#this has been in my drafts for... so fucking long

[fyllophobia]

think fast! surprise trust fall

[7brownsuga7]

Jungkook groom x reader bride

Summary: Groom Jungkook fucks you (the bride) before your wedding, even though you persist that it’s bad luck, his desires get the best of him. And you, well you can’t help but to fold.

Warnings: smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, creampie, yadiyada basically the basics Lfmao.

Note: this has been sitting in my drafts for so long? Like wtf. Anyways what way to start the year with a Jungkook fic? Back in my Jungkook era even though I never left. Thank you for reading and enjoy <3 mimi

It was a known fact that the groom shouldn’t see the bride before the wedding. Traditional, superstition, or whatever you called it. You had reminded Jungkook of it many times in the weeks leading up to your big day.

But the thought of not being able to see you and touch you didn’t sit right with Jungkook.

You had teased him; telling him he could survive a few hours. A light kiss against his lips as he pouted like a child.

But now, as you stood in your bridal suite, slipping on the final touches to your wedding look, a soft knock interrupted your thoughts. You glanced at the door in confusion, eyebrows furrowed. No one was supposed to be here.

Before you could even ask who it was, the door creaked open revealing Jungkook in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his hair falling slightly into his eyes.

“Jungkook”! You hissed at him, hurrying towards the door in an attempt to stop him coming in any further. “You’re not supposed to be here!” You sulk as he beat you to it, fully stepping foot into the room.

His eyes roam over you, taking you in. So dark and intense, his lips curving into a slow, sinful smirk. “I don’t care”.

Your heart jumps at his tone, pussy clenching at the low and roughness that’s laced within it.

“Seriously?” You try again, your voice a bit weaker now, “this is bad luck. I already tol-“

He closes the distance between you in two strides. Hands gripping your waist as he backs you up against the vanity. A surprised shaky breath escapes your lips.

“The only bad luck,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips slightly brushing against the sensitive skin causing a shiver to run down your spine, “would be me not being able to touch you right now”.

He hungrily kisses your lips before you can protest. You try to push him off of you, trying to remind him of the rules but his hands continued to firmly grip your waist pulling you against him.

You had no choice but to crumble.

“Jungkook” you breathe, your hands tangling in his hair as his mouth moves back to your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses that make your knees buckle.

“You have no idea,” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with desire, “how hard it’s been not to touch you. To know you’re so close and not be able to have you.”

You moan out as he lifts you into the vanity, his lips instantly finding yours again. His fingers work quickly, tugging at the delicate buttons of your dress, his movements almost frantic.

“Be careful,” you gasp in between kisses, “this dress cost a fortune”.

He slightly chuckles as his eyes cast over you for a moment. “I’ll buy you a hundred more.” He sends kisses to your jaw, before he continues down to your collarbone, trailing down to the swell of your breasts that are barely covered by your lacy bra. “But right now, I need you.”

His hands separate your thighs, dark eyes drinking in the sight of you. “You’re perfect” he murmurs, eyes softening for a moment before his lips find yours again.

It didn’t take long for him to have you bare before him. Nipples exposed to the cool air as he fondles with them. His tuxedo jacket and shirt discarded aimlessly on the floor, allowing you to caress his bare shoulders as he continues to pleasure you. The urgency between you was electric, every touch and kiss igniting a fire that threatened to consume the both of you.

When he had had enough of his cock twitching at the thought of being inside you, the aching throb of what’s to come, he eagerly inserted his cock into the warmth of your pussy. A deep moan escaped his lips, his hands pulling you closer to him as buries himself deeper.

“Fuck” he groans, his forehead resting against yours as he began to move his hips. His thrusts low and deep, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Jungkook” you whimper, nails digging into his bare back as his pace quickens, his control slipping away with every thrust. His hand wraps around your neck, thumb caressing the sensitive skin.

“You feel so good baby” his voice rasps. You clench around him as he hungrily kisses you again.

Hand still wrapped around your neck, you tilt your head up and bite your lip as he continues, “so perfect, so mine.”

He forces you to look at him, and just from the way his dark eyes lowly and dangerously admire you, you can feel your orgasm quickly approach.

“Fuck, y/n”

The sound of your name falling from his lips to the way his body moved with yours - it was overwhelmingly intoxicating. Utterly addicting.

“Ugh k-kook” you moan between breaths, feeling the tension build up. His moves become more erratic as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me” he demands in a whisper, his hand sliding between your bodies to rub on your clit.

It doesn’t take long for your body to tremble under him and your breathing to form into gasps. He wasn’t far behind either. And when he came he released himself into you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the soft hum of your breathing as he held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

“Still think it’s bad luck?” A teasing smile playing on his lips as he looks down at you.

You laugh, your fingers brushing against his hair, removing the fallen strands out of his face before your fingers find his jaw in a gentle caress. “We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”

He kisses you again, slow and tender this time, as if to remind you that, luck or no luck, you were his - and nothing was going to change that.

