#and was once again struck by the desire to chase people down and make them understand just how amazing this story is

[fictionadventurer]

I have to talk about Chester Arthur. His story makes me go crazy. A mediocre president from the 1880s who's completely forgotten today has one of the best redemption stories I've ever heard and I need to make people understand just how cool his story is.

So, like, he starts out as this idealist, okay? He's the son of an abolitionist minister and becomes famous as a New York lawyer who defends the North's version of Rosa Parks whose story desegregates New York City's trolley system.

Then he starts getting pulled into politics and becomes one of the grimiest pieces of the political machine. He wants money, power, prestige, and he gets it. He becomes the right-hand man of Roscoe Conkling, the most feared political boss in the nation, a guy who will throw his weight around and do the most ruthless things imaginable to keep his friends in power and destroy his enemies.

Because Arthur's this guy's top lackey, he gets to be Controller of the Port of New York--the best-paying political appointment in the country, because that port brings in, like, 70% of the federal government's funds in tariffs. He gets a huge salary plus a percentage of all the fines they levy on lawbreakers, and because he's not afraid to make up infractions to fine people over, he is absolutely raking in the dough. Making the rough equivalent of $1.3 million a year--absolutely insane amounts of money for a government position. He's spending ridiculous sums on clothes, buying huge amounts of alcohol and cigars to share with people as part of his job recruiting supporters to the party, going out nearly every night to wine and dine people as part of his work in the political machine. He's living the high life. Even when President Hayes pulls him from his position on suspicions of fraud, he's still living a great life of wealth, power, and prestige.

Then in 1880, his beloved wife dies. While he's out of town working for a political campaign. And he can't get back in time to say goodbye before she dies. Because he's a guy who has big emotions, it absolutely tears him up inside, especially because Nell resented how much his political work kept him away from home. He has huge regrets, but he just moves in with Roscoe Conkling and keeps working for the political machine.

And then he gets a chance to be vice president. The Republican Party has nominated James Garfield, a dark horse candidate who wants to reform the spoils system that has given Conking his power and gave Arthur his position as Port Controller. Conkling is pissed, and he controls New York, and since the party's not going to win the election without New York, they think that appointing Conkling's top lackey as vice-president will pacify him.

They're wrong--Conkling orders Arthur to refuse--but Arthur thinks this sounds like a great opportunity. The only political position he's ever held is Port Controller--a job he wasn't elected to and that he was pulled from in disgrace. Vice President is way more than he could ever have hoped for. It's a position with a lot of political pull and zero actual responsibilities. He'll get to spend four years living in up in Washington high society. It's the perfect job! Of course he accepts, and Conkling comes around when he figures out that he can use this to his advantage.

When Garfield becomes president, Arthur does everything he can to undermine him. He uses every dirty political trick he can think of to block everything that Garfield wants to do. He refuses to let the Senate elect a president pro tempore so he can stay there and influence every bill that comes through. He all but openly boasts of buying votes in the election. He's so much Conkling's lackey that he may as well be the henchman of a cartoon supervillain. On Conkling's orders, he drags one of Garfield's Cabinet members out of bed in the middle of the night--while the guy is ill--to drag him to Conkling's house so he can be forced to resign. He's just absolutely a thorn in the president's side, a henchman doing everything he can to maintain the corrupt spoils system.

Then in July 1881, when Arthur's in New York helping Conkling's campaign, the president gets shot. By a guy who shouts, "Now Arthur will be president!" just after he fires the gun. Arthur has just spent the past four months fighting the president tooth and nail. Everyone thinks he's behind the assassination. There are lynch mobs looking to take out him and Conkling. The papers are tearing him apart.

Arthur is absolutely distraught. He rushes to Washington to speak with the president and assure him of his innocence, but the doctors won't let him in the room. He gets choked up when talking to the First Lady. Reporters find him weeping in his house in Washington. Once again, death has torn his world apart and he's not getting a chance to make amends.

Arthur goes to New York while the president is getting medical treatment, and he refuses to come to Washington and take charge because he doesn't dare to give the impression that he's looking to take over. No one wants Arthur to be president and he doesn't want to be president, and the possibility that this corrupt political lackey is about to ascend to the highest office in the land is absolutely terrifying to everyone.

Then in August, when it's becoming clear that the president is unlikely to recover, he gets a letter. From a 31-year-old invalid from New York named Julia Sand. A woman from a very politically-minded family who has been following Arthur's career for years. And she writes him this astounding letter that takes him to task for his corrupt, conniving ways, and the obsession with worldly power and prestige that has brought him wealth and fame at the cost of his own soul--and she tells him that he can do better. In the midst of a nationwide press that's tearing him apart, this one woman writes to tell him that she believes he has the capacity to be a good president and a good man if he changes his ways.

And then he does. After Garfield dies, people come to Arthur's house and find servants who tell them that Arthur is in his room weeping like a child (I told you he had big emotions), but he takes the oath of office and ascends to the presidency. And he becomes a completely different man. His first speech as president mentions that one of his top priorities is reforming the spoils system so that people will be appointed based on merit rather than getting appointed as political favors with each change in the administration. Even though this system made him president. When Conkling comes to Arthur's office telling him to appoint his people to important government positions, Arthur calls his demands outrageous, throws him out, and keeps Garfield's appointees in the positions. "He's not Chet Arthur anymore," one of his former political friends laments. "He's the president."

He loses all his former political friends. He's never trusted by the other side. Yet he sticks to his guns and continues to support spoils system reform. He prosecutes a postal service corruption case that everyone thought he would drop. He's the one who signs into law the first civil service reform bill, even though presidents have been trying to do this for more than ten years, and he's the person who's gained all his power through the spoils system. He immediately takes action to enforce this bill when he could have just dropped it. He becomes a champion of this issue even though it's the last thing anyone would have expected of him.

He oversees naval reform. He oversees a renovation of the White House. He still prefers the social duties of the presidency, but he's respectable in a way that no one expected. Possibly because Julia Sand keeps sending him letters of encouragement and advice over the next two years. But also because he's dying.

Not long after ascending to the presidency, he learns he's suffering from a terminal kidney disease. And he tells no one. He keeps going about his daily life, fulfilling his duties as president, and keeps his health problems hidden. Once again, death is upending his life, and this time it's his own death. He's lived a life he's ashamed of, and he doesn't have much time left to change. He enters the presidency as an example of the absolute worst of the political system, and leaves it as a respectable man.

He makes a token effort to seek re-election, but because of his health problems, he doesn't mind at all when someone else gets the nomination. He dies a couple of years after leaving office. The day before his death, he orders most of his papers burned, because he's ashamed of his old life--but among the things that are saved are the letters from Julia Sand, the woman who encouraged him to change his ways.

This is an astounding story full of so many twists and turns and dramatic moments. A man who falls from idealism into the worst kind of corruption and then claws his way back up to decency because of a series of devastating personal losses and unexpected opportunities to do more than he could have ever hoped to do. I just go crazy thinking about it and I need you all to understand just how amazing this story is.

[ddenji]

‘normal’ denji isn't denji anymore

okay for some reason i have a lot of thoughts about this damn crow because it just seemed so random at first. but it struck me as interesting while I was reading the chapter that the crow is paralleled with pochita here, with both of them on their backs and denji looking back towards them. the comparison was really just making me about how stepping on and killing a crow/animal is something denji neverrr would have done before, and the implications of this moment given some of the things we know about denji and his values.

due to the fact that he's very animal coded himself (specifically dog coded of course), denji has a connection/ respect for most animals as non ‘moral’ beings who aren't looking to hurt him in the way humans and devils are. i think there's also an element of him relating to other beings that are looked down on, as he's been looked down on pretty much his whole life. he would definitely feel guilty to kill an animal (or really anyone/thing that wasn't trying to hurt him) in the earlier chapters of part 1.

following that, pochita was the most important thing in the world to him & their relationship informs denji’s philosophies and moralities. to that end, he viewed pochita as a pet but also as an equal; they were in it together in denji’s eyes. which establishes denji’s unwillingness to look down on a “pet” and similarly, other animals, just because they aren't human, or from the opposite side, his willingness to consider animals or other 'lesser' species as equally important.

later on, we see denji come to understand power better because of her relationship with meowy, which he sees as resembling his relationship with pochita. the fact that she would do anything for this cat makes him see her in a better, more empathetic light, because that's a trait he has himself and values greatly.

and of course, we cant forget the panel where he chooses to save the cat instead of multiple people, which can be read in many different ways, but for my purpose specifically, it means that denji sees value in saving the cat, even over human lives. this once again makes clear his willingness to consider 'lesser' species as important. saving the cat is an equally valid choice in that scenario, because it's still a life to save.

i’m sure there are other instances i’m forgetting, but the key thing is that all of those instances made him the version of denji that was able to be chainsaw man. his own doglike nature, his connection with pochita because of their mutually respectful relationship despite being different species, his connection with power through animals and his choice to save the cat were all distinctly traits that denji valued when he was still able to be chainsaw man. and so, we turn back to ch 150.

currently, denji is so caught up in trying to return to his normal life and justifying his happiness that he accidentally kills an animal. in this moment, he has become so far removed from many of the things that he valued, from many of the things that made him him. very similarly, chasing his dream of a normal life has forced him to give up being chainsaw man - another thing that makes denji distinctly himself, and something that he values very much.

so, i see killing the crow as a moment that snaps denji out of his desire for a normal life because there is a direct cost, a direct violence now that is attached to following this desire. he has trampled on another being while chasing his goal, which is exactly what others have done to him in the past when he was considered a "lesser" being. he could bear to sacrifice things himself for the sake of nayuta and his newfound normalcy, but in that moment, he has gone so against his values that he held in part one that he can’t look past it anymore. his dream isn't just affecting himself anymore, unlike all of his previous dreams. and so he reflects, and with the help of his inner-conciousness-pochita, he realizes that it’s time for a new dream. or perhaps it's just time to return to a life that was never a dream in the first place.

[the-nerds-of-light]

I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am

Matsu, the Au Ra Star Druid/Life Cleric White Mage; Barry, the Garlean Armorer Artificer Gunbreaker; and Sayonji, the Viera Bladesinger Wizard Red Mage

Previous: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

We had a pretty short session last weekend. We all wanted to hang out and have some weed, so I decided I would take my edible and DM until I was too incapacitated to continue. Matsu's player and Sayonji's player already had some, and Barry's player was sober the whole time.

It was ... spectacular.

The session started with them heading back in the cart to Limsa in the middle of the night. Barry thought Matsu was mad at him for leaving the interrogation session early; Matsu was deep in melancholic thought of what she *became* in that instance, and how she can apologize to him. Sayonji is oblivious, because he's like 17.

Y'shtola struck up some conversation with Barry and Sayonji about technological things, and then with Matsu about her desires to be an archon. Y'shtola asked her what she wanted her thesis to be, and Matsu basically said, I can't tell you any details because it's a secret, but ~myself~. And Y'shtola was basically like ........... well I look forward to reading that report lmao

Once they arrived at Limsa, they decided to talk to Baderon before anyone else. They pulled up to the Wench, and Sayonji was like, "I'll take care of this prisoner sack of pototoes!" And then he slung the burlap sack over his shoulder and promptly crumpled under his 8 strength.

Barry offered to help, and the only reason he didn't crumple under his 8 strength is he had power armor holding him up. The two of them manage to get Sack o' E'mirhu back in the cart, and Barry volunteers to stay with the cart while they talk to Baderon for advice.

Inside, Baderon is surprised to see them again so soon. Especially since Matsu will only talk to him in a whisper, mentions they have vital information on the kidnappings, as well as a prisoner. Of course, Baderon, knowing adventurers, asks first thing, "Alright, what did you do to him?"

Which makes Matsu sputter and stammer and explain there might have been a little tasing of genitals. Just a little. It sounds bad when you say it like that.

Baderon says that's pretty good, for adventurers! Adventurers by and large are crazy people who run toward danger instead of away from it, and sometimes people who get into it are more bloodthirsty than not.

Meanwhile, he's offered Sayonji and Matsu rumchatas since he's mixing a few up, and Matsu has been drinking them down as she gives her report. She's three sheets to the wind at this point, but does not realize it. Sayonji is too, but he realizes it quite well.

Matsu: If the Reavers aren't kidnapping pirates to take them back to the sea... then why would they? Didn't Hydaelyn say that Ascians were immortal beings who possessed the bodies of the living...?

Sayonji: HEY, I THINK I FIGURED OUT WHY THE REAVERS'RE KIDNAPPING PEOPLE

Matsu: Sayonji!! Are you drunk? That is SO UNPROFESSIONAL

Sayonji: Yer drunk too

Matsu: I WOULD (hic) NEVER

Anyway, Baderon agrees to go with them to the Yellowjackets and deposit the prisoner, though he does take them aside to tell them, hey, first off, it's okay for you to chase your instincts if you need to in the future, but I am glad you didn't become Sprout Pancake. Secondly, maybe lay off the cock-and-ball torture.

With a sputtering, stumbling Matsu in tow, they rejoin with Barry, whereupon Matsu leans in to whisper to him, "Baderon is our Adventure Daddy!"

Barry blinks at Baderon. "Should I start calling you that?"

Matsu, horrified, gasps, "I TOLD YOU THAT IN CONFIDENCE"

Barry hurries to apologize, Baderon roars with laughter, and they all hop into the wagon to head to the Yellowjackets Headquarters, over in the Guild of Brass (where the Marauder's Guild is in-game; it's now a melee-wielders' guild, and just like in-game it's the headquarters of the Yellowjackets).

Sayonji goes on a drunken "I LOVE YOU MAN" ramble and Matsu is like "Um, Sayonji, you're kind of being a lot right now? This is SO unprofessional of you to be DRUNK"

They convince Matsu that actually, she is drunk too. She's horrified. "I'm DRUNK RIGHT NOW! On DUTY! This is a LIVING NIGHTMARE! I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT WAS IN A RUMCHATA!"

As they arrive, once again Barry and Sayonji attempt to take the prisoner out of the cart, and repeatedly smack his head on things. The nearby roegadyn guard finally is like ... -SIGH- Do you need some help??

They agreed with relief and the prisoner was hefted onto the guard's shoulder and taken inside to the drunk tank, to be dealt with within the confines of the legal system.

Meanwhile, the party comes to find that Captain Milala is out on duty but her second is available to speak with them. Matsu mournfully explains that she has somehow become drunk and that she can't be professional enough to give her report and so she'll leave it to Barry to explain everything. (Matsu whimpers, "My dad is gonna be SO MAD AT ME! This is something my mother would doooooo!" "We are so getting court martialed," says Sayonji.) He does so, and the second-in-command accepts all of this with interest. He promises them a reward for their hard work and information, and promises to look into it.

As they're heading out, there's two more instances of Matsu whispering about Adventure Daddy, Baderon teasing Matsu about having heard it, Matsu squealing at Barry "I TOLD YOU NOT TO SAY ANYTHING" and Baderon roaring with laughter and trying to explain that he has ears. And also trying to convince her that she's been saying things loudly instead of whispering (which isn't true, but he thinks it's hilarious).

When they get back to the Wench, they split into their rooms, and Matsu asked Barry to come into hers. She sits him down to explain everything that was on her mind -- that it wasn't right of her to ask him to torture the man, that she can't believe she jumped to that conclusion so quickly, that she thought she was a good person but maybe she isn't. He rushes to reassure her -- he thinks Matsu is a great person, it's just that he didn't have the stomach to stick around, and that's his failing. And they argue tearfully back and forth about this.

At this point, the players were both standing, and Matsu's player had been crying from laughter up to this point, but as Matsu's feelings about being a bad person came out, they turned to sad method-acting tears. They were talking and hugging IRL while they were roleplaying. This was great to watch.

Matsu eventually promises she'll never do that again, and says that they have to trust each other. He has to trust that she'll never ask him to do something like that again, just like she has to trust he won't tell anyone about ... THIS!

Where THIS is Matsu explaining that she can turn into animals. She gets him caught up on the fact that the chocobo helping at the aurochs blackloam quest was in fact her. And also, she escaped the goobbue's swallowing by becoming a tapeworm and coming out his butt (cue fresh tears).

He blushes and apologizes for petting her and calling her a good girl, and promises never to do it again. Matsu is like... well... I won't say never do it again, but... let me...figure out my feelings first...

And somewhere in the distance, Sayonji is shouting "LOOKS LIKE MATSBARRY IS BACK ON THE TABLE BOYS!"

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Monster Mash | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends! Shout out to @cwbucky for reassuring me that I can indeed post a Halloween fic in mid January 👻🎃

If you like what you read, throw a reblog my way! 💜

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @cwbucky @lipstickandbarbedwxre @mrsdrysdale18 @seitmai 🥰 ---------------------------------------

“Tighter! I can take it!” you breathed as Bucky pulled the strings of your corset. He reluctantly gave them another tug, tightening the corset’s grip on your ribcage. He tied the strings just like you’d taught him and put his hands on your waist, spinning you around. “Mmm, let me take a look at you”, he devoured you with his gaze, eyes burning with desire.

Thigh high black stockings with purposeful rips were held in place by a matching black garter belt. A dangerously short black skirt hung just above your stockings, and a lacy red corset hugged your abdomen, pushing your breasts up for the world to see. “Whatdaya think, cowboy?” you struck a pose, putting on your best ‘saloon girl’ voice. He laughed as he leaned down, pressing a deep kiss to your cherry red lips.

“You’re lookin’ real good, little lady. How much for a night?” he tipped his black cowboy hat to you, just like he’d seen in the movies. The buttons of his black shirt struggled over his broad chest, and his sleeves bulged over his thick arms. Tight black jeans were held in place by a large silver belt buckle, and black cowboy boots rounded out the look.

