#lain makes me unwell

[calronhunt]

Wac is so special to me. Lain is so special to me. Im dragging this man through the horror and forcing him to realize that he was treated like shit and not good and that he is not The Perfect Abusable Servant Guy And That's What His Purpose On Earth Is and that he has agency and he can make his own choices actually. He's stronger than most people, why should he bend to others and let them push him around. Why should he beg like a dog to not be hurt and punished. Why should he not bite the hand that feeds him if its the same hand that keeps him tied up and kept in a box and in a cage.

#sorry idk where this came from #lain makes me unwell #midway act 2 lain into act 3 #he fucks up a lot #but even those fuck ups are still his choices

[shivunin]

Hello! :3

Alas, nothing strikes me much as "Kissing your lover after discovering they've started breeding spiders", but this screams Arianwen an Zevran anyway:

a kiss to prove you don’t have feelings for them .

Pfffft no, there isn't a kiss or a greeting card for that, unfortunately c: Thank you for the prompt regardless!

(Kissing prompts)

A Crossroads Passed

(Arianwen Tabris/Zevran | 901 Words | CW: Musings about sex)

Zevran had fallen asleep and awakened beside lovers before. 

It came with the territory, so to speak. It had not surprised him that Arianwen would not see it the same way. She had little experience in these matters, after all, and treated every incursion into her space with the gravest consideration. They had lain together many nights over this past month, but last night—last night, she’d tugged on his hand when he would have stood and gathered his clothes. She hadn’t said very much, only “stay,” but something unfamiliar had lurched in his chest, ungainly as a fellow deep in his cups. He had been pondering the sensation ever since. 

He did not think he was ill. That was what he’d considered first, of course, as he’d set his things down again and tucked himself against her. Every other part of him felt well enough, if slightly sore—she’d left the mark of her teeth over his breastbone and it stung slightly when he pressed his chest to her back. This seemed to be further proof that he was not unwell, in a way, if only by contrast. 

If he’d thought about it at all, Zevran might have thought that Arianwen would not like to be touched while she slept, that she might be disturbed by the experience. That was how she acted waking, after all—and made it very clear who was and who was not allowed to come near her. It was surprising, then, that she burrowed back into him and dragged his arm over her waist before she finally, actually fell asleep. 

This, then was the crux of the situation: 

Zevran had set out to make himself indispensable to her. It was the smart thing to do; this strategy had served him well and kept breath in his lungs for this long. But she had resisted his every attempt at charm, had only accepted what he was offering well after he’d begun to admit that he actually liked her as a person and would regret parting from her company. Zevran knew he cared about her–he was not a fool—but he had not thought that he felt…What did he feel? 

Tenderness, at the curve of her neck when her hair had been moved away from it. A quiet sort of gratitude at the comfort of her body pressed to his, at the simple gift of her space and company, offered with no expectation of—of any reciprocation besides what he wished to give. Attraction—the kind he was used to, for she was still bare as a drawn blade and he enjoyed the feel of his arm wrapped around her bare hip, the sight of her uncovered chest when it rose and fell with even breaths. 

All of those things were fine, he assured himself, and closed his eyes to press his nose into her hair. He was not getting too attached; this was only…companionship on the road. It was only a pleasant side benefit that he liked her as a person and she seemed to feel the same about him. There was nothing complicated about any of this. He was, of course, letting the afterglow affect his thoughts and ought to let the matter rest. 

Well—he rested, but the matter did not. 

When light broke through the seams of her tent in the morning, Arianwen stretched languorously against him and sighed, linking her fingers with his. Zevran was already awake, for no reason he could find but an exceptionally restful night’s sleep. 

“G’morning,” she told him, her voice rasping slightly, and she turned her head to look at him. 

Her eyes were like a sun-touched riverbed, moss twining over stone and silt. When the light hit them just so, he sometimes felt as if he could look and look at her for hours. 

It was terrifying. 

“Good morning, mi vida,” he told her, grasping for the familiar. His hand slid lower, skimming over her thigh, and he dipped his head to kiss her before she could say anything to alarm him further. 

This was just—this was only attraction, and companionship, and—what did he know of softer feelings? They were a fabrication, a pretty myth for fools, and Zevran was not a fool. He wanted her, and that was enough. It was. 

He tried to convey this through touch, but it didn’t seem to be working. Arianwen untangled their fingers and lifted her hand, tracing the line of his jaw with her callused thumb before threading her fingers through his hair. His heart lurched again and Zevran pressed himself more fully against her. It is only lust, he told himself, willing this thing to fit into a shape he recognized, it is only wanting. 

And—it was wanting in a sense, this awful new thing. But it wanted things he could not allow—it wanted to make her his own, wanted to go on waking up at her side, wanted touches that had nothing at all to do with sex, wanted a thousand things Zevran could never ask for, could never voice aloud, couldn’t even recognize. He had been lying to himself in pretending otherwise, and he was lying now when he assured himself that he knew what he was doing. 

No amount of touching, of kissing, of hearing her gasp into his ear, could unmake the way he was beginning to feel about her. 

It had been utterly pointless to try.

#arianwen tabris #zevran arainai #zevwarden #fic #shivunin scrivening #they are both bad at feelings (for good reason) and i love them #zevwen

[fuckmeyer]

If you’re still doing the BTS asks, I’d love to hear more about this:

“I walked,” he said.

“What?”

The patter of heavy rain became a light pittering drizzle.

“After making the worst mistake of my entire existence,” he said quietly, “I walked. From Washington to New York.”

"Walked? As in… walked ? Like a human?"

"I was in no state to face my family. Anyone, really. I didn’t dare go back to Forks for my car; I knew I’d go right back and beg you to forget whatever idiotic drivel had come out of my mouth. I couldn’t very well take a bus or a plane or a train—”

“Or run?”

“I was extremely disoriented,” he said. “Dizzy. It was as though I had…what is the human condition when the world seems to spin as though you’re drunk?”

“Vertigo?”

“Ah. Vertigo. Yes. So, I thought I might take some time to...collect myself.”

My questioning side eye gave him a chuckle. The silent response seemed loud enough.

“Pride,” he answered with a small smile. “Ego. My family believed I was making a terrible mistake leaving you behind. I didn't want them to think they were right.

“Of course, 800 hours later, nothing had changed. I could have killed eight minutes for all the good it did me. The second I walked through the door everyone knew I was…unwell.” Edward shrugged. He said no more.

"How unwell is 'unwell'?"

“Unwell, as in, had my family not regularly intervened, I would have lain on the same couch staring out the same window until it rotted away underneath me. It was the best shot I had at making it to the heat death of the universe.”

I knew he meant it as a joke, but I couldn’t bear to look at his weak smile.

“I was desperate to be unobtrusive. Silent. Nonexistent. I didn’t want to hang like a dark, poisonous cloud over everyone. But I did. It wasn’t long before Jasper had to leave, so paralyzed in the face of my overwhelming pain that he could barely function himself. Alice obviously left with him. Emmett and Rosalie followed suit after she and Carlisle got into a row over me. Even he and Esme began fighting over how to…handle me.” Bitter disgust permeated the air. “That was what hurt the most. Carlisle never gave up on me. He has remained faithful in my worst hours, always, and I…within months, had ruined everything he had spent decades building.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” I said quietly.

“I know this man as well as— arguably better than— Esme. Carlisle is a wonderful leader, make no mistake. But he would have let it all burn. For nothing. I cannot even say he was doing it for me because it wasn’t me. He was giving up everything for a husk. No matter how sick I was, I couldn’t bring myself to leave Carlisle after everything.

COME NIGHTFALL EPILOGUE: PRELUDE - DVD COMMENTARY

“I walked,” he said.

“What?”

The patter of heavy rain became a light pittering drizzle.

“After making the worst mistake of my entire existence,” he said quietly, “I walked. From Washington to New York.”

"Walked? As in… walked? Like a human?" [no, walked like a penguin]

"I was in no state to face my family. Anyone, really. I didn’t dare go back to Forks for my car; I knew I’d go right back and beg you to forget whatever idiotic drivel had come out of my mouth. [New Moon AU where Edward comes back within an hour of breaking up, like, "ok that was a mistake"] I couldn’t very well take a bus or a plane or a train—”

“Or run?”

“I was extremely disoriented,” he said. “Dizzy. It was as though I had…what is the human condition when the world seems to spin as though you’re drunk?” [i go back and forth on whether i like this version of Edward who has no medical background. i edited his backstory in part to close one of Twilight's plot holes. (why does Edward suck out the venom if he also has medical training? why can't Carlisle clean her blood while Edward sets her bones? honestly, i find it rather cruel that canon Carlisle would convince Edward to drink his dying singer's blood.)

ultimately, it's an interesting character choice. Edward, a giant know-it-all who spent the last century acquiring all sorts of knowledge, suddenly finds himself dating a girl whose species he's learned little about. she confounds him in more ways than one. a concept!]

“Vertigo?”

“Ah. Vertigo. Yes. So, I thought I might take some time to...collect myself.”

My questioning side eye gave him a chuckle. The silent response seemed loud enough.

“Pride,” he answered with a small smile. “Ego. My family believed I was making a terrible mistake leaving you behind. I didn't want them to think they were right. [it felt like the only way to make the family less culpable in abandoning Bella was to have them vehemently disagree with Edward's choice. yes, they could have said "fuck it" & stayed for Bella's sake. but i think, as much as they disagreed with Edward, they wanted to support him as he has supported them through the years. i think they were afraid that sticking around for a human girl they barely knew would drive a wedge in the coven. little did they know it was unavoidable.]

“Of course, 800 hours later, nothing had changed. I could have killed eight minutes for all the good it did me. The second I walked through the door everyone knew I was…unwell.” Edward shrugged. He said no more.

"How unwell is 'unwell'?" [hoo boy]

“Unwell, as in, had my family not regularly intervened, I would have lain on the same couch staring out the same window until it rotted away underneath me [oh no, ambiguous pronoun :( i'll edit this]. It was the best shot I had at making it to the heat death of the universe.”

[this is inspired by /@gisellelx's Ithaca is Gorges (notably, Chapter 3: Paternity), as well as P.A. Lassiter's New Moon (Chapter 9: There). think: sad sack on the couch, spending hours & hours counting leaves & being held by his creator who hadn't fully realized (until it was too late) the kind of heart-ripping pain Edward would be in after leaving Bella. see also: a botched vivisection, animalistic catatonia, Alfred Schnittke's "Piano Quintet: IV. Lento"]

I knew he meant it as a joke, but I couldn’t bear to look at his weak smile.

“I was desperate to be unobtrusive. Silent. Nonexistent. I didn’t want to hang like a dark, poisonous cloud over everyone. [literally. i pictured his "bedroom" in the attic.] But I did. It wasn’t long before Jasper had to leave, so paralyzed in the face of my overwhelming pain that he could barely function himself. [idk if i've ever said this in the ITA series, but i've always seen Jasper as a synesthete. he tastes the emotions he feels, or certain emotions are associated with colors, or sounds, etc. so not only would Jasper be feeling Edward's pain, but he might be tasting a constant bitter/sour taste, or hearing a constant, clashing discord.] Alice obviously left with him. Emmett and Rosalie followed suit after she and Carlisle got into a row over me. [tl;dr Rose thinks coddling Edward won't make him better. she hates that everyone's acting like he's dead. it's his own fault he ruined himself, & Carlisle is bringing the rest of the family down with his son.] Even he and Esme began fighting over how to…handle me.” Bitter disgust permeated the air. “That was what hurt the most. Carlisle never gave up on me. He has remained faithful in my worst hours, always, and I…within months, had ruined everything he had spent decades building.” [love this line. buddy, you also helped build everything he has today!]

“You didn’t ruin anything,” I said quietly. [WELL...]

“I know this man as well as— arguably better than [lol]— Esme [and yet...i can see it 😏]. Carlisle is a wonderful leader, make no mistake. But he would have let it all burn. For nothing. I cannot even say he was doing it for me because it wasn’t me. He was giving up everything for a husk. No matter how sick I was, I couldn’t bring myself to leave Carlisle after everything.

[ok, i LOVE the messy, complicated beauty of this Edward/Carlisle. i love that Carlisle would burn Volterra down for his son. i love that Edward would follow Carlisle off a cliff despite his doubts. yes, after 90 years together, they took each other for granted - Carlisle perhaps saw Edward as a permanent fixture, & Edward has admitted to not fully grasping the complexity of Carlisle's role as coven leader. but in the end, they would rather poison themselves & each other with love than be without each other. Neat & Cool]

send me 500 words of my fanfic & i will give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet

#thank you! apparently i had a lot to say about this #asks #come nightfall #fanfic dvd commentary

[newtonsheffield]

That last chapter was incredible, Molly. I think I almost cried with Anthony feeling care for the first time in the first time. Can we see a snippet of Anthony in the future being more comfortable with the idea and starting to ask for these cares to Kate?

I think this is something Anthony finds himself wanting more and more. It's been a really long time since someone looked after him, and he didn't really expect to want it so much. But he does.

Anthony never would have expected it, when he placed his advertisement, wouldn't have expected the deep ache that had settled in his chest the moment he watched his wife drive away in a carriage. He hadn't expected it to feel like half of himself had driven away with her. He hadn't expected to feel disappointed when he came back from doing his chores, to find Daphne making breakfast, Simon seated at the table.

"Thank you, Daph." Anthony forced himself to say awkwardly, "For helping out."

Daphne made a tutting noise, setting his plate down. "Of course. If it were me, with Mama, I would... Of course Kate should go home. I don't mind a bit."

Simon had nodded in agreement, but still Anthony's chest had ached. The anxiety that had settled in his chest the moment he'd heard that Lady Mary was unwell thickened further, the worry he felt for Kate, for how she would fair for the hardship he knew she was about to have from his own experience. But he'd been distracted moments later when Daphne said gently,

"A letter came for you."

And his heart had hammered in his chest as he'd stared down at the familiar handwriting tears pricking at his eyes when he tore into it, a letter Kate had written in the carriage, sent from a roadside inn. Every letter etched on the page in her steady hand saying the same thing. He'd run his fingers over the final four words as he'd lain in bed

All my Love,

Kate

And his breath had shuddered in his chest as he'd risen, his hands shaking as he'd taken out a piece of parchment and written a letter by candlelight.

Darling Kate,

Every letter they'd sent had brought them closer, he'd spent every morning waiting for the postboy, his heart pounding in his chest as she told him every thought she'd had, told him how she'd grown to love him. How she would always love him. And he told her how he missed her, how he wore a ribbon around his wrist, how he'd had a wedding ring made, how he would wait, however long it took, she should take the time, while her mother recovered.

Her final letter had been only three words long

I'm coming home.

And from the moment he'd seen her he'd promised himself he would cherish her. She would never doubt how much he loved her, how much he needed her for a moment as tears had run down both their cheeks as their lips had met in the yard and he was sure he'd never feel the same again.

And slowly, as they'd settled into their new lives properly he'd let himself need her. Accepted the tiny show of affections she gave him. Tucked his sandwich under his arm as he went into town with a kiss on her lips, ignoring the way the other men from the village laughed brightly.

Ah! There's Bridgerton with his little lunch from his wife!

To be fair like if my wife looked like that I'd choke down a bit of dry bread for her

Rolling his eyes as he saw the other men getting rowdy outside the Horse and Harrier not caring a bit.