[yuufiles]

skye riley nsfw headcanons 🔞

pairing: skye riley x f!reader

genre: SMUT!! NSFW!! strictly no minors please!!

warnings: one spank delivered, hair pulling, squirting (?? just capital F Freaky.. no hard kinks really, its lovey smut

wc: 1337

a/n: mighttt have gotten a bit carried away.. i just kept writing and like i dunno man this has been in the drafts for a while and i locked in today to finish it for u guys.. not really proofread all the way so im sorry for any mistakes n inconsistencies </3 hope u guys enjoy!! also this gif makes me drool aha i love you skye come back home the kids miss u

skye’s only ever been with men her entire life, so she was a bit worried that she won’t be as good in sex as you’d want her to be.

you were quick to dismiss her worries but offered to teach her some things she ought to know, because if there’s one thing you know about her, it’s that she’s a fast learner–an exceptionally good one at that, you came to find out.

even though skye told you that she’d never been with a woman prior to you, sometimes you still think that’s false with how good she is at everything…

one time she ate you out so good– and i’m talking eye-rolling, toe-curling, bed-wetting kind of good– that you had to double check.

“skye, are you a hundred percent sure you’ve never had–like, lesbian sex?” you questioned, sitting up from your position on the bed while she carefully wiped in between your legs with a towel.

“nope, only you. seriously. i guess i’m just that good, huh?” she quipped, with the most smug look on her face.

you roll your eyes at her and lightly smack her shoulder. “whatever.”

she doesn’t tell you this but she’s done a lot of research. and by research i mean she’s watched a bunch of lesbian porn trying to figure out the positions they’re in so she can recreate them with you (oh my god this girl.)

she just wants to make sure you feel good :’(

oral

skye riley is a certified MUNCH™. she is a giver through and through, and will do anything to make you come, especially in her mouth.

my girl can stay down there for HOURS, she doesn’t seem to get tired when she’s got her arms locked around your thighs, tongue lapping at your pussy and circling your already very sensitive clit.

her tongue is the absolute fucking besttt, she can bring an orgasm out of you just with it, and you best believe it’s the craziest one you’ve ever had. your clit is also her most favorite thing to play with– your tits coming at a close second– so you can bet that she’s not leaving it unattended anytime soon.

you feel her kiss your clit and spread open your folds with her middle and pointer fingers, groaning at the sight of your wet cunt, focused on your pulsing clit. “fuuck, there you are.” she whispers. she flattens her tongue down at your hole and drags it up to your clit, then starts her slow torture of circling and circling until your senses are on fire, and dripping down to the sheets.

her eyes stay on yours the entire time, she loves watching the way your face contorts into that of pleasure and listening to you lose your mind, it gets her so. fucking. wet. she never would’ve thought she could get this soaked without being touched.

if for whatever reason you’re holding back your sounds, she’ll search for your hands, gently trace her thumbs along the sides, and softly ask you to be louder, ALL WHILE she’s actively eating you out.

“louder. please, baby,” she murmurs, words slurred against your skin. 

if she’s not satisfied and feeling a little frustrated from the day she faced, she’ll deliver a spank down to the outside of your thigh. “i said louder. i wanna hear how good i’m making you feel. got it?” 

fingering

she LOOOOVESS to give you that head and fingering combo, because she knows it’ll drive you crazy. even if she has acrylics on. you tell her it’s fine as long as her nails are clean and that she doesn’t go too hard, but the next day she comes home with a new set. 

short nails and gel polish. only. you quite literally laugh in her fucking face.

“new set already? and it’s not extensions? what’s this about, skye?” you say suspiciously.

“oh nothing, i just wanted to give my nails a break…”

you can see right through her, and she knows it.

ANYWAY

she keeps her fingers near or on your pussy while she eats you out to hold it open and to tease you. 

it feels so fucking good, but you want more. you need more. “please… skye,” you whimper, as you wriggle against her unrelenting mouth, hoping to have one of her fingers slip inside you.

“hm? what’s that babe?” she drawls, keeping her tongue on your sensitive bud.

skye is heavy on the reward system. ask nicely and she’ll treat you like a princess, be a brat and get ready to be punished. 

so if you say (or manage to mumble out), “m-more please. i want more.” your mind is turned to mush by now due to her torturous tongue.

“oh good girl,” she coos. “more? you want more?” when you start whining, she’ll go, “ okay, okay… i’m here, be patient baby.” 

she pulls away first, her pointer finger teasing circles on your dripping hole before finally pushing in, face contorting into mock pleasure as she watches it go in and out. when she decides you’re ready, she replaces her pointer finger with her middle and ring finger, moaning as she curls them against your g-spot. “fffuuck…” she hisses,

you whimper as you throw your head back into the pillow, hips involuntarily moving at the pleasure, and missing the warmth of her tongue on your clit. 

she seems to miss your clit just as much, attaching her lips and gently sucking on your throbbing bud– alternating between that and licking– and driving you to insanity.

cumming (???)

skye loves when you grab or pull her hair during sex, like when she’s eating you out. it helps her replace the bad memories and stress she associates with the habit. and she’s also kind of a masochist, so it feels good for her. she’s happy to be your anchor back to earth when you’re ascending into heaven lol

so much is happening–the sensation of her fingers pumping in and out of you, her pressing so deep against your sweet spot that makes your stomach flutter, her wet tongue aided by soft lips suctioned around your clit–it’s putting you into overdrive, all you can think about is skye, skye, skye.

she hums against you, “yeah baby?” ..did you say that out loud?

you run a hand through her bleach-blonde pixie cut and pull. you hear her moan against your pussy, sending vibrations that send you closer to the edge.