“Hmm, I dunno…I don’t usually roll in the hay with bandits,” you teased, tracing a finger down his chest, “but maybe I could make an exception- just this once”. He rolled his eyes and pulled you against his body, his nose brushing against yours.

“If we don’t leave right now, baby, we’re never gonna make it to the party…” a devilish grin tugged Bucky’s lips upward, his mind running wild with fantasies of all the things he wanted to do to you. With a deep sigh, you pulled away from him, “Good call, let’s get outta here, cowboy. I’ll saddle up and ride ya later”. You shot him a wink that made him melt and ran out the door as he chased you with his grabby hands.

“So…is this gonna be okay? You seeing this guy again?” Bucky’s fingers nervously thrummed against the steering wheel. He worried about you seeing your old friend again after he’d hurt you so badly. “Um, yeah, I think so…” butterflies swarmed in your stomach, “I hope so”.

Your friendship with Max got you through your first two years of college. He was your best friend, your study buddy, and your shoulder to cry on. He was your closest friend until he confessed romantic feelings for you at the start of junior year; as much as you loved him platonically, that love didn’t just translate to a romantic relationship. Your heart ached as you thought back on your long-dead friendship with Max. After you let him down gently, he completely iced you out.

Bucky’s hand found your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze as he recognized the pain in your voice. “Okay, so, maybe this is an olive branch?” he offered, “maybe him inviting you to his Halloween party is his way of trying to reconnect with you”. Max had moved to the city for work months ago, but ignored your texts and invites for coffee; it seemed almost impossible for him to extend an olive branch your way.

But your mutual friends hated being the go-between, and you knew they were tired of splitting their time between you and Max. “I think it’s more like our friends are sick of us not getting along. But we’re adults now- he has to know that he’s the one who wrecked our friendship.”

When you pulled up to the party, the sheer amount of people was overwhelming. Max had rented out an entire nightclub for his Halloween bash and filled it to the brim with seemingly everyone he knew. Stepping inside, Bucky’s mouth fell open. “Oh, shit…” he muttered as he observed the raucous crowd, “this is intense”. You gave his hand a squeeze and pulled him aside, looking up at him with a serious expression.

“If this it too much for you-at any point- we can go. I don’t want you to be anxious. Just say the word and we’re outta here”. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, relishing in your kindness and understanding. Part of him had a sneaking suspicion that you were already looking for an out, but he kept it to himself.

“I’ll be fine- I promise. It’s just a Halloween party. I fought Thanos, remember?” he shot you a wink and pulled you into his side for a reassuring squeeze. Together, your eyes roamed the crowd. Michael Meyers, Ghostface, Carrie, Leatherface, Jigsaw, Freddy Krueger, Pennywise, Jason Voorhees, The Babadook, The Candyman, Annabelle, and Samara were just a few of the costumes you recognized.

Everyone was dripping in blood and gore while you and Bucky looked like you’d stepped out of an episode of Westworld.

“Well, guess we didn’t get the ‘dress scary’ memo”, you stared down at your saloon girl outfit, feeling out of place. Bucky frowned down at you, taking your chin in his palm and angling your gaze upward, “you look fucking incredible, baby”. Warmth rushed into your cheeks at his compliment. “I’m serious,” he continued, “I think this might be a new kink for me”. He leaned in for a kiss, but a hoard of drunk zombies knocked you off balance. Bucky caught you just in time, saving you from busting your ass.

“Bar?” Bucky shouted over the crowd, and you nodded emphatically, letting him guide you through the crowd. A guy dressed as Hannibal Lecter made a grab for your waist, but Bucky shot him a warning glance. If looks could kill, Hannibal would’ve been a bloody mess.

Arriving at the bar, Bucky ordered a whiskey and a Moscow mule while you surveyed the partygoers. Your search for familiar faces discovered a few of your college friends, drinking and laughing while dressed as the Heathers. You took a step in their direction, looking for a path through the swirling mass of people- and then you caught a glimpse of silver.

A shiny metal arm, complete with a red star, caught your eye. A blood-spattered Winter Soldier stalked slowly through the crowd, complete with mask and mock M4. He seemed trained on you, his deliberate gait putting you on edge.

What you expected to be a fun, lighthearted Halloween celebration quickly turned into a nightmare. Your anxiety spiked as you thought about Bucky. His back was turned as he waited on your drinks, completely unaware of the situation. Immediately, you searched for an exit route that would keep Bucky from seeing his counterpart. Just as you located a way out, a second red star caught your attention.

Another Winter Soldier trekked through the crowd at a measured pace, blocking your way to the exit. His blood drenched tactical vest shone under the party lights, making your stomach turn. Your last hope was the backdoor behind the bar that led to the alley. If you could convince Bucky that you weren’t feeling well, he could usher you out the door without seeing either Winter Soldier.

“Hey, Buck, I-” just then a strong hand gripped your shoulder. Your frightened yelp pulled Bucky’s attention, prompting him to rescue you from the stranger’s grasp. He wanted to confront the asshole who grabbed you, but froze as soon as he saw who it was.

It was him.

A third Winter Soldier stood in front of you and Bucky, covered in blood and wielding a knife. Very real fear struck Bucky in the chest. He knew time travel was possible, and feared the very worst: his past self coming to kill him- or worse, you. Bile rose in his throat as he stared at his former self and he stepped in front of you, shielding your body with his.

A sharp laugh emanated from under the mask, making Bucky cock his head to the side. “Soldat…nice to meet you”, a familiar voice quipped. His bloody hand removed his mask and goggles, revealing your old friend Max. A smug smile lifted his cheeks as he sheathed his knife and extended a hand toward Bucky. “I’m Max. Nice to meet you, Soldier”, his eyes flicked from your pained expression to Bucky’s, “Did I scare you? Huh, I thought you were a tough guy.” His two other Winter Soldiers, his partners in crime, flanked him on either side.

A sigh of disgust left your lips when they removed their masks, revealing themselves to be Max’s roommates from college. At one point, they’d been your friends- and now they were trying to hurt you. “Yeah, I told everyone to dress as something scary, so I chose a serial killer”, Max's sharp gaze appraised Bucky, challenging him to fight back.

But it wasn’t Bucky who wanted to fight. You lunged at Max, practically snarling, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bucky’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, preventing you from actually making contact with Max. “Is this why you invited us? So you could be an asshole and enact your stupid revenge?” But Max just shrugged. Bucky wanted nothing more than to smack the cocky look off his face, but knew he couldn’t afford to lose it on a civilian.

“I don’t know what you mean- this has nothing to do with you. I’m just dressed as a murderer for Halloween, is that so strange?” He eyed Bucky with an arrogant grin, waiting for him to snap. But Bucky kept his cool. He intertwined his fingers with yours, letting your touch ground him. “I think we should go now, doll,” he took a few steps in the direction of the door, only stopping when Max blocked his path. Hundreds of eyes fell upon you, Bucky, and Max as the two men had their standoff.

“Wow, I didn’t think the Winter Soldier would run from a fight,” Max quipped, turning his attention to you, “and I didn’t think you were stupid enough to fall for a hundred-year-old serial killer, but I guess I was wrong.” Max’s sharp gaze cut through you, destroying any remnants of the friendship you once shared. “Really?” he spat, “This is the guy you chose? Oh, and hey, I see you’re dressed as a slut- you know this is a costume party, right? Not a ‘be yourself’ party”.

Bucky’s unbridled rage escaped all at once. His metal hand gripped Max’s vest, dragging him forward until they were face to face.

“You don’t speak to her like that- you don’t speak to her at all,” he said darkly, “now get out of our way before I show you the real winter soldier”. Max stumbled out of Bucky’s grip, backing up and tripping over his own feet. Bucky led you through the crowd, snaking quickly toward the door with his eyes downcast. He led you silently to the car, opening the door for you and slamming it shut once you were safely inside.

The pounding bass of the music from Max’s party throbbed as the two of you sat quietly in Bucky’s car. After a long moment, you broke the silence. “Buck, I’m so sorry, babe. I didn’t think he would-I didn’t know he was gonna act like such an asshole…” you felt tears well in your eyes as you clocked Bucky’s broken expression.

He shook his head a little, absolving you of any blame. His hand found yours, his fingers gently trailing back and forth over your knuckles. “Please don’t apologize. It’s not your fault”, he brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. “I just want you to have a normal life,” he said quietly, “I can’t give you that.”

Anxiety struck you in the chest. “Buck, I don’t want ‘normal’. Fuck ‘normal’. I want you,” you took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, “the only life I wanna live is the one I spend with you”. He brushed his lips against yours as doubt crept into his chest. He loved you more than anything, wanted to be with you no matter what- but knew it was selfish.

“Sweetheart, I can’t go a day without someone recognizing me in public and bringing up my past. Seeing those guys dressed as me- as him- all covered in blood, it just made me realize that if- if you stay with me, this is the bullshit you’ll be dealing with. Forever”, he said, “I can’t put you through that. I’m a monster to them, and I always will be”.

Rage burned though you. You wanted to march inside the party and rip Max’s head from his shoulders. “Fuck them”, you said, “that’s not how I see you. That’s not how you see yourself- not anymore. Who cares about other people? They don’t know anything about you”. For the millionth time in your relationship, Bucky asked you if you were sure- sure that you wanted to live this life, sure that you were okay with who he was and who he’d been. And for the millionth time, you said yes.

He took your hand in his and kissed it, letting his lips trace over your knuckles. “Sorry I didn’t kick that guy’s ass,” he said, “I just didn’t-” His words died in his throat as you pressed your lips against his, silencing him. Your bright red lipstick smeared across his skin, marking him as yours. “Buck, are you kidding? I’m so proud of you for walking away. You would’ve violated your pardon if you did anything to him”. His heart swelled with joy at the word: “proud”.

“But I, on the other hand, don’t have a pardon to worry about,” you crossed your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes at Bucky, “You shoulda let me fight him!” Bucky’s head fell back in a laugh. He imagined you in your corset and heels, kicking the faux-Winter Soldier’s ass, and found the thought oddly arousing. “Sweetheart, I have no doubt that you could’ve taken him, but I wasn’t gonna let you put yourself in harm’s way like that”, he cupped your cheek with his large warm hand, shooting you a wink as he spoke.

A sudden laugh pulled your lips into a smile, prompting Bucky to ask what was so funny. “Well, it’s just- here we are, having this very serious conversation…” you giggled, “and you’re dressed like a cowboy”. Bucky’s uproarious laugh filled the car, making you laugh even harder. He took your face in his hands and kissed you like it was the last time he’d ever see you. “You’re a goof,” he teased.

“Yeah, but I’m your goof. Come on, Barnes, let’s get outta here,” you murmured, “I promised this cowboy a ride”.

[swtki]

Enemy - E. C

Pairing: Edward Cullen x Vampire! Fem! Reader

Summary: Edward meets his seductress once again

Warnings: Smut, 18+ content, banter between muses, femdom, Sub! Edward, not in an alternate universe just set in the seventies, Volturi! Reader, oral (m), mention of Edward being killed, swearing of course, Vaginal sex, kinda dubcon but not really? Public alley sex.

A/N: Edward smut is hard you mfs better love this.

If he had a working heart, he was sure it would be pounding so loud the whole city could hear. He sat on his balcony, eyes scanning the crowded Paris streets. To find her, the woman who was to destroy him. Alice had warned him just a week ago, her vision being one of chaos and pain. Behind it all, was a womans face. Not just any face however, it was Y/N. A member of the Volturi, whose heart was set on pulling him limb from limb. Everyone in the house had decided it would be best if Edward were to depart from their permanent home, flee to Paris for a short time. He was akin to being alone, but to be alone while watching over your back 24/7 was not the same. While he hated every second of his existence; He knew that if he were to give up and let her kill him, she would surely only continue to his family. He couldn’t let that happen, so he kept moving in the shadows. She wouldn’t move on until she had his head.

He racked his brain, trying to figure out a long term plan as this could only work for so long. She was strong, killing her wouldn’t be easy nor would it be something he wanted to do. Perhaps he could change her mind, he could talk her down from her dedication.

He sighed, walking into the main room and grabbing his jacket.

He needed to eat.

The elevator ride down was slow, and he tapped his finger against his thigh. How he hated human life, but at the same time desired it more than anything. Tedious elevators, the need to eat every single day, the need to sleep. The doors finally slid open, allowing him to walk down the lobby and out of his building.

The street was unusually crowded at this time, the past five days the streets were deserted as soon as the clock struck nine-pm. He couldn’t run to the closest forrest or country plaine, he needed to leave the area before they could see him take off.

So, he started walking. Voices filled his head - the French didn’t try to hold back compared to Americans. Thats when he realized, it was friday night. There were people flooding the streets. More specifically, humans flooding the streets.

“Shit.” He breathed out, knowing that he’d not only have to cancel his meal, but interrupt someone else's. He started walking to the loud music, cursing himself for being this stupid. Who other than Edward Cullen would want to find his potential murderer?

As people danced to the music, he slid toward the bar. He ordered a beer to maintain face amongst the others around him.

“Merci.” He started to turn back to the dancing bodies, but stopped when he heard the order the bartender was receiving.

“Un whisky et un verre de ce champagne.“ The man said, waiting for his drinks to be prepared. Thats when Edward realized. He had ordered champagne. Both the human man and the bartender had thought it was weird someone would order champagne in a club like this. But she always ordered champagne, always. It was what she would tell her victims to order before she took them outside.

He watched the man take the drinks, hoping he was wrong about the partner. He cursed as he realized he wasn’t. She drank, flirted, and of course lured him outside. Throwing some coins on the bartop, he quickly followed. But, he was too late. Her body was flush against the human mans, she was having a bloody good meal. Edward would be lying if he didn’t debate joining her.

“I see you’re still denying your nature.” She pulled off of him, letting the body drop as she stood still.

“I see you’re still wearing red so you don’t need to worry about stains.” He replied. She smiled and turned to him, looking him from head to toe. “I don’t know why you still despise me after all these years, Y/N.” her smile faded.

“Despise you? No, Edward I quite admire you.” She walked over to him and pressed her hand to his shoulder, “I really do think you’re one of the strongest of our kind. You could be stronger, but you suppress yourself. You drink rats blood, while I drink how our kind is meant to. Shame, really.” She walked behind him and her hand wrapped around his neck. He couldn’t move, her powers overtook him. “Imagine the life you and I could lead if you would just submit”. He shuddered at the last word. He was always a sucker for her when it came to seduction and she knew it.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing much. I just want the natural order to be restored.” She smiled and kissed his neck sofly. “Imagine yourself, in Italy with the most powerful of our kind. You could have me every night - for the rest of eternity.” his eyelashes fluttered as she continued kissing his neck. “Do you want to see how good it would feel to be with me every night?”

“Please.” He whimpered. Thats all she needed to release him from her grasp and push him against the dark brick wall. Their lips connected as if they were puzzle pieces, moving in perfect harmony with each other. She pulled away, slithering down on her knees, she was going to make him realize how much he needed her.

“Shall I?” She asked, running her hand up his thigh softly.

“Yes, God, please.” Edward begged, she loved hearing him beg for her touch.

“You always were weak when it came to sex, wonder if you still moan at the smallest, little,” Her hand groped his growing cock. His stomach fluttered with pleasure, and he couldn’t hold his moan, “Touch. Edward, you can read my mind, you can see what I have planned.” He looked inside her head, seeing the pleasure she could inflict upon his body if he would just wave a white flag.

As she took off his trousers, he debated surrendering or not. Was she worth living a life he wanted nothing more than to shun? Every time they saw each other, the sex was electric almost. She made him feel like a prey being hunted by a predator, and he loved that. As much as he hated to admit it, part of the reason he kept turning down the offer was because he didn’t want to ruin the cat and mouse relationship. He knew she loved the chase, that was why she was so persistent. But did he still feel a hatred towards her? Yes. He had seen her slaughter entire groups because she didn’t get her way. But tonight, he decided, he would wave a white flag and lower it once the sun rose.

He snapped back to reality, she hooked her fingers around the waistband of his briefs, looking up at him through her long lashes. He looked down, beginning to place his hands on her head, but was stopped by her pinning him to the wall. Her gift was useful in many situations.

Tugging down, she smiled when his dick was finally isolated. He was all hers tonight, he was painfully hard for her and only her. Her hand grasped the shaft, pumping a few times before licking a long stripe up. He made a moan of pleasure and she rewarded him with taking his length down her throat. She gagged and felt his hips buck, making her withdrawal.

“Wait-” He began.

“No, you broke the rules. What did I tell you about greed, Edward?”

“That it had no place in our sex life.” She smiled and stood, slapping his cheek a few times.

“Dress. We’ll be going to my hotel room, you may not deserve anything, but I do.” He rushed to pull up his pants and follow her.

She pushed him down on the bed as soon as the door was shut, lifting her dress up, she straddled him.

“Imagine, you agree and this is every night for the rest of our time.” Pulling down his pants she spat on her hand and guided him to her slick cunt. He slid in with ease, making her eyes roll into her skull. He could hear her mind scramble as she slowly rocked her hips. “Feel so fucking good, shame you have to be so fucking stupid.”. He was sure if he had blood he would have just bitten it and bled out. She was so fucking hot, watching her nails dig into his firm stomach. He adored her from this angle, especially when she didn’t even bother to to take her clothes off.

“Can I touch you, please?” She smiled and nodded, letting his hand move so his thumb could skillfully rub her clit, making the coil in her stomach tighten. Her movements got faster, and he heard her mind beg for more. He slightly lifted his hips while continuing his fingers. Her orgasm washed over her, causing her to scream out in pure bliss. She stopped her hips, swinging her leg over his body and straightening her dress. He looked at her in confusion, he still hadn’t cum.

