#rip king stay bored

[nottspocket]

I cannot stop thinking about his parents making him take music lessons and how he probably HATED it

[itsonlydana]

Sleeping In Their Clothes | hobbit / lotr

how they would react to finding you asleep in their clothes

characters: Thranduil, Bard, Aragorn, Legolas x fem!reader

warnings/tags: mentions of Boromir's death (Aragorn), age gap (Bard), romantic shipping

word count: 5,7k

an: trying something new! Have been struggling to write after some personal issues so please excuse the slow updates on this blog

requests: please check pinned post

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Thranduil:

Thranduil’s mood darkens the halls, clouds the air around him bitter and ashen. The elves he passes lower their heads at his strides, at his cloak billowing behind him as thunder rolls over the skies. No one dares to speak, no one dares to whisper or raise their voice at any volume below the hushed glances they share after he disappears behind a corner. The foul stench of anger and frustration traces his path, starting right in front of the doors he slammed after another day of negotiations and down the direct route to his chambers. 

He grits his teeth at the servants hurrying toward him and bellows a low: “Get out!” as hands reach forward and there’s enough fury in his eyes for the servants to scatter away like a heap of leaves blown apart by a particularly harsh wind. 

Even the thought of skin touching him when he is burning up… he shudders. 

There’s only one who he wants close to him right now.

He reaches out for you long before he’s in the bedroom, feeling for your fëa entangled with his in an inseparable union and he makes sure to be gentle, brushing you with his love rather than the anger bubbling hot inside him. 

The calling stays unanswered – a deep wave of security and comfort labs over him but by the tenderness of it rather than your usual playfulness, and by the time Thranduil sees the seethrough white curtains around the bed, he knows exactly what state you will be in.

And never one to disappoint him, your unconscious yet dreamy smile is all Thranduil needs to forget about the anger he yielded like a sharp sword; used to cut down any and all offers from the dwarfs and their stubborn and unreasonable trading offers. 

Instead of ripping apart conversations and insults, Thranduil’s hands are gentle as he parts the curtains and kneels on the feathery mattress with your shapes ingrained in it. All those nights spent close together and his warrior-heart will never fail to skip a beat at the sight of you wrapped in his robes. It’s one of the older, worn ones as well. Fabric that thins out at the cuffs – not that this would be a problem; you’re not close to reaching them –, a few cuts and holes in places twigs and branches bore themselves into the crimson, featherlight velvet. 

Thranduil sees your skin flashing through some of them. The one above your knee, drawn up, another one below your biceps, relaxed because you know nothing can hurt you here, and some more all over your chest, hinting that you are not wearing much else. 

He knows you well enough that you won’t be bitter if woken up and so he leans in closer from behind. One hand finds your head, cradling it into his large palm until you, still in dreams comfortable embrace, roll to the side and bury your face inside it, nose pressed right against his steady pulse while his fingers gently trace the curve of your ear. 

No time spent together will ever sicken him of this, your complete surrender into his care, the doubtless trust that wherever you laid down to rest, he would sit by and be there. The oath of protection is one Thranduil promised his folk the day he was crowned their King as well, not once has he doubted he would abandon it all for the vow he gave you the night you offered your heart and he gifted you his; you above all.

His thumb just brushes over your temple and the fine hairs that come loose of your braid when your lashes flutter, leaving him to readily dive into the pools filled with love and sleep.

While he maneuvers with cunning, a master of actions and power, playing a game of chess on a board he alone commands, you stand unrivaled with the art of words. Your tongue, sharp and precise, weaves wit and wisdom into every phrase. Whenever he acts rationally and leads by his heart, you would listen first, hearing out heart as well as brain, and come to a conclusion serving everyone. 

Your voice has the power to sway wars and balance the scales of battle. When you speak, your tone, thick with the remnants of sleep yet razor-sharp in purpose, reduces him to nothing more than a mere soldier—helpless in the face of your command, whether in war or love:

“I dreamt we were air.”

“Invisible?” Thranduil's voice is laced with a touch of curiosity as he revels in the warmth of your laughter, the puff of hot breath meeting his wrist like a secret kiss. Your presence is a balm, a reminder of everything that is tender and true.

“You, my love, know that this is not true.”

“It is not?” 

“No,” you whisper and press a kiss to the tender skin, lingering with your lips over the pulse and the veins rushing blood to the heart, your heart, inside his chest. A puppeteer of words. Even the silent ones. 

“I agree,” Thranduil muses, enticed by this playful exchange, “that the wind is what we notice, a fleeting glimpse of nature’s breath. But air – air is the unseen force that dances around us, invisible yet ever-present, until our souls merge with the very fabric of the universe.” He glides his other hand to your legs, slipping underneath his warmed robe. 

You squeak as he anchors his arm around your thigh and tugs you over to face him in a swift movement. Faced to lie underneath his larger figure, you shoot him a crooked grin. 

“You can see the air just as much as you can see the wind it turns into,” you start and get comfortable in his lap. Thranduil immediately jumps the chance to idly with the robe that’s draped all over your body. 

“In the particles that dance in the sunlight,” you continue, your voice soft and thoughtful, “in the flags that hiss and flutter. In the vapor rising from steaming ponds, and in the mist that clings to the earth in the morning fog.” He watches, entranced, as your palm flattens against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. “I see it here,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath, and he follows your gaze as you watch your hand rise with each of his inhales and fall with each exhale.

Your fingertips, soft and gentle, curl slightly into the fabric of his current robe – soon, undoubtedly, those same fingers will find comfort in the folds of this robe, curling into it as you slip into sleep.

And in that quiet, intimate moment, he will see the air too, in the way your breath mingles with his, in the way your presence fills every space around him, making the invisible tangible, making the unseen profoundly felt.

The air catches in his throat and he sees your eyes twinkle.

Then, not looking away from you, he lies down as well. He has no need for the blanket crumpled underneath you both, the sight of you facing him, drawing your knees back to your chest and skin flashing whenever the fabric of his robes part to allow him these glimpses, is warmth enough. He loves you, even if you have a habit of taking what is his. A spray of his scents to drive him crazy, a feather that you take between your teeth as you write, or his robes but all of those mean nothing and all since you have him as well, fully and completely. 

So he will request ten new robes, in colors that you like, and await the day he gets to your bedroom and finds you sleeping in them.

“So,” Thranduil repeats slowly. His hand drifts to your face, trailing lines over the smile you give him. “You dreamt we were air?”

“Yes,” the corner of your lips quirk into a quick smirk, one that fades quickly yet leaves traces all over, “and we were invisible –”

“Oh, you little minx!”

“Ahhh – Thran, stop, oh I beg you, stop tickling me!”

Bard:

The brittle stairs heave and sigh, creak and groan under Bard’s boots, once honeyed planks now gray from the flow time, heavy rain and the dampness of the lake coloring the edges mossy green, and with the days passing by, the steps taken as he rushes down to work or tiredly drags himself up, one hand curved around the splintered railing, he wonders how many steps these stairs will endure before his house comes crashing down into the murky lake. 

This winter seems to be harsher than the ones before, with the wind howling loud at night and rattling on the walls that he wakes to frames shattered on the ground and the curtains ruffled even if the windows are closed. This winter, he swears the ice is thicker, a nearly impenetrable obstacle for his boat and his clothes are never warm enough but then, in the end, he knows the next winter will be worse and he doesn’t dare to complain out loud, doesn’t think it’s right to curse for hands shaking and feet aching and his nose running. 

As exhausted as he is, and Bard is, so exhausted, so tired, so drained, he’s mindful enough to skip the last plank of the stairs. He lifts his feet higher, ignores how the muscles in his thighs complain, and steps over the plank that always sounds like it’s waiting to break through, always moans the loudest when he needs to be quiet as if his state isn’t mockery enough. 

Bard slips through the door, opening it barely to keep the cold outside, and when he turns around, finally, warmth takes over. 

It starts in his hands, in the tips of his reddened fingers, exposed to nature's icy companions the moment he sneaks out to work before the sun rises. It creeps higher, up his arms and to his shoulders strong enough to carry his family more than he can hold himself, parting ways to fill his cheeks in the softest of glow, a simmering fire that colors his skin an ember-red and travels down through his swooping stomach, lightening a hunger he knows food will not sate, and when the heat reaches his feet, Bard releases a small sigh. 

There, in the low and flickering light of a candle burned down to a hardened wax puddle, his eyes immediately find you resting underneath the only window whose curtains are drawn open. Most of you is covered by a dark blanket, hiding your face but that doesn’t matter to Bard; he has every inch, every freckle, every crinkle of laughter and wrinkle of pain memorized. 

Not that he should; you’re kind enough to look after his children while he works, accepting no money and hearing no ‘buts’, and here Bard stands, a decade older, widowed and tired, and knows exactly that your mouth will be slightly opened and that your lashes will fan over the rosy apples of your cheeks and that your shoulders will ache because you rather sleep on the bench under the window than take away Bard’s pillow. 

Stubborn girl.

Bard crosses the cluttered floor, avoiding Tilda's drawings hung up to dry on the wooden ceiling beams and Sigrid's books and tomorrow, he will tut over Bain’s clothes left hanging on chairs and stools, but tonight he walks past them and their sight burns in his chest. 

As Bard gets closer to you, he nearly trips. 

That’s not a blanket that you hide your face in, that keeps away the winds creeping through the gaps in the wood behind you, that you use as a shield against the cold yet the greatest thing it fights are the walls Bard pulls up around his heart.

That’s his coat. 

The dark blue coat he left to dry over the oven after last night's rain. 

You must’ve taken it and that dismantles Bard into millions of pieces, chips away on his walls like nature takes layer after layer away from the stairs outside. 

While he can’t know when exactly the latter will be too much to take on any more pressure, he feels the heavy weight of his coat around your sleeping body, and just like the stairs, his personal defenses creak and groan, heave and sigh and crumble down around him in a thumping echo in his ears, that Bard fears his choked breath will wake you up.

He is helpless. 

He doesn’t dare to touch you directly, as much as he yearns to brush away the strands of hair fluttering in your even breaths. Bard’s hands are rough from his work and your soft skin deserves better than the callouses and scars he bears, so Bard gently lays his hand on your shoulder, covered by his coat – his coat, Lord how ever will he survive knowing the fabric kissed your body?

“Darlin’,” he whispers in a voice that’s horse and gravely, though it softens as he speaks your name, daring to follow it up fast enough there’s no room for a pause between the term of affection to be separated from your name.

You stir in your sleep, shift to reveal your face some more and the crease between your eyebrows and the effort it takes Bard to hold back from smoothing it out with his thump could have moved mountains. Bard ignores to notice how your nose is buried deep into the coat and that no washing could’ve ever cleaned the heavy fabric of his smell; he swallows hard. 

A low sigh blows away the hair and Bard’s eyes fall on the plushness of your lips. You wake up slowly, closing your mouth and you pull the coat tighter around you, holding onto it, while Bard lets go of his restraints.

“Darlin’,” he repeats, and this time you hear him enough to evoke a tired smile.

When you open your eyes and turn towards Bard, the candle flickers in the reflection of them. “You’re back,” you mumble into his coat, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

I know, Bard wants to say, I skip the last stair so the noise does not take away my chance to wake you up.

Instead, he shakes his head: “You shouldn’ be sleeping on this bench, it’s too hard and uncomfortable.”

“Eh,” you push yourself up into a sitting position, the coat still far too large around your frame and you don’t make any attempt to part from it, “This bench is sufficient enough for a short nap, and I–,” a yawn interrupts and you grin sheepishly, “What I wanted to say is that I wasn’t that tired anyway.”

“Sure,” Bard's laughter is quiet but fills the entirety of his lungs and his own lips mirror yours in a grin. 

The look you share in the darkness makes him feel like he’s young again, filled with infinite love for a limited body, bursting through his cells and flooding every vein, rushing blood that burns hot for you up to his battered heart. Bard can see your eyes wandering over his face and he wonders if you can tell that this smile is only for you and that he fights a lost battle in telling himself he can stop what’s tugging you closer. 

He leans in further and lets his hand fall from your shoulders to run his fingertips over his coat. His knees brush against yours, and Bard tells himself it's only the late hour that makes him tender, that his weary, overburdened mind is surrendering to the forbidden's allure in the quiet moments when no one else is watching. Yet, deep down, he knows this is merely the rationalization of a lost man, drawn to the woman who cares for his children who are not her own in some ways and are in others, who sleeps wrapped in his coat, and who gazes at him as though he could reach up and give her the stars he can see through the hole in his roof. 

“C’mon,” Bard nods his head toward the back of the house, an offer he speaks out every night, “I won’t let you go home all alone this late.” 

All other nights you shrugged his offer off, had him walk you home over the planks and gurgling water until you kissed his cheek goodnight and Bard snuck back to his home, falling into bed to fall asleep to an aching heart. He prepares for it now, the apologetic smile that usually takes over your face, the tilt of your head to hide your eyes, all of it is memorized to his memory and even though they’re always quiet he hears your “I can’t, I must go home,” like the drums of war that shoot the heart that beats for you.

He awaits it. He will ask again and again, no matter how desperate it makes him seem and how the hurt will take over and push him through the day only for the night to repeat itself.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Bard freezes.

You blink up at him, eyes full of sleep and dreams that shouldn’t have the image of an old man and his children in them, but you’re never one to listen to what’s expected from you. 

There’s no ache in his bones as he gathers you up in his arms, your head resting against his beating heart.

There’s no groan in his muscles as he carries you through his house and over the threshold to the little corner where he lays you on his bed, blue coat pooling over you as you smile and pat the small free space next to you. 

He doesn’t feel the pain of work, the exhaustion of days of darkness and the fear of surviving the night to get through the week.

Bard kicks off his shoes, discards his dirt-stained pants, and shrugs off the shirt dampened by water, ice, and snow. He vows that tonight, you won’t feel the cold. As he climbs onto the bed, the mattress dips under the weight of his trembling legs. You lift the blankets without hesitation, inviting him closer, and he accepts, silently aching for the warmth you offer. Your body radiates heat as you nestle in beside him, your smooth skin brushing against his legs. Almost timidly, you curl into him, your smaller form pressing against his chest and stomach. His arms wrap around you and when he allows himself to breathe a featherlight kiss onto your shoulder, he catches his musky scent left behind by his coat. 

“Sleep well,” he whispers into the crown of your head, feeling the fast beat of your heart under his hand, “my love.”

Aragorn:

Aragorn has been familiar with the pain of war ever since his father was murdered by orks when he was two. He knows how it flits through the body like lightning through water, cracking into all the ends of a being to render them helpless, burning through whatever energy and fight is left, and killing easily and efficiently. 

And yes, he has felt the pain of war on himself before, in the years he spent fighting as Thorongil under the hands of Lords and Kings in the West. Aragorn saw good men fall, saw better men than him die to the growing threat of Sauron and there has been a cloud of thunderstorm in his heart from there on.

