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criticallyinneedofadar · 3 months ago

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The Valar's Blessing

A/N: So this is like my trial run of..... smut. It's just smut with Elendaddy.

Pairing: Elendil x F!Reader

Warnings: SMUT. spicey times. MDNI!

Translations

I eleni úva ná nilmë cotyala. Endoren mapuvan antassë, qui meril.- The stars are nothing compared to your brilliance. I would lay the world at your feet if you desired it.

melmelya- my love

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The sound of the sea is ever-present, a soft roar in the distance that mingles with the lively chatter of the guests. Lanterns hang in delicate rows above the city square, their golden light flickering in the evening breeze. The ceremony was more beautiful than you could have ever imagined; Elendil and you, standing together near the sea, exchanging vows in the old way, promising love and support before Varda.

After your promises, witnessed only by Isildur, Eärien and Anárion, a few of your closest friends, and Queen Miriel, you retreated back into the city for your reception. It has turned into quite the affair, surrounded by Elendil’s crew, several Sea Guard officers and their families.

You stand by Queen Míriel, exchanging pleasantries, though your attention drifts. The night is warm, but it’s your husband’s gaze that sets your skin alight. Elendil, resplendent in his Sea Guard uniform, has shed the ceremonial armor he wore during your wedding, now looking like the man you’ve long loved—strong, yet more at ease. His dark blue uniform highlights his ocean blue eyes, the crows feet in the corners making your heart swell to bursting. He has continually caught your gaze throughout the night, stirring the fire low in your body. He winks at you know, smirking at the blush that grows on your face.

He gestures with his head for you to join him at this side. You give a gentle shake of your own in return- nodding at the Queen, with whom you are currently conversing. A gentle roll of his eyes is the only response you get.

“Something amiss, Lady Y/N?” Queen Miriel asks, smirking at you lightly.

Your blush deepens, having been caught red handed, “Nothing at all, my Queen. Perhaps it is the excitement of the day catching up with me.” You bow your head in apologies, smiling at your Queen conspiratorially.

Before you can excuse yourself from the conversation, Elendil is already at your side, his hand slipping possessively around your waist. “Forgive me, my Queen,” he says, voice rich and smooth, “but I must steal my wife for a moment.” Your stomach curls at the phrase. His wife. You could hear him utter those words for the rest of your life and never tire of hearing it.

Míriel’s lips curve in a knowing smile. “Of course, Lord Elendil. Enjoy your evening.”

With a gentle tug, he guides you away from the festivities, the sound of music and laughter fading behind you as the two of you step into the night. He leads you to a secluded corner beyond the grand hall, where the ocean breeze is stronger, the scent of salt and the promise of stars filling the air.

“I could not wait any longer,” Elendil murmurs, his eyes scanning your face, taking you in as though you’re something precious, something eternal. “You’ve never been more beautiful. Like an Elven star come to life.” His voice is low, intimate, as if he’s sharing a secret only the two of you could understand.

Your heart flutters at his words, at the intensity in his eyes. He moves closer, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin. His kiss follows, slow and tender at first, then deepening as he pulls you against him. Every touch ignites a fire within you, his need, his desire, pressing up against your stomach, making you gasp into his kiss.

“Elendil,” you murmur against his lips, trying to catch your breath. “We still have guests...”

“Our guests,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, and finally the pulse in your neck. “Are several cups in by this point. They will not notice our absence.”

He kisses you again, more insistent this time, his hands wandering to your waist as he presses you gently against the stone wall behind you. His touch is all-consuming, a mixture of hunger and devotion. Your resolve begins to crumble, your breath hitching as he pulls you closer.

You try to protest, one last time, but the words never make it past your lips as Elendil whispers your name like a prayer, his mouth capturing yours with a passion that sweeps you away entirely.

You relent, sighing into his mouth and curling your hands in his sun-bronzed locks. He chuckles darkly, pressing you harder into the stones behind you. A moan escapes you as his lips travel from your mouth, to your neck, beard scratching against the sensitive skin there.

“Elendil” you whisper, bringing his lips back to yours and kissing him fiercely, thrusting your tongue against his. “Take me home,” you gasp, “Make love to me.”

His eyes darken, a stormy sea trapped within those depths. He says nothing as he grips your hand in his and hurries through the dark streets of Númenor.

—----------------------------------------

The house is quiet as you enter with Elendil. He does not stop to light any of the lanterns, continuing back to his bedroom- your bedroom now. He closes the door softly behind you.

Moonlight streams in through the open window, casting the room in soft blues and whites, illuminating the both of you. Elendil’s eyes seem to glow like a white flame.

He gazes at you tenderly, fire and heat saturating his gaze. “I eleni úva ná nilmë cotyala. Endoren mapuvan antassë, qui meril.”

“I do not need the world at my feet, Elendil. I need only you.” you reply. It takes less than a second for him to pull you into his arms, kissing you soundly and walking you backwards towards the large bed.

He stops at the edge, staring deeply into your eyes as his fingers trace the laces that go down your spine. “May I?” he asks.

“Only if I may in return.” you say, reaching for the belt that holds his holster and sword.

He only smiles and begins to pull at the laces. Your heart races as you undo the belt, letting it gently fall to the floor. Your hands pull his surcoat up, interrupting his progress as you pull it over his head.

Elendil manages to get the last of the laces undone, pulling your overdress down your shoulders and over your hips, dropping it to the floor. This leaves you in only your shift and underthings, Elendil in his dark blue tunic and trousers.

He reaches behind his head, pulling his tunic off and tossing it to the side. Your hands immediately come up to his warm chest, tracing the lines of his pectorals, the strong sturdiness of his torso. He takes a deep breath as your hands descend to the line of his trousers, grazing along the waistband.

