#and it will rip through every flaw like a snake | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

akampana · 2 years

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Can I request diarturia in 6 please 🥺🥺👉👈

6. “I just need to lie down.” Diarturia.

Hi! :D Thank you for the ask! Always glad to do some Diarturia!

Words: 10,031 (lmao, this went places)

I wanted to incorporate some fae shenanigans as well as explore Diarmuid's demigod side as the son of the god of the dead, so this is a little different take on the characters from what I usually do. Regardless, hope you enjoy!

AO3 link here because this thing is long.

Arturia stumbled through the trees in panic, thorns ripping through the thin linen of her dress like knives through paper. Everywhere she looked it was the same: jagged branches whipping her from every angle, roots latching on to her feet like venomous snakes, and worst of all, the noose-like vines that stole the air from her lungs at every opportunity.

The girl suddenly recoiled, yanked to the ground by the cursed greenery that wrapped around her throat. Her desperate fingers looped around the offensive twine, tearing at the woody growth and her own skin, but it only seemed to wrap around tighter the more she fought. Soon she was face-first on the grass. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as her lips turned as blue as the sky.

No!

She scrambled for something, anything to get her some air. Her fingers dug through the dirt, grabbing onto sticks, cutting her nails on pebbles and root. But, it seemed the Earth itself had decided to wage war on one, green-eyed, blonde, spawn of Uther. The sacrifice. The extra.

Her vision began to fill with black stars. Her lungs screamed for the air her mouth could not provide. She could do nothing as the creatures that hunted her came upon the clearing she’d fallen into, nothing but claw at her neck for one last, sweet breath.

As her consciousness began to fade, she wondered what she’d done to deserve such a fate. She’d lived her life according to her father’s wishes. She learned from her tutors. She kept silent and out of the limelight. She supported her brother the best way she could. Was that not enough?

If only she knew it was no fault of hers that she ended up here.

Merlin’s intercession to produce an appropriate heir had failed, birthing a tiny girl instead of what the king wished for. In Uther’s desperate attempt to save Britain, the ailing, anxious King of Camelot turned to the fae. He pleaded with them, promising this, and that, everything as long as his country would not meet its end at the prophesized red dragon’s claws.

The mischievous, conniving fae gave Uther a son to raise along with his shunned daughter, knowing even then who was the superior heir. They even mirrored the poor baby’s features, such that Igraine’s womb produced “twins”. Oh, how perfectly the fae copied the incubus’s creation, everything save for its little flaws, all so Uther could damn a different child to the same tragic fate.

Satisfied with his prize, the King tried to make payment. But the fae were not interested in being showered with riches. They needed no fruit of the field when the Otherworld was abundant in goods. No, what they wanted was Merlin’s lovely little experiment, and all the energy that philandering wizard fused into that tiny girl.

But not yet.

The fae would claim their payment when she was ripe for the picking, delicious, still young, of course, but not too aged that she’d taste more like mutton than lamb. Just grown enough such that her little dragon-like core would give the fae the kick they needed when they sank their teeth into her soft, supple skin.

After all, eighteen human years was not too long a wait.

“Are you not happy, my lady?”

Arturia turned around to meet the eyes of one much taller, much stronger, much more beautiful than her. She tried not to flinch too much, lest the nobles say her gown was disheveled or that she’d shifted her carefully done-up braids once again.

“Diarmuid, you...you gave me a fright.”

Arturia glanced behind her personal knight, off to the festival taking place in the main hall. The party was more Arthur’s than it was hers, because it was his coronation as prince occurring on the morrow. In a way, she was grateful for it, for at least once in her life there weren’t fifteen or so suitors asking for her hand. For better access to Camelot’s resources, of course. Arturia wasn’t stupid enough to believe they were honestly attracted to her.

None of them knew her, not really. What could they learn when all they heard from her were the manners beaten into her head by the tutors Uther hired to make her desirable to the male gaze? None of them knew her actual interests. None of them cared. Although, she did suppose feelings didn’t quite factor into marriages as much as Merlin tried to make her believe they did.

Arturia sighed, turning back to the night view of Camelot that had her so preoccupied and the forest that lay just outside the limits. One day, maybe even tomorrow, one of the men conversing with Arthur was going to take her away and she would go with him as her duty dictated. She’d make sure her husband’s kingdom remained Camelot’s ally, of course. Then bear her spouse an heir. That was her duty as one with the Pendragon blood, one she was ready to carry out.

“I do not believe you have answered me, princess,” Diarmuid chuckled, draping the finest of silks over her bare shoulders before the night air could chill her skin.

Arturia thumbed the soft fabric, bringing before her eyes the sheer, almost glowing cloth. The garment was an iridescent white, shining in colors not unlike the rainbow patterns on a beetle’s shell. Although it felt lighter than air,her shivers disappeared instantly, as if her knight had just embraced her from behind to share his heat.

The woman’s eyes lit up with wonder, seeing the skillful repeated pattern traveling all-throughout the hem. There were more than a few druidic symbols embroidered throughout, each sewn in a thread that harmonized with the cloth enough that from a distance it was just a simple shawl. She recognized all of them: knots, trees...symbols that were important to those who were born on Erin. Diarmuid had introduced them to her before.

“What is this?” she asked him, tone lifted as she faced the friend that stood beside her, looking out into the distance.

“A gift,” answered the gentle knight, surveying his surroundings before scooping up Arturia’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “Although today’s festivities have made the town believe otherwise, the actual day of your birth comes tomorrow, does it not?”

He remembered. Arturia kissed her teeth, a smile slowly breaking through her rather serious facade.

“Although it is quite early, I thought it best to deliver this simple celebratory offering before your handmaids spend hours dressing you for Arthur’s coronation in the morning,” he explained, gently pulling the lady he served closer to himself.

“I am happy now,” she answered him, emphasizing the final word such that he knew he was the cause. “This is far from just a simple gift, my knight. I do not know how to repay you, as it seems you’ve forgotten the most important fact about tomorrow.”

The corners of his amber eyes crinkled as he laughed. “I assure you, it has not escaped my notice, Lady Arturia.”

That was the other reason Diarmuid had pulled out all the stops for this gift. It was true that tomorrow, the twins would be of marriageable age, but tomorrow was also the anniversary of the moment they first met.

Lady Arturia was not aware this was his second life. After his death to the tusks of a boar and his former king’s neglect, his godly father had permitted him back to the world of the living to seek a better fate. A happier one, where he could live out the life of service he desired before returning to Tech Duinn. Donn sent his son off with his blessing, even teasing him to bring back a proper spouse.

It was not the kings of his homeland he could serve, however, for his face would surely be recognizable in the countenances of his descendants. Instead, the Irish knight came to Camelot, seeking out a lord who was kind and just: The Once and Future King, as so prophesied by his kind.

It was then he’d first met Lady Arturia, by a cabin in the woods. He’d come running, excited by the familiar clang of swords, only to find two of the same face sparring in the backyard. One was strong and tall, the other small but lithe. He could tell at a glance that the two had the same foundation, for their strikes and stances were similar, but clearly, each had adapted their swordplay to their strengths.

Diarmuid had never seen such an agile style as that of the tiny one—squire, perhaps? Or knight?—which was so clearly made to make up for her disadvantage in size. Neither had he seen a man wield his sword so impossibly gracefully.

So mesmerized was he with their exchange, that he only noticed the two swords at his throat when the shorter blonde had demanded his name. He knelt at once.

“My name is Diarmuid ua Duibhne, First Spear of...nay, I am but a simple knight, come to Camelot seeking a valiant king to serve. My deepest apologies for the interruption, fellow knights, I was merely...entranced,” he trailed off, locking gazes with the lady, who listened to him so intently.

“Ah, then you’ve quite found yourself in a favorable position,” hummed a third stranger, a white-haired man from the trees. Diarmuid smelt magic on the newcomer, the blood of one that was not quite human, just like himself. “Arthur here is the Prince of Camelot, and a knight much like yourself.”

Face flushed, the Irish knight bowed his head again, “My deepest apologies, I was not aware I was speaking to one of an even higher position. But my mission still stands. Prince Arthur, if you shall have me, I wish to serve your court, and milady...”

“Princess Arturia, my sister,” Arthur furnished for him, asking the knight to stand. “We’ll have my father decide what to do with you, Diarmuid ua Duibhne. I imagine he’d want to test your mettle—”

“Not before I do,” the Lady Arturia spoke, smiling down at him with the sun igniting her gem-like eyes.

Diarmuid still remembered every detail of that fight. She moved like a leaf dancing in the breeze, dodging between each and every blow from his swords with graceful ease. He was quicker than her, still, but the princess’s movements were clearly just as calculated as his were. It was her wit that drove her to make anticipated swings, catching him off guard every so often.

But she was not as seasoned a warrior as he was. Her arms were thin. Her hands were blistered, not callused. Although she fought like one who’d witnessed many battles, it was clear to him that she’d been a literal witness to those matches rather than a participant.

She wasn’t a knight. Not like her brother. But Diarmuid could honestly say her first dance with him was one of the most memorable.

Arthur endorsed Diarmuid to his father that very afternoon. Although Uther was impressed with his skill, that Diarmuid came from lands Camelot was once at war with stayed the king’s hand. Although the knight offered unwavering loyalty, he could not quite trust Diarmuid at the level he did the rest of the Round Table. Yet, it was quite a waste to refuse a man so talented with sword and spear.

That’s when Arturia entered the throne room. She was dressed not in the simple linen she’d been wearing in when he met her, but in a luxurious gown of deep red. Diarmuid had to stop his eyes from following the path she walked, fearing the king would find his admiration offensive. He’d found her beautiful when they exchanged blows, sweat dripping down her brow and a competitive smirk upon her lips, but it seemed even in such restrictive attire as this dress she looked divine.

Witnessing Diarmuid’s obvious attraction to that...thing Merlin made, Uther had his answer. There was one way to keep the man from the green isle in his service but also at a safe enough distance.

Diarmuid was knighted under Camelot and given to the child he scorned. She could do Camelot one more duty: groom and tame the Irishman till he was a loyal lapdog to the flag of Britain.

As the years passed, Uther saw her do just that, without his instruction.

The Irishman fought valiantly, leading Camelot into victory after victory before running back to his lady to claim her praise. Although all the knights came to respect Sir Diarmuid, he never asked for a seat at the Round Table, much to Uther’s relief. The fool was satisfied being the princess’s escort, following her through the various activities required of a soon-to-be queen and taking her riding in the afternoons.

His manipulation had been more effective than he realized. Diarmuid’s love for the daughter he detested would keep the knight in Camelot’s service. Perhaps even after the fae came to collect what they were owed.

But neither Arturia nor Diarmuid were privy to the king’s conniving thoughts. The knight had gotten what he wanted: a life of service, and one to a maiden he was most fond of. Meanwhile, Arturia finally found herself a loyal friend, who took her sparring when the palace thought she was merely riding into the forest, who gave her a break from her duties at the castle.

“It has been three years, has it not?” Arturia asked her knight, fondly squeezing his calloused hand. “And you’ve given me such a lovely gift. Please, ask anything of me, and I shall furnish it for you.”

The knight smiled, hoping the night would shroud the heat across his face in the darkness.

“Anything, my lady? That is quite the dangerous word.”

“Anything, Diarmuid.”

Steeling his resolve with a subtle gulp, Diarmuid whispered his request.

“A kiss,” he answered, reveling in the blush that spread throughout her cheeks. “One for every year I have served.”

Seconds of silence passed between them as their heartstrings intertwined.

Arturia’s hands cupped his face, her large green eyes glowing as she stared into his. He wondered if the princess could feel his heartbeat where she touched his skin; if she knew what such a quickened pulse implied.

“Are you certain that is all you desire?” his lady asked him, her voice so quiet it could be carried away by the breeze.

“I am,” he confirmed, knowing well he was playing with fire. He knew Arturia held love for him. Not quite the way he wanted, for that was forbidden by her duty, but that she’d come to care for him was irrefutable. There was a bond between them now, strong enough to last throughout their lifetimes. Maybe even universes.

“Then…” Arturia trailed off, slowly pulling him down to her height while she tiptoed to reach him.

Her soft lips pressed against his cheek, giving him a kiss so tender and lasting Diarmuid closed his eyes to properly remember the sensation. Then, she pulled him even closer, blessing his forehead with the same gift as gently as a mother would. She pulled back for a breath as his hands hovered over her waist, not quite touching her, but keeping her within his space nonetheless. He felt her lean in once again, her warm breath on his cheek, but she hesitated before she could make the contact.

Fear gripped his heart at the thought he’d asked too much of her, but before he could open his eyes, he felt her lips on his.

She tasted like honey, sweet and addicting as her soft mouth touched his. He felt his heart soar, felt his blush spread to his ears, but he couldn’t care less his love for her was on full display. He’d dreamt of this too many times before, a fantasy that couldn’t come to be, but one he desperately longed for anyway.

It was over too soon, for she shyly pulled away. For the first time in ages, they could not hold each other’s gaze, each too flustered by what had just transpired.

“Milady, I—”

“Princess.”

Both of them jumped at the familiar voice. It was Merlin, looking uncharacteristically grim as he approached Arturia with an open hand.

“Your father wishes to see you in the east hall,” the magus informed them.

Arturia didn’t take Merlin’s offer to escort her, excusing herself from the two men with one last meaningful look in Diarmuid’s direction. Her knight watched her until her dress disappeared beyond the large double doors, longing to be by her side even if she’d only just left his presence.

“You saw?” he asked Merlin, ready to throw himself into the fire and take the blame if ever Arturia’s actions were questioned.

“What’s this? Do you think me so loyal to Uther I’d report a simple kiss? Nay. I shan’t give my princess more trouble than she already has on her plate.”

The incubus’s latter statement seemed questionable, since the wizard had been responsible for most of the shenanigans that got both twins in trouble way back when, but he digressed.

“But I do have a question for you, Sir Diarmuid ua Duibhne,” the wizard drawled, tossing magelight between his hands absentmindedly. “Do you consider yourself loyal to Camelot?”

Flabbergasted, the knight blubbered out his response. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Merlin gave him a smile that seemed rather melancholy. “And if Camelot betrays her, would you still give the same response?”

“That’s a silly question. Betray milady? For what reason? You know as well as I do she’s played the part of a perfect princess all her life. I can’t think of any man in that courtyard who would hesitate to ask her to wed.”

Including...myself. He finished in his mind.

Merlin watched his expression silently, as if the magus could discern his true thoughts on the matter.

“You didn’t answer my question, First Spear of the Fianna. Aren’t I the wily trickster between us, hm? Why answer me with flowery words?”

A beat.

Diarmuid nearly choked on his spit as questions popped up in his mind. He’d never told anyone of his rather troubled past, not even Arturia, who he held closer than anyone. Had Merlin known about his true identity this whole time? Did the wizard guess this was his second life? How much did he understand about his past? Was he sure of it even when they first met all those years ago?

Purple irises stared straight through to his soul, doing nothing to calm the raging turmoil within. “Given your history, I believed you would feel more strongly for this. Perhaps...for once, I was wrong.”

A burst of pink and white flowers, and the wizard was gone, leaving Diarmuid to figure out what he meant all by himself.

Tomorrow was the big day. Finally, Uther could be rid of Merlin’s little mistake. Without his older daughter in the way, there wasn’t anyone else to his knowledge that could lay claim to the throne. Especially now that he knew that accursed girl wouldn’t be spawning any kids of her own. The Fae only seemed intent on consuming her, whatever the hell that meant.

Uther uncovered the small package the creatures left with him nearly two decades ago, revealing a small golden apple which hadn’t rotten for as long as he’d had it.

“Father, you called for me?” came Arturia’s voice through the door. She came in, looking surprisingly beautiful in her white dress.

“I know I have been distant from you, dear daughter,” the king said, approaching Merlin’s creation with a tacked-on smile. “But I thought it best to watch your growth from a distance. And my, have you grown.”

“I owe it all to you, father,” she answered mechanically, keeping her gaze down. Uther tried not to let his distaste for her show. He needed to execute this perfectly, after all.

“Your hands, child.”

Obediently, the princess held out two open palms, to which the king placed the golden fruit. Even in her hands, the shiny thing looked so small. No more than two or three bites, surely.

“Do not tell your brother of this, there is only the one,” her father said as the princess’s heart swelled. “He will receive his own gift tomorrow, not to worry.”

“Thank you, father.”

Arturia cupped the small fruit like it was the most precious of jewels. It was beautiful, a perfect replica of a normal apple save for its smaller size and metallic skin. She took it between her thumb and pointer finger, turning it in the light. Despite how it looked however, it felt soft and fresh, like it had just been plucked from a tree.

“Go on then,” Uther urged, a bead of sweat falling from his brow. “I hear it's quite delicious.”

Arturia did as she was told, sinking her teeth into the fruit as she covered her mouth with her free hand.

Her eyes went wide as the flavor danced inside her mouth. She’d never tasted such perfection. Sweet but not saccharine. Sour but not unpleasant. The apple was as crisp as it was juicy, its delectable syrup embracing her tongue like a tender lover. She’d never eaten anything like it. There couldn’t have been any food on earth quite as good, it almost seemed otherworldly—

Arturia snapped back to attention, suddenly remembering she’d scarfed down a whole apple in front of her father. She straightened her skirt, wiped her hands on her kerchief, berated herself for looking so crude. She tried not to meet her father’s eyes knowing he’d be disappointed, but…

For the first time in her life, Uther Pendragon was smiling at her, looking as relieved as an accused man cleared of guilt.

“F-father?” the woman stuttered, her eyebrows crossing in worry. She was so unused to him being this kind.

“Enjoy the rest of your celebration with your brother, girl,” Uther laughed, sending her off, “You never know when you can enjoy such a feast again.”

His laughs continued even after the doors to the east hall shut behind her, leaving Arturia to wonder what had lightened his mood so much.

