#exact drabble

[slightnettles]

For the @silmarillionwritersguild Jubilee > Potluck Bingo > Elleth's Femslash & Lyrics board > column B, five exact drabbles. CW: possible incest (not explicit) + shamefully literal interpretation of prompts.

I've left signs but you take no notice

Míriel will not return, will not stand in the flesh before Indis again. Not to shame her, as her son is wont to do, for having taken her place in Finwë’s house; nor to speak her love.

Only the thousand treacheries of thread and fabric remain: a tear in Indis’s favourite gown, and the pricking of her needle against her thumb, the blooming of blood on linen, and a red blotch in the shape of Míriel’s profile; the sudden snagging of a ribbon around Indis’s wrist, tightening to a bond; the soft, caressing tangling of her sheets about her thighs.

Say that the wind won't change on us

Nienor climbs first, bare feet braced against the trunk, swift and bold, and Nellas climbs after her, eyes flitting ever upwards. Soon Nienor sits astride a bough, head drawn back in delight, braided hair gold against the grey sky. Wind blows, and leaves rustle loudly. Nienor draws Nellas to sit close beside her.

‘You must not forget this,’ says Nellas, leaning into her warmth.

‘O Elves whose memory is ever living!’ says Nienor, laughing. Pressing a kiss to Nellas’s mouth, she says: ‘But I shan’t.’

Perhaps not - and yet her brother did, thinks Nellas; and leaves scatter in the wind.

If I was Atlantis and you were the sea

She loathes it, loves it; then, at sixteen, she sees it for the first time.

It is wide, grey, bleak; some day all Númenor shall be hers, but not this. It comes lapping at her feet, a cold-tongued hound; she yells in affront, rips up a sheaf - sceptre, whip - of marram grass, lashes the sea. ‘Thief!’ Of a father’s presence, a mother’s happiness.

A wave comes, foam-tipped, and enfolds her. It is so cold she cannot breathe, then so warm between her legs she grows weak-kneed. In the water there is a woman’s face, grey-green, hair-wreathed; it laughs at her.

When we die we will die with our arms unbound

Another might have listened to the worm’s lies, gone hunting after phantoms.

But she is Húrin’s daughter, axe-wielding, a captain of Nargothrond. She runs back to where captives are being led away. Finduilas is among them, in chains; so she leaps, runs the harder.

They meet in the midst of battle. When they kiss, open-mouthed and harsh, their teeth clash and Nienor tastes blood - Finduilas’s, her own. It makes no difference; the Orcs are too many. Finduilas, now freed, hefts an Orkish spear; Nienor lifts her axe. They shall not live long now - but side by side, at the last.

Now three of us here lie

Summer, then autumn, falling to coldness all of a sudden, to frost upon the leaves and on the grass of a morning. To Aerin it feels too early still to light fires, a waste of wood. Instead the three of them share a bed, under heaps of blankets. They speak little; Morwen is ever more silent, and already Rían’s eyes stray ever northwards.

Still they draw together. Their hands entwine; sometimes their limbs. Morwen’s fingers are firm on Aerin’s wrist as she guides her down; Rían’s breath hot and damp against her neck. Stolen warmth, as an east wind blows.

[queer-dancing-fandom-nerd]

@wigglebox thanks for setting up a Suptober this year!

‘He refused to love them.’

Lucifer, the shining star, had fallen. So from that moment on, Castiel knew to love humanity above all else. Millenia passed and his commands narrowed to a single human, to ‘save the Righteous Man.’ And when he did, something changed. To hold a soul in his grace, bright and unwavering, it reshaped them both. Castiel could, for the first time, see. He saw Dean Winchester’s love, Dean Winchester’s humanity. And he took it as his own, holding it above the heavens.

Lucifer fell for refusing to love humanity.

Castiel fell for loving it too much.

[lunarvera]

dean going sooo dumb and floaty while u scratch his scalp and tenderly caress his face and rub his back! literally humming and nuzzling into you and it makes your heart ache so bad because your poor baby :(((( he js wants to be soft and helddd sooo deeply and he's sooo excited n content to have u dote and love on him, letting you see him in a light he had tried to smother for a long, long time. and you really see dean, so naturally you have to plant like at least a million kisses over his pretty face and smooth over his features gently with your thumbs and squeeze him tight tight tight. and now hes lovingly gazing up at you from underneath his long lashes with green doe eyes, pupils blown big n wide, and it feels like flowers are blooming in your chest. his cheeks are a deep shade of rosy red from blushing at your sugary affection, coating him in a syrupy sweet state of mind, lovesick dopey grin on his face. leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on your soft skin and trapping you under the warm heaviness of his full body weight, his puppy tail would be wagging cus his brain's just so happy and empty, the only thought on his mind is about how he's all yours, yours yours yours!

[rafeandonlyrafe]

unexpected consequences

words: 700

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, p in v sex, condoms breaking, pregnancy/breeding talk, unprotected p in v sex, established relationship, mention of marriage

“oh fuck, yeah.” you moan out, fingers gripping rafes shoulders. “right-right there.”

your moans are extra loud today, having been apart from rafe for nearly a week after he had business out of the country. rafe is just as pent up as you, thrusting harshly into your cunt to the chorus of his grunts.

“close.” rafe warns, but you could tell anyways by the swelling of his cock that he wouldn’t last long.

“oh my god, yes.” you moan out, back arching off the bed as your release pushes through your body, cumming with a final shout of your boyfriends name.

rafe drops his head into your neck as he cums inside of you, pushing as deeply as he can as your cunt pulses around him. you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press soft kisses to his head while rafe pants through his orgasm, until you shift slightly and feel it inside of you.

“rafe, pull out.” you shove at his shoulder, causing him to look up in concern, but he slips his softening cock out.

“what is it baby?” rafe asks. you look down at the condom he always wears, where theres always a bit of white cum gathered at the tip, but this time it looks practically empty, like he just rolled it on.

“rafe.” you hit his shoulder, causing him to flinch and look down.