“feelssogood baby, needa’ cum, pleaseeeee..” you’re whining, slurring your words, almost incoherent at this point, but skye understands you anyway.

she knows you like the back of her hand, knows how much you love her voice, and how much faster she can make you cum if she talks you through it. she’s also a slut for praise in every way, shape, and form. so obviously she loves to praise you, especially when you look so pretty taking her like this.

“mhm, good girl, i’ll give you what you want. ride my fingers. c’mon.”

“uh huh, just like that y/n, just like thatttttt.” 

“you’re so close, aren’t you, yeah? yeah..”

“cum for me, baby. yess, fuck– cum for me.”

9 times out of 10 she can get you to squirt just like that. but even if you don’t, its still a mind-blowing orgasm that leaves your limbs like jello.

oh but how she loves when you squirt. 

“oh fuck–no–skye i’m gonna pee. imgonnapeestopstopstop.” you whine and writhe against her, but she’s got an arm firmly secured around your hips–and to your surprise, she’s stronger than she looks, leaving your efforts to no avail. 

it comes right as she detaches her mouth from you–teasing remarks on the tip of her tongue, but now forgotten as she goes to rub your clit, leaving her chest and the sheets all wet.

she gives you some time to breathe before you look at each other and start giggling.

for all the creamers out there!!! she'll slowly pull her fingers out–watching how your creamy white cum drips down her palm–and put them in her mouth.

she keeps her eyes on yours as she makes sure she cleans all of it off.

"you taste so fucking good. my favorite,"

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8 10

Chapter 9

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Arranged marriage AU

Warnings: thoughts about self-harm (biting thumb again), accidental self-injury(? + biting inside of lip which causes it to bleed), thoughts about implied murder, near panic attack, implied depression, slight blood, small/slight themes of obsession and possessiveness, slight themes of misogyny/some toxic behavior from Reader's family, please tell me if I missed any.

Nsfw warnings: OKAY, I honestly think Maria, if she becomes fond of a daughter-in-law, would absolutely push for grandchildren and take things into her own hands unless someone (Sierra) tries really hard to convince her otherwise. I’m really sorry for writing her as a creep but this will be the last time (either completely or for a very long time) I’ll write her like this. Anyway: suggestive, throwback to their 1st night, gifting of lingerie and aphrodisiac by Maria (again will not write her like this either completely or a long time, I tried rewriting this chapter so fucking much but this is what I settled on because it felt the most natural to me.) pushing for grandchildren, Maria somehow got the Reader’s measurements, please tell me if I missed any.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS/TOXIC ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICS, ART, ETC.) DNI.

===

‘Dear father and mother, 

I am doing well so far. The food is nice and the clothes comfortable. I haven’t personally spoken to my father-in-law yet, but I’m going to meet him for dinner tomorrow at the time of writing this. My husband, Dion is different from what I expected. Too nice. He’s not as brutal as others described him. It was surprising. But he’s a pervert and I almost hit him out of frustration and rejected his sexual advances like any sane person would. I know that you’ll say I should have let it happen, mother, but it hurt so bad I don’t think he’ll ever fit. Speaking of those vulgar activities, you lied he wasn’t flustered in the slightest until I started crying. Can you believe that? He’s a creep! But hopefully he doesn’t kill or torture me he’ll continue to treat me nicely.

Of course, as his wife I’ll do my best to support him in fear of him or Lant killing me otherwise in every field to the best of my abilities. Just how you forced taught me.

I have talked to a few in-laws, including my mother-in-law. I heard that you drank with her, mother. She's very  lively and has a sadistic unique personality. She’s very sweet to me. I have also met the fourth wife, Sierra. She’s lovely, I think you’ll also get along with her, mother. 

I hope that the two of you are faring well. The same goes for Zac and Elena, of course. Speaking of them, how has Zac’s studies been? He’s not skipping them again, is he or planning something dangerous like that stupid but well-meant plan he informed you, father, about? Yes, I overheard everything?

Is Elena doing well in her pregnancy? I know she moved out before me, but I’m still concerned about her and the baby. And Albert, he’s taking care of her, right? 

I’m not sure what else to write, so I’ll just leave it here. Please take care of yourselves. The same goes for my brother and sister.

Your daughter, (Name)’

“... I ended up writing what I really think… I need to rewrite this… again.” You sigh, leaning back in your chair as you crumble the letter. This was your fifth try, and while each one became less hostile and more casual, you weren't satisfied with any of the rough drafts to turn into a final draft. 

If you weren’t married to Dion, into this family, would writing to them be easier? You shake your head. No point in having these useless thoughts. Especially as Hana comes in with a knock and your permission, rolling in your lunch. 

In the end, you ended up going with Hana’s suggestion - basically saying that your husband fucked you too hard and rough last night and you needed to recover. Thanks to that, you didn’t have to change into the scarlet dress she picked out either - it was decided to be saved for the dinner you’ll have with both your husband and father-in-law tomorrow. 

You already asked Hana for indigestion medicine for tomorrow. 

