#Zephyr she loves when you talk dirty to her

[hymnoire]

"Crazy bitch." (Tentative silence) "... Mine." // Zephyr, Kaeleena.

"Mmm, crazy bitch that I am, and you—the spark that ignites the fires of my madness. Kant says a healer’s task is to discern which faculty of the mad person’s mind has faltered. Madness is an enigma my dear Beautiful Specter, a secret waiting to be uncovered, and this discovery belongs to the healer alone—a task that the mad cannot and should not undertake. Come and undo me until you fix me.

Yours."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnames your muse calls mine.

[hoseoksluna]

TIME | knj

pairing: fiancé!namjoon x oc 

genre: smut

word count: 13.0k

summary: namjoon makes your dream come true in a much better way than you ever wanted.

pinterest board: divine | playlist: time | taglist: join

warnings: basic relationship fears, oc is heartbroken in the beginning, fight, minor violence, oc has daddy issues (like the writer), namjoon and oc smoke (like the writer as well <3), family sickness, punishment, spanking, choking, hair pulling, a mention of throat fucking and squirting, namjoon has an obsession with oc's boobies, dirty talk, use of a blindfold during intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, raw sex, namjoon talks her through it, praise kink

note: i will cherish this work until the day i die. i will carry it in my heart and never, ever forget it. this might be my best piece and i don't think i'll ever write anything as good as this. i love namjoon with all my heart and i want to thank him for inspiring me to write this. if he weren't such an amazing person, such a dear person to me and if he never released cbtm, this work wouldn't be here and i wouldn't brim with so many warm emotions. i gotta tell you guys—while writing the smut, this was the first time i wasn't affected by it in a way that i normally am because i found so much beauty in their relationship. enjoy this, my loves. let me know what you think. i love you. <3

The orange light in the hotel room causes bile to rise in your throat. It exudes a zephyr of mockery, such profound air of scorn, and you feel it thumping upon its reflection on the bare skin of your arms. You want to pinch it—make it hurt somehow, cause it the same agony that’s poisoning your system through and through because in all truth, that’s all you’re left to do. 

The Eiffel tower out beyond your window, blanketed in a soft layer of snow, has begun to twinkle. The perception of how long you’ve waited for your fiancé to come back that even such a monumental structure, your dream, has descended to its sleep full of blinding light beckons gooseflesh to mar your skin and it doesn’t go away. Not when your sight blurs, unfocuses, and the stars that have latched themselves to the tower enlarge into bulbs with softened edges, a myriad of bokeh that seem to have a slither of pity for you, lessening their grandness as the falling snow thickens. Not when both of your waterlines become rivulets of tears that heat your cold cheeks, despite the burning bushes of fury that incinerate your lungs. 

Just one more hour and the twigs of flames will perforate the chambers of your heart and sweep it clean of any emotions, any feelings, any understanding for the man that took you to Paris and left you all alone in the hotel room he paid for. You thought he took you here to give you the experience of seeing something new as you’ve never been to Europe and you’ve shared with him on several occasions that it’s always been your dream to see the Eiffel tower. Especially at night when it glimmers with such pretty, pretty stars. But considering he brought you here under the pretense of doing business, you carry nothing but contempt for the strange iron structure. So much for dreaming, so much for putting trust in a man. 

There will always be the other woman. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the form of a female, of alcohol, of ignorance. In this case, the mistress is Namjoon’s company and you should’ve known you’ll have her haunting your back for the rest of the trajectory of your secret relationship with him, with Mr. President. 

You should’ve seen it coming the moment she created a realm for you to soften, privately, in and fall in love with him until your ears turned red, the petals of roses. A realm between an ordinary employee and her boss. Between the walls of unknowing people—the way he would lean in to hear you talk because in comparison to his large stature and broad proportions, made even more prominent by his short hair, you were a mere stone on the ground, an ametrine—split in half with a tendril of yellow—but a stone regardless, fearing the tip of his lacquered dress shoes stomping on you until you’re left crumbled in the dying grass, the jagged pieces of you consoled by the ruthless wind.

You were terribly afraid of him. Briefly, but ardently. A true personification of desire, whenever you had to look up into his eyes. Whenever a whiff of his oriental cologne tickled your nostrils. Whenever the allure of secrecy between you two heightened. All because he was a powerful man, on the cusp of saving you from the lowest of the dirt. Saving you and digging you back inside, left to your own decay. 

Left to. That’s the wisp of tendency in your relationship. The wisp of force that drove you to give your yes to him. The wisp of the engagement ring encased around the fourth finger on your left hand. Left to—because you’d been single for so long and your mother pined after grandchildren and Namjoon was there, a knight in shining armor, dressed in suit and tie underneath, at the very age and position to settle down. Left to—because the special attention he gave you grazed your fear of him, gently, and helped it blossom into a bush of hyacinths growing in your lungs.

It’s how you found out you were in a severe destitute of a fatherly figure in your life.

Because Namjoon paid your bills. Put food on your mother’s table. In the form of a generous paycheck, overtime pay—even though you always clocked out at five, and odd bonuses that rose in monetary value the more he spent time with you. You’ve told him to stop, asked for fairness among his employees, even though nobody liked you there and would do quite the opposite if they ever happened to be in your shoes. But Namjoon never agreed to your offer. No, he stroked your hair and told you to save that money for your mother. And because you never heard that come out of man’s mouth, you nodded, meekly. Listened. The fear of him stroking the violet petals of hyacinths in you because as of now, he owned you. Owned your life. Owned the comfort of your mother. 

All because you made the faux pas and took off your heels when you thought your presentation was done and nobody answered when you asked if anyone had any questions left. Except for that one employee who didn’t have, evidently, a sense of decency and suddenly remembered he had a groundbreaking question to ask you in regards to the matter of your presentation, when everyone else, including Namjoon, was gathering their possessions and rising to their feet. 

He had noticed your nylon-clad feet, your swollen little toes, the way you rolled the ball of your foot on the carpet to alleviate yourself of the pain. And he changed the decades-old policy of dress code the next day. Forbade all women to wear high heels. Flat shoes only—loafers, ballet shoes. Incorporated bonuses that appeared in their bank accounts that very day, demanding an instant payment. 

He paid for every woman’s shoes in his company, including you. 

You never had to go through the torment of wearing heels again, no matter how pretty they seemed to you.

And then it was easy—languid and smooth, the innocent eye contact from across the room, the constant attention, the brushing of hands when walking past each other. And then you ran into him everywhere. He was always alone, which caused you to suspect he was single, so you smiled a little more and found it the easiest thing in the world, conversing with him about everything and nothing. Put a lot more care into the clothes you wore and the daily choice of your perfumes. Not forcing yourself and not being in control of it at the same time, something in the very middle. Something so natural that allowed you to turn your brain off for a moment and let yourself be led by your instincts. 

Then, your mother got sick and you lost your smile. Spent all your free time with her, taking care of her and you never ran into Namjoon again. 

Which is why he began to call you into his office behind the pretense that he needs something from you. And perhaps he did. He needed to be a friend for you. And you needed it just the same. 

He helped you cope with the gravity of a burden regarding a sickly parent and you became his.

And you gave more of yourself to him with every fleeting touch, every secret invitation to his office in broad daylight when he had meetings to attend to but wanted to get to know you instead, get to know your dreams because he has the money and the power to make them come true. Tenderly, despite the potency, the violence of his instrument. And tenderly, he always treated you. Tenderly, he held you steady as you made it a regular thing between you and him to sit on his lap. Not straddling him, but sideways—like a little girl sitting on the lap of her father. Tenderly, he led you through new parts of your life with poetic advice and viewpoints, meeting you outside of work, intertwining his fingers with yours and reassuring you. And tenderly, he became the stable male figure you invariably needed and never knew you did. 

And tenderness is what you need right now. In this shadowed hotel room, with only your arms to wrap around your torso and a ring on your left fourth finger, a ghost of his presence, ever so lingering, but not quite here. And you clutch at your dress, scrape your fingernails along the side of your ribs, etching the words that he said to your slowly awakening form in the late afternoon before he left. 

“I won’t be long. I just have some business to attend to. I’ll be back in an hour.”

It has been more than an hour and you wonder if he’s going to miss the twinkling of the tower. It’s your first night here. You had dinner after you landed, napped, didn’t even walk around the poetry-woven city and Namjoon chose his work. You showered for him, wore the long black dress you saved up the little of your last two paychecks for and he’s not here to see it. 

You feel so betrayed. He found work in your spare time, the time saved only for you both, the time that should’ve been saved for the romance part of your relationship. All he knows is work and so do you—as the entirety of your hours spent together have been solely work-related. This vacation should have been anything but. 

You sigh, hand ready at the zipper at the back of your dress. Once he comes home, he’ll be tired. Too tired to take a walk and immerse himself in the European beauty, so you should save this dress for a better occasion, one which he’s present for. Whenever that is. If that ever comes, at all. 

The squeak of the zipper going down is interrupted when you hear the lock make a sing-song melody, a signal that someone is coming in. Your breath quivers. A twist of events you didn’t expect, but you don’t get your hopes up. You know your fiancé well enough not to expect him to be full of life and elation after a work meeting. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but you let it slide past every time, aware that if he didn’t work so hard, your mother wouldn’t have the comfort she has. And neither would you. 

That doesn’t mean you’ll let it slide past this time. Not when he reserved his special time for you, for you both. 

Namjoon emerges out of the soft-toned yellow hall with a hand behind his back. You rise from the bed, facing him. Notice his sagged, broad shoulders, the sweat that lines his forehead and the narrow thin line that his lips are pursed in. A petulant, gray aura swathes him, despite the vibrancy of the colors of the hotel room and when he comes in, it’s almost like he absorbs them. His brows quirk at the sight of you, nearly relieved to see you dressed and waiting for him, but that expression falters once he takes in the mirror of you. The same wrinkle on your forehead stamps itself onto his and the sag of his coat-clad shoulders deepens. He stops at the edge of the bed, in front of you. Remains silent. And when you give him a few more seconds to speak and he doesn’t, your fists clench at your sides, against the linen puffiness of your dress. 

“An hour, huh?” 

He sighs and lowers his gaze. But not onto the ground. No, he lowers it onto your dress, swallowing dryly at the accentuation of your waist and the bunched up fabric at the hips cascading down, clothing you in the prosaic night of Paris, not the poetic, not the lively. He missed it. 

“You look so beautiful in this dress,” Namjoon comments and you scoff. If that’s his way of apologizing for leaving you for almost four hours, you don’t really understand it. It merely adds fuel to the flames of the indignation underneath that fucking dress. 

“Do you know what time it is?” you bite, your fingers instinctively grabbing onto the fabric of your garment for some kind of stability as your blood boils. Abruptly, his eyes flick to the window and when you follow his gaze, you discover the tower dressed similarly as you. Shrouded, entirely, in the night, clouds drifting past in place of the twinkles. Your blood is scorching hot and even though you didn’t expect him to take you to it, your stomach still drops at the disappointment that you missed the thing you looked forward to for weeks, knowing it won’t be the same tomorrow or the day after that. Your eyes prick with tears and you hate them. Don’t want to cry. Don’t want to be a spoiled brat, in fact. Not when you grew up the way you did—dreamless, poor and independent. But you can’t stop the words from rushing out. “I can see you wearing that watch that costs more than the house I grew up in and I know your habit of checking the time often, so tell me. Why didn’t you text me? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why did you bring me here in the first place if you knew you had business?” 

Mouth ends rounding ever so slightly, at last he shows what he’s been hiding behind his back. A bouquet of fresh, violet chrysanthemums and baby’s breath of the same muted tones. A symbol of thoughtfulness and care. The oxymoron makes you seethe and you grit your teeth. 

“I ran around the city trying to find one flower shop that was still open. I bought the first flowers that reminded me of you.” He pushes them your way, trying to get you to take them and you do, the wrapper rustling as your hands touch and electricity zaps you. Damn it. “Purple, your favorite color.” 

The audacity this man has, walking over that one word of apology, avoiding it. He takes your anger to another level and the fact that it seems to be endless makes you even angrier. Enough to want to hit him with the flowers. 

And you do. 

The flowers hover in the air in slow motion before their petals scatter around his troubled shoulders and the ruffled bed, where you sat so restlessly. Namjoon raises his arms in defense and you don’t stop, not until he grabs your arms and stills you. 

He calls you by your name, his hold on you deathly, and he shakes you, just once, in effort to bring some sense into you. “Calm down.” 

The stems from the chrysanthemums lay crooked on the floor between your bare feet and his black dress shoes. Ruined, devastated. Just like your dream. Some snapped in half, never to be whole again. Just like your heart. 

“You think some flowers are gonna bring my dream back, huh?” you snap, raising your voice, quivering in his grasp. You push at his chest, trying to get out of his clutches, but to no avail. You remain firm and unmoving in his hold. He doesn’t even budge. And once again you feel like a stone—an amethyst this time. Bigger, stronger, yet it still pales in comparison to the mountain that Namjoon is. You give very little fuck about that, however. “You knew it was my dream to see the Eiffel Tower at night. You brought me here knowing that, so I’m asking you once again why. Why did you bring me here when you knew you weren’t gonna make that dream come true for me?” 

He sucks in a breath and it looks as though he’s hanging by the edge of his composure. A thick vein bulges on his forehead and he clenches his jaw, his mouth a small button on his face. Anger. A mirror of you. But it’s not directed towards you—not at all. 

Namjoon withdraws and steps away, taking off his coat and his jacket, slinging his outerwear onto the edge of the bed. And as you simmer in the middle of the tense silence, he casually rolls his sleeves upwards, focusing his gaze, momentarily, on the action before he bores it into yours. The other sleeve gets the same treatment meanwhile he keeps the boiling temperature of your fury at a fixed degree with that stare. You want to boil over and so does he, but he doesn’t let that happen. 

The tiniest wisp of lust curls in your bloodstream, steamed by the heat, creating something dangerous. Oh, he’s playing with fire and he shouldn’t. 

All forest fires end catastrophically. The ruined flowers are enough proof of that, and yet it’s just the beginning. 

Namjoon loosens his tie a little bit, tipping his chin, and you can’t help but to ogle the slender material, his long fingers as they hook over the knot and pull it down. They way he’s asserting his dominance—the way he’s making you wait, making you tremble all fucking over by the silence and the slowness of his motions, by his stance and the clenched jaw. You hate the way it’s working; hate, with all your crumbling, stony being the pressure of your craving to get on your knees. 

Your tremor causes your fallen strap to tickle your arm and it snaps you out of the indecent daze, head swiveling to it, hand fixing it right away. You tug your dress down so it doesn’t slip down again, your plunging sweetheart neckline exposing your full breasts. 

“Why don’t you ask me what the business was about?” Namjoon challenges and it causes your head to swivel back to him, facing him. He’s sunk his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants, anticipation and tension hanging heavily in the stuffed air. 

You raise your brows. Fuck if you care about it. “Do I look like I give a fuck? I don’t wanna hear it.” 

Namjoon drops his gaze onto the ground, the clench of his jaw tightening enough that a dimple appears on the side of his cheek. For some reason you can’t really explain it aches and you don’t want to look at him anymore. You edge around him, the soles of your feet stepping on the violet petals and when you’re side by side, he stops you with one hand. 

“You’re gonna want to hear this,” he murmurs, his hold on you softening once your movement is halted. 

You roll your eyes, untangling your arm from it. “Too bad I don’t.” 

Namjoon sighs, deeply. “I’m telling you this one last time. You’re gonna sit on this fucking bed like the nice girl I know you are and you’re gonna listen to me.” 

A pulse sneaks to your sensitive parts and you furrow your brows, not liking the words he chose, not liking the way they made you feel. A half of you is torn, though. A half of you forces your body to do as he says, liking it very much. Too fucking much. “You don’t get to talk to me like this. It’s unfair.” 

“Sit.” 

That half of you wins. That easily. 

You sit on the bed and cross your leg over the knee, obnoxiously dangling your shin back and forth. The hem of your dress flutters, gains momentum when Namjoon opens the balcony door, letting the winter air in. Then, he moves over to stand a foot away from you, the stems crunching beneath his feet, his hand fishing out his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, popping it into his mouth. Yellow, almost brownish butt. Golden Marlboros. Typical. 

Your own parts in dismay. “You’re gonna set the fire alarm off.” 

“You’re gonna get rained on, then. Look pretty in that soaking dress with the petals and all.” He lights up his addiction and the flow of your fire changes its course. Burns differently now. Burns lustfully. “You think I didn’t tell them to turn it off when we arrived? You were too sleepy. Barely knew where we were.” 

Flying while drifting through dreamland does that to you. Why it is a surprise to you that Mr. President made such a demand is beyond you. What’s more, it annoys you. His power, his influence. While it once sparked fear, you’re glad it’s lukewarm to you now. 

Sucking deeply, he puffs out the smoke, its tendrils curling around his eyes that he narrows to protect them from the sting. Your fingers, instinctively, play with your engagement ring. You’ve always loved the way he smoked. Especially in his office. Especially the way it never smelled. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness perpetually mesmerized you. You wonder where it’s gone at the cusp of the realization of your dream. 

“I fought tooth and nail to get a deal. To make a connection. For you.” 

You scowl at him, pull your wandering fingers away from your engagement ring. What the fuck does he mean by that? 

“For me?” 

“Yes, for you. For your mother.” 

You grip the edge of the mattress at the mention of your mother, left behind on her sick bed while you’re fussy about your mindless dream. A jolt of guilt runs down your body and your scowl smoothens. You don’t think the madness disappears from your eyes. Not entirely. 

“I risked having some very powerful people knowing about us because I wanted you to have a stable place here. There’s a five star hotel that has shares in Korea. I wanted to become their partner. Get you in there. Get you another source of income. Get you a house here. For your mother. For our children. Have you commute here whenever you’d like,” Namjoon breathes out, moving his busy hand with each word, the smoke clouding the air. He takes a drag, holding the cigarette. “Come to think of it, you’d get to see this.” He points behind himself at the Eiffel Tower with his thumb. “For a week straight if you’d like. Splurge on dresses, shoes and croissants and whatnot. Have not one care in the world. You make the call and we fly.” 

From Korea to Paris. Whenever you’d like. Namjoon is the CEO of a five star hotel he built with his own hands. You’re the marketing manager, but you oversee almost everything you find time for. From banquets to room beddings, only because you enjoy it. It’s the main reason why you’re so disliked. You’re favored. And if there’s conflict of interest, there’s only one person who wins in the eyes and the final say of the CEO.

Namjoon’s hidden thoughtfulness opens in the shadows of the room and you’re stupefied. 

He wanted to partner with another five star hotel in Paris. 

For you. For your mother. For your future. For your comfort. 

For your dream. 

For your children. 

Your mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. 

How would you possibly handle having your job times two? You already have enough on your plate. Have wished, multiple times, that there was more of you cloned, who could do each job that you have to do each day. Doing that twice would be difficult, agonizingly so, but knowing your own work ethic, you’d make it manageable. You’d make do. Not for yourself, per say—but for your mother and your future children. 

Your heart constricts. Constricts so tightly that you let out a pained breath, overcome by his plan for the future, by the actions he’s willing to do for it. By the very raw fact that he spent three hours trying to make that happen—make that come true for you. 

“Namjoon, I—”

“They said no, though. No matter how hard I pushed, no matter what I was willing to risk, to sacrifice. They said no. So I made a quick phone call and forbade them from ever entering our hotel.” 

Our hotel. 

You almost sob, touched by him, but a gust of the icy breath of winter seizes you and you visibly shudder. Namjoon takes a last drag of his addiction and, putting it out on the ashtray on the confined balcony, he closes its door. But the freshness grazes you still, grazes you with the allure of this too-good-to-be-true fantasy and while it feels nice momentarily—the futile, brand new dream—you settle on the contentment that it will never come true. 

And that’s okay. You were brought up having nothing. Having someone like Namjoon intertwined with your future doesn’t change it. You don’t need to have everything. It’s enough that you’re in Paris just for the prolonged weekend, even though you didn’t get to see the sparkling Eiffel Tower up close on your first night here. That was the only dream you ever had and you can die peacefully now. Knowing the reason behind his late arrival, it doesn’t disappoint you anymore that your dream was altered. As a matter of fact, you don’t consider it ruined any longer. Not when Namjoon tried his hardest to create a beautiful future for you and your closest. You regret being mad at him, regret hitting him with the flowers and you brim with the wish to gather them, fix them, and put the little what’s left of them in a vase. Cherish them like he cherishes you. Cherish him. 

Namjoon crouches at your feet, cradling your ankle. “Your mom would’ve had a house right next to ours. Our kids would visit her everyday and vice versa. The air would’ve done her good here. The change of scenery. It would’ve prolonged her life. She’d be happy.” 

You nod, believing him, your heart untouched by the weakening fire, tender, squeezing. A mist of liquid emotion pools at your eyes. “You spent three hours trying to make that become a reality.” 

It’s not a question, but rather an expression of your procession of his goodness. Of his selflessness. And all over again, you’re reminded of the way you grew close in your relation because of your poor mother, of the way you bonded. And in place of the fire, it’s love that blooms those hyacinths in your lungs back to life. 

Your mother would’ve loved Paris. Because you know how much she loved listening to you talk about your dream when she was healthy and you were a young schoolgirl, you’re certain she would’ve fallen in love with the stark difference that lines these history-wrought streets. 

Namjoon focuses his gaze on your bare foot, fondling his thumbs over your silky skin. Your declaration of his actions loosened the heft on his shoulders and he relaxes, leaning his temple against your knee, fleetingly. When he speaks, he looks up at you. A certain light, covered in pity, flickers in his eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just took that long and I had no idea. And when I checked the time once it was over, I googled when they turn off the lights. Knew I had some time to spare, so to fix my mistake for taking so long, I ran through these streets, trying to make it up to you. I thought I’d make it in time, but you let out your frustration on me, which is understandable. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.” 

The coolness of the growing flower buds in you fills you with such gentleness that it’s not relief that you feel upon hearing his explanation and apology. It’s love. A profound, sinking capacity of love for the man beneath you taking on the likeness of the stone that certain energies and events of life invariably minimalized you into. 

He’s the stone and you’re the mountain. 

And when you bolster his face in your hands, Namjoon releases a breath at the touch and you find that relief streaming in him, seeping color back into his cheeks. You’ll paint them redder. Feel obligated to do so. 

“I’m sorry for hitting you. You left me alone for so long and I had so many bad thoughts,” you say, internally cringing at your neediness and you would regret uttering your admission had he not rubbed your legs in such a reassuring manner that it revitalizes your body, guiding briskness into your veins. 

“I’m sorry that I missed it,” Namjoon says, subduedly, his hands warm like the fire that burned in you, giving you back your heat that you’re lacking. He kisses the top of your knee and your breath is but a vine of poison ivy inside your throat. Such tenderness, such healing gentleness, such pity that permeates your skin. He truly is regretful that he messed up and you want to weep. He doesn’t have to be, not anymore. “What kinda bad thoughts?” 

You feel your heart rotate on its axis and you stifle back your tears, taking a deep breath to be able to talk. “I thought you chose work over me. Thought your business had nothing to do with me. Thought you left me here all alone for selfish reasons.” 

Namjoon coos, a softened emotion screwing his face—eyes enlarging and a slight pout forming on his face. A leeway for your tears to spurt onto your cheeks, unabashedly, with nothing holding them back any longer. He cups your face, like you did, and he sweeps back that rivulet with his thumb. “I didn’t, baby. I didn’t. And I’m here. I’m here with you.” 