“You can cum when you agree to join me. I had my fun, now leave.” She said coldly. He pulled his pants back up, stumbling back to the apartment he had spent every night and day in. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider saying yes to her.

As long as it was her

—

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[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Gray Render

CR 8

Neutral Large Magical Beast

Bestiary 2, pg. 140 (Art from D&D 5e’s Mordenkainen’s Fome of Toes, pg. 209

These monstrously strong and solitary beasts are predators that feed on whatever smaller beast they can catch, spending hours of their day chasing down prey and devouring it. They’ll eat just about anything they believe they can kill, and once they sight prey with their numerous eyes, they’ll chase them through any obstacle. The Render’s hungering rampages are a sight to behold as they tear boulders from the ground and rip entire trees to splinters in their search for meat, to say nothing of the savagery they display when they manage to catch their prey, ripping it limb from limb and sometimes going so far as to begin eating before it’s is even dead.

Granted, the same can be said for a lot of mundane predators, so let’s not fault the Gray Render there! With an Int of 3, barely past the threshold of sapience, their actions are just destructive instinct, NOT malice and certainly not sadism. One shouldn’t hate a lion or crocodile for eating a gazelle, after all. They’re even noted to be largely peaceful outside of their hunts, ignoring other creatures until one proves it’s a threat to avoid wasting energy and risking their health, just like any big cat! That’s just nature!

What’s NOT natural is the Render’s unusual fixation on keeping pets. For reasons that can only be guessed at (they can speak Giant, but again they’re barely sapient), Renders will “adopt” herds of herbivores, solitary marsh dwellers, or even entire small settlements of humanoids as their “pets.” They grow uncannily fixated on their pets, never straying far from them, charging straight to their side when they need help, and even giving their own lives protecting them. Gray Renders do NOT fight to the death in the wild, but will fearlessly leap in front of a dragon or demon to give their pets a chance to escape.

Amusingly, Renders will also save portions of their kills to give to their pets, even if the pet never expresses a desire for the meat (or can’t eat it in the first place), which the book notes is like “a domesticated cat.” Tragically, it notes Renders will respond with ‘confused sadness’ if their pet attacks them, returning to their side time and time again until the pet either accepts them... or finally kills them. They don’t seem capable of understanding why some creatures may not react well to their terrifying shape, but those that DO react well find themselves in the presence of a powerful guardian, especially if someone among the population under the thing’s protection can speak Giant.

While Gray Renders lack defensive abilities, they make up for it with high AC, high HP, and incredible strength. Their offense is limited to a CCB, each claw dealing 1d8+7 damage, while the bite deals 2d6+7. Like their name suggests, however, anyone struck by both claw attacks in one round suffers from Rend, taking an additional 1d8+10 damage, and Gray Renders also Grab anything they strike with their claws to wrestle them down with incredible strength and pulverizing weight, snapping or even tearing off limbs to disable both attackers and prey.

Their statblock is largely undecorated by unique powers (aside from a descriptively-named Double Damage Against Objects), but their incredible strength, Power Attack feat, and ability to Rend anything they strike makes them formidable nonetheless. Their suicidal defense of their pets means the only running that will happen will be yours, as the beasts will battle until they can no longer draw breath if it means keeping their pets safe... whether or not their pets even like the Render in the first place. Their bizarre habits makes them easy, if tragic, creatures to throw in the path of any adventuring party, either defending a tiny village of people, protecting a herd of livestock (even from its own owner, which is where the party comes in), or fighting the party alongside another monster it’s attached to.

One final note to end on, though: A Gray Render can stay attached to a single pet anywhere from a month to a decade, never once doing anything that could possibly harm its pet. However, once this attachment ends, the Render will wander off to find a new pet, completely ignoring its old one even if they come seeking it out. It won’t attack them, but it will never defend them again unless the attachment reforms, going so far as to gently pick them up and physically turn them around, pushing them away like an unwanted animal. Everything about the Renders makes me feel emotions I don’t like :(

You can read more about them here.

[chaoswithinstars]

fallen from grace [Tomioka G.]

CW: blood, biting, demon!reader, dom!reader

When you were turned into a demon, Giyuu was certain you would be like the rest of them. He had no hope and was fully prepared to take your life, to end your suffering as a bloodthirsty animal but you ran, faster and stronger because of your human blood still racing through your veins. He searched for you, interrogated other demons for years until he stopped seeing the point. Giyuu tried so hard not to think of you, pushing his memories of your time together into the furthest reaches of his mind until he met the siblings, seen the girl protect her human brother. That tiny flame of hope Giyuu tucked away in his soul became a wildfire and all thoughts of you came rushing back along with heartbreaking yearning for your gentle touch.

He started searching once again, efforts tripled until he finally found you. He found you at a lakeside, sitting on a mossy rock and humming a familiar tune. You looked like a goddess, framed by idyllic forest and the fireflies dancing in the night. You didn't change much. Your hair was longer, tips crimson, your eyes were no longer that brilliant shade you loved the most as a human but you were still all soft curves and gentle smiles. You looked at him as if he was all that you've been waiting for, like he was the one who ran away.

Giyuu has always been a good man. Silent, strong and smart, talented with a sword. He was admirable but somewhat oblivious to how other people perceived him. Not to you though. With you, he couldn't hide himself, shove back his desires and darkest thoughts. With you, Giyuu let himself sink into depravity. Maybe it was your demon nature or maybe it was because he remembered you from before- bright smiles, silver tongue and strength hidden beneath a fluffy exterior. Giyuu didn't know nor did he particularly care. Especially now that he has finally found you.

"You're beautiful." Giyuu didn't know what prompted him to break the silence nor why those were the first words to come from his mouth. He was enchanted by your appearance, by your graceful movements as you beckoned him closer. You were still humming that alluring tune, voice so lovely that it resonated somewhere deep in his soul, settling down what little urge to kill you he had.

Maybe it's your presence, that enchanting voice or the alluring scents of nature (of you) that made Giyuu drop all of his walls down. After all, most of his life has been spent in search of you and now that he found you… Why couldn't he let himself enjoy this moment of happiness, a moment so rare in the life of a demon slayer? Giyuu reached out towards you and you took Giyuu's hands in yours, pulling him closer and into your embrace. His lovely blue eyes traced each part of your face, memorizing that which he was already familiar with from a lifetime before. Giyuu was warm in your arms, sinking against your body like a doll whose strings were cut off. You smiled, lips framing your sharp teeth.

"And you're looking as tasty as ever, slayer." Your words made Giyuu's thoughts swim, disconnected. He could not think of anything else but you, making you happy, giving everything he is to you. "I've watched you, little mouse, seen you fight my kind and it made me ravenous."

Giyuu shuddered at your words and yet did nothing. He let you nuzzle his neck, lick a strip up to his jaw. You nibbled on his soft skin, tempting yourself with a taste of his flesh. And yet, Giyuu wasn't afraid. He yearned for more, for a revival of heated memories when you two were the same, when you were both human and weak, equal before the gods.

"It isn't often that a snack enters my den all by himself. Usually, there's more of you wretched humans disturbing my oasis." You speak, breath warm and tickling Giyuu's ear. Your hands pull him onto your lap, making him straddle you. Giyuu looks down at you, brain foggy from all sensations you brought on. "But you, little mouse, you're different. Makes me want to keep you like a good pet."

Giyuu allows you to pull him in for a kiss. It's hunger and fire, consuming him until he feels like nothing will be left of him. He grabs onto your shoulders, nails digging into your clothes as he struggles with himself, with the instincts urging him to rut against you, to moan and beg. Your claws slice through his clothes with ease, baring his skin to the cool air, to your own wandering hands. Giyuu gasps, ripping his mouth away from yours, out of breath. Your name echoes off the trees as you lavish his neck and chest with licks and bites, leaving marks on his pale skin. You break skin with your teeth on his chest, drawing blood. He whimpers as you lick it up then suck on the tiny wound. It's odd and dangerous but still a thrill Giyuu doesn't want to miss out on.

"What a good boy you are." It's a coo, a praise wrapped in a patronizing tone Giyuu usually hated but didn't mind now because it came from you. "Such a good snack, not struggling when I indulge a little taste."

You look into his eyes as your touches become more daring, lips still smiling even as your eyes devoured all of Giyuu's reactions. Giyuu's head fell back once you grasped his dick, fingers wrapping almost too hard around his length but a little pain was good as long as you were touching him.

"Look at me." You commanded and Giyuu obeyed immediately, eyes wide at your harsh tone. He didn't want you to be mad, to stop the movements of your hand. "What kind of a slayer are you? Wanting to fuck a demon of all things. You're messed up, aren't you? Don't worry, I won't tell, it's our little secret."

Giyuu felt his eyes tear up. It's been years since he last cried but your words struck a cord even as he felt pleasure from your hand and the tone of your voice. He felt so ashamed of himself. Indeed, what kind of a slayer was he?

"Are you going to cry, little mouse?" You laughed, hand moving faster over his dick. "I wonder what your friends would say if they could see you now. They'd probably laugh at you. Or maybe some would join me in my fun and we could all have a turn with you."

Giyuu whimpered, teeth clenched over his lips. The thoughts you put in his head were tempting, far too much for him.

"You're so close, aren't you?" You ask, knowing full well that it won't take long before Giyuu broke apart. "Don't worry, you can cum whenever you want."

Giyuu fucked into your fist, enjoying the squeeze of your fingers, every teasing pass over his leaking head, your demeaning yet arousing words. It didn't take that long for him to spill all over your hand, making a mess. A mess you happily fed to him until there was nothing left.

"On your knees, slayer." You ordered, pushing him out of your lap to his knees. Giyuu watched as you stripped, showing yourself off and he wondered what he did to deserve such a treat. Your body seemed to glow with some inner light, once again reminding Giyuu of a goddess. You were terrifying in your beauty and all Giyuu could think of was worshiping every inch of your being. "Good boy."

You sat back on your rock, straightening your left leg until your foot was on Giyuu's shoulder and he placed his trembling hand on your joint. He could feel your eyes on him as he kissed your leg, slowly moving upward until your knee was hooked over his shoulder. Giyuu looked up at you, eyes seeking permission to go further and a moan broke from him as you nodded. He dived in between your legs, arms over your thighs as he kissed then licked and sucked at all the right places of your pussy. Your taste was exquisite, like ambrosia sent down from heavens. Your scent was heady and your soft sighs like music to him.

You praised him, one hand gentle in his hair, pushing him further into you. Giyuu thought that he could die right now, with no regrets, just because he made you feel like this. You were so wet, so warm and sweet… Giyuu couldn't get enough. You cried out when his fingers, rough from sword handling, entered you, moving first slowly then faster until you were grinding against Giyuu's face, panting as you came closer to the edge. Giyuu looked up at you from between your legs, eyes focused on the ecstasy on your face. He curled his fingers inside of you, pressing against that spongy spot inside of you and your thighs locked around his head, keeping him still as you rode out your orgasm.

You hunch over him, pulling his head from between your legs, cradling his face in a gentle hold. Giyuu knows that he probably looks a mess from your arousal, face wet and red, but it was worth the sweet look in your eyes and hunger on your face. He'd let you devour him whole if only that was his last memory.

You push him down, sinking to your knees and straddling his hips. Your hands caress his chest, fingers curling and your claws leave red lines on his skin. Another mark Giyuu would be happy to carry on into his next life. He's out of words and breath when you sink onto him, taking him to the deepest reaches of your body and all he can do is hold onto your hips as you ride him hard and fast. Giyuu knows that you're just using him, that he should be happy that you gave him the honour of feeling your wet heat grip his dick, clench around him.

"Thank you, thank you…" The words tumble out of his mouth, unbidden but truthful. He cums when you laugh at him, when your clawed hand wraps around his throat, squeezing ever so lightly.

You continued riding him, drawing tears from his pretty eyes from overstimulation. You ride him until you've milked him dry and got your fill of ecstasy. A growl rips from somewhere deep in your chest as you cum, grinding down on him to get those little aftershocks of pleasure. Your hand moves from Giyuu's throat, fingers chasing sweat drops on his chest. You lie down on top of him, humming that same tune from before.

Giyuu doesn't particularly care that your teeth are close to his jugular, that you're splitting open his skin to lick up his blood. All he knows and wants is to stay with you, surrounded by your warmth.

"Poor little slayer." You murmur into Giyuu's ear, voice filled with pity and something else Giyuu cannot comprehend. "So many desires unspoken, so many wishes not coming through. Do not worry, I'll take care of you."

The slayer never noticed the miasma descending around you two, just closed his eyes as you sang him to sleep. He looked like a doll as you picked him up, body limp as you carried him up into the trees. You set him up among many other humans in your den but took special care to preserve him.

"My little mouse." You purred, caressing Giyuu's face, tracing his lips. "I'll be good to you, no one will ever find you or hurt you here."

[workofheart]

36+40 with Levi 👁

I love ur writing btw that bodyguard one was WOOOOOOO

this is honestly a fav thank u so much for the request, went kind of ham bc i love this idea. sorry if it hurts ur heart <3

one more | levi + “we’re not just friends and you fucking know it” + “if you’re going to act like a brat then i’m going to treat you like a brat”

warnings: angst/implied nsfw, aggressive levi, “hate to love you” kind of fucking, 18+ minors dni

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i have feelings for you. and i think you have them for me, too.”

levi is not a man of many words - that much is obvious. he keeps it short and to the point, not one for meaningless chatter or even thinking out loud, preferring to save his input for when it matters most. 

rare is such a thing due to him being rendered speechless by another person, not able to speak even if he wanted. he’s never been struck so voiceless in his life, dumbfounded and heart sinking at your admission.

his silence is deafening. coming here so late at night, you thought you had all the aces in your palm. you were so sure, but his lack of reciprocation to what you were just so confident tells you all you need to know.

he can’t stand to look you in the eyes, averting them to the papers strewn across his desk. “...it’s not that simple,” is all he can manage.

feeling embarrassed, you swallow thickly. “then what is it?”

“we’re comrades,” he offers, but damage control doesn’t look good on him. you wonder why he’s even trying. “i’d even call you my friend.”

you let out a wounded laugh at that, crossing your arms over your chest.. “come on, levi, are you kidding?”

there you go again, as if you can hear the thoughts racing through his mind before he can think them himself. of course he feels it, probably more than you, if he’s completely honest. but he can’t do it to himself again. he’s not sure if he can love someone like he wants to love you and come out alive on the other end.

“listen-”

“we’re not just friends and you fucking know it” you mutter, turning away from him. you can’t even look him in the eyes, from the humility, from the chance that maybe you’ve been wrong this whole time, from the chance you’re truly just in denial. have you just been misreading it all these years?

patience thinning, he stands from his chair to look at you properly, on your level now. “okay, and so what? you know how things are. you know how this life gets.” his lips are pursed, unwavering, sour.

a bitter expression takes root on your face. he hates it. 

“i’d rather love and lose than be a coward and never love at all.”

levi’s eyes narrow, a harrowing clench to his jaw ensues. it’s a shock to hear it coming from you. in fact, he’s astonished. he’s never seen your seething denunciations first hand, though he’s heard so much in passing, and such abrasiveness from you feels like a brutal strike to the jaw. your acrid words sting his pride, spear through his facade like you knew it would. 

he could tolerate attitude: he couldn’t tolerate being called a coward.

his voice drops. “don’t talk to me like that.”

“someone has to say it. the stoic act isn’t doing anything for you.”

he scoffs, incredulous. “you’re acting like a child.”

“you’re the one denying your feelings because you’re scared of getting hurt,” you argue, volume rising, “that’s childish if i’ve ever seen it.” you voice bounces off the walls of the room, and you can’t even be bothered to care about people hearing you when you’re so beat down.

you don’t even see it coming. with a swift movement, levi is storming toward you, has his hands wrapping around your upper arms, pushing you back against the door you stand in front of. you barely get the chance to look into his eyes before he has his lips on yours, firm and rough and unrelenting and...

and so, so inviting. once the initial shock fades, you can’t help but kiss him back, trying to match his pace, trying to find something to do with your hands when they’re still pinned back. but as soon as he feels you reciprocate, he’s pulling away.

eyes widening, you shake your head at him. “what do you think you’re doing?” you ask, chest heaving as you try to collect your breath. 

“if you’re going to act like a brat, then i’m going to treat you like one.”

his grip on your arms slides down to your wrists and then he’s dragging you across the room, pushing you inside his separate bedroom before you can even process what’s happening.

“you want me to tell you how i feel? fine.” he grumbles, pushing you down onto the bed and shrugging off his suit jacket. “you’re the only person around here who sees through me.”

he clamors out of his shoes and belt, discards his gear straps to the side. you’re frozen to your spot, unsure whether to undress, to walk away, or to wait for levi’s order. it’s almost laughable, how he has you collapsing so easily in a matter of moments.

“you look at me like you know what i’m thinking.”

he’s down to his trousers, shirt tosses carelessly over the footboard, before he’s crawling on top of you, movements calculated and intimidating as he pushes you back further and further like an animal toying with its prey. panting, he hovers over you, drinking up the hazy fear in your eyes.

 “you make me so fucking frustrated.” 

he grips your jaw in his hand, harshly locking his lips with yours, his rugged hold giving you nowhere to go.

levi presses another rough kiss to your mouth, swallowing the lewd sound you can’t hold back and pulls away, huffing as he forces you to look at him. “you make me feel like my life is fucking falling apart. and you’re right, that scares the shit out of me.”

he’s in a pit of turmoil, stuck between his desires and the thought of consequences, but his rash judgment pushes it all out. he’ll worry about regret later. it’s not like doesn’t already have an abundance of that hanging over him at every given moment - what’s one more?