His hands grip your face, bringing it to his as he kisses you heatedly. His hands roam over your body, tracing the lines of your silhouette as you arch your back in response. His skin glistens with sweat already and you are not far behind.

Your hands shake slightly with nerves as you reach for the ties at the shoulders of your shift. Gently untying them, you shrug the shift to the floor. Elendil takes a deep breath reaching out with one hand to softly graze the side of your breast, down your waist and around your navel.

Your breath hitches and Elendil’s gaze darts back to yours. “You are my greatest adventure, melmelya.”

He kneels in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours as he slides your underthings down your legs. His hands glide up your thighs, stopping at the softness between your legs. You feel his warm breath against your skin as he whispers, "You are so beautiful."

You feel his strong hand cup your warmth, and a shiver runs down your spine. Elendil pushes you softly to lay on the bed, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. You watch in awe as he moves to join you, resting one elbow beside your head, watching you tenderly.

His calloused fingers move so gently, caressing you, as you gasp and writhe beneath him. Pleasure crests higher as he moves two fingers to enter you. Your right hand jumps up to grip his shoulder, trying to pull him in, as your left hand grips his wrist, urging him to move faster.

Elendil lowers his mouth to your neck, pressing hot kisses, and whispering words of how beautiful you look like this, how free.

The pleasure crests over you in a rolling wave, you gasp out his name and grip his hair, holding him close. When the wave passes, he removes his fingers and kisses you like a man starved, holding your face and plundering your mouth.

He moves to reposition himself between your legs, removing his trousers. Your eyes dart to his manhood, drawing a deep breath at the sight. Elendil runs his hands from your ankles to your knees, touch turning feather light the higher he goes. His fingers trace the sensitive folds of your womanhood once again. You moan softly as he teases you, your hips bucking off the bed in response to the pleasure. He chuckles, the low sound vibrating against your skin.

Holding your chin in his hand and gazing deep in your eyes, he enters you, filling you up completely. Your body arches off the bed, a cry of pure bliss escaping your lips. Elendil groans and buries his face in your neck, breaths sawing out of him. When your legs wrap his hips and squeeze lightly, he slowly begins to move, his rhythm matching the beat of your heart. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, leaving you breathless.

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him closer as he continues to thrust into you. The room is filled with the sound of your moans, echoing off the walls. His hands roam across your body, exploring every inch of your skin.

Pleasure begins to rise in you again, the force stealing your breath at its power. "Elendil," you whisper, your voice hoarse with need. He responds by increasing the pace, his hips slamming against yours in a punishing rhythm.

You cry out, your body shuddering as waves of euphoria wash over you. He follows you over the edge, his own release shaking his body as warmth fills you.

Elendil’s weight rests against you, as you both breathe deeply, basking in the warmth of one another. He raises his head and gives you a soft kiss, first your lips, then your cheeks, then your forehead. You giggle as he continues to praise you with little kisses.

His smile is resplendent as he takes in your face. “My wife.” he murmurs, an adoring look in his eyes.

Your fingers trace up his chest, holding his face in your hands. “My husband.” you say in return, gazing back at him.

He pulls you gently towards the top of the bed, situating you both beneath the light blanket, pulling you into his arms and tracing your skin.

The room is bathed in a soft, white glow from the rising moon, casting gentle shadows over the stone walls. You’re nestled against Elendil’s chest, his arm wrapped securely around you, fingers lazily tracing circles on your back. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing soothes you, and the warmth of his body lulls you into a peaceful calm.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice deep and quiet in the stillness of the night, “I often wonder how I became so lucky.” His hand slides up to cup the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair. “To have you here with me.”

You smile against his chest, pressing closer to the steady beat of his heart. “I would go so far as to say the Valar have blessed me, Elendil. I never imagined this… us.”

He tilts his head slightly to look down at you, his blue eyes soft, filled with that same quiet wonder you’ve seen in him since the day you became his. “I will wake every day, grateful to have you by my side,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

You let out a contented sigh, your fingers absently tracing the lines of his collarbone. There’s a peacefulness in the air, a shared understanding that words can’t quite capture.

Elendil shifts slightly beneath you, his hand brushing against your arm. “Shall I draw you a warm bath?” he offers softly, his tone gentle, as though he’d do anything to make you more comfortable.

You shake your head, curling tighter against him, feeling the strength and comfort of his embrace. “No,” you whisper, smiling. “I never want to leave your arms. Not tonight. Not ever.”

He chuckles softly, his chest vibrating against your cheek. “Might be a bit hard to fulfill my duties as Captain, but… I aim to please.” You smile, closing your eyes as the warmth of his body and the steady cadence of his breath soothe you into a blissful haze.

“Your duties as husband require you to stay right here. In this bed.” you sigh. His arms tighten around you slightly, pulling you impossibly closer, and you feel his lips brush lightly over your forehead once more.

“Then we’ll stay like this,” he murmurs, his voice a soft promise in the quiet of the room. “For as long as you want.”

The comfort of his words, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, lulls you into a deep, peaceful contentment. You feel his breathing slow, his warmth cocooning you, and before long, the two of you drift into sleep together, perfectly at peace in each other’s arms.

#elendil x you #elendilf #elendil x reader #rings of power s2 #the rings of power #fanfiction #elendil the tall #elendil

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captainkirkk · 6 months ago

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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

midnight sun by merils

Who would win: four men with guns who just happened to get Red Robin to walk into a trap, or one royally-pissed Kryptonian juggernaut?

Yeah, it's not even a contest.

reasons are better than rules by destiny919

"No one will actually explain Father's rules to me," Damian blurts out. "They tell me we don't kill, and killing is wrong, and Father would never do it, but no one ever actually says why! As if repeating the rule is the same as explaining it! As if I am supposed to just know, when I do not!"

Drake is quiet, eyes on something in the distance that Damian cannot see. "Damian, may I tell you a secret?"

