#and one of the servants trips and drops the plates

[heartshapedbubble]

and now, for a request that took me six months to start writing and two months to finish due to personal stuff. jesus christ i should start including financial compensation alongside my fics.

anyways happy spooky szn everyone!! now that my reqs are finally empty i'll be reworking my page soon and opening them again💞

unspoken words, an orpheus x maid reader fanfic📕

tags/heads up: reader is a maid, gender not specified, one sided enemies to lovers kinda????, suggestive only if you squint really hard and get your eyes reaaaally close to the screen (theres only kissing tbh)

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Being a survivor was never easy. Peer pressure from both your team and people outside it, dealing with all sorts of blows directed right at you - either the physical ones, by the hunter, or the verbal ones from the other survivors.

But being a survivor AND a servant? It made things even worse.

Right after a match, it was only a matter of time when you'd hear groans and whines about how there's no tea and biscuits served in the living room, how there's so much dust on library shelves, how stained the floor in the hall is. And there was no time to catch a break, hell, no time to heal either. You roughly wiped your bloodstained knees, plucked out pieces of wood that dug themselves into your palms, and got back to work. As drops of remaining blood rolled down your leg and you felt your hips crack each time you bent down, you got back to your everyday cleaning service. As you were a maid - the only one that was available at all times, at least, and the only one who was actually living and not just a stitched-up corpse - most if not all of the household manor duties ended up a burden on your back. Strolling between the survivor side and the hunter side, you served warm cups of lemon tea, handed clean towels, even polished shoes. And my god, there was no mercy from either side. Everything was always "not good enough", and most of the time you barely even got a "thank you" handed back. One time, one especially daring hunter dared to spit on you as you scrubbed the tiles beneath him - let's just say that the handle of your broom got to his ankles quite quickly.

The maid life was ugly, but it had its benefits, too. For example, you heard all sorts of juicy gossip dealt from mouth to mouth, from ear to ear, dark secrets from every single person inhabiting the manor. And as most people ignored you unless they needed some unimportant favor from you, in the meantime there was plenty of alone time you could use up until the next bell ring. Curled up in a hidden part of the library, a plate stacked with softened butter cookies by your feet, your free time was spent dozing off on the soft, velvet cushions of the hard sofa by the foggy window, your eyes occasionally skimming through a yellowed book.

~

"Oh, sorry." Helena mumbled as the tip of her cane accidentally scratched your hand as you scrubbed the floor. "I knew you were somewhere in front of me, but I didn't know where exactly."

"It's all good, Hele." Helena was one of the more polite residents, but it was just part of her nature - shy, polite, respectful. Compared to everyone else, she was just a kid after all.

You achingly checked the grandfather clock looming over you, waiting eagerly until it rang for five o'clock and signaled your break for the day. Yesterday you stumbled over a really good book, with a fascinating plot decked into at least five hundred pages. You barely got to skim over the first few when you heard a whine from the living room, demanding a serving of pastries. It kept you up all day long and you could barely contain yourself from running to your little haven straight away.

At last, your deserved break came, and you almost tripped over the carpet folds as you ran towards the rusty trapdoor separating you from your one-hour paradise. Yet, as you lunged right for the piled-up cushions, you noticed a figure.

Someone.

Sitting on your sofa.

Reading a book.

Not just a random book.

The exact same one you picked up and tucked under the pillows yesterday, so no one can get their grubby little hands on it except you.

And, to top it all off, it was no other than the novelist, Orpheus, who was sifting impatiently through the pages, splayed on your sofa like a frog, his leg bouncing nervously.

Ugh, that Orpheus. He was polite and all, one of the exceptions, good-looking even, but god did something about him rub you the wrong way. He always said hello, said goodbye, said thank you and please, smiled back at you, yet...

"Oh, good afternoon, ___!"

The position he was in right now really wasn't helping.

"Hello, sir Orpheus." The "sir" title you had to use out of respect awfully repulsed you, even more so than "lady". Perhaps it was the undertone of uttermost submission unavoidably coming with it. "May I ask you, what are you doing here?"

"Oh. Well, I was on a.... little expedition, will you", he chuckled, nervously playing with the buttons on the cuff of his shirt, "Y'know, messing with the bookshelves and what not, when I stumbled upon this fine little room. Seems like I'm not the first one to discover it, am I?"

"No, you're not." You forced yourself to smile, and sat right by him, the cushions dipping under your weight and slightly pulling you two closer. "I've claimed it as my own, in fact. I believe you don't mind that, do you?"

"I-I don't mind it at all! No no, how could I? Well, I..." He mumbled nonsense, trying to hide his face as he cleaned his monocle. He seemed especially nervous today, and he wasn't the calmest in general, either. "...may I assume you don't mind me staying a bit longer here, do you?"

You sighed. Well, maybe some company instead isn't a bad thing. Even if it was him. "I'll let it slip this time. Want some cookies?" You pulled out a scratched tin box from under one of the big cushions, and messed with the tightly clasped lid. "They're a bit stale, but they taste just fine."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. Hesitatingly, he picked a crumbling cookie and wrapped it in his handkerchief. "Thank you for welcoming me so nicely despite your... condition, y'know. I can only imagine how hard it can be having the role of a maid and a competitor at the same time." There was pity in his voice, a hint of internalized shame, maybe. Willingly or not, his last sentence created an uncomfortable silence between you two, and it was only a matter of time before one of you broke it.

"...You're welcome", you went in head-first into the conversation, "but I really don't need your pity. I didn't get a lot of it in the first place, and I sure don't need it now. My life is what it is, and neither of us can change it."

He sighed. "I suppose you're right", he said as he got up and stretched, "just saying, though.. accepting empathy or help here and there really isn't that humbling as it seems." He calmly walked through the trapdoor, as if he didn't say anything.

God. You decide to be nice for once and you get back a lesson instead? How fun. Especially when it's from someone who you thought you could confide in. But you're not going to allow his words to get to your skull - there's so much better things to think of compared to that....

~

"My apologies, dear." Michiko whispered as she quickly tiptoed away, accidentally bumping into you the second before.

"I'd advise you to be more careful where you tread, doll", Joseph suddenly appeared in the hallway, weaving his words with his usual husky yet elegant voice, "I believe you don't want any accidents to occur while working, hm?"

Out of almost all of the (adult) hunters, Joseph was the most talkative. And you were no exception - he regularly spoke to the other survivors, often scaring them by whispering from behind their back or jumping out of the shadows. He wasn't trying to form strong relationships, obviously, but it seemed like he wasn't the type to withold his comments. After some time spent observing you deduced that Joseph might be a little bit too fascinated with you - or at least a little bit too interested in chatting with you.

"No, Joseph, I, in fact, don't.", you groaned as you threw the broom back in your bucket, "Besides, shouldn't you be more worried about your own wellbeing, old man? Should I bring you some balm for your sore limbs?"

He clicked his tongue. "Tch. You know I have good intentions, dear." One blink later and he already merged with the shadows, looking for someone else to talk to.

"Woah. What was all that about?" You heard a voice behind you, a bit shaky and uncertain. It was - you sighed - Orpheus again, in his hands a ceramic tray stacked with porcelain dishes and silverware, a warm scent of mint emitting from the glossy teapot. He wasn't having a good time trying to balance it in his arms.

"Nothing. Just Joseph being Joseph. Mind me taking this for you?" you grabbed the tray in an instant, now much more stable under your grip.

"I...do, actually." He slowly pulled the tray back towards him, a bit hesitantly now as his hands shook beneath it again. "I thought once you finish we could sit down for tea. Y'know, just the two of us. In the little room in the library. I can bug Norton for some of his tres leches if you want. Or maybe Margaretha for pierogi if you're craving something savory instead... Sorry, I wanted it to be a suprise." He looked away, bashfully, as if he regretted doing all of this in the end. You weren't sure what had gotten into you at that moment, but you suddenly felt that if you don't accept his offer now, you might feel really bad later on. Like looking at a sad little puppy's beady eyes.

"Thinking of it now, it doesn't seem like a bad way to pass the afternoon. I'm in."

~

You puffed at the steam coming from your cup.

"Joseph really gets on your nerves, hm, ____?"

"A bit, yeah. Snooty old man."

"Ah, come on now, he isn't that bad. He's quite pleasant to talk, actually. A little intimidating, very peculiar, but pleasant. Most of the time."

"Wish it was like that when playing against him. I go through hell and back while dressing my wounds because of his damned rapier. How did it even get approved by the owner?

"He's a veteran, so I believe they decided to let it slip back then. Or maybe he just swayed DeRoss off of his feet with his Frenchman charm and the two lasers he has for eyes."

You almost choked on your tea. Orpheus had a suprisingly sharp tongue, unfitting with his unsuspecting face and downturned eyes. He took off his gloves - revealing rough yet nimble fingers - and scooped some pierogi onto his plate.

"Was this a pleasant enough suprise for you?"

"Well, for the first time someone has been nice to me in a while, it's quite delightful, I admit."

"You mean, you wouldn't consider Joseph being polite towards you as "being nice"?"

"Hm?"

"Oh, just wondering, since I overheard bits of your conversation today. He didn't really sound rude, did he?"

"I mean, he wasn't rude or anything, it's just...I don't know how to explain it. Yeah, people are nice to me, actually, quite a lot of them, but they rarely go beyond their words. They don't put them into action."

"I see. I believe it gets annoying with time."

"It does."

"Do you put what you say into action, too?"

"...What are you implying?"

"As in, when you like a person or care for them, do you also try to put into action your love for them?"

"Orpheus, I put everything into action. Every day. That's my job as a maid."

"Yes, I...know that very well, but do you put love in action, too?"

"I don't have time for love. Nor is there anyone to fully love here, I fear. Just tolerate and like, maybe. If they're really nice."

He sat up straight, his thumb trailing his bottom lip back and forth.

"See, I'm no expert, but I do feel that you're denying yourself of something you don't know you need most."

Leaving you puzzled, he got up and left the room.

~

"Orpheus, have you ever kissed somebody before?"

He suddenly jolted, staring back at you from the other edge of the sofa.

"What kind of question is that?" He tilted his head, pouring milk into his tea. One tea break ensued after another, and now it has become an unspoken rule to bring something to sip (or munch) on to the library hideout as the clock struck for afternoon.

"You know how they portray poets and novelists. Romantic, sensual, passionate. I just assumed you already have some experience with dating."

A faint pink flashed his cheeks. "Well, now, what is it that prompted you to ask me? And now, of all times?"

Sip by sip, sentence by sentence, and you got quite close to Orpheus in these few months. You couldn't help but think about his words here and there - to do something with love, not just because you have to. Or out of love. Whatever. The following day after he brought you tea for the first time, you felt the moral obligation to invite him for lunch. And so the cycle continued, an opportunity to chat appeared along with it, and in Orpheus you now saw a friend. Perhaps. There were bits of joy in the moments when you picked out the perfect flavor for the day or played with coffee cream, attempting to make some designs with it.

No, in fact, there was no real reason behind your question. It seemed fitting enough for the moment, and maybe, just maybe, you wanted to catch him off guard again.

"Felt like it."

He cleared his throat. "Well, if you're so curious about it.... not really. Fangirls were common but... I'm simply not very experienced. Some may see me as charismatic but once things get a little bit more serious I don't know what to do. Was that the answer you expected from me?"

It was a bit ironic. A bit cute, even. How his charisma only reached up to actual love, the real thing. The same thing he remarked you needed the most.

"Funny. The Orpheus, the detective novel author, afraid of love? Out of all things?"

It didn't take long for him to pout his lips, looking away in shame. "To be fair, there's quite a bit to be afraid of in love. There's commitment, passion, building trust, insecurity... It takes a lot to love."

"I see."

"May I ask you the same question?"

"Which one - if I've ever kissed someone? Never. Never had the opportunity. Never felt the need, in fact. It wasn't a necessity to have a partner, only a plus. It's not something to be terribly afraid of. I believe it just happens and, well, you go with the flow."

"Well, maybe you never feared it because you never reached its starting point."

"Oh, Orpheus, you're supposed to be a novelist, not a philosopher."

~

The library sofa is quite practical. If you pull the compartment at the bottom of it a little too hard, it can be stretched out, turning it into a large comfortable bed, although a bit rough on the skin.

You and Orpheus laid on the sofa-bed, directly facing the large window, listening to the sound of raindrops hitting the glass.

"It's really calming here. Lulls you right to sleep." He started, his monocle set aside. Now having a better look at his so-to-speak "monocled" eye, you noticed it's more downturned than the other.

"...Mhm." Already half asleep, you turned your head towards his face, soaked up his profile through lidded eyes.

"____ , is everything okay?"

"Everything is just fine. Juuust fine. I'm just a bit sleepy."

You looked at his hand, laying by his hip between you two, fingers twitching here and there nervously. He never took his gloves off in front of you except for when he was eating.

"You can go take a nap if you want. I'll wake you up once it's time to go."

Your hand mindlessly headed towards his and your fingers pinched at the satin gloves, trying to take them off his hands.

"No, I think i'm good."

He sighed sharply. That wasn't a sigh of annoyance, it was a sigh of pain, like trying to breathe deeply while your heart aches.

"God, no. Please, ____ , don't do this to me."

He was scared, and now you were too, but his hand remained still. Torn between pleasure and horror. His fingers cold and nimble, his hand rough and calloused again. For an unknown reason, you wanted to hold it, from the second your gaze switched to it.

"I'm not doing anything bad, am I?"

Your fingers finally fit between his, palm to palm. It was weird. Like holding a pleasantly cold cup and trailing across sandpaper at the same time. But it felt good. It felt safe, secure, like it could last forever.

"You know what you're doing."

You felt his fingers tighten around your hand, gripping it tightly.

"...Please keep on doing it."

~

Seven o'clock.

An envelope in your hands. Your name written on it in the prettiest cursive you've seen, like a treat, baiting you to open it.

But you held back.

You waited.

The door creaked behind you. Not turning back, you spoke softly:

"Orpheus."

"____"

Your name uttered between breaths.

The clack of his shoes, his weight switching from leg to leg, his breathing becoming louder. You could now feel it on your neck. The chilling warmth.

"Why didn't you open the letter?"

"You know why."

"You're cruel."

"But you came anyways."

He sighed. "... for love." It sounded heavy coming from his mouth.

"For love." You smiled, the word now as light as a butterfly. The knife tore through paper and you skimmed through the lines of words, a careful gaze watching you as you did so.

"...What do you think?"

"It's wonderful."

"I know what's on your mind."

You turned towards him now. Face to face. Mere inches separating your eyes. Eyes, wandering everywhere else except towards what laid in front of them.

You tried to lay your hands around his neck. You tried, really. But the look in his eyes already denied you before you even started.

His hands quickly reached for your lowering wrists.

"Give me a moment, I beg of you." He whispered, shaking.

His lips indecisevly hovered above your lips, then your neck, your nose, your cheek. You closed your eyes firmly, only opening them once you felt comforting warmth on your jaw. He pulled back, leaving a translucent string of saliva as he parted.

"I know it wasn't as magical as you expected it to be. I'm sorry, ____ ."

"We barely even started, Orpheus."

He tried to object, to bury himself again, but before the words could slip from his mouth, your lips shut him up. And so, in a mere moment, the unspoken words did not matter anymore.

#identity v #idv #idv headcanons #identity v headcanons #idv imagines #idv fanfic #idv scenarios #idv x reader #identity v x reader #identity v x you #novelist idv #idv novelist #identity v novelist #novelist identity v #orpheus idv #idv orpheus #identity v orpheus #orpheus deross #idv oneshot

[sirthisisa-wendys]

So I've been having thots about viking!Draken (it's the braid for me) and I feel like he'd be one of the most skilled warriors in the clan and he's head over heels in stupid stupid love with one of his jarl's household servants, much to the annoyance/amusement of said jarl.

how dare you hold me hostage with my own favorite tropes and time period, anon. HOW DARE YOU!

The Jarl would be amused - being with bondswomen during that time wouldn't be unheard of, but Draken obviously wants to take it to the next level. And So. Do. I.

Distractions (Part 1) : Ken Ryuguji x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.2k

tw: fluff, angst

👁 masterlist 👁 next part

"A little higher, Draken."

Shame colors Draken's cheeks are you walk by, drawing his eyes away from practice. The man across from him chuckles, holding his gaze steady while Draken fights his urge to look away.

"You need to focus," the gruff man calls out, louder than Draken would have thought proper. "That girl will do nothing but distract you."

"Not a chance," Draken replies, parrying with his opponent and fighting for the upper hand. "I'm plenty focused." The men exchange blows, and the sound of clashing metal rings in the fjord while grunts and growls accentuate the fake fight.

"Yield," Draken commands the man, who lands square on his ass, sword cast aside.

"I yield," the man immediately breathes. "You win." Draken re-sheaths his sword and walks off, pushing stray hairs away from his face with a shaking hand. His eyes scan his surroundings, hoping to land on a vision of you in all of your glory, but he barely misses you ducking into the great hall.

Draken feels the urge to follow you but quickly suppresses it. There would be no real reason for him to track you down other than toss ill-intended remarks your way, like the other men. He has no need for that. No, you're a delicate flower blowing in the wind, each gust making your spotless petals shiver. He wouldn't add his own intentions to that. One wrong gust could send your petals scattering... And what a shame that would be.

"You look thirsty," he hears, making him look up from his shoes in surprise. You stand before him, your eyes shining as you hold a skein of water out to him. "Would you like a drink?"

"Please," he breathes, holding his hands out. The exchange is menial, but when Draken's fingers connect with yours, he feels a small jolt of lightning pass through them. Like touching snow on a mountain. And your hands are so soft. He almost says so, too, but chooses to trip his head back, drinking the cold water greedily while you watch and wait.

A small stream trickles down his chin, and he curses himself for his lack of manners in front of you. But you smile at him, hold your hands out for the skein, and take it gratefully.

"Thank you," Draken exhales, throat fully quenched. "I did not realize how thirsty I was until you offered me a drink."

"Not a problem," you reply sweetly, taking the jug and beginning your walk once more. Draken watches as you walk away, hips swaying slightly under your dress. Beautiful hips, he thinks before he can stop himself. Once you've disappeared into the distance, Draken goes on about his day, fleeting thoughts of you popping into his mind the entire time.

"Skål!" Toasts are made all at once, and fingers dig into morsels on silver plates. Stolen silver plates. Draken finds his appetite lacking but picks up a piece of meat anyways. Before his fingers can deposit it into his mouth, he sees you walk through the crowd of men, holding a jug of mead in your hands.

Always serving, he thinks to himself, watching your hands guide the pitcher toward a cup. Each movement is so fluid - so graceful - that if he were to estimate the number of times you've let a drop of mead go to waste... it would be pointless.

He supposes his staring caught the attention of the jarl at the head of the table. So, when his name rings out in the hall from the smug-looking man at the front of the room, he also surmises that the jarl knows his little secret.

"Come here, Draken!" Ken rises from his seat and plods toward the jarl with a shyness that isn't feigned. To be caught staring at the jarl's property in an ill-befitting way could incur a punishment. "Ken," the jarl begins, swallowing a swig of mead. "Come down here." Draken lowers himself at the waist to hear the words whispered behind a palm. "For as long as I've known you, you haven't been one to fixate on things."

"I was wrong to do so," Ken admits sheepishly, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks.

"I didn't say whether you were wrong or right," the jarl chuckles. "I have never known you to be a man who wanted much."

"And I do not covet your property, my lord."

"Covet?" The jarl roars with laughter, holding his stomach. "Coveting is not the same as looking, young man!" No one seems to acknowledge the conversation between the two of them. Draken doesn't reply. "Listen, if you want her, I'll give her to you. All you have to do is ask."

Draken raises his brows. "Give her to me?"

"You wish to bed her, do you not?" He flinches, recoiling in shock.

"That is not my intention, my lord, I--"

"Then what? Have her as your own slave?"

Slave. Draken steps back, bowing his head. "I am sorry, my lord. I will leave her be."

"Don't shy away, Ken," the jarl admonishes him. "What is your desire? I will give you anything you ask for. You know you're like one of my own."

Draken feels his wish settle into the depth of his chest and weigh heavily on his heart. "I wish to have her as a wife..." he whispers. "My lord."

The jarl's face darkens. "I see." Draken presses his lips together. "She would need to be freed in order to marry you."

"Yes," Draken affirms.

"And you... want her to be free?"

"Yes."

"I will think on this; she has not earned her freedom."

"She was not born free," Draken replies quickly, coming to your defense in your absence. "What is there to earn, my lord? Should we be free to marry, she will have her freedom instantly."

"Y/n!" Draken straightens up, his face dropping into nothingness as you approach with a small smile.

"My lord?"

"Why are you enslaved?" Your face drops a fraction, and you carefully look between the two men.

"I... was born to a bondswoman."

"And you are only half of what we are."

"My mother never married into your people, no." The jarl waves his hand at you, shaking his head.

"How would you propose gaining her hand, then, Draken?" You stiffen, gripping the handle of the pitcher tighter. Draken falters, his mind going blank at the sight of you frightened. "Well?"

"I... I would ask her, my lord."

"Ask her what?"

"How I could win her hand, my lord."

"And how could he win your hand, my pet?" Draken bristles at the nickname, watching you shift on your feet with shame. How could he have placed you in this position? How dare he?

"I could not say," you croak. "That is not my place."

"That's right." Draken feels tears pricking at his eyes. "It is my place to say how he could win your hand. It seems he's forgotten this." Draken steps back again, feeling bile rise in his throat when your face pales.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," he rushes out, backing away from the great hall and into the night.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers draken #ken ryuguji x reader #ken ryuuguji x reader #ken ryuguji

[bouqetofmemes]

idk what to title this

Warning: you get a boo boo here and almost bitch punched Lizzy

You woke up, Sebastian told you your schedule for the day, ate breakfast with Ciel, and went into the carriage to get Ciels walking stick.

"Careful my lady, you might trip." Sebastian said, picking you up and out of the carriage "Thank you Sebastian." You went ahead and held Ciels hand while walking into the store

"Hmm?" The shopkeeper raised his head "Oh, hello boy." "Did your father send you for something?" "Actually he's here on his own business." "We need to pick this up." Sebastian handed the man a piece of paper "Oh, you're here for that walking stick." "I was wondering who would have a use for one as short as this." The man said while pulling out Ciel's walking stick "Naturally, I didn't think a chi—"

"Straight as an arrow." Sebastian said, pointing the walking stick at the mans head "A magnificent stick indeed good sir."