“wha-” rafe suddenly realizes the issue, rolling himself off the bed as he walks into the bathroom, no doubt to inspect the condom and tell you what you already know is true.

“it broke.” rafe says when he comes out a moment later.

“i know.” you admit, shifting your hips from side to side again. “i can tell.”

“im so sorry baby.” rafe says with a sigh, laying on the bed next to you but not pulling you into his arms, not sure if you want to be touched.

“its okay.” you hum softly, mind still reeling. “you didn’t know.”

“what are we gonna do?” rafe asks, knowing you’re not on birth control due to affecting other medication you’re on.

“well, i can take a plan b in the morning…” you say quietly. 

“or.” rafe encourages you to continue, able to tell that you aren’t finished.

“or we could wait and see. i mean i probably won’t get pregnant just from one time, right?” you shrug.

“what about if it does take? and you’re pregnant?” rafe asks, looking at your tummy.

as if you’re thinking the same thing, you lay your hand over your stomach, knowing that even if you are pregnant there is nothing in there yet, but the thought alone has you rubbing gently over your skin. “i don’t know.” you admit.

“i want to keep it.” rafe blurts out. “if-if you are pregnant.” rafe can’t take not touching you any longer, pulling you close to him and tangling your limbs together.

“are you sure?” you raise your eyebrows. you think rafe would be an amazing father, knowing how protective he is of you, and how he strives every day to take even better care of you. “we are so young.”

“i love you. i want to be with you, i want a family with you. why not start now?” rafe questions. he won’t admit it to you yet, but he’s been thinking about taking the next step, having even gone ring shopping to see his options. “besides-” rafe smiles, “why are you trying to talk me out of it? you’ve always wanted kids.”

you grin back at him. “i know.” you let a giggle free, feeling giddy about the possibility. you’ve always wanted to become a mom, especially because you have so many younger siblings. “so, are we doing this?”

“yes.” rafe says definitively, pulling you in for a kiss, a comforting one that you truly need.

“oh my god, im so excited.” you break the kiss to mumble against his lips.

rafe nods in agreement, lowering a hand between your bodies to touch your stomach. “probably too early to start talking to your tummy, huh?” 

“definitely. i mean, we don’t even know if i’m pregnant, it may take a couple tries…” you trail off, hoping rafe gets your intention.

“well, i will just have to keep cumming inside you.” rafe shrugs. “in fact, we shouldn’t take any chances and i should fill you up again right now.”

rafes hand lowers from your stomach to your thigh as he grabs your flesh and pulls your leg over his hip, spreading your thighs for him as your cunt rubs up against his quickly hardening cock.

“rafe!” you shout with a laugh, but don’t stop him as he begins to grind his cock into your core.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart

[essektheylyss]

Fearne had, in true Fearne fashion, wrapped herself like a personal pashmina around Dorian, which left Orym to curl into his chest.

They had slept this way dozens of times before. Fearne’s blackened fingers wrapped tightly around his forearm as she snored loudly into Dorian’s ear. Orym’s head rested on Dorian’s bicep, his arms folded together between them, and his bare feet were gingerly resting upon Dorian’s thighs just above the knees, as Dorian had coiled enough to let Fearne’s fuzzy leg stretch over his hip. They were exhausted, and this was familiar, and he should’ve been fast asleep.

But Orym’s mind buzzed.

Fearne had always been a strong source of heat, but now she was a furnace, and even without covers it was too warm. But Fearne was not the reason why Orym’s skin burned where it met Dorian’s.

He was a fucking grown man. He was fully capable of admitting that.

Admitting it didn’t change it.

Neither did it change his awareness that Dorian had been too still for the past hour, his breath too precise and measured to be natural as it fell upon Orym’s hair. Orym was not going to presume that the cause of this was the same thing afflicting him; there were plenty of other reasons Dorian would be lying awake tonight.

“My family will find your brother,” he murmured finally, and Dorian’s breath wavered for just an instant before he regained his composure and returned to his measured, singer’s breathing. It was so slight that no one else could’ve noticed it, but Orym noticed. “You said there’s a body— the Tempest can bring him back, or Fearne, honestly—“

“I know,” Dorian answered, and this too was so faint that no one but Orym could’ve heard. “I know,” he said again, as though this one was only to appease himself.

“Do you think… do you think any of Opal is still in there?”

“I don’t know. I could barely tell what was in there—“ he cut himself off. “I couldn’t even help my brother. I think Fy’ra Rai might’ve… she must’ve seen something. I hope so,” he added, inhaling, trying to capture an airy tone that he didn’t fully manage. “The Spider Queen doesn’t deserve her. She doesn’t deserve anything.”

Orym had nothing to say to this. He hadn’t cared what the gods did or didn’t deserve in weeks, but now he could see the vein of fury that sharpened Dorian’s edges. It didn’t frighten him the way it had frightened him months ago, when things had been simpler, when there was not a war to be fought. It simply saddened him. “I’m so sorry about Opal,” he said, after the silence had lingered. “But I’m,” he breathed out a single dark laugh at himself, his selfishness, “I’m real glad it wasn’t you.”

Dorian’s laugh matched his own. “I suppose that is a silver lining.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Orym admitted. It was easier to keep his voice from cracking at a whisper. “I’ve thought about seeing you again so many times— I wish the circumstances were better—“

“I’m here,” Dorian said, for the second time today. “The circumstances tried very hard to make even that impossible, but— I’m here.”

Orym pulled his arm gently out of Fearne’s grasp and raised his hand to Dorian’s cheek. It was too dark to see the tinge of lavender against his skin, but Orym could feel the warmth bloom beneath his fingers. He still couldn’t bring himself to attribute his friend’s insomnia to anything so self-serving as his own, but perhaps it was one factor.

He pulled his hand back. Was there a flash of disappointment in Dorian’s eyes? He couldn’t tell in the dark. But he brushed his fingers together, drawing upon the wellspring of life within the ground beneath this hastily-erected encampment. The Hellcatch looked like a barren wasteland to most, but that life was still present even here.

