#Valiant Thunder

[beauvoirferril]

Valiant OC art

Meet Valiant Thunder, one of Vermont's offspring and a stickler for order. He is a police pegasus who trained to join a flight team in the military. However, a tragic incident during a celebratory vacation with his wife led to her abduction and his wings being forcibly removed. This event plunged him into a deep depressive slump, causing him to abandon his dream. Despite these challenges, he eventually channeled his negative emotions into constructive action and returned to the force. Now he always wears a shirt to hide the scars on his body and his wing stumps as he's still insecure about them.

🎨 draw-n-vent-with-imani, mootsarts

Dec 23, 2019; May 9, 2020

[midnightsnackblog]

[duckapus]

Had ideas for a few post-arc scenes that I don't currently have the energy to write;

-Ash setting Tama up with a provisional trainer license (basically lets her have Pokemon registered to her despite not being ten yet but she can't do Major Official Trainer Activities like gym challenges, contests, Battle Facilities, etc.) because the Pokemon who've been hanging out with her very much want her to be their trainer. Magcargo's kind of the odd one out since he's only been around her for like an hour cumulatively and he kind of got dragged into this without any idea what was happening but he's still interested because she seems nice. There's some concern about Hoopa staying since he has friends in Dahara City in Kalos... until he points out that Hyperspace Hole still exists and he can come and go literally whenever.

Pikachu officially passes on the role of the Pichu Brothers' chaos wrangler to Absol, in a slightly funny moment where he tries to be all serious about it and put his hand on her shoulder all dramatically, ruined by the fact that he's so much shorter than her that he has to balance awkwardly on his tail to even reach her shoulder (and further undercut by the fact that what he actually says is "they're your problem now. good luck". Also, there is of course much gushing over Gardevoir, Guardeon and Dragaurora's evolutions.

-One of the suggestions for Devos's situation is putting Tonio on the throne, which both he and Valiant are adamantly against because favored by the Muses or not a guy who's been a wandering outlaw and proud of it for nearly a decade is not a good choice for ruling a kingdom in turmoil. Plus having a Songbird as a king would just be weird.

-Kelsie gets Vitality set up in the infirmary and assures everyone that she's expected to make a full recovery eventually, though from what she can tell of how the whole healing flame thing is working it'll take anywhere from one month to three for her to wake up. Then when she's alone she calls Director K to let him know that her reports will be less frequent for the foreseeable future since with Vitality out of commission she's the only medic right now.

-Mr. L presents the completed Meme Suppression Bullets to Jayin, warning her that it will take a few weeks for the virus they're made out of to complete its work. She's not too fussed about that, they'd expected and planned for something like that after all, and sends for her firewalls and their assistants, leading directly into That One Post.

[bluelikebruises]

wanna be yours || rhaenyra & daemon targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen/TargaryenF!Reader/Daemon Targaryen 18+ MDNI! summary: scared of thunderstorms you seek shelter in the confines of your sister's chambers. but things quickly escalate and you find yourself forgetting all about the storm w/c: 8.2k tw: SMUT, 18+, plot? what plot?, INCEST, threesome, slight breeding kink, loss of virginity, cunnilingus, nipple play, some choking, creampie, rough & gentle daemon, slight ooc daemon, lost the plot about half way through tbh, not proof read

a/n: havent written in a while my bad yall the claws of depression got me and then i got a job (booooo). promised a rhaenicent oneshot but yall got this instead im so sorry ((your honor i’m working on it i swear!)) second time ever writing smut so please be kind, any comments or suggestion for improvement feel free to let me know <3

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A storm rages outside the walls of Dragonstone, the ocean and sky bashing against the windows of your chambers. They howl and thrash relentlessly, the rolling sound of thunder striking your heart with fear. As a child it reminded you of dragon roars soothing your unease but now it gave no such comfort.

Most nights when you had resided in the Keep the maesters would inform you of an approaching storm and you would sneak into your fathers chambers and read. You’d read passages of your favorite books and poems aloud to him. Whether he was asleep or awake never bothered you, you simply appreciated his presence. 

Another cry of crackling thunder falls upon your ears causing your heart to hammers in your chest. You silently wish you were not alone feeling as though you were a child, small, powerless, and frightened of the world. If you were in King’s Landing you could simply walk to your fathers chambers and let the storm rage on. But as your luck would have it you were miles away. 

For the past few months you had been residing in Dragonstone as a ward to your sister and her husband. You had loved every minute of your stay up until tonight, in hopes of alleviating your fears you shut your eyes trying to forget about the storm outside. 

Your thoughts are scrambled for a moment before you begin to recall your stay in Dragonstone. You’ve made an array of memories from tutoring Jacaerys in High Valyrian to games played with Joffrey and Viserys to your name day celebration. While you try to recall the many more you had, your thoughts are interrupted by the piercing sound of striking lightning. 

It hurts your ears sending a shiver down your spine, Rhaenyra crosses your mind but you know she is lying with her husband—who would waste no time in making a jest out of your fear. You want to banish the possibility of seeking shelter in Rhaenyra, after all you were far too old to sneak into her chambers. But as another flash of lightning bellows through the sky you could no longer stay still. Fear and anxiety guide your movements as you stand and grab the cloak at the end of your bed.

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The castle isn’t as frightening as the Red Keep under the cover of night, yet you still move quickly through its large cold corridors. With shaking hands you make a valiant effort to knock gently on the giant doors of your sister's chambers, pausing to hear for any movement but none comes. 

With no response you knock again this time with a bit of urgency. You don’t have the luxury of waiting for a response as thunder echoes through the stone causing you to yelp. Without thought you push the door open uninvitedly stepping inside. You do your best to shut the door quietly unsure what to do next. The thunder had passed and yet the patting rain could still be heard. You had not thought this far ahead, what were you supposed to do? Sneak into her bed? 

The room is dark, lit by the beams of moonlight that pour in, it’ll take some moments before your eyes adapt to the shadows of the night. Before you could think to move the sound of rustling and a sword unsheathing alert you of a presence. You need not see who it is to know it is your uncle Daemon. 

You curse yourself turning to face him. He holds his sword pointing it towards your chest and it should frighten you but the storm outside threatens you more than he does.

“There is no honor in killing a man while he sleeps”, he says, stepping into the light of the moon ready to strike your unrecognizable form. 

“I do not intend on killing you Uncle”

At your words his sword drops, “Sweet Dragon, why are you sneaking into our chambers?”

You’ve come to grow accustomed to your moniker slipping from his mouth in a mocking manner, but tonight his voice holds no ill intent. 

Lightning cuts through the sky in a loud shout before you can respond. Your skin crawls and you’re trying to keep your voice from wavering, “It’s quite loud”

“Are you frightened?” he asks, stepping towards you. His eyes bore into yours and under the moonlight it’s as if they are glowing. 

Your heart stammers and you shake your head in embarrassment, clearly lying. A small grin spreads against his lips and you know he sees right through you. The thought and his gaze becomes too much for you to bear as your eyes fall onto the floor. 

“There is no one around to pretend for”, he places his hand under your chin as he tilts your head up, to once again meet his gaze. His gentle demeanor disarms you, most times he’s brutish, arrogant, and entirely uninterested in you. 

“I am merely skittish . . .” you clasp your hands behind your back trying to appear more collected than you felt. 

He looks you over, his eyes sparkle in the moonlight only this time you’re unable to avert your gaze. His fingers hold you still and a sinking feeling of being prey washes over you.

“Rhaenyra?” he asks 

The voice of your sister emerges from the darkness surprising you, “Yes, my love,” 

“It seems our intruder is our favorite little princess”, his fingers trace your jaw, concentrating his eyes on your lips. 

Fear is an afterthought as an indescribable feeling crawls up your body. Your stomach flips under his touch and you fear to know why. 

Rhaenyra says your name, “Come here” 

Without a second thought you walk towards her voice, your eyes now adjusting to the moonlight making out shadows in the darkness. 

Rhaenyra sits upon her bed, furs laid spread over her lap she smiles fondly as you approach. 

Once you’re before her she instructs you to sit, “Has the storm unnerved you?” she asks, placing her hands on yours. They’re soft and her touch is almost enough to make you forget why you had entered her chambers to begin with.

“It is quite loud” 

“Yes you have said that already” Daemon says. His approach has gone unnoticed by you as he stands opposite of Rhaenyra. The side of the bed you assumed he slept on. 

“I read to father during storms,” you admit sheepishly

“Oh you poor sweet girl” she coos, “Would you like to read to us?”, you nod almost enthusiastically, “Come then” she pulls you forward unfastening your cloak. 

The warmth of her hands on your exposed shoulder sends you into a panic. Your septa had made it clear how your virtue was to be maintained until you married. No living eyes were to be set on your chaste skin but your future husband’s and yet you sat next to your sister who threatened to stain your skin. You tremble under her touch unsure how you could deny her. 

Grabbing her hands you halt her movements, “I’m only reading, I’ll be returning to my chambers once the storm passes”

“Of course” she agrees, “But while you are here my husband and I can keep you warm, as can the furs” 

Her smile kills your resolve and like a puppet in her control you cave in, Rhaenyra had always had that effect on you. You thought so highly of her and loved her dearly of course you were always eager to please. Any want or command uttered by her and you’d comply instantly. 

Removing your hands from hers, the cloak falls from your shoulders and she tosses it aside. You shiver as the cold air comes in contact with your bare skin. The nightgown you wore was less than modest, showing more skin then was appropriate for a lady let alone a princess. The feeling of being gawked at consumes you—their eyes burn into your skin.

“Come here princess” Daemon’s voice makes your knees weak. In the moonlight you see a smile on Rhaenyra’s lips, you take it as encouragement and crawl onto the bed. You settle between both their bodies but Daemon tugs at you pulling you towards him, the movement causes your nightgown to slide up your thighs exposing more of your skin. 

If your septa could see you now… you cringe at the thought mortified. Your heart patters rapidly, Gods if it kept beating you were sure Daemon and Rhaenyra were going to hear it. 

If Daemon notices your exposed skin he doesn’t show it, he rather seems preoccupied with adjusting you before him. His legs spread as he sat you between them, his chest pressed against your back as he loomed over you. 

He grabs at your sides pulling you closer to him, and if your heart didn't explode before it exploded when you felt Rhaenyra lips kiss your shoulder then rest her head where she had kissed. 

Your mind and heart betray you as you become a victim to their siren song. You’re a vision of adultery and sin, it’s wrong–unbecoming of a princess and yet you do nothing to stop them. 

With his left arm Daemon keeps you tucked under him and he wraps his right around Rhaenyra who nestles into your shoulder. You had not thought this was where you would find yourself at the beginning of the night. 

The storm is a long way from your thoughts as you try to figure out how your body fits into theirs, if it could. You’re against both of them unsure of how to move. 

You feel Daemon reach for something, “Read this” his breath touches your ear as he places a book on your lap. Being caught between them you had almost forgotten how you ended up practically on Daemon’s lap. 

Picking up the book you read the title, The Mythos of the Land Beyond Essos: Yiti. The book provides a much welcomed distraction, you had heard of Yiti before but only in passing from Lord Coryls. 

“Is it real?” you ask absentmindedly to no one in particular

“Of course it is, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra says, slithering her arm over your lap fully intrapping you in their hold 

Opening the book you were met with half of a map littered with cities and towns you had never heard of. As you turn the page the book's wear and tear is visible, it was clearly loved. For a moment you wonder if it was Rhaenyra or Daemon who loved it. Your thoughts like many times throughout the night are interrupted by thunder and relentless down pouring of rain.

You jump frightened hearing a chuckle come from Daemonand who places a kiss on your hair Any other night the gesture would have been ill fitting and strange but tonight it brings you comfort.

“Read” he gently commands and like an obedient dog you do

You read through four pages undisturbed, your voice only occasionally interrupted by the storm outside that is until you feel Daemon’s fingers on the exposed skin of your upper thigh. Gentle thoughtless traces of his fingers over your flesh. 

His touch makes you acutely aware of their bodies pressed against yours, body heat and furs warmed you like no other. With every hound of the wind and pounding of the rain you shook, which was made worse by their hands and lips trying to sooth you. 

Daemon’s left hand draws circles on your left thigh. Rhaenyra kisses your shoulder and any exposed skin she could reach. It was intoxicating her lips and his fingers. How were you supposed to read when there were two hungry dragons trying to feast upon you. 

The words you’re reading pass thoughtlessly through your mouth, once the information found a home in your mind now simply glossed over. 

Daemon’s lips fall on the nape of your neck sending a shiver down your spine and a soft whimper from your lips. 

In a small effort to keep them at bay you ask questions, it works for the first two questions but after the third Daemon grabs the book from your grasp and throws it. 

With the book out of their way they both grew relentless. Daemon kisses and nips at your neck without disregard. Rhaenyra readjusts herself to be able to access your collar bones, her lips beginning to trail up your neck and jaw. The furs had been tossed somewhere on the bed. 

