the Dawn.”

“Fair enough,” Trill said reluctantly. She had to admit, Jacen’s half-Mirialan, half-Chiss friend was peculiar. She hadn’t known what to think when she’d first met him, other than she wasn’t surprised he was Jacen’s best friend.

After getting to know him a little better, she stood by that statement.

“Fine, I’ll help,” she told him, watching as he slid under the ship, popping open another panel and examining the contents. She paused, her gaze lingering for just a minute.

Jacen’s hair was bundled up behind his head, keeping it out of his face as he worked. He was dressed simply in gray pants and a tank top that showed off his tattoos. Trill’s gaze stayed there for a heartbeat longer.

She’d seen his tattoos before— back when they’d been in the prison camp together, when Ren had been stitching him up after the beating. She hadn’t taken much notice back then. She’d been too angry at him and too worried about what would happen next.

But now, she found herself curious. She’d found herself curious about a lot of things about Jacen lately. Which wasn’t normal for her, exactly— but she wanted to know him. To hear even the tiniest details about his life.

It was definitely silly, and she refused to think about why it was. But she indulged herself every now and then.

So, as Jacen hummed a tune to himself, examining the insides of the ship, Trill raised her voice. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

“You just did,” Jacen said, and she could hear the grin in his voice. “But I’ll give you another one— pass me that wrench first, please? The one with the tape around the handle.”

Trill sifted through the tools, and located the wrench wrapped in fraying blue tape. Passing it to him, she said, “I’m curious about your tattoos. Is it okay if I ask about them?”

“Hang on,” Jacen grunted, his voice tight with strain. “Almost— KARK!” His final word was accompanied with a loud clang, and a second later, he popped out from under the Dawn. The front of his shirt was sprayed with grease, and there was a matching smear across his forehead.

Looking satisfied, he said, “Clogged valve. We’ll have that fixed in a couple minutes. You want to know about my tattoos?”

“If you don’t mind sharing,” Trill said, feeling a little uncharacteristically hesitant. Are you nervous? Over talking to Jacen, of all people? She thought. He told a First Order admiral that General Fithyhoop was a person, for sky’s sake. Pull yourself together. 

“I don’t mind at all,” Jacen said, grinning easily. Kneeling in front of his tool box, he replaced the wrench and started pulling out a couple more tools. “It’s a good question— they all have a story about them. How much do you know about Twi’leki tattoo culture?”

“Pretty much nothing,” Trill admitted

“I didn’t know much, either,” Jacen said. “But it’s tradition for certain provinces to get tattoos on their leks at a certain age. My gramps got them when he was… fifteen, I think? But plenty of the time it’s even younger. My mom was eight.” Lifting his arm, he ran a finger over the green, curving lines decorating his forearm. “That’s what these are, since I don’t have lekku.”

“They’re beautiful,” Trill told him sincerely.

“Thanks. They’re the only traditional ones I have, but I’ve always thought I might like to get more,” he said. “The Twi’leki people only get them for very important life events, though, so it’ll have to wait. My mom and dad got them at their wedding— Dad has Mom’s lekku patterns, and Mom has his jaig eyes.”

Twisting a little, he tapped the tattoo high on his shoulder— a patch of curving dots and lines, meshing around the shape of a wolf’s head. “This one, Ivri and I both have. Except his has a convor. And then we have this one.”

Jacen hooked a finger in his shirt’s neckline, pulling it down just enough to reveal a small orange shape. “Starbird,” he said with a grin. “Sabine designed it. It’s a Mandalorian style tattoo, so it’s almost more of a brand, not just ink. Here—” reaching out, he caught hold of her hand, lifting it up to press her fingers against his skin. “See? You can feel the difference.”

Caught off guard, Trill was interested in spite of herself as her fingers brushed the raised mark. “That checks out for Mandalorians,” she murmured. “Must have hurt.”

“Says the Mandalorian,” Jacen said. “But yeah, it wasn’t fun.” Trill started to respond as she glanced up— and met his blue-green gaze, startlingly near to her own.

Don’t blush, Trill ordered herself, even as she felt a wave of heat sweeping her face. Do. Not. Blush. But it was hard, standing this close to Jacen, so close she could feel him breathing. She could also see him turning slightly red himself.

Hastily, she stepped back, her hand slipping free from his. “Thank you,” she said, brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “For telling me.”

“Any time,” he said, his voice sounding a little… breathless, almost. Maybe there are some things we need to talk about, Trill thought. Eventually.

