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shiny-jr · 6 months

Text

from POMEFIORE

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Gender-neutral reader.

- Characters: Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Epel Felmier.

- Summary: (Continuation, after this “we just got a letter, wonder where it’s from”) You have barred them from entering the safety of Ramshackle Dorm, but they are determined to make their words reach you. Which is why the letters begin arriving at your doorstep.

- Note: Hoping its not too out of character.

Ignihyde | Pomefiore | Scarabia

Perfume. The carefully sealed envelope reeked of it, like the sweet smell of lavender with spice. The envelope containing the message looked like something you would find when getting an invitation to a ball or a wedding. The envelope was pristine, and the wax sealing it was done so perfectly without a single awkward edge.

It almost looked unnatural with how perfect it appeared. The thick beige parchment was cut evenly, and not a blot of ink strayed from the elegantly curved cursive words that looked like ribbons upon the page. Looks could be deceiving. It was beautiful, but as you might've already guessed, the interior didn't entirely match what was hidden beneath the surface.

To my darling player,

I am at fault and take full responsibility for my actions.

All I've ever wished for, was to admire you. You are the epitome of magnificence, divinity that I can only dream to one day achieve but knowing I will never truly reach. There's an otherworldly sort of allure to you, which drew me in far too close. Much like the man who enhanced himself with wings of wax, but flew too close to the sun so his wings melted and he met a terrible fate. You are the sun, and I was that reckless fool with fake wings.

I allowed myself to get too close, tainting your light with my imperfect presence. Your grace was the warm sunlight on my skin, when everything around me was a horrible darkness. To think, I attempted to put out that light. It was nearly diminished. For that, I should be burned. I'm sorry, so so sorry.

I've thought long and hard on what I could possibly say to you, what sort of response could be adequate enough considering what you mean to me and the delicate situation. It didn't take long for me to arrive to the answer: no response is fitting. It doesn't matter if I pen a letter long enough to rival the river of tears I shed, coat the envelope in gold and ink of silver, with a message that would have moved the seven themselves to weep. It does not change the betrayal that occurred. I betrayed the trust you gave me, and shattered it into millions of pieces. However, know that I'll be on my hands and knees piecing it back together again, even if the shards cause me to bleed, you are worth it.

The stabbing sensation on my skin would be nothing compared to the one in my heart that I feel when I consider the fact that you might despise me. There's nothing more I would want than to see your face, hold your hands and feel the warmth of your skin that's so unlike the coldness of your vessel. Requesting a meeting would be imperious, as I have no right to ask you of this. But if I could, I would love to see you and discuss what comes next, perhaps over lunch. This is just a thought, a wish of mine, but one you are not required to fulfill.

I'd love to believe that I know you and your vessel better than anyone else could even dream of understanding, but I know that is far from the truth. Even as I pampered and polished your precious doll, your secrets continue to escape me. Did you ever hear me, when I brushed and washed Yuu's hair? When I took their freezing cold hands and painted their nails? When kneeled down in front of them to polish their shoes? When I adorned the best luxuries of brand accessories on their body?

I would kneel down to no one else.

There was always this wish, a dream of mine, that one day I might perhaps one day get to pamper you. Not Yuu. But you. Is that a scandalous desire?

Your hands would be warm, and I would hold them as I file your nails. Your arm wouldn't be so rigid and mechanical, you could actually extend it as I slather a creamy scented lotion along your skin. And if you do desired, I could lift your head and apply lipstick to your lips... This is just the process I commonly used while your vessel was under my care.

Although, I would gladly take up the responsibility of nursing you back to health, or any other role you would give me. There are countless things I can accomplish for you. I commonly deal in potent poisons, but I can just as well deal in healing and comforting. I'm skilled in self-defense and various forms of magic, so I can be your companion to protect you from everything that would wish you harm. You know of my business in acting and singing, so even if you wanted nothing else I could be there to entertain or serenade you. I only wish to be with you again, even though I know I'm underserving. I'm selfish.

If you want nothing more, then I have to be satisfied knowing I was in your thoughts for a brief moment. A twisted part of me wants your mind to be plagued by thoughts of me, just as my mind and heart is full of you.

I have to remind myself, that by getting too close I risk being burnt. But, at this point, I do not care for my own safety. I only care for yours, and I do this to keep my sanity. I truly admire you so much, that I cannot adore you from afar behind a rope like sculpture in a museum. I have to stand nearby, inspect your beauty, polish you to a shine, and value you like the priceless treasure that you are. Should someone threaten to chip off even the slightest speck on you, forcing you through more suffering...

I will shatter them into a million pieces, to preserve your peace.

Yours,

Vil Schoenheit

The wonderful aromatic smell that filled your nose brought back some not so pleasant memories. The smell of the earth beneath your feet, the scent of dew collected on every still surface, but above all were fragrant tangs that immediately alerted you to any nearby presence of a student belonging to Pomefiore.

They had chased you through those deep dark woods, like a pack of rabid hounds tracking and hunting a poor wounded rabbit. Besides their shouts and footfall, their perfume gave them away. There was one in particular which you only caught a whiff of only when you had too closely encountered the dormleader. The scent of lavender and spice hit your nose, the same fragrance on the letter.

"That reeks! Burn it!" A certain feline hissed, covering his little black nose with his paws. You swore the fragrance was beginning to form a migraine at the front of your skull. If the smell was strong for you, it must've been much worse for Grim since he had a superior sense of smell.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if the smell wasn't that strong and it wasn't the particular scent. Like vanilla or freshly baked bread. If that were the case, Grim might've insisted on keeping it or even be tempted to take a bite out of the sheet.

But it was lavender and spice. So the letter was tossed into a corner several feet away, left to an unknown fate that you would ultimately decide later. When you glanced back to Grim, you saw him holding and sniffing another letter.

For a long moment his sniffed the rolled up paper, his black nose twitching as he was likely just searching for another gift to claim as a snack. After a few seconds, he discarded it, sliding it over to you before he opted to dig through the pile like a raccoon digging into a heap of trash. "Meh, this one smells boring."

"Boring, huh?"

Boring wouldn't exactly be your choice of adjectives to describe this letter. It wasn't an envelope, it was a scroll tied by ribbon, attached to an arrow. An arrow, of all things, was likely the messenger for this message. Thankfully, this one didn't smell of anything. Even without a fragrance to match to a profile, the arrow was a dead giveaway.

Opening it up and using your hands to smooth out the curled edges, you blatantly ignored the wax seal over the ribbon. Once it was fully unsealed, a few single flower petals drifted down from the paper. Just another mess you would sweep up later and decide whether to dispose of it or not, like the first letter from the dormleader. For this one you were a pinch anxious. The sender was not like the others who came before.

Trickster,

It relieves me to see that you are finally safe.

To see you rest and heal in tranquility, nothing steadies my anxiously beating heart more than knowing you are sheltered. Well guarded by a trio of ghosts and the courageous feline Grim, I have no need to stress over your wellbeing with them acting as your valiant knights in shining armor! Although, I would also wish to join their ranks, blessed by your grace and fit to serve as your shield. However...

I am conscious enough to know that I am nowhere near fitting, no matter how much I may wish to reach out and shield you from every evil. In that most vital moment, I had failed to recognize you. I may have spared you from the sharpness of my blade, but I couldn't have guarded you from the suffering that was to come afterwards.

I'm so deeply and truly sorry. Many sleepless nights have followed, since and even before our first fateful encounter in those woods of the Pomefiore estate. Before our encounter, I was conflicted. I wanted to detest you, but I could not, I thought there must be a reason this was all occurring. I couldn't slumber peacefully, so long as I knew there was turbulence surrounding your beloved vessel. After our encounter, I couldn't get the vision of you fragile, frightened, and wounded, out of my mind. Raising a blade against you, who were a stranger shrouded in infamy, made my very heart stop.

Now I know why I was so unexplainably drawn to you. It was not due to the wild frenzy that overtook the entire campus, or a burning hatred to destroy, or even my own desire to discover answers I desperately wanted, although that last one may have played a role. The reason as to I was so enticed by you, a cunning 'imposter,' was because my heart recognized you. It must have been my very soul that pulled me towards you, and perhaps my own nature as well. My body recognized you, my heart and my soul led me to you, but I was blinded by my sorrows.

Throughout the few years I've had on this wonderful earth, I've seen countless peoples, and you are unlike any of which I've seen. In the places I've been, I have witnessed poetry be written by masters of literacy, melodies sung by the most angelic voices ever heard on a stage, and devoted worshippers in holy places kneel in solemn prayer. Somehow you as a single being, or entity, encompass all those elements into one. My aim is to admire beauty, and I see beauty in its finest form when I look at you.

I truly understand what you mean to me, and to others.

But at the same time, you remain a mystery. And I believe I'm speaking for all those who admire you when I say this. We could only dream of truly understanding you, when we only had Yuu.

So, I try to make sense of it all in what I do understand, in the beautiful things I adore that I associate with you who I cherish. In literature, music, photography, I see you in everything all at once. When I read poetic lines, I think I could share it with you. When I hear beautiful music, I imagine you might enjoy listening to the tune too. When I discover stunning sceneries, I plan to bring you there someday to share a moment with you.

Now, I can make sense of it. I understand how the poets of old felt as they penned the love and awe they felt towards the Fairest Queen. It's a rare sentiment that cannot easily be put into words, a feeling as if it held my delicate heart and squeezed when I so much as thought of you. When a song and its composer can bring an audience to tears, I understand that now too. Hearing your voice for the first time, formed a knot in my throat that prevented me from saying much. Catching that first glimpse of you, was like gazing at a perfect painted portrait hanging in a museum.

My dearest player, I am a Hunt. I am naturally inquisitive by nature, and my fondness for you comes just as naturally. You may consider it wrong, but I will continue to offer my loyalty even if you may not accept it.

My aim is to one day unlock your secrets, solve your mysteries, and understand you fully, learn what makes you tick and what drives you forward. Perhaps when the day comes when you've forgiven me for my crimes, I can proudly stand in your presence and recite the poems I have written in your name. I could admire you everyday from then on, and remind you everyday of your worth. Then, I will protect you, from all harm, and I will not allow myself to fail you once again. This is a promise.

Should you need me, I will be there.

Yours,

Rook Hunt

There was something that felt... off. Compared to some of the previous letters, these were rather tame. Of course, there was the desperation and fascination evident in their words captured by the ink, but it was nowhere near as extreme as other cases.

Although, it was still chilling, to read the thoughts they penned.

In your hand you held the arrow the letter had been connected to, feeling its thin shape and the sharpened head at its tip that nearly pricked your finger. The vice dormleader had excellent aim, and had he not been so kind, arrows like this one in your hand could've easily been driven through your flesh and caught you against a tree where you would've been helpless in their grasps.

And yet, despite the opportunities he had, he didn't let a single weapon touch you. All it would take was one arrow, one moment and he could've ended you where you stood. But he spared you. However, there's the lingering doubt that maybe the primary reason he did it was he hoped you had answers to the malfunctioning vessel. You couldn't be sure exactly why he spared you, when everyone had wanted to torment and imprison you or worse.

Beside you, there's a large crunch and a content purr. When you look over, there's Grim, happily munching away on an apple he held with his little paws. He sank his fangs into the fruit, content that he finally found an offering that appeased him. In front of him was a small basket, filled with more juicy red apples.

"These are great! And, even though I was the one who found them, I'll let you have some!" Grim picked up another apple from the basket, sticking his claws into the red peel and offering it with his little grin. Nevermind the fact that these were probably meant as a gift for you and not for him, but you didn't mind. They would have likely ended up in the trash anyways, at least someone could enjoy them.

"You should really have one. You haven't eaten all day."

"I'm not hungry, but thanks. You can have them." Ever since everything happened, you weren't too keen on accepting gifts, especially if they were consumable. For now, the only places you'd accept food from, was the cafeteria you'd venture too at the dead of night when no one was there, or Sam's shop.

In the spot of the basket where Grim had removed the apple, there was a white layer at the bottom of the basket. Perplexed, you reached in and found an envelope hidden by the piled apples.

Unsurprisingly, the envelope smelled of sweet things, apples, cinnamon, and freshly baked pies. The envelope itself was nothing special, it had no intricate wax seal or marking. It was loosely sealed shut by a brown piece of string, and covered in some white and pink apples blossoms.

The inside was less impressive, more authentic, which was refreshing in a way. Smooth cursive flowed into slightly choppy print scrawled out in uneven lines, before eventually returning back to cursive at the end of some sentences. It appears parts were rushed judging by the blotted ink stains at multiple periods. The apples were a clue as to who the sender may be, but why would the letter be hidden in a gift?

Dear Player,

If you're reading this, that means my letter got through.

Where do I even start? It seems right that I first say sorry. I'm sorry. It sounds like a load of bull, but I am sorry. Apologizing in all these other ways, won't make this any better, so, I thought this might help. I'm gonna be completely honest with you, no lies, no tricks, just the blunt truth. I'm not going to be showing you these pretty sides I polished to impress and to mask all the ugly. I'll tell you everything that's been going on. That's something only I have the guts to do.

The reason I hid this letter was because Vil and Rook have been checking anything I want to write to you. They want to keep up this positive front, they wanna at least pretend to be perfect enough to be near you. At least, that's what I think. Although I know we won't ever come close to that.

Instead of trying to write a real and honest letter for you, it feels like I was writing some essay for Professor Trein to grade. I'd have to write and write, and even if the grammar was right, the message wasn't. They want to make you think everything's okay, when it's not. I can only imagine what elegant crap they were spewing in their own fancy letters, while we're actually all a mess. We've been like this since Yuu broke down. I try to understand them, and in a way I do, but sometimes they freak me out. Yeah, I got my own problems trying to comprehend all this chaos, but they're different.

