#era after that to now is just eh. he's there.

[fure-dcmk]

redraw

[whalesforhands]

the swimsuit dilemma

summary: you’re reminded that swimsuits are back in season after seeing a certain someone on gojo satoru’s lockscreen. (star plasma vessel era)

“Waka Inoue.”

You blink at his phone as it hovers in front of the you, the glowing screen of a gravure model in an all-too revealing bikini that left little to the imagination floating in front of you.

“Oh? Satoru, you changed it?” Suguru’s directly behind you, leaning over the back of the sofa and your seated self to get a good look, the scent of lavender incense with a hint of strawberry weighing heavy on your nose from his closeness.

“Yeah, yeah! Whaddya guys think?” The cellular device waves around lightly, a grin growing on the white-haired boy’s face as he watches your expression, eyes blank as you focus in on her.

“She looks nice, I suppose.” Not his type though. Geto’s response is curt, his eyes much more interested in watching your reaction, the slow tapping of his fingers against the plush material of the seat as they await your opinion.

Would you be jealous? Or would you be so adorably embarrassed, hiding your face away?

“Mmm…” Your eyes are slowly losing their focus as your brain churns, still fully fixated on the picture in front of you. “…do you guys think that style would suit me?”

(Now that’s one unexpected reaction.)

Two pairs of eyes nearly bulge out of their heads, a choke going unheard as your lax expression remains, a tapping of your finger against your chin as you tilted your head to the side in focused thought.

“Shoko mentioned that it was about time I bought a new swimsuit—“ You sigh. “But everything I’ve shown her ends with a rejection…” You slump onto the couch, slightly agitated with your precious Shoko’s resistance to your choices.

“Not cute enough.”

“Choose something else.”

“…are you serious?”

You’re sighing again at the memory of her dissatisfaction with you, at her crossed arms and furrowed brows, a small pout forming on your face as you let the thought simmer on. Inoue Waka must be a model of sorts, you gather. So her clothing must be acceptable by Shoko’s standards, right?

“Inoue-san looks fashionable… Are they expensive? How much allowance would one be…?” Your mumbling doesn’t go unheard as two jaws start to unhinge, red splashing all over their cheeks as you suddenly snapped out of your daze, a thought occurring to you, as a cute smile of realization on your face forms. “Oh, Satoru! Could you show me more—“

The phone is immediately slammed shut. “No.” A smile, no; something akin to an even brighter grin is upon the pretty face of your white-haired friend.

“Eh?” Your head tilts to meet dark, sunglasses clad eyes that rejected you all too soon. “…would it not suit me after all?” There’s an awkward scratching of your cheek as you let out a dry laugh to ease the odd tension in the air.

“No.” Gojo Satoru does not stutter. “It’d suit ya well.” A glimmer of his perfect teeth. “You’d wear it?” Excited blue eyes appear in your view as you simmer in more confusion.

“Well… Yeah. I suppose I would?” Your smile returns as you try to decipher his words.

(Did you just leave yourself open to more teasing…?)

“That’s cute.” A pat to your head that messes with your hair. “But you can’t wear it out,” His smile is too tensed, his face a little too close as he leans in, his breath nearly fanning your lips had you not shifted back slightly. “Okay?”

“Okay…?”

(Would it look bad on you after all? You’re sighing again as you see him pull away from you, a proud smirk upon his face.)

There’s a shadow cast over Suguru’s eyes when you confusedly lean back, looking up to face him when you feel his larger palm rest upon your shoulder.

“…why don’t you allow us to pick one for you? I’m sure Shoko wouldn’t disapprove of our choices.” His expression is quick to shift, to reveal an all too tense smile, teetering just between the line of mischief and his usual genteel, his chest against the back of your head as his arms settle on both sides of your head, his long fingers mindlessly playing with your hair as you feel Satoru’s head loll and rest on your shoulder in pure boredom.

Hmm… Maybe you should…?

(…or are you just feeling too comfortable right now that you’ll agree to anything they say?)

“We have finished packing our luggage.” Kuroi’s voice rings out as you hear the creaking of the door and the rolling of a few luggages. Her footsteps are quiet against the carpeted floor as your ears pick up on another set of feet tottering in, braided hair swaying as her uniform skirt flutters with her movement.

“We’re ready for the flight to Okinawa!”

(“Riko, please do not yell. We will disturb the neighbors.”

“Oh. Sorry, Kuroi…”)

——

“Hey.” Riko is leaning in towards you, whispered words and close proximity as you sat beside her on the plane. “What was that about swimsuits?” Her eyes gleam with a hunger to know, to get in on the action whilst her other escorts were far too busy intimidating the other passengers.

You giggle lightly in embarrassment, your cheeks feeling a little hot. “Oh— You heard?”

“Duh.” A smile of pure, unadulterated pride sits upon her smug face. “As the vessel who will become one with the almighty Tengen-sama, of course such matters do not escape my mighty ears!”

(She sounds kind of impudent, you’re not gonna lie.)

You’ll humor her. “Oh, it’s such a trivial matter, great vessel!~” You sing out your praises. “It was just—“ You take a pause for the dramatic effect as you see her cross her arms, nodding at your choice of dramatics.

“Letting them pick my swimsuit for me.” It does sound more embarrassing now that you’re saying this out loud.

“Wha— Don’t let them pick for you!” She’s quick to break character, grabbing onto your hands with a look of stout determination in her eyes.

“I’m much better suited for the job!”

Notes:

Riko thinks she’s much suited for it due to her yearning to experience the true ‘school girl’ experience! And that includes shopping for clothes.

You did this to yourself. Gojo went online to go find and order the exact same swimsuit on his lockscreen. He thinks it’s ready to be replaced soon too, if you get what I mean.

Geto is upset Riko managed to goad you into picking her as your swimsuit stylist. What kind of future husband is he if doesn’t pick out your clothes with you…?

Whilst in the clothing store, there was quite a battle between the dynamic duo and Riko.

“What do you mean this colour isn’t suitable?!” Gojo is quite frankly offended as he held up the skimpy blue two-piece.

“It looks cheap and nasty, just like your bug eyes!” Riko is sticking out her tongue at him as she hides behind you, grasping onto your shoulders and using you as a shield.

“Come now Riko, you shouldn’t be saying that to your poor security escorts. We’re working very hard, you know?” Geto is quick to jump in, a deep royal purple one piece with a deep-V in the front in his hands, as he appears directly behind the both of you. Riko jumps in surprise, quickly turning around with her arms up defensively.

“Bugger off, you weird, conman-looking delinquent! Your tastes are just as bad!”

He feels a vein pop.

It seems that only you and Kuroi are of sane mind.

masterlist

KOFI does being in okinawa give you okinawan dreams? (continuation of this specific fic)

nvy’s aftertalk:

HAH u THOUGHT i was gonna do my animal ears special but YOU THOUGHT WRONG WAHAHAHAHA

[kindestofkings]

tongue-tied (sunflowers)

lando norris x reader

dets: reader is a pro golfer, a massive f1 fan and best friends with lily muni he. will she enter her wag era?

authors note: I litch dont know a thing about golf and I know you can tell lol xx ENJOY

faceclaim: madeline argy

yourusername

liked by lilymhe and others

yourusername just wanted to assure everyone im still alive ! just working away and falling more in love with lilymhe, better watch out alexalbon xxx

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lilymhe my love !! training is always so fun with you

alexalbon heyy you're meant to say stop falling in love with me! ive a boyfriend 😑 lilymhe eh why bother :))

ynfan1 can't wait to see you in action on the green!!

ynfan2 🔥🔥🔥

lilymhe

liked by alex_albon and others

lilymhe the mixed weather has not stopped us getting some practice in! (its impossible to keep her attention when there's a gp on 🙄)

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yourusername but it's the azerbaijan grand prix! I never miss a grand prix!

lilymhe first alex now you 🙄 🙄

f1fan1 can alobono fight? CAN HE FIGHT??

alex_albon you mean i'm not the only f1 lover in your life???

yourusername oi I was the first mister ! been a mclaren fan since birth 😤 lilymhe tbf she isn't lying... ynfan1 it is sooo common knowledge that yourusername is a ride or die mclaren fan lol yourusername yeah get with it albon

yourusername

liked by lilymhe and others

yourusername home and showered in time for the miami grand prix this is a full time job !

kind followers this pact of doritos is a secret between us, got it? so if my personal trainer asks you saw NOTHING, got it?

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ynfan1 yn and lily being f1 fans is so cute !

lilymhe oooh but doritos are your sad snack ? whats happening

yourusername the fav ended in p17 😭 congrats to albonononono tho, i guess alex_albon wow could that have been anymore heartfelt ! lilymhe sush shes a mclaren girlie, don't kick her while she's down!! f1fan1 soooo me coded. its a hard time for us mclaren girlies rn.

yourusername

liked by ynfan1 and others

yourusername greens beautiful as always! unfortunately inviting alex_albon along with us backfired entirely cause albon didn't bring an papaya wearing f1 friend, so I just thirdwheeled for the day .

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alex_albon oh sorry I think oscar was busy today :(

yourusername thats not who I meant and you know it ! 😑

lilymhe at least you look cute tho!

ynfan1 im litch not a golf fan but I'm obsessed with you lol

ynfan2 I feel so seen, I recognise a lando norris fan when I see one !

landonorris

liked by yourusername and others

landonorris freshhhh

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f1fan1 lando finally past his puberty danny ric is proud

f1fan2 he so fine

landofan1 😳❤️

yourusername

liked by alex_albon and others

yourusername it's the monaco grand prix and not only am I not missing it, I'm here! thank qqqq mclaren <33

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ynfan1 ahhhh OMG I hope you meet lando finally

lilymhe babe come williams garage xx

yourusername on my way bestie! gotta tell you about the most awkward encounter EVER lilymhe 🫢🫢

mclaren so glad to have you with us today!

landonorris just followed you!

yourusername

liked by lilymhe and others

yourusername attended my first grand prix after being a fan of the sport my whole life! was so chronically awkward I'll never show my face in public again, I've turned to the drink and am hiding away xxx

unrelated: is there a support group for people who embarrassed themselves in front of their celebrity crush??

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lilymhe it can't possible have been THAT BAD

ynfan1 you looked so pretty tho!

ynfan1 also have you forgotten you're a PROFESSIONAL sportswoman yourself lilymhe they are so right ! you slay always yourusername 🥹🥹

mclaren please come join us for another weekend ! celeb crushes can go both ways you know ....

ynfan1 OH OH OH NORIZZ has a crush on you YAYYY

alex_albon leave you both unsupervised for a DAY and you implode

yourusername you said you would be my wingman, I was unprepared 😔😔

landonorris if you do find one can I also get the number to that support group?

osarpiastri please for the well being of everyone, I cannot hear a recap of this meeting alex_albon we should have stuck with the original plan and gone golfing ffs landonorris kick a guy while he's down why don't you yourusername hello ! hi guys just gentle reminder this is my comment section so I can like ... see everything.... landonorris hi 😳 alex_albon oh ffs help lilymhe

britishgq

liked by landonorris and others

britishgq meets yourusername in our next edition. yn is the pinnacle of modern women, with titles like the 'people's princess' circulating. we believe it's high time for a proper catch-up.

oh, and did we mention she's currently britain's highest-ranking female golfer?

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yourusername ahh this is surreal, I had so much fun!!

britishgq 💓💓

lilymhe I say thats my bestie and I am PROUD

lilymhe a model and a killer sportswoman, someone wife her up before I do ! f1fan1 hahaha thats landos warning

ynfan1 I feel so proud omg!!

ynfan2 oh hello lando lurking in the likes

alex_albon oh?

landonorris

liked by maxfewtrell and others

landonorris have been getting some private lessons in between races, watch out carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 aye you'll need a miracle

landonorris and who says I haven't got one...

alex_albon you'd wanna start returning my calls mate

landofan1 oh hello WHO ARE YOU SOFT LAUNCHING

ynfan1 *whispers* please be yn please be yn 🤞

lilymhe BESTIE STEALER

ynfan1 ahh its SO is yn

yourusername

liked by landonorris and others

yourusername golf golf golf, also I drove a fancy car and didnt crash! waiting for that call from mclaren any second now xx

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lilymhe look at you all adorable and loved up <3

alex_albon these kids are growing up so fast ! f1fan you are everyones parents xx

mclaren getting rid of our first driver as we speak !!

landonorris you are leaving out the detail that you mounted the curb...

yourusername and I can leave the detail of you out of my life if you dont watch ynfan1 HE KNOWS THE DETAILS

landojpg

liked by yourusername and others

landojpg summer break well spent.

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ynfan1 I spot my hero !! must be dating if she's on holiday with the friends

landofan1 ew is lily's friend hanging out of him AGAIN?? get a job christ

ynfan1 you do realise shes a professional golfer right?? ynfan2 there's this thing called holidays ....

lilymhe please give her back to me... you can take alex!

landojpg he's not as cute tho 😔 alex_albon so you're saying I am cute tho? 😎

landonorris added to their story!

the prettiest papaya supporter🧡

replies:

yourusername ah give a girl some warning before you hardlaunch her to your millions of fans... yourusername kinda so cute tho Ill let you away with it <3 lilymhe AH hardlaunch on main danielricciardo does landonorizz have ... rizz??

_finished_

as always would LOVE to know you're thoughts! come chat about this fic or even ideas you have for my next one??

[jaywonjuice]

📄🖇️— him meeting your family ~ p.js

pairing bf!jay x gn reader

genre fluff, oneshot

request: “hii! i was wondering if i could request a drabble/scenario for jay pls? :) i’m a sucker for fluff so maybe something like taking him to meet your family for the first time at a family reunion? and then he’s getting along so well with the baby cousins and the family loves him :’) i’m in my jay era rn and this scenario would make my whole week! no rush tho!! i love your works so far btw, and i can’t wait to follow you on this journey of growing your library! <3 xx”

warnings sfw intimacy, kissing

wc 655

‘aren’t i the one who’s supposed to be feeling nervous about this?’ said jay with a wry smile, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. you glanced over at him, taking in his calm expression and marvelling at his ability to remain so composed given the circumstances. you, on the other hand, couldn’t help yourself from fidgeting restlessly in the passenger seat. jay placed a hand on your knee gently to still it.

‘love, it’s going to be fine, i promise,’ he shot you a reassuring smile, which you attempted to return weakly. ‘mums always love me anyway,’ he added with a wink, hoping to get you to laugh, but right now you were too preoccupied to play along.

‘yeah, it’s just…’ you chewed at your thumbnail, staring out the window. ‘i don’t know. i’ve never brought a boyfriend back home before. like, ever. and the whole family is going to be there.’ you sighed, slumping against the headrest.

jay smiled. ‘try not to worry. i promise it’s going to be fine. i for one am looking forward to meeting your folks.’ he reached for your hand and gave it a small squeeze.

.❦.

once you arrived at your parents’ place, you weren’t even sure what you had been worrying about the whole time. as expected, jay had been a gentleman from the moment he stepped through the door, shaking your father’s hand, and greeting your mother politely before passing her the bottle of wine he’d brought up with him. he had charmed every last one of your aunts, who looked on impressed as he helped to lay the table and plate up lunch. your teenage cousins had giggled and whispered to each other behind their hands, eyes darting over at him all throughout the meal.

after he’d finished helping clear up all the dishes, he finally came to join you in the family room. it took all of thirty seconds for him to spot the cabinet of baby pictures and trinkets that sat on the mantelpiece, and he approached eagerly to watch you grow up through photographs.

‘this one was when we visited the states - lord, going on twelve years ago now,’ your dad passed a small wooden picture frame over to jay. ‘wasn’t (s)he cute, eh?’

jay nodded, smiling. ‘very,’

later in the evening, you’d watched from the sofa as he sat on the rug with your little cousin, who was enthusiastically presenting jay with all of her new toys. he received each one with interest, his face animated, eyes widening and giving little gasps as she explained them all to him in great detail. the way he smiled sweetly down at her made your heart ache just a little. when she had finally shown jay every last little stuffed animal, she turned to him, all of a sudden looking very serious.

‘are you and y/n in love??’ she demanded abruptly.

jay gave a little laugh, tousling her hair affectionately. then he looked up at you, softly. ‘yeah. we are,’ he replied.

.❦.

it felt oddly comforting to be back in your childhood bedroom again with jay by your side, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling providing a small fluorescent glow in the otherwise complete darkness. you rested your head again his chest and sighed deeply. the long day of travelling and socialising had taken it out of you both completely; you were exhausted.

‘your family are nice,’ jay mumbled after a while.

‘yeah,’ you said quietly. ‘they think you’re nice,’ you added. ‘i think you’re nice,’ you told him on top of that, wrapping your arms around his waist snugly and hugging him to you.

‘is that so?’ you could hear the smile in his voice.

‘yeah,’ you nuzzled into his chest. ‘the nicest.’

