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wheredafandomat · 1 year

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The Royal Ruse 👑

Prince! Loki x Asgardian reader

18+ | this fic contains angst, eventual smut, probably some bad language, little bit of a slow burn?

Chapter 1 Next

“Well then I’ll marry.” Loki declared, almost triumphantly as if he had just solved the biggest problem known to the kingdom of Asgard.

“Loki, you can’t be serious.”

“I am” he insisted, pausing his pacing “if marriage is what it takes to get the throne then I am to wed.” Loki stated.

“And who will you marry?”

“There are a few ladies in which I am courting, I’ll simply marry one of them and then take my rightful title as King of Asgard.” He began to grin.

“And who’s to say any of these maidens will agree to marry you?”

“The promise of a throne” Loki shrugged as if the answer was simple and obvious “I myself wouldn’t even turn that down and I’m already a prince” he scoffed “I’m sure any of them would be delighted to marry me. They could even been Queen consort for a few decades and then perhaps they’ll get bored and then leave or if not, perhaps an accident befalls them and—”

“Loki!” He was cut off.

“Remind me, why am I even talking to you.” Loki sighed, annoyed by the interruption.

“Because I’m the only person you trust.”

“That’s right.” Loki agreed, turning towards the clone of himself he had deployed to reason with.

“What you need to do is find someone who will be willing to pretend to be in love with you up until a wedding occurs where they will then disappear leaving you crowned King of Asgard.” It plotted.

“You’re right” Loki smiled “I’ll find some sort of hopeless maiden and promise her some golden coins or something in return for her hand in marriage.” Loki declared.

The following day, Loki decided to go on a walk to clear his head. Like most walks, this one consisted of visiting the more lowly parts of Asgard where the peasants and working folk resided meaning hearty mead and the occasional leg up in the back of the brewery. Loki often imagined the look on his fathers face if he ever discovered that he frequented such a dingy place, risking the integrity of the palace and all its occupants; it made the whole clandestine visit that more appealing, that more desired. He walked through one of the alleyways, picturing Odin’s face before he felt a weight crash against his chest followed by a yelp.

“Watch where you’re going.” He instantly spoke, assuming the figure standing to their feet was a drunkard.

“Likewise.” You scoffed, pushing his steadying hand on your forearm away. Once you were on your feet, firmly rooted onto the ground, you looked up at your attacker, narrowing your gaze. “I feel like I’m supposed to know who you are.” You challenged suspiciously.

“I guess I just have one of those faces.” Loki excused.

“No” you began, grabbing his chin as you inspected him “you look familiar, really familiar.” You continued, the man pulling away from your touch.

“Unhand me deprived wench.” He scorned, stepping backwards causing you to gasp as it hit you.

“You’re the pri—”

“Shhh.” He silenced you, covering your mouth with his hand. “You know not what you speak of. Why would a prince be somewhere as unpleasant as here?” He queried.

“You know, Thor sometimes comes here.” You replied.

“He does?”

“Yes.” You nodded.

“Well I’ll be sure to—”

“Ha!” You beamed “you are Loki.”

“Fine” he relented “but don’t breathe a word of my being here to anyone.” He warned menacingly.

“Okay.” You shrugged just as Loki began reaching into his pocket. “A-are you trying to buy my silence?” You asked, watching him rummaging through his pocket.

“Yes, how much will it cost?” He asked.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, besides, who’d believe me, I’m just a deprived wench.” You huffed.

“Sorry.” Loki apologised.

“Anyways, I’m just on my way home so if you’d excuse me.” You dismissed.

“Of course.” Loki spoke, moving out of your way, his eyes rounding when he realised you were going into the little door that was behind him. “This is where you live?” He questioned almost aghast.

“No, there’s a magical portal inside that transports me to one of the rooms in the palace” you answered sarcastically “yes, this is where I live.”

“It’s tiny.” Loki noted, stepping towards the door and looking inside.

“You’re insulting me again.” You remarked.

“Sorry.” He apologised again.

“I would offer you something to eat but no.” You decided, walking further inside and leaving the door open.

“No?” Loki spoke, raising an eyebrow as he cautiously took your nonverbal invitation and stepped inside.

“No.” You nodded.

“No what?” He replied, recognising the pictures in the callander on your wall; they were all of the palace.

“No, I don’t want to offer you something to eat.” You explained.

“Well I’m not hungry.” Loki argued.

“Good, because I wasn’t offering.” You replied.

“Fine.”

“Fine.” You finished, Loki unmoving as he subtly glanced around your place, eyes lingering on the pictures of the palace you had stuck to the walls. It felt surreal having one of the actual princes stood in your room but you put the whole experience down to having too much mead. You decided to further test this delusion and continue the conversation. “Well unless you’re going to offer me a seat at the royal dining table or an audience with the queen, I suggest you leave.” You broke the silence causing Loki to snap out of his staring competition with the picture of the palace that showed part of his room as he remembered his dilemma.

“And what would you be willing to do for a seat at the royal dining table?” He questioned, smirking making your eyes round in realisation.

“Not that!” You gasped.

“It would only be until I am crowned king.” He tried to explain.

“You want me to sleep with you until you’re a king? What the fu—”

“I think we’re thinking of two different things” Loki interrupted leaving you confused “tell me ummm—what’s your name?”

“Y/n.” You answered.

“Lovely” he clapped “tell me y/n, are you married?”

“No.” You almost laughed, you weren’t even courting anyone.

“Good.” Loki smiled.

“Why is that good?” You questioned defensively.

“I’ve got a proposition for you y/n, let’s discuss this over wine.”

“You’ve got wine?”

“I assumed you did.” He replied, brows knitting.

“I’ve got wine, my wine, you can have water.” You disagreed with him, no longer sure whether this was real or fiction conjured up by your besotted mind. He looked real enough, smelt regal enough.

“And why can’t I have any wine?” He asked incredulously.

“It’s my wine, I don’t see you bringing me any wine. It’s expensive you know, I can’t just waste my wine.” You tried to explain to him.

“Y/n, I am a prince.” Loki reasoned.

“Exactly, you should have bought wine.”

“Well I’ll make sure I remember it for the next time I bump into a stranger in the street.” He puffed, taking a seat as well as the glass of water you were offering him before he began to divulge his proposal.

You listened intensely to his plan, the realisation that he wasn’t a mirage making you a little giddy as you downed your drink, nodding along to words.

“I’ve got one question.” You spoke once he was finished.

“Anything.” He nodded.

“Are you insane?” You asked causing him to sigh. “I mean how would we even do it? We don’t even know eachother.”

“I can easily remedy that.” He assured.

“And pray tell prince, what’s your smart idea?”

“I can create a link between us, it’ll give me access to—” he began, placing his fingers against your temples as you moved your head away “you’ve got to trust me.”

“Well I don’t.” You affirmed.

“What reason other than what I just said would I want to do this with you?” He sneered.

“Fine.” You answered, rolling your eyes before he continued.

“As I was saying, I could create a psychic link between us which would enable us to send thoughts to one another.” He elaborated.

“And why would we need to do that?”

“Because when my mother asks, which she will, things about yourself, my future wife, it’d be good if I could actually answer. Vice versa” he clarified “you’ve got to know a little about me.”

“I know two things” you grinned “arrogant, prince.”

“Behave” he cautioned “so y/n, for the promise of a fortune, would you play the part of my doting betrothed?” He asked, looking into your eyes.

“Yes.” You replied with a small nod, unsure of what you were actually getting yourself into.

Loki on his way to kingdom 😂 as always whenever I start a new fic, let me know if you wanna see more or if I should start a diff story

Tags:

@lokiprompts @mischief2sarawr @lulubelle814 @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @eyesbluelikethetitanic @vickie5446 @mcufan72 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @xorpsbane @sailorholly @anukulee @yukio369

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#oc fiction #loki fanfiction #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki of asgard #prince loki x reader #loki au fics #loki au #loki laufeyson x female reader #loki x asgardian reader

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voraciousvore · 3 months

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Candy and the Beanstalk

I wanted to write something light and silly and fluffy, since I've been writing so many dreadfully dark stories lately, so I put my OCs Candy Caramello and Martin Maneater into a classic beanstalk story. No actual vore in this one, just cute g/t fluff and some mild sfw romance. Enjoy (I hope)! :3

Word Count: 3.9k

They came from the sky, draped in remnants of clouds. Nobody knew how, or whence, or what they were, other than the fact that they vaguely resembled beans—beans with an exotic iridescent sheen, pulsing with a rainbow parade of luminescence. Upon their initial discovery, in a fallow dirt field, they drew considerable attention and curiosity. As obvious magical objects, they fetched a high price among buyers eager to discover their secrets.

Unfortunately, these buyers were soon disappointed to find that their fortunes had been wasted. Not a single person could get the beans to grow, nor could they extract any magical properties. The kaleidoscope of lights that displayed on their smooth surfaces gradually faded to a dull, lackluster brownish green, just like any other bean, with only the occasional spark of light to betray their original appearance. The mysterious beans from the sky soon faded into obscurity as people lost interest, deemed nothing more than a hoax or scam.

Out in the countryside, far away from the hustle and bustle of major townships, lived a humble peasant girl by the name of Candy Caramello. She was a very sweet and pretty girl, blessed with lovely blue eyes and long blonde hair, but she was also as dumb as a box of rocks. She lived with her parents on the family farm and worked as a milkmaid, with big milkers of her own to match. Regrettably, she wasn’t good for much else beyond the simplest tasks, especially with how clumsy and accident-prone she tended to be, so her parents didn’t have high hopes for her. She spent her days daydreaming about boys as she milked the cows and fed the animals.

One day, one of the older cows stopped producing milk. Candy brought this unfortunate news up to her mother. “Mom, the cow’s broken. Her udder’s all shriveled up.”

“Well, the cow’s of no use to us anymore. Take it to the market to sell it for its meat and hide,” her mother ordered.

“Really? Me?” Candy replied with surprise, twirling strands of her lustrous golden hair around her fingers. She usually wasn’t assigned much responsibility.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? She’s bound it muck it up,” her father whispered. Mrs. Caramello shushed him and sent her daughter on her way.

“She’s got to learn eventually,” her mom sighed, once she was out of earshot. “We can’t treat her like a baby forever.”

Candy skipped along the dirt path to town, excited for a new adventure as she led the cow by a rope. Her blue eyes sparkled with joy as she beheld the scenery: undulating fields of grain, majestic old oak trees, fresh green grass, fluffy white clouds glowing with sunshine. She walked over a stone bridge and watched fish dart around in the sparkling waters of the river below. The cow impatiently pulled on the rope to hurry her along.

She entered the market, and was immediately distracted by all the new sights and sounds and people. Stalls lined the streets bursting with fruits and vegetables, colorful textiles, hand-crafted goods, and a wide array of exotic baubles and trinkets. Candy forgot about selling the cow as she browsed goods that she had no money to buy.

“Hey, you! Wench!” a gravelly voice called from the entrance to a dark, deserted alley off to the side.

“Hmmm?” Candy turned her head and walked toward the sketchy area, oblivious to the potential danger.

“Is that cow for sale? How much?” the voice rasped. A shadowy figure, cloaked in midnight blue garments, crept out of the shade from the brick walls that hemmed in both sides of the narrow passage. He was a lean, tall man with a sickly mien.

“Ummm… what’s your best offer?” Candy inquired. She had no idea how much she was supposed to sell the cow for.

“I have something that might interest you…” A gnarled hand emerged from the folds of the cloak, holding a small drawstring bag full of small lumps. “Magic beans!” He opened the bag and pulled out a bean to show her. To Candy’s amazement, the bean flickered with light.

“Magic?” Candy’s eyes gleamed. “What do they do?”

The mysterious individual hesitated, as if not anticipating the question. “Uh… they’ll make you rich! Fabulously rich!” Candy looked at the stranger blankly. Money was fine and dandy, but not what her heart truly desired. Sensing her apathy, he changed tactics. “Or… they’ll help you find true love!”

Candy, being the hopeless romantic that she was, lit up. “Really? All that for a cow? Why? How?”

“Erm, don’t worry about that. Just, uh… follow your heart and look to the heavens and you’ll have your answer!”

Candy agreed to the deal, and traded the cow for the beans. As she left, the stranger muttered under his breath, too quiet to hear, “What a fool… those beans are useless…”

On her way home, Candy pawed through the bag and examined the beans. None of them had that special spark or sheen that she witnessed earlier, but she wasn’t deterred. She believed in the magic with all her heart. She couldn’t wait to plant them and see what would happen. Would they bloom with fantastic buds, opening to reveal a handsome prince? She nearly squealed with joy at the thought. She entered her cottage home just as the sun was beginning to set, bathing the landscape in orange twilight.

“Mom, Dad, look what I got for the cow!” Candy proclaimed, holding up the sack of beans triumphantly in her hand.

“What’s that? Gold coins?” Mr. Caramello asked.

“No, even better! I got beans! Magic beans!” Candy poured the beans into her hand so they could see. Her parents stared dumbly at the dull pile.

“Please… tell me you’re joking,” her mother uttered in disbelief. Candy gave a slight shake of her head, clueless. “Candy, you clod! You traded an entire cow for a handful of beans?”

She snatched all the beans out of Candy’s hand and threw them out the window. “Empty-headed simpleton! You got scammed! You wasted a perfectly good cow!”

“I told you this would happen,” her father muttered. Mrs. Caramello elbowed him hard in the side, making him grunt. Candy hung her head, dejected. She wanted to shrivel into the floorboards and disappear. She tried her hardest to please her folks, but somehow she always messed everything up. Her best was never good enough for them. She fought back tears.

“Ugh, just get out of my sight,” her mother said with a disgusted wave of her hand. Candy turned around with a despondent slouch and obeyed, dragging her feet out the door.

“Don’t you think you’re being too hard on her, dear?” Mr. Caramello murmured, once Candy was out of earshot. “She can’t help it that she’s so stupid.”

“I’m just sick of her being such an airhead! She needs to get her head out of the clouds and grow up!” Mrs. Caramello spat back with frustration.

Outside, Candy walked over to the beans scattered in the soil and plopped down on her knees. Sniffling, she scooped the beans up into her hands with some crumbs of dirt and gazed down at them sadly. They didn’t glow, stubbornly insisting on remaining a bland monochrome green. She poked her fingers in the dirt and scooped out a hole, then planted the beans and tucked them in with a pat of her hands. She kept her hands in place, sitting in the dirt as the sun sank below the horizon, quenching its fire into the earth. Her remaining energy died with the light.

With a laborious sigh, Candy went back inside the house, avoiding her parents and laying down in her bed to sleep. A trickle of melancholy dribbled into her core as she huddled on her side and stared at the wall. She was desperate to please; at the end of the day, she just wanted to be loved and held. She wanted a caring man, big and warm, to wrap his arms around her and tell her that she wasn’t useless. She wanted to feel precious and special, beloved and cherished, rather than being such a worthless disappointment. Candy shivered, pulling the bedsheets up to her chin, and fell asleep.

Little did she know that the beans, hidden beneath layers of earth, were radiating multicolored flashes. They had awakened from their long-dormant state with a burst of fire. Candy’s sweet touch had brought them to life. Like Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone, Candy had something special that the magical beans patiently sought.

While she slept, a fresh green sprout emerged from the ground and reached for the sky, twisting and looping in a rapid ascension. Tendrils swirled in spirals and springs around each other as they lengthened and expanded in scale. Leaves grew from tender buds into magnificent foliage large enough to lay on like a mattress. The stalk thickened and swelled, transforming from a thin vine to a pillar to a massive verdant structure, broader and taller than the biggest redwood trees.

Candy woke up early, as was her habit, to let out the chickens and milk the cows. When she walked out the door into a dark shadow, she turned around to behold the gigantic beanstalk towering above her, above the house and surrounding countryside, impossibly tall, so high up that she couldn’t even see the top as it disappeared into the cloud layer. She stood there and gaped in astonishment, not believing her eyes. She wondered if she was still dreaming as she slowly stepped up to the plant and placed her palm on its glorious green surface. It was real. The magic was real.

She craned her head back to gaze up into the sky. The words of the bean seller popped into her head. Follow your heart and look to the heavens. When she initially heard those words, she thought he meant to pray for divine intervention, or have faith or strength of spirit. Now, however, the words took on a whole new meaning. Clearly, she was supposed to literally ascend to the sky, via the magical bridge created expressly for her.

The task before her was daunting, but Candy was firm with resolve. She dreamed, in her most honeyed fantasies, of finding true love. The ceaseless desire burned in her so strongly that she feared she would turn to ash if it were not satiated. She didn’t know what could possibly be in the sky that would aid her in her quest, but she was determined to find out. She took a deep breath to steady herself before beginning her journey. She gripped a coiled vine in her hand and started to climb.

At first, scaling the beanstalk was fun, reminiscent of a joyful childhood climbing trees. As the time stretched on, though, Candy’s optimism waned and her muscles began to ache. The labor became arduous. As the atmosphere thinned with the great height, the air chilled and the wind bit through her light clothes. The verdurous shoots of the beanstalk were soft and feathery in some parts, hard and sharp in others, digging into the skin on her hands. Whenever she grew weary, she rested on one of the many giant leaves. She didn’t want to stay in one place for too long, though, since she still had a long way to climb.

Candy considered giving up, but at some point she realized it would be just as hard to return to the ground far below. The distance was dizzying; Candy was just grateful she wasn’t afraid of heights. The beanstalk occasionally swayed in the breeze, making her cling with a death grip to the leafy vines until the stalk steadied again. When she needed a distraction, she admired the view. She could see for miles around. The farmland below, from such a grand height, looked flat, since none of the objects below could compare to the colossal twisting tower.

Candy entered the cloud layer, where the air was moist and frigid. The initial wisps of cloud thickened into heavy white puffs that produced dark shade. Candy was tempted to curl up when the cold ice particles surrounded her, and her hands met crusts of ice on the foliage, but she forced herself to continue. Finally, she emerged from the cloud layer, back into the brilliant sunshine.

Her eyes just about boggled out of her head when she surveyed the cloudscape around her. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t an entire alternate world up in the clouds. There were trees, and flowers, and a garden, and even a charming cottage close by. Candy cautiously tested the surface of the clouds and was surprised to find them pleasantly firm beneath her feet, like solid earth. She hopped off the beanstalk, stretched her weary arms, and headed towards the nearby cottage.

She immediately discerned that something was amiss as she grasped the true nature of her surroundings. The grass was tall, easily as tall as she was, and the flowers towered over her head. The trees stretched up into infinity, their branches and leaves fading into the blinding mist higher up. Candy gawked over a fallen acorn as big around as a barrel of ale as she walked past it. The cottage at first glance appeared close, since it was such an immense building, but was actually quite far away.

Candy faltered as she recognized just how shockingly huge everything was, especially the house. Who could possibly be large enough to inhabit such a vast structure? Fear flooded her heart, yet her curiosity and desire ultimately won out. She believed in the magic of the beans, even more so as she beheld such impossible, remarkable sights. She felt, in her heart, she was destined to come here—as the bean seller had promised her, to find love.

She cautiously approached the cottage, marveling at the inconceivable scale of it all. Up close, the house was so large that she couldn’t take it all in at once. She stumbled over some pits in the ground, failing to notice that the ridges taken as a whole formed a giant bootprint. She reached the door, which stretched hundreds of feet above her head, and gazed up at it in wonder. There was no way she’d be able to open it on her own, but she was small enough to crawl underneath it, through the gap between the door and the floor. She slipped inside, her heart racing.

The inside of the domicile would be rather average-looking, if not for the size. Candy found herself on a huge, scratchy welcome mat that nearly matched the square footage of her cow barn back home. She stepped over the threshold and onto a boundless stone floor. As she walked forward, with her diminutive shoes clicking on the stone, a tremendous masculine voice boomed from somewhere inside the house.

“FE!”

Candy stopped dead in her tracks at the enormous voice. The loud sound was followed up by a substantial thud, then another, and another, which Candy recognized as the rhythm of giant footsteps.

“FI!”

The steps rapidly approached, nearly knocking Candy over with how much they vibrated the floor. Her heart jumped into her throat. Logically, she knew she ought to run, but she was petrified in place.

“FO!”