But when Jacen spoke again, his tone sounded normal. “Hand me the screwdriver?”

“Sure,” Trill said, pushing the thought out of her mind. It wasn’t time for that conversation, not yet.

So she handed him tools as he worked, and they fell into an easy, comfortable rhythm— Jacen talking intermittently to either her or the ship, Trill shooting back sarcastic comments. It was easy to be around him, even when she wasn’t completely sure where they stood.

She thought their tattoo conversation was over, and had long since moved on to other subjects when Jacen asked, “Do you think you’d ever get a tattoo?”

“Hmm?” Trill glanced at where he was wiping his hands on a cloth, having finished his repairs to the New Dawn. “Oh— I’ve never really thought about it.”

“You should,” he said easily, dropping the cloth back into the toolbox. “I bet it would be a good look for you. We could even get matching ones or something— I’ve been thinking about getting a new tattoo.”

“Didn’t you say your parents had matching tattoos?” Trill asked, before she could think better of it.

He flushed a little before saying, “They had complimentary tattoos, not matching ones. Matching ones is a friendship thing, complimentary is romance.”

“Uh-huh. And don’t Ivri and his girlfriend have matching tattoos?”

“That is hardly the point,” Jacen said, turning a little redder. “I’m trying to ask you a legitimate question here, you know.”

Relenting, Trill said, “Alright, fair enough. I’ll think about it— I don’t even know what I’d get.”

“Well that’s easy,” Jacen said. “Just ask Sabine’s advice. Speaking of whom— I’m gonna check in with Mom and Dad, see if I can’t make them some dinner, and invite Sabine and the kids. Do you want to come?”

“Sure,” Trill said, heading after him as they made their way back to the main part of the Ajan Kloss base. 

For just a moment, her mind lingered on the moment they’d had earlier— a moment which wasn’t unique. There had been more than a few of them lately, and there was a part of Trill that wanted to push farther, to figure out exactly what it meant.

But now wasn’t a good time, what with their battle against the First Order, and Jacen’s sister going missing. Now, she would focus on the next task ahead of her, nothing more.

Apparently, that task was dinner with Jacen’s family. And knowing the extended Syndulla-Jarrus-Wren-Bridger family as she did, Trill had a feeling it would be nothing if not chaotic.

She was already looking forward to it.

[eegasleega-will-change-this-l8r]

Actually I need to ramble about Fassad more akljfaldk;dkjl,kdja

Sooo a huuuge part of my characterization of Fassad is what he thinks of himself

We don't really know all that much about him: he was the 7th Magi, somehow he became distanced from the others, eventually he met the newly-arrived Porky, spilled all his secrets to him, became his right-hand man and helped him take over the Islands, then he died, was brought back as a Chimera, and the last time we come across him is when he attacks us in New Pork's sewers. And he likes bananas.

So that's the basic timeline of events, and we don't really know the details in between

How I like to read him is as someone who absolutely hated his station in life Locria had to be content with just being another Magi, living immortally on an island where everyone's equal and happy with basically nothing to their name

And then Porky showed up, and he found someone who had known a completely different way of life A system where the strong and powerful get to stand rightfully above everybody else He could see Porky's empire in his dreams, and he wanted it

So Locria spilled everything to Porky. He knew how they could wrench rulership over all of existence out of the Islands, and he and Porky spent ages scheming and planning until they created their perfect plan for total domination.

And in doing so, Locria became Porky's most trusted servant, his confidant, his bestest friend. The world was Porky's playset, and Locria would enjoy his place as Porky's playmate. Equals.

So Porky went and built his empire, and Locria reinvented himself as Fassad, the most important man in the Pigmask Army only below King P himself.

And then, right at the height of their glory, everything fell apart. All it took was a single wrong step. Literally. He just stepped on a banana peel and plummeted several hundred feet to a rather sudden end to his career.

Of course, dying doesn't mean much to the Pigmasks. Under King P's orders, Fassad was reconstructed. But he'd been replaced. The Pigmasks still listened to him, but he found himself underneath the new Commander. The Masked Man had swooped in and established himself as more competent, more efficient, and more respected. Even King P preferred this toy over his old friend.

So Fassad tried his best to regain his honour (EDIT: ohhh my GOD his battle theme is literally called HUSTLE FOR PRIDE) He even got his hands dirty and took on Lucas and his friends at Phrygia's needle. But he failed, and everything got even worse. He was reconstructed again, this time as a humiliation, and tossed aside. And he finally realized:

He wasn't Porky's friend.

