#why is there an apple in my dressing gown

[sunshine-and-hatred]

y’all it took me so many tries to read this correctly

[lokisgoodgirl]

Be Mine [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A morning meeting has an unexpected twist. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Language. Smutty. Avenger!Loki x Female Reader. Questionable flirting techniques. (w/c 2.8k)

The muscle at the side of Loki’s jaw flexed. He swallowed; an achingly glacial bob of his Adam’s apple making you want to claw your eyes out.

For some inexplicable reason he had opted to wear full leathers to today’s briefing.

It was seven nineteen in the AM. Thor was sporting a muscle vest boasting not one but three stains of varying complexity and a pair of shorts which left little to the imagination. Scott was wearing his dressing gown.

The rest of the team hung off chairs and flopped on the table in various states of undress. Steve stood at the head of the room as usual; prim and fresh in a crisp button-down and perfectly creased chinos.

“So what we’re seeing here,” Steve said, turning to the group from the Powerpoint, “is an up-tick in biological experiments-”

His eyes narrowed while they roamed over the doodling, distracted and hungover band sprawled around the table. “Lang.” he snapped. “Close your legs; there are ladies present.’

Scott shuffled up his seat, drawing the dressing gown down over his knees while mumbling apologies. A low rumble of mirth circled the room, but Loki’s gaze never left the Captain’s.

The curve of his dark lashes swept upward, features set in performative rapture. Loki's facial expression hadn’t changed as the scene unfolded, but for a miniscule twitch of his lip. Usually the two of you would exchange a few eye rolls; a few knowing smiles during a particularly turgid monologue about shoe storage post-mission...but not today. Today he hadn't even looked at you.

Steve sighed. He extended a finger and pushed his retractable pointer down to a stub. Pacing to the table, he dropped his head, laying his palms flat. When he looked up, disappointed-dad energy was thick in his eyes. “Folks, this just won’t do.” he said.

Natasha’s sunglasses slid down her nose. Scott crossed his legs making the swivel chair knock into Wilson and waking him up. The Falcon’s arms flew wide on instinct, whacking Tony in the chest. “Jesus Christmas-” Tony snorted, blinking wildly. “It was a party.” Natasha drawled, pushing the sunglasses back in place with disdain. “Maybe if you’d stayed after the cake you’d have those tight panties of yours in less of a spick, Rogers.”

“That’s Captain Rogers.” he snapped. “We’re on the clock.” “Calm down, Rogers.” Tony said, cresting his fingers. He was remarkably chipper for a man with whipped cream crusted in his hairline. “You’re all sitting on my clock. Remember that.”

Steve flushed scarlet. His eyes narrowed as Tony’s smirk grew.

“All I’m saying is it’s a sorry day when Laufeyson is the star pupil. Look at him!” Steve said, gesturing incredulously at Loki who remained in position; back straight, chin up. But now, one eyebrow arched. “All of you lot in your skivvies and Laufeyson’s in full dress?” Steve shook his head. “I fail to see the humour, Rogers.” Loki said. “Why is it so surprising that I come to our daily summons dressed thus? Certainly I have never presented myself in a tragic towelling monstrosity like Lang here.” “There was that one time with the silk nightie.” Sam whispered to Scott. Scott covered his mouth.

“A silk robe.” Loki snapped.

“Usually you only bring out the Asgardian shit when you’re brown-nosing. Or when you’ve done something shifty.” Natasha said, propping her chin up with a fist. You bet her eyes are closed. Wanda nodded behind her Starbucks.

“Or trying to impress someone,” the witch said. Natasha waved a finger in agreement. “Sexually.” Wanda added.

Loki released a scandalised snort. “How dare you.” he said. Leather creaked against his biceps as he folded his arms.

Beneath the table, your thighs squeezed together. The only thing hotter than Loki in leather, was an indignant Loki in leather. You suddenly became very aware of your quickened breaths making the buttons of your blouse strain. The god’s eyes darted to the side, meeting yours. “What?” he snarled. “Nothing.” you squeaked, swallowing. An awkward silence hung in the room. The scent of stale vodka suddenly seemed very strong. Steve sighed.

“Let’s call it for this morning-” he said, immediately met with muted hisses of celebration around the table. He patted down the air. “Rescheduled for this afternoon. Thirteen-hundred sharp. Wear clothes.” Approval turned to whines and hushed curses as chairs were swivelled and aching bodies shifted. “Unbelievable.” Loki snarled under his breath.

You watched out the corner of your eye as he stood; the flat of his iron stomach inches from your face. The scent of rich leather filled your nostrils while Loki’s fingers nipped beneath the hem of his tunic, tugging it down. He flipped the length of his cape with a sniff. You saw it swirl around his boots briefly as he stepped towards the window, clasping his hands behind his back.

Taking your time, you picked up each piece of carefully laid stationary at your seat. One by one, the rest of the team left the room. Steve was last, his hand hovering on the door handle while he shot you a wary look. As a parting gift, he opened the door wider. “You didn’t stay late?” Loki’s voice was a thick hum in the growing silence. His tone, inscrutable. “Huh?” “At the party.” he said. “You didn’t stay late.”

This time it wasn’t a question. “I usually head off when Thor starts making passes at everyone. I didn’t see you. Were you there?” “He did that?” Loki bristled. “To you?” There was a pause. “To everyone.” you repeated quietly. Loki’s shoulders stiffened. His fingers twitched, thumb digging into one exposed palm behind his back. He was still staring out the window.

“I’ll see you later.” you said, nerves fluttering in your belly. The god’s hair shortened as his chin dipped. You wondered how it would feel to wind those dark strands through your fingers as you rode him. Wondered how the grunts and signs and pretty curses from his lips would sound wet in your ear.

“No.” Loki said. “Excuse me?” “No,” he repeated.

You steadied against the table-top with the pads of your fingertips. Small stars began to burst in your field of vision. “I think the leather looks goo-good,” you stammered. And you didn’t know why.

The thought of him barring the exit of enemies in far flung realms using only that voice barged through the doors of your imagination with the force of a horny caveman. If that was the last sarcastic quip they heard, by god, you imagined they may just have died happy. And hard.

“It looks good.” you repeated, no more than a whisper. Loki turned his head. The sharp profile came into view at a glacial pace. First the peaked tip of his chin, then the slant of his regal nose, then the harsh peak of his cheekbone, then his eyes. Your ass met the table-top with a stumble. There was a small crease between his eyebrows. “Bold of you to make another jest without your compatriots around you, Agent.” he said. Across the short distance between you, venom dripped from his tongue; his hackles raised. “I wasn’t joking,” you said quietly as his gaze fell to your feet with a sneer. The quick breaths that made your buttons strain were back. Loki’s rising stare lingered on your breasts, a small smile tweaking at the corner of his mouth. Words tripped from your lips, forcing their way from behind your teeth. “I like it.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. He turned fully with a ceremonial flourish, the hands clasped behind his back moving to the front and rippling his leather and silken cloak. It fluttered.

“Is that so?” he purred darkly. He didn’t believe you.

You imagined how this is how a rabbit felt in the eyeline of a fox. To look away was to admit weakness, vulnerability. It meant death. And yet – it was the only chance to escape. But did you want to escape? Not really. You wanted to feel the sharp of his teeth fasten to your neck as he sucked and bit and made violent love to every inch of you.

You nodded, not breaking eye-contact. Loki inhaled sharply, chin tilting up as he did so.

His eyes wandered over grim foam tiles as though an enemy lurked beyond the suspended ceiling. They narrowed, darting back and forth. With a thundering heart, you noted one of his heavy boots rise from the floor. He paced forwards slowly, ceremonially, stopping inches from you. Your fingers curled tight around the table’s edge, the messy in your panties beneath the skirt becoming intolerable. Loki cleared his throat. “Am I to understand, contrary to common rhetoric, that you find my Asgardian leathers enticing; Agent?” “I think ‘enticing’ is a little grandiose, is it not?” you laughed, cringing at the way you so easily mirrored his speech. Loki noticed it too. He tilted his head. “I am nothing if not grandiose, Agent.” Loki said. “Am I not impressive? Am I not imposing?”

He trailed a long finger down your bicep, his touch light as a feather. “So often, you mortals use such words as insult.” he mused.

“It is merely a reflection on your own feelings of inferiority. This morning is a perfect example. An attempt at ridicule to deflect from their own pathetic presentation. Each one more bedraggled and an abject embarrassment to their purpose than the last.” Heat began to rise in your cheeks as his finger drifted along your collarbone. There was a pause, his eyes dropping to your lips before the finger brushed the skin at the hollow of your neck. It graced upwards, tracing the curve and stopping beneath the tip of your chin. “But not you.” he said.

The god’s eyes snapped to yours. His cheekbones hollowed under fluorescent lights, mischief glowing from the depths of his irises and painted in every light wrinkle on his brow.

“What else do you like, Agent?” he goaded softly. “Do you like the idea of what lies beneath these leathers?” You swallowed thickly. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Loki-” you said, glancing towards the open door. He followed your eyes, rolling his own. With a flick of his hand the door slammed shut. “I want you,” he breathed, leaning closer so that the heat of his cheek warmed your own, “to tell me what else you like.”

You bit your lip, watching his beautiful face come back into view. With a prang, the thought occurred that perhaps you were not the rabbit after all. Perhaps you were the fox. Loki’s gaze lingered on your face, searching it.

Emboldened, you found the words. “Why should I?”

His brows peaked softly. He released a muted sigh, pursing his lips. “As much as I am loathe to admit it, Romanoff was right.” he said. The hand tilting your chin upwards returned to its mate, clasped against the leather tunic. “I was trying to impress someone, but not that insufferable Rogers.”

He raised his eyebrows.

Excitement blossomed deep in your belly; rising like shaken soda and fizzing around your chest. Loki bit his bottom lip.

“You see, Agent, I like you very much. And I’m afraid that now it has reached the juncture where I must know if you like anything about me...beyond my exquisite taste in battle armour.”

The change in his demeanour was so dramatic that you could only gape. But when it came to Loki, could you expect anything less? Without thinking you reached forward and grasped the belt slung over his chest, pulling him forward.

Loki’s mouth clashed with yours, the heat of his lips giving way to the thrust of his tongue. Your hands slid over his metal epaulettes, tangling in ebony waves that cascaded around his shoulders. He tasted like heaven, the scent of him deep and dangerously delicious in a way you’d never known. A scent a girl could lose herself in forever; gladly.

In seconds your back was flat against the table, its cool wood harsh against the heat of your skin through the blouse. Loki’s ravenous kiss consumed you, licking and dancing inside your mouth like a man possessed. His shallow moans ricocheted between slurps of his lips, wetness coating them.

“Tell me, you infuriating woman,” he panted as a thick forearm landed on the wood beside your head. The metal vambrace clanged against cheap wood. Saliva hung between your mouths as he stared deep into your soul; blue eyes darkening. “Tell me what you like.”

“About you?” you panted. Loki didn’t nod, only lowered his chin.

His nose nudged at your lips, dragging upwards, tongue tracing around the bottom one. He had begun to smile. One of his legs nudged your thighs wider. The god straightened and you felt a thrill run from your scalp to the tips of your dangling toes. He towered above like a monolith, leather tight to his rectangular body. Hair fell around his jaw, perfectly imperfectly wolfish curls flirting against his skin. His cape brushed against your bare calves as he shifted his stance, palms sliding up your thighs and pushing your skirt higher. “Yes; I like the idea of what’s beneath all this,” you whined as you pawed at his leather-clad stomach. It was so hard. Loki smirked, watching beneath half-lidded eyes. “I think about fucking you in the showers after training,” you whispered bashfully as your hips thrust up against your will. Loki raised an eyebrow. “More...” he rumbled. “I think about you all the time. All the awful things I want to do to you, y-you do to me- Loki, uhh-”

His hands crept higher as you spoke, fingers hooking around the hips of your panties. “If I pull these down, darling” he said with an air of reprimand, “will they be wet?” You let out a gasping moan, back arching against the table.

“Excellent.” Loki snickered, pulling the panties down the length of your legs before stepping back between them.

A hand flew to your mouth as you watched one long finger dip between your thighs, running lightly between your folds. He brought it to his lips, sucking gently. His cheekbones hollowed, finger slipping out. He swallowed with a groan of appreciation.

Loki settled himself between your legs, pushing them wider. The height of the table pressed your dripping centre against his crotch. You thought you might explode. His palms slid up your waist, exploring the curves of your body while your legs wrapped around his hips. The god’s cock pressed eagerly against the leather, strong and thick up the centre. His forearms came down at either side of your head, metal wrist-guards clinking.

“I will show you what it is to be mine,” he murmured in your ear.

Loki’s cock settled against your sex, rubbing in perfect gyration. “Oh...god,” you gasped as the weight of his body pressed against your own.

Fingers combed up from the base of his neck, tangling in his hair. The next moment, they grasped around his back, pulling him closer, catching in the folds of his cloak which draped across your bodies. The god grunted filthy praises in your ear as his bound manhood sent electric currents of pleasure deeper than you’d ever known. His searching lips found their way to your neck, your jaw. Every utterance from his throat more disgustingly sensual than the last. Hot leather filled your nostrils, the scent of him strong and intoxicating. Mounting orgasm bubbled in waves, a dream-like trance broken only with whispered groans of pleasure from your throats. Loki Laufeyson was about to make you cum. The thought was unbelievable. And yet, your pussy being tugged and massaged and owned by his leather-bound cock into the throes of heaven knew it to be true. Dry-humped like a teenager in the back of a pick-up.

“Be mine...” Loki mumbled breathlessly, a strangled choke gasping from deep in his chest. He immediately dove for a perishing kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and releasing it with a wet suck. He smouldered down.

Against the bright lights, his dark halo shone; tendrils curling against your cheek and brushing with every calculated roll of his hips. Every muscle in your body tensed. Your legs tightened against his hips.

“Be mine,” he echoed. His face was twisted, and you suddenly wondered how close he was to cumming in those beautiful leather pants. “Loki-” you gasped, clutching at his cape. Back arching, the last thing you heard as climax stormed your brain were the matching pants of the god. The last thing you saw were his peaked brows above dilated pupils so deep you could drown in them.

In the afterglow, all you could manage were garbled phrases as your forearm draped over your eyes. “That was...unexpected.” you panted when the god’s weight lifted from your chest. “Perhaps for you.” Loki winked. “It was very carefully calculated on my part,” You watched in dazed disbelief as Loki sank to his knees, leather creaking, and hoisted your hips higher. He lapped at your soaking pussy, muffled moans seeping from his throat as he buried himself in your fresh pleasure. The flat of his tongue licked a thick stripe from the base to your swollen clit, placing a gentle suck on the tip. His eyes flickered up, meeting yours.

“Immaculate, as expected.” he breathed. His chin glistened.

You groaned as he withdrew; grasping at the air as he went. That small caress of him against your sex was everything you could ever have dreamed. Loki let you reluctantly arrange yourself before offering his hand for the short hop off the table. “Not exactly how I imagined our first time,” you said with a sheepish smile. Loki scanned your face.

“Agent don’t be insulting. That was merely a sample,” he scoffed. “It barely counts.” He stepped forward, pulling you flush against him with a flat palm at the base of your spine. “We must ensure you have eaten something before more intimate activities are indulged in; lest you faint. Or worse.” “Or worse?” “You are only mortal, after all.” Loki smiled slyly. “And this,” he gestured to his cock; hard and straining against the leather, “can be rather a handful. As well can his Master.” You slapped him on the shoulder. Loki smirked. Remembering the unexpected schedule change, you frowned. “You think we have time before the meeting later?”

Loki snorted. “We’re not attending. The two of us fulfilled our obligations, unlike the more cretinous members of our party.” You raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to get me in trouble, I can tell.” Loki’s fingers danced up your back, a light thrust of his hips making your body keen. His dirty exhale flooded your ear, the warm scent of him overloading your senses.

“Oh Agent,” he purred against the skin; his eyes darting covertly to the pair of panties discarded on the floor. “As if you expected anything less.”

Taglist (continued in comments)

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA Commoner!Eijiro Kirishima x Princess!Reader - So This is Love? - I

Summary: You, the princess, surprise a poor village boy with an invitation to the royal ball.

Warnings: Reverse harem, fluff, angst, quirkless!au, royal!au, love at first sight, social class difference, princess x commoner trope

The carriage came to a sudden halt, making your body rock forward in your seat. Patiently, you awaited the footman to open the door and help you out. When you were standing, you couldn't hide the eager grin on your powdered face.

"Is this the correct place, m'lady?" the footman asked, glancing around with a haughty expression. "Looks a tad...dingy."

"Nonsense," you laugh him off, stepping forward, expensive heels digging into the mud. "I'm sure this is the correct address."

Noticing the way your heels sink, he promptly offers his arm, helping you to the door of the humble cobbler's shop. Stepping into the threshold, you smile fondly, finding a short, plump woman sitting at a desk in the corner. "Afternoon!" She calls, focused on her task. "What can we do ye for?" When she finally turns to face you, her smile drops and her already fair skintone becomes all the more pale.

"Y-Your Majesty!" She bows nervously. "T-To what do we owe the pleasure?"

You smile warmly, stepping closer, bowing to her as well. "I was hoping to have a word with a man I'm told works here," you answer, presenting a letter with a red wax seal. "I've come to deliver him an invitation. Eijiro Kirishima, is he here, ma'am?"

"My son?" The woman asks, tilting her head before nodding and turning to enter another room of the shop, dipping under half curtain that served as a divider. Moment's later, a young man with bright red hair and matching eyes peers out, scanning the room curiously.

His back straightens instantly when his eyes fall on you, standing in the front room of his family's shop, clad in an elegant day gown, eyes peeking over an equally ornate handfan. "Y-Your Highness!" He gasp, eyes blown wide as he stands up straight, akwardly hitting his head on the doorframe.