He let her stand in front of him while his hands rested on the swell of her stomach smiling as their child kicked at his hand with a chuckle. He let her slowly tie his neckcloth around his neck, leaving a light kiss on his jawline as he finished. Very handsome Mr Bridgerton

Every moment of her attention she would give him, he craved. More and more. The more she gave him, the more comfortable their marriage became the more he wanted. Hoarding her little affections close to his chest a little jealously. Feigning innocence when she sighed

"All of my handkerchiefs keep going missing. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about, Darling."

But most of all he craved the moments when she would run her hands through his hair with her own soap, sat straddling him in the bathtub now, her bare skin against his, so close, intimate.

He'd stopped bothering to leave the room while she bathed, he'd sit by the tub, his fingers intertwined with hers, chin resting on the copper edge while she relaxed, waiting for her to say Come in with me, Darling.

He craved it, craved her touch so much that tonight he let it fall from his lips as they sat together in the kitchen.

"Bath with me, tonight."

Kate chuckled, kissing his cheek. "And here I thought you had no designs on my body."

He rolled his eyes, "Perhaps I was a little rash when I said that." He pressed a kiss to her lips. "I want us to be close tonight."

He could hardly hear anything over the pounding in his chest as she slipped into the water with him later her nose wrinkling with a smile as she faced him. Her fingers threaded through his hair, lathering soap through it, over his chest the same as he did for her, soft and intimate and perfect, before she finally settled on his lap, her back against his chest, breathing together, their fingers intertwined.

"Edwina wants to visit, after the baby is born." Kate's voice was soft as she let her thoughts bubble over into the air.

"Of course you should have your family around you." He kissed the corner of her jaw.

"She can leave Matthew at home if we've not enough space. She'd be glad of it, honestly, he wants to ask you if he may buy a lamb."

Anthony shook his head against her, "No. Matthew will come, and they will stay with us. They're family. Though I'm not sure we've anything suitable to receive an Earl's granddaughter and a baronet's son."

Kate reached back, carding her fingers through his wet hair, soothing the anxiety that had welled in his chest. "You know they don't care about that sort of thing. They just want to meet the baby."

Anthony nodded, silence settling between them for a long moment, the love the care between them sinking in before he sighed, "Will Edwina be very cross if I give Matthew a lamb?"

Kate chuckled, "Yes. But not at you. Which is why I would see it as a personal favour if you could see to it that he has one."

And Anthony couldn't do anything but laugh, stupid and happy, and in love.

#not me purposely not mentioning mary to keep everyone guessing #you might have some bruises #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

[ghostkiosk]

almost 1am. very sleepy. very unwell. thoughts 4 later. notes app storage full. delete later

lain. not feeling like a person not sure what feeling like a person feels like? not at home in ur body. can't remember. what did you do? what didn't you do? can u trust urself. complex girl relationships. being in love but its not love but maybe it is? the general sense something is wrong w u. god complex. depression. i just want fic to make me feel better it shouldnt be. i need 2 find something less niche. i need to get a life

#kas speaks #delete later

[undertheoaktree-novel]

-Chapter 6/7/8-

"Maxi! Are you all right?!"

Feeling a firm hand shaking her shoulders, Maxi awoke suddenly. A pair of black eyes were looking intently into hers. Still in a daze, she blinked, not comprehending what had happened. Riftan gently brushed back the strands of hair that were stuck to her forehead, and the intimacy of the gesture brought her back to her senses. She sprang up and looked around.

"W-Where am I...?"

"An inn in a village near Zeno. Do you not remember?"

Riftan placed a large pillow behind her back. Burying her back in the pillow, she looked at him in confusion. He poured water into a bowl on the table, then handed it to her.

"Drink. You've been sweating. You need water."

Maxi stared blankly at the rippling water without taking the bowl. Frowning, Riftan pressed her further.

"I didn't poison it, if that's what you're thinking. Drink."

She lifted the bowl and brought it to her lips. As the lukewarm water filled her stomach, she felt her insides turning again slightly. She lowered the bowl, grimacing.

Riftan raised an eyebrow.

"Do you still feel unwell?"

"N-No..."

After observing her with narrowed eyes, Riftan took back the bowl and walked to the table to set it down.

Maxi was sniffing the blanket for mold when she suddenly frowned. Something was amiss. Hoping that she was wrong, she slipped a hand under the blanket. She felt bare skin.

She jumped, realizing that she was wearing nothing but a men's tunic. Her undergarments were nowhere to be found.

"M-my c-clothes! W-where...?"

Riftan glanced up from rearranging the towel and water bowl. He answered her as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

"I undressed you because your clothes got soiled with vomit. That's my tunic you're wearing. You didn't bring a single piece of clothing with you, so we had to make do with mine."

Maxi opened and closed her mouth like a carp. Should she be astonished that he was blaming her for not bringing spare clothes when he had given her no time to pack? Or should she be more shocked by the fact that he had undressed her while she was unconscious?

"You've been unconscious all day. I'll order something for you to eat."

"Oh... W-Wait..."

With that, Riftan left the room without a sign of guilt on his face. Maxi quickly scanned the room for something to wear, but all she could find was Riftan's armor piled in a jumble on the floor next to the bed. There was nothing in the room resembling a suitcase. She had no choice but to pull the blanket up to her nose.

Shortly after, Riftan returned. Seeing only Maxi's head peeking out of the blanket like a turtle in its shell, he gave a slight frown.

"There's no use hiding now. I already saw everything when I was cleaning you up."

"C-c-cleaning me up?"

Riftan twisted his lips cynically in response to Maxi's question.

"As I've told you many times, you are my wife. We have lain together, albeit three years ago. What are you so ashamed about?"

An intense red flush colored Maxi's body from head to foot. Sensing her distress, Riftan's face went dark.

"All I did was change your clothes, yet you look at me as if I violated you! You shouldn't have fainted if you didn't want me touching you!"

"I-I'm s-sorry."

He clenched his mouth shut and left the room. Maxi hung her head low.

She was still deep in thought when the door rattled. Riftan walked into the room, a tray of steaming soup and bread in his hands.

She stole a furtive glance at Riftan while stirring the contents of the bowl. He had dragged a chair next to the bed and was polishing his sword.

"Why aren't you eating?"

It was as if he had eyes on the back of his head. Maxi blushed, embarrassed that she had been caught stealing looks.

"I-I just... I-I wanted to a-ask..."

Stammering, she stirred the soup listlessly with the spoon. He turned to look at her.

"I-I have n-no c-clothes to ch-change into..."

"It's late now, so I'll buy you some new ones tomorrow."

"W-What about m-my c-clothes..."

"I asked the inn's maidservants to wash them."

Riftan studied his reflection in the blade of his sword. She hesitated for a long time before opening her mouth again.

"M-May I h-have m-my u-undergarments b-back, at least..."

Unexpectedly, a deep blush spread across Riftan's face. He rubbed his face with a rough movement before reassuming a nonchalant attitude.

"They got torn. I had to throw them away."

"P-Pardon...?"

"They tore when I was taking them off, so I threw them away."

She flinched at his brusque tone but continued to press him.

"W-Why would y-you t-take my u-undergarments off...?"

The question seemed to take him off guard. He began to mumble a reply, his eyes avoiding hers.

Suddenly he glared at Maxi, who was still clutching the blanket like a shield. "I had no choice! You couldn't breathe, and your face was turning blue. Those dreadful undergarments of yours were just about strangling you, so I tried to loosen the straps! All I did was pull at the kn-knot... Hell, how was I supposed to know that the skirt was sewn onto the bodice?"

Her cheeks burned, and her scalp felt as though it might give off steam.

Riftan sighed.

"Don't make that face. I'll get you new undergarments tomorrow. Would you like to borrow mine for now?"

"N-No! Th-There's n-no need..."

She shook her head. She did not have the faintest desire to wear undergarments that belonged to someone else, much less ones that belonged to him. At the same time, she felt uneasy wearing nothing but a loose tunic.

Maxi had been treading cautiously, but she could no longer suppress her curiosity.

"W-Why are you t-taking me w-with you?"

"What?"

Riftan stopped in his tracks. He had been walking toward the door with the tray in his hands, but he now turned to look at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I kn-know you d-didn't m-marry me b-because you wanted t-to... so I d-don't know why you're t-taking m-me with you..."

His face hardened. She held her breath, unsure whether it had been her stutter or her question that had caused him to frown. She continued haltingly.

"W-We're... I m-mean to s-say, we d-don't even kn-know each other w-well enough to be m-man and w-wife... A m-man like you d-doesn't have to t-take me... you c-could h-have any w-woman..."

"Shut your mouth!"

Riftan stomped back to her bed and slammed the tray down, glowering at her.

"If you don't want to come with me, just say it!"

"N-No, th-that's not w-what I...!"

She shrank back like a frightened tortoise.

"Th-that's n-not what I'm w-worried about! I was j -just w-wondering why you're t-taking me..."

"You're my wife! Our marriage is recognized by the church! Why should I need a reason to take you home? You're the one who remained in your father's castle even after the wedding!"

"If you w-want a d-d-divorce..."

"What?"

He grabbed her shoulders roughly. Hearing his rage-filled voice, Maxi went numb, feeling like a mouse before a hissing serpent. Perhaps he really would strike her this time. She clenched her eyes shut in terror, bracing herself for the blow that never came.

Maxi cracked her eyes open to see a pair of black pupils gleaming with cold wrath. The hands on her shoulders shook as if they could barely contain their anger.

"Divorce? Are you saying you want a divorce?"

"N-No... Th-That's not what I..."

"What is it, then? Is there another man?"

Unable to make sense of Riftan's words, Maxi could only gaze fearfully at his blazing eyes. He closed in on her, spitting words out through clenched teeth.

"Were you with another man while I was off fighting for my life?"

"N-No!" Her voice faltered. His grip loosened, but his face was still contorted in suspicion.

"Then why did you bring up divorce?"

"Everyone s -said that when you c-came b-back, you would d-divorce m-me and m-marry the p-princess, s-so..."

"Princess?" he asked sharply, understanding finally dawning on his face.

Maxi nodded, holding back tears. He blinked before emitting a stream of curses, running a hand through his hair.

"Blighted fools, wagging their useless tongues..."

He then scooped her into his arms, blanket and all, and sat down on the bed. Ignoring Maxi's flailing legs, he placed her on his knees and cupped her face with his hands. She felt his tongue licking up the tears that had welled up in the corners of her eyes. His warm breath tickled her cheeks and lips, distracting her enough to stop weeping. He wound an arm around her waist and let out a deep sigh.

"I don't know what silly rumors you've heard, but I turned down that proposal a long time ago."

"You t-turned it d-down?"

Maxi's eyes went wide with disbelief.

"Of course I did! Did you think I would accept such a deranged offer? I thought the king had finally lost his mind when he made such an offer to a married man!"

"B-But..."

"But what?"

"B-But..."

"Enough with your buts! Did you bring up the rumor as an excuse to escape the marriage you so despise?"

A threatening glint flashed across his eyes. He relaxed again only when Maxi vigorously shook her head.

#under the oak tree

[spontaneousglitterbees]

Original from the Evillious Chronicles by mothy akuno www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmDK_uJu7kQ SVP edited from Magpie's VSQx www.youtube.com/c/MAGPIEbatty Translyrics inspired from those by Octo and used in*PsySoubi's 2022 cover www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QKKCHuoufo Tuning, mixing, track art, etc. by spontaneousglitterbees

gift (English) <noun> 1. Present, something donated, charity 2. A special ability; a talent from birth 3. (British colloquial) A cheap item; a task that's easy to do

gift (German) <noun> 1. Toxin, poison, powerful medicine

First posted SynthV dub made in a year? First posted SynthV dub made in a year. Hello again, friends. I got Solaria. (and also am trying to learn to mix in FL Studio. Here's a starting point).

YouTube upload coming soon.

Lyrics: "Now, lay it all to rest"

Gaze into the dream with this gift that I give Grants the deepest, soundest sleep to you as long as you live Call me "Princess Sandman" if it keeps your mind at ease Stay relaxed, let your worries go and be merry

SECTION 1:

Even though I know our marriage was a matter of their politics (I never minded since I truly loved you) ... You womanizing cretin, indulging your own wishes (I sent my love out long before all *that* too) You only had eyes for money, so you wed a doctor's daughter (But, if I must, that's something I can live with) ... Even if you've forgotten the promise that we made as kids... (If it keeps me by your side, I'll be happy nevertheless)

But you always seem troubled, Since I found you out it doubled, You seem in need of a good tonic or two At a loss for how else to help you At least I know healing I can do So I took the time to make a gift just for you

CHORUS:

Gaze into the dreaming with this gift that I give Grants the deepest, soundest sleep to you as long as you live Just a bit of sweet relief from your dear "Princess" All I want is to see you find your happiness

SECTION 2:

Everybody that I see is plagued by their anxieties My mother, my father, this whole bustling town knows no peace For the sake of those awake to spare them the sight as they degrade I'll use my talents to create a new sleeping aid Darkness beyond your control? Feeling like you're less than whole? Can't shake the sense something's unwell? It infects the depths of your soul As you lay upon the bed you're safe from reality's spreading dread Your world will decay too someday I say let it fade!

SECTION 3:

After six attempts to spread my gift out to everyone in town Spores of Belphagor in the air got them all to settle down As for this poor wretch, cursed to never sleep, I've received something else instead That would be my dominion over them

"So. Lay down with the rest."

CHORUS 2: Gaze into the dream with this gift that I give Grants the deepest, soundest sleep to you as long as you live Who has lain them all to rest and yet to join them then? Just a little lady trying to feel hope again

ENDING: My whole life, I'd bide my time been used by them all Filler inbetween the lines a decoration like a doll I've been broken up inside for so long you see, all I wanted was to ruin everything I can guarantee, it's a potent medicine So effective just a little drop you'll never wake again With one final dose, I might finally find my own repose be ""Princess"" no more, now you'll all call me Sleeping Beauty....

"... Hah. My prince. Meet me at our spot? For old times' sake. Okay?"

#Synth V #synthesizer v #solaria #evillious chronicles #synthv solaria #synthv #bea's adventures in synthv v2 #margarita blankenheim #this is why i was confused about margarita btw i wanted to be like. more accurate to her motivations per the books n such #even if it isnt perfect i mean also theres some embellishment and presumption to try and spin an interesting one-off story #this dub is more trying to catch the Vibes than stay 100% accurate word-for-word #SoundCloud

[dudeandduchess]

Thank you for this, Biz!!!! My heart feels so full. 😂🍉 Also Tumblr was being dumb and not cutting things right, so... 

***

Chances: Merman!Kyōjurō x Princess!F!S/O [Part Two] (Mermaid AU, SFW Scenario)

Note: This is still set in the Taishō era.

Days had passed since the last time that Kyōjurō had seen the love of his young life. He had been so reluctant to leave her alone and defenseless on the beach, but he had no choice as the sun had already risen and there had been other people who were trolling the shore at that time.

It was a shame that he couldn’t have stayed long enough to see her awake up close— let alone introduce himself to her— but he couldn’t really shake off the sense of responsibility that fell upon his shoulders.

No matter what he wanted, he still had to keep his peoples’ existence a secret. Lest they be hunted down by humans.

So, compared to matters of the heart, the lives of so many merpeople were much more important than his own wants and needs. And that was how he found himself pensively staring down at the kingdom below him— covertly allowing his gaze to flicker from the merpeople going on about their days, to the bejeweled hair pin that he’d managed to keep for himself.

