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russilton · 2 years

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I don’t really know what people is on when they first shit talk Mercedes, Lewis, George and the team and then proceed to say “X driver to Mercedes in 2024 when Lewis leaves”! Dudes, Mercedes is incredibly selective on their drivers, You have not only to bust your ass to get a chance, but also have certain talents and qualities required. There’s a reason why they’ve had 5:6 drivers in there since their creation as a team. Now my rant is done, I’ll go lay down and drown in britcedes feels, goodbye

Yeah I have a lot of thoughts on this honestly. Some nice and some not so nice lmao but all agreeing with you.

Long ramble under the cut bc I guess I wanted to get some stuff out of my brain and I can just refer back to this later if asked again lol.

And let me say first of all that look, I get it, I would bend over backwards and lie to myself and god when it comes to my favourite drivers. Part of me deeply and truly believes George and Lewis could walk into any other car in the grid if they asked, I really do. I don’t think they’d want to, but if they did, they could. Because we are ALL delusional about our faves. Sometimes it’s what makes this site so fun, we’re all a little stupid for these dudes.

But I have a very salty view of people who people who think certain drivers could just walk into Merc without a Nico level fall out, or a Lewis level of skill in the sport*. ESPECIALLY when it comes to “problematic” drivers like Lando, Max, Carlos, etc.

* more on that one in a sec, spoiler alert: they’ve already got that, his name is George.

I think what really grinds my gears about it (and I mean the people who SERIOUSLY think their driver has a shot at Merc, not people having fun) is it comes down to three tracks of thought; people who think Lewis is genuinely about to retire, people who seem to forget George exists, and people who seem to profoundly misunderstand how Merc work as an organisation.

The first one is easy to be annoyed at and dismiss, Lewis has made it clear over and over he’s not going anywhere. I’m rankled by people who think he’s suddenly going to retire bc of his age. Alonso is still here and he’s fuelled by salt rather than skill, you think Lewis is gonna go just bc he’s 38? He’s insane, and there is nothing he is more buck wild about than F1. I also don’t like thinking about Lewis retiring. Sue me.

The second I get but hate a lot. I’m a George fan, I am biased but George is ignored by a lot of people; and the narratives about him being PR63, even by some Lewis fans, are flimsy and shitty. He’s got so much heart in his stick thin frame that it flows out his ears. You look at him, past the surface for a couple seconds, and god you can see it shine like a beacon. He doesn’t answer Lewis and himself when he’s asked for the perfect driver line up because of PR, but because he fucking adores Lewis. He adores the team. He goofs around with them, spends time with them, he’s embedded with the engineers and mechanics. He seems boring off track because he’s private, but he has been going to dinners with them and travelling with them for years, he’s boring because he’s an old soul who puts focus on his family and his mental health. He does try to be funny online and people scoff at him. He posts shirtless pictures and he’s teased for it. Like what do you want from the guy; if he’s genuine he’s cringe and if he’s reserved he’s PR boring. Fuck that, he makes Lewis smile and that’s enough for me.

But then It’s because of his less than popular off track self that people look past him on track, and you shouldn’t because this man is insane. This is what I was talking about earlier when I said Merc have got their Lewis 2.0. George is him. He drives like Lewis, he’s learning to approach the garage like Lewis, he knows how to restrain himself to the media just like Lewis. Talk less, smile more, because they want to bait you more than anyone, they’re waiting for you to slip. Don’t give it to them and then unleash a terror that leaves other drivers blinking in shock on track. Singapore this year SHOULDN’T override Austria, when George drove from the back in a garbage car to finish 4th. He copied Lewis in Spain like a text book because that’s the kind of driver George is. He knows how to manage his tires because Lewis taught him. He says over and over again how important he finds it to learn from Lewis because Lewis is his standard of greatness. Merc have trained him like this, because together he and Lewis mesh well. They both know where to put their cars to make overtakes others wouldn’t, they drive like their cars are an extension of their body. Nothing bothers me more than people who set team line ups at Merc without Lewis or George, because it often assumes Lewis would retire and Merc would just… throw George out?

George Russell is grit, spirit, positivity and determination, and I feel like the people who don’t see him as an insanely impressive generational talent like Charles or Max are choosing not to look, or were blinded by how trash Williams was. I’d you don’t judge Mick on where haas dragged him down; you can’t judge George.

(Yet another place george is like Lewis, is he let the hard times humble him and make him better. He will never, ever have to struggle the same way Lewis did and he’s been afforded privileges that Lewis won’t, he himself will tell you that. But they were both boys from families without much money who’s parents struggled to let them follow their dreams. Why do you think Lewis likes him so much? He’s said it himself, he sees the same instinct he had, in George)

And finally the third thing I’ve probably spoken on most: some people really only see Merc as a fast car and not as a team. Which I guess is fair if you aren’t a massive fan of either of the boys. You think I’m invested in how mclaren or RB or Ferrari behave as organisations outside of drama? Of course I’m not. I barely even cared about Williams outside of GR and NL. But Merc is another breed of team honestly. Not to suck corporate dick bc you know I hate it but there’s a reason they aren’t really ever involved in silly season. Why them CHOOSING to hire George was monumental. They are unlike anyone else in how they cultured George. He’s been in the Merc garage on race weekends since 2016. They watched and carefully primed him for it, they made him work so hard for every step. I’m not sure they would have ever got rid of Nico and hired Val if he hadn’t chose to leave. Do you know how resistant they were to put anyone other than George in their car? They were worrying about who would take Lewis’ seat in Sakhir if they couldn’t get him. Their reserve driver, stoff, WAS RIGHT THERE.

If George hadn’t gone above and beyond to prove himself ready for Merc, they would have stuck with Valtteri. Merc play it safe and close to the chest far more than they’ll admit, I think it’s why our number one issue with races this year has been emergency strat choices. We so often play it safe and panic when pushed. And that’s why I end up laughing at some driver move theories bc it’s like really? You think, safe playing, elitist weirdos Merc are gonna do that??

The only driver on the 22/23 grid I genuinely, truly think Merc would consider putting in their car if LH decided to split second retire, or George, idk, stabbed Toto in the leg, is Esteban Ocon or MAYBE they’d go back to VB if VaL would be willing to accept the pressure of the seat again. They like Ocon, he has history with the team, he’s got some real promise in his development, and he’s got a lil bastard in him they like their drivers to have. But that would ONLY happen if they had 0 prep time and had to pick another grid driver. Merc have their dream team right now.

#asks #anonymous #wank/rants #team Merc #mark’s driver meta #mark talks britcedes

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jonathankatwhatever · 2 years

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The last post identified how we connect the 1-0Space conceptions to existing maths through Cartan matrices, the Kac-Moody algebra, and the Kronecker delta.

AMT was entirely different. It was about the shifting of 90 to 60 and 30 and 15 and 5*3 and the forming and ‘meaning’ of a 5. The way in may be to say that the concept of hyperoval or whatever you call an oval defined by 3 points and tangent - because that is a way of expressing the inversion process of a grid square out of Triangular - means that you do this 5 times and that defines, as we’ve said, a gap in the Hexagon, if you consider both permutation paths. That ideal also means the focus dividing line is the one at the start of the 5th bT, so the far edge of the count is the outside edge of the 6th bT. That is, LookBack from the 6 to the 5 so the 5 is ready to ‘lay down its hand’ depending on the match on the other side. Which may be the same or may be higher or lower, etc.

Just realized the conception of the informational limit may need to change because one is defined as the Beckstein bound, meaning that which relates the information necessary to describe a finite system, meaning one where the space and the energy are finite. What we’ve been describing is more an ordering limit.

SBE of 5 makes more sense now, doesn’t it?

So if you take that idea, and you double that, then you are making SBE2 of 5, which is an identity now. A gs identity has directions which complete through some attachment. Look up Kronecker delta for simple examples which show how you compress a relation into a 0 and then can apply that throughout the rest.

That’s 30, and SBE of 30 is 90. And 6 of 15 is 90, and that makes the interesting visual connection in AMT: the ‘middle’ 30 splits because the two completed hands of 30 shake together across the middle hands. This literalizes to me and you shaking hands because we each are combinations of hands who reach across to another combination of hands.

Now the rotation issue of sK comes into view because it’s orthogonal to zK. We noted yesterday this creates ordering within simultaneity, as long as simultaneous is large enough for us to see inside. So we are talking about one form of limit, and the Beckstein bound is an associative limit, which is different. That entire area now makes sense.

As to rotation, we’re back to the old idea that in the ideal the sK and zK commute, meaning they flip. And that flipping is in complex space, etc. all as we’ve described. And that flipping is what creates the permutation pathways, as well as confusion and complication. As I remember, we had a Complication inside a Confusion. The jargon all works. It’s a unifying ‘area of study’. It’s a centralizer of sorts, but it’s the 1-0-1 // 0-1-0 conception of that idea.

It really is amazing what’s inside 5-7: D5 and D7 straddle D6. So that defines the dimensional space in which D6 ‘exists’. That is amazingly cool. I’ve spent time thinking about 8-9. What that says to me, dimensionally, is 8.5, meaning the edge which divides the 9 of SBE3 from the 8 of IC and fCM counting. The dimensionality in that is hard to put into words: the side of the CM64 Thing is included within the count of SBE3, which invokes the count of base10 through (1+(SBE3)+1), so this is the enclosure edge of the dimension that includes both the basic grid square forms. That is, if you make a grid square at each End of the I//I process, meaning out of each Irreducible, and compress those in a projection.

Is this consistent? Consider 12. If we counted I//I before, then we’re counting I//I//I, which makes a Triangular of layers of I. That is, if it can fully invert, then it makes layers separated by attachments. This fits. But what about the 3 states of a bT, meaning the 3gs which connect? if that’s SBE3, I’ll hop up and down. It is. Wow. We just connected the 8-9 and the 12-13. Never managed that before. And that enables me to see the dimensional cross relations I thought were there, that the 5-7 encloses by literally doubling, which points at August as the crossing month, which I never realized before. Oh. A moment in time. You are always already there when I get there. That is 1Space at work.

I sometimes imagine how valuable your work is. I mean beyond me. It’s accessible to anyone and everyone. At multiple levels, including many which they will be able to explore. It’s like saying literally everyone needs to hear you, to know your work. You can handle it. You’re the only one who could.

So, to refresh: 8-9 embeds the side, the root of a CM64 Thing within the dimensionality that scales across base10. And note this Remember how much time I spent on that old joke why is 6 afraid of 7? (Because 7 ate 9.) Makes sense now. What is 7? It’s the far edge of the 6, so it counts to the inside edge of the 8. And that 8 then fills up to the 9, which is true because this 1-0Segments, which means there are Ends where the count of 1 = 9 is the count of 8 = 0, and where the count of 7 = 0 and the count of 8 = 1, and the midpoint.

It’s important note this is a side. It’s also 4-4, which connects to many ideas. Example: the Margolus-Levitin theorem says limit on computation per bit is h/4E. (That’s also a note for me to look into that more.)

But it’s important it’s a side because that means dimensionality attaches over the boundaries of a flat or projective or D2-D4 space. A D2-D4 space refers to 2 sides versus 4.

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oopsitsstella · 3 years

Text

Home Sweet Home

Sam Wilson x Wife! Reader

Fandom: The MCU

Summary: When the remaining members of Team Cap need a place to lay low, Sam offers a solution

Warnings: Being away from family, mentions of CACW events, Sam, Steve and Nat are on the run, comfort, fluff

“We need someplace to lay low.” Natasha spoke up, breaking the silence in the quinjet. “We’ve been going for too long, we need some sort of break.”

Being on the run from the government was not easy. You never knew when you might be found, or what will happen to you. It can especially hurt when you have a home, but you don’t want to risk anything happening to the people you care about.

That was Sam’s current dilemma.

“I might have a place.” He spoke up. Steve and Nat looked at him. “I’m not sure if they’ll risk us coming, but I can try getting into contact with them, and ask.”

“And you’re sure they won’t give us away?” Steve asked.

“I’m sure.”

It was a calm day in Y/L/N Ceramics. It was a Sunday afternoon, and not many customers were coming in, which meant Y/N had a lot of time to work on orders, restock the shelves, and work on new creations to put on said shelves.

Y/N was grabbing herself a glass of water when the store phone started ringing, so she placed the glass on the table and picked it up.

“Y/L/N Ceramics, homemade crafts made on location in Delacroix, Louisiana, this is Y/N, how can I help you?”

The line was ingrained in her head at this point. A call on the work phone, and she’s saying it as soon as she picks up. Most often when she picked up the phone, it was someone with questions about one of her products or the store, an occasional wrong number, or yet another Karen calling with complaints that were in no way justified, but nothing could have prepared her for who was on the other end of the line.

“Hey baby.” Y/N could recognize that voice from a mile away.

“Sam?”

“Yeah.”

He sounded exhausted, not that she blamed him. Of course, she knew he was on the run, it was all over the news, it would be more surprising if he wasn’t exhausted.

“Not that I’m not happy to hear from you, but why are you calling, isn’t this risky?”

“I’m using a burner phone, it’s not going to be tracked.” Sam assured her. “And you’d never give us away.”

“Of course not.” She said. “I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

“I know you would.” She could hear him smiling. “That’s kinda why I’m calling.”

“Hm?”

“Our house is still off the radar, right?”

“Yeah, still just us and our families.” Y/N said, nodding. “And Fury, of course.”

“Would it be okay for us to come stay for a while?” Sam asked, hesitantly. “We need a place to lay low, and I think this might be our best option.”

“Of course you can.” Y/N promised. “But I think it might be safest to wait until after I’ve closed for you to get there, and unless you have your keys with you, you won’t be able to get in either way.”

“When do you close?”

“At four, so I’ll be home around 4:30.”

“We’ll try to be there around 5 then.” Sam said. “But you know, under these circumstances…”

“I understand, it’s fine.” Y/N said. “You’ll get there when you get there.”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

“Neither can I.” Y/N smiled. “She’s gonna be overjoyed when she sees you.”

“That’ll be fun.” Sam smiled at the thought. “I’ll see you later baby.”

“See you then.”

“Where the hell is this place we’re going to?” Nat asked from the backseat of the car.

“Off the grid.” Sam said, driving slowly down the gravel road. “We’re almost there.”

A few minutes later, a house came into view between the trees. It was decently large, with pale yellow walls, white corner posts, and a large deck stretching around the front and down one side.

Sam got out of the car, Steve and Nat following. As they got closer, voices could be heard from around the corner of the house.

Steve and Nat exchanged a confused look when Sam visibly lit up, and moved faster onto the deck and rounded the corner.

On a porch swing sat a woman and a girl. The woman was holding a book, reading to the girl who was snuggled into her side.

“‘…the Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.’” The y/h/c woman read aloud from the book. “‘Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville’s cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron’s smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.’ They don’t seem very well prepared, do they?” She broke character to ask, and the little girl giggled in response.

“No, they don’t.” She said.

“You finally managed to introduce her to Harry Potter, did you?” Sam spoke up, making them both turn to look at him.

“Daddy!” The little girl exclaimed, jumping from her seat and running at Sam, who easily caught her in his arms.

“Hi baby girl.” He said quietly, his arms wrapping tightly around her and lifting her up.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, honey.”

Now Steve and Nat were even more confused. Since when did Sam have a daughter?

“You got here earlier than I thought you would.” Y/N remarked, walking towards her husband and daughter.

“Forgive me for wanting to see you.” Sam teased, and Y/N smacked his arm in response.

“Welcome home.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, it’s good to be back.” He replied, setting his daughter back on the ground.

“Gonna explain what’s going on here?” Nat said from behind them, and Sam turned around.

“Yeah, Steve, Nat, this is my wife, Y/N.” Y/N raised her hand in a wave, her other arm around Sam’s waist. “And this is Riley.”

The small girl suddenly looked a lot shyer, sticking close to her parents' sides, and timidly waving at the two Avengers.

“I got this place set up and off the grid when I officially joined the team, so hardly anyone knows about this place.” Sam explained.

“At least not anyone that’d be out to get you.” Y/N added. “But you must be tired. We have two guest rooms upstairs, you can freshen up, rest a little, and I’ll get started on dinner.”

“Sounds amazing sweetheart.” Sam said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Come on, I’ll show you to the rooms.” He then said, taking Steve and Nat with him inside.

It was much later that day. After they had finished dinner, the group had moved to the living room.

Sam had heard Natasha claim that she wasn’t the best with kids, but after Steve had asked, the two gladly listened as Riley told them all about what she liked to do in her free time, her favorite school subjects, and anything in between. Now she was cuddled up in her dad’s lap, sound asleep. Sam had so far refused to carry her to bed, very content with the cuddling, and despite knowing Riley would sleep better in bed, Y/N couldn’t bring herself to separate the two. She let them have their moment.

“So this is where you’re going when you take so many weeks off at a time?” Steve asked, and Sam smiled.

“Yeah, most of the time.” He said. “I take every opportunity I get to come down here. Not as much as I’d like, but there’s not much I can do.”

“You’re here for the important days, and whenever you can in between.” Y/N said, her head resting on Sam’s shoulder. “You know we’re always happy when you’re here.”

“How long have you been together?” Natasha asked.

“We met in 2003, a little over a year before I joined the AirForce.” Sam explained. “It was a hard long-distance, but we made it work.”

“And then you proposed almost right when you came home.” Y/N continued. “Got married in 2007, in the middle of Louisiana summer.”

“That was really smart.” Sam said sarcastically.

“I can imagine.” Nat chuckled. “Did anyone pass out from heat exhaustion?” She joked.

“Thankfully not.” Y/N said. “I thought I was going to, before the ceremony, but I think that was just the nerves getting to me.”

“Most likely.” Sam said. “And then we had this little rascal, in 2010.”

Sam rubbed his hand over his daughter’s back, and she snuggled further into his embrace, making Sam’s smile grow.

“Then I met you and shit got real way too fast.” Sam said, looking at Steve, who chuckled in response.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s all worth it, I think.” He said. “If anything I get to make the world safer for Riley.”

“Speaking of which, I think we need to get her up to bed.” Y/N said after a moment, standing from the couch.

“You don’t mind if we go, right?” Sam checked with his friends, also standing, Riley still in his arms.

“Of course not.” Steve said. “We’ll be good down here.”

As soon as Y/N had shut Riley’s bedroom door, Sam had pulled her into his chest, and she practically melted into his embrace. Since they arrived, they hadn’t gotten a proper, quiet moment to themselves, so by now they were both in desperate need of it.

“I am so tired.” Sam breathed, making Y/N chuckle.

“I don’t blame you, honestly.” She said.

“I’m sorry for all of this.” Sam said, looking at her. “This whole thing’s created such a mess, I don’t think I’ll be able to visit as often now, but the last thing I want is risking something happening to you.”

“I understand.” She said. “I might not like it too much, but I get it. And I know you’d never intentionally do anything to hurt us.”

