#i literally feel like i need to go to my chamber and hide in bed for the next week he took all the social out of me

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

In Time

Feyd Rautha x Y/N - drabble part 2 - 1.4K WC

Part 1

Masterlist

Warnings: holy fluff, like all fluff, literally nothing but sweet sweet fluff

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You and Feyd stood across from each other in your shared chamber. The wedding had gone off without a hitch, it was much darker than you imagined. Darker in the sense that it was made well known that you were to submit to Feyd. You had not been allowed to see each other after the initial engagement and your thoughts were getting the better of you. You worried once the deed was done, once you were officially married and bound to each other, he might not be the man you met. The kind, inquisitive one who craved gentleness. Perhaps he truly was the Feyd Rautha everyone feared. 

You toddled your feet, looking everywhere but at him. He stepped closer and you instinctively took a step back. “My apologies my Lord Na-Baron.” you said quietly.

“Do not apologize. Are you scared?” he asked, remaining where he was. 

“A bit.” you replied, fidgeting with your hands.

“Of me?” he asked, you could see a hint of pain behind his gaze.

You flicked your eyes to him. He could tell without getting a verbal answer from you that you were afraid of him. He felt a small pang in his chest, and yet, he understood your hesitation. 

“I do not expect anything from you,” he reassured, “but… I would like to get to know you.” he said. 

You took a small step towards him, “… but… do we not have… duties to perform?” you asked shakily, eyes wandering to the bed. 

He could feel the fear radiating off of you, “No. Not until you are ready.” he said with certainty. 

You raised your eyebrows slightly, not expecting him to cater to you in such a way given how much pressure is put on the production of an heir. 

“Why don’t you bathe, change into something comfortable, and we can talk then? I’ll do the same… in separate quarters, for your comfort.” he said walking backwards towards the door.

You nodded, watching him walk out. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in before moving to the bathroom. You began discarding all the intricate accessories in your hair, on your neck, on your arms, and finally your dress. You looked at the black paint that was put on your body before the wedding. War paint. Was this marriage going to be a war? You ran yourself a bath, watching the black streak off your body slowly. You sunk down, letting the water envelope you completely. You felt peace here, underwater and away from everything. Alas, peace cannot last forever. Not on Geidi Prime. 

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Feyd re-entered your shared chamber. It felt sterile. Feyd could hear you in the bath still, so he decided to have the maids bring in different foods before activating different lights around the room, casting soft indirect light around. He sat on the sprawling couch in nothing but comfortable pants, his war paint also washed off his torso. He was on display and felt like he needed armor at this moment. He felt vulnerable. Lost in thought he almost didn’t realize the bathroom door slid open. His head snapped up, you wore the silken black night clothes the maids had left for you. Your face was bare and your hair was still damp; he had never seen someone so real, so beautiful. Speechless, he motioned for you to sit on the couch with him. 

“What’s all this?” you asked, looking around at the lights and different trays of foods. 

“I figured it might take us a while to learn about each other.” he said with a shy smile. 

You nodded, afraid to start the conversation.

“We shouldn’t hide anything from one another, agreed?” he said, grabbing a strange looking black fruit. 

You nodded, “Where would you like to start?” you asked him, keeping your eyes on him, trying to study him.

“What is your favorite color?” he asked.

You chuckled at the trivial question, “It’s black… more a lack of color really.” you smiled softly.

“Well you’re on the right planet if that’s the case.” he said.

You laughed at his comment, a true laugh. He had never heard something so enchanting. “I can ask anything, yes?” you asked.

He nodded, reaching to hand you a slice of the fruit he was eating. 

You took it graciously, ”Why are your teeth black? Only your darlings had black teeth from what I’ve seen.” you said.

“You know of my darlings?” he asked with wide eyes, as if he had been caught.

“I’m not stupid, I know the needs of bored men.” you said as you ate the fruit.  

“I dismissed them, they… they were concubines. Nothing more, I swear it.” he rushed out.

“It’s alright Feyd. Now, my question needs an answer.” you waved off his worries.

“I - I’m afraid it's a rather shallow answer… They are considered beautiful on Geidi Prime. Pure vanity I suppose.” he smiled, showing his blackened teeth. 

You nodded, satisfied with his answer. “Your turn.” you said as you picked up random foods to try.

“What else can your eyes do?” he asked, eating with you.

You smiled perkily, excited someone was interested in your invention. “Night vision, stunning, even managed a laser in one. Mostly they are for seeing but they have all sorts of ‘hidden features’. I particularly enjoy the thermal vision, helps me see what people are concealing.” you said showing Feyd each setting as you spoke. 

“Magic indeed.” he smiled. 

Throughout your conversation you shifted closer to him, hours passed learning continuously about each other. The conversation flowed smoothly, as if you had known each other for years.

“What are your scars from?” you asked, pointing to the scattered marks. 

Feyd fell quiet, fingers deftly tracing over a few of them. “The Baron is not kind. He… ever since I was small he…” you saw the hurt and hate in Feyd’s eyes. 

You nudged him with your knee but got no reaction. You softly pushed him back on the couch so he was relaxing against the back of it. You watched him with cautious eyes, you stood before straddling him. It felt slightly awkward at first but once you found your bearings you pressed him to you in a tight hug, arms wrapping around his neck to hold him. He wasted no time reciprocating. 

“You won't be hurt anymore, I swear.” you said to him before finally leaning back. Your lips were dangerously close. Your breaths mingled, both your eyes wandering between each other's eyes and lips. You leaned in, Feyd met you halfway. The kiss was soft, hesitant. Yet the longer it went on the more you craved him. You felt his hands slide to your hips, squeezing your supple flesh. You let out a small whimper, causing both of you to stop and stare at each other. 

You chuckled, “I have much to learn in the areas of intimacy, husband.” you said to him. 

Feyd chuckled, stealing a kiss before he responded with a hum, “Wife.” he smiled hazily. 

“Do you have other questions?” he asked, kissing your fingers softly. 

“What do you expect of me as your wife?” you asked, expecting him to say children.

“Nothing… except…” he hesitated.

“What?” you said tilting his chin up to meet your eyes. He looked… afraid. Something you never thought you would see.

“It is foolish.” he waved you off.

“Tell me anyway.” you asked, almost begging to know.

“Love… and even then I do not expect it but… I wish for it. For something I have never had.” his head fell, as if he expected you to strike him for asking this.

You cradled his face in your palms, “Who’s to say the seed of love has not already been planted between us? Who’s to say it doesn’t bloom more and more each moment I am with you?” you pecked his lips, eyes finding his when you pulled back. “We have both been neglected of love we deserve, of love we crave. I wish for nothing more than to love and be loved, Feyd.” you said in a genuine and vulnerable tone. You had never been so honest with someone and you doubt he had either. A smile graced his lips as he held you close to him. You messed with your wrist control panel before blinking, your pupils shifting into the shape of a heart.

Feyd laughed at your cute antic, “Magic eyed beauty.” he mumbled out. 

You laughed in return, “Fearless pretty boy.” you kissed his nose.

“Pretty?” he scoffed.

“Very pretty indeed.” you said, doubling down on your statement, hugging him once more.

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Naboo's Note:

IDK how I feel about this, I wasn't planning on doing a part 2 but somebody requested it so let me know what ya'll think. Am I making him too soft? I can always write him a bit more psycho lol. Post again soon, XOXOXOXOXOOXOXXO

[nocturn-warrior]

Fall onto him like a pillow

Alucard x reader

Summary: Alucard feels sad and you decide to chill him up

Rating: fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: oral (male receiving), mentions of traumas, feeding (in a non kinky way), body worship (male receiving), kinda sub Alucard, reader's gender is not specified but i wrote this thinking about a female

This fic was inspired by @kundool 's adorable fanart

sorry if it has a bad writting, i literally lost all my progress because tumblr didn't save it and posted the incomplete fanfic.

It was a normal fall grey sort of day. You and Alucard had bought some groceries at the village. Even though the villagers insisted in giving their products freely to you two after all you and your friends have done for them, Alucard felt it was not fair to simply accept the groceries they put they worked so hard during the year. So Alucard and you would always bring them old itens that were only accumulating mold and memories.

All was well, so far. He greeted the old ladies, played with the orphans who became your children at heart and happilly chose the groceries in the wooden boxes.

But comming back home as you were sniffling a wild rose you have picked from a bush and rambling about funny events and gossips the old ladies have told you during your brief statement, you noticed Alucard stood stoic and silent, just answering your words with quick chuckles, not continuing the conversation and keeping his head bowed down

Usually he would connect your thoughts with his, adding something quirky or an accid comment about the situation, but not today.

"Adrian? Is everything alright?"

You ask, slowing your pace and making him look at you. He takes some seconds to answer a languid "yes, i am just mentally tired". He wasn't alright, you knew. You don't insist, though. Just follow your way towards the castle, trying to pull a true smile from his face but the results are the same.

The wide doors of the castle open as you two approach and close once you are inside. Alucard's behavior is more of the same; he helps you to place the groceries at the kitchen, but remains silent. A deep breath leaves his mouth before he turns towards the door.

"I am going to read a bit, my dear."

Although you wanted to comfort him, respecting Alucard's alone moments was something you tried your best to do. He isn't a child, after all. But you can't resist to the urge of comforting your lover.

"Adrian, here..."

You say, placing the wild rose you've collected behind his ear. You caress his chin:

"If you need me, i am here, alright?"

He smiles understandably before desappearing in the dark hallways of your home way to your chambers.

The hours pass by. You distract yourself sewing some torn spots in your clothes you don't even notice sun is starting to set. You must have dozed off.

Immediatly, your mind goes to Alucard. You fear his isolation was a form of asking for your comfort amd you just left him alone with his thoughts.

Quickly climbing up the almost infinite stairs, you reach your bedroom and before you could even thump your finger onto the door, you hear that unmistakable sniffling you've heard so many times before.

He hated when you saw him like that, no matter if you have already done it one million times. But you had to comfort him.

The dhampir who was knealing down in front of the bed, face buried in the plush cushion, has a little jumpscare when you sudden open the door and quickly wipes away the tears with the loose silk of his shirt. As if a simple motion could hide he was crying for hours.

"Aw, Adrian my love..."

You rush to him, knealing down by his side and placing caressing his back softly as he tries to put himself together. Adrian didn't know why exactly he was crying so no words could possibly leave his throat. It was only a deep, rooted feeling of dispair and grief.

All he did was turn to you, swallowing his tears before they could drown him. In moments like these, all he craved was your touch. You open your arms to him and Adrian quickly attaches himself onto your body, head resting against your chest as he sniffles looking at an empty spot of the room.

While caressing his back in soothing motions like a mother calming down a sobbing baby, you have an idea of how you could calm him down: cooking his favorite treat; strawberry muffins filled with jam, and a nice cup of chamomille tea.

You wait until he has completly calmed down so you could pull off from the hug and prepare the little surprise for your lover.

"You wet all my shirt with your tears, my love. Do you have a water dam behind those pretty eyes of yours?"

You joke to make sure he is completly fine and you can feel the vibrations of his chuckling as he is still with his head against your bosom. Slowly you pull off and tilt up his chin:

"Take some bath, my love. Dress a comfortable nightgown, get cozy in bed and wait for me. I will prepare something that will chill you up"

Curiously, Alucard nods his head, looking at you with those dewy amber eyes which long lashes are glued due to the tears. He already imagines what you are going to do and he would love to help you with the baking, but you insist for him to rest.

You want to spoil him that night in every way possible.

Alucard takes some minutes to put himself together looking at a spot in the room and envying it's emptiness. He wishes he could rest his mind just for a second, forget all of those thoughts that crushed him. But following your sweet order, the dhampir heads to the bathing room. He fills up the tub with huge buckets and relaxes in it.

All the while you are preparing the dough of the muffins, looking in an old book of recipes that belonged to Lisa. Your lover and you always look for an advice in this tome, cooking together is one of your favorite activities.

Fourty minutes later, Alucard is already settled nicely on bed. His hair is wet and loose, he wears his usual white nightgown and hugs your pillow, sniffling it to pretend this is your body. That way, tears wouldn't come back.

Checking out the muffins, you smile widely seeing they are already baked, and with a cooking glove, you pick up the sweet treats. The scent was so good Alucard could feel it from your room.

You place the small cakes in a plate. Four of them: two for you, two for Alucard. And while you wait for them to cool up a bit, you prepare the chamomille tea.

The door delicatedly opens and Alucard's eyes light up seeing you enter holding the plate. If he was crying you couldn't tell, but some little sniffles leave his nose before he sits up properly.

In the moment he smoothly moves, you can see your lover is not wearing underwears, which causes tingles in your groin, but you try to focus on pampering him with you cooking.

"Here"

You sit by his side, brushing his hair behind his ear and placing the plate on top of a pillow. Slowly, you cut a piece of the muffin, the hot strawberry jam drips from it, and takes a forkful towards Alucard's mouth.

The man softly hums, his eyes squinting together adorably as he appreciates the bite. You clean the jam from the corner of his lips and lick it from your finger.

"Do you like it?"

Alucard nods, his expression is no longer miserable as the one he had hours before, though his face is still puffy from crying.

"Thank you for doing these things to me even when i don't deserve"

He says with a sad smile. You hate to see Adrian put himself down like this. It took you so much time to make him forgive himself and perceive his own qualities that every breakdown felt like it all was starting again. Once he swallowed the bite, you gently shove another forkful into his mouth.

“You deserve this and so much more.”

You smile, seeing his cute surprised expression. Leaning your head onto his shoulder, you watch Alucard grab the book he was reading before you arrived and the two of you share the muffins while reading out loud, switching the narrator from page to page.

Alucard gives the delicious muffin a last bite and finishes drinking the chamomile tea. Leaving a pleased relaxed sigh, he leaves the empty cup and the book over the nightstand. Your heart instantly flutters, seeing how your love appreciated your little spoiling.

Through the thin silk of his nightshirt, you could see the pink tone of his cock. You itched to, instead of attaching your lips onto the strawberry treat, suck on his shaft until his so much sweeter seed spilled into your mouth. You wanted to drive him mad with pleasure.