“Thank you, Hana,” you put your stationary away and picked up the crumbled balls of paper that were failed attempts. She eyes you curiously but doesn’t comment on it. Instead she readies your lunch, placing the plates onto the table. 

The thought of eating makes you sick. You could barely hold down breakfast - could you hold down lunch? Or would your body give up immediately and reject the food? 

Warily looking at it, you notice two prettily wrapped up boxes - one pink with light red polka dots, the bow purple in color. The second box, a flatter one, had red wrapping paper with a tiny black hearts pattern, with the bow also black. Your heart speeds up as your gut twists painfully. If they were meant for you, they contain nothing well meant nor innocent.

“Oh, right,” Hana starts before handing both ‘presents’ to your unwelcoming arms, “Lady Maria sent these to you. I don’t know what they are, unfortunately.” With a grave look on your face you shakily thank her, a pained and forced smile stretching your lips. 

Maria sent these… oh boy, I sure do wonder what they are… 

“Later today, please help me pick out a gift for her. It’s only right that I repay the favor, especially since she’s my mother-in-law.” Placing them down next to your feet, you ignore the urge to kick them far, far away from you. It’s hard to keep your eyes off of the boxes. It’s hard to focus on your food, picking up your fork and knife as you cut into the grilled fish. 

It’s hard to chew, accidentally biting your lip hard enough to taste blood. It’s hard to drink the water as it threatens to choke you. It’s hard to not wince at the sharp sounds of cutlery against the plate as you imagine your head being chopped off like nothing. 

It’s hard to breathe. 

How much longer until you go crazy?

By the time you finish your meal, you’re sweating buckets. You hate it here. You want to go home -

“My Lady, are you alright?” Hana’s voice drags you out from your thoughts, flicking your eyes to meet hers. She’s picking up the silverware and placing it back onto the tray, but quickly takes a clean napkin from it and hands it to you. You take it with shaky hands, doing your best not to drop it. Thankfully your brain didn’t lag for too long for you to realize it was for your sweat.

You pat down your temples with the white cloth.

“T-thank you… v-very much, Ha-Hana.” Why is your voice so shaky? Why are you stuttering? Hell, why are you sweating?

You already had one panic attack - you don’t need another one. Your right thumb throbs at the memory and your teeth want to clamp down on it. The bandages suddenly feel too tight around the digit and you want to rip it off so you could dig your teeth into it. You bite your lip, only worsening the newly formed wound. The taste of your own blood spreads throughout your mouth again. 

You need to stop. 

Your attention switches to Hana, the woman staring at you uncertainly. It wasn’t necessarily out of concern but rather confusion - just how was she supposed to comfort her master? …you’re probably putting her in a rough spot. 

…right. I just need to accept my new reality… but today is not going to be that day.

Taking in a deep breath, you force your nerves to settle down - positive thoughts, positive thoughts. The sun is warm, the birds are lively, the bed is comfortable, your husband is gone - 

This isn’t the first time, and clearly it won’t be the last. 

“...thank you for bringing the food, Hana.” You’re not fully composed, not fully right of mind, but as the saying goes: fake it until you make it. You did it once, you managed to do it throughout the duration of the engagement, during the wedding despite feeling horrible, you did it while consummating your marriage despite being ripped open by Dion, you did it while at the tea party with Maria and Sierra, you did it last night when you told him off.

You did it back then, too. 

Force yourself to smile now. Tilt your head innocently. Act happy. Act happy. 

“I enjoyed it. Please give my thanks to the chief.” Your smile isn’t bright as the sun and slightly wavers. Your eyes aren’t shining brightly like stars, instead seeing past her. Your mind isn’t calm as you recall the brutality of this family that was shown and described in the story. 

Fake it until you make it. 

Yes, you think. Maybe you will have a conversation with Roxana. 

- - -

Hana left an hour ago yet you haven’t moved from your spot. No, instead you’re staring intensely at the presents in front of you on the table. They’re pretty, a bit childish. But knowing Maria… 

“...is it a trap…?” Carefully, you pick up the stereo typical present box and lightly shake it; it rattles. “Sounds a bit heavy… like a box within a box.” Curiosity gets the better of you and you gingerly untie the purple bow before ripping the wrapping paper. Despite the damn thing nearly sending you into another panic episode, it was satisfying to unwrap. 

A slightly smaller box is what you see once you manage to open the outer one. It was black and had a fancy red bow. Still a good size not to be something small. Unless it was a perfume. Breathing in deeply, you undo the ribbon and take off the lid. 

You’re met with a glass container roughly the size of your hand. Your heart drops at the yellow liquid inside. 

It looks exactly like the aphrodisiac your mother-in-law gave Roxana in the manhwa. 

“...what in the actual fuck… she’s basically telling, no, begging me to fuck her son… haha!” Your head rolls back as laughter overtakes you and shoulders violently shake. “I knew she was crazy, but fuck, how morally corrupt is this woman?” 

Instead of throwing it across the room like you should, you place it down on the table. You would have slammed it down if there wasn’t a chance that just smelling it could cause your body to heat up and become needy for a thing - a person - you don’t even want. 

“I’m scared to open up the other ‘present’...” in spite of that you pull at the black bow and unwrap it. You shake it - sounds like something soft. Like clothes. 