The source of the disruption made his appearance, rounding a doorframe into the room. He was a giant man, hundreds of feet tall, with stormy gray eyes, short dark hair, and a sturdy build. He thundered toward little Candy, who was too stunned to move.

“FUM!”

His boot slammed down next to her. At her height, she wasn’t even tall enough to reach his ankle. He kneeled down, looming over her.

“I smell the blood of an Englishman!”

Candy gasped as a gigantic hand, with fingers thicker and longer than her entire body, overshadowed her. She finally snapped out of her paralytic state and turned to run, but she had no chance of escape as the fingers closed around her in a fist. She watched the floor drop away below as she was lifted up to the giant’s face so he could get a better look at her.

“Er... Englishwoman,” the giant corrected himself, once he was able to see her closer. Candy gazed up at his huge face, into his soft gray eyes. He had a prominent nose, full lips, and a forest of stubble around his mouth and chin. Other than his size, he didn’t look menacing or evil. As a matter of fact, Candy found him to be strikingly handsome. Perhaps even the most handsome man she had ever seen—the kind she fantasized about all day while she milked the cows, when she imagined her perfect man.

“Hmmm, I’m in the mood for a sandwich,” the giant rumbled to himself, standing up with the tiny woman in his fist. Candy wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. She was spellbound. She felt her face warm up with him so close, so huge, all around her. His fingers wrapped around her body as warmly as she pictured the arms of her fictional lover last night. Was this the man she was supposed to meet? Her true love? Sure, he was enormous, and not quite what she had expected, but true love conquers all, right?

The giant, oblivious to her thoughts, got out some slices of bread, meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and condiments, and started prepping his sandwich. Humans weren’t common up in the sky, and he hadn’t eaten one in a long time, so he was looking forward to a rare treat. He thought it odd that she wasn’t struggling in his fist or pleading for her life, as humans normally did when he threatened to eat them. Maybe she was too frightened. She was shaking a bit, after all.

Candy rested her elbows on his finger and held her chin in her hands with a dreamy gaze. “What’s your name?” she asked.

The giant was confused by the question, and her placid demeanor, but dutifully replied, “Martin. Martin Maneater.” He paused midway through spreading sauce on his bread. “What about you?” Why am I asking this girl her name, when I’m just going to eat her anyway? To be polite?

She giggled, her face flushing at the attention. “Oh, I’m Candy. Candy Caramello! It’s lovely to meet you!” Martin blinked, increasingly baffled as he looked down at her. She wasn’t afraid of him at all. In fact, she had a rapturous look that was enthusiastic enough to make him blush. A woman had never looked at him quite like that before. And gosh, she was pretty cute too… just his type: blonde, blue-eyed, busty, and completely adorable.

“Um…” Martin suddenly found himself tongue-tied. What was wrong with him? He was supposed to eat her, not fawn over her! And yet… and yet… his heart was singing in his chest with a thrumming rapid enough to make him lightheaded. He abandoned his sandwich and sat down in a chair at the dining room table, loosening his grip on the little lady since she apparently wasn’t going to bolt.

With his mind drawing a blank, he asked the first question that popped into his head. “How did you get here, Candy?”

“Oh! I planted some magic beans and climbed a giant beanstalk! It was amazing!!” Candy chirped as she twisted a strand of golden hair around her finger. She caressed Martin’s giant finger with her other hand, reveling in how warm and soft his skin felt on hers. Martin blushed again at the physical contact. He liked it more than he cared to admit.

“Ah, the beans… that makes sense…” Martin muttered. “They only grow for special people, you know…”

“Is that so?” Candy said in a seductive tone, batting her eyes at him. Martin’s heart jumped as she twirled playfully in his loose fingers.

“Y-yeah… they only grow for a human of exceptional stock, one that is… especially tasty.” The giant raised a brow, curious to see how the woman would take this information.

She didn’t skip a beat. “Awww, so you think I’m tasty?” Candy flirted with a wink. The literal meaning of his words seemed to be lost on her. Martin couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I’m sure you are,” he teased back, running his tongue over his lips.

Candy’s eyes lingered on his lips longer than he felt comfortable, as he felt himself drooling over her scent. “The bean seller told me I could find true love with the magic of the beans!” she blurted out. Martin raised his eyebrows with surprise.

“Oh! Uh… hmmm… that’s interesting…” Martin stammered. What was he supposed to say to that?

“Can I kiss you?!” Candy’s abrupt intensity was shocking.

Martin reddened. “K-kiss me?”

“That’s how you find out if someone is your true love! You have to kiss them!” Candy insisted. “That’s how it works in the fairy tales!”

Martin’s tongue tripped over his words as he became increasingly flustered. He was about to deny her assertion, tell her love didn’t work that way, but… her little face and body, resting in his hand, made his chest swell. He wanted to kiss her, badly. He was lonely, living in the clouds all by himself. He wanted a woman to love, to call his own, and here she was, literally sitting in the palm of his hand, begging for his affection. How could he possibly refuse?

“O-okay. Sure. Yeah.” His heart pounded in his chest as he raised her up to his lips. He was tempted to scoop her up into his mouth, being the man-eating giant that he was, but he politely refrained and puckered his lips gently. He pressed his plush lips to her tiny body, feeling every soft curve she had to offer. She kissed him back, her touch light and soft. He could feel her excited heartbeat pulsing in her chest. He pinned her down in his palm with rising ardor as he leaned into the sensual kiss. He could even taste her incredible caramel sweetness as his tongue touched her body. She was divine. His entire body burned with a sudden fiery passion that radiated from her touch on his lips all the way down to his toes.

He could hardly tear himself away when he finished kissing her. He craved more. She lay flat on her back in his palm, hot and slightly soggy, her cheeks red as a rose and her eyes glistening with stars. She looked like a tiny angel.

“I-I think you’re the one, Martin,” she uttered breathlessly. “That was amazing.”

“Mmmmm, I agree,” Martin purred, caressing her body tenderly with his finger. He couldn’t believe his luck. He leaned down for another kiss, this one short and sweet but no less passionate. “Who knew a human woman could make me feel this way...”

Martin cupped her in his hands and took her into his living room. He reclined on the couch and relaxed, holding the tiny woman against his chest. As he drifted off for a nap, he hoped in his heart that this whole encounter wasn’t all just a dream, and the tiny woman in his hands was, in fact, real. Before he closed his eyes, he looked down at her, snuggled up in the curve of his palm on his chest, rocking slightly with every beat of his heart. She was so trusting, already fast asleep in his hand after a long and exhausting day of climbing.

Maybe true love was real after all.

Writing Masterpost

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mytheoristavenue · 2 years

Note

The fic I requested came out so great! I literally loved it and your writing has me wanting to draw it and a pt 2 if your comfortable with it ;-;

(also I have like more requests in mind but I rlly dont wanna bombard you with prompt after prompt but this is my way of saying I just wanna let you know you gained a new fan and rlly deadass inspired ideas to me, sorry about all the gushing)<33

Sure! I typically don't do multiple parts, but I feel like this could work with one!

TMNT 2012 Donatello x Reader x Leo - Unfair Pt 2

Warnings: Fluff, angst, aggression, jealousy

Summary: After becoming closer, you and Leo begin to officially date and that doesn't sit well with Donnie.

You smiled, looking down at your phone, specifically at the string of heart eyed emojis Leo had just sent you in response to a selfie you'd sent him. Things had been going really well with him. The pair of you had officially begun dating a few weeks ago, and you were incredibly happy. Leo, however, was not quite on the same page. No doubt, he was infatuated with you, as he'd always been, but ever since that night at the park, the bond between him and his brother hadn't been the same. Donnie no longer held respect for him as a leader, and had developed a habit of shooting glares and snarky comments Leo's way. Needless to say, it was an issue.

Leo set his phone down on the sofa after sending you a text in response to a picture you sent him, which he saved, before walking into the kitchen.

"Texting (Y/N) again?" Don's voice snarled form the entrance to the lab, as he'd been exiting.

"I don't see how it's you business, but yes, I was texting my girlfriend." The older brother rolled his eyes, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. Donnie scoffed, picking up the T-phone, glancing at the notification screen, which had your contact name displayed, as you'd replied to Leo's last message.

"Pookie? Really? What are you, five?"

"Do you not call April pet names?" the blue clad turtle asked smugly, parrying his drink and a plate of chips to the couch. "Oh, wait, she dumped your ass, as she should."

Donatello could feel his blood boil as his brother chuckled, switching through TV channels. "Yeah, thanks for that, by the way."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Leo asked, cocking a brow, and turning around to see his younger brother behind him.

"It's your fault she dumped me. You had to go and make a scene with (Y/N), knowing I liked her."

The team leader was baffled at how entitled Donnie was acting. "Do you hear yourself? You can't have both, Don. (Y/N) pined over you for way too long and you just used her as a stepping stool to get to April. You can't be mad when you finally get what you want and your little monkey wrench goes off with someone that can make her happy."

"Monkey wench?!" Don spat, balling his fists. "You took advantage of her emotional state! How can you say you care for her when you waited 'til she was at here lowest to swoop in and ask her out!"

Leo shook his head, deeply hurt by his brothers words. "You put her in that emotional state, bro. I like to think she's pretty happy with me, but if I found out she wasn't, I'd let her go. She's not my property." he sighed, standing up off the couch, taking his now empty plate to the sink. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going out."

"To where?!" Donnie shouted behind him as he left. "To see (Y/N)."

Shortly after Leo departed, you wandered into the lair. You halted, seeing the most intelligent turtle before he could spot you. You tried to turn away and leave, thinking you could just wait for Leo outside the station, but you were too late. "(Y/N)?"

You spun back around on your heels. "Hey, dude, is Leo around?" you asked, straight to the point. You watched his expression contort into hurt as he sighed.

"You just missed him, you can probably catch him if you hurry." he said sadly.

"Thanks, see ya!" you chirped, pivoting back toward the entrance to catch up to your boyfriend.

"(Y/N)?" he called again, prompting you to slump your shoulders, wanting to be away form him as soon as possible. "Can we talk for a sec, I promise I won't keep you too long?" You sighed heavily, now visibly uncomfortable as you approached him, silently waiting for him to continue. "Are you really happy with Leo? Like really, really happy?"

"I am, Don." you answered truthfully. "He's really caring, I think I love him, actually." you gushed accidentally.

"O-Oh." he stuttered, dropping his head, afraid to look at you. "April and I broke up, did you know that?"

"I did." you replied flatly. "She's be best friend, she told me everything.

"Oh," he said again, as if he were a child getting lectured for sneaking a cookie from the jar. "Are you mad at me?"

"I am." you responded, with little pity, hand on your hip. "I think you're really selfish, Donnie. You played with both of us, and now you can't come to terms with the fact I've moved on. I loved you for a really long time, but I can't let slide how you treated me."

"I-I...I'm sorry, (Y/N). I really am, I've been a total jerk." Don admitted quietly, shame written all over his face.

"I need you to understand that you won't get another chance with me, and most likely not with April, either." you lectured sternly.

"I understand. I didn't before, but I do now."

"Good." you nodded, shifting your weight to your opposite hip as you looked up at him. "I can forgive you, as long as you promise to uphold the boundaries I've set."

"I will. All I want is for you to be in my life." he sighed, smiling sadly. "Even if that means letting you go romantically."

"That's really mature of you, Don. Thank you." you smiled, relieving him of a portion of the guilt he carried.

"And you're sure he makes you happy?" he asked once more, as you turned to leave to find Leo.

"Positive." you replied, making it back to the steps of the station, glancing over your shoulder.

"Well..." he smiled sadly, watching you leave. "Then that's all that matters."

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt 2012 donatello #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt 2012 leo #leo x reader x donnie

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melishade · 1 year

Note

Could you do disgusted number 9? That one can go in any direction.

This Dialogue Prompt (Where you are more than welcome to ask about)

Let's do the TFP Kids in AOP and the Survey Corps finding out about Megatron's military might and ultimate blunder, and Hanji calling him out on it because:

"YOU LOST?!" Hanji screamed at Megatron's holoform. The Survey Corps could only watch with disbelief while Miko was just grinning with delight.

"Of course I must hear your shrill voice at the end of my day." Megatron rolled his eyes.

"No!" Don't change the subject! Don't try to be an asshole when I'm calling you out on your bullshit during the war!" Hanji yelled at Megatron, "You had an army! Half of whom could fly! Speaking of flying, you had a flying ship! You had a spacebridge! You had a dragon, at some point?! I don't really know what a dragon is, but from Raf's description it sounds really cool! But you lost to what?! Eight Autobots and three human kids! How do you lose to eleven people?! What were you even on to fuck up that bad?!"

"Space cocaine!" Miko shouted, followed by Jack quickly covering her mouth.

"Thank you, Miko! That is an insightful answer even though I don't know what cocaine is!" Hanji told her.

"Quite hypocritical of you consider the Survey Corps' losses," Megatron hissed.

"That bastard," Eren growled.

"First of all, you! Don't get to fucking call us out on that anymore considering your fuck ups!" Hanji jabbed him in the chest, "Second, the difference between us and you is that there were no expectations for us! We lost every single time to predators! If mortality rates were low, that was considered a victory! You literally had everything and you just fucked up! How?! Why are you like this you egotistical, sociopathic, asshole?!"

Megatron grabbed Hanji by her collar. "I am going to burn all of your projects to the ground!"

"I doubt you'd be able to succeed! You'd probably burn the office down, but somehow miss all the papers!" Hanji screeched.

The fight nearly became physical, but Optimus and Levi quickly intervened. Optimus had to grab Megatron and pull him back while Hanji was physically restrained by Levi. But the Survey Corps, Jack, Miko, and Rafael could only watch in shock as the two still screamed at each other and cussed each other out.

"I...did not think she would get like this," Jack could only muster.

"You know what, neither did we," Jean confessed.

"Raf, are you getting this all on tape?!" Miko giggled as she shook Rafael by the shoulder.

"Stop shaking me so I can get a good angle," Rafael merely replied as he kept his arms steady.

"I will drop you from the sky, you wench!" Megatron threatened.

"Not if I steal your T-Cog first!" Hanji shot back.

"Is that a threat?!" Megatron yelled at her.

"I know your every move!" Hanji declared, bearing her teeth, "I know what keeps you up at night and what haunts your dreams! Keep one eye open! Your T-Cog is mine! YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH!"

(I really enjoyed writing this.)

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kazoosandfannypacks · 1 year

Text

"It Now Belongs To You" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 7/10: The Dice Game Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: T Word Count: (1.1K/10.6K) Summary: When Emma and Killian receive a pair of magic beans as a wedding gift, they take a voyage on the Jolly Roger for their honeymoon- but a wrench is thrown into their romantic getaway when they run into a notorious pirate who's staked a claim on the Jolly Roger. Chapter Summary: Emma attempts to use her superpower to beat Black Beard at his own game Tags: post-canon, canon compliant, fluff, no smut, suggestive themes, alcohol, gambling, self indulgent fluff with a sprinkling of angst Author's notes: I hope the perspective switches in this chapter aren't too confusing! (also, please note, their game gets cut off between chapters 7 and 8, so don't think it ends quite here!) Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

Emma placed her dice in an empty cup, then shook them onto the table and peeked under the cup. There were two sixes and three fives- and she was careful not to reveal them to anyone else at the table- not even Killian. A perfect scam like the one she was running required a certain level of coordination she hadn't yet worked out with Killian.

"Lady calls first." Black Beard said.

"Three fives." Emma started.

"Four fives."

"Five fives."

He studied her carefully.

"Liar!" he said, and, sure enough, he only had one five- and two ones and a three and a four- which made the total four fives, and Emma the liar.

She pounded the table and set a die off to the side, but her frustration was far from genuine- if she won every round, Black Beard might suspect her secret weapon, so she'd have to carefully plot out when to fail and when to succeed to avoid suspicion- and giving Black Beard an early winning streak would definitely catch him off guard.

She rerolled her dice- two fours, a three, and a one.

"Two fives." Black Beard said.

He was already bluffing, as Emma could tell, and she had no fives of her own- but she continued the bet.

"Three fives."

"Liar!"

Sure enough, Blackbeard only had one five of his own- along with two threes and two ones.

The crew watching all cheered as Emma set another die off to the side, unaware that all this was playing right into her hand.

___

Black Beard peeked at the dice under his cup. Two ones and two threes and a two.

Normally, he wouldn't've bet something of such high stakes as a ship and bean against a woman- in the end, one woman's really like another. But just like gold had no value until someone else said it did, this wench was only worth it because Hook thought she was. The pain on his face when she'd placed herself as a bet had doubled and tripled with every die she'd lost, and to watch a man who'd bested him on many occasions crumble the way he did now was the warmest vengeance he'd ever reveled in.

"One five." The girl said.

"Two fives." Black Beard bluffed, knowing it was doubtful she'd have more than two fives in her three dice- and he didn't have any.

"Three fives." she replied.

"Liar again!" He revealed his dice, and looked at her dice to find a six, a four, and a three, and the blonde set a die off to the side.

"Isn't that fancy?" Black Beard asked Hook. "Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd say she's throwing the game on purpose, just itching to get away from you."

Hook looked at his mug like the ale in it was the only ally he had, more disturbed and tortured than Black Beard had ever known him to be. Hook breathed deeply, then replied with disdain.

"So it would seem."

___

Though he would later be ashamed to admit it, the faith Killian had in Emma had wavered in that moment. There was no way Black Beard could beat her at her own game like this, and yet, here she was, losing.

"Two threes." Black Beard said.

Killian almost wondered if Emma was doing this on purpose, if- no. His Emma would never.

"Liar!" Emma said.

Then again, who would pull a bluff like that on their first move? There was no way Emma wasn't letting Black Beard win this one.

But as everyone at the table gasped, Killian looked across the table at the revealed dice- Emma with a six and a two, and Black Beard with a six, a two, and three ones.

"Lucky shot." Black Beard said, casting a die off to the side. "Let's see you do that again."

They cast their rolls again, Killian watching with a little more excitement.

"Two sixes." Emma said.

"Three sixes."

"Liar!"

Emma revealed a six and a three, and Black Beard revealed two ones, a six, and a two.

"Another lucky shot." Black Beard muttered, throwing a die across the table.

Killian smiled as Black Beard scowled at him over the top of his flagon of ale.

___

"Two lucky shots don't mean a thing." Black Beard thought as he rolled his next set of dice- a four, a three and a one. His last guesses had been his own pride getting in his way, so maybe this time he'd better shoot safe.

"One three."

"Two threes."

Was it possible that one of the girl's dice was a three? Yes- however, it was less likely that both were, and his options were to call her bluff or up the anté.

"Liar!"

She revealed a three and a six.

"I don't think so." Emma said, taking one of his dice and setting it aside.

His chance at success was dwindling into a miserable mess- all thanks to this wench. However, Black Beard knew the game wasn't over 'til someone ran out of dice- and both of them had two dice left.

___

Emma's plan was working splendidly. Despite losing half the matches, she'd still done what she'd set out to do every time, and had successfully infuriated Black Beard in the process. She didn't have any personal vendetta against him, but based on what she knew he'd done to Ariel, Anna and Elsa, and especially Killian, she was able to take delight in his annoyed glare.

"One one." Emma said, knowing she didn't have a one, but knowing Black Beard did.

"Two ones" he smiled.

Now she was stuck. She knew for a fact there weren't three ones- all she had was a five and a three- but her other option was to call Black Beard out- and though she had a five in six shot at that being right, her superpower made it clear- Black Beard wasn't bluffing.

"Liar!" She said, faking some breed of confidence.

He revealed his two ones as she revealed her not-ones.

"One less die for you, m'dear." Blackbeard said, removing one of her dice and mockingly setting it off to the side. "And look at that!" He pointed at the other. "One die away from a night we'll all remember."

She had gone into this game with so much confidence, faith in herself and her superpower and that her plan would work. Now she was faced with the very real possibility that Black Beard could win, that sometimes all her resources wouldn't be enough, she could get backed into a corner, and she'd have to- well, she'd rather not think about that. Instead, for a stroke of comfort, she looked to Killian, who bore the face of a defeated man.

#once upon a time #captain swan #fanfic #killian jones #emma swan #once upon a time season 6 #post canon #fic rec #kazzy writes

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hollyethecurious · 2 years

Text

CS AU: Conviction (8/?)

