#he cannot slurp the bath water

[afterimagedkid]

Sound on! 🔊

POV: You find out what the humans use the bathtub for and it's not a giant water bowl just for you...

[mrskurono]

title: Sweetness || cult!Geto x sister!Reader

a/n: this is dedicated to one of my fav mutuals hopefully she’ll come back and see this ilysm babe <3 And if your mad about dark content, why you looking at dark content huh? ツ

word count: 1.6k

tags: incest, manga spoilers (if your not up to date on Getou’s entire backstory), mention of eugenics (these are villains mind you), oral (fem!receiving), handjob, cumplay, talks of breeding, dom!reader, language, pwp, semi unedited

character(s): Getou Suguru (jjk)

;| nsfw undercut |;

Getou’s mouth tasted no sweeter than the moments he had his lips around your fingers.

The only thing that would rid him of that horrific taste curses contained. Day in and day out. Searching for something to cure his aliment of such a cursed life steeped in sorrow. Until he found just what he needed. In his sister of all people. 

Footsteps announce his arrival before the two women tending to you do. You stop reading the second he comes into the room. Lavished to the teeth in things only those from money could technically afford. You don’t rushto look up from the book in your lap as Getou dismisses the servants that were at your side. He argued previously that they weren’t servants but those who served his cause. You would laugh but let your little brother do as he must.

Finally when he stands in front of you long enough, you fold the book and look up at the not so little brother before you, “...you look tired Suguru.”

Those words not even an invitation. But he doesn’t care. Alone in your shared room he drops to his knees and lays his head in your lap. Replacing the book all together with his mass of black hair draped over your legs. With a gentle tug you release the rest of his wonderfully silken hair from it’s messy bun. Letting your fingers dance along the fringes of his face until combing your fingertips through his locks.

“You could have asked the servants to draw you a bath.” You remind him softly when he sighs in your presence.

“...they are not servants, those who just seek to help our cause.” Getou muttered into your thigh. His face turning to press his cheek to the warmth of your inner leg. Eye naturally closed as he relaxed into the half embrace. His arms came up to your sides as he curled them around your waist and slumped into your touch, “...You smell nice.”

“Just for you.” It was true. At all times you tried to anchor your younger brother with a sweet familiar scent. You didn’t inherit his same curse technique but as he described it over the years the least you could do was offer him an oasis in the soft smell of your skin.

Getou hummed, eyes still closed, “If only every human was like you.”

“Every human cannot be like me. Unless they were to come from me.”

He leaned into your thigh, “I strive for a world with more of you in it...if people were more like you then-”

“Shhh.” You hushed him with a gentle touch, “That’s enough. You’re tired Suguru.”

That wasn’t false. Getou nodded as he lifted his face from the crook of your legs, “...I wish to give this world nothing more than someone like you...my beautiful sister.”

Charismatic with his words. It was so easy to see why so many people would listen to your brother. Words adorn with nothing but truth, you cup his face as you lean down. Placing your lips against his in a tended exchange.

Leaning up into you Getou’s arms tightened around your waist. Wanting the kiss to deepen in the very moment. Clinging to the taste of your lips as fleeting as it was. For as long as the rancidness of a curse lingered on his tongue. Your taste left him too soon.

Broken for a breath you look at your brother’s expression and hum something with a smile. Replacing your lips with your fingers. Drawing them along Getou’s bottom lip until he opened right away.

“That’s a good boy,” You mutter softly, feeling Getou swirl his tongue around you two fingers. Sucking at them with a hint of desperation. It isn’t until you feel the low moan from him that you draw your fingers from his lips. A dribble of spit following suit.

Turning his attention to your inner thigh, Getou began pressing kisses all along your inner thigh as his words came slowly between the kisses, “...please...let me fill you. Let us make a better world together...you understand. You’ve always understood.”

Once again you hush his exhausted words. Ones you’ve heard a million times since the village was destroyed by his hands. Words you wish to live but haven’t found the right time. And as Getou’s kisses creep up your legs once more. You find it less of a thought to continue the strive for a safer word but instead only consumed by the selfish want of your brother.

Your legs fall apart. Baring the nothing you wore under your robe. Getou’s kisses did not stop at the sight of your uncovered slit. Instead he leaned forward and drew his tongue along your inner most thigh as he caught a scent of your sweet musk mixed with your everyday softness. He relished it. Finding his mouth watering. Only to bite back and look up at you for a moment.

“Go ahead...I’ve always love my little brother’s work.” You smile, touching his cheek as you guide him back between your legs.

That’s all Getou needs to hear. Your praise and your intention to everything he’s done. Within seconds his tongue finds what it’s sought out. Deviling into your folds he moans with gratitude for your taste to wash away everything bitter in the world. The sweet muskiness engulfing his senses as Getou washes his tongue over your clit. 

Unmistakably greedy. He devours you in seconds. Mouth open wide as he sucks and slurps up your slit. More than accommodating when you hike one leg up on his shoulder. Hands continuing to run through his hair as Getou showers your most intimate parts in all his attention. Drawing closer and closer with a stomach tightening knot only made worse when his tongue slips inside you.

“Mmm that’s right....forget the taste of a curse. I’m right here, I’m all you need.” Your sweet musing are interrupted by moans. Falling past your lips as Getou looks up at you. His tongue writing against your entrance as his finger has found your clit. Leaving you nothing but a love drunken look down at him. Stroking his face until your fingers tangle in his hair. Tightening your grip as the wave of pleasure becomes a little too much to hold off.

A firm grip on your thighs to hold you in place. Your little brother rides out your orgasm with the slick of your cunt being licked up frantically. Getou refusing to waste one drop of your wonderful taste. Even as it’s smeared on his lips and infused in his nose. He doesn’t stop until the grip on his hair is loosened and he looks up at you. Chest heaving and smile on your lips. You touch down his face and draw your fingers over your juices on his cheeks. Wiping them clean before presenting them to his lips. Getou eagerly opening his mouth to lick them clean. 

“Come here,” You tap on your thigh, “You’re not too big to sit on my lap are you?”

A very redundant question. Even as adults he wouldn’t turn you down. Getou had to perch on the side of your chair but was more than happy to do so when your hands slipped past his robes.

“Sister...” Getou mumbled when he felt your touch against his cock. Leaving him little chance to hide the twitch in his already hard member as you took him in your grasp.

“Shh...you wanted to make a world filled with us right?” You ask, looking up at him as you slowly pump his cock, “So why not do just that? Give me all your cum Suguru, and we can have all the babies in the world.”

He groaned. Lewd words making him grip the edge of the chair as your hand squeezed him. He could feel every nerve in his body on fire. Pleasure from your hand, the taste of you on his lips and the sweet scent he only knew as his big sister. Left Getou a mess as he looked down fuzzy with pleasure at your hand.

With the way your fingers moved over his swollen tip. Smearing his precum as you went like it was second nature to do so you. No one knew his body like you did. Getou would not argue that. The way you made him feel. It was the reason you were the only surviving member left. He needed you as badly as he wanted you.

“S-Shit-” Teeth clenched Getou huffed in one ragged breath. Urging you to perhaps stop if you wanted to go further. But that fell on deaf ears. 

Your fingers curling around his cock tighter. You quicken your pace only a moment before you felt the throb to his cock. A smile crossing your lips as there wasn’t even a warning before his cum spilled all over your hand. Getou’s low rumbling moans filling the space between the two of you as he rode out his orgasm with each slow stroke of his cock. 

Even as the last dribble of cum oozed out of him. Getou was left taking a deep breath. Suddenly feeling as tired as you said he looked. With a half lidded look he watched you with his cum soiling you hand. For a second he didn’t realize what you were doing before you took his cum and smeared it on your cunt.

Feeling his cum slimy and sticky on your cunt. You make sure he’s watching as you dip your fingers inside and with it, Getou’s cum, “Lets make a world safe for us. Lets fill this world with nothing but sweet love Suguru.”

[urlocalbunny]

.shower sex - vladimir.

hi, my lovely babies heheheheh (deja vú much?)

PLEASE UNDERSTAND i don’t hate ethan adiojsdohfojv jkjk

i just enjoy putting him and ivan on comical situations khjk

1.405 words. enjoy!

Eloise was rolling around on Vladimir's bed. Ever since he found out the moon didn't affect him anymore, the vampire was keen on going out every day to take care of the garden.

Eloise was used to finding him first thing at night as he was the first to wake up, so even if she were happy for him, it'd take her some time to get adjusted to the changes. She gave up on reading. Instead, Eloise went in for a shower. Since the boys had a shower while she did not (bummer), she got into their bathroom. Ivan was in his room with a Gameboy she gave him. Raphael was in the library, and Aaron was probably eating prey somewhere ever since last week, the other two, well, everybody knew the drill.

Clothes long forgotten, Eloise found herself relaxing under the warm water. Vladimir sometimes made mean comments on how much she liked to "boil herself clean" instead of bathing in actual lukewarm water. The girl smiled, using his shampoo to wash her hair and scrubbing herself. She stood under the water a little more and turned off the shower to get the soap, but the doorknob turning startled her for a second before she relaxed. It was him. She knew before he even opened the door. His knowing smirk was the first thing she zeroed her eyes in.

"My, my. You are a sight for sore eyes, but what are you doing in here? Want any of the others to walk in?" He chuckled at her eye roll, loosening his tie and undoing his waistcoat.

"What are you doing?" She asked, watching him locking the door.

"I might as well join you, right? If you are not comfortable, it is fine." His expression relaxed when she opened her arms. He let his hair down, coming closer to her. She undid the buttons on his pants, then his white shirt.

Instead of kissing him, however, she kneeled, wet hair and fringe making Vladimir sigh. That was one of the prettiest things he'd ever seen. His cock throbbed above her mouth. One of her hands grabbed him, pumping slowly and carefully.

"Let me show you how much I missed you."

Her mouth kissed the underside, just how it made him shiver. Her other hand gripping his ass for leverage made a blush creep upon him. She was so bold compared to other women he had, yet so careful.

Her pretty lips engulfed the head, tongue lapping once at the leaky tip. She jerked him slowly, finding every corner he loved so much with her tongue.

His breath quickened as her hand caressed his ass slowly, now slurping on him. Her eyes never left him. Eloise whimpered to answer his sounds full of approval. Her glistening body shivered with the now cold bathroom, but it added to the feeling when her warm mouth left him only to bring him back.

His tip touched her throat once, twice, and then once more. Vladimir felt as if seeing stars, a bubbling tension on his stomach the more they kept eye contact. He grabbed a fistful of his girlfriend's hair without pulling it to signal her to stop, or he was going to cum on the spot. She eagerly shot up, knees a little red.

His hands ran along her slippery hips, sighing in content. "You are stunning, love. Looks almost good to eat." He smiled when Eloise rolled her eyes at him.

"So good that I might." His left hand turned the shower on, right clutching the base of Eloise's neck and biting without care. She moaned, bucking her hips against him. Vladimir sucked in a breath, rutting back harshly. She chuckled. His chugs were knocking her breath away, pleasure filling her mind and making her body limp against him.

"You're so rough," the mewl didn't go unnoticed by him, but he was too focused on lapping up at the wound he made, watching it close little by little until the white dots he knew and loved covered his trace, a little red still. His fingers slithered between their bodies, rubbing short circles on the bud. She sighed, resting her head against the tiles and turning the shower off. His fingers prodded at her entrance after a few nice rubs.

He pushed in, stopping knuckles deep and then coming back. Eloise's head spun, dizzy from the contact with him. His thumb toyed with her clit, and his hands pushed in and out. His mouth smothered her with kisses along her neck.

"Vladimir, please-" a harsh slap on her ass made her yelp. He stopped his strokes, grabbing her chin a little roughly.

"Did I say you could talk?" His hot breath fanned across her neck, making her shiver. She shook her head. "That is more like it, my love. Now, where were we?" His rhythm resumed, eyes gleaming with mischief when she opened her mouth to say many things, but none of them could come out until she mustered the courage to speak.

"Um, sir." She called weakly.

"Yes, love?"

"Can I touch you?" He huffed, kissing her lips roughly and guiding her hand to his stomach.

"I suppose you have been nothing but good to me."

Her hand shot straight to his dick, rubbing it with a trembling fist. His head rolled back, and he sucked in a breath. Her hand on his length was shaky, but that added to the pleasure when she didn't control the strength and jerked him harshly. He whimpered, thrusting into her hand, and straining his ears to her pussy squelching around his finger. She was starting to waver around him so bad that he could swear he was the one almost cumming.

"Come on, my love. Do it around me." That was all it took for her to cry out, head rolling back to give Vlad more room to suck red blotches on her already bruised neck. His fingers staggered when her walls squeezed them, her juices flowing around his hand.

All of a sudden, but all by Eloise's hands, his tip prodded her entrance, making her legs tremble. She screwed her eyes shut, sinking as best she could. He bit her neck harshly.

"You are truly eager." He grumbled, "but I will do as you wish today."

Her legs were trembling, eyes sending a message to move, but he didn't like his authority challenged.

"What is it?" He asked, chuckling when she grabbed his shoulders. "Want me to move?"

"God, yes! Yes, please."  

"I think you can handle a bit of work."

Her eyes pleaded, but she couldn't wait and sunk on him, holding herself on his shoulders for dear life. The whines she let in the air made him chuckle.

"Are you done?" His smile widened when she sunk to the hilt, thrusting into her. "You just cannot stay quiet, can you?"

His pace picked up. His hand pulled Eloise's leg up to get a better angle, gripping her ass as she moaned on him, wet bodies gliding together.

"I am not going to last as much. We cannot take too long." He husked, snapping his hips roughly and trying to resist the urge to stay there for a few hours.

"Make me cum again. I don't care."

"That is just pathetic, don't you agree?"

"Hmmm, yes, more." He chuckled darkly, then moaned when he focused on how drenched his cock was.

"You are doing a great job, love. I feel like I won't pull out."

"Please don't. Don't." Her cries made his cock throb. He was reaching his end.

"Eloise-"

He stopped when she let a short, very desperate, and small cry, locking up and stilling. His pace picked up to chase his high, a loud groan piercing her ears when he buried himself to the hilt and ground against her, riding their highs.

"God, Eloise..!"

She had her mouth open, two lonely tears dripping down her cheeks.

"I love you, Vladimir."

"I love you too."

"Open the motherfucking door or die! I'm peeing on myself over here!"

"Geez, Ethan. Just go to the other bathroom. So noisy..." Ivan murmured, making Eloise laugh. She slapped a hand on her mouth, but Vladimir just turned the shower on and started to wash her with soap, an easy smile on his face.

"Pest? What are you doing in the- oh."

Ivan's laughter almost covered his running to the other bathroom.

[tisfan]

I Hear You Call My Name

Title: I Hear You Call My Name Written by: @tisfan (3023) Square: S1 Kink: Sex Magic Rating: explicit Pairing: IronStrange Triggers/warnings: barebacking Tags: anal sex, oral sex, sex magic, plot what plot Created for: @tonystarkbingo Word count: 2,240 Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204078

Summary: Stephen needs a little extra oomph for a spell. Tony really needs to get laid more than once every two months...

 “You know, when I said I was willing to help you with a magical experiment, taking a bath in some sort of herbal sauce wasn’t what I had in mind,” Tony complained. The water was tepid, the herbs were smelly, and he was naked and up to his nipples in Stephen’s tub. It was a nice tub, when the water was warm. And preferably when Stephen was in it with him.

“You need to be purified,” Stephen said again, dropping another few flowers into the water and murmuring words. Sparks of light glittered down from his fingers, limning the petals and then fizzing out with another spell.

“That might take quite a while,” Tony pointed out. “Do you have to do this, too?”

“I already did,” Stephen said. Well, that explained the floral hug hello, at least. 

“When?” Because this had taken an hour already and Tony was cold and uncomfortable. And Stephen had called to ask for help and Tony was locked in a heavily perfumed embrace within ten minutes.

“I cheat,” Stephen reminded him, tapping the Eye with one long, shaky finger. “I can get all my prepwork done in only a few seconds.”

“So why aren’t you doing that for me?”

“Who says I’m not?”

“Oh. Are we almost done?”

“Just a moment,” Stephen said, then he knelt by the tub. He put one hand in the water and murmured another spell.

By the time he’d finished speaking, the water was to the point of just a little uncomfortably warm, the steam fragrant as it rose off the surface. 

“Kiss me,” Stephen told him.

“You sure, because I have some really impure thoughts--” 

Stephen’s mouth came down on his, gentle, but insistent. His lips were soft, firm, and he parted Tony’s without so much as a by your leave. Which Tony would have given him anyway. He always liked kissing Stephen. Lips moved over his, Stephen’s tongue slipped inside, and Tony moaned eagerly, pushing up and into it, his arms going around Stephen’s neck.