Oh. 

Oh no, no, no, no, no no -

“She didn’t. No fucking way… maybe it’s a sweater. Or a shawl. Gloves?” 

Trembling fingers take the lid off, a pink ribbon undone easily. This time, you throw the box to the floor after seeing what it held. 

A sheer black babydoll lingerie set. 

“Maria Agriche… you fucking creep…,” without another thought you shut the lid on it and shoved it into one of your drawers on your side of the dresser. Away from sight, out of mind you chant in your head, slamming the drawer shut. Your cheeks feel warm as both embarrassment and disgust fill your head and chest. 

… even if you wanted to sleep with him… or if you were in a healthy marriage with someone you love…

“...I could never wear that… it’s too revealing, too embarrassing.” Even in your old world you never wore such things. Not because you viewed them as dirty or slutty, but because they don’t suit you. Besides, putting in so much effort just for it to be taken off…?

‘I’m only going to ask once - would you rather keep your clothes on or off?’ 

“MMMMFFFF!!” throwing yourself onto the bed at the memory, scream muffled by the pillow, you mentally curse both son and mother. The son because he made your first time so horrible you’re mentally scarred and the mother because she’s a creep. More so than her own fucking son. 

A few minutes later you manage to collect yourself somewhat. Dreadfully you go to the dresser to pull out the offending clothing. You don’t plan on putting it on or to hold it over your clothes to get a vague idea of it either. Just to get a better look at it. 

Opening it and picking up the article of clothing, you examine it; pretty lace details on the him and breast cups, a flower pattern. It was soft as silk - clearly made from expensive materials. The straps were thin but they didn't feel too rough or stiff. Probably comfortable on the shoulders. 

Not like you would know - you never tried anything like this on. 

Curiosity killing the cat, you decide to see where it ends by holding it over your clothes; it barely brushes past mid thigh. 

When you go to put it back you notice an envelope and panties in the box. First, you pick up the lacy underwear, frowning as you realize that somehow, someway Maria had gotten your fucking measurements. Did your mother also tell the crazed woman your three sizes… “No, she wouldn’t. Even if she was drunk, she wouldn’t tell anyone such private details.” 

Carelessly dropping it into the box you grab the letter, opening it after a moment of hesitation. It takes even longer to unfold the letter. And even longer to actually read it, only for horror to come across your face and enter your heart. 

‘Sierra told me it may come across as inappropriate to send such things to you… but I’m just so excited for grandchildren! Oh, but don’t feel pressured into wearing or drinking those things tonight. The aphrodisiac lasts a rather long time. Besides, considering it’s Dion, I thought you might need some help to get in the mood whenever you decide to lay with him.

- Maria’ 

“No. Never.” 

Shoving everything back in, you shut the drawer close, making sure to hide the items underneath some layers of your… underwear…

You give up. 

“Ahh, why and how did I stumbled into the scene…” You turn around only to notice the yellow liquid contained in the glass bottle. Right. You forgot about that. “Maybe I should just pour it out…”

Not once did you realize nor notice how all the fear and fright left your body and mind, instead leaving caution and annoyance in its wake. 

- - -

Your husband returned at midnight, small amounts of blood splattered on his left cheek. When you look up from your book to greet him you notice that in the candlelight his eye bags seem darker. Deeper. 

“...welcome…back.” Your body starts to quiver and your heart beats loud enough you could hear and feel it once you meet his eyes. Quickly scanning his person you notice he’s wearing the standard male servant uniform: 

black shirt with red rimmed shoulder pads that have the Agriche crest on top, the shirt long enough to reach below his knees and splits at the hips, tied together with a brown belt at the waist. If he were to turn around you would see the family crest proudly engraved into the fabric. Blank pants that disappear into nearly knee-height boots with long, tied laces. 

The last time you’ve seen him in that uniform was the first time you met him, bored expression plastered on his face as Lant introduced him with a smug smile on that disgusting face of his. All he did was shake your hand as you stood still with prayers to a God who held no love for you. With your father glancing your way every minute as you were left in some corner with your then fiance to hold a conversation that never happened. When he didn’t spare so much as a glance at you, instead staring off into space as you couldn’t take your eyes off your lap. 

Wait. 

No. 

Maybe back then, you were too deep in your thoughts to notice that unnerving stare. 

The same one he has now - looking at you as though you were his prey, scarlet eyes glowing in the candlelight, like you belonged to him and he would never change that fact. That he would never let you change it, either. 

“Wife.” 

The word mixed with his sleepy voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard - it makes your ears bleed and eye twitch as you hold back the grimace of how he addresses you. He only wants you because you’re a normal person.

The moment you become insane he’ll let you go. 

That’s the only explanation. It has to be. That’s the only explanation your brain could come up with and accept. 

You’re too scared to bring up the night before yesterday. Beads of sweat slowly roll down your temples and breathing shallow as Dion walks towards the bed, heavy boots echoing. Time stops as your heart drops once he reaches the bed, reaches you and without a single word, he grabs your right wrist and - 

“What happened here?”

Oh. You forgot about your bandaged thumb.  

[jewishcissiekj]

It's still May the Fourth for ya'll, right?