“How do you feel now?”

You ask, finishing your tea. He was visibly feeling better now, though his face was still puffy from the previous crying and his eyes were still red. The dhampir chuckles, softly patting his toned abdomen:

“Full.”

“Show me, then.”

You grin and Adrian knows exactly your game, but he plays is obliviously, slowly rising up the nightshirt and showing his almost imperceptibly distended torso along with that pretty thin waist of his and of course, his pink flushed cock which head rested on the plush bed.

God, you wanted to worship every inch of his body: from his collar, his chest, to his godly abs. how could a being be so magnificently, ethereally beautiful? Alucard looked like the incarnation of Apollo and you wanted to praise that body of his so hard, you couldn’t contain your arousal now.

Your fingers traced around his nipples, travelling down to his stomach. Alucard's heartbeat increased as you felt onto him like a pillow, pinned him down on the bed and started kissing from his neck to down his bellybutton, touching and praising every inch of his skin.

Stopping in there, you looked down at his blushy face, eyes begging for you to slid lower and lower. But you wanted to hear the words coming from his sweet lips:

"Love, please"

He whimpers and you smirk, scooting down until you are knealing but your higher body is over his groin, his cock juts on your chest, hard and urging to be sucked.

When he felt the heat of your mouth meeting his cock, Adrian gripped onto the she sheets. His golden hair was spread on the bed like sunlight in a lake. You begin slowly, twirling your tongue around the pink head as your hand caressed his balls.

Then, with half of the length into your mouth, you sucked it vigorously, making beautiful moans come from Alucard's throat. He is seeing heaven and squirms to the sight of it.

You hold his hips on the bed as he squirms in pleasure and feels the dash of seed climbing up his urethra, the movements you make are sensual but passionated, and all the while you look into his eyes.

His warm sperm fills up your taste buds as Alucard leaves one last but sluttiest moan. You release his cock with an audible popping sound, sitting up on bed and peering down at him with a smirk.

Just seeing your beloved in a trance of pleasure makes you wet. He is receiving the treatment he deserves. A tear of pleasure slids down his cheek as his chest rises and falls.

Putting himself together, Alucard sits up in a swift, smooth motion. He smiles gidly at you, dressing his nightwear again.

You reach out to cup his heated cheeks, they were no longer red because of crying, but because of love. You place a wet kiss on his skin, his long eyelashes flutter like the wings of a butterfly.

Adrian then snuggles onto your bosom as your back rests on the soft pillows against the bedframe. Your hand sinks under his hair, massaging his scalp in soothing, delicated movements as he relaxes to your touch, blushing at your praises.

That way, you two fall asleep for that night. And when sadness knocks on his door, you are willing to pamper him again, no matter in what way it is.

[hoarding-niffler]

OKAY, FROM THE TOP BECAUSE I HAVE THOUGHTS! (And yes, I know a lot of this is simply “because it adds to the gameplay”, but I will still adapt my headcanons accordingly, that’s why they’re headcanons.)

1. Finally, the holy grail, the door to Aesop Sharp’s chambers. 

2. This man is very... reduced in his decor. Minimalistic. There are no unnecessary embellishments aside from the odd picture here and there, but I honestly think those came with the room and weren’t things Aesop brought with him when he took up his post as teacher. Instead, you can find a myriad of potion ingredients, flasks, cauldrons and research notes, showing how dedicated he is to find a cure for his injury (and to mark his students’ exams probably). Everything he owns serves a specific purpose. He also seems to enjoy the odd drink here and there, if the non-descript bottles next to his armchair and footstool in front of the fire are anything to go by. If you like it dark, imagine those are potions against pain (but looking at the sizes of those bottles I honestly doubt it).

3. This is basically just an easter egg that I wanted to mention; if you Glacius the fireplace in his first room, you can crawl through and follow some stairs to a hidden room filled to the brim with concept art of the castle. Because of this, some people headcanon that Aesop is a great artist. While that is a cute thought and you do you, I disagree. Firstly, he’d keep his art in his room, easily accessible. He doesn’t shy away from other people’s opinions, he would have no need to hide his hobby. Secondly, a child already has to crawl through the fireplace, a grown up man with a stiff leg, probably has quite the hard time accomplishing the same. And don’t get me started on the winding stairs afterwards. It just doesn’t add up.

4. We always see him limping through the castle, but he does own a walking cane. I assume he’s either to proud to use it in front of students and staff members alike, or he only needs it if he’s walking for longer periods of time. Though, considering how many fricking STAIRS there are in Hogwarts and what a hassle it is to get to your own bed EVERY DAY, I’d say it’s pride. He might also have bad days where his leg might bother him more.

5. Not only is there a walking cane in his quarters, there’s also a wheelchair. Maybe he needed it while his injury was still fresh. Maybe St. Mungo’s provided him with it when he was released. Maybe it’s for the *really* bad days... or maybe it’s a reminder for him to hurry up with his research because he is living (and moving) on borrowed time.

6. Speaking of research, this note you can find in his room is interesting not only because of what’s written in it, but because of the state it’s in. It’s been folded and unfolded numerous times, there are stains, there are tears, you can literally imagine what this piece of paper might feel like. It’s impossible to get a papercut from this already softened material. This note has been handled, stuffed in pockets, examined and studied countless of times and it’s still around. Does that mean his research is stagnating? Are the ingredients difficult to come by? The signs of wear feel like a contrast to what’s written. 

7. Kinda cheating because you don’t find this note in his quarters, but in Professor Hecat’s. He hasn’t been an Auror for quite some time but he still feels responsible. He itches to do his old job, he told us that much. If not for his injury he’d be back in the field within the blink of an eye. He’s not afraid, he’s resourceful and tries to help in whatever ways he can. Also, he seems to have a great deal of respect for Hecat, probably because she was once an Unspeakable. Maybe they even met during his time as an Auror, who knows...

8. More cauldrons, more potion ingredients, more research notes, more seating possibilities. Seriously, his rooms are filled with chairs, settees and footrests, and I don’t think it’s because he has a lot of visitors. The only chair that really invites another person in is the second armchair in front of his smaller fireplace. The others are for him. To either put clothes on them because bending down is probably difficult with a stiff leg or to rest wherever he stands (remember the first potion lesson? He leaned against a frame, taking weight off his left leg, before immediately limping towards his desk to sit down). I imagine there are spikes of pain throughout the day and he needs to be able to sit as often as possible. 

9.  Unlike Professor Ronen, Sharp has no shaving kit in his room. Considering his uneven scruff, nobody should be surprised. He’s not one to care for appearances too much (despite wearing nice clothing but that’s just “what people do”. It’s the miminum but he won’t go out of his way, especially not if it wastes time or puts a strain on his leg), being clean and well-dressed have to be enough. He also seems to live out of his luggage, clothes are strewn about instead of lying neatly folded in the wardrobe.

10. The pièce de résistance, his bed. Simple, two pillows but only really made for one person. Interesting however, how he put some cloth over the portrait right above it. This only supports my theory that he did not choose what the walls are lined with and isn’t exactly happy about so many pairs of eyes watching him from every angle. Especially not while he’s in bed, doing Merlin knows what (like sleeping, get your mind out of the gutter. ...Jk, I’m already living in the sewers, let’s be real). 

So, what do we take from these pictures? 

Aesop Sharp is clearly single and we are absolutely ready to mingle. 

[poisonsage808]

hi sorry i've never done one of these before but i LOVE the way you write and saw that your ask requests were open so i was wondering if you'd do "Stay still, I don't want to hurt you" with Sandor Clegane from the injury prompt list?

(obsessed with how you write Sandor you're amazing)

a/n: you’re amazing! thank you, this was fun to write!

Sandor Clegane x GN!Reader

When the Hound was on the loose people ran. There were a handful of reasons he wouldn’t be bound to his prince; off duty perhaps, on an errand, but wearing such a murderous expression? Brows dipping down in irritation, lips curled somewhere between a frown and a snarl and his eyes- though no one looked into them- were burning with rage. They pray it’s not because of them because for some, it would be the last face some poor, idiot fool would ever see.

And what would have Sandor Clegane, the Hound, so fucking pissed? Hearing rumor his.. well.. he didn’t rightly know what you were to him. A drinking buddy. Perhaps. A second question arose, why he would be so fucking irritated hearing you were rushed to a maester, injured.

You’d fallen off a horse, someone whispered. He knew better than to listen to rumors, pacing himself on his way to find you. Maliciously tripped, another said and suddenly he was on a warpath.

Only to find you weren’t with any maester. No, Sandor picked the fucking stubbornest of all Westeros to attatch himself to. Not that you knew any of this, of course. Sandor was careful to hide whatever it was— whatever this is that he felt for you.

“The fuck are you doing?” He asked through grit teeth if only to keep himself from snarling the question.

He sounded angry. Livid, actually, that you were limping around the keep and that people just let you? Still, he couldn’t help but feel the smallest amount of relief that he found you.

“Going to my room.” You replied, smoothing your hand along the wall with every pathetic step.

“Stop.” Sandor ordered, moving closer from behind.

“It’s not that bad,” You barely turned your head, “I don’t need your help.”

If you thought he was pissed before, he’s downright seething now.

“I wasn’t offering my bloody help, I told you to stop!”

“No!” You take another step and your leg threatens to drop you.

“Fuckin’ stubborn…” A string of colorful curses followed under his breath as he finally decided to close the gap between you.

Sandor’s massive hand snakes around your waist but before he does anything, you flinch. What he couldn’t see is that under your clothes, where his grip came to, the outer evidence of your injury was a bruise that traveled from your hip down to your knee. You’d indeed fallen from your horse, she reared up on her hind legs after she’d been spooked by a stupid guard and threw you off.

“Let go—!”

“Stop!” He shouts and you freeze.

You stop wriggling not because you’re scared but because his voice wavers. Dare you say it almost sounded like a plea. Him? No, surely you’re mistaken, the Hound does not plead, he does not ask; he commands! And yet…

“Stay still,” He mumbled, uncharacteristically soft. So soft you think your heart stopped, “…I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Sandor carefully shifted his grip around you until you were in his arms and fully off the ground. You were both silent after that.

He carried you like this once before when you were so drunk you could hardly lift your head. He carried you all the way from the pub in Fleabottom to your chambers in the Red Keep, like you weighed absolutely nothing to him. You remember talking his good ear off, slurring about everything you could think of only to earn grunts and small chuckles in return. You remember laughing, thanking him when he literally dropped you in your bed and you remember the look he gave you before he left, but you don’t remember what you said to earn that expression.

It was soft, much like now though his eyes were ahead. This didn’t feel like then. This felt intimate.

Sandor maneuvered you in his hold so he could carry you in one hand and open your door with the other. He placed you on your bed carefully and moved away slowly. Then he turned to leave and it was as if your heart started back up again.

“Wait.” You reached out to grab him.

“I’ll be back. Gonna get a maester.”

“Sandor.”

He stilled completely.

“Can you just,” You sighed with a tiny, nervous smile, “stay with me for a bit? I don’t feel like being prodded and poked at just yet.”

The beast of a man hesitated, something else you swear was impossible for him.

“What would you have me do? Sit here and be useless?” Sandor growled over his shoulder.

“You’d be comforting me.” You say earnestly, “We drink in silence most of the time, this wouldn’t be too different, would it?”

He shakes his head and scoffs but it turns into a chuckle, “You wouldn’t know silence if it hit you in the forehead. Talk too damn much.”

You roll your eyes, “Well this is the first I’ve heard of you complaining about it so you must not mind that much.”

Sandor shakes his head again, offering silence as his answer. He watches the way you pat the unoccupied space on your bed, on the opposite side of your injured leg. Sandor rolls his eyes to let you know how begrudging he is to do this for you, but he still does it.

You may not remember but this is what you asked him that night you were belligerent. ‘Please.. stay with me?’ you’d asked so sweetly, your eyes already closing when he made it to the door, ‘Sandor.. stay.’

He chalked it up to you being drunk but you were sober now and probably in pain. Pain you believed he could soothe? Sandor wished he could scoff at the idea. However your head rested on his armored bicep, eyes closed with a small smile on your face. He very well couldn’t deny it now, could he?

He may not know what you are to him just yet but he can confidently assume.. no, he doesn’t mind at all.

♡ do not enter is written in the doorway. why cant everybody just go away? except you. you can stay. ♡

[hils79]

Hils Watches Mysterious Lotus Casebook - Ep 38

I'm quite tired after a day of adventuring but @dancing-out-in-space and @hphaeton said this is a good episode and I deserve a treat on my birthday so let's do this :D

Yeah, girlboss your way into world domination with your enslaved malewife

I mean everyone else in this seems to be poly. Why don't you marry Di Feisheng and have Li Lianhua as your concubine

Uh...holy shit?

Is he going to rescue Di Feisheng?? :D :D :D

Di Feisheng: refuses speak or even to even open his eyes to look at Jiao Liqiao even after she stabs him Jiao Liqiao: Oh, btw, Li Xiangyi is also locked up here Di Feisheng: bitch, I will kill you

"Are you enjoying me chained up, bloody and sweaty?" Love that he knows Li Lianhua is there even though Di Feisheng has his eyes closed and Li Lianhua is hiding around a corner behind a screen.

Please say 'I'd rather have you'

They're going to hide...in the wedding chamber...

They're hiding in the wedding chamber and they're both in their underwear. I mean I know Di Feisheng can barely move but still!

Di Feisheng: There's a high probability that what I'm about to do will kill me Li Lianhua: How dare! I just saved you!

I am having a lot of feelings about the fact that Di Feisheng gave his energy to Li Lianhua and now Li Lianhua is returning the favour. They are inside each other now.

I don't think I have ever seen either of them smile and laugh so openly like this. I need to go and lie down.

IN A BRIDAL CHAMBER NO LESS! I'm fine. Also, I love that they have somehow managed to find clothes in their exact size and individual styles

There's only one bed. Just saying.

Dude you literally just had a moment about stopping challenging him to a fight

Are they seriously pausing their romantic alone time IN THE BRIDAL CHAMBER to solve a mystery

Oh no! I love him.