"Keep the change, good day." You guys walked out of the store leaving the old man frightened

' I heard that prostitutes are the target of getting murdered, I wonder why.' Y/n thought, looking out the window of the carriage

"I'm sure your tired, master, mistress." "I'll prepare tea for both of you immediately." Sebastian said, opening the door for both of you.

When you walked in, you expected to see the manor in the same way. But it was filled WITH COLORFUL AND CUTESY SHIT

"My mansion!" Ciel yelled "Oh, my." Y/n felling to her knees, holding covering her mouth with her hands.

"What happened to this place? Why it's a disaster!" Suddenly the servants came out of a door yelling for Sebastian

"What is going on here?" "And why on earth are you all dressed like lunatics?" "She's crazy, crazy!" "Who is crazy?" Ciel asked

You both heard gagging and went to a room to find that grell was hanging "What are you doing?" "At the moment, I believe I'm in the process of dying, master Ciel." "Get him down Sebastian." "Y/n, go and change into something comfortable, I have a surprise for you later." "Oh, okay." Y/n went upstairs to change into a more comfortable outfit

                   'I wonder what the present is, hopefully it's something like, a picnic, or a day with no work, I'm so excited! Oh, he's so kind to someone like me!' Y/n thought, changing into different clothes then walked to grab a newspaper given to her by Sebastian

"Mistress? The tea is ready." "Oh, come in." Y/n said, putting the newspaper back into the drawer "Lady Elizabeth is here, would you like to say hello to her?" "No, I'm tired, and I know that she's going to try and put me into a tight dress and have a ball." "She plans on dancing with Master Ciel later, would you like to watch?" Sebastian asked pouring your tea "No, no, I'm not one for dancing." "Oh dear, my lady, your just like your brother." "Oh, don't get me started." Y/n said, laying back on her lounge chair.

"Why are you so angry? I hate this ring! Take it!" You heard Elizabeth yell 'Wait, what ring?' Y/n bolted out of her bedroom and ran into the entrance to see that Elizabeth had thrown the ring that Ciel had always worn, and broke it.

                   "ELIZABETH!" Y/n yelled, about to punch her while Ciel was about to slap her.

Then a hand grabed Ciels wrist and your forearm

"Master, you forgot the walking stick we Went through so much trouble to get." "As for you mistress, you've not eaten your cake yet, I thought you loved this kind." Sebastian said, giving you your cake

"Forgive my master and mistress lady Elizabeth, but that ring was very important to both of them." "It's a precious heirloom passed down to the head of the Phantomhive family." "They've grown quiet attached to it, it's truly one of a kind." "Please try to understand why this upset them."

"It- it was that important, and I destroyed it?" You dropped your cake on the floor, breaking the plate, then went back to your room while Ciel threw out the ring

"I'm going to rest, don't come near my room." Y/n said bitterly

"Mistress, young master would like to see you." "Go away." Y/n said through the door "Mistress, he wanted to give something to you." "I don't want it." "Please mistress, it is very important." "No." (Sigh)

"Oh dear, master is not going to be pleased."

"Y/N OPEN THE DOOR!" Ciel yelled "No." "I NEED TO GIVE SOMETHING TO YOU!" "WELL I DONT WANT IT, GO GIVE IT TO ELIZABETH OR SOMETHING." "NO, ONLY YOU CAN HAVE THIS!" "AND I DON'T WANT IT." Then the sound of glass breaking went through the entire manor

Ciel tried opening the door, and to his surprise, it opened But when he opened it, he regretted it, he felt like he should've talked to his sister sooner To try and calm her down But she broke something she said she was going to take with her wherever she lives

She broke the box that he got her when before the manor burned down

                   "Y/n, I..." "Shut up, leave me be.”

"I'm sorry, but, I'm sure this will cheer you up.." Ciel had a small smile about to put something in your hands but you knock his hand away "I don't want whatever you have, now go away." Ciel forcefully hugs Y/n, then slips something cold onto her finger "What did you-" Y/n pushed Ciel away to look at her hand It was a ring, it looked very similar to the one that Ciel wore

                   "Why are you giving this to me?" Y/n asked looking at the ring then back at Ciel "I wanted us to have matching rings, Sebastian made it, they're both made from the same material, and Sebastian fixed the ring, see?" Ciel showed his thumb where the ring was, it didn't look cracked at all "But, how, it was broken, a-and they're were so many little pieces and-" "N/n, I wanted to apologize for my act, I know it meant a lot to you, I'm sorry." Ciel then kissed your hand and walked out

Y/n then remembered when her father would sometimes do her hair, mother would help her pick her dresses and taught her how to do many things

Then she remembered her brother giving her a box a week before the manor burnt down

(Flash back) "N/n, I've something for you!" Ciel yelled "Coming!" Y/n ran from her mother to run into her brothers arms "What is it Ciel?" Y/n looked up at Ciel "Look, I've got this box for you, look, it has a photo of you and me in there!" Ciel opened the box to show the photo Both of you were smiling, Ciel was standing next to you, holding your hand, you were smiling at the camera, cupping Ciels hand

"I broke the box..." Y/n slid down to the floor, tears pooling out "I'm such a horrible sister, breaking a box full of good memories just because I was angry, what the hell is wrong with me..." Y/n started sobbing and pulled her hair, trying to find a way to sooth the guilt

She didn't know how long she cried, it looked to be somewhere past midnight, but nowhere near her time to wake up, getting up from the floor, regretting what she did, she went to her brothers room to apologize

"Hey, Ciel..." Y/n cracked open the door to see Ciel barely awake "Yes Y/n, what is it?" "I wanted to apologize for how I acted yesterday, it was very unladylike of me, and-..." Y/n didn't know what else to say, she had no words

"It's fine Y/n, you're still learning and your still young, and I apologize once again..." Ciel sent a small smile towards Y/n's way

Y/n started sobbing again, Sebastian came into the room and picked Y/n up and put her in the covers of Ciels bed Ciel pulled Y/n into a hug and they stayed like that until it was time for them to wake up again.

I kinda hate what I wrote here ngl

https://at.tumblr.com/bouqetofmemes/ew-pedophile/yhxy8pxt6omk

#black butler x reader #black butler x y/n #Ciel Phantomhive x sister reader #sebastian x child reader #Elizabeth Midford

[pathfinderunlocked]

Umbral Half-Dragon Necroknight - CR16 Dragon

When a dragon and a lich love each other very very much...

Artwork by JinZe_72 on Pixiv.

Umbral dragons are extraplanar dragons torn between the material and shadow planes.  They devour incorporeal undead by tearing at the essence of their undead souls.  However, because of their negative energy breath, they’re also sometimes tamed by extremely powerful undead such as liches or vampires.  And “tamed” can have more than one meaning.  The result of such a union might result in a half-dragon, half-undead, half-shadow offspring.

A sorcerer might not be your first thought when you see artwork of a character with heavy armor and a large shield, but bear with me here.  The five levels of antipaladin, with the very fitting knight of the sepulcher archetype, are doing a lot of work.

Normally a multiclassed creature that splits its levels between full-casting classes and martial classes has a lowered challenge rating, because normally that’s a garbage build, but this creature uses its spellcasting in a way that makes up for what it loses, and also has about 30% more gear than normal, so it doesn’t have the typical penalty.  It uses Still Spell to cast its sorcerer spells in combat, but when not in combat it can transform its armor into a brooch to cast normally.

I did end up giving the necroknight full plate instead of the half-plate depicted in the artwork, partially because half-plate in Pathfinder is somehow actually heavier and more restrictive than full plate, and partially so I could use the Folding Plate as written instead of making a homebrew version of it.

This creature can cast Animate Dead, so it’s reasonable that it would have several undead creatures under its control, possibly buffed with heroism or other spells.  Its unseen servant picks up anything dropped in battle (including weapons dropped by enemies) and carries the loot to its master, using its own actions to put the items in its master’s bag.

The necroknight can see in deeper darkness, so it should pre-cast Deeper Darkness on its shield if alone.  Combats where none of the players can see are no fun though, so consider putting this encounter in a location with some Firefleas.

Umbral Half-Dragon Necroknight - CR16 Dragon 

The fashionably armored woman’s dark gaze meets you, her reptilian eyes casting a shadow upon you.  A black, scaled tail swings behind her, emerging from her back, and she carries a blackened shield.  Scarf-like silk strands swing from her shoulders, forming a kind of cape behind her, and the images of glowing yellow eyes sewn into the ends of the strands match her own piercing eyes.

XP 76,800 Half-umbral dragon, fetchling, sorcerer 10 / knight of the sepulcher antipaladin 5 CE Medium dragon (augmented outsider, native) Init +5 Senses see in darkness, see invisibility, sense fear; Perception +17

DEFENSE

AC 28, touch 11, flat-footed 27 (+10 armor, +1 Dex, +4 natural, +3 shield); +6 deflection vs. firearms hp 157 (10d6+5d10+90) plus 15 temp hp Fort +17, Ref +7, Will +13; +2 vs. death, fear, mind-affecting, and poison Defensive Abilities deep shadow explorer, shadow blending, touch of the crypt, unholy resilience DR 10/adamantine (100 total damage) and DR 10/— vs. nonlethal damage Resist acid 20, cold 20, elec 20, fire 20, positive energy 10 Immune disease, negative energy, paralysis, sleep

OFFENSE

Speed 20 ft., fly 40 ft. (average) Melee +3 grayflame gandasa +23/+18 (2d4+10/×3) Special Attacks breath weapon (30-foot cone, 6d8 negative energy, DC 23, 1/day)

Fetchling Spell-like Abilities (CL 15th; concentration +23)    1/day—alter self, shadow walk (self only), plane shift (self only, shadow plane or material plane only)

Antipaladin Spells Known (CL 2nd; concentration +10)    1st (8/day)—death knell (DC 19), barbed chains (2 chains, attack/trip +20), sense fear (already cast)

Sorcerer Spells Known (CL 10th; concentration +18)     5th (4/day)—mage’s faithful hound     4th (6/day)—animate dead, shadowform (DC 22), stoneskin (already cast)     3rd (8/day)—haste, heroism, vampiric touch (touch +19)     2nd (8/day)—bullet shield (already cast), deeper darkness, false life (already cast), resist energy (already cast x4), see invisibility (already cast)     1st (8/day)—chill touch (touch +19, DC 19), darkness, endure elements, magic missile, protection from good, unseen servant (already cast)     0th (at will)—arcane mark, bleed (DC 18), detect magic, message, mending, penumbra (already cast), read magic, resistance, touch of fatigue (DC 19)

Bloodline undead

BASE STATISTICS

Without bullet shield, false life, heroism, penumbra, resist energy, see invisibility, sense fear, and stoneskin, the umbral half-dragon necroknight’s statistics are Senses see in darkness; Weaknesses light blindness; AC 28, touch 11, flat-footed 27; Resist cold 5, elec 5, positive energy 10; hp 157; DR 10/— vs. nonlethal damage; Melee +3 grayflame gandasa +21/+16 (2d4+10/×3); CMB +19; Skills Fly +11, Intimidate +15, Knowledge (planes) +5, Knowledge (religion) +10, Linguistics +5, Perception +15, Spellcraft +11, Stealth -4

STATISTICS

Str 24, Dex 12, Con 22, Int 12, Wis 10, Cha 26 Base Atk +10; CMB +19; CMD 28 Feats Combat Casting, Dark Sight, Eschew Materials, Gloom Sight, Great Fortitude, Improved Initiative, Improved Dark Sight, Power Attack, Still Spell, Weapon Focus (gandasa) Skills Fly +13, Intimidate +17, Knowledge (planes) +7, Knowledge (religion) +12, Linguistics +7, Perception +17, Spellcraft +13, Stealth -2 Languages Abyssal, Common, Draconic, D’ziriak (cannot speak), Infernal, Necril SQ undead bloodline arcana Gear wand of inflict serious wounds (30 charges), +3 grayflame gandasa, folding plate (+1 full plate), +1 warding channeling (negative) heavy steel shield, cloak of resistance +2, headband of alluring charisma +2, belt of physical might +2 (strength, constitution), ring of feather falling, diamond dust (worth 500 gp), onyx (worth 800 gp), 150 gp

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Aura of Cowardice (Su) While an umbral half-dragon necroknight is conscious, creatures within 10 feet take a –4 penalty on saving throws against fear effects.  Creatures that are normally immune to fear lose that immunity while within the radius.

Breath Weapon (Su) Although it deals negative energy damage, an umbral half-dragon necroknight's breath weapon does not heal undead creatures.  It affects a 30-foot cone and deals 6d8 points of negative energy damage to non-undead creatures in the area.  A DC 23 Reflex save halves the damage.  The save DC is Constitution-based.

Channel Energy (Su) By expending two uses of Touch of Corruption, an umbral half-dragon necroknight can channel 3d6 negative energy as a cleric, either healing undead or harming living creatures within a 30 foot radius.  A DC 20 Will save halves the damage.  The save DC is Charisma-based.

3 times per day, the necroknight can increase its channeled energy to 4d6.

Detect Good (Sp) At will, an umbral half-dragon necroknight can use detect good, as the spell. It can, as a move action, concentrate on a single item or individual within 60 feet and determine if it is good, learning the strength of its aura as if having studied it for 3 rounds. While focusing on one individual or object, it does not detect good in any other object or individual within range.

Grasp of the Dead (Sp) An umbral half-dragon necroknight can cause a swarm of skeletal arms to burst from the ground to rip and tear at its foes.  The skeletal arms erupt from the ground in a 20-foot-radius burst.  Anyone in this area takes 10d6 points of slashing damage; a DC 23 Reflex save halves the damage.  The save DC is Charisma-based.  The skeletal arms disappear after 1 round. The arms must burst up from a solid surface.  This power has a range of 60 feet.

Grave Touch (Su) The umbral half-dragon necroknight can make a melee touch attack as a standard action that causes a living creature to become shaken for 5 rounds.  If it touches a shaken creature with this ability, it becomes frightened for 1 round if it has fewer than 10 Hit Dice.

Shadow Blending (Su) Attacks against an umbral half-dragon necroknight in dim light have a 50% miss chance instead of the normal 20% miss chance.  This ability does not grant total concealment; it just increases the miss chance.

Smite Good (Su) Twice per day, as a swift action, an umbral half-dragon necroknight can choose one target within sight to smite.  If this target is not good, the smite is wasted with no effect.  Otherwise, the necroknight adds its Charisma bonus (typically +8) on its attack rolls and adds +5 on all damage rolls made against the target of his smite.  If the target of smite good is an outsider with the good subtype, a good-aligned dragon, or a good creature with levels of cleric or paladin, the bonus to damage on the first successful attack increases to +10.  Regardless of the target, smite good attacks automatically bypass any DR the creature might possess.

In addition, while smite good is in effect, the umbral half-dragon necroknight gains a deflection bonus equal to his Charisma modifier (typically +8) to its AC against attacks made by the target of the smite.

The smite good effect remains until the target of the smite is dead or the next time the umbral half-dragon necroknight rests and regains it uses of this ability.

Touch of Corruption (Su) 10 times per day, an umbral half-dragon necroknight can surround its hand with a fiendish flame, causing terrible wounds to open on those he touches.  This is a touch attach which deals 2d6 negative energy damage, and the target must succeed on a DC 20 Fortitude save or be sickened for 5 rounds.  Using this ability is a standard action that does not provoke attacks of opportunity.  The save DC is Charisma-based.

Alternatively, an umbral half-dragon necroknight can use this power to heal an undead creature, restoring 2d6 hit points.

Touch of the Crypt (Su) An umbral half-dragon necroknight is harmed by positive energy effects and healed by negative energy effects as though it were undead.  It has a 25% chance of ignoring critical hits and the bonus damage from sneak attacks.

Undead Bloodline Arcana (Su) When an umbral half-dragon necroknight casts spells on corporeal undead that were once humanoids, they are treated as humanoids for the purposes of determining which spells affect them, and their immunity to mind-affecting abilities is bypassed.

Warding Shield Once per day as an immediate action, the wearer of a warding shield can activate it to end all active challenge, judgment, and smite abilities affecting it.  This does not prevent opponents from selecting the wearer as a target for these abilities in the future.  As a swift action, the wearer can expend one of its own challenge, judgment, or smite abilities to refresh the armor’s ability to end these attacks.

#D&D #pathfinder 1e #npc #dragon #undead #outsider #fetchling #native #augmented #augmented outsider #antipaladin #sorcerer

[detcodrivels]

'Til Kingdom Come

CHAPTER 2: Fail to Plan, Plan to Fail

                The alarm bell started ringing before Shinichi was even halfway through with whitish sludgy muck they called oatmeal. Guards rushed into the mess hall in a frenzied rush and the more senior knights scraped back their seats at the head table, dropping their extravagant breakfasts of spiraled ham and cheese wedges, plates clattering and utensils skidding to the floor. He heard one word over the collective din: Princess.

                Orders were being shouted in Shinichi’s ears. Heiji gripped him around the forearm, dragging him upright. “Come on, Kudo!” he commanded, “Snap out of it! We’re supposed to go to the front gates. Palace is on lockdown. The princess is missing!”

                Shinichi shook his head, mind swimming in a murky haze. Lockdown? Combat? The Princess… Missing…? But he had just seen her!

                “ARE YA HEARING ME OR ARE YA GONNA STARE INTO SPACE FOR ETERNITY?!” With a whiplash inducing intensity, Heiji shook him violently. “I am not getting martialed because I hung back pushing your ass into action! Get! Go! MOVE!”

                Shinichi stumbled forward, tripping over his own feet, letting Heiji drag him along as the mess hall emptied of soldiers. Once they were in the hall, his brain finally managed to kick into gear and he pulled himself free, hanging back from the rushing bodies around him. “Heiji! Wait!” he called out, “What do they mean she’s missing? We just saw her on the balcony not half an hour ago!”

                Heiji dropped his head into his open palm. “Were you not listening AT ALL?”

                “I was…distracted…”

                Heiji peeked at his between his fingers. “Man…You’re not a soldier, Kudo.”

                Shinichi responded with a withering glare. “That’s not news.”

                “They suspect the assailant is still in the building since they know she was here at dawn, same time you saw her. We’re supposta block every exit from the sewers to the gates. Every second we stand around here, the longer they have to get out!”

                Shinichi scowled, “They’re not going to go out the front gate.”

                “Maybe that’s exactly what they expect us ta think.”

                “She was drinking something…”

                “And?” Heiji’s patience was running thin, his eyes searching the halls for approaching authority with a hasty necessity. The last thing he wanted was to be caught hanging back from the line of duty. “What difference does it make what the princess was drinking? She’s MISSING, Kudo! Doesn’t matter if she had Oolong or Sencha or freaking Baiju for her morning beverage before they dragged her away!”

                Shinichi wasn’t paying him attention anymore. He had dropped his chin into his hand, rubbing at it with his thumb, a habit he’d picked up from his father. He replayed the morning scene over and over again in his head. The doors had opened, she’d stepped out, pink robe, white nightgown. He had to stop thinking about what she was wearing! He had assumed it was a servant who had handed her the cup from within the room, but why wouldn’t they bring it directly to her, why would they remain obscured by the curtains? Why did she take it from them, if it wasn’t someone she trusted? But why would they try to take her in broad daylight? What advantage did that pose to them? Wouldn’t it be better to sneak in overnight, when no one was there to see her? Why let her go out on the balcony at all and confirm that she was within the castle walls at dawn, cementing the time frame of the kidnapping, ensuring the palace would be crawling with knights and soldiers, locked down to prevent their escape…?

                It simply didn’t make any sense.

                Then, it hit him like a bolt of lightning, every hair on the back of his neck standing alert and alarmed. All he’d seen was a teenaged girl with long brown hair wearing the Princesses nightclothes. Up on that tower balcony, she was too far to make out any of the finer details. He couldn’t see her facial features, or her eye color. No one could. He saw what he expected to see and without cause to question it, he hadn’t.

                “Kudo…” Heiji’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, “If you’re scared…I’ll cover for ya…”

                Shinichi blinked rapidly, remembering that his bunk mate was still waiting on him, looking out for him, the way he had from the moment he’d arrived at the castle, helping him make it through the last six months. “I’m not scared,” He muttered, still mostly consumed with his own thoughts, “It’s a trick.”

                “Kudo?”

                “It’s a trick!” He exclaimed with the further exuberance. “This is a mistake! If we fill the halls with soldiers it’ll only make it easier for them to get away!”

                “Come again?”

                “Why would they take her now?” Shinichi posed, talking quickly as he pulled Heiji away from the flowing traffic and into a secluded alcove where they would be somewhat concealed, “It doesn’t make sense. I know you’ve spent your whole life being groomed to take orders without question, but I want you to think about it! Logically, deductively! If you were going to sneak into this fortress when would you do it?”

                “Maybe that’s what they WANT us to think…” Heiji countered, but Shinichi continued over his objection.

                “No! Everyone saw Princess Ran on the balcony this morning. Everyone knows she goes out there to watch the sunrise. It’s her pattern. Lots of people notice, not just me.” (He chose to ignore Heiji’s skeptical raised eyebrow) “If you were going to take her, would you let her be seen by a bunch of people and narrow the time frame of your escape? No! You wouldn’t!”

                Heiji’s brows furrowed as he began to fit the pieces together. Despite his family’s best efforts to mold him into the order following knight he was meant to be, Shinichi could see the defiant independent thought springing life into his eyes. “What are you saying? It’s a ploy?”

                “It might not have been Princess Ran who I saw at all,” Shinichi confirmed gravely, “Just someone dressed up to look like her, and if we crowd the palace halls with guards in uniform…”

                “…They’ll be able to slip into the ranks and disappear…” Heiji dropped his head and folded his arms, sending a sideways glance to the overcrowded atmosphere of the palace. “Shit… Are you sure, Kudo?”

                Shinichi shot him a glare. “I can’t be certain, but it certainly makes sense!” A glint lit up in his eyes, however. “We have to tell someone!”

                “We’re not Secret Police, Kudo.”

                “But it could be valuable information.”

                Heiji’s glare blazed. “Do you want to explain to the officials why you were staring at the princess this morning? And if they were to take us seriously, which I doubt they will without evidence…”

                “Then we get evidence!”

“How, Kudo!? We can’t just run in there and demand they let us poke around because your hunch challenges all of the military authority!”