Marvel

Thirty Hours by polaroid15

The sun sets. Peter breaks three toes and hits his head hard against concrete. There’s a steadily bleeding wound in his side that he’s staunched with his webbing and tries not to acknowledge it when it burns. He can still walk in a straight line, which is good. He’s starving and tired and cold. It’s been fifteen hours.

Or, Peter doesn't take any breaks during a lengthy fight with the Avengers. The mind-melting fever that follows really should have been expected.

Clone Wars

An Hourglass In Hand by ecarian

“I thought daemons didn’t eat,” Rex noted once, during a celebration feast, as he and Cody watched Boga devour her meal with some fascination. Varactyl she may be, but she was a tiny one. There wasn't much interior space for the truly momentous amount of meat she was ripping into.

Boga daintily rubbed her beak against a folded serviette that looked kind of like a bird, and said, prim, “I can do anything a human can do.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan said mildly, from where he’d been tapping at a datapad. “Shall I save you a portion of these reports then?”

Set My Mind at Ease by Eightbitpale

Marshal Commander Cody - clone commanding officer of the 7th Sky Corps, second in command of the 212th attack battalion and, currently, the proud caretaker of one still-warm lightsaber - was having a very long day.

Actually, fuck that. It had been more than a long day. Long days were Cody’s bread and butter, practically his comfort zone. Marshall Commander Cody ate stim shots for breakfast and every shiny this side of Coruscant knew it. Long days were his bitch.

No, this had been more than a long day. Today had been a bad day.

———

The one where Cody and his general try their best to tell each other that they care. At least they’re trying.

Your Smile In Stone by ecarian

Wooley: can we arrest people for yelling this early?

There were two figures standing at the foot of General Kenobi's statue with their backs to Wooley, an adult with a hood, and a child with light hair. The child was pointing at a puddle of Temple tookas who were curled up in General Kenobi’s lap, lounging in the stone folds of his robes, the bend of his knee.

Wooley: belay that. Child nuisance.

The Goblin Emperor

Sweet Hope by baladric

Maia Drazhar arranges a festival, meets his gay aunt, falls in love with his secretary, and misses his mom through it all.

"In the way of true stories, there was no discernible beginning. Perhaps it had begun that first day, in the shabby receiving room at Edonomee; in the cockpit of the Radiance of Cairado; at the mooring mast of the Untheileneise Court, with that first smile.

The pith of the matter was that Maia Drazhar was wildly, tremulously in love, and love had made fools of much wiser men than he."

In All Its Forms by Anonymous

Before his father ruined everything, Nurevis Chavar only thought to introduce the new emperor to all the most beautiful things life could offer.

When he found himself free from relegation again after his father's death, would the emperor whose friendship he had sought so long ago wish his presence at court? And, if he could return to court, would his emperor wish his friendship again?

#i'm down with covid atm #which is why there are multiple longish fics on here considering i only just posted last week #thank you ao3 for your service #weekly fic round up #my posts #fic recs #the goblin emperor recs #tge recs #sw recs #dc recs #marvel recs

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 11 months ago

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 78

Part 1 Part 77

Eddie always thought he’d be in jail before all this hard labor bullshit starts. Still, here he is, chipping away at the cold earth with a shovel Mama Byers stole from Merill’s shed. And it’s all to save the same man who’s busted his balls more times than he can count.

But Steve had pointed, and Eddie’d started digging.

He’s sitting now, criss-cross as he stares down at the ground like he can see through it, feet crossed, and t-shirt on backwards. Eddie had thrown it over his head as Steve walked out of the house, while While stuffed his sockless feet into his tennis shoes as best as he could. It’s not right. He’s not right.

Eddie can still feel the thread tying them together, but it’s brittle now, obvious next to the nylon still twined between Eddie and Will.

Steve’s barely there at all.

He’s always lived in an empty house, been an empty house. The thing inside him is just the first to take up residence – to fill the vacancy.

Eddie wants his empty house back.

He’d spent a year watching Steve blossom, filling that emptiness with laughter and cooking and someone to come home to. Eddie’d helped Steve move in, rearrange the furniture in his mind and feng shui that shit until the sun was always shining. He’d seen the curtains begin to open.

It’s jarring, now, to look into his eyes and see the glassy windows of an abandoned home.

So Eddie does all he can; he digs. The hole grows bigger and bigger, growing at the same rate as the blister on the side of his right thumb. He takes turns with Mama Byers, her lithe frame hiding surprising strength.

She’s the one at the mantle when the shovel strikes air. She pushes it down hard, gasping as it falls straight through, clattering somewhere below with the dull thud of metal on packed earth.

“Well, shit,” she says, staring down at the far-too small hole in the earth, just big enough to lose a shovel in.

Eddie peers down with her, eyeing the loosened sides and the distance of the drop. “Think we can stomp the rest out?”

“I don’t think that’s–” Mama Byers starts, but Eddie’s already stomped down.

The dirt crumbles easier than he expects, like all it wants is to tumble down into the unknown with the shovel. Eddie’s whole foot goes through, and he tumbles down with it.

It’s not far, but he lands on the handle of the shovel, feels it reverberate up his spine. He closes his eyes against the pain, groaning as he rolls away from the impact site.

“Eddie?” Will and Mama Byers both call down to him. He opens his eyes to look up at their worried faces, haloed by the dim gray of the November sky. Steve doesn’t make an appearance, but he can still dimly feel him up there.

“I’m fine!” he calls, hoisting himself onto knees and hands and hoping it’s true.

His ankle twinges as he gets it under him but it holds his weight as he levers himself upright. He barely even notices the pain because then he sees him: Hopper. He’s on the ground, and he’s not moving, as the vines writhe around him.