XIAOBAO IS HERE TO SAVE HIS MAN

DAMN SON

I mean every time he did anything you accused him of being evil again but yes you were right about him

The OT3 is a proper OT3 now with no hidden agendas or secrets between then. And I think Li Lianhua and Di Feisheng got re-married so that's cool.

[beezbeeza]

Husband!Sukuna x f!reader smut under🥰

Imagine waiting for ur dear husband!sukuna in your chambers just laying in bed. You see, you and him have NOT had sex for over 2 weeks and you were really really really horny so of course you needed to let it out somehow.

Thats where your fingers came to help. You slowly opened ur kimono and massaged circles on youre inner thighs while thinking about all the lewd things your husband could do to you and you let ur index finger sink into your pussy. You started pumping it in and out which made you into a moaning mess and you repeatedly moaned “s-sukuna” soon you inserted your middle finger which made your eyes roll back. You bit yours lips when your curled your fingers in the spongy area in ur pussy.

Sadly youre fingers could not go as deep as sukuna’s but you were about to reach your orgasm as you pumped in and put faster and suddenly you could feel thick liquid dripping down your thigh as you were left panting.

Suddenly the door opened and you saw a silhouette of a 6 foot man that was your… husband😨 he slowly walked towards you and you covered your mess and your face as your face turned a bright red. “Who are you hiding from darling?..” you tried to speak but was speechless

“come on use your big girl words”

“I- i missed you… my darling”

He moved your hands away and slurped all your juices UP. That man literally slurped all your cum up like it was his last day on earth (quite literally)

“Open up your legs mama”

You obediently opened your legs up and sukuna dips his head into your clit and sucked on it and you moaned LOUDLY that even uraume and the maids knew what the flip flop both of you were up to.

Sukuna did not give a shit about your moans and how hard you were tugging on this poor mans pink hair. He star ye d rubbing circles on your clit to overstimulate you until tears dared to pour out of your eyes.

“Ngh~ g-gon- *moan* cu..”

“Youre gonna what my queen?” He asked with a playful smirk on his face

“I-i.. need to c-cum” as he started to lap at your clit faster until you could feel the knot in your stomach release which made you moan loudly and tug at his hair

“You feel good now my wife?” He chuckled as you slapped his shoulder lightly.

“Soo you wanna shower now and sleep or you wanna rest first hm?”

You chose the first option and your husband carried your fragile body to the washroom and showered with you and tucked you in your bed. He was about to get comfortable before you placed his head onto your head and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Good night my big husband” you said softly which made his chest flutter

“Goodnight my sweet wife :)” he replied with the cheekiest smile that only you could ever see..

[theviceadmiralswife]

The vice admirals and their bedrooms

Salute recruits and soldiers to this sassy Saturday ⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️

Ever wondered what the bedrooms of the vice admirals look like , fear no more I'm here to spill the beans. Buckle up folks. For this post I have 3 vice admirals and one admiral as bonus. Enjoy

The vice admirals wife over and out

Doberman:

Oh hubby of mine ♥️ his hobby for the maritime spills right into the bedroom

White and navy are in our bedroom and everywhere there's a subtle hint at his career in the navy, with a bit of coastal feeling to it, since I can't stop collecting shells. For practical reasons of course the chest trunk.... this where Doberman hides ropes, for when I have been naughty. And important a deskbon his side of the bed.

And yes these bedpost seem old fashioned but heck Doberman makes good use of them, wink wink , nudge, nudge think of ropes.

Onigumo:

Oh shit why do you ask....??? He's a sadist so guess what his bedroom looks like, black, greys and red. Modern furniture, hardly any personal items. And essentially his bed is dungeon and Onigumos tools are nearby

Essentially his bedroom is a torture chamber and Onigumo ain't hiding that. He makes you beg to be bound to his bed. Metal and leather are the dominant features in his bed. It will take plenty of submissive love and at least 2 years before Onigumo allows you to at least put up a picture of you two, any decor item has somehow to fit to this dungeon style bedroom so no flowery picture frames keep it modern, like a stainless steel frame. One thing Onigumo, though, allows you to add is the assortment of harnesses and gags and collars which you get as gifts for your birthday and so on.

Stainless:

A man of of style he is into the imperial African style of bedroom. That sort you'd see in older Hollywood movies. He loves the mixture of white and dark wood. He likes this because of his exquisiteness and cleanliness. A fan of white & cream colours.

This liking he definitely has inherited from his esteemed marine family.

He definitely appreciates the lightness and the fact this style is ideal for him to go romantic with roses and candles to seduce you and you won't regret it.

His bedroom is Stainless vacation place, he will literally stay in it with you all weekend. Breakfast in bed, massages he will treat you like a queen. Definitely a place where Stainless retreats to and because its spacious enough he will dance with you completely rolelaying beingbon vacation.

BONUS. ADMIRAL LEVEL

KIZARU

Oh my where to start with Kizaru... luxurious, his bedroom is simply that. Simple but sophisticated, stylish but on the minimalist side. He is in favour of bright tones, whites and cream , though he wouldn't mind if you put on bright red or pink sateen bedding he actually laugh at it and be all kinky.

Some books and one photograph are present and yes lights, various styles. Keeps the desk out of his bedroom, no work allowed here only pleasure.

He definitely would be having decorative moodlights on the ceiling and a huge mirror.

Very important a giant glass door or extra large windows which Kizaru forgets to close when he has sex with you, yeah all of Marineford needs to hear your moans.

[luvsicksubs]

mercy - levi ackerman

cw: sub!levi, femdom!reader, dacryphilia, spitting, unprotected sex, edging + overstimulation (m. recieving), oral (m. recieving), degradation, a little bit of aftercare, riding, restraints, levi calls you miss 

wc: 2.7k 

a/n: im literally in love with him goodbye everyone. 

Retribution is normally in your bedroom.

A habitual creature at heart and core leaves him stumbling to your quarters in the middle of the night. It’s late - when the rest of his soldiers have fallen into a deep sleep and the entire hallway echoes when he steps. A single flickering candle rests in his palm but he could make it to your bedroom with his eyes closed.

A heavy sigh falls from his lips as he makes it to your door. His heart is hammering in his chest, hand trembling as he closes his palm into a fist and knocks. Always three times, precisely before he waits, taking a sharp inhale to ease the nerves he attempts to push aside. His eyes flutter when he hears you undo the heavy lock on your chamber doors, pushing it open with a faux surprise when you see Levi.

His skin is warm. He’s sure it’s unlikely that his expression is a proper match for how he feels, eyebrows stitched together fitfully. Still, you don’t falter. You greet him with an exceptionally warm smile, eyes full of mirth. He knows you’re not surprised, but you make a game of playing pretend. Levi is half-way between a scowl when he looks at you, never mind his pounding heart.

“Oh? Captain - what are you doing here so late?,” you ask, bemused. Levi considers temporarily turning on his heel and leaving. His frown deepens but it doesn’t seem to discourage your antics and Levi figures that you’ve never really been deterred by him anyways.

You smile wistfully, challenging - damn, you’re going to make him say it aren’t you? Levi misses you too urgently to come up with anything half-way solid and sarcastic. Even his pride, normally stubborn, proves to be wholly worthless today.It’s always that way with you. 

“To see you,” he replies, scrunching his brow together. You take the candle from his hand, noting the way the wax drips down the sides as you place it on the wooden desk in your study. With the lights dim down like this it makes it hard to see, but your hands are familiar. The brush against the shaved sides of Levis hair as you cradle his face in your palm.

“To see me? Aren’t I awful lucky?,” you quip. Your thumb smooths along his cheek bone, and even in the darkness of the hallway - Levi can see light in your eyes. You make everything feel easy and in turn make Levi frustrated. He couldn’t explain it himself. Rather, he places a soft hand on your wrist and closes the gap between you. He can taste your amusement on your lips, the small noise of surprise when he kisses you. Something akin to need flares up in his chest.

He’s just as surprise as you are when he pulls away, inevitably. Your smile is stretched so wide your cheeks sting as Levi sighs.

“Would you let me in already?,”

You grin, stepping aside and letting Levi into your bedroom before locking the door. For all the things Levi is capable of, subtlety isn’t one. He sits on the corner of your bed with his arms  folded in his lap - eyes heavy on your figure. You smile at him.

“Something you want, Captain?,” you hum. Levi says something in his head, a furious blush creeping down his neck as he watches you approach him. Like a cat, or a viper - more like. He spreads his legs for you place your knee between them. You curl your knuckle and drag it along his sharp jawbone, stopping underneath his chin before tilting his expression up towards you. Levi breathes a sigh of relief. 

Levi has never understood religion at its core. The only religion Levi Ackerman has ever understood had been full to the brim with corruption.  

Yet, when Levi is at your waist with his eyes held high, you are something of a deity. A religious altar. There is relief in your all-knowing stature, endless wisdom of all Levis sins. Levi has nothing to hide from you, your gentle prying eyes and loving gaze. Between your legs is an appropriate place of worship. He stares at you, brow hardened until your thumb brushes his lips and he opens his mouth. You smile when he takes you in, tongue soft against the pad of your thumb - there’s something like approval swimming in the sharpness of your expression. 

For Levi, your touch is indeed dominion. An unworthy worshiper who’s  to please the lord that reigns above him, protects him from whatever evil, and loves him wholly. If that is what God is meant to be, then Levi can understand it. 

Dominion. Divinity. God. You. These things are all the same to Levi. Truth awaits him in your quarters, with your dress pants tugged past your thighs and your leg hiked over the bed. The first step to retribution is honesty, Levi figures. 

The words are still hard to get out, but you’re patient. Your thumb presses down on the tip of his tongue, eye brows quirked. Amused. 

“Well? What is it, boy? Is there something you’d like to do?,” 

Your knee presses against the stiff outline in his pants. A choked gasp leaves his mouth, eyes fluttering closed as he nods. 

“Yes,” 

“What would that be?,” 

Levi chokes as he feels your knee lift up, grind against the cloth. The contact is so barely there but his body is attuned to your touch. He’s half-hard, gritting his teeth. His forehead falls to your mid-section, brows furrowed as he gasps. 

“I need you,” Levi croaks. His voice is trembling, the brush of your knee against his half-hard cock making it hard to speak. You tilt your head to one side, going hard. You push Levi softly onto his back, hands on either side of his head as your thigh presses against his cock. Levi lets out a sharp gasp - squirming under your curious gaze. 

“Need me to do what, Captain Levi? Answer me,”

“Shit, need you to touch me, Miss,” 

You grin, your expression lit up with pride. You lean down, nose brushing against Levi’s with a smirk. His hands come up to the front of your nightshirt, fisting the fabric. You kiss the furrow of his brow

“Is that so, Captain? Where exactly do you need me to touch you?,” 

Levi whines, throat hoarse as he feel your hands graze over his chest underneath his white shirt, unbuttoning each one slowly. Your mouth singes his skin, open mouth kisses littering his neck. Levi doesn’t even get angry when the hickies you bite into his neck are above the collar - though he’s sure his cadets won’t let it go when he blushes because of them

Right now, all Levi can feel is your hands, pinching and twisting his nipples. You brush them with your thumb, till your tongue laps at the hardened buds. You feel Levi take in a sharp inhale, your hands resting on his rib cage 

“Where do you need me to touch you, Captain Levi? Tell me,”  

“My,” A furious rush of scarlet litters Levis neck, chest and cheeks. Levi isn’t very good at being vulgar with you but your expectation weighs heavy. He shuts his eyes, gasping as your hand slowly travels lower. 

“Need you to touch my, ngh - touch my cock, Miss,” he breathes, barely getting the last bit out, “Please,” 

“Need me? Is that why you came waltzing to my bedroom in the middle of the night Cap? Did you come here just for me wreck you like a cheap slut, Captain Levi?,”  

A soft gasp tears it’s way from Levi’s throat. Humiliation flood his gut, sends butterflies leaping into his throat. Levi nods, peers into your heavy es as the travel down his body with the reminder that here, he’ll always be second place to you. Excitement rushes through him, trying to find the words to say - but it gets caught in chest somewhere. 

Levis response is cut short by your hands, fingers looping into the waist band of his pants and swiftly pulling everything down, all past his thighs. His cock bobs, heavy with pre-cum against his stomach. The tip is bright red, almost purple and Levi feels like he might cum just from seeing your face next to it. He gasps, sitting up and leaning on his hands to watch you with heavy eyes. 

“Beg for it. Captain,” you hum, lazily pumping his cock in your hands “Beg me to make you feel good,” 

“Fuck, please,” 

“Look at me,” 

Levi watches from heavy lids. Your mouth kisses up his thighs, teeth digging into the flesh with your hands finding purpose in holding him down. You’re slow, patient. A small kiss gets placed on the tip, the wind getting completely knocked out of his lungs. Down his shaft, your tongue slides over the vein as you take him fully into your mouth. Sinking down inch by inch, Levi groans as he twitches inside the warm cavern of your mouth. 

You play Levi’s body like an instrument - by now it’s what Levi expects. Still, caught off guard at the way you swallow him down your throat before stopping just as an orgasm starts. It leaves his cock aching, impending orgasm making it feel like he’s ready to explode. He needs it, and he’s going crazy with the way you’re holding it over his head. Bobbing your throat and swallowing, making him feel so damn good, but stopping right before he can release. Frustration bubbling in his gut, Levi chokes out a heavy sob. His hands still at his sides - obedient. 

“M-miss, can’t can’t, fuck - please let me cum, please - shit, I can’t do it,” Levi sounds good when he begs, begs you. He would never be caught begging anyone for anything but he’s pleading through the haze of an orgasm and the carefulness of your touch. Your eyes quirk when his cock is in your mouth, smiling at the tears that slide down soft cheeks and angular jaw. 

“You wanna cum? Couldn’t even make me cum, could you?” You pause, getting up. You carefully undo the belt from his pants that had previously been pushed off before facing him level again. 

“Why would you, mindless little fucktoy like you can’t think about getting off and following order - isn’t that right Captain,” you muse. 