“I just want to check… We could be wasting time and helping them get away with it! For all we know she’s already long gone!”

                Heiji bit his lip, eyes furtive, but he eventually jutted his chin in an assertive nod. “Okay…but we cannot be caught or it’ll be Hell on Earth for the both of us.”

                Shinichi caught Heiji’s gaze and faltered, his feverish exuberance ebbing a bit. “You don’t have to take that risk with me.”

                “I’m not gonna let you go alone.”

                “You’ll have it worse than me…”

                Heiji managed a nonchalant shrug, “But if we’re right we’ll get a hellova lotta credit, ain’t that right?”

                “Only if we find evidence of when and where they took her…”

                “I hafta go with,” Heiji decided reasonably, “You wouldn’t know how to get even close to the tower.”

                A half grin inched its way across Shinichi’s lips. “And you do?”

                “My father is a General for the Palace Guard. I have an idea how to get around.”

                Shinichi couldn’t be certain, but he got the impression the thought to doing something so blatantly rebellious was actually thrilling to the other boy, the direct defiance bolstering his stubborn streak and putting true pride back into his carriage as he squared his shoulders and led the way out of their alcove and into the weaving crowds.

“Put your helmet on,” He cautioned, “We’ll be harder to recognize; then join in on the tail end of the central command chain and follow them to the main stairs. From there we’ll have to sneak.”

There was a brilliant flash of white and then Heiji pulled the shield down on the front of his helmet. He fell into step with a string of knights, which normally stomped all throughout the castle grounds as a kind of sentry, none of them particularly skilled or decorated warriors, but worthy enough to combat any sudden attacks. They streaked through the bustling barrack halls with a self-serving importance, smacking the bottoms of their spear shafts on the stone floors to clear the path. It wasn’t difficult for Shinichi and Heiji to mold themselves into the ranks. Had anyone looked closely, they might have noticed that their tunics bore the ornamentation only for the most novice inductees to the army, but in the level of chaotic motion the ramparts were reduced to, no one was looking closely at anything.

Eventually the sentry marched out of the barrack building and onto the sloping green training lawns, weaving between the joists and abandoned equipment in their determined approach towards the actual palace. A stone wall wrapped around the barrack grounds and a locked gate and a literal flight of stone steps separated the palace lawns from the lower class soldiers who protected their wellbeing. Only the highest classes of knights were allowed within the palace grounds, Generals like Heiji’s father, and the Secret Police Operatives, not ground soldiers, and certainly not conscripted sons of national offenders, like Shinichi. Nonetheless, as the Lead Sentry opened the massive gate, he trailed inside.

Here, however, they suddenly halted. Shinichi hastened to fall into a semicircle formed by the others, a half-step behind Heiji, who was a half-step behind everyone else.

“You two!” The Lead Sentry barked loudly, zeroing in on Shinichi and Heiji, “You’re out of place!”

Beads of sweat accumulated on Shinichi’s forehead and his bangs began to stick to his skin in drenched strings. Heiji, however, spoke up, loud and clear. “Shiratori, Sir, we were instructed to add additional support to your troops!”

“Where is your notice of transfer?”

“We don’t have one, Sir. Command came this morning when we were assigned a response task. I suppose they wanted more inner palace guard.”

“Where did the order come from?”

“General Hattori, Sir.”

Shinichi was surprised at the audacity of his partner in crime. Breaking rank was one thing, but dragging his own father’s name into their digression was another entirely. Then again, he could see the genius of it, too…the mad genius. No one would question Heiji Hattori being given a directive from his father, and his father’s rank was high enough that a Sentry Lead like Shiratori wasn’t about challenge it openly, especially not whilst under perceivable siege. Still, if it ever got out…it spelled trouble. Heiji had guts, of that much Shinichi had never been more certain, but there was a fine line between courage and folly, and he wasn’t so sure Heiji knew where it was.

Shiratori sucked in a sharp, steadying breath and nodded his head curtly. “This is certainly unprecedented, but I have a special knack for lateral thinking. Keep in line. There’s no time to get you up to task, so you’ll have to learn as you go. Understood?”

“Understood, Sir!” Heiji called back promptly, nudging Shinichi to encourage him to echo the sentiment.

“Otaki, I want you to keep an eye on them.”

The sentry guard nearest them turned and nodded affirmatively. “Nothing to worry about,” He assured them, more good naturedly, while Shiratori relocked the gate and redirected their party toward the front doors to the palace. “I’ll look out for you. Never easy getting a transfer, much less during a situation like this.”

“We thank you for the welcome,” Heiji replied, but Shinichi only managed to nod his head. He had been distracted momentarily, a prickling sensation crawling up his spine. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a dark figure slip into the hedges at their rear, and now, he was almost certain they were being watched.

This was not what he had imagined when he thought of sneaking up to Princess Ran’s tower to investigate his suspicions, and making friends with the sentry wasn’t going to make it any easier to slip away once they made it inside. Granted, Heiji had gotten them this far. They were on the palace grounds, making their way to the now heavily guarded front doors. No one stopped them as they stomped up the front steps between the series of guards and entered the regal, gilded entrance hall. Shinichi had never stood in such an ostentatious room before in his life. Everything was lined with elegantly scrolling gold; the marble stairs gleamed under the combined brilliance of a million flickering candles, strung into the latticed scopes of a massive chandelier hanging from the center of the arching domed ceiling. Portraits lined the paneled walls and enormous ferns fanned out from fifty gallon limestone planters on either side of the stairs impressive banister.

He had taken no more than a couple of steps within before he heard the ravings of King Kogoro reverberating off of the shiny, echoing surfaces. The throne room was directly ahead of the entry and beyond a gold-leaf door, but it did little to obscure his ever mounting ravings, orders shouted with a rapidly declining coherence. “THIS MEANS WAR!” Shinichi heard him proclaim at the top of his lungs, “How dare they make such a bold attack, the nerve of….HOW DARE THEY! I will personally go! I will show them the POWER of my empire! The Wrath and Fury of A FATHER!” Something loud crashed and Shinichi resisted the urge to flinch, wincing for the poor souls who were within the throne room with him.

“Your highness, we are investigating every possible escape route. They will not get far, and your vast armies are already poised to make a counter attack. Please compose yourself…” It was a softer voice which dealt out this commentary, mild and somewhat soothing. Shinichi recognized it was one of the captains, Furuya was his name.

“This palace is meant to be impenetrable! How could they infiltrate within these walls!?” the voice of the Queen herself, now, certainly more collected, but no less insistent.

“It is a matter already under consideration,” Furuya assured her. “If you will excuse me, I really must join my task force.”

The next voice to speak stilled Shinichi’s heart and he felt Heiji stiffen at his side.

“We will report back as soon as we have information. Until then, it is best that you remain under heavy guard. We cannot allow haste to make us impulsive. It would only serve to aid the enemy.” Heizo Hattori.

Shinichi subtly gripped Heiji’s arm. They couldn’t remain standing there when Heizo and Furuya exited the throne room. They’d be outed in a second if Shiratori made mention of their “transfer.” They needed to move. Fast. But Heiji was now rooted in place. The doors were opening. There wasn’t any time left. The line of sentry guards stiffened to attention to salute the higher ranking officers. Shinichi’s blood turned to ice as the two exited together. And then, while everyone’s focus was drawn to the center of the hall, a fist wrapped tightly around his wrist and a whisper fell urgently on his ear. “Shhh.”

#dcmk #Detective Conan #HattoriHeiji #Shinichi Kudo #Ran Mouri #Rei Furuya #Fanfiction #Princess!Ran #Knight!Shinichi

[mossy-rot]

Scrapes With Death

Or, seven times Kabrin slipped through the fingers of death, and the one time he didn't.

~

TW: near death experiences, described drowning, mentions of blood and death, briefly mentioned alcohol and substance abuse, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide.

~

Kabrin is 9 when he first discovers that he’s not good at swimming. His family has taken a trip out to Starfire Lake for the afternoon, and he sees Ira clambering to play in the water, calling his name. He tries to follow his sister, but soon finds himself being swallowed whole by the inky, sparkling depths. He struggles, his small arms weak against the heavy water as it surrounds him, filling his lungs. When he wakes- although he does not remember falling asleep- his parents hover over him in a panic, his sister sobbing, as he retches up water and cries for comfort. He’s welcomed by the warm embrace of his family, and he makes the decision that he won’t swim in the lake again.

Kabrin is 101 when he faints from hunger. It is to be expected- he shouldn’t have gone this long, he knew that. But depriving Tobelle wasn’t something he was willing to do, not when he would have to suffer the cries of his baby brother, knowing he could have done more. But that doesn’t change the weariness that grips his body, the fatigue that weighs a thousand pounds on his back. He remembers hitting the ground, feeling the dirt against his cheek, shutting his eyes as his breathing shallowed. When he comes to, he's in a bed- not a tavern’s, but a home’s- with a plate of fruit, bread, and cheese laid out on the nightstand. He knows he should question when, why, and how, but he’s so tired and so very, very hungry. His hands tremble and he can barely hold the items, but he devours, nearly choking every other bite from the sheer mania. It will be the first of many normal meals to come- at such a severe price.

Kabrin is 103 when he backs against a wall after his violin is ripped from his hands. He hasn’t been confronted this closely by so many people before- the five tower over him as he searches for an escape route, another servant, anything to get away from his assailants. But no one, nothing is there to help. They toss the violin aside, not hard enough to break it, most definitely on purpose. They crowd in around him, blood dripping onto his skin from the wounds he caused them. He clamps his eyes shut, waiting for a fist, a hammer, something to come down on him, ending his pitiful escapade. But it doesn’t come. He hears a few yells, feels a splatter of warm liquid on his face, and a thud echoes in the room. When he opens his eyes, his eyelashes laced with drops of blood- he sees a short figure, giving a kind smile, reaching out their hand. His own trembles as he reaches out, taking the gloved hand in his as he is pulled to his feet. She offers to take him to the tavern, to clean up and eat, and he accepts.

Kabrin is 119 when they attempt to swallow the blood in their mouth. It’s coppery and thick, and he struggles to not let it come back up. The arrowheads and glass stuck in his arms and back ache horribly, burning with every small movement as he grinds out notes on his violin, the spirits’ movements licking at his ankles as they surface from between the floorboards. They continue, pushing through, pushing against the pain reaching through their body like it’s trying to rip each nerve apart individually. He grins at his enemies, blood spilling from his teeth in a ghastly sight from the dark that surrounds them. They let the few terrified pawns slip away, before slowly trudging their way back home, meeting with the few other servants that had accompanied them. He’s in poor condition, they all know, so they bring him home, making sure he reaches the door. They do not see him collapse into a bloodied heap as soon as he shuts the door behind him. When he wakes, bandaged and in bed, he takes solace in the care of a friend.

Kabrin is 125 when he walks into the river, drunk and without intention. It’s a slow and calm descent, soaking his clothes and beckoning him deeper. They are alone, free of judging eyes and harsh words, in a pocket away from the rest of the realms. They breathe deeply, the drugs and alcohol numbing the sting. It is a shame that they aren’t good at swimming or anything even remotely water related, as they realize their impending demise. He thrashes and struggles his way to the surface, choking and coughing, the reality of his own capability sinking in.

Kabrin is 129 when he walks into the river, carrying a hefty rock he has tied to his waist. This time he knows what he’s doing. The rope is tight around them, uncomfortable against the silk shirt they wear. But he knows it won’t matter soon, not when he’s at the bottom of the river. The water soaks their clothes as they wade down, holding their breath as their head dips under. He remembers this view, feeling weightless- and he feels glee, knowing the feeling will be back soon, that he won’t have to feel any more pain. The rock sinks to the riverbed, and they let themselves float- their body tugs against the rope and the water stings as they inhale it, but that’s okay. It will be the last bit of pain; it will be worth it. As the darkness clouds the light of the moon, he wonders who would find him, how he will be found. They didn’t realize they would find the answer naught but a few minutes later, as scaly hands pushed them onto the bank, concerned eyes watching over him. He retches and retches, but he cannot find it in him to weep- be it because he wanted to live, or was too numb to the concept already, he isn’t sure.

Kabrin is 133 when they quietly bleed out on the floor of an abandoned house. He figures that it’s a fitting end to the Blight, dying silently as the people around him are blissfully unaware of his dwindling life- one of the only ones he cared about unconscious and wounded because of him. At the bare minimum, their small group of loved ones is safe- that’s all they can take solace in as their vision blurs slowly, the sounds of footsteps around them drawing nearer. They wonder briefly, what things will be like after they’re gone- if it will be better or worse, if his lover will move on or never commit again, but the thoughts swim together as his body grows so very, very cold. Their eyes settle shut, and the noise falls silent.

Kabrin is 133 when he is given another, undeserved, chance. He awakes- much to his own surprise- in the arms of his lover, the feeling of tears dripping onto his face making his state apparent. They reach up, bloodied fingers tangling in pink hair, as they choke out soft comforts. Despite the utter joy they feel being held by their partner- their alive partner, thank God- they can feel the stares of shock and horror on them. Not much explanation is needed; he’s been through this process himself, after all. He is aware that his heart doesn’t beat, that his wounds do not close but do not bleed, that he breathes only by force of habit. But holding his lover’s hand, being able to kiss his tear-stained cheeks- soft and warm with life- it is enough that he doesn’t care about what will come next.

Kabrin is 139 when he lays in bed with his lover as they begin to drift to sleep. It’s a quiet night, the hum of creatures in the night and steam powered carriages outside set a gentle ambiance with the low light of the moon seeping through the windows. They hold their lover’s hand as he begins to quietly snore, snug against their shoulder. For once in the last thirty years, they are safe- no worries of break-ins from enemies or kingdom guards, no painful flowers or awaiting missions. Here, he has a steady life of a normal job, a partner that he plans a future with each day and can rest with each night. Content, he shuts his eyes, ready to see the daylight with his lover in the coming morning.

#mossy's rambles #text post #luci's rambles #original shipping #original story #original writing #original character #oc #oc posting #oc ship #oc writing #writing #fantasy #dnd #dungeons and dragons #kabrin #kabrin blightkin #the blight #abic #abic morrowcry #(mentioned) #ebee #ebee sodderhill #(also mentioned) #tobelle #tobelle blightkin #(last mention) #tw sui attempt #tw death #wrote this awhile ago but have some fun w the lore on this bad boy. here's a taste of how fucked kab is actually. i will be taking question

[casspurrjoybell-23]

The Raven - Chapter 23

*Warning Adult Content*

"Excuse me, Your Highness," a servant interrupts as Henry speaks to a bird in the garden.

His face contorts in confusion as he observes his particularly odd behavior, perhaps Prince Henry simply has too much on his plate at the moment.

"I apologize, Your Highness," the servant, Hans, says, bowing his head to the prince. "Her Majesty has asked me to inform you of Princess Elaina's arrival."

"The princess is here already?" questions Henry, his expression dropping at the announcement.

He is saddened by her too-soon appearance, he is not yet ready to leave his current companion to make idle small talk with a woman he has no interest in knowing.

"Yes, Your Highness. Princess Elaina is awaiting your presence in the throne room," confirms Hans, glancing again at the bird sitting so comfortably beside the prince.

His mind reels momentarily, for the life of him, he cannot fathom why a man and a bird would so openly and contentedly sit within each other's presence.

It certainly is a peculiar predicament.

Trying his best to maintain decorum and not show his alarming displeasure at the situation, Henry simply says...

"Thank you, Hans. I will join her shortly."

With another small boy, Hans replies...

"Yes, Your Highness."

He returns to the castle, still trying to understand why Prince Henry had been having an evidently one-sided conversation with a bird.

He has seen some strange things before but never any quite as nonsensical as this.

With a sigh, the prince sadly tells his raven...

"I suppose our little outing is over, then."

Henry wishes he could stay with Caleb and spend more time with him.

His heart wants nothing more than to be together with him always.

He especially wishes that Princess Elaina was not visiting him, not today, nor any other day, for that matter.

Caleb, quick to soothe Henry's feelings of disappointment, replies...

'It will not be the last, I am sure of it.'

The blond lovingly caresses the raven's head, whispering...

"I love you, Caleb."

'I love you, too.'

Removing his fingers from the raven's head, Henry replaces them with his lips in a soft kiss.

"I will come to the tower to see you as soon as I can get away," he promises, his tone holding sincerity. "And if you decide you miss me, you can come and find me in your shadow form."

With that, he reluctantly stands from his spot underneath the tall tree, his blue eyes gazing at Caleb longingly as he slowly begins the almost agonizing trip to the throne room to meet the princess.

When Henry enters the room, he immediately notices that the princess is indeed waiting for him, along with his mother.

The prince suppresses an eye roll at the sight of her, however, it is a taxing effort not to make his disinterest and displeasure at this situation apparently known.

Of course, his mother would be here right now, watching the way her son behaves toward the princess she has so unwelcomely and uncaringly thrust into his life.

She would never miss the opportunity to spy on him and ensure he is doing exactly what she expects of him, she will likely be watching their interactions throughout the entirety of Princess Elaina's visit if Henry knows anything about his mother.

His stomach practically curdles at the thought, his mother's hovering will make it exponentially more challenging to spend time with Caleb.

That thought alone sends another pang of disappointment through the prince, followed instantly by a wave of resentment for his mother, the princess and the very circumstances that have brought on this predicament.

Henry cannot wait until he finally gets rid of this stupid tradition so he will never have to part with his beautiful raven-haired boy ever again.

"Greetings, Prince Henry," a feminine voice says, breaking Henry from his thoughts. "It is a pleasure to meet you," the princess adds, fanning her skirt in a curtsey.

After transferring his line of vision from his mother to the princess, Henry is made thoroughly aware that he had been correct in his previous assumption that Princess Elaina would be "overly-fluffed."

This little reminder causes him to chuckle quietly to himself, covering the sound with a singular cough to appear as if he had simply been clearing his throat.

The princess's dress is obnoxiously poufy, her hair voluminous to a borderline ridiculous height and do not even get Henry started on the amount of products caked into her skin and hair.

Princess Elaina flutters her long eyelashes at him, a broad smile upon her overly glossed lips.

Henry cannot stop the slight furrowing of his eyebrows as he takes in her exorbitantly done-up appearance and her uninhibited flirting.

Just from a single glance at her, he is wholly certain that he would not be romantically attracted to Princess Elaina, even if she were a man, she seems to be much too high-maintenance for his liking.

Regardless of his immediate distaste for her, Henry gives a short bow and responds...

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, as well, Princess."

As the words leave Henry's lips, he has to bite his tongue to prevent the truth from slipping past them along with it.

The fact that he absolutely does not believe it is a pleasure burns at his throat, begging to be said aloud.

He had never wanted this visit and he definitely would not marry this girl, not even if his mother ordered it to happen.

Henry yearns to spit out those words, to admit his true feelings about all the goings on that are happening without his consent.

However, he understands that now is not the time to do so, it would not be very polite to say those things at this moment, so, at great personal expense, Prince Henry forces a smile at the girl before him.

He will at least keep up appearances of politeness and civility, especially in front of his mother, even though he would prefer not to.

The last thing he wants right now is another lecture about his "princely duties" and "responsibilities to the kingdom."

The queen says nothing from her seat on her throne as the two younger royals exchange pleasantries, she simply observes from across the room.

Narrowing her eyes at the young couple, she continues her plotting. Nothing will stand in her way, not even her only son's feelings, besides, he can learn to love Princess Elaina with time if he tries.

If he simply gives her a chance to be what he believes he needs in a partner.

Either way, at least the queen will have done everything within her power to ensure the safety of both her son and her people.

[guest1300]

Voyage Closed and Done

Knock. Knock-Knock-Knock. Knock-Knock. A shy sound stirs the door of the Courier's room, and bounces off the walls in his chamber. Were it not for the night's silence, the knock might easily have diffused into the palace walls without a second thought, but tonight the Courier is guided to the door by mere curiosity, if not a touch of disdain for the servant foolish enough to disturb him at this hour. His chain shirt jangles slightly as he moves across the room, his rings clink timidly against the gold doorknob as he turns it. The Courier pulls wide the door, with neither the grace nor the graciousness expected of one of his stature.

The Veteran waits for recognition to light up the Courier's face as he opens the door. Her bruised and beaten plates of armor fail to hide her regal posture, and the weary scabbard at her hip holds more history within than anything in the room she now looks into. She says not a word as she watches him.

"Stars above, it's really you," the Courier manages to say as his face falls into realization, relief, and regret all at once. "Amborella, I -"

"No one calls me that anymore, Caspian. Please, it's Ella."

"- I didn't think you were coming back."

The Veteran fails to contain a slight, wry smile. A forgotten memory pushes itself into her head and opens up before her.

Amborella's heart raced as she ricocheted across the palace hallways, finally finding herself in front of the door she knew so well. She knocked on the door with vigor to overpower the noise of the market outside, sending a great church bell through Caspian's room. Knock. Knock-Knock-Knock. Knock-Knock. She ambushed him with a hug as soon as the door opened.

"You actually did it," Caspian remarked, his pride seeping into his voice. "When do they let you enlist?"

"I deploy in two weeks, in Pherum." Amborella dropped her training sword to the ground behind him.

"All the way out there, huh?" Caspian disentangled himself from the embrace, but didn't let go of her hand. “It’s a long journey.”

"I'll miss you, you know." She looked at him meaningfully.

"Oh come now, don't worry about me," he protested. "You're going to rip through them out there. And once you're done," he paused. "From fearful trip, the victor ship..." 

The Veteran laughs, despite herself. 

"... Comes in with object won." The words almost wipe all the weary lines off her face. For a second, she feels careless again. 

Staring into her eyes, for a second, the Courier sees Amborella come to life again.

#fiction #writing #short story #fantasy

[merakiui]

Hi Meraki! Orchid here. Last night I was in a fantasy mood and had this reader idea with Albedo. Imagine reader finding an abandoned castle and going to explore it. After getting inside and walking around, she finds the ballroom and starts dancing to a melody in her head. For a while she was alone until a gloved hand gently takes hers and she turns to see Albedo joining in. As they danced, she's thinking "who is he? A human? A phantom? I was sure I was alone." not yan, purely fairytale setting.

Omg I love this idea!! What if he was trapped in that castle somehow? Or maybe he lives there and the castle only looks shiny and new when night falls! To outsiders it appears like an old, eroded structure that has crumbled under the wear of time and the weather. But as soon as the sun sets, the castle becomes beautiful and its residents are free to dance in the sparkling ballroom and enjoy the glorious night. You just happen to have a penchant for stumbling upon unique sites and Albedo is in need of some company (and a dance partner, of course)!