He was just another toy.

He broke, and now he didn't interest Porky anymore. He'd found a newer, shinier toy to dote over.

When he attacks Lucas for the final time, out of hatred and desperation rather than for any hope of proving his worth, he once again fails. His jets give out, he plummets into the sewage of New Pork City, and the King takes no notice whatsoever of him. He's left there, all alone, completely and utterly wretched.

[mushroomwillow]

Going over the last year, and the rollercoaster that completely derailed my life, and opened a chapter I never expected to get too. It’s very long, and I just wanted to get it out. Definitely don’t expect anyone to actually read it tbh.

Technically things started October 2022. I went too my then best friend’s wedding, I was a bridesmaid. I met one of the groomsmen, we’ll call him Elora.

That was the catalyst of the beginning of my escape from a 5 year long extremely abusive marriage. I had been trying to find a way out for myself and my daughter for a year + before then.

November 19th 2022 my daughter and I moved in with Elora and his family, the two of us had been dating long distance for less than a month. This happened after a fight with my ex on the 17th, I was genuinely terrified I wouldn’t survive after that fight. I recorded as much of it as I could with my phone hiding in my pocket.

Insert the insane whirlwind of the next year. January 2023 my best friend, whose wedding I had been the bridesmaid in, who I’d been friends with for 18 years ghosted me through an angry backhanded mess. Elora’s entire friend group listened to a horrible onslaught of over dramatizations and lies about my past. Secrets I hadn’t told anyone, stories I never wanted repeated to anyone, least of all to a fresh relationship and total strangers I’d only met once before and had never talked too outside of discord.

I found out that because I had met Elora through her, and him and I immediately connected and continued to engage in the healthiest friendship and relationship I had ever been in, even though it had barely been a couple months, she was furious. Suddenly, she was angry that I hadn’t slept with her and her husband. We had mentioned it, laughed about the idea, and because I decided against it, she had this wave of anger that I honestly and truly did not expect.

I learned that she’d been watching me the last 18 years, going to anyone that would listen and telling them how I was this massive great comedy and dumpster fire that she thoroughly enjoyed watching.

Then I really saw everything about the friendship. In 18 years, I had been abused by my mother, fallen into addiction to drugs, homeless for a couple years, a series of short awful relationships, been through one of the most traumatic periods of my life, and begged her to help me, but always got the same answer. For eighteen years. “Sorry, I just can’t, I’ve got x,y,z going on” (moving to another state with a friend, changing jobs here and there, getting married, the usual life changes most adults go through). And not once did she even lend $5 for a sandwich when I was begging for change on the side of the road just so I could eat.

Elora and I were left with his family, and a couple of my friends that were detached from her. We moved into our own place. He stuck by me through finding a new job off and on, trying to navigate being away from my daughter while she was at daycare for the first time in her life (3 years at that point). His health plummeted. He dropped out of college because of it, also bounced to job to job.

March came, I had agreed to a horrible custody situation because it was the only way I could get through the divorce without having to get an attorney I could in no way afford. 6 months with me, 6 months with my abusive ex husband. We were officially divorced.

Elora’s health was in the shit hole. We both bounced from job to job still. I started processing the utter confusion of being in the first ever relationship where screaming matches, true gaslighting, emotional, psychological, mental, and sexual abuse, were never a thing. We got into disagreements sure, still do, but never once was it a fight. Communication, discussion, space when needed or wanted, complete and utter respect of boundaries, all came naturally. I started to see and question so much about myself. Not in the horrible ways I had before, but a truly enlightening and honestly depressing way that really showed that when put into a situation where everyone around me showed me kindness and respect, I didn’t fear myself. I didn’t get angry like I had before. I never felt like my mind and body were a trap that reacted in fear and violence just to get away and to safety from the onslaught of being told how horrible, insane, angry and vengeful I was. I realized that the voice in my head that had been pleading the whole time that none of that was true, was actually right.

June came. I was forced to let my ex husband take my daughter across the country for the next 6 months. I dealt with my depression by throwing myself into a job that I started out really loving and being very passionate about. I talked to my daughter every day over FaceTime. Elora’s health was still all over the place. My chronic pain got worse.