.❦.

the following morning, the two of you stood by the front door saying your goodbyes to your parents. as jay hugged your mother farewell, your dad gave you a kiss on the cheek, before nodding over at jay. ‘he’s a keeper, this one,’ he winked.

jay held your hand all the way from the door to the car, where he opened up the passenger side for you, but before you could get in, he pulled you close to him suddenly, catching you so off guard that you blushed furiously.

‘i love you,’ he said quietly, his nose brushing your own. you moved to say it back, but his lips were pressed to yours before you’d even got the chance.

a/n literally what a dream request ty anon !! i could go on abt domestic jay all day every day forever until my lungs give out he’s so husband bye ㅠㅠ

TAGLIST ೃ⁀➷ @thejakeslayla @shawnyle

©jaywonjuice | do not copy or re-upload my work on any platform

[gloryhrs]

━━ ⟡ 𝓛𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝓑𝐎𝐘𝐒, various.

ᥫ᭡ o. requested by — @normansnt. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

ᥫ᭡ i. ᧔𐓪᧓ 𝐡𝐜𝐬 𝐟𝐭 ━━ kenpachi zaraki, shūhei hisgai, ichigo kurosaki, & kisuke urahara.

ᥫ᭡ ii. ᧔𐓪᧓ trans [ ftm ] reader, fluff + comedy, modern era + everything takes in a non-soul society universe.

❨ KENPACHI ZARAKI. ❩

Kenpachi Zaraki . . . the brutal captain of the 11th Division had a passion for all things that revolve around fighting. But you know what else he has a passion for? You, his husband, and Yachiru, his daughter. He loves his little family and would protect you both till his final breath.

Kenpachi likes what he likes, and he loves you—so he didn’t understand why you were so scared of telling him that you were trans. He will always support you, no matter what the situation is or how bad it gets. When he found out about you being trans he just shrugged his shoulders and asked what was for dinner.

“Kenny? You aren’t mad at me . . . right?” You played with the hem of your kimono sleeves. Once you told your husband about your identity he just stood there . . . No reaction or anything. It was as if his system was rebooting. After what felt like years of silence he finally spoke, “Eh, not really. There’s nothing to be mad about, seriously.” He shrugged as he put his large hands on your shoulders before placing a sweet kiss against your sweaty forehead. “Now, what’s for dinner?”

“Also, I know I shouldn’t ask you this. But is that the reason why your chest was cut off?”

“Yes, Kenny.”

“Well I could’ve save us the money and did that myself!”

When Yachiru found out about the news she was so sweet and supportive. She understood the importance of the situation perfectly and even said you’ll forever be her dad, even if you didn’t give birth to her.

“Look dad! Look at the drawing me and papa made for you!” The little girl smiled sweetly as she held up a drawing that included blue, pink, and white—the trans flag colors. It was a drawing of her and Kenpachi wearing matching shirts that said “We love you Y/n” along while holding the little pride flags in their hands. You couldn’t help but smile brightly and place a little kiss against the girl’s cheek. “Thank you, Yachi. I’m gonna hang this up on the fridge, okay? You and Kenny’s art skills are amazing.”

❨ SHŪHEI HISAGI. ❩

Shūhei thinks of you as his safe space . . . one of the only few people he can be around without having to relax his shoulders every five seconds because he is feeling tense.

He didn’t care about the fact that you were trans, in fact, he thought you were brave. Since you didn’t hide yourself from the world, you weren’t too accepting of people like you. But that didn’t matter to him, he was going to protect you every step of the way, holding your hand without fear.

“I–I’ll still love you. No matter what, babe. Whatever you’re comfortable with, I’m comfortable with. You’re very handsome to me! Haha . . .” Hisagi laughed and nodded his head. He was so supportive in his own weird way, it was cute.

He loves snuggling into your chest like a little kitten after a long day of work. ♡ Each time he got home he would immediately throw his stuff on the ground without having a care in the world.

“Darling, I think your laptop was in there.” You spoke softly as you caressed the back of Shūhei’s head while he rested his cheek against your chest. The man had another stressful day at work and he threw his bag to the floor—you could’ve sworn you heard a slight crack. “It’ll be fine . . . it’s practically indestructible.” He muttered with his eyes closed and his breathing starting to slow down. Instead of aggravating him about it, you only smiled softly and ran your fingers through his hair.

It turns out that did end up breaking his computer and was charged on his tab at work for the incident.

“Damn it . . . (πーπ)”

❨ ICHIGO KUROSAKI. ❩

Ichigo was kinda known for taking certain subjects to heart—his family, friends, and most importantly, you. He knew about your identity since he was fifteen and he never judged you or discriminated against you for it. He would never use hurtful words or do hurtful things to you because he truly loves you with every last bone in his body.

When he’s around, he always makes sure that people use the correct pronouns on you and make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable in any shape or form. He doesn’t care who they are. They will respect you and your identity. When you would often speak up for yourself, you would always get turned down and ignored in the end. Which infuriated him to no end, he hated seeing you sad.

Ichigo's eyes glared holes into the back of the teacher’s head as she continued to refer to you as she and her. He noticed you tried to speak up for yourself but she only ignored you and continued to misgender you in the end—which made you go quiet for the rest of the class period. Once she referred to you as the wrong pronouns that’s when Ichigo decided to step in. “He said, his pronouns are he/him. Why do you keep referring to him as she and her? Did you not hear him the first time he corrected you?” Ichigo frowned while the teacher seemed a bit shocked at his words. “What the hell are you looking stupid for? Can you not hear?”

Since you’re his first boyfriend, he always tries his best to show you that he loves you—even though he can be a bit awkward at times. Good days or bad days, when he visits you, he always brings flowers and favorite snacks. He also has a habit of buying you merch of your favorite things because he just can’t help himself every time he walks by.

“Ichigo? Did you seriously buy me a set of these?” You chuckled at the sight of the jumbo plushie of your favorite animal. The plushie was so soft and fluffy that you couldn’t be upset with him that he spent so much money on it. “Yeah, when I saw it, I couldn’t help myself. It reminded me of you.” He smiled before he pulled out a cute little hairpin of your favorite animals and placed it in your head with a soft kiss to your cheek.

❨ KISUKE URAHARA. ❩

Kisuke wasn’t shocked at the news about your identity. Like Kenpachi, he knows what he likes and isn’t ashamed of it. Love is love, why should he be ashamed of being married to someone who isn’t afraid to express themselves? It didn’t make sense to him—but he didn’t care.

“Oh? Hehe, I guess we’re both husbands now, yeah?” The shop owner poked at your cheek with the end of his fan before covering his red cheeks with it. It was obvious he was flustered at his joke. Instead of getting upset at him about the joke you only smiled softly and playfully punched his shoulder.

Yoruichi is tired of you two deeply. She never saw Kisuke so deeply in love with someone, since he was a bit of a pervert. Every time she sees you both being lovey dovey she can’t help but let out a loud dramatic sigh. Kisuke would often joke around and call her jealous because she didn’t have anyone in her life. And it always resorted to her flipping him off or smacking him in the back of the head because of his smart-ass mouth.

“Why hello my most beautiful, precious, loving, and gorgeous husban—”

“Get a room you freaks!”

“I didn’t even finish my sentence!”

This man was your hype man—you want to show him your new outfit? Give him a show! Did you get a new haircut? He will give you compliments until you get sick of him! This man didn’t know how to stop once he had gotten started. Most of the time, you would never get sick of him and his compliments and pickup lines. Because, unlike most people, you genuinely found him funny. He would often talk like a high-school student just to get a smile on your face.

The moment he walked in on you trying on something new with a frown on your face he just couldn’t hold himself back. The man placed the fan up against his face as he began to speak. “Hey handsome, I guess there is a rainbow today as I just found the treasure I have been searching for.” He started to fan his face in a dramatic manner, which caused a series of laughter to leave your lips. “You like it? I think I got a size too small.” You tugged at the shirt and pants that were a little too tight in certain places. Kisuke, being the pervert he is only wolf-whistled while continuing to fan his pink cheeks. “My dear husband, do you mind doing a slight 360 for me? I would like to see something.”

© gloryhrs, 040124. | notes and reblogs are appreciated! (≧∇≦)

[delusionalwings]

― synopsis -> when he doesn’t expect to "fall in love", especially with a human

― characters -> lucifer, mammon, leviathan

― gender neutral reader

― headcanons

― warnings -> yandere, toxic behavior, manipulation (luci), obsession and rude behavior (mammon), obsession and camera installed without permission (levi)

― a/n -> i spend way too long on this but it was fuuuuuun

LUCIFER

It would have amused him had the actors in this ridiculous play been different. But he is neither a fool nor a procrastinator so he accepts the fact readily with his usual calmness. It seems that he is interested in you, a mere human, but also Lord Diavolo’s choice for the exchange programme. He needs to play his next move cautiously.

When you become entangled with a nasty rumour, you approach Lucifer. Since the start, he has been the one to provide assistance to you unbidden so he seemed like the best choice. After getting his advice, you ponder the best course of action and carry out the execution. He watches you closely with amusement.

Diavolo praises the way you handle the situation. Lucifer announces indignantly that if anybody messes with you, he will deal with them personally. Everybody believes that you share a special bond with Lucifer because of the additional edge to his speech, the glare and the sadistic promise of pain in his smirk.

It is like Lucifer to kill several birds with one bullet. Now he knows that you are worthy of his thoughts, given your intelligent reaction. You must think a little better of him owing to his help. The others will leave you alone. And he has an excuse to stay closer to you for at least a fortnight. He will stick close and keep testing your competence. It’s no joke that the Avatar of Pride has taken a fancy to you, more so when he expected to never feel this way for anyone.

 MAMMON

He knows quite well that his greed is not restricted to materialistic items only. So when he starts obsessing over you, he freaks out dramatically, gambles all his money away, gets beaten up by moneylenders because of his carelessness and when you patch him up and smile, he finally accepts that the human ain’t too bad. Given the bad treatment he had been subjected to, he wasn't expecting to fall in love but then you came along and now you are all that goes through his mind.

He is very non judgmental so he doesn't care that you are a human. However, he thinks that associating with a demon may get you enemies. He tries to distance himself in the beginning but being someone who has difficulty denying his urges, he ends up giving you the special treatment. From the dark. 

He thinks of the best gift ideas and executes them flawlessly without revealing his identity. Good fortune seems to follow you these days. The only reason for suspicion is his behavior. He goes overboard with the tsundere act, so that now it feels stifling and hurtful. Every time you get a present from this “secret admirer”, you notice how he acts more supreme and offensive with the “I am the Great Mammon and you are only a puny human”. His bullying reaches an all time high, cutting you deep and scarring you, as the pace of the gifts catch up like a rope tightening around your throat. 

LEVIATHAN 

Eh? EHH?? No no, this can’t be happening! What is this era of cringe where he feels obsessed with a 3D character?! You must be an anomaly in the system! How can you just come along so casually and shatter his hope of staying single forever? He was quite content with his waifus and husbandos! They don’t expect anything in return and he knew that it was impossible for him to end with them! Life was simple! Oh now he is overthinking and gulping down energy drinks and dreaming about how wonderful you are!

He isn’t really bothered about the mortal part since he has watched enough anime to know that demons fall for humans all the time!  Key information about upcoming cosplay conventions keeps slipping from his mind like his sanity! It is the end of Leviachan, OMG he needs to worship the anime gods for mercy. 

Now instead of bingeing his favourite anime, he is watching you sleep at 3 in the morning through the cameras he installed in your room without your permission. He can't forgive you. Before your arrival, he was a dedicated albeit a gross, yucky otaku but now he is a normie who is thinking about puke-inducing lovey-dovey stuff like holding hands and going on a date! What a downfall for the Lord of Shadows! You must take responsibility and help him get his passion back. He can’t lose the Levi that has lived till now just because of you. He must have you right in front of his eyes so that he can go back to focusing on anime rather than watching your every move. You make him so unhappy by talking to those other demons. He can’t even sleep at night. You are terrible, you know that? Stay close and he won’t hold a grudge. He will be sweet like all those normies in love with fake promises at the tip of their tongues.

[morallyinept]

Silver - An Ezra One Shot ☔

Written for @undercoverpena 's April Showers Challenge ☔ April Showers Challenge Masterlist Thanks Jojobean for putting this together! 🥰 This is Helianthus Ezra <- You may want to read that story first for context, but you can read this as a stand alone. 🌻

Summary: A heavy rainfall gives Ezra some time for some cleansing contemplation.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity. It’s you, bub. However, Reader has hair and is pregnant.)

Word Count: 3k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️ “Don't hurt me, cadejo."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.  

Warnings/Triggers: Brief mention of genitals and unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/some heavy petting/it's mostly fluff - you're pretty safe.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned. 

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Ezra in the rain. 'Nuff said. ☔

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

As Ezra works diligently outside the weathered homestead, his singular arm deftly manoeuvring rustic tools and materials spread out before him, he can't help but notice the subtle shifts in the atmosphere around him. 

A change that sends a ghostly shiver down the back of his bronzed, sweat-damp neck. The once clear sky, so often dominated by the relentless blaze of the imposing sun, now bears the telltale signs of an impending storm.

The air, previously heavy with the oppressive heat of a stifling midday, now crackles with a newfound electricity - a palpable energy that seems to dance upon the incoming breeze. The usual azure canopy giving way to ominous, dark clouds, heavy with the promise of rain, swirl and gather on the horizon, their billowing forms casting shadows upon the vast sunflower field below at the bottom of the rugged slope. 

With a sense of anticipation tingling in the air, Ezra pauses in his work, his keen gaze scanning the horizon. 

He can feel the distant rumble of thunder, a low and steady drumbeat that heralds the storm's advance.

"It appears that nature, in its infinite wisdom, deems fit to grace us with the spectacle of a storm," he continues over his shoulder, a hint of anticipation colouring his words. "After enduring the relentless ardour of the sun's embrace for so long, the prospect of rainfall is a welcome respite indeed, eh?"

"Ah, Birdie, do you perceive the portent of the tempest that approaches?"

Ezra's voice, rich with the cadence of his Southern prose, carries through the weathered homestead as he steps across the creaky veranda admiring the view.

Perched atop a gentle hill, overlooking the vast expanse of the sunflower field, stands a weather-beaten homestead - a relic of a forgotten era, its timeworn facade bearing the scars of countless seasons.

Ezra's left hand, calloused from turns spent toiling under the unrelenting sun, moves with purpose over his glistening forehead as he speaks.

His eyes attend to the final details of the homestead's restoration, alight with a quiet fervour, flickering with a mixture of determination and contentment as he surveys his handiwork.

With its timbers bleached to a mottled gray hue and its roof adorned with moss and spackled patches of alien lichen, it seems to blend seamlessly into the landscape, as if it’s grown organically from the turf itself.

When you’d both happened upon it, your excitement unable to be quelled by your rambunctious ramblings about making it a permanent home, Ezra was only amiably ambivalent to give it to you. 

The homestead's walls, once painted a cheerful hue, now bear the faded remnants of its former glory, peeling and flaking with age. The windows, their panes cloudy and streaked with grime, offer glimpses of the world of endless golden sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze.

Outside, a sagging veranda extends from the front of the homestead, its wooden planks warped by years of exposure to the elements. A rusted metal railing, twisted and bent with age, offers a precarious perch from which to survey the surrounding countryside.

A rusted wood-burning stove stands in one corner, its flue choked with soot and ash, an artefact of a time when warmth and comfort were still to be found within these walls.

Inside bears the unmistakable signs from rotations of neglect and disrepair left by its previous occupants. The floorboards are worn smooth by years of use and groaning underfoot, their once-lustrous finish now dulled by layers of dust and dirt.

Cobwebs hang from the rafters like ghostly draperies, their delicate strands shimmering in the dim light that filters through the cracks in the walls.

It’s a far cry from any modern amenity found back on The Pug. But that’s what makes it perfect, timeless. A piece of history tucked away in quiet surroundings where nature can provide any shortfall. 

Ezra can clearly see the sunflower field stretching out before him; a sea of golden blooms swaying gently in the breeze. And he remembers that night you both made love amongst them on, what was supposed to be, a pitstop, but has now become an extended stay, possibly for the remainder of your lives, he suspects.

He recalls, with a smile, sleeping within the cradle of their thick stalks as you both watched the cosmos glitter above you, stars pirouetting in a nebulous sea of gases and mesmeric twinkles. 

And as he stands here, taking a beat and surrounded by the weather-aged remnants of the homestead, Ezra feels a sense of determination welling up within him. For in this forgotten curio overlooking the sunflower field on the cosy planet you’re now passing off as a dwelling, he sees not just a crumbling ruin, but a blank canvas upon which to paint a brighter future - a restful sanctuary amidst the lonely ruins, surrounded amongst the golden helianthus.

"Oi." He calls out when he notices you haven’t crept out to his call, a note of concern carving into his twang. “Do you heed, Birdie?”