I would also like to share a fantasy idea that randomly came to me one day. Imagine you’re royalty and are engaged to the Wind Prince (Venti). The two of you are always getting into trouble and finding new ways to have fun inside the palace walls. You’re not too worried about what will happen after Venti is crowned king and you’ll have to focus on the boring and political aspects that come with being a ruler. You choose to live in the present and everything seems to be going swell. You’re happy with Venti!

But then the Wind Prince vanishes without a trace one evening and it throws the palace into utter chaos. No one knows where he disappeared to. Is he safe? Did he run away? Was he kidnapped? Are you going to receive a letter demanding ransom for the safe return of your prince? It’s very stressful. The knights are sent to scour the kingdom for the missing prince and are told to keep the search under wraps as to not alarm the citizens.

Yet there’s no sign of Venti. You might be engaged to him, but you’re also his closest friend. So it’s only normal that you’d be distraught with worry. As the days pass and Venti has yet to be found, it becomes harder to hide the fact that he’s missing. The last thing the royals need is widespread panic among the common folk. So in order to keep face and snuff any rumors that might’ve formed, a stand-in prince is selected. And who might that be?

Xiao, the diligent knight who has been loyal to the royal family ever since he was freed from his rough life on the streets. He bears some resemblance to Venti, mainly his height and hair color. Other than that, he’s a completely different person. And unlike Venti, who is well-versed in royalty, Xiao is not. He’s solely accustomed to the tough life of a knight who has fought in battles and has garnered countless wounds and scars. Xiao does not know how to act like a prince. He can be dressed in the finest of clothes and his hair can be styled to mimic Venti’s, but that doesn’t make him a true prince.

Of course he’s irritated when he’s forced to halt his duties as a knight and learn the ways of a prince. He’s never known what it’s like to be at the top of the social pyramid, where he isn’t looked down upon by aristocrats and is instead treated like an equal. Xiao makes for an awkward prince. He’s skilled in combat, but he has no clue how to be social at extravagant events or put on a convincing princely act.

But you’re there to help him! When he fails to adhere to royal customs and is always on edge, ready to defend you should danger arise, you easily come to his aid. He’s not to be seen by the public eye and is only meant to stand at your side while you take care of the rest. His appearance is hidden so that no one will get suspicious. Xiao won’t verbalize it, but he’s relieved that you’re so understanding and kind. Despite his standoffish and serious nature, which often comes off as intimidating, you aren’t bothered by it and are more than happy to assist him.

He claims he doesn’t need any help, but it’s painfully obvious that he’s struggling to understand the effort that goes into being a prince.

And the more time he spends with you as the fake Wind Prince the more he gets to know the true you—not the royal who forces a smile just to please the others. He’s not sure what he’s feeling when you open up to him about your fears for the future and whether or not Venti will ever come back. Maybe it’s just his instincts as a knight, which compel him to keep you safe even as he acts as Prince Venti. Nevertheless, he softens up when he’s around you and it allows you to see a new side of the usually cold and distant Knight Xiao.

Somehow you’ve found a new friend despite this undesirable situation and it makes things a little less scary. But the fact still remains that Venti is missing and you and Xiao have no idea where he could be.

#genshin chit chat #meraki faves #orchid anon #aaa sorry i rambled about the idea #fantasy/royalty aus are just too much fun #i just imagine knight xiao at a tea party #and one of the servants trips and drops the plates #and xiao jumps into action at once because he thinks it’s an assassin #meanwhile everyone’s like 👁👄👁 ??? #knight xiao is trying his best orz

[amerrierworld]

Little Songbird (pt 2)

Part 1: x

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu becomes addicted to your voice and wants to hear you… sing some more.

Characters: Alcina Dimitrescu x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,870

Warnings: The Smut Chapter~

Over the next few days, Lady Dimitrescu barely caught a glance of you. Either you were overworking yourself, or avoiding her. The thought made her bristle with annoyance, mostly aimed at herself. Had she scared you off?

Down below in the servants’ quarters, you tried your best not to pay attention to the rush of heat that went through your body every time you remembered Lady Dimitrescu’s lingering gaze on you. 

You hadn’t seen her, or frankly you had tried avoiding her. You kept to your duties, overworking yourself, distracting yourself, wondering if what you felt was unholy. Wondering if she felt the same.

“Lady Dimitrescu has asked you to clean her personal study,” the head housemaid said one day in the kitchens. You paled a little, nearly dropping the plate you were drying off.

“..Oh?”

“You’re to go there after dinner tonight.” She was absent-mindedly polishing some of the silverware at the counter, not noticing how you had reacted. “The Lady will run you through what’s needed.”

“She.. she’ll be there?” 

“Yes, of course," she replied, “she’d never let any of us in by ourselves. I would know.”

She definitely would. It was only her that would ever be allowed in Lady Dimitrescu’s study to clean. But she didn’t seem to mind it was you who was on that duty tonight... you dreaded the massive list of things you would probably have to do. Was this a punishment?

“Clean yourself up before you go.” She eyed your dirtied apron and ashy skirt. “No use if you're just going to mess up what you’ll be cleaning.”

And so, with fresh clothes and your face scrubbed clean of grease, you made your way up through the castle levels to get to the study. On the way, you heard faint buzzing down the hall. 

You turned to see dark robes disappearing around the corner, and suddenly the dimly-lit hallway was a lot more ominous and foreboding than before. Hurrying down the direction you needed to go, you tried not to drop any of your supplies as your heart-rate picked up.

Just around the corner, you kept thinking, just a little further and-

“Boo!” 

You shrieked, shock coursing through your body in a split second as Miss Daniela appeared right in your face when you turned the last corner. Her bloodied mouth split into a wide, cunning smile at your reaction, your face flushing red in embarrassment and sudden fear.

“Oh, now that was fun, wasn’t it?” she cackled, circling around you with the curiosity of a feline, far too close for comfort, “I haven't seen you up here before.”

The water in your bucket had managed to spill over the side in your jump, and you felt your stockings and shoes soaking through. You grimaced at the feeling and Miss Daniela could only giggle.

She tugged at your hair like a bratty younger sibling as she disappeared in a swarm of insects that buzzed around your head, calling after you,

“Have fun~” 

You felt the water squish in your shoes as you walked the last few steps towards the intimidating double-doors of Lady Dimitrescu’s personal study.

It wasn’t anything like the last study you had cleaned. It felt massive to you- everything must have been custom made for her. The chairs, the desk, the bookcase. You’d have to do some real climbing to clean all the nooks and crannies in here.

But it was the piano in the centre of the room that really caught your eye. It was dark- but not quite black. There was a rich, deep red sheen to it, and just like everything else in the room, it seemed to tower above you.

And her- 

Lady Dimitrescu was already in her nightly attire- a long-sleeved nightgown. It was a cream colour, as always, and you wondered if the light was a little stronger, how sheer the fabric would be..

“Ah, there you are.” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you straightened up a little. “Come closer, little songbird. Into the light.”

The nickname made you blush furiously, though you did as she asked. So she hadn’t forgotten you. Was that supposed to be a relief? The squish of your shoes made you grimace, and from the way her eyes trailed down, she heard it as well.

“Did it rain on the way here?” she asked, dryly. You looked down at the carpet, clutching your supplies. You were leaving footprints behind. You’d definitely have to clean that thoroughly.

“I- I spilled some water on the way here. I.. tripped,” you said. You didn’t think ratting out her daughter would put the Lady in a good mood. 

Her expression didn’t prove to you that she believed you, but she let it be. She picked up a small sheet of paper with listed chores and handed it to you without much thought.

You expected an explosive list of unending duties, but you were quite surprised with the sparse instructions. Dust the bookshelves, sweep under the piano, scrub the floors...

This was one of the few rooms in the entire castle that looked, quite frankly, immaculate. Everything seemed to have a place already, so you really didn’t need to do much at all.

You quietly set to work without any further commentary, and didn’t catch the way Lady Dimitrescu watched you from her desk when you came into her peripheral vision. The letters from Mother Miranda didn’t register in her mind as she listened to you work, hoping for the sound of your voice. Then she heard you hum, lightly, only for you to catch yourself mid-dusting, and stop altogether.

When you got to the piano, you needed to move the bench to get under and sweep, but when you pushed against the heavy piece of furniture, it screeched against the floor, startling both of you.

“Sorry,” you squeaked, barely audible. You looked up and caught her deep yellow eyes staring at you intently, and something stirred deep inside you.

“I didn’t know you played,” you commented once you realized Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t going to say anything to break the awkward silence. In fact, she adored seeing you so flustered and shy, and didn’t want it to end.

“I don’t often,” she eventually replied. She stood up from her desk, and you nearly snapped your neck keeping your eyes on hers as she rose above you.

You hurried out of the way as she came to sit on the bench. Lady Dimitrescu lifted the fallboard and a soft, light chord rung out as she pressed down on the keys. 

“Can you match pitch?” She was testing some of the sound in various chords, simple but effective. You watched her fingers dance, only to realize you had not seen her without gloves before now. The nails were painted in a dark, deep red. Her fingers were long and pale, and the skin on the backs of her hands were marred with little silvery scars. You wondered what they tasted like.

She gestured for you to come sit next to her, and you clambered up on the bench to kneel on the cushion. Lady Dimitrescu played a little more as you hummed along with the chords. 

“Sing a song for me, pet,” she said, without glancing towards you. Her hands stilled to give you a moment to think, but your brain was only short-circuiting. It was like all of a sudden, every known song had disappeared from your memory.

Then a finger tapped your chin and lifted your head up to gaze into her eyes, and you sighed in contentment at the physical touch. 

Her eyebrow quirked a little, as if barely registering the sound you made. 

“No? No ideas?” she asked. Her perfume was that much denser when close to you, and it overwhelmed you. You could only weakly shake your head, nerves churning in your stomach.

“Well, we can’t have that,” she hummed. “I still want to hear you, little one.”

“I’m sorry...” you began, but she tutted. She’d make you sing in a.. different way. She wasn’t going to let you go after all those agonizing days without getting to hear you properly.

The hand that was holding your chin dropped down to your thigh. Your eyes were still adoringly glued to her face as she dropped the fallboard back over the keys. It nearly made her blush.

The world surged around you as you were suddenly lifted up from your seat. You were put on top of the piano, facing Lady Dimitrescu, and she nudged your legs apart so she could lean forward a little more. Your eyes were level with hers now, and you caught a flash of her white teeth as she smiled, lovingly, but devilishly. 

“Do you think you can sing well?” she asked, one hand wrapping around the entirety of one of your ankles. You immediately shook your head. The dampness of your feet and legs caught her attention, and she tutted again.

“Off,” she ordered, leaning away, before wiping her hand on her dress. You hurriedly did as she asked, tugging down your still-wet stockings, ripping a little bit of the fabric, but you couldn’t mind with the way Lady Dimitrescu was eyeing you.

“Good girl.”

You clamped your thighs together, and she definitely didn’t miss that. Her hand went back to wrap around your ankle, now fabric-free. The other reached out to cup the side of your jaw, trailing down and wrapping around your neck, squeezing lightly for less than a second. Then it lowered even more and undid the top button of your dress.

“Still want to stay and sing for me, little songbird?” she asked, her hand lingering, but not moving from its spot. “Your tasks are long done.”

That was not true, you hadn’t even swept yet. But you slowly began to realize maybe the chores had nothing to do with you coming up here tonight.

The question burned deep inside you, and Lady Dimitrescu looked like she wasn’t going to move until you gave your consent. Though you loved the tension that was building, you began to feel restless.

“Yes, please.” You inched your legs a little wider, and her smile grew. 

“Such a pleasant sound, your voice,” she said, as her hand from your ankle trailed up your leg. “I was enraptured many weeks ago, when I heard you for the first time.”

“You.. you’ve heard me before?” you gasped a little, because her cool fingers pressed against the sensitive inside of your thighs. You thought you were always alone when you sang during work.

“Oh yes,” she grinned, “now sing for me, little pet. Make all the noise you want.”

Her mouth was on yours in an instant, filling your lungs with perfume and warm breath. The buttons on your dress came apart as her hands pulled at them one by one. Your skirt was pushed up, and then she pressed down on your torso to get you to lie on your back. The piano was smooth and cold beneath, and there was a brief moment you regretted that it was definitely going to be dirtied by what was to come. But then Lady Dimitrescu’s mouth latched onto your neck and all thoughts evaporated from your brain. 

There was a pinch as she nipped at the soft skin between neck and shoulder, making your back arch and your body lift off the piano.

“Hmm.. delightful,” she growled. Her large hands slid up your dress and your entire lower half was exposed.

“Oh, I can smell you,” she sighed. She pulled back only a moment to tug the dress off your whole body. Your fingers scrabbled against the piano’s slick surface as you felt your nipples harden at her touch.

She sat back on the bench and scooted forward, leaning down to inhale your alluring smell as you lay there, gasping for air. 

“Now.” She pulled your legs apart, eyes zoning in on your cunt. “I want to hear you sing.”

Her mouth pressed against your folds and a warm, wet tongue slipped up to catch your clit. A squeal escaped you and she kissed it a little more in reward.

“That’s it. More.”

Her fingers dug into your thighs before she began sucking and licking almost aggressively. Your body was trembling with every swipe of her tongue, every delicate nibble on your folds.

Your gasps rose in volume, your voice breaking in small squeaks and whimpers. Though she adored it when you carried a tune, this was much more satisfying. 

Her tongue pressed inside without any hesitation. You felt it curl and push inside you, catching your wetness and scent. A low growl in the back of her throat made you cry out, and her grip tightened even more.

It wasn’t going to take long, you realized. The despair in her relentless tongue, her piercing eyes watching your body rise and drip with sweat made the coil tighten with every passing moment. 

Her pupils were blown, and every time you let out another sound, she pressed on a little harder, a little faster.

“Oh!” Her tongue had slipped out and were replaced by two thick fingers. Your cry of delight earned you her warm lips wrapping around your clit, and you couldn’t help but grab at her head of thick, smooth hair. 

The curls slipped delightfully through your fingers and you were watching the ceiling, trying to make out the shapes in the darkness, until she pulled away and said,

“Eyes on me, dear. Nowhere else.”

You had to hoist yourself up with one hand to watch her, and she got back to work immediately. Eyes locked, one hand in her hair, and hers wrapped around you so tightly you couldn’t move away. 

“Fuck..” you hissed out as her fingers curled. Her eyes flashed; she seemed to like it, so you kept going.

“Please..” you begged, hips trying to buck in her hold, “oh, please please.. it feels..s-so good.”

Your thighs had been completely smeared by her lipstick, or those were bruises forming from her grip. Either way, the marks made your head spin with arousal. 

“Please don’t stop... Please, don’t ever stop.” You were gasping, trying hard to focus on your words, but then her mouth sucked hard on your clit, and you were lost in meaningless sounds and little cries of pleasure as you came.

She didn’t stop, revelling in your gasps and broken whimpers, music to her ears. When your body began pulling away and you felt a tingling sensitivity every time she tried to touch your clit again, that was when she knew to let you go. 

Lady Dimitrescu sat back a moment, basking in the sight of you, wet and spent, spread out over her piano and with cum dripping down your thighs. She lifted her hand and wiped her mouth with the back of it to catch any further stray lipstick, but she didn’t quite catch all of it. 

When you could finally breathe normally, you sat up slowly and trembled again under her piercing gaze. 

Your small hands reached out to cup her cheeks, startling her. She thought you’d dash off with your bucket and leave immediately. You inched closer and used your thumbs to wipe the last bits of lipstick, and then kissed her. Soft, sweet, just like your singing. 

You peppered her lips and chin with kisses for a few minutes. She allowed all of it, held you close as you breathed her in. You shifted, feeling your body unstick from the piano with an unsavoury sound and you pulled a face, making her laugh. It made you giddy inside.

You stayed like that for a long while, and you relished in how warm and soft she was. 

“Perhaps you can sing again for me sometime,” she suggested, “an actual song.”

You buried your head into the crook of her neck, making a whiny noise in the back of your throat. She said she liked your singing, yes, but it still intimidated you. Whether it was nerves, or the fact it was her that was listening.. but you did want to please her. Always.

“You realize you sing beautifully, little one?” she eventually asked. “Even when I’m not inside you?”

You let out a burst of giggles and she lovingly kissed your shoulder. The glee of her enjoying your voice and the aftermath of your orgasm soared like butterflies inside you.

“You best get back to your duties,” she hummed, though her hand curved around your waist and held you close, like she wasn’t going to let you go. “The shelves in this castle aren’t going to dust themselves.”

You laughed again, feeling adoration swell up inside you as you ran your fingers through her loosened locks of hair. 

“...can I come back tomorrow night?” you asked feebly.

She chuckled, low and sultry, and tipped your head up to look at her, “you can come whenever you want.”

Your face went beet-red in a matter of second and she grinned widely.

“But tomorrow night.. come to my chambers. And don’t bother with your supplies. Won’t want you getting wet again... at least not like that.”

A/N: thank you all for the love on part 1 ☺️ I hope this meets your expectations <3

#Lady Dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x you #lady dimitrescu x reader #tall vampire lady #alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x you #resident evil #resident evil village #re8 #merry writes #wlw

[beels-burger-babe]

To Be a Royal

***Hello Ladies, Lords and Noble Persons of all kinds! Welcome once again to the Hive's Fantastical Ball! I was going to post this one later after a different fic, but I want to make sure I get at least one fic out to you guys, sooo enjoy this one now! This fic was one that I was all too happy to write. It's quite short, but it's sweet and I personally love it. I hope you enjoy it!***

Summary: In honour of their hard work and loyalty in the Devildom, MC has been knighted as Layde MC of the House of Lamentation. The coronation and ball were a sweeping success, but now the real work of a noble person begins. Barbatos works with MC to try and teach them the manners and protocols of being a royal in the Devildom.

You were practically bouncing as you followed Barbatos into the royal study.

It had been a week since you were crowned Layde MC of the House of Lamentation and protector of the human world. Today your training for your new life was finally beginning.

You turned to Barbatos and beamed in excitement. "So what first? Do I learn how to pass regulations? Do I learn my duties in the Devildom court? Am I going to have to learn to ride a horse?"

Barbatos chuckles and places his hands on your shoulders as he leads you to a table that he set up and sits you down. "Those will all come shortly. For now, we focus on the basics: how to present yourself and proper manners and etiquette."

You blinked at Barbatos and frowned. "Wait. You're giving me a manners lesson?"

He sat down across from you in a fluid smooth action and raised an eyebrow at you. "Who else do you think would teach you? Lord Diavolo?" he laughed and shook his head. "I think not. I adore my Lord, however, I can barely keep him following etiquette as it is."

You snorted and hunched over as your shoulders shook with laughter.

Barbatos took in your posture and the very improper chortle that was coming from you and sighed in amusement. "I see I have my work cut out for me," he tapped the table twice to get your attention looked softly at you. "Let's begin, shall we?"

You glanced down at the teacup sitting from of you and casually lifted it with two fingers. "What are you going to teach me? How to stick out my pinky and lift my nose up at peasants?"

Barbatos raised an eyebrow at you as he stood and snapped open a book with one hand. "Oh? So you think this will be easy?" He looked down at the book, and began to read off, "No nagging, bragging, sweating, fretting, slipping, tripping, slurping, burping, twittering or frittering allowed," he smirked as he noticed your shocked expression. "Stay present, stay pleasant, stay proud."

You chuckled nervously as you set down the teacup. "Y-You're...You're joking right?"

Barbatos smiled and showed the book cover to you. "The Devildom's Guide to Royal Etiquette doesn't allow joking, Layde MC. That was only the tip of the iceberg, as you would say in the human realm." his eyes scanned over your sitting form. "For example, as you are now, your shoulders are hunched, you back is against the chair, your legs are casually spread. You are leaning on the table in embarrassment on your elbows, and the way you picked up that teacup earlier was simply disgraceful."

You winced at the blows to your ego and hunched down even more. "Geeze, way to give it to me lightly Barbs."

You jumped as his hand came to rest on top of yours. Looking up, you found the butler affectionately looking down at you. "Fortunately, you are not untrainable like Mammon, my Layde. There is hope for you."

He moved away from you once more and pulled out his chair so that you could see what he was doing. "You must sit away from the back of the chair, your back straight with pride, shoulders back and chin high. Your legs should be closed, as is proper, and tucked at an angle under your chair," you watched as he carefully demonstrated the actions as he spoke of them.

You knitted your eyebrows in concentration as you slowly mimicked his movements until you were mirroring him.

He smiled at the sight and nodded in approval. "Good. Now table manners."

He sat with you for the next two hours going over which cutlery to use when, the proper way to hold a teacup and pour tea, what it means to rest your knife and fork on a plate in different positions once finished, and how to use and lay your napkin. All the while, he kept constant surveillance on your posture and your conversation manners. Eventually, he rose and gestured for you to do the same. He slowly began to walk around you with his hands tucked behind his back. "You did well today, Layde MC. There is still much to go over, such as you posture," you shivered as he ran a hand down your spine before placing slight pressure on the middle of your back. A second hand came just under your chin and gently lifted it. "We have covered a lot today. You can come back tomorrow and we can continue this lesson," his eyes sparkled as his hands dropped and he moved into your line of sight once more. "I must admit, my Layde, I am quite grateful for these lessons and the time that it allows us to spend together," he took your hand into his own and gently kissed the back of it as he bowed lowly. "I shall cherish this time."

Your cheeks flushed as you stared wide-eyed at the charming butler. He casually fixed his gloves, as though he hadn't just caused your brain to short circuit. You took a step towards him. "Barbatos, I-"

He chuckled and met your gaze once more. "Remember your lessons, MC. You are a noble person, and I am your butler and teacher. Although I do admittedly care for you," his expression softened to reveal a look of pure love and adoration; you felt your breath catch in your throat, "it would not be proper for us to become anything more than close friends. You are dismissed for the day, my Layde."

You could only watch as Barbatos scooped up the book from the table and left the room. You blinked at the spot where the butler once stood and rested a hand on your chest. You could feel your heart pounding within the confines of your rib cage.

The noble and their servant. A forbidden love story told throughout the ages, and yet, you had never thought that you would be able to call the story your own.