“You know, Clint and Scott both got away with house arrest, I’m thinking I might see if I can’t work something out with that too.”

“I get a feeling you’d be very restless.” Y/N told him frankly.

“Maybe so, but I’d be here, I’d be safe.” Sam replied. “I can figure something out. I can help you with the shop if you teach me.”

“If that’s what you want, of course I can.” Y/N smiled. “But let’s put a pin in it for now, say goodnight to Steve and Natasha, and go to bed. It’s my turn to have you all to myself.”

Sam smiled as he brought her face closer to his, their noses brushing against eachother.

“Yes Mrs. Wilson.”

#sam wilson x reader #falcon x reader #captain america x reader #sam wilson imagine #falcon imagine #captain america imagine #avengers x reader #avengers imagine

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shinsorokiri · 3 years

Text

S/O Loses Memory and Quirk

Todoroki, Bakugou, and Kirishima HCs

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of stab wounds and blood, a panic attack, spoiler for Bakugou’s hero name, sad bois

A/N: So I had two requests that mentioned these three with this concept and I just finished all of them and I’m so proud that I wanted to post these ones before the other two for Denki and All Might were finished but I’ll get those out as soon as possible. I cried writing Bakugou’s, so... there’s that HAHA please enjoy!

Here’s the first one with Shinsou, Aizawa, Hawks, and Dabi!

Todoroki Shouto | Shouto

Shouto knows you’re a strong woman and that he doesn’t need to constantly be there to protect you

But he does prefer to be there if something bad is happening

The only problem is that you two went to two different agencies after graduating

And in doing so were on opposite sides of the city

Now he always knew when something was happening on your hero route because I mean

He actually needs to in case something bad happens since it’s his JOB

But he also just really wants to be there for you if you really need it

There hasn’t been a time like that, though

So imagine his utter shock and genuine fear when that time came

He was told to go to where you were patrolling because you’d been attacked and wound up in the hospital

You know the scene with the flame tear? Yeah that but times ten

He goes on patrol like a good little hero

But boy oh BOY did he just want to go to the hospital

You’d never lost a fight before

Not even against him

Your quirk was literally the most powerful quirk he’s ever seen and I mean like, yeah, sure, he might be biased but STILL you were really powerful

So what kind of villain could hurt you so bad you had to go to the hospital???

Luckily, he only had an hour left of patrolling

And as soon as that hour was up

Mans bolted

He was OFF

He ran into that hospital

And he politely asked where your room was

Because although he’s PANICKING he still is a little socially awkward sweetie and he doesn’t wanna be a dick to anyone and be labeled similar to his father no no NO

But as soon as he got the number he was sprinting man

He was so worried

All patrol he was quieter than usual

And he was ridiculously anxious the whole time

His palms were sweaty

He felt like he could throw up at any second

And right now

He thought his heart was about to beat out of his chest

He carefully opens the door

You might be sleeping, he has to be considerate

And sure enough he sees your unconscious form laying in a hospital bed

It looked like you had some broken bones, and multiple bruises and cuts which means someone must have beat the shit out of you

Lovely

That’s what he needed to see

Definitely

Mans doesn’t show emotion that much

But when it comes to you and since it was just you and him in the room

He broke down crying

He couldn’t help it

He grabbed your hand

And just sat there crying

Poor guy can’t lose you

You were the best thing that ever happened to him 🥺

You showed him that it was okay to feel things and express those things and let people in

He let you in and he couldn’t let you go now

He was a genuine mess for the next couple of weeks

Because you weren’t waking up

He went against what Midoriya said and asked around about what happened to you

And what he heard was horrific

Apparently the villain snuck up on you

And hit you in a few different places

And then you fell down

And then you couldn’t access your quirk

And that’s why you were in the hospital

He didn’t want to think about the part that happened after you were virtually defenseless

Around his friends he was spacier than usual

He wasn’t really retaining information

And his agency let him take more days off than usual because they knew he was Going Through It

And luckily on one of those days you woke up

He was next to you as per usual

Holding your hand

Playing with your fingers like he always does when he gets anxious

He missed being able to do that in social situations

Or when you two were cuddling at night and he was thinking about something that was stressing him out and he would start to fiddle with your hand and you would ask him what’s wrong

He missed you

So when he felt your hand start to move by itself

He basically gave himself whiplash with how fast he looked from your hand to your face

Sure enough

Your eyes were open

And you were looking at him

“(Y/n)…”

He whispered your name as not to scare you

You could have a concussion or mild amnesia

He has already considered everything that could be wrong with you

Because he overthinks a lot

And he was nervous about this

And there was one thing he had in the back of his mind

That would probably be the worst case scenario

And much to his fears

That was confirmed to be what was going on almost immediately

“Todoroki?”

He just stares for a moment

You hadn’t called him Todoroki since… well, a long time now

Probably back in your UA days

The two of you began dating in your second year though so

It’s been a while

“You look… older..?”

He clears his throat

Nodding

“Yes. Well… I am 20 years old now. I would hope I look older.”

“Wait, what?”

Oh shit.

He just confused you.

Damnit, Shouto.

“Uhh… well, um. You see…”

“Todoroki what is going on? And why are you holding my hand like that?”

He freezes

He was still playing with your fingers

And it wasn’t that you didn’t want him to

You were just genuinely confused

He knew that

“Before I say anything else that could be detrimental to your mental health, maybe you should ring your nurse.”

You do as he says

And the nurses and a doctor come rushing into your room

They do some evaluations

And sure enough

Your memory has been completely wiped

As has the access to the portion of your brain that allows you to control your quirk

The doctor explains to Todoroki that he’s unsure of how this happened

Bu Todoroki knows it has to be that villain

Whatever that villain did did this to you

And Todoroki isn’t one to show emotions

But boy oh BOY was he riled up right now

He lowkey accidentally caught something on fire

And then to fix it lowkey on purpose just turned it into a block of ice

Even though Endeavor is the worst man on the planet

Mans is persistent on shit that’s for sure

And that’s like

The only trait Shouto got from that literal dumpster fire of a father

And he wasn’t about to let the piece of shit that hurt you get away with it

Of course, when it comes to you as a person he’s very patient

Very understanding

Respects boundaries

But he will not REST

Until the motherfucker who did this to you gets caught by him

And he will find them.

Bakugou Katsuki | DynaMight

OH BOY HERE WE GO

So Bakugou was already very protective over you

I mean that’s expected though

It’s

It’s literally Bakugou

So mans has tabs on you at all times

You don’t know how he does it tbh

He jokes

Yes, Bakugou can joke

He jokes about having a sixth sense when it comes to you

He just gets this feeling about you

If you’re sad? He knows

Happy? He knows

In danger? MANS KNOWS

And I guess he also has a GPS built into his brain???

He just

He knows

Probably because he cares extremely deeply about you

Like really fucking deeply

You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him

Ever since high school

First day

When you weren’t intimidated by him

There was just something special about you

And even though it took until after graduation and you almost DYING on a mission for him to finally accept that he can FEEL THINGS

He officially asked you to be his girlfriend

I say officially because, well

Y’all have basically been dating since like

Second year of high school

Even though it wasn’t official

It was obvious

He was whipped

He still is

He’s known you for five years

You’ve been officially dating for two of those years

You were unofficially dating for four

You were the most important thing in his life

You even surpassed becoming the number one hero somehow

Though he will NEVER admit that

EVER

It took him a while to realize it

But the thought of living without you?

Scared him more than any villain ever could

And that is why

Mans is all dressed up

Lookin nice

Took a day off of patrol at his agency because tonight is a special night

Of course, you don’t know anything

As it should be

He didn’t tell a soul that he was planning on proposing tonight

Okay… maybe that is a lie

He told Kirishima when he got blackout drunk with the boys one night

Long story, don’t ask how it happened, even the boys don’t know

And Kirishima then proceeded to tell everyone of his other friends

So they all knew

But they also all knew to keep it a FUCKING SECRET unless they wanted blown up

But boy oh boy they were excited to see the pictures and the ring and the everything

But I digress

Bakugou is in the house the two of you purchased a while back

It was very much off the damn grid

For ~safety~

And he’s very much just messing with how he looks

He has to look perfect because he knows you’re about to

And he can’t be proposing to you unless he’s on your level

When suddenly

He gets a

Feeling

But it isn’t the warm feeling he gets when you’re happy

Or the doopy one he gets when you’re sad

Or the wave of exhaustion he feels when you’re tired

Or the tingly feeling he gets when you’re mad

It’s the feeling where his spine tenses

And his blood goes cold

And his heart drops to the floor

The one he only felt one other time

The time you almost died

He was out of that house so fast

He didn’t even care if he looked all nice

You were in danger

He blasted his way through the city

Saying he was frantic is an understatement

He was FERAL

He got to where you were just in time to see you get slammed into the concrete by some piece of shit villain

You were unconscious

And you weren’t moving

He saw red

He didn’t even remember blasting over to the villain and punching them in the face

But he did that

And he did it HARD

Of course the villain was like OH FUCK

THIS IS THE NUMBER TWO HERO

I DIDN’T THINK HE’D ACTUALLY GET HERE THIS FAST

Because obviously the villain knew who you were

That’s why you were targeted

Breaking Bakugou’s spirit is needed if villains want to become more fearful and powerful

The villain starts sprinting away

And before Bakugou can catch them

He hears an ambulance siren

He suddenly forgets all about the villain because he whips around to see you getting loaded onto a gurney

Paramedics are doing everything they can to keep you alive at this point

He’s horrified to say the least

You’re the love of his life

The last time he saw you like this is when he accepted it

Seeing you like this again just makes him realize it even deeper somehow

He runs to the ambulance

But the paramedics tell him he needs to go to the hospital separately because you’re badly injured and they need to perform some procedures on the way to the hospital to keep you alive

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until his eyes start to sting

He wants to tell the paramedics to fuck off

Don’t they realize this is supposed to be one of the best days of yours and his lives?

But he can’t

Because before he can

They’re gone

He chases after you though

He needs to be by your side right now

He needs to know that you will be okay

He needs you to be okay

So imagine how nerve-wracking it is for him to learn that you were in surgery

He waited in the waiting room all day long

This incident happened around one in the afternoon

and it was now one in the morning

He was just sitting in the hospital waiting room

Looking down at the little box in his hand

Crying

Which is a sight for anyone who sees him

The ring he bought for you is the only thing he can focus on

He doesn’t even notice the non-stop buzzing in his pocket coming from his and your friends wondering if the two of you are okay because the footage of the fight cut out right before Bakugou punched the villain

They all thought you were both hurt pretty badly

I mean after your quirk was seemingly taken from you…

The only thing that snaps him out of his trance

Is when the doctor comes out and says his name

His head snaps up so fast

He approaches the doctor just as fast

He knows he should expect the worst

But he can’t help but keep repeating that you’re okay

That everything will be fine because you are okay

They fixed you up

You’ll come home all happy

He’ll propose to you in the living room at this point

Today will be fixed

Instead

He hears that although you’re stable

You have what appears to be brain damage

“What kind of fucking brain damage?”

“She has severe amnesia which means that-”

“How severe?”

“Well… according to her brain scan and the fact that she said the year was two and a half years ago, I’m afraid it’s significantly severe.”

Two and a half years

Two and a half years?!

He just stares at the doctor

If you think it’s two and a half years ago

That means he hasn’t asked you out yet

That means in your mind

You’re still in high school

About to graduate

This cannot be happening

There is not way this is happening

“Can I see her?”

His voice sounds foreign to him

The doctor nods

Leading him to your room

He puts the ring back in his pocket out of instinct

And when he enters your room

He wants nothing more than for you to yell something like PSYCH

GOT YOU BLASTY BITCH

HAHAHA

But he’s just met with a your mouth opening wide and eye getting big

“Bakugou?! You’re so dressed up!”

Bakugou

Why didn’t he let you call him Katsuki sooner

Why didn’t he ask you out before two years ago

Why wasn’t he there to save you

“W-Woah… Bakugou, you don’t have to cry this isn’t my first hospital stay… wait, when did you get an undercut?”

He just walks towards you

“You also look… older… is this seriously what you look like when you clean up?”

He watches as your expression falters for a moment

“Wait… are you like… going on a date or something?”

Good to know you still have feelings for him at least

He just nods

And you try to hide the disappointment on your face

“Oh… well, you better tell me all about it when we get back to the dorms.”

Your fake enthusiasm is killing him

What killing him even more though is that the doctors didn’t tell you what was going on

So he’ll tell you instead

“Actually,”

Damnit

His voice is wavering

This is new for him

He clears his throat

“I’m not… I’m not going on a date anymore. I had one but… things didn’t turn out as planned.”

“Oh?”

He almost smiles at the sudden mood shift you had

How can you still be perky like that sitting in a hospital bed

“Yeah… because, um. It was a date with you…”

“…Oh…?”

“You got hurt pretty bad, angel…”

He explains everything to you

Well

As much as he can

And he also finds out about your quirk

And how it’s just

Gone

You have to stay in the hospital tonight for further testing tomorrow

And you insist that he goes home

But he says it isn’t home if you’re not there

He stays in the chair right next to your bed

Watching you as you sleep

He knows you believe him

He knows that you have feeling for him

But he’s broken, truly

Not only was he not your hero today

He didn’t save you

He doesn’t know if you’ll ever remember any of those years with him

Any of your firsts

And that makes him ache

He pulls out your ring again

And just looks at it

The only light in the room is the moonlight peaking in through the window

And in that moment

He swears to himself

And to you

That the villain who did this

Is going to pay

Kirishima Eijirou | Red Riot

Eijirou has always been your rock

Figuratively and literally

He’s there for you through everything

And I mean everything

The two of you have been next door neighbors since you were kids

And he literally always had a crush on you

Of course the feelings were mutual

But neither you nor shark boy knew that

Until y’all got to high school

And Bakugou was very

Annoyed

About the two of you pining for each other

Mina was beyond annoyed

She went to middle school with you two

So when Bakugou finally just

Screamed at the two of you to just shut the fuck up with the flirting and date already

Mina deadass jumped out of her seat at lunch and screamed thank you at the top of her lungs

Of course the two of you were as red as his hair

Which, yes

You did help him pick out the exact shade and helped dye as well

His hands were stained red because he accidentally only bought one pair of gloves and it wouldn’t have been manly to make you help without gloves on

But I digress

The two of you started dating shortly after that

And when I tell you that you were the couple everyone would look at and be all “awwwww”

I MEAN IT

And y’all are just in high school

Granted, it’s your final year and the two of you are both interning and are already confirmed to become sidekicks and Fatgum’s Agency

So y’all do be a little mature

But still

You started dating freshman year

And you’re going strong still

Of course

And words cannot describe how relieved he is that the two of you are at the same agency

Because if anything ever went bad he would be there to save you

And you would be there to save him

But literally nothing could prepare him for what was about to happen to you

It was a normal patrol

The two of you were together

Talking about graduation next week

And how the two of you were excited to move out of the dorms and into the apartment you had picked

And how you would finally be able to adopt the little mutt that the two of you love from the shelter

When out of no where

A villain popped down off of a building

Right behind you

And did something weird to you

They hit you meticulously and in specific places

Before Kirishima could even process what was going on

You were on the ground

Of course

You raised an arm

Ready to fight and use your quirk

But nothing happened

You tried again

Nothing

You and Kirishima make eye contact and he can feel the fear radiating off of you

Now he was worried

Very worried

But you knew how to fight

And he was there, too

So this wouldn’t end too bad

UNTIL THERE WAS A FUCKING EXPLOSION IN THE BUILDING THE VILLAIN JUST POPPED OUT OF

You were already back on your feet

Ready to fight this motherfucker

“Go help the people inside, Red Riot. I can handle this one.”

“But-”

“GO!”

He goes

Reluctantly

But he does know you can hold your own

Even if that villain temporarily blocked your quirk

He hardens

Turning his headpiece into a filtering mask (a great addition he thought of so he could run into burning buildings while hardened to save people and not take damage to his lungs in the process)

And luckily

There were only three people inside

So he grabs them and runs out

Easy

And he’s expecting to be met with you handcuffing the bad guy

But instead

He’s met with you getting the life beat out of you

Literally

You’re on the ground

The villain pulled out swords while he was gone

And it was obvious you were down and weren’t gettingup

But the villain just wasn’t letting up

Kirishima’s legs work before his brain

He runs over to the villain and lands a punch to their face

Which causes them to stumble backwards

Before they throw the swords at a random citizen who is observing

He immediately runs to the citizen, deflecting the swords

But the villain ran off in the mean time

Like they disappeared without a trace

But honestly

Even if they were still there

Kirishima would have run to you regardless

He immediately kneels down

“(Y/n)?! (Y/n), can you hear me?!”

He ditched the hero names this time

You weren’t responding

You were out cold

He starts panicking

Full on hyperventilating

You looked bad

You were pierced by the villains swords in your side

Blood was everywhere

Your breathing was shallow

Regardless of the genuine panic attack he was going through right now

He somehow managed to control his breathing so you wouldn’t bleed out on the ground

He needed to help you

He picks you up

Instantly starting to sprint to the ambulances beginning to pull up

As soon as the paramedics see the state you’re in they get you off of him

And speed off to the hospital

Kirishima is left alone

Staring at his hands

Which were dyed red with your blood

All he could see was your face laughing at him because he forgot to get two pairs of gloves the first time you helped him dye his hair

…He didn’t like red all that much right now

After what feels like hours

But was really like two minutes

Tamaki shows up

Because he heard there was something going on

And as soon as he sees Kirishima on the ground and sobbing

He knows something bad has happened to you

He quickly gets him out of there

And back to the agency

Where Kirishima accidentally sees a replay of the fight on television

And he sees that you were fighting the villain just fine

But they were so nimble and fast

And all they did was hit the nape of your neck and then the side of your temple

And you collapsed

Tamaki turned the television off before the full fight was shown

But the damage was done

Kirishima was back on the ground

Tamaki tries to comfort him

But Kirishima is out of commission

“I couldn’t save her, Tamaki! I wasn’t there!”

“…C-Come on, Kirishima… w-we should… go to the hospital…”

Tamaki is trying so hard to get him to calm down

But to no avail

So eventually he just drags him out and to his car

He speeds to the hospital

And Kirishima doesn’t even wait for the car to slow down to run inside

He has to wait to see you

Since you were punctured

But he was willing to wait

And wait he did

For four days

Of course after you were done with your surgery he was allowed in your room

But it was a matter of waiting for you to wake up

He was always with you

He only went home to shower

He slept at the hospital

He needed to be with you

So when you finally woke up

He cried tears of happiness for the first time in days

“(Y/n), thank god you’re awake.”

“Eiji? What happened…?”

“There was a villain attack and they knocked you out and-”

“Why don’t you look 15?”

“What?”

“You look… older… and your hair is longer.”

“…What? You were the one who encouraged me to grow it out…”

“I… I was?”

