#an utter sap

[birdmitosis]

Ship fanmix for Voice of the Cold/Voice of the Paranoid from Slay the Princess. If you can tolerate pain, can you tolerate joy? (Art credit to @phospolipid-bilayer, right here!)

Acceptance - So Contagious Oh no, this couldn't be more unexpected And I can tell you I've been moving in so slow Don't let it throw you off too far Could this be out of line? (Could this be out of line?) To say you're the only one breaking me down like this

aeseaes - Mahogany String his neck, would you, would you? Steer this wreck, would you, would you? Tease me, torturous, bend to your death I give in easy, hold me now I'll be reckless, not yet

Andy Grammer - Fine By Me And it seems that every time we're eye to eye I can find another piece of you that I don't wanna lose I'm just saying it's fine by me if you never leave And we can live like this forever, it's fine by me

Angus & Julia Stone - Just a Boy Girl, you make me want to feel Things I've never felt before Girl, you make me want to feel Did I say I'm just a boy? You can hold me to that

Cash Cash - Surrender I was running on an empty heart Not a trace of gasoline Trying to dim every single spark That could hurt, that could burn all of me

Charlotte Martin - Four Walls Here is the part you reach for me Say that you have no need of this Say it again, again, again, again Head up straight, I know what I'm doing Head up straight, I know what I'm doing (I don't)

girl in red - i wanna be your girlfriend Oh Hannah, I will follow you home Although my lips are blue and I'm cold I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath Oh Hannah, oh Hannah, oh Hannah, oh Hannah

Holly Conlan - OK I build up walls no one can climb And I tear them down, this process takes up all my time And now I'm confused on top of it all I was ready to lose and ready to fall But then something about the way you look at me It makes it feel okay, you make it feel okay

Jaymay - Sycamore Down I'm just a cloud, I'm not proud Of how I've been dealing with things No one's allowed into my world To see how I'm feeling If this isn't love What is love if this isn't love?

Keaton Henson - Limb And I will shed my skin Oh, to let you in So lay down your guns for me I'm only temporary

Maria Mena - Just Hold Me But if I wanted silence I would whisper And if I wanted loneliness I'd choose to go And if I liked rejection I'd audition And if I didn't love you, you would know And why can't you just hold me?

Motion City Soundtrack - L.G. FUAD Yeah, so I'm already dead On the inside, but I have learned to pretend It's the only way I have learned to express myself, through other people's descriptions of life I'm afraid I'm alone and entirely useless (In this department)

Of Monsters and Men - Love Love Love Yeah, maybe I'm a bad, bad, bad, bad person Well baby, I know Oh, cause you love, love, love When you know I can't love So I think it's best we both forget before we dwell on it...

Ricky Montgomery - This December Well, this December, I'll remember Want you to see it when I do It's this state in this state I'm living in It's just a little bit, it's just a little bit lonely in this home It's always colder on your own My darling I, I let the season change my mind

Sharon Van Etten - It's Not Like Take both my hands, tie them behind my back To keep me from holding, from holding, from holding But that's so unlike myself And it's not like I have anyone to hold, or do I want to? These eyes, this heart, these arms have held almost everything But not you, but not you, but I want to

Bonus: DECO*27 - The Vampire (Rachie English cover) Back and forth from good to bad in every heartbeat Let's turn that fear of yours into something sweet Acting like I just don't care and yet I'm feeling everything The distance tears me open, holding back all emotion But if I keep tempting fate then it'll crush me 'till I finally break

(All fanmixes are a perpetual WIP.)

[bird-inacage]

"Stay open, forever, so open it hurts, and then open up some more" by George Saunders. A prompt fill for Val @nooowestayandgetcaught

Only by opening ourselves up to someone, do we allow ourselves the opportunity to love and receive love. Being willing to remain open and therefore vulnerable after pain, betrayal and rejection is no easy feat. Despite himself, Sky lowers his guard down for Prapai. “I’m sorry, I already love you.” The boy who clutches onto affection for dear life because all he wants is to be cherished. The boy who comes alive under an adoring gaze and welcoming embrace. The boy who reaches out to soothe the man he loves, even when he’s suffering from an unspeakable agony.

[saiikavon]

(Idk if I’ll write anymore tonight, but I was dying to share this part of ‘wintertime love.’)

[Yuugi stepped into the Kaiba Corp. executives’ office early Thursday morning, feeling neither bright-eyed nor bushy-tailed in the slightest. His head felt heavy, and his eye bags were undoubtedly darker than his eyeliner. The last twenty-four hours were adrift in a sleep-deprived fog, and now he was fairly certain he was hallucinating.

              What was Jounouchi doing here?

              For a few bleary seconds, Jounouchi stood alone in Yuugi’s line of sight, cheerfully rocking on his heels. Then, the reality of the last few weeks slowly clicked back into place as Kaiba stepped into frame beside Jounouchi, cupping his cheeks in both hands and drawing him into a soft, languid kiss. Jounouchi seemed to melt against Kaiba’s taller frame, resting his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders as he returned it, all too easily. Yuugi quickly averted his gaze, his face heating up like a furnace.

              “Told you,” Mokuba’s voice deadpanned behind him. “They have no shame.”

              He looked terribly unimpressed with the whole thing. Yuugi could only offer a nervous chuckle in response.

              Despite their apparent lack of regard for their audience, Kaiba and Jounouchi weren’t locking lips for that long. Given the murmured goodbyes and promises to meet for lunch, it seemed to be just a brief parting of ways. Yuugi peeked back at them after a second or two, just catching the tail end of a short peck, their noses brushing against one another’s. Kaiba’s expression was so impossibly tender that Yuugi’s head spun just looking at it for a split second.

              “I told you,” Mokuba muttered again.]

[sylvanfreckles]

(Day 11: Fever)

Dean's sick. Cas just wants him to take some meds and eat some soup. It's not always easy to talk a forty-something man into doing something, even when it's for his own good.

Little return to the Flare 'Verse, but with a caretaker role reversal.

It's just kinda sappy and silly, there's more serious whump coming but you know me. Some days are just gonna be like this.

I also had Meatloaf's "Anything for Love" stuck in my head most of the time while writing this.

[getodrools]

Rubbing pretty clits with Shoko, only for a needy Gojo to come up right behind you and slide himself in between your sloshing pussies... You groan into an outcry, head knocking back into his broad shoulder, "Toru 〜"

The rubbing of fat mounds sickly sweet, keep your mouth agape, moaning a mix of their names in utter bliss. All while Gojo is busy sandwiching the fat of his cock past slippery folds as you slide around. Each barrel, his pelvis hits your doughy globes hard, forcing your grip on Shoko's waist to tweeze. It's cute though, catching how a petal of fingerprints wake in her pale flesh.

He'd try hard to dismiss his needy attention, to not fully come between you girls – nipping at the shell of your ear, but his hips buck eagerly; fucking himself between those soft and warm pillows that sap at his base, and each time the oozing capped tip peaked out — prodding with a hard thump, it nubs right at your clits, purely adding all to the slippery, wet fun...

The next day you're scissoring with Shoko again; her pretty, and snowy plush thighs knobbly between yours… But this time a needy Getō is below your working bodies, keeping a stiff dick between your pussies like a pole trapped in snow.

Suguru is wrecked, his hair is sticking to that dewey face that could only scrunch up in euphoria as he shamelessly lays back, watching how both you pretty girls practically hotdog his fat meat... You could feel him throbbing as you rub along his length with Shoko, knowing she could say the same, watching how she sucks in her rosey, bottom lip… Even feeling puffy folds glide against hers when you'd mush yourself just a little harder.

Every ridden face growing tight. Damp mounds engorge and slide up and down Geto's swelled-up length with haste, and each time you'd reach the pearled crown, puffy clits would kiss… He'd spill out just a little more too; the mushing of you both was practically milking him, making ease for you girls to prod messier — faster in thrumming need...

<– BACK: PINNED ⊹ ࣪ ˖ NEXT: JJK MASTERLIST –>

[readwritealldayallnight]

When Gaz walks into the bases common room, his goal for making his third cup of tea of the day is diverted when he catches sight of Soap’s expression across the room.

The Scot looks absolutely befuddled, eyes wide and sitting slack-jawed across from his Lieutenant. Gaz walks over to the men, catching the very end of Ghost telling his companion to ‘piss off’.

“Alright?” He asks the lads, raising a brow in question.

“Ye oughta hear the shite LT’s tryin’ to convince me of over here!” Soap is all too eager to inform his friend. Ghost grunts, leaning further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as far back as he can, as if to tell the Sergeant in front of him ‘this is why I don’t tell you anything’.

Because that’s almost exactly what Ghost is thinking at that moment. He’d just entered the common room when he’d spotted the back of an all too familiar head, fiddling and distracted with the microwave.

When he’d walked up behind the younger man and echoed his call sign out in greeting, his mask hid the smug smirk that appeared at the jump Soap gave, uttering a loud “Shit!” in surprise.

Soap went on to complain about how he was apparently attempting to jumpstart his heart, drawling on about how the Lieutenant was always sneaking up on people like this, moving quiet as a Ghost.

“My missus says the same thing.” The masked man had mentioned casually, as if his chest hadn’t automatically puffed out in pride, standing up a little straighter at the mention of his girl.

“She says you’re too quiet? Aye, LT, think a lot o’ couples have complaints of the sorts in bed ya see-”

“Shut it, you prick.” Ghost quickly shut him down, ending that line of thought. “She says I walk too quietly in the flat. Accidentally scaring her all the time, poor thing.”

At that, Soap’s eyebrows had shot sky high, keen to hear more about the big bad Ghost’s life of apparent domestic bliss, turning him into an absolute sap.

Ghost wouldn’t normally volunteer information about his personal life. But he just loves you so much. And now that he’s not only thinking about you because he is all the time, but also talking about you, his mouth didn’t seem to want to stop talking about you.

“She put her foot down with me recently.” He’d added with a deep chuckle.

“She did what?” Soap had asked bewildered.

“She called it ‘putting her foot down’. I walked up behind her when she was doin’ dishes. Poor bird didn’t hear me and dropped somethin’.”