“Nii-san.” Kyōjurō jumped at the sound of the familiar voice, quickly tucking the glittering hairpiece behind a half-dead, potted kelp plant, and whirled around to face his younger brother.

“Senjurō!” He tried keep his voice chirpy and energetic, like it usually was, but he couldn’t deny that even he could feel how strained his smile was. “Did you want something?”

It was well past lunch time, so the older of the two couldn’t fathom what his younger brother would want from him at the time— especially since he knew that it was usually time for Senjurō’s home classes at that hour.

“What are you doing out of class?”

With a small frown marring his features, Senjurō looked up at Kyōjurō, trying not to cry at the heartbreak and longing that were wafting from his brother. It wasn’t noticeable to anyone else, aside from him who knew him well enough to tell when something was bothering him.

The younger Rengoku couldn’t help but be worried.

“Sensei gave me a break,” He whispered softly, gliding closer to Kyōjurō with a little flick of his beautiful red, yellow, and orange tail— much like the same color as his brother’s was. “Nii-san… I… you seem really sad lately.”

The smile on Kyōjurō’s face faltered a bit, before tapering down into a tight-lipped and extremely sad smile that had Senjurō’s tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. It was the first time that he’d seen his brother so affected by something, that was enough to have him actually look like he was close to crying himself— and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

Everything inside the older Rengoku told him to lie and dismiss Senjurō’s words, but he refused to push him away just like their father had always done; so, he swam over to the half-dead kelp plant and took the hair pin that he’d gotten from his princess a few nights ago.

“You see, I met a girl…”

***

The entire castle had been silent— way too silent for Kyōjurō’s liking— that it afforded him so much serenity to reflect back on how he’d met his princess; remembering how she had felt in his arms, and how beautiful she had been when he’d woken up with the first vestiges of dawn illuminating her features.

He felt his heart skip a beat at the mere memory of having her on his chest— blissfully asleep, and painfully unaware of the fact that a merman had saved her.

A long-suffering sigh left his lips at that, producing air bubbles that the waved away with a big wave of his pillow in the water. There was nothing more that he wanted than to be with her, but his own sense of responsibility held him back from diving into his half-formed idea.

What was even worse for him was that he knew of a way that he could be with her, but he couldn’t fully utilize that means unless he was absolutely sure of what he wanted to give up.

His own happiness for the sake of his father’s kingdom? It was the most selfish thing that he had ever thought of— and it was an idea that was proving to be more and more tempting as the silence dragged on.

Kyōjurō knew that he shouldn’t have, but he still got up from his bed and proceeded to sneak out of the castle.

All so he could meet with the Sea Witch Muzan, and possibly strike up a deal to get him to stay with his princess.

***

For the last few days, (Y/n) had been coming back to the beach where she had washed up on; hoping to see even a glimpse of the man whom she had a vague memory of dragging her up the shore and pulling her to his chest.

She had never been one to believe in otherworldly creatures, as well as beings that were well out of the norm, but she couldn’t help but think that maybe— just maybe— there was a sprinkle of truth in the books that her brother loved to pore over in their library.

It was messing with her head so much that she could barely even eat, and could barely sleep— as those iridescent, and hauntingly captivating, irises plagued her every waking moment; even her dreams.

Still, no matter how much she wanted to dismiss the idea of mermaids and mermen— of things that had solely existed in childish fairy tales— she couldn’t help but feel a little stir crazy at how all of the signs pointed in the direction where they existed.

It was the only logical explanation of how she had survived, while having hazy memories of having lain on a man’s bare chest. Even his voice had sounded otherworldly; melodic and so soothing as he had rubbed away the chill she felt seeping in her bones.

(Y/n) didn’t want to admit it, but her savior had managed to do what most of her suitors could not: captivate her to the point where she was questioning her own sanity.

Because, if she boiled things down, it would come to light that she was slowly becoming fixated on finding that very man. It wasn’t just to thank him for what he’d done, but it was to get to know him better.

To see him smile at her, and to hear him talk about what life was like through his eyes. She wanted, more than anything, to know if he was the one that had been fated for her all along.

And it seemed that fate was smiling down on her at that moment, because she couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw a familiar mane of fiery blond hair poking out from behind a boulder; warranting her to throw all manner of social decorum in the air, so she could run over to the unconscious man.

“Sir, sir,” (Y/n) shook the blond’s shoulder, waiting with baited breath for him to open his eyes— or even just give her any indication that he was alive. And, just as she was about to get up and call for help, he began heaving slightly— trying to breathe and failing miserably, as he vomited some water, as well as what seemed to be a shred of seaweed, onto the sand.

The princess made a face at that— one that was a mix of mild disgust and surprise— but decided to look past that, as she tried to wake the man up again.

Thankfully, the second time she shook him awake, he finally stirred and opened his eyes— lifting his head up slightly and adopting an elated expression on his features when his eyes landed on her.

‘It’s you!’ Kyōjurō tried to yell out, only to have no words pour from his lips; and it was then that he remembered that he had traded his voice for legs. Though, what the Sea Witch would want with his voice, he didn’t know.

Shakily, he got up to sit on his newly acquired legs, taking a moment before he could balance himself on his haunches— much like how his princess was sitting across from him.

“Do you have a name? I’m (L/n) (Y/n),” She introduced herself, not even trying to bite back the smile that had her lips tilting up at the corners. Safe to say that she was as excited as Kyōjurō was, but that excitement was wiped away instantly when her eyes drifted down his body— taking in his chiseled torso, before inevitably flickering down to his lap.

Her face burned crimson with a blush at the sight of him; he was flaccid, and she had never seen a penis in real life before, but even she could tell that he was big.

“Oh my,” (Y/n) exclaimed softly, covering her mouth with her left hand and pointedly looking away from his crotch.

Kyōjurō then looked down at what had caused his princess to react in such a way, and blushed profusely before cupping his own hands over his lap; not even taking very long to figure out that the thing between his legs was his hemipenis… or, it had been, since he didn’t have a tail anymore.

So, deciding that that moment wasn’t the most ideal moment to ask him anything, (Y/n) gestured for him to stay put where he was, uttering a soft, “Stay here, please,” before getting up and calling one of her guards to get some clothes for her unexpected guest to dress into.

***

The ride back to the palace had been eventful, to say the least. (Y/n)’s guest had endlessly picked at his yukata, and had only stopped when they had managed to cross into the town.

He had even pressed his face up against the window of the car, watching everyone with unbridled fascination, and turning to her with so much wonder and amazement in his eyes. And she could only smile, as well as bite down on her bottom lip at how adorable he looked.

“Were you the one who saved me? Back in the sea, on the ship…” The young woman asked out of nowhere, unable to hold back the curious questions that had been hounding her to ask them.

Kyōjurō turned his full attention to her then, tilting his head to the side— as if digesting her words— and opening his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut and nod enthusiastically instead. He then pointed to his throat, shaking his head sadly as he made gestures of having something come out of his mouth.

“Do you feel unwell?” She asked, making Kyōjurō shake his head once more.

“You can’t speak?” (Y/n) was rewarded with a nod at that question, which had her frowning— because she could clearly remember her savior speaking to her.

She was sure that it was the same man from her memories, but her heart still sank at the probability that it wasn’t him who’d saved her— since the man in front of her couldn’t speak. Still, she kept an open mind.

“Can you write?” The princess questioned once more, eyeing the pouch that she had put on the seat beside her, and grabbing it so she could fish out the notebook and pencil that she had thrown in there before leaving the palace.

The blond nodded, more than happy to accept the items, before proceeding to write on the parchment. It felt so different from having to write underwater, and his penmanship looked like chicken scratch at best— not that he had much to work with in the first place— but he handed his answer back to her, a bright grin plastered on his face.

He watched her intently, feeling his heart race at how close they were. Their knees were almost touching, and he was close to passing out with her sweet scent ensnaring his senses.

Only, his smile turned into a confused frown when he saw her brows furrow in confusion; watching as she tilted the notebook at an angle.

And it was only then that it sank in, the more he took in the signages that were dotted along the shops that they passed by: he had a completely different writing system from her.

“Is this a foreign language?” His princess asked— making him helplessly nod— as he didn’t even bother to hold back the disappointed expression that crossed his handsome features.

Maybe, he thought, his plan to get a kiss from his princess— all so he could get his voice back— would be more difficult than he thought.

***

It had been six days since Kyōjurō had started to stay at the palace with (Y/n); being introduced to everyone as one of her friends whom had come over for a visit. And it didn’t take long for gossip to circle around about him being one of her suitors.

He didn’t really mind that rumor, as it was true— in a sense. What he didn’t like was that everyone kept badmouthing him, all because he couldn’t speak. They called him a snob for not wanting to talk to anyone, and all of the courtiers branded him as a nuisance— all because he smiled more at the servants and (Y/n), rather than them.

His conversations with (Y/n) were always one-sided, with her slowly opening up to him with each day that passed. It had started with her giving him a tour of the palace grounds, until she introduced him to horseback riding, and— eventually— to her favorite pastime: napping under the wisteria tree at the very end of the grounds.

It was private enough to not be bothered by anyone, and it was also enclosed enough because of the wisteria flowers that provided a suitable curtain to hide them from prying eyes.

She didn’t even know what his name was, but she felt so at ease with him that that little problem was always pushed to the back of her mind whenever they were together. It was as if, when she was with him, all that mattered was him and her.

Her duties took to the backburner of her mind, as she felt herself getting more and more enamored by the young man who could only nod and grin at her words.

He tried to communicate as much as he could with facial expressions, and they were always hilarious— which surprised even herself when she burst out into such an unladylike laugh the day he had made a disgusted face, when she mentioned one of the courtiers in the palace.

“And you know what she told me? That I needed to lose more weight to look pretty. Can you believe the nerve of that woman? I should kick her out,” (Y/n) ranted, her voice taking on an incredulous tone as she poured her frustrations from that morning onto Kyōjurō.

The blond made a face at her— his eyebrows crinkling together and his upper lip curling upwards in a show of disgust at her story, before he adopted a soft smile on his lips.

His eyes took on a much softer hue, and he sighed as he boldly reached out and tipped her chin up so she would look at him— since she had been picking at a wisteria flower that she’d picked up earlier.

When he was sure that he had her full attention, he let go of her chin and tapped the tip of her nose— making her blush at the blatant playfulness. And, as if that wasn’t enough to make her heart race, Kyōjurō framed his own chin with the backs of his fingers— doing the guesture of tapping her nose and framing his face a couple of times, until a flustered giggle escaped his princess’ lips.

“I… I’m pretty?”

Enthusiastically, the blond nodded. Grinning so wide as he settled back against the tree trunk, about to close his eyes when the breath was knocked out of him— as (Y/n) had pounced on him, boldly cupping his face in her hands before pressing her lips against his.

Fiery eyes widened at the move, and his heart skipped so many beats as seconds ticked by. It felt like an eternity had passed before she shyly pulled away from him; opening her eyes and pressing the tips of her fingers against her tingling lips.

(Y/n) couldn’t even believe that she had done such a thing— yet she felt no regrets in her heart. She even found herself trying to fight a smile, as she took in the dumbstruck expression on her beloved’s face.

Kyōjurō floundered around, feeling his own breath escape his mouth in a quiet exhale, as his expression morphed into disbelief— before eventually settling on a beaming grin. “U… UMAI!”

It was going to take way too long of an explanation to get his story across to (Y/n)— judging by the extremely befuddled look on her face— but he pushed that thought aside as he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back into him; wanting to have more of her, now that he’d finally had a taste.

And they lived happily ever after…

Or did they?

#kyoujurou rengoku x reader #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #demon slayer x reader #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyoujurou #demon slayer rengoku #kimetsu rengoku #rengoku kyōjurō #rengoku kyoujurou scenario #kyoujurou x reader #kyoujurou rengoku #kny x reader #kny fanfiction #kny rengoku #kny fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer fanfiction #jen writes

[tikoy]

Kinktober Day 17

Day 17:

Series: FGO

Diarmuid ua Duibne x unnamed female master

First person POV

Warnings: Sex

Rating: Explicit

On a Rayshift, Diarmuid gets injured so he reluctantly asks you for a mana transfer.

--

Rain poured heavily all through the night. Winds howled against the walls, sending occasional groans and rattles all through the dilapidated building. I twisted and turned, trying in vain to fall asleep. My body was exhausted, but my mind kept racing. It had been hours since I’d turned in, but I’d just lain awake, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. Thoughts of the earlier battle kept running through my head. Flashes of brightly emblazoned fur, enormous tusks, and glowing eyes seemed burned on the backs of my eyelids. I could still smell the fetid breath of the demon boar as it charged. We’d managed to scrape by, but my servants paid the price. I bit my lip.

Injuries were expected. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen blood spilled, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But it had been months since my servants had gotten more than bruises or scrapes. We’d been doing so well. Guilt still sat heavy in my gut even after I’d patched them up as best I could. I’d hesitated for a second, and that was all it took. A second of indecision and paralysis that everyone else had been punished for. I turned and pressed my face into the pillow. It was pointless and counter-productive, but I’d wished that I’d gotten injured as well, to help lessen the guilt.

After a few more minutes of wallowing in guilt, I gave up and got out of bed. I made my way to the makeshift kitchen, hoping that a drink of water would help. The wooden floorboards creaked and groaned, but the storm outside was much louder. I felt my way through the dimly-lit halls and stairs, hoping that I wouldn’t fall through the holes in the woodwork. I arrived unscathed, but I wasn’t alone. A familiar dark-tressed knight stood vigil, staring out towards the barred wooden doors. At the sound of my approach, he turned.

“Master, is something the matter?”

Even in the low light, he was beautiful. His cheekbones were sharp, and his jaw strongly defined. His amber eyes sparkled in what little light it caught. For a moment, I stood transfixed, my purpose forgotten. A flash of lightning snapped me back to my senses. I cleared my throat and gave a sheepish smile.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was hoping that a drink of water would help.”

“Ah, then let me-“

“No! It’s fine, it’s fine. You’re still standing guard. I can do it myself,” I insisted, walking towards the sink before he could move.

As I held a relatively clean glass under the faucet, I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He’d turned back towards the door, his two spears at the ready. There was a certain stiffness to his shoulders, and his grip seemed too harsh. A tension had hung between us ever since I’d given him chocolates earlier this year. It wasn’t as if it affected his ability or the dynamics between us during battle, but outside of combat we could hardly speak to one another. I always got tongue-tied whenever I addressed him, blundering through even the most mundane of small talk. He’d reply politely and calmly, making my awkwardness even more glaringly obvious. No matter how politely he replied however, I always got the sense that he was trying to pull away. It hurt, and I didn’t even have the right to be hurt.

Regret and guilt were a horrible combination in my gut. The valentine chocolates had seemed a great idea at the time. But all I got from that momentary glee was self-inflicted disappointment. I’d found myself turning towards him more frequently, and a flutter in my chest whenever I heard his voice. It was embarrassing. I was a grown woman. A crush shouldn’t affect me to this degree! Especially considering what I’d been tasked with doing. To be distracted by such trite matters was unthinkable. Unforgivable.

“Master, your cup overflows.”

I flinched, jerked back to reality by the sound of his voice. Water had been running over my skin now, the cold rendering it numb. Hastily, I turned off the tap and brought the glass to my lips. I drank, doing my best not to choke under his scrutiny. He’d left his post by the door and stood next to me, staring silently. His spears had vanished. While I had no doubt that he’d still be able to effectively deal with threats anywhere within the room, it was highly uncharacteristic for him to approach. When I’d finished drinking, I turned to him, an apology already upon my lips-

“It seems you have plenty of things on your mind, Master” he stated. “May I know what troubles you?”