With a hiss a rub to the crown of his head, he steps out, kneeling in front of you. "W-What are you doing down in the village?" He asks, clearly flustered.

You simply giggle behind your fan, extending a hand down to him to kiss. His Adam's Apple bobs when his eyes fall on your perfectly manicured nails and blushed knuckles. Hestitantly, his calloused hands cradle yours, which has never known labor. With a sharp exhale, he brings your hand up to his lips, eyes flickering to yours as he plants a ghostly kiss on your knuckles. His gentle nature puts a glow in your cheeks as you giggle at his bashfulness.

"I can to visit you, good sir," you finally reveal, a sweet mystique in your tone.

"M-Me?" he repeats in disbeleif. "F-For what reason?"

You offer him the envelope, fingers brushing against his as he takes it from you. "I would like to cordially invite you to the royal ball this evening," you explain, collapsing your fan and resting it against your chest, batting your lashes at him. "As my personal guest."

"I-I'm speechless, You Highness..." He pauses, deicately opening the letter and reading over the cursive words within. "W-Why me?"

"Say you'll attend," you insists with a warm smile.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," he mutters timidly, folding the letter very carefully back into the envelope. "I have nothing but the clothes on my back, I haven't the proper dress to attend a royal gathering."

"I worried as much." You admitted sadly before smiling again. "Which is why I took the liberty of having the royal seamstress tailor a custom suit for the occassion."

"J-Just for me...?" Kirishima gasp, eyes glossy at your gesture. You nod, confirming his assumptions.

"Please accompany me, it would mean the world to me..." you beg one last time, leaning in slightly.

"I-I'd be honored, Your Majesty..." He finally relents, still in disbelief before a childish grin cracks across his face. "Yes, of course I'll go!"

"Oh, that's fantastic news!" you exclaim with delight, reaching out and capturing his hands, holding them to his hands. "I'm overjoyed." You beam, letting him go, preparing to take your leave. "A carriage will send for you an hour before sunset, no need to make ready ahead of time. You'll have a warm bath and a private room awaiting you at the castle."

Kirishima once again finds himself silenced by your generousity, only uttering a small: "T-Thanky you, Princess..." as he watches you leave the shop, waving with fan in hand.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

I'll come pick it up after pt.4

John Egan X Female! Reader

Sumarry: The morning of the mission, Bucky becomes overprotective of HIS nurse.

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ Swearing/ insults/ blood/ violence/ use of Y/n/ crying/

Word count: 1,8k

When they both went to sleep that night, they kept thinking about what just happened in the woman’s office. They almost had sex, in her office. Bucky was thinking about her hand on his crotch, and his hand on her breast. And he kept thinking about the fact that she put his hand there. His jacket had her scent, it drove him mad. Buck was apologizing for interrupting them, he felt bad. ‘’Buck, I told you many times, it’s okay. You’re right, I have to sleep. I’m not mad at you, and I don’t think Y/n’s mad either’’ he said to his friend. ‘’So, Elodie, uh, what did you say to her?’’ they talked about the young nurse, how Buck was nervous to talk to her, but he went anyway.

Y/n was tossing and turning, she couldn’t sleep. Egan’s touch was still in her mind, she couldn’t get him off her mind. So, she got up, she was dress in her night gown. She put a vest on top of it, so if she got cold, she could have something to warm her up. She made her way to the kitchen, to take an apple and something non alcoholic to drink. When she entered the kitchen, there was a light on. Curious, she made her way to the light, cautiously she announced herself. ‘’Hello?’’ a voice responded. She entered the kitchen to find Harry Crosby. ‘’Oh, Harry, it’s you.’’ She said relived. ‘’Didn’t mean to scare you, what are you doing up at this time?’’ he asked. ‘’Can’t sleep, you?’’ ‘’Same thing’’ they both smiled at each other. ‘’I saw you, at the party, but you were busy with Egan, I didn’t want to interrupt’’ he starts. ‘’How are you adapting to the base?’’ he asks. ‘’It’s fine, the girls are amazing, and the soldiers are, welcoming.’’ She smiled at the last word she pronounced. ‘’I heard that you got the eyes of Egan. Is that why you were with him all night’’ Y/n chuckles and blush a little. Crosby’s eyes went on the necklace she was wearing. ‘’And why you’re wearing his necklace, what’s going on between the two of you?’’ She looked at her friend. ‘’Honestly, Croz, I have no idea. I just know that there’s a tension between us and yeah.’’ She spoke. For the record, she had no idea what her relationship with Bucky was. ‘’Just be careful, he’s a lady’s men’’ he warned her. ‘’Trust me, I know that, but thank you for caring.’’ She was thankful for Harry Crosby. When he came in her office for the first time, it was because he kept vomiting when he was in the air. After that, he came back to tell her that the medicine she gave him, worked. They kept talking, but they were great friends, since he was married, Y/n didn’t have to worry about him making a move on her.

Y/n woke up at 4:30 am, she and her nurse had to make breakfast for the soldiers. She put on her blue uniform, her hair was still in the braid crown from yesterday, so she kept it that way. When the nurses came in the kitchen, they were surprised to see Gale Cleven already there. Elodie smiled at him, Meatball, as usual, went to see Y/n. ‘’Hi doggie! How are you!’’ she petted the animal, while his owner came towards her. ‘’Good morning, Y/n, can I speak with you?’’ he asked. ‘’Sure, just give me one minute, I need to tell the girls the menu’’ she instructed the girls what to do and went to speak to Buck. They seated at an empty table. ‘’What are you doing up, this early?’’ ‘’I want to apologize for yesterday, for interrupting you and Bucky. What you guys were doing is none of my business, and I just wanted to apologize’’ The girl smiled, the men in front of her looked nervous. ‘’Thank you for apologizing, but don’t worry, Bucky is a soldier, he must have a good night of sleep before a mission. I’m not mad at you’’ she reassured Buck. He looked relived. ‘’Can you look after Meatball when we’re not here? And I promise to look after Bucky’’ he extended his hand, to make it official. She smiled and shook his hand.

The boys were starting to come in to get their breakfast. Y/n was supervising her girls, making sure everything was okay, that none of the soldiers were mean to them. ‘’I told you, my food is cold, bitch!’’ a soldier yelled at one of the nurses. Y/n quickly came at the scene. ‘’What’s going on, private?’’ She said to the soldier, behind her counter. ‘’God can any of those cunts hear me! MY FOOD IS COLD’’ He yelled, getting everyone’s attention in the cafeteria. ‘’Go help Daisy, I got this Mary’’ she told the nurse that was getting yelled at. She took a deep breath and than, looked at the men straight in the eyes. ‘’First of all, don’t ever disrespect my girls like that, we volunteered, just like you. Geeting yelled at by pricks like you wasn’t in the contract.’’ The men tried to talk, but Y/n shushed him. ‘’Second of all, we serve dozens of men, the portions are already made, you just got one that we made early this morning. If you ask nicely, maybe I can personally warm it up for you.’’ She tried to be nice, but he was getting on his nerves.

The men yelling caught the attention of every soldier. Including John Egan’s attention. His back was facing the scene, so he didn’t see that it was Y/n getting yelled at. ‘’I won’t ask nicely, isn’t it in your contract to serve warm food, bitch’’ He was speaking loudly, but since the room went quiet, everyone could hear the altercation. ‘’Isn’t it basic manners to speak nicely at a woman.’’ Y/n responded quietly. ‘’God this nurse doesn’t let him be mean to her’’ Bucky whispered to his friends. ‘’Isn’t it your nurse?’’ Curt stated, pointing at the nurse. Bucky turned around to see HIS nurse, getting yelled at by the men. He was about to get up, but Buck put a hand on his shoulder, to stop him from getting up he didn't want his friend to get in trouble. Plus Y/n looked like she handled the men by herself. Every man in the room was watching the scene. ‘’What did you say to me, skank’’ The angry men spat in the face of the chief nurse. ‘’Do you want your warm meal, or not?’’ The men took his plate and threw it at Y/n, the plate broke on the glass, but a piece went at her, cutting her on the cheek. Egan wanted to rip his head off, he hurt his nurse. ‘’Congratulation, you lost your meal, and you’re gonna get arrested for assault. Have a good day sir’’ she said as the military police arrested the men. ‘’Everyone goes back to your plates!’’ one of the Corporal said. Egan quickly got up and went to the medic center, which was next door, to see if she was okay.

Y/n was holding a tissue to her cheek, to stop the bleeding. She was still in shook of what just happened. How could’ve stayed so calm? Her head was down, she was just feeling so many emotions at the time. She heard the door open. ‘’I’ll give you my statement after I clean my wound’’ she said to the military police. ‘’I don’t need your statement, darling, I was there’’ Bucky said as she raised her head to look at him. He approached her, getting closer to her, he could see the food on her skirt, the blood on her shirt and her eyes, full of tears. ‘’I’m okay, really, it was nothing’’ she said, her voice breaking down. ‘’Let’s go in your office, it’ll be quieter’’ he proposed. She nodded, following him to her office. Where they were last night, but there wasn’t any tension in the air now. Bucky was angry, this dick had hurt his girl. As soon as the door was closed, she started crying. ‘’I don’t even know why I’m crying. He got arrested and I only have a small cut. I’m okay, really’’ she said with a lump in her throat, she didn’t want to appear vulnerable in front of him. ‘’Let me look, darling’’ ‘’Bucky, I’m okay, go back to your friends’’ she tries to push him away. ‘’Not until you’re okay. Do you need a hug?’’ She nodded and he opened his arms, Y/n came closer to him. She cried in his arms as he reassured her, telling her that everything was going to be okay, that she was safe with him. When she felt better, she took the tissue off her wound, Bucky didn’t know anything about medicine, but he got her what she said she needed and help her, the best he could. ‘’Now, can you give me a smile, darling’’ she smiled to him, it wasn’t a forced smile, she was happy that he was here. ‘’I’m leaving for my mission soon, but when I come back, I’m going to get my necklace back, keep it safe from pirates’’ Bucky joked. Again, she laughed. ‘’Don’t ask anyone to punch you in the face this time’’ she adds, this time, Egan’s laughing. ‘’Be careful out there, come back in one piece’’ she seriously said. He nodded and kissed the top of her head. ‘’Kiss me, before you leave, please’’ He did as she asked and kissed her. There weren’t any sexual tensions, they were kissing because she asked him to do so, because even if they don’t want to admit it to each other, this might be the last time they see each other. ‘’I’m serious, Major, come back to me’’ she said as he left the room. ‘’Promise’’ he said before going back to his friends.

It was the time for him to leave, she went to the runway with other nurses. Crosby ran to her, she had to give him medicine, but he wanted to know if she was okay. ‘’Oh, my lord, Y/n are you oaky?’’ he hugged her. As he broke the hug, he looked at her face. ‘’Nothing I can’t fix, here’s your medicine Croz, be careful’’ She handed him the pills. Harry took the pills and left. Bucky and Buck walked towards her. ‘’Are you alright?’’ Buck asked. She nodded. ‘’More scared than hurt’’ she said. ‘’Meatball’s coming, hold on I’ll get him’’ Buck says as he leaves. ‘’No sad stuff. Just think about the cross around my neck’’ she said. ‘’I will darling, I’ll come back, and we can continue where we left off last night.’’ She blushed and chuckled. She gently hit his shoulder, indicating him to go in his plane. Bucky winked at you before getting inside. Buck gave you Meatball. ‘’Don’t forget your part of the deal’’ she said, getting a nod from Buck. He swore to protect his best friend, that’s what he was going to do, until Bucky was back in her arms.

Part 5⬇️

[bullet-prooflove]

4000 Follower Celebration: Finish What I Started - Dean Archer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@helsinkibaby @hufflepuffgirl @mimi-8793

There are so many things that Dean hates about his illness. The hours he spends attached to dialysis machine, the exhaustion, the constant pain and discomfort.

None of that compares to his inability to physically express his love for you.

He tries, oh Lord he does but his dick, it just won’t cooperate.

“It’s ok.” You tell him as you straddle his hips, your fingertips tracing over his grizzled cheek. “It’s just a side effect of the dialysis.”

It’s the first time you’ve tried being intimate since he started this course of treatment and Dean had never envisioned it would have this effect on him. He knows it happens to other people but he never thought it would happen to him.

You can see he’s shutting down. The shame it flushes up his features as he raises to his feet, tugging on his underwear.

“Dean…” You murmur.

He doesn’t say anything, he simply pads into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. You understand that he needs space, it’s not easy accepting the limitations you body puts on you, especially for a man like Dean.

You give him ten minutes, anything more and you know he’s going to end up trapped in his own head. You rap your knuckles lightly on the door.

“We should talk about it.” You say softly and Dean, he doesn’t respond.

Instead he sits on the other side of the door, his head resting against the wood with his elbows on his knees. He can’t explain how impotent he feels in this moment. This illness, it’s eating away at him, it’s taking everything.

He knows if he lets it, it will take you too.

Shit like this, it erodes a marriage, it grinds it into the ground and he doesn’t want that for the two of you.

It takes him a minute to find the courage to leave the bathroom, to gather up his strength to confront the issue. It isn’t just about him, he remembers, it’s about you too. It’s about reminding his loving, passionate wife that he’s still attracted to her, that he wants her as much as she wants him.

You’re still lingering by the door when he opens it, clad in his charcoal grey dressing gown. He leans against the frame as he cups your face, his thumb chasing over the apple of you cheek.

“It’s not you.” He whispers. “You’re beautiful, sexy, any man would…”

“Let’s not go there.” You say gently, your hand coming to rest upon his, cradling it to your face. “Let’s not talk about other men, not when the one I want is standing here in front of me.”

“I hate not being able to love you.” He tells you, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “Not being able to bring you pleasure…”

“Dean,” You whisper against his lips. “There are other ways to make me forget anything but your name, there are things we try, medications.”

“I know sweetheart, I know.” He murmurs, his fingers coming to rest on the knot that cinches your pink silk robe closed. He loosens it and the fabric falls open revealing your bareness. “We can look into that later, right now though, right now I really just wanna finish what I started.”

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[litnerdwrites]

IDGAF that Elain's Feminine

"You hate on Elain because she's traditionally feminine,"

No bitch, I hate Elain because she's a self serving, ungrateful hypocrite, as I've explained in many previous posts. I hate her for how she abandoned Nesta, pushes her boundaries and never once returned the love Nesta gave her. Nesta coddling her the way she did was wrong, admittedly, but could've been solved with a basic conversation about boundaries. Many characters could benefit from one, and a lot of problems would solve themselves if they just respected boundaries.

Perhaps there are a few who don't like feminine characters, but there are just as many, if not more, who are simply indifferent since we know little about her or her opinions/thoughts. Others don't like her for the reasons I mentioned above. So saying she's hated for being feminine is a bit extreme.

Especially since my favourite characters in many forms of media are the traditionally feminine ones. Evangeline Fox is my favourite FMC, and don't really think I'll be able to move on from her when I finish A curse for true love. She's my fictional role model, from her aesthetic to her bravery to her determination.

I also adore Tohru Honda from Fruits basket, Anne Halford from Sugar Apple Fairytale, Adora, Bow, and Glimmer from She-Ra, and the Sailor Scouts (Sailor Moon).

I grew up on the muted, pastel hues of Care Bares G1, My Little pony (G1) with a hint of action from Transformers and Avengers. So as much as I love a kick ass heroine, riding off into battle or saving the world, I love the ones who want to spend all day dressing up in pretty gowns. baking and petting cute animals just as much, if not more.

So, no. I don't hate Elaine for 'being too feminine'. I would've actually loved Elain, if not for the way she treated Nesta. If nothing else, I there's a chance Elain is only doing it to avoid being nest on the IC's chopping block, in which case, I'll understand why, view her as a victim, while insisting she needs to make some serious apologies, and advocate for her to receive some serious apologies too. But until we find out what's going through her head, we can only have the version of her we see through the eyes and experiences of other characters.

(P.S if you have any recs for books/shows with feminine fmcs or that might generally fit my vibe, feel free to let me know)

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Well & Truly Married - Mal de Mer

Is this, Mel wonders, a milestone?

Mal de Mer

cw: peeing, and a conversation during. (I warned 'yall.)

Snippet:

In the aftermath, fatigue—the great equalizer—fells them both.

It's late noon when they stir again. The sun is higher now, the shadows longer.  Their spent bodies, caught in the liquid pull of gravity, are still fused.  She cradles him in the circle of her arms and legs; he is nearly boneless, as if she's drained him dry.  The soft rhythmic tickle of his breath, warm on her throat, is the only sign of life.  Even his heartbeat, usually a ruthlessly steady cadence, has slowed to a lullaby under her palm.

Mel pictures the child in her womb: a tiny, perfect gift, tucked in a bed of bliss.

She smiles.

"Silco," she whispers, and drops a kiss to his damp forehead. "Wake up."

A drowsy rumble. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because if I do, you'll go."

"We're in the middle of the sea, my love." The unaccustomed endearment slips off her tongue. "Where would I possibly go?"

"Back to the shore."

The simplicity of the statement steals her breath. She has to swallow twice before the words come. "And leave you, is that it?" His silence is a sullen confirmation. She seals another kiss to his temple, right above his bad eye. "Never, Schatz. Not unless you ask me to."

"Good." He burrows closer. "I've no intention of asking."

Mel hides her smile in the dark crown of his head. Her fingers, tracing the ridges of his spine, encounter a terrain of welts. Some have scabbed up. Others are rawly oozing. The memory of her own frenzy is a guilty sting.

And yet all she can think is: How lovely.

His body, like a canvas, holds the imprint of all her spent passions. A signature he'll carry under his clothes for days. She's claimed him, and she's proud.

And she needs a bath.

With effort, Mel extricates herself from the languid tangle of arms and legs. Silco, with a groggy growl, tries to drag her back. But Mel's will is a match for his—and the pressure in her bladder is verging on painful. She manages, with coaxing tugs, to persuade him that a shared soak is a more worthwhile pursuit than lazing in a bed full of stale fluids. 