“tell me you want me,” he grunts, stilling his movements. he needs you to say it, needs to hear you so he knows it’s real.

your arms reach up to tangle around his neck. “i want you,” you cry between his lips, hands tugging at his hair with greed, trying to pull him closer. it’s not just confirmation, it’s a plea.

warmth spreads through his body yet he feels himself shiver at the way you cling to him. it doesn’t take long to get you out of your clothes. he wants it off, off, off, and you’re not one to deny him. he bites at your neck, nips at the shell of your ear, whispers cruel teases there right where only you can hear him. each new expanse of skin you uncover for him is a new way to torture you, make you feel how much he wants you now, knowing he won’t let himself have you later in a way more than this.

his eyes are glued to you as he slips inside, staring down at the mess he’s made of you. purple lovebites blossom across your flushed, heaving chest. your cunt is dripping, aching for something only he can give you. you’re hot and needy and lewd, just for him, just how he made you, and you had the nerve to call him a coward. 

your mouth falls open at the feeling of his cock dragging sweet against your walls, squeezing him in the best way possible. it draws a low groan from him; he can’t tear his gaze away from how you tremble, dying for the moment to last, the pure pleasure he’s giving you rewarding him with how absolutely beautiful you look like this.

leaning forward, he drops his forearms to the sheets so he has you caged, chest pressing to yours. by now his skin is glossy, struggling to keep himself together with the moans you let out for him.

reaching down your figure, his calloused fingers find your clit to rub tight, hard circles that have you shaking. he picks his head up just to see your reaction, the way your eyes squeeze together, the way your back arches beneath him, the way you say his name like a prayer when you cum.

levi can bring you to your climax as many times as he wants. he’s more than able, more than willing. your body bends to his commands at a single touch. but the both of you know that’s not really what you’re here for.

he grits his teeth as he chases his own high, savoring the feel of your hands in his hair and how you clutch to his every movement, letting the confession spill off the tip of his tongue.

“fuck, i love you,” he pants into your neck, his heavy breaths puffing against your dampening skin. he feels the start crash over him in more ways than one with tears brimming on his lash line. not letting up, his strokes are smooth and fast and deep, as if he’s trying to make up for lost time, as if he’s trying to coax every filthy sound of reassurance he can out of you in the only way he knows how. “you know i do, shit, and you still make me say it.”

levi is not a man of many words, but god if he won’t give them to you when you ask.

[jeontaeil-archived]

After Hours

Pairing: CEO!Yeonjun x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut; Fem Receiving, Blowjob, Face Fucking, Choking, Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex

Words: 2.19k+

Warnings: 18+ content

⋆ 8 o’clock. The time when all your colleagues bid each other farewell and expectantly head home for the weekend while you and Yeonjun lock the doors of his office to have some fun of your own⋆

It was a Friday. The last working day before the weekend began. Everyone’s eyes impatiently darted between their work and the clock. It was only a matter of seconds before it would be time to go home. 

You too were anxious for the day to come to an end. The past few days had been incredibly demanding. Hours and hours of meetings along with late night business calls. Not to mention the fact that you were running on a cumulated 11 hours of sleep. Any more work and you were certain your brain would turn to mush. 

Soon enough, but no doubt what had felt like ages of waiting, the clock struck 8. Everyone was up and out of their chairs within the blink of an eye, more than eager to return to the comfort of their homes after a deadeningly tiring week.

Grabbing your coat and bag you waited for everyone to enter the elevator, before walking in the opposite direction, round the corner, up the stairs and straight towards your boss’ office. Before you entered, you looked around to make sure no one had seen you. 

Just as you were about to knock, the door swung open, revealing none other than your boss, Mr. Choi Yeonjun.

He wore a proud smirk, eyes raking over your figure authoritatively. He glanced at his watch and finally met your gaze. “You’re late. I thought I would’ve had to come down there to get you myself. You know how much I hate waiting," he spoke distastefully. You weren’t one to be fooled by his tone. It was common knowledge that if he wasn’t talking business, he was just being sarcastic. Still, it was in your best interest to play along. You knew how much he hated people who acted out of place. 

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Yeonjun smirked, stepping aside to make way for you. “You may enter. But please be reminded that I won’t be so lenient next time.”

Once you were past the threshold of his door, he slammed it shut and pushed you against it, that same cunning smirk glued on his lips as he caged you between the door and his body. “I’m being serious,” he said, voice dangerously low. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to get you in here. Feels like an eternity.” He delicately traced the outline of your face, intently watching the way you impulsively leaned into his touch.

“Tell me, are you as eager to see me?”

Dropping your bag and coat on the floor, you nodded, eyes following his own. 

Yeonjun carefully let out a deep breath. He dragged his finger along your jaw and down your neck. You felt him gently caress your nape, skin warm against your own. He raised his head as he slowly wrapped his fingers around your throat. “Use your words darling.”

Lips pursed, you swallowed nervously. An impulsive reaction to the way he held you. “I am, sir.” 

You felt small underneath his strong stare. He was so intimidating. Even though you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you, there was no way you were going to defy him. He was the one in charge and you would never challenge that. 

Satisfied with your answer, he gently squeezed your throat and soon let go. 

“I know you’d never lie to me. Still, I want to be certain. May I check to see if you’re being truthful?”

You didn’t know what he was playing at but you nodded nonetheless. “Yes sir. You may.” 

Yeonjun smiled, glad that you’d given him the greenlight. His fingers raked up your thigh, pushing your skirt up along the way. He ran his hand over the inside of your thigh, sending a burst of warmth through your body. You felt like shutting your thighs together, but you knew better than to do so. His fingers ghosted over your panties, material undoubtedly soaked from all the time you’d spent anticipating this very moment. He could feel your wetness. He could sense your desire for him and his touch. But before he rewarded you for your candor, he wanted to see just how much you’d been aching for him. It was essential for him to assess how much you deserved to be pleased. 

He pushed his hand into your panties, dipping his finger between your folds. He raised a brow as your arousal coated his finger, delighted with what he felt. 

“It must’ve been hell. Sitting behind that computer for so long while thinking about all the things you want me to do to you. Isn’t that right?”

There was no error in his judgement, and he was very much aware of that. You had spent quite a few days waiting for this moment and you were mighty pleased that it was finally here. 

Yeonjun removed his hand from your pantied and brought his glistening finger to your lips. “Open up, y/n. You’re in for a lot tonight.” He pushed his finger into your mouth, making sure you’d cleaned your arousal off of it before pulling it back out. He leaned closer to you, lips ghosting over your own as his fingers slowly unbuttoned your blouse. 

You wanted to kiss him so bad even though you knew you couldn’t. You needed to be patient in order to get what you wanted. He pulled your blouse off your shoulders and undid your bra with a quick snap of his fingers. As soon as your breasts were free his hands were on them. He pinched your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, making you suck in a sharp breath. You rubbed your thighs together, dreading how slow he was taking things. Yeonjun chuckled darkly when he noticed this. “Do you need me to hurry up? Don’t worry, baby, I was just about to get to that.” He unzipped your skirt and pulled it down along with your panties, leaving you completely naked in front of him. 

He kneeled before you, staring into your eyes as his mouth closed in on your pussy. A loud moan left your mouth almost immediately. Yeonjun hummed, sending a wave of intense vibrations through your core. “Keep your eyes on me," he instructed, returning to your heat. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on it harshly. Of course he would make it difficult for you. You fought to keep your eyes from rolling back. The pleasure was too strong for you to resist. Furrowing your brows, you urged yourself to hold his stare. You could clearly see how much he was enjoying your struggle. 

His tongue ran between your folds and circled your clit. You swore if he kept it up you were going to cum any moment now. He had a tight grip on your hips, keeping them in place. His chin was already wet with your juices. Your lids started getting heavy as you felt a knot begin to form in your stomach. It was becoming harder and harder for you to focus on Yeonjun.  “Ahh fuck, I’m gonna cum, sir.” You were practically screaming at this point. Yeonjun speedened the pace of his tongue. He was eating you out as if he’d been starved for days. With one final suck to your clit, you felt your orgasm hit. Wetness gushed down your walls and onto Yeonjun’s face. He groaned in satisfaction, shutting his eyes and greedily licking up all of your arousal. A string of curses left your mouth as he lapped up all your juices. All this waiting had definitely been worth it.

Yeonjun pulled away from your core and stood up, wiping his chin with a grin. “Such a pretty face but such a filthy mouth," he muttered, almost growling at your flushed expression. Heaving, you gasped as he pushed you down on your knees. He quickly undid his buckle and freed his cock from its restraints. 

You’d seen Yeonjun’s manhood many times before. But its sheer size never failed to make your mouth go dry. His tip glistened with precum, a clear indication of how much he’d been holding himself back. He pumped his cock impatiently and pressed his tip to your lips. “I don’t think I need to tell you what to do. Open up. I’m not done with you yet.” He shoved his cock into your mouth, groaning as you ran your tongue over his length. He was certainly a mouthful. You could barely fit all of him in your mouth. Yeonjun knew this but he didn’t care. If you were going to take his cock then you’d have to take all of it. 

He then pulled out entirely, spat on his palm, and slicked his cock up before pushing it back into your mouth. He also grabbed your head and pulled it further over his length. “Fuck you look so hot with my cock stuffed in your mouth.” He grunted, bucking his hips into your mouth. The sudden action made you gag. Yeonjun groaned as your throat convulsed around his tip. “If you want me to fuck you then you’ve gotta take me properly. Don’t act like you’re doing this for the first time," he reminded, continuing to ram his hips into your face. Your jaw went slack with how forceful he was being. Yeonjun was always rough, but for some reason you could never get used to it. He literally used you like a cum doll, not that you minded or anything. 

Tears welled in your eyes as he ruthlessly fucked your mouth. He was chasing his high. With the pace he’d set you were sure he wasn’t too far from it. Before you knew it his cock twitched in your mouth and soon enough, hot ropes of his cum shot down your throat. Yeonjun’s hips stilled as he emptied his seed into you. He finally pulled out of you and brought you to your feet again. 

A bit of his cum had dribbled onto your chin, which he pushed back into your mouth. “Make sure you swallow it all babe. Don’t let a single drop go to waste.”

You did as he said, shuddering at the salty taste. He brought you over to his desk, bending you over the edge. He leaned down to your ear, eagerly rubbing your ass. “I hope you can still go for another round. I’m still not done with you darling.” He rubbed his tip against your folds. You were surprised by how quickly he’d hardened up again. It seemed you weren’t the only one who’d been counting down the days till this night. “Are you ready?” he asked, tip pushing into your walls. “Yes, sir," you answered, looking behind your back. You gasped as he entered you, giving your walls a delicious stretch. “So tight for me," he said, fingers digging into the skin of your ass. Once he’d bottomed out and given you enough time to adjust, he began hammering his hips into you. Thank god it was just the two of you. The sounds of skin slapping against each other and your loud moans filled the room. “Holy shit, sir, you fuck me so well.”

Yeonjun snickered at your words and pulled your back up to his chest, wrapping his hand around your neck. He choked you, effectively muffling your moans. “I know I do. Don’t you just love it when I make you cry with my cock?” His thrusts were nice and strong, indeed making you cry out in absolute pleasure. This was extremely worth it. You’d never felt as good as you felt right now. Yeonjun could say the same for himself. He loved the way your walls wrapped around his length, so warm and tight. Your desperate moans were practically music to his ears. He could hear you screaming for hours, especially if it was because of his cock. 

It didn’t take long for you to feel your second orgasm build up. The faster he fucked you, the quicker he pushed you to your high. Yeonjun felt your walls clench around his cock. “You aren’t cumming yet," he grunted, never stilling his pace. You groaned and willed yourself to go on a bit longer. “Just a little longer. I know you can wait a bit.”

You weren’t too sure about that. He was racing to reach his own orgasm. His efforts were making it far too difficult for you to do as he’d instructed. “I can’t hold it in any longer, sir. I’m going to cum.” 

Just as your orgasm hit, Yeonjun pulled you back onto his cock, groaning loudly. He’d caught up with you successfully. He slowly pushed his hips into you, helping you ride out your high as well as his own. Your heart hammered in your chest as you came down from your climax. It was perfect.

Yeonjun pulled out of you and went to retrieve your clothes for you. “I hope you enjoyed yourself," he said as you dressed yourselves. “I did sir. I always do," you shared with a shy smile. It was always a bit awkward between you both once your rendezvous had ended. 

“Good. I’ll see you next week then?”

“As always sir.”

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 11

Y/n returns to Quantico and sees a familiar face. 

@deadman-inc-bikeshop @viviace and @dovahdokren 

Trigger warnings: mention of FGM, graphic descriptions of violence, bombs, religiously motivated violence, torture, cults, implied sex abuse

Out of everywhere you expected to see him, the FBI headquarters was the last place you'd have possibly thought of.

But he was there. His intimidating height was even more pronounced now that he wasn't sitting on a bar stool. The harsh fluorescent lighting enunciated his sunken bone structure, giving him an eerie halo. The fact that he was standing over a flayed corpse didn't help.

"Ms. [L/N]!" Jack greeted. "This is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, he occasionally acts as a consultant on large cases such as this one."

"Hello again, Miss [L/N]." Hannibal said, eyeing you up and down with an unreadable expression. "I'm dreadfully sorry these are the circumstances under which we have to meet, but it is a delight to see you nonetheless."

"Dr. Lecter." You nodded, trying to cover your nervousness with a smile. "It's always a pleasure."

"You two know each other." Will said in complete non-surprise.

"Her bar is the only one in town that carries my favorite Bordeaux." Hannibal explained. "Though I've come to find that the bartender is excellent company."

Something about how he said "her bar" made your heart flutter. You'd convinced him that you were in charge, and you were determined to keep it that way.

"Not to break up the reunion." Dr. Katz interrupted your thoughts. "But we are standing in front of a dead cultist's body."

Jack cleared his throat. "Thank you, Dr. Katz. What can you tell us about this woman?"

"Her name is Catherine Miller, or at least it was." Dr. Katz began, grabbing the corpse by its left hand and revealing a scar on its inner arm. "I think Chase may have just been calling her 'unwoman'."

"Erasing a person's identity is one of the many warning signs of a dangerous cult." Hannibal observed, crossing the floor.

"Usually they try to change their names in an attempt to make them shed their genuine personality in favor of the cult personality." Jack agreed. "But she must have been so far gone to willingly give up her entire identity."

"That's not even the beginning." Dr. Katz rushed to the other side of the examination table. She paused for a second and lowered her head in respect. "She was mutilated."

All eyes turned to the body's lower half. Dr. Katz took the corpse's hand and rubbed her thumb gently across the back, as if to comfort it. You and her shared a look of mutual disgust and anger. No words had to be exchanged.

You were the one to break the silence. "In Handmaid's Tale, circumcision was a punishment for... gender treason."

"Homosexuality." Hannibal said, looking down. "Well, more accurately, any sexuality or gender identity that exists outside Gilead's biblical worldview."

"I wonder if that's why Chase strapped her to a bomb." Dr. Katz added with quiet conviction. "He needed to destroy any evidence of brutality."

"She said that she once was a sinful woman like me." You said. "Or something to that effect."

"Was she perhaps under the impression that you existed outside of Gilead's biblical worldview?" Hannibal asked, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. He was asking out of his own curiosity and you could tell.

"Well, I am." You admitted. "But I'm not sure how she or Chase could have known that."

"Evangelicals make assumptions about people all the time." Dr. Katz groaned. "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"And here I thought the bible said 'judge not lest ye be judged'." Will added, not looking up from the body. He took a few steps and pointed to some strange laceration. "What's this?"

"I have no fucking idea." Dr. Katz answered. "It looks like someone tried to skin her like a deer, but only in that one spot."

"And it's done very sloppily at that." Said Hannibal.

"Yeah, well when you're guided by the hand of god, you don't need a medical license." Dr. Katz's voice was sharp with sarcasm.

"I'll bet that's why Chase strapped her to a bomb." Will said. "It would destroy all the evidence of brutality."

Dr. Katz looked sadly on the body and closed its eyes. "I think Catherine has suffered enough for the time being. I'm going to close her up."

Jack gestured to you. "Miss [L/N], Will and I are going to examine the crime scene. Dr. Lecter will be taking your statement."

"I know it’s unorthodox, but I am nothing if not a professional." Hannibal peered down at you.

Hannibal silently escorted you to an out-of-the-way office where he promised you’d have some privacy. Privacy to discuss what, you were unsure. 

“I’m sure you have a million questions, Miss [L/N].” He said, closing the door behind you. “But if I could trouble you with a few of my own, I can make it worth your while.” 

He sat on a nearby couch and patted the space beside him. You awkwardly stood in the middle of the room, looking everywhere but at him.

“Come, sit by me.” He beckoned you with his fingers. “I’d like you to be close.” 

You let your feet carry you to his side, still avoiding any eye contact. You fidgeted with your purse straps and kept your head down. 

“You and Will Graham have met?” He asked.

You wordlessly nodded your head. You had a sinking feeling that he was about to scold you. 

“Have you been intimate?” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you. “There’s no use lying to me, Miss [L/N].” 

You dropped your shoulders. “How did you know?” 

He leaned towards you and took a short, audible breath in. “I find it quite hard to believe that you wear the same aftershave.” 

“Is he your boyfriend or something?” You said, somewhat sarcastically. 

“Or something.” Hannibal tilted his head. “An object of my affection, is probably a more accurate term.” 

“You want me to back off?” You raised your eyebrows. You had just witnessed this man examine a flayed corpse without so much as a flinch. You didn’t want to get on his bad side. 

“No.” 

His answer took you by surprise. “Pardon?” 

“When two objects of your affection find each other, there are certainly far worse fates than to see them enamored with one another.” Hannibal explained. “It can lead to some highly desirable outcomes.” 

You understood what he was saying, you just couldn’t believe it. “Like what?” 

He grinned. “I think you already know what.” 

