is he yawning

Bangtang Kisses: Suga

Just you and your bangtang boyfriend kissing

Warnings: Fluff fluff fluff and smut smut smut. It’s the best of both worlds


After a nap:

“Yoongi…?” you mumbled, as you woke from your long slumber. You felt your boyfriends weight on top of you. Your legs were curled around his waist and his head rested on your chest. “Yoongi…” you whispered his name once more as you ran your fingers through his soft, black hair. 

“…What..” he grumbled- half awake, half still asleep. 

“I’m hungry, get off,” you said, poking his cheek. 

“I don’t care,” 

“Please?” you whined, continuing to poke his cheek until he caved. 

“Fine…” he yawned and looked up to face you with a semi-annoyed face. “But only after I get a kiss,” he pouted, and you obliged, leaning down to give him a quick but warm peck on the lips. 

Before leaving to go on a long tour:

“I’ll be back in a few weeks,” he said hurriedly as he looked around for his keys. 

“I know, I know,” you sighed, dangling his keys in your hand.

“Why so sad?” he chuckled as he walked towards you. “I’ve been gone before,” he took the keys from you, placing them in his jacket pocket. “I’ll be back before you know it,” 

“I know…” you pursed your lips. You weren’t angry or anything, you just never got used to the feeling of him leaving. 

“Y/n,” he touched his forehead to yours and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I’m going to miss you,” he smiled, then leaned in to give you a deep, long kiss. His hands wandered down your sides and he rested them on your ass, squeezing your cheeks softly. You let out a moan as he continued to kiss you, tease you with with his lips.

“Yoongi…” you gasped as he bit your bottom lip. You ran your hands down his chest and towards his pelvis, fingers hooking onto the belt loops of his jeans.

“Don’t do that, baby,” he warned against your lips, but you didn’t listen and tugged on his pants, pulling him towards you, pressing his hard member onto you.

“Ahh, shit, y/n,“ he groaned into your ear, causing you to shudder in pleasure. “I think I might have to fuck you good before I go.“ 

Originally posted by bangtanbtsmut

anonymous asked:

Word: eyes 😊

Yuuri jolted a little too, sitting up in surprise and blinking at Viktor sleepily, rubbing his eyes to clear them and yawning as he did so.

@yoko2634 said that Elden needed a rest, so here’s Dorian making him take a break and go to bed already

Elden wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there. The moon was high up in the sky now, sending silvery light in through the windows and over the paperwork Elden had spread out on the bed before him. He could feel exhaustion pulling at him, his eyes burning with strain, but he stifled a yawn and just tried to refocus on the document in his hand. Dorian, who was sitting behind him, legs splayed on either side of Elden, reached around and took the document from him, setting it aside.

“You work too hard, amatus,” Dorian whispered into his ear.

Elden couldn’t help but melt into him as he felt lips press to the back of his shoulder. Dorian’s fingers caressed his neck, brushing upward until he cupped his jaw, urging Elden to tip his head back until he was leaning against Dorian, head resting on his shoulder, feeling more kisses along his neck.

“Getting bored?” Elden asked, eyes falling closed with a content sigh. Dorian chuckled and he could feel it vibrating pleasantly where his back was pressed to his chest.

“It’s late,” Dorian said. “Even I get tired every once in awhile. Let’s go to sleep.”

Elden seriously doubted it was his own health he was worried about. Still, as Dorian’s arms wrapped around his waist, Elden couldn’t bring himself to object. He really was tired, worn out from the endless tasks always waiting for his attention, and being here, so warm and secure in Dorian’s arms, he felt more relaxed than he had in days. Elden brought a hand up, threading his fingers through Dorian’s hair.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, stifling another yawn. “For being here.”

“Of course, amatus,” Dorian replied, lips pressed against his temple. They readjusted slightly, both of them getting comfortable, but Dorian still held him tightly, like he planned to never let go.  He wasn’t sure, but Elden thought he might have slipped off into sleep to a whispered, “Anything for you.”