Not bothering with dressing-gowns, they pad, naked and wobbly, across the tiles. In the brightness, Mel can see the full extent of the damage they've done. A constellation of contusions—red, purple, green, yellow, blue—stains their bodies in visceral record.

"You’re beautiful like this," Silco says, idling by the tub as it fills.

"I look like a bruised plum."

"You do." He comes up behind her, arms snaking about her waist. "A juicy, well-fucked plum."

"What an appalling metaphor."

"No less true."

She half-turns in his embrace. Her fingertips trace the mottled discoloration below his collarbone.

"And what does that make you?" she muses. "The apple of my eye?"

"Too poisonous."

"And yet the sweetest I've tasted."

He scoffs. But his arms tighten around her.  It's a discrepancy she's slowly becoming aware of. From irreproachably aloof for days, he is now disclosing a secret cache of neediness. His hands can't seem to stray from her body. If she's more than an arm's length away, his eyes follow as if magnetized.

At the toilet, she hopes he'll grant her privacy. Unfazed, he props a shoulder against the doorframe and watches. It's a testament to Mel's own wrung-out stupor that there is no self-consciousness. Only a strange new species of intimacy.

After last night, there are few secrets left to guard between them. 

Then Silco strolls over, and takes himself in hand. Reflexively, Mel scoots back as he aims squarely between her parted legs. There is the splash of water on water. Her first frisson of alarm mutes into a droll amusement.

The exchange is the most surreal, and surreally matter-of-fact, she's ever had with a man.

"Does this mean the honeymoon is well and truly over?" she muses, as he tugs the latch of the flush.

Leaning over, Silco drops a kiss on her hair. "It means we're well and truly married."

It is no love lyric. But a laugh bubbles out of her.

This, she decides, is a side of him well worth the wait.

[liminalpebble]

Stray: Part 10 and Epilogue

Masterlist link

Stray: Part 10

Loki and Frigga sat across from each other in her private parlor. The younger prince was tapping his foot and fiddling with his hair nervously as he asked, “Are you sure she'll be okay? This must all be so overwhelming for her.”

Frigga smiled placidly and reached out her hand to hold her son's, stilling his restless movements. “She'll be more than fine. They'll take very good care of her. You have my word.”

Frigga let the silence settle for a moment before she said. “I'm glad to meet her. Surprised, but glad nonetheless. I can see why you are so taken with her. She has a good heart...a grateful heart.”

Loki sighed, trying to hide the depth of his feelings in front of the one person whom he could never fool. “You've met many of the men and women I'd grown fond of over the years. Is this so different for you?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant as he eased back into his chair, crossing his long legs, and stroking a finger pensively over his lips.

Frigga nodded, “For you, yes. It's very different. Or rather, you are very different. It's never been anything...real...before, has it? I've never really seen you in love before.”

“What makes you think I'm in love?”

“Love...real love...makes us all spill open a little, and I can see it. She has melted some of that ice around your heart. I didn't think it possible.”

“So you've been watching me, Mother?” he said with a smirk, which Frigga mirrored.

“Perhaps, a bit. I thought it best to let things unfold naturally. But I think the time has come to involved myself. Come with me.”

He followed her to a corner of her study, to a golden chest, where she reached in to lift out a glowing golden apple. “Do you love her, my son? Do you want a lifetime with her? Our lifetime...surpassing her own.”

He took a deep fortifying breath. “I do. So much...so much that it feels like a sort of insanity, a madness. Now that I've known her care and companionship, I can't imagine the remainder of my life without her.”

Frigga grinned and her eyes welled slightly, “Then offer her this. Help her become one of us. Help her learn and explore everything your curious minds crave. Have your adventures with your beloved for eons to come.”

Loki smiled, but just as quickly, it faded and he looked down, eyebrows furrowed with worry. “But Mother, what if she says 'no'? What if she refuses me...now or centuries from now? What if I don't deserve her? What if...”

Frigga put a finger to his mouth to silence him, “Loki, that is how love works. You risk, and you trust and you doubt and you fear, for the sake of another person. It's not a tournament to be won. It's a leap of faith.”

Without any further words, but with tears in both of their eyes, they embraced each other tightly as the prince whispered to his mother, “thank you.”

------

Loki found his human in lavish chambers, adorned in a fine Asgardian gown, and charming half a dozen ladies in waiting with your disarming demeanor. You were twirling around in the voluminous dress with a big smile, like a little girl. You were startled and blushed a little when you realized he was standing there.

“Whew! You scared me! I didn't hear you coming.”

He chuckled, offering his widest, most charming smile. His heart was bursting out of his chest at the mere sight you. “Apologies, darling. No one ever does. You look absolutely ravishing, my lovely princess,” he declared as he spun you around in his arms. He set you down lightly then held both of your hands in his.

You gave him a worried look. “What...what's wrong. Have you been crying?” you asked gently, holding your warm palm to his cheek.

“Yes. Yes I have, but they are tears of the greatest joy. I have to ask you something very important.”

He gestured the ladies away, leaving the two of you alone. You nodded, and felt the breath stop in your throat. The world came to a stand still as you wondered what he was about to say. Loki's hand gleamed green then a radiant flawless golden apple appeared in his hands. “I want to offer you a bite of this apple. If you eat of it, you will have a life as long as mine, become a goddess by my side for ages as we traverse the universe. I can't imagine a life without you...without your love and kindness and cleverness and care and your laugh and the look of joy and gratitude in your eyes when you I've pleased you. I love you...so much. Will you do me the honor of spending eternity with me?”

Giddy excitement shot up like a rocket within you, making your cheeks piping hot and bringing tears to your eyes as you met his intense ones of aquamarine. “I...I don't deserve this.” was the first thought that escaped your lips.

“Darling...you deserve all of this and more,” Loki said, pulling you close to kiss you warmly and softly, holding your face in his careful elegant hands. “Please, be my princess.”

“Yes...yes....yes! I love you, too. Yes,” was all you could say, breathing out the words over and over again as you nodded vehemently. Loki interrupted this stream of affirmation by meeting your lips again, taking his time to taste you. It would be your last kiss with him as a mere mortal.

When you finally took a bite of that otherworldly golden apple, it was the sweetest fruit you had ever tasted; almost as sweet and divine as the destiny ahead of you, almost as sweet and divine as the god holding you.

----

Epilogue

It was a gleaming bright white December morning in Seattle. Rather than rain, ice had dominated every inch of the terrain and snow glistened off the buildings. It was so cold, you thought, but at least it was sunny for a change. As you stood on the balcony of the most luxurious hotel the city had to offer, you were grateful to have this as your final memory of your city (at least for awhile). The sun was shining on you, as bright and fresh as your new life.

In another part of town, a small apartment stood clean and empty, ready for the stories of someone else's life to fill it. A polite letter and the final month's rent were dropped quietly into the landlord's mailbox. All your beloved books, records, and anything else you wanted to hang onto was tucked away, safe and sound, in what Loki called his “pocket universe”. You considered just letting go of everything you owned, pondered the appeal of a blank slate, but Loki dissuaded you. He begged you to keep your records. He wanted to dance with you to the soundtrack of your love's origin story over and over again. He could be sentimental that way.

It felt good to tie up loose ends. You made sure a gracious letter of resignation made its way to Mr. Mullen. Although Loki insisted it was far more polite than what that worm deserved, you were determined to take the high road, and he loved you all the more for that.

The last loose end was your favorite to tie up, and you did so with a big golden ribbon. Janet found a gift and an envelope tucked under the cash register that morning; her name gracing the front in elegant calligraphy. The note was a simple one.

Janet, you are always worthy. You are so young, and I know you're afraid and uncertain, but you will grow and do great things. I know it. I've run off with my prince charming. I hope to see you again someday. All my love. P.S. The gift is something to keep you warm.

Janet read it with tears in her eyes, then she opened the package to find a soft blue scarf. She held it tightly against herself. She was a little startled when her first customer of the day asked her a question, and hurried to dry her eyes.

“Oh! Sir, I'm so sorry! How can I help you?”

She looked up to see the largest man she had ever seen smiling brightly at her as his stunning blue eyes met hers. “I'm so sorry, dear lady. I hope you're not in distress. I wonder if you might aide me in selecting a 'tie'.”

He nodded his head of long blonde hair and took her hand to kiss it.

Janet's eyes went as wide as they could go in shock, and then she giggled uncontrollably, thinking, Jeez, maybe Henry does have a brother after all.

----

Loki stepped lightly over to you as he adjusted his tie and smoothed out the crisp lines of his black suit. “Almost ready, darling?” he asked in his dulcet baritone, as he came up behind you to kiss your bejeweled neck.

“Almost. Can you help me with this zipper?” You asked, giving up your struggle with the very smartly tailored traveling dress. It was a dream of soft royal purple that hugged all of your curves well (which delighted your prince). You'd swear he helped you pick out the ones with zippers in the back just so he had an excuse to do this.

Loki came up close behind you and kissed your cheek. As he deftly slid the pull all the way up he said, “Of course, but you know I enjoy sliding you out of this oh so much more.”

You both let out a mischievous chuckle then kissed sweetly, sighing with satisfaction. He helped you into your pea coat, hat and gloves, before donning his own. Opening the hotel room door for you to exit ahead of him, he said with his biggest dimpled grin, “Ready?”.

You nodded and took his offered arm. “Yes, but where are we going?”

As your polished dress shoes clicked down the hallway side by side, Loki slid his other hand in his pocket, holding tightly to a tattered green loop of leather with his name written on it. He felt his heart warm as he said, meeting your eyes, “Wherever you'd like. The sky's the limit, my love.”

@averagetmblrusser @primrosesposts @fruityfucker @arunabrak @mischief2sarawr @ladyofthestayingpower @acidcasualties @unlucky-number-13 @goblingirlsarah @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokihiddleston @chokeanddagger @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @marcotheflychair @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @littlespaceyelf @little-wormwood @loopsisloops @joyful-enchantress @eleniblue @loz-3 @the-haven-of-fiction @sweetsigyn @muddyorbs @icytrickster17 @holdmytesseract @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @sailorholly @coldnique @peaches1958 @infinitystoner @peachyjinx @mischiefmaker615 @jennyggggrrr @tripleyeeet @itsybitchylittlewitchy @mochie85 @huntress-artemiss @madi0987 @buttercupcookies-blog @annoyingsweetsstranger @anukulee @aesonmae @angelofasgard16 @salempoe @n3rdybirdee

End Note: My dear sweet readers, I can't thank you enough for all of the love and comments and sharing and feedback. And a big thank you to @mischief2sarawr for the idea request. I fell into this story because I really really needed some softness and love and fluff right now. I hope those of you who read this in need of the same thing have found that comfort too. Sending you all of my love and gratitude, Peb.

[chigirisprincess]

Amour Courtois⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— Chigiri Hyōma

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn afab!reader, aged up characters, reader is referred to as "your grace", their title is "heir to the throne", you wear a dressing robe, knight!Chigiri, slight ooc, power imbalance, slight dubcon, slight manipulation of station (reader using their power over Chigiri), kissing, oral (reader receiving), undressing, intimacy, light body worship.

⊹ Run time. 3.8k

⊹ Note. This is incredibly self insert and selfship coded so I am a bit nervous to share but I hope you enjoy nonetheless <3

❝As the heir to the throne it was important to have a devoted knight by your side and Chigiri, your sworn protector, well he was as devoted as they came. Even when your requests were unusual.❞

Your father's words have come to haunt you as you gaze into the set of rosy hued eyes that lay beneath the bruised silver armet– or perhaps taunt you. They’ve hung over your head and plucked at the strings pulled taunt around your joints, tossing you around to his whims. Marionette or heir to the throne, you wondered what the small folk saw when their gaze settled upon you, in those rare times when you were more than just a precious jewelled bared behind cold stone slabs. You didn’t wish to be either. Not now, in his presence or ever really. 

“Chigiri Hyōma you are henceforth indebted into the care of my only child, under their care you are expected to serve, protect, and fulfil their every wish or need.”

 That is what your father had told him, the day he was assigned your protector, your keeper. He was yours, and in some inexplicable way you were his. A mimic of the real thing to come, you too often thought, with the way you two were tied together. It was a curious thing, this charade. You couldn’t help but push the bounds, to see how honourable a man really could be in the face of temptation. 

“Is there something you need, your Grace?” Chigiri questions for the second since he stepped into your private chambers that evening, “If not, I’ll return to my postage outside your doors.”

Your dressing gown leaves you feeling too bare as he pins you beneath his eyes, “Yes, there was,” you can’t see any of his expression but you’d imagine it lies in a state of perplexion, “Come here.”

At your command, he saunters away from the door. He’d been practically glued to it, keeping himself pressed flush against it as you stared absentmindedly. The metal of his armour clanked uncomfortably with each tentative movement.

“Your Grace, surely you know that this is uncouth.”

“Is it?” You hum, your head falling to the side, “Why do you suppose that is, Chigiri?”

Resting his arms behind his back, his head dips into a slight bow, “You and I are unwed, alone together in your private chambers at the hour of the witch,” silence drifts between the two of you for a moment, “Forgive me but if I may be so bold but, if I recall your father forbade me from entering.”

“You are in my charge, you answer to me not to my father.”

The floorboards creak as you dare to take a step closer.

“He’s the king.”

“And one day when he has well and truly gone cold within the ground I shall be ruler,” you whisper, standing only a hare's breath away, “Even then, you shall still answer to me just as you do now.”

Your fingers itch to curl beneath his armet so you allow them to. The metal burns against your soft palms, the heat of his body’s melted into it, keeping it warm like a stoked fire. His long hair, the colour of the wild raspberries that grew a stone's throw away from the castle's carefully manicured gardens, was plastered with sweat against his alabaster skin. The apples of his cheeks were painted red. He was pretty, you would not have thought that he’d have such pretty lashes or delicate cheekbones. If you were to have imagined what he may look like beneath the layer of armour and thick cottony padding, you’d have assumed he’d be gruff and a bit rough around the edges with calloused hands and a splintered nose that had not quite healed right after a failed joust. 

If you hadn’t known better, at first glance you might have mistaken him for a prince.

“You’d do well to remember that, Hyōma.”

Chigiri stares with wide eyes, blinking rapidly in place of using his words, “You should not”

“Should not what?”

It’s an innocent question, one you already know the answer to; you should not call him by his first name. He was far below your rank, it was not only too casual but inappropriate– such intimacies were supposed to be reserved for only a special few.

“You know, your Grace,” Chigiri practically whines in discomfort, “If this were to go on, I could get in trouble.”

His adam's apple bobs uncomfortably when you bring your face closer to his, noses just mere centimetres apart, “Trouble? What such trouble should you be in if you’re fulfilling my whims?” Chigiri blanches, a blunder skewing whatever excuse he was ready to lay before you, “I wished to become acquainted with the man behind the armour, whomever Chigiri Hyōma was when unfettered by duty.”

“I-“

“Do you find that inappropriate?”

Tugging at the collar of the tunic he sports, Chigiri frowns, “I do not,” pressing his lips together, he tips his head downwards, “However might I remind you that I am far below your post, that I work for you. A friendship between us would surely complicate …”

“Who said it was friendship that I wanted,” You question. His helmet falls from your fingertips with a thud. Chigiri winced, forgetting that with a snap of your fingers another would replace it, “When did I say I wished to be your friend?”

“But, you said you wished to know me.”

Placing your hands flat against his chest plate, you laughed, “There are many ways for a person to know another.”

“Oh.”

His eyes flit away from your face, cheeks heavily flushing.

The corners of your lips lift without your permission, the smile crackling into something devious. He’s cute, the bashful look of shock somehow even more delicious than even the sweetest candied plum. Your hot breath fans across his face, with two fingers pressed against his jawline, you bring his gaze back to yours.

“Hyōma?”

“Yes, your Grace?” He whispers, like he’s scared to raise his voice an octave.

“Look at me,” you command, perhaps for the first time in your life.

His hands curl into fists at his side, “I am looking at you,” Chigiri’s voice crackles from the strain.

“No, really look at me,” it’s your turn to whisper. You’d scare him away if you didn’t, “You’re not seeing me.”

“I do not understand what you …”

There’s something ethereal about how he’s bathed in the warm, soft candle light that flickers. Even if he’s unable to see you to truly see what has been simmering for months on end— you saw him. Inexplicably it was there even if he didn’t notice it, but you liked it. You liked the way he unknowingly pressed his cheek further into the palm of your hand as he searched in earnest to understand what you meant. 

His gloved hands come to rest upon your shoulders, the leather is rough against your supple skin and it makes you shiver. For a moment his eyes roam from yours down to your lips, and then they slip down the length of your neck to where his hands sit, for the first time taking notice of how your dressing gown has begun to slip, exposing you to him. 

Curling his fingers around the thin fabric, he tugs your robe shut, “My apologies,” he mutters, swiftly turning his head away from you.

“It’s quite alright,” your thumb smooths across his skin, just barely skimming the corner of his mouth, “I appreciate how earnestly gallant you are.”

Sliding your hands down to his chest piece, you allow your eyes to drift down the expanse of his torso.

“It’s a shame I’m not.”

Chigiri lifts his arms when you hook your fingers beneath the chest plate, without a word, “You weren’t raised to be,” he says it like he understands you. He hasn’t tried to, he couldn’t have if he wanted. Conversations in passing revealed to little when you wished they’d reveal more, “How could anyone expect you to be.”

“I’m selfish,” you supply before biting down on your bottom lip. The white tunic he sported clung to his frame, exposing the shapes of his body that were usually so well hidden, “You can say it, I’ll allow it.”

“You’re not.”

The smile you offer him is weak, but it placates him all the same, “But I am,” laying your hands flat against his chest, right where his heart erratically pangs against his ribs, you sigh, “That is why you’re here because I’m selfish and you, well you’re the very best of them.”