You nod and it’s all that you’re left to do because it’s the truth. He’s here. He’s come back. And he’s sorrowful that he let those thoughts plague your brain with such a small mistake. 

“Don’t go anywhere again,” you beg, hushedly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry you worked so hard for nothing.” 

It’s the last straw for Namjoon because he straightens his form, guides you to stand up and he sets you down on his lap, pushing your legs onto the bed—holding you as if he were holding a child. 

And that’s precisely what you need at the moment. 

“It’s not over. Pick a place and we’ll go there. Start over. With you present this time. What are you dreaming of these days?” 

Your heart swells. Nothing has been flooding your dreamland as much as Paris was. Even that seemed unrealistic, let alone a much different place. It overcomes you and, peculiarly, stops you from crying. You feel like a spoiled girl getting what she wanted after she had a meltdown and, internally, you blame Namjoon for it. He spoils you. Exudes such overtones of fatherliness that makes a way for it to happen. Most naturally. 

“Paris has always been my dream. No other city,” you say and Namjoon clicks his tongue. A smile widens your mouth, liking the way he senses your custom of modesty, liking the way he dislikes it. You laugh, softly, through your nose. “I’ll think of something.” 

“That’s my nice girl.” 

Taken aback, you clutch the side of his neck. Namjoon is bathed in the orange light and it no longer causes bile to lodge in your esophagus. No, it sparks up something else. Something very rapid, spreading throughout your body. The energy shifts and it’s you who clicks their tongue. “What did I tell you about talking to me like that?” 

You move your hand to the middle of his throat, tightening your hold around his Adam’s apple, tipping his chin. Namjoon grins, hums, wraps his fingers around your wrist. 

“What did I tell you about choking me, hm?” 

A flashback flickers across your vision. One of the last time you were intimate in bed and he was rocking your shit in missionary, using your throat as a leverage. You mirrored him, as you usually do in these endeavors, and choked the air out of him, making him come prematurely. Namjoon scolded you until your ears turned red and refused to make you come. You had to bring yourself over that edge and you managed to squirt your love and your enjoyment of fucking with him all over his body. Namjoon made sure to feed you your elated essence, but he also made it very hard for you to swallow, telling you to hold it as he drilled your throat, making it trickle down the corners of your mouth. 

The memory effortlessly brings back the pulse in your sensitive parts and you begin to crave the repetition of that filthy rendezvous. Badly. 

And so you squeeze his throat. 

Namjoon squeaks your name. You laugh, ferally. 

That is until he pins you down. Hand on your throat this time, the other holding down both of your wrist, the petals sticking to the silk of his pants-clad knees on either side of you. You didn’t even catch the movement as he did it, his strength overbearing and so incomparable to yours. But you don’t feel like the amethyst. No, you feel like a mountain connected to another, to him. Two peaks staring at each other, grinning, your laughter unfaltering, even though it’s you who’s squeaking now. 

Elated, giddy, aroused, equal, your tears sunk deeply within your skin, giving life to your rhapsody, giving it the body it needs in order to come out. 

You love it when he’s like this. And you love that he’s come back to you. 

Of course you have the means to prolong it, to tease it out of him.

“I don’t really care when it turns me on this much,” you rasp, your smile glinting in the dimmed light, arching your back until your chest kisses his. Just once. “When it turns you on this much.” 

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. The corners of your mouth widen, all over again. 

You can’t help it. 

Namjoon cocks a brow, his mouth ends following the same directions, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. “Oh, so you don’t need to be reminded?” He mimics your intonation, angling his head.

You shake yours, eyes dipping to his clefts, teeth instinctively finding your bottom lip, biting down. You feel the heaviness of his stare and it urges you to bite down harder, the tension quickening your blood circulation. And it isn’t until you meet his adoring gaze that it stops, for a mere second, scattering tingles down every vein. And Namjoon resumes the flow by pressing a chaste kiss down onto your lips, lingering there. 

“I know you’re a nice girl and that you didn’t mean it, but I have to spank you for it, anyway. Do you understand?” He whispers against those pillows, each movement of his mouth brushing against yours, making you needy for more. 

You make a face. “But I did mean it. Meant it with everything in me.” 

Namjoon laughs, endearingly. “No, you didn’t, baby. Not when you know what I’m capable of doing to you. Or not doing to you.” 

You smirk, catching onto his game. He’ll disagree until you grow so frustrated that you burst, disobeying him to the point that he has to tame you. He wants to get you to the lowest point, because the lower you dig, the bigger treasure you find—the more you stimulate the brain, the chemistry, the bigger the pleasure. Namjoon is an intelligent man; knows what the fuck he’s doing and you’re so transfixed by it that you’ll let yourself be led into his little trap that he watches over. Just to please him because ultimately, you’ll be pleased beyond measure. 

You tip your chin and trace his lips with your own. “No, I did, because I love how whiny you get. Makes me wanna bruise my knees for you, take all of you down my throat until it hurts to speak.” 

Namjoon is so awestruck by your words that his mouth parts as he gawks down at you and he moans. There it is. That’s precisely what you wanted. 

“You know,” he starts, pausing to swallow. “I had different plans with you in terms of this. Good fucking plans. But you just ruined them.” 

The precipice of what that could be hangs over your clavicles and suddenly you brim with the need to know what it was. What his smart, business brain came up with. And not only that—you want it to happen, your curiosity piqued, blaming the choice of words he used, the work-tinged colors he splattered them with. 

“What plans?” 

He straightens, setting your hands free. “Take off your dress.” 

You’re taken aback. “Namjoon.” You stress his name. “What plans?” 

“No, I’m not telling you. You’re gonna take off this dress and you’re gonna take what I give you.” 

You frown. Your curiosity won’t let up. “Namjoon, please.” 

The pretty word curls his mouth. Perhaps, you’ve softened his stubbornness. You surely hope so, but to no avail. 

He gets on his feet and swivels you onto your stomach, fingers finding your zipper and dragging it down. Being manhandled like this causes butterflies to swarm not just in your tummy, but over your arms and legs as well, fluttering all over, making your head spin and again, you can’t help the smile blossoming. In the middle of winter, spring opens in you at the touch of his dominance. 

Spreading his hands over your back, sinking his warmth beneath the skin, he leans in, mouth at your ear. “What word do you use when you say please?” 

You know what he wants you to say, but, peculiarly, you’re in such a good mood that you crave to disobey. Just for the fun of it. Just for the pain of it. 

“Pretty please?” you chirp, pursing your lips to hide the slyness of your smile. Delighted, excited. 

Namjoon pulls your hair, causing your head to tip, harshly, pain shooting up your scalp. Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, moaning almost soundlessly, only to realize that he can see you. Your pleasure wasn’t private. Not at all. Never is when he’s involved. 

You flick your eyes up at him, meeting his darkened stare, and you flutter your lashes at him, playing the stupid girl when you’re well educated by him in reality. 

Maybe you do need to be reminded, after all. Again, for the fun of it. For the pain of it. 

To distract him from his failure. Help him forget. You know how it gets to him. Deem he deserves it; deem it’s a duty of your fiancée privileges. 

“Pretty please is an addition. Something to help me have a sliver of pity for you. You seem to have forgotten who I am to you.” 

Oh, he’s a myriad of things. 

Mountain. Stability. Dependability. A most grand picture of beauty. Of intelligence. The sun and the moon, his brain cells the planets in the universe. The second heart you’ve grown over the trajectory of your relationship. The pulse of your emotions, especially the one between your legs.

He’s everything in your life while you remain your own person.

And only Namjoon would have achieved something like that. 

“No, I haven’t. You’re my husband,” you say, allure dripping in your tone, wiggling your hips, causing the fabric of your dress to ripple over your bum. 

Namjoon coos, quite pleased with the title, and he pats your behind before he grabs you by your waist and pulls you to your feet—flush against his body and the rock solid situation in his pants. You sway your hips, the gasp that slips out of your mouth goes almost unnoticed by you as you’re entirely focused on his hardness. You look down to follow the movement of his hands like a cat. They drift upwards—from your ribs, over the swell of your breasts until his long fingers reach the straps of your dress and drag them down, exposing you, exposing your arousal evident on your stiffened nipples. You could blame the cool temperature hanging in the room for it, but both of you know that would be a lie. A fat lie that your husband doesn’t deserve, not when he’s so dominant, so strict and so fucking provocative, spreading tendrils of heated life in you with each subtle touch. 

Subtle? Oh, Namjoon gropes your tits, rolling your nubs between his slender fingers, softly moaning behind you. And then he pinches them, coaxing your squeaks out and you feel that familiar, wet warmth pooling in your core, mingling with the throbbing sensation that intoxicates you. Enough for you to clasp your hands over his and tighten his hold, squirming against him, loving—loving terribly the sparks of pleasure coursing down your figure. Loving the feeling of dampness against your panties that’s nothing but evidence of the way your body savors his special attention. 

“Husband, that’s right. Your fucking husband,” Namjoon murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, causing your head to knock back against his chest and make space for him, inviting him to continue—and he does. Places tiny little kisses down to your shoulder, where he licks the skin before he sucks it into his mouth. “But there’s something else you call me when I treat you this good. What is it? Think.” 

Those kisses and his command for the wheels in your mind to quicken alone make you give in, make you submit to his craving to call you by that filthy, rightful title. Even more so when he pinches your nipples again. You whine, feeling your neediness for more taking greater highs in your system, feeling your own body yearning to scream out that name. 

“Daddy,” you cry out, desperately, awfully. How well it fits him, how well he deserves to be called by something like that—how gratified you sense your body to be right now. No poetic string of verses could ever manage to do it justice. 

Namjoon hums, his pleasure deepening. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. I love it when you use that brain of yours.” 

You blush. A tableau unseen by Namjoon yet, for he busies himself with undressing you. Your garment gets plopped onto the mattress, your underwear along with it. A silky strip that hardly covers anything. You’re bare while he remains fully dressed and something about that turns you wild. The silkiness of his slacks, the cotton of his white shirt against your skin—such softness, such balminess, such caress for the undomesticated freedom that you profoundly feel within. You sigh at the sensation, your lingering curiosity bubbling in you, slowly rising to the tip of your tongue. 

“Will you tell me now? What you planned?” 

Namjoon chuckles, humorlessly. “You think you’ve earned it? No, baby.” He runs his hand down your ribs and your tummy, halting at your mound. His middle finger can nearly reach your swollenness and you quiver in response. “You’ve got spanks to take first. Maybe then I’ll tell you.” 

You whine, softly, and Namjoon grabs your chin and turns your head so you can look at him. A mad, mad smile adorns his shadowed, taut face and you realize there’s pent-up frustration still swirling in him. One you will do anything to help him steam off. 

Anything. 

Anything for your husband. 

And so, by your own whim, you lay down onto the bed, anticipating the pleasure of pain. Namjoon lets out a sound of approval and you sense the vibrations of his nearness as he props a knee on the bedding, flattening down a violet petal. He fixes your position, lifts your bum in the air, and he kisses your bare cheek with all the world’s affection, sucking the skin, nibbling on it before smoothing the pain with a swipe of his tongue. 

“You’re my nice girl, aren’t you?” Namjoon questions and you nod, but that’s not good enough of an answer for him. He spanks you, harshly, coaxing a hiss out of you before the pleasure draws in and you let out a breath, turning your head, so you can have a perfect view of him. Namjoon gives you another chance to fix your mistake. “Aren’t you?”

Licking your lips, you make it your focal point to be good for him. “I’m your nice girl.” 

Humming, he caresses your back to praise you. Spanks you with the same tenderness, rubbing the flesh to alleviate the faint sting. The love you carry for him grows with each brush of his calloused hand and you stifle back your needy sounds, your little whines and sobs of a small girl very seldom loved by an even smaller number of male figures in her life. 

Most strangely, it heightens the experience. 

“You’re my wife, aren’t you?” Namjoon purrs, his fingers sneaking to the place that yearns for him more than anywhere else, finding you bedewed, dripping as he rubs your folds—just touching you there without giving you any friction. 

The touch is so nice that you can’t help but mewl most happily. 

“Yes, I’m your wife, Daddy.” 

Namjoon moans, the pads of his fingers sneaking over to your clit and stroking it. You arch your back, your noises rising in volume—the wetness, the pleasure in tandem. Your body begins to shudder in reaction, mimicking his motions, the pressure coiling in the lowest of your tummy. 

“Good, good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my good little wife, but you were bad, weren’t you? You were a bad little wife?” 

He quickens his speed, testing your focus and your mind spins again as the pressure deepens. From his words, from the very gravity of the title ‘wife’, from the very pleasure stemming from the principle of being bad, and you stutter a few times before you’re able to get out the full sentence in a perfect flow. 

“I was your bad little wife.” 

Namjoon growls, liking it just the same. “And what did you do?” 

He slows down, stalling your climax, keeping you halfway from the edge, right where he wants—the pressure of his touch light and gentle. Letting you work your brain. 

You smile up at him, from the clouds of shadows and petals you’re surrounded by. Namjoon deepens the eye contact, returning the smile. Your heart thuds in your chest. 

“I choked you.” 

Clefts of dimples—you, yourself, choke out a breath. Another one, too, when Namjoon spanks you hard, his fingers wet and sticky on your skin, the pain tingling all over your body, beckoning out more of your slick for him. 

“That’s right, you choked me, even though I punished you for it quite severely the last time,” he rasps and spanks you again, again and again. You hiss and flatten your lips to stifle it back, grasping the bed sheets to overcome that burn—and overcome your craving for more. 

You’re at a crossroad. You find yourself wanting to be bad in order to get spanked again, but at the same time you want to be good, so he tells you what he planned for you. Your fucked out brain can’t decide which side is better, but when Namjoon spanks you again—he reminds you that it doesn’t matter at all. You’re getting punished either way while the goal is to tell you. 

Such a good, intelligent husband. And you tell him. 

“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper, your knuckles white as you’re grasping the sheets with all your might. “I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for choking you, but I love it when you spank me.” 

Namjoon chuckles, warmly, spanking your clit once in affection, drawing out your squeaks. 

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. All over again. 

Close to your ear now, he kisses your cheek, his body heat enveloping you in an embrace. “My naughty little wifey loves it when Daddy punishes her. Loves to do the bad things Daddy doesn’t like just so he spanks her. That’s it, isn’t it?” 

You moan out, puckering your lips against the sheets and Namjoon half-kisses your pout, humming against you. He lifts you up onto your knees with your torso upright and he cradles your face. Waits for your answer. 

You’re more than happy to douse yourself in that truth. 

“Yeah, I love it. I love being bad for you.” 

He descends one hand to your bum while the other wraps around your waist and pulls you flush to the hardness of his body. And as he expresses to you how much he liked your words with guttural moans, he spanks you. Again and again, your head tipped back, eyes wandering in the darkened maze of his, where you lose count of how many you’ve taken. 

“But you do realize that’s a big no-no, don’t you?” 

You nod. “I do, Daddy.” 

A hum. “Will you do it again?” 

You whisk your irises up, thinking about it while already knowing the answer in your heart. “Probably.” 

Namjoon laughs and kisses you, feverishly. Moves his mouth against yours, parts it, so he can slip his tongue inside. Plays a game of chase while both of your noises and his interlock and create a music that echoes around the hotel room. He adds a high-pitched tone into the song, yours, as he spanks you again, playfully this time, grabbing the flesh of your bum with both of his hands now, kneading it, drawing it closer until you feel his aroused length against your tummy. 

Moans, squeaks, skin slapping and lip smacking. A song of beauty that will resonate within your body, mind and soul for days to come. 

And another thing. 

“God, I love you so much,” Namjoon whispers, bringing his hands to your ribs until his thumbs brush across your nipples. 

That, too, will ring in your veins. 

You melt. Become nothing but liquid devotion in his hands. And as he begins to focus on your neck, you roll your eyes back and resound your love back to him. 

“I love you, Namjoon.” 

He sighs against your collarbone, mutedly. “You love me?” 

You sink your fingers into his short hair, kissing his temple. “I love you so fucking much.” 

When he emerges with puffy, reddened lips, you can see it on his face that he did it again. Made you say the words he wanted to hear. And so you say it again, again and again. Each time with more intensity, with more verve, embedding it into his lips, his cheeks, jawline, his chin and his neck. All skin you can reach until you stumble upon the cotton of his shirt, at which you frown. 

“Take this off. Now.” 

And he listens. Loosens his tie, places it upon the petals on the bedding. Begins to unbutton his shirt. All while staring you down. And all you can do is watch him in awe, licking your lips, hungry for him, hungry for the intelligent plan he’s keeping from you. 

Once he bends at the waist to get his arms out of the sleeves, you press on the matter. 

“Tell me,” you say, softly, despite the tension of your curiosity. “Tell me what you planned.” 

Namjoon tilts his head and light flickers across his eyes, fires of stars—the ones that twinkled on the Eiffel Tower before his arrival. You spent your entire life dreaming about seeing it when it stands right in front of you, half naked. Has been standing before your eyes for years. 

Your mouth parts at the tenderness of it all and emotion bubbles within you. 

Sizzles, ferociously, when Namjoon reveals his secret. 

“Speeding down the road to this hotel, I saw it before my eyes. What I was going to do to you,” he starts, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off the loops. Your heart thumps, violently, against your ribcage, longing to jump onto his big palms. He pauses his motions to concentrate on his words. “I was going to apologize. Tell you what happened. And then I was going to make it up to you. Undress you, keep only the shoes on you were going to wear.” He looks over to the side, where your black YSL heels have been waiting for hours to be worn. Before he even asks if those were the ones, you nod your head and Namjoon fetches them and puts them on your feet. “I was going to have these digging into my back while I ate you out. While I would transfer us to the park before the Eiffel Tower with my words.” Securing the straps, he straightens, knees on either side of yours, and grabs his tie, smoothing it out with his thumbs. “I was going to blindfold you. Make you imagine you were there with me. No one else but us. On a blanket. Describe to you in great detail what we were doing as I’d be balls deep in you. Here but there at the same time.” 

Your throat dries as you take in his words and there’s only a few words you’re capable of saying. Your eyes flick to the tie, then back up to his dark chocolate irises, wet with a glint of deep arousal, one that you feel pulsing in you just as well. You hook your arms on his hips and nod at the slender fabric in his grasp.

A man of the world’s intelligence. How attractive, how alluring. Your shadowed cloud swathes you tighter and you spill with the need to be fucked. Fucked with that smartness. That capability. All wrapped around that big cock of his. 

You need it. Won’t live if he doesn’t ruin you with it. 

“Do it,” you choke out, swallowing with great difficulty. “Please.” 

Fingers curling around his belt loops, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his manhood twitches in the tight confines of his slacks and the sound you let out at the sight would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so endeared by it, caressing your face with his thumb, lifting it so you pay attention to what he wants to say to you. 

“Are you comfortable with me blindfolding you? We’ve never done that before.” 

Even though your trust wavered merely an hour ago, it happened so it would get strengthened at this very moment. You don’t detect any no’s echoing within you, any worries or fears, anything that would cause you to stand in the way of this endeavor unfolding. It excites you, the newness, the principle of placing not just your trust, but your control, your senses and your safety in his hands. Allowing him to proceed with his would solely mean that you deepen what you already practice in your sex life, take it to another level. And these things are of great importance to Namjoon. He never disappointed you—never failed, never missed. 

He takes care of you. Through and through. From the beginning to the end. Until you close your eyes, only to take it from the top the following morning. 

Your trust in terms of that could never waver. It’s impossible. It’s so strong, so held steadily that it would never come across your mind, even. 

And so you give him your consent. 

“Yes, I am. I’m excited to do this. I want this.” 

Namjoon strokes your hair, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “All right, my love, but remember that we can stop anytime. I’ll take it off as soon as you say the word. Tell me you understand.” 

And along with your consent, you give him a big smile. “I understand, baby.” 

He kisses you, stealing a thousand tiny kisses more in the same lip lock. “That’s a good girl. So smart. Are you thirsty?” 

You fold your hands on your lap and nod your head. The tie slung over his broad shoulder, Namjoon walks over to the mini bar, fishes out a bottle of ice cold water and opens it for you, tipping it to your mouth, encouraging you to drink.

The coldness streaming down your stomach only enlivens your arousal and it seems as though the matter is naked to the eye as Namjoon bites his lip at the sight of you, screwing the bottle shut and placing it on the bedside table. You tug at the tie, your eyes crinkling as your smile simply can’t leave your mouth alone and Namjoon hums out a laugh at your excitement. 

“Ready?” 

Your whole figure is fluttering, of course you’re ready—and you tell him. “Born ready.” 

It prolongs his expression of lighthearted endearment. “Good. Remember to stop me when it gets too much. Close your eyes.” Obeying, the softness of the silk grazes, fondly, your eyelids as pitch-blackness encompasses you. Namjoon ties the thick wisp at the back of your head, careful not to intermingle any strands of your hair into the knot, attentive enough not to pull it too tight and not too loose either, causing you to ache for him so badly that you almost want to scream. “How does it feel?” 

Uncanny. You hear his voice and, peculiarly, it’s louder in your ears, although he’s speaking in the same volume as he was before he blindfolded you. You sense something missing from you—and it’s a feeling that you detect in the pit of your stomach and at the ends of your abruptly numb fingertips. 

You clench those digits, but the sensation remains. It is only when you raise them and bump into the sturdiness of his chest that you perceive what it truly is. 

Groundedness is what you’re missing. 

The softness of his skin brings back a sense of realness back to you. When you drift your palms up to his shoulders and hold onto them, you feel real; you feel like a person that has limbs, that has someone right there with them to look out for them because aloneness is what comes with the darkness of the sight and that is absolutely terrifying. 

You cling to his neck, causing him to stumble into you, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of his weight. He goes to lift himself up, but you stop him—tightening your headlock, pressing the side of your face against his, eating that realness as you trace your lips against his cheek, run your hand across the back of his head. 

He’s here with you and he’s not going anywhere. With that stability, you can walk further in this rendezvous because you’re not alone at all, despite the fact it’s what your eyesight is telling you. 

“It feels really strange. I need you close. I need to feel you. To know I’m not by myself,” you whisper, sensing your chest to become lighter once the truth is out. Your naivety and excitement didn’t expect this to happen, but you’re comfortable with trying this out and feel where it takes you.

“Do you want to stop?” Namjoon asks and you can identify where he roots that question on your body. Right there upon your left collarbone, where his breath seems warmer than ever before and where he begins to scatter tiny kisses. 

That thrills you—the identification of where he is, the loudness of his voice, the depth of his touch and the unusually scorching body heat he radiates as all of your other senses are heightened and you want more of it. You crave to know what it would feel like to have his tongue on your sensitive parts like this. What it would feel like to have him drilling you. 

That alone makes you shiver with something beyond excitement. With something feral and undomesticated, again. 

Another thing for him to tame. 

Your body sings to him. To the stars. To the tower. And Namjoon can hear it, incorporating his tongue into his not so chaste kisses in response. 

“No, I don’t want to stop. I want you to keep going,” you say at last, caressing the wholeness of his back, reveling in the discovery of his muscles, his shoulder blades. It feels so new, so different. You quake all over. 

Namjoon pulls himself upwards, nudges his nose against yours and you smile. “Okay, baby. I’m right here.” He kisses both of your eyelids, the right one first before the left one. You feel at one with your heart as it palpitates; feel as though you were inside your body. “Fuck, your eyelashes are so long that I can see them curled around the tie. You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

You blush, the heat of your cheeks akin to a blanket pulled to your nose. Such coziness. You hum and try to find his lips, but he’s out of reach. You crane your neck until it hurts, giving up with a huff. 

