#but only in the moment ig. i don't know. i don't know how to fix this or even improve it

[allbark-no-bite]

good boy.

art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)

summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC

warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating

author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are

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You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.

She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."

Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.

"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.

This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.

"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"

Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"

Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.

Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.

"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.

Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.

It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.

"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.

Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.

So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.

He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.

A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.

'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'

She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.

'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'

Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.

Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.

Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.

"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.

He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."

His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.

"I want to hear it from you."

"I felt fine."

Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.

"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.

You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.

"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.

You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.

"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"

'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."

Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.

"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.

Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."

Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of  your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"

You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.

"Look at me."

He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.

His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.

Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.

"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."

The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.

Art Donaldson lived to be praised.

You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"

Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.

"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.

You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"

Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.

"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."

Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.

Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.

His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.

Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.

When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.

His breath is shallow—anticipatory.

"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.

"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.

"You know you don't have to ask."

There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.

It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.

Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.

Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction. 

You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.

His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.

“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”

You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.

“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.

Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, start smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.

Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.

[eggyrocks]

GET BACK CHAPTER ONE

step one: acknowledge that you fucked up

masterlist

YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE

akaashikeiji (12:45:32): class is killing me lore_biblio (12:47:12): rather be there than work. guy in historical nonfiction has been here for 45 mins lore_biblio (12:47:18): i am on aux tho & i put how soon is now on a loop. so silver linings ig akaashikeiji (12:48:02): that guy'll probably leave before the song finishes once

He sees her, and his heart stops.

Shoyo is, at once, struck at how different she is. She's sitting behind the counter, laptop propped open and fingers rapidly tapping against the keys (writing, he can only imagine, some brilliant, complex argument about a foreign novel he has never even heard of). And the differences are all he can see.

The slopes and lines of her face have, subtly, elongated, aging her, maturing her. The way her shoulders sit, dropped and back, posture neat, make her seem more sure, more commanding than the hunched over, finger-twiddling bundle of nerves that he once knew. The tight, screwed up expression of concentration is lit-up by the blue light of her laptop screen, bright and cool, contrasted with the dim, yellow lighting of the bookshop. And he's awestruck.

Two years, Shoyo has to remind himself, it's just been two years. It's not a lifetime. He knows her, he tells himself. Even if she's changed. It couldn't have been that much. He knows her.

He wonders what differences she'll notice of him. Will she drag her gaze along the new-found broadness of his shoulders? Will she note the changes of his voice, the few inches he has grown, or the way his skin has been deepened by the sun? Will she recognize him as the person she once loved, or will she regard him as a stranger?

Shoyo takes a deep breath, and steps forward, ready to find out.

She doesn't look up at him as he approaches, and his grip on the zinnias in his sweaty palm tightens. The closer he gets to her, the more his mind empties, the more his mouth dries.

The smell of old, dusty books makes Shoyo sniffle, he can't stop it. Her head shoots up at the sound, fingers freezing over the keys of her laptop, and wide, startled eyes settling over Hinata Shoyo, who stands a just behind the counter, bouquet of flowers, just for her, in his hands. He swallows a lump in his throat. "Hey."

Hey. He wants to slam his head against the wall.

It seems to take her a second to realize that it's him. He can tell the moment she does, though, because those wide, startled eyes narrow, and her lip furls in disgust. It's enough to make Shoyo take a step back. "Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me."

Some sort of animalistic instinct inside of him screams that he is in danger. His body knows something is wrong, his gut tumbles and the amount of sweat his palms produce doubles. But every conscious thought he has tells him to keep going, don't stop, don't let her go. He raises the zinnias to her. "I, erm, I got you these."

She blinks, staring directly into Shoyo's eyes. "I don't want them."

Shoyo wets his lips and shifts his weight between his feet, flowers dropping back down to his side. It's a little forceful, his movements mechanic. It knocks a petal or two to the ground. "Okay, well, then, maybe, we can talk? Maybe after you're done with work?"

Her expression is so unfamiliar to him. Features that he knows, but that are still so different to him, twisted up in a hated that he never, not once has seen on her. A kind that he wouldn't ever have imagined would be fixed at him. "Why would I want to talk to you?"

He remembers how little she spoke the night before he left. He remembers how intensely she protested his departure, before resigning to acceptance a few weeks before his flight. Shoyo can see it clearly, in retrospect. Her expression back then had seeds of the one she wears now. It started then, and has since grown. He was just too stupid to notice it.

She hates him. She really, really hates him.

"I just," he starts. "I just thought that, I dunno, I mean-"

"Don't come back here," she cuts him off, and returns her gaze back to her laptop. "There's nothing I have to say to you, and nothing I want to hear from you."

His hands are shaking. There's a numb sort of disbelief that spreads over him. Shoyo nods, eyes falling to the ground, and he places the zinnias on the counter before he turns on his heel, and walks right back out the door.

extras!

yachi showed up and hugged yn in the back room for about ten minutes while she cried before she went back up to the counter and unlocked the door

and yachi stayed there for the whole rest of her shift; she made her put on a different song tho

the man in historical nonfiction was there for an hour and twenty-seven minutes (yn timed it) just browsing and looking through books (just like me fr)

hinata ran back to his apartment with all of his unpacked things and did an entire reevaluation of their entire relationship together and the past two years

lwky i hate this

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @bedeater @deluluforcarlos55 @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @guitarstringed-scars @ahdbodhr @nbcvs @garfieldissocool @shoyobub @iheartpinky @choerry-picking @mollyrolls @yogurtkags @yuminako @rockleeisbaeeee @michivrse @19calicos @bailey-reeds @staileykout @kitskasoboring @iluvaquaphor @lllaw @loveelylacey @atsumuenthusiast @alpha-mommy69 @acowboykisser @milesmoralesluvs @3lectraheart @s1ckntwist3d @dailyakira @lvtilzs @miliondollagirl @strxwberri-s @kokoblep (taglist is closed, if i was unable to tag you please check your settings and your username, if i cannot tag you for two chapters in a row you’ll be removed from the taglist)

[eluxcastar]

The little sisterfication of Arlecchino

── ୨୧：arlecchino & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: little siblingfication final stretch lets gooooo

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, child arlecchino, it is fluff and angst at the same time, like hurt/comfort ig? idk, implied child abuse, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 1.9k

there are only two more after this oh god. Pierro and Columbina. I also realised like five seconds ago that Pulcinella is not on the list but tbh Idk if I'll add him in because I kinda don't know what to do for him at all. I could try to make it cute? maybe, I'll see

this started way nicer, but then I remembered the previous Knave was an asshole and quickly replace the vibes that bled over from watching Grease with something darker. The Knave is used to refer to the previous Knave, while Arlecchino refers to our Arle, because I needed some way to distinguish them. I also thought the previous Knave was a dude for some reason?? I fixed it though

all little siblingification posts

Biologically speaking, the two of you are not related in the slightest, but it's not uncommon for children in the House of the Hearth to choose their siblings and stick by them until the inevitable moment they either remain together or are parted by responsibility. You have been there and guided Arlecchino through the orphanage since she first arrived from Fontaine. Arlecchino might've been lost and confused for much longer if not for you.

Instead, she had you, a little older and wiser, to walk her around and teach her how things worked.

The moment she arrived, your guardian, the Knave—now her guardian as well—pulled you over to meet her and asked you to show her around and make her comfortable in her new life. Your new little sister, she called her, and she stared at the woman dumbly before you stole her opportunity to ask him what she was talking about, whisking her away.

You took her to see everything, showing her off to as many people as you ran into and introduced her as you went. She felt like a shiny new toy in an overcrowded playground, and you let her revel in it until it tired her out. 

Once the fanfare died down a little bit, you took her to find an unoccupied bed to put her things on. There weren't many, but you offered to help her find a place for them nonetheless. You got a sheet and blanket from the linen closer to make the bed for her and helped her stand a few things up on the headrest to make it her own. Despite her apprehension, you almost managed to make living here seem just a little less bleak; looking over her bed, made and decorated with her stuffed toy and a few personal belongings she'd brought, it felt a little more like home. 

You assure her all will be fine, the only thing even close to soothing in the whirlwind that was coming here, and point her in the direction of your bed not too far away. The one with the overcoat laid on the end of it. You always put it there when you're not wearing it, apparently.

She refrains from asking why you're not wearing it and why you own one of the grey and red coats she recognises from the fatui footsoldiers she saw wearing them.

Most importantly, you teach her the rules: behave yourself, clean up after yourself, bedtime is nine pm, and not a minute later, finish your dinner— 

"Even if you're full?"

"Even if you're full."

and the most crucial rule: never make the Knave mad.

"Why?"

"Just don't, ok?" 

Arlecchino doesn't dare question why again. You know best, and something in your eyes tells her she should trust that.

Through tense, dreary halls, you lead her with a skilled hand and the favour of the Knave. She runs to you in the middle of the night when the far-off screams scare her awake, yet despite your promises, you are nowhere to be found, and neither is your coat. It's a suspicious absence you explain away with housework and chores. The children jump at the chance to see you, and you greet them much more warmly than the stoic Knave. Everyone tells her you have something the others don't, and she should stay in your good graces for as long as possible. The Knave likes you, and you can get anyone out of anything as a result. It's why she calls you to do everything for her, including taking Arlecchino off her hands and showing her around. You are her best. 

It's as if you have a sense for every time she breaks the rules. She stays up late one night and sneaks out of bed to keep playing. She is not tired in the slightest and restless beyond belief; she is a child filled with energy and naive to the consequences of her choices. She is caught, of course, the Knave looming over her to ask what exactly she believes she's doing. She stumbles for an answer. It is just as she thinks the worst has come to pass when you appear in the doorway with a broom in hand. You asked Arlecchino to help you clean up. She's picking up the toys for you to sweep the floor.

The Knave hardly believes it, but what the others say is true—she favours you. She relinquishes Arlecchino to your care, and you walk her back to bed with the tightest grip on her arm she's ever felt. Through gritted teeth, you scold her harshly, "Don't ever do that again!"

She almost fears disappointing you more than the Knave.

You make the House feel safe. With you, it becomes a place where one day she may thrive and return to the world a well-raised woman with much promise. You teach her to play the games the others made for themselves and perfect the chores the Knave demands of her. Arlecchino could wish for no greater sibling than you, and you walk her through it with the patience of a saint as if you have done it a million times before.

She runs to you for everything from hurt knees to finding her lost stuffy, where it has run off to. You respond in kind by cleaning and bandaging the scuffs in her skin. You even show up well into the night past bedtime to return her dearest stuffed toy so she can sleep easily. You were happy to stay when she asked you to sit with her until she could fall asleep and stroke her hair to settle her. It is one of the few tastes of home she savours, even though home did not have you there to take care of her.

You are the closest she will ever have to a parent. You are happy to have her wake you up in the middle of the night when she's scared and needs help, assuming you're there at all. Most nights, you're busy cleaning up the messes other children made that would get them in trouble, and you take her back to bed whenever she finds you.

However, it does not take long for Arlecchino to realise why you warned her against angering the Knave. She decides that Arlecchino, at her tender age, is well and truly ready to complete a mission on her own. A terribly simple one, but it scares her nonetheless.

What scares her more is that you bargain your way into going with her under the guise of showing her the ropes.

You are the best guide she can ask for and nothing less as she comes to understand what that coat is for. You're not just a child of the House; you're a fatuu. You put it on before you leave and lead her off wearing it, making sure she's warm and advising her to wear gloves before the Knave practically tosses the two of you into the harsh winter of Snezhnaya to complete the task thrust upon Arlecchino as her first test.

Before anything else, you make that much abundantly clear to her: what Arlecchino does determines her future within the House, and you don't want to see her fail. You shed your coat to give to her when she gets too cold and hold her hand to force her to continue even when she feels like giving up would be much easier. More than anything, you are loose-lipped and cynical in a way she's never seen before. Over hours, you drill everything into her head that has been kept from her, the source of the screams she's heard that everyone seems to ignore, the reason for the abundance of fear permeating the House.

Every part of the carefully crafted wonderland you had been trying to make her falls to pieces before her very eyes as you walk through the snow with a backpack so heavy she begged you to take it from her shoulders. The Knave is a tyrant reigning over the only thing she can control with an iron fist. Whether she likes it or not, there is no escape, and the Knave will hold anything she can over her head.

You dodge the question when she asks what the Knave uses against you.

Arlecchino quickly realises you have seen many children walk the path she is now on, and she dares not ask how many of those you still waste your breath on. You're sorry. You tried to protect her, but there are some things you can't do.

The journey is bleak, and the trip home is even bleaker as you're late; it's well past bedtime. You enter quietly and run a bath to warm her up, slipping your coat from her shoulders and leaving it by the fireplace. Her only comfort is in you crouching by the edge of the bath with a rag in your hands to scrub her clean with the help of the meagre few inches of water you could afford to spare her.

Your apologies have subsided, as has your tough love attitude, spoiling her with affections and gentle reassurance she didn't expect after seeing how you acted only hours earlier. You pull Arlecchino close and stroke her hair. The wall of the tub becomes little more than a nuisance as it blocks her from fully hiding away in your arms, where she hopes to disappear. She is afraid, but you manage to settle her fears to a nagging whisper tucked away in the deepest corner of her brain.

Apologies give way to promises, grand promises you know you cannot keep, promises of protecting Arlecchino for as long as you can.

You wrap her in a towel, help her dress herself in the night clothes you retrieved from her bed, and send her off to sleep with the reassurance that you'll handle reporting all of what the two of you were doing to the Knave.

Content and soothed by your words and promises, Arlecchino wanders back to bed, where she makes herself comfortable, staring across the room at your empty bed. Perhaps you have said those things to many children before her, but it doesn't occur to her as you quickly fall back into the role of being her only comfort in this house of horrors. You'll protect her from anything in your power, keep her safe, and watch over her.

Sleep coaxes Arlecchino to relax, give in, and rest, and she almost does. She is seconds from being out like a light when she hears those screams again—those that used to send her bolting to look for you in your bed. You were never there when she tried to find you, and now, as she stares across the room at your vacant bed, she suddenly realises why.

The screams that had woken her all those nights had been yours.

Until you could no longer stay by her side, you would protect her from anything.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[mysumeow]

WANDERER ALPHABET PT. 1/2🥛. . ♡ 💭

warnings: afab genitalia, gn pronouns. overstimulation, edging, scara kinda yandere coded ig, unprotected piv, mentions of oral

a/n: it's finally here T_T remember this all is just my take on wanderer ;7; i hope everyone enjoys it n_n

PART TWO

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's going to make either a teasing remark on how he didn't even go that hard (he def did) or how you're weaker than he thought as he helps you walk to the bathroom.

He'll huff, roll his eyes, and complain all he wants, but he won't leave you alone until he's sure you're taken care of. He'll hold you the whole night in his arms.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I don't know why, but I'm convinced he must have pretty hands. Long, slender fingers, and soft skin. What's his secret? He doesn't even have any type of skin care routine. He probably also likes how his back looks; he has a very elegant silhouette.

On his partner, not only their chest but also their thighs. He doesn't care about the size of either. He likes those places for the fact that they're usually sensitive, and he enjoys nothing more than teasing and edging his partner.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's not human but was designed to look like one. I'd assume he cums about the same as an average human—slightly more if he has gone a good while without pleasuring himself. Thankfully (or not, it depends on you), he has a low refractory period, meaning that he can go a while before he's shooting blanks.

Has a balanced diet, so the taste is far from unpleasant. I feel like the first couple of times he gets intimate with his partner, he won't be able to hide his emotional attachment to them. He likes the idea of "claiming" you by cumming deep inside. If you are against it and prefer to pleasure him with your mouth, he likes it when you show him you swallowed all.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He gets way too excited when he sees you cry during sex. From pleasure; and if you allow it, from pain. This goes hand in hand with overstimulation, since that's his go-to if he wants to make you cry easily. He can be a rough lover if you let him be, but he can also be gentle "if you deserve it" (those are his words). This is a dirty secret you'll have to uncover on your own by being observant: how his eyes gleam when your moans turn into whines and pleas, how he fixes his gaze into your face when he's overstimulating you, how he'll just "mhm" and "yeah" to anything you say, but he's not really paying attention; or when he mocks your moans and pleas.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before his Wanderer arc, he excluded himself from any positive interpersonal experiences. He would get a disgusting, stomach churning feeling seeping into his being at the thought of being vulnerable to someone else. Before his three betrayals, he was already busy figuring out how to blend in with humans and dealing with all sorts of unfamiliar emotions.