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[isezrahomeyet]

OUR BOY IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!

[maythearo]

The cast I drew on sticky notes!

[osferth]

confessing

request: She is the sister of Uhtred and she’s a total badass in combat. Maybe that Uhtred sees how Osferth looks at her and when he says something about that he gets all flustered.

pairing : osferth x reader

@unleashthelion im so sorry its been so long 😭 u might not even be into tlk etc anymore but take this anyway

You were only a baby when Bebbanburg was usurped by your uncle Aelfric upon the death of his brother and its heir, Uhtred, captured by the Danes. As a result, you grew up in the fortress never knowing your brother, only anecdotes from Aelfric and your mother Glenna - the former dismissive, the latter loving and wistful. 

Glenna was your one saving grace during your time at Bebbanburg. Having been married to Earl Uhtred after his second wife passed away following Uhtred’s birth, she became his stepmother and loved him as her own. She spoke often of the days following your own birth with fondness in her eyes, describing how Uhtred was a permanent presence by your side - how he had loved his little sister more than anything. 

It was Glenna that inspired your desire to meet Uhtred again, but for years you never got the chance. 

For your safety, she never once voiced her anger and disapproval over Aelfric’s usurpation until you were together in private. He was never fond of you to begin with, and you learned early on that had you been born a boy, you would not have been allowed to live for very long. 

She was the only true protection you had, and when she sadly succumbed to illness you knew, even at the age of eleven, that until you found Uhtred you were totally alone. 

The year following Glenna’s death, you accompanied Aelfric, his priest Aidan, and his army of 200 men to Eoferwic, to meet with King Guthred and march on Dunholm. The infamous brothers Sigefrid and Erik were also there, but that hardly registered. After being told rather gleefully by Aelfric that Uhtred was dead, you were in little mood to do anything except passively go along with everything… until the Northmen inexplicably revealed that your brother was still alive. 

You successfully hid your joy while Aelfric raged and planned to leave upon the advice of Gisela, Guthred’s sister. With little love or need for you to begin with, your uncle left you in Gisela’s care, perhaps hoping that some misfortune would befall you and rid him of his unwanted niece. 

Recognising your neglect at Aelfric’s hands, Gisela led you from the meeting and promised to keep you safe. The two of you escaped Eoferwic together and found sanctuary in a nunnery, where you spent the next three years in relative peace. Understanding your desperation for any information about your brother, she revealed her knowledge of him and described everything - how he had grown up and found a family alongside Danes, his appearance, his personality, his love for her, and the words he spoke of his beloved sisters: blood and adopted alike. 

When the nuns could protect you no longer and your uncle’s priests arrived to forcefully marry Gisela to him, you feared losing the only constant you had found in your life - until you were joined by four more people. 

At once, your eyes locked on the man that angrily strode forward. Though he had grown tall and his hair now long like a Dane’s, you knew that this was your brother. 

Too stunned to speak, you could only watch as Uhtred ordered the abbot to release Gisela’s hand. Although he did, he refused to stop repeating the fact that she was married to Aelfric despite Uhtred persistently telling him to stop - which resulted in him killing the man, and it surprised you less than you thought it would. Glenna had always told you what an impulsive boy he had been, after all. 

After reuniting with the man she loved, Gisela beckoned you over, and it was only then that your presence was even recognised. 

“Who is she?” asked Uhtred as you stood before him. 

“Your sister,” Gisela replied, beaming at you. “Y/N.” 

“Hello,” you mumbled shyly, unsure of what else to say. 

Uhtred stared at you for a moment, his eyes wide. “You are certain?” 

“Your uncle left her in my care three years ago, just after you were taken.” 

You could see the tears swimming in your brother’s eyes before he swept you up in an almost bone-crushing hug. 

“I missed you, ástin mín,” he whispered. “I wish I had been there to see you grow.” 

You were crying too, but your tears were those of joy. “Mother told me all about you. All I wanted was to find you, but I never thought I could.” 

“You are here now,” he said, “and I promise I will never lose you again.”

~~

Uhtred was a man that kept his word. He brought you to live with him and Gisela in Coccham, where you stayed as a family. You had always hated feeling so powerless, and so you requested your brother to train you as a warrior - you had only been foolish enough to ask this of Aelfric once, but you knew Uhtred was nothing like him. 

He agreed at once, jumping at the chance to bond with you at the same time as improving your ability with a sword. 

Under the tutelage of your brother and his friends, you quickly grew into an adept fighter. As the years passed, you became a worthy opponent in sparring matches, your skill nearly as refined as those who had taught you. 

Despite the upward turn your life had taken, there were things you still wanted. As much as you loved Uhtred and his friends, you needed someone your own age - a companion you could spend your downtime with. 

Just as you were on the cusp of becoming a woman, your wish appeared to be granted when Osferth entered your brother’s service. Although Uhtred was sceptical of his potential, you couldn’t care less - Osferth was the same age as you and would surely improve with time, just as you had. 

His gentle manner and soft-spoken words were such a vast difference from the brusqueness you were used to that you instantly took a liking to him. He was always careful to address you as ‘Lady’ until you insisted he used your name instead - which was a slow change, given that he would often accidentally revert back to the term of respect. As much as you jokingly scolded him for it, you never truly minded - he was so sweet that you could never be annoyed with him for long. 