Perhaps not now, but after a rainy season, the valley would bloom with wildflowers. The seeds waited in the earth for their time to sprout. Life went on, even in the darkest of places.

He produced a small stalk of life from his hands, and held out the tiny bundle of forget-me-nots to Dorian.

He should’ve said that they were for Cyrus, to remember him by. He wanted to say that they were for Dorian himself, that a day hadn’t gone by that he hadn’t thought of him. He didn’t speak at all as Dorian’s hand wrapped around Orym’s, pinching the stem beneath his fingers but not letting go.

“Orym,” Dorian breathed, looking from the flowers to his face. Then a strange expression came over his face, a wrinkle of consternation as he stared into the middle distance. “Fearne, are you braiding my hair?”

Orym lifted his head an inch to peer past Dorian’s ear. He had noticed that the snoring had stopped, but he’d been too caught up in the conversation to process it. Fearne’s wide eyes stared back with perfect innocence, her hands indeed weaving Dorian’s hair into a loose braid.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” she whispered quickly. “I’m totally not here.”

When Orym dropped his head back to Dorian’s arm, he was met with a crooked smile. It was not meant to be disarming, but it disarmed him anyway.

“Just like old times, eh?” he said, but his hand was still around Orym’s.

Carefully, Orym moved to tuck the flower behind Dorian’s ear, bringing both of their hands with him, and then laced their fingers together instead. “No,” he said, and tucked his head so that his brow rested against Dorian’s chin, and pressed their entwined hands to his lips. “But I think that’s okay.”

[gaywerewolfwithanxiety]

NSFW

Okay but imagine a sub puppy boy at your service willing to bend over literally anywhere if you order him to.

Even if you are the one getting fucked, they still act like a total whore. Begging to cum inside you and since he begged so well, you let him, ordering him to lick off his own cum from your hole.

You enjoy making him sit on your face, while you grope his ass and play with his hole, making his whole face go red.

He, on the other hand, loves to dress up as a dog, with cute little floppy ears on either side of his head and a butt plug in the shape of a dog tail pounded into his ass.

You loved slapping his ass, stopping only until it's fully red with your handprint. He loved being your little pet and when you bought a collar for him which said that he was your property, he was beyond happy.

[dasiesanddarkness]

save me wesper first date fics where jesper wears something very flattering and borderline scandalous and wylan wears like a sweater vest and khakis and wylan is freaking out because jesper looks hot asf and jesper is freaking out because wylan looks adorable and also hot asf but they're both self conscious about their outfits even though the other is obsessed with it. save me.

[utterlyazriel]

i was talking not long ago to @djarinova about how if i were to write a mando series what would it be about and then i rewatched tangled (2010) and then i braindumped and said it would go a little like....

you’re a quarry. not even a particularly unique quarry — you’re the wife of some lord, maybe he’s empire, maybe he’s not, but one thing is for sure; he’s got credits.

enough to lure in even the mandalorian who usually despises a hunt so pitiful as tracking down some spoiled wife who’s grown bored of her rich husband and decided to escape away with her affair.

he’s done this song and dance a thousand times, each wife dramatic in the way they complain of how their rich lord husband doesn’t love them, but din knows life is about choices & living with them — stars forbid the worst choice these women make are marrying a heartless man for his coin. he has little sympathy.

you are different from the get-go, first being that you’re alone. in the days he tails you, it’s clear you have no one watching your back, no other partner in the picture that you’re running off to elope with.

he’s been given strict instructions to bring you in alive, as usual when retrieving pesky wives, but you fight like you’ve truly got nothing to lose, managing to make your fingernails bleed with how you fight him.

he wins easily. and then you’re silent as you’re lugged back to the ship, not complaining, not moaning and groaning but just quiet, your eyes taking in everything around you as if it’s the last time you’ll see it.

it’s only as you’re settled down in the ship, bound hands between your knees that you speak — “i can get you three times your reward.”

and just as he’s beginning to think you’re different, like clockwork the bargaining begins.

“you’re not in any position to negotiate.”

you shake your head as though he misunderstands, “no, i don’t— you can still complete your bounty. but if you-” you inhale catches, as you choose your words carefully, “if you delay it, pretend i was harder to find than in actuality, i can make sure he pays you handsomely."

and that gets din’s attention, his body language betraying nothing, his helmet tilting to the side just an inch. “what’s in it for you?”

you laugh mirthlessly as you stare at your bound hands, aware of how ironic what you’re about to say is. “a few more weeks of freedom.”

this, din doesn’t buy. you married this man by your own choice— he knows because he did his research. he’s not in the business of tracking down slave brides or anything of the like. your marriage is completely legitimate.

he says as much, not sure why he’s even giving this conversation time of day— he should be taking off right now, setting course for your home planet, back into the arms of your waiting husband.

yet, he says, “you had your freedom. you chose this marriage.”

you deflate at his words and somehow din doesn’t feel like he’s won the conversation at all. he turns, prepared to head for the cockpit when you speak once more, “i didn’t know.” din stops. he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even tilt his head but that’s enough for you to keep talking, “i— he knew my father, they were friends. i knew him as a child and he used to teach me writing when he came to the house.” something heavy sinks into the bottom of din’s stomach at your words, somehow knowing where this is heading. surely, your father wouldn’t have allowed it.

but din’s seen the galaxy’s worst and knows very well that he would’ve. “i didn’t know what i was signing, i didn’t even know i was signing anything,” you say, voice tight. “just two weeks, please, it’s all i ask.”

it had already taken a week to find you. three weeks to track a bounty with no ability to fight would tarnish his reputation no doubt. but… he believed you.