In other words, no experience. Even after his Wanderer arc, I feel like he would need to re-learn how healthy interpersonal relationships work. His partner would need to be understanding and patient.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position that will allow him to hold your tits. If it's doggy, his hands will be squeezing them the whole time. If you're on top, his eyes are fixed there too. He might have a preference for cowgirl, since it gives him a pleasing sensation of being wanted, seeing you care about his pleasure to the point where you're exerting your own body. He appreciates the effort, but that doesn't mean he's not going to edge you anyway.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He places lots of sentimental value on sex. It just so happens that his way of showing affection might come across as possessive, ardent, rough. If you're the type to joke during it, he might humor you, but it depends on his mood.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Doesn't shave, barely has any hair down there, after all. You could guess that from glancing at his legs, the hairs are tiny and thin. They're a darker shade of indigo, bordering on black.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

The type to prefer having everything under control. It's going to take a lot of trust for him to allow his partner to take the dominant position, but even when he gives in, he's a brat. Scratch that—topping, bottoming, domming, or subbing—he's gonna be difficult. It's like he finds genuine pleasure in your frustration. If you're patient, good. If not, that means you will become even more desperate, which is good for him too.

He can be romantic, too. You'll know he's sentimental when he's uncharacteristically quieter. It's not that he shuts up at all if he can comment on something to fluster you, but it will happen less.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He would suppress himself, he's ashamed at the idea of performing such mundane actions. His time is way too valuable to spend it on such trivial activities—until it becomes too much.

As long as no one knows and he caves in.

It was fast, and he feels silly for worrying about it. He's relieved that, at last, that tension has left his body. He's convinced he won't fall for it again.

And it happened again.

At some point, he warms up to the idea of caring for his body in that way. Masturbation is linked to healthy body activity, right? Whatever, I'm only doing it because of that. No other reason. (There's another reason).

Still, he tries to not overdo it. By the time he finally gets to hold you in an intimate way, it's like opening Pandora's box. Who knew carnal pleasure could be so addicting.

[beesfairlyland]

ᵀᴿʸᴵᴺᴳ ᶠᴼᴿ ʸᴱᴬᴿˢ ᴮᵁᵀ ˢᵀᴵᴸᴸ ᴰᴵᴰᴺ'ᵀ ᴴᴬⱽᴱ ʸᴼᵁᴿ ᴹᴬᴺᴵᶠᴱˢᵀᴬᵀᴵᴼᴺˢ!!?

HELLO MUNCHKINS!!💗✨

So today I wanted to talk about manifestation taking so long. You must have gotten tired of trying again and again and still not seeing any movement in the 3d. Soo, today let's fix this problem!!

Firstly let's talk about what is manifesting...ik ik you all know what it is but let's go back to basics coz y'all need to put an end to your overconsumption and the habit of overcomplicating the law!!

Lesss gooo!!

What is manifesting?(Imo tho)

Manifesting refers to the process of bringing your desired reality into existence through the power of your thoughts and beliefs. It suggests that our assumptions about the world shape our reality. By assuming or believing that something is already true or already exists, we can attract it into our lives. The key is to focus on what you want, rather than what you don't want, and to believe that it is already a part of your reality.

Okay let's take my example:

Few weeks ago me and my best friend got into a fight and he said some really harsh and rude things to me. Obviously i cried at that moment but after few mins when i took all my emotions out. I said to myself No I don't choose this it's my Reality and i wiped my tears and said with authority he's gonna call me and apologize to me for everything he said and i didn't doubt it didn't give any second thought. I swearr within few mins he called me back and apologized to me i wasn't shocked coz i knew it's gonna happen.

See it's this simple! You just have to decide what you want and have full faith in it. Let's talk about how to do that!

How to manifest?

There's no hard and fast rule to manifest. It's your reality you choose what you want and how you want. But let's just talk about the basics you modify them accordingly.

Clarify your desires:- Take some time to reflect on what you truly want in life. Be specific and clear about your desires. You can't Manifest if you yourself don't know what you want.

Believe it's already true:- Once you have clarified your desires, assume that they are already true. Believe that they are a part of your reality, even if they don't appear to be yet and boom you've Manifested your desires. Ik for some of you it sounds to good to be true. But I'll try my best to make you believe it.

Okayy you see this ice berg right? What if i tell you that the exposed part is the only thing you know about i.e. the 3d that concious mind shows you and the rest hidden part is where the surprise lies! i.e. the 4d Reality which our subconscious mind creates.

Soo now you tell me whom you want to believe huh? The 10% of the concious mind or the 90% that our subconscious baby creates. Ohhh you still in lil bit of doubt😕 don't worry i got yaa!

This stoopid concious mind who thinks it knows everything relies heavily on the senses but our senses are not always correct! Have you ever seen something that appeared to be one thing, triggering a response and then you realise that you were wrong?

Such as seeing a snake and realising it was just a rope? Or thought someone was standing behind you only to Realise that it was just a jacket hanging? There are soo many examples of this!

"Okayy soo Bee what's the conclusion?"

The conclusion is these senses trick you, they try to fool you and want you to believe only them even when you know that 4d, your imagination is the only TRUE REALITY you still get tricked by them. Soo now whenever your senses disapprove something that you see in your imagination, deny them. Remind them you have seen it, you have it!

Now you might see yourself in mirror and say "but I don't see my desired appearance."

But i would say "noo baby you already have that beautiful appearance and look soo gorgeous idk what you taking about huh?😒"

Now ig I've made you understand how to believe that it's already yours ....and still you don't completely believe it all.

TEST IT ALL OUT FOR YOURSELF COZ ONLY YOU CAN MAKE YOURSELF BELIEVE 100% IN THE LAW!!

Whenever you have any doubt just say to it for what you've came huh? I already have it all don't try to fool me again! Ik this journey is not all sweet and smooth but trust me it makes you learn soo many interesting and new things. Don't be discouraged if you don't see it yet....may be have a look inside yourself and ask are you being completely honest with yourself? If you get the ans as a Yes then congratulations you are on the right path! But if you get your ans as No then sit down take a deep breath and comfort yourself and have some self talk... DON'T BE HARSH WITH YOURSELF AFTERALL IT'S ONLY YOU WHO'S GONNA WITH WITH YOU TILL THE END OF YOUR BEAUTIFUL JOURNEY!!

Hope I could explain y'all lil bit!🫶🏻

-Love, Bee💗✨

[jokeroutsubs]

[ENG translation] Jure Maček, Joker Out's drummer: "I don't have time for dating"

An article and interview with Jure Maček, published in Suzy magazine on 1.3.2024.

Original article is available here for Slovenske novice subscribers. Article written by Anita Krizmanić for Suzy magazine. English translation by a member of JokerOutSubs, proofread by IG GBoleyn123.

Music has accompanied the 27-year-old from Logatec since early childhood. He fell in love with it because of his father and grandfather, who were excellent musicians themselves. Besides them, he also had a number of other great teachers who introduced him to various genres, he played in the symphony orchestra and several bands, and just over three years ago, he finally found what he had been looking for – Joker Out, the band that became his new family. A pleasant and open conversation partner, who believed in his dreams and is living them today, gave us an honest interview about what his journey was like before he and his band embarked on the incredible odyssey that started last year before Eurovision.

Tours are tiring, but also incredibly exciting. // "They wouldn't let me play the drums in music school, because they weren't on the curriculum, so I decided that I would learn how to play them on my own."

"Each of us dreamed about one day finding ourselves where we are now. We're aware that many people don't have that chance. We miss home, we haven't been there very often in the past year, which we've already got used to. To each other, as well. We support each other and we know how to coexist. We're doing just fine, but there are moments when you have to grin and bear it. There aren't many of those, though, because we're mostly having a good time and we enjoy making music," a smiling Jure tells us from London, where the boys have been temporarily living and creating since the beginning of the year.

During our chat, he walks around the city and tells us that life with Bojan, Kris, Nace and Jan is very simple. "Because we're great friends, even though we could all use a moment of solitude now and then. Especially now that we're living in a small London apartment. But we know each other so well that we know what each of us is like, when and why he's in a bad mood, what he needs, and how to fix a certain situation. We're a nice and happy family," he smiles, and adds that they all know how to take a step back, but at the same time, they're firm when they want to emphasise their idea or opinion.

"Sometimes it's better if someone says what they're thinking out loud, presents their idea, and if we collectively latch onto something, we can get great results. It's the same with music," he continues.

LIVING HIS DREAMS AT PEACE

The fruits of their hard and dedicated labour over the past few weeks can already be seen, some are yet to materialise. The band recently sent 'Everybody's Waiting' out into the world, a song that centres the personal thoughts and contemplations that accompany many young people.

"When we make music, we try not to think about other worlds and the audience. When a song is being made, each of us has to feel it and add a small part of what makes him happy to it. When we get to the point where all of us are happy with our work, we know that we created something good, and that's also when people can feel it or find themselves in it," he says.

Joker Out, with their magic and meaningfulness, always take us into worlds where everyone is safe and understood, even when they think they're not. He agrees that a loving attitude towards yourself and others is key in the chaotic world that surrounds us.

"I am at peace with the people around me. I appreciate them very much and they make me even more happy to be in this world." He is grateful for fulfilling his dreams, which he never let anyone take from him as a young musician. "I currently make a living only from music, so I am living my dreams," he smiles.

After working on the album, the boys are leaving for the European tour.

DRUMMERS LIKE CONTROL

As a drummer, he keeps in the background, but that doesn't mean he lives in the band's shadow. "We're special people. We're happiest if things are under control. Just the fact that we sit all the way in the back says enough. You can see everything from there," he says, and adds that drummers are pretty technical types who are more reserved than the other band members. "We like the space we create for ourselves around the drums. That is our world and we really enjoy it. We're pretty nuts," he jokes.

We also chat about the band's fans, who are a unique phenomenon, as they know all the lyrics. "It's a crazy feeling when people abroad sing songs in Slovenian." Otherwise, he never craved attention and he's pretty introverted. "Out of everyone in the band, I'm the least enthusiastic about hanging out after gigs, not because I don't like the fans, but because I like my peace. I need time for myself after performances, which the fans very much respect and understand. After each gig, we take time to meet people, even if not all of us are there."

Despite looking thousands of girls in the eyes at gigs, his heart is currently not taken. "There's no time for dating. There was none last year, and none this year yet either," he laughs.

STEALING HIS MUM'S POTS

During our conversation, we also touch on his upbringing, and he tells me that he fell in love with music as a child, since his father Mitja and grandfather Cveto were also musicians. "I remember dancing around the living room with grandpa on Sundays, and moments when I stole my mum's pots from the kitchen, took them to the living room and banged on them with full force. All of that moved something inside me, leading me to being a musician today," he's convinced.

Another key moment happened when his father, who was also a drummer, took him to the concert of the guitarist and frontman of Dire Straits, Mark Knopfler, in Tivoli Hall as a boy. "That was probably where it first became clear to me that I really wanted this," he says. His parents enrolled him in the music school in Logatec where he studied percussion instruments for eight years, he played in a brass band and a symphony orchestra, he was a member of various bands in elementary school.

"They wouldn't let me play the drums in music school, because they weren't on the curriculum, so I decided that I would learn how to play them on my own. After that, I had a more and more successful band each year, it escalated until I joined Joker Out," he remembers his younger years, when he was getting to know various genres and enjoying his calling more and more each year.

"We drummers are special people," says Jure.

FALLING IN LOVE WITH FILMING BECAUSE OF HIS DAD

Music, however, wasn't the only thing he spent years getting to know. In high school, thanks in part to his uncle and his dad, who often took him to the field with him as a cameraman, he worked as a correspondent cameraman and editor for RTV Slovenia (Slovenian national television). "When they were looking for a cameraman at RTV Slovenia, I already knew and understood a lot of things. I kind of miss that job. It was very varied because I spent a lot of time in the field, I was at sports, cultural, and political events. During the time when I was both a cameraman and a musician, I realised that there were a lot of parallels between those worlds."

Now, he sometimes misses a slightly more regular schedule. "I used to be home at four in the afternoon, now I won't be home until May," laughs the likable drummer, who really liked working as a cameraman, but was mainly driven by his commitment to music. Now, for just over three years, he's been part of a band in which he's found something more. "I actually didn't really know how to get to that point, because in Slovenia, we often hear that you can't make a living from music and it might be better to find something else, that it's difficult to survive in the music world, that it's not worth it. But there was always something driving me so strongly that I was determined to prove to myself and others that it's possible."

THE CAMERA IS ALWAYS ON

If you want it strongly enough, you can achieve anything you want, he says. He's sure that as a musician, he will never achieve anything bigger than Joker Out. "Even though I like to emphasise that I'm living my dreams, it's not all sunshine and roses. The music world can be very tough, you have to fight every day, because you don't know what you're getting yourself into and what the result will be. Everything is a little unknown."

While the members of Joker Out are constantly discovering new unknown things in their creative world, they're definitely not unknown on the music scene. They caress our ears and souls with their finely crafted lyrics and excellent music. Their fans can now even hope that these outstanding young musicians will record a documentary about their journey in the near future. "We started recording in 2021 and we have a lot of things in stock that might interest people. With us, it's like this: when we're on tour, the camera can be on at any moment, so we have to be a little mindful of how we behave. Actually, everything is recorded – backstage, travelling, hotels, arguments, as well as lovely moments!"

The fans are thrilled by his not-at-all-reserved photos.

DREAMING OF SUMMER AND CAMPING

The magical pinnacle of the band's musical odyssey, which started even before their acclaimed Eurovision performance, happened last October in sold-out Stožice. On this colourful journey, they only had a moment to catch their breath at home before setting off again for new adventures. After a temporary move to London, the boys travelled to Helsinki on the 28th of February, where they did production rehearsals, and their European tour starts on the 1st of March. "We will board the bus which we will live on for one month. I'm looking forward to this experience and the bus tour, as it will be our longest yet," he doesn't hide his excitement. The band will come back to Slovenia for seven days at the end of March to regain their strength, then they will have a few performances in the UK, and on the 15th of April, they will lock themselves into a studio in Hamburg for a month, recording the album that was created in London.

"This year, we were home for three days, until the 4th of January, which makes the days spent in Slovenia even more precious," adds Jure, who is endlessly excited for the summer. "I've seen enough hotels in the past year, so I want a genuine holiday like in the old days, when a friend and I converted a car to be able to sleep in a camp. I miss simple holidays in nature and without a phone. That's what I really want this year, at least for a week or so," one of the most charismatic Slovenian drummers reveals his humble wish to us.

If you repost quotes from the interview, please link back to this post!

[randxmthxughts]

Unrequited - Chapter 1 - Tsu'tey x Omatikaya!Reader

prologue (technically you can skip it, but i recommend checking it out for the backstory)

summary: y/n had been in love with tsu'tey since they were kids, watching him get his heart broken over and over, until he became hardened. on one particular night, she offers him intimacy with no expectations in return, which sparks up a complex relationship between them. they grapple with guilt, unrequited love, and newfound intimacy, as y/n and tsu'tey navigate the depths of their feelings for each other

wc: 5.1k

contains: one-sided love, angst, smut, friends with benefits (ig), smut in this chapter!

note: the events take place in correspondence to the first movie, right after the final battle with the sky people

a/n: you guys asked for continuation, so i decided to turn it into series. i don't know how many chapters i'm planning to write but i do have a structure that i'll be following, so we'll figure it out together, as we go. i really hope you enjoy it. nothing else to say, just thank you if you reblog or comment ♡

unrequited masterlist | general masterlist

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The aftermath of the war between the Na'vi and the RDA was a somber and devastating sight to look at. The once peaceful and serene landscape of your home was now just as scarred and disturbed as your own mind. When you looked at the scorched earth underneath, and the sorrowful faces around you, your thoughts involuntarily raced back to Tsu’tey. Guilt consumed you for allowing yourself to care about him at a time like this, for recalling the night you had shared with him in the clearing, when you had offered him a piece of you, expecting nothing in return. And yet, despite Tsu’tey’s cautious words, deeper in your heart there was still a longing for more. 