Nothing hurts as much as the pain that took over your lovely eyes the moment you saw Boromir lying on the ground in colorful dried crunching leaves, pierced by arrows that had been aimed at you too, though that didn’t matter – to you – then. The scream that came next pierced through Aragorn blindingly white and he could do nothing but try to grab you, as you fell to the ground, scrambling away from his strong arms to get closer to Boromir, your weak efforts nothing but agony for him. You had cried bitterly, hitting Aragorn with curled-up fists and he took every punch, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

It only got worse when you realized the Hobbits were gone too. 

Aragorn saw the flame of hope flickering inside your eyes, a darkness of grief and pain behind them that he knew and yet he had no idea how to help you. 

He still doesn’t. 

The sun rose hours ago, red bleeding into gold, Boromir waving a last goodbye in the clouds, and the rustle of the wind brings shivers to the four of the Fellowship who are left. You’re setting up camp for the day; Legolas and Aragorn have not much need for speed but exhaustion can be a much crueler enemy combined with death and grief. Aragorn’s gaze wanders to you ever so often as you stand in front of the burning skies, staring at the pack that was once Boromirs and he casts his eyes downwards to where his heart aches. 

You suffer, obviously, and Aragorn, who fought for more years in his life than not, doesn’t know how he can battle your demons. 

If he could he would draw his sword and head into the fight, only return bloody-knuckled, the shadows wrapped between his tight fingers. He can’t though, and that may be what pains him more than the obvious heavy weight of witnessing Boromir’s last moments; his inability to take on your emotional baggage. It tears through his heart in aggressive jibes and stings like liquor on an open wound. 

This is why he’s the first volunteer when Legolas suggests splitting up. 

Aragorn nods at Gimli and they disappear into the forest, leaving Legolas who rests even less than Aragorn, and you, the walking example of why avoiding sleep after such traumatic events should be mandatory: your eyes drop, your hands shake and no amount of effort on your side is enough to hide the sacking of your shoulders. Every day that you walked further away from when you were nine – Mithrandir’s absence not accounted for – you distance yourself more, most likely to hide your suffering yet all that this behavior accomplishes is that Aragorn notices it all. 

How could he not?

He cares for you, most ardently, and these feelings brought forth a vulnerability, an open spot in his heart for love to slip in and make itself at home.

Aragorn leaves you in Legolas' care; the trust he places in the elf to protect you in your fragile state is grander than the one he has in himself. One soft whimper as you hide your face in your shoulder and stumble over feet that won’t listen and Aragorn might do something naive as pack his sack back up and hunt the orcs that took the Hobbits, the one coated in Boromir’s blood, on his own. 

It would be reckless, ignorant, a troubled journey without Legolas or Gimli or even you.

So Aragorn goes against his heart's urges and patrols – clearing the forest and trying not to think about your frail form, hugging yourself out of desperation and grief.

Gimli and he return hours later, under the warm rays of the sun – the gentle strings far too bright and calming for the last day's events, the wind a breeze swirling through the leaves crunching under his light feet and Legolas lifts a finger to his lips as soon as Aragorn makes eye contact.

He assures his steps are as silent as possible, avoiding the logs and twigs they would collect later for a fire to warm them, and walks past the elf, nodding his head and quietly thanking Legolas for keeping an eye on you. 

A hand lands on Aragorn’s shoulder, stopping him in his movement. 

“She’s asleep,” Legolas says quietly, leaning in closer, “We shall move forward when she awakes, rested.”

“No sooner,” Aragorn agrees and lets out a relieved breath that had been lodged deep inside his chest. He looks to the elf, then to the bundle of a small human shape underneath a tree. “Thank you, my friend.” 

“Aragorn, we need your focus as much as we need hers.” The grip on his shoulder loosens, and the weight stays in Legolas’ eyes and Aragorn almost winces, would he not know his friend only means well. 

His voice is gravel, his words soft and exhausted: “I know.” He didn’t know his heart had been such an open show but then, Legolas knows him like no other, a companion that found him and a friend that he can always count on, a partner in battle and nowadays, Legolas seems to have taken on the role of fates worst messenger – reminding Aragorn that this, you, the differences, the looming war and the ones that never end… 

When Aragorn approaches you, the pain he carries with him dims, a candle dying out in refreshing winds. Bending his knees, he carefully sits down, resting his back against the tree's rough bark covering your gentle face in dancing shadows and flickering golden spots of sunlight that kiss your closed eyelids. Around your shoulders and over most of your body, Aragorn recognizes the cloak he’d asked Legolas to stow away when Gimli and him took off. Now that he sees you, finally asleep, he is glad the cloak found a better use than being shoved inside a bag where it would have never touched your skin. 

He reaches out, soft and slowly, making sure his movements will not wake you and pulls off his leather coat as well, placing it across the uncovered part of your boots and legs.

Aragorn is tired but he will keep watch, protecting you to sleep safely.

He is weak but only for you, so he will fight harder than ever before to ensure the Hobbits return to see the smile he loves so much on your face again.

There is a possibility this will all change faster than any of you could realize, these times are unpredictable and there is a taste of danger on his tongue and in the air. The journey of the Fellowship has barely begun and already the sun bleeds into the horizon in colors that mark the grounds of battlefields awaiting you.

Aragorn clenches his jaw and only unclenches it when he hears the smallest of sighs. Looking down at you, he dares to smooth away some strands of hair, leaving a streak of dirt on your sunkissed temple. 

In the grand scheme of things, there is of course the need for the bigger picture and the importance of all that connects to this journey, but in this moment, surrounded by the sounds of the forests and your breathing, Aragorn takes comfort in knowing he has this moment with you to remember all the small things count just as much. 

A cloak to sleep in.

The shadow of a tree.

Even the pain seems to have fallen into a slumber, resting to surely come back and hit him square in the chest like it has never left him but Aragorn has never felt this free as in the pain’s short-lived absence. 

And he can hear it in the silence and in the way you keep his cloak close to you.

War brings pain but you bring love.

Legolas:

Legolas may agree that abandoning his father's task of informing Lord Elrond of the disappearance of their captive to travel through the lands and destroy a ring in Mordor – whether the Fellowship will make it this far is still unknown – but then Aragorn brought you to the Council and suddenly Legolas finds himself months away from his home, listening to your laughter as you flip rocks over the lake you’re standing in front of. 

He can not remember the last time he saw someone be this amused by the ripple of water and the stones skipping across the otherwise calm reflection of the skies that cause the growing disturbance. Then again, Legolas never met anyone like you in general and every aspect of your personality that he gets to watch unfold like the meadows you ride across, the hills you climb up, the more eager he feels to find out what makes you laugh.

Stones, apparently. 

“No, not this one!” you chime in and take the stone he picked up out of his hand, your skin brushing his and sending ripples over his skin. 

“No?” he inquires and tilts his head in genuine confusion. “This one seems perfectly adequate for this, no different to the ones you chose.” 

You scoff, giddy giggling followed. “That’s outrageous! Calling this one adequate when it's clearly in no shape to even compare to these –” you lift your hand to his face and present the collection of rocks that you seem to keep in the pockets of your vest, a grin blooming across your face, “Look! They’re thinner, perfect to hop.. hopefully, four times?”

Legolas smiles, one that’s more tugged into his cheeks and corners of his eyes to really be called one. “I will leave you to find what you think–”

“I don’t think,” you interrupt him and roll your eyes, already turning your back to him again and bending your knee slightly. You turn your head over your shoulder and the sun reflects beautifully in your cheeky gaze, “I know. I feel. Look!” Then you twist your arm, pulling it into your chest at an angle before flicking the stone across the lake.

Five times.

You cackle loudly. 

And Legolas picks up the stone you thought not to be perfect and slides it into his pockets, ignoring how his heart skips five times.

The day flies by like the stones dance over water, fast, too fast for Legolas' liking yet by the time the sun burns low on the horizon, he is glad for the calmness that settles over the little camp they’d set up earlier. The others are scattered around the fire crackling behind Legolas, the warmth creeping into his bones and settling high in his cheeks, as he turns his head slightly and catches you staring out onto the water; the red fire and golden sunset basking you in a glow that pulls him into you like busy bees to the sweetest of flowers.

He can’t help but stare, even if it’s everything but appropriate. Your face is lit up, not only by the embers fluttering to you and the last of the sun's rays caressing the fullness of your cheeks but ever since you decided to tag along on this journey, nature bathes you in an aphrodisiac of wind-swept hair that Legolas wants to braid, rosy fingertips that he wants to hold and kiss each one of them. Whenever he looks at you – he could not tell how much, time is a rush of emotions, a whirlwind of hair and laughter, hands playfully slapping him and he counts the days by how often you blink up tiredly after waking up rather than the sun sets and rises – he is astounded of the beauty someone could possess and carry it out freely like it sits in your heart and not in your face. 

The sun sets and your eyes are full of wonder and molten gold, an open letter of your adoration for the nature that equally loves you back. 

Behind him, Legolas hears Merry and Pippin sing, hears the low chuckles of Aragorn, and lips that curve around a pipe, teeth clacking against shaped and glazed wood filled with smoke. He also hears your intake of breath as the wind swipes over you, gliding over the lapping water first, over the croaking frogs and wreathes around your naked arms. He hears the sound of your hand smoothing over the fine hairs that stand up on your prickled skin. 

He hears himself talk, before he thinks: “Here, this cloak will keep some of the cold away.”

Your eyes widen.

His heart skips five times on each breath taken in the moment of silence.

Legolas is sure that you would take the offer one way, but then you nod, lower lip pulled between your teeth as if that could stop the shy smile from tugging up the corners of your mouth, and you scoot closer, lifting yourself up by your hands and leaning in, until your shoulders brush his side.

He almost freezes, not because of the cold – this he can not feel, for multiple reasons, and mostly the advantages of being an elf though the warmth radiating from your body, suddenly so close to yours and the blush that he must blame on the fire – but because the way you slid into his side as he holds up one side of the green cloak leaves only the option to drape the fabric over your shoulder and awkwardly pull his arm away or–

There must be some of his father's braveness in Legolas for he lowers his arm around you, shaking ever so slightly. 

You sigh, contentedly, and draw your legs up to your chest. “Much better at this than skipping stones,” you mumble and a tired yawn accompanies your huff of laughter. 

Despite the teasing tone, Legolas can’t stop his smile. “Is this.. perfectly adequate?”

“No,” your head drops and maybe you don’t notice but you rest it on the arm, oblivious to the halt this causes to every single thought Legolas has ever had. “This,” you whisper and he can hear the flutter of your lashes trying to stay open, “is just perfect.”

All Legolas can do is hum in agreement, and even this sounds as shaky as his words would have been had he any of them readily and not swallowed up by the swarm of butterflies swooping through his stomach.

The sun disappears behind the line of trees on the other side of the lake, throwing one last wink of gold over you both before the silver light of the moon laps over you like the waves onto the shore. By the time your hair twinkles like the stars you seem to have lost the fight of keeping your head up; it rests against Legolas, just like most of your upper body that followed one last yawn. He sits still, not daring to move much now that you’re this close to him, your nose against his chest, the bones of your knees resting against his thigh, and all of you enveloped in his cloak.

The fabric rustles slightly as his arm slips from your shoulders to your middle, tugging you closer to keep the heat encased in this cloak and moment you’re sharing.

Legolas's other hand glides into his pockets, finding the stone hidden inside. His hand wraps around it, pressing the smooth surface against his palm.

“Perfect,” he repeats.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope (5/5)

(Part 1) (Part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

Last Time

The crack under the door lights with a sickly purple. The smell of ozone seeps into the manor. For a moment there is a silence so complete you think you’ve been struck. What was that? Magic? You’ve never seen magic before--

Screams rocket across the field. The Blacksmith’s screams. The Baker’s screams. Marie’s rage-filled howls.

“DEMON KING!”

Your Destiny burns.

---.

You have dreams the closer you get to turning fifteen. Dreams of a kingdom in the sky, a kingdom heard in the roiling clouds and in the cracks of lightning that splinter through them. This kingdom howls and chatters and hungers.

You dream that you are under these clouds. Your necks aches from staring up into them. You’re alone in a field of dead wheat and the stalks whisper prophecies whenever the kingdom above falls silent. Rivers will run with blood, flesh will lay torn across the streets, no child can hide—

In these dreams, you aren’t afraid. There is an answering snarl in your chest for every howl and prophecy you hear.

You won’t have your way. You won’t win.

I’m the Hero.

When the storm sends down a funnel of demon bats (or horned rabbits or screaming goblins or demon wolves), you leap to meet them.

------.

This isn’t a dream.

Your hands slide down from the door. Hera and Josiah are frozen in place, eyes wide and unseeing as the demon king’s presence steals the oxygen from the room. You take a step back. Then another.

All doors and windows are blocked on this level. But this manor has more than one floor.

The fighting resumes outside before Sarah realizes what you’re doing.

“Isla!” She has the strength of a mother when she grabs you this time. Your nearly choke as your collar is pulled taught against your throat by her grip on your sleeve. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To fight,” you wheeze before you can think better of it.

“Absolutely not.” Sarah attempts to pull you back, but you’re braced against her now. She grabs your sleeve with both hands. “The knights have it handled—”

“Not this—”

“—you’re to stay here.” Sarah’s lip trembles and she squares her jaw to hide it. The younger kids are holding onto her skirts, eyes wide as they stare up at you. “Understood?”

Afraid. She’s so afraid for you, so determined to keep you safe this time. You can see that winter seven years ago like you never have before; when you held the door and lost your hope in heroes, she never once looked away from your narrow back.

You have never been alone.

“Take care,” you say as gently as you can. Then, as she draws breath to speak, you rip yourself from her grasp. Your sleeve tears and Sarah’s eyes fall to your arm.

She gasps. “Isla—”

You shoulder your way through the villagers and thunder upstairs. The grand staircase leads to a hall of doors and you throw open the one at the end indiscriminately. You get the impression of books, leather furniture, a black feather quill, but it all blurs when your eyes fall on the door leading to the balcony.

That will do.

You burst out into unrelenting sunlight. Shouldn’t it be storming? In your dreams, it’s always storming. The garden is a mess of turned earth and splintered party tables. The knights’ armor flash rays of sun and the orcs – great, fleshy beasts with hardly any neck and black-sclera eyes – undulate like mountains below. You can see that some orcs are down, their giant bodies strewn across the ground, but it hardly seems to make a difference.

Not when there’s a Demon King.

You climb up onto the railing to get a better look. He’s half-hidden by the fighting, almost lounging against the treeline. He’s more human than you expected with dark, shaggy hair, and a bored look on his face. Canines the length of your index finger poke over his thin lower lip. Without the fangs, he’d be a traveling merchant, one of the ones who turned up their nose when they realized that the home they were visiting was an orphanage and not that of an affluent family.

As you watch, that sickly purple magic crackles at his fingertips. You follow his gaze to where Ivan and Marie are fighting back-to-back. The Lord is standing defiantly behind them, his horse slain mere yards away. The Lord is staring a challenge at the Demon King.