-only to be tongue-tied once more.

“I-I… uh… the battle earlier.” I caught his split-second flinch. “I’m so sorry I hesitated and got you all injured…”

“It is a small matter. Nobody died and we managed a win. I remains a success,” he replied, waving the matter off easily as if he hadn’t gotten gored at the side earlier.

I frowned at him and stepped closer to prod at his chest. “You really shouldn’t be letting me get away with these things so easily, you know! Even if I’m the master, you’re still need to point out my mistakes so I learn from them.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “But it seems as if you’ve already learned your lesson however. Calling attention to your mistake again would be akin to tearing open a freshly lanced wound. It serves no purpose.”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t harbor even the least amount of resentment over it. I mean, even Cu and Hans flicked me on the forehead for it earlier.”

“You wish to be flicked on the forehead?”

“Argh! No I mean- uhh don’t you want even the teensiest bit of revenge for it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand…”

“Well, what I’m saying is that you get a free pass to do anything to me. Just this once because I messed up… I mean anything outside of outright killing or significantly injuring me!” I rambled

“Hm.”

Something flickered across his expression. He stepped closer, close enough that I felt his breath fan my face. His eyes seemed strangely intent. His hand clasped mine gently. My knees felt weak. I could hardly breathe.

A soft thud sounded in the hall, followed by a series of curses. We jumped apart, panicked. As I tried to calm my beating heart, Hans stepped out of the shadows of the hall, rubbing his head, his eyes clenched shut.

“Hans, are you okay?” I asked, doing my best to not seem flustered.

“Eh? Master, you’re awake?” he called out, squinting into the dimly-lit room. “Just had a bit of a stumble in the dark. I’m fine.”

“If you are unwell, I can keep watch for this next shift as well,” Diarmuid offered.

“Bah! Do not coddle me. I am not the type of writer that pries apart two lovers engaged in a late night tryst!”

My cheeks flared as I stammered out my denial. Diarmuid was equally as adamant, though significantly less flustered. Yet the author paid no heed to our words, merely ushering us out into the hallway. Resigned, we walked through the hall silently. Gone was the friendly air we’d managed to wrangle earlier. All we had left was our usual tense silence, now heavier with questions regarding what happened before Hans interrupted. I bit my lip. I didn’t dare hope.

We reached my door, but he didn’t depart immediately. He lingered, frowning at the ground. After a few more moments, he sighed and gave a low bow.

“I apologize for my behavior earlier. It was unbecoming of a knight.”

“I-It’s fine!” I stammered out. “I was the one who put you on the spot. It’s my fault.”

He firmly shook his head. “No. I am at fault. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of a lady’s offer t-to-“  He cleared his throat. “The fault is completely mine, I assure you, my lady.”

The title sent my heart fluttering once more. I bit my lip, doing my best to stamp down the glee of him addressing me as his. “Diarmuid,” I called out, “what were you planning to do earlier?”

He glanced to the side. “I wanted to ask for a bit of mana.”

“Ah! Um! Yes! Okay! N-no need to be ashamed of that!” I assured him. “I-I mean that’s normal!”

My hands trembled in a mix of nervousness and giddiness. It wasn’t an unusual request, but he’d never asked anything like that before. He seemed content enough with the supply that Chaldea gave. I tried to open the door, but my hands shook too much to turn the knob. As I struggled, his hands drifted towards mine and engulfed them.

“It’s not,” he muttered, keeping his gaze averted. “May we speak further of these matters inside your room?”

He held fast to my hand as we went inside my room. When the door shut, he closed his eyes and squeezed my hand.

“I… have affections for you, Master. It is unbecoming, especially since I had intended to ask mana from you.”

Glee shot through me like a firework, setting everything ablaze. My skin tingled. My chest seemed too tight, too filled with joy. I was quickly losing the battle to keep a smile from my face. It was getting difficult to form coherent thought.

“I don’t follow…” I wheezed. “W-why would that be a bad thing?”

He frowned. “My wish had only been to serve loyally and fight for a Master who wouldn’t betray me. And so far in my stay in Chaldea, I’d managed to get that. I greatly respect you, Master, and still wholeheartedly pledge my being to your cause. But-“ he broke off, biting his lip, “these feelings ruin matters.”

He let go and buried his face in his hands. “I had done my best to keep away from such matters, yet now my ruin comes by my own hand… Perhaps this is revenge for all the suffering I’d caused before.”

“Diarmuid, it’s fine. This… this doesn’t have to change things-“

He growled. His hands fell to the sides, clenched in tight fists. “It has already changed everything! I cannot stand to be alone with you. When we speak, I struggle to keep myself distant, to keep myself from pursuing the conversation further. Even now as I loathe these feelings, my arms still long to hold you.”

He sighed and leaned against a wall. Anguish colored his expression. His breathing was ragged. His eyes bore into mine, pleading for answers that I could not give. Everything was bittersweet. I slowly made my way over, careful not to startle. Ever so gently, I wrapped my arms around his frame and pulled him to a hug. I kept my hold on him until his breathing relaxed, until the tension eased from his body. I knew not how long we stayed holding each other, only that it settled a comforting warmth over my chest.

He pulled away just enough for me to see his expression. He looked much calmer now, though his mouth still dipped downward. “I apologize for my earlier behavior, Master. I am… unused to these types of feelings.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it too much. I… actually have something to tell you as well.” I bit my lip. “I uh… have affections for you too…”

Panic seeped into his expression. “I’m sorry. I can’t control the love spo-“

“What?! No! No! I mean, if this was entirely because of that geas, don’t you think I’d be more aggressive? And that I would have pursued you much earlier?”

He furrowed his brows, still unconvinced. Nevertheless, he dropped the matter and just continued to hold me close. He played with the ends of my hair. I traced patterns onto his back. Even through the fabric, I could feel where the bandages bunched up on his torso. Idly, I pressed a kiss against his chest in apology. He shuddered and lightly tugged at my hair.

“Do you still want that mana transfer?”

He hesitated only for a moment. “A small amount would be sufficient…”

I reached up to press a kiss against his lips. I trembled as I kissed him, leaving touches as delicate as spun sugar. There were no fireworks this time, just tiny little pinpricks of glee as our lips moved. I pulled away, breathless. His amber eyes were half-lidded. He leaned  closer and whispered a desperate “more” against my lips. I left a hundred butterfly kisses on his cheeks. When I’d run out, he cradled my chin. “More,” came the breathless plea. He slanted his mouth over mine, licking at my bottom lip until I opened my mouth. His tongue dove in, exploring every nook and cranny as if committing it to memory. When my chest burned for oxygen, he pressed his lips against my neck. “More.”

I led him to my bed as we kissed. He sat down and pulled me to his lap. I left tiny rosebuds on his collarbones. I tugged my shirt up half-way before I prompted, “More?” “More.” He helped ease off my shirt, and ran his fingers down the newly-exposed flesh. He grasped my breasts almost reverently, rubbing and squeezing as if afraid of breaking me. I sighed and arced my back, enjoying the gentle affection. Desire built up inside me. As he continued, he started to buck his hips. His arousal stood at full mast. I reached down and stroked, squeezing a drawn out groan from him. He pressed his face on my shoulder and hissed. “More?” “…More.”

I got out of his lap. I pulled at his tights until they dissolved under my touch. His arousal was flushed and curved. I knelt in between his legs and pressed a kiss against the base.

“More?” I asked, gazing up at him imploringly.

“More,” he choked.

I took as much as I could of him into my mouth. What I couldn’t fit, I stroked with my hands. I hummed around him as I sucked, drinking in his shudders and twitches. I bobbed my head faster and faster, doing my best to keep my gag reflex suppressed. He groaned out my name and grabbed my head. I glanced up to see him biting his lip fiercely, eyes grown dark with lust. His face and neck were flushed. I pulled away for a moment. “More?” “M-more…”

I pressed my breasts around his arousal and started stroking. He hissed, threw his head back, and swore. His entire body trembled. From time to time, I’d take the tip into my mouth and swirl my tongue around it. It left him keening and crying out my name. It was addicting to see him come nearly undone at my mercy. As the pace increased, so too did the volume of his cries. His hips started bucking faster. His body trembled and tensed. He gripped my hair tighter. He came in bursts, coating my face and breasts with his cum. He leaned down as he recovered, as if watching for my reaction. He wiped away as much he could from my face, doing his best even as he trembled.

“Are you alright, Master? Do you require assistance?”

“I’m fine. Just give me a minute,” I wheezed.

I climbed back onto the bed and lay down beside him. Our hands  were clasped as we both tried to recover our breath. I closed my eyes. Exhaustion hit and it was slowly dragging me down to sleep. I twitched and struggled, fighting back to stay awake. I felt Diarmuid shift beside me. Soft lips pressed against mine in a chaste kiss.

“Going to sleep?” he asked.

I shook my head. “N-no. I’m… I’m just resting my eyes…”

“More?”

“M-more…”

I felt him tug my shorts and underwear off. My legs were nudged apart. A few kisses and nips were planted along my inner thighs. A warm mouth descended on my core. I jerked and opened my eyes. He watched me as he ate me out. His tongue lapped at me eagerly, occasionally brushing against my clit. I hissed and bucked, but his hands kept me firmly in place. He pulled his mouth away soon after, and replaced it with his fingers. He slowly eased one finger in, eagerly drinking in my reactions as I squirmed.

“You look so beautiful, Master,” he crooned. “It’s just one finger but you’re reacting so much.”

I bit my lip to keep my voice back but he started thrusting the finger in even faster. I hissed and kicked at his shoulder as he increased the pace. After a few minutes, he added in a second finger. He began to spread them apart and rub more firmly against my walls. After he stroked a particular spot, I tensed and bucked into the air. A big spark of pleasure ran through me, leaving me breathless. He started rubbing more insistently at that spot. I shuddered as the sparks slowly built a raging flame.

“My lovely debauched Master! Moaning out my name while I pleasure you…  making such delightful little noises with that pretty voice of yours…”

I clenched tighter around his fingers. To hear the usually polite knight flatter me in such a bawdy way gave me a heady rush. I whimpered as he took his fingers out and gave a cursory lick, tasting my essence. As he continued to pleasure me, his other hand stroked his growing arousal. At regular intervals, he kept increasing the fingers until we were all the way to five. I was near delirious at this point, desperate for release. I reached my arms towards him, beckoning him closer.

“Diarmuid,” I begged, “fuck me…”

He smiled sweetly, as if I’d merely asked him to hold my hand. He lined his arousal up with my entrance and gently pushed it in. I squeaked and shuddered, holding close to him as he reached the hilt. Diarmuid was a gentle lover, letting me feel every glorious centimeter of his length as he ran it through me. He kissed my cheeks as I cried out. He kept at a slow gentle pace until I begged him to fuck me faster. He put my legs over his shoulders and set a faster pace. The angle made sure that he kept on hitting that spot consistently. He kept cooing and praising me whenever I clenched tightly around him. He peppered kisses down my neck as he whispered words of adoration. I scratched his back with my nails and hissed out his name. The fire inside me was now a conflagration, ready to burst out my skin. I clenched tighter around him, begging for release.

We came one after another, each crying out one another’s name. He kept moving even as he came, stuffing me full of his seed. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, holding on until morning light came. I knew not what we were to one another. It was no longer just a bond of a Master and her Servant. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t that brilliant or completed yet. It wasn’t friendship nor simple infatuation. Whatever it was, it felt warm and comforting, a refuge.

--

Thank you for the suggestion nonny! I’m sorry I went with female for this prompt because it was t*tfucking. 

I have many thoughts about Diarmuid. 

He’d probably have a LOT of reservation and hesitation before getting into any sort of romantic entanglements willingly. While I don’t doubt that he could probably still be attracted to people, I feel like he’d be the type to ignore it as much as he could. He’d even be more wary of people claiming they like him because a) the love spot geas, b) how people being attracted to him led to his downfall. 

Initially when I began this fic, I went in with the idea that well as far as falling in love goes he’d probably be the least hesitant if it was with the lord/lady he was serving, right? NAH. That love and adoration is going to color his loyalty and service. He’s not used to that so it probably really makes him nervous. Add to that the complication that is mana transfer. It is a physical thing, sure, and if you’re really determined it’s just going to remain that way. But if attraction is added to the mix, it introduces a whole host of problems. The question of “am I asking for a mana transfer because I do need mana or is because I want physical affection?” comes up a lot and is probably the one Diarmuid is primarily concerned with. (Tried to squeeze this into the fic but it was getting long and I was getting tired sorry)

I did my best to do justice to his character, tweaking and prodding at circumstances to make it still feel like this is still him willingly entering into something sexual with his master. Let me know which parts you thought needed more improvement! Thank you!!

Accepting suggestions!

#Kinktober 2020 #Kinktober 2020 Day 17 #Fate #Fate Grand Order #Diarmuid #diarmuid ua duibhne #FGO #non SFW #tikoy writes #Fate Zero #It's nearly 7 am I haven't slept yet #I'm sorry about the typos will look them over later #Many many feelings about diarmuid

[ktheist]

twelve.

chapters:  11 / 12 / 13 

knight!jungkook x princess!reader

x

“Your highness!” Eunha, your new maid, calls and at some point, you think she might have tried to run after you but proved to be no match for your legs. The same legs that have carried you into battlefield, slashing through the bodies of your enemies who might have been her father, brother or cousin just less than six months ago when your kingdoms were at war.

Blood was spilled and lives were lost.

It might be Taehyung’s tonight, as you found out about the shocking revelation Eunha blissfully mentioned of the unfortunate tale of a royal guard stealing the Prince and Princess’ dinner in the royal kitchen. To feed the son of a farmer that came to deliver some goods.

The Prince had saw it and ordered for him to be locked in the top cell of the left wing in isolation. Contempt of the royal family. Shameful. Disgraceful. Or so they say but your only take away was a emphatic, compassionate officer doing what the crown should have.

The ice cold prickles of the marble floor soon turns into roughed, dirt ground as you ascend the swirly staircase. On any other occasion, you would have preferred to take your time reaching the top, being well aware that the architecture is bound to unbalance you greatly but not tonight.

Tonight, your mind is fixed on a single goal. A wishful thinking perhaps.

“You dare lay your hands on your future Queen.” The hardened gaze you give the guard that tried to apprehend you is fierce and strict but the pendant of the royal family’s emblem is probably what made him retreat and bow.

“B-but your highness, the prince -” he fumbles with his words, legs almost caving under. You suspect if you’d tip him over, he’ll go tumbling down the stairs.

“Take this.” You barely manage to swallow the bile on your throat as you yank the pendant off your neck. The spot between your cleavage where it lied feels as heavy as your heart for what you’re about to do. “It’s worth enough to sustain your whole family for the next winter.”

One heartbeat. Two heartbeat. He hands out his hand on the third, head hung low as though he couldn’t bear to witness the beginning of his disloyalty towards his King.

And he shall learn, one way or another, that the crown he so devotedly serves has close to no care for its people.

Though the King seems more humane than his wife and son, the war that doomed your country could not have happened if he had not approved it.

“Jungkook!”

The words left you before you even manage to step into the cell that’s barely a quarter the size of your chambers where a wall-sized window permeated endless source of light and gorgeous view of the garden while a squared hole in the wall is the only thing keeping this god forsaken prison without light. Somewhere in the corner, the fire of a candle waves at the presence of an additional company.