Tsu’tey made it clear that his heart would always belong solely to Silwanin, his true and only love. And as you watched him suffer through the endless loss and heartache, you came to a painful realization that there would be no place for you in his life. He had become so hardened to reality, that he no longer cared for his own happiness, the duty of protecting his people becoming the only will to live. That night, when he became aware of your feelings for him, he pitied you for choosing to love someone as damaged as he was.

Watching the clan rebuild and heal from the wounds inflicted by the war, you were convinced to follow the same route. Instead of dwelling on the aftermath, you had approached Mo’at to join the other healers, as soon as the clan returned back into the forest. For the first few days, as warriors brought back injured Na’vi, you followed Mo’at, assisting her in treating the wounded. You silently prayed to Eywa that Tsu’tey wouldn’t be among the wounded, or even worse.

It was on the fourth day that you finally saw him. When Tsu’tey stepped into the healing tent, close to midnight, his eyes widened at the sight of you. He clearly did not expect to find you there instead of Mo’at. Your gaze traveled from his face to his left arm, predicting that he had suffered a broken bone. It was wrapped tightly in big dried leaves that mimicked the shape of his muscles and fixed his elbow in a flexed position. Flat pieces of wood were pressed alongside his bones, tied with smaller strings around his skin. Another thicker string supported his arm in the air, going around his neck.

For a moment, the broken arm offered you a momentary distraction from Tsu’tey's piercing gaze, but the knots in your stomach tightened nonetheless. The tension left from that night still lingered uncomfortably between you.

“Y/N,” he cleared his throat, “Is Tsahik out?”

“She is keeping watch over Atwäm tonight, he’s gotten worse,” you answered with a heavy sigh, recalling the said warrior’s severe state. Mo'at had predicted that the end of his suffering was drawing near. “What happened to your arm?”

“Nothing, I got thrown off my ikran and landed on my arm,” Tsu’tey shrugged his shoulders dismissively, “Mo’at told me she’d change my dressing, but I’ll come back when she’s here.”

“No need, I can help,” you said softly, earning his surprised look.

“Do you know how?”

“Yes. Sit.”

Without waiting for his response, you turned your back to Tsu’tey and began carefully selecting the supplies needed for his treatment. Refreshing his cast didn't make you nervous since you had already assisted Mo'at with a similar task just the day before. Moreover, it was surprising that you were able to maintain your composure around him, even though the last time you saw him, you were almost choking on his member. That vulgar image left emptiness inside you.

Tsu’tey hesitated for a moment before slowly lowering himself to the ground, watching you move around with ease, like a fish in the water. He felt a ping of guilt for not knowing this about you, truthfully, he had no idea that you were even interested in healing, let alone that you have been helping out the other healers for the past few days. 

When you returned to him with the supplies, you took a seat beside him, quietly beginning to untie the string holding up his arm. You instructed him to keep it in the same position for you, and Tsu’tey obeyed, trying his best not to move. Your hands worked with precision and care, peeling away the dry leaves, and the flat pieces of wood that you put aside to reuse. You could feel Tsu'tey’s eyes on you the entire time, sensing that he had something to say but was holding back.

“I am sorry that I haven’t spoken to you since the duel,” his voice was hoarse. You shifted uncomfortably, trying your best to concentrate on your work. 

“You don’t have to apologize. There was a battle far more important.”

“Still, I can accept it if you think of me as an unreputable man because of what I did. But I do not wish for you to believe that I avoided you on purpose.”

“I don’t think either of those things about you, Tsu’tey,” you finally looked up at him, “Would you consider me an unreputable woman?”

He shook his head, validating some of the doubts in your head. If anyone found out about the intimacy you shared with another man without mating before Eywa, it could have stumped your chances of mating with anybody else. Of course, bonds were sometimes made and broken by the guidance of the Great Mother, but you did not think about it. Frankly, you weren’t sure if you could give yourself to anyone else but Tsu’tey, even if Eywa had surrounded you with signs. It was something you figured out a long time ago, ever since Tsu’tey had mated with Silwanin and you knew that you didn’t stand a chance, yet your heart still yearned for him. No amount of attention and courting you received made your heart flutter the way it did when his eyes would land on you even for a second. You had gotten used to the idea of either ending up with someone you did not love, or remaining alone and dedicating yourself to your studies.

“I feel like I betrayed you,” he shook his head, unable to express the depth of his guilt. 

“Why?” you frowned in confusion.

“I promised to always protect you when we were kids. And then I took something from you, and you can’t get it back.”

A lump of shame gathered in your throat, making it harder to breathe. Did he really think you were broken now because of what happened between you two?

“I do not regret it,” you lifted your chin up, “I would rather give a part of myself to a man I love, rather than give nothing to anyone.” 

Love. Tsu’tey’s heart clenched at the obvious nature of your feelings for him. He hated himself for not being able to reciprocate your love, for torturing you.

“I gathered the leaves this morning, so your bandage should last longer,” you commented, diverting the conversation.

As you applied the sticky paste, followed by a clump of leaves, you pressed them firmly onto his skin, shaping it like a protective armor. He hummed, trusting your words, as you worked in silence. When you leaned in closer to reach the tie over his neck, his breath ghosted over your skin, and your heart raced in your chest. Tsu’tey’s hand instinctively reached out to support you by your waist, and you cursed inwardly at the rush of sensation that flooded your body.

Despite the awkwardness and discomfort both of you felt, your thoughts still drifted back to the night when you heard him whimper under the touch of your lips. The way his skin shuddered, when you pressed wet kisses against it, feeling just as nervous and excited to hear his satisfied moans. With trembling hands, you quickly tied the string into a tight knot around his arm, before pulling away, desperate to put some distance between you.

“Thank you.”

“You need to come back for a new bandage, once the leaves dry out.”

“Again?” Tsu’tey frowned, clearly dissatisfied with your instructions.

“As many times as it takes until the bone heals fully.”

“I hate this,” he huffed, “It is itchy and uncomfortable. I cannot fight like this.”

“Fight? The battle is over, Tsu’tey,” you rolled your eyes at him, “Eywa must forgive you for your ungratefulness. The worst of your worries is the itch on your skin that you cannot tend to, instead of losing an arm like Tsay'ä.”

Tsu’tey’s eyes narrowed at your remark, recognizing that sassy tone you used to reserve for Neytiri during your playful arguments. You had rarely used it with him, always contained and reserved, whenever he was around. Tsu’tey realized how different you seemed now, no longer a kid who needed his protection. There used to be a time before Silwanin’s death, when he would see you almost every day, given that you were inseparable from Neytiri. He wondered how much he had missed out on in the past few years, since you weren’t hanging around them anymore. He felt a pang of guilt for not noticing you slowly drifting away from your group.

As you gathered to stand up, Tsu’tey reached for your wrist, pulling you to a stop. You peered down at him confused. 

“What?”

“What are you doing tomorrow morning?” he asked with a slight excitement evident in his voice. 

“Resting before Mo'at's ceremony,” you answered, frowning at his sudden interest in your plans.

The past few days had been a whirlwind for the clan. But now, as the work began to taper off, you were preparing for the grieving ceremony. The final battle with the Sky People had been devastating, and many families in the clan had lost their sons and daughters. And while their bodies had already been given to Eywa, Mo’at decided to hold a final ceremony to pray for the lost souls before the Mother Tree.

“Could you help me with something before that?” Tsu’tey asked.

“Sure,” you nodded.

Tsu'tey felt a twinge of surprise at how readily you agreed without asking for a reason. You barely needed one, your heart would follow Tsu’tey wherever he wanted it to. He released your wrist, and quietly slipped out of the tent.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You walked past the Well of Souls, eyes catching a sight of the softly glowing Mother Tree, where the ceremony would take place later. The aftermath of the battle still lingered in the air, and you struggled to focus on Tsu’tey’s back instead. He walked in front of you, occasionally glancing back to ensure you were keeping up. As he pushed through thick bushes, you heard strange noises from the depths of the rainforest.

“What is that?” you asked, but Tsu’tey only threw a soft smile over his shoulder, like there was nothing to be scared of.

When he came to a stop, you saw it: a big, armored head peeked out from behind the tall bushes. Your heart skipped a beat, as you recognized the creature as a palulukan, piercing through you with its green eyes. You stepped back in fear, as the palulukan revealed itself, coming into your full view. Judging by the size, it was still a youngling, no older than a few days. Still, it was quite large and could easily harm both you and Tsu’tey.

“Don’t be scared, it is still a baby,” Tsu’tey said, holding up his palm. The palulukan cautiously and slowly moved towards him.

“Tsu’tey, do you have a death wish?” you gritted through your teeth, taking a few careful steps back.

“It’s alright, it won’t harm you,” he said calmly. 

He remained unhinged when the palulukan nuzzled its head into his palm. You froze, watching in awe, as Tsu’tey continued petting the animal. The fearsome palulukan became gentler under his touch, tail swishing from side to side. Tsu’tey turned his face to you and chuckled at your expression.

“Come closer, Y/N.”

“Have you lost your mind?” your voice trembled with fear.

It was a rare sight to see a Na’vi man get along with a palulukan. Although you knew of a clan that was skilled at taming the creatures, amongst your own, the Omatikaya, surviving an interaction with a palulukan was considered a blessing from Eywa. 

“You said you would help,” Tsu’tey reminded you, his voice firm.

He lowered his palm and turned to face you, his eyes fixed on yours. The trust he had in the cub was palpable, but your panic continued to rise, eyes jumping between him and the palulukan. 

“Why do you need my help?” you swallowed hard.

“She limps,” Tsu’tey answered, nodding towards the cub.

“We shouldn’t intervene with the laws of Eywa. Where is the mother?” you asked, your voice tinged with concern.

“The mother was probably killed. The cub was all alone when I found it,” Tsu’tey explained, “I felt too ashamed to burden the other healers when they were busy helping our people. So, I tried moving her back to the valley, where she belongs, but like I said, she can’t walk far because of her paw.”

You threw another glance at the palulukan, who seemed to pay you no mind, lazily swishing its tail from side to side. Your mind calmed slightly, feeling a little sorry for the cub. You took a hesitant step forward.

“Something with the back paw. I’m not very helpful with all this,” Tsu’tey gestured to his broken arm.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, before approaching the animal. With a steady hand, Tsu’tey petted the cub, coaxing it into a sitting position, so that you felt less intimidated. You prayed to Eywa to keep you safe as you reached for the injured paw, finding a small piece of demon-metal lodged between its toes. You pulled it slightly, causing the palulukan let out a screech. But Tsu’tey somehow managed to calm her down.

“It can’t stay here any longer,” you threw a quick glance at Tsu’tey, pulling the metal piece as quickly and carefully as you could, “It's too close to the Mother Tree, and there is a ceremony soon.”

“Do not worry, I will lure it to the valley,” Tsu’tey replied, still patting the cub on its head.

“Not in that state, you can’t go alone,” you protested, nodding to his injured arm. “I will come with you.”

Tsu’tey let out a low growl of annoyance, partly at your stubbornness and partly at his own injury. He decided to remain silent and watched as you finally removed the metal chip. The palulukan let out another screech, wiggling its paw out of your hands and bringing it to his snout to lick the wound. Tsu’tey stepped back, observing the animal with a small smile, and you found yourself smiling at Tsu’tey.

You could never stop loving him. Even if you tried, Tsu’tey would always find a way back into your heart. Of course, only he would manage to handle a palulukan without getting eaten alive. You shook your head in disbelief of the man in front of you.

The palulukan stood up with a low growl, sniffing your feet before raising its snout toward your face. You froze, afraid that it might attack you for causing it pain, but the creature only studied you briefly with its big green eyes. You slowly extended your hand to the cub, before taking a step towards the valley. To your surprise, the cub climbed up, limping on its paw, and following you as you started to walk. Some time later, along with Tsu’tey, you led it towards the valley, letting it wander off at the outskirts.

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As the two of you began your walk back home, you felt a rush of joy spreading through you.

“I thank Eywa for letting me pet a palulukan without getting eaten alive,” you grinned at Tsu’tey.

His ears perked up at your satisfied expression but he pretended to be annoyed with you.

“I wouldn’t have let you near it if there was a chance of getting eaten.”

“But still, Tsu’tey,” you stopped in your tracks, taking his hand in yours, “Eywa has blessed you. You made a friend out of a palulukan. Not many get to say that.”

Tsu’tey looked down at your hands, feeling a ping of excitement at the contact. Since that night in the clearing, he often found himself yearning for your touch and the solace it brought him. And he despised himself for it. 

Tsu’tey mumbled a thanks and squeezed your hand in his, his eyes lingering on yours for longer than necessary. Your heart raced, and something uglier began to spread in the pit of your stomach. You had been consumed by lustful thoughts of him, yet you couldn't admit it to yourself. All you craved was confirmation that he had felt it too.

Like in some sort of trance, you lifted yourself up on your toes, drawn towards Tsu’tey's face. Your hand rested gently on his chest, careful to avoid the bandaged arm. You expected him to pull away, to reject your advances, but instead he watched you with a heated gaze. Tsu’tey knew that it was wrong to give into the temptation, that the aftermath wouldn’t be worth it, but he just needed to taste your lips. 

Scared to your core, you tested the waters first by tentatively nuzzling your nose against his cheek. Tsu’tey released your hand out of his, but instead of pushing you away, he cupped your face roughly, pulling you into a kiss. His hunger to taste you consumed you, and you almost grew dizzy from the intensity of his lips.

As your lips parted, Tsu’tey pulled away, his eyes closed, breathing ragged. You tried to speak, to say something, anything, but your voice caught in your throat. You both stood there, silent, for what felt like an eternity until he spoke.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice low, “I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong, Tsu’tey,” you whispered, staring into his eyes.

He was distraught but his hand was still gently caressing your cheek. In his eyes, you could see an internal struggle: his mind was telling him to stop, but his body was craving more. 

His eyes widened before closing in a relaxing manner when you crashed your lips against his again. You were eager to satisfy your hunger for him, like an annoying itch that needed to be scratched.

Tsu’tey’s hand pulled you close by the nape of your neck, signaling you to keep going. Your stomach turned in a pleasant pain, when he groaned into your mouth. A few sloppy kisses were exchanged before you were pushing him back into a tree.

Tsu'tey couldn't resist you any longer, the passion that had been building up inside him finally erupting as he kissed you with all the desire he had been trying to suppress. His free hand roamed over your body, pulling you into him, not caring about the pain he felt in his injured arm.

But as the intensity of the moment grew, so did the guilt that Tsu'tey felt. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, that he could never give you more than this, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Y/N,” he pulled away, breathless, “I can’t do this to you.”

“It’s okay,” your voice hitched, his pitiful gaze on you, “I’m okay.”

Tsu’tey pursed his lips, his eyes slowly tracing your features. He had never before noticed the intricate pattern of stripes on your forehead, which formed a unique shape right in the center.   He had never paid attention to the way your freckles glowed like stars in the night sky, something he had always loved to admire before drifting off to sleep. And the way your eyes glistened with a threat of tears, as you feared rejection.

“Please,” you pleaded with him, “Don’t pity me.”

He took a deep breath and let it out before slowly leaning into you. Your heart raced, as he nuzzled into your neck, his eyes shutting in surrender. Tsu’tey then pressed a soft kiss to the crook of your neck, hand grazing your back. Your heat felt uncomfortably abandoned under his touch, and you pressed your thighs together, attempting to get some sense of relief. The movement caught Tsu’tey’s attention, and he frowned, pulling away to observe you. But it wasn’t long till you distracted him with another kiss, scared of him changing his mind.

The sharp pain reminded him of his injury the second he tried to reach for you with his left arm. Tsu’tey suddenly realized that despite the lust he felt, he was too weak, too restricted to give in fully. So, when your hands reached for his loincloth, he swatted them away, gently pushing you off. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly.

“I want to take care of you,” he admitted, his hand finding its way to your waist. It was his turn to make you feel good.

It was embarrassing how effortlessly Tsu’tey made you forget to breathe. He played a game of cat and mouse with you, giving in one moment and then changing his mind the next. But you desired him so intensely that you simply nodded, letting him turn you around and lower you on the ground. You didn't resist as Tsu’tey settled in behind you, his back pressed against the tree.

“Sit here,” he ordered, pointing to the spot between his legs.