Is everyone else in the other dorms this extreme? This miserable and on the verge of breaking? Maybe you won't believe me, or maybe you'll realize that there's some truth to what I'm saying. Here, in Pomefiore, I can only tell you what I've seen. These days, Rook's smile seems strained, like he's about to snap, his eyes are sharp and watchful. The only time his smile is normal is when he's looking at some photo, but he won't ever let me see what it is. Vil, well, the only sign he's still alive and kicking are the packages that come in for him, new makeup and all that stuff, things he's using to craft that perfect mask. I did see him one night out in the hall, I swear there was mascara down his face but I was too put off to approach when he was like that.

Don't ever tell them I told you all this. Vil would probably skin me alive and wear me as a robe, and Rook... I don't want to think about what he would do... I'm kidding by the way, but seriously, don't ever tell them. I told you I would be honest to you, so here's my reason. I thought that maybe telling you all this would score me points with you, get you to trust me again. Even if this is a rotten way to go about it, I don't care.

I am rotten, and I won't hide it like them.

If I can't even be honest with you, then do I really deserve a second chance at all?

Scratch that. I don't deserve a second chance at all after everything that happened. What I did was downright terrible, but I'm trying my damnedest to be deserving again. And I won't stop trying, even if part of me thinks it's useless. I never cared for Yuu, the only reason I acted for them was because it was you behind them. My goal is to eventually be beside you, the real you.

Although, a basket of apples is a crummy way to go about things, but think of it like a peace offering. Just cause I can't get word to you, don't mean I give up. I'm not giving up. Ever. Everyone's going about their own roundabout ways of mending things. If you want to hear more, I'll gladly tell you. I don't think anyone else would tell you the truth of what's happening, because in a sense everyone wants to appeal to you with the best image of themselves they can possible portray. Don't believe all the hogwash they send you. If whoever sends something and seems to be stable, they're not. Not completely.

I'm awfully ashamed to admit it, but I'm not okay. Not since everything started, and not since everything went to hell when shit hit the fan. I'm not okay without you, and I got myself to blame for that.

This letter is helping. The thought of communicating with you again, even if I can't see your face or hear your voice and its reduced to words on paper, it's more than I could ask for. So, if you want me to spill the beans, just ask. If not, if there's no response, well, I'll get a bit of comfort thinking you might've read this. Besides, I have hope with each attempt I'll make. I'm not just rottenly selfish, I'm stubborn to a fault. And if I have to knock down someone else's chances to get closer, then that's fine by me.

All you gotta do is talk to me.

Until then, hoping to speak to you soon,

Epel Felmier

#twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #twst imposter au #i didn't ask to isekaied #we just got a letter wonder who it’s from #vil schoenheit #yandere vil schoenheit #twst vil #rook hunt #yandere rook hunt #twst rook #epel felmier #yandere epel felmier #twst epel #pomefiore

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sweets4dolls · 3 months

Note

omg im literally obsessed with ur work !! the aesthetics and dialogue and everything is just so chefs kiss :3 this is my first time requesting something so hooray !! i wondering if u could do a bunny! reader with an over protective! alastor? i think he would be the security guard type of boyfriend like thats so yummylicious :D thank you so much and remember to drink lots of water and eat plenty of food !!!!!!

pairing: protective!possessive!alastor + fem!bunny!reader

content warnings: toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, canon typical violence, not proofread, kinda dark!alastor?

notes: but he totally would be thoooo :0 also I just added on possessive for fun oopsies - also, YAY CONGRATSON UR FIRST REQUEST! :D

its in his nature to be protective for people that he likes, so actually being in a relationship with him makes his possessive nature go into overdrive.

although most sinners know better than to try him, there are the occasional few along with some of vox's people that do come after him.

he doesn't like to kill in front of you, he just thinks that you're too cute n pure to witness those sort of acts:(, but don't get it wrong, he's more than willing to rip sinners apart, ready to destroy anything he deems a threat.

that also includes if anything were to say something bad about you, he'd be dragging them away from you and tearing them in two before coming back all smiles.

although he is a gentleman and doesn't like to kill people who he thinks don't deserve it, he'd be lying if he hadn't thought about annihilating some of your friends that he thinks get too touchy with you - if that is the case, you'll end up wondering where they went until alastor comes in, convincing you that you don't need them because you have him!

being so protective, he'd also coax information out of you if he ever saw that you seemed to be bothered, putting on that charming smile of his before he has you spilling your heart out to him.

definitely likes to be by your side 24/7, and at some point it almost gets invasive so you leave by yourself, which he gets very upset at since you didn't tell him first, so. he waits in your room until you get back.

"I thought that you weren't in the mood to go out, dearest bunny?" he says with a hum as he rests in the armchair in the corner of your room, eyes gazing down at you as you chew on your lip nervously.

"just went for a walk is all," you mumbled, hand shifting to grip your upper arm in a comforting fashion.

"to go and see that friend of yours?"

he's worried for your safety, not wanting his precious bun to be kidnapped or killed by one of his many enemies :(

sometimes it leads to fights between you too, you always claiming that you need space from him

"its like I don't have a life outside of you!" you cry, eyes slightly bloodshot from an abundance of tears falling.

"of course you do," a lie, "I just can't have my little bunny getting hurt, can I?" he says in a sweet tone, trying to get you to calm down.

if his words don't work on you, he would leave you to see how hell really was while he wasn't there, leaking information to his enemies on your whereabouts, letting them run after you before he swoops in like the romantic hero of your story that he is and saves you, this time not sparing your pretty eyes from witnessing the carnage he creates.

he takes you back to the hotel, you a mess, weeping in his arms, all frightened and shaking.

"oh, my sweet, silly bunny, how foolish you were to leave without me," he says, nearly patronizingly as he holds you in his arms.

"I'm so, so sorry alastor, you were right," you shakily let out between chest-heaving sobs as you cling to him, afraid to leave his presence for a mere second.

he's always right, he just needs to make you see that too <3

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 7 months

Note

Helloooooo friend ❤️

For your 500 celebration, I am requesting a non vampire monster fucking fic with any Pedro Boy of your choosing 🙏🏼

(maybe something w tentacles maybe? not required tho whatever you want man love you)

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.

Specific Warnings: Dubcon/noncon, phereomones, tentacles, bondage, mind-fuck, alien sex, alient tentacles, Mind break (if you squint), unprotectred PiV (WRAP IT UP) , anal, DP, sex talk. Let me know if I missed anything!

Taungsdays, am I right?

“Cyar’ika.” A far away voice calls to you but you can’t seem to make it out, the word means something to you. It’s a precious word, but you just don’t remember why.

“Cyar’ika, please. Wake up.” The voice is clearer now, you know it, but it’s weird, not quite right. It’s clearer than you’ve ever heard it, but who? Whose voice is that calling so sweetly to you in the darkness?

Then you hear your name, crystal clear, uninhibited by a modulator, and you squeeze your eyes closed. It’s Din, your Din, your Riduur. But something is wrong, his helmet is off.

“Din?” You try, but your voice comes out in a rasp as you realise how dry your mouth is.

“Praise the Maker, you’re alive.” Din’s unmodulated voice sounds strained, like he’s in pain. You try and move your limbs but you can’t. Panic sets in and you whimper as you keep your eyes shut, you will not breach Din’s creed, not for something as trivial as fear.

Feel for him, feel his energy.

You think to yourself, meditating on the thought, of the essence of your beloved. He’s close, so close, yet there is something else, something writhing in the space between you. You flex your fingers, opening and closing them rhythmically as you try and get some blood flowing through your body. You’re restrained by your ankles and wrists, suspended somehow.

“Din, what’s going on? Where’s your helmet?”

“It was taken, Cyar’ika, look at me.” Din cries out in pain, and the terror that grips your heart forces your eyes open. Your heart catches in your throat as you see him, naked, strung up by maroon vines. They writhe and squirm over his body, coiled around his neck, sliding over his tan skin. You look down to see his cock, erect and weeping as a thick vine slides over his tip, pulling his foreskin back. Din grunts, his beautiful face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and anger.

You feel anguish and hatred deep in your core as you realise you’ve just seen his face for the first time, and dank farrik is he beautiful. The facial hair you had only ever felt in the dark confines of his cot is patchy, but well kept, a strong moustache framing his top lip. His angular nose hooking slightly, and you remember how it feels to have it pressed into your hair as he wraps himself around you.

“Din.” You sob, tears streaming down your face as you meet his sorrowful eyes; deep dark pools of liquid caf, an apology written across them as his grief mirrors your own. This was not how this moment was supposed to play out, you were waiting for the right time. But it’s all wrong, ruined. A precious memory taken from you before it had chance to bloom.

“It’s ok Mesh’la, it’s not your fault.” His tone is soft, none of his usual curt, practiced stoicism. It’s the voice he uses when he makes love to you in the pitch black in his bed. The one for when your bodies wound so tightly it’s hard to know where you stop and he begins.

“What’s happening?” You ask as you look down to see yourself similarly restrained, the thick maroon vines tight around your wrists and ankles. You realise that you were wrong before in your assessment, they aren’t vines, they’re tentacles. They throb occasionally and you feel bile rising in your throat at the idea of being so vulnerable hits you.

“We’ve been ensnared by something, took us both by surprise. It’s been, ah, touching me since I woke a short while ago.”

As if on cue, the tentacles restraining you slither across your skin, hot and wet it almost feels good but you force the intrusive thought out of your mind. A long, bulbous-headed tentacle winds into view and you hear Din shout something but it’s drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears. The tentacle peels open like a grotesque flower and a puff of silver powder spits into your face.

You splutter as the powder coats your skin, flows through your sinuses and sticks to your windpipe. It’s like being suffocated, the taste of bitter fruit and the smell of Spice drowning you as the tentacle recedes.

“What was that?”

“My guess? An aphrodisiac, they dosed me earlier and I’ve been stiffer than Beskar since.”

“Kriff, what are these things?”

You feel a stir of arousal wash through you and as a pair of tentacles snake up to your breasts, you want to feel disgusted, angry even. But the moment they curl around your stiff, pebbled nipples you cry out in pleasure.

“Din, I’m sorry.” You whimper as the slick, hot, swirling sensation reminds you of Din’s lips. It makes you imagine him on top of you, kneeling between your spread thighs in the dark, worshiping your body with his mouth and hands.

“It’s ok Cyar’ika, I feel it too.” Din’s voice is thick with strain as you watch a pair of tentacles work over Din’s thick length, another rolling over his tight balls. You’re jealous, jealous that it’s not you making him writhe against his restraints.

“Thinking of you, of us.”

“Let’s work through this together, talk to me Cyar’ika, let me know what you’re thinking about.”

“Thinking about how your mouth feels on my breasts, when you take my nipple in your mouth and suck, just right, like that.” You mewl as the tentacle seems to react to your words. It hardens and pinches at your stiff peak and you cry out, mouth agape as you feel slick drip down your legs.

“Yeah? Good, I’m thinking about that smart little mouth of yours, sucking my cock, cradling my balls, fuck, yes,” He groans your name and you whine at the sensation of a tentacle sliding between your legs. The length of it sliding through your slick folds as you twitch at the way it prods at your clit.

“Din, wish I could kiss you.”

“Me too Cyare, me too, just want to feel you, the real you.”

Then something changes in the atmosphere, a vibration ripples through your mind and you feel something sentient brush against your consciousness. You meet Din’s gaze and judging by the look on his face, he felt it too.

“Wait, these tentacles, I’ve seen something like this before.” You think aloud as you try and wrack your brain for information.

Before you can formulate a thought you feel another thrum of energy ripple through the air and the tentacles restraining you loosen and flex, bringing you together before letting go completely. You sob and fall into Din’s strong arms, he pulls you against him with a soft huff. His scent envelops you as your bodies press together desperately.

You feel a tentacle press against the base of your skull before a sharp pinprick of pain on your hairline. Suddenly a consciousness bleeds into your own and you see through the eyes of the creature, watching you and Din embrace, both with tentacles hinged to your spines.

“Din?”

“I’m here, I see it too.”

There’s a feeling ebbing and flowing through your minds, you can hear Din’s thoughts and you feel heat warm your cheeks as you feel like you’re intruding. Then you feel it, his consciousness poking back at yours, asking for entry, and you realise Din must have let you in. Your shame doused, you feel something stir deep in your chest.

You submit to his request and it’s like cold fire burning behind your eyelids, licking at your mind but not burning.

Then you both feel it, the pulsating intent of the creature as it gazes upon you and you think you finally understand what is happening.

“It’s a Marian,” You say without speaking, your thoughts bleeding across the psychic barrier between you, “Sometimes called a Bors.”

“They don’t usually uh, accost people like this though, right?”

“No, this is something strange, and I didn’t think Marian’s existed outside their home world.” Your mind wanders through the soup of three shared minds, wading through the freedom of being joined in such an intimate manner.

“Are you getting the same feeling I am?” Din asks as you absently leave open mouthed kisses against his chest, hands snaking up to dig your nails into the firm muscles of his back.

“It wants to fuck us, but wants us to fuck?”

“Mhm, you want that Cyare? Because I’m happy to go along with it if you are.”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice Din.” You huff as Din grinds his hips against you, his hard dick pressed into your stomach.

“No, but I’d much rather this be my choice, our choice, wouldn’t you?” He tilts your chin up with his thumb and forefinger. Your chest flutters with emotion as you let yourself gaze upon his face once again. This time there is no tug of shame, no sorrow. There is only joy, euphoria as you watch his cheeks dimple as he smiles down at you.