“I have my faults, more than you know,” Chigiri admits, his breath catching, “You just don’t know me well enough to have seen them.”

You would have liked to tell him that it was for the best but that’d make you a hypocrite too. 

“That is untrue.”

Chigiri opens his mouth to refute but he snaps it shut when you hold up a finger before him.

“And remember it is treason to question my judgement.”

The chuckle that escapes you brings a small smile to his lips, “I shall continue to keep that in mind, your Grace”

“My name.”

The tips of your fingers graze against the collar of your dressing gown as you smooth them against your chest. Chigiri’s eyes follow the movement of your hands, a certain intensity simmering behind them as he watches. You wonder if he’s expecting you to slowly unwrap yourself, chaste and pious even when twisting the bounds of the society you’re meant to uphold one day.

“Pardon?” Clearing his throat, Chigiri forces his eyes to focus back onto your face.

“My name, I want you to say it. No more of this “your Grace” nonsense.”

Chigiri has always been good at taking commands. Your name rolls off his tongue with practised ease. A delightful shiver trickles down your spine and you have half a mind to ask him to say it again. It sounds like it was destined to live within the crevices of his throat, whispered over and over again against the shell of  your ear and mouth like some sort of well sought secret. Maybe it was.

He says it again without you having to ask, his eyes growing lidded.

It was his duty to fulfil your every whim and wish but only within the confines of this castle. With the way he said your name, tasting each syllable like they were the rarest of wines, you thought it might have been his life’s mission. In this moment at the very least.

Chigiri’s hand shakes as he brings it towards you. The palm of hand is calloused just as you thought it’d be. He cups the underside of your jaw, his thumb biting into the fat of your cheek uncomfortably. His touch is awkward and clearly unfamiliar even for himself but his smile is tender. Furling the worn material of his tunic within your fists you tug his body against yours. He’s warm and firm, the feeling of another all too heavenly.

“May I…” A small frustrated whimper crackles through his words, “May I kiss you.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

He’s fighting the urge to call you by your title, the need to be a gentleman, to be perfect, was strong. Any ounce of couth or refinement had left long ago, if it had even been there in the first. You weren’t sure it had. You had spent many moons dancing around the complicated feeling that arose whenever you allowed your thoughts to linger on him for too long. If you asked, no matter how much Chigiri tried to deny it, you wouldn’t believe that he hadn’t harboured any impure thoughts for you. No matter how genteel or well mannered he was. A fire lived within his eye, his pink irises burned a dastardly rouge from within his large silver helmet. Even when you couldn’t see them you could feel it, directed towards you even when the room was filled with gossips in search of something to bite, it was there. There was nothing chaste or respectable about a man being plagued by all consuming thoughts of another.

“Please,” you all but whine, your voice turning low and needy, “Please kiss me.”

The lack of command or conviction behind your words shocks him but it thrills you. Tomorrow you’d laugh at how pathetic it was, to feel so fulfilled simply by giving your control to your knight but for now you relish in the uncertainty and the feeling of anticipation as you wait for Chigiri to make his move. Your entire life has been nothing but that, acting first with or without thought. It was exhausting. But, you had always supposed there were worst things to experience in life and now you were faced with one of them— the desperation of deprivation as you sat in wait.

His breath fanned across your face as he leaned in closer to you. Stray strands of his hair tickle you as he hovers close. You think you’ll begin to beg if he makes you wait any longer, hoping that he’d get any such satisfaction from bending your resolve so effortlessly. As if your need hadn’t been so apparent.

“Hyōma, please,” you pleaded.

It borders on desperate and you like it. 

The press of his lips against yours is firm and pleasant. You don’t have much to compare it to but then again neither does he. What matters is that you like it. Your toes curl within the confines of your plush slippers as a feeling of elation sweeps through you. It settles goosebumps on your arms and burns your face uncomfortably hot but it gratifies you. 

If you could pull Chigiri any closer you would– squishing your two bodies together to be one if you could, your hands would settle on fervently twisting his shirt as if that would placate your need for him. Teeth and tongue clash awkwardly when being flush against one another isn’t enough. It couldn’t be, the fire that stirred deep within your belly was ravenous. You were unsure there was anything that would be enough to quell that aching flames that wished to consume you. It’d see you ruined, leaving you nothing but ashes amongst the floorboards and you’d allow it– for him. Chigiri’s hands have dipped past your shoulders and rested low on your hips, it’s far past the respectable touch you thought he’d been so keen to keep.

Your name sounds like a melody when it's whined between sloppy, depraved kisses. If you could commit it to memory you would, “Your Grace,” he shudders, embarrassed by how debauched he’d been, “I’m … I-”

His lips are swollen and slick with saliva. The sight only makes the fire roar even greater within you.

Chigiri’s mouth falls shut when you shush him, all too eager to devour him once more. Tugging at the buttons that keep your dressing gown close, you haphazardly unfasten them. Somewhere in the back of your mind your thoughts begin to wander, wondering if Chigiri were to unbutton them with ease. You’re quick to settle on an answer as you gaze back at him; he would, he was good with his fingers and hands. It was almost dastardly the way Chigiri always managed to draw attention to the skillful way his nimble fingers effortlessly laced his doublet up after a spar or absent mindedly twirled his dagger around.

“You can look at me,” you whisper, as the gown slips off your shoulders to pool around your feet. Your nipples pebble from the chill that carries in through the window, and you can’t hide the shiver that follows.

His gaze isn’t scrutinising, not in the way you feared others might have been. Still, you cast your eyes to the floor and allow an air of bashfulness to surround you. As if, averting your gaze would make his any less powerful. You could feel his eyes trailing up the length of your lengths, they roamed over the curves of your hips and drank in the sight of the thick thatch of curled hair at the base of your pelvis. Chigiri’s eyes burned holes into your body, they seared a path and stained your body with his essence– he had hardly touched you and yet you were marked.

Chigiri’s hands twitch by his side, “You are absolutely stunning,” he breathes, his chest heaving with each deep breath he takes.

Before you can muster up a response, he’s sunk to the floor in front of you. The floorboards groan beneath his knees as he shuffles forwards to grasp your calves.

“Hyōma?”

It’s his turn to shush you, quieting the questions on your tongue. Taking a step back, you stumble against the baseboard of your bed. Your fingers curl around the thick wooden post in hopes of disguising the way they tremble. You’re unsure if it’s the nerves or excitement. It might be both with the way your stomach lurches and is tickled by fluttering butterfly wings. 

You wonder where his pride has gone when he shuffles forward once more, or if it was even there in the first place. Perhaps devotion took its place. Is that what knights were taught? To be dutiful was to shirk all sense of personal identity. That couldn’t be right, you thought. When amidst a spar, duel, or tourney, Chigiri seemed to be replaced with a fiery eyed monster in the face of competition. You wondered where it went in the quiet of night or when he stood five paces behind you.

It’s overwhelming, the sight of nothing but pure devotion in his eyes as he gazes up at you. His hands caressing your legs before an experimental kiss is pressed against your knee and then one to the freckle that sits just above it. His hair tickles and you giggle. 

“Spread your legs,” he huffs into your skin, his teeth lightly grazing thigh as he speaks, “Now.”

Your heart feels funny when it begins to race. And it’s there again, that tiny pinprick of excitement that sends your head reeling with the rush. It electrifies you, the commanding tone he sports for the first time. You spread your legs just as he asks though your nerves thrum from within your veins. The looks he sports makes you curl in on yourself, you’ve never seen such a predatory glint rest so easily in a man’s eyes.

Delicately placing one hand under your knee, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulders, “Is this comfortable?” Chigiri questions, “If not, I’ll happily-“

“Yes,” you breathily reply as you dare to slip your fingers through his silk hair, “This is perfect.”

“You’re perfect.”

The heat that fills your cheeks does little to rival the molten lava that fills your belly and melts your legs. Your breath catches in your throat when dips his head between your thighs, his tongue, warm and wet, darting out to lick up the seam of your cunt. His name becomes tangled with a moan as you struggle to take a deep breath. 

Allowing your eyes to flutter, your nails press into the carved post of your bed, your other hand still thread between strand of his hair tug roughly on them with little care, “Fuck!” You curse, for the first time in your life, “You’re so … You’re so good with your tongue?”

You don’t mean for it to come out as a question but it does, your voice pitching upwards and morphing into a small squeal as his lips wrap around your clit. 

“Gentle,” he whimpers against your mound, his eyes falling shut when your nails roughly bite into his scalp, “Be gentle with me.”

A small apology passes your lips but you don’t mean it, not really. It’s said to pacify the artificial wounds of red hot desire. You think he’d look darling with more– spatterings of hued violet that edged on yellow along his jugular and down his chest. They were marks that claimed him, they were far more tangible than gold rings and gaudy diamonds. If your insincerity was obvious, Chigiri doesn’t say anything too busy focusing his sights back on your wet, quivering cunt. He laps at you like he’d died otherwise, the obscenely loud wet smacks of his mouth and tongue against you filling the room and drifting out through the open window. At least, the courtyard below was empty at this time of night.

His nails dig into the fat of your thigh as his grip on you tightens. A heady haze settles across your mind as pleasure zips up your spine. It forces a truly pathetic mewl past your lips, one you weren’t sure you were capable of making.

“Hyōma … Hyōma,” you chant, like a melody, “There, right there.”

Your lolls to the side and your body threatens to become jelly as the fire is stoked and then awash with a chilling clarity that leaves you shivering in his hold. 

It’s debauched, the way Chigiri slurps at your folds and tongues your hole to catch each drop of cum before it drips down his chin or smears across his flushed cheeks. But, you find yourself smiling at how eager he is, even when you know you’ll bruise because he’s holding you like you’ll slip away in the blink of an eye. Maybe you would. Once the sun rose and rosters woke the servants the castle would be alive and bustling– whatever bubble you created for the two of you would be broken. Still, it doesn’t stop you from yanking him into your embrace, your lips sloppily moving against his. You taste yourself on his mouth and tongue, and it makes you moan in delight.

His cock throbs from within the confines of his breeches and he can’t help but push himself against your puffy cunt in search of reprieve, “I… let me escort you to bed.”

“We’re already here,” you snort in a positively undignified manner but it manages to ease the earnest, rigid demeanour Chigiri sports the moment he realises what he’s done.

“Right.”

His smile is weak but it’s there nonetheless. 

Placing his large hand on the small of your back, he helps you round the corner of your bed. Pulling back your duvet, you prop yourself up against your plush pillows. Chigiri stalls, standing awkwardly like there’s something more he wishes to say.

“Well, this is where I leave you, your Grace,” he smiles, pulling your blankets up to cover your bare breasts, “I hope sleep finds you easily … and happy name day.”

Just as he moves to turn around, your hand darts out to grab his, “Wait,” you pant, “I want you to stay, I command you to stay.”

There's no power behind your words, no real command but he takes it anyways, as if he could use your selfish whims as an excuse for the desire that burned him to.

So he says because how can he refuse his heir on their name day. It would be too cruel after the first taste of indulgence.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

[woodelf68]

The Ravens Are Easy (Heimdall Takes More Work)

For the @sifkiweek 2024 day 2 prompt "Bribe." Sif and Loki's relationship is still new when a certain raven spies them in bed. Pre-canon, rated T, 1071 words. AO3 link

*****

A ray of morning sun fell across Sif's face and she stirred, stretching comfortably and feeling the pleasant reminders of last night's activities. She opened her eyes lazily, a soft ruffling of feathers drawing her gaze to the nearby open window and the large black bird perched there, its bright, beady eyes fixed on her.

"Loki," she said.

"Hm?"

The body at her back did not stir.

"There's a raven on your windowsill. It's looking at me."

"Mm?"

She felt him nuzzle into her, apparently unconcerned.

"Loki," she said more urgently. "What if it's one of your father's birds?"

The kisses that he'd started to trail down her shoulderblade stopped.

Loki raised his head, peering over her shoulder. "Hugin?" The raven was silent. He tried again. "Munin?"

"Kraa!," the raven croaked cheerfully.

"Is there something you want?"

"Allfather want to see you."

"When?" asked Loki. "And do you know why?"

"Breakfast?" suggested the raven, and then shrugged. "Allfather not tell me anything. I tell him. Everything I see. Sometimes." A pregnant pause followed.

"Ah," said Loki, sitting up properly, Sif grabbing at the sheet to keep it from sliding down her body. "What will you tell him when you return?"

"Loki sleeping. Woke. Delivered message."

"Anything else? Will you tell him who else was in my bed?"

"Is it important?" The raven cocked his head, an intelligent gleam in his eye.

"Not to him," said Loki, choosing his words with care.

"To you?" Munin queried.

"Yes," said Loki. "it's important to me. And it's private. Where a lady chooses to sleep should be her business and no one else's. Do you understand?"

"Munin be quiet," the raven promised. "Munin be quiet for a treat."

"He wants a bribe?" Sif exclaimed, sitting up as well, keeping the sheet pulled up against her chest.

"Pretty lady give Munin treat?" coaxed Munin winningly. He hopped from the windowsill to the headboard of the bed. "Nut? Berries? Egg?"

Loki snickered, and Sif shoved at him, without heat. "What are you laughing it? We're being blackmailed by a bird! And this is your bedroom, not mine -- do you have anything to give him?"

Grinning, Loki rolled out of bed, giving Sif a tantalising glance of long legs and the taut curve of his buttocks before he pulled on a dressing gown hanging on a post at the foot of the bed.

"All right, you beggar. A treat for your silence."

Munin flapped over to the footboard, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation. Sif tried to fight back a smile and lost; the raven was rather endearing. She watched Loki take an apple out of a basket of fruit on top of a side table and cut a slice out of it, which he fed to the happy raven. A second slice followed, then Loki divided the rest of the apple and passed half to Sif while taking a bite from his half. Sif crunched down on hers, finding this shared breakfast oddly cosy.

Loki eyed Munin as the raven finished his apple and looked like he was about to settle down for a nap. "Munin. Don't you think you'd better return to the Allfather and let him know you've delivered his message before he wonders what happened to you?"

"Work, work, work," Munin grumbled. "Never get to have a little rest. Never get to visit with friends."

"You and Hugin roost all night in the Allfather's chamber," Loki said bluntly. "Surely you are rested."

Munin gave him such a baleful look that Sif snorted with laughter. "Perhaps he had a bad night? she suggested.

"How does a raven have a bad night?" asked Loki in exasperation. "Was he worrying over tax reports? Crop yields? His brother dragging him along on some stupid adventure?"

"Maybe the Allparents kept him up." Sif gave Loki a truly mischievous smile.

"What do you mean by that," he said flatly.

"Why you don't have a whole flock of siblings I don't know," observed Munin, puzzled. "They certainly try."

"I did not need to hear that," said Loki, grimacing. "Go on, now, back to Father. Shoo!" He waved his hands at Munin and the raven launched himself into the air, heading towards the open window. "And remember our deal!" Not that Loki was worried; Munin was very good at keeping secrets when it benefited him. He turned to watch as Sif rolled out of bed and began getting dressed.

"Must you go already?" he asked.

"I should. You're expected at breakfast with your parents; I don't want to make you late."

Loki made a face, but Sif was right. He'd need to bathe if he didn't want to appear at breakfast smelling of sex. "I'll see you again, though? I mean privately, like last night."

"You want me to come to your rooms again tonight?" This thing between them was still so new she had to ask. Last night had been the first time she had slept in his bed, and she had to admit she had liked it.

"If you would so honour me," said Loki, coming to stand before her, and lifting her hands to his lips to press a kiss against her knuckles, first the right one, then the left.

"What time?" Sif felt breathless, thinking of another night like the last.

"Anytime after supper. If I don't find you, come find me." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Does that sound too overeager?"

"I like eager," Sif assured him. "You make me feel like my blood is fizzing in my veins." She pulled him into a long kiss, neither of them breaking apart until they needed air, Sif reconsidering the merit of pushing Loki back down onto the bed and untying the belt holding his robe together. But she didn't want to feel rushed, she wanted to take her time making love to him. Reluctantly she pulled back, and felt the equal reluctance with which he let her go. She cast about for something to say before she left.

"So," she said conversationally, "If I ever need to bribe a raven -- fruit, nuts, or eggs?"

Loki laughed. "Yes, if what you ask of them doesn't directly go against one of Father's orders and they like you. And if they don't like you, start with an egg and they will after that."

"Good to know." Sif filed this information away in her mind.

"Now Heimdall," said Loki. "Heimdall takes more work."

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

Episode ten - paper

Jack Dawkins x fem reader.

Jack's eyes opened slowly, the room around him was dark. He was on the ground and pain clamped at his chest.

"What's going on?" He asks into the darkness. Footsteps tapping against the damp stone floor.

"Oh weren't sure if you'd wake up, you're losing a lot of blood. My lad hasn't quite learnt how to stab and not kill just yet." The voice felt familiar to Jack.

"Bill?" He says. The man laughs. The rope around Jack's wrist tugs and begins to lift him until jack's feet barely touch the floor.

"No, no my brother is well and truly dead, that Oliver Twist really got him good. Still, little toff is in prison himself now. Sweet justice." He laughed again.

"What?" Jack was finding it hard to keep up.

"Oh, I'm just here getting a little payback. You're collateral damage as they say." He laughed again. Jack felt him come too close, the stink of his breath assaulting his nostrils.

"I never did anything to Bill or you!" Jack strains against the pain from his knife wound.

"Oh I ain't got problems with you, but you dying sure as hell will hurt the people I hate." The man laughed again, slamming his fist into Jack's stomach.

*_*_*_*

"lady y/n, what on earth do you think you are doing?" Sneed questions entering your room.

"I have to help Fagin find Jack" you say, pulling your dressing gown on over your nightdress.

"Find Jack, he only just got back, what happened to him?"

"He was kidnapped, last night. It looks like he was hurt. We have to find him." You say taking your sister's arm.

"And you were just going to let her run off? Y/n has just had heart surgery!" He asked Belle. She tilted her head in a shrug.