He could almost hear the Cloak’s offended sigh as it slithered off Stephen’s back and fanned itself out, trying to get rid of the water from the bath.

He was smiling too hard to kiss back after that.

“Are you ready?”

“You still haven’t explained what we’re doing,” Tony said. But he let Stephen give him a hand out of the tub, and a towel to dry off with. The room was warm enough, and Stephen didn’t seem to have brought in a robe. Nudity was the choice of the day, Tony supposed.

“Nuptive prayer,” Stephen told him and drew him into the bedroom. Stephen’s rooms in the Sanctuary were laid out in a circle. Bedroom to bath, bath to sacred space, sacred space to living room, living room to bedroom. Tony had supposed they’d go the other way.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Sex magic,” Stephen said. “I need-- I’m experimenting with soul-sexive energies to power certain abilities.”

“You what?”

“I need a double orgasm to power a spell, Tony,” Stephen said. “From someone, and I quote capable of intense mental, volitional and affectional energy, combined with perfect sexive and orgasmal ability.”

“And you thought of me, I’m flattered,” Tony teased.

“Well, truth, you do have one flaw that might make it difficult,” Stephen said, and he started to disrobe. “Once I light the candle and we begin, you cannot talk. And we must achieve orgasm within forty-nine seconds of each other.”

“That’s gonna be tricky without some sort of communication. Also, I hope moaning is allowed, because really, I’m not cut out for the quiet sex thing. I’m a screamer.”

“I know. Wong knows it. Hell, half the initiates know it,” Stephen said, and Tony felt his cheeks heat, just a little. He wasn’t ashamed, but-- well, it did explain the looks he’d gotten from Wong from time to time.

“You’re hilarious,” Tony told him.

“Yes, darling, I know,” Stephen said. “But we can communicate. When you get close, open and close your right hand.” he demonstrated, opening his fingers, crooked and scarred and shaking, and then making a fist, and opening it again. “If I cover your hand with mine, hold off until I let you go again. We will meet there.”

“What if we miss?” Because he’d been around for a few of Stephen’s failed magic spell attempts and they were often explosive, sometimes involved angry demons, and nothing he really wanted to face while naked and mid-coitus.

“Don’t miss,” Stephen said. “But if we do, we merely have to wait a period of time and try again.”

“Wait?” He peered at Stephen suspiciously. 

“Forty-nine days. Until we can try again. Until we can have sex again.”

“At all?” Tony’s voice spiraled up. The hell he was going to wait almost two months to have sex. He hadn’t been celibate-- 

“Not even masturbation,” Stephen said. He tugged off his shirt and kicked aside his trousers.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not,” Stephen said. “Don’t miss.”

“Yeah, okay, are you-- are you sure you want to do this? I might mess it up,” Tony stammered. 

“I’m not going to ask someone else to help me with it,” Stephen said. “I require the necessary energy requirements.”

“Where’s the energy going?”

“Into the candle,” Stephen said. “I’ll explain the rest of it later, when we’ve achieved the double crises.”

Tony almost protested, but then decided it wasn’t going to make any more sense if he thought about it. Magic, by nature, didn’t.

Mostly.

Sometimes.

And Stephen’s hands were on him, anyway, stroking his skin. It didn��t take long to send his pulse racing, his body craving. “Was there… saffron in that herb mix,” Tony wondered, because Stephen had used it before, to increase libido.

“And fenugreek and red ginseng, and a little maca root,” Stephen said. “I’m not leaving anything to chance. For my benefit as well as yours. We’re neither of us young.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tony said. “You’re the one with grey hair.” Tony ran his fingers through it, the lines of silver at Stephen’s temples. He liked it, actually. It was sexy.

“I know.” Stephen pushed him down onto the bed. “Now… no talking.” With a flick of his finger, he lit the candle.

Tony almost said something immediately, because, well, it was Tony and he’d never been one to do things the easy way. 

But Stephen was already touching him, light, shaky fingers stroking Tony’s skin. He nudged Tony over onto the bed, picking up a bottle of lube -- sometimes Tony wondered why Stephen didn’t just magic it up, and then decided he wanted to ask that question, but later -- and raised an eyebrow. 

Going right for the goods, are we, Tony thought really loud. Stephen probably couldn’t hear him, but supposed the expression on his face would get the point across. 

Stephen rolled his eyes a little, then tapped his wrist. Tick tock, tick tock.

Tony gave a shrug, leaning back on his elbows and spreading his thighs. He knew he made a pretty picture, even without the warm, admiring look that came over Stephen’s face. Good looks were mostly a matter of good genes and ridiculous amounts of skincare. But it was nice to have all that work appreciated.

Stephen crawled on the bed after him, cradled himself in the vee of Tony’s knees, and lowered his mouth for a kiss.

Tony was happy to give them, even if he couldn’t quite stop smiling enough to kiss seriously. Stephen was often too grave, too serious, and it was one of Tony’s favorite things to do was get him to laugh when he was trying to be Great and Mighty Wizard.

The smile disappeared in an open-mouthed, silent gasp as Stephen cupped Tony’s cock, hand warm and fingers making a loose circle. Stephen knew all the tricks to get Tony wriggling and pushing up against that hand. The way Tony liked to be stroked, the twist at the top, the squeeze at the base. As soon as Tony’s hips moved, Stephen pushed Tony’s knees further apart, slithered down his body and took the head of Tony’s cock into his mouth with a single, eager movement.

His tongue lapped along the broad head, and Tony had to bite his lip to keep from swearing. How the hell was he supposed to be quiet, not tell Stephen how good this was, how amazing, how--

Tony rocked up into that soft, heated wetness, feeling Stephen’s tongue on him like a lash, swirling one way, then the other, drawing his length in.

Tony reached a hand down and touched Stephen’s cheek, feeling the way his own cock bulged in Stephen’s mouth, the way it pushed obscenely at the jaw.

God, that was hot.

Stephen didn’t -- pardon the pun -- dick around. He was going straight for the kill, sucking Tony back like a pro. He dropped one hand between his own legs, tugging himself off, and Tony leaned up on his elbows to watch. He couldn’t really see very well, but he got the idea, and Stephen’s mouth on him, combined with an active, healthy imagination--

And probably the herbs that Stephen was plying him with…

Well, Tony never really did have a huge problem with going from zero to sixty in any sort of manner.

It wasn’t long before he was closing his fist, and then opening it again.

Stephen popped off Tony’s cock with a wet slurp, gave him a sweet, knowing grin. Took Tony’s hand and drew it down Stephen’s body.

Well, Tony had played that game before, so he found the lube -- they were going to need it soon anyway, he might as well get started -- and slicked his boyfriend up, stroking him with steady, easy rhythms, watching as Stephen’s eyes glazed a little, as his jaw clenched and let go.

Perfect. You are so beautiful.

Stephen arched into it, all but shoving his cock against Tony’s hand, fucking up into that tight, slick grasp.

Tony knew Stephen probably as well as Stephen knew him. Knew the way that Stephen’s breath hitched and held when he was getting close.

Tony was tempted, briefly, to make Stephen work for it, but he also didn’t want to test Stephen’s resolve about not getting laid for almost two months, either.  When he sensed Stephen was getting close, he drew back.

Stephen backed off a little and Tony flipped over, grabbing the pillows to prop himself up. Doggie style wasn’t his preferred -- Tony liked to be able to look at Stephen’s face when they made love. Riding, or face to face, but he had to admit, for sheer ability to come quickly, doggie style was easiest.

One hand on Tony’s hip, Stephen lubed him up, and then himself, hissing air between his teeth as he was already oversensitive.

The head of Stephen’s cock nudged at his entrance, and then it was burn and press and squeeze.

Tony let himself bend more in the middle until his chin was buried in pillows, until he was biting at his thumb, and--

Oh, god, there...

He couldn’t talk, and it was making everything that much more intense, that much more powerful, that much-- both better and worse, because he was having to think about keeping his mouth shut, and then the rhythm would get to him, he’d sink back onto Stephen’s cock, feel the way he was stretched and filled, and, oh, oh, god.

He clenched his fist, opened his hand again, soon, oh, Stephen, come on….

Stephen’s hand came down on his, palm against the back of Tony’s knuckles. Tony nodded, reached back with his left hand, face all but planted in the pillow and tugged his cock like it was a race.

And it was, because Stephen’s steady rhythm was dissolving into excited bucking, their thighs slapping together like applause and it was so, so good, he was--

Tony spilled over, emptying himself onto the bedsheets with a breath that was not quite a moan, clenching down, and then Stephen stiffened behind him-- rhythm faltering into stillness.

Sometimes Tony couldn’t feel it, when Stephen came. He could tell, because Stephen jerked and groaned, but Tony couldn’t usually feel the actual moment of release. 

This time was different, somehow. He felt Stephen’s spend, like a gush of heat and wet, and--

The candle flickered out.

Tony lifted his head, wanting to ask and not knowing if he was allowed to talk yet.

“That was supposed to happen,” Stephen said, softly, then ran his hand down Tony’s trembling, sweat-damp thigh. “That was just right. Perfect, even.”

“Did it work?” Tony wondered, his voice a little strained. Not, he told himself, because he was dreading the no sex for two months, but because he was honestly interested in his boyfriend’s magical studies.

“I think it did,” Stephen said, and he pulled out.

Ew. Tony’s thighs were almost instantly wet. It was the one thing about condoms that he liked. No mess. But sex magic; well, he imagined that it had to be done bareback. Probably some hokey voodoo shit. He’d ask Stephen about it.

Later.

“Good.” He let himself move a little to the side -- he hated laying in the wet spot, and flopped. “I’m not moving. For like, a week.”

Stephen snuggled up behind him, resting his chin on Tony’s shoulder. “Now, you getting more than six hours sleep? That’d be a real magic trick.” 

[at-the-exd-of-everythixg]

][Mahogany and Rhys for ship headcanon meme][ 1 || 2 || 4 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 11 || 12 || 14 || 16 || 18 || 22 || 23 || 25 || 28 || 29

@blind-mutant

1. Who makes the first move and how?

Mahogany does! They bring Rhys a bunch of rats and flowers and flowers with rats buried between them. They took some creative liberties.

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?

Rhys is since he's considerably smaller, weaker and Mahogany is so clear sighted about what they want in life. Mahogany can usually smell these moods from him and it immediately calls for some good Wendigo cuddles and aggressive rolling in the nest and cooing over how smart and how tricky Rhys is. Worst comes to worst??? Sex.

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

Mahogany since they had to be told to be aware of their personal space when they and Rhys first met. But when he let's them touch him freely? Holding his hand, hugging him, carrying him when they can and kissing Rhys is the best! They get huffy if they can't touch him at least once lt twice an hour.

6. Who would they ask if they ever had a threesome?

Oof uhhh,,,,if they were to find and know a more friendly other wendigo then probably them but I also imagine that if Rhys had someone he wanted to keep around and introduce to Mahogany then they would accept that person into their pack and be happy to take care of their new mate. Ngl if Rhys talks 'bout Blue then I imagine Mahogany silently considers her part of the pack when they smell how sad and in love Rhys was.

7. What do they get up to on a night out?

Well, mostly just sneaking about to get meat but Mahogany likes wandering about places at night and crawling along walls and overall seeming creepy. They like looking into windows and staring at sleeping people which,,,,Rhys slowly nods at that and just gets them to the nearest park or forest where they demand to know how playgrounds work and Rhys, a full grown man I guess, has to slide down a small plastic child's slide so his 6'9 lover can nod and clap.

8. What do they like in bed?

Rhys loves it when they bite him and wrap their arms around him to tug him closer to hold him close as they lift him up. He likes overall reminders that they can crush him yet he's the only one who can put his fingers in their mouth and be completely safe.

Mahogany loves it when Rhys bites them too and they love it when Rhys is always a bit rough, like forcefully spreading their legs or tugging their hair when he's feeling so good. They like having their attention on him. Oh and eating him out.

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

Rhys tried to hunt with Mahogany but couldn't even catch a running squirrel before he slid off a steep edge and fell into a river. Mahogany fished him out and caught a bird in midair. He sulked in the bath for hours.

Mahogany isn't ever really embarrassed by stuff? But one time they went out in nothing but Rhys's shirt and wondered why he had suddenly raced after them, red faced and trying to apologise to a woman as he patted their bare butt back into the motel. He laughed tho when they asked if he was going to slap it more.

11. What do they hide from one another?

Rhys hides a surprisingly big amount, both small and large issues due to the fact that Mahogany acts on heart rather than thinking. He doesn't want them to know how someone had called him a freak earlier or that he wasn't a wendigo. I feel like Rhys often manipulates Mahogany for their safety and that even includes a time he told them that it was dangerous to go outside when maybe it wasn't really??

Mahogany often hides stuff that has happened to them or about the Wendigo history. Rhys hardly knows anything about their kind and he doesn't know about certain incidents like how someone tried to attack them earlier. They see no reason to worry their mate and they don't want Rhys to get upset like he always does if someone may be leaving gifts for Mahogany and always leaves the smell of a potential mate around.

12. What first changes when it starts getting serious?

Mahogany beings to get extra protective and officially starts calling Rhys their mate as well as trusting him entirely while Rhys officially starts to get worried at times for their hunts and becomes a lot more receptive to Magni bringing him gifts and their more possessive touches.

A bad side is Rhys becomes more stern on bath times and crying doesn't work anymore to make him soften up ;_;.

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Mahogany panics and goes on a wide range stealing episode of getting as many clothes as they can to add to the nest. Curls up around Rhys to keep him cool or even wears more clothes if they're too cold for him. Whines and cries since they obviously think he's dying and if I'm honest, I wouldn't put it last Mahogany to get a human or a mutant to try and make him better. Spends most of the time crying and pressing their face against his to try and breath in his illness and take it away.

Mahogany is so confused when they get sick but it's in the summer and they can't keep anything down at all and start bloating. Probably tries to carry on as normal but Rhys has to be stern and make them lay in the nest. Like Pascal, an ice bath is needed and having to put their hair up while telling them fairy tales as they cry and sneeze repeatedly. Mahogany probably refuses to eat and only does when Rhys begs them and even then its slowly licking/drinking/slurping some watered down chicken soup he got for them.

16. When the zombie apocalypse comes, how do they cope together?

Oh god, Mahogany is in heaven. They get to eat people??? And not get yelled at??? Rhys undoubtedly has a breakdown or two but Mahogany is loving being able to play about with zombies and they're actually kinda chubby in this verse due to eating so much. I imagine it's a 50/50 of people wanting to be near or away from the pale mutant who is technically dating a form of zombie and honestly there's a point where Rhys probably has to have Mahogany wear a collar so others feel safe. Overall? They do pretty well! Especially with Mahogany's hunting.

But oh man scremaing has ensured at there being some sort of wendigo-zombie apocalypse. Mahogany suddenly being surrounded by forms of their own kind??? Angst.

18. When they fight, how do they make up?

Rhys apologises and it depends where they are because his apologies range from sex to getting them meat and a story. Most of the time he has to wait an hour or two because Mahogany wants to sulk and they have their hair spiked up around them to ensure he can't get near. And growling. They look like a sea bunny slug when they're mad so all he can do is sit near and wait for grumpy snuffling as they eat their meat and lick his fingers.

Mahogany hunts for Rhys and depending on how big the fight was is now big the animal is going to be. A small scuff? A rabbit. A big screamer? Mahogany drags a moose through the door and I mean. One of those fucking huge ones. They're bleeding but it's worth it to see Rhys's face when they drop it in front of Rhys and offer love making and bath times.

22. Where does their first kiss happen?

Well, technically when they first had sex on that surprise thread we did but I'm also soft at the idea of them kissing in an apple orchid because Mahogany heard that Rhys was hungry so they just....broke in and took him apple picking aka lifting him up to trees to get apples while listening out for the owners and whoop Rhys is turning around to kiss them and oh their hips are wiggling and they're chuffing loud enough to alert people better run!

23. Where is their favourite place to be together?

Anywhere with nature! Rhys probably learns to love it so much when he associates it as the safest place where Mahogany likes cuddling and rolling in the snow and swimming with him in quarries during the summer. Also having sex up against trees is great for details I probably should not get too deep into here.

25. Why do they fight?

Mahogany is rather protective and gets huffy when they can't kill humans who hurt Rhys, despite whether he agrees with it or not most of the time. He also needs to worry about how little care they give when going out to hunting and the harm they do to themselves.