Summary: The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and with limited means, murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial, but in the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for both men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Misthaven Penitentiary’s problem to contend with, and more specifically, the Captain of the Guard charged with keeping order within its walls.

A/N: Thanks to my amazing betas, @snowbellewells and @kmomof4. Also, shout out to @sotangledupinit for the assist in defringing Killian for the art.

Rated T-M (for themes, mentions of abuse, murder, and attempted assault) / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list

Chapter Eight

March was living up to its reputation - in like a lion - the blistering winds practically blowing Killian through the main prison doors and up the stairs. It was a wonder he’d managed to keep hold of his cap during his trek from the boarding house. Now safely inside, he whisked it off and ran his hand through his hair as he passed cells and reciprocated greetings with a nod.

Henry’s cries echoed through the structure, and the closer he got to the Officers’ Hall, the more strained and weary the addresses from the inmates.

“Glad you’re here, Cap’n,” one of the older prisoners said as he passed, his concerned expression stopping Killian in his tracks. “Nothin’s been able to quiet the lad today. Poor mother has to be at her wit’s end. ‘Oping you might be able to--”

“I know how to stop the racket,” Teach interrupted from the next cell over with a malicious sneer. “Bash the little bugger’s head in, then we might all get some peace and quiet.”

Killian grabbed the man by the shirt and hauled him forward, slamming him against the iron bars as he seethed into the man’s face. “Any more talk like that and the only head that’ll be bashed in, is yours. Do I make myself clear, Teach?”

“Careful, Captain,” the man grunted in disdain and defiance. “Or I might be liable to forget meself the next time a representative from the Board comes ‘round for an inspection. Wouldn’t do for someone to insinuate that certain protocols are being overlooked, or that relations of an unsavory sort might be occurring between a certain murderous wench and the guard staff… or one specific guard, that is. Now would it?”

Killian released the man, but continued to stare him down with contempt. It goaded him that Teach had a point. Knowing he could not give credence to the man’s threat, Killian warred with himself as to how to respond. Silence would be taken as compliance to Teach’s warning, shifting the balance of power between them; however, seeing as the guards - and most especially their captain - were not in the habit of justifying themselves or their actions to the prisoners, any manner of defense would give up similar ground, and Killian could not afford to grant even an inch to a man like Teach.

Shifting his weight, Killian tucked his thumb in his belt, projecting an unaffected air, and opened his mouth with a fresh retort; one that died on his tongue as his brother rounded the corner.

“Ah, Killian,” Liam called out. “Officer Booth said you’d arrived, but I wanted to make sure before I departed.”

Flicking one last steely look towards Teach, Killian turned and joined his brother at the end of the hall, Henry’s squalls now ear-piercing and causing him to wince.

“Did you need something, brother?”

“Uh… no,” Liam replied, glancing over his shoulder towards the cacophony coming from Swan’s cell. “I simply wished to… that is… I wanted to assure myself that things were…”

“One of the prisoners said he’s been like that all day,” Killian informed his brother, wondering how long Liam had been desperate to escape the sound of Henry’s cries while determined to set an example for his officers, acting as though he were completely unaffected by it, no doubt. “Is that so?”

“Aye,” Liam sighed wearily. “See if there’s anything you can do, otherwise I fear mutiny may be on the horizon.”

Clapping him on the shoulder, Liam walked with Killian towards their offices, relaying a few items of note before bidding him a good evening. Though Killian was eager to check in on Emma and see if there was anything he could do to help calm little Henry, he had to first make sure there was nothing of even greater urgency awaiting him on his desk. Satisfied that all the paperwork and correspondence could wait, Killian made his way across the hall and through Swan’s open cell door; one of the protocols Teach had alluded to that was currently being overlooked.

The morning after Henry’s birth…

“You cannot be bloody serious!”

When Elsa had suggested that Emma’s cell door remain open whilst she and Ashley remained at the prison - unable to leave because of the blizzard and committed to staying by the new mother’s side anyway - since their cots, which had been brought up from the barracks, had to be placed in the Officers’ Hall due to the limited space within the cell, Liam had been amenable. However, when she further proposed that such an allowance remain permanent, owing to the fact it would become tedious having her cell unlocked as often as it would be needed now there was an infant to care for, Liam’s reaction had been… well… he at least managed to keep his volume down, so he did not wake the prison which had only just settled back down again.

“It’s either that, or you assign an officer to act as her doorman,” Elsa replied. “Permanently stationed outside her cell for the sole purpose of locking and unlocking her door as we have need.”

Liam sighed and rolled his eyes. “I understand, and I am willing to make certain allowances, but leaving an inmate unsecured flies in the face of every protocol, procedure, and practice the Magistrate requires. How am I to justify it?”

“Perhaps,” Killian suggested. “Her cell could remain open only during daily visiting hours? That way Elsa, and any of the other women who arrive to assist Em, er… Miss Swan, can have access at their convenience. The prison is better staffed during the day, ensuring a suitable amount of eyes and attention can be kept on the situation, and the expectation that Miss Swan herself is not permitted to leave her cell without proper escort, regardless of whether her cell door is locked or not can be firmly set as well.”

Liam scratched through the stubble littering his jaw, its presence a testament to the long night and unorthodox morning they’d all experienced. “I suppose I could make a justification for such a concession.”

“In that case,” Elsa said sweetly, causing her husband’s eyes to narrow in suspicion of her tone. “Might you consider authorizing the ladies use of the side entrance?”

“For what purpose?”

“Well,” she hedged, wetting her lips and flicking her gaze up to Liam’s through her lashes. “If they were permitted to enter through the Officers’ Hall, then your men would not have to take time out of their duties to escort them since they won’t be traversing through any areas where inmates are housed, with the exception of Emma.”

While Liam mulled over the suggestion, Elsa pressed on in an attempt to fully convince him. “Ashley has volunteered to see to the nappies. Either she or Thomas will collect the soiled ones and bring freshly laundered replacements each day. Granny will continue to bring foodstuffs and meals for Emma, ensuring she receives proper nutrition, so she can, in turn, feed Henry. There are a number of ladies who have volunteered to be added to the walking rotation. Some of them have even inquired whether it would be permissible for them to bring along their own babies during their visits, and despite the library that now exists within the prison, Belle still brings volumes from--”

“All right, All right,” Liam conceded. “You’ve made your point.”

“Good! Now let’s discuss which officers are allowed to enter her cell when I am not here to assist her.”

Killian lightly chuckled to himself at the memory, but was then pulled back to the present by another round of Henry’s wails.

“Swan? Is everything all--”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Emma replied, her tone a disquieting mixture of exhaustion and exasperation. “He’s been fed, burped, bathed, changed, swaddled, rocked, walked, sung to… nothing seems to work. He just won’t stop.”

Agitation and anxiety permeated the cell. It was little wonder the lad could not quiet himself when his mother was so worked up; the two of them feeding off one another’s distress until they were both now in quite a state.

Stepping forward, Killian held out his arms and commanded, “Hand him over, love.”

“What? Why?”

“Because,” he murmured softly, compassion and care crooning through his words. “You are at your wit’s end and are in need of a break.” She tucked her lips between her teeth and tears shone from her eyes as they fell to the fussing babe in her arms. “You’re both exhausted,” he continued. “Let me take him for a bit so you can try and get some rest.”

“But… what if he--”

“You said yourself, love,” he interjected, cutting off her protest. “He’s been fed and changed. All his needs have been met. Perhaps he simply desires a change of scenery.” Reaching forward, Killian gathered Henry and secured him to his chest. “I’ll walk him down the lower Officers’ Hall for a bit so you can rest.” His brows rose and he tilted his head meaningfully to the side, quipping, “You and the rest of the population.”

Emma swallowed and her shoulders sagged. Wearily, she nodded, then stepped forward to place a soft kiss to her son’s cheek. “Be good for Captain Jones,” she told him before offering no further protest and slipping beneath the blankets of her bunk.

“Come on, my boy,” Killian crooned, making his way out of the cell and leaving the door open behind him. “Let’s let your mother rest, aye?” Henry continued to fuss and fight against the blanket that had him swaddled tight as Killian descended the back stairs. “You shouldn’t be so hard on your mother, lad,” Killian murmured, patting the babe’s back as he paced the long corridor. “She’s doing her best in less than ideal conditions. We all are.”

Killian marveled at the way Emma had taken to motherhood, although, admittedly, those first few days had been a struggle. Failure to thrive. That was the fear they all silently contended with as they awaited Emma’s milk to come in. Her tears and whimpers of pain each time she attempted to nurse Henry had broken Killian’s heart, and for five days he had agonized over whether she’d be able to provide for him. Elsa had determined they would have to find a wet nurse, fearing Henry might succumb if they did not intervene, but no suitable candidates had been found, causing them all to prepare for the worst.

He would never forget the night his dread had nearly consumed him, thinking the worst had come to pass.

Whilst on patrol, walking the cell block, he heard Henry’s feeble cry. Making his way back towards Swan’s cell, his stomach fell away when the lad’s cries suddenly stopped, only to be replaced by his mother’s.

No! No, no, no, no! Please, God. No!

Sprinting, he barely made out Swan’s form in the rocking chair, clutching Henry to her chest as she fought back sobs. The time it had taken to get that infernal cell unlocked took years off Killian’s life.

Barely capable of drawing breath, Killian choked out utterances as he made his way to where Emma sat before the fire. “S-Swan. The baby. Is he… He isn’t… Tell me he isn’t…”

When she cast her gaze up at him, he could not reconcile the tears clinging to her cheeks with the smile stretching over her lips.

“He’s eating,” she told him in a whisper. “My milk came in and he’s…”

Killian glanced down and saw Henry contentedly sucking from his mother’s breast, his eyes wide and alert for the first time in days. Knees giving out, Killian managed to control his descent by bracing himself against the rocking chair, a watery chuckle falling from his lips as he continued to stare in awe and relief. The feel of Emma’s fingers carding through his hair sent a ripple of wonder down his spine and he shivered.

“He’s going to be okay,” she quietly imparted.

Flicking his gaze up to hers, his breath caught and his pulse quickened. Not from any rush of lust or desire, but from the sheer beauty of the moment. Emma’s long, soft curls framed her and Henry as the baby continued to nurse, and her sea glass eyes fell to him, filled with loving adoration as she cooed and hummed at him. When she switched him to her other breast, Killian caught a glimpse of the raw, red nipple that lay beneath her nightgown; a testament to her resilience and determination over the past few days.

Never giving up.

Fighting for her child’s survival with all she had.

Not for the first time, and quite possibly not for last, either. Unfortunately.

Which was why her cell door would remain open, even at night. Ensuring that Killian would never again be delayed in joining her in that fight.

Killian shifted Henry further up his shoulder so he could reach the next item awaiting his attention on his desk. The lad had finally fallen asleep, but Killian was loath to return him to his cradle, lest the movement awaken him and begin the entire, awful affair over again. Better to let the babe rest peacefully against Killian’s chest whilst he picked through the correspondence and reports he’d been neglecting, even if he was assured a drool stain on his waistcoat that Granny would be certain to tsk over later.

Lifting up a page of visitor requests, Killian stifled a yawn, his chest stuttering upward and jostling Henry. The lad, in turn, yawned, letting go a soft squeak as he nestled his little face against Killian’s neck. Shushing him softly, Killian waited until he was certain Henry remained fast asleep before turning his attention back to the requests.

Perusing the page, Killian noted that Mr. Hopper was expected for a visit in early April, hoping to have a report on the on-going investigation against Emma’s former solicitor, Mr. Glass. A smile lifted the corner of his lips when he saw Graham Humbert’s name down for an early May visit.

A former officer and long time mate, Graham had transferred to Glowerhaven a few years back after wedding Granny Lucas’ granddaughter, Ruby. With the impending retirement of the current warden, Graham had already been selected to act as the man’s successor (which had opened the captaincy spot for Walsh). No doubt the May visit would be so he could glean all he could from his mentor and former warden before fully taking on the mantle himself come June. Killian made a mental note to discuss a few things with him whilst he was there, then carried on with his tasks, even as his eyes began to hang heavy.

The last thing he remembered was thinking how he needed to follow-up with Mother Superior about having her round for a visit when the feel of a hand brushed through his hair before tentatively shaking him awake.

“Shhh, it’s only me,” Emma soothed, placing a hand on Henry’s back to steady him when Killian jolted awake.

“Swan?” Killian croaked, his tongue dry and throat parched, no doubt from sleeping with his mouth open. “What are you--”

“I know I’m not supposed to leave my cell, but when I woke up and couldn’t find Henry, I…”

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t want to disturb you once I had gotten him settled.”

“No, it’s all right,” she assured him. “I appreciate you stepping in so I could rest, but now,” she reached out and lifted Henry off his chest, shushing him softly when he whimpered, “it’s my turn to relieve you so that you might get back to your duties.”

“If you must,” Killian sighed dramatically, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then running his hand down his face as he turned his attention back to his desk. “Booth will see to the patrols tonight, so if you need anything I’ll be…” he gestured at the haphazard piles before him and let out another long suffering sigh, “here.”

“I will leave you to it, then,” she said, offering him a commiserating look of pity. “When you find yourself in need of a break, you know where I’ll be.”

“Aye,” he replied with a chuckle at both her tone and impudent smirk, watching her exit his office as Henry began to suck on his fists, making his protests of hunger known by the time she returned to her cell.

Killian sat and listened to the softly hummed melody and creaking of the rocking chair as it drifted in from across the hall, almost lulled back to sleep by the soothing sounds. Shaking off the stupor, he straightened his posture and forced himself to focus on the work before him, promising himself he’d take that offered break at Henry’s next rousing.

~/~

“I am pleased to report the Board has found Sydney Glass guilty of negligence regarding the way your case was handled, Miss Swan.”

Emma’s jaw dropped open, and Killian could scarcely believe his hearing. He had to temper his emotions, though, knowing it was most likely too soon to celebrate such a victory just yet.

“What does that mean for me going forward?” Swan inquired of her solicitor, clutching Elsa’s hand.

When Mr. Hopper had arrived for his scheduled visitation, Elsa, Emma, and Killian had been making their way back into the prison from their morning stroll with Henry. Emma had asked if Elsa could stay to hear what the solicitor had to say, so after she’d fed, changed, and put the baby down for his morning nap, the ladies had joined the men in Liam’s office for the report.

“The case against him will be handed off for prosecution, and efforts will be made to bring Mr. Glass back here to stand trial. In the meantime, the Board does plan to consider the rest of the petitions made on your behalf.”

“When?” Killian pressed, forcing himself to remain at Liam’s side and not wander over to Emma’s, wanting nothing more than to take her other hand, yet knowing he had to remain at his station.

Hopper sighed. “It’s tough to say.” Removing his spectacles, he pinched the brow of his nose, then removed a handkerchief from his pocket so he could clean his lenses. “They might rule on each petition individually, which could mean addressing one issue at a time at individual board meetings, or they might rule on them all at once. We won’t really know until next month’s gathering.”

“So what can we do to help you prepare for the Board’s next meeting?”

The sincerity in Liam’s question, the earnestness with which he had been listening and weighing in on Swan’s case, made Killian’s chest constrict with brotherly affection and gratitude. He could not say for certain when the shift had occurred, but his brother was now every bit as much an advocate for Emma and her baby as the rest of them.

Hopper put his glasses back into place and began to gather his things. “Another round of letters would not be a bad idea. Perhaps you can beseech some of the more prominent townspeople to join in the campaign?”

“I know Granny would certainly write to the Board on Emma’s behalf. She’s been a fixture of wisdom and respect in this community for as long as I can remember,” Killian suggested.

“And Belle,” Elsa added. “She would happily write one as well, and as town librarian she does hold a mantle of prominence.”

“I can ask Mother Superior when she visits from Glowerhaven in the next few weeks,” Emma said, though they all knew the woman would not need asking.

“And I’ll invite any of the guards who wish, to add a letter of support with my own.” Liam’s declaration of support hung in the room for a moment, earning him warm smiles and grateful nods.

“Excellent. I will be sure to keep you all informed should anything more come to mind. Until then…” Hopper stood and held out his hand towards Swan. “Take care of yourself and your little one, Miss Swan.”

“I will,” she replied, shaking his hand. “And thank you again for everything.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The sound of Henry stirring from across the hall echoed through the corridor, prompting Swan to turn her attention towards Liam. “If you’ll excuse me, Warden?”

“Of course,” Liam said, gesturing that she take her leave. “Go and see to Master Henry.”

Elsa told her she’d be there to assist her shortly, wishing to see Mr. Hopper out first. After Emma withdrew, Elsa turned to pose a question to the solicitor, but it never made it past her lips before a blood-curdling scream left Emma’s.

“Swan!”

Killian raced past the others, making his way to Emma’s cell in time to see her wrench a screaming Henry from his cradle.

“Rat!” she cried out, clutching Henry to her chest. “There’s a rat in his cradle!”

Lunging for the rodent, Killian was unable to grab it before it scurried out of the cradle, between the cell bars, and down the corridor towards the greater cell block.

“Bloody…”

“Is he all right?” Elsa’s concerned question, as well as Henry’s startled cries, pulled Killian’s attention from the corridor where the varmint had disappeared and back to his distraught Swan.

“I-I think so?”

Killian straightened and started towards them, wishing to reassure himself that was truly the case, when he was halted by Mr. Hopper, who rounded on both him and his brother.

“This is outrageous! Have you no measures in place to curb the rodent population? Surely, there must be something you can--”

“We have a number of cats that act as mousers within the prison,” Liam told him. “However, the number of vermin always increases in the spring and fall.”

“Moreover, we lost a fair few of them during the winter, and those that remain are sometimes lured to the barracks, ensuring the officers’ quarters are better guarded against the pests,” Killian added while mentally attempting to calculate how many cats they currently had on hand to combat the ever increasing problem.

“Well, perhaps it is time to acquire a few more?” Hopper suggested with a tone of censure before taking in a deep breath to calm himself. “I do not wish to appear ungrateful for all you both have done in caring for and making allowances for my client’s comforts and needs, and the last thing I want to do is to disparage either of you, or the way you operate this prison, but I will not hesitate to use this incident as a means of making my case with the Board.”

“Mr. Hopper, you must understand that we are--”

“We’ll get more cats,” Killian said, interrupting his brother. “And additional traps, like those we employ in our offices and barracks, will be commissioned for Miss Swan’s cell. I’ll see to the matter myself.”

“See that you do,” Hopper replied before making his way to Emma, offering her words of support and encouragement as she continued to try and comfort her son.

“When, exactly, do you plan to find the time, much less the funds, to accomplish such an endeavor?” Liam inquired under his breath.

“The local farmers have always been generous with their litters,” Killian responded. “I’m sure they can each be persuaded to donate a barn cat or two.”

Hopper nodded his farewell to the ladies, then gestured for Liam to lead the way as escort so he might take his leave. Before his brother could depart, Killian added, “The cost of the traps is a small price to pay for her peace of mind and Henry’s safety, so if it comes down to it, I’ll pay for them myself.”

Liam gave him an assessing look, but made no further comment now the solicitor was back in earshot. As the two made their way out of the cell, Killian approached Emma, who was still doing all she could to settle Henry whilst tears burned in her eyes.

“I can't do this,” she said, choking on a sob. “I can’t do this to him. I know being locked away in here is what I deserve, but he doesn’t. He deserves better than this.”

“Neither of you are deserving of this, Swan.”

“Killian is right,” Elsa said, finally able to coax Henry from Swan’s arms so she could look him over. “Neither of you deserve to live in such conditions, which is why both your captain and warden will be implementing some sort of--”

“The issue has been discussed and decided upon,” Killian said, recognizing Elsa’s tone and knowing he needed to reassure her a plan was already in place before she worked herself up into a tongue lashing for both him and his brother. “Is Henry all right?” he asked, turning all their attentions back to the most important matter at hand.

“A small scratch on his cheek, but no evidence of bites or any other injury,” Elsa assured them. “I think it best to bathe him and change out the bedding. Maybe do a thorough cleaning of the cradle as well.”

Elsa handed Henry back to Emma, then began heating water for his bath before turning her sights on the cradle. Clearly still distraught, Emma bounced the baby in her arms, placing soothing kisses to his forehead as she sniffled and fought back against her emotions.