This is my land. You can see his mouth form the words, but can’t hear him over the clashing of swords and the twanging of Marie’s bow. Did he lose his voice? His exhaustion drags at his face, just visible under his fury. Green power seeps from him and into the ground as he emphasizes his Lord’s claim. You won’t have it.

The Demon King smirks. His hand twitches and purple magic soars into the sky. It arcs over the orcs’ heads, ten feet, fifteen feet, ten feet, five feet—

Ivan catches the bolt on his shield, a cry leaving his lips as the magic splashes around the edges and tears at his skin. You can smell burning flesh and ozone. Ivan falls to one knee and Marie snarls as she blocks an orc’s blow with the curve of her bow. She manages to kick the beast away, but her distraction costs her. This time Lord Brennan has to block the orc swinging a mace down upon their heads. His connection to the land wavers and the Demon King’s smirk widens into a smile.

Something in your chest cracks and you see gold.

Your destiny is like a flame on your shoulder. It drips down your arm and into your hand. Golden light is burning there and with a barely a thought, it takes the form of a spear. You hoist the spear over your shoulder and hurl it with your full strength at the ground between the orcs advancing on Marie, Ivan and Lord Brennan.

The ground shatters. The orcs are thrown back. Marie, already kneeling at Ivan’s side, jerks her gaze up to you. You see her mouth form your name.

The Demon King is as loud as he is in your dreams. “HERO!”

The word alone strikes fear in the orcs. Stupidly, a few look up at you and fail to block the next blows from the knights. One squeals and turns to the forest. You barely notice the knights chase after it.

“Isla?”

“Don’t—”

“Go back inside, his magic is too--!”

The Demon King hisses a spell. It’s fast, not the slow and contemptuous arc of power he’d thrown at the lord. Without thinking, you swipe your arm. It’s still drenched with the golden glow of your power and the air rings when the Demon King’s spell connects. You feel the blow vibrate through your bones. The magic crackles and your own power rises to meet it, filling your view with sun-bright light that washes over everything.

When the light clears, you’re still standing.

“Impossible,” the demon king says.

On instinct, you lift a hand above your head. Something presses against your palm and you grab it, drawing it down in front of you. A sword drenched in a golden haze follows. Hero’s sword. You point it at the demon king in a silent declaration. Your destiny is choking you, but your message is clear.

His lips curl in a snarl. “Attack!”

You leap down from the balcony as the demon king’s army surges. An orc charges you the moment you land, his eyes filled with the demon king’s command. He towers over you, but you’re strong enough to haul a half dozen fence posts on your own. You catch the club he swings at your head and launch him back in the same motion. He falls back a dozen steps and you follow him, slashing at his throat with your sword of light.

You’re on to the next monster before his body hits the ground.

You are new to your power, but you aren’t alone. Knights scream their second wind and fall on the monsters’ backs when their master’s command stupidly makes them turn away. A corner of your mind shrinks at the smell of blood and worse, at the sight of bodies under your feet, at the sound of armor crunching under heavy blows, but your power blocks it out. You move through the battlefield with an overwhelming, single-minded purpose.

Demon King.

“Don’t understand—”

Who is that? Your senses tell you it’s not an enemy. You duck when an orc swings a meaty fist at your head and then blink when someone severs its arm before you can.

“It’s okay, Isla,” someone says. “We’re here.”

“--she’s fourteen—”

“Argue about it later, protect her now.”

“Right.”

The Demon King isn’t relaxed when you see him next. His lips are pulled back so far you can see all his teeth. He’s commanding his monsters to stop you, to kill you, to put their bodies between you and him. One orc is bigger than the rest, a vibrant red instead of fleshy pink. It plants itself squarely in front of its master and raises a mace the length of your body.

Your power won’t let you falter, but your mind balks. Can you catch that? Block it? Those spikes are as long as your arm—

An arrow sprouts from the orc’s throat. It blinks stupidly and the purple haze clears from its eyes. Another arrow finds its mark in said eye and the beast steps back hesitantly as if unsure if its okay or not. The third arrow lets it know it’s not.

“Keep your sword tip up, Isla.”

“You’re training her now?”

“On your left, Marie!”

The Demon King must be cocky because he doesn’t try to run until it’s too late. The orc falls and his eyes widen in surprise to see you still coming for him. You’re close enough to see the color of them now, a red as deep and terrible as what’s drenching your hand.

Purple magic crackles. It’s not a spell – he’s too afraid for that – but the destructive power is unreal. The earth splinters to either side of you, causing your allies to falter for a moment. You deflect the bolt aimed for you and it explodes overhead like fireworks.

“No,” the Demon King breathes. He stumbles back and tries to ward you off with hands drenched in power. “No, I do not fall here! I am King! I am ultimate! I am—”

You throw your sword. You never really learned how to use one and this motion is more natural. For a moment, you see your Hero’s sword like your sharpened stick, sailing into the throat of a horned rabbit. Then you blink and it’s the Demon King with your sword through his meck. Blood bubbles at the corners of his mouth. One of his long-nailed hands comes up to try and grab the hilt. You’ve pierced him through.

The Demon King falls like his orcs. Confused and unsure of his own demise.

You come back to yourself the moment you feel his power die. There’s crashing through the woods as the remaining four orcs turn to flee. Absently, you mark their paths.

If the knights don’t get them, you will.

The details of the battle filter back to you gradually, like the sound returning to a forest after a rockslide. The memories of each blow you dealt tremble up your arms and the smell of one orc’s fetid breath makes you suck in a breath. That of course drags new horrible smells into your lungs and you cough so hard you gag.

A warm hand pats your back. “There, there,” Ivan says. He sounds tired. “The first one is always rough. Vomiting is okay.”

Marie grabs your hand before you can rub your face. “Don’t touch your eyes. Orc blood is corrosive.”

You twist, blinking tears out of your vision. You tremble as the memory of battle becomes fresher and fresher. You croak, “I’m an orphan, you know.”

Ivan looks taken aback. Then understanding washes over his face. “We’re acting like your parents, aren’t we? We were going to ask you after the party.”

The nausea temporarily subsides. “What?”

“She’s in shock,” Marie scolds Ivan. She fishes a clean handkerchief out of her bodice and uses it to dab under your eyes. “We want to adopt you, Isla. If you’ll have us as parents?”

You stare at them. “I—” you clear your throat. “I just meant we don’t actually know when my birthday is. Because I’m an orphan. I might be fifteen after all.’

“Oh.” Ivan opens his mouth. Closes it. “Well, do you be our daughter anyway?”

“More than anything,” you say and then vomit right onto the demon king’s corpse.

---------.

Things are both complicated and not after that.

The questions you thought were coming never get asked. Sarah isn’t upset you hid your Destiny from her and neither are any of the kids. They’re just relieved you’re alive.

Hera buries her face in your stomach before dinner that night. The Bahrs have invited you all to stay over until the last of the orcs are caught. Hera smells like their bath oils when she says, “I held the door, Isla. Nobody got in.”

There’s a lump in your throat as you pet her damp hair. “You did. You were very brave.”

“I helped,” Josiah says. Unlike Hera, he eyes your arm from a distance. Your mark is covered in a fresh cotton shirt, but it’s like he can see it anyway. Finally he collapses into you. “It’s not fair. You’re our Hero. Now you’re going to have be everyone’s.”

You lean down to press a kiss into his hair. “I’m too mean to be everyone’s Hero. I’ll just be yours, okay?”

“Good,” Josiah says. Then, after a long moment. “Though you should be nicer to us now.”

“No,” you say fondly.

The complicated part comes when the Bahrs enter the dining room after Sarah has gotten you all seated.

Ivan’s arm is in a sling, but he smiles widely when he sees the spread Josiah, Annie and Sarah have cooked up. He compliments them on their efforts, thanks them, and takes a seat at the head of the table.

Marie pauses by you before she takes her seat. She lingers by your chair until you turn to look at her. “Isla.”

You swallow. “Marie.”

Is it just you or is Marie as nervous as you are?

“Would you…sit by me?” she asks. Her eyes flick to the seat just to the right of her side of the table. You may not be a noble, but you know what that seat means.

Your voice wavers. You’re suddenly very conscious of the kids looking at you, of the way Sarah’s pressed a hand to her mouth. In surprise? To hide her pleasure? “If—if I can?”

“Yes,” Marie says quickly. “Yes, if you don’t mind, I mean, if you’re able to be drawn away—”

Lord Brennan throws open the dining room doors with an astonishing crash. He isn’t dressed for company and his long sleeping robe is drenched with the water still dripping from his hair. “I am starving. Is there—” He catches sight of the table and his mouth drops open in surprise. “You were all about to have dinner? Without me?”

“You were in a coma, my lord,” Ivan says.

“I was taking a nap,” Lord Brennan corrects. His golden eyes catalogue the way Marie is standing over you, the three empty seats at the end of the table opposite Ivan. Rather than claiming the empty head of the table seat, he strides over to Ivan. “Up, up you get.”

“There’s another seat you can take!” Ivan complains. He guards his plate of food. “I just served myself.”

“Go sit with your wife and daughter,” Lord Brennan commands. He nearly sits on Ivan when the other man stands too slowly. He smiles charmingly at Sarah. “Director. Fancy seeing you here.”

Sarah flushes up to her ears.

“Daughter?” Hera asks.

Your stomach turns over. Oh god. It’s not fair that they asked you – you were too happy to think about it, but the other kids must be devastated—

But Hera doesn’t look sad. She’s staring at you for an answer, her eyes open and accepting.

“Y-yeah,” you say.

“Hell yeah,” Josiah says. “If the Bahrs adopt you that means I can read through their library right?”

Annie looks up at you. “And we can come visit?”

“Of course you all can,” Marie answers. Is her voice a little misty? “You all can stay here as long as you like.”

“Go sit with them,” Hera says. She smiles and pushes at you. “Go on.”

It’s the best meal you’ve ever had.

-----

(Part 1) (Part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

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

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[dadyscumslutprincess20]

S2 cha hyun su smut with female reader where his monster side takes control and it involves a breeding kink with overstimulation 🥰 ( he would make an amazing daddy after watching s2 please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks this)

Cha Hyun Su X Fem Reader

Bold: Monster side , regular: Hyun Su

Genre: Smut

Breeding

Warning ⚠️: Breeding kink, overstimulation , teasing , fingering

Small summary: After Hyun su broke free from the soldiers , he ended up running into Seo Yi-Kyung , who had just given birth to her baby girl , Ah-Yi , Soon realizing that the small girl was born part monster , as Seo Yi-Kung leaves the girl to Hyun Su for the time being , Months later both reader and Hyun su reunite as he tells her everything that happened since she’s been away , a year later as you watch over Hyun su who takes care of the now 14 year old girl like she was his own always being there when Seo Yi-king wasn’t , today you and Hyun su were with Ah-Yi as you watch there father- daughter bond , soon realizing you want a child of your own

It’s now been a year since you reunited with Hyun su , at the time you thought that you were to late , that he found a lover since he was holding a small child in his arms

As you were washing yours , Ah-Yi and Hyun Su’s clothes , well what remained of his clothes , almost all of his remaining shirts now hold holes and rips in them due to his wing that forms when his in his monster form

Carefully soaking the shirt in water a few times before squeezing the water from the shirt , placing it in the crate with the other clean clothes , standing to your feet as your pick up the crate now full of clean clothes as Ah-Yi pink gloves sit safety at the top now clean as ready to be dried

Walking down the hall as you headed for the hanging room as you careful place the crate on the floor , heading for the dresser that was the only thing left behind , quickly grabbing the clips on top of the dresser as you head towards the crate full of clothes

Carefully grabbing Ah-Yi gloves as you place them over the rack , since they were held by a string it was easier to just hand them over the hanging rack/string , carefully grabbing the next pair of clothing as you hang each clothes with 1-2 clips

Once you were dinged with the last piece of clothing you carefully pick up the cadre placing it by the door as you head out the room deciding to leave the door open a bit

You were lucky enough to find a small home hidden not to far from the small garden that Ah-Yi liked to hang out in , it also wasn’t to far from the boat deck that Seo Yi-Kung was living in along with Ah-Yi , making it easier for Hyun su to get to her when ever he needed to or to simply just check on her

There were lots of times were Ah-Yi would rather stay over with you and Hyun su , it shocked you at first that she actually took a liking to you , but you knew it was only because of Hyun su , She knew how much he cared about not only her but you to , Ah-Yi also had times were she would come to you to talk about girl issues ones she was to scared to ask Hyun su

It wanted your heart to know how she thought of Hyun su as a father and he also thought of her as his daughter , as you were now in you and Hyun su shared room , laying on the bed as you quickly become bored as your mind start to wonder

Your mind starting to picture what it would be like if you had a child of your own , smile slightly growing as you start to think of ways to ask Hyun su without making him uncomfortable

After a couple more minutes of thinking you decided to just simply ask him hoping he wouldn’t say no , getting out of bed as your stomach starts to growl as you headed to the small kitchen, there wasn’t much but you were lucky enough to find canned foods , canned fruits and lots of granola bars

Sighing as your grab as granola bar and a bottle of water , sitting in the small couch in what was left of a living room as you open the granola bar taking a bite , reaching for the bed that you left on the table a day ago as you open the book and start to read were you left off finishing off your food

After reading a couple of chapter , closing your book as your place it in the table , quickly grabbing the water bottle as you open the cap taking a few sips as you close the cap back , standing to your feet as your head in the kitchen placing the bottle in the table , as you now head for the drying room to check on the clothes

Opening the door as your head for the hanging clothes, closing the door a bit behind you , checking to make sure they were completely dry as you take them off the string, placing them inside the crate , as your were taking down Ah-Yi gloves you head the door behind opened

Quickly becoming nervous as you turn to face the door , holding the gloves tightly as you hear pairs of foot steps heading your way , biting your lip as you watch as the door slowly opens as your breath quickens

Letting out a small breath as your nervous now clam down once you see it was Hyun su as he enters the room , Ah-Yi following behind soon after

“You..washed my gloves” Ah-Yi says as she stares at the now clean gloves in your hands

“U-uh yea , here you go” you say nervously as you hand her the gloves carefully

“Thanks” Ah-yi says with a smile carefully taking the gloves from your hands , making sure to not touch you once as she places the gloves on her hands , smiling at how bright they looked

“ I’m going to my room , I’m super tired” Ah-Yi says with a small yarn smile still on her face , giving her a small nod as you give her a wave , Ah-Yi quickly gives Hyun su a hug and good night before running off to the spare room

Quickly facing Hyun su once Ah-Yi was far enough as you notice his tired face, quickly noticing a pair of eyes on him as he turns to look as you , cheeks turning red as he see you staring at him

“W-Why are you..looking at me like that” Hyun su says with a blush as he becomes a bit nervous to what you were up to

“Just thinking”you reply with a small smile as you coo to stare at Hyun su

“T-Thinking of what exactly ” Hyun su asks now being curious to what you were thinking exactly, as his heads tilts to the side a bite , looking like a lost puppy

“How would you both feel about a baby” You asks bravely as you look Hyun Su in the eyes as his eyes becomes slightly wide , quickly turning his head as he now faces a mirror, one of his eyes turning blue