A bigger issue is probably over how insistent Mahogany gets over Rhys becoming a wendigo because they see how mutants get treated and their Rhys is a mutant, so what if he gets treated badly? They get anxious and huffy more over it, desperate for their mate to be safe for good.

28. Why do they get jealous?

Mahogany gets jealous of anyone who dares goes near their mate with lustful smells. But then Mahogany just has to make Rhys smell more like them and cover him in more bites so he cannot be mistaken as free mate for anyone at all. He belongs to someone and that someone is staring angrily through a window and yeah you better slowly back away and ask why there's a tall naked person pressing up against the glass and snarling and good Rhys better be running back quickly to not let an imprint of a vulva stain the glass. Rhys is too good and too wonderful and no one should take their mate but Mahogany.

Rhys would 100% freak out and I'm laughing at that freaking out if Mahogany starts getting meat left for them and smelling arousal everywhere. Huffy gremlin man when he hears a pleased chirp as Mahogany gazes at the honeycomb pieces that got left for them and honestly I'm too invested in the idea of a mysterious creature flirting with Mahogany and Rhys just "seriously??? I get an undead - last of the species probably - lover and yet someone better still comes along??" Shshnsns

It has just occured to me that maybe this question means what they may be jealous of each other oh boy. But yeah uh, Mahogany is always jealous of how good Rhys is with human stuff and how smart he is. He always has to clean up their messes and he much better at general life stuff than them while I think Rhya would be jealous at Mahogany capabilities and how unafraid they are to get what they want and their openness.

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Mahogany falls in love with how Rhys just...accepts them how he's the only one who doesn't seem to care as much about what they are. They adore how sweet he is and how easily Rhys goes along with whatever they do and how darling he is about the way they think.

Rhys falls more for just how dedicated Mahogany is for everything about him. Rhys wants food? They're going out to hunt. Rhys wants to feel warm, awkwardly dragging blankets over him. He also likes their refreshing views and how Mahogany sees him as perfect and wonderful to be unique. They hear the phase "best thing since sliced bread" and immediately say that Rhys is better.

[dearmrsbitch]

January 15, 2020 - Passing Judgment on Passing Gas

         Dear Care and Feeding,        

         My husband is a human who farts a lot. I cannot stress enough how often and how loudly he farts. I’ve gotten used to it, but I grew up in one of those repressed households where girls (like myself) were supposed to feel shame and apologize for any passing of gas or burping.        

         Our daughter is 6 and thinks farting is hilarious. Who can blame her? She farts a lot and with no shame or remorse. She’s started to get teased in kindergarten for “having the stinkiest farts.” When she told us this last week, my husband counseled her to say “So what?” and then if the kid persists, lean in, sniff his breath, and tell him: “Yeah? Well your breath smells like poo.”        

         Most of me says: “Yes, stand up for yourself, Small Child. Don’t take any crap.” But the prude in me who gets so tired of the farts wonders if this is the best way to handle the situation. I want our daughter to feel comfortable in her body and trust that she is natural and fine, but I also know that being tagged as “the kid who farts all the time” could make elementary school even harder than it has to be. We teach her to chew with her mouth closed and not yell in people’s faces; surely fart management is part of the social contract?        

         —Just So Many Farts       

Dear Fart Wife,

Okay, so, let’s start with this:

1.  If you’re vegans, then you need to change out your snacks, because while plant based diets produce more gas than omnivore diets, you know bloat sucks.

2.  If you’re not plant based - you’re husband needs to see a doctor to see if he has a medical condition that causes so much gas in his system.  Like, just in case.

Now, aside from gas caused by medical conditions - because we don’t mock those with medical conditions on this blog... (we’re not conservatives)

Neither women nor men should be shamed for a natural bodily function.  However, yes, we do in a society that has certain social rules.  Now, while burping and slurping are acceptable and even encouraged in some cultures, I’ve yet to see a society where farting is really loved - probably because it fucking smells!

Besides the noise, the smell that accompanies it is often disruptive and disturbing.  It’s rude to subject other people to the smell especially.  Unlike a small burp, which could be forgivable, I doubt that we’re ever going to reach a point as a society or a people where someone cuts a giant smelly fart at a dinner table and we’re just cool with that. 

We’re humans and we have an adverse reaction to bad smells. I was in an elevator once where a woman nearly vomited from the smell of fart that someone did.  Now to do that intentionally because “oh I just can”?  Oh fuck that person.

It’s crass, it’s rude, and yes, it will be worse on a girl.  Your husband gets by with male privilege here, but your daughter isn’t going to get that pass.  She will be taunted, teased, shamed, and you’ll likely start getting calls to go into the office if this behavior continues when she’s older because the noise and smell will be seen as a class disruption - because it is. 

God forbid she gets into her teens doing this, she’ll lose friends, romantic partners, job opportunities...

Yes - Jobs.  I once worked with a woman whose mom raised her to bathe maybe once every two weeks - if that?  She told me she just used wet wipes if she felt she needed them and that her mom was upset about wasting water, etc.  I am not exaggerating when I say that I could smell her lady bits when I sat next to her.  The boss had to have a talk with her about personal hygiene and being respectful to others in the workplace and the embarrassment she went through, having HR tell her to wash her fucking pussy, was extreme.  She was isolated at work, and no one would promote her and many people wanted her fired because her smell made them gag. 

That’s the future your free farting daughter is facing.  Your husband needs to go take a leap, because he’s making choices for your daughter that could have way more effect on her than on himself and could hurt her future. 

Yes, get ahold of this behavior now, because if you’re planning on her living and working in America, where deodorant is a religion half the time, she needs to have a little bit of class to get by.  Teach her to go fart in the closet or the bathroom, where it’s more appropriate.

Mrs. Bitch

[laketaj24]

Bound III: The Ravenous

Author’S Note: This one has some dark themes. My taglist is open. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!! Also I had a moment and got carried away! thanks to everyone who helped me out with Hvitserk last night lol 

Warnings: Voyuerism, Smut, Slight NonCon, dubcon

Pairings: Hvitserk X Reader, Ragnar X Reader

Bound I, Bound II

Vikings Masterlist

The winter nights had passed with haste all filled with lust filled nights and days of training. Those times had now faded into spring and Ragnar was dead set on taking you to England. There was no doubt in his mind you were ready, and if not, you were faded to die there. He ran his hands through the short strip of hair atop of his head and sighed. “The ships are ready, we will leave in three weeks times.” Ragnar announced to you and his sons.

His sons were all eager or blood to wet their sword. Especially the middle one, Hvitserk. Every mention of the raids yielded excitement to him that you had never witnessed. “I will kill so many Saxons.” He smiled. “The gods will craft a special seat for me in Valhalla.”

“One for you to expel all of the shit your holding.” Bjorn laughed. He gave you a small nod. The tall brute of a man done things to you that you were unfamiliar with, the small looks, the occasional smolder and the tolerance for him not caring of his father’s disposition with you were all alluring enough. “And you Y/N are you excited to see England?”

Aslaug cleared her throat. “I am sure she is more than delighted to see the lush lands of England. It is a shame though. She will be missed here.”

There was no tension between the great queen and yourself, but you were well aware she had knowledge of you and Ragnar. Ragnar was never the boastful. He never flaunted you in front of her, he granted her upmost respect, even denying visits when she needed him.

“Thank you, Queen Aslaug.”

“In the meantime. Your mother and I are to the Baltic lands for talks of Alliance with the Jarl and his wife.” Ragnar adds from the head of the table. “Y/N you are to continue to train. Ubbe and Hvitserk will be capable teachers. Ivar can help with archery.”

Ivar’s eyes are on you as they always are, and you detach from making eye contact with him. The young prince had found a source of endearment in watching you and you didn’t mind but in the company of other’s you couldn’t stop the heat from racing to your cheeks. “I look forward to it.”

“I am sure you do, Ivar.”

“You imply that I cannot help her, father?” Bjorn asks.

“I am saying that you are not patient enough to,” Ragnar laughs.

“And Ubbe is?”

“I am the most patient.” He smirks.

“Y/N I have seen you with your sword. You are quite good.” Hvitserk takes another sip of his ale and stands from the table. “Shall we get a head start on the practicing today?”

“I simply cannot today.” You smile. “I have to help your mother pack her things and there are a few other matters that have diverted my attention.”

“Well, I’ll see you soon enough.” He winked.

  The week without Ragnar had started to wear on yourself control. His directions were simple. Do not come. He wanted to enjoy your denial himself. But seven whole days without any form of relief was not going to do, and after all, how would he know? He riled you up even if it had been ten minutes. The brothers done as he had instructed. Ubbe worked with you on balance while Hvitserk tested your agility. Ivar worked one day on archery and decided to focus his time elsewhere, it was evident the attention you were receiving from the other two Ragnarssons was far too much from him. It didn’t bother you.

Ubbe was a click toucher, he’d graze your stomach or slightly touch the nape of your back while working with you but Hvitserk was the King of uncompromising positions. You’d train with him and end up beneath him panting for the wrong reasons. He was well blessed by the gods; his cock had brushed against you enough times for you to know. But there was something about the middle brother that you could not grasp.  

The one perk of the King and Queen being out of the Hall was that they’d granted you access to their hall. The chambers Aslaug had requested you stay in upon their absence was extravagant compared to the small shack you usually resided in. You called upon a servant to help with the water and filled the wooden tub in near the fire to the brim with the water, oils and sweet flowers and then sunk down rinsing your body of the day’s training and sweat. Peace was all you wanted, that and some relief.

Your fingers drifted between the crevice of your thighs and in they slipped between your plump folds as if they were at home. You drape your legs of the brim thrusting your fingers in and out of your hungry cunt to get their quickly. With your eyes shut up and mouth barely open you could picture king Ragnar, his finger’s much thicker pushing into you. You could even hear his eager moans as your pussy clenched around his fingers and you nearly met your climax.  And then door opens, slamming against the wall.

You try not to act startled but the water sloshes over the brim wasting to the floor. Your heart races as you peer up to the brown-haired brother. There was no usual smile. Just a menacing look in the flicker of the candlelight.

“Enjoying yourself, Y/N?” Hvitserk closes the door and then stands in front of it.

“No.” You lower yourself in the warmth of the bath water, covering the yourself from his wandering eyes. “I am here just to bathe.”

“No need to explain to me.” He crouches at the foot of the wooden tub with amused eyes. “What were you were you doing?”

“Nothing.” Your hands slide under the slope of your thigh and you reach for the cloth to dry your body, but he gets it first tossing it to the side and then returning his arms to fold across his chest. “Why dry off so soon? I like you wet.”  The menace in his voice was eminent. Hvitserk stands and with one pull snatches you from the warmth of the water. “You should show me what you were doing. Do not fear me.”

Your bold taking your slippery arm from him and scurrying back to the white cloth on the bed, “You have some nerve barging in here as if you are invited. I wish to be alone. Get out!”

“But do you really wish to be alone? From what I heard you were yearning for my father? Why not end that yearning?” Your eyes are drawn to manacles in his hands as he takes another step towards you. He gives you another creepily innocent smile, but there is nothing innocent about it as he steps closer.

“Did you not hear me? I said for you to get the fuck out Hvitserk White Shirt. Take your leave.”

“Do not make this difficult, Y/N. I like a woman with a fight.”

The weight of your heart increases ten-fold as you reach for your dress and he snatches it from you. The actions are quick as you hop onto the bed in attempts to spring towards the door. Hvitserk snatches your legs dragging you back to him and he climbs over your body and secures the manacles around your wrists. He gives you a smile. “Now. Let’s talk some things out, shall we?”

“I think we should talk it out.” Ragnar’s voice shocks you.

“Ragnar!” You say with hope.

“Shut up.” He pushes his son from your body. “I gave specific directions, did I not?”

“You were to return home tomorrow.”

“Queen Aslaug is to return home tomorrow. Now stand to your feet. I don’t like to punish. But you broke a rule. The only rule that I had. Hvitserk tie her up.”

“King Ragnar, it was,” you lose your words as Ragnar occupies your space.

“An accident? You pushed your fingers inside of yourself and moaned my name by accident. Falls are accidents. That Was intentional, and now you lie… spread her legs. Take a seat and enjoy her.”

“No.”

“Shut up.” Ragnar says silencing you. He lays back on the bed propping himself on his elbows. “Hvitserk has an issue, he can’t stop eating. It’s like he never gets full. So maybe your cum will satiate him?”

“I did not cum.”

“Then you should have.” Hvitserk teased as he lifted the manacles to the ceiling and your body hung from the ceiling. “you will like it.” He grinned. And with that his finger rubbed your swollen nub and he watched you wriggle beneath his touch. “So jumpy.” He falls to his knees raising his head up to your thighs. He nibbles. He sends the small jolts of pleasure through your whole body until finally he is on your clit and his lips latch on and suck at you. They were soft, taking everything, you weren’t sure you wanted to give until that moment. Your hips start to wind and his tongue dives into you and the whimpers start.

“Listen to her. She doesn’t know you can’t stop.” You look over to Ragnar whose raised himself from the bed, propped on his elbows. You better save that energy. I plan to make you crawl to me. We have only just begun.”

Hvitserk’s tongue swirls into you and like a wave your body rushes over in pleasure and your flooded everywhere. The scream erupts and he doesn’t stop. He continues to fuck you with his tongue thrashing and sucking at your clit. He laps up every ounce of your cum and starts working you for more as he adds one finger into the mix. Your legs clamp over his head and the slurping sounds of him continuing aid to the arousal as your body erupts again. “Hvitserk.” You start to plea, breathless.

“Don’t beg him now. He is not done.” Ragnar smiles at you. “one more time. You cum so pretty.”

Perhaps he was talking of the way your back arched and arms pulled at the metal around your wrists, but you saw no beauty you only saw pleasure that teetered pain. Hvitserk listened to his father and his damp cheek grazed your thighs as he took another bite and then drug you to stupor again.

Hvitserk stood wiping his face. He admired you as if you were his masterpiece, as you hung from the manacles panting and limp. “What now father?”

“Unchain her, and she can crawl to me.”

“You take your seat, you will join us soon enough.”

He lowered you to the ground carefully making sure you made it to the plush furs that lead to Ragnar and sat in the stool nearest to the bed. You were on all fours. Your hair dripped wet and you were unsure from where it came, sweat or the bath. You crawl to Ragnar peering up at him through your hooded, lazy eyes.

“Are you worn out?”

“Yes, King Ragnar.”

“Don’t be. I am not done with you. Suck.”

This was a request he had never asked of you. He had always been about pleasuring you and never himself. Where to start? You lift his thick cock with wide eyes and he notices your curiosity. “Start with the tip in your mouth, no teeth.” He smiles, and you feel a little bitter. But how the hell was it going to fit in your mouth? You lower your head to him placing his tip on your lips and then parting your lips and he pushes in slowly. “hollow your mouth and suck.”

It takes a minute to catch on to what he was talking about, but you do. You open your mouth taking all the king to the back of your throat and gag trying to back away and his hands grip your hair. “you can take it.” He breathes as he start his assault. He thrust in and out of your mouth over and over. The sounds are absurd but at the same time you can feel yourself growing more aroused than you are already. You start to suck, twirling your tongue around his tip and he starts to moan. The moans being the sexiest aphrodisiac you’d ever heard. “Like that,” you watch as he gripped the sheets of the bed with one hand and the stern King known as Ragnar started to unravel before you. “Like that Y/N, fuck sake, yes.” You groaned. Then abruptly, He stopped. Pulling you up. “Stand up.” He breathes. “Bend over so Hvitserk can see how your pussy glisten.”

Ragnar pushes you to the bed and he grips your hips pulling you up before slamming into you. Your body shakes still recuperating from the earth-shattering orgasms from earlier. “Ahh, fuck.” His pace is maddening. He pulls you to meet him and the clapping of your skin resonates around the room combined with the sound of the stool moving closer to you. You grit your teeth as he fuck you deep arching your back to get the perfect angle and you can feel him bottoming out. He must have missed you too, as he coats your walls with his cum quicker than you expect and the sounds of him cuming usher you into your third one of the night.” Ragnar falls on you and then rolls next to you.

He pulls out of you and turns you to face him. “I missed you too.” He grins.

“I think you did.” You smile kissing him and he kisses you back anchoring your face between both of his hands and you feel the bed lower behind you. “What is he doing?”

“He’s going to fuck you.” Ragnar whispers kissing you again.

Hvitserk rolls you onto his stomach and you feel Ragnar’s cum drip out of you onto his stomach. “Don’t worry, I like it messy.” He bites his lip and pulls you to his lips. Strange how you could still taste yourself on his lips. Your lips move to his and Ragnar rises from the bed watching from corner. Hvitserk was very keen. He moved his hands to your breast gripping them in his hands and twisting until a hiss escaped from your lips. Then his lips are on them kissing them deeply and sucking. You throw your head back in pleasure and gasp. “Like that?”