“Yes, I would, kiss me.” You reach up to cup din’s face with your hands, pulling him down into you as your lips fuse together.

Your mouth opens without prompt as you let him claim your mouth, his tongue hot and heavy as he licks into you. It’s as if you’d never kissed before, every synapse firing at full yolk as you groan into his mouth.

Din hoists you up like you’re featherlight and you wrap your legs around his waist as you thread your fingers through his hair. You tug lightly, causing Din to growl into your open mouth before nipping at your bottom lip. You yelp in pleasure laced with pain as he drops to his knees on the soft jungle floor, laying you down as he settles between your legs.

Tentacles wind around you both and you watch as they latch onto your nipples, curling around the stiff peaks as they pull and tug against them. You watch as a tentacle slides over Din’s body, nestling between his firm, pert ass cheeks. He shudders as the hot, sticky wetness teasing his tight asshole.

“This is new.” He grunts as he lines up at your core as you keep your hands on his face, savouring every moment of his exposed face.

“If you like it, we can try it out ourselves.” You wink at him as you feel a tentacle swirling around your own ass. Din has fucked your ass before so this wasn’t as daunting for you. You feel it breach your hole and you groan as Din follows suit, his cock stretching you out as you let out a strangled moan. You’re so full and you feel Din shake as he tenses up.

“Hey, Din, you’ve gotta relax,” You croon as you pull him down, your foreheads pressed together, you press a soft his to his lips as you rub your thumbs across his cheeks, “Focus on me, let go, fuck me baby, it’s alright.”

“Cyare, I’m sorry I can’t hold back.”

“It’s ok, use me, fill me up and make me scream Din.” You beg, already feeling your mind fogging over with bliss as you’re filled up and a tentacle comes to toy with your clit, the suction blinding as you pull Din down to kiss you as he lets out an animalistic snarl; his teeth clashing with yours as he fucks down into you with a fervour saved for nights where you’re blindfolded and bound to the side of the cargo hold, completely at his mercy.

“I love you Din, love it when you let go like this.” You breathe as you pull away, watching as his pupils dilate, his mouth open and hot breath fanning across your cheeks.

“Kar'taylir darasuum, Cyare.” He grunts as his face drops to your neck, his strong arms pushing your legs up against your chest. His broad palms anchored on the backs of your knees as he fucks deeper inside you. You cry out as the tentacle in your ass matches his pace. His teeth graze your skin before sucking against your sweat-soaked skin.

“Fuck it’s so deep.” Din grunts as his grip tightens on your legs, fucking harder and faster as you watch the tentacle inside him pulse and move in sync with all of your bodies. It’s all consuming, your mind and body unable to parse anything but the feeling of you all entwined.

“Din,” You whimper as your body trembles violently, “Going to come.”

“Come for me Cyare, let me feel you choke my cock.” He grunts, as you feel his hips stuttering as he nears his own release.

The pressure on your clit doubles and you are left mouth agape as your nipples are twisted and lapped at and the tentacle in your ass ripples rhythmically. You lace your hands through Din’s hair once more as you press your forehead to his, your mind going blank as you feel yourself coming hard around Din’s cock.

“Din.” You practically scream as he comes inside your pussy, the tentacle spurts into your ass, and you feel Din shudder as you know his ass is now filled with Mairan come much like your own. Din flops down on top of you, practically crushing you as you wrap yourself around him with all of your limbs.

The tentacles recede into the rainforest around you and the sound of nocturnal birds and insects chorus around you as the ethereal silence is broken.

“Are you ok?” Din breathes into your neck as you both pant heavily.

“Surprisingly, yeah, that was, something else.” You giggle and trace shapes over his bare back.

“That’s one way to put it.” He chuckles into your ear as he nips your lobe tenderly.

That’s when the fatigue hits you, Din falls forwards abruptly, forcing the air out of your lungs but before you can fight back you’re out cold.

----

The sound of the air recyclers wakes you slowly, a familiar, mundane sound that you usually tune out. You jolt upright and assess your surroundings, you’re back on the Gauntlet, in the co-pilot’s chair. You’re fully clothed and you look over to see Din, fully clad in Beskar, seemingly still asleep. You look out of the Transparisteel cockpit to see the rainforest outside, exactly where you had landed before you got ambushed.

Din wakes with a jolt and immediately springs to his feet, drawing his blaster in a swift motion as his visor scours his surroundings before landing firmly on you.

“Din?”

“Cyare?”

You throw yourself against his Beskar breastplate, ignoring the sting of the harsh metal on your skin. Din wraps his arms around you in a crushing embrace but you don’t care. All you care about is that you were together.

“So that wasn’t just a dream then?” Din’s modulated voice is a strange comfort after the events of your tentacle encounter.

“No, are you ok?” You ask, not daring to pull away from Din, you can’t bear being parted for him for even a minute.

“Yeah, was actually pretty liberating,” He chuckles as he rests the chin of his helmet on your head, “What about you?”

“I’m strangely ok, for unintended sexual encounters that was the best of them.”

“And ours isn’t the top of that list?”

“Din, you may have been oblivious to my very obvious advances on you, but I definitely intended to fuck you that night on Corellia.”

“Good point.” Din admits with a hum that rumbles though your chest.

There’s a comfortable silence for some time, the two of you swaying to a silent melody as the light bleeds through the night sky. There’s something unspoken, a deeper connection left as a remnant of the psychic connection with the Mairan which excites you and makes your chest flutter.

“So, that offer, about trying the uh, butt stuff, ourselves, is that still on the table?” Din asks as he lets out a nervous laugh. You lean back, only enough to look up into his visor, pinning his body to yours as you try to discern if he was joking or not.

“I meant what I said.”

“Good, I’ll hold you to that.” Din lets out a soft huff of air as he pulls you back against him. The Beskar is now warm from your body heat and you lean into it.

“But din?”

“Hmm?”

“We need to get some lube.”

He growls affectionately and hoists you over his shoulder before heading towards the crew quarters. You kick and scream with abandon as you feign a struggle against his firm grip.

You smile to yourself as you try and process the bizarre turn of events.

Taungsdays, am I right?

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! @wannab-urs @beefrobeefcal @proxima-writes @beskarandblasters @blackfemalenerd

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sehtoast · 1 month

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Perfect Punishment (Homelander x gn!Reader Smut)

18+ | spanking, leg humping, technically supe!reader (vague), sublander, light choking | Fic Directory

Suffice it to say, you're never quite sure how you end up in these situations. Granted, the common denominator in all of them was that Homelander was an endlessly voracious man in need of an infinite amount of attention, and he'd go to any lengths to get it.

Even this.

“Mmm, harder…” He hums as your palm strikes his rear, a playful grin etching into his face at the resounding slap.

“I thought this was a punishment,” you say as you rub soothing circles over the red of his briefs. “Doesn’t really count if you like it.” You're almost ready to stop and leave him hanging as a real punishment.

“Right, right. Ah! Ow!”

You roll your eyes at his theatrics. You'd teased him about being such a bad boy, but it seemed like he was all too happy to fill that role. His behavior cranked past ten, and now here you are: The Homelander himself bent over your knee, underwear pulled down just a smidge and pants at his ankles.

You're not even sure who made the spanking joke first, but god knows his eyes practically lit up like a Christmas tree at the mere mention.

For his smart comment, you swat significantly harder. You could never actually hurt him– maybe just sting him a little. In fact, you have a sneaking suspicion that the power dynamic reversal is what has him rocking against your thigh like the needy little thing he is. So pathetically horny at the idea of being weak and vulnerable for you.

Of being punished by you.

Not even his commentary could hide it.

“Oooh, that one tickled.” He snarks one more time, but his voice betrays him completely. A slight quiver in his words, a shaky breath exhaled, cheeks turning a light pink. “C'mon, babe. Give it to me. Unless you're all talk…”

Antagonistic little…

You grip his briefs and rip them clean off, revealing his bare ass to knead and squeeze to your heart's content. You loop an arm around his neck, restricting his throat between your forearm and bicep, tugging him just enough to make his back arch.

“You're a very bad boy,” you whisper, nails scratching his glutes. What little fabric survived the rip still miraculously covers his cock as he grinds against you unabashedly. You wind up for the swing and–

“Mmph!”

Like music to your ears, he chokes on the cutest little sound. Something squeaky and precious, surprise vocalizing high in his throat at your sudden brazenness and strength.

“You just wanted to hump my leg like a dog, didn't you?” You accuse, tightening your arm at his neck. You rub your last strike tenderly, letting your fingers slip along the curve of his crack. You can practically feel the way he shivers against you. “You’re makin’ a mess down there, aren’t you baby?”

Even pressed firm against your leg, you can feel his drooling cock twitch with need. The surviving scrap of fabric has to be drenched at this rate– you can almost feel the heated moisture and you know damn well his cock weeps practically the whole time he’s aroused on a regular day.

A breathy moan escapes his slack mouth the second your fingertips graze his sack, hips bucking forward to seek more of whatever delicious friction he'd found against your lap.

“You just wanted to lay on me and get played with like the little whore you are.” You trail your hand back and grip a cheek as hard as you can, nails biting into his flesh. “Admit it. You acted out for attention.”

“Mmm, yeah– fuck,” he confesses through a breathless whisper.

For his honesty, you reward him with a warm palm to his balls, feeling them tighten every time a pulse of pleasure surges through his body from how you play with him.

He keens softly, eyes screwing shut against the twist of bliss knotting in his core. He ruts even more brazenly than before, as if he wasn’t just getting spanked mere moments prior for always having to have his way. Your body rocks with the strength of his thrusts, so you angle your leg to press back against him. Sure, he was being ‘punished,’ but you’re not totally cruel.

“You wanna be my good boy, right?” You ask ever so innocently in his ear, breath fanning against the shell of it in a way that makes him arch further back. His mindless little nods make you grin sharply. “I thought so…”

Your hand comes down with a sharp crack against his right cheek and he writhes against you, mewling through his restricted throat.

“Count ‘em off for me,” you say, squeezing his neck a little more. You let off for a moment only to remind him to speak up if something’s too much, then squeeze again.

Slap!

“O-One!” He announces, hips bucking against you.

You can hear it in his voice– he’s like a time bomb ready to blow. His expression is infinitely more desperate. Hooded red eyes, cheeks burning a deep crimson, tongue peeking out just over the edge of his lower lip. If there was ever an image fit to sit beside whore in a dictionary, it was the sight of him like this.

“Tell me how good you’re gonna be for me after this.”

“I’m– I’m gonna be so good!” He promises through panted breaths. “Good for you– good f–”

You don’t let him finish before you swat his reddening flesh several more times in quick succession, watching with pure satisfaction as that mouth that never stops running opens to moan so loudly you’re almost sure the floor below must have heard it.

“N-Nine… No– no, fuck!”

Poor thing had to make a guess.

You tsk at him in false disapproval. “Good boys don’t lose count,” you say, even though he was definitely right. “Start again.”

And he did, too. By the time you make it back to the count of nine, his legs are quivering and his precum has soaked through the leg of your pants.

“Please, please, please!” He mewls desperately. “Let me– oh fuck, please let me come! Please, just– fuck I need it! I’ll be good!” He’s rocking against you without permission of any type as he spouts off promise after promise to behave himself for you. “Good– good b-boy… I’m your g’boy, I p-prom– ohfuckohfuckohfuck!”

And just like that, he’s blowing a thick, creamy load against you, legs spasming and glowing eyes rolling back in his head as you hold him through what must be an absolutely earth shattering orgasm if the full body trembling was anything to go by. Your name falls from his lips in a repeated prayer until all he can do is simply mouth it silently.

Your lips are to his ear the whole time, whispering affections and praise, adoration and love in droves.

“You are my good boy,” you say, accentuating your words with soft caresses to his sack. “My very, very good boy that I love so much.”

“M’your g’boy…” he murmurs weakly, eyes shut as he sinks into the glow. For a second, you think he might actually be calm for the rest of the evening.

Who are you kidding? He’s going to act up all night after this. You wager you've got about fifteen minutes of aftercare and snuggles before that switch flips and you're fucked on every horizontal and vertical surface he can possibly think of.

And you?

You’re gonna love every fucking second of it.

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #homelander smut #the boys #antony starr

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

Text

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 16 all chapters

~AUTHOR'S WARNINGS: N$FW, SEXUAL CONTENT, COPIOUS SWEARING, TOXIC POSESSIVENESS , IF SOMEONE TREATS YOU LIKE THIS IN REAL LIFE RUN RUN RUN BC IT WILL NOT TURN OUT WELL U CANT FIX THEM~

-Aware that John Wick knows this city much better than you, you stick to the crowds. You manage to find your way to the Peggy Guggenheim collection, and you hang out there for hours, looking through the art works, but really only half seeing what is in front of you.

You are devastated.

You’ve had controlling boyfriends before, and it was not fun. They seem exciting at first, until the person you were before is eaten alive by their tantrums and their ridiculous expectations as they try to fit you into a box of their own making.

You can’t believe John turned out that way.

Or maybe you can. Maybe you have a fucking type, and you should have seen this coming.

You stay almost until closing, then grab a bite to eat before daring to wander the streets. You find a little walled in park, a courtyard filled with lush greenery and a tinkling fountain. By some miracle, there is only one other couple on a bench at the far end. You practically have the place to yourself, and you sit down on a wrought iron bench with a sigh and eat your sandwich.

You pull out your sketchbook afterwards to pass the time. Your doodling hand wanders, and perhaps its no surprise when you draw John Wick from memory, his proud lips and haunted eyes. There are tears running down your cheeks as you do so. When it gets too much, even though you’re in public, you hang your head and weep into your hands.