You scooched back quietly, leaning your back against him. Tsu’tey shifted slightly to adjust to his broken arm, before pressing a kiss to your temple. You relaxed, eyes closing, as his fingers gently caressed the skin under your skimpy top, grazing the already hardened nipples. Tsu’tey continued planting kisses to the side of your face, when his hand moved in between your thighs and parted them. He untied your loincloth, exposing your cunt to the cold air. 

“Tsu’tey,” your voice hitched at the anticipation of his next move.

His hand quickly left your thighs, now turning your face to him, so he could press a kiss to your lips. When your mouth opened immediately, welcoming him in, you felt his finger pushed down on your button. Tsu’tey caught your muffled groan into his mouth, and pressed down on you, as you tried to wiggle away from the sensation. A low growl vibrated through him as a warning before he gently glided his fingers over your slit, slowly massaging your folds. His palm brushed over your sensitive bundle of nerves, forcing a low moan out of you. Tsu’tey felt his member harden at the sound, almost in disbelief at how sensitive you were to his touch.

The flat of his palm circled slowly against your clit, rubbing lazily against it. You gasped his name, hips unintentionally bucking up into his touch, seeking a rhythm. But Tsu’tey enjoyed the sounds that you made a little too much to give in right away. His touch left you for a second, as he wetted his fingers and brought them back to your clit, starting to flick it. You groaned and moaned, as he kept going, occasionally switching to his palm to rub against your sensitive spot. 

“More,” you pleaded, choking on your own breathing.

Tsu’tey hummed, not rushing to comply with your request, as his lips found their way to your neck again, trailing wet kisses. His hand continued to tease your clit in tight circles, and you felt him smear around some of your wetness. Your moans grew louder, when Tsu’tey pressed two fingers against your bud and started stroking it from side to side, picking up a rhythm. Shivers ran down your spine, and you whined at the overwhelming feeling in your stomach but before you could give into it, his digits pulled away, teasing you down your slit. 

You were growing impatient, desperately wanting to chase the sensation by squeezing your thighs, but Tsu’tey did not like that. He parted your thighs again, throwing his legs over yours and restricting your movements. He meddled with the idea of punishing you for moving before brushing past your swollen folds and lightly slapping them. You whined at the sudden ache, and Tsu’tey had to stifle a chuckle at your reaction. He felt an urge to slap your heat harder this time, to force a louder yelp. By the sound of your painful cry, he knew he had succeeded, when he raised his hand higher and slapped against your folds with more force. A mixture of pain and pleasure started to blur your vision, as Tsu’tey slapped your heat over and over again, making your body convulse. You were panting heavily, when he stopped, and his finger teased your entrance before slipping in, not giving you time to adjust. Your eyes widened at the sensation, and he pushed it further into your tight walls, all the way to the last knuckle.

“Tsu’tey,” you exhaled in a slight discomfort. You had never felt anything inside you like that.

“”S okay, relax, syulang” he said with a husky voice.

Tsu’tey moved his finger, making you clench around him. But it was too tight, so much that he couldn’t help but groan at the sensation, wondering what it would feel like to have you around his penis instead. He pulled his finger out, palm rubbing against your nub, before slipping it back into your hole and pushing as far as he could. You started to whimper, your walls clamping down on him, as Tsu’tey slowly thrusted his digit in and out of you, accompanied by squelching sounds.

You tried to tell him that it was getting too much but your words came out in a sloppy jumble instead, making no sense. Tsu’tey picked up on a faster rhythm with quick sloppy motions, filling the air around you with a mixture of wet squelching sounds and your panting. He was running short of our breath too, violently thrusting his finger into you a few more times, before pulling it out.

“Please…don’t stop,” you whined at the absence of his touch, buckling back. You pressed your bottom into his crotch, as if pleading him to continue. 

“Don’t-don’t do that, sweetheart,” Tsu’tey breathed out heavily.

You struggled to fight the fuzziness in your mind, as you suddenly felt the need to check on him. You turned to look at him through your hooded lids.

“Did I hurt you?”

Tsu’tey shook his head with a low chuckle. He couldn’t contain his amusement at the fact that you were checking on him. It was an unexpected situation anyway, but even stranger, considering that it happened in the middle of such intimate act. He suddenly felt the need to reward you for your worrying.

As you held his gaze, searching for a sign of pain, Tsu’tey caught your lips with his, hungrily sucking and pulling at your bottom lip. Your mind got clouded with the hotness of his skin, which was exactly how Tsu’tey distracted you again. His hand caressed your thighs and sneaked back to your clit, beginning to draw tight circles around it. He enjoyed the way you bucked your hips up into his touch, chasing that sweet taste of pleasure.

As you buckled up again, Tsu’tey rubbed your swollen bud with a force, then picked up on a steady rhythm. It wasn’t long till you felt the tension building up in your pit again, and you pressed the side of your face into his chest, feeling hot in your cheeks. His fingers were expertly fiddling with your nub, his motions speeding up. Small whimpers were escaping from your mouth, and Tsu’tey couldn’t help but groan at the sight of you nearing your release. His penis was pulsating, as he started rubbing your button more roughly.

“Need you,” you trembled, gripping his thighs with your hand.

Your hips were jerking out of control, chasing that feeling building inside you, your body tensing up, with in a sharp intake of air. The painful tension broke down into a wave of pleasure, spreading from your heat to the knots in your fingers and toes. 

You held your breath, squeezing your eyes shut at the immense sensation. Tsu’tey exhaled behind you, feeling the way you shivered underneath his touch. He rubbed your oversensitive clit again, pushing you over the edge, and you whined, squirming under him. It was too overwhelming, almost painful. You tried to squeeze your thighs, your hole clenching and pulsing around nothing, juice flowing out of it like a nectar.

“Stop, Tsu’tey…stop,” you gasped, as he slowed his motions on your sensitive spot.

Your hand swatted at his, and Tsu’tey chuckled before finally pulling it away. Your chest sank in big heavy pants, and his lips were on you again, hand caressing the soft skin of your tummy, and moving up to your chest. You breathed heavily, when he squeezed your breast in his palm, a satisfied smirk finding a way to your lips. When he kissed the side of your face again, you turned your face to capture his lips. Tsu’tey hummed in satisfaction.

“I need you to-” you pulled away from him, still a little breathless, “I need you to relax too.”

You wiggled your legs from underneath his, and shifted to sit sideways. Before your hands could even reach for the ties of his loincloth, Tsu’tey stopped you.

“Not now,” he shook his head.

“Then when?” you raised your eyebrows, “When you’re healed?”

He chuckled at your desperation. Tsu’tey couldn’t deny or hide his arousal from you but it was amusing to watch you figure out the reason for his rejection.

“Maybe.”

You let out a small sigh, your lips settling into a contented smile. But as you remembered the upcoming ceremony, you quickly rose to your feet, hastily tying your loincloth. Tsu’tey watched you shamelessly, feeling at ease with the knowledge that you now had a piece of him too. Even if it wasn’t going to be permanent. 

“We should head back now to make it in time for the ceremony,” you mumbled, “I promised to help.”

Tsu’tey nodded, standing up too. But there was something different about it when he met your gaze. No words were exchanged as he followed your lead, back into the cove. You couldn’t shake off the feeling that this wasn’t the end yet.

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chapter 2

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[just-some-random-blogger]

Hey! could i get an imagine/oneshot fluff nsfw Daemon x fem!reader where they are married and have a very good, even envied relationship (they totally trust each other and are complicit in everything) but the reader is extremely (at exorbitant levels indeed) touch hungry and soooo needy for him, (but not in a bad way) with a lot of fluff please? (sorry for my english)

Ten & One

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: As the 11th child out of 14 kids, all you knew was chaos. The pros of being one of the youngest from such a big family meant most of the duties were already fulfilled by your elder siblings, and yet the unavoidable con of having to marry well still lingered. So one can only imagine how wild your house was when you first brought home the Targaryen prince as your husband. It's even worse now that the endless supply of children hailed them as their new playmate.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: the way I said this would be short 🤡, smut (impregnation kink, praise kink, choking, riding, oral [f receiving], vaginal penetration), trash talking older sisters (trust me), fem!reader, wife!reader, so so so many kids, soft!daemon, scared by kids!daemon HAHA, girl dad energy!daemon, reader has baby fever ig, flufffffffff, typos, etc.

A/N: YO IVE NEVER WRITTEN A REQUEST SO FAST I THINK yeah so this turned into.... whatever this is. it started out with when I thought of a conflict for the prompt, but then it spiraled like it always does. 🤠 I hope you like it though nonnie!!! And don't even worry about your english. i still cant spell after all the years ive spoken it. 😪 we bilinguals gotta stick together Here's kinda a part 2 to it "Mine"!!!!

In all his years of life, Daemon faced an immense volume of angst, treachery, death, and pain. He was far from a coward and did not even waver under the gaze of dragons. Yet as he sat in the middle of a what he realized was a sacrificing room, only then did he know true fear.

They were surrounding him, filthy, loud, concerning moist-

"Why the fuck are your hands wet, Silas?" Daemon cringed as he grabbed the red haired toddler's hand before it landed on his cheek.

One of the nannies present in the nursery looked to the other and exchanged knowing and amused looks.

One blonde haired boy began to cry as one brown haired boy yanked the toy from his hand. Daemon turns, instinctively needing to hush the child, that was until the brunette begins to cry as well, because a raven haired boy steals the toy he had stolen.

The nannies don't even need to go to the crying kids as one of the older children present, their sister, Daemon thinks, worked to calm them down.

The twin brother of the boy in Daemon's grip with the same burning red hair looked over to whom spoke from the other side of the room, halting his game with his much, much younger brother inside the crib he was not supposed to be in. Silas' lips purse into a soft thoughtful line, brows furrowing against each other as he looks to his small palms, "my hands are not wet, uncle!"

The boy says this in such a sweet tone, with not hint of malice, that Daemon actually feels bad for cursing.

Upon catching where the boy was, one of the nannies move to remove him from the crib. It's futile though, the moment the woman is distracted with the other children, he climbs right back in.

Silas' twin, Oliver, the one with the actual wet hand, vindicates his brother by slapping the prince's lips with his free one, "don't say bad words!"

Daemon looks at the child-he-did-not-know-the-name-of. His only thought was at least the hand that slapped to his face wasn't wet.

"Go to your mother," Daemon commands.

Had it been anyone else, it would have struck fear in them, but the child does not recognize the threat at all, especially not when three of his female cousins come running to Daemon, making the man himself reel back in some semblance of fear.

It seems they finally found the comb and clips they needed to fix his hair with.

Fuck.

"PRINCE UNCLE!" one girl excitedly screams, shooing Oliver from away from Daemon. Oliver gleefully runs towards his darker haired cousins and engage in combat with pillows.

One nanny promptly scolds them when feathers explode everywhere.

Rebecca, or so he thinks that's her name, grins as she makes her way to Daemon's lap. Her older sister, Annaliese (?), runs behind him. The youngest among the three, Constance, he knew, sat on the other side of his lap next to her cousin.

All at once, Rebecca throws her curly, golden-brown locks behind her, making it splash against Daemon's face, adding to injury when her elbow hits the prince' jaw. Annaliese rips at Daemon's scalp, undoing the tie he had in his own silver-white hair, causing a groan to leave his lips. Constance bounces up and down Daemon's lap as she wraps her small arms around his torso and looked up at him with an adoring look.

Verdict, Daemon didn't know what to feel.

Meanwhile.

"Oh, I honestly thought you'd have kids by now!" my eldest sister, Elise nudges me, "with how hotly your prince eyes you-"

"You should have come back pregnant," our fifth born sibling, Catherine, cuts in scolding me, "I already bragged about your fertile womb to those stupid, big mouthed ladies at court."

"Sissy!" I cry out.

"They fucking deserved to be put in their place," Catherine growls, "don't they know how many children our mother sired?" she scoffs, "the audacity of those rats to call you barren just because you haven't gotten pregnant after a few months of marriage."

Elise rolls her eyes, "they're just jealous because their breast milk comes out like sand."

My jaw drops.

"Their cunts are probably drier than sandpaper," Catherine says in agreement.

Our youngest sibling, Gretta, and the only other girl amongst our siblings, makes a face and tries to halt the vulgar insults by telling me, "they're probably just jealous you snagged the prince and they didn't."

"Probably?!" Elise quips.

Catherine throws her head back in laughter, "those smelly cunts are maddened by the very idea."

My older sisters begin to fall into more trash talk. Gretta and I exchange knowing looks and take each other's hand before slowly walking away.

After we flee, I decide I am wholly ready to leave my house and all it's chaos.

"My love, I'm ready to- oh," my perky voice falls in shock when I see my husband's hair tangled up in multiple clips and ribbons. It seems the sneaky girls also got their hands on a bit of rouge, judging by the smeared red on his face.

"AUNTIE LOOK!" Frances (Rebecca) cries in joy as she stood beside her captive, affectionately hugging him, "WE MADE PRINCE UNCLE SO PRETTY!"

"FRANCES, DON'T!" Bethany (Annaliese) scolds her younger sister when she messes up her work, "YOU'RE RUINING MY RIBBONNNNNSSSS!"

"Girls, please, your cousin is asleep!" Daemon scolds weakly, cradling the little girl, Constance, in his arms.

Frances looks down on her cousin, "Oh," she leans down, "prince uncle, I can carry her into the crib if you like."

Daemon turns to Frances, bringing a finger to her face, stroking her cheek sweetly, "I'll do that myself," he turns to the other girl, "if," he drags out, "my lady sets me free."

Bethany takes Daemon's hollow cheeks into her warm hands. Daemon smiles at the sight of her gleaming eyes.

My lips pull into a pout and my hear soars at their exchange.

Bethany, then nodding to herself, turns to Frances, "we did good, sister!"

Frances squeals yet again, nearly choking Daemon as she embraces him tightly.

"Frances!" I finally intervene, amused face falling into concern, "you will behead the poor man at this point."

Frances turns to the said man and releases him slowly. Daemon catches his breath, smiling at the girl, impressed by her strength. He finally stands and brings Constance to the occupied crib where Silas and a baby he-did-not-know were napping.

Frances runs over to me, arms snaking around my skirt as much as her little limbs could, "auntie," she coos, "will you be staying for supper?"

I steal a look at Daemon who is now rubbing his face, unknowingly ruining the rouge he must have forgot he had on. This promptly triggers Bethany as she falls to her knees and mourns her craft, shrieking so loudly she could probably wake the dead.

Daemon, in his panic, promptly picks the girl up, like one would a bag, then runs out of the room, as not to make trigger the rest of the kids into similar shrieks. I watch as Bethany dangles horizontally by her torso in my husband's strong arm as she weeps into her hands.

I finally turn back to Frances after Daemon leaves the room, "sorry, little bug. Your prince uncle and I have to leave now if we wish to return to our home before dark."

Frances pouts at that. I lean down and kiss the girl's nose before leaving her in the nursery with the rest of the kids and their nannies.

I find Daemon in the hall, handing his weeping niece to her teenage brother, who was biting his lip for dear life, trying to hold back his laughter. He makes sure not to forfeit a dirty look at Thomas, but that does not hinder the giggles that still manage to escape his mouth.

Thomas walks away, carrying his sister in her arms, shushing her as he giggled.

Daemon jolts, hand instinctively reaching out for the absent sword in his belt when I come up to him with a grin. He melts against my touch when my thumbs begin to wipe away the redness on his face.

He pulls me close to him by my waist, hands rubbing my back to soothe me, though he actually does so to soothe himself. I giggle, "you would make a fine father."

"They make me eager to pull out," he notes, closing his eyes.

I lightly slap his cheek in a scolding manner.

I was still not done evening out the color on his face when he pushes past me and crushes me into an exasperated embrace, "I thought once I wanted many children after growing up with only one brother," he strokes my hair as he bends down and nuzzles on my neck, "now I cannot even bare the idea of having one."

I scrunch my face in distaste, "I will not be left childless, husband," I begin to take notice of the paraphernalia in his hair, "but," I decide to tease, "if you will not have me, then I shall ma-"

He squeezes me in his arms, lifting me up, causing me to squeak, "who says I will not have you?"

"My prince," a servant calls, making me crane my neck over to whom spoke.

Daemon begrudedly pulls away, giving the man an uninterested expression with a voice that matches, "yes?"