“The chain of command here means you’ll always be below me, Captain - that’s where you  belong,” you say, barely hiding the sarcasm in your voice. Levi feels dizzy. Nodding deliriously, he lifts his hands up. The warm leather wraps around his wrist not once, but twice as you fasten it together. Tied arms fall back onto the bed, and Levi groans as he watches you get undressed. Your panties make a slick sound as you shimmy them off. 

Levi’s mouth waters, smoothing his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches you. Your thighs make it around either side of his. You slide your dripping cunt right against the length of his cock, letting it rest against your navel. He can feel the swell of your clit pulsate, how warm and tight you must be. He’s restrained by the weight of your hips but he bucks them up anyways. 

You lean forward, cupping your jaw in your hands. Squishing his face together, you raise a brow. 

“Open,” 

His eyes widen as you spit into his mouth - cock twitching against your stomach as you do. Groaning - the sound of your laugh making his chest ache. Levi barely has time to watch you. His eyes rolling into back of his neck, thrashing as he feels your cunt wrap around him. 

“Fuck, fuck - it feels so good. W-wanna cum,” Levi admits. You raise a brow. Levi can barely contain himself, the pleasure curling inside of him. It’s all so humiliating, how much he loves it and how much he loves you. You’re ruining him and he loves it. His hypersensitive cock is aching inside of you. So tight - like silk. Everything is blurry. 

“You can cum, baby - but I’m not stopping till I’m satisfied,” 

Your grin is wicked and Levi watches wide eyes as you lift your hips all the way up before slamming them back down again with no warning and no mercy. Levi groans loudly, your hands swiftly on his chest as you bounce yourself on his cock without any mercy. His throat flutters, the need to orgasm growing impossibly worse as you fuck him at this agonizing pace. The sound of dripping cunt riding him fills the room with lewd noises, pleasure thrumming in Levis ribs. 

Your tits are bouncing as you fuck him so roughly - so fast and so hard that each breath feels sharp.  Wet pussy dripping all down his cock, down past his thighs with disregard for Levi’s helpless warnings about just how close he is. It feels so good he’s seeing white behind his eyelids, spine arching off the bed as he breaches his first, painful and broken orgasm. 

Levi can’t get the words out when he finishes, unable to do anything but choke out a loud moan of pleasure, body twitching. Despite the fact he’s just cum you hold up to your promise, not even pausing. A satisfied grin makes Levi look at with pleading eyes, brows furrowing in overstimulation. The way his body is seizing is makes his voice cease. Everything comes out in a silent scream or pitchy moan. Pleasure that’s ruining him, tears of frustration running down his face as his cock remains painfully hard and hypersensitive. 

“Holy shit, shit - wait, fuck,” 

“So selfish captain, telling me stop when you haven’t even made me cum yet,” you say with a heavy pant “Needy fucking cumslut, not even telling me stop are you? Want me to keep going even though it hurts, right? Filthy,” 

Levi shuts his eyes hard. His lungs feel like they’ve collapsed. The smell of sex and your nails scratching down his chest make his nerves stand on end. Everything is hazy - not a single thought in his head belongs to him as pleasure and pain mix and make his skin burn up. The dull throb of pleasure has him hiccuping with an uncontrollable sob. The sound of his broken voice is like music to your ears, your own orgasm impending. You lean back, letting your fingers toy with your clit. 

Levi watches you through lidded, tear-stained eyes. Another weak spurt of cum shoots inside of you, thin and messy. His nails have dug tightly into the palms of his hands, gritting his teeth as he feels you. 

“So fucking vulgar, Captain - this is what you came here for, right? Just here to do what I tell you and take it like an indecent brat,” 

“G-goddamn it, shit,” 

“Cumming twice in one night - you love how much it hurts right? Our Captain Levi is a painslut ‘n a masochist, isn’t he?,” 

Levi’s heavy lids blink up at you, your face twisted up in pleasure as you ride his softening cock. Your fingers dance across your clit expertly, slamming down till you’re fully seated as you get yourself off using his body. He looks at you needily, not much left of his voice. 

“Please, please  use me, make yourself - haah, fuck, make yourself cum,” 

You collapse forward, shockwaves of pleasure ripping through you. You let out a silent scream as you connect your mouth with Levis, moaning into his mouth as you ride the high of your orgasm. 

When you pull away, Levi is still caught in the throes of subspace. You pepper kisses along his forehead and cheeks, cupping his face as he grows soft. 

“So, Captain, how was that? You feel okay?,” 

Levi frowns at you, wrapping his tied arms around your neck. He buries his face in your shoulder, groaning tiredly. 

“It was good. Now untie me,” he demands, though you’re almost positive it’s because he wants to cuddle. You chuckle, kissing the crown of his forehead. 

You lean back, undoing the ties on Levis arms and holding his wrists. He sits up, burying his face in your chest with his tired arms loosely around your waist. Your fingers scratch his scalp warmly, cooing praises about him being your good boy off-handedly before tapering off in idle conversation. That’s how Levi likes aftercare most, the vibrations of your voice as he cheeks are pressed against your tits. 

Levi is hugging you but he’s at your mercy all the same. Aching body, covered in hickies and bruises and nail-marks - he’s at your mercy.

 That’s what worship means to him. 

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Leon brings Merlin and Lancelot in on his underground enterprise;

Turns out, Leon is the biggest Magic Ally out there. Confusion, bonding, and sneaky hijinks ensue.

I imagine it starts fairly normally.

The Gang (King Arthur, Merlin, and the five knights) have literally just arrived back at the castle after a fairly uneventful hunt (I mean... nowadays, getting attacked by bandits only once in three days counts as uneventful).

Merlin is left behind to help the stablehands untack the horses, like usual, except he leaves the stables half a candle mark later to find Leon awkwardly loitering around outside, the evening dimming around him.

He thinks maybe the First Knight had gotten injured, and was too embarrassed to ask for help in front of everyone (something that is common in all of the knights. Merlin thinks it’s very stupid, and has told all of them this at least once), so doesn’t question it when Leon asks Merlin for a quick word, and leads him back to his quarters.

Leon locks the door behind him. Not unusual, the man was very private. It’s when he puts a chair in front of the door and draws the curtains, that Merlin starts to get a little nervous. He’d cast a small enchantment on one of the bandits, to make him confused enough to trip over his own feet (as opposed to skewering Elyan, which is what he’d been about to do) but Merlin was certain that no one had seen him. He was certain.

And... Leon was a knight. He’d been a knight for longer than Arthur had been King, longer than he’d even known Merlin. Surely if he saw... he would've said something, accused him or just killed him.

(He has to remind himself to have a little faith in his friends. But also: “This might be completely unrelated, so just act natural.”)

Leon turns around to look at Merlin, and instantly recognises how nervous the younger man is, despite his poor attempt to hide it. The knight keeps his distance, and gives him a slow nod:

“I just wanted to let you know, Merlin, if you ever need... ah, a way out of the city, unseen, at short notice, then I can sort something for you.”

At that, all of Merlin’s racing, terrifying thoughts, stutter to a stop, and he looks at Leon with nothing but confusion on his face. He tilts his head slightly, asking, ever so eloquently:

“...What?”

Leon sends a soft smile and a knowing wink his way:

“Or, you know, the back up of a noble in court, or an alibi, I can do that to. I have a feeling that, considering you haven’t done a runner yet, you’re planning on sticking around.”

Merlin just furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head slightly in bewilderment:

“I... Leon I have no idea what you’re talking about. What do you mean, done a runner? Why would I need your help in court or... or an alibi??”

Leon just raises an eyebrow, and tilts his head.

Merlin copies him.

A look of realisation crosses the blonde’s face, and he lifts his hands in surrender:

“Ah. Ok, before I say anything else, I promise Merlin, you are entirely safe. I would protect you with my life if I had to-”

Merlin slowly nods, still confused:

“-I know about your magic.”

Merlin gasps and steps back, but Leon just smiles at him again, nodding his head slightly; it does nothing to relax the servant, and his breathing continues to get deeper as he backs himself against the wall, tears filling his eyes.

Leon frowns, his heart cracking slightly, but resists the protective urge to walk towards Merlin to comfort him. Instead he takes a step back, not lowering his hands. Before he can open his mouth to utter more reassurances, a tirade of broken, cracking apologies fall from Merlin’s lips:

“I... Leon I swear I’m not evil, I... I don’t hurt people, I promise. Please, you... please believe me, I would NEVER-”

Leon interrupts him, shaking his head rapidly, and forcing a reassuring smile on his face:

“I know. Merlin, I know that. I know you’re not evil, I know that you use it to protect us, I know. It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone, you’re not in danger, I would NEVER hurt you, or tell anyone, ok? I swear it. You’re safe with me.”

Merlin gulps, but relaxes (only slightly, but it’s a start. Leon doesn’t know why he’s so surprised at Merlin’s reaction, I suppose he thought he had been clear in his brotherly affection and protectiveness towards the younger man. Apparently not; he would have to fix that). He gives Leon an assessing once over, and it strikes the knight how efficient he is. He wonders how many times Merlin’s eyes have flicked over someone: checking their face for any sign of deception, checking how close their hands are to a weapon, checking their stance to see if they’re preparing for a fight.

Leon stays in place, forcing himself to untense, and giving Merlin a weak smile, hoping that the servant doesn’t mistake his slight heartbreak for fear or anger.

After a few moments, Merlin relaxes even further (though is still understandably ready to bolt at a moment’s notice), and steps away from the wall, Leon’s smile widens, and he nods once again, patiently waiting for Merlin to say something:

“You... you offered to smuggle me out of the city?”

Leon nods, glancing to the door behind him before gesturing Merlin to keep his voice down as he replies cryptically:

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

The servant gulps, giving the knight an assessing gaze, magic buzzing under his skin, alert and frightened at the idea of a Red Knight other than Lancelot knowing the truth:

“You’ve smuggled others out?”

Leon nods and moves ever so slowly to sit on the edge of his bed, still holding his hands up placatingly. He doesn’t gesture for Merlin to join him, understanding the other man’s remaining jumpiness, but leaves space next to him, just in case.

Merlin hesitates for only a second before settling on the bed next to him, forcing himself to relax. The knight wasn’t currently armed, and anyway, if Leon had been planning on accusing him or attacking him, then he wouldn’t be doing this. None of what he said could, in any way, make sense as some sort of trick.

Once Merlin settles, still a little uneasy, Leon begins his explanation in a quiet voice, obviously still worried about startling Merlin (and obviously not wanting to risk someone overhearing him):

“It started when I was fifteen. One of the serving girls in my father’s household was born with magic, though it didn’t manifest until years after the purge started. She was my age, sweet, kind, I couldn’t possibly believe her to be evil or corrupt, but under The King’s law, she would’ve been burned. Poor girl was terrified of being found out, but Uther was so paranoid, they were basically interrogating anyone who entered or exited the city; she had nowhere to go. I had already started my training at this point, so I used my knowledge of guard rotations and shift changes to sneak her out. I left her with some family in a village nearer the border, snuck back in a few days later. From then on it just... kept happening. I suppose I got good at recognising the specific brand of fear that magic-users in Camelot suffer from, and I’ve got a good eye; I know magic when I see it-”

He gives Merlin a knowing look, but the servant just turns indignant and says:

“Well, I was also born with magic, and it took you ten years to figure it out, so-”

He sticks his tongue out at the knight, and Leon raises his eyebrow at him, before laughing and nodding, thankful for Merlin’s lessening fear:

“-yeah, I suppose. But still. It started off with just the occasional person; one or two a month. And then it was whole families or groups of people who either had magic, or were scared of being accused and wanted out. It became a bit of a side-career, though I always refused any payment they offered.”

Merlin stares at him, thoughtful and in awe, before yet another look of realisation crosses his face:

“Is this why the Druids are so fond of you?”

Finally, it’s Leon’s turn to look confused, and Merlin continues:

“Whenever we come across them, they always seem less wary of you than the other knights, like they know what you’ve done.”

Leon takes in slow breath, quirking his eyebrows slightly and shrugging:

“I’ve never really noticed, maybe. I’ve never been into a camp, but when someone I was sneaking out had nowhere to go, I’d take them as close to a Druid settlement as I dared, and pointed them in the right direction; I suppose word might’ve spread.”

Merlin nods, looking to his lap, thinking. Leon stays silent, understanding that this is probably a lot to take in, and not wanting to interrupt Merlin’s processing time. 

After a few moments, Merlin, still staring into his lap, reaches across to Leon and takes the knight’s hand in a shaking one of his own. It’s then that Leon notices the slow tears on the other man’s face, but before he can say anything, Merlin looks up at him, his voice shaking as he whispers a rough:

“Thank you.”

Leon smiles, squeezing his hand and bumping their shoulders together:

“Anytime. Like I said Merlin, I would protect you with my life. If you ever need anything...”

Merlin takes a deep breath, standing and wiping the tears from his face quickly before dragging Leon to the door:

“There is one thing. Come on.”

Leon allows himself to be dragged, and Merlin moves the chair to the side before stepping out of the way, allowing Leon to unlock the door with the key hanging around his neck. He doesn’t question where they’re going, though he is slightly confused when he notices that they’re heading deeper into the castle, as opposed to outside or to Merlin’s chambers like he was expecting.

They finally come to a stop outside Lancelot’s door, and Leon nods to himself in realisation. He had suspected that the other knight had known the truth, but hadn’t wanted to ask or push it in case he was wrong.

Merlin knocks rapidly after checking the corridor for other people, and the door had barely been opened before he’s pushing his way through, still dragging Leon behind him. The two men move to stand by the opposite wall, Lancelot still by the door looking increasingly confused:

“Merlin, Leon, is... is everything alright?”

Merlin waves his hand casually, not even needing an incantation as his eyes flash briefly gold and the door shuts of it’s own accord (... or Merlin’s accord).

Lancelot immediately gasps and makes a jump for the sword sat on the table, but Leon holds his hands up in surrender as Merlin rushes to speak:

“Lance it’s fine!! Leon knows about my magic, and he’s been smuggling people out of Camelot for decades, he’s safe.”