“God, don’t do that to me. That was so cute,” Namjoon husks and moans when you pull him down and kiss him at last. 

It’s at this moment that you thank the God that he mentioned for writing into the Book of Life that Namjoon was to be late and miss your dream because this kiss does more than make up for it. This kiss creates new dreams that begin to swirl within you. Dreams of the Mediterranean sea, the sand and sun rays so hot that they bronze your skin. Dreams of sultry nights, black dresses and flats for all the roads you shall walk upon while following the starlight, hand in hand with Namjoon dressed in linen of the same color. 

Dreams of Asia, but not where you first opened your eyes in as a newborn. The western side of Asia, the one you’ve never seen and never dreamed of until now. 

Your heart enlarges and you overspill with so many emotions that they trickle out of your hidden tear ducts. Newness, possibilities—for both you and Namjoon, but mainly for him. For his happiness. 

He calls your name, fearfully, but you shake your head. “What’s wrong?” 

You feel his fingers sneaking over to the knot of the tie, but you stop him. “I know where we’re going next time.” 

His breath of relief becomes the new cloud you rest upon. “You scared me. Don’t cry, baby.” 

You fondle his wrist. “Namjoon, we’re going to Turkey.” 

Silence. Then, a kiss. “Is that where you want to go?” 

A nod. That’s where your soul will escape to once you lay down to sleep. “That’s the place I’m dreaming of.” 

A kiss on your neck. A hum. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.” A stripe of his tongue down to your collarbones—you feel your slick drip down onto the bedding. “Do you remember where we are right now?” 

An inhale of breath. “Paris.” 

Namjoon sucks the supple skin above your nipple. “That’s right. We’re at the park in front of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of summer. You’re sat on my lap like this.” He manhandles you to the position he describes and you gasp, not expecting it. “My back is facing it while you have a perfect view of the twinkling lights. Can you see them?” If your memory serves you well, he’s painting a picture of reality as well and you’re so touched by it that another, secret tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Yes, they’re shining so brightly. They’re so pretty, too. You’re making my dream come true. Thank you.” 

Wetness against your sternum. Namjoon must be crying as well and the realization makes you sob. Makes you find his lips again and kiss him. 

“I love you,” Namjoon croaks out and you break, holding onto him so tightly that you clench all of your muscles. 

“I love you, Namjoon.” 

A final kiss before the continuation of his depiction of the dream. 

“Nobody is around. They’ve all gone to sleep. It’s just us, the Tower and the moon. You’re so beautiful, so lost in the pleasure as I’m kissing you like this.” He shows you by resuming leaving kisses along your breasts. “And when I do this—” He licks over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. You whimper, flexing your eyelids at the sensation swarming in your core. “You make pretty sounds just like that, but I tell you to be quiet. We don’t wanna wake up those people and ruin the fun. And you’re so good that you listen, taking the pleasure so well.” 

He sets you down onto the bed, moves down to your tummy, placing the rest of his kisses there. 

“Then, I lay you down on the blanket. You’re naked for my eyes only and I spread your legs.” His hands follow his words, lifting your thighs and pinning them down. “I blow on your needy little pussy and you shiver so beautifully for me. I can see you shining for me, shining brighter than the lights and I give it to you.” 

There you feel it. The lick of his tongue on your clit and you shudder, moan so loudly that it reverberates down your body, the pleasure unlike any other you ever had the grace to experience. You roll your body into his mouth and Namjoon moans in tandem with you, even more so when your heel digs into his shoulder blade like he dreamed of.

“I lick your clit in circles and I feel you come alive on my tongue, so I pick up the pace.” 

You chase the movement as he does, reveling in it to the point that you curl your body, rising yourself to your elbows and grasping the nape of his neck, knocking your head back once he prods a finger into your heat. 

“I need more of it. I need to feel you around my fingers, so I stretch you out.” 

He adds another digit, fucking you diligently, and you whine out his name, squeezing his neck, your thumb pressing the spot above his Adam’s apple. 

“But my baby is doing something she knows is making my cock needy for her. She’s choking me, making me so fucking hard for her, so I pin her hands down.” 

He rips your hand from his neck and pushes it down onto the bedding, holding it in place with his forearm as he rounds an arm around your tummy, fingers spreading your folds apart from this angle, leaning his weight on it, freeing up space for his other hand to fuck you harder. 

You plop down onto the bedding, unable to resist him. And with your submission comes your orgasm, the rope uncoiling right at the place where the pulse on his wrist thumps. 

And your dreams explode across the blackness of your vision. 

“And you come like this. On my tongue. Around my fingers and I go fucking crazy for you, lick up everything you gave me. So fucking crazy that I turn you around and take you like this.” 

You’re glad for the way he worded this part because you don’t jump when he does swivel you and licks over the red marks over your bum. He prepared you. The coolness of the petals on your skin causes you to whimper and you move your hand in effort to grab one of them. Namjoon settles between the sides of your thighs and when he sees what you’ve found, he chuckles, taking it from you, turning you halfway and brushing it against your cheek. 

You gasp, liking the heightened softness, and you purr. Seeing your reaction, Namjoon drifts it down your neck, your collarbone until he reaches the peak of your breast. And when he circles that stiffened nub—an endeavor just between you, outside of the dream—your whimpers have so much tension and opulent seductiveness to them that you feel his bare manhood twitch against the line of your bum. 

It drives you to thrash your hand until you find him, too, and you wrap your hand around his thick manhood, pumping him as he stimulates your nipple like this, your position—halfway on your side, with your leg crossed, propped on the bedding, brings friction to your clit as your body moves where the pleasure wants it. 

Namjoon breathes hard, groaning gutturally, and you could almost come like this. 

“Fuck, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whine and it causes Namjoon to turn you fully onto your back and take that petal down to your wet clit. “Oh, my God.” 

Faint, yet so nice. You tremble, feeling the petal drifting over your folds, your lips, gathering your slick over your heat. And when Namjoon rubs circles on your clit with it, the membrane of the petal so fucking slippery now that it’s coated with your wetness, his title falls from your lips like the rain that keeps those flowers alive out there in Paris. 

“Keep fucking me with your wrist,” Namjoon rasps and you moan, loving to be ordered around, loving being told what to do. 

You fix your mistake of neglecting him while lost in the new delight, concentrating on his equally wet tip as you tighten your hold, pumping him swiftly, his foreskin closing around him in tandem with your movement coaxing his growls out that envelop you in firelight, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt. 

Even gripping him you perceive to be different and as that firelight flickers vastly across the night you see, splattering it with makeshift stars that Namjoon calls to creation with each of his deep sounds, your orgasm comes as an explosion that brings color to his art. 

Purples, yellows, reds and pinks. Stars that brim with colors. Such paintwork of beauty that Namjoon strums to life on your clit and your scream gets muffled by the sheets as he turns you back onto your tummy without withdrawing his hand. 

He begins to kiss your shoulder, knowing you need a minute before he can fill you up. 

“My pretty girl, my wife,” he moans against your skin, marking you there. “I’m gonna fuck you with that petal on your clit. With the rest of them clinging to your beautiful body like that. Gonna fuck you nice and hard against them.” You whimper your vulgarities, so out of it—so intoxicated by the picture, looking forward to it. “You came so well on my fingers. With the petal. Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you just for that. And for the way you made me forget where we were.” 

You laugh and your stomach flips, love hormones coursing in your veins like the strongest drug. And you laugh even harder when it dawns on you that you’ve also forgotten. 

“I don’t remember either,” you sputter between your giggles, contagious as Namjoon laughs as well, brushing your hair back to one side to kiss your cheek. 

“How are you feeling? Has it gotten too much, hm?” 

He takes the time to check up on you, instead of picking up where he left off and, fuck, you dissolve, becoming one with the petals—no edges to you, only liquid affection. 

You’ve gotten used to the darkness. No traces of fear or uneasiness can be found trickling in your system—as a matter of fact, you can’t wait to be fucked, can’t wait to find out how it’ll feel once he’s inside you. The way he’s talking to you, constantly touching you and making it known to you that he’s present with you doesn’t let the previous disturbing feeling to sidle up to you and you’re terribly, terribly grateful. 

“I feel great. I want you inside me, baby. I’m ready.” 

Namjoon growls, biting into the skin of your shoulder until you whimper, kissing the pain away. Rubs his petal-clad fingers on your clit, prolonging your noises. The pleasure begins to build up, the colors you’ve seen stacking back on top of each other and you sigh, nuzzling your face into the sheets, most comfortable. 

He cradles your jaw, though. Makes you look forward. Augments the dream, resuming. 

“You’re looking at the Tower and I’m holding you like this so your neck doesn’t cramp up. I’m inside you, just like you wanted.” 

Namjoon merges the reality into the retelling, creating something more expanse than this world can bear and you’re awestruck. He sinks himself into your wonder, knees on either side of you as you lay flat on your tummy, your bum lifted a little, heels dangling off of the bed. 

Your eyes flutter beneath the tie as his girth stretches you and the colors you see are adjacent to the picture he paints. They blossom into shapes, swirly edges that grow into flowers and cling to the Tower like the violet petals cling to your body. Namjoon pulls out and gives you a long stroke and more flowers bloom, hanging by the lights. You lose your breath, the vibrancy of the pleasure so heavenly that you lose track of time, day and space as well, floating in that dream that the reality you thought about ripped away from you once he bottoms out. 

You can’t even hear yourself. Can only hear him as your senses wrap around him. 

“I’m not choking you. I’m not giving you a taste of your own delicious poison; I’m just holding you like this, helping you see your dream alive in front of your eyes. I look at you and I can’t help it. You’re illuminated by those lights, yet shining brighter. Kissed by the moon so much that I get jealous. Can you see that fucker up above?” 

As if he drew the planet with his finger, it appears in your vision as soon as he pulls out again and fills you in all entirety in one swift, but hard motion. And it’s now that you hear yourself scream as your clit rubs against his fingers flat against it with that collision. 

“Fuck, Namjoon, I—I can’t take it. It’s too good.” 

“I didn’t ask you if you could take it. I asked you something else,” he husks, moving his mouth against your neck. You feel your eyes rolling back underneath your closed eyelids and you moan, his hips picking up the speed. “You can take it and you will. Tell me, baby. Can you imagine that moon in your vision?” 

It’s right there, beaming at you, but you can’t focus, not when you can feel his cock in your throat. He huffs against you, overcome just the same, resuming his circles on your clit and you’re dead. 

“You’re so deep, Daddy,” you utter in one breath. “So good, fuck.” 

Soaked flowers. Stars flickering more quicker. White dots joining in, along with hot flashes. You’re face to face with your orgasm. 

“Focus, baby,” Namjoon scolds, voice straining nearing you closer, falling in step with you the more you clench your walls against him. 

“Can’t. Gonna come.” 

“Come, then,” he encourages, drilling you harder into the mattress, your clit yet again rubbing against his flat fingers. “Let go and give it to me like the nice girl you are. Come for me, baby.” 

Fireworks shoot through that picture and you cling to it as you come around him. Namjoon praises you through it all, darkening those flowers that surround it and your orgasm convulses through you, lasting as long as the flying colors bursting through the night-tinged sky. And white gushes in as he loses himself in your climax, his own triggered and he stuffs you with it, fucking you through it until the bed makes such terrible sounds that he stills, letting you milk it out of him. 

Panting, Namjoon swivels you halfway around while still buried inside you. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold now. Keep your eyes closed, baby.” 

You listen and he flings it off, kissing you, ravagedly, whimpering into your mouth. Exhaustion seeps so deeply inside you that you can barely reciprocate the energy of the movement of his mouth and with one last peck, he lets you breathe. 

When you open your eyes, it’s not the light that stings your pupils, but the exhilarated, flushed and content sight of Namjoon, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You blink a few times to get used to the beauty, touching him all over, spreading your love for him everywhere you can. 

“That was so perfect,” you whisper, sleepily. “Thank you. Thank you for making my dream come true. For making it better than I ever dreamed of. I love you, Joonie.” 

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles—with bruised, puffy, reddened lips that make you weak. 

“I love you.” 

You lay like this for quite some time, stroking each other’s skin, enjoying the rest and the silence. Namjoon takes off your heels then, massaging your feet as if they were in pain and you smile down at him, fondly. 

“Like hell, I’d let you wear these to the park.” 

You laugh through your nose, your love for him blooming, and he carries you in the shower. 

You join him on the balcony later, sharing a cigarette with him, wearing matching, thick and warm hotel bathrobes to protect you from winter’s cold. You look up at the moon as you take a drag and send your thank you to God for the contended joy that clothes your heart. Namjoon pulls you in, kissing the top of your head. 

“So, Turkey next time?” he asks, inhaling your vanilla scent from your body wash that you brought along. 

You sigh and life overflows from you. “In the summer. No business, just vacation. Just us. And if business does find you there, it’ll find me, too. It’ll be different this time.” 

Namjoon presses his mouth against your forehead, sinks his words there. “I’d marry you right now if I could.” 

Tears prick at your waterline, your throat aching. “If I pray hard enough, she’ll get better by spring,” you say, voice wobbling, speaking of your poor mother. You couldn’t get married without her—it’s the sole reason why your wedding is left in the hands of fate. 

“We’ll bring her to Turkey, then. I’ll make sure to tell her to pack her hanbok and I’ll marry you there. What do you say?” 

Rivulets of tears stream down your face and you look up at him, catching the same liquid lining his eyes. You nod, your mouth rounding in a pout. 

“Perfect,” you whisper. 

Namjoon gives you the last kiss of the night, sealing that plan shut and you believe, with everything in you, that he will bring it into reality. 

You trust him. 

Forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[avenoirzm]

dirty little secret

cw: age gap. leon is 21 and reader is in her late 30s. sooo. yeah. potential cheating? probably. awkward flirting. no beta reading. idek what to add ;(

a lil note: controversial topic but listening to artemas’ song i couldn’t help but think of re2 leon and the reader in her late thirties who is an aspiring milf... so yes... here it is the first chapter of the series and idek how many chapters it will take me to finish this bc lately im just feeling intense disorientation?? anywayz i just want some angst and some yearning and it’s all about rookie leon with his questionable mommy kink & his sad big blue eyes.

chapter 1

“Leon, ventilate your stinking room!”  

The morning routine begins with a refreshing shower and Leon’s combing his hair when the voice of Giselle, the biweekly working housekeeper, jars him out of his thoughts. He huffs and puffs since the song he was humming got halved halfway through.  

“Jesus, man. It’s not like I’m running away,” he rants to himself. He dumps his comber on his bedside drawer, barely finding a gap between the volumes of books. Careless and haphazard.

The morning breeze caresses his face when he reaches for his window and cranes it open, the zephyr brings sweet sweet repose after his long slumber. 

The fresh aroma of autumn rain wafts through the city. It rained non-stop last night while he slept soundly all night. Best time of the year, Leon’s absolute favorite season, had come barging through the door. Lovely morning. Gives him a certain contentment. 

Leon’s eyes, lit by the pale blue and cerulean purity as he surveys the block, fix on the move-in truck. It had been rumored for a few days that there would be other residents moving into the neighborhood. His curiosity about this new family was naturally peaked, considering he hadn’t personally heard much about the new family moving in next door. But all he could see were men working, packing things into the lift and a few weary groups of old and some young faces.  

Maybe he should go down and help them. Sounds like a good idea.  

He didn’t have much to do on the weekend anyway. Except that the rumbling, fluttery growl of his stomach thwarts his plan of introducing himself. Breakfast time. Shouldn’t be too much trouble to grab a bite to eat right now and head downstairs, he thinks to himself as he flaps the window shut. 

In the kitchen, he helps Giselle with breakfast, pours himself a fresh cup of coffee, and there’s an empty seat at the table. Somebody is out of the usual, all too cloying family picture. His dad is the missing part. 

It doesn’t take long. Leon knows his dad has already out, probably to the station.  

“Wasn’t dad on patrol yesterday?”  

“Yeah, kid, but he didn’t show up yesterday. Tried ringing him, sure, but Mr. Kennedy didn’t pick up the phone.” Giselle ruffles Leon’s hair as she always does before she settles the breakfast plate in front of him.  

With a gruff retort, Leon smooths back the hair that has fallen in front of his eyes. God, he hates when they fuck up his perfectly washed hair.

Now don’t get him wrong, Leon sees Giselle as the granny he never had—she’s a part of the Kennedies and a sweet aunty who knows some good cookie recipes, but this kind of cuddly gesture is starting to grate on him now that he’s all grown up. It’s been like this for the last couple of years, since he hit puberty, so to speak.  

“Why on earth are you talking to me like you’re talking to a 12-year-old kid?” It’s hard to comprehend, really. Leon isn’t a 12-year-old kid anymore—he’s a goddamned adult and he thinks he should be treated like one.  

“Because your hair is always soft, my sweet boy.”   

“Whatever.” He waves it off abruptly, but his cheeks do flush.

“The folk moving in the next door got a boy just like you. Oh, how adorable. Unlike you, he thanked me when I brought some cookies and didn’t pout at me like you always do." Giselle grouses to herself as she walks over to the sink, to the dishes. Typical and ungrateful grandma.  

“Giselle, have you ever heard of the term first impression? The guy probably did that so he’d paint himself as a good neighbor. Jeez!” Leon bites into his morsel of food with a know-it-all lecture. So dramatic, as per usual.

“That still makes him a politer boy than you, Leon. Have I ever told you before that you’re growing more like your father as you get older?”  

“Oh, come on. Don’t play the granny card with me now,” Leon says it facetiously, but inwardly he knows Giselle’s making a valid point. It’s as if it’s Leon’s instinctive nature to emulate his father, even if he doesn’t want to, not necessarily anyway. But the motivation to be a cop just like his dad is pressing, driving. Knowing that the world he lives in is laden with acidic and poisonous clouds in lieu of rosy skies, Leon never lost his dreamy streak; he was welcomed into a warm home by this very cop when he was a little boy, before he even knew his own name.  

Little by little, Leon treads a path he has decided to take so that every person in trouble, not least kids without a mother or a father, can emerge with that feeling of penchant. Sure, makes him uneasy, sometimes it’s hard to walk, but it’s always better than nothing. For many more Leon’s to save, to protect. Call it Pollyannaism, call it overly optimizing, even a white savior complex—Leon wouldn’t mind. He has a solid goal and that’s it. 

The pandemonium he encounters when he comes downstairs after his breakfast is more convoluted than he expected.

“Jesus, a hell of a mess,” he maffles, sotto voce.

Leon paves the way towards a burly man carrying a vast television set, its screen packed securely in bubble wrap. His eyes, searching for the owners of the apartment, fall on you for the first time—a woman he has never seen before—when he was watching this blight from his window this morning. 

With your back straight to him, a notepad in your hand, you’re recounting something to another staff member. Pencil skirt, button-up shirt ensemble. Ohh, professionalism is talking now.

You must be the daughter of the proprietor of the house or something, in Leon’s opinion. Maybe he should introduce himself before jumping into the conversation. 

Without further ado, he approaches you from behind and calmly pays a detached ear to your conversation with the second worker, who listens to your every word with a perpetual tartness on his face, as if he’s constantly sucking on an acerbically godawful lemon. 

“As I said, the leather on the canapés is authentic, very very prone to ripping. All I ask for is your undivided attention, sir.” 

“Of course, ma’am,” the worker sheepishly gives partiality to the subject, and, relieved that at least your belongings are safe, you look over at the... boy who stands next to you. His powder blue, beaming eyes are the first thing you notice. 

“Hey,” he begins, confidently, to say the least. A sweet attempt. Who could this be?   

“Do I know you?” 

“Oh, yeah— I meannn...” He opens his mouth, and with your proverbial raised eyebrow and probing gaze, Leon simply freezes. He should have known from the start that he was about to engage in a conversation with a hard-ass girl.  

He clears his throat. Awkward tension is killing the both of you, but you do a better job of hiding your emoticons than he does.

“As a matter of fact, yeah. Say hello to the boy next door. I’m Leon Kennedy.” Undeterred, precocious Leon still does what he has in mind: cracking a more sophomoric joke with a raised hand for a handshake. 

“Oh!” You draw on. No need to get rude now. 

His eyes twinkle, agleam. And you give your name to the boy you consider to be the next-door neighbor’s son, shaking his hand cordially. Piece of cake, baby, he knows your name now. 

“It’s been an exhausting day, Leon. Please forgive me if I started with a rude attitude.” You release his hand and then smack your forehead with the hand holding the notebook. Leon thinks it’s very amiable—the moue on your face and the way you switch off the bitching mode almost immediately. 

“No problem, no problem.” Leon raises his hands, palms open and facing outwards.  

“Man, where are your parents? Are they running off with all the work on you?” 

Your parents?  Parents?

Aww, that boy’s got it all so wrong. Normally, if you weren’t so knackered, you would have burst out laughing. Anyway, keep it as a memory that you will remember later and laugh your head off.  

“My parents are on vacation in California, Leon.”  

“What?” His jaw slacks open, “that’s cruel, damn.” He shakes his head in negativity, as though he has heard the world’s most insipid news. 

“Sure, of course, dear. Only, I must tell you, as the woman of the house, I can take care of a small house relocation.” You cross your arms beneath your chest, tucking them close.

A pause.

Okay, did you really call him dear and oh so randomly? And why are you talking like you’re a character out of those grievous novels?

He’s tense. You’re making Leon reconsider everything he has done, everything he has been through as a numskull that he is. 

The what? The lady of the house? What’s a what?  

You’re married?

....  

You’re married. 

And most importantly, was Leon mindlessly flirting with a married woman? A chick, actually, just look at you! That, however, isn’t the point. 

His pupils are pinpoint, his blues are narrow and indigo spheres. The poor boy is in a state of sheer perplexity. 

“Holy shit!” His reaction doesn’t last long to be blurted out of his plump lips; it’s visceral and the picture is unbelievably ridiculous to follow.  

“You’ve got to be kidding. You barely look in your twenties. Ahem! Well, you look great, ma’am.” He mumbles again and again; he’s rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Where is his initial and boyish verve now? 

Alas, you let him compose himself. Let the poor boy take a breath, right? 

“I feel like I should be thanking you,” you interrupt, so that the boy who’s fiddling uneasily with the fabric of his jacket sleeve will feel a little better. You don’t want to look like a scary and heartless witch in his eyes, anyway.  

“Heh,” he snorts, but futilely. It’s not a pleasant feeling—the guilt wracking fumes swelling deep inside his belly and clenching his muscles in a huge balloon that will eventually implode and burst. 

“Anyway,” he says resolutely; there’s no need to drag it out any further. Let this little talk be a funny and unforgettable and endearing first impression, for both of you.  

“There seems to be a lot of stuff here. Thought I’d drop by to help you out with those,” Leon smiles, all warm and sincere. Playing the role of a wonderful and helpful neighbor, a hero, is his favorite sport.  

“I never turn down a kind helping hand.” 

And you’re up for it.  

With your hands on your hips, you take a cursory glance around and tip your head at the rows of plants in large pots on the floor.  

“I’d be truly grateful if you could help me take these up to the living room. I’ll need them watered, those poor poor lovelies,” your eyes fall on his blues again and it feels gratifying to capture that sheen of sparkle in them. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He... salutes you.

Alright... Boy with a goody-goody attitude. 