“Shit!” Eddie cries, rushing over and dropping down next to the man. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He says it like a mantra, barely noticing Mama Byers calling down at him, demanding he tell her what’s happening.

Eddie yanks at the vine, trying to wrench it from the man’s throat with little success. He sobs when Hopper croaks out a quiet, “knife.” It’s the first sign of life the man’s shown and Eddie will take it with both hands.

“Where?” Eddie cries. “Where is it?”

“It’s there!” Mama Byers calls. She’s collapsed on the ground, winded from her own fall into the tunnel. Eddie follows her pointing finger to his right.

He lurches for it as Mama Byers crawls up to take his place holding the vines away from Hopper’s windpipe.

Eddie saws at the vine around his neck, around his torso, around his wrists. He loses time to hacking away, barely noticing the viscous black blood that oozes out of it and splatters his clothes, hands, face.

All he knows is Steve’s barely there at all anymore, and this is the same fucking thing that had slithered down his throat

and made its home inside him in the first place.

He can hear Hopper coughing, Mama Byers calling his name, but it’s all muffled, like he’s under water. Like he’s still in the Harrington pool, drowning. Like he never made it to the other side.

Maybe he didn’t.

Maybe he’s still down there, sucking down chlorine like it’ll quench his thirst. At least down there, he’d had a hold on Steve. But, now, he can feel the tether turning to ash in his mouth. He’s so thirsty. He wants to swallow the world.

“Munson”

He keeps hacking away at the vines, like they’ll stop strangling Stevie. Like this will be the thing that saves them.

“Eddie.”

Like they’re what’s strangling him, smoke and helplessness clogging Steve’s esophagus and making a home within him.

“Kid!”

There are warm hands gripping his wrist, hard. Warmer than Steve’s been. Eddie looks up, and Hopper’’s staring at him, ragged and dirty and panting, but alive. Eddie looks down at the wrist he’s holding. Hopper’s knife is clutched hard enough that it hurts.

“You got them,” Hopper says, voice that soothing, gruff timber he uses on little kids, and victims. “You can let go.” He squeezes Eddie’s wrist before loosening his hold and running his thumb up the veins of his inner wrist. “You saved me, kid. You did good.”

It hurts when he drops the knife, tendons protesting the change of position after he knows how long clenching down. Hopper drops his wrist, clasping his shoulder and squeezing that instead. “You did good,” he says again, and then again, like that’ll stop Eddie’s shaking. It doesn’t.

Eddie nods, still looking down at the knife. His hand clenches on air. He feels bereft, so he pulls on the threads that bind. One made of titanium, and one made of dust he can barely feel at all.

He jerks his head up at the ceiling, straining his neck to see Steve and Will’s faces. He needs to know that they’re both still there, waiting for him to come back. That Steve’s still Steve, waiting for Eddie to save him.

Steve’s always dying. Eddie’s always trying to save him.

But Steve’s not there at all.

There’s just dirt, only a shovel as proof of the morning spent digging a hole. Digging a grave for them to disappear in.

“No, no, no!” Eddie cries, scrambling up.

“Munson, what–”

“He’s gone!” He lurches forward, grabbing for the shovel, like he can somehow dig his way back. He hears Mama Byers gasp as he pushes the shovel up into the dirt. It doesn’t give. He pushes harder.

“Eddie, sweetie.” Mama Byers says, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “Will’s got him.”

Will’s got him. Will, who’s bright light he can feel at Steve’s side, just above. Will’s got him.

Eddie drops the shovel on a sob, still looking, up, up, up.

“But how are we going to get out of her?” Eddie asks. No one answers because no one knows.

Digging a hole and escaping a grave are two very different things.

Like the answer to a prayer Eddie would never send up, there’s a shout behind him. “Go!”

Eddie spins, and there’s a man in a Hvac suit, with a gun pointed straight at him. He stumbles back, feels Mama Byers’ steadying hands on his lower back.

“Get out of here!” the man calls, voice muffled through his helmet. He gestures with the butt of his gun behind him. “Go! Go!”

Eddie flits by him, keeping as much distance as the small tunnel will allow just as something inhuman begins shrieking behind him.

He doesn’t hesitate anymore. He bolts, Mama Byers and Hop hot on his heels, visions of Demogon’s on his heels pushing him faster.

He passes more suits and more guns, and keeps going. The ground begins sloping upward toward the light of an open tunnel. He stops for a second, shocked by an end to the darkness.

The safety of right-side-up is steps away. The warmth of light and air and his people are so close, he can almost taste it.

That’s when the screaming starts, from a voice he would know anywhere. Even like this. Even loud and wretched with pain.

Eddie runs toward the sounds of his angel screaming.

Part 79

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie upsidedown au #my fic #will byers #sorry this is late!!! my power went out on thursday and came back on today and my phone died!#thank god for restored heating <3<3<3

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dcs-gay-archives · 6 days ago

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Slow burn timkon fic recs!! I’m already obsessed with Stars Over Gotham

Djdjdjdjfjfjcixoxo omg I had like a whole list ready to go so thank you for this request 🩷

1) this is slow burn timkon which features non-binary kon(sorry if that's not Ur thing) who has a realisation that his teen life sorta sucked so he makes sure Jon's doesn't lol is multi chapter and the romance takes time to start but it's so worth the wait (also has smut in the later chapters so read with caution)

2)This one contains deliciously sweet yearning and and country side settings in which the batfam ships Tim off to the Kent farm for the summer, forcing him to take a well-earned vacation bec he needs it. Of course what is a timkon fic without a 'fake' relationship with mutual pinning (sadly its unfinished with 14chapter 😭)

3)THIS ONE IS MY FAVOURITE BECAUSE SO THE FLUFF SO I WONT SPOIL ANYTHING EXCEPT THAT TIM HAVE A PLUS ONE TICKET FOR A GALA🩷🩷🩷

4) ok so I feel like is should trigger warning for very unhealthy manipulative relationship (not between Tim and Conner ) and like a private warning for lex (he sucks)

#dc comics #dc #dcs gay archives #fic recs #damian wayne #young justice #tim drake fanfiction #timkon #kon kent #conner kent #conner Kent deserves the world #tim drake

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rotworld · 3 months ago

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The Vow

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you were born into the secretive and gruesome world of house mandragora, paired with an apprentice assassin who dreams of the day he will die for you. if you go through with your dangerous plans, that day may come sooner than either of you are prepared for.