There’s no response, no indication that you’ve heard his words. 

Ezra turns his back on the encroaching swell, stepping inside to find you nestled amongst a tangle of faded quilts and worn blankets; your hand resting gently upon your swollen belly, cradling the precious life growing within as you sleep.

It’s only then, as he watches your peaceful expression and listens to the steady rhythm of your breathing, that he realises the truth - you’ve been asleep all along, lost in dreams far away from his excitement amidst the gathering storm.

He reaches out to stroke your hair, and Ezra's gaze falls upon the empty space where his arm should be. A peculiar feeling as he swears he can feel his fingers brush against your skin before the obvious realisation settles in.

It’s a stark reminder of the sacrifice he’d made back on the Green Moon, a price in exchange for an extension of his grubby mortality. One, he pertains, was worth the occasional bouts of twisting nerve pain and the sensation of a phantom limb, for it led him back home to you. 

Ezra feels a surge of protectiveness wash over him. He vows to keep you safe here, to shelter you from the storms that’ll rage outside, to provide for you and his unborn child with all the strength and courage he can muster. But with only one arm, that could well prove a difficult task to fulfil in its entirety. 

Frowning, Ezra soon finds himself grappling with an ugly companion of unwelcome trepidation - a fear that gnaws at the edges of his bolshie consciousness, threatening to consume him with its insidious whispers of doubt.

How would you both manage, he wonders, in a world devoid of modern medicine and the reassuring presence of skilled healers?

But your stubbornness always stunts practicality, and ordinarily he revels in it, encouraging it to some degree with a lust for zealous menace. But now there’s more than just the pair of you and your reckless abandon.

He determines he’ll visit The Pug again soon to stock up on further supplies - trade some of the pilfered loot of Aurelac he'd hidden in the floorboards - and obtain another book amongst the necessities.

Most evenings, after his work on the repairs are completed, Ezra finds himself pouring over the instructional text, swotting up and absorbing its teachings with a fierce intensity.

He reads of the stages of labour, of the signs to watch for and the actions to take in the event of complications, often reading them aloud to you in fascination at how the vestige of your womb works. 

And each day that time draws nearer, the opportunity for flight back to The Pug to the birthing pools snipped down to the fraying edges. You’re determined to have the babe here, in the sanctuary of your new home together; your confidence in him resolute, despite his own, insipid questioning of it. 

Each word is a reassuring lifeline as he prepares himself for the role he’ll inevitably play in the birth of his child. But even as he immerses himself in the knowledge contained within the pages of the book, a persistent sense of doubt lingers on the fringe of Ezra's consciousness, refusing to be dispelled.

What if he isn't up to the task? What if he fails you in your time of need?

The fingers on his remaining hand brush over your brow line gently, and Ezra smiles. 

“Dream irreverently of me, Pet.” He smirks.

His thoughts are dispelled by a rumbling crack across the sky, and the heavy fall of the rain that soon succeeds it. An ember of longing ignites within Ezra's chest, drawing him inexorably towards the siren song outside. 

He steps back out onto the creaking veranda, bewitched by the ethereal allure of the cooling rain. The heavens weep, Kevva’s tears of liquid silver cascade from the graphite velvet sky. Raindrops, like crystalline jewels, dance upon the lackadaisical frame of the shelter, their gentle pitter-patter a soothing to his weary heart.

Ezra is soon greeted by the primal fury of the storm as it breaks fully, the rain cascading down in torrents; a deluge of liquid life upon the parched soil. Yet amidst the chaos, there’s a profound serenity - a tranquil beauty about it that transcends the tumultuous cacophony of the wild elements.

With measured steps, Ezra ventures forth into the heart of the spate, his senses awash with the intoxicating scent of petrichor and misty ozone.

He stands fully exposed to the ire of the rainfall, his face upturned towards the heavens; a lone figure bathed in the pewter glow of the downpour.

With eyes closed, allowing the cool rivulets to trace delicate paths down his, sweaty, parched skin, their touch is akin to the tender brush of silk against his flesh.

Ezra feels the weight of the world fall away, replaced by a profound sense of liberation. The rain washes over him like a baptismal benediction, cleansing out the hollows of his bones from doubt and despair.

He snorts, a light awed chuckle escaping him only to be swallowed up by the splinters ripping across the sky.

The rain whispers rejuvenating secrets in his ears, its symphony filling the void left by the silence of space. The lightning strobes blind him, leaving him with a flux of glittery phosphenes to die out behind the thin membrane of his eyelids.

He’s a neutron star imploding, leaving shattered stellar remnants that incapacitate and crack through the universe.

As the rain descends into a softened cascade upon the sunflower field, each golden bloom bows gracefully beneath the weight of the droplets, their vibrant petals glistening with moisture that refract the skewbald light piercing through the clouds in small, bullion slithers.

As he stands amidst the silver downpour, Ezra feels as though he's been reborn - a creature of pure sensation, unbound by the constraints of mortal flesh.

The rain soaks through his tattered clothes, plastering them to his skin in a sodden embrace, rinsing off the cares and worries of the world like so many whispered secrets carried away on the wind.

With each passing moment, the weight of his burdens seem to lift entirely for a few moments, mind blank with the rhythmic patter of raindrops falling against the earth, becoming a symphony of release, a melody of liberation that echoes in the depths of his soul.

With a smile playing at the corners of his lips, imbued with restoration, he hears his name emerge from the veranda, and turns to see you standing on it with a bemused expression lighting up your sleepy features. 

His raggedy moustache is now adorned with tiny droplets of rain, glimmering at you as they catch the dim light, like coveted, precious gems taunting you with their expense. The stark blonde patch in his hair is stuck to his forehead; his crown of usual oil-slick waves soaked and pressed flat against his temples.

His outline seems to blur and shift with the movement of the rain, casting an amaranthine aura around him; his usually sharp features softened by the gentle glow of the storm.

His dark eyes, usually filled with a quiet determination, now sparkle with a sense of wonder and joy, reflecting the beauty of the moment back to you.

But it’s more than just his appearance that captivates you, leaving your breath floundering in your throat - it’s the way he stands there, amidst the storm, with an air of quiet confidence and strength.

“Majestic, isn’t it, Pet?” He simply calls to you as your smile grows. “Come on,” he sways, his fingers beckoning you with a simple flicker. "Come kiss me in the rain!"

It’s a beguiling command, one that carries the weight of swampy desire, pulling you towards him with an irresistible force. 

Your bare feet squelch into the soil as you start forward, the rain soaking you instantly as you make your way towards him, all recesses of your sleep left in the warmth of the cosy homestead.

You laugh out, cackling and cooing as it pelts you, and he wraps his arm around you as raindrops blind you momentarily. Insidious, thick fingers roam over your lower back, pushing you closer to him.

The rain continues to fall around you both as Ezra pulls you in, its cool touch mingling with the warmth of your embrace. With a gentle yet firm grasp, he tucks you tight, his hand sliding down to rest against the small of your back, the globe of your tummy pressed into his.

Your lips meet in a haunting, tender kiss, each movement slow and deliberate as you savour the enticing sweetness of the moment. His lips are soft against yours, slanting with a gentle rhythm that seems to echo the pelt of raindrops all around.

His hand is still there, tethering you with his gravity, and you feel yourself relax, the hunch in your back and tension in your shoulders start to drop as you focus on his thumb moving up across your hip bone.

A little, tantalising circle or two before you feel his hand slowly make its way up around your back, and it leaves goose pimples flooding over your body, streaming towards your nipples as they harden.

The cold tingling wakes them up and they ache with the heavy pull inside them as his fingers trail up the back of your neck against your slick skin, groping and melding to the skin in your nape.

Feasting on his inflected tongue, gorging on loquacious groans that hit the back of your oesophagus, you clutch onto him tighter; your own hands roaming the map of broad shoulders, pudgy hips and finding a hard, swollen cock between his legs as you squeeze gently. 

His fingers are then felt running down your back again a few seconds later, and once more the pull on your nipples is tightening as they strain, begging to be touched, licked, sucked...

Your gasped breaths mingle in the cool air, warm and inviting, as you both lose yourselves in the explorative intimacy of the kiss.

Then he stops touching you, denying you of any more contact, and you let out a barely audible whimper as you mourn the loss. Of course it's swallowed up by his mouth, but it doesn't stop it from coming out of you.

You then feel Ezra squeeze your ass, and you can't help but let a smirk erupt into freedom as he clamps a hold of it and massages it inside his hand as he dips his hips, making you feel him press against your centre.

He grunts as he nips on your lip and slips his tongue further around your mouth. You stay locked at the lips until you shudder as the cold starts to nip at your bones.

“We’ve lingered long enough in this spectacle.” He breathes, eyes dark and as foreboding as the storm. “Let’s shed our soaked garments in the warmth.” Ezra smiles, leading you back towards the homestead. 

With a playful glint in his eyes, Ezra can't resist flashing you a mischievous grin as you make your way back inside from the rain-soaked veranda.

"You know," he begins, his voice low and teasing in its tincture, "they say sharing the abundance of body heat is the best way to stay warm."

He waggles his arched eyebrows suggestively, his gaze dancing with amusement as he watches your reaction. "What do you say, Birdie? Shall we put that theory to the test?" 

He pulls you back towards him, peeling you out of the saturated layers clinging to your skin.

"You just want an excuse to cuddle." You smirk, completely naked before him.

Ezra chuckles, wrapping his arm around your bare shoulders and pulling you close. 

“You know how to charm the pants off of me.” You smirk.

"Guilty as charged," he admits with a serpent-like grin, pressing a kiss to the top of your wet head. "But who can resist the chance to snuggle up with someone as lovely as you? I can't help but be drawn to you.”

He looks down at your body, the shapely swell of your belly, eyes trailing over the fullness of your breasts, hungrily. “You have this... glow about you, like moon bugs on a summer's night.”

He runs his palm along the expanse of your belly, stroking across it gently.

“Quite literally,” he agrees, nodding to them on the floor with cocksure mirth. 

You pull his sodden clothes off into squelchy piles on the floorboards as you step backwards, pulling him with you until the backs of your calves hit the bed frame. 

He sniffs in deep and smiles. “I love the scent of petrichor, don’t you?”

“It smells almost as good as you.” You say. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Pet.” He confirms with a crooked grin as he places your hand on his cock, groaning as your fingers curl around his throbbing length. 

Ezra pulls you on top of him, explorative fingers knotting in the wet stands of your hair as he sinks into you. Exhales a deep, satisfied grunt pushed into your lips as he breaches the warm depths of your soaked cunt. 

You both spend the remainder of the storm tangled up in skins and blankets, stopping intermittently to watch the thrashing spectacle refresh the land and sunflowers outside the homestead.

Thanks so much for reading - I have more Helianthus Ezra to come in the future. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider re-blogging and leave a comment telling me your thoughts. Thankies! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

[cherry-velvet-skies]

Strawberry Lemonade

Gardener!George Harrison × GN!Reader

Genre: About as close as it can get to smut without there actually being any sex

Warnings: Heavy makeout session, lotsa hickies, and a bit of a spit kink but who's counting, eh?

Words: 2.3k

Summary: 1971 era; Reader hires George as a gardener and quickly falls in love with him (Reader is wearing a dress but gender is unspecified)

=======================================

==================================

You had been trying to get closer with him for several days now. He was always busy working. After all, he was technically working for you.

To be fair, you had hired a gardener, and you didn't know what, or rather who, to expect. Although, had you been given a selection based on appearance, you would have gladly chosen him anyway.

There was something about him that was positively alluring. You thought he was so handsome. And in the three Saturdays he had been working in your backyard, all you managed to find out about him was his name. George.

George looked like your typical gardener, with his scruffy hair and worn out denim, his only focus being his craft. In all honesty, your favorite thing about his appearance was how little he cared for it. He had no desire to be neat. He found beauty in the natural world.

You enjoyed staying with George while he worked. He didn't seem to mind either. He loved telling you all kinds of things about each type of flower, such as where they originated from and which ones could be used for natural remedies in certain teas, soups, and medicines. You didn't even have to ask any questions. He was just ready and willing to share the information, which benefited you as you were still too shy to say much to him. His extensive knowledge was undoubtedly adorable. When you saw how excited he got every time he told you a fun fact, it only made you want to extend the conversation.

You loved George's voice. The way he spoke, slow and sultry, was so calculated in the best possible way. Every word he said was uttered with meaningful intent. He never spoke just to speak. He always spoke to connect. You noticed George licked his lips a lot when he spoke. You weren't sure if it was just a quirk, a nervous habit, or a flirtation technique.

Your fascination with him began on his first Saturday of coming to work. He noticed the rather large section of orange lilies in the center of your garden, acknowledging them as being your favorite. Before he left, he handed you a singular petal from said flower that had fallen off, placing it in the front pocket of the creamsicle colored dress you were wearing. After closing the gate behind him, he turned to look at you one last time.

“Orange is my favorite color, too.”

You allowed George to decorate the garden however he wished, which he was immensely appreciative of. If he felt that certain flowers looked better beside each other, or grew better in certain types of soil, who were you to oppose his artistic vision?

On this particular day, you had chosen to stay on the patio while he worked. You had prepared a plate of fresh strawberries, but knew that fruit could attract bugs that might eat your flowers. You had paired it with a tall glass of lemonade, and as you sat down, you questioned your decision. It was a particularly warm day, and George had already been working for a while. You thought he could use a refreshment too, or at least maybe some company. 

Careful not to startle him, you walked over and offered him the glass of lemonade. Looking up at you, he smiled and reached for the cup, his gloves leaving a trace of fresh soil along the bottom. You thought it was quite endearing. You admired the way the short, dark brown hairs of his mustache grazed the top of the straw.

After taking a single sip, he handed the glass back to you, smiled again and went back to work. You figured maybe he wasn't thirsty, so you returned the cup to the patio table. Instead, you plucked a single strawberry from the plate and offered him that as well. He hesitated before taking it, but decided to accept it, removing his left glove so as not to dirty your hand. The way George’s fingertips brushed your palm when he reached for the berry made you shiver, but you tried not to show it. You think he still noticed.

He ate the small fruit in one bite, leaving only the piece with the leaves. Seeing that a few seeds were still left on the tip, he moved to the edge of the garden, scooped out a small patch of dirt, and placed the fruit inside, covering it up. You looked down, accepting the fact that you owned a strawberry bush now.

You turned to walk back to the patio again, but he motioned towards the large tree next to where he was working.

"You can stay." His voice was almost a whisper. "I don't mind."

You fetched your snack from the table and sat down against the tree without a second thought. You knew you were going to have dirt all over your mulberry colored dress when you stood up, but you didn't care. You would do anything to spend time with him.

You didn't talk, but just being there with George felt like heaven. You would occasionally glance over at him while he trimmed the thorns from the rose patch. Or the way he moved the marigolds next to the daisies to create a pastel gradient. He turned around just as you were staring at him and made eye contact with you. Feeling your cheeks blush, you offered him another strawberry to ease the tension. He showed you his gloved hands as if to say he couldn't, to which you held the berry up to his lips, requesting he take it from you directly.

George leaned forward, lacking hesitation, and took a bite. His plush lips, which were now stained with strawberry juice, kissed your fingers as you held the heart-shaped fruit, the red pigment dripping down your hand. He gazed at you so intensely you felt like you were shaking. You placed the stem back on the plate and set it on your lap.

Returning his piercing stare, you placed your fingers in your mouth, sucking them clean. Three weeks ago, you didn't even know his name, and now you were licking his strawberry flavored spit off your fingers. But you could tell this had an effect on him.

You took another sip of lemonade, and, noticing the rapidly emptying glass, offered him the final sip. He accepted, finishing the rest and placing the cup on the grass beside you. Once he was close enough, he tucked his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to place his lips against your own. He tasted like strawberry lemonade. When he pulled away, a thin string of saliva was bridged between your lips, the sunlight revealing the slightest tint of rose gold from the fruitful concoction. Your eyes widened when you looked back at him, perplexed by his actions despite you wanting this more than anything. You didn’t expect him to feel the same way.

Without saying another word, George removed the glove from his other hand, placing the now bare hand on the back of your head, his other hand resting on your shoulder. He gently guided you to lay back, his hand protecting your head as you made contact with the grass below. He briefly stroked your hair before removing his hands, instead placing them on both sides of your hips. He stared down at you, rubbing his hand over your stomach through the fabric of your dress.

“Do I have permission to touch you, my flower?”

You nearly moaned at his new name for you, although you were a bit confused as he was technically currently touching you. But still, you nodded, intrigued by what he would do next.

George trailed his fingers up your torso towards your shoulders. He stopped at your chest, eyeing it for a short while. Normally a position like this would’ve been quite compromising for you, but you were surprisingly comfortable. 