Misguided Missile

Warning: Canon-typical violence

Ao3 LinkHere


When Midoriya Izuku wakes up at two o’clock in the morning to the sound of tapping against the window in his new dorm, quite a few reasonable explanations cross his mind. Perhaps it’s a branch of the tree outside, or maybe a bird who was directionally challenged and simply trying to make it back to its nest.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Will rolls over onto his stomach, his blonde hair falling over his face. Nico waits a little longer before looking back at Gerald. "I wish you could talk. Then you could tell me good stories about Will as a child." He smiles at the idea of a small Will. Gerald smiles back. Nico kisses the top of Gerald's head. He wonders if he could borrow Gerald until he gets a dog. Nico hugs Gerald to his chest as he yawns. He's getting sleepy again. "Stay with me Gerald?" Gerald nods, and Nico smiles, yawning

He fell asleep again without much fanfare, his eyes slipping shut as Will held Nico tighter. It wasn’t long before Nico was fast asleep, clutching Gerald like a life line. When Nico woke up again, it was to Will rolling on top of him. Nico let out a dignified squeak as Will crushed his good arm. Poor Gerald was stuck under Nico’s shoulder underneath Will. He tried to push Will off of him, but spending so long in the hospital and so long on best rest, Nico had lost a lot of his muscle mass. Instead, Nico had to resort to poking Will in hopes of waking him up. “Will!” Nico shouted around a cough, Will had rolled onto Nico’s chest. “Will! Get off me!” He tried pushing Will again without much luck.

anonymous asked:

May we pretty please have ithnan comforting a s/o who is deathly afraid of thunderstorms? Loving the blog, the alma torran family needs more love! :D


A young green haired magician yawned, as he made his way to the sleeping quarters as a loud crack of thunder echoed outside. Due to the rapid thunderstorm outside, missions to raid towers had been put on hold until the weather cleared. 

Unfortunately for him, he had been woken up in early dawn by Arba and dragged to the training grounds. The brunette magician had been intent in preventing them from slacking off and keeping them in shape as well as strengthening their magic. He really didn’t quite understand this—as they were magicians after all, but he decided against complaining, he didn’t want to put up with Arba’s nagging anyways.

He had been at it all day, with very little breaks in between to where he wasn’t even able to spend time with his s/o. He was dead tired, he just wanted to take a nice hot shower and just fall straight into bed, no disturbances.

A loud crack of thunder strikes again as he entered his room. It was then he noticed a lump on his bed. Covered with layers of blankets, shaking and small whimpers escaping the form.

He knew what voice anywhere.

“[Y/N]?” He asked, slowly edging towards the bed.  A bit of shuffling around and a head popped out the pile of blankets, fearful [E/C] eyes growing wide at the sight of him.

“Ithnan!” His s/o cried, crawling from the pile and towards the edge of the bed near him. They threw their arms around his shoulders in a hug, pecking him quickly on the lips. “You’ve been gone all day, I was starting to get worried. I was gonna come looking for you but—“ a loud boom of thunder along with the harder downpour of rain echoed again, and [Y/N] let out a high pitched shriek, losing her grip on Ithnan as they fell back. Their happy demeanor gone as they scrambled back to the far corner of the bed against the wall, burying themselves in the blankets.

Ithnan quirked an eyebrow in confusion at his s/o’s behavior. They seemed just fine a few seconds ago. He crawled onto the bed, slowly edging towards their trembling form. Whimpers escaped their throat as they looked at him through the blankets with teary eyes. He felt a pang in his chest, concern flooding him.

“[Y/N]…” he spoke softly, placing his hands on the blankets and slowly peeled them away from their head so he could see their face more clearly. “Are you okay?”

Sniffling, they gave a shook of their head. “I-I just really don’t like thunderstorms.” Another crack and they squealed, curling in a ball. 

It was then he moved the blankets aside so he could get closer, wrapping his arms around their frame and pulled them to his form, reaching for the blankets to cover their form. “It’s okay, [Y/N]. You don’t have to be afraid…” he laid back against the soft pillows, bringing them down to rest on his chest. He rubbed their back in small circular motions, and ran his other hand through their hair in a soothing manner. The tremors of their body grew weak as they felt themselves slowly falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. All thoughts and fears of the storm outside gone, as they fell asleep in the soothing warmth of his arms.

anonymous asked:

What's your take on the world ending for the Greek Gods? Or when they cease to be relevant to mankind, and what happens to them? Would Athena, Aphrodite and Artemis take the streets and march for Pride? Would Demeter be the manager at a zoo?