“Oh, no! Simon! That’s my favourite mug!!” You’d cried out, watching your most treasured ceramic shattering on the tile floor of the kitchen, spreading every which way across the room.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He’d sheepishly responded, reaching to turn off the running faucet. He’d grabbed the dish towel and gave it to you to dry your hands, lifted you by the waist and set you on the counter with ease, not wanting you to get hurt with your bare feet. He’d turned, already in search of a broom and dust pan.

“Again. You mean I’m sorry for scaring you again.” You had corrected him, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore Simon. You don’t need to be stealthy at home, my love, you can make noise when you walk. In fact I need you to make noise when you walk at home!”

Simon had nodded along, diligently sweeping up every piece of your ruined mug.

“I’ll try harder sweetheart. I promise.” He’d offered, dumping the remnants into the bin before he’d walked up to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as yours slid around his shoulders.

The very next weekend he’d taken you to a local pottery painting class to make up for the lost mug, as well as you telling him off (because yeah, that was what Simon considered you putting your foot down with him, and he never wanted it to happen again if he could help it).

Ghost finds himself grinning further under his mask at the memory however, of how cute you looked as you tried to raise your voice at him, laying down the law in your shared home.

“And so what’d ya tell her?” Soap asked, curious to know how his Lieutenant had reacted, but more so if the man would even reply or rather would tell him to fuck off.

“I didn’t tell her anythin’.” Simon had uttered. “Did as my missus asked me to do, and that was the end of the story. Well, s’pose I did I tell her I’d look into mug making classes or whatever.”

“…”

“You what?!”

[theiravshade]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Stargate SG-1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sam Carter/Jack O'Neill Characters: Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson (Stargate), Sam Carter (Stargate), Teal'c (Stargate), George Hammond Additional Tags: Drama, Romance, Team, Humor, Angst, Fluff Summary:

The title is self-explanatory, but this story originated from a challenge by a friend. She asked me to write something where Sam calls Jack "babe." But then she added the condition that it had to be for real and not a joke, alien influence, etc. Well, as soon as she said that, my brain created a five times fic.

[eddiemunchem]

eddie has a bit of a mean streak… (pls enjoy some eddie thirst whilst i work on my wips <3)

━━━━━━━━ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ ━━━━━━━━...

“t-too much, ed — too deep!” you gasped pitifully, trembling hands pushing weakly at his chest. your whole body felt like liquid, melting into the mattress as eddie continued to pound into your abused pussy.

“‘oh, it’s too deep!’” eddie mocked in an exaggeratedly high pitch, pretty lips pulled into a smirk. “you were begging f’me just an hour ago, though, angel. what happened, hmm?”

slick squelches punctuated by harsh slaps resounded through the small trailer, mixing in with the symphony of your moans and whimpers. it was too much; his thick cock stretching you out , the noises, the smell, the heat—

“please!” you rushed out, tears spilling over your cheeks. “i can’t take anymore.”

you didn’t know how many times you’d cum already, but your body had had enough. exhausted and worn out, nerves completely frayed and brain only computing at about a byte per second, you were essentially just a limp doll beneath eddie.

not that he seemed to mind.

eddie let out a deep chuckle, one that was dark and demeaning. one that sent shivers up your spine.

“oh, but baby,” he cooed, fingers slipping up to rest a palm against your stomach. “listen to ‘er. she’s so wet, yeah?”

as if to solidify his point, eddie quickened the pace of his thrusts. you clenched your eyes shut, as if that would somehow block out the lewd schlick sounds of your sopping pussy being fucked so roughly.

“god, she fuckin’ loooooves it, sweetheart.” eddie hummed, palm sliding down your tummy, inching closer to your swollen clit. “she’s jus’ suckin’ me in. such a needy lil’ thing.”

“eddie, please.” you whined, wishing desperately you could move — run away from the intense sensations, from that painful knot in your stomach, from that cock completely tearing up your insides.

but eddie was having none of it — the instant he felt the slightest flex in your muscles, his other hand clamped down on your hip with bruising force.

“ooooh, no, no.” eddie murmured, voice low and bordering on dangerous. your stomach twisted, a mix of anticipation and fear swirling within the confines.

“you aren’t goin’ anywhere, angel. you wanted this, now you’re gonna take it.”

a scream tore from your throat when eddie’s thumb began to rub harsh circles against your clit. painful waves of pleasure ravaged your body, so intense in their strength that it was sapping everything from you. fuck, you didn’t even have the energy to cum anymore.

“c’mon, baby. you know this is what you fuckin’ love.” eddie growled, blunt nails digging crescents into your flesh. “you fuckin’ love it when i use you like this. when i pound this cunt until you go fuckin’ stupid.”

you hated that he was right. you fucking hated it. you hated it so much.

whines slipped from your lips as eddie continued his rough treatment of your body, as his thumb continued to roll your sensitive clit while his cock stretched your walls with brutal thrusts — it was building, you could feel it in your stomach.

“yer gonna cum again, baby.” eddie observed, knowing your body well enough that he could tell without you ever having to utter a word. “c’mon, now, let it out. let it out my cock, angel. get it fuckin’ messy.”

and you did — your back arched off the bed as you creamed around his thickness, gushing more fluid than you thought you had left. curses fell from your lips as you fisted a hand into the sheets, whole body trembling and sparking from the intensity.

“fuck, that’s it. yeah, cum on this cock. let it out, sweet girl…”

eddie’s words were no more than background noise, a faint trickle of sound within an ocean of white noise in your head. your vision became spotted behind your eyelids, and your skin felt like it was peeling. overstimulation, you recognized the sensation too well.

“so pretty…” eddie whispered, ebony curls tickling your cheeks as he leaned down and captured your lips. his kiss was warm and soft, something that bordered on gentle, a complete contrast to the consistent roughness of his thrusts.

you moved your lips against his as well as you could, but your body was quickly failing to keep up — that exhaustion was burrowing into your very bones now, threatening to pull you into the deep abyss of unconsciousness.

tired as you were, you were just barely able to register eddie’s voice when he growled against your lips,

“don’t fuckin’ black out on me yet, angel. it’s my turn to cum…”

🤷‍♀️ don’t look @ me

[enwoso]

Can you write one about Lovie saying those 3 words to Leah and Leah being a sap about it 🤣

EIGHT LETTERS — alessia russo x leah williamson x child!reader

just a lil quick one, but i’m trying my best to get through as many requests as i can over the weekend. as i feel i’ve been a little dry on the fics lately.. (mb life’s been hectic!)

grumpy masterlist

"have you got your water bottle tiny?" leah asks as you nod pointing to alessia who has your water bottle in her hand as you hold the other. the two of you waiting for leah to finish locking up the car so you can go into the school gates.

usually it would just be your mummy who would drop you off at school, as she would do it on the way to training but before getting there alessia would pick leah up on the way. but for the past few weeks leah has been staying at alessia's home a long more frequently.

leah catches the two of you up, as your mummy tried to get you a little more excited for the day but you were still half asleep, you hadn't uttered more than five words since you woke up and that was telling your mummy what you wanted for your breakfast.

as you walked further into the school gates and you began to see more of your friends you perked up a little, sending each one a little wave as you mummy fixed your coat on your shoulders.

"mummy will be back later to pick you up, okay?" alessia smiled placing a kiss to your cheek as she helped you put your backpack on your shoulders as leah watched on with adoration, you were growing up so quick.

"have a good day, i love you" alessia smiled as she stood back up, next to leah as you waved, "i love you mummy" before you began to pick up the pace and run to catch up your friends. leah and alessia watching until you went into the building.

but just before you got to your friends you stopped and instead spun on your heal and ran back towards the two. a flash of confusion flashing over alessia as she looked around both herself and leah incase you had forgotten something, "why is- did she get her water bottle?" alessia mumbled as leah hummed nodding.

"then why is-"

"i love you le" you said in a hurry as you bundled into leah's leg hugging the side of her leg tight as she quickly got her words out trying to stay in one and not let her emotions rush over her, "i love you too, tiny" tapping you a few times on the head before you rushed back off towards your friends in the line as they were just about to go into the school building, your backpack swinging from side to side.

alessia watched the whole interaction, her heart swelling with a rush of warmth. she knew you had been wanting to tell leah that, cause whenever leah wasn't around and it was just the two of you, you would always be asking your mummy about leah especially since you now knew about her being your mummy's special friend.

alessia wrapped her arm around her girlfriends shoulders, as leah looked to her with tears in her eyes. it wasn't even past ten o'clock yet and the defender was already a wreck. hearing you tell leah those eight letters made her feel so welcomed into your little family dynamic and while it was only eight letters, it was the meaning that got to leah.

"she means that le, i promise." alessia told leah as the two walked back towards the car, hand in hand. leah nodding as she still felt overwhelmed with all the things she was feeling, she couldn't even begin to process them. this was a big step.

"anytime your not around, she always finds a way to bring you up" alessia admitted, as leah's eyebrows rose in sense of shock but also confusion.

“why?” leah thinks out loud, as alessia stops by leah’s car door giving the girl a look as if the answer wasn’t obvious.

“cause she loves you, you fool. i see the way you care about her the way i do. you love her as if she was your own and that makes me love you even more than i already do” alessia lets out a content sigh as leah stands in front of her, listening to every word that comes from her lips.

alessia leaning up to place a slow kiss to her lips as leah almost melts into it, her hands naturally find there way to alessia’s hips. breaking the kiss as leah places a few more pecks to alessia’s lips staying mere inches away from alessia’s face.

“i’m so happy your both in my life and i don’t think i can ever stop loving either of you” leah confesses as she tucks the loose strand of hair behind alessia’s ear as she grins.

“good, cause your stuck with us now”

“i wouldn’t have it any other way, baby”

[bluejutdae]

I couldn't fall asleep last night, so this thought came to me...

Changbin softly and lovey fucking the reader to sleep? I bet he would be soooo caring and all lovey dovey����🫠

This is not exactly a “fucking reader to sleep” but more of a “sleepy sex” fic. Hope you’ll like it anyway.

Gently asleep, deeply in love | Changbin x you

When Changbin comes back home after a long day of shooting, he’s tired and in a bad mood. The clothes were uncomfortable, the makeup heavy in his skin, the shooting too long for his taste and the air too cold. Just the love for his job, the company of his group mates and the idea of coming back home to you made the day bearable.

Unsure whether you’re still awake or sleeping he checks on you and his question is answered by your soft snores.