He hooked his fingers under the straps of your dress, dragging them down your shoulders, stopping right before they had completely fallen, preventing the fabric from leaving your chest entirely bare. He leaned forward to place small kisses across your chest, neck, and shoulders, occasionally biting softly. In one particular spot on the crease of your neck, he bit down a little too hard, but you didn’t even care. The gentle brushing from the coarse hairs of his beard provided a wonderful contrast between pain and pleasure. You threaded your hands through his hair, the loose waves beautifully framing his face. You felt his hands firmly massaging your hips with every breathy whimper that fell from your lips. 

Once George decided your upper body had been marked thoroughly, along with a few wine-colored shapes ever so slightly bubbling to the surface of your skin, he ended with one final kiss to your lips. Your hands moved from his hair to cradle his face, raking your fingers across his beard. He pulled back to look at you again, every monochromatic tone of his heavenly brown eyes twinkled in the evening sun. Even now, you were still utterly speechless.

Removing his hands from your hips, George began drawing small circles with his fingers on the exposed skin just below the hem of your dress. He looked back up at you, a small “May I?” leaving his lips, to which you nodded again. George shook his head.

“I need to hear you this time, flower.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. You were so overwhelmed by the current situation that even forming a phrase of one simple word felt like an arduous task.

“Yes.” You whispered. George nodded slowly, placing his hands flat against your thighs, sliding his fingers up underneath your dress until he reached your hips, rubbing his thumbs along the fabric of your underwear. Holding you by the hips over your dress was not enough. He wanted to feel the warm softness of your skin. He wanted to become one with you in any way that he could.

George laid on top of you, knees at your sides to support his weight as he resumed kissing you. But you wanted him closer. Lifting your legs, you locked them around his waist, pushing him flush against you, forcing his arms higher towards your chest. This caused the straps of your dress to fall completely down your arms and the hem to scrunch up past your hips, your entire dress rolled in the center of your body like a belt, rendering you almost fully nude while George was still fully clothed. But you didn’t care. Your actions could be so brave and bold, yet saying a single word to him felt far too intimate.

“So beautiful…” His words were lost in thought right along with him, his lustful stare raking over your neck and chest before moving back up to your face. While he may have had his full weight on you now, you tried your hardest to move your hips beneath him. Your body ached for the slightest of friction, wantonly arching up to grind against his clothed crotch. He looked down as you did this, the corners of his lips curling into a slight smirk, almost mocking your neediness. But as you moved, you could feel the outline of him, slowly nearing full hardness, straining against the confines of his jeans. He wasn’t fooling anyone. He wanted this just as much as you did.

You softly gripped him at the shoulders, massaging your hands up his neck and back into his hair as he laid atop you again, burying his face in your chest, adding more blushing roses to the already blooming garden just above your nipples. That was one place George would look, but never touch. He repeatedly got quite close with both his mouth and fingers, watching as your eyes pleaded for him to touch you everywhere, but decided to save that journey for another time. He opted for keeping his hands firmly at your hips, guiding you while you continued to grind against him, your eyes closed and your head tilted back, completely willing to lose yourself in the immense pleasure.

Just as you felt yourself beginning to falter in rhythm, nearing the edge, George pulled back and stared at the sky. Noticing the change in the amount of daylight, he sat up, much to your confusion.

“Unfortunately, it’s time for me to go.” He said matter-of-factly, pushing the straps back up to your shoulders before moving to pack up his tools.

“Already?” You whined. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“That wouldn’t be fair to my personal schedule, now would it?” He teased. You thought he was walking toward the gate but instead stopped at a small patch of red violets he was tending to earlier. He was there for a few seconds before returning to you, who was now standing up, dusting the dirt off of your dress. George reached for your hand, and you felt something touch your palm. He placed a small kiss on your lips before gazing into your eyes again with the same intense stare.

“We’ll make more time for each other next week, my flower.”

You opened your mouth as if to reply but was consistently halted by some invisible force. By the time you felt like you could respond, George was already closing the gate behind him. You peered down at what he had left in your hand: a single petal from one of your red violets. You looked back up to see George still standing at the gate, predicting your confusion. He met your puzzled expression with a punctuating wink before walking to his car. You twirled the plum-colored petal between your fingers as its inspiration caught your eye out of your peripheral. Your cheeks immediately blushed a light pink as you saw the same color in a series of small love bites that were currently forming across your chest.

==================================

I just got a new computer today, and I thought what better way to celebrate than to finish one of my fics! This was the one that got the most votes in my poll of which WIP y'all wanted first. And I know it's quite long overdue, but I hope you enjoy! 🥰

[leezlelatch]

Kiss Prompt - "I really, really want to kiss you right now" - Copia

Copia x GN!Reader - kiss prompt, insecurities, misunderstandings, Copia's surgery, smooching, worship of the white suit.

One and only prompt given to me and for my beloved @writingjourney.

“So we’re definitely keeping all the crotch shots, right?” You ask, flipping the photograph in your hand around so the antipope sitting across the room from you can see it. 

Copia cuts you a look before turning back to the document on his desk. You smirk to yourself, letting out a small huff of a laugh as you look back down to the stacks of photos on the small table you’re using as a workspace in his office. There are a lot of photographs that the immensely talented photographer for the Ghost Project takes for each Ritual, but they tend to…pile up. And you have been given the - frankly blessed - task of looking through photo after photo of Copia during the Prequelle era. From the Pale Tour Named Death to his ascendency as Papa Emeritus IV. 

Your primary task is to separate them into two organized piles. Ditch and keep. From the very vague instructions Sister Imperator gave you, it has something to do with the next tour and a mini museum. As tedious as your task is, you’ve really tried to separate each photo by suit. Black, red, and white, as well as two piles for the black and red cassock. It is so…fascinating to see Copia during a time when you didn’t know him. A time when becoming Papa was a dream he thought would never be realized. A time of facial hair and very attractive sideburns. 

“What happened to your suits, by the way?” You ask Copia, placing another picture in the keep pile which is significantly bigger than the ditch. Copia makes a small noise in the back of his throat, an indication that he’s thinking and that he needs to finish the paragraph he’s reading lest he lose his place. 

He places his finger down and looks in your direction, “In my closet. Toward the back. Getting acquainted with the dust bunnies.” 

“Even the white one?” You say, distraught as you bring your hands to your cheeks. 

Copia raises a brow at your theatrics, leaning forward on his elbow across the expanse of his desk as he regards you with an amused smile. “What has you so concerned, topolino?” His head tilts to the side in that natural curious way of his. 

“I just think that they…,” you pause as you choose your words carefully, eyes pointedly looking away from him. The blush painting your cheeks broadens his smile. “Have a little more wear to them.”

“Eh, well…they were good for, you know, my Cardinal days, but as Papa I have a much better wardrobe, don’t you think?” He pulls at his brocaded vest before adjusting the frilled sleeves at his wrists. 

“Oh, yeah! I’m just saying I really love the Prequelle era! You know it’s my favorite album, and your stage outfits were just so…I mean look at you…Copia?” You pause in your exuberance, one of the photographs in your hand, observing the frown crossing his lips that deepens with every word, made sharper by his face paint. 

His eyes fall to the picture in your hand, brow furrowing. His hand comes up to brush against his bare top lip, fingertips then finding the tip of his nose. His eyes seem to go hazy, pupils falling to pinpricks creating an expanse of green and white that looks through you and not quite at you. “Do you think I made a mistake?” He asks, his voice quiet, reaching you like a pot of scalding water against your skin. You place the photograph down on the desk, your own gaze wide as you look back at him. “Should I not have gotten this…,” he waves his hand around in front of his face. “Eh, facial?” 

“What?” You sound flabbergasted, confused. Concern etched across your features as you try and figure out what may have prompted him to ask such a question. 

“I can regrow the mustache! The sideburns may take a little work…,” Copia trails off as he touches his face again, deep in thought, his eyes dropping to the desktop. 

You close your eyes, cursing yourself for…you’re smarter than this. You know how Copia feels about the surgery. And here you are, gushing over Cardinal Copia when Papa Emeritus IV is in front of you, needing your support when he cannot get it elsewhere. He smiled, big and toothy, the day he returned from his ascension and you called him “Papa” for the first time. He looked grateful, however bruised and swollen, bandages across his nose when you expressed how glad you were that he wouldn’t have to suffer such severe nasal issues anymore. He once called you his strength. It wouldn’t do to fail him now.

“Copia. Just because you got a nose job and shaved doesn’t make you any less beautiful than you are in these photos. It’s still you. You still look like yourself. You’re still the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.” 

Your words seem to echo across his quiet office, and leave a silence in its wake. He’s looking at you again, lips parted, boring a hole into you with passionate and relieved eyes that make your cheeks flush. Copia stands from his desk and smooths his hands down his thighs, moving around the chair to carefully push it in before walking toward your small workspace. You stare up at him, unsure, and he flounders like a fish for a moment, mouth opening and closing.

“I really, really want to kiss you right now,” he finally says. 

You suck in a breath and look down, blinking before meeting his gaze once more. “Please.” 

Copia looks down at the little table piled with photos and promptly tips it over. The photographs go scattering, his former image fluttering to the floor like a cleansing rain, and then he’s on you. Pulling you up from the chair with steady, gloved hands, he draws you into his body, pressing flush against you as he claims your lips like he’s claiming a prize he has waited far too long for. Copia kisses you like a man who found an oasis in the desert, thoroughly licking into your mouth with abandon, capturing every noise you make with lips that nip and suck your bottom lip until it's swollen. He lets you take in a much needed breath only to continue across your jaw and down your neck, growling softly as he sucks a spot into your sensitive skin which he kitten licks before pulling away. 

You stare at each other, chests heaving. His paint is a mess, a slash of gray around his mouth, and you can only imagine what your mouth and neck looks like. Copia smiles, softly chuckling as his eyes rove over your kiss swollen lips. 

“Amore?” He questions softly, taking your hand in his. 

You smile. “I really, really want you to kiss me again.”

[eoieopda]

redamancy (knj)

redamancy (n): a love returned in full

Kim Namjoon wasn't known for making wise decisions. He acted first and, on rare occasions, he asked questions later. The path he'd taken so far was left broken behind him, but the light at the end of that tunnel sure looked a hell of a lot like you.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader Type: One-Shot - sequel to lacuna Word Count: 5.5K Content: Established relationship AU; fluff but some angsty bits, i guess?; pov switches; smut (18+ - MINORS DNI) p in v pentration, shower sex, unprotected sex, multiple callbacks to lacuna, and a gratuitous cameo. A/N: Please read "lacuna" before proceeding! This is a sequel/epilogue, so the context is important. No spoilers, so my actual note will be at the end :) Listen to the playlist here! Tagging: @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @yoongiphoria @bangtansmauyeondan @goddessjichu @ggukkiereads @dearly-somber @jihopesjoint @indgio @junsai-tree @persphonesorchid @mgthecat

Namjoon tucked his black marker into the pocket of his joggers with a sigh.

With the last box labeled, all he had to do was shove it in the corner with all his other possessions. In an instant, he could make it all the movers’ problem instead of his. He hesitated, though, and he didn’t know why.

That’s a lie, he thought, he absolutely knew why. It just felt so fucking childish to mourn a piece of real estate the way his heart seemed so inclined to. It was especially odd in his case because there were only fleeting moments where this artfully decorated apartment felt like a home; and not a museum he’d gotten locked in after failing to adhere to business hours.

There had been a lot of upheaval since he woke up in Yoongi’s guest bedroom with your bare body nestled against his. This was to be expected, after all. He’d blown up his life a year prior and just recklessly, maddeningly continued to set fire to the rubble. Now, he had to glue the pieces back together carefully.

What he broke could absolutely be rebuilt, but those cracks would still be visible, even once they were mended. The biggest of them — the nimbostratus cloud looming over that guest bedroom — was your impending flight back to Los Angeles, and the home you still had there.

Loving you was easy; it always had been. The logistics of loving you, however, had historically proven to be anything but.

Before you left, you said the pieces of your joint failures fell down like confetti. In reality, tying up all these loose ends felt more like cleaning up glitter. Reminders of his mistakes stuck everywhere. No matter how hard Namjoon swept, he always missed a spot. They stuck to him, catching the light.

This move was your clean slate.

If someone were to invade his brain now, they’d undoubtedly be alarmed by the tornado of nostalgia tearing ceaselessly through his thoughts. As it twisted, it uprooted everything and subsequently dumped it all in cardboard boxes. Namjoon was the spinning cow added for cinematic value, hanging on for dear life.

A hand clapped on his back, knocking him out of his thoughts and back into that empty bedroom.

“End of an era, eh?” Yoongi asked with his mouth still pressed to the lip of his coffee cup. He took another large gulp despite the scorching heat of its contents and he didn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” Namjoon conceded. It was a one-worded answer, but it spoke volumes. He didn’t need to look at Yoongi to see if he heard them all. The squeeze on Namjoon’s previously smacked shoulder indicated that he did.

This was where Namjoon decided that he loved you, not even four hours after meeting you. You looked at him then like no one ever had and he heard that cinematic record scratch. Then, the internal narration chimed in to give away the plot — that you were it for him.

Looking over the now-bare hardwood floor, his mind conjured you like a hologram: love-drunk in the corner, wearing his t-shirt and nothing else, serenading him with Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know?” and using an empty soju bottle as a makeshift microphone.

He could hear it now and it gave him the same feeling he had then, like he was on an upswing and he would never come back down. He could hear himself, too, blushing red in the present at his past admission.

“I think I love you,” he’d said it so fast because it already felt like a reflex. A knee-jerk reaction that he couldn’t stop, so bat-shit and embarrassing because he’d only met you a few hours earlier.

Presently, he pictured your coy smile in that moment — the first time you’d graced him with it — and remembering your response had him warm all over.

“How sure are you? Enough to wager on it?”

“At least seventy-nine percent sure,” he’d responded immediately, which would become a habit of his, and relished in the way your eyes twinkled. So, you loved it when he’d buy into a bit — noted. He’d continued, no longer shy, “And yes, I would. All in.”

He could nearly feel the way your touch sparked against his hand once you’d skipped back and crawled over the mattress to settle in front of him. He’d prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d do it again, and again, and again, running so eagerly into his arms.

“Then let’s make a deal, Joonie,” you’d smirked.

It was the first time anyone had called him that without being swiftly punched in the arm. It was the best that stupid nickname had ever sounded, coming out of your sweet mouth.

You’d tilted your head to the side and hummed with a thoughtful finger tapping at your chin, “Two years. If in two years’ time you realize that you were right — and you’re one-hundred percent sure — you’ll win a prize.”

He’d put his hand out to shake on it, but you’d swooped in with your fingers sliding through his hair. You’d kissed him instead and, against your soft lips, he’d mumbled, “Deal.”

Namjoon could’ve stood in that bedroom all day, watching the montage of you that somehow flickered against the bare white walls.

Yoongi seemed to sense this, though, and he intervened. After all, that’s precisely why Namjoon had brought him along: to keep him from getting lost on Memory Lane.

With a gentle pinch at Namjoon’s elbow, Yoongi nodded his head towards the doorway, “Movers will be here in ten. Anything left to pack?

Namjoon initially shook his head, but then he remembered. Fuck! Thank god — or whoever — for Yoongi, who stood there wide-eyed as Namjoon jerked forward and flew out the door.

He dashed to the kitchen and grabbed the only thing still there: his grandmother’s tea pot, bearing intricately painted cherry blossoms. He cradled it in his arms like a child on his way back to Yoongi, who was still standing where he was left. Still wide-eyed, too, like not enough time had passed for him to blink.

“I need you to keep track of this,” Namjoon confessed as he held out the teapot, “I know me and I know that I’ll break this if I’m the one responsible for it. Just — just don’t open it, okay?”

Without batting an eye — or heeding Namjoon’s words in any way whatsoever — Yoongi pulled off the lid and glanced inside. There was no change in his blank face, merely a tiny flex of his eyebrow that Namjoon just barely caught.

True to form, Yoongi asked no questions. His only response was, “You’re right. You would absolutely break this.”

Namjoon would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so distracted by his own pulse hammering away in his ears. “Right,” he muttered weakly.

“Ready to kiss this place goodbye?” Yoongi changed the subject after noticing how flustered Namjoon had become. He was alarmingly perceptive even when he wasn’t actively working to uncover Namjoon’s secrets.

Namjoon was — and wasn’t. He didn’t know how the fuck to feel, finishing a chapter so conclusively. In the past, all his endings had been ambiguous. They faded out, for the most part, so subtly that he didn’t notice right away.

All but one, that is.

Yoongi studied Namjoon’s face for one silent moment before landing a weightless punch on his bicep. His knuckles barely brushed him, but Namjoon felt it through his shirt, through his muscle, down to his bones. Then, without any response from Namjoon, Yoongi offered him a moment alone.

The apartment door clicked shut behind him. Though inherently quiet, it echoed loudly through the hallway and reverberated through every naked room on its way to Namjoon. As he stood there, silent and solitary, he realized how much he truly hated that sound. What it represented.