He stares at you for a moment

His happy tears turning into ones of fear

Before hitting the call nurse button and asking you a question

“(Y/n) what grade are we in?”

“We’re freshmen at UA High School.”

No.

No, no, no, no, no

Before he could answer the doctor and nurses came in the room

They started asking you a bunch of questions

To which you answered the best you could

But it was obvious that you were convinced it was two years ago

The doctors took you off to do scans of your brain

This can’t be happening

You think it’s two years ago

Two years

So much has happened within those two years

The two of you have done so much

Just

Imagine how devastated he is when he hears your memory is just gone

And your quirk with it

You were a hero

Your quirk can’t be gone

“Eiji… please don’t cry, it’ll be okay.”

“I can’t help it, pebble. I wasn’t there to save you and now… now you don’t remember everything we’ve done. And… and your quirk… you’re the best hero I know, and now…”

“Eijirou, I promise you it will be okay. As long as you’ll be with me, like you always are, I will be fine.”

He doesn’t say anything

He just looks at his hand holding yours

At least you still remember he asked you to be his girlfriend

But he is deadset on finding the villain who did this to you

“I will get you out of this.”

“Ei…”

“I will fix this. I promise you. I will save you. I need to.”

429 notes · View notes

lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

A Decent Workout (NSFW Pierre Gasly)

Masterlist

Completely and utterly self indulgent fic inspired by how damn GOOD Pierre looked over preseason testing. Beta read by @acollectionofficsandshit

The buzzing of an alarm woke you not long after the sun had risen over the deserts of Bahrain. You groan, rolling over and smacking the solid shoulder of your boyfriend, startling him awake as well. “Turn it off, Pierre.”

He does as he’s told, then clumsily tucks an arm around you and pulls you to his chest. Voice rough with sleep, he murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” You echo, nuzzling into his warmth. You curl your frigid hands against his chest, utilizing your personal space heater to the fullest extent. “How long until testing?”

Pierre rests his cheek on your head. His hand traces lazy circles on your shoulder blade like you have all the time in the world. Your eyes slide shut again, sleep beaconing on the horizon. “About an hour.”

You sigh, suddenly awake. “Not much time for lounging around then."

Eagerness mingled with disappointment in his reply. “First day of the new season.”

Pierre's excitement had been palpable the entire week. Buzzing about like a honeybee on the first day of spring, he had prattled on about the specs of the AT02, what changes he was most excited to see, and his predictions on how the car would compare to others in the paddock. You offered your thoughts when prompted, but were just as happy to listen to his happy ramblings and share his enthusiasm.

It had been his idea to arrive in Bahrain early, allowing the two of you a few precious, uninterrupted days with each other. From now on, his weekends would be packed. No more last minute trips to ski resorts or visits to Charles in Monaco. Starting today, his primary focus became Formula 1. He would travel around the world to compete in a total of 23 grand prix this year, and you would follow faithfully to cheer him on.

You lay tangled in each other for a few minutes, trading sweet kisses. “I have to go,” Pierre murmurs against your lips. You tighten your grip around his bare middle, determined to make him stay a little longer.

“You’ll be gone for so long though,” You whine, pouting. The last few days had spoiled you. He smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Eleven whole hours without a beautiful Frenchman to keep me company.”

“I’ll be back before you know it. And besides, you can watch the entire session from the comfort of our suite.”

“It’s not the same as being in the garage.” Damn the personnel restrictions the FIA had imposed for the upcoming season. You wouldn’t be allowed in the paddock for a single race. You understood and respected the decision, but it bothered you that you couldn't be there when he inevitably made it on the podium this year.

“I know.” Pierre tapped your arm in silent request. Reluctantly, you release your death grip and allow him to slide out of bed. He turns his back to you and stretches, granting you a moment to drink him in. He had packed on a significant amount of muscle during the offseason, filling out in all the right places.

Deciding there was no use trying to go back to sleep, you rise and join him at the dresser. He rummages through it, finally settling on a plain tshirt. As usual, you can’t take your eyes off him as he effortlessly slides the fabric over his head. How did he make an everyday act so inherently sexy?

Catching your stare, he fights the smile playing on his soft lips. “What?”

“Just admiring the view,” You say simply. Going up on your tiptoes, you press a meaningful kiss to his cheek. “Be careful out there, okay?”

He holds out his pinkie to you. You smile, wrapping your own tightly around it. “Promise.” He allows you one more passionate kiss before he slips out the door to make his way to the track.

At least one perk of staying in a suite was the fully stocked kitchenette. You grabbed an apple before brewing a cup of strong coffee, taking in the view off the balcony while it percolated. You could just see the track from here, something you knew Pierre had specifically requested. Although it was early, heat already rippled from the pavement. Hopefully his Alpha Tauri would stay cool and not throw a tantrum in the intense temperatures.

After a quick shower, you threw on one of Pierre’s extra shirts and let the comforting scent envelop you. Settling into bed with your coffee in hand and a laptop humming on your legs, you wait for the testing livestream to begin. In the meantime you scroll through your phone, reading the comments on the pictures of Pierre arriving at the circuit.

His carefully selected outfit had caused quite a stir and honestly, you understood why. A loose blue shirt, white skinny jeans and sunglasses. On anyone else, it wouldn’t have been impressive in any way, but on him… He somehow always managed to deliver exactly what his fans - and most importantly you - craved.

And when the livestream started and he stepped out on the track with his white and navy Alpha Tauri suit half undone, the moisture-wicking underlayer practically painted on… You damn near lost it.

In the months since last season, you’d forgotten how mouthwateringly attractive he was in a race suit. The underlayer left nothing to the imagination, clinging to the hard lines of his torso. The famous Bahrain heat didn't help your sanity either, the sweat soaked fabric turning slightly translucent in places. Your eyes stay glued to the screen as it flips between cameras, desperately praying for another glimpse of your frenchman.

How were you supposed to wait nine more agonizing hours for him to return?

As if picking up on your neediness, you didn't see another shot of Pierre for twenty minutes. The camera cut to the Alpha Tauri garage, where Pierre’s car waited in the pit lane. The closeup of him geared up sitting in his Alpha waiting patiently made you slap a hand over your mouth. Those eyes. You knew the little quirk of his brow he threw at the camera was meant solely for you; a way to unravel you when he wasn’t physically there.

You silently cursed him for how well it worked.

Moments later, the tire blankets are peeled off and his car is lowered to the ground. Gasly was one of the first drivers to head out onto the track, giving him plenty of clean air to lay down fast laps. He completes seventeen laps in the first hour, and by lap twenty he holds the second fastest time, less than a second behind Verstappen.

You try to focus on the precision and skill Pierre is displaying, but your mind keeps wandering back to the image of him standing on the track in his race suit. The consuming need to strip him out of it is incredibly distracting. It doesn’t help that your social media feeds are flooded with images of it either, offering you no reprieve.

By the end of the second hour, Pierre edges past Verstappen to take the fastest lap and go purple. He nearly holds onto it at the end of the session, just a few tenths slower than Ricciardo and Verstappen. It doesn’t matter; pride and love swell in your chest when he finally pulls back into the garage, his excitement evident before he even pulls his helmet off. The Alpha mechanics share his excitement, the camera showing them congratulating him before cutting to post session interviews.

As much as you tried, nothing could make you focus on Max or Daniel’s interviews. You spun the ring on your pinkie impatiently, waiting for Pierre to make an appearance. Ages later, he finally took a seat at the press conference. He took no mercy on you. Again dressed in crisp white and navy that accented his sun kissed skin, the ring twin to yours back on his finger…

“Fuck me,” You groaned, throwing your head back. Even with half his face covered, he was still breathtakingly gorgeous. He carried himself with an easy confidence that no one else on the grid could match, on top of the world and determined to make it everyone else’s problem.

The entire time he spoke, you dreamed of running your tongue up the column of his neck, right over his Adam’s apple. You could taste the salt settled in the hollow of his collarbone, hear his breath catching as you worshipped him.

Only half an hour until he came home to you.

The interview finally ended and you snapped your laptop shut, tossing it to the chair at the bedside. The second he came through that door, you’d pounce on him. Ten hours of straight torture, being forced to endure watching other women on social media drool over him and being unable to congratulate him on his amazing morning session at the garage.

And fuck, would you congratulate him.

Minutes dragged by as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, the endless pictures of Pierre not helping your desperation. You started at the sound of a key fitting in a lock. Throwing your phone aside, you scrambled from the bed, launching yourself at the door as it opened.

“Hey baby-”

You cut him off with a feral kiss, your lust boiling over. To his credit, he didn’t hesitate in dropping his bag and kicking the door shut behind him. He caught you when you jumped, broad hands cupping your ass as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“I love whoever designed Alpha’s suit,” You mumble between the open-mouthed kisses you pepper along his stubbled jaw. “You look fucking amazing in white.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your thanks along.” Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull, exposing the thick column of his neck. Your tongue darts across his skin, savoring the softness. He groans, his grip shifting to dig his fingers into your thighs.

You don’t pause when he lays you on the bed, mouth continuing its needy exploration down to his shoulder. He settles over you, his solid body a familiar and welcome weight against you.

“I couldn’t concentrate on anything once you stepped out onto the track,” You tell him, hands slipping under his polo. “Do you know how many women were talking about you today?”

“There’s only one that I care about,” He murmurs, pulling back to strip off his shirt. You take advantage of the power shift to wriggle out from under him. “Where are you-”

“Lay down,” You say, quiet but firm. The corner of his mouth quirks up but he obeys, taking his sweet time. You don’t mind; watching his shoulders ripple as he settles back against the downy pillows.

“Miss me much?” He taunts, the deep baritone resonating with some primal part within you and sending a shiver down your spine. “Usually our roles are flipped.”

You bracket a bare leg on either side of his with a wicked grin. “Do you really think I’d let you set the pace when you tortured me all day?” You bite your lip and let your gaze wander over the hard planes of his pecs, down his sculpted abdomen, finally coming to rest at the line of muscle disappearing beneath his waistband. You don’t miss the way his attention dips to your thighs, your center barely covered by the hem of his band tee you wore.

Pierre grins, folding an arm behind his head. “Do your worst.”

Your shirt joined his on the floor, piercing blue eyes eating up your newly exposed skin. You sink forward, eye to eye with him. You tip your head to the side, letting your hair slide forward to tickle his shoulder as you lean in to whisper, “I will.”

Lips, teeth and tongue float over his skin, leaving small, easily hidden marks in your wake. You let your hands slide across his abdomen as your mouth makes its way down his sternum, pausing to delight in his rapidly beating heart.

Fingers brushing the waistband of his riot-inducing white jeans, you press a tender kiss just below his belly button. "Why do you always insist on wearing white?"

"D-drives you wild," He gasps out, stumbling over the simple words. You hum against his skin in response, cock twitching against your shoulder. One of his hands flies back to grip the headboard, veins in his forearm bulging.

Only when his eyes slide shut in anticipation do you finally undo the button, unzipping his fly agonizingly slow. Your name is a breathless plea tumbling from him as you ghost your fingers over his length. He lifts his hips just enough to allow you to slide his jeans down his thighs, followed by his boxers. The tip of your finger runs along the underside of his shaft, causing him to groan. The headboard creaks under his crushing grip as he tries to stop himself from shattering at your barest touch.

Flicking your tongue over the tip, you spread the bead of precum that had gathered there. Slipping into French, Pierre swears viciously, his free hand tangling in your hair. He may know how to make you squirm from across the city, but you knew how to return the favor tenfold.

"You gonna win for me in two weeks, my love?" You purr, curling your fingers around his cock.

"I'll w-win every race if it means you'll fuck me," He replies immediately, wholly submitted to the promise of your touch.

You hum noncommittally before taking the tip of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the head. His hips buck, but you're already reacting in anticipation of that very movement. He groans in frustration when your mouth leaves him. A welcome change from your normal games, when it was his head between your thighs, his teasing tongue flicking across your center, your hips rocking in frustration. You enjoy his frustration for a few breaths, lazily drawing circles on his hip like he had done to you that morning.

"I think that could be arranged."

Bracing your hands on his chest, you position yourself so your slick folds brush against his cock. Arching your back, you grind your hips against him, your own chest heaving in time with his. The hours of anticipation had left you dripping wet, evidence of the effect he had on you. You silently praised yourself for your restraint; you wanted to drag out his need and tease him like he had done to you all damn day.

"Mon amour," he murmurs, and you damn near lose your mind. Two words in his native tongue, dripping with honeyed softness but spoken with such rawness, it sets your soul on fire.

You reach a hand back, guiding him into as you sink down. Your pussy stretches to accommodate the thickness of him, and you have to give yourself a moment to adjust to the fullness.

Sweat beads on his golden brow as you begin to ride him in earnest, his hips rolling to meet yours. Panting, you dig your nails into his forearm, leaving angry red crescents behind. No matter how many times you fucked, it always felt like the first. The perfect fit never ceased to amaze you, the angle of your hips putting delicious pressure on that magic spot inside you with every thrust.

"Pierre," You breathe, head falling back. His own thrusts become more frenzied, the wet sound of skin on skin sending a bolt of ecstasy through you.

His breathy moan of your name guides you over the edge into oblivion, your orgasm slamming white hot over you. Your desperate movements begin to slow, Pierre stilling beneath you as you struggle to regain your senses. Limbs shaking, you roll over, allowing yourself a moment to steady your breathing before turning back to him.

Pierre jerks when you take him in your mouth once more, tasting yourself on his cock. Hollowing your cheeks while taking as much of him as you can, you wrap your hand around the rest of him.

"Fuck," He mumbles, over and over as he thrusts his hips into your mouth a handful of times before his release finds him. His hips jerk as he cums, your tongue coaxing every last drop from him. You let him finish before swallowing the salty liquid, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Sighing blissfully, you collapse onto the pillow next to your beloved. His arm hooks around you, still sticky with sweat but you don't care.

“I would say that counts as my workout for today,” He jokes, voice shaking in the aftermath. You laugh, wrapping an arm around his chest.

"Tomorrow, I choose your outfit."

Pierre’s laugh rumbles through you, setting your toes curling. "As long as it makes you attack me when I get home, I'll wear anything you ask me to."

#my writing #pierre gasly #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly fanfiction #pierre gasly imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 rpf #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 rpf

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mandolovian · 3 years

Text

1. triple-scented jasmine

pairing: cottagecore!din djarin/the mandalorian x reader

warnings: none! reader has some gently spicy feelings but it’s all pretty mild and full of yearning + fluff + pining

word count: 1.7k

a/n: this entire concept is dedicated to @mndalorians - thank u for fueling both my desire to live in the woods, and also to live in the woods with a tin can metal man. let me know what you think! pls expect more of this world bc i love it so so so so much ✨

You’d been eyeing the Mandalorian that moved into the property across from yours.

It was a rundown bungalow sitting on overgrown land: soil that hadn’t been turned, cobwebs that hadn’t been dusted. The previous owner was a portly man with ruddy cheeks - good-natured in temperament, but heavy-handed with the liquor. Towards the later years of his life, he became increasingly neglectful of the raised garden beds that lined the fences, and the poor citrus trees were left to shrivel into husks of their magnificent beings.

The arrival of a spaceship onto the planet sent many hushed whispers through the little farming community, no matter what kind of spaceship it was. Mira came rushing to your front door that morning, laden with town-gossip and bottles of bantha milk, a little shiny eyed and sweaty at effort it had taken to speed walk to your house in the morning sun.

‘It’s a Mandalorian,’ she stage-whispers, cooling herself with an old newspaper while sitting on your porch steps. ‘All shiny and pretty too. Parked his ship in the old hangars downtown. Probably the only ship in those hangars, to tell the honest truth.’

You lean against the doorframe, picking at a loose string on your apron. ‘What’s a Mandalorian doing around here, Mira?’ you ask.

‘Beats me,’ Mira says, shuffling her heavy skirts to sit more comfortably on the steps. The fabric hides the swell of her belly, and she keeps a hand on it when she leans back to look at you. ‘I heard it’s the same shiny Mandalorian that was shooting up all those Outer Rim cities. Maybe he’s looking to settle down here!’

You look down in exasperation at Mira with raised eyebrows, and she throws her hands up in defence before going back to vigorously fanning herself.

‘Either way,’ she says after a while, getting up with some difficulty. You offer her your arm and she takes it gratefully, heaving herself up to her feet. ‘It’ll be some excitement for us, you know?’

Her voice drops to a stage whisper again as she grabs your forearm, grinning toothily. ‘Maybe he’s single and is really looking to settle down!’

‘Mira please-’

‘I’m just saying!’ she says, waving you off. You help her collect the empty bottles back into her basket, and she waddles back down the porch steps. ‘If that Mandalorian comes knocking at your door, you best be opening it!’

----

Mira wasn’t wrong. He really was quite shiny.

With a mug of coffee and a biscuit, you settle yourself on the window seat and curle up your feet under you. It’s a prime position to look through the cracks of the curtains as the Mandalorian unloads his luggage off the rusty hover-trailer. The sun is high in the sky and shines off his armour as he lifts case after case off the trailer, stacking them on the porch of the bungalow.

A little baby follows the Mandalorian’s feet as he walks from the trailer to the house. Green, about a foot high, and almost entirely composed of petal-ears that raises and lowers in time with the crates that the Mandalorian carried. Your heart tightens a little when the baby trips over his little robe and goes sprawling into an overgrown rosemary bush, and tightens just a little more when the Mandalorian reaches down to pick the baby up, stroke his ears, and press the baby’s forehead to his helmet.

Maybe he is here to settle down.

You concede that he’s difficult to wholly admire from afar, but even with the distance that unfortunately befalls between you, you can tell that he was strong. Broad. You let your mind wander at the sight of his thighs when he kneels to tug at a handful of weeds that prevents his fence from latching firmly.

Capable and compassionate.

And if your eyes flutters shut and your thighs press against each other with just a little bit of pressure? Well, no one needed to know.

-----

‘Hi there!’

If anyone told you that you would open your front door, dressed in a nightdress and slippers, to a fully armoured and incredibly luminescent Mandalorian, you would say they were absolutely dreaming. Even still, there he stands, in his beskar glory, and your breath catches a little at the sight of his broad shoulders taking up nearly all of the doorway.

‘Hello,’ he says, and maker you’re already melting at his voice. ‘My son and I, we just-’ he haphazardly gestures behind him, ‘-moved into the house down there.’

‘I saw,’ you say quietly, choosing to avoid mentioning how much you’ve already stared at him today. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘We don’t seem to have electricity at the house,’ he says with a sigh, tapping his fingers against his belt. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the fuses but the entire system seemed turned off. Would you... would you maybe know why?’

‘You might not have your house connected to the grid,’ you say after a beat, tapping the corner of your lips in thought. ‘That house has been empty for years, of course it’d be disconnected.’

‘Is there a way to fix that?’

You shake your head, and the Mandalorian sighs quietly in response. ‘Not till morning,’ you say. ‘You’ll need to see Ledo Rikil in town tomorrow - he’ll be able to link your house up to the grid.’