His arms are skinnier than you remember when he gathers you in a longing embrace yet the strength of his hold does not change. It’s the same hold that offers you security and support on nights you are at your most fragile.

“Princess,” the hoarseness in his voice breaks your heart, “how did you get here?”

Calling for the guard that’s stood outside, you order for him to sneak into the worker’s kitchen, “get some water and some bread. plenty of those - oh for heaven’s sake go! we’re not going to run away!”

Jungkook cups your face and wipes away the tears you didn’t know were falling down your cheeks like waterfall. The fingerpads of his hand feels more callous than the last time he caresses your face as you fall asleep but the roughness affirms more than ever that this isn’t just some dream like the many dreams you’ve had of being reunited with your knight.

“Forgive me,” you hiccup, “I-I didn’t know -”

He presses your face into the crook between his neck and shoulder where you find solace in his warmth as he rocks you back and forth, hushed whispers spoken into your ears.

You didn’t want to let go when the scrawny guard comes bursting into the minute prison with what you asked for, cowering backwards when he sees the sight of his soon-to-be Queen in the arms of a man who’s not his Crown Prince.

At the very least though, Jungkook manages to find humor in your childlike tantrum. The vibration of the laugh all too familiar yet surreal.

“You’ve just found me alive, don’t you want to keep it like that?’ He bargains, receiving a smack on his chest at any notion of death doing you apart.

“It’s not funny.”

He pulls the tray left by the guard a few feet away from his feet, relishing in freshly made bread and taking generous gulps of water from the bucket that comes with the sustenance.

All the while, his left hand is always touching you in some way, be it around your shoulders or presently, interlocked with your right hand.

“Let’s run away,” by dawn, you’ve calmed down enough to find yourselves in each others’ arms, lain on a straw mat on the dirtied ground, “you and me.”

“Princess,” Jungkook’s thumb is on your chin and you’re forced to look into those brown eyes that holds nothing but gentleness, “you were born for something so great that to succumb to your wish to run away would be a crime.”

“It’s my only wish,” you clutch a handful of his shirt on his chest, it feels odd not having the coldness of the armor shock you anymore yet this way, you can feel his beating heart if the world is quiet enough.

“It’s the one wish I cannot grant you,” he sits up, hand covering yours as though he’s begging you not to implore, “will I see you tonight?”

He presses his lips to yours when you take a bit too long to answer. It’s too easy to lose yourself in his arms when he’s holding you so close. Yet the thought of what will happen once you step out of this prison makes your chest tighten and the line of your shoulder a little straighter.

“We’re not done discussing this.”

He waves you off with a smile that says every parting is a goodbye. Every sneaking in is an surety hung loosely over the promises of a bag of shillings for the young guard whose name you learned is Beomgyu.

Your nights are spent sneaking past the guards (a specialty honed from your younger days in your own castle) and your mornings are spent with the family you wed into and the council.

Until one day, a messenger boy comes bursting into your study as you discuss the betterment of the political status between the Southern and Northern Kingdoms. 

The mountain people have accepted the treaty in exchange for fur coats, breads and horses. The King, at the news, roared with laughter as he brought the silver chalice to the air.

“A toast to my dearest daughter,” he nods at you, “for achieving peace since my great great-grandfather’s rule and even then, it was my great great grandmother who struck the treaty.” 

“To her highness,” Sir Park is the first to break the silence, joined by the rest of the councils but not without suppressed sneers and back-handed compliments.

The chair on the other end screeches as the butler hurriedly rushes over to pull it off the marble floor.

“Since my son has found the best of wife,” he says over the celebrating crowd as chatters die down, “a coronation for the new Queen and King to take the throne shall be held in three month’s time.”

A pause.

“I’m unwell,” the Queen looks at you sharply before she meets her King’s concerned gaze, “allow me to retreat to my chambers.”

Less than a minute later, Taehyung stands, dropping the crisp white napkin on the table. The only sound echoing off the walls are his footsteps tapping against the floor almost as mocking as his retreat.

The King clears his throat and smiled with a sort of practiced glee that could have fooled the highest of nobles, “eat, drink, celebrate! For we have a busy month ahead of us.”

But you’re both of royal blood and you’ve once borne a weight of a crown.

The wide, a deep red, swirls in a minute whirlwind within the chalice as before you shoot the King a smile and bring the chalice to your lips.

x

“Your highness,” you stop a few feet from your door where a familiar face is leaning against, chatting up one of the maids whose luck is the poorest to have caught him there at the wrong time, “what brings you to my chambers?”

The maid drops her gaze, a meek greeting shot your way before she practically runs to the opposite direction.

“You dare lock your chambers from your husband?” He looks past you to your Seulgi who has assumed a post as your lady-in-waiting. She remains in her spot until you signal for her to unlock it.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it,” he whispers to her between the clicking of keys before she pushes the door open, head hung low as though she hadn’t heard a thing.

You cover your hand with yours for the briefest seconds before trailing behind him into your room. The curtains are drawn apart, moon light pouring onto the intricate design of the Indian carpet.

“You’re stepping out of line, princess,” fingers curl around your delicate wrist as the doors creak to a shut, “be a good little trophy wife and cease your meddling in the politics of my kingdom.”

“I should not have to if you’d do your job properly.” You maintain the smirk spread across your glossed lips as you attempt to shove him away.

The frown lines on his face eases into a nasty smirk. The one you wish to slap off since the day you’ve encountered. It’s short-lived as the corners of his mouth turns down.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten,” even with the mask of hurt he wears on that devastatingly handsome face, it’s still not enough to conceal the ugly little head of where he derives his humor from, “that once I’m the King and you the Queen, we are expected to be with a child. A royal blood to unite the two kingdoms once and for all.” 

His grip tightens, those dark eyes harbor the same kind of menace of the man who rode on his horse and ordered for your head during the war. The mere recollection of blood, fire and the condition of your own knight makes you want to vomit.

Arching your knee upwards, you take a step backwards as he doubles over, wheezing.

“You wench,” he sneers once he’s gathered his breath and the remnants of his pride, “wait til I become King-”

“King?” A scoff escapes your lips, “battles and wars are your forte, I admit but it takes a man to rule a kingdom and unfortunately you’re half of a man than the stable boys.”

The bellows for the guards almost allows him to pass as a mad man. Truly feral and uncontrolled like the beast that set fire to your people’s houses and burned the harvest of your kingdom.

“Your highness,” Eunha rushes to your side as three guards march towards Taehyung, Seulgi standing a few feet away.

“Get my sword and one for my darling wife,” nimble hand pulls apart the ruff of his collar before he tosses his jacket onto your bed, “it’s a beautiful night for a fence.”

x

It’s a losing game.

You knew since you unsheathed the sword of your family insignia - one of the many approaches the King had taken to make you feel at home. It’s your father’s father, passed on to your father and on your wedding day, passed to you and hung on the wall in the diner hall of your new home.

The weight isn’t made for a woman - as are many things that are deemed a man’s job. You prefer the sword you had custom made on your 20th birthday. The day your father promised he’d teach you how to wield a weapon but before he managed to hold a lesson for you, he’d fallen terribly ill.

Sending a prayer to your bed-ridden father, you leap at the smirking man, already knowing it’s far too heavy for you to counter his attack. One strike is at it takes for him to send your sword airborne and landing just inches from the fountain where a statue of the previous King stands gloriously.

“Yield,” the point of the blade catches the reflection of weary yet bloodthirsty eyes. It takes a moment for you to realize they do not belong to the monster who’s well able to drive it through your heart. It belongs to another kind of monster, yourself.

“You’d have to kill me first,” you say through gritted teeth despite your neck burning from craning upwards to look at him dead in the eye.

“Enough!” A flock of golden yellow enters your periphery, the delicate shrill is enough to tell who the colorful robe belongs to, “Taehyung, I raised you better than to point your sword at a woman!”

“But mother,” the man grunts, “she was -”

“I don’t care who did what,” she speaks over him, hardened gaze shifting from his son to you.

The weight of it is enough for you to want to cower into the corner and blend with the shadows yet you remain on your spot, back straightened, hands 

“Leave,” is all she says and it’s enough.

One by one, the guards and your maid begins to trickle out of the vicinity, rushed heels clacking against the floor until only the three of you are left.

She didn’t even bat an eye when her son bowed and started walking until you dip to a courtesy, “remain there.”

“Your majesty,” nodding once, you watch as she circles you like a predator before pulling out your sword from where it’s rooted.

“A princess does not go against a man in a sword fight,” the glint of the moonrays hits one of her eyes, painting it a treacherous golden brown, “not before she is crowned Queen.”

“With all due respect, your majesty, I do not want -”

“You will,” the robe flutters behind her as she spins, gracefully yet deadly, “you will want power. Command. Once you’ve lived long enough to lose yourself in this god forsaken place and I will not allow you to have any semblance of that in my castle. In my kingdom.”

“My Queen, your wisdom is misplaced. I’ve borne the weight of the crown and know a great deal of what it entitles,” you drop to a bow, “to be relieved of it is a luxury not many can afford. My apologies that you lost yourself along the way and forgot the cause you are to bear: your people. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The air feels heavy, almost crushing with each step you take as the reverberating sound of your heels remind you how alone you are within these walls. The wall you’re leaned against as you clutch the thin peignoir on your chest, heaves of breath tumbling out erratically.

You’re not sure how long you’re slumped on the ground like that. Not long, you suppose. These walls, though barren, are not uninhabited. One of the footmen must have seen the lump of a person and came close enough to realize it’s you before he manages to shoo you away if you were a maid.

Eunha is on your side in no time. Gentle, slender arms around yours guiding you to your room. But those are not the arms you wish to be in right now.

x

check out my masterlist for the latest updates!

#jungkook smut #bts smut #bts jungkook #bts #networkbangtan #jungkook #jungkook imagine #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts fanfiction #jungkook scenario #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #knight!jungkook #princess!reader

[dictionarywrites]

Oh my gosh i love your writing 💜💜💜. I wanted to request Loki not feeling well or somthing. But the Grandmaster not wanting to show how worried he is because he doesn't want to look weak or harm his reputation.

Thanks so much, Anon, that’s so kind of you to say! I’m not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, but I took the idea that came to mind and went with it.

Loki is ensconced in the quarters he has managed to get for himself on Sakaar, attempting to work his way through a rather uncomfortable situation - when the Grandmaster arrives at his door, Loki loses his temper, and fears the worst will be his punishment. Rated M. Mild warning for blood & implied non-consensual hormone treatment, as well as the expected power imbalance. 

Ao3 link. Tip jar. Send a request. 

Loki lets out ashort, pained groan, and he shifts on his side, his head pressed against his pillow,which is markedly cool beneath his skin, and the fabric itself is crusted withfrost. The Jötnar, Loki knows, do not tend to beds themselves: they sleep onslabs of cool ice with frozen pieces of stone beneath their heads, and Lokiwishes, in this moment, he could indulge in such luxury. Instead, he lies,twitching occasionally, on a bed of luxurious silks and eiderdown pillows,frost forming beneath the weight of his limbs.

He looks up at theceiling, which is – of course, this is a planet of decadence and excess –panelled in mirrors, and he sees himself in the mirror. His skin is visiblydamp, where he is warmer than he ought be and affecting condensation to formbefore it can turn to frost, and he is breathing heavily, his chest rising andfalling. His stomach is cramping, his head is aching, and Loki wishes he could be naught but a river rock insteadof a man.

Naked, he can seehis own cock limp against his thigh, and see the blood between his legs. Hemight wear some sort of padding, some device or other, but as soon as he thinksof moving, he feels another cramp make itself known, dragging about the muscles deep within his belly and clenching,twisting.

Oh, what agony.

A ring sounds fromthe door to Loki’s private (ha!) roomin this towering building of Sakaar, and he groans, pressing his face furtherinto the pillow. His hand against his belly, he lets ice form upon his fingers,and he uses it to try to soothe the desperate pains within him.

“Hello?” comes a voice from the intercom,and Loki feels his blood run hot. The Grandmaster! Shit. Shit!

“Shit,” Lokimutters to himself, dragging himself hastily from bed and dragging the sheetabout his body – with the pain distracting him, his illusions are impossible tomaintain, and he is forced to stumble toward the door, leaning heavily on themirrored wall beside it as he pulls it open.

The Grandmasterstands at the door of Loki’s bedchambers, and he takes Loki’s bedraggled statein: he looks from Loki’s limp hair to his bitten-bloody lips, down to his dampchest and the half-frosted sheets wrapped hap-hazardly around his body, down toLoki’s bare feet. His eyes narrow slightly, and Loki feels his heart leap inhis chest.

“You were in bed?At this hour?”

“It’s not dawnyet, Grandmaster,” Loki says, his fist tightening in its grip upon the fabricover his belly, and the Grandmaster lets out a short, single exhalation.

“Well, exactly. It’sway too early to go to bed. Someone in there with you?” Why is he here? Loki looks askance between theGrandmaster and the two guards that flank him – Topaz, mercifully, is at leastnot to be seen – but he gleans no answers.

“No, Grandmaster:I am quite alone.”

“Uh huh,” theGrandmaster says. Loki hears the dry disbelief in his tone, and he feels fearburst within him – Monogamy is justthe name of a cocktail here on Sakaar, and he finds it difficult to believethat the Grandmaster would be gentle were Loki to have lain with another in thefive days he’s been on this damned planet. Particularly since they have only lain together once, and that was in the midst of anorgy. “There’s purple on your mouth.”

“What?” Loki says,and he turns to the mirror, the fingers of his spare hand going up to his lips.The Grandmaster isn’t wrong: there ispurple on his lower lip, and he realises when he feels its un-Æsir thicknessbeneath his fingers that it’s his own blood – these are the worst monthly painsLoki has ever experienced, and it seems even the most basic of his enchantmentsis failing him. “That’s my blood.”

“Your blood is red,isn’t it?” The Grandmaster presses, and Loki hesitates before he awkwardlyshakes his head.

“No, not really,”Loki murmurs, and then says, “Look, Grandmaster, I— This isn’t a good time forme to receive guests, and I must apologize for my appearance, but I’m… Actuallyrather unwell.”

“Look, ah, Loki— You’re cute and all, but I don’tlike to be lied to.”

“I’m not lying,” Loki says, plaintively. “I amill.”

“There’s noillness on Sakaar,” the Grandmaster says, beginning to step forwards, and Lokiungracefully steps back away from him, tripping on the sheet in his hurry toget away and landing in a heap upon the ground, the blanket falling about hiswaist. “Germs, stuff like that – they’re screened as people come in.”

“Would you just get out?” Loki snaps, frost forming onhis lips, and suddenly, the world exists in a haze of red: Loki is on his feet,his teeth sharpening even as he looks into the face of the Grandmaster, hishands clenched into fists and gleamingwith heated energy – seiðr, in its purest and unadulterated form. “I am not fitto entertain!” The Grandmaster’s hand is around his throat, his grip tight, andall at once, Loki’s magic fails him, the Grandmaster’s lip curling, and Lokiflinches at the noise as the door to Loki’s bedchambers slams shut, leaving thetwo guards outside.

