#dissolve all borders

[bandofchimeras]

content: religious imagery from Christianity

haven't tried to meditate for a long while. a lot has happened both personally and in the wider world and holy god...the weight of everything now. accumulated. the rapid aging of witnessing suffering and going through life alone.

it's like the only choice is to close your eyes and let your heart die entirely and trust it will born again from that death. there's no mental battling it. for the first time I understand the necessity of a higher power, not as a nice convenience, but a psychological and spiritual necessity. some force to surrender to, give over the weight of the world instead of carrying it. Christ in the garden of Gethsemane. sweating blood.

it isn't the suffering of innocents so much as the impossible reality of brutal violence. the hands falling in helplessness - how do I respond to this iniquity? what are we beholding!?

I have never really dealt with my Catholic baggage. It's present now, the reality of martyrdom and execution and forgiveness and wrestling with G-d.

The question: what is it, to carry the cross - the humiliation and the weight of exile and derision? looking the sins of the world in the eyes, feeling your old self die. Surrending to the rending of the earth as you know it.

it doesn't seem dramatic anymore, to wail and gnash teeth. To keen and collapse and screech yet the display is also what would restore health - but here now, it is compacted inside. silence, suffering, sweat turned to blood.

when you see the worst things that could possibly be done to or by a human being. it breaks you, some naivete or arrogance or pride in humanity, rational humanism, to be a witness to that. Hell makes sense. Gehenna. my body turns to soft worn denim, water flows through me where once there were dams of ego, ideas. There's no ground anymore, the cosmic void opens and in it I hear a thrum, a singing from the heart of the world like waves in a night black ocean.

Horrible horrible stories flash in my mind, barely can be grasped, image of a long white arm stretching through history the death cult - Christofascists and white supremacists and Roman and British imperialism and corruption and betrayal - reaching up through wounds of scapegoat and Shoah into the shape and words of wearing fhem like a puppet, fingers playing through the stories of prophets like Yeshua, playing a story of self fulfilling prophecy: Armageddon centered in the Holy Land publicly recrucifying Palestinian men and innocents to please. ..to please who? It cannot be G-d.

Is it G-d?

who does this horror please? What kind of question is that to ask?

What is this?

the mind can't answer. Attempts at words wash away in the waters of the sea but the blood cannot be removed. There is stain, and grief and the pale march of gentrifying colonial HORROR so false and plastic gives way to dry rot, the spell it casts of luxury and wealth broken like a cheap dinner plate, unworthy of fixing, waste, clogging the waterways, an utter unforgivable mistake.

and they said never again we said never again what is memory? who keeps it?

the earth swallows us in forgetting in gentle glacial time but still a tremor of violence echoes. the only thing remaining to want is to lie against a beloved and rest. to feel the sun again and close my eyes and allow it.

Weariness beyond words. I give this up, this rationalist project to comprehend and inscribe the whole world. It is beyond knowing. I understand though how Yeshua said of his killers even as he was suspended in unimaginable pain, they know not what they do. What else, what else are you to say?

And the Temple was split. What is this, what is this story? That has held not only my psyche but our collective imagination, in a vise? What are we reckoning with?

G-d, where and who are you?

But a drumbeat and a quiet song in the deep. Buried under the rubble, a cry of love.

[algrolo]

Im getting irrationally annoyed at the concept of international borders right now while surfing on google maps like. This is just all made up stuff! Why cant people just go where they want.

[ohproserpine]

ix. deer dolly

see all chapters here apologies for the delay! this SHORT chapter is all about the long-awaited reunion, filled with steamy scenes. no plot points, just pure passion. if this portrayal isn't your cup of tea, feel free to skip to the next chapter: to be posted in a few days. tags: fem! reader, alastor being demisexual/demiromantic, allusions to marital activities, steamy bordering smut, mention of blood and injury, religious symbolism, love as a fucked up obsession

As you shut your eyes, the world around you dissolves into swirling shadows. The darkness envelops you, cocooning you in a sense of weightlessness. Pressed against Alastor, you bury your face into his suit, your cheek brushing against the smooth silk of his tie. The decrepit, torn building fades away, replaced by the crisp, clean ambiance of a hotel room. The air feels fresher, devoid of the musty odors that had clung to your senses before. Light streams in through the windows, casting delicate patterns on the walls that dance and sway with ethereal grace.

"Cher."

Rough lips press tenderly against the side of your temple and a heave escapes your chest, tears tracing silent paths down your cheeks, their presence unnoticed until they meet the fabric beneath your eyes, staining Alastors suit. The noise of your own blood rushing in your ears drowns out all other sounds, leaving you isolated in a world of agony.

Suddenly, the pain in your ankle resurges with a vicious intensity, sending waves of agony coursing through your body. A whimper escapes your lips, barely audible amidst the overwhelming sensation. It feels as though your very being is folding in on itself, ribs straining against flesh, breath catching in your throat. With the adrenaline long gone, every ache and throb becomes magnified, threatening to consume you whole.

"Al, it hurts," you manage to utter, your voice strained with anguish.

Alastor remains silent, his dilated, frenzied eyes locked onto your shaking form. His hand reaches up, lingering where your throat meets your jaw, the sharp points of his claws pressing down with a calculated pressure. You feel a sharp nip, and a bead of blood begins to seep from the small wound, a crimson offering that seems to stir something primal within him.

His mouth waters, and he swallows audibly, his gaze fixated on the trickle of blood.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs softly, the words a stark contrast to the hunger in his eyes. His thumb moves to gently swipe away the tears that streak down your cheeks, his touch oddly tender despite the predatory gleam in his gaze.

Leaning down, Alastor presses a tender kiss against the small wound, his lips a soothing balm against the raw edges of your suffering. A rush of conflicting emotions floods through you—pain, longing, and a desperate craving for his touch. With a soft sniffle, you raise a trembling hand to press against the back of his head, your fingers threading through his hair.

Alastor responds to your desperate craving, his hands flying to your hips as he lifts you effortlessly and lays you down onto a nearby chair. One of his shadows encircles your ankle, causing you to tense instinctively. However, instead of pain, you feel a cool sensation spreading through your skin, soothing the ache and tension. With a sigh of relief, you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to relax into the chair.

All the while, Alastor's gaze pierces through you, his eyes dark with desire and desperation.

You're right in front of him, vulnerable and exposed, a temptation too potent to resist. The taste of your blood still lingers on his tongue and he longs to sink his teeth into your soft flesh, to taste the sweetness of your essence as he consumes you with a fervor bordering on madness, leaving marks that brand you as his and his alone. Every fiber of his being yearns to ravage and possess you, to consume you in a frenzy of passion.

But he understands that to yield to his desires would mean risking further harm to you, and he cannot bear the thought of causing you any more pain.

And so, with a tortured soul and a heavy heart, he fights against the primal instincts that surge within him, denying himself the one thing he craves above all else.

As the minutes pass and the pain begins to dissipate, you find yourself panting softly, your chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Exhaustion and relief wash over you in waves, mingling with the lingering ache that still echoes through your body.

Gazing up at Alastor, you smile, your hands instinctively moving to rest on his lower abdomen, seeking the reassuring warmth of his touch in the dimly lit room.

A silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Alastor's hands remain clenched at his sides, the strain evident in the way his claws dig into his palms, threatening to break through the surface of his flesh. The protection of his gloves is the only barrier preventing the sharp tips from drawing blood.

His intense gaze, like twin flames burning in the shadows, enveloped you in their fiery embrace. Crimson eyes, almost glowing with intensity, held you captive, trapping you in a cage of his unspoken desires.

With each passing moment, it became increasingly apparent that he was relinquishing control, leaving you with the reins in your hands and him at your mercy.

Straightening yourself, you let your nails graze over his abdomen before landing on his beating chest. The rhythmic pulse beneath your touch erratic. Finally, after what feels like an eternity to Alastor, you break the stifling stillness with a voice barely above a whisper. "On your knees."

Alastor's gaze darkens, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes as he pauses for a moment, as if considering your request. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, your husband obeys, sinking to his knees before you.

Wasting no time, you seize him by the collar, pulling him close as your lips collide in a fevered kiss. The red lipstick you wear leaves its mark on his mouth, staining and smearing across his lips, cheek, and jaw. A low growl escapes him as he tugs off the jacket to his suit before his claws are grazing down your legs, leaving a trail of destruction as the fabric of your stockings tears with an audible rip.

With a breathless whimper, his name rolls off your lips, and Alastor freezes in place. It's as if something inside him shatters, a floodgate bursting open to release the pent-up longing and passion that he's kept restrained for so long.

Suddenly, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as he responds to the urgency of your kiss with equal fervor. With a low, primal grunt, your husband pushes against you. Every brush of his lips against yours, every press of his body against yours, speaking of a hunger that can no longer be contained. It's a hunger born of years of yearning and longing, a hunger that demands to be sated here and now.

Both of you lean back, lost in the intoxicating frenzy of desire. The chair beneath you groans and creaks ominously under the strain before finally giving way with a loud snap.

You yelp in surprise as the ground rushes up to meet you, but before you can hit the hard floor, Alastor's arms wrap around you protectively, catching you in a tight embrace. With a swift motion, he pulls you up into his embrace, effortlessly supporting your weight as he holds you close.

With deliberate steps, Alastor guides you to the edge of the bed before gently lowering you onto its soft surface. You land with a huff and a thud, the mattress embracing you like a comforting embrace.

As you settle onto the plush bedding, Alastor follows suit, hovering above you with his arms caging your head. Leaning down, he presses a trail of kisses down the valley of your breasts, each touch igniting a fire within you.

The straps of your white silk dress are tugged down, revealing the curve of your chest as you melt into the softness of the mattress. Your body instinctively arches towards his touch, every nerve alive with anticipation. As his hands explore the contours of your body, your mind succumbs to a blissful haze, thoughts dissolving into a fog of desire and need.

"Al..."

Alastor continued his ministrations, each kiss a fervent prayer offered up to the goddess beneath him. A reunion long overdue, it felt akin to a sacred ritual. With each tender touch of his lips, he sought to worship you in the most unholy of ways, offering himself up as a devoted supplicant at the altar of your desires.

[franavu]

While the Archheart's plan seems completely in character for a chaotic god who just wants out of their current situation (kudos to Abubakar), it's also an absolutely terrible idea. Let's say the absolutely best case scenario is going to happen. In that best case:

Imogen and/or Fearne can control Predathos enough that they're not completely erased (this would be the least important part in the grand scheme of things.)

When Predathos is syphoned from the moon it only takes the energy and doesn't cause the moon to crack/explode/implode, causing it to rain chunks of moon down on Exandria.

All the gods actually leave. This is not a certainty as per Taliesin the Wildmother has invested so much of herself in the world that she likely can't leave. I would imagine that that means that the Lawbearer is sticking around as well. Not to mention what would happen to the Chained Oblivion, it's not the same as the other gods, and as far as I know it only showed up sometime during the schism. (Is it even prey for Predathos? Is it of the same species? Would there be a Chained Oblivion Predathos Kaiju battle, with Exandria as the battleground? Who knows?)