You don’t have to tell him twice. Carefully and effortlessly, Leon lifts two heavy pots (show off!), almost child-sized, and you follow him into the elevator with the tiny cactus succulents in your hands. 

looking for part 2? :3

[dragonmasterhiccup]

“Mhm…” she mumbled shamefully, burying her face in the cat’s fur.

“U-um, lemme check,” she murmured, letting out a sniffle as she held the cat up in front of her, causing her to meow again. A very vocal cat, she noted, storing that piece of information in the back of her head.

She was fine, that cat, that is. “She’s jus’ dirty, but, she’s okay…”

Standing up, she carried the cat in the same way that Hiccup would carry Zephyr; holding her securely against herself with her head looking over her shoulder.

She sniffled. “Hiccup? Can, can you push the bed from that side of the door? M’ carrying the kitty right now…”

Once that was done, she gazed up him, clearly a tad bit ashamed and embarrassed. “Are you… do we have to give her back…?”

He was close to the door, listening.

"Okay, that's good, at least..."

Wow. That cat must really have liked Danny, to follow her home...

Hearing her request, he hesitantly said, "Okay, just uh...stand back, I'm not sure how you have it on the other side there..."

He managed to push the door open enough to get inside, before moving the bed back to where it was.

Turning around, he looked at the cat, and Danny, arms crossed as he thought of what to do.

"Well...Dolph's ship might have already left the docks. He knows we didn't have the cat with us when we left...and he said they come and go off his ship all the time..."

Danny did love that cat. And, he was no expert, but the cat looked pretty happy to be with her...

Lips pressed together, he exhaled through his nose before he shook his head. "Let me talk it over with Astrid before anything is decided. For now...she can stay."

[gloamingtusk]

"Welcome To My Blog!"

Hi everyone! My name is Tusk/Zephyr, and I use she/her pronouns. I tend to draw when I feel like it or type things out. I've been meaning to get back into writing, but I haven't gotten back into it for so long because of me being drained from work and everything. Other than that, I tend to be horny whenever I feel like it. I love collecting sex toys and silicone dildos even if I can never fit one inside me- yet.

PLEASE DO NOT FUCKING INTERACT IF YOU ARE A MINOR, PEDO, ZOO OR LGBT-PHOBIC. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED ON SIGHT THANK YOU.

"About Me!"

DOB: 02/22/04

Sexuality: Straight (Also an LGBTQ+ ally)

Main Kinks: Facesitting (Recieving), spit, choking, face slapping, edging, dirty talking / voice kink, degradation, farting (Also recieving), BDSM, teratophilia, biting, axillism, musk/sweat, pet play, size difference, whipping, hair pulling and pegging. There's more on the list if you click here. Also, you won't be seeing any fart stuff here. If you want to see that type of content, ask for my other blog or find it yourself.

Limits/Not Comfortable With: Smegma, non-con, diapers, vomit, threesomes (may make rare exceptions if there's just me and two guys but definitely not me with a guy and another girl), weight gain being used as a fetish, anything problematic really.

Dom Or Sub: Switch (Sub preference! Only dom for pegging.)

Other Interests: Music (Metal and goth bands), stuffed animals, horror movies/thrashers, gothic/creepy things, Halloween, books, manga/anime, comics, transformers, video games, fantasy stuff, dragons, spiders, and drawing.

"A Few Precautions..."

•I have gotten a few DMs from people that want to get to know me or talk to me and while I do appreciate the kind messages you guys leave me, I'll only approach you if I have interest in talking to you. If I don't respond to you, don't take it personally! I just want to put my safety and well-being first. Besides, I'm super busy with work and college. I get stressed and socially exhausted easily!

•If you also slide into my DMs just to be a creep, I'll most certainly make fun of you or block you for it. However, if you want to slide into my ask box and submit some dirty asks, you are more than welcome to do so.

•I don't know how I feel about flirting yet because im still new to the NSFW space, but please understand that I do not want a long-distance relationship or any kind of online relationship. I'm also very picky with people in general.

Donations!

[ask-smutty-lucifer]

Zephyr nearly collapses with relief. “I’m so glad you and Benny found her, then! Pleasance is very… special.” He says, his eyes narrowing as he glances around before whispering to you. “She’s carrying hybrids! Half angel and half demon!” || “Sister… please. You do so much for me. I want you to be more than content! I want you to be HAPPY. I want you to be so happy that you can barely contain it!” Famine says, waving his hands around as he talks. “Besides, the plan is a lot safer this time. I won’t have to do as much! I’ll barely get my hands dirty.” He pauses, still seeing the reluctance in her face. “I’m sure Darkness would love to see you again… and what if you could hug Change again?”

“Nephalem?! Aren’t those super rare? Like, rarer than Nephilim and cambion?” I ask, my eyes wide with curiousity. Most thought it impossible, a thing of myth. Angels and Demons rarely got along and when they did they certainly never got that close.

||

Life whimpers a bit at that, barely able to recall the last time she had seen Change, let alone wrapped her up in her arms. If she ever got the chance to, she’d never let her go again, too afraid she’d disappear the second she stopped holding her.

“I want that, more than anything.” She whispers, trying to hold back tears. Shiny black tears, with a greasy sheen to them, like oil shining on a raven’s wing. “I miss them so much. All of them. You can’t even begin to imagine it, the pain of never knowing what happened to her, of just suddenly being ripped away from them all.”

[crazy4dragons]

Motherhood

HTTYD Creative Week 2021

Day 2: Questions 

While Hiccup is away, Astrid begins to question whether she’s a good mother. Rating: G.

“Why?”

Astrid rolled her eyes as Zephyr questioned her instructions for the third time in a row. “Because you can’t leave your dirty dishes on the table.”

“But why?”

“For the love of Thor, Zephyr, just put your dishes in the sink!” snapped Astrid, lifting a fussy Nuffink out of his high chair and grabbing his favorite blanket.

Shrugging, the little girl climbed down from her seat and placed her bowl and spoon on the counter.

“That’s not the sink,” Astrid reprimanded as she turned to walk out of the kitchen.

“Why do I need to put them in the sink, Mama? They’re okay right here.’

Biting back a curse, the blonde carried Nuffink to her bedroom and placed him in his crib. “There you go,

little one. Enjoy your nap.” She bent down to press a kiss against his forehead. “I love you.”

Whimpering, the toddler reached out a hand towards his mother.

“Fine,” sighed Astrid, picking up Nuffink and settling him against her chest as she climbed onto her mattress.

Having Hiccup away at tribe meetings had always been rough for her, but having him away while she had two children under five to care for, one of whom wouldn’t stop asking questions about everything, made his trips even harder.

“Mama, where are you?” Zephyr’s small voice drifted up the stairs.

Cautiously sliding off the bed, taking care not to disturb Nuffink, Astrid shuffled into the hall. “I’m sitting with your brother,” she explained in a hushed voice.

“Well, I’m bored. I want you to play dragons with me.”

“I can’t, Zeph,” sighed Astrid, rubbing Nuffink’s back as he stirred.

The little girl crossed her arms over her chest. “Daddy always plays dragons with me when I ask,” she insisted. “Why can’t you?”

Astrid struggled to suppress her emotions. She’d always had a feeling that Hiccup was Zephyr’s favorite, but hearing her daughter actually compare her to him hurt, even if she was only four years old.

“Why?” repeated Zephyr.

“Mama’s busy,” the blonde explained, keeping her voice steady. “Maybe I can play in a little while, after Nuffink wakes up.”

Frowning, Zephyr plopped onto the couch and folded her arms over her chest.

As Astrid walked back into her room, a wave of guilt washed over her. She was perfectly okay with the kids when they were babies; that was the easy phase. All she had to do was feed them, cuddle them, and change their diapers. But with Zephyr, she almost felt as if she didn’t know how to be a good mother anymore, now that there was more to it than nursing and snuggling.

“At least you’re still easy,” she murmured to Nuffink, who was still comfortably resting on her chest.

…

Two days later, Hiccup arrived home, weary from his journey, but happy to be reunited with his family. While he liked getting a chance to catch up with old friends like Dagur and Alvin, Astrid and the kids were the most important people in his life, and he felt a sense of emptiness when they were apart.

“How was everything while I was away?” he asked, kissing Astrid’s lips before lifting both Zephyr and Nuffink into his arms.

“Mama didn’t play dragons with me!” Zephyr complained, wrapping her arms around Hiccup’s neck.

Astrid sighed. “It was…okay,” she answered, pretending to ignore her daughter’s comment.

“That okay didn’t sound very convincing,” Hiccup began as he walked upstairs with his wife, each of them lugging one of his travel bags.

“Am I a bad mother?”

“What?” Eyes widening, the Chief raised an eyebrow. “Why would you be a bad mother?”

Pushing her hair out of her face, Astrid sank onto the bed. “I just…you’re so good with the kids…and sensitive…and patient…especially with Zephyr, and I can hardly balance spending enough time with both of them and running the island when you’re not here.”

Hiccup eased himself down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, just because parenting is a little harder for you, doesn’t mean you’re not good at it.”

The blonde didn’t reply.

“Look at my mom. I don’t know if she ever told you, but she had a hard time with me when I was a baby. That’s why she didn’t bring me with her when she left; she was afraid she wouldn’t be a good enough mother to parent me by herself. But I’m close to her now, and she certainly hasn’t been doing a bad job since she came back.”

“I don’t know,” Astrid shrugged. “I just feel like I’m failing. I mean, Zephyr clearly hates me already and she’s only four.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” smiled Hiccup. “She might act like a spoiled Daddy’s girl sometimes, but she doesn’t hate you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” he insisted, pressing a kiss against her cheek. “Zeph loves you. Both the kids do. And you’re an amazing mom.”

Astrid rested her head against his shoulder. “But if there was a contest, you’d still win parent of the year.”

“Don’t say that. We’d both win.” Hiccup grinned. “And I’ll talk to Zephyr about how she’s been treating you. Maybe she just needs a little nudge in the right direction.”

…

The next morning, Astrid awoke to the smell of her favorite breakfast — scrambled eggs with cheese and fried potatoes. Climbing out of bed, she put on a cozy robe and shuffled downstairs to see Hiccup standing in the kitchen with Zephyr.

“Is today a special occasion or something?” the blonde asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Today is Mama Appreciation Day,” announced Hiccup.

“And I made you a drawing!” Zephyr chimed in, running to her room. A moment later, she returned with a sheet of paper, which she proudly handed to Astrid.

Astrid studied the drawing. Although it was largely composed of scribbles and stick figures, she could still make out the image of herself hugging a smiling Zephyr. “Good job, sweetie!” she complimented.

“Turn it around!” the little girl shouted. “Daddy helped me write you a note!”

Flipping the page to the other side, Astrid read:

You are the best Mama in the archipelago. I love you.

Zephyr

“Babe,” Astrid began cautiously, turning towards her husband. “Did she come up with this, or did you?”

Hiccup paused. “I uh…I’d rather not answer that, milady. I —”

“You are the best Mama!” Zephyr interrupted, flinging her little arms around Astrid’s waist. “I don’t want to have any other Mama but you.”

The blonde felt her heart melt as she lifted Zephyr up and settled her on her hip. “And I don’t want to have any other daughter but you,” she smiled. “I’d also love to play dragons with you after breakfast.”

Zephyr grew thoughtful. “Actually, I want to go axe-throwing.”

Astrid’s eyes widened as she cast Hiccup a puzzled glance.

The Chief shrugged. “She is your child.”

“Yes, she is,” Astrid said, hugging Zephyr close. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[allegra-writes]

“Fine line” Part II

Peter Parker x Reader x Harry Osborn

NSFW

Warnings: Smut, threesome.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MY MASTERLIST

You couldn't help the hiss that escaped your lips as Peter gently padded the cut on your shoulder with gauze.

"Sorry" He flinched, "I'm being as soft as I can…"

"I know, Pete, it's ok" You reassured him.

He sighed,

"No, it's not. I'm good at this, god knows I've had practice, but I'm not a doctor…" nonetheless, he grabbed the needle and medical thread, "You should have let Simmons take a look at you"

"She was rather busy"

"I know" Peter was well aware of the carnage, the attack on the city had been vicious. S.H.I.E.L.D Tower now laid in ruins, hundreds of agents hurt or even…

"Your sister is going to be ok" He reassured you. Again. You nodded, swallowing through the knot on your throat. Peter finished his work, placing the softest, most careful of kisses right under the injury. He knew how scared, how worried you were. He knew that was the reason you didn't let doctor Simmons take care of you, cause you didn't want to distract her from tending to Daisy.

"I mean it" He insisted, "She's strong, just like you"

"Yeah, I know" You sighed, "I just wish we were smarter"

You had been naive, the both of you, in believing you had seen the last of the Goblin for the night, not realizing the whole incident with Harry had been just a distraction.

But the Goblin had miscalculated too, he hadn't counted on your whole former team being in the city to meet your boyfriend. All of S.H.I.E.L.D'S best and brightest in the same place, at the same time.

That mistake had ultimately cost him his life.

"What happened to Norman?" You hadn't stuck around for the clean up, too occupied taking an unconscious Daisy, and other badly hurt agents, into the med bay of the Zephyr to get treated. "To the body, I mean"

Peter avoided your eyes, instead choosing to keep wrapping a bandage around your shoulder.

"Peter?"

"I took him back home" He finally blurted out, still not meeting your gaze, "His home, I mean. I know Fury probably wanted to study him or something but I just… Harry, I couldn't- his father, disappearing just like that? Harry deserves to know, he deserves to know his father is not coming back. O-or if S.H.I.E.L.D didn't take the body... I couldn't let Harry find him like that, all broken and bloody on the street. I just-... I just couldn't…"

It clicked then, watching your boyfriend's tear streaked face. All the late night phone calls, talking till sunrise, all the times his patrols around the city had taken him to Oscorp, his diving head first tonight to save Harry, suddenly it all made sense.

"You're in love with him"

"So are you" It wasn't an accusation, just the statement of a fact. You weren't really surprised he had realized, not when he could hear your heartbeat quicken whenever Harry showed up in the news.

The silence fell between you like ghost, a heavy presence, invisible but suffocating, for several moments, until Peter gathered enough courage to break it,

"I still love you, Six. This doesn't change that"

"I know," you sighed, "I still love you too"

"What are we going to do now?" He looked about as lost as you felt.

"I don't know, Peter…"

"I- I don't want to lose you" He choked out a sob.

"You won't" You stood, pulling him in, wrapping your arms around him. He held onto you hard, almost so hard it hurt, but you couldn't let go. You wouldn't. "You won't lose me, Peter, ever. Not for this, not for anything"

He leaned back just enough to crush his lips to yours, pouring all his desperation, all his fear and guilt into a bittersweet kiss. His arms wound even tighter around you in an iron grip, afraid if he let go for just a second, you would disappear from his side.

"Don't leave me… please don't leave me" He didn't realize the words were escaping his mouth between kisses until your answer reached his ears, soothing like a balm:

"I won't. I'm never leaving you"

The ground was swept from under your feet, as Peter picked you up, bridal style. He needed you, his sunshine, his anchor to-

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Peter" Karen's voice resonated through the apartment, "But Harry Osborn is in the lobby, asking for you"

You both froze. It wasn't completely unexpected, you knew how brilliant the blonde heir was under that frivolous bad boy façade, but Peter seemed to be taken by surprise. He searched your eyes, silently begging for guidance, but deep down, he knew what the right thing to do was, the only possible course of action.

"Send him up" He ordered Karen, gently setting you down on your feet again.

"Of course, Peter" The AI replied, with what Peter could have sworn was approval, if that was even possible.

You found a silk robe to put on over your flimsy summer pajamas, covering your body not out of modesty, but to somewhat conceal the bandages and bruises littering your skin. Peter smiled, it was just like you to hide your vulnerabilities, especially if you were expecting a confrontation. He took your hand, and you stepped out of the bedroom together. Come what may, you knew you could face it, as long as you had each other.

"Harry!" The gasp left Peter's throat unbidden, as soon as his eyes fell on his friend. It was a pitiful sight, the blonde still wearing the same clothes from last night, rumpled and dirty, the stench of alcohol coming out of his pores, so strong even you without your super senses could smell it from the other side of the room. He rushed to him, couldn't help it, but Harry's words stopped him dead in his tracks, in the middle of the living room.

"It was you wasn't it? You killed my father. I broke into his lab, read his files… he was the Goblin. Did you know?"

"Harry-"

"DID YOU KNOW IT?!"

Peter hesitated, but in the end he answered honestly.

"Yes"

"And you still killed him… you knew he was my father, and you still killed him!"

You took a step forward, subtly placing yourself between them; you knew your boyfriend would not defend himself if Harry was to lash out, probably believing he deserved it.

"No, Harry. I did." Peter might have knocked the monster out, but the coup de grâce had been all you. You could try to defend yourself, to make excuses, say you were following orders, that he was too dangerous to live. But the truth was, when you had seen Daisy go down, bleeding, her body shattered, limbs bent in strange, wrong angles, you had seen red. You would have done the exact same thing, even without director Fury's voice in your ear.

"The Goblin almost killed her sister" Peter intertwined his fingers with yours. Of course he would advocate for you even if he wouldn't for himself, "and he also... hurt Kate" Understatement of the fucking century, but at least her injuries weren't life threatening.

Harry crumbled in front of your eyes, all the fight leaving him at once.

"He tried to kill me too" His own dad, the one person in the world who was supposed to love him unconditionally, had tried to murder him. Without flinching, without hesitating, all to mess with Spider-Man's head. Had Peter made a different call, go for you instead of him...

"The serum that transformed him affected his mind, Harry" You pointed out, consoling, "We don't know how much of your father was left inside the Goblin"

Harry scoffed, it would have been easier to believe your words if it had been the first time. But he could still remember, if only barely, the cold water of the pool in winter, lungs burning with lack of oxygen, his small legs kicking desperately, uselessly, and his father's blue eyes, colder than the water, watching him from above, doing nothing. Until the gardener had saved him

No, Norman Osborn had been a monster long before becoming the Goblin.

And what did that make Harry, then? Why had he come looking for Peter and you? At first he had thought he wanted blood, but now, having the both of you in front of him, he wasn't so sure.

Without your battle uniforms, you didn't look like the super human, terrifying villains his alcohol ridden brain had built you up to be. Standing there, bare feet in your sleeping clothes you were frail, vulnerable. Red eyed and bruised, you looked almost as bone weary and exhausted as he felt.

He couldn't do it.

"Did you mean it?" He managed to get out through the sobs shaking his frame, "What you said back on top of that building? Tha-that it's the choices we make and… and not what we are… th-that define us?"

Peter sidestepped you, advancing towards Harry.

"Every word" Slowly, ever so slowly, like approaching a wild animal he didn't want to spook, he reached out, "Give me the gun, Harry"

Harry's eyes went wide, but he complied, untucking the small 9 mm from the back of his waistband. He handed it over to Peter, who in turn offered it to you. Quick as lightning, you released the latch, unloading it and tossing it on the coffee table.

"I'm sorry" Harry croaked between tears, "I'm so sorry"

He hadn't noticed how cold he was, until Peter enveloped him in his warm embrace.

"It's ok, Haz" You heard him whisper, "It's going to be ok. We got you now…"

"Make it stop" Harry's cries were muffled against your boyfriend's shoulder, but you still could feel the pain in his voice, loud and clear. It hurt like a physical blow to your chest, knocking the air out of you. You had tried, you really had, but apparently your feelings for the blue eyed boy weren't as under control as you had thought "Please… make it stop"

He wasn't even conscious of the words leaving his mouth, as he begged to a god he didn't believe in, to whoever might be listening, for something to numb the pain. To feel anything else than that soul crushing agony consuming him.

Peter's eyes found yours, a silent request for permission. You didn't know what was in his mind, but you trusted him, with more than your life: You trusted him with your heart.

You nodded. It was all Peter needed. He cupped Harry's face with his hands, and kissed him.

It was surreal. Suddenly, you were witnessing your boyfriend passionately making out with the man that had been haunting your dreams for months, and you should have felt jealousy or betrayal, but the truth was, those were the furthest things from your mind. Because Harry seemed to be finally kissing back, fingers tangling in Peter's curls, still wet from your shared shower, tugging just enough for the brunet to let out the most delicious little whimper and fuck, but that had to be the hottest thing you had ever seen in your life.

And Peter had probably felt the change in you, the rising in your temperature, the beating of your heart, cause he reached for your hand without even looking, pulling you closer, guiding the blond man towards your lips. His once familiar mouth quickly reacquainted itself with yours, tongue exploring, teeth nibbling softly. The shock sent shivers down your spine, as Peter's hands opened your robe, sliding the cool silk down your arms. His lips on your neck had your head spinning, and you had to hold onto Harry's strong shoulders to stop yourself from falling.

"Hello" He breathed out as you broke the kiss, cursing your need for oxygen.

"Hi" You smiled, "It's been too long"

"Far too long" Harry agreed, the beautiful ocean of his eyes, dark and turbulent with lust.

Peter didn't stay idle for long, agile fingers working open Harry's shirt, stepping closer, pushing your body further into Harry's space. It wasn't long till you found yourself trapped between two naked, equally stunning torsos, pushing and pulling, as Peter's and Harry's lips collided again over your shoulder.

You felt your boyfriend's hand slip inside your sleeping shorts, teasing you over your panties.

"Peter" You reached back, arm hooked on the back of his neck for purchase, as he tugged your underwear to the side, and buried two fingers inside your tight heat.

"Fuck!"

Startled, you opened the eyes you hadn't even realized you had closed. You were ashamed to admit you had pretty much forgotten the other man's presence, Peter was just that good, knew your body that well, but Harry was still standing in front of you, eyes fixed on the erotic way Peter's hand was moving inside your shorts. His other hand lowered the straps of your camisole one by one, baring your chest to Harry's wonderstruck stare.

The moan that escaped your lips as Peter started expertly massaging your breast finally pulled the golden haired man out of his trance,

"Can I…"

"Touch her?" Peter finished for him, placing a sweet kiss on your temple, as your head rolled back, coming to rest on his chest, "I don't know, buddy. You'll have to ask her"

You heard Harry's voice, but it was hard to concentrate with Peter's fingers penetrating you over and over again, grazing that perfect spot inside you every time. Peter chuckled a little smugly,

"Baby girl, is it ok if Harry touches you?"

"Yes!" You panted, at last "Yes, please, Harry… touch me"

He did more than that, lips closing around the nipple not currently between Peter's fingers, hands roving all around your body, tearing and ripping at clothes with Peter's help, until you were completely naked, and completely at their mercy.

Your boyfriend laid you down on the massive chaise lounge that dominated the living room, yellow, like almost everything else on your apartment, he wanted everything to remind him of his sunflower when you weren't there. He positioned you so your legs would hang out the border, guiding Harry to kneel between them.

"Bossy, aren't you?" The blond quipped, playfully.

"Oh, you have no idea" Peter smirked from behind his back, turning his head to capture his lips again in the filthiest of kisses. You watched Peter's hands trail down Harry's chest, lower down his abs and further south stil, undoing his button and his fly, disappearing inside his pants.

Your breath catched at the same time as his, when Peter's hand closed around his member, slowly pumping up and down, up and down, the same hypnotic, insanity inducing rhythm you had taught him a lifetime ago on a tropical island.

Harry's head fell forward, eyes closed in bliss, but that was when Peter saw you.