"Do you think we could stop her?" She shot back at him.

"At least put on some clothing. If you insist on charging around Port Victory your corset will help keep you together." Sneed sighed. You held his hand.

"thank you, thank you Rainsford."

Belle helps you into a simple white cotton dress, forgoing the hooped crinolines. The corset felt foreign after being in bed for so long. Though you had to admit it was making your chest feel a little easier. You don't bother to put up your hair, choosing instead to simply tie back the front.

When ready you make your way down to the morgue where Fagin waited for you. Aputi, Flashbang, Tim and Red are with him.

"Do we know anything yet?" You ask.

Fagin shakes his head.

"We've heard nothing. Not a dot." He admits.

"That isn't true." You spin heating your father's voice behind you.

"Father?" You take his outstretched hand.

"It appears this is all my fault." He says, leaving a folded slip of paper in the air. You snatch the paper from his hand.

"Governor Fox, you may recall Lord Branwell. You have debt with him and I have come to collect. Arthur Sikes." You read aloud.

"Sikes?" Fagin turns white, "Oh that family is like a bad smell, they always come back."

"Father what did you do?"

Edmund sighs, "Many years ago during my military days I had command of Lord Branwell's son. A fine chap really if not a little wild. Branwell always blamed me for his death"

You put your hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright father, we will deal with this. Surely he will want money and we have plenty." You say.

"No, if I know the Sikes this isn't about money."

*_*_*_*

Jack pulls against the rope holding him up. His fingertips were already beginning to turn blue.

"If killing me is the point why not just do it?" He coughs out.

"Well no need to be boring. We all like to have a little fun in our work. Plus seeing old Fagin's face when he sees your mutilated body will be fun." Arthur bit into an apple as he talked.

"So it is a little about him then?" Jack says between heavy breaths.

Arthur kicks his foot, knocking the tied rope. It uncurls and skids until Jack hits the floor, face first. Blood quickly starts dripping from his forehead. Joining the wounds that now littered his body. Stomping across the room Arthur grabbed Jack's shirt and shoved him onto his back. Crouching over him.

"You know, it isn't really you that I want, I just know having you will bring one Fox's kids here. Then he'll learn what it is to lose a son."

"Fox doesn't have a son." Jack says.

"a daughter then. I hear one of them is quite taken with you." He laughs again. "now how about we choose something to send to them? A finger? The whole hand? And ear? A foot? Hmm? What about your baby maker?" He laughs again, showing his rotten teeth and twirling a knife between his fingers.

"No, please" Jack began to beg.

"a toe then, we'll start small." Arthur pulled Jack's shoe from his foot, sliding the blade between his toes.

"No."

A door opened somewhere behind Jack and a voice called to Arthur. He grabbed Jack's face around the jaw.

"I guess this will have to wait. See you soon, Jacky boy." He shoved Jack's face before rushing away.

"What is it?" He growls at the smaller man.

"the whole town is looking for him. We're done for."

*_*_*_*

"Where has she gone?" Edmund bellowed through the hospital.

"We don't know. She was looking at the paper and then she just took off!" One of the recoats explained.

You had slipped from the hospital and we're making your way through the streets of the town. The dirt scratching against your bare feet. Your sister knew very much about the body, Jack was impressively good at surgery but you, you knew about paper. Seemingly dull to many but upon arriving in Port Victory you had familiarised yourself with each type of paper available to you. Only one was made within the town limits. A basic sheet, thicker than that shipped from England. It had little wooden flecks throughout it, picked up from the sawdust that littered the factory floor. This had to be where they were keeping Jack and you knew exactly where to go.

The cut on your chest pulled at your skin as you walked. You had to ignore it and find him. If you told anyone else your theory they would send an army to the door and that ran the risk of Jack being killed.

You hear a bell being rung and know they have discovered your absence, leaving you little time.

The factory was not a large one, and was connected to a boarding house. You knew it would be stupid to walk in through the front door. Looking around you see a window on the upper floor. You climb the wooden steps on the boarding to balcony and climb onto the railings. You slip, catching your dress underfoot. Grumbling you unclasp it and let the garment fall to the ground, leaving you in just your bloomers, corset and short chemise. Able to move more freely you climb back up and throw yourself across to the small ledge under the window. The bump catches your breath and you're sure you feel something catch below your corset. You pull yourself up and slip into the window, there is an old wooden platform that you stand on. It is filled with old boxes. You hide behind them, doing your best to move quietly. You see Jack lying in the ground and your heat breaks.

A fast sweep of the room tells you he is alone so you slowly make your way down the steps and across the floor.

"Jack?" You touch his face, then check his body. The wound on his chest looked angry.

"Jack, Jack come on you have to wake up." You whisper to him, tapping his face to rouse him. When his eyes finally open he looks up at you. Fear crossed his eyes.

"No, Y/n you shouldn't be here! You have to go. Now!"

You ignore him and u tie his hands.

"can you stand?" You ask. He nods and the two of get up.

"Wait, y/n you have blood on you." He says pressing his hand to your chest.

"Perhaps it's yours." You say, once again ignoring the sting of pain below the corset, "come on we have to go quickly." You pull his arm around your shoulders and start to direct him towards the doors.

"This was silly, you should not have come here." Jack chastised you.

"No she definitely should not have." Arthur's foot kicks into the back of your knees sending both you and Jack to the ground. He drags you backwards by your ankles. No matter how you claw at the floor you cannot stop him. Jack struggles to move as two other men grab at him.

"Here you go my Lord. Just in time for you to watch it." Arthur grabs you by the hair and yanks you back. You meet eyes with a pompously large man who laughs, pouring a glass of wine.

Episode eleven

@fandomfan-102 @darasloves @afalls14universe

[lokisgoodgirl]

The Ceremony [Asgard! Loki x Fem. Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Every 1000 years, the gods of Asgard provide their sacred seed in a revered and respected ceremony🍆✨ Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Voyeurism. Language. Humour. A/N: Inspired by a scene in The Tudors where Henry VIII has a w*nk into a dish held by a servant. @lokischambermaid thank you for being my unwavering bad influence and cackle-merchant. (w/c 3.1k)

Loki sighed, turning and gazing critically at his reflection. He pulled the tie of his ceremonial robe tight around his hips. Green and gold. “Why we must endure this infernal sideshow of lewd banality, mother? It’s absurd.” Frigga rolled her eyes, a laugh catching on her tongue as she tutted gently. “I tell you this every millennia, Loki. The Ceremony of the Sacred Seed is not a sideshow. It is imperative to the good of Asgard.” “Watching the Royal family masturbate onto a garish golden platter is imperative to the good of Asgard? I see.” Loki huffed, smoothing his hair in the mirror.

The material was finest spun silk chiffon, the barely opaque fabric clinging seductively to every curve of Loki’s muscled body. A little too seductively, for Loki’s liking.

Intricate lace was hearted to the edging, pure sewn gold weighing on the hem. The ceremonial dressing gowns were woven by hand, the delicate work passed through generations. Creation of each of the three bespoke items for the gods of Asgard were legend, spanning the thousand years between ceremonies. Only the eldest and most revered weavers of the city were instructed; the knobble-fingered crones, Loki thought. He shivered, the image like freezing water on his balls. Frigga knew he was toying with her, but still...she felt the need to remind him of the role he must play. That all the men in their family must play. “You know very well that the seed is collected, that it is offered to the soil beneath the Tree of All Things to ensure Asgard’s continued prosperity. The people must-” “-The people must see that their gods' are strong, virile and willing to serve the realm with our innate power, brother. Our sacred seed gives sustenance to the tree, which in turn serves the people. Yes, mother?” Thor boomed. His own ceremonial robe hung loose at the waist, his oiled chest on display; the tie dangling ominously close to revealing all that lay beneath. He took a bite of an apple, the crunch making Loki flinch. “Yes, darling.” Frigga replied, squeezing Thor’s forearm as he grinned widely between messy chews. Loki grimaced, turning away. “Why must I always be last? It’s humiliating.” he murmured, tucking his hair behind his ears as he lingered on his reflection. His eyes flickered upward, seeing Thor’s beaming face appear ghoulishly over his shoulder. “Because you’re my little brother, brother.” the blonde smirked, taking another bite of apple. “I don’t know why you always make such a fuss, Loki. This is my sixth ceremony...and your fifth. Just close your eyes and think of someone pretty.” “We are not all as brutish in our carnal delights as you, brother” he hissed, “to whom the mere sight of a curvaceous table leg during a feast has him making a hasty exit to his chambers and the embrace of his hand. Some of us require more complex inspiration.”

Frigga raised her eyebrows, lips pursed at the familiar spat between her sons. Loki’s ceremonial gown swirled around his bare legs as he paced the floor, incandescent with self-satisfied vitriol. “...and inspiration such as that, I shan’t find behind those doors. Especially not as the third act to my father and brother’s sequential onanism.” “Onanism, brother?” Thor scrunched his eyebrows as a low cheer echoed from the hall next door, the sign that Odin’s contribution in the ceremony had been secured. “Self-pleasure, you cretinous rube.” the dark-god muttered, staring out the window-arch at the pink glow settling over the city below. “It’s time, Thor.” Frigga said, sensing the approach of the guards to usher her blonde son to his duty. He tossed the half-eaten apple towards Loki, a flick of his brother’s wrist making it vanish in mid-air. “Time to give the people want they want.” Thor grinned, throwing Loki a wink as Frigga tightened the belt around his hips. “Prepare yourself, Loki...I shan’t be long.” he rumbled smugly, making his way towards the now-open golden doors to the side, striding past the guards with arms outstretched. Loki could hear his brother working the crowd, their welcoming applause making him shudder. Two-hundred of Asgard’s dignitaries waited through those doors; standing in the side-wing of the great hall. Murals of past ceremonies decorated the alcove, visual reminders of memories that Loki would rather forget. Fifty witness spaces were balloted to the citizens of Asgard, the right to attend considered the highest honour. ‘The Ceremony of the Sacred Seed must be witnessed. We must be seen to be benevolent’, Loki thought, recalling his mother’s words in the lead up to his first experience with this accursed tradition. He rolled his eyes silently, making Frigga chuckle. “I shall leave you now.” she murmured, touching his arm lightly before her dress was but a whisper across the marble floors. For the first time, Loki felt the clench of nerves in his stomach. A thumbnail scratched at the gold edging of the robe by his heart, slipping to rub the muscle beneath. He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply as he summoned familiar thoughts of the one he adored from afar. The one he craved. The forbidden one.

His hand slid down his chest between the soft fabric, the tie of his robe loosening. Massaging his soft cock, he could feel the first stirrings as his mind perused well-trodden fantasies. Slipping down the shoulder of her dress to plant a biting kiss, a tug of her wrists fastened to his bedpost, one slick soaped-up calf rising seductively above the rim of his claw-foot tub. Loki shivered, a wave of desire rolling down his spine, ass clenching. The loose fist he had made around his manhood pressed outward, the flesh thickening beneath dangerous thoughts. He was ready.

On cue, respectful cheers rumbled through the wall signalling that Thor’s dutiful service to the realm had been a success. Quick and artless, as usual; Loki thought with a smirk. The engraved golden doors swung backwards, palace guards setting themselves at either side in wait of their prince. Loki took a deep breath, striding barefoot across the marble floor. The flow of his ceremonial garb grazed his ankles with each long step, his shoulders squared; jaw set. He stared ahead, as imposing in the luxurious garment as he would be in his battle armour. The god’s dark hair rested behind his shoulders, one curl falling forward as he gave a curt nod to the high-priestess standing in the centre of the alcove. She raised an arm with difficulty, the long draped sleeves of her white gown made of the same intricate material as his robe. Don’t think about the knobbled crones, Loki thought; cursing himself inwardly.

“Loki Odinson. Prince of Asgard. Second son of our most sacred royal lineage...” Her voice was strong and commanding despite her advanced age, the white of her hair strewn across the back of her dazzling gown. “God of Mischief and Chaos; sworn protector of Asgard and its people. Do you consent to a ceremonial offering of your most sacred seed this night?” Loki’s eyes went out of focus momentarily, the temptation to roll them almost overwhelming. “I do.” he muttered, to a murmur of approval from the shuffling crowd. He ran his gaze around the half-moon congregation, two-hundred spectators waiting with a mix of trepidation and awe as Loki took his place in the centre. His stare crawled across familiar faces from council meetings and feasts, dignitaries and statesmen who had roamed his father's halls all his life. Their presence was to be expected.

In the middle of the crowd, the Asgardian citizens stood, their clothes noticeably less refined. Less...gold. Many held their hats in their hand, reverent and disbelieving at the sights they had seen thusfar as sunset drew closer. Four guards stood in a square around the dark prince, each holding a pole from which white silk hung like a flag. They all turned; eyes cast upward as they raised their posts to conceal the prince from the waist up. Loki heard a disappointed hush of whispers from his left, tilting his head in half-interested acknowledgment of their discontent. Of course, he thought with a smirk; observing a small group of women. The wives and daughters of Asgard’s political elite. With one notable exception. “It is time.” the high-priestess announced, passing the infamous golden platter to her disciple. Loki nonchalantly untied his ceremonial robe, letting the exquisite green fabric fall loose at his chest. He threw a knowing glance toward the women leaning forward in rapt attention as the silk-chiffon slid down his shoulders, catching on the curve of his biceps. They giggled, quickly hushed by their elders. Every inch revealed more of the legendary landscape of his body, forearms tensing as his broad shoulders rolled back. Several of the women gasped audibly, the ceremonial robe pooling on the floor around his bare feet with a soft rustle. Loki knew that the dying rays of sunlight from the circular window behind would be radiating across his skin, sparking the gloss of every strand of raven hair. He raised his chin upward, letting the crowd admire their prince as he gave a nod to the high-priestess. A sudden scent wafted in his nostrils, making them flare. Poppy. Only one person in this palace wore the scent of poppy.

His stomach fluttered, excited murmurs from the crowd becoming white noise as his eyes fell on she who haunted his thoughts. She slid beside the gaggle of women muttering to each other. There you were. Your face collected; dutiful. Beautifully impenetrable. In every way. She’s not supposed to be here, Loki thought; biting his lip as he extended his hand, one of the guards pouring oil into his palm. “Begin, Prince Loki.” the priestess proclaimed theatrically.

Loki’s gaze fell to the man kneeling in front of him, head bent in dutiful reverence with the golden receptacle outstretched, ready to receive his offering. The platter bearer, Norns; Loki thought. Best seat in the house. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply with his chin tilted upward. The scent of your perfume hung in the air like smoke, tendrils invading Loki’s mind as it began to whirl with lust. So close. You were so close...and you would see him as you had never seen him. As you had been forbidden to see him. Loki smirked, loose grip running up his thick arousal. Sneaking into the Ceremony, against her father’s wishes? What a naughty girl. Long fingers flexed around the base of his girth, giving it a tight squeeze. His lips parted, a low sigh of need escaping under the smallest movement of his hand. His oil slicked palm slid up his member...all the way up, achingly slowly. A gruff ahh caught in his throat as his fingers grasped the sensitive tip, imagining your plump lips sucking brazenly in their place. Loki’s grip tightened; his teeth gritted in concentration as he widened his stance. The marble was cool beneath his bare feet. How many times Loki had envisioned how he would take you upon this sacrosanct floor. The skirts of your dress pushed around your waist as your nails clawed down his back. He would unmake you, devour you, he would free you from every modesty you had ever learned...starting with that beautiful cun- “Fuckkk...uhhh..” Loki moaned, the echo creeping to every corner of the hallowed alcove and beyond. His head fell back further, waves of his hair brushing against the centre of his shoulder-blades as he stroked himself shamelessly under the spell of fantasy. “G-gods...yes.” A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd. The Ceremony was usually a silent affair, perhaps a whine or two at completion from its participants but nothing so...enthusiastic. From the level at which they stood, the crowd began to shuffle, craning to catch a better view of a god lost in his own ecstasy. Above the silk panels, his strong torso was visible from the navel, every thrust of his hips against his palm making that powerful stomach clench. The fading light cast shadows across deep abs, spasms of restrained desire making the muscles at his ribs jolt beneath the taut skin. Loki’s face was marble in motion, exquisite cheekbones sharpening and softening with each biting clench of his jaw, panting sluttishly to the muraled dome above. Loki’s mind wandered to the day he had returned from battle, coated in blood of a thousand foes: dead by his hand. You had run to him, concern etched across your brow, before you realised that the blood was not his own. How innocent you were. If only you had known the things that he would do to you. That he would have you do to him.

In his fantasises, he envisioned you pushing him against the balustrade, ravenously thrusting your tongue into his mouth. You would have relished every drop of him mixed with the sweat and filth of war that clung to his skin; consuming the grime as you would the one that wore it. Dirty girl, Loki thought; his stomach flipping with a wave of adrenaline, dangerously close to climax. You would be such a dirty slut for me. And only me. Loki thought of how your fingers would make quick work of the crusted ties holding his leather trousers at the hips. Of your hands slipping down to grasp his furiously hard cock in your delicate grip. His knees would buckle, delicious cleavage pressing against his bloodied armour; red streaks smeared across your cheek as you savagely took his pleasure at any cost. “Uh-uh-uh...Uh hhhh- y-yes...don’t stop...Gods.” Loki grunted wantonly, his face falling forwards with his mouth hanging open. His cock was bursting, flexing outward against the tight clamp of white knuckles. Blood thundered in his ears, a thick haze of feral lust coursing in his veins as he raised his gaze slowly, ceasing his heavy strokes to a crawl. The disciple at his feet raised his head in expectation, bringing the golden platter forward; flinching back down when he realised his mistake. Loki’s eyes locked to yours, watching him with that same concerned expression that you had worn in the hallway the day he returned. Or wait..., Loki thought as he palmed his cock gently upward, a shiver of desire rolling down his spine; Not concern. Need. Your lips were parted, brows knitted in concentration as you shuffled beneath his simmering gaze. Loki’s eyes ran covetously over your frame, your breasts rising and falling against the corset of that pretty dress. They may not know how much you wish to be behind these silk curtains on your knees choking on my cock, darling; Loki smirked to himself, as you let out a staggered breath beneath his smouldering stare. But I do. He let out a low growl, eyes rolling back as a thumb pressed up the centre of his wide manhood. The oil on his hand was hot with friction, slipping around the velvet skin beneath. Loki’s eyes never left yours, tilting his chin upwards again. His hair fell around his cheekbones, a strand sucked across his lips as he began to pant beneath the renewed pace of his palm. He observed you through half-lidded eyes, biting his lip as his ass clenched with every smooth swipe of his hand against that forbidden pleasure he knew you craved. How he wanted you. How he had always wanted you. Loki hoped your father could see the eye-fucking occurring amid this most solemn of Asgardian festivals. An honour: Loki thought with a sly tug of his lips, that even that odious old fucker could not deny, surely. “Oh-oh, f-fuck...yess.” Loki groaned, close to release; syllables dripping from his tongue like double cream. His fist flexed around his length, palming himself mercilessly while thoughts of you ravaging his cock invaded his senses.