On the way out the lower and higher planes get locked down so there is no extraplanar invasion. (The biggest worry would be demons/devils but I can imagine planetars etc. can make a problem of themselves if they see a good cause)

On the way out Predathos doesn't decide to snack on lesser divine beings/things (Uk'otoa, parts of the Luxon, etc) leaving its mutating properties behind. (see the Savalir wood)

The bloody bridge gets dissolved and doesn't tear Exandria's magic apart.

Now, in the absolute best case scenario, none of the above is going to be a problem. Regardless, what is going to be a problem:

Divine magic is going to be weakened at the least. The number of divine healers is going to tank, and while there are lesser beings that can grant divine magic, and it is possible, but difficult, to wield it without any (see Calamity). That's going to take a while to sort out, and in the meantime there's going to be a lot less healing.

A lot of things that got out during the Solstice are still out, like the Phoenix thing that is similar to Uk'otoa (which is probably out again as well) and they are a lot more difficult to seal without divine aid.

There is also still a significant invasion force of Ruidians that are going to be a problem, not to mention the Ruby Vanguard

With the gods gone, a lot of semi-divine powers, whether good or bad, are going to be empowered through new followers and/or warlock pacts, without anyone to keep them in line (again, see Artagan or Uk'otoa)

Vasselheim, the oldest city in the world, is going to have massive issues of at least morale, and is likely not going to be in a state to do anything outside of its own borders.

Other political entities are also going to be looking inwards, consolidating their own resources, and shedding their pereferies. I'd say that, for example, the Dwendalian Empire is likely going to shrink. Countries that are less effected by the loss of the gods, may very well go to war. Places that have been protected by the gods are going to lose that protection, Niirdal-Poc and the other cities which were protected by the Wildmother are probaly going to be run over by the Iron Authority.

Outside of actual war, demagogues, warlords, cult leaders, etc. are going to spring up in the chaos, with various degrees of violence.

And finally there is the biggest problem, wizards. Since long before the Calamity the holy grail of magic was ascension to godhood, and now the thrones are empty. A whole bunch of wizards are going to try for them, and in the best case scenario they fail and only take a chunk of empty countryside with them. In the worst case they succeed, seeing that wizards who's ambition is godhood absolutely should not have it. And now there is no divine gate or other deities to curtail them. So there'll soon be a new, worse pantheon.

So the Archheart is right, there will be a new balance, but as that usually goes, the new balance is going to be built on a pile of corpses, and is likely going to be worse than the previous one.

But hey,

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

The Blackwood Knight prt.4

Disclaimer: Back to my usual shenanigans with another installment of Benjicot angst. The stakes are getting higher. Plus the start of the crossovers Victoria and I have planned with the Jump then Fall series.

Description: In which the Blackwood Knight bends the knee before his Queen.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Playlist:

One Thing~ One Direction

Risk~ Gracie Abrams

Only Girl (in the world)~ Rihanna

I think he knows~ Taylor Swift

A silver moon shone through the casement of the turret window of Raventree Castle Benjicot leaned against, staring out across the expanse of Blackwood vale towards the borders of Bracken lands. His arm raised above his head, leaning against the wall, soft candle light cast shadows over his disconsolate expression. Never had he wished to cross such an expanse before, so long had he been the arbiter of the very border which he now wished to dissolve. Raised as he was to inherit the Blackwood estate and lands, he was equally set to inherit the duty to further propagate the ancient enmity between the Blackwoods and the Brackens. A duty he had never railed against until now.

His thoughts turned to the lady whose beauty of mind and form had made him question all that had once seemed to him so certain. The very lady who he who he was determined to make his lady wife. He could not very well ask her to leave her whole life, her family, her House, to be at his side. He would not ask her to. Instead, he resolved, he would dissolve the very borders between them.

An amused voice broke his reverie.

“Oh look, it’s our resident troubadour, musing over his lady love.” Benjicot’s friend, Robb laughed at him, elbowing him in the ribs.

Turning to him with a bemused expression, Benjicot responded “And what if I am?”

Rob laughed again, turning to lean jauntily against the castle walls.

“I thought you were a man of action. Why don’t you just march down there, bend the knee and offer yourself in marriage to her. You bore me enough with your plans to do just that thing? Do you think she will refuse? I would if I were her.”

Benjicot pushed his friend in the shoulder, but his expression betrayed a hint of insecurity behind the action.

“That is definitely a concern. She is very shy and I cannot be sure that my love will be returned. There is also the small matter of our warring Houses. I would not merely be asking her to accept me, but also my House…and to forsake her own. I will not ask her to make such a sacrifice. I must instead find a way for both our Houses to resolve their differences. If my world will not accommodate her, I must tear it down and begin anew.”

Robb met Benjicot’s gaze with his own incredulous one.

“Trying to get the Blackwoods and the Brackens to resolve anything without the use of extreme force is beyond belief. Just the other day I encountered that Bracken fellow you like to refer to as a peacock, attempting to move the boundary stones further into our lands and I had to restrain myself from making him eat the damn rocks.”

Benjicot’s eyes darkened slightly, “that fellow is incorrigible but he is also, I’m afraid, the cousin of my lady, so I can’t very well dispatch him…though I have thought of doing so…many times.” He looked off into the distance with an almost wistful expression.

“I would not direct my proffers of peace terms to such an idiot. The future Lord of Bracken Hall, Aeron Bracken could be more reasonable. He does not wish for further bloodshed and may be amenable to a settlement. A dispute at the border with his own lady has convinced me of this.”

A mist had swept over the Riverlands overnight, coating the grass expanse with dew drops, as Y/N walked towards the Brackentree, struggling to contain her excitement at seeing her knight. Her thoughts continued to turn on the events of the previous day, when he had spun her close to him and had gazed at her with a look that held something behind it that almost convinced her that he harboured the same feelings that she did for him towards herself. Almost, for she had convinced herself in the intervening hours after he had walked her back to the outermost borders of the Brackenwoods that he thought of her as just a silly girl with fantasies of chivalry that he entertained only to be kind. This didn’t seem right either, considering his behaviour towards her. His actions had sometimes made her hope that the opposite might be the case, that he might grow to love her, as she did him.

Each day that they met to walk along the border of Blackwood and Bracken lands, he would bring her a book or a piece of art he believed might interest her, especially as it related to great female Targaryens like Visenya. He would hold her arm over his so gently, as he guided her across rockier terrain, sometimes lifting her across it by the waist, after first asking. If it was colder, he would unclasp his crimson cloak from his own shoulders to wrap it around her own, smiling at her as he did so, before making a comment about how well the colour looked on her. So often did he make comments of a similar ilk that she sometimes pretended that it was because he wanted her to bear the colours of his House, as his lady. But she quickly dismissed such thoughts, embarrassed at even entertaining them.

At Bracken Hall she was a shadow, unnoticed, unimportant, and frequently mocked by her cousin for her interests. Benjicot, in the way that he would meet her gaze directly as she spoke, nodding and smiling attentively as she did so, made her feel as if what she had to say was of value and his frequent offers to ‘dispatch your cousin’, whilst only jests that made her laugh, made her feel that he truly cared. All this aside, Benjicot was a true knight and she knew from his behaviour towards a lady from a house loyal to the Brackens who had encountered some hostile Blackwoods that he acted with chivalry towards all ladies. Perhaps his actions were just that, perfunctory, even if they were kind.

With these confused thoughts turning in her mind, she hardly noticed that she had already arrived at their meeting point, before she bumped into a hard obstacle. Crying out in surprise, and struggling to keep her footing, she felt an arm wrap around her waist, and another around her shoulders, as she looked up into the warm brown eyes of Benjicot, who smiled down at her in a mixture of amusement and something softer she couldn’t quite identify.

“Nice of you to drop in, my lady, although I had thought I’d have to do something truly heroic to get you to fall into my arms.” Lifting her back to her feet, he moved his arms to hold onto her elbows to steady her, holding on for a few moments longer than was strictly necessary.

“My apologies,” she said quickly, “I was distracted.”

Noticing the pink on her cheeks and her slightly panicked expression, Benjicot feared he had overstepped the line and embarrassed her, quickly stepping back to give her more space. When her expression didn’t change, he added in a jesting tone what he meant earnestly.

“No need to apologise, my lady. Feel free to fall into my arms anytime you so wish, that’s what they’re there for. And of course, for spearing your cousin on the end of my sword.” He added, with a wink.

Smiling at him indulgently and pushing his chest playfully, Y/N laughed as Benjicot rocked back on his boots, as if her light touch had actually succeeded in moving him.

Pushing him again for this jest, Benji placed his hand above hers on his chest, arresting it in its place. Smiling down at her, he held her hand in place like that for a few seconds before moving it so that he could graze it with his lips. Gently dropping her hand back to her side, he nonetheless retained hold of it, as he turned to direct them to their usual walking route through the borders of the Brackenwoods.

After a few moments of walking in contented silence, Benjicot began, “This knight has a proposition to put before his queen, if she be so pleased to entertain it?”

Turning with a laugh to swat at him, Y’N responded, “you jest!”

Catching her hand in his once again, Benjicot stopped them in their passage, looking into her eyes earnestly, “Do I?”

“You know you do” she scoffed, moving to continued walking, before Benji once again stopped her by taking a gentle hold of her elbow.

“I am sorry to hear you say so. I have begun badly already. I’m afraid you will have trouble listening to the whole of what I will say.”

Seeing that he looked genuinely troubled, she stopped to gaze back up at him.

“I’m sorry, continue.”

“Well,” he hesitated, taking a step towards her, to close the distance between them, “I would like to ask you a question, if you would permit it.”

Seeing her nod in acquiescence, he took a deep breath, more on edge than she had seen him since he had rescued her from his bannermen, before taking her hands in his and bending low, head lowered before her.

“What are you playing at again Benji” she said, half in amusement and half in confusion.

Smirking at her shortened version of his name, hers alone to use, he drew strength from the feeling of her smaller hands in hands.

“I once offered you my service as a knight in your protection. I meant it when I bent the knee before you that day and I mean it now as I offer myself to you as your husband and protector. I would dedicate myself to your happiness and ensure that your days and nights were safe. I would have you be my lady wife and the future Lady of Raventree, if you would have me.”

Fearing to look up at her and gage her reaction, Benjicott kept his head lowered, awaiting her response as the agonising silence continued.

To his surprise, she harshly withdrew her hands and began to walk away from him without a word. Momentarily stunned, Benjicot looked after her retreating figure before rallying himself, hurrying to catch up with her.

“My Lady” he called, to no answer. Repeating his call, she turned with a stricken look that made his heart drop into his stomach, seeing that tears were forming behind her eyes. Berating himself in his mind for upsetting her, he frantically replayed his words in his mind, trying to find the source of his blunder to correct it. Unless, of course, it was him, himself that offended her so. A painful thought, but one he would try to accept if it was the case.