“Nyra” you plead, nervous of what was to come next. Pressing your thighs together as a warm feeling emitted from your womanhood. 

“Shhh” she coos, kissing your cheek dangerously close to your lips. 

Daemon’s hand pulls your nightgown exposing more of your thighs to the night air. 

You should leave, you know you should but the thought of enduring the storm alone keeps you in place, “Perhaps…Perhaps I should r-read from another b-book” you try to stop Daemon’s hand pulling your nightgown from his grasp

Your efforts are futile as Rhaenyra interrupts you by planting her lips on yours. The action leaves you entranced by her, you melt into her lips moving yours against hers. She tastes like tea, warm and sweet. 

Under Rhaenyra’s spell you’re unaware of Daemon sliding your nightgown further and further upward. His hands stopped only to touch your inner thighs nearing your clothed cunt. You squirmed thinking of the septa’s words, the only man who can lay a finger on you is your husband.

“I can’t…I can't,” you say, breaking away from Rhaenyra and moving away from Daemon’s hold. You move away from them putting some distance between your sister and her husband. 

“Why not?” Rhaenyra asks

They’re feigning ignorance and you don’t know why, “I’m not wed” 

They both laugh and share a knowing expression. 

“Silly girl,” Daemon says, pulling you back to them, his hands dragging you back between his legs, “You are not to wed” his breath is hot against your ear as you try not to think of the heat that expels from his hands

Confusion is clear across your face, “But the Queen said—”

At the mention of Queen Alicent his grip of your flesh tightens, “To the Seven Hells with Alicent,” his hold on your flesh is half as painful as it is pleasurable. 

“You are ours”, Rhaenyra cuts in, “You shall not be sullied by hands that are not our own”, she plants a kiss on your shoulder.  

You’re unable to make sense of their words, you could not be theirs, you would only ever be your husband’s. And yet you could not find the words to say it aloud—to let them know you could not be sullied by them despite how desperately you wanted. 

Your attention is fully on Rhaenyra that the sneaking fingers along your jaw have gone unnoticed. Daemon’s fingers trace your lips before gently pushing themselves into your mouth. They’re cold as he presses them against your tongue and you can taste ash. The taste is almost telling, you think. 

“Suck” Daemon commands

You hesitate for a moment frightened at the possibilities of what would happen next and what they entailed. But all your thoughts fizzle away when Rhaenyra’s mouth bites down on your shoulder and without a second thought you do, making sure they’re thoroughly coated in your saliva. He spreads his fingers exploring your mouth before shoving them down your throat. The unexpected action leaves you coughing gagging, which earns an amused laugh from Daemon as he retreats his fingers.

“Good girl” he kisses your ear and you bite your tongue in order to stifle a whimper. His words ignite a fire that spreads throughout your body, it’s alluring leaving a blazing trail of want in its wake. The need to be praised has your head spinning, never had praise elicited such a reaction from you before. You want to continue being good and dutiful for Daemon and Rhaenyra. 

Rhaenyra sits in front of you both simply watching as her husband's fingers trailed under your nightgown. He pulls your small clothes to the side, the anticipation killing you as his fingers neared. It’s reprehensible you know, but you do not have the willpower to stop him.  

Your breathing stops as two of his fingers come into contact with your sensitive pearl. He groans as he feels the heat of your cunt, drawing circles with his fingers. You bite your cheek trying to stop yourself from moaning, leaning your head against his chest. His fingers begin to accelerate as he wraps your hair around his free hand pulling you to look forward.

“Look at Rhaenyra, sweet dragon, she wants to see you” 

Your eyes catch hers, they’re lit with fervent desire, a look you had never seen before. While you wish you could stare at Rhaenyra forever, Daemon's fingers have returned to their slow pace leaving you unfulfilled and on the cusp of pleasure.

Turning to face him you plead, “Please”, you’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for, only that you need more. Embarrassed by your plead you hide your face in the crook of his neck

“Please what princess” he presses against your pearl roughly 

Through a moan you speak, “Need more” 

You don’t see the delighted smile that spreads over Daemon’s face as he gathers fistfulls of your hair forcing you out of your hiding spot. His eyes fall onto your sister and you’re trying desperately not to let out a string of unbecoming moans. 

With another tug Daemon crashes his lips onto yours, the angel which he pulls you almost hurts but his mouth and fingers provide a wonderful distraction. The kiss is rough, tongues and teeth clashing. All the while his fingers never cease their attack and you’re quickly becoming undone. 

An unfamiliar pressure builds and you find yourself near a breaking point you had never experienced. The building pleasure has your heart beating out of your chest, it’s dizzying. But just when you think you can’t take it anymore Daemon’s fingers stop and he releases your lips. You moan out in disappointment.

“Perhaps you should ask the future Queen for assistance” he pulls your hair like a rag doll. Moving you as he pleases, facing you again towards Rhaenyra. 

“Nyra please”

Gripping your hair even tighter exposing your neck he whispers, “Where are your manners?”

“Please, your highness” you beg eyes glossed over full of want

Rhaenyra smirks, leaning into you momentarily allowing your lips to meet again which you welcome eagerly. 

The kiss is gentle at first, your lips moving in sync. Her tongue laps at your bottom lip and you shutter feeling Daemon ghosting his fingers above your aching pearl. When one of his long fingers threatens to enter your leaking hole you moan into Rheanyra's mouth. She takes the opportunity to kiss you with more vigor. Her lips are so soft and you’re entranced by her, thoughts racing, why had you never kissed her before?

When she finally breaks away she leaves you breathless and you get no time to recover as she pulls the top of your nightgown down exposing your breast. Heat spreads over your cheeks, never having been so bare in front of anyone before. 

The thoughts quickly leave your mind as Rhaenyra’s tongue drags against your hardening nipple. She uses the pad of her thumb to draw circles against your nipple, the sensation adds fuel to the fire in your core. She expertly nips and sucks only stopping to change breasts. 

“N…Nyra please … enough” you try to weakly fight her off. Receiving far more stimulation from your nipples then you thought could ever be possible. Instead she removes her mouth and replaces them with her hands, pinching and pulling without regard. There’s an electrifying pain that shoots down your spine, you had never thought your breast to be so sensitive. 

Rhaenyra does not argue, continuing to toy with your breast as she moves towards her husband. She practically purrs as she nears him a smile lingering on her lips, your eyes close shut as she continues her attack. Above your shoulder she kisses Daemon as if she were not inflecting the most deliciously painful pleasure. The drool that leaked out of you was as shameful as it was degrading. 

When they finally pull away Daemon pushes a finger into your neglected hole, earning a yelp from your lips. The sudden intrusion is foreign and stings, biting your bottom lip you try to keep your cries of discomfort from spilling out.

They work in tandem drawing pleasure out of you with their expert touches. The way you squirm beneath them is pathetic and a distant image to the woman the realm knew you to be. 

“So fucking tight” Daemon says adding a second finger causing your head to spin. He moves his fingers expertly in and out of your cunt. Loving the feeling of your velvety walls, he speaks to Rhaenyra but you can’t hear them. Deaf under the spell of your uncle’s long fingers, your eyes are shut concentrating on the flowering pleasure that was beginning to take hold. 

Rhaenyra’s hands stop their movements and you’re half heartedly aware of the way the bed shifts far too caught up in your pleasure. You’re unraveling completely melted into Daemon, unable to keep your moans quiet they fall from your lips like a waterfall. A knot forms in the pit of your stomach as Daemon stretches you open fucking his fingers into you, you’re left a blubbering mess. 

His fingers mercilessly hit every spot in your spongy cunt, you take every bit of bliss he gives you. Sweat gathers on your pinched brows, your skin feels hot against the cool night air. 

After an especially hard thrust he angles his fingers just right and your walls tighten around him. You feel as though you’re going to die, your breaths come in short quick intervals, you're on the edge of pleasure nearly going under. 

And as if he read your thoughts Daemon halts his movements, removing his fingers from your warmth, “So pretty when you moan” 

Your eyes open in disappointment, missing the feeling of being played with. But Daemon gives you no time to react as he orders you to open your mouth. 

“Taste your filth”

Obediently you do, his fingers are heavy on your tongue wrapping your mouth around them tasting yourself—you’re bitter and sharp unlike anything you had ever tasted. 

When Daemon decides you’ve had enough he pulls his fingers out and kisses you. 

You’ve forgotten about Rhaenyra until you feel a wet sensation on your pearl. With a moan your eyes shift downwards where she rests on her stomach between your legs. She’s excitedly lapping you up, her tongue sending you into a frenzy as she focuses on your puffy cunt.

Moments ago you had thought the height of pleasure was your uncle’s fingers yet it was actually your sister's mouth. 

“Ngh…Nyera” 

Your cries only invigorate her, she presses her tongue into your hole and the sudden motion has you bucking your hips. She laughs into your cunt, amused, sending vibrations straight into your pearl. 

She’s an expert at what she does, her tongue running up and down your slit. Sucking on your pearl with such vigor before fucking her tongue into you. This was not the first time your sister had done such a lewd act and the thought of Rhaenyra having done this before with another woman has jealousy crawling up your back. 

Distracted by Rhaenyra you don’t feel Daemon’s hand lowering, not until his cold fingers are pressing into your pearl. Two of his fingers begin moving sporadically electrifying every fiber of your body. You’re writhing in pleasure, burning with passion consumed by Rhaenyra and Daemon, unsure of how much more you could take. Coming undone as they pull you apart just to put you back together with nothing but their hands and lips.

You’re squirming, “Uncle, Ny…Nyra I’m—I”

Like before Daemon’s movements stop followed by Rhaenyra, you look between them dazed with need and confused. You pout in frustration, tired of being dragged to the edge of pleasure only to have it ripped away from you. 

In response Daemon turns you  to face him, “Fret not sweet dragon, we’ll give you what you want”. His lips fall on yours forcibly, kissing you as if you were the only thing able to quench his hunger. 

He moves off the bed and Rhaenyra grabs your hips, pulling you towards her gently pushing you to fall onto the bed backfirst. With your legs hanging off the bed she crawls on top of you slowly, taking her time to ravish your body with bites and kisses. Her teeth sink into the softness of your flesh and though it hurts you can’t help but moan. Goosebumps rise over your body as she sucks the skin under your breast. When she’s had enough she lifts her head to meet your collar bones, she wastes no time sucking on your skin. Making sure to leave her mark on your skin. 

The feeling is different yet so enticing, full of tenderness and lust. You’re moaning under her and you realize just how empty your cunt feels as it drips for Rhaenyra. 

You need more, desperate for it your hands move not entirely sure of what you are doing only knowing you needed more of her. You pull Rhaenyra’s nightgown trying to get it off. But only managing to pull the top of it revealing her breasts. You make quick work of taking them in your hands, they’re soft and firm, plump from having been filled with milk many times. 

Her mouth releases your skin as she moans

“My two pretty nieces playing with each other, I could die a happy man right now” Daemon stands behind your bodies. His hands touch your thighs repositioning your body how he’d like. Your clay in his hands—pliable—letting him mold you however he likes rendering him full control of your being.

He slides what you can only assume is his cock between your folds moaning as he does so. Warning drums sound off in your ears, you should put a stop to the night's debauchery and end it before you’re ruined forever. But your inhibitions are lowered and you couldn’t exactly care to think what a septa or the realm would think. Not when you were pinned between Rhaenyra and Daemon.

Rhaenyra adjusts herself above you, her knees resting on either side of your hips, giving Daemon room to do as he pleases.

“How do you feel princess?” Her voice is laced with teasing affection. You are unsure how to respond if you could at all, focused entirely on the sensation of Daemon’s cock pressing against your cunt. 

He gives you no warning as he pushes the tip of cock into your weeping cunt, it’s tight and uncomfortable. The intrusion is painful; it feels like you’re being pulled apart, like your body was being set aflame. 

“Fuck” the word falls from Daemon’s lips like a prayer

The fur under you is balled in your fists trying to ease the pain, tears form in your eyes 

“Dae–”

He shushes you, “The pain will lull soon” 

“Be good for uncle, won’t you sweet girl?” Rhaenyra asks kissing along your neck

You’re nodding 

When he fully sheaths himself a painful sob escapes your lips. Your eyes are shut trying to weather the storm. You’re half frightening he’ll start fucking you, the pain would surely kill you. But he does not move, allowing you a moment to become accustomed to his length. 

“Gods, you’ve been keeping such an amazing cunt from us” he says after a moment, slowly he begins to move. Pulling himself out before gently pushing himself back in. 

The first few thrusts send shockwaves through your body. In an effort to distract you from the discomfort Rhaenyra plays with your breast. Nipping one with her mouth while she rolled the other between her thumb and forefinger. You shudder at the stark differences in sensations, like ice and fire you’re teetering the line between pleasure and pain. Tears fall from your eyes as you clenched tightly around Daemon’s cock, Rhaenyra kisses them away. 