Under the shower Changbin tries to wash away all the stress of the day, relaxing thanks to the hot water but also in a hurry. All he wants right now is to slip under the covers and get as close as possible to you.

The sound of the shower and the enjoyable noise of the hairdryer rouse you from your slumber. Fighting sleep, you try to stay awake until he comes back, and you’re rewarded just a few minutes later. His still warm body spoons you from behind and Changbin hugs you, lips kissing your shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper. On nights like this, when the warmth of the bed tries to lure you back to sleep, when everything is syrupy slow, whispering feels like the only right thing.

“Hi, my love. I didn’t wanna wake you up, sorry”.

Always so sweet, your Changbin. He kisses you again, behind your ear, and his hand finds his way under your sleep shirt and close to your tits. It’s not unusual. He finds comfort in touching you, it’s not always sexual. Sometimes it’s just the intimacy of it that makes him smile, helps him to sleep.

Tonight it’s a mix. Part of him just wants to feel you close to him, your skin under his hands, warm and smooth. But another part of him wants more, craves your mouth and your kisses and your sweet sounds, and your wet pussy’s grip around his cock.

“Baby”, just a simple word, but one of the perks of a long relationship is understanding with almost no words. So you push your ass back against him and turn your head to kiss him. Feeling the luckiest man in the world, he kisses you slow but sloppy, lips unhurried but hands the opposite. He’s quick to get rid of your underwear and put his fingers to work.

There’s not many words uttered between you two, too focused on kissing and touching and moaning quietly. Once he’s inside you, everything is slower. His thrusts are deep yet lazy, unhurried. His curly hair tickles your cheek when he kisses your neck, your shoulder, every inch on your body he can reach without dislodging his cock buried inside you.

He loves making love to you like this; it makes him feel close to you, like you could share a body, like your lives could be lived with a shared luggage. The only thing he regrets in moments like this, is that he tends to come way too quickly. Call him sap, call him tender, but you feel perfect around his cock and under his hands, and when you clasp his hand, intertwining your fingers, it’s over for him.

He spills inside you, tightening his embrace and grunting with his face pressed between your shoulders. He recovers for a moment and redirects his hand between your legs, fingers ready to play with your pussy to make you cum too. Of course he’s surprised when you stop him and tell him ‘it’s okay like this, bunny’. In the end, you’re a sap just like he is.

Sleepy lazy sex is not about orgasms for you, it’s about the intimacy, it’s a “welcome back home”, it’s a promise. It doesn’t matter if you’re tired or stressed or sleepy or in a mood, you’ll always have your Changbin and he’ll always have you.

[aerynwrites]

Losing You

Halsin x GN!Reader

A/N: based on these three requests! Halsin would definitely flip out if you were injured in battle - so here’s a little insight into that scenario. Hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning: canon typical violence, blood, injuries, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort.

You knew the shadow cursed lands were going to be a completely new trial all together, but you weren’t prepared for this. 

The first ambush by the shadow creatures when you first arrived hadn’t been something to cause you great worry. But after reaching last light and venturing out once more, another ambush had taken your group by surprise. 

You’d all been doing fine, Gale and Halsin’s spells holding the most of them off and Shadowheart keeping you all safe and healed. You’d just managed to take out one of the shadows before a panicked call of your name reached your ears. 

You turn just as a creature materializes in front of you, its clawed hand swiping upwards in a flash. 

You don’t even register the pain at first, the creatures strength sending you flying through the air until you land harshly against the cold ground. 

The wind is knocked from your lungs, and it’s then, as you struggle for breath that the pain washes over you in an agonizing wave. 

You faintly register the way you cry out Halsin’s name on instinct, and you hear the way he calls for you in kind. 

But the only thing you fully recognize is the pain. It’s all comsuming, starting in your abdomen and radiating outwards as you try in vain to sit up and turn yourself over to asses the damage. 

Your futile efforts are stopped by a gentle hand on your shoulder, slowly helping you to roll over. 

“My heart…” Halsin’s voice is calm at first, but even in your dazed state you don’t miss the way his words pitch upwards as you finally settle into your back, the sudden movement making you gasp as another wave of pain shoots through you. 

“Shadowheart!” Halsin calls for the cleric, and you can faintly hear Gale telling her to go while he deals with the few remaining enemies. 

Halsin hands are on you now, flitting over your body worriedly as you finally manage to raise your head enough to try and take in the damage. 

Your heart leaps into your throat as you see the damage done. Or rather what you can’t see. There’s so much blood. It runs in thick rivers from the deep wound in your stomach, and seeing the wound just makes the pain elevate. 

Your can feel yourself start to hyperventilate, panic settling in full force as Halsin hovers over you, pulling out what little healing supplies he carries in his pack. 

“Oh gods…” Shadowhearts gasp meets your ears as she finally appears your side. You watch through bleary eyes as she shakes her head. “We have to get them back to last light I…my magic is sapped - I - I don’t have enough power to heal something like this-“

“Then help me with whatever magic you do have,” Halsin barks, voice unusually panicked. “They won’t make it to last light like this I-“ he pauses, eyes flitting over your form. “We must stop the bleeding.” 

“Halsin…” your voice is weak as you call out for you lover, but he is quick to respond, his gaze turning to you as he reaches to take your hand in his bloodied one. 

His eyes look panicked as he gazes down at you and you can see the apology before he utters it. 

“My heart, we…We must stop the bleeding before we can move you. This is going to hurt, I’m so sorry-“

You don’t even have time to question anything before you feel a firm pressure on your wound, the action sending fire through your very veins. 

A scream tears from your throat, hands scrabbling for purchase against the assault. Your fingers finally find Halsin’s familiar form, pushing uselessly at his arms, tears now streaming down you cheeks. 

You can register nothing but the pain, your mind clouded with it, your muscles locking down against the waves of it. 

You feel the pressure shift, another wave of agony pulsing through you before Halsin face is hovering over your own, brows pulled together, eyes glistening with worry. 

You reach up for him then, hands landing on his shoulders as your fingers dig into him, anything to try and relive the pain. 

“It hurts,” you whimper, fear now creeping into your hazy mind. 

He reaches a hand up, cupping your face, and you notice his hands are shaking as he wipes the tears from your cheek. 

You can feel the way your lower lip wobbles as you speak again. 

“Am I going to die?” 

Halsin’s lips set in a firm line then, eyes full of determination. “No, you will not die this day, or you any day I am by your side.” He pauses for a moment, and you see the moment an idea comes over him. 

His eyes slip closed before the familiar golden glow of magic envelops his hand as he reaches it up over you. “I will take your pain away, my love. Then I will be at your side when you wake.” 

You don’t protest as his magic flows through you, pain ebbing away almost instantly as darkness clouds your mind. 

The last thing you feel before unconsciousness consumes you is the gentle press of lips to your cheek.

———

You wake to weak candle light and, surprisingly, little pain. 

The room you’re in is dimly lit by various candles littered around the space, and as it has been since you’ve arrive in these cursed lands, the sky outside remains dark. 

You recognize the last light inn, even in your bleary eyed state. You take a deep breath and close your eyes again, trying to ground yourself. 

The air is cool but not uncomfortable. Your fingers twitch against soft sheets atop an even softer bed. Though you suppose anything is softer than the bedroll you’ve been sleeping on in the last weeks. 

It’s also quiet. Much quieter than your used to for the only safe haven in the shadow cursed lands. Which means it must be well into the evening, everyone having retired to bed. 

You only open your eyes again when the gentle rustle of fabric meets your ears. You turn to the source of the sound, only to be met with the familiar sight of a certain Druid sitting by your bedside, his hand clasped loosely with yours as he leans back in his chair, eyes closed in what you assume to be the trance he falls into at night. 

You squeeze his hand in yours instinctively, seeking out that familiar comfort as the memories from before come slowly back to you. 

Halsin’s eyes open the moment your hand stirs against his own, hazel eyes widening as he takes you in. He lets out a small sigh, lips tugging upwards ever so slightly. 

“You’re awake,” he says simply, scooting closer to your bedside. 

You nod and move to sit up, a sharp gasp escaping your lips at the pain that shoots through your abdomen at the action. 

Halsin is reaching out immediately, hand on your shoulder as he urges you to lay back down. 

“Careful, my heart, your injuries are still fresh. You must not move too much until Shadowheart or I are able to heal you further,” he explains, voice gentle. 

You give him a small nod as you rest back into the pillow, grimacing at the pain now blooming in your abdomen. 

“Gods…” you whisper, “It landed a solid blow, didn’t it?” 

Halsin’s lips fall into a frown, brows drawn tight. He says nothing at first, instead standing to turn to the table near the bed and grab a small cup. 

You watch in silence as he mixes something into the cup before moving to the small fire in the hearth and the pot hanging over it. He dips a ladle into the pot before transferring the contents into the cup and stirring it before returning to your side. 

The cup is steaming, and you catch the faint smell of medicinal herbs and something slightly sweet. 

“Here,” he says softly, holding the cup out as he reaches for you with his other arm. “It should help with the pain. I will help you drink.” 

Halsin slides one arm under your shoulders slowly, delicately lifting you up just enough so you can drink comfortably. The small movement bring no more pain, so once you’re sure you’re secure in Halsin’s hold, you reach up for the cup. 

It’s warm in your hands, and it’s then that you realize just how cold you are. Even with the blankets draped over you, a persistent chill nips at your skin. 

You blow on the still steaming liquid before taking a tentative sip, expecting it to be too hot and also not pleasant in taste. 

You’re surprised on both accounts. 

It’s the perfect temperature, not too hot at all and it actually tastes pleasently sweet. It tastes like…

“Is there honey in this?” You ask, eyes flicking to your lovers only to see his lips twitch upwards. 

“There is,” he smiles now. “I know the taste can be unpleasant and you already know of my penchant for the particular treat…I thought a little something sweet couldn’t hurt.”

You smile at him in return, already feeling the affects of the drink. “Thank you.” 

Halsin continues to support you as you finish off the concoction, and then he takes the cup from you before slowly helping you lay back down. 

The blankets shifted with the small movements, and you can’t stop the shiver that runs down your spin as the cool air kisses your exposed skin. 

“Are you cold?” Halsin asks, concern lacing his words. 