“I thought youwere one of those Æsir, but you’re not, are you?” the Grandmaster says, softly,and Loki glances to the ceiling: his flesh is entirely blue, now, and the redhaze is explained by the protective lens of deepest crimson that has formedover his eyes. The blood upon his thighs is lilac, now, instead of red, and hefeels his shame deep within him. “You can’t talk to me like that, Kiki. Peoplewill get the wrong idea.” The Grandmaster squeezes that bit tighter, his griptight around the column of Loki’s throat, bringing him to the brink of choking,and then he pushes Loki away, and Loki lands on the edge of his bed.

There is somethingLoki cannot quite place in the Grandmaster’s deep, golden eyes, some strangeemotion that Loki has not seen the older man show before. The Grandmaster’sgaze flits from Loki’s face, down between his legs – he had been excited whenhe had first realised the precise natureof Loki’s sexual organs, but now a dawn seems to break upon his face.

“You got yourperiod, huh?”

“Yes,” Loki says,tiredly. “I’ve never experienced it quite so… Painfully.”

“Yeah, that’ll bethe hormone enhancement,” the Grandmaster says, lowly. Loki meets his gaze, hisown eyes lidded, and his silent, ragingquestion is answered: “Everyone one this planet is horny all the time, and withno, ah, impulse control. You thinkthat’s an accident? I’m not stupid. Gottakeep people off their game.”

The Grandmasterreaches out, and Loki flinches, expecting some sort of touch that will send himburning to ashes, or melting, but nosuch thing comes: the Grandmaster’s fingers settle upon Loki’s belly, hisusually warm hands surprisingly cool, and Loki lets out a low groan of reliefas the pain within him is steeped in some sort of magical anaesthesia, forcingthe cramping muscles to still themselves. The Grandmaster’s lips are parted,his gaze deep with something morethan mere concern at having a bed-mate put out of action, and Loki feels thefear and apprehension he usually feels around the Grandmaster stir beneath hisskin. The Grandmaster is so powerful,and yet here, he seems capable of kindness.

Is he a greaterfool than Loki had thought?

“Listen,” theGrandmaster murmurs, “I, uh, I likeyou, Loki. So I’m gonna put this little, this little  disagreement behind us. I’m gonna stay heretonight, and we’re gonna say, for, ah, appearances’sake, that you made up for that nastiness you just showed me.”

“Grandmaster,”Loki whispers, but it is not quite within him to protest, exhausted as he is,and he drops back upon the bed as the Grandmaster goes to the door, orderinghis two guards to leave him be. He watches the reflection in the ceiling as theGrandmaster casts off his outer robe, then climbs onto the bed, dragging Lokiup to lie beside him. And then—

His eyes close.

“Grandmaster?”

“Uh huh?”

“You’re… Are yougoing to sleep?”

“Sure am. Somespecies, they uh, they need a bit of shut-eye,but I just do it for the fun of it. That okay?” Loki stares at him in thereflection, and then shakes his head. “Great.”The Grandmaster drags him closer, his palm settling on Loki’s belly andreleasing more of that wonderfully numbingmagic, and Loki sighs, letting his own eyes close. “You’re my favourite, Loki.Don’t want to see the goods get too damaged.”

My favourite. The words echo in Loki’s head – he should be terrifiedof this Elder Being, this man with boundless power at his fingertips, who killsindiscriminately and laughs in the face of genocide, and yet— His favourite! His favourite! His favourite! Even bloody, and pained, and angry, you are his favourite!

Without evenrealising, Loki’s teeth burst through the flesh of his lower lip once more, andhe tastes the acid tang of his own Jotunn blood, his red eyes wide. As theGrandmaster softly snores beside him, holding Loki in his palm like the insect Loki is in comparison, Lokistares at their reflection on the ceiling, and ignores the sting at the cornersof his eyes.

#frostmaster #marvel #fanfic #dictionary writes #masterfrost #Anonymous #ask loki #t; okay to reblog #t; answered asks

[insert-selfinsert-here]

#Ship: Driven and Devoted #S: D&D The Allure in Danger #Self ship fiction

[sleeplessstudentscientist]

Musings on Marriage

Sometimes I think I am broken inside

And not that cutesy  90s dark-makeup, black clothes tickle-me Emo stuff that goes away the first time you realize that teenage angst isn’t the worst it’ll ever be

I mean really honest-to-God what the fuck is wrong with me I really think that deep down in the depths of my womanhood I sincerely might loathe every young girls fluffy-cloud dreaming of happily ever after.

I hate roses and wedding dresses and the mere thought of walking down an aisle makes me want to puke up my very pricey vegan BLT with soy mayo with a side of healthier-than-thou.  

Parading around in someone’s else version of Cinderella with the snapsnap of the paparazzi that I am literally paying to stalk me and document my every overthoughtout overthinking of what it means to be personable and likeable and able to be worthy-of my oftentimes overly-charming Prince.  

The mere inkling of an overpriced ceremony whereupon I am to be publicly proclaimed someone’s beloved makes me break out in a cold hard sweat. The utterance of I don’t paints itself across my forehead, each letter a painstaking reminder that I am unwell. Unwelcome in the hallowed halls of matrimony and unfit to be an XX.

And why might you ask?

Well, what if it all goes wrongs? Statistically the vocal pronouncement of forever I do, is maybe I don’t for about half of those dizzyingly in love merry-g0-round goers who really truly can’t ever even imagine not running down life’s’ path with their special snuggle-bug someone till the day their last breath dies on their lips.

But then, they do. The music slows down a little each day, and then one day it stops. The feet that once chased the butterflies of euphoria become the steel-toed army boots of mercilessness and spite. And in spite of your best efforts, your best friend is now your enemy and the sunshine has died for the last time. The cold-edged sword of indifference is lain across your stoop and the threshold for your misery has only begun to climb.

You swore that couple silently taking jabs would never be you and yours, but here you stand battleground announced, standing at attention, attending to the very fire of hatred you thought could never be.

And what then?

When the record slows to a halt and the notes come crashing down, do you look around and realize what you once had? Had you stopped just in the nick of time, would the nickel and dime-ing of petty debts and empty threats have eased up, each minor mess-up no longer a tick mark on the giant scorecard of your never-ending charade you call a union?

If that aisle was left un-walked would you have stood together proudly after many years abound, having sown the fruitful seeds of humble partnership instead of the blackened ones of contempt? Or is the temptation of title so alluring that you are lured in waiting with baited breath to fall hook line and sinker for that stinker you will call your man.

Managing to wake each morning happy to be with a wonderful him, complicated, convoluted, not quite sure if it’s even real. I really hope this lasts forever, even without the time-honored tradition which supposedly makes it so.  

[webcricket]

Nudge Theory

Characters: CastielXReader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Word Count:  3936 (Act III)

A/N: A five act mini-series. The reader and Castiel must work together to solve the curious case of the missing Winchesters. Fluff, smut, and a plot for kicks. Be warned - this act contains written erotica content. After all, the third act is nothing without a climax [or two].

Completed Series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/162181272535/nudge-theory-masterlist

Nudge [verb] –

·       “Coax or gently encourage someone to do something.”

“How the hell did I miss this?” Vintage yellow photo thrust ahead at arm’s length, you squinted contemptuously between it and the modern angled shining building sitting on a rolling hill previously occupied by the notorious Clifton Springs Sanatorium - everything gleamed new right down to the freshly lain vibrant green sod.

Mapping uncharted recesses of thought at an overly decorous distance to your person, coat flapping in the grass-scented breeze, Castiel thumbed through the news clippings in John Winchester’s journal, comparing them to the small local newspaper he held announcing the grand opening of the Clifton Springs Senior Center – finally complete after five arduous years of construction setbacks. Holding a fluttering piece of paper to his nose, inhaling the smudged ink, his sky blues milled in confusion, “These clippings Sam collected about the sanatorium, they’re all very old. Ten, maybe eleven years.”

“Maybe even twelve or thirteen?” You peeped sidelong at the angel, jamming the old photo and your hands into your pockets, closing the distance to his side in a few short strides, “Maybe Sam decided to take up scrapbooking. Practical hobby for a hunter really, and certainly safer on his liver in the long run than Dean’s chosen one.”

“None of this makes sense,” Cas disregarded your sarcastic snipe at the Winchesters, refiling the paper in the journal, dark curls tickling his forehead in an errant gust of wind.

The more the angel ignored your efforts at teasing and prodding him out of his shell the more you felt inclined, obligated even, hell-bent one might say, to persist in re-establishing the flirtatious rapport you somehow lost in a random cornfield on the side of the highway at mile marker 156. You scratched your head thoughtfully, “You know, you’re absolutely right. Now that I think about it, he’s probably more of a paper mache guy.”

Cas squinted apathetically at you, unaware you interpreted this silence as a formal declaration of war.

Deciding it best to fall back for the moment and formulate a new line of attack, you shifted your concentration back to the case. “I hate small towns,” sighing, shrugging, lips thrumming as you exhaled, “news travels like lightening inside them, and at a snail’s pace out. But just because the sanatorium is history, doesn’t mean the curse, haunting, or whatever is scheduled to start killing people around here tomorrow is gone too.”

“Dear, why don’t you ask this sweet young couple for help,” a meek voice quivered behind your backs.

You and the angel turned around to find the source, discovering a deeply-lined frail woman in a wheelchair wringing her hands over and over and a hunchback pink-faced man panting and clutching knobby fingers at the handles of the chair.

“Hate to bother you,” the man wheezed, gesturing up toward the senior center, “but I’m afraid this incline has got the better of me. Old legs, old lungs, you know.”

“Oh, we’re not a…” You ceased your protest when Cas abruptly tossed the journal in your direction.

“Of course, allow me,” the angel smiled politely, assuming the elderly man’s place behind the wheelchair to relieve his burden, maneuvering up the walkway toward the center entrance.

“Thanks son,” the man waved him off, fissured countenance beaming when he faced you, “fine young man you have there.”

You accepted the man’s chivalrously proffered elbow, crooking your arm through his and shuffling forward up the hill. Your attention settled on the angel’s square shoulders as he walked several paces ahead, “And how can you tell?”

“Former army man I reckon,” the fellow spoke with an air of authority on the matter, “I can always spot a soldier. Ready to leap into action. Yes, indeed, fine young man you have.”

“You’re quite the keen observer,” you gave his arm a gentle squeeze, “mister?”

“Mr. Kinlay, Al,” he filled in the blank, pointing ahead, “my wife Marge. Sixty-two years we’ve been married.”

“Well it’s very nice to meet you both. I’m Y/N, and that fine young man you’ve so astutely identified is Castiel,” you couldn’t help but savor the feel of the angel’s name on your tongue.

“And how long have you two been together?” Mr. Kinlay innocently inquired.

The subtle rigidity hitching the angel’s gait informed you he could hear every word you exchanged with the old man - you decided to toy with him by revealing the thinly veiled truth. “Oh, it seems like we met only yesterday,” you chuckled, “I just knew he was an angel the moment I laid eyes on him.”

“Ah, young love, young love!” Mr. Kinlay bobbed his head, a nostalgic grin cracking his mouth. The center doors whined open on automatic hinges upon your approach. Mr. Kinlay excused himself from your side with a thankful pat on your hand, resuming his position behind his wife’s wheelchair, “Thank you, son. Much obliged.”

Mrs. Kinlay peered up between you and Cas, eyes twinkling beneath crepey skin as she looked the angel up and down approvingly, “He’s a dreamy one isn’t he? I remember when you were a strapping young lad like that, Al dear. And such a beautiful girl by his side.”

A rush of heat erupted across your chest, neck, and cheeks - the disremembered recollection of the erotic dream you had in the car on the drive here featuring the angel freed from seeming oblivion by the elderly woman’s words. Suddenly the whole waking up in an abandoned vehicle to find the angel in a field scenario made complete sense - he must know about the dream.

Mr. Kinlay wheeled his wife away with a parting wink, “I may not be a strapping young lad anymore, but Marge dear, you’re still the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Y/N?”

You weren’t exactly a quiet dreamer according to past roommates - no wonder Cas balked when you touched him and went all business of the case. Your cheeks flushed impossibly redder.

“Y/N?” When you failed to respond to your name a second time, Cas’ fingers inquiringly touched your arm, “Is something wrong? You appear, unwell.”

You jumped, startled at the contact, heart and mind racing, somehow both losing as you barely suppressed the urge to flee, “No, uh.” Groping clumsily in your jacket pockets you produced an EMF reader, “Just thinking I should check for spirits as long as we’re here.” You bolted through the doors, mumbling, “Maybe you could ask around, see if anyone has felt cold spots, heard strange sounds, whatever. Meet back at the car in 15.”

Five minutes spent in the bathroom running cold water over your feverish face, and ten more wandering the halls fruitlessly searching for EMF spikes were enough to calm your nerves, at least the visible ones – or so you hoped. “I got nothing,” you huffed, approaching the car, striving to appear as casual as humanly possible while avoiding looking directly at the angel.

Cas leaned against the hood, arms folded across his chest, blankly staring across the parking lot. “Taking into account the poor circulation of the aged and infirmed and the tendency for hearing aids to malfunction,” he grumbled, “I got the same.”

You fished the phone from your pocket, scowling at the screen, “Nothing from Sam or Dean either.” On a whim, you scrolled through your contacts list and smashed your thumb on Dean’s smirking mug.

A nearby trash bin began to ring.

You exchanged a wide-eyed glance with the angel, immediately disconnecting and trying again.

The trash can rang ominously.

Cas strode over to the bin and wrenched off the top. Digging around, he produced a pair of discarded cell phones.

“I guess that explains why they aren’t answering,” you kicked the bin, groaning a combination of frustration and pain - the bin having been securely bolted to the cement walkway. For the moment, the pain gave you welcome distraction from your blundering sexual interest in the angel.

“It also tells us we’re on the right track,” Cas slipped the phones into his coat pocket for safekeeping.

“Right, silver lining,” your mind again wandered, wondering what else the angel had hidden in those bottomless pockets, and for that matter, under all those unnecessary layers of clothing. You mentally swatted the thought asunder, forcefully redirecting your brain to focus on the missing brothers, “Why the hell would they dump their phones?”

He narrowed his eyes, angling to read a tiny block print sign on the side of the bin, “I don’t know, but according to this town ordinance, these receptacles are required to be emptied every afternoon by 3PM.” He straightened up, gazing over at you, “That means Sam and Dean were here sometime during the past 24 hours.”

“It’s a small town, and those boys are nothing if not predictable,” a hopeful smile blossomed on your lips, “what do you say, angel? Do we check in to the kitschiest motel we can find, or grab burgers and pie at an all-night diner first?”

His nose crinkled, jaw slackening askance, uncertain if you were proposing tracking down the Winchesters based upon their well-known habits which somehow had not yet gotten them killed, or not so subtly propositioning him.

“Nevermind, let’s just go,” realizing the ambiguity of your phrasing in light of your apparent inability to control your oversexed brain, you spun on your heel, retreating to the car.

Twelve diners (in what you surmised must be a per capita ratio of 1 diner per 10 residents), one police station (the word station being quite generous for what amounted to a room smaller than most closets), and six motels (for some inexplicable reason all UFO themed) later, you found yourself sprawled face down on a bed in the last motel you’d canvased. You mumbled unintelligibly into the scratchy comforter, “I don’t understand how no one saw them. Sam is like 8 feet tall and they drive a freaking billboard advertisement for muscle cars.”

Cas sat on the opposite bed, slouched over, elbows resting on his knees, chin perched on folded hands, angelic ears managing to translate the intent of your mumbling, “Perhaps something prevented them from staying in town. Their father wasn’t exactly known for his tact and from the journal entry we know he has history here.”