Darkness falls, and you know you should be getting back. The bench has long ceased to be comfortable, and yet it’s like you have grown into it, unable to move.

Even with your head down, when someone sits silently down beside you, you just know it’s John.

You do not look at him, and thankfully he does not try to touch you.

“It’s getting late, y/n. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Yes it is,” he insists, sounding almost tired about it. You hate it that your demeanor softens towards him, just a little.

“You broke my heart, Mr. Wick.”

“I was afraid I might.” He is sitting with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. “Would you let me make it up to you?”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

“No?”

“No. I think you have a mean streak.”

He had tried to warn you, you realize, in his way.

God, are you really such a fool?

“Doesn't everyone?”

You make a sound between your teeth, and he nods like you have said something profound.

“I'm not a nice man, y/n. But I would be good to you.”

“Like last night? I didn't like that.”

The corner of his mouth curves in a wicked smirk, and your heart skips a beat in your chest, damn him. Was the contrition all an act?

“Yes you did.”

“Not the last part.”

“Hmm. I tried to warn you.”

In the vaguest terms possible, maybe.

“My fanny.”

He raises an eyebrow to that, and you’re not sure why that little gesture wounds you like a knife to the heart all over again. Perhaps because he is beautiful, and even though you know he’s dangerous for you, you still want him so very much.

You start to cry again, and try to get up from the bench. You need to get away from him, because you can’t think straight when he’s near.

“Y/n, wait.” He catches your wrist, and when you don’t really fight him, he pulls you down into his lap, and goddammit if this isn’t what you’d wanted all along. You feel small in his arms, cradled against his long torso and sheltered in the bend of his neck, even if in your hindbrain you know you are not actually safe at all. He strokes your hair until you quiet, and he kisses your temple like you are something precious.

How can this man be so sweet, just to turn on you?

“Why did you leave me, like that?”

You just do not understand. You could have had a lovely, fulfilling, mind-blowing if not vanilla night together. He’d laid all the groundwork like a master orchestrator, and you would have let him fuck you senseless. Fuck, you wouldn’t have even minded the tying up part, if he just hadn’t humiliated you.

“Because…” His lips ghost along the line of your jaw, and you fight not to squirm as his large hand slides up your thigh, his fingertips feather light on your skin. “Only good girls get to cum,” he says low in your ear, and you hate how it makes you ache between your legs, to hear him talk to you that way.

Outwardly, you do your best to keep your cool.

“And touching your hair made me a bad girl?”

“No.”

“Disobeying you did.”

“Yes.”

“That’s kinda fucked up.”

“Maybe.” He actually seems a little amused by you, which is not the reaction you were expecting. “I like to be in control. But you make me feel...unbalanced.”

“Me?” You sound incredulous. The thought that you could affect this powerful man in such a way seems absurd.

“Yes, you, kitten.”

The urge to demand he not call you that desiccates on your tongue.

“So...what? You feel the need to take revenge for that?”

“Maybe. I thought you knew the game we were playing, when you batted those big eyes up at me. Mr Wick, Sir, aren’t I a good girl?” His fingers dig into your thigh with the memory, and you can feel his growing erection beneath you. “But you’re just an innocent, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’re used to boys just eating out of the palm of your hand. But I am a man, with a man’s appetites, and a man’s desires.”

He was a little more than that, you reckoned.

“You want to control me.”

“That’s part of it.”

“Why?”

He smirks. “Maybe I had a rough childhood.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“I want to take care of you.” He kisses your cheek again, and it is gentle and sweet and everything you had wanted from Mr. Wick, before this all went sideways. “I want you to be mine.”

You are not proud of the way those words unleash a fluttering swarm of butterflies in your belly, your breath quickening in your chest. You are proud when you manage to answer, “I don’t need taking care of.”

He just snorts lightly at that, as if it’s not even worth arguing over. “Come back to the hotel room with me. I promise I’ll finish what I started. With interest.” His hand slowly slides up your thigh, just beneath the skirt of your sundress, and you think you might die. You should not want this man, after what he did to you.

The ache between your legs suggests otherwise.

You give yourself some points, when you shake your head.

“No. I’m going back to my hostel.”

The shift in his demeanor gives you whiplash, a thunderhead of a frown pulling his handsome features. “Need to get back to your little friend Javi?” The jealousy in his tone hot as a brand. “Did he try to kiss you again?”

Your heart drops to your feet.

“How did you know he tried to kiss me?” you ask, your voice so small.

That was in Rome, after all.

What should have been obvious before comes crashing in, and you realize what a little fool you’ve been. That feeling that someone’s been watching you, and John’s so convenient and coincidental appearance outside the alley…

“Holy shit. You’ve been following me.”

“I’ve been protecting you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have no idea what the world is really like, sweetheart. It’s a dangerous place.”

You frown at this.

“So…you think I’m stupid?”

“No, of course not.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself then.”

“I think I found you wandering around here like a lost little lamb. There are monsters here who would have gobbled a sweet little treat like you up in one bite.”

The fact that he sees you that way is more alarming than the thought of some unnamed threat in the shadows.

For some reason it makes you think of the men in the van back home—and how that van was found empty and on fire.

“How do you know about the monsters, John?”

“I just know.”

“You said you weren’t a cop. Were you FBI?”

He glares at you, which you take as a no.

“Interpol?”

You are met with silence, and you nod, mostly to yourself.

“You know about the monsters because you are one.” You think about those fierce looking Italian men with their scars and their bespoke suits. His previous words echo in your memory. Sono retirato.

“Were you in the mob?”

“Not…specifically.”

Then you remember he’d said he was from Belarus.

“Bratva, then.”

You should be terrified as you work all this out, trapped in the circle of this man’s arms, but you feel strangely numb about it all.

“My clever girl.” He sounds almost sad about it.

“Not clever enough,” you sigh.

You are not sure who is more surprised, you or him, when you burst to your feet. You actually manage to slip out of his grasp, though you only make it three steps before he captures your wrist again with a grip like an iron manacle. He gives you a dark look, annoyed that you would even try to play this game with him.

You remember what you learned in martial arts class a lifetime ago, pointing your thumb down towards the weak point of his grip and trying to jerk free. It’s worked before, with grabby men.

Not with John Wick, though.

“Stop.” Again, there’s that steely tone. The alpha voice one uses to reprimand a naughty dog. It only makes you angrier, and you struggle.

He pulls you hard against him, and you bite his hand. He doesn’t let you go, just adjusts his grip. “I didn’t want to do it this way,” he snarls low in your ear. “But you are so fucking stubborn.”

“Thank you.” You try to headbutt him behind you, but he ducks into the bend of your shoulder. You feel his chest trembling against your back, and only belatedly do you realize he is laughing at you.

“Enjoying this?”

“A little.”

“There’s no fucking way you can get me out of here without someone seeing. Let me go.”

He just sighs into your hair, like you’ve said something extremely naïve.

The arrival of newcomers into the park catches both of your attention. You lift your head, ready to ask for help, when you recognize the besuited tough guys from before.

Well, fuck.

“You've got some balls, showing your face around here, John Wick. Gianna d’Antonio’s son sends his greetings.”

“This isn’t a good time,” he snarls in return.

“Sorry, are you too busy fighting with your little girlfriend?”

He actually releases you then, pushing you to stand behind him. They are blocking the exit, so for now, you comply.

“You know how this will go,” John says, assuming a ready stance, his feet spread. He almost sounds regretful about it. “Do yourselves a favor, and leave.”

“Can’t do it, John,” says the one in the lead.

“For fuck’s sake,” curses John under his breath. The lead Italian makes a move, and John bursts into action. He is like a tornado of carnage upon them, throwing punches and breaking arms, cutting tendons and stabbing throats.

You are absolutely frozen as you watch all this unfold before you.

That is, until one of the thugs throws a knife at John, and you watch it bury in his chest. This is the thing that breaks your spell, and you run towards the fray with a scream, though who the fuck knows what you intend to do.

However, like he wasn’t just stabbed in the heart, John takes another attacker’s gun, pistol whipping him with it before shooting the knife thrower, then the last one standing. It cannot have been more than minute, before all of them are dead at his feet. He leans on his bent knees for a moment, catching his breath.

“John?” You hardly recognize your own voice as you rush to him, certain he’s taken a lethal blow and somehow fought through it with the surge of adrenaline. However, when you peel back his suit jacket you find no blood. He lets you look him over with frantic hands, maybe enjoying the fact that you don’t wish him dead, before pulling the still protruding knife from the breast of his jacket.

When he produces the little leather journal you’d gifted him from his inside pocket, now gravely marred with a puncture through the cover, you understand.

“Holy fuck.”

“You saved my life,” he says with an odd little smile down at you, as though all this is normal and what you just saw is totally ok.

Utterly horrified, you run.

“Y/n, wait!”

You throw yourself into the dark winding streets, taking any turn you can, trying to stay out of sight. Your feet fly beneath you; even in your shitty strappy sandals, it’s the fastest you’ve ever run.

It’s not fast enough.

When strong arms close around you, lifting you from the ground, you try to scream. A big hand clamps over your mouth, and you find yourself pressed hard into a stone wall. “Please, calm down,” he pants in your ear, out of breath from killing four people then running you down.

Your answer of, “Are you fucking kidding me?” is nothing but muffled syllables.

“Goddammit,” he sighs behind you, rifling in his pocket for something as he pins you with his body. “This is not how I wanted this to go.”

Your pitiful plea of “Let me go,” is cut off by an evil-smelling cloth shoved into your nose.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #bittersweet john wick imagine #yandere john wick #john wick fic #congrats you fought john wick and lived!#i love you allllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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13keithxpidge13 · 1 year

Text

I wanna write an AU where Rhaenyra chooses Harwin to marry and their marriage is solidified in the eyes of the Realm.

Immediately, Rhaenyra becomes pregnant. The couple are overjoyed and the kingdom celebrates, excited at the prospect of introducing a brand new prince or princess to the world.

When Prince Jacaerys Targaryen is born, Harwin is absolutely /flooded/ with joy and pride. Jace is his precious boy, his /beautiful/ firstborn son. He looks so much like himself but with Rhaenyra's violet eyes and her gorgeous smile. It doesn't matter to him that his hair isn't white (he doesn't care /what/ the Queen says). Jacaerys is his perfect, special boy.

Not even two years later, Rhaenyra is announced to be pregnant with their second babe. Her stomach doesn't grow nearly as large as it did when she was in her later months carrying Jace which did worry the Maesters just a tad but, Harwin wasn't concerned at all. Rhaenyra was strong, stronger than anyone he knew, if anyone could pull through-it would be his beautiful wife.

And, he was right. Eight months into her pregnancy, albeit a little early, Rhaenyra gave birth to their second son; Lucerys Targaryen. Harwin's precious, sweet little second son. Tinier than most babes he is but as strong as can be nonetheless. He looks like the spitting image of Rhaenyra. Bright violet doe eyes, a button nose with freckles caked across his cheeks, and a sparkling happy smile. When Rhaenyra first laid eyes on him, she sobbed with joy and whispered how he looked so much like her mother; the late Queen Aemma. King Viserys agreed, holding his second grandson and weeping whilst gazing at his sweet face.

It was at this time that the rest of Viserys's children had begun to become more curious about their older sister and their nephews. Prince Aegon often dragged the young Prince Aemond down to sneak into his and Rhaenyra's chambers to get a peek at the two young boys when Luke and Jace were playing.

Harwin wouldn't say anything against the young princes when they sneak in, when they think no one could see them. If anything, it warms his heart to know that, despite Queen Alicent and her bitterness against his wife and their children, her boys nonetheless attempt to be close to their nephews even when their mother argues against it.

Harwin watches, amused as Prince Aegon rushes over to Jace and immediately plops down next to him from where Harwin's eldest boy is playing with his youngest. The two sit on the floor surrounded by tiny dragon wooden cut out toys and Jace squeals as Prince Aegon takes one of the toys and starts playing. Little Luke kicks his tiny four month old feet out and giggles loudly, clapping his hands together.

Prince Aemond takes a little more coaxing but, eventually, they all are playing together on the floor with the sound of happy laughter and childish giggles ringing throughout the room like church bells.

It isn't too long before Rhaenyra returns, entering their chambers and the group of children all whirl to meet her.

"Oh my," She gasps, but she's smiling and little Luke squeals, babbling nonsense and reaching towards his mother. "It seems I have a group of little hatchlings nesting in here. What are you doing away from your mother at this hour, brothers?"

"Playing!" Prince Aegon shouts and stands up, smiling wide as he raises his arms. "Mother forgot to put Aemond down for a nap so I brought him here!"

At that, his wife's smile falters just a tad. It was not secret that Queen Alicent often...neglected her children, leaving them to the servants and wet nurses instead of spending time with them herself.

But, that didn't seem to bother the two young princes as they would often sneak away to come find their nephews anyway.

"All by yourselves?" Rhaenyra asks, concerned and that's when Harwin speaks up from where he was situated beside one of the desks inside their bedroom, hidden from sight but able to keep an eye on the group.

"Don't worry, princess," Harwin spoke up and all heads turned to him. "I've been watching them."

Rhaenyra sighs with relief and stalks towards little Luke who was practically crawling over to her at this point, desperate to get to his mommy. He had always been more attached to her than Harwin but, Harwin supposed he didn't blame his son. He was quite attached to her too.

"Hello, little love," She whispers to her second son as she picks him up and cradles Luke against her chest. He coos and babbles, clutching onto her hair and nuzzling against her. "Yes, hello, my sweet boy. I've missed you too."