‘Is that a good idea’ Hyun su asks his self

‘Come on , say yes , imagine it’ Hyun su monster self replies

‘How much bigger her boobs will be, the breast milk, how big her belly will become carrying our child, if you want I can take over , maybe even take turn , yah’ His mister self adds as he shows off a wide smile

As Hyu su takes a minute to think , cashing you to become confused as he suddenly became quite noticing that he was staring in the mirror as you turn to look in the mirror see into that one of his brown eyes was now blue , now getting what was going on as you patiently wait for their decision

‘ Okay , just don’t hurt her’ Hyun su finally agrees as he feels his self fall into a deep sleep

As Hyun su slowlg turns to face you eyes now closed as he softly runs his neck with one of his hands , after a couple seconds his opens his eyes staring straight in to your soul causing your cunt to become as you let out a soft whimper

Taking slow steps towards you as he stops only a inch away as he bends down to your height now eye to eye with you

Eyes scanning between your lips and yes and he gives you a small smirk barely noticeable

“What are we going the do” Hyun su says with a slight smirk eyes now locking with yours , quickly picking you up in his strong arms as your legs wrap around his waist ,arm wrapped arm hai neck as he’s still staring in to your eyes as he turns and carries you out of the room

Exiting the drying room as he heads down the halls towers yours shared room , taking one hand as he quickly opens the door kicking it closed once he was inside , walking tot he bed as he carefully throw a you on the bed , heading for the door , as he locks the door , heading back to you on the bed as his takes a minute to look you over

“Strip” Hyun Su demands eyes not leaving your figure once as your quickly get off the bed hands reaching for the bottoms of your shirt as your slowly pull it over your head , eyes locked with Hyun su as your slowly reach for the back of your bra , quickly undoing the hooks as you pull it off the arms dropping it to the floor

Hyun su eyes now traveling down to your huge plump boobs as he lets out a small groan , feeling his pants becoming slightly tight as he watches your hands slowly moves towards your shorts , quickly unbuckling your shorts , undoing your zipper as your pull them down your hips causing them to fall to the floor , kicking them to the side as you soon do the same to your panties

Slowly climbing on the bed not once braking eye contact with Hyun su as you stop at the middle of the bed , sitting on your knees as your hands slowly moves up your legs , towards your dripping core , up your stomach, stopping once they were finally at your boobs as your use your hands to give them a slight squeeze knowing how much it bothered Hyun su

Letting out a annoyed groan as Hyun su walks towards your sitting figure as he uses a hand to grab a hold of your throat pushing you on your back and he uses his other hand to pull your legs from under you so you wouldn’t be hurt

“ Don’t fucking tempt me , sweetheart” Hyun su threatens as he loosens his grip a bit , allowing you to gasp for air , using his free hand as it travels down to your body given your a hard squeeze to your now hard nipple as your let out a soft moan , letting go of your neck as he starts to let wet kiss down your neck stopping once he was between your boobs

With one hand playing with your boob , he start to kiss and suck on your boob that was unoccupied as he start to bite softly at your nipples causing you to let out breathy moans as your arch your back slightly off the shared bed

After a few more licks at your boobs he turned to give the other the same treatment as you tried your best not to make much noise as you didn’t want to wake Ah-Yi

Pulling away from your boobs as he travels back up towards your lips giving your deep and loving kisses , using one hand to open your legs wider , hand now traveling to your dripping core as he uses two fingers to spread your fluids causing your to key out a gasp

“So wet for me” Hyun Su says as he lets out a deep groan as he pushes two fingers inside your dripping cunt cashing you to let out a loud moan

“Hold up your legs” Hyun su says as he’s eyes lock with your soaked cunt , not giving you the pleasure your cunt desperately needed as you quickly grab hold of your legs pulling them towards your chest

Once you had a hold of your legs , Hyun su moves his fingers at a fast pace causing you to arch your back off the shared bed , biting your lips as hard as possible to not make much noise , as Hyun su fingers start to move in and out of you at a pace that your mind couldn’t process as your toes start to curl

Hyundai su eyes not leaving your core once as the noises it made sounded like music to him as he gives your cunt a wide smile , picturing how you would look with a huge belly as he adds a thirds finger picking up his pace as you let a moan slip past your lips eyes rolling to the back of your head as you pull both your legs closer towards your chest

Leaning into your inner thighs as he leans soft wet kisses trailing down to your dripping core as your nails start to dig into your skin as Hyun su leave wet kisses against your clit causing your mind to go fuzzy as you feel your self tighten around his fingers , feeling your climax nearing

“I-I’m gonna” you moan out loud biting down hard in your lip , as your feel a knot form in your stomach, dripping cunt tighten around Hyun Su fingers but before you could release he quickly pulled away , letting out a soft moan and whine due to lost contact as you quickly look toward Hyun su

Only to see him left in just his shirt and boxers , quickly pulling off his shirt as he stares at your in the eyes , blue eyes shiny with amusement as his hands slowly reaches for his boxers pulling them down in one pull as they drop to his ankles , kicking both his pants and boxers to the side as he slowly climbs on top of you

Giving you a wet and passionate kiss as he pushes his thick , 8 inch cock in to your dripping core , sliding in with ease as you were already soaked from the start

Without waisting a second Hyun started to violently pound in your wet cunt as you let out a loud moan forgetting all about trying to stay quite , eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let go of you legs , arm quickly wrapping around his neck and one claws at his back which heals within seconds

Aw Hyun su thrust becomes faster , back arching off off the bed as the room fills with the sound of lid skin slapping , Hyun su grabs at your hips with one hand as he uses the other to hold on to the head board, keeping you in pace as he violently pounds your now sensitive cunt as your climax was nearing once again

“ I-I’m , Please” you moan out as you hold eye contact with Hyun su

“Hold it” Hyun su says with a deep groan as he lets go of the head board, grabbing a hold of your neck , as he thrust becomes deeper kissing at your cervix , legs starting to shake as you try your hardest to hold your climax

Leaning in as he starts to give your a kiss , lips moving in sync as he lets go of your hip hand moving towards your dropping cunt as he start to rub your clot with slow circles , which soon turned into a pace pace almost like it was making his thrust as he continued to pound your wet core

Eyes now in the back of your head as your feel a knot form in your stomach, letting out loud moans in the kiss as you claw deeper in to Hyun su back , as you were to more in pleasure you didn’t release your came over Hyun su cock

Not until he came to complete stop , slowly braking the kiss as he pulls away from you , blue eyes looking between you and his now cremes cock as he take a minute to process what you did

“I didn’t say you could cum” Hyun su as he looks as you with a cold expression

“I-I C-Coulnt hold it, please” You managed to let out in a shaky breath

As Hyun Su still hold a cold expression eyes locked on yours , before your could say anything he start to pounded in your now sore and soaked cut and you let out a loud moan

Grabbing at your throat with both his hands and he pounds into you at a inhuman speed , once you didn’t know he had until now , as your legs starts to shake violently, arms clawing at his back as your kind becomes fuzzy to fucked out to think of anything other then Hyun Su’s thick cock inside of you

“P-Please, Slow.. D-Down” you managed to moan out as Hyun Su seems to ignore you as he thrust stats to do deeper biting at you womb as your back arch’s off the bed

“H-Hyun su .. C-Can’t.. N-No more” you moan as your eyes roll back a bit further making your feel as if they would pop out at any minute as your body starts to become sore , as your cunt couldn’t handle any more violent attacks, feeling a knot form in your stomach for the millionth time right as you try yo keep a hold of Hyun su as your boobs bounced with every thrust

“Cu-Cumming” you moan out as Hyun su grip tightens around your neck causing your cunt to tighten around his cock

“Hold it” Hyun Su demands as he thrust starts to become more sloppy with a few more thrust he came deep inside of your womb as your back arch , you cumming soon after as he continued to fuck his come in to yours , making sure they were mixed together before finally pulling out of your as he lays next to you , body now sore as you lay on his chest soon falling to sleep

As Hyun su laid next to you eyes soon turning to their normal color as he doses off to sleep

[neptunesyellowsands]

I don't know if this has been done before, but I've got a Merthur alt ending/prompt boring holes into my brain and I can't let it go. So, in DotD:

Merlin, realizing they won't make it to the lake in time, decides to try one last thing to save the king: to trade his own life for Arthur's via the power of life and death, a la Nimueh. It's a bold move, and it's unpredictable, but Merlin is both desperate and slightly ruthless when it comes to Arthur. Because he loves him.

However, since he wants to sacrifice himself, he needs a third party to work the magic. So when Morgana finds them, Merlin doesn't kill her. She's a High Priestess, like Nimueh. She could wield the magic herself. She might be the only one who can, actually, because Merlin has killed the only other two High Priestesses we know of - Nimueh and Morgause.

So he asks her to do it. He makes a convincing argument. She could be rid of him, Emrys, the bane of her existence, and they both know that he's the only thing keeping her from defeating Arthur. Once her army is rebuilt, she could return and take the kingdom for good, if she wanted. If not, she could live the rest of her life in peace, knowing she has defeated the greatest sorcerer of all time.

But Morgana is a seer. She sees that Arthur now knows about Merlin's magic and is accepting him. That Arthur is accepting Merlin, magic and all, because he loves him. That Arthur would likely, if he survived, return to Camelot and legalize magic, now that he knows. For Merlin. Because he loves him. For the first time, she looks in Arthur's eyes and believes he actually might have turned a corner, and in a wild fit of nostalgia and hope, she agrees -

But it doesn't work. The gods won't kill Emrys. It goes against the prophecy. Arthur and Merlin are to build the Golden Age together. One cannot exist without the other. They won't make the trade.

Instead, she explains, they demand something else in exchange for Arthur's life. Something that will allow them to replenish the dwindled population of magic-users without draining the earth's coffers and throwing off the balance once more. They will restore Arthur's life, but in return they will accept only one thing:

Merlin's magic.

In the end, it's not a hard decision for Merlin to make. Of course, he agrees. Of course, he would die for Arthur. He would kill for Arthur. But when he sacrifices his magic, it's something different altogether. As Morgana performs the spell, as the gods take back what they gave, as the golden magic pours out of Merlin's hands and ears and skin and trickles back into the earth to be dispersed elsewhere, Merlin gives away a part of himself he never thought could be separated. A connectivity that tied him to the ground. It's like going blind. It's like coming apart, atom by atom, and then being put back together with only half the pieces.

And Arthur watches it. He’s glad, at first. This will be easier anyway. None of them have to die today, and Arthur can keep Merlin’s secret. They can forget about the magic. They can go back to the way things were before. It might be hard, but their friendship might survive. And Arthur won’t have to protect Merlin. He’ll be safer, really.

He’ll be normal.

But then the thing happens, and Arthur watches, and he’s horrified. He's seen death. He's seen injury. But he's never seen this rending of a person from their essence, never seen the torment and pain of someone's magic being ripped from their body. He's never seen Merlin looking so gray as he does now. The golden light that he was taught to despise flickers in Merlin's eyes, like it's alive and trying to hold on, like it wants to stay, and then it's gone, and Merlin's tears aren’t rivers of gold anymore. They run tired and clear, and Merlin is a shell on the ground, fragile and hollow.

As the pain in Arthur's side begins to fade, as he takes the fullest breath he has in days and feels the vitality come back to his body, Arthur feels like he’s the monster here. Not Merlin. Not even Morgana. Him. His father. Everything he was taught to believe in.

Because he’s seen now what his father’s Purge did to his land. He’s watched Uther’s great vision for Camelot come to pass in the body of his best friend. The stripping away of magic. The destruction of this special, beautiful part of a person. 

And he’s seen what’s left. The shell. The empty gray.

Morgana disappears into a cloud of smoke. There is no place in Camelot for her now, but she has at least accomplished her goals. She's safe. She's free.

Arthur rises from the ground and picks up his sword. Merlin lies unconscious, and Arthur does the obvious: he carries him home.

Once he's back home, and Merlin is asleep in bed, and Gaius is digging out spellbooks and potions and all manner of incriminating truths, Arthur learns a few things:

Merlin is still Merlin. The magic was a tool, not his personality.

For those who possess it, magic functions like a sixth sense. Everything is learned and experienced through it, like any other sense. Everything. Moving through the world, seeing it, understanding it. 

Merlin was never actually clumsy.

Merlin was only ‘accident-prone’ because he had to suppress his magic so often. Sometimes, he played it up for his own advantage, but sometimes he just tripped because it wasn’t natural to walk around without reaching out with magic to find the floor first.

Now he has no magic.

Merlin is crippled, physically, once he wakes. He can move his body, but he can’t figure out where to put it.

He has no magic, but he is still Merlin. He’s still prone to fibbing, overwork, and sitting up late into the night to read. Still holds onto hope when he shouldn’t. Still tries and tries. And when he gives up, Arthur tells him he needs him, and he tries some more.

Because Arthur does need him. He wants to heal the rift in his land. He wants to stitch the wounds of his people put there by Uther. He never wants to see what happened to Merlin happen to anyone else. And he wants Merlin to be there, because he trusts him. Relies on him. Loves him.

Merlin has no magic, but he used to. He knows what’s needed by the people, the Druids, the land. When he drafts the documents needed to legalize magic, Arthur asks for Merlin’s help. And Merlin gives it. Of course he does. He’s still Merlin. He’s still too ready to give himself away. Still cheeky, to Arthur’s delight. 

Still wise.

Over time, Merlin learns to use utensils again. Two crutches come next, then one. Over the years, he is able to reduce it down to a staff, which he uses to find the floor. He trains a bird to go longer distances for him, across town or even just down the many flights of stairs in the castle. His mind rewires itself, relearns, but he will never have the wrist strength to buff armor again. 

Arthur wouldn’t have had him as a servant anyway. He makes him an advisor to the king, and he sits at the round table, at Arthur’s right hand. 

He sleeps, of course, in the king’s bed.

They call it the Golden Age, because all the magic Merlin poured into the earth comes back to the kingdom in waves. You can almost see it sparkling in the air sometimes, when the light hits it just right. Harvests are full and free of blight. Orchards blossom and hang heavy with fruit. More babes are born with magic in three years than have been in the last thirty. It’s Merlin, woven into every inch of the kingdom. It’s his gift to Arthur. To Camelot. To himself.

Merlin becomes a legend in his own right, known for his far-seeing eyes, his trusty staff, his surprisingly robust beard (Arthur is astonished and openly jealous). The kingdom benefits from his kindness and his ability to judge risk vs. reward. And the dragon helps, too, occasionally. 

Above all, Merlin is known for his wisdom, his council, and his unwavering love for Arthur.

Is it sad that Merlin had to give up his magic? Yes. But he never actually wanted it to begin with. Not really. Not to the extent he had it. He never wanted the burden of the prophecy. Like Arthur and his dream of relinquishing his reign and running off with Merlin to live on a farm, Merlin wanted to set aside the burden of being Emrys and return to himself. He wanted a life surrounded by love and peace. That was why he came to Camelot in the first place. He never, not once in his life, actually wanted power. He wanted the Golden Age. He wanted Arthur.