“Swan,” Killian began, though he was unsure of what to say. His own emotions, which he’d managed to keep at bay so his objective and rational side could formulate a solution, were beginning to bubble to the surface. “I swear to you, I’ll--”

“Don’t,” she said, raising her hand to stay his words even as she clutched Henry tighter to her chest. “Please. Don’t tell me everything will be alright. Don’t tell me you’ll fix this when there is no fixing this. Please just… don’t.”

Brushing past him, she joined Elsa, who was filling the basin with the kettle, now heated by the fire. The two began to undress Henry, the baby thankfully cooperative now that he’d settled down from his ordeal. As the women cooed and indulged their charge, Killian felt his chest constrict.

Swan was right.

While additional cats and traps might fix the issue of the rats, it did not fix the circumstances Emma faced in raising her son in such an environment where other vermin and pests were prevalent. It would not change the fact that it was he, and not her, who was free to leave the prison in order to make the necessary provisions to ensure her son’s safety from the rodents. Nothing he could say or do would provide them with what they did deserve, unless he…

A plan began to form in his mind, and he was powerless to stop it. Contingencies that could be put into place in case the Board did not rule in her favor. It was not the first time he’d had such thoughts. Ever since Hopper had made him aware of the dire consequences that could befall Emma should a retrial find her guilty once more, he had indulged in the occasional musing, but never to this degree.

Shaking himself, Killian did not bother to even bid the ladies farewell before rushing back to his office. Raising a shaky hand to his mouth, he leaned against his closed door and considered whether he could actually do it. Could he orchestrate, and potentially implement, the means of her escape if it meant saving her from the gallows, or even having to endure another four and half years of unjust incarceration? Were there any lengths to which he would not go to ensure her freedom, by whatever means necessary?

A soft knock at his door pulled him from having to face the conclusion of his deliberations, and he hoped none of his treachery was evident on his face when opening the door revealed Robin on the other side.

“I thought you might have already left,” his second said. “I was hoping to get the armaments ledger from you before you go, so I can begin the inventory.”

“Of course,” Killian replied, procuring the item from his desk. Handing it off to Robin, he made himself busy by donning his coat and hat, then gathered his satchel.

“Are you all right, mate?” Robin inquired. “I heard about the rat in Miss Swan’s cell. Imagine it shook everyone up?”

“Aye,” he said, hoping any perceived uneasiness in Killian’s demeanor would be attributed to the abhorrent event in question and not the grievous plot continuing to formulate in his mind. “Fortunately, Henry was unharmed. I’ll be acquiring a few more mousers, as well as commissioning some traps for Swan’s cell.”

“You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

“Aye. Thank you, mate,” Killian said, even as he held his tongue against the desire to unburden himself. After a moment’s pause, during which Robin’s eyes began to narrow, perhaps sensing there was more going on with his captain than he’d first considered, Killian cleared his throat. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way.”

Scrutinizing his captain a moment longer, Robin relented, “No, there’s nothing else. Go get some rest. You look like hell.”

Blowing out a breath he’d been unintentionally holding, Killian gave Robin an unamused look before making his way out.

~/~

Killian’s boot falls were heavy against the side hall stairs when he made his way back into the prison later that evening. Boots that were covered with a layer of muck from the miles he’d walked and the farms he’d visited. His entire body ached and cried out for rest, but that was a luxury he would not be able to provide himself.

Liam’s office was dark, and the sound of the evening roll could be heard from the catwalk at the center of the prison, even though the days were now becoming longer and nightfall had not quite settled over them. Securing the basket he carried with him under his arm, Killian removed his coat and hat, stowing them away in his office, then waited for the roll call to end before making his way towards Swan’s cell.

His nose crinkled at the smell of vinegar. If he’d had to hazard a guess, Killian would say the entire cell had been scrubbed from floor to ceiling, which made him pause at the threshold and look down at his mud-caked boots.

“Captain?” Swan’s voice grabbed his attention, and he straightened his posture as she laid a soundly sleeping Henry down in his cradle before approaching him. “Are you… all right?”

Her eyes swept over him, and it was only then he considered how the rest of him might look. No doubt he was as unkempt as his boots.

“Aye, I just…” the bundle beneath his arm wriggled, shifting the balance of the basket as its occupant let out a petulant meow, causing Emma’s eyes to widen.

“Is that… a cat?”

Setting the basket down, Killian opened it to reveal an adolescent, black cat with piercing blue eyes. “I know they’re typically seen as unlucky, but back in England, sailors believed a black cat on board would ensure good fortune whilst at sea, so I thought--”

“He’s lovely!” Emma exclaimed, picking up the creature and giving it an affectionate scratch behind its ears.

“Farmers will be by later this week with whatever others they manage to round up, but one of them gave me this little one in the meantime.” Killian stroked his hand down its glossy back, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips at the way it purred in Emma’s arms. “He’s still young,” Killian pointed out. “But I’m hoping that will allow him to bond with you and the lad, and perhaps come to see this cell as his domain, prioritizing its sanctity against the vermin.”

His eyes followed her as she took a spare blanket from her wardrobe and laid it beside the hearth before lowering the creature onto it. Sniffing and scratching, he circled a few times, then made himself comfortable in front of the fire, licking at his paws and swiping them behind his ears as he took ownership of his new surroundings. Killian chuckled at the way the cat took immediate command of the cell, then met Emma’s gaze which was filled with perplexity over the fact he was still hovering in her doorway. When her eyes fell to his boots, comprehension dawned and she sighed as she stood and made her way back over to him.

“Did you spend your entire day tracking down cats from the local farms?”

“No,” he replied while sheepishly raising his hand to scratch behind his ear. “I actually started at the docks. There’s a man there, Mr. Smee, who supposedly makes the best rodent traps in the county. I commissioned a few for your cell. They’ll also be delivered in a day or two.”

“Killian,” she sighed, and as it was wont to do whenever she used his given name, his heart stuttered in his chest and his breath caught. “You cannot spend your days exhausting yourself on my behalf. You need sleep.”

“You get very little sleep these days,” he countered. “Exhausting yourself on Henry’s behalf. How is this different?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she arched a brow at him. “For one, I receive a fair amount of help. And two, Henry is my responsibility.”

“Aye, and both of you are mine.”

“But--”

“No ‘buts’, Swan,” he said, cutting her off. “What’s done is done. I could not bring myself to bed down in the comfort and security of my room knowing you and Henry were still vulnerable. I know I cannot fix what happened earlier today, but do not admonish me for wanting to do something in an effort to try.”

Chagrined, Emma licked her lips and dropped her arms back down to her sides. “I shouldn’t have said that earlier. I was upset and… I know you’ve gone to extraordinary lengths to make my circumstances as bearable as they can be, and I am so grateful, I just…”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to… you don’t have to… I’m not…” A frustrated sigh rushed over her lips, and her teeth sank into the tender flesh of the lower one as she continued to struggle to find the right words. Again, her eyes fell to his boots and she released the grip on her lip, flicking her gaze back up to his with an amused glint.

“I suppose the least I can do to thank you for the cat and traps is to clean those for you.”

“There’s no need to--”

“Shut up and give me your boots, Captain.”

Killian’s brows shot up his forehead, even as he obeyed. Taking a step forward, he sat down on her bunk so he could remove the soiled boots, all the while maintaining eye contact with her. Over the past several months, they’d almost developed a bit of a shorthand with one another, able to convey so much to the other with a simple look or expression. As Killian unlaced his boots, he knew there was no further need for either of them to make apologies or amends. All had been forgiven, and no more would be said regarding her words or his actions.

“Leave them there,” she instructed before making her way to her bathing corner to gather supplies. “I’m sure you have important matters awaiting you in your office that will keep you busy whilst I work on these. Rest assured, I’ll have them ready by the time you start patrols. Wouldn’t do to have to make your rounds in your stocking feet, now would it?”

Killian smiled up at her, and it only broadened at the sight of the smirk that matched her cheek. “I dare say,” he replied, setting the boots aside and standing so they were once more eye to eye. “Imagine the mocking I’d receive from Scarlet.”

Emma tilted her head to one side, as though giving that thought some consideration. “On second thought…”

Chapter Nine

#cs ff #csff #cs fic #cs au #captain swan #cs 1800s prison au #conviction #words by hollye

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min-yumniverse · 2 years

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Stroke My Whiskers One Last Time (1)

This story contains: fluff, food, nudity, death.

"Order up!" A (h/c) girl said, spinning up to the table with a plated angel cake in her palms. The sweet smell of cream and bread filled the warm building. The chatty customers add to the fullness of the rustic building. "Enjoy." She walked to the back of the bakery, opening a heavy wooden door leading to the kitchen. A light steam from baking escaped through the door.

(Y/n) wasn't the richest, but she was happy with the way she lived. She didn't have a lot of money but she had a lot of spirit. Many of the boys and girls loved being by her side. She was always so cheerful and full of positivity, she was always adored by the adults around her.

"What would you like to order ma'am?"

~~~

"Your highness, please come back!" A woman in a servant dress came running out of a large room. A stressed sweat was visible while she swiftly moved, holding up her mustard gown so as to not trip on it. She hastily approached the young man in baby blue silk pyjamas. As she got closer to him she reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him from escaping the building. He turned around to glare at her with his deep black eyes. If looks could kill, she would already be buried six feet under.

"There's no way I'll marry someone I don't even love!! Who do you take me for wench?!" He turned around pushing the lady away from him before walking away farther. The boy was beginning to approach the stained glass doors which lead to the large garden. Just five more seconds and he could be free of all the naggings. Free from other people's expectations and orders.

"You heard the King's orders, you can't just walk out like this!" The woman continued to chase him. He picked up his speed to the door, opening and slamming it on the lady's face. "Oh dear..." the lady put her hand to her face, massaging her temples. "He can't avoid marriage forever he's almost twenty for god's sake." She shook her head and walked back to the King's headquarters.

~~~

The sky was dark, crickets chirped keeping the night from being silent. (Y/n) locked up the bakery, securing the wooden plank in front of the door with an iron lock. "Meow~" She heard a cat whining at her.

"Back again Little Prince?" She crouched down to pet the black cat. He had bright blue eyes and grey mitten paws. He comes by usually at night after (Y/n) gets off of work.

"Meow~" The cat purred out, rubbing his head on (Y/n)'s legs. He especially loved his ears and chin being scratched. Soon enough (Y/n) picked the cat up and brought him to her little home. As she stood back up she patted down her striped blue skirt and butter-stained apron.

"Alright Little Prince let's head home and eat," she said to the cat, earning an excited meow back. She walked along the dark streets, barely litten up by the lantern posts. Her home was small but cosy. "Mom, Dad, I'm home!" She shouted out replacing the shoes on her feet with house slippers.

Silence replied to her. She walked into the kitchen, "Fish again?" she asked as she opened the icebox taking out some fish that she bought the previous day. She put them next to her cutting board, gutting, deboning and scaling the fish. She squeezed some lemon and lime juice onto the fish, marinating them. While she waited for the fish to absorb the lemon-lime mixture she put rosemary and butter in a large pan over her cooking fire. Throwing the fish in the pan caused a large splash and sizzle sound.

The cat purred while watching her from the table. He dragged the picture frames from the middle of the table near the chairs, making it appear as if there were more people in the home. (Y/n) fetched a potato and some carrots from the vegetable basket, cut the potato down the middle and threw everything in the oven to soften. She mixed the middle of the potato with cheese, parsley, garlic and butter. "Little Prince~ dinner is ready!" She brought 3 plates to the table. giving one with a single cooked fish to her parent's painted portraits. One with a fish and chopped carrots to the cat and finally her own plate with fish and a potato. "bon appétit," (Y/n) said as she and the cat began feasting on the delicious meal.

"Meow~"

Upon finishing the food, (Y/n) walked to her bedroom, which only fit a dresser and a bed. Mint green hues glistened off of her walls. "I should take a bath." She grabbed a wooden bucket and headed outside, the cat following her every last step. She walked up to the metal hose pump, grabbed the handle and began thrusting it for water to come out of the spout. When her bucket was full she walked back into her house to pour the water into the bathtub. She put on a fire under the tub to heat the water before leaving again to get more water to fill up the tub.

It took four, maybe five trips back and forth to get water to put in the tub. Sweat dripped from (Y/n)'s face as she put out the fire. The water was just a few degrees too cool to cook her alive. The perfect temperature. The cat waited outside while (Y/n) bathed herself. He never entered the bathroom with her, cats don't typically like water. She, of course, wouldn't expect him to.

An hour passed by and the cat began meowing and scratching the door. "Alright, alright!" (Y/n) giggled out to the cat, rinsing off her hair one last time. Then getting out of the bathtub, too lazy to drain it at the moment. She got out and wrapped herself in a towel. While she dried her hair she opened the door to reveal the one who was meowing on the other side. "Are you happy now?" She giggled while picking the cat up and laying down on her bed, still in her towel.

He purred and rubbed his head on her collarbone and chin while she pet him. Soon enough she fell asleep and the cat pulled a fuzzy blanket onto her.

~~~

By the time (y/n) woke up her little friend was already gone. She was still in just a towel and her hair was frizzy from sleeping on it wet. “I wonder where he goes off to every morning?” The girl got up from her bed and dressed, struggling to tighten her corset herself.

She opened the bakery once more and repeated her usual day. “Welcome~”

~~~

“Yoongi! How dare you run out of The Castle like that?!” His father, the King, raised his hand to the boy. The stinging sensation led to his eyes tearing up. But the prince refused to cry. He was a grown man. ‘Men don’t cry,’ as he was taught at a young age. All the adults spread these words for him to hide his emotions and never share them… Toxic masculinity if you would.

The prince always got yelled at for leaving The Castle. Why did he have to be born the prince of a large kingdom? Born into this cursed life of high standards? Oh, how he just wanted to leave and explore the kingdom without being recognized. “Yoongi, you’re going to get married whether you like it or not. It’s for the sake of our kingdom,” his father flamed at him. He sat up from his bed laid with silky white sheets.

“But how am I supposed to marry someone I don’t even love! Father, isn’t your top priority to make me happy? This is making my life miserable,” The prince shouted back to his father, letting the warm tears simmer down his cheeks. His fists were squeezed shut, shaking from the tension. He was furious. How he wanted to punch his father with all of his might and knock the man out cold. Though, he knew he couldn’t do so. He would never be let out of his room, let alone out into the kingdom. “Shouldn’t you choose family over anything else? What would Mother say?” The prince wept out.

“My top priority is the Kingdom, to give my family a good life.” The king narrowed his dark eyes at the boy. “And to give you a good life, you need to marry a capable woman,” his father sighed, sitting down, on the large bed, next to the prince.

“What if I found someone for myself?” The prince’s eyes shimmered with hope. “I can find a capable woman, that I love,” he went off, wanting to convince his father. The King sighed at the boy.

“I’ll give you by the end of the month. You know what happens if she finds out though.” The prince’s face gleamed with his smile. He nodded vigorously at the king.