“You mean, like a threesome?” 

So much for professionalism. 

Hannibal clicked his tongue. “Now don’t make it sound so crass, darling. I’m an intelligent man of strong moral character. I’m not driven by lust alone.” 

At least he shared your contempt there. The word ‘threesome’ conjured up bad memories of being approached by straight couples on dating apps who saw you as nothing but a disposable sex toy to boost a straight man’s ego. For that reason, you stayed away from the idea altogether. Hannibal, however, had you reconsidering. 

“So a throuple.” You said. As the word left your mouth, you found yourself more amenable to the idea than you’d anticipated. “I just don’t know how I’d feel being shared between two men.” 

“Oh, [F/N],” he purred. “You would be worshipped by two men. Loved obsessively. Given everything you could ever desire. Not to mention protected at all costs.” 

That last point struck you. For so long, you had lived alone and in fear. And now, you would take any opportunity to not be alone. 

"You like the sound of that. I can tell." Hannibal broke the silence.

"I can't hide anything from you, can I?" You said, pushing your hair behind your ear.

He smiled proudly. "I thought so."

[taetaespeaches]

“I never would’ve thought Agust D would be so soft after sex.”

yoongi x reader (or oc) genre: smut; fluff word count: 3.1K

a/n: ok, so, Kid is ready to give Yoon that good good just after hearing like half the mixtape, our girl hasn’t even seen the damn mv yet guys, like, she’s ready to pounce after just seven songs from her man. And honestly, mood. I hope you lovelies enjoy this, I hope it lives up to your expectations lmao, and thank you for reading :))

YOU paced back and forth from one end of your kitchen to the other as you waited for Yoongi to answer his damn phone. I mean, seriously, how long does it take to pick up the-

“Hello?” Yoongi’s low voice interrupted your thoughts through the phone’s speaker.

Gasping, you eagerly asked, “Can I start listening?” omitting a proper greeting.

“Oh hey, I’m fine, how are you?” He teased.

You rolled your eyes, fully aware he couldn’t see you. “You’re expecting a lot of self-control from me right now, Min,” you complained.

Yoongi allowed himself to chuckle before responding with a humored, “if you want, you can listen, Kid.”

You squealed in excitement, bouncing around in front of the oven. “You’re sure? I don’t have to wait for you or anything?”

“Nah, I’m almost there anyway,” he told you, and you could tell by the tone of his voice he was grinning. “Just no music video yet,” he said in a whiny tone which you knew must be accompanied with a pout. He enjoyed watching your reaction to his music videos.

“No music video, I promise,” you smiled, absolutely fond of the man. “Oh my god, I’m not ready for this am I?” You yelled out, Yoongi scoffing in response.

“Jesus, you’re ridiculous,” he groaned.

“Shush, I’m hanging up, I have a long-awaited mixtape to listen to, thank you very much.”

“Ok fine, fine,” he laughed, but before you could hang up, Yoongi added, “Hey, Kid?” You hummed in response. “Love you.”

You’ve heard the words a million times, but it never failed to make your heart pound. However, that didn’t stop you from teasing him a bit. “Yeah, yeah, love you, I gotta go, priorities, baby. I don’t know if you’ve heard but the Agust D just made a comeback.”

He chuckled into the phone once more before giving you a, “See you in a bit,” and then hung up.

Immediately, you were pressing play on the mixtape on Spotify, already having had it pulled up for five minutes.

The first song, ‘Moonlight’, started off soft before scratching records came in, and then your boyfriend’s voice. When he gave his iconic laugh with an “August D” you smiled in pride. That’s my honey boy.

You turned your attention to the meal you were preparing for you and Yoongi, one of his favorites, stirring the contents in a big pot on the stovetop. Bopping along to the music, you listened to the lyrics that talked about his story, starting in Daegu to flying high with his group, how he goes through feelings of confidence in his work to feeling untalented, the struggles of writing this exact mixtape due to the pressure from a larger audience, expectations, and self-doubt. You knew those struggles all too well. You were with him throughout it all.

You’d been given glimpses of the songs throughout the writing process, some tracks in full while others you only saw lyric scribblings on those yellow notepads he leaves around his studio and that littered your apartment. You first saw the chorus to ‘Moonlight’ written on one of those notepads that sat on your bedside table.

“I like this,” you told your boyfriend, holding the notepad in one hand as the other found its way in his dampened hair, his face resting against your bare chest.

“Huh?” He looked up at you, his hand gripping your waist as his eyelids fluttered. The sheets were in disarray around your still nude forms. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, is it for D-2?”

“Maybe,” he told you with a yawn. “Not sure.”

“I think you should use it,” you told him, your finger outlining the shell of his ear as his lips curved into a lazy smile. “It’s beautiful.”

“You really think so?” He asked, uncertain and a bit more awake.

“Yeah, definitely.”

He kissed the center of your chest before nuzzling his face further against your breasts. “You always know best, Kid.”

You felt your eyes prick with tears as you listened to the song, feeling immensely proud of your boyfriend. Of how hard he worked, of overcoming the doubt and fear, and just simply for the talent, passion, and artistry he shared with so many people.

As the mixtape played, you went through phases of dancing around, squealing in excitement, gasping at lyrics and phrasing, and more bouncing and dancing. You tried your best to focus on the lyrics, though you knew it would take a few listens to catch them all as you were too excited to comprehend everything just then.

Completely invested in the music, you didn’t hear your front door open, unaware of your boyfriend’s presence until he appeared in your peripheral, catching you doing a little strut that resembled Yoongi’s swagger walk he did on stage. Your head snapping to him, you were met with his gummy grin, his shoulders shaking in laughter as ‘Burn It’ continued to play throughout the kitchen.

“Are you leaving me for Agust D yet?” He teased, walking toward you.

“Do you realize how sexy you are? Like do you have any idea?” You asked accusatorily. “Like what the fuck, dude?”

“Jesus,” he huffed, a smile still plastered on his face. “You’re actually ridiculous.”

“Yeah, and you’re ridiculously talented, Min. You’re not told that enough,” you told him seriously. Reaching you, he placed his hands on your hips as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, stepping further into his arms.

“I’m told that plenty,” he dismissed with a bashful grin.

“No, you’re not,” you told him as ‘Burn It’ continued to play. Instead of responding to you, he kissed you which you immediately deepened, Yoongi stepping back a bit by the unexpected force behind your actions, though his arms wrapped tighter around your waist so your body was flush with his.

Pulling away, he chased your lips, making you smile. “I don’t even have the words right now to tell you how proud I am of you,” you told him seriously, tears forming in your eyes. You watched as Yoongi took a deep breath, keeping his own emotions under control at your sincere confession. “Just know I’m really proud,” you said as tears threatened to fall.

He quickly nodded just before bringing a hand to your jaw as he caught your lips again, giving you several quick pecks as he composed himself.

Letting out a breath that sounded to be one of relief, Yoongi peered around your frame, inspecting the food cooking on the stove, as well as the food that had spilled outside of the pot, with a grin. “That looks good.”

“Hopefully,” you said with a smile as Yoongi nuzzled his face against your neck, refusing to let you go. With the overwhelming pride and love you felt, mixed with the fact that the man on the mixtape was all yours, and he was standing in your kitchen, in your arms, pressing sweet kisses to your neck, you had a sudden desire for him.

As ‘People’ started playing, you were instantly struck with the memory of coming to his studio as he was working on that very track. It was just the instrumental then, but it was interesting and different from the other stuff he had been working on. Yoongi must have been thinking upon the same memory as he lifted his head, a gummy grin directed to you as his eyes found yours.

“I remember the night you wrote this,” you smiled, biting your lower lip. That night, you had spent about an hour of it sitting on his desk as Yoongi sat in his chair in front of you, his chin resting on your knees as you both discussed your ideas of life, and people, and changes, and what it all meant, if it even meant anything.  

You had already been dating for well over a year, but it was a moment where you and Yoongi felt a closeness between you both that hadn’t really been there before, becoming more mentally and emotionally attune with each other.

The conversation eventually faded out, the intense feeling of understanding between you both leading to you having sex on his studio couch.

“Trust me, I remember it very well,” he chuckled, his mind running through every moment of that night, from the feeling of closeness, to the warmth of your body underneath his as he pressed you against the couch cushions, the way you moaned his name and whispered ‘I love you’s’.

As the chorus of ‘People’ sounded from your laptop, your eyes widened at the sultry soothe of your boyfriend’s vocals.

“Since when do you sing like that, Min?” You teased with a smile, your eyes bouncing around his soft features. As he let out a breathy chuckle, you slid your your hands down his neck to rest overtop his collarbones as you leaned toward him and kissed him deeply.

The action took him by surprise though he easily found his rhythm, his hands slipping underneath your shirt, feeling at the bare skin of your waist.

As you began backing up, he quickly felt around to shut the stove off before following you toward the bedroom, never breaking the kiss. Your hands found his waist as his moved to your face, taking control. You began lifting his shirt up, you both separating just long enough for you to pull it over his head and discard it somewhere in the hallway outside your room.

Eagerly, you unbuttoned his jeans, Yoongi helping you get the clothing off him as he released his hold on you to step out of them. Backing up, your legs hit the edge of the bed and you locked your eyes with your boyfriend’s. Smirking at him, you pulled your own shirt off before unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the floor at your feet.

Yoongi bit his lip, his eyes settling on your chest before slowly dragging them back up to meet your darkened gaze. Tilting his head at you, you quipped, “What are you waiting for?” Yoongi scoffed before approaching you and pushing your body so you fell against the mattress. He reached for the waist of your jeans, taking no time in unzipping them and tugging them down your legs, you lifting your hips to help him. Your panties were removed next, Yoongi dropping them to floor as he allowed his eyes to rake over your body, taking in every inch of you.

You sat up on your elbows, watching the man as he looked over your nude form. “For a man who brags an awful lot about being a king and a boss, you seem a bit timid, baby,” you teased in a sultry tone.

Your boyfriend scoffed again, a smirk forming on his lips. “Be patient,” he scolded, though he stepped toward you, nudging your inner knee with his leg, making you widen the gap between your thighs as he stared down at your center.

“My patience disappeared the moment I clicked play on that mixtape,” you smiled. “I want you.” With that, you sat up, your hands slipping underneath the waistband of his underwear, lowering them until they easily slid down his legs, pooling at his feet. You kept eye contact with him as you left a sweet kiss to his lower abdomen, just above his pelvic area.

He let out a quick breath as he smiled, lowering his body on top of yours, your back meeting the mattress. “If I had known Agust D would get you this worked up I would have released a mixtape two years ago,” he joked, your hands grabbing onto his sides as his lips found yours, kissing you passionately.

One of his arms was being used to prop himself up overtop you as his opposite hand slid down to your core, his fingers feeling between your legs. He groaned into your mouth at feeling how wet you’d become, and you smiled against his lips.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you used your strength to push against his body, rolling him over and straddling his hips. Yoongi’s breath was heavy and shallow as he anticipated being inside you, his large hands gripping your hips, his eyes eagerly taking in the sight of your form on top of him. He always did love you on top.

Placing one of your hands to his chest, your other found his hardened length. You stroked him a few times, Yoongi letting out a soft moan at the feeling, his hand sliding up your abdomen to your breast as he squeezed the supple flesh in his palm. At his touch, you guided him to your entrance, sharply intaking breath at the feeling of him slipping inside, letting the air out in a throaty moan.

“Fuck, Kid,” Yoongi breathed out, pinching your nipple between his fingers as you moved your hand from his dick to his chest, bracing yourself against him as you began slowly grinding atop him. Yoongi’s hand left your breast to your thigh, clutching the muscle as he bit his lip, watching your body move. “You’re so fucking hot.”

You held back a moan as you increased your pace, looking up to the ceiling before squeezing your eyes shut as he hit particularly deep. “Fuck,” you breathed out, lowering your gaze to Yoongi’s face, meeting his hooded eyes as he looked up at you in bliss.

His chest was like velvet underneath your hands and you wanted to feel more of his skin on yours. As if reading your mind, Yoongi moved his hands to your lower back, pulling you toward him so your chest was flush with his. He kissed you messily as he lifted his hips off the bed to move in and out of you as he held you to his body.

“I love you so much,” he confessed shakily against your lips, his breathing erratic due to the pleasure you were giving him.

“Oh my god, Yoongi, I love you,” you moaned, moving your face to his neck where you kissed and nibbled his skin lightly.

Wanting to treat him, you reluctantly pulled yourself away from him, sitting back up as you rocked back and forth on him, arching your back and placing a hand to his thigh to support yourself. Yoongi’s hands grabbed onto the sides of your legs as he watched you, looking more and more fucked out the longer you rode him.

Eyeing his thin but toned body, his smooth skin, and the flex of his abdomen as he took sharp breaths, you groaned. “You look so good,” you told him, admiring the man beneath you. Your man. All yours. “Feel so good,” you moaned.

One of Yoongi’s hands left your leg to find your hand that was pressed against his lower abdomen. He took your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours before bringing it to his lips and kissing your knuckles softly as he locked his gaze on yours.

The intimate action had your lower abdomen tightening. Sitting up straight, you brought your hand toward him which he grabbed with his other hand, helping you to support yourself as your motions atop him became hastier, approaching your high.

“Yoon, I’m gonna-”

“I know, baby,” he nodded, squeezing your hands as you neared your climax. “Me too.”

You let out a whimper, lowering your body to Yoongi’s again, your dewy chest meeting his, Yoongi wrapping his arms around your lower back as you both worked each other into your finishes. Yoongi buried his face in your neck as he let out small muffled grunts, you breathing out a moan in his ear. As he came, he hugged your body to his tightly, letting go inside you. The feeling of him releasing had you crashing into your own high, biting your lip as you moaned breathily, Yoongi kissing your neck sweetly as you came down.

You relaxed atop Yoongi, breathing heavy as his fingers toyed with the small of your back, soothing back and forth along the curve of your ass. You had a hand on his neck, slipping your fingers into his damp strands, your other hand on his chest, dragging your fingers along his pectoral.

“The mixtape is really good,” you assured him in a whisper, kissing his jaw. “Well, what I’ve heard so far.”

Yoongi let out a breathy chuckle, flattening a palm on your lower back. “Thank you, Kid.”

“No need to thank me, I’m just being honest.”

“No, thank you for always supporting me. In everything,” he clarified, emotion thick in his voice.

You lifted your head to peer at his face, catching the glassy shine in his eyes. “Always,” you assured him.

He nodded, looking at you with a soft smile. “I know,” he whispered, barely audible, giving away that he didn’t trust his voice, knowing it would break if he spoke louder. “It means- you mean the world.”

You lowered your lips to his face, giving his plush cheek a small kiss. “I never would’ve thought Agust D would be so soft after sex,” you teased with a big smile, Yoongi scoffing, though he couldn’t hold back his gummy grin.

He groaned loudly, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m starving,” he changed the topic, making you giggle.

“Well, lucky for you, your girlfriend made you a delicious nearly cooked meal that is probably very cold at this point,” you smirked.  

“Oh, lucky for me?” He questioned with a small smile.

“Mhmm,” you confirmed with a small chuckle.

Yoongi sucked air between his teeth, ticking his head to the side. “Remind me to wife you up later.”

You scoffed playfully, rolling off his body as you prepared to stand up and find some clothes. “In your dreams, Min.”

Scooping your t-shirt off the floor, you slipped it over your head before grabbing a pair of panties from your dresser drawer, all while Yoongi’s eyes followed your every move. Sending your boyfriend an air kiss from where he sat at the edge of the bed watching you, you walked toward the bedroom door. “Hurry up and get dressed, Gramps, I need your album commentary.”

You exited the room, turning toward the bathroom to clean yourself up. Yoongi shook his head with a chuckle. “Yeah, in my dreams,” he mumbled as he stood up to get dressed. Taking his sweet ass time, you walked back past the bedroom toward the kitchen, noticing him still stumbling around for a shirt.

“Hey, hustle, Min! I still have a music video to watch, my dude!” You called out to him as he looked to you with widened eyes. “Your shirt is out here, by the way.”

“Ah, what did I tell you about patience,” he whined out, a pout on his lips as he walked through the hallway, grabbing his shirt on his way, feeling full of appreciation and adoration for you.  

[criticofallthings]

SO IT’S 5:12AM BECAUSE I’VE BEEN TYPING AWAY A NEW HEADCANNON PIECE OF CRACK IDEA THAT WOULDN’T LET ME SLEEP IF I DIDN’T. edit: bc tumblr mobile app is dumb I had to restart in a web browser and it is now 6:03 AM.

Anyway yeah so that Hawkmokn lore tab where we see Guardian lad and Crow get drunk and be merry (brain’s a little scramble rn, but I’m preeetty sure its the Hawkmoon lore tab)?? Yeah so that and trauma bonding / healing bc if I haven’t said it a thousand times and then sme yet, Imma say it again: POOR TRAUMATIZED GUARDIANS OMFG 😭😭😭

No title no beta bc literally just shat this out the past couple of hours:

cw/tw: ptsd, referenced major character death, death, implied depression/major grief, self depreciation

ps. usually I write nonbinary Guardian, but today we got lady she/her Guardian

pps. this fic is a heckin chonker compared to the previous ones

———————————————————————

Crow’s lips were gentle against the Guardian’s own, a bit dry, but sweet and heady with the lingering wine. The kiss was sudden. It was spontaneous. And it made something warm and so soft and so, so very fragile, hatch within the Guardian’s chest.

Until she opened her eyes and saw those golden eyes, glowly softly in the dark, beneath dusky white and raven black fringe. The pale smokey blue of his skin, luminous where it reflected the warmth of the campfire, and cast in deep shadows where the night’s darkness fought to shade his face. The smell of ash suddenly weighs much heavier in the air.