Nodding, you pull the blanket up to your shoulders again, silently taking note of the banded covering most of your torso. 

“It is a little chilly in here,” you admit softly, trying to hide another shiver. 

Halsin turns to look at the fire, the flames dwindling and embers glowing softly. 

“I’ll stoke the fire,” he tells you, turning back to face you. “I need to change your bandages, so I’ll try to make it warmer.” 

He squeezes your hand gently before turning to his new task with you watching on in silence. He pokes the burning logs already in the hearth before adding a few new ones. The flames lick eagerly at the new fuel, and you can feel the room rise in temperature just from that. 

Once Halsin is satisfied he walks to a table across the room and washes his hands in a large bowl of water sitting atop it. 

You watch silently as he goes through the motions, and despite your silent admiration of your lover, you can’t help but notice the stiff set of his shoulders, or the way his lips stay pressed in a thin line. 

When he finally returns to your side, his hands are full of supplies. New bandages, a small bowl that once again smells of something medicinal, and several other items. 

He sets them all down on the small side table next to your bed and gestures to the blanket covering you. 

“May I?” 

You nod, “Of course, Halsin.” 

He nods and folds the blanket down to your waist neatly, finally giving you a clear view of what hid beneath. 

Bandages span from just below your chest all the way below the waistband of your pants. You briefly realize these are not the pants you were wearing when you got injured - the leather armored pants being replaced with simple cotton ones. At least the fact that Halsin was probably the one to change you nullified any embarrassment you may have felt otherwise. 

Neither of you speak as Halsin begins unwinding the old bandages, the white cloth getting more discolored the more he unwraps. When it’s finally fully removed, you’re able to see the full extent of the damage. 

By all accounts you should probably be dead. 

There’s four red, angry claw marks coming from your left hip all the way up and across your stomach to the right side of your ribs. The blood has been cleaned off, but a flash of the pools of crimson liquid pooling on the ground makes you tear your eyes away from the stitched up wounds. 

“H-how…” you trail off, unable to voice the question. 

How am I still alive?

Halsin is quiet at first, focusing instead on cleaning your wounds and gentle applying what you assume to be a healing poultice. 

He lets out a quiet sigh as you flinch against his minstarations, even his earlier concoction not enough to numb the pain from direct touch. 

“In truth…” he pauses. “I was afraid you were going to die on that shadow cursed battlefield.” 

He doesn’t look at you as he continues his work, being even more gentle this time. 

“I…I do not feel fear often. Having had centuries to master that specific part of myself, but…” his words die on his tongue, and you can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. 

“I have not cared so deeply for someone in many years, and the thought - the thought of losing you was more than enough to bring that unfamiliar fear to the forefront of my mind.” 

His words settle into the quiet room, the fire crackling the only sound to penetrate the silence. 

Finally, he speaks as he begins wrapping the new bandages around your middle, hands moving slowly as not to aggravate the wound. 

“Shadowhearts magic was depleted, mine was about to be as well. We used what little magic we could conjure to stabilize you, and then Gale managed to open a portal here to the inn,” he focused on his work as he continues. “I was afraid you were going to die, my heart. And there was little I could do about it.” 

He secures the final piece of cloth before his hands fall back to the bed, fingers digging into the sheets. 

“I would not have survived that.” 

You let out a shaky breath, reaching out to take his hand in your own, unfurling his fingers from the covers to lace them with your own. 

“Hey…” you whisper, gaining his attention enough to tug him towards you. “I’m here. I am alive because of you. I’m okay.” 

Halsin shakes his head, eyes falling closed, “But you could have-“ 

You shush him softly, tugging on his hand more intently. 

“Lay with me?” You ask. “Please?” 

Your lover hesitates, eyes opening to look down at your bandages before looking back up to your pleading eyes. 

You pull him closer again, his thighs now pressed against the edge of the bed. “I’ll be fine I just…” you trail off. “I want you close.” 

Halsin sighs, but not in anger or disappointment. In fact he sounds…relieved. Like the fact that you are alive and no longer on deaths door has finally settled in. 

He nods, helping you adjust to the other side of the bed before he slips in beside you, pulling the covers up around your waist once you’re both settled. 

You want to roll over onto your side and curl into him, but you know you can’t. So you settled for the way Halsin lays on his side instead, his arm draped carefully over your hips, thumb rubbing soothing circles onto the unmarred skin of your right side. 

“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” you whisper, one hand falling to cover Halsin’s. 

You turn to look at him when he doesn’t respond. Leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He responds in kind, lips molding against yours before pulling away to rest his forehead against your own. 

“And I won’t let you,” he promises. 

You smile as Halsin captures your lips again. The action is full of so much. So much love and care and affection. 

And most importantly, promises to keep you safe. 

A promise you know he’ll fulfill. As many times as it takes. 

[lovelykhaleesiii]

could you write something about aegon having raw seggs with reader before he sets off for rook’s rest? putting a baby in her just in case … bonus if he’s chubby 🤍

For Good Measure...

PAIRING: Daddy!King!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Daughter!Reader

WORDS: 1,432.

WARNINGS: for the sake of the story, B&C has already occurred prior to Rook's Rest, incest, implied age gap [reader is of consensual age], Daddy kink, breeding kink, mentions of implied pregnancy, p in v sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, possessive!Aegon, swearing, slight praise kink, chubby!Aegon.

*READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION*

A/N - boy oh boy, it feels good to be back… I hope this is a sensational comeback fic for you all. thank you to everyone for the warm welcome. and I hope we’re all preparing for what’s to come… cause I certainly will need you guys to keep me standing tf up!!!!

credit to owners of the images.

“Princess come, come. Your father summons your immediate presence.”

Ser Arryk, a dignified and loyal knight of the Kingsguard, and a familiar, trustworthy face. Your father, the King, Aegon the Second, entrusts him to bring you forth at his beckon call, wherever he may be.

Entering the empty council room, you find yourself engulfed in the menacing silence, scorched by your father's eager, hungry eyes. As the large, oak doors shut close behind, sending an instant shudder across your body, you feel rigid in the unnerving, mighty presence of your father. You knew better: for he would dare not to harm you. In fact, Aegon held quite the opposite attitude towards you. He loved you dearly, romantically. You were the complete apple of his eye, holding you with great infatuation and awe, he was mesmerised by you since you had matured enough into a woman. As the young male lords and knights of realm bestowed their likeness towards you, streaks of jealousy arose feverishly within him, boiling his blood, he refused countless of marriage offers, and ultimately claimed you as his own. Word had spread like wildfire across the realm regardless, of such a blasphemous unity between a man and woman, a father and his daughter: and yet your ancient tradition said otherwise.

Aegon wanted you: a stubborn man, and King nonetheless, his word held the highest authority, making it final. And in the midst of a war, your unity was neither a priority nor the main topic of interest.

"Come to me, my sweet girl. Your Daddy is tired and sapped. Your presence is all I crave for."

Not a breath uttered, except for a subtle exchange of a sympathetic smile as you closely embarked the weary disposition of your father: sprawled against the larger of the sturdy chairs, his figure stout and brawny, he was an impressive sight to see. You felt vulnerable and meek against him, and yet knew the protection he granted, no one else could provide. His grand stature met his considerable authority hand in hand.

"And what does Daddy need me to do for him exactly? Need I sate him, or the needs of the King?"

Your hands softly grip at his shoulders, pushing his chair back, creating enough space between his rotund stomach and the table's edge, mounting his wide, meaty lap.

"Hmm- By serving your Daddy, you serve your King, princess. Do your Septa's not teach you of royal etiquette? What your role to me is? Need me to fuck some sense into you, princess?"

"It would be more compelling than those tedious lessons you force me to attend... I think Daddy just wants me all to himself. This war has stolen you from me, and I-I miss you," The taunting words disappear as your voice grows quiet and shaky, struggling to sustain eye contact with your father, you feel your body fall deeper against his lap, as your fingers toy with the chains of his tunic. His calloused, pale hand reaches up towards you, gently stroking your flushed cheek, as he strokes a shedding tear away.

"I know, baby, I know... I would want nothing more than to just be with you. Have you in my arms and my cock deep inside you all day and night. I can't stand being this far apart from you, even if you remain down the hall from me. Daddy hates disappointing you, princess. I do... But I must ask more from you-"

Sniffling you enquire what precisely, and Aegon's lilac eyes grow tempestuously dark.

"Your Uncle and I are to head to Rook's Rest, for battle-"

A panic breath hitches in your throat, your saddened eyes widen in alarm, your grip on Aegon's broad shoulders tighten: you refuse to let him go if need be.

"I want you to bear a child, our child, my beloved. I want you to carry my heir, it is our duty. I want you to honour me with a babe. I promise I will return in one piece, for you and the babe."

One attention you had grasped in your day to day Septa lessons, was that your father, as King, and whomever his betrothed wife may be, her duty to her Grace, was to provide as many heirs as possible, blessed by the Mother. You knew as a fellow heir in line to your father, the Council and the realm would be expectant. The idea wholesome, the motive morbid, yet a part of you wanted to honour your Grace. You wanted Aegon to claim you as his completely, to taint you with his seed and showcase it to the greater good of the realm.

"I-I would want nothing more. So long as you uphold your promise, and return to me, if the Gods bless me, father, I want you to take me now."

Without a second to spare, Aegon's rough, pudgy hands find their way eagerly hiking up your tender thighs, your gown raking upwards in motion. His plump lips latch onto your reddened, soft ones, biting and pulling at your lower lip in tease. With such a vigorous strength he lifts you effortlessly, planting you onto the table's edge, as he shoves his heavier mass between your legs, spreading you wider open much for his ease. You aid him in undoing his pantaloons and belt, his lips sucking and trailing down your neck, feeling your sensitive skin moist and numb from his eager take.

"My precious girl, so adamant to fulfil her Daddy's wishes. How did I ever deserve the likes of you, my angel. Gonna make me the proudest fucking King."

Moaning helplessly, you feel even more weaker against his efforts, more susceptible to his seduction, as you feel it has been a lifetime since you had been spoiled by your father's heed.

"Y-Yes Daddy- M-Make me all yours, I-I want them a-all to know."