‘I see,’ says the Mandalorin. He seems a little sheepish, perhaps dejected, and he lets out a tinny sigh again. Wrapping your arms around your middle, you shift slightly on your feet.

‘If it’s any consolation,’ you begin, not wanting to part so readily, ‘tonight will be warm so you’ll not need any heating, but maybe I can give you some candles for the dark?’

The Mandalorian hums, deep and sugary. Your toes curl inside your slippers at the sound and you feel ever so slightly dizzy. ‘That would be wonderful,’ he said, and stars, was it always going to be like this? Could you keep it together for one conversation?

You usher him over the step into your house, and he gingerly walks in. You can tell that he’s trying his best to avoid stomping on your floorboards, and you know better than to ask him to take his boots off. The Mandalorian carefully moves himself to stand on the rug in your living area - as if he’s a penguin seeking an iceberg on the wooden sea.

‘This is a nice house,’ he says, tilting his helmet as he watched you from the middle of the room. ‘Very… homely.’

He trails off at the end of the sentence, and seems to sink even more sheepishly into his beskar studded boots.

‘You’re allowed to take inspiration, if you like,’ you say with a soft laugh, turning to rummage through your cupboards. ‘Can’t imagine that the old shack has any personality right now.’

‘I haven’t lived in a house in a long time,’ says the Mandalorian, and you hum in response. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him cautiously take a seat at the edge of your couch, rearranging his limbs until his hands were folded on his lap like a regency-era maiden.

‘Well,’ you say, balancing several candles in your arms as you walk over to him, ‘you’ve come to the right place for inspiration and illumination.’

Onto the coffee table in front of him, you lay out the selection: four paraffin pillar candles, a handful of tealights, and one ornate jar, complete with a glass lid. The Mandalorian leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees, tilting his helmet to silently assess your layout.

‘The paraffin ones should be your go-to candles,’ you say, sitting back on your knees on the rug in front of the coffee table. Gently, you push the pillar candles closer to him. ‘They can burn for half a day, and they have a very bright flame. They’ll brighten an entire room with no problem.’

You pick up a tealight, and hand it to the Mandalorian. It sits tiny in the middle of his palm, and he strokes the edge of the wick gently with a gloved finger.

‘Those are good for temporary use,’ you say. ‘Or if you only need light for a small area. Or just for decorating. Up to you, really.’

‘And the glass one?’ he ask.

You pick up the jar and open it, before offering it to the Mandalorian. ‘It’s a housewarming gift,’ you say. ‘Triple-scented jasmine. Made it myself.’

The Mandalorian puts down the tealights, and accepts the jar with as much gentle grace as an armoured man could. ‘You made this yourself?’ he asks, and you nod shyly.

With a quiet groan, you sit up on your knees, and flex side to side to stretch out your sore hips. ‘They’re not too hard to make,’ you say, ‘I could show you one day if you’d like?’

There’s a soft crackle of a laugh, made hoarse by his helmet. It’s warm, delightful, and you wonder what it might feel like against the apples of your cheeks.

‘It’s incredible,’ he say, and you fiddle demurely with the edge of your dress at the praise. ‘Thank you so much for all of this - how could I ever repay you?’

‘Nonsense,’ you say, standing up straight and brushing off your skirts. The Mandalorian stands up with you, and he haphazardly arranges the candles in his forearms before sheepishly accepting a canvas bag from you. ‘Just… come say hello every so often. I’ll introduce you to everyone!’

‘Everyone?’

He’s standing back on your doorstep now, swinging the bag of candles lightly in his left hand. The moonlight shines off the harsh planes of his armour, and you idly wonder how often and how long he spent polishing it. You’d have to ask sometime.

‘It’s a small town,’ you say. ‘We help each other out. It helps knowing one another.’

The Mandalorian steps backwards, carefully down the porch steps and onto your gravel path. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he says, tilting his helmet towards you. ‘I’ll see you later.’

You cross your arms against the quiet breeze, and lean against the post. ‘Goodnight, Mandalorian.’

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #mando #din djarin #dev talks #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian blurb #mando x reader #din djarin blurb #fluff #mywriting #blurb #hmmm will the tags work #anyway goodnight!

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10-porgs-in-a-trenchcoat · 3 years

Text

Selfies, Tea, and Photography

AO3

Pairing: Commander Fox x GN!Reader Pen Pal Fic

Premise: based off this post I made a while back where I mused on the concept of a clone/reader insert pen pal fic. Starting off with Fox based on a suggestion by @istanmyman

Word count: ~3.9k

Rating: G

Other notes: Gender-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, apparently I can only write Thorn as Fox’s best bro and nosy wingman

When you heard the news that the Grand Army of the Republic was starting up a correspondence program for troopers and civilians to connect and communicate, you immediately signed up for it. Not that your friends and family weren’t enough for you, it was just that you itched to learn more about the galaxy and what it was like to live and travel among the stars. Enrolling in the program was the closest you were going to get until you were able to travel yourself.

(That, and you were curious to learn more about the clones who were fighting for the Republic.)

Around a month after signing up for the program, you learned you were matched with CC-1010, also known as “Fox.” A few days after learning about your match, you received your first message from him.

Hello,

I am Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. I am stationed on Coruscant, where I oversee the security of the Senate, manage operations at the military base on the planet, and coordinate with local authorities to maintain public safety. My fellow Guard Commanders and I are participating in this correspondence program to connect with Republic citizens we have sworn to protect and defend. I look forward to communicating with you.

Regards,

Commander Fox

His opening message was … something. It read like he didn’t want to be in the program, like his fellow Commanders may have forced him to do it with them. You also supposed he may have not known how else to introduce himself, and that was the best way he could think of to make a good first impression.

Regardless of the reason for his overly stiff and formal introduction, you wrote up your first message to Fox:

Hello Commander Fox, it’s nice to meet you!

I live on Naboo, in a small town in the lake country. I have a job in my grandmother’s tea shop. It’s not nearly as exciting as guarding Senators or catching bad guys, but it’s quiet and peaceful. I’m saving up to travel the galaxy one day, and until then the next best thing is talking with people like you who live in different places.

I do have some questions for you: what’s it like living on Coruscant? What do you do in your free time? Do you have any exciting stories about saving Senators from Separatists that you can share?

Hope to hear from you soon!

You signed with your name and sent the message.

A few days later, Fox sent his response. He greeted you by name in his opening line then went on to say:

Coruscant is loud, crowded, and messy. Feels like the planet never sleeps, with all the noise and lights at all hours of the day. My troopers and I live in barracks on the surface, and we don’t get much free time. Some of the boys like to go to this bar called 79’s that a lot of clones frequent. It’s not my favorite place, though. When I have free time, I like to relax with a good book, watch holodramas, or catch up on sleep. The work we do is important and a great service to the Republic, but a quiet peaceful life on Naboo with no excitement would be a welcome change of pace compared to my current station.

I haven’t rescued any Senators in the line of duty, but I did help Senator Amidala arrest Ziro the Hutt at the beginning of the war. I like Senator Amidala, she has a good head on her shoulders.

(She’s your Senator, isn’t she?)

I hope that’s what you were wanting to hear.

Looking forward to your response,

Commander Fox

You smiled to yourself as you read his message, and you imagined him in full armor laying back in a bed reading a book. Quiet, restful moments that you took for granted in your quiet life must have been sacred to a man like Fox.

The following day, you hiked out to the nearest lake to take pictures. You made sure to capture the lush green grass surrounding the lake, the colorful wildflowers growing along the shore, the sparkling crystal blue waters, and the majestic waterfalls that poured water into the lake. You made sure to include the pictures in the next message you wrote to Fox:

Senator Amidala is indeed from Naboo. She was our Queen too, back when I was younger. Everyone in my town loves her, and my grandma even has her royal portrait on display in the shop.

Not much has really happened since I last wrote to you. But I did go out and take some pictures of a nearby lake! The pictures are included with this message. I hope they can give you a small taste of my quiet life here.

Three weeks went by, and you hadn’t received a message from Fox. At first you figured he was busy with his duties. Then you worried that your pictures of the lake soured his mood, reminding him of something he couldn’t have. Then … you feared the worst.

One day after work, you went home and checked your message inbox on your computer. There was a message waiting for you from Fox. You breathed a sigh of relief as you opened it and read:

I’m sorry it took me so long to write you back. There was a bombing that took out the Senate’s power grid, and then a hostage crisis with bounty hunters, and then Ziro the Hutt escaped from prison. When I haven’t been scouring the city for Ziro or his accomplices, I have been neck-deep in paperwork.

Ironic, how right after I brag about helping bring Ziro into custody, he escapes.

I appreciate the pictures you sent me. Naboo looks like a beautiful planet. I would love to visit someday.

~ Fox

You took note of how he signed off with just his name, not his rank, and then you leaned back in your chair to mull over what to say to him. Your first idea was to invite him to visit Naboo once the war was over, but who knew when that would be. Unable to think of anything to say, you decided to come back to it later as you went about your evening.

The next day while you were at work, you served a customer some herbal tea that was supposed to have a relaxing effect. The customer didn’t stick around long enough for you to see if it worked, but you took a tin full of the loose-leaf tea home with you after your shift. You reviewed the rules of the correspondence program, confirming that it would be appropriate to send a package to Fox, and then you packaged the tea up and took it to the shipping depot to send to Coruscant.

Stars, shipping items to Coruscant was expensive. Fox better like that tea, you thought.

Hello Fox,

I don’t mind that you wrote late. I’m just glad that nothing happened to you.

That really is some rotten luck, Ziro escaping. I hope you or the Jedi catch him and take him back to prison. In the meantime, remember to rest and take care of yourself! Coruscant needs a great Commander like you looking out for it, and I like having you as my pen pal.

I sent you a package with some tea from the shop. It’s a relaxation blend. I haven’t tried it, but it’s popular with customers. It should arrive in the next rotation or two. Hope you like it.

Three days later you got his next message:

The tea is wonderful. I had a cup of it an hour before going to bed, and I had the best sleep of my life. Thank you.

~Fox

Short and sweet, but you couldn’t ask for more.

Over the following weeks you and Fox continued to exchange messages. The two of you discovered that you shared a common interest in a holodrama series and dedicated several messages to discussing it and predicting what might happen in the coming episodes. You sent him more pictures of the countryside and of your village, and he sent you pictures of the Coruscant skyline at sunset: the way the golden light of the sun glinted off the shining chrome towers was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen, and it moved Coruscant up a few spots on your list of places to visit.

At one point you looked up pictures of the clones on the Holonet to get an idea of what Fox might look like. However, the only pictures of the troopers you could find showed them with their helmets on. The closest you could get was a ten-year-old picture of Jango Fett; Jango was ridiculously handsome, so it would stand to reason that Fox would be too.

Fox gradually began loosening up, and he shared stories about growing up on Kamino or shenanigans his brothers got into. He hinted at there being some interpersonal drama among some Senators, but he didn’t name names since he knew the supervisors of the correspondence program read his messages before sending them to you, to make sure he wasn’t divulging information he shouldn’t be.

Fox also asked you more questions about your life. You told him about your childhood, your relationship with your parents, how you got your job at your grandmother’s shop, about your friends that moved to Theed for work or university studies, and all the places in the galaxy you wanted to visit.

You mentioned wanting to see Felucia, and in his next message Fox included pictures of the planet’s colorful trees, plants, flowers, and shrubs – including a few at night, when the vegetation gave off a bioluminescent glow.

One of my fellow Commanders spends a lot of time doing missions on Felucia. I asked him for pictures to show you and he took these and sent them to me.

I’m trying to get him to join this correspondence program too, but he won’t agree to it. He spends a lot of time with his Jedi, maybe that’s enough for him.

I’ve had a lot of mixed feelings about not having a Jedi. I think about how some of them seem like a pain to work with and that it might not be worth the trouble, but then I see other Jedi treat the men under their command as friends or even family.

Which is why I’ve come to appreciate your messages. When I get them, they’re the highlight of my day. For a brief amount of time I feel like a normal person. I’ve never met you face-to-face, I don’t even know what you look like, but I consider you a friend.

~Fox

Getting pictures of Felucia from Fox made you feel all warm and fluttery inside. What he said about feeling like a normal person did as well, but it broke your heart at the same time. You wanted to stow away on a ship to Coruscant to give him a hug, and then go kick the behinds of anyone who ever made him feel bad about himself. Especially since he and his brothers worked so hard to keep people safe … it was a crime that they weren’t getting the recognition they deserved.

You snapped a picture of yourself to include in your next message, making sure the lighting and angle were just right so you looked your best. It also helped that you just happened to be wearing a color that you thought you looked good in.

Thank you for the pictures of Felucia! When I look at them it’s almost like I’m actually there. Please pass my gratitude along to your brother who took them.

I think of you as a friend too. I’m grateful to have you defending the Republic, and I’m glad to have you as my pen pal.

I don’t have much to offer you right now, other than a picture of me. At least now you can know what I look like.

You sent the message with the picture, leaned back in your chair, and watched the monitor of your computer. You knew that Fox wasn’t going to write back that same night, but you imagined him opening the message, reading your words, seeing your picture, and smiling the way his message made you smile.

Oh.

Oh no.

Were you developing a crush on him?

…

Then again, so what if you were? You didn’t have to tell him, you could hide it. He was parsecs away on another planet. And he was a clone; would he even be allowed to date if he wanted to? Nothing would or could come of it. If a crush was forming, with any luck it would go away on its own. But that didn’t stop you from double-checking how many credits you had in your savings and comparing that number to the cost for a ticket to Coruscant.

Four days went by during which you went about your usual business, often distracted by thoughts of Fox how his day might have been going. Maybe he was chasing Separatists or criminals around, or maybe he was buried under another mound of paperwork. You wondered if he caught the newest episode of the holodrama you both liked; you couldn’t wait to talk about it with him. That little crush you were sure would fade away wasn’t going anywhere, and it both delighted and frustrated you.

The first thing you did after you got home from your shift was check your messages. It had become routine at this point, especially since a new message from him easily became the highlight of your day. However, the message in your inbox – presumably from Fox – was not what you thought it would be:

Greetings, Fox’s Pen Pal!

I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but Fox has it BAD for you. I’ve been watching him write these messages to you and hemming and hawing around the barracks and his office making sure he gets every word just right. He’s got your pictures of the lakes and fields on Naboo framed on the wall of his office, he drank all that tea you sent him and he still keeps the tin on his desk right next to your selfie. And if you knew the amount of favors he had to cash in to get our brother Bly to get those pictures of Felucia for you! (it’s a lot, trust me)

Anyway, I thought you ought to know. I told him to make a move and be honest about his feelings but he’s shy. So even though I might be overstepping some boundaries, I feel like it’s my brotherly duty to intervene on his behalf. If there’s a chance you might feel the same way, you should tell him. If you don’t, proceed how you will but please go easy on him.

If it influences your decision-making process at all, I included a picture of him. He’s a good-looking guy if I do say so myself, although he’s not as handsome as me 😉

Yours truly,

Commander Thorn

PS – please don’t tell Fox that I wrote you using his account.

You sat at your computer, staring blankly at the words on the screen, taking minutes to process what you just read … and then you remembered there was a picture attached to the message, so you opened up the attachment.

Jango Fett may have been handsome, but Fox was gorgeous. He looked like he was in his early- or mid-twenties, although there were wisps of gray hair above his ears by his temples. His hair was cropped close along the sides and longer on top, and you took a minute to admire his curl pattern. He wasn’t smiling in the picture, his face wearing a more neutral resting expression that showed off the scar running along the corner of his mouth. Finally, you noticed his eyes: framed by dark circles, his irises were a deep, inviting shade of brown. What would it be like to look into his eyes in person, or run your hands through his hair, or trace his scar with your thumb before you went in to –

You stopped yourself. You were getting carried away. Heat rose up the back of your neck and across your cheeks.

For the rest of the evening you mulled over what to do next. You knew you wanted to tell him that you liked him too … but doing it over a message didn’t feel like enough. Turning up unannounced was a bad idea too. Would he even want you to show up in person? And since you didn’t have his contact information outside of the correspondence program, you didn’t have a way to call him for a face-to-face talk via holotransceiver.

Unsure of what to do, you fired off a message as soon as the fleeting idea for it popped into your brain. Would you regret it? Maybe. Only one way to find out.

Hi Fox,

I want to come visit you on Coruscant. When will you be free?

It only took a few minutes for him to respond, but it felt like hours. The entire time your heart pounded furiously in your chest, and you bounced your leg up and down since you could barely contain your jitters inside your body. There was a chance he would say no, Thorn did say he was shy after all. But when his message came through, you opened it immediately, and all the jitters melted away.

I see you got Thorn’s message … lucky for us he’ll be available to cover for me when I’m off-duty to host you. Let me know when you’re coming.

Your mouth instantly spread into a grin … you could hardly believe it. It hardly seemed real, even as you opened up a Holonet page to book a roundtrip ticket.

Four rotations later, your transport came into orbit around Coruscant. A shuttle took you from the transport down to the planet’s surface, and you were in awe of the densely-packed constellations of lights twinkling up from the planet’s surface. Descending into the atmosphere, those lights morphed into buildings, and lanes upon lanes of speeder traffic, and seemingly endless grids of buildings. At one point you saw several buildings whose architecture differed from the others; the pilot pointed them out and said they were the Senate Complex and the Jedi Temple, respectively.

You disembarked from the shuttle and paused to look around. Coruscant was nothing like Naboo. Not a speck of green in sight, no signs of nature, just duracrete and grays upon grays as far as the eye could see. And it was loud, just like Fox said it was, with the revving engines and blasting horns from speeders breezing by above your head.

You checked your wrist chrono, seeing that you had two hours until you were due to meet Fox at 79’s. Next, you pulled a datapad out of your bag that contained a map of the planet’s surface and studied how to get from your current position to the hotel you booked for your stay. The hotel was only a couple of blocks from the bar – not that you had certain expectations for this trip or anything, you thought it would be easier to stay nearby.

All in all, it took one hour and fifty minutes to get from the shuttle landing pad to the hotel to drop off your things, and then another eight to get from the hotel to 79’s. In your rush and panic as you navigated Coruscant’s taxi and public transportation systems, you didn’t have time to be too nervous about meeting Fox in person for the first time. But as you walked up to the entrance of the bar with its painfully bright neon signs and the muffled music spilling out from inside, it all hit you.

You took off to a strange planet by yourself to see a man you only knew through messages. If your grandmother had her way she would have stopped you from going. What if he didn’t like you after the trip … what if you didn’t like him? What if something went wrong?

But then you saw him standing by the entrance to the bar, recognizing him by his red-painted armor and the gray hairs above his ears and the thick curls on top of his head that you admired so much. He was surveying the area with a soldier’s laser-sharp focus, perhaps looking for your arrival, and he clutched a small bouquet of colorful flowers to his chest. When his eyes met yours, his face lit up with a smile, the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. Your worries seemed to matter less as you broke into a brisk jog to meet him.

