#And yet the fandom is a bit too eager to see her as the only toxic yuri element in the ShioJuri dynamic.

[cafeleningrad]

Okay, it's funny because when working out that yeah Shiori does feel inferior to Juri, and might not be aware that her attraction to her is lesbian love, she still is the one who tries the mature thing of communicating, apologizing, asking what went wrong between her and Juri, hoping that they could sort their relationship out. My girl tried the mature proper thing and ran straight into a concrete wall. Like, I never want to read jokes of Shiori being the Lana del Rey girl again.

If nothing else, it's Juri's making up a Shiori that does not exist. Juri prefers the feeling of being tragically in love, and understanding love as anguish rather than interacting with the actual Shiori. Juri banished herself into melancholia, and a rigid understanding of the world, considering herself to be doomed for tragedy. If nothing else, Juri is the Lana del Rey girl.

[maple-the-awesome]

The Chain Meets Your Baby || 1/2

Part 2 ||

Pairing: Hyrule, Time, Wild, Four x Reader

Requested by @kieradumpzz081927: I hope your request are open(or if ur free for requests), so i saw ur LU oneshots about the one that is called ' He becames a dad ' or smth. So, why not that he would introduce his kid(s) to the chain? That ones going to be interesting Interesting indeed 😈Now, I have my own set of headcannons for what order the Chain becomes dads in, but regardless of their own experience, I'm sure the Links would all subject the new dad to lots of support and teasing. Here you go 💜 Warning: Some mature jokes here and there. Nothing major, but gotta give the new dad a little hell, right? ¯_(ツ)_/¯

Zelda Masterlist 🤍Fandom Masterlist

The last thing Hyrule was expecting to encounter during his village visit was his old traveling companions, the other heroes of courage. Then again, life has been full of surprises lately and it wasn't like he didn't already know that the portals between their worlds are still active. It was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again and honestly, it couldn't have aligned more perfectly.

Happy to see the rest of the Chain again, Hyrule takes the liberty of inviting them back to his home so that they can properly catch up and not be the subject of so many judgment stares from villagers. Throughout the short trip there, the group’s laughter is vibrant as they detail accounts from their recent adventures, soon turning it into a friendly competition of who has the craziest stories. 

This conversation stays well alive all the way from their first steps outside of the village gates to the second Hyrule opens the door to his house, at which point the spirited teasing immediately dies off into a stunned silence.

“Oh! Hello again!” You’re just as pleasantly surprised to see the boys as your boyfriend had been, your smile more than welcoming as you turn around to greet them, yet they’re less focused on you and more so on the small infant you cradle in your arms.

“...I think the Traveler wins,” Wild mumbles, his disbelief shared amongst the rest of the group who merely nod distractedly. 

“Right! I forgot to mention -” Hyrule excitedly hurries to your side before turning to his friends with a thrilled smile, “- This is our daughter, Hope.”

“You just casually forgot to mention you have a kid now…?” Legend narrows his eyes while pointing to the kid in question. He should probably be more annoyed with Hyrule’s tendency of always skipping over important details, but honestly he’s just too shocked to process it right this second.

“Well, she’s only about a month old. Being a dad now takes some getting used to,” Hyrule defends, rubbing the back of his neck timidly, but when you pass your daughter over to him, he shows practice in the way he gently holds her securely to himself before approaching the boys to properly show her off.

Despite their surprise, they’re eager to crowd around him, each wanting to get a good look to ensure this isn’t some clever joke you’re both pulling on them. Fluffy head of dark wavy hair…A little button nose…Sharp pointed ears…Yep, this baby must be yours. She looks exactly as one would imagine the product of Hyrule’s sex life to look like…

“...Geeze. She’s adorable,” Warrior awes, practically leaning over Legend who elbows him back with a glare.

“Isn’t she?” You preen.

“She’s strong, too,” The Vet acknowledges with an unamused pout. He had made the mistake of holding a finger out to the baby only for her to grasp it in an unwavering grip. His attempts at pulling away are fruitless, not that he’s actually trying that hard. Maybe he even likes the feeling of his heart melting just a bit.

“Congratulations. You two must be very proud,” Time praises kindly, having already felt the joy that comes with being a parent himself. He can recognize it in the way Hyrule and you affectionately watch your giggling baby with a pleasant glow surrounding you both.

“We very much are…”

Muffled commotion outside alerts you to the fact that you have visitors long before they stumble into your home, not even bothering to knock as their excitement gets the better of them. Now, any other day, your husband would be quick to scold such ill-mannered behavior, but fortunately for your guests, he's in far too good of a mood to let it be soured.

So, instead of acknowledging the Chain’s less than graceful entrance, Time immediately rises to his feet with a proud hand left upon your shoulder, "Everyone, we'd like you to meet Saria and Mallory."

The young heroes are in awe as they crowd around the bed just to get a look at the small bundles held within your arms. Sure, they've seen babies before, but these are Time's babies. For many of them, the complicated concept of love alone had once seemed out of reach for any hero of courage, yet here the Old Man is, hitched to a lovely wife and now the lucky father of two adorable daughters. It's an amazing accomplishment, really; one that has the entire Chain feeling happy for him.

"They're so little," Hyrule whispers, scared to speak any louder out of fear he'll accidently wake them.

"They inherited their dad's nose, poor things," Warrior jests, throwing a smirk Time's way.

"They'll grow into them," Rather than take it personally, he chuckles while carefully taking one of the girls from you. Despite having only become a father a few hours ago, he's already a natural at handling them. Ever so gently - as if handling the thinnest of glass - he cradles his daughter to his chest and fixes the tiny hand-sewn blanket around her; a gift from her godmother, Malon, of course.

"You'll have your hands full with twins," Four remarks prudently.

You sigh at the thought, your head thrown back against your pillow, "Ugh, we know…”

Although you’re visibly tired after having undergone hours of stressful labor, you still look upon the baby in your arms with nothing short of pure admiration, clearly having no actual regrets towards having either of them. In your eyes, twins just mean all the more love to give.

"Nothing we can't handle," Time promises before getting a mischievous glimmer in his eye while casually extending his sleeping baby out to Twilight, "This one is Mallory, by the way -"

"- W-Wait -!" The Rancher is immediately caught off guard by it, yet his objections are ignored. Time drops the baby into his arms anyway, practically forcing Twilight to take her, not that he truly minds. A natural around children himself, it takes him only a few seconds to adjust the baby comfortably in his hold.

Blind to the other boys who hover around his shoulders, Twilight's eyes are locked in amazement upon the tiny bean who scrunches her nose and whimpers quietly before soon settling down…To think, this small infant no more than a few hours old is a relative of his. He can't help but wonder how closely related they are. How many generations between them? Three? Two? Maybe even just one? It's a strange thought to consider...but also a very comforting one, too.

"...She's a real beauty, isn't she?" Time asks softly with a strong pat to Twilight's back. The only reply he gets is a wordless nod and whimper as the teary eyed Rancher sniffles.

What kind of horrors do they need to prepare themselves for? That's the question that rings through every hero's head as they approach Wild's home. They're concern only grows when - as if sensing them - the Champion suddenly appears in his open doorway with an ear-to-ear grin greeting them...Not the most comforting sight seeing as they've come all this way under his vague request.

A letter had been sent to each of them only giving the minor hint that there’s a certain 'surprise' he can't wait to show them, and with someone as chaotic as their accident prone centenarian, the Chain has every right to be anxious about it.

Even as they all crowd outside of his home, Wild refuses to add any context, instead maintaining his mysteriously upbeat aura before finally stepping aside to allow them in. It's only then that the heroes realize what his 'surprise' is, welcomed by the sight of you as you stand there matching Wild's grin while holding an unfamiliar baby in your arms. She can't be much older than a few weeks, judging on both her tiny features and the obvious bags under both of her parents’ eyes...

"You have a baby?!" Wind screeches with delight, not wasting a second to race to your side.

"Her name is Mikan," Chuckling, you kneel down to let him better see your pride and joy. It isn't long before you're surrounded by most of the heroes who are immediately taken by your daughter's cuteness.

"When did this happen?" Time inquires through a raised eyebrow, one of the few Links who had remained by the door with Wild.

"Uh, she'll be three weeks old tomorrow," Wild answers, his hand darting up to rub the side of his neck. He knows that isn’t exactly what Time meant, but it’s the easiest answer.

"I didn't think you -..." Begins Twilight quietly. Although he ultimately cuts himself short, the curious look he gives his successor wordless finishes what he might've said.

Nodding slowly with some hesitation, Wild bows his head while looking back over to you. There's a fondness in his eyes as he watches you carefully pass your daughter over for Wind to hold, "I know what I said before. I...I didn't think this was something I could have - something I could want this badly, but...Well…I probably don’t need to tell you how it is…”

Twilight pats Wild’s back with a knowing smirk, indeed understanding. He’s happy to see his friend finally accept the peaceful life he deserves instead of continuing to run away from it, after all, Twilight has never been blind to the curiosity and faint jealousy that would shine in Wild’s eyes whenever listening to the other heroes talk about their families. He’s been long overdue to have one of his own.

"Hey, just one question," While Wind is busy cooing and rocking your daughter, Four turns around to address Wild once they finally join everyone else, "Did you really name your daughter after a fruit?"

Wild's cheeks flare in embarrassment, "I - It can be a pretty name, too!"

"I'm actually the one who chose it," You confess sheepishly, taking the attention away from your partner, "I was really craving tangerines throughout the whole pregnancy."

"At least it's a somewhat normal name. I was half expecting you to name your future kids something like 'Biscuit' or 'Curry'," Legend snorts.

"...We did consider picking 'Sage'.”

Warrior laughs heartily before throwing a hand over Wild shoulder with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, "Can we expect that to be the second child's name then?"

"Woah, woah, woah - Let's settle down now, gentleman,” You immediately scold while also taking the chance to save your poor partner by pulling him away from the onslaught of teasing he was about to endure, “One baby at a time. It’s not easy carrying those things, just ask your wives!”

Four has been off into his own little world - That is to say, he’s been both distracted and extremely tired; a terrible mix, but hey, it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. Despite his eyelids feeling like bricks, he remains awake and alert, arms folded across his chest as he sits in the bedside chair keeping watch over your sleeping form. 

You need the rest more than him anyway. Your husband has been through some pretty fearsome and ravenous beasts in his time, yet your work last night easily trumpeted every hell he’s undergone himself. Best to let you sleep unless he wants to change that statement.

A series of echoed knocks send Four bolting through the house, hissing a curse under his breath before tossing the front door open with plans to scold whoever’s on the other side, yet he’s stunned into silence when he realizes it’s no poorly timed mailman, rather the very friends he had invited over…although, they did come a lot sooner than he thought they would…

“WE’VE COME TO SEE -!”

“- SHHH!!!” Four nearly smacks a hand over Wild’s face. 

“- …The baby…” Wild finishes with a whisper and a grimace.

Four quickly ushers the Chain inside, allowing them to make themselves comfortable with STRICT orders to keep the noise level down. Yes, their early visit may not have been exactly anticipated, but Four holds no ill feelings towards it, in fact, he’s rather smiley while leading them to the nursery.

“Here they are,” He practically sings, eagerly looking inside the large crib as if he, himself, still can’t get enough of its contents. He has every right to be infatuated, “These are my girls~”

Although Four is bubbling with joy as he admires his little creations, the rest of the Chain stands by with wide eyes. Some even take the time to count each baby just to confirm that they are, indeed, seeing triple. Inside lies three little newborns, each fast asleep after having about as stressful of a day as their parents.

“We’re thinking of naming them Marigold, Amber, and Camelia. You know, keep to the color theme and all…”

“Damn, three of them, huh? You didn’t hold back at all, did you, Smithy?” Warrior observes aloud, much to Four’s instant lack of amusement.

“They’re so cute~” Wind coos, Twilight having to pull him back before he accidentally falls into a crib again.

“I suppose it’s a good thing I brought some of the twins’ old stuff then,” Time hums, his smirk holding a hint of sympathy. Needless to say, he doesn’t miss those early days of juggling babies himself, as much as he loves them dearly.

Four preens at the attention his daughters get, however his smile falters when he notices Sky sticking to the very back of the group, awkwardly rubbing his arm and chewing down on his lip. Four frowns.

“...I’m sorry. We should’ve waited until we told -” He keeps his voice down as he joins the older hero who is quick to shake his head and muster his best smile.

“- No, no. We’re happy for you both. Really…” Despite the sorrow stuck in his voice, Four can tell Sky means every word of it, even the sighed: “...You’re a very lucky guy.”

“...I am,” While there could be more said, he realizes now might not be the time to discuss it. Not with so many new babies in the room.

“No wonder you wanted us to be quiet. I can barely handle one newborn at a time, let alone three at once?” Legend mumbles half to himself, his finger gently cresting one of the baby’s chubby cheeks.

“You know, if you ever find your house getting a little too quiet, you can always babysit -”

“- No way in hell. We already have our hands full as it is.”

[demonicbaby666]

"Are you listening?"

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut 

Words: 3.4k+

Warnings: SMUT (R & E receiving), swearing, top!Emily, bottom/switch!reader, fingering, oral sex, semi-public sex (office sex), tinniest bit of degradation.

Summary: There's not really a plot here, just a bit of office sex fuelled by Emily reprimanding you for not listening in the field/in general.

A/n: As always- apologises for any mistakes. Please do let me know if you catch anything I’ve missed, or if I’ve missed something from the warnings 💜

You were sitting in Emily’s office, receiving an ear full; following up on a suspect alone did not bode well with her and you were feeling and seeing the full brunt of her wrath. She had made a point of not calling the rest of the team in, which you both appreciated and despised her for. It only meant you were alone having to manage your own shame spiral for your ‘insubordination’. Which was, in layman's terms, ridiculous. But what was even more ridiculous was how low the shirt Emily had conscientiously decided to wear that day. 

When she leant over, hands braced on the desk, it was painstakingly hard not to let your eyes drop just a few inches, she had to know it too because every time you dared to sneak a look south, a faint smirk flickered across her lips. 

“Are you listening?”

You weren’t. 

“Yes. I messed up, you’re pissed off, I won’t do it again.” 

There were quite a few things you could have said that would have got you out of that office a lot faster, and that was not one of them. When you looked into her eyes your stomach dropped, suddenly winding Emily up didn’t seem like such a good idea. 

The whites of her eyes doubled in size, dilated pupils bore down on you, burning two lazer rays right through you. She arched an eyebrow, pressing her lips together, practically huffing steam out of her nose with each breath. Fear, shame and dread were all emotions appropriate for the current situation you’d clearly aggravated, arousal however, was not. 

Emily pushed herself off the desk, circling around until she was barely half a meter away, leaning back, hands crossed, staring at you like a predator to their prey. The silence was deafening, the faint ticking of the clock in time with the thudding of Emily’s shoe against the carpeted floor was driving you mad, each second stretching out for what seemed like hours. 

You were both waiting for something, and you both knew what. She wanted an apology and you wanted out, the two worked hand in hand, yet you sat there, the magic words refusing to come out. There was something else, the fire in her eyes wasn’t just from anger and you needed to know what it was. 

“You’re a stubborn asshole, you know that?” A smirk ghosted over her lips, coffee orbs grew darker, without even knowing it, Emily had baited you - with that elusive smile - into a trap you had no qualms falling into. 

“I do.”

Up on your feet in milliseconds, you surged forward at the same time as Emily, meeting her half way between her desk and the chair you’d previously been perched in. Eager hands gripped onto your waist, pulling you into an embrace you needed no encouragement for, which you showed as you mirrored her enthusiasm, anchoring your hands around her neck, latching them onto each other, leaving her all but trapped in your arms, and you in hers. Two sets of lips found each other, meeting for a kiss that burned through your whole body, faster than should be humanly possible; leaving behind a pile of soot that had already set about dirtying your ‘clean’ record of office affairs.

Sure, you’d stolen a couple looks Emily’s way, she’d never seemed to notice, or if she did, didn’t mind in the least bit. When she’d caught you with your eyes glued to her chest it was hard to reply with anything other than a sheepish shrug and awkward smile - the kind of smile that says, ‘well you caught me, and I don’t exactly know what else to do so I’m going to shrug and pray you don’t report me to HR.’ - that kind of smile.

It was almost impossible to pull away from her lips and think logically, and as her lips continued to what can only be described as brutally attack yours, you allowed yourself two more minutes, vowing once the infernal ticking had reached the ripe number of 120, you’d pull yourself away and deal with the repercussions, preferably by avoiding them entirely. 

Her lips were soft, coffee lingered on her tongue, sweeping the length of your bottom lip, it was soft and polite, nothing you’d expect from an intense heat of the moment kiss, but that’s what it was, slower, softer and gentler; slow enough to serve you a reminder you were nearing a full minute in. 

Racing against time that would soon be forgotten entirely, you let her in, welcoming the strong, nutty, smoky aroma with a minty slide of your tongue against hers. 40 ticks left. The two flavours danced in your mouth, and you’d never tasted anything better, a deep exploration was taking place within the cove of your mouth, every nook being explored, measurements being mentally taken and placed for safe keeping, 20 ticks left. 

A small moan escaped your lips when Emily’s tongue found the roof of your mouth, brushing along small ridges that felt smooth under the pressure of her tongue. A chilling breeze grazed the skin of your hips, then cold fingers slid down the material and back up until they were warmed with the heat you were radiating. The feel of her fingers on your bare skin drowned the whole world out, not a single chime could have penetrated the thick outer wall of fire that was bubbling within you and flowing through the room. 

Minus 10 ticks and hands were aimlessly wandering the planes of your stomach, back and ribs, progressively getting higher and higher. There was next to no air left in your lungs and it was hard to tell whether the shaking of your legs was from oxygen deprivation or the all-consuming urge to take things further. 

Emily’s hand firmly cupped your left breast and all the air lost was suddenly found within one harsh breath in, breaking the kiss. For those few moments you stood in the eye of the storm, different possibilities surrounding you, not having yet consumed you, but taunting you with their presence. Looking into her near blackened eyes, you saw a modicum of emotions swirling in the chocolate pupils, dark tendrils of lust ebbed and darkened the rings, whilst beneath the surface you could see a glimmer of doubt, regret, something else. Then in the blink of an eye it was gone. 

There was barely a slither of brown in the sea of black wanting, the predatorial look boring down once more, working your stomach into knots and sending blood straight to your head. The internal battle ceased and was no more when the silence was broken by Emily. 

“On your knees.” She calmly said, “now.” 

It was almost embarrassing how fast you did as you were told, if it hadn’t been for the soft carpet that lined the floor of Emily’s office, your knees would have shattered, not that it would have stopped you. Looking through your lashes, you saw her standing tall, grinning like a Cheshire cat with a quirked eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your sudden will to obey.  

“Look at that, you can listen.” 

The remark lingered for all of two seconds before you did exactly the opposite, hands darting to her hip of their own accord, ripping the shirt out from the trousers they were neatly tucked into. The shock registering on Emily’s face quickly subsided and any thoughts of interfering disappeared when you brought your lips to freshly exposed skin, peppering a trail of kisses along her stomach, then hip to hip, sucking gently, leaving behind a visual path of red blotches that mapped a course down to where she most needed you. 

A small hum came from above you. Peering up, Emily’s eyes were shut, her bottom lip wedged between her teeth, trying - unsuccessfully - to stop any noise from passing through her lips. It was easy to see she was enjoying herself. 

You noted the way she looked, her cheeks were flush, chest rising and falling faster than normal. You were doing this her, hand delivering small kisses that were leaving her powerless and at your mercy. Yet, something niggled away at you, reminding you, you weren’t the one who gave the orders, but what was the harm in testing that theory. 