That warm, soft, and fragile thing in the Guardian’s chest goes cold and sharp and hard. Time slows and speeds up at the same time within her mind, stealing her away to a prison of memories. Blood rushes to her ears, drowning out the warning from Ghost to Crow and Glint.

The Guardian shoved Crow away and stood up, a heavy handcannon with a white spade on the stock materializing into her hand, aimed at Crow’s heart. An errant blip of data-Light to Crow’s left is all that hints at Glint’s swift dematerialization. Crow stays prone on the ground, spawled on his back, one hand raised up, in an attempt to pacify —unwittingly making it harder for the Guardian to snap out of that memory.

The stench of burnt oil, sweat, and soot fills her nose. She only hears the crackles of flames and electric buzzing as her heart pounds, coldly staring into Crow’s bewildered eyes. Those deep golden eyes that had haunted her waking hours and chased her down in nightmares. Those eyes filled with cruelty as they watched her stumble to Cayde’s dying side. She doesn’t realize yet, but the tears she couldn’t shed before, now weep from her eyes. The handcannon trembles slightly in her grip.

Ghost floats over into his Guardian’s field of view. He’s careful to let her know he’s doing so by giving her shoulder a bump as he glides to a rest above the stock of the handcannon. He hovers there, his one eye searching both of hers, glow dimmed slightly. His shell gives a soft whirl before he speaks, leaning in gently towards her.

“That is not him.”

The silence is deafening, every second only increasing the tension. Ghost clicks his shell, uncertain if his words were even heard. He tries again, bobbing in the air.

“Crow is not him.”

The handcannon trembles. But the Warlock doesn’t move, bound by so much tension you’d think she was a Hunter about to leap into the air to throw a Blade Barrage.

“Crow is not him.”

Ghost speaks again, insistent, shell whirling softly as he flits closer to his Guardian. A flicker of recognition crosses her face. The handcannon falters, no longer aimed directly at Crow’s chest. Ghost nudges her hand, bumping the Guardian’s aim to the ground.

She trembles, a full body shudder and the handcannon slips from her grasp. Suddenly she’s aware, all too aware of what happened, and the tension holding her still dissipates. She falls to her knees, energy completely spent.

“I, I-I’m so sorry.” She’s barely able to whisper the words in his direction.

Before her, Crow watches, eyes wide and doe-like, shocked and unsure of what to do. Of what just happened. A sinking feeling blooms in his gut.

He knows he wasn’t a good man before he died. Plenty of guardians had made that clear through their boot heels and fists, gunfire and knives, with their Light in three different energies: arc, void, and solar.  As did the Eliksni, who cursed him in their language while their Captains tore him apart with their four arms.

Crow knows it’s an understatement to say he wasn’t a good man in his previous life. Even if he could never learn about who that man was, what he did, and would only by the number of shattered bones and bruised flesh just how much pain that man had caused —Crow decided early on that he could take it. It was penance. It was justly due and therefore he couldn’t call it painful.

But this? This hurt.

It hurt because now he knows that the man he once was had struck an incomprehensible blow to the Guardian he had come to know more of. It hurt because he had been holding on to a small hope, an indescribably small bit of hope, that of all the people he had encountered in his previous life that he had never met the Guardian. Because if they had never met, then maybe, maybe there was someone he didn’t hurt. His first friend. His savoir. His now not-so-secret-crush. And the longer he thought about it, the greater that sinking feeling in his gut grew.

He could no longer deny the shock and subdued anger and almost very well hidden grief he had seen flash across her face when he revealed himself to her and Osiris. He could no longer deny the way they had kept him at distance while easily in sight with a hand hovering over their gun every time they met him for a Hunt or to study a newly sprouted Cryptolith. Why his attempts at humor and jokes were met with cool silence. Why whenever he saw that handcannon, he instinctively recoiled away from it, phantom pain bursting sharply in his heart.

——————

Crow remembers the first time he saw the Guardian wield that gun. How she had effortlessly cleared a pack of thrall in one clip, each headshot exploding in a flurry of solar. How his body reacted: legs collapsing beneath him, his heart burning painfully, lungs gasping for air that never seemed to make it into him, retching pathetically, as tears streamed down his face.

Why was he crying?

Why did he feel an insurmountable wall of sorrow and regret?

She had seen him fall and before the last thrall had burnt away completely, she came running towards him. All he could see in that moment was that gun getting closer and all he felt was an innate desire to get away.

Run, run, run, run, run before you die!

Run you before you burn!

The Guardian came close, hands splayed before her, voice speaking in soothing tones, words lost upon his panicking ears. He had screamed then, in abject terror. It was a garbled and pitched sound as he tried to breathe and vomit and scrabble away all at the same time; his eyes riveted to the handcannon now holstered at her side. Her Warlock mind, keen to details, quickly realized what had triggered his panic and she deftly threw the gun to her Ghost who transmatted it away mid-air.

Crow doesn’t remember what the Guardian said to him, but he remembers how carefully she reached out to him. How she framed his face in her gauntleted hands, so gentle, so lightly, as if he might shatter into glass —just to touch her forehead to his. How the puffs of her outward breaths ghosting by his cheeks helped calm his own.

And he knew then, in that moment that no matter what that gun meant that he was already in too deep. When with a simple touch, the Guardian could soothe away old terrors he himself knew nothing of, Crow knew then. He loves her.

——————

Crow slowly got to his feet, mindful of the Guardian (who was despondently staring into her open hands while Ghost hovered on her shoulder). He looks at that gun, chest starting to burn, heartbeat increasing. Clenching a fist at his side, Crow takes a tentative step and then another until he’s close enough to pick up the handcannon. He gingerly picks it up by the barrel, keeping his hands off the stock on purpose. It’s another small step towards the Guardian before he kneels in front of them.

He pauses there, unsure of what he can do —of what he did that caused the Guardian to react so violently before. He doesn’t think it was the kiss itself...that seemed to be fine until she looked at his face, into his eyes. Ah. Crow rests the handcannon on his thigh and pulls up his hood, jerking it to cover more of his face. Cautiously he grabs the handcannon by the barrel again and with his other hand, slowly reaches for one of the Guardian’s own. She lets him guide her hand to the handcannon and once he’s sure she won’t drop it, Crow gently pushes both towards her again. The Guardian looks away, but cradles the handcannon in her lap.

More hesitantly now, Crow raises his hands to cup her face just as she once did for him. He can’t exactly see with his hood covering so much of his face, but he slowly gets nearer and carefully moves his hands over the side of her face. He leans forward to rest his forehead against hers, the edges of his hood brushing across his nose as he did so, fully obscuring his vision. Crow doesn’t know of anything he could say in this moment —what could he of all people say to her, Guardian of guardians, that could possibly make a difference? So he doesn’t say anything. Instead, Crow softly hums.

It’s an old melody, a lullaby he found while exploring abandoned freighters and passenger ships in the Reef. When Glint discovered his fondness for it, the Little Light would often hum the tune, sitting on his chest, to soothe him on several sleepless nights in Spider’s Lair. Crow hopes that this at least, can help ground the Guardian in the present and away from the painful memories in her past.

They stay like this for a while. The Guardian’s breath evens out and somewhere along the time past, Ghost had dematerialized. It was just the two of them now. Crow stops humming when he feels the Guardian raise a hand to cover one of his over her face. She leans into his palm, then forward against his forehead for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Crow, I’m so sor—“ She starts to apologize and it’s a whisper until she says his name to apologize once more. Crow doesn’t want to hear this, he doesn’t deserve an apology. So Crow cuts off the Guardian by dropping his hands to her sides and pulling her into his chest.

The sudden movement sends the Guardian toppling onto Crow. He curls forward to protect his head, but keeps his arms around her, falling flat on his back. The Guardian doesn’t move to get off of him and Crow takes that as an okay sign. He keeps one arm around her, the other he moves to card his fingers through her hair.

“Of all the people in this world, Guardian, I am the last of anyone to whom you owe an apology.” Crow let’s his words hang in the air, trying to keep his breathing even so his heart would stay less frantic too.

“If anything,” he pauses to admire a particularly silky strand of hair as it slips through his fingers.

“I am the one indebited to you.”

There’s another pause as he sorts his next words before speaking. His hand idly resumes carding through the Guardian's hair again.

“So much so that I wonder if it’s selfish greed that makes me want to stay like this.” Crow sighs, looking straight up into the star speckled sky above them. At this angle he can’t see the Guardian, but he feel her shift slightly in his arms.

“Even though you’ve done so much for a worthless stain of a being as me…Even though I can never atone for the things I’ve done befo—“ He’s interrupted by the Guardian slapping a hand over his mouth.

“You are not him.” She shifts in his arms, sitting up, moving a leg over to straddle him properly.

Crow grabs his fallen hood in a panic, pulling the fabric so swiftly up around his face he hears the fabric creak as its seams struggle to stay sewn. Still, he doesn’t let the material go, trying to keep his face hidden.

“You are not him.” The Guardian repeats herself, lifting her hand from his mouth. Crow can’t tell with what emotion she said it with and he’s too afraid to check just yet. He doesn’t want to cause her harm again, regardless of how circumstantially accidental it was.

“Crow…”

He freezes at the way she calls his name. It was different from how she usually said it. It sounded soft and so warm in her voice. The Guardian prods at one of hands clamped on his hood. He turns his head to the side, trying to escape beneath a look he could practically feel brushing against his hands.

“I...I-I don’t want to hurt you...again.” Crow’s heart beats skittishly within his chest, causing a lump to form in his throat. He’s barely able to say these words out loud without an audible whimper to them. He tries to speak again, but fails.

The Guardian leans forward over him and a shifting moment later he feels her tap her forehead against his. Her hands rest, half-covering his own, but exerting no force to push of pry his fingers away from his hood.

“Crow.” She whispers his name, just as soft and warm as before. Her lips ghost across his clenched hands when she spoke, sending goosebumps down his arms. Crow tenses.

It’s a full body reaction as Crow completely freezes up. Once more he tries to swallow down the lump in his throat with little success. His tongue feels dry and too heavy in his mouth. He can feel his heart rate spike, beating so hard now he’s unsure if the metaphorical ache that had been nesting there is becoming a real one.

“Please, Crow?” The Guardian pleads softly, leaning back and letting her hands slide from his face to over his chest.

“You can’t hide your handsome face forever.” She tries to make it sound light hearted, an easy joke, but the anxious tapping of her finger against his chest reveals her anxiety. Crow takes a deep, shaky inhale, holding it a second before letting it out.

“I-I can’t.” Crow sputters, the breath he had taken just before speaking seemed too little for all the things he wanted to say. Did she really just call his face handsome right now? Oh Traveler, why was that now all he could focus on??

He feels the Guardian shift in his lap again. The movement snaps Crow out of his thoughts and inadvertently he tightens his grip on his hood again. Somewhere behind his head, a seam in the hood gives way and the fabric tears from the stress.

A small chuckle near his ear catches him off guard and Crow isn’t able to stop his head from jerking sideways. This gives the Guardian an advantage and she presses against him, letting her head rest side by side to his. It keeps him unable to turn his face again. Even still, Crow maintains his hold over his ruined hood.

“Well then...” The Guardian pauses. Her voice, low and smooth, is right next to Crow’s ear. Crow flinches slightly, swallowing rapidly again, not expecting her to be so close.

“...how am I supposed to kiss you back?”

“Huuh??”

Crow lets out a confused sound, brain derailing instantly, but also cutting some of the tension out of his body. Certainly, he must have heard the Guardian wrong. But the sound of two ghosts  re-materializing interrupts the Guardian (who Crow is now very aware is straddling him) from speaking as she suddenly freezes.

“OH. Oh! Oh...well uh, w-we’ll come back later!! N-n-not too soon, ofcou—” Ghost’s shocked rambling is halted by metallic clinking as Glint’s shell collides with his. In the background, Glint’s hurried whispers of “Just go! Just go!” are just barely audible before the two Little Lights decompile once more.

Above him, the Guardian lets out a heavy breath once the two ghosts are gone. Beneath his hands, Crow breaks into a brief smile at that. The brief interruption had brought a measure of calm to him and he didn’t want to waste the moment.

“I, well...the man I was did something pretty horrible to you, didn’t I?” Crow lets the question hang in the air, but pushes on. If he lets the Guardian speak now, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to say these words again.

“Not just you, to all the guardians...the Vanguard, and even the Eliksni, maybe even to the Scorn.” The Guardian is still above him, listening, but against his chest Crow can feel the heavy, measured beating of her heart.

“A-and I know. I just know. That that handcannon --the one with the white spade— I know that man died to that gun...This body remembers, but I also think it’s much more than that.” Crow stops to take a shuddering breath in. He focuses on the steady feeling of the Guardian’s heart against his chest to center himself.

“When I see that gun...it’s like I can feel that final shot burning again and again. But then there’s so much more to it. So much pain that isn’t from that bullet, so much grief, and fear, and even anger. Anger at myself, knowing I —all I did was —all I caused was…” He trails off, not able to find the words to describe how those moments felt. When he speaks again, it’s all in whispers.

“But when I see you, I know it’s not right, I know it’s selfish, I know you didn’t even like me at the beginning….but when I see you, I know I’ll be okay. Because the Light gave me a second chance to be okay and you did the same.”

Crow stops when he feels the Guardian shifting again. She grabs him by his elbows and slides off of his lap, tugging on him to join her in a sitting position. His knees are now tucked under his chin and he can feel her legs framing his own. It’s silent for a moment, but then he feels her edge closer to plant a chaste kiss to the back of his hands.

“It was an accident, a trick of the light and shadow…I—you are not like him in many, many ways.” For a moment Crow’s heart plummeted to his gut, wrenching at her first few words. Her hands cover his own again and Crow’s heart grows light.

“Please. Look at me.” The Guardian asks Crow while gently pressing against his knuckles. She rubs her thumbs over the side and backs of his hands, small soothing gestures.

Crow clenches his jaw, then decides against it. He releases his hold on his cloak’s hood, fingers stiff and aching from how tightly he had clung to the material. Crow doesn’t let the hood fall from his face and keeps his eyes shut. The Guardian takes his hands into her own, warming and massaging them to ease the stiffness.

Once she deems his hands warm enough, the Guardian lets them go. Crow rests them at his side, not confident yet to open his eyes. He focuses on the way the air moves instead, trying to anticipate her next move so he doesn’t jump.

Slowly, the Guardian moves the hood off of his head. She cups his face with one hand while the other strokes his cheek before tucking several stray strands of hair behind his ear. Throughout it all, Crow is still. However, his heart beats fast within his chest.

“Wha-“ Crow’s questions are cutoff before he could even start to ask —the Guardian smothering them beneath a passionate kiss. She teases his bottom lip with her teeth and in his surprise, Crow opens his eyes.

He’s immediately consumed by the Guardian’s smoldering eyes, half-open to catch his reaction. Crow’s not one to be outdone, and he raises a hand to cradle the back of her head as he presses into the kiss. He teases the Guardian back with a lick of his tongue, half expecting nothing, but pleasantly surprised when she returned in kind. It’s a sweet and warm moment and once again the Guardian feels that soft and fragile thing flutter in her chest.

“See,” the Guardian whispers against Crow’s lips as she caresses his face, maintaining steady eye contact, “all okay. You are you.”

Crow’s brows upturn at her words, feeling almost overwhelmed. Those words offered more solace to his heart than the kisses —kisses which he could hardly believe happened. He’ll have to make sure she was on the same page as him later, because any further and Crow would fall even more inextricably in love with the Guardian.

They lean into each other for some time, letting the comforting silence speak for them. Beside them, the fire pops as it fades off, nearly just embers now.

Crow’s the first to move, stretching behind himself to reach a spare log. He tosses it onto the middle of the fire. It doesn’t catch right away, but the Guardian flicks a bit of solar Light at it and soon the fire cackles warmly again.

Adjusting himself, Crow scoots closer to the Guardian so that they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“Could you tell me—only if you want to—about…” Unsure of how to ask and knowing it’s taboo for guardians to learn details of their past, Crow trails off.

“I-I just want to listen...if that would help.”

The Guardian catches his hand at that and brings it to her lips. She plants a gentle kiss on his palm. Looking into Crow’s eyes, she slowly nods. He leans forward to give the Guardian a chaste peck on her lips. Crow adjusts how he’s sitting to embrace the Guardian from behind and she shifts to lean into him.

“No questions about details related to your past, alright? Only if you don’t understand something like time or place.”

Crow nods several times, suddenly feeling shy and too anxious to speak. He hugs the Guardian tightly before easing up to let her speak.

“Alright,” She sounds a bit tired now, the exact kind of weariness that only comes from raging against a deep grief and losing the battle, but accepting the scars and moving on. One foot in front of the other. “it’s a Golden Age saying that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

“Let me tell you the story of how a beloved space cowboy, an enigmatic jailer, and a terribly misguided, but utterly-devoted-to-his-dead-sister brother collided into absolute tragedy.”

[thotinshield]

Danny’s Bagginshield Fic Recs (2021)

I haven’t done a fic rec in literal years, and I keep meaning to, but then I... don’t. This is a massive list - so I will put it under a read more to save your dashes.

Modern AUs

A Remover of Obstacles by MistakenMagic

"Dis often chided her older brother for being a misanthropist. She did it so often it had become a term of endearment. It was true that Thorin struggled with people; he struggled to form and maintain relationships. Dr. Grey had diagnosed him with this and Thorin hadn’t the heart to tell him this wasn’t a symptom of his PTSD, it was a symptom of his personality. He exercised a sense of apathy with almost everyone he met… But Bilbo was different. Thorin actually found himself wanting to know more about him."

(Note: This fic deals with a lot of mental health stuff, panic attacks, etc, so please please mind the tags.)