And he gets him.

[helluvapoison]

You were a rare soul— and that means something down here. You didn’t care about holding the title Overlord, nor the power that came with it. You had exactly zero souls under your belt, yet people… respected you. Not feared, respected. A peculiar word to hear in Hell.

Your name was uttered quieter than a whisper, like saying it an octave too loud would summon you.

The Rat King.

Soon you would meet…

˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer Morningstar ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: gn reader, language, angst, canon divergence

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• He thought it was very brave (re: idiotic) to carry the title king in his domain

• Lucifer came to you out of boredom, absurdity, and— no shit— the slightest bit of self indulgence! He was supposed to see this so called second king and rip them a new asshole. Except you weren’t a king— not even close

• He scoured you toes to head, seemingly unimpressed. Not rat-like, not king-like. Lucifer knew himself well enough to know he should have been bored by now. His expectations plummeted, nothing was going according to plan. And yet.. he found himself more curious than before

“You’re this ‘Rat King’ I hear so much about?”

“I guess so” You shrugged, “But I didn’t pick that name for myself.”

• You properly introduced yourself to the one and only king. Your real name tasted interesting on his tongue. Lucifer tested it thrice as he shook your hand, relooking you over like he missed something

• Apparently they called you The Rat King because you were in the secret trading business. Give one, get one. Simple as that. You explained the rules to him over a cup of tea that he asked for. It wasn’t his first or second choice of blend but he drank it to be polite. No other motive. Definitely not because there was a question on the tip of his split tongue

• Lucifer wasn’t the most observant of people. He couldn’t tell what people were thinking, he wasn’t fluent in body language. So when he caught your eyes bouncing between his tight grip on the chipped cup you offered him, to his jittery knee sticking out from where he sat. His body and his head were, for one, in agreeance; leave, they told him. He didn’t like to be sized up and that was always his go to answer for why someone was watching him so intently. But with his chest facing you, and his heart in control, he stayed put

• “Lilith.” He choked out, “I want any knowledge you have on her.”

Saying her name out loud hurt more than he thought it would. It was acid in his belly, smoke in his lungs, and fire on his tongue.

Your smile faded.

“What?” He scoffed, “Lemme guess, you want something, right? A deal? I have to make a deal to find my own wife? Let’s get this over with then! I’m the fucking King of Hell, whatever you want is—“

Your hand shot out so suddenly that Lucifer was almost disappointed. He was expecting this. Right? This is what Sinners did, it’s why they were here. Why was he hoping you’d be different? And, more importantly, when did hope creep into his system again? He hadn’t been on good terms with the feeling in decades.

• However, Lucifer’s disappointment was killed before it could spread. Gently, so gently he could cry, you took his hand and pushed it, palm down, onto the table. Your eyes never left his. There was something about them that captivated him. He loathed it. It made him feel small. Not the kind of small that equaled insignificant, either.

No, it was worse.

Vulnerable.

“I don’t do deals,” You said quickly and it had Lucifer wondering if those eyes of yours saw how his mind was spiraling.

Stealing his hand back, ignoring how he immediately missed the contact, he wiped it on his pants.

A suspicious glare took over his face, “You—?What? You don’t do deals? What does that even mean!?”

“I just… trade secrets,” You sounded so defeated, “I don’t need deals for that. But I don’t have any secrets about the queen. I’m sorry.”

• Lucifer expected pity to rear its ugly head from you any moment now. His pride couldn’t take that hit, not today. What was it about you that made him so fucking transparent?

• The uncomfortable silence began creeping into the insufferably small shop of yours. It was fucking suffocating.

“I wish I could help you, I really do.” You said softly.

He really wished you would stop doing that. Your softness felt like a dagger to the heart. Reminding him it existed was agony he thought he’d never feel again.

• “Not one?” Lucifer asked bitterly.

Not a single one of these undeserving demons and sinners that Lilith loved so much spoke about her? Not a whisper or a rumor? They just forgot about her? It’s only been 4 years!

“I’m sorry, your majesty, if I hear something, I can—“

“No… No, it’s fine.” Lucifer cut you off, holding up his hand. His wedding ring blinded him with a sparkling gleam. He sighed, “I think we’re done here.”

• You stepped behind him cautiously, walking him to the door.

“You’re welcome to come back?”

He scoffed out a laugh, grinning at you from over his shoulder, “You’re not getting any of my secrets.”

A smile of your own began to spread.

“I also dabble in conversation.”

_

(part one? or move on to the next character? i dunno if i feel like continuing but want this to be as interactive as possible so tell me what you would like to see!)

[misswynters]

Prophecy

[TAGS: sadness, soft aemond, angst

[notes | i need more soft aemond, not proofread

inspired by @demigoddessqueens <3

gif: @barbieaemond @peachysunrize

Aemond stood on the balcony of Maegor's Holdfast, staring out at the smoldering ruins of King's Landing. The twilight sky was heavy with smoke, the scent of ash and death permeating the air. Despair and anger twisted within him, threatening to consume him whole. His family was gone, scattered like leaves in a storm, leaving him to face the desolation alone.

The weeks leading up to this moment had been a nightmare. Aemond’s rage and fear had grown increasingly volatile, and you bore the brunt of his turmoil. Each time you tried to reach out to him, he shut you down with harsh words and cold stares, lashing out in fear and anger.

“Leave me be!” he had shouted one night, hurling a goblet across the room. It had narrowly missed your head, shattering against the wall behind you. You had flinched but stood your ground, refusing to be driven away by his outbursts.

“Aemond, I’m not your enemy,” you had said softly, your voice trembling. “I want to help you.”

He had turned on you then, his face a mask of fury. “Help me? How can you help me when you don’t understand? When you can’t possibly know what it’s like to have everyone you love ripped away from you?”

You had taken a step back, tears brimming in your eyes. “I understand more than you think. But you need to let me in, Aemond. You can’t keep pushing me away.”

His response had been to storm out, leaving you alone in the shattered remnants of his anger. It had been like this for weeks—moments of near-violence, followed by suffocating silence. Each time you approached him, he would lash out, his fear of losing you manifesting as uncontrollable rage.

Now, as he stood on the balcony, the weight of his grief pressing down on him, he felt a familiar dread. His grip on the stone railing tightened, his knuckles white. Memories of a childhood marked by doubt, insecurity, and fear surged to the surface. The tears that pooled in his eye were an unwelcome reminder of his vulnerability, and he despised himself for this perceived weakness.

Footsteps echoed softly behind him, but he didn't turn until he heard your voice. "Aemond?"

He turned slowly, his heart heavy. Your eyes, filled with worry and concern, met his. It was almost too much to bear.

"Would you leave me all the same, my love?" His voice was raw, laced with a bitterness that surprised even him. "Just like my family?"

Your eyes widened with hurt, and you stepped closer. "Aemond, no. I would never leave you. I'm here. I'm always here."

He scoffed, turning away from you. "That's what they all said. And look where I am now. Alone."

"Aemond," you pleaded, reaching out to touch his arm. "Please, look at me."

He remained rigid, the tears finally spilling over. "I don't know how to hold on anymore. Everyone I've ever loved is gone. How can I believe you'll stay?"

You moved in front of him, your frustration bubbling over. "You get like this when you're losing me or when you're being challenged. You shut down, lash out, and push everyone away. But I'm still here, Aemond, despite all of it. I’ve seen the worst of you, and I haven’t left."

He stared at you, anger and confusion warring in his eye. "How can you understand? You don’t know what it’s like."

"You’re right," you said, your voice firm. "I don’t but i can see how it’s affecting you. I don’t want you to end up in a place you aren’t meant for."

He looked away, the weight of your words sinking in. "But what if I can't protect you? What if I fail you like I've failed everyone else?"

"You haven't failed me," you whispered, your thumb brushing away his tears. "And you won't. We will face whatever comes."

Aemond's shoulders shook with silent sobs, and despite his initial resistance, he allowed himself to be pulled into your embrace. "I'm so scared," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I've lost so much...I can't lose you too."

You held him close, your own tears mingling with his. "You won't lose me, Aemond. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We'll get through this. Together."

He clung to you, his walls crumbling in the face of your unwavering support. As he held you, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, amidst the ruins, there could be a new beginning.

But then he pulled back slightly, his expression shifting to one of deep worry. "Helaena," he whispered. "She told me something. She said I would die when I go harrenhal and fight a battle at the Gods Eye." Your heart clenched at his words but remained silent since you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t want aemond to die a brutal death, it can’t be true. However aemond pulled you out of your mind as he spoke.

"I've always trusted her visions," he continued, voice shaking. "If she's right...if I'm fated to die, how can I keep you safe? How can I protect you from what’s coming?"

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "We can't live in fear of what might be. Helaena's visions may come true, but they don't define us. We face whatever comes, together. And if you go to the Gods Eye, then I'll be by your side, no matter what happens."

Aemond's eye searched yours, filled with uncertainty and fear. "I can't lose you," he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

"You won't," you vowed. "Not now, not ever. We're stronger together, Aemond. And we'll face whatever comes, side by side."

In that moment, amidst the ruins and the smoke, Aemond found a glimmer of hope. With you by his side, he felt a strength he had thought lost forever. And though the future remained uncertain, he knew that, together, you could face whatever fate had in store.

tags: @benjicotblckwood @beebeechaos @spn-obession

banner by: @cafekitsune

[innerfare]

Random Mihawk Headcanons

Summary: a random collection of Mihawk headcanons

CW: None // SFW

———

Can’t stop adopting strays to save his life. He’s a sucker for a mangy cat or unwashed pirate. Perona was quite literally the only hygienic guest he’d ever had at his castle. Zoro’s bathhouse allergy only further endeared him to Mihawk. 

Also such a cat person in general. He’s introverted, too. Prefers the peace and quiet, enjoys sitting with a glass of wine, a good book, and a purring cat in his lap. That being said, for whatever reason, he just can’t help but gravitate toward rambunctious dogs who get mud on the carpet (i.e., Shanks). 

In general, has a magnet pull toward things he disdains and even outright despises. In relationship terms, this means he claims to want someone who will make him better, but he will really only go for someone who will make him worse. King of guilty pleasures.

Suffered the loss of someone he loved dearly when he was quite young. Shanks knew the person, too, thus their bond. The person died at the hands of a marine who saw no consequences, thus beginning Mihawk's reign as the dreaded Marine Hunter.

Is actually a horrible shot. Can't fire a gun or bow and arrow to save his life. Claims to dislike these weapons and refuses to fire them because an honorable fight can only take place in close quarters (or something like that) in order to save face. Only Shanks, Beckman, and Zoro know he can't shoot.

Smells so good. Has a fondness for jewels and shiny metal, fine wine, and other such luxuries, but expensive perfume has always been his weakness. A bottle was the first thing he purchased after his first big score as a pirate. 

Complains incessantly about being bored but is such a creature of habit that it’s a cage of his own making, low key. He wants excitement, but he also doesn’t like sleeping in a bed that isn’t his own or sipping wine he doesn’t like from a glass he did not hand select. He’s only grown more particular with age. 

Has a sentimental side. The type to keep small mementos to remind him of various events and people. Sometimes goes back through these mementos when he'd had a bit too much wine to drink. These include everything from his first sword to a copy of Shanks' first wanted poster.

Hates how people act around him- the infamous Mihawk. Be it kissing his ass or tripping over their words because they’re scared, he hates being ogled. Actually bonded with Crocodile over how annoying the masses, as he calls them, are in that regard. 

Claims to hate it when the Red Hair pirates come to stay because they always make a mess of things, but smiles to himself every time he passes the tapestry a drunk Lucky Roux somehow managed to rip a hole in despite its place so high on his wall. 

Though he had a perfectly logical reason for telling Crocodile to spare Buggy, he would have gone to bat for the Clown regardless due to his connection to Shanks, not that he would ever admit to this. Why Shanks is soft on Buggy is completely lost on Mihawk. 

Doesn’t do anything half-assed, and part of that means reading up on everything he does. Gardening? Stack of books. Cooking? Another stack of books. Interior design? More books. 

Total wine snob (obviously). Likes his wine as red as blood and dry as Alabasta. If it’s sweet, he doesn’t consider it to be a wine and scoffs at it. Only respects wine drinkers who share his particular taste. Nearly died when he found Buggy’s cellar full of rosé. 

Has repaired roofs and walls, but is a bit lost on how to decorate his castle beyond high-quality basics (silk sheets, fine glassware, etc.). Would appreciate someone’s thoughts on wall art, fine china, and furniture. 

If Beckman were not in the picture, would take his place as Shanks’ first mate in a heartbeat. Would also never admit this, pretends to hate the idea of being on a crew. Also has sexual tension with Beckman that has never been addressed, probably never will be.  

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (10) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: coryo haunts your every moment.

word count: 1,737

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: another shorter chapter rip, reader is conflicted, pet names (petal), not proofread

“Get out of bed!” your mother said, grabbing at your blankets and trying to pull them off of you. 

“I shall not!” you protested, holding onto the blankets with all your might. She tugged harder on them, but you wrapped yourself around the edge she wasn’t holding so that you could become further cocooned. Your mother let out a frustrated shout before finally releasing her hold. 

“And why not?”

“I…am ill.”

“The King is expecting you at the ball.”

“The King can kiss my ass,” you mutter. 

Your mother shouted your name so loud that you were sure the Cardews, who lived on the other side of the square, could hear her. She made another grab for the blankets, yanking so hard that you were pulled out of bed with them. 

“I refuse to go,” you snapped, throwing the blankets off of yourself and attempting to crawl back into bed. Your mother grabbed at your ankle, stopping you from getting much further from the foot of the bed. “Tell the King I am sick or that my courses have came and I’m in terrible pain.”

“I will not tell your betrothed about your womanly issues,” your mother hissed. “Why must you be so difficult? Weren’t you getting along so well with the King before?”

Oh, you were getting along with him, if only because you were playing the role of a dutiful bride. You called him Coryo, you accept his kisses and kissed him in return, you let him hold you. When you found yourself bored out of your mind at home, you would traipse over to the palace. You would pretend it was an effort to stay close to Coryo, but truly you only sought out the comfort of the vast library. (Though, it was not as if you despised his companionship like you did before. Was he poisoning your mind by keeping you in such close proximity?) 

“I can get along with him after we are married.”

You barely saw your mother rolling her eyes. “You would best get used to getting along with him now. After you are wed, you will have to do whatever he pleases regardless of your own feelings on the matter.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She let out a long sigh before sitting next to you on the edge of your bed. She stared at her lap for a moment, then reached over for your hand. You were sure it was more for her comfort than anything for you. “When you are wed, there are things that you must do to appease your husband. To produce an heir, you will…have to lay with him.”

Your mother continued with an awkward description of what “laying with him” meant. To your chagrin, she did not spare any details about the discomfort you would experience with the act. How men are seldom kind with it. How, even after you gave him children, he would still force you into bed for his own pleasure. How you might never experience pleasure from it. Would Coryo be like that?, you wondered. He was like other men in a lot of ways. He could be cold and callous and demanding. But he was different, too. He let you be mouthy and do as you please. You often thought he enjoyed the way you would never just let things be. Coryo could be kind, in his own strange way. Would he be like other men, or would he surprise you? Would he treat you differently?