The latter half of the evening saw Diarmuid watching Arturia from the other side of the hall, kicking Gawain’s shins under the table whenever the blonde knight was being too loud. The man was on his eleventh tankard of ale and counting, and boy, could he talk.

“If I were as handsome as you, Deeeeeer, I might have had some luck with the ladies around, hm? Why do you have to steal them all? Hmmm??? Couldn’t leave some for poor Gawain?” his friend slurred, swaying back and forth like some cursed gigantic pendulum.

“Sir Gawain, even if he had the face of a donkey, and the hair of a rat’s ass, and the body of a cow—” Tristan wisely cut himself off when he felt Diar’s glare, “You’d have the same luck, sadly.”

“Thank you!” Gawain loudly exclaimed, Tristan’s beration flying leagues over his head. He thumped the poor redhead on the back, and before long, the table before them was some cursed mix of ale and moist food.

At that, Diarmuid let a few chuckles loose. One would think someone as large and broad-shouldered as Gawain could hold his drink, and he could, just not as well as everyone else did.

“You have been quite silent,” voiced the knight that sat beside him. Sir Bedivere was on the quieter end of the spectrum, which Diarmuid did appreciate. “Did something happen?”

Bedivere tilted his head to the right as he spoke, almost like a confused puppy. Words bubbled to Diarmuid’s lips at once, for Bedi was a knight he quite trusted, but he hesitated on account of the subject matter.

Merlin’s cryptic words had haunted him all throughout the evening. He didn’t know what the old wizard meant by them, but now he couldn’t shake the feeling that the princess was in danger. Sadly, his feelings of protectiveness overshadowed the ridiculous amounts of joy he felt knowing the taste of her lips.

Diarmuid felt the heat rush to his ears.

Scratch that. Clearly his affection for her was a little stronger. A lot stronger.

“Nothing important,” he mumbled, realizing he’d been silent for too long. Luckily, it seemed Bedivere would not push the subject any longer. If only his next question wasn’t so damning.

“Do you suppose Lady Arturia’s future husband is amongst the crowd?”

Diarmuid’s honey gaze landed on his lady, who stood surrounded by four men from different kingdoms, yet seemed to be holding her ground. Of them were two brothers with midnight hair and red eyes, a rich king from a distant land across the sea, and another whom neither he nor the knights seemed to recognize. Diarmuid could immediately tell only one of them was truly interested in Arturia, for he was the only one whose gaze never traveled down from her face.

“Perhaps,” the Irishman mumbled, his voice lost in the chaos Tristan and Gawain had just gotten into. Apparently the latter had just said something to the effect of older women not being all that great. But he couldn’t care less about their debate. Because Arturia was starting to look pale.

Before Bedivere could ask what was going on, Diarmuid made a beeline for his lady, reaching her side quickly enough that he could take the goblet from her hands before she could drop it.

“Milady, I believe it may be time to excuse yourself. It has been quite the taxing day,” Diarmuid mumbled just loudly enough for the royals to hear. He gave them each a bow for courtesy, maintaining a calm facade so as not to alarm the other guests.

Arturia’s hands clamped onto his elbow. She was clearly humiliated at the situation, but knew Diarmuid had just given her an out. She would be a fool to deny it. Especially when the room was beginning to spin.

“I’m afraid my knight is quite correct,” she managed, her eyes beginning to defocus. Despite the vertigo slowly dragging her into unconsciousness, she managed to speak each and every man’s name before giving them a polite curtsy and allowing Diarmuid to escort her out of the party.

And as the double doors thudded closed, Arturia finally allowed her knees to buckle. Diarmuid was there to catch her, holding his most precious person before she could hit the floor.

“My lady?!” Diarmuid’s voice came in a panicked whisper. She wasn’t like this before they separated earlier tonight. Had something happened since her father called for her?

Tender fingers cupped her cheek, turning the small woman’s face to him. Her skin was cold and colorless, nearly the same hue as her gown. In the moonlight that filtered through the window she was almost ghostly.

“Should I call for Merlin?” Diarmuid asked softly, moving away the bangs that obstructed her face. Her eyes were jaded, barely able to meet his, but she shook her head.

“No. No, I just...I just need to lie down. If you would please...” she said between breaths, but she didn’t need to finish her sentence for her closest friend to understand.

Diarmuid looped his arms under her legs and back, lifting her with ease. He tried not to think about how natural it felt to hold her, to feel her lean her head to his chest, but it was getting difficult. He should just admit it to himself already.

Diarmuid loved her. He might have loved her since the day they met.

How horribly ironic. In his first life, he was forced to abandon the life of service he loved to run away with his king’s would-be queen. Now it was his love that he was forced to abandon, to continue the life of service he’d been resurrected for. At least this time, the woman involved was not betrothed, not yet. He had a little more time to pretend.

Besides, she kissed him. He could live on happily knowing that at one point in his new life, his feelings were returned. He’d be satisfied, right?

Right?

Arturia passed out before they even got to her quarters, trusting him with her safety even while asleep. As he touched his forehead to hers, Diarmuid realized his answer.

Of course not.

When she was beneath her covers, the man knelt next to her bed, caught between waiting at her bedside for her to wake or finding Merlin to report the incident. Arturia may not have endured the same physical training that he and the other knights regularly put themselves through, but he’s sparred with her enough in secret to know she was no weak woman.

He should go. Perhaps she’d taken something from the buffet that had made her feel sick. He ought to find the wizard so they could test the food and wine. He knew she didn’t see the need for a healer, but he should probably alert the palace alchemist just in case.

Halfway out the door, he stopped, his heart aching as he remembered the crowd of people Arturia had been entertaining just before the incident. One of the bluish-haired brothers, the quieter one. He was going to ask for Arturia’s hand, Diarmuid could feel it.

The knight turned around and dipped down to steal one last kiss on her forehead, thanking her for indulging him earlier that night. He brushed her hair from her face, smiled, then left the room.

As he walked back toward the main hall, however, something kept nagging on the back of his mind. Was she...wearing a different scent? She smelled sweet, but...too sweet, like the white apple blossoms in the land of the fae.

Diarmuid shook his head. Impossible. Fair folk were less common in this day and age, and the Pendragons were quite human, unlike himself. How could she have come across something like that?

Arturia opened her eyes to the dawn.

The...dawn?

The woman sat up like a flipped lever, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself. The dark walls of her bedroom were glaringly absent, and so were her sheets.

That...that couldn’t be right.

Grass tickled her bare feet as she scrambled to get her bearings, but there were no landmarks to tell her where she was. The rolling plains to the east were missing and so was the mountain to the north. The stars that remained in the heavens could not guide her way. There were too many glittering lights. More than she remembered the night sky ever having. As her lungs heaved, she tasted salt in the breeze, when there shouldn’t have been. Whipping her head to the east, she saw the sea in the distance, but she didn’t recognize the shore.

Wherever she was now, Camelot was far, far out of reach.

Arturia gulped down her fear as Merlin had taught her to do, calming herself to give room for rational thought. She should start from what she remembered. Retrace her steps. Yes.

Father had given her a gift, and then when she returned to the celebration, Arthur introduced her to some of his friends: her possible suitors. It couldn’t have been the wine, she refused to have some, but she remembered feeling lightheaded, then Diarmuid took her to her room—Diarmuid!

His name left her lips, but it was quickly drowned out by the sounds of rustling of leaves too thick to have been from the forests near Camelot.

“Diarmuid!”

That wasn’t her. Goosebumps peppered her skin as Arturia whipped her head around to face the echo. Then she came face to face with someone who looked familiar. Too familiar.

It was herself, copied right down to the smallest of details. Twenty-two freckles across her nose. A scar that ran from her palm to her wrist. One stubborn lock of hair sticking out from the rest. When Arturia breathed it did too, when she blinked it followed suit. It even made a mockery of her distress, mirroring her quivering lip as she stepped back.

“That is not your name, Arturia Pendragon,” the two figures spoke in unison, only one of them horrified. “Your father traded you off a long time ago.”

Arturia nearly screamed when her body moved on its own, reaching behind her back the same way her “reflection” did. She was a puppet to “her” strings, twisting awkwardly in manners no normal human would. But less damning was her sudden loss of control than what her “reflection” said in that too-nasal gravelly voice.

“What...do...you...mean?” Arturia managed to word, forcing her clone to do the same.

It didn’t seem to mind, and used her fingers to grasp the fruit of a nearby berry bush. She didn’t recognize the red berries her hand pressed to her lips. Arturia willed her mouth shut, warring with the invisible force that pried it open.

“Open up, poppet.”

Arturia blinked, suddenly finding herself surrounded by the most beautiful people she had ever seen. Their faces contained no flaw, no imperfection. Their hair was long, braided with flowers and the colorful leaves of the forest. In comparison, her “reflection” seemed so ugly as it pulled its jaw open with its free hand.

One of the handsome creatures stole the berries from her grasp, placed them within her mouth, and pulled her hair back till she swallowed.

Suddenly her limbs felt loose, and she was on the ground once again, staring up at fifteen perfectly symmetrical faces. So lovely they looked. Too lovely to be human.

Oh.

Arturia’s eyes widened as all the puzzle pieces fell into place. Her surroundings, the creature’s ability to control her once they had her name, the too-perfect bodies that circled her.

She was in the domain of the fae.

Arturia’s hand went to her lips, the delicious fruit’s flavor still clinging to her tongue. They’d forced her to eat their food. Which meant…

For her, there was no going back.

“I’d start running, Spawn of Uther.”

“Father, my sister is missing, we cannot hold the coronation today. All of Camelot knows you’ve selected me for the throne. What harm shall there be in a delay?!” Arthur’s muffled voice came through the door. Never had anyone heard the prince so agitated, and so his alarm put everyone on edge.

Especially the resurrected former First Knight of Fianna, who was trying not to tremble as he held his head in his hands. He’d just lost his charge. Right under his nose, she’d been taken from the castle, with the perpetrator leaving no footsteps, no sign of struggle. Arturia must have never woken. She would have put up a fight.

A loud slap echoed throughout the corridor, making even the sturdiest of knights flinch.

“You will be crown prince, Arthur! That is what the King declares and that is what you shall obey,” Uther’s voice came through the door.

The rows of knights averted their eyes, bearing no witness to the fresh cut on Arthur’s cheek. Outside the castle, the common folk carried on with their preparations, unaware their generous princess would not be around to enjoy the ceremony.

Later, the King would announce to her admirers that the princess was unwell, and the world would be none the wiser. Later, Uther would insist the celebration carry on into the night time. Later, he’d send all the guests home without his daughter bidding them farewell.

By the ‘morrow, the king was still giving the same excuses, the Crown Prince Arthur standing stifled by his side. There were more bruises on the young prince than there were the night prior. When Diarmuid locked eyes with the man that had introduced him to Camelot, they knew Uther hadn’t the intention to find her at all. He wouldn’t spare a single cent on her search, much less a knight.

Merlin’s query from the other night seemed all the more damning.

And if Camelot betrays her, would you still give the same response?

Arthur held Diarmuid’s gaze and made a subtle nod, like he knew of the choice the Irishman was going to make. In fact, the prince even looked proud.

Every piece of armor, every cape, every medal he was lauded, Diarmuid dropped onto the Round Table like rubbish. He’d come to Camelot seeking an honorable king to serve, but alas, it seemed he came too early.

It hurt his heart to abandon his wish a second time, even if this instance, it was his choice. However, he couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving the princess lost, either.

What a terrible twist of fate.

Diarmuid spun on his heel, his face so contorted in disgust that even the maidens whose hearts he’d swayed looked on him with fear. Perhaps he was cursed to serve horrible people, those that knew nothing of love and loyalty.

Just as the double doors of the hall closed behind him, the king uttered words Diarmuid was not meant to hear. But the former Fenian knight had been a hunter his whole life, and such whispers would not escape his notice.

“Fool. Do you love that failure of a creature so dearly, you’d take it back from the fae?”

The knight’s heart sank into the abyss faster than a rock dropped into the sea.

The events of the other evening finally made sense. Uther had given her fruit from the Otherworld when he summoned her to the East Hall, that was why her breath smelled far too sweet when he’d taken her to bed. He now understood Arturia’s sudden sickness while at the party. Humans couldn’t stomach such magical food when given it for the first time.

Fae food had another quality. When eaten in the human realm, it made the consumer a target, far easier for the fair folk to whisk away into faerie lands, especially during dusk or dawn. That is how she’d been taken without leaving a trace. But when eaten in the Otherworld…

“Father,” Diarmuid called, marching down the halls of the castle. Black smoke rose wherever the man’s feet touched, leaving the floor singed in his path. Soon Diarmuid’s simple green garbs were replaced by expensive silk, his roughly pulled back hair graced with a circlet of gold. Servants and knights alike parted like the sea, fearful of the gentle Irish knight. For the first time his welcoming honey eyes looked like those of a wolf’s, alight with the rage of a hunter.

Camelot’s walls dissolved before Diarmuid’s eyes, stone blocks contorting into green grass and large trees. Soon his steps no longer echoed along castle halls, but burned through thick vegetation. The demigod spared one look at the sky to find it dotted with too many stars and knew he’d crossed to the domain of everlasting youth and abundance. His father had eased his passage.

Meanwhile, Merlin smiled as Arthur delivered the news of Diarmuid’s magical disappearance.

Arturia was fading fast.

She could no longer feel her bloodied fingers, nor the scratches all over her feet. She’d run so far to no avail, there was no escaping the land of the Fae. Still, the princess could not accept going to her death without a fight. If she were to lose her life, a warrior’s death seemed more honorable than the alternative.

Still, her death meant she could no longer follow the path her father set her down. She wouldn’t be queen, wouldn’t be the catalyst for a lasting alliance, wouldn’t bear a son for whatever prince or king Uther would assign. Arthur’s future reign would be robbed of a loyal ally. She regretted that much.

Then there was Diarmuid. Her one true friend, who knew her better than anyone, even Arthur. The last three years of her life were the brightest, for he filled them with happiness. He indulged her love for swordfighting, risking punishment to take her out to spar. Although he stayed by her side, he never made her feel like she was made of glass like her tutors tended to do.

They were duty-bound, they knew that, but they grew close anyway. Arturia was sure she loved Diarmuid the way that he loved her. She didn’t know when or how, but...she did. Perhaps that’s why it was so easy to steal one final kiss before her duty took her away.

The tears that brimmed beneath her eyelids finally fell.

If on her deathbed, she could be selfish, she wished for the chance to tell him how she felt.

Alas, it seemed her breath had finally run out.

Arturia's eyes snapped open as fresh air entered her lungs. A warm hand pulled her up out of her grassy grave and into a familiar embrace, holding her as she hacked and coughed. A quick grasp for the necklace of vines at her collarbones revealed nothing but crumbling ash, like the offensive plant had spontaneously combusted.

"Forgive my tardiness, my lady."

Dazed eyes crawled up to the face of her savior, his name on her lips, but found a sight known and unknown to her at the same time. It was her knight’s face, undoubtedly, with the same droopy eyes and handsome features, yet there were parts of him that had been replaced. His orange irises now glowed like embers against the coal of his sclera, a quality decidedly inhuman.

“D..iar?” she croaked, reaching up to touch his ear, now knife-shaped at the end when it wasn’t before. He responded to her at once, resting his face in her palm to quell her fears. She must have been so confused to see him in this form. He’d never worn it in Camelot, after all.

With the little strength she had left, she returned his embrace, tucking herself into the crook of his neck without a second thought. She had so many questions, beginning with why he left a trail of death in his footsteps from whence he came, but all that could wait. Her knight was here.

“You have suffered in my absence, and for that I apologize,” the man said, regretfully seeing the red stain of a berry at her lip.

He was too late. Arturia belonged to the Otherworld now. Likely, the ones that had taken her forced the fruit down her throat to eliminate any chance of escape. Oh, and of course, to further weaken the human who wasn’t yet used to consuming magic-riddled food. If he had to guess, the mischievous fair folk were hunting their latest catch for sport. That would explain how she was still alive.

“Do you know why they took you, milady?” he asked, his watchful eyes scanning his surroundings for the ones that pursued her. They can’t have been far behind.

Arturia shook her head, leaning on his chest. “All they told me...is that my father...traded me to them. By the way they spoke...it seems it has been a long time since then. They...know my name.” she said in between heavy breaths.

Luckily, they wouldn’t have to live in mystery much longer. The fair folk had finally decided to show themselves.

“That belongs to us, Son of Donn.” fifteen salivating mouths spoke in unison. The roots around them creaked as the trees behind them sprouted legs and walked. No wonder Arturia looked like she’d been pushed through several thorny bushes. The forest sided with its inhabitants.

That complicated things quite a bit. Even Diarmuid would rather not challenge an army of trees and fae. There was only so much he could do with Donn’s blessing. He’d rather not leave this entire area dead.

“On what grounds?” queried the demigod.

At his words, the small circle of death that surrounded the pair spread its reach, slowly sapping the life from every plant and animal within it. Even the more arrogant of the Fae knew better than to step within the territory of the god of death’s son, snarling and hissing as they backed away.

“King Uther’s payment for furnishing his barren wife a boy.”

Diarmuid’s hold on Arturia’s body only tightened. Payment? Was that damned king so heartless he saw such little value in his own child that he used her to purchase another? Around them, the grass began to decay, as if the knight’s growing anger scared the life out of the greenery.

The man cursed under his breath. Fair folk were unable to lie. The fae hadn’t been malicious in their capture of Arturia at all. They were simply taking what they were owed, no matter how twisted it felt to be dealing in human lives. Then again, fae didn’t quite view humans as equals. In their eyes, man could range from being lovers, to pets, to food. It seemed the latter was what they saw in his princess.