The god’s eyebrows slanted upward, his jaw slackening. A murmur of excitement rolled across the crowd, seeing the prince’s shoulders tense and tighten. Biceps bulged as his free hand grasped his naked thigh beneath the silk panel, an audible gasp from the spectators as he threw his head back. The veins in his throat stood out, jawline sharp as Vanaheim steel in the embers of smouldering sunset. The curtain-bearers tenses in position, the manservant serving the golden platter forward as the muscles in Loki’s legs strained against the precipice of orgasm. His eyes squeezed shut. Knowing you were watching him come undone...that would need to be enough. For now. He could feel breaths catching in his throat, panting like a wolf on the hunt. Stars flashed and simmered behind his eyelids, mutters of anticipation rising from the crowd as his dark moans of shameless pleasure reverberated around the marble walls. In his mind, you were lying in his bed. Legs spread to welcome him as he lowered between your open thighs, melting into the curve of your breasts. “Take me, Loki.” you would whisper against his skin, as you guided his aching cock inside your wet, hot cunt. “I’ve been waiting for you.” With a thundering groan that would wake the dead, Loki came. It rang around the alcove, bouncing to every nook and cranny of the great hall beyond. He heard the group of women gasp in unison, their quiet whines peppering the air as he came undone. Glorious, pure white seed spurted across the outstretched golden bowl as Loki juddered. He steadied against the shoulder of one of the stoic curtain-bearers as shallow pants racked his body. Loki squeezed up from the base of his cock, every drop of his essence secured. For none could remain. Slow claps dotted the crowd, growing louder as the spectators showed their appreciation for his dutiful service to the realm. The god's eyes flickered to where you stood; a coy smile pressing against your dimples as you applauded demurely with a mischievous glint in your eye. He swiped the ceremonial robe held out to him, making a show of whirling it around his body, allowing you a final gratuitous look. Loki tightened the cord around his hips, straightening and smoothing his hair back as the curtain-bearers raised their poles to reveal his whole form once more. I’m still hard, Loki thought, realising immediately that he didn’t care. The high-priestess approached, giving a small bow. She smiled, leaning in toward him. “One can always count on Asgard’s second son for some...unorthodoxy.” she whispered. “It is nice to see that a millennia has not changed you, Loki.” She winked, accepting the golden platter and its contents from the kneeling man shuffling on his knees across the floor. Loki rolled his eyes. “Will that be all?” he quipped, pursing his lips. She nodded, the same smile tugging the corner of her mouth. He gave a curt nod to each section of the crowd, lingering a moment longer toward the one where you stood. Loki could swear there was a thin sheen of sweat on your collarbone, that you pressed your lips together to contain a bite as he raised his eyes to yours.

I have been waiting for you, he thought, feeling his heavy cock throb as he began the short walk back through the golden doors from whence he came. Tonight, my forbidden one; we shall wait no more.

Tags

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[kryptid-writes]

Chapter 9 - Cat's Out

The secret is out and the tension reaches a boiling point.

(2.6k)

The beautiful symphony of music plays, unlike anything I've heard before. It’s soft but powerful, the notes harmonizing and blending together in the most exquisite way, filling me with a sense of peace. 

I find myself dressed in a beautiful flowing white gown, adorned with tiny diamonds that sparkle under the bright light shining from the crystal chandelier that hangs above us in the empty ballroom. 

The elegant ballroom is filled with exquisite architecture that’s reminiscent of a fairytale. The marbled walls are lined with twisting golden engravings creating elegant designs. The white and gray columns tower over us, unique shapes and symbols carved into the stone. But perhaps the most stunning part of it all is the dynamic renaissance painting across the ceiling. Pastel depictions of angels and the peaceful grace of Heaven clashing against the dark armies of demons and black hounds of Hell. Among all the chaos is the battle of Micheal and Lucifer, the story I study like gospel.

Lucifer wears a matching three piece suit in a pristine white color that brings out the deep red of his eyes. His hair neatly brushed back and the usual blood that splatters his body is scrubbed completely clean.

I must admit, for a man that’s never seemed to care about his appearance before, he sure cleans up nice.

With my hand intertwined in his, we sway together, the click of shoes against the old polished wood echoing around. His extravagant wings flow to the melody and hold me close as we spin in coordinated circles. Our bodies press together, that wonderful electric feeling humming between us, pulling us ever closer. I press my face against his chest, breathing in his enticing smell. 

He rests his head on the top of mine and hums along to the music, occasionally singing a quiet word of Enochian. His hand rests on the small of my back and moves up to caress the feathers of my petite wings.

I suck in a breath of air as he reaches the cusp of my injured wing, wisps of pain surging through me.

With a touch of his fingers, a white light shines through and the wound is instantly healed, the pain fading rapidly and leaving a cool sensation behind.

“What happened my beloved?” He asks, placing a tender kiss on the top of my hair.

Lucifer always seems to know more about me then he lets on, but I play along with his little game regardless.

 “Did Dean do something to you?” He tilts my head to meet his gaze. “I swear to dad, I will make him wish he was never born!” His eyes burn with passion.

“No!” I blurt out. I rest my hand on his chest, trying to calm his sudden temper.

“Are you sure? Because I was really looking forward to finally smiting that petulant bug.” His lips twist into a mischievous smile at the thought.

“Dean didn’t do anything,” My eyes fall to the chestnut wooden floor, avoiding his eye contact. “I did this to myself,” my voice tapers off to a hushed whisper.

“Why?” He asks, his voice dripping with hurt, despite knowing the answer already.

“Because I don’t want to be an angel, Lucifer! I want to be me!” Hot tears brim my eyes, threatening to spill at any second.

“Oh, Darling.” He cups my face in his hands, wrapping his large white wings around us, shielding me from the light that has suddenly become all too bright. “This is your true form. This is who you were always meant to be.” He tenderly kisses my forehead.

I shake my head, utterly conflicted by the rush of emotions. I meet his gaze with wide eyes. The tears break free, racing down my cheeks.

“You are my fathers finest creation.” He wipes my tears away with his thumbs. “I didn’t think it possible that you could be any more beautiful, yet here you are my love,” he coos, running his eyes over every inch of me, admiring me as if I were the forbidden apple in the garden of eden. He pulls me into his warm embrace, the magnetic feeling courses through me, I feel as if I'm floating on a cloud.

“Oh, Luce,” I sigh into his chest.

“We’ll be reunited very soon and you’ll see why it must be this way,” he promises, running his fingers through my delicate feathers.

I close my eyes at the feeling and find myself fading from the realm of dreams.

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

The soft murmurs of voices down the hall pulls me out of my peaceful dream that my mind scrambles to hold on to, desperate to return. 

After a minute of resistance, I stretch my arms far above my head and yawn, feeling refreshed after a good night of sleep. Yesterday's events must have really taken a lot out of me. Looking to my left, I notice the messy nest of sheets and pillows where Dean Winchester once slept, holding me in his arms. The memory leaves a soft smile on my face.

I throw the silk sheets off of me and stand from the bed, leaving my comfortable paradise. I grab a flannel off the floor and attempt to put it on, but it gets stuck above my wings, leaving me still completely exposed. I huff and tear at the threads in the back, carelessly ripping open two uneven holes. I constrict my wings into uncomfortable angles and force them through the mangled shirt. This angel business is bound to affect my life in many unforeseen ways.

I step out of my room and tiptoe down the hallway that leads to the library. As I grow nearer, the three familiar voices become more clear. I stop and press my body against the cold tile wall, hiding just out of sight and listen intently to their conversation.

“I’m telling you man, something is seriously wrong,” Dean warns in a hushed volume.

 I can hear him nervously pacing back and forth, his hurried footsteps giving him away.

“You should’ve seen what she was doing to herself! I’ve never seen anything like it!���

“So, what? You think it’s some sort of depression or dysmorphia?” Sam asks in confusion.

“Could be. It’s quite a drastic change,” Dean pauses for a second, “I mean you remember what it felt like losing your angel mojo and becoming human, right?” 

“Yes, it was certainly distressing,” Castiel replies in his usual monotone voice.

“I’m… fine,” I say weakly, interrupting their conversation and stepping into the light. I clutch my hands together, nervously picking at the cuticles of my nails. I try to fold my wings behind my back in a pitiful attempt to hide them, but at this point they’re too large to disguise. I can’t help but feel self conscious as their undivided attention is directed towards me.

“Y/N,” Deans gasps, eyes wide and mouth agape, resembling a deer caught in headlights.

“Um, good morning,” Sam says, his face painted in surprise. His eyes scan over my form, unable to look away from my wilted wings, particularly the mutilated one wrapped in bandages.

“Look, I had to tell them,” Dean admits in shame, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m just worried about you, is all,” his voice drops to a softer, concerned tone. 

“It’s okay Dean,” I assure him, swallowing the betrayal I felt deep down. “But really, I'm fine,” I emphasize the last two words, being sure to get my point across. My eyes flick over to the other men, they look back at me with doubt.

“You should let Sammy take a look at the wound, he’s always been better at this kinda thing than me.” Dean walks to my side, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder and guiding me to sit at the table.

I sink into the chair but sulk away from his touch. As much as I've grown to care for Dean, I can’t help but feel a twinge of resentment. It saddens me that someone I thought I could trust would rat me out so quickly. But I suppose all I was doing is delaying the inevitable, they would have found out one way or another.

Dean pulls his hand back, receiving the message loud and clear.

“Right,” Sam says and stands from his seat. His eyes still locked on my wings, undoubtedly having a difficult time peeling his eyes away. Without another word, he dashes out of the library.

The room goes uncomfortably silent, the awkward tension hanging in the air. 

Dean leans back against the table, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, clearly feeling a sense of guilt. 

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, my arms crossed and mind racing.

Castiel on the other hand, stands attentively on the other side of the table, his stare in my direction unrelenting.

Sam quickly returns with a bottle of whiskey and a small white towel. He pulls a chair out, the obnoxious scrape of wood breaking the silence. He sits across from me and clears his throat.

I frill out my injured wing, stretching it so that Sam may remove the bandage and inspect the wound.

He furrows his brows and carefully unwraps the damaged area. His eyes narrow and the bloody bandage falls to the ground. “It’s… healed?” His face scrunches up in confusion. His soft brown eyes shifting from my wings, back to Dean and Castiel. 

“No, it was right there, I stitched it up myself!” Dean huffs, stepping forward. He hovers over me to get a closer look at the wing, running a finger over the area that was previously mutilated. His expression is a mix of surprise and confusion.

I close my eyes at his touch, doing my best to suppress the blissful feeling that burns in my body. “Hm,” I respond, looking at the perfectly restored wing. I shift it back and forth, the pain completely gone.

Dean throws his hands up, bewildered at my response.

“Hm? That’s all you have to say?” He shouts at me and runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

I shoot a spiteful glare at him, annoyed by his temper.

“It’s possible that her newly found angel grace may have healed the injury overnight,” Castiel chimes in. He steps closer and leans over the table intently, placing his calloused hands on the worn wood.

“It’s not my grace,” I say quietly, my gaze falling to the floor. 

“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean barks, clearly fed up with the lack of answers.

“Lucifer… he healed me last night in my dream,” I admit, mentally preparing myself for the backlash I have deliberately been avoiding.

“He’s still communicating with you through your dreams?” Sam questions, his tone soft, much more understanding than his brothers. There’s no question that he’s the more compassionate of the two.

“Great! Well that’s just fantastic!” He roars, his voice a mix of sarcasm and anger. He bounds out of the chair and hastily throws a book that was sitting upon the table, in anger. It hits the wall with a crack and falls to the floor, ripped pages fluttering to the ground, landing in a messy pile. “Were you planning on telling us this anytime soon?” His face flushes red in rage and clenches his fists into tight balls.

I shrug, not paying mind to his childish outburst. 

“So, what? You’re buddy buddy with the devil now?!” He yells, taking several steps towards me with no regard for my personal space.

“I NEVER SAID THAT!” I bolt up from my chair. It tips backwards and hits the floor with a loud bang. I look up at him, his face just inches from mine. Our eyes lock in an intense staring contest, waiting for the other to break.

“Alright!” Sam intervenes, stepping between us. “Take a walk!” He snaps at Dean, giving him a light push to the chest.

Dean furrows his brows at Sam and gives me one final resentful glare before turning on his heels and storming out of the room, grumbling angrily to himself on the way out.

I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding in. I close my eyes, getting my emotions under control, something Dean seems incapable of.

Sam takes a seat and runs his hand down his face, stopping to pinch the bridge of his nose, the stress evidently getting to him.

Castiel straightens up and stands still like a statue, looking unphased as usual. The scruffy angel resigns to silence.

“Look,” Sam says, gesturing for me to take the seat next to him. “We’re just a little frustrated you’ve been hiding this stuff from us,” his voice is calm and collected. 

It takes the edge off of my anger and I relax into the back of the chair, the wood digging into my back. “I’m sorry Sam,” I sigh. “I’m just ashamed that he has this hold on me that I just can’t seem to shake. I didn’t want to concern you.”

He nods his head in understanding. “He’s the devil, a master manipulator, and he’s a natural at getting inside people's heads. Trust me, I know,” he chuckles like it’s some sort of inside joke. Sam silently shakes his head, looking as if he’s recalling some distant memories.

“But these things,” I resentfully gesture to my wings. “I’m a full blown freak!”

“You’re not a freak,” Sam states in a stern voice. “I know why you feel that way, but it’s far from the truth Y/N.” He places his large hand on mine that rests upon the table in a friendly gesture.

“Look at me Sam! These things are an abomination,” I retort, hanging my head in shame.

“Your wings are nothing to be ashamed of,” Castiel interjects, breaking his stoic silence.

I lift my head and look in his direction, suddenly reminded of his presence. He had been so quiet and still that I completely forgot he was here at all.

“They’re a sign of beauty and grace,” he assures, his pensive blue eyes meeting mine. “You are beautiful,” he says in full seriousness, his face softening just a little.

I’m seriously taken aback by his words. A compliment is the last thing I'd expect from Castiel, even Sam looks shocked. “Thank you Castiel.” I’m unable to conceal the blush that creeps upon my face.

“Hey Cas,” Sam asks, changing the direction of the conversation. “How come we’re able to see her wings but not yours?” 

“I’m not entirely sure, but it likely has something to do with the fact that Y/N is partially human. Perhaps she is unable to conceal them the same way a natural angel can.”

“Wow, my luck just keeps getting better,” I reply sarcastically.

Castiel tilts his head in confusion. It seems that to some angels, sarcasm is a foreign concept.

“That’s probably why they look like this,” I say bitterly. “Short and stubby. Even my feathers are a rugged mess.”

Castiel frowns at this and Sam gives my hand a light squeeze.

“I mean compared to Lucifer's big majestic wings, these puny things are nothing,” I sigh.

Castiel’s head shoots up, his brows furrowed and face an unreadable expression. “You can see Lucifer’s wings?” He asks, seemingly caught off guard by this.

“Um… yeah?”

He straightens his posture, suddenly looking stiff and worried. His brows furrow and eyes flit back and forth, lost in thought.

“Cas?” Sam questions suspiciously.

“I believe I have a lead.” The sound of ruffling feathers echoes off the walls as he promptly disappears. 

His reaction leaves me with more questions than answers, an uneasy feeling settling in my stomach.

Sam and I look at eachother, exchanging worried glances.

Whether he admits it or not, Castiel is hiding something.

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

[aquagirl1978]

SPENDING NEW YEAR'S DAY TOGETHER - IKEMEN PRINCE HEADCANONS

Happy New Year's to all my followers - this is a few days late, but better late than never, right? May 2023 be your best year yet!

Chevalier Michel

"I have your dress ready for you."

Freshly bathed and smelling faintly of roses, you turned to look at the bed and saw his mother's dress - the one he gave you at the Marquis' estate - spread out on the bed. Any hunch you previously had that Chevalier liked you in the dress was now confirmed.

Lying next to the dress was a small black box. "Open it," he urged.

The strand of creamy white pearls was nestled against the dark velvet, the stark contrast highlighting the sheen of the pearls.

Picking up the strand with his long, elegant fingers, Chevalier deftly fastened it around your neck. He smiled, and kissed your cheek.

You quickly slipped into the dress, knowing you didn't have much time left. Glancing in the mirror, you couldn't help but feel regal in the pearls and the former queen's gown.

"Let me do you hair today," Chevalier offered. Handing him your brush, you enjoyed his expert touch, albeit a bit rough and awkward at times.

He insisted on selecting a hairpin for you - of course, he choose one he had previously given you as a gift.

"Thank you," you said, admiring your updo, only now noticing how the gemstones complemented the sunset shade of the dress. In the mirror's reflection, you saw your love standing behind you, his gaze adoring.