***Did I just write an entire fic based off of Barbie's The Princess and the Pauper's "To Be a Princess"? Yes. Yes I did. I hope you guys enjoyed the fic and thanks again to everyone taking part in the Ball!***

Taglist: @thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @pebblesgengar @victoireshaven @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @obeys-world @poly-bi-mf @armycandy10 @burrixino

#the hives fantastical ball #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me fic #obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me oneshot #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x mc #obey me barbatos x reader #gn!mc #gender neutral main character #nobel mc #royal mc #fluff #obey me fluff

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin becomes a little obsessed with time, and how it’s running out:

Merlin struggles with a massive workload, and doesn’t understand how to ask for help, even with the simplest tasks, because people are relying on him. For small things, and large. He can’t let anyone down. He can’t.

REQUESTED

TW: not eating or sleeping properly, a little blood

Merlin is tired.

No one really notices the exhaustion, not at first anyway, what they do notice, is how much busier he seems to be.

He’s rushing around the castle so quickly, fetching and carrying things for Gaius, completing various chores for King Arthur, and trying to fix any problem he comes across (both the mundane, and the... less so), that no one sees him for long enough to notice the bags under his eyes. No one notices the way he sways on his feet if he stands still long enough. And if they do notice? Well, he’s rushing off to complete the next task on the list before they can say anything.

The few times he’s stopped to chat, he’s been quiet; polite but not really friendly.

His friends brush it off at first, he’s always been the type to rush places, and they figure he’s just got a lot of things to organise with the Yule celebrations coming up.

It had never really occurred to Merlin, but being the King’s Personal Manservant actually made him one of the most highly ranked servants in the castle. And that meant, everyone asking him for help, all the time.

Anything in the castle that could possibly concern The King, even briefly, was run by Merlin first. Everything from flower arrangements, to the week’s dinner menu, to which chambers to house guests in, to when exactly The King would like this paperwork completed.

It wasn’t too bad at first, Merlin had managed to stay on top of things for years, even during busier times such as these.

But this winter was different somehow. 

Merlin was a fully trained physician by this point, and he didn’t like to think about it much, but Gaius was getting older, quicker and quicker it seemed.

This just meant that more and more of the excursions that Gaius used to take outside the Physician’s chambers, were now being passed on to Merlin. 

He valued the trust that Gaius placed in him, but a trip to the lower town to treat this year’s strain of flu took him away for almost a week.

Long nights consoling young children who were in pain, followed by long days making it to as many houses as possible, to treat as many people as possible, meant he lost out on a lot of sleep. Especially since his mind was thinking about a million other things at the same time.

After finally getting the outbreak under control, he made quick work of the journey back to the castle, only to find a list of various speeches that needed writing and chores to catch up on, and a long line of panicking servants who needed whatever duties they had double checked.

Merlin had barely caught up on all of that work, staying up late through the night, when a second outbreak occurred in a different section of the city.

Gaius had made it clear to The King that the people’s health, and therefore Merlin’s position as Secondary Physician, should come first; Arthur whole heartedly agreed, and gave Merlin the time off to deal with it happily enough, but that didn’t erase the huge list of things he still had to get done when he returned.

He was only gone for three days this time, but with Yule getting closer and closer and foreign nobles arriving for the celebrations, Merlin had a ridiculous number of things to do when he got back. 

The headache that had been coming and going over the last month soon became permanent, and the shaking in his hands became something he had to actively account for any time he carried something heavier than a plate.

~

Merlin was rushing from the kitchens to the stables after dropping off Arthur’s empty breakfast tray when he heard it.

He paused in the corridor, leaning his weight against the cold stone of the wall as he strained his ears.

Just as he was about to write it off as him hearing things due to the lack of sleep, he heard it again, clearer this time, like someone was crying just on the other side of the stone.

He backtracked down the corridor a few metres, and slowly pushed open the door to a storage room, only to see Annabeth, the castle’s youngest serving girl, having a cut on her cheek being cleaned by George.

The both of them look up in shock at the intrusion, and Merlin clenches his fists as he sees the tears on Annabeth’s cheeks. He is especially worried when he sees the concern, painted clear as day on George’s face. George who was well know for being the least reactionary, most expressionless servant in the castle.

He shuts the door behind him, and walks forward, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She immediately launches herself forward, and begins crying once again into Merlin’s chest.

He almost falls back, barely able to carry his own weight right now, let alone the weight of a distraught young girl, but thankfully George notices his imbalance and catches him with a firm hand on his back.

Merlin gives him a grateful, but bleary smile, as he strokes a comforting hand up and down Annabeth’s back. 

He nods to the bloody cloth in George’s other hand, and raises a questioning eyebrow.

George catches his meaning quickly, and replies in a quiet, but harsh voice:

“Lord Anselm reported that his manservant had taken ill, and requested that Annabeth take over. He was... displeased, with a dropped pillow.”

Merlin frowns in worry, as the girl, barely even fourteen summers, looks up at him with red eyes:

“I didn’t even drop it, it fell off his bed when I had my back turned. But he started yelling and he... he threw an empty goblet at me and then got even angrier at that mess. He wouldn’t let me leave for ages he was just standing over me and screaming.”

Merlin can see George tense in anger out the corner of his eye, and he calmly shushes the girl, wiping away her tears and giving her a small smile:

“He shouldn’t have done that, it wasn’t your fault. George is going to take you to Gaius, to get that looked at properly, and I’ll deal with Anselm until his manservant gets better, ok?”

George frowns slightly, but Annabeth speaks up before he can say anything:

“You won’t get in trouble, will you Merlin?”

Merlin gives her a cheeky wink and ruffles her hair:

“I’m always in trouble.” She giggles slightly, and Merlin counts that as a win.

She steps back, and George takes her hand, but he looks at Merlin, speaking quietly once again:

“Are you sure? I know you’ve got a lot of work at the moment, you can drop her off at Gaius’ and I can serve Lord Anselm, if you like.”

Merlin shakes his head, but realises quickly that was a bad idea as his vision starts swimming. He closes his eyes tightly for a few seconds and takes a deep breath, before looking back at an obviously concerned George and replying:

“No, it’s fine, I can deal with him. All those bloody quests Arthur drags me on means I’m well equipped to deal with people like Lord Anselm. Though I would appreciate it if you could pass by the stables and let them know to have Arthur’s horse prepared for noon, tomorrow.”

The fact that George’s lip twitches only slightly at Merlin’s address of the King, tells Merlin that the man is truly worried about Annabeth, and now probably Merlin’s safety as well.

He nods his head slightly, with a quiet “Of course.” and with that, the three of them leave the storage room.

They head in opposite directions, but after moving only a few feet, George looks back and calls to Merlin over his shoulder.

Merlin turns, slowly this time now that dizziness has become a problem, as George asks with a frown:

“Are you sure you’re alright, Merlin?”

Merlin gives him a small nod and smile, before waving him off:

“Yeah, I’m fine, just tired. I’ll see you later.”

George’s frown deepens, but he nods slightly, and turns back around again, leading Annabeth in the direction of the Physician’s chambers.

Merlin took a deep breath and rubbed harshly at his eyes as he watched them turn the corner, before turning in the opposite direction, and making his way to the guest chambers.

Lord Anselm was a visitor from a neighbouring kingdom, known for his harsh treatment of anyone he deemed below him (which... to be honest... was everyone, as far as he was concerned). He was here for the Yule celebrations, and to suck up to the King no doubt.

Merlin paused outside the room, taking another deep breath and trying to not look so exhausted, before knocking politely on the door.

A voice grumbles from the other side, calling for him to enter.

Merlin entered slowly, and shut the door behind him, immediately spying the Lord eating his breakfast at the table. He was an intimidating man, tall, even taller than Merlin, with a heavy gait, a thick beard, and a permanent scowl.

He looks harshly at Merlin, and roughly asks:

“Who the hell are you? Where’s my girl?”

Merlin clenches his hands behind his back, but replies neutrally, looking somewhere over the Lord’s shoulder:

“I’m afraid she has succumbed to an injury, and won’t be serving you anymore. I’m The King’s personal manservant, meaning I won’t be able to serve you full time. We’re a little understaffed at the moment, My Lord. Is there anything I can do for you this morning?”

The man growls and stands up, stalking quickly towards the manservant.

Merlin was especially glad that he was made aware of his balance and dizziness issues earlier, because if he hadn’t, he certainly wouldn’t have been able to hold himself upright when Lord Anselm swung a harsh fist to the side of his face.

He smirked horribly as he said:

“Insolent little thing, aren’t you? Are all of King Arthur’s servants so pretty?”

Merlin’s head rocked violently to the side, and he took a step back, before righting himself. He took a subtle deep breath as he winced in pain, but schooled his face back into indifference as he returned his gaze to just over The Lord’s shoulder:

“Would you like me to return your tray to the kitchen, My Lord?”

Anselm growled once more, obviously unhappy with the lack of reaction, and brought down a heavy hand on Merlin’s shoulder, leaning in close and snarling:

“You do that, pretty boy.”

Merlin waits impassively for him to release the bruising grip he had on his shoulder, before stepping around him and clearing away the tray.

Lord Anselm stared at him distastefully, but Merlin dutifully ignored it, and headed to the chamber door with the tray of leftovers and dirty plates. Anselm turns quickly towards him:

“Hurry back. I have things that need doing.”

For the first time since he entered the room, Merlin looks him straight in the eyes before saying:

“Like I said My Lord, we’re incredibly understaffed at the moment. I’m afraid no one will be able to serve you until your own manservant recovers from his illness.”

The shocked look on the Lord’s face gives Merlin just enough time to leave the room and hurry half way down the corridor, before Anselm followed him out.

Merlin heard the door bang off the wall as Anselm ripped it open, ready to shout, enraged, but the sight of the guards patrolling the corridor stopped him, and he slammed the door shut again with a huff.

Merlin let out a relieved breath. He had hoped that the sight of the guards would stop him from making a scene, and he was glad he was right.

One of the guards, an older man named Gavin who had always been kind to Merlin, stopped him with a hand on his (unbruised) shoulder:

“You alright Merlin? I though Annabeth was serving him?” He nodded at the other guard to continue on, mumbling that he would catch up in a minute, before looking back at Merlin, who blearily nodded:

“He threw a tantrum, hurt her. George took her to Gaius and I said I would deal with him.”

The guard frowned and muttered “bastard” under his breath, but widened his eyes as he saw the bruise blooming on Merlin’s cheek:

“Bloody hell, Merlin, do you always take over for the violent ones? You should get that checked out.”

Merlin sighs and shakes his head, only slightly:

“It’s fine, I’ve got too much else to deal with at the moment. The manservant he brought with him is sick, and Annabeth is certainly not serving him again, so I told him he would have to deal with minimal serving, until his servant gets better.”

Gavin let out a breath, and chuckled slightly:

“Pfft. Balls of steel, Merlin. Go on, you look in a hurry, I won’t keep you.”

With that, Merlin gives him a brief smile, before rushing towards the kitchens once again, trying not to feint the whole way.

~

The whole ordeal only pushed him twenty minutes behind, but twenty minutes was a problem when he was already three days behind on Arthur’s laundry, two days behind on stocking up on ingredients for Gaius, and two weeks overdue for a lunch with Gwen. 

Plus he still had one speech left to proof read, and considering Arthur wrote it himself, it’s more likely to end up being a full re-write, rather than a proof read.

OH, and that leak that he’d promised the stablehands he would help fix.

Ah shit. He also had to collect Gwaine’s spare sword from the blacksmith at some point, before he forgot again.

AND there was a huge delivery of flowers today, no doubt there would be some sort of problem with that.

All of that, on top of the fact that no one has tried to kill Arthur in recent weeks, and it was starting to unnerve him.

His journey to the kitchens went much like that. Task upon chore upon promise upon paranoid intrusive thought piling up in his head with every step.

He finally got to the kitchen doors, and paused outside. He took a deep, shaky breath, and shut his eyes tight, before forcing his mind to calm, and pushing through the door. 

The noise and smells immediately had him turn his head sideways, as if trying to escape the sudden onslaught, but the movement did nothing but force him to realise how much the side of his face had begun to throb.

He took another deep breath as the persistent noise, now in his mind, and out of it, made him want to scream. He resisted the urge, and dumped the tray next to the sink, before rushing out once again, ignoring the glares that the cook sent his way.

As he hurried down the corridor, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides in an effort to stop the shaking, he decided that laundry was the priority right now. If he could just get at least one basket done, that would be enough for today at least; and he could read over the speech whilst he did it.

Ok. ok. This is fine.

He finally made it to Arthur’s chambers, bursting in without knocking, and walking straight to the pile of dirty clothes. 

He doesn’t even have the energy to be annoyed at the fact that they were on the floor, instead of in the basket, and he certainly isn’t with it enough to notice the conversation between Arthur and George... wait... George??

Merlin is only lets his surprise distract him for a moment before he looks back to the laundry, bending over far too quickly, and having to hold himself up against the wall as his vision swims.

He vaguely hears George calling his name, but he waves his hand behind him absentmindedly and ignores him. He forces his eyes to focus again, as he picks up an armful of clothes.

He stumbles over to the desk, still not paying attention to the other two occupants of the room. He looks around blearily, once again beginning to clench and unclench his hands under the dirty clothes in his arms, just to stop himself from falling over.

He takes a deep breath, and interrupts whatever it is Arthur is saying:

“Speech.”

Arthur is clearly taken aback, having realised that Merlin hasn’t listened to anything either of them has said. George gives him a knowing look behind Merlin’s back, and Arthur frowns.

Merlin turns around, quick enough to make his vision blue once again, but not quick enough to make him fall over, and looks in Arthur’s vague direction:

“Speech. Where is it?”

Arthur gasps as he notices the now deep purple mark up the side of Merlin’s face and steps forward, George follows him, and takes the laundry from Merlin’s hands, and setting it on a chair before turning back to him.

He turns just in time to see Merlin almost tip backwards, and rushes forward, placing firm hand on his back once again.

Arthur slowly brings his hand up, concern written all over his face as his fingers hover just over the bruise:

“Merlin... what happened?”

Merlin rolls his eyes slightly as he turns back around to the desk, gently pushing George’s hand away and looking through the paperwork:

“Fell. Speech? I really do need it Arthur, I don’t have time.”

Arthur looks at George out the corner of his eyes, and George shakes his head, mouthing “Lord Anselm” .

Arthur frowns again, and picks up a piece of paper from his bedside table, going to hand it to Merlin, before snatching it back when he reaches for it:

“Not, until you tell me the truth, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs, and rolls his eyes again, before snapping:

“Fine, Lord Anselm punched me in the face because he’s a Lord and I’m a servant, and he can do whatever he wants to me and that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Speech. Please?”

In Arthur’s shock at Merlin’s bluntness, Merlin leans forward and grabs the piece of paper, before quickly turning away, ignoring the loss of vision at the sharp movement. He knew his way around Arthur’s chambers when he was asleep, he could manage a short black out.

He gathers up the laundry once again, and stumbles towards the door, interrupting Arthur’s:

“Merlin! Will you just-”

With:

“Don’t have time.”

And leaving the room before either of them can say anything more.

Arthur shakes himself free of the shock, and looks to George, bewildered:

“You really weren’t kidding were you? He’s completely out of it. Do you know what’s wrong?”

George frowns only slightly as he replies:

“It’s a busy time of the year My Lord, and we’re rather under staffed at the moment. Merlin has a habit of being unable to say no when people ask for help. That, on top of his normal duties to yourself and Gaius, and having to deal with the flu outbreak, I think- If I may speak freely, Sire?”

Arthur nods immediately:

“Of course, George, always.”

George nods gratefully before continuing:

“I think he’s just a little over-worked at the moment, My Lord. He’s never been good at asking for help.”

Arthur nods and hums thoughtfully. He thinks for a minute before looking back at the servant:

“Hmm. Keep an eye on him, won’t you George? I can’t have him keeling over, and make sure he gets some food in him.-”

George gives a firm nod:

“-Thank you, you’re dismissed, go back to your duties.”

With that, George turns and leaves the room, wiping the worried frown from his face and resetting it into his normal neutrality.

~

Merlin was unendingly grateful to find that the speech wasn’t actually that bad. By the time he finished hanging Arthur’s clothes to dry, he had a solid idea in his head of all the little bits he needed to tweak. He just needed to get a quill to it, and it’d be done and dusted.

He rushed as quickly as he was able without falling over, back to Arthur’s chambers, opening the door slowly this time; he really didn’t have the time to stop and chat, and if anyone was in there, he would just come back later.

Thankfully, the rooms were empty, and Merlin only had to spend around five minutes sat at the desk (where there was a small plate of food, labelled “For Merlin”, which of course went untouched. Deliberately ignored or just unnoticed, who knows), writing out his adjustments.

Five minutes however, was long enough for him to forget to not move too quickly, and the moment he tried to stand up, he immediately passed out. He fell back into the chair, and slumped forward onto the desk, his bruised cheek landing with a smack on the wood.

He woke again with a start, and jumped up quickly as he ran his hands through his hair roughly. He began to breath deeply, and tears came to his eyes as he brought his hands down roughly, gripping the edge of the table so hard he could feel his hands bruising.

Merlin, after managing to keep what he thought was a tight lid on it all day, was officially panicking.

His cheek was throbbing again, but he could barely feel it, only able to think about how much time he was wasting.

He can’t be taking naps now. He can’t. He doesn’t have the time. He’s still two days behind on laundry, two days behind shopping, two weeks since he’d last properly spoken to Gwen, he can feel a storm in the air so the leak HAS to be fixed now and Gwaine NEEDS his sword and where are those fucking flowers??

The more Merlin’s thoughts rush around his head, the more tasks he remembers that he needs to do, the more he panics. And the more he panics, the less he can breath, and the less he can breath, the more time, he is wasting.

When Merlin finally manages to open his eyes, which he hadn’t realised had been shut painfully tightly, he notices that the shadows on the walls have barely moved since he last checked.

Huh.

Ok.

He breaths slightly easier as he just about manages to drag himself over to a window, peering down into the courtyard below, to see that the castle was still busy.

He must’ve only been passed out for a few minutes at most.

It’s ok. There’s still time.

Merlin takes one last deep breath, pours himself a glass of water from Arthur’s jug and downs it all in one.

Ok. Too much to do, no more wasting time.

Merlin quickly straightens out the desk, leaving the speech in the middle for Arthur to see, and ignores the remaining fuzziness in his head as he stumbles out the door and down to the Physician’s chambers.

~

Merlin spends the next few hours down at the market.

He could feel his heart pounding louder in his ears with each second that he had to stand and wait in line, but it was no ones fault but his own that he had left the shopping too late.

He just had to be patient. Ignore the headache, ignore the pain in his cheek and shoulder, ignore the bruises on the palms of his hands from where he gripped the table, ignore the paranoid thoughts about assassins and poisoners and bandits.

By the time he made it back to Gaius’ chambers, it was dark. His hands shook violently, and he could barely see what he was unloading from his bags, but he kept pushing forward.

Without sparing a glance towards Gaius, he rushed out of the room again, now unhealthily used to the constant swimming in his vision, he dragged his hand along the stone walls of the castle corridor, and used that to navigate to the kitchen to pick up Arthur’s dinner.

The cook of course yelled at him about being late, but instead of brushing it off like he normally did, he internalised it.

He spent the whole journey up to Arthur’s chambers working himself up.

He was late. He was running out of time. He was so fucking tired. But that’s fine. That’s ok. One more job tonight, and he can rest. Just one.

He delivers Arthur’s food without a word, and if Arthur wasn’t worried before, he definitely was now.

Merlin lays out the meal, and quickly goes about lighting the fire for the night, and turning down The King’s bed. He turns to Arthur, not really bothering to focus his eyes and actually look at him, before saying:

“Anything else tonight, My Lord?”

The lack of sarcasm would be worrying enough to Arthur, but the way Merlin’s eyes stayed unfocussed, even as Arthur walked towards him, and the way his words slurred, almost sent him into a panic.

Merlin finally makes eye contact with him as Arthur grips his shoulders, but he quickly lets go when Merlin flinches in pain.

Fuck that hurt.

He’d forgotten about the bruised shoulder.

Arthur’s frown deepens:

“Merlin, are you alright? You look exhausted, you look sick. And you didn’t eat the food George left out.”

Merlin nods his head slowly, and moves towards the door, rolling his shoulder slightly to try and sooth the ache:

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine, and I’m not a dog Arthur. Just lots to do. Am I dismissed?”

Arthur nods slowly, but suddenly adds, as Merlin gets to the door:

“Yes, but only if you get something to eat and then go straight to bed. Get some sleep Merlin, whatever it is, can wait until morning.”

Merlin doesn’t look back at him, just waves his hand over his shoulder as he shuts the door behind him.

Ok. One more job. Just one more and then sleep. Maybe. He did have some useful new spells he needed to memorise... having as little time as he does means he should probably get at least a few done tonight.

Ok. One more job, then he can sit in bed and memorise some of those spells, then maybe he can get an hour or two of sleep before sunrise bought tomorrow’s jobs.

He headed over to the stables, at this time of night no one should be around, he can wave his hand, make some sparks, and the leak would be gone.

He halts in his tracks and his eyes widen as he subconsciously begins clenching and unclenching his hands once again.

No.

The stablehands know he promised to fix it. If they see it’s been fixed with some sort of miracle, instead of patched up properly, they’ll know.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but he’s also running on no food, no sleep, and a potential concussion. Trying to use magic right now was probably not his best idea.

He forces his hands to still, and continues his trek across the courtyard, towards the stables. 

The next time he stops, it’s because he hears the distinct sound of an armoured guard falling to the floor (the fact that he recognises the sound immediately, should tell you all you need to know about how insane Merlin’s life is).

Merlin rubs his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose briefly as he mumbles:

“For fucks sake, I knew it had been too long.”

Without wasting another second, Merlin turns back around, and sneaks carefully to where he’d heard the noise come from.

He finally spies the slumped guard by the main entrance to the castle, and after establishing that the attacker was long gone, he rushes over.

The growing puddle of blood, and lack of pulse, worries Merlin endlessly. Whoever did this was good, the guard never saw it coming, and now he was dead.

Merlin doesn’t want to leave him like this, but in all likelihood, the assassin was going to head straight to Arthur’s chambers, and Merlin had to catch up before he could do any damage.

The exhausted manservant rushes through the large doors, trying ever so hard to focus eyes, and not quite managing it, but powering through anyway. Thankfully he new the route to Arthur’s chambers by heart, he didn’t have to be able to see to know where he was going. 