"Can we stay, sister? Please, please?" Prince Aegon begs, bouncing on his tip toes as he grabs at her black dress. His eldest sister chuckles and she gently runs a hand through his wavy white hair and he leans into it.

"Ah, well," She sighs in a teasing manner. "I /suppose/ you could stay for a bit while longer."

Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond cheer and Jace and Luke follow along, all of their giggles resounding and joining together.

Harwin and Rhaenyra smile at each other and he walks over to kiss his wife, his girl humming against his lips and he then plants another kiss upon her head and one on little Luke's.

It won't be for some time that they have another babe, many years but, Harwin cherishes each and every moment he has with his family. His perfect family.

#harwin strong #rhaenyra targaryen #lucerys valeryon #lucemond #jacegon #jacaerys targaryen #aegon targaryen #harwin x rhaenyra #aemond targaryen

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glow-worms-are-believers · 1 year

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Father of mist, Father of foam (dcxdp)

Inspired by this post because this ship is so unhinged and I felt like writing Talia.

There were many stories in the League. Most of them went untold, and were eventually buried with the dead. Everyone knew not to ask about them, especially not for Ra's Al Ghul's. But nothing would stop the whispers, especially about Talia and her parentage.

Growing up, Talia had always been curious. She had asked her father once about her mother. Once, and never again. Father had only looked at her, but the empty deadened gaze he fixed upon her that day had frightened her more than any of their sparring sessions.

So she had resolved to ignore the chatter, and lock away those questions in the deepest corner of her mind. She did so, and for years, she managed to keep it buried. That was until she turned 9 years old, and decided to sneak out of the compound. So proud was she of her victory, she did not pay attention to her footing, slipped and fell right into the tumultuous river alongside which she was walking.

Talia was a good swimmer, but the currents were too strong and she was sucked under. She woke up, wet but alive on the bank with a man sitting next to her. He smiled before speaking in a voice that sounded like bells in the wind. "Hello, daughter."

And as the truth of his word echoed, she understood. "Hello, father."

He smiled and it was like the moon, soft and sweet and sad which Talia knew meant their time was limited. So she sat right next to him, and nestled in his arm, before asking him to tell her a story.

"When I was younger," her father started. "I decided to venture to the mortal world once again. There I met a man to whom I would give my heart, my soul and my Core. " Her papa said, before sighing. "He was such a strong soul with an intricate mind and I was so in love. We were happy so very, very happy."

"What happened?" Talia asked.

"My dearest one started listening to the whispers, doubting my love, my devotion. I pleaded with him to trust in me and the strength of my affection and he did, and for a time, I believed this was enough. But the peace did not last long, the whispers had already infiltrated his mind, poisoned his thoughts."

Her father had had a far-away look. "He locked away my core away and I could stay no longer. I cannot give my core to another, as it is not mine anymore. I stole it back, but it will stay his for all eternity. But for his betrayal, I cannot be by his side either."

Talia could feel her eyes start to water for her papa.

"Do not weep for me, my child," he said as his big hands cupped her face. "For he gave me a gift more precious than anything. He gave me you, daughter."

Talia turned into her father's chest and gripped at the strange fabric of his garment. "Take me with you," she said in a whisper.

"It is too early, Beloved," her father said as he caressed her hair. "You were born of the Realms, but even you cannot enter before your time."

Then, he stood up and deposited Talia on her feet. He looked down to her with tender eyes before he bent to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. Talia closed her eyes and when she opened them again, he was gone.

#unhinged ships #Ra's al Ghul x Danny Fenton #you're welcome #Danny is kinda like a selkie here #talia al ghul #danny fenton #ra's al ghul #danny phantom #the league of assassins #dc x dp #dp x dc #talia al ghul is danny's daughter #vaguely fairytale like format #roxpox #roxpoxwrote

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resplendent-ragamuffin · 29 days

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Six Months Since

By Shoshana bat-Yehonatan

A poem for the six (Hebrew) month anniversary of the Simchat Torah Massacre. With thanks to the JPS, Koren, Metsudah, and other translations on Sefaria.org. Footnotes link to sources of quotes. Footnotes connect to sources which will be in reblog, because otherwise it's too long to post.

TW: RAPE

Six months has it been

Since the fields turned red without flowers

Now calaniot bloom where once my darlings danced

But still, my precious ones are gone.

I have no prophets to comfort me

No visions from God [1]

My king remains in exile [2]

How can I sing a song of God on alien soil [3]

In an alien tongue?

Yet I have been too long a stranger in a land not mine[4]—

Two thousand years, to a paltry hundred and twenty—

And I forgotten even how to speak the Holy Tongue

Let alone write in it.

I have neither wit nor words to sing my grief.

And so I turn to those before me

As they turned to those before them

And say,

“God, open my lips, and let my mouth declare my grief.” [5]

Oholiva cries [6]

And Ohola wails [7]

This year was pregnant[8] with a second month of joy

Instead she wails in travails unending

“When will my children return?” [9]

Oh wall of Fair Zion [10]

Shed tears like a river [11]

Cry out in the night and pour your heart out like water [12]

Rachel’s eyes are red as her sister’s [13]

As she weeps over the fate of her children [14]

Six months it has been

Since they ravaged women in Zion [15]

Maidens in the towns of Judea [16]

Since their hands tore my princes apart

No deference shown to elders [17]

On this day six months ago

My infants were taken captive before the enemy [18]

The joy of our hearts was seized

And our dancing turned to mourning [19]

For the youths are gone from their music [20].

Now my eyes shed rivers of water [21]

Over the ruin of my people’s daughter [22]

Bitterly I weep in the night [23]

My cheeks wet with tears [24]

There is none to comfort me: my friends have betrayed me [25]

I cry:

Behold my agony! [26]

My priests and my elders have perished in the city [27]

The elders strewn like dust on the ground [28]

Those whom I dandled and reared my foe has consumed [29]

“This is the day we hoped for! We have found it, we have seen it!” [30]

My maidens and youths have gone into captivity! [31]

“It is your doing.” [32]

Blood on her legs, her nakedness seen, [33]

Zion reaches out for comfort [34]--

“Away! Unclean!” [35]

She can only shrink back and sigh [36]

“May it never befall you.” [37]

The nations have resolved “They shall stay here no longer” [38]

We wander and wander [39]

But where are we to go?

How can I bear to see the destruction of my kindred? [40]

“My life as my wish, my people as my request,” [41]

I begged my Husband [42]

“For we have been targeted, my people and I, to be destroyed, massacred, and exterminated.” [43]

But the King turned His face from me.

My dear ones were purer than snow [44]

Ruddier than rubies or coral [45]

Their bodies lovely as sapphire [46]

Now their faces are darkened with ash [47]

Unrecognizable amid the ruin of the streets [48]

See, God, and behold to whom You have done this! [49]

Look at me, answer me, Oh God! [50]

How long will You hide Your face from me? [51]

I have no prophets now to comfort me

And must take my comfort from those before:

You promised “God will restore your captives.” [52]

Return them, God, and let them come back [53]

Renew our days as of old. [54]

#october 7 #bring them home now #israel #am yisrael chai #jumblr #tw: rape #I'm so tired #poetry #jewish

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romanoffsbish · 1 year

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A Prompt List

Feel free to pick and choose from the list for your own stories, as well as send in requests (view my masterlist for who I write for) with whatever prompts if you please, 🥰

Angst/Fluff/Smut prompts listed. (18+)

Bonus points if you take the assigned genre and flip it 🤔😏

———

Angst

“Are you serious?” / “I never wanted this!”

“This was never real, was it?” / “I was just a warm body for those cold winter nights…”

“You are vile…” / “I can’t believe I ever believed someone like you could love me.”

“Nothing good ever lasts.” / “Goodbye.”

“I love you.” / “It’s not enough this time.”

“Please, don’t leave me, we can fix this.” /“You left me first, I’m just finishing the job.”

“I love you Y/N.” / “Why do people only say that to me when they’ve wronged me? Am I not deserving of the guiltless love? Like the ones I see in fairytales, where they get swept away smiling, and not where I curl up to weep in my bed for another damn night.”

“I’m sorry.” / “For what exactly? Breaking my trust, and in turn my fragile heart? Or do you only mean that you got caught?”

“I can’t even look at you anymore.” / “Please…” / “This is the end for us.”

“I can’t live without you, I won’t survive.” / “Then I guess I’ll be back for your funeral.”

Fluff

“There’s nobody else I’d ever love like this.”

“Everything I do is for you—my beloved.”

*while stargazing* “If I could, I’d rearrange the stars for you, have them map out your face, because a beauty like yours should transcend the bounds of Earth my darling.”

“I can’t believe that the world had infinite chances to find me a soulmate, and I lucked out and hit the absolute jackpot with you.”

“Did you know that a kiss is worth a thousand words?” / “You should kiss me.”

“You’re the most gorgeous person here.” / “I’d never lie to you darling, god, I wish you could see you the way I do” / “Perfect.”

“Call them —, the worst they could do is say no to you, and trust me, they won’t…” / “They said yes!!!”

“I’ve loved you since the first time I ever laid my eyes on you.” / “Well damn, why’s it taken you so long to make a move then?”

“I can’t believe my cat/dog loves you more than it’s ever loved me.” / “Actually, on second thought it makes sense, you’re far too lovable to even question it; *pets name* you have good taste.”

“I will never tire of watching you sleeping next to me, you’re just so peaceful, and I get to celebrate that you’re all mine.”

Smut

“Careful what you wish for baby, because I’m nothing if not generous…”

“Where should I sit?” / “The couch works just fine, but if you prefer comfort, my face works far better my darling.”

“I’m not letting you go until you’ve either drenched the sheets, or passed out.”

“Fuck me like you mean it —, let everybody know I’m yours before I no longer am.”

“Aww, did my precious little dove think I’d just let that little stunt go?” / “I was hoping so.” / “You’re sadly mistaken toots, now prepare yourself for a long night full of passion, and if you’re lucky—pain.”

“Mommy isn’t very pleased with the outfit you chose to wear tonight, you made those fools think they stood a chance.” / “Maybe they did.” / *incredulous laughter* “Is that right baby? I go on one week long business trip and you just forget who you belong to? Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll remind you.”

“Stay still, or I’ll have you warming daddy’s cock all night long.” / “That’s a good girl.”

“I-I can’t take anymore, please.” / “You can take it, and you’ll do it graciously, one more complaint and I’ll edge you all month.”

“Kiss me, please.” / “Is that all you want baby, is for me to kiss you?” / “N-no, I also want you to fuck me senseless, but a kiss sounded far more romantic.”

“If you don’t fuck me, I’ll be doing it myself!” / “I’m coming!” / “No, I am!”

#angst prompt #angst prompts #angsty prompts #writing prompt #writing prompts #fluff prompt #fluff prompts #fluffy prompts #smut prompts #smutty prompts

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namazunomegami · 1 month

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Atonement

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: How can you cleanse yourself from the sin that has been tainting you since your attempt to escape? The answer is easy: walk on barefoot for him, suffer some misery, risk your health for him, open yourself up for him and you can earn his forgiveness.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, toxic and complicated dynamics, religious symbolism, porn with feelings, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising, gaslighting, m!receiving oral, fingering, non-consensual edging, good old unprotected sex + creampie

WC: 5.3k

Credits: my lovely @notveryrussian who worked so hard to get this fic proofreaded. Ngl they deserve all the praise and respect because we lost literal pages from the already edited draft because windows is crap and they had to start over again. Take one big break darl, you deserve it 💕

Song rec: mythical creature by pregnant whale pain was my main inspiration during writing but i think tumblr dot com is not ready yet to listen to an unknown hungarian avantgarde metal band while reading porn lmao. Maybe i'll drop the acoustic version later.

A/N: Here is part 1 in case if you missed it. I think you need to know what happened to completely understand the buildup and have a general idea about their relationship. This fic is probably my fave I’ve written so far, a special lil brainchild of mine. These two are living in my mind rent free with all their lore and they'll never let me go.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕

Minors don't interact unless you want me to stand outside your house at 3 am with a pitchfork

It was very hard to explain to your family what happened to you. The worry which they approached you with, especially Mimiko and Nanako just stirred a weird sense of guilt in your chest. The twins even offered to help you out with chores, eagerly telling you to rest, let your body heal. Your heart shattered to pieces in that moment, weeping endlessly with fat, salty tears. Your precious darling girls, so considerate of you, so caring, their hearts filled with everlasting gratitude. And you wanted to leave them. You felt like a piece of shit of a parental figure, obviously.

Days passed as if nothing had ever happened. Even in your private moments with Geto, the issue was never brought up. He took care of your wounds, of course, but your escape attempt wasn’t a topic of conversation at all. You swept it under the rug.

Which means it was only a question of time until he was going to wield it against you.

“Leave the scabs alone.” he reprimands you softly, dragging your wrist away from them. The hot water softened your scars, making them itchy, easy to pick away at them. But Geto is so thoughtful for looking after you like some kind of crazy mother hen, right? Even sitting in the tub behind you.

He takes hold of the edge, stepping out of the tub swiftly. The water suddenly drops around you, goosebumps dot your skin from the sudden touch of the moistened air as he hides that broad, sun-kissed form of his beneath a bathrobe. You ache for a bit of peace, a bit of me-time, but since the so-called “accident”, he just couldn’t stop himself from keeping an eye on you constantly.

Your hand dances along the surface of the water, bunching the bubbles together into various shapes, like they’re islands. Like you’re a young god, decorating the plane you’ve created. But his outstretched palm appearing in your vision disturbs your creative process.