By Request by HildyJ

As a musician, Thorin's life can be summed up in tempos. For instance, the concerto he's perfoming on Friday is Allegro - quick and bright, followed by Andantino - slightly slow, and then back to Allegro again.

On the other hand, his relationship with his cute neighbour? Larghissimo - very, very slow.

Stepping Stones by misplacedkisses

It feels like it's fate Thorin's trying to resist, his destiny, his bloodline.

Fresh out of inpatient, Thorin's struck with the urge and maybe it's fate (or therapy) that has him stumbling into a late-night cafe instead. It may be the start of a new life.

Write Me Down Easy by lucyraebrown

Bilbo Baggins, a simple man with a wish for something more than his life teaching high school English, is obsessed with a famous author by the pen-name Oakenshield. Although he knows the future is dim for his chances of finding out about the man behind his favorite book, it's reassuring to know someone has the same thoughts about the world.

Fix-its 

I'll Die to Care for You by thehufflepuffhobbit

His gaze landed on Mahal's eyes once more. "You did your best, Thorin." It was tempting to look away; he wanted to deny that with everything he had. It certainly didn't feel as though falling into Gold Sickness and then dying was doing his best. Mahal smirked, as though he knew Thorin's desire to contradict him, and pinched his cheek before walking over to a table. "Aye, I didn't think you would believe me. I'm not lying, it certainly could have gone better. More according to my plan, but I know you really did try."

"Your plan?" He didn't know if he should ask, really. Knowing that his Maker had set a course for him, he didn't want to think about the ways he had done everything wrong. There were too many examples of mistakes in his long life, too many opportunities that he had missed that had probably been planned for him from the beginning.

Or:

Mahal feels like Thorin fucked up his legacy and gives him a do over.

Roses of Iron by Porphyrios

Two years after Bilbo returned from his adventures, he's made his peace with being back in the Shire. He still wonders what might have happened if things were different, but figures all that is behind him now. A mysterious visitor turns out to be someone he never thought he'd see again, and he's shocked by the news he hears.

Beside Myself by bliboboggins

"What are you doing? Just who do you think you are?" Startled, Bilbo turned around slowly. And there, in a familiar patchwork dressing gown, brandishing a fire poker wildly about, was... Bilbo.

i wouldn't have danced like that with any but you by Percyjacksonfan3

Thorin has survived the Battle of the Five Armies but his relationship with Bilbo is uncertain and precarious, especially in the newly reclaimed kingdom of Erebor. With Kíli set to marry Tauriel, and the Dwarves of Erebor still holding prejudice against outside races, Thorin must choose between his nephew's happiness or his own.

Though he believes sending Bilbo back to the Shire is for the good of everyone, he and the rest of Erebor are thrown into turmoil when 5 years later his nephews secretly plot to bring Bilbo back. Coming face-to-face with Bilbo again makes it impossible for Thorin to stay apart from him any longer- but is Bilbo still willing to be with Thorin once more after he broke both of their hearts?

A Matter of Payment by heartshapeddog

"And Thorin rose from the little table, keeping Bilbo’s fingers crushed gently in his own, and went down to his knee before him. Bilbo was struck with the likelihood that no creature greater than a farm-dog had lowered its head before a Hobbit since the birth of Eä until this very moment. He looked down, fascinated, at the crown of Thorin’s head, bare of royal circlet, and felt at once humbled and strong.

“I swear it,” Thorin said, and Bilbo thought of the vows from Elven history, of the type which followed the oathkeeper to the ends of Arda as a deep and binding magic. Then, he took Bilbo’s knuckles up to his lips. The rasp of his beard and his soft mouth were shocking in their immediacy and contrast. Bilbo could not help his racing heart."

Feet that Wander Have Gone by WednesdaysDaughter

“Run away with me.”

Bilbo turns to see who would say such a cowardly thing only to realize it was his own traitorous mouth which has run away with his heart: They’re already down the mountain and past Mirkwood by the time he realizes no one has objected.

“What a delightful solution my dear boy,” says Gandalf who looks to the east where the eagles are skimming the horizon.

Other AUs

between synapses and circuits by MistakenMagic

Different diagnostic results slowly trickled through and Thorin swiped them all to different corners of the screen depending on their relevance and evidence of abnormality. He paused when a particular chart appeared and smiled to himself.

“What?” Bilbo murmured, sounding genuinely worried.

“Your heterochromia,” Thorin explained, meeting Bilbo’s green and blue gaze. “The irregular algorithm that causes it has been running for almost half a century.”

“Most mechatronics offer to fix it for me,” Bilbo said, looking away, seeming suddenly self-conscious.

“Then they’re idiots.”

(Note: I just love MistakenMagic’s works. That’s all. This one is good and she writes angst so so well.)

past one hundred thousand miles (feeling very still) by childishinquiry

Commander Thorin Oakenshield is the leader of the first Mars mission, Project Golden Eagle, with twelve crewmen. Back on Earth, Specialist Bilbo Baggins is their communications specialist. Making history is easy; it's much harder to deal with falling in love with the person on the other end of the signal.

Hallowbit by batherik

As simple pawn shop owner in the human world, Bilbo isn’t all that thrilled to find himself lost in Thorin’s magical undead kingdom. Lured there by an old man dressed in grey, who turned out to be a wizard, Bilbo is charged with doing a job no one wants to do: fetch the King’s head from the corn maze. The King often loses his head when his temper boils over.

In the House of a Skinchanger by Bardic

Thorin and Company have finally reached a safe house after a few crazy weeks on the road. After three days of goblins, orcs, and a massive bear that's chased them into the home of one of Gandalf's acquaintances the Company is quite exhausted and quite tired of surprises. Unfortunately for them, or fortunately there is another staying there.

Master Baggins is not who the Company expected to find, especially when he claims to be one of the only outsiders Durin allowed a title and a rank to. Although that's the least surprising thing about him.

Thorin makes some discoveries and has some observations.

Basically an AU where Bilbo is a skinchanger and the Company meet him at Beorn's on accident.

It Runs In The Family by Imagined

At first, Bilbo is very glad to hear of the new alliance between Erebor and the Shire. He is even more excited when he learns that some of his family members are coming to the Lonely Mountain to discuss the details.

That is, until the dwarves (and Thorin, who is decidedly not and never shall be his) start getting along a little too well with one of his more adventurous cousins, and Bilbo starts doubting about his place.

[house-of-cakes]

Jamais Vu

Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Prev || Next Chapter 22: And I Oop! 🤭 Jungkook x Reader: enemy to lovers AU

Word count: 1739

Warnings: Swearing, an over confident douchebag and Y/N and JK are major teases Premise: “There’s an opposite to déjà vu. They call it jamais vu. It’s when you meet the same people or visit places, again and again, but each time is the first. Everybody is always a stranger… Nothing is ever familiar” – Chuck Palahniuk, Choke

AKA Jungkook goes in search of the girl who got him expelled.

It’s embarrassing how long this chapter took me to write  ����‍♀️ If you would like to give feedback or be tagged in this story please send me an ask/message 😊 Tagged list: @inspinkyring​ @betysotelo18​ @kardia-apo-marmelada​ @casspirit0705​ @preciouschimine​ @therealsugababe​  @lucedelsole97​ @deolly​ @lexy9716​  @thesweetest-peas​ @sannsia​ ​ ​

STORY CONTINUED BELOW THE CUT

A large group of excitable females crowded one end of the bar as the man behind it took two bottles and spun it around with dramatic flare before pouring a generous amount of alcohol into a shaker. Squeals of delight erupted from the crowd as he threw a handful of ice cubes into the air and successfully caught them all behind his back. He finished off the flashy routine by placing the shaker top back on the canister and entertain his audience one final time by dancing in body rolls while he shook up his concoction.

“Who’s thirsty?” He yelled out and in an instant the females grew feral with enthusiasm as they pushed and shoved each other, trying to be the first person to gain his attention.

Y/N observed the scene from the other side of the bar as she waited for her turn to be served. A girl with fire engine red hair managed to wrestle her competitors off and secured the position at the front of the bar.  She patiently stood before him, hoping her pleading eyes was enough for him to convince him to invite her for a drink.

Y/N’s nose crinkled in distaste. While she didn’t know the red head by name (she went by the name Red), she had seen the girl around the Basement and knew enough to know she deserved better than him.  

“I’m absolutely parched.” Her tone was slow and drawn out in attempts to sound sultry.

Y/N couldn’t contain the fake gagging noise she made. In her eyes the scenario was completely cringeworthy…maybe Red did deserve him.

‘I wouldn’t be caught dead chasing a guy like BeatBox Jae.’ She thought to herself.

Unfortunately, the sound she had made was loud enough to catch Jae’s attention.

An overwhelming amount of excitement welled in his chest when he realised he had the Kim Y/N in his sights. He turned his attention back to Red and gave her the most charming smile as he could muster as he made another big show of slowly pouring out two drinks.

“Sorry, bar’s closed.” He said with no hint of remorse then picked up the drinks and made his way over to Y/N, leaving the humiliation to sink in with poor Red.

“Here.” Jae said as he set the frosty martini glass in front of Y/N “I made you a drink, Beautiful.”

Y/N scoffed in his face and pushed the drink to the side, her blatant act of rejection did not even damper his mood.

“You’re an asshole you know, right? I can’t believe you did that to her!”

Jae nonchalantly shrugged off the comment as he took a sip from his drink. He didn’t care about the feelings or problems of others…if he wanted something, he knew that as the Maknae of The Basement Boys there wasn’t much that was unattainable by him. With a face that looked like it was carved by angels and an ego that was extensively fed his adoring fans of guys and girls…Jae was a lethal combination of charisma and arrogance.

It was exactly this attitude that repelled Y/N from him. “Don’t be like, Beautiful…let me take you out on a date and show you how much I like you.” “Oh really?” Y/N leant forward so that elbows were resting on the bar and cupped her face in her hands, making sure to looked up at him from under her long lashes with a cute pout. “Tell me three things you like.”  

Y/N was never discreet about her dislike towards Jae which only made him want her more. The fact that she was now showing genuine interest, made Jae feel like he was finally getting a head in a race he was lagging in.

“That’s easy… You’re hot as hell.” He said with enthusiasm and raised his hand so he could count the reasons as he listed them off “…cute too and the most gorgeous thing in the world.” He grinned proudly to himself, feeling satisfied that he answered the question well.

“Is that all?” “You only asked for three…did you want me to say super sexy too?” His response was smug

Y/N had to force a smile to hide her grimace. Of course the only traits he favoured were those of her appearance. She knew better than to ask those kinds of questions, especially to someone like Jae but once in a while she had the unstoppable urge to remind herself that men were trash.

“Sorry I don’t date guys who fuck around while they have girlfriends.” Y/N pulled herself of the bar and broke the illusion of interest she had Jae under. Though her abrupt change of attuite was enough to give him whiplash he was able to recover quickly.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Beautiful.” “That’s not how I see it.” The tension grew thick in the air as they stared each other down.

For regulars of The Basement, it was common knowledge that Jae was one to sleep around. However, with her sharp observation skills as The Shopkeeper, Y/N was able to piece together his hidden shame. From what she could piece together it seemed that only the members of The Basement Boys were aware of this convoluted secret and the matter was kept within the crew.

“Don’t be silly Beautiful.” Jae was the first to speak, breaking the tension by playfully ruffling her hair and returning back to his same jovial self “Besides if anyone has to worry about significant others it should be me…your boyfriend has been giving us death glares.” “What?” Y/N asked trying to figure out who in the world he was talking about. Nods his head in the direction behind her before revealing who he is talking about. “SeokJin’s big buff cousin over there.” she turned around spotted a Jungkook looking disgruntled standing a few people back in the line for the bar. Their eyes met briefly before he turned the other way, pretending he wasn’t watching Y/N. “That’s not my boyfriend.” she said rolling her eyes “He’s just angry because he’s a sore loser.” “Thank God.” Jae exclaims as he clutches his chest overdramatically “I thought I had competition for a second.” “You don’t have to worry about that.” Y/N reassures him with a smirk “You actually act to be in the race to have competition.” She cheekily blows him a kiss and leaves him, no longer interested in getting a drink.

Y/N was well aware of the type of person Jae was, so never in a million years would she fall victim to his charms. If anything, she found it enjoyable to shut him down.

‘That should take him down a notch.’ She thought to herself

Jungkook was still facing away from Y/N as she drew closer to passing him on her way back to the balcony, she had every intention to walk by and ignore his existence and yet she had the unstoppable desire to mess with him too. Still high off her interaction with Jae, her body moved on its own accord and before she knew it her body was crashing into his as she purposely tripped herself. As if on instinct Jungkook was quick to wrap his arms around her to prevent her from falling.

“If you wanted me in your arms, all you had to do was ask…there’s not need to trip me over” Jungkook’s eyes widen at her accusation which caused her to chuckle. His arms dropped from around her and he stepped back to create space between them “I don’t blame you though…I am pretty irresistible in my new shirt.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He spat out in disgust “I don’t want anything to do with you, especially after I saw you help humiliate that red headed girl.” “Um…Sorry what?” Y/N’s mouth hung open in disbelief, he didn’t really believe she had anything to do with that? “Don’t act like you weren’t involved in that. I bet you couldn’t handle not being the center of attention for once, that’s why you called that bartender over to you.” “Excuse you? I’m not sure what you saw there but you must really have your head up your ass if you think that I had anything to do with that.” “Oh pah-lease!” Jungkook’s arms were crossed defensively “You might have everyone fooled but I see you for who you are… you’re nothing more than a spoilt princess!”

‘A spoilt princess?’

That comment really struck a nerve with Y/N. She had been called many unfavourable things in her lifetime and she had never been offended because to some degree the things they said were true so it never bothered her…she felt there was no point in getting upset with the truth, she accepted every aspect of herself - whether it be good or bad. However to be called a princess and a spoilt princess at that really pushed all the wrong buttons within her.

Y/N refused to conform to her mother’s notions of the importance of beauty and the concept of using her physical attributes to have things handed to her. Y/N valued independence, intelligence and hard work…to have this stranger discredit her like that was deeply insulting to her.

“Look here you jerkfaced asshole.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed as she scowled up at the tall male towering above her. “Maybe if you were a better competitor, you’d be able to win once in a while and then you wouldn’t have to take your passive aggression out on me.”

Jungkook couldn’t hide the grin that had taken over his face, even when Y/N was losing against him she had always managed to keep her emotions in check. This is the first time he had seen her flustered and openly frustrated…He enjoyed seeing her lose her composure.

“Whatever you say…” Jungkook closed the distance between them so that he could lean closer to her “…Princess” 

Y/N stiffened when she heard his smooth husky voice whisper in her ear, stirring an unfamiliar feeling of anticipation and delight within her. Those feelings quickly turned to repulsion when her brain had finally caught up to her and realised who she had been talking to. She let out a sound of disgust and pushed him away from her.

“Go fuck yourself, Asshole!” she spat before turning to leave him.

Jungkook watched Y/N storm off as he buzzing with satisfaction of knowing he had be the one to get under her skin for once.

[anghraine]

“the voices of the sea” - fic

I wrote a thing! There might be errors, since I wrote it very quickly, but it was fun (in its way). It’s part of the Aranorverse, where the explicit throwbacks in LOTR (Aragorn, Denethor, Imrahil, and Faramir) are genderbent (as Aranor, Andreth, Imraphel, and Míriel).

In particular, it’s a very belated sequel to “cloven shield and broken sword,” in which Aranor found a dying Boromir:

She remembered him tugging at her leggings, demanding to know but what next? And she remembered him in Lothlórien, haughty and suspicious until he began to speak of Míriel, the sister he had loved and protected through all the days of their lives. Boromir the tall, the fair, the bold, had died, and his treasured sister lived on; what was Aranor’s grief to that?

May the news of his loss come to you swiftly and kindly, jewel-maiden!

The dream always began the same way.

Míriel stood in a city of white and gold, grander than Minas Tirith, grander even than Osgiliath of old, though its domes and towers were similar enough in form that she knew she looked upon the work of Dúnedain. Most of the people around her, however, belied the impression, with their bright hair and soft features—or so it had once seemed. They were handsome, but in a way that unsettled her, like overripe fruit covered in sweet cream. Some particularly disturbed her: tall men in long red tunics, leading lines of bound prisoners towards a building beneath a particularly large and glittering dome.

The prisoners would not have looked out of place in Minas Tirith. Míriel’s stomach turned as smoke trailed up from the dome.

The first time, she still knew not what she saw at this point. It was strange and disagreeable, but little worse, until the winds began to blow. Míriel’s black hair whipped around her face, rain splattering on her head and cheeks and the ground, where it pooled into large puddles. Nobody seemed to notice her. Men came running from what looked like a harbour, shouting things in a language she couldn’t quite understand; her impression of their thoughts was dark and clouded, enough that she shrank back. 

But she was not a shrinking sort of girl, not really. The prisoners had drawn her attention again; the red-robed men seemed to be distracted by the newcomers and the prisoners had seized the chance to struggle with their bonds. She ran over to them.

“Who are you? Do you come from Gondor?” she asked.

No one answered. No one so much as acknowledged her existence. But as the water splashed over her sandalled feet, the prisoners broke free and fled, chased futilely by only a few of the robed men. She caught a single familiar word amidst all the clamour: storm.

Yes, of course. It must have come on very unexpectedly; everyone appeared to be dressed very lightly for this kind of weather. Míriel was herself; her thin tunic soon soaked through, and her skin went numb. The sky grew darker; she almost thought she saw the shadow of some enormous creature flicker across it. And the steady fall of the rain turned into torrential sheets of water that blasted through the streets, scattering the people on them.