“i can give you a week,” he says and doesn’t wait to hear your thank you, trudging up to the cockpit, wondering what the fuck he was going to do with an extra passenger for a week.

then you have a classic star wars montage — din decides his best course is to keep visiting new planets as if he’s hunting and you’re more than happy about that.

it takes a bit of back and forth before you convince him you do need your hands free to feed yourself — unless he wants to?— and he snaps the cuffs off you with a curt reminder that there’s nowhere you can hide from him. the threat doesn’t land because you’re too struck by the new planet, a landscape you’ve never seen before.

you tag along to the market and despite coming from a wealthy family, it’s as though you’ve never been outside before. you touch everything, fingers feeling every fabric and texture, and din has to step in when a vendor gets too angry at your lingering, pleasantly surprised when you snip back in the local language.

as you wander, din can’t keep his curiosity tamped down, asking how you learnt the language when you clearly haven’t travelled much— and you respond that, despite its glamorous appearance, there’s little to do as a lords wife and you’ve spent your years in the library, practising different dialects.

“su cuy’gar,” (hello) you say, turning back to him with a smile and din literally stumbles in surprise, hearing the mando’a roll off your tongue. he can’t think of a response so he just strolls past you silently, heading back for the ship.

you think you’ve upset him, maybe offended his culture, but as you walk half a step behind him, he holds out an offering of food, clearly only for you, given the helmet situation. he doesn’t put the cuffs back on you when you get back to the crest.

it’s only a week but it feels like a lifetime — for the both of you. you get to drink in every type of planet, frozen ones, scorched ones, ones bursting with plants and ones crawling with lava.

after the third one, maybe you imagine it but you can’t help but feel like din’s adjusting his choices, sticking to the leafy planets with hot springs to swim in and fruits galore to gorge on. his initial condition of only giving you strict rations is broken quickly and you wonder if he’s letting himself be selfish, indulging in things he normally wouldn’t just for your sake.

when you travel, you stick close for the sake of safety and the two of you murmur in manda’o when you need to be discrete and only once do you save his ass, stepping in front of a flung blade that buries into your thigh. he scolds you vehemently as he patches it up and you let him, too shocked that he’s insisting on doing it despite your two free hands.

he saves your ass ten times over, always managing to pull you back from heated discussions and bar brawls, din having an instinct that you’re barely beginning to form on your own and maker, you had no idea people killed each other this much out in the world.

you insist on cleaning a nasty gash on his arm, almost tucked beneath his pauldron and you never, never even ask about seeing his face.

even though you wish it never would, the week still ends.

“home time,” you say, trying to keep the glumness out of your tone. you have no intention of stalling or guilting the mandalorian who kept his side of the deal. your month on the run was only ever going to be a brief reprieve from the reality of your life.

the mandalorian gets quiet in your last day and as he sets the coordinates to your home planet, he doesn’t say a word. he’s suddenly the same mandalorian who hunted you down a week ago again, steely and cold as his armour.

the flight is short and in a manner of hours, you’re walking down the ramp back into the mouth of your home that begs to swallow you whole.

you keep your end of the deal, conjuring up some story of how the reason it took so long was you were hours away from being sold off into some of the human markets and mando is the reason you weren’t.

“he deserves handsome reward”, you whisper, almost embarrassed by the role you play with your husband now that it’s being observed by the ever silent mandalorian, his visor unmoving. “don’t punish him for my foolish decisions, my lord.”

your husband, thankfully, falls into your words easily and agrees to the high payment, triple what had been promised. you ask only to thank the mandalorian who saved you life as you leave, stepping closer and murmuring

“vor entye, mando,” (thank you) your eyes on his dark visor, for once, wishing you could see beneath it. he doesn’t say anything and you think that’ll will be all, the final words of the best week of your life forgotten from hours ago.

then…

“din.”

you halt, unsure of what it is he’s said.

“my name is din.”

you take the last gift from the world, the name of your hunter who showed you mercy, and watch the crest rise and leave the skies — certain you’ll be content with the memories of the week.

it’s not contentness that finds you though; it’s torture, knowing what’s outside, right out of your reach.

you don’t slide back into your old life at all, you’ve outgrown your mould and discomfort prickles at every severance of your autonomy.

your husband increases the guards around you ten-fold, til you don’t have a single moment alone. you reside in the library and leaf through the books on mandalore, finding more comfort in them than you ever had before.

it’s a quiet evening and you’re absentmindedly drawing circles on the page before you, dreading the upcoming banquet with your husband when you hear a fizzle outside, quickly following by a rapid succession of hits.

a thud hits the ground and you scramble to your feet, knowing with a sinking feeling that it’s your guards, not the intruder, who’s taken the fall.

you hit one of the bookcases as you back up and turn, hiding behind it as the door opens— and you recognise the glint of armour in a moment. it’s second nature to step forward, towards him.

his visor catches the motion and he goes rigid. for a moment, you both just stare at each other, barely processing that he’s come back.

he came back, for you.

“do you want to stay here?” he asks, modulator not hiding the strain in his voice. its not from lack of breath though.

“no,” you answer truthfully, taking another step forward.

“do you want to leave?” he says. “with me?”

you’re nodding before he’s finished his sentence. “yes.”

and then you’re following him through the halls, sticking close like you learnt to do, your heart thumping din, din, din, because never in your life has someone done this—come back and made it your choice.

you manage to make it out the boundaries of the property, your heart rising in your chest at the sight of the razor chest over the ridge when something catches around din’s knee and he crumples with a grunt.

you stop in an instant, dropping to your knees and hands fluttering as you try to tug him to his feet, horror twisting in your stomach at the sight of the arrow through the back of his knee, between his shields of armour—

“din— din, you have to get up,” you say, voice wobbling.

you don’t even get a chance to hear his reply, arms circling you and tugging you back, the guards of your husband having caught back up. and then you’re fighting, twisting in the ridiculous gown you’re in, yowling and scratching in that way that din has only heard once before, the day he found you himself.

as din himself is hauled sluggishly to his feet, it’s with the realisation that something coats the arrow still in his flesh, some poison that’s weaving into his blood.

he’s hauled to his feet and dragged back with you, forced to endure the torture of your cries, the endless no’s that leave your lips. it’s only as he drags his helmeted head up, eyes begging to see you, does he realise your cries are not for yourself— you’re still fighting, not tugging away from your captors, you’re tugging towards him.

you’re both brought before your husband, forced to your knees as he glares down at you, fury engraved upon his face.