“Come, I’ll take the stitches out.”

Compared to when your wound was sutured, cutting out the thread is a relatively quick process. Especially with his competency. The tweezer lifts and holds the knot, as he severs the thread with a pair of scissors and pulls it from your flesh before he moving on to the next. It’s uncomfortable, not in a way that it hurts, but it makes your skin crawl and your bones bend. An overall disgusting feeling. But when it’s over, it does feel better. And knowing him, you wonder if it’s purposeful or not.

“Must you make it painful?” you complain, thumb pressing down on the closed, marred skin. For the wrong reasons though, but you can freely complain.

“I didn’t intend to hurt you.” his voice is soft like silk, but not without a sharp edge in it, slowly unfurling, like the jaws of a venus flytrap. “I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

You glare at him, your eyes piercing him like a dagger.

“Me? I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

This… was a bit too far, you must admit.

You storm out of the bathroom, like you could get away from the conversation.

“Go on, speak.” his words echo through the walls of the bedroom, making your movements halt immediately. You glance up at the window, faced with his reflection as he leans against the doorframe. “What should I learn from you? That you’re not afraid to run? To put your life in unnecessary danger?”

A long sigh leaves through your nostrils.

“If it comforts you, then yes, I realized that I had made a dumb decision.”

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing right behind you. Looming over you, shrouding you like an evil trickster spirit.

“I must admit I enjoyed your little attempt…” his palms are heavy on your shoulders, just like his words echoing close to shell of your ear. “Catching you, watching your resolves crumble, the raw terror plastered on your face…” the way his voice caresses you is just like the way he would hold a blade right against your throat, pressing down on the pulsing veins that could be cut open so easily. Like needles slowly being inserted into your ear canals. Eventually it softens, getting more serious and chiding. “But you did scare me. Have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if I didn’t go after you?”

You’d die, you would definitely die. Bleeding out amidst the leaves and grass, letting the frosty night bite you tense and weak. All alone in the dark.

Hold on…

You wouldn’t be injured if he hadn’t frightened you in the first place.

Did he just… no, it can’t be.

He slowly walks away from you, and you hear the bed creak under his weight. The choking feeling finally lifts from your throat. You turn towards one of the incense burners, already filled, it merely needs to be lit. But you do it slowly, just for the sake of appearing busy, to not feel obligated to carry on with the conversation.

But you should make peace with him before he does. He’ll make you face all of your mistakes and their consequences, if not outright making you suffer because of them. Rub all of them into your face until you have no choice but to plead for forgiveness.

It’s not easy, but you open your mouth. The scent of sandalwood lowers your guards, helping you be honest and brings forth the thoughts you’ve been trying to hide for a long time.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. And I wonder even more about that if we’ll fail before reaching our goal. Fail spectacularly. Because we want to do the impossible.”

“What is exactly the right thing? Being selfless? Forgetting all about our grudges and letting the world trample all over us? Or being selfish and crushing anyone under our feet to keep each other safe?”

Like an elastic band being strained for far too long, you snap. Luckily, the bronze lid of the incense burner holds out under your grasp.

“It’s too fucking late for moral arguments! Can’t you speak to me more directly for once? Instead of hiding behind your… carefully crafted scenarios that only prove your point.”

You should have avoided looking at him. At your serpent, who made you sin, who was cursed alongside you, your serpent who devoured your beloved Adam. You yearned for the remains, sitting in the bottomless pit of his stomach.

But you swore those remains spoke to you, through layers of flesh, scales, and deception. Soft and calm like a light summer breeze.

“Do you have doubts about me, darling? Are you giving up on me?”

The question breaks you, evaporating all of your anger and resentment in a flash. Devoid of any playful tone or hidden meanings, so raw that it takes hold of your heart and squeezes it so tight that it couldn’t possibly beat anymore.

You know how he twists the truth, striking right into the softest parts of you. He feeds you poison – yet you swallow it right down every single time.

“Faith has no zenith, my dear.” you answer, low and sweet, like you wanted to comfort him. The lid on the incense burner closes, giving you enough time to build up the courage to approach him. You weave your words carefully, in such fashion that it can be interpreted in multiple ways. If he switched just one little word, he’d immediately gain more insight into what’s really been weighing on your heart. “There’s no such peak we can reach on which we can stagnate forever. Faith sometimes wavers, sometimes we question our beliefs. Sometimes we’re unsure if our prayers are heard.” you get down on your knees before him, taking his hand into yours, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “But I do want to have faith in you.”

His features visibly soften. Heavy lids close in relief, and you feel his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

This is your chance! Go on, there’s no time more perfect than this to try to convince him.

“We should really get away from the temple.” you start with an almost resigned sigh, but your excitement soon starts to show. “Just for a few days. Manami will handle the followers while we leave for the countryside, or an island. We can bring the girls even.”

A faint glimmer in his eyes tells you his answer is going to disappoint you.

“They don’t know about the girls, but they certainly know about you.” he reminds you sternly. “The higher ups want us dead and the last time I offered to protect someone, they ended up getting killed.”

His voice is faint, almost shaky. He rarely talks about the death of Riko. And if he ever brings her up in a conversation, you know he means it.

The heavy lid above his eyes drops, violet irises hiding behind his lashes, averted from you. The words coming out of him are barely above a whisper, like his lips are made from lead, like forming the words is a tiring task because they’re so heavy, and filled with something violently torturing him.

“This is a risk I’m not willing to take again. Not even for you. Especially for you.”

You feel something pooling on your waterline. Translucent pearls of tears appear so involuntarily when you see him like this. Sometimes you do want to hurt him, but when you see him in pain, it torments you even worse.

“I’m not asking you to take risks for me. I never did. But you should take some for you. You could use some respite.” you lace your fingers with his. It brings you a strange kind of comfort how your hand just loses itself in his, but it’s yours that looks more lively and powerful. Like it’s you what keeps him together. As if without you he would shatter into pieces. “You take on an awful lot of responsibilities, I think sometimes more than you’re capable of handling.”

Affection sweeps through his features as he caresses your head, from the roots of your strands to the thick bone of your jaw. A lonely thumb brushing along from your cheekbone to the lobe of your ear. And there’s nothing you can do, only stare at him, wide-eyed with reverence, like he’s an ethereal being.

“This is not your cross to bear.”

He wanted to ease your concerns, but you’re much more stubborn than that. You won’t stand there, at a safe distance, watching him drag himself to his Calvary, whipped and crowned with thorns. You’ll push through the crowd, smash them to bits just to reach him and offer your veil to wipe his face. A thousand times, as many times as he needs.

“Of course it is, what do you expect from me? Unlike…” No, don’t say names, do not compare yourself to certain figures in your past and the way they treated him. “I’m worried about you, for no other reason than I genuinely care about you. That’s why I want you to put our plans to aside - let’s unwind a little, recharge. Before all of this drives us insane.”

He deliberately avoids answering, your concern grows and grows like vicious vine. Is this too much to ask for? A small moment of normalcy can’t be granted to you? What are the two of you really? Idols of worship, if not gods at this point because your sheep do regard you as such. But can’t gods long for a visit amongst mortals? Can’t they shed their divine status? You could, but maybe, before he’d let you leave, he’ll feed you pomegranate seeds.

Would you eat them again? Of course you would. Even if you fight and snarl a little beforehand. Because love is the death of duty, and of a peaceful mind, of comprehensive decisions. Love is so mystified, shrouded in the illusion of an immortalized existence, just like death. Love is, indeed, death.

Your palms cup his face, his skin radiates warmth through you. The warmth of the evening sun that makes the sky bleed with the prettiest colors you can imagine. Your touch slowly encourages him to look into your eyes, finding a strange kind of determination and care mixed with your obvious worry. A Magdalene dwells within your gaze, who already washed her prophet’s feet with tears and dried them with her hair before he starts his last journey to Golgotha.

“I told you a million times, if you fall too deep into your misery, when you feel like you can’t come back to the surface on your own, let me know, so I can pull you out. Or let me know so I can go after you. And we’ll drown together.”

All those little pacts and vows you made during the years echo through you. Even the first one, the most ancient of them all, when it was still easy to hide your concerns behind your techniques.

I’ll keep an eye on you.

It’ll keep an eye on you.

You lean closer, foreheads and the tips of your noses touching. Eyes closing in almost perfect synchronicity.

“Promise me, Suguru. Promise me again.”

You wait and wait, until his warm breath brushes your skin like fine silk, like a feather.

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief. It hurts, it hurts so much. There’s so much place in your heart for him to dwell in. He owns it and he won’t give it back. Ever.

You only wanted a chaste kiss, but a special type of hunger wakes deep below your navel. You taste his words, you swallow them down, nipping them from his lips. You look for the rest of them, his thoughts that hadn’t been formed into words yet, the rest of the sentence, you search for it with your tongue inside his mouth.

You grab onto the sheets, trying to push yourself up. Like you could overpower him, like you could battle against him. To have him laid out on the mattress, defeated. But he stops your advances with a palm resting on your shoulder, gently pushing you away.

“You’re not healed yet.” he whispers, truly concerned.

“Then I’ll be on top, I don’t care.” you oppose breathily, your fingers trying to pry his robe open.

“The cut on your hand could re-open if we’re not careful.”

Oh, how you adore him when he’s so tender with you, but now, this is the last thing you want. You want to bare your teeth and go right for the throat.

“Then you’ll stitch me up again.” There’s a playful edge in your voice, and you kiss him again with the same curve of a smile while he lets you crawl on top of him.

And he smiles against you too, delighted by your eagerness. You, trying to eat him up, digest him - he’s just enjoying you and the feast you’re having. Taking everything from you. He only wants to capture you, to cage you in his hold. He’s kneading your flesh leisurely and humming into your mouth contently, almost lazily.

In the crooks of his body, you find your religion.

The sharp line of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, the hollow caverns around his collarbone. But your mouth carefully avoids the scars slashing through his chest, after all those years, it still pains him when the lightly coloured, textured skin gets touched. As if these lips of yours and your aimlessly trailing fingers were the same blades, penetrating the flesh again and again.

There’s not a morsel of him that you weren’t intimately familiar with. In a way that rivals how much you know about yourself. And what you know even better is that how can you venerate them, dote on them, adore, and idolize with such devotion you could anger all deities created by man and make them scream blasphemy on you.

You take his cock in your hand, teasingly working your palms around him. Pumping it, stroking your thumb along the underside to make his breath hitch. His dick grows beneath your hands, getting harder and heavier. The first beads of precum get smeared along the length by your skillful fingers.

“You know you don’t have to- “but you cut him off while settling between his legs.

“Just relax and let me do all the work.” your response comes out a bit more deadpan than planned. “You deserve it once in a while.”

And with that, you wrap your lips around him, enveloping him in warmth and wetness, your tongue slowly swirling around the head. His thighs twitch, more precum oozes into your waiting mouth as the muscle between your teeth works eagerly. You give him a few, gentle sucks, slurping up the mixture of your own saliva and his arousal. Between ragged breaths, he reminds you to breathe through your nose as you take more and more of his length. You relax your jaw, your fingers tense around the base of his cock and you’re trying as hard as you can to defeat the urge to gag. When you fit all of him inside your mouth, you empty your lungs and give him a harder suck, hard enough to make you cheeks hollow and his chest heave. As your free hand is occupied with kneading his balls between your fingers and knuckles, a moan bursts out of him.

The sound boosts your confidence, filling you with a wicked kind of playfulness. The kind of wicked that makes you pull back your tongue a little, as to not keep your teeth hidden. You drag them along his sensitive, pulsing underside, balancing the pressure between pleasure and pain. Like you could prove to him that you’re ready to bite back, that this is the only moment when he can’t control you, that he shouldn’t underestimate you.

And just as if he could read your thoughts, his hand goes for your head, fingers getting lost between your strands. But he’s not as cruel as to push you down on him, instead he guides you, increases the rhythm that you’re working with. Steady and firm, but not too fast. You earn yourself his praises, soft curses pitched higher than his normal voice.

This is what real worship looks like.

When you feel the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensing up, you stop. You emerge from the space between his legs, wiping your lips clean and admiring your work. All that flushed skin blooming in pink on his chest and face. You move, trying to get into a new position, settling your calves right next to hips. You start aligning yourself with his cock to finally start grinding on him.

He sits up and traps you with an arm coiling around your waist.

“Since when were you so reckless?”

His hand creeps around the apex of your thighs. A finger barely brushes along your slit. By adding another digit, he spreads your folds, finding hot, smooth, slippery flesh.

“I would’ve prepped myself.” that’s all you can say in your defense.

Fingertips circle your hole, applying a bit of pressure, checking how much you’ve loosened up. He invades you slowly as your lungs empty, the hardened skin on his fingers stroking and massaging your sweet spots before he starts working you open.

You wrap your arms around him, slowly undoing his bun to have something to grab onto as you jolt, as your bones melt, as your brows furrow in bliss. The moans coming from you are breathy and tender, and you hide them in his strands. He twists his fingers inside you, stretching your warm muscles further, making your back arch and you press your hardened nipples to his chest. Your essence engulfs his knuckles, clear and sticky like honey.

The heel of his palm settles right against your clit and you shamelessly grind on it. Your mewls pass over his ears as he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin of a faint scar. But you resist giving in, you stop him, telling him that’s enough, but in reality you just want your control back. Take back the lead and revel in it.

And somehow he obeys, laying back into the sheets.

You slip out of your robe, showing yourself fully. The bruises on your skin can finally bathe in the dim lamplight, painting the complexion of your sides, shoulders, and upper arm in different shades of blue and purple, like paint on bare canvas. Like the night sky carrying storm clouds, like you’re rotting, decomposing. You find a twisted, perverted joy in the fact that he must be seeing them for the whole time.