Feeling more secure in your actions, you pushed on her waist, forcing her to stubble back until she was leaning back on her desk. Shuffling along the floor with her, you continued to work the open space between her hips, moving a hand southward to pop the button of her slacks and pull her zipper down. When she pushed herself off the desk ever so slightly, you took it as an indication to keep going, pulling the trousers down her legs until the material pooled at her ankles, before being swept away to the side, leaving her in just a button up shirt and lacy black underwear. 

“Inside me.” She breathed out, eyes pinned down onto you, “Now.”

“Are you sure?” you dared to ask, whispering over the sound of your own beating heart. 

“Did I stutter?” Her eyes were colder, demanding and she had taken on the familiar tone of unit chief, plucking elements of the role she wanted - the power it gave her - projecting that dominance over every word that danced from her lips, and it was working. 

Her panties quickly joined the discarded trousers on the floor, and you refocussed your attention to the mouth-watering sight in front of you. The smell of her slick arousal flooded all your senses, blinding ever logical thought that once took residence within your mind, all you knew in that moment was Emily, and you wanted all of her. 

Edging closer you ran your tongue through wet folds, quietly moaning into Emily’s core, tangy sweet flavours frolicked and burst to life in your mouth, licking your tastebuds and you knew that you had found your new drug, your new addiction. You took her clit into your mouth, sucking lightly on the delicate bud. Finding a steady pace, you started to switch between sucking and licking, revelling at the small mewls that were being emitted from above you. 

Along with the heavenly symphony of sounds you were pulling from Emily it was the sight of her struggling against her body’s instinct that spurred you on, the heaving of her chest, her teeth brutally holding her kiss stained lips between them, her hips swaying in time with your tongue. Taking one hand off the desk she ran her finger through your hair before latching on tightly, holding you in place. 

“Put your fingers in me.” Emily breathlessly moaned, never taking her eyes off of you whilst you continued to ravish her. Two fingers slithered into Emily; needing no further instruction, you began pumping them in and out at a controlled pace. 

“More.” 

Filling her tight canal, a third finger slipped inside, following in suit and accelerating the pace and rhythm previously set. Your tongue continued to work at her clit, running circles over it faster and faster, fingernails grazed your scalp and the thighs perched either side of your head struggled to hold themselves up, shaking more and more with each lick, with each thrust. 

Using your free hand, you placed Emily’s left thigh over your shoulder. The new position offering a delicious opportunity to curl your fingers and caress her g-spot, toppling her over the edge. Nails clawed into your skin, painfully clasping around your hair, her neck arched, black hair tussled over her back, her hand flying over her mouth in an effort to muffle the roaring moan that was brewing in her throat. 

To anyone who was listening in, it would have just sounded like a loud groan, which wasn't out of the ordinary, all the same, stopped you from pushing Emily into another orgasm. Instead, you opted for slowing down and helping her ride out every ounce of pleasure she could until her fingers released their tight grip and her breathing steadied. 

Once Emily had regained control over herself, running her fingers through her hair, focussing on her breathing, she removed her thigh from your shoulder and leered down at you.

“Up.” 

Fumbling a second too long for Emily’s liking, she gripped your shirt, yanking you up to your feet and flipped you both around. Piles of paper were swept to the side, swaying, and dropping to the floor before hands flipped you around again and slammed your chest down against hard mahogany, everything was happening too fast, stars swam across you line of sight, the room swayed from the sudden dizziness that swarmed your sense of gravity. Cold air hitting your centre anchored you back to the here and down, looking back to see Emily had made swift work of removing your jeans and adding them to the growing pile of discarded clothes.  

“You’re going to keep quiet unless you want someone to come in and see me fucking you on this desk like the dirty girl you are.” 

“I-” 

Cutting you off, the weight of Emily’s upper body pressed against your back, hot breath tickling the shell of your ear. 

“When will you learn to just do as you’re fucking told?” she husked sharply, taking a lobe into her hot mouth and biting down, sending shivers down your spine, and a pool of wetness between your legs. Quiet whimpers echoed through the room when Emily’s lips claimed your neck, salaciously sucking and laving small portions of skin into her mouth, releasing them only to move onto the next. Without warning two fingers pushed deep and hard into you. 

“Oh fuck.” you sobbed out, helplessly trying to keep quiet, when all you wanted was the complete opposite. Mimicking her previous action, your bottom lip wedged itself between two rows of pearly whites, biting down, simultaneously trying to locate the ability to breathe again. 

A hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pushing you further into the desk, and stopping you from following Emily as she steeled her spine and stood upright behind you, fingers still deep inside you, unmoving around your twitching walls. 

“Think you can follow orders?” Emily teased. 

She knew exactly what you wanted, and she knew she had you in the palm of her hands, ready to beg for it, she knew she was the only person with the ability to quench your thirst. You’d have done anything just to feel movement in you, to have your insatiable appetite finally fed with the sound of your own screams echoing in your ears. 

And that is why you said nothing, made no arguments, there was no reason to. She wanted this as much as you did, deep within those brown eyes burned a fire so hot you knew it would eventually come to consume you, there was no point preventing the inevitable - is what you told yourself - eagerly nodding against the desk. 

“Good girl.” 

An instant reward was delivered for your obedience, fingers twisted inside of you, then began pumping hard and fast. Your hips jerked forward, not seeking to get away, instead looking for a hard surface to harbour yourself to, needing to experience every waking moment of this; the full force of each thrust, remember every wave of pleasure that swept over your body and consumed your entire being to the point you thought, only there in that office was where you’d ever know true pleasure. 

Knuckles whitened under the pressured grip you’d forced your hands to take on the edge of the desk. Your breath was coming out in sharp bursts, making it near impossible to take in sufficient amounts of air through your nose. The only option was to pry your lip from your teeth and hope you had the willpower to stop any sounds that threatened to spill from your agape mouth. 

The hand pushing you against the desk set about finding a new home, moving down your back, curling round your torso and slowly working downwards to your clit, where it finally settled, hovering over the small delicate bundle of nerves. 

Her fingers continued to slide in and out, picking up more speed and vigour when they were joined by a third, then a fourth, forcing you to bite down on your arm to stop a scream from alerting the whole office to what exactly was going on. Your hips were grinding back and forth against her fingers until you were writhing beneath her, your whole body on fire teetering on the cusp of your orgasm.

Another wave of pleasure crested over your body when two finger pressed down on your clit, drawing small circles over it, switching tempo with every other slide of her fingers, gradually reaching an earth-shattering speed that had your knees giving out and small cries to bury deep into your skin, skin that now had two crescent shaped bite marked etched into it.  

Your mind was a mess, body out of control, the pressure in your abdomen was at an all-time high, short shaky breaths passed in and out of your nose, some interrupted with small moans breaking and crackling in your throat. You tightened around her, feeling her more than ever, and with three more partially vigorous jabs of Emily’s supple fingers, you folded; silently screaming, reaching the height of your pleasure, there was nothing more to be done other than involuntarily roll your hips backwards, riding out every second of your powerful orgasm. 

With exhaustion weighing heavy on every muscle, you let your body stay slumped on the desk till you found some of the composure you lost whilst riding Emily’s fingers, fucking you from behind within earshot of the people you work with on the daily. 

Unwillingly, you had to admit, there was something precariously arousing about it. A different heat travelled through your body. One that spiralled in your stomach, nibbled away at your pride, you were lying face down on your boss’s desk, half naked, leaking down your thigh, still wanting more. It was all wrong, yet so right. 

The ticking of the clock rang through the silence, hands wrapped around your waist, softer than any touch you had felt before. Gently Emily guided you up, planting her hands firmly on your waist - in case your quivering legs buckled under you - she turned you around to face her and leaned in to press a light kiss against your lips, which you in turn melted into. 

Flinging your hands over her shoulders you let her take charge of the kiss, keeping it slow and steady, hands moving down to cup your ass and hoist your thighs around her midsection. The two of you stayed that way for what you told yourself was an ‘appropriate’ length of time, lips encapsulating each other, hands roaming freely, just feeling your lithe bodies pressed against one another. 

“Next time, try to listen to what I have to say instead of gluing your eyes to my chest.” Emily said, breaking you out of your trance, sat behind her desk, casually enough that doubt flickered in your mind, maybe you were wrong, did you get lost in a sea of cleavage and fall into a makeshift reality - a detailed one at that - of Emily having her way with you. The bite mark on your arm, the feelings tingling through your body in all the places she had touched you, they were real, they had to be. 

“That wasn’t-” there was no point fighting back, you were too confused, too shocked with whatever had just happened either in the compounds of your mind or pressed up against that desk. You turned and started walking to the door.

“I’ll see you at my place. Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.” Her voice boomed from behind you. Looking back at her, her eyes were lazily roaming over scattered paperwork until they met your gaze. An eyebrow quirked up, accompanied by a pert smile, she began to survey the sight in front of her, eyes dropping at the nape of your neck. 

Pushing her chair back and striding towards you, butterflies fluttered low in your stomach at the authority she exuded from doing something as simple as walking. She ran her fingers through locks of your hair, moving them so they cascaded over your shoulder and were snug around your face, concealing your neck. 

“Don’t want anyone seeing what a good girl you were for me, do we?” She teased, placing a smirked peck to your lips and pulling the door open behind you.

Not a daydream, definitely not a daydream. 

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[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 26 - Rimming

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

Fresh to the Papacy, Copia demands the Ministry worships him as the son of Satan that he is. You, his significant other, are expected to worship just that little bit more.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 2.2k.

Reading Time: 9 min.

Warnings: Copia is mean, dom/sub, fellatio, predator/prey, rimming, semi-public, skull fucking

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

The air was thick with anticipation, a hushed reverence settling over the Ministry as Papa Copia emerged from his inauguration, his ceremonial robes swirling around him like a shadow come to life. He’d done it, finally. All that hard work, all those deaths. Sister Imperator sticking her nose into places it didn’t belong. Finally the mitre was his, the title was his. This was his moment. The flickering candlelight danced across the rich fabric of his new Papal uniform, casting an ethereal glow that highlighted his newly crowned position as the rightful son of Satan. The whispers of his loyal followers echoed in your mind, praising him, worshipping him—nothing felt more intoxicating than the reverence bestowed upon him.

But it was you who had his true attention.

“Vieni qui, dolcezza,” he commanded, his voice low and possessive, pulling you from your thoughts. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, and you felt a thrill race down your spine. The way he looked at you was like a predator eyeing its prey, and you were all too eager to be devoured.

You moved towards him, your heart racing, the tension between you crackling like electricity. Copia stepped closer, his presence enveloping you. “Do you know what I need tonight?” he asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips. The slight curl of his mouth, the tilt of his head—it all radiated a delicious arrogance.

You swallowed, searching for words but finding only breathless anticipation. “I need you to worship me,” he purred, voice thick with authority, “to show me just how grateful you are that I’ve chosen you. Capisci?” His eyes glinted with mischief, and you knew he relished the power he held over you.

“Now,” he said, backing you against the cool stone of the wall, the chill contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from him. “Let’s see just how well you can serve your Papa.” The words dripped with condescension, a playful yet sharp reminder of your place beneath him.

He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear, sending shivers down your neck. “Get on your knees, piccola,” he commanded, the Italian slipping from his lips like a sinful secret. “I want to feel your mouth on me.”

You obeyed, sinking to your knees, the rough stone floor a stark reminder of your submission. Your heart raced, exhilaration coursing through you as you reached for the hem of his robe, pulling it aside to reveal the hard length of him straining against his trousers.

Copia smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes as you hesitated. “What’s the matter? You’re not shy, are you?” he taunted, his tone dripping with mockery. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

With a breath of anticipation, you leaned in closer, the heat radiating off him intoxicating. Your hands found their way to his thighs, fingers digging in as you inhaled his scent—dark, heady, and wholly him.

“Bene,” he murmured, approval lacing his voice. “Suck me like the good little pet you are.”

You reached under his robes to pull him out, your mouth watering at the sight of his hardness already standing to attention. With a flick of your wrist, you freed him from the confines of his trousers, feeling the heat radiate from his cock, pulsing with need. You looked up at him, a smirk playing on your lips, relishing the way his expression shifted from arrogance to something darker, hungrier.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and thick with desire. “Now open wide.”

You obeyed, taking him into your mouth slowly at first, the taste of him overwhelming your senses. The weight of his cock filled your mouth, and you moaned around him, the vibrations making him groan in pleasure. You looked up through your lashes, catching the look of satisfaction on his face, and it spurred you on.

As you hollowed your cheeks, drawing him deeper, Copia tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding you at his pace. “Sì, just like that,” he urged, thrusting gently into your mouth, his hips moving with a steady rhythm. “You love being my little pet, don’t you?”

Each thrust sent a thrill through you, and you could feel the heat pooling low in your belly. You sucked harder, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock before taking him even deeper, the rough stone floor pressing against your knees, grounding you as you lost yourself in the pleasure of it.

“Just like that,” he groaned, the satisfaction pouring off of him.

His eyes glinted with satisfaction. “That’s my good girl. Now, get ready.” He withdrew slightly, pulling back until just the tip remained in your mouth, and then thrust back in hard, making you gag around him.

“Does that feel good?” he teased, watching you squirm. “I can’t hear you.”

You pulled back to reply, panting, “Yes, it feels amazing.” You looked up at him, desire pooling deep in your gut as his gaze locked onto yours. There was something intoxicating about being at his mercy, about knowing you existed solely for his pleasure.

“Then you better work harder,” he growled, pushing you back down, his cock sliding deeper than before. He relished in the way you struggled to take him, the sound of your gagging only fueling his need. “You’re going to take it all, capisci?”

You nodded, eyes watering, the thrill of being completely dominated filling your veins. Copia pulled you closer, his grip tightening in your hair as he thrust harder, forcing you to submit entirely to his will.

The world around you faded away; all that mattered was him, the way he filled you, the taste of him overwhelming every other sensation. You let your instincts take over, bobbing your head up and down, swirling your tongue as you embraced the intensity of the moment.

With every thrust, you felt him getting closer, the pressure building in his voice. “I’m going to come,” he warned, his tone dark and possessive. “But first…”

With a wicked glint in his eyes, Copia sank into the hard wood of the pew, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He raised his feet to the edge, exposing himself fully to you, the stark contrast of his blue and black ceremonial robes against his pale skin accentuating the invitation. You could see the glimmer of mischief and authority in his gaze as he beckoned you closer, the air around you thick with arousal and submission.

“Vieni qui, dolcezza,” he beckoned, his voice low and sultry, a command laced with need. “I want you to worship me. Start with your mouth and show me just how much you love this.” His tone was teasing, but the undercurrent of power made it clear he expected nothing less than complete obedience.

You shifted forward eagerly, the heat pooling low in your belly as you knelt before him. Copia’s cock was still hard and glistening, begging for your touch, but your attention was immediately drawn to the enticing sight of his spread cheeks, the smooth skin a testament to his dominance. You swallowed, feeling a thrill of excitement run through you as you understood what he wanted.

“Do you want to taste me?” he asked, tilting his head back slightly, exposing his throat, the movement accentuating the arrogance in his posture. “Then you better make it good.”

With a breathless eagerness, you leaned in, your mouth watering at the prospect of tasting him. You started by kissing the supple skin of his inner thighs, inching closer to the prize that awaited you. His body twitched in response, and you smiled to yourself, knowing you were already teasing him, bending him to your will.

“Non essere così lento,” he chided playfully, but the hint of a growl undercutting his words betrayed the urgency simmering beneath the surface. “I want you to eat me out like the good little pet you are.”

You wasted no time obeying, your tongue darting out to tease the sensitive skin around his entrance. The taste of him was intoxicating, rich and salty, sending waves of heat through you. You pressed your tongue against him, teasing and exploring, relishing the way he shivered at your touch.

“Bene,” he murmured, a satisfied smirk crossing his lips. “That’s my girl.” He let out a low growl as you delved deeper, your tongue swirling and flicking at his entrance, tasting him fully.

While you indulged in his taste, your hand found its way back to his throbbing length, fingers wrapping around his shaft. You began to pump him slowly, your hand working in tandem with your mouth as you lavished attention on his backside. Each movement was a dance of dominance and submission, a delicious interplay of pleasure that had both of you moaning in delight.

“Faster,” he demanded, his voice thick with lust, the words urging you on. “I want to feel you work for it. I want you to beg for it, to know how it feels to be used.” His hips bucked against you, seeking more contact, more sensation, and you complied, pushing your tongue deeper, making him writhe beneath your ministrations.

As you continued to lick and tease, your other hand squeezed and stroked his length with increasing fervor. The combination of the two sensations made his breathing quicken, each sound a low growl of pleasure that only fueled your own desire.

“Sei così brava,” he praised, a sharp edge to his voice that drove you wild. “You’re such a good little pet for your Papa.” He let out a shuddering breath, the pressure building as you expertly matched your rhythm to the movements of your tongue and hand.

His hips bucked, pushing more insistently against your mouth as he grew closer to the edge. “I’m going to come,” he warned, his voice low and thick with desire. “But I want to see you—keep licking, keep pumping me. Show me how much you want it.”

With renewed determination, you increased your efforts, sucking him harder, your tongue swirling as you pushed him to the brink. The world around you faded once more, all that mattered was the pleasure you brought him, the way he filled your senses.

“Just like that, dolcezza,” he groaned, the words laced with urgency. “Now…now!”

With a final thrust of his hips, he spilled himself into your waiting mouth, the warmth of him coating your tongue as you swallowed greedily. The taste of him, mixed with the satisfaction of his release, sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed, watching you with a mix of pride and lust as you licked your lips clean.

Copia leaned back, a wicked smirk playing across his lips as he watched you squirm. The way you bit your lip, the way your body begged for release, only fueled his delight. He enjoyed the power he held over you, relishing the sight of you, so eager and desperate, yet completely at his mercy.

“Did you think I’d let you come, dolcezza?” he teased, his voice dripping with mockery. “Oh no, not tonight. Tonight is all about me and my needs.” He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, like honey poured over molten iron. “You really thought you’d earn that reward after being such a good girl?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a soft whine, frustration mingling with desire. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, a delicious ache that begged for release, yet he was determined to keep you on the edge.

“Look at you,” he continued, his gaze roaming over your body with a predatory hunger. “So desperate. So needy.” He leaned closer, the warm scent of his skin intoxicating, and brushed a finger along your jaw. “But you won’t get to feel that sweet release tonight. You’ll just have to suffer… for me.”

His tone was light, almost playful, but the underlying dominance sent a thrill through you. He was enjoying this too much, and the way he toyed with your emotions only deepened your yearning.

“Imagine how it feels, knowing you won’t get to come, knowing you’re nothing more than my little plaything,” he purred, his voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Do you think I’ll let you touch yourself? Do you think I’ll allow you that small mercy?”

You shook your head, the words catching in your throat. The idea of being denied was both infuriating and intoxicating, your frustration mounting with each passing second.

“Good girl,” he crooned, revelling in your suffering. “You understand your place, don’t you? It’s all about me tonight, and you’re simply here to make me feel good. You should feel honoured to be used this way.”

Copia’s fingers trailed teasingly down your neck and across your collarbone, igniting sparks of pleasure as he leaned back, his expression shifting to one of mock contemplation. “Perhaps I should just let you edge yourself, only to pull you back just as you’re about to cum. Wouldn’t that be delicious? Watching you writhe and beg for it, only to have it snatched away.”

You felt a fresh wave of frustration wash over you, mingled with an insatiable desire that left you breathless. The thought of being denied sent your pulse racing, a mix of helplessness and longing.