The blush tip of his girthy cock, struck with palpable veins, had been teasing your slick entrance, slowly etching in and out of your folds: plunging himself in suddenly, your tight walls stretching with agony to adjust to his mass: screaming his name in painful pleasure as a lightning shock courses through your feeble body.

"Baby must've forgot how to take her Daddy, huh? Show me how well you can take me, princess. I know this cunt was made just for me, prove it."

His thrusts had always been sloppy and formidable, although the table was sturdy enough to take, you gathered every fibre of strength to hold dearly onto Aegon. Your nails digging viciously into his clothed adipose flesh, for extra support.

"Gonna make you such a pretty, little Mumma. You're going to look so fucking beautiful with my child swelling inside of you, and these tits will grow ripe with milk. Just tell me how bad you want it, princess-"

"Mhmm- S-So fucking bad, Daddy. Over fill me with your seed, and watch me take. It will be my duty, m-my honour. E-Everyone will know, you d-did this to me. W-What will they think of m-me then."

His round hands tugged and pulled at your lush, free fallen strands, one holding you steady by your neck. In sync, your fingers found themselves entangled with his short, platinum strands, burying his face deeper between the crook of your neck, as he remained lapping at your skin in between his words.

"They will know exactly who you belong to, who owns you. No man will dare to question my authority. My decision to make you mine. I'll fucking have you swollen all war long if necessary."

His pace had quickened, his messy thrusts sharper, as his bulging, stiff tip plummeted against your clit. The pain worth the pleasure. Reaching a climax, the sudden outburst of his warm seed overfilled inside of you, spilling out in between the edges as he shifted himself over you, caving in. His heavy mass falling onto you in relief, your sudden outcry of his name disguised as an audible moan, you cradle his solid body in your arms, unable to embrace him completely, you still manage to hold as he regained his composure.

A quick, incomplete clean, he props you up softly against him once more in his lap, stroking your hair, as your dense breaths become one.

"So proud of you, my precious. For all that you have done and put up with... Our children will be blessed with a graceful mother. Our realm delighted with you as their Queen, my Queen. I will return to you with our babe kicking inside of you, I promise."

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1

Aegon ii taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @jawline-of-steel @daughter-of-the-stars11 @bucknastysbabe

credit for divider - @/itbmojojoejo

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

⌗︙・⚠︎ obsessed blade being an utter sadomasochist when it comes to you ⚠︎ ♡⸝⸝

Blade knows you. He knows everything about you—Blade knows everything about what makes you human. He knows what you love, he knows what you dread.

Blade knows that you're the only person who could possibly get his adrenaline pumping in ways he hasn't felt in all of those long, dreadful years of his immortality. Never have you once shown him an ounce of fear during each of your intense battles, eyes piercing into him as you parry his attacks, formulating ways to land a hit on him. Even if he'd managed to overpower you, his body pinning you down as he pants hungrily in excitement and exhaustion, you'd still find a way to headbutt, punch, or kick him away.

It's why he always looks forward to fighting you whenever he's sent away on a mission, barely able to contain the excitement of both inflicting pain upon you and having you inflict pain on him.

He ignores the teasing from Kafka and Silver Wolf, the likes of whom are well aware of just how deep his obsession for you truly runs. But it's not like they can do much to stop him, since he's disgustingly stubborn in his ways, and trying to get him to stop obsessing over you would just be a pointless endeavor. At the very least, there are times when Elios' script does not require the swordsman, though Blade makes his frustration of not being able to see you very obvious.

Blade makes it very clear to the other Stellaron Hunters that he doesn't want any of them to engage in any sort of combat with you. Your fighting prowess is reserved for him and him alone. Those warnings are mostly directed to Kafka since Blade knows that she'd toy around with you for a bit just to mess with him. And in Blade's mind, his rules apply to you as well; you aren't allowed to fight anybody else other than him. If you take aim for Kafka or Silver Wolf, Blade is right there, parrying each and every one of your attacks. You originally thought he was just simply providing time for his accomplices to escape or formulate an attack plan, but he proves you wrong.

He only has it out for you, ignoring your fellow Trailblazers aiming hits at whoever is accompanying him in favor of pouring each ounce of his focus on you. When your companions attempt to distract him with an attack of their own, all he does is kick away your companions, barely sparing them so much as a glance. It's so blatantly obvious to everyone in the vicinity, even becoming a bit of a joke (a rather dark one) that you dryly chuckle about.

Blade's temperament blooms like a hellish flower, corrupt roots digging under his skin and sapping away at his patience when he watches you in secret. He can see the way you interact with your fellow Trailblazers, particularly Dan Heng. How you so openly douse that pathetic little bastard in waves of affection, presenting him with warm smiles and cheerful embraces that have that sniveling coward freeze up. No, he is not jealous, not one bit. His blistering anger bleeds into his strength, and when he faces off against you once more, he does not allow you any breathing room as he mercilessly lands hit after hit on you. To make you feel even a snippet of the pain that you have so unknowingly brought upon him gives Blade a shuddering thrill.

And yet Blade truly does not want to kill you, to snuff out your life and be done with this twisting obsession. He once thought about it—he'd thought it over multiple times inside his broken mind—but found that even thinking about it made a coil of unease squeeze deep inside of him--it felt painful. He's much more willing to drag out these skirmishes, to relish in the feeling of his hands wrapped around your throat, and your weapon just moments away from cutting his throat open.

When Blade feels the oh-so-familiar sting of his flesh having been sliced open by your weapon, a hot pulse of arousal squeezes in his crotch.

"Ah--" It takes a bit too much restraint to swallow up the rest of the satisfied moan that nearly escapes the wide grin spread across his lips. Blade briefly almost humors the sinful thought of letting loose that perverse noise, to see what kind of reaction he could pull from you. It wouldn't matter if your expression would be blank or if you'd given him the most disgusted look you could muster. He'd do anything to get any sort of possible reaction from you.

Though it seems that he doesn't need to bother, as you clearly heard his little slip-up and gave him a look that was clearly saying Really? Did you really just do that? It doesn't matter to him that you're probably misunderstanding why he just nearly moaned, so long as your attention is on him, then he could care less if you think of him as a pervert.

"You're a real piece of work, y'know that?" A sarcastic half grin forms on your lips, though your mood is anything but amused. You grunt as he brutishly swings his sword a little too close to your face, just barely nicking at your skin. "Bet that's why ya keep tryna fight me all the time huh?"

Blade scoffs, though the smoldering excitement in his eyes gives away just how fucking excited he truly is. "What's it to you? If you got a damn problem," he heaves as you land a booming kick to his hip, forcing him to skid away, "Then keep it to yourself."

"Yeah I got a damn problem, you freak." Oh yeah, call the guy who's currently trying to tear you into fucking pieces a freak. That'll help you beat his ass and successfully retreat back to the safety of the Astral Express. Seriously, if he wanted to get his rocks off just because of a fight, he could've fought anybody else and been done with it. It feels pretty icky knowing that this guy was a deranged pervert who got off from getting the crap beat outta him.

And now you're stuck fighting him. Great. The universe must truly savor your suffering.

Over and over the pattern is repeated—you land a hit on Blade, he kicks you away, he shoves his entire weight against you, lands a hit on you, and vice-versa. His sword doesn't cut you deep enough to be fatal, but the open wounds still fester with your blood. Blade isn't looking much better either, a single harsh bruise upon his cheek where you'd punched him before. His clothes are ripped in various places, his blood staining the cloth. His wounds are healing though, no thanks to that stupid self-healing ability of his. But it's clear that you're still wearing each other down rather significantly, though Blade seems to be recovering his strength bit by bit.

"Fuck, you asshole.." You cough, attempting to keep your body steady despite the throbbing aches all over. If this keeps up, you'll be too exhausted to even block an attack and if that happens you'll—

Just vaguely, you can hear your name being called. A familiar voice, though tinted with a touch of anxiety, is nonetheless filled with concern. It breaks your concentration from the fight, and even if your entire body is screaming from pain and exhaustion, you strangely find it in yourself to smile in relief as you call out his name.

"Da-.."

There is a sudden sharp pressure against your neck, and your vision suddenly spins as the ground seemingly disappears beneath your feet. You feel yourself flying. You can barely even think before thundering pain violently assaults your head and spreads to your back and the pressure around your neck tightens. All you can feel is pain, a newly born headache pounding at the back of your head, and your limbs too heavy to move. It isn't until Blade ducks his face down uncomfortably close to yours that you realize what has happened.

He fucking slammed you against the ground. That flighty sensation you'd felt was just him lifting you up by your throat and then slamming you back down. You stupidly let down your guard and now you barely have the strength to even breathe. Blade watches you, now akin to prey caught by the hunter.

He looks excited.

"He can't save you," he hisses. His smile is like a crescent moon. "None of them can. I could kill you right now and they can't do anything about it. Your final moments could be all mine."

To prove his point, he digs his fingers into your skin, readying to crush your windpipe. Dry wheezes and gasps escape your mouth, and even despite all the pain, you struggle fervently. You are scared, yes, but more than anything, you are angry. If you wanted to die in a fight, you rather die at someone else's hands rather than the bastard above you.

He chuckles, a dreadful sound that pierces your ears. "That's it, keep looking at me like that. Show me everything of yours, (name)--your hatred, your fear, your pain, everything." His grip loosens and you hold in every urge to vomit. You feel sick, sicker than you have ever felt in your entire life.

"Quit... quit talking like you know me or some shit.." You angrily wheeze out. A thick metallic taste spreads on your tongue. Shit, a concussion is the least of your worries now if you're suffering from internal bleeding.

"Oh, but I do know you. I know everything about you (name)," Blade is no longer human to you now. He is a monster, a monster that is enjoying the torment that he assaults you with. "I know what you love. I know what you dread."

The hand around your throat withdraws swiftly, but you can't even try and make a move before your face is cupped, almost tenderly. With your head in place, all you can see, feel, and hear are Blade. He overloads your senses with him. Forcing you closer to him, you realize that he's going to kill you and squirm. He wants you to look him in the eyes as you die—

"I know everything about what makes you human."

Blade kisses you. He doesn't kill you. Blade kisses you, the taste of cigarettes and blood filling your mouth as he hungrily devours your lips. He doesn't kill you, because he loves you so much that he hates you for rendering him into such a love-stricken fool.