Lancelot looks to Leon with a mix of suspicion and relief, still picking the sword up and holding it loosely in one hand, but the older knight is too distracted staring at Merlin in mild outrage:

“Dec- How old do you think I am, Merlin?!”

Merlin looks up at him guiltily, and Lancelot lets go of his suspicion, instead clamping his free hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing at Merlin’s squeaked reply:

“Uh... there’s no safe way to answer that, is there? You said you were fifteen when you started, and I know you’re older than Arthur, so...”

Leon scoffs, rolling his eyes as Lancelot snorts:

“I’m only five years older than him, Merlin. I’m thirty-one, you can say “decades” plural when I hit thirty-five, and not a day sooner.”

Merlin holds in a smirk, and nods. Lancelot clears his throat, dropping the sword back on the table and asking the obvious question:

“So... how much does he know?”

Merlin spends the rest of the night explaining everything, from Kilgharrah calling to him when he first arrived, (”You mean that thing was under the castle the whole time?!”) to just last week, when he had to sneak out of the city to deal with a particularly insatiable Succubus that was causing problems with the border patrols (”Huh. I wondered why the men had just... stopped disappearing. I’m not complaining though, thank you.”).

He included all the information about the prophecies and being Emrys and how Arthur was the Once and Future King and the coming (potential) Golden Age. Leon was especially curious about that, and interrupted often to ask questions.

Lancelot also interrupted rather often, but only to correct Merlin when he underappreciated his own genius or power or selflessness, much to Merlin’s embarrassment and annoyance.

Merlin also tried to miss out as much of his own suffering as he could, but Lancelot wasn’t having it, and Leon was horrified to learn of the Serket sting, the countless, almost fatal fights he’d had with various people (Nimueh, The Cailleach (”I did also wonder how the veil just... repaired itself. Nice one.”), Morgause, Agravaine, etc (Morgana is good in this, though her magic is still hidden)), and all the other terrible things that had happened.

When he finally finishes, Leon is speechless.

The knight had just thought that Merlin had learned a few tricks to keep himself and Arthur safe when they went out and about, but he was actually, apparently, the most powerful Warlock ever, and had a whole series of prophecies and battle scars to back it up. Lancelot’s face was an odd mix of prideful and mournful, and that only drove home to Leon how much Merlin had suffered over the years.

After a few minutes of silence, Merlin awkwardly waiting, as if for judgement, Lancelot pipes up, his voice oddly cheery:

“So, Sir Leon, fancy two extra sets of hands in the little smuggling ring you’ve got going?”

~

And that is essentially... exactly what happens. 

It’s usually Leon who discovers the sorcerers, being the most observant of the three, but it’s Merlin they send on the first approach more often than not. Leon had always been painfully aware of how scary a Camelot Knight going “I know you have magic” must be, so the trio takes advantage of Merlin’s non-threatening look. That, paired with the fact that he’s well known and well loved around the town, makes starting things off a lot easier.

A lot of the time, the people they approach don’t want to leave. They’ve kept themselves hidden for over twenty years, and they plan to continue to do so, but it’s a weight off their back to know that the option is there if they need it.

Merlin introduces Leon to the tunnels under the city, hidden and warded with his magic. The older knight is very much relieved at that; taking advantage of gaps in guard rotations wasn’t the most reliable plan, and he’d been paranoid for years that something would go wrong one day and he’d get caught.

They worked well together, though all three of their lives got a lot more complicated. Lancelot and Merlin were pulled into Leon’s secret smuggling life (despite him insisting that they could sit it out, considering they were already so busy trying to keep Arthur alive, which is apparently a lot harder than Leon had first assumed), and Leon was pulled into Merlin and Lancelot’s secret “bring about the Golden Age” life (despite the two of them insisting that Leon didn’t need to help, considering he was already so busy running a smuggling ring right under the nose of the King).

To be honest, the two lives sort of swirled together. Anyone that they sent to the Druid camps was told to spread the word of the Once and Future King, and when Leon was sent to distract Arthur when Lancelot and Merlin needed to do something Magicky, Lancelot was sent to distract Arthur when Leon and Merlin needed to do something smuggly.

Eventually Gaius finds out. Because of course he does. Because he’s not stupid. And whilst the three of them are unwilling to put him in anymore danger than he’s already in (harbouring a Warlock is... pretty dangerous. Though Arthur would probably forgive the older man anything.), they never turn away the small, portable medkits he passes along to them, and don’t complain when he offers to talk to Arthur about a promising new treatment for the flu for a few hours.

But overall, they have a proper little (unpaid) enterprise going, and no one suspects a thing. 

~

Mistakes are made of course, some a little bigger that others. But most of them get a laugh from the trio when they think back on them later.

Ironically enough, this mistake came when the trio mistook a “need to save Arthur” problem, for a “need to save this poor scared sorcerer” problem.

They’d been getting complacent. No one had tried to kill Arthur directly in a while, so when a visiting Lord brought with him a very nervous, very secretive stablehand, they didn’t even consider that it would be the young servant who wanted to kill Arthur as opposed to the visiting noble (who was an arsehole, and therefor automatically under suspicion).

Merlin, being the most powerful of the three of them, was keeping an eye on the noble; trying to keep him away from Arthur as well as trying to figure out if he knew that his stablehand was a magic-user. Leon was distracting Arthur, with the help of a report Gaius had written, by talking endlessly about certain weaknesses in the knight’s armour and the injuries that Gaius treats most often and the link between the two.

That left Lancelot to trail the stablehand, whose name they had discovered was Alban. He wasn’t wearing any armour and didn’t have a sword, only a small dagger up his sleeve, so as not to frighten the boy.

Which of course was a huge mistake.

Considering how innocent Merlin looks, but how dangerous he actually is, they really shouldn’t have underestimated the boy, but alas, with how well both of the secret lives had been going, their egos had grown, and they weren’t as careful as they should’ve been.

It was only after the Lord had retired to his chambers (and Merlin had come to the annoying conclusion that he was an arsehole, but certainly not smart enough to be dangerous), and Leon had exhausted every possible line of enquiry about armour and injuries, that the two of them thought something might be wrong.

It had been hours since they had heard from Lancelot, and by the sounds of it, no one had seen him in that time either.

The stablehand also couldn’t be found.

They tried not to assume the worst; all of them (Merlin, most often) had disappeared for longer before, so before they panicked, the two of them went about methodically searching for the other knight.

The wards down in the tunnels hadn’t been disturbed, Lancelot’s room was untouched (the sight of his armour and sword laid out on his bed did nothing to quell their growing anxiety), and no one had seen him leave the city. The Camelot stablehands had no idea where the visiting servant was, and had apparently barely seen him in the stables since he’d arrived anyway.

Now it was time to panic.

The two men rushed back to Lancelot’s room, shutting the door behind them, Merlin hurriedly asking:

“What’s the last thing he touched, do you reckon?”

Leon raked his hands through his hair for the dozenth time, looking around with wide eyes:

“Uh... we had training this morning, and he took his armour off after that, and immediately went to follow Alban, so his armour? His sword?”

Merlin picks the sword up in careful but hurried hands. He closes his eyes, concentrating, as he mutters a quick spell. The sword shimmers for a moment before Merlin throws it back down on the bed with a huff:

“Nope, the trail is there but it’s weak, I need something more recent.”

Leon curses quietly to himself:

“Try his water goblet? Or the wash bowl? God knows that man doesn’t like to be grimy.”

Merlin hums, walking to the wash bowl before halting in his tracks:

“Wait... no, you’re right. He doesn’t like being dirty,-”

With that, Merlin changes direction, heading to the small desk in the corner and opening the draws at random, rifling through them. Leon walks up behind him:

“Merlin? What are you-”

He’s interrupted by Merlin exclaiming in victory, and straightening up. He turns around with a grin on his face, holding out a small comb:

“-he will have run a comb through his hair after washing,-”

He pulls a short, brunette hair from between the wooden teeth:

“-and an actual piece of him is WAY better to track him with than something he’s just touched.”

He repeats the spell from earlier, the smile returning to his face when he begins to feel the pull in his heart, leading him to the lost knight.

The two of them leave the room hurriedly, Leon trailing after Merlin, both of them trying to look an inconspicuous as possible.

They walk briskly down the corridor, hope and excitement blooming in their chests at the idea of finding the friend they’d been so worried about. Leon puts a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, but neither of them stop moving as he speaks lowly:

“Can you tell how far away he is?”

Merlin hums, before replying equally quietly:

“Yeah, I think he’s about... actually... no, no I can’t- what?”

With that, he stops dead in his tracks, stumbling when Leon runs into his back with a gentle “oof”. The knight looks down at him, his face back to looking panicked. They’d stopped at a crossroads in the corridor, and Merlin’s head twitches from side to side, like he can’t decide which way to go.

Leon shakes his shoulder slightly:

“Merlin, he’s been gone for hours, we need to hurry. Close your eyes, breathe, which way is Lancelot?”

Merlin does what Leon says, shuffling on his feet slightly before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and relaxing his shoulders:

“Where are you, Lance?”

He mutters it quietly to himself, and Leon barely dares to breathe, not wanting to distract him. After a few moments, Merlin’s head twitches to the right, the corridor that leads to the servant quarters. The servant opens his eyes, nodding briefly at Leon, before turning and walking down the corridor. 

He passes the first few doors without hesitation, thankful for the late hour; all the servants are either eating their own dinner, or serving dinner to their masters. Which is probably where Merlin should be right now, but he had more pressing matters, he could deal with Arthur later.

He slows as he reaches the end of the corridor, frowning in confusion. There are no more doors, they’ve reached a dead end, and Merlin tilts his head whilst Leon stares at him expectantly, periodically checking the corridor behind them. Merlin begins muttering to himself again, flexing his hands as if he were in pain:

“This is... wrong. I don’t come down here very often but... there’s... this is wrong. I can feel it and I can... see it, like there’s something out the corner of my eye that shouldn’t be there-”

He gasps, turning and looking at a specific part of the wall, hovering his hand over the stonework:

“-or something that should be there!”

Leon’s gaze flicks between the wall and Merlin as he quietly asks:

“A hidden door? Can you... unhide it?”

Merlin takes a second to snort and roll his eyes, before pressing his hand against the wall, muttering spells to himself. Leon turns around, hand on the hilt of his sword at his hip as he stands guard. After a few minutes of Merlin getting more and more frustrated when the wall stays... well... a wall, he finally lets out a whispered exclamation; Leon glances behind him to see the stone rippling, and finally fading to reveal the door. 

With one last check down the corridor, they enter the room slowly, shutting the door behind him. Leon whispers Lance’s name into the darkness tentatively, but Merlin just shakes his head, summoning a light.

It’s just a normal storage room filled with dusty shelves and empty crates, but Merlin moves through the debris to the back, cursing under his breath when he finds what he’s looking for. Leon moves up behind him, staring over the younger man’s shoulder to the precise symbol drawn onto the floor:

“Merls?”

Merlin huffs speaking lowly, not looking away from the symbol:

“It’s a teleportation spell, it’s why I was being pulled in two directions. Lance went through this portal, but it probably took him somewhere outside the city limits.”

Leon gulps, before taking a deep breath and gripping Merlin’s shoulder again:

“Can you activate it? Do we follow through the portal, or track him out of the city??”

Merlin shakes his head roughly:

“No, that would take far too long, we don’t actually know how long he’s been gone, it could have been all afternoon, remember? Look around, there should be a crystal or an orb or something, like a switch I have to push magic into to activate the spell.”

It only takes a few minutes of rummaging for Leon to uncover a rough looking crystal, and Merlin smiles weakly at the comically fearful look on the knight’s face as he holds it as far away from himself as he can; he may trust Merlin’s magic, but he is still logically... unnerved by things he doesn’t understand.

Merlin takes it from him, eyes turning briefly gold as he mutters an incantation and his hand is engulfed in a blue flame. The flame dies down after a few seconds at Merlin’s command, and he hides the now glowing crystal back where Leon had found it, before looking back to the symbol on the floor.

It takes only a few moments for the lines to start softly glowing, and when nothing else changes, Merlin takes a deep breath, reaching behind him blindly for Leon’s hand, and muttering:

“Well, here goes nothing.”

He feels the knight take his hand and step up next to him. With one last nervous glance to each other, they nod, and step into the circle.

~

MEANWHILE

Thankfully, whilst Lancelot hadn’t been seen in a while (on account of being camped out in the hidden storage room, waiting for his stalkee to reappear out of the weird glowy circle thing), he had only actually been kidnapped by Evil Alban the Not-Stablehand for about half a candle mark.

And he was currently very bored. The younger man finally reappeared, only to fly into a rage at the sight of another man, crouched like a gremlin, almost asleep in the corner of the entrance to his secret lair.

His eyes had flashed sickly yellow, and Lancelot found himself falling over the edge into sleep, and waking up an undetermined amount of time (like five minutes, but it was so fucking dark where he was, he had no way to guess what time of day it was) later, tied to a chair (not gagged, thankfully).

He had realised the trio’s mistake fairly early on in Evil Alban the Not-Stablehand’s monologue; something about vengeance and sins of the father and yadda yadda yadda. Honestly? He tuned it out pretty quickly, he’d heard it all before... multiple times, and he wasn’t too worried; he had faith that Merlin and Leon would arrive to rescue him soon (though he wasn’t looking forward to all the comments along the lines of “who’s the real princess?”).

It was when he almost nodded off that Alban stuttered slightly:

“...after all, surely someone who is strong enough to take the crown should... should deserve... it... are you falling asleep?!”

Lancelot’s head whips up with a quiet snort as he blinks the sleep from his eyes, and looks at the outraged criminal with guilt in his eyes:

“Uh... no? You’re doing wonderfully, Alban, very riveting, keep going.”

The knight’s words do nothing to calm the other man down, and he exclaims slightly as he stamps his foot petulantly. Lancelot bites his lip to stop himself laughing, but before he can get himself under control and say something else, Alban puffs his chest out and grins triumphantly:

“Your mind games shan’t work on me, Sir Knight. I will not be distracted by your mocking or... or distractions.”