Unlike Diarmuid, whose rage simmered on behalf of his charge, Arturia’s diminished in favor of curiosity. Because if her mother truly was barren, how could she have birthed two? And if Arthur was the doing of the fae, then...who made her?

In a blink, Diarmuid was armed with his red sword and spear, a shrouded Beagalltach dropping on Arturia’s lap for her to use. Truthfully, he’d rather not fight, even if the woman who guarded his back eased his worries a bit. The fair folk were far more wily than common humans, and Arturia, who’d only been sparring against Arthur, Merlin, and himself, would be at a severe disadvantage. Especially when the Fae didn’t always play fair.

The best way out of this was to make Arturia undesirable in their eyes, but how? She had been owed to them since she was a baby. What could possibly ruin her for them—oh.

“Then I’m afraid you’ve been double-crossed, fair folk,” Diarmuid declared confidently. He locked eyes with Arturia meaningfully, giving her a slight nod so she’d play along.

“Double-crossed?” questioned the angered fae folk. Clearly his ruse was already working. “Explain yourself, demigod.”

“Uther has gifted her to me first,” he smirked. Technically, he’d spoken nothing false. Arturia was made his charge the same day he was knighted under Camelot. What was that if not a gift?

Luckily, his princess’s look of surprise was ignored in the Fae’s rage at being scorned. Especially by someone who they’d done such a huge favor.

“You lie!” screamed the beautiful creatures, all of them rushing forward to claim their prize. That couldn’t be true. They waited so long for her to ripen, expending so much energy to make Uther’s wish come true.

“I do not,” the demigod said calmly, pulling Arturia to himself like he’d always wished to do. She must have been so uncomfortable wrapped in a situation she could not control. He hoped she didn’t mind his actions too much. “She wears my token.”

That was the first time the fae took notice of the cloth that the tiny blonde so viciously hung on to throughout the chase. It was clearly woven in the Otherworld, perhaps blessed even by Donn. The craftsmanship was far too intricate in detail to have been made by human hands.

But the fae would not be denied so easily. “Our dealings predate yours, demigod. Surrender us what we are owed—”

“Even if this woman is secondhand?” Diarmuid drove in his point, flabbergasting all the terrifyingly beautiful faces that hovered just beyond the circle of death at his feet.

“I am afraid that I have already been allowed a taste,” he said smugly.

Arturia’s reaction was perfect. With a small gasp and her fingers tenderly touching her lips, the fae had all the proof they needed.

Uther had played them all for fools, thinking they’d accept leftovers when he promised them a feast. Some of their eyes still stared at Arturia’s thin arms, but no longer with desire. Rather, they were beginning to see that the King hadn’t prepared her for them at all. She was short. Clearly starved rather than fattened for their consumption.

They should have known she had already been claimed. The scent of the death god was on her skin the night they took her.

Slowly, the fae began to disappear. One by one, they left, a look of vengeance on their faces. If the Otherworld ever received news that King Uther was dead, he wouldn’t be surprised at all.

“Will they seize Camelot?” Arturia asked as she followed Diarmuid down a trail of death. Although he left tracks of lifeless plants wherever he stepped, after some time, new ones would grow in their place. He’d changed nothing about the cycle of life, only accelerated it. A blessing from his Father, he explained, which did not follow him into the Human Realm.

It would be long before the princess became accustomed to the fact that Diarmuid was royalty as well. The son of Erin’s God of Death, Donn. She couldn’t believe she had someone so renowned in her service for the last three years. Especially if that someone was actually living a second life when he had done so. Suddenly, Diarmuid’s incredible prowess in battle made sense. He’d already lived a life of war once before.

The raven-haired warrior was patient with her, answering her every query as he led her to a small healing pool to recuperate.

“No,” the man said, leading his princess into the shallow water. “The Fae only quarrel with your father. You needn’t worry for the kingdom.”

Her knight—was he still her knight?—sat behind her, undoing the messy braids in her blonde hair as the water washed away her wounds. Being this intimate in public might have been improper in Camelot, but they were no longer bound by the laws and practices of the white castle. Human customs meant nothing in the realm of the fae.

In fact, most everything she knew meant nothing in this realm. She felt like a fish out of water, nay, perhaps even a fish in the desert in this magical land of plenty. There were no kingdoms here, not really. No wars to end with marriage, no diplomatic ties to establish. Here, her title was little more than a luxury price tag. An excuse for her captors to sell off her meat as premium.

Arturia shivered in the cold, goosebumps crawling up her figure.

“I feel I should have accepted death if it meant sparing my father’s life—”

“—Don’t,” the knight stopped, moving his hands from her loose hair to her shoulders. “In all this, you are innocent. It is your father’s own fault he transacted with the Fair Folk. Especially so...if he already had you.”

Arturia turned around so that they faced each other in the water. Her emerald eyes shined brighter than the pool they were in, curiosity and dread rippling within their depths.

“If Queen Igraine truly was barren, do you not suppose your father would first turn to his own court mage for help?” the knight voiced his suspicions.

Neither of them could confirm the answer, but deep down they knew the truth. Arturia was Merlin’s creation, just as Arthur was the Fae’s. No wonder they’d chosen her for their payment. Hers was a unique existence, fashioned in the hands of a demon.

“Have I endangered my brother, then?” she mumbled. “What if they claim his life instead of mine?”

“They are proud creatures. To have someone borne of their interference seated in the highest seat of the kingdom will have them thrilled. The fae will not remove him,” he replied.

A quick glance above her white dress’s neckline revealed the healing waters had taken care of the bruises on her neck. A few moments more and he’d set a fire somewhere close so they could dry off. Then he could take her...where, exactly? To his father? Maybe?

Donn would take her in. Of course he would. His father’s domain never ran out of space. Perhaps he could even take Arturia to Aengus, if she desired a fancier lifestyle more attuned with the arts.

However, it wasn’t Camelot. This was not the world she was raised in. The people within it were different. He had no doubts that she would adjust, but the fact remained that Arturia was a foreigner here.

A long sigh escaped Diarmuid’s lips. He was never a stranger to the Otherworld, but Arturia was. His princess sat here, forever stolen from the life that she knew, and yet she hadn’t spared a single question for her own fate.

“As long as you are human, my liege, you cannot return to Camelot. The fruit of this land anchors you to this realm in more ways than one. Even if your passage were somehow permitted, only starvation awaits you on the other side, for no food of man shall ever taste like what you consume here. Your body will reject anything else,” the demigod elaborated, loathing every word that left his lips.

His heart begged him to hold her, for comfort was the only other thing he could offer for her plight, yet he hesitated. Arturia may have known him for three years, but he’d concealed from her his form, his past, his lineage. If he weren’t the only familiar thing to her within the Otherworld, he wondered if she’d still trust him.

Arturia hugged her knees to her chest. Whether it was to combat the chill of the water or give herself some sense of security, he didn’t know.

“If I cannot fulfill my duties to Camelot, Diarmuid, then what purpose is there to me existing?”

Her words pulled him forward til he rested a hand on her head. Arturia unraveled herself like a blooming rose at his touch, her expression still solemn, but less worried.

“I suppose finding that purpose, becomes the purpose. We’d be in the same boat, Arturia,” he said, giving her a slight smile. She still looked dubious. Of course she did. Arturia knew no other life than the one she spent following tradition and her father’s orders. He, however, was different.

“The reason I came to Camelot at all was to live a life of service as a knight. I thought it might grant me some fulfilment. However, the moment I realized the very order—the king—I served had forsaken you,” he paused for a moment, bringing his hand lower to cup her cheek, “...It was all too easy to rescind my loyalty.”

The irony of it all was killing him. In his last life, he would have done anything his king demanded. He was only forced to leave due to extraneous circumstances, and as soon as his king declared forgiveness he was all too ready to retake his position at Fionn’s side. This time, he’d left Camelot peacefully and by his own choice, but he’d left nonetheless. It turns out that losing your life because of your lord’s jealousy changed a person. This time, he was finical in choosing who to serve, and Uther certainly did not fit his criteria.

“I do not know anything else but the knight’s path, just as you know only your path as a princess,” he continued as she leaned into his touch. “But I am beginning to think my happiness is not strictly confined to that life. If I may be so bold, milady, I believe you may be the same.”

Looking back, he indeed was happy as a knight of Camelot, but most of his joy came from serving her. There was nothing more thrilling than bringing victory to her doorstep, or wearing her token during tournaments, or riding with her into the forest whenever they could. In the beginning, he did strive to join the Table, but that wish quickly diminished when he realized the added duty would shorten the time he was able to teach her to wield swords and spears.

Diarmuid wouldn’t claim she was his new purpose. But he was sure that whatever awaited him, he wanted Arturia there.

This time, he really did pull her into an embrace. Although the water was cold, Diarmuid felt warmth where their skin touched. It helped remind him that although he’d been too late to take her back, he wasn’t too late to save her life. She was still here. He just had to convince her to stay.

“I offer you my company, Arturia. You will never be alone if...if you wish to continue your journey here.”

The blonde woman closed her eyes, contemplating his proposal. This fate was not the one she was born for. Nay, in a way it was, since her father had sold her off the same day she was born. She’d only been tricked into believing she’d be a political tool for forging alliances. In not succumbing to the Fair Folk, however, she’d basically rejected that fate. Who knew now what her life was meant for?

Diarmuid started a fire as she pulled his gift tighter around herself. She hadn’t let it go from the minute he gave it, only momentarily giving up its warmth to bathe in the healing waters. He was being so kind to her, so patient. He no longer owed her his service, considering Camelot’s rules no longer bound them, but he remained with her.

So much had changed in such a short time. But even if her knight looked different, his soul stayed the same. He was her one constant, a beacon of light in the world of unknowns she was thrust into. There was much she had to learn about Diarmuid’s past, but he didn’t feel like a stranger at all.

Finding purpose, he’d said. Arturia didn’t even know where to begin. What was she if not the princess her tutors had groomed since birth? What was she if not her Father’s sacrifice to the Fae? She scoured her mind for any wish, any want she may have had beyond her duty, looking for something, anything that might give her some direction.

As her eyes followed her knight, she remembered her last thought before she believed the vines at her neck would take her life.

She wished she could tell him how she felt.

But that wasn’t all, was it?

What she wished for was no end to the time she spent with Diarmuid, for in those moments, she felt most herself. Perhaps she had been wanting that for a long time. She may have been ready to be married off for the sake of peacekeeping, but their kiss was a result of a selfish, pent-up desire to stay with him instead of fulfilling that duty. A final goodbye that conveyed her feelings before she had to go.

It was mere coincidence that the same kiss was what landed them in their current position.

Arturia reached for the hand of the man beside her closing her small fingers over his.

“I do not know who I am yet,” she admitted, her grip tightening such that he wouldn’t leave. But the gods knew Diarmuid never had the intention to do so. He needed her the same way she needed him.

“Neither do I know myself,” he answered, stroking her fingers with his thumb.

Arturia bit her lip, still wary of the future. This was quite literally the first time in her life when she didn’t know what would come next. There was no schedule to maintain, no grand plan to follow, nothing.

“All I am sure of,” she continued, gently tilting his chin so they gazes locked. “is that I need you with me. Is...Is that alright?”

Diarmuid pulled her closer with their interlocked hands, shielding her from the wind with his body. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, more than relieved that was her answer.

“More than alright, Arturia.”

The pair faced the bountiful world beyond the fire at their feet, wondering what it had in store. It would be a long journey for each of them—finding oneself was quite the task after all—but they had each other. That was more than enough.

_____

Thank you for the ask! :)

I've been playing with this concept in my head for a while. An AU where Arturia isn't the King of Knights, but set in her time (not in a Modern AU) and incorporating beings like the more mischievous kind of Fae. Also you know, since Donn is the god of the dead, hc that Diarmuid's Hope you enjoyed!

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awanderingdeal · 3 years

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Hello there, Lucy! I really enjoyed the injury aspect of the O'darwin fic, I thought it felt very maturely handled to me. I was wondering if you'd perhaps write a continuation based on the last sentence where he stays busy healing in Gryffindor by spending time with Finn? I respect that you don't take hurt/comfort prompts so I'm very sorry if this is too much angst for you but I was hoping we could see Finn helping his brother through his recovery, please. Thank you!

Hi! Sorry this took so long to do 🙈 This isn't 100% what you asked for, but I hope it is satisfying!

You can read the prequel to this fic here which will provide context.

CW: healing from an injury

Rating: T

Let me know if you think I missed any content warnings or need to change the rating.

All characters and the sweater weather universe belong to @lumosinlove

Alex watched mournfully as the bright yellow ball soared past him again, the muscles in his thighs twitching with desire to chase it. Not even a year ago, he'd have met Natalie's serve easily. “Alright, that’s me out," he sighed, pride swelling in his chest. It was still difficult to temper his competitiveness like, but he’d learned his lesson the last time he’d over - done it. Besides, the berating he’d received off his physio hadn’t been worth the slight smoothing of the dent of his ego.

"You good?" Finn spun the racket in his hands, hair plastered with sweat against his forehead. By this point Alex had gotten used to his brother's boring stare searching for any hidden ribbons of pain in his face.

"You know the doc said I’m good to play again as long as I listen to my body. I’m listening. Do you want me to bring you a signed permission slip?” Alex bit back a comment about how Finn was only so concerned, because overstepping his limits was well within his own remit of personality flaws too.

“Sorry for caring, dickface.” Finn stuck his tongue out and picked up a slow jog across the court to grab the ball. He tapped the edge of his racket appeasingly against Alex’s shoulder as he passed. “Blizz, Nat. You two play. Winner stays on?”

“Sir,” Kasey drawled, knocking the tips of his fingers on his temple in a lazy salute.

Alex met Natalie's eyes across the net just briefly before their mouths split with a loud laughter. Next to her, Kasey blinked slowly at the two of them, his expression clearly indicating he thought they’d lost their minds. It only served to make them laugh harder until air forced itself out of Alex’s nose in a snort. He clutched his side, the muscles there beginning to complain about the lack of oxygen they were receiving. “Did Finn just possess you?” Alex finally managed to gasp out.

“You become more of an amalgamation of your team each day, Sugar,” Natalie said, a smile still settled on her lips as she pressed them to Kasey’s cheek. “Now go -" she pushed him away playfully, "- onto the other side. I have a game to win.”

“I’m influential," Finn grinned.

“You’re something, but influential isn’t the word I would choose." Kasey raised an eyebrow. The ball was thrown in his direction at speed, but he plucked it from the air with ease, Kasey's expression smug as he curled long fingers around it. "Do you want another attempt at that, Harzy."

"Just watch your back, Winter," Finn laughed lightly, showing Kasey his middle finger.

Kasey snorted. "Well, alright. While Finn perfects his supervillain act, Nat, are you good to play first to ten points?"

"Sure thing," Natalie nodded, her ponytail bobbing. She snaked her tongue over her lips to wet them and smirked. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you, babe."

"No you won't," Kasey deadpanned.

"You're right, I won't, Natalie laughed. Alex loved that laugh; it was almost childlike, loud and unapologetic but warm and inviting, just like the rest of her personality. It made Alex want to laugh when he heard it.

"I get ripped into when I look at my boys like that," Finn said, nudging Alex’s shoulder as they sat on the bench, metal warm against the back of their legs under the unseasonably warm early afternoon sun.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re falling in love all over again.” Finn had flung his towel over his shoulder, head tipped back slightly, gulping water from the bottle pressed to his lips. He looked far too nonchalant for the sentence that had just left them.

“You really should have been a brooding artist," Alex teased. Brooklyn would welcome you with open arms." Finn wasn’t wrong though. Alex seemed to find a new way to fall for Natalie and Kasey every day.

“And deny the world the joy that is Finn O’Hara on the ice? I think not.”

“So modest.” Alex nudged Finn this time, taking the opportunity to swipe Finn’s water bottle from his hands. He had his own, but he’d dumped his backpack on the other side of the court. Finn made a weak protest, huffing as he hauled his bag onto his lap, grumbling something unintelligible whilst he dug through it. After a lifetime of living with Finn, Alex had learned not to try to decipher the conversations his brother had with himself, instead drumming a beat against the bench until eventually Finn pulled out a silver pouch, grinning triumphantly. It looked like the sort of thing you would take on a long hike. Alex peered closer at it. “Is that tuna? Just plain tuna.”

“I’m gonna put hot sauce in it,” Finn said, setting the pouch carefully to the side. He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his bag, seeking out a fork and the aforementioned hot sauce. Alex watched in horrified silence as Finn tore the top of the pouch open to release a waft of fish and dumped an obscene amount of the sauce in there.

“I -” Alex had so many questions he wanted to ask, except he knew asking them would probably only result in having more questions. “That is so gross.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Finn shovelled a forkful into his mouth, smacking his lips together noisy. “More for me.”

Alex was too distracted to respond. Kasey had just won his first point; Natalie having taken the first, and he took the lull in play as an opportunity to remove the thin headband keeping his hair out of his face. He shook out the brunette strands, neck exposed as he stretched to comb his fingers through it.

"Didn't he do a shampoo commercial like this once?"

Alex hummed, glancing briefly at Finn before setting his eyes firmly back on the view in front of him. "A while back...think I'd just left for Florida. I watched that thing more times than I care to admit."

He didn't have to look to feel the eyeball directed at him. Alex expected some teasing quip, but Finn's voice came at him concerned. "How are you-”

“My knee is fine, Finn," Alex sighed, a little irritated. He just wanted to enjoy watching Natalie and Kasey play. "Stop fussing, will you? I'm still the big brother here.”

“You know you can be a real bitch sometimes. I was going to ask how you were feeling about everything." Finn leaned forward, hand outstretched and precariously close to Alex's eye. He laughed as Alex leaned back to avoid the digits.

"Do not put your tuna fingers near my face.”

"Stop changing the subject," Finn admonished. "Where's your head at? You said last week you were struggling to find stuff to fill your time?"