“Love it.”

Ragnar chuckles. “Watch it.” He adds.

Hvitserk reaches down to his cock lifting it from his stomach and pushes inside of you. You’re full of Ragnar and you can feel his cum dripping down your thigh as Hvitserk starts to move. His moves are longer strokes and deeper winds. Every single time he entered you, your walls clutched around him as if you had never been fucked and you were so wet you feared he would slip out. “Greedy?” he whispered.

“Hungry?” you smile finding your rhythm and beginning to bounce on him. You anchor yourself on his chest and his hands find their home at your ass as he grips it, aiding your bounce. This was the best punishment you’d ever received.

You lie between the two of them staring at the bleu eyes of King Ragnar. “Why’d you let him fuck me?”

“I want all of them to have you… the Gods have sealed my fate.” He says in your ear. “I will not return from the raids. But one of them will have you. That is your decision, after me… who will you be bound to Y/N.”

 Taglist: @ivarsshieldmadien @equalstrashflavoredtrash @whenimaunicorn @akamaiden @siren-queen03 @titty-teetee @sparklemichele @wilddrabble @imgoldielikehawn @greennightspider @tomarisela @scumyeol @raindrop-dewdrop @naaladareia @vikingsmania  @readsalot73 @oddsnendsfanfics @amour-quinn @wheredidallthedreamersgo @unsure-but-trying @lisinfleur @ceridwenofwales @leaderradiante @microsmacrosandneedles @valynsia @captstefanbrandt @therealcalicali @lol-haha-joke @b-j-d @cinnabearice @tephi101 @grungyblonde @ivarswickedqueen @ivarslittlebadgirll @igetcarriedawaywithyou @honestsycrets @sunnyfortomorrow @earthsmightiestasses @sincerelysinister @dangerousvikings @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @tgrrose @tierneygonzalez @ivaraddict @alicedopey  @brownsugerhippy @purplerain85 @quaint-and-curious-being @doloreschanal @ilvebeenabad @strangunddurm @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @pebblesz892 @young-ugly-god  @blackspiritshake @starrmoondaisy @trailerthoughtstexas @booyouwhore @athroatfullofglass @riottkatt @honeyofthegods @funmadnessandbadassvikings

[whatmisskriemhildwrote]

here is a sneak peek for the first draft of my newest story, which i have yet to name. i’m most likely going to edit it a lot for the final version, but for now... here they are~

taglist: @wheremyhotchocolate

The last thing Ymir remembers is falling through the sky’s swirls of dizzying blue.

Now he props himself up on the thin cot he woke up stretched out on, feathery  wings unfurling. The cottage is small, with the late afternoon light bathing his surroundings in rose-gold. The smell of chamomile hangs in the air, sweet and mild. While his sides still sting with bruises, Ymir balances himself on a plush pillow at the head of his cot. And in the corner of the room stands someone tending to a kettle, plucking up fistfuls of chamomile to cram into teabags.

“You slept through most of the afternoon. That was quite a nasty fall you took.”

The voice is deep but laced with warmth, ringing out clear in the quiet of the cottage. Then the figure perched near the kettle pours steaming water into two earthenware mugs and steps into Ymir’s line of vision. She is a tall woman, her skin a brown-red terra cotta. Her light-green hair frames her oval-shaped face, with a straight-set nose and deep brown eyes. It is her pointed ears, though, that give away her status as an elf.

“How did you find me?” Ymir asks. 

The woman sets down one mug of tea on the shelf near his cot, and the other she takes into her hands. Her eyes close and she inhales the steam unfurling from within her cup. Then she looks up to the roof of her cottage - where sunlight fills the room through a gaping hole of splintered wood.

“You fell through the roof of my house.”

If Ymir had been drinking his tea when he heard this, he would have spat it out.

“Oh, dear. I’m… really sorry about that! If you need me to repair it for you, I can.”

“That’s very kind of you.” She remains placid and blows on her tea to cool it, leaving ripples. “But not right this second - you’re probably hurt, and you need to rest.”

Ymir lays back down on the pillow, bright blue eyes squinting at the sunlight that distorts his vision. Summer is coming to an end, yet it seems as though the land of Nossa does not want to let go. The air is still heavy with humidity even as it grows colder with nightfall, and the smell of pollen from outside is still cloyingly sweet. While with Ymir’s status as god of Nossa he cannot speed up the process of the seasons, he can at least make the summer heat more bearable with a simple wave of a hand. So he does just that.

“I think your tea’s done steeping,” the woman tells him. He lifts up the mug and sips at the hot liquid. It’s thick with honey that amplifies the sweetness of chamomile. 

“It’s delicious. Thank you.”

Silence wraps the both of them up in a blanket, only interrupted by their slurping at their tea. There are no words they need, no words that they can put in their mouths anyways. So in the quiet of the cottage that Ymir crash-landed into, he and the elven woman that found him drink tea and wait for night to swallow up the sun. When he is about halfway finished with his tea, Ymir clears his throat.

“Thank you for helping me,” he says. “Although I never got your name.”

“I’m Rana, and you’re… Wait a moment…”

She stands up to scrutinize him: White wings tipped in blue, flaxen blonde hair, scaly bright blue crystals embedded on his face that match his eyes.

“You’re Ymir? God of Nossa?”

“Yes.”

Rana blinks at him with glittering brown eyes, and then chokes on her tea.

[tarithenurse]

All is fair in Love & War - 5

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Everything. We’re talking violence and killing (though not detailed), angsting, illness, fluffing, scheming, master/pet, citrus fruits (one sided...but detailed), probably a lot more. But hey! No swearing! A/N: This is a semi-AU in the sense that it is in a sort of medieval/fairy-tale setting, but Loki and MCU’s version of Nordic mythology still applies. I’ve taken the liberty of tagging people who’ve reposted, but if you do want a tag pls let me know.

5. Limits

You hear the shouting but cannot be bothered to look around for what is happening. Only when the noises turn to screams do you attempt to sit up although each movement makes your head pound and spin. It takes a few tries and by then it is quieting down again but you still struggle to open your eyes that have begun crusting together, dry like your mouth and throat from too long without anything to drink. Squinting through the haze, you can see someone slumped on the floor in the hallway. Is the place under attack? Slurred thoughts dance in and out of your mind, constantly eluding focus although a part of you attempts a certain optimism in the midst of your weakened condition. Perhaps the Midgardian forces have been able to finally move past Loki’s defenses? Someone will find you, bring you home? They can’t. The rejection surprises you, although not as much as your own silent laughter, and you collapse back into the bed just as someone enters the room.

The voice is familiar. Strangely comforting. Gentle hands examine you and lift you into the arms of the person. Black hair. Soft words are cooed as encouragement to cooperate, but they are not needed as you neither can nor want to resist as a glass is pushed to your lips and the cool content dribbles in. Greedily you suck at the rim, slurping the liquid into you as if your life depends on it…which it does. That is why you whine as your caretaker stops administering the drink.

“Mmm-mo…” Despite your efforts, your voice falters.

The man, because it is a man, has understood you anyways. “I know, but we must take care, pet. It seems  you have gone too long without wet or dry and we do not whish for you to get worse.” He returns you to the warm embrace of the furs, allowing you to drift in and out of sleep.

Each time you wake he is there. Tending the fire, proffering sweetened water and later broth for you to drink…or simply sitting by the bedside watching over you. As your health returns, so too does the knowledge of what has happened and who is playing nurse. It should make you wary. Instead it comforts you. Soon, you can sit up in bed unaided and eat solid meals which Loki himself brings you, and you actively strife to regain you strength through exercise in the brief moments the captor and guardian leaves the chamber.

It is after one of these intervals, where Loki has been gone for a while, that you decide to find out what happened. He has brought paper and thin, bark-wrapped sticks of charcoal for you to practice your writing while he himself sits nose deep in a book. Crooked letters and raw sketches of people only you remember litters the page before you…however, one is a figure slumped against the wall.

“Lo-your highness?” No fault in staying on his good side. He hums in a manner you interpret as a go-ahead. “When you came back…what was happening? Was the keep under attack?”

Green eyes bore into you as if to discern what you know, but eventually his face transforms into an emotionless mask. “It was not,” he offers coldly, “however I expect any servant of mine to follow my commands. Failure to do so has consequences.”

“But the screaming, sire?” The small hairs on your arms and neck are standing to attention.

The smirk is dark. Gruesome. “Consequences.” Closing the book, he puts it down and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. “Understand this, my pet, although my servants do not understand much of what I do or why, they have been warned never to disobey me or mistreat anything belonging to me.” A cold hand pushes a strand of escaped hair away for your face. “Those at fault have been punished to set an example for the rest to understand that I, their new master, will tolerate nothing less than pure loyalty.”

As frightening as the words are, coming from a monster with the powers of a god, it is something else that catches your attention. “New master?”

The chuckle is surprisingly warm. “Yes. Do you recall we spoke of the Aesir-Jötun War?” You nod. “After the death of Laufey, someone else was sent to rule Jotunheim under the watchful eye of Odin. To ease the transition, a descendant of Laufey, but one who had lived his entire life in Asgard, was chosen. In blood from Jotunheim. In allegiance…to Asgard.”

The schemes of royalty and their rich allies had never been something you spent much time considering. Things were as the were and you could do nothing to influence the events either way. Still, listening to Loki, you can see the strategical value in the choice. You can also see that his whish to be called king is not as far from the truth as you had hoped because the king of Asgard would undoubtedly back up the claim.

“That’s where you went while you were gone…back to Asgard…”

Reaching over, Loki takes the writing tools from you and puts them aside on the dresser before returning to his spot. He sits in silence. Perhaps he’s contemplating what to say? You can feel his gaze burning on any part of you that is visible from the furs as if he is evaluating your condition, assessing the effect of the treatment he is subjecting you to – successfully. Though still emaciated, there is a healthy glow to your skin and your body is beginning to seem a bit fuller. Not much, but enough to help you stay warm, stay awake. He has taken better care of you than you would have expected when he first caught you.

When Loki finally speaks, it is with a severity that startles you. “[Y/N], what are your thoughts on the war between our nations?” His hand is resting on the fur where your knee is hidden beneath.

It is strange to hear your name on his lips, but that (as well as other of the names he calls you) is becoming endearing. “I…” You pause, because frankly you do not know what to think anymore. “It seems that I don’t know all there’s to know…” An image of a commander sleeping in a tent stirs in your memories. “That we, us common soldiers, haven’t been told the…the entire truth.”

Instead of pulling away when he reaches for your hand, you allow him to run his thumb over the knuckles while he talks about the journey that he has been on to visit outposts and fortify the defenses at the front, to meet with allies and spies to attain information crucial to the campaign. According to the god, things are going well, and the Midgardian armies have been forced to retreat in many areas with a minimum of losses on both sides. Perhaps he’s lying, you think, but a part of you objects at that notion. From the little you have seen just of Jotunheim, the hosts at Utgard alone would make short work of the scattered companies trying to cross the border.

You fall asleep to his soothing voice, drifting into a dreamless slumber peacefully.

…   LOKI’s POV   …

[Y/N]’s breathing has slowed to a steady rhythm long ago, but he still finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her thin hand. I should not be this soft. And yet, how can he not want to care for this fragile, little creature that she is?

The moment he decided to spare her life, to turn her against her own king and utilize her, he also knew that he would have to treat her much kinder than it would be appropriate in the eyes of his own people. Violence and mistreatment would not be the way to get her to do his bidding. The fierce stubbornness should be guided, not be broken…it is too endearing anyways. And that there is the problem. Somewhere, during her time as his captive, he had begun to see her as more than just a tool and a body he normally would ravish, take repeatedly until he would grow bored and then throw away. The day he returned and saw what his servants had done, he had feared for the Midgardian’s life and it had sent him into a fit of rage. A desperate panic had fueled the violence as he sought out every single one of the people responsible for [Y/N]’s care. And after he was done with them and had tended to the woman’s immediate needs, he had scoured the palace for any who had known of the disobedience. He saw to it personally that they were tied up in the courtyard and then he flogged them. The message could not be clearer: do not betray your king’s trust.

A sigh escapes the sleeping woman, bringing him back to the present. Turning in her sleep, she holds on to his hand and a tiny smile graces her full lips for the first time. She may be a mortal, but the power she is beginning to hold over Loki is unsettling and he knows he will have to do something about it.

…   READER’s POV   …

Day by day you grow stronger and take to pacing the room and seeking any other sort of exercise possible within the chamber. Naturally, it cannot stay hidden from Loki for long, but he seems pleased with your initiative rather then scolding you for pushing yourself and he even walks beside you the length of the corridor and back several times to study your prowess. Dark patches stain the floor as though pools of dark liquid have seeped into the wood, and you try not to think of what it must be from although you know beyond a doubt. Frighteningly, your captor seems not to be the slightest bothered by it. His eyes are fixed on your form sweating under the sudden change in activity, and when your legs threaten to give out under you, he is there to hold you in an almost tender embrace.

“Well done, my pet,” he beams at you with sparkling eyes, “I believe you deserve a reward.”

Without further ado, he lifts you in his arms as though you weigh no more than a kitten and carries you all the way to the bathing hall where he perches you in one of the chairs before calling for water.

Since you were left to die in your room, this is the first time you see anyone else besides Loki and you cannot help to feel a certain apprehension as the servants begin to hurry to and from with buckets of steaming water, but none of them dare glance as you as long as their master is present.

The door closes behind the last one, leaving you alone and safe with the god. I shouldn’t feel safe. Yet, you do…until he stoops by you to remove your shawl. Clinging to it, you are painfully aware how little strength you have left to oppose him, but rather than enforce his will with violence he kneels to meet your frightened gaze.

“I understand, little one, but you have nothing to fear.” Slowly, he reaches to cup you cheek in his cold palm so gently that you find yourself leaning into his touch. “Allow me to help you.”

This time you do not object when he begins to undress you, carefully avoiding touching your bare skin until you sit before him completely naked, arms pressed against your chest to shield your self from his eyes as much as the prickling air. With a quick movement he lifts you like a child once more, holding you so close against his chest that his heartbeat is strong through the silk of his blouse in the few seconds it takes to carry you to the large tub.

A sigh escapes you as the warm water engulfs you, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. For a moment that is your entire world: the scalding cocoon of liquid and Loki’s hand still supporting your back. You can hear him rummage with the bottles of scented oils and soon the aromas of pine needles and lavender fills the air around you, luring you to relax and lean back with closed eyes. A part of you prompts you to cover yourself while the god washes your face and hair before moving along the shoulders to each arm with lazy circles of a sponge.

“Move forward so I can scrub your back.”

Silently, you obey, gripping the rims of the tub for support as you press against your thighs to rest the chin on the knobbly knees. There’s soft splashing of water and you feel the waves kiss your face, still it is not before you feel two strong limbs slither past you on either side in the tub that you realize that Loki is sitting behind you, his legs barely grazing you skin. A hot fear rolls over you, stealing your breath in the process. Flashes of memories present themselves in quick succession: the tight grip on a throat, wandering fingers across breasts, and the hard erection pressed against comparatively small body. But it is the sponge that touches upon your back, stroking in lazy circles to allow the oils and herbs in the water to affect the tense muscles.

At some point, he hands you the sponge, prompting you to clean the last areas. Happy to be allowed to see to cleaning your private parts, you do as you are told, deciding in turn not to object as cool hands massage your shoulders. Somehow, as your own hands move downwards, you find yourself leaning into Loki’s embrace, smothering a moan of appreciation at the sensation of his chest against your bare back. Reaching between the folds at your core, you cannot be bothered to be surprised at the slickness there that not even the water can completely rinse away. I shouldn’t want this…but it is needless to chastise yourself for the smoldering need and growing trust that has arisen between you and the god.

Strong hands move to your hips, pulling you flush against him with no effort to even attempt hiding the stiff cock that presses into your lower back, coaxing a tiny gasp from you. Cradling your head, he lowers it to his shoulder, granting a view of your body disappearing into the milky waters.

“Let me –” a soft kiss on your jaw punctuates the sentence – “make you –“ this time the kiss lands below your ear – “feel –“ on your shoulder – “good.” The last kiss is on your neck, making you sigh in delight.

Loki is surprisingly gentle as he explores your curves. The big hands that have grabbed with near untamed strength on other occasions are now stroking and massaging every inch of skin, often favouring your breasts and the tender nipples that happily perk in response to his ministrations. The first soft moan escapes you when cool finger dance on a hidden path from hip to apex of your thighs. A shudder of anticipation and apprehension runs through you as Loki strokes along the folds while nudging your legs apart with the other hand before it returns to cup your breast.