“So, is this it, then?” Your face told him that you knew the answer before you asked; but that you simply didn’t want to accept it.

He’d never seen you cry, save for the moments you laughed so hard that your eyes couldn’t contain your mirth. During sappy movies, maybe, but never because of sadness. Never because of him.

Namjoon had to stuff his hands in his pockets to keep them from reaching out to you.

He looked down at his shoes, nudged the rubber toe of one into the rug, then glanced back up at you. It was becoming increasingly impossible to look at you, but it felt so foreign not to.

He’d seen true sadness before — not from you, not until now — but your expression communicated something even deeper than that. Devastation, maybe? Whatever it was, it mingled with your mascara and spilled over your cheeks.

“I think it has to be,” his voice was thick when he replied, and it was a miracle he’d gotten the words out at all, “If you’re going to get everything you deserve in this life — everything you’ve worked so fucking hard for — I can’t be the thing that stands in your way.”

You were crying so hard that your sobs made his chest ache.

“I wanted all of it with you, Joonie, so badly,” You whimpered, then you wiped your leaking eyes on the excess sleeve clutched tight in your fingers, “I need you to know that. If we could’ve found a single way to make this work, I —“

When your voice gave up, his took over. “I know, baby,” and fuck, now he was crying too, “I would’ve lassoed the fucking moon for you if it could’ve made a difference.”

It hit him like a bullet train when you said it. As if you’d ever needed to ask.

“Can you kiss me one last time before I go?”

So, he did. Hard. And then, when you walked away, he let you.

Click.

Namjoon stayed frozen, staring into space, until he heard the movers clambering over the threshold.

You’d never seen more paperwork in your life.

Flipping through the binder, you were even more likely to stroke out than you were to get a paper cut. The sheer number of words made you dizzy; an insurmountable mountain of hangul. An avalanche, ready to overtake you.

After reading and signing for what felt like forty years, complaining all the while, you began to wonder: At what point would your brain simply give up and forget how to read as a form of protest? The thought was tempting — forgoing literacy entirely just to avoid this drawn-out task.

“I don’t understand,” you muttered, turning yet another page. You’d written your initials so many times that they stopped looking like real letters.

Maybe your brain was losing its capacity for language.

Jinseo furrowed her brows with such conviction, you could see them knit together in your peripheral vision, “I don’t know how much clearer I can make it. I’ve explained the terms to you no less than five-hundred times.”

You set down your pen and sat up to meet her exasperated eyes with a smirk, “No, not that. Your unsolicited lecture on contract law has me bar-exam ready.”

Jinseo’s mouth dropped open, always dramatic but never truly offended. You clarified, “I don’t understand why I can’t simply write smell you later on a post-it note, sign that, and be done with it.”

“Oh, I don’t mind all the time this is taking you,” Jinseo swapped out her shock for a wolfish grin, “It’s all billable, baby.”

At this, you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t contain your laughter, “Unnie, don’t I get the friends-and-family rate?”

“Friends and family don’t forget the guacamole, sweet bean,” she chided you with her fork pointed teasingly at you.

With your attention finally secured, the fork directed your eyes down to the admittedly lackluster burrito bowl you’d traded for legal advice. Oops.

“You get what acquaintances and hot, divorce-seeking strangers get.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Me another margarita,” she purred. With a wink, she lifted her not-yet-empty glass from the table. “And when you’re done breaking up with Big Hit, you can talk me up to the owner of your new label.”

You slumped back in your seat while feigning hesitation. Sucking a breath in through your teeth, you sighed, “Yoongi? Well, I don’t know… He’s married to his work.”

At this, Jinseo quirked an eyebrow. “Did you not hear me about the whole hot, divorce-seeking strangers thing?”

“Menace,” you giggled.

Your laughter petered out too soon and an unexpectedly heavy silence settled between you and the only friend you’d successfully kept in the whole of California. In all of the United States, really.

You didn’t want to say it, but you couldn’t keep it in, either: “I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Jinseo, dropping her chin to rest on the heel of her hand, smiled with only half her mouth. She paused before admitting, “I don’t know what you’d do without me, either.”

Your instinct was to cry, but you’d never hear the end of it if you did. Jinseo, like you, seemed to develop contact dermatitis when confronted with vulnerability and affection. Instead, your friendship was grounded in playful smacks to the arm and glances nobody but the two of you could decipher.

For this reason, you picked your pen up off the table and gestured to the page before you. “You’re sure that catch you on the flip-side, nerds, won’t hold up in court?”

“If you really want to fuck around with Bang PD, I suppose you’ll find out.” She shrugged, then she winked again.

You didn’t, for more reasons than one. The most recent of those was the grace and understanding Bang Si-Hyuk had shown you when you raised the idea of leaving his label. The heaviest of them was the simple fact that you owed him everything — your career, your success, and most of all, the family you’d found through him.

In your best friend, who you’d never have met without Si-Hyuk's help in breaking through the American market. She was your lifeboat in a lonely, intimidating sea of unfamiliar people, customs, language, and food.

In Yoongi, the illustrious Big Hit producer who collaborated with you during the wild hours you kept, no matter what time it was on his end. He was your parachute, saving you quietly and without fail, through every leap of faith. He kept you company when you left Korea — then he started a company to bring you back.

In Namjoon, whose release party changed the trajectory of your entire life. His role could never be adequately described in any words — in any language.

A lighthouse, maybe, guiding you through jagged rocks to shore.

Or a cabin in the woods that you never expected to find, but that held you warmly when the trail ahead couldn’t be found in the dark.

More simply: he was everything.

“Where’d you go just now?” Jinseo’s sudden statement made you jump. There was a muffled knock when your kneecap collided with the underside of the table.

You blinked over at her and watched as her pursed lips curved into a smile. Your instinct was to keep your sentimental nonsense to yourself — after all, this wasn’t goodbye in any way that mattered. The two of you would stay in constant contact, visiting one another at any and every possible opportunity.

Why did you always try to eulogize what wasn’t dead yet?

Again, Jinseo surprised you. “You do know how proud I am of you, right?”

She snorted at your bemused expression: wide, watery eyes sitting between raised eyebrows and a mouth that was neither closed nor fully open.

Just as quickly, she course-corrected, resuming her abnormally solemn tone. “You do hard things every damn day and you always get out of bed the next,” Jinseo continued.

Apparently, her margarita’s rim demanded more than table salt; it wanted tears, too.

“You’re brave as hell — braver than me, that’s for sure. You jump because you know you need to; and I sit on the ground because I’m too afraid of heights.” She reached across the table and gave your hand a squeeze, “And your survival rate, despite it all, is one-hundred percent.”

You wiped furiously at the tears streaking through your foundation. Everything you needed to say to her was communicated with a shared glance, like always. Your friendship was telepathic; it would endure regardless of distance.

What you said out loud earned you the belly laugh you loved so much:

“Imagine what you would’ve said if I remembered your guacamole.”

Namjoon wouldn’t normally use the word giddy to describe himself. Even at his most excited, he was able to maintain some ounce of chill — the tiniest fraction of composure, whether he truly felt composed or not.

Then again, he’d never experienced this level of exhilaration before. Not when he was signed, not when he released his first track, not even when he was nominated for a Grammy.

In a matter of minutes, your plane would land at Incheon and his whole damn world would resume its intended orbit. The tectonic plates would shift back where they belonged; and every natural disaster he’d set loose inside himself would finally — after all this time — subside.

Though he wasn’t the one who left, it felt like his homecoming, too. Even in Korea, surrounded by everyone and everything he’d always known, Namjoon’s recent existence was nomadic. He bounced between surface-level relationships and sleepwalked through events that should’ve mattered; never allowing himself to feel connected to any of it.

Namjoon was a comet — arriving quickly and on fire, then disappearing just as fast. He was ready to stop being temporary, so long as you became permanent, too.

It was that dream of roots that had Namjoon refreshing the flight-tracker once an hour for the thirteen you’d spent in the air. He watched that tiny, animated plane inch closer while your estimated time of arrival began to look more and more like the one on his watch.

When they finally matched, Namjoon slammed his hand down on the steering wheel of his parked car and shouted to no one but himself, “Yes!”

There was an old woman — why did she look so familiar? — glaring at him through his passenger window. He might’ve scared her with his sudden display, but Namjoon couldn’t find a fuck to give. He was too busy grabbing the carefully curated bouquet off the seat to his right, then clambering out of his own.

It was a confusing assortment, and not necessarily a beautiful one. Instead of a single phrase, Namjoon’s choices communicated paragraphs; combining every type of flower he’d ever given you on this very same sidewalk. If you were anyone else, you might take this eyesore and dump it immediately in the nearby trashcan — but you weren't anyone else.

The first addition was white camellias, matching the ones you received after your first flight home. Like they did back then, they confessed how much he adored you from the start. Then came pink roses because he loved you happily, softly, despite the distance.

On your third arrival home, he gave you baby’s breath. Those delicate petals commemorated the pieces of himself that went missing when you went away; all falling back into place the second he saw you again. White tulips followed, begging forgiveness for the increasing time you spent apart and how little you’d get to spend together on that fourth trip.

For this trip, the last you’d ever make alone, he added bridal wreath.

Namjoon read it somewhere recently that this plant was virtually impossible to kill once it was established. It could survive just about anything and remain beautiful despite its hardships. Like the shrub he’d clipped it from, he’d withstand everything with you.

The fondness he radiated must have summoned you because, after ten minutes of scanning the out-coming crowd, he finally saw you. There you were, shuffling on travel-weary legs, with your signature, mint-colored headphones; and your self-congratulatory boba.

Unfortunately, you didn’t see him — miraculous, given the way he was waving his arms like a fool and shouting through cupped hands to get your attention. Instead, your sleepy gaze fixated squarely on your phone.

You must’ve assumed that this arrival would be like the last one.

Before you could summon an Uber – definitely not another taxi – Namjoon dug his own phone out of his jacket pocket. He struggled to text with one hand occupied by his bouquet, so he took the easy way out.

[To: Jagi 🤫] 👋🏻

Your gasp came before he could look back up at you, but he heard it loud and clear. When his eyes found you again, he watched in slow motion as your beloved boba fell out of your hand and clattered against the sidewalk.

The sound of plastic hitting pavement was the starting whistle. Now, you were off to the races.

With shocking speed, you leapt over the spilled tea and flew towards him like your Prada backpack came equipped with rocket boosters. At that cost, anything was possible. He managed to catch you in his arms without losing a single petal.

Once he had you, he kissed you like it was the first time: shy to start, growing increasingly desperate with every passing second. With your arms linked in their rightful place around his neck and your lips so warm against his, he wondered how many times he could shout I love you without saying a word.

Panting, you eventually pulled back with lips pink and semi-swollen from the urgency of it all. You sighed if you weren’t the breath of fresh air, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Namjoon repeated with a chuckle, grinning like a fool.

Though he didn’t want to, he let you slip out of his arms to your feet. After all, he couldn’t complete your airport ritual unless your hands were free. He swallowed hard and tried his best not to blush when he held out the bouquet.

It felt like he was gifting you his whole, beating heart instead.

You froze once the flowers transferred from his hand to yours.

Immediately, his pulse began to race. If he was still holding that massive bouquet, he would’ve beat himself over the head with it. Once again, Namjoon had overthought everything and analyzed a simple task to death.

But your pupils dilated ever-so-slightly when you looked back up at him with swimming eyes. He should’ve known you’d remember. Given you long-due credit for the way you always made him feel seen.

You reached up and did what you’d only done once before — in a dark hallway, five months earlier. Your gaze followed the tip of your thumb as it swiped gently over his bottom lip, and you smiled.

“Say less, Joonie."

After picking you up from the airport, Namjoon promptly whisked you away to the apartment you’d both recently closed on. As a life-long renter, leaving town more often than staying, it was your first major purchase. It was also your first joint purchase.

The old you would’ve been terrified of killing these two, deeply committal birds with one stone; but the person you were now didn’t bat an eye. 

What was there to panic over, anyway? It felt right because it was. 

Given your exhausted state, the tour was brief. You spent it all clinging to Namjoon’s back like a jetlagged sloth in a tree, but your excitement was evident despite the mumbled voice that expressed it.

If there was any moisture left in your worn-out body, it would’ve left you in tears when you saw the combination of your respective design styles incorporated so perfectly throughout the space.

The items you’d shipped internationally arrived before you did. Namjoon seemed to know without asking exactly where you’d choose to put them. Your kitschy trinkets didn’t look stupid next to his art collection in the way you thought they would. Even more shocking was the way your eccentric, eclectic taste meshed seamlessly with his modern neutrals.  

Your home with him was a mirror, reflecting the very specific way you each provided what the other lacked. 

And he’d handled it all himself, taking the daunting task of unpacking off your plate so you could finish your chapter in Los Angeles.

Though he wasn’t physically present for the hours you spent making plans with Yoongi — or the hours you spent explaining those same plans to Bang Si-Hyuk — you felt him. He listened to every complaint and over-caffeinated rant. He gave you patience, reassurance, and equal enthusiasm in return. 

Because you loved him, you could do hard things.

You could navigate the nightmare realm that was moving internationally. You could join your friend in doing what neither of you had ever done before — creating your own label, then your own studio — while you were still stuck on the other side of an ocean. You could move back home without your tail between your legs, feeling like you’d failed to hack it alone. 

You didn’t fail. You simply realized – much later than you should have — that any path worth taking was one you walked with Namjoon. 

When the tour concluded, you fell asleep — at three o’clock in the afternoon — in his arms. When you woke up six hours later, he was still holding you. That is, until you lurched forward and spun around in a frenzy. 

“Joon!” Your exclamation was interrupted by a yawn, but that didn’t undermine the urgency. “Were you trapped under me this whole time? Oh my god, you missed dinner. Aren’t you thirsty? I’m a monster —” 

Namjoon’s entire face crinkled up under the force of his smile. His laughter twinkled in his eyes, too, and threatened to spill out. You stopped rambling mid-sentence and released your death grip on his hand so he could wipe the mirth from his cheekbone.

He was still chuckling despite the horror on your face. 

“What?” You asked incredulously, though you were starting to giggle, too. “What’s so funny?” 

The more he laughed, the more you did. It was a cycle, certainly, but far from vicious. Was this the kind of life you got to live now? One so perfect that endless laughter — caused by nothing in particular — echoed through every room? 

His hands cupped the sides of your face and guided you towards him. Still smiling, you were both catching your breath when his forehead came to rest against yours. Nose tips bumping into one another, he hummed contentedly, “You just sat alone on an airplane for thirteen hours, jagi. If I get to be your pillow for even half as long, you won’t catch me complaining.” 

You kissed him automatically; a reflex your body had acclimated to without requiring your brain to prompt it. It was brief, but you had all the time in the world to kiss him again. For now, you wanted to stare at him for as long as it took to prove to yourself that you weren’t simply dreaming. 

“Hang on,” Namjoon said suddenly. He kissed you before you could pout and then he rolled off the side of the bed. He held one finger up as he stared intently back at you, “Don’t move, okay?” 

After all that time sitting still with your body pushing against his bladder, you assumed he was headed for the adjoining bathroom. He wasn’t; he rushed right past it and disappeared out your bedroom door. You listened to his footfalls against the hallway floor until he was too far away to track.  

What on Earth was he doing? 

You sat there cross-legged in a pool of sheets for several minutes. One eyebrow raised in confusion while your gaze stayed locked on the doorway. It still managed to surprise you when he reappeared — not just because his arrival was sudden, but because he was holding his grandmother’s tea pot in his hands. 

Is that why you didn’t hear him jogging back? Because he was moving at a snail’s pace, protecting that floral-printed ceramic like his life depended on it? 

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off with the same finger he’d pointed at you earlier. Namjoon ignored your furrowed eyebrows, crossed back to his side of the bed, and crawled back into the space he’d left behind. While your eyes darted between him and his tea pot, his never left your face. Uncharacteristically quiet, taking deep, measured breaths. 

No, really — what on Earth was he doing? 

“I can tell by that look on your face that you have no idea what the hell is happening, but hear me out, okay?”

He waited for you to nod before continuing slowly, “I overthink things. Sometimes, it ends up fine, but it usually doesn’t. I try to think before I act, then I think instead of acting — I don’t want to do that now.” 

Namjoon paused for a moment, finally glancing down at the tea pot cradled in his hands. “I asked Yoongi to hang on to this during the move because I break things. I never mean to, but for some unknown reason, all that over-thinking doesn’t make me careful. I ruin things far too easily and I hate that about myself —” 

“Joon,” you frowned. Placing a hand on his bouncing knee, you begged him to look up at you. “You don’t ruin things —”

He shook his head, stopping you from continuing. You’d never seen him look so determined. “I do, but that’s not the point I’m getting at.”