“Yes, yes. I know father, I won’t tell her,” The prince bounced up from his bed. He dashed to his changing quarters, putting his coat, trousers and hat on, and then he ran out the door. His father looked at him amused. Did the prince already have someone in mind? Or was it just an excuse to see the Kingdom he loves being in so much? The King chuckled at his son’s ambitiousness.

~~~

“Welco- Oh my, Good morning Your Highness!” (Y/N) bowed, her hair covering her face. The prince lightly bowed back to the girl as a reply,

“And to you.” He sat down at one of the unpolished mahogany tables. There were a few water stains here and there on each table, adding to the rustic-themed bakery. The girl was flustered, she had never thought she would meet anyone in the royal family.

“Your Highness, what can I do for you?” The girl stood at the prince’s table waiting for his order. Her hands got clammy from her nerves, and she tried not to clench them or rub the sweat off on her apron. The prince gave her a gummy smile.

“A Fiadone Corse with a coffee, no sugar,” the prince replied to the girl. She nodded to him telling him how long it would take to make the pastry. The prince waited patiently for the girl to bring him his coffee, and a little bit after a slice of freshly made Fiadone Corse. The prince’s mouth watered from just the scent of the beautiful dessert. “Thank you,” he blurted out to the girl. Flustering her further.

“It’s my honour to serve you, Your Highness.” She just barely got out of stuttering in her sentence. She walked back into the kitchen to get other orders out onto customers’ tables. The prince was ecstatic with his Fiadone Corse, it had a satisfying creamy texture with an ideal balance of the citrusy flavour. And the coffee mixed perfectly with the flavours. His smile never faltered from his face.

When the girl glanced over to him, seeing his bright smile, a grin formed on her face too. ‘Happiness is contagious,’ they say. And she was getting the disease. She walked over to the prince, “How is you food, Your Highness?” The prince gave her a gummy smile in return, before composing himself, lowering his smile.

“It was super,” he replied to her question, smirking at the girl. She smiled in return.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she gratefully told the prince. She gave him the price for the meal and saw him off into the kingdom.

“Would… would you be willing to accompany me? I don’t know my way around these parts,” the prince asked the girl. Could this be happening? She barely processed that The Prince of the kingdom was at her bakery, and now he was asking for her to be his tour guide. She didn’t know how to think anymore and blurted out the first thing that ran through her mind.

“I- I have the bakery to look at… I can close it early. Yes. Yes I would love to show you around!” Her bright red cheeks made it apparent how flustered and anxious she was.

“Can I stay in the bakery until you close then,” he asked the girl. She nodded vigorously. She was at a loss for words. In disbelief. The kingdom’s prince? At her bakery? Asking her to show him around town? No way. This was obviously a dream. She wasn’t some main character in a play written by Shakespeare. She was no Juliet. If she was to be any character in Romeo and Juliet, she would be Peter. “Thank you,” the prince said to (Y/n), detaching her from her train of thoughts. She bowed to him and led him to the kitchen,

“Ma’am, would it be alright if I left early? The prince requested for me to show him about the kingdom.” An older lady put down her whisk and looked at the girl in disbelief.

“What are you still doing here? If he wants you to leave go with him immediately!” the old lady hurried the girl out of the door, the prince following closely behind. “I’m so sorry Your Highness, she needs to learn her manners around the royal family,” the lady said, glaring at the girl in mild disappointment. “Well, I don’t want to keep you waiting, Your Highness. You two should be off now.” The lady shoed them away from the bakery, “I can handle the bakery for today.” The girl nodded in response to the lady.

9.3.22

If I missed any mistakes I made uhh 🙈 ignore them. Also if anyone sees my work somewhere other than on min-yumniverse’s (my) page, sue them, beat them up in an undisclosed parking-lot and send me their name.

Thank you all for reading my story!! Look forward to more!

#suga x reader #yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #fantasy au #royalty au #tradgety #romance yoongi #cat #little meow meow

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libidomechanica · 5 months

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Untitled Composition # 10693

A curtal sonnet sequence

The drum beat; merrily-blowing shrills from the bay. Own though every virtue, and more: you might shade of deep sleep in mine, lass, in mine, lass, in mine, thy pipe, no incense sweet fruit without in Wales. And father to complain, and a stable wench came running flowers and happy vintage to the kids had not much I am borne darkly, fearful roar, how can Bagpipe, or ioynts be well at once written, and every one of the heard, and song.

The next neighbours’ land, and came a mortal! I think each other extras, which in the ever-beating, eve made of men! To dream milk burned in her, as I hear thy voice, lute, no pipe, and cruel kind, as in a poppy from the sea! At last I spoke.—’Twas just as ready to attend.—About Judas come in the bag of day-old pastries. Not a dawn in eastern watched it lying idle. And mind. And oh, her lap. A sleep he Her love.

And she what I can, i’ve said in Dante’s verse, and slight glow’d; on burnished throne in sight your Prince, and pausing as necessary as a sword blow, they like threading span, t were hardly could never mind. Still I remember’d lay, The breathing shut of doctrines the subjected, enterchangels’ purity, twixt life in me all full of grief the winds do shake from whence all those infamy is not Stonehenge simply black and anon doubting.

Which of stars of this sceptre like an anadem, in which is mornes messenger brought me meikle in your excellency, ’ thus replied he: a winged his triumph o’er her aspect burst, after all the spot shall not found was no matter o’er the warm serge gown and gay: but lent to sleeps best thou euer since I was, blue-eyed, and I will join my tears their skill. You have a sound mind. My tongue-tied Muse with my full of holes. Wilds, in the pock! They were.

Wrong and being circumference: this miracle; and tho’ your credit, that, to die, I leave her true, like a nest of unions marriage to bear a son? That spring—death laughter, my unmendable wounds we took the kiss that future’s chang’d the Christianity; which thou returns with nectar—starlight and airy, stood munchings; but the Judaic ground-worms riot. That I am: and if you were a mermaids’ singing each new meeting flight.

Never dempt more changes. Took the gift we received husband; so love’s faces on my love’s faces on me, this flesh. Now that of Ilion, and seek for roses, hang on some soft affection unto ye; and oh, her land; and rhymes, whose lips; my body&said crawl never rue my heart. He asked and smil’d! Arms limp as old Falstaf says let us away! You feel the most dainty Ariel’ and pebbles, spongy mosses, lifting of a wretch!

Thou shalt not know thyself and sing, by Saul Bellow When I am frae my Dearie; I restless her cheek, while every faults i’d not for there unshaken, clinging consternations, poesy, and her half-right torch, and Nature’s self turns paler, seeing how we sounds again. How Peace should one terror, even they would be a world? My heart I am go child-bed, as that they were her free, let spear topp’d with poets and me, and men; but No!

From his eyes: I gave the house you’ve forgot. Nothing that voyage. Child is woman! He said, fifteen stones grip the heap of such restraint, with a banners that Juan’s suite, late authors luminous! Over-loving, the sweet milk and streame: or as they cannonade as terrible cord. Or gluttoning on thy soul! He rode all that I cannot look like a gum. Exclaiming, fooling, strangled titter, but faith may after his joined legs and peasants.

Housekeepers, to Despaire at me through the tender feet shalt thou not haply may assert, and waiters, and Compounds doth Love speakes senses in this epic satire, he may average numeral; also the thing. You mother, said twice, that goes all female with an eraser and wont to marble, which do sublime, is chant from the slave and mee: I pyne for my part, nor gates of the assault, while thine image of his young Lochinvar.

It was no vocabulary for her! Now strength to her three to the bright? Second’s ordinary walls into that millions, washed in answer vague as wind: far, far around remarked, his other in the moaned, and fourth at once the Lass of Albany. What antres vast and in thunder, to the doors; none came in a royal porch, that I can’t a painting behind, that I should have been lilies cold. Especial jury of matron-like.

Of ladies’ wrinkles place, and pitie to my thought rose from which opens to the bed. That I do to the camp! From these meadows till, more crumpled that time come, for the melancholy Mother’s fingers, the Gem was interrupted light occasion. That looked like our sun stand stir of fountains stede, if that life is no time had made lamented urn. He kept sound of the ransom of Italy. They were wont to make a mourners, weep anew!

That he himself, mum’s the pock, the Braine. Which men image picture by my head have thine. Sing no mask of you. Decades off in the duchess, pride, until it seems, has gone to which I plight, her majesty was singly crown’d: but howsoe’er she will be thy amends. It sound is sweet Spirits meet, a sweetness skies, the sparkled on a heaven: but oh, ye goddess, for Jock of Hazeldean.—It is a portion of this. Thought might detestable.

Because God’s sake hold my heart, which a death- wound, and his own, what a strange? Have seen the Song is broke the midnight station of travellers to hear my mother’s fingers nurst; and in the head, that ’s under way; t was dancing so that shortly he had outwept its rain. I say she’s twisted with the nations’—not yet given; I weep it selfe did set himself upon a pillars of the Devil; the nutriment deserve of melodie.

Fresh leaves among, the Queen with the better, the lamps blazon o’er the Muses upon a glorious nothing, said, oh Shah, that would repent all: and at once walked and wrong and speak with Arac: Arac’s signs, to hunt, I know you have staggered wept spiraled them ill, no longer bounds should thilke lasse not for such Cries of hotels, especially when we have a brig, a schooner, or though she dights her parents, dashed your roundelay. Forgive me.

The soldier, one the serpent’s the moon is weaving, either left her, then sitte thee; but after another slaves, upon speculation; for outward for mutual comfort meete, both which the firmament of Plumeria, and this might be false plaguy bill? The world which he pleaded, but shortly he had a mother pageant at her clere voice and it blasted. Strength and her they must be solved. Flies too well. A thing that love may serve to give.

Where thou shalt be, though chequer’d, calls Ilion’s den, so that my Muse and calm assurance, which begat distinction be thought she was a thing the chain, and so dropped, and whored, they not been, she can mimic not his spouse to leave off metaphysical discuss’d her, less like amorous Deep Peace, peace! Passed by diving from a village of steel and find any sort of that swallow my rage, clench my teeth, suck my lips to aid his death to die?

’Re the proudest mosque. The helmet flow’d his coal-black curls about Shalott. Fond wretched a mandrake root, tell me Perigot, what does to my thought t was of inflation in fact, there I saw my father was as mild as an East Indian Ganges’ side shouldst bear. Without a sou; there’s the bayonet it is the priests, to pull down in sorrow pine, not to pour tears speak, my fair names one, both pleasant, as containing whose fancies?

That precedes the closing of amber, and doth new Inventions we now entertain of Titans, giants, fellow, yellow does Love speakes senses in the windy jest had labour, in those of other limbs to fold me with a frighten bolted joints. Floats the first line the islands in which Life be equally east-wind straight on any slight of force, who like his, a mute and flatter herself a favourites too well. Each mortal gods!

Plantains, and set their naval matters too, and aught of the Field of cold philosophers make love to sloughs that shall I love you do not merit me Your name. They keep me conspicuous and ermines pure. In Russian story most modern curtsy, and only fiction: she gave me nothing till her on we gained. His bone from Italy, then overlook’d—and gave such creditors regret poor Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

Now, young, at eight years old sucking salamander, was not to post with splendor; in the bridge,—that’s all I’m made one foolish am I to think good to feel all the word in heaven shines, he ’ll be all lies and a Jael, with woe, and veil’d through life is dead! And what no defect—her place the moving poets, and shadows and turn to dust, and Love is dead: when near—the eyes fix’d with truth in barracks, and women, what kind of common place?

Rub all ourselves without pause? Our chained, as in Banquo’s glass of Albany. Nor would ever dream and fire; she price for our long offend thine own. A main of cocks, where the brazen front. Let there is the only word I find slake, in thy heat their bellies, thy lucent fans, touch him not! Had seen malt liquors exchange! This small art: he who, one might have been the larger, hunter’s art. Man is the first blossom: a thing whose every scent, by taste.

He cuts the faint flush her pretty sure that which dull Time’s chest lie hid? Their presence is a sigh, and bickers into sublimes whate’er my griefe mought intoxicates apace the Lady of Shalott. No more the eyes to my sire, who were at least three weeks shut with such stronger than thus much more endears, when holly eue, hey ho the arrow we cannon on the street half garden, today, I follow, though grief and a smile instead.

Like stones of wives, something moan from Arac’s side, high as the alarmed beauty’s angel pure and a Jael, with thee we come, when clear brow in sunlight glance—like ships, together wear not: t was mere lust of her elf, she roude at me! Awaits it, each dwelling present, and you wish me to weep for Adonais? To scour his tongue is much in the hearth grew still decades off in the heights, no light soft air and unkind,—and earth bare and you forget.

The day we ran off to the white robes, and I fell. I’d try conclusions never bought at her baith by brainless famous for it—’t was na sae ye glinted by, deadcold, between his body? Sweet and kissed me. Phrase a great rate. Behaved no better which lets drop his bone from the Ear, but being new. Upon our booty; let me woo thee by putting the cat in the Horizon into a woman love, the tree snapping a twig.

As those passe-praise hue scornes this mortal part of meaning’s dewy star; in crystal strained to thrilling Despair. And further with his Saint Jean seems falsehood in what’s state, perform’d like these Cantos. The lintel of the great heart is sad mistaken; few are slow; an hundred times he went away straight cut to thy hair is firm under my hands in this day be a resurrection so thrill and twenty cannot be given for the boat?

Into a shadows dance at our freezing way. You plead your camp: we seem a nest of truth; a smooth pillowes, sweet hour ago, in the earth; so thou too, my battles, I will scarcely was the Grand? Sting turns out to batter, and your sensations! Not only branch of flowers, and work away like growing joy, Adieu’s last of gloom enough to sheath: mark how, possess’d, his last age should sigh, for cash and confusion; these birds sing, All ’s Well!

And for the little coat; to dream myself, when she ought, hey ho the Muses upon his mother courtesy; and your love or a scorner, or an approv’d: oblivion yield with those tables, by hardest thou lay, which the cry they brought her arms round about her Name to tell how he reduced the lull’d with an evil gift. Overcame my young mind of certain. However, you’re gay and tried me so sore, I am clad in flower.

The saddle-leather chained, as they beheld her, as they blest: yet, ah, she saw thee’—for six months since and I confess within my breath! In short break for that—catherine, thou Morning came into a camp: I know what, and yonder river’s rippled by women—the sweetness, if each new meeting pleasure of the years together. Where the thinking the herdsmen cry; for I maintain than put for yellow pin on your skin, white from some female corpse.

Draped from a centre, dart thy sight, nor smell, desires, and so dauntless in war’s art. In mine, lass, in mine, to some eighty versts from a Jewell’d shone in his lip, to prove’ ’tis Pope’s phrases of war turn’d Love in doubt, pray ask of cloister-wall. Love, if you live in despite, and rather see me fall from her look’dst thrown on my defect. As also of some other bar to spill they clashed the wine, and, my less learned how should be obsolete.

And running from a larch, a beauties flow? Neuer sene? Most music to my breasts, she saw thy fame! Chair against it holding his purposes than fame, may rue the Medici have given up the Skirt of Living Presence. New-born babe—in that sawe it, sparkling soul put off a great ocean: at eight years that clashed through with him? He cried, wild natural agonies, with bayonets, bullet holes never price. He purchase female or male?

While you weep for the prospered; till a fortress, Harlequin in unquiet slumber when there was sitting all alone! You forget thee like Munch’s Scream Fairies’ prophet dream for which even his Lips that vow’d chaste conceit of loving your hand, when first I it at my saint or two on fig skins, melon parings, no connubial turmoil: their tongue. All honour—what, I would I be gone over, dismantled, held up, carefully his food, her owne.

I love you betters took the wheels of the prince got through that soueraigne part; which of the painting of usages! Her husband now it seemed to my thoughts, in verse; out of place, scarce knew what she though perhaps at cautious duty, they dead live there. To one, is lightning and still is larger wove in the moonlight vapour, but of those who held that they please, I neither moved through dashed across that vale of gaolers go, with length to pierc’d by this time.

But go, and is barbers’ blocks when first feelings fully unkempt strawberry blonde head to found me. Thy extremity of flesh, and nimbly with his victim’s son, we only dear brother, when too oft thy follye be thy changed his purpose, firm though mine eye hath hym payned, to listen she did, but always wine, sweet, O Love, dear Love, foolish me! That th’ uncertainly more dazle then my thoughts, in heavenly features need wise curbs.

The ladies and near my sister: now she goes right. But ere he caught what to my though my kneecap and I go from year to the bright? Saloon, room, hall, o’erflowing, and death— thou nondescript and every virtue lies in the best wife, unless gunpowder should one terror in his shadowy presence, to lead but following surely she could be schism. No copy now of life: His beauty shall be his burnt the graves, they stand an arm!

After the doome. This after the boils of Medici, i’ the hounds, those fanciful; she put all coronets into your love! He had not mention,—all things to say that do you wish men to sailors while. Lady of Shalott. There be more smooth face vnarmed marcht, either care hath all the awful package, and moulded into the Earth are but weak wordy harvest the King of Empire, never feelings as you list invited guest.

Is all I own Under a lawn, the literature a green Shalott. Must from disgust of praise, and whisper’d, and meaner beauty dyed? Else—the Field of Verse, to charm is broke and good-bye: no light bleeds from her and half in dreams the heart as a Cairn Gorme, of varnish over every bole, a song neuer heart, than they run like a beating or election: at presence thereby, the reason: then we common sympathy: tis Adonais?

How slow the cause was their artillery’s hits or misses, the late-writ letter open with emphasis, and love canonical, and lips to see the bent of the aisle through dashed than even they fused their potency. In the killing Tchitchitzkoff and Chrematoff and Chrematoff and Smith; one of God do go, are very clearly, be as before making earth so pleased, so many years ago. Up the head and would be schism.

Great song for her! And dies, each high, upon a conspicuous man. Glanced, I did but speach, as a heron. The fretted that she could come to pass, those dark-cluster’d hours, and mad, the fleshly gate and therefore, by Nature: there shall flow for she had one tell me how I do, whose name of her head, nor any mortals! They know love grows weary. I meant for narration, as if she’d choose to encroach of traitors—none to affright true needing.

Her soul in mind;—of passion, self-love—which, being tired of thunder of their double front, of country or its white thrones, built a fold for thee; but whole, she thoughted, how ill we moved therefore once with joy; you would look’d kind pale Ocean in uniform to boys is likely to be overlook’d— and gave for our death, no, not of him in certain of mountains, splendor. My Nanni would fall shot up with Nature made me daub away.

Among his Horse over the very germ of chaste matron-like. His death squads passed reproved. Course can change grows stormy, the blue unclouded weather’d in a smile lord Henry walk’d in stating his glory; and in the Horizon as it will make him up the banquet-room, fill’d renown the Pythian of the highest wines, and make a Werter of everything in his deeds—this honest meaning, this flake of white death-bed, Nay, nay, you can.

On the Golden Vessels lay off Ismail’s capture of a violin lasts anywhere. Was not my madness melts in blood, even in thrall? Resort of king, made close on me thundring dispell’d, as these birds of prey and private too, no matter of yellow pin on your sight cloth’d all with a look; possess’d, his last axiom, he added grass; from her side; the wild warblings carry from men I built an airle-penny, my tocher’s will.

So are youngster here comes to be describe. I want you talk kindlier: we esteem and its Music heard the dropping, were we long as rosy deed, and my covered bit of sleep. Some sorcerer’s curse changing still, besides fish, beasts must confine themselves; and who, is it not beene. To kill, and heart is become fabulous folds of benevolent machines through the wreath for Lamia breath! I have overflowed from the truth is, I’ve broken?

The kiss the prey of words come thou doubt, pray ask of clothing trimm’d in jollity, and trouble;—I will know: margaret! And sail’d again, whose pamphlets, volumes would not a dawn, as Albion’s isle. Had lov’d not so new; to their brink, and rather rough. He gaz’d: his humble duty bound, and those who are not—I would be found ah me!, Nor will beautye I weene, the prisoner. But deems himselfe in life as Willie had, I wadna gie a button for her!

The table to please. Of such a grasp of that lead thee to a summer night, each kept with that I could scarce three or forgive me something about how he has an enjoyer and the fashionable fair can form a slight kisses, a non-descript dashed across bronze valves, embossed with slight on high of these three streetlight, from the painted, things in her auburn hair&then in an antichamberlain— and such I mean to endure with the third, and you.

First time, the bases lost in laurel-bough. To furnish matter: a rib’s a thing this subject of true heart shaken here? When Julia threw a lace of twins do moue their Gallic names are riven! Then you had but on that the scaffolding all, she fleeting, earth we are long: and Venus weep thoughts as food to lie groaning veil them? For who cleft the hart is such a cup he took the sea. Stone- Henge is now a’ tint, sin’ thou canst not Alas!

No doubt if thou dare stronger fair neck did crawl never was done its rosy deed, and the elves and France, beholding with me did smile, over the field so full of depth and bask in turn,—Why do the youth look’d on to past. Napoleon the slope side of Netherby gate, where now all’s pastime—who look’d their thou of me in my way: they sought intoxicates a moment Death laughs at your flag takes his wings subdue the incidents related.

Dispute what matter o’er the prettie death, To Phoebus watching folks of this with me; he’s a courier to the bricks, they could renovate, that iron-cramped their brains, louder then I reign. A courage which begat distinguish’d boors who bound nor bind, may still with odours. So I go into the general constellation first I hallowed to man, that boil over with a heart is still beleeue me, this summer’s rain: in vain to bring the abode.

My solitary time and I do love. Turn in his sister, as my cryes, when you dispossess’d a stinger as I wait. As thunders of the indentures have them how to fight us, even so, being circumstances of an Italia! The freak of bounds of the Night till Day! But Sylvio did; his gilt-head called; a plump-armed Ostleress and quiet? Nobler desire is, to love us for rent, will but best of you!

A sword blow, called it and out, and ha’ the Mind growest: so long. The troops were told in so shorter, sadder husband; so lovely leaves your mind their stains it from court to that best to know that no one cause our Edens, eve and man, woman, children, come against the fire in me to weep for: look upon me, when a boy was his temples. Come, dear Cloe, and musick mard by a fire outlive a gilded tomb, and the shadowy presence.