September I had a patient that triggered childhood trauma I thought I had dealt with, but actually just shoved in a corner to survive everything else I was going through. I had an injury at work as well. Realized that although I loved my job, it was causing too much stress on my body, my head was in a constant state of overwhelm. End of the month, I went across country for my daughter’s birthday. Yes, my ex had made it so that I had to spend over $1000 to see her for her birthday, she was there for my birthday a week and a half later. Elora’s parents went out of their way to join Elora and I in going to her birthday. She went into a bird exhibit where hundreds of parakeets landed on us. She’s terrified of birds, but because I was there with her she did the most brave thing she had ever done in her 4 years of life, and loved it.

October. My birthday came and went, Elora’s family who had only ever celebrated family birthdays, no boyfriends or girlfriends birthdays, made me a meal specifically full of food that I love. His mom even hunted down catfish and tried her hand at frying it. His brother showed up, he barely showed up for other family members. I’ve never felt so welcomed into any family, not even my own. I started therapy. She validated everything I asked about, everything I confided in her. Told me that I had been right the whole time, I had been in a state of survival sense early childhood. That I wasn’t “insane” my mind was reacting in an effort to protect me in the only way it knew how. I also started seeing a doctor about my physical health. He too validated my concerns, completely listened to me and started out the very first appointment with “if you’re ok with it, let’s start at the base line, test for all the things you’ve brought up, here’s some concerns I have we’ll also test for, and let’s continue testing until we find out what’s going on. I don’t think it’s all in your head, we’re going to figure this out. You don’t need to be in so much pain, that’s not right.” He’s the first that’s ever listened to me. My therapist is also the first. I started college, a bachelors in psychology, something I’ve wanted to do sense I was a teen.

End of October, I had a total breakdown and quit my job. I had gone to my boss, explained that by the end of November my daughter would be back and I needed regular hours. That I couldn’t keep getting called in with half an hour notice if I was lucky. She told me “this job isn’t meant for single parents. You’ll have to deal.” So I finished a shift with an extremely difficult and rude patient, texted my boss and said I quit.

November was rapid fire, interview after interview. Elora had to quit the job his parents were proud of him starting, causing a lot of guilt for him. He started a new one that just barely paid his bills. I had just enough to pay my own bills and the ones I take care of for our apartment.

End of November. Elora’s parents pay for me to get my daughter. Totally without ever being asked for help. Flights, hotel, all of it. I ran out of money for bills for December. I had been told no by every job I’d interviewed for.

December. My daughter was with me, I was told I started an at home job, I had a week to get her into daycare and get approved for gov assistance. Just barely got approved in time for my new job. Day of my new job, my daughter having a full meltdown going to her new daycare. I spend the entire day fighting with tech support, finally being told “oh, we sent the wrong equipment, you’ll have to wait for the next training week. Sorry but you’re fired, we’ll get back to you.” I got paid for just that day. Had no way to pay bills.

Unexpectedly, I got a partial payment from my student loans. Enough money to pay my bills, and get my daughter stuff for Christmas, get her a new bed sense she’s getting tall quick and a toddler bed wouldn’t cut it. I had an interview with a place I wasn’t remotely qualified for. They offered me the job. Said they’ll pay for my training, certification, and give me a head start into a career relating to my degree.

I start that job tomorrow. January 2, 2024. Where the hell did 2023 go, how the hell did so much happen in just a year. How did it go by so fast.

Elora and I are engaged, taking that engagement slow, he’s the closest friend I’ve ever had. I’ve never felt safer with anyone, seen, loved, understood. Shown empathy and patience. Supported in ways I didn’t think possible. And just over a year of being together, we’ve still never fought. Disagreements are met with communication, space, boundaries respected, the freedom to ask for advice from others, and a trust that I’ve never experienced before.

I don’t like New Year’s resolutions. However I am manifesting 3 major events for this year. January 2021 I manifested that by the end of 2022 I’d be divorced and free from my ex husband. It happened in a way I didn’t expect, but in a way that truly helped change my life for the better. 2024 will continue that manifestation. Myself, my daughter, and Elora will continue our journey into the best lives we could ever live. We’ll be free from the abuse and trauma that we’ve experienced. Through actual blood sweat and tears, I’ve made it this far.

[blooming-violets]

This is the first time in my YEARS of being on this hellsite that i have ever requested a oneshot/fic/something from a writer. Idek if you’re taking requests, but I wanted to ask at least, is there anyway we could get more of mob!Peter and dancer!Reader?

That tiny snippet you gave is giving me life, and I need more (obviously only if you want to write more or see a story for them – just know that you have an audience here for that!) 