“What is the cause of your distress, are you hurt? Have I said something to offend you?” He hurriedly stumbled out.

“You have hurt me.” Y/N responded with a hitch in her voice.

Feeling a sharp pain in his heart at this, Benjicott stumbled back a pace and lowered his head.

“I am sorry for having done so, please forgive me. How can I make amends” and more desperately he added, “what can I do?”

Y/N lowered her head, avoiding his gaze before responding in a quiet voice he had to lean towards to hear, “don’t make fun of me.”

Raising her voice slightly, she continued, each word a lance to his heart.

“I have endured enough mockery from cousin and his friends about my interest in knights and queens. I had thought that you, at least, would not do the same thing. I had thought that…that we were friends, that you respected me enough not to do that.”

As she had been speaking, Benjicot’s expression had become increasingly distressed and then finally determined, as he realised his blunder and the source of her pain. She did not believe him.

As she hurriedly turned to leave, Benjicot grabbed her hand.

Turning in frustration, attempting to wrench her hand from his firm hold, Y’N demanded he let her go.

Benjicot stepped towards her, wrapping his arm around her waist, closing the distance between them

“I will, once you listen to me…please.” He added, as she stopped struggling.

He raised his free hand to gently graze her cheekbone with the back of his knuckle, before tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I earnestly apologise for having acted in a manner which caused you to disbelieve the truth of what I have said, but please believe me when I say that I have never, and would never, mock you. Especially for something I myself most ardently believe to be true: that I am your loyal knight and protector, whether you will have me or not, and would be your husband, if you would allow it.”

Recognising in Y/N’s direct gaze a desire to search for the truth of his claims in his eyes, he lowered his head towards her, so that she could look into his eyes more easily.

A few more agonising minutes passed for Benjicot, before his lady’s gaze seemed to soften and she said in a soft, questioning voice.

“You are in earnest?”

“I have never been more so about anything in my life.”

“And you want me?”

Chuckling at this, he stroked her cheek again, “No, I mistook you for your peacock of a cousin, obviously.”

Laughing at this, she raised her own hand to wrap it around the back of his neck, causing butterflies to rise in his torso.

“Then I will be your lady.”

Breaking out into a smile, which conveyed love and admiration, Benji lowered his face towards her slowly, stopping intermittently to check for any sign of distress in the expression of his lady.

Hovering his lips above hers in hesitation, gazing into her eyes with a look that asked for her permission, he moved his hand to hold her head as he gently grazed his lips over hers, deepening the kiss when her arm wrapping around his neck made him sure that his lady was in fact his to love and adore, as well as serve and protect.

Breaking the kiss, he continued to hold her head in his hand, gazing down at her with a reverential look that could only be for a knight towards his queen.

Her expression suddenly becoming distressed as she pushed him away, Benjicot briefly panicked that he had, after all, been too forward, until she told him her fears.

“But how will I become your lady if I belong to House Bracken.”

Smiling in relief that he had not been the cause of her distress, he once again took her hand in his, raising it to his lips before he assured her:

“Don’t distress yourself on that account. I will find a way for you to be both Lady Blackwood and Queen of the Bracken lands. I’ll burn the borders down myself if I have to, although I am very fond of my boundary stones. Perhaps I will have to take my good friend Robb up on his idea for them.” He returned, a glint in his eye.

“And what is that?” she asked with a slight tone of disapproval, anticipating an answer very much along the lines of the one Benjicot would give.

“Oh nothing to be concerned about, my sweet, just feeding the stones to a particularly troublesome peacock.”

We love desperate and pathetic men on this blog.

@lovebabe18 @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress

[k-daydreams]

My Fearless Mate

Pairing: Azriel Shadowsinger x daemati!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: misogyny, graphic, Fluff at the end!

Based off this ask

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You hated traveling to the war camps. Especially in the winter. Even as you walked arm in arm pressed up as close as you could against your mate, Azriel, the heat did not help against the bitter wind and cold nipping at your face. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel had been here just paying their usual visit to make sure Lord Devlon was doing his job and ensuring the girls were training. They had been here for a few days already and you had desperately missed Az that you swallowed your pride and hatred towards the camp and Illyrian culture to see your mate. You hadn’t let him know you were coming, it was a surprise, a damn good one indeed.

Not only was the shock evident on his face as you winnowed into the middle of the camp. His shadows had excitedly darted to you in greeting as soon as he caught your scent from the dark swirling clouds winnowing. The Illyrian warriors were taken back as well. Disgust and surprise written all over their faces, but you didn’t care. You practically ran to Azriel giddily greeting him with a kiss on his cheek as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. He tried to keep his mask of iciness on, but you could feel his toothy grin in the crook of your neck, his dissolve fading in your arms.

He led you around the camp, telling you all the updates, and you filled him in on what you had spent the last few days doing in Velaris. You watched as the warriors trained in the sparring rings. Then you came to a sparring ring with a couple girls cornered by some higher ranked warrior commanders. You halted in your steps, causing Azriel to stop mid sentence.

“You’re supposed to be doing your chores.” One of the males said to the young girls who had to be no older than twelve. His siphons were half the size of the girl’s head.

“W-we’re done, the high lord said we could train as we pleased.” She stammered.

“There is always work to be done.” Another warrior countered back. “The sparring ring is no place for a girl, no matter what the high lord says.” Azriel tensed at that, and you looked up to your mate biting your lip anxiously. You had let go of his arm, on alert for what was about to unfold.

“The high lord’s orders go above yours.” The other girl stepped up to the male ten times her size. Defiance in her small voice as she pushed the other girl behind her. Satisfaction prickled at your skin, but you knew this wasn’t going to end well. The males scoffed and glowered towards them. Your face and ears heated.

“The high lord doesn’t have a say in your punishment though.” One grabbed the more defiant girl’s arm. She tried to get out of his clutch, but he was far more stronger than her. Azriel was ready to walk towards them, but you beat him to it. Rage filled you to the point you had tunnel vision, marching over. How dare these assholes.

“Hey! You let them go!” You yelled at the warriors as another grabbed the other girl. She was shaking in his grasp, scared out of her mind, a terrified look in her brown eyes as she made eye contact with you.

The warriors laughed at you as you approached. “I didn’t realize they opened camp borders to courtiers.” One mocked you while the other bellowed even louder. You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling the familiar sensation in your bones. Azriel tugged on the bond as warning, but you ignored him. Other warriors and workers had stopped what they were doing, noticing the commotion.

You clenched your gloved fists, “it would be wise if you did as I say.”

“What or you'll file a formal complaint with the high lord?” He sneered sarcastically. You could feel your blood get hot and the taste of magic tang on your tongue. A wave of power rolled off you settling over the camp.

The one that seemed the most powerful walked towards you, his nostrils flared like he was a wild beast. “You have no authority in this camp.”

Azriel tugged again on the invisible thread that connected you two together. A silent reassuring stroke that gave you the silent permission to let go of your control if needed.

“I am one of the high lord’s secondhand commands, I see that as good enough authority.” You stuck your nose high up, not intimidated by the size of a warrior. He continued towards you like a predator. He wanted you to be his prey. Unfortunately for him, you had considered yourself a much more dangerous predator. Already prowling and circling around him, getting ready to pounce.

“I believe that means my authority outranks your authority.” You said almost too casually. “Now as I said before—let. them. go.”

The two warriors behind the aloof meathead in front of you now looked wary towards your opposition. But they held a firm grip on the young girls, the one in front of you puffing out his chest, wings flaring as wide as they could go.

“You are no more than a fae female to me,” he got mere inches from your face looking down at you with a disgusting rage. You could feel specks of saliva hit your face as he spoke, but you didn’t flinch. “And you know what we do to fae females? We take them into the forest in the middle of the night and we sully—“

Before he could finish, he dropped to the ground howling in agony writhing in the mud. You just merely narrowed your eyes, twisting the invisible ropes around his mind and body. Your daemati powers had overtaken your instincts with every twist you envisioned.

“What was that?” You asked innocently, slamming your heavy icy muddy boot atop his abdomen. He hissed, snarling at you like a rabid animal trying to fight the power that you coursed through him. You dug the heel of your boot with a bruising force. The crowd that circled gone quiet with the roar of the Illyrian male that convulsed under your boot.

“Now you listen to me,” you bent down looking at him, forcing his eyes to look towards you. His face beet red, eyes bulging in horror as you infiltrated his brain further. No mental shields, just a wide open gate to walk through. “You let the girls train and you don’t bother them ever. I don’t want you to even breathe their way again, and if I ever—ever hear a word about you going against the high lord’s or my order…” you lunged into the deepest part of his mind.

I’ll personally clip your wings myself. You had threatened him mentally.

You released the invisible force upon him, and lifted your boot from his abdomen. He rolled away, panting to catch his breath. You looked up from him and saw the two warriors holding the girls. You strided towards them, and they all but threw the young illyrians in your direction. Both of landing on the ground with a hard thud.

“W-what are you?” The one male asked terrified, backing away with the other.

You glared at them, “that’s none of your concern. What is your concern is bringing your commander to first aid before you end up like him.” They kept still, watching you bend down to the two girls. “Now!” You demanded. They scurried off like field mice to their brother who laid in the mud nearly unconscious.

Bringing your attention to girls, smiling softly at their scared faces. They rubbed their arms where the men had gripped them. “Did they hurt you?” You asked.

“I’m not sure,” the more timid one answered first, rolling up her long sleeve to check. You gently examined the forming bruise around her arm, frowning slightly.

“You two were so courageous to stick up to them. You will both be strong warriors one day.” You looked at the other’s arm. Her arm is much more swollen than her friend’s. You smiled reassuringly at them, “I’ll have someone bring you two to our house to have the healer tend to you.” You took a hold of both their hands, helping them up, leading them to your mate and friends.

“Cassian get a healer to the house,” Azriel asked for you, wholly keeping his eyes locked on you.

“Of course,” Cassian winked at you slyly when he passed. Proceeding to yell at everyone to get back to work while he made his way to the first aid tent. Rhys chuckled, patting Azriel on the shoulder.

“I know,” He guided the girls to his mother’s old house by your request, leaving you and Azriel alone.

His eyes were still fixated on you, hazel orbs shining brightly, mouth slightly agape. He didn’t have to say anything because you felt it. Adoration, pride, and pure love swelled down the bond.

I absolutely adore you. He spoke to you mentally. You caressed the shadows that even swirled in his mind, stroking gently. His wings rustled slightly, unable to contain it.

Wrapping his arm around you, he led you to the house to go check on the girls. A couple people still looked at you with terrifed expressions. Azriel’s lip curled upward to ghost of smirk before kissing your brow sweetly. You were his fearless mate.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to request, give feedback, reply, like, and reblog!