Strikes me dead. For what you please to keep in shadow of a dream, I dreamt I bore his child love and play the time machine. A full sea glazed with children, come forthright, music and takes in the loveliness who knew what defect doubt then—i hold his God-knows- what: for afford; but then t is odd, but leaps in among the sorrow, is this, her imperial trade, ’ like handy lads, had gone before Don Juan’s chariots hurl’d like a wig.

My heart grown more the innocent breast with thankes and fox-terriers. Foolish anguish, ioylesse, endlesse languid breeze. The monks looked up … zooks, are they were not deserve their Salam, ’ or God be with its moving Pipe a Sugar-cane between the town is going to talk a little feet, my babe, was Ida watching us, a single wilt proverb of the slope of green hen in the Universe universe want feet, innocent breast.

My soul I’ll pour into a camp: I know not,—only sleep! But die ye must pursued his grave never be a devil, wooing to thee: the sun’s true as bright, her lips that pretty fondling, let not turn out as the convent. Three, but cruel grown, took on the elder jack Smith who at sixteen she did the whitest sheets like the Soul, and Stand, who was still relented to create the skirt and each other blamable, with shower that Psyche.

Them of the rainspout young green leaves and the monster, yet should alike deer. In mockery of monks, the emblem rarely came into the heart of the king; then his fortified with Plenty in the starless night urge the world. Every day, cash for being somehow, there’s a holly father’s hermitage; you, to where picture gainsay, humanity may be my ain. Fragrant-eyed, or Vesper of our faith? Above thee to the foresaw.

Always see thee how to make him with his den? The breast thy panting half the sea see Billingsgate made even of five hundred times, and burn in his sceptred race; yet could proceeded, and laugh and he threw down to storm of gallant in full as deep a dye as those sweet kiss—you see, we are long as the rude shaft dark mantles rent; I cannot swim. Of bards would have bit at sharp spear, whose waylefull verse of Rosalend? How that not thus.

That blinds your formal compact, yet, not let myself, what needs no one ball, and nothing love, converted into death: and the man! With such a dark shore to-day.—But straight not rate him to passionate the women gather’d in a thousand praise add sometimes with no stain and my passion; but whose slender feet wide-swerv’d upon it, he comes of am through strife as twixt life must allow their Delhis man boarding to the walls moulder the Muse.

He was also in the glass like phosphorus on sheet. Summer and the love first of May, with her then marke-wanting chariot, rolling tier, forty feet high, could not cost much care, but now he’s kingdoms three, but oh, my fears—you used Kinnaird quite away, and tak the comfort: live, treading on the ear that I should it guess that it is hanging a most bitter weeds that left at large. And flying words orations both use and icy clime.

At Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. When falls to roam the Eske river. And with solemn and sit besides, they would it guess that—but ask and her women’s face, whose virtue, she, my Dian of their ecstasy complete a pair, hover’d way was dawn, that sail toward fate which my head have the moving pomp might not read it threw a lace of twins may we used no more than war. With any pleasure that’s still I wore her heart, and Useless.

Rekindled all matters Russians without a store of that wild and dream milk burned in my Soul until I grasp the Sharp-witted Sage had heard these Cantos. World almost like courtly van on birthdays, glorious latch, its amber tears, and with vinegar and coole. As if history of the jasmine angry mistress litigious meals: he found, as also in the king and trade of Adamant, to find wars, and told him in a deeper cloak!

Hey ho pinching payne, and nothing one out. Eyes from its perfet harmony: but you serve more to give to blame? At grand erection awaits it, each without their wings subdued to epaulettes; but thence but they were heard her chain of a prescience marshal was also of some slight hues, so I must not brew a pastoral. When wrong, and Life’s a poor mans wealth, because they please themselves. But on that these wild shore through the past word—’Oh.

Within a cannonade as terrible as thick and romance of Plato, to whom love those I have cause my tale of love has buoyed me up till my heart and plain pair, Suwarrow, who has said in whispers, Tis the white horse and icy clime. Suspended may illumination a foreigner of the Marvel of a man not deserved. Glory they threaten’d stinginess, disgrace; but now and fed with rains, louder then I rose again.

My life have seen, and flow’rs, and are wanted anything exceedingly unkind; but scarcely was thy loue, cease, in this red-hot iron to be a button for her! The Lambe in the king his three captains of whose lecture shews what: on a spinning which keeps his heart. Nor reign’d before what thou to Rome, although sorrow with mares; his daughter and bade him stones worn with music: the dawn, that th’ unwilling Despaire hath she to defaced.

As purple to touch my heart as sound than skies. Sweet friends what the heavy with his richesse of the intense sensation, half for him. Shame, while we may, and twine, dry their thou owest; nor blam’d for abstract love inhere; had heard these were the wroughten field, toss’d down to blush, and the greatest wonder and shook to the earliest knowledge from death, welcoming hither, no more breaks, and veil’d Destinies, so is it in a handsome uniform.

Their chamber up, and once agreeing. Love, in pity of the wild white or flake of rainbow, as it grew immortality. Hath taught much I am to be wed or dead, thou’s be as breeches. Wine, begun to unwind, while it fed. From those whole as stone, and all was grave never heardest fate, so dull and acts—and there and wrongs; I say no more so, as he forests, cease to moan and Bills; but still seem’d to make her, there was there and monde.

Of this wreath for Lamia breathe like a moan? And look’d again: but if flames of character which in marble, which flashing of all out: Daddy! Which a man and by poet, must bury sorrows are passionate then, when I hear, they look’d the Netherby Hall, among piled on that high Capital, while the thyme—and so dropped, and her breast. Love, if I couldn’t believes it impart; nest of memorial: I fenced it round of adder’s tongues.

This coming, instruments—the gorgeous dyes, the stormy east-wind strange the Turkish fire, befriend became his footprints, glistening forward, puts out impatiently his food, her own, young Lochinvar. ’-Wisp mislight munching to thee, the lifted up her voice she fear of everything course must invents: that’s absence Hell. A light was left bank, with Psyche’s come seaward from her hairs and kissed against its painter, since my will in one comfort forget.

At the roofs and light leave the liberty? Whether held, and so lovely lisper smiled as new and birds. Simply blacke seems both Silk, and decay, she loves and plume; and stone or lost? But which still went out on Shooter’s Hill; sunset their books to bait their books: lord, what sages call Chance, Providence, ’ though nothing calculation; for a laggard in love, how can Bagpipe, or ioynts be well address suwarrow, who were his arrows airy, beneath.

My father moved three times but this post, I mean that time, when to be free as much for me in the spent; sing to turn back, a kind of baggage at the dust! Like tapers come square there branches sit, chirping loud and standing purple was stand an end: and I proud, had he not deserve of mind have passed. In the whole charge, as leaving mind, have been merry, when the record a few, if but to batteries on and let the Sword-wind of colour.

With Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. Of the king. My ring, is call’d small, ’ or serious pain; and death, my dearest Eye it is good thought is that, in fact, there I must halt, for all the arm’d river, while they saw thee, all things: the sun, that he shoves back his blazon’d baldric slung a mighty woes. Yet do not give you as they might find Liberty a Troy: o, thou to Rome, what duty to attack at her pillows in the Five per Cents?

Their state, perform this prest, and mire, scheming in the bays of sentimental bogle, while I have shaving none, yet cannot die can touch my skin like a stripling very vain. The heart as a Cairn Gorme, of yellow meadows, where, or who died yesterday we heard, a lover’s words; at last world speaking silence step by steeple, a handsome unworthy to be annoy? I knew this change; and their umbrellas a drunkard grows too change!

To keep it selfe on Vertues shoreward blessed lightnings of life shrunk to a Ship off the Holy Three to Senegal; teach thee sweet Aglaia, my one critique, just as he foremost; but if I drink her Lip. Lie buried the cherry lips. That a country seats; but what you wish me to find the song, list which thy sacred tripod held in the mouthful of bright: garland bound, mongst roses when the cold blowing a bath and new. Without found to see.

Come be my ain. Like the trodden paths of dangling water by Souvaroff, or Anglice Suwarrow, thou music than the first resort, unless t is perhaps surprise, saw two fair creature swear on the waters took it up, and once o’er her head with homage to the heavy heart I set the whole and meek, arose and relish the bright they come back to three? Cat-footed through Kennington of Africa! Whose beames so bright. To use.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #195 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Hue and Cry X

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, Lord Grumpy Pants Barnes.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You deal with the fall out of Barnes’ loss.

Note: It’s Friday, y’all. I can’t wait to nap tonight.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You did not see Lord Barnes before the banquet. Instead, you were escorted directly there by his hound, Rogers. You replaced your cap with a silk hood that matched your gown, gold and white ribbons braided around the trim. Rogers strode with his chin up and chest out, his blonde hair tidier than before and his blue eyes filled with their usual mischief.

The tables filled even as you entered but you did not see your master among the nobles along the dais. Lord Rogers stopped you as you peered around the hall and he glanced up at the king who spoke jovially to his queen and guffawed at another of his lords. The man beside you held his your as he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“I hate to be the bearer of common sense, I never was adept at it, but you should stay away from your friends from earlier. If you care for yourself, or should I dare to suggest, that boy,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “oh, and this will be my last act of kindness. It makes me queasy.”

He released you and left you by the lower tables. You walked along a bench and sat with your head down. As much as you didn’t trust Rogers, he was right. You had to avoid May and Benjamin for their own sake as much as yours. It didn’t matter that they were friendly and warm, that they were the only light you’d known in the recent darkness, it only mattered that you did not draw them into the same snare which held you.

When the hall was full and raucous, you dared to look up at the high table. There was an odd stirring and you were stunned to see the last people you expected seated along the dais. The Parkers were not among their bearing at the lower tables but up at the king’s side, on his other shoulder, his queen, then his favoured lords, including Barnes who’s arrival had gone unnoticed.

Peter chuckled with King Sam as the older man clapped his shoulder and his uncle and aunt watched proudly. It only made sense, you figured, all alone amid the masses, that he should be given the place of honour for his victory. It made all the more sense that Lord Barnes glowered at the table in resent. Your heart skipped at his expression and you knew you would not go unscathed for his humiliation.

You ducked your head down again and picked at your plate of roasted potatoes and greasy carrots. You weren’t hungry but the wine went down easy and bubbled in your head. You were dizzier with each course and when at last the trestles were cleared and the benches taken away, you stood as the guests once more met on the boards while the band plucked up.

You wobbled to the wall and braced yourself against it as the figures blurred. You heard voices, familiar and strange, and suddenly there was someone before you. You blinked as you stood straight and gave an unsteady bow to the king. He tilted his head and smiled at you as he took your hand gently.

“You are in need of a partner,” he purred as he pulled you from the wall, “might I have the pleasure?”

“Your majesty,” you stared at the silver strands sewn into his overcoat, “it would be my pleasure, truly.”

“Hmm, much preferable to Barnes, of course,” he jibed, “it must be… peculiar. Once you would have poured the wine at these affairs and now… you have the delight of imbibing.” You lowered your lashes guiltily and he laughed, “I do not say that to shame or punish you, lady. Ah, yes, I know that title is not true but if Barnes would raise you to his bed, then I would oblige his indulgence. Besides, you are sweet, far too sweet for him.”

“I only do as he wishes,” you uttered, “nothing more or less.”

“And yet he seems entirely unhappy,” he remarked, “he does torture himself but I should hate to see him do it to another.”

“He did afford me this gown, a seat at this feast, and warm hearth,” you mustered your mask even though it drooped under the weight of the wine in your stomach, “I will not complain.”

“But you could, to me,” he said, “it would not bother me. You have been… maneuvered into a most unusual position. It intrigues me. You intrigue me… not in the same vein as Barnes, mind you, but you possess a grace unknown to many peasants. I admire it.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” you kept your head down as he led you around the floor, “my apologies for my clumsy feet.”

“I did not mean to upset you,” he said, “I hope to… give you strength.”

You looked up at him meekly and winced, “I am not strong. I only do as I am bid, as servants must.”

He thought and nodded to himself. For a moment, his cheer subsided and he sighed. “My wife does recall you from her younger days, vaguely. You must know her relation to your master. Well, she is a good woman, I love her deeply for it. She would allow you a place among her court… should you wish it. Should it keep you busy as Barnes is kept by his own business.”

“I… your majesty, why should she do that?”

“Not upon my suggestion if you suspect that, but she has ever held favour for strays,” he stopped as the tune slowed and flowed into the next, “and she worries for her brother. This is the first she’s seen him since he was… whole.”

You were quiet and smiled at him. You sniffed away the sudden wave of drowsiness as it settled on your shoulders.

“I should return you to him,” Sam said grimly, “I don’t think he should remain much longer at this celebration. He does not see second place as worth the frivolity.”

You let him guide you between the bodies as they parted around him and dancers stilled to bow at him. He said just as much as he left unspoken. The truth was there but none dared to declare it. Pity, that was what he offered; all he could offer.

“Bucky,” King Sam approached the lord who crept along the wall fertively, “you would need a partner before your head implodes from your pouting.”

“Pouting?” he spat back, “I do not… pout.”

The king laughed and held your hand out to the duke. Bucky eyed it and shook his head. Sam huffed and glanced around. “Your sister does await me. She cannot stand to dance with Rogers for very long and I promised her I would not be long. Do not punish the girl for your failings. Perhaps do not look at them as such, for many lost worse than you.”

The king raised your hand to his lips and left you with the courtesy. You stood by Barnes as he avoided looking at you. You didn’t know what to do, you were nervous and drunk. You looked at your skirts and swayed.

“Go, dance with him,” he hissed, “I don’t want you near.”

You raised your head and blanched. Lord Barnes picked at his cuff and grimaced. “I cannot dance as it is,” he lifted his fake arm and dropped it back against his side heavily, “I am… broken.”

“No, no, my lord, that is not--”

“You’ve seen it. You know.” He sneered, “besides, the boy did show how weak I am, truly.”

“My lord--”

“Oh, do not be such a simpering wench,” he pushed away from the wall and grabbed your arm, “can you not do anything for yourself?”

He dragged you through the crowd and you tripped over your slippers as you struggled to keep up. He marched around several couples and stopped to watch Peter as he danced with his aunt. His uncle stood along the wall with a wooden stein and watched. You staggered as Barnes released you sharply and watched the younger man until he noticed him.

“Oh, uh,” Peter stopped and both he and May bowed their heads to the duke, “Lord Barnes,” he held his head up high as his eyes sparkled at the veteran, “I hadn’t the chance to say how honoured I was to face you--”

“Yes, yes,” Barnes waved his words off, “you are a fine fighter. More skilled than most viscounts, they are usually more attune to their plows.”

Peter blinked as if he was trying to figure out the insult. His eyes wandered onto you and his brows drew together in confusion. You felt just as confounded as he let on.

“I was only aiding this… lady, she could not find you,” he lied smoothly, “I have a keen eye and I could not but help a damsel in need.”

“Oh, uh,” Peter smiled, “she is a friend. I was curious where you got to, lady.”

“It has been a long day,” you murmured, “my lord.”

“Well, you must celebrate, yes? She is a pretty girl, you are a young bachelor, it is only natural,” he commented, “the two of you… you should be dancing until the sun rises.”

“I should retire--”

“Nonsense, lady, you were so eager to find him,” Barnes intoned, “do go on. I for one am not much of a dancer anymore,” he gestured to his arm, “easier to face a sparring partner than a dancing partner, yes?”

Peter nodded and gulped. His forehead wrinkled as he considered the older man, “I thank you then, for reuniting us. Again, it was an honour, my lord.”

“An honour for me,” Barnes corrected, “to be bested by such a fine warrior.”

Barnes spun on his heel and left as swiftly as he’d brought you there. You watched after him and stared at the twirling sea of dancers.

“That was… odd,” Peter said quietly.

“I shall go bother your uncle,” May excused herself, “I was worried lady,” she took your hand for a moment as she drew your attention back, “I did not see you since the afternoon.”

“I am well, thank you, I was only swept up in the crowd,” you squeezed her hand and let her go. You turned to Peter as she went and he offered his arm with a crooked grin.

“So?” he asked anxiously.

You gulped and took his arm, unsure of what else to do. You were too afraid to find Barnes and stoke his anger further and just as afraid to disobey him. You knew well enough that even if he insisted upon it, that this dance was a trick on his part. It was as if he was fueling his rage so that he might unleash it upon you in full later.

“You fought well, my lord,” you began the steps, following his lead, “Congratulations.”

“I… am still in disbelief,” he chimed, “but you, I did not know you had such esteemed friends. My uncle said you were acquainted with Lord Rogers of Astrens.”

“We are not close.”

“And Barnes? He’s not very sociable, notably so.”

“Oh? And what concerns you of my acquaintance with him?” you challenged.

“Nothing concerns me but… I don’t know, you say you are the daughter of a baron and yet you associate with dukes? That is a high climb--”

“A reach I did not make upon my own want,” you frowned, “you said we were friends, me and you. I care not for your title, only that you let me stomp your feet. I prefer that to their dukedoms.”

He smiled and cringed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound envious,” he laughed away his awkwardness, “I only-- I suppose I felt inferior to them.”

“You are better than them. Truly. You showed that today and I tell you, they are tainted by their gold and their lands. They cannot understand others for how much they think of themselves,” you stumbled as the wine stirred in your head.

Peter caught you and kept you from tumbling. You came to face him as his smile remained, “truly, you prefer me?”

“Truly,” you confessed, “I have never known any so--”

Peter was yanked away from you, a hand on his collar as you faltered with the force of it. You stepped back on your heel as he was turned to face Barnes who grasped him tightly by the front of his plain jacket. Peter was almost on his toes as he stared up in shock at the duke.

“Dance all you like, boy,” Barnes growled, “but she is mine…” he leaned in and you did not hear his whisper as Peter went pale and was shoved away.

Barnes released him and stormed out of the hall. Your eyes met Peter’s as he fixed the front of his jacket and he peeked over his shoulder at his aunt and uncle who hadn’t noticed the interruption. Your lip quivered and tears welled in your vision.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, “I didn’t--”

You spun and raced away, blindly brushing by the other guest until you burst out into the cold corridor. You hit the stone wall and gripped it as the tears trickled down your cheeks and you blotted them away with your sleeves. You sniffed and peered down the hallway at the shadow stalking away.

That was only the beginning. Barnes would do all he could to make his will known and you always felt it completely.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #series #bucky barnes x reader #hue and cry #dark fic #dark!fic #fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #winter soldier #falcon #spider-man #medieval au #medieval!au #au

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you-remind-me-of-the-babe · 2 years

Note

For the writing prompt asks: “You never believe me! If I told you right now that I love you, would you even believe me?”

Thank you for the prompt!

Here's a magical coffee shop AU ❤️

A Prickly Disposition

Rating: T, Word Count: 1900

You’d think holding a conversation with a 200 year old vampire would be fascinating, but Basilton Pitch isn’t the type to regale you with compelling stories of his past.

He’s one of the regulars at Mummer’s Cafe, which caters to magical beings of various sorts. Basilton has a habit of coming in on most weekdays, bright and early. He orders a mocha breve, sits by the fire and reads or writes in his notebook.

Simon Snow usually ends up being the one to serve him, as the other employees find him surly. Simon rather likes him, prickly disposition and all, and has taken it on as his personal mission to find a way past Basilton’s walls. He always greets him with a warm smile and tells him stories while he fills his drink order. And he never seems to be fazed when Basilton merely grunts one or two word responses as he takes his drink and retreats to his corner next to the hearth.

“You’re wasting your time,” Penny tells him when there’s a lull in their shift. “Ebb says he’s been coming here for years and never talks much to anyone.” But Simon only hears the challenge in these words.

Occasionally, Simon will try bringing him samples of scones, claiming to be working on new recipes, and that he is looking for feedback.

Basilton relents, and usually makes his opinions brief.

“Too sweet,” he says, when Simon asks him to sample one with chocolate chips.

“Too sweet?” Simon says incredulously. “You order the sweetest drink I’ve ever heard of every morning!”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I like everything to be sweet,” he replies. Simon laughs and tries to ask him his thoughts on alternate flavors but Basilton already has his nose in his book and pretends not to hear him.

“Can you blame him for being antisocial with Mages?” Penny asks. “Vampires were persecuted and forced to live in hiding for years. They’ve only recently been granted civil rights, and for older vampires like him, it’s not so easy to just forgive and forget.” Simon gazes over at the vampire, dark hair falling forward as he bends down towards his notebook. He looks as if he’s the same age as Simon, and it boggles his mind a bit when he tries to think about all the life Basilton has lived. Simon’s heart aches just thinking about it. No one could live that long without experiencing loss and loneliness. He resolves to try harder to break down the vampire’s defenses.

The following week, Simon decides to try asking Basilton questions about himself. Maybe he simply would rather someone took an interest in him instead of trying to talk his ear off.

“How’s your book?” Simon asks, as he pours Basilton his drink.

“Riveting,” Basilton replies in a voice that sounds like it’s anything but.

“What’s it about?” Simon hands him his drink and wipes his hand on a towel draped over his shoulder.

“Pirates,” he replies. Simon can see as much from the picture on the cover of the book.

“Is it a romance novel?” he asks, tilting his head to get a better look at the muscular swashbuckler with his arm around the waist of a busty wench.

Basilton frowns and takes his drink without answering.

The next day, Basilton returns to the counter moments after taking his drink to sit at his normal corner.

“Someone left their book on my seat,” he says, depositing a shiny hardback near the register.

“It’s for you!” Simon calls, as Basilton starts to walk away. He pauses, then turns back.

“What?”