The prince's face contort tighter in annoyance when the servant's face tenses in reaction to what he saw. I see how his lips fight back laughter and the whole incident make me break into a giggle.

Daemon is wholly unamused, and shows it to the servant boy in particular, "it will hurt no less if I slit your throat in this moment," he barks, stepping forward without hesitation.

The servant flinches back.

I bring my hand up to his chest, giving him an annoyed look, "Daemon please."

He clenches his jaw and grips his hands but does not take another step.

"The boat is ready for you and your lady wife," the servant quickly tells, promptly bowing then rushing away.

"You should have let me bruised him at least," Daemon says scornfully.

I roll my eyes at his pouty face, "come now," I say working on removing the clips in his hair, "we must leave before Bethany sees your hair without her embellishments."

Daemon's brows knit as he looks down on me, "who's Bethany?"

The moment we arrive to our home, I finally feel the effects of entertaining the many members of my house the whole day.

I am unbelievably tired when I finally lie in bed in my favorite night gown. I am in fact too tired to even rise from my place and pull the covers over me.

"Pretty girl," I hear him before I see him. In fact I feel his hand climbing up my thigh before I see his face.

I lift my head up along with a brow as Daemon climbs up next to me only in his breeches. I lick my lips at the sight of his exposed skin and clean face. His mouth meets the skin beneath his hands.

"I thought you were exhausted, husband?"

He only hums as he positions himself between my legs, "never too tired for a good fuck, wife."

I allow my head to fall back on the bed as I laugh. I encourage him to do as he pleases when my hand scratches lightly at the roots of his freshly washed hair. Daemon kisses my supple flesh as he lifts my thighs over his shoulders.

He takes his time teasing me, lips gnawing at my skin. I release a sigh and rest my hands to my side, "you know my sisters were cross that I was not pregnant."

He chuckles, pushing my short skirt up, "I'm sure they were."

I moan when his lips meet my core. My body ignites after this.

I grip at the sheets when I feel his tongue dart out. I let out a breath, basking in the sensation. A thought however lands in my head and I cannot stop from asking it, "do you think perhaps something is a matter?"

Daemon stills, head rising from where it was tucked.

I, myself, rise on my elbows and pout, the expression further concerns the face between my legs. It however fades once I say, "maybe we're doing something wrong when we share company."

Daemon rolls his eyes, "you can just ask me to fuck you harder."

I yelp when his face sinks and he nibbles on my sensitive nub. I moan out his name like gospel, and as much as I don't want it to end, I wriggle in his grasp when I think of something else I need to say.

He uses his strength to force me still, wanting nothing but to devour me. I nearly cave and halt my actions, but I catch his attention when I whine his name out in a plea, "Daemon stop."

He is utterly irritated by this, "what is it now?"

I pout in annoyance, "maybe it's because you're too rough!"

Daemon rolls his eyes yet again.

"Daem-" I whine when his lips begin to move against me again, "think about it!"

Daemon's had enough.

He shoves my legs off him and heaves angrily. I move to sit up and give my husband a cautious look. He however manages to get on his knees and quickly yanks me back down, "shall I give you a lesson, my naïve little wife?"

I purse my lips together as he crawls over me, "I am not naïve. I am only saying that-"

Daemon sighs as he undoes his pants.

"- don't you think I should have been pregnant by now -"

He manages to rip them down while hovering over me.

"- considering how often you bed me?"

He throws his clothes off to the side and pulls my legs apart. We simultaneously moan when he enters me and I bring my hands to his nape, digging my nails into his skin.

Daemon presses a kiss on my lips as he adjusts my legs around him.

I expect him to give me a talking as he pounds into me, but I am only met with stillness and silence. And as much as I love the feeling of him in me like this, I begin to get impatient, "well?"

Daemon chuckles, "I'm teaching you a lesson, wife."

I narrow my eyes at him.

He relishes the deviant expression. He bucks his lips slowly, drawing out a moan from me. Daemon is utterly pleased.

He kisses my neck, hands going to my sides, "if you think my fucking is why you haven't fallen with child-"

I yelp when he quickly spins and rips me over him. I brace myself, hands ending up on his chest. I shift above him, making the both of us groan.

Daemon rubs my arms affectionately, taking in how the loose nightgown wrapped on my body. He fiddles with the lace, "fuck yourself on me then."

For a moment, his words make my belly roll in a wave of hot desire. But something else dawns on me when I see Daemon's hooded eyes. I break into a chuckle, he groans out as a consequence to it, "you're just tired, aren't you?"

His eyes darken. I chuckle yet again. I no longer laugh when he flicks his hips into to me roughly, "fucking move."

I hiss and lean into him, shooting him a glare of my own.

Unappreciative of my disobedience, he grabs my hips and glides me the opposite way of his thrusts, "if you do not move, I'll leave you restless and come all over your pretty face."

I whine at obscene notion.

"You wouldn't want my seed to go to waste, now, would you?" he croons, "don't you want me to get you pregnant?"

I moan as I push myself up and grab on his wrists, following his movements with my own thrusts.

He hisses, melting at my actions. Eventually he is still beneath me as I bounce on him. He praises me for finally listening, "that's it," he exhales, "up and down like a good girl."

I mewl at the sound of his deep voice. He digs at the sides of waist when I quicken my pace. At some point, he is unable too hold back from snapping himself into me. He groans as he does so and I reposition myself, allowing him to reach my sweet spot. I nearly drool when he does. I rip at my lower lip with my teeth and release a guttural sound, "Daemon."

He grunts, "yes, my love." His hands sneak under my dress and rubs my bare skin, "you're doing so good. Such a sweet, pretty girl."

I feel his hands on my belly. I roll my head back when his thumb circles on my wet nub.

His fingers dig into me, "you'll look so pretty carrying my child," he grunts, "mmm, fuck, always so ready for me."

My hands climb to his neck when he says this and I screw my eyes shut focusing on the feeling of him sliding in and out of me.

"Fuck," he drawls, absolutely aroused by the pressure on his throat, "harder," he commands.

Daemon awaits the added pressure but curses when there is none. He calls out my name, making me look down at him. I release a gasp when his hands press down on mine as he repeats, "harder, pretty girl."

I bite my lip and nod, constricting my hands on his throat just a fraction.

It seems to be enough as Daemon releases string of profanities before his hands come back to my hips. He pulls his legs up behind me and fucks into me with a renewed sense of vigor.

My voice bounces the same way my body does. I'm pretty sure I don't even move anymore as Daemon does all the work of slamming into me.

"Fuck, Daemon, don't stop," I whine, as I regain the brain to move against him.

Our own bed whines in distress over actions. The entire room is filled with lewd noises.

It's all a matter of time before it's all over.

I find myself pressing down on him when I come with a loud cry. I release such a breathy shudder that after, I lose my breath. I dig my fingers into his shoulders when I feel him follow after me the next second. I absolutely revel in the heat he burns into me, at the idea I could be carrying his seed soon.

Daemon's hands are ripping roughly at my flesh so hard, I practically feel them bruise. I couldn't care less though.

Yelps and moans continue to leave my lips up until we both crash against each other.

I gasp when I hear Daemon pant heavily after I release him from my grip. He is heaving for literal dear life.

"Daemon, are you alright?" I whine in concern.

He looks lightheaded and yet his lips curve into a smirk, "don't worry, my love, I'm more than alright."

I let out a sight of relief, pressing a kiss on his jaw. I rub my hands onto his face, his own rake my dress up and down my back.

"I do hope I get you pregnant this time," he mutters, pulling me close to press a kiss on my forehead, "I will not stop until I do." He rubs his cheek against my head, "we should go again for good measure."

I grunt at the thought at maneuver off him.

He growls, pressing a kiss on whatever he could get his lips on, unwilling to release me.

"Daemon," I warn emptily.

"What?" he mutters, finding my neck. He licks my skin before biting down, "you enjoy this."

I moan and push him off, "that's the point! You're tired."

When I'm off him, laying to his side, he chuckles darkly and climbs over me.

"Daemo-"

"I'm never too tired for a good fuck."

[greetingfromthedead]

Plantheat (Knives x F!Reader)

Plot: Knives calls on you, a scientist whose interests in him are beyond just scientific, to him with the offer to help him get rid of his undesired affliction plaguing him once a year. Ensues a power play and a lot of rutting.

Series: None (oneshot)

Pairing: Knives x F!Reader

Raiting: NSFW!! 18+!! R!! Explicit!! Minors DNI

Tags: no use of y/n, plantheat, rutting, pwp, smut, light BDSM, dom Knives, cum kink ig, vaginal fingering, blowjob, p in v sex, copious amount of cum, rough sex, aphrodisiac, some spanking, attempted brat taming, orgasm denial, orgasm control, orgasm delay, multiple orgasms, monster sex, feathered Knives

Word count: 5.8k

Author's Note: I swear, next time I get such dirty thoughts, I'll just go take a cold shower. This had to be heavily edited. And again... If you know me, no you don't.

You wonder what he could want from you. While working on different projects with the Sinners, you had close contact with Millions Knives, but you were just a lackey under Conrad's supervision. You barely ever talked to the Independent Plant outside your work; you only ever stole glances at the handsome man, your interest going beyond the scientific. But still, he acted like you weren't there at all. So what is going on now?

The request you received has brought you to a part of the Plant carrier you haven't been to before. To your limited knowledge, there should be some living quarters here, but as you cautiously explore, you realize that this area seems completely abandoned. Not a single living soul has crossed your path; the corridor is empty, with only your footsteps echoing off the metal walls. You double-check the room number next to the sliding door and confirm that this is indeed the place. An unassuming entryway far away from the commonly used areas.

"Come in," a familiar, cold voice calls from within before you even have a chance to knock.

You hesitate for a moment before pushing the button that would open the door. The room beyond is dimly lit but much larger than you expected. You step inside and scan over it quickly. It must have been a common area a long time ago for crew to sit together or used as a workroom, but now it is furnished as a living space. It has a table with chairs, a bed, and a vanity with a mirror hanging over it. It's not much, but it could be considered luxurious by many standards, especially if you take into account the quality and materials of the things in the room.

"You called for me, Master Knives?" you state as your eyes stop on who is probably the most dangerous man on the planet. The door closes behind you, leaving you completely alone with him and with no quick escape route.

"I did." He says as he starts coming closer. "You're an ambitious woman, and you have proven yourself both dependable and capable. How would you like a project of your own?"

"And what would that be?" you ask without hesitation as he stops in front of you. A strong, sweet smell stings your nose with every breath. It makes your stomach tingle.

"You see, once a year I am plagued by a very undesirable condition. I need to have something done about it. A cure if you will." His face is still stoic and unreadable.

His words remind you of a rumor you heard a while ago but paid no mind to. You look closer at his face in the dim light and realize he is paler than usual, and a shine appears on his skin. Your first instinct would be to guess that he has a fever, but the sickeningly sweet smell causing your belly to tighten hints at something else. Your eyes trail down his body to his crotch, where you notice a bulge that's usually not so prominently there.

"Master Knives, I'm a scientist, not a common whore. What are you asking of me?" You try to remain calm and steady, not letting on the desires building inside you. But the heat between your legs is undeniable.

"I am asking for the quickest fix to my predicament that you can offer." He leans closer, his fingertips tracing your jawline.

You turn your head, facing away from him, before you speak. "There's a pleasure district deep within the bowels of this city. I'm sure you will find a quick fix there. If you wanted me to create a cure, you should have given me more time. But as it stands, there's nothing I can do for you now."

"Isn't there? I didn't ask for a common whore. I asked for a brilliant scientist. One who has been keeping a very close eye on me for a while." His last words are accompanied by a slightly amused chuckle. "Aren't you curious?"

You look back at his face; your head is still mostly turned away. It is true that if the rumors of Plants being in heat are true, you are more than fascinated by that phenomenon. But even without him asking such lewdity from you, it would be a lie to say that you haven't imagined him naked before. The arousal in you makes it hard to think clearly, but you keep your guard forcefully up as you turn towards him again and lean closer.

"Scientifically speaking, I am."

"Of course. Nothing more to it." Knives says, his breath carrying more of the sweet scent to you, making your pussy clamp on nothing. His face is so close to yours, and his fingers are still touching your jaw. He is disarming in his beauty, and you lean closer, your lips parting, expecting him to meet you halfway. But he pulls back suddenly, a devilish smile playing on his lips.

"If that's how it's going to be, then I am leaving!" You sound more agitated than you intended as you try to step away from him. Knives grabs the small of your back and pulls you flush against him. Your arms are squeezed between your chests as you lean away.

"You will need to beg me for that kiss," he says with absolute neutrality and coldness on his face. You push against his chest, feeling your heart race faster.

"I don't beg!" You say angrily, and you see the hand that had traced down your neck go to his face. He traces his thumb over his mouth, only to then touch it to your lower lip. The dampness of his touch is barely there as you let your tongue swipe over where his thumb had been. The same sweetness strikes your senses, and you realize it's a powerful aphrodisiac. Even that little bit sends a shiver down your spine and makes your body ache for more. You want to feel his touch all over you. What would his kiss do to you?

His eyes darken with desire as he sees the realization on your face. You can't help but lean in closer, craving the inevitable rush of pleasure that awaits, but his face goes past yours. His lips find your neck, leaving toothy kisses behind, almost like threatening to rip your throat out or wanting to eat you alive. You shudder with a mixture of lust and excitement at his touch, his body pressing against yours.

You want to hold on to your pride and walk away, ignoring his dirty request, but his touch is too intoxicating, drawing you in further. Is it the desire you felt for him long before, or is it just the pheromones in the air? The answer is buried somewhere in the depths of your conflicted head. There is the curiosity too. This kind of opportunity does not present itself to everybody and every time. If he has you make a cure, then this might be your only chance to study it this closely. Your mind is so filled with thoughts and desires, you don't even fully realize how his hands run over your body, one gripping your ass tightly, the other pulling you closer, his mouth still firmly on your skin. It's your body that reacts, entangling your fingers in his hair and digging your nails into his shoulderblade as you let out a moan.

This man is wicked; you should walk away while you still can, but his touch is so delicious, and the bulge pressing against your leg promises a pleasure you can't resist. You know you should be cautious, but the temptation is too strong to ignore. You feel his fingers creep between your legs, pressing into the soft fabric of your pants. You want his lips on yours, his breath mingling with yours. You know it's wrong, but you can't help but give in to the desire. You don't resist in any way as he turns you around, his muscular arms wrapping around your torso, his lips touching behind your ear.

"Beg." Knives says quietly as his hand trails down, pressing into the supple flesh of your pussy through the fabrics. You feel the slick between your folds, and you're sure he can feel the wetness too.

"I have no reason to beg," you reply breathlessly, trying to keep your wits about you. It's not about denying him anymore; you're past the point of no return. Now you just want to keep some of your dignity about you while making as many observations for your research as possible. But the fog creeping into your head makes it hard. You take his hand from your bits and pull up the tunic with the other to slide his fingers into your underwear. A tremor of pleasure runs through you as he accepts your invitation. His body shifts slightly as he goes further down, his long fingers exploring your sopping lips with a slow and deliberate touch. He plays you like a virtuoso, his fingers circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure. You're in heaven as you lean backwards into him. He continues to tease and pleasure you, his free hand firmly kneading your breast. You feel his cock digging into you as you press further back, your hips involuntarily twitching at the sensation of his fingers. Your eyes roll back into your head as you are about to lose yourself in your ecstasy, but suddenly his fingers are gone. Instead, both of his hands grab your hips as he pushes you forward.

"What the?!" you studder out in your irritation as he makes you walk to the vanity. Your cunt aches with the denied orgasm and leaves you out of breath and desparate for the release.

His hands move to take the edge of your tunic and the longer sleeved shirt underneath; you don't fight him as he pulls them over your head, leaving you with your underwear. His fingers trace the outline of your body as he looks at your reflection in the mirror. You can feel his gaze burning into your skin as his fingers reach your pants. His hands push them down with your panties in tow, revealing your bare skin. You shiver, not because of the cold but because of the intense desire coursing through your body. Your inner thighs are wet, and you step out of the clothes, pushing off your shoes as you do so.

"Get on the bench and spread your legs," he commands, his voice low and husky.