© latimeriafellfromheaven

[prettymeredith]

Can you name 4 or 5 tickling videos that really blew your mind?

Great question! Here are some in no particular order:

I love this video here. I adore the beginning where the Ler's just talk about their prey right in front of them before double teaming her, and also how the Lee looks like shes in agony. Just look at the way she shakes her head at them, its all she can do... (besides laugh)

About this next one, she explains that she is there to surprise her husband with a tickling video as its one of his biggest fantasys. I love her shock when feeling the elbow strap for the first time, and also noticed that she never complains once no matter how bad shes being tickled. Just a lee living her best life.

I remember the first time I saw this tickle train video. Five lers, each getting a couple minutes with Bella's soles and then joining all in together at the end to wreck her at once. This would seriously fuck with me mentally if I were in her position... In other words I'm completely jealous 😆

This next video speaks to my Ler side. The girl with the glasses teaching the other one how to tickle. Not only is the concept fun, but the way the other ler looks so genuinely happy as she tortures him post orgasm. They share a freaking high-five, flip off the lee, and without uttering a word they BOTH go back to torturing the poor sap. (Had to cut the lower half of the gif)

This last video is so raunchy I cant find a l safe clip to post here. Essentially the sub here, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and locked in her chastity belt services her ler with her mouth and THEN gets put in a hogtie and tickled. Just that order of operations really blew my mind. The video is rather amateur, but provides wonders for the imagination there after~

Thanks for the great ask!

[distant--shadow]

The Witch and the Widow – Chapter One – The Lake

Laudna Bradbury had murdered her husband.

Maybe murdered. Apparently. That is what brought Imogen here - indirectly, at least.

Not that she's with the law enforcement or anything. Not that, definitely, though ironically being an officer - an interrogator - would suit her well, at least on paper. Passion and enthusiasm would be a different question - and that's why she's here. Sorta. Indirectly, again, for a different question. Words travel, by means of mouth or ink or thoughts (apparently, she had found out), even though thoughts should not travel past the head that they were made in. But they did, and continue to do so, and Imogen had heard enough accounts about the man himself (the Lady’s husband, when he was alive and after the fact), had seen enough women squashed under the boots of the men they were tied to to intimately know and understand a flash decision made in a moment for self-preservation-

all too often women tempered their instincts to allow themselves to become the soil underfoot rather than the sole of the shoe

so much as to say that Imogen does not care much if Laudna Bradbury had murdered her husband.

She cares more about what the words whispered and weaved and waded in the time after wrote:

Laudna Bradbury had used witchcraft to murder her husband.

The only utterances of magic Imogen had heard of, had seen, had unexplainably received taken telegraphed by inner voice and grey matter before that rumour, were her own.

Imogen needs answers, desperately, as though a necessity purely imperative like breathing and eating, and so she brought herself to the source of the lake before it divided and weakened and meandered from river to muddy stream to drink directly from her-

(it.)

Laudna Bradbury is a widow, a widow who continues to live on the estate her husband’s heraldry and wealth had afforded them, company kept by a small team of housemaids and gardeners and the like.

and it is a large estate, a lot to look after, for sure, certainly, with its couple hundred maybe more years in age and just as many acres. There's hairline cracks in the stucco, a missing roof tile here and there

but there is no denying that it is a fine example of architecture, certainly was the highest of fashion at the time. A grand country house with an East Wing and a West, bay windows and towers and pleasing ratios between alcove and doorways and arches and walled topiaried gardens that extend from north to south, illustrations in stained glass ornately framed with flowering climbing ivy

statues that step out from domesticated bordering jungles, now appearing more as gargoyles thanks to the decay of time, noses eroded like they have rotted off, birds’ nests of briars thorned crowns or horns

rosemary bushes skirt the main building’s façade, perfuming the sometimes hot-and-humid, more often brisk-and-grey air carried through the opened lead-lined boiled sweet coloured window panes into the dark mahogany-panelled and silk-embroidered tapestried interiors.

Off of the West Wing there is an extension nearing the height of the gargoyled walls that surround the estate. This is the wall that fortifies the Lady Bradbury’s private garden; with doors adjoining directly to her study - both of which are off limits. Imogen doesn't know much of pretty and imported flowers, but she knows local common sense, knows what berries to pick and which weed’s sap causes a blister that will never heal again should it brush her skin.

Through small cracks in the masonry delicate tendrils curl out; leaves crawling, surfacing, small purple flowers with yellow tear-drop centres blooming.

Deadly nightshade.

She wonders what else grows behind the wall, patiently biding its time until the decay of such allows it through. 

It is in the stables that Imogen spends most of her own time; her years of experience working under Master Faramore awarded her an earnest recommendation, and it sure helped that a couple of the Lady’s mares and a stallion were from his own livery, that they had been raised and trained by Imogen's own hands before they left them.

She needs answers, so she has taken herself to them, to the lake to drink from. She observes from a distance, listens to any whisperings and wonderings that bed with her in the servants’ quarters.

The days are long, mostly spent between mucking and feeding and exercising and grooming the horses and watching the Lady Bradbury taking a walk around the herb garden with knees as muddied as the kitchen staff’s, or cutting bark segments from off of the trees that dot the grounds as if she were operating in front of an amphitheatre of flora and fauna students whilst Imogen brushes down one of the horses or shovels hay

and despite the distance and Imogen's best efforts to remain subtle, the Lady Bradbury’s eyes would sometimes catch hers observing (staring, admittedly), and she would smile, and perform a barely perceivable curtsey (one of many behaviours outside of expectations), and Imogen would tip her brimmed suede hat in return, and would think of how despite the fact that the Lady’s practices of class and boundaries and what is proper were different, a bit odd, nothing of the woman's behaviour suggested that of a killer - only the situation that she stood in - the peculiarly beautiful widow with a walled off poison garden. And so maybe the same is to be said of her magic, should she even be harbouring or practicing any (although admittedly her appearance certainly is bewitching…)

and it's like the instances before but unlike them - Imogen stealing glances of the Lady Bradbury as she potters about her estate (she probably really does potter, she fills so much of her time with crafting and making. Imogen wouldn't be surprised to see her pale skin elbow-deep in caked-on terracotta pigment digging out clay rich soil into old whisky barrels to have carried by willing hands to a throwing room with a secret kiln.) but on this day, when their eyes in new routine now inevitably meet across the wildflower-speckled field (that in itself is unusual, highly out of vogue, it isn't the acres of well-kept uniform lawn and paths laid with talking-point pebbles imported from the coast that the other estates boasted and Imogen had glanced when ferrying Master Faramore’s horses elsewhere) the Lady Bradbury takes pause, before she starts to make her advance towards Imogen.

shit.

She's been brushing the same patch of short thick hair on Foie Gras’ shoulder for so long that she's surprised there isn't a bald patch. Maybe the Lady Bradbury is worried as such. Maybe Imogen has been too obvious in her observing (admitted staring). Maybe she has been found out.

She feels her brow start to perspire, the muscles in her limbs wishing to move erratically and awkwardly and restlessly and to carry her to stand out of sight hidden behind the thick neck of the horse like an obvious child playing hide and seek behind a tree trunk, or to flatten the creases in her breaches and her linen tunic and pick out the strands of hair and hay that have lodged themselves into their weave, untwist the grasp of her suspenders over her shoulders - but she practices restraint - is trained and cautious and intentional and thorough she was only being thorough with the mare, casts her gaze in iron like the blacksmith hammering the horseshoes and steels herself for the Lady Bradbury’s approach.

Her skirts are full and structured and plumed by many layers of petticoats that hide the movement of her feet across the wildflower lawn, causing her to appear to be drifting like the bees do from petal to petal, pollen dusting her pleats though ghostly her skin in contrast to the fine fabrics that she dresses for the part, black in mourning, still, bodice tight and sleeve leg of mutton, an ornate decorative layer of black lace laying over each yard of textured textile like spider webs on porcelain patterns, her husband's tableware collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard.

real impractical for how tending towards practical the Lady dares to be, hands on, too busy for errant hairs in piano key ivory and ebony windswept and loose from the high bun she pins in place with a cameo broach, a memento mori engraved in silver and inlayed with ruby eyes and tied with red ribbons. Her skin also proudly displays the age and perhaps trauma that her hair does, lines from laughter and furrowed brows and the feet of the crows that cry from the top of the chimney pots

Imogen has heard her call them her children (the birds that is, not the wrinkles) - has heard her talk to them as if they are responding, oftentimes giving her own tampered voice to do so (and to Imogen’s amusement)

The Lady never had children of her own; those are their own rivers of rumours within themselves. Imogen did not care for that stream of gossip at all.

The Lady steps closer, and the yet-to-be familiar fog of her mind cocoons Imogen, water transmuted into mist against jutting rock at the plummet of rapids, relief from the laborious work and humidity, her previous restraint to keep her body in check breaking as she visibly swallows and licks her lips, suddenly aware of how dry they had been.

The Lady Bradbury rests her hand on the back of Foie Gras’ neck, fingers long and pale and decorated in black lace like mother of pearl inlay and marquetry on a lacquered curious curio cabinet that perhaps Imogen had eyed through a stained glass window standing in the corner of the out-of-bounds office.

“Good day. It's Imogen, correct?” her delicately veiled fingers comb through the mare’s mane, her dark mahogany eyes seeming to look over the gloss of Foie Gras’ coat to inspect the way the late morning sunlight rests upon its sandy hues before turning her attention back to Imogen with a smile.

She hadn't spoken much to the Lady since she was hired a few weeks back - not much being that this is the third time, after her interview and a brief acknowledgment when being shown around by one of the housemaids the day she started.

The Lady Bradbury’s lips are painted a deep purple, an unusual colour for sure; Imogen had only seen illustrations and paintings of the dignitary from era’s passed in shades of peach and pinks and reds, stencilled in exaggerated shapes, and as with the landscaping of grounds, to wear such obvious make up itself is frowned upon, old fashioned, conveniently equated with providing false fronts.

The Lady’s teeth are bright, especially in comparison to the purpled dark lips.

and sharp

especially in comparison to how soft-

“You must pardon me, have I got it wrong?”

shit, fuck-

“Oh! n-no-” Imogen was staring, definitely “I apologise m’lady. You are right, it is Imogen.”