“Tonight,” he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “you’ll learn that true pleasure comes from submission. And I promise, you’ll appreciate every bit of it when I finally let you come. Until then… be a good pet and keep those noises to yourself.”

With that, he leaned back, crossing his arms, watching you with a smirk as if to say: Now, let’s see how long you can last.

Translations:

Vieni qui, dolcezza. - Come here, sweetheart.

Capisci? - understand?

Piccola. - Little one.

Bene - Good.

Non essere così lento - Don’t be so slow.

Sei così brava - You’re so good at this

Prev./Next

[forasecondtherewedwon]

It's Enough, It's Enough - chapter five

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Jane x Guildford Rating: E Chapter: 5 / 6

Summary: Five times Jane and Guildford pretend to have sex, and one time it’s for real.

read on tumblr: one | two | three | four

She's been reading all along. Guildford doesn't know that. She didn't want him to think she wasn't prioritizing the texts on curing Ethianism, and she never wanted him to know that, despite their conversation about marital obligations on the first night of their honeymoon, she's been contemplating the idea of fucking him this whole time. And not just contemplating it, reading about it—which, for Jane Grey, is about as serious as you can get.

Every time she starts to surrender to what her body wants and Guildford stops her, it's embarrassing. Her own fault, of course; even if the eager way she leans in whenever his face comes near totally contradicts them, her words have communicated things like “As if” and “I want a divorce.” Despite her actions, it seems that he heard her from the start and decided to listen. He's not confused. Clearly, Guildford lives in a world where people say a thing and follow through, set their own rules and then abide by them. And Jane lives in a world where her spine dissolves like wet sugar when Guildford stands just a little too close to her. Or smirks at her. Or does anything with his hands, really. Or refers to her as his wife. That gets her too.

The books on sex are as unromantic as Jane imagines is possible. This is maddening, and also probably the reason she doesn't feel like they're helping. She wants to understand, but not like that, or that, or that—flipping through pages on anatomy (she's seen a diagram of a member before) and diseases of the genitalia and their proposed treatments (her eyes widen in horror at repeated suggestions to place plants she knows to be poisonous in extremely delicate areas). It's all just too clinical, and she usually loves clinical! She loves when books present things unemotionally, letting the facts speak for themselves! But that doesn't work for her here. As much as Jane reads about blood and stiffening and insertion, she feels as though she's seeing less than half of the picture. Nothing like the way she feels around Guildford is captured in these pages. Because of that, they're almost no good to her at all.

Getting attempted-murdered in broad moonlight is an unwelcome yet extremely effective distraction. Oh yes, she's considered scenarios that would lead to her waking up on her back in the warm grass, but it was always Guildford who had something to do with that, not Mary. It takes Jane some time before she's able to figure out why she can hardly breathe: the result of Mary's thumbs mashing her windpipe, or fear that someone with stronger thumbs (or maybe a sword) was sent after Guildford to dispatch him too?

But Guildford is alive. For now. Lately, Jane feels as though everything has only been “for now.” She is continually wrong-footed in a world of impermanence. They gain access to the rest of Mary and Seymour's letters, Mary steals them back. Jane awakens from failed assassination-induced unconsciousness, ready to tell Guildford what happened (or maybe that she's starting to understand that thing he sensed she didn't yet the last time they kissed), and he's already a horse. Nothing is certain!

Guildford's father counsels her towards certainty, but it's a certainty of his own desiring, not hers. Neither giving birth to a son nor naming Guildford King (though that's not the order Lord Dudley has in mind) could be easily undone—yet the possibility exists, with so many would-be killers darting about the palace. Regardless, neither action is one she wants to take. Except for maybe the bit about making the son. In this political climate though? Jane doesn't like the idea of using a baby as a tool, even if that is the gig, part and parcel of being a monarch. Again, it's too clinical, making her think of those books with their dispassionate descriptions of the marital act. Does everything in her life need a motive? Must she always pretend to be anticipating something five steps ahead? Will she forever be expected to enjoy scheming as much as the people around her? Why is certainty synonymous with power and never happiness? Can she not fucking live?

Even the project that gives meaning to her marriage, if not her life, is revealed to be pointless; Susannah visits and assures Jane there is no cure to Ethianism. Not being able to disclose to Susannah exactly why that's such bad news makes Jane ache. She needs a friend. She needs Susannah to ask how she is, like she did after Jane's father died. Jane has no clue how to impart this information to Guildford. Is there a way, if she wants to be kind? Can he care for her if she stops being his means to a cure? If she's just a person, full of flaws, letting him down? Is there anything real left between them without their deal? They've done so much pretending. They've built a version of themselves on the lies they've told, and Jane doesn't know whether there is another version.

Leave it to her mother to force the issue. With her usual disregard for what the consequences will be for anyone other than herself, she makes two statements: Guildford is a horse, and Jane is in love with him. Though Jane manages to storm out of the room, her thoughts lack the same decisiveness. It feels to her as if her mother has thrown a knife that skewered the fundamental truth about each of them, Guildford and Jane. He is a horse, and his identity obsesses him, steers him, rides him; everything he values is valued because of its potential to either cure his Ethianism or dull his suffering while he endures the condition that is consumingly hateful to him. She loves him, and the feeling makes her ignore trial, ignore failure; his need for what she is supposed to be able to offer sustains them both. Will he want her if he doesn't need her? Will she stop being afraid long enough to let him?

There are no answers to these questions that she could find in books. There are only her rushing feet—along stone corridors, and then shushing across the lawn. Jane doesn't know how to stop Mary trying to kill her, and she doesn't know how to get justice for Edward, and she doesn't know if Susannah is right about Ethianism or simply angry at what appeared to be Jane's dismissal of their right to exist as themselves. Night has come on and the grass is damp as her dress drags across it. With all Jane's unknowns, at last, she has her certainty: she does not want a divorce. She wants Guildford to stay with her, to be with her, and to be with him, and to let him see that she is afraid, but that she will stay, if he will have her.

It's all circling around her head, so that, when she finds her husband standing at the back of the stables, she isn't sure she even says hello to him before putting a nix on divorce and demanding he kiss her.

She doesn't say she loves him. She doesn't want to talk, she isn't ready. But she's here. Jane's presence is her grand declaration. After all her hesitation, all her needless care, she can't undress him fast enough—can't make him undress her fast enough. She always thought the decision to give in would be difficult, but it's easy, easy, easy. Guildford's mouth on hers is heavy like ripe fruit. His fingers trip over the fastenings that do her up, keep her together, but once he steadies himself, this seems easy too; she wonders if he's pictured it all before: studied her clothing in moments when she was distracted and imagined what it would be like to dismantle his queen's lace and brocade armour. Has he been reading her while she read books?

This, by the way, is what the books couldn't get right: the swoop in her stomach when Guildford pulls her onto his lap, the overwhelming affection in her when she feels him smiling against her lips. Suddenly, Jane registers sympathy for those poor authors. How could they have put this on paper? How could anyone? For all the things that are meant to be read and studied and learned, what's happening between Jane and Guildford, here, now, is only meant to be felt. To transcribe would be to dilute.

She isn't ashamed to be naked before him, and there's nothing clinical about the heat of his member pressed to her thigh when he lies down on top of her in this bed he's maintained in the stables. It smells like him, even here, where the scents of hay and wood and animal are strong. The scent of the bed is exhaustion and resignation, but also refuge. This is where Guildford is both selves, the one he wants and the one he doesn't. He comes here every night when he leaves her. This bed has held her husband when he deemed it unsafe for Jane to do the same. She has a sudden urge to find out what sleep smells like on him, when his body relaxes into the bed that cradles her now. How does he look entirely disarmed? Does being here now mean he'll let her spend the night? She doesn't say she loves him, but she strokes his back while he kisses her hotly and imagines stroking it again while he sleeps.

When the time has nearly come, Jane can tell. She panics. She admits it. And Guildford, who she has seen snide, self-assured, sarcastic, and short-tempered in daily life (or... nightly life), could not be more tender, more sweet. Jane wishes their wedding could have been like this, but in a way, this is a union, and one of their own choosing. He'll show her, no condescension. She'll let him, no injured pride.

He's barely hovering over her as his fingers trace up her thigh. Guildford's touch is so light it almost tickles like his leg hair does—a sensation she's surprised to find comforting, but it reminds her of their first bedding ceremony, his clever deception that spared them both some humiliation. She has always been a consideration for him. His pledge of thoughtfulness is there in his fingertips, in the parting of her, in the caress of the place the arousing fact of his body on hers has made damp. Jane grips his shoulders. Her hands flutter like confused butterflies up to the back of his neck as she trusts him and trusts him and trusts him. She writhes beneath him so much as he runs his careful fingers over and through and into her that he makes as if to climb off her, to give her room. Alight with a pleasure that feels like ringing the rim of a glass, Jane doesn't want room. She wants her husband right here, pressing her down, working her up. She winds her legs around the back of Guildford's calves and holds fast.

His tongue is in her mouth when she finds release in his bed for the first time. Though he drags his sopping fingers out of her, he continues touching her gently while they kiss. On her end, the kisses are nearly formless in the aftermath of the nervous burst that cascaded through her body, and yet Guildford's mouth is patient and forgiving. He grins when her lips meet his teeth, and licks at her, teasingly, when she attempts to slip her tongue into his mouth. Between her thighs, she feels his wedding ring. The smooth metal band bumps over her clitoris, scattering sparks which threaten to start fires; Jane bites her husband's lip to get his attention, then makes him watch her eyes as she rubs herself against the ring that says they are bound before God and England. There will be no divorce, her eyes insist. You were given to me as much as they gave me to you. When he's apparently unable to endure any more, Guildford grasps the base of Jane's skull and devours her mouth. She comes again when he sucks the tip of her tongue. At this rate, he's going to swallow everything her body can't contain.

If she's annoyed to realize she's unwittingly following her mother's advice—mouth closed, legs open—it's a distant annoyance, and it passes. Jane reaches a hand down between them, brushing warm skin on both sides. Their mouths slide apart until Guildford's lips rest against her cheek, not quite kissing. She stops to explore the hirsute path below his navel with her fingertips, lightly scratching her nails forward and back against the texture of his hair. On top of her, Guildford's breathing changes, rough and hitching, wanting her fingers right where they are, but also elsewhere. It's not dissimilar to intoxication, Jane thinks: this warm, loose feeling within her, the way her worries and reticence have left without conscious shedding. She reaches a bit farther (Hold anything firm firmly, and anything soft softly.) and wraps her fingers around his girth.

Her husband is patient, still—if tense—while Jane keeps his member lightly encircled in her grasp as she shuffles her legs apart. The cool sheet under her warm thighs is a relief that won't last. Smoothing her other hand over Guildford's hip, she guides him into the space she's made for him. She gasps when the blunt, wet end of him prods her. When he kisses her, she doesn't know if it's supposed to distract her, but his hand closes over hers and she feels everything.

Instinctually, Jane tilts her hips as he begins to insert himself. Her eyes go wide with surprise at the sensation it was impossible to prepare herself for (not that any of the male authors of those books even thought of soliciting a female perspective on the acts they describe). She can't help laughing at the strangeness. Guildford's (knife-slinging tavern lust-object) member (thick, rigid, twitching against her abdomen while they kissed) is inside her body! They're joined together! And it doesn't even hurt! Logically, Jane understands that this has more than a little to do with Guildford's unhurried fingers preparing her, but it's tempting to surrender herself to the illogical, to romance: it doesn't hurt because he never would, never could, hurt her. Gradually, Guildford sinks deeper. Breathing shakily, Jane bends her knees to hold his hips between her thighs, and then he's fully inside her.

But the end of that part is just the beginning of so much more. Jane loops her arms around Guildford's waist, spreads her hands on his back, feels his muscles go taut as he starts the slow, rhythmic process of consummation. This is their bodies in conversation. It's another way to know one another, and a transformation of them both; Jane can tell by his face, which hovers over hers, his eyes looking down at her with something he doesn't seem able to voice either. But it's there. It's there with them in this bed, in this stable, on this night when nobody told them what to do, or how, or why. Jane hears the soft grunts huffing past her own lips. Latin, Greek, Italian—now she speaks this. It's their own language, and apparently, she's fluent.

In a moment that passes before she can catch it, the sensation of Guildford thrusting within her evolves from feeling strange but good to very, very good. She can feel how wet she is, how steadily he's gliding through, and yet there's suddenly this friction. Her grunts crack open and become breathy cries. It's because she's squeezing him, from within. She's been kneading the muscles of his back, but her own muscles, there inside her, are at least as powerful. They have the power to make Guildford pant like an animal, his hips jerking shallowly against hers until she stops clenching. She offers a slack smile in return for his stunned expression, and then they surge together, grabbing each other's face as they kiss, fingers catching on chins and ears and hair already unkempt from one another's caresses.

Guildford begins rolling his hips into hers harder—not fast, but less restrained. Jane can tell there's so much more he'll show her, something raw she won't see this first time, suppressed so he can give her no more than what she's ready to receive. But it's thrilling to feel him letting go. Her back arches as she tries to meet him in his thrusts, and his curves, his forehead pressed somewhere around her collarbone. He exhales against her skin, hot gusts of air. When he widens his legs, braced up on his knees, it pushes hers farther apart too. There's nothing coy or secret now; her body is held wide for him, and she welcomes it. She digs her fingers into his hair and closes them in a fist. Guildford's lips rub against her skin as he cries out. With quick, mindless snaps of his hips, he finishes inside her.

Feeling as if she's just been awoken from the dead (but no, that was this morning), Jane's heart beats at a rapid pace. Her thighs are shaking uncontrollably. She's overwhelmed. She wants to both crush Guildford against her and shove him away so she can order her thoughts. This is what it feels like, then, to experience someone else's pleasure so close at hand and not achieve her own end. It'll be fine in a minute—he brought her off twice before—but right now, she feels insane.

But Guildford sees it—of course he does. He lifts his head and the hazy bliss in his dark eyes sharpens as he notes the state she's in. He grips himself on withdrawal, and Jane nearly has a fit at the thought of his fingers remaining down there, massaging between her legs again (oh, she wants it, but it might be more than her overstimulated sex can bear). He doesn't do that though. Her husband holds himself heavily on top of her and starts kissing her everywhere but her mouth. He presses his thigh between hers, just presses, and makes his meandering way down her neck, lips below her jaw, lips on her throat, lips where her hair's stuck to her skin with sweat, lips where her body has surely taken on the scent of his. He explores her chest. His mouth skims the breadth of it before going lower. When he gets to her breasts, there's tongue. Guildford licks her—the underside curve, the nipples stiff with sensation—and his thin necklaces hang against her ribs, catching the candlelight when she looks. Between his curious tongue and the pressure of his thigh, Jane shuts her eyes and shudders to quiet release.

She comes back to herself with Guildford stroking her hair.

They lie side by side for a while, not speaking. She wonders if he reads much at night, or if these hours are always kept for silent contemplation. She wonders if he feels as alone here as she does up in the palace.

The bed cools, but their legs are intertwined, and Guildford runs hot. Jane has just learned that, having never lain beside him before, except for the bedding ceremony, which shouldn't count. Anyway, they weren't naked then, and they are now. She feels a bit shy, but mostly, it's nice. He touches her just because, hand sliding down her arm. He touches her like it's the only important thing. Does he love her? She wants him to love her. She wants him to love her whether or not there's a cure.

They kiss when they think they're falling asleep, but the kissing wakes them back up. Their breathing grows rough and their mouths meet with increasing need. They grab at each other, pulling themselves into greater contact. Jane's aroused like she always is when they kiss, but the familiar throb is gone, replaced by the larger, more distinct ache that says her body knows exactly what it's missing—knows Guildford's size and shape.

Very softly, he asks, “Are you too sore?”

Jane shakes her head firmly.

She is kind of sore, but a strained-muscle soreness, a blunt, tired twinge. She knows pain of all varieties. She knows the difference between pains that will hurt more and less the next morning. Tomorrow, what she's feeling now might feel worse, but this is a special circumstance. Guildford is a special circumstance.

So, Jane hooks her thigh over her husband's hip. He groans to re-enter her. He's tired and pliant and starving for her after the time they've spent wanting and not having; he pours all this feeling into her, thrusts breaking against her like deep currents churned up into waves. She rocks with him. Her limbs fold him close to her, but his thrusts get wilder, and she pulls him over her again. There is no separation, she decides. No line between what is the human world and what the natural. She wants to know everything her husband is, especially when he takes her like this—taking her with him, it feels like, wherever he plans for them to go. Good, Jane thinks. You decide.

She likes being here. She puts herself in his hands.

—

Author's Note:

I'm doing the 5 + 1 out of order (this chapter is the + 1). Though Jane and Guildford have now had sex for real, there is one more instance of pretending in their future. It ain't over yet!

[badasgirlfriend]

hi I love your jesse Swanson x reader stories. Loved them!! If you're still doing requests, could I request a jesse Swanson x reader where the reader is also a singer and is in the bellas and do the part in pitch perfect 1 where they do the riff off and Jesse sings feels like the first time and do the reader rapping instead of beca?

Pretty Boy | Jesse Swanson

pairing: jesse swanson x fem!reader

fandom: pitch perfect

a/n: hii thank u for the req and sorry for taking so long i was ia for a bit, i only changed the ending bc i dont like the song because beca raps (dont attack me) hope u like it<3

"Come on, sing along," Chloe chirped, gesturing for Y/N to join the Bellas as they prepared. Y/N just shook her head, feeling anxious, riff of, what they called it wasn't her thing. But Chloe didn't seem to notice.

"Nah, I'm good," Y/N said, attempting to be polite. Chloe just nodded in response and flashed a smile of support as she joined her friends

Y/N noticed Jesse gazing at her, and she stared right back with a curious expression. Jesse cracked a mischievous smile, then madr a thumbs-down gesture and mouthed, "You're going down."

Y/N giggled as she let loose a playful blow kiss right at him. only for him to catch the kiss midair and press it against his heart

Y/N was relieved that it was night and that Jesse was too far away from her to notice her blushing. But this exchange had not gone unnoticed by Aubrey, who had been watching their whole interaction from the beginning.

"Go, Stacy!" She cheered for her closest friend as she stole the spotlight from Donald. Everyone's eyes were on her

"Baby, all through the night I'll make love to you," Fat Amy chimed in, but Jesse stepped in front of her, stopping her mid-song.

"And I guess it's just the woman in you," he sang, making the Belles groan. The rest of the group made their way to their designated spots, grumbling in protest.

"That brings out the man in me" he pointed at Y-Y/N smiling

"Idiot" she muttered trying to hide her grin

"It feels like the first time" he continued singing, opening his jacket to show his chest. He placed his hand on his heart just like before and winked at her

"Feels like the very first time"

Y/N didn't understand where her newfound confidence was coming from, but she suspected the drinks she had earlier might be playing a part. Yet, she was also convinced Jesse was behind her feelings. Without giving it any thought, she charged towards Jesse, eager to take advantage of the moment.

"it feels like the first time-"

"It's like everytime they turn the lights down," Y/N cut him off with a sly smirk and Jesse's eyes widened in amusement. He backed away and gave Y/N the spotlight with a round of applause. "just wanna go that extra mile for you"

She looked at the crowd and everyone was staring at her confused, even the Bellas.

'extra mile..?" Aubrey muttered trying to remember the song

Y/N was now regretting her decision as everyones eyes were on her, even the Bellas weren't backing her up

'Seriously does no one know this song' she thought to herself

Jesse's encouraging smile gave her the confidence she needed to dive back into the song "Go on,"

"We can get down," Y/N sang, now more in tune "Like there's no one around"

Amy and Stacey both gasped as they began to understand what Y/N was singing. Stacey had already joined in the song, her voice perfectly harmonizing with Y/N's. The two Belles' vocals blended together seamlessly, now with Amy joining them

"We keep on rockin' we keep on rockin"

"Cameras are flashin'" Amy made camera noises towards Emma and Stacey as they grinded on each other "while we're dirty dacing"

Jesse let out a sharp "woah" as Emma danced. One of the Treblemakers patted Jesse's shoulder in encouragement. Jesse didn't care about the outcome of the competition; if losing meant he got to see Y/N like this, he would willingly come up as the losing team every time.