Lancelot raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. Alban huffs, shaking his head roughly before looking back at Lancelot with wide, expectant eyes:

“Well? What do you think of my plan, noble Sir? Ineffable, no?”

Lancelot purses his lips, once again looking guilty as he chooses not to point out the younger’s misuse of the word ineffable (definitely NOT ineffable, considering he’d banged on and on for half a candle-mark):

“I don’t suppose you could... sum up the last twenty minutes or so worth of... plan? Then I could.... let you know my thoughts?”

Alban let out an inhuman screech, stamping his foot again, much to Lancelot’s hidden amusement. The Great Villain stalked off into the darkness, huffing and grumbling to himself, and Lancelot just rolled his eyes, murmuring under his breath:

“For fucks sake. Better not leave me here. Where the fuck are you guys?”

As if the Gods themselves answered the knight’s question, he hears another inhuman screech come from the darkness; though this one was a lot more high pitched, and was immediately followed by Leon’s unmistakable voice growling out:

“Where is he you pre-pubescent piece of shit?!”

Lancelot allows himself to snort at the likely look of terror on the Not-Stablehand’s face before yelling:

“Don’t make the kid shit himself Leon, if he does, you’ll be the one carrying his unconscious body back.”

He hears Merlin’s laugh and the distinct sound of a skull making contact with the hilt of a sword, before the two of them appear like ghosts, lit only by the glow of Merlin’s golden eyes, and the magical light floating between their heads.

Lancelot gives them a grin, shuffling in his binds slightly as he says:

“Took you long enough, he’s been banging on about how clever he is for fucking ages. Cut me loose, would you?”

Merlin clicks his fingers, the ropes falling the the floor as Leon checks him over for injury, and affectionately ruffling his hair, much to the other knight’s chagrin.

The three of them move to crowd around Alban’s crumpled form, hands on their hips as they stare at him, unimpressed. Lancelot sighs:

“You really didn’t have to hit him that hard, I don’t think he was that much of a threat.”

Merlin huffs and stalks off to reactivate the teleportation spell, leaving the chastising for Leon to deal with:

“Not much of a threat?! Lance no one had seen you in hours, we thought you were dead!”

Lancelot frowns and shuffles, suddenly looking apologetic:

“Ah, sorry. He took me less than a candle-mark ago, though I guess I lost track of how long I’d been sat waiting for him before that. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Leon huffs, but drops the subject as Merlin calls back to them. The curly-hired knight picks Alban up, laying him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before following Lancelot in Merlin’s direction. They stand around the glowing symbol, and Lancelot rolls his eyes at Merlin’s glower:

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Mister I regularly show up after three days covered in bruises and blood with “The Tavern” as my only excuse.”

Leon snorts and Merlin rolls his eyes but smirks, and with that, the trio step into the circle, reappearing back in the storage cupboard with no one else in Camelot even vaguely aware of the mini adventure they’d had.

~

This happens for a while. Saving people (mostly Arthur) from the batshit insane things that happen in Camelot that no one but them seems to be aware of.

Of course, rumours fly about the oddly close connection the three men have. Lancelot is head over heals in love with Guinevere (which he ardently denies, despite Merlin and Leon’s repeated dramatic attempts to get them together) and everyone knows it, but even Arthur starts to (jealously) suspect something is going on between Leon and Merlin, especially when Merlin’s lack of talent when it comes to making up excuses is displayed yet again.

Leon and Merlin had been sneaking out of the castle, on their way to meet the teenage son of a noble who desperately needed to escape. Lancelot, who had a late patrol, was to meet them by one of the tunnel entrances outside the city limits, and assure that no other guards were nearby.

Unfortunately, the pair came across a sleepy King, on his way to the kitchens for a midnight snack.

The King stared at them with wide, shocked eyes, and the pair stared back. Leon grimaced slightly, and after a few moments of awkward silence, Arthur slowly asks:

“What are you two... doing?”

Leon takes a deep breath desperately trying to come up with something to say, but before he can find an excuse, Merlin pipes up:

“I was teaching him poetry.”

Leon lets out his breath before slowly covering his face with his hands as he shakes his head slightly. Merlin immediately realises his mistake and bites his lip, furrowing his eyebrows as he says:

“What I mean, is that-”

He’s cut off by Arthur holding a hand up, his face looking mildly put-off as he shakes his head:

“I don’t want to know. Yeah, I changed my mind, I really... don’t want to know.” Before turning around and heading back in the same direction he’d come from, hunger forgotten.

Merlin holds his breath until Arthur turns the corner, before letting it all out in one go and staring at the floor wide-eyed. Leon keeps his head in his hands as he mutters:

“You fucking idiot.-” before looking up at the man besides him incredulously:

“-Why??”

Merlin looks at him indignantly, and loudly whispers:

“I don’t know!! It was just the three of us in a dark corridor like last time and it just popped into my head and I said it! At least he didn’t push, I suppose.”

Leon shakes his head again, before a look of realisation crosses his face and he looks at Merlin with dread in his eyes:

“Yeah... except when you used that excuse on me- shut up, of course I knew you were lying, I’m not an idiot- I thought you and Arthur were uh... well, I thought you were sleeping together...”

Merlin’s eyes go wide and he sputters for a response before he lets out a quiet, deranged laugh, and shakes his blushing head:

“First off, no. Second off... at least he didn’t push.” he repeats. Leon squints at his friend, before he gasps and grins:

“Oh my God, you like him!-”

Merlin scowls at him, and Leon laughs gleefully (though still quietly) before whispering:

“-all this time we’ve been ribbing Lancelot about Guinevere, and we should’ve been ribbing you! Oh my God, wait ‘til Lance hears this.”

Merlin turns on him, face bright red as he angrily (or as angrily as he can, when he’s the colour of Leon’s cape, and the knight is trying not to wake the castle up with his laughter):

“I swear to God, Leon, I will turn you into a fucking toad if you breath a word to anyone! I’ll do it, I swear I’ll do it!”

Leon forces himself to breath and coughs slightly as he catches his breath, putting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder:

“Fine, fine. I won’t say anything, but only if you help me hang mistletoe up in Lance’s doorway next week.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, but nods his head with a grin, and with that, they resume their sneaking around.

~

This happens for what feels like years and years, but really, Merlin only gets one day into looking at Leon with a shit-eating grin and saying that the old man has been doing this for “decades”, when suddenly... they don’t have to do it anymore.

Arthur repeals the ban on magic. 

And to be honest, it was a complete surprise to everyone. Of course, the whole Kingdom knew that he was more tolerant than his father had ever been; he hadn’t executed anyone in years, and unless accusations were serious or life-threatening, he rarely ordered investigations.

As it turns out, he’d been working on it in secret for months, with only  Morgana’s help (not that he knew about her magic, she was just the only person in his life who’d always been vocally against the ban). All the work they’d put in meant that when it came time to present it to the council, all Arthur had to do was hold his head high and say something along the lines of “I am your King, you do this, or you lose your seat.”.

The drafts were so well-worked, so perfect, the council had nothing to argue against, no excuses worth more than a roll of the eyes and a dismissive wave of the hand.

The repeal went through seamlessly, and Arthur was announcing Merlin and Morgana as his Court Sorcerers within a week (after of course a few hours of raging at the lies and deception, in which they defended themselves and each each other with sharp tongues and entirely valid descriptions of their terror, and with Leon and Lancelot stood behind them the whole time ready to pull their swords at a moments notice).

Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin told the King about all their adventures saving his arse, which he floundered at before abashedly thanking them, but they never mentioned the now obsolete smuggling ring they had going.

Of course, there were moments when they missed the excitement of sneaking out at night, the victory of seeing a family off to the Druid’s, or to a safe village, but ultimately they were ecstatic that they weren’t needed in that capacity anymore. It was undeniably a good thing.

Their plan to keep their heroics to themselves failed miserably however, when a crowd of around two-hundred gathered in the courtyard, led by a woman in her mid-thirties who looked mighty familiar to Sir Leon.

The gang met them down there, armed and worried at first, but quickly relaxing when they realised this was the furthest to an attack a group this large could get.

The King led the party, Morgana, Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival to his left, and Merlin, Leon, and Lancelot to his right, Guinevere and Gaius waiting by the castle entrance. It was only when Lancelot gasped, and grabbed Merlin and Leon’s sleeves to point at a specific family near the front of the crowd that they understood. All these people, all these happy, joyful, alive people... were people they’d saved over the years.

The three of them gulped, suddenly teary as more and more of the crowd pointed their way, wide smiles on their faces. They knew that this wasn’t even half the people they had saved (if you include Leon’s sixteen years doing it alone), but still, it was astounding to visually see it.

The familiar woman stepped forward at Arthur’s gesture, and the trio suddenly realise what’s about to happen. “Oh shit.” and variants of the above are muttered by all three as they wait with baited breath. There’s not really anything they can do to stop this:

“Your Highness, firstly I would like to thank you, for accepting my people back into your Kingdom-”

Her voice quietens slightly as she glances to the floor, her eyes filling with tears before she looks up again:

“-many of us haven’t been home in... in a long time, and it’s good to be back.-”

Arthur nods, giving her a smile despite his still growing confusion at the crowd behind her. The woman looks quickly to Leon, giving him a brief smile as he gasps, recognising her. She looks back to the King, raising her voice and her head as she continues:

“-Secondly, I would like to extend an even greater thank-you to Sir Leon, and his two companions, without whom many of us would have died. They risked their lives sneaking us out of the city when your father hunted us, and after, when we were still at risk of execution, but they never stopped, and never gave up. We are but a fraction of the hundreds of people they saved, and we have nothing to offer them but our unending gratitude, and a humble demand that they are rewarded for their service to Camelot’s people. They are heroes to us all, and always will be”

Arthur looks slowly over to a very teary Leon, who doesn’t even glance his way as he stares at the former servant-girl, a weak smile on his face. Merlin and Lancelot meet The King’s gaze in his stead, smiling sheepishly and shrugging as they nod, confirming the woman’s story.

Arthur shakes his head minutely, half proud of his friends, and half annoyed at being caught off guard, before turning back to the woman, the smile back on his face:

“I’m glad to welcome you home, all of you, and I apologise that it took so long for me to right the wrongs committed by this Kingdom. Sir Leon and his companions will indeed be rewarded for their service,-”

At this, Arthur turns to look at the trio, a soft, meaningful smile on his face as he nods at them:

“-and I extend my thanks to them also, for being brave enough to protect my people, when I was not.”

Leon finally meets The King’s gaze, and returns his nod. Merlin and Lancelot each clap him on the back, before the three of them descend into the crowd. A loud cheer goes up around the courtyard, the rest of the knights, Morgana, and Guinevere looking on in shock as the trio greets person after person, accepting thanks and hugs and laughing joyously at the reminder of the good they’d done, despite their fear.

~

THE END!!

I really loved writing this one😄! Honestly this idea started out as crack, but I’m glad that it ended so wholesomely :)

Same as usual lads, someone wants to write it up properly or extend it, go for it, credit and tag me ✌️

[gaiuswrites]

Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

/

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

/

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

[letstalkaboutshtufff]

A Bad Feeling Pt 1

Levi x Reader

Part 1

Paring: Levi Ackerman x Cadet reader

Warnings: 18+ attempted rape/assault, cursing, mention of injury, violence

Summary: Reader feels uncomfortable around a overly friendly captain. Are they just over reacting? Or is there something else going on. What will Levi do when he finds out?

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

A.n. ok so I literally wrote this in one go, it's probably trash but I wanted to post it anyway. Please lemme know what you think in the comments! Thank you!

"Y/n! captain Oro is asking for you" you did your best to hide the discomfort Armins words made you feel.

You smiled what you hoped was a convincing one and nodded. With a deep breath you made your way to Captains Oro's office.

Ever since you had been introduced to him those few weeks ago, he had taken a special liking to you. At first you had been excited, having such a highly skilled and well known captain take notice of you was one of the best feelings. Especially since your squad leader, Levi wasn't exactly heavy on praise.

Everyone loved Captain Oro, he was known for his strength and stamina on the battle field. He was both charismatic, and charming. Your fellow cadets practically swooned over him. You couldn't help but also get caught up in his perfection. At first that is..

Over time you noticed things about your meetings that put you on edge. An unnecessary shoulder touch here, a too low pat on the back there. Something was off. And although you had done your best to distance yourself from him, it was hard when your squads often had to work together.

But it was hard to say anything against him because even your cold blooded captain seemed to enjoy his presence.

Once you brought it up to your friend Sasha, about how you felt he was being too friendly. But she waved her hand and basically said you were worrying for nothing, he was just a friendly guy. And you were being dramatic.

Maybe you were overreacting? If captain levi approved of him, surely that meant he was a decent person right? Maybe he was just being really really friendly.

You decided to give him a chance and knocked on his door when you finally arrived.

"Come in" a muffled voice came from the other side.

With a click you entered the candlelit room. It was nearing sundown after all.

"Ah cadet y/n! Perfect, I was wondering if I might ask your opinion on something?" He smiled angelically and gestured towards a parchment on his desk.

"Of course sir" you nodded and approached him, reminding yourself of what sasha said. Just relax.

From the way the parchment was positioned you had no choice but to come to his side of the desk.

"Do you see this area here?" He gestured to what you now saw was a map. "What do you think of leading a squad through here instead of what we originally planned?"

The next 30 minutes you spent completely and professionally discussing strategies. Being the member of your squad that was best at this, made him asking for you completely justified. You felt bad for ever doubting his intentions.

"Thank you y/n, I think I have a better idea of what course we should pursue on our next expedition" he smiled sincerely.

"I'm glad I could be of service" you nodded and allowed a relaxed smile to pass your features. Feeling stupid you had judged him so harshly.

" If you wouldnt mind just one more thing?" You nodded as he pulled out a stack of papers.

"If you could look over this report of the last mission before I send it out? See if theres anything else to add?"

"Sure, I'd be happy to Captain" you grabbed the stack.