The longer Daemon continues his intrusion the faster the pain soothes into a warm pleasure. When a moan escapes your mouth he responds with a sharp thrust. Bliss rests heavy on your brow, the lewd squelching from every thrust only adds fuel to your heightened state.

Rhaenyra moans above you, her face contorted in ecstasy, she’s the vision of desire, a nymph of lust and pleasure. You piece together that Daemon’s fingers are exploring the warmth cavern of her cunt. As you watch her, her eyes find yours and she leans down to kiss you. It’s sloppy and full of half-sound moans. Her breaths begin to quicken and for a brief moment your uncle slows his thrusts to focus on Rhaenyra. Though you miss the feeling you discovered your love for watching your sister lose herself to your uncle.

Her moans only grow louder, she’s calling out her husband's name. Pushing herself into his fingers and suffocating you with her breasts. 

She shakes, eyes rolled to the back of her head with her mouth half opened. Her body is spasming above yours, moans fall from her mouth like prayers as she peaks all over Daemon’s fingers.

She falls on top of you, her head resting on your chest as she tries to catch her breath. Without thinking you caress her hair, it's soft and smooth and it almost startles you when she looks up to you. 

For a moment while you hold her gaze the entire world falls away, nothing else matters but her. You could spend the rest of your life just gazing at her—worshiping at her altar. A gentle smile appears on her lips as she climbs off your body, she moves towards Daemon kissing him passionately. You almost averted your gaze, the act felt so intimate it did not feel right to watch.

Daemon rests comfortably inside you as they kiss, the entire time you have not been able to pull your eyes away from them. And when it is over, as if nothing had occurred Daemon resumes his relentless pace. His cock is pressed deliciously inside you forcing you to see stars. He repeats his actions over and over again. 

“Perfect fucking tits,” he leans down to catch your bouncing breast. Wrapping his lips around your nipple as he thrust harder, lapping at it like a crazed man. His mouth is hot against your skin, his tongue rough as he suckles—as if expecting milk. The thought sends a shiver down to your cunt, causing your walls to flutter against Daemon’s cock. 

“I should put a child in you just to watch your breast swell” 

You know he shouldn’t, it’s wrong you’d be ruined–-more so than you already were—no man would ever marry if you had a bastard. But you can’t suppress the moan from leaving your lips, squeezing around Daemon like a glove. His hips falter for a moment as you choke his cock, “Fuck, does the idea appeal to you?” 

“We could keep her here, have her birth our heirs, keep her stuffed with cock”, Rhaenyra chimes and her words are enough to push you over the edge vibrating with pleasure. Your back arches off the bed as your body is consumed with ecstasy. You’re first ever release racking through you without mercy. 

Daemon moans, your contracting cunt making it near impossible for him to move. 

Your chest heaves as you try to regain your breath, try to regain the composure you had lost hours ago. 

But you’re given no time to do so as Daemon pulls himself from your cunt and flips you onto your stomach. His hands grip your hips as he pulls them up, your head is pressed against the bed. A blush creeps on your cheeks, the position is lewd, one you had overheard Aegon say was reserved for whores. 

Your thoughts dissolve as Daemon runs the tip of his cock along your sensitive wet folds. His movements leave you shuddering, wanting him to just get on with it. 

“Uncle please,” you whine pushing your hips back onto him

“So eager” his hands roam the expanse of your ass before sheathing himself once more inside you. 

The angle offers you a new pleasure, spread wide before Daemon like a feast at the ready for him to devour. Your walls flutter with sensitivity and yet it does not deter Daemon from pulling ropes of pleasure out of you. It exudes from your cunt tenfold and wrenches through your body unyielding. Like everything about the night it’s overwhelming bordering the edge of pain, but you’re too drunk off Daemon and Rhaenyra to put an end to it. Not when Daemon is molding your insides, as if to make sure no other suitor could ever compare. Not that you would ever want another suitor, you could spend the rest of your life beneath Daemon. 

Cold fingers slither themselves up your spine, snaking themselves around the side of your neck. Daemon’s touch is rough, callus hands pressed against the soft of your throat. Fingers stretch over the expanse of your throat, squeezing ever so lightly and you swear you see stars. An involuntary moan escapes your lips as you arch your back into him and it's all the encouragement Daemon needs to apply more pressure. 

Every thrust from Daemon has the air in your lungs exuding at a rapid pace. Your head starts to throb, all your senses are melting into one another. Daemon’s touch is paralyzing; you're frozen, stuck in a twisted masochistic purgatory and loving every moment of it. 

The grip on your neck tightens, cutting the little airflow you were getting. Above you Daemon leans down the heat of his chest against your back. He whispers something in your ear but you can’t hear anything above the beating of your heart. You’re not sure how much longer you could take, eyes half lidded and bordering tears—you’re barely holding onto consciousness. 

Just when the arms of unconsciousness threaten to pull you under, his grip releases and his thrusts come to a stop. Like a stone dropped onto the bottom of a river your head falls straight onto the bed. You try to regain your breath, through painful breaths the sound of Rhaenyra’s laughter reaches your ears. Through your lashes you look upon her, she sits before you smiling, eyes glowing under moonlight. 

“What a spoiled princess, receiving such fervent treatment from my husband” 

In response Daemon gently kisses your back. Slowing and ever so carefully moving his hips as he does so, you moan and Rhaenyra laughs again. 

“Come now, before I’m seething with jealousy” she moves. Her legs spread before you, nightgown exposing her flesh as she adjusted. You have an idea about what means to happen next but your inexperience has you doubting your thoughts. 

Your head lifts in realization that she’s settling herself, her clothed cunt only a touch away. You’re captivated by the allure of her covered womanhood. 

“Go on princess, serve your queen” Daemon voice rings out as he reaches to tangle his hand in your hair forcing you towards Rhaenyra’s cunt. 

She looks down at you, a seductive smile playfully lingering on her lips. She lifts her dress agonizingly slow, pulling the thin layer of her nightgown exposing the smoothness of her skin. When she's finally revealed to you in all her glistening glory you waste no time, diving right into her core. You’re half surprised she wasn’t wearing any small clothes but you don’t think twice about it, devouring her with novice eagerness. 

As you run your tongue through her folds you clench around Daemon getting your first real taste of Rhaenyra. She tastes poignant and sweet like a nectar you had never known but were growing addicted too. You kiss her swollen womanhood inhaling her sweet scent, pressing your tongue against it before swirling around it. Though you know your inexperience shows you eat her up like she was your last meal in the living world. 

Her moans are music to your ears, you look up to watch as her chest heaves. Invigorated by her pleasure you flick your tongue fucking it against her dripping hole, through a half open moan her eyes fall on yours. Her brows are pinched together in ecstasy as her thighs close around your head keeping you in place not that you could think of moving away. 

The world falls away as you bring your sister to the heights of pleasure, drunk by the feeling of her warm cunt wrapped around your face. It’s lewd and disgusting and yet you can’t get enough of it. 

In a sudden motion your attention is pulled away from Rhaenyra, you’re unable to turn your head but you feel Daemon’s cock retracting before he thrust it back to the hilt. You moan into Rhaenyra, sending shooting vibrations through her. She chokes out a moan as her hand comes down to grip your hair. 

She roughly tugs as you continue the intrusion of her cunt, pushing you further into her. Your nose bumps her puffy pearl as you move uncoordinated—distracted and falling victim to Daemon’s relentless attacks. The squelching sounds of your weeping cunt sends your mind into a frenzy, it’s filthy and obscene. 

“Such a good girl,” Rhaenyra purrs, “Had I know you were so good at eating cunt I would have had you on your knees long ago” 

Her words of praise have your pussy fluttering around Daemon who grunts in response. Your mind has gone completely blank, you've lost yourself knowing nothing but the hot liquid pleasure that Daemon and Rhaenyra were tearing out of you. They’re molding you into shapes only they knew—only they could touch. 

Daemon nestles himself so deeply you’re sure if you reach down you’d feel him in your stomach. You try to keep up your pace on Rhaenyra but with Daemon’s insistent thrusts you’re having trouble, sloppily licking and inserting your tongue into her. 

“Gods you were both made for my cock”, he grunts out but you can’t think of a single response. You’re pushed into Rhaenyra with every thrust, slurping her overflowing bliss. 

At her husband’s words Rhaenyra releases you from her grasp letting her legs fall away and you take the opportunity to rest your head on the inside of her thigh. Moaning against her skin coming undone on your uncle’s cock. 

“Is that true, do you think we were made for Daemon’s cock?” Rhaenyra’s hand drops from your hair and gently caresses your face. You can hardly process their words, unable to speak, lost in pleasure and too concentrated on the feeling of Daemon pulling out then stuffing you with each thrust. 

“Did the princess forget how to speak?” Daemon teases his hand coming down to slap the meat of your ass

“She’s cock drunk” Rhaenyra laughs, grabbing your hair and pushing you back into her heat, crying out as she does so. Your tongue laps over her absentmindedly but it’s enough to have her legs trembling. 

Roughly she tugs your hair, her moans becoming more frequent and you know she’s just as close to coming undone as you are.

Minutes stretch into hours as you’re used by your sister and her husband as nothing more than an object to achieve their own pleasure. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, unable to do anything but writhe in their grasps.  

With a final lap of your tongue over her womanhood Rhaenyra comes undone against your tongue. Like before her thighs press against your head keeping you locked in place. The sounds that escape her are so indecent you would have never thought sounds like that could come out of the realms delight. Greedily you swallow everything she gives you. 

The spell Rhaenyra cast over you is broken when Daemon spanks your ass again, but now you’re able to turn your head to face him. Head laying on Rhaenyra’s thigh looking back to see Daemon smirking, continuing his assault on your sensitive walls, hips slapping against yours. 

“Uncle…Uncle” you breathe out feeling the thundering shockwaves of pleasure crashing over you. Your words do nothing to divert Daemon, who continues to fuck himself into you. 

In a matter of short moments you’re overwhelmed by pleasure—pushed over the edge by a final slap on the ass by Daemon. You muffle your cry into the bed, shaking in elation. Your body feels like it was struck by lightning, overly sensitive by the pleasure that was just ripped out of you. 

Behind you Daemon unsheathes himself from the warmth of your cavern. Without his hands holding your hips up, you drop onto the soft bed. Mind left a puddle of mush as sleep begins to weigh your eyelids. Your consciousness begins to slip into the realm of dreams, not bothering to check on the wellbeing of your sister or uncle. 

The bed dips at both ends and you feel gentle hands adjust you against the bed, laying you onto your back. 

“Come here sweet dragon I’d like you on top when I release my seed”, Daemon says crawling above you. Your eyes flutter open at the sound of his voice and he smiles down at you. 

Rhaenyra laughs from beside you, “You’re insatiable. Can’t you see she is tired” 

He turns to her, “She is free to object,” then returns to you, “Do you object princess?” 

You know you should, not sure if your body could handle any more of what Daemon wanted to give you. He would surely tear you apart, leaving his marks on your body and spent for days to come—the thought sends a thrill of anticipation down your spine. 

His eyes bear into yours and there’s a hint of softness in them you had never seen before. Of the entirety of your stay in Dragonstone he had never once spared you a glace much less held a conversation with you. Yet now he wanted nothing more than to consume you and after the events of the night your mind has gone feeble. And the look in his eyes is all persuasion you needed, through hooded eyes you shake your head. 

“There’s your answer wife” Daemon shoots her a boastful smile, in return she laughs. His attention is drawn back to you with a kiss, it’s short and sweet but you’re far too tired to appreciate it for what it’s worth. 

“Come now,” he pulls you up with him maneuvering you on top of him as he lays with his back against the bed. Without needing to be told what to do you spread your legs straddling his lap. Daemon ushers your hips over his standing manhood, gently pushing the tip of his cock into your drenched entrance. 

Your sensitive walls make it near impossible for you to fully take him. He groans below slowly pushing you further and further onto his cock. Your body shutters as you take all of Daemon, every single one of your nerve endings on fire. 

After a moment his hands fall onto your hips guiding you to rise then fall onto him. The sensation leaves you trembling, unable to hold your head up, it falls on his chest. 

Your eyes are screwed shut feeling an aching pain coiling in your stomach as tears threaten to spill out, “I…I can’t” you almost sob

He shushes you running his hand over your hair in a consoling manner, “You can”

Tears begin to stain your face as your abused walls clutch against Daemon. He thrust into you slowly, grabbing your face so you’d meet his gaze. You’re fully seated on him as a tear falls from your right eye, he brushes a tear from your face bringing your face to his. 

“Such a good girl taking me so well,” he praises, burying his head in the crock of your neck. He leaves a trail of kisses up your jaw, “Could spend the rest of my life buried inside you”

His words shouldn’t thrill you as much as they do, yet you find desire pooling at your feet lulling the coiling pain. Pleasure comes slow and then all at once bliss blossoms through your body, the sensitivity of your previous releases leaving you with a heightened sensitivity. 