You couldn't help but obey him, putting one knee after the other on the cushion and parting your legs as he instructed. You lean your elbows on the vanity before you and look into the mirror to see him step just a bit to the side of you. His hand glides up your thigh, teasingly close to where you need him most. Your breath is shaky as you anticipate his next move. His eyes stay on yours as his hand glides over your pussy, fingers running through the slick and sending a jolt of electricity through your entire body. His touch is like fire, igniting a passion that consumes you completely. He teases with a gentle touch alone before delving deeper, his fingers circling your entrance. You arch your back, yearning for more.

"Beg. I know you want more. I can feel it. You're dripping."

"Go to hell." You say accompanied by a moan as he brushes through your pussy again.

"I'm already there." Knives replies and plunges a finger inside you. It is quickly followed by another as he begins to move them in and out, fulfilling your desire for more. His other hand slaps you hard on the ass, causing you to cry out in pleasure. His hooked fingers tease every sensitive spot inside you, bringing you closer to the brink of ecstasy you were denied before.

"Do you think I am stupid?" you manage to formulate between your heavy breaths.

"Not at all." His one hand continues to pump into you while the other presses on your lower back, making you stick your ass up more. "In fact, I think quite the opposite."

"Then why do you think I don't realize what you're doing?" You struggle to keep your eyes open to look at his reflection while he keeps you on the edge. "You're smitten with me. That's why you called for me, and now you tell yourself you need to play this game of power to keep up appearances. You want me to beg for it because you don't want to admit that you desire me, a mere human. Admit it."

The end of your speech is nearly swallowed up by another moan, as Knives never stopped fingering your cunt, masterfully keeping you on the edge of bliss where you want nothing more than release. You are desparate for him; you want him all over your body; you want to unwrap that cock of his and feel him inside you until you both explode in ecstasy. Is that your desire or the pheromones? You still don't quite know, but the sweet smell is maddening as the coil within you tightens further.

"Almost." Knives speaks calmly as his free hand pulls on your hair. "I want you to want it."

He pulls his fingers from you, leaving you whimpering in frustration as he releases you. You ache for more, desperate for release. You're about to finish the job yourself when you fully realize what he meant. He gave you a small taste of the aphrodisiac; any more of it will turn your brain into a horny mush. But that sounds great right about now.

You look into his eyes a moment longer, feeling your juices drip down your thighs. You can't help but smile mischievously as you teasingly step off the stool and turn to face Knives. You can't quite read his expression, but now you can see the sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, and he looks worse than before. He is in heat, yet he teases you with nothing in return. You step closer to him.

"You really should be the one begging me." You grab his face and pull him towards yourself, taking him in a moment of surprise. You kiss him, tasting the sweetness on his lips. It quickly turns deeper and more desperate as you both lose yourselves in the heat of the moment. You want more of the sweetness, and he wants more of you.

You need him. You need him to fuck the life out of you. You need him to fill you to the brim. That's all that's left in your head. Please him. Make him happy; make him come again and again. Be his plaything, anything he desires. To be used by him is your purpose, and you crave it more than anything else in the world.

His lips rip from yours and whisper into your ear, "Go play by yourself for a moment, but don't you dare come. Be a good girl."

"Yes, Master Knives." You moan softly into his ear as you step backwards to sit on the stool, leaning your back against the edge of the vanity as you teasingly run your hands over your legs before spreading them apart, revealing your core for him to marvel at. The room is silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing and your fingers stroking your pussy, occasionally giving it little wet slaps. Your head lulls back as you moan at your own touch, the pleasure building with each movement as he has already made you overly sensitive. You can feel yourself on the brink of an intense orgasm, but deny it to yourself, as Knives requested. You need to hold off until he gives it to you, and you would do anything to make him happy.

The air is filled with your moans and the intense, sweet smell of Plant pheromones. The desire for the fingers in your cunt to be his cock instead is unbearable. You arch your back, widening the gap between your knees further. If he doesn't make a move soon, you might just have to take matters into your own hands. Your voice gets whinier and more pleading as you edge yourself, finally having to take your hand away and grip the edge of the stool so you wouldn't come.

"Master Knives," you plead with your head still rolled back. That's when you hear steps. You look to see him in all his glory before you. His wide shoulders and broad chest, his pale skin tight over his toned muscles, and the cock of a god erect right in front of you.

Your hand reaches out to touch him, to stroke the legth of him, but he grabs your wrist instead, pulling you up to your feet and, from there, into his arms like it were nothing. His embrace is firm as he holds you off the ground, one arm under your back, the other holding your thighs. You take the opportunity to grab his face and kiss him again, your tongues sweeping against each other, spreading the sweet taste. You feel his fingers digging into your flesh as he turns and walks forward, not breaking away from you. The world around you fades away as you are consumed by the intensity of the moment. His movements are a lot rougher as he kicks away a chair before putting you on the table. You're on your side, facing away from him, but as you try to adjust, his large hand presses into your hip. You prop yourself up on your elbow to look at him. You lick your lips for the remnants of his saliva as he hungrily measures your body. His eyes are full of desire, and as his fingers grip your hip tighter, he takes his cock to gide it through your wet folds. He picks up some of the slick and smears it together with his pre-cum on himself with slow jerking motions. The anticipation of what's to come is almost intolerable, and you bite down on your lip. He slides the tip between your lips, causing you to gasp with pleasure. You're so wet, he simply slides into you with ease as you stretch to his girth. You're overwhelmed with a mixture of pleasure and pain, feeling completely consumed by him. His expression is almost animalistic as he grabs your hip with both hands and pulls you into him with every rough thrust, causing you to quake in ecstasy. He is unable to hold back anymore while surrounded by your tight cunt. The pace of his slamming into you is relentless. You moan loudly with pleasure and pain as he ruts into you with wild abandon, completely consumed by the pleasure. Your body trembles with each powerful thrust as the intense sensation of friction threatens to bring tears to your eyes.

Knives's moans and groans are music to your ears; he shakes your whole body and the table with it as his cock moves in and out of you. You're so wet from your arousal, each thrust makes a sopping slap against your skin. He lays into you, balls deep, and the denied orgasms combine into one with his motions. Your voice goes higher, moans escaping you with every breath as he pushes you over the edge of climax. You can feel the tension building inside you until, finally, the coil snaps and you explode with pleasure. You are left panting as he keeps the same rhythmic pace, prolonging the euphoria. Your walls clamp down around him like a pulse, and it makes him bare his teeth. His pace hastens further, and it completely breaks the coil within you. You moan out together as another orgasm washes over you before you could even come down from the first. Your pussy brings him momentary bliss as he busts inside you, filling you with warm seed. He looks so desparate as he pumps into you a few more times. He grabs your face with one of his hands, like wanting to pull you closer, but that's not an option in your current position without folding you unnaturally. You place your hand on his arm, feeling a strange prickling under your touch as you stroke upward to take his wrist and adjust his hand so you could suck on his finger that still tastes of you. You moan as you move your lips up and down his finger. The satisfaction has disappeared again. You want more. More of him all over you, more pleasure for him. The aphrodisiac drives you crazy; you crave its taste in your mouth. You can't resist the desire to have him inside you.

He pulls out of you, still as hard as before, and you spill over. He takes his hand from your grip and pushes you further onto the table before pulling you onto your back. You're surprised by his rough handling of your body, but ultimately feel excitement to be used. He pulls your shoulders to the edge of the table so you are left looking up at him, but only as long as you keep your neck stiff as your head hangs off the edge. A wicked grip appears on your face as you realize his intentions.

You let your head fall back and tangle over the edge. One of his hands grabs hold of your head, supporting the weight and making it easier on your neck. Or perhaps he did it to keep you in place. You aren't sure, and you don't care as your hand reaches over to grab his cock. You squeeze him, feeling the heat and hardness in your palm, and it sends another wave of pleasure through your body, your pussy clenching tight, some more of his cum spilling out.

You jerk him a few times before being unable to resist and taking him into your mouth. It tastes sweet like his kiss, and you enjoy the feeling of him throbbing against your tongue as you struggle to take him deeper. Your jaw hurts to open so wide, and tears spill into your eyes as he pushes further into your throat. You feel a mix of pleasure and discomfort as he thrusts deeper, your gag reflex kicking in, but you push through it, wanting to please him. The sounds of his moans and heavy breathing only fuel your desire to continue. You lift your lower body up to make the angle easier on him as he slowly thrusts into you as far as he can. His hand pushes aside your bra to squeeze your breasts, which bounce with each of his shallow strokes. Your body quivers with pleasure, happy to serve him even as the moans occasionally turn into wimpers. You can feel his impatience through his fingers, which put more pressure on your hair and flesh. He pulls away, strands of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock before the release of pressure makes you cough. As his hands let go of you, the panic within you raises. Quickly, you turn to be on your hands and knees and crawl closer.

"Master, I will do better. Let me do better." You plead as you look into his irritated face, the aphrodisiac coursing through your blood. "I promise I will try harder. I will suck you dry if you let me try again. Please let me; I beg of you."

"Get up," he says shortly, and you take it as a sign of hope, quickly getting your feet on the floor again and going closer to him. "I need your cunt to satisfy me."

"Yes! Master Knives, anything! As long as I can be of use to you, I will do whatever you command; just bless me with your seed, please." You are nearly breathless as you reach out your hand to run over his body. He is sweaty, and his skin feels strange—not at all smooth, but rough and bumpy.

"Stop wasting my time." He says it in a low voice. It's not the conserved and cold voice that could speak of violence like others talk about the weather. He sounds on edge, with no guard beside his words themselves to speak of. It moves through your body like the growl of a stray dog.

You pull your hand away from him, eyes scanning over the room, and go to the bed while pulling off your bra, leaving you naked as you stand by the bedpost, fingers running over the ribs of it. He is dissatisfied with you. This is unacceptable. You take a wide stance a few steps from the post and lean forward, holding on to the furniture as your ass sticks out.

"Then punish me or take what you want. Fuck me or snap my neck, Master Knives. Whatever pleases you." You tremble as you wait for his response, hoping he would choose pleasure over death but not minding either if it means he is satisfied.

"To think you made this worse," his low voice says as you hear him approach. You feel a sharp pain as his hand slaps your ass and then again, making you whimper and grab the bedpost tighter. Expecting more rough spanks, you brace yourself for what's to come, but instead feel his length rub between your legs, savoring the wetness before he enters you. His large hands grab your hips tightly as he pulls you closer, driving himself deeper inside you.

"Yes! Thank you!" You moan in pleasure, feeling every inch of him filling you up. His pace quickens, with each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can't help but arch your back, meeting his movements with equal intensity, lost in the ecstasy of the moment. Your hands grip the post as you surrender to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. The room fills with the sounds of your shared passion, creating a symphony of desire that echoes off the walls. His grunts still sound impatient as he ruts into you again, your walls clamping down on him with each thrust.

You rock on your feet while he pulls you roughly into himself time and time again. Holding on to the bedpost is the only thing keeping you in place; otherwise, his thrusts might just throw you off balance onto the floor. You try to keep up with his pace, feeling the intensity building inside you with each movement. He slams into you with all his length, and you can't help but moan in pleasure and pain as he grinds into the end of your well. His hands grip your hips tightly, guiding you to meet his movements with equal force. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, heightening the raw passion between you both. The fog clouding your senses gets thicker until there is nothing left of you but your pussy that he ruts into, an electric tingling feeling creeping up your guts. He releases before you, and your sense of self only slips further out of reach. The feeling of having him come into you again fills you with bliss, even without reaching your climax.

He does not slow down, continuing to push deeper and harder. His primal desire drives him to take you to the edge of pleasure, his movements becoming more urgent and intense. The overwhelming sensation of being completely consumed by him leaves you breathless and craving more. You reach one hand down your body to your pussy, feeling the mix of your juices and his cum under your palm. It drips down your thighs and over to your stomach. You close your eyes and let out a satisfied moan, feeling completely lost in the moment as your fingers rub your clit. His powerful thrusts hit all the right spots while you touch yourself, sending waves of ecstasy through your body. The intense pleasure builds and builds until you can't hold back any longer, finally succumbing to a mind-blowing orgasm. The pulsing walls of your cunt send him over the edge again, and you feel a wave of ecstasy wash over you, leading you both into a state of pure euphoria. The connection between your bodies intensifies, leaving you both lost in the moment of raw passion and desire.

You have to grab hold of the bedpost again as his movements become even more intense, bouncing your whole body with each thrust. Your breath hitches in your throat, and the feeling of ecstasy overwhelms you completely as the bliss of his releases and your own orgasms mix into an intoxicating cocktail of pleasure that leaves you breathless. The intensity of the moment lingers as his primal groans fill the room, echoing in your ears and sending shivers down your spine. Your legs shake as he does not stop. Your body quivers in ecstasy, moans turning into wimpers as the overwhelming feelings of pleasure and arousal turn into torture. Tears well in your eyes as he shows no sign of mercy. You look down to your feet to see the creamy puddle on the floor, more liquid dripping down with each of his thrusts.

Somewhere in a far corner of your mind there is the fleeting thought of needing to pay attention and take notes for your research, but those are quickly erased as your whole belly tingles. He has pumped you so full that it feels like you might burst. Your mind is too foggy to tell if he is chased by one orgasm after the other or if he has gone past that need and is able to bust just with each thrust of his relentless hips.

"Master Knives, please!" You beg, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper as he pounds into you with an intensity that threatens to break you in two. Instead of a reply, he hits you with a quick, sharp slap on your ass. "Master, I can't take it anymore! Please! I'll burst!"

The whimpers in your throat cut off any other words as another intense orgasm washes over your being, your overstimulated body pulsing with pleasure and the need to escape the pressure building within. Unable to wait for his mercy, you lean forward, pulling away from him until his cock is no longer inside you. With a yelp of pleasure, you hear his cum splatter on the ground as it escapes you in bursts. You sigh in relief; the tension is finally released, but the low noise, sounding like a growl behind you, snaps you out of the bliss, and you turn around quickly. A monstrosity stands there, staring at you with hungry eyes. It takes a moment to realize the figure is your master; his chest and shoulders are covered in small feathers, and from his back stretch out large wings. From a quick glance, there seem to be at least two pairs of feathery extremities, but your attention is drawn back to his face, where his lips bare his teeth, the fangs glistening in the dim light of the room. His skin is even paler and sweatier than before.

For a moment, pure fear grasps your heart, and you nearly slip as you back away, quickly hitting the bed. You stumble and fall on the mattress, eyes wide with terror, as you push yourself further onto it to get away. The fear is quickly dulled by fascination and desire as your mind settles. Knives steps closer, his knees leaning on the bed, as he looks like a feral beast hunting his prey. The large wings brush against the bedposts as he leans closer. Instinct forces you to maneuver further away, but as you're ready to push away with your feet, his long fingers capture your ankles to yank you closer. He lunges forward with the same motion, and you find yourself pinned underneath his massive figure. His hot breath on your face fills your nose with the sweet smell that makes your head spin with desire. Your legs spread to either side of him as you feel his weight pressing down on you. Knives's lips crash on yours, sweeping you away into a world of passion and ecstasy again. His tongue swipes through your mouth, and you revel in the sweetness of the aphrodisiac. Your bodies are entangled in a tango of lust as you feel him adjust to press his cock back into you. The pleasure intensifies, sending you spiraling into a whirlwind of desire. One of his hands cups your cheek, the tips of his fingers digging into your temple as his lips dance with yours. His other hand traces up your side as his hips rock against yours, creating a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. Your arms wrap around him, and your hands feel the roughness of his skin where the soft feathers grow out. You close your eyes, lost in the intoxicating sensation of his touch, and your hands find their way up his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he thrusts into you. You finally grab the bases of his wings, gripping tightly as you ride the euphoric wave of pleasure and moan into his open mouth.

The frantic beast lets out a primal growl, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate as he loses himself in the heat of the moment. The connection between you two intensifies, sending shivers down your spine as you both reach the peak of ecstasy together. It's like you're constantly on edge of release with him, the aphrodisiac in control of every nerve in your body. You never want this feeling to end.

You release one hand to try and push yourself up, and to your surprise, Knives complies. His lips leave yours as he sits up more, pulling you with him until you're straddling his hips, never breaking eye contact while your bodies remain connected by his cock in you. He moves his hands down to grip your hips firmly, guiding your movements as you ride him. His hands slamming you down harder onto him, the intensity of the pleasure building with each thrust. The feral look in his eyes dissipates, replaced by a different wildness, showing how much he is enjoying the moment. Your hands are propped on his shoulders, digging into the layer of feathers that cover his skin. His hungry mouth finds your neck again, and you can't help but moan as your head rolls back. Your breath hitches in your throat as he continues to ravage you with his passion.