Time passes. The world changes. Temples fall. People now speak their names as if they are fairytales.

The gods are dead.


Apollo’s chariot lies broken and forgotten in the ruins of a city no one knows the name of anymore. He watches the sun crawl across the sky of its own volition, without him to push it forward.

“Do you miss it?” Artemis asks him, appearing by his side.  They stand at the top of a sparkling glass building, almost the same as ever. She walks among the mortals more than he does, she always has, and She’s dressed like one of them. Tight clothes and half her head shaved, sparkling gems curling up the delicate shell of her ear. She looks like one of the teenagers that fill his concert stadiums.

He thinks of the way his chariot threatened to escape his grasp every morning, the oppressive heat of the sun beating down on him, the burns and the undercurrent of fear that one day he would lose his grip on the reins and plunge the world into darkness.

Apollo leans his head on his sister’s shoulder. The sun rises slower without him, but it rises just the same. “No. Not really.”


Hephaestus’s workshop has evolved with the times – from a volcano base to a modern lab, but always a workshop bursting with creation. The cyclopes are still his best assistants.

Aphrodite steps over discarded parts and expertly walks around frantic cyclopes carrying bubbling concoctions. Her dark hair is swept up in a bun and she wears chunky glasses and a blood red pantsuit that almost hides the fact she’s the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. “I have a client, try not to blow up the house. Again.”

“Yes dear,” he says, but doesn’t looks away from his soldering. She hadn’t expected him too. His prosthetics are off and on the floor besides him, and he’s seated on a too-tall chair to compensate for the loss of height.

She reaches out and carefully touches the corner of his eye. Crow’s feet have started to work their way onto his face. They’re getting old. “It’s the couple that’s fighting because he wants kids and she doesn’t want to carry any kids but doesn’t want to say that. It would probably be easier if I just told them to adopt and threw them out the window.”

“Yes dear,” he repeats, sparks flying. A few land on her, but she doesn’t burn. Of course.

She moves her hand up and pushes it through his hair and resists the urge to pull him from his work and abandon her own so they can make out on his worktable. “I love you.”

Aphrodite turns to leave, but Hephaestus grabs her wrist and pulls her back. He holds up a single copper lily, the edges of the petals still glowing with heat it had taken to shape them. He carefully slides the stem into her hair so it sits at the base of her bun. He grazes her bottom lip with his thumb as he pulls his hand back to his side. “Yes dear.”


Demeter rages.

She makes imprudent deals to control an earth that no longer falls under her domain, and she enacts her revenge against the mortals in whatever way she can. They have forgotten her, forgotten the earth, and in their ignorance they seek to destroy it.

She shakes the bedrock and splits it open, but still they do not learn, and as the temperature of the earth rises so does her temper.

The sea is not hers to command, her power is of earth and of earth alone, and even now she gave more than could afford to lose to keep her grasp on it. But these mortals do not learn.

Demeter goes to the sea and makes an inadvisable bargain. She goes to the crumbling remains of Olympus and makes an even worse one.

Typhoons and hurricanes whip across the land. If they seek to destroy her, she will simply destroy them first.


Hera sits on a pure white couch in an elegant mansion, smiling for the journalist seated across from her.

“What do you think is the most influential decision you ever made?” he asks, “If you could pinpoint the success of your business to one moment, what would it be?”

She tilts her head as the light of the camera flashes. “Why, divorcing my husband, of course.”

“Would that be your advice to young women hoping to be as successful as you?” he asks, “To not get married?”

Hera thinks of thousands of years by Zeus’s side, and how little it got her. She thinks of Hestia’s men, and Artemis’s women, of Hephaestus’s love for Aphrodite, of the way Hades softened the sharpest of Persephone’s edges.