The god is skilled with his hands. Playing you like an instrument, he soon has you creating the most sinful sounds and arching under his touch as waves of delight rolls through you each time he strokes, circles or adds pressure all the right places. More often than not, he slips a couple of the long fingers inside your burning core to find new ways of calling forth waves of growing sensitivity. Your own hands can find no rest until you bury your fingers in the black tresses to pull yourself closer to him and you feel a growl reverberate in his chest, feel his cock twitch against your back. Whatever the simple action has released in Loki, you feel the shift in his body and in the way he holds you tighter while kissing and nibbling at your neck before finding your lips.

That’s how you topple over the precipice. Lips locked in a first kiss, his arm possessively holding you to his chest, and his finger playing with every nerve of your core. You ride out the orgasm on his hand. Each guttural moan swallowed greedily by the god.

…

What have I done?

Somehow, you had managed to fall asleep after Loki had carried you back to your room, but you woke up before sunrise and found yourself unable to chase away the many self-reprimanding thoughts that woke with you.

Pulling the shawl closer around the shoulders, you dig the last embers free from under the ashes and add kindling with practiced hands. Soon, the flames are dancing eating happily off the firewood, casting long shadows that leap and dance with each flicker. I shouldn’t have let him.

Dressing yourself is bothersome due to the silly ribbons and impractically flowy sleeves (even though you’ve carefully chosen a dress with as little embellishment as possible. If this is the fashion of noble women, then you are more than happy to remain a plain girl from the country side. In the little village by the quarry, there is no room for these delicate fabrics and frilly laces. I should never have left – look at me now!

Then you make the bed and sit to practice the writing, carefully tracing each letter to spell out your name, Midgard, the capital Sjöblik, and Jotunheim (although you are fairly certain you must have gotten that one wrong: J-O-O-T-U-N-H-A-Y-M). Running out of names, you start scribbling your thoughts onto the paper, allowing your memories of home to guide you until you grow frustrated with your own lack of speed. Words are slow and clumsy, you feel, and the charcoal begins a different dance across the page to depict the jagged mountains so high that the snow never leaves the pinnacles. The darkness of the forest skirting the slopes rubs onto your fingers, finds the fine lines of your hands to nestle in before becoming smudges on anything you touch. Filthy.

The part of you that is an obedient Midgardian who has been raised to serve her king unquestionably feels a suffocating guilt that makes the bile turn in your stomach. As long as you remember, everything in your life has been a question of what the king needs to secure the country. Your father worked for many years in the quarry together with your two older brothers until the captain came to the village and drafted them to the war. But the king needed his taxes regardless, so your mother took over her husbands work while you kept tending to the livestock (both your own and the rest of the villagers’).

It wasn’t enough.

Next year when the tax collectors came, they took the old cow, the handful of sheep and all but one scrawny chicken. Unless you could get to town regularly to buy food, then you would have to hunt or fish. But hunting was forbidden, and even if you had had the money the town was too far away. So you went to the quarry with your mother one morning, and while the workers went to their daily task, you sought ought the foreman hoping to be accepted as a day labourer. That’s when it happened. The rumble of falling stones overpowered every other sound, the earth shook, and you knew. You just…knew. You did not need to run to the site of the collapse for any other reason that find the one or two survivors. Without warning you were alone.

That’s why you had left to join the king’s army. Maybe, you had thought, you would be lucky to find your father or brothers or at least get news of them. Were they even alive? As it turned out, the probably weren’t because the battalions they had been in had been unsuccessful in their raids of what had been called the reclamation of Midgardian territory in the north.

Now you know better.

Well, if I can trust what Loki says.

If only you could find out more. Words spoken many months ago come back on dark wings. What once sounded like a threat from the god is now becoming a promise, a viable option to consider: become a tool, a spy to gain access where Loki or other of his allies cannot to learn what the Midgardian king and his supporters are plotting. Find the truth.

[ssironstrange]

Through Sickness and Gross

@im-logically-gay said: Tony has a fever and Stephen makes him some soup :)

I couldn’t get a full chapter of anything out tonight, so have a little ficlet instead!

Call it twisted, but Stephen rather adored a very sick and feverish Tony. He was by far one of the worst possible patients when it came to following doctor’s orders, a never-ending stream of complaints, and twice as dramatic as he was on any given day.

But Stephen loved every second of doting on him and putting former skills to good use. It would be a blatant lie if he were to say he never missed doctoring - it had been his entire life, after all. Tending to a flu-ridden genius wasn’t quite neurosurgery… but it was something, at least.

“Steeebennn…” Tony croaked out a pathetic, stuffy-nosed whine.

A silk ribbon was placed between the pages of the book he currently had his nose buried in, then Stephen set it aside and raised from the armchair. Hard as it was, he tried his best not to grin sheepishly at the man buried under three layers of blankets despite sweating from the heat of the fever. Stephen had argued, but Tony was a stubborn ass even at his worst.

“Let me guess, now you’re hot?”

Tony nodded and tried a feeble attempt of kicking the blankets off.

“Told you.” With an amused sigh, Stephen peeled them back one by one until he was down to the sheet - which was soaked in sweat. Ugh. Now he’d have to change the bedding. Again. Settling onto the edge of the bed beside him, Stephen took the thermometer from the nightstand and rolled it across his forehead from temple to temple.

“It’s come down a couple degrees. Tamiflu must be starting to kick in.” Next, he gently grasped Tony’s wrist and pressed the pads of two fingers against the artery. Looking down at his watch, the beats were counted out in his head, even tracking the bystolic and systolic and calculating the margin of error for him lying down.

“Blood pressure and resting pulse are still higher than I’d like.”

Tony grunted, barely having the strength to do as much as that.

“Did you eat at all today? Before you called?” Stephen already knew the answer to that. Stark was notorious about skipping meals.

Tony confirmed it with a small shake of his head.

“How have you even managed to keep yourself alive?” His mocking was playful and might have earned some witty remark any other day. Today, Tony just grumbled. Stephen leaned over him to place a light kiss to his forehead, hot against his lips and salty from perspiration.

“I want half that bottle of water gone before I get back. I’m going to make some soup - you ought to be able to hold that down.” Said water bottle was scooted towards the edge of the nightstand for easier access before he stood.

As expected, Tony protested with whimpers only a puppy could rival. God, he was so pathetically cute. So weak and helpless. So needy of Stephen’s help. Vaguely he wondered if the rest of the team were at all so pitiful when ill or if Tony was just the dramatic exception.

“Drink and rest. It won’t take me long.

________________________

Half of the ingredients he had to borrow from his own kitchen at the Sanctum, but the soup was quick and easy. Chicken broth with shreds of their leftover grilled chicken from the night before, some diced carrots steamed nice and soft, thin slivers of celery and a dash of parsley and pepper. It was poured into a coffee mug, already figuring he’d probably only manage a few bites. A spoon was grabbed, and back to his boyfriend’s room he went.

Tony managed to actually sit up partially and was finishing off the entire bottle of water instead of the half he’d asked for.

“Look at you, won’t be long until you’re back on your feet and stepping on mine for more dance lessons.” This time, Stephen allowed himself to grin.

“You sug at teaching.” Tony grumbled, eyes heavy with bags raising to the cup in his hands.

“You sug at dancing.” The sorcerer glided down into a graceful sit once more and pushed the warm mug into Tony’s hands. “Eat as much as you can.”

Stark hung his head over the cup, bathing his face in the steam in hopes it might break up the pressure in his sinuses. Somehow his nose was both runny and so stuffed up that he couldn’t even sniffle - a few times he had resorted to actually stuffing tissue into each nostril. Though his face was already flushed with fever, the heat still felt good on it.

“You made this? Didn’d pordal to a store to buy it?”

Stephen wanted to squish his face. Precious can’t-breathe-through-his-nose Tony was too precious.

“Yep. I made it.”

“Good thing I can’d tasde righd now.” Tiredly, barely even visible, he grinned towards Stephen and took a couple of bites that were… tasteless. At least the heat felt good going down his throat and settling into his empty stomach.

Stephen smirked and shook his head. What a world class asshole. One he wouldn’t trade for anyone else in the multiverse. For a moment he left the bed to fetch his book, then returned to circle around to the other side where he sat and scooted in shoulder to shoulder with him. Likely just to get on his nerves, Tony slurped every spoonful as loud as he could and slow as he could. Not quite annoying enough to distract him from his reading, though. Not yet, at least.

“Thangs, Steben.” What was left in the cup he set over on the nightstand that was quickly filling with clutter, then he leaned up against the man, resting his head onto his shoulder. “I lub you.”

“Tony, baby, you have got to stop talking. It’s too adorable and I simply cannot handle it.” Stephen dipped his head down and kissed the top of his head, smiling against the wild mess his hair was. “And, I love you, too.”

Stark began to laugh, but ended up with a coughing fit instead. “Eben if I’m disgusding?”

“Even then.”

“Eben if I god snod on you?”

“I’ve had worse things than a little snot. Residency is hell.”

“Oh, uh, good.”

Stephen paused, raising his head up from his rat’s nest of hair to try and get a good look at him, but he was sort of tucking his face against his arm.

“There’s snot all over my sleeve, isn’t there?”

“Yeeeah…”

Once more his book was shut with a quiet thump and he sighed, but the smile never quite left his lips. Yep, even when he was disgusting and snotting all over him, Stephen loved the idiot genius. Shaking hands worked his buttons undone slowly and with difficulty, but it got done. He shrugged it off and draped it over Tony’s head.

“Might as well use it for a tissue now.”

Tony did just that, blowing his nose as well as he could, wiping it clean, then balled the shirt up and dropped it over the edge of the bed. Stephen just chuckled and wrapped his arm around his boyfriend to pull him in to cuddle against his now bare chest. It had Tony murmur softly and kiss his chest gently.

“Feels like your fever might finally be done. Why don’t you try to get some sleep.” Fingers brushed along his back, hardly even minding the tackiness of his skin as he settled down to partially lie down for him.

“I’m gonna drool.”

Stephen shrugged lightly. “Probably snore, too. Just sleep.”

Tony didn’t have to be told twice - hardly even once as he was already starting to doze off. One of the blankets he had pulled off previously was tugged up over his torso, then another kiss given to Tony’s head. So not to disturb him, Stephen motioned to the book, using a bit of magic to hold it suspended in the air before him. And there he would contently stay for as long as Tony slept.

[savetheblackpaladin]

Okay! So now that Anon w/the wisdom teeth ask has got me curious — recently I'd had all four wisdom teeth removed and others moved around at one time. The pain was so terrible that the pain meds, which should have dulled the pain for at least three hours, weren't effective enough? Like, the kind of pain in your face where you cannot unlock your jaw wide enough to put in a spoon for food b/c ur jaw feels like it's breaking. So,, umm,, how would the paladins react to their S/O going through that??

Honey. You didn’t go to a surgeon. You went to the damn Devil himself. 

Keith

after watching you struggle to eat/slurp food goo and eventually end up a sobbing mess because of the combined pain and inability to eat Keith gives up

if you’re in the Castle he’s gonna haul your ass to the healing pods whether you like it or not

if you’re on Earth he’s just gonna slip you some sleeping pills in like, a smoothie or something

after asking ofc, he’s not gonna drug you without permission

he can’t stand to see you in pain

vaguely wonders where he can get space morphine

Lance

Pure Panic

he’s so scared to touch you but he really wants to comfort you

tries to hold you without jarring your jaw. you end up in his lap, back to chest as Lance rests his chin on your shoulders

he really doesn’t know what to do to help you bc this type of pain is some birthing-level bullshit

oh so gently tries to help you hold ice to your jaw but he chickens out the moment you flinch in pain

which jarrs your jaw and causes you to actually scream

Lance is now convinced he is a monster

please, please, please get in the healing pod

doesn’t trust Coran’s Altean drugs

what if they cause you to blow up???

JUST GET IN THE POD

Pidge

Unlike Lance, she trusts Coran. Also herself, more than anything.

so she’s really adamant about you taking some space-level painkillers

“They’re from an advanced alien culture! Of course they’ll work!”

she just wants the tears to stop

and for you to be able to eat

and to be able to sleep

but that’s not everyone’s cup of tea and for those who don’t like to take unknown alien drugs

Pidge is convinced you’re some sort of masochist because why would you put yourself through this 

she gets it though, sometimes they don’t work.

needles Lance into making you milkshakes because at least you can get a straw in your mouth

although you quickly grow tired of them 

personally purees your food

with love

Hunk

HIS POOR BABY WHAT DID THOSE MONSTERS DO TO YOU

like a white surburban mom he’s gonna call that doctor’s office and give them a piece of his mind

once that’s done he’s focuses his mom rage on you

you best get in that heal pod bruh

you don’t deserve that pain

Get

In

The

Pod

won’t actually physically stop you if you don’t want to because he’s scared he’ll hurt your jaw or something

you know your man. he ain’t gonna make you do anything you don’t want

will make you tasty smoothies, goo, and other foods that don’t really require chewing 

“Do you like flan? Because that stuff literally tries to crawl down your throat. It’s so good though.”

is scared to irritate your jaw by pressing things against it so he recommends a hot bath where you can sink low enough to let your jaw soak in the water

Shiro

oh no, his fragile kitten???? What does he do??????

he’s panicking the entire time but he seems really calm

almost careless

but you know him better than that and he’s just shut down a bit to calm his own emotions down to focus on you

he knows he can’t touch your jaw are neck without making the pain worse so he’ll try his best to distract you with foot massages and forehead kisses

but there’s only so much that can distract you

can’t cook but he tries really hard to make you smoothies

they taste awful

but you can barely get anything down anyways the pain is making you so nauseous

eventually has to try and get Hunk to make you edible food

tries giving you an icepack and panics when the pressure causes fresh tears

the castle totally has a sauna and he joins you in there

the heat helps a little but now you’re tired

and can’t sleep

but this adorable fucker sings for you and eventually you fall into a deep slumber. your body is so tired from being in pain for so long.

also dentistry drugs are freaking rough

the moment you’re asleep he considers the moral implications of just carrying you and tossing you in the heal pod

is it worth you being pissed at him in a few days to avoid seeing that sad/painful look on your face?

you wake up a day later, freezing cold and falling out of the pod. Shiro looks absolutely sheepish as he catches you

but your jaw no longer hurts

[doorsclosingslowly]

Until I am whole

They barely escaped the disastrous pirate alliance. Now, they’re drifting and helpless in a slowly freezing escape pod, and Savage can’t fall asleep. The arm won’t let him.

5.01 coda | 1.9k | warning for body horror and gore

It hurts. That’s wrong, fundamentally: the arm shouldn’t throb and seize and bubble still, because it’s gone now, dismembered, a piece of trash dropped in panic after Kenobi showed up and Maul’s plan went to hell. It shouldn’t hurt, but it shoots its hungry darts through the bones that aren’t anymore and into the shoulder that is still attached to the meat that contains Savage; the meat that is Savage and that is all he’ll ever know.

The Mother turned him into a god unmarred by the scars of his old life or its affections, a creature of devotion tall and muscled and bright—he felt their eyes on him, lying half-bare on the table down below the witches, and he feels them still—She turned him into the image of perfection and he paid with his life. His meat, softly twisted in the Mother’s hand, obedient and unscarred and unhim. Unhinged, a door torn houseless and of no use anymore to the brothers it’s meant to protect. Open to any witch who’ll wander in. To any will. Free for the taking, and only fit to burn. It burns.

It shouldn’t hurt, the arm, but it does. Everything hurts. The Mother’s perfection was not enough. He was not enough. He’s never been. The lightsaber still gnaws on him, or a ghost of it does, a shard of Kenobi that will forever be close. A taste of Maul’s long life, and Savage would give him safety forever if he could. A taste is too much already for him. Maul should have had better, as a child and a man and as the elder he will never become.

He will never grow old.

He won’t, and all the promises are worthless: Savage would give him safety if he could. He can’t. There will never be any better than this, for either of them.

Soon, they are going to die.

Next to the stump defeated and bathed in the glow of evil magic, and slightly upwards, Savage’s burning eyes are slipping shut in exhaustion and chill. The fight and the flight and its nerves are turning to shakes, or maybe that’s the cold. It’s probably the cold. The cold is in everything now.

Leaning against the opposite wall is the shivering breathing corpse of Savage’s brother, too far away to feel or console. A corpse: they were both alive before they fled, but now the end is close enough to make no difference. They are trapped in a rudderless escape capsule. They are freezing. They are dead. It won’t be long now. Maul, rotting, just like the first brother Savage failed—the first brother Savage killed—and there is nothing to be done. No help. All his love is useless. It hurts.