"Naughty girl," He murmured, eyes zeroing in the way your index finger was rubbing circles on your clit, "you know I hate it when you do that…"

Your smirk was defiant,

"What are you going to do about it?" You let your other hand travel over your skin, caressing softly, teasing yourself as much as teasing him "You have your hands full"

"I'll take care of her" Haz was looking at you longingly, "Please, Peter… let me take care of her…"

"Hmmm… only because you ask so nicely" Peter's words were a little slurred, and you knew he was drunk with the power. Having both you and Harry to dominate, to do as he said was making him dizzy, almost overwhelmed.

But for once, having his senses dialed up to eleven wasn't painful, no. He was in heaven.

"Put your mouth on her, Haz… she's fucking delicious, tastes just like strawberries…"

Harry bent over, licking his lips, eyes fixed on yours. The movement pressed his ass against Peter's hard on, making him hiss.

"Can I-"

"Yes, please"

Your boyfriend tugged both Harry's pants and boxers down. You couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but Harry’s handsome face, contorting in pleasure, gave you a pretty good idea.

"Oh, god, Harry!" You gasped as his tongue, at last, made contact with your flesh.

He hummed as if in agreement, flattening his tongue over your slit before using the tip to tap your pearl. Your hand flew to his head, finding purchase in his golden curls as he licked into you eagerly, rocking his whole face against you.

He was nothing like Peter. This was messy, obscene, it lacked Peter's finesse and precision, but fuck it was good.

You could feel the coil tighten inside you, already so close to the brink from Peter's hand, but just as it was about to snap, Harry's lips left you.

"Oh, fuck!" His curse was muffled against your thigh. You could see your boyfriend's curls over the curve of Harry's back and you could only guess what his wicked tongue was doing to the boy between your legs.

"Oh yeah, he's quite talented at that isn't he?" You giggled despite your frustration

"So good" Harry moaned, "So so good…"

Peter came into view then, placing kisses along Harry's spine.

"If you want my mouth on you" He whispered in his ear, loud enough for you to hear, "keep yours on her"

Harry nodded, enthusiastically.

"And make sure she comes," He went on, "that's the only rule: Our girl gets to come… Over, and over," He punctuated every word with a kiss down Harry's back again, "and over, and over…"

The most wanton of noises left Harry and you knew conversation time was over as he dove right back in, separating your lips with his fingers, thrusting his tongue inside you as deep as it would go. Your back arched off the chaise, crying out loud when Harry decided to add a finger, and then another one, as his lips closed around your clit, sucking a little too hard.

It was too much.

"Haz… fuck, ah!... Slow down, baby"

"Keep going, Harry" Peter's tone was stern, as he watched you writhe in pleasure. He was on his knees again, coating two of his fingers with lube. When had he gone and fetch it, you had no idea. "Make her come… god you have to see her, she is so gorgeous when she comes…"

And it wasn't going to take long, with the way Harry's tongue was circling your clit and the vibrations from his own moans and sweet little whines, you could feel yourself right at that edge, all you needed was something to tip you over.

Harry's hand made its way to your chest, finding your breast and massaging just the way you liked it, the way you had done earlier. He was a fast learner. But you didn't have much time to marvel about that, cause you were finally falling, every nerve of your body going up in sparks, your cries of ecstasy intermingling with his, as Peter finally, finally entered him, torturously slow, making him feel every lavish inch.

The stronger boy's measured but powerful thrusts pushed Harry's body forwards. He wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face on your stomach, mouth slack against your skin, muffling his sounds.

"Careful there," Peter warned, slowing down his movements almost to a stop, "She's hurt"

Harry opened his eyes, and they came to rest on your bruised ribs. You could see the thoughts behind his icy blues crystal clear, the misplaced guilt twisting a knot in his entrails: His father had done that to you. But you refused to let those heavy feelings invade your bubble of solace, refused to let his father ruin this for him too. Squaring your jaw, you looked up at Peter,

"What are you waiting for, Tiger?" Your boyfriend's eyes went wide at your commanding tone, "Fuck him like you mean it"

Peter gulped, goosebumps erupting on his skin. Oh yeah, he might be a big boy now, but your dominant voice could still make him weak. He wondered absently if it was simply you, and everything you did, that turned him to putty in your hands.

"Yes, ma'am" He grabbed onto Harry's hips, picking up his rhythm.

"Oh god!" Harry sobbed into your skin. You ran your hand through his curls, caressing soothingly.

"He feels good, doesn't he? So hard and big…"

"So big…" The blonde agreed, "so deep…"

"How does Harry feel, Peter?"

Your boyfriend was biting his lip, looking down, fixated on the place he was disappearing inside Harry.

"So good, so fucking tight…"

You sighed, yearningly. They were breathtakingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. All lean and strong muscles, locking and releasing, miles of soft creamy skin colliding on skin, tiny beads of sweat glistening in the soft morning light. It was fascinating, watching them move together, the dirty sounds leaving them more than enough to make you wet and ready again.

But before you could say something, you felt Harry's turquoise stare on you.

"Six… I need you, please" He pleaded, small and shy, as if afraid you would say no. You looked at Peter for reassurance, but he was already bending over, reaching for Harry's cock and unrolling a condom around it, pushing him further up your body. The blond whined in complaint when the movement caused Peter to slip out of him.

"You liked that, didn't you?" Your boyfriend moved closer, kissing his shoulder, "Like me filling you up so good…"

Harry and you moaned in unison, making him chuckle.

"It's her turn now. She needs to be filled too. So go on, bury that gorgeous cock of yours between her legs" Peter encouraged, softly, his tone a stark contrast to the vulgarity of his words, "and I will fuck you so hard she will feel it"

Harry cursed, Peter’s dirty mouth was going to be the death of him, he just knew it.

No, he was already in heaven, he decided, as he braced himself on his forearms at each side of your head, taking his sweet time entering you. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this, the truth was he had, a million times. In fact, every time he had taken a girl that looked just enough like you into his bed. But they were never quite right. Never had your perfume, or their hair was the wrong color, or their eyes were the wrong shade. Now it was really you, and never in his wildest dreams had he pictured it could be like this, your breathy moans underneath him, your heat embracing him so perfectly… As your boyfriend did obscene, immoral, delicious things to him from behind, driving him right to the brink of sanity.

And he didn't waste any time, thrusting hard and fast. Soon, Harry was a sobbing mess, trapped as every move to escape Peter’s cock drove him deeper into you, every motion backwards and away from you impaling him further on Peter’s cock. There wasn’t much he could do, but take whatever Peter gave him.

You clung onto his back, blunt fingernails digging into his skin,

“I'm going to come… Harry, I'm going to come on your cock”

Fuck, you were just as dirty as your boyfriend. And it was truth, he could feel it, feel your walls quivering around his dick, feel your body starting to shake with the force of your orgasm. Peter bended over, grabbing hold of his shoulders, changing the angle, hitting his prostate over and over, white hot pleasure exploding without warning. Harry drown his screams into your mouth, his climax almost painful in it’s intensity, his vision going black.

…

“…Alright, then what about the Academy of Science and Technology?”

You made a face,

“You need at least one PhD to get in…”

“I got a master’s in engineering, does that count?”

“You could get into the Academy of Communications with that” Peter interjected, lazily caressing your naked back. The three of you were in bed, a mess of legs and arms intertwined together, as the sun went down over the city outside.

“That’s the easiest of S.H.I.E.L.D’s academies to get into, right?” Harry mused. Freedom, what a strange thing it was: He had spent his whole life craving it, wishing to be able to do whatever he wanted, go wherever he wanted, be with whoever he really wanted, without fear of his father judgement, without fear of his wrath, and now that he finally could… It was slightly terrifying.

A part of him almost felt guilty, for being so eager to tear apart everything his father had worked so hard for years to turn him into. For allowing himself to feel something this good not even 24 hours after his death. But a touch of your hand, or a glimpse of warm brown eyes, and it all faded away. His second thoughts, his doubts, his responsabilities… In fact, everything outside that bed faded away until there was nothing more than the three of you, alone in the world, still tangled together just talking and touching and basking in the afterglow.

You nodded,

“Data specialists and field agents. But I seriously think you could get into Operations, if you really want to”

“I think she’s right. I'm getting into the Academy of Operations this fall, and” Peter decided, finding Harry’s hand under the sheets, interlocking their fingers together “I really would like you to be there with me”

Harry was speechless. He had wish, he had dreamed, but he hadn’t let himself hope. That this… whatever it was, wild, and exiting, and delicate and precious between the three of you was not a one time thing. He had tried to convince himself that he would be fine if it was, that he was going to treasure it anyway, be glad it happened, enjoy it while it lasted. Even if it killed him the next day.

It was a fine line between happiness and heartbreak, the one he had been walking with you today.

“I… Well, I mean” He stammered “I think I would love to. Go with you, I mean. If I can get in, that is”

Peter and you exchanged a look, one of those silent communication things you seemed to always have going on, and he felt the littlest pang of envy. He wanted to be privy to those conversations, like he wanted to be a part of yours and Peter’s world. He wanted to know what the Cavalry was and why Peter seemed to be so scared of it. He wanted to be able to keep up with yours and Peter stamina. He wanted to spend so much time with you that not knowing your name stopped bothering him, cause he literally knew everything else about you, like Peter did. He wanted to speak the same language you two seemed to share…

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t an impossible dream. Because suddenly he found himself with an armful if you, capturing his lips in a possessive kiss that spoke of something deeper than lust and passion, something permanent and meaningful and as inescapable as fate, ‘You are ours now, you belong to us. And we are never letting you go'

Yeah, outside of that bed, the world had shifted again, fallen apart and crumbled to pieces for Harry just like it had for Peter almost a year before. And once you left it, you were going to have to face the aftermath. Harry was going to have to deal with the press, and the fact that his father was a villain. Peter would have to deal with his aunt, and Pepper and to not only explain his sexuality wasn’t conventional, but his relationship now wasn’t either. And you would have to deal with S.H.I.E.L.D, and the rebuilt, and to explain Fury and May how you had ended up with no one, but two boyfriends that had once been your mission. And none of you had any idea how you were going to do that. Or how you were going to make this between the three of you work, because the world was cruel, and didn’t take kindly to things that were different. But you knew the alternative was to painful to even think about it.

Truth was, there was a lot the three of you didn’t know. But there, in each others arms, watching the NYC lights start to shine outside the massive window, you knew one thing: You were going to be alright.

THE END.

[millennialfangirl]

Kind and Generous (mid & post 7x10 oneshot)

Fandom: Agents of Shield

Pairing: Daisy x Daniel

Rating: Mature & NSFW

Word Count: 3,027

Author’s Note: Hello, all! This is my first foray into Dousy mature content (aka smut). I’m really excited about it, but also nervous, because it’s been several years since I’ve written smut, or much of anything. 

This title and fic are inspired by the song “Kind and Generous” by Natalie Merchant (hello 90′s), and the sheer pure goodness of one Agent Daniel Sousa. I hope yall enjoy! Comments are treasured!

~Kind and Generous~

Daniel takes the large duffle that’s a lot heavier than she made it seem. He smiles to himself at convincing her to let him take it off her shoulders, and heads down the hallway in the direction of the bunks. Once he reaches them, he places his bag in one, and then goes out to look for a bunk for Daisy. Realizing he doesn’t know which one she might want, he turns back in the direction of the lab room he had left the two women in. 

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but just as he’s approaching the door, he hears his name. The next thing he hears takes his breath away, causing him to pause outside the door, and stay hidden.

“You kissed Agent Sousa?” Simmons exclaims in a loud whisper. 

“Hey, hey, keep your voice down. Nobody knows, not even him.”

Daniel ponders what could possibly be wrong with Daisy, because he damn sure would know if they had kissed. The desire and thought of doing it had been lingering in his mind since she saved his tail back on the train, assuring him that they were, in fact, the good guys. Why would she fabricate something like that and share it with Agent Simmons?

“How is that possible? What do you mean he doesn’t know?”

“Remember the whole time loop situation I was just in...yea.”

“What does this mean? Do you like him? Are you going to tell him?”

Even outside of the room, he can hear Daisy take a deep breath before sighing. He can’t believe that they had kissed, and he had the dumb luck of forgetting it. 

“Of course I like him. He’s a good man. Even if the SHIELD files didn’t prove that, he was by my side in every time loop, even sacrificed himself a couple of times just so I wouldn’t die and reset my memory. He’s solid...and it doesn’t hurt that he’s got that James Dean, Cary Grant Hollywood vibe going.”

“He is rather dreamy. That’s so exciting...why do I feel like there’s a but?”

“Because...you know my past. Look at how many people that get near me die. I barely know him, but somehow I don’t think I could lose him. And besides, we just ripped him from his home, everything he knew. For all I know, he’s in love with someone back in 1955.”

All he can hear is Simmons’ exasperated, “Daisy,” as he backs away from the door, back to the bunk he had put his things in. He takes the time to think over everything he heard while putting away the few things he has on his person. 

He’s lost in thought when he hears the thud of familiar combat boots approaching his door. Daisy knocks on the door frame softly, and he looks up to see her in the doorway looking calm and collected.

“So, where’d you put my stuff, then I’ll be out of your way so you can get some rest.” 

He gestures to the floor by the door where he had dazedly put her duffle. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know which bunk you wanted. I was going to come find you after I got settled.”

 “That’s alright,” she brushes off as she moves to grab the bag. 

He’s there in an instant, picking it up and hoisting it on his shoulder.

“Show me the way.”

She gives him a once over, clearly scrutinizing his actions before shrugging.

“I was thinking I’d just go right across the hall, actually.”

He follows her the few steps across the tile hall and into the room. Without being told, he deposits the large duffle on her bed. 

“That was easy enough,” he says, wiping his hands together as if he had just lifted fifty bales of hay. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem...actually, do you mind if we talk for a minute.”

“Sure. You doing alright? Are you ready to abandon ship and try to go start a new life?”

Daniel finds it incredibly sad that her first assumption is that he wants to leave. He finds it sad that she doesn’t seem bothered by it, more like she was expecting it. He can see the careful mask she’s placed to hide her fears. 

“I’m doing great actually, and I think I’m right where I need to be.” 

Daisy startles, and her mask of kind indifference drops. 

“Oh...okay. Um, in that case, what did you need?”

He takes a couple of steps closer while carefully deciding what he should say. He doesn’t want to spook her. He doesn’t want to push her. He just wants her to know that he’s there, available, waiting for the right time. 

“I just want you to know that there’s no one special back in ‘55. No one to write home to. I kind of married the job, resigned myself to bachelorhood,” he says while crossing his arms. He clears his throat before continuing, because he can see that she’s at a loss for words.

“Of course, I had close friends, family. My pop was still around. So when I say there are people I wish I could have said goodbye to, that’s who I’m talking about.” 

He can see the faintest blush rise on her cheeks, and he loves the way it makes her skin glow. 

“And um, why did you think I should know that?”

“So that when I tell you that I think you’re amazing, and that I want to get to know you better, and that I want to take you to dinner and see a film, if that’s something people still do in the 21st century...that you’ll believe me.” 

She brings her fingers up to her mouth, maybe remembering the kiss they had shared, or maybe covering up the grin that’s breaking through. Most importantly, she’s not backing away or rejecting his plans. If anything, she’s inched closer to him. 

“That’s a good reason.” 

“I thought so,” he agrees.

He takes her free hand, holding it in his. He lifts it to his mouth, brushing his lips softly against the top of her knuckles.

“I’m going to show you that you deserve good things. I promise,” he mumbles against her skin, turning and kissing the delicate underside of her wrist too, the promise of so much more implied.

She looks at him in awe, and he’s proud to have rendered her speechless. He lets her hand fall from his as he slowly backs up and turns to the door. Just as he’s about to walk out, he turns back around at the last minute.

She’s still standing there, staring at the place he once stood. 

“And Agent Johnson,” he starts, waiting for her to look up and meet his eyes. “I’d really like to kiss you on the lips and remember it, if that’s something you might be amenable to one day.”

He knows he’s playing dirty, but he loves the way her whole face goes red, realization that he’d heard their conversation dawning on her face. 

“I think I can be amenable to that.” 

“Good. I’ll go get some of that rest now.”

He turns on his heel, and can’t help the light whistle he blows as he moves to his room, closing the door behind him. For the first time since he woke up on the Zephyr, he feels like he’s got something to look forward to. 

***

Over the next few weeks, he does just that. He reminds her of what it is like to have a partner, to have someone to lean on. He picks her up after every fall, and he stands by her side in every fight.  And it isn’t like the almost simple, repeated tasks of the time loop. It’s the heavy, habitual pattern of everyday life, and the constant fear of the unknown. He is steady through it all.

They fall into like...into friendship...and then an instant anticipation of more. Secret glances and whispered conversations between missions. They can feel the hum of something big just underneath the surface. Daisy knew that as soon as the fighting stopped and the team could take a break, they would collide with each other like two trains on the same track. They were never supposed to cross paths, but someone, God, the universe...maybe time itself, switched their paths. Somehow, he’s everything she didn’t know she needed, and more. 

Their time of respite comes. They’re in a new future, one that’s unknown to them both, and their team, but the Lighthouse is still there. For better or worse, it’s their home for now. The team disperses, each of them seeking out long hot showers, comfort food, and the welcoming arms of someone they love. Daniel finds her combing through her wet hair, water droplets clinging to her skin. 

“We did it.”

“You did it,” he replies immediately.

But as kind and generous as that is to say, she knows she wouldn’t be here without him.

“No, we did it.” 

He silently acquiesces with a nod. 

She stands up, tugging the thin robe she had put on after her shower more tightly around her. She pivots to place her brush on the outdated, built-in 70’s dresser. 

She can feel the air shift, and she’s only a little surprised to find him right in front of her when she turns back around. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You feeling okay? You hurt much?” he asks, always concerned, his eyes raking over her body.

“No. Just a little tired," she assures him.

“Good,” he replies, like she placed the last puzzle piece or connected the last dot. 

She is surprised when he grasps her waist and pulls her flush against him. Without hesitation, their mouths meet, and it’s so much better than her memory of the time loop. He’s giving so much to the kiss, exposing himself down to the bones.

“I made you a promise.”

He lifts her wrist up and starts a slow ascent up her arm, sliding the sleeve of her robe up as his mouth picks up where he left off weeks ago.

“I’d like to follow through on that now, if it’s okay with you.” 

She can barely nod as he gently pulls the knot loose that’s holding her robe closed. He doesn’t pull it off, he doesn’t look, he just places a warm hand on her bare stomach, and then moves his lips to her cheek. 

Her eyes sting under his careful touch. She’s never been touched like this. 

Where there was once an impassioned frenzy, now there’s a languid tenderness. Exploration, experimentation. Admiration. Daisy can feel it all coming off of him in waves, all tactile devotion. 

She needs this. She needs to feel loved, not for her power, or her fighting, but for her soft edges and fragile heart. 

Suddenly his arms are wrapped around her tight, one hand protectively on her back, the other buried in her hair, cradling her head. She can’t help but sag against him, feeling the last vestiges of fight or flight leave her system, a heavy weight unburdening itself from her shoulders. Somehow, this hug is more intimate than anything she’s experienced. They stand there for a minute, soaking up the silence and peace.

And then she’s in the moment, and she can feel him pressed against her everywhere, strong and solid and safe. Static crackles over her skin as he dips his head to her neck. Everything but his touch disappears, and her robe drops to the floor.  

He picks her up like he did in the barn, and they settle on the bed with her in his lap. His lips are back on hers, and his fingers are brushing down the side of her face, then her neck. She whimpers when they finally graze her breast, a gentle swirl over her nipple. He becomes reacquainted with her neck then, sucking and nipping while his fingers trace the sides of breast. He cups her whole, his hand encompassing her entirely. That long forgotten warmth draws down to her abdomen, and her inner walls clinch in anticipation. 

“So beautiful,” she can hear him murmur into her neck while his hand continues to massage her rhythmically. 

Weeks of want and anticipation since that first forgotten kiss has her desperate. The sudden shock of his affection wears off, leaving room for her to pull his face back up so she can kiss him properly. His responding moan delights her when she slips her tongue in his mouth. His gentle control waivers, and she’s rewarded with a slightly painful pinch to her hardened nipple. Her hips buck and her legs spread, begging for attention. 

He’s still cradling her head as he leans back from the kiss to look into her face. It’s not her lack of clothing making her feel vulnerable, rather the intense stare he maintains as his hand finds its way to her parted legs. A strangled gasp leaves her at the first touch of his fingertips to her entrance. She can see his eyes dance around her face, watching every reaction to his exploration. 

A digit gathers moisture, and circles her entrance. She can’t help but let her eyes slip closed as that finger disappears within her. He goes shallow at first as he maps her out. 

“Daniel…” she hears herself whimper, and she’s not sure she’s ever heard herself sound like that before.

Her hand grips his forearm, nails digging in as she looks up at him in wonder and need. 

“Whatever you need,” he quietly promises.

And she feels that burning sensation behind her eyes again. Her hand slides down to his.

“Don’t stop,” she instructs while gently pushing him deeper. 

A tear escapes down her cheekbone as he starts to circle her deep inside. 

Her right arm wraps around his waist while her left hand continues to cling to his, feeling him push in and out of her in steady, sure strokes. She holds him tightly and can’t help but arch up against his ministrations, which makes it easier for his head to tip down and latch onto a nipple. A light wave travels through her, and she knows she’s already getting close. 

He must know it too, because his middle finger becomes more sure of itself as he curls it up. He pulls away from her breast, and kisses the tear away. He watches her as she starts to come undone, his thumb circling her clit, lighting her up in a whole new way. 

She bites her lip, and her legs tense up waiting, and waiting for that drop. Her stomach quivers, along with a few things around the room. His finger works her over faster and harder.

“C’mon, come for me. Let go.”

Her stomach shakes and she gasps out a broken cry. Her walls flutter and collapse around him.

“That’s it...that’s it. Just like that,’ he encourages her.

She rides out her release in blissful fulfillment. 

She should feel shy and embarrassed as she comes down from her high, but there’s no room for that when she meets his kind eyes and flushed cheeks. He’s smiling, wide and happy, and Daisy’s never been the girl to feel giddy and romantic, but she does. 

He slowly withdraws from her, and she can feel her dampness on his hand as it trails back up her body. He lays her down finally, and kisses her softly, almost timid. 

He props up on an elbow and looks down at her. 

“Was that…” he tries to get out, clearing his throat.

“Was that good? Did you enjoy it?”

She can’t help the toothy, silly grin that splits her face, or the tired, satisfied stretch she lets out as she nods in affirmation.

“It was perfect.”

“I’m glad.”

He leans down and nuzzles her nose, peppering soft kisses across her face. 

But then he’s getting up, pulling back the starchy sheets and blanket. Before she realizes it, he’s tucking her in, his hand brushing her hair out of her face. 

“Hey...where are you going? I want to take care of you,” she whines while pulling on his arm.

He sits on the edge of the mattress and tangles their fingers together. He kisses them lightly while gazing down at her. 

“There’ll be plenty of time for that later. In fact, I’d like to take you out on a date, remember?”

“But--” 

“You should be resting.”

She’s not pleased with the turn of events, but even she can admit how heavy her eyelids are getting. She doesn’t want him to leave though. She’s selfishly wanted him back by her side, sleeping next to her, just like he did with the healing pod.

“Okay, but will you stay?” she asks. And maybe she bites her lip and gives him her best puppy dog eyes.

She knows he’s caved, the minute he sighs and let’s his head drop down in a rueful grin. 

“I knew you were going to be trouble, with a capital ‘T’.”