->original work. basically explicit; contains graphic descriptions of violence, extremely dubious consent (coercive/fuck or die-adjacent), manipulation, power imbalance.

On the morning of the end of it all, you wake to the sound of rain. The black canopy curtains have been tied to the posts of your bed and your room is awash with the dull, stormy light and drizzling shadows of a downpour. Merrill sits in a chair by the window, still and silent, already dressed in his black bodysuit and form-fitting armor. He’s probably been there for hours, watching you sleep.

“Good morning,” he says, terse and serious as always. “Today’s the day.”

He stays there while you prepare for the day, his piercing stare following you back and forth across the room. Everything you do feels unusually weighted and final. Normally, there would be some small talk—at least, you would talk and Merrill would nod or grunt in acknowledgement, or even grace you with a curt reply. Today, you’re both silent and haunted by anticipation. Merill doesn’t move until you’re nearly finished dressing. You don’t hear him stand up or cross the room. Like a phantom, he rises soundlessly and walks to you with unnatural grace. He kneels, dexterous fingers quickly lacing up your boots in a fraction of the time it would take you to do the same.

“You’ll protect me, won’t you?” you ask him.

Merrill looks up at you with awe and reverence, his eyes half-lidded and his gaze heated. His hand caresses the back of your leg, his gloved palm sliding up and down your calf. This is one of the only times he smiles; when you make a request. When you give an order. When he kills. “Of course,” he whispers. “Always.”

“From everything? From anyone?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. He nuzzles against your leg like a dog, legs pressed tightly together as he resists the urge to grind against you.

You are Merrill’s whole world. Promised to one another when you were too young to know what that meant, you were raised in conjoined Houses; he in the spartan halls where children become weapons, you in this dark, cloistered manor where death and life are intertwined. You can still remember the day you were first permitted to see each other in the courtyard that joined your worlds—a solemn and severe teenage boy clad in an assassin’s vestments, blades sheathed and strapped all across his body. His cold gaze melted the moment you saw each other. He stared, wide-eyed and breathless like he’d seen something beautiful for the first time in his life.

He would fight for you. Bleed for you. Die for you. There’s nothing he wants more.

This is a cruel thing to do to him, but he’s the only one you trust.

Merrill is your shadow on the long, dreary walk to the dining hall. Thunder rumbles beyond the arched windows and lightning illuminates the gardens, leaves and branches bobbing beneath sheets of rain. The dining hall is lit by a silver chandelier, dangling strings of crystal resembling dew on a spider’s web. Portraits of your predecessors hang on the wood panel walls in decorative frames, posed sullen-faced in crypts and cemeteries. You’re the last to arrive for breakfast. A long table meant for lavish dinner parties is only sparsely occupied. Four seats are taken at the far end of the room by a handful of your elders and instructors. Each is accompanied by a small group of revenants, fully armed and armored, who remain standing, chatting quietly over the heads of those seated.

They frighten you. They always have, no matter how polite they are. Their silver, reflective eyes and corpse-like complexions are a constant, inescapable reminder of what’s soon to be expected of you. Their attention is suffocating. You can’t stand in a room with one and feel like you have any secrets left.

Every eye turns towards the open doorway when you appear with Merrill. Wordlessly, you walk the length of the table until you reach your seat. You nod politely to Orcus, seated at the head of the table. Merrill bows to the revenants before he assumes his post beside you. Breakfast waits for you beneath a silver cloche: eggs and toast with an assortment of sweet and savory accompaniments to choose from, green garnish and washed roots fresh from the garden, everything artfully arranged on a plate with a floral pattern ringing the edge.

“No hello?” Orcus says wryly. “You’re in a mood this morning.” He wears fine, corset-cinched robes and heavy jeweled necklaces befitting the head of House Mandragora, snow white hair tied in a high ponytail. An outsider might assume he is frail, getting on in years, from his wrinkled face and thin, bony hands. And it’s true, he’s the oldest among you—far older than most people would ever guess—but it would be a mistake to underestimate him. His plate is empty except for a few slender, pale orange roots with leafy green stems. Hemlock, you think with a frown. You don’t know how he eats it raw like that. The taste is far too musty for you.

“Good morning,” you mutter. “Please pass the jam.”

It’s not Orcus who does it but one of his revenants. Gideon leans over the table and arranges each glass jar on a long silver tray, so careful with the clawed tips of his gloves that you never hear them clink against something. He comes over to your seat, inclining his head in a bow before he sets the tray beside your plate. You thank him sheepishly and he grins, leaning against the table with his arms crossed over his chest. Standing on your other side, Merrill watches him. Not with suspicion but with attentive interest; the eager gaze of a student towards his beloved teacher.

Gideon is everything he has been taught to work towards. He is utterly silent when he moves even as he passes over the same floorboards that creaked and groaned beneath your feet. He is tall, lithely muscled and honed to swift, lethal perfection. His hair is dark and he is permitted to wear it long unlike Merrill’s short, precise cut that ends at his nape. He smiles, too, even when he isn’t in the field or catering to Orcus’ every whim.

His eyes were blue once. They’ve calcified to metallic silver, shimmery like an animal in the dark.

“What has you so tense this morning?” he asks playfully.