In his eyes, Y/N was breathtakingly beautiful. Every laugh was like a melodic refrain that made his heart race a bit faster. His eyes were glued to her every movement, especially the graceful twirls that she would execute.

"They keep watchin' they keep watchin" The rest of the Bellas all joined in, singing the lyrics with the trio, except for Audrey, who seemed oblivious to the song.

Seeing as the crowd was completely caught up in Y/N's performance, she turned towards them and sang in a louder voice, "Feels like the crowd is saying", prompting the audience to join in with

"Gimme, gimme, more gimme more gimme more." Y/N beamed in satisfaction as everyone joined in and sang along with her.

"Anddd, we're out" Y/' said as they finished the song, everyone clapping and cheering. Jesse laughed joining the applause. Before he could say anything the MC came

"Okay funs over sorry laddies the word you needed to match was 'It' not 'It's'. You are CUT OFF" he shouted and the trebles cheered

"What when did that rule happen" Chloe shouted

"Whatever stupid riff off"

Y/N smiled, her expression showing no sign of disappointment. As she saw Jesse in the crowd, she sent a warm, appreciative smile and said, "Congratulations, pretty boy."

Jesse grinned mischievously and replied, "Does the winner get a gift?"

"You wish" Y/N rolled her eyes

This was the moment, Jesse thought to himself, the perfect instant to ask Y/N out. "Hey, I was wondering if maybe..."

But before he could finish, Audrey abruptly interrupted, "Y/N! We have to go."

Disappointed with the interruption, Jesse turned to Audrey, his expression one of annoyance.

"Sorry, chief's calling," she said with a light chuckle

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked

"Definitely," Y/N replied,

Y/N followed Audrey and then suddenly stopped, turning to face Jesse once again "Jesse," she breathed, her eyes shining with determination.

With swiftness, she leaned in towards Jesse and planted a brief kiss on his cheek, leaving him completely stunned and unable to hide his flush of surprise.

"Good night"

As Y/N hurried away, Jesse was left standing there, his face flushed with surprise. His hand was still covering the spot on his cheek where the unexpected kiss landed he murmured to himself

"Good night... fucking hell." He shook his head the grin never leaving his face

[hchollym]

Percy Weasley & Sansa Stark Parallels

This post is going to be more for me than anything else, because I doubt many people are interested in this very specific topic, but I couldn't resist.

Percy & Sansa are two of my favorite characters in literature, and the more I started to think about it, the more I realized how much they have in common. I know that sounds strange, and don't get me wrong, there are some key differences (Sansa was definitely more of an innocent victim - the poor girl was only 11 years old), but they do actually have a lot of similarities as well!

I'm going to link some posts/metas about Percy, just in case someone wants to see extra support for my claims, because I feel like Sansa is a little bit more obvious/self-explanatory in canon.

Basics

They are both tall redheads (which doesn't mean anything, but it is a fun coincidence). 🙂

They are both unfairly hated by fandom because of the POV trap (Harry & Arya).

Personality

They are both feminine (see this post about Percy).

They both love reading, and neither of them are very athletic.

They were both naïve and trusted the wrong people because they didn't know any better. Unfortunately, they were both raised by their fathers to trust in something that wasn't trustworthy (the Ministry of Magic - see this post about Percy - & the idea that most men/knights are honorable).

They are both romantic in nature (Percy writing love letters & Sansa reading love stories). Interestingly enough, both of them are the first siblings in their families to be given a storyline that involves a romantic relationship/betrothal & yet both of their oldest brothers end up getting married first (which is not a bad thing; it's just an observation).

Family/Background

They were both the "perfect" child who had high expectations placed on them from a young age ("Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please."), yet they were also ignored the most because they were "easy" compared to their siblings (see this post on Percy's relationship with his mother).

This is why their acts of "rebellion" (Percy disowning his family & Sansa going to Cersei) were so unexpected. They were always so well-behaved until they finally felt pushed over the edge:

“What do we want to be prefects for?” said George, looking revolted at the very idea. “It’d take all the fun out of life.”  Ginny giggled.  “You want to set a better example for your sister!” snapped Mrs. Weasley.  “Ginny’s got other brothers to set her an example, Mother,” said Percy loftily. 

suddenly changing to:

“He went completely berserk. He said — well, he said loads of terrible stuff... And he packed his bags the same night and left. He’s living here in London now.”

&

"It was for love," Sansa said in a rush. "Father wouldn't even give me leave to say farewell." She was the good girl, the obedient girl, but she had felt as wicked as Arya that morning, sneaking away from Septa Mordane, defying her lord father..."

They were both usually the odd one out with their siblings, who all had a closer bond with each other than with Percy/Sansa. Their siblings also looked down on their interests because they couldn't relate to them:

“We’re trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin — leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year —” “That’ll change the world, that report will,” said Ron. “Front page of the Daily Prophet, I expect, cauldron leaks.” Percy went slightly pink.

&

Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. 

They were also the target of their siblings' pranks/mischief:

“I shudder to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away from work for five days.” “Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?” said Fred. “That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!” said Percy, going very red in the face. “It was nothing personal!” “It was,” Fred whispered to Harry as they got up from the table. “We sent it.”

&

"Arya started it," Sansa said quickly, anxious to have the first word. "She called me a liar and threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cersei gave me when I was betrothed to Prince Joffrey."

They were both resented by their younger sibling(s), who each happen to be about 2 years younger than them (Fred and George & Arya):

"...we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —” “Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred.

&

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment.

Ironically enough, their parents usually let those siblings get away with a lot more than Percy or Sansa would have been allowed to get away with (see this post on Molly & Arthur's lack of discipline with the twins):

None of which stopped Arya, of course. One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse.

Circumstances/Storylines

Their fathers failed them (though not on purpose) when they needed them most (Arthur yelled at Percy and accused him of spying instead of calmly helping Percy see that he was being used & Ned refused to explain why Sansa's betrothal was being called off). This directly led to their acts of rebellion.

As a result, they were both taken advantage of by people in power (Fudge & Cersei) and separated from their family. Initially, this is what they both thought they wanted (Percy chose to leave & Sansa wanted to remain in King's Landing with Joffrey instead of returning home), but they both ended up regretting it (after losing their innocence and naivety) and wanting their family back.

They were both young, and yet they were judged for not knowing something that even the adults didn't know (Percy didn't notice that his boss, Barty Sr., who he barely knew, was under the Imperious Curse, while Dumbledore failed to notice that his old friend was actually a Death Eater using a Polyjuice potion & Sansa thought that she could trust Cersei while Ned believed that he could trust Cersei enough to warn her to leave town without her retaliating against him).

While they were separated/alone, their mothers were really the only ones doing anything to try and get them back (Molly visited Percy & Catelyn freed Jaime).

They both had to play their part in politics under a corrupt government. They both originally wanted to be a part of that system (eventually becoming the Minister of Magic & eventually becoming the queen). They ended up realizing that the people in charge were not as noble and well-intentioned as they thought.

They learned to be more careful about who they trusted, and they adapted to survive (Percy in a Ministry controlled by Voldemort & Sansa with the threat of Cersei, Jeffrey, and Littlefinger).

They both lost a brother. ���

He and Ron had both grabbed Hermione and pulled her to the floor, but Percy lay across Fred’s body, shielding it from further harm.

&

Robb had died at a wedding feast as well. It was Robb she wept for. 

They both reconnected/made amends with the sibling(s) that initially resented them (Sansa and Arya will meet again and work things out in the books - fight me):

“I was a fool!” Percy roared, so loudly that Lupin nearly dropped his photograph. “I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a— a— ” “Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron.” said Fred. Percy swallowed. “Yes, I was!” “Well, you can’t say fairer that that,” said Fred, holding out his hand to Percy.

In Conclusion

I just found it interesting that two of my favorite characters - who seem very different - have so much in common. I'm sure that says something about me! 🤣😊

[thecooler]

After You're Gone

The funeral ends up being one of the biggest events Ooo has seen in a long, long time. Bonnibel Bubblegum would know that better than most anyone. She’s buried more people than she can count, candy and otherwise. Some amass more of a crowd than others, but nothing else comes close to the ceremony held for Jake the Dog. Or: Jake is dead, and Finn needs help. Bonnie does her best to provide.

Fandom: Adventure Time

Relationships: Finn & Princess Bubblegum, Finn & Jake

Additional Tags: Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Wakes & Funerals, Drinking to Cope

Word Count: 3,000

Read on AO3

The funeral ends up being one of the biggest events Ooo has seen in a long, long time. Bonnibel Bubblegum would know that better than most anyone. She’s buried more people than she can count, candy and otherwise. Some amass more of a crowd than others, but nothing else comes close to the ceremony held for Jake the Dog.

Finn isn’t much part of the planning. He wants to be, or says he does. He follows behind Bonnie as she makes arrangements, as she places calls across the kingdoms of Ooo. She arranges for President Porpoise to have special transportation to and from, and sends word to the human colony to see if they might send a Minervabot. He tells her that he feels useless, that he wants to do something, and so she gives him small tasks. She asks him to fetch her more stamps, and he returns an hour later with a pile of stamps a foot tall, and before she can think, he’s looking for his next job.

It reminds her a bit of when he was a kid, always at her heels, eager to serve. He hasn’t been like that for a long while, though. Over the past few years she’s come to consider him a dear friend and trusted confidant. She doesn’t want him to serve her- not anymore.

So she tells him to go be with Lady and the kids, and he hedges around the concept for a while, trying to poke and prod different ideas out of her. But eventually he takes the hint that she isn’t going to give in and slinks away while she takes care of the rest of the planning process. She stays up too late, and Marceline chides her for it, but someone has to do it, and it can’t be Finn.

And besides, Bonnie had loved Jake, too, in her own way.

Finn does speak at the funeral. There are hundreds of people gathered round, their heads bowed. She thinks, in an ideal world, Jake would have liked his funeral to be a party. He wouldn’t want the people he loved broken and weeping in the wake of his passing. Unfortunately for him, no one really gets a say in what happens after you bite the big one. Jake’s family and friends needed a place to grieve together. Parties would happen after, in the comfort of homes, wine bottles clasped in hands and laughter drowning out the grief, if only for a little while. It’s a process that Bonnie has undergone countless times, and it never does get easier.

President Porpoise is barely comprehensible when he delivers his speech. Viola is more coherent, but tears choke her words. Lady stands up at the front, but she can barely get through a sentence before she’s fallen into hysterics, forced to seek refuge in the arms of her children.

Finn speaks last, and he pauses multiple times throughout, to breathe in sharply, to close his eyes and blink tears back. She hasn’t seen Finn actually cry over Jake yet, and that might be what worries her the most.

“When I was eight,” Finn says, the corners of his mouth curling into a wobbly smile, “our parents, Joshua and Margaret, died.” He swallows, “I didn’t really get it, back then. I kinda assumed they’d be there until I was an adult at least. And I didn’t know how to handle any of it. I took dad’s sword and I smashed a bunch of stuff in the house. Jake was out, doing-” here he laughs, eyes falling briefly to his trembling hands, “well, you all know what kind of stuff he got up to.

“Anyway, Jermaine didn’t know what to do with me. I was having a full-on bazonkers crisis, messing up our whole house with that dang sword, screaming like a demon-” he mutters a quick no offense to any demons in the audience, which earns him a bit of laughter and someone calling out, quite loudly, from the back: “None taken!”

Finn shakes his head, “So he called Jake, and he’s begging him to come home, like,” he waves his hands, “come save me from this crazy flesh baby you donk!” And from where she stands near the front, she hears Jermaine snort and whisper I did say that.

“And so Jake came, and he knocked that sword out of my hand, so-” a brief pause, “well, I bit him, really hard, and then I punched and kicked until I felt like my limbs were gonna pop off. And then I told him that I wanted mom and dad back, and that it wasn’t fair that they were gone when I-” his voice wavers, scratchy with tears he’s strong-arming back. “I still needed them,” each word sounds like it’s being punched out of his throat.

“And he said I know, and then he gave me back dad’s sword and told me he knew a place where I could swing it around as much as I needed. And that’s how we went on our first adventure.” Finn breathes in, holds it, and closes his eyes for several seconds. Though there are several hundred people gathered, the field is silent save for the occasional sniffle or muffled sob.

“I swung my sword a lot that day, and at the end of it, I asked if we could do it again, and he said yeah, whenever I wanted,” Finn shrugged, “and then we did. For years, whenever I wanted, sometimes even on days when he wasn’t really feeling it. We saw each other almost die way more times than any brothers should ever have to, and now,” and now he turns to look at the casket, his head turned so the crowd can’t see.

“And now it’s real. And it’s not fair, ‘cause I still need you, bro.”

Bonnie’s chest feels tight, and before she can think better of it, she’s stepping forward, though she’s not entirely sure what her end goal is. Comfort, of some sort, presumably. But then he presses on, and she hesitantly falls back into place. “But I’ll be okay. I have everything you ever taught me.”

---

After everyone is herded away, Bonnie stands next to Finn for a long time. He stares at the freshly-disturbed earth and says nothing at all. He doesn’t even bother to lie and tell her that he’s fine. She stands behind and stares at her hands, and tries to figure out the right thing to say. She’s always been good at that, in political settings, in public addresses- places where the feelings of those she’s speaking to don’t personally effect her. But this isn’t that. She wants to help, and she doesn’t want him to hurt, and she’s never been much good at that- at not hurting others.

Eventually, as the stars begin to light up the inky night, Bonnie steps forward and places a hand on Finn’s shoulder.

“Do you wanna get a drink?”

---

Bonnie kneels on the kitchen counter, chewing on her lip as she opens and closes cupboards. She hasn’t had much to drink in a good while, and when she does, it’s usually at Marceline’s, and then one of them’s usually in the other’s lap after just one. Eventually, she moves aside what has to be the fifth massive bag of flour and finds what she’s looking for. “Aha!” she holds out a bottle of rum and waggles it.

“Have you... had much to drink before?” she asks, slipping off the counter to join Finn cross-legged on the floor. He has two cups and a jug of dark soda beside him. “This stuff is pretty strong.” He’s an adult now, of course, so it’s not like she has to fuss over him, but old habits die hard, and with Jake gone, she figures that someone has to look out for him.

How receptive he’s gonna be to being looked out for is another topic altogether.

“I mean, I’ve dabbled,” Finn says with a non-committal twirl of his hand. Bonnie infers this to mean that he’s never had anything stronger than watered-down apple cider and bites the inside of her cheek. Finn, brows furrowing, nudges his cup towards her. “C’mon, Peebs. Don’t bail on me now. We’re gonna have fun, right- maybe we can invite Marcy over?”

With a sigh, Bonnie pours what she approximates is a double-shot of rum into the glass, which Finn promptly knocks back without mixing it with the soda. When he starts hacking out coughs, biting out, “Augh! Nasty! Sheesh- you drink this stuff?” between coughs, she can’t help but laugh.

---

Marcy drinking is always kind of weird. For one thing, she can only have red wine and some rosé , unless she wants to risk yarking it back up again, which is never pleasant and always nasty. The other weird thing is that she’s a colossal lightweight and tends to crash after about a glass and a half.

After inviting Marcy, they’d moved back to the treehouse, and Marcy, who’d been sipping a bit on the way over, lasted all of twenty minutes before she was sprawled out, dead asleep, on Finn’s couch. To be fair, Bonnie had warned Finn this would probably happen. But Finn doesn’t seem to mind anyway, because the rum has fully kicked in and he hasn’t been able to stop talking.

“And one time, Jake told me- like- okay, this is gonna sound weird, but, like, he went- inside himself? Like,” Finn made a motion that looked like he was reaching down to touch his toes, but when he bent over too far he wobbled and nearly crashed down onto the floor. “Anyway, and there was a bunch of dudes. Like, inside him, and they were all kinda him, but also not?” he snorted, “that’s stupid- but he swore it was true. Sometimes I think he dreamed stuff and just got mixed up, but I dunno. Weirder things have happened, right?”

He look a sip of his drink- this one is something of an improvised sangria, with the leftovers of Marcy’s red wine mixed with juice they squeezed out of some grapefruit. Finn keeps telling her it tasted like ‘lemon piss’, but he keeps drinking it.

When he laughs, Bonnie can almost see the patchy, ruffled five-year-old boy who she’d found chasing candy citizens with a wooden sword, because his parents had left town and his brother wasn’t much good at babysitting yet. He’d laughed about just about anything back then, and Bonnie can’t help but long for a chance to go back and cherish that time more. Back then, he’d laughed with his whole body, his belly and his shining bright blue eyes. When he laughs now, his eyes look dark and sad and lost.

Bonnie pours herself another drink and nudges her shoulder against Finn’s, “Why don’t you tell me about that time with the Jake suit?” she asks, and Finn lights up a tiny bit more. She smiles and listens.

---

Bonnie is lying on her stomach on Finn’s bed while he lounges on the floor, staring at the ceiling and, in his words, trying not to hurl his whole literal stomach out. Her assurance that he would probably just throw up stomach lining apparently did little to lighten his mood. He groaned and crossed his arms over his eyes, “Tell me a story,” he slurs, “about you and Jake.”

Bonnie blinks, her own mind fuzzy and swirling. She takes a long, slow sip of rum as she attempts to corral her thoughts. She’d spent a decent amount of one-on-one time with Finn over the years, but less so with Jake. They were more the type of friends who hung out in a group. She always kinda suspected that he was lukewarm on her— an uneasy alliance formed because Finn liked them both too much for them to maintain an adversarial relationship.

“I do have one story,” she says, scooting herself closer to the edge of the bed so she can drape her arms over the side. It isn’t even much of a story, really, but she doesn’t have much to work with here. “It was back when you had just met your dad, and you weren’t doing so hot,” which is putting it lightly, but she’s sure that Finn doesn’t need to revisit those old memories in detail. He’s done a pretty good job actually processing it, all told, but still. “Jake was real worried about you— we all were.”

Finn lowers his arm and squints at her, “Is this gonna be a bummer? Because the past couple of weeks have been, like, one long bummer, so I’m pretty set on feeling bad.”

Bonnie takes another sip of her drink, “Nah— I mean, not really? Just trust me,” and Finn sighs and puts his arm back over his eyes. He’s always been good at trusting her, even when he really shouldn’t have.

“Anyway, he came to the castle in, like, the middle of the night, and he makes himself real small to get by the guards cause he knows they’re gonna tell him not to wake me up, and he starts banging on my bedroom door. And, y’know, after the first time with the Lich I got way more into self-defence, so I just about whacked him in the head with a bat. But once we got past all that, he looked at me and he said, Princess, I need help.”

This, once again, gets Finn to drop his arms to his side. Jake had seldom asked for help directly, and certainly not from her. He was a proud guy, and more stubborn than he liked to admit. And she’d busted his chops more than a few times when he was young and rowdy and a little too fond of crime.

“He was like,” here she does her very best impression of Jake’s voice, which she’s keenly aware isn’t very good at all, and it gets a tiny chuckle out of Finn, which is the goal, “Finn’s all messed up, man! I don’t know what to do. You’ve got that big donkin’ brain of yours, right? Do something good with it for once!”

Finn winces, “Ow, Jake. Harsh.”