God dammit - she’s gonna get herself fired, fired for daydreamin’ and giving the horses receding hairlines and ignoring the Lady of the Manor when she addresses her-

The Lady chuckles to herself delicately, an act displaying a markable absence of frustration and bewilderment.

“From Master Faramore’s, yes? How are you finding the new environment? I am sure the stables here pale in comparison to his, but I do not believe that they afforded such space and the opportunity for frequent walks around such a beautiful lake…”

“Certainly, m’lady. There are less of them so they get more attention, they can be well looked after-”

“Indeed, plenty of grooming at the very least-”

Imogen can feel the hot blood rush to the surface of her cheeks, unable this time to wrangle her body’s motor reflexes.

“I have yet to visit the lake m’self, I am sure they enjoy bein’ taken by you though, they always seem happier when they come back.”

“Is that so? Well, I must insist you see the lake for yourself, if not only to relish the fact that you took great part in an amount of their contentedness.”

The Lady Bradbury looks to her expectantly, Imogen expected to have a reply for the unexpected.

“Would you accompany me this afternoon?”

Imogen can read thoughts. She can read thoughts but what if the Lady Bradbury can too? Or what if she can tell that she is imposing? Would she find herself in the bottom of that lake on her very first visit? A drink more filling than what she had wanted, her lungs full and void of buoyancy. Imogen can read thoughts but she dares not to read the Lady’s.

She can feel them, though, that first and second and now third time in her vicinity, feel how they are different, an audible silence amongst the swarm of bees wings and small talk and anxieties

At some point the Lady had stepped around Foie Gras’ head to stand beside Imogen

She smells like sage and gunpowder

On the day of her interview she had smelled of eucalyptus and raw animal fat-

“You’re quite the thinker, aren’t you?”

Of that she is guilty, though usually she can argue that the majority of the thoughts that weigh her down are not her own.

“Apologies m’lady, I wasn’t sure I had heard you right. Did you want a horse saddled for you for this afternoon?”

Imogen had never thought that her accent sounded particularly thick or clunky, but it felt as heavy as her mind tends to be around other company when speaking with the Lady, her tongue all thick tangled muscle swelling against the roof of her mouth and her teeth.

Perhaps this is some sort of witchery. She waits for the molasses to take a hold on her muscles and limbs, for the her skull to be crushed concave from the inside

But it doesn’t happen.

The Lady smiles (again)

“Almost. One for you and one for me, if you would accompany me around the lake - there isn’t a cloud in the sky today and it would be a shame to keep the clear reflections of the mountains to myself and Foie Gras here.”

Imogen is thrown. Yes, y’all could argue that this is exactly what she came here for; time alone with the Lady Bradbury, the opportunity to form a rapport or to subtly pluck at her brain but there is something in the way that she carries herself, how she talks to Imogen with ease and lack of formality that is alarmingly disarming, and leaves Imogen cloudy on why she came here in the first place-

“C-certainly, if it’s what the Lady wants-” she chuckles (again, again) waving her hand dismissively before catching herself and laying it over the patch of hair on the mare’s shoulder that surprisingly hasn’t thinned from all of Imogen’s enthusiastic (distracted) brushing.

“I will take Ceviche; you seem to have formed quite the bond with Foie Gras.”

Imogen can only nod with lips parted in silenced protest as she feels her cheeks flush again.

~

The walls of the stable are thick and stone, absent of windows save for the upper halves of the handful of wooden doors that allow for the horses to pop their heads out in eager greeting to Imogen as she walks towards them with their buckets of feed.

It is a clear day, as the Lady Bradbury has said, hot and humid and Imogen is grateful for both the surroundings and the company of the stable.

As she rakes the trodden-in and dirtied hay across the flagstone floor she allows the earthy scents of the dried grass to remind her of the smell of the sage, the crumbling mortar imitating gunpowder.

She wipes the back of her shirt sleeve across her brow, skin also sweating at the wrist where the gloves wrap work-beaten leather over shielded skin

Soft skin, mostly - save for where her fingertips appear to be frost-bitten.

A fairly visible reminder of why Imogen is here, should she forget again in the Lady’s presence-

Not that she would dare to take off the gloves.

That would only lead to questions.

‘Jammed in between horse-drawn carriage and stable door’ - she used to say, before the purple bruised tips started to migrate further, splitting out like surfaced capillaries that encompassed her fingers one knuckle at a time

They mark half-way over her palms now – like someone had dipped fine dense vegetable roots in an inkwell and struck them in lashings across her hand, punishment obfuscating her palmistry.

She hears one of the horses whinny – Ceviche most likely, a little restless, the black stallion not having been let out onto the fields yet today, as Imogen was now preparing him for his ride to be taken shortly.

The Lady’s saddle is very ornate, the leather finely tooled and decorated with organic flowing arrangements that resemble leaves and petals and insects with patterned wings or many many limbs

Its material and stitching is kin to the other saddles, the ones for notable guests and stablehands alike, brands the same maker’s mark

After a short amount of time observing (staring), Imogen suspects that the Lady tooled it herself.

~

The Lady does not ride sidesaddle – she straddles the stallion proper.

Imogen can only assume that she changes from her garden-strolling undergarments to allow for this, having never worn a crinoline herself - that would both be out-of-class, and, more importantly (to Imogen at least) - real impractical.

She had noted as such about the Lady on the first day she had seen her taking one of the horses (it was Carpaccio, a black and white paint) out of field.

It was the first instance of out-of-expected behaviour that she had witnessed.

Imogen can admit to herself that such a small thing had ignited her warming to the widow.

~

Imogen allows the Lady Bradbury and her steed to take the lead, pace set by the older woman’s enthusiasms making themselves known in short enough time from pointing out ‘notable’ forms in the sloping rock faces lining the well-worn path, covered in blankets of moss and ferns and tall stems of bell-shaped pink and white foxgloves and pomanders of wild thistles.

“I just can’t help but imagine what tiny creatures would love to make home between the cracks in the rock and the tree-stumps.”

“’lotta mice and rats I imagine, probably squirrels-”

“Well, yes, certainly…”

Ceviche’s slow walk carries on ahead of Foie Gras’, and the Lady sways with his gate in the saddle, though despite this Imogen could just about read the slight deflation in her shoulders when she had replied to the Lady’s statement.

Her head turns over her shoulder, gaze searching and challenging Imogen’s, caught staring (again), dark eyes hollows of homes burrowed in rocks, the high sun exaggerating high cheekbone architecture, pleasing ratios of brow to bridge of nose.

“…I refuse to believe that there are no imps or fairies when the land is so perfectly carved for them.”

“I can only say I’ve heard stories…” Rumours, rivers.

“Certainly, else you would not be here, would you?”

The Lady holds her gaze a moment longer, as if expecting Imogen to have an answer worth vocalising for that. Imogen feels her pulse begin to thud at her temples, the sweat returning to her hairline and underneath the cuff of her gloves.

The Lady giggles melodically and dismissively, returning her attention to whatever catches its fancy on the path ahead.

“How ugly it is that we must quarry and build. I have thought more than once about leaving the manor to the animals and the girls and making my home in the cave by the lake- oh, I am so very thrilled to show it to you.”

Her excitement cuts the atmosphere, spring back in her step transposed through the steed’s, one hand off of his reins and gesturing in the air.

“You can see it from the upper floors of the house – though that is rather rude of me to say, isn’t it? If you will allow that injustice to fall upon the architect and how societal structure seems to love its walls and assigning basement dwelling.”

Imogen finds herself inadvertently allowing Foie Gras to fall at a pace beside the Lady and Ceviche.

“That’s alright, most nights I tend t’lodge in the stables; eases my mind that I’ll be near the horses should anythin’ happen.”

“Plenty of wild animals around, yes? They do get spooked so easily.”

“I like how you’ve named ‘em – it’s fun.”

“Oh!, You do? I am so glad! You are the one who has to be calling their names most often after all.” Imogen may be in early days (hours) of learning the Lady’s tells, but the smile that creases the skin around her nose and mouth and deepens the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes feels genuine.

“It does often make me chuckle, I assume you’re fond of raw meats?”

“I suppose you would think so, wouldn’t you?”

“Are y’not?”

The Lady takes pause, her look introspective.

“Have you ever eaten horse?”

“w-what? Of course not – do people actually do that?”

“Mmhmm, across the waters – in all directions. It is certainly a common custom. What makes horse any different from beef?”

“I could never – we share a bond, they let us- they give us-” Imogen's tongue is too thick and heavy again, blubbering with words that do not come easily to it as they do her head. She allows herself a deep breath, collects what little face she has, remembers the presence she is in (a Lady regardless of murder or witchcraft) “-in all honesty I rarely eat any meat, the more time ya spend with animals the more guilty ya feel about doing so.”

“How peculiar…maybe you need to spend more time around carnivores.” The Lady laughs at her own joke this time, hand patting at the side of Ceviche’s neck, the horse unaware of what words have been said. Imogen is thankful, in this instance, though she will admit she has tried more than once to see if her mind reading extended to her four-legged friends.

“But they’ve got no choice, that’s how they were made.”

She mimics the Lady’s movements, lovingly patting Foie Gras at the same spot on her neck.

“Made…yes…You have incisors don’t you? Canines?”

“I do, but I don’t have a mouth full of ‘em. Most of our teeth are as flat as these fellas over here…” she ruffles the mare’s mane “-though I won’t deny that gettin’ bitten still hurts something fierce.”

“Makes you wonder what sort of damage you could do if you so chose to, after all, your eyes are not on the sides of your head.”

~

The lake is beautiful.

Of course it is. It displays itself naturally basined, wrapped in the embrace of the mountains surrounding draped in forest cloak, walls both man-made and much older obfuscating its view from the ground floor of the estate.

The lilac and blue hues of the pebbles are familiar, lining the vegetable patch borders in the garden, larger stones used for holding stable doors open.

It is quiet over the lake. The terrain raised around it shutting out the winds, only the quiet breeze that drifts through the canopies on the mountain crests giving a gentle whistle to the waters below, an enjoyable confusement between what is wind and what is the crashing of the tender tides.

The waters are clear blue with a hint of turquoise, green given by either the surrounding plant life’s reflection or by the ones that live underwater.

It reminds Imogen of the lakes in the mountains from her childhood. It is something else new.