“Nothing,” you say, focused on slathering a generous helping of pink jam onto your toast. Foxglove, says the label. It has a sharp, bitter tang that fizzles on your tongue.

“Your apprenticeship is almost over. You’ll be an official member of House Mandragora soon. Aren’t you excited?”

“Can’t wait,” you say glumly.

“I never should’ve let you go to public school,” Orcus laments. “You’ve been difficult ever since. What on earth does that wretched world have to offer you?”

Choice, you think. You don’t dare speak the word aloud. Choices are what you found out there. There are so many things people can be. Not just what was decided for them. Not just the House they were born into. You’ll never have that here. The others try to draw you into a conversation about politics and alliances, how amusingly the distant Main House has conducted itself as of late, but you’re unenthusiastic. The revenants are leering at you, whispering with hooded gazes. Wondering who among them will have the privilege to taste you.

“You could be our new representative to the Main House,” one of your instructors mentions, hoping to entice you into anything more than apathy. “Most of us don’t care for socialization or those tiring soirees they love to host. Perhaps you would enjoy those.”

“I’d rather not,” you say.

“Well, we could always use more apothecaries. The gardens are also a splendid place to work.”

“Mhm,” you say. You reach for the jar of wolf’s bane jam, the sticky sweetness inside dark purple.

“Or you could tell us what you want instead of making us guess,” Orcus says brusquely. Your eyes meet across the table. You know he cares in his own strange way, as much as anyone in House Mandragora cares about anyone else. He sent you to the Main House sometimes as a child in the hopes of easing your loneliness, setting up playdates with children who ultimately were too afraid to come near you. He let you out in the garden when you should have been studying, or brought you with him to the revenant’s leisure quarters where they cooed and fawned over you.

Your silence tells him all the things you know you can’t say. He sighs heavily.

“House Mandragora fulfills a very important purpose,” he says. “There is no one else who can do what we are capable of.”

“I know,” you say quietly.

“Our work is sacred. It is vital to the Main House and necessary for all of humanity. Without us, those who inflict sickness on the world would not be culled.”

“I know that,” you insist.

“Only we can do this,” Orcus says sternly. “We are few in number because it is a rare thing to birth a new being from both life and death. Each one of us is precious. Each one of us has a role we must fulfill—”

Your silverware clatters on your plate and you shove your chair back, standing abruptly. Gideon frowns. Merrill looks at you with concern. “I would like to begin my studies for the day,” you say.

Orcus’s brows furrow in irritation. You confound him. You always have. You wonder often if you were a mistake, or if his impulsive kindness in your youth was a strangeness the likes of which House Mandragora has never experienced before. “You may go,” he says coldly. You do, without hesitation. You can feel them watching—your elders, disapproving. The revenants, curious and hungry. Merrill follows you into the hallway, easily matching your rushed pace.

“You’re upset,” he says.

You shake your head. “I’m fine.” You pass elaborate wall sconces and decorative alcoves with sculptures and old vases, open doorways to libraries and laboratories. Such a vast, sprawling place, and so empty. It was so frightening to be the only child here. You stop beside an arched window adorned with intricate Gothic stonework, looking out at the rain churning the mud. The garden grows wild with prickly leaves and bright blossoms; larkspur, lily of the valley, clumps of hydrangea and shy blooms of bloodwort.

“I wish I could help. I wish I understood better,” Merrill admits.

You wish he did, too. You wish anyone here did. “Doesn’t it scare you?”

“What?” he asks.

“Dying.”

He doesn’t answer. You turn and he quickly averts his eyes, his smile small and trembling. “No,” he says. “Not at all. I’ve dreamed of all the ways it might happen.” He glances up shyly, his smile waning at the sight of your discomfort. “Are…are you afraid?” His expression softens. He moves closer. He reaches for you slowly, giving you time to back away or reject him. When you don’t, he cups his fingers beneath yours. He holds your hands like each is a precious treasure. “Are you afraid of me dying? For you, and for the House? You don’t have to be. I want it more than anything.”

You pull away slowly. Merrill lets you go. You see just a twinge of fear and hurt before he covers it with his usual stoic facade. “Will you uphold your vow?” you ask him.

He doesn’t smile but he nods resolutely and stands straighter. “Yes,” he says. “Always.”

“Thank you, Merrill.”

The sound of his name makes him shiver and bite his lip. He nods again and you try not to feel so guilty.

You have to wait until evening. Your instructors are nosy throughout the day, a constant rotation of concerned faces peeking into the study where you’ve sequestered yourself. The revenants are more active at night when everyone else goes to sleep, so you don’t have long. As the sky darkens and the rain keeps falling, Merrill follows you through the courtyard. He holds the umbrella while you fumble with a keyring pilfered from one of your instructors, each thin piece of metals bearing a decorative flower at its base. This overgrown shack in the corner of the garden conceals the entrance to the Sending Tunnels, a covert pathway for the revenants to leave the House and perform their duties. Its dark, subterranean passageways fork and wind in a dizzying labyrinth that would be easy to get lost in, but Merrill has been taught how to navigate it blindfolded.

You’ve checked the schedule and no one is coming and going at this hour. This is your best chance. One of the exits feeds directly into a subway tunnel in the heart of the city. You could be long gone by the time they even realize you’re missing.

“You’re certain you want to do this?” Merrill asks, so quietly you almost don’t hear him over the constant hiss of the rain.

“You promised you would help me,” you say.

“I did. I will. Always. But are you sure about this? No one is permitted to abandon the House. They’ll hunt us for the rest of our lives.” He doesn’t sound afraid. He doesn’t even sound upset. Matter of fact and mild as always, Merrill simply seeks clear orders and your approval. You wish you didn’t have to get him involved. You wish his House hadn’t made him what he was, so eager to please you that he would turn his back on everything he’s ever known just because you asked.