Alex scratched at the stubble sprouting along his jawline. "God, when did you get so mature? You were knee high last time I checked."

"Alright, old man. 30's really hitting you hard, huh?" Finn dug his fork back into the foil pouch, pouting when it came out empty. "I've got water balloons in my backpack if that makes you feel better. Not full of water, of course."

"Of course," Alex laughed. "Why do you have water balloons in your bag?"

"Harry is coming over tomorrow afternoon and since the weather is a little nicer now -" Finn paused, halfway through crumpling the pouch into a tight ball. "-Hey, I see what you did there. Stop trying to distract me." He finished compressing the ball, cocking his head slightly to look at Alex properly. "You really don't want to talk about it?"

Alex breathed out heavily, slouching back against the bench. "Not today, Finn. Today I just want to enjoy," he gestured vaguely at the court. "But, I promise we'll go for breakfast sometime next week and we can talk."

"I just don't want," Finn started, the opening and closing of his mouth resembling his nickname. "No, you're right. You're a big boy. If you say you're okay then I'm going to believe you. Just...I'm here if you need me, alright?"

Alex sat up pulling Finn into a hug, his brother's arms wrapping tight around him. "I know. I know. I really am doing better, sometimes I just don't want to have the conversation, y'know? Love you, kiddo."

"Don't call me that," Finn grumbled, squeezing Alex tighter one last time before he pulled away. "Love you too."

#finn o'hara #alex o'hara #natalie darcy #kasey winter #rating: t #cw: injury #lumosinlove #sweaterweather

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thewheezingwyvern · 3 years

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For Arcane April, maybe Shinso w/let’s say number 12? I’ve really been loving any Siren!Shinso stuff I can find. Thank you for your writing! It’s a pleasure to read 💕

This took longer than I thought but then again this ended up longer than I thought. I wanted to try and take like an urban fantasy spin on this but go a bit...grittier? idk. This was just where my brain took me so I hope you like it! <3

Gossamer Web

Siren!Shinsou x Thief!Reader (a bit of sexual tension)

Warnings: Brainwashing, Dubcon (kissing) and blackmail

It was just another party, a gathering for some fundraiser or another that he honestly couldn’t even remember anymore. When you held a position like Hitoshi, seated among the rich and influential, a certain degree of public relations was necessary. And doing events for charity in the eyes of the public was just another part of maintaining his image. While Shinsou couldn’t remember what party he was even throwing anymore, his assistant would inform him later, he did like to think he knew the face of every important figure in the city. And plenty abroad too.

So his surprise was quite palpable when he saw you.

His lifestyle constantly had him around pretty people, coiffed and waxed to perfection, top of the line brands to smooth over any flaws that could possibly be present. Pretty faces to hide pretty fangs and pretty paint to coat their pretty claws before sinking them into someone. However, yours was a very different sort of attractive. Naturally at an event like this your makeup was applied and done so artfully, but it was in such a way that it enhanced what you had rather than attempted to bury whatever perceived flaw could be seen.

Most women attended these events hoping to look like the most beautiful one in the room, while the men sought to look the most powerful. But you moved and spoke and looked with a different purpose. You were searching for something. Indigo eyes slipped down to eye the gossamer threads of your dress, a stunning thing of spun shadow that fit your body like a glove. But it was only more exquisite whenever you moved, showcasing the elaborate enchantment that was woven into the very threads. Stars would wink and burst from your body, along with tufts of purple black clouds. But strung on a simple silver chain was the bespelled glow of a crescent moon.

HItoshi found himself breaking away from whatever boring conversation he was caught in to approach you, eyes glinting with interest. You were even more stunning up close, showing that you held a natural glow all on your own. With every step closer, the wink of starlight woven into your hair like constellations would catch his eye, beckoning him further to you. Whatever witch had magicked your clothes and hair was very talented and knew what they were doing.

“You look a bit lost.” he said to you after drawing very close to your back, close enough that it pulled a startled squeak past your lips, “Can I help you find something?”

Hitoshi deliberately laid the smooth demeanor on thick, a crooked smirk quirking on his lips. If he wasn’t so good at reading expressions, he might have missed the string of emotions that flitted across your face and in your eyes but he caught them. First surprise followed closely by recognition which melted to a look of worry or fear. And then it was gone beneath the smouldering curve of a coy smile.

“Hmmm and what if I just found it?”

A line he’d heard before but there was something lacking behind the delivery. Shinsou couldn’t quite put his finger on it but there wasn’t enough spice between the lines that gave the tell tale sign of someone looking for a quick fuck. Curious. A charming smirk wormed its way onto his lips, hiding the way his mouth had already began watering at the prospect of finding out more of what you were looking for. Anyone who came here with a purpose usually intended to use something against him.

“Well I guess that depends,” Hitoshi purred lowly to you, “what was it you were planning to do after you found me?”

This would have been the perfect opportunity for you to make another pass at him. To hint at how you wanted to be pressed against him in the throes of passion or whatever other way that it could be worded. But you completely skipped over that chance. One of your hands drifted up to toy with the luminous crescent moon that hung around your neck, deep and thoughtful eyes assessing him carefully.

“I guess I just wanted to see the man behind the name in person.”

A predatory glint sparked in his eyes, indigos boring into you as he drew impossibly close. Even through the well made fabric of his Armani suit, Hitoshi could feel the warmth of your body. He tilted his dark lavender head, drinking in the sight of you and how you seemed to fidget with him drawing nearer. The CEO decided he was going to make use of a power that he had at his disposal that very few people knew about.

He tipped your head up to look into his face before purring out, “Tell me your name.”

The magic woven into his very vocal cords twisted around you, bewitching you, until a glaze had fallen over your eyes, pupils swelling beneath the grip of his enthrallment. It was almost unfair how easily he could twist people to his whim with the power of his voice, have them spill their deepest secrets and desires to him. So to hear your mouth and tongue curl delightfully around your real name, it sent a surge of satisfaction.

“A beautiful name, Kitten.” a thumb traced along the curve of your jaw, “What were you really looking for tonight?”

“You keep the Wayfarer’s Orb here, third floor behind a wall of several enchantments and and a summon from the Infernal district,” you recited to him almost dreamily, “I’m going to steal it.”

Hitoshi tilted his head, dark smirk on his lips, “And what else? I know you didn’t risk pissing me off just for that.” he pressed a taunting kiss to your temple before leaning back, “Tell me the story while you walk with me, I want to hear all about it.”

He pulled your body close to his, your side pressed up against his as he led you away with an arm wrapped around your waist possessively. To anyone else, it would just appear as if he had found a new play thing that he was taking off to have some fun with. And in a way that was true. Indigo eyes swept over your delightful body and he couldn’t help but think how satisfying and how it would be to see you a broken little mess under him. A wet tongue snaked out to lick at his lips, arousal spiking in him. You’d look so pretty arching your back, column of your tender throat bared for him to bite as he speared inside of you.

“The orb was just a bonus and a way to cover my true intentions. I’ve already begun uploading valuable intel from your security databases and placed trackers so I can find more information about you and sell it.”

“What a clever little thing…” Hitoshi hummed down at you, fingertip tracing small circles on your hip, “And I’ve no shortage of enemies so you could charge whatever you wanted and they would pay it.” He led you deeper into his mansion, guiding the way up to the wing where he kept the stone you had planned to take, “You looked scared when you saw me...did you know that I’m a Siren?”

“Suspected but wasn’t sure.”

The dry drone of your voice was so satisfying. It was a song in and of itself, tongue curling around your forced submission to him anything he wanted you to. Hitoshi only stopped guiding you when the both of you reached the room which held the Wayfarer Orb on a pedestal. It was a smooth, polished stone of milky white with flashes of crimson red flecked throughout its surface. He had acquired it at least a year ago, an ancient stone said to help bring protection to the owner. It seemed necessary given how rapidly he had grown his empire.

“Look at me Kitten.” he yanked you to him, the sweet swell of your breasts pressed against his front, “Would you like it if I kissed you?”

He would be lying if he said that he asked this question with completely innocent intent. The thought of claiming your mouth was tempting but he wanted to know if you had at all been tempted by him in the brief time he spoke with you. Or while you did your research. Hitoshi swept a thumb along your lower lip, parting your mouth for him as you stared blankly at him.

“Yes.”

Shinsou dipped his head and brushed his mouth faintly against yours, murmuring, “When did you start feeling attracted to me?”

“We’ve met before. Enji’s holiday gala. We danced together.”

Now that was interesting. He pulled back, brows shooting up as he looked down at you. Despite how closely he studied your face, the sweep of your cheek bones, the hue of your eyes, he couldn’t remember you at all. Indigo eyes lidded lazily, a stray fingertip dragging along the arch of a brow.

“Why don’t I remember you then?”

“I spiked your drink with a memory potion.”

Shock zinged through him then. It had been proper years since the last time anyone had gotten the jump on him and yet there you were, speaking only honesty for his ears as his voice compels you. Had this encounter never happened, he never would have known. If you could pull a stunt like that then the skills you have were unspeakably valuable and he had every plan to use them. Shinsou chuckled softly before dropping the enthrallment of his voice around you.

The world came spinning back then, awareness creeping into the edges of your thought as you tried to grasp just where you were. By the time your pupils had refocused, he was crushing his mouth down onto yours. A muffled squeal was his answer along with you pushing at his chest. But the sensuous way his mouth moved against yours had you melting in his arms, soft moans humming in your throat as he kissed you.

When he finally broke the kiss, both of you were panting while you glared daggers up at him.

“What the fuck?!” you ripped yourself free of his grasp, staggering backwards with a hand clutched to your mouth, “What’re you doing?!”

The look of frustration blended heavenly with your flustered expression. Mirth spilled over in his open mouthed smirk. Casually he slipped his hands into his coat pockets, cocking a brow and half lidding his eyes at you. Tilting his head to the side, a soft laugh rumbled in his chest, drinking in your more outraged expression.

“Nothing you don’t want me to do, Kitten.”

“And how do you work that out?”

“You told me yourself.” Hitoshi gestured out towards the vault, hand showing you the glint of the Orb you came to steal, “Along with your goals. Your suspicions proved right.”

“Shit…”

“Now here’s how things are going to go,” he slowly advanced on you, “you’re going to put those skills of yours to work for me.”

You glared at him, “And if I refuse?”

“Well, I use my abilities and have you out yourself to every powerful figure here tonight.” that smirk widened, “You’re that one thief that’s been targeting all the high rollers, aren’t you? I imagine that they would all love to meet you.”

Fear flooded your eyes then, “You...you wou-”

“Wouldn’t I? If you’ve done your homework about me then you know how much of a dangerous man I can be.”

You had done your homework and that was truer than you would like to admit. Hitoshi’s public image was great but if you dug a little deeper, strange disappearances that surrounded him. Brainwashing you and having you out your secret to some of the most influential people of the city who would love to see you punished for your work. It would be the end of you and he knew you would have no choice but to work for him.

And that was how you, The Firefly, thief of rich assholes extraordinaire, came to work for Shinsou Hitoshi. Through blackmail and the threat of one of the most powerful men in the city ruining you.

#Shinsou x reader #Shinsou x y/n #Shinsou x you #Siren Shinsou #BNHA #BNHA fantasy #my writing #ArcaneApril #Anonymous

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free-pancakes · 3 years

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I'm curious, what are your headcanons of Levihan arguing? Like what would they argue about? What are the dynamics of the fight? Is one of them getting passive aggressive or completely ignoring the other? Then would they talk about it or just go back to normal and never bring it up again?

Considering that Isayama said Hange is the scariest character when angry I am really curious about this!

Generally, I imagine them constantly bickering over little things, like:

While walking outside, Levi puts his jacket on Hange because he notices her slightly shivering. But Hange refuses the jacket, insisting he’d be too cold without wearing it himself. Before Levi can argue, she snakes her arm around his shoulder and pulls him closer to her as they walk, and says, “If we stay close like this, we can keep each other warm!” He grumbles as his chivalrous act of lending her his jacket was shut down, but he knows that her idea was much better, especially because he’d get to hold her close as they walked.

Levi snatches Hange’s glasses off her occasionally to clean them off. One day Hange gets a bit annoyed with how often he kept doing this, and she says, “How annoyed would you feel if I constantly ripped the glasses off of your face every hour??” Levi: “I don’t need glasses, stupid.” Hange: “Theoretically, if you had glasses, you’d be as frustrated as I am right now!” Levi: “THEORETICALLY, my glasses would never get dirty.” Hange: Prove it, why don’t YOU wear my glasses for a day and we’ll see!” Levi: “FINE!” *puts on glasses and runs into a wall* Hange: *laughing, forgetting why she was upset in the first place* Levi: “HOW BLIND ARE YOU FOUR-EYES?”

Hange may be the scariest person to encounter when angry, but I think it would take a lot to actually make her truly angry. I can’t really imagine Levi doing anything that could get her upset to that extent because she has such a soft spot for him. But I like to think that Levi became a lot more overprotective of her after the battle at Shiganshina, and maybe his constant reminders to take care of herself would make Hange feel suffocated at some point, and then that would be the one time when Hange would blow a fuse because of him:

Levi would probably be on Hange constantly, telling her to go to bed when she’s been pulling too many all-nighters, reminding her to eat something once in awhile, offering to run a bath for her, tidying up her workspace. She absolutely loves Levi’s presence, but she couldn’t help but feel guilty, because Levi couldn’t just be Levi—he was trying to help compensate for her no longer having Moblit by her side. So the constant reminders became increasingly annoying as she felt more and more guilty, til she just explodes and asks him to leave her alone.

Levi would leave without a word with a blank, unreadable expression, as if nothing happened, and Hange wipes away her tears from her outburst and returns to her work as if nothing happened.

They bury themselves in work for the rest of the week without talking to each other except for the occasional nod in the hallway in passing.

Then one night, Hange decides to return to her quarters around 2am, earlier than usual. Levi’s just sitting there on the couch, with tea freshly made on the table in front of him. They don’t speak but just drink together quietly. Hange is not one to be dishonest about her thoughts and feelings if asked to share them, but Levi never asks. They both are aware of their flaws and reasoning leading up to this—Levi knew he was overcompensating and being a bit too much, but he was just worried for her. Hange knew she was overreacting, but she knew she was overworking herself and Levi was just trying to help her realize that. They both knew they just needed some space to breathe.

He looks at her, and pats his lap, and she lays down with her head on his lap, looking up at him. “I missed you, Levi,” she says. And he simply runs his hand through her hair and plays with it til she falls asleep.

They return to their normal bickering and spend all their time by each other’s side, but Levi nags a little less, and Hange tries to go to bed a little earlier every night.

thanks for the ask anon, I had to really think about this one!

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levi x hanji #levi x hange #ask #anon

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ateezficz · 4 years

Text

Insecure

Warning: Mentions of insecurities, low self esteem, everything I deal with oop-

Smut Warnings : Oral (F receiving), Fingering, Protected Sex, First time

It was another one of the days when your insecurities got the best of you. Why did they have to appear out of nowhere and ruin all and any positive thoughts you had about yourself? And to add onto that, the fact that you were literally stalking almost all the instagram models you knew, wondering why you couldn’t look like then just made things worse.

You always feared that Seonghwa would be embarrassed to be seen in public with you because of how you looked, and thought that all the nice words he said were just a show and deep down he didn’t even like you. You wanted to be beautiful so Seonghwa would like you but you didn’t realize how much he actually loved you. All the negativity within you seemed to overflow in the form of tears as one by one they began cascading down your face, falling onto the sheets beneath you.

Wiping your tears off you got off the bed and stood in front of the mirror in an attempt to tell yourself that you’re beautiful just the way you are, but that little voice in your mind dominated all other thoughts. As your gaze lowered you only found more and more flaws in your physical appearance.

‘Stomach too round’, ‘thighs too large’, ‘hips too wide’ these were the only thoughts in your head no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise. The scars on your face and back didn’t help one bit as all you could do was break down in front of the mirror. Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, Seonghwa walked into the bedroom with his bright smile and joyful energy, but seeing you sitting on the floor crying shattered his heart to pieces.

Frowning slightly he walked over to where you were seated and turned you around so you were facing him. Feeling his touch you immediately wiped off your tears, trying to avoid having that conversation, but the expression he wore was crystal clear.

“Why are you crying my love?” he asked softly as he looked into your eyes with immense love and affection. His hands caressed your flushed cheeks as you broke down into tears again, climbing into his lap to cry into his chest.

In that moment all he wanted to do was help you calm down and make sure you stop crying, so he hugged you tightly knowing how much his embrace would help. His hands caressed the back of your head as your sobs eventually turned softer and when you finally stopped crying he looked into your eyes, asking again what the reason was.

“What is it Y/N?” he reiterated hoping you would tell him the cause of your tears.

“I-I feel so ugly. I look nothing like all the people I see online, they’re all t-tall and skinny but I’m not even c-close to that. I h-hate how I look” you stuttered out, avoiding eye contact with him because you were sure the look in his eyes would break you.

His face displayed pure astonishment after hearing the words you spoke. How did you even think about yourself like that? You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and he just couldn’t believe you had the ability to dislike your appearance, but the fact that you did made him extremely upset, and it was visible.

Helping you get off his lap he stood up and gestured for you to do the same, pulling you towards the mirror as he stood behind you, looking at you from behind your shoulder. Holding your arms firmly he asked you “Tell me, what don’t you like about the person in the mirror”

His question was very clear but it definitely caught you off-guard since it was quite unexpected. Stuttering a little you managed to list down all the things you disliked about your looks “**I-I don’t like my s-stomach, my legs, my arms and the m-marks on my back and face” **

His hands moved down your arms and wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to himself as you blushed a bright red. “Why don’t you like these parts of yourself?” he asked, receiving quite a straightforward answer from you.