“Slowly, slowly.” he murmurs softly as you’re pushing the head of his cock inside you. “There’s no need to rush.” Trimmed nails trail up and down from the flesh of your thighs to your bruised sides. Tender and slow like a ghost, goosebumps pepper your skin from the tickling feeling. “I’m already yours.” He purrs and your heart flutters.

And there’s so, so much pride in you that only you can render him to this state. Too powerful for the world to bear him, capable to burn this plane to ruins, defying the barriers between a mortal and a god - or something way worse than that. Maybe you should receive twice the respect from your herd, for being the only person who can enslave him in this way, that only you can have this sort of power over him. Only you can overthrow him. Because you’re just too dear to him, too close to his burning heart.

Maybe it’s your time to warn him. Tame him like the monster he is.

You move with your own rhythm. His hand caged between your fingers and pressed down against the sheets. You give him no other choice but to venerate you back and he does, with pleased, low rumbles coming from his throat. Only a singular hand is allowed to roam your form freely. On your back tracing the shallow line where your spine lies beneath skin and flesh, wandering towards the inner part of your thighs, then to your stomach and chest. And you reward him with a prayer of your own, encapsulated in deep, long sighs.

But you’re too trusting of him. You let your guard down too easily.

You’re holding onto his kneecaps, leaning towards them a little, allowing every inch of you to be seen. You want to give him a show, but your knees are too worn and tired.

He takes hold of your hips, helping you guide yourself along his length. His pelvis moves along with you in synced rhythm. Your teeth are pressing down on the soft skin of your lips, but you can’t keep your whimpers in. You’re getting close, your muscles and nerves are st tight and pulsing, your walls are pressing down on his length. His name mindlessly slips out of your mouth.

Maybe you can say you love him before you shatter.

But his fingers clench around you, strong and firm, stopping your movements. Lifting your hips up so high that his cock is barely inside, robbing you from your incoming orgasm.

You’re shocked, eyes staring into the nothingness, open wide. Your stomach drops, stirring up all kinds of feelings dwelling in you. A chill races down your vertebrae as you glance down at him.

“Suguru..?” Your voice is weak, shaky.

Fear courses through your being, primordial and all-consuming.

And when he speaks to you it’s all dark, shrouded in malevolence.

“You forgot one thing, darling. After I brought you back from the forest.”

No, no, no, he can’t do this to you! He can’t hold your orgasm hostage for the sake of toying with you! You should puncture his flesh your nails, scratch him, tear him up, but you can only grit your teeth. Your features twist from bliss to rage.

“You…” boiling anger swims through your voice. It’s like it’s not even your voice - more like a hiss, a growl.

There’s an undecipherable mixture of pity and amusement in his eyes. He twitches inside you but you’re too upset to notice.

“Apologize.” he sneers - almost commands.

His words cause anger to bubble up in you.

“Oh, you piece of shit…!” you seethe, but sob and moan when he slams you back on his cock, stretching you around his length again. Wanting to quench your rage with the sensation you crave the most right now.

“I hope, for your sake, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to squirm, fuss and wriggle, he forces you still. His behaviour frustrates you to no end when you’re so desperate for a bit of friction, the horribly hollow and burning feeling of your lost peak torturing you seemingly endlessly. To the point where you’re too tired to put up a fight, when you’re teetering on the edge of breaking. You know you must swallow your pride, you have let him have it his way.

“I… I’m sorry.” you apologize meekly, teary-eyed, your voice a pathetic mewl. He finally starts lifting you up and easing you down, building you up slowly. But it’s not enough. You need more but he won’t give it to you just yet.

“You do?” he asks you in a way that it cuts deep into your marrow. It’s not even close to a loving tease – no, he’s outright mocking you.

Vicious bastard. You should grab his throat and squeeze the air out of him.

“Yes, I do!” you cry out without thinking. “I’m sorry for running away from you.” you push the words out through your whimpers. He increases the pace, making you yelp and shake, you end up closing your eyes reflexively. He robbed you from the sensation for so long that you became sensitive, it’s easier to make a mess out of you. Your face is red with shame, so much so you can’t look him in the eyes. The humiliation is like an invisible rope tightening around your neck.

“Promise you’ll never do that to me again.”

He pushes your hips further along his length this time, shifting you a bit towards his thighs. Creating a perfect angle, he uncovers a sweet spot inside you that makes you almost incapable of forming coherent words. And he eats the sight right up.

“…I promise… I promise...” you manage to get your answer out in the form of a choked hiccup. Your vision blurs. Everything is too intense for you to handle. You swear that the very shape of you could dissolve at any given moment.

Faith is desperate. Gods are hungry for despair. So they deliberately make you suffer and only then reveal themselves to you.

His fingers dig into your waist so hard it burns. You feel the world shift with you and then you collide with the sheets. Your bruised back ripples with pain. You’re unsure if he did it out of spite or not. You don’t know if he’ll completely shatter your dignity, or if he’s fine with just enforcing the feeling that you can never be above him, that you can never defeat him.

His weight on top of you is overwhelming. The midnight dark locks of his hair spread around you like spilled ink. And through the thick fog of your mind, too far gone in twisted, masochistic pleasure, you lock your legs around his waist. You don’t want him to go away. You might as well cease to exist if he does.

“And what do we say when we apologize?”

The soft plea coming from you is more instinctual rather than deliberate.

“Forgive me.”

You ache for him to move, you’re starved for the incoming high. Like a ravenous beast, all devouring. When he finally gives it to you, his thrusts make you feel possessed, make your back arch, your head falls back into the pillow as if you were offering your neck to him (maybe one day he won’t be able to resist the urge and will bite down on the jugular, through your trachea, putting you out of your misery) - you don’t dare to beg for anything else.

Maybe just for a little blood. A mark he can wear, just like you wear your bruises. Your nails somehow acquire a will of their own, your scratches have him excited and pleased.

His fingers meander around your jaw, gently coaxing you into letting him guide your gazes to meet again.

He’s imitating you, admiring his work like you did with him. And what he sees is a being stripped from any likeness of a dignified human being. With eyes so blown he can see the bottommost pits of Hell in them.

And he’s satisfied, rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

“I forgive you.”

Your release crashes over you like a tide, submerging you, burning you to cinders on the inside. Tearing you apart. And when he collapses on top you after filling you to the brim, you feel like a festering wound.

He’s a disease, miasma, a flesh-eating parasite crawling inside you.

“You’re…” you huff. “You’re awful.”

“I know. But you love me all the same.”

You wonder what you should have done to earn a different outcome, but you give up soon. Looks like he already had plans for your atonement in mind. After all, gods are impatient creatures. They’re dependent on your reverence and servitude. And you’ve waited for too long to make things right.

Why, why, why - it echoes inside your head.

But if you think about it… he’s your serpent. The vilest, most horrendous creature created by God. The one who charmed you, tempted you with sin and has now sunken his fangs into you. Of course he did, and instead of trying to heal from his venomous bite, you want to catch him - to find out his reasons, to prove to him that you didn’t deserve that.

And yet you could never, ever prove him wrong. Your serpent will always think it was right to bite. It’s in his nature afterall.

“Is your hand alright?”

He makes it up to you with spoiling you again. He cleans your wounds so sweetly, so thoughtfully, looks after you in a way that nobody could, which confuses you even further.

He cherishes you, destroys himself for the sake of keeping you safe - not like it’s a choice, but a must - just like a mother would. He scolds you, reminds you not to make the same mistake again, collars you, keeps you on a tight leash, only loosening it (just a little) when he succeeded at making you play by his rules, just like a father would.

And somehow, he excels at both. Way better than those two ever did when it came to you.

You wish your glare could pierce right through his skull when you hand the empty glass back to him. You don’t have it in you to play nice. You don’t even attempt hide that you’re sulking, he probably finds it funny - adorable even.

“Go to hell.” you spit and lay back into the sheets, your bruised back facing him.

“Oh, darling…” he coos, but the surface level sweetness of his tone hides a sharp edge of condescendence. He crawls into bed, right behind you, caging you in his embrace, forcing you to feel the warmth of his body. The warmth that you’re so used to, the one you can’t sleep without it. Nobody has ever made you feel this safe, and the fact makes your heart ache and your stomach twist.

“If there’s a Hell, I’ll see you there.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru x you #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #meesa writes #DAAARLING GUESS WHOS COME BACK FROM JAIIIIL #Idk what kind of deep psychological issue of mine is in that fic but now its your job to decipher #just please dont bring Freud into the picture I hate that man

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bleucaesura · 1 month

Text

STOLITZØ - FORTY NINE

Stolas jolted awake. His heart was racing out of his chest. He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked around.

He was still at Blitzø’s bedside. He’d fallen asleep hunched over with his head in his crossed arms. Tears stained the sheets.

What an awful nightmare…

He shuddered a relieved sigh and stretched.

He looked over to check on Blitzø, and that’s when he saw it. Or, rather, HER.

Directly across from him stood what he could only describe as a woman made out of stars. It was as if someone had cookie-cuttered a hole in reality in the shape of a tall, willowy, imp (succubi?) woman, then poured in a beautiful batter of deepest blue-black ether and glittering stars.

The faint starry ghost woman stood on the other side of Blitzø’s hospital bed from Stolas. She was tenderly stroking his horns.

Stolas was frozen mid-stretch, unsure what to do.

“Stolas,” the woman said in a soft lyrical voice. She looked over at him with a warm, friendly smile. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you in person.”

Stolas dropped his arms and sat at attention. “I ah… I’m sorry… But…”

She laughed. Her laugh sounded like beautiful bells that pulled at Stolas’s heart. “But who am I?”

Stolas nodded, suddenly feeling struck by silence.

The woman looked down at Blitzø with loving eyes. She bent and kissed him gently on the forehead, then proceeded to fuss over his pillows and blankets. Fluffing and tucking.

Without looking at Stolas she spoke; “We’ve spoken before. Many times actually.”

Stolas was confused.

“Though ‘spoken’ may be an inaccurate description,” She looked up at the ceiling and tapped a finger to her lips, thinking. She shrugged. “Well. It’s close enough, I suppose. I guess you could call me your ‘liaison to the stars’.”

Stolas was REALLY confused.

She looked over at him, saw his state and laughed her beautiful laugh.

“I also like to drop you little hints here and there,” she gave him a knowing wink.

What could she mean by…

Stolas gasped and subconsciously touched his finger to his forehead; the spot the strange liquid had dropped on him outside the hospital. Before he’d seen the billboard. The one that had sent him running to Asmodeus’s.

The woman chuckled and winked.

“The heavens weep when fated partners are pulled apart, dear Prince.”

Stolas looked at her with bewilderment.

She smiled tenderly and waved an arm above them. Little droplets of the liquid fell from the ceiling down onto Stolas and Blitzø.

Stolas squawked in surprise and made to cover Blitzø before realizing - like the woman - the droplets were of ephemera.

Stolas reached out his left hand to catch a droplet but it just passed right through his hand.

His hand…

What?

She chuckled. “Ah! He finally sees.”

Glowing brightly and tied to his left pinky was a red string.

Stolas looked at it in confusion and bewilderment. And then in awe…

“This…” Stolas looked at the woman. “Is this what I think it is?”

She smiled and gestured at Blitzø. Stolas looked down at him and saw the same string tied to Blitzø’s left pinky.

“Fated.” She winked at him.

Stolas stared blankly at her. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest. His ears were filled with the whooshing sound of blood.

I’m going crazy… Aren’t I?

“Not crazy. Don’t worry. It’ll all make sense when it’s time. But for now, I’m here on a personal matter.” She turned back to Blitzø. “My son.”

Stolas’s jaw dropped.

“Blitzø is your…?”

“My precious son.”

Stolas’s mind was reeling. Then he felt a sudden panic.

“No… oh no… is he…?”

She looked over at him quizzically. Seeing his terror, she smiled kindly and told him “Don’t worry. He will be fine.”

Stolas let out the long breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“But he needs you.”

Her words cut through Stolas like a knife.

Blitzø doesn’t need me. He’s never needed me. I’m the one who needs him…

Stolas opened his beak only to have her place a finger to it to quiet him. She looked him straight in the eyes.

“He. Needs. You.” She emphasized each word so as to not be misunderstood.

Stolas stared back at her, wide-eyed.

“My son has a beautiful heart. And so much love to give. Love he’d very much like to give to you, Stolas.”

Stolas froze in place and blushed.

“He’s been through a lot. As I know you have too.” She smiled sympathetically. “You knuckleheads are two perfect messes that were made for each other.”

Stolas’s mouth flapped open and closed, trying to form words, not knowing what to say.

She laughed her beautiful laugh. “I’m so grateful you found one another again!”

Again? Did she know…?

“Oh I knew about you, Prince Stolas.” She smiled mischievously. “My bitty boy had some fun things to say about his day with you when he got home.”

“He… He did?” Stolas stammered.

“ ‘The super smart owl prince who was actually, like, really nice, momma’ ” She squished her face and made starry eyes. “ ‘And he thought my idea of a circus business was awesome. And gets to learn about stars and junk and go to the human world.’ ”

Blitzø’s mother made herself laugh so hard she cried.

He… He had fun with me... And talked about me? He thought I was smart? And Nice?!

Blitzø’s mother wiped her tears of laughter away and smiled at Stolas. “He cared for you, even back then.”

Stolas wanted to believe it, but a black cloud settled over his heart and told him he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

Blitzø’s mother heaved a heavy sigh. “Knuckleheads… The both of you.”