“the very man i pay to return my wife is the next to steal her from me?”

the lie surges up within you easily. “no! no, it was a plan of my design. i… i tempted him with credits to help me escape.”

and if din wasn’t already captivated by you before, the very notions of your words that shield him, even when he brought you back to this monster— his heart stirs in his chest.

and what’s worse is that it works.

your husband turns his wicked anger and focuses it on you, stalking forward with a promise of vengeance— “escape? you cannot escape from what you have chosen. what you signed, what you promised to me.”

din seethes beneath his helmet, watching how you shudder and bow beneath the words, til you’re only a shadow of the self he saw in that one week. “yes. you’re right. i should have known better.”

din surges forward with a new wave of strength, blatantly ignoring the awful singing of the wound in his leg— the poison is weighing him down but it’s not enough to dull his senses.

he headbutts the guard behind him, holding his shoulders and takes out the three surrounding him in quick succession— but a sharp ping against his shoulder, a blaster shot, sends him to the ground again with a loud groan. you know instantly what poison coats the arrow in his leg, what you’ve watched killed a hundred trespassers over the years.

“stop it!” you plead, stepping forward to try to reach him, your movements futile as your husband’s hand snares in your hair, ripping you backward.

“stop,” he snarls. “trying to get away from me,”

“no!” you cry, twisting and clawing at his arm, gleeful when he shouts and releases his tight hold. you drop square on your ass and scramble back, putting yourself between the barrel of your husbands blaster and your mandalorian.

“i won’t stop. i will never stop trying to get away from you for every minute of every day, for the rest of my life,” you pant. your husbands face grows more gnarled with every word but all you can hear is the faint breath of din behind you, growing weaker with every breath.

“but,” you begin.

“no,” din’s voice comes from behind you, reedy and weaker than you’ve ever heard it.

“if you let me give him the antidote,” you voice trembles. you’re running out of time. “i will stay with you. i will never try to leave, never try to escape—”

“no,” din says again, barely a pained murmur. you continue on, chest heaving as you stare down your husband. “i will be your wife, just like you want, i promise. just let me heal him.”

the blaster wavers before your face and you hold your breath, waiting judgement before finally it’s lowered an inch— your husbands hand sneaking into his pocket to steal a vial of the antidote. he tosses it into the sand before you with a sneer and turns his attention to his remaining guards. “cuff him.”

you’re snatching up the vial before he’s even finishing speaking, turning with a speed that makes your hands blurry. you scramble to din’s weakening form, hands fussing as you realise you need to find some bare skin to puncture.

apologies garble out your mouth as you yank up the flight suit on his arm, putting the vial between your teeth to pop off the end, revealing the needle. you can hear how laboured din’s breathing is even though his modulator and you hurriedly line the needle up, preparing to push— when his arm sways back, away from the needle.

“no,” he says once more, breathless. “not… for your freedom.”

you make a noise that might be a sob, grabbing his arm and pulling it forward, shaking your head.

“i’m not worth dying for.” you counter, voice trembling, and you jab it into his arm before he can argue, a pained groan threaded through his modulator as the antidote spreads rapidly.

your chest heaves, the finality of what you’ve done sinking in, especially as the guards step forward, cuffs out and ready. your husband drawls your name, casual and snide, as though he hasn’t just terrorised you and nearly killed your closest attempt to a saviour.

“goodbye, din,” you whisper softly, you lean back, drawing a deep breath, prepared to relent, to submit— when din’s gloved hand reaches out, catching your arm with an alarmingly strong grip.

you barely get a moment of confusion before he’s murmuring, “get down,” and cocking his wrist, something blue lighting up.

you fold in an instant, trusting him completely, and din’s hand tugs you forward so you’re upon him, his hand shifting up to cup back of your neck. something whistling dangerously close to your ear and you screw your eyes closed, hearing several yells and thuds.

din’s body rolls, tucking you beneath him as the loud shot of a blaster goes off, burying in the dirt beside your head. another follows it and there’s another thud, a crumpled body hitting the ground.

the silence rings out, deafening in the rush of your emotions and the ebbing sounds of the fight. your eyes spring open and you stare up at the dark visor in disbelief, unable to grasp the hope rising in your chest. is he alive? are you alive? is… this real? are you free?

“breathe, mesh’la,” din commands softly.

you realise you’re holding your breath and you deflate as it rushes out of you — then din’s shifting back, groaning as he lowers himself to the ground. you realise there’s blood beneath you and you follow it in a panic to his leg, still leaking blood around the arrow wound.

“your leg—“

din waves you off, already pushing to his knees with a woozy balance. “i’ll deal with it at the ship. c’mon.”

he stands like it’s no big deal to have an arrowhead still stored in his flesh and you rush to your feet, only just then looking around at the bodies littered at your feet. a dozen guards or so and… your husband.

he isn’t moving but something sudden seizes at your throat and you reach out to grab din’s blaster, unloading several shots into your husbands body for good.

din’s gaze is on you when you stop pulling the trigger and for a moment, you wonder what he’ll think, then he nods, a minuscule motion, and holds out his hand for the blaster.

you hand it over and he holsters it, hand hovering for a moment as he assesses the distance between here and the ship. you take the pause and gently reach for his arm, slipping beneath it to take some of his weight, hearing the surprised inhale from under his helmet. together,

the two of your straggle back to the crest, trailing blood but lighter with the knowledge you never have to return — that your mandalorian trusts you enough to patch his leg up and then asks you, gruff and low, where it is you want to go next.

your choice.

[aftxnrxbxtics]

I loveeeed your most recent post about William collaring reader😍😍😍 could you maybe do something similar where reader calls William daddy for the first time??

Hell yeah anon! i did a little drabble for you, hope you like it!! 💗

“i told you i’m busy” william groans as you hug him from the back, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your chin on his shoulder.

He’s not lying, he’s really been busy since the early morning, checking and arranging the piles of paperwork that were thrown all over his desk. Something that henry didn’t even bother on helping him with.