“Fox?” you asked, smiling yourself.

“Indeed,” he responded before he handed the flowers to you. “I- uh- I got you these.”

“They’re beautiful, thank you,” you said. No one had ever gotten you flowers before; in the past it didn’t seem like anything to miss out on, but now that you held a bouquet in your arms, you felt special. Treasured, even.

“And, uh, as for the venue ….” Fox’s voice trailed off as he glanced over his shoulder at the bar’s garishly bright neon signs.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” you said, trying to be reassuring.

“I’m not allowed in most places, even when I’m off-duty … and I would have liked to take you somewhere nicer ….” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. You could hear in his voice just how nervous he was.

“Because … well … you’re special to me. In a way no one else in my life is.”

You smiled at him again, and then wasted no time in leaning forward and pressing your lips to his cheek. It felt right to kiss him like that, but when you pulled back and saw him staring at you in shock and awe, you worried that it was too much too soon.

“C-can I …” he stammered. You nodded, and he angled his face so he could return the gesture. His lips were surprisingly soft against the skin of your cheek, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they would feel or taste like on your own lips.

There would be time for that later, you reminded yourself, if all went well.

“Does this place have food?” you ask him.

“Yes.”

“Drinks?”

“Well it is a bar … they have non-alcoholic drinks too, if that’s what you prefer.”

“Then it’s got everything I need. I don’t know what I would do with myself at a fancy restaurant anyway.”

“I imagine a restaurant would be quieter and allow for some proper conversation … but Thorn told me about a spot inside where we’ll be able to talk and hear each other without having to shout over the music.” Fox added.

“Sounds perfect,” you said with a smile.

Fox offered his arm to you and you took it, wrapping your hand around his bicep just above his elbow so he could lead you into the bar. Throughout the evening any time your eyes met his you felt safe, like you were the only person in the universe, and that you needed to figure out a way to make regular visits to Coruscant.

No matter what, you would always be glad you got Fox as a pen pal, and that you came to visit him. Especially since it was more fun to rant and rave about the newest episode of the holodrama in person.

#reader insert isn't my forte so I hope this is okay XD #commander fox #commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #clone trooper x reader #clone wars #star wars #my writing

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whitherliliesbloom · 3 years

Text

fate matrix

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #05 (free) - fate ]

[ alphinaud/wol & cameos and mentions of some friend ocs, you’re gonna have to read to find out who :) ] ★ [ 5,241 words (oof) ] ★ [ fate matrix au ]

fate: be destined to happen, turn out, or act in a particular way

in a world where the hands of destiny are ones and zeros, at the center of the matrix was a little goddess who would soon find out that she too, isn’t immune to the pull of fate

Day ???? | 07:07am | Day of Destined Meetings

An alarm rings, beeping in an increasingly loud volume as the monitors begin booting up. As light from the screens flood the room, the sound of cotton ruffling can be heard, followed by a soft little yawn.

The girl stirs, clutching at her duvet for warmth before her eyelids flutter open. Bright violet eyes stare up at the ceiling, where the patches of glow up star stickers have lost their radiance in the midst of the fluorescent bulb lighting up. Blinded momentarily, she grimaces, before rolling onto her side and sitting up.

“Good morning, alpha.” A melodic voice chirps out merrily from her parted lips, and she raises a hand to pet the head of the stuffed chocobo that she had been laying beside. “It’s time for work again, huh?”

Stretching her arms high above her head with a final, long yawn, the girl shuffles over to the minibar that was tucked under the table, pulling the door open before grabbing a small tub of yoghurt and peeling it open to peer inside curiously.

Oh, it’s strawberry today, how wonderful! Whoever or whatever magical force is behind stocking up the minibar seems to be in her favor this morning.

Grateful now for her breakfast, the girl slides over to the front of the bed, and places her hand on the mouse after taking a spoonful of the yoghurt into her mouth.

System booting... Please enter password. >illyaskawi03112 Log in successful. Fatematrix.exe starting. Welcome, Alice.

The monitors that surround her begin loading up window tabs after window tabs - and at the center on her main monitor, a sizeable grid of glowing icons pop up, along with a smaller, more discreet window showing a map tucked away at the corner of the screen.

Visual stimuli overload aside, the girl seemed to be completely unphased as she bites into yet another scoopful of yoghurt before setting the tub next to her white keyboard, as if this were a scene she’s had to see countless times now.

It’s a routine, a well rehearsed routine that the girl effortlessly goes through the motions of daily. The fate matrix is ever in need of use and she, the center of it all, was more than happy to take control.

That is, after all, the will of her late mother... the previous Alice and goddess of the fate matrix. It is simply her duty to carry on in her legacy. And as per her duty, she begins to spin the wheel of fate, clicking on the very first icon that boots up the fate matrix’s tool assistant. A bright blue pop up appears that the girl drags to the side, and text begins to appear.

Good morning, Alice. Today is a day of destined meetings. I would suggest working on getting soul mates together for the day.

Internally, Illya is delighted. Soul mates were one of her favorite types of work to focus on... and though they were rarely ever more urgent than other types of assignments like accident prevention, weather management or economic balance, it was one that often brought her a great amount of joy.

After all, what was sweeter than nudging two souls who were meant for each other closer? It was the very concept of soul mates, and the tales of the red thread of fate after all, that drew her mother into the concept of fate and caused her to develop the fate matrix.

A soft smile graces her features, and she moves her cursor to click on the second icon, which loads for a second before breaking apart into smaller, glowing dots that scatter across the map - with two dots that indicated soul mates being linked by a dotted line.

Time to get to work!

01:46pm

When Illya clicked on the glowing two red dots upon the map, she hadn’t expected to be shown live footage of the two targets in the very same room.

It’s not uncommon for soul mates to have already met each other, or even be familiar with one another already despite not having made their feelings for each other known yet... but they were cases that were, in Illya’s experience, a little more difficult to work on.

It was easy to nudge two strangers in the same direction or plant small, innocuous thoughts that would help draw two acquaintances into wanting to spend more time with their soul mate. It was far more difficult to convince stubborn people who have, despite many fateful circumstances, refused to confess their feelings to the object of their confession.

After all, the fate matrix was capable of many things - but controlling or taking over the will of people was not one of them.

Illya has convinced two stubborn souls to finally open up in the past though, she was certain she could do so again - she did so with the likes of the two childhood friends, Moth’ir and Thancred... a case which she would never in a million years soon forget... or the infuriatingly obstinate refusal of a pink haired miqo’te girl to confess to her close friend and personal trainer, Haurchefant Greystone... who had been more than obvious with his flirtations for years.

Alice, you have yet to eat your lunch. A quick break is highly suggested.

The tool assistant sends a reminder through a text in it’s window, which Illya is swift to ignore. She can eat once she’s done with this case.

She watched through the monitor as the pair sat on the couch, a girl with straight cut bangs and piercing red eyes lounging lazily with her back propped against the arm rest and her legs laid over her taller, lankier male friend, who seemed to be frustrated at the girl’s refusal to pay him any attention.

“Why invite me over if you’re just going to play your game?”

“Hmph! Says the guy who invited me over to his place only to kick me out halfway through because some of his friends were going to pay him a surprise visit!”

The man lets out a hefty sigh.

“I already apologized for that. And that was over a week ago. Are you seriously still-”

“Yes, yes I am!” Without even looking up from her smartphone, the girl lets out a dramatic huff while admonishing her friend. “I don’t get why you’re so adamant about me not meeting your friends. Why, are you scared they’ll misunderstand and think I’m your girlfriend?”

“That’s- That’s not-”

From the heartrate monitor, Illya can tell that was only part of the reason for his behavior. The true reason, and an explanation that the girl understood full well why he would refuse to tell his friend was written in text in a separate window next to his heartrate monitor.

The girl, Totomi Tomi, or better known by her stage name as Mint, was something of a minor celebrity on the internet. Known for her jovial personality and the many covers of vocaloid songs she posted on her well known eorzeatube page, it wouldn’t be a stretch to call her an idol - even if she wasn’t officially acknowledged or employed as one by some idol management company. Her friend, Estinien, and the object of her very strong feelings towards, had friends who were apparently fans of hers.

It was for that very reason that, for her protection and to spare her the oogling of strangers, that he’d kept his friendship with the young idol a secret from others.

In his eyes, perhaps dating her would be the quickest way to convince his friends to back off... but that would only come after they’d confessed their feelings - which they haven’t.

“That’s not important.” Estinien finally retorts after stumbling after his words for a moment, and Illya has to resist the urge to slam her head against the keyboard.

“Ohhhh... Kay.” Mint rolls her eyes, Illya mirrors the action.

What Illya doesn’t anticipate however, is Estinien’s next words, for as bold and uncharacteristic for an emotionally closed off man such as him.

“Why? Are you disappointed? You almost sound like you want to be known as my girlfriend.”

Mint chokes on her spit, sputtering and gurgling out incomprehensible words until she recovers - but only barely... and now with a dark red blush plastered over her freckled cheeks.

“I-In your dreams, maybe!” Her blatant lie is apparent to all but... the ones who are present in the room. “Besides, I already have someone I like!”

“Oh?” Illya can hear the sheer contempt from her headphones, and she grimaces at the man’s deep frown. “Do tell, who is it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, dunderhead!”

“Tell me. I’m curious.”

“Nope nope nope nope nope noppetty nope! Why’d you think I would ever tell you, huh??”

Mint sticks her tongue out at the man, who scowls deeper and nudges the woman’s legs off of his lap.

“Fine. How about a bet then.”

“What bet?”

The man points to the phone she has in her hands.

“Since you’re so fond of your gacha games, and you’re always bragging about how good your luck is, why don’t we make a bet using your game?”

Snatching the phone out of Mint’s hand despite her protests, Estinien taps on the settings button before clicking on the gacha button, the screen switching to the current limited rate up banner of a popular event character.

“If you get a character of the highest rarity within 50 draws, you have to tell me who your crush is.”

“W-why would I even agree to that?? I’ve been saving my primos for Xi-Ao you know?!”

“I’ll pay for your pulls. It’s a win-win for you that way, no? You get free pulls from the game, I get to know who your crush is if you get a shiny new character.”

Mint pulls back, hesitant and suspicion clear in her eyes, but still enough to hint at consideration.

“And what’s in it for me? What if I do pull a 5 star character?”

After much consideration, Estinien responds once more.

“I’ll let you whale for whatever character you want next on my credit card. And I’ll cosplay with you at the next convention.”

At the condition of his loss set, Mint’s face lights up with pure elation, as she snatches her phone back from her friend with a cheeky grin on her face.

“Deal! You’re so going to lose, long bean! My luck in Genshin Impact’s second to none! I can’t wait to make you cosplay sailor moon!!”

An equally devious smile spreads across the face of Alice, whose hands are swift to pull up another window tab reserved specifically for video game and gambling luck.

She has always admittedly been favorable and gracious in giving out good draws to people who deserve it - the program she has running in the background is testament to that... And she has no doubt in her mind that the fate matrix has been generous in it’s givings to Mint, if her boastings are anything to go by.

Mint must thusly, be a good person.... and she deserves a fate more fulfilling than virtual characters on a screen.

The girl must truly feel confident in herself, as she hits the draw x10 button without a single hesitation.

Illya begins typing the code into the new window, and sympathy wells in her heart as she hears Mint huff in minor disappointment.

“Only one 4 star? Eh, it’s just a fluke, I have 40 more pulls and I’m close to soft pity too!”

“Good luck.” Estinien chuckles mockingly, and Mint lets out a growl before pressing on the draw x10 button again.

Nothing. The third ten pull is no better - with nothing but a single 4 star weapon to show for her efforts. Mint is evidently getting more nervous as her finger shakes, pressing down on the button that will decide her fate for the fourth time.

She was so certain she’d get a 5 star by now - she normally gets what she wants within the first thirsty pulls, and it’s a normal occurrence to even pull multiple 5 stars within the same roll... So... why?

Her 40th pull ends with two 4 star characters, a sight better than the ones before... a sign of Illya’s pity on her... but still not a condition for her win.

“Oh, someone’s getting nervous.” Estinien smirks, “You’re on your last pull away from telling me who you have a crush on.”

“H-hah! That’s where you’re wrong!” Mint exclaims, jabbing a finger at him. “The chances of getting a 5 star increases with each pull, so i’m almost a hundred percent certain I’ll get one this time!”

Mint’s heartrate monitor is going off the charts, and Illya has to intervene by lowering her vitals enough so she wouldn’t pass out from sheer nervousness. It does little to hide it from Estinien, however, who could only relish every second of Mint’s rapidly darkening blush as she finally taps on the draw x10 button one final time.

The shooting star across the screen flickers, before bursting into a shade of pink that has Mint leaning back with mouth agape, a mixture of sheer shock and terror on her expression.

Hopelessness is all she feels as she taps, taps and taps, and the roll summary page shows naught but a single Benny - the unluckiest character in the game, grinning widely at her.

“Well, well, well. Looks like I won.” Estinien sounds way too casual and smug, unaware of the monumentally immense amount of bad fortune that had just befallen his friends. “As per our deal, you’re going to have to tell me who your crush is.”

Illya feels sorry for her meddling, and she makes a mental note to herself to bless Mint’s future rolls with as many of the highest rarity characters she could possibly afford to give without breaking the laws of probability too much... but when Mint finally breaks out of her stutter and sets her phone down on her lap, hands grasping so tightly at the hem of her skirt that her knuckles turned white, the girl knew that she’d dealt the woman a hand far kinder than if she had not.

“I-It’s...... It’s you, okay?”

07:32pm

Alice it is time for dinner. The curry will get cold if you leave it out for too long.

Illya’s tendency to ignore the tool assistant in regards to her own wellbeing was concerning, but not an anomaly. In fact, it was far more rare for the text in the pop up to be spared more than a single second’s glance from her.

Whether it was reminders for her to eat, for her to sleep early, to hydrate or to stretch after hours hunched over her keyboard in front of glaringly bright monitors for a good whole of her day, the tool assistant’s well meaning messages would always go ignored.

It’s a natural part of it’s program, Illya tells herself, as she filters through lists of finished cases before moving on to pending ones. Much like the fate matrix, that ran on a code that was, in admittance, far more complex than even she could fully comprehend... the tool assistant ran on code. It was an artificial intelligence her mother had created during her last few months of life, something that, according to the note left in the hard drive of the fate matrix, would help Illya better slip into her role as adjudicator of fate.

She’d remembered when she first awoke in this room and on the bed, not having any recollection of how she’d even arrived in the first place. The momentary panic and confusion had been replaced with a sense of obligation... of duty and honor when she booted up the computer for the first time to be greeted with the words from the tool assistant - as well as a lengthy message from her late mother.

We who do not belong to the realm of mortals... we who possess the blood of fate. We bear the burden of watching over the world and making sure that it is a safer, happier, better place for everyone. Only you alone can take possession of the fate matrix in my stead, and I pray you’ll forgive me for not being able to say goodbye to you in person.

Family meant the world to Illya, it has ever been that way. She spent a good amount of her childhood in the company of her parents, with little understanding of the world beneath. She had no concept of the idea of fate, of how destiny was dealt... only that her mother had a significant role to play, and that her time with her family was soon to be cut short by a crippling, unkind illness that not even the fate matrix could undo.

Illya’s never tried stepping out of her room before. She has always assumed that it exists in some kind of void or overworld that overlooked the mortal realm. It mattered not, really... The only thing important was that mother had left this place behind, and wanted her only daughter to inherit her role as Alice.

It was with that responsibility in mind that drove Illya to stay seated in front of the monitors for as long as she has.

Time is no longer being a concept, the rising and falling of the sun no longer visible to her eyes aside from a arbitrary number on the clock that served more as a timer for how long she has left to work until exhaustion would consume her.

Do you not wonder what it’s like to have friends, Alice?

Recently, however the tool assistant has been sending her more and more pointless questions... questions that went far beyond the daily self-maintenance reminders that she could understand her mother programming in for her wellbeing, questions aimed to be poignant and was targeted to making her feel more isolated and alone than it did help. It was bordering on annoyance.

You could leave this room any time you wanted.

And why would she do that? She murmured to herself as she typed in code to program a heavy storm, forcing a raven haired lalafellin man to offer his umbrella to his soul mate who had been stranded under a lone busstop - a pink haired woman with olive green eyes who seemed utterly smitten with him upon first sight.

Her purpose was here, to take control of the fate matrix, to grant happy memories, to save lives, to fulfill wishes and dreams. There can be no greater and heavier responsibility to bear in the world.

Truthfully, the reason why Illya stayed at first had solely because of her mother’s wishes... But now, it was more than that.

Because the idea of separating herself from the fate matrix... and not being able to grant the kindness of fate that so many people in the world deserved... it was a pain that was worth her own sense of self.

Are you not lonely? Do you not want someone to love you?

Why did it matter if she was lonely? The envy and curiosity she feels upon watching a group of friends hanging out together is nothing in comparison to the pain mortals felt from a love unrequited, or a loved one losing their life.

She taps furiously on a historian with bright red hair and eyes, forcing him to get a wardrobe malfunction that would push him to visit a tailor where an impish lalafellin fashion designer with snow white freckles awaited him with choice words of ridicule. She tips over a telephone pole that causes two surf shop co-owners who were on a road trip to park by the roadside so that they may witness a falling star, wishes made leading to their confession. She painstakingly guides a woman with silver hair and golden yellow eyes towards a drycleaner, where she initiates easy banter with a man who she later finds out was her old schoolmate.

Juno and Ysayle, Bianca and Varis, Niqesse and Zenos, Nowi and June. She remembers the soul mates she pushes together by name, and treasures the happiness they are sure to feel from their memories as if they were her own.

Detached from their world she may be, it is through the fate matrix that she can experience a sliver of their joy and love... even if it is for a fleeting moment before she must move on to the next.

11:17pm

One more assignment, she tells herself, eyes bloodshot and fingers sore from typing. One more case and she’ll eat before going to bed. She has done much for the day as it is... but she cannot rest until she’s closed one particular case that has her vexed for the entire day.

A pair of glowing purple dots that has been plastered on the map since morning has her thoroughly vexed... because for some reason or another, she cannot seem to gather information on one half of the pair.

She’s able to view the other half just fine - a dashing young man who seemed to be a senior in university despite his age, having skipped two grades due to his academic prowess. He is incredibly gifted, possessing not only of superior intellect but also an artistic hand and charismatic demeanor that makes him quite popular at his school.

But no matter how much she clicked on the other purple dot, or made futile attempts to manually search for data on his other half, nothing would show up. No windows, no tabs... What was even more perplexing was that the dot hadn’t moved on the map at all.

Illya had paid especially close attention to the purple dots ever since she’d found this anomaly in the fate matrix... she was certain she would have noted movement if there had been any at all.