[tarotofbadkitties]

Imagine thinking Tashi is the only one with an unhealthy relationship with tennis when you have Art dissolving before our eyes at the mere prospect he can't play tennis anymore and Patrick living in his car and hooking to avoid giving up tennis. All these idiots love tennis, and none of them love it a healthy amount lol. The message of this story is clearly that being a professional athlete requires a love of the sport that borders on pathological on a good day, and is pathological on a bad day. What makes it worth it is the euphoria that takes you over when your dedication, passion and sacrifices come together to produce true beauty on the court.

The reason their relationships are a shit show is, in large part, that this career requires a lot of emotional support for you to do really well, but it takes so much out of you that you can't emotionally support anyone very well in return. Tashi has given to Art endlessly, and the result has been that he's been a champion until the spark went out in him. He can't give her ANYTHING at all, which is why she winds up falling into Patrick. The reason Patrick has something to give her is that he isn't giving his entire soul to tennis. His failure to do so is showing its results in his ranking. Patrick is fully aware that finally giving the last pieces of his soul to tennis to bring home the big trophies is what he's offering to Tashi in New Rochelle. He knows what that last bit is he'd have to give up, and he's finally ready to do it. He's no different than them, he just repressed his intense desire for glory to try to have a life.

[pherelesytsia]

Who did this to you? - 8

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/Reader

Summary: Bruised and broken, Y/N, trapped in a loveless marriage, arrives at her best friend's house, desperately hoping someone will help her, aware she cannot return to the estate of her husband.

Warning: fear, anxiety, Angst, swearing 

Word Count: 2.3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part6 Part 7 Part 9

The clouds wandered on, a lonely wanderer travelling across oceans and meadows, hills and rugged mountains painted in snow. White greyed, darkened and blackened, turned into pure doom, darker than black. The wind howled, screamed and screeched and the branches, crooked fingers, waltzed in all directions.

Silence blanketed the car driving down the path bordered by fields and trees, but it was not unpleasant, cruel, forcing nonsense to fall to shatter it. Shocked, Y/N noticed with widened eyes they had arrived at the open gates of the estate she called her home. At a rapid pace, the car drove on and on, past other parked cars and parked between them in different shades of the deep ocean. The motor wasn't roaring, turned off and the chanting of the birds sitting in one line on the lowest branch invaded the car smelling of alcohol, petrol and leather. The wind knocked on the automobile. Polly gulped, turned and rested her hand graced by a golden ring cautiously, almost shyly, on Y/N´s lap, but the shivering and shaking woman painted in blue and red, lightened by streaks of purple, did not flinch nor speak her mind. Carefully Polly´s fingers slid across Y/N´s calf and pulled the thick fabric higher to hide the exposed skin. Polly pronounced her name and pulled Y/N out of the dark and dreary thoughts, summoning goosebumps all over her flesh.

            "Thomas is fine. He knows what he's doing. Nothing will happen to him." Polly assured calmly, guessing the reason for the fear in the widened eyes and sweaty palms.

Faintly Y/N smiled.

            "I know, but I'm worried about him. About Poppy. There was blood, too much blood. I thought it was the new wallpaper she had told me about. They, she and her mother, redecorated the house. The pattern, it looked like flowers, large and smaller dots." she replied.

Exhaling, Y/N closed her eyes veiled by tears once fixed on the distance, watching the sun, the rays breaking through the travelling clouds heralding a day full of terror.

            "I'm sure your friend is fine, too. Thomas will take care of her." the woman continued with a gentle, encouraging smile on her features, kissed by the orange rays.

Polly cleared her throat. The smile fainted, and the wrinkles deepened. She didn't need to search for the right words, had already pictured during the ride what she would say to Y/N if their paths should cross, but all Polly wanted to say had dissolved, had lost its meaning.

            "We're home Y/N/N. Ada is waiting, but before we go inside, I want you to know that we are sorry. We have not been good to you, to put it nicely. Please forgive us and I speak on behalf of the whole family. John was the one who opened the door for your friend. After we realised what had happened, we were looking for you. I hope you will give us a second chance even if we don't deserve one. We will understand if you want to leave. We won't hate you for your decision." Polly continued and squeezed Y/N´s hand.

Y/N turned, ignoring the nearly unignorable pain trying to elicit a hiss from her, and turned to face Polly. She wanted to start a sentence; lips parted, but no tone escaped the sore throat. Y/N stared past Polly towards the door, flying back and forth in the fresh morning breeze. Ada ran towards the car as if chased by a ghost, had left the door wide open, ran on tiptoes and hissed and cursed like a witch as the stones dug deep into the soles of her reddening feet. The hem of the dress danced in the breeze. Gasping for air, Ada spread the large checked blanket, usually resting on the floor next to the sofa. The wind painted her cheeks vibrant red, lighter than her evening gown.

            "Come, Y/N/N, we will protect you." Polly assured in a calm, slightly quivering voice, but Y/N heard no falseness, no lie in it.

Y/N could not utter a reply. The air, hinting of winter, invaded the car. The women shivered and balled the hands into fists. Ada hushed a greeting, spread the blanket, glanced at the wounds gracing Y/N´s body, down on the battered feet and the shivering limbs. The pain in her chest deepened at the sight of the shadow of a woman, read in her eyes what she had been through. The lip was chapped. The traces of a fight were evident on her cheek and throat. Ada tossed the blanket over her shoulder, noticing Y/N was covered in one. Wordlessly Ada helped Y/N out of the car. Soft curses blurred with whimpers. Whispering soothing words, Ada pulled Y/N away, closer to the house, kicking the door of the automobile shut and gesturing for Polly to pursue. 

            "I've prepared a bath for you. I'll help you upstairs. If you don't want to bathe, I can put a bucket of water next to the sofa. You can at least warm your feet." Ada said.

With every step, every slight movement Y/N made, the once brilliant white material slipped and revealed more wounds, swellings, and darkening spots not fading in the golden tide of the sun's rays, but grew even darker. Blue turned to green, lit by purple flashes and red veins carrying blue blood. Patiently Ada waited, and stared back at Polly, walking hastily after the women.

            "Thank you. I think the bucket will do. Maybe I'll get in the tub later." Y/N replied meekly, as if speaking to her mother, fearing the answer would enrage her, but none of what she expected happened.

The chilly breeze blew through Y/N´s hair one last time. The door slammed shut, and the keys jingled, chanted a song that faded quickly. All doors were closed and locked. Curtains touched. The first aid box, not battered, holey neither with a worn handle nor dented corners, rested open on the table. Scissors, and spotless bandages lay next to bottles of high-proof alcohol, freshly washed not dried glasses, cigarettes and silver needles drowning in alcohol. Blankets covered the sofa, to which Ada led Y/N and a down pillow. The white porcelain bowl graced by blue vines and flowers was in the middle of the crowded table. Smoke rose from the cup, sweet lavender, and banished the unmistakable stench of blood and gore.

            "May I offer you some soup?" the question was unnecessary, asked out of politeness.

Y/N turned into a tree, rooted deep into the ground, not moving. Her arms swayed forward. Questioningly, the two Shelby's exchanged glances, searching for the reason for the fear in Y/N´s eyes, unable to find it, but then, after a moment that seemed not to pass, Ada took a step forward, let go of Y/N, took the polished pistol and hid it under the table, still handy but out of Y/N´s sight. Polly placed her hands down on Y/N's shoulders, trying not to cause her any more pain, let the blanket slide to the floor and carefully pressed the young woman down on the sofa. Ada wriggled back towards them, took the blanket still hanging over her shoulder and laid it down on Y/N's legs, covering them, reached for the pair of fluffy socks, wiped away the dirt, small stones, dust and dried mud, and put the socks on Y/N´s feet.

            "It's okay." Ada breathed before Y/N could protest.

Smiling, Ada looked up, wiped her hands on her long dress, picked up the bowl filled with soup and placed it carefully in Y/N's lap, handing her the silver spoon.

            "Here, Y/N/N, eat. I'll fill you a bucket with warm water in the meantime. Polly will keep you company. If you need anything, if you feel sick, all you have to do is tell us and we will help you. You are still in shock." Ada said in a calm voice.

Gulping, Ada crouched next to Y/N.

            "We should have taken you into our family. I am sorry, we are all very sorry. It's understandable that you don't want to see us, you have enough reasons to hate us. The only thing I can do is to promise that we will do better. If you need time, I have a friend. She owns a small cottage a few miles away from town. There is a pond and a small forest. It's lovely. I could arrange that you could spend a few days or weeks there." Ada continued.

Y/N merely nodded, unsure of what to say, not knowing how to respond, and kept on smiling. The two women watched Ada as she rose from the ground like a phoenix from the ashes and strode away. Polly leaned closer to Y/N, tidied the blanket and hinted that she should eat, that it would do her good. A soft thanks escaped Y/N, smiled at the women who wordlessly indicated that she should finally start eating and so Y/N did, dipping the silver cutlery into the depths of the bowl whose end she could not see, watching the thinly chopped vegetables slip from the spoon and as the warm liquid flowed down her throat, Y/N realised how hungry she was and ate greedily.

Time had lost its meaning. Y/N had emptied the contents of the bowl. The last piece of sliced carrots had disappeared, yet she did not place it on the table, continued to warm her fingers on the ceramic bowl.

Heels clicked against the dark wood, had put shoes a hue darker than the evening dress. Cautiously, Ada continued walking with her eyes fixed on the troubled waters, fearing the warm liquid was about to spill over the golden rim. A towel, white with a few washed-out stains, hung over her right shoulder, the towel she always used when a brother standing on the edge of the world was carried inside the house. The floorboards groaned, and Ada stopped and noticed Y/N had finished the soup she had cooked for her.

Out of the corner of her eye Polly noticed how Y/N´s eyes were growing heavy and she leaned forward, took the bowl and placed it on the table. The young woman wanted to protest as Polly told her to rest, to say that she had to stay awake, that she wanted to wait for the return of the brothers and her husband.

            "No, Y/N, lay down. You can stay with us or you can go to the bedroom. We will keep watch and if you need anything, you can call us.", "Polly, we should take care of Y/N's wounds first." Ada interjected.

            "That won't be necessary. That can wait. Alfie has taken care of her wounds it's just dirt and scratches. The wounds are not life threatening. Y/N rest, close your eyes. I promise I will wake you up if Thomas is home." she replied.

Carefully Polly pushed Y/N backwards. Her heavy, throbbing head sunk into the pillow. Closing her eyes, Y/N sighed in relief, exhaled as the blanket fell down on her body. Birds chirped, the howling ceased and lulled her to sleep.

            Polly leaned forward happily and noticed Y/N had fallen asleep.

            "Thomas told me that Alfie has taken care of Y/N. No deep wounds or else I would have taken her to the hospital. We can take care of it later." Polly reported.

Ada rose, set the bowl aside on the table, sighed deeply, nodded, listened to the woman and turned to the fireplace, the blazing flames feasting on the wood and fed by the howling air hinting of winter.