He’s already out of breath before he even reaches the staircase that leads up to the royal chambers, but he doesn’t have the time to stop and catch his breath. Arthur was in danger, and as per fucking normal, Merlin was the only one that seemed to know anything about it.

He forced himself up the steps, being mindful of his weak legs and using the wall to pull himself up as quick as he could.

He swore to himself as he turned the corner to see the vague outline of a man with a dagger slip unnoticed through the doors to Arthur’s chambers.

Where the fuck were the rest of the guards?? Merlin had expected to see a few more bodies on his way up but there had been none. Shift change over maybe? In which case, how did the assassin know?

He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind; something to worry about later, as he sprints down the corridor.

He almost falls several times, tripping over nothing but his own exhaustion, but he uses his own momentum to stop himself tipping over, forcing his feet to just keep moving forward.

He bursts into the room loudly, and the assassin, who had almost reached Arthur slumped over asleep on his desk, whips his head around to stare at him in shock.

The King mumbles from his spot on the desk:

“Merlin... I told you to get some sleep.”

That seems to snap the assassin out of his surprise, and he lurches towards Arthur, bringing the dagger up so he could swing it down viciously into his back, but Merlin rushes forward to meet him.

He shoves Arthur’s chair with as much force as he can muster, and steps into the space it had resided in as Arthur sprawls on the floor, cursing loudly.

It takes only a second for Arthur to be on his feet, a sword that was hidden under the desk gripped in his hand and any remaining sleepiness scrubbed from his face, but that second is all it takes for the dagger to sink with sickening force into Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin gasps and staggers back as Arthur steps forward, swinging the hilt of his sword down onto the attacker’s head, and with a loud thunk, the would-be assassin drops to the floor, unconscious.

Arthur turns quickly towards Merlin, who was leaning against the wall, dagger still planted deeply in his shoulder, and once again curses loudly. He rushes forward to catch his manservant just as he falls, widening his eyes as he notices the rapidly growing crimson stain on his tunic:

“GUARDS!!” he yells it towards the still open door, but looks to Merlin as he mumbles:

“Shift... change. No one there yet.” with a groan.

Arthur curses for a third time, as he pulls Merlin’s uninjured arm around his neck, and starts to stagger towards the door, dragging Merlin, who is basically a dead weight at this point.

The manservant groans, not sure if it’s the constant, background panic that’s seemed to plague him the last few weeks, or the pain of the newest stab wound that’s making him dizzy, but either way... ow.

Merlin finally manages to raise his gaze to realise that Arthur is currently dragging him past the closest exit to the stables (god knows how they’d gotten that far without Merlin noticing), and he half-heartedly pulls away.

Arthur almost stumbles with Merlin’s sudden movement, but says strongly:

“No not that way Merlin, gotta get to Gaius, you’re going to ok, alright?”

Merlin’s breath deepens in panic, and Arthur, mistaking it’s meaning, says:

“Almost there, Merls, don’t worry, Gaius will fix you right up, just hang on a little more for me.”

Merlin tries to pull away again, going so far as to softly thump Arthur on the chest to make him let go (it doesn’t work, he’s far too weak):

“No... no, you don’t.... understand. I can‘t, I don’t.... I don’t have time.”

Arthur frowns at him, but continues moving in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. He turns his concerned face away from Merlin, to see two guards turning into the corridor ahead of them:

“HEY!! One of you go to my chambers to collect the would-be assassin, and one of you run ahead to Gaius to warn him we’re coming; deep stab wound to the shoulder. Tell anyone you might see to be on high alert, an attempt on my life has been made.”

Arthur growls as they just stand in shock, obviously taken aback at the sight of the King near dragging an almost dead-looking servant down the corridor towards:

“NOW!”

With that they jump into action, one of them sprinting back the way Arthur and Merlin had come, the other sprinting ahead, to warn Gaius.

Arthur looks back down to Merlin, trying to pick up his pace as he notices him grow weaker and weaker:

“Come on, only a few more corridors Merlin, then Gaius will take care of you and you can sleep it off. I’ll even give you tomorrow off, how does that-”

Before Arthur can finish his question, Merlin moans, and tries to pull away again:

“No... time. Too many things to do... not... no time. Leak...”

Arthur stares at him in confusion as Merlin trails off, but blinks in surprise, as he gains a sudden burst of lucidity again:

“NO! Leak needs... sorting. Flowers and... Gwaine’s sword. Check on... Annabeth-”

He pulls away from Arthur far more violently this time, and the King drops him as he staggers from the force.

Arthur curses and kneels down, panicked as he tries to get his arms under Merlin’s weight again. Which Merlin is making very difficult.

The manservant can’t really feel the pain at this point. All he knows is that time is passing. Time that should be spent fixing things. Whatever stupid thing Arthur wants right now needs to wait.

Leak. Then spells. Then catch up on laundry through the night. Then check on the flowers in the morning. Hopefully lunch with Gwen. Sword next. Then. Then he can maybe think about whatever is happening right now.

Arthur finally gets his hands under Merlin’s arms and pulls him up, growing more and more worried as Merlin tries to wiggle away, like he doesn’t want to get treated.

Only one more corridor.

Arthur continues his journey through the halls, breathing deeply with the exertion. 

Merlin had lost the last of his strength trying to escape, and the fall to the floor had knocked his other injuries slightly, so Arthur was forced to pick him up, carrying the limp man bridal style.

He finally made it to Gaius’ chambers, to see the guard holding open the door, and Gaius rushing around, gathering various ingredients and tools.

Arthur bolts through the door, not even looking at the guard as he spots the empty cot in the middle of the room, and carefully lays a clearly delirious Merlin down.

The dark haired boy continues to mumble, a frown etched deeply onto his features:

“No... time... too much else... to worry about...”

Arthur calms his own breathing before looking back to the guard:

“Make sure the alarm is sounded. Find out if the assassin was caught and report back to me as soon as you know anything. I’ll be here.”

The guard nods firmly before running out of the room, and Arthur turns his attention back to Merlin. He gasps as he notices blood dripping from the palms of his hands, and lurches forward, forcing Merlin’s fingers to uncurl.

Arthur realises with a numb horror, that something much more than the stab wound is wrong with his... friend. This isn’t even close to the worst injury he’s ever seen Merlin get, but still he lies here, panicking about something to such an extent that he drew blood with his own nails.

Gaius finally bustles over, and without even looking at him, forcefully tells Arthur:

“Hold him down, he’s in no sort of mental state for me to treat him awake, so I need to get this down him and he won’t... appreciate it.”

The King notices the vial of foul-smelling liquid in Gaius’ hands, and quickly moves around to stand behind Merlin’s shivering form.

He presses one hand down onto his uninjured shoulder, and bends over, leaning his other forearm across his chest, trying desperately to avoid aggravating the dagger still imbedded in his shoulder.

Once he’s secure, Gaius pinches Merlin’s nose, and pours the liquid into his mouth, quickly dropping the vial onto the table beside him, and massaging his throat to help it go down.

Merlin spasms for a few seconds and kicks out, but Arthur just about manages to hold him steady before he finally goes limp, his eyes rolling back, and his hands hanging off the side of the cot.

Arthur steps back, and collapses in a chair at Merlin’s side, before looking up at Gaius. The King watches the Physician bring over a pair of scissors and cut Merlin’s blood soaked tunic away, before examining the wound, and carefully removing the dagger.

Arthur tries to calm his heart rate, and takes deep breaths as he watches Gaius work, knowing that the injury, though bloody, was not life threatening.

At some point during the process of the wound being cleaned, stitched, and dressed, the guard from earlier had re-entered the chambers to say:

“The assassin was found and taken to the dungeons, sire. The castle is on high alert, and patrols are looking for any accomplices, though currently it appears the man was working alone. Two guards have been found dead, one at the castle gate, and one at the main entrance to the building.”

Arthur vaguely remembers nodding, and dismissing the guard; telling him to keep him updated, before focusing back on Merlin.

When Gaius finally slumps into the chair opposite Arthur, on Merlin’s other side, The King takes a deep breath, before asking quietly:

“What’s wrong with him, Gaius? I mean besides the obvious? George said-”

Before Arthur can finish, three thunderous pairs of feet burst through the door.

The King looks up to see Gwen, Gwaine, and Leon enter the room in a hurry. Gwen answers his questioning gaze with:

“The three of us were together when a guard told us what happened. Will he be alright?”

Gaius gives them a comforting, but strained smile, as they move towards the cot:

“He’ll be fine my dear, with time.”

Gwen moves quickly to stand by Arthur’s side, and takes one of Merlin’s limp hands in her own as she blinks away tears, her other hand covering her mouth. Gwaine rushes to the end of the cot, looking down at his best friend with a pained expression, and resting a hand on his leg. Leon steps into place above Merlin’s head, stroking a gentle hand through his hair, before focusing his concerned expression on Arthur in question.

Arthur huffs, but pays them no mind as he looks back at Gaius:

“Like I was saying, what’s wrong with him? George said he was acting oddly, and he seemed... almost sickly the last time I saw him. Then all the way here he was trying to get away from me, he just kept muttering about time, and saying he had things to do.”

Gwaine growls, and before Gaius can reply, he snarls out:

“You’ve been bloody overworking him, that’s what’s wrong. Look at him, he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.”

Arthur looks up, annoyed:

“That’s exactly why I’ve been giving him fewer chores, Sir Gwaine. I didn’t give him anything specific to do today, and when I told him he would have some time off on the way here, he freaked. Pulled away, I dropped him, and he just began muttering about not having time, having too much to do.”

Gwen clears her throat before timidly saying:

“He has been acting a bit strange. He seemed a little stressed after the first outbreak, but I figured that was normal for this time of year and let him be. Then he got back so late last night, and every time I saw him today he just seemed... more and more panicked. I tried to stop him a few times but he ignored me, like his mind was completely elsewhere.”

Arthur frowns at that, and Leon speaks next, his hand still absentmindedly carding through Merlin’s hair:

“Hmm. He’s been looking unwell; swaying on his feet, leaning on walls. I saw him in the market earlier today and he looked about ready to feint, but I was pulled away by a few guards. When I looked back again, he was stumbling away in the opposite direction. He looked in a rush, so like Gwen, I let him be. Perhaps he hasn’t been sleeping well?”

Gaius looks grim, and nods:

“I heard him moving about all through last night. I got up to offer him a sleeping draught but he refused, saying he had things to do. I got the impression this morning that he didn’t sleep a wink. And I remember what the yearly flu excursions were like, I doubt he slept any better whilst he was treating people in the lower-town.”

The three of them look troubled. How had they let it get this far? Merlin was clearly some sort of sick, and no one had noticed until he was ignoring stab wounds and clawing at his own skin.

Leon tilted Merlin’s head, frown deepening as he spots the purple bruise over his cheek, now also stretching up into his temple and into his hairline. His voice came out a mumble, as if he were speaking to himself:

“What happened here?”

Arthur’s face darkened, and he replied lowly:

“Lord Anselm. I informed him to leave my kingdom and told him not to come back until he could refrain from beating my staff.”

Leon nodded, face angry, and Gwaine replied:

“Bet he didn’t like that, the bastard.”

Arthur looked up at Gaius, and cleared his throat before asking:

“What do you suggest, Gaius? He’s clearly not... ok.”

Gaius sighed once more, looking down at the man who had become his son, before saying quietly:

“I imagine all three of us are right, in a way. He’s overworked, stressed, and lacking sleep. That mixed with a punch hard enough to give him a mild concussion, and the fact he likely hasn’t eaten very well over the last few weeks, led to a... miniature break down, of sorts.-”

He looks up at Arthur, who is struggling to hide how distraught he is, with grim determination:

“-He will need time off to recover. More than a few days, likely. And support. He has learnt to rely on no one but himself in recent years. Dealing with a workload that multiple people would struggle with all on his own, was almost certainly what led to his obsession with time, time running out. You will need to reassure him that any tasks he is worried about are being completed just fine without him, otherwise he’ll panic.”

Arthur nods before replying, his voice thick:

“Of course. Whatever he needs. He mentioned... a leak? And flowers, Gwaine’s sword. He mumbled a few other things as well, but I couldn’t hear him. He said something about Annabeth?”

Gaius rubs his eyes as he nods slowly:

“Yes, George bought Annabeth by earlier. Lord Anselm had hurt her and Merlin sent the two of them here before he went to deal with the Lord.-”

He looked up to see Arthur sporting a vicious frown, and continues:

“-She’s fine now, just a little shaken, her injuries will heal in a week or so. The other things he mentioned to you though...”

Arthur sighs, but Gwen speaks up, still clutching Merlin’s hand, before he can say anything:

“I overheard some of the stable-hands worrying about a leak in the stable, knowing Merlin, he probably offered to help them. And the flowers... well there was supposed to be a delivery today, for the feast decorations, but it hasn’t arrived yet.”

Arthur nods, and Gwaine swallows, looking a little guilty, before saying:

“He ran my spare sword to the blacksmith about a week ago, for repairs. I told him there was no rush, but he must’ve got in a panic about it.”

Arthur nods, but raises his eyes to Gwen in confusion:

“Ok, the sword and the leak I understand, but the flowers? Why would a castle delivery be any concern of his??”

Gwen widens her eyes in surprise, and Leon makes a disbelieving noise, before saying:

“Sire, with all due respect, Merlin is the King’s Personal Manservant. Of course it concerns him.”

At the growing confusion on Arthur’s face, Leon sighs. He drags a chair forward, and sits in his place behind Merlin’s head as he continues to absent-mindedly run his fingers through the man’s hair:

“My Lord, everything that has anything to do with you, gets run by Merlin first. Pretty much every non-political decision not directly made by you, is made by Merlin. I always thought it was rather hilarious that he didn’t seem to realise how much power he has within the castle.”

Arthur widens his eyes in realisation, and slumps back in his seat:

“I had no idea... no wonder he’s so exhausted all the time. He’s practically running the castle behind my back.”

Gwen nods sympathetically, but Gwaine still looks a little annoyed as he grinds out:

“Honestly princess. How did you think it was that the visitors you liked least were always housed in the chambers furthest away from yours? Or how the castle kitchen is always stocked up on your personal favourites? Or perhaps how council meetings always seem to be at a time most convenient for you, despite you never rearranging your own schedule? When we all joke about how you wouldn’t last a day without Merlin... we mean it. He doesn’t just dress you and feed you and sing you to sleep, he runs your whole life, mate.”

Leon and Gwen nod, and Arthur sighs, and the room goes silent for a few minutes, the only noise being Merlin’s ragged breathing.

Arthur finally straightens up, and nods to himself slightly:

“Right. Merlin gets every Monday off, no matter what, including his physician duties where possible. George is going to be reassigned as an... assistant of sorts; Merlin will hate it but I don’t care, he needs the help. He’s also going to get a bloody great big pay rise, and new chambers with a big desk. And that’s just to start with.”

Gaius raises his infamous eyebrow, but Arthur ignores it, he can see the hint of pride in his eyes. Gwen and Leon smile and nod, and Gwaine huffs before muttering:

“Yeah, that better be just to start with. Kid deserves the world.” 

Arthur stands from his chair and begins pacing, before looking back to the others in a hurry:

“Ok, Gwen, can you go find the Housekeeper, inform her that I want a few more servants to be hired, on a permanent basis. The castle is obviously understaffed if Merlin is the only one fixing everyone else’s problems. Take Gwaine with you, a guard informed me the assassin had been caught and was likely working alone, but just in case.-”

With that, Gwen nods and leaves, closely followed by Gwaine, who stops only to give Arthur a short, assessing gaze, before giving him a nod and leaving.

“-Leon, find the Steward, and George if you can. Find a set of chambers that can be reassigned to Merlin, and tell them to begin the process immediately. Not too big, he’d complain and refuse to use them but... oh you know what he’s like, I trust you’ll pick something to his... tastes.”

Leon gives Arthur another smile, before heading towards the door. Just before he can leave, Arthur calls out for him again:

“And if you could have a plate of food sent here as soon as possible. I don’t think he’s eaten all day and we’ll need to get something down him when he wakes up.”

Leon nods, and leaves without another word. Arthur collapses back into his chair before looking at Gaius, and blushing at the fond smile on the older man’s face:

“What?”

Gaius just shakes his head as his smile grows:

“Nothing, my boy. I’m just glad you’re finally realising at least a little of what Merlin sacrifices for you.”

Arthur frowns and tilts his head:

“You mean there’s more he’s giving up than sleep, food, and any and all free time he has?”

Gaius drops his smile fractionally, but covers it quickly (not quick enough that Arthur didn’t notice however) :

“Hmm. Nothing that you need to worry yourself over, My Lord.”

Arthur’s frown deepens:

“Well now I’m just going to worry about it even more. What is it Gaius? If you won’t tell me what the problem is, at least tell me the solution.”

Gaius settles a heavy, pensive gaze on Arthur, and stays silent for a few moments before answering slowly and quietly:

“A long time a go, I gave Merlin some... difficult, advice, pertaining to which secrets he should keep to himself. Perhaps when he wakes I shall rescind said advice. But ultimately, whether he tells you the true extent of his... well, truth, or not, is up to him. I advise you not to push him.”

Arthur huffs:

“So he’s hiding something from me?”

Gaius gives The King a sympathetic smile:

“He’s hiding a multitude of things from a multitude of people. There are very few people who know Merlin fully. His life has been... difficult, from birth, to such an extent that not even I’m aware of what’s going through his mind, the pain he suffers, and I live with him.-”

Gaius stops hesitantly, but Arthur nods for him to continue. He looks deeply troubled, before saying:

“All I can request Sire, is that, if he does decide that he trusts you enough to reveal himself fully, let him finish the story in it’s entirety before you start forming conclusions, and remember, that everything he does, he does for Camelot, for you.”

Arthur’s face shows slight confusion, but he nods firmly. He may not fully understand what on earth Gaius is talking about, but he has a feeling he’ll know it when he sees it. Plus, Merlin means a great deal to him, and the man obviously does a lot for him, the least Arthur can do in return is sit patiently and wait for Merlin to come to him with whatever truth Gaius thinks is so worrying.

~

It was late in the night when Merlin started to stir, only a few hours until sunrise.

Arthur and Gaius had both fallen asleep after checking over Merlin’s bandages. Gaius had settled in a cot in the corner of the room, and Arthur was curled up in his seat, Merlin’s hand clutched in his.

Arthur woke slowly at first, and then all at once, when he realised that Merlin’s hand was twitching in his own. He leaned forward on his seat, frowning, as he stroked Merlin’s forehead gently with his other hand.

Merlin’s eyes blinked open, as he muttered Arthur’s name. The King smiled gently, placing a comforting hand in the centre of Merlin’s chest, and squeezing his hand slightly:

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

Merlin frowns slightly, before he gasps with wide eyes and tries to sit up. Arthur pushes back gently against his chest, and Merlin is far too weak to do anything about it as Arthur speaks quietly:

“No no no, you stay right there. You need to get better before you start rushing around again.”

Merlin frowns and begins to breath deeply:

“No, I don’t have the time Arthur, there’s too much I gotta do.”

He tries to sit up again, but Arthur holds him down, struggling to think of what to say to calm his manservant down before he did more damage to himself:

“No there isn’t. You can’t do anything when you’re sick and injured, alright?-”

At Merlin’s panicked expression, Arthur hurries to continue:

“Don’t worry, Merlin. Gwen spoke to the housekeeper about hiring some new servants to help. I’m going to get Percival to fix the leak in the stable later, Gwaine doesn’t need his sword for at least a few days, and to be perfectly honest, he can get it himself. The housekeeper will deal with the flowers, and Annabeth is fine, Gaius saw her earlier and sent her home for the day. There’s nothing for you to worry about, ok?”

Merlin frowns, and blinks blearily, clearly beginning to lose his lucidity:

“Are you ok? The... assassin... looked pretty... pretty... serious...”

He trails off, but refuses to close his eyes, and lifts a shivering hand to loosely clasp Arthur’s wrist as Arthur replies:

“You haven’t slept or eaten properly in days, you’ve been smacked around and stabbed, and you’re asking me if I’m ok?”

At Merlin’s once again panicked expression, Arthur sighs:

“Yes Merlin, I am one hundred percent ok, and so is everyone else. The assassin was caught, everyone is safe, and there’s nothing that you need to think about right now. Let go, get some sleep.”

Merlin frowns indignantly, and murmurs:

“I’ve already... slept too... long... gotta-”

Arthur huffs before interrupting him:

“Being unconscious is not the same as being asleep. Go to sleep Merlin. I promise, I will wake you up if you are needed in any way... do... do you trust me?”

Merlin looks at him oddly, before his eyelids flutter shut and he goes limp. Arthur just about hears the muttered-

“More that anyone.”

-before Merlin passes out once again, and after waiting a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t faking it (definitely something Merlin would do), he collapses back in his chair.

Merlin really was sick.

Arthur huffs with annoyance at himself, how had he not noticed this sooner? Why hadn’t he pushed it when he came to collect the laundry? Why hadn’t he given Merlin a day off when he got back from the lower-town? Though, knowing Merlin, he probably would’ve spent all day working anyway, even if it wasn’t directly for Arthur.

Arthur’s thoughts are racing so much that he knows he isn’t going to get back to sleep, but it was far too early in the day for anything official to get done; the city was asleep. And besides, even if there was something to be done, Arthur found himself exceedingly unwilling to let go of Merlin’s hand.

So sitting here and thinking was his only option it seemed.

Gwen, Gwaine, and Leon had come back around an hour after he had sent them away, and he was more than pleased with what they had to report.

The housekeeper had drafted up notices asking for permanent, paid, help in the castle, to be distributed in the lower-town tomorrow (or... later today).

Leon and the Steward had found a suitable set of chambers for Merlin, about halfway between Arthur’s and Gaius’, small compared to Arthur’s rooms, but still bigger than the footprint of Merlin’s house back in Ealdor.

Arthur hadn’t managed to get any food in Merlin when he briefly woke up, but the plate that Leon had sent up still sat their waiting, and it would be ready when Merlin was lucid enough to eat.

Arthur was still very worried about the man he had grown to trust more than even himself, but he also trusted Gaius, and if Gaius wasn’t freaking out, then neither would Arthur.

~

The next few days were... difficult, to say the least.

It took a lot of persuading to convince Merlin to stay in bed, and even a few sleeping draughts slipped into his tea, courtesy of Gaius.