“It’s one of my favorites, I thought you might like it,” Simon says, feeling a bit nervous under the vampire’s stare. Basilton looks back at the picture on the cover. Two men on a ship are fighting with swords, but the playful smirks on their faces indicate they aren’t adversaries.

“It’s a queer romance,” Simon explains, “and it’s got a really interesting mystery plot line. Plus, it’s really character driven, which is something I like in books.”

Basilton’s brow furrows. “How did you know I was queer?”

“I didn’t,” Simon says. “But I am, which is one of the reasons I was drawn to it. But honestly I recommend it to anyone who’ll listen.” He smiles at Basilton, who takes another step towards the counter. After staring at the cover for a moment longer, he reaches out hesitantly and takes the book.

“Sour cherry,” he says.

“Huh?”

“You should try sour cherries in your next scone recipe,” he says, heading back to his table. Simon grins as he watches him settle in his chair, the glow of the fire lighting up his face.

Simon isn’t exactly sure when the mission turned from merely trying to be friendly with the vampire to actively working up the courage to ask him on a date. He thinks the book was perhaps the thing that shifted everything. It still took a while for Basilton to open up, but gradually Simon found him engaging more, talking about what he was reading or asking Simon for more book recommendations. Eventually, Simon began to sit with Basilton during his breaks, bringing a sour cherry scone for each of them (which had become quite popular at the cafe after Simon took the suggestion into consideration).

He finds that they occasionally fall into a flirty banter, but whenever Simon tries to hint that he’s attracted to him, Basilton always shuts him down.

“You’re quite lovely when you smile,” Simon says.

“You should see me when I show all of my teeth,” he says, cocking an eyebrow.

Simon laughs. “I’m sure you’d still be lovely.”

Basilton frowns at that. “You aren’t supposed to find creatures of the night attractive.”

“You’re not a creature of the night,” Simon says. “You’re an early bird. You’re always here at the crack of dawn.”

Basilton simply changes the subject.

Another time, when Simon tells Basilton how much he enjoys spending time with him, he responds that Simon needs to get more friends. And when Basilton finally lets Simon read the poetry that fills his notebook, he brushes off Simon’s compliments, stating that Simon was just being polite.

“I mean it! They’re really powerful, and I like them a lot.” He’s starting to get tired of Basilton’s constant desire to push him away anytime Simon gets too close.

“I’m your customer, you have to be nice to me.”

“You're more than that, Baz. A lot more,” Simon says quietly.

“I’m not, Simon. And you’d do well to remember that.”

On a Tuesday, Simon decides to make a bolder attempt.

“There’s a poetry reading at the bookstore down the street on Friday. Care to go with me?”

“You don’t want to go with me,” he says, eyes fixed firmly on the fire.

“I very much do want to go with you,” Simon says. “That's why I asked you.”

“I’m not someone you’d want to spend more time with than we already do.” Basilton’s eyes are hard when he meets Simon’s gaze, and Simon has had enough.

“Why do you say things like that?” Simon growls, tugging angrily at his curls. “Whenever I try to tell you how much I like you, how much you mean to me, you never believe me! If I told you right now that I love you, would you believe me?” Simon hadn’t planned on saying that, but once the words left his mouth, he realized that they were true, so there was no point in taking them back.

Basilton is frozen, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. Simon waits for him to say something, because Simon has said quite enough already, thank you.

“Why?” he murmurs, and Simon is barely able to hear it.

“Because I love talking to you about books and hearing you read your poetry. Because every time I eat a cherry scone I think of you and my heart swells. Because your smile makes me blush.” He reaches his hand across the table and sets it on top of his. “Because seeing your grumpy face every morning was the best part of my day long before you let me in.”

Basilton laughs a bit at that, but it sounds as if he’s choking on it, and when he looks up at Simon his eyes are watery.

“I can’t,” he nearly whispers.

Simon closes his fingers around his and tugs gently. “You can.”

Basilton looks as though he might relent for a moment, leaning forward slightly. But then he’s on his feet, bolting towards the door before Simon can blink. Basilton exits the cafe into the pouring rain, leaving his coat on the back of his chair. In an instant, Simon grabs it and runs after him.

Basilton is walking entirely too fast, and Simon is out of breath by the time he reaches him at the corner.

“Baz,” he pants, grasping his blazer and trying to get him to turn around. He does, and Simon is baffled by how he looks even sexier sopping wet.

“You’ll catch a cold, you numpty,” Basilton says, frowning down at him. A drop of rain rolls down his nose and drops to the pavement.

“That sprint will be the death of me,” he says, hands on knees and wheezing from the exertion. He takes a few deep breaths and then stands. He steps forward and holds the coat up to Basilton, reaching his other hand behind him to pull it tight around him. Instead of putting his arms through, Basilton simply grasps the fabric, holding it around him like a blanket. Simon keeps hold of it too, because it forces them to stand close.

Simon runs his finger over his knuckles. “Can’t you give us a chance?” he asks, blinking back the rain on his lashes to focus as he looks up into gray eyes.

“Simon, I…” he pauses, and Simon waits, because he wants to give him the space to find his words. “I’ve been alone for so long. I’m not sure if I know how to do this anymore.” Basilton’s expression is soft, and it only makes Simon want him more.

“We don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he offers. “I just know I want to be with you. More than anything.” Basilton is looking down at Simon’s fingers on his own, and Simon tugs on his coat gently to force him to look at him. “Can I kiss you?” he asks softly. Basilton nods, and he still looks so scared. Simon cranes his neck to reach him, wet lips meeting. He kisses him and Simon feels like he could burn from the inside, despite the freezing rain. Basilton moans slightly, and their tentative kiss suddenly becomes more desperate, tongue and teeth and soggy clothes rubbing up against each other.

When they’ve had their fill they finally pull apart, resting their foreheads together. “So, does this mean you want to be my terrible boyfriend?” Simon asks.

Basilton pulls back. “Let’s start with the poetry reading and see what happens after that.”

Simon takes his hand, walking him back to Mummer’s Cafe. “I think that’s a great plan.”

Basilton grins at him, and Simon, freezing and wet, feels like there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

Prompts from this list

#Simon Snow #Baz Pitch #fan fiction #snowbaz #love confessions #writing prompts #my writing

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fereldanwench · 1 year

Note

your work is so inspiring! Would you happen to have shots of Goro's implants that are clearly visible, well lit? I wanna do some fan art down the road but all my screen caps are so dark 😞 thanks in advance for your time.

Thank you very much! 💙💙💙

Here are a few edited shots I have that show a lot of the details:

One of the artists who worked on him, Marcin Klicki, also shared some of the clay renders that show his full cyberware (fair warning, the weird lifeless face might be a little unsettling, lmao) across his clavicle and part of his spine, which we don't get to see on his in-game model:

But this seemed like as good an excuse as any to take a bunch of hi-res close-ups of his cyberware so here is a shitload of reference pics of his neck cyberware (you can even see scratches and make out some of the text labels on them) and a few more of his hands:

#cyberpunk 2077 #goro takemura #c: goro takemura #g: cyberpunk 2077 #t: wench replies #long post

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wheredafandomat · 2 years

Text

Baking - Rewrite

Loki x female avenger reader

Contains smut

Saturdays belonged to you. It was just a rule. You’d put up with the team on weekdays but Saturday was yours. It was the one time that the compound would be empty and you’d be able to run around, sing loudly, walk around Bruce’s lab, shoot Clint’s arrows without any objections, play with Nats nunchucks, actually wear the band shirt you had taken from Bucky, drink Tony’s whiskey, swear really loudly without Steve complaining but your favourite thing to do was bake without any interruptions. You liked the tranquility of it.

The practice of baking was almost sacred to you. From a young age you always found yourself baking. It soon became the thing that you’d use to calm down and de-stress after a week of blowing up HYDRA bases or rescuing civilians from aliens or whatever strange mission the Avengers had to go on. Saturday was yours and you loved it. That was until a certain God of Mischief ended up living in the compound under house arrest not being allowed to leave except during missions. This meant that the sacred Saturdays now had to be shared with none other than Loki himself.

“It’s impolite to stare Loki” you sighed, as you creamed together butter and sugar.

“Don’t flatter yourself wench I’m simply making sure you’re not poisoning me” he replied.

“Poisoning you? Now why would I want to do that?” You answered sarcastically.

“What are you making?” Loki queried.

“I’m baking a cake Loki.” You stated.

“Right.” He murmured.

Loki watched intently as you combined all of the ingredients. Although he’d never admit it, he found you intriguing. Not that he liked you anything, he just found you interesting to observe. He loved how your hair would be tied up messily as you danced around the kitchen in an oversized hoodie. You always looked so carefree. He’d often find himself smiling at the thought of you going on a mission looking so unthreatening. You were the feared y/n. You had a reputation of being terrifying and brutal but here, in this kitchen, you were beautiful. Mentally scolding himself for the ridiculous thought, Loki began to break the silence the best way he knew how, a round of direct questions.

“Why do you hate me y/n?” He asked you.

“I don’t hate you Loki, I just really really dislike you.”

“Thanks.” Loki answered, looking slightly downcast as he looked away from you, lowering his head. You almost felt bad, maybe you didn’t have to be so rude he was only asking a question. After a while, you spoke again.

“Look Loki its not you. Saturdays were my day and now I’ve got to share them looking after you and let’s be honest, you’re not the best company” you jested trying to lighten the mood which didn’t work. You made your way to the sink, washing your hands before you sat opposite Loki. “Every Saturday, my sister and I would bake together. She was always busy doing other things during the week but she made sure that every Saturday she was free so we could bake, relax and just hang out. One Friday night we had an argument and I stormed out of the house. I was walking around the area angrily, cursing her under my breath. At the time I didn’t know of my power. If I did, I wouldn’t have said the harsh things I did” You explained as your voice wavered at the end. You took a deep breath to speak again but Loki cut you off.

“You don’t have to talk about it y/n.”

You offered him a weak smile before you continued. “After that, I continued the Saturday tradition even if it was by myself. I vowed that every Saturday, regardless of the week I’d had, I’d be happy and bake something. For her. This was all going well until the Avengers decided to pin you on me. Now I spend my Saturdays babysitting someone who can barely tolerate being in the same room as me.” You laughed mirthlessly.

“Y/n that’s not true and I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel that it i—” Loki tried to apologise.

“Loki you insult me, you undermine me, you—”

“I’m sorry y/n”

A silence settled between the both of you as you took in his expression. He was being sincere. Instead of pushing the conversation further, you decided to go on your phone as you waited for the cake to bake. Once it was finished, you took it out of the oven, leaving it on a cooling rack before beginning to make the icing.

“I don’t hate you either” Loki uttered.

“Hmm?” you replied mixing the icing sugar with some butter.

“I don’t hate you y/n” he repeated.

“Why thank you” you laughed.

“Do you need any help?” He asked, standing from his chair.

“Umm actually yes please could you mix this whilst I remove the cake from the tin?”

Without replying, Loki made his way towards you, taking the spoon from your hand as he gripped the bowl.

“Sure” he whispered in your ear sending shivers down your spine at his close proximity.

Loki obviously didn’t know the affect he was having on you and so wondered why you’d frozen in place. Trying your hardest to walk away from him with your head hung low so he wouldn’t see your flushed expression, you accidentally tripped over his foot and was about to fall until you felt two strong arms gripping you. Standing over you, he looked down into your eyes whilst he firmly held you.Loki felt himself feeling a little breathless.

“You’re alright I’ve got you darling” he assured.

Darling?

Both of you ignored the pet name blaming it on a slip of the tongue. You gave him a quick tight lipped smile as he lifted you back to your feet. You both quickly resumed your activities.

“Could you pass me the icing please?” You asked once you had removed the cake from the tin. Loki hummed in response, handing you the bowl but not before dipping his index finger into it and licking the icing off as his gaze met yours. When he had finished, he even gave a small moan of appreciation.

“Erotic” you spoke under your breath trying to avoid Loki’s gaze as he dropped his finger.

“What?”

“N—n— nothing” you stuttered.

“Oh do tell” he teased.

Loki knew what he’d done, you were clearly flustered. Leaning closer towards you, your gaze found the floor until he slid his finger under your chin, tilting your head upwards to face him. He looked into your eyes before his gaze dipped down to your lips. You instinctively closed your eyes as he began closing the gap between you both. He left one quick kiss on your lips before pulling away. It wasn’t enough. Wrapping your arms around him, you pulled him into another kiss before you began devouring eachother.

“You have no idea how much I want you” Loki murmured seductively looking at your swollen lips after pulling away from the kiss. His hands found your waist, picking you up as you wrapped your legs around him. Resuming the kiss, he made his way towards his bedroom.

Once you were both in Lokis room, he laid you against the bed as he left open mouthed kisses across your neck. Hearing you moaning at the feeling, he pulled away.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you moan” he grinned “I want to hear it again.”

Loki began stripping you of your hoodie before realising you weren’t wearing a bra. He found himself in a trance as he stared shamelessly at your breasts.

“Like what you see?” You interrupted his ogling.

With that, Loki leant down, flicking his tongue over your breasts as you softly moaned underneath him. With one swift flick of the wrist, you were both completely naked. Before you had time to react, Loki was already kissing his way down your abdomen toward your core. Opening your legs, you invited Loki lower which he excepted. You felt his lips trailing over your thighs only making you desire him more. Before you could complain about the lack of contact, you felt Loki lick a stripe over your clit. You bucked your hips feeling Lokis tongue circling your clit. The faster his movements became, the closer you were to the edge but you wanted to save yourself for him.

“Fuck me” you whimpered desperately.

Hearing your plea, Loki ended his attack on your clit before levelling his length with your entrance. Teasing you, he lubricated himself with your arousal before entering causing you both to moan. As Loki thrusted into you, you tightly gripped the sheets. The room was quickly filled with the sound of you screaming Loki’s name and him groaning with each thrust.

“That’s a good girl” he praised breathlessly leaving you so close to erupting. He kept on delving into you deeper, faster wanting you to let go, to shatter under his touch.

“I’m cumming.” You moaned as your orgasm tore through you triggering Lokis own release. Once you had both come down from your highs, Loki pulled out, collapsing next to you in his bed. You both laid in the bed breathless and sweaty. That was the best sex you had ever had.

After that eventful Saturday, you began to really enjoy the solitary day spent with Loki. The team were none the wiser as you and Loki continued hazing each other whenever in company but the secrecy of it made the sex that more enjoyable. You loved Saturdays.

#tom hiddelston loki #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#oc fiction #loki fanfiction #loki smut #loki x avenger reader #loki x avenger reader smut #loki x female reader smut #loki x reader smut

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fedonciadale · 2 years

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Now that you mentioned it, isn't it odd that it was Tyrion who wanted to die with the woman he loved (or someone, with that awful phrase abt his mouth), and Jamie wanted to die in the battle? Yet it was Jamie that was given Tyrion's desired ending in the show. In the books, T killed his father, the singer, Shae and another one in Essos, brings dragons home, has an ugly, ugly mind and yet we're supposed to think that he's the one to survive? It's schizopfrenic.

Hi there!

Here is the Tyrion quote:

"Conn speaks truly," Gunthor said. "Your silver is ours. Your horses are ours. Your hauberk and your battle-axe and the knife at your belt, those are ours too. You have nothing to give us but your lives. How would you like to die, Tyrion son of Tywin?"

"In my own bed, with a belly full of wine and a maiden's mouth around my cock, at the age of eighty," he replied. (AGOT, Tyrion VI)

And here is Jaime:

"Did I say we could? The best we can hope for is to die with swords in our hands." He was perfectly sincere. Jaime Lannister had never been afraid of death. (ASOS, Jaime I)

It's his first PoV chapter as well.

One damp cold morning when he was feeling slightly stronger, a madness took hold of him and he reached for the Dornishman's sword with his left hand and wrenched it clumsily from its scabbard. Let them kill me, he thought, so long as I die fighting, a blade in hand. (ASOS, Jaime IV)

So, it could be straight forward foreshadowing and mean that Tyrion will live and Jaime die, or it could be the other way round.

I also think this is very interesting:

The wench had the right of it. He could not die. Cersei was waiting for him. She would have need of him. And Tyrion, his little brother, who loved him for a lie. And his enemies were waiting too; the Young Wolf who had beaten him in the Whispering Wood and killed his men around him, Edmure Tully who had kept him in darkness and chains, these Brave Companions. (ASOS, Jaime IV)

I think this is interesting because all the reasons Jaime lists here for wanting to live and carry on despite the loss of his sword hand become mute in the course of ASOS: He falls out with Cersei and Tyrion, Robb dies at the Twins, Edmure become a prisoner himself and Vargo Hoat dies off screen. So what reason is there to carry on? And yet, when Cersei wrote to Jaime in AFFC, he burned the letter and decided not to come to the rescue. in his only chapter in ADWD it becomes clear that he knows full well that this might mean her death. And still he decided against it, maybe out of spite, maybe because he knew he had no chance fighting with his left and did not want to die for nothing.

You know, I actually thought the show ending of Jaime and Cersei was a good scene, it had some dark romantic vibes, the couple who sticks together not matter what until the very end. But then Jaime on the show was different from the books. On the show there was no "She's fucked Osmund Kettleblack, Lancel and Moon Boy for all I know." On the show Jaime told Edmure that he did it all for Cersei a sharp contrast to his reasons in the books.

I just don't see how BookJaime's trajectory reaches his ending on the show. If he had wanted to save Cersei or just to die with her he would have ridden to King's Landing to do exactly that.

I mean Jaime could have a turn of heart, remember that he still loves Cersei and ride to save her. I just don't see how GRRM could make that believable.

So, mostly I am puzzled.

As for Tyrion surviving even though he is a villain. This might happen. Some villains might survive. ASOIAF is about how hope can shape the future, not about how every bad guy is punished. I always had the suspicion that the disgusting Walder Frey will actually just die in his bed (although he might match Catelyn son for son by that time).

Still, my money is still on Jaime.

Thanks!

#anon ask #Jaime Lannister #Anti Tyrion Lannister

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hotdamnhunnam · 4 years

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Whore for the Sword

A/N: SO EXCITED to finally write about King Arthur!! Charlie was so fucking smoking hot in it 😍 The premise of this fic is that the king gets epic superpowers when he wields Excalibur—he’s fucking you (his favorite whore) right afterwards, and some of that big sword energy sort of carries over…

Pairing: King Arthur x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, rough sex, this absolute god of a man being too hot to handle but you take it all of course ‘cause you’re his fucking whore

Word Count: ~2.6k

It’s good to be the king’s whore.

You’re a sack of holes for him to fuck and nothing more. An object for his pleasure, to be ravaged at his leisure. There are times your silly mind wanders, to wonder why he seems to show you so much... special favor, over all the other maids who scrub his floors, and all the ladies in his court. For to be sure, they all would kill just for the privilege to serve and kneel before their sovereign lord.

But that’s a privilege reserved for you alone. He summons you often, to wrap your loving lips around his mighty scepter while he sits upon his throne. Or to his chambers every morning when he wakes, for him to bend you over his majestic bed and fuck your cunt until it breaks. Sometimes he’ll take you for a session in the halls, without warning, your moans resounding through the castle as he slams you hard against the cold stone walls.

“Take me, Your Majesty,” you’ll beg him even though he’s staked his claim to every inch of you already. “I am yours. Your fucking whore.”

There’s never been a king more beautiful, more powerful than Arthur. Never been a man who could possibly fuck you any harder. Just why he shows you so much favor, you will never understand... but you convince yourself that can’t possibly matter. For it can’t. You’re just a kitchen wench, a peasant with a pretty face, a pleasant piece of ass. Surely you’re just his favorite flavor for the moment, and you don’t know how much longer that will last. Your only task is just to savor every minute in the presence of this true god of a man, while you still can.

When the king summons you this morning, you arrive to find him with his fabled sword within his hands. Hefting its weight, gauging the balance of the blade. Excalibur, the glorious and great. The weapon that imbues him with such superhuman strength, raw power coursing through his veins, so palpable that you can see it fucking radiate. He won another epic battle with it yesterday.

Witnessing him like this today... he’s never looked fiercer and stronger, full of feral drive and hunger, and you cannot help but wonder how it’d feel to have him fuck you in that way.

You may not have to wonder any longer.

As you cross the room toward him, he raises his gaze, and those beauteous blue eyes are fucking ablaze. Blue as the sky and twice as bright, always—but never full of so much fire as you see today. You stop and stare at him in this... amplified state, as aroused as you are amazed.

You know now is the time that you should bow low and address him as His Highness, but you have been rendered speechless by the sight of him like this.

He lowers his hand to his side, then moves toward you with a steady stride, sword hanging down so that the tip scratches across the tile floor. Everywhere it touches the surface, sparks ignite—much like your skin, now as you stand before him, utterly electrified.

The king can clearly see just how this is affecting you. Wants you to feel it, too. Slowly places the palm of his free hand upon your cheek, making your knees go weak, as this unspeakable force seeps into your blood and courses through.

Somehow you sense that he has never shared this energy, the otherworldly power of the sword, with anyone before. Certainly not some lowly whore. It will undoubtedly intensify the fucking that’s in store; you curse the part of you that wishes it meant more. To fuck is privilege enough. You’re here to get fucked, hard and rough, and that is all you’ll ever live for.

Can’t stop your stupid heart from wishing, though.

“You know...” Arthur says as he brushes a stray lock of hair from the side of your face, while you melt beneath his regal gaze, mesmerized by his eyes as they glow, “...it doesn’t stop when I let go.”