But whereas the icon of the boy had understandably been moving throughout the city of Sharlayan, the icon of his mysterious other half hadn’t, laying stagnant on a singular point of the map in the middle of what appeared to be an old apartment complex.

It was as if his soul mate just... didn’t exist at all.

The boy didn’t have any romantic feelings for anyone, nor did it seem like there was anyone at his school that would have an attachment to him that extended beyond admiration or a short-term attraction, which she’s long learned to tell apart from genuine love. If the tool assistant had a text saying that her target simply did not have a soul mate at all, she’d have been inclined to believe it.

But the other purple dot that connected to his does not lie. If he didn’t have a soul mate, his icon wouldn’t be connected to the other. Her tool assistant wouldn’t have told her, very deliberately she may add, that he did in fact have a soul mate and that it was imperative for her to unite them.

But how was she to make two people meet when she could not even tell who the other was? It was the first time Illya’s wondered if there was even any point to her efforts.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, then. It may be unnatural for a piece of note to fall from the sky, but it was perhaps her final chance to get the boy to meet his soul mate before the opportunity would be lost forever.

Assignments from her pending window are known to disappear all of a sudden, and soul mates who were attached and at their prime for a fated meeting for the moment often times disappear from the map entirely... a tragedy as a result to the slipping of time that the fate matrix cannot rectify... and she’d be damned if she let it happen to this case just because of a simple glitch.

The boy, Alphinaud Leveilleur, star student of the nation’s most prestigious academy, had been walking home from his late night seminars. His position was unnervingly close to where his soul mate is, and since she could not think of any way she could naturally nudge him in the direction of the apartment complex, she writes a note posing as his soul mate and drops it from the sky.

“W-what in the twelve?”

The boy catches it in mid-air, looking at the haphazardly scribbled words on the paper.

PLEASE HELP ME. I’M BEING HELD AGAINST MY WILL. I’M BEING TRAPPED AT _______________

She made the handwriting disorderly intentionally... just to sell the idea of a person being trapped better, of course. She’d even slathered on a small smudge of blood on the corner of the note to make it more convincing... and it seemed to have done the trick as the boy widens his navy blue eyes in alarm, head turned up in the direction of the apartment complex he stood next to.

Illya can tell he has his doubts, and she doesn’t blame him... It’s suspicious enough that the call for help would just so conveniently fall towards him as he was walking past... but he’s never known any criminal activity to have taken place in that apartment complex - Sharlayan is relatively safe compared to it’s neighbor, Mor Dhona.

A few simple thoughts however, might just do the trick into getting him to spring into action.

Injecting into his mind, Illya types out frantically into the text box for thought processing.

What if this is real? What if there really is someone in need of rescuing and I just walked by without helping them? What if they appeared on the news tomorrow? I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. What if... what if this note really is fate?

She’s preying on his upright and morally upstanding character, she knows that... and it never feels good to take advantage of a objectively good person’s kindness... But her determination to grant him lifelong happiness wins as she watches through the live feed the as the boy clutches onto the note close to his chest and begins to run into the carpark of the apartment complex before heading inside.

Zooming into the map, she sees that her target is taking the lift up to the highest floor, his heartrate skyrocketing at an alarming pace as she panics for a moment and has to manually adjust it back down. He’s nervous... and she must admit that she is too.

When he leaves the lift, his footsteps are unsteady and hesitant... But a few more encouraging thoughts was enough to get him to push forward until he’s standing in front of a door - the only door on the last floor of the complex, as it would happen.

Illya tries to look into the room, but the window that pops up is but a single black screen that has her sighing. No matter. The fact that there even was a window in the first place is progress.

She’s gotten this far into leading him here... all he has to do is open the door where his other half is sure to be on the other side.

The boy tries to twist open the door knob, the metal rattlingly noisily in Illya’s headphones. But it doesn’t budge or give way.

Figures that it’d be locked. How is she supposed to lead him inside? She can’t ring the doorbell because, for as odd as it is, there is none... and she cannot pull up any information on his soul mate, let alone inject into thoughts into their head to open the door. It’s far too suspicious to drop the key to the door right in front of him.

With each second that passes, it seemed like the boy was letting his doubts begin to sway his decision to stay more and more... and Illya’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach when she sees the boy begin to step away from the door and reaching into his bag for his phone, a thought bubble popping up above him.

I should call the police, instead...

“No! You mustn’t!” Illya yells out by instinct.

“Huh???” the boy’s eyes widen once more, and to Illya’s utter confusion, he bolts forward and is now banging his fist against the door. “Hello?! Are you okay?! If you’re in there and you need help, please say something again!”

He must’ve heard a voice.... Illya mused, eyes glistening with intrigue... her voice. Did her mic turn on by accident? Or perhaps she’d projected her voice onto the door out of instinct. She wouldn’t be surprised if she did... but the most important thing is that it worked, and it got the boy to stay.

“Y-yes! I’m... I’m in here!” Illya responds, intentionally letting out sobs into her microphone this time, “p-please help me... I-I’m really hurt and I don’t know when they’ll get back!”

Alphinaud’s heartrate is beating faster than it’s ever had before... and Illya makes no attempts to lower it as she watches the boy grit his teeth and set his bookbag down.

“A-alright! Stand back! I’ll try to knock the door down!”

Good thinking, Illya hums to herself in silence. The door seems old and rickety on its own... unless his soul mate has very deliberately barricaded the inside, there shouldn’t be any reason why he’d not be able to knock it down.

The boy begins to slam his torso into the door, pulling himself back before once more rushing into the door, and the sound of banging fills Illya’s headphones. It’s oddly loud and deafening... but she makes no attempts to lower her volume as she grips the edge of her keyboard in anticipation.

“Don’t worry miss! Just a bit more! I’ll get you out, I promise!”

His sincerity touches her... and though it is wholly unnecessary, Illya is moved to speak into the mic once more... and her words causes a surge of renewed energy to flow through him.

“Yes! I believe in you! I’m waiting!”

Illya has never known what the outside of her room looked like... nor the time or space that occupied it. It was never necessary, she’d convinced herself... She was simply content with watching the outside world through the lens of the fate matrix while playing the ultimate puppet master.

She has never smelled the outside air, never seen the light of the sun, never once touched the hands of another... not since she arrived here.

When the door to her room clattered noisily onto the ground, so loudly that she could not chalk it up to being a result of the projection in her headphone, the girl spun around... and stared with wide, bewildered and confused eyes at the boy in front of her - clear without the pixels of the screen obscuring him... clear and oh so very real.

Beads of sweat trickling down his brows from exertion... his usually neat fitting uniform disheveled from strain...

And in his clear blue eyes was the reflection of herself, staring back at her as if they were a window to her future.

“Y-you.... you are....?”

The tool assistant of the fate matrix sends another text, which goes unread and ignored by Alice once again.

You watch over the fate of others. But even you aren’t immune to the hands of fate.

#ffxiv #final fantasxy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #illya skawi #we've come so far #fanfic #mine #lots of cameos and mentions of friends but i'm not gonna list em all out here kek #holy fuck this turned out longer than i expected #and i already had to cut down a lot of this fic!!!#Like... i planned to expand each friend ship into their own dedicated segment but #it got too detailed and bleh

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

Text

in support of Texas relief, @romancewritingandwinchesters donated $20, and requested Sam and Dean waiting out a Texas storm with no electricity. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

When the snow starts coming down, Dean's not yet worried. He's driven the whole country at least five times; he can handle snow. It's when the temperature starts dropping fast that he pulls up, at the closest gas station, and fills the tank, and sends Sam inside for a few gallons of water and whatever food they don't have to cook. "I told you," Sam says, which frankly Dean thinks is a very smug and unattractive way of looking at the situation. "Remember, that front I was telling you about?"

"Yeah, but who thought it'd get this cold in Texas," Dean says, watching the numbers tick up on the pump. Shit, this is gonna be expensive.

"Oh, you know," Sam says, arms folded tight over his chest, stamping his feet by the car's rear door. "Meteorologists. Climatologists. Just that level."

Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam's turned away luckily and can't see it. Turns out Sam gets a little bitchy when it's this cold. They didn't really pack for it—this was supposed to be a low swing south to check a few harmless jobs, stuff that'd take Sam's mind off the whole soulless thing, a couple of easy wins and some weather a little better than February in South Dakota, but it's not working out that way. Fourteen degrees, according to the display on the Shell sign above their heads, and it's only nine at night.

The snow's already piling up, on the parking lot and in the street, making the nice local El Paso people drive under ten miles per hour and making the world seem—not-right. Alien. A cactus planted in the median glints with ice and Dean sucks his teeth, shivers hard. When the car's full up he recaps the tank and sets the nozzle back in place and then looks out at the frosted world. The black shine on the asphalt. "I don't like the look of that road," he says, after a second, and Sam follows his gaze and nods, immediately. "Tonight's not the night to get out of town."

"Texas blizzard on the highway?" Sam says, a little sarcastic, but shakes his head, more serious. "Yeah, it's gonna get a lot worse." His nose is pink from the cold. "Too cold for the car. Even if we still had that—remember, that awful pink blanket?"

"The one you totally ruined?" Dean says, and Sam grins, even if he shudders after. Sam ruined it by getting clawed up by a ghoul when he was twenty-three and trying to protect Dean from something he didn't need protecting from and then bleeding all over the damn blanket when Dean put him in the backseat to race him to the ER. Dumbass, Dean had called him then, but honestly not much has changed. Dean shoves Sam's side, shaking his head. "Why are we standing around here in the cold? Get in the car, let's go."

"You're the one who took forever with the gas," Sam argues back, but he gets in the car, so. Win for Dean. Beyond the win of having this Sam, this right good Sam, in the car in the first place—whole again, with the soul to make a context for the memories that make him Dean's brother.

They're not far off the highway so there'll be motels. The issue hits when they're driving—slow, painfully slow, crawling behind snow-caked Texas plates that don't know how to handle the weather—and the street goes suddenly dark, the lights crashing off in the fast food places and gas stations lining the road. "Shit," Dean says, checking the rearview, but luckily the truck behind him hasn't slammed its brakes and they're not about to be involved in a black-ice skid.

"You think—" Sam says, but cranes around and it's obvious. Some part of the grid, failing, and that's going to mean some panic and it's going to mean some accidents and it's also going to mean finding a place to stay just got a hell of a lot harder.

The kid at the motel they pick clearly has no idea what to do. It's a shithole, which is why Dean pulled in, and clearly there weren't too many customers to begin with. The lobby's dark other than a flashlight the kid's waving around while he explains in a panic that their electricity is out—"I can see that," Dean says, trying to be patient—and Sam finally leans over the counter, takes the flashlight out of the kid's hand, and sets it upright on the counter so it acts like a shitty lantern, filling the room with grey.

"Oh," the kid says, eyes gleaming big in the suddenly stable light. The kid—the boy. He looks barely older than Ben.

"Look," Sam says, while Dean's trying to shake off that thought. "We get that there won't be cable. We just need somewhere to weather it out."

"My register doesn't even work," the boy says, and Dean reaches into his wallet and peels out two hundred bucks and lays it fanned out on the counter. More big eyes—the room rate on the sign outside is forty-nine a night. "Oh," he says, again.

"Just give us keys, okay?" Dean says. "You can explain to your manager in the morning. How these weirdos paid a hundred, cash."

A blink. Maybe he's too young to realize he's being bribed. Sam sighs, and leans over the counter again. "We're taking room 13," he says, coming up with a key in hand. A physical key—Dean was right about the kind of dump this is. The boy opens his mouth and closes it, and Sam jerks his head at Dean before he gives the boy a half-smile, fake as hell. "Try to stay warm in here, okay?"

The Impala's already inch-thick with snow, outside. "Why the hell did that take so long," Sam mutters.

Dean snorts. "Thirteen?" he says, and Sam nods, folding himself back into the passenger seat for the short drive over—"Center room, more insulation," he says—and when they pull around to the odds side of the building he's right. The city's blanketed in dark and weirdly quiet, with the muffling of the snow, so it feels almost like opening up some hidden hunter's cabin as they unlock the room, unpack the car inside. Sam bought jerky, chips, iffy-looking gas station fruit, and Dean still has one lantern and two spare d-cells and a bottle of whiskey that's almost entirely full, and the water, thank god, is still running. "For how long, though," Sam says, so Dean drags a hand over his face and zips his jacket closed and goes down the row of rooms in the freezing dark to the one that's marked PRIVATE, and breaks in to find cleaning supplies that… clearly haven't been used in that long. Buckets, though, that he rinses out and then fills in the utility sink. Spare bedding on shelves above the laundry machine and he picks out two blankets, the shitty supersoft microfleece kind that have always been his favorite.

When he gets back, burdened like a mule, he finds the room—weirdly sort of homey. Sam's got the lantern on the rickety little desk and it's blasting white light up that wall, but he's lit their spare ritual candles, too, and put them on the nightstand, on top of the blank TV, the minifridge crammed up in the corner by the bathroom. It's warm inside, especially once Dean's got the door kicked closed behind him again, but it won't stay that way for long. "Laundry?" Sam says, and at Dean's nod he disappears outside too, and comes back with a pile of the thin towels in his arms, and packs them in against the bottom of the door, the base of the single-pane windows. The water heaters might be gas but they might be electric, too, and with no way of knowing they take turns in the shower, cleaning up fast. The water's still hot when it's Dean's turn and he luxuriates, for a minute that he counts off in his head, letting the weak stream melt over his shoulders and put heat into his bones, where hopefully it'll stay a while.

The bathroom's steamy when he gets out but it's already cooling fast. Not much insulation in the walls. He dries off scrupulously, trying to get off every bit of damp he can, and redresses by candlelight. Smells like beeswax, the hippie natural candles Sam always picks when they restock their kit. His soulless self didn't bother with that. What a weird thing to turn out to miss.

Back in the room, Sam's made a pile of their food on the desk by the lantern, and lined up the buckets of water by the door. Dean checks his watch: ten o'clock, and they're packed into this room like a bunker. Safe, as warm as they can be, clean and healthy and food to hand. Now there is, truly, nothing at all to do but wait.

"Not even wi-fi," Sam says, under his breath like he had the same thought. Dean huffs. Sam's mouth lifts on one side, wry. He sits on the end of one bed, hands folded between his knees, and gives a shrug. "Well. We got a night off."

They did. About time, too, with how they've been running lately. Sam making up for every bad thing his soulless self ever might've done, and Dean just trying to hold onto the bar so he won't fly off. First time in weeks that Dean's had Sam to himself without Sam searching for another job or trying to pin down his own sad timeline or his brain melting out his ear, and he almost doesn't know what to do with it. A bit of silence, between them, that stretches. Dean licks his lips. "Wanna play charades?"

Sam snorts. "You'd cheat," he says, and Dean smiles his most honest smile, and that makes Sam roll his eyes but smile a little, too. "How long do you think we have until it gets really cold?"

Dean tips his head back and forth, thinking. "It's—what, fifty degrees in here?" Sam shrugs. "I don't know. It'll be friggin' cold in the morning, but we won't freeze."

"Guess not," Sam says, but he's still just sitting there. His eyes on Dean, his body quiet. Dean pours them both cups of the whiskey and sits on the other bed, and Sam rotates to face him, and they toast each other with a rasping papery excuse for a clink and take a swallow each, and it sinks down to Dean's gut like fire, welcome with how chilly it is in here, and Sam's just… still looking at him. Like he's something worth looking at. Dean feels his face go warm and wonders if he can blame the whiskey.

"Hey," Sam says, cup held easy between his knees. "Tell me something."

Dean leans back. "What, truth or dare? We're a little old for that, don't you think?"

His legs are kicked out into the space between the beds. Sam shifts and their boots knock together. "Maybe you are," Sam says, and Dean makes a face at him. Sam smiles and takes another sip, watching Dean over the top of his cup, and after the slight pull at the sting he's still smiling, small. "This last year. Did you ever think about…" He shakes his head, looks down at his cup. Dean nudges his ankle to get him to keep going and Sam looks back up, his hair hanging a little in his eyes. "Did you ever want to sleep with—him?"

Dean's lips part but nothing comes out. He's genuinely surprised. Sam's eyes tighten, a tiny shift that's almost not visible in the dim combination of candle-and-lantern light. "No," Dean says, after a pause that's too long. Sam's head tips back, assessing. "No," Dean repeats, firmer. "It wasn't—right."

Sam hmms and Dean takes a drink. Truth or dare, he really ought to do his forfeit. It's not a lie, not really, but it's not—completely true. Robo-Sam never seemed interested and Dean was still half-caught with Lisa and Dean's a lot of things but a cheater's not one of them, and he'd thought—he didn't know. That Sam didn't want it anymore. Whatever fumbling they'd gotten up to, their drunken stupidity, the almost violent way it'd get sometimes, the way Dean would sink his nails into Sam's back and Sam would bite his throat and then the way, after, sometimes, Sam would look at him in the dark and Dean would think, god—

His cheeks are flushed, hot enough to feel in the cool air. "So," Sam says, after the moment's stretched out, "we never—even when I came back—"

"Not exactly trying to make it with my long-lost brother when my creepy resurrected grandpa's breathing down my neck, no," Dean says, and Sam grimaces but then laughs, and then bites his bottom lip. Still looking at Dean and Dean takes a breath, deep, and thinks, jesus. Eighteen months, more, since the last time, most of it with Sam walking around with no soul, and Dean caught up in a relationship that crashed and burned, and it feels—different. They're both different. Happened somehow when Dean wasn't looking but here's the evidence, in how calm Sam is, in how they're just—quiet, here, together. Something building slow, in the cold, with the snow sifting down outside.

Sam lets his lip go, slow, his teeth dragging white. His eyes drop to Dean's mouth, and lower. "I've got lube," he says. Dean blinks. Sam lifts a shoulder, almost apologetic. "Don't know from what, but it's in my duffle. I've been—wondering."

"Jeez, Sammy," Dean says, and has to laugh, too, kind of breathless. It's hot. Jesus, it's hot, hotter than it should be, to just have Sam say it flat out like that. Asking. "What, you want to huddle for warmth?"

Sam raises his eyebrows, glances sidelong at his bed. "I mean," he says, and Dean has to laugh again. "If there were ever an opportunity—"

Dean leans in and gets Sam's jacket in one hand, and pulls. Sam scoots forward easy, his knee sliding up against Dean's inseam, and it's—easy, weirdly easy, easy in a way it never was, to lean in and press his mouth to Sam's and have Sam just—kiss back, pressing Dean's mouth open right away and brushing his tongue over Dean's lip, slick and hot, his breath warm on Dean's cool skin. "Damn," Dean says, soft.

Sam smiles against his mouth and kisses him again, puts his chilly fingertips against Dean's exposed throat. "I mean, we don't have anything else to do, right?" he says, pulling back an inch.

Dean rolls his eyes and says, "You really gotta learn some better lines."