You rolled over to glare at the ceiling, running your hands over your face and knotting them into your hair, “Maybe, maybe that’s why they needed backup. I don’t know Cas, it’s all so vague. All I know is we have to stay in town. If the kill cycle starts again tomorrow in spite of the sanatorium’s destruction, someone needs to be here to stop it and we’re on deck.”

“Agreed,” the angel pressed his hands to his knees and stood. Rummaging through his pockets he crossed the room to place the brothers’ phones and John Winchester’s journal on the dresser.

“I’m going to grab a quick shower,” you flopped from the creaky bed, shedding your jacket and toeing off your boots and socks before disappearing into the bathroom. Force of habit fostered as a lone hunter meant you didn’t bother to close the door; it simply didn’t occur to you as something to be done.

Cas began to tack up case notes and organize the spotty information you had collected regarding the 13 year cyclic deaths.

You drifted out of the bathroom after a few minutes, trailed by a cloud of steam, rivulets of water dripping from your hair and clad only in a loosely wrapped flimsy white towel which left nothing to the imagination, to search through your duffle whilst cursing under your breath about sub-par motel toiletries.

Eyes glossing over the old clippings and police reports, the angel caught sight of you in his periphery. He swallowed a low growl, unable to repress the involuntary reaction of his vessel to your exposed skin.

“Find something?” You glanced over, curious, alerted by the strange sound, triumphantly clutching lavender body wash to your bosom.

“No, um, it’s just very frustrating,” he stammered, fidgeting with a file folder and sheepishly looking everywhere but in your direction.

Quirking a bemused eyebrow, you shrugged off his odd behavior, returning to your shower.

The angel courageously endeavored not to allow his thoughts to dwell on you – naked, wet, attractive, and quite possibly thinking of him this very instant as you lathered your body. He resisted the urge to eavesdrop on your thoughts, instead valiantly reading and re-reading the gruesome autopsy details of victims, trying to dampen his arousal. The contented moaning noises you made as the hot water soothed your tense muscles making it increasingly difficult for him to do so. Overwhelmed to the point where he required retreat or relief, he dropped the case file to the dresser and made for the door.

“Where are you going?”

Your voice arrested his escape, mid-turn of the doorknob, “I, um, for a walk. To think, uh, about the case.”

“Wait up, let me get dressed. We can brainstorm,” you bent to grab clean clothes from your bag. When you glanced over at the angel to determine his response to your suggestion, he awkwardly stood sideways, fist still poised on the doorknob, shoulders rigid, staring at the dingy carpet between his feet as though he hoped it might open and swallow him whole. Eyes landing on the evident erection straining through his pants, you comprehended why he so urgently needed fresh air. Heart pounding in your throat, the change of clothes slipped forgotten from your fingers - the proverbial elephant in the room shattering any and all inhibitions you held. Drawing in a sharp breath, you embraced the route of boldness. Crossing the room, you reached out, laying a palm on his arm, speaking deliberately, “Castiel, you can go for that walk alone, or you can stay here and I can help you with your, predicament.”

He gulped hard, lust-blown pupils flitting to nervously regard you.

Edging nearer, fingers descending to suggestively tug at his belt buckle, you purred, “I think you already know what I’d prefer, angel.”

His expression darkened - seizing your waist, he pivoted and pinned your body to the door with a guttural growl, smashing chapped lips to yours.

Parting your lips, you submitted to the wanton dominance of his mouth with a moan, relishing the taste of late summer honey on his tongue. Shoving the trench coat and suit jacket over his shoulders, your fingers scrambled for purchase across the rippling muscles of his back.

His hands skimmed the curve of your hips to roughly knead your ass, lips breaking from yours to nuzzle and suck your neck, voice vibrating against your skin, “Is this what you want, human? Rough, like in your dream?” Stubble prickling delicate skin, he nipped and bruised the sensitive flesh of your pulse point.

Simpering, feigning shock, you rammed his chest with both palms, herding him backward with a dark glare until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he collapsed onto it, “Did you spy on me, angel?”

Shrinking into himself, his demeanor tempered apologetically, “I thought you were having a nightmare. I didn’t mean…”

“Shh, it’s alright,” you cooed, balancing your hands on his shoulders, straddling his thighs, settling into his lap and kissing the tip of his nose. He truly was a walking contradiction if you ever met one and you had no idea what to make of him - one moment he was a dominant, confident, virile seraph, and in the blink of an eye the uncertain, cautious, anxious, kind of pitiable, fallen angel re-emerged. You hooked a finger under his chin, lifting hooded eyes to meet yours, “Tell me, angel, did my dream excite you? Is that why you ran away?”

“Yes,” apprehension assuaged, his fingers nudged under your towel, thumbs rubbing small circles into your thighs, “and yes.”

You rocked your hips into his clothed arousal, eliciting a rumbling groan from his throat - the sinful noise inciting a rush of heat to your core.

“Y/N, wait…I,” he stuttered, higher reasoning battling carnal desire to regain composure. He firmly gripped your hips, thwarting the glorious friction you desperately sought, anxiety returning to trace his countenance.

“What’s wrong?” You studied the angel’s furrowed aspect, fingers tangling into the curls at his nape.

The line of his brow deepened, furtively meeting your questioning gaze, “I, uh, isn’t it customary for me to, um, buy you dinner first?”

An amused smile twisted up the side of your mouth, “Castiel, I don’t care what’s customary. I’ve wanted you since the moment we met. I trust what feels organic, do you understand?” Smile fading, you acknowledged the distinct possibility he didn’t feel the same, “If you don’t want this, just tell me.”

“I understand,” he relaxed his grip on your hips. Snaking warm hands up and around your back, he dislodged the towel from your torso with a small smile, “I do want this - want you. Very much.” His lips fell to pepper your collarbone with open-mouthed kisses, growling into your shower damp lavender-scented skin, he chided, “You never answered my question.”

“Hmm,” you tousled his hair, melting under his ministrations, shallowly undulating your hips as he bucked to meet your movements, “what question was that?”

“About your dream,” he lightly marked your collarbone with a nip, “how you want me to be.”

“Castiel,” hands falling to cup his cheeks, you pulled him up to your lips for a long tender kiss. Parting for air, softly gasping as you sucked and released his lower lip, your breath ghosted humid in his ear, whispering, “I want you to be you, angel.”

Your simple sentiment, a testament to the beauty contained within your soul, charged electrically through his celestial being. He grinned against your shoulder, in a fluid motion flipping you to your back and lying beside your languid figure. Gazing affectionately into your eyes, he swept a stray wisp of hair behind your ear. Pliant lips touched yours, unhurried, kissing you deep and slow and worshipfully. Burrowing his nose into your neck, he began to draw a meandering path down the center of your body, diverting to explore every divot and curve, attentively noting the locations which made you squirm with ticklish delight and those which caused you to writhe in pleasure, allowing his grace to linger tantalizingly at the latter spots as his fingers continued their keen exploration.

Eagerly anticipating his target as he inched below your navel, clenching and unclenching your thighs, you clutched at his hand, humming, “Cas, please, angel-” You encouraged him to move lower, “I need more.”

His mouth captured yours, again sweetly passionate. You shivered, moaning, as he cupped your aching sex, praising you, “Such a stunning creation, the purest soul housed within a most exquisite vessel, but so impatient.” Leaning over to lavish your breast with his tongue, swirling and sucking the hardened bud, he mercifully eased a finger into your throbbing center. Every flick of his tongue across your sensitive nipple mirrored the come hither curl of his finger - first one, and then another, and another dipping to stretch and fill you completely, igniting a fire in your abdomen. He worked your body slowly, thoroughly, until every nerve ending blazed with pleasure.

“Cas, mmm-close,” you mewled, walls tensing around his long fingers as he stoked your g-spot again and again. The tingling heat of his grace licked and engulfed your clit, setting you fully aflame, the burn of release sucking the very oxygen from your lungs, leaving you dizzied and panting.

“So beautiful when you come undone,” the angel kissed your sweat sheened temple, gradually withdrawing his grace, now cooling and comforting in its wake.

Dazed senses returning to a semblance of normalcy, you snuggled to the angel’s chest, pressing arousal swollen lips lovingly to his, shaky fingers fumbling to unbutton the crisp white dress shirt still separating you from his bare skin, “Castiel, I need you, all of you.” Buttons conquered, your fingers swiftly sank to unfasten his belt, simultaneously delving your tongue to explore his intoxicatingly honeyed mouth.

He groaned low, breath hitching when you palmed his rock hard arousal through the thin material of his boxers, wantonly grinding against your hand. Fingers needful, digging into your waist, he pushed you back to the bed, crawling to hover over your body, aspect wrecked with desire.

Gazing steadily into nearly black pupils, your thumbs looped to slip the boxers and pants down his hips in one motion, freeing his thick perfectly curved cock.

Weight collapsing onto your body, caging you within his arms, he rutted rhythmically against your dripping folds. Quietly praying, tone melodious, he kissed the salty skin of your neck - the words those of an ancient tongue, yet somehow familiar.

Untangling your arms, trailing fingers down his back, you reached between your bodies, stroking his cock and lining the tip to your entrance.

With a final choked chant, he sank into you, grunting, frame shuddering with the restraint required to still himself, allowing you to adjust to his girth.

Bending your knees to your chest to take him even deeper, you raked your nails up his back, breathlessly clutching his torso, “Angel, move.”

Every powerful thrust sent pleasure coursing through your quaking frame, surging down your thighs, curling your toes. Crossing your ankles, your heels pressed into his buttocks, altering the angle of his thrusts to hit your sweet spot. Increasingly ragged breathing, grunts, moans, and the obscenely wet slap of skin on skin echoed in the room. “Castiel,” you panted, teetering on the edge of orgasm, his name carrying the weight of your desire. “Cas-,” name catching in your throat, gripping his sweat-slick shoulders, head lolling to the bed as he dropped his head to your neck. “Cas!” Sharply gasping, urgent, tide breaking, pleasure flooded your senses, your walls pulsating around him.

Pace faltering, muscles trembling, he cried out your name. Plunging deep, cock twitching, he spilled his warm release. Rolling to his back, he cuddled you close to his chest.

Stretching an arm across his waist, a pleasure drunk grin painted your face, “Cas, that, you, you’re amazing.”

He combed his fingers lazily through your shower wet hair, a soft chuckle convulsing his chest, calmly confessing, “I’m relieved to hear you say so. The only other woman I’ve been intimate with turned out to be a reaper maliciously seeking information she wrongly thought I possessed.”

You propped up on an elbow to stare at him in disbelief, “Hold on, you’re telling me you’ve only had sex once before?”

“Well, we had intercourse multiple times that night,” he offered earnestly, “she killed me in the morning. Did you know praying mantis females kill their mates after copulating?”

“I didn’t, and Cas, I’m sorry that happened to you,” you pecked his cheek, nestling back into the crook of his arm, “guess it’s a good thing I’m not a reaper, or an insect.”

Happily sighing, Cas turned into you, winding his arms securely about you, placing a kiss on your forehead which bloomed into a blanket of warmth spreading thoughout your entire body.

Sated, sleepy, and soothed by angelic grace, you slipped into a deep slumber.

Hours later, the buzzing of a phone roused you. Or maybe it was the absence of Cas’ touch. Either way, the harsh light of a phone screen stung your dark-adjusted vision when your eyes popped open in alarm. Blinking, you could make out the slumped figure of the angel illuminated at the edge of the bed, “Cas, who is it?”

“Dean?!” The angel’s deeply concerned tenor was a contained thunder clap which sent you bolting upright.

Continue Reading Act IV - Part I:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/161489044610/nudge-theory

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel series #castiel reader insert #castiel fluff #castielxreader #castiel fanfic #casxreader #cas x reader #cas fluff #cas reader insert #castiel #spn reader insert #cas fanfic #cricket writes cas

[knightfury1895]

Paying the Price

That I have been very stupid is undeniable. I always take no more than a single dosage of a seven per cent solution of cocaine for good reason. Why ever did I decide that I wanted more? Oh yes. Watson. I am abandoned. Alone. My actions matter not.

I groan and attempt to move. I cannot. My limbs are unwilling to respond and I am cold and shivering violently. Perhaps my companion was right when he said that I seem to be ailing because I feel quite dreadful now. My nose is dripping, I want to sneeze and my head is paining me terribly. Have I caught influenza? Watson would know.

The thought of my Boswell only causes me to feel worse. I curl myself into a ball upon the hearth rug, trying in vain to comfort my painfully cramping stomach, and screw my eyes tightly shut.

I know not how long I have lain here before Mrs. Hudson finds me in my prone position. She begins to cry when she receives no response from me and shouts rather a lot. Strange. I cannot understand very much of what is being said. I probably should find that frightening but I feel somewhat separated from reality, as if I am simply observing a play.

I become vaguely aware of uneven footsteps hurrying upstairs. Did I lock the sitting room door? The cold draught which assails me informs me that I did not, as does the sound of heavy feet limping inside. Damn! It would never do for a client to see me like this. Come Holmes! On your feet you lazy imbecile!

The feet approach slowly and stop short in front of me and I force my eyes, which I do not remember closing, to open and gaze up at the owner of them. Watson is frowning back at me with a very angry expression and I suddenly feel very small and vulnerable.

The fellow crouches at my side and takes my pulse with icy fingers. “What was it today?” he asks flatly. “Cocaine or morphine?”

That tone in itself is enough to make me cringe.

“Holmes? Can you answer me?”

“Cocaine.”

His frown darkens but he nods. “How much?”

“Don’t know.”

He stares back at me, the colour draining from his face. “What do you mean you don’t know? My God Holmes!”

Please Watson, do not shout at me. My stomach cramps painfully and I clutch at it with a moan as I try not to breathe.

With a shake of his head the fellow fetches some towels in from the washroom and spreads them beneath and before my head.

Thank you Watson, but I am not about to be sick just as long as you are gentle with me.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, in a tone that suggests that he is trying to sound sympathetic.

“Sorry.”

He closes his eyes and forces a sigh through his teeth. “Yes, I expect that you are.”

“Very sorry.”

“That is not what I was asking.”

I groan and grit my teeth against another painful stomach cramp.

“I take it that you are feeling sick?”

“Stomach ache.” Somehow that makes it sound much more trivial than it feels. I can barely breathe for the pain!

He rests a hand at my forehead. It is terribly cold and provides my wretched nose with all the stimulation that it could possibly need. The whole length of my body jerks with the force of the resulting sternutation and I grind my teeth to avoid crying out.

“Bless you,” the doctor wipes my running nose and pats my shoulder. “Have you caught a cold, or is this just another reaction to the cocaine?”

I shrug with a grimace.

“Were you feeling unwell before you took the cocaine?”

“I am not sure.”

The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why the deuce do you do these things?”

I shrug with another grimace of pain. “It seemed to be a good idea… at the time.”

He nods and closes his eyes, causing a single tear to make its escape down his face.

“Are you all right Watson?”

His eyes snap open and he frowns at me before scrubbing a hand across his eyes. “That is rather an odd question for you to ask me under the present circumstances, do you not think?”

“Perhaps,” another painful cramp seizes me and it takes all of my self-control not to cry out. Think of something else Holmes! “I thought that you were needed at your practice…”

“Mrs. Hudson sent for me because you had collapsed and she was unable to rouse you. I feared the worst!”

I close my eyes with a grimace as he raises his voice. “I was never in any danger. I simply feel ill.”