Bonnie shrugs, “I mean, I guess. I wasn’t really in the, uh, best phase of my life at that point,” which, again, is putting it lightly. She’s thought about it plenty, and if she revisits it while she’s drunk, she’s just gonna end up blubbering, which no one needs right now. “But anyway, Jake had never really asked me for anything before— not like that. So I brought him into my room and we made a plan— or, like, an alphabetized list of twenty-six plans, to be more precise, all about how to cheer you up in various circumstances.”

Finn squints, “Did you ever use any of em?”

Bonnie smiles, “We got through like twenty of ‘em, I think. Between the two of us, we knew you pretty well. Mostly him, though,” she pauses, and her heart feels impossibly heavy. She remembers Jake, sat with his back against her bed, deep dark circles under his eyes as he scribbled out plan after plan. He’d never been good at focusing, but he’d put everything he had into it that night.

“He loved you so much,” Bonnie whispers.

Finn stares at her for a long moment, gaze hazy and unblinking, and then he shifts his arms back over his eyes, and trembles quietly.

---

When she awakens in the morning, the light is offensively bright. Bonnie groans and attempts to roll over, which only demonstrates how much of a giant bruise her body is right now. Did she seriously fall asleep with her head halfway off the bed? Her neck feels like it’s about to snap in half, which is to say nothing about the blistering headache. She groans again and pushes herself upright, squinting around the (again, way too bright) room.

“Hey, babe,” a familiar voice says from somewhere below. Head throbbing with every motion, she turns to find Marceline poking her head up from the bedroom... entrance hole. She never knew what to call that thing. Her girlfriend floated over and shoved a tall glass of water into her hands, which Bonnie slowly began to sip at with her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Where’s Finn?” she asks, moments before the ladder clatters against the wood floor, and a blond head pokes its way up. His eyes look remarkably clear, because he’s twenty-one and his body hasn’t realized how badly it hates itself yet.

“Hey, Prubs,” he says, sitting beside her on the bed. She groans at the sound it makes, and Marceline gently rubs her back. “Thanks for, uh, last night. I think I really needed that. The catharsis of it, y’know?”

Bonnie cracks an eye open, “Yeah?” she says, looking him over carefully, even as the sunlight that continues to torment her causes her head to pound like her brain is actively jumping around inside her skull. He looks... well, he looks fine, if you don’t know what you’re looking for. He’s smiling, and his shoulders are pretty relaxed, but it’s in his eyes— those big blue eyes that have always given so much away.

Finn looks at her, and he looks further away than he has in years.

Bonnie doesn’t know how to help. None of the plans she formulated with Jake are gonna work when he’s dead and in the ground. She glances over at Marceline, and when she meets her girlfriend’s gaze, she finds her own worry reflected there. But they both know him well enough to know that pushing will just result in a backslide, in him shutting everything up in a vault and covering his ears.

So when Finn says, “Yeah. I think I’m good, now. I think I’m gonna be okay.” All she can really do is trust him, and hope that he’ll figure it out.

He’s a tough kid, after all.

[meandheraresoulmates]

Drunk-dazed — a dodgerfox fanfic

Fandom: The Artful Dodger (2023)

Warnings: none

Relationship: Jack "the Artful Dodger" Dawkins/ Belle Fox

Characters: Jack "the Artful Dodger" Dawkins, Belle Fox

Tags: Fluff / missing scene from 1x06 / canon compliant / kissing / lots of kissing / just a hint of smut / Jack centric / 3rd person narrator

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Belle had the audacity to huff, «Of course not, don't be ridiculous. I dismissed the coachman a few blocks from here so that even if my parents suspect something, he won't tell a thing.» «That was quite smart of you» Jack admitted, relishing in the satisfied smile that made its way up Belle's face. «But how did you plan on returning?» For the first time since they met, Belle looked almost sheepish. «I was rather hoping that you'd walk me home» she muttered, not meeting his eyes. or, the missing scene we all were waiting for between 1x06 and 1x07

AO3

Jack Dawkins had been drunk before - hell, he was a sailor. They handed him his first pint long before he could call those sparse blonde hairs on his chin stubble. But no amount of alcohol in his system had ever come close to the feeling of Lady Belle's body pressed on his front, her lips on his and her scent filling his nostrils, leaving him lightheaded and weak in the knees.

It was almost pathetic, he thought in a fleeting moment of clarity before losing himself again in the intoxication that came from her closeness - the way Belle had manhandled him and pushed a bewildered Jack against that pillar. She was the inexperienced one - not that they had ever talked about experiences of that kind, he just knew that Milady had never been with a man like that before.

Yet here she was, soft mouth moving fervently against his, hands laced in his ruffled locks, not giving a care in the world about what anyone could see and think. She was facing the physical aspect of their newborn relationship the same way she took on surgery and everything medicine-related: head-on, confident, and daring, taking everything in her path as it belonged to her. Jack would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that it was her brilliance, her sharp mind and even sharper tongue that pulled him in like a moth to a flame, that lit a fire in his belly and gave him a sense of euphoria that 'till that moment only thievery had granted him.

He almost didn't recognize himself when a low hum escaped his throat. Belle was running her nails down his scalp, and it felt heavenly. Goosebumps erupted on his skin and he needed her close, closer than what was deemed sensitive outside a beaten-up tavern, even if sensibleness was thrown out the window the moment he put her mouth on hers. His hands sneaked around the heavy clock on her shoulders to latch on her waist and he pulled her flush to his chest; a gasp escaped her now swollen and moist lips and Jack was all too eager to swallow it, slanting his mouth on hers and grazing her lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

He moved one of his hands up between her shoulder blades while the other anchored Belle against him when he realized something - and before all blood left his head and went south, he forcibly tore himself from her wanting mouth.

«Belle» he gasped in the small space between their bodies, trying to put a bit of space between them. She was not having it, as the deep frown that had settled between her eyebrows foretold. She looked at him briefly, eyes going from his flushed checks to his parted mouth, before capturing the young doctor's lower lip between hers again.

For a moment Jack forgot why he stopped in the first place and resumed kissing her with renewed vigour until his hand, which was moving as if it had a mind of its own, crept up her back and brushed hot and smooth skin. Suddenly he remembered why he was trying to halt this madness and abruptly moved away, putting Belle at arm's distance but still keeping her close.

«Belle, » he said breathlessly while his chest heaved. «Are you not wearing a corset? »

She looked at him as if he had gone completely mad, chest going up and down while she tried to regain her breath. «Of course, I'm not wearing a corset, » she told him as it was the most obvious thing in the world. «Why would I wear one if I am in my nightgown? »

«Your night-» Jack's eyes were the size of saucers. He closed them, breathed in deeply, and lowered his hands so that they rested properly on her hips. When he blinked, he found Belle looking at him with an amused expression, her eyebrows raised. «So, » he said slowly, looking at her intently to gauge her reaction. «You're telling me that you have gone out, in the middle of a Friday night, in your nightgown, and» he looked down for a moment «slippers? »

Finally, it seemed that the reality of the situation dawned upon Belle. «Well, » she gulped, looking away while the apple of her checks began to flush. «It seems like I didn't think that far when I decided to go out and look for you. »

She was so adorable that Jack couldn't help a soft grin from spreading on his face. «Well, » he mimicked her, raising a hand to brush away a soft curl that had escaped her hairdo and had fallen onto her face. «It seems like you didn't think at all, Milady. »

Belle huffed, clearly annoyed but at a loss of words. Jack barked a laugh, a feeling almost like pride running through his veins: she had been so eager to see him that she hadn't thought it wasn't proper for a lady to go out dressed - or more exactly, undressed - like that. It was intoxicating, he thought while he nudged her nose with the tip of his, to know that he had that effect on her, almost like the one she had on him.

Belle scowled, annoyed, and stepped sideways to move away from him. Jack strengthened the grip on her hips - the proper, chivalry reason for that was that he didn't want her to feel embarrassed and exposed in front of the drunkards going in and out of the tavern. The most selfish and true desire was to savour the sensation of her warm, velvety skin, even through the thin fabric of her gown.

«I jest» he said softly, swiping a thumb across her cheek. Normally, he wouldn't have dared to touch her like that. However, he thought he could blame his tenderness on the alcohol. Just this once. «But you have to admit that it was careless of you. It is dangerous for a lady to go out at night, even more so in this state of undress. » His voice had reached a more serious tone in the last sentence.

Belle smirked and, getting on the tip of her toes, invaded Jack's personal space, bringing her face at a breath's distance from his. Something akin to butterflies fluttered in the doctor's stomach, or perhaps the contents of his intestines were fighting a civil war with all the liquor he had put in his system.

«How chivalrous of you, » her voice had a teasing edge, hands resting on his chest under the pretence of adjusting his jacket. «I didn't deem you a gentleman. »

«Then you poorly underestimate me, Milady» Jack answered in tow, enjoying this playful banter fully. «Also, it is not safe for anyone to be strolling around at this time of the night near Cat and Bagpipes. Usually at this wee hour, the patrons go from blind weasels that dance to...» he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. He swirled himself and Belle away from the pillar they were resting on before a poorly dressed man puked on their feet. «...to pesky badgers » he continued, unphased.

Belle on the other hand was trying very hard not to flinch. «Oh» was all she said. Jack laughed at her rare lack of eloquence. «Right. I think it is time you return to your chambers, milady. May I escort you to your carriage? » he offered her his arm.

She gladly took it, and together they made their way between passed-out men and equally drunk but still on their feet women. «I think now it is a good time to say that there is no carriage» she stated matter of factly. Jack almost snapped his neck upon hearing these words. «Wha- what do you mean there is no carriage? Did you come here all the way from Government House on foot? » he asked, in equal parts horrified and worried.

Belle had the audacity to huff, «Of course not, don't be ridiculous. I dismissed the coachman a few blocks from here, so even if my parents suspected something, he wouldn't tell a thing. »

«That was... quite smart of you» Jack admitted, relishing in the satisfied smile that made its way up Belle's face. «But how did you plan on returning? »

For the first time since they met, Belle looked almost sheepish. «I was rather hoping that you'd walk me home» she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

All thoughts about teasing her vanished from the young surgeon's mind. She was looking at him with those big, brown eyes of hers and reflected in them he could see a vulnerability that Belle had never shown before. Jack flashed her a small smile. «Then what are we waiting for? »

It wasn't that long of a walk from the suburb of Port Victory to Government House - two miles or even less. Still, it took them almost one hour to reach the back of the garden where Jack usually sneaked in. If somebody were to ask him why, he would answer that the shoes Lady Belle was wearing weren't suited for walking - but deep down they both knew it wasn't the truth. They wanted to savour the unique, peaceful stroll holding hands, pretending to be a typical couple in the early stages of courtship.

When they reached the bottom of the spiral staircase outside Belle's bedroom, Jack let go of her hand to help her climb and open the window shutters.

«Do you go all these lengths every time you come here when there is a perfectly functioning door? » Belle asked, making her way into the bedroom to light a candle.

Jack turned and was about to reply when the sight before him left him breathless. Under the candlelight, Belle looked ethereal - her hair had escaped the braid she had put them in to go to bed and was now framing her face like a halo. Her skin was golden, her eyes as deep as the oceans he had navigated all these years. She was the most beautiful woman Jack had ever seen, he thought, and she wanted him. She had kissed him. This mere notion made him euphoric.

«Jack? » Belle called, confused. His eyes snapped to her face, and in two long strides, he was in front of her. The surgeon took her face between his hands and sealed their lips together, a rough desperation he had never felt before cursing through his veins. Belle had just enough time to put the candle down before fisting the material of his shirt between her fingers and kissing him back with the same amount of passion.

Jack felt delirious and he knew that the alcohol had nothing to do with it. He wanted Belle as near as possible, to touch every inch of her skin, memorize and explore every nook and cranny of her body with his hands, eyes and lips. His mouth seemed to have a mind of its own as he moved away from her lips, trailing kisses down her jaw and along the soft skin of her neck.

It was only when a soft moan erupted from Belle's parting lips that Jack regained control of his actions. He forced himself to part from her skin and took a step away, putting some distance between their bodies. He was panting, and so was Belle. It took them a few minutes to catch their breath, and when they did, they were too embarrassed to look each other in the eye.

Reluctantly, Jack withdrew his hands from where they rested on Belle's waist. «So» he stammered, an uncharacteristic awkwardness slurring his words «I bid you goodnight. »

Belle nodded vigorously as if he had just uttered the most brilliant thing in the world. «Goodnight, Jack. »

He nodded back and turned around, making his way to the window. He already had a foot on the first step of the stairs when he turned, and found Belle looking at him from the same spot where he had left her - in her eyes, the same longing that was squeezing his chest and made each step feel like he was walking into the sea with rocks in his shoes. Jack's determination faded away and in just two swift steps, he found himself standing in front of her. He cradled her face between his hands and molded their lips together, tenderly, as if too much pressure could break her.

When they parted, Belle was already smiling, as was he. «Goodnight, lady Fox, » he whispered, brushing his nose against hers, basking in the smile she gifted him.

«Goodnight, dr. Dawkins, » she said softly.

Jack Dawkins had been drunk before. He enjoyed the feeling of a warm stomach, a buzzing head, and tingling skin, the way the world seemed to lose all its blunt edges, and people were more inclined to unfiltered happiness or unending sorrow as if the fumes made their restrictions disappear.

However, he would have given up alcohol forever if that meant he could see Belle's smile this close one last time.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

...is anyone still here? hello fellow The Artful Dodger enthusiasts!! thank you for clicking on this story. this is my ode to the fantastic show and a gift to all of us who have loved it and are still waiting for a season 2. i can't believe my longest story is a brainrot about Jack Dawkins and Belle Fox but here we are, these two have all my heart and if we don't have a canon happy ending i will do something that will change the course of hulu's life forever. i hope you liked it and if you did i would love to hear your opinions and comments :") bye!!

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: Hiveswap/Homestuck

Character: Stelsa Sezyat

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic Pale Relationship

Type of fic: Holiday themed oneshot?? :33

Sure! I'm not too proud of how this one or the Roxy one I'm posting soon came out, but I tried!

Trollian Holiday

Yandere! Moirail! Stelsa Sezyat Short - Winter Event Request

Pairing: Pale/Moirail ♦️

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-neutral Darling, Human/Troll pairing, Implied kidnapping, Forced moirallegiance, Forced companionship, Forced affection, Slight manipulation.

“SORRY DARLING I HAD TO MAKE SURE I HAD SOME TIME TO SET ASIDE SOME GIFTS FOR YOU SINCE I HEARD YOU HUMANS DO RITUALS SIMILAR TO US AND IT MAY GET YOUR SPIRITS UP” Stelsa practically yells towards you before placing down some boxes in front of you on a table.

You stare dumbfounded at the mountain of strangely wrapped boxes containing unknown items. You hesitantly look at the busy troll. She gives you a quick smile before checking over each box. You shrink in on yourself… you still aren't used to any of this.

You've been quite thankful of Stelsa's company as of late. She's been one of the more welcoming trolls to a human like you on Alternia. She even gave you shelter from the acid rain.

Although… you don't seem to understand the intentions she has towards you. After what feels like days, maybe weeks, Stelsa started calling you a specific title. You don't understand why she calls you her “Moirail”... but it seems like an affectionate term?

She never allows you outside, which may actually be a good thing. Although… you can't help but think of home. You aren't used to all this alien technology and culture.

You appreciate the loud teal blood's company, yet you find her behavior unusual. She's always busy, her “Matesprit” occasionally visits, and Stelsa seems very coddling to you. You try your best to get used to it.

Unfortunately you continue to find yourself feeling like a prisoner… not just in this “Hive”... but on Alternia as a whole.

“I WASN'T QUITE SURE WHAT YOU LIKE SINCE HUMANS ARE QUITE ALIEN TO ME BUT I HAD ZIZI HELP ME OUT A BIT SINCE I'M SO BUSY” Stelsa rambles before placing a box on your lap. “BUT IT WAS THE LEAST I COULD DO FOR MY DEAREST MOIRAIL AND IT EVEN KEPT ME BUSY SO WHY DON'T YOU OPEN THE GIFTS”

You hesitantly open the box and look through the contents. You really don't want to do any of this. You have a hard time figuring out what the gift is due to its alien nature and place it down on the table.

Stelsa continues to watch you with an eager smile, quickly pushing another box into your lap. You try to tell her you don't really feel in the mood to do this. Stelsa only gives you a frown before trying to encourage you.

“IT'S OKAY MOIRAIL I GOT THESE ALL FOR YOU TO MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER YOU DESERVE TO ENJOY YOURSELF” Stelsa continues, sitting beside you to help you open the gifts.

Even if you wanted to refuse and just be alone, Stelsa wouldn't allow it. You continue to open the gifts under Stelsa's watchful eyes. One by one you unbox alien objects that you still can't figure out.

Despite this Stelsa seems very happy to watch you. She has a constant smile on her face with a fond expression. It's like she's just happy to see you opening the gifts… regardless of if they actually make you happy.

It's the thought that counts, right?

“They're all very… lovely.” You manage to say, Stelsa looking rather excited. “I just wish I knew what half of them did.”

“OH WHEN I HAVE THE TIME I CAN SHOW YOU BUT FOR NOW I JUST WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU FELT ANY BETTER AT MY HIVE NOW SURELY IT'S MORE COMFORTABLE THAN OUTSIDE IN THE HARSH CLIMATE I MEAN JUST LOOK AT YOUR SKIN YOU WOULDN'T LAST” Stelsa rambles again, gesturing to your skin with a frown.

“I guess so… I just miss home.” You find yourself sighing. Stelsa appears disappointed and a bit irritated at the response. Nothing she does appears to make her new Moirail happy… all they ever want to do is go home.

She doesn't want you to leave her.

You feel yourself pulled into a harsh hug against Stelsa. She's incredibly strong despite how she looks, making you quickly feel locked in. You panic momentarily but then feel Stelsa lightly touch your face.

She makes a soft shooshing sound towards you while doing the action. Supposedly this is meant to calm you down. Unfortunately you don't feel all that calmer.

“HONESTLY DARLING IT IS SO MUCH SAFER HERE” Stelsa says in the middle of calming you, her voice a bit softer. “I PROMISE YOU CAN BE HAPPY HERE AS MY MOIRAIL ONCE YOU'RE USED TO IT”

You aren't sure how long Stelsa tries to calm you. She appears to busy herself with “shoosh papping” you and rambling about trollian holiday traditions. To you it all just sounds loud.

You want to get out of her arms but can't. The tealblood refuses to let you go and doesn't spare any strength. You start to wonder if saying you want to go home hurt her.

You stay silent and allow her to get lost in comforting you with her strange alien affection.

You just hope she ends up leaving to do something else soon.

[polskasroka]

The Goddess' Favourite

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hades (Supergiant Games Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Melinoë/Odysseus (Hades Video Game) Characters: Melinoë (Hades Video Game), Odysseus (Hades Video Game) Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Praise Kink, Bath Sex

Word count: 3,371 Summary:

“We’re all doing our best here.” Melinoë nods and tilts her head to the side a bit. “At least, we can have some rest here. At the taverna, or here… I’m glad I could drag you away from all those maps.”

“Ah, you know I wouldn’t refuse you!”

Pride fills Melinoë as soon as her words lead the conversation exactly where she wanted it to go from the very beginning. Of course, Odysseus can’t see it. He could, though. Even a quick glance would suffice.

“And yet,” she states nonchalantly, rising onto her feet, the water no longer covering her, “you refuse to look at me when we talk here.”

It flusters Odysseus. Only for a split second, true, but it does.

Read on AO3 or below!

The bath salts that Melinoë purchases at the Wretched Broker’s stall are a blessing. Not only do they allow her to take purifying baths but also take them with those she finds dear.