She took Stolas’s hands in hers, and looked them over. “Strong, beautiful hands, young Prince.” She looked up at him.

Stolas blushed.

“I want you to use these to hold onto, love and protect my son.”

“Ye… yes mam” Stolas stammered

“No matter how much he may kick and scream and try to push you away,” she clasped his hands together tightly in her own. “Don’t you dare let him go.”

Stolas’s eyes welled with tears.

“Yes, mam.”

She reached over and wiped the tears from his eyes, placed her hands on his face and pulled him close to kiss him on the forehead.

“Please. Call me, Mom.”

*****

#helluva boss #stolitz #fanfic #stolas #blitzø #vivzieverse #vivziepop #vivienne medrano #blitzo #brandon rogers

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possumcollege · 4 months

Text

Ebenezer Scrooge is so deeply moved by the visions gifted to him by the Ghost of Christmas Present that he swears to change his miserly ways. He laments that greed and ambition have robbed him of life's most precious joys. Guilt grips his heart and he weeps for the fear that it's too late to change the fate of those who have been lost and gone without because of his blind devotion to his work.

He thanks the spirit, who disappears at the stroke of midnight and prepares himself for the coming of the third and final ghost.

A robed figure appears in the corner and beckons Scrooge to follow him into a misty portal. Emerging from the fog, he sees Tiny Tim, several years older, walking home from church on Christmas Day with his family. A cart bearing the names of Marley and Marley hands out bags of apples and bread to people dressed in rags. A horse-drawn street car picks up the Cratchit family and brings them safely home. Scrooge notices Tim's limp is almost unnoticeable as they debark, wishing the driver a Merry Christmas.

In a window of a handsome flat across the lane Scrooge sees himself! He's reading by the window, enjoying a small fire. He Waves to the Cratchits before dozing off in a cozy chair.

His once dark and drafty chambers across town are nearly unrecognizable- their halls and staircases bustling with light and activity. Children open small presents, young mothers cook and laugh over the stove, thankful for a warm bed and a roof overhead.

Scrooge is overcome with emotion and begs the spirit, "Are these things really possible? C-could I make these visions come true?!"

"Yeah. Probably!" replies the ghost before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Once again Scrooge finds himself in the dim glow of his bedroom. The clock shows 12:05! Barely any time has passed! He turns and bumps directly into the clattering frame of a large skeleton, shrouded in ancient black sackcloth, leaning as an aged beggar might on the haft of a long scythe.

"I- I don't understand," Scrooge stammers, "there have already been three ghosts! I have seen the future and I resolve to waste my days no longer! I see that my profits have robbed me off my humanity, was that not enough?"

"No, I'm the Ghost of Christmas Future," says the hooded figure. "I's running late so I sent the Specter of Socialism to fill in till I got here. Sorry for the confusion."

"Oh my," says Scrooge. "I really must start paying my taxes."

The ghost nods. They share a cavernous few seconds as the first dim rays of morning begin to appear above the rooftops.

"Anyway Scrooge, come on. Let's go see the shit folks are gonna say after you die if you don't quit being such a dick."

"Fair enough," Scrooge sighs. "Fair enough."

🌲🌲🌲

#a christmas carol #ebenezer scrooge #possumcollege #charles dickens #charles dickens fanfickin's

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badrrr · 10 months

Text

Be women of the akhira. Do things with the intention of it benefiting you in the next life. Sacrifice for the Ummah. My beautiful sister, we don’t live in the golden ages so we shouldn’t live a life as if we do. Life isn’t just about girl parties, shopping and cute dates with spouse.

My precious sister in Islam, your role is big and your responsibilities are many. There are a plethora of captives and a shortage of those willing to free them. Raise up young men and women of Tawheed. Usool ath- Thalatha has dwindled from us and the youth. Memorize it and teach it the young to live upon it. Our elders, May Allah grant them a long life full of good deeds, are unaware of the plight of the Muslims. Where is your beautiful handwriting in making leaflets to spread awareness? The deviants and slanderers have increased and are poisoning the masses. Learn the deen and educate the new generation of muslimaat. Sell your jewelry for ransom. Spend from your money in charity. Give up some sleep for tahajjud.

My beloved sister, your husband is not just for you. As much as you adore him, he is for the Ummah and should be encouraged to get dirty in the path of Allah. Don’t stop him or discourage him. Make dua for him, motivate him, prepare him accordingly. If you hold him back from his duties, then you have deprived the captives of their freedom and Islam of spreading far and wide. If you love him for the sake of Allah, stand with him in the path of Allah ﷻ. Encourage even the men in your family to get dusty for the sake of Allah.

My sister, keep company with the sisters on the same path. You will only flock regularly with those who are the same as you. You will become like those who you are around mostly. Righteous, pious akhawaat should be your company. Gatherings of knowledge and the remembrance of Allah should be your dates with them. If they advise you, keep them close. If you sin and they encourage you, they don’t truly love you. If they only care about the glitter and glamor of this dunya, it’ll only pull you towards that and away from the ultimate goal.

Focus and stay on track. Learn skills to benefit the Ummah. Have very high aspirations because it only befits the people of the best nations. Make continuous istighfaar and rush to the good deeds. Be mindful of Allah in private so it translate to that in public. Ask Allah for a soft heart that weeps at disobedience and sinning. Build up a heart that is so attached to Allah it weeps for missing acts of sunnah. Think about the captives and the oppressed muslimeen. When is the last time you shed tears because of them ? May those tears be a witness for you on the day of judgement.

The path isn’t aesthetic nor is it easy. It is not smooth and it never ends until the Angel of death takes our soul. Any khayr you put forth is not because of your actions or your intellect. Rather it is from the mercy Allah has bestowed upon you . Ask Allah for steadfastness. Constantly clean off you slate with istighfaar and keep the mindest that your life is for the sake of Allah and you must live accordingly.

You are the backbone of the Ummah Ukhti. You are a precious jewel and you have an honorable status. Be a women like how the sahabiyat were. Be a woman who corrects what others have corrupted.

May Allah aid you and honor you. May Allah increase us all in thabat and make us from the forerunners of the deen.

#islam

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dairy-farmer · 2 months

Note

My Thought(tm) of the Day! A Do-Over Verse! (o.o ) oh?

Yes! Tim. Glorious, brave, sexy. Dies in battle. It's the Big One, ya'll. A doomed timeline. Worst case scenario. Falling cities, few struggling survivers. The works.

Thing is? For each of them? That worst case scenario is DIFFERENT. Maybe one gets zombies. Another an alien invasion. A hell gate. Regardless, they survive. Fight and live on. Find The Rewind Clock.

A stopwatch that ticks backwards. One use. They.... they have so many regrets. Enemies are closing in. Bloodloss getting to them. They just want to see their family again. Be... better. Nicer to Tim. Save the world.

Click.

Time Rewinds ⏪.

And suddenly? Bruce is... sore. Not burned, parched, and cornered by literal cackling demons as the world burns. Not on his last leg. The last Wayne. The last hope of humanity, a species soon to finally die.

No. He's... exhausted. Wearing clothes he never wanted to see again. Stubble on his face and the ache of recent weeping in his throat. These are his mourning clothes. He's sitting at the Batcomputer. And checking the security feeds?

There is a determined, baby faced, young Timothy Drake... walking himself up the drive. A folder of damning evidence under his little arm.

Jason is dead and soon won't be. And Tim... he... he can start over.

He gets up. This time, he answers the door, instead of Alfred. Is serious when Tim lays out his case. Nods at the right moments. Tells him he's right.

Makes him Robin.

He's better this time. Gives feedback. Doesn't play mind games. Nurtures his brilliance. And Tim? Soaks it up. It burns Bruce, how easy it all could have been. The WARMTH Tim so freely offers. After so many mistakes? Bruce craves it like an addict.

But nothing could ever just be free, could it?

That damn end of the world scenario. He finally tracks it down. Has a MONTH left before Jason should be back. Only to get dragged into literal Hell along side Constantine and have to fight his way out. They close the damn gate. Forever.

It takes two months.

He's in pieces. Injured and still reeling from the horrors he's seen. But he has to try. Try to go get his son. Tim stops him. Keeps him from killing himself, trying to invade the heart of the League while half dead. But after the fires... all the fires... he's so cold. They JEERED and mocked him with his failures.

Like an Addict.

He needs to be closer. Closer and closer. Needs to cherish and be kind and SHOW Tim how much he means to him. But he can't! A lifetime if words trapped, refuse to break free, even now. The only time he's EVER been so intimate and soft is when he...

Wires not so much cross as long ago corroded. He NEEDS. He's kissing Tim's neck. Hands gentle. See? He CAN be gentle. Be tender and good. Not even taking for himself, just massaging muscles loose. Stroking soft, soft skin. Pulling close to cuddle, warm and precious, as he rubs and rubs until Tim comes apart under his gentle hands.

Tim clings so tight. Is punchdrunk and twitching. A first.

His Robin trusts him. Loves him. Is a curious, insatiable, lad. What new, unexpected, and pleasant thing is THIS? Tim let's him have so many firsts.

But what of Dick? Brother and Protecter of Timmeryly Innocence? He faced Vampires. Because of course it had to be sexy, sexy, Vampires. Frankly, he half expected it. But as they close in? He stands atop the hoard of every explosive left he could salvage and wonders if his family would have proud.

If this stupid stop watch will even work.

Where, exactly, he would have taken Timmers for a "Yay We Won!" Celebration dinner if they had, indeed, actually won. He misses pizza. And his friends. But most of all? His family.

Eat several hundred tons of chemical reactions, fuckers.

Click.

He's just finished unlocking a door he is VERY certain he sent a vampiric Deathstroke face first through. The door swings open aaaaand.... yep, that's his old apartment. What day is-?

Tim squeezes by him to start poking around.

Oh.

Dick stops caring. Tim is ALIVE. Smiling at him and joking. Dick feels floaty and far away. Let's Tim do as he pleases. And just... let's himself breathe. Feeling like he's wound too tight beneath his skin. Like at any moment a vampire will crash through a wall and ruin this beautiful dream.

Eventually, Tim notices.

He climbs into Dicks lap to hug him. Ground him. And... and something in Dick snaps. That heartbeat. That beautiful, beautiful heartbeat. Alive, alive, ALIVE. He's rolling them before he can think about it. Tim melting into his kisses. Then jerking and grabbing hold for dear life as he slides of the couch to his knees.

All but ripping anything that keeps his mouth from its goal. Spreading legs and holding them tight, so he can't wiggle free too escape how overwhelming it feels. Dick couldn't hold back if he wanted too.

And he really, really doesn't want too.

Tasting and swirling, sucking and fucking his tounge as deep as it'll go. Pinching and rubbing at that cute little clit. Sliding fingers DEEP to fuck and find and rub mercilessly against all his good spots.

If the apartment wasn't soundproofed, his neighbors would think he was murdering someone. Slowly.

He's so hard it hurts and can't bring himself to care. It's so GOOD to see Timmy sobbing on his tounge. Writhing on the fucking of his fingers, incoherently begging. The only thing that convinces him to STOP is when Tim's whines start sounding the wrong kind of desperate.

Fumbling blindly with a wet hand he jerks his sweats down and crawls up. Bends his sweet boy in half. He slides in so easy, after all the fingerfucking and orgasms. Timmy is so WET. Gushing.

It's perfect. He's perfect. Doesn't have to do a thing. Dick can lift him up easy, still impaled all precious and perfect on his cock, and carry him to the bedroom. Lay him down and work his cock in and out, sweet and gentle, of that poor over toyed with hole, until it becomes too much and he spills DEEP.

You just doze off, Tim. Let your big brother take care of clean up.

And so it goes~ Jason? Zombies. The jokes got old REAL fast. He blinks awake one step into Titans Tower. Changes plans. Catches his successor masterbating. Changes plans AGAIN. Since when was Tim-Tam capable of being horny? Who cares. It's been years by his view point and this is Hot.

He Dramatically Unmasks and pounds Tim through the mattress. Exits stage left, pursued by drugged up Half-Kryptonian.

Damian? About to die in the cold vacuum of space. Took the fight to them. Invade HIS planet, will you? Well uno reverse card mother fuckers. He's gonna invade YOU. ALARMING successfully too, they might add. That was their entire battle fleet.

WAS.

But, well, all men must die... etc etc. Death soliloquy. Or... you know... this stupid magical watch Jon insisted he bring. Meh. Might as wel- Click.

Mother Fucker. Jon was RIGHT. He must never be informed.

And... he forgot how Competently Sexy his Rival was. Shit. He was caught loo-! But Tim just? Grins? Says something about him finally "deciding to get along, huh"? W-what? What's happening. Why is he being pushed down onto a bench? Is this hazing?

Tim rides him dry. He may be a changed man. He can't feel his toes. What in the name of all that is small and fluffy is GOING ON!? Wasn't this supposed to be time travel? And of course, that's when he clocks the others acting Clearly Off.

The fuckers Be-Hornied his RIVAL! He's... something about that! He'll tell you when he can move again. Contemplated the virtues of matrimony with his long time Rival. But rest assured! There will be yelling!

-🐼

😍😍😍😍!!!! them all going back in time at different points and making their moves on tim, treating him nicer, more tender, not letting themselves be held back because they've denied themselves for so long and lost their tim already!!! bruce being the first followed by dick, jason, and damian who indulge and fuck tim and love him! and tim!!! loving his family so much and loving them in every way, letting them make their moves on him because this time around they love him and aren't afraid to show it!! all these versions of the bats who have lived through the loss of everything in an apocalypse and getting to live peaceful and happy lives with their tim!!!😍

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

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