He shot you a tiny smile as if you were the one deserving reassurance. “I let you go when I didn’t want to, let this thing we built fall to pieces. The timing couldn’t have been worse, either — now I’m late cashing in.” 

“Cashing in?” Clearly, you'd lost the plot.

Namjoon laughed, “Two years. You said to give it two years and if it turned out that I was right, I’d win a prize. It’s been a little bit longer than that, but I'm one-hundred-percent sure.” 

Oh.  

You'd replayed that night over and over in your head since it happened. Really, you should’ve caught on immediately; but you thought you were the only one carrying that memory around like a torch. 

Did he really remember that conversation after all this time? Some silly, inside joke that you made after only knowing him for a few hours?

Namjoon took the lid off the teapot and set it down softly on the nightstand behind him.

“It took me too long to realize it, but it’s you — you're the prize. I don’t want to orchestrate some ridiculous, dramatic gesture because this is us. It feels exactly like it did that first night, when I took this bet in the first place.” 

His hand dipped down into the tea pot. When it re-emerged, he was holding a small box made of exquisite black leather. You started crying in the split second it took him to open it. He was blinking back tears of his own when he flipped it around to show you its contents.  

“I’m all in if you are.”

Namjoon was a lot of things, but he wasn't a quitter.

After he slid that ring on your finger, neither of you could keep your hands to yourself. Like history repeating itself, he loved every inch of you on every goddamn surface in that apartment.

In the bed he'd wake up in, next to you, for the rest of his life. On that bright yellow couch you loved so much; the kitchen counter he'd have to clean before making too big of a breakfast for you in the morning. When you christened every other room, the pair of you retired to the bathroom.

Initially, your goal upon entering the shower wasn't sex. In fact, it was to soothe your exhausted, sweat-slicked bodies before collapsing onto fresh sheets and a re-made bed. If you thought you were tired before, you'd sleep for a week now. Every part of him ached in the best way, so he'd welcome the opportunity to rest for several days at your side.

But then he smelled your shampoo — vanilla and honey — and it flipped a switch in his fucked-out brain. The warm water spilling in rivulets over your soft skin pressed the issue; and so did that diamond sparkling up at him through the steam.

He didn't follow you in here to fuck you, but he'd be remiss if he let the moment slip down the drain with the suds.

Experimentally, he pushed your hair away from the back of your neck and brought his lips to the space he'd cleared. Watching your slow inhale, he lingered there for a moment to gauge your reaction. Your head tilted slightly to the side; he considered it an invitation. In lieu of an RSVP, he sent his tongue in a short, languid line.

The moan he coaxed out of you was quiet, but despite the falling water, it reverberated across the glass walls and tile. You followed up with a sigh, leaning your head back against his chest as his mouth moved to claim the side of your neck.

"Shit," you keened with your eyes closed, "We're never leaving the house again, are we?"

Namjoon hummed as he flicked his tongue over your earlobe, "Outlook not so good."

As expected, you caught his reference immediately. You wobbled as you laughed; his arms snaked around the curves of your waist to satiate his need for closeness and his desire to keep you upright. "Mr. Kim, certified genius, is now citing the Magic 8 ball?"

"It's the poet laureate of our generation, Mrs. Kim."

Even if you didn't whimper at the utterance of your future name, Namjoon still would've repeated it over and over again. A mantra, an invocation manifesting a long life in which you matched. So, he did say it again, whispering it into your flesh as his hands slid up your torso.

Mrs. Kim, Mrs. Kim, Mrs. Kim.

Given what they'd been through over the past several hours, he treated your nipples with the utmost care and reverence. Sensitive thing that you were, even his feather-light touch had you mewling. Fuck, he loved that sound.

"Baby?" Your voice was barely distinguishable from an exhale, but that perfect softness hit him hard, "Please."

Your wish was, is, and always would be his command.

Namjoon worried about your trembling legs, so he chose the first solution that came to mind: he turned you gently around, kissed you deep, and lifted you off your feet. As always, you molded so easily against his body. You legs wrapped around him in tandem with your arms.

Carefully, he rested your back against the stone wall and adjusted his grip so that his arms slotted under your thighs. “This okay, Mrs. Kim?" He asked.

Your answer came in the form of your hand dipping down and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. He followed your lead, leaving both of you to moan when he entered you.

Like a glove, you enveloped him completely. He'd never believe that you weren't destined to fit together like this. Out of every person, in every timeline, he was the lucky bastard meant for you.

Unlike the previous rounds, this was slow. Deliberate, not underscored by some carnal desire or desperate need to reclaim lost moments. He took his time grinding himself into your unimaginable warmth because he now had it in spades. Namjoon refused to let a second pass without cherishing it fully first.

Your head dipped back against the cool stone, allowing you to tilt your jaw upward. Placing a kiss at the column of your throat, he pushed himself deeper into you.

Breathy moans thanked him wordlessly for his fluency in your body's language. Namjoon had studied religiously to learn your unspoken cues, so your raised eyebrows and closed lids foretold your orgasm before your velvet walls clenched around him.

"Fuck, Joon," you cried out as you shook in his arms.

Your little whimpers lured him to the edge; your tightened grip on his shoulder pulled him off behind you. As he spilled himself inside of you, he screwed his eyes shut and nestled his face into the crook of your neck to muffle his chest-deep groan.

After several moments of silence, you shifted. He rolled his neck to move his head further down your shoulder. From this vantage point, he gazed up at you — the only thing worth looking at, all he ever wanted, the one he got to keep for good.

With a kiss left at his temple, you murmured, "I'm glad you took it back."

"What?" He asked quietly, searching your flushed, smiling face for answers.

"All the love I have for you. I know where to put it now."

A/N: aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH IT'S FINALLY HERE! i cried like a bitch baby when i was writing this - even more so when i finished writing this (aka now) - because this lil series takes up my whole heart. i buried so much of myself in lacuna, so this was my attempt to plant flowers in the achy bits, lol. i left lots of easter eggs, so i'd love to know what you find! also, yes, i did write my damn self into this one. hahahah. lacuna was largely autobiographical (except the namjoon part, obvi) so it felt right to fictionalize myself as the person saying what i would've wanted to hear back then.

i'd love to know your thoughts, so please please please let me know either by replying, reblogging, PMing me, or dropping a line in the ask box.

[vidavalor]

I absolutely love your take on things, so here goes: I believe that in 2.06 (at 18:07 mins to be exact), when Crowley comes back from heaven with the other angels and enters the shop, I hear a miracle sound being made when Aziraphale pops out from behind the shelf and says ‘You came back!’ Any idea what that could be about?

I also had another question but forgot. Will ask when I remember.

Hi! Thank you. :) Hope you're having a good week so far! I also saw your other ask-- am writing up something for it.

I think it is Saraqael miracling up a ramp. There's also a little concrete grinding sound that goes along with it that sounds like the ramp extending from when the angels arrived a few episodes earlier to investigate the Gabriel miracle. Saraqael doesn't make as large a ramp this time but it's visible behind Crowley as the angels come in. There are some weird things about whatever happened during the night of the ball but I think this bit in particular is just Saraqael wheeling themselves into the bookshop.

One miracle/supernatural sound on the show that I do think is very important is the sound of Gabriel arriving in the sushi restaurant in the first episode and Aziraphale's reaction to it and what those things together say about angels and demons. I'm sure this has come up before. I think it's interesting to think about ahead of S3 though so I'll bring it up again.

We hadn't seen Crowley & Aziraphale together in the modern era by that scene in the series-- just on the wall at Eden, in what appeared at the time to be their first meeting-- so we didn't know yet that Crowley always comes up on Aziraphale's left. So when the sound of an arrival happens, Aziraphale looks to his left, expecting Crowley, with whom the scene implies he was supposed to have dinner and who he knew was running late after a spot of Hell business. When Aziraphale doesn't see Crowley, Gabriel is then there on his right.

So, The Supreme Archangel of Heaven and a demon of Hell make the same sound upon arrival, eh? :)

Also probably worth mentioning that when Aziraphale looks to his left, there's a mirror on the wall, so he winds up seeing Gabriel in the mirror before then turning to look his right to look at him directly. This is great visual storytelling because the mirror then allows Gabriel to be foreshadowed as a mirror of *both* Aziraphale and Crowley, which is something that does happen in S2. The lack of Crowley here is a bit eerie, actually, especially because Aziraphale looking in one direction to where Crowley should be and then looking back at the Supreme Archangel of Heaven is, well... it is now a parallel shot to the last time he and Crowley look at each other in 2.06. This scene now parallels the looking at each other across the street bit as Aziraphale goes into the elevator. Only Crowley is so very present in that scene and Gabriel is the one who is gone, if his position still remaining and represented by the elevator/The Metatron.

Also the pink/red and the black and it's a Japanese restaurant (evocative of Buddhism more than Christianity)-- Aziraphale might as well be eating in Hell by Heaven's measures here lol. Gorgeous color composition in this scene and the way its shot-- so that the brighter color actually causes Gabriel, in grey, to stand out more-- is the stuff film nerds like me swoon over. It's such a good shot that "oh, hey, it's Jon Hamm and oh, he's lookin' extra fine" somehow manages to be your second thought lol.

Anyway, the same chime sound of arrival existing for both Gabriel and Crowley... it's almost as if they're the same type of being, yeah? Almost like, other than the holy water/hellfire thing or the color of feathers, there actually aren't really any major physiological differences between an angel and a demon...

...so, almost like there's no such thing as a "demonic miracle." It's all the same powers. It matters from where you pull power, not what miracles you're doing. It's how Crowley & Aziraphale get away with doing miracles "their kind" is not supposed to do. So long as Crowley pulls power from Hell and Aziraphale pulls power from Heaven, it doesn't matter what miracle they are performing and no one can tell in their head offices. They only notice the drain of power.

This line is actually tongue-in-cheek because they both have known for ages by 1941 that there's no such thing:

After Heaven began to send angels to Hell as demons, they deemed certain types of miracles as evil/demonic and forbade angels from performing them. It's social control more than it is a difference in ability or biology. Think of what's-his-name in Heaven (military character in S1, played by the same guy as Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets whose character name is escaping me and I can't find atm) when Aziraphale gets discorporated up there in S1 who says that Aziraphale can't get back to Earth without a body and Aziraphale proposes possessing someone, which the guy says that angels can't do. "But demons can," says Aziraphale and later proves he can do what demons do by possessing Madame Tracy. He and Crowley and their The Arrangement, which had Aziraphale doing temptations and Crowley doing blessings. Crowley & Aziraphale know that the Heavenly rhetoric is bullshit but it's unclear who else, if anybody, knows.* (Aside from The Metatron & God, whose narration is full of cheeky reference to this idea and to the idea that the angels and demons are not superior to humans.) It's so far been a subtle thing but I'd kind of like it to factor into how things change in the Heaven/Hell system, however that happens.

*Crowley putting his engineer cap on, experimenting around with his ability to do miracles... that demon doing some dedicated science to figure out whether or not he and Aziraphale would kill each other if they had sex is God's favorite chapter in her 6,000,000,000,000 word, never-really-enemies-to-lovers-to-whatever-they're-calling-it, slowest-of-all-possible-burns fic.

[thatonecrookedsmile]

I would say that, considering his history, he's not that wrong, but even I have doubts as to whether that would be right. But at the end of the day, this is just a joke that's been in my head for a while, sooooo…eh.

Oh hey, an attempt at a comic? Made by me? That I didn't give up during the process or lost all motivation? What was my only attempt at this, 2019? Damn, it's been a long time.

I thought about leaving this here without editing or any colors, just the natural ones from the paper and pencil. But something in my head said "HAHAHA, no" so I went back to work. I had to put this idea down on paper this time (literally). If another year passes without me being able to execute this idea, I would lose my mind.

This scenario was inspired by this video by Jehtt, inspired by the original meme by Windii. Credits to both of them.

For a long time I wanted to joke - especially on the anniversary - that I wanted Sammy to only have less than 5 seconds in the next game (or in other words, take his screen time in DR, and shorten it even more). You know, just for the funnies (unless..?) But,thanks to the news released at the beginning of January this year about The Cage, I legally can't do this joke anymore…this year. Don't worry, after that comes out (and finally gives Sam the screen time he wants,hopefully) and we start to crawl into the Bendy 3 production era, I'll make this joke when I can.

Anyway, happy birthday Sammy Lawrence. You may not be my favorite character in this franchise, but there are some things I can actually appreciate about you. Plus, you made me laugh a few moments before (you know what I'm talking about) so there's that.

And happy 7 years to Chapter 2, and by extension, Susie, Norman, Alice, the Searchers, (Johnny????), and Beta Ink Bendy. (I would mention Jack too, but he was only introduced with the release of CH4, so technically it's not his birthday yet, but I'll consider him here).

And now? May I be able to do something for CH4's anniversary. Wish me luck,cus I'll need it.

(it might be really late now, but it's still the 18th where I live, so it's still his birthday, so I still won)

[xoxoch3rry]

It's Gonna Be Okay || C.G.

(NOT MY GIF)

Carl Grimes x Reader (season 4)

Request: Could you write a Carl grimes x fem!reader where it’s like season 4 era when he’s patrolling around for his dad during the sickness and reader is following around keeping him company, and he like comforts her about not getting sick because she’s like super worried about it? I’m sorry if this is a little confusing 🤕🤕🤕

a/n: I hope you like it! I tried my best!!

Warnings: None. Maybe mentions of sickness?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

I awoke to the sounds of people coughing. I sat up and slugged my legs over the side of my bed, my feet hitting the cold concrete floors. I stood up, grabbing onto the wall to not fall over from standing up too fast. After regaining my vision, I walked over to my pile of clothes that sat on the floor. I picked up a pair of jeans that I’ve worn for about a week now. I grabbed a black tank top from the pile as well, throwing it on. I walked over to the mirror that sat on top of a crate and examined myself.

“I look decent enough,” I huffed, grabbing my brush and brushing my hair out of my face. I sat back down on my bunk and laced up my shoes. I stood up and walked out of my cell, pushing my makeshift curtain out of the way. I strolled over to Carol, seeing what she had made for breakfast. “Good morning, Y/N, how’d you sleep?” Carol asked, handing me a plate filled with eggs and a granola bar. “Morning,” I said grabbing the plate, “I slept fine till somebody started coughing” I looked down at the floor walking over to a table where Beth sat with Judith in her arms. “Morning” Beth greeted me as I sat down. I just smiled at her and looked down at my food.

I picked up my fork and pushed my eggs around on my plate. “Are you okay?” Beth asked making me look up at her “Yeah I’m fine, just a little worried that’s it,” I smiled at her. “What are you worried about?” she questioned me. “I just don’t want to get sick” I picked up my granola bar and opened the wrapper. “You won’t because you’re strong” Beth grinned at me “Thanks Beth,” I said, taking a bite out of my granola bar.

Rick wandered over to Beth, taking Judith from her. “Good morning Rick, um, where is Carl?” I questioned the man. I haven’t seen Carl yet today, which I usually do since he’s my one and only best friend. “He’s outside on patrol,” Rick said, handing the baby back to Beth. “Oh, ok,” I said, wrapping the half of my granola bar up in its wrapper and shoving it in my pocket. I waved at Beth and stood up to walk away.

I walked outside, squinting my eyes at the bright sun that shined down on my skin. I glimpsed over the field till I spotted a brown cowboy hat. I smiled and made my way over to the boy. “Hey” I called out making Carl turn to look at me “Hey” he answered back. “So, how’s patrol going?” I asked, waiting for him to answer. “It’s alright I guess, it’s a little boring,” Carl spoke, throwing a rock that was in his hand across the yard. “Can I join you?” I questioned.

“If you want” He looked over at me as I beamed at him and pursued after him. “How did you sleep last night?” He asked, making me look down at my shoes, “eh” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Why just, eh,” he asked, imitating my shoulder shrug. “I'm was just worried,” I said, pulling out the half-granola bar and unwrapping it. “About what?” Carl asked, making me look at him, “I just don’t want to get sick” I said, taking a bite of the bar and chewing it. “You’re not gonna get sick, we got rid of everything that was contaminated,” He said, watching me take another bite of my granola bar. “I know but still I’m just- I’m just scared” I looked over at him.

“Y/N look… I know you’re worried, but you’re gonna be fine, you’re the strongest, bravest person I know” Carl grinned at me. I wrapped my arms around him, embracing him in a hug, “Thank you, Carl”. He embraced me back in the hug. “I was just speaking the truth,” he said, pulling back from the hug. I laughed a little, “You want the last bite” I said, referring to the last bit of my granola bar. “Sure” He smiled at me.