Some dearer than others.

They do serve as a perfect excuse for pulling the inhabitants of the Crossroads away from their duties for a moment or two. They’re surely less subtle than the twin lures and maybe more subtle than Ambrosia but that’s a detail.

Melinoë has also realised that she can’t be hiding her own feelings from herself anymore. The fact that her heart skips a beat each time she passes the Great Tactician’s post is a good enough proof for her. She’s ashamed of it, yes, and she thinks it silly and immature. Especially when her heart flutters when she stumbles across the empty spot – the Shade in question is not even there after all!

However, Melinoë doesn’t swamp Odysseus with her astute invitations to the springs. She realises that it would look weird at the very least. But when the right time comes and she’s waited much too long (according to her) since the last time she gifted him with the bath salts, she’s all excited and energetic at the sheer thought of doing that again.

Is that giddiness subtle, though? Probably not. Somehow, Melinoë doesn’t care about that. These days, in fact, any visible eagerness and enthusiasm are welcome at the Crossroads.

As always and much to the goddess’ satisfaction, it doesn’t take much convincing to have Odysseus accept her invitation. Certainly not when it’s almost a routine between the two of them.

Yet, there is one thing that annoys Melinoë. It’s bothered her since the first time she offered him the bath salts and he accompanied her to the springs. She understands or tries to understand why he still insists on doing that but it’s something she wishes would change. This irritation wasn’t so strong at first but the more attached to him she’s becoming, the more irksome the issue is growing.

Namely, Melinoë would rather Odysseus looked at her while talking to her, instead of averting his gaze all the time. She’s suggested that nothing bad will happen if he dares to do that. Blood and darkness, she doesn’t mind being looked at at all! Apart from that, it’s impossible not to see anything even out of the corner of one’s eye, so Od could really call it quits by now.

And if he doesn’t do that, Melinoë will.

That’s why she’s only half listening to him monologuing about their enemy’s forces. She’s much more busy plotting how she could resolve this problem and since Odysseus is not looking in her direction, he misses the mischievous glint in Melinoë’s eye.

“Aren’t you overworking yourself, Od?” she asks with concern, successfully obscuring her plan from him.

“Our foe never sleeps, Goddess. Chronos’ legions have fallen back recently, so we mustn’t miss such a great opportunity to strike,” the tactician says with pure passion in his voice.

The dedication is indeed admirable but… maybe now is not the time?

“I see it’s exceptionally hectic right now, then,” she sighs and shrugs, gazing at the Shade opposite her, sat at the other side of the bath. Melinoë’s stared at his profile so many times so far, that she’s got no problems thinking about it in the moments of respite, ones that she fills with fantasies of not only gazing at Odysseus’ handsome face but also–

“That it is… But it’s our chance, Goddess! And with your help, we can only progress.”

“We’re all doing our best here.” Melinoë nods and tilts her head to the side a bit. “At least, we can have some rest here. At the taverna, or here… I’m glad I could drag you away from all those maps.”

“Ah, you know I wouldn’t refuse you!”

Pride fills Melinoë as soon as her words lead the conversation exactly where she wanted it to go from the very beginning. Of course, Odysseus can’t see it. He could, though. Even a quick glance would suffice.

“And yet,” she states nonchalantly, rising onto her feet, the water no longer covering her, “you refuse to look at me when we talk here.”

It flusters Odysseus. Only for a split second, true, but it does.

The corner of Melinoë’s lips curves upwards and she plods through the water towards the Shade.

She can only suppose how her approach makes Odysseus feel! He’s certain that if his heart were still beating, it would be thumping, while his blood would be running all hot and quick. But they don’t and he merely experiences a ghost of warmth embracing his body, which is a weird sensation when compared to the well-known heat that’s kindling deep within him.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t be giving himself so much leeway. Too dangerous. Too inappropriate, no matter how much he’d love to let that need consume him. He. Should. Not.

“That would be untoward of me, Goddess. Indecent even,” he says quite firmly into the steamy air of the springs, willing himself not to watch Melinoë sit down next to him, on his left.

It’s obvious that he can see her out of the corner of his eye but the view’s limited enough for him to keep it in the safe zone.

“Od, why don’t you listen when I tell you that it’s fine by me?” she speaks softly, making Odysseus’ heart want to jump out of his chest, despite it remaining still. Melinoë then lifts her hand up and brushes her fingers against his cheek.

What she can’t expect is the panicked flinch that shakes him whole. As if burnt, the goddess withdraws her hand and gasps, her eyes blown wide. At that very moment, Odysseus’ look meets hers and they stare at each other for a while, both shocked at what has just transpired.

He then searches her face for any sign of irritation or, worse, anger. Or any sort of discontentment that could earn him something very unpleasant. Observant as always and nearly as perceptive as he is, Melinoë spots the Odysseus’ apprehension. He almost backs away from her as Melinoë’s eyes shoot to the side for a while when he clenches his fist atop the stone, on the dry edge of the bath, attempting to compose himself.

Odysseus clears his throat and promptly apologises for whatever it was that has just taken place.

“No, I… I should be sorry,” Melinoë sighs and shrugs, averting her gaze only for a moment. With quickened breath, her eyes lock with Odysseus’ once more. Some confidence and faith re-enters her as she sees the sparkle of trust reignite in the Shade’s expression. “But maybe it’s high time I returned to my duties,” she adds briefly and is just about to stand up when Odysseus grabs her hand in his.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Goddess, it’s just…” the words hang heavy in his chest, unwilling to be voiced.

“… Bad memories?”

“Aye.”

Melinoë knows a thing or two about what happened during his long journey home, apart from the great deeds of the Great Tactician. She’s heard some rather awful details either from him or, by accident, from others.

She really should’ve been more considerate, instead of only caring about her own needs! It’s not what she’s expecting from herself, not when it’s Odysseus who–

Her hand coming in touch with his cheek is what pulls her away from her train of thought. Something akin to the tactician’s usual smirk creeps onto his lips but it’s far gentler than usually. Understanding. Trusting. Making Melinoë blush a pale pink as her palm lays flat against his skin, so that she can rub it with her thumb, feeling the stubble scratching her digit, while Odysseus’ hand is sitting atop hers.

After a while, he visibly relaxes and lets his arm fall back down, silently allowing Melinoë to do what she wishes. Indeed, he releases a shuddering breath but the willingness is clear, now painting more and more vividly all over him.

It only grows stronger and more prominent both outside and inside of him, especially when the goddess’ calloused but still tender fingers trace his cheekbone and then his jawline, eliciting a growl from the depths of his lungs. Melinoë swallows at the sound that’s vibrating from the tips of her fingers to her own core. Biting her lip a tiny bit, she continues her path, now following Odysseus’ temple, then along his brows and down the bridge of his nose. While she’s marvelling at his defined features, he can’t help but close his eyes, relishing the attention, relishing the gentleness and the growing sense of security that he hasn’t truly felt for quite some time.

This moment could last forever and they both would agree with that. Melinoë’s heart’s singing at the fact that Odysseus hasn’t rejected her and he thinks that perhaps he should be ashamed of the excitement and glee that the goddess is making him experience. The tactician’s been catching himself daydreaming about her lately (and not only lately), yet he’s still been careful not to overstep. But now that the scales have been tipped in his favour, why should he deny the good fate?

No, it would be a sin to do that! Is he supposed to brush Melinoë’s thumb off of his lips as she lays it there? Is he supposed not to chase her touch once it’s gone? Is he supposed to decline when she asks if she can kiss him? He’d regret it terribly if he did.

Melinoë’s now cupping Odysseus’ face with both of her hands, her lips gentle with his, inviting, maybe guiding. Electricity shoots down her spine and she convinces herself that pressing her thighs together is enough. Her needs are screaming loud but Melinoë discards the aching lust of her own and chooses to focus solely on Odysseus.

If Odysseus ever makes it to Elysium and stays there for some time, he surely hopes it’ll feel like the moment now. There seems to be nothing more blissful than Melinoë’s plush lips brushing against his, her teeth nipping and her tongue licking all playfully, drawing a hoarse chuckle out of his throat. He’s all shivering and maybe a bit embarrassed, which Melinoë deems her personal victory.

Then, her left hand leaves his cheek as she slides it down his neck, grazing the skin with her phantasmal nails. The pressure in his lower stomach grows significantly and even more than that when Melinoë’s fingers caress the Shade’s collar bones and then slip down his sternum lazily. The goddess’ eyes follow her digits but she still stays impossibly close to Odysseus – so close, that he plants a kiss against her eyebrow and then her forehead, a gesture that causes her to smile lightly.

She also knows that she’s doing things right when Odysseus shifts on his spot, groaning and pressing a shaky kiss against the goddess’ temple while she’s roaming her hand over his chest, teasing, catching his skin between her dexterous fingers and pinching the most sensitive points. All this time, the tactician’s kept his hand – the one that hasn’t been clenched atop the stone – on his thigh and Melinoë’s actions cause him to grip his own flesh tightly, the hold almost bruising. Odysseus may be a mature man but going so long without anyone caring about him in this particular way has affected him, making him more impatient than his age might indicate.

So, he soon lets go of his thigh and snatches Melinoë’s hand in his. She gasps in shock and makes eye contact with him to make sure that she hasn’t overstepped.

“Too much?” she breathes, a tad worried.

“No, Goddess. Quite the opposite. May I?”

“Of course, Odysseus.”

Her hand in his, he makes them both run south, under the surface of the water, over his stomach and the abs that tremble as Melinoë’s fingers slide against them. Odysseus doesn’t stop there, though. Gazing into the goddess’ mesmerised (or mesmerising) eyes, he’s seeking any signs of dissatisfaction or irritation but he finds none of the sort. It boosts his self-assurance and encourages him to let their hands travel even lower, until Melinoë gasps again and he sucks in a sharp breath.

The knot in the pit of his belly tightens immediately but he doesn’t rush it, he can’t rush it – he can’t rush Melinoë who’s just swallowed and released a wavery breath herself. It’s not that she has never touched a man like this. It’s that it happened quite a while ago and has never happened with Odysseus before.

But she knows what to do, so, once her courage is restored, she wraps her slightly trembling hand around him and cherishes the grunt that it elicits from him. With the Shade’s hand still over the goddess’, he dares to move them both upwards and then back down a couple of times, his eyes dropping to Melinoë’s lips, more in insecurity than in any kind of shame. And in that insecurity, he hesitates to let her work him on her own, which in turn makes her feel funny on the inside, finding it both sweet and pitying Odysseus for all the memories that keep haunting him, preventing him from enjoying it all as much as he should be able to allow himself to.

The goddess is then even more intent on coaxing the Shade into full and undisturbed bliss.

“You’re safe here. No harm’s coming your way,” Melinoë soothes, resting her forehead against Odysseus’, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “Let me take it from here, alright?”

Something grips his heart and squeezes his chest, making him breathless for a moment. In search of reassurance, his eyes meet Melinoë’s once again and he crashes their lips together. A bit astounded, the goddess smiles and then deepens the kiss as Odysseus is no longer guiding her moves. He returns to keeping his hand on his thigh, either clenching it into a fist or gripping and scratching the skin on his leg.

In the meantime, Melinoë draws away from the kiss, holding the Shade’s lower lip between her teeth and pulling a tad. A proud smirk tilts her lips and a spark glitters in her mismatched irises; a spark that bodes something more, something waiting in store for Odysseus that has electricity travel throughout his whole body and pool in his groin.

The goddess moves her right hand from the side of the Shade’s face, so that she can rest it over his jaw as she leans in to plant a kiss near his right ear. Odysseus sighs heavily and then groans in pleasure and surprise when Melinoë twists her other hand during her motion upwards. With desire burning deep inside, encouraged to form a blaze, spreading waves of pure bliss that cause his limbs to shake, Odysseus’ breathing grows laboured and he has to prop his head against his dry hand, covering his eyes with his palm.

Rapture that washes all over him renders him speechless; his embarrassment becoming forgotten the more taunting the pressure inside is getting. All the while, Melinoë doesn’t think about stopping, only alternating between a faster and a slower pace, maybe to tease Odysseus a bit more before she leads him into full completion. She revels in the broken sounds he’s making and the way he’s shuddering all thanks to her. It’s hypnotising to watch someone like him, someone taller and broader than Melinoë, in a state like this, surrendering to all she’s willing to give to him.

Melinoë soon makes her movements faster, making Odysseus close his eyes shut and hide behind his fist that he uses to muffle a long groan that rumbles in his chest.

“Let me hear you, Od… if that’s alright?” Melinoë asks somewhat timidly right into his ear, her slender fingers now taking hold of his wrist. She pushes his hand away, tuning into the ragged panting of his, wishing she could feel more of that on her skin besides the faint breeze it’s creating. “No one’s going to hear you.”

Her words are soft, gentle, reassuring. Caring. They’re what has Odysseus’ breath hitch and his chest heave while he’s gathering it in himself to ask her to bring him his satisfaction. It’s not that easy, though, for his mind’s not entirely there and he’s really trying to focus on articulating his needs, despite the tenseness in his muscles and the arousal clouding his mind.

“Good?” she questions, driving him out of his daze and back into reality.

“Aye, Goddess,” Odysseus mutters, “but…”

The words die in his throat as a shiver runs through him.

“But?”

“Faster, please.”

Melinoë whimpers and obeys, delighting in the way he said that, in his desperation and the raspiness of his lust-strained voice. Delighting in the fire in her own underbelly that she’s been ignoring all this time.

“Always so polite to me,” she continues and intertwines her fingers with his, not fancying the idea of him muting yet another moan. “It makes me smile every time, I hope you know that.”

“Hah, I do!...” he manages between one grunt and the other, his voice lower than usually, sending vibrations through Melinoë’s own body. “I can’t think of a single time you gave me a reason to be unkind to you, Goddess… and after all, I’m but a Shade,” he whispers into her ear, just as she’s been doing it to him.

It makes her blush a brighter pink.

“My favourite Shade of all and of the residents of the Crossroads,” Melinoë lowers her own voice, at the same time tightening her grip around him just the perfect amount.

“Goddess…”

“How does it feel to be a goddess’ favourite, Od? Terrific? Or terrifying?” she asks, a smile in her tone.

“Both.” A tint of a chuckle in his reply.

“Never be afraid of me,” Melinoë coos, squeezing his hand. “You’re much more than just a Shade to me.”

As soon as Melinoë nips at Odysseus’ earlobe, she hears him curse and call her by her divine title again. His frame goes rigid and he shivers when a raw groan leaves his lungs, one evoked by white heat rippling through him whole, reaching the tips of his fingers and causing his toes to curl. He no longer restrains himself and bucks his hips to meet Melinoë’s constant motion, prolonging his wonderful peak, while he’s got her hand in a tight grip and his own thigh in an even firmer one.

When the aftershocks begin, his body grows lax and he relaxes in her hold. Melinoë lets go of him to hook both of her hands around Odysseus’ neck and have him close to herself. Still shook by occasional sparks of bliss now fading away, he reciprocates the action and plants a kiss on the juncture between the goddess’ neck and shoulder. Odysseus then exhales a long breath, enjoying Melinoë’s proximity, finding safety in her and her gentleness.

“I hope I managed to keep your mind off of your duties for a while,” she finally says.

“That you certainly did.” He hugs her tighter and then releases her from his embrace. Having grabbed one of her hands, he kisses the inside of it and proceeds to do the same with her knuckles. “Let me return your gesture now.”

That sultry note in Odysseus’ voice nearly makes Melinoë give in.

“Some other time,” she states nonchalantly and he freezes. “Ugh, it’s not what…! I mean I’m just trying to say that I wanted this to be only about you, Odysseus.”

His dead heart melts and he hums in utter appreciation and contentment.

“What does a mere Shade have to do to deserve such generosity from you, Goddess?”

“Be you.”

Their eyes meet and stay locked together. Melinoë once more cups the side of Odysseus’ face and watches him lean into her touch, trust and glee prominent in his expression.

“Lady Hecate may have helped me out of my own crossroads but,” he says and clears his throat, “in the end, it’s you, Goddess, who I’m doing it all for.”

Melinoë doesn’t hide the happy tears that well up in her eyes.

[rayne-storm]

Tough Love 

AUgust 6 - Blind Date

Fandom: Record of Ragnarok

Summary: Thrud/Raiden

Thrud is understandably nervous and perhaps a little upset when she's sent on another blind date by her sisters, bemoaning the evening she's about to have. 

She's sure it'll go as it always does, and hurt her even more than she has been.

She isn't expecting a man like Raiden to be waiting at Ragnarok Cafe.

A/N: Thrud is my beloved girl and I love to see a big girl find love. She and Raiden deserve happiness 😊🥰

*******

"Come on, guys, are you serious? Another blind date?"

Thrud sighed and shook her head, folding her arms over her muscled chest. 

"Yeah!" Goll exclaimed, "it'll be amazing! He's a little bit intense but you'll love him! When have we ever steered you wrong??"

"Every single date I've ever been on until now," Thrud replied dryly.

It wasn't even hyperbole. Thrud had never had a successful date in her life. Men never knew what to expect with her, given how stunning all her sisters were, and she didn't know if she could handle another bad date.

The way it usually went was like so:

Thrud shows up, trying to reign in her emotions and mentally prepare herself, and easily spots her date: whichever man has a look of shock and worry on his face. 

She tries not to flinch as she has to deliver the terrible news that she is, indeed, his date, and yes, she is really the 3rd Valkyrie Sister. 

The look on his face is one of horror, and she has to try not to let it hurt her the way it always inevitably does. 

Minutes later (sometimes two, sometimes twenty), he has an excuse and leaves her all alone, trying not to cry in public as yet another painful rejection breaks her heart a little more.

"Okay, sure, there have been some duds. But this guy is the real deal. And if he breaks your heart, we'll beat him up! Maybe!"

It was cute, almost, how unflinchingly positive the girl tried to be, even in the face of such impossible odds.

"Fine. But I'm never, ever doing this again. I don't think I'll make it through another one of these," Thrud finally agreed.

Goll cheered, and she was whisked away for pampering and prettying-up ("not that you need any extra help for that," Brunhilde always said). The date was later that afternoon, so at least it wasn't like her whole evening would be shot if things didn't work out.

She'd give it one last try, she decided, and when this inevitably went to shit, she could always get cats or something.

--

As she walked into Ragnarok Cafe, Thrud steeled herself for the look of wild bewilderment and horror on the face of whatever poor man was roped into this. The Cafe owner was a nice enough guy, and always made sure it was regulars only whenever the Valkyrie sisters set up a blind date. That way Thrud wouldn't worry about freaking out more people than necessary. Probably better for business that way, too. 

As she bowed slightly to get through the doors, she heard a soft gasp. Ah, the mystery man was there already indeed.

She raised her head up to find the poor sap, and spotted him quickly enough. Black and blond hair wrangled back into a messy ponytail, piercing dark eyes framed by heavy lashes, and a muscular build (at least from what she could see). This one would hurt her, he was just her type… 

She couldn't decipher the expression he was making in the slightest. It was shock, yes, but not the usual creeping dread, or sudden horror, or anything she'd seen before, pretty much ever. It threw her off-guard enough to lose her composure just for a second:

"Not expecting a monster like me, huh?" She blurted, raising an eyebrow.

She scarcely registered the sound of his chair scraping backwards before he was throwing himself at her, face right at her chest. 

She was too stunned to move, and could only watch, frankly aghast, as he looked up at her through his thick eyelashes, contently buried in her bosom. 

"I love big girls," he sighed in delight, and she realized his expression before had been… eager?

"Excuse me??" She managed to gasp, "this isn't funny."