"And please if you can, return them to me tonight, I'll need them for the meeting bright and early"

"Yes sir, I'll finish it asap, good evening" and with that you exused yourself.

Tonight? It was already sundown. Well whatever, hes so busy he probably doesn't know what time of day it is.

You found a quiet spot amonsgt the crowds in the common room and got to work.

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

"Oi brat, it's passed curfew, go to your room now, we have important work tommorow" the unmistakable voice of your captain rang through the now empty hall.

You looked up in surprise and meet his usual scowl, not even realizing how late it had gotten.

"Hai, s-sorry captain, I'll go now" you gathered the report and quickly left, not wanting to receive another scolding for taking too long.

Oh crap you still had to deliever the report. Changing routes you snuck quietly down the familiar hallways. Not particularly feeling like running into Levi again. Something about him always made you act just a little dumber and it was definitely not because of your non existent crush on him...definitely not.. he was just intimidating is all.

*knock knock*

You waited patiently but there was no answer. Crap did he already go to bed? But he knew I was coming? Ugh what should I do? He needs these reports..

With a sigh you change direction again and head for his personal chambers. There was no way you were getting in trouble for not delivering these reports on time.

You smiled when you saw dim light flood from beneath the door.

Lightly you knocked, "Captain Oro, its y/n, sorry it's so late but I have the rep-" you were cut off abruptly when the door swung open and there stood Oro.

Except he looked nothing like the Oro you were used too seeing. His hair was loose from it's normal slicked back do, and the edges were dripping slightly. His shirt was loosely thrown on revealing a decent amount of skin. He must've just bathed.. you could see why the girls were so obsessed with him. He was, platonically speaking, a very gorgeous man.

You were taken aback but reminded yourself that you did knock after hours so of course he wasnt going to be all soldiered up.

"U-um s-sorry Captain, I have the reports" you averted your eyes and shoved the reports in his direction.

"Ah y/n, thank you, would you please put them on my table? My hands are still slightly wet." He laughed holding them up innocently.

"S-sure" god why were you stuttering so much, you fight goddamn titans for a living?! But somehow you were more nervous now than when a 10meter was clawing at you.

You entered the room and tried to avoid looking around too much.

You always wondered what the inside of the higher ups rooms look-

*click*

You whipped around, alarm bells suddenly back in full force.

"Captain what are you-"

"You're such a good girl, you know that y/n?" Oros whole demeanor changed and you cursed yourself for not trusting your earlier instincts.

"U-um" you really did not know what to say or do as he took a couple steps closer.

"Always so obedient for me, I think you deserve a reward don't you?"

Shit

"That's not...that's not necessary captain, I really should be going" you tried to lunge for the door but he was quicker and much much stronger.

"I don't believe I dismissed you cadet..." he purred pinning your arms to the door in the blink of an eye.

You were by no means weak, but your struggles were useless against him.

"Let me go" it took all your strength not to stutter in fear.

"How adorable, you know I love it when you follow my orders so well, but I think..." you shivered in disgust as you felt his lips near your neck and press down.

"I'd like to see you fight me as well" you whimpered as he sucked and bit down on the soft flesh.

"S-stop it, p-please" he smirked and looked into your fearful eyes with his lustful ones. "Stop? But that's not what you really want is it? You see I know exactly how girls like you are" he chuckled darkly and moved one of his hands to grip both your arms, while the other slid lower. You gasped when he cupped your breast. "S-stop! I'll, ill scream If you don't!" You felt a tear slide down your shaking form.

"Scream?" He snickered like you had told the funniest joke.

"Go ahead and scream doll, itll be very interesting to see what happens"

"W-what?" You were utterly confused.

"Think about it, if someone walks in on us, what would they think? Seeing a cadet after hours in her superiors chambers?"

"B-but I! I was bringing the reports i wasn't-!"

"Do you honestly think theyll care what you have to say? Who do you think theyll believe y/n? You a nobody cadet who's been fighting titans for 3 seconds? Or me, a selfless hero whos saved countless of scouts lives? All I have to tell them is that you came into my room and tried to seduce me. When I tried to restrain you, you screamed. Who do you think theyll listen too? Why else would you be here so late at night?"

"Y-You're..you're insane, you're not a hero, y-you're a coward who-" he grasped your jaw harshly causing you to wince.

"I'd watch that mouth of yours y/n" he squeezed harder. I am your superior after all, and we wouldnt want any nasty rumors going around that would have you suspended from the survey corps now would we?" He bent down and to your horror pressed his lips against yours.

Fuck fuck what do I do?!? Hes blackmailing me now. I cant fight him, hes too strong, think think think.

But your mind was blank when his cold lips pressed against your lips again. "Open your mouth" he ordered in a voice laced with animilistac lust.

You abruptly turned your head away desperate to get away.

"Heh, always such a tease" he traced a finger up and down your cheek, flipping over your lips. "I'll enjoy this-"

"CAPTAIN ORO, COMMANDER ERWIN REQUESTS YOUR PRESENCE IN HIS OFFICE IMMEDIATELY" a voice shouts from the other side of the locked door.

With an annoyed sigh, Oro pulls away slightly, "Did he say why?" He lazily looks over in the direction of the door.

"NO SIR!"

"guess it can't be helped... Alright tell him I'll be there shortly" he yelled out.

"Hai" the footsteps recended and you stood deathly still.

He pulled away from you and you immediately pulled your wrists to you, they were an angry red, and it scared you how much strength he had so effortlessly displayed.

"Sorry doll, it looks like we'll have to continue this another night" he stepped away and began dressing normally as if he hadn't just been assaulting you 5 second ago. You quickly make for the door but his voice falters your step, "Oh and y/n?"

You dont look at him, but fear held you in place until he finished, "If you mention our little moment to anyone, you know what will happen" you nodded quickly, anything to appease him and get out.

When the door shut behind you, you felt the flood of tears break through.

D-did, d-did that really happen?!?

You held a hand to quiet your sobs and quickly dashed through the hallways.

You're heart thumped and you felt the need to vomit. You hadn't felt this way since the first time youd encounted a titan. All you wanted to do was get to the safety of your room, just through the hall.

It felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown on you when a cold voice shouted out and halted your movements. Please not now, oh god any time but now.

"Oi cadet y/n are you deaf as well as dumb? I asked you a question.

"Why are you out past curfew?" he sounded definitely annoyed and you gathered all your strength to hold the sobs out of your voice.

Without turning around you answered, "I-I had to deliver some r-reports..I'll head to my room now.." you stepped forward hoping he would let you go but you were not so lucky.

"Oi brat, did you hit your head? I didn't dismiss you yet. Not to mention you haven't even addressed me properly, maybe some time cleaning up horse shit will remind you how to respect your superiors" fuck he was definitely angry now.

Still you didn't turn around, you couldn't..."S-sorry Captain Levi, I'll do better in the future.." you barely could even focus on the words coming out of your mouth, your heart was beating a mile a minute. Please just leave me alone!

"Hahh" Levi uttered in disbelief and severe annoyance, even the most novice of cadets turn around when being spoken to by a superior. "Are you trying to piss me off brat?!?"

"No sir..." still you didnt turn around, but gulped in fear when you heard sharp footsteps near you.

"Cadet y/n, you have three seconds to turn around and salute me properly before I throw you into the cells for insubordination" he ordered in his dangerously calm voice, that you never thought would be directed at you.

Having no other choice you slowly turn around, hoping to god the darkness of the room would be enough to hide your current state.

You kept your head down, letting your hair fall over your face, but gave a proper salute. Hiding the Wince that came when the tender flesh of your wrist had to bend.

Your eyes were trained on the floor. And you tried to remember how to breathe normally again.

"At least you remember how to-" abruptly his harsh scolding stopped.

Why did he stop?! Fuck did he notice something. No no calm down, he probably just is coming up with another punishment...right?

Wrong...

Levi was far from being done with dicisplining you but he caught sight of your bruised wrist and furrowed his brows immediately. He knew for a fact the last time you spoke in the hall those had not been there. He was quick to take in the rest of your demeanor and knew immediately that the reason you were acting disrespectful was because something was wrong.

"Cadet y/n.." he said suspiciously slow and not full of anger anymore.

"Y-yes?" Please dont ask me, please dont ask me, please dont-

"Look at me"

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

Part 2 here

Okay so that's part 1! Please comment and lemme know what you think🥰also I'm super sensitive so please no hateful comments. Thanks for reading!

[aching-tummies]

If I was your partner...I'd want to catch you after a long, long day of misfortune forced you to go without breakfast, or lunch, and you've missed your usual dinnertime by at least a couple hours. You finally get home with your empty belly rumbling VERY audibly; pressing your arm against your tummy as you close the door behind you does nothing to silence the furious growls. You'd collapse on the couch next to me and quickly start trying to soothe your starving tummy with rubs, softly whimpering as your belly clenches tighter and tighter...so I'd pull in you up to sit on my lap and rest my hands on yours. I'd love to just feel the intense churning grumbles and powerful starved roars against our hands, as well as hear them, before even considering feeding you~

After a while, I'd start teasing you about how hungry you'd have to be by then, occasionally squeezing and poking your whining tummy to draw out harsher rumbles and make you moan and plead for me to make something to eat, or at least some kind of snack, but for a while I would just play with your empty belly, kneading in circles to make it more active...make it clench and twist harder. I'd see just how long you could last before I finally get up and make something for you...and even then once you started eating I would keep rubbing and "massaging" your guts, causing the cacophony to grow even louder and more insistent; begging for more despite how quickly you'd be stuffing your face.

"...You finally get home with your empty belly rumbling VERY audibly; pressing your arm against your tummy as you close the door behind you does nothing to silence the furious growls..."

I step into our home quietly, trying not to make too much noise and disturb anything. Also, I'm kind of embarrassed about my tummy. Skipping one meal, maybe two...yeah, must've been busy...but all three mealtimes? Only an idiot would let themselves get this hungry. Though...to be honest...after lunchtime came and went I kind of saw this as something I wanted. The gnawing ache started to tickle my kinky side just a little. I wanted this. I wanted to see how long I could endure...to see how long I could let myself enjoy the active squirming and clenching of my guts.

Trying to focus on work was next to impossible as I my attention was constantly tugged toward the state of my hollow guts with each and every cramp and growl. I nearly caved on the way home. The bus stop is next to a burger joint and I could smell the heavenly scent of salt and grease in the air...but the bus was just pulling into my stop as I neared and I didn't want to wait however long for the next one...so home without food it was. The ride back was excruciating. The scents from the burger joint had stimulated my appetite and my tummy was snarling and growling throughout the whole ride. The cramps were cranked up to eleven with the newly awoken appetite and it hurt a lot. Thank heavens the other passengers all had their headphones in. I set my bag on my lap and was squeezing my empty tummy the whole way, trying to calm it out of fear that it would embarrass me in public. I couldn't help but let out a few soft moans because it hurt so much.

I'm kind of apprehensive about letting you in on the state of my starving tummy. Like a dog with a toy or something, a part of me wants to keep this gnawing feeling to myself to enjoy. An audible growl triggered by my arm pressing into my stomach as I bend over to set my bag down foils that though. There's no way you didn't hear that.

I'm in the hallway that has our front door on one end and the couch you're perched on at the other--literally two sides of an echo chamber. You'd have to be completely deaf not to hear that grumble and we both know you're keenly attuned to even the subtlest noises from my tummy. Also, you were expecting my starving state. You knew I skipped out on breakfast because my alarm failed to wake me in time to catch breakfast and my bus to work. I texted you after having missed lunch by a matter of hours, sharing a bit about the state of my neglected innards...and you had promised to have dinner waiting whenever I managed to come home.

"...You'd collapse on the couch next to me and quickly start trying to soothe your starving tummy with rubs, softly whimpering as your belly clenches tighter and tighter..."

"Babe? Y-you said in the text that you'd have dinner ready...ouch...w-when are we e-eating? Ugh…ow…m-my tummy really hurts…’m so hungry…"

"...so I'd pull in you up to sit on my lap and rest my hands on yours. I'd love to just feel the intense churning grumbles and powerful starved roars against our hands..."

"Y-you w-wanna--you wanna get into *that*? Now? Ugh...fine...b-but I really need to eat some time tonight. My tummy *really* hurts; I'm not going to be able to sleep like this. Babe? Are you listening to me?"

Clearly, you're not. You are completely transfixed on my tummy. Your hands have taken over on my stomach, somehow having pushed mine aside to lay directly over my achingly empty tummy. Your palms press into my midriff, jostling my digestive organs and stimulating my appetite just as the fast-food joint had done. I didn't think it was possible, but what you've done actually hurts more than the smell of food did at the bus stop. It was a gradual clenching and the growls sort of built up slowly and naturally on the bus. Under your undulating ministrations the cramps are forced into a head faster than they'd form on their own. Premature growls and grumbles are being squeezed into resounding throughout my hollow innards. Your palms create a cacophony of growls all over my guts--interrupting each other, flowing and crashing into each other. Dear gosh it hurts. My guts feel like they are liquifying. It feels like my gastric acids have burned through every which way in the hunt for sustenance and your palms are causing the burning mess to spread. Clearly, you’re an agent of hunger and want it to succeed in devouring my innards.

"Aaahh...OUCH! N-Not there...ugh...ow...t-that hurts...d-don't p-oke...ow...i-it's really t-tight there...y-yeah...i-it's cramping there...n-NO! D-don't squeeze it! Please...it...HURTS!"

My protests fall on deaf ears--what a time for you to choose to be selectively deaf, acutely aware of every noise from my guts but your brain not really caring to register a word out of my mouth. It's fine. We have safe-words. One word and all of this stops and you'll bring out the dinner you're hiding from me.

"Ugh...fine. We can play for a little while--but I'm watching the 11'o clock news. There was an incident on the transit lines and I want to know what it was that caused me to hug my grumbling tummy for an extra forty minutes on the way home as the bus took a HUGE detour."

"...After a while, I'd start teasing you about how hungry you'd have to be by then, occasionally squeezing and poking your whining tummy to draw out harsher rumbles and make you moan..."