            "She was beaten up. I didn't see any bullet wounds. Did Thomas tell you what happened or who is to blame?", "He has a guess, but he couldn't tell me anything specific. It all happened too fast. The gang has Y/N's girlfriend in their grip. At least that's what he thinks. The house was trashed, destroyed, and I think I saw bloodstains on the floor." she breathed softly.

Her eyes kept sliding to the slumbering figure, kept glancing at her right side and noticing with relief that Y/N was still asleep, her eyelids neither twitching nor her lips twisting into a pained grimace.

            "Alfie's going to show up any minute. Thomas called him. He fears someone might pay us a visit." Polly whispered in Ada's direction.

Ada perked up, grinned, felt the weight of her weapon at her side, settled down in front of the blazing flames, gnawing on wood and fed by air on the armchair, threw the pillow to the floor on her side and crossed her arms in front of her body.

            “We don’t need someone to protect us.” Ada stopped.

A soft knock silenced Ada. The women exchanged glances. The rustling, and shuffling of shoes and feet, softly uttered words, the closing of the door and the jingling of keys followed by low grumbles couldn’t awake Y/N from her deep slumber, lying on the sofa, a princess in the shadow of the vigilant dragons.

TagList:

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kiara-rose-blackthorn rangerelik abaker74 madsothree kittiowolf210 lucyandersons-world marigold-morelli meyocoko angelicwolfyqueen iwanttohitmyself pennywisesstuff batgurl42 sleepymadmess lolcaca yolobloggers lor-16 randomgirlwriting rs-fanfiction-2001 bohemian-lavender-girl woofgocows evilangel1324 mrkdvidal1989 nervousmumbling camomiletangeringe tommystargirl toxicenough deadunicorn159 nnercreationflower liar-or-lawyer optimisticsandwichgladiator comfortzonequeen nctma15 banksmars twistxdx inloveppp answer-the-sirens justanotherficreader nunya7394 lovemissyhoneybee lostgirl219 yourbloodyqueen

[nrdmssgs]

Free prompt for you to use however

"Your body feels like home to me."

Masterlist

I feel like I need to make things work out for these two, so here is one of my many attempts. Thank you for helping them and me. I also will try to make your other prompts about Riot and Ghost, this one is just a strong itch.

“Ninety-nine, ninety-eight.”

Mom taught him to start counting down from a hundred to one each morning, when they are to see the doctor. Andrei curls up under a warm chunky blanket, hiding in a dark cozy safety. Out there it is a cold winter morning.

Out there they will take him from his family, should the doctor discover ‘others’. Ma cries each time the topic is being brought up. So, it’s better to start counting and keep doing it mentally while the doctor talks to him.

“Sixty-five, sixty-four.”

He bites down an opportunity to join ‘the cool kids’, he believes, he will be able to make change. Young, hungry, angry – Andrei is a perfect mixture of everything FSB is looking for.

“You will be faceless, live another’s life,” they try to frighten him, but it's no use. He never cared about his identity – why treasure it now?

“Forty.”

They hunt him down, strike and drag him somewhere deep. Andrei is not afraid. If he’s to die here – it won’t take long, will it? He will just count down to thirty-nine, thirty-eight at worst…

“Six.”

Andrei is dissolving right there before his eyes. Too long of a name. Too much of a life to carry on. They take his dignity, his voice, his body. Nothing is left, but an all-consuming pain. When he loses consciousness and faints – ‘others’ keep counting for him.

“Five.”

Five letters. Not even a name. Nikto. The thing, that survived, despite everyone’s assumptions. Crawled out, faceless, mindless, emotionless. It eats, it sleeps and works. And it is damn good at it.

“Four.”

He doesn’t bother remembering faces, names. There are only targets around him. And the ‘others’ turn out to be not the worst company.

“Three.”

A lightning strikes the ground right before him. Or so it feels, when he meets her. But as soon as he reaches out – she backs away. She avoids meeting him without witnesses, freezes centimeters from him, not allowing herself any physical proximity. Hides, turns everything into a joke, plays dead.

All as soon as he felt for the first time in a long time, that he craved a human touch. A caress. The warmth of her body pressed against his.

“Two.”

It’s a miracle, it costs him so much, but somehow, he makes it happen. Just them two. Alone. Close. So close, it leaves them both breathless. High.

He lets her so close, doesn’t hide anything. Shows every wound. Tells many things, he never told others. Tells her, what happened between the ‘forty’ and the ‘five’.

Maybe it is too much, because-

“One.”

She presses her back against a cold wall to grow the distance between them.

“There were so many cold tools used on you. I can’t let my body become the next one.”

He tries to catch her palm to press it against his face, but she keeps pulling away. Scared. Not of him. Scared to get close, damage him even more.

As if she could bring any harm.

“One.”

Nikto knows why would one be so afraid to turn into an instrument of torture to another. This happens when someone experienced the pain of a kind, that he lived through.

The pain of losing your borders, becoming a thing.

“One.”

He reads it in her eyes, that she searches for an escape. Better alone than bring anyone what one went through.

He thought so too, before meeting her.

“This is not an instrument.” His fingers brush lightly over her heart. A touch, not demanding of anything.

“Your body feels like home.” In a silent plea to let him stay at home for another moment, he buries his face in the crook of her neck. Her shoulders flinch.

“Ninety-nine, ninety-eight.”

They curl up in each other’s arms under a warm chunky blanket, hiding in a dark cozy safety.

[vshushmshu]

moonkissed

the sun set on a peaceful day, and the moon made itself known. for some reason though, it decided to do so while you were in the bathroom, “friend.”

you pursed your lips at the tapping on the closed door, “moon, i’m literally taking a shit. give me a minute.”

“language.”

“whatever, then i’m taking a little booty-pooty, okay?”

“actually, might be worse. nevermind.”

“that’s what i thought. away with thee.”

“mean.”

you hadn’t really taken longer than two minutes after that, but you opened the door to find your robot keeling over dramatically in the hallway, as if dying from the agonizing wait he had to endure. you kicked at his leg lightly, snickering when he exaggeratedly jolted and writhed in pain, “oh, come on, dude. really?”

he didn’t move after that, dead still, with not even a claw at the air surrounding you, “how could you. too long. killed me. dead.”

a sigh, and you promptly turned around, headed for the kitchen, “tragic.”

not even five steps away, and the moon was by your side once more, “it’s late.”

you raised a brow at him, gently punching his arm from where he shuffled beside you, which earned you one back, “the sun just set, big guy. i’m pretty sure there’s still some light left, actually.”

a peek out the blinds confirmed it to be true, the sky still a mix of light pinks and purples that slowly were dissolving to the dark blues of night, and maybe you stood observing for too long. moon tugged at your shirt collar, lightly so as not to choke you, and you took the cue to step away, “never too early for sleep.”

you squinted at him, batting away his hand, to which he complied, and then made your way towards the kitchen again, “you’re just saying that cause you have an agenda. what if i wanted to hang out with you?”

he stayed silent for a moment, watching you look for some candy in the lower cabinets to snack on, “you hang out with us every day, star. not going anywhere. sleep.”

everything was in the upper cabinets, and you didn’t feel like getting a stool to give you the couple inches of height you needed to be able to reach. you turned to him, making a face while raising your arms in request, while he almost seemed to laugh in amusement, “i will sleep, just later. i wanna get some gummies now, though.”

his faceplate clicked as he rotated it to the side, hands reaching out to hover at your sides, “hm, magic word?”

you deadpanned at him, “seriously?”

“seriously.”

you pressed your hands together as if praying to some benevolent god, when really the animatronic bordered on the chaotic evil spectrum, “pretty pleaaseee? with a cherry on top??”

there was a low laugh from him, and he rested his palms on your hips, “and extra whipped cream? with the promise you will sleep at decent time, for once?”

rubbing at your forehead, you nodded along, “yeah, yeah, extra whipped cream, and i promise. can i get the gummies now?”

“of course.”

and with that, the moon lifted you into the air with no effort at all, holding you in place at his mid-torso while you wrapped your legs around him to stay secure, and rummaged through the cabinet until you found the gummies you wanted. you cracked the suckers open, and moon didn’t bother to put you down for a minute, supporting you with one arm and flicking your forehead playfully with a free hand, his faceplate slowly ticking back into place, “happy?”

you gave him a scowl as you popped a gummy into your mouth, rubbing at your forehead before flicking his in return, to which he gave you a less than impressed look that you pretended not to acknowledge with a laugh, “happy.”

“don’t understand why you love sugar so much.”

“put me down, you heathen.”

the next couple hours were spent playing video games, catching up on any work and the like, with the moon peering over your shoulder to mock you when you died or quietly redirect to the correct answer. you were torn on punching him in his flat face or giving him a fat hug, though you considered the former hurt way more, so a hug was chosen; he was confused, but let it happen, soothingly rubbing circles into your back. the pair of you were laying on the couch now, you being on your phone, almost doomscrolling, if not for the fact that moon pointed out something he found funny in the show he was watching every once in a while. the celestial animatronics were always very interested in any form of media, be it reality tv shows to puppet plays.

they must be glad to have the entertainment, a thought. you had looked up once more to catch a glimpse of moon staring at the television with rapt interest, only to find him looking right back at you silently. you raised a brow, “moon?”

he tapped his finger on one of your legs idly, that you had spread out onto him with little to no grumbling from the robot, and hummed to himself, “you promised.”

you checked the time on your phone again, groaning a little, “wh- really? it’s not even that late!”

moon narrowed his eyes, “promised.”

huffing, you shoved your cellular device into a pocket haphazardly, hauling yourself off the couch, “whatever, i regret it.”

with that, you started walking towards the bathroom, but not before yet again witnessing a contortionist trick that the robot did to flip off the couch and onto the floor beside you to follow along. you cringed at the fact that several bones would be broken if a human ever tried to even attempt that, while the moon held up it’s index and thumb in the shape of an L in your face, grin cheeky, “offended gasp.”

“apathetic scoff,” you didn’t laugh, not even a huff of air, but his smile still seemed to stretch at the edges as if placid while you opened the door, moon flicking on the dimmest of nightlights you could find at the store.

you thus began the tedious task of brushing your teeth, the animatronic placing floss and mouthwash on the sink from behind the mirror, while you squeezed out a bead of toothpaste on your brush. you gave him a grateful look, and moon simply ruffled your hair a little, smoothing it back into place when your expression fell into a scowl, chuckling. after the whole shebang was done, you presented an exaggerated smile to your animatronic roommate to show off the now cleaned teeth, which prompted a congratulatory thumbs up from said animatronic accompanied with a gentle push out the door. the door clicked behind you as you complained, trying to give him your best stink eye, “do i have to sleep? now?? it’s barely 11 o’clock!”

he didn’t have to push you anymore though, you trudged your way down the hall by your own accord, moon in tow, “yes.”

a high pitched, mocking “yEs” left you at his response, moon snickering at the stupid face you made to accompany it. you laughed at it yourself a bit, even if not at all thrilled to be laying in bed so soon.

you stared at the ceiling, not even able to count the popcorns due to the darkness. the only light source was the moon’s eyes, led’s sometimes flicking to you to check if you were still conscious, before going back to whatever they did in their computer head. it was maybe the eighth time when he decided to speak up, “can’t?”

a sigh, “what time is it?”

there was a pause, and you traced out the outline of stars you could barely see on their dumb jester pants, the bot patting your head in an attempt to soothe, “1:37.”

you groaned in annoyance, gripping the blanket tighter around you as you curled into him a bit more, arms meeting you half-way, “man.. at least i tried? ‘m sorry.”

he leaned down a little, the bottom of their faceplate bonking the top of your head, and it made you smile a little despite how your eyes burned when you closed them, “no apologizing, it’s okay.”