You take him to a world of relief in many ways, in many positions, letting him rut out his frustrations and needs into you even as all you manage in your exhaustion is to lay beneath him and let him have his way with you. He leaves your body aching and spent, with a lingering yearning you know nobody but him can satisfy.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST (most of my other stuff is a lot more tame, except for the Vash Plantheat oneshot) and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

[the-fiction-witch]

Please

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sad

Requested: Can you make one where jack had been neglecting y/n. Or maybe they had an argument so they've been ignoring each other and jack started hanging out with belle (or other character) and y/n can see that belle has feeling for jack so she just felt heart broken and tried to disappear from the face of the earth (not die ofc, just you know. Didn't come out of the house or left from somewhere and didn't come out for a while to cope). Idk how you'll do it but uhh fix the relationship after? Maybe with a little bit of hard to get but yeah WAHAHAHAHAHAHHAH Angst to fluff😭🙏 i kinda wanna cry today cuz i haven't been processing my emotions like how a normal person should because it the normal way-,anygays so yeah ig. 🥲💕💕💕 Warnings: Cheating mentions/ arguing/ angsts

I had been sitting in this bed for what felt like a year, stuck up in this little room above the hospital listening to the chaos below. I had never intended to be here, I had a house of my own, but I seemed to always be here. At first, it was just visiting, every day once Jack finished his work I'd come up to his room to visit him, He'd tell me of his day and the business in the hospital, perhaps I'd make him dinner and we'd have a cuddle and perhaps more depending on his energy that evening. And I was so very happy, soon enough we were engaged and of course the sweetness and closeness that comes with it, Over time I visited more and more until I ended up as I was now practically living upstairs in his room. But the more time I spent here Ironicly the less I saw him.

It wasn't like that at first, when I was first here all day every day. The very moment Jack had five minutes he'd come up for a cuddle, a kiss and a cup of tea. But I had seen him less and less of these days. I know he's busy so I didn't want to complain, but I still missed him terribly. I missed just the joy of spending time together just cuddling and saying nothing at all for the pure love of being with one another. But now I saw him once a day, when he would come up to sleep, He'd barely give me more than a few grunts and an eye roll before he'd crawl into bed and sleep. Most days I didn't even get that as He'd come crawl into bed after I went to sleep and be gone before I was awake.

I had tried to go down into the hospital but I always got overwhelmed by the madness or just pushed away by the staff, but I know that's best I don't have any medical training or even knew only what Jack had told me second hand over time, so I wasn't any help and my body being wondering around was certainly a hindrance to the important work being done, and I wasn't even allowed to go into the theatre and watch the surgeries so I lived my life up in this little room.

But today, I had had enough. My mind had been racing all day curious of what he was up to, what he was doing, and who he was with, I found myself catastrophizing the worst of everything and I knew the only way to stop myself from doing so was to know. So I put on a nice dress, did my hair and went down into the hospital as usual people bustling about the place so I checked his ward but, he wasn't there. I checked the theatre but no that was empty too. I began to get worried looking around the hospital trying to see him but I couldn't find him. Luckily I spotted Hetty the head nurse.

"Ohh Do excuse me Hetty,"

"Yes, Miss Y/l/n?" She asked stopping with her bucket in hand,

"Do you happen to uhh know where Dr Dawkins is?" I asked,

"Jack's in the morgue Y/n."

"Ohh, thank you." I smiled, turned on my heels and headed down to the morgue, all being said I was excited to see him. But when I got down there I noticed he wasn't alone, and I don't just mean the body.

He stood over a body in the process of some sort of practice, with... a woman. She was beautiful, In a dress likely worth more than everything I owned, they both glanced up at me and she didn't seem interested, he however gave me a look, he knew me and how my mind worked, and he knew he was in trouble. Immediately he put space between them.

"I know, please don't and let me explain." He began,

"Too late," I answered,

"What's going on?" She asked,

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, "Belle this is Y/n. Y/n this is Lady Belle Fox the governor's daughter."

"Right," She nodded, "And she's relevant becuase?"

"Becuase I'm his fiancé" I spoke up,

She laughed, "Really?"

"Yes." I snapped a little,

"You can't be serious?" She asked him, "Jack?"

"Jack?!" I asked him too,

"I did tell you I was... kinda engaged," he said sheepishly to her,

"Kinda!" I yelled,

"Engaged! No, you did not!" she complained,

"You never even mentioned me!"

"No, he didn't."

"We've been Engaged two and half years!"

"Well, you neglected to mention that."

I was so so enraged! and to be fair so was she, I'm sure to any outsider this would have been hilarious to have seen both Belle and I gang up on him, leaving him really without a side to choose or anywhere to turn. No matter what he did someone was gonna be mad at him.

"I uhh..."

"I'd choose your next words very carefully." She warned,

"Yeah, listen to the lady," I told him,

And his response, was that he simply just walked out. Refusing to deal with either of us. Leaving her and I alone.

"I am... So sorry Y/n, I had no idea."

"It's Alright Lady Belle,"

"If I'd have known I'd never have-"

"you didn't know I can't fault you for that," I reassured her, "Do you have feelings for him?" I asked even if it shredded my heart to ask, and she simply nodded, "That's all I need to know."

I left heading up to his room, but he wasn't there. So I grabbed a bag packed up everything of mine that was there, and I left.

I made the walk back to my little house, even if the weight of my items and the time since last making this trip it felt far longer than I remembered. I set my bag down and locked the door, my little house was dusty and cold but I slid down the door and began to cry my emotions overflowing as if a river had burst its banks, I cried for hours only interrupted by banging on the door and his voice.

"Y/n! Y/n! Y/n I know you're in there! open the door, Sweetheart!"

I didn't answer,

"Ughhh! Open it!"

I didn't answer,

"Uhhhhh for god sake! Open the bloody door!"

I didn't answer,

"I don't have time for this! Will you at least hear me out!"

I didn't answer,

"Ohh for - Fine!" He yelled and the banging stopped.

I made sure the door was locked and went to my bedroom, I lay on my bed and let my emotions flow, they took over me and I remained in this state all day, only broken by the next day at the same time, banging returned to my door.

"Y/n! Y/n sweetheart it's me! Just open the door."

I didn't answer,

"Y/n Open the door!"

I didn't answer,

"Open it Y/n for god sake!"

I didn't answer and after a while, his banging stopped.

But this continued, day after day, every day at the same time he would come and bang on my door shouting, pleading at me to open it. But I couldn't bear to do so. I barely ate. barely drank. Barely even moved. But I just sealed myself away trying to come to terms with it all. It had been a month and I knew the time and expected the usual pounding on my door but not today. Instead, I heard keys in a lock and footsteps down my hall. I forced myself up as they came to my door but I shut it and leaned against it unable to lock him out.

I heard him sigh and weigh against the other side of the door as he too slid down to the bottom of the door,

"You gonna listen to me now?"

"Get out of my house Jack."

"I will, I'll go. When you listen and not before."

"why are you here?"

"Same reason I've been here every day."

"I meant inside."

"Well... I figured we could chat in private, and if I'm inside you don't have much of a choice but to listen, and I'm not leaving till you do so, listen or not I'm staying."

"How'd you even get in?"

"I still have my spare key."

"I regret ever giving you that damn thing..."

"I don't know, it had its good uses."

"I don't have anything to say to you," I said, "I just want to be left alone..."

"I know you do," He sighed, "Strangely enough after three years of dating and two years of engagement I know you fairly well. I know this is your response when you are upset, you hide. You run and hide yourself away it's your response to stuff like this. You run and hide yourself in a corner and catastrophize yourself into a ball of fear, and tears and god knows what else..."

"I think this is a pretty good reason."

"I never said you weren't justified, Sweetheart." He said, "Not this time." He said, "Will you listen to me? Please."

"Fine." I sighed,

"Are you mad? or are you sad?"

"I was mad. Now I'm sad."

"Alright, I don't blame you... for being angry at me, I completely agree you should be angry at me, you should shout and scream and call me a bastard. I just don't want you to be upset."

"What do you care?"

"Becuase I don't want the woman I love to be upset with me."

"You don't love me..."

"I do. You think I'd come back, every day and bang on your door till my knuckles start bleeding for a month, If I didn't still love you."

I didn't have an answer so I didn't say anything,

"Yeah, I looked like a bloody nutter every day for a month." he chuckled, "I wouldn't have come back every day if I didn't."

"You could have gone to see her."

"I could. But I didn't I'm here with you, not with her." He said, "Besides she's mad at me."

"Can't imagine why."

"Ohh everyone's mad at me. You're mad at me, Belle's mad at me, Hetty's mad at me, Even Rotty at the pub is mad at me." he sighed, "I've managed to piss off every woman in port victory in one day."

"Well done."

"Thank you, I'm not proud of it."

"I take it you're doing the rounds then?"

"No. they can be mad at me I don't care, you're the only person I care about being mad at me."

"I am?"

"Well you and Hetty, but I care less Hetty is mad at me for emotional reasons its more... She's the head nurse. Have you ever tried doing surgery where your nurse is ignoring you, not talking to you, and actively wants you to fail, I don't care she's angry It's more just causing me logistical issues."

"Fair enough,"

"I don't care Belle's mad at me, she can be mad at me. I don't want you to be mad at me." He said, "You don't trust me do you..."

"It's a little hard to when you neglect to mention your engagement to a girl."

"I honestly forgot. It didn't cross my mind to mention it."

"So you don't think of me?"

"I think of you every day Y/n. I think of you as my wife so much I forget to even tell anyone else becuase to me it's just... so automatic I don't even think to tell people becuase I just know." He explained,

"Even if she liked you."

He chuckled, "How long did you like me before we started dating?"

"Two years..."

"Would think you'd have figured out I can't tell. The only time I know if a girl is interested in me is if she comes up, sits on my lap and says 'Hey wanna have sex with me' I'm a lot more oblivious to that sort of thing than you'd think I am." He chuckled, "Plus... I don't pay attention to whether other girls like me or not, I have you. So I don't really pay all that much attention."

"Why were you alone together?"

"She has this... germ theory we needed to cut a body open to check. She didn't know how I was teaching her,"

"Teaching her?"

"We didn't do anything I promise."

"And I'm supposed to just trust you."

"Yeah, If I'm going to be your husband... You have to trust me. and I know it's hard. and I know it hurts. and I know your mind and its catastrophizing make you always believe in disaster. But this is ever going to work, You have to trust me. Please"

For a moment I didn't know what to think,

I questioned whether or not to let my heart rule over my head, or my head rule over my heart,

But I got up and opened the door which surprised him as he had been leaning his back against it and was now lying on the floor looking up at me,

"Hi, Sweetheart."

"Hi, Jack."

"Are you... still angry at me?"

"Yes."

"Alright, but it's a start? right?"

"I will forgive you." I nodded,

"You will?" He asked getting to his feet, "I assume there's a but, or an if."

"There is an if."

"Which is?"

"You move in here, and we get married."

"And you'll forgive me?" He asked questionably,

"Yes,"

"... Okay," he nods slightly confused but clearly not going to argue,

"So you stay here, you come home at night, I always know if you're here or at work, and you wear a ring. That'll solve things." I said and I kissed his cheek as I went to the kitchen to make some tea, He soon followed and stood behind me a moment,

"You're sure?"

"Yes I am, That'll solve things, you live here you have to tell me where you go, I know when you're working or not, you sleep here with me, and you swear a ring, everyone knows you're taken. Besides... Two and a half jeans is a long time to keep a girl waiting about time we dealt with it, That agreeable with you?"

He wrapped his arms around me tightly and kissed my cheek hard, "That's a deal sweetheart." 

[icarus-does-fall]

It's short an stupid but it fixed the brainrot <3

The hannigram fic idea that suddenly started rotting in my brain<33

I love these two crazy mfers a totally normal and reasonable amount

Somewhere in season 2 ig but like also just sorta an AU lmao

I need hannigram domestic bliss (except they're still crazy<3)

.𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤. .𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤.

Will had once again been arrested and then set free because of over lying factors. It was becoming something of a pattern with Will being framed and then coincidently let go because another killer took the fall.

Hannibal, was of course the one still setting up Will, afterall he did stab Will only to moments later confess his love, but he'd be damned if other people kept saving *his* boy.

It was clear these two had a… problematic relationship but Hannibal knew how to be domestic on occasion, and these were one of those occasions.

After stabbing Will and begging for forgiveness while confessing his love, he immediately fled to Italy. Not long after did Will find him, they always knew where the other was. *Somehow*.

So of course Will found himself in Hannibals Italian Villa and one morning Hannibal and Will ended up in the kitchen together, Hannibal was cooking breakfast and Will was being a casual menace.

“William, please put the knives down, I need them to dice the chives.”

“Or I keep holding them, and try to stab you when you get too close.”

Hannibal sighed and continued to prep the needed ingredients for breakfast. “I have already apologized for that, must you keep it over my head forever?”

“No I don't have to, but it's nice seeing you squirm with guilt every time I mention it. More convenient than a gun this early in the morning too.” :3

Hannibal merely gave Will a slightly annoyed look as he took the Knife out of his hands and then kissed Will on the nose before going back to finish breakfast. Will bluescreenned for a moment, while yes Hannibal had admitted his feelings open affection from the man was still a strange concept.

“You're an impossible puzzle to solve Will.”

“Yeah- Anyway whats for breakfast?”

“We have caramelized french toast with a mixed berry compote for your child like behaviours, and I have a fiddlehead omelet with bacon and a homemade salsa.”

“That sounds- Hey wait a minute, I'm not childlike! I'm an FBI agent who have taken care of himself the majority of his life.”

“William, you point a gun at me whenever you want to get your way and pout whenever you remember your dogs are still in the states without you. Furthermore you pout whenever you don't get your way.”

To even further prove Hannibals point, Will pouted as his behaviours were pointed out one by one. The down side of living with and liking a psychiatrist, you tend to get psychoanalysied without your permission.

“Just shut up and make your breakfast already-”

Hannibal smiled smugly as he turned back towards the stove. A few minutes later breakfast was done and plated, Will sat at the bar, causing Hannibal to scowl from his place at the table. He mightve been a cannibal but he still had table manners.

Hannibal silently glared at Will, trying to will Will into sitting at the table. It eventually worked but not in the way Hannibal wanted. Instead of sitting nicely Will was sitting cross legged in one of the chairs and was breaking almost every table etiquette rule there was. But at least he was at the table.

“William…”

“I haven't done anything!”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you quite positive about that William?”

“Uh… yes?”

Hannibal nodded disapprovingly and continued to eat in silence, now Will wasn't nervous per say but he definitely was a little on edge from Hannibals reactions. Knowing his luck he'd end up with an ear in his mouth again while he slept.

Besides that one incident the two had a fairly calm and casual morning. Will did the dishes as Hannibal cleaned the table, after the chores were done the two ended up on the couch together watching some nature documentary that Will liked.

“You know this isn't going to last forever right? If I found you Jack is eventually gonna show up at the door too-”

Hannibal nodded, absent-mindedly pulling Will in closer to his side. “I am well aware of Jack Crawford's efforts to find me but I have ways to delay the inevitable for now.”

Will was about to say something else but Hannibal cut him off with a kiss, even going as far to bite down on Wills lip until it bled- The might have started to be a little more than civil but that didn't mean Hannibal didn't have issues anymore.

A gasp and a soft moan slipped past his lips as Hannibal kissed and bit him. Yet he returned the kiss with a similar fever leading to him tugging on Hannibals shirt, only to then he pulled away from.

A coy looking Hannibal smiled as he looked at Wills flushed face. “Don't get carried away now William, we still have a documentary to finish watching.”

[topsyturvy-turtely]

20 questions for fic writers

thank you for tagging me @gregorovitchworld! 💚

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

13 🙃

2. what's your current ao3 word count?

73.611 (not that bad i guess but i wish it was more)

3. what fandoms do you write for?

only bbc sherlock for now but i am thinking of writing for good omens too :)

4. top five fics by kudos?