Without Daemon’s guidance you lift your hips and sink yourself back down. You moan when Daemon meets your lifted hips, moving your hands onto his chest straightening your back to sit yourself comfortably. It’s like nothing you’ve felt before, you’re completely full of cock—stuffed to the brim. The feeling is addicting as if your sole purpose in life was to be seated on Daemon’s cock. 

He fucks into you quickening his pace, your cries become louder and more frequent completely entranced in a haze of blistering hot euphoria. You’re pressing your hips against his trying to reach your peak again, chasing that intoxicating feeling. Perhaps Rhaenyra’s idea was not so bad afterall, you give them all the heirs they wanted.

“You’ve been such a good girl for us” he says rutting up to you, his grip tightening around your hips. Indenting into the plush of your skin sure to leave bruises. Your mind becomes a flurry filled blur as you begin to bounce on your uncle’s cock. Hands pressed to his chest trying to find some sort of grounding leverage. You find it, if only momentarily before Daemon’s tip brushes against a spongy part of your cunt. 

A loud cry emits from your lips, unable to hold yourself together any longer. Your walls clench around Daemon who digs his fingers further onto your skin. A groan bubbles in his chest; it's almost animalistic as it travels up his throat. Your eyes fall onto his, there's a dangerous edge of hungering lust that has your head spinning. 

A dangerous smile dances on his lips as his hands travel up your chest towards your bouncing breasts. He cups them, holding them for a moment before squeezing. You shiver at the feeling of his warm fingers on your cold nipples. 

Nearly falling apart at the sensation combined with his insistent thrusts. At the speed he’s hammering you with, you know he’s about to reach his peak. Your eyes close shut when his forefinger and thumb clamp around your right nipple rolling it between them. 

You feel your head explode with pleasure, it shutters through you with such intensity your vision goes white. There’s a brief moment where you think Daemon has fucked you blind. But when you see the ‘o’ shape of his mouth you’re almost thankful he did not, loving the image of him left at your mercy. 

The spasming of your high around him pushes Daemon into his own release. Your nails dig into his skin as he spills himself inside of you, his head thrown back in a moan as your cunt milks his cock. 

After a moment his thrusts become shallow as his elation wears off. He smiles triumphantly, hands sliding down to your hips. His glee should fill you with shame—regretful of the sinful actions that took place upon your sister’s marriage bed but instead you feel satisfied.

Breathlessly you collapse on his chest feeling his seed leak out of you. With your head against his chest you think you should run out of the room, flee to the walls of your chambers and hide from the grotesque act you committed. But exhaustion wears on your bones rendering you unable to move. Your legs tremble, tender from the amount of pressure they endured. 

Daemon says something but you don’t catch a single utterance. 

“Mhm” you hum too tired to ask him to repeat himself. He chuckles, readjusting you both on the bed, you moan as he moves—his cock still buried inside you. 

Your eyes close inhaling Daemon, the smell of leather and musk invades your nostrils. You hate that you find it comforting, hate that you want to stay wrapped in the arms of your sister’s husband. A man that was not yours and yet allowed to defile your womanhood. 

As if Daemon could sense your storming thoughts he traces his fingers on the small of your back. His touch brings you a strange solace, tomorrow you would feel conflicted about your blossoming emotions towards your sister and her husband. Tonight you’d sleep sheltered from the storm, tomorrow you’d face the reality of your situation. 

“Are you drifting off to sleep?” Daemon's voice is almost sweet but before you could answer the chamber door opens. The sound of footsteps entering alert you to a new presence but you can’t move limbs weighing you down instead you hide in the crook of Daemon’s neck. Mortified to have been caught in the bed chambers of the future Queen and her King Consort. 

“And where did you run off too?” Daemon nonchalantly asks his fingers still tracing patterns on your skin

“Refreshments my love,” the sound of your sister’s voice comes as a surprise, you hadn’t noticed the absence of her presence. But you’re happy she’s returned, missing the warmth of her body on yours. You lift your head to see her standing at the foot of the bed, a plate full of fruits and a flagon of wine in hand. 

“Who’s insatiable now?”

[magpie-murder]

it'd be wild if they gave asgard's citizens phones in marvel i bet they'd have the best drama

20 notes

👴🏻 is-odin-dead-yet

No.

#date: 2023/11/23 #when will he croak #i've been running this blog for centuries #frigga for allfather #kick the bucket already i'm getting bored of posting here

112 notes

⛈️ god-of-thunder

I come to Tumblr with a regretful update. As you may know, my family and our fiercest warriors have been traveling between realms in search of our stolen relics.

While attempting to recover one, my brother lost his life in battle while protecting us. He shielded me with his body. My brother died a hero.

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

May he reach Folkvangr. My deepest condolences. But I thought Baldur was impervious to all harm...?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

It was Loki. :( I'm devastated.

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

Oh.

🐍 magic-theatre

is that all you can muster? "oh." you thought i was dead, and that's it? that's all you have? what do you mean by that? let's talk. :)

⛈️ god-of-thunder

You're alive? Where are you?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

Wait, what happened to @einherjarl? He deactivated?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

Loki?

23,034 notes

🎨 bragis-apprentice

Just finished custom making this handle

#metalwork #artists on tumblr #double sided axe #my art

2 notes

⚔️ aesir-warrior-tournament

⚡️LIGHTNING ROUND⚡️

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

?

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

Lady Sif is not one of The Warriors Three. It says it in the name. There are three of them. Not four.

Correct this.

✨️ the-dashingest

I voted for Sif.

🪓 valiant-festivals

I voted for Sif.

🔺️ grim-warrior

I voted for Sif.

✨️ the-dashingest

Wait, Hogun? But you didn't tell us you had a phone?

🔺️ grim-warrior

I don't.

#lady sif propaganda #lightning round #poll reblog #only one more round after this! #i'm so glad lady sif doesn't have tumblr lol #i hope you guys dont mind that a mortal is running this blog btw #i really didnt expect any of you to see this 😬 #and srry for the reblog spam #also hogun lol

1,879 notes

🐍 magic-theatre

i see your thirst edits, you sick freaks.

#start tagging me in them #and/or sending them to me

689 notes

⛵️ modern-technologist Follow

umm i'm in ohio to visit my parents and there's like. um . a giant wolf running alongside my car? i'd call animal control but this thing is ginormous and i don't think that would do anything.

it doesnt have a leash or anything (obv its bigger than my car) but it's covered in chains. what do i do??

@identifying-d𝚘gs-in-posts ??

🐕 identifying-dogs-in-posts Follow

Fenrir Lokison?

#😨

197 notes

✨️ the-dashingest

I really don't think Loki is that bad. Sure, he's had a rocky history, but I don't think he's done anything worthy of scorn. Besides, hasn't he just died and come back or something like that, anyway? He has a blank slate, in my book.

#is it just me? #i hear people saying we should banish or kill him #i find that idea preposterous #he's just misunderstood

208 notes

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

I'm not going to @ them, but ugh... Someone I'm acquainted with just died in battle, and honestly? I'm so relieved. Is that terrible? Don't answer that, I know that it is. I'll probably delete this in a few hours.

🐍 magic-theatre

that's what you get for vagueing.

cowards don't go to valhalla.

10,560 notes

🔮 alchemist-aura Follow Sponsored with Blaze 🔥

buy my potions! i'm having a Thor's Day sale! you can get an invisibility concoction for only 3 gold today! cheapest prices in the market! don't let that einar guy force you to pay 230 gold for a wyvern tooth when you can purchase an authentic one HERE from my brand new online shop

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[mitskicain]

navi | m.list

. ⁺ . ✦ the doghouse — ken sato x reader

© mitskicain all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

synopsis: all good things must come to an end

content warning: angst, hurt/some comfort (?)

word count: 1.8k

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epilogue: in the doghouse

There is a saying that the universe gives and takes. That, it writes people into your lives—your paths crossing—and you will start to see them everywhere. The things that they mention will appear in front of you, their body standing out from a crowd, their voice singular in a wave of shouting. But when it is time for the two of you to separate, the universe will write them out completely. Despite living in the same city, you will never see them picking out oranges and apples in the grocery store, never see them in their favorite restaurant, never have them pull up next to you during a red light. They say that when it’s really over, you will never see them again, no matter how intertwined the two of you were before.

Ever since that last argument in your place, you and Ken had only crossed paths another couple handful of times.

There was once in the convenience store near the stadium late at night—you grabbing some cup noodles, him with his energy drink. You saw him from the corner of your eye, hair doused in sweat and matted down from the helmet, his gloved hands reaching for the chiller. He might not have seen you. You were in your hoodie, hunched down, devouring your late night meal. There was something about writing fervors that always made you so hungry. You resisted the urge to ask him where he had gotten the butter chicken he brought over the first time he came around; resisted the urge to ask him anything really—because it wouldn’t be for the sake of curiosity, or your cravings—just the chance to talk to him again, but you were too proud to ever want to admit it first. So you let him slip by, gaze lingering on his back as he disappeared down the road to continue practice. When you walked home, you could still hear the distant roars of wooden bat meeting baseball, and the echo of its fwoosh across the stadium.

It was hard avoiding Ken. His physical self was limited to mainly the stadium and the streets to and from his house. The bars on the road across from the venue would be hotspots after practices, so much so that you changed your schedule to only cover nights when he wasn’t on practice. But that was the easy part. In the daylight, he was omnipresent—advertisements and banners and posters of him decorated nearly every inch of the city. Whenever the Giants won a game, there would be the valiant cheer of the crowd, and his face plastered on newspapers. When his birthday rolled around, they decorated the subway to the stadium that you took to work with him. It was a pain. You had to keep your gaze down or your eyes shut just to avoid looking at him. One time, you thought that you had bumped into him on the subway but then realized it was just a mural of him—height accurate and all.

The ample time had you working on your writing: shitty poetry drafts turning into something worth reading. The first time you had gone to a bar that allowed you to showcase your work, you felt your heart thunder against your ribs, an unswallowable lump formed in your throat, and though you stuttered through the first few lines you were met with smiles and applause when you finished. And you did it again, and again, and again—until you no longer stuttered and the applause turned thunderous—until the manager of the bar asked you to come in regularly, offering you a platform and all. You didn’t think you could have actually made it, the whirlwind of fame sucking you in, allowing you little time to focus on anything that wasn’t your craft. Soon enough, you were able to quit your job altogether and focus on writing full-time.

You didn’t expect it: after months passing and nothing from the other, for him to be merely 50 meters away from you, in the next conference room. You could recognize his voice anywhere—recognized the sound of his laugh from all the clamor of the reporters. You looked straight ahead as you tried your best to answer the questions from the critics and some of your readers, trying to drown out the noise booming from just across the hall. So close and yet so far. When the event concluded you rushed outside, hoping to catch a glimpse, only to find that he had been dismissed just five minutes before you. Emotions bubbled up in you—disappointment, rage, shame—leading to you eventually publishing a short novel that included graphic details of your relationship together. The release took Japan by storm; tabloids and headlines both banging on your doors for a statement.

The last time you saw Ken was in court.

A private settlement between the two of you. A gag order, your lawyer had said—you fought back the urge to laugh. Isn’t that what I used to put in his mouth? You joked, he didn’t find it funny.

While your lawyers discussed, you passed lingering stares at each other from across the room. You had never seen Ken so dressed up before: white button up, trousers, and dress shoes. His hair was gelled back, so different from how it usually looked—messy from having your hands in them. He fiddled with his cufflinks, keeping his gaze low, but there were moments, brief moments, where he looked at you and it felt as if nothing had changed. As if the two of you were back at your place, splayed out on the couch, lying opposite from each other, stealing glances as the movie rolled on. A place in your chest hurt at the memory, so you stepped outside and made a beeline for the vending machine, trying to find something to sink your teeth into to distract you from the hurt.

“I guess the truth was bound to come up one way or another,” his voice rang. You turned around, Ken trailing behind you. “Cat’s out the bag.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, shrugging.

“I guess so.”

Silence between the two of you. It had been too long since either of you said a word to each other.

“Now what?” He asks, voice soft but expectant. Something inside of you squeezes. You trail your fingertips on the surface of the soda can, feeling the moisture collect onto your skin.

“Now I stop writing fanfiction of you,” you say, a teasing smile playing on your lips. He returns the expression, amused. “We move on, I guess.”

“Oh,” he sounds, a hint of disappointment. His fists hung idly by his sides. The urge to reach out to him and hold his hand and tell him that the two of you could start over was great, but you knew better than to do anything of the sort. So you just stood there, taking all of it in—the tension, the awkwardness.

“Was this how you imagined it?” You asked, trying to sound cold but your voice cracks with emotion the moment you see him turn to meet your gaze. “When you lead me on, did you think it would come to this?”

He looks down in shame, lips curling downwards. You want to reach out to touch him but you stay in place, feet glued to the ground. Your free hand is squeezed into a fist, white knuckled and all.