You trained alongside Osferth and saw him through Beamfleot, the first taste of battle either of you had ever had. It was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating, and it brought the two of you closer than ever. 

Although battle, maturity, and time spent with Uhtred’s friends had greatly improved Osferth’s confidence, there was only one prospect that rendered him as nervous and shy as the day he had first asked to join Uhtred. 

You. 

Although the two of you were close friends, he had long wanted something more. His heart had yearned for you since the day he first laid eyes on you, and every day after that. He loved everything about you - your laughter, how you fought, the way your hand slotted perfectly in his, the cheeky grin that often graced your features… he could go on. 

He wished you knew the truth, but he could never bring himself to admit it and risk ruining the friendship you had. 

One afternoon, you were sparring with Sihtric while Osferth sat close by with Uhtred. 

He watched you parry a blow with a deftness that made it look ridiculously easy, and smiled fondly. You were incredible in combat, and he both adored and envied you for it. 

His gaze was solely on you which, unfortunately for him, was soon noticed by your brother. 

“Enjoying the view?” Uhtred teased, nudging him a little. 

Flushing, Osferth quickly averted his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean, Lord,” he mumbled. 

“You have all the subtlety of a nun in a brothel, Osferth.” 

“Lord!” 

Uhtred snorted. “Well, your affection for my sister has hardly gone unnoticed.” 

Osferth��s head shot up at once. “She knows?” 

“I meant amongst the men. As far as I know, Y/N has no idea.”

“Oh.” 

An amused Uhtred watched his shoulders visibly sag. “I’ve never seen someone look so disappointed and relieved all at once.” 

“I don’t know what to do,” Osferth sighed, his gaze returning to the sparring match before him. You had just managed to knock Sihtric to the ground, laughing as you helped him back up. 

“You could try talking to her,” Uhtred suggested, a wicked gleam in his eye. 

Osferth looked at him sideways. “I am not you, Lord.” 

Your brother hummed. “No, you are not.” 

When he said nothing more, Osferth rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m going inside-” 

“No, you are not.” 

Huffing, he sat back down. “Why, Lord?” 

“You will talk to her,” Uhtred decided. “You’ve been yearning long enough.” 

Osferth frowned. “And what if it goes wrong, or- or what if she doesn’t like me? I can’t ruin our friendship, Lord. It’s not something I want to lose.” 

“You have a choice, Baby Monk. Either you take a risk and maybe get somewhere, or you can remain silent and get nowhere at all.” 

Before Osferth could respond to that, you and Sihtric approached the two of them.

“Did you see me knock Sihtric on his arse?” you snickered, leaning on your sword slightly. 

Uhtred smiled. “I did, ástin mín.” 

You looked across to Osferth, but his gaze remained fixed on the ground for some reason. 

“Do you two want to come to the alehouse with me?” you suggested, hoping Osferth would respond, but your brother spoke up first. 

“I think I’ll miss it today,” he said. “I’m going home to my wife.” 

“And I’m going to mine,” Sihtric added, but you already knew that. 

“S’pose it’ll just be us, then,” you smiled at Osferth, “unless you’ve also got a wife that I don’t know about.” 

Finally, he looked up at you and returned your smile. “Lucky for you, I haven’t.” 

~~

The alehouse was bustling when you arrived, but you managed to wangle a small spot in the back corner, half-hidden by a wooden beam. It was cosy enough, and neither of you minded one bit. 

As you sipped on your ale, you quietly observed the man before you. Every time your eyes dropped to your mug, Osferth’s gaze would find itself back on you - although he was trying to be subtle, you noticed, and it amused you to no end. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Y/N. Is something bothering you?” 

Osferth received a grin in reply, one that made his heart flutter in his chest.

“Not at all. I was just waiting for you to say something. I’ve realised I talk far too much, see, so I thought you might like a turn first.” 

“You don’t talk too much,” he said at once, his expression hardening. “I don’t mind. Why, has anyone told you that you do?” 

“No,” you assured him. “Just some introspection, I s’pose.” 

His features softened at that. “Perhaps you should do a little more of that, then,” he smiled, “if that’s your conclusion.” 

“Perhaps,” you chuckled. 

After a moment, he took a rather large swig of his drink. “You fought really well today,” he said, his gaze meeting yours. For the first time, you felt you saw something else in his eyes, something beyond his usual fondness for you, but you could not be certain. 

“Thank you,” you replied, beaming at him. “You… did see me knock Sihtric on his arse, didn’t you?” 

“Of course I did,” he answered, “and I thoroughly enjoyed it, too.” 

Both of you laughed then, only breaking eye contact to take another well-needed sip of your drink. Your heart was starting to beat uncomfortably quickly, and you suddenly felt the need for a little extra confidence just by sitting across from him. 

“You and Uhtred seemed deep in discussion about something,” you pointed out. “Was it something important?” 

Osferth exhaled before answering. “It was - it is. It’s really important.” 

“Care to share?” 

He frowned into his cup before finally answering, refusing to meet your gaze once again. “I like you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’d hope so.”

Despite whatever he was seemingly wrestling with, his eyes momentarily shot up to give you an exasperated look. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sorry. Go on?”