“They’re too chubby, and the marks are ugly” you said, a frown forming as you looked down at the little tummy you had which Seonghwa found extremely cute.

“Now let me tell you why you should love these parts of yourself” he started.

“Your body does so much for you, your stomach holds all the food you eat, your legs help you move from place to place, and dance which I know you love doing and your arms help you write. Not only does your body do so much for you, but also for me. I absolutely love your cute little tummy, it’s beautiful and so are your legs and arms and every single part of you.” he said into your ear as he smiled at you through the mirror.

You gave him a half hearted smile because even though his words were true, you couldn’t believe them and he saw that. Turning you around he looked at you with a tender look in his eyes, holding your shoulder with one hand as he lifted your chin up with the other.

“_Y/N I love you so much and I can’t stand seeing you think like this about yourself. You’re so gorgeous inside and out and I want you to see yourself how I see you, so please let me show you how perfect you are” _

Your eyes soon began reflecting the look in his as you gave him a nod, feeling butterflies in your stomach when his lips gently took yours into his. The softness and warmth radiating off of them was just so heartening, and it made your heart swell with love. His soft touch sent chills through your body, and when he tilted his head to deepen the kiss you were sure he was an angel taking you to heaven right there.

You were yearning for more and it was clear when you moved closer to him, standing on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck while he wrapped his own around your waist. Pulling away from you for a second he turned you around so you were facing the mirror again, his lips finding the sweet spot on your neck almost instantly as he started leaving wet kisses, licking and sucking occasionally, leaving a mark or two.

Your half lidded eyes got a glimpse of his gaze, and damn it made you wet in an instant. His brown eyes had completely darkened over, pupils dilated with lust pouring out of them as he sucked harshly on your shoulder sliding the large sweater off carefully.

“Your shoulders - are so - perfect my love” he said in between kisses as he slid of the sweater completely from one side, letting it hang from the other.

His hands snaked down to the hem of your sweater, pulling it up in order to take it off when your hands pulled it back down. You stared into his eyes through the mirror, a look of nervousness very clear in your eyes to which he only smiled.

“You’re stunning Y/N, absolutely gorgeous. I love each and every part of you, please don’t feel insecure with me” he spoke softly, his fingers caressing your hands as he waited for your confirmation, which you gave in the form of a nod.

He slowly pulled off your sweater, leaving you in your bra and shorts, exposing all of the things which, according to you, were flawed. Your arms instinctively wrapped around your stomach, your eyes being unable to see his expression on seeing you like that for the first time.

His soft hands held yours as he slowly took them off of your waist, asking you to open your eyes before wrapping his arms around your waist. His affectionate touch put your nerves at ease as you opened your eyes, feeling more confident about yourself once you saw the look on his face.

“I love your tummy, it’s beautiful, just like you my love” he said as he traced the faint stretch marks which ran across your sides.

Walking ahead of you he pulled you into a kiss again, this one a lot more passionate and fast paced. He bit your lower lip, tugging at it slightly, smiling when you let out a soft moan. His hands moved up your back, unclasping your bra as he slowly slid it off of you, making sure you were comfortable every second of the way.

Bending slightly he placed open mouthed kisses all the way from your jawline to your chest, feeling extremely accomplished upon hearing your whimpers get louder. Your fingers threaded through his hair as he went lower, now kneeling right in front of your core.

Pulling your shorts down slowly along with your panties he placed a soft kiss on your clit, his grip on your thighs contrasting the softness of his pecks.

Soon his pecks turned into licking and sucking as he tugged at your clit, his tongue lapping up all the wetness which flowed out of you. Your body, being unable to process all the pleasure, began shivering as you lost your ability to stand straight.

Knees buckling and eyes closing, you let out loud gasps when he licked up and down your folds, his hands moving behind you to massage your ass. Seeing this he slowed down for a second, mumbling just over your clit. “Eyes on the mirror my love” immediately making you snap your eyes open as you became desperate for more. Seeing the way his muscles moved through the shirt as his hold on your thighs tightened only pushed you closer to your high.

“Oh my- fuck!” you groaned, feeling yourself get closer to releasing when he carefully pushed two fingers into your entrance, making sure to go slower knowing its your first time.

A scream ripped through your chest as your grip on his hair tightened, your legs momentarily losing their balance when he started moving his fingers inside you, already hitting the perfect spots. Your walls began clenching around his digits as you began mumbling out incoherent curses, releasing all over his mouth with a loud “Fuck Hwa!”

Licking up all your juices he stood back up again, pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside before lifting you up by your legs and seating himself on the bed in such a way that you were able to see your reflection in the mirror.

His boner, which only grew harder by the second, began poking at the inside of your thighs as you began grinding down on him, your lips now marking his neck like how his did yours.

It didn’t take long for his sweats to come off as you stared at his length in awe, gulping visibly at the size of it. He reached out to the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a condom, ripping the packet before sliding it over his dick. Hovering over you he gave you a soft kiss, reassuring you that he’ll go slow and if it hurt he’d stop immediately.

Lining himself up he pushed in slowly, allowing your walls to adjust to his size while he groaned at how tight you were, burying himself to the hilt inside you. Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to get used to the painful stretch, feeling pleasure slowly take over as you relaxed.

Seonghwa lifted his face just enough to look at yours, giving you a kiss on the lips before pulling out and thrusting back in, building his pace gradually making sure to not hurt you. All the beautiful moans and gasps you let out were swallowed by him as the rate at which he snapped his hips into you became faster, his tip abusing your newly found sweet spot.

“God you’re so fucking beautiful, so tight” he mumbled against your lips before turning you over so he was on his back with you straddling him. His length seemed to reach so much deeper in that position, causing your head to fall back as a sinful moan left you.

“Look at the mirror my love” he voiced out in a hoarse voice before he began thrusting up into you, sending you over the edge within only a few seconds as you clenched around him. His grip on your hips remained as tight as ever and his thrusts maintained their momentum.

Forcing yourself to open your eyes you looked across at the mirror, taking in the sight in front of you. Seeing the way his dick slid in and out of you so easily, and the way your breasts bounced matching the rhythm of his thrusts was absolutely euphoric.

Your moans only grew louder as you neared your high and feeling him twitch inside you along with your walls clenching tight around him, eliciting loud groans from him, ultimately became the cause of your undoing. A choked moan is all you could let out as you released all over him, feeling him exhale as his thrusts slowed down signalling he had cum too.

His hips came to a stop as your upper body fell over him, your eyes closing as your weariness threatened to pull you into a deep slumber. His chest moved with yours as his hand came up to your hair, caressing it gently before planting a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“You’re so beautiful, attractive, gorgeous, stunning, breath taking and every other synonym of the word out there, and I love you so much Y/N” he whispered, smiling to himself when he heard your soft snores thinking you hadn’t heard what he said, but you heard all of it, and it made your heart swell with love.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

You are beautiful just the way you are :D don’t let anything bring you down

#seonghwa smut #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #ateez smut #kim hongjoong #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #choi jongho #choi san #jung wooyoung #song mingi #atz smut

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deliquescentnightmare · 3 years

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Character Introduction

Hello! my first little character sheet so you all can meet Delila, the main protagonist of my still untitled story. Most- if not all- of my characters are blatant self-inserts, and Delila is no exception. I identify as GF so she's kind of the embodiment of my very fem moments, and my soft cottagecore side. Anyways, here's all you need to know about her! I'll post newer versions of her character sheet later on as certain events happen in the story so I don't give you guys spoilers.

Name: Delila Amelie Lestrade

Age: 24

Hometown: Born in Atlanta GA, moved around a lot as a child.

Occupation: Forensic Psychologist. FBI agent.

Sexuality: Asexual, questioning.

Talents/Skills: Writing. Playing Uke. Can't cook at all. Great skill of falling down or bumping into things. Hands are steady in times of crisis and is very levelheaded.

Siblings (describe relationship): Theodore 'Theo' Grayson Markham. 35, older half brother. Second son of Alana Markham(nee Ramses) and Fredrick Markham. Lives in NY. Jameson Albert Markham, 36, oldest half brother, and firstborn son of Alana Markham and Frederick Markham. Lives in rural North Carolina with his wife and kids. Gwendolyn 'Gwen' Beatrice Markham (deceased). Born 1980, died at 26) Killed in a car accident in St Louis in 2006. Very close to Delila and Jameson. Entire family mourned after she passed, and Alana became very different emotionally.

Mother (describe relationship): Alana Elizabeth Markham (nee Ramses). 54, lives in Ojai, California with Frederick Markham. They talk intermittently, but Alana isn't very responsible and Delila refuses to interact with her too much because it's emotionally draining. Alana refuses to acknowledge Gwen even existed.

Father (describe relationship): Gregory 'Greg' Lestrade. 49. Their relationship is close, and Greg would often visit Delila, or fly her out to see him during school holidays when she was a child. They call often (when he actually picks up or calls her back) and email back and forth. She loves him more than life itself even if he often forgets to call her because he's busy.

Significant Others (describe relationship): Struggles to remain relationships due to lack of intimacy, but had a long-term relationship for 2 years that recently ended for undisclosed reasons.

Pets: none yet. had a childhood snake named Jonathan.

Friends: Li Huang (will be introduced in the next chapter or the one after), John Watson, Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes (tentative), Theo, Mycroft Holmes(eventually).

Height: 5'2" or 157.5 cm

Weight: 135 lbs. or about 61 kg

Race: Caucasian, British-American

Eye Color: Blue in Original Fictions. In this AU, however her right one is Purple. her left is Pink. (I like pink and purple very much)

Hair Color: Naturally brown, dyed pastel orange.

Distinguishing features: Constantly has scrapes and bruises, often topped off with band-aids on her fingers and cheeks. Her wild orange hair and round gold-rimmed glasses. (they're bigger than Harry Potter's, before you ask). She wears a black pea-coat often, and it's worn from years of use. (it was her sister's)

How does he/she dress? Black pea-coat when it's colder. Likes to wear slightly-too-large clothing. Often wears stolen shirts, sweaters and button ups. Flowy, flowery dresses and skirts and occasionally ripped jeans. She did go through an Emo phase and dyed her hair white in her late teens/early 20's, and has some clothing left over from that phase that she occasionally wears.

Hobbies: Writing romance fiction and crime. Reading, often James Patterson or fantasy. Playing ukulele, and singing. She likes to dance but isn't very good at it, so she often does it when she's alone or it's dark (or both). She likes to go for walks with John in the park, and used to go for walks with Theo.

Greatest flaws: She cares too much too fast, and becomes attached to people within a day or so of meeting them. She can be slightly needy and clingy if she doesn't have a lot of friends, because she thrives off of physical affection. She's very stubborn, and will do things even when she's been given explicit instruction not to because she thinks she may know a better way. (sometimes she does, but other times she just is too strong headed to stop). She can either be unabashedly arrogant or filled with crippling self-doubt dependent on the situation as she's experienced a lot of respect and praise for her intellect. She also puts a lot of pressure on herself to succeed and it can lead to devastating burnouts.

Best qualities: Very loving and openhearted. She will put others' needs above her own nearly every time. She will make sure her friends and those she cares about are taken care of, and are taking good care of themselves. She is extremely intelligent and knows an array of weird and sometimes useful facts, and has a large span of knowledge thanks to her time at uni. She also has a way of making friends wherever she goes, which leads to a large web of connections and sources whenever she needs them.

Introvert or Extrovert? Ambivert, it's dependent on the situation. For example, if she's forced to be in isolation then she's going to be more extroverted when she's around people again. She enjoys talking to people, but after a certain amount, she can become worn out and need alone time. I think it would be good to note she is much more socially adept than Sherlock, though he is better at other things socially. (she has Asperger's and therefore he picks up on certain cues or details she may miss)

How does the character deal with anger? Delila can either run hot or run cold in terms of temperament. When she runs hot, she is often so overcome with emotion that she 'loses' words, struggles to speak and gets really flustered. (not in a good way) she never really says anything unkind when she's like this but she will be very dismissive and tell people to leave her alone. She is prone to shouting or crying to voice her frustrations and get out her emotions. The best way to calm her down is to let her rant about it, and she often calls Theo- who lets her rant. When she runs cold, she is eerily calm. She becomes sharp-tongued, cold and calculating. She will destroy whoever has angered her in this way and feel no shame. Sometimes she will spend days like this, and will be snippy and distant to anyone who tries to talk to her. She is vengeful and fully of unabashedly cruel remarks. It takes a lot or something particularly bad to get her this way.

With sadness? Delila tends to cry when she's sad, and is most comforted by physical affection. She listens to sad music, curls up under a blanket, and will write, whether it be in a journal or creatively. She will occasionally vent, but usually keeps it to herself as to not burden people around her with her issues or emotions.

With conflict? Delila can be rather argumentative and stubborn, but if she cares about the person she will do her best to listen to their side of the argument or disagreement, even if she feels as though they are wrong. When it comes to other peoples' conflicts, she will try and take the side she feels is most correct, or try and be an unbiased judge. She will defend her friends if there is a conflict in which they are being attacked in some way.

With change? Delila isn't a big fan of change but she will try her best to adapt and overcome by setting goals and new routines.

With loss? Delila will self-isolate. She will spend a lot of time re-consuming media that reminds her of what she has lost, and will go through a period of denial. Eventually, though she will come to honour the memory and move on.

What does the character want out of life? Fulfillment. Delila has spent a lot of her short life searching for something she is truly passionate about, but once she finds things that make her happy she becomes hesitant to follow them. She longs for fulfillment in ways other than reproducing and relationships, but one day she wouldn't mind having a family.

What would the character like to change in his/her life? Delila wishes she'd spent less time worried about how her mother perceived her and hoe those around her viewed her and her achievements. She is quite successful now and has learnt better but she wishes she hadn't let her doubts hinder her in the past.

What motivates this character? Delila doesn't excel because she longs for success, but because she fears failure. She refuses to be a burden, and will be independent almost to a fault.

What frightens this character? Delila is terrified of her family being hurt in any way, or losing someone she loves again. She also despises spiders and rejection.

What makes this character happy? Music. Her family, her friends. The rain. Tea. she loves to dance, but she only does it when she's alone.

Is the character judgmental of others? Delila's job required her to profile people, and because of that it has become her nature to psychoanalyse or even try to make assumptions about people from the get-go. She will often alter this perception of people later on depending on how she sees them interact with their environment, and people around them.

Is the character generous or stingy? She can be overly generous when it comes to those she loves, but also hesitant to share other things. It all depends on the item or person's emotional and sentimental value to her.

Is the character generally polite or rude? Unless given good reason to be rude, Delila is generally kind.

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dotthings · 4 years

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So let’s talk about Cas’s issues, and how they hit that nerve of Dean’s insecurities.

I feel like Dean’s personal issues get discussed a lot (by myself included), both from a Dean-positive take and from the pressure placed on this character in a more negative way. There’s a lot of expectation placed on Dean as a character and ironically enough, in that process I feel like even Cas fans don’t do enough digging into what makes Cas tick, what his weak points are, his fears, his cyclical dysfunctional hang-ups. Cas is a layered, complicated, well-developed character with a now 12 season history on the show, as a main character, even if he is less prominent than Sam and Dean, and as such this means there are flaws as well as goodness in him. It does Cas a disservice to paint him as never wrong, as never causing hurt to those he loves. I’m not speaking as a Dean fan here, but as a Cas fan, this just isn’t about fairness to Dean, I feel there is an actual imbalance in how these discussions tend to go and it’s kind of a habitual tendency in the fandom. In part fueled by the fact that Dean is so open with his feelings, shows that he feels things SO hard and so deeply, that’s the character, and that kind of makes Dean a lightning rod to talk about Dean feelings, good or bad.

Canonically, Cas tends to get less pov due to structure, when Cas isn’t in every ep of a season and where SPN structurally puts Sam and Dean as the center spokes of the wheel, no matter how near the center Cas is of that show wheel. Cas has become another core pillar--Dabb referred to Cas along with Dean as a “core character” in his pre 15.09 interview. But because logistically, Dean still carries more pov on the show, we get more looks into Dean’s mind than into Cas’s. Which isn’t as great for Dean fans as you might think because by SPN not giving more Cas pov, it’s putting more and more of the responsibility for making the profound bond work onto Dean and Dean’s pov. While Cas has contributed plenty to this rift that developed.

There’s also the thing about the fandom default perception is that Dean is repressed emotionally. Which, sure, in many respects, yeah. But not in the way it’s popularized in fandom. Dean is actually the more facile, open, raw, vulnerable in expression of his emotions, with big outbursts, of hurt/anger or softness. He goes big. He expresses. He cries easily. He doesn’t exactly hide. He wears his heart on his sleeve. But because Dean is also a character who constructed facades to survive, he puts on facades and one facade is "no chick flick moments.” A facade I’ve pointed out again and again he’s terrible at maintaining, nonetheless it is real and he can be gruff and he does at times try to hide from his own feelings, and avoid, and struggles not to say stuff and then it gets out anyway. But he’s also very openly emotional.

While Cas is actually far more locked up emotionally as a character. Far more repressed than Dean. Look at his background. Millennia as an angel. Shoved back through the angel reprogramming machine every time he displayed an independent thought. Angels have emotions. They are not unfeeling. But they are taught emotions are weaknesses. They are a taint. They are dangerous. A lot of Cas’s arcing over the past 11 years has been about learning what emotions are and how to manage them. Even if we remove that factor, Cas also has a personality of his own, as a character, and is a survivor of trauma and abuse, as Dean is. Cas, like Dean, carries a lot of anger.