Sam presses in, kisses him again soft on the mouth. God, Sam's mouth. "I don't think I do," Sam says, hanging there, and Dean groans, pushes Sam's face away, thinks: yes. Yes.

He goes to the bathroom. Takes his time. The toilet, thank god, is still flushing, so the water lines haven't yet gone down. He runs the sink and wets a washrag and cleans up, and washes his hands, and then he licks his mouth wet and looks at himself, in the spotty mirror, the candlelight flickery and making his face strange. When he comes out Sam's stripped the bed closer to the door and the other one is spread with that bedding, the blankets Dean stole, and Sam's in the middle of taking off his belt, standing in his socks with his shirt off and his chest bare and his hair a little ruffled, and he looks up at Dean in the bathroom doorway and smiles, and lays his belt on the bare bed, and says, "C'mere," and Dean comes.

Sam's hands are cold and Dean bitches about that, immediately. "Shut up," Sam advises, and Dean says, "Oh, if anyone needs to—" and Sam kisses him, like Dean knew he would, so that's okay. Together they get Dean's jacket off, his flannel, his t-shirt, and he shivers but Sam's hands drag down his arms and that's so warm Dean can hardly stand it. He drags his fingers through Sam's chest hair—hair, when Sam had been so sleek before—and Sam kisses the top of his ear, weirdly affectionate in a way that makes Dean's chest hot—and then his fingers go for Dean's belt, his jeans, and Dean pushes him away an inch, then, taking a second to breathe.

Sam's—christ. Hot. His nipples pebbled up tight and his cheeks a little pink, even in the candlelight. "Gotta get my boots off, man," Dean says, and Sam looks down like he's surprised that an impediment to getting in Dean's pants might exist, and Dean grins, sits back on the bed. Okay, so. Sam's not suddenly a pure sex god. Somehow that's as much of a relief as the breathing room was.

He works at the knot of his laces. Sam takes the opportunity to strip off his jeans, and then there's his bare long legs, his boxer-briefs. His dick's thick in them, obvious, but while Dean's tugging off his second boot Sam skims them off and down and then he's just—naked, nearly all the way except his stupid black socks he always wears, and Dean huffs and says, "Sexy," dry, but then Sam's kneeling down in front of him, sliding his hands up Dean's thighs, and—well. Truth or dare. Dean wouldn't have to take a drink, this time.

The corner of Sam's mouth lifts and he unzips Dean's jeans, and then tucks his fingers into the waistband, and Dean lifts his ass up and lets Sam pull and Sam—takes his time about it, damn him, pulling down Dean's underwear too so the cold air ripples up goosebumps all the way down Dean's legs, freezing. Sam kisses Dean's chest, his nipple—Dean grabs Sam's head, surprised—and then ducks down, kisses the root of his dick and then sucks in the head, soft and warm, slick, so abrupt that Dean slams a hand down onto the edge of the mattress and his head falls back, his hips lifting. Christ, Sammy. A big hand circles around Dean's calf and Sam sucks, soft, while Dean's dick rises so fast he gets dizzy—and then Sam pulls away, the cold air hitting like a hammer, and lifts up with his mouth pinked-wet and says, "Get in bed," and Dean stares at him like a lunatic for a second and then, jesus, scrambles to obey.

He scooches in to the middle. The blankets are ridiculous, double-weight and heavy, but the sheets are chilly even through his socked feet. Sam climbs in after him and pushes right up against his back, his dick swelling up against Dean's ass, his body a hot shock among the cold. "You're a friggin' furnace," Dean says, and Sam snorts, bites soft at Dean's bare shoulder. There's a second of separation—Sam stretching away—and then Sam's back, under the blankets, kisses under Dean's ear, slides his hand over Dean's hip, down. Dean's breath hitches and he slides his leg forward. "Yeah?" Sam says, the idiot, and Dean says, "Duh, bitch," and there's a huff and then a muffled click and then Sam's fingers are slick, sliding up against his ass, pushing in.

Oh—god. It's been—since the last time. Dean turns his face against the pillow and pulls his leg higher, makes room. Sam's fingers, wet-thick, and the strange uncertain feeling of being broken open, how it pulls and worries, his body barely remembering what to do. Long time. Sweat breaks out at his temples, the middle of his back. He drops a hand to his dick and squeezes, letting it know something better's coming.

"You're tight," Sam says. Unnecessarily, in Dean's opinion. "You really, you never—?"

"Some things should be kept between a man and his hour-long showers, Sammy," Dean says, light, and it's not really true but Sam huffs another little laugh and kisses his ear, and Dean pops his leg up instead even though that makes a cool cavern of air under the covers, giving Sam the room to work him. He pushes back, pulls at his dick, works it fat, and against his ass Sam's dick feels full, ready. He always liked this part, the part where he made Dean want it. He turns his head and says, "Sam," and Sam lifts up and kisses him just like he wanted, his chest warm against Dean's shoulder and his fingers spreading deep, pushing the slick inside where they need it, and while he's kissing Dean and relearning every molar Dean feels the fingers slip out, rubbing instead at Dean's hole where it's hot now, wet, flexing. He drags in air through his nose and reaches behind himself, finding Sam fat and heavy. Thick. Jesus, he could never forget how thick.

"Ready?" Sam says and that's a stupid question. Dean tugs the blankets higher with his free hand, covering his shoulder against the cold, snubs Sam up against himself and then lets go, finds Sam's hip, pulls—and Sam takes over, holding Dean's belly as he pushes inside, and Dean tries to contain the flinch but can't and Sam kisses his temple, soft, and his ear, and his neck, and doesn't stop, bulling open that place for himself, splitting Dean wide. His pubes press against Dean's ass. Dean grips the pillow and lets his knee sink down and immediately what's already tight is tighter, closer. Sam grunts against him, slides his hand down to find Dean's half-wilted dick. "You feel—" Sam starts, but he squeezes Dean's dick instead of saying, and Dean's fine with that, he doesn't need compliments when he just needs Sam to—

"Move," he says, and Sam moves.

It's slow, from being on their sides. No real force behind it. Dean knocks Sam's hand away from his dick and Sam squeezes his balls instead, and then slips a hand to the inside of his thigh and keeps him close that way, locking Dean in place to be fucked. He's still tight but he's loosening up, from the thick rocking churn of Sam inside him, buried up to the root half the time, flexing in and making Dean stretch for him, forcing in that deep good ache of being open, slick for it. With the underhand grip on Dean's thigh his thumb slots in right at the base of Dean's dick, a soft dragging pressure every time Sam squeezes, and Dean can hardly think for how good it all feels. For how much he missed it and pretended for so long he wasn't missing it. Sam's other arm is tucked under the pillow, under his head, and he manages to shove the pillow away enough that he gets bare skin and bites there, soft in Sam's bicep, and Sam drags in air through his teeth and pushes in harder, the wet drag enough that Dean shudders, shoulders to hips, and Sam squeezes his thigh so hard that it hurts.

If it weren't so damn cold Dean would want to throw the blankets off—get on his back with Sam between his legs—lift up, ride, to remember the way Sam's eyes went so dark and hot and intense from seeing Dean get off on him. As it is he feels it building slow, the sweat between them starting to get oppressive, his throat a little abraded from the way Sam keeps dragging his teeth over it, his breath hot there where Dean's skin's so wet. He clenches inside, as much as he can when he's split wide like this, and Sam grunts, warm burst of air against the back of his ear. "Fuck," Dean says, squirming back. He presses his knees together and Sam feels even thicker, his hand caught between Dean's thighs. "Fuck, Sammy—"

"God, I want to come," Sam says, and Dean jerks, caught against him, his dick spitting. Sam worms his hand out and cups Dean's nuts, rubs warm at the root of his dick, his lips smearing against Dean's neck. "God, you're—are you close?"

"Out of practice," Dean says, breathily light, like that's even fucking remotely true. "Can't you tell?" Sam's hand pulls up, fisting his dick, and Dean arches as much as he can, shoving down onto Sam, his teeth floating on this feeling. His gut's molten. "Fuck—Sam, if you—"

"I have to," Sam says, thin, and pushes—Dean tips over and Sam slides, god, out, but in a second he's covering Dean's back and Dean's spreading as wide as he can and Sam slots right back inside, hard, and Dean drags in air against the mattress but doesn't really care, doesn't need it. Sam's pumping inside, fast and deep, the jolting drag of it sliding all over exactly where Dean wants him, and Sam's hands slip from Dean's sides to his hip to his shoulders, holding him in place, and Dean worms a hand between the bed and his dick and lets Sam shove him into his own grip, the rhythm perfect, perfect—Sam's mouth hot against the knob of his spine—and Dean comes pulsing into his own hand, his toes curling and his lips spread against the sheet and his whole body locking up, it feels like, tense, unloading—and Sam groans, shoves his hand between them to feel the mess Dean's making, says, "Fuck, you're—fuck, you're so hot, Dean, the hottest I ever—" and gets a hand on Dean's ass and pulls it wider, shoves in harder, for a shocking minute where it almost hurts except that Dean's so floaty and satisfied he'd take a knife in his flesh and wouldn't mind—and when Sam finally comes he presses right up inside and pumps it deep, forcing it in, and Dean sighs against the bed, overheated and wet, and lets go of his own dick enough that he can tangle his fingers with Sam's, slick, crumpled, bone to bone.

Sam's a deadweight on his back. Dean turns his face against the sheet and gets a pocket of slightly cooler air, content to take it. He squeezes Sam's fingers and in response Sam squeezes his hip, and then slowly, slowly, his lips brush the back of Dean's ear, and then Dean's cheek. "Wow," Sam says, quiet, and Dean snorts. A shift, inside, that makes Dean open his eyes wide—oh, he's open now but it feels—and one of Sam's knees slips over to the outside of Dean's, different leverage, as he pushes in again on all the wet he made, and in again, still thick. Dean licks his lips and it's so quiet he can hear the wet noise it makes—match, to when Sam pulls out—a spill, trickling down over Dean's balls—and then the squelch as he pushes back in and makes Dean grip the pillow, makes his nuts pulse in heated shock.

"I could go again right now," Sam says, low against his ear, entirely honest.

Dean has to take a deep breath. "Don't press your luck," he says, raw, and Sam laughs quiet, drags out again—still hard, christ above—and tugs at Dean's shoulder, and turns him over in a messy sheet-tangling pull, and gets them the right way around to kiss, full, open, Dean's hands on Sam's waist and the bed smeary and disgusting, between them.

When Dean pulls away, Sam's got his fingers curled around the back of his ear, his dick warm and full up against Dean's hip. He smiles, looking back at Dean in the barely-light. Dean smiles back, kind of helpless. "We really wrecked this bed," Dean says. Just for something to say.

Sam's shoulder lifts. "Heated it up, though," he says, and, well. He's not wrong.

The candles are still lit, and they'll have to take care of those so they don't burn the damn room down. The lantern, too—they shouldn't waste the batteries. There's a slit in the blankets somewhere, cool air pouring in over Dean's back, and he tugs, and Sam gets it and helps him smooth them out, making a cocoon for the two of them. The discarded lube bottle ends up under Dean's back and he slides it up under the pillow, for hopeful future use. Their socked toes bump together. Sam's nose is cold, where it bumps Dean's cheek, but that's all right. Dean's not in a state to mind.

"It's gonna suck to dig out the car in the morning," Sam says, out of nowhere.

Dean closes his eyes and pulls at Sam's waist, getting him closer. Sam's knee slides between his thighs. "That's what I missed about you, man," he says, drowsy. "You always know what to say to get me hot."

Sam snorts. His knuckles drag over Dean's jaw, safe and warm.

#ffcc #wincest #bedsharing #huddling for warmth #my writing

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hillbillyoracle · 4 years

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Tarot as Representations

So one of the recommended uses I talk briefly about in my zine, tarot in the time of the apocalypse, is to use tarot cards as icons in a parred down travel altar set up. What I didn't get into too much is how to select these cards to use as representations. I wrote the zine originally with a more experienced practitioner in mind and thought that most folks would select a card based on intuition.

Which will totally work. But recently as I was using cards to set up a petition, I realized there was a lot more I could have said there. Some of it

Astrological Representations

So a lot of people know that Tarot has astrological associations. I knew about a lot of these but I've been learning about so many more recently. You can use these associations to create representations of your work with the planets for petitions, prayers, or other workings. If you have decks you don't need, you can us the card as a base to attach paper talesmins to and give them some rigidity while adding to the correspondences (good for if you need to tuck it in a car visor or a book). Really there are so many options for using tarot as representation for astrological concepts.

The classical planets and the 12 zodiac signs are the most agreed upon from what I can tell and they are as follows.

Classical Planets

Moon - the High Priestess

Sun - the Sun

Mercury - the Magician

Venus - the Empress

Mars - the Tower

Jupiter - the Wheel of Fortune

Saturn - the World

The Moon card is traditionally associated with the sign of Pisces but I've swapped these out a few times and not noticed a major difference. I have also substituted Judgement for Saturn when not working with them in an earthly or cthonic capacity and that's worked alright for me. I try to stick to the traditional associations when reading a spread but when picking a representation it seems like it's slightly less important.

Outer Planets

Uranus - the Fool

Neptune - the Hanged One

Pluto - Judgement

These are less agreed upon but what I've found most common. I use them when reading but I will swap them out when picking a representation. I think they work okay for the most part. But truthfully I don't work with the outer planets a whole lot and don't often need a representation of that.

Zodiac Signs

Aries - the Emperor

Taurus - the Hierophant

Gemini - the Lovers

Cancer - the Chariot

Leo - Strength

Virgo - the Hermit

Libra - Justice

Scorpio - Death

Sagittarius - Temperance

Capricorn - the Devil

Aquarius - the Star

Pisces - the Moon

Just as a note, the signs also correspond with parts of the body and can be used to represent requests or petitions in that way too. I have some times used the Emperor (the sign of the head) and the Moon (the feet) to represent that my request is for my whole body. It's too much to fit into this article but it's easy to find on Google and something to add into the language of what you can represent.

Representing Fixed Stars

It's become more popular to work with fixed stars of the Zodiac (Deneb Algredi, Algol, Regulus, etc) and one way I've been using to set up an altar to the ones I work with is to select the tarot card that corresponds to the decan that the fixed star is found in and par it with the Star card.

The decans and card associations are too many to list here but the principle is fairly straight forward. There are 4 elements of the zodiac (Fire, Earth, Air, Water) and they correspond with the four suits of the Tarot (Wands, Pentacles, Swords, Cups; respectively). The Aces embody the elements themselves. Without the Aces, each suit has 9 cards, that are then divided by the three modalities of the Zodiac (Cardinal, Fixed, and Mutable). Each of these modalities has three cards representing the three decans of each sign. Each decan covers 10 degrees of a sign and have associations themselves.

Cardinal signs are at the beginning of each season, so they are equated with the beginning of each suit (2,3,4). Fixed signs are in the middle of each season, so they are equated with the middle of each suit (5,6,7). Mutable signs are at the end of each season, so they are equated with the end of each suit (8,9,10). Using this you can figure out what decan belongs with which sign.

Say you want to represent Algol, who is at 26 degrees Taurus. Taurus is a Fixed (5,6,7) Earth (Pentacles) sign. 26 degrees is between 20-30 and so is in the last decan of Taurus. Meaning the card you'd select would be the 7 of Pentacles.

Sun, Moon, Rising

So on occasion, when I realize I probably won't be using a deck but I want to keep it around, I'll pull a few of the cards and use them as artwork. One way I've done that is by displaying my Sun, Chart Ruler, and Rising Sign using Tarot Cards. I don't have any presently to show as an example but I will get stiff paper, attach cards in a grid, and put it in a cheap frame. Now that I know the decans, I would also include the decans in addition to or replacing the sign cards. I use the World here for Rising Sign because it has felt right to me and at one point incorrectly learned Saturn as being associated with Judgement so I still use that when laying out cards for this kind of artwork.

For instance:

The Sun - The Chariot - 2 of Cups

The World - The Devil - 3 of Pentacles

Judgement - The Star - 3 of Swords

Hell of a combination, I know. The reason I've done Chart Ruler instead of Moon is purely because I have a total solar eclipse in my natal chart so they'd use the same sign and decan cards and this way I don't have to have a second deck.

I'm actually working on turning this layout into a spread/worksheet. More on that in another post though.

Deity Representations

I have used tarot cards as deity representation a lot in my practice, especially with travel altars as I mentioned. But it really could be extended to others as well. This is where there's more intuition and less structure to go off of so what I say here is by no means law. Artwork of the cards themselves will dictate quite a lot.

For the Greek and Roman deities associated with the planets, the choice is pretty easy; the Magician can be a representation of Mercury, the Empress for Aphrodite, etc. For Kemetic deities that were syncretized with Greek and Roman deities, you can also use those correspondences too. I have used the Magician card to stand in for both Hermes and Yinepu for instance.

For other deities, my recommendation is to stick with the court cards as your basis. These already are often read as actual people in a given situation and the artwork in a lot of decks will only include a single person - which is just helpful for me personally when using it as a representation in an altar set up.

However, where you want to call a deity in a specific role, combining a court card and a major arcana can be really powerful. When I use the cards in my work the Morrigan, I always use the Queen of Swords as my base. But if I want to call her in her role as prophetess, I might combine the Queen of Swords and the High Priestess. If I want to call her in her role as battle raven, I might combine the Queen of Swords and the Tower.

If you work with the Elements as entities or as guardian spirits, you can utilize the Aces for their representation as they are the embodiment of the purest qualities of each element. This also works in combination with a Court Card for deities you are calling in connection with their association with an element. Say if I wanted to represent Geb, I might use the King of Pentacles and the Ace of Pentacles.

Ancestor Representation

I have not done a lot of this personally though in the times I have tried it, it has worked pretty well. Court Cards not only refer to people but often have associated ages as well and in a pinch I've used the Court Card associated with the gender and age that someone passed away. I have not used this yet for someone who has passed away that was nonbinary but I would probably default to using the Knight or the Page as they're less gendered, even though they correspond with younger age groups. It's imperfect and I'll write more on this later as it evolves.

The age groups associated with the court cards (as I learned them) are:

Page: young, usually under 35

Knight: someone mid career, age 35 - 50

Queen and King: someone at their height or who has reached old age, 50+

I tend to pick the suit for what they were most known for; were they really emotionally oriented (Cups), did they work really hard (Pentacles), were they especially known for their intellect (Swords), or were they fiery and artistic (Wands)?

If you want to use the cards to honor your dead generally, you can always use a representation of a psychopomp who opens the way for you if that's a part of you practice. You can also just use the Death card, perhaps in combination with the Six of Cups. I am much more likely to do this than represent a specific ancestor but I have needed to on occasion and this is roughly what I used.

Spellwork Representations

This honestly could - and hopefully will - be it's own article or zine at some point but I did want to mention a little bit on using the cards for spellwork on the fly. The main ways I've used them so far is either to petition the spirits of the Major Arcana for assistance or use the pips to specify what I want to happen.