“I always knew you were going to make it,” he says, smiling softly, “but no, I didn’t think of-” he gestures to the room, “this.”

Fair enough, you thought.

Another painful bout of silence.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, you know,” he confesses, your jaw ticks at the mention of this. “I didn’t mean for things to end the way they did.”

You nod your head in acknowledgement.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” you say. “You tried to keep me from it but I figured you out—maybe try harder next time.”

The two of you know there won’t be a next time.

After this, it’s over. You won’t see him again. Ever. Still, the two of you laugh—maybe as an attempt to soothe the sting of loss—you hear his laugh and you are struck for the millionth time by just how beautiful it is.

Have you ever felt it? The moment before the feeling catches the memory? For a second, your mind pulls you to the surface and, like a snapped rubber band—whiplash. The echo of his laugh brings that all too familiar ache that rippled through you like waves, something that you know will haunt you for the next few years as you tried to erase whatever memory of him you had left. But before the pain was that haven of neutrality, the millisecond of peace where, instead of feeling the pang of loss, you felt nothing—and before nothing, the slightest memory of happiness.

For a moment, before the goodbye, the sound of his laugh transported you back to a time where all the two of you looked forward to was the sight of each other. You laughed over scenes together, discussing movie theories and playing make believe. You dreamed of a future where things had been better, nicer, where the world had been gentler with the two of you—a future where the two of you had been allowed to stay together, for a little bit longer at least. You were reminded of the time, cuddled up in bed, you heard him slip a little confession of an ‘I love you’ in the midst of his exhausted haze. Did he mean it? You wouldn’t know. And he hadn’t known it then but you said those words back, kissing the top of his forehead affectionately before joining him in sleep.

After this the two of you will never meet again.

The mention of the other during an interview will be quickly brushed off, only answered with a tight smile and a shake of the head. You will move back to the countryside in pursuit of a more peaceful environment for you to write your days away in, Ken will stay in the city and win game after game. The tabloids will cease the stories of you, and the news that the both of you had once been a thing will fizzle out—the public will forget of the fervor and the two of you gone back to strangers that will never cross paths again.

But sometimes, sometimes, you would wake up from such vivid dreams that you are drenched in tears and sweat, your cheeks flushed against the cool summer air. In your dreams you are back in your tiny apartment, chasing after Lassie and Strauber, singing in the shower while Ken brushes his teeth—a life so domestic and sweet that if a stranger were to peer in they would have said that the two of you were a happily married couple. Of course, this was before the world knew, before disaster struck—back when you lied your head against his chest and neither of you had ever said a word about leaving.

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author’s note: ITS THE END OF THE DOGHOUSE AAAAA💥💥💥 I’ll be honest this one was hard to go through (as evident by my burnout 💀💀) because it reminded me too much of my past (failed) relationship(s) 😭😭😭 but as always we thank our exes and we move on and write successful story about them for hundreds to enjoy 🥰🥰🥰 thank you everyone who has been so sweet and so supportive throughout it all 🫵‼️ I never would have imagined that so many of you guys would actually like this weird story I wrote 😭😭😭 and as mentioned previously the doghouse will be my last kenji fic and I will be moving on to writing for other fandoms :”))) it’s been an honor and I am so happy that you guys enjoy what I put out there, I hope to continue being able to put out things you guys enjoy 🙏🙏 until then—thank you as always and—MITSKICAIN OUT‼️‼️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🫳🎤 💥💥

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[chaotic-orphan]

A quick prompt

“Please…” Hero wheezed, clawing their fingernails desperately into the dirt, trying to pull themselves forward, closer to Villain who was so heart wrenchingly close if Hero could just reach them. “Please d-don’t…”

Villain tilted their head at the exhausted Hero with more pity than sympathy, and a little bit of awe at how even when beaten, even when eating dirt, Hero still didn’t know when to quit. Maybe they were born without a survival instinct.

“I told you before Hero,” Villain said.

Hero’s grip in the dirt turned their knuckles white and they cried out a strangled scream of frustration and helplessness as they pulled their limp body towards Villain.

“You can’t save everyone, everywhere, at all times and expect to get away with it.”

“Yes…” Hero panted, dragging themselves an inch closer. “I can. As long as I draw breath, I can save the world.”

“Sweetheart,” Villain cooed, clicking their tongue against the roof of their mouth. “You can’t even save yourself.”

Hero heard, more than saw, Villain push the button on their remote and froze. It was as if the Earth took a sharp inhale of breath — the world turned slower, nature grew quiet, all Hero could hear was the ringing in their ears and the thundering pounding of their heart in their throat — the ground rumbled beneath Hero and they had just enough strength to push their head up to watch as everything they knew turned to ash.

The fire burned hot, as if Hero was in it instead of beside it, looking down at it, and no matter how much they wanted to Hero couldn’t tear their eyes away from the flames or the screams or the smoke or the sirens or the death and destruction they could have prevented if they had just been stronger.

Hero flinched as a hand settled on the nape of their neck, rubbing soothing circles over the skin. “It was a valiant effort Hero, I want you to know that. There is nothing you could have done. Although you did come the closest to beating me. I had to even the playing field a bit, what with your borderline obsessive tenacity.”

Villain’s words sent a shiver up Hero’s spine. “Don’t worry, this is only the beginning. I told you we would change the world, didn’t I?”

They did. That was the first thing Villain ever told Hero. At the time it sounded so attractive, so endearing. It was so easy for Villain to convince Hero to follow Villain after that because they wanted the same things.

Hero just didn’t imagine that in order for the world to change, so many needed to die.

“Come on now, let me get you back to bed. We can start rebuilding tomorrow. That’s when the real work begins.”

[redsrooftopprincess]

Gravity (Part 3)

Last chapter? Idk. Taking suggestions on what to call this.

Asks are open, but I don't have a lot of free time and I'm new at this so be gentle. 😅

Okay, let's face it, you're not here for me. On with the show.

Warnings: alcohol, hypothermia

chai-tea level spice.

gn (w/ longish hair) reader x Raphael

Page 1 Page 2

You're anxious tonight. You aren't sure why. Maybe it's the weather. You hate when the boys are out on nights like this. Another rumble of thunder shakes the near empty glass of wine on the coffee table, and you glance at the window which offers nothing more than a void. Unhelpful.

You'd drifted through the week, distracted. That night, and his words, echoing your head. Even April had noticed. Eyeing you one morning while sipping her coffee.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Huh?" You looked up from the cereal you were supposed to be eating. By now, the marshmallows had half dissolved.

"I said... What's wrong with you?" April asked, sitting down at the table across from you and looking you up and down.

"Nothing," you reassured unconvincingly, your eyes darting back down to the generic cereal, which was pretty swiftly becoming a thick sugary soup. You poked at it a few times with your spoon.

She'd let it go, but you caught her watching you closely a few times. Screw her and her journalism instincts.

You and Raphael had always been close. He'd been standoffish at first, acting in his self-appointed role of family guardian, but it didn't take long before you were endeared to him, and not long after that you were spending nearly all your free time together.

More than a few times you've gotten sideways glances from his family. You're so in-sync that you almost seem like a couple at times. You laugh and cry together, and talk deep into the night about things you just can't tell anyone else. He's become your person, and you his.

The last few weeks have been hard on the both of you, and the last week has been the hardest. You dont want to push, especially not right now, nothing important should be discussed right now, but you don't know where his head is at and you're worried.

You frown at the television, readjusting your position on the couch and scrolling to find something to watch. You are attempting to settle in to some exceptionally stupid movie (this way, when April asks what you did tonight, you don't have to lie) when you hear something heavy hit the roof.

He didn't make a sound if he didn't want to. Usually he would land just hard enough that you would know he was there. They all did, out of courtesy. Like a knock at the door. But this was different. Clumsy.

You stare out into the pitch black, grabbing your phone and sending the call. It goes to voicemail.

Raph was always encouraging you to trust your instincts and right now, your instincts were screaming that something was very *very* wrong.

You toss your phone on the couch and are out the window and halfway up the fire escape without a second thought. You're soaked through in seconds and shivering, but you slow before you crest the roof. You shout into the squall.

"Listen Red, I know you don't want to see me right now, but you're not answering your phone and I need to know that you're okay. Okay?"

You wait for a response and there is none, which doesn't make you feel better. You finally reach the roof, and suddenly neither the cold, nor the rain matter.

Sheets of rain and sleet crash over his fallen form like waves, and you run to him. He's freezing cold. Damn it. He'd promised you he'd gotten that fixed. You don't bother checking for a pulse. Your hands are borderline numb, and you probably wouldn't be able to feel it, anyway.

You call his name and make a valiant attempt at shaking him awake.

Somewhere in the depths of unconsciousness he hears you, but he fights it. He wants to stay. He likes it here. It's soft and warm and safe. The world behind him is cold and hard, full of pain and longing. He wants this. He wants this peace.

Then he hears you call his name again, and there's no contest.

He stirs and it's raining so hard that the only way you can tell you're crying is the warmth on your cheeks. You hear him groan weakly. You need to get him inside.

You know you can't physically help him in any way, but you make the attempt. You know it's not going to work, but at least now you can say you tried. He could feel free to laugh at you later.

After very much not budging your beloved behemoth so much as an inch, you lean down next to him.

"I'm gonna need your help here, Bruiser, you know I can't carry you."

A Herculean feat, but he manages to pull himself to near standing. You help him as best you can down the fire escape. It's slow going and he nearly passes out twice, but eventually you make it inside.

He doesn't make it to the couch, but collapses in front of it, sitting on the floor and leaning back against it. His eyes are closed and his breathing slow, you snatch your phone from the cushion behind him and call Donnie.

He doesn't pick up.

You call again.

"Yes. What. Do you need something?" He snaps, exasperated, as if you interrupted a hyperfocus (which, let's face it, you probably did).

"Raph is soaked and freezing and in my apartment. Get the fuck over here and fix your damn tech." You end the call and toss the phone on the couch.

You could apologize later.

You sprint to the linen closet and grab a stack of towels, tossing them into the dryer and turning it on. You quickly change into something dry, before running back to the reptile. You thank whatever god of foresight made you force Raphael teach you how to remove his gear just in case, and get to work.

Your hands don't want to cooperate at first, but adrenaline is one hell of a drug, and you have his waterlogged equipment off in record time. You retrieve the now warmed towels from the dryer and return to him. You lay a couple over his carapace, and use the others to start drying him off.

By the time you finish toweling off his extremities, he is once again beginning to stir. You step over his legs, straddling him while standing to better reach behind his head, and as you lean against him your warmth radiates through his plastron like a sun.

Almost involuntarily, his hands raise to rest at your lower back, pressing you gently against his chest.

You gasp as his hands slide under the back of your shirt, searching for warmth. His hands are still freezing cold, but you're pretty sure the gooseflesh rippling over your skin is unrelated.

You finish toweling off just under his shell, behind his head, and pull back, bracing a hand on his shoulder. As you do, his hands move to your waist and you try to ignore how they nearly envelope you.

You look down at him as his eyes slowly open and smile softly. It's obvious he's still pretty out of it.

Wreathed in warm lamplight, you look ethereal, and when his eyes finally focus on you, he thinks he's either dreaming, or dead (with his luck, probably the latter). The moment you place a warm hand against his face he decides he doesn't care.

"Hey Bruiser," you say quietly, smiling softly as your thumb wipes a drop of water from his cheek, "you're safe, the boys are on their way." The sound of your voice pours into him like warm honey and he closes his eyes with a sigh.

Reaching up to the back of your head, he pulls you gently toward him to rest your forehead against his. It was something you started doing to him not long after you became close, whenever he would get really worked up. You weren't sure if it was the physical proximity or the emotional comfort, but it seemed to help ground him. In reality, it's the closest he would ever allow himself to kissing you, and that thought by itself was very, very grounding.

But he is still warming up, still half conscious. You are filling his senses and it's overwhelming. The curtain of your hair falls around his face, and he feels drunk on your scent. You're so soft beneath his hands and the one around your waist tightens gently.

There is only about two more weeks left in the season, but it's by no means over, and something old and primal stirs in his DNA. He presses your head more firmly against his as intelligence and instinct battle within him for control.

You are his *mate*. And it is *time*. And you are *right here*.

Besides, regardless of whether he's dreaming or dead, it doesn't ultimately matter. He can't hurt you if you aren't real.

He lifts his chin, brushing his lips softly against yours. When you don't pull away in disgust he grows a little more bold, and kisses you in earnest.

It would be a lie to say that you hadn't been thinking about it more-or-less from the beginning, how different it would feel than kissing a human. Admittedly, you'd been a little worried about the mechanics, but any concerns you had dissolve when his mouth fits so perfectly against yours.

His body still feels like lead, but his mind is growing sharper, and about the time you are kissing him back he realizes how very real this is. Unfortunately, his reptile brain realizes it first.