She tried to push him off, but the man held firm, face moving to properly look up at her (though it was a bit comical how his cheeks smushed in). 

"I would never joke about this. You're exactly my type. My damn dream girl," he said earnestly.

Sue couldn't help it, she knew her face was turning the same strawberry color as her hair. She felt like a maiden or something silly. 

She had a head and shoulders above this strange man, but he made her feel… delicate, nearly. 

"You're an odd one," she managed.

"So I've been told. I'm Raiden," he added with a grin.

"Thrud."

He sighed again, ecstacy clear in his every facet.

"Thrud… I'm gonna marry you."

"Oh yeah…?"

"Mm. Mark my words. I'm never gonna let you go."

"Whatever you say, pal. But just know that I've always promised myself that I would stay with the man I love until the day I die. You really up for that commitment?" She asked, only half-kidding.

"...is it too soon to bring you home to my mom?" He fired back, and she felt her face heat up all over again.

"Probably," she stammered out. He had to be able to feel how hard her heart was hammering in her chest as she added, "at least buy me lunch first."

He grinned brightly, squeezing her tight (it was, frankly, amazing to be held like that) before pulling away. 

"Whatever you want, my angel. Or can I call you baby? Would that be too much?"

She blinked, brain firing on all cylinders.

"I'm like twice your size," she squeaked, following as he took her hand and led her to their table.

"Yeah, and? I could die a happy man if you let me call you my baby girl," he sighed with a smile, pulling out her chair.

She felt like she was about to die herself.

"I, um, yeah, sure. Whatever."

"Great. Order whatever you want, baby, and then how about a walk in the park? Maybe see some fireworks later?"

It honestly sounded like the perfect evening.

"....maybe you will marry me," she blurted, and he laughed brightly, booming, perfect.

"That's the plan."

She'd have to make Goll her maid of honor. The girl really had delivered this time. She felt herself falling hard, and had the feeling that this might just turn out okay.

--

She still felt butterflies as he dropped her off at her house that night. Her mind was a whirl, and she couldn't believe it was over already. She surprised herself by not wanting it to end, even. 

"I… would you like to come in for coffee?"

He raised an eyebrow, and she worried she'd overstepped, at least until he broke into a grin.

"Baby girl, if I go in there, I definitely won't be able to stop at just coffee. I don't know if you're ready for that kind of passionate night. I don't stop until morning."

Yes she felt every ounce of bravado laced in those silver words, but she also felt that he meant every bit of it, and was genuinely interested in… well.

No one had ever so much as kissed her. This was an entirely new beast indeed.

He laughed, and reached a hand up to cup her cheek.

"You're adorable when you blush, sweetheart. I'll let you go tonight. We can meet up again tomorrow, yeah?"

She nodded numbly, and her blush only deepened as he put his other hand on her face, cradling it like something precious.

"I wouldn't say no to a goodnight kiss, though I get it if that's a little too fast for you."

She shook her head, heart about to explode outside her chest and take them both out with the force of it.

His grin only widened and he pulled her down to meet her lips with his, still smiling even as he kissed her.

This was new.

This was wildly unexpected.

This was wonderful.

As he pulled away, lipstick staining his mouth, he whistled, low and sweet. He'd liked it too?

"That was incredible, baby. You have sweet dreams tonight. I definitely will. Call you tomorrow?"

She nodded again, numb and on fire all at once, the tiniest smile playing on her lips, and he leaned back to peck them once more before stepping back, waving.

He didn't leave until she was in her home, door closed behind her (a perfect gentleman to the end), and she about screamed in joy.

Maybe their second date really could be a wedding. She didn't think she could ever let him go.

[maple-the-awesome]

The Chain Meets You, His Partner || 2/3

Part 1 || Part 3

Pairing: Hyrule, Sky, Wind x GN! Reader

Requested by @temporarilyablog: i see requests are open still so im coming to you with a thought i had recently:how about a Link from the Chain interacting with the reader, another Link's s/o from their original adventures, when *their* Link isn't around. i can see some teasing another Link with the reader that they've only known through little stories here and here, or others grilling the reader relentlessly because another Link was so shy about their relationship and partner, and wants to know how that Link is like around someone he allows himself to relax.its kinda like when the Chain met Malon for the first time and interacted with her for stories about old man Timeand as always stay awesome, i love your writing!

Zelda Masterlist 💙Fandom Masterlist

Concerningly delighted or eerily eager - the Chain can’t quite agree on which descriptor best described their teammate the best once he realized they had all landed in his Hyrule. Bubbling with excitement ever since while maintaining a pace some of the other boys have to jog after, Link doesn’t waste breath saying where he’s leading them, although that giddy smile upon his face - as much as he tries to hide it - is plenty for the wiser heroes to get the hint…

Hyrule's time is 'rough around the edges', to put it easily, not that it can't be expected considering all the stories he's rather casually told the others about regarding both his world and adventures. Even the Kingdom's Castle - usually a centerpiece to the land - is beaten down and, in most aspects, less...impressive compared to what most of the heroes are accustomed to seeing, although for a simple traveler like Hyrule, it still holds quite a bit of significance.

"I just want to speak to the Sovereign before we move on - to let them know why I've been away," He rambles his explanation to the Chain, his outward emotions suddenly undergoing yet another change. His once untroubled smile becomes wary, his hands unstill as he fidgets with his sleeves. That prior excitement he had held when first suggesting they even go to the Castle has now turned into what the other heroes misjudge to be poorly hidden nerves, "I don't want them to be left assuming I'm dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Makes sense," Warrior nods, keeping a careful eye on Hyrule's behavior. Being a captain in charge of so many, he can spot a shift in confidence from a mile away, "You have been gone for a while."

"We're not going to be - I don't know - arrested on the spot or anything, right?" Legend asks, his focus more on the guards who maintain obvious glaring suspicions towards the group despite allowing them inside once confirming their famed hero's identity. 

"Why would we be arrested?"

"You mentioned how much of a hardass your Sovereign can be," The Vet clarifies with a casual shrug, "And a paranoid one, too, if these guards leave anything to the imagination. Leaders like that don't usually need much reason to throw someone in a dungeon. Nine random heroes showing up while claiming to be from different timelines, all chasing some shadow lizard through magic portals? We'll sound insane."

Hyrule frowns and maybe even takes some offense to Legend's observations which is why his rebuttal is so swift, "They -...They aren't like that! The previous King died suddenly. They were forced to take on the throne without much notice and at a young age, too! After everything Ganon put this kingdom through - Of course they're going to be paranoid, but they're reasonable and fair. There's nothing to worry about. Besides, we don't have to mention the exact reasoning for our meeting. I just...I would just like to see them while I can…"

The red on Hyrule's cheeks would've no doubt been noticed if not for the Chain's collective attention being stolen elsewhere, focused upon a pair of large doors that open into the Castle's throne room. Inside, a series of guards line the walls and at the opposite end sits the very subject of their conversation.

Your expression is stern and cold as you sit upon your claim dressed in expensive, colorful garments fitting for a proper monarch of your time. The golden crown upon your head shimmers in torch light, yet its glow is quickly outshined by your eyes which go wide with delight once you recognize your hero amongst this crowd of ragtag travelers. 

"Link…!" In an instant, you rise, your smile as grand as your divine beauty. Whether you gracefully walk or float down the stairs, there would be no visual difference. What is true is that you meet Hyrule at the bottom of those four measly steps, welcoming him with a strong embrace he's eager to return.

"...Your Majesty..." He doesn't realize just how quiet his voice is, whispered beside your ear as he forgets about the world while in your arms again. Oh, how he's missed this feeling!

The Chain is left in awe - No, it would be more accurate to say they're completely dumbfounded. Hyrule has always spoken favorably about the Royal Family of his time, tying especially pleasant compliments to the kingdom’s head. As stern as he admits you can appear, only good things have been attached to your name from your wise leadership to the love you hold towards your people, however not once - not a single murmur or breath - had ever dared mention your very apparent fondness for each other which certainly goes beyond the ordinary relationship of a monarch and their realm’s savior.

Even after your embrace, it's obvious that you hold nothing except the greatest of affections towards your hero. You look at him as if he's the sun that gives your kingdom life; the courage that keeps you going despite such challenging times. Hyrule's, of course, no better when it comes to you. It's not until now that his friend's realize they're previous mistake in assuming he was afraid to see you. No, that wasn't fear before, it was shyness. The thought of you had him feeling both delighted and sheepish. Now that he's here, though, his grin is uncontrollable. 

"Your Majesty, I'd like to meet the friends I've been traveling with -"

"- A Sovereign?! You're dating the freaking Sovereign and you didn't think to mention that small detail earlier?!" Legend suddenly shouts, demolishing the silence that had befallen the Chain.

He can’t help it! He feels utterly scammed! Hyrule had told everyone a great deal about his kingdom’s Sovereign, yet had only confessed to his predecessor during a late night heart-to-heart that he holds deep feelings towards a mysterious someone back home; someone he fears telling of his secret endearment. Not once - Not a single damn time - had he so much as let on that they’re the same person!

Legend isn’t sure what strikes his nerves more: the fact that Hyrule would be dumb enough not to add the important context that it’s royalty he’s in love with or that he’s dense enough to somehow believe you don’t love him back despite it being clear you’re totally whipped for him! Is he blind? Completely and utterly dull in the brain?!

Poor Hyrule's whole face explodes in red after Legend's outburst, and his condition is made no better when the others add in their own comments to this already awkward situation.

"Now it makes sense why you wanted to come here so badly," Wild nods in understanding, having previously been confused as to why Hyrule would care to go out of his way to let the royal family know of his whereabouts if he had no ties to them.

"To think our humble traveler could land a monarch. I mean, good for you and all," Warrior crosses his arms with a smirk, hoping to mask his slight jealousy.

The Traveler is left stammering for a response, finding himself suddenly overwhelmed.

"‘Dating’? Well, this is certainly news to me," You frown with a hand placed delicately above your heart. Turning to your hero, you can only look betrayed, "Link, I would've hoped you'd tell me. I could've cleared more of my schedule to be with you in that case."

"E-EH?!"

"And all those suitors the advisors have been arranging - I’ll have to tell them to abandon their efforts! Excellent, seeing as I didn’t truly care for their match-making attempts,” You huff, not giving Hyrule anytime to explain himself as you get right to business, waving your maid over to make a note, “But that should free up a considerable amount of my time…Will you and your friends be staying long? I can have the kitchen staff whip up a nice feast for later if you do.”

“Um -”

“- Can we?! My feet are aching!” Wind whines, practically deflating on the spot. The only thing holding him up is Warrior who scowls at his poor manners and forces him to stand upright.

Time is quick to step in front of the group and bow, hoping you dismiss their lack of grace, “If you don’t mind, Your Majesty. We wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“Not at all. It isn't often that we receive guests. I’ll have word sent to the kitchen right away. In the meantime, Lady Impa here can show you to a room where you may rest,” You finish writing on the paper she holds, allowing her to take both the paper and quill before once again giving your full attention to the travelers, “I have a meeting with the Zora Queen in precisely ten minutes, but following that the rest of my afternoon should be clear.”

You then face Hyrule, smirking at his flustered state, “Once that meeting is over, my time is yours, Link, if you wish to fill me in on your recent endeavors. I must say, I’m particularly interested in learning just how long we’ve supposedly been dating for.”

“...R - Right…Of course…” The poor boy squeaks, unable to process many thoughts beyond the feeling of his face overheating when you press a quick kiss to his cheek before leaving the room with your guards. Even the weight of Legend’s arm over his shoulder is barely enough to break him from his trance when the past hero leans in with a smug whisper:

“You’re welcome, buddy.”

From the moment he first stepped through that last portal, Sky has been radiating with pure glee. Anyone could understand why. He’s finally returned to Skyloft, a place he’s been missing so dearly ever since the start of this adventure months ago. Of course, home isn’t the only thing he’s been dying to be apart from.

Most of the other Links have long taken notice to Sky’s heartache which has been poorly hidden behind dreary melodies played on his harp and heaps of carved projects to distract from lonesome silence; somebody’s been on his mind, their absences from his life slowly driving him insane despite his efforts to remain focused.

That said, it’s no wonder that Sky is excited to be home again, moving at a hasty pace some assumed he’d be incapable of. Even the jolly greetings and curious questions from locals don’t slow him down much, his steps swift in bringing him to the doorstep of a brightly colored home no different from the many others that surround it, but it’s still special for what it holds inside.

There’s a short internal debate to be seen on Sky’s face - one where he hesitates to open the door because wouldn’t that be rude to simply invite himself into someone else’s house unannounced? Then again, it’s not like proper manners have ever stopped him before, and they won’t start today. He decides to impatiently let himself in. Forgiveness can be sought after later.

Every ache of his travel-worn body and each gloomy thought surrounding his collective adventures melt away like magic by the mere sight of you. You must’ve just been about to leave - that or you recently arrived home, because you’re still in your knight’s uniform, caught mid-adjusting your belt when you look up at the man standing in your doorway.

Surprised for sure, yet it’s also a welcomed feeling when you rush to meet your lover half-way. There’s no words for the amount of joy you feel in holding him tight, possibly even shedding a few tears as he decorates your face in dozens of butterfly kisses, one for each second he’s thought of you while apart.

It takes some time and a loud clearing of someone’s throat for the Hero of Sky to remember his companions who all wait awkwardly around the doorway. Even when snapped out of his trance, he’s still grinning ear-to-ear like a lovestruck fool, his arm unmoving from where it remains wrapped around your waist as he introduces you.

Needless to say, it’s nice to finally be able to put a face to the name sighed so often. You’re sociable and polite, yet if that sword upon your back is any indication, you must be a strong fighter to have secured yourself a position amongst the knights of Skyloft.

To the Chain’s luck, it turns out you had just arrived home which grants them plenty of time to bend your ear. They have lots of questions, their curiosity only being natural since your place on the timeline is so different from their own. They ask about your life in the clouds, job as a knight, and most importantly, your relationship with Sky who’s thrilled to expand upon such a wonderful topic himself by sharing his own honored memories.

“‘seems our Skylofian here is truly whipped,” Twilight chuckles at the end of Sky’s latest story, although truthfully he’s starting to have trouble hiding his boredom. 

At this point, Sky’s been rambling about his affections towards you for well over an hour, sparing no detail from your first meeting as children to practically each and every date you’ve shared since becoming more than friends. As happy as the boys are for him - truly, they are - they do have their limits for how much lovey-dovey they can take in one day. Legend in particular looks like he’s seconds away from banging his head against the table.

“I am~” Sky exhales lovingly while staring at you with hearts in his eyes. You find his attention endearing and give his hand a squeeze as it sits intertwined with yours on your lap.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Time queries, half-teasing and half-genuine.

“Oh, I don’t know…” You scratch the back of your head bashfully, but when your attention falls back to Sky, you find him still staring at you, this time with a pout no different from a baby remlit’s. Rolling your eyes, you lean into him with a dramatized sigh, “He’d have to ask me first, but I’m hoping being around you eight will give him the courage to do so soon. We’re only getting older, after all.”

“Why drag your feet? You’re clearly in love.”

“You’ve got a willin’ partner right here. No need to hesitate.”

“You know, we’ve passed a few merchants who sell rings during our journey.”

“Yeah, cheaply made ones. If you want something fancy, Castle Town is the place to go.”

“Not too fancy. A simple yet well-thought out gesture can go a long way.”

“A strong protection spell wouldn’t hurt, though.”

“I know a Gerudo who handcrafts the most beautiful jewelry. If we end up in my Hyrule, I could introduce you.”

“Oh, or Tetra’s crew has a TON of jewelry! Maybe you can find a nice ring in their stash?”

Sky laughs awkwardly as the other heroes suddenly bombard him with their ‘helpful’ suggestions, chattering away as they begin putting together the pieces for a proper proposal. When he glances your way, you’re not-so-subtly hiding your amused smile behind your hand, clearly looking forward to whatever plan they end up holding him to later. Hopefully, you won’t have to wait long to find out.

Wind’s destination isn’t too far from the last portal opened which is good because the others have a hard time keeping up with the younger boy who effortlessly dashes across the deep sand-covered beach, heading directly to one of the few huts on this small island they’ve found themselves on.

He doesn’t wait for his companions to catch up. He might not have even noticed they fell behind. His focus is primarily on reaching home, practically overboiling with excitement at the prospect of seeing his family again. It’s always a relief for his dear grandmother to see him safe, shedding many tears as she hugs her grandson with a grip unthought of for a little old woman. 

Wind’s grandmother has a list of questions she asks at the speed of light which must not be unusual seeing as he answers each just as skillfully, telling her where he’s been, who he’s been with, and confirming that yes, he’s well fed. Of course, it’s only natural that the same questions are also asked of each and every hero who steps through her front door, after all, curiosity is second only to her naturally nurturing spirit. Who cares how old some of them are? No matter the age, they’re no different than her grandson in her eyes!

A sudden shrill of jubilation scares the group half to death mere milliseconds before a small girl comes racing through the front door, leaping into her older brother’s arms with similar cries about how much she’s missed him. She’s followed by another adult who’s much calmer in their approach, yet nevertheless gleefully smiling as they eagerly accept their turn in hugging the teen while welcoming him home.

You attend to Wind tenderly, quickly pulling away from the hug to check over his face and account for any new scars. Your hand then lingers on his cheek as you sigh at his smiled reassurances, looking down upon him with an amount of love and care not too far off from how his own grandmother had.

It’s only after ensuring his well-being that you address his traveling companions. You’re barely fazed by the large group when you introduce yourself, having become accustomed to Wind’s strange ability to make friends with almost anyone during his adventures. They seem to be a bunch of respectable young men, anyway, judging on their politeness, and as you tell them, friends of Wind’s are always welcomed.

After introductions - which are short seeing as most in this room share the same name - Wind’s grandmother suggests a tour be given to your visitors. Being such a small community on a more lonesome edge of the map, newcomers are rare, so Wind and Aryall immediately leap at the chance to show their new friends around the island that they love. Who would you be to deny their adorable puppy-dog eyes?

Realistically, there isn’t that much to see aside from a few landmarks, interesting locals, and a population of chubby pigs, however if there’s any benefit to being surrounded by an ocean, it’s that there’s lots of good places to swim and seeing as most of the Links are long overdue for some quality time spent as normal teenagers, they’re happy for the break. 

Most of the boys partake in jumping from the rocks to see who can create the biggest splash, although Legend and Sky favor staying on land to help Aryall build a sandcastle for her seagull friends. You, meanwhile, relax in the sun, keeping a careful eye on all activities which has simply become second nature to you at this point. While Wind may be a fourteen-year-old who has sailed across the entire ocean, you don’t think you’ll ever stop worrying for his safety.

“Those kids seem rather fond of you.”

You glance up to the oldest Link of the group - you believe you heard the other’s refer to him as ‘Time’ - as he invites himself to sit next to you in the sand. Despite several pleas for the other boys, he had turned down their attempts at getting him in the water. Maybe for the best, since they’re now starting to toss each other off the rocks.

“I would hope so. I’ve known them both since before they could walk.”

“I take it you’re their guardian?”

Humming at his observation, you turn back to watch the younger kids and teens, “...People on our island have always kept an eye out for each other, but…Well, when Link and Aryall’s parents passed, I guess you could say I felt extra inclined to help. 

“I don’t have any family of my own here and there’s only so much their poor grandma can do at her age. Unfortunately, keeping up with two lively kids can be a struggle for her, so I’ve done what I can to remove some of that stress from her shoulders. With no kids of my own, I have the time and quite frankly, I enjoy the opportunity to feel…-”

“- To feel like a parent?”