And you, well, you’ve just been watching him as he works on it, getting bored and also hungry as the hours passed. But you can’t go out, you know very well that he doesn’t let you roam around the restaurant on your own, so you try to convince him to take a break.

“Please, i wanna eat some pizza and then play on the arcade��� you plead again with a high-pitched voice.

“We‘ll go once i’m done with this” he answers, not really caring about it, already way too used to your impatience and whims.

“Please daddy“.

When that last word comes out of your mouth, william freezes for a second, it’s the first time you call him something like that. You sound so innocent, and probably you are cause you have no idea just how quickly his bulge grew bigger.

“Alright” he grins, putting down the paper sheets that he has in his hands, not being able to keep telling you no after you just hit his soft spot. “Let’s go”.

Happy to finally get a break, you kiss his hairy jaw and then get off him, completely unaware of the effects that your words caused. You just think about finally eating some hot cheesy pizza and then playing a few rounds of fruity maze, trying to beat each other’s scores.

But william is definitely not thinking the same, his mind is somewhere else, and he can’t wait until you both get home to make you repeat “daddy” over and over again…

[queerofthedagger]

empty spaces

[Arafinweans | Part 1/7 | T+ | 300w | ao3]

The House of Arafinwë before, during, and after its Exile. A history told in an assortment of loosely connected drabbles. Written for @arafinwean-week Day 1: Finarfin | pre-Darkening | family, duty, and kingship

---

‘Tears unnumbered ye shall shed.’

The sea crashes. The wind is cold and merciless this far up north, the silence an almost tangible weight. Finarfin has not been able to look at either of his brothers since they had left Alqualondë behind.

It feels like waking up—this, now. The dooming voice, the shaking ground. The unease breaking through the deafening numbness that they all have clung to.

Finarfin straightens. Raises his voice. “We shall return,” he calls; it is meant for his own host. He has no hope left for anyone else.

For none but his host, his children.

---

Finarfin turns. Meets Finrod’s eyes. Galadriel’s. Aegnor’s. There is pleading in the ocean blue of them, pleading and fire and the unyielding pride that all of Finwë’s children tend to wield.

Finarfin is familiar with cursing their nature—in exasperation, in humour, in anger.

“Atar,” Finrod says, his voice low. His hand is curled tight around the hilt of a sword. “Atar, please.”

The sea crashes. The wind howls. In the distance, Tirion’s lights gleam, and Finarfin can see the future stretch ahead of them, smoke and blood, crushed hope and ruin.

He swallows; tastes ash. Holds Galadriel’s burning gaze.

---

“We return,” he repeats, voice an unshakeable thing.

He knows before any of them move that his children, not even his children, will yield.

Finarfin is familiar with cursing their bloodline’s nature; he has never done so with an anguish so sharp-edged, it almost brings him to his knees.

A moment they hover, the exhaling of a breath.

‘Tears unnumbered ye shall shed;’ he needs no doom, no treasonous brothers, no Middle-earth to believe it true.

Finarfin turns, wordless. The biting north wind freezes the wetness on his cheeks. He returns to Tirion as blinded as he had left it.

[ysaefinn]

lol yeah mommyguru brainrot so real I was too drunk last night and sobbing at every little thing and when I crawled into bed I was thinking about how he would take care of me 💔

Oh my god anon 😭😭 this is such a wine-drunk moment and we can both agree that he is a visceral fucking need for sad intoxicated reader....

HE IS SO GOOD AT TAKING CARE OF A DRUNK YOU HOLLLYYYY MOLLLLLLLYYYYYYYY suguru really just dies for the chance to slide in and wrap u up in blankets, surround you with the plushies he can't stop himself from buying u and suffocating you with his boobs and sweet lingering kisses :3333ccccc you obviously never lack but when you're emotional and not thinking straight it just...hurts his heart...and his womb, brain empty, only baby matters, he really goes on autopilot and immediately picks you up to cradle you :((

[cruel-as-sin]

logan..... i take him to my penthouse and i freak it (and i freak it)......... and ideally i don't mischaracterize him in the process............ anyway logan wining and dining you. he takes you back to his place and plays bartender for you til youre drunk and needy and he fingerbangs you til youve cum seventeen times and youre seeing stars.................. is this anything :}

who told you that i have an intox kink.

who the FUCK told you that.

i didn’t tell you that!! who told you that??? how did you know that????

maybe my post about getting drunk off of logan’s blood was a giveaway…

anyway.

ZSBHDGDHXNZJDUHSBAJXJXHS

yes. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes.

i was picturing dofp logan with the grey steaks 😩 but you could imagine any logan

you're half a drink in when you start feeling that familiar ache between your legs. two drinks in and your eyes linger on his arms, biceps on display with the tank top he's wearing, veins practically taunting you. look at me, look at me, they say, and you're three drinks deep when you really start to listen.

four drinks in and you're now perched on his lap. he lets you rest there, his thigh your new chair as he pours himself another glass of whiskey. five drinks in and your panties are practically stuck to you. your whole body is aching, thrumming with need, and you know he sees it. you can tell by the flare of his nostrils, the glint in his eyes. but for some reason, he doesn't give it to you. he makes you wait.

on your sixth drink, your hips start to move against him. the thigh that serves as your seat now becomes a warm, hard surface for you to get off on, grinding against him with all the energy you can muster. he doesn't guide you, doesn't do anything but lean back and watch as he takes a drag from his cigar and a sip of his whiskey.

when you finish your sixth drink is when he pulls you in to kiss you. it's sudden, rough, claiming. you kiss him hard, deep, like the secrets of the universe lie within his lips. he pulls away, one hand staying on the back of your neck while the other reaches for the near-empty bottle of whiskey.

“you want one more, sweetheart?” it’s phrased as a question, but you know it’s really a command.

you nod eagerly, watching as he lifts the bottle to his lips, then leans forward to kiss it into your mouth. messy, burning, perfect.

only when the last drops of your seventh drink have been licked off your lips does he stand, wrapping his arms around your thighs and hoisting you up along with him.

he carries you to bed, laying you down and leaving kisses along your neck as he begins to pull your clothes off of you. you fumble with his shirt, trying to take it off, to see him, but he easily pushes your hands away. soon you’re bare before him, and the sight of your weeping cunt makes him smirk.