“okay,” you wrapped your arms around him, the latter reciprocating a light squeeze with arms that were already holding you prior, and you hummed, “need to get more melatonin.”

the animatronic traced the same star shapes into your back, “we will remind you to call. gummies do not work.”

you made a face at him, but didn’t move in the slightest, “i don’t like calling the doctor’s.. and the gummies taste good!! leave me alone!”

eyes looked at you for a minute, before hands began to push you off and untangle the animatronic out from under you, but you held on, “PFFT- wait, not literally!”

there were lilting chuckles, patting your back as hands pulled you back to rest against him, an amused moon relaxing back into his position to now rub at the skin under your eyes, “in the morning.”

you deadpanned, “evil.”

there were a couple more bonks pressed to your hair, which elicited a couple smiley grumbles from you, “the most.”

[ sunkissed ]

[turtlecleric]

Interrupted + Together won the poll

Bay!Mikey x Reader, NSFW, inspired by art by @thejudiciousneurotic

---

Mikey is thinking about you. 

Again.

But, come on, it's not his fault! Yesterday, when you dropped your phone and knelt down to pick it up… How is he supposed to see that and not have the image seared into his mind? The image of you on your knees at his feet, looking up at him with those… those eyes, and that face, and that mouth and-

God. You're so beautiful. He can't help but imagine how your pretty lips would look wrapped around his cock. 

He's being, like, super creepy, isn't he? Friends don't think about friends when they jack off, do they? 

…But he really, really doesn't want to stop. 

He can almost pretend his fist is your mouth. It feels good, but he knows you'd be even better. You'd be… so, so good. So good for him. 

He wonders if you'd make little noises while you took him down your throat. And what about those eyes? Would you keep those big eyes open while he fucked your pretty mouth? Keep them on him? Would little tears gather in the corners?

Would you let him lead? Let him tangle his fingers in your hair and move you how he wanted?

Fuck, he wants you. He wants you so bad it's insane. He doesn't even care what you'd be like, he knows it would be incredible no matter what. You're perfect.

Your name slips out of him as he strokes himself faster. It feels… really good to say it out loud. He groans it again, louder than before, bordering on desperate as he chases his release. He wants you. Fuck he wants you. He's close, with the thought of you kneeling between his legs. The thought of your mouth, your eyes, your everything. You'd be so, so-

The door starts to open suddenly, and frustrated irritation ripples through him. His brothers were supposed to be out for at least another hour, but either way they should know to at least knock first when the door is closed. 

Well. At least he'll get to embarrass whoever it is. All three of them have walked in on him before, and they always end up absolutely mortified. A smirk is already pulling at his lips, but then the door opens all the way and he sees that it's you.

It's you.

“Oh, shit!” He leans forward, pulling his knees together and trying to hide himself. His heart lodges in his throat, and he watches you realize what you just walked in on. Watches you freeze, watches your eyes widen and your face flush and your mouth - that mouth, oh God - fall open in shock.

For what feels like an eternity, you and Mikey just stare at each other. Then you blink, and your mouth closes. You step further into the room, closing the door behind you before pressing your back against it. 

You're still staring at him. Burning holes into his eyes with your own. And he's sitting on his bed completely fucking naked except for his mask, and his dick is somehow still rock fucking hard in his hand, and oh my god you just walked in on him jacking off to the thought of you. 

So this is what it feels like to be the embarrassed one in this situation. Huh. He's not a fan. 

You're still staring. 

“Uh…” He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly on the bed. “What-”

“You said my name.”

Oh God. He had said your name. Not exactly quietly, either. Shit, shit, what was he supposed to say? Answer!

“Yeah, I. I did.”

Your eyes flick downward for a split second before they return to his face. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, and come on. Come on! That's not fucking fair. 

“Were you… thinking about me?” You ask.

Shit. Say no, he thinks. Say no!

“...Yes.” Shit! You're going to hate him, oh God, you're probably super grossed out! Fix it! “I'm really sorry, Angelc- I mean! Uh, I can stop calling you that if you don't - if this is, like - I mean, I just think you're really really beautiful and I really like you and-” 

STOP TALKING WHAT THE FUCK!

Mikey closes his eyes and groans. Imagines dying of embarrassment. Or launching himself into the sun. Or just dissolving into dust and scattering across the earth.

When he opens his eyes again, somehow you're still here. And for some reason, you're walking closer. 

What the hell is happening?

You get close enough that he could reach out and touch you if he wanted. There's something in your expression that he can't read, but to be fair he might be a little distracted by the sight of your lips up close, still wet from when you'd licked them.

“Mikey.” When he finally meets your gaze, you let out the cutest little laugh he's ever heard. “You do realize I've been flirting with you for weeks, right?”

It takes him a solid ten seconds to register what you said. He blinks, his brow furrowing as he thinks back to his last several interactions with you. 

Oh. Ohhhhh.

He watches you, just to make sure you're not joking.

You're not joking.

When it clicks, when he finally lets himself believe it, he can't stop the ecstatic smile from spreading across his face. You smile back at him, and he thinks his heart might actually burst out of his chest. Holy shit. You like him? You like him?!

A hand on his arm pulls him from his thoughts, reminding him that he's still very much naked on his bed in front of you. You seem to remember, too, and he sees your eyes drop to his hands where they're covering his dick. 

“I know this is kind of fast,” you whisper. “But can I…”

There's no way this is real. There's no way this is actually happening. “You want to…”

You press your lips together and nod, glancing back up at him with trepidation.

Mikey feels his eyes get impossibly wide. He's got to be dreaming. This is too good to be true. 

But he's certainly not going to say no. 

He nods in return, pulling his hands away and watching in disbelief as you climb onto the bed and settle in between his legs. You watch his face for a moment. Whatever you see must satisfy you, because then you lean down, reaching out with both hands to gently stroke his length. Immediately a breathy moan slips out of him. He can't believe how much better someone else's hands feel compared to his own. 

Is this really, actually happening?

He's thinking there's no way it could possibly feel any better when suddenly your head dips down and you take the head of his cock into your mouth.

His entire body jolts at the feeling, something between a groan and a whimper punching out of him, and then you take him in further, and your head starts to bob, and you're watching him through your lashes, and he's going to fucking die. He's actually going to die. You're actually here, and you're actually kneeling between his legs, and your mouth is so warm, and your hands are so soft, and everything is so much better than he could have ever, ever imagined. The waves of pleasure have his toes curling, his fists clenching in his sheets, his eyes fluttering shut even as he tries to keep them open so he can watch the hottest thing that's ever happened to him play out in real time. 

What's truly embarrassing is how quickly he reaches his limit. 

“I'm gonna-” He can't even finish his sentence before he comes. His entire body shudders and he thrusts into your warmth again and again. He can't stop his hips from chasing you, can't stop the growl that rips out of his chest. He's vaguely aware that you're swallowing his come, your throat squeezing around him as you do, and that pulls another growl from him. 

Holy shit. Holy shit.

His brain is still buzzing when you pull away, his dick making an obscene popping sounds as it leaves your mouth, but he can't focus enough to really follow what's happening. 

There's one thought bouncing around in his mind: He knew you'd be good. 

At some point he opens his eyes again. You're laying on top of him, tracing patterns into his plastron with a finger. He must have a goofy, dazed look on his face, because you giggle when he looks at you. It makes his heart do a little flip, makes him remember the thing that really makes this all feel like a dream come true. 

You like him.

“Was it good?” You ask.

He blinks at you stupidly and huffs. “Are you kidding me? I'm in heaven, Babes. I can't - I mean, it's… wow.”

You laugh again, and it makes his chest soar. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes until you squeak, then flips you onto your back so that he's hovering over you. He's pretty sure fireworks are exploding in his chest at the sight of you beneath him.

“Okay,” he says, eyeing the button on your pants before looking back at you. “Your turn.”

Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open and once again distracting him with those pretty lips. “M-My turn?”

“Yeah!” His smile falters. “If you want to, that is. Obviously we don't have to do anything you don't want to, but… I wanna make you feel good, too.”

Your gaze softens, and your lips press into a fond smile. “I want to,” you assure him. “I really, really want to.”

He beams down at you, lowering himself onto his elbows and forearms so he can kiss you. It's a tentative thing, slow and careful and full of joy, but as you each get bolder it turns into something more fervent. He shifts, holding himself up with one arm and reaching down with his other hand to unbutton your pants. When he sits back so he can use both hands to tug them off, you help him by shimmying and let out another laugh that sets him on fire. 

He pauses for a moment more, drinking in the sight of you. Your lips, a little red, a little swollen. Your shining eyes, staring at him like he's the amazing one. It hits him again. 

You like him. 

It really is a dream come true. And he's going to earn it. He's going to earn it every day for the rest of his life. 

[hestiaswifey]

Lots of smiles

The air shimmered, then rippled like a heatwave, and then, there he was. A figure with cat ears and tail,

lounging against a marble pillar in the bustling marketplace of Olympus.

His amber eyes, flecked with gold, were fixed on the chaos with an amusement that bordered on cruelty. It was you, the God of Inconsistence, or as Hermes, perched on the edge of a nearby fountain, preferred to call you, 'The Cheshire Cat.'

'Another day, another drama,' Hermes sighed, taking a long sip of nectar. He wasn't particularly surprised to see you here, though. You were notorious for popping up in the most unexpected places, your presence always a welcome, if slightly unnerving, change of pace.

'Oh, it's a delight,' you purred, your voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Hermes' spine. 'But wouldn't it be even more delightful if we added a little spice to the mix?' Your tail twitched, and a mischievous grin stretched across your face.

'What do you have in mind?' Hermes asked with a cautious eye. He knew better than to trust your whims, especially when they involved 'spicing things up.

' You had a tendency to leave a trail of chaos and confusion in your wake, and your favorite pastime seemed to be playing pranks on the other gods, much to their dismay.

You flicked your tail, your entire figure dissolving into thin air. 'Just a little trick, my dear Hermes,' your voice echoed around them. 'Something to keep the Olympians on their toes.'

The next moment, Hermes was surrounded by a dozen indistinguishable figures. All of them had your cat ears and tail, and all of them wore your same sly, knowing grin. But which one was the real you? Hermes was momentarily paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

But then, he heard a familiar rasping laugh. You were already behind him, your hand resting on his shoulder. “You know, dear Hermes,” you murmured, your voice close to his ear, “sometimes it’s more fun to watch the world burn than to join the fire.”