She laughs and excitedly slides over, pulling back the sheets for him. She feels a rush of pride when she sees him falter, staring at her still naked form. He blinks out of his daze and immediately pulls the basic t-shirt he’s wearing over his head.

It’s her turn gulp when he hands it to her.

“I’ll stay, but you gotta put that on,” he demands as he turns around.

“You are such a square,” she teases, but does as he says. 

He turns back as she settles back into the bed.

“I’m going to go grab some water. Want some?”

So, so kind and generous. 

“Yes, please.”

“You got it. I’ll be right back.” 

She watches him go and relaxes. Fatigue settles into her bones. She must have drifted off, because she startles awake when she feels someone settle behind her on the mattress, the room dark and quiet.

“It’s just me,” he reassures her, and tugs her close against him. 

She smiles into the darkness when he kisses her cheek. 

“I’m going to thank you properly, Agent Sousa...for everything.” 

“I look forward to it, Agent Johnson.”

******************

Ta Da! 

Would anyone like a follow up with a first date?

(pssst...there’s probably going to be a smutty first date follow up)

[angelguk]

another prerequisite to the things i never told you fic that is coming [eventually]. i do suggest u read this or else oc’s behaviour/reactions will not make sense in the main fic. kinda angsty. jeongguk is mean. jeongguk’s girlfriend is mean. listen to being freezed by heize. 1.8k.

He’s late. You should have expected that. And yet, it still stings; an odd pain tightly gripping your heart as a gentle autumn breeze whispers through the air. Sunlight wanes against the worn brick pavements, splaying across your dirty sneakers, the shoelaces untethering themselves despite the firm knot you’d tugged them into before sprinting up the hill where you promised to meet. You tap your feet against the ground, the pounding that your soles make harmonising with the erratic beating of your heart. His present is clenched between your tense fingertips, the crinkle of plastic melting into the rustle of leaves. They sway gently above your head, courtesy of the zephyr that settles over the hill. You hope he likes it. You’d taken time out of your exhausting high school schedule to thread together his bracelet. Lilac, violet and a dash of white flowing through the amateur design. His favourite colour is purple. Or at least that’s what you can recall. You don’t remember the last time you had a full conversation with Jeongguk - despite him being your best friend.

And it was all because of her.

Even the thought of her name has your heart plummeting to your gut, your fingertips taut around the plastic bag that contains his presents. There was also a new sketching pad and a bunch of expensive colour pencils you’d forked your savings over for bumping inside the bag, hopefully not rumpling the card you'd made for him. But it was worth it. You know how much Jeongguk likes to draw. But you don’t know if he’d appreciate these gifts as much as you think he would have if she wasn’t in the picture. Jeongguk has changed, drastically, since he’d started seeing her. From the way he styled his hair to his interests - little by little the things you knew and adored about your best-friend gradually vanished, replaced by a person who was virtually a stranger to you. Sometimes you go whole days without seeing him, he’d even swapped seats with a classmate to be closer to his viper of a girlfriend. She’d been so smug when you’d walked into class to find nosy Yongsun as your new seatmate instead of seeing Jeongguk planted in the chair whose leg he’d carved his name into at the start of the year with a sheepish grin tugging at his petal pink lips. You had felt her eyes boring into your head, and when you snuck a glimpse at her direction (right in front of the class where she could suck up to the teacher; a position that Jeongguk had always abhorred) you couldn’t miss the sly upturn of her lips. Jeongguk would have seen it too, if he wasn’t so busy writing her a stupid cheesy love note. 

He would have seen a lot, if he bothered to pay attention.

You’d only showed up to the hill because this was your tradition, something she hadn’t been able to taint with her toxicity just yet. There’s only a slither of hope inside of you that believes he’ll show up. But you stay regardless, because it’s your best-friends birthday and you’ll be damned if you let some girl who’d only shown up in the middle of the school year take this away from you too.

It’s the rough pedalling of a bicycle that yanks you from the pit of despair that you’re currently wallowing in. Jeongguk’s face appears around the bend a second later, soft brown curls ruffled by the wind that wipes around his frame. He’s still got his school uniform on, white sleeves rolled up the elbow and his navy tie loosened from its hold. It’s a stark contrast to the sweatpants and knitted jersey you’d tossed on after coming from school before hurrying to the hill. And then her face pops up from behind his, the dark bangs cut across her forehead unmoving even with the breeze whistling around you.

You don’t say anything, the greeting you were about to mutter caught in your throat. Instead, your gaze follows them cautiously, watching the disdainful look his girlfriend gives you as she halts her bike behind Jeongguk’s.

“Hi,” Your best-friend says. He even sounds different. It makes your heart ache violently.

“Hey Jeongguk,” You return, praying he doesn’t note the waver in your tone. And then you throw her a glance. “Hi, Minjoo.”

She doesn’t say anything in response. Apparently, her nails are more interesting than acknowledging your presence. What’s worse is that Jeongguk doesn’t even bat an eyelid at her behaviour.

“Happy birthday!” You try instead, gaze flickering back to Jeongguk. But your heart drops when you find him sending you the same air of disinterestedness emitting from Minjoo. “I haven’t even seen you today! How are you?”

“I’m fine, just busy.” You hate how monotone his response is. “How are you?” That simple question is enough. Something to show you that he still cares. You hang onto it like a fish caught on bait.

“Exhausted, dude. I have so much to tell you. Where are we going for dinner? The stories I have have to be told over food.” Birthday dinner was part of your tradition. Exchange gifts on the hill, share anecdotes over food, spend way too much at the arcade before moving to linger at the park until sundown and then crash at each other’s house (at yours on your birthday and at Jeongguk’s on his). It wasn’t extravagant or wild. It was simple. Like your relationship. Nothing complicated. Just the two of you together, enjoying each other’s company.

The silence that spans between the two of you indicates that, for the first time, in the sixteen years you’d know Jeongguk, that something was complicated.

He scratches the nape of his head first, bottom lip caught between his lip as he thinks of a way to navigate through the problem that you’re still unaware of. If it’s Minjoo’s presence, you can work through that, an assurance already drifting from your lips. You don’t know why she hates you. But if she’s the girl that Jeongguk loves, you’ll tolerate it. He’s your best friend, after all, the person you cherish the most. You’ll just have to learn to find the things that Jeongguk loves about her with your own eyes. You’ll get there eventually. You know you will. Because you don’t know what your life would without Jeongguk. 

But then he glances back at Minjoo, who’s staring at him impatiently, rapping her long nails against the metal handle of her bike and you sense that something is off. Very off.

“Are we not going out?” You softly murmur, intentionally putting emphasis on the ‘we’ as your eyes flicker between their unreadable faces. Their eyes are speaking full-length paragraphs to each other but you don't understand what any of their weighted gazes mean, the look Minjoo is giving Jeongguk practically indecipherable. “Are we going to eat at your mom’s? That’s okay! I haven’t seen your mom in a while.” You stand up without thinking, your sneakers shuffling the fallen copper leaves around, a resounding crunch emitting from your steps. Minjoo stares at you like you’re dirt for doing that. 

“Um…” Jeongguk eyes are apologising when the words aren’t even out of his mouth yet. They’re round, innocent, gaze anywhere but on you. “We already have plans.”

It’s clear, immediately, that that we doesn’t include you.

“Oh.” Your voice is meek even to your own ears, a strange small sound that makes your heart crumble inside of you. “Okay. That’s fine. You can just take your present then.”

He plucks it out of your hands, not even bothering to peer inside, feet already moving to place themselves on the pedals of his bike. Minjoo’s already turning her own bike away, bone straight onyx hair staring back at you, shoulders triumph in a manner that makes the pain gripping your heart spread across your chest, gaze swimming with the torrent of tears that you’re furiously blinking away. 

It’s not fine. It’s not fine at all.

“Jeongguk!” You catch him before he speeds off, Minjoo already flying down the worn pathway. Her silence isn’t missed.

“What?” He spits the word out like you’re a nuisance. It takes everything in you not to punch him right across his pretty face.

“We need to talk.” The words wobble into each other, tone quivering with the tears you swallow.

“Now?” He ruffles his hair again, an exasperated sigh floating from his lips. There’s a sly eye roll that you catch instantly. Your heart lurches sharply in your chest.

“Yes now.” 

“Can’t it wait? Minjoo’s planned something and she’ll get mad at me if I mess it up.” The impatience in his voice is palpable. You really want to punch him in the face. It’s alright for him to suddenly abandon a tradition that both of you treasure, at the drop of a hat all for some even that his annoying girlfriend planned for him? And she’s allowed to get annoyed about him messing the surprise up while you’re meet to just swallow the sudden despondency that sits heavy on your chest? 

“It can’t wait.” You try to be firm, but like the autumn leaves that hang loosely from the branches above, your resolve is weak. It crumbles, when he settles on his bike, huffing loudly, a frown marring his features. And you hear her voice, frill as she screeches his name. She’s a banshee, a bringer of misfortune and pain. Some part of you wants to sew her mouth shut. That part grows bigger when you note how his back straightens and his eyes widen, feet faltering back to the pedals of his bike.

“Later.” Jeongguk dismisses you. “We’ll talk later. I don't want to fight with you right now.”

And then he’s off, swift with his movements, a hurry that indicates trepidation driving his frame further and further away.

You plop back down on the bench, fists clenched with the ire that blazes inside of you. You ball your hands into your lap, blink away the sudden heat you feel in your face and try not to dwindle on the fact that Jeongguk didn’t even thank you for the present. Or look at it. Or even pretend to care. It hurts. More than you expect it too. You wish you could erase it, all of it. Especially Minjoo. How she’s managed to worm her way into Jeongguk’s life and rip him right from your fingertips is lost on you. But it’s becoming clear now, how little Jeongguk values the relationship you have. If he even cared in the slightest, he would have stayed to listen. Faced whatever consequence Minjoo would have waiting for him with valiance. But with how fast he scrambled, it’s evident Jeongguk didn’t think it was worth it. You weren’t worth it. Not anymore. 

[bechobbi]

Fortune favours the bold - SamDrake x Reader - (Chapter 5)

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The sun's rays illuminated the room in brilliant trails. The alternation of lights and shadows made the room warmer and more welcoming than it actually was.

Sam hadn't slept a wink after reading that one page of your diary.

You opened your eyes lazily at the sound of the front door closing. It took a few seconds to figure out where you were. The slightly moldy and unadorned walls brought back in your mind the events of the night just passed.

Another unfamiliar place that wouldn't have long remained etched in your memories.

You rolled out of bed and automatically made your way to the window. You were hoping to understand what time it was basing yourself on the power of the sun's rays that warmed the day ahead.

You pulled the curtain aside. It was probably 6 or 7 in the morning.

You hadn't slept much this time either, but you felt pretty rested.

Some movement caught your attention. A man from behind was smoking looking at the sky. It took you a couple of seconds to recognize him. He was the one who had disinfected your wounds hours ago. He was pacing back and forth along the narrow wooden corridor that joined all the doors of the rooms of that dilapidated motel.

"He seems nervous ... No, it would be more correct to say that he seems upset" you thought.

On the spot you headed for the door and, once outside, you stood staring at him for a few minutes.

"Did you sleep well?"

You didn't think he noticed you.

"L-llike a rock"

"You needed it," he said finally turning to you.

He looked tired, his eyes red and circled by light purple dark circles.

"You, on the other hand, look like someone who hasn't slept for days"

Sam, not too surprised by your statement, put his hands to his hips, puffed some smoke and said, "It is written in my face, isn’t it?"

"Quite"

He smiled and gestured in the direction of the room. “I got something for breakfast. There is also coffee. You like it?"

It had been some time since someone had bothered to get you breakfast.

"I love it"

The man came up, opened the door, threw his cigarette away and invited you to enter first.

"Ladies first"

"T-thank you ..." you said looking down at your feet.

"Sam. My name is Sam"

You faced him, he was waiting for your handshake.

“I am Y / N”, he had a strong grip typical of a person who could be trusted.

He had been smart, now he was sure of your name and he knew for sure that the diary he found was yours.

While he poured the coffee into two cups, you sat on the only chair in the room.

"Here it is. A good dose of energy to start the day” he said, passing you the cup. Then he sat on the bed.

"Thanks a lot. You know, my parents often brought me coffee in bed” you said as you lost yourself in the dark liquid.

"Really? Well, lucky you. "

Lowering your voice you commented “Not really I would say”.

"Why?"

"Long story. My parents are gone "

Sam bit his tongue "Man, sorry..."

"Don’t worry. It's not your fault. Rather, I have no money so I can't pay you back for hospitality and breakfast. "

He sipped his hot coffee “Don't even think about it, it’s on me. Never let a woman pay, unless she's rich and you're her toyboy” Sam joked to defuse the situation.

A smile appeared on your face.

"You're nice" you affirmed.

"Thank you" he winked at you.

You blushed for a moment. You could perceive the erotic charge of that man from a mile away.

To distract yourself from those kinds of thoughts you started looking around. But you ended up inspecting your interlocutor’s hands.

He had big and strong hands, that were probably skilled in different fields of action, and surely had touched an infinite number of women. He was clearly the one-night stand type, yet behind that facade in your opinion was hiding a person with a big heart .

"Look... what are you doing in a ramshackle motel like this?"

He tilted his head to one side and commented "I could ask you the same question"

"You're right" you shrugged.

He hesitated a moment after which he decided to answer anyway "I was expecting a person"

You made a face "... And?"

"She didn't come"

"I understand" you muttered.

Silence. He sipped his coffee noisily, so much to fill the silence of the room.

"Was it important?" you asked suddenly.

Sam narrowed his eyes and nodded.

Silence fell again and you felt a little embarrassed, but at the same time you couldn't stop the questions in your head.

You started making noises with your mouth to try to make yourself comfortable.

Then you noticed that he was staring at you from behind the cup, he was looking for eye contact with you. He was studying you.

"Why are you asking me these questions?" he seriously ruled.

You held your gaze and stammered “I-it was like that, just to talk. Sometimes the silence is too deafening "

Sam was very serious this time.

He lit a cigarette and headed for the window. He looked out after moving the curtain.

"You know, last night when I went out to get some food I found something."

Your blood ran cold as thhe man eagerly inhaled the smoke from his cigarette.

"I know what actually happened to you before you came knocking on my door."

At that moment the man in front of you scared you. He had changed abruptly. Now it was creepy.

"I-I ..."

He interrupted you “I live on lies too, but perhaps you already understood this. I noticed that you are smart. I could almost say that you understand more than you want to let others believe. "

"You-see ... I-I ..." you tried to speak again, but he cut you off again.

"You know I have this bad habit of always wanting to screw others, but not wanting to be screwed."

Finally he turned towards you, from that position you could see his height and his physical structure. A hand would have been enough to break you a bone.

He slowly moved towards you threateningly and you were frozen in fear.

Now he was crouching at your feet and, without taking his eyes off yours, he took a lock of your hair and put it in its place behind your ear.

You felt like you had a lump in your throat. You stood still.

“You remind me so much of a person I know. Now, will you please tell me who you are? "

You couldn't open your mouth so he kept on talking.

“I know you weren't attacked because they wanted to rape you. I know that you are a thief of books, records and food "

He was playing with another lock of your hair, rolling it around his fingers. You were ready to dash away at any moment to escape from that strange situation.

Then you saw a huge smile forming on the man's face. A wonderful and sincere smile.

"I like it" he commented.

You thought you would faint at any moment, but you held on tight.

Sam laughed “You should see your face! Don't worry girl, I'm not going to do anything to you. And... if you are in some trouble you can tell me about it, maybe I can help you " he winked at you and jumped up.

You were stunned, you no longer knew what you felt. Fear? Yes. Joy? Yes. A mixture of emotions.

You were baffled by that sudden change in his behavior, it was probably some kind of test you had to pass.

"I thought you wanted to hurt me" you said looking at him.

“Nah, I'm not that kind of man. Rather, I feel that you are in a situation bigger than you. Ah here." He continued heading towards the place where he had hidden your backpack "I believe this belongs to you".

He took out your stuff and handed it to you.

"Y-yes, did you find it in the trash can? I thought I had lost it ... "

Sam laughed "Yeah sure LOST, of course”

"Well, in a way I thought I would never find it again after yesterday ..." you justified yourself immediately.

Setting down the now empty cup of coffee, you took your diary and some clean clothes from your backpack.

“My name is Y/N  Y/L/N, and I'm on my way home. Or at least to what was my home. Let's say I want to take back my due. "

Sam was intrigued "And what what is that?" he pressed.

"As I said, my home and my legacy. Some people took everything away from me, even my parents, but obviously they made it look like murder-suicide, so ..."

The man was captivated by your story, by you, by your eyes, by your gestures as you spoke, by your voice. From the adventure that somehow lay ahead of him.

"You are alone?" he asked.

You nodded with a frown.

“So you want to take revenge and take back what's yours, all by yourself. It doesn't seem like a good plan to me. "

"I can shoot" you retorted determined.

Sam was stunned for a moment, then returned to his normal attitude “Shooting alone is useless. Besides, have you ever shot a person? I mean a real person? "

"Once."

“Wowowo! Aren��t you too young to play with a weapon? "

"It was self-defense, that's how they defined it"

"Who?"

"The judge and the jury"

Sam was more and more surprised and intrigued, for a moment he hesitated, then he asked "So you were also in court?"

“Yes, but they let me go. I told you: self-defense. " You repeated.

“Ok ok. Who are your enemies?"

"Relatives" you stated.

The conversation was becoming an interrogation, though the man in front of you did not make you feel uncomfortable as the police did. It seemed to you that by dint of telling the desire for revenge grew more and more.

"So your relatives, and you must have shot one of them, disinherited you and so you ended up on the street."

"In a nutshell" you shrugged.

Sam took another cigarette and lighting it he asked "Do you have an ace up your sleeve?"

You shook a no with your head.

He snorted and in a reproachful tone said “You need a plan, girl. Aren’t you thinking about walking into the house, shooting and getting out clean. If you shoot first, the jury won't be so kind. "

On the one hand you were discouraged, in your head there was only the desire to see  dead all those snakes. Material things and life itself had lost their value since your parents died.

Staring at the floor you whispered "I don't care about anything anymore ..."

"What the fuck?!" Sam snapped "You're wrong!" he took you by the hips and lifted you like a doll, dragged you in front of the mirror placed in front of the bed and put you down. He smoothed your messed up hair and placing his hands on your shoulders he said aloud “A beautiful and strong girl like you must not give in to the injustices of the world! Life can be better than this! Don't get your hands dirty. And if you really have to, let someone else do it! "

"W-what?"

“Listen to me” he said reaching your ear “I like you, you have the ability to see inside people and beyond things, I'm not stupid, I've known tons of people and you don't have to go down to the level of those who have hurt you. You have everything to lose. You have a whole life ahead of you. Start over, you can do it. I can’t, I'm in it up to my neck and I like it, the risk makes me feel alive, but you're smarter, you're better than that. Look at yourself!"

You did not have the courage to look at the reflection in the mirror, you would have studied and hated yourself.

"Don't you want to look at yourself?"

"No..."

“Then I'll look for you. Close your eyes."

You closed your eyes and took a breath. Never before have you met such a chatty and outgoing stranger. However, all in all it wasn't that bad. You let yourself go to the warm touch of his hands. The warmth of him, his not bad perfume and his cigarette smell. His important hands were now gently moving down towards your arms. It was all very strange, yet it was reassuring.

"In the mirror ... there is a young woman ... a woman hungry for life ... alone, and able to understand the hidden truths of the world, which is a considerable burden, but she’s capable of carrying it. She has intense eyes, an elastic and agile body, but her hand is not steady ... she is afraid and she would like to go back ... Unfortunately, however, it is only possible to move forward, otherwise she would not have make it till this very moment. She deserves to be better than that, the sad thoughts are dictated by the tragic events, by the fact of feeling alone. But Lord works in mysterious ways, remember that. "

You were filled with a sense of melancholy. Images of you as a child flowed before your eyes, the happy days when everything went the right way alternated within you.

“Now” Sam continued “it's time to open your eyes, in every sense, and to look at this young girl. To love her, to appreciate her ... to hug her. "

Slowly you opened your eyes and looking at your reflection the tears began to flow.

"Thanks ..." you whispered.

“So you don't have to do stupid and hasty actions. You have to come up with a plan and let someone else help you carry this burden. "

You stared at him through the mirror.

"And who?" you asked in a whisper.

Sam smiled and winking at you said "I can help you."

"Y-you can you shoot?"

The man laughed heartily "Among the many qualities I have, I also know how to shoot, but we will try to avoid it, what do you think?"

You looked away “I can't involve anyone. This is my battle "

Sam patted you on the back "When you get your inheritance back, you'll pay me back"

Your body stiffened, you looked down and said "So ... it's money that interests you ..."

"Well, let's say it would be a way to repay me for the help"

At that point you couldn't stand it anymore, you shook your hands off him and yelled facing him “You’re all the same! Money! Money! Only money! And all that idiotic talk you gave me ?! Eh ?!  Pure fiction! "

Sam couldn't help but burst into laughter and said “You're a tough one. Anyway ... do you really think my speech was stupid? "

"Hell yeah!"

"Now I understand why she dumped me." He laughed again putting his hands in his pockets looking at the ceiling.

“What do I care! You're just kidding me! "

"Ahahahah You're impressive, she would have answered like this too"

You insisted shouting “Get it over with! Who the hell are you talking about ?! I am me and no one else! "

Sam knew you were harmless, yours was just a small crisis. What was importanta was that after a long time he was having pure pleasure talking to a woman. A pleasure that went beyond simple sex.

The man sat down on the edge of the bed, poured himself some scotch and said "This speech, more or less, I had to give to my ... let's call it " marriage ", but she didn't show up"

Now you were at attention, your enquiring side activated, in a second your anger vanished and you were finally ready to listen.

"T-that person you were expecting ... was that your ...?" you stammered.

“Yeah, my future wife if you want to call her that. Obviously not in the Church, let’s say it was more like an officialization"

"And she dumped you?"

Sam nodded.

"Why?" you were curious, deathly curious.

“I've been wondering for years. I just know she was everything to me. It was my redemption. A new beginning."

"And is that why you drink, smoke and do bad things?"

“Hey hey, I don't do bad things. I am a bit like Robin Hood, I steal from the rich to give to the poor, including myself. "

"Robin Hood ..." you were perplexed.

"That's right," Sam said.

"Tsk-"

The man became serious again and said "So do you want a hand or not?"

[sentofighta]

wishlist plot ideas edition.

einar

fight where he has to use his magitek arm which he never uses unless it was a desperate situation.

got arrested by Suzaku and now he is a hostage and most likely without his arm thread. maybe interrogation and jail escape. nice.

where thou milites folks? thread please.

thread with someone who has a prosthetic limb like him. exchange tips and maybe stories.

cat thread. any cat lover out there give him a call.

eight

give me street fight thread. that's all lmao kof maybe hm? y?y?

someone be his sensei. despite how calm he is he really admires people and probably will call you sensei if he can learn something new from you

deep threads about why he no likey sharp weapons ? 

training threads are cool. sparring ok. attacking him out of the blue ok. request fist fight ok.

wisdom sharing come here

good boy content

agito yall.

hey. what if world.

hey. 

machina

agito please. when he is just pervy kid who wanna befriend everyone

2nd class threads i dont mind ~

incognito phase ? ? anyone ? ? 

the new world ...ooh...the hurty.

hey x 2 what if world

chocobo nerding is ok

that good fix that misunderstanding thread when?

training threads cool

zack

perhaps before he leaves his village kind of thing? kid zack

his earlier days training before becoming SOLDIER

double zacks thread give me

cough tseng cough cissnei feels cough

the turks where thou are you?

any SOLDIERS out there?

henlo where is our friend Kunsel? send me an email dude

fighting threads are berry nice.

date. give him a date goddammit! 

zack funclub threads where?

d a t e. haha.

roland

sniping duel thread

animals lover where are you?

confronting him about his tiny little mistrusting thing

discuss his ocd maybe funny becomes critical thread because he cant control it if he panics;

gardening !!! he likes farming. thanks mom.

uhh what do you think i should tackle too??

lucina

FUTURE TIMELINE AHHAHA

literally every angst plot you can think of.

i still kind of wanna make a separate Current/Present Lucina muse from Future Lucina. looks at TRC Sakuras. yes. they are quite different haha. maybe even edit her pictures hhhohoho yes a thead with baby or older present lucina. 

listen. anything is game with this girl. give me. 