His hand grips your waist as his kiss deepens, and there is a deep rumble within his chest that you can feel inside your own. When his thumb brushes over your abdomen you can't help the involuntary sound that escapes you.

The sound is like a starting pistol and suddenly you're flush against him and his mouth is on your throat, pressing open mouthed kisses along your jawline, blood burning in his veins at the way your heartbeat quickens under his tongue.

You had to stop this. If this was going to happen it shouldn't be like this. Right now he's borderline drugged, and if you let this happen and he later thought you didn't actually want it? You can't imagine the fallout.

But you'd had a few glasses of wine this evening, and Gods, he felt *so* good.

When his teeth graze your pulse point your attempt at a deep breath becomes a gasp, and you close your eyes to steady yourself. You had to get his attention.

You attempt to say his name, but it tumbles out of your mouth as a sigh.

"... want you..." He murmurs into your shoulder. The way his breath scatters over your skin like a shower of sparks is doing nothing to help you regain control of yourself or the situation.

He begins kissing down to your clavicle, both hands now at your waist, and despite knowing what this is, where it's going, and why it needs to stop, you can't help placing a hand on the back of his head to pull him closer.

"Sweetheart, we should really talk about this first..." you attempt again, but the tremor in your voice is the only thing that seems to register.

He holds onto you like a lifeline, as if he was drowning and you were his only oxygen. When he grips you tighter and his thumb presses into the hollow of your hip, you almost buckle. A moan escapes, despite your best efforts, and your nails scrape against the back of his neck.

The rumble in his chest grows deeper and he shifts beneath you, movement becoming easier as his temperature rises.

The sound of three very heavy things landing very softly comes from overhead.

The two of you break apart, flushed and breathless, and look at each other in shock.

You glance at the fire escape when you hear the metal rattle outside, before looking back into bewildered amber eyes.

"We're gonna talk about this," you say. He looks at you as if he doesn't understand. "When this is all over, and your brain is no longer swimming in hormone soup... We're gonna talk about this..."

He blinks up at you, a hesitant hope blossoming behind his eyes as you smile down at him, "... because I'm tired of not talking about it."

(Fin)

[elioslover]

Red Herring- Harry Styles x Reader.

[Premise: Harry might just be the pettiest of assassins.] Made possible by my one and only favourite, @harrysonlylover 💞

Word Count: 2.3k.

Warnings: Violence, weapons, death, angst, 3rd person.

Other Writing

🥀

Hair ruffled, tuxedo dishevelled, Harry is a sight for sore eyes. He really does look like the consequences of a mission gone awry. 

Things had gone from zero to a hundred in such a blinding commotion that as soon as it had started, it was over. He hadn’t the time to even process the fact that death had just been on his doorstep, ambushed and beaten from every which way as he did anything possible to defend the blows of at least four assailants. 

If it weren’t for Her showing up, his body already been detained, forced to his knees as a masked man pressed his forearm along Harry’s neck and squeezed it in place, choking tight, lagging his vision and causing his eyes to bulge with panic- there is almost no chance that Harry would have walked away in one piece. 

Like the holiest of angels, she had floated into his line of vision, which was now so blurry that he saw double- left eyelid threatening to swell shut- an amorous apparition beaming as if a spotlight shone from above, twinkling along with the stars, and Harry couldn’t decipher if she were another dream conjured up by his lovesick mind- definitely not out of the ordinary- it’s only as she neared and the blinding white light morphed into a satin white ballgown, wrapped around her statuesque figure, that Harry feels certain of her existence. 

And then things became a stampede of feet stomping, Harry still restricted and unable to see past the mess of curls and blood now dripping down his brows, covering almost all visibility as he was forced to stay put and hope for the best- the last thing he would ever want- whilst the group black-suited men fumbled around in defence, attempting with all might to eradicate the two problems at hand. 

Though valiant, the pack of assassins lose momentum along the way, and as Harry is finally able to twist loose of the weakened grip of the man keeping him bound in place, he quickly uses his full body force to completely free himself and immediately throws his strength into incapacitating the threat breathing beneath him. 

But the ear-shattering crack of a gun going off had Harry’s heart freezing over with fright, immediately expecting the worst. He could only chance a split second, glancing over at the attack ensuing to his right, just as one of the men hit the floor with a thud.

Increasingly impressed by the woman effortlessly holding her own, Harry returns his attention to the man unsuccessfully wriggling against his hold. 

He had hoped he wouldn’t need the thin blade neatly tucked away in his inner blazer pocket. Still, as the assailant struggled and beneath him, furiously flailing, Harry knew that it had to be done, his palm reaching into the secret pocket of his blazer, drawing the weapon, aiming and thrusting it into the man's chest until the myriad of moans and gurgling slows and then silences all together, his body stiffening beneath Harry’s own.                                

Panting over the corpse, another brute hits the floor, the softest and swiftest of bullets finding a home in his skull, and Harry can’t look away as his angel hardly bats an eye, re-cocking the gun- he knows it’s not her usual choice of weaponry- as she saunters over to the last man standing, stopping his chance of charging over by tapping the trigger, watching emotionlessly as the minutest bullet thunders over and lodges into his heart.

And just like that, the threat of death has dissipated and Harry can finally take a proper breath, still panting over the man’s stiffened body. With sudden overwhelming relief, his entire body starts to ache, his head throbbing, injuries ready to render him to the floor in the hopes of recovery. 

Nothing in the world could have convinced him to move- well, nothing but the gut-punching sound of high heels wedging themselves into the scattered stones, singing like clinking marbles as they not only picked up the pace but started to patter into the distant darkness- away from Harry’s crouched figure. 

Back on his feet in a flash, patting down his clothing attire, Harry’is bowtie is long gone, his dress shirt torn and missing several buttons, his pants ripped along the thigh from a blunt blade, and his shoes are scuffed and covered in dust as he leaves the drama behind him and makes a break up the hill. Why? Well, to confront his knight in shining armour, of course. 

Harry almost trips over several dislodged rocks and snapped damp tree branches as he blindly chases her through the dark of night. He thinks back to the six-inch stilettos she’s still wearing, the same heels that pressed into an unknown assailant's pelvis mere minutes ago. How the hell is she moving so fast? 

It doesn’t help that his left knee is busted, bruising with each step. A kick to the hip results in a dull throb, and even though he has hardly caught his breath, his chest as thirsty as his brain, Harry follows after her, trying to garner her attention through his gritted teeth, 

“Hey!” He can hear the leaves rustling as her pace increases. Harry tries to do the same, calling out with all the energy left to muster, “Hey!” 

She spins on her heels, neck-snapping to meet her shoulder with such speed that it nearly results in whiplash, strands of hair wisping in the wind. Face furrowed in a frown, she wants to be anywhere but here,

“Leave me alone.” 

Harry feels such shock that he stumbles on his own steps, barely able to stop himself from falling at her feet. He thinks she’d probably love that- it would definitely have her blood rushing with dominance. But, she needs no more dominance, this ‘incident’ was more than enough to prove her power for years to come. 

She lets him wander over but doesn’t know why. His perpetual need to poke and prod was something that couldn’t be countered, let alone dismissed. She had already fucked up, majorly, what compels her to believe this would be any better? 

As Harry finally finds his footing and gets close enough that they can study one another’s rage-fueled scowls, his stomach rumbles with frustrated ruminating confusion.

The volcanic heat bound between their chest threatens to erupt and douse their companionship with raw hatred and a river of larva courses through Harry’s lungs and expels from his throat,  

“Why did you do that?”

“Save you?” 

“I had it under control.” Harry’s incredulity is so falsified that it infuriates her, and as fast as a whip, her almost bare back walks off once more, mockingly singing out,  

“Sure looked like it when you were in that headlock.” 

“I can take care of myself.” He defends. But she keeps moving, close to disappearing into vast nothingness, and once again Harry is trailing after her, “Hey!”

“What?” This time she stops for real, riddled with stress that pertains to Harry- and he just cannot help but make it worse. She needs him to leave. 

Harry needs to say something before she does. His pointer finger cast her way with confused accusation, his grassy eyes doey, and blotchy purple bruises along the bags of his bottom lashes,

“You had no business interfering with my mission.”

“Jeez, sorry I saved your life.” Her arms are flailing in surrender. 

“You really are one to talk.” He spits, taking a hearty step closer. 

“Don’t go there.”

The life in her voice has left, and a discerning shift in seriousness causes a shiver to dance up Harry’s spine. He’s so angry, though- close to furious at her choices- all of them- and still, she will hardly give him her full attention. 

Never even in his wildest of nightmares had Harry envisioned himself in this version of hell- the person he once knew better than he did himself is now the person who has the task of killing him. At the least, it’s disappointing, and at the most, his heart is so shattered that heaven itself could not heal his damage. 

“They practically did your job for you.” He’s yearning to yell, to let the whole world know how weird and wrong this all was, “You chose to stop them.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Her head shakes with stubborn denial, gearing up to turn away from him.

“Oh, fuck off. It does.” He’s hot on her heels. 

She stops as quickly as she started and Harry hasn't the time to do the same, his sternum nearly bumping into her shoulder. Ignores their chests crashing together, pushing apart, pretending it means nothing to be this close to him again,

“Let me get this straight, you would have preferred it if I had let them kill you?”

“It would have saved you the bullets, no?” He’s not wrong. 

“No, Harry.” Palm pressed to her forehead with sorrow, “That’s not how it works.”

“Oh, so now you want to follow procedure?” He cannot recall a time that they had ever played by the rules. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She shudders at the mere thought of their deep-rooted relationship; the first of many rules broken, and the only reason the two of them stand here, faces reddened and glistening under the moonlight. 

Harry swears he feels her skin prickle at the mention of their messily perfect relationship, and he can’t stop the paralysing shiver that skates up along his spine as his head stays bowed, glaring down at her, 

“Christ, at least buy a man some dinner before you take a hit out on him-” 

“I’ve bought you dinner on several occasions-” 

“And you still took out the hit.”

Stomach dropping and splatting against the gravel, all of the blushing blood drains from her features, leaving her with a loss of energy, of deep emptiness. Stepping- stumbling- back, she builds the distance with fatigued frigidity, 

“Harry, I’m warning you. Leave me alone.” 

“No.” Harry’s foot almost stops with lividity. 

This only increases the imminent eruption of fury that she so desperately wishes to spew his way, and they both know that there is hardly a way to stop Harry when he’s determined, so she walks away with dismissal, muttering just loud enough,

“You’re so fucking childish.” 

“Me? What you did was childish!” 

“I don’t think you understand the meaning of ‘leave me alone’.” 

Harry will be damned if she thought he’d ever give up so easily- it’s not like he hadn’t been desperately trying to track her down for three weeks. Heart hurting, headache splitting, his neediness boiling over, he won’t stop until she explains herself,   

“I want to know why.” 

“The hit was set, Harry.” She howls into the void, back still turned, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I took the job so nobody else would.”  

She works overtime to keep her weakened voice from wobbling with each word, and if Harry were even a smidge wiser, he would have let her explain. His wisdom is dwindling though, 

“That doesn’t-” 

“I planned to avoid you for the rest of my life.”

Harry feels sick- sicker than sick- his heart drops to his stomach, where it is swallowed whole and thuds tirelessly, nausea travelling up to his throat, bile burning and poisoning his larynx. He can only stare blankly, lips beginning to babble like a thirsty fish, his tongue sticking to his sandpaper gums. 

His cluelessness is crippling her ability to maintain calmness, each dumbfounded blink makes total destruction the only thing on her mind.

Without hesitation, she takes the largest of steps forward, her shoe-clad toes scraping against his own as her hand reaches up, and bunches a fistful of his cotton shirt collar, tugging Harry down to meet her scowl. 

He can feel her enranged, and breathy exhale fan across his features, her glare so icy that Harry worries he may turn to stone if he gazes a moment more. With sharp polished nails scraping and almost puncturing the skin protecting his jugular.

“For fucks sake, H. Be smart for a change and leave me alone.” 

“Or what?” He challenges and leans in, jaw brushing along her hairline like old times- though the compassion so true to her core is long deceased and decays the closer he comes. 

But what frightens him to the point of utter seriousness is the sudden pressure of steel pushing into his left side, settling over his organs just as the familiar click of a pistol cocking warns Harry that things are quickly crumbling into dangerous territory. Especially when she loses all love and says, 

“Let me get this through your thick skull,” The barrel pressing deeper, “If I see you again, I will shoot you on site.” 

She releases him and doesn’t bother to grant even a small glance as if he were a mere stranger who had threatened her existence. Harry doesn’t follow, she wouldn’t care if he did, and he’s smart enough to know where he stands now. 

There is a swell of staling energy that holds the place in which she once stood, vibrating vicious electricity all through his body, coursing and singeing his vitals as she slips into the forest and possibly out of his life for good- he would welcome death in exchange for seeing her once more.