Cas is impulsive. Sometimes heedless. Ironically, he often pulls Dean back from heedlessness. But he has that tendency and Cas’s heedlessness tends to result in cosmic level events (leviathans unleashed, angels falling). He has a temper. He will end you if you hurt those he loves. Cas in the past has shown a hubris about how he has to fix all the things because these frail humans he loves can’t, Dean’s “just a man,” and while Cas definitely outgrew that, there are remnants still there. Which isn’t JUST hubris. Cas, being an abuse and torture survivor, being a survivor of emotional neglect, similarly to Dean, also has, similarly to Dean, this thing about needing a mission, a purpose. He needs to be needed. And if he isn’t serving a purpose, if he feels he isn’t being useful, then he feels worthless. The Dean corollary to that is Dean’s lack of self worth in what his father instilled in him--that he has no purpose, no mission, outside of protect Sam, and the hunt.

This need for purpose and Cas’s insecurities powered a lot of his arc with Jack. Cas’s relationship with Dean evolved over time. They didn’t stay just the same. In some ways the bond equalized in good ways, but as part of that, Cas was no longer the “Winchesters’ guardian” of early Cas seasons. That role gave Cas purpose. As Cas drew deeper and deeper into the family, as his character developed and he increasingly got his own arcs, which are all good things, that also meant Cas wondered what his purpose is.

Protecting Jack gave him purpose. A mission. Someone to look after. His relationship with Dean isn’t that. That hit a height with “draped yourself in the flag of Heaven” at the end of S9. By S11 the focus shifted to Dean’s drive to save Cas. Dean and Cas’s relationship is that of peers, fellow soldiers, friends, and yes, on a coded level that’s been harder and harder to ignore in later seasons, lovers/husbands.

Cas devoting himself all to Dean wasn’t sustainable. Just as Dean couldn’t perpetually be all about Sam, but while Dean and Cas are more peers/husbands role, Dean is Sam’s stand-in parent. Dean was parentified at the age of four. Sam as recently in 15.09 says Dean raised him. Sam knows his actual father figure is Dean, not Bobby, not John. There’s a whole lot about Sam and Dean’s relationship that made a lot more sense to me once I kept that in mind, that symbolically they were parent/child not just siblings/hunting partners. (Their codependency added another complication into the mix) That is not the relationship Dean and Cas have ever had. They are protective of each other. But it’s not a pseudo parent-child relationship. Nor are they codependent. But Dean always had a Sam, while Cas...did not have a Sam. Dean wasn’t his Sam, once he found a Dean. Dean was something else entirely. Not less, but different.

Enter Jack and while I was resistant to that arc initially, in the long game I can see multiple overarching purposes for the story. One of them is Cas’s character development. While the Cas and Jack bond isn’t just like Sam and Dean’s, and I’m not suggesting it is, it has that similar pseudo parent-child aspect. Jack is all of Team Free Will’s kid, but I think the way Jack impacted Cas’s arc made the most seismic shifts.

The thing about this S15 rift with Dean and Cas is that it’s not really about Dean’s existential crisis about “realness.” It’s not actual about Mary or Jack or that freakin’ snake. Well, it is...I’m not suggesting Dean had no valid reason to be hurt and upset with Cas. That is real. But this was ramped up as a culmination of years of issues. It mashed Dean’s buttons so hard because these are reflective of cyclical behaviors that come from Cas and it hurts Dean every time. Underlying all that, maybe subtextually, Dean’s doubts about realness played into it here as well. But the doubts, fears, insecurities, and hurts Dean feels about Cas are there regardless. Chuck applied pressure points to hasten the rift. To rip them apart because that serves his purpose but all he did was play on their actual insecurities and feelings and then watch them dance to his tune.

One of Dean and Cas’s issues has been things that have been there a long time, in the relationship, where Dean’s chronic issues play on Cas’s insecurities and Cas’s chronic issues play on Dean’s insecurities. There’s a bunch I could reel off. Dean’s abandonment issues vs. Cas’s tendency to keep things from Dean, not turn to Dean, not trust Dean, for one. This is something Cas has done for years, long before Jack, and it hurt Dean then and it hurt Dean now. Just for example.

I feel like what happened late S14/early S15 is that all these long running issues they never addressed came crashing down on the bond at once.

The things that are Cas’s issues, Cas hasn’t talked much about. Cas doesn’t talk about his innermost emotional landscape the way Dean does. Sometimes he does speak his feelings, but I wish he’d do it more often.

The things Cas has done in the past that hit on Dean’s abandonment issues all got ramped up with Jack. And it happened more than once. Why is Dean so hurt. Look at how he responds to Cas keeping things from him, or to losing Cas, or to Cas not reaching out to Dean, trusting Dean enough to go to him in the past. How hard that has been on Dean. Take your pick of plots. Cas teaming up with Crowley. Cas and the monster souls. Cas running off with the angel tablet.

With Jack there was a string of events. It wasn’t just the one thing. This isn’t my condemnation of Cas or because I don’t get Cas’s motivations and good intentions. Or about Cas being right/wrong. Right or wrong, his actions still hurt Dean. Being a parent added such a completely new layer into Team Free Will bonds, the TFW familial unit shifted. Change can be hard on a relationship anyway.

Quick recap of the sequence of events with Cas and Jack: it was Cas slipping away from Dean as Cas devoted himself to a nephilim in embryo. When Cas bonded with Jack’s grace in the womb. When Dean said he didn’t recognize Cas. There was Cas’s belief in the vision Jack showed him. It was Kelly giving Cas a mission to protect her son. Cas, like Dean, feels a strong sense of duty. Remember Dean’s S2 speech when Sam died? How Dean expressed the depth of his sense of failure? “I had one job, to keep you safe.” And by the end of S14, Cas lost Jack. He had one job. To keep Jack safe.

Cas pretty much thinks he’s worthless without that, same as Dean.

So there’s Cas, taken by Kelly after Dean was begging him--begging him--to return to the bunker with them so they could talk. While Kelly effectively prevented Cas from taking the action he might have done of his own volition since she drove off in the Impala with Cas still inside it and he couldn’t stop the car without hurting her and her unborn child, the element of choice there is murky. But Cas did choose to protect Jack. He did choose to knock out Sam and Dean at the playground. There’s Dean, as he has in prior seasons, seeing Cas walking away again.

Then it happens again. Cas heedlessly goes after Lucifer, when he should have waited, Cas was so focused on his Jack mission, and as a result, Lucifer stabs Cas dead, right in front of Dean’s eyes. So Dean loses Cas again, and audience gets to see Dean is utterly devastated (but Cas doesn’t).

But then Dean gets Cas back! His big win...which Dean confesses to Sam but again, Cas doesn’t get to hear it. And then right after getting Cas back, Cas is running off again, due to Jack. Dean begs Cas--BEGS HIM--let me come along, you need backup and Cas says no. Because Cas has to fix all the things himself. So Cas gets kidnapped and locked in an angel proof cell. Dean doesn’t even know he’s lost Cas this time due to voice mimicky plot, but there it is again, Dean loses Cas, again for Jack. Then Cas keeps that detail about Felix the snake from Dean, which wasn’t right for Cas to do, to be so secretive. Whatever his intentions, no that wasn’t right, and it goes right back to Cas’s tendencies shown in earlier seasons. To fix the thing himself. Anael calls Cas on it, even. His fears. Which leads to Cas finally going to Sam and Dean with the information. Cas apologizes and confesses, explains in a rare moment of us actually getting to see inside Cas’s emotional landscape that he was scared what Jack losing his soul would do to tear this TFW family apart. What Cas would lose because of that. A hella lot of that is about Dean, not just TFW or Jack.

None of this has ever been Cas not caring about Dean. Cas was there for Dean in S14. He fought to save Dean, first from Michael, then the Ma’lek box. But Dean and Cas don’t exist in a profound bond bubble.

Dean doesn’t even know yet that Cas sold himself to The Empty to save Jack midway through S14. Should we start screaming now?

So after Cas’s confession and apology late in S14 about what Jack did to the snake that Cas didn’t clue in Sam and Dean about, Mary is dead, because of soulless Jack, and all hell breaks loose with Jack, and Dean believes the only way out of this with soulless Jack is to kill soulless Jack. Cas doesn’t agree. Dean delivers an ultimatum, my way or the highway and who cares what you think (bad move, Dean). So to save Jack and Dean, because if Dean shot Jack with Chuck’s gun, it would kill Dean too, Cas runs off to get to Jack first.

From Dean’s perspective he’s seing Cas’s back again, leaving him again. Losing Cas again.

Think about how this steps on the same nerves as Cas’s vanishing acts in earlier seasons, or Cas walking into the lake, or Cas staying behind in Purgatory when Dean did everything he could to save him. Think about Dean’s abandonment issues. Think about how Dean’s abandonment issues and this repeat cycle of Cas’s inherent tendency to not get that he should loop his family into things, that he can’t fix it all on his own, of leaving, even if he always comes back. And no we can’t blame Cas for the times he left when he didn’t want to, when something happened to Cas, but when he vanished into the lake in 7.01, when he insisted on staying behind in Purgatory in S8, when he heedlessly went pell mell after Lucifer--Dean losing Cas was a direct result of Cas’s choices. Where Cas put himself into a position where Dean lost him.

This has happened again...and again. Imagine the heart-crushing heartbreaking panic for Dean during their Purgatory revisit when Cas disappeared. It’s Dean having to relive his Cas trauma. Because guess what, Dean loves Cas a lot. I don’t know how this even became in question in fandom, it continues to utterly baffle me.

So it’s not really about Jack though. I’m not blaming the Jack storyline for this. What happened was the Jack storyline brought those issues to a boiling point. Cas’s insecurities and drive to have a mission. Dean’s abandonment issues clashing with Cas’s running off again. Repeatedly.

What’s going to happen when Dean finds out about The Empty deal, and not just the deal itself but the fact Cas kept that, too, from him. I don’t think it will be rage this time. Not after 15.09. It will however, I suspect, be utterly devastating for Dean...maybe this time he won’t snap at Cas, he’ll just say how devastating it is, before he and Sam get to work on a solution. And Cas will have to witness how devastating it is. Cas hearing Dean’s prayer in 15.09 is such a big deal and I really really hope this hit Cas hard and woke him up to some things. Because with all of Cas’s particular insecurities, despite the fact that Dean has repeatedly shown Cas directly how much he matters, there’s also been plenty audience gets to see (Cas is family/Dean’s grief arc/Cas is a big win) that Cas hasn’t. Cas hearing Dean’s prayer here I think will change things. Cas won’t be the same. Dean won’t be the same. The bond won’t be the same. In a good way.

15.09 didn’t feel like resolution to me, and I’m glad Dabb confirmed that in his pre ep interview. It felt like ice melting, barriers crumbling. That’s good. It’s a start. That will help them with what’s next. But they have so much to work through still. Because their problems aren’t just from recent plot events, or Chuck. These tap into some fundamental things about them each that affects their bond. I’ve been saying this since before the end of S14, this isn’t hear to destroy their bond, it’s to level it up. It’s to deepen it, to fix what’s been amiss at the root and realize it into something even more powerful.

I need Cas to speak, not just Dean. Not just for my ship but for the character, I need more looks into Cas’s inner emotional landscape and how he feels about his own insecurities and I’d love to see an equally big confession about his Dean feelings.

#Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #Dean and Cas #Team Free Will #Jack Kline #Supernatural #spn #supernatural spoilers #meta

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star-forged-ink · 3 years

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“Admit it- your life would be boring without me.” - Host [@the-static-host] [He speaks with a jaw-splitting smile, all teeth, it reminds you how threatening he sometimes looks in the right light: he's in the right light.]

The Host’s voice is teasing on the surface, playful in the way that old friends banter back and forth with each other, easy and comfortable familiarity coating the tip of his tongue like sugar that sweetens the bitter metallic taste of blood. It’s not familiarity that makes him smile, though /or maybe it is, familiar in the wrong way, like an engineer who knows every stress point in a machine, every flaw in the material, every way that it can fail/, not a normal /sane/ sense of fondness that can be seen in the way he bares his teeth /were they always that sharp?/; the outward form of his grin turned unsettling by how wide it reaches, by the traces of blood on his teeth like a powerful predator in the middle of a meal turning towards you, debating if it’s still hungry enough to /bite/. The friendly lilt in his voice doesn’t match the confident /arrogance/ that pulls back his lips almost into a /snarl/, the arrogance of a man who’s right and he /knows it/ - Solar’s life has been anything but boring with the Host lurking in its corners, and although she knows him well enough to hazard a guess, she has /no idea/ just how /interesting/ he could make her life if he truly wished and his awareness of her naivety colors the corners of his lips as well, self satisfaction and knowing amusement at this stubborn poet who doesn’t always know how to /stay away/. But as threatening as his grin appears, too wide for his face like a snake moments away from unhinging its jaws, it’s somehow not ringing as many alarm bells in Solar’s head as the way the Host’s /eyes/ are /just visible/ through the fabric of his bandages, linen stretched tight and slightly transparent, bloodstains only highlighting the empty sockets. Solar can /feel/ his gaze on her, hollow but still hypnotizing; a gaze that holds her in place with the weight of all the endings her story could have, all the /compelling/ cliffhangers he could narrate, all the ways he could /rip her apart/ with no effort at all /how easy it would be for a man like him/ /how *poetic* she’d find the experience, choking and drowning on her own blood like so much ink staining her ruined throat/. He’s like a vengeful spirit who continuously declines to strike - the Host only /haunts/, following her around like a ghost in his stained and muffled trenchcoat as a reminder of everything he /could/ do, but /chooses not to/.

Not to her. Not yet, anyway.

Best not to think of it too much.

#the host #tw gore #the static host #shoutout to that amazing art of the host/author by endangered cryptid I reblogged earlier today #bc wow did that give me /inspiration/ 😍#answered #the ink stained wolf

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new-endings · 4 years

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fic idea # 735 - Parasite AU

or But it was all just a metaphor

((in the good omens universe, some demons including beelzebub, hastur, and ligur have animals on their heads, and it's popularly postulated that these are their true forms. but what if these creatures are the "demon"— sinister, insidious things—that have taken over the empty vessel of a fallen angel?

the "demon" itself is a parasite. it latches onto these fallen angels, no longer protected and shielded by Her and it feeds off the remains of their divinity, their souls, until what's left is an empty husk.

when the first angels fell, their transformation to demons didn't happen simultaneously. the fall, yes, the pain, the loss of Her Grace, Her love—ripped open and left to fall at different speeds, that was within an instant—

but not the transformation.

not quite.

but crowley...crowley’s a bit different. he has a mark of a snake. he can transform into a snake. this can mean that sometimes— sometimes, the parasite can fully take over. but not always.))

the being known as crowley has been staving off a complete transformation for millennia. he doesn't quite know how he's managed for so long—maybe because he'd always been different from the other fallen. maybe different enough to see the creature and instead offer it a deal.

after all, who would want to fully animate a celestial vessel full-time?

or maybe it's because of the strange little angel by his side, the brightest, warmest Light he'd known since the vaguest memories of Heaven—that when the parasite first saw him, there upon the garden's wall—even it was drawn instantaneously and slithered up by pure instinct.

crawley, as he was called at the time, didn't know why. all he knew was that he had to make painfully, awkward conversation with the strange angel up there as the parasite suddenly receded back into the crevices of his soul, leaving the fallen to quietly basked in the strange angel's Grace.

it happened again and again as time marched forward and the humans populated the earth. always, always, the parasite would find the angel but always retreated leaving—now crowley— to deal with him and now…

crowley grew accustomed. crowley grew comfortable. and crowley grew to look forward to these meetings.

yet the more he saw him, the bolder the parasite would be. what was stretches of epochs between meetings became once every few centuries—and then Rome happened.

crowley had been miserable. and then this angel— his angel, something purred at the back of his mind— invited him for lunch, a little "temptation" of his own making.

there was a thunderstrike of realization and crowley understood then what this parasite wanted.

it wanted this angel to fall.

crowley thinks for thousands of years that the parasite wants aziraphle to fall so it can take over the principality as its host instead of crowley. after all, to crowley, aziraphale is pure light, unlike anything crowley's ever seen. of course he’d attract it like a beacon, finding him far more appetizing than the charred remains of crowely’s own dwindling light he has to offer.

and it's no secret that aziraphale...doesn't...always excel at his job. the poor dear tries but… he’s the living example of “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” he tried to rent out the entire inn for mary and joseph— he ends up forgetting to tell the innkeeper who the rooms are for, forcing the son of God to be born in a manger. he tried to avert the whole "Nero disaster” by turning the boy's aspirations to music for God's sake. that’s not to say that aziraphale was incompetent—but every flaw cataloged by heaven made crowley more and more nervous.

so the arrangement was born. crowley could take over his jobs for him—and so aziraphale can bungle up his jobs in turn. that way aziraphale can get a double commendation for doing his work properly— and for inadvertently messing things up with the other side.

((doesn't work. aziraphale absolutely excels at being a demon. he carries out temptations flawlessly. this is a great source of stress on crowley for centuries))

in the 1800s, crowley and aziraphale have a massive fight. crowley asked aziraphale to get him some holy water. a single drop is enough to kill a demon. crowley asked this for protection, in case the agents of hell found out about their arrangement.

and aziraphale denied him because it would be too dangerous, but what's interesting-- what's really interesting--

is that aziraphale's immediate reaction was to call the holy water "a suicide pill!" in this iteration, the context can have a very, very different meaning in that aziaphale is right: crowley would intend to use it on himself. aziraphale knows crowley by now. has known him for millennia. and he's right. it's a last resort if crowley ever feels that his control slips, that the parasite takes over, he has to have a way to take care of the problem before aziraphale becomes targeted by the creature lurking inside him.

and crowley does slip.

when crowley runs into the burning bookshop, reaches out and pleads to the parasite's senses to comb through the fire and ash in the air, and screams out that he can't feel aziraphale anywhere—that's when his control crumbles.

he's given up.

he's lost his angel.

there was nothing left in this world now. nothing left to do but to let the wars rage.

so he gives in. this vessel is his.