It takes a few tries but you find the right key decorated with the pinwheel blossom of an oleander flower. The lock turns and clicks. You push the door and it creaks open, a musty smell emerging from inside. “Yes,” you say. “This is what I want.” You want to show him the world outside this place. Maybe he’ll love it, simply because you do.

Stone steps descend into deep, oppressive darkness. The air is cold and ancient, choked with dust. The only lights in the Sending Tunnels are lanterns affixed to the walls, and they are few and far between. Merrill holds your arm, gently guiding you in the void between with soft tugs and whispers. You think you’ve made several turns, that the path might have sunk even deeper into the earth, but you aren’t certain.

Several times, you think you feel wind. A sudden chill, or the breeze of movement gusting past you. Something could be here and you wouldn’t know, you realize. But Merrill would, surely. He would sense danger coming long before it reached you.

“You’re shivering,” he says.

“I didn’t know it was like this down here,” you admit. “How far is it?”

“It’s…right here.” He sounds reluctant. Nervous, you think.

You can’t see anything. Then a light flickers—a lantern turns on in the tunnel ahead, switched on by clawed fingers. Gideon steps forward and your heart sinks. Those aren’t shadows in the tunnel behind him. Those are revenants standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking your path. They raise their heads in unison and the glint of lantern light makes their eyes shine. The scuff of footsteps on the stone behind you is deliberate, a way of letting you know you’re surrounded.

“I made a bet with Orcus this morning,” Gideon says. He saunters closer. Merrill’s arm slips away and he puts himself between you. His hands twitch at his sides, fighting the instinct to draw a weapon. “He’ll be disappointed to know he lost.”

“Gideon, please,” you beg him. “I don’t belong here. You have to know that. Everyone knows. There’s no point in keeping me here.”

“Of course you belong here. Every member of House Mandragora is precious and irreplaceable.” He takes another step and you see Merrill bristle like an angry cat, muscles taut and shoulders heaving with heavy, anxious breath. Gideon tilts his head, regarding Merrill with an expression of amusement. “Do you uphold your vows, brother?”

Merrill trembles. “Yes.”

“Against everything?” Gideon asks. “And everyone?”

Merrill turns to look at you. On his face is an expression of sheer, unbridled joy. “Yes,” he breathes. Gideon grasps his shoulder with one hand. The other plunges into Merrill’s chest like a dagger, punching all the way through flesh, bone and armored bodysuit in a sickening burst of blood. You’re too shocked to scream. Merrill holds your gaze even as dark droplets spatter the floor at his feet. Blood trickles from the corners of his blissful smile. When Gideon rips his hand back out, he sinks to his knees, clutching the gaping wound. You can see soft, pulsating things and the glint of fractured bone poking through the hole in his chest. He shudders and coughs, a watery red clump pouring from his lips.

In shock and disbelief, you drop to the ground beside Merrill. He rolls onto his back and you frame his face in your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks. He clasps your hand against his face with shaky fingers. He nuzzles against it, kissing your palm. His eyelids flutter. He’s losing too much blood. You hear the revenants whispering above you, excited, expectant, and you suddenly understand. This is not a punishment. Merrill didn’t tremble with fear before, but with anticipation.

“You told them,” you realize. “You were never going to help me leave.” He might not hear you, or he might not care. He groans in agony and clings to your hand.

“He protected you from yourself,” Gideon tells you. He shakes his hand, splattering Merrill’s blood on the floor. “From your recklessness. From your shortsighted, pointless rebellion.” When you do nothing but wordlessly shudder and cry, he crouches beside you with a pitying expression. You flinch when his claw grips your shoulder, blood staining your sleeve. His eyes glint in predatory delight in the dark. “He’s going to die,” he tells you with a smile.

You can barely see through your tears, everything twisting light and shadow and blood. This isn’t a choice. It never was. This is the next step on the only path you’re allowed to take. Inevitable, no matter how hard you fight. Merrill’s grip loosens. His gaze grows distant. He stops coughing and trembling, sagging against the ground. You do what you were always going to do, somehow, someday. You climb on top of him, laying over his body and the hole through his center, feeling his pulse slow and stutter in his chest. You press your lips against his.

The first death is misery. Orcus told you it would be. It is pain unlike any other, heat and sharpness and unmaking. Merrill shivers under you. Then he flinches. Then he convulses, legs kicking and flailing under you, hands clenching and unclenching. His eyes roll back in his head and if he had the strength, he would be screaming. He makes horrible choking sounds, his fingers scraping the floor until his nails break and his fingers bleed. The saliva dribbling down his chin and pouring out the sides of his mouth is a dark greenish-yellow like bile. His heart is shaking uselessly. His lungs are paralyzed. His nerves are on fire and his insides are corroding, the hole in his chest sloshing with pinkish foam and dark red sludge.

The poison in your body could’ve killed every revenant in the tunnel when they still lived.

You can feel the change when it takes him. Merrill goes frighteningly still for a moment and then he gasps. His chest heaves with harsh, sucking breaths and he wraps his arms around you, one hand cupping the back of your head while the other slides down to your waist. He’s ravenous when his strength returns, kissing you back with tongue and teeth. His hips push up against you and you gasp at the sudden hardness straining against his bodysuit between his legs.

“Yes,” he moans between eager nips and licks and bites. “Oh, it’s—it’s even better than I imagined. You taste like heaven.”

The first resurrection is bliss. They all are, Orcus says, but your revenant will chase the perfect ecstasy of that first soul-searing sensation after oblivion for the rest of eternity. Merrill kisses you hungrily, his tongue curling against yours. The taste of you has gone from rancid to the sweetest ambrosia and he strokes your cheek, smooths his thumb along your jaw, tilts your head into a better angle so he can swallow even more of your poison. You’ve never kissed before, never felt the throbbing thickness of his arousal so close to your center. It makes you whimper and hold onto him tighter.