Míriel ran as quickly as she could, like the rest, but instead of retreating into houses or flying to the ships, she turned and scrambled towards the clearest sign of refuge: a mountain near the city, rising clear and pure above its buildings. Smoke puffed from its summit, which struck her as wrong in some way.

She was a child at the time, her steps short, but somehow or other, her feet brought her out of the city and to the side of the mountain before the driving wind and rain could wholly flood the city and its environs. Ahead of her, a small woman in an embroidered white tunic, with sparkling bracelets about her wrist and a golden collar at her throat, clambered up the sides of the mountain. The air was hot, hotter than it should be, but Míriel could think of nowhere else to go. She struggled up the mountain after the woman.

“Can you hear me?” she called out. “Let us help one another!”

To her surprise, the woman looked back—but her fair face, though not unsettling in the way of the others’, was filled with utter terror. She didn’t seem to see Míriel at all, her pale grey eyes wide and staring. 

Míriel followed her gaze, and gasped. Water was rushing out of the city and drowning the green valley below, rising with impossible swiftness. Míriel was not craven, but at that, she turned back to the mountainside and struggled to scramble up its ledges, ignoring the pebbles that pressed into her feet beneath her thin, drenched sandals. Now, she could not look back, and she ignored the horror that filled her mind.

They never did make it to the top of the mountain. But they reached a high enough point that Míriel could see past it. Water was flooding beyond it, too, pouring through forests and rising over hills from every direction.

Even as Míriel gazed upon it, the storming water splashed up into foamy waves that roared beneath them. This did not, however, prepare her for what happened next.

To the west, all the waves seemed to join together into one, towering and impossibly enormous. But it grew still larger, cascading up and up and up and up, above Míriel and the woman, above the mountain itself, above everything. The hills and valleys, forests and cities, all fell under its heavy shadow. Míriel’s very blood felt cold, her her breath coming in small, frightened pants as the wave’s inescapable darkness deepened.

The woman, clinging to rocks, screamed something that Míriel half-understood. Then the wave began to crash down on them.

In Míriel’s bedchamber, her eyes flew open. That time, the first time, she promptly burst into tears and cried until Boromir came running, thinking she was ill. He managed to console her, but within a few nights, the dream came again, and then again within a few nights of that. So it continued, on and on, through the years that followed.

The horror of it never really abated. Yet she grew accustomed to it, in a way: to the sight of Númenor in its most terrible hour, only made worse by the understanding of what came next and why, to the glimpses of her namesake, the rightful queen. Indeed, nothing but the wave itself left so strong a mark on her mind as Tar-Míriel’s face, so beautiful and so terrified.

She, Míriel of Gondor, would never forget her, or Númenor, or where the folly and evils of their people had led. She could never forget. Perhaps that was the purpose of the dream. Perhaps it was a warning of what victory could mean in the end, however improbable victory might seem in her waking hours. Perhaps it was something else yet. But it never stopped haunting her.

Nearly thirty years after the first dream, though, it changed. Míriel dreamed again of Armenelos and the Meneltarma and the shadow of death rising inexorably above all. But there was no waking. The wave slowly began to collapse over them, foam and droplets spattering her face before it reached her. Míriel stood tall and straight, refusing to cower, allowing herself no further weakness than blinking the water out of her face. She opened her eyes to more water, feeling it slosh about her bare ankles.

But it was now deep into night beneath a pale moon, just bright enough for her to see that the water in which she stood flowed smoothly past the familiar shores of the Anduin. The terror of the Downfall had shifted to an overwhelming sense of peace.

As she watched, she saw a small boat come floating up the river. In colour, it was a peculiar, shining grey; in design, she could not recognize it. Nor did she expect to, for it cast a dim light all around it. Though nobody appeared to be rowing or steering it, it continued on its serene course without interruption.

Míriel felt a distinct desire to draw nearer the boat, to understand what could possibly explain all this. She thought of resisting the desire; she might have—but it did not strike her as foul in the way of the Enemy’s arts, so she dared approach. 

The boat slowed as she came near, within hand’s reach of the prow. Her instincts warned her against touching it, but she saw illuminated water filling the boat, and a warrior who first appeared to be sleeping in it.

Míriel gasped.

“Boromir!”

She knew at a second glance that he was dead. Anyone might have, without need of fallen Númenor or any other powers of this world. His chest had been pierced with many wounds. His sword lay broken on his knee, and others at his feet. His black hair had been carefully laid over his shoulders. She recognized everything he wore except a lovely belt of linked golden leaves, and his face was not only restful, but beautiful, even more than in life.

She and her mother had already feared the worst, when they heard the echo of his horn coming from the north, unaccompanied by any news of him. But it was one thing to fear, and another to see.

“Where is your horn?” she asked, as if he might somehow answer. 

The boat kept floating under her gaze, drifting past where she stood in the water. 

“Where are you going?” she cried. “Oh, Boromir!”

It passed on, down the stream and fading into the night, towards the sea. Míriel stood alone in the water. No priest of Sauron, no Faithful prisoner, no doomed queen or frightened citizen intruded upon her notice. No brother, either. 

She tilted her head down to stare into the clear river-water, her reflection a dark blur at this hour. With her hair hanging loose around her face, obscuring the sight of the shore, it reminded her of peering into the waters near Dol Amroth on a calm night. Perhaps it had reminded her father of the sea he missed, too. Oh, the sea, the sea! Must it always be the sea?

She felt tears slide down her cheeks—as if the occasion required more water, when Boromir was gone and forever consigned to the fate of Men. They would never see him return. She would never feel his great embrace once more, nor listen to him with their mother, nor ride out to the Pelennor with him, nor ever again see him laugh among the knights of Dol Amroth. Míriel squeezed her eyes shut.

She pressed her fingers to her face, rubbing away tears, and opened her eyes again. She felt no surprise at the sight of her bedchamber in Minas Tirith. Yet she was not lying in bed but sitting upon it, her hands still pressed to her cheeks, as if she had actually woken some time before, or never slept at all. Míriel rose, shaking out her dry shift, and walked over to her window, which looked westwards.

Boromir had risked death constantly; it was his duty and right as Captain-General and heir to the Stewardship. She had always known this. She had certainly known it when he set out on his errand, driven by a dream of his own. Yet, in some way, she had not known—not understood—and now—

Now, she must tell their mother.

[portiaadams]

Meyer and Charlie Smut

I wrote Lanskiano smut. It’s embedded in my Richard Harrow/Clara Thompson story. For those who don’t care about Richard and my OC, here is Charlie and Meyer having a moment

December 31st, 1921

The sound of the engine and the clacking of the train against the rails filled the room, but could not overcome the roaring silence between the room's inhabitants. Charlie adjusted his legs once more, trying to find some way to fit them on the single bed. God damn it, this was a bed for a child not a grown fucking man. The Darmody kid was probably too big for it.  Charlie wasn't sure how long he'd been awake-this time-but it was one of many things really pissing him off.

From the larger bed there was a quick flash of light and then the scent of sulfur and tobacco. "I offered to take that bed," Meyer said after a slow exhale.

"Them shoulders of yours wouldn't have even fit," Charlie groused.

Determining Charlie's mood came as naturally to him as determining the weather before he stepped off his stoop. Certainly, Charlie's moods could be as mercurial as the weather. And at the moment, Charlie's mood registered as stormy.

"Charlie," Meyer began.

"Can it, Meyer," Charlie answered and swung his legs off the bed, stumbling in the dark for his own cigarettes and lighter.

"You are being irrational," Meyer responded.

"That brutto figlio di puttana bastardo was up your ass all night. You enjoyed though, didn't ya?"

Meyer sighed. Charlie acted like he was the only one who wanted. Meyer's first memory was wanting. Wanting enough to eat, wanting a warmer fire, wanting. Those years when his father was gone and he did all a kid could do to keep his mother and siblings fed and warm.

But wanting. Wanting in America was sharper, brighter, different. There was so much more to want. From the moment he stepped off the ship he moved as fast as his little legs would carry him. He moved to learn English, to get out of the classroom full of tiny children and catch up with his peers, he moved to learn the streets and determine how to make money any way he could. He moved as fast as he could because he knew the goal was to leave the Lower East Side behind him. To move fast enough that one day he could even outrun wanting.

But nothing, not a lifetime of yearning for acceptance and security, held a candle to his ever-present need for Charlie. There was no part of him that did not want every part of Charlie. And as much as his wants dictated every carefully crafted move of his life, there was nothing he wanted more than Charlie. In his life, in his office, in his bed. Even if it made no sense. Even if it had no place in his plan.

"He was circling round you like a bitch in heat," Charlie continued.

"The way Gillian Darmody circled around you? The way the chorus girls do?" Meyer snapped back. He spent years, he spent agonizing nights, watching Charlie charm women whose desire for him was as clear as the powder on their faces.

"That's different, and you know it well as me."

"How?"

"They're broads, Meyer! It don't matter like..." Charlie stopped talking, not knowing how to put into words what mattered. They was just broads. They wasn't in his mind like Meyer was. Even Meyer wasn't with him he could still hear the little addin' machine in his head, telling him to be smart. Telling him to think.

Being with those women was like grabbing a dog from a cart and eating it on the street. Scratched the itch of need. Satisfying enough at the moment.

Being with Meyer was different and Meyer damn well knew it. They was friends and they was more and when more changed to be even more...It ain't like people understood their friendship anyway. The Jew and the Italian.  They was supposed to be mortal enemies, not friends for life. Not...whatever they was.

"I gotta keep up appearances," Charlie said because that was also a true thing. He hadn't told Meyer that Clara knew. No need to introduce complications. They was careful. They was always careful. "That's why I can't believe you let the guy get near you like that."

Meyer shook his head. "Charlie, he's married. To Lady Rose. I think he's just an adventurer."

"Yeah. I know what adventure he's after," Charlie responded.

"A man like that..."

"What? You think you ain't good enough for a fonferer like that cercatore d'oro? What, you just good enough for the likes of me, that it?"

The petulance in Charlie's voice was so familiar. "Charlie, come here."

"Mey, I ain't in the mood."

Meyer doubted that. Charlie was rarely not in the mood. "Charlie," he said again.

Charlie heard the gruff tone in Meyer's voice. He was angry, he was still angry, but that tone in Meyer's voice always did the same thing to him. Instinct drove him to Meyer's side.

Didn't mean he wasn't still angry, though. He sat next to Meyer silently. One man wearing an undershirt that buttons with sleeves that come down to his elbows, although the width of his shoulders and upper arms often mean the seams ripped and tore and stretched due to the strain placed upon them. The other man wore the new kind of undershirt-knit, sleeveless, no buttons.

Charlie told Meyer all the time he should switch. Be more modern. But Meyer couldn't quite break away from tradition in some matters.

"There will always be others, won't there, Charlie?" Meyer asks, and even though he knew the answer for a moment he willed Charlie to lie to him. "After all, we'll have to marry one day, won't we?"

"I ain't. Look at Harrow and Clara."

Meyer turned to stare at Charlie. Personally, he thought Harrow had chained himself to a klafte in pearls. But the man seemed to love her. And Clara seemed as happy as he thought her capable of being.

"Harrow seems content enough."

"That ain't the thing, Mey. They love each other. But we all know how this ends. Clara sobbing over a morgue slab with Darmody's brat and a baby or two besides clinging to her. I ain't gonna do that to a woman."

Such a delicate jaw in such a strong face, Meyer thought idly before bringing Charlie's face to his. Charlie didn't fight it, and soon their mouths were finishing the disagreement. Charlie fell first-Charlie always fell first-letting his mouth open and Meyer plunder its depths.

Charlie's mouth tasted of hot honey and something deeper, sweeter, more savory. It was the taste and sensation he spent a lifetime chasing down in penny candy bins and bakeries and sweet shops. Much like with the candy he had kept in his pockets from the first time he had spare pennies, he knew he'd never have enough of it.

It was the sweetness he'd always craved.

The hard, taut muscles of Charlie Luciano's body, the ones that struck fear around the underworld (and occasionally in the upper echelons) of New York went soft and loose as something else grew hard. Without realizing it, Meyer turned Charlie so he was on his knees, his head laying on the soft Irish linen pillowcase embroidered with the ever-present P.

Meyer's left hand drifted over the hard muscles of Charlie's stomach down to the mother of pearl buttons on Charlie's beloved silk boxers. His fingers drifted over the buttons but didn't try to undo them. Instead, he reached down to the impossibly soft skin of Charlie's inner thigh and began drawing lazy circles. His right hand combed through Charlie's thick dark curls before yanking sharply so Charlie had to turn his face to Meyer to save his hair, their faces so close they were breathing in each other's breaths.

"Tell me, Charlie. Tell me why I'm different from Gillian and those broads."

Charlie's breath was hot and fast. "God damn it, Mey. Just touch me."

"Tell me the things I do to you I'll never do to Dennis Malley," Meyer said, his hand cupping over Charlie's bulge momentarily before going back to stroking his inner thigh.

"You do lots of stuff I'd fucking kill anybody else for," Charlie said, knowing they were journeying into uncharted territory. "You knot up my god damn hands with your tie."

Meyer leaned over so his face was against the smooth back of Charlie's neck, wanting to inhale Charlie's scent, wanting to inhale Charlie. "Yes, true. What else," he asked while his hand slid under the paisley silk to caress the very tip of Charlie's cock.

Charlie tried to push his hips into Meyer's fingers but Meyer removed his hand from Charlie's hair and grabbed him around the hips. "Don't even try it," Meyer whispered harshly.

"You put your prick in my mouth and push it in until I choke. You like it when I choke."

True, Meyer thought, because who wouldn't want Charlie on his knees? Who wouldn't want to see those pretty lips wrapped around their cock? He rewarded Charlie with a quick tug that made both of them momentarily forget to breathe.

"You make me grab my own prick and you watch. Sometimes you put your fingers in...god damn it, Meyer, you know where you put your fingers."

For a moment Meyer's hands brushed back against the buttons. What did it matter, he decided, Charlie bought his silk underwear by the gross. He yanked on them so hard that the mother of pearl buttons scattered across the thick antique rug. Filled with a need to feel the silky soft flesh of Charlie's back under the thick fur of his chest he first pushed up Charlie's undershirt until it was wrapped around Charlie's shoulders before Meyer sat back on his own knees to more carefully remove his own underthings. After all, he'd spent good money on them. No need for carelessness.

"For our mutual benefit you should continue," Meyer growled, fighting the urge to have Charlie right now.

Charlie licked his lips. Meyer was leaning over him to grab something from the bag on the floor, causing Meyer's dick to press against his lower back. It gave him some satisfaction to realize Meyer was as hard as he was. He writhed under Meyer and was rewarded by Meyer groaning above him. He heard the sound of glass and the knowledge of what was in Meyer's hand made precum start leaking out of the tip of his dick.

"You put on oil on your fingers and then you put oil on me and sometimes you put oil on my hand so I can rub it on your dick," Charlie finally managed to say.

Meyer's hand was covered with oil as it started massaging the top of Charlie's ass. Charlie groaned as Meyer's fingers slipped into his crack.

The light coming in the edges of the curtains was changing but Meyer was too distracted by the sight in front of him to think about what that meant. He was intoxicated by the scent, sight, and feel of Charlie. "What else?"

The linen of the pillowcase was now being crushed between Charlie's fingers. The fuck if he was going to ruin this moment like a damn kid. "You put me on my side," Charlie continued after taking a deep breath and Meyer moved him so quickly he fell onto his side with a thump.

After positioning Charlie's legs to his liking Meyer continued to let his hand move down.

"You push your fingers inside me," Charlie managed to gasp out as he felt one of Meyer's fingers breach him. "Mey, your fingers are so fucking thick."

Meyer lowered his mouth onto the top of Charlie's shoulders, his own breath coming at an incredibly thick pace, overtaken by the need to taste Charlie's flesh salty and warm under his tongue. Neither man noticed the bedside clock striking six.

Nor did they notice the train was no longer rocking beneath them.

With great care Meyer worked in a second finger and started scissoring, looking for the spot that always made Charlie howl.

Charlie howled. Meyer pressed harder.

"God damn it, Meyer, god damn it..." Charlie pleaded.

"Say it," Meyer begged, his breath hot against Charlie's ear, the game having rebounded until his need was as raw and urgent as Charlie's own.

"I want you, Mey, please," Charlie finally sobbed out. "You fuck me, you fuck me, holy mother of god please just fuck me."

"Charlie, god," Meyer breathed out, his heart hammering in his chest.

The words falling from Charlie's mouth dissolved into nonsense. For a moment their faces were pressed together, letting Meyer feel the pulse in Charlie's temple in the bones of his own face.

Once more Meyer pressed his fingertips against Charlie's jaw and their mouths opened to each other. There was no more dominance or one-upmanship. Instead, there was the slow slide of their mouths melding together until Meyer can no longer determine where he ends and Charlie begins.

One hand gripped Charlie's hip, holding him in place. Meyer could feel the tenseness in Charlie when he first breached him and the pain hit, but after a moment he could feel Charlie's muscles relaxing under his hand.

"I gotta move, tesoro," Meyer finally breathed out.

One of Charlie's hands braced against the soft mossy velvet of the headboard while his other reached back for any part of Meyer he could touch. It didn't matter that Meyer was ever so slowly moving ever deeper inside him. He needed more. He wanted everything.

"Move, libster. Damn it, move," Charlie answered, his hand finally finding Meyer's ass to pull him closer, to pull him further in.

Time lost meaning. Seconds, minutes, hours, days fell away. There was just this. Meyer's hand finally came around to touch Charlie in the way Charlie had wanted since the game began, since time began.

Finally, they fell into the soaked sheets, the ruins of Charlie's underthings trapped beneath them, their legs and hands twisted together, both of them breathless and boneless. Their faces were still pressed together and as Meyer relaxed back into sleep he realized their faces were wet.

He wasn't sure who had cried.