Maul will be dead in days at most. Savage, too, but that’s just the way it goes. He counts along to the beats of throbbing pain.

//

It hurts. The world has narrowed. The only thing that is now is the frostening shelter drifting through dark waiting for the end, and inside, an arm that lies somewhere deep below the ground. Savage’s hurt arm, pulsing sharp and regular and a handhold will not let him slip. Will not let him sleep.

The pain in the left arm that is gone is all there is.

It chants over the cold and the distance and the impossibility of survival. The hunger and the dry, the faint pressure behind his restless eyelids, the old bad-healed twinges in his spine that were not wiped away in the perfection and destruction of his body, Maul’s head lolling slowly down and the torn fingernail… all the world numbs with chill, but the pain in the arm remains. It’s the only part of him that’s not freezing to death now, after all. Why should it. It’s not even here.

It is the only real thing, that’s how sharp it is. It builds a gleaming house of there and he climbs gratefully in. It is him now. He is pain. He is gone.

//

It hurts, when he wakes up and his corpse-brother’s eyes watch him calm and bright in the freezing gloom. It’s red silent agony, worse than he’s ever felt; it’s cooked flesh like the bearded master’s electricity but more, and in his desperation to be free, to tear it like a rancor would its trapped leg, Savage imagines the arm left down there and behind, slowly consumed by rats. Slowly disappeared. Without the arm, there will be no place for pain to latch onto, and he can drift away.

He dreams, open-eyed. He imagines rats nosing at their discovery and wriggling and singing happy of their future meal. They are small-feathered and gnarled and ill, just like the filth he kept from out his larder a life ago. They are hungry. Quickly, their snouts are gone. Their naked heads disappear. Then, a howling protest: there is no blood to spurt and slake their thirst. Savage winces with sympathy. He was only down there for the fight and there was no time to pay attention, but he saw no water. He imagines they must be thirsty. He is thirsty.

Clever and undeterred, they dig and climb their way into the meat, until the arm bulges and teems with life, yellow skin stretched breaking-thin, and what just used to be unrecognizable as Savage doesn’t even look like a limb anymore.

A breath, and the swollen lumps split, spouting pale small rats onto the ground. Carefully, Savage watches.

The rats return. They tear into the muscle. They slurp and fight over tendons, and he cheers them. There will never be any better for him or his brother now they both are dead, and he must take the small triumphs he finds. Besides, the rats are the very first to prosper of this body. Quickly, small groves of teeth all over the growing pale bone, biting hard in their eagerness for the lovely marrow.

Tiny lives moving in a frenzy of survival, and soon, the arm is no more.

It does not help.

They are climbing onto the shoulder now, betraying Savage; they are scrambling towards the belly and within blinks they are deep into the soft of him. Numb to their teeth and the tingling of it, he is too tired to move. He is too cold. He watches them. They have a fondness for the liver, and barely, he keeps from dripping vomit onto the breastplate, where it would freeze stiff.

Curious eyes meet his while he heaves and swallows. A brow-ridge quirks.

Savage bites his tongue. He has no tongue. It was devoured long ago. Still, Savage will not go whining to the brother who was cut in half; who met the eager rats, and lived amongst them. Who ate them back.

It’s nothing, anyway. They’re both dying. Why should he need assurance, when his brother is silent? Savage only scared himself with his mind, and it’s only barely more than a scratch anyway, the wound, even if it hurts. It’s nothing like the pain Maul was dealt. Talking would be a waste of words he does not have, drifting out and into himself. Of breath, precious and cold. It would be a waste.

Out here far from Dathomir, people probably lose their arms all the time.

(A curious thing: if Savage had begged for comfort, he would have received it. Fumbling care, perhaps, but Maul is miserable with blame and quiet and inescapable death, and he would have liked something to occupy his hands. Something to say, though he does not recognize his need.)

//

It hurts. He cannot sleep anymore. His eyes won’t open. The left hand is a witch now, white-burnt needling pain. The rats have stripped him down to the bones of their truth and the cold has taken the rest, and now Savage can see: the left hand.

That hand.

Before Kenobi cut it, it was the hand that held up Feral; the hand that broke the neck of the child he sold himself to save. The hand, darting out like the great sky-mother from out her nest to snare the child who walks away from home. The killing hand, untrembling with the beauty of her word, while somewhere deep inside the obedient meat he curled and sobbed his violation, his brother’s loss, or at least in the here and the cold he likes to believe he did. It is not clear why it should be better, to be capable of feeling the wrong of it wrapped inside the soft words of Her control. It shouldn’t be better, when the wrong did nothing to stop itself. It just is.

The left hand: the first part he saw of the meat of Her desires, the god creature that is him now. Its first act, a herald of the monster he was to become.

The hand is gone now, and it hurts. The hurt feels good.

It was the hand that held up Feral.

Now, it’s gone. It’s just a stump leaking magic and pain. It does not even bleed. It will not even kill him. No need for that, anyway: he is dead. There is no way to escape the pod, and the cold will do just as well as a bleedout. The hand, instead, chains him close, a point of real and burning in the numb, and it will not kill him. It will not let him sleep.

It was the hand that held up Feral, but next to it, and slightly upwards: the eyes that looked on strange and unkind. The eyes that watched Feral die. It was the ears that heard Feral’s last words and the mouth that mocked him and the legs that didn’t cave; it was the brain that thought in unison with Her and in compliance, “Kill him.” It was the tears uncried and the bowels holding fast.

All did their part. There is nothing in this body that wasn’t Hers.

It was the hand that held up Feral that is gone now, but this body is full of accomplices. They are no less murderers. They are all him. He is them. He will never be clean.

//

It hurts. Weeks have gone since the rescue, and in the arm’s stead, the Mandalorians have screwed a prosthetic that does not quite feel, the searching hand in the black-needle undergrowth wrapped thick in leather. Savage did not ask for the new arm: like the body, it is another’s will and thoughts grafted onto what is left of him, and he does not think of it often.

Presently, it’s raised behind Maul’s head. A knife is hurtling towards it.

It’s preparing to stop the knife.

It’s raised in protection, and it is new. Savage’s eyes widen. It is new. The left arm has only been him for a few weeks, and so… it was not there when he killed Feral. It bears no guilt. The arm is not the Mother’s, it’s scrap metal magicless and a blight on the meat Her white warm hands twisted into a god. It did not kill Feral. If there is any fleck of loyalty, of honor, left in Savage—it lives in the space where there used to be the arm that Kenobi cut.

(Later, he will scratch this triumph into the arm, patterns and swirls that tell of the part of him that did not kill a brother. The writing will be illegible: a script of his own devising, mangled by the unpracticed murderous right hand. Untouched by perfection. It will be the favorite part of him.)

The knife stops.

[thefreckledone]

Pompeii 42

“Zetsu,” Sakura greeted, unable to help her grin as the man stumbled through the front door. It had been a while since an appointment actually came to fruition. “How may I help you today?”

He glanced up at her and she saw now that he was muttering to himself, expression stormy. Sakura’s smile fell as he approached. She hoped that he hadn’t turned on her, not like the others.

“Zetsu?” she said, keeping her voice soft as she braced for the rejection that was about to come.

His eyes cleared and he shook his head, meeting her gaze for the first time since his arrival. “Sakura,” he said, before dropping his eyes away from her. “It is good to see you well.”

Sakura contained a snort, knowing she looked nothing of the sort. She wasn’t sleeping well these days and no amount of dreamcatchers would help her. No, what kept her awake these nights was nowhere near supernatural in nature. Just ordinary fears and doubts. Not that Zetsu would know, considering the way he kept his gaze averted.

“So what can I do for you today?” Sakura asked. “You didn’t really specify when booking the appointment.”

Zetsu looked around the room, body tense. “Is this a safe place to speak?”

“We can go back to one of the treatment rooms,” Sakura said, standing from her desk. “It is more private than at the front desk.” It was highly unlikely anyone would walk in, especially considering the frosty treatment she was receiving from Pompeii’s citizens, but she wanted Zetsu to feel comfortable.

Zetsu grabbed her wrist, halting her. “No,” he hissed. “Is it safe from prying magic? Is there anyone listening in?”

“I...I don’t know,” Sakura said haltingly, her own gaze roving the clinic. It’d taken a while to clean considering the trashing that it received and she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary at that time. “Is that likely?”

Zetsu’s jaw tightened as he nodded. Sakura’s face fell. Of course, why hadn’t she thought of this herself? She was considered a threat by most of Pompeii, questionable at best. She was being naive.

“I apologize,” Zetsu murmured as he stepped closer to her, encircling her in a loose embrace. A few of the fronds of his venus flytrap brushed against her as he did so.

“Zetsu?” Sakura said, hands splaying on his chest, ready to shove him away.

“A moment please.”

Before Sakura had a chance to inquire further, they began sinking into the floor. It was a unique experience, unlike even traveling to the Goblin Market. She felt non-solid, almost liquid in nature. She couldn’t see anything aside from Zetsu’s chest and something about the strange slurping noise around her told her that was for the best.

Finally, it stopped and Sakura stumbled back, catching herself against a tree.

“What was that?” she demanded, chest heaving. She ran her hands over the goosebumps that lined her arms, surprised and relieved to feel the solidity of her being.

“A precaution,” Zetsu replied, striding around their environment with purpose. Gold sigils lit his arms as he muttered ancient phrases beneath his breath, before sigils streamed from his body to the walls of the cave.

Sakura blinked, taking in their surroundings for the first time. From the ceiling of rock above them, Sakura knew they were beneath the ground, though the environment itself didn’t suggest as such. The ground was alive with waist high grasses and fruitful plants, the likes of which Sakura had never seen. There were mushrooms larger than her head growing out of the rock walls and Sakura even noticed various crystal formations lining the garden. Almost everything glowed with an eerie, captivating bioluminescence.

“Where are we?” Sakura asked.

“This is my home,” Zetsu said, turning back toward her. In the lighting provided by the plants and crystals, his eyes shone gold.

“There’s no exit,” Sakura said flatly, looking around. She did her best not to show the way her anxiety was spiking, though she wasn’t sure of her success. “How in the world are we breathing?”

“The stone is porous,” Zetsu said, “and I’ve amplified the production of oxygen from these plants. I may be shackled but I am not incompetent.”

“And why have you brought me here?” Sakura asked, ignoring his shackles comment for the moment. There were more pressing concerns.

“We need to speak, away from the prying eyes and ears of Pompeii’s citizens,” Zetsu said. “I’ve seen the way they poke and prod at your life, examining you like an interesting specimen of study. You’re the new commodity in town and they think they’ve a right to you for it.”

Sakura frowned, crossing her arms. “But what is it you need to tell me?” Zetsu twitched and Sakura read the hesitation in his posture. She softened her defensive stance, stepping forward and brushing a hand along his arm. “Whatever it is, I will hear you out.” She smiled bitterly. “It’s the least I can do for a friend.”

“I cannot defy-silence! No! She is kind to us. We will be punished-I don’t care-not merciful!” Zetsu’s face screwed up as he warred with himself. “Who took care of the pruning?” he demanded, his voice almost a roar. And then there was silence.

“Zetsu,” Sakura said softly, looking up at him, a question in her eyes.

He turned and, beneath her scrutiny, relaxed. “I trust you,” he said in earnest, grasping one of her hands. “I know you are not at fault for what is currently happening; it has happened before, long before your arrival.”

Sakura startled. “Really? Then why hasn’t anyone realized?”

“It was before Pompeii, before any of them came here.”

“Well how do I show them? What can I do?” she asked, desperate for answers. Finally, finally, someone was willing to give them to her. It did not escape her notice that the one giving the answers was on the very fringes of Pompeii’s society. “Who do I talk to?”

His face screwed up again and Sakura knew he was fighting himself. “The knights,” he said, voice quiet. “The flower knights.”

Sakura nodded, choosing not to ask how Zetsu knew of them. It was hard enough getting answers to these critical questions. She couldn’t waste her time on the superfluous.

“Thank you Zetsu,” Sakura said, heart warmed. She pressed up onto her toes and brushed a kiss across his cheek. The fronds of the flytrap fluttered as she did so. “It’s reassuring to know that I still have friends.”

As they began to sink into the ground again, Zetsu leaned in close, expression urgent. “Don’t trust the trees, Sakura. They whisper and lie. They drive people to commit madness...to be mad. No place is safe except here and the shrine. Be careful.”

With this parting warning, Zetsu deposited her safely within the clinic, before disappearing once more into her tiled floor.

Sakura scrubbed her hands down her arms, wishing things weren’t so complicated.

“Hello,” Sakura greeted, weaving among the trees into the clearing that marked the home of the knights.

Since Zetsu mentioned that this place was safe, Sakura could now feel some of her anxiety and doubts abate, shed from her skin as easily as water. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was because this location was sacred or because she just felt safer here, but she felt a bit better.

Marigold’s faceplate turned in her direction as it stood from the weathered shrine. It cocked its head to the side slightly, crossing its arms.

“I know, I know,” Sakura said, raising her hands in surrender. “It’s been a while. Things have been...heated in town.”

Daffodil’s hand came down on her shoulder, nearly spooking Sakura out of her skin. She leapt away from it, as if its touch scalded. It immediately stepped away from her, ducking its head as Marigold smacked it.

“No,” Sakura said, laying a hand on each of them. “I’ve just been a bit on edge recently. Please don’t start fighting.”

The sets of armor parted from each other, turning their full attention to Sakura. She wilted slightly beneath their gaze, before bolstering herself. She was here for answers; she had to ask questions to get them.

“Someone told me that the forest has acted up before,” Sakura said as she took a seat by the pond and placed her feet in the water. The pond, Sakura had discovered on an earlier visit, ran warm, more like bath water than anything else. “Is that true?”

The knights looked to each other for a moment before tapping twice, remembering the game they played the last time Sakura plied them for answers.

“Okay,” Sakura said, inhaling deeply. “Was it before Pompeii was founded?”

Two taps.

“Were you present for it?”

Again, another two taps from the daffodil knight.

Sakura bit her lip, thinking back on their previous game of question and answer.

“Are you aware of when it started this time?”

The knights hesitated and Sakura saw that Daffodil was looking at Marigold. They were expressionless, so she couldn’t get an exact read on their hesitation. Finally, two taps came from Marigold, who hadn’t participated up until this point. It kept its flower-filled gaze set in her direction, seemingly trying to prove a point to Daffodil.

“Was it…” Sakura swallowed, warring with herself for a moment. She wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to this one, but she had to ask. “Was it around the time you remember waking up?”

Two taps from Marigold as Daffodil averted its helm.

Sakura breathed deep, as her stomach swooped. She feared she might be sick. This-the knights, the trees, everything-it all catalyzed with her. Her arrival woke the slumbering beasts, ones that hadn’t been seen since before Pompeii. And now, whatever the reason for it, innocent people were suffering. Perhaps, perhaps, it was just a case of coincidence, of simple correlation. However, in Sakura’s experience that was rarely, if ever, the case. Somewhere in her gut, Sakura knew the truth.

She was the cause of all of this.

“How did it end last time?” Sakura asked, scrambling to her feet and placing a hand on Marigold in entreaty. “How was the forest stopped?”

Silence met her. The knights looked to each other again for a long moment as Marigold stared Daffodil down. Daffodil threw its hands up and they both returned their gaze her way. As one, they pointed to something beyond Sakura.

Sakura turned, paling as she caught sight of what they were indicating.

The knights pointed to the headstone of the shrine.

The Maiden.

Sakura began her trek back to Pompeii in a daze, unsure how to handle the information she just received. The knights tried comforting her, but there was little that they could do. There was little she could do.

The Maiden sacrificed herself for the sake of Pompeii and its founding; most likely in a fight against this damn forest. And now...well, what was Sakura supposed to do? Was she to throw herself upon the pyre, perishing for the safety of the town? It was a pretty image, neat, heroic martyrdom.

Sakura didn’t think she could do it.

She wasn’t the Maiden, she wasn’t a person that people spoke of with awe and respect in their voices. She wasn’t the person that festivals were held for. She wasn’t the person that people remembered. She wasn’t the person who saved people; hell, Sakura couldn’t even save herself.

Sakura pressed the palms of her hands hard against her eyelids, fighting off the urge to cry. It wasn’t the time and it wasn’t the place for it. She took a few deep, calming breaths, focusing on the movement of air in and out of her lungs until she was centered once more. Shaking her head to free herself of the residual onslaught of tears, Sakura looked up.

She frowned at what she saw.