The former is pretty straight forward. I personally have found the Major Arcana to be spirits in of themselves, which makes sense to me coming from a Chaos magic background, and I have petitioned them with offerings like I would any other spirit. The Magician has seemed to be most open to this so far but others are helpful in their own ways.

The latter works the best if you've worked with the cards long enough to understand their concrete meanings. Often beginners will have these very general understandings, that are still accurate by all means, but hard to take action on. If you're at a point in your tarot practice where you can see for instance the 4 of Wands know it's connotations with marriage and contracts or the 9 of Swords associations with bringing on nightmares, then this method should work for you.

Sometimes I'll combine this with a deity representation and lay a pip before it as my petition and then give offerings and burn a candle or incense. Just using them as representations for what I want to happen alone hasn't worked well but using them in combination with something else has. Have someone walk over the 5 of Pentacles or 3 of Swords enough times and there will be consequences. Just as walking under the 6 of Wands or the 10 of Cups will bring blessings.

Conclusion

So I hope this was helpful to someone out there. It's been super helpful for me to just grab my deck and go in so many situations. I can grab it and then scrounge for offerings when I get some place and not feel like I'm without something core to what I need.

And I know there are so many variations on this. This is by no means the be all end all of how you can use them and I do hope to expand on some of them in later writing, but I do think this is a decent springboard to experiment with.

How do you use your tarot deck for representations?

#witchblr #tarot #tarot lesson #witch #tarotblr

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xpeachesncream · 3 years

Text

off the grid | six

summary: it was as simple as swapping places with a stranger from across the world to get away from everything back home. that is - until you meet Jimin. things become more complicated as he unfolds a new chapter in your life that you were initially trying to avoid.

pairing: reader x pjm

genre: post-college au, christmas/holiday au | angst, fluff, smut (to come)

words: 3.7k

chapter warnings: smut chapter! unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, fingering, oral (f. receiving), slight dirty talk, cussing, possible inaccurate depiction of transportation, events and whereabouts in South Korea since i only did my research thru the internet, fluff

notes: will be wrapping this up in the next few chapters!

> series masterlist <

Jimin was going to be busy for majority of the day with his parents, which left you feeling a little sad. But, you knew he had to do what he had to do and he had offered to come by and spend time with you tonight. As you were about to head out and explore on your own with the tips he had given you, a call from an unknown number popped up on your screen.

"Hello?"

"Y/N!" Jungkook's voice came through on the other line. "I hope you don't mind, I asked Jimin for your number not too long ago."

"No, you're good." You chuckled. "What's up?"

"Wanna hang out with me and Tae? We're gonna head to Common Ground."

"Sure!"

"Sick!" He exclaims. "I'll send you our address. Do you think you'll be okay heading over?"

"Yeah, I got it." You responded, remembering Jimin's directions to his place in the event you ever needed anything.

"Okay, just let me know if you get lost and I'll come find you." You chuckled before responding with a simple 'okay' to end the call. You were confident in your memory of the directions, which led you to their place in a matter of minutes. They didn't live too far from Yana, and you remember Jimin saying so since Yana doesn't drive and would simply take public transportation to and from places.

Upon your arrival at their apartment, Taehyung was cleaning up in the kitchen while Jungkook was throwing on a jacket. Jungkook gave you a little tour of their apartment, which was surprisingly clean and smelled of vanilla birchwood. Sooner or later, the three of you were off into town to visit Common Ground, which was considered Korea's first cultural space that was made out of shipping containers. The view and the entirety of it was pretty neat, and you kind of wished Jimin was here, but Jungkook and Taehyung were just as great of travel buddies. They talked a lot about their hometowns and what it was like moving to Seoul, plus how they truly value Korea and it's culture. You were coming to learn what a truly spectacular and beautiful place it was, and it was even more refreshing to hear from the boys themselves how much they loved being from Korea.

After navigating through the crowds and having spent more money on souvenirs and clothes, the three of you decided to eat up and grab some grub. For a minute, you lost Jungkook because he ran into some people he knew, leaving you and Taehyung to eat together.

"This place is neat isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's really cool. Thanks for taking me along." He nodded as his lips poked out while eating his food. You thought it was the most adorable thing.

"You know, Jimin's been really happy since you guys started spending a lot of time together."

"Oh yeah?" You giggled. Yes, Taehyung. Expose him.

"It's actually really nice to see." He chuckled. You knew him and Taehyung had known each other the longest out of their group, but he still held a very tight relationship with Jungkook, Hoseok and Jin. "He's always been the one to take care of people. I just wanna see him happy. He does a lot for the people he cares about."

"I know, he's really the sweetest person I've ever met. He's an angel."

"He was really destroyed over his ex." You continued to listen. "He loved her, a lot. He did everything for her and sacrificed a lot to keep her happy. But she couldn't reciprocate it 100% and that killed him time and time again."

"How long ago was that?"

"About a year ago? Even then, he tried not to have any bad blood with her after she had mistreated him. He has a good heart and mind. He deserves someone good who can take care of him." Your stomach fluttered with the countless butterflies, but most of the happiness you felt, also turned into anxiety. The days were counting down and you wouldn't be here for much longer. "He really, really likes you Y/N."

"I-I do, too. But-" Taehyung looked over at you, concerned. "I'm not going to be here for much longer." You shrugged. "It really sucks."

"Why don't you stay for a little more?"

"Work. My life is back in LA." He nodded. As much as it hurt you to say that, it was true. You wished it was easy to pick up your things and move around the world, but part of you felt silly for even thinking that over a holiday-solo-vacation love story.

"It's gonna be hard, but I honestly don't think Jimin cares. I think he'd make this work with you."

"But is that fair to him? Our time difference and-and, who knows when I'll get to physically see him again? Hearing what he went through.. what if I can't give him what he deserves?"

"I know all of it sounds like a mess and like it would never work, but don't you think you two meant for a reason?" He wasn't trying to be Jimin's right-hand at the moment, he was doing this because he truly could see how the both of you genuinely felt for each other. He hadn't seen Jimin have this glow, this type of genuine happiness to him in a long, long time.

"I don't know, I guess I'm just scared, and I would never want to put Jimin through anything he doesn't deserve."

"I get you." He replies. "But I do hope you know how much he cares about you. Like, I'm really not doing this because he's my bestfriend and all." He laughed. "But because I want to see the both of you happy."

"Thank you." You smiled at him toothlessly, the thoughts now flooding your head. All you wanted to do at this point was run into Jimin's arms and never let go. It would be your new safe haven. All you wanted was Jimin.

The rest of the day with Taehyung and (finally, again) Jungkook was chill, as you grabbed some desserts and played around at a nearby park before heading home to rest. You felt a sudden wave of exhaustion hit you, so you took a quick shower, threw on an oversized tee and shorts before retreating to the bed for a nice, late afternoon nap. You quickly texted Jimin that you'd leave the door unlocked so he could just walk in case you were deadass knocked out and couldn't hear the knocks or phone ringing.

Jimin had been helping his parents do a ton of revamping at their café, while also holding down the fort and doing what he can to help during peak hours. He was exhausted, nonetheless, but was excited to see you. He jetted off to the loft with food from the café to for some dinner, all while chuckling at the text you sent, wondering what the hell Jungkook and Taehyung had put you through today to knock you the hell out.

"Y/N?" He calls out softly. No response. He gently shuts the door and chucks his shoes to the side befofe laying the food out on the kitchen counter. It's peacefully quiet, even as Jimin climbs up the steps to the bedroom area. He smiles to himself as he sees you deep into the duvet covers, sleeping deeply like a baby longing for their afternoon nap. He sits on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing through your hair, thumb softly caressing your cheek. You slowly open your eyes and smile, immediately sitting up to throw your arms around him. He laughs into your hug, pulling you in closer and running his hands down your back.

"Miss me?"

"I did."

"Aw." He chuckled. "Come here." He cups your cheeks and places a kiss on your lips.

"What a nice way to wake up."

"Yeah? What did TaeTae and Kookie do to you today?"

"Nothing, we just walked around Common Ground." He nodded.

"That's it?"

"We may have played around at a nearby park before going home."

"There it is." He laughed. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving, actually." You stretched.

"I brought some food from the café. Mom said I better feed you well." You chuckled.

"She's the sweetest." He had quickly brought you over to the café the other day, his mom and dad being the sweetest, and most loving people you have ever come across. You could immediately tell where Yana and Jimin got their mannerisms from. His mom couldn't stop holding onto you and telling Jimin how pretty you were, almost like she was telepathically communicating with her son and telling him to stop fucking around and get with it. You couldn't help but giggle at the look on her face.

"Come on." He nodded for you to follow him downstairs. He had paninis laid out, freshly toasted, with chips and more dessert. You pushed the coffee table in the living room forward a bit so that you both could sit on the floor and enjoy a good movie while eating the food. He had asked you more about your day and if Taehyung or Jungkookie had talked shit about him while you guys were out. You couldn't help but chuckle, remembering the serious conversation you and Tae had.

"Mm, actually," You finished up your sandwich and quickly washed your hands before heading back to the living room area. "Me and Taehyung had a pretty serious talk."

"About?"

"You, what else?"

"God, what did he say?"

"Nothing." You laughed, seeing his facial expression change.

"You can't say that you had a serious talk then not talk about it."

"Aw, is someone upset?" He pouted.

"Yeah, cause I'd like to know and I thought you cared about me." He dramatically responded. "I see that you don't, since you'd rather keep me hanging on a string like this."

"You're so dramatic, Park." You pinched his side, making him laugh. His laugh was certainly becoming a weakness for you. "He just told me that you've been really happy since we've been spending time together." He nodded.

"I mean, he isn't wrong."

"He also said that you really cared about me." You looked at him blankly, trying to read his expression and body language. He smiled at you, his cheeks getting hot and rosy.

"He also isn't wrong there."

"Taehyung really knows you, then."

"Since high school." He shrugs.

"That's about it, though." You spared him the rest of the details being that you really didn't wanna spoil the evening with such sad and negative thoughts about how your time was coming to an end here. Frankly though, you knew you had to deal with it sooner or later. That talk was coming either way.

"Hm." He says, pushing the coffee table up more towards the tv and throwing a blanket over both of your legs. He silently swung his arm over your shoulder and kept watching the movie on the tv. It was awhile before he broke the silence again with a sigh, his eyes still glued ahead of him. "I really like you, Y/N. I like you a lot. It's a little scary, but you don't know how much you drive me crazy with everything you do."

You held onto his hand that was hanging loosely from your shoulder and looked over at him. "I really like you too." At this point, you feel his eyes on you. They linger from your eyes, down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

"Then will you let me take care of you?" All self-control had gone out the window after seeing the look in his eyes. It was full of passion and lust, but nothing dark. He just wanted to be close to you and make you happy. He cared, and he wanted you to see that.

"Yes." You say breathily as his face edged closer to yours. He cupped your face with his free hand, instantly pressing a kiss onto your lips. The kiss began to deepen quickly, with Jimin tracing your bottom lip with his tongue, asking for entrance. You gladly let him proceed as your hand rests against his jawline. You took the initiative to pull yourself onto his lap and straddle him, your breathing slightly hitching when you feel his hardened member through his grey sweats. Your tongues are beautifully dancing around as he holds you tightly while you grind your hips against his.

"Hey, wait. Are you sure about this?" He pulls away, knowing the moment is intensifying by the minute. "You know I wanna do right by you, Y/N. I don't wanna do anything you aren't comfortable with."

"I'm sure. I want this. I want you." You respond almost at a whisper, your lips slightly grazing his. He simply nods and brings you back with a kiss. You gently palm his member, making him hiss and groan slightly at your touch. You continue to grind your hips onto him, slowly humping him into insanity.

"Fuck Y/N, honestly, you're going to make me cum if you keep moving like that." You chuckled.

"Don't." You plant kisses along his jaw line, watching as he shuts his eyes and tilts his head back. "I'd want you to do it inside me." You whisper in his ear.

"Y-You can't say things like that." He moaned.

"Or what?"

"You're an instigator, you know that? A really cute one." He says as he chuckles and gently lays you back down onto the ground. He whips your shirt and shorts off, quickly unhooking your bra and tossing it aside. His eyes widen at the sight of your exposed breasts. "So fucking pretty." He curses under his breath as he lightly sucks on your neck and around your breasts, before grabbing a nipple in his mouth and toying around with it with his tongue. You grip onto his hair as you slightly arch your back in pleasure. He bites onto his bottom lip before placing a trail of kisses down your stomach and down to your inner thighs before rubbing your covered clit through your soaked panties. He gently presses his lips onto your covered clit, making you yearn for more. "You're so wet."

"J-Jimin." You weakly call out. "Please."

"I got you, baby." He slips down your panties and inserts a digit into your throbbing pussy. You let out a small moan as he pumps his digit in and out of you, before inserting another two, with his thumb circling your clit.

"Ohhhh, fuck!" You squeal as you continue to feel his fingers stretching you out. You feel your wetness dripping out with every pump and covering areas of your inner thighs before Jimin releases his fingers and has you lick them clean. He lets out a small grunt watching your tongue circle and suck onto his fingers. He then latches onto your clit with his mouth. You feel his tongue swipe down your folds, teasing you with an in and out motion. You jut your hips upward but Jimin does a hell of a job preventing you from moving up any higher. You squirm in his grip, feeling your high coming close. "Jimin, fuck! You're gonna make me cum." You see his eyes look up at you, this time, full of lust. He simply nods as he continues to let his tongue suck you dry and explore the insides of you - the sight being enough to tip you over and make you climax. "Jimin!" You yell his name as your body twitches from underneath his grip. He gives your pussy one last lick, causing you to tremble at the sensitivity.

"You're so fucking pretty when you call my name." He says almost at a whisper. "How else can I make you feel good, baby?" He places soft kisses along your neck and jaw. You tug on his pants, causing him to chuckle and toss his shirt and pants off to the side.

"Please."

"Please, what? Use your words, beautiful."

"I want you deep inside of me. I wanna feel you." He bites onto his bottom lip and smirks. You run your hands down his chiseled abs and his V-line, completely in awe of how beautiful this man truly was. He was driving you crazy, everything about him. His eyes, his soft hair, his scent, his body. Good god.

He removes his boxers, making his hardened cock spring out. It was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen - perfectly long and thick, with veins running upward in various places. You pump him a few times, causing him to let out small moans, before placing your thumb on his reddened head to spread the pre-cum around his tip. He lowers his body back down onto you, his member teasing your entrance and gently grazing your folds. He kisses you passionately before you watch him grab his cock and place the head at your entrance. He inches in, lowering his body back down and bringing the blanket over your bodies while watching your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"You okay?"

"Mhm." You let out, your nails already digging onto his back. He kept a steady pace and slowly eased you into it. Your moans became breathy as he picked up the pace, his hands now keeping your legs opened wider for him. "Mmmmff, Jimin." You pleaded. "Just like that."

"Fuck, babygirl. The way you call my name." He quickly tilts his head back before ramming his body into yours as he became a little rough with it. Your thighs were folded up near your stomach as he held it there and continued to thrust in and out of you. With him picking up the pace, you felt yourself about to reach your climax and cum again.

"God, I'm gonna cum." You continued to moan loudly, until you were gripping onto the blankets and your eyes were rolling back once again. He greatly slowed down his pace, letting you ride out your high once more while placing kisses along your breasts and your lips. He wraps his arms around you and brings the blanket over while he sits back against the couch and lets you straddle him once more. The blanket comfortably sits below your waist, your eyes locked with his. He simply smiles at you, tucking a strand behind your ear and caresses your cheek. You gently and slowly ride him as you lean into his hand and place a kiss on his palm. His hands drop down to your waist, gripping onto them as you kept a steady pace while resting your hands on the couch behind him. You pick up your pace as you watch him squirm underneath you. He begins to call out your name, his hisses and groans accompanying the sound of your wet pussy riding him into the sunset.

"Y/N, fuck. Y-You're gonna make me cum." He tilted his head back, his hands losing grip around your hips as you rode his cock faster. "L-like that." He stutters. "Ugh, god." He hisses. You can tell he's about to let go with the way he's holding back his moans.

"J-Jimin, hmmmmph." You tilt your head back as you feel yourself about to cum for the third time tonight. "Please cum with me." You plead as your moans get louder.

"Oh shit, I'm gonna cum." He spits out as his fingers deep into your hips. You feel him fill you up completely as you ride out the rest of your high, Jimin's head now resting against your chest as you hold him close. You both stay in the position for awhile to catch your breath. After a moment, he looks up to meet your eyes and smiles, kissing you on the lips before helping you off his lap. He helps clean you up a bit before cleaning himself up and throwing his shirt and sweats back on. You fix the blanket onto the floor and drag some pillows down from the couch so you could lay on your stomach somewhat comfortably on the floor.

"You don't wanna get up to the bed?" Jimin laughed as he kneeled and rubbed your back.

"No, I'm too comfortable now."

"That good, huh?"

"Shut up, Jimin. Leave me alone." He laughed louder.

"I'll go grab another blanket." He says, going into the storage closet to grab another thick blanket to drape over your bodies. He lays next to you, his back resting against the couch as he propped his elbow up and rested his head on his hand. He continued to rub your back as you both looked over at the TV, the movie now nearing the end.

"I have to rewind the movie." You pouted, making Jimin chuckle.

"Go ahead." He watched as you flipped the remote up and brought the movie back to the last place you remembered seeing. You sunk your body into Jimin's, his lips lightly pressing on your head. Not even 5 minutes back into the movie, you felt your eyes getting heavy.

"Ah, I'm getting so sleepy though."

"You took a nap earlier. What do you mean?"

"I worked out a lot today." He laughed and lightly tickled you, making you hit his hand away.

"I see that. Go to sleep."

"Are you going to stay?" You mumbled.

"Only if you want me to."

"Of course I do." He smiled. "But what are you going to do?"

"Watch anime or whatever is on Netflix. Don't worry about me."

"Mmkay."

"Goodnight, baby." He whispers in your ear before kissing your cheek. The word baby made the butterflies come back (and the pussy throb, yet again, but you shoved that in the back of your mind because you definitely didn't have energy to go another round, as much as you wanted to).

Jimin watches as you quickly fall asleep, smiling to himself while he continues to play with your hair. He was happy. So happy. More than he's ever felt before and he wasn't sure how you were doing it. He was caught in your spell and he didn't even see it coming. You had him so undone. All he wanted to do was make this work with you and he was willing to, more than you knew. He didn't care about the time difference, he didn't care about your life being back in LA, he just didn't care about anything you've worried about because he believed you were worth it and he was going to put in this effort. You could figure everything else out later, but he just wanted this to be.

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Alexa, play: Vibez x Zayn

#bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fanfiction #jimin #park jimin #pjm series #pjm x reader #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #jimin smut #bts smut #park jimin smut #off the grid #otg #writing

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