((from there, it’s a canon divergence from when aziraphale comes to the bar, seconds too late as the creature takes over. notice how hastur was scared of crowley during his drive through the wall of flames? he could likely smell exactly what crowley had become now.

canon events still occur with crowley acting...acting just a smidge off. a little less dramatic. a little ...darker.

but he's there at the airbase, willing to stand by his angel's side. this demon's been waiting for millennia to have that angel for himself. so he stands his ground. he won't waste the golden opportunity.

the meddling fallen...

maybe a fragment of him still exists in there.

maybe he's there when he sees their angel, their sweet, clever, wicked thing propose the switch

maybe he's there at the crevices of his mind when he spits hellfire at the archangels and rejoices with him as they burn.

maybe he's there when he takes their angel—his angel, has always been his angel— to bed, marking him, branding him, inside and out.

maybe he's there when aziraphale sighs in the quiet dark and says "I love you, Crowley..."

and maybe he's there when the demon smiles, sharper than before, and with a glow in his eyes more triumphant than the angel had ever seen.

"I've always loved you, Aziraphale."

in the events following the botched armageddon, its mask is slipping. for a while, it tries to uphold its persona as "crowley" but of course, it's not crowley. not completely. both crowley AND the parasite coexist to form the entity that aziraphale knows and loves.

he's…crueler. more dangerous. protective. possessive. he always knows where aziraphale is and of course a part of it is because he obviously is concerned for the angel's safety. the ruse won't be kept hidden forever, after all.

but it's more than that.

the fallen known as crowley thought that maybe being around aziraphale has kept the parasite at bay—but no, no he was wrong.

the only thing that kept the creature at bay had been crowley himself. when the parasite saw the angel for the first time, it slithered its way to the wall and crowley's immediate instinct was to take back the reins.

and the creature let it.

the deal they made was that crowley gets free reign to do as he pleases, but the demon can take control to have its fun in its own time. a bit like clocking in and out of work: many of the horrors humankind had made were indeed makings of their own.

but some were not without a bit of demonic influence when crowley wasn't around.

((there's a reason why crowley's so fond of sleep))

so when he tells aziraphale that he's been "asleep" it may or may not mean mean that the parasite has been taking his skin out for a spin.

so why didn't the parasite simply take aziraphale during these times?

well for one, crowley would most likely take control again. the creature may sense the angel's whereabouts, but crowley has his own special sense to know when aziraphale is in danger.

the other reason...is that he needs this fallen to court him.

win the angel over with his company, effortless banter, and teasing words all while the creature watched and learned, mimicked and mocked. it's a parasite— it doesn't know much about romancing and sweet-worded affections

but it knows quite a bit about getting what it wants.

((or maybe this was all just a metaphor of crowley's more demonic nature. he doesn't embrace "evil" and "sin" the way other demons do. and a large part of that is because he retains who he was before the fall. he didn't "fall" as much as he "vaguely sauntered downwards.” he was afraid of hell. he wanted to be here, on earth, with his angel and the humans he'd found equal parts amusing and equal parts frustrating. he didn't want to embrace what he'd become.

but the moment aziraphale turned him away for the last time, the moment he'd lost his angel-- something in him might have broken. it's no longer a sense of keeping propriety, it's now a matter of survival

yes, he's scared of hell. but now, he's more scared of losing aziraphale.

maybe the parasite was all in his head.

maybe he created it as a way to dissociate himself from the reality of his fall. maybe he and the parasite are one in the same.

and it's only now— now, after the very frightening reality of having lost aziraphale once— that he's willing to use whatever means he has to make sure aziraphale stays with him—

by his side.

like he's meant to be. like he was always supposed to be.

or maybe that's just what the parasite wanted him to believe))

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #fic idea #dark crowley #but not really #or is it #secondary title is from rironominds colourless saitama and his years of training #i just really love that title

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katsukikitten · 4 years

Text

Weighted

A/N @zbops for you bb as per your request. I hope that this lives up to at least half of your expectations. Thank you so much for supporting me and for encouraging me. Enjoy it and may it help you just a bit more. I send my love XOXO Kitten 💋

It was not unlike you to occasionally stay up late into the night. Late enough to see the moon rise high in the inky black sky watching the constellations move by at a lazy pace.

But to lie awake long enough to greet the sun was abnormal.

At least it was supposed to be abnormal now. Before it was your normal to lose sleep as fat droplets slid from unblinking eyes. Thoughts consuming you with nothing and everything at once.

You thought yourself better.

Not cured, not immune, but well.

Fine and level headed for once.

Yet here you lie again unable to will your exhausted body to sleep as you replay failures from pasted years.

Like an old film one must study to improve but every time it is rewatched another haunting flaw jumps out.

And there is nothing you can do to right your wrong.

Frustrated tears well in your eyes now as you watch the clock for the second week in a row burn an obnoxious 3 am into your retina.

Furious as you thought you had put this problem in its place. That you had long ago learned how to make your demon small and to lock it away.

As with everything in life it adapted, slipping through the bars of its cage only to find itself looming over you once more. Delighting in your anguish as it exploits the coping mechanism you developed.

Turning it on its head to haunt you, to hurt you. To put you in your place as you thought you did it.

Although it knows this will be enough to pain you, it wants to do more.

Truly a petty being as it steals your voice, worming into your head just to whisper.

"Did you really think a few extra hours of training a day would make a difference? That you would suddenly be sought after as a pro hero? You could barely get an apprenticeship and look at how you're failing at that!"*

This dredges up your failure from last week, your first offical mission as apprentice.

What was supposed to be a normal patrol quickly unraveled into a full on street brawl.

You aided your hero holding down the perpetrators bodies with your quirk, straining to keep them in place.

There were tenty or so overpowered drug enhanced strength quirks fighting the pull you placed on them.

Your arm pangs now, reminding you of how it threatened to snap beneath the own weight of your quirk.

"Useless." Its laugh echoes in your ear.

Your temper flares, fist smashing the small black box that mocks you with the time before you rise. Dressing into your training clothes, sliding on your weighted vest as your bruises groan against it. You push your already consistent 1.5 times Earth's gravity pull to a consistent 2.5 for now.

Hands grab for your phone and headphones before fumbling to find your key in your amassed returning symptoms. Throwing piles of clothes, books, and homework onto other piles of long neglected items.

Irritation mixed with a twinge of panic sets in as you look for your FOB that accesses not only the gym you are so desperate to use but also it accesses your dorm building as your dorm room key rests on a chain around your neck. Your memory works overtime as you wonder where it could have been placed.

Was it it Kirishima's room?

Or Bakugou's?

Who's room did the three of you spend the night in last?

You cannot remember, time all runs together much like a watercolor painting caught in the rain.

Colors bleed and the world dips into sun bleached greys as you think of the two of them.

Had you even texted either of them good night?

When was the last time you told them you loved them?

You pick up your phone, bloomed bruised hand winking back at you before the phone obliterates into metal and glass confetti at your feet.

"Fuck." You hiss having forgotten that you had the gravitational pull around your hands as well. Damning yourself for being so careless although you are still careless enough to walk over the shrapnel with bare feet.

It is then you find your key FOB lying in the middle of the chaotic room which you snatch greedily before locking your post nuclear bomb room away.

And with that the thoughts of ash blonde and ruby red hair.

You slink on guilty feet in the shadows of the hall, the moon your only witness as you make your way outside.

The air is cool agaisnt your heated skin, hinting that fall is almost over. That winter will be sure to rear its ugly head and harshly at that.

As if to prove a point an icy wind cuts through your skin deep into your bones, you sigh out upping the force on your body.

The gym is a short walk from the dorm, the night caressing you with soft fingers as it guides you to the thick metal door.

A worried gulp echoes back at you as your hand hovers just before the panel. FOB just out of range to be scanned.

Last time a student was on rest probation their key could only work if Sensei scanned theirs as well.

With gritted teeth you bring the key to kiss smooth plastic. For a moment you're sure it will flash red but when it beeps with a flash of glorious green you cannot help the small smile that spreads across your lips.

They must have forgotten to add those restrictions to yours, that or they didn't think you would disobey your physical therapist and other Sensei.

It doesn't take long before you're sweating.

And the more you swing the harder you make the gravitational pull on your body. The floor groans from the pressure as you push the pull towards you beyond limits for a recovering body, 3.5 times Earth's normal pull. Sweat slides down a bruised nape and drips into now stinging eyes.

You do little to alleviate the pain or sweat that is trying so hard to blind you.

Another swing of your weighted fists has your bones creaking, muscles burning while you have half a mind to add more sand to your wrist and ankle bands.

Hell maybe even more to your vest although it presses against your sternum harshly with each step, threatening to snap a rib. You begin to lose the concentration on the areas you want to afflict as the incresed gravitational begins to spread out. The floor groans harder depsite being designed to withstand many powerful quirks.

A hairline fraction fissures through the smooth wood, attempting to snake up the cinderblock wall.

"None of this is going to change anything. You will still be..."

A heated punch hits the dummy hard, causing it to skid but you advance without letting up, snarling.

"Don't fucking say it."

Another hit to the dummy and you've got it cornered agaisnt the wall but still the voice goes on, a smile dancing along its tone as it purrs.

*"Worthless"*

You begin to jab agaisnt the dummy with enough momentum and force that the padding begins to fall away from its "face" revealing unforgiving metal beneath.

Metal that you pound into anyway.

Metal that warps for a moment from being too close to your pull, still your barrage of fists and feet cease to let up.

You follow up a punch with a round house kick increasing the force on your body subconsciously. As you rotate your vest slams heavily into your ribs and an audible crack echoes around the room.

"Fuck!" You huff slamming your foot against the cool surface, the dummy implodes as you land on your feet.

In that moment the room pops from the pressure as you let up the force. The floor creaks, almost breathing as it returns to normal although now heavily warped. Suddenly you feel as light as a feather. As if at any moment you could float up to the ceiling like a lazy balloon only to get tangled in the harsh overhead lights.

Crimson splatters the floor from your knuckles and spit, hand feathering over your ribs. Sliding beneath dampened fabric, smoothing over already bruised skin. You're sure it will only worsen now that you count, one, two.

Three fucking cracked ribs. Your breaths come out in heavy puffs all echoing back to you as you right your self, eyes seeking out another dummy, ignoring the pain begging you to stop.

But feeling pain was better than feeling that weighted void in your chest.

As if you were a super nova that imploded, pulling everything around you into the darkened abyss.

Turning it all into hollowed nothingness.

The first sparring dummy you spy seems to look at you funny, you rear your fist but before it can make contact a growl cuts out.

"You've done enough little one."

His voice dips low, borderline pissed. It is a warning and one you must obey as the air permeates with salted caramel.

But you're in no mood to deal with Katsuki, no mood to be submissive, obedient or anything relative to feeling at all.

Regardless if it's clearly for your own good.

All you wanted, needed, was for everything to fade.

And maybe to black.

But it doesn't instead he advances hand finding your wrist with a sharp grip, that softens only to assess. Turning your wrist this way and that with heated calculating eyes, before he rips off your weighted vest with a growl. Lifting your shirt to reveal blush black painted beneath your smooth skin. His finger prods your ribs and when he counts them in his head he snarls. You watch his muscles twitch as he holds himself. Muscles that had grown twice their size since first year and yet you were left unchanging.

"Training is futile, you'll always be puny."

You rip your wrist free, teeth bared at an already snarling Bakugou.

"Not. Now." You misread his actions beneath the initial rage. He is concerned but all you see is punishment in his eyes

Disappointment.

You look over Katsuki's sculpted shoulder to see Kirishima waiting at the door with glistening ruby eyes that seem to be torn.

Who does he support? How can he defuse this?

"You're fucking hurt." The blonde bites out venom.

"I'm fucking fine. Drop it!" You shove past him slamming your shoulder into his. He wants so badly to reach for you. To yank you back to him so you can look him in his angry scarlet eyes.

"Oh so the blood on the floor means you're fine? Your cracked ribs and bruised to fuck all body means you're fine?!" His temper shows with deadly pops that dance along his skin.

You weight him and Kirishima down gently as you leave, hoping it slows them down long enough for you to return to the safety of your dorm room.

Katuski snarls as he walks with leaded feet, as if walking through mud under the influence of a muscle relaxer. But he and Kirishima have trained with you plenty of times, not to mention they are exposed to your increased pull.

"Maybe we should give them sometime? They are upset, babe." Kirishima offers only to be met with a glowering glare.

"I've tried listening to you, I've tried it your way and look what has happened." A snarl so low that Kirishima feels his gut twist.

"But..."

"But what?" He turns on his lover quickly, "We gave them two weeks of no contact. This is clearly a symptom we need to bisect before they kill themselves over some stupid fucking training."

Kirishima can do nothing but follow as Bakugou stalks you up the steps that you stomp.

You're seething, steam rising from your skin with each heavy breath as your vision blurs between rational thought and white hot rage.

Rage that is always so easy to give into. Especially when your only other option is immobilzing sadness. Before you know it Bakugou is barking at you from the jamb of the door while your ruby haired boyfriend presses gently against his back.

Trying to remind him that his own irate reaction could further the situation, Bakugou feels it but it is lost as you strip to change. You rip the velcro from your wrists, dropping the fifty pounds weights with a harsh thud. The floor rattles the items on your desk and even the window before you move onto the hundred pound weights on your ankles.

Grumbling as you think of your two hundred and fifty pound vest abandoned in the gym. How hard had Bakugou torn it from your strong yet sleek frame?

Would you have to take it to the support class?

You strip your shirt and then your pants as two sets of red eyes gauge different reactions.

Rubies widen, shining with the threat of tears. While blood scarlet narrow with burning, hot, wrath.

Katsuki knew you were bruised, he knew you had those broken ribs and he knew you were set out of rehabilitation probation due to injuries but he did not know the extent of them.

And how the fuck could he? What with you locking yourself away in your room, refusing to text them, refusing to eat the meals cooked and left for you.

Refusing help as you promised you would not do.

Katsuki's warning signs of blowing do not go unnoticed, a strong hand wraps around his hip. Squeezing, hoping to convey the softness the ash blonde so desperately needs.

It works, at least as far as his quirk goes. Bakugou Katsuki could erupt in more than one way.

"What. The. FUCK?!" He goes to take a step in but Kirishima keeps his grip tight. But that does not stop the tongue lashing you get. Bakugou takes a large slow breath, as you once taught him and snorts it out like a dragon.

"You promised you would stop doing this..." His voice, once soothing now grating your last nerve, "You fucking promised, damn it."

Kirishima gives another small squeeze before piping up.

"We are just worried about you, love. Very worried." His voice cracks at the end, causing Katsuki to look over his shoulder.

The tears well faster over dancing garnets.

From the weight of the guilt something in you finally snaps. The room blurs as you subconsciously pull the force to you, items slowly crushing beneath the weight as you lunge for the first thing you can wrap burning hands on.

Your desk chair to which your hurl while screaming

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Your hot headed boyfriend catches the chair with ease, exploding it on impact.

With an angry enough blast that the paint on the ceiling and walls peel.

Oh if Bakugou wasn't pissed at you before he was now.

And not angry over the fact that you've thrown something at him.

But over the simple fact that you were hurting in deadly silence. So badly suffering that you cannot even rationally express yourself anymore.

And more over he is pissed he has let it get this far.

The glass of your window shatters behind you, both from your exertion and his explosion pulling you into the here and now.

The room spirals as quickly as you do, suddenly forgetting how to breath. Gasping as a fish does out of water before you fall to your knees. The two men rush to you, fearing you'll lose yourself in your panic. Two sets of strong arms wrap around you both crushing you between them.

"You're okay." Kirishima soothes, "You're okay. Just breathe."

Nails bite into toned flesh though you are unsure which unfortunate mail is receiving the half blood moons as tears prick your eyes. Falling towards the Earth as much as you wish they wouldn't. Your stomach lurches, your side screams but it does not stop the racks of sobs that tremor through your body.

You come undone in the worst way before the very two men you wanted, needed to be strong in front of. There was already a detrimental gap between your development and theirs. In every fucking aspect you could think of.

Muscle mass.

Durability.

Capability.

The list could go on.

After some time Bakugou coos to you.

"Now tell me what's wrong."

Kirishima places his head between your shoulder blades, reaching out for Bakugou's hand.

"I...I'm behind. I... I cannot even train right." Tears slip over ruddy cheeks that Katuski gently wipes away.

"Behind how?" Kirishima prompts, letting lazy circles trace your stomach.

"On my first mission I get put on recovery suspension, I worked so so so *hard* to even get that hero to agree to take me on and yet I fucked it all up!" Another frustrated sob that has you hiccuping for a moment. You watch Bakugou's face turn to stone as he tries to calm himself.

"I almost died on one of my first big missions. I sat out for a long time, this was a little bit before you transferred." Kirishima admits, "Resting and PT made me stronger."

"Hell I was behind at one point too. I couldn't even fucking pass the provisional!" Katsuki growls at the thought.

"Neither could Todoroki-kun." Kirishima adds.

"But you three...you three are strong. I'm so....weak." With that Bakugou snaps.

"You think I can run with a two hundred fifty pound weight on my chest and keep pace with Iida's jog? Do you think Kirishima could hold down twenty fucking tweaked out villians at once?" His voice is gruff but his hands are soft as he lifts your chin, purposefully making you hold his gaze as he speaks, "Answer me, little one."

"N...no." You sob, Kirishima's strong arm squeezes tigher around your middle, careful to avoid your ribs, as he peppers kisses over your blackened shoulders.

"Just because your body does not reflect mine or Eijiro's does not mean you are weak. You are strong Y/N. Real fucking strong." He kisses you softly, capturing your lips tenderly as Kirishima kisses along your throat.

"Share this weight with us." Bakugou breathes out after pulling away.

"Its not weak to cry or ask for help baby." Kirishima whispers in your ear, your eyes look over your sturdy shoulder before they fall to their hands intertwined. You notice Bakugou's knuckles turning white. Had you really made them worry this much?