Ahead of her, among the thick copse of trees that surrounded her on all sides, was a peach tree. It hung heavy and low with the fruit of its labor; despite the fact that it was out of season for peaches. The peaches were dappled pinks and oranges, tantalizing even at this distance. In fact, Sakura could nearly swear that she smelled them…

Something about the scent snapped her out of her daze and she blinked hard, scrubbing her eyes. Without notice, she’d stumbled closer to the peach tree. Fear pricked the back of her neck as Sakura turned in the opposite direction, heading back toward the clinic.

She continued on for a few moments before, unable to resist temptation, she looked back.

The tree was gone, vanished as if it never existed.

Still, the scent lingered in her nostrils, heady with unfulfilled promises.

Sakura picked up her pace, gladly leaving the forest behind.

[tyrantdk]

Would I Lie to You ch 3

This first scene is still NSFW, but after that it's good. I introduce my two ocs in this chapter. They're Atem's younger sisters & they're twins. Also more draggo cuddles and things start to pick up!

Atem woke surrounded by warmth. It was far too warm, but he cared not. One crimson eye cracked open. Yugi’s true dragon form was curled around him. Usire was no longer connected to him by his knot, but coils of his body were entangled with his lower half. The dragon form was smaller than the few times he had been in it. He hummed softly as he reached to bring the divine’s head closer to him. A bright yellow eye opened.

Usire shifted, placing his head in his arms. Atem stroked the scarlet scales lovingly. He gasped as the other’s scales moved pleasingly over his still bare skin. The coils squeezed him gently, causing his cock to harden slightly. A noise similar to the chuffle of an exotic tiger left Usire. His snout nuzzled into his belly affectionately. Atem flushed as Usire glanced up. The tip of his serpent like tongue flicked teasingly over his slit. He gasped a strangled moan.

It has been some time since we hunted together in the marshlands, and you are still so sensitive. How are you feeling? Are you sore? Usire spoke to him, the voice of his human form filling his head. Emotions flitted across too, mainly amusement from Atem’s sensitivity and the arousal it caused as well. He flushed darkly.

“My body is sore, but the aches are not as painful as I thought they would be.” Atem replied as his hand smoothed over the coil of scales around his hips. They squeezed him, massaging his groin teasingly. Why was Usire teasing him so? If he wanted to slide his cock into Atem’s body and take him again, he could do so. Atem would not stop him in either form.

I massaged your body after my knot receded, so you would not hurt so. The heat my body naturally generates helped soothe your muscles too. He cooed, trying to curl around his divine husband’s head. He frowned when the coils of scales tightened. Move slowly, my treasure. I do not want you to hurt yourself from moving too fast too soon. Perhaps I could persuade you into the bath soon?

“How soon?” Atem asked as he slowly curled around the divine. He cradled Usire’s head closer to him. Again came the teasing flick of a forked tongue and massaging squeeze.

Very. Your guards are rather anxious to storm into our den. I believe they think I have harmed you. Now, shall I take you to our bathing chamber? It was then that Atem realized what Usire was doing. He was seducing him, properly seducing him. There was no magic from Ma’at this time to help Usire. The teasing touches were of his device.

“If you must, my husband. Will you join me?” Atem asked as he rose carefully, somehow untangling his body from the serpentine one on the bed. Usire followed him through a hidden doorway. It was rather hard to refuse when Atem swayed his hips just so. The royal bath was an open room, sheer linen of crisp sand color billowing in the breeze. Storm winds filled the space, cooling the over hearted stones. Usire slipped into the bath, morphing effortlessly back into his human form. Atem climbed in after him.

Yugi wrapped his arms around his mate, catching his scent on the other. It aroused him more than watching his teasing take effect on his husband. He grinned wickedly as his hands roamed over Atem’s skin. He kissed him chastely, before wrapping his fingers around his mate’s cock. Yugi pressed his own against the other’s, stroking them with his hands. Atem threw his head back and moaned loudly.

“You are such a naughty mate, Atem. You can’t be so wonderfully sensitive hours after our love making, your dick hard and weeping for my touch, and think for even a moment I would not press myself against you. You are mine, Atem. I take care of mine. …If I come before you, I’ll lift you out of this basin and suck your cock until you come in my mouth. That sounds wonderful, actually. Can I do that?”

“You can do whatever you wish with me, Yugi.” Atem frowned immediately after his breathless reply. Yugi had taken his erection and hands away from him! He made to speak, but Yugi lifted him with ease from the bath. His legs were spread before him once more. Even in human form, Yugi’s tongue was forked. He flicked it over his mate’s erection. Atem jolted, but moaned. It as an uncertain sound, but all Yugi cared for was that it was a moan.

Moist heat covered Atem’s tip as Yugi began to take him into his mouth. He let his supporting arms slide away until he lay on the bath floor. His moans of pleasure were music to his husband’s ears. Atem’s body was an instrument of pleasure only Yugi could play. Atem reached out, a hand carding through Yugi’s hair lovingly as he continued to suck his husband’s cock. He struck something in Yugi’s mouth, before realizing his tip was brushing the other’s throat.

Euphoria raced through his veins for a second time as he came. Obscene slurps and other sounds came from Yugi as he consumed Atem’s cum. Glassy red eyes watched as his husband licked any excess off his cock like it was a honey stick. Yugi’s own cum floated freely in the bath water and coated on pale hand, proof of Atem’s effect on the god-dragon. When they had calmed and regained their breathing, the pair bathed each other.

“Brother? Brother, we’ve come to bring fresh flowers.” A female voice from their bedroom made Yugi start. He paused his scrubbing of his mate’s back to stare at the doorway. Atem seemed startled himself, and thanked Hathor his sisters had not witnessed Yugi with his cock down his throat.

“My half-sisters. They are younger than I, and are the palace flower girls. I forgot they would come today. Please, do not harm them!” Violet eyes glanced at him. He huffed, but was docile at his side. “Thank you, Yugi.”

“They are family?” He asked softly. Atem pulled him into his arms.

“Yes.” The Pharaoh smiled. “Beloved One, Joyful One, please wait a moment more. I shall be out of the bath shortly. I wish for you to meet my husband.” A young woman head’s appeared around the entrance. Mahogany red hair flowed around her face in untamed curls. Dark brown eyes glittered happily as she nodded. Yugi tilted his head as she disappeared.

Two young women sat on his and Atem’s bed. They were almost identical to each other, but the colors of their features were different. The woman from earlier gestured wildly with her hands. Her twin had the same wild curls, but in coal black. Both had golden tanned skin. The twin with black curls turned to look at them with sunset red eyes. A black eye brow was quickly raised.

“Brother?” Atem smiled as he pulled Yugi forward.

“My dearest sisters, this is my husband and our god-dragon, Usire. Yugi, these are my beloved and joyful sisters. Olufemi has their mother’s black locks, and Olabisi shares our father’s. Unfortunately, my Joyful One cannot speak, but we have learned to read her hands well.” Olabisi slid off the bed, coming over to them slowly. The dragon did not feel threatened at all. An aura of peaceful joy surrounded the young woman, and it somehow calmed his possessive instincts.

She took his hand and placed it over her heart. Her hand patted his three times. Beside him, Atem gasped. Olabisi then switched his hand for their clasped ones, and did the same. Atem let go of his husband’s hand. He pulled his sister into his arms. She cuddled into his embrace. Her twin came over to them.

“Olabisi has accepted you into our family. It normally takes weeks for one to earn my twin’s trust. If she likes you, Usire, then you are fine with me as well.” Olufemi nodded. “You are our other brother now. Patting your hand three times over her heart is one of her ways of saying ‘I love you’.”

Quick as a flash of scarlet red and black, the twins were on the bed. Usire’s body curled around them, serpent like tongue running through Olabisi’s hair. Atem blinked as he watched the scene. It felt like some kind of instinct had been awoken in his divine spouse. As Usire ran his tongue through his mute sister’s hair, it reminded him oddly of a mother cat washing her young. Olabisi didn’t seem to mind Usire’s affections as her body shook with soundless giggles.

Olufemi on the other hand not so much. Atem chuckled as he walked over to rescue her. Her eyes looked at him with a soul far older than her and Olabisi’s ten harvests. She reached up, giving him the rare opportunity to carry her. Usire paused his grooming of the other twin to glance at his mate and the young one. A chuffle came as he cocked his head to the side. Olabisi took the pause to curl into the divine dragon’s body. He shifted back into his human form, allowing the red haired twin to lie beside him much more comfortably.

They were much younger than Yugi had first realized. He had thought from the brief glimpse of Olabisi that they were only a few harvests younger, but they were much younger than that. It had awoken his parental instincts as a dragon. Atem was old enough to be considered an adult or an older juvenile at the youngest. His sisters were still babies to his instincts. He needed to protect, and rear, and clean them. He needed to rub his scent on them. They were babies of his clan.

“Yugi?” Violet eyes met their mate’s red. “Why were you licking my Joyful One’s hair? It seemed as if you were a mother cat grooming her young.”

“You are both babies to dragons like myself. You are not just any pair of babies, but babies of my clan. In dragon years you are like a recently hatched dragon, in constant need of protection. All dragons groom the babies in their clan. It is one of our ways of showing love to our family. How old are you?”

“We are ten harvests old. Atem was eleven harvests old when we were born.” Olufemi replied from her brother’s arms. He managed to contort to lay them both beside his other sister and his husband. “Our mother fell ill a few months later.”

“I have tried my best to look after my sisters. I was my father’s only heir and child until my sisters’ birth. When Father explained he still loved my mother, but he also loved another woman, I was happy for him. He had been so melancholy, but Father always smiled for me. I was happy that my father had found someone who could help his loneliness after my mother’s passing to the Field of Reeds. Banafrit became a second mother to me.

“She loved me as if I was her son, and would often take me to Lady Sekhmet’s temple. My mother had been one of Lady Sekhmet’s devotees. I make a trip there every moon cycle to light an incense reed for my mother and pray. Banafrit would go with me. She refused to let me go alone with only my dear friends, Mana and Mahado.

“Two years after she had come into my life, Banafrit gave birth to my sisters. Just as I had, they met the world in this very bed. You both are children of Per’a’ah, just as I. I remember racing to those very doors, screaming to be let in. I was so worried I would not be here to greet my new brother or sister. Father would not let me in until Banafrit had given birth, and you were both cleaned. I climbed in beside my second mother, settling between her and Father. They placed you both in my arms, and we fell asleep that way.”

“That is a wonderful story, Treasure.” Yugi murmured. Olabisi gestured to him with her hands slowly. “Are you asking about my parents, Little Joy?” She nodded. “My father was Usire before me. He was the same colors as I, but not as many claws. My claws are from my mother, Akemi. She was so beautiful. She was a gold dragon from the Far East. When I had learned to fly, I flew with her every morn.

“I loved the way her scales glowed in Ra’s light. She was from a royal dragon clan, and had run away. My mother may have been every bit as bright and beautiful as her name, but she could never be forced to do anything she did not want. She fled her home before she could be forced into a mating she did not want. Mother met Father, and he fell for her a first sight. She took some convincing, but fell for him eventually.

“They had me, and we were so happy for a long time. My grandfather eventually found my mother, but he couldn’t drag her back. They had not thought of a name for me yet, and Grandpa took one look at me. He called me Yugi. Mother and Father decided that was to be my true name. Grandpa joined us in our little den. He taught me games of all sorts, which I mastered, and how to control my storms.”

“I believe you both should get back to your duties. My priests are awaiting their fresh flowers, and the gardens should prove very fruitful today.” Olufemi nodded. She understood what the sad faraway look in Yugi’s eyes meant. Olabisi hugged him tightly, nuzzling his chest. The twins left silently. Atem pulled the divine into his arms gently. “What happened, my beautiful dragon?”

“The dragon my mother’s clan wanted her to mate with found us. My father ignored him. He felt cheated, and we dragons are such prideful creatures. He challenged my father, but Father replied by asking if his honor and pride were worth a loss to a divine dragon. He kept antagonizing Father, who finally lifted his large body, and flew from our den. My father was so large; I am small compared to my father.

“They fought, and my father won, as he was the larger, older dragon. Father did not kill his opponent. It was his mistake. The other dragon turned his teeth on my father while his guard was down. Father was badly wounded, as was I, my grandfather was slain, and my mother fought hard, but was stolen from us.

“Father passed the title of Usire to me, and curled in our den to sleep. He will not awaken until Mother is returned to him. It has been many a year since he was awake.” Atem tightened his hold on Yugi, his heart aching for his husband. He knew some of what he had been through. While his own mother was no longer among the living, Atem knew what it was like to watch one’s father grieve.

He was glad he had sent his sisters away. At ten harvests old, they still were somewhat ignorant to the sorrow in the world. He wanted to keep it that way for them as long as he could. He wished he could do the same for Yugi, or at least wished he had some way of helping reunite his husband with his mother. Yugi melted against him as he let the tension seep away from his body. Atem was warm from his closeness to Yugi’s heat generating body, and smelled clean from their bath.

He held him so securely, that he swooned in his arms. Atem brushed the barest hint of a kiss on his cheek. Yugi smiled as he pressed closer. They laid pressed closely together for an hour or so, until Ra began to die. Only then did Atem rise to replace their jewelry in their tray, gather up their discarded clothing from earlier, and prepared the bed for the night. Yugi watched curiously as he did so. Did the servants not do this for him?

“I prefer to do this myself. I did not have a personal servant for most of my life, and when I became Per’a’ah, I saw no need to take one. At least, not one that would throw themselves at my feet, swearing eternal love for me.” Atem shivered at the memory of those first few months. “I finally put my foot down with the last one. She tried to climb into my bed and force herself on me! A week under the watchful eyes of my kitchen staff helped her. Although, I think she’s still in the palace somewhere. I’m not very sure, as my advisors don’t like to tell me such things.

“They’re doing it for my own good, so I don’t have to worry. However, I do wish they wouldn’t treat me so softly. I am Per’a’ah. I can handle my own situations, and other people.”

“If she or any of those others come near you, they won’t live long enough to escape.” Yugi practically spat venom as he spoke the words. Atem crawled back on the bed, sliding his body under the thin blanket. Yugi wormed his way under his side. He curled into his mate’s arms.

“Would you spare them, if I asked you to?” He asked softly.

“Yes. Nothing matters more to me than making you happy. I love your sisters. The black haired one, Olufemi, she has an old and odd soul. Her eyes never miss a thing do they? And Olabisi just has this wonderful peace and joy that she radiates. How can such a pair of mismatched girls be twins?”

“They complement each other in the oddest fashion, as I do agree they seem mismatched. Olufemi uses her maturity to protect Olabisi, even though she has her own ways of protecting herself. She’s rather good at fighting. I remember during my battle training under Shada’s master, that Olabisi would find something, and begin to mimic me as I swung my sword! Olufemi has always preferred reading scrolls. I still sneak some of my more diplomatic ones to her. Her eyes do never miss anything.” Yugi yawned softly as he tucked his head under Atem’s chin.

“Goodnight, my treasure.”

“Goodnight, my dragon.” Yugi was wide awake as he processed what Atem had said. He smiled as he settled back down. It was wonderful. Atem had called him ‘his dragon’! He purred softly, until it faded away as he slept.

Atem walked in the gardens, Olufemi and Olabisi on either side of him. He was without his husband, as the god-dragon had been called away by Ra. Some time had passed since their marriage had begun. He thought about it to himself and realized their first lunar cycle together was almost at an end. Olabisi tapped her pointer finger against his palm, a sign she wanted his attention. When he glanced at her, she seemed rather nervous.

“Here comes yet another princess. I think we should go inside for now, Brother. It is beginning to grow too warm for Olabisi.” Olufemi spoke as she curled her arm into the crook of his. Olabisi did the same. Both girls made it rather clear that they owned Atem’s free time. They steered him away from their current path onto one leading to their private hall.

“What would entertain my sisters for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Why do we not plan your speech to the people when Usire is present as Prince-Consort? They love the speeches more when you have planned them with us.”

“Of course. I think well when I have you both helping me. I miss Yugi. I hope Ra allows him to come home soon.” Atem sighed longingly. He really missed his husband. The night before was the first in almost a lunar cycle that he had slept alone. He hadn’t slept well, without Yugi’s lithe form snuggled into his. The bed had felt so empty.

“You should rest a little first. We can see that you have not slept well.” He nodded, letting the twins guide him to his chambers. When they arrived, he watched them cross the hall to their own joined rooms. Atem sighed softly, taking his earrings off as he entered his sanctuary. He stripped his jewelry languidly, along with his clothing. A humid breeze flowed over his bared skin as he climbed into the bed.

“Come home to me soon, my dragon. We have only been parted for less than a day, and I miss you so.”