“Move with me,” he begs you. Both of his hands move lower, cupping the swell of your ass through your robes. It’s bold of him, unthinkable only hours ago, but he’s not just an apprentice anymore. He pulls you into the shaky, rolling motions of his hips. You gasp and shudder together at the pleasant friction. “Like that,” he whispers. “Use me. I’m yours.” He encourages you with soft, pleading kisses, squeezing and kneading your ass.

You forget everything—where you are and why, that anything else exists. All that matters is Merrill, warm and writhing and kissing you breathless. The sound he makes when you frantically grind down on him is almost wounded, desperate, shaky keening.

“And you’re mine. Mine forever,” he babbles, half-muffled against your lips. “You’ll have others, I know you will. But I’m your first. I’ll always be your first. I knew the taste of you before anyone else.” He chants praise and encouragement even when you break the kiss, overwhelmed and sensitive in ways you’ve never experienced before. You bury your face in his neck and blanket your body over his, mindlessly rutting your clothed sex against his. “Don’t stop,” he whispers, his breath warming your ear. “Keep going. Doesn’t it feel good?” His breathing gets harsher, his moans louder, as he bucks up into your thrusts.

You cry out and stiffen against Merrill, hips shaking in frantic movements as you reach your peak. He tilts your chin and claims your mouth while you’re still catching your breath. It’s your poison on his tongue that pushes him over the edge. He groans as he licks into your mouth and pulls your hips roughly against his in several last hard thrusts. You go limp against him and Merrill cushions your head against his chest—whole again, healed over beneath shattered armor and torn fabric. His hands stroke your head and down your back.

You regain awareness of your surroundings gradually. You’re too tired for shame, too weary for anger. The revenants encircling you fall to one knee, their heads bowed, honoring your ascension to House Mandragora.

Your revenant takes your hand and presses it to his lips. His smile is wide. His eyes gleam silver.

#rotpeach writes #goretober #original #got a bit too ambitious with the worldbuilding for this one so theres a lot of lore that just didnt fit but hopefully its still hot

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roachesforthewin · 1 year ago

Text

My Personal TIMKON Recs List

i made this for my friend recently and thought i’d share it here because you tumblr bitches love pain and little gay dudes (just like me fr)

all of these have good young justice, batfam and superfam (though sometimes it’s minimal) representation (because i don’t read them if they don’t have good rep, sue me). Plus Tim and Kon personality and character accuracy, obviously.

Also these are all Ao3 recs because i like to consider myself as not a heathen

Funk Ass

- sun kissed by merils

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48882055

beach episode, queer young justice fr fr, Kon rep is off the charts (ashgs quite possibly the conner rep of all time, just the phrases he uses /$)/ so real!!)

- Baby Talk Me Down (Take Me Out) by sage (lemontongues)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384345

ahhhsh this one is unfinished but i desperately wish it was, either way great fic and great character rep + conner civvy life insights

- Out of The Frying Pan, Into the Casserole Dish By JpegdotJpeg

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41005416

martha kent (& the superfam!) is the best person ever, plus tim is the most autistic little dude (we love him sm)

Haven’t finished but amazing rep/haven’t read yet but plan to

- Robins and other flightless birds by Ionaperidot

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607170

ahsgshsh this one qualifies for [literally kill yourself after reading (pain)]category but i put it here just cause :-| uhh BW adopts fucked up kids good for him: JJ!tim, Catatonic!jason COA!dick etc

- Straight on ‘til morning by merils

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43401684

haven’t read this one yet but i’ve heard really good stuff about it! plus good kon character development/ exploration (from what i’ve heard)

- there you were by mindshelter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25599205

the blorbos deserve pain, don’t you agree? (i haven’t read this one in a hot minute and have forgotten what it’s about but i remember it being good)

- Buy Back the Secrets by sundiscus

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43137879/chapters/108412977

okay no this one LITERALLY AHSGGSGS bro just read it, uhh civvy tim and superboy interactions, 5+1 things, good sibling Jason (a rarity unfortunately), funny ass dialogue

sexy times (good for them)

disclaimer! none of these fics are like solely focused on smut, but that plays a large ish role thats why they’re in this category

- take me to the airport (call me from the platform) by Hayleythewriter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47970586/chapters/120950194

This has an idiots to lovers tag…there’s not much more to say. except for great sibling relationship portrayal of Damian and Tim that doesn’t involve murder attempts Yay!! (DC wouldn’t even dream of it)

- What happens in Vegas by Ididloveyou_once

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32850109

Stupidest bitches alive fr (mostly tim) + Cassie Sandsmark being a bitch, we love to see it! and and and it has an interesting subplot/s so woowoo, also minor Birdflash👀

- Scions by winterlive

https://archiveofourown.org/works/375897

Conner Luthor is a bitch and i love him + lex luthor is a good dad WHAT!?! oh HA and Clex which is soo good.This was honestly one of my favourites sheerly because of good character representation and BW not being a terrible father

- Trust Fall by Ididloveyou_once

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31654376

Again good sibling rep between all of the batboys, mostly Damian and Tim tho YAY! (it’s seriously a rarity do not take it for granted)

Literally kill yourself after reading these (Pain)

- when your bf hits the street and turns into meat that’s amore by CarrionCarnival

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40318824

self explanatory title, heavy gore :loved it, literally my favourite fic on this list (i adore gore what can i say)

- You are Shaking Fists and Trembling Teeth by Bored_Liege_bow

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47679967

implied TimKon, aftermath of conners death Rip timothy d-w

- my dear devoted delicate by blenderfullasarcasm

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48556555

pushing daisies au, sad af + good exploration of loss on tim’s part through his life

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