"How long were you planning all this?" you asked, the pieces all coming together. He had been planning this day all year it felt.

He kissed the top of your head, careful not to muss your hair. "Not that long," he murmured, pleased you figured out his plan.

You stood there, enjoying the serenity his bedroom provided. "Are you ready?" you asked, tilting your face towards him. Today was the annual New Year's celebration, and this year, Chevalier would be presiding as King.

You gave his hand a tight squeeze. "I'll see you afterwards?"

The king shook his head and smiled at you. "No."

You looked at him confused - you had planned to attend in the audience with Rio and Sariel and had agreed that you would meet up after the ceremony.

"This is the year you become my wife. My queen. Rhodolite's queen." His gaze was gentle, his smile soft as he spoke to you. "By my side is where you belong. Today and all the days after."

Clavis Lelouch

You woke, the sun shining bright in the room, to the most delicious aromas - rose tea, apple pastries, and warm, buttery pancakes.

What you did not smell was the usual strange scents that came with the breakfasts Clavis normally prepared for you.

You opened your eyes to find him standing over you, as if he were waiting for you to wake.

"Happy New Year!" His golden eyes danced with joy as he greeted you, this first New Year's you celebrated together.

"What's all this?" You glanced around the room, searching for his usual strange creations.

It wasn't that you were ungrateful for the sweet treats - and normal ones, judging my their aroma and appearance. But you couldn't help but feel like you were being lured into a trap somehow.

Clavis rubbed his hands together, his golden eyes glimmering with excitement. "I'm so glad you asked. Since it's a new year, I thought, why only create amazing breakfasts for you when there's other meals out there."

Your stomach began to twist into knots as Clavis continued. "Why stop at breakfast, when I can make you lunch as well!"

Your eyes widened as your mind ran through the terrifying possibilities. "This year," Clavis proclaimed, "everything will be bigger! Grander! More meals. More traps. More pitfalls. We have a busy year ahead of us, starting now..."

Clavis took a seat as he prattled on with his master plan to catch each and every one of his brothers in a trap this year - even Chevalier. And he had extra special plans for Sariel involving rats.

You dug into breakfast, enjoying what you feared might be your last normal meal for some time.

"But don't you worry my dear, what's lunch without a little dessert? Every lunch will be complemented by one of my special creations. I like to call them clakes- a Clavis cake. And with this being the year of the rabbit, we have a very special treat for you after lunch!"

Your stomach might have had doubts, but your heart overflowed with love for this mischievous man you were lucky enough to call yours.

Nokto Klein

You woke early, this first day of the new year, the bright sunlight pouring into the room. Yawning, you rolled on your side, your lover still nestled under the covers, a sleepy smile on his lips.

Smiling, you reflected back on the past year you spent with Nokto, watching his blossom before your eyes. His confidence in himself once nearly non-existent, he was now a changed man, a strong man, a capable man. A loved man.

Unable to help yourself, you reached out to touch his face, your fingers ghosting his soft lips. Lips that so often kissed you. Sweetly. Passionately.

Stroking his cheek, you remembered all the nights you shared in each other's arms, telling the other how much they were loved. You planned on spending every day of this new year reminding Nokto of how much he was loved.

Taking his hand in yours, you laced your fingers loosely in his, remembering the times Nokto held your hand as he helped guide you through life in the palace. While the palace was now your home, there was still much for you to learn about living as a royal. Nokto was there, by your side, every step of the way. guiding you, Nudging you. Watching you grow.

You stilled as your beast started to stir; he cracked open an eye. smiling at you.

Without saying a word, he pulled you into his arms. Pressing a gentle kiss on your lips, he asked

Gilbert von Obsidian

"Where is the little rabbit running off to this morning?" Gilbert asked when he spotted you near the palace doors.

Cautious of the conquering prince, you kept your answer short but truthful. "Since it's New Year's, I was on my way to the local orphanage to deliver these baskets of freshly baked treats." Knowing Gilbert's appetite, you kept the basket an arm's length away from him.

Gilbert stared at you silently for a moment before regaining his composure. "An orphanage? You really do have such a pure heart."

You stood under his piercing gaze, eager to be on your way, but also mindful not to be discourteous to him.

"Are you going alone?"

"Yes, I am. The other princes are all busy with New Year's duties so I volunteered for this job."

"Can I accompany you?" he asked softly. This was not the response you had expected from him.

You agreed reluctantly - how could you say no to the visiting prince?

You were silently thankful that the trip was neither long nor eventful. Gilbert proved to be a polite escort while still remaining intimidating. When you reached the orphanage, you were thrilled you arrived in one piece.

What you hadn't expected was how Gilbert would act at the orphanage.

You were initially afraid he would simply scare all the children by his mere presence, but you were shocked when he smiled brightly at the children.

Taking the basket of sweets from you, he soon had a crowd of hungry children surrounding him.

"There's enough for everyone," he said, his laughter sparkling and bright in the dim room.

After each child received a treat, Gilbert performed magic tricks -pulling coins from behind children's ears and making roses appear out of thin air.

The children were in awe of Gilbert, and soon you were too. Part of his now captive audience, you watched as the children laughed at the stories Gilbert told, unable to stop your own laughter.

After many promises to return to the orphanage soon, you returned to the palace, the fear you once had for Gilbert melting into something softer.

[ziracona]

Playing OWB, I always knock out lobotomites because they're victims, instead of kill them. Which sucks, because I only have boxing tape on me. It ain't easy :'-) but I've had several weird what must be glitch encounters with ones that are marked hostile but quit attacking now, and my experiences got me thinking about story stuff in OWB, so a little piece from the POV of a lobotomite experiencing my Courier 6. Which is a very interesting and fragmented pov to write, but I liked doing something very different.

-

-

I see something leaving the big house.

They come one by one usually, the ones not like us. They hurt us. Always.

Everything here hurts.

So, we kill them. We stop them.

One of us makes a sound in his throat, nods towards the shape. We’re all alert with the sound, turn to look. Take out weapons.

I draw my gun. My fingers know the trigger. Know the barrel like it’s another finger. I aim at the shape. It walks towards us and pauses at the top of the stairs, sees us see it. Takes a step back.

Good. Maybe an easy fight for us then.

The man who pointed the figure out charges, drawing his spear. Another of us runs with him, saturnite fist ready. I stay back behind, and shoot.

I hit it. I see my bullet clip the shoulder. The thing cries out and falls back a step. Somehow, not hurt bad. Armor, I guess. We don’t have it. I have the dress they give at a hospital. I don’t remember what I had before.

It makes me angry, so I walk closer, keep shooting.

My companions reach it, and I see them fighting. I see the figure has a gun on their hip, a spear at their back. But, they don’t draw the gun. No bullets maybe? They hit, bare fists. Pound, pound, pound. Crack, crack, crack.

Cuts open up on them, along their face and body, their back, their hands. They jam something into their side and fall back a step, and I see cuts close like magic. They’re afraid though. Eyes big. Surely, just fists against us, we must win.

But we don’t. It fights fast, hard, and above all, with stamina. It won’t go down. Heals itself again and again somehow, and hits and hits until the leader goes down. I feel a pang of fear. The second goes down a few seconds later, a fast upper-cut from this things. Then it turns to me.

I feel real fear. But. Surely. I must win, against this? A human. Wrapped fists. Nothing else.

It meets my eyes, and I see determination. It rushes me.

Panic. I fire, I fire, I fire. I know I hit it. A bullet even grazes its head. But then it’s on me, and a fist finds my face.

Pain. Hurts, bad. I lose strength from it. I keep trying to shoot, and I hit it, even so close, but it hits me too. Crack, Crack, Crack.

I feel myself breaking down. It gets me in the head, and I’m gone.

I think ‘I have died?’

Fear.

Then I’m gone.

Only. I’m…not?

I…wake up.

Not sure when. …Later. It’s gone now.

I sit up, head aches, confused. Why? Must have thought I was dead, I guess. But, I reach for my gun. It’s gone. Stolen. But everything else is here. My cloth I wear, my head strap I can’t get off, the lighter I picked up. And…an apple?

Confused more, I feel it in the gown pocket, take it out.

Fresh. Fresh apple. Smells…good? I take a bite, because I am hungry. It tastes good too.

Amazing. Usually all I eat is meat from something killed, or maybe old spoils found. Stale chip, can of beans, or if very lucky, these cakes of falling apart breads with sugars in tiny boxes. This is fresh, like it’s not old at all. Pretty, bright red.

I eat it all. Around me, I see the other two get up too. Alive. One takes out a pear. Confused too. I think about fighting him for the pear, but I haven’t finished my apple, and he eats the pear by the time I do. The other has an apple too. We eat. We move on.

-

I see the human again, same day maybe. Later. Far away from the big dome now. It’s leaving one of the smaller houses, full of horrible things. I see it from a distance and don’t know it’s the same one. Just hear fighting. I’m with different members of the group, and they run off. I follow. We see the figure fighting off the snakedogs. It has a big fist, like a saturnite fist, but bigger. It’s punching off their heads. I don’t recognize it. Just the saturnite fist weapon, and that it isn’t one of us. I draw my gun, and start shooting. The other two rush in, hoping to get to it while some of the snakedogs are up, so it will be more overwhelmed.

It sees us coming. I watch its head snap up. See panic through the visor I can’t take off. It hurries to turn, punch a snakedog. The head comes off. Last one. Turns to face the others of my group as they reach it, and I see it let go of the fist. Drop the big, powerful thing on the ground, and swing an empty fist at the one of us with a flaming sword.

Then I recognize it. I think ‘So strange. Lost its good weapon?’ and I remember. I remember, from this morning, and I see it closer and see it has the same long blue coat on, red hat.

I am not mad by the armor this time. I am confused. Curious. Still nervous too. Have to kill it before it kills us. I shoot, watching, to see how it heals. See if it can walk off bullets more. See if it keeps hitting.

It does. Keeps taking out little white…things. Like scissors. Some of me thinks ‘that’s a heal’ but what that means? I don’t know. It is a heal though. Makes flaming knife cuts go away. Good for it, because it takes punishment I couldn’t believe. Hits back with little wrapped fists. Crack, crack, crack. Hit, hit, hit. I hear, I see. I watch my people go down.

I hesitate as it turns, bloody, and rushes me again, breathing hard. I remember to keep firing. It knocks the gun out of my hand and I look down in surprise. Blink. It hits me. I hit back. Panic now. Remember it will kill me. Hit, hit, hit, but it hits harder. I go out.

I think, ‘I died.’

But, I wake up. Again. Before me, the other two are already up. Starting to stand, and looking for weapons gone now. I look for my new gun, sad. Know the thing took it again. It did. But there’s an apple. Fresh. My pocket, again. Pink apple this time. I hold it and smell it. Think ‘where it gets the apples?’ And eat it.

So good. Even better than red apple.

The others have things too. The knife companion takes out a drink. Fights a while before biting off the cap, and drinks it. I am very jealous. Almost jump him for it. Too busy thinking. Other has apple too.

I think hard.

Wonder.

-

I see it again, going to find a new gun. On my way out, I hear guns, and I follow, careful. Haven’t got new gun for me yet. Very hard like that to stay alive.

But, there it is. Blue coat, bright red hat. Tall. I see it shooting snake dogs again. Shooting the skeletons in the suits that help us sometimes. A dog with robot legs jumps it, and it punches that one. Interesting. I am curious.

Once it leaves, I sneak up, look at the dog.

No apples…

I keep following.

I see some of us attack it soon. Another group. I think about helping, but, I want apples. I don’t want to get hit again, though. So, this is my idea.

It hits them, like it hit me. It gets hurt, bad, doing it. But keeps healing. Keeps hitting. And, it wins.

After, it breathes hard. I hear it talking to itself. Sounds like a woman, maybe. Not close enough to hear it well. It spotted me once, so I’m careful now. Still no new gun, you know? Got to be careful.

I sneak little closer though. Watch.

It puts its big saturnite but bigger fist back on, wipes blood off forehead. Walks over to the unconscious bodies it fought, and I see it take their guns, their spears. Leaves bugglegum, leaves a drink, leaves a pear. An apple.

After trading food for gun or knife, it goes on. Once it’s gone on enough, I sneak over. I pick up the stuff it left. I take the gum and put it in my gown pocket. I eat the pear. I open the drink and it hurts my teeth, but it’s worth it. So good! A part of me tastes it, and I want to..cry?

Confused, I stop walking. Look down at it. Drink a little more.

I think ‘sarsaparilla,’ but, I don’t know what sarsaparilla is. Something in me very desperate asks me to know, but I don’t remember. It’s a brown word, and a sweet word. Spicy. A tree? I try, but I know I am wrong. I sit, hold the drink. Drink it slow between two rocks, hidden safe in a shadow. Hold sarsaparilla. There is a word on the bottle. Can’t read it, but I trace it with finger. Think. Girl on the bottle—picture. I almost remember something, but…

It hurts too much. Can’t. Put head in hands, breathe. Pain goes away. I keep drinking. In head, I see a picture of a tree that isn’t there. I sit beneath it in my head. I drink this in my head too, but a different one. It’s a good feeling, but, sad.

I don’t understand why.

Tree smells. Like…sarsaparilla? Brain says ‘pine.’ Not sarsaparilla. But I can’t remember ‘pine.’ Good word. Green word.

I get up.

I keep the apple. I hold it in pocket, and take out to smell. But don’t eat. Saving it. Save the bottle too, to smell. Smells like sarsaparilla and thinking about green pine words.

I chew the gun thoughtful, and try to find blue coat again.

I find her pretty slow this time. So fast! Unbelievable. All the way across the empty, she is sneaking. I run into her—almost for real. See her slide against a wall and hold breath when I almost step on her. I don’t want punched unconscious again. Too much hurt, even for apple. Besides. I have apple. If she sees it, what if she doesn’t leave new one too? So I pretend not to see. Keep walking.

Mutter, like she did alone.

She buys it.

Very proud, I walk around a ways, then sneak back.

Hah!

Worked. Very, very well. She is sneaking off towards the big robots. NO clue I sneak after!

Hmmm…Big robots…

I am nervous. Those will shoot me. I got new gun off a box, but not great gun. Big robots sometimes shoot missiles. Besides, she won’t leave apple on big robots, so nothing to get.

Still, I follow. Too interested now.

I see her checking out already dead robot, poking at stuff. Hm. Closer, I see her wipe forehead, and past bangs, she has head marks almost like mine. But, not one of us… We would be able to tell. Can always tell.  And, she doesn’t act like…? Must be wrong?

Hm.

Some of us hear her poking around. I pull back, and watch her fight in fascination. Some of the big robots hear the commotion as she hits my people off her, and they come running too. Uh-oh, I think, because they will shoot right through us. To surprise, I see her panic too. She looks ‘uh-oh’ at them, and shoves one of us off her. She snags gun off her shoulder, big, long rifle, and shoots a robot. It falls, but two more come. I see one of us take bullets from it and stumble back. She sees too, runs towards the shot man, and moves between him and robot. I see her get shot. She takes it like she does, and shoots the robot twice. It falls. One left. But she pauses, to look back at the man. He’s alive. Confused. And hitting her with his saturnite fist. She grimaces, falls forward, misses a shot at robot, and ignores him. Shoots robot. All three of my kind attacking her are still up, and one shoots her, knocks off aim.

Uh-oh, I think, more worry in the uh-oh. She is not doing as well.

Still, she ignores the man shooting her. Takes shot at robot, using free hand to block a hit from the spear the last member of their group has. Robot goes down this time.

Bloody and relieved, she turns, frantically starts hitting them. Amazed, I watch. She takes down all three.

Bloody, barely able to stand, she huffs. Grabs a chunk of broken concrete, and slides to ground against it. Sits there, tilts head back.

“This is the worst,” she says mournful.

Tired, she raises her wrist. What I thought was another, broken saturnite fist is on her left arm. She raises it. Taps it. I hear sound come out of it. Songing.

I remember…this sound.

Been…I think a long time.

Woman’s voice, but not her, plays from the arm. Says words my ears don’t know anymore. But, says not many words. I like that. Same words keep being said. ‘Night.’ ‘Your.’ ‘We.’ ‘Where.’ ‘When.’ ‘Begin.’

I don’t remember ‘night.’ Don’t remember ‘begin.’ Don’t remember…’when, where.’ I remember ‘we.’ We is…me, plus someone else. Me and someone.

I am proud; I remember.

I never remember.

But I know ‘We.’

She has no we though, unless it is the woman with song in her wrist. Many of us, just one of her.

I listen to the song too. She sings with it, quiet, just a few words. Just the last words, holding the last one long, much longer than the song. She turns off the thing on her wrist, but holds the song word. Then sighs, lets it go.

Stands alone, looks at the bodies.

Odd expression on her face. I wonder with a strange chest feeling, from where I hide in shadows, if she will get angry and crush them under her feet.

She does not.

Takes their weapons, slower than before, wincing as she stoops. Leaves a drink, leaves a cake box, leaves an apple.

-

I follow her for the next two days.

Sometimes, I lose her. She will go in a building, and I will not do that. Too many monsters. She maybe can be shot 400 times. I die if shot 400 times. I do not want a plant to eat me. I do not want to be explosion’d by robot.

Sometimes, she is just so fast, I lose her.

But, she is very loud. Thankful for that. Never lose her for too long.

I eat a lot of delicious apples.

Always keep one on me, too, to look at. To smell.

If I find the drink that smells like green word ‘pine’ and the brown word thought ‘sarsaparilla,’ I drink it, and keep the bottle to smell, replace the last with it.

She does the same thing, always. Will kill snakedogs. Kill robots, kill suits with skeletons, kill scorpions, kill bugs. Kills robot dog if scared. Never kills us.

Don’t know why. Won’t, though. Always takes weapons, always knocks out with wrapped fists, always leaves a little gift.