[throwingmetothelions]

NSFW Alphabet: Jolly

EVERYTHING YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS A HEADCANON MEANING I CAME UP WITH IT IN MY OWN MIND EVEN IF I STATED THE EXACT INSPIRATION THAT LEAD ME TO THE THOUGHT.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jolly is a funny one. Me thinks this goes one of two ways. He’s either the one that doesn’t mind snuggling all sweaty and out of breath, or he’s the one who’s like “eh he … let’s uhhh. We need to go take a shower hun. Like right now. Up up,” because he really needs to get un-sticky. He uses it as an excuse to rub your body down because he’s dumb sexy like that.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Boobs. I remember that boy posting a lot of memes centered around titties and I’m using that as fuel. Rihanna said “MUST BE LOVE ON THE BRAINNN,” but it’s really boobs on the brain for Jolly. Fun fact: I believe he referred to them as “lovelies” once and that is something that is burned into my brain. Also please reference all of the sideboob knowledge that Nicholas and Noah have bestowed upon him. On him? He really likes his forearms. There’s a lot of strength there that he can tell he’s built up, and I think he’s proud of them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

All over you. Hear me out. I genuinely believe that Jolly likes to Pollock the shit out of you. Like if he’s about to cum and he’s hiting it from behind he’ll pull out and cum all over your lower back because he likes looking at himself all over your waist. Likes the way it looks dripping down your thighs. Very into marking his territory, but he doesn’t see it that way. It’s a subconscious thing. Honestly, I think he sometimes rubs it into your skin with his thumb a little bit. Makes you go out in public maybe.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Jolly is, and I don’t think it’s a bad thing, someone that doesn’t mind a good threesome now and then. Now you may ask “V … isn’t that all of them,” and to that I say no 😌. See, take yourself out of the mindset of reading a fic right now. I want you to think about what could be a real life scenario. Jolly acts all “my woman is mine blegh possessive no sharing,” in front of the guys, but really? He’d sit back and let Nicholas take a crack at fucking you. He’d let Folio borrow your throat. He CANNOT let them know that, so he just settles for the one off friend of a friend you guys indulge in.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Don’t play with Jolly because he is not the three, never been the two, AND HES DAMN SURE NOT THE ONE. I genuinely think that the Her Bright Skies times were his personal slut era. I really do. Some of y’all are a little younger, but even a year or two makes a difference in bandom time and I promise you … you cannot FATHOM the amount of PUSSY that was thrown at band boys during that time. ESPECIALLY if they looked like him. He’s so experienced. Gotta be. Now, what I did find out about him is that there are some American terms that he obviously did not know, but they did translate somehow. Like don’t think that his dirty talk game is less because English isn’t his first language.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

HAH. Jolly is getting this one because I firmly believe that (I know Noah is working out but he ain’t there yet) he’s the only one in the band that can do it … Jolly can absolutely bounce you on his dick while he’s standing up and he loves it. Listen to me - guitar players have a certain set of muscles that get worked out a bit more than other musicians. I have learned through personal experience that visible muscles don’t mean shit. Now, the only reason that it would be really hard for Folio (arguably the strongest) to do this is because of his height. You need to be as tall as Jolly is, and as strong as Jolly is. He discovered he could do it one day and awwww! You’re his personal fleshlight now!! How precious!!!!!!

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I think he’s a giggler. I don’t fucking buy Mr. Stoic for a minute. I think they have to tell that man to quit smiling in pictures and I think that’s why he always looks extra intimidating. He’s forcing himself to look that way. Jolly is the type to get his foot tickled by the sheets and laugh while he’s inside you. I think he wants you to laugh too. Like to him, smiles and being joyful are his favorite things, and he would really like to make sure that he gets some of that in the bedroom. He also cannot help it - you try to be serious and take control and that is so great! He loves that! But it’s funny that his lil cupcake put on her big girl panties, so he’s gonna chuckle.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Whewwwww child. I cannot believe that y’all made me put in the painful hours doing research on Jolly’s body hair. How will I recover? After staring at him for a long time and doing comparisons - Jolly, at most times, has the thickest happy trail in Bad Omens. There’s no fuckin way that just stops. Like it would be like driving off a cliff from a highway if it just ended. The conflicting thing would be that his home country is pretty big on shaving because American ideals have bled over. I think he generally does what he wants. I think he may trim it, but it ain’t shaved. He likes when you play with it 😈.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Awww. He’s the type to like … reflect on everything that led him to that moment. I think that he doesn’t find himself regretting a lot of things in life, because he just reminds himself that had he done anything different than what he did in the past, he might have never gotten you. Like he’s an eye contact holder, a thigh gripper (he loves them), and a forehead kisser. I think he thinks about all the things he wants to do to you and he just buries his head in your neck and tells you he loves you so much, because he thinks that maybe three lifetimes wouldn’t be enough. Jolly is incredibly romantic. The boy is soft. I have never and will never truly buy brat tamer Jolly. I can’t. Fun to imagine, but he couldn’t live that lifestyle for more than an hour I think.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jolly is older, right? So I think he does, but he has enough restraint to wait until they’re at a venue and he can go to the bathroom. I think Jolly likes it really wet … wetter than most and because of that, there’s too much noise to do it anywhere where someone would hear him. He likes watching his spit fall down onto his dick. He likes working the head over with his palm until it almost hurts a little. Then he backs off and waits before repeating. Jolly probably keeps an eye on the time because he’s real life proven on multiple occasions that he’s the type to know he’s supposed to do one thing, but he gets lost in doing the thing that feels better in the moment. That’s a human trait, right? Missing a part of sound check because you’re fucking your fist isn’t though … so …

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Heh. I bet ya didn’t think of this one. This is one I’m going to absolutely die on because it’s REAL and maybe you haven’t experienced it but if you have you know what I’m talking about - I think certain music really turns Jolly on. He loves very heavy metal. Maybe not a full kink, but I think he has a list of songs that have either incredibly heavy bass lines, or breakdowns that are super filthy. They give him goosebumps. The goosebumps are just the start. They lead to more. Not like I have a playlist with examples or anything *cough*. Like I said … I think Jolly and the word “wet” are synonymous. Like extra spit, extra lube, extra mess. Pool sex, shower sex, and incredibly sloppy blowjobs get this boy going.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

We covered pools and showers, but I would like to add that Jolly is Mr. Gross But Not Gross In A Way That Would Actually Make You Ill. Noah’s bed. I think Jolly really likes to fuck on Noah’s bed. Not because Noah is in his thoughts, but because he’s not supposed to. The thought of fucking your brains out of your ears where he shouldn’t is enough to make him cum. He used that time that Noah’s candle exploded as a cover up for the milky mess he made you leave on the pillow he put under your hips. “Dude that’s just candle wax? Feel it. Just throw it in the washer, man”.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It’s YOU. YOU turn him on, but I come bearing examples. You were side stage once, and you gathered all of your hair into a ponytail and kinda held it in your grip for a bit while making eye contact with him. Now, if he didn’t know any better, that’s the exact same way that he holds your hair when you’re sucking his cock. Nobody would know but the two of you, and you better be prepared to do it when he gets off stage because the way his guitar is hitting his boner isn’t fun. And it’s your fault. There was also that time that you wanted to show Davis your new tattoo. That wouldn’t be an issue, but it was right under your ass and you let some of your cheek meat slip out on purpose. Jolly isn’t jealous, but he wonders if Davis is thinking what he’s thinking? About bending you over a box of merch? Biting that tattoo?

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t do leather or latex. I’m headcanon Ning the fuck out of that. You can wear it all you want, but he just cannot do it. I think, with the way he is, the sensory input he gets from latex is enough to make his skin crawl. It also squeaks funny. Bad noise in his brain. I think he wouldn’t want to make you feel bad for spicing things up, so he persuades you into stripping for him so that he can get that shit as far from your body as possible.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I think Jolly, out of all of the members, loves blowjobs the most. He likes when you’re so sloppy that your spit hits your shirt. He likes watching you lick precum off his tip and then spitting it all back to use as lube while your jerk him off. He ALSO is a fan of getting as messy as possible when he’s eating you out. He’s the type to make you so wet it’s dripping down to the bed. He wants your thighs to glisten and glide and make noises as you walk to the bathroom later. He likes spreading it open and seeing how deep his tongue can go. Jolly loves the taste because he’s a realist. I feel like, out of the four, Nicholas and Jolly are Mr. Pussy Tastes Like Pussy Which Is Not Fucking Sweet And That’s Fine We Like It Like That. Like they’re the type to outwardly express that no, it doesn’t taste like a mango and they LOVE it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Firm rider on the “Jolly can knock your fuckin’ radiator loose” train. I mean think about it. He can do both, but he’s a fast pace setter. No, I don’t think that he’s all that rough and I say that because rough does not translate to fucking someone hard. When I think about rough, I think about Folio in that there may be times where it slips out and goes back in funny, or like they accidentally pull your hair in a way that hurts. Jolly is so fucking methodical that I think he can set a really hard and fast pace, but I don’t think he’s rough with you if that makes sense. Jolly is also really good at setting a slow pace - the only issue I feel like he would run into is that he gets lost in that slow pace, and when you need him to speed it up, you would kind of have to shake him a little bit because he would be beyond the point of being able to pick up on small clues. Lost in the metaphorical and literal pussy juice, ya feel?

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

No. No. No. I think that he is the type to really think about and reflect on how far he’s come, and the changes that he’s made in his life because of that, I think his quickie days are behind him. I think that he got enough of that in his old band. Again he’s the oldest, and with that comes the headcanon of having restraint. He’s learned with time that it’s just much better to keep all of that sexual energy pent-up because he knows he can let it out later. He almost sees it as a form of edging. Jolly understands that you have to preheat the oven before you bake a cake, and you must warm up the pussy before you fuck it. His foreplay is some peoples entire bang sesh. Get with it y’all.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Eh … yeah. I think we have to think about the risk though. He would absolutely experiment. See, experimenting is what got him this far in his experience game. The thing that said to him apart from a lot of men, though, is that he wipes the slate with every new partner he has because he knows that not all women are the same. I like he never takes advice from the other guys because he doesn’t want it or NEED it. He plans on finding out what makes you tick by actually asking you and communicating. Jolly is the one they go to for advice, but he says the same thing every time. “I’m the second person you asked, right? She should be the first,” and he puts his hair in a man bun knowing that he just helped one more girl cum. It’s like that whole “an angel gets its wings” thing, but it’s “a woman can have an orgasm” because Jolly made another man communicate.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

LOL listen to me - grab a tote bag. Fill it with Gatorade, water, fruit snacks, and a cookie. Jolly doesn’t understand the way that American media makes it seem like sex is supposed to be a fast thing. He is used to taking hours, but there are small breaks. He considers it all one round, but Noah told him it was really 5 because he heard it through the wall and “couldn’t believe that Swedish bastard had the fucking energy”. This all goes back to the laughing during sex that we talked about. He really thinks that you should be able to have full on conversations during the act when you are slowing it down because he paces himself well he can really last for hours. Gonna cum? Not if he pulls out and eats your cunt. Gonna cum? Not if he slows down and lets you warm him while you makeout. Gonna cum? Not if he pulls out and lays back and makes you watch an episode of Metalocalypse.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I think that he totally owns toys and he’s not afraid to show you. Like Jolly is old enough to not really be embarrassed by anything like that. Matter of fact, he may not be a brat tamer, but he will make you sit in a chair while he fucks away at some fleshlight and you have to watch. “Bet you wish this was you, huh,” he says as he pulls out and taps his cock against the silicone folds. Yup. He also really likes to use toys on you. He’s more than happy to grab a few different dildos and use them while you close your eyes. Let’s revisit the threesome fantasy, yes? “Okay so this one kinda looks like Nicholas’s. Tell me what that feels like,” he whispers as you take it in. Yeah, I just said that and yeah, I hope it keeps you up at night.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He isn’t a teaser, actually. There are always exceptions, but I do feel like he knows that whatever he does to you you’re gonna do right back to him, and teasing turns him into a bucking bull. He cannot stand it. Although, if you let him count public teasing then he does; kissing behind the ear, grabbing you by the belt loop, and swatting your ass in the green room. We can go on. He also really loves giving you the shakes by tracing his fingers over your skin. The crease where your thigh and pussy kinda meet? He could spend hours right there.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jolly, I think, is the quietest member of Bad Omens. Some of y’all might not love that, but let me explain. Stay with me. Jolly can’t let his head go blank. I don’t think that Jolly can let his head go blank because I don’t think that his thoughts are ever a problem for him, or something that he needs to let go of if that makes sense? Like Noah NEEDS to let his brain go empty. Jolly doesn’t. Because of this concept - Jolly thinks a lot during sex and it makes it hard to get words out sometimes. I think he makes a lot of low groaning noises, and some higher moaning when he’s overstimulated. If he does use his words or converse it tells you that he’s kinda just filling the space so he doesn’t cum too early (reference earlier). You might get “Oh …”, “God-,” or “Mother-,” and that’s just backing up my idea that he could try to say words, but if it feels too good he just can’t.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Random headcanon for Jolly? Jolly actually has a thing for your hands. You were really trying to figure out why he wanted you to let him teach you how to play guitar so bad. You noticed the way that he stared at your fingers after you let him manipulate them on the frets. The way he gently bent them and helped them press on the strings. It did not escape you that he wasn’t really talking, and you soon realized that he was using your fingers to play the song. Jolly had no shame. He liked the way your nail polish sparkled in the dim studio light, and the way your veins became prominent as your wrist flexed. Wondered if they did the same thing if you worked his dick. He really loves your fingers, baby.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

HAH. I’m laughing because I am sick to death of people with headcanons that aren’t realistic in this department - this is where you get caught. What are the motherfuckin’ chances that four dudes that are incredibly attractive all also happen to have massive pythons in their pants? Yeah. Yeah. So - I’m not saying that he has the smallest, but I’m saying that statistically, one of them has to be above average, one of them have to be smaller than average, and two of them are probably just average in my mind. I actually don’t think that we can even count him because I don’t know if you know this, but the average penis length in Sweden is over an inch longer than America. I used very specific measurements and ratios and did more math than I’ve done in the last three years to get this number, BUT IF YA GO OFF OF WHAT MY MATH SAYS BECAUSE THERES NO SOURCE YOU WEIRDOS - 7.7 inches. Again I hate math don’t ask me to do that anymore. Also again this is ALL IN MY HEAD AND MY NUMBERS COME FROM THE SWEDISH AVERAGE AND JOLLYS HEIGHT. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CONFIRM THIS I STG I WILL KNOW AND I WILL FIND YOU.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I think he actually doesn’t have a high sex drive at all. I think that he decides to fuck you when he’s not even horny? Like y’all love each other and have the time so why not use it to explore each other. He knows he’ll get turned on shortly after kissing you for a bit, but I don’t actually think he has a high sex drive.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jolly is a relaxer. I don’t see him falling asleep that quickly, but I see him relaxing and not wanting to move. I also see him telling himself that he’ll go to the gym tomorrow, or he’ll take a walk tomorrow morning if he had plans. He just cuddles and watches a movie with you, and he really doesn’t mind if you fall asleep. Let’s him know his job is done.

[wa1ks]

Hey Waiks! I saw your new and you seem so sweet oml😭

I was wonderin if you would do this request as your too a James gurlie like meee

So my vision is your James girl best friend and have been for a long long time. Little do you know, James has a size kink and has a PHAT crush on you. He adores the fact your only 5’1 and curvy (in total just his type from head to toe) and you’re on tour with him.

He just finished a concert and was pissed off for some random reason so you innocently ask him what’s wrong. Your drinking a beer with him in your hotel room but he soon enough gets impatient and fucks your brains out.

LIKE UGH OMG I CANT🙇‍♀️

Many many thanks, Vee <3xx

CW: Smut, P in V, alcohol, size kink

WC: 1.6k

Thank you sm omg you're so sweet <33

AHHH I LOVE THIS IDEA!! I can imagine any era james for this but blackalbum! james is whats popping up in my brain for that (if its not good im sorry 😭)

Being best friends with James Hetfield is quite a roller coaster, but I love him, and if going on tour with him makes him happy, then I'll do it without a second thought.

I'm sitting on the side of the stage waiting for the guys to finish their set so I can congratulate them for another amazing show, but something seems off about James. I mean, he always performs to the best of his abilities, but tonight he just seems more...angry?

The guys finally finish the set and thank the crowd for the amazing night. As James walks up to me, I can feel his anger radiating off of him. What best friend would I be if I didn't check to see whats wrong?

"Hey boys, that was an amazing show you put on tonight, but I'm going to take James back to the hotel for the night."

Lars begins to say, "Ooh, Hetfield, you're going to get some pus." In a pissed-off tone, James cuts him off, "Shut it, Ulrich."

We make it to the car, and James is in the drivers seat. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, I speak up.

"James, you know you can come to me for anything, right?"

James turns to me with a fake smile planted on his face and says, "Dude, I love you to bits, but I don't think you want to hear about my girl's problems."

As he said it, all the air in my lungs seemed to vanish, and a feeling of dread washed over me. Don't let your feelings show; this is James' moment, and I need to worry about him.