[marumafan]

Yuuram in Novel 2

Novel 2. ch.1 -Yuuri describing Wolf -

An angel and a demon are standing in the open doorway: the master of this castle, Lord Gwendal von Voltaire, making his entrance to the Love Theme from The Godfather, and a Vienna Boy Choir OB-style pretty boy, Lord Wolfram von Bielefelt.

(...)

Lord Wolfram von Bielefelt, on the other hand, is my twin in stature and physique, but angelically handsome. If you didn't know he was Mazoku, you'd think he was God's greatest masterpiece. Glittering gold hair, white skin, long eyelashes, and emerald-green eyes. But that damn arrogance of his makes him sound like a yapping Pomeranian.

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

Novel 2. ch.1

- Settling things -

I prick up my ears at these dirty goings-on of the adult world, but Wolfram roughly jerks my head back. His lake's bottom green eyes meet mine.

Target: lock on.

"How dare you vanish from right in front of us after saying that you would become this country's king?! I was going settle things with you properly after you were safely done with the coronation ceremony!"

"Se-settle? I told you, I'm fine with a tie!...or no, if you still find it that hard to swallow, then let's just say I lost, okay? 'Cause ultimately that duel was like one of those things where an exchange of blows forged a friendship, you know?"

(...)

"You were pretty strong, and I gave it my best too, so why don't we just leave it at that? We don't have to go into all of that stuff about duels and revenge again."

"That's not any kind of...hey, Yuuri! What is the meaning of this?! You're not wearing the gold bird I gave you, but you have Conrart's pendant...?!"

(...)

"You can't deceive me, Yuuri! You're too lacking in prudence. Well, yes, I guess...you're somewhat good-looking...just a bit...so you can't help but be a temptation..."

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 2. ch.2

- Ship -

You're late!"

Why is Wolfram sitting so regally on the double bed?!

I'm guessing that the gob-smacked look on Conrad's face means that he didn't expect this either.

"From the looks of it, this room is normally reserved for newly-weds. I presume Your Ma...my young masters are still in their prenuptial period...?"

"...I have no idea who's responsible for this mix-up either."

The next while is devoted to Wolfram being violently seasick, and so the afternoon passed.

(...)

Wolfram, who stalked us to the ship and smuggled himself on board, ended up in front of the toilet as soon as we set sail. Now he's bedridden and refuses to eat or drink anything, even water. He can't even quarrel with me. With his ruffled gold hair straggling down blanched cheeks and eyes lightly closed, he looks like an angel who's fallen to earth and in despair because he cannot return home.

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 2. ch.3

-Just so you know, Japanese people never say anything when you sneeze-

"Achoo!"

"Gesundheit!" I answer on cue in a conditioned response to Wolfram's cute little sneeze, which sounds like something a manga character might make, as I rummage through my luggage and toss everything out of the clothes chest.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.4

-Closet scene-

Even though Wolfram could not have guessed at my feelings, his hand falls on mine. We huddle together in the cramped space of the too-small-to-be-called-a-walk-in closet, shivering.

No, I'm the only one who's shivering.

Wolfram is a soldier, after all. Even if he's not used to playing such a dangerous game of hide-and-seek, it can't be his first time.

"...Are you okay, Yuuri?"

"O-of course I am!"

I grip the hand touching mine, closing my eyes, and hang my head.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

He's not laughing at me, is he?

It's just...it's not just that I'm frightened, not even that I'm scared stiff—it's this silence, this tension, that is unbearably painful...

My roommate seems to read my mind. He whispers, "Like Conrart said, don't do anything rash if we're found. They're not going to kill you if you don't resist, 'cause you've got such good looks."

"Then you'd better not do anything either. You're several times cuter than me. No one would kill someone as pretty as you."

"No way. I am a warrior of the Mazoku; if I don't fight, I can't be allowed to live."

"That's stupid."

"Shush!"

(...)

"Wolfram! Don't, there're too many of them!" "Shut up!" "I'm begging you, Wolf! Stop it...that's an order!" He freezes and without looking at me allows the sword to drop. (...after getting caught...)

"I hear you're on your honeymoon, an' want to be sold together." Unwinding his turban, Wolfram asks me, "Honeymoon?" "Don't know anything about it," I reply from my position on the floor, not yet recovered from the shock of the sailor uniforms.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.5

- Maou-

He lifts his eyes when he reaches the approximate center of the deck and stares sharply at the man right in front of him with the one black eye not obscured by contacts.

"...Yuuri?" Wolfram calls, forgetting his alias, but Yuuri doesn't seem to hear.

Taken aback, he grabs Yuuri's hand. With the exception of his index finger, it's icy cold.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.6 -Random inner monologue-

The third son is standing in the doorway, still in his bathrobe. His beautiful eyebrows are knit in an exaggerated frown.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.6

-casual yuuram-  “(...)His Excellency looks like he's still deep in dreamland."

Pretty boys, like pretty girls, have low blood pressure. Wolfram rubs his eyes adorably and pulls the rough blanket close.

"Wolfram, you'll be late for school if you go back to sleep. You can nap in first period math class."

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.6

---Yuuri teaching Wolf the Lamaze technique to stay awake---

The boat starts listing slightly. Wolfram is starting to doze off next to me.

"Wah, Wolf, don't fall asleep! We're turning, we're going to start going around in circles—!"

"Hrmm."

"Not hrmm! Row! Row, come on! Pull-and-push, pull-and-push, heeheefuu, heeheefuu."

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.7

-Equally tired-

Conrad and Josak nonchalantly raise the white porcelain teacups to their lips, but Wolfram and I are both shaking right down to our fingertips and don't even have the energy left to slurp our drinks.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.7

-happy times-

"I'll go with you tomorrow." "Huh?" He can't give me any real help even if he comes with me. Even Conrad, who could make short work of any sword master, couldn't move a finger to help me. But Wolfram is indifferent to my private waffling. He folds his arms and says rather happily, "Since you're a total henachoko." "Stop calling me a henachoko!" Ah.

The selfish prince with the angelic features and clear emerald eyes that remind you of the bottom of a lake. Abbreviate half-ironically, and you get selfish Puu.

Wolfram always goes right to the point. He throws himself straight into any challenge.

He bores into both my mitt and my chest, but it's kinder and gentler than a lie.

"What? What are you grinning about?" "...I was just thinking, it's been a while." "What has?" "You calling me a henachoko."

"That's because you left the country. You left your people and your land to the care of others. You have no sense or consciousness of being a king. What's wrong with calling a henachoko a henachoko?" "Nothing."

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.7 -Closetting -

"Okay, then why don't I dump you? 'I'm sorry, let's call it quits?'" "Don't you dare! It would be a blow to my self-respect!" "Oh, oh riiight, then why don't you reject me? 'I refuse your proposal.' I think my pride would be able to handle it just fine. I was the one in the wrong, so no help for it." "I can't do that!" "Why not? Is there some kind of rule about that? Some sort of religious reason?" "Shut up!" Wolfram stands straight up and opens the corner door without another word. "Aaah, Wolf! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was wrong! I'm apologizing, so don't lock yourself up in the closet!"

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.7 -Equally frustrated-

Wolfram, who has no interest in human festivals, goes to bed immediately after finishing his wine. I feel like getting drunk and airing all my grievances too, but I'm not going to smoke or drink as long as there's still any possibility that I haven't reached my full height yet. Instead, I lie in bed tracking the moon's course.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.8 -Angel of Love-

So the whole party proceeded to the hospital in the morning and ended up dashing frantically about until noon.

But even though we've run ourselves to the ground, nobody has set off on their last journey yet—in fact, no less than three people revived. We've had gratitude heaped on us, and people have even started calling Wolfram the Angel of Love. But for us it's something of a mixed blessing.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.8 -Misunderstandings-

I pounce, trying to grab it from Wolfram, and land on top of him. This is the exact moment when— "Listen to this, Young Master...oops." "..." "Am I interrupting your fun, by any chance?" Josak closes the door again. "No, no, wait! We weren't having fun, we were not having any fun of any kind, you're taking it the wrong way! This is a massive, majorly massive misunder—ow!" I've bitten my tongue. "My my, Young Masters, it's the middle of the day, so if you're going to have a dalliance, you should at least lock the door. You really shouldn't tempt your elders like this," Josak teases in the voice he uses when disguised as a woman, and enters the room.

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

Novel 2. ch.10 -Sneaking into Yuuri's room for the first time-

"Wolf...what are you doing here?!"

"What do you mean, what am I doing?"

Wolfram, lying on his stomach and dressed like a madam after her bath, kicks his legs.

"I sneaked over for a night crawl."

"Night crawl?! A-as in, when a g-g-g-guy secretly crawls into a bed..."

"For a rendezvous?"

"Yeah, rendezvous...no no no no, that's not what I mean! The guy crawls into a woman's bed...!"

Now he's got me going at his pace.

Wolfram half-rises, scowling, a hand placed imperiously on his hip. He looks like pretty boy who's hit the mat after a knockdown, for those with the taste for it.

"If I had to wait for you, you'd never come to a decision."

"Um, incidentally, what sort of a decision are you looking for...?" My voice trails off as he sways his hips closer.

The Mazoku ex-prince's face brightens, and he pulls me down by the arm.

"Wah!"

"Are we any closer to a decision yet?"

"No!"

I'm terrified just thinking about what sort of decision this might be. I'm not going to lose my life or anything, but I do feel like there's something else I'm going to lose. I desperately extract myself, fly into the bathroom and lock the door.

"Yuuri!"

"Wait wait wait! I gotta take a bath first, okay?! You don't wanna do anything with a sweaty guy either, right?!"

Do...? I blanch at my own words.

My head and nose both prickle, and I stagger, suddenly dizzy.

"Yuuri! Hey, open the door!"

"No!"

Unable to keep upright any longer, I sit down on the rim of the tub

"Blooploop."

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

Yuuram in Novel : 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17

[dungeonsandberries]

Session 5: The Slums of Tidesoria

We were called to submit to inspection by the guards. I heard that they are sometimes more lenient towards pretty girls, and so I began to lay on all the well-practiced adulation I was accustomed to giving the guests of my master. My ploy worked a bit too well, I think, as the lecherous look the guards were giving me made me fearful that they would expect more of me than honeyed words and the potential for my favor.

Thankfully, a nobleman was present overseeing the guards who recognized Felfedau. A young, honorable man named Adal. He seemed to think well of her and demanded the guards let us pass, and scolded them for trying to take advantage of the situation. I laid on a bit myself as revenge, reminding them that one of the women they were so taken with was a priestess of the goddess of death, and that she might mention this moment during her evening prayers.

Colet met back up with us when we got inside, staying true to his promise. He even stayed with us during our trips through Tidesoria in case we needed anything else. I didn’t think his aid would be needed, but I admired his desire to return Maevia’s favor.

Tidesoria was a far cry from the refined courts I used to occupy and perform for, but after a week of overland travel, it seemed like a veritable oasis in the desert. I did enjoy the beauty of nature and the freedom to do as I pleased, but game meat could not compare to gourmet food, and a hot bath was welcome after the days of bathing in frigid rivers. I admit I may have spent a bit much, but I don’t regret a single copper I spent.

I met back up with the others in Tidesoria’s market, where I replaced my rope, and almost spent far too much gold on a nice dress I saw. I reminded myself that the only reason I could afford the dress is because of Veilour, and he did not gift me that coin just for me to spend it on such frivolous things. I did pick up the journal that I am now writing in, however.

Marv lead us to an auction house, where Felfedau was able to acquire an interesting magic item: a coat with magical pockets that could store a large amount of material without weighing down the wearer. We should make a point of coming back here whenever we cross through Tidesoria, as we may have far more gold in our possession with which to bid on these magical trinkets.

Marv lead us towards the slums as night began to fall, and our party noticed that we’d been stalked by a peculiar rat during our whole stay. We identified it as a plagued rat which carried a strange magical disease, and we tracked it down and killed it. I thought it strange that such a simple pest animal should have the intelligence to stalk us all day, so I suspected a wizard’s familiar, but my magic saw no evidence that it was anything but a mindless beast.

Either way, the fighting caused quite a bit of commotion, making Marv apologize to the residents. I found this peculiar, as I had already figured him to be a gruff low-life, and it would serve as a precursor to the shocking revelation within Marv’s home.

He lead us to a large boarding house, where a number of people resided happily and greeted Marv warmly. We also found out that he had an adopted son, an energetic and adorable boy named Jimmy, as well as a gorgeous amami girlfriend named Maybel. This was not at all what I expected out of the home of an emaciated orc with a drug addiction.

Marv explained to us that it was Jimmy who could help us identify the Phantom’s Teardrop and my collar. The boy had a way with magic items, it seemed. I was skeptical, but we had come all the way here, so I thought it was worth a shot. Jimmy took the Teardrop first, and retreated into his room to examine it.

We spent only a few hours in the company of Marv’s friends, and yet they were some of the most pleasant I can remember. These people lived in a run down house in the slums, having to share food with each other to survive, and yet they seemed genuinely happy. They contrasted in every way from the nobles I once served, who had all the amenities one could desire, but they were surrounded by sycophants. It was these people who deserved the comforts of wealth, I thought. So I did for them what I could, playing my music for them as we waited for Jimmy to finish his examinations.

Jimmy came through for us. He revealed a tricky curse upon the Phantom’s Teardrop. The fact it looked like it could stab the wielder was intentional. The weapon would graft to the wielder’s arm, effectively replacing their hand. A steep price to pay for its power.

With that done, I looked at Veilour, and realized he had accomplished his goals with us. I feared this might mean he would leave us soon. I also realized in that moment that I would have to depart to avoid bringing bounty hunters down upon Marv’s friends and family. I pushed these thoughts out of my mind as I moved with Jimmy into his room to let him inspect my collar.

Jimmy was able to unlock the secrets behind it after a short while. I was relieved that it simply required a more powerful Remove Curse spell. Marv cautioned me that finding such a powerful spellcaster would be difficult, but it didn’t matter to me. I at least knew what I was looking for, now. He then surprised me by saying he was looking into a theory of his to get my collar off. I didn’t know what to say to his generosity, but I will have to turn him down, I think. I simply cannot in good conscience risk bringing trouble to his door.

We sat down for the dinner that Maevia and Felfedau helped prepare for us, while Marv abstained to another room in the house. He emerged a short time later, visibly disturbed, and ran out of the house. When he returned, he was in a panic, and began to ward the house against intruders. It seemed as though that plagued rat may have been a sign of something more sinister after all, as Marv suspected evil magic was afoot.

Our group immediately came to his aid, and not long after getting outside, we were ambushed by a ghastly frog creature, who focused its attention on Felfedau, trying to steal the valuable gem Artolus had given us. Maevia and Veilour ran to her assistance, but I only had just realized we were under attack when the frog’s accomplice made their presence known.

The world went black. I could see only darkness. A terrible, frigid cold descended upon me. My white dragon heritage afforded me more resistance to the cold than most, yet even I felt chilled to the bone. Terrible, indecipherable whispers surrounded me, along with a horrid slurping sound, and I could feel… things moving around me, things which I feel as though I should be grateful I could not see amid the blackness.

But I was not alone in there. Marv was there with me. Using his magic, he banished the darkness, allowing me to see our friends once again as they put down the frog beast. But I could not think of them, only of the horrors I had been subjected to. Only a few seconds had passed, but they felt like an eternity.

Then Marv located the source of the magic: an evil wizard. I felt more hatred towards him than any I had known for what he just did to me. It is fortunate that Maevia got to him before I could, and knocked him out so we could question him, for I fear that I may have killed him in my rage.

We pulled him into an alley, where Colet followed us for some reason. I felt slightly suspicious of him at this point, but a quick glance into his thoughts showed no sign of treachery. So instead, I turned my magic upon the wizard, probing into his brain to find answers for why he was attacking us.

Before he realized what I was doing, I tore a name from his mind: Lord Aurmilx, the infinite lord of the sea, which he needed our gem for in order to summon. It was then he realized what I was doing, and forced me out of his mind, and blocked me from further attempts at scrying him for information, other than the words “base” and “north.” No doubt that this was the same water cult that had taken over Artolus’s base.

Maevia and I were content to torture him for more information. Felfedau stepped in on his behalf, insisting against it. We then thought to kill him, but the man almost seemed to want to die, so I advised against that course of action, as well. We ruled out handing him over to the guards, because if the gate guards were any indication, they were corrupt. They also might just execute him.

Then we remembered Felfedau’s monastery. A church of the death goddess would make a fitting prison for a cultist, we decided. So we dragged him through the city, somehow avoiding contact from the guards as we went, heading to Felfedau’s church...