"Isn't that right Suki?" Eji asks, resting his chin in your shoulder. Katsuki looks at him for a long time, this man and you have helped him more than he would ever like to admit. But if this is what brought that natural magnetism about you that attracted him in the first place he'd say it

Fuck, if it brought that blinding smile of yours back to your kissable lips he'd scream if from the fucking roof.

"Yes." He lets out a shaky sigh, "Now please, please let us help you little one."

Searching his eyes you wonder if there will ever be a time when you will stop feeling this way.

When you will stop feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders over little to nothing at all.

When you will stop feeling that black hole that crawled into your chest weighing you down and making you weightless all at once.

When you will stop the haunting feeling of sadness that lingers on the fringes of your every thought, tainting every memory and moment with its shimmering darkness.

You wonder if this cancer, if this demon that has since crawled into your chest and devoured your heart whole will ever die.

Scarlet eyes soften as they rove over your lovely features, strong arms support you from behind and you know what the answer is.

The answer is no.

It will never die, never cease to exist, never leave you alone. It will stay with you until you lie motionless forever and even then it will crawl into your casket cradling your cooling skin.

But you will not stop fighting.

Cannot stop fighting because of the small sliver of a feeling you have now.

The love that resiliently blooms despite the pressure, despite the darkness, despite it being trampled over and fucking over.

You know that these two men are not your worth nor or they your reason for being and even if, Kamisama forbid, you three broke up, you would fight on.

Tooth and nail keeping this demon under the ball of your steel toed boot.

Because in the end, after it is all said in done you will do anything to feel this.

This hope and love that radiates from within. You sigh out a shaky sigh, releasing the tension of your shoulders and the constant pressure you've kept on yourself since that mission, your shoulders sag from relief.

"Thank you, thank you for baring this with me." You squeeze their arms respectively as you speak to them both at once, "I love you."

They speak in unison their two tones melding together and soothing over your skin like an ointment.

"I love you too."

#bakugou x reader #baakugo x reader #gender nuetral reader #katsuki x kirishima #kirishima x reader #bnha x reader #bnha kacchan #bnha fanfiction #kirishima x bakugo x reader #kirishima ejirou #katuski bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagine #kirishima #kirishima imagine

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hacker-of-fandom · 4 years

Text

Obey me characters reactions to a chaotic ratman human.

Sidenote I was high on tired and chaotic rat TikTok enjoy.

Lucifer:

What the fuck is that thing.

This thing was supposed to go to school with demons and angels.

Thought he summoned the wrong person until Mc responded to the name that he called.

A more chaotic Mammon but he does shit for no reason. LIKE AT ALL.

The first time he saw Mc petting a rat inside the house, he felt himself cracking.

"Mc.... What are you holding?"

"My new friend."

"Is your friend... A rat?"

"Why yes he is, most rats don't like being called a mouse or rodents. So he thanks you for that."

"Would you like to pet him? Oh, you've gotten quite pale."

Might have begged Diavolo to change the human students with someone else. As you can tell that didn't go well.

But-

Mc did have some good flaws.

He has good advice for the stupidest things ever, that just so happens to help in the most interesting times.

Like when the sink starts to flood the kitchen, just to grab Mc and give him a wrench and leave him in there.

"Don't let anyone come in here until I've texted you so, okay?"

Gets a text like a minute after that saying that everything is back to normal.

He runs in there not believing that shit.

No doubt the sink is fixed and there is no more water on the floor. And it seems like-

Mc is cooking dinner???

Lucifer is baffled how that even worked.

Another thing is, while Mc doesn't look like he could even be a suitable tea guest with his messy knotted hair, black ripped clothes, and usually a rode- rat on his shoulders. He likes tea.

Very much so.

"No, no Lucifer. I'm not saying the Earl Grey tea that you brought isn't good, it's just that I can tell that you boiled the tea leaves for way too long. A minute longer than needed if anything- Lucifer. Please don't raise your voice, Charlie doesn't like it."

He will never admit that a ratman was actually right about how long you needed to boil Early Grey tea leaves.

His nickname from Mc is, "Prideful boi" or "Lucyyyyyy~"

When he realized he couldn't get Mc to stop calling him Lucy, he just stopped getting mad over it. He now seems to almost smile at it.

Almost.

Mammon:

He has to watch over this human?

Oh hell no.

Is what he thought when Mc first came to Devildom. But now?

Mc is his escape buddy.

You know how Mammon gets tied up from the ceiling like every week?

Mammon just needs to call out for Mc and he'll come with a smirk on his face.

"What'cha do this time, greedy boi?"

Mammon can't even lie to him.

"I tried selling one of Lucifer's rings."

"Oooooh, yeah that'd getcha stuck. So whatcha goin do for my comrades and I?"

"I'll tell the local crows to stop hunting you guys?"

... The rats basically cheer at that.

"You have yourself a deal."

In the next ten seconds, a small army of rats have bitten the rope apart to have Mammon fall into Mc's arms.

Even with Mc scruffy look, Mammon can't really deny that Mc's smirk is very nice looking.

In class, they pass notes to each other with the rats.

Might have matching necklaces to show both crows and rats that they are equal.

Crow king and Rat king.

Bonus points if they now have networks of crow and rats stealing people's stuff.

"Crow bro", "Mamoney", and, "Cutie".

"Don't pet me when saying that! NO I'M NOT BLUSHING, STOP PETTING ME!"

Leviathan:

Didn't really care.

Just another normie.

Until.

"WHERE IS MY SERIES OF "Rat God and snake hybrid fall in love after meeting each other in the woods!" ROMANCE MANGA!"

He was so sure it was Mammon. He was about to storm up towards his seat in the dining room but-

"Oh, wait- oh man I'm sorry dude. That was totally me." Deadly silent.

Rat man knew how to read?

"What."

Mc explains that he was bored one day and asked if the rats could find him a manga to read. He just never got where they got it from.

Apologies for the inconvenience and hands him the manga that he was currently reading.

Was in such a state of shock that he didn't even comprehend that rats somehow got into his room and got the books of the top shelf.

"Y-you read manga?"

"Yeah, I watch anime and play video games too in my free time."

"Oh- w-well! I bet you don't even play Heros alley!"

"I've played both demos, the first game, and the dev even emailed me a few days ago, about letting me play the second upcoming Hero Alleys 2 game before the release to see my opinion."

He can't believe it.

"You know Kero-sama?"

"He's an old high school friend, yeah."

Begins to worship this rat-man.

Probably hugs Mc crying.

Spends so much time texting each other about games they've played and animes. That Leviathan realizes Kero is not the only game creator Mc knows.

Mc knows a lot of famous people in the Otaku world.

Leviathan sometimes leaves out open bags of chips for the rats that come by his room when Mc is gone.

Might accidentally confess his love towards Mc to the rats.

Mc explains the next day that he can understand what the rats say to him. And that he thinks Leviathan is pretty cool to be around as well.

Leviathan might die.

"Gamer bro.", "Envy boi", and "Levi-Kun".

"Don't call me that!" Five minutes later... "Can you call me Levi-Kun again, please?"

Satan:

Hates rats.

With his cat love, he wouldn't bat an eye at a rat dying.

But when he finds rats in the library in huge group pushing specific books of shelves with Mc sitting on a couch reading the books to them, and them sitting in crowds just watching and listen to his voice. He might think twice before kicking them.

Other than Mc's messy looks and chaotic personality, his voice was often very nice to listen to. So when he saw this reading group of rats, he slowly walked towards Mc before sitting down on one of the empty seats. As all of the other seats were taken with rodents.

It was ironically the Nutcracker, that Mc was reading out loud. At it seemed like he just started on the book. When the nutcracker and Ratking were fighting, Satan summed that the rats would hate the nutcracker.

But to his surprise, the rats cheered or jumped around when the Rat King was defeated. And Mc laughed at their antics.

Mc ended the book with a happily, "The end!".

"Sorry, Satan. You were probably looking for something."

Satan snapped out of his daydream and realized, yes he was looking for a book before coming here.

"Oh no it's fine, this was actually quite entertaining. May I ask some questions?"

"Shoot."

This ended up in a beautiful friendship of two chaotic people who love torturing Lucifer and reading books.

And yes, Satan does try to protect some rats from cats now.

"Kitty cat", "Angry boi", "Bookworm" and "Mine" are all nicknames that has made Satan stop reading or keeping a straight face.

Satan was reading a book while Mc was holding him against his chest, reading over his shoulder and just gripped tighter on Satan and said,

"Mine." Satan didn't know who he was telling that to but he was pretty sure his heart just picked up it's speed and lost his place in the book.

His voice is very nice, okay?

Asmodeus:

GrossgrossgrossgrossgrossGrossgrossgrossgrossgrossGrossgrossgrossgrossgrossGrossgrossgrossgrossgross

Did he mention gross?

Mc needed to take a shower! Do his hair! Clean up! Wear some good clothes!

AND FOR DIAVOLO'S SAKE GET RID OF THE RATS.

Asmodeus avoided Mc like the plague. I mean- rats have been involved with many plagues so it's no surprise.

But one day-

"Hey! Asmodeus! I think you lost this!"

Asmodeus turned around to see his lost necklace. It was pink pearls with a gold diamond chain.

He completely forgot that Mc was dirty and hugged Mc as hard as he could.

"How did you find it? Oh, I've missed it so much!"

"Let's say I've had a little help. Plus I actually wanted to know if you've lost anything else?"

Short answer yes, yes he did.

So Asmodeus was in Mc's room which wasn't actually that bad looking. There weren't that many rats as he expected. While Mc was grabbing all the jewelry the rats have found in a month time.

Is honestly surprised that Mc didn't sell any of the items. A lot of it would have made him one of the richest humans in all three dimensions.

Asmodeus asked how he can repay him, with Ya know. Sex.

Mc shakes his head no but instead asks him what hair products he uses?

Asmodeus thinks he is about to get a new makeup friend when in reality Mc wants to clean some of his rat friends.

But it just ends up Mc and Asmodeus going to a spa, that is at human temperatures.

Even if Mc looks like a rat, he is kinda good looking without a shirt and his hair covering 95 percent of his eyes.

"Pretty boi", "Jewels", and "Pinky-pie" are nicknames he has used for Asmodeus.

Personally likes all of the nicknames.

Beelzebub:

Ratman eats.

A lot.

It's not just him that he's feeding, it's his army of rats.

So when Mc first eats with the demon brothers he eats a shit load for himself and then pulls out a basket to put cheese, bread, crackers, and a few veggies inside for his army.

Then walks into his room and just whistles.

The army comes flooding in his room to eat the food he has provided.

He leaves the room to go to the kitchen where he finds Beelzebub going through the fridge even though dinner was just served twenty minutes ago.

They actually begin to talk.

Beelzebub enjoys knowing that he has a eating partner(s).

They get onto the topic working out, school, food and eventually family.

Mc explains he doesn't have much of a family except for his rat family.

Beelzebub doesn't try to bring up Belphegor but Mc says this:

"I've actually read about the seven sins avatar once. And I'm just wondering, where's sloth? I can't remember his name but I know it starts with a 'b'." Mc turns to the rat on his shoulder.

"Belphegor? Oh yeah, that's it! Belphegor the avatar sin of sloth! Where is he?"

Beelzebub might just cry right then and there.

"I don't know." Mc's eyes soften at his answer.

Mc and Beelzebub talk about what happened. And become very close friends in the matter of days.

Beelzebub is glad to have someone to talk to about his guilt and the fight between Belphegor and Lucifer but-

There is one thing that he just doesn't- understand.

Mc fights for him. And he didn't understand it. Beelzebub once caught Mc fighting a demon in the hallway of the school. And he punched the demon square in the face.

He later figured out that the demon was talking trash about him and Mc overheard it and just attacked the student. Like a vicious animal.

After the fight, Mc is left a bleed nose and a smirk. Beelzebub is very scared and worried. But is calmed down once Mc hugs him.

"I'm not letting anyone talk trash about my family."

Is super happy for the rest if the week.

"Hungry boi", " Favorite cheese.", "Cutie pie".

Cutie pie kinda makes him freeze or drop whatever he has from shock. He likes it though.

Belphegor:

After the whole timeline killing thing, the rats don't trust Belphegor at all. They'll hiss and bit and poop in Belphegor's bed. And let me tell you when you have an army of rats pooping in someone's bed its like cow shit.

Mc probably forgives him completely but Belphegor is getting a different vibe with the rats.

Finally, speak up about it.

"Hey, Mc."

"Yesss?"

"Do you still hate me?"

"What."

Now Belphegor feels like a dumb ass for asking this.

"Do you still hate me because your rat friend-army is like attacking me? And it's making me feel terrible for Ya know, the..." Belphegor kinda just moves his hands around.

Mc sighs and whistles sharply. Belphegor flinches seeing the thousands of rats running in the room with most of their eyes on him.

"Alright! Who has been harassing Belphegor!? I told you guys not to hurt him. He's my friend. We just set on the wrong foot guys. Apologies now."

Fuck he didn't mean for Mc to do this. He has gotten afraid of the rats for the past two weeks and he's just waiting for the rats to turn their backs on Mc.

Like he did.

But to his surprise and relief, the rats run away but come back with an item.

It was ring.

They tower up towards Belphegor with the ring grabbing his left hand and placing it on his ring finger. It was a diamond ring.

"What." Mc stuttered realizing what they were doing.

"Guys I'm not forcing him to marry me to make up the whole killing thing, come one."

The rats didn't seem to care as they danced and made a shrill scream of the wedding music.

"So... We're married now?"

"In rat terms, yes."

He's not going to complain if he doesn't get attacked anymore and is expected to cuddled Mc.

Also, the ring looked very nice.

Nicknames are, "Sleepy boi" "Cowboy" and "My husband".

Mc meant it as a joke but realized Belphegor was blushing. So he decided to only say it when they were alone.

Solomon:

Thinks Mc is a wizard of some sort.

A rat wizard.

Solomon constantly tries to make Mc do a blood pact with him.

"Dude can't we just be friends like come on."

Is also okay with that.

They become potion buddies.

The rats help with getting items that humans can't get. Like herbs in the monster forest.

They might have accidentally made a love potion for Asmodeus but used the wrong hair.

It was a long week for Mc since Solomon taste-tested it.

Solomon was constantly trying to hold his hand, or hug him.

The few times Mc laughed at something in class while hold Solomon's hand, Solomon would be overcome with emotions to kiss the dirty rat-man.

One time he succeeded.

*Insert muffled ratman screaming*

After that interesting week, Solomon remembered everything and would scare Mc by hugging him or giving him the same half lid eyes while telling him he loved him.

The only man Mc has ever feared.

Nicknames Mc has given him, "Wizard boi" "Lover boi" and "White owl."

Solomon honestly likes White owl as an alias.

Simeon:

Rats like shiny things.

Simeon is very, very shiny.

Mc is very protective of Simeon.

Case closed.

But he knew the only way to really befriend Simeon was to befriend Luke. But without seeming like he was just trying to befriend him, Ya know?

So, Mc stood up for Luke when he was being teased for his height.

"Mammon you better shut up before I start sending my rats to take your jewelry and sell them."

You can bet that no one bullied Luke for his height again.

"You okay, Luke?" Luke denied that he even needed help but Mc knew that he just got on Luke's and Simeon's good side.

There is just times where Luke, Solomon, and Simeon talking while Mc is just listening when Mc would grab Simeon's hand and play with it.

Solomon would chuckle at the sight of the rat-man just playing with an angel's hand. While Simeon would be slightly confused.

Mc would have the most serious look on his face while he just tenderly touch Simeon's palms.

"Mc, what are you doing?"

"Shiny."

His hand wasn't even shiny but that's his response.

It would become a thing where Mc would friendly touch Simeon's hair or hand or cape.

And animalistic fight for him.

It took Simeon to look up if rats liked shiny thing and if they protect them.

And they do. In fact, they can hoard them and protect them with their life.

It was too late for Simeon. He had a cute dirty ratman king protecting him because he was shiny.

His nicknames would be, "Holy boi" "Lovely" or "Shiny".

Simeon did blush at the nickname lovely.

Luke:

Luke thought Mc was a sinful human based on looks. Dirty, hoarded shiny things, and was friends with the demons.

But he soon just realized that Mc wasn't a bad person, just a rat.

Luke became very interested in Mc's rat friends and secretly giving him sweet after he stood up to the demon brother about his height.

And much like Simeon, Mc found that Luke was very shiny too.

But soon Luke looked up at Mc like a dirty father-like figure. And Mc saw him as a son. Along with the rats.

"Shiny kid." Or "Angel boi" was the first nicknames he used.

Mc would let Luke pet the rats after a while.

Simeon, Mc, and Luke looked like a small family.

Mc would begin to call Luke, "Son" or "Kiddo".

Luke complained but would cheerfully tell Simeon about it.

Barbatos:

He probably fainted seeing Mc with rats on his shoulders.

Would avoid him at all costs.

But he would suddenly get along when Mc stated that there were mice in the palace.

"What?"

"Yeah, my rats just told me that they smell mice in here we can get them out if ya-"

"Please, that would be very appreciated."

In a minute the ten rats that Mc brought were biting the back of at least twenty mice's feet as the ran out of the open castle doors.

Everyone was in awe at how organized the rats were and more of the fact that Barbatos was being held by Mc.

They got along but Barbatos was very cautious around Mc. Until Mc had enough.

"Barbatos I love you, so I'm going to leave my rats outside when I come to the castle, I also will be well washed okay? I want to befriend you." Is the voicemail Barbatos got from an unknown number which he could tell was Mc.

Part two will be the rest of Barbatos and Lord Diavolo. Thank you!!!!

#obey me beel #mammon #barbatos #satan #obey me belphegor #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #male reader #rat man

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