“look at you…” he swipes two fingers through your slick, brushing against your clit and making you whine. he grins at the sound, something predatory as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, groaning at the taste of you.

his eyes trail back down to your pussy, desperately clenching around nothing as he moves his hand closer to you. slowly, teasingly, he slides one finger into your cunt, and you let out a low, strangled moan.

you’re wet enough already that it doesn’t take long before he can fit in a second. then his pace is faster, his fingers curling up in a way that hits your sweet spot just right, and within only a couple more minutes you’re screaming his name.

but he doesn’t stop.

no, no, he’s not done with you yet. far from it, in fact, as you soon learn when he’s drawn another four orgasms out of you and doesn’t seem intent on stopping.

nine orgasms in and you’re crying, nearly sobbing from the overwhelming pleasure, your body almost giving out, but he just keeps going.

“you wanted this.” he says mockingly after your twelfth orgasm passes and you’re begging him to stop. “be grateful and take it.”

and when your pleas turn to moans again, he just smiles, fingers never stopping as he coos at you. “that’s it, there we go. good girl.”

seventeen orgasms in- you think. really, you’ve lost count, your mind having long ago melted out of you. all you can think about is him, all you are is him and the feeling of pleasure between your legs, thighs twitching from the aftershock.

maybe he’ll stop? maybe.

do you want him to stop?

he gives you a moment, just a moment of reprieve, before his fingers are moving again, ignorant to your whines and tears. “you can give me one more, can’t you darlin’?”

deep down, you know it won’t just be one more.

you don’t want him to stop.

i need to be sedated.

[televised-goose]

Drabbles from a valgrace fic that will hopefully be done before the heat death of the universe.

This fic is in development, so constructive criticism is totally accepted.

Prompt by the great @demigod-shenanigans

○●○●○●○●○

Jason thinks he liked to draw as a kid. He has vague memories of a secret sketch book and drawing random pieces of architecture, but just like everything else, it's blurry. He does like it, though. It's like writing, but it doesn't have to make sense. All of his emotions can leave him and be transferred into the paper. Its his own fucked up therapy. No humans needed.

He only started again when he saw Leo draw. He seemed so focused and enthused when making his schematics. It was like he fused with the paper. So he watched Leo draw a lot. Because it was nice to see him calm and the drawings were amazing. That's it. 

He ended up trying it out, and his brain seemed to remember his style even without that memory of the practice. It was like his hands were moving without him thinking of what each movement really meant. His first drawing was Leo, of course. It was only because he was right there and his best friend. 

After figuring out he could apparently draw pretty well he tried everything under the sun, even stealing one of Annabeth’s sketch books and hiding it under his bunk just like he thinks he did as a kid. The book was filled with whatever he could think of, the bow of the ship, his crewmates, fantastical landscapes and architecture, monsters, his nightmares, and even just skribbles making up how he felt. 

But most of the book was filled with Leo. He was so interesting to look at. His rugged charm and his messy appearance made him so unique to draw. He had such intense emotions, making him the caricature of every single one. Some people might think that means he has a crush, but he doesn't. His friend is simply something he enjoys looking at that's not that weird. It's not like he remembers everything he does.

(He hasn't memorized Leo's determined quirk of his brow as he sketches a curve like a compass, not the little sigh he would release when a blueprint was done, not the cross-hatching perfectly aligned and segmented showing his prowess, not his smirk whe-)

He thinks before he focused more on things instead of people, but everything about Leo needs to be documented to him. It's all so perfect that he can't forget it. 

He doesn't draw in front of anyone because it feels too personal to share. These are his true raw emotions and those stay right next to him and his heart. If people saw him draw they might see him weak and he needs to be a leader for them. This is an escape from the pressure and the pain and the fear. He knows it's dumb, and he knows no one will make fun of him, but it still scares him.

○●○●○●○●○

Was it shit? Tell me! I'm still thinking about plot, I'm think it could be a 5+1 of Jace opening up to people and finding out that drawing isn't that fucking stupid. It's really cool, I may be biased to be fair.

[good-beanswrites]

legally blonde mahiru... cause like. finding validation thruogh achievement and not from love ehe

also following her ex to a college is smth she'd do 100%

SO TRUE!! When I sat down to watch the musical with my sister last summer I got wicked emotional about Mappi during What You Want, so I wrote some snapshot scenes incorporating those lyrics here :3 (And I added some indulgent au headcanons for the overall story at the end hehe)

“Law school?” Mahiru’s coworker raised her eyebrows. She finished wrapping a bouquet and added it to the finished ones. Though she spoke politely, Mahiru wasn’t stupid. Doubt lurked just beneath the surface of the carefully-asked questions. “That’s a pretty big change, huh? And for some boy?”

“Not ‘for some boy’ – Love! I’m doing this for love.” There was a big difference. She didn’t know why so many people didn’t understand. The actual feeling was something much bigger than either of the individuals involved. “And love will see me through.”

They worked at a florist’s, after all; their whole livelihood relied on love. They’d seen its power firsthand, through the successful dates and reunions that blossom into marriages, funeral arrangements for spouses devoted past lifetimes, apology gifts after turning one’s life around, and promise arrangements with the desire to do so. The shop had taken countless requests from clients hoping to shape their bouquet into something perfectly suited to their lover. Why couldn’t she do that very same work of molding to perfection?

Yes, there was no more righteous reason to do anything. She smiled to herself. “Yes, with love on my side, Mahiru can't lose~ They can't refuse a love so pure and true.” 

“Well, they can…” The other woman returned her smile with a nervous one. It was alright that she was a bit pessimistic. Most people were, but it only made the truly devoted couples stand out even brighter against the crowd. 

Mahiru picked up her own finished bouquet, taking a deep inhale of the fragrance. She giggled. “Oh come on, don't lawyers feel love too?”

—

“Miss Shiina. This is a very flashy presentation, but I still don't see one reason to admit you.”