“…I think I might actually be sick now,” you murmur. You squeeze your mother’s hand, grateful for once for her presence.

“I don’t say all of this to scare you, dove,” she continued, “but I would be a failure as a mother if I let you go into this union completely blind. I would be like my mother. I would not forgive myself if kept the realities of marriage from you.”

And, suddenly, it dawned on you why your mother seldom cared for your father’s presence. He, too, was like other men.

“I …thank you.”

Your mother squeezed your hand back, then let go. She stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. “I will give you a few moments to collect yourself, then I shall send your lady’s maid in so you may get ready for the ball.”

You cannot change my entire perspective on how a marriage operates and leave like nothing happened, you wanted to say. But you still felt queasy. You worried if you said anything, you might be sick all over yourself and the floor. It would take so long to make you presentable again, you would surely be late for the ball. Coryo may be a kind man at times, but you knew him well enough to know that he would feel disrespected if you missed this event. Especially when he through all the trouble of planning it.

So, you nodded and took deep breaths, trying to control yourself. 

“Well, if you aren’t the perfect picture of a bride-to-be, I don’t know who is,” Livia said, joining you at your side as you entered the palace’s ballroom. “It almost makes me wish I was getting married.”

“I’ll be sure to let your mother know you think so. There are still plenty eligible young men, and plenty of time left in the season,” your mother said, holding back a laugh, before slipping off to join the other mothers of the ton. 

Livia nearly grimaced. “Perhaps I should have waited until you were alone to say that.”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about that. She doesn’t mean it. She can’t tease me anymore since I hit back harder, so she’ll aim for anyone she perceives as weaker.”

Livia looked unconvinced as she watched your mother laugh with hers. “We’ll see. If I end up engaged by the end of the week, I will write you to a letter to say I told you so.”

“Or you could tell me in person.”

Livia blinked. “In a week’s time, you’ll be in your honeymoon period with the King. By the time I see you again, I could be married and off for my own honeymoon.”

“Oh. I…I forget that it’s so soon. So much has happened in such a short while.” And, oh, how you wanted to tell her. Or perhaps not Livia specifically, but someone. Tell someone about the secret deals between your father and Coryo, how Sejanus tried to convince you to run away with him, how you’ve pretended to like Coryo for so long that it didn’t quite feel like pretending anymore. 

“Perhaps then I should remind you?” a teasing voice came from your side, followed by a kiss to your cheek. You painted a smile on your face as you looked up at Coryo. “I can’t have my bride forgetting such an important day.”

“You shouldn’t have swept me up in such a whirlwind then, Coryo,” you said. It still felt strange to call him by his nickname, especially in such a public setting. It was a bit more natural in private, when there wasn’t prying eyes and listening ears abound. This felt too…vulnerable. Like you were exposing yourself to the ton. 

Coryo beamed, his pretty white teeth sparkling. Even if calling him by his nickname left you feeling vulnerable, you knew it put you in his good graces. You had hated seeing him so enraged at Sejanus, worried about the lengths he would go to prove you could not be stolen away from him. Calling him Coryo was the only way you could get him to see reason. 

“Ah, but then I couldn’t do this, could I?”

In front of everyone, Coryo pulled your face close to his, planted his lips right on yours. It wasn’t his usual sort of kiss, all tongue and teeth. No, this was softer, gentler. A kiss that made you believe that maybe he did love you all of these years, that he did truly propose three times before finally getting to call you his. When he pulled away, a soft smile on his face, you had to force yourself to tear your eyes, to ignore the quick thump-thump-thump-ing of your heart. 

Oh, but looking away was worse.  

For it seemed like the entire ton was enraptured by your kiss with Coryo. So you looked back at him, hoping that the ton would fade away from your peripheral vision. 

Coryo’s hand found yours. He intertwined his fingers with your own, his thumb rubbing the top of your hand. “I want to show you something,” he said to you. To Livia, he said, “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Cardew.”

Without waiting for her to say anything, Coryo pulled you away. He led you through the crowd, ignoring anyone who attempted to start a conversation with him. He was the perfect picture of focused.

“Do I get to know where you’re stealing me away to?”

Coryo huffed out a laugh. “I’m hardly stealing you away, petal. You looked overwhelmed out there. I thought you might like some fresh air.”

He took you out to the balcony that overlooked the gardens. You chose to focus on the beautiful rose bushes you could see, the white petals shining under the moonlight. “That tends to happen when everyone is watching an unmarried woman be kissed.”

A brow raised. “I can’t kiss my wife?”

“Of course you can,” you said. You offered a teasing smile. “When I am your wife. Until then, it’s private kisses only.”

“We’re in private now.”

“How convenient for you.” You placed your hands on his chest as he grabbed your waist. “Did you bring out here on false pretenses? Playing the role of my knight in shining armor so that you might continue to defile me before we wed? My, my, you are such a snake.”

“Would you blame me if I did?”

Yes. No. Maybe. You were never less sure of anything than you were about Coryo. He burrowed  himself under your skin, tore you from the inside out. But when he was sweet, oh, he could be sweet. When he was like that, you were half convinced that your teeth might just all rot away. Snow was everything that you hated, but Coryo could be everything that you loved. Damn him for containing multitudes. 

“Just kiss me. Please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Divine Intervention

God AU Luffy x GN!Reader

1.2k words

Doing your best to tune out the chanting echoing around you, you forced your breathing to even out. It wasn’t going to do much in the long run, but you wanted to calm down to preserve what little dignity you had left before your untimely death.

You probably only had a few minutes left. After the incantations were finished, whatever god they were about to summon would likely rip you apart for their own amusement. At least that’s what you assumed would happen based on what you knew about gods. Very few of them were kind to humans, and you doubted that these people were summoning one of them.

It would almost be a mercy to end you now with how much pain you were in. Your body was bloodied and bruised from the fight you put up in an attempt to get away from these lunatics. All you had done was offer food to some freedom fighters, and that was enough to earn the monarchy’s ire. Enough ire to abduct you from your home in the middle of the night to use you as a sacrifice to some god that they would unleash upon the freedom fighters to snuff out their cause.

The chanting had stopped, and everyone waited with baited breath as the room fell into silence. The seconds ticked by with all the urgency of a stagnant stream. Judging by the rustling and hushed whispers going on around you, it would seem your captors were becoming anxious from the lack of anyone divine appearing in the temple. What would they do if no one answered? Would they let you go, or simply kill you? Probably the latter.

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light, and a burst of heat throughout the room. Their call had been answered. You flinched and screwed your eyes shut, not wanting to see who was about to be the end of you and the resistance. 

The ringleader of your kidnappers spoke up, “We thank you deeply for answering our call, fearsome god of battle, Zoro.” You didn’t even need to be able to see this prick to know that he was offering only the most smarmy of grins right now.

“Oh, I’m not Zoro. He was busy and asked me to see who was bein’ so loud and annoying while he’s trying to train,” the god answered back, sounding mostly bored. “Do you have any food?” 

Against your better judgment, your eyes cracked open and you risked a glance at whoever this strange god was that showed up. He was standing near the altar you were currently chained to, with his back to you. The robe he was wearing was dirty, covered in what appeared to be grass stains, dirt, and flecks of blood. It was also undone up top, with the bottom only staying in place thanks to a sash tied around his waist. On his head was a simple straw hat, the kind you typically see farmers wearing. 

It was odd to see a god wearing something like this. Not that you’d seen one in person before, but still. You’d always imagined that they would be in only the finest of clothing, and that it would be pristine.

The stone slab you were on was digging into your hip, and you shifted slightly to try and aleve the pain. Much to your horror, the chains make noise, and the god perks up and turns to face you. You’re frozen in place as you make eye contact with the god, something that you’re sure is a taboo, but it’s too late. There’s a small scar under his left eye that your gaze briefly flickers to, before returning to his dark eyes. They’re so much… warmer than you would expect the eyes of a god to be. 

The small smile he sported when he first faced you dropped into a frown. You flinch involuntarily and look away, terror filling you at the thought that he was incensed by your audacity to look him in the eye.

“What’s this about? Were you praying for someone to help them? Zoro probably wasn’t a good choice for that,” his tone was much flatter than it was before.

The ringleader scoffed, “They are the sacrifice, and they aren’t for you. Can you please have Zoro come here? We need his strength to wipe out a rebellion that’s been inconveniencing the king.”

A calloused hand slid under your back and gently propped you up into a sitting position. You kept your head down, desperate to avoid offending him anymore than you already have. His hands moved to the chains wrapped around you. He gripped them tightly, and then effortlessly snapped them. Loose chain links loudly clattered on the ground as they fell. You couldn’t comprehend why he was doing this, but you still refrained from looking at him.

“What are you doing?! You have a lot of nerve for some god’s attendant!”

“Zoro doesn’t have attendants,” he answered simply, much more focused on the task of breaking and tossing away the remaining chains and shackles still on you. Not once did he injure you in the process, much to your surprise.

“Then who are you?” He seethed. You could hear your captor stomping towards you, and you subconsciously leaned into the touch of the god. It was beyond you how that man could mistake this god for being an attendant. You couldn’t explain it, but he just had this energy emanating off of him that made it clear he was far too powerful to be anything less than that. 

“I’m the freedom god, but most people just call me Luffy.”

There were audible gasps throughout the room, and the leader stopped dead in his tracks. Your head snapped up to look at the god again, but this time your heart was filled with hope. You’d heard tell of this god. A god that valued freedom for all above anything else. He was a hero and had liberated countless people around the world. Your throat was raw from screaming at the king’s guard while they took you away, but you forced yourself to speak regardless.

“Help me… please,” you croaked.

Luffy blinked, then smiled widely. Looking upon his smile felt like basking in the warm sun. He patted your shoulder reassuringly and responded with a simple, “Of course!”

You felt like a crushing weight was off your shoulders, and soon it would be off everyone else’s, too. Luffy had left your side and was rapidly approaching the others, but you didn’t feel vulnerable anymore. 

Panic erupted in the room as people shoved eachother out of the way in an attempt to escape from the god that had now been turned loose on them. Before anyone could slip out through the temple’s only exit, Luffy shot out his foot. The leg stretched unnaturally, allowing him to land a direct hit over the archway. The stonework crumbled instantly underneath the force of the blow, trapping everyone in the room.

Luffy cracked his knuckles loudly and rolled his shoulders, grinning at the now cowering people. Something told you that he was about to enjoy beating these people as much as you were going to enjoy watching him do so.

[helaelaemond]

Pulling Apart - Aemond x Reader

Pairing:  Aemond x f!reader

Word count: 874

Summary: The Dance of the Dragons has begun, and it is dragging your lover away from you. You have little fight left in you, and try to make him stay one last time.

Content warning(s): elements of dubcon, Aemond can't get hard, angst, no happy ending

INCLUDES: oral (m receiving)

Rating: E

"Stay."

"No."

"Stay."

Aemond's lip twitches. He looks at you with a hard stare, and you do your best not to flinch under it. "My brother awaits me."

"It is the middle of the night. All the king awaits is a whore from Flea Bottom and a barrel of red."

"Don't." His voice is quiet. There is a threat in it.

"I want you to stay."

"What you want is of no consequence."

You grab his arm as he turns away. "It is of every consequence!"

"Why?" he asks coldly, ripping away from you. "Who are you to the realm?"

"I am the woman you love."

He is quiet for a moment. His one good eye bores into yours until you feel your soul utterly bared to him. "I do not deny that. But..."

"But what?" It's impossible to hide the desperation from your voice.

"But it is not enough."

"Aemond, please-"

Long strides take him across his chamber towards the door, and you follow with heavy steps, the cold of the flagstone floor making your feet feel numb. It's warm in the room, but your body has turned to ice. In front of the door, you drop to your knees. "Please," you beg. Taking his hands into yours, you look up at him with shining eyes. "I'm afraid."

"Of what?" His lips are so tight that the words barely come out.

"Of losing you. We are falling apart, you and I, and it frightens me."

"There is a war out there, I cannot simply-"

"There is a war in here, too!" And you pull his hand over your heart. Why can he not understand? "There is a darkness in you that you will not allow me to shine a light on any longer. You're pulling away from me to a precipice from which you may not return."

He tries to pull away but your hands go to his hips.

"Stay," you tell him again. Your hands go to the laces on the front of his breeches.

"No." He pushes you away gently.

"Stay."

He is stronger than you, and faster, and he could leave if he wanted, he really could. That's what you tell yourself when you sink your hand into the warmth of his trousers. The soft hair there tickles your skin and you whimper as your fingers trace his base.

"Please," you beg more softly this time. "Don't leave me alone. Do not go where I cannot follow."

"I will return once the war is won," he replies, his voice low and tense. In his thighs, muscles twitch and move to hold himself upright more firmly. One hand goes into your hair. It's unclear whether he wants to push you away or pull you closer.

It doesn't matter. You pull his soft cock free and stroke it in your hand and rest your forehead against his groin - he groans softly when you press his head against your cheek. Closing your eyes to concentrate on the feeling of him alone, you pull back his tender foreskin and run the pad of your thumb over his slit.

He used to be hard for you at just a glance.

But it's been weeks.

"Aemond," you whisper. "I'm losing you."

He makes no reply. He stands as still as stone. Turning your face, you lick a line up his cock and take his tip into your mouth. The salt of his skin makes you whine softly. Taking him deeper, tears prick your eyes. Please, you think, come back to me.

Long fingers scratch across your scalp. "Stop," he commands.

You take him deeper until he touches the back of your throat. It makes you gag, and when he pushes you off him, you let out a cry of despair. Back on your heels you sit. What now?

"Aemond," you weep. "I'm lost without you."

Your lover, tall and proud and nothing more than a frightened boy, looks down at you. His expression is unreadable. "That is of no consequence."

"You are lost without me."

The pretty bow of his lips curls as if he is going to reply. It is torture when he does not. All he gives you is a hum. And then he tucks himself back into his breeches, and tugs his jacket into place again while you drag yourself back to your feet.

"This is it, Aemond," you tell him shakily. "I cannot fight any longer when you have no intent in fighting for me in return."

He watches you with severity in his pretty face.

"I mean it. You leave now, and you will never see me again."

'Hmm."

And for a fleeting moment, there is a glimmer of hope. He pulls you to him suddenly, and runs his nose up your jaw and into your hair. "Lavender," he breathes into your ear. "It will always make me think of you."

"Aemond."

His arms envelop you in warmth, and you are home. You turn your head to meet his kiss, and it is searing. It leaves you both breathless. When he says your name, you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Stay," you say one last time.

By the time you open your arms, he is gone. The cold returns.

[xxnghtclls]

Permission

Chapter 45

(Chapter 44; Chapter 46)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags!

Abyss

Your question fills the room, as you hear him biting into a finger.