Hermes chuckled, despite himself. It was a ridiculous, chaotic scene, but it was also undeniably entertaining, and, he admitted, kind of exhilarating. He looked at the dozen identical creatures surrounding him, his eyes narrowing. “You know,” he said, his voice filled with playful exasperation, “you’re a terrible influence, you know that?”

You winked, your form shimmering in and out of existence, before disappearing entirely, leaving only a lingering echo of your laughter in the air.

“Oh, Hermes,” you said, your voice a distant whisper, “you have no idea.”

And then, you were gone again, leaving Hermes standing alone in the marketplace, wondering what mischief you were up to next. And he knew, with a certainty that made his stomach flutter, that your next prank would be even more outrageous, even more outlandish, than the last.

Because that was you, the Cheshire Cat. The embodiment of chaos, of inconsistency, and utter, glorious, absurdity. And Hermes, for all his love of order, couldn't help but love it.

[crazylittlejester]

Apples or Oranges (click for link to ao3)

Summary: Staying in Hateno was meant to be a break for them: a chance to shop and explore the village, a chance to catch up on much needed sleep, a chance to spend time with a brother. But of course Warriors simply cannot catch a break, and this time it’s all Time’s fault, the little shit. Well… and the fault of a seemingly innocent apple tree.

Warriors tried his best not to groan too loud as he leaned backwards and slowly lowered himself to the ground, letting his arms slide out from underneath him until his back was pressed against the cool wood floor of Wild’s house. Without the padding of all of his usual layers, the pressure of his body on his spine hurt a bit, but he was willing to overlook it given that the temperature of the wood beneath him felt like he was resting his battered body on a giant ice pack. He felt like he was dissolving into the hard surface underneath him as he tried to calm his racing heart with deep, intentional breaths.

Time went down beside him without even HALF of the captain’s grace and elegance, instead crashing to his knees in a way that made Warriors wince in sympathy and the plates on the nearby table jump, flopping flat on his face with a loud whimper.

That HAD to have hurt his nose-

Warriors blinked lazily up at Wild’s roof, thanking all of the goddesses his worn out mind could think of that none of the others had been around to witness what had just happened.

It was SUPPOSED to have been a nice day of relaxation, safe in Hateno, with time for everyone to go shopping and restock and explore the village, or to just rest and enjoy the day. He and Time had headed off together, they hadn’t planned to leave the border of town so they’d dressed comfortably in thinner tunics to avoid overheating in the hot weather. It had been nice, getting to spend time with his brother and being able to just push his worries aside for the afternoon. It’d reminded Warriors of days earlier on in the war when he’d tried so hard to clear a day for Mask to just exist and be a child every once in a while, and of the beautiful, sweet memories they’d made on those rare days of peace.

He couldn’t even recall now what it was they’d been talking about just twenty minutes ago, but he’d made some stupid joke and Time had shoved him playfully, thinking nothing of it. And Warriors hadn’t thought anything of it either, because it was something Mask had done all the time and he’d been smiling at the memories, but then suddenly the world was moving and Warriors had found himself tumbling backwards down the steep slope of the hill. Time had raced after him as fast as he could but he hadn’t gotten there in time to stop Warriors from crashing into a tree so hard that the apples fell out of it, one of them hitting him on the head.

He had sat there stunned for a minute, trying to recover from having the breath knocked out of him as Time had skidded up to him. Warriors wasn’t sure what his brother had said to him as Time gently tried to check him over with worry clear on his face, but the moment the captain had been able to gather a thought together, he’d mumbled out, “You pushed me… What the FUCK, Sprite??”

Time had concluded right then that Warriors was perfectly fine, if sore and a bit stunned, and his brother’s eyes had widened in panic when he realized he was about to face the consequences of his actions. He’d shot off like an arrow, tearing through the streets past a bunch of concerned locals with Warriors hot on his tail, screaming at him the whole way back to Wild’s. He’d been yelling at him as he chased him about how he was going to tackle him into the fucking dirt, but Time had just sprinited faster, giggling in fear every time Warriors got just close enough for the tip of his finger to brush Time’s tunic.

But he’d still felt incredibly disoriented after rolling head over heels down a hill, and eventually Time had managed to pull far ahead of him. The little shit beat him back to Wild’s, and once Warriors had wrenched the door open and stopped moving, all the whining and complaining and tackling he’d prepared to do vanished from his thoughts entirely. The achiness and exhaustion slammed into him as the adrenaline faded, and he’d sat down hard, vision swimming.

And here they both were, on the floor.

He took in a huge shaky breath and spread his arms out to the side, grimacing when his lower back popped painfully at a slight shift of his hip. Everything hurt, but he had absolutely no interest in peeling himself up off the ground, even if it meant he could grab a red potion. Next to him, Time had yet to move since he collapsed to the floor, and was similarly trying to slow his breathing, though it sounded much more like he was just gasping for air.

Warriors forced himself to swallow, wincing at how dry his throat was, before he opened his mouth to wheeze out, “I can’t believe you fucking pushed me.”

“You chased me all through Hateno!” Time whined, turning his head to the side so his face was no longer squished into the floor.

“Because you pushed me!!” Warriors cried, kicking at his brother who let out an offended squawk when the captain’s boot connected with his thigh.

Time swatted at him, and Warriors kicked at him harder, and before he knew it he had a fistful of his brother’s tunic and a knee pressed up against the man’s chest while Time was on top of him grabbing at his hair. Petty insults and screeching giggles came from both of them as they rolled around on the floor, Warriors’s need to beat his much stronger brother at whatever the fuck they were doing forcing him to temporarily shove his discomfort to the back of his mind.

He’d managed to wriggle out from under Time and get his thin hands on his brother’s shirt collar when something soft came flying down from above and smacked him in the side of the head. He stared with wide eyes at Time, who just blinked at him in shock before they both slowly turned to look down at the pillow that had just bounced off of Warriors, and then in together they turned their faces to see the top of the stairs.

Poor Twilight stood there with his hands on his hips, sleep shirt all wrinkled. His thick hair was flattened up against the right side of his head, the rest of it sticking up in every direction, and the rancher blinked at them slowly as though he was barely even awake.

“Shut the FUCK up with yer whinin’ an’ arguin’,” Twilight grumbled, rubbing at his right eye and trying very hard to look serious and pissed off. It wasn’t very effective considering he looked a bit like a sleepy puppy. “Don’tcha have anythin’ else to be doin’? Sweet Ordona, some a’ us are tryin’ to sleep!”

Warriors bit his lip to keep himself from laughing as the rancher walked off and they heard him flop back down on Wild’s bed, sadly mumbling something about not having a pillow anymore.

“Wow,” he sighed as he let himself slowly slide off of Time and melt back into the nice cold floor, which was such a treat for his aching body. “You’re a horrible great grandfather, waking up your poor kid like that. You should be ashamed.”

“You little-”

“Shhh,” Warriors cut him off, “don’t wake the baby.”

Twilight’s miserable “Fuck you!” had him cackling, replacing the huff he surely would’ve made instead when his lower back started hurting something awful. He bent his leg until his foot was flat on the ground just above his other knee in an attempt to get the curve of his lower spine to ache a little less. He didn’t want to waste a potion on this, though it would certainly help his pain.

Time next to him rolled over back onto his stomach, and they found themselves exactly on the floor as they had been when they’d first collapsed. It was as if their little wrestling match had never happened at all.

“I hope you explode,” Time groaned, voice muffled because of how his face was pressed into the floorboards. “You’re such an ass.”

He let out a laugh, weakly swatting at his brother one last time before falling still and letting out a heavy sigh.

“Are you alright?” Time asked after a moment of silence, lifting his face off the floor.

“Bit sore,” Warriors admitted. “And my head hurts.”

“I’m sorry I shoved you,” his brother said quietly, and when the captain turned his head to look at him he could see genuine shame and regret on Time’s face.

Well that wouldn’t do.

“Eh,” he huffed, shifting on the ground a little, “a tumble I can handle. It was the damn apple tree that hit me in the fucking head. Apples are the worst, actually, evil fruits they are. They sit there all pretty and then they hit you in the head. Oranges are the FAR superior fruit.”

“You’re an idiot,” Time laughed at the same time Twilight upstairs, once again sounding absolutely miserable, said, “…I really like apples-”

“You do you, goat boy, with your evil fruit,” Warriors called up to him. “But see how you like it when they attack you!”

With Twilight’s frustrated giggles at his dramatics and Time’s fondly irritated sigh, the captain allowed the rest of his energy to seep away and he became one with the floor.

Of course once the others came back, Time and Twilight had informed Wild of his newfound hatred of apples while Warriors was asleep, and they conspired against him to put as many apples as they could into dinner that night.

[aris-ink]

hii ari! i hope you are doing good! make sure to take care of yourself <3 your step bro fics are such faves of mine , omgg you are such an amazing writer <33 if you are doing requests, could you please write about step brother jungkook and same age reader , where the reader is sad or crying for some reason and jk ends up comforting her thru f*cking ?

hi! 💕 tysm, I love you and yes please 🥺 this wasn't very specific so I hope it's close to what you wanted <3 take care of yourself too angel <3

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!siblings au

warnings: allusions to violence (not towards the reader), allusions to depression, pseudo incest, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of fingering & oral sex, praise kink, rough sex (but also very soft somehow bc jk is a total simp in love), creampie

Rain trickled down the windows of your bedroom, tapping rhythmically against the glass and blurring out the night. You felt blurry too, distorted, cheeks stained from tears, the wetness stuck in your eyelashes. Grabbing your face, Jungkook tried to kiss it all away. A tinge of color spread throughout your bones. The blurriness seemed to dissolve, clearer thoughts and sensations emerging. His warmth seeped into you, melting away the frigid numbness that had encased your soul.

He moved forward, knees bumping against yours, kissing you so desperately there was not an inch of space left between your bodies and not an ounce of air left in your lungs.

It wasn't always like this.

Usually, Jungkook took his time with you, relishing in every shallow breath and every little twitch of your limbs, sucking on your neck until it bruised. He liked to switch between finger fucking you in his lap and burying his face in between your legs, until you quivered under the sheets and his tongue made you forget your parents were sound asleep in the other room. Drunk on you, he used your mouth like a toy, praising you all the way through it, thighs tense and hard dick twitching in your throat.

There was no time for any of that tonight, though. You just wanted to feel real, wanted the heat and the weight of his body pinning you down, holding you together; and as always, Jungkook was there to provide. His hands were all over you, palming your ass before he pushed you down onto your bed, lips refusing to part from yours. He unclasped his belt buckle and unzipped his jeans, aching to be inside you, to take all your pain away and leave behind nothing but his marks. You received no warning and no time to prepare; your soaked underwear was pulled aside, and the next thing you knew Jungkook filled you up to the brim, groaning lowly into your mouth.