Their horses slow to a stop, on the Lady’s cue.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

“It really is - no wonder why the horses come back so happy.”

“And will you be as such on your return?”

“Certainly m’lady, thank you for allowing me such a privilege”

“It is not mine to give, though I will make it explicit that you may come down here whenever you wish – providing the horses are happy, of course. That is what I ask of you.”

Imogen thinks she is blushing again, but the feeling is further inside her than her veins, a warmth radiating.

“You take good care of the servants at the estate, don’t you?”

For the first time, the Lady seems thrown by what Imogen offers, a step behind instead of two larger-horsed paces ahead.

“They take better care of me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone wish to leave their home to the help.”

“It would be the very least I could do.”

“You give ‘em food and a roof over their heads-”

“They sow the seeds, they tend to the animals, they butcher their meat and harvest the wheat to bake the bread. I have been so lucky that they have yet to poison me.”

“I can only say from ma short experience that I’d find that hard t’understand.”

Her face softens again. It feels both comforting like a blanket but then uneasing like having the lights blown out.

“Funny thing, perspective…”

Lady Bradbury slides off of her horse, heels of her fine boots falling into the gaps between the pebbles, though her footing remains certain, experienced.

On the surface of the lake the trees grow downwards, the birds fly with their bellies exposed to what lies in the waters.

The Lady halts, dropping to one knee as she makes short work of the laces on her shoes.

Imogen isn’t sure if she should be offering to remove them for her, jumps down from Foie Gras and jogs clumsily on uneven surface towards the Lady regardless. 

“There are old stories of this lake, you know-”

Lady Bradbury confesses a little breathlessly, lung capacity limited by the press of her thigh into her stomach. She swaps her knee for the other on the ground, starting on the other lace.

“I won’t tell of them just yet, I would hate for them to be off-putting.”

She stands straight again, the sieved remnants of harsher winds that have made it over the mountains’ embrace wishing to make field mouse nests of her hair, spiderwebs of the lace collar around her neck, footprints of birds’ feet fossilised in the marble cornering her eyes.

She looks at home at the lake, certainly a natural thing - flesh and blood and bones cocoons to silk cotton to yarn to lace – Imogen wonders what a marvel the Lady could paint and chisel into the mouth of an open cave.

Balancing, she pulls each shoe free, grin knowing, slightly manic, intensely catching Imogen before she gathers the length of layers of skirts into one hand and steps into the clear waters.

Imogen swears she sees something conjure beneath its surface to greet her.

Laudna Bradbury had (maybe) murdered her husband – (maybe) with witchcraft, most importantly - but Imogen has bigger questions that require her answers, and so she follows the Lady into the lake.

[celestialsequels]

stupid cupid keeps on calling me, but i see lovin’ in his eyes ¡! ❞

— synopsis: jimin takes you on a museum date.

— warnings: fluffy, a couple of kisses here and there, jimin and y/n being complete losers for each other.

— w/c: 1.7k

— part 1

a/n: guess who’s back from hiatus. thank you for being so supportive and considerate over the last few weeks as i was gone. this one is for you guys and i hope you guys enjoy it !

•

after being interrogated by yeonjun, you rushed home as fast as you could. every part of you jittered in utter excitement. the evening glow had began to radiate off of you ever so slightly as you thought back to the events that took place earlier—the way her lips felt on yours, the way she gazed into your eyes as if you were the last person on earth.

yeah, you were so done for.

your steps seemed to have their own rhythm as you walked home, all drowned in your thoughts. everything around you seemed so much happier. the people around you felt like they were more in love than ever. the murals painted on the buildings you walked past felt as if they were speaking to you. hell, even nature blushed when you smiled. you finally reached home and entered through the backdoor, since it always seemed to be open. you quickly took your shoes off, almost stumbling onto your cat, flipflop, as you made your way inside. you threw everything onto the ground and headed upstairs to your room to get dressed for your date.

hangers? on the ground. accessories? on the ground. your entire wardrobe? on the goddamn ground.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“jun, nothing looks good on me. i’m starting to think this date was a bust,” you pouted as yeonjun did nothing but laugh at you.

“maybe try that outfit you always say you’ll wear but never actually end up wearing,” he suggested when he sensed you had been silent for too long.

you ushered yourself to your pile of clothing that remained still on the ground for the past hour, simply hoping that something would begin to look appealing. suddenly, an idea popped into your head and you just knew this was going to be the outfit of a lifetime—okay, you were exaggerating, but at this point, it was better than nothing. yeonjun simply stared at you pacing around the room in what seemed like excitement but was, in fact, insanity. he had never seen you so eager yet so anxious about meeting a person; this was definitely something out of the ordinary. it made his heart swell with joy, finally seeing you so happy after so many years.

“you know, y/nnie, i’m really happy to see you all happy and chirpy after so many years. i never thought i’d see the day,” yeonjun spoke softly as you admired yourself in the mirror with a fond smile.

“jun…she truly makes me so happy. my worries seem lighter than a feather when she looks into my eyes. my soul feels lighter when she places her lips on mine. she makes me feel whole. god, i sound like a sap,” you chuckled at your own words as you realized that this girl was all you wanted.

“you are a sap, little shit–”,

before he could let out another word, you threw your half-eaten, almost-rotting pudding cup in his face.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

it was nearly seven-thirty, and you only seemed to be getting more and more anxious. you started to ponder at what the future held for the two of you, thinking about nights when you two wouldn’t be able to sleep, so you’d spend it in the kitchen together, or when life might get a bit rough, and you’d find comfort within each others’ arms. the thought of living together made you blush a little harder than you would like to admit. the sudden ring of the door bell jolted you out of your thoughts, practically making you jump in front of the mirror to check if you looked perfect—and that you did, just oh so perfect. yeonjun’s snores seemed to emphasize as you made your way out of the room, not before kicking him in the shin as you ran to the front door.

“You—,”

his words zoned out as your blood rushing through your veins was the only thing you could pay attention to. you propped yourself in front of the door, giving yourself military-grade advice, but who were you kidding? not even a defibrillator could put your heart at ease. you peeked through the peephole of the door to make sure it was jimin. opening the door, and there she was. her hair flew in the crisp evening wind like the finest hazelnut spread. her eyes bore into yours as you finally opened the door after what felt like an eternity. a distinct silence fell between the two of you as your hearts soared with passion. the music playing from your ipod playing in the distance had you wanting to grab her hand and pull her as close to you as possible.

“pack it up, you two, i’ve gotta get in my beauty sleep,” yeonjun spoke up from behind you, scaring you two in the process.

“uh huh, okay,” you eyed him suspiciously since you knew damn well he wasn’t the type to sleep this early but chose not to say anything else.

“take good care of her jimin otherwise…” he threatened playfully while leaning against the wall.

“okay, hobbit,” jimin reached for your hand and pulled you out the door with her before giggling at her own joke.

adorable, you thought.

you two ran before you could hear him yell out anymore curses. soon, you heard the door shut and you two stopped running. Your entire body turned red as you realized you were gripping onto her hand for dear life. the crickets chirped from the nature surrounding you two. a calm yet fervent tension settled between you like an expecting nebula.

“you look so pretty tonight,” she broke the silence, mentally cursing herself for sounding like a loser.

“and you look all mine tonight,” your boldness surprising the two of you as the both of you turned into a giggling mess. of course, you two were losers in love, but you were each others’ losers, and that’s all that mattered.

after about half an hour of walking and flirting, you two finally reached the art museum. solace taking over you two as you floated in your little microcosm full of love. the lights shone down upon the entrance, colors displayed all over like an orchestra. mellow music could be heard from the speakers as you dragged jimin to the progress of love: the meeting. the viridian of the painting speaking directly to you while your eyes traced down the two lovers that sat patiently. jimin didn’t say a word given that you were so invested into the artwork, so she just let you tug her around the entirety of the museum. her eyes outlined your face whenever your eyes filled with sparks of interest at whatever you were looking at. her heartbeat intensified whenever you reached for her hand so she could pay attention to what you were saying.

“jimin, look, it's the lovers by rené magritte. i had to work on it for art class; it was fascinating—”

before you could say more, she eagerly pulled you in by the nape and placed her soft and succulent lips onto yours. all air was knocked out of your lungs as you still hadn’t gotten used to her lips being on yours, moving ever so fervently while her hands remained on your nape, gently playing with your hair. the lights in the museum suddenly dimmed, and the cold temperature of the room hastily became warmer. jimin’s fingers hovered across your arm, causing goosebumps to form all over your body. a few flower petals began to fall all around the room as you slowly pulled out of the kiss only to find jimin cheesing at you.

candles lit up right on time as she put her hand out for you to hold so she could show you exactly what she had in store for you. every part of you was radiated happiness. the entire museum fell into a soothing silence as jimin walked you outside into the garden. the entire garden was decorated with candles, with petals creating a walkway to the picnic she had prepared for you.

“jimin...is this all for me?” you questioned in surprise as you had never been treated so gently.

“pretty girl, everything i do is for you,” she turned a few shades redder when she saw you looking at her with the most admirable gaze. you smiled to yourself, realizing in the moment that this was the love of your life, whether you wanted to admit it or not. out of the blue, a small note sitting on the blanket caught your eye, causing you to curiously go examine it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“hi y/nnie…

i left you a polaroid camera

because i knew you would forget it at home.

go make memories with your future wife

- love jun”

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“so, this is why yeonjun told me he was going to sleep early?” you chuckled in disbelief as you recalled back to how they were eyeing each other down earlier.

“mhm, i wasn’t gonna say anything but you know how he is,” jimin responded behind you.

“jiminie, i really want you to know how loved i felt with you tonight. i-i don’t think i’ve ever been treated so softly before. you’re my person and i want you to know that,” you admitted tearfully.

“baby, you’re my person too. i adore you too much to ever treat you wrong. i didn’t think you’d like the date this much, so i was slightly nervous,” she spoke to you, affectionately rubbing her thumb over your cheek.

“you are my favourite date,” you said before pressing your lips onto hers.

the lights of the museum had completely turned off, leaving you two all alone in the garden to make memories. candles swaying along with the zephyr of the night. the flowers serenading with the music that was once playing from your ipod at home.

you two were finally home.

stupid cupid keeps on calling me, but i see lovin’ in his eyes…