🥰

I'm not actively writing right now BUT I do have some added headcanons. I also encourage anyone who reads this to write their own spin on it or add onto it if they want!

I'm thinking a Moulin Rouge style of story. A well loved burlesque dancer and courtesan of the wealthy club owner who mob!boss Peter takes a liking to.

He starts attending her performances every night. Whenever she's on stage, no matter what else is going on, she's all he can see. His entire world fades away until it's just him and her. He starts believing that she's singing and dancing only for him. When she's on stage, it makes him feel like they are the only two in the room. Think of that scene from Tick Tick Boom when he's watching Susan perform and the camera slowly pans in on him and blackens out everyone around him and he's so focused on Susan and then starts clapping before anyone else can even react. That's Peter every night watching our dancer lady.

He starts sending beautiful bouquets of flowers backstage every night and leaving anonymous love notes attached to them. He only signs it with -P because he's trying to keep a low profile. If his enemies knew he was attending the same place every night like clockwork then he would become an easy target.

Peter starts sending out his men to take intel on this woman. That's when he finds out she's living with the club owner. He's using her for sex and, sometimes, prostitution in return for living a wealthy lifestyle and a spot as the main performer in his show. She can get an ounce of fame and money as long as he get to parade her around however he wishes. This, of course, does not sit with right Peter. He can pretend it's because of his morals on how to treat woman but, really, it's because he feels a connection to her so he has a possessive nature towards her. The idea of her sleeping with other men who are not him just doesn't fly.

So he starts his infiltration plan. Being a wealthy mob boss, it's not an unusual thing to try and make deals with the surrounding, shady business men. That includes our creepy, little club owner. Peter decides to offer a proposal. He would start funding the performances for a chance to spend "quality" time with the star dancer. The club owner takes this as Peter wanting in on the sex work side business he has going on. He doesn't really like the idea of losing his favorite lady to another wealthy man but money talks.

Basically Peter ends up buying this woman off his hands. Now we're into human trafficking apparently?? Idk where this plot is going but I started on a train with an unknown destination and I'm just riding it until I see where we end up.

Once he has dancer in his possession, I would cut to some scenes of them getting to know each other and Peter wooing her and being a gentlemen and treating her with such respect and much love. And she's like wow he's handsome and rich AND doesn't expect me to fuck him in exchange for getting to dance. SHE JUST WANTS TO DANCE, BABY! SHE JUST WANTS TO BE A STAR. And Peter just wants to look at her with hearts in his eyes for the rest of time.

Peter decided he's going to keep her forever and ever. BUT conflict arises when club owner wants her back. His sales are starting to plummet when he realizes that she was the real star of the show. Without her, his show is not bringing in the same audience it used to. He wants her back. Peter refuses.

Not good.

Club owner kidnaps dancer one fateful night. He knows Peter won't give her up willingly and if he can't have her then no one will. A terrible hostage situation occurs in the empty dark theater. He's standing up on stage with a gun to our lady's side while Peter attempts to talk him down from the aisle. He moves slowly closer and closer, his hands held up, speaking slowly and deliberately. One wrong move and that asshole could take away his lover forever.

But, then, surprise! A sniper bullet from the balcony section from one of Peter's gang hits club owner perfectly between the eyes. He collapses to the ground. Blood sprays over our dancer's face. She lets out a scream and falls to her knees.

For a moment, we think everything is over. We think the bad guy is finished and Peter gets his woman.

BUT YOU'RE WRONG

Because as Peter approaches her, he quickly realizes that it's not all the club owner's blood on her. Her own blood is seeping through her dress and soaking over her stomach. When he was shot, he pulled the trigger and the bullet went into her side.

Peter runs to the stage and collects her into his arms. She looks up at him, tears in her eyes, and places a bloody hand on his cheek with a soft smile as her eyes close.

.......You decide the ending! Does she die? Is Peter able to get her to the hospital in time? Does she recover or is her permanently damaged, never able to dance again? Or does she make that full recovery and Peter buys out the club and she's able to spend the rest of her life dancing every night like she always wanted? Or is this the last he will ever see of his beautiful dancer?

Idk! You pick!

Either way, at some point in the story, there's a pool scene where dancer pushes him into his heated rooftop pool overlooking the NYC skyline. And he laughs and reaches out his hand for her to help him out but the second he has a hold on her, he pulls her into the pool, beautiful gown and all, next to him. And they kiss for the first time under the night sky with the soft, dancing glow of the pool lights illuminating them.