You arched beneath him, gasping, your cunt clenching so tightly he broke into sweat. With a quiet grunt, he pulled back out, cock pulsing and leaking; only to shove its entire, thick length back inside, wasting no time in setting an aggressive pace.

You squealed, grabbing onto his broad shoulders for support, legs wrapping around his waist for no more than a moment before the force of his thrusts made them slip back down. Even so, there was no escape from his powerful frame trapping you beneath him. Not even the clothes, messed up from being tugged at, seemed to create any barrier between you. You could still feel the heat of his skin bleeding through the cotton of his t-shirt, and each ripple of his muscles as he fucked you. The rest of the world was mist; the mattress groaning beneath you, the ticking of the clock that signaled your parents would be home soon, the stress and the weight of every long day dragging on. It became nothing but a cloud ghosting through your fingers, too close to the ground to bother you. Up high, the only thing you felt, heard and remembered was Jungkook. His tongue entwining with yours, the hoarse moans bordering on whines, barely muffled by his kiss; and the hot, white rapture coiling deep in your abdomen, spreading through you like a fever.

How selfish it was of him, to drag you down into the shadows where you did not belong. And yet they seemed kinder than the harsh, blinding light you were expected to walk in, welcoming and understanding of your sorrows. And sometimes, Jungkook couldn't help but wonder what would happen if you'd decide to leave one day and make a home with someone you didn't have to be ashamed of loving. Someone much less twisted and much more deserving of you. Someone who didn't need to stain their hands with blood out of a monstrous fear of losing you.

Hopeless, he ended the sloppy kiss, eyes dark and blown out when they looked into yours.

"Pretty," he choked out, swallowing down a whimper. "So pretty. Love you, love you, love you- fuuucck-"

The way you clenched around his cock made him pound you faster, the sound so wet and lewd he couldn't stop twitching inside you. He had a feeling your hips were going to get bruised, and with the way you clawed at his back and moaned his name, god, he hoped they would.

"Come with me," he breathed, voice shaky, ringed fingers grasping your chin.

You mewled, nodding your head, incapable of providing any other answer. Pressing his lips to yours, Jungkook used his free hand to hold on to your thigh, digging into the soft flesh.

"I got you, baby, I got you."

The soothing promise melted into a deep groan, the thread he was hanging on snapping unexpectedly when your cunt squeezed him tighter, gushing onto his cock. He stilled abruptly, letting the velvet heat of your walls massage him through his orgasm, emptying himself inside you completely.

A sigh.

Not bothered cleaning you up, he disconnected himself from you just to get undressed. Even if he had the energy for it, he was much happier knowing you were full of his cum, sated, your pretty pussy wet instead of your pretty eyes. He knew you had classes in the morning; he did too, and you both needed some sleep. He also knew he couldn't stay in your bed, because soon his father would walk in through the door, your mother following right after.

But just as much as Jungkook didn't want to leave you alone, he didn't want to sleep without you either. It was two am when he sneaked back into your bedroom, doing his best not to disturb your rest.

You stirred anyway, curling up to him as he wrapped his arms around you, his chin finding rest on the crown of your head. Wide awake, he laid in the dark, holding you close to his chest.

Tap tap tap.

It was still raining. His lips brushed against your hair as he glanced down at you.

"Baby?"

You hummed so softly he almost missed it. He ran his fingers down your thigh, like touching you eased his aches too, made spring bloom in the bleak winter of his own bones.

And it did.

"I wish I could-" he tried, then paused. So many words, so many languages, and yet nothing felt fitting enough. "... Sorry I can't love you the way you deserve," he whispered. "But I'll love you the way you need."

There was no reply; only the ongoing sound of rain and the softness of your even breathing. He didn't mind. He pressed a kiss into your forehead and closed his eyes.

Some secrets and promises were better off left in the dark, too.

[dxckgrxsonx]

not to be a whore but dick listening to you beg for his cock and fluttering his eyelashes at you with a pout on his lips and going “poor baby, so pathetic” while playing with your pussy but never letting you come 🤩

stop it you're exposing my denial kink!! im ripping up the floorboards. im chewing wires.

**

You shrug off interrogation the same way you brush off a three story fall.

Calculate the trajectory of the descent and throw your limbs into something coordinated, something astonishingly competent. Soften the blow by bending your knees. Move with the punch to avoid breaking your jaw. Twist your joints to slip through the restraints.

People pin you in place and think they’ve won. Only to find out you’ve slotted seven different escape routes into place by the time they’ve asked one question.

It’s hard to back you into a corner and keep you there. It’s even harder to get you to give something up, whether it be a thought, a piece of intel, a desire. Tell you a secret and you’ll take it straight to the grave, not once would you hesitate.

Getting you to beg though?

That should be impossible.

But Dick Grayson has never once backed down from a challenge. And you realise a little too late that this time, you don’t have an exit strategy.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t have anything at all.

**

He barely needs to touch you. Just slides one finger over your aching clit once, twice, and your whole body flinches like a live wire, flexing in the same way you reflectively jolt from a static shock. Your soft, wet pussy tries grasping so desperately for something more, for just one little touch to push you over.

“Hm, I bet if I touched your needy cunt just once more, you’d come, wouldn’t you?” Dick observes, chin resting on your shoulder. He waits for your clit to stop twitching before rubbing his finger over it again. Just once this time and you choke on a whimpering cry when your pussy throbs, the ache bordering unbearable. “I don’t think you’ve ever been this wet before. How many times have I not let you come now?”

Simple arithmetic fails you. The world around you shudders and dissolves, melts right out from under your feet, leaks from between your shaking thighs. There’s no solid ground and you think that if someone asked you to tell them your name, you wouldn’t have a clue where to start.

“Please–I don’t–” You move your hand just far enough to brush your inner thigh, fingers reaching out to touch your swollen, puffy pussy. Dick stops you straight away, clicks his tongue in disapproval. “I can’t–Dick, please. I don’t know.”

He smirks against the bare skin of your shoulder, tilts his head to whisper in your ear, “Oh, so you want me to start at the beginning? You want me to go back to number one?”

“No!” You try, voice smoothing up against the jagged edge of hysteria. “Please–not again. I can’t do it again. Dick…please just—please just fuck me!”

You feel him, hot and stiff against your back. The heavy press of his cock to your skin burns. You didn’t think you could want something so much it physically hurt, but Dick slots himself at the centre of your nervous system, redirects every single stray thought to him. He makes you feel drunk, empties out your head until there's nothing left but this bone deep ache, this need for him to stuff you full.

You’re babbling, nearly incoherent. In the back of your head, you realise vaguely that you’re actually begging. Even further back than that you come to the realisation that Dick is the only one who’s ever been able to make you beg.

It’s a complete power shift and you feel like you’ve fallen and forgotten how to land.

“Please fuck me. Dick it’s not fair–you’re not being fair.” You sniffle, tears bubbling up along your lower lashes. You grind your hips up, try to rock against his palm. “I just want you to fuck me. It hurts so bad. My pussy aches. Please…please.”

Stroking your clit so lightly it feels like nothing at all, Dick reaches for your jaw, turns your head to the side so he can see the tears threatening to tumble down your cheeks. He hums, almost thoughtful, then kisses you, licks into your mouth to taste your desperation.

Your clit swells under the barely there pressure and you whine into his mouth, body shaking itself apart. You’re fighting to get to the edge, pleading for it, drooling for it. But Dick holds you back, each torturous touch getting slower, lighter.

“Please. Baby–please. I can’t take any more. Ohh–please.”

And he stops. Pulls away and leaves your pussy twitching and leaking all over the sheets. Your tears overflow and Dick kisses them away, licks the salt into his greedy mouth and coos, ever so gently at the desperate sob pulling at your ribs.

“Oh my poor baby.” He drawls, something horribly condescending in his voice. “Crying because I won’t fuck you, because I won’t let you come. So desperate. So pathetic.”

**

[dawneternal]

A Duckling and a Beast

⚘ Just thinking about Tamlin being a dad and calling his baby 'Duckling'

⚘ Warnings: super fluffy, little bit of angst. Minimal editing.

⚘ Word Count: 655

⚘ Read on AO3

Worry and doubt and guilt had pulled Tamlin from his sleep, ravaging his nightmares and forcing him awake. He turned over in the bed, comforted by the outline of his sleeping mate, painted silver by the full moon. But there was still a restless piece of his spirit, adrift in a churning sea of memory and pain. So he slipped from the bed as quietly as he could to do the only thing that would truly quiet his mind.

He found his baby already awake, staring up at him adoringly with those grey-green eyes. Tamlin could not help his smile as he scooped her up, so tiny in his hands, and held her to his chest. She snuggled in immediately, chubby, pink cheeks against his bare chest. He ran a hand over her soft, golden curls that reminded him so much of a downy duckling. Everything in his mind quieted.

As they swayed in the moonlight, he could feel the infinite potential radiating from her, soothing every fear. The absolute assurance that she would become someone extraordinary dissolved all of his feelings of inadequacy. He would do anything to see it happen. If his mind stumbled, his body would know the path, tethered to this little soul in a way that he could not explain.

After all, if the mating bond was a bridge between his soul and Briar's, how might he be connected to this tiny being that was half him and half her?

His salvation. Those little hands that he was so sure would grow and accomplish such amazing things. She would do everything he never could, have everything he had always wanted, and he knew it because he was determined to make her happiness his purpose. He was no longer a failure. Because she was his gift to the world, and she had righted all his wrongs just by taking her first breath. With only her beautiful existence, she had fixed it all.

Amazing, how it all settled. How the world quieted and the beast in the den of his mind ceased roaring. It had been such a long time since there was such peace. Love had chased away the chaos. Briar had forged the path, had crafted the gates to this beautiful land of calm and bliss. He would make sure they wanted for nothing, his little family. He would fight anything, death itself, to ensure their contentment. He would conquer hell and claw his way out of the earth if he needed to.

The little duckling drifted back to sleep in his arms and his gaze turned toward the window. He thought of showing her every marvel of the court she'd inherit. Golden sunshine on her face, a warm breeze chasing them through the forest. He'd hold her hands under a bubbling brook and let her walk barefoot through velvety soft moss. When she grew older, he'd walk her to every corner of the court, along each border until she had them memorized. The future had not held such promise in so long.

The duckling began to fidget and fuss, to Tamlin set his sleeping darling down into her bassinet. Softly, he picked up his fiddle and began to play. He made the notes gentle and smooth and easy for her ears. Humming the words to the ancient song, he watched the wrinkles between her tiny brows melt away. Her small whimpers and cries turned into steady breaths as she slept, lured into a place of lovely dreams. Such trust she had in him already. He tucked it away into his heart, a thing to be cherished, a thing to fortify him should he ever falter. Her guardian. Her protector. The oath was written on his bones, older than the lullaby he coaxed from his instrument. Like all of the love in his chest was a thread in the tapestry of time, something truly immortal. His gift to the world.