"Girl problems, eh? Well, I'm a girl, so maybe I could help you figure everything out for  you."Don't let the jealousy show, please, not now; James needs me.

"It's fine; she probably doesn't like me back anyway," James whispers.

"James, you are so blind; how could someone not like you? but if you want to drop it, we can."

Just like that, there's a gleam in his eyes again as he replies, "Thank you, and when we get back to the hotel, we are so going to drink since you rudely stole me away from the guys."

We got back to the hotel and decided to bunker up in my room for the night since it was more convenient. I tell James that I'm just going to get changed into some comfy clothes and that I'll be right out. I walk back into the living room in some shorts and one of James' shirts and see James' gaze linger over my exposed thighs. Huh, weird.

I grab us both some beers and settle into the couch, but James is still looking at my thighs, so I pull my legs up to my chest and sit like that.

"James, are you sure you don't want to talk about anything? You seem really off today."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think I didn't get enough sleep last night, though." James says he's still looking at me like I'm a goddess or something.

I shuffle around a bit on the couch and hear James' breath hitch. My thoughts are now running wild with how he's looking at me. Calm down; he's probably just lost in thought.

We talk for about 10 minutes before I notice there's something else in his eyes. I can't quite decipher it yet. We're just aimlessly talking at this point when James leans in and kisses me like his life depends on it. He pulls away and gets up, grabbing his things in a rush and mumbling things like "why did I do that? I'm such an idiot" and "I just ruined the best thing that ever happened to me." I finally manage to catch on to what he's doing and grab his arm, trying to get him to look at me.

"James, calm down; I'm not going anywhere. I promise" He looks back at me and says, "But I just kissed you."

I look at him like he has three heads, and suddenly I get what's up with him tonight.

"James, it was ok—more than ok, actually. I enjoyed it."

He turns around, and suddenly he's lunging at me, and when he finally gets to me, our lips smash together in a mess of desire and admiration. Years of longing and lust all spilled out in a matter of moments.

We pull away for air, and he says, "You don't know how long I've been waiting to do that."

He adds, "I've been in love with you for years, you idiot." With a huge smile on my face, I reply, "It seems like we're both idiots, because I've been in love with you for years too."

James then pushes me onto my back on the couch and gets on top of me, encompassing me with his arms stationed right above my shoulders and his long hair blocking us out from the outside world. And my thoughts are filled with "james, james, james, james."

He gives me a quick peck before moving down my neck, licking and sucking at it like a madman, before looking back up at me and asking me if he can take my shirt off. I nod at him, but he stops. "I'm going to have to hear you, hon."

I whine as my cheeks burn from how much I'm blushing, and I plead, "Jamie, please, I need you. Stop teasing me."

"That's what I wanted to hear."

He continues where he left off, but he's doing it slower. I'm getting so worked up, but he can't tease me without consequences, so I brush my foot against his hardening cock, and he stills his movements. And straight-up growls

He pulls us off the couch, and when I try and ask him what he's doing, he pushes me against the wall.

"Aww, look at you—so little and fragile in my hands. I could easily pound into you right here; do you want that doll?" James speaks through his teeth.

I try to speak, but the only thing that escapes my mouth is a moan.

"Does my bunny like me crowding her like this, huh? Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

James has me pinned to the wall, and his knee is between my thighs, and the friction is so delicious.

"James, can you please hurry up and fuck me?" I whine out.

"Don't worry, hon, we'll get to that later, but right now I'm enjoying watching you get yourself off my thigh," he laughs.

I don't want to sound like a brat, but I need him, and I need him now.

I feel my release building up, and when I'm about to finish, James pulls his leg away with a wicked smile, and I almost cry.

"Don't cry, sweetheart; you'll get your release soon. Can you pull your shorts and panties down for me now, please?" I do as he says, and he praises me for it.

"Are you ready for me, sweetheart?" He knows I am; he just wants to draw this out for as long as he can.

"Mhm, been ready for you, Jamie."

James pulls his pants down and thrusts into me, filling me to the hilt. After I've adjusted to his size, he starts slowly dragging out his thrusts. I squeal because he feels so good. "Feel so full, Jamie, so good. Keep going, please, please."

He seemed to enjoy that, and his pace quickened, pounding into me at a brutal pace. Through gritted teeth, he manages to say, "This pussy feels so tight and warm, just for me, yeah?"

"Just for you, Jamie, all yours; I'm all yours."

He adjusts his arms under my ass so he can get a better hold on me, and while doing that, he gives my ass a smack.

I let out a moan. "Right there, Jamie, keep going; feel so full." "M'girl, you're gripping me so hard; if you keep it up, I'm not going to last."

With one particularly hard thrust, we both let out moans that are borderline pornographic. His thrusts are getting sloppy; he must be close.

"Jamie, I'm going to cum. Can I cum please? I've been a good girl for you. Please let me cum."

"Hold on a little bit longer, hon. Wanna cum together?" "Where do you want it?"

My mind is shouting at me at this point. "Inside, please Jamie, I just want to feel you."

James then says, "Now, let go, hon. C'mon, cum sweets." With a final thrust, we both finish. I can feel his warm cum filling me up to the brink. When he pulls out and some of his seed spills out, he uses his thumb to push it back in and then gets me to suck it clean.

"Wow, that was something," I say out of breath.

James doesn't say a word; he simply lifts me up bridal style, puts me down gently onto the bed, and walks out. For a second, my heart cracks, and I think, "He just used me," but he comes back with a warm washcloth and cleans up the mess between my thighs. After he's done with that, he puts some boxers on me and lays beside me.

"Feelin' ok, sweetheart?" James says softly "Better than ok, Jamie, thank you." "Was I too rough? Did I hurt you?" "Jamie, stop worrying. I feel amazing; you're amazing." "I meant it; you know what I said earlier. I do love you." And in that moment, he seemed so vulnerable, so I hugged him. "I love you too, Jamie. I love you so much it hurts."

"D'ya wanna be my girlfriend?" He says it shyly. "You just fucked my brains out and gave me the best orgasm of my life, and you're getting shy about asking me out? but of course I'll be your girlfriend, you big idiot."

With a huge smile on both our faces, we slowly drift off to sleep, embraced in each other's arms.

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 39 - Epilogue: Donadagohvi

Summary: She studies her husband’s face. It’s lined with age, but still as beautiful and as bright as the day she met him. A/N: Alright, y'all - we've made it! But before we get started, I've got some things I have to say. This fic was started during a very strange era. I hated what was going on in my life but didn't know how to fix any of it. Long story short, but I decided to run away one day, and ended up in Toccoa. While standing in the military museum there, I started thinking about Deborah Sampson (a childhood hero of mine), and wondered what would happen if a story like hers happened during WW2 - specifically, if she was a paratrooper. Thus, Zenie appeared in my brain, and this epilogue wrote itself in my mind as I went through the museum. I was never sure if I would share this fic until the second that I hit "post." Zenie was just a way for me to blow off steam, to escape - to fulfill my desire to be someone else for a bit. (Coincidentally, all themes throughout the fic.) I didn't know how people would respond to this story, or to this character, and I only ever had the courage to start uploading chapters because of friends like @latibvles and @liebgotts-lovergirl who showed enthusiasm for it. So I couldn't upload this chapter without a massive sgi (thank you) to them, as well as to everyone else who has read this fic and been so kind to it, and to me. Thank you for welcoming me into this fandom. Thank you for allowing me to share the Cherokee language with you. Thank you for all the support you've given me for both my writing, and as friends. Whether you knew it or not, all that kindness came at a time when I really needed it, and I appreciate you all. Without further ado, here's the last laglam update, in which the fic's title finally makes sense. Much love 💖 Warnings: language, alcohol Taglist: @latibvles @liebgotts-lovergirl @lady-cheeky @dcyllom @mads-weasley @ithinkabouttzu @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

Eugene looks just the same as he did when Zenie first met him. So do all the other men on this side of the reunion. For her part, she also looks the way she did when she first met all of them – albeit like a girl rather than like a man. For now, her hair is long, and her chest unbound.

No one seems to have figured out why they all look young again, and it has only been mentioned in passing during the reunions. There are better things to do, like visit with those they can, and pass between the ones they left behind, feeling their hearts swell with love as they watch them laugh, watch them remember – watch them live.

Another thing that no one has figured out is why they seem able to come back to this world at certain times. David Webster says he once read that the veil between their worlds thins during certain times of the year, and that maybe this is true of the Easy Company reunions. Zenie, however, likes to believe that it’s the love of the people still living who allow them to come back. All that love with nowhere to go. Love so strong that remembering the people you felt it for brings them back.

No time to wonder now, though. Gene is already smiling at her in greeting.

“Hello again,” he greets as she joins him.

“Gene,” she teases him with an affectionate poke to his ribs. “You haven’t aged a day since I met you in forty-two!”

“Eh, I don’t know about that, Tommy Boy,” Luz’s confident drawl digresses as the radioman swaggers up beside her. “You look a little taller. What, did you finally hit puberty or something?”

Zenie rolls her eyes, but there’s no malice to it. She did, after all, keep him in the dark about her secret until her very last day in Europe. Instead of leading him on, she asks, “How does everyone look?”

“Us? The same as ever. Them? – “ Luz gestures towards the reunion that can’t see them. “ – Well, I guess they’re aging with grace.”

“Have you seen – “

“Bill and Babe are at the bar, as per usual. And your darling husband is somewhere around the middle.”

Zenie takes a step forward before turning quickly to face her friends. “Do y’all mind if I . . . ?”

Gene smiles. “Go ahead. That’s why we’re here.”

Grateful, Zenie takes off through the crowd. Visiting her friends like this is something she always looks forward to, but visiting those she left behind is a rarer treat, and she would like to check up on them. Especially Shifty. 

Bill and Babe – to no one’s surprise – are the easiest to find. They’ve got the bartender in stitches with their jokes, and their own accented guffaws are like a lighthouse cutting through the crowd that makes them easy to navigate towards.

“Siyo, boys!” Though they can’t see or hear her, Zenie takes a seat beside them at the bar. “What’s new with y’all?”  

“They’re drinking everyone under the table, as usual,” a familiar voice beside her announces as none other than Joe Toye takes a seat beside her. His expression is just as relaxed and confident as when they were young, but as he watches their living friends, something like longing flickers behind his eyes. “Too bad that we can’t show them who the real champs are anymore.”

“At least we can visit them.”

Joe nods, smiling sadly. “You made your rounds yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, we got time,” her friend assures her. They have nothing but time, actually. And they use it to sit with their friends, laughing along with their jokes and making their own, even though Bill and Babe can’t hear them.

As their jokes turn to remembrances, Zenie finds herself swept up in Babe’s retelling of the time she chucked an apple at Cobb’s head back in Holland. She barely remembers the scene, able to recall only a flash of anger and a split-second decision. Babe’s version is far better – he paints her out to be some sort of knight in shining armor coming to defend the honor of her friends.

Bill shakes his head and chuckles into his drink. “Goddamn. Zee sure could make a scene.”

“You weren’t even there when her secret got out,” Babe notes. “Now that was a scene!”

“No one ever brings it up,” Bill marvels, his eyes roaming over the crowd, searching for something. “You would think everyone would talk about it all the time. I mean – shit! A woman disguised herself as a man and made it from Toccoa to the bitter end before she got found out, and no one at the reunions brings it up.”

Zenie can’t help but smile at that. It’s true – her secret got out, she had to leave in a state of semi-disgrace, but at the Easy reunions, she was usually only acknowledged as Shifty’s wife. Sure, every now and then someone would tell a funny story about Sergeant Driver before throwing a knowing wink in her direction, but after all this time, it’s like they’re still keeping her secret for her. For her own part, she never brings up her service, except to mention in passing that she met her husband during the war. Even her own children seem to be under the impression that she must have been a nurse or a WAC, using that explanation to fill in the story’s blanks. Zenie never confirmed or denied their suspicions.

“Wish she were here,” Babe sighs. He orders another round of drinks, three this time, before placing one in front of the seemingly empty bar stool beside him – unknowingly, right in front of Zenie. He raises his own glass as he offers the last one to Bill. “To Zenie.”

Bill clinks his glass against Babe’s in a toast. “To Zenie.”

“To the best friends I ever had,” Zenie adds. During her last reunion – and even during the last year or so of her life – she could sometimes swear that she could feel a presence that she couldn’t explain. An unshakable feeling that those she loved who were already gone were somehow watching her would wash over her, though she could never explain why she felt that way. Now, she wonders if her friends feel that way about her. Just in case they do, she channels all her love into those words, hoping and praying that they can feel it.

As if on cue, the bittersweet moment ends when a woman with sleek, dark hair approaches the bar, smiling. “Uncle Babe! Are you ready?”

“Luna.” Zenie watches as her daughter throws an arm around each of the men at the bar, her smile just as bright as her father’s, outshining the sun itself.

“The real question is, are you?” Bill teases his goddaughter, cocking an eyebrow. “Don’t forget, kid, that your uncle is a champion jitterbug dancer.”

Luna sizes up the man in question. “Well, I’ve been practicing.”

“Don’t worry about her.” Babe takes one last sip of his drink and waves off Bill’s concerns. “Her mom could have been a champ, too. It’s in her genes; she’ll be fine.”

“The DJ said it’ll be the next song . . .” Luna begins explaining as she hooks her arm through her uncle’s and leads him towards the small dance floor.

Bill watches them go, chuckling to himself. “Real firecracker.” He glances at the drink set out in honor of Zenie. “God, I wish you were here, little brother. It’s not the same without you.”

“I am,” Zenie assures him. She’s only been gone for two years, but things have changed. That might have scared her once. Not anymore. “I have to go find Shifty. You don’t mind, do you?”

Bill doesn’t answer, of course, but it’s polite to ask all the same. Granny didn’t teach her to mind her manners for nothing.

Zenie weaves her way through the crowd of both the living and the dead. She greets several people, stops to exchange a handshake and a kind word, and sends a nod to those who she catches lurking at the edges of the room – people like Liebgott and Captain Speirs, who only show up in the margins of the reunions, watching, but never joining in. She needs to thank those two specifically at some point. But it’s like Joe said – they’ve got time.

As Luz promised, Shifty is seated at a table in the middle of the room. Their sons, Wayne and Willie, sit on either side of him, laughing along with some story that he, McClung, and Popeye are in the middle of telling. Zenie finds a space to stand behind her husband, being as present as she can. She places one hand on Wayne’s shoulder, and the other on Shifty’s.

At the moment of contact, Shifty’s posture stiffens, and his head turns slightly. Zenie freezes, like she’s just disrupted something. Has she? Can he feel her here?

Shifty only listens to the story being told halfheartedly now. He smiles and laughs in all the right places, but it’s obvious that he’s distracted. These reunions are supposed to be fun. Sure, they can get a little emotional at times, but she doesn’t want her husband missing out on her account. He’s still got a life to live. He needs to be in the present moment and enjoy it.

Zenie bends slightly so that she’s close to Shifty’s ear. She doubts anyone else at the table knows that she’s here, but she wants this to be a private moment for the two of them.

“Shifty,” she whispers. “I’m here. I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.” She has to pause for a moment to think about what she wants to say. It’s one thing to plan what you’re going to tell somebody, and another thing entirely to deliver the message. Sometimes things get lost in translation. She learned that during their break back in the war.

She studies her husband’s face. It’s lined with age, but still as beautiful and as bright as the day she met him. God, she misses him. She misses all of them.

“The boys look well,” she continues, looking between their sons. “I hope they’re taking care of you for me. They’ve always adored you.” She pats Shifty’s shoulder. She shouldn’t take up his attention too much longer. “Take your time. Enjoy it. I’ll be waiting for you, okay? I’ll see you soon, Shifty.”

Not sure if it will work, she plants a kiss on his cheek. When she pulls away, she watches as Shifty’s hand comes up to touch the place where they made contact. Maybe he really can feel her here.

“Gvgeyui,” Zenie says. I love you.

Gene is waiting at the edge of the crowd when she finds him again.

“How’d it go?” He asks.

Zenie nods. “Good. You?”

“Good.” Gene’s dark eyes flick over the crowd. “It’s nice we get to do this.”

It is nice. Bittersweet, mostly, but it’s good to see their loved ones again, even for a short time before they have to go back. But returning isn’t bad, either. The weather is always warm. And there are people she loves waiting for her there.

In fact, she should get going for exactly that reason. Granny wants to dig ramps soon, and Mama informed her that there would be a pie waiting upon her return. No matter which side of the gauzy veil she’s on, there is always someone waiting for her, and always a place that she belongs.

For strength, Zenie takes Gene’s hand and gives it a squeeze. He returns the gesture, and they begin to walk away from the crowd. But before they go, Zenie can’t help but glance back at Easy Company one last time. Her eyes, as always, land on Shifty. She’ll see him again. She’ll see them all again, in one way or another.

“Until we meet again,” Zenie informs them all, whether they can hear her or not. “Donadagohvi.”