The one thing he could at least do for her- think smart- was an improbability because Harry had already made a huge mistake… Massive. 

How in the hell is he gonna tell her that his heartache had gotten the best of him- that he had done the worst thing imaginable? 

What’s the best way to break the news, ‘Hey, I hope you don’t mind but my feelings were really hurt so I retaliated and took a hit out on you too’? That will go down swimmingly…

[sengardet]

Dainty Knight's Big Fat Meaty Heart

Gertrude, the delicate blonde knight, gripped her bastard sword tightly as she faced the wall of leering invaders before her. Despite her slight frame, her delicate arms steadied the weighty blade, shifting her lithe body to balance its heft. Her small, dazzled breastplate gleamed in the sunlight.

Beyond the sneering ruffians, Gertrude spied a group of fair maidens huddled into a garrisoned church, their dresses tattered, eyes wide with fear and desperate hope. The damsels cried out to her.

Gertrude's heart swelled with blood and purpose, the mighty organ pounding like a war drum in her chest, flooding her veins with hot crimson. She could feel its bulging mass straining against her ribs, too big and vigorous for her willowy frame to contain. An engine of pure power thundering within her breast.

The men laughed wickedly and closed in, brandishing their weapons. "You dare challenge us, little girl? We'll cut you down where you stand!"

But they underestimated the might of Gertrude's determination, the raw power of her oversized, powerful heart. With a high-pitched battle cry, she surged forward and sliced through their ranks in a whirlwind of flashing steel. Her strokes were inhumanly fast and precise, driven by the panic in the voices of the helpless women, and the desire to rescue those in distress.

Hot blood sprayed and men crumpled before her onslaught until none were left standing. Panting raggedly, Gertrude staggered and dropped to one knee, leaning on her sword. Her lungs burned for air as her massive heart swelled and throbbed against them.

"Fear not, fair maidens," Gertrude gasped out between strained breaths, "I have come to set you free! No man shall lay hand on you now."

Rising unsteadily to her feet, she strode through the broken doors of the cathedral to break the chains of the cowering women, ever the valiant rescuer, even as her legs trembled beneath her.

Gertrude slumped to the stone floor, her sword clanging as it fell from her trembling hand. The damsels she had just freed surrounded her, their delicate faces twisting into cruel smirks.

Gertrude's oversized heart pounded against her ribcage like a war drum, making her frail body quake with each mighty thud. Sweat plastered her golden hair to her forehead.

"I hope you are not harmed, my ladies." she said between labored breaths.

The tallest damsel scoffed, flipping her dark tresses. "Look at her, weak as a kitten! Some knight in shining armor." She shoved Gertrude onto her back with a soft kick.

The other women tittered. "Pathetic." One knelt and roughly groped Gertrude's heaving chest. "Gods, feel how her heart hammers! Like some frightened rabbit."

"Sit on it, Elise! See if you can make the poor dear's heart burst," another urged with a wicked grin.

Elise hiked up her skirts and straddled Gertrude's chest, digging her knees into Gertrude's shoulders. The pressure made it hard to breathe. Gertrude squirmed beneath her, but Elise's weight pinned her down, pressing her soft flesh against the bulging, beating mass of her heart.

"P-please..." Gertrude wheezed, "I can't breathe..." But the damsels only laughed cruelly.

"Aw, poor thing," one mocked in a baby voice while the others snickered. "Is that big fat heart squeezing the air from your little lungs?"

The knight's eyes rolled back as she teetered on the edge of consciousness, lungs compressed in her delicate little chest as her defeated heart lay engorged in defeat.

One leaned down, breathing air into Gertrude's mouth, barely keeping her alive to endure more. "Look at that! her heart just keeps going for us! What a Fighter!"

The damsel on top of her giggled. "It's like a big, squishy toy! Pump, pump, pump... Oops, stopped again! Better keep our hero alive so we can play with her more."

Despite herself, Gertrude felt a shameful throb between her legs at having this buxom beauty atop her. She tried to protest, but Elise pressed a palm over her mouth. "Hush now, sweetling. Just lay back and take what you're given."

Another damsel noticed the growing damp patch on Gertrude's breeches. "Well, well! It seems our noble knight is quite the desperate slut. Aroused by a bit of flesh, are we?"

Before Gertrude could reply, the damsel delivered a light teasing kick to her vulva. A jolt of twisted pleasure shot through her. Gertrude moaned into Elise's hand, embarrassed by how much she craved their delicate yet cruel touch. Her weakened body couldn't mount resistance or escape, heart erratically stopping and starting under their torturous ministrations.

"That's it, stay down like an obedient dog." Elise rocked her hips, grinding against Gertrude's straining heart. The organ beat frantically, as if trying to break free of her ribcage and escape this torture.

Gertrude dreamed of rescuing and serving fair maidens, but never imagined some would be so mean and demanding. Despite everything, she adored being at the mercy of these vicious beauties she had saved.

[cinnabons-treasure-trove]

Arthur immediately pulls Merlin out of Lancelot's arms and into his own, Merlin however is still trying to process what the hell happened and if he should kick Gwaine's shin for putting him into this situation

Arthur: [hissing and glaring] What. Was. That.

Lancelot: [trying very hard to be valiant and points to Gwaine] He dared me to. It was all him, sire. [Turns to Merlin with an apologetic look] Forgive me for kissing you Merlin...you have very soft lips—[he stops as the King's glare intensifies]

Gwaine: [grinning but soon starts running from the thunderous look on Arthur's face] Merlin can I kiss yooouuu toooo? [He joyfully laughs as Arthur signals the other knights to chase after him]

Merlin is still held within Arthur's protective embrace before he is lifted into a princess-hold, his arms automatically curled around Arthur's broad shoulders.

Arthur: [growling] There will be no kissing Merlin from Gwaine or Lancelot or anyone else! Do you all understand?

Arthur's steel gaze passes over the remaining knights, an embarrassed Lancelot, and an amused Leon.

[midnightsnackblog]

Valiant Thunder

Son of Rainbowdash and Apple jack

[wombywoo]

Then Fingon the valiant, son of Fingolfin, resolved to heal the feud that divided the Noldor, before their Enemy should be ready for war; for the earth trembled in the Northlands with the thunder of the forges of Morgoth underground ⁜

[melestasflight]

In the Silmarillion fandom, we enjoy grabbing the trope of “Nolofinwëan recklessness” and running wild with it. 

The most common victims of this are Fingon the Rash Prince and Fingolfin the Impulsive King, who rushes into suicidal combat. Both father and son daring death within Morgoth’s domain. 

It’s fun to write and exciting to imagine, no doubt, but I’d like to offer a different take. In fact, what makes Fingon and Fingolfin (and the rest of that family) compelling to me is their patience and endurance.

Yes, I’m aware Fingon rushes to battle at Alqualondë, but that’s a world-altering event. The light of the world has literally gone out, murder has happened in Valinor, Finwë is dead. Most of the Noldor are up on their feet and ready to depart. Everyone is rushing.

But this is not always the case with Fingon. Most significantly, the rescue of Maedhros is NOT an impulsive decision. The published Silmarillion offers no timeline on this, but in The Grey Annals, five entire years pass between the arrival of Fingolfin’s host to Beleriand and Fingon’s decision to look for Maedhros. 

Five years in which the two hosts are quite literally on the verge of civil war because, let’s not forget:

No love was there in the hearts of those that followed Fingolfin for the House of Fëanor, for the agony of those that endured the crossing of the Ice had been great, and Fingolfin held the sons the accomplices of their father. 

Diplomacy is a painfully slow (and absolutely frustrating!) ordeal. Fingon’s decision is born from this strife, from thirty years on the Helcaraxë, and five years of civil restlessness, not to mention the clear signs that Morgoth is ready to attack them at any moment:

Then Fingon the valiant, son of Fingolfin, resolved to heal the feud that divided the Noldor, before their Enemy should be ready for war; for the earth trembled in the Northlands with the thunder of the forges of Morgoth underground. 

This is not rashness. This is the sacrifice of a captain who is willing to make the best of what time is left before full-out destruction begins. It would be rashness if Fingon got his company and crossed Mithrim to wage battle on the Fëanorians. Instead, he chooses differently for the sake of peace, stability, and renewed friendship.

The trek from Lake Mithrim to Thangorodrim could be estimated at around 150 miles, depending on the map we follow, and there are grasslands and two sets of mountains to cross, not to mention the horror of Thangorodrim. Fingon travels on foot. It would take him weeks, maybe even months, to find Maedhros. Plenty of time for the fire of rashness to cool down if that was the case. But he persists because he has no other choice.

Similarly, I often see takes on Fingolfin that he rushes to pointless combat with Morgoth in the same manner as Fëanor had done. Yet again, the timeline is crucial here. The published Silmarillion has the battle lasting at least several months. Bragollach starts in F.A. 455 during winter time: 

There came a time of winter, when night was dark and without moon

The battle slows down presumably a few months later:

but the Battle of Sudden Flame is held to have ended with the coming of spring, when the onslaught of Morgoth grew less.

The onslaught grows less, but it doesn’t fully cease. Morgoth and Sauron reissue their attacks early into Fingon’s kingship.

In the Grey Annals, the timeline  is stretched further out:

Year 455:

The Fell Year. Here came an end of peace and mirth. In the winter, at the year's beginning, Morgoth unloosed at last his long-gathered strength

Year 456:

Now Fingolfin, King of the Noldor, beheld (as it seemed to him) the utter ruin of his people, and the defeat beyond redress of all their houses, and he was filled with wrath and despair.

The fighting goes on actively anywhere from a season to a full year! Fingolfin tries to hold his kingdom together for a full year despite an absolute, unquestionable disaster. I mean, look at this description of the battle:

In the front of that fire came Glaurung the golden, father of dragons, in his full might; and in his train were Balrogs, and behind them came the black armies of the Orcs in multitudes such as the Noldor had never before seen or imagined. And they assaulted the fortresses of the Noldor, and broke the leaguer about Angband, and slew wherever they found them the Noldor and their allies, Grey elves and Men. Many of the stoutest of the foes of Morgoth were destroyed in the first days of that war, bewildered and dispersed and unable to muster their strength. War ceased not wholly ever again in Beleriand

Fingolfin’s decision to ride out, again, is not out of recklessness or a spur-of-the-moment decision. It’s everything but that. He has given everything and truly believes it’s all lost: “the utter ruin of his people, and the defeat beyond redress of all their houses.” (!!!) 

This is a final stand, the King’s duty to stand by his people, even in death.

[hamsterclaw]

Everything

Yoongi and you are at a wedding, and it seems like he's spending time with everyone but you. Set after the events of Vows - read the rest here.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut, angst, arranged marriage AU

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Sex, as always, Kim Seokjin in a suit

Yoongi enters the kitchen and you freeze in front of the open fridge where you’ve been munching yesterday’s leftover noodles.

He looks every inch the chaebol he is, in his bespoke tuxedo, his perfectly aligned bow tie, his hair styled back. He even has makeup on, just enough to make him look airbrushed.

Your husband looks like he’s stepped out the pages of a magazine, and you —-

Well, you had been feeling pretty good before you decided you needed to eat something before the wedding you’re both going to.

You lift the box and offer it to Yoongi. ‘Noodles?’

He’s looking at you with a bemused expression on his face.

You take that as a ‘no’. 

***

You fidget in the passenger seat of Yoongi’s vintage sportscar and examine your reflection in the mirror.

The lipstick you’d reapplied hastily before you left the house looks perfect. You’re checking your teeth when you catch Yoongi staring at you.

‘Just checking there’s no lipstick on my teeth,’ you explain.

His brow rises slightly, but he says nothing.

‘You look very handsome,’ you offer.

‘I know how I look,’ Yoongi says. He sounds disinterested.

‘Like my dress?’ you ask, smoothing out a wrinkle in the silk.

‘It’s pretty,’ Yoongi replies. 

You try not to feel hurt that he hasn’t complimented you specifically.

You look out the window. 

‘My family are all going to be at this wedding,’ Yoongi says.

‘I’ll try not to embarrass you,’ you say, lightly. 

He glances at you like he’s not quite convinced.

He stops the car, gets out to open your door for you. The flash of cameras, which you weren’t expecting, makes you startle, and Yoongi’s hand tightens on your arm.

‘You ok?’ he murmurs. You look up at him, still unused to him being concerned about you even though your relationship’s much more affectionate now.

‘I’m ok, Yoongi,’ you reply. 

Maybe he wasn’t that concerned, because as soon as you step into the hotel he’s approached by his grandfather. 

He greets you both and leads Yoongi away. Yoongi glances back at you once, and you’re still standing, watching them go.

You remember what he said about his whole family being at the wedding and put your game face on.

Your husband’s chaebol, but so are you. You straighten your shoulders, raise your head and nearly fall over as someone bumps into you from behind.

‘Ah sorry, I didn’t see you —-‘

You’re apologising too when you realise who it is.

Min Yoonseok.