Leanne

giiiiiiiiiiirls talk!!!!! girls girls girls!

shopping! let’s go shopping and have that deep talk later on

sharing secrets~ talking about the pasts?

talk about how annoying boys can be smh. then air their dirty laundry. teehee~ (love you vash and zephy)

what makes you strong kind of thread

philosophy talk?

missions! hunting missions are cool!

friendship threads give me. girl needs more friends sobs.

Zephyr

someone just tell him to stop jumping from high places to kill himself.

philosophy talk x2

friendship/sibling vibe thread cause lord he needs that good influence in his life.

immortality talk

atoning to sins talk

hunting missions please. work with or for does not matter.

literally, any plot because he is flexiable-ish. 

Lindow

oooh pre game setting hmmmm~ kid lindow oh ye.

rookie god eater lindow too.

captain lindow is nice too.

anyone wanna corrupted lindow? suuuure~ 

revived back lindow with a cool arm? yep.

dad lindow anytime for anyone. he is here for you.  

give me please sakuya sama. 

Tatsumi

baby god eater tatsu is funny because he could not fight lol 

trust in your defense captain yo.

date. someone date this boy. HIBARIIIIIIIII~ <3 GIVE ME HIBARAII 

Sohrab

a l c h e m y.

how to run from animals 101. animals hate him. abuse this.

he can sew your clothes. abuse this too.

can make food out of alchemy. abuse this. as well.

fighting thread is cool because his initial response is RUN AWAY.

Feiruz

please more farming content.

talk about cute things!!!!!!!!!!

might as well make her the MC for o.bey me and a.yakashi because frick this hahahahahahaha. or make another oc. :thinking:

please any fellow farmers interact.

i dont mind lovey dovey. she is quite romantic. 

Balan

alfred interact. now.

pre zenthira(i forgot its name dont @ me) is cool too.

spyrites / spyrix talk

science talk. talk to him science.

bet. let’s bet on something. gamble hours.

man. i just want to explore more about the spirits with lord of the spirits where thou are you milla sama?

jude interact. we have a lot of papers to look at. lots of projects to make up.

ludger interact. i wanna hire you.

julius. wanna share funny stories???????

[howtodrawyourdragon]

Fire

Summary: Post-Httyd 3 fic. Chief Hiccup and Chieftess Astrid leave for Berserker Island for a peace treaty signing and coincidentally end up in the middle of a battle. There is one frightening moment when Astrid fears she has lost her entire family in a single night.

Author’s notes: Crammed this one out in a single day! Hope you guys enjoy it! :D

Astrid knew fear. As a warrior, as a Viking, as a chieftess, as a wife, as a mother, it was an emotion she was well acquainted with. She knew how to fight it, to keep her level-head. Rarely was it as paralyzing, as overwhelming, as it was that night.

She and Hiccup had left New Berk for a few weeks to attend a peace treaty signing on Berserker Island, leaving Valka in charge as Acting Chief. At her age, that woman could run the island in their absence just as good as the Chiefs that had come before them.

Hiccup and Astrid had brought their children with them. With Heather now in charge, as Dagur lived on Caldera Cay to rule the Defenders of the Wing alongside Queen Mala, they had thought it was only appropriate to bring Zephyr and Nuffink along. Heather had a long and close friendship with the royal couple of Berk, it was about time she met their children.

Zephyr was four years old and Nuffink was only two. A bit young to be travelling this far, but they took to their parents' old friend quite quickly.

It was that night, the night of the signing, that the Berserkers received an utmost unpleasant visit.

Old enemies of Dagur had resurfaced and come to seek vengeance for wrongdoings of the past by burning down the village Dagur once cared for, unaware that he moved on to a different island long ago.

Within minutes of their arrival and the first attack, the village had been turned into an inferno.

The Berserkers fought back, of course. Some tried to douse the fires as best as they could and saved as much as they could, but the flames spread too fast and were difficult to put out. They were fighting two big battles at the same time.

In the mix of the two, Astrid had lost sight of her children.

She had lost sight of her husband.

And thus she felt fear.

"Astrid!" Hiccup found her before she found him. After knocking one of the last few stragglers of the retreating enemy over the head with her trusty axe, she turned upon hearing her name be called to see her partner in both love and life coming for her.

"Hiccup, you're okay!" She had to shout through the deafening noise of the blaze, but at least it gave her enough light to see that he was unharmed.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but where are the kids?!" Hiccup asked her, a panic in his eyes that she wasn't too familiar with seeing on him.

Astrid felt her heart cease again as Hiccup, like her, had no idea where either of their children were. A terrible thing in all of this chaos.

Hiccup's face fell further, realizing his wife hadn't a clue either.

"The Chief's house! I saw a little girl drag her baby brother to the chief's house!" A faceless Berserker yelled to them and the couple decided to take it as truth. It was the only lead they had.

They knew where Heather's home was by now, it wouldn't be too hard to find, but that brought little solace once they reached it.

It, much like many of the other homes in the village, was engulfed in flame.

"No... No!" Astrid didn't like freezing and it wasn't something she usually did, but in that moment, she could no longer move.

How could she? When laying eyes upon that furious blaze and realizing that her only two children might be in the middle of all of that?

Their father didn't freeze.

Something inside of him spurred him on and without thinking, Hiccup ran straight for the open door of the burning home.

"Hiccup!" It wasn't Astrid who called after him, but Heather as she managed to join the two just in time to watch one of her two best friends disappear into the fire.

"Did he go in there?! Just like that?!" Heather asked her, but Astrid found that she had a hard time doing anything other than stare at what raged inside. Heather seemed to notice as she, too, turned to watch and hope that he made it back out again. Others joined them aswell.

They waited and they waited.

Only seconds could've passed them by, but they felt more like hours.

"Come on, Hiccup. Come on, please..." They were the only words Astrid could utter. She had faith in her husband, she's always had faith, but the reality that she might've lost her entire family in a single night began to gnaw at her.

She hoped it wasn't true. It simply couldn't be true. If anything, Hiccup had a habit of surviving the impossible. He couldn't leave her, not now.

The wait was long, but finally did a familiarly lanky figure appear in the blaze.

And he wasn't alone.

"Hiccup!" Finally, the paralyzing hold on her body ceased and Astrid ran forward to meet him halfway.

"Oh my Thor." Heather shared in her relief and followed.

Hiccup was stumbling slightly and coughing terribly, but in each arm he held a child and their crying was a clear indication that they were both alive.

He fell to his knees and Astrid did too. She cupped Hiccup's scruffy face and checked him over. Meanwhile, a small crowd of bystanders gathered around them.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." He managed to tell her through his coughing and let her look the children over next.

"Mommy..." Zephyr sniffed and reached for her mother. Appearing to be unscathed, Astrid took her in her arms and hugged her tight before checking every inch of her younger brother as he cried.

She captured him in a hug too. She embraced both of her boys and savoured the feeling of getting all three of her family back safe.

Unharmed.

Hiccup was reluctant to pull away, but Astrid needed a second take.

"We're fine. Astrid, we're fine." He thought he needed to reassure her, but as panic ebbed away and her level-head returned, she noticed something startling.

Hiccup's cloak was gone, eaten away by the fire. Large parts of his leather armour were gone too and even the woollen fabric underneath had suffered. it had been blackened and signed in many places.

And yet, besides the bad cough, he appeared to be fine and neither Zephyr or Nuffink, though their clothes were badly burned in many places aswell, weren't even bothered by a cough.

Glancing back at the blaze Hiccup had rescued their progeny from, still raging on behind them, she realized none of them should've made it out alive.

"We're okay, Zeph. We're safe! The fire can't hurt us now." Astrid brought her attention away from the burning building and back to her family, to her partner as he tried to sooth the little girl bawling hopelessly in her arms.

Hiccup shot Astrid a smile as Zephyr found comfort in his voice and touch as he wiped her tears away and her hair out of her eyes. He, too, was simply overjoyed that they were okay. The rest of the Berserkers might not be, but at least they were. At this moment, that was all that mattered to him.

Astrid couldn't help but pull her young family in for another hug. Right now, she just wanted to hold them close and completely soak in their presence.

Hiccup, his coughing not yet gone, still buried his face in the crook of her neck. Seemed like he had the same idea in mind of not wanting to let go just yet.

The next day, the invading tribe was gone and damage could be properly assessed.

Not too many lives had been lost and injuries had been kept to a minimum, but almost the entire village had been burned to the ground and that meant a lot had been lost. The Berserkers would need help rebuilding their home.

That was what Hiccup had been discussing with Heather. As Chief of an allying tribe, he could provide her and her people the help they might need. No longer wearing any of the leather that had become almost like a signature of him at this point, with Zephyr clinging onto his leg and Nuffink asleep in his hold, Hiccup spoke to Heather about all they could do to aid the Berserkers.

As chieftess, Astrid should be a part of that talk. Instead she was standing a little ways away and staring at what was once her friend's house.

Or where it should've been.

It hadn't just completely burned down, there was simply nothing left. Not a single piece of clothing, a scrap of paper or even the very foundations of the home had survived.

The embers that still remained were only now slowly dying.

Her lover and children had been in the fire that caused this destruction. It was frightening to think about.

"Can you believe it?" A nearby conversation between two Berserkers drew her attention.

"That the Chief of Berk and his kids survived that... Nobody should've been able to survive that, let alone walk out without a scratch." A young man spoke with an older woman, sharing his disbelieve.

They were the talk of the village. Though also speaking of the attack itself, most of the quiet gossip taking place around her was about the Berkian Chief and his heirs living through a fire that should've killed them.

"He was lucky. He could've died. He should've died." The older Viking woman was a robust one and she looked like the kind that could strike fear into the heart of any foe. She was worn from battle for sure.

It wasn't that she wished death on Hiccup, she was simply stating a fact.

As Astrid approached the house and watched some of the fragile and burnt wood crumple by the slightest touch of a breeze, she found that woman to be right.

It was a harsh thought and she felt dirty simply thinking about it, but Hiccup, Zephyr and Nuffink should be dead.

They should not be with her here, still breathing. They should not have come out of there with a few simple scrapes and not a single burn wound in sight. There wasn't even a slight redness on any of them and Hiccup's coughing had ceased by now.

Astrid didn't know what or who had protected her family that night, but She didn't know what she would do if she had lost them. Any of them. She wasn't sure how she would have ever been able to live with herself.

So she was thankful. Astrid wasn't going to question their miraculous survival, she was just thankful.

Turning away from the ruins, Astrid walked to Hiccup's side. A hand on one shoulder of his and her chin on the other one, she drew his attention and he gave her a smile.

"You know what some people call him right?" The young man spoke up again in the background.

"Those rumours about "The Dragon Chief"? Those are just farfetched tales from the same merchants who talked about the Dragon Master." The woman decided to continue to entertain him with this talk for now.

"Yeah, but the dragons-"

"Are gone now. The Chief of Berk made sure of that."

"I know. We haven't seen one in years! But what if he's... and the kids..."

The Viking woman had shot him down after that. It was too ridiculous to even think about.

Astrid found it an incredulous concept too.

But no matter, she was just happy to have her loves still there by her side.

"You look tired. Maybe the four of you should get some rest. There are some cots in the Great Hall, I'm sure we can spare some for you." Heather offered and affectionately rubbed Astrid's upper arm.

"Thank you, Heather, but I think we'll just sleep on the boat. There are other people who might need them more than we do." Hiccup politely declined and they parted ways with her. She had a message to send to Dagur and Mala and people to help.

"What do you say, M'lady? Go back to the boat? Get some shut-eye?" He suggested and Astrid decided that was what they must do. Hiccup looked like he could fall over. Not such a good idea with a toddler in his arm.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I need the three of you safe on that ship and resting. I just... I need to know that you will be okay." She was shaken up after the night they've had. She imagined she would be for quite a while to come.

Hiccup took this moment to place a brief kiss on her lips.

"We're fine, Astrid. Zephyr, Nuffink and I, we're all fine." He knew she needed the reassurance and he gladly gave it to her.

Astrid stared up to his nearly completely unblemished face and absentmindedly noticed how the only scars he had, he had received through weapons and hapless accidents and never by fire. Even the leg was lost by Toothless' attempt at rescuing him so many years ago.

"Astrid." Wherever her mind had wondered, Hiccup brought it back to the present.

"Let's go. You need some sleep too." Astrid found him to be right and together they made their way back to the Berkian longboat for the rest and peace they so desperately needed.

[izabellagifs]

Emilia King Bio & WC

Hey everyone, here is just a look at the biography I had written for Emilia and some wanted connections to fill out. If you’re interested in plotting feel free to shoot me a message (:

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Ivory Syndicate

Trust My Blood: Someone that Emilia has known for ages, this person almost serves as a protector. They’ve lied to keep her safe from the King’s secrets, and Emilia has blind faith in every word they say. ( Zephyr Jackson ) 

You’re A Mystery: Why wasn’t she allowed near them? Emilia has been forbidden to speak with this person, but her curiosity may just get the best of her. (   ) 

You and I: An unlikely friendship, but one that Emilia considers to be her closet. This person is her rock and she is theirs, even if she doesn’t know all their secrets. (     )

The Vittori

Burn Me Alive:  They always seem to appear at strange times, like a shadow that’s just waiting to set her ablaze. She’s been too coy to approach these watching eyes, but just maybe one day she’ll ask why. (   )

Outsider

Just Next Door: Someone who is neighbours with Emilia, they haven’t interacted much but meet on the unlikely occurrence of getting locked out. ( Andre Bouchard ) & (    )

Blame It on the Alcohol: Maybe it was the gin and tonics that impaired judgment but an evening in Montreal resulted in being between sheets with a stranger (  Henri Phillipe ) & (    )

Looming Justice: As Emilia occasionally helps at the police office for an internship to cover her criminal forensics minor, this person seems to be asking a lot of questions that she doesn’t have many answers to (     )

BIOGRAPHY

New York was a place for dreamers, a city that glittered like a thousand fireflies at night and screamed of opportunity in the day. But under that beautiful facade was untamed darkness, one called King. The Ivory Syndicate was a force to be reckoned with. They had their hands in everything: local businesses, the cartels, the listening ears of your neighbours. As Marco and Milena dominated the city that never sleeps, the Kings welcomed home a new addition to their family. Emilia Celeste was born on a frigidly cold day in February but the tendrils of frost couldn’t overpower the warmth that filled that room. Their little girl was a healthy baby, wriggling about in a blanket when Marco King locked eyes with her. As he stared into her brown eyes an overwhelming sense of responsibility crossed over him. Marco glanced at the hospital doors, manned by two capo, at his jacket that held a concealed gun that had taken the lives of too many. How could he raise a child in that kind of world… how could he let his child know that kind of evil? It hit him almost immediately: he couldn’t. His wife seemed to understand that concern just the same and with a knowing nod, a pact grew in the silence between them. Emilia was to never learn about who the Kings were or what they did.

Though she was a King, Emilia’s life resembled that of a modern-day princess. Manhattan was her playground and any wish she could possibly have came true. Surrounded by a loving family, her childhood was a happy one. Family friends coddled her as though she was their own, her parents showered her with affection and joy. There was never a quiet moment in the house, with people coming and going at every moment. Emilia could turn any corner and find a smile, her big brown eyes and infectious laugh even making the angriest of capo grin. While her life was relatively carefree, Marco stressed certain rules. When business was occurring, Emilia was to be on another floor of their penthouse. There was no talk of violence, of raids or anything remotely associated with the Syndicate once she was in the room. Ignorant bliss. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

Emilia had the privilege of attending Birch Wathen Lenox school, one of the most expensive private schools in New York. It wasn’t until she stepped foot in Lenox that she started to understand the weight of her name. Eyes gawked at Emilia as though she was something out of a dream. She couldn’t help but notice the whispers, how her fellow students treated her like a ticking time bomb. Emilia could remember going home after a day of lessons, confused and upset. Her father had found her in the stairwell, wiping away a tear before giving her an explanation. They’re jealous of what we have… he said with confidence… our family is a very lucky family, and they're intimidated by who we are. Marco spun a tale of wealth to his daughter’s ears, all based on the right timing and entering the proper businesses. And Emilia, being the ever so trusting daughter, believed it all.

By the time she entered middle school, she’d ignored it all. Emilia threw herself into her studies and extracurriculars, after all, she was King. A member of one of the most prominent families in New York. To have such a name meant expectations were heavily placed on her shoulders. She’d begun to show promise in her academics and was quickly given a spot in the gifted program. Emilia joined a few clubs like Lacrosse and her drive eventually led her to steal the spot of captain. To the outside eye, Emilia King was perfect. Her personality was loved by her fellow students and teachers, she had talent in almost everything she touched. However, as she had won the favor of many, Emilia noticed one person who seemed repulsed by her. Giancarlo Palma. A boy. Who was the son of a family that her father claimed were no good, rivals who tried to ruin the King enterprises by dirty business shots.

While in class or in the lunchroom she could feel his eyes almost boring into her skin. One day, when feeling brave, she approached him. With an accusation, the conversation escalated to shouting match. Your family is full of murders. The words landed heavy on her head. What on earth was this boy talking about? Stunned into silence, Emilia was full of confusion and anger. How could Giancarlo claim such a thing, especially against her family? The Kings donated to charities, helped local businesses that otherwise would be failing and were generous… kind. They had a perfect track record. You don’t even know, do you? His tone was smug and for one of the first times in her life, the perfect Emilia King did something regretful. The punch she threw echoed throughout the cafeteria, shocking every bystander that was in the area. Almost immediately, Giancarlo pushed back. Bigger than Emilia, it didn’t take much for him to overpower her. By the time two staff member pulled them apart, Emilia had countless bruises and cuts, toting what looked to be the beginning of a black eye while Giancarlo stood with a broken nose, seething and venomous. We’re going to fucking kill you, might as well ask your father why before it happens. He was dragged off by a teacher.

To say that she was shellshocked was an underestimate. Emilia was immediately sent to the infirmary, where she was promptly greeted by her father and the principal. Thousands of questions rang about in her brain as she watched the two discuss her ‘out of character’ behavior. As her father pulled Principal Abbott into the hall,  Emilia couldn’t get Giancarlo’s last words out of her mind. We’re going to fucking kill you… might as well ask your father why… She’d never seen hate consume someone like that, scared that she believed what he may have said. The discussion didn’t last long between her father and the man, and a nervous Principal Abbott agreed to two detentions as a punishment before sauntering off to his office. All at once, everything spilled out of Emilia. She detailed exactly what happened to Marco, hoping to hear something that would quell her sudden worry and bewilderment at the exchange with Giancarlo. Yet another thing occurred that she didn’t expect. Her father’s reassuring voice and explanation didn’t fully convince her. Not after seeing Giancarlo’s face, his hostility, how he claimed to know something she didn’t.

A few weeks had passed by from the exchange when Emilia woke up to a bizarre news report. Giancarlo Palma was missing. A sick feeling in her stomach started to form. She couldn’t help but feeling an inkling of terror… had her family done something…? No. Emilia did her best to brush off the thought but it had implanted itself in the back of her mind. With rose-colored eyes, she attempted to move on from the incident. To be her normal self. But every once in a while, certain things began to look cloudy. How she wasn’t allowed to be even 100 feet within a business meeting.How a family friend had a mysterious blood stain on their sleeve that claimed to be a razor cut from shaving. At night, she followed the story surrounding Giancarlo on her phone, almost hiding her investigation from her parents.

Emilia’s suspicions didn’t end when she entered her senior year but other thoughts started to occupy her mind. College. Applications came and went, and although she had a small scuffle with Giancarlo, Emilia maintained the fact that she was a star student. Offers began arriving at the King doorstep, but one interested her family. McGill University, a school located in Montreal, had sent her a potential scholarship letter. When Milena heard about the opportunity, she was almost ecstatic though the school had never been one Emilia considered. Her sight had been set on Brown or Standford, maybe Princeton like her father. Emilia had always been easily influenced by her parents, and the push from her mother was undeniable. Looking through her offers, Emilia accepted a full ride to McGill University to study as an English major.

Emilia seemed to fit in at McGill, and the change of scenery was welcome. She enjoyed her classes, taking multiple cores to satisfy her general eds. While studying, she found herself falling in love with criminal forensics and promptly changed her major to the pre-law track while a sophomore. She’d almost forgotten all about Giancarlo Palma when one day her professor announced that they would be analyzing the Palma case… Emilia hadn’t even known that his body had been found. Tucked away in the Hudson River, it surfaced during her freshman year in a tangle of chains and bricks. Her professor lamented about suspected foul play that may have involved a dangerous rivalry between families. Once again, the shadow of doubt began to creep into Emilia’s head…

Later that month, Emilia received a call from her mother Milena: she was moving to Montreal. It was a sudden change, one that Emilia couldn’t quite find reason in. Her mother loved New York, and what business did they have in Canada other than their daughter studying there? The day Milena King arrived in Montreal, Emilia noticed that things were changing. Eyes started to stare at her differently, just like they had her entire childhood in New York. And strangers were taking an interest in her like that hadn’t before… something was happening and this time, Emilia King would not let it go.

[modern-victoria]

As swift as this is love

Chapter twenty-nine of my Quakerider Fantasy AU.

Read it on ao3.

 Bobbi entered Zephyr Town proudly after two days of riding. She sat straight on her horse, the eagle on her chest gleaming once again after she had washed all the blood and grime off in a stream they had passed. Lady Price and King Talbot were riding in front of her, their heads held high. She wondered how the meeting between them and her king would go; everyone in this kingdom knew about the strained relations between Zephyr Kingdom and its two neighbouring kingdoms. That would be a battle for another day she hoped. She wanted nothing more than to drink her weight in ale and dance the night away with Hunter. The last days had made her realise how much she still cared about him: more than she liked to admit.

 Behind her trotted Lucy. Robbie looked tired. No wonder, she thought, though she had been fighting at the time, she had caught glimpses of what had happened with Robbie, Daisy and Eli. Even more, she had heard his screams echoing through the throne room even though the noises of swords and armour drowned out all the other sounds.

 As much as he looked drained, he looked happy and peaceful, a look she had never really seen on him. Sometimes there were moments she thought she saw a flash of it when he was talking to Daisy, but those moments were fleeting. Now, he wore that look like a badge of honour.

 Bobbi’s gaze drifted to the princess, cradled in Robbie’s arms. Her head laid on Robbie’s chest and her eyes were closed. The gentle rocking of Lucy’s trots and the warmth radiating from Robbie had lulled her to sleep. She had been through a lot too.