“What I meant was…”

He trailed off for a moment.

“Yes?”

“Y/N,” he groaned. “Give me a second.”

You grinned. “Alright. Sorry.”

Although you were being as patient as you could, the time he spent poring over his drink was beginning to feel like an eternity. Above all else, you did share Uhtred's blood... and your brother wasn't exactly famous for either his tact or his patience.

"D'you have feelings for me or something?"

His head shot up at this but, despite what you had expected, he didn't deny it. Instead-

"Yes. I do."

And for once, it was your turn to be silent. You felt incapable of saying or doing anything except staring at him.

The silence that descended upon the two of you stretched on for an uncomfortably long time as you processed the news with wide eyes. Osferth was beginning to fidget uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on his mug of ale - this silence could not bode well for him, surely-

“So do I.”

At once, his head shot up again, and if this moment was not so serious, you might have laughed at the comically shocked expression on his face. His eyes were wide and his lips parted, as though he truly had not expected such an answer from you.

“For you, I mean,” you added stupidly. “Not - not me, obviously.”

Why on earth would you say that?

Osferth stared at you for a moment, an unreadable look in his eyes, before he started laughing. Soon, you joined in, the two of you in fits of giggles, perhaps brought on by happiness or sheer relief that your feelings were mutual.

When they eventually subsided, you regarded him with pure fondness… though there was a gleam in your eye, too. At once, he picked up on it and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he questioned, his lips quirking up into a smile.

You grinned at him, reaching across the table to take his hand. You didn’t miss the faint dusting of pink on his cheeks when you did so.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Laughing, he obliged at once and stood up to walk home with you. And for once, neither of you let go of the other.

[mcybree]

In his head. I wanted a blorbo-themed phone wallpaper so I made one for myself ig

as my lockscreen (yay!!) + no houses version

[sometimeswritingsometimesdying]

call 911 there's been a gay on gay crime

[short666bread]

[just-prime]

Question to Dreamling folks…have you heard of Swedish Death Cleaning?

Okay so this has been hiding in my drafts for a WHILE now so bear with me

It's both a book and now a show, and I've been watching it recently. (well, it was recent when I originally wrote this) And the funniest idea has made its home in my brain...which is Hob getting stuck on this show. Logistically there are a lot of reasons why it wouldn't work...but let's just handwave all that, and say Dream is pulling some strings so that Hob's not recognizable on camera. I'd assume one of the Hob's employee friends at The New Inn volunteered him for it.

The camera crew are just trying to not be totally obsessed with this dude's quiet goth boyfriend who's raven keeps shouting curse words. Matthew has made it his personal mission to make Hob crack up on camera. Or the large maine coon who only is around sometimes despite being very obviously pampered, with eyes that have a really weird sheen to them.

The whole premise is 'decluttering your life so that after your death your friends and family won't have to do it' and I can just imagine that Hob's preparing to fake his death anyway, so he just says sure, what the hell only to realize that he needs to move all this stuff to a storage facility that is holding a bunch of stuff from past lives. And suddenly on the fly he is trying to come up with excuses of why he needs to keep a random glass bottle while a rather stern Swede is unimpressed. Plus employees of the New Inn keep mentioning different closets that are filled with things, so there's just a constant stream of really important things that Hob has to keep slipping to Dream to hold onto in the Dreaming so that nothing precious gets tossed out accidentally.

Or having to confront his grief over past loves that he's not truly over when he finds some last vestige of Eleanor and breaks down on camera. When it gets to the therapy section, it's kinda rough as he has to figure out what to censor himself on to stay realistic for his apparent human lifetime. The thing I love about the show is that one of the three hosts is an actual professional therapist, so Hob's gonna actually have to confront some of the harder truths that he may not even want to admit to himself yet.

When it comes time to have the final reveal, Dream helps with the decorating, and finds it incredibly soothing to put everything in the right place. After everything done, Hob jokes that he should become an interior designer or something...

This has been in my drafts long enough that I forgot when I actually started writing it...so yeah, just thought I should throw it out there finally instead of just keeping it in my drafts forever :P

[marshmellowtea]

celia hates basically all of chris's friends by virtue of them Being Chris's Friends (it personally offends her that there are people who love him better than she ever could in his life), but she has a special distaste for sandra, who she not only dislikes for being a dirty whore promiscuous, but she's also openly accused her of trying to steal chris from her, an accusation that held no weight when it was first leveled at her cuz sandra hadn't thought she cared about chris like that but it slowly became a self fulfilling prophecy as she spent more time with him and his parents and decided "yeah, actually, i am going to steal your son from you and your creep husband you piece of shit, fuck you celia fuck you fuck youfuck you"

[meowsticmarvels]

the concept of delta engineering the decision game so he and phi can be born is kinda funny he's like ok so i have to worsen my parents' existing ptsd so me and my Stupid ass sister I Guess will be born witj magic powers and shes also gonna have worsened ptsd as a result. this is a Necessary evil Life is Simply Unfair :/

[jewishcissiekj]

Jedi Masters as parents

Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of The Clones | Shatterpoint | The Clone Wars Season 1 Episode 13 - Jedi Crash | The High Republic: A Test of Courage