She says, “Do not get married to someone who makes you less than you are. If you are not a better person for being together than apart, then do not be together. It’s as simple as that.”

Simple, but not easy.

Leaving Zeus was the hardest thing she’s ever done.


Persephone isn’t forced to spend half the year on the mortal earth anymore. She goes when she pleases, which isn’t often.

Sometimes she’ll sit by Artemis’s side while she brings a new life into the world and holds the warm, wriggly child first. She visits hospitals and makes the flowers bloom out of season, and spends long hours sitting under the sun and feeling it’s warmth touch her face.

Hades left his realm rarely before, and even more rarely now. More people are being born than ever, meaning more people are dying than ever. Their realm is massive, comprising of all the dead of several millennia. Hades and Hecate spend their days as always – desperately trying to expand the realm so that they don’t all have to live on top of each other.

“Have you heard?” she asks one day, seated on his desk and leaning across it so he can’t work on the latest draft for another level of their realm. “The gods are dead.”

He gives up on attempting to tug it out from underneath her. “Are they? That’s odd, none of them are here.”

Persephone doesn’t bother to hide her smile. They haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe they never will. But when death comes for them, as death does for all, it will be to Hades and Persephone’s door they are brought. Hades himself will usher Gaia and Amphitrite into the underworld, when the time comes.

That time is not today.

“Darling, I really do need to work on this,” he ineffectually tugs on the map again.

She pushes him back into the chair, climbing on top of him and pressing their foreheads together. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” he agrees, and obligingly moves his head so Persephone can nibble at his neck. He manages a whole thirty seconds before going, “I mean, I really do, Hecate said if I didn’t have a plan by the time she leaves for the mortal realm tomorrow, I’ll either have to wait until she gets back or do it by myself, and I’d really prefer to do neither–”

Persephone kisses him to shut him up, twisting and pushing them through the realm so they land on their bed. “I’ll help you finish it later. Focus on me now.”

Hades doesn’t answer, but he does flip them so he’s above her and reaches below her skirt, so she’ll take that as agreement.


Hestia sits around a bonfire, watching a group of teenagers get drunk and dance around the flames. They’ll never be younger than right now, never feel as much love for each other as they do right now.

She is besides an old man who warms his hands from the fire coming from an abandoned trash can.

She lies on a bed as a girl lights two dozen candles around it as a surprise for when her lover gets home.

She watches a young man make dinner for his boyfriend for the first time and burn the chicken on both sides. They eat it together anyway.

She sits on the kitchen counter when a sister takes out a pie from the oven, made special for her little brother’s birthday.

She is there when a father ticks the thermostat up high in freezing dawn of morning so it will be warm by the time his wife and children awaken.

Most people don’t have hearths anymore. But there is warmth, and love, and for Hestia that is enough.


As their names fade from existence, as his name is called less and less on the battlefields of mortal men, the more Ares sleeps.

He falls asleep in too tall trees and on park benches. He sleeps in seedy motel rooms and naps in every one of Athena’s libraries. He sleeps curled up on a chair in Aphrodite’s office, and on the floors of a lot of veteran resource centers. As fast as he can tell, that’s the most they help any veteran.

Still, his favorite place to sleep is the underworld.

He goes knocking on Orpheus’s door, who is always willing to play for him. “Hades is here,” Eurydice says, “Would you like to me to go get him?”

He shakes his head, “Persephone is home. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Eurydice and Orpheus share the same look of faint disapproval, but neither of the say anything, for which he is grateful.

He lies in the soft grass of the garden Persephone made, and lets Orpheus’s playing lull him to sleep.

Later, he’s woken by strong arms picking him up and holding him against a familiar chest. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know who’s holding him. “I can go,” he yawns, his actions at odds with his words as he pulls himself even closer the warmth coming off the king of the underworld.

“No,” Hades says. “Stay.”

Ares lets out a content sigh as Hades presses his lips to his forehead, and he’s not great about touch, about people laying their hands on him and getting in his space. But Hades has always felt safe, felt like home.

He stays.


The gods are dead.

Long live the gods.

gods and monster series, part xiv

read more of the gods and monsters series here