Merlin was also getting increasingly annoyed at all of his friends visiting him, and treating him like he was made of glass. 

He was getting desperate to leave the Physician’s chambers and get some work done, and Gaius was not best pleased when he caught the man trying to sneak out.

Gaius sternly told him to sit down and shut up for a minute whilst he explained why exactly he can’t get out of bed yet, and Merlin reluctantly sat back down, nodding at Gaius to start talking:

“Merlin, you hadn’t slept at all in at least seventy-two hours. You hadn’t slept well for the several weeks before that. You hadn’t eaten all day, and I imagine that you hadn’t eaten properly, again, for the several weeks before. You had a mild concussion and fractured collarbone, courtesy of Lord Anselm. Bruises on your hands from gods know what. Balance and dizziness issues caused by being medically exhausted. You are stressed far beyond levels that are even vaguely healthy. All of this, before you sustained a serious stab wound. Merlin, you had a panic attack, yesterday, over not being able to fix a leak. You can not keep working like this, or you will burn yourself out again, and then where will we be? You are of no use to anyone if you drop dead. So will you please, just trust that Arthur has things handled just fine without you.”

Merlin had the decency to look a little ashamed at first, but rolls his eyes when Gaius mentions Arthur:

“That man never has anything handled. Gods know how he’s even managed to get dressed the last few days.”

Gaius raises an eyebrow, an obvious “I dare you to argue with me right now” look if Merlin has ever seen one.

Merlin huffs before climbing fully back into his bed (still in the Physician’s chambers. Gaius advised against telling Merlin of all the changes that were happening until after he was better, otherwise he would... simply put, he would freak) and looking to his lap, frowning.

Gaius sighs, and puts a gentle hand on Merlin’s least-injured shoulder:

“Be patient, Merlin. You fail to realise how many people care about you, and how much. We would be devastated to lose you, it’s hard enough to see you suffer like this. So let yourself heal fully, if not for yourself, then for us.”

Merlin looks up at him tiredly (everything seems to tire him out at the moment) with tears in his eyes and Gaius leans forward to gather the boy in a hug.

Merlin falls into it easily, and buries his head in the crook of Gaius’ neck as the older man runs a hand through his hair. He sniffles slightly, before mumbling:

“I’m sorry.”

Gaius smiles sadly, not that Merlin can see it, before replying quietly:

“No need to apologise my boy, just get some sleep. I believe that Guinevere will be joining us for dinner later.”

Merlin nods before removing himself from Gaius’ arms, and settling back under the covers. He shifts until he’s comfortable, and whispers a soft goodnight (I mean... it’s the middle of the afternoon but he’s sleeping the nights and days away at the moment), before drifting off.

Gaius sighs once more, before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him quietly.

They had a long way to go. Physically, Merlin was well on his way to healing, but emotionally... well. He had a father-figure physician, a fellow servant, five boisterous but loving knights, and a King who may or may not be in love with him.

He’d get there. He just needed a little more time.

~

THE END

Thank you so much for requesting this anon, I had fun writing it! It kept getting longer and longer and I almost split it into two, but I just decided to go for it in the end.

I hope y’all enjoy! Same as always, you wanna write it up with proper paragraphs and extend it and everything, go for it, credit and tag me :)

Let me know if y’all want my thoughts on anything in particular!

#merthur #bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #hurt merlin #king arthur #gaius #leon #sir leon #gwen #guinevere #merlin is tired #no magic reveal #this boy needs lots of hugs #george #merlin and george: unlikely friends #sir gwaine #gwaine #sir lancelot #lancelot #sir percival #percival #sir elyan #elyan #merlin/arthur #arthur is pining

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry X

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

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

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

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

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

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, my lord, that is not--”

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

“My lord--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should retire--”

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

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

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

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

“That was… odd,” Peter said quietly.

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

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

“So?” he asked anxiously.

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

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

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

“We are not close.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[shipping-kitchen]

Sweet Burning Pleasure

Kinktober, Day One: Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiacs

Fandom: Resident Evil VIII

Pairing: Lady Dimitrescu/Female Reader

Words: 4,500

Warnings: body horror, really dubious consent/non-consensual, aphrodisiacs, the reader definitely thinks she’s going to die for most of the fic, lots of blood and blood drinking and vampire things, explicit sex, graphic descriptions of cuts and blood

Summary:  You are a maid in the Dimitrescu Castle, doing your best to keep your head down and survive. You eventually catch the attention of the Lady of the castle.

Important Note: I’m posting my Kinktober one-shots daily on tumblr, unedited! Eventually I’ll edit them and post them on AO3, but for now this is the first draft, and I hope you enjoy it ^-^

You were well aware that working at the Dimitrescu Castle was tantamount to a death sentence, but when Mother Miranda asked for new women to volunteer… it was an honour to be recognized by her. It would guarantee that your parents would eat well for the coming winter. The years in the village had stretched on, and you knew that your chances of staying on the farm were slim. Too many of your childhood friends had already been ushered away, to experiments and servitude to the Lords that surrounded the town.

You could become a wife in the town, produce more children to continue the cycle, but you couldn’t stomach the idea of marrying one of the men that you had grown up beside. Better to step forward, volunteer as a maid, accept the new dress that was sent your way, pack your scant belongings, and hug your parents goodbye as you began the walk towards the castle that loomed above your village.

You were wearing the dress that had been given to you when you were chosen: a grey dress that gathered at the waist and then flared out around your legs, falling to just below your knees. Paired with the apron that rested overtop, it was more elegant than the clothes you grew up with, but still clearly the clothes of a servant.

Your bag bumped against your shoulder blades as you walked through the gates, leaving your village behind. It was early Spring, and the vineyards were beginning to fill with greenery. The lattices surrounded you, the scent of fresh soil and new growth almost covering the decay of the scarecrows that hung around the path.

It was easier to look at the slowly growing vines than to face forward and the castle doors becoming larger as you drew towards it. Your heart was pounding, anxiety prickling on the back of your neck and the tips of your fingers. No one ever came back from the castle, and you had no idea what was waiting for you inside.

All too soon, your feet were climbing the stone steps towards the main doors. You paused in front of them, fixing the folds of your dress and pressing your hair back into place. Then you took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

It was long seconds before the door opened, revealing another woman in a similar grey dress. It wasn’t someone from the village, which didn’t surprise you. All of the Lords hired foreigners, the village not enough to staff their needs. She was an older woman, her hair beginning to grey.

You curtseyed, a small bobbing movement.

“I’m the new maid, ma’am. Sent from the village.”

“Well, come inside.” The woman stepped back and you obediently stepped inside, trying not to flinch as the huge door was shut behind you. “What’s your name, girl?”

The main hall of the castle was resplendent and golden. A large painting of three women was illuminated across the hall. There were delicate vases and intricate designs everywhere you looked. You told the woman your name, occupied with gazing around the hall in awe. You had never seen such splendor, and it filled you with both fear and anticipation.

“Hmm. Well, I’m the housekeeper, Ms. Matheski. You’ll take your orders from me. Welcome to Castle Dimitrescu.”

--

You had expected life at the castle to be something out of a horror movie, abstract ideas of dark hallways and boarded up rooms. The truth was much different: life at the castle was hard work.

There were dozens of rooms, and you had to prepare each one on a rotating schedule. There were sheets to wash in the river, fireplaces to clean out, mantels to polish, floors to mop. Every day, you worked hard and collapsed into bed for a deep sleep.

You rarely saw the mistresses of the castle, dressed all in black and cackling as they walked down the halls together. All of the servants knew to get out of the way when their voices came down the hallway. No one discussed the red crusted around the mistresses’ mouths, but everyone knew. The servants cleaned out the goblets, after all.

Sometimes, you encountered Lady Dimitrescu. While her daughters announced themselves with their raucous conversation, the lady of the house moved with an unpredictable silence. Many times, you were on your knees in front of a fireplace, covered in ashes, when you looked up to see Lady Dimitrescu behind you, watching your work.

The first time it had happened, you had scrambled to your feet, dropping to your lowest curtsey. Your eyes on the ground, you waited. Her presence was all-encompassing: she was so large, and in her white dress, unlike anything else in the castle.

Lady Dimistrecu had laughed and told you to continue working. On her way out of the room, she had touched her fingers to the top of your head, and your knees had gone weak from fear. And then she was gone, and you collapsed back in front of the fireplace.

Since then, you had gotten used to the Lady’s presence, and the way she came and went, overseeing everyone’s work. Those who made mistakes were the ones to disappear: you made sure that you listened carefully and double-checked your work.

And so you survived, into the winter.

--

Winter in the castle was different: the fires were kept blazing, more wood being ordered from the village almost daily. The windows were boarded up, to keep out the cold. Before, the Dimitrescu daughters had come and gone from the castle, but now they remained in their rooms, more sullen and more likely to lash out.

You kept working, you kept your head down. You did your best to avoid the daughters and please the Lady. Ms. Matheski was never displeased with your work, but she wasn’t warm with any of the girls who worked in the castle. You didn’t blame her.

One day, you had been assigned to the main hall. The main hall had to be cleaned daily, unlike the other rooms, and it was a dangerous assignment. Lady Dimitrescu was picky about the banister, and the daughters often came through the main hall on their way from their rooms. The winter was dragging on, and the mistresses were restless. Daniella, especially, had taken to tormenting the maids: tearing their clothes, throwing rats at them while they worked, and occasionally dragging them off to the lower levels, where you had never been asked to work.

You made your way into the main hall cautiously, entering through the servant door. It was empty, and you got down to work. The fireplace was first, cleaned out and then refilled with new wood and lit again. The castle was kept at a warmth that was almost stifling in winter, but you knew better than to complain.

Once the fire was lit, you turned your attention to the dishes that had been left on the table in the hall. The daughters liked to dine here, and often left a mess. It would take you several trips across the castle to the kitchen to clear the table, so it was best to get started.

You gathered up the first stack of dishes and made off, your dress swirling around your legs as you made your way down the familiar hallways. You tried not to let them rattle, cautious of drawing attention to yourself, and breathed a sigh of relief when you reached the kitchen without incident.

“Dishes from the main hall,” you told the maid washing dishes. “More to come.”

She nodded in acknowledgement and you headed back out the door, your soft leather shoes making no noise on the carpeted hallway as you went back to the main hall.

When you entered the hall, you froze. Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters were all in the hall, warming themselves in front of the fire you had recently lit. Bela was reclining against her mother’s chest, her sisters’ heads resting on their mother’s legs. It was a relaxed tableau, and not something you felt that you should be present for.

But Lady Dimistrecu was already looking towards the door as you stepped in, so you dropped into a hasty curtsy and reached behind yourself for the door.

“Please, continue,” the Lady commanded, waving her hand towards you. “The table needs clearing.”

“Yes, my Lady,” you said, hearing your voice come out quiet and hesitant. You clenched your jaw against your own hesitation, and walked towards the table. You could feel the eyes of the daughters upon you. You only hoped that their closeness with their mother would be enough to keep them content.

You gathered the plates and the goblets, trying to keep your hands from shaking. You could do this, despite the eyes on you. You could do this.

Distracted by your fear and the prickling awareness of your watchers, you picked up one of the knives the wrong way, and felt hot pain shoot through your palm.

You inhaled, but made no sound of pain, and forced yourself not to jerk back. Instead, you calmly placed the knife on the stack of plates with the others, and picked up the stack.

When you turned, Cassandra was standing directly in front of you. You had never seen one of the daughters this close, and it was immediately apparent that there was something wrong with her eyes. It looked like there was something moving inside the darkness of her pupils.

You refused to flinch backwards. Fear crawled up your spine, but you stood still. You held the plates steady. Your palm was burning where you had cut it.

Cassandra’s hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist.

Despair grew around you. This was sure to be the end, no matter how careful you had been.

She pulled your hand forward, and there was no resisting her grip. The plates slipped from your grasp and shattered on the floor at your feet.

Your palm was splayed upwards, and you could see how shallow the cut had been. Only a few beads of blood were brought to the surface, tiny droplets along a jagged line where the knife had dug into your skin.

An unnatural whine came from Cassandra’s chest, more like a cicada’s song than a human voice. She leaned towards your palm, and you closed your eyes, unwilling to watch.

There was a growl and then a harsh tug as Cassandra’s hand was pulled off your wrist. You pulled your hand back to your chest, opening your eyes to see Bela tussling with Cassandra on the floor, both of them making a strange growling-whining noise.

“Mine,” Cassandra hissed.

“Mine,” Bela growled back, and slammed her hand through her sister’s head. Insects exploded around her arm, twining up towards Bela’s face, and both of them dissolved into a swarm of struggling insects. As they fought, you took two steps back, and then pelted towards one of the further doors.

You didn’t expect to make it, but somehow, the door was closing behind you and you were still running, following the winding hallways back to your room. You slammed the door to your room and leaned against it, panting.

You could feel your heartbeat drumming against your ribs and your temples, your hand clenched in a fist around the cut that had started the fight. You knew, logically, that you aren’t safe here. This room was just another part of their castle, it would be easy enough to find you.

But you were in your own space. No one had ever come into this room while you’d been here. It was your safety in the castle. A place where you had never felt afraid. The fear was already beginning to fade, even as you struggled to hold onto it. Should you run? Would they forget? Would their mother blame you for their fight?

You unclenched your hand and looked at the cut again. The blood was already beginning to dry. You knew you should clean it, your hands still ashy from the fireplace. There was a washbasin in your room and you moved towards it, dipping your hands into the cold water. It came from the well outside the castle, and while it was boiled for the Lady’s baths and morning toilette, it was still cold for your own basin. It grounded you, washed away the last of the adrenaline. You watched the ashes swirl into the water. There wasn’t enough blood to turn the water pink. Such a small cut.  

Surely it would be easily forgotten.

As you dried your hands, there was a knock on your door. One, two, three raps, and then silence.

The fear returned, a lump in your throat as you moved towards the door. There were no windows in your room, no escape from whatever waited on the other side. A disappointed housekeeper, a curious maid, a murderous mistress…

You put your hand on the doorknob, inhaled, and opened the door.

White fabric greeted you, falling in elegant ripples to the ground.

“Hello, my pet,” said Lady Dimitrescu. “May I come in?”

You stumbled back, unable to deny her. She bent to enter your room, her hat brushing the edges of the doorway. Like her daughters, she was pale as moonlight. When she straightened, she was very close to the ceiling. The servant’s quarters lacked the high ceilings of the rest of the house, not made with the Lady of the house in mind.

“I’m sorry, my Lady,” you managed. “I didn’t mean to drop the plates.”

“Mmm. My daughters are impatient. I don’t blame you for the accident.” Lady Dimitrescu reached towards you, and you allowed it. Her hand wrapped around your wrist, just as Cassandra had held you earlier, but the scale was different. Her palm cupped your entire wrist, her fingers wrapping up your arm to the elbow. You had never felt so small, so helpless, so delicate. “I’ve spoken with them.”

“I… thank you.” Your body was thrumming with a mixture of fear, hope, and contact. Her fingertips rested delicately on the inside of your arm, against the veins.

“You are a rare delight,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured. “You caught my daughters off-guard.” Gently, she turned your palm upwards to show the faint line where the knife had cut. Her thumb traced the mark, expression going hazy for a moment. “You surprised me as well.”

“My Lady?” you asked, unsure what to make of her attention. You tried pulling your hand back, and her grip tightened on your arm, sudden enough to make you gasp. Her eyes snapped upwards to meet your gaze, and she looked hungry.

“It’s been a long winter, my dear,” Lady Dimitrescu said, as if it were a confession, as if this were a conversation, as if she were not holding you in place. “The wine is sweet, but you… are almost certainly sweeter.”

That was enough for you to know where this was going. You pushed yourself backwards, trying to wrench your arm from Lady Dimitrescu’s grasp, but it was no use. Her fingers were like marble on your wrist, solid and unbreaking.

“Hush, my pet.”

Her other hand wrapped around the back of your neck, and you heard yourself make a short sound of fear. Instinct made you freeze in place, your nape cradled in her palm. Her fingers rested on your collarbones. She was leaning down above you, and her eyes were so dark and hungry.

“It will not hurt,” Lady Dimitrescu whispered.

And then her lips were on your neck, and she was lying, it hurt, soft lips and sharp teeth and then searing pain up and down your spine. You could hear yourself crying out, you could hear the sound of her licking the blood from the bite mark. It was wet and wrong and you couldn’t free yourself from her grasp, no matter how you squirmed in her arms.

It seemed like forever before the pain began to dull, still radiating along your shoulder and back. The ache drew inwards and became almost unimportant. Lady Dimitrescu’s arms were strong around you. You could let your body relax, and still she held you close to her. Your blood had stained the white satin of the arm she held behind your head, keeping your neck steady as she fed. You could feel her lips and tongue, teasing the ragged holes made by her teeth, keeping the blood flowing. But somehow, it just didn’t hurt. You found yourself eased by her closeness, the certainty of her hold on your body.

Between one breath and the next, Lady Dimitrescu drew back with one last kiss to your wounds. She looked like her daughters now, crimson all around her lips and dripping down her chin, messy and dark. She groaned as she looked down at you, her gaze flickering from your neck to your eyes and back again.

You still felt like unable to move. Lady Dimitrescu was holding you, and there was no need to go anywhere. Your limbs were too heavy, even if you had wanted to. You blinked up at her, dazed by the hunger that still burned in her eyes after her meal.

Gently, Lady Dimitrescu lifted you into her arms like a child, cradling your head and hips. She laid you down on the bed, traced a finger through the ruined skin where she had bit you.

“As sweet as any fruit before Mother’s gift,” the Lady whispered, kneeling beside the bed. “You are exquisite.”

You wanted to touch the blood on her lips, but your hand only lifted slightly when you tried to move it.

She smiled at the movement, took your hand in hers. Again, you felt like a doll between her palms, so all-encompassing.

“Let me give you a gift of my own, my sweet.” You watched Lady Dimitrescu reach up and take off her hat, tossing it carelessly to the other side of the room. Her hair was held in a low coil behind her head, and she pulled the elastics from it, letting the waves fall over her shoulders. From the centre of the coil, she extracted a narrow blade. It was silver, delicate carvings on the blade flashing in the low lights of your room.

The Lady of the castle always wore gloves, but now she took them off and put them on your bedside table. Beneath the leather gloves, her hands were grey and white lines like marble spread beneath her skin. She rolled up one blood-soaked sleeve of her dress, and you saw that the white and grey lines went all the way up her body. Glancing at her face, from so close to her, it was clear that she was wearing some kind of makeup to make her appear pale like her daughters.

Lady Dimitrescu brought the blade down on her own arm, and you watched it cut through her skin. You half-expected the blood to be grey, but it was as red as your own.

She held her arm over your mouth, and you felt the warm droplets drip onto your lips. Soon your lips would look just as scarlet as hers.

“Open up, my pet,” Lady Dimitrescu told you, a smile in her voice.

Obediently, you parted your lips, and the blood met your tongue. It didn’t taste like metal and copper, as it did when you bit your lip. This was rich and full and thick, burning in your throat like whiskey when you swallowed it.

“Good.”

She watched you drink, your blood on her lips and hers on your own. The burning in your throat spread to your stomach and then out to the tips of your toes and your fingers, even your scalp prickling with sudden warmth. The dull ache of your neck went away, and when Lady Dimitrescu passed her fingers over the bitemark again, you felt that the holes are gone, your skin whole and healed. Her fingers still came back red with blood, though, which she licked from her fingertips with clear enjoyment.

Too soon, her arm healed and the blood stopped. You opened your mouth, silently asking for more, and she laughed at you, a low chuckle that made the burning even worse.

Then she leaned down and pressed her lips to yours.

There was the familiar taste of your own blood, thin and metallic. There was the unfamiliar feeling of lips against yours, prompting and playing. Her teeth nipped at your lip, and you returned the favour. She hummed approval, and you brought your hands up to run your fingers through her hair. You hadn’t noticed when the heaviness had left your body, but now every atom of you was screaming that you want to be closer to her.

Your Lady pressed into the kiss, overwhelming you for a moment. There was so much to think about, tongue and teeth and lips and the silken feeling of her hair. Her fingers were cupping your chin, changing the angle of the kiss, trailing down your neck to caress your collarbones.

The light touches were setting your body on fire, pressing up to get more contact. Lady Dimitrescu obliged, curling herself over you. Her knees rested low on the bed, her arms wrapped around you, the bed complaining under your combined weight. She was a solid wall of fabric brushing against your chest, your hips, and you wanted to be closer.

Lady Dimitrescu broke from the kiss and you moved on instinct, pressing your lips to the corner of her jaw. She tilted her head, giving you access, and you kissed down the elegant curve of her neck. When the need for more pressed at you again, you bit down on her neck. She moaned, and it was the most human sound you’d heard from her all night. You kissed and bit down to her shoulder, pushing the fabric of her dress out of the way.

You felt like you were out of your mind with this strange burning that flared through your body, needing something from her, needing everything from her. You tore satin in your quest for her skin, some still-rational part of your brain shocked at your audacity.

Grey skin stretched down her shoulders, marked with those same pale lines. She was warm under your lips, and you scraped her skin with your teeth. Lady Dimitrescu shifted against you, holding you closer, and you could hear her breathing unevenly.

At least you weren’t alone in this wild need. She was hungry for you, and you could taste it when she brought your lips back to hers, with new urgency.

“Please, my Lady,” you managed when she drew back. You didn’t know what you were begging for, and she was a work of art with her dress torn, hanging off one shoulder, blood and lipstick smeared across her chin.

“Yes,” Lady Dimistrescu said, her voice low. She leaned back and you whined at the loss of her warm presence, but then her hands were lifting your dress, effortlessly freeing you from its layers. The rush of air on your bare skin did nothing to cool the fire, and you grabbed for her wrists as she threw your dress carelessly across the room.

Only when Lady Dimitrescu’s hands were back on your bare skin did you relax, arching into the sensation. Her fingers are a little sharp, and she traced them delicately across the lines of your ribs, the soft rolls of your stomach, and then, teasing, across the curve of your breasts. You could feel your breath catch, helpless to stop yourself from pressing into the touch.

She practically purrs at that, leaning down to lick the remaining blood from your neck. Stopping to nibble your collarbone, she mouths down to the top of your breasts, cupping them and tracing their outline. It is a sublime torture as Lady Dimitrescu puts her mouth to you and you feel her tongue tracing around your swiftly hardening nipple.