“...Yeah…” You frown, pulling your knees to your chest with a sigh, “Of course, I don’t go around calling myself that. I wouldn’t want to overstep any boundaries, you know? Especially not for Link. Aryall - She was so young when they lost their parents, so I think it’s always been easier for her to see me as fitting the role, but Link…He was five. He still remembers them, so I doubt he’ll ever exactly see me as any kind of replacement.” 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Time objects kindly, following your gaze out to where Wind fights to wiggle himself out of Warrior’s grip. Seconds before he can be pushed off the rock, Wild and Twilight come up behind the two, shoving Warrior overboard just as Wind slips away, “I suppose I can’t speak directly for him, but I can say he refers to you as his parent quite frequently around us.”

“...Does he?” You blink in surprise. Wind’s never said anything in particular that would make you think he sees you in that light, but now that you think about it, when you first met Tetra, she referred to you as Wind’s parent, too. Did she say it out of mistaken observation like you assumed then or because Wind told her?

“From the sounds of it, you’ve made quite the impact on his life, one he admires greatly.”

You once again look back to the group, catching Wind’s eyes. He perks up, immediately waving as he shouts for you ‘Watch this!’ before running and leaping into the water with a giant cannonball and nearly on top of Warrior’s head much to the older boy’s annoyance. Once resurfacing, he searches for your attention and beams when he finds your proud smile reflecting back at him.

You’re thankful that he becomes distracted by the other boys jumping in, because as soon as he looks away, you can feel yourself becoming teary eyed. Perhaps you’ve been overthinking things this entire time. You were so focused on giving him space and not forcing a relationship that you failed to pick up on the little signs that he’s already accepted you. Wind has always been close to you, never shying away from hugs after his adventures while always seeking both your attention and approval; something he only does with his family.

[katyspersonal]

When I blew up at A after she defended a person who harassed me and my friends, I apologized to her not even a day later, very genuinely and owning up to how she didn't need my shit, unprompted by anything but just feeling guilty and then when it seemed that she didn't forgive me and stopped interacting, I apologized again and broke mutuals to leave her alone. And not only she didn't forgive me - she faked being cool with me, she has been faking it for like 40 days, she lied in my face that she didn't blame me and only has been interacting less because of "being busy and fandom-shifting" and then as soon as she saw a chance to get rid of me when her ableist fujo friend threw a fit about me, she just backstabbed us. In a vile way, like a rat, walking behind my back and finally throwing me under the bus, believing that she saw the last of me and so she would not have to play the role of "understanding and forgiving" person when in reality her ego is so fragile she could not take the L of ONE negative interaction. Not the first time someone sees me as a tumor on an otherwise healthy body and is desperate to cut me off from my friends/community/whatever.

But when she "apologized" to me, she only did that when it became apparent that I didn't leave and nor my friends were okay with her betrayal, she was prompted by learning that I vented about her in my blog and not by actual regret, her apology was fake as fuck with the whole "well but you can see where I came from you made me uncomfy by liking me TOO much anyhow it is not healthy because online friendships are not real uwu :((((((" and she did not even have the balls to let me react and talk it all out, blocking me instantly after that DM. Yet when I of course did not accept this, she got mad at me for making it harder for her or shit like that. Did not help that she kept LYING. She said Alfred-chan was not the one harassing us because "well I messaged them and they said they didn't do that :(" (something tells me you will never become a detective, A) but when the truth was exposed A claimed that she always knew it were them? Then when she seized the chance to get rid of me without consequences and betrayed us but I didn't leave, she pretended that she "only wanted the truth".

I really hate the ongoing insult for my intelligence like I don't see whats up. I hate how she believed my friends would be okay with her betrayal. I hate how she tried to gaslight about "I just cut off a person that made me uncomfortable" when betrayal ain't it lol. She had ONE job: if learning that I was angry and hurt more than one time in my life was ooh-so-eye-opening, she could have just DMed me that "listen, if lashing out is something that might keep happening, I don't want to be mutuals anymore, bye" and all. Nobody forced to forgive me, nor my friends would force her to like me if she didn't. But she HAD to be a vicious snake, she was EAGER to finally push me off the cliff as soon as her fujo friend made it look like acceptable thing to do. But okay, some people lack psyop immunity, fine. She still had a chance to both apologize genuinely AND to not fucking lie to look smarter. Cowardly rat!

I just hate how strongly this situation got to me. Like... It just comes back to me when I make someone uncomfortable on accident or am rude, because after what A did I just expect that this person will never forgive me. Like, what is the point of apologizing or explaining myself? If they will NOT forgive me, if clearly I just retroactively ruined all our previous positive interactions and now they will feign being "chill" just to one day ditch me, instead of being straightforward about not being able to forgive me. But I hate it. I hate now perceiving everyone /I/ have wronged even a little bit as an enemy and a liar, that will forever have ill will towards me now. I just don't believe in people's ability to forgive or understand anymore, all because of that rat. And that hostility just makes me worse the moment I realize I made a mistake, I just want to block this person, or to yell at them to go ahead and show me that they hate me now. I just wish it could heal somehow... But, unfortunately, it is not something a time heals. It is one of those things that are only healed by certain circumstance and until then it is just there. Like a fireplace that will get fuel thrown into it, whether I want it or not. Maybe my rule to not forgive people who are not sorry is not helping.. I don't know, I just don't know.

[justahopelessaromantic]

I can't breathe, please don't say you love me (A Poem)

Fandom: Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony and Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair AU: Medieval/Fantasy AU Ships: One-sided Tojouma (Kokichi/Kirumi) Accompanying Playlist for this Fic on Spotify and Youtube Summary: Your king has always been one to clean up after himself. At least, he has since you've been here. Normally he'd do his best to pick up the pulsating appendage and lock it back away in his chest, wiping up as much oozing red as he could. He'd cite giving you more time to focus on him as his reason, and you'd fire back that perhaps he just wanted to make your job a bit easier that day, but the mischievous sparkle in his eyes would shut you up. For now. Still. Kokichi leaving his bleeding heart on the floor he knows you clean first is the same as him leaving a crude ghost drawing at Kaito's doorstep, regardless of any innocence he feigns. He wants you to find it. The only difference is he doesn't actually mean to scare you.

He’ll be here any minute now

He’s called for no royal invitation

You’ve made no plans

But he’s already on his way

You know it

The door will groan and gag against his greasy fingers

Slamming wood against rough stone walls

Echoing across the snarling maw of the winding hall

Eager to swallow you whole

The scratches etching away over the door’s refined paint job

(Mahiru's work, you believe)

A reminder of who owns the place

The floor blooming with bruises

Caving underneath the weight of a dirty dress shoe

Tapping

Like clockwork

Scuffing pristine tile as he chases after you

(All that wide open room

Where will you hide?)

Brown smudging blinding white

Sweaty hands staining your gloves

Slimy fingers tangling in yours

Slobbering all over your tight-lipped mouth

Drool

dripping

down

to

the

floor

Pooling into the tile grooves

He’ll make a mess of everything

Of you

So you clean!

You roll up your sleeves

The bright silk digging into your forearms

(A gift from him, of course)

Cutting the circulation

(You feel as if you could puke up the blood

You'd only leave more work for yourself)

And put yourself to use

You scrub away any sense of innuendo

Pray the sparkling floors distract his wandering eye

Toss the freshly chopped firewood

Scattered around in the game of tag he “demanded”

(See: pleaded for)

So he gags at the smoke

Sick as the heat

Seeping into your shielded shoulder

From his arm

Restrained by bandages you so lovingly wrapped

Yet so invitingly naked

Coiled around your shoulder

You know,

Like he’s slick

Like the lopsided crown and newly crafted red cloak could only bury the sly little jester boy hiding underneath

Only peaking out to trick and tease you

Like you don’t keep watch for those kind of things

Pick apart intentions like you pick at grimy china dishes

Till they're white enough to smash against wiped down walls

Chipping ethereal murals

(What fine work Angie and her god do)

In grief,

And frustration,

And loneliness

The sort of loneliness you handle with worn gloves 

 Shaky hands and emboldened care

In sickness and in health

The shatter clanging against gold tableware

Leaving glass shards you’ll never stop finding in odd places

(Reminders of what you’ve wrecked)

You polish glass windows

(Let a pretty thing walk by and catch his eye

See what happens)

And the tile

Permitting your boots to clack against it

(They say a glimpse at your reflection can talk you out of plans better than your closest friend

And you're too frightened to do it anyway)

Clear the table with patience and resolve

Straighten the chairs

Careful not to scratch through your hard work

You look filthy and disheveled in comparison

You hope it covers up all that beauty he finds in you 

Your palpable fear buried by the tight-lipped smile and droopy eyes

Underneath the blood, sweat, and tears

You've smeared all across your face

And when you still hear no clatter of doors

You will dust off the throne

(He will plop down

Bouncing on red velvet

Kicking his feet

And drag you down with him

Only tugging harder when you move to stand

You both will relish in the warmth of your meal and each other)

Set the table for two

(Checkered place mats

And no complicated utensil systems

Just how he likes it)

And pour poset ale

Older than you

And call for Ibuki

To let the favorites you share with him

Float in the background

And Ruraka

To bake “freaky little peasant horse bread”

(Such a way with words he has

Not a good one, mind you

Just a way)

 The ones he insists on sharing with you each morning

Until busy, achy feet finally land

Square against the doorframe

(To distract your nerves

Of course)

Waiting

Rudely clean air waiting back at you

…

…

...

…

…

…

…

...

He’s requested so much of you since your arrival

(A tad ungrateful

Considering you only work for a roof under your head and a way to spend your time)

Ruling advice

Ring around the Rosie

Courtship assistance

Tic tac toe

Guidance exploring the town

Hide and seek

Kisses for good luck

(His words

Not yours)

Bedtime stories

You’ve served him without hesitation

(Whether out of duty or desire

You’re too petrified to know)

Each order verbally signed off with an “Of course, my lord”

He’d dramatically wave away

You will lay down your life for him in battle if he orders it

(He won't

Would scold you for even thinking it

It would only draw an unnecessary smile out of you)

Even rip out your balled hand from its tight grip on your gown

To offer it in marriage

If truly necessary

The demon child resting on his shoulder

Wines at him to take

And take

And take

All his growing soul thinks it needs

You have only the few constricting desires

Sewn into the borders of your heart

The lace so delicate

You find it easy to ignore the brush against your ribcage

As your

Still

Late at night

Esteemed royalty nestled between your chest

The fireplace crackling louder than your careless whispers

Empty wine bottles

Sitting at his bedside

Watching you

In eager anticipation

Stray embers tickling the arms wrapped tightly around him

His nimble, calloused hands dig into your open skin

Blood trailing down your gown

(You offer to scrub it out of the carpet come morning

He says the carpet stain can be a reminder of your talks

And how could you sneak out of bed that early

Just to let him wake up alone,

You cruel mistress!)

He plays doctor

The white wine you’ve poured and he’s offered acts as middle age anesthesia

Filthy, jagged fingernails

(Bound to infect your willing immune system

With trickery and lies

You'll pocket

Just in case)

Gingerly drag each thread out of its meticulous stitching

Tickling and kneading the offending origin with each gentle tug

Weaving each mortifying need

Into a growing tapestry

Hung above his bedside

He tends to it every day

With a spot right next to him at the banquet table

Mandatory playtime breaks

Careless affectionate touches

(Unbecoming in his case

Unprofessional in yours)

A place in his bed

Chess he “totally let you win, anyway!”

Unwanted help in the kitchen

And with greeting guests

And cleaning

And organizing

And anything to silence the rude question he found neatly embroidered on your heart

Lovingly tracing over it with his thumb

Tearfully trying to kiss it better 

(You handle his scraped knees the same)

“What else can I do to help?”

How dare anything

Anyone!

Ask that of you?

He laments

One bratty night

Empty champagne glasses

Diligently washed and packed away

(Why leave his buzzing mind visual clutter?

Brutal peace negotiations have worn him out well enough)

After all you do for us!

He cries

He calls for you to tuck him in

(You suspect the “us” is mostly him

But his pride is a silly, wounded thing

The only thing you enjoy nurturing)

Today you’ve poured your everything into your presentation

All your concern and trust and care

All you know how to give

Into your hospitality

If there’s any magical force out there watching over you

(And with all the wild and overbearing magic this kingdom runs into

There might as well be)

You hope and pray it’s enough for his aching heart

It is

Just this once

[actress4him]

Can I get falling through ice with platonic kidge? Preferably Pidge falling through but I’m good with either!

I’m so sorry that this has taken me...absolutely forever. And I’m sorry that it’s pretty short and simple, I’ve been having a hard time finding inspiration for fanfics lately. But it’s here! And it’s my last current bingo request so yay for finally catching up!

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Prompt: Falling Through Ice

contains: lady whump, hypothermia

.

.

“I think it’s right over here!” Pidge looks up from the map on her tablet and points straight ahead toward what looks like a series of caves carved into the side of a mountain. Without waiting for a response from Keith, she takes off at a jog, eager as he is to get the mission in this horrible frozen wasteland over and done with.

“Be careful,” he calls after her, but he isn’t sure whether she even hears since the wind chooses that moment to pick up. Not that she would listen, anyway. He knows very well how Pidge is when she gets her mind set on something.

Besides, that’s mostly what he’s here for. Watching Pidge’s back. She’s the little genius who can read the map and work the tracking technology and identify minerals once they actually find what they’re looking for. He just has to make sure that she stays alive and well in order to do all of that.

With that in mind, he breaks into a jog behind her, head swiveling back and forth to take in the empty, snow covered expanse of planet as they go. There’s no sign of life anywhere. He really doesn’t expect to see any the whole time, he doesn’t know what could even live in this freezing weather. And they’re far from Galra territory, so they shouldn’t be a problem, either. Still, he’s going to remain vigilant, just in case.

The ground under his feet changes, and he slows a little, frowning down at it. Ice. Not icy ground, just straight up ice, like they’re walking on a frozen lake. With the temperature this low, it should be plenty solid, but…

He switches his comms on since Pidge is too far ahead to hear his voice. “Hey Pidge, you might want to slow down a litt-”

His warning is interrupted by a loud, heart-stopping cracking sound, and an almost simultaneous screech that he hears both over the comms and cutting through the wind. Breath catching in his throat, he looks up just in time to see his teammate plunge down through the ice.

“Pidge!” 

Ignoring his own warning, Keith dashes forward, feet slipping slightly with each pounding step. There isn’t any time to waste, that water will be frigid and she’s got on her armor but he doesn’t know how well it protects against being submerged and she has her faceplate open…

As he draws closer he can both hear and feel the ice weakening under his feet. Forcing himself to slow down, he inches a bit further before sprawling on his stomach, spreading his weight out across more surface, and starts scooting forward like an insect.

“Pidge!” He can see her head. That’s the only thing that’s keeping him from panicking right now. She managed to get her arms out before she fell completely down into the water and caught herself. If she’d gone all the way down and disappeared beneath the ice…he shook the thought out of his head, refusing to dwell on it. “I’m coming, just hang on.” 

“K-k…K-Keith…” She’s already shivering, dang it. “Some…some water g-got int-to my…my…”

“Okay. I understand, it’s okay.” It’ll be fine, he just has to get her out of there and get her back to Red. If there’s one thing Red knows, it’s warmth. 

He reaches the edge of the hole after what feels like ages of crawling. “Okay. I’m gonna close your faceplate, just in case you were to slip down any further, okay?” He isn’t sure if what he sees is a quick nod or just a shiver, but he does it anyway, feeling minutely better when she’s sealed off from any more cold water getting into her suit. 

“Alright. Time to get you out of there.” He hasn’t actually figured out how exactly that’s gonna happen yet, but it only takes a second of consideration for it to come to him. “If I turn around, do you think you can grab on tight to my ankles?”

“Y-y-yeah.”

“Okay. I’m gonna use my jetpack, so make sure you get a good grip.” Painstakingly, trying not to go too fast but feeling the urgent need to get her out of there, he spins himself on the ice until his feet are in front of her. Pidge pries one arm away from the ice, then another, latching onto his ankles with what he’s sure are stiff fingers. 

He just hopes this idea is actually a good one, and that she can hang on. 

“Here goes!” Keith activates his jetpack, and he goes shooting forward on his belly across the ice. Thankfully, he feels Pidge’s weight come with him. As soon as he’s certain they’re clear of the hole and back on more solid ice, he cuts the jetpack off and quickly sits up. Pidge has rolled over onto her side and curled up into a ball. 

“Hey.” He scoots back toward her, looking her over, though he’s not sure what he expects to see. She’s not injured, just freezing. “You okay?”

A shiver racks her body. “Mm-hm. P-peachy.”

It was a stupid question. “Um. I don’t think I should call Red over here, not with this ice. Is it okay if I carry you back?”

“W-w…what ab-bout th-...the m-min-nerals?” She cranes her head to look toward the caves they’d been headed toward. 

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’m taking you back to Red to warm up. If we think we can get the minerals after that, fine. But we’re not doing anything else until you’re safe.” Holding out his hands to her, he waits until she accepts them, then pulls her up and loops her arms over his shoulders. “One, two, three.” Pidge helps as best she can to get them up, Keith on his feet with his hands hooked under her thighs and her hanging onto his back. 

“You g-good?”

He nods. “I’m fine. You hardly weigh anything.”

She slaps him weakly on the helmet as if that’s an insult.

“Alright, it’s gonna be slow going until we get off this ice. Don’t need a repeat incident.” 

He picks his way carefully across the terrain, wishing that there was any way to make this trip go faster. His jetpack won’t carry the both of them, though, and hers is frozen and useless. Every once in a while, he asks her a question, usually checking to see if they’re going the right direction, though it’s mostly just to make sure she’s still awake and aware. The longer they go, the more fuzzy her responses become, and since they’re no longer on the ice he forces himself into a faster trot. 

By the time Red’s welcome form looms through the falling snow, Keith’s exhausted, but he just pushes himself a little harder still. “Almost there. Stay awake.”

“Mm.”

“I mean it, Pidge. If you fall asleep on me now I’ll, uh…I’ll rearrange stuff in your lab when we get back.”

“Nuhh. You woul’n’t.”

“I will. Stay awake.”

“Ugh. ‘Kay.”

She barely does. Keith practically runs up Red’s ramp, into her blessedly warm cockpit, and lowers Pidge into the pilot’s seat as carefully as he can on trembling legs. Her head lolls to the side, but when he taps the side of her helmet she grunts at him and squints her eyes open. 

“Are we home?”

The corner of his mouth crooks up a little. “We’re in Red.” He glances up at the ceiling. “Can we crank up the temperature in here?” 

The Lion gives a quiet rumble in response, and the room grows a little warmer. 

Keith looks back to Pidge. “Feeling any better yet?”

She smiles a little and shuts her eyes again. “Mm. ‘t’s warm…”

“Yeah. We should probably get you out of those wet clothes, but I don’t have anything for you to change into.”

“Feels good. Jus’ need…five more minutes. Then…then minerals.”

He huffs in disbelief. “You need a lot more than five minutes, Pidge. I think I’m gonna take you back to the Castle. We can come back for the minerals later. I don’t wanna risk you getting sick out here.”

Pidge sighs heavily, but she’s in no shape to put up a fight. “Fine. I’m gonna…take a nap.”

Keith laughs lightly. “I guess you can do that.” Now that they’re out of the cold, he’s pretty sure she’ll be safe. “Not in my chair, though. I’ll take you back to the cargo hold.”

He helps her up, and she manages to hobble to the back with one arm around him. As he’s getting her settled, she reaches out and pats him on the arm without opening her eyes. 

“Thanks, Keith. You’re…a good teammate.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, simply staring down at her in surprise. Finally he relaxes a little into a smile. “Get some sleep, Pidge.”