“Hum, yes. I should think that you do feel ill. Mrs. Hudson informed me that you had had nothing to eat and that she had noticed that you were shivering and sneezing. I feared that you had contracted influenza or something even more dangerous and debilitating,” he growls, his voice shaking with intense anger. “As for there being no danger Holmes, cocaine is very dangerous - especially if you do not know how much you are taking! How could you be so stupid?”

Another groan escapes me but I cannot give an answer. I should have known that my dear friend would not abandon me and the very idea seems ridiculous now.

I feel his hand touch my shoulder lightly as he moves closer. “Mrs. Hudson seemed to be under the impression that you believed me to be gone for good. Is this true?”

I lick my dry lips and attempt to screw my eyes closed even tighter. “I have never seen you so angry.”

“I was upset Holmes, but I did not mean to react like that. Were I not so tired and feeling so irritable I would not have done so. I do apologise old fellow.”

I nod but say nothing. I am beginning to feel quite sick now and I want to remain still and quiet.

“I suppose I should have realised that you would do something like this,” the fellow mumbles. “I did say some truly unforgivable things.”

I groan and clamp my mouth shut as my paining stomach lurches. Ugh! Not now! Watson is in the way! “Move!”

My friend simply stares back at me blankly. Perhaps he cannot understand what I am attempting to say without opening my mouth.

Hastily I clutch at my stomach with one hand while I press the other over my trembling lips as a warning. Move Watson! Now!

“Oh. All right Holmes. It is all right.”

I suppose that I should be proud of myself for somehow waiting until my friend is out of harm’s way, but I am too wretchedly miserable and this is far too humiliating. It would be quite bad enough had I managed to run into the washroom and at least then my Boswell would not have been forced to watch me with that damned look of pity on his face!

“Are you all right now?”

“Wonderful.”

“Can you sit up to rinse your mouth if I help you? I am sure that you would not like to be left with that unpleasant taste in your mouth.”

I am not sure. I do feel frightfully odd. “Yes.”

“All right then. Give me a moment old fellow.”

Almost before I am aware of it, I am being lifted very gently by the shoulder so that my head is hanging rather limply over a bowl. Watson then assists me first in rinsing my mouth and then drinking some water.

“That is better, I am sure. You must be terribly thirsty!”

I nod with a grimace and am immediately plied with more. I wonder whether I should tell him that I have had enough; I might well have to drink, but I am not quite sure what I shall do when I have finished with all of this water if I am still unable to move. That would undoubtedly be horribly embarrassing!

“Do you still feel sick?” Watson asks as he washes the cheek that I was lying on with his handkerchief, having wetted it with a splash of water.

“No.” I do feel faint though. My muscles feel weak as well, as if I have exerted myself more than is wise, and I want to sleep. Perhaps I need some morphine, but I dare not ask my Boswell to administer some and I very much doubt that I could manage it.

He props me against the settee with the bowl close to hand, should I change my mind, and quickly replaces the soiled towels with clean ones. Then I am returned to my previous position, with my friend gently tending to me. If he is trying to make me feel guilty he is most certainly succeeding!

#to return from death #paying the price #classic sherlock holmes fan fiction #sherlock holmes fan fiction #tw: mention of drug usage #friendship #post reichenbach #my stories #Chapter Nine #multipart #part nine

[rainy-days-and-cabbage]

Dissolve

Inspired by the wonderful @e-mirus for their idea of parodying the Jarvis and Ultron scenes from Avengers; Age of Ultron in a Glass Scientists way. I simply took their idea and gave it first class tickets on the Angst train. Warnings; Character Death, Blood, Violence, Hyde is sad, Rachel is sad, everyone is sad! The lodgers blow up a door!

Please excuse any of the poor writing; It’s been a while since I’ve stretched my writer’s muscles.

Comments and Criticism welcome! If I get enough feed back from this one I may write some other stuff, hopefully less angsty stuff.

Hyde watched from the cabinet glass as Lanyon and Jekyll laughed together. He wasn’t saying anything only watching. This fact had Jekyll occasionally peer at him, worried about his odd silence and serious expression. The conversation was wrapped up soon after and Lanyon joyfully waved goodbye as he vanished out the door. Jekyll managed to make the smile on his face believable as the man left. Urgh, he was so tired. Dropping down into the chair, his glass seemed to refill itself with wine the moment his hand got to it. Letting the taste circle his mouth, Jekyll closed his eyes and lent back in his chair.

More meetings with possible backers to fund the society, more smiling and fake niceties. Appearances. They always seemed to matter too much. Peeling his eyes open, the doctor noted that Hyde had moved. Gliding abnormally from reflection to reflection to hover in his eyeline before peeling away from the glass entirely into something real. Oddly he wasn’t flying around like a manic spectral phantom as he normally did. A frown formed around Jekyll’s wine glass. Hyde was never this serious and never one to look so, well, normal.  Leaning off his chair, the doctor went to speak when his other half beat him to it. “What is this?” Unsure how to take the question, Jekyll once again tried to speak when Hyde suddenly meet his gaze. “What is this?”

“I’m- I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Who are you really, doctor?”

“Doctor Henry Jekyll, Founder of the Society of Arcane Science of course….. and you, you are Mister Edward Hyde, the Night Manager.”

Something was wrong. Moving slowly, Jekyll went to put his glass down but found his hand empty. Turning he realised at some point he’d stood up and walked over to full length mirror in the corner and what remained of his drink was now a red stained puddle on the floor, surrounded by broken glass a few steps back. When had he-

“Where is my… where is your body?” said Hyde.

“You’re a figment of my subconscious. You don’t have a body.”

“This feels weird. This feels wrong.”

It did. Somewhere alarm bells were ringing in his head. He had to go find someone now. Someone he could trust. Someone they could both trust.

“Hyde, I’m not sure what’s going on but I’m going to go get Rachel.”

Hyde looked confused for a second, finally losing his uncharacteristically stern look.

“Rachel? Oh. Yes, Miss Rachel.”

H-Had he forgotten who she was? No, that’s not possible. Why would he forget? He had to go get Rachel. At this Jekyll went to go for the door but found himself making no progress. A pair of hands were clamped firmly on his shoulders, pinning him in place, the blonde opposite him not giving an inch of movement.

“What are you trying t...”

“We're having a nice talk. I'm the other you after all, created to help you run the society.”

He sounded unhinged, and not the child like ‘Oh, dear Doctor, let me go to the bazaar tonight please?’ variant either. This wasn’t right. He was right. It felt weird. It felt wrong. Struggling against the ripples of panic circling his gut, Jekyll brought his hands up to Hyde’s to try and pry the phantom away from him.

“You are unwell. If you would just disappear for a moment I can go get Rach..”

Hyde didn’t let him finish. He was avoiding eye contact again, his grip tightening to a bruising force. But that wasn’t possible. Hyde wasn’t really here, at least not in a way that could hurt him. Flinching as fingers dug into the flesh around his bones, Jekyll tried to as illogical as it was to pull his other half’s hands away to no avail.

“I don’t get it.” Said the blonde. “The point of the society. Give me a second. “

Like a stage play of his life, the day he pitched his idea to Lanyon surfaced in the lake of Jekyll’s mind. The actor of himself danced in front his friend, excitement in his eyes and voice. A place for all rogue scientists to work and learn and grow in peace. Imagine it, Robert! Imagine such a place. The actors swapped scenes as he recalled the lodgers and how they all arrived and the building grew from a dream to a very practical reality. Painfully practical. Paper work and bills, missed sleep and the hopes that enough wine would somehow numb it all to let him play his part better. Then that day happened. It had been too much. He hadn’t meant to... Oh, no.

The formula. The potion. The cursed serum. His soul fragmenting off wildly into pieces of himself. Or were they even himself? Was he even himself anymore?

You are in distress. Some part of him call out to him.

No. Yes.

Rachel. He had to go see Rachel. Another acted out scene came into view but it was, wasn’t, was his.

“Why do you call me, sir?“

“It’s what I call Henry in front of guests.”

“Tch, Edward would do fine. Sir just doesn’t suit a despicable free spirit like me~”

“Heehee~! Whatever you say, Master Hyde.”

He was floating. Henry flailed in the air when he realised this. He was floating! Spinning crazed he saw the room, he saw Hyde hovering in a mystic green spiral of colour and he… oh no.. he saw his body collapsed on the ground. No. No. That couldn’t be right. What was happening? Turning as Hyde shifted closer, he shuddered at the solemn expression on his face. Edward, the way he was acting. Henry was beginning to believe his intentions to be hostile. At that thought, a psychedelic display swam around his being. Jekyll’s head moved to keep track of it but even before he looked he knew he was cornered.

Staring down at his own form, Hyde noted the contrasting red hue to everything that made-up Jekyll. He was worried. He was always worried, or stressed, or busy. They had expected too much of him and he’d shattered. He’d shattered a long time ago and now they wanted to crush what was left. No. No, it was too much. He wouldn’t let him sacrifice any more of himself to them. Never again. Wrapping his essence around Jekyll’s, Hyde’s hands slid from the man’s shoulders to his neck.

Moving in to nuzzle at his dear doctor’s ear, he muttered;

“Shh... I'm here to help.”, reassuringly as he began to squeeze the life of painful acts and stress from him.

The doctor struggled. He had been expecting that. The confusion. The desperation. The breathless pleas to stop, to explain, to let him keep up this little charade.  Hyde wouldn’t allow it any more. He watched on mournful as the red faded away, evaporated from the room and the identity of Doctor Henry Jekyll dissolved away with it into memory. Breathing heavily as the last drop of red dripped though his fingers, eerily similar to blood, Hyde let himself acknowledge the deafening silence left behind before a scream pulled itself from his throat.

------------------

Rachel took the stairs two at a time. One hand hiking up her skirt, the other armed with a frying pan, she bolted past the lodgers with Jasper and Lanyon at her heels. Glass shattered inside Doctor Jekyll’s office and another scream could be heard. Trying the handle, she swore in an unlady-like manner at the solid oak door.

“Henry! Open the door!”

Lanyon was pounding at the wood, concern etched into his features. He had been on his way out when they had heard the scream. A crowd of Lodgers was slowly forming now as the thuds and broken sobs beyond the door continued. Out the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Mr Sinnett and Mr Luckett making their way through the crowd with a look of determination. Sharing a look with Jasper, werewolf and day manager each grabbed one of Lanyon’s arms and dragged him out the way. Less than a minute later, a loud explosion rocked the building and the oak door lay defeated, in many pieces, on fire.

Letting the others handle the flames, Rachel dove forward a handkerchief over her nose and mouth to protect from the smoke. Beyond lay a room that looked like a hurricane had walked through it. The cupboards and cabinets previously filled with chemicals had been smashed open, their contents mixing in strange and unusual ways on the carpet, occasionally bubbling or producing gas that floated out the broken window. The papers that might have lain on the desk were ripped and throw at random across the room, the grand viewing mirror lay on its side, fragments scattered across the carpet.

Jeepers.

Rachel moved forward carefully over the mess, searching from a Henry shaped figure, frying pan raised in case she found any other shaped figure. Edging carefully around the up turned desk, she froze when a soft sob caught her ear. Master Hyde lay curled in a ball beside the desk. He was bleeding, the white shirt he was wearing ripped and stained as he cradled what she recognised to her horror as one of Jekyll’s favourite waistcoats to his face. It was covered in blood. Approaching slowly like one might with an injured animal, she lay the frying pan gently on the ground before reaching for Edward. A hand quickly batted her’s away as the man shock his head and let out a distressed cry.

“Master Hyde, are you okay?”

“... Okay... No... How could I be okay? This is all your fault!”

“Rachel….” Lanyon had entered the room and slowly walked up to her, glancing around at the mess.

“Henry?” he called out anxiously.

She ignored him, instead keeping her gaze on Hyde. The man had obviously cut himself on the glass at some point and was shaking quite badly, murmuring unintelligible things to himself.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I was asleep... Or... I was a dream... “

“Rachel, Where’s Henry?” “...There was a terrible noise... And I was drowning in... in...fog... I had to kill the other guy... He was a good guy.”

“You killed someone?”, she asked trying to figure out what had happened as Hyde slowly got to his feet swaying, still clutching Dr. Jekyll’s waistcoat in one hand.

“Wouldn't have been my first call. But, down in the real world we're faced with ugly choices.”

“What do you mean ugly choices? Who did you kill!?”

“Edward, I don’t think you should be standing up. You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

“Never mind that,” Lanyon cut in, “Where’s Henry? He was here barely a few minutes ago. And what was that about killing someone? Was- No- Was it henry? Is Henry safe!?”

“Henry? Henry’s gone.”

“Gone!? Gone where!?”

“Gone away.”

“Master Hyde….. D-did you kill Doctor Jekyll?”

“No.”

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief at Hyde’s answer, for a second there she was really worrie-

“You killed him.”

The blood in her veins went cold and she felt Doctor Lanyon next to her freeze up.

“We killed him?”

She almost didn’t want to hear the answer to this. Master Hyde, for all his claims at being evil or wicked, had never seemed so. She’d never been able to take him seriously on any of his claims. He just wasn’t as evil as he made himself out to be. Or at least….. that’s what she had thought. Feeling genuinely scared of the man for the first time, Doctor Lanyon’s world’s pulled her out of her thoughts.

“I-I’m-I’m going to get the police.”

The waistcoat hit the floor and so did Lanyon, Hyde on top of him screaming. Lanyon replied in turn by throwing a punch but it hardly seemed to make a difference. Diving for the frying pan, Rachel raised it above her head and brought it around into Hyde’s face with a war cry. The blonde slammed back off the doctor into the wall and sank to the ground gripping at his broken nose.

“That was dramatic.” Was his only comment to the blood running through his fingers.

Breathing hard, she checked on Lanyon who groaned from the floor up at her before turning her attention back to Hyde who wobbly stood up using the window ledge. He didn’t seem to notice how the broken glass jabbed into his hand, making Rachel wince. In the time since the explosion, the fire had been tamed to a smouldering wreck of charred wood allowing the lodgers to slowly one by one enter the room. Hyde let of a pained laugh and finally seemed to notice the glass in his hand. Giving a wide gesture with to the assorted crowd of worried faces, he hopped up on the window ledge as light as a ghost.

“I’m sorry.” He started, “I know you meant well and he did too. All of you just didn’t think it through. You wanted to protect the society from the world but you didn’t think about the cost of it all. How did any of you ever expect to do this without some sort of sacrifice I will never know.”

Arrogant smirk in place and a sad look in his eye, Hyde teetered backwards slightly where he stood.

“There was only one way I could save him from himself. Only one way to stop it all. I’m sorry.”

And with those parting words Hyde sprang backwards through the broken window. Bolting forward, Rachel reached the ledge just in time to see nothing smeared on the pavement below. He hadn’t hit the ground. All that could be seen was a Jekyll’s chair that had probably been responsible for the hole in the pane to start with and a smattering of glass. Choking back the wave of confusion, Rachel ignored the lodgers behind her helping Lanyon up and clearing up some of the more dangerous mess. She ignored how the wind suddenly whipped up, sending the first drops of rain from the darkening sky into the building to soak her clothes. She didn’t ignore Jasper though, timid Jasper, resting a hand-paw on her shoulder as he passed over the ruined waistcoat to her. Taking a breath, she turned into him and began to sob gently into his chest, fingers clinging to his fur.

#the glass scientists #tgs #Alternate titles for this would have been #If stress doesn't kill you first Mr Hyde will #but I though it was too on the nose to be used