You hear your voice crying out, hear your Lady humming her pleasure, feel her hands pinning down your hips. The air is cold: the sheets are soft: there is so much sensation racing through your body.

“Please,” you whisper, shuddering against her. “Please, please.”

And her hands run down from your hips, along the line of your outer thighs, and then delicately up the delicate inner thigh, making you squirm. She is close to where you’re soaking through your undergarments, so close and so far.

You’re panting, burning, moaning, and then her hands are finally on you, certain through the fabric. Her tongue, her fingers, you rock between them, overwhelmed.

Lady Dimitrescu slides your undergarments down without lifting her mouth from your breast and then you are bare to her, entirely. You can feel how wet you are when she runs her fingers across you. It’s too much and not enough.

Her touch leaves you for a moment, and you gasp for breath. When she touches you, it feels like the whole world narrows to her fingers and mouth. Without her, there is too much. The room is cold and you are still burning.

Lady Dimitrescu doesn’t make you wait long: she slides back on top of you, her knees caging your legs as she bends down to kiss you. She is too large for the bed, nearly bent in half to reach your mouth, a nightmare of grey skin and streaked blood, and she is everything you desire. She kisses with a demanding pace, and you return it.

Her fingers creep back up your inner thighs and you spread your legs as best you can. Your Lady is quick to return to your centre, starting slowly with her exploration. It brings the fire down for a moment, calm strokes along your folds, teasing brushes across your clit. Then the light touches begin to be too little, and you squirm under her. She draws back from the kiss to laugh again, and strokes you in earnest. Pleasure blooms from her fingers, and you lose track of your body. Your edges are dissolving into something greater, the only concrete part of you the place where her fingers are taking you apart.

She bites down again, this time just above your collarbone, and everything comes apart.

There are waves of awareness and pleasure, Lady Dimitrescu guiding you through them with leisurely movements of her fingers.

Once the shaking has passed, you collapse onto your pillow. Everything feels very distant, echoes of a real world that has stopped existing.

Lady Dimitrescu presses a kiss to the bloody mark that she left on your shoulder, and shifts you closer to her. When she bends her legs, she barely fits onto the bed, and your legs are draped over her thighs, your head pillowed on her arm.

“Sleep, my sweet,” your Lady whispers, running her thumb over the curve of your hip. “Rest and heal. I will be here when you wake.”

You have no choice but to obey, darkness dragging you downwards. The last thing you are aware of is the warmth of her embrace.

#nsft #lemon #kinktober #kinktober 2021 #resident evil #re8 lady dimitrescu #re8 #lady dimitrescu/reader #resident evil village #my writing #tw dubious consent #tw noncon #dubious consent

[fabricated-misslieness]

pairing: prince xiao x servant gn reader

req: no | wc: 1.62k | royal au

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 (you are here) | part 5

taglist: @hanniejji

a/n: low graphic pic

The following days at the palace are tense. Nobody wants to speak about Rex Lapis’s death, in fear that it will spike a new argument. Servants that rush and bustle around the halls can barely even stare at each other, for the siblings’ fights are so harsh and loud that their horrible words still ring in their ears.

Before, as the servants dined together, they spread hearsay. Now the dining hall is silent, with the only sound being cutlery and plates. Each loud clunk of cutlery against porcelain is piercing in their ears.

Rex Lapis upheld a certain peace. With his death, there was anticipation around the corner of every action. Would the kingdom collapse? Who would take the spot of monarch?

The Adepti’s meeting with the Liyue Qixing was only in a few days. If the reunion failed to find a new ruler, doom would surely initiate.

But that was not a servant’s burden. For now, as one of the most trusted, you were to speak with the funeral parlor to begin preparations for the Rite of Parting.

It had been many years since the last Rite of Parting took place, a parting wish for one of the Adepti. Each one was directed and prepared by the Wangsheng Funeral parlor, the only funeral parlor in the kingdom. Their current director was infamous for her humorous spirit, rare for solemn occasions, but however they may behave, the Rite of Parting will not be a matter to be laughed at.

Their consultant was also famous, even in his short term of work. He was known to be calm, reserved, polite, and extremely knowledgeable. Though his reputation did not prepare you to see your supposedly dead king again.

He smiles politely at you from his office chair while you gape at him. Gathering your manners, you greet him with a bow, “Pleasure to be doing business with you, mr. Zhongli. I’m-”

“(y/n), yes I know. Take a seat.”

He may not look like Rex Lapis and he may not have the exact same mannerisms, but this was your king. You were sure of it.

“Rex-”

“Zhongli.” He corrects. “Not many people have seen through my disguise, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

You gulp, nodding. “I’m here to discuss the Rite of Parting.”

He cuts you off for the last time, “I know, and that is taken care of. Here is the contract, it has all the information you need. All you need is to take it to the Adepti and they will discuss it, but I have a feeling there’s information that you want.”

“I… yes, there is.” You gulp back the shock. This man in front of you is your dead king, but he’s going by the name of Zhongli. “Wha… why?”

“I’ve always been disconnected from my citizens. Despite this, they depend on me far too much.” He speaks of conflicting matters, yet he speaks of them so calmly and simply, even busying himself with paperwork as he does. “They create a false image of me, and they praise those ideologies. There are many things that they say I do, many ways that they say I behave, and amplified many qualities that I have always shown to be something greater. I was flawed, yet they thought of me as perfect. The people no longer followed a king, instead, they followed the pseudo-god of their imaginations.”

A frown paints his lips, and with a sip of tea, he smiles once more. “I am a regular man just like any other. I have desires and I have flaws and I deserve to take action on them. Do you understand now?”

“Yes.” It was true that the king was not perfect, just as Yuheng Keqing proposed. No person was perfect, and the same went for every monarch of each kingdom.

“You have more questions?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Who should be the new monarch?”

He smiles, in a cheeky way that you’d never seen on the king, “That’s making it too easy for you. Nevertheless, a question is a question. Who has governed Liyue for just as long as I have? Who upholds law and who helps the citizens? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not the royal family.”

“The Liyue Qixing?”

“Precisely.” He clears his throat, “But like I said. I’m a regular man. All prophecies of mine are meant to be seen as suggestions, rather than definitive word.”

“Now, you must have something for me in return. I have given plenty of answers, so it’s time you give me some too. Why do you stay with the royal family? I formed this contract with you to become our servant. Now that Rex Lapis is dead, there’s no need to stay. Why are you still serving them?” That was a question you did not have a prepared response to, but one answer shone brightly in your mind.

“Xiao. He… I care for him, and he does for me.” It was simple, yet complicated. Simple, yet it showed all the feelings you had towards the prince.

“He was always attached to you.” Zhongli states as a matter of factly, in a way that brings warmth to your cheeks. “Just as the citizens of Liyue depended on me, he depended on you.” He chuckles, “Minus the fake ideologies part, of course.”

“Well,” He nudges the Rite of Parting documents your way, “I believe that is all. Good day, (y/n).”

“Good day, your majes-” He smiles, eyes crinkling as if he’s seeing an old friend.

“Have a nice day, Zhongli.”

“Welcome home.” Another thing you didn’t expect that day was Xiao waiting for you at the door of the palace, not to mention that he considered the place to be your home. “Where have you been?”

Ever since you comforted him, he was warmer with you. The loner prince who you knew nothing about suddenly became the person you knew the most about. You hadn’t noticed just how much he liked you until your meeting with Zhongli. “Gathering Rite of Parting documents. Where are the Adepti?”

Xiao griances, most likely remembering the horrible arguments from a few days prior. “Doing their own things. Can the meeting… wait for later? I don’t want to have a reenactment of what happened the other day at the moment.”

“Sure.” You nod. “I just need to drop off these papers with another servant. Is there anything you need afterwards?”

“I… have something to show you.” He looks at anything from you, arms behind his back. He seems nervous yet excited at the same time.

“Okay, I’ll be at your room as soon as I can.”

It seemed Xiao had a lot to show you. You had no idea what he had to show off, and you did not think it entailed leaving the city.

The prince walked ahead of you, leading the way. He didn’t dare look you in the eyes, and anything he said was short and to the point. Nevertheless, he did not seem to have a rude intention. He was merely nervous, and you know that because he’s showing the most emotion you’ve ever seen him express.

Xiao stops and sits on a rock platform once you reach your destination, the hill just about overlooking the kingdom’s harbor. “I sneak off to this place sometimes to look at the view. It clears my head.”

“Even after I tuck you into bed?” You ask, taking a seat next to him.

“I- yes.” He seems ashamed to admit it. “Are you mad?”

“Why would I be?” You give up on seeking his gaze, taking in the sight of the harbor instead. “I can see why you come here, the view is beautiful.”

It’s lucky that you’re no longer looking at him, because if you locked eyes while he glanced your way, the prince would’ve flushed red. “This wasn’t the only thing I wanted to bring you up here for.” Your beauty under the slowly setting sky of Liyue was magnificent, it almost made him trip over his words.

“Well, what do you have to say?” As the blue sky turns into hues of warm colors -reds, oranges, yellows- it blends in with the warmth of Liyue. The beauty of it has you captured, but Xiao has seen it plenty of times.

“I like you.”

You turn to him to speak, which makes him immediately snap his head away from you. “Xiao, I-” Before you can assure him that you reciprocate his feelings, he cuts you off.

“I know a relationship would only burden you and distract you from your duties. I know that perhaps you wouldn’t have time for me. But… could we at least try?”

The warmth on his cheeks is forgotten when you laugh, which makes Xiao snap his head at you. Clearly he wasn’t expecting that sort of reaction from you. “Xiao, I was going to say I liked you back.”

“Oh.” He claps a hand over the lower half of his face in an attempt to hide his hot blush. Color stands out between and above his fingers.

Your laugh almost humiliates him more. “You won’t burden me, Xiao! You’d cause more joy than anything.”

He nods slowly, “Okay.”

“Okay.” You repeat. “Do you.. want to kiss?”

Xiao moves his hand just a bit, uncovering one of his cheeks, an invitation to kiss him there. He’s most likely never kissed anybody on the lips, so you’d have to save that for later.

Though a mere kiss on the cheek seems to overwhelm him. As much as you want to, you don’t tease him about it.

“Come on, let’s head back, my prince. It’s getting dark.”

My prince… no more ‘your highness’ from now on.

#xiao x reader #xiao x gn reader #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin royal au #🌺-m.fluff

[kiribaku-queen]

The Blood King and his Queen [3]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Romance, Angst, Drama

Word count: 2.3K

Summary:  From being a mere servant girl to marrying the scariest prince in existence, your world changed right before your eyes. Exchanging places with the princess, you knew, wasn’t going to be easy. But could you have found love on the way? Or was it never meant to be?

A/N: I hope you get just as much second-hand embarrassment from this episode as I did. Thank you for waiting and being patient! I hope this chapter was worth waiting for! Look forward to the very end for a special ending scene. Honestly, I was imagining it like an anime and its like an extra that they put in... idk please bare with me. I thought it was funny! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! :) happy reading, loves!

[previous]                                                                                               [next]

Dinner was eaten in silence. After your smart remark, you didn’t have anything more to say to each other. At least, you didn’t know what to say to him. Was it the best choice to be sassy with him? Probably not. But did he deserve it after being rude to your first? Absolutely.

You looked up from your meal to see Bakugou stuffing his face in an angry matter. Only, Bakugou wasn’t angry. He was just like that, little did you know.

The next morning was no different. Breakfast was eaten in silence. If it wasn’t for that small interaction you had with him the night prior, you would have sworn the mighty Blood Prince was mute. But Kirishima swore to you that the prince doesn’t usually act this way. You’d believe it when you see it.

You had joined Bakugou for breakfast and to your surprise, the table was full with dishes; dishes you recognized and dishes you’ve never seen before. Everything was neatly organized and pretty to look at. It was a sight that you’ve seen before. You don’t know why you’re shocked every time.

“Princess,” Bakugou’s deep voice greeted you out of nowhere. You were startled and confused to hear the prince greet you. Up until this point, he has never even greeted you let alone acknowledge you when you step into the room. Was he finally out of his ‘bad mood’, from what Kirishima told you?

“Your Highness,” you greeted him back with a small bow. Kirishima led you to your spot at the table. When you got situated in your seat, he moved like how he did the previous night and stood guard while you and your ‘fiancé’ enjoyed your meal.

The food presented to you, although foreign looking, looked mouthwatering. And when you looked closer, there were many dishes that you actually knew but only plated differently. So of course, you dug in. Like a princess, no doubt. Or, what you thought like what a princess would do. You took itty bitty bites with your best posture: back straight, chin high, careful not to spill any food on you. Since you don’t have many chances to talk to his highness, meal times are the only times that you could make an impression. Last nights endeavors didn’t seem like it made a lasting impression of hate. Looks like its time to bring it up a notch.

“Excuse me for the corniness, your highness,” you started. Bakugou glanced up. Once again those piercing red eyes made you hold your breath for a second. You raised a spoonful of the yellow corn that was on your plate and gave a cheeky smile. “But this is really a-maize-ing!”

Only the sound of your laughter echoed throughout the dining room. Kirishima’s jaw physical drops in shock. Meanwhile, Bakugou stopped chewing, stopped eating and stared at you.

“Lettuce celebrate to our engagement,” you continued to joke, stabbing your fork in the green leaf and held it high as if you were giving a toast. Bakugou’s face didn’t change one bit. But Kirishima looked mortified. He looked back between you and his angry-looking friend, afraid of how he would react to your not-so comical puns.

The longer he stared at you with his blank eyes, the more cold sweat you began to accumulate. The more cold sweat, the more nervous you became and thus, the more panicky you became. He wasn’t laughing at anything you were saying. You panicked. This was not the reaction you were hoping for. You had to say something. You gave him a nervous laugh again and frantically searched for the next best thing.

“Kiwi at least be friends?” you lifted up the delicate fruit with a glimmer of hope in your eyes. Again, no reaction. Kirishima wanted to cover his face so bad. He couldn’t take this torture anymore! But he had to remain professional. “No? Okay,” you gave up, your voice disappearing into a whisper. Pouting and looking down, you ate your meal quietly. You’ve never felt more embarrassed for yourself than in this moment. Heat rose to your cheeks and you wanted to hide away, never to be seen again.

The moment you looked down in embarrassment, Bakugou tried to stifle a laugh. The sides of his lips couldn’t help but curl up in a small smirk. He tried to eat something to calm him down, but as soon as his lips met the metal fork, his lips curled into a side smile that couldn’t be hid. But you were unable to see this side of Bakugou due to your mortification. Kirishima, on the other hand, raised a brow in amusement. This wasn’t a sight you could see every day.

“Kirishima,” Bakugou addressed the red-head. Straightening his posture, Kirishima put his hands beside his back and raised his chin high.

“Your highness,” Kirishima answered.

“Make sure the princess is ready by the time the horses are packed. We have a long trip ahead of us,” the prince announced and was about to leave, but not before you stood up to stop him.

“Trip? Where are we going?” you asked in a frantic matter. There was a moment’s pause.

“As my queen-to-be, you should know the kingdom, no?” he glanced back. This time, his eyes were not so aggressive. There was amusement and a hint of a challenge, as if he was trying to challenge you. The prince made his way out of the dining hall and back to this residence.

 After taking you back to your room to get ready for your trip around the kingdom, Kirishima made a pitstop at the prince’s quarters to pay visit.

“I saw that,” Kirishima commented, relaxing the moment the door closed behind him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bakugou tried to brush it off, but he knows that he’s been caught.

“I’ve never seen you like that around a princess, before. You like her?” Kirishima teased. Bakugou let out a breathy smirk.

“She’s interesting, that’s for sure,” he admit.

“I mean, what was she saying out there? Out of character for a princess, right?” Kirishima finally let out a laugh.

“So out of character that it was funny,” Bakugou, too, let out a small laugh. A moment of laughter passed and Kirishima got serious.

“You think she’s the one you’re looking for?” he asked. But Bakugou couldn’t say for sure.

“We’ll find out after this trip, won’t we?” Bakugou grabbed his iconic cape, draped it over his shoulders and powerfully made his way to the front entrance.

By the time that you were finished getting ready, you made your way to where Bakugou and a group of soldiers was getting geared up. You were dressed in a lighter, more fit for travel, dress. If you moved, the dress wouldn’t be in your way. Although white, your servants packed you many more dresses just like the one you were wearing. Your hair was flowing naturally down your face, leaving an ethereal, fairy-like appearance.  

Bakugou has brought several soldiers along for the trip, all either carrying a box, securing it on the cart, or making sure that all the materials are present. Insides the boxes ranged from a variety of things: food to wood to medicine supplies. You weren’t sure why you need so many things, but you thought it was for safe precautions? Bring more so you don’t worry about it.

“Your highness, everything has been prepared,” Kirishima announced, saluting to his highness. Bakugou stood tall with his signature glare that didn’t seem to faze Kirishima at all.

“Double check?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“We have extra food and clothing?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“The tent is packed?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Weapons are secured?”

“Yes, your highness.” Bakugou flared his nostrils and nodded his head.

“Good man. Let’s head out!” he bellowed. On cue, all of the soldiers that were coming were hopping on their horses. You looked around nervously. You had never ridden a horse before, let alone seen one in person. Did they expect you to know to ride one? But there was no extra horse for you. You were about to ask Kirishima but then, a hand is reached out to you. Turning around, you see the Blood Prince, himself, giving you his hand.

“My lady,” he gently grabbed the tips of your fingers, bringing them to his lips. His gaze never leaving yours for a second. You were expecting him to kiss your hand, but instead, he gently laid his lips on top of his thumb where it rested between his lips and your fingers. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you couldn’t stop the shocked expression that was blatant on your face.

The prince helped you on the horse but what you weren’t expecting was him to hop on the same horse right behind you. His presence closer than what you have wanted in such a short amount of time. His arms reached around your waist to grab the ropes, unexpectedly pulling you closer to his chest.

Sitting in front of him, you were as stiff as a board. You couldn’t relax your shoulders because if you did, you would be resting against his body. The beginning of the ride was met in silence. No talking was happening, not even among his solders. Talk about an awkward trip. You hoped it wasn’t going to be like this the entire trip. You would be so miserable.

It took a while to escape the palace grounds, but once you did, you were surprised by how beautifully green and luscious the scenery ahead of you was. The sight bestowed upon you was nothing like your imagination. From the rumors, if the prince was that bad of a person, then surely his kingdom would portray that same image: full of poverty, death, killing, blood. But no. His kingdom was thriving.

In order to continue on with the trip, you and your crew had to pass by the local town. The people looked content and happy. They were flourishing! There were many stands selling essentials such as clothing and food. Others were selling odd objects foreign to you. The smell of meat grilling and sweets filled your noise. Kids were running around without a care in the world. There was so much going on that you didn’t know what to focus your eyes on.

Bakugou happened to look down at you, only to see your eyes wide with excitement and wonder. Your head twisted left and ride to grasp the whole world around you. Bakugou looked at you and back at what your eyes were focused on. Behind you, he had signaled his soldiers to halt and move to the side. But you had noticed immediately.

“Why are we stopping?” you asked, curiously.

“One of these idiots forgot something.” Bakugou made up on the fly.

“But we didn’t forget anything,” the soldier with electric blonde hair commented, so quietly that you couldn’t overhear him. Kirishima just nudged him in the gut to shut him up. “Would you like to explore with me while they get it taken care of?” Bakugou asked. You were surprised but intrigued by his question. This was probably the only time in your whole life that you could explore in such a manner. You had to take advantage while you could.

“Please,” you say.

And just like that you looked like a child exploring the world for the first time. And really, that’s what it was. All your life, you served the princess. Your earliest memories were of the palace. You never knew what it was like outside the palace. Everything fascinated you: the food, the smells, the sights, the clothes, the jewelry, the accessories, the people. How could you not know about any of this?

Bakugou watched you closely as you explored on your own and smiled to himself. He was not expecting the princess to act like such a kid.

“You must never get out much in your kingdom,” he comments. You look at him with a shy smile.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Maybe just a little,” he jokes. Your shy smile turns in a more comfortable, laid back laugh.

“I’ve never been outside the palace walls. It’s a first for me,” you say. You weren’t wrong. You were speaking for yourself, but you’re sure the real princess was able to explore her kingdom.

“Now that won’t do. Get whatever you want, my treat,” Bakugou offers to you. Your eyes up once again like a kid. Bakugou gives you his head of approval and now your options were opened like you never imagined. Anything you wanted? What did you even want? You felt like just looking was a treat for you. You were about to decline until the sight of the street food caught your attention. You got a closer look and the smell just enticed you immediately.

From there, it was nonstop to discovering new foods. You tried all these sweet that you didn’t know existed. It moved from food to trying on luxurious clothing and feeling fabrics that was foreign on your skin.

You were following Bakugou around blatantly. He was commenting on some things to help educate you better. But your eyes were so easily distracted. Due to the overflow of people, if you didn’t pay attention, you could easily get lost within the crowd. Unlucky for you, the moment you looked away, the prince had already disappeared from your vision. Panic ensued in you. No matter where you turned your head, you couldn’t see that tall, blonde anywhere.

“Bakugou!” you reached out, terrified. Thank god Bakugou has good ears. The instant you called his name, he was already looking back for you. You reached out and grabbed his forearm, tightly, determined not to let go. Your actions caused Bakugou to become flustered.

“Don’t get lost,” he scolded. Idiot¸ he thought while covering his mouth and looked away. He wanted to hide the very clear blush that was on his cheeks.

A/N: As always, I would love to know your thoughts! The adventure officially begins now! If you would still like to be tagged for future chapters, please let me know! They are always open!

Spoiler! Next chapter will make your heart go doki-doki <3

Tagged: @superblyspeedydragon​ @melasnchz-things​ @animexholic​ @bkgwrites​ @sam-i-am-1025​ @apexqueenie​ @katsukibabe​ @germfart3​ @tspice283​ @angie-1306​ @bakugous-trauma​ @bakugousmrs​

After scene credits:

“Oi, you seeing what I’m seeing?” Kaminari, one of the soldiers chosen to tag along, observed. Kaminari and Kirishima were resting on top of the roofs, getting a clear view of you and the prince.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Kaminari,” Kirishima rubbed the temples of his head. Kaminari pouted and continued to drink out of his canteen.

“I’m just saying,” he mumbled, sadly.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagine #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha imagine #bakugou angst #bnha art #bakugou romance #bakugou drama