He realises at the same time as you, and the smile that he gives you is sexy, devastatingly handsome. 

Objectively, he’s as beautiful as all the Min family are, but he isn’t a patch on your husband. 

You’re smiling back when he says, voice low but missing the gravelliness of your husband’s, ‘you look very beautiful.’

They’re the words you’ve wanted to hear all night, but it’s the wrong man saying them.

Yoongi would melt your heart and reduce you to blushing and stammering if he said that to you, but to Yoonseok, you smile and murmur your thanks.

‘You look handsome,’ you say, ‘that colour’s great on you.’

He holds out his arm for you to take as he leads you further into the ballroom. 

You catch a disapproving look from one of Yoongi’s uncles, and you understand why. In the early days of your marriage to Yoongi, you’d chosen to flirt shamelessly with Yoonseok as a way of aggravating Yoongi.

Yoonseok had been more than happy to flirt back, and Yoongi had never let on that it bothered him. Until you’d decided to make amends and Yoongi had wrestled Yoonseok over an ultimate frisbee game.

The memory of your husband, sweaty and panting, expression thunderous as he’d grabbed Yoonseok in a headlock, is still one of the sexiest things you’ve ever seen.

Yoonseok’s staring at you curiously, and you make a valiant effort to temper the dreaminess of your smile.

Finally he laughs. ‘Where’s Yoongi? I can’t leave you alone, you’re way too pretty to be left unattended at a wedding like this.’

You’re indignant. ‘I can handle myself.’

‘You look like you can,’ comes a silvery voice beside you.

You turn to a faintly familiar, very pretty face. 

The man who’s spoken holds out a hand. ‘Park Jimin.’

‘Min Y/N,’ you reply, shaking his hand.

‘I can escort you to your husband,’ Park Jimin says, leading you away from Yoonseok so smoothly you’re halfway across the ballroom before you realise it.

‘How do you know my husband?’ you ask, politely.

‘The man who outbid me to buy you at the charity auction?’ Park Jimin offers, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You can’t help your smile as you remember the moment Yoongi told you in bed after the auction that he had never had any intention of letting you be ‘bought’ by anyone else.

‘Everyone knows Min Yoongi,’ Jimin says. ‘Also we went to school together. And I have no idea where he is, apart from that it was foolish of him to leave you unattended tonight.’

You meet his gaze, teasing. ‘Park Jimin, are you kidnapping me?’ 

‘I would if you’d let me,’ Jimin admits, grinning at you so charmingly you laugh.

‘He’s got family business to attend to,’ you say, loyally.

‘He’s also staring daggers at me, behind you,’ Jimin tells you, leaning close. 

You turn so quickly Jimin laughs. 

You spot your husband across the room, and automatically change course to head for him.

You’re a few metres away when he’s approached by a beautiful woman in jade green whom you don’t know. You watch as he smiles at her in greeting, leans down to kiss her cheek.

You realise you’ve come to a complete stop.

Yoongi turns your way, and you rearrange your facial expression so quickly you’re not sure you fool him.

Kim Seokjin arrives at your elbow with a glass of champagne.

‘I did say he’s an idiot sometimes,’ he says, coiffed and perfectly groomed as always in his white tux.

‘He’s my idiot,’ you say, accepting the glass and taking a gulp.

Seokjin takes your arm. ‘Come on, let’s feed you.’

‘But Yoongi—-‘ you protest.

‘You have the whole night to stare at him longingly,’ Seokjin replies, firmly.

He grins. ‘Come stare at me for a bit.’

As Seokjin leads you to a quiet table in an alcove, seemingly set up just for him, he says, ‘you look very beautiful.’

You sigh. ‘Do you think Yoongi thinks so?’

Seokjin looks at you thoughtfully. ‘Didn’t he say so?’

You’re not going to be butthurt about the fact every man you’ve spoken to tonight, apart from your beautiful husband, has complimented you.

‘You’re right, he was probably too stunned to even say anything,’ you say, summoning your haughtiest tone, squaring your shoulders. 

Seokjin shrugs. ‘Did you know your mouth turns down when you’re lying?’

‘Maybe if you’d realised that sooner I wouldn’t have been able to fool you all those times,’ you tell him sweetly.

Seokjin laughs and nods to a waiter, who advances with a plate of food.

‘Eat, Mrs Min.’

Seokjin is a delightful distraction during your meal, solicitous in offering you morsels from his own plate, refilling your glass generously.

You’ve excused yourself to get some air when you realise you’re not alone on the balcony. 

Kim Namjoon straightens up from where he’s been leaning over the railing. 

‘Y/N,’ he says, polite as always.

‘Namjoon,’ you return, warmly. ‘Is Nayeon here too?’

‘She had to work,’ he tells you. He tilts his head. ‘You look pretty. That colour suits you.’

You’re grateful for the darkness to hide the expression on your face. 

When Namjoon goes inside, you stay, shivering a little at the crispness of the night air.

‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ 

You close your eyes at the sound of your husband’s voice.

‘Yoongi,’ you say.

It doesn’t matter to you that he hasn’t complimented you. You don’t care now. You’re just happy that he’s finally spending time with you.

Yoongi’s arranging his jacket over your shoulders with care.

‘I saw you eating with Seokjin,’ he says.

‘He wanted me to admire him,’ you say dryly. 

‘I’m glad you ate,’ Yoongi says. He leans against the railing next to you. 

‘Yoongi,’ you say, touching his arm. ‘Can we go home?’

He looks at you, face half-shadowed, the straight line of his lips the only thing visible in the moonlight. 

You wish you could read him better.

He offers you his dress shirt-clad arm. ‘Yes, brat, we can go home.’

***

You’re sitting in Yoongi’s huge bathroom in your finery, watching as he cleanses his skin.

He turns to you. ‘Are you watching me for skincare pointers? Because your skin is better than mine.’

You sigh. At this point, you don’t know what you want, torn between wanting a hug and wanting your husband to call you pretty and fuck you senseless. 

Yoongi’s already turned back to finish washing his face. His silver rings gleam in the light as he moves his hands.

You sigh again, and Yoongi raises a brow at you in the mirror. 

You search his face for a sign of any emotion, but he’s expressionless. 

‘I’m going to get my pyjamas,’ you tell him.

Back in your rooms, you get undressed and take your makeup off despondently. 

You’re heading back to what you still think of as Yoongi’s room, even though you sleep together every night these days, when you glimpse the stuffed kitten Yoongi once won you at a funfair.

You clutch it to your chest and get into your bed instead.

***

You wake to total darkness and Yoongi’s arm around you.

His voice is raspy, low. 

‘Don’t you want me tonight, jagiya?’ he asks.

You want to turn to face him, but he holds you tight against his chest. His hand strokes a path over your bare skin, and your senses light up under his touch.

‘You spend your night talking to every man but me, and then I find you in your own bed cuddling this damn cat when you should be with me,’ he says, disgruntled.

You’re about to answer when he says, ‘Yoonseok, fucking Park Jimin, Seokjin, Jeonghyeok, Sehun, Namjoon.’

He’s listed all the men you’ve spoken to tonight. 

You hadn’t realised he’d been that aware of you. 

You’re trying to process what that means when he groans. ‘Let go of that cat so I can hold you.’

You’re so confused all you can think of to say is, ‘You won me this cat.’

Yoongi nudges you flat onto your back and gets on top of you.

He lowers his lips to yours and kisses you gently.

‘I’ll win you anything you like,’ he says as he pulls back. ‘Buy you the whole damn funfair if you want.’

You’re distracted by the weight of him, the press of his length between your legs.

You shift your hips so he’s fully on top of you.

‘And popcorn too?’ you ask.

Yoongi laughs.

‘Everything,’ he promises.

Yoongi lowers his lips to yours again, and his kisses are languid, patient, a slow burn from your insides that steals your breath. 

He pauses with a hand under your (his) t-shirt, palm warm over your bare breast. 

‘Your tits look so good in my shirts,’ he murmurs. 

You’re trying to think of a snappy remark but he grinds his erection between your legs, the press of him against the thin cotton of your panties deliciously hard, and you moan instead.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to be waiting for an answer, thankfully. 

He makes quick work of your panties and his boxer briefs, halting with his cock poised hard and heavy at your centre.

You tilt your hips so that he presses against your clit. 

Yoongi sounds amused. ‘Stop, brat, I want to talk to you.’

‘Now?’ you burst out, so horny you can’t stop writhing against him.

‘Now,’ Yoongi says, firmly. His hand squeezes your hip. 

‘Where did you get that dress?’ 

‘Uh?’

Yoongi circles his hips, cock nudging against your cunt so tantalisingly you sob with frustration. 

‘Nara designed it, it’s her latest collection,’ you tell him.

‘Get ten more just like it,’ Yoongi says. 

He enters you in a smooth thrust, and you’re still moaning your pleasure when he pulls out completely, leaving you bereft.

‘You’re so fucking pretty in it I want to rip it off you the next time you wear it, ok?’

You’re still processing his sentence, hazy with pleasure, when he enters you again. 

‘Yoongi!’

‘Answer me,’ he says, sternly. ‘Or I’ll pull out.’

You stare at him, but have the presence of mind to say, ‘yes Yoongi, please.’

He laughs again, your fucking husband. ‘You have such good manners in bed, why are you such a brat outside of it?’

You don’t think you’ve been a brat tonight. 

Yoongi senses your change of mood. He kisses you again, gentler this time. 

‘My baby,’ he murmurs, lips by your ear. 

Yoongi starts to move, finally, and you cry out with pleasure as his hard length fills you, sliding into you the way he’s learnt you love. 

He lifts your legs to his shoulders, and you gasp as the change in angle lets you take him deeper.

You think he says something as he spills inside you, but you’re already floating on a high, anchored by the weight of him on top of you and the love you feel for him. 

Afterward, you’re half asleep, curled in Yoongi’s arms, pressed against his chest, when he says, very quietly, ‘be patient with me, jagiya.’

You look up at him. His gaze is steady.

‘I’m not used to being a jealous man,’ he tells you. 

His words send warmth through your chest. 

You do your best to keep your face straight as you reply haughtily, ‘better get used to it.’

He laughs and pulls you closer. 

‘Go to sleep.’

‘Good night Yoongi,’ you murmur, pressing a kiss into his chest.

‘Good night.’

©hamsterclaw 2023

[magpie-murder]

marvel (mostly asgard) dashboard simulator part 2

also i said this in the tags on the first post but i know this is ooc, it's just for shits and giggles

10 notes

📦 markets-merchants Follow

Just saw this... Hey @g𝚘d-of-thunder, are you okay?

🪐 aesir-patriotism Follow

Not every thunderstorm is because Thor is upset.

⛈️ god-of-thunder

Some are because I'm excited.

#i'm doing okay

4,872 notes

🪐 aesir-patriotism Follow

I can't believe that I have to say this, but the @is-odin-dead-yet blog is so disrespectful. He gave his eye to have the knowledge to protect us, and this is how you treat him? By counting down to his death, for centuries? Get a hobby

🧝🏻‍♀️ amora-enchantricks

This you OP?

🪐 aesir-patriotism Follow

So? What about it?

👴🏻 is-odin-dead-yet

K

🪐 aesir-patriotism

Stop

🔮 alchemist-aura Follow

U

🌌 billykaplan666 Follow

N

🪐 aesir-patriotism

Stop. I'm serious. It's NOT FUNNY

🐍 magic-theatre

G

# yes it is.

203 notes

✨️ the-dashingest

What's a DILF?

✨️ the-dashingest

Just read the replies. Thank you for the explanation. I think I love mortals

103 notes

🌈 all-seeing-eye

It's useless to ask me for the URL of Prince Loki's secret blog. I may see all, but it is a secret held by a prince, and thus would be treason for me to reveal it.

🐍 magic-theatre

heimdall, this is FASCINATING. i love that this counts as a royal secret.

🌈 all-seeing-eye

I do not.

622 notes

⚔️ aesir-warrior-tournament

FINAL ROUND

⛈️ god-of-thunder

I won't choose.

🔮 alchemist-aura Follow

i can't believe you're pitting two bad bitches against each other

🪓 valiant-festivals

Baldur is part of the royal family, impervious to harm, as well as kind, brave, caring, just, and true. Vote for Sif!

✨️ the-dashingest

She's not even going to care if she wins, but I'm voting for her anyway.

#lady sif propaganda #friendship is magic

🔮 alchemist-aura Follow

just found out from a friend that a lot of mortals see ravens as a bad omen and a sign of death instead of wisdom lol. maybe the reason odin doesn't want anything to do with midgard is because they don't like his creepy little bird spies

🔮 alchemist-aura Follow

prince loki just silent reblogged this?

#huginn and muninn slander

768 notes

🐍 magic-theatre

🐍 magic-theatre

oh come on. it's only been up for half an hour and they already censored the post?

🧝🏻‍♀️ amora-enchantricks

Don't let them silence you. Post it again.