 She smiled at the memory of Daisy on her wedding day. Her face when Bobbi told her she might grow to love Robbie was almost comical, and a stark contrast to now. Bobbi had witnessed her anxiousness when they were riding towards Darkhold Castle, had seen the look of relief when she had finally spotted Robbie amidst the battle. She was there when she flew in his arms and had kissed him fiercely. She shook her head laughing, the passion those two had made her rethink of the first days she had met Hunter, before they were married, before his mother didn’t approve of her.

 They all dismounted their horses in the courtyard, Mack and a dozen other people took the reins out of their hands and led their horses towards the stables. She clasped Mack on the shoulder, needing the contact to assure her the war was indeed over and they had won against all odds.

 She walked over to Robbie, who was gently waking Daisy, murmuring words into her ear Bobbi was too far away to hear. Daisy opened her eyes, her chest swelling with a breath of fresh air, then yawned, “We here?”

 “Yes, we’re home,” Robbie answered, the word still tasting fresh on his tongue. Home. However, he didn’t think it was Zephyr Palace that made him feel home, he thought as he lovingly gazed at Daisy, still laying against his chest.

 “Come, let’s get you inside. Your wound needs to be looked at.”

 “I wasn’t so lucky to be healed of all my wounds simply by loving myself,” she joked, her voice still raspy from sleep.

 It was true, after Daisy told him she loved him and his curse had been lifted, all his wounds had mended. Granted, the scars were still there, but he had gotten a second chance. He died, and he lived to tell the tale.

 He dismounted Lucy and guided Daisy off her too. She plopped down to the ground, turning in his arms and pecking him on the lips. “Thank you, husband.”

 He smiled at the name, now said with endearment instead of the practical term it had once been. He pecked her once again on the lips, unable to stop himself now that he could freely kiss her.

 “Welcome!” King Phillip’s voice sounded.

 They both turned to the Palace’s entrance where the King and Queen stepped out, greeting Lady Price, King Talbot and all the soldiers gathered in the courtyard. He walked towards both monarchs, clasping their hands and expressing his thanks. The three of them smiled tentatively, all unsure of where this new alliance would lead.

 Word had already been sent of their victory prior their homecoming, so a grand feast had been organised that evening. The throne room, the grand entrance hall, the ballroom, the courtyard and the inside yard had been accomodated to host all the soldiers that had fought for Zephyr Kingdom’s freedom.

 “Thank you for your service. Tonight, the feast will be in your honour.” The king spread his arms out towards the crowd. “We’ve prepared accommodations for all of you, so freshen up and cheer!”

 The crowd roared in hurray, their hands and armour still bloody, but their faces free from anxiousness. Daisy joined them and pierced the blue sky with her shining sword, hooting with her soldiers without a care. She grabbed Robbie’s hand and dragged him inside the palace. Once inside, she was greeted by Jemma, who tackled her into a hug.

 “Never let me worry about you again!” Jemma exclaimed. “I can’t handle it!”

 “I’m glad to see you too, Jemma,” Daisy whispered into Jemma’s hair.

 Hunter stood behind her, Bobbi by his side, their hands clasped together. Daisy’s eyes fell to their joined hands. Smiling, she looked at the both of them. Hunter walked towards her and threw his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her in a hug.

 “I should’ve been by your side,” he mumbled, a tinge of regret in his voice.

 Daisy pulled back and looked at him, her smile still glued to her face. “You were in spirit, Hunter.”

 “Thank you.”

 “Also, I had a pretty good guardian by my side and I’m sure you would agree,” she winked.

 “Yeah,” Hunter said, walking back to Bobbi and lacing his fingers through hers again, “she is pretty good, isn’t she?”

 “Now, Daisy, let’s get you and Robbie ready for tonight,” Jemma said as she ushered them both further down the hall. Another servant came to take care of Robbie, while Jemma would be busy with Daisy.

 They both made their separate ways, reluctant, but they knew they’d see each other again soon.

 “I drew a bath for you already,” Jemma said, as they walked towards Daisy’s chamber. “Sandalwood and roses, just as you like.”

 “I’d love to get all this grime out of my hair too.” Daisy carded her fingers through her dirt-caked hair, while Jemma opened the door for her.

 “Let me check your wound first,” Jemma said.

 Daisy responded, “I’m fine. It’s been taken care of on the trip home.”

 “With dirty fingers and old rags, Daisy.”

 “Fine,” Daisy said reluctantly.

 “Aren’t we going to talk about it?” Jemma asked, checking the wound for any signs of infection. It was still red, but it seemed like the medic had done a good job treating it.

 Daisy looked away, her brows knit together. “Talk about what?”

 “You and Prince Roberto?”

 Smiling absentmindedly, Daisy thought back of his lips on hers. She didn’t know why she held her feelings that long for herself, because she couldn’t be happier.

 “I love him. I guess, I loved him before too.”

 Jemma gathered her friend in her arms, hugging her happily. “I’m glad for you,” she simply said.

 Once Jemma was done, Daisy didn’t wait a second before shedding her clothes and sinking into the copper bathtub. The warm water appeased her aching muscles and it was only then Daisy realised how weary her bones felt. She sighed happily as Jemma began combing her hair. Daisy closed her eyes and sank further in the soothing water.

 “Finally done!”

 Daisy’s eyes startled open as she heard Jemma’s voice behind her. As she straightened herself in the now tepid water, she noticed her fingertips were wrinkled.

 “How long was I out?” Daisy asked.

 “As long as it took for me to detangle and wash your hair,” Jemma answered.

 “Sorry.”

 “No need, Daisy. The last few days have been taxing, especially for you. I understand.” Jemma touched her shoulder lightly in comfort. “Now let’s get you in a pretty dress.”

 “I know which one I want to wear,” Daisy said as she stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself in a large cotton cloth to dry herself off.

 “Which one shall I lay out for you then?”

 “The pink one,” Daisy decided. “The one with the silver flowers on the hem.”

 After she was completely dried off, Jemma put some disinfecting lotion on Daisy’s cut and then proceeded to bandage it up again. Afterwards she laced Daisy into her dress. She quickly combed Daisy’s hair and pinned two front locks back with matching silver pins.

 “You’re ready.”

 Daisy rose up from her chair and said her thanks to Jemma.

 “Now, go put a nice dress on,” Daisy exclaimed, pushing Jemma towards her own adjacent room. She opened her door and bumped into Robbie on the way out.

 “Oh,” she let out surprised, “I thought we were meeting downstairs.”

 “I couldn’t wait to see you,” Robbie stated, his gaze piercing her own. Daisy smiled, hiding her creeping blush by ducking her head.

 “I wanted to ask you something,” he continued. “I know it might sound stupid- you probably will think it’s stupid, but I’ve thought about it and- well I- God it’s stupid.”

 “Robbie,” Daisy whispered sweetly, cupping his face into her two hands. He looked at her affectionately.

 “You’re wearing the dress you wore when we first met.”

 “Is that the question? Because It didn’t sound like a question,” she laughed. “But yes, I am wearing the same dress. I thought it was fitting.”

 Robbie grinned happily. “I wanted to ask you this,” he said, taking her hands into his. Daisy suddenly noticed the bright yellow ribbon clutched in his hands. Her eyes widened as it dawned on her what he was about to do.

 “Daisy, I know technically we are already married, but I wanted to do it properly this time. You deserve that.” Daisy could feel her heart fluttering and a huge smile appeared on her face.

 “So, I’m asking you, Princess Daisy of Zephyr Kingdom, will you grant me the honour of being able to spend the rest of my life with you?” Daisy could feel his hands tremble in her grip. She nodded silently, tears of joy spilling from her eyes.

 “Yes,” she breathed out between sobs. He gently leaned closer, but Daisy crashed her lips against his. Their first kiss had been a promise, for what their future might hold. This one felt more like a guarantee, that this was their future;

 A yellow ribbon for hope.

 A kiss for love.

 They pulled away, breathing heavily as their foreheads touched. She nudged her nose against his. “They’re waiting for us downstairs,” she whispered.

 “I feel like they’re always waiting for us,” Robbie muttered under his breath.

 “We are the prince and princess,” Daisy chuckled.

 Robbie grumbled and against his will pulled away completely from her. He still held onto her hand though.

 “And I am hungry,” Daisy added, raising an eyebrow at him.

 “You make a good point,” Robbie joked and together they walked downstairs.

 Upon entering the throne room, delicious scents entered their noses. The room was full of nobles, captains and generals. A long and broad wooden table lined the middle of the room, beautiful silverware was put on top of a lacey linen. Almost everyone was already sat down, talking animatedly and downing one cup of wine after the other.

 They made their way over to the edge of the table, where two places were held free between Gabe and Lady Price. Robbie sat down next to his brother and Daisy took the seat next to Lady Price.

 “Thank you again for coming to our aid.” Daisy turned to Rosalind. “Without your help, we’d have surely lost the war.”

 Price took Daisy’s hands in hers. “You wrote a great piece about why leaving your kingdom in the hands of that usurper would be terrible for all of us. I hope what you said is true, that we could work together in the future.” She squeezed Daisy’s hands and then let go, but her gaze remained on her.

 “I truly believe my father will change his ways,” Daisy nodded, her eyes locked on hers to convey as much confidence as she could muster.

 “It is not with your father King Talbot and I made an agreement,” She began, “but I guess it’ll have to do.”

 Daisy smiled politely, starting to turn back again when Lady Price added, “I am amazed at how you handled yourself on the battlefield. I never expected such a thing from a princess.”

 “You were on the battlefield too,” Daisy stated.

 “Not on the front line.”

 “I guess I was tired of letting others fight my battles,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

 A large smirk appeared on Rosalind’s face. “I feel like you and I will get along well, Princess Daisy of Zephyr Kingdom.”

 Daisy nodded, took her full glass and raised it towards her. “To new friends!”

 “Indeed,” said Rosalind, clinking her cup with Daisy’s, “to new friends!”

 Daisy’s hand found Robbie’s as dinner was served. He glanced at her as a tiny smile crept on his face. They were married, had been for over a month, but their feelings were new and daunting and they were as giddy as two lovestruck teens.

 Gabe peered through the corner of his eyes at them, occasionally rolling his eyes at how corny his brother could be as much as he was happy for them both.

 Her father had spared no expense when it came to the five-course meal that was being served. Daisy stared down the table at the hundred other men and women seated, all eating and drinking. This room wasn’t even filled with half of the guests.

 “Poor pigs,” Daisy mumbled to herself, but Robbie heard and shot her a quizzical look.

 “Pigs?” he asked amused.

 “Nevermind,” she said. He tilted his head bemused, but was cut off from further comments by her father rising from his seat at the end of the table, clinking his glass. Slowly, the whole room fell silent, every face turned towards their king.

 “We won a war today,” he began, letting his gaze roam over every face in the room.

 “That is not something I can say every day. But we won thanks to the help of our neighbouring kingdoms, Lady Price and King Talbot.” Half the room cheered loudly at the mention of their monarch. When the room fell silent again, he continued, “ but it is not I who made this alliance possible. My precious daughter, the princess of Zephyr Kingdom, spoke to their hearts and succeeded where I failed, numerous times.”

 He looked at her, his face soft and caring. She noticed the laughing wrinkles around his eyes again. He looked at peace now that war wasn’t knocking on his door.

 “That is why I decided to step away from the throne.”

 The room erupted in shouts of astonishment and confusion. King Phillip put his hands up to calm his people.

 “I have done my time as monarch. I have led you as best as I could, but with the end of Hydra and this war, it is the start of a new alliance, one that I have not founded. It is the start of a new era, one where my precious daughter will rule as just and as fierce as she was a princess.”

 Daisy stared in shock in front of her. She could not believe what she was hearing and expected cries of dissent. Instead cheers echoed through the immense throne room and Daisy blinked back into reality as the sounds resonated in her head: they were shouting her name.

 Her father was looking at her expectantly.

 Talbot and Price were nodding in agreement.

 Her mother smiled proudly.

 Robbie still held her hand as he beamed at her.

 She rose up from her seat. A hush fell over the room as everyone stared at her in awe. She cleared her throat, then straightened her back.

 “I promise you a better future,” she started, not knowing where she would go with her speech but the words seemed to come without trying. “I promise we will rebuild this kingdom to the grandeur it once had.”

 She inclined her head to Talbot and Price. “Where allies are welcome and friends even more.” Price smiled satisfied.

 “I have fought next to you, and I will continue to do so until anyone who opposes us, our freedom and our peace will quake in their boots!”

 The crowd sprang from their chairs, clapping and hurraying their new queen-to-be. They all raised their cups in her honour and downed it all. Daisy’s legs gave out underneath her and she sank back into her chair, content but still shaken from what had just transpired.

 “Are you okay?” Robbie whispered to her, bringing her still clutched hand to his face and kissing it. "Yeah. I think I am actually."

 “You’ll be king,” she added as an afterthought.

 Robbie dropped his hand, but still held onto hers. “Huh.” he pursed his lips. “I guess so.”

 “You’ll be a wonderful king.”

 “I hope so.” He paused. “With you by my side, I will try my best to be worthy of such a title. And of you.”

 Daisy leaned over her armrest, closing the distance between the both of them as she kissed him. He pulled away slightly, grinning mischievously.

 “I don’t think they need us here anymore.”

 Daisy caught onto his deeper meaning as she saw the glint in his eyes. “They’re all drunk. They won’t notice us gone.” She shook her head slowly, her own face turning into smirk.

 After one last kiss, they both rose up from their seats, quickly leaving the room before anyone would notice. Running through the halls like two giddy children, Daisy led him to her room.

 She stopped abruptly before her door. He watched her lovestruck as she placed her hand on his heart.

 “I am in irrevocably in love with you, Robbie Reyes,” She said softly.

 “Good,” he murmured back, “because I am irrevocably in love with you too, Daisy of Zephyr Kingdom.”

 She snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. With one arm he held her up as she melted into him and with the other he opened her chamberdoor carefully. Their lips didn’t come apart for one moment as they both held onto each other fervently. Their kiss, which started sweet and gentle turned heated as they stumbled into her room. With one swift kick, Robbie shut the door behind them.

 One door shut, but a million others open as a new life started for them that night.

 Together.

 At last.

Chapter 28

[millennialfangirl]

Wherever You Will Go (post AoS Dousy Fic)

Fandom: Agents of Shield Pairing: Daisy x Daniel Rating: Teen and up Word Count: 1,717

Summary: 

What kind of present time is the team returning to after their hard fought battle against the Chronicoms? Will Daisy get her happy ending? If Daniel has anything to say about it, he'll always find his way back to her. Is there someone out there who can bring him back to her?

(entirely inspired by the song "Wherever You Will Go," by The Calling.

A/N: 

Whooo boy yall. I heard this song the other day and was just struck with inspiration for Dousy.

It's also my attempt at an endgame fix-it fic of sorts regarding plotholes and the lack of Phil Coulson and Daisy Johnson in the MCU, and aos/endgame fusion if you will.

This is a multi-chap with it all plotted out, and several chapters drafted. Non-beta-ed, we die as men.

I hope you'll join me for the ride!

Ao3 Link

Chapter 1:

For a moment, silence rings throughout the Zephyr.

Daisy slumps against the wall, exhausted. The adrenaline from the final fight against Malick and the Chronicoms is starting to dissipate. 

“The Zephyr is stable. Anyone still standing, make your way to the bridge for a headcount,” Mack’s voice booms through the stillness. 

Somehow she finds the strength to make it through the corridors, the desire to see her team and make sure Daniel is safe, the only thing keeping her going. Finally, she turns the last corner and sees Coulson first. 

He turns in time to see her as she half hugs, half collapses in his arms. 

“Whoa, whoa, I got you.” 

“Did we win?”

“Yea, we won. You can rest now,” he says leading her to one of the bench seats. 

Then she’s pushing against him, fighting against his hold. 

“No, where’s Sousa? Did he make it?”

“I’m right here,” he affirms from behind her. 

Daisy feels a wave of relief at hearing his voice. She turns and finds him looking at her with a similar look of relief. 

Without thinking about the consequences or who is watching, they step toward each other, and Daisy immediately pulls him down for a kiss. He wraps his arms around her without thinking, supporting as much of her weight as he can. The kiss is life affirming and celebratory, but there’s a desperation underneath, both of them scared that the fight’s not really over, that any minute now one of them will disappear. 

“Ay Dios Mio,” Yo-yo grumbles as she passes them. 

They pull apart, faint blushes covering their cheeks. It only lasts a minute before Daisy’s putting nearly all of her weight on Daniel. In an instant, he lifts her into his arms and carries her over to the seats. He carefully sits down with her, and her head immediately finds his chest. 

“I told you so,” Mack rubs in Yo-yo’s face. 

One by one, the rest of the team filters in. Injuries are assessed and hugs are shared. 

Coulson and Mack quietly discuss their next steps.

“Everyone needs a break, and a really good night of sleep,” Mack suggests. 

“Agreed. Fortunately for us, we have all the time we need here in the temporal zone. Let them rest, eat. We can regroup in 12 hours,” Coulson tells him. 

Mack gives the order to everyone, and the team scatters. 

***

Daniel carefully settles Daisy onto the bed of her bunk. Methodically, he takes off her boots, and then her gauntlets. He gently sits next to her on the bed, and softly moves hair out of her bruised face. Even with the dark purple spots and cuts, she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Heyya, Danny-boy,” she says sleepily with a half smile.

He laughs out loud and brings her hand to his lips, kissing it softly. 

“Back atcha, Quake.” 

She turns her head into her pillow and groans in embarrassment. She’s never going to forgive Mack.  

“You need to get some rest,” he prods. 

“You know, I’d normally fight you on that, but I kind of feel like I was hit by a truck.”

“You never have to pretend you’re okay with me,” he tells her earnestly, rubbing his hands up and down her arm soothingly.

“Then can I ask you to stay? I don’t want to be alone.” 

“Thank God. I don’t want to leave your side,” he answers, already sliding his shoes off and propping himself up against the headboard beside her. 

“You should lay down and get some sleep too,” she insists.

“I will. I just want to watch over you for a little while.” 

Daisy blushes, but curls herself around him and lays her head on his lap. He automatically starts running his fingers through her hair. 

“I thought you would have had enough of that by now,” she mumbles.

“Never enough,” he says softly. “Now get some sleep.” 

His gentle touch and comforting embrace lulls her to sleep within minutes. 

***

Daisy wakes to the smell of eggs and bacon wafting through the Zephyr. She also can’t help but notice a warm body wrapped around her. Her suspicions are confirmed when she opens her eyes and all she can see is the blue of Daniel’s shirt. That damn shirt. 

Her head is tucked under his chin, and her arms are curled up between them. She’s using one of his arms as a pillow, while his other one is holding her close. She recognizes the intimacy of the moment, how they somehow jumped a million steps, but it feels right. 

“Good morning,” she hears his deep voice mumble against her hair. 

“Possibly the best one since 1931.” 

She nuzzles further into him, and wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. 

“Definitely the best,” he confirms.

“As much as I would like to stay here and fall right back to sleep, I’m starving, and I can smell Coulson cooking breakfast.” 

“Oh no, I better get out of your way before you quake me,” he mocks. 

“The square has jokes, huh?”

“A few.”

He’s blushing when he leans over to kiss her softly. Her hand finds a home in his hair, and she kisses him back. His hand starts gliding up and down her spine, and without thinking, she gives more over to the kiss. She nibbles his lip, and he moans, causing her to stop, but he follows her quickly with his tongue, surprising her. From there, it’s a blur, both of them becoming heated. His fingertips are just grazing her stomach under her tank top when a loud knocking interrupts them. 

“Daisy...Coulson has food ready. C’mon before it gets cold,” Jemma informs her from behind the door. She’s quiet for a moment before continuing. “And bring Sousa with you.” 

Both of them are catching their breaths as they stare at each other, not flushed with embarrassment, but longing. 

“That wasn’t funny,” Daisy says staring up at him with emotion.

“No. It wasn’t funny at all,” he replies, voice thick with the same emotion. He caresses her cheek softly. “Let’s get you some food.”

Daisy agrees and lets him pull her out of bed. They decide to part ways to freshen up and change clothes before facing the new day. 

***

Everyone is gathered around the common area near the small kitchen galley. Daisy can hear the laughter as she comes down the hall from her bunk. It looks like she’s the last to arrive as she spots Daniel sitting at the table. On the opposite side, she catches the tail end of Mack’s story that has them all giggling.    

“And then she did a full on superhero landing, right in front of hundreds of people, live on t.v.”

“She totally outed herself as Quake,” Jemma says, leaning over to show Daniel a picture on her phone. 

He’s laughing along with everyone else when she clears her throat and makes her presence known. 

“I see how it’s gonna be. Should I bring up the Jasper Sitwell incident?” she threatens while leaning against the cabinets. 

Jemma jerks her phone away. “Oh, don’t be a spoil sport.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Tremors, we started off by telling him about how you saved our lives that day.”

Daisy grumbles as she starts to pour some coffee. “So what other dirty laundry have you aired, Mack Hammer?”

“Well, I have seen the,” Daniel pauses and looks to Jemma, “what did you call it? The goth phase?”

“Jemma!” Daisy shrieks.

“I’m sorry! We got carried away telling stories.”

“I think my favorite hair is the purple streak,” Daniel adds. 

Daisy just face-palms.

 “Okay, okay. Sousa, I’ve been dying to ask you for some SSR stories,” Coulson intervenes. 

Daniel dives into a hilarious anecdote about Howard Stark and one of his inventions. As Daisy prepares her plate and sits down next to Daniel, she soaks in the peacefulness. From there, the conversation flows from one war story to another, some hilarious, some sad. 

Long after their plates are emptied, they’re still going at it. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute...Thor’s real?” Daniel asks, shocked. 

All of the girls nod and sigh, and Jemma pipes up, “I think I’ve got a picture!”

Jemma immediately pulls up a photo to show Daniel.

“You sure did find that awfully fast,” Fitz grumbles. 

Daniel looks and his eyebrows raise. “That's...impressive.” 

Daisy nearly chokes on her cold coffee, Daniel’s word choice reminding her of their conversation in the time loop. Yo-yo and May try to lean over and catch a glimpse too.

“Oh, jeez. C’mon guys. He’s not that dreamy,” Coulson whines. 

“As much as I would love this particular conversation to continue, we do have some difficult things to talk about, like when we’re going home?” Jemma suggests as she puts her phone away. Everyone chimes in as they all start discussing problems back home.

“Hold on, hold on,” Coulson butts in. “Maybe we shouldn’t rush. You all deserve to have a break, and we have plenty of food. We all need to heal. We don’t know what we’ll be going home to.” 

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. We really have all the time in the world here,” Fitz responds. 

The conversation drifts from there, everyone sharing the various things they’re looking forward to doing when they get home. Discreetly, Daniel takes Daisy's hand under the table. 

Not discreetly enough that May and Coulson both don’t notice. Coulson leans into May as they continue to watch their friends, family really, talk about happier things. 

“He’s good for her,” he says with a hint of remorse.

“He is. I can feel his affection for her. It’s genuine,” May observes. 

Coulson goes silent as he watches on. 

“It’s more than you just wanting the team to have a break, isn’t it, Phil. What aren’t you saying?” May asks looking at him stoically. 

Coulson sighs and rubs his hand down his face. 

“You know how I had to go into the time stream to destroy it...well I saw a lot of future timelines. They all had one thing in common,” he says before pausing and looking at Sousa grinning from ear to ear at Daisy. 

“Daniel Sousa has to go back to 1955, or else he’ll cease to exist.” 

****

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