He turns to you and eyes you up and down, before he pokes his tongue between his teeth and smacks his lips.

“Not here.” he responds carelessly.

Crack.

“I wish she would’ve waited for me.” you say in thought, as you walk to his door and take a peek outside, hoping to catch her walking down the halls.

No one is there. Only those quiet halls are staring back at you. Empty and bleak, as if nobody ever walked through it.

A lightning brightens up the walls. Still empty.

And suddenly the weird feeling from earlier grows in your stomach, as you remember.

She had to go to the kitchen to get his dinner… after Sayako’s punishment.

Crack.

A rumble.

Something isn’t right.

His eyes bore into your figure and as you turn back around, something suddenly catches your eye. Something on the cart’s handle. You squint your eyes, as you notice red smear on its right side. Moving closer, your heartbeat quickens. Leaning in, you touch it with your fingertip. You blink and you start feel nauseous, as the smear and lints stick to your finger and you realise it’s…

blood.

“My King?” you call him in worry and your breath quickens, as you look back to him, showing him your stained finger.

His upper pair of eyes focus on your finger, while the bottom pair stays on you. Staying silent, he keeps chewing, before his upper pair jump back to your eyes again.

No reaction.

And you get scared.

“Talk to me. Please.” you beg, your eyes grow wet while you turn back around. “Where is she? Did you order Uraume to take her-?”

The anxiety doesn’t even let you complete your question, as you open the chamber door another time and look into the halls again.

No one.

And no answer.

You keep staring into the emptiness of the hall, your mind running circles.

The handle never caught blood from the plates before and if she was wounded, she would’ve stayed here. Of course she would’ve stayed here. Waiting for me. Where’s she? And blood? Blood?? Only the right side of the handle. Lints. Traces of bandages? Could it have been…

Sa-?

Your heart beats in your throat and a chill comes over you, as you turn back and stomp to Sukuna.

“Who brought this cart?-” you raise your voice at him, but get interrupted, as your eyes finally take a glance at the plates on the cart.

Your heart almost stops beating and Sukuna… stays silent.

Four red eyes keep boring into you, as you try to swallow down a panic attack from the sight in front of you, panting in shock and anxiety, as you see the plates.

Just now you see them. Not having paid attention to them earlier, because you have seen the bits and pieces oh so many times. Not thinking of anything unusual, because most of them contain the usual. A heart. Fingers. Slaps of meat.

All except for one plate. The plate which sight makes you want to scream.

A plate with a tongue.

Bloody. Bright red. Fresh.

Cut. off.

No! No No NoNo!

Your mind short circuits and you burst through the door, sprinting through the halls. Pulse rising and beating in your throat and you feel nauseous, hoping what you fear isn‘t true.

Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap

Around the corner.

Please.

TapTapTapTapTapTap

A rumble.

You run faster and before you can reach the next doors, they fall open.

Akiko, being pushed harshly through the doors, stumbles in your direction, her eyes ripped open wide in panic and shock, as a river of blood flows down her chin, neck and her kimono.

„AKIKO!“ you scream, before both of you collide, making her collapse in your arms. Akiko‘s weight pulls you to the ground.

You hear a devious giggle and you look up, seeing Sayako’s grin being lit up by the lightning from outside, waving at you with her right hand, bloody bandages covering her wounds and amputated finger, before the doors fall shut. Looking back down to Akiko laying in your arms, you panic.

„No! No No NoNoNo!!!“ you cry.

Unable to talk, Akiko pulls at your sleeves in agony, as her panicked eyes fill with tears. Dark bruises on her face from whatever they’ve done to her.

Another lightning.

The crimson blood keeps pooling in her mouth, the sight makes you want to scream in horror. A panic you’ve never felt before and you’re remembered of what this place truly is.

What can I do? What can I do?

You feel so helpless.

„No!“ you try to pull her up back to her feet, want to drag her to Sukuna, want him to heal her, so that you can throw her out of this shithole of a shrine. Make her forget you and you forget her. Make her forget she ever had to call something like you her Lady. Make yourself forget her little talks and smiles and meals and how nice she was to you.

She didn’t deserve to get to know me.

And I definitely didn’t deserve to get to know her.

Your guilt ridden mind repels any kindness to yourself, as you try to hoist her back on her feet.

But she can‘t.

Another rumble.

Akiko collapses again, her force on your sleeves pulls you back down with her. She starts to choke on her own blood, starts to cough violently. Her eyes fill with red, making her blue orbs drown into a red lake of her own blood. You tremble, the panic overcomes you and you freeze. Tears of shock and agony drip down onto her bleeding face.

“Shhh Shhh shhh!” you desperately try to calm her, holding her face, but she keeps struggling, keeps coughing, blood hits your face.

And you know she’s going to die. Right here, right now.

„I‘m so sorry! I’m so sorry!“ you whimper quietly.

Akiko shakes and twitches in your helpless arms, gasps for air and groans voicelessly. Her nails dig into the sleeves of your kimono, so tight, you think you can hear the fabric slowly ripping.

And there is nothing you can do.

“I’m here, I’m here. I’m so sorry!” you keep whispering and crying.

You press your eyes shut, hoping it is just a nightmare that you can wake up from. She twitches and twitches.

It’s just a nightmare.

And she stops.

It’s just a nightmare.

A pause.

Thunder.

Followed by silence.

Your open your eyes, see Akiko motionless in front of you. Until another lightning lights up her face.

Lifeless.

Your eyes widen in terror, as you see her empty eyes staring back at you, pain and suffering still noticeable in them. The blue abyss in the middle of her bloodshot eyes. Only traces of the blonde colour of her hair are left between the crimson massacre. Your shaking hand moves a strand of her hair out of her face, as you start weeping.

And your heart hurts. Hurts so, so much. Like it’s being ripped out of your body with an unearthly force.

And it burns. Burns so so much. With the fire of rage and hate. It’s eating you up, your brain and soul. You tense up and your whole body starts shaking. Clenching your jaw, you look to the door you saw Sayako’s ugly shitface giggling at you just moments ago. Your thighs are ready to make you jump on your feet again, but-

No!

I can’t leave her here.

I gotta bring her to Sukuna.

Maybe he can…

You swallow your pain and rage for a moment longer and stand up. Crouching down behind her, you carefully put your arms under hers. Then, you take everything you have in you and hoist her up, pressing her shoulders tight against your chest.

And then you take a step.

And another.

Another.

It takes all your strength to drag her lifeless body across the hall. Every step you take, makes the pain more unbearable, makes the rage more evident.

I should‘ve told her. I should‘ve told her.

To leave this place.

This gruesome place.

Full of blood and death and corpses.

Step by step.

And I knew.

It’s no place for her.

Holding on so tight.

Heavy.

I knew.

The distance to his chambers seems so long. Longer and longer and the weight of agony and guilt slows you down with every step you take.

Slowly, you reach his door, it’s still open. You drag her inside and look over your shoulder, seeing Sukuna sitting in his armchair, his legs crossed and his face leaned on his fist, almost as if he’s waiting. His eyes widen as soon as he sees you.

“My King!” you call desperately, as you try to turn around. Loosing balance, you collapse in front of him. Akiko‘s body slams on the floor right next to you. The loud muffled sound is unbearable in your ears.

„Please heal her!“ you beg, exhausted, while looking at her corpse. Her empty eyes still staring into the void.

He doesn‘t answer.

And his silence starts pissing you off.

„Sukuna!“ you shout, as you finally look at him.

And your eyes meet his red ones, see how they are watching you, squint at you, almost unnoticeable, as if he’s waiting for anything that you might do next.

But his lips keep shut.

The weight in his gaze is crushing your heart, making your throat feel dry as sand, as your lips start trembling, as your mind starts searching for words. But you can’t, shocked by his coldness and his refusal to do anything. He watches your struggle and starts mumbling, before you can say anything.

“She’s dead.”

Anger pools up your throat and you snap. Getting back up on your feet, you stomp in front of him and grab his jaw with your left hand, pulling him closer to your face.

“Don’t you dare to lecture me.” you spit. “Are you unable to heal her or unwilling?” you continue, your eyes growing sinister, making his lip twitch. His brow furrows and his eyes widen in anger and dance between yours, while his bottom right eye jumps back to Akiko. His jaw tenses up beneath your fingers, before he hisses at you.

“Careful.” so low and sharp.

“No!” you hiss back, tightening your grip on his jaw. “I’m not.”

“No… you’re not.” he repeats you lowly through his teeth.

“Answer me!” you dig your nails into his cheeks and you hear his nails scratch into the armrests of his chair. His jaw is tensing more and more, making your your heart beat in your throat. This is a line you have never crossed before, but your pain is pushing you and-

“Keep pushing-” he growls deeply, making you frown in confusion, as suddenly

Knock

Knock

Knock

You flinch at the sudden noises on the door and before you can turn around completely, you hear the door open and Uraume’s voice speak.

“Master Sukuna.” so calm and monotone. “Blood was shed-“

“Uraume!” you call them, letting go of Sukuna and walking straight to them, helplessly grabbing their hands and pulling them into the room.

Uraume stumbles after you and you pull them right next to where Akiko is laying in front of your King. Their eyes linger on her lifeless body, before they shoot to Sukuna. You follow their glance, seeing Sukuna glaring at the both of you.

Silence.

Your heart starts racing.

It’s too much.

This tension.

The apathy of them both makes you want to scream.

“Please!” you beg, grabbing and squeezing their hands hands again, shifting their focus back to you.

“Please, Uraume!” panic rises in your throat again and your voice trembles, as your eyes fill with tears. You kneel back down to Akiko and place your hand on her chest. “Can you heal her?”

Uraume clenches their jaw, a hint of worry in their eyes, before they crouch down next to you. Their hand hovers over Akiko’s face, before they stroke over her jaw. Blood sticks onto their fingers.

A pause, before they turn back to you.

“I apologise.” they say, looking you in the eyes and you think, that you have never seen them so sincere.

So sincere.

A wave of emptiness washes through your being like a wave, almost pulls you down into an abyss of lightless needles and smoke that suffocates your lungs. The tears keep rising and hopelessness overcomes you, as you look back to Akiko.

It‘s my fault.

My fault.

My…

“My mess. I saw you leaving. You brought her to the kitchen to clean up my mess, didn’t you?” you ask Uraume quietly, not pulling your gaze from Akiko, your voice growing thick. “I should’ve known… should’ve known. Should’ve known that you would send her instead of me.” you mumble desperately, referring to Sukuna. “Because you always kept me by your side. And I didn’t notice. Instead, I was enjoying myself… and you. I let myself drown in this victory of earning this special place at your side. Let myself drown in those malicious feelings, this bloodlust, instead of going with her and face what I’ve done. It should’ve been me.”

The guilt grows in your body like poison, pumping the deadly mixture into every cell that you’re made out of. Breathing becomes painful and you bury your face into your hands, let your self fall forward, as you’re kneeling right next to Akiko’s corpse.

“How could I not know that this monster would immediately seek revenge for my behaviour? For this punishment. Her finger for a tongue… The tongue. She told me about the tongue.!” you press your eyes shut. “I was so dumb. So dumb. So dumb.” you tense up more and more.

And then you break. You start to sob. Sob harder and harder, start to wail in agony over your loss and guilt. Tensing up so badly, it’s getting harder and harder for you to breathe.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Oh god it hurts.

“It hurts so much.” you cry and sob, before you faintly hear Sukuna shift. Suddenly his hand lays on the back of your neck. So gentle. So warm and soothing.

“Don’t let this agony consume you.” he whispers to your left, his voice a sudden balm for your soul.

“I couldn’t do anything. Just watched her die.” you keep talking, while his thumb gently strokes your skin.

And somehow, it keeps you on this earth. Keeps you from falling further into the abyss of pain and guilt and consuming darkness.

He leans his forehead against your temple.

“Y/N.”

His voice.

“What should I do?” you ask desperately. “I should’ve gone with her.”

“Y/N.”

Oh his voice.

“I should be the one who-“

“Y/N!” he suddenly growls loudly, ripping you back to reality, as his fist clenches into your hair. “Look at her!” he continues aggressively, yanking your head down, right in front of Akiko’s blood filled face. “How does it make you feel?”

Your eyes widen in panic, as the tears flow from your eyes. Desperately, you grab onto his sleeves, still wet from the rain, hold on to him like he’s a rock you hold onto in a hurricane.

“Sadness. Guilt. Fear. Panic. Sickness.” he spits. “Look at you! Your mind is oozing with those. It’s making me sick!”

Your eyes widen, his words stab you like a knife, as you’re forced to look dead Akiko in the eyes.

“But there’s something else.” he hisses. “What else is there? Say it!”

What else?

Your heart burns and your jaw clenches tightly, as his nails dig into your skull.

What else?

He swipes the index and middle finger of his upper left hand over Akiko’s blood filled bottom lip, before he shoves them into your mouth. And you’re tensing up, squirming, helpless, as he’s making you taste the iron of her demise and last proof that she existed. Making you taste the bitterness of Sayako and her cruelty.

The taste of hate.

The taste of revenge.

“Say it!” he growls, his lips move against the shell of your ear.

And then you remember it.

You’re at war.

Sayako.

The flames reach up into your throat, engulf your heart and let the smoke cloud your vision, makes you want to move. Sukuna’s fingers slip out of your mouth, bloody spit coating his nails and fingertips, as your eyes keep lingering on Akiko’s empty gaze and as your trembling fingers almost rip the fabric of Sukuna’s kimono apart.

Say it!

“Rage.” you mutter, making you feel him smirk against your ear.

“Oh I can feel it… rage.” he coos, squeezing your heart. “It’s burning in your soul. I can feel the bloodlust that creeps into your mind and the wish for crimson justice that tickles in your fingers.” he breathes, before his grip on your hair loosens.

Sukuna presses his lips against your temple.

“I know it is, my little Heart.” he mouths quietly against your skin, almost unable for you to understand.

But you do.

Your heart stumbles, as your eyes shoot to him and scan his entire face.

What…

You look at him in disbelief over his last words, heart beating so loud and heavy. He squints his eyes at you, as he starts to grin.

“You know what to say.” he whispers, ignoring your need to repeat what he just called you. Sukuna nudges his head forward to Akiko, forcing your attention back to the situation.

You frown in confusion, before you look back to Akiko, the sight making your heart beat and burn more and more. Her massacred face being a reminder for the constant threats and hate and abuse that you‘ve endured since you came here. Your blood starts boiling and your quickening pulse causes a rush of adrenaline to shoot through your veins and suddenly, it clicks. You look back to Sukuna, your orbs dancing back and forth between his crimson ones, as they start to glow and the grin widens on his lips, showing his teeth and canines, so sinister like a demon.

It‘s time.

“Permission to kill Sayako.” you speak.

And his grin grows even wider, so proud, so dark… yet so endearing.

“Enchant me, princess!” he coos, flaring his eyes at you.

Heartache.

His words spark in you, fuel your desire, as you still are able to taste her blood on your tongue, as you feel the strong curse of Sukuna pulling at your heart. You look back to Akiko, still laying there, without a breath, without a heartbeat. Her eyes empty, without a soul.