-> Rosie's Elephant in the Room

-> Human Urges

-> JOHNLOCKed in a Closet

-> Let Me Fix You

-> Halloween

5. do you respond to comments? why or why not?

yes! i respond to every single one (unless it is only an emoji... but even then i do it most of the time)

why? because i fucking LOVE connecting with my readers! and i wanna make them keep commenting on fics. because comments are so fucking important!!! they are what keep us writers going!

6. what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

aaah probably Missing (but that will be happy again!)

so in the end it is THE LONELIEST

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

JOHNLOCKed in a Closet, i'd say

8. do you receive hate?

thank goodness i don't!

9. do you write smut?

nope. i write some subtle sex scenes, but never long ones or intensely described. i just don't feel comfortable with it.

10. do you write crossovers?

nope. seems too complicated to me 😂 i don't really read them either so ig i don't have the urge to write them. ooh, wait i wrote a short freebatch/star wars/johnlock kind of crossover once. prompt: "geeking out over something" (day 14 of my otp challenge! that i might have ignored for about a year now... whoopsie)

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

3 times that i know of. novelhd dot com is a bitch. they stole JOHNLOCKed in a Closet (JLiaC), Strawberries and Cigarettes (S&C), and my oneshots on wattpad. it is fucking heartbreaking and really made me lose some trust in humanity as well as my motivation to write for a long time... DO NOT STEAL FICS!

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

no, because i don't feel comfortable with it. probably because of the shit that happened to me described above.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

nope, but i would be up for the challenge:)

14. what is your all-time favorite ship?

the answer is obviously johnlock lol.

15. a wip you doubt you will ever finish?

all my wips. no idk. i've got lot of wips and i will never completely give up on them. maybe just forget them, haha.

16. writing strengths?

writing about feelings, dialogue, inner monologues, two-person interactions

17. writing weaknesses?

well, smut lol. writing long intense plots (i am a fluff writer xD) - but i hope to get better at it. i have big hopes for Missing.

18. will you write a dialogue in another language?

never say never! but only after i have checked up with someone who speaks/knows said language well!

19. what was your first fandom?

*sigh* bbc sherlock, my babes. ;)

20. what's your favorite fic you have ever written?

first thought of day 9: hugging of my otp challenge. it's an alternative ending to TLD. it's a bunch of big emotions, big words and and big moments. - ghost mary actually is one of the big reasons they finally get together!!!

tagging (if you have already been tagged, feel free to ignore this and/or tag me in the post you already answered those questions): @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @gaylilsherlock and man who else??? anyone! anyone who wants to join the fun!

[i-still-mask-because]

hi! i'd just like to first say thank you for this blog! it's been a very valuable resource and i appreciate what you do and the information you make available!! this ask is sort of a vent/just my thoughts and general feelings i feel like i need to share somewhere. i don't have any resources to get a better mask at this moment, and the masks i do wear give me sensory issues and are generally not ideal. i can't really do anything else about this except wait until i get financial independence, which is relatively far off. it's been...becoming a bit more difficult to look forward to the future. i don't acknowledge this often because it feels like so many people already have but i have some difficulty accepting that things will never truly be the same again (until capitalism and colonialism are abolished and the world can focus on fixing pressing issues and actually improving people's lives but that's a different conversation!) and that not only does it feel that i'm missing out on a majority of my teen years but also that i may not even get to enjoy my twenties, thirties, and so on because of circumstances generally not in my control. i know that joy remains present in my life and things will improve if i just hang on a little longer but it's still difficult when i spend day after day watching my masks irritate my skin while i'm not even safe from covid because so few people mask. i firmly believe some protection is better than none but i suppose that can tie into why i am glad other people mask, as uncommon as it has become. i still mask because i want to do what i can to care about the safety of others and to combat toxic individualism.

Hey! Thank you so much for sharing this 💛 I appreciate the vulnerability. And thank you for your patience; I wanted to be sure I was in a clearer headspace before answering this. I hope you can see this, and I hope you're doing alright!

If you want, let me know in another ask what masks you've already tried. I'm happy to compile some recommendations for more comfortable ones.

I genuinely recommend finding online spaces with other covid cautious people you can connect with, find support & validation, and find access to tools & resources (be it through Facebook groups, Discord servers, IG communities, Tumblr communities, etc.)

Take a look at these links [Link 1: Worldwide Mask Bloc Directory] and [Link 2: Covid Action Map] to see if there's any mask blocs and/or covid action groups wherever you live that can provide free masks for you (I know some give away free rapid tests & other tools too). They may even be able to give better suggestions for the first two things I mentioned! See if you could find their social media accounts too to keep up with their updates.

I absolutely feel for the younger generations right now. Knowing how hard going to school was as a minor in and of itself, I cannot imagine how difficult it is to go through Pre/K-12 being one of the only, if not the only, one masking to protect themself from a virus that the majority of the population doesn't even think is a big deal anymore. I'm so sorry the systems in place have let you down. I 100% understand how bleak the future feels right now; trust me, I'm right there with you. Navigating life in a covid-denying world is extremely difficult, to say the absolute least. I personally did not expect the first half of my 20s to go like this 😅. I try to remember that there are communities out there that aim to support us, validate us, and get us the resources we need. Being in community with other covid cautious folks online has been tremendously helpful because it makes going through this feel a lot less lonely.

Things will take a turn at some point; it's inevitable. Just keep protecting yourself and taking precautions. You're doing the right thing 💛😷

If anyone has additional supportive things they want to say and even suggestions of their own, please feel free to share!

[crispy0nion]

takes a deep breath. ik it hasn't even been a day but we need to talk about the umbrella academy season 4. obviously spoilers ahead. and a long, long fucking post full of complaints.

this season got me shinji chairing so hard. what the fuck. six episodes that last barely an hour each and all for THAT ending? don't get me wrong, the ending itself is... not the worst possible outcome, ig, but like. plot holes so big i can fit five's ego in there and still have spare space.

yeah, let's start from there. what the fuck was that? a half-assed five/lila romance was the last thing we needed. call me a hater, tell me i don't know how to appreciate complex stories, idc. that sucked ass. not only is it creepy in so many ways, but it also brought absolutely NOTHING to the story. "oh but if that didn't happen then five wouldn't have accidentally wandered into the station's coffee shop and met himself" I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!!!! IT COULD'VE HAPPENED IN SO MANY DIFFERENT WAYS!!!!!! AND FIVE KNOWS BETTER THAN TO THROW HANDS WITH HIS BROTHER OVER A GIRL WHILE THE REST OF THEIR SIBLINGS ARE FIGHTING THE DAMN BLOB OF DEATH!!!

moving on ig. i don't like how allison's past actions seemed to be simply forgotten. i know they acknowledge it a couple times and that it's been six years, but lord almighty she assaulted luther, got him killed, and betrayed her entire family for a father that never cared about any of them. i don't think i could forgive that so easily (i'm looking at you klaus).

about the plot holes. first off, i would've appreciated even just a slight explanation of what the fuck reginald and abigail are? are they aliens? are they robots? are they alien robots? also, side note, what the fuck did reginald even do to grace atp? did he create a robot in the image of a human lady or did he turn the human lady into a robot???? and back to abigail for a moment: ?????????? and also the obsidian hotel????? AMERICA EXPLAIN. EXPLAIN

more plot holes: the solution to the cleanse problem. five said that the only way to fix the timelines is to let the cleanse happen, aka absorb them, so that the marigold inside them is destroyed since that's what split the timelines, no? and they made a big deal out of lila leaving because they needed all of the marigold holders to partake in this. except that YOU EIGHT IDIOTS ARE NOT ALL THE OCTOBER 1ST KIDS IN THE WORLD. THERE'S MORE, THAT WAS LIKE 43 WOMEN WHO GAVE BIRTH YOU DUMB FUCKING CUNTS. WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER 35 KIDS. uhm. sorry about that. moving on.

did not like how jennifer's character was treated at all. no time to develop, no time to get us to know her. straight to the blob of death without even explaining what was going on. how did the durango end up in her body? who even created that anyways? how did she end up in a damn fucking giant squid? why was she talking about the cleanse? what the fuck? listen im sure the comics explain this and ik this show is supposed to be a bit... confusing and nonsensical, but this is info you can't just leave out. feels like lazy writing.

and how the fuck did the cleanse cult even know that this nonesense that a kid coming out of a squid was blabbering about was connected to them having dreams of other timelines? how the fuck did jean and gene know? what?

yk what, im also gonna throw in some more personal points of view in here. i did not understand a single thing about the timeline/universe/whatever they ended up in at the end of s3. is it a new universe? if so, why is everything the same and WHY is the timeline still fucked? and where's the academy in this timeline? does it not exist? why? why and how is abigail still alive? was she even dead in s1, on the moon? or was that a cryo capsule? if so, why keep her there?

and there's more folks! why did the timeline train not stop at lila and five's stop? that was random and never explained, and feels like lazy writing, again. or like an excuse to get a specific two people to mingle just to create an unnecessary and unwanted love triangle? perchance?

lastly, how can claire and lila and diego's children still exist if their parents were erased from existence? and since they still exist but their parents never did, how does it work? do lila's parents just look after these random kids? without reason? wouldn't not having existing parents at all create legal problems?

overall, i have a lot of issues with this season. it feels extremely rushed, and honestly quite boring in comparison to the other three. and the lack of explanations makes it so hard to enjoy because i'm busy being confused. im not so mad about the ending, i kinda saw it coming (my choice was between they all die or they get stuck in a loop), and I don't think it's necessarily a bad ending for a story like this one. i am a bit sad, yes, and i will miss these characters and regret the fact that they didn't get the lives they deserved, but i think it's an ok ending. not the best, but ok. but the rest of the season? ass. yet another show absolutely ruined by netflix's inability to see past money and actually produce a good ending instead of rushing things. peace ✌️

[eshtaresht]

guys how are we feeling? in pain, devastated, or screaming crying throwing up, what's the consensus here? spoilers for ep 11 under the cut (and minor spoiler for manga)

first things first, my theory from the last week is proven wrong. still don't know what the red plants were for (safekeeping? protecting from the last run?), but nai ain't gonna exploit them to "fix" vash. instead he EXPLOITS HIM AND SUBJECTS TO MENTAL TURTURE AND WIPES HIS MEMORIES CLEAN TO ACCES A HIGHER DIMENSION and create more independent babies ig

(yep the plant mpreg moment is sure a thing... for the next week, get ready for mass abortion)

finally, a gate that's an actual GATE. I think the plants lore was pretty self explanatory, but I'm so happy we're getting it and it's much more comprehensive that the manga, even(and 98' anime basically didn't explain anything and I had to spoil myself through fandom wiki to understand who vash and knives were). like, it's changed A LOT but it's in the same lane

this knives is so capable, holy shit!! everyone was already joking that he would put kniveses of the past to shame, and it's so true... he knows what he wants and how he wants it done and when he just goes ahead and does it. what a giga chad, honestly

I'm a bit disappointed they didn't keep the manga version of knives pre-tessla (that was softer than vash and wanted humans to like him), but it's definetely better than the old anime. like, he's colder due to him being the stronger twin, but he's still playful and doesn't hate ppl. he kinda distrusts rem, but they fucked around out of curiosity rather than malice. also, and I can't be the only one who noticed, his file name said "kni"? mmm ok interesting I'll have to think about it

that probably was the sequence code knives was talking about in ep 8, he used it again for the great fall. I wonder what it said, had to be something important to rem that vash could guess. geranium? their birthday?

the tessla sequence was quite short, but DAMN. status: alive. after all they've done to her. they put her on ice in this condition so they can keep studying her later. and the twins made her come alive. I'm gonna be sick it's so much worse..... no comas or suicide attempts this time, but these kids were still traumatized as hell (vash looks worse, like he haven't slept or probably eaten in a couple of days)

it was a serious moment but when nai revealed he was reading THE BIBLE I can't ahajakahajajahah... like, NO WONDER HE STARTED A RELIGION omg... pls put that book down you've got the message wrong

and or birthday boy vash... oh babygirl I'm so sorry. when I said I wanted to see him going through this I didn't mean a literal mental torture gaslight dimension!!! like, it's SO crucial to his character to REMEMBER all the good and terrible things he went through.... to have it taken away while he can't do anything, even when he clings to the memories as hard as he can, knives still takes EVERYTHING away from him, until he's the only thing tying vash to this world.

again, any other knives could never! and even before tearing apart all those memories, he gaslights vash even further, saying that he did the fall for him (which is true) and so it's basically his fault (which is very much not true)... and this BREAKS him quite literally... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

on a brighter note, loved that goofy meryl & nico interaction, remember, when we could still laugh? now it seems like meryl is gonna manage to reach vash in his infinite soup of despair, and that breaks his gate?? I'm so thrilled for the finale it's not at all like I imagined already said this in my previous post, but the flowers are a consistent theme for stampede instead of angels and, like... it's just makes sense for a plant to be a plant, yk. also it's pretty. july is already being destroyed by the roots, I wonder if that's gonna be it or there'll be a big kaboom (in this case it would be hard for meryl to survive, but potentially vash could make a root cacoon to protect her)

also this ep gets bonus points for showing what's going on in the city with the police guys and civilians, 'cause usually stampede isn't great at background and side characters

now making theories about the (potential) second season. amnesia aspect is getting established rlly hard rn! the only question is whether vash gets to remember key moments (like rem, meryl, wolfwood) or if he only retains the vibes of "someone important who said I shoud protect ppl". because it's gonna be interesting if he forgets everyone completely and when nico and meryl (and milly, fingers crossed) eventially find him, he''s like "hi, have we met?"

oh, the POTENTIAL! I think he's gonna get his 98' characterization as super goofy, borderline annoying, because he just doesn't remember all the pain! at least, he doesn't remember the details and fills the blanks with astonishing amounts of cope. and when he's finally able to remember, oh boy, he's gonna crumble.......

[kickassfu]

spoilers for one piece (as in if you've only watched the live action and don't know anything else don't read this ig)

so i've been re-reading the manga, and as i kept getting closer to the impel down arc i kept thinking about Ace and about what happens to him (and whitebeard as well). And now that i finally got to where...Ace dies, I feel like I just have to put my thoughts into words.

It's all about subversion of expectactions isn't it? Because until that moment, nobody really dies in one piece. No matter how beaten and battered no one dies. Not even the villains, they all live to see another day. To maybe become a new friend, an anti hero or wtv really. Even when you think someone's dead they either show up alive, or there are hints they are alive.

Well, saying people don't die isn't exactly right. They do die. But in flashbacks. We see Gol D. Roger get executed. Nami's mom. Brook's whole crew. But not in the present time. Until Ace is killed.

And I didn't remember how it happened exactly, I remembered he was going to be executed. But he isn't! Again we never really thought he'd die, he's Luffy's brother, this is one piece, no one is going to die! Don't be silly, that would never happen. Luffy rescues him, because that's what he does, he defies all expectactions, he does the impossible. He saves Ace.

Ace still dies.

He dies saving Luffy.

I feel like back when this first happened no one could believe it, because once again, it was unprecedented in one piece, for a big character to just...die.

But Ace dies.

You think, maybe he's still alive, he can be fixed. He can be cured. Because no matter how badly someone gets broken they can always be fixed in one piece.

No.

Ace dies.

One piece switches things upside down right there, death is possible in one piece now.

And I know it's all about subversion of expectactions, and it's a way to push the story forward, but fuck dude I still feel like it's a betrayal to the genre. What do you mean he dies? That's not supposed to be possible, and especially not to big characters, who are important to the main character!

Right?

But I guess that's why it hits as hard as it hits, because the impossible happens. Luffy cannot save the day with just his good luck, optimism and strength . Luffy cannot beat the odds.

Whitebeard dies.

Such a huge character to the mythos of one piece also dies alongside Ace.

So a new age can begin.

I have no idea what i'm saying, I just read Ace dying again and cried like a bitch, but also I kept thinking about all of this as I got closer and closer to reading this arc. So here it is all (i hope) laid out in a jumble of words.

PS: I don't really remember much going forward from here, and then there are arcs i haven't even read yet, but I'm pretty sure that we go back to the dying is impossible. Friendship is enough to save your friends genre. Because I don't remember anyone else dying after this, especially not important characters. If I am wrong please don't correct me, if I learn other characters I love have also died i will cry even more.