I don’t know if the gift is trade, or maybe, I think, ‘sorry’? Can’t remember what it means, but it makes sense. It thinks in my head like ‘backing off’ a little maybe. It seems right?

I don’t know for sure. I keep following. Sometimes, if she thinks she is alone, she turns on the song. It is not always that song, but that song she hears the most. It’s the best, because the others are too fast with too much words. That one is slow, very few words, very short, and a word I know. I like to hear it.

A couple times, she spots me, and I have to run away. She doesn’t chase if I do, though, so no more punching. Good, because head still hurts a little from before. Girl punches hard…

Day two, late, she sees me and I run and she calls out. I keep running till I’m far, and check to see if she is watching. She is. Standing still, staring at me. I pause. She crouches, puts out her hands, palms to me. No weapon. I know her fists are weapons though. Very painful.

I watch still, interested. Look back. She calls again, soft. Motions towards herself.

I think she is trying to lure me back.

Too smart, I don’t do that. I keep running, hide.

Sneak back after a few minutes, from a side. Still, she is watching where I went, head tilted.

Strange look on her face. Sad and not sad at same time.

I think about that.

-

Third day.

I see her fight many things.

Robot scorpions (10), many of us (many), big robots (4), different kind of big robot (2), skeleton suits (forgot to count), green plant monster (2, very bad), snakedog (18 maybe).

Good day for me. Lots of food. Found a glowing drink. Maybe saw god after drinking it. Was funny again for a minute too.

Felt very happy.

I like following her. Very interesting to do. Different. I forgot about different. Different is not very safe, but is other things. Like full of food.

She is doing better. Avoids places with big robots mostly now. Sneaks more. Walks on the big pipes a lot, which makes harder to follow her because if I do, she sees me and have to hide. Still, I am better at following now too. Getting pretty skilled.

And then, she gets too close to us.

I don’t realize, because I watch her, not where she goes. But we get close to the cave. To home cave.

I don’t realize, until one of us runs past and sees me, and calls to me a sound I know. ‘Again!’ A call to fight. One of the words we remember.

I stand up automatic at the sound, then blink, see more and more of us. Not just from by me, from past too. Maybe eleven, twelve? So many. She was looking at a box, but hears us coming. Looks up and sees. Tries to run.

She can’t get past. Too many come in from the left side of the big rocks now, and there is nowhere up on the rocks to go. She doesn’t see how many are on my side yet. Starts trying to fight. We push her into a corner. I don’t realize I’ve followed until I’m at the edge of the group, watching up close as she punches one of us unconscious like before.

I am waiting for her to win and waiting for her to die. Different parts of memory both sure of outcome.

I feel nothing.

Just far far away.

Then I am shoved forward. I am close to her, watching. Right on her.

She is scared. Hits me. I fall back, surprised. Two jump her from behind with knives.

I see her heal herself, but too many of us from too many angles at once. We are winning for once.

She tries to push through and run.

Almost makes it, but one of us catches her on fire. Loses sight in the fire, loses footing. Falls. Snaps an ankle when she hits rock below. We go after her like a wave.

I think ‘she is going to die now,’ without anything beyond thought. Then I think ‘I can take all the apples off her if she dies.’

But. I don’t want them that way.

I am sure they will not taste so good if I take them off her pockets.

I am suddenly very frustrated.

If they kill her, the apples won’t be the same at all.

I push forward, push past.

They don’t fight me. We are all fighting her.

I see her struggling. Made it up to one foot. I see the gun at her hip. I see the bigger than a saturnite fist on her belt. I see the spear on her back. Still, she hits with fists. She got some of us, unconscious. But we are still five, and she is trying to heal as I get close.  Jams the little white thing into her side as I reach her. One of the others hits her so hard, he knocks it out of her side, and she cries out. Not a sound like the song. I realize she is about to go down.

She sees me.

I hit her.

She falls, covered in blood from guns and knives and bruises from fists.

I go down on top of her.

The others make sounds. Want to see what she has too. I growl at them and snap, and they back off. They are all hurt from her punches, but she only hit me once. I have my gun.

I look back down at her as they back away, lose their interest.

I try to remember death and unconscious, the way to tell. Heart tells. Heartbeat.

I pick her up from shoulders, put my ear to chest, listen. There is a sound. Brain doesn’t think heartbeat sound, but what other sound in chest is there? Doesn’t matter, I think, because sound is alive. Dead is quiet.

That seems sure to me, so, relieved, I pick up the blue coat woman, and put her over a shoulder.

We are by my home, so I turn. The others ignore me now. I claimed the body, it’s mine. We bring meat home. We bring findings. We bring anything we want.

I pass into the cave, past the graves we put outside, past some of the things we keep. Past a few of the others inside, with their own beds and memories, and special things like my apple and my bottle, but not as good.

Keep walking, far in. Find my little bed. Raised bed, like a table, but soft. I think it was for hospital once, like my cloth I wear. I tap the dolls I hung from the post by the bed. It’s nice to be home.

Set her body on the bed table. Put ear to the chest again to be sure, but it makes its not quite heartbeat sound.

Good, I think, You are alive.

That’s alright then. She will get back up and leave apples. We keep going like before. All will be good.

I felt nervous, but now I feel okay.

Still, after a few minutes, she is still quiet. I listen several times. Chest sound is going. The blood from cuts stopped, but she is not waking up fast.

With time, I get curious. Poke around a little. Don’t go through pockets, because I don’t want to know how many apples. But I remember the marks I saw once, and I push back her hair.

I am right. There are cuts around her head too. I feel for my own. Mine still hurt. She has them, like all of us, and I am excited, then confused. If…she is one of us, why can’t we tell? Why we kill her? Why she fights us? I’m not remembering. We can just tell, with each other, if they are us. She is not. Not sure how I know. But I don’t know why now.

She has our marks though, I think, confused again. Marks, but not us. Strange.

Maybe she is broken.

I can’t remember where we got marks. I try, and shudder. My head says ‘don’t look.’ It scares me. Like the answer will kill me if I look behind the corner to see it. I quit looking.

Instead, I trace the marks on her head.

She makes a sound of pain, and scrunches her face. Her eyes open. She blinks, squints, finds me above her. I tilt my head, forget to be scared of punches. Relieved it didn’t take so long to not be dead.

Behind me, I hear an angry hiss.

I turn, and to surprise, there is one of the others. He gets close, trying to look past me. Sees the girl, and snaps at me. Anger, alarm. Pushes past.

I realize to surprise he is going to grab her.

“No!” I hiss back. Grab his arm, drag him hard to the side and shove back.

He falls, and drags himself up, angry. Others hear, come towards us. See her, start to hiss and shout. Start to try to get her too. I swing at the first who comes, and hit hard with body of my gun.

“Stop you!” I warn in a growl.

She is MINE! Why are they -?!

They do not stop. They come again, try to get at her. Hiss, growl, call out. I shove one, hit another.

“Stop you!” I shout louder. Behind me, I hear the girl move. Look, and see her trying to sit up.

I worry she will hit me too.

A gun crack. I turn, see one of us with a rifle. Look back, worried, as I hear her cry. She is holding an arm. New, fresh blood. No, no, no! She was so close to dead. More hits, she dies! No more anything!

Enraged, I raise my own gun. She will not kill us. I will. I shoot him.

I hit.

The others attack me then.

I shoot, I hit, and I don’t remember. Something gets me, hard, in the head, then another.

I go down.

I think very angry, very sad, it is not fair. Can’t remember why this is cruel. It is not right though. It’s…it’s….

Gone then.

I am sure I am dead this time.

-

But, I wake.

I think, fuzzy, ‘maybe a new apple.’ Feel relief.

Everything hurt.

But, something is good too. …The ground is good. I used to know it. It feels familiar. Like I could sleep here forever maybe.

I try and open my eyes, because that seems okay.

It’s harder than I think. Eyes feel heavy, tired. Head is wrong…er, than usual. Not sure why. Everything is fuzzying, like I am dying from no water, but in a way that feels warm and good. Like dying, if I liked it.

There is light, and as eyes start to work, I see blue coat looking down at me.

I am not so worried, because I know she will just hit me and leave an apple if she notices I am not dead.

I decide that is okay. Watch, stunted, as she moves. She sees me see her then. Stops fiddling with this thing above me, and turns to face.

“Hey,” her voice is soft, like water when I am hot in the sun, cools me, “You’re okay. Just hold still, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you.”

I don’t know the words. I think ‘you’ maybe is me. But not the rest. It feels familiar though. She doesn’t talk like she will bite. I am too fuzzy to care. Just blink eyes heavy, watch her. Something is stuck in my arm I notice, and I wonder if that will hurt me, but it’s hard to feel worried. Hard to feel anything but fuzzy.

“Can’t you do anything?” she asks something behind her.

I don’t know those words. I thought ‘you’ was me. But, she is not looking now.

“Not without a brain,” comes a new voice.

I do feel panic then. She will hit and leave an apple. Anything else kills me.

I struggle to sit up so I can fight or run away.

 So hard to do, and that scares me more.

“No no!” she calls, and I know that word. Not a good one. “Hey, easy,” she says, catching me with her hands and trying to push me back down, “Just calm down.”

Her voice is soft, but I am very scared. I struggle back, trying to see the other voice. I see no one, and that is bad. Could be anywhere.

The blue coat lets go with one hand and taps the thing stuck in my arm quickly. I suddenly feel calmer, almost like I might throw up, but so fuzzy I want to shut my eyes. I try to struggle, but I forget why as the fuzziness gets heavier. After a few seconds, the blue coat’s hand lifts carefully off my chest. I can’t remember why I was getting up before, so I lay still. It seems better there.

“Look,” she says, glancing behind her again, “I will GET you a brain—the right one! But there has to be something in the meantime. He’s not brain dead! He doesn’t act routine. His pockets are full of stuff I’ve left behind. He’s been following me. They all keep keepsakes around. They’re not brain dead, not totally. The connection must at least be marginally existent for them!”

“I can’t help you without his brain,” says the same man voice before. Still, I see nobody. That seems worrying still, but not enough to move for now.

“What about you?” asks the blue coat in frustration, turning in another direction, “Switch—lights!” she adds, sounding excited, “Smart lights!”

“Oh, good idea sweetie!” comes another girl voice. Not the wrist voice, and not blue coat.

Lights switch on around me then, bright, blinding, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

And feel.

Oh my god.

Despair, and horror, revulsion, and agony, hate, terror. I am filled. I can’t speak. I can barely think and stay alive.

I remember. Things I can’t usually understand.

There was a robot. Arms and knives, whirring saws. I was held down, screaming. I remember the vices, the grips. I remember the scoop, ripping out my brain. Metal pieces screwed into my skull.

No, I think. Praying for the understanding to go away.

It stays. It plays and replays. I see other lobotomized people, I see memories of killing. Eating raw meat. Animal. Not a person anymore. Not anything.

I am shaking. I can almost remember. Half remember words, half remember feelings and thoughts. Half remember people. I know I loved them, but I can’t remember what they were, I can’t remember their faces. I see them, then forget them immediately.

I can’t remember my face. I can’t remember my name.

I remember the snapping of greymatter as my brain went out.

I remember things…I remember pieces of things.

I remember the pine tree and pine is a word, not the color green, but I can’t remember what it looked like anymore. Why I loved it.

I don’t know who I am.

“I…I’m already dead,” I whisper. I find words again, and those are them. I feel myself remember how to cry, and I do, because I feel too much despair and terror to keep inside. I have to get it out. I would eject it any way I can.

This is a person, above me. I know that now.

I see her. Try to ask for her to help me, but I don’t know how to fix me. I don’t know what to ask. I don’t know how to explain.

I try, to find the words. ‘My brain,’ I think, ‘please.’

But I can’t. I can’t find the words I think, not as words I can remember to speak. I know what happened, but human words are gone.

I’m dead. I’m a corpse.

“It’s okay,” says the blue coat woman. I see worry in her face. Her hand touches my shoulder.

I spasm with my shaking.

Terror in me, I realize the clarity I have can go away.

I lose my sanity completely.

Terrified, I find motor control and reach a hand to her and grab her arm. “Help me.”

I find words. “Help me help me help me!” I beg. Find the arm with my other hand, cling to her. Try to drag myself up to her and hold on tighter, afraid now she will leave me to be dead again. That she will turn off whatever she turned on to raise me from my grave. “Please please please! Please help me! Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me, please, please, please help me! Please help! Help me!”

I am sobbing. She is answering me, but I don’t hear it past my wails for several tries.

“I’ll help you, it’s okay! I’m going to fix you—I’ll fix you! I’ll help you,” she calls back, and I don’t know the words.

I can only think ‘Help me’—don’t forget don’t forget the words oh please please don’t forget don’t lose them they’re the only words I know to save me. I keep using them. ‘Help me help me help me.’ I am trying to climb up her arms and dig my fingers into her spine so she can’t be rid of me. So I won’t die in the cracks of the ground I’ve been living in. Terrified like I can breathe fear and it is me.

Her arms go around me and she goes down onto the bed with me, wraps her legs and arms around me, buries my head against her chest. Lays her head on top of mine. Holds tight. I cling back. Shaking. Trying to grab more and more and more, until I realize I have grabbed her finally as solidly as I can. My hands still fidget. I plead and plead and plead until I lose my unused voice. I can only hear choked, awful whispers from my throat, but still I try. Finally, past my own dying begs, I hear her making sound back.

I begin to hear it slowly, very slowly, when I can’t hear me anymore.

She clings to me, holding strong, but not crushing. She is saying, “It’s okay.” She says. “You’re going to be okay. I will fix you. I will heal you. You aren’t dead. You’ll be alive again. I promise. It’ll be okay.”

‘Alive again.’

I hear that.

I think ‘again, that’s in the song.’

‘Begin again,’ I know the words now. The meaning.

I feel some kind of clarity. Comfort. Like the song was a promise too. Like the right words.

“Alive again,” I start trying to repeat. I can’t hear myself beyond a hiss anymore, but I try. I try, I try, I try.

She must hear it somehow. She says, “Yes, alive again. I’ll fix you. I promise. It’s okay. Calm down, okay? I can heal you.”

Heal.

I think of the little white…stimpacks, I almost remember. ‘Heal.’

I think of closed cuts.

Heal.

I try to shut my eyes. Try to not cry anymore.

So tired. Maybe I will die from the crying. I worry sincerely then that I might.

“There you go,” she whispers, and her grip loosens, “It’s okay.”

I panic. “No,” I beg, opening my eyes, shaking again, trying to find her face and pull her closer to me, “No don’t go Apple don’t go please!”

I am crying again. I see her face, surprised. Pain. She must be hurt too.

“Don’t put me back please,” I weep, “Don’t make me like I was please please! Do anything! Anything! Don’t break me again, please! Please don’t!”

I think she will cry.

“I won’t.” Her voice shakes.

I am too scared to believe her.

Trembling all along my body, I tug my head against her chest again and try to hold tight to make it hard for her to go. I can’t breathe slowly, and I can’t get enough breath in my lungs. It scares me too. I am afraid it means I am already dying again. So soon.

“No please,” I whimper, “Please Apple. Please. Don’t hurt me anymore. Don’t break me again. I’m sorry. Please. Don’t break me. Don’t kill me again. Please, I want to be a person. Don’t take me away. Don’t. Please don’t. Help me. Please, please. Please. Help.”

“Okay,” she promises, not moving anymore, “Okay.”

She stays a long time. I beg, and cry, and plead. She says words I remember and words I don’t and words I half know, voice soft like the bed, and sad, worried. Kind.

She holds on to me.

I am so exhausted from begging and crying and being a corpse, I lose consciousness finally, after hours.

I’m already dead.

I was the whole time. I just didn’t know it.

-

When I wake up again, I feel heavy. Stiffness like a corpse. I am sure that is what I am now. I am afraid to open my eyes and see it. I know she will be gone. Everything is gone.

But, I open my eyes.

She is still there.

I am curled up on her, clinging. She is quiet, watching me. Awake, and still there. She did not leave me.

“Hey,” she says softly. I stare. “How are you doing?”

I try hard to remember what that means. Makes my head ache to try.

But.

…’am I okay’. I turn the sound into words into meaning. Try to go the other way and turn meaning into words into sound.

“I am alive?” I check worriedly.

She nods. “Yes.”

I think. My voice cracks. “I can stay alive?”

“You will,” says Apple, “I promise.”

I cry again. Pull myself closer to her, worried. “You help me?” I ask when I can make words.

“Yes,” she promises, arms wrapping gently around me, “I’ll help. Don’t worry. We’ll fix you up. Like new. I’m really good at medicine; I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

I try to express gratefulness, but all the words I can think of are ‘We.’ That she called us ‘we’. Me, plus somebody else. Her, and me. Not alone now. Not alone.

“We?” I manage.

“Yes, we,” she agrees, “We’re together now. You’re not alone.”

I try to believe it. Try to calm down. “Two of us?” I suggest.

“Two of us,” she agrees, and there’s something important in her face.

[celestialcrowley]

Hi!

I got through season two of Doctor Who! Love it! Thank you @shadesofdeviant for gathering the episodes for me to watch!

Here are some of my favorite moments!

“Merry Christmas!” *passes out*

“I’m gonna get killed by a Christmas tree!”

“I need … I need … I need … I need … I NEED YOU TO SHUT UP!”

“Why is there an apple in my dressing gown?”

*stares an angry wolf down* “Oh, that’s beautiful!”

“All these separate things.” *ruffles hair* “They’re not separate at all! They’re connected!” *ruffles hair again* “Oh, my head! My head!”

“Witchcraft.” “Time Lord.”

“This new hand is a fighting hand.”

“Why? What do you think I’m going to do? ✨Flap✨ you to death?”

“I believe it’s called a teleport.” Harriet, I love you. I felt that sass through my computer.

“Aren’t you a beautiful boy?” “Thanks!” *realizes Rose is talking to a cat* “Oh.”

“What?”

In conclusion, I love Harriet Jones and Donna Noble so much.