Gone.

Completely.

And you clench your jaw and fist, before you stand back up, quickly, as if you‘ve gained new strength. Without looking at Uraume or your King, you turn around and walk back to the door, with pain still nagging at your throat and chest.

How do I forget?

Rumble.

You slide the door open, the darkness that’s covering the halls looking right back at you and you pause.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Pondering.

She’s gone.

Completely.

You swallow.

“If I come back…” you mumble. “I want you to bury the remnants of my soul.”

Then you turn your head to your left over your shoulder, your heart pounding. A last gaze to the soulless corpse of Akiko.

Heart heavy.

“Enjoy your dinner…” you say, as your eyes keep lingering on her, before you focus on Sukuna. “My King.”

[sis-goleona]

Title: Half dead? -(first part to the Half dead? series)

Cat king (Thomas) x Male! Reader ambiguous race

Summary: Reader wakes up in the Cat kingdom!

Part one, Part two, part three, part four

Laying on the grass, soft, plush and green so very green. Thinking back on it, reader never spent much time on the grass…is this what people think about when they die? Things they have never done before? Things that are so very insignificant to the normal working being? Reader couldn’t tell you, this is his first stroke with death and most likely his last. For once in his life he bore witness to the deep crimson that was his blood. Sure he had cuts before but they never bled that much…this cut was so much deeper and gave way to the warm sticky red that covered his abdomen and the plush earth below….reader took one last look at his hands, they were no longer soft, they were quickly loosing feeling and warmth….warmth….warmth? Reader didn’t feel warm at all in fact he felt incredibly cold. ‘Fuck, i’m dyin-‘ he managed to utter, before the haze took the sight from his weary eyes. Eventually he relaxed into the bloodied greenery; accepting his death.

And then he woke up….the first thing that flooded his senses was the dull pounding in his head. It clouded any sense of reasoning from forming. The reader’s breath was choppy, short pants almost. It hurt to breathe in too deep, whenever he did a sharp white pain would pierce his abdomen. He groaned from the pain…..and then realization hit him all too quickly, he was…alive? His eyes shot open in a frenzy, his body quickly trying to sit up…but pain shot through his eyes and blinded him, his shoulders were shot from the sudden panicked movement. His abdomen ripped in pain and warm feeling spread throughout his body. A strained scream left his throat, alerting the quiet room around him.

“Hey, look at that…he’s awake” a voice spoke out into the darkness, it filled the reader’s ears, a soft purr almost. He opened his eyes once more to face the voice. Yellow golden eyes ripped into him… “g-god?” The reader didn’t really believe in God but he also didn’t think he would live another day, so the chances of him being in heaven are a big probability. A curt chuckle left the beings lips. “Oh? You my dear, are so very far away from heaven”.

Realization hit reader like a semi truck right between the eyes. Alive? He quickly scrambled away from those piercing yellow eyes. His appendages moving rapidly, hands grasping for anything that could be used as a weapon. All he felt was the plush silk bed sheets that shifted below him and the fluffy satin blankets that seem to wrap around his sore bruised body…all the rustling caused his shoulders to tense up, there was a burning sensation around his ankles and wrists. The pain from his abdomen seemed to increase and spread throughout his entire body this time. His breath quickened causing his chest to tighten, he couldn’t breathe the bandages that wrapped around his body seemed to tighten causing restriction around his chest. A few short mangled grunts left his lips due to the quick movements. His eyes were not yet adjusted to the darkness of the room around him, the only thing in his field of vision was those glowing yellow eyes that seemed to take his entire being in.

“Someone’s skittish” a voice in the direction of the eyes echoed.

Thomas sighed and stepped closer to the boy, slowly as to not alarm him anymore than he already had. It was not everyday that the cat king had some human laying in his bed, and he was damned if he didn’t try to make his guests as comfortable as possible, in hopes this guest would stay with him. “You do not need to worry, little dove…I would never hurt such a pretty thing”. Even in times like these, thomas found it hard to turn down his charm. The reader furrowed his brows together, his body tensing again when seeing the full form of the yellow eyes’ being. The feline overlord let a small gentle smile grace his lips.

“Where….at?” The groggy voice graced the cat kings ears. He watched the reader’s hands move in swift movements with each word. He cocked his head to the side, black strands shifting from the sudden movement. He sucked in a sharp breath finally deciding to answer the worried boy’s question. “We are in my warehouse , my…Cat kingdom” Thomas put a little emphasis on the word Cat. The reader furrowed his brows even more but lifting them ever so slightly, giving him a look of surprise and confusion. Thomas followed the gaze of his new guest, who looked around finally taking in his surroundings.

“Like supervillain….lair” reader’s hand gestures were quicker this time, maybe a little bit of annoyance laced in between his words. The feline watched the reader’s hands point out the scope of the dingy room he was in. Thomas scoffed, a twinge of hurt raked through his head. He didn’t think himself a villain nor the home he inhabited an evil lair. A look of worry washed over readers face, his once furrowed brows where now relaxed on his face and a small frown adorned his lips. “Sorry. Did not mean…to offend”. Once more the cat king watched the movements of readers hands. Why did they move like that with every word? It was almost entrancing, his fingers moved with purpose in quick movements…he liked it, he wondered what those soft supple hands could really do. That feeling was consuming him again, it was too much to handle, he knew all too well that this guest was temporary there was no need to entertain any sort of romantic or even sexual fantasy. Thomas brought in his bottom lip, the feeling of his teeth grinding the soft pink flesh pushed out all the other overwhelm. ‘Don’t get attached’ he noted to himself mentally. “It is quite alright, I am not offended….but I do have a question for you, what are you doing with your hands”. The words slipped out before he could even think about the outcome, would he get angry or would he be confused? He didn’t want to make himself seem untrustworthy or rude. The reader opened his mouth slightly, lips parting from each other. A look of confusion washed over his features then it was quickly replaced with a soft look of sadness….oh no, I did upset him! Fuck. “Oh. Speaking is……difficult, I use ASL to help speak……yeah”. Realization hit the king, ‘of course’ ‘that makes perfect sense’. He let a small smirk turn his lips upward.

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Okay! So I have noticed the severe lack of dead boy detective’s fan-fiction. Eeeespecially for the cat king himself….I decided to write a story for my bestie. I hope whoever reads this really enjoys it

[candysugarush]

BTS Profiles and Tales.

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Kim Seokjin :

Tale : Beauty and the Beast

Character : The Beast

Story : After being cursed into the form of a beast by a fairy for his heart of stone. He has until the last petal of his rose falling to learn to love and be loved for his true self. If he fails, he will permanently stay in this form.

You won't be cruel and leave him right? Believe me he can truly be a beast otherwise.

Min Yoongi :

Tale : The Sleeping Beauty

Character : The Prince

Story : Loneliness and confusion reigned his mind his whole life about his identity from being born from a human father and ogre mother. A prince in title but a monster in the eyes of others. In the search of a just an ounce of affection he heard of the cursed sleeping princess and swore to be the one waking her.

After saving you, surely you won't run away from your hero? Please don't he will lose his last thread of humanity.

Jung Hoseok :

Tale : The Ice Queen

Character : The Ice Boy

Story : What was once sunshine filled days by your side abrubtly came to an end when he was ripped away from you by his father back into his cold castle in the mountain to become the next monarch and casting a blizzard all over the land. Turning himself into the next Ice King, his emotions disappeared.

Are you ready to do anything to save him? If you don't he will just keep you in his everlasting snow.

Kim Namjoon :

Tale : The Princess and the Frog

Character : The Frog

Story : Turned into a frog by a fairy for being too prideful and evil, he is cursed to stay in this form until someone loves him. Fortunately for him and unfortunate for you, he succesfully made you promise to love him if he helped you with retrieving your toy in the pond. Now as he stand with a froggy grin handing you the ball, the words you said in desperation sink in with horror.

Well you have to keep your promise right? He has make ways to make you.

Park Jimin :

Tale : Red Riding Hood

Character : The Wolf

Story : Despite living in the forest he had it quite easy and as he was looking for his next dinner when food came on a silver platter in the form of you. The mischievous wolf did not need to use much trickery as you talked to him, how naive and innocent you are. He can already imagine his meal. And yet he is having second thoughts on this plan as you mistook him for your grandma.

Should you inspect him closer? Don't worry he doesn't bite unless you're into that.

Kim Taehyung :

Tale : The Little Mermaid

Character : The little mermaid

Story : As far as he could remember, he had always been curious and interested in the world above the water, even if his family were against it and spoke of the danger of humans. Yet his curiosity was never sated until he broke out of the water one day to end face to face with you. Completely infatuated with you and your world, he vows to come to you. And he did, albeit looking different.

You won't abandon him after he sacrificed everything, right? He just wants to be a part of your world.

Jeon Jungkook :

Tale : Cinderella

Character : The Prince Charming

Story : The golden boy of the kingdom is surprisingly troubled from his childhood, he had always gotten what he wanted on a silver platter and excelled in any field he tried, and yet all those things couldn't fill the missing piece in his heart at the loss of his mother at a tender age. This combined with the multiple military campaign he participated in once he became an adult, left him with a distaste and constant bore of the world around him. Nothing got him alive anymore. Until you stepped in that ballroom and took his breath away, the best part? You didn't even knew who he was as you spent your time with him.

Finally he felt alive again, and now you're saying you want to leave? Midnight already striked twelve, there's no need to run anymore.

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Which story are you jumping into?

[harleyxhoward]

Analyzing The Abilities of Characters From The Boys

-Le Finale-

🇺🇸Homelander🇺🇸

Thank you to everyone who sat by and waited for this grand finale, it truly means a lot to me! You’re the heroes, truly! I added Superman by Ivory Layne because I associate it with America’s #1 Supe, plus I wanted to plug one of my all time favorite 2010s throwbacks.

I think Homelander’s “Evil Superman” pitch is definitely the main draw of the franchise, but I wish he wasn’t always shackled to that identity. He acts as an introspective analysis of the true evil of corruption on a radical/political level. I mean, the man was birthed in a lab and raised on straight looping American nationalist propaganda. He was essentially being hypnotized by Vought to be an All-American boy, and yet he turned out exactly like America itself; overpowered, inescapable, and caked in far too much makeup.

Homelander/John’s wide range of abilities stems directly from the versatile torture methods Vought used on him in infancy in order to rig the results of the V and produce the most amount of abilities. For example, my assumption is they would drop him, along with other flying Supes, from high places, and if they managed to float for survival they would grow up to be able to fly at dazzling speeds. This is based on the number of trials he endured, such as the oven he would be placed in for hours on end. He’s now invulnerable, but he had to quite literally be forged through flame to be so.

In addition to his range of abilities, the episode of Diabolical that depicts Black Noir feeding him his lesson on optics makes his inability to swiftly dispose of those who show no fear all the more reasonable. When he’s viewed as the monster he’s always been seen as (the whole “you ripped out of your mother and beamed through the bodies of the doctors in the room while flying like a scene from the exorcist” thing) he’s incentivized to be what they expect of him, almost like how he was taught to be what the masses wanted from him. The careful crafting and hardwiring of a monster stays, even though he’s subverting Vought’s benevolent persona.

When a character shows indifference or truly just a lack of terror, he spares them, deeply yearning for genuine human connection with an individual who doesn’t recoil from his advance. Whether it was Madeline, Stormfront, or Maeve, they all proved themselves to be fierce women who he had difficulty letting go of. Madeline in particular managed to survive up until the exact moment she admitted her fear of him, to which he incinerated through her skull with his laser vision.

Even when analyzing how he spares Hughie, Butcher, Annie, or the rest of The Boys, Homelander has ample opportunities to fly over and murder them all. He could kill them all in broad daylight and get away with it, but whether he’s consciously aware of it or not, he fully needs humans on this planet who know the truth about him and refuse to be afraid. The alternative would be too boring, and as I could imagine, horrifying. He doesn’t want to be a king, we see into his psyche too frequently to know he hates himself. He truly hates what he sees in the mirror, and masks it with a veneer of egotism until he eventually breaks down again. He wants people unafraid to challenge him, otherwise he would have used one of his several powers to slaughter The Boys ages ago. You may call it plot armor, but I think John needs someone to go blow for blow with. Butcherlander

John never had the chance to be human. He was directed how to be a god, and given the power to match. While every part of me sees him as the monster he is, rape and murder included, I almost feel like killing him wouldn’t be the karmic serve fans think it would be. I agree with the sentiment that he should be stripped of his power and condemned to live an average human life without access to Compound V (I like to imagine they’ll just blow up Vought tower in the finale, but we’ll see). His scenes with Ryan almost make me believe that he wants to be human, but he can never do that as the supervillain he is today. Maybe if he could try out being a human, he wouldn’t have to try and escape his humanity.

[lostgracestories]

*drives up to the window*

Hey! got any…. uhhh…. Morgott jealousy HCs? 👀

ABSOLUTELY <3 (warning for a little angst)

This is lowkey so fluffy and corny (I fucking love writing this insecure man) I'm not super great with headcanons so hopefully this is good, lol!

ALSO THANK YOU FOR BEING MY SECOND REQUEST AAAA <3 ILY

wc: 434

Jealousy

Morgott is usually a very rational man (at least to himself he is) so when he sees another man kiss your hands in greeting, he nearly chokes when he finds himself seething. His eyes bore into the man's and after a moment too long of having his hands in yours, Morgott can hardly keep himself from ripping you away from the man. Instead, he just stood there and stared like an animal. You learn later when he kisses over the parts of you the man had touched, as if to clean you of the contact, Morgott can get jealous.

However, every once in a while, Morgott will get in his head about it. Despite how much he adores you, if he feels dejected (usually his own fault getting in his head ofc) then he will ignore you. The first time this happened was a shock, like going back to square one. You had happily walked into his study and attempted to greet him with a kiss on the cheek and he had blandly spoken to you, "Thou art distracting, tarnished. Please, allow me to work in peace" The lack of endearment was a shock. (ofc he ended up apologizing later after a little reassurance)

Morgott 100% feels ashamed for getting jealous, and oftentimes he blames it on his "curse" he refuses to believe that such a petty feeling is normal and oftentimes will suffer in silence, believing that such feelings are beneath a king. (he's just so emotionally constipated)

Sometimes, if Morgott's form of jealousy comes from you being in contact with another man (usually at social gatherings) he will become much too overprotective of you. At one point he even attempted to request that you stay inside during a New Years festival because he didn't want you near drunk noblemen. When (ofc) you had refused and reassured him that it would be alright, you ended up getting sloshed and hanging off of him all night. After that, he stopped trying to dictate where you went. Even while drunk you were loyal.

Lastly, after a deep conversation in bed one night (you had finally convinced him to talk to you about it) He admitted that he feels helpless when he is not the one to draw a smile from your lips or a laugh to grace your breath. After reassuring him that you kept a special smile and laugh just for him, it brought a rare color to his cheeks. As he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you, he would whisper, "None shall steal thee from me, for as long as I breathe"