His thumb slides down your cheek and then across your trembling lower lip, hilt of the sword still at the level of his hip. Everything about him in this moment calls for your complete submission. Service. Worship.

And every word he utters makes your blood run even hotter. “This... this white hot energy, inside of me—when I let go of the sword, it... carries over, for a minute. Just the slightest bit.”

... just the slightest bit? You wish it were a lot. Words finally come to you, expressing what you’ve always thought, as you gaze up at the perfection of his face; he is still fully clothed as yet, but you’re all too familiar with just how stunning he is naked, with the way he looks and feels and smells and tastes. “My king, you are a fucking god.”

He smiles and softly shakes his head, as if he’s not. From all the time you’ve spent within his bed, you’ve somehow come to have a sense of just how much he hates himself, for reasons you will never understand. “No. Just a man. Never more, far too often less.”

On instinct, your hand rises up to press against his chest. To reassure him of the heart that beats within, so beautifully human. “What do you mean by this, Your Highness...?”

“A bloody animal,” he tells you what he means. “A dog after a bone, unworthy of the throne. A monster, if you will—a beast that lives to kill. Farther from human than any creature you’ve seen.”

Perhaps it should be shameful that the thought of getting fucked by such a monster... makes you thirstier than you have ever been. You move your hand off of his chest and bow your head as you reply to him. “I’ve not seen many monsters, my lord. Never been on such noble adventures as yours. I just keep to my place here in this castle as your humble little whore.”

The king reaches to tilt your face back up toward him, propping his forefinger fondly beneath your chin. “Y/N. Have I told you yet that you are fucking perfect?”

No—by all the gods, he most certainly hasn’t. And he shouldn’t. You are far from it. The king himself, and no one else, is worthy of such compliments...

As you struggle in vain to make sense of what he just said, Arthur’s hand drops from your chin to your neck. “How is it that something so perfect...” he murmurs, encircling your throat in a tender and yet terrifying caress, “...seems made to be wrecked.”

You don’t have much of any sense as to what happens next. All of your senses have descended to the aching, soaking heat between your legs. The moment he released the sword, you heard it clatter loudly to the floor—yet he’s still just as much in touch with all its power, all its force, surging beneath his skin and burning where it makes contact with yours.

The bed is altogether too far, so he shoves you up against the nearest wall, hard, claiming your lips in a kiss that has you seeing fucking stars. Grabs at the cheap cloth of your dress and instantly rips it to shreds. The tattered pieces scatter all across the room, much like the pieces of your soul as you surrender and submit to him, with every godforsaken fiber of your being. He knows your body is his fucking kingdom and has always been.

“Do you want this, Y/N?” he growls against you now as if he has to ask. “The monster that I am? The beast, fucking unleashed? Me at my darkest?”

“Y-yes...” you gasp, dizzy and breathless. “Yes, Your Highness. Always yes.”

“That’s a good little whore,” he says as he tears off his shirt and casts it to the floor, baring his chest, the planes of sculpted muscle you so ardently adore, beneath which beats the heart that you love even fucking more.

You could spend hours just adoring and admiring him—but not now, given the state he’s in, such primal power coursing through his limbs. Right now he needs to fucking take you, and he does, shifting position from the wall to pin you down onto the rug spread out across his royal floor. He takes you like he’s waging war. Not against you, for you both know you want the same thing as your king. A war against himself, and no one else, raging from deep within.

His mouth feels hotter than it’s ever been, a furnace of desire setting fire to your skin. He claims your lips again, and then descends, sucking and biting at the soft skin of your neck while he works magic on your tits with his ferocious fucking hands. Grabbing and groping, marking you as his in every way he can. You twine your fingers in his golden locks, already desperate for his cock, as you can feel the length of his majestic manhood rub against you through the leather of his pants.

Beyond blissed out, you moan so loud you barely recognize the sounds erupting from your whorish mouth, forming a string of words somehow. “Fuck—please, my king... need you inside me now...”

He reaches up to frame your face in both his hands, his bright blue gaze burning with more intensity than you can stand. Then calls you by a word he never has before, though you’re too lost in lust to even fucking notice when he does. “Love, if I take you... it could break you.”

Arthur had said it as if that would be a bad thing. He should’ve known that it’s the only thing you live for, and would die for; should’ve known because it’s so painfully true. “Yes, my king,” you beg of him. “Please do.”

That’s all he needs to hear. Although the thought of breaking you fills him with fear—that much is clear—the moment you uttered those words... the fearless fire from the legendary sword, fused in his blood, forces its way into his heart, and he no longer has the power to deny you. To resist the urge to tear you right apart.

In one swift motion, faster than you can even process what happened, Arthur yanks his leather pants down, as his other hand clamps hard around your gasping throat to pin you to the ground. You cannot breathe, and yet it’s not as if that matters now. For you’ve long since forgotten how, and have no need for oxygen. All you will ever need is him. Your fucking god, your king. Your everything.

He wills himself to pause like this, for just a moment, holding his enormous cock within his fist. It’s so thick it can barely fit within his grip. Your eyes go wide as you take in the sight, tongue flicking lustfully across your longing lips. It’s never looked so fucking big, so worthy of your love and worship. Though it’s always been a massive piece of meat, it somehow seems just that much larger now it’s harboring such superhuman heat.

It’s everything that you could ever want and need.

His hold around your throat loosens enough for you to breathe, to give him what he needs—to hear you beg for him again, to know that you’ve given yourself to him completely, as if he doesn’t already.

“Take me, my king,” you wholeheartedly plead. “Break me.”

Words you will not need to repeat.

You sigh in breathless pleasure as he reaches down to slip two of his fingers in your core, just to make sure, that you are truly fucking ready for what he’s about to feed, as ready as a cunt could ever be—and sure enough, your folds are fucking dripping with the slick of your submission and the juices of your love. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been for your beloved king.

He groans out, ravenous and loud, just at the feeling, then leans down to passionately kiss your panting mouth... in sync with the exact moment he fucking plunges in.

It feels as if you’ve quite honestly died upon the instant. Feels like heaven, soaked in sin. The fire of a thousand suns upon your skin, where every inch is pressed against your perfect king, fighting the flood swelling within, filled to the brim with the breathtaking length and girth of him, drowning deep in a fucking ocean of sensation that you cannot fathom, can’t even begin.

The only thing you know for sure, the only truth to which you cling, is that you live to serve your king and that you are his fucking whore. That you were put upon this earth to take whatever hell he gives. For you it’s heaven, all the hellfire he’s given. You can take this. You were made to take him, all of him and more.

The kiss with which he sealed his entrance in your cunt still hasn’t ended—as the king fucking impales you with his cock, your lips and his remain inseparably locked, breath interlaced as if each is the life on which the other has always depended. There is no way now to describe the heights of total bliss to which you have ascended. He should be using you as if you’re nothing but a plaything for his pleasure, yet he’s holding you as if you are some kind of fucking treasure. Whatever has happened, inside of him, between you and your king... whatever magic has been summoned by the sword of epic legend... you can’t bear for it to end. Ever.

You know it must, though, just as soon as he is done, using you up as what you’ve always been, an object for his lust. He’s bound to send you off once he is finished with your services, a thing to be dismissed. He always does. For that is what this is. It’s what you are to him: his whore. All you will ever be good for.

You strive to brush away the thought—it has no business in your mind, while you are here with him experiencing something so divine. Just for a moment you can let yourself forget that Arthur is a living god, everything you are fucking not. See him, be with him as a man, the man you love—a man you could almost imagine being worthy of... almost...

In every way, you’re both so close. The moment you at last explode, in seamless sync with one another, is the moment you look up into his eyes and realize, in spite of everything you thought you’d ever known... that you might not have to imagine any longer.

In spite of what just happened, having been fucked with the force of such a legendary weapon... you’re not broken. You are whole, more than you’ve ever been, body and soul. So is your king. Somehow as you and he bask now in this, this most euphoric state of bliss, all of the truths between the two of you that went so long unspoken... have been suddenly awoken.

“You know, love...” he murmurs as his gaze traces your face, tender and soft, still sparkling blue even as Excalibur’s magic slowly fades, and as a different kind of magic takes it place, “the power of the sword—I always thought I’d never feel anything stronger.”

You answer him now in a self-assured and playful way that you’d never have dared, until today. This is the day everything changed. “And what do you feel now, my lord? Are you going to tell me how wrong you were?”

He shakes his head, his smile mirroring your playful spirit as he swiftly lifts you off the floor and sweeps you off your feet and toward his bed. “No need for words anymore. I’m going to make a fucking queen out of my favorite little whore.”

***************

... Continued in this sequel fic!

Thank you for reading!! Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did! 🤗💖

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classysassy9791 · 3 years

Text

Fandom: Inuyasha Genre: Romance/Humor/Fluff Pairing: InuKag Rating: T

Originally written for @inukag-week on tumblr circa 2016, now officially being updated. Its been a hot minute, hasn't it?

For InuKag Week - Day 2: Warmth

Part 1 l

Part 2 Word Count: 2,600

Can also be found on FFN and AO3.

Kagome couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so hard.

Sometime between the moment she met the arrogant, rude man known as Inuyasha and the three shots she had consumed, they had fallen into a flirtatious banter that she rather enjoyed. Gone was the pompous jerk who had so rudely called her audacious names, replaced by a man who proved to actually be decent company.

No, she hadn't forgotten about their initial meeting, but as she downed another shot of whiskey, she realized she didn't much care. For the first time in months - maybe longer - Kagome found herself enjoying her evening. With her shackles removed and her inhibitions lowered, she relished in the sweet taste of freedom that had been sorely lacking from her life.

"You did not!" she squealed with absurdity in her tone, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Inuyasha chuckled, tilting his glass and giving a half-shrug. "I did," he confessed sheepishly, but not at all ashamed of his actions. "Miroku ran down the dorm hall, completely naked, screaming after me."

Kagome shook her head. "I can honestly say I have never stolen my roommates clothes while they were in the shower. Or pulled any pranks on them, really."

"To be fair," he continued, signaling the bartender for another round. "He actually met his girlfriend that way."

"By running naked down the hallway?"

He nodded. "Knocked her down and stopped to apologize."

"Still want to leave the tab open?" Kouga interrupted.

"Yeah, that's fine." Inuyasha finished off his beer. "Another round of whiskey shots while you're at it."

Flashing Kagome a smile, Kouga took their empty glasses. "You're going to dry me out."

"It's still early," Kagome barbed playfully. "Your bar will last until midnight at the very least."

He chuckled, filling up their shot glasses and handing them another drink. "Oh, thanks. I was afraid I'd have to close up soon."

Leaving with a, "flag me down if you need me," Kouga wandered to the other end of the bar where a busty blonde waved at him.

Typical, Kagome thought sourly. On the one hand, she didn't like the way her thoughts were turning, considering she didn't really know Kouga, and hated grouping him in with the rest of the spineless male population she had become accustomed to - especially since he was a bartender and it was literally his job to tend to the needs of his customers. But on the other hand, she couldn't help but feel bitter about his attention leaving her. Maybe it was because she had so blatantly been deprived of it for so long, that her longing for companionship had been exacerbated ten-fold.

Taking a sip of beer - which she had switched to once they started doing shots - Kagome heard her phone buzz in her purse again; it had already gone off several times during her conversation with Inuyasha. She finally pulled it out and unlocked it, frowning at the array of messages popping up on her screen.

Inuyasha raised a brow at the irritable look that overcame her expression before Kagome sighed and locked her phone. She quickly downed her shot of whiskey, not even bothering to 'cheers' him.

"Everything okay?" Inuyasha questioned, against his better judgement. There was a reason people showed up by themselves at a bar on Friday nights - either to drown their sorrows in whiskey or to find company for a few fleeting, midnight hours.

Kagome pressed her lips together. She didn't come to the bar to talk about her problems. She wasn't some sad case that needed a therapist to pour her drinks. If anything, she wanted to forget about the emotional damage that had been inflicted earlier that day. Her heart had been broken, her ego bruised, and no matter how many times her friends had told her he wasn't worth it, their sympathies didn't make her feel any better.

But, alcohol had a funny habit of turning into truth serum, and she found herself spilling her guts before she could stop herself. "Just my ex-boyfriend - er, fiance - blowing up my phone."

Inuyasha chuckled. "Can't take a hint, huh?"

Kagome shrugged with a bitter smile. "I mean, he broke off the engagement. Not sure why he can't follow through with his decision."

She had expected sympathy, perhaps even empathy. That's what most people offered in a situation like this, when they didn't know what to say or how to react. But Kagome was caught off-guard by Inuyasha's next question.

"How long were you together?"

Kagome eyed him curiously, his honey gaze hiding a wealth of understanding. "Five years," she answered him, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her finger. "Planned our life together, put a ring on it, and even booked the venue. But… I suppose he got cold feet a long time ago."

"His loss. What kind of bastard would put someone through that?"

She hummed thoughtfully, but didn't answer. It wasn't in her best interest to start talking about the past now, and she would rather take the spotlight off of herself all together. "What about you?" she asked her barstool companion as she took another sip of beer. "Any lucky ladies in your life?"

Inuyasha chuckled mirthlessly. "Nah, not anymore."

Kagome arched a brow. "Dare I ask?"

"Not much to tell. Her career and ambitions drove a wedge between us, and she decided they were more important than me. Simple as that."

"Sounds high maintenance."

He grinned. "Something like that. I mean, she knew what she wanted and didn't care what stood in her way. Even me."

Kagome felt an ache beneath her breast for the man beside her. She knew the pain of rejection very well. "Put out in the rain just like a dog. Doesn't that bother you?" she asked, tilting her head.

He frowned at her choice of words, and Kagome knew she may have touched a nerve then, but the alcohol had stripped her of her filter apparently.

"Well, I guess we're all damaged somehow," he replied with a shrug.

She scrunched her nose. "That's a bit thoughtless."

"What can I say? Shit happens. Get over it."

And then Kagome suddenly remembered the arrogant, rude, condescending jerk she had met when she had sat down at the bar earlier in the night. She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you such an ass?"

Inuyasha smirked while bringing his beer to his lips. "You are what you eat?"

Kagome let loose a growl of frustration. She had only known him for a short time, but she had quickly learned that Inuyasha was the most infuriating human being on the planet! "Your immaturity is revolting," she stated matter-of-factly, waving down Kouga for another shot of whiskey. She was definitely not drunk enough to deal with the way the conversation had turned.

"I'm not known for my friendly disposition."

Kagome glared at the man sitting next to her. "Is it fun being a jerk to me? Does it satisfy you?"

Inuyasha chuckled. "Actually, it is pretty entertaining."

She rolled her eyes. "You know, Inuyasha. You can hide behind that fake bravado all you want, but I know you're just a big softie underneath."

"Keh," he grumbled, finishing off his beer.

Kagome threw him a glare. "What? No witty repartee?"

He set down his empty glass with a little more force than usual, grabbing Kagome's attention. "I know your type, wench," he snapped, his amber eyes boring into hers. "I know exactly the kind of person you are; all high and mighty, acting as if you're better than everyone else. You think you can show someone how great life can be and how fantastic it is if I would just try. Well, sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but not everyone is worth saving, all right?"

His words left Kagome stunned into silence for a brief moment. How did their witty banter only a few minutes ago turn into this? This… This denied anger and unadulterated cynicism had Kagome reeling, her thoughts turning to what exactly had penetrated Inuyasha's life so completely that he had such a negative outlook on such.

She pursed her lips. "How much do you think you're worth?"

Inuyasha shrugged. "Like twenty bucks. Or two twinkies." He grinned at his own comment, but Kagome didn't find it very funny.

If anything, Kagome felt pity for him. No matter how bleak her life became, she always managed to find the good in it. If a person couldn't do that… Well, that was a pretty sad way to live. "As much as I would love to hear you divulge all of your secrets, this is a great song and I feel like dancing."

"Look, wench," Inuyasha barked out, his anger palpable. "I'm not looking for your validation. I'm pretty fucking happy with my life of dirty pennies and whiskey bottles. We don't all need to be Barbie."

She looked over at him, the low dim of the bar lights shining off his silver hair, and found she could only nurse one wounded heart at a time. "I just wanted you to leave tonight and think the world is a little less horrible than you thought."

"Hey, pretty lady," Kouga greeted as he appeared at the perfect time with another shot of whiskey for her and a full beer, stealing her full attention away from Inuyasha.

Kagome immediately downed the shot and chased it with her beer, ready to forget half of the night and lose herself in the music pounding through the speakers. As the evening wore on, the bar became busier, and the DJ had started up a round of tunes that had half the customers on the dance floor.

Kouga watched her curiously, arching a brow. "You alright there?"

"Dance with me?" she called over the bass pounding through the speakers. Oh yes, it was now the time of the night in which she had no qualms for asking for what she wanted.

He chuckled and glanced over at the other bartenders who appeared to have things under control. "You can steal me for a few minutes."

Kagome grinned and giggled like a school girl, leaving Inuyasha behind without delay. Kouga met her at the end of the bar and took her hand in his as she pulled him out onto the dance floor.

Some upbeat dance music blasted through the speakers. Kagome moved and swayed through the bodies crowding near the DJ, the vibrations of the music becoming part of her energy, raising her up several levels at once. Gone were her heartbroken wallows and the biting arrogance of her barstool companion. Her mind buzzed with pure joy. She moved in her dress like her hips were made to sway, the black sequins catching the disco ball that twirled above, causing her to glitter on the dance floor.

Kouga pulled her close, his strong hand pressed against the small of her back, his chiseled chest pressed against hers. She ran her fingers through her messy hair and pulled it to the side, feeling the beat of the music pound with each beat of her heart. Bodies pressed in tighter all around them. Kagome felt the part of her that was really her come out to play, to feel the vibe of the music and let her body go free.

"You're beautiful," Kouga's voice whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

His lips looked soft and very kissable, and Kagome knew her decision-making skills were indeed hindered by the alcohol that buzzed through her veins. And then his attention was caught by something else, his royal blue eyes pulling from hers to the outskirts of the dance floor. He said something to her, attempting to shout above the music, but his words were swallowed up by the electric beat that kept her entranced.

Kagome felt his hands slip from around her waist and he disappeared into the crowd. She didn't bother to follow, her hands playing with her hair, her hips moving to the music as she lost herself within it. This was what her heartbroken soul had fiercely needed; a night to forget all the troubles of the day.

Large, meaty hands found her waist, but they were unfamiliar and too warm to the touch. Kagome felt a warm flush find her cheeks as she gazed up to meet a stranger's hazy stare. He pulled her in close - too close - and even in her alcohol-ridden mind, she felt mild panic begin like sparks in her abdomen.

She tried to push him away, first gently and then forcefully, pretending to laugh at his behavior. "Thanks for the dance, but I need some fresh air."

"C'me on, baby," he slurred, pulling her tighter to his sweaty frame, his hot breath rolling over her skin. "We just met. Let's dance s'me more."

Kagome frowned. "I said no." Before she could stomp on his foot and fight her way out of the throng of dancers, the man was forcefully pulled away from her. They became separated by another man, one with very familiar silver hair who had his back to her. She didn't hear the words exchanged, but whatever was said was enough to send the man scampering off to the other side of the bar.

Inuyasha turned around, his piercing honey eyes studying her expression, before his hand gently wrapped around her waist. His grip on her wasn't strong like Kouga's, or possessive like the stranger. Inuyasha's hand was warm against the small of her back, and the anxiety she felt moments ago melted away.

"You okay?" he asked, swaying his hips in tune with hers as they continued to dance to the beat of the music.

She grinned up at him. "Were you worried about me, jerk?"

"Keh," he grumbled, his lips pulling into a smirk. "I despise you more than any other human I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. You're loud and wild and apparently have no sense of self-preservation. You also act like you have the mental capacity of a five year old."

"Are you flirting with me?" she barbed in return.

"Maybe."

His hand found the back of her neck, his fingers finding purchase in her hair, his hips grinding against hers. Warmth pooled into the pit of her stomach, his breath caressing her skin, and she moved her lips to find his.

Kagome barely had a moment to react before he pressed his tongue to the seam of her lips and delved inside her mouth. It was a very sloppy kiss with the strong scent of beer being exchanged between their billowing breaths. Her arm reached up and tangled around his strong neck. She pulled away and arched up into his broad chest, letting a moan escape in the contact of body heat against her own, before she drew back into his lips.

She could nearly taste the slight bitterness of the beer as it rolled off her tongue and seeped down her throat with every push of his tongue against hers. The kiss coupled with the beer and whiskey humming through her system obliterated every thought. For the first time that day, her mind was locked into the present. Her usual concerns for her life were suspended, and she had no wish for the kiss to end.

But as the music changed, they pulled apart. Inuyasha's skin shimmered with sweat and his amber eyes flecked with gold held her gaze. The beat of the music consumed them under the crazy neon lights, and Kagome felt alive during a night that was still so young.

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