She thought there were plenty of good reasons on the resume in the man’s hands, each one framed on the shimmery, sunflower-bordered stationary. Her personal essay and video essay had just as much flair, but if he was still reluctant to accept those, she did have one last ace up her sleeve. Honesty was the best policy – that’s what all the relationship columns and wellness blogs she followed always said. She took a deep breath.

“How about love?”

“Ah.” His eyes flicked down at her personal essay, placing the resume down beside it. He must have been recalling her beautifully eloquent recounting of her relationship. She could still feel the thrill of writing it all down, of laying out the events and gestures, the fights and reunions, the hopes and dreams. It was all there, a perfect record of the meaning of life, and the meaning of her future. “The thing is –”

“You ever been in love?”

He paused, caught off-guard by the question. Mahiru recognized the look on his face. He had indeed. 

She went on, “because if you have, you'll know that love never accepts a defeat.” She thought of the many times she and her boyfriend had fought, or cancelled on each other, or even tried to break up. She’d always been able to reach back out, take hold of him, and save both of them from losing each other. “There’s no challenge it can't meet, no place it cannot go.”

“I admit, that’s a very nice sentiment, but we’re all adults here. I can tell you –”

Mahiru reached across the table to take his hands. “Don't say no to a woman in love!”

“Miss Shiina.” He yanked his hands back, entirely unamused by her sudden bout of excitement. 

Had she overdone it again? Why did people think she was so crazy for this? It was only natural – only admirable – to put your whole self into a relationship you’re passionate about. She bowed her head. Her voice returned to its most earnest, sounding hushed and hopeful.

“Don't laugh when I say love. Don't think that I'm naive.” She’d heard that enough in her lifetime. She hadn’t let it stop her before, and she sure as hell wouldn’t let it stop her now. “Even a person who's smart can listen to their heart. They can listen and believe.”

“I… I see.” And he did. His eyes moved over her submissions again – full of passion and character and joy. Didn’t the world need a little more of that? Didn’t it need a lot more of that?

Even before she spoke, she could see that something had changed. She’d won him over. “So believe in what love can achieve~”

—

Au thoughts! I wasn’t able to feature everyone but I got a few of the cast here :3

Mahiru is bubbly and girly and enjoys her hobbies of literature/cosmetology/flowers – the major difference between her and Elle is that even while her positivity can immediately charm people, she doesn’t have as many close friends/family to support her. She really clings to her boyfriend, always obsessing over and returning to the relationship no matter what.

They have a rocky relationship that he finally decides to end for good. He says he needs to meet someone serious, and find some fulfillment in his life instead of going in depressive circles with her – he’ll accomplish all this by attending the famous Milgram School of Law (lol)

She, of course, takes this as an invitation to join him. She throws everything else away, pouring herself into this new personality and lifestyle for love. As someone already committed to her studies and good with language (as a literature major) she succeeds in getting in. “What, like it’s hard~?”

Once there, she’s horrified to find her boyfriend associating with another law student – one Kotoko Yuzuriha who’s the very image of “someone serious” he was looking for. (I don’t know if either of them would want to get romantically involved, but they definitely get close enough to cause a lot of jealousy.) Kotoko looks down on Mahiru’s lighthearted attitude in the face of the weighty cases they dealt with in class, and constantly one-ups her with her strength and toughness.

She also meets law-prodigy Es, and the two become close friends and study buddies. Es takes the time to listen to Mahiru’s story and loving and losing her boyfriend, feeling responsible but not quite sure how. As they understand her situation more, they manage to get Mahiru to believe she doesn’t need to do all this for some guy – she can live for herself. She gets the legal internship, and starts working with the others.

Meanwhile, Mahiru is meeting with her hairdresser, Kazui. He had a rough breakup in the past (his own fault, but still), and fears he’ll never be able to find that same sort of romance again, even as he’s crushing on the cute delivery guy (Mikoto. Shidou?) Mahiru helps him return to Hinako’s house to make amends and get some closure, then imparts her bending and snapping wisdom upon him to get his man 👏

Which brings her to the big case. Their team is defending Yuno Kashiki on an impossible murder trial. She begs Mahiru not to tell her alibi – that she was with a client on her private job. She felt real warmth with him, and doesn’t want to implicate him in both her work and the trial. Mahiru agrees in the name of protecting their love, much to the rest of the lawyers’ dismay.

(If anyone would fit the Callahan role it would be Jackalope lol, but I feel like we don’t even need that plotline since her themes are a bit different than the dumb-blonde ones.)

Callahan plot or not, Mahiru gets discouraged about the whole thing as everyone loses faith in her for not revealing Yuno’s secret. Other students at the school are caught whispering about her, calling her crazy, clingy, too emotional, selfish, and some even saying she’s a stalker for still keeping tabs on her boyfriend. She’s ready to leave the whole university and career behind when Kotoko stops her. She tells Mahiru that she was wrong about her, and encourages her to stick to her guns. And so, (after a Muu-focused rendition of Lesbian or European,) Mahiru is able to use her “girly” interests to catch the real criminal.

She graduates at the top of her class, finding fulfillment through this job of helping others and confidence in herself and her own interests. She’s content not to get back with her boyfriend (though, maybe over the years of working together, she and Kotoko end up spending some extra time together…) 

[nireey]

Juwon stood at attention, face unreadable, posture flawless, cold demeanor wrapped in fine uniform.

Behind him, a whispering group of cadets.

“That Seoul’s police prince?”

“Ye, chief superintendent general Han Ki-hwan’s kid.” 

“The freak who won’t shake hands.” 

“So rude and arrogant.”

“Heard he keeps disinfectant wipes in his pocket. For germs.” 

Laughter; loud enough to punish.

“Yah! You look like a serial killer. Smile a little."

Another laugh. Juwon kept silent, just bowed - too robotic.

Later, alone in his dorm bathroom, he stared at his reflection - trying - face muscles refusing to cooperate.

Even your face knows you're a fraud.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

kitsune!geto staring at me like this as i rifle through every other suguru wip in my docs