"Shh...babe, I'm try'na watch the news—Yeah, I know I’m hungry. You know it. I know it. Shut up. It's ON!"

Your fingers push into a hunger pang reaching its climax and I swear its retaliation for shushing you as rudely as I am. I can’t help it. I’m irritable. The hunger pangs are intensifying. I like my news. I like to be informed and I have a personal stake in the news story on right now. It’s hard to focus when my tummy is straining in a cramp and it’s impossible to hear the guy on the T.V. when your “massage” is causing the growls to grow in intensity, duration, and volume. Of course you have the remote too.

"Ugh...really, babe? Now? Welp, that was the story I wanted to listen to."

I’d love to stay upset at you, but my stomach lets out a long, impassioned groan and my throat soon joins it as I moan around a building cramp, curling over your hand pressed into my belly. I forget my foiled news as my entire world shrinks to the sensation reverberating in my abdomen. Hollow is an understatement. I feel like a large hole has opened inside of me and everything is being pulled into it. You grin and press your hand deeper, intensifying the hunger pang.

"...I would just play with your empty belly, kneading in circles to make it more active...make it clench and twist harder. I'd see just how long you could last..."

In my head I’m thinking that I want to draw the line at midnight or something. I want to go to bed at a reasonable hour—after all, I’ve still got a full shift tomorrow too. I can’t seem to focus on the thought long enough to voice it though. You mentioned something about wanting to see how long I can stick this out for. I haven’t eaten in more than twenty-four hours. You know that. I’d love to shove that fact in your face but the way you say it in that teasing, seductive way of yours makes me see this as a challenge. On top of it all, it’s been a stressful week. We haven’t seen much of each other and both of us are starved for tummy-kink because we haven’t had a chance to indulge in far too long.

“Ergh…b-babe…y-you’re making it worse. I-It hurts.”

You know exactly what you’re doing and you revel in it as I squirm in your lap, trying to force your hand to leave some of the more tender areas of my stomach alone. We’ve done this enough times for you to know which areas of my digestive system are especially sensitive in whatever state I am in. You know exactly where to put your hands and where to push and squeeze to over-stimulate my stomach. You know exactly what buttons to push to get me to the peak of the hunger pangs and to prolong that moment and freeze my tummy in the most painful part of it all…before letting it go and causing a very audible grumble.

The rumbles from my stomach aren’t just audible, but totally palpable too. With the frequency of the growls you’ve managed to inflict I honestly feel like I swallowed a vibrator or something and it is now going to town in my guts. You feel every vibration and every cramp under your palm.

“…I finally get up and make something for you...and even then once you started eating I would keep rubbing and "massaging" your guts, causing the cacophony to grow even louder and more insistent; begging for more despite how quickly you'd be stuffing your face.”

We’ve done this long enough for you to know what I am thinking. You know I have a full shift tomorrow and you know I’m exhausted. As much as we’d both love to continue our fun, it’s so late that it is early now and if I don’t get to bed in an hour or two I’m going to be tackling a full shift with next to no sleep.

We eat on the couch with me sitting between your legs. We’re lounging across the couch so I’m actually reclined against your front. Your hands are still on my tummy as I eat. Occasionally, you grip my hand that holds the utensil and bring it to my lips, impatient that I’m taking so long to eat. I’m worried about a couple of things: too much and too fast.

I was starving, so I basically inhaled the first half of my plate. I slowed down for the second because my stomach was flipping at the sudden influx of food. There’s a dull ache in my stomach that’s the telltale sign of a bad night of indigestion for me. You only started this utensil-pushing when I started in on the second half at a noticeably slower pace than the first.

My stomach is still audible, but for a very different reason. I’m not full (yet), but if I manage to finish the whole plate I will be. I wonder if my stomach capacity shrank after more than twenty-four hours without food. My tummy feels really packed now and there is still food on the plate.

“Ugh…babe…slow down. M-my tummy’s starting to hurt…y-yeah…i-it was hurting before too…b-but now…ugh…I-I don’t want to get sick. I don’t want to have an upset tummy…I-I just…I just want to sleep tonight…”

Your “massage” churns up my stomach contents. It both upsets things and soothes at the same time. It’s an odd feeling. I feel like a laundry machine or something with how active your hands have made my guts. I can feel everything swirling around inside me and it’s slightly nauseating.

Eventually, we head to bed, me lugging my almost-stuffed tummy as though I’m hoisting a bowling ball. I let out a sharp belch as I flop onto the bed, the movement jostling my guts enough to make me moan. There’s too much pressure in my tummy. I lie back and rub at it with lethargic movements. You’re not here, likely getting ready for bed.

I feel the bed dip announcing your arrival. The movement disrupts the swirling churning in my guts and I let out a moan around a wet belch as my stomach burbles in warning.

“G’night.” You call out, intending on going straight to sleep. My hand snaps out and I grip your wrist, startling you. There’s silence as I gasp around a pocket of gas that seems to be struggling to pick an end of my esophagus. As it passes, I glare at you. My burbling stomach is the only noise in the otherwise quiet bedroom.

“Oh no—you’re not getting of that easy.” I gesture to my slightly distended stomach. “I can’t sleep like this. It. Hurts. You caused this. You’re going to fix it. I’m exhausted. I went from achingly empty to basically nauseatingly stuffed thanks to you. I’m going to sleep and I do not want to wake up to an upset tummy tomorrow morning—so *you’re* going to stay up and fix this.” I bring your hand to my grumbling belly.

You grin. So many possibilities. You could refuse and let me suffer all night. You could have some more fun with my stomach at the other extreme and keep us both up. You could do as I ask, but where’s the fun in that? Maybe I’ll end up sleeping through my alarm again…or you’ll just go ahead and shut it off/alter it so that we can repeat all of this again tomorrow…’cuz damn if that wasn’t fun.

[hobidreams]

may 1869.

just this once, you let yourself be a little braver.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff? words: 1.4k contains: someone new, something new.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 20. start from the beginning?

A balmy wind drifts through the open window of your bedchamber, making ripples upon the freshly made spread. You stand in sunlight before the mirror, tracing the faint remnant of the bruise on your collarbone, left by the king’s hungry mouth too many nights before, and wish absently that the mark will stay for at least a few hours more.

As the days grow longer, his visits have become far less frequent, though the minutes he spends indulging in your heat seem to extend ever so slightly in turn. The explanation that leaves your heart intact is that he is occupied by overseeing the administration and results of the national civil exam, the gwageo that took place a few days ago and will bring a new group of eager scholars into the palace. You try very hard not to think about the possibility of his finding his way to another woman’s bed, even though he is well within his rights to. Even though it is expected of a king to have handfuls of consorts in his court. He has, thankfully, spared you of such truths, like he continues to spare you of any details about his life. Theoretically, that makes it easier to not get so attached. Theoretically.

With an exhale, you re-adjust the collar of your blouse to hide the mark and put on your hat before stepping out into the sun, holding a book that you intend to return to the king’s library.

As you walk towards the building, you soon realize there’s a man you’ve never seen before in green scholar’s robes in front of the shuttered doors, pacing back and forth as the dark samo on his head bobs from the effort. What’s he doing? While people may pass by here, they rarely linger.

When the man spots you, his gaze seems to brighten. “Excuse me, uinyeo-nim!”

You come to a stop before him, taking in the wane of his eyes that are like friendly crescents. “Good morning. How may I help you, Scholar…?”

“Park.” He smiles. “I’m one of the newly admitted scholars.”

“Scholar Park. Congratulations on passing the exam.” You return his smile with a small one of your own though you remain on your guard, no matter how kind he seems. Most of the current scholars treat you with disdain (though they at least attempt to veil it on the king’s account, you are certain), as you are a woman and thus beneath them, no matter if the texts you’ve read could rival theirs. This Park must be brilliant though, if he passed the rigorous exam at such a young age.

“Thank you. I’m excited to begin my work! But…” He bites his lip. “The head scholar asked me to obtain a copy of Bang Si-Hyuk’s latest text, and the royal library said that only the king has a copy…” His expressive face falls and you, with a twinge of endearment, think he might be an awful liar if he ever tried. “Would you happen to know how I might borrow from the private library? Should I request an audience with the king? Are there official forms to follow? I really don’t wish to misstep.”

You stare at him quietly, contemplating whether or not you should reveal that you have such access.

He nervously seems to take your lack of answer as confusion. “Yes, I am aware that I should have asked my fellow scholars but they are all so much older than me and I’m afraid that they will take me less seriously than they already do if I cannot complete such a simple task on my own... But no one else has walked by here and I do not want to go back empty-handed and…” He trails off, giving you a look of absolute desperation that warms your heart, despite your reservations.

“Scholar Park. I can retrieve the book for you, if you promise to return it within a few days.” The king wouldn’t notice that it’s missing anyhow, not with how busy he’s been. That, and you get the feeling that the older scholars have been playing a bit of an initiation joke on this poor boy.

“Really? You will? Thank you, uinyeo-nim!” He breaks into a huge grin. “Oh, but uinyeo-nim, how do you have access to the king’s libra…”

You can practically see the moment it clicks in his mind that you are that physician, the one who’s name is irrevocably tangled up with the king’s.

It seems palace gossip is not exempt even from those who have only entered the grounds the day before. You can literally feel the turmoil going on within him as he tries to figure out how to address you, whether or not he should give you the respect of the king’s consort even though you are technically not one in the slightest. Just a lowborn, a hole, even a witch doctor that has bewitched jeonha, as those less polite than this boy have put it when they thought you were out of earshot.

“Hm?” You prompt like a masochist, wanting to see what he says. Wanting to see if it’ll hurt you some more, or if you’ve finally gone blissfully numb.

“N-Nothing, uinyeo-nim.”

You were right. He’s an awful liar.

But you get the book for him anyway, and see him off with promises to meet you back here two days later for the return. Your reality is none of his fault, after all.

That night, the king drops by with little decorum. Opens the door to your chambers and strips off his robes, like he always does. Though this time as he kneads your bare chest in his calloused fingers, pinching the peaked nipples so hard you whimper, you are filled with a need for some scrap of certainty. You want to wipe that coolness from his eyes for even one second, to stoke some intimate fire from him that says he still remembers how you used to be together. How it used to be easier than this. Closer, even though now you know how thick his cock feels as he robs you of air.

“You—ah—you’ve been busy, jeonha?” It’s been getting marginally easier to talk to him like this in the moonlight, his hands making a mess of you. “It’s been quite some time since you’ve come.”

“What, are you that needy for a fuck?” He smirks, but it’s a look more dark and dangerous than playful as he reaches down and finds you soaked. You think you feel the ghost of that word lingering around his question, but it is a small blessing that has not said it aloud since that night in April.

Your face flushes hot. “I-I was just wondering…” You shouldn’t mention it. You really should hold your tongue, but you’re sick of being trapped in your own mind, going in circles with your own insecurity. Just this once. Just this once you want to let yourself ask— “I thought… That perhaps you had taken another conso—oh!” You’re cut off by an abrupt inhale as he sinks two nimble fingers into your cunt. One smooth stroke takes him so deep, only for him to pull out to use the translucent wetness he’s gathered as lubricant along his shaft.

“You think I have time for other women?” He snaps. His stare is intense, but you can’t see a single lie in their depths. “Never have.”

Then he takes you so roughly, you think the bed might break from all the rattling. You have to blink away white spots in your vision when you come and he doesn’t say much more to you for the rest of the night, but you’re smiling almost deliriously all the way through with your nails scratching faint red down his back, the bracelet he gave you dragging over his skin from its home on your wrist. Never, your mind echoes, again and again.

Against all the odds. Against anything you would have expected. Even if he keeps you at arm’s length to the thoughts in his heart, it’s still the chance three-step skip of a grey stone across a rippling pond.

You’re the only one.

a/n: wow. drabble 20. it’s taken us half a year to get here & it honestly feels like a dream that i’ve made it this far. yet there is still so much on the line. so much further to travel together. thank you, if you’ve been here since the beginning. thank you, if you’re just picking up the series 💜 please do come let me know your thoughts on the series as we slide into the present time, with all the tension of the past lingering too closely by. i truly couldn’t have gotten here without all your support ♡

[aftertheskyy]

The knights knowing about Merthur

(A little based off Cyrano de Bergerac) (also thank you @junemo10 because you my dear, are brilliant)

Give me a world where Gwaine figures out that Merlin likes Arthur and immediately tells Percival, who tells Lancelot. Lancelot is responsible enough to keep it a secret.

Meanwhile, Leon picks up that Arthur likes Merlin. And Elyan and Mordred catch on, too. 

Except Merlin, Gwaine, and company don’t realize that Arthur likes Merlin and is teamed up with Leon.

“MERLIN IT WAS A PAT ON THE SHOULDER CALM DOWN.”

And Arthur and Leon don’t realize that Merlin likes Arthur and that he and Gwaine are doing the same thing. 

“If you want to read into it, I suppose refilling your water cup at the dinner table could be romantic. Since that’s his fucking job.”

Once, after a council meeting, Gwaine nudged Percival, who nudged Lance, and the three of them left the room to give Merlin and Arthur some time together. Unknowing of Gwaine’s plan, Leon quickly notices that some knights were leaving. Thinking that it might also be good to leave so Merlin and Arthur could be alone together, he nudges Elyan and Mordred to do the same. 

And this goes on for awhile until Gwaine and Leon are both done because they know that Merlin and Arthur both like each other, but they can’t convince them. And they still don’t know that the other side has a thing going on.

Merlin, running into Gwaine’s chambers: Is ‘horseplay’ a form of flirting? Gwaine:

Arthur: His ARMS, Leon. How did he get so buff?

Gwaine: He literally keeps track of your smiles Merlin: Yeah, but I think he does that with everyone.

Merlin, intentionally leaving roses in Arthur’s room: Arthur, later that night, walking into Leon’s room and shaking him awake: I NEED ANSWERS

Until eventually, Leon is so fed up with Arthur that he tells him to just talk to Merlin and ask him out that night.

Arthur wants to, but is absolutely terrified that he’ll mess up or say something wrong. 

So he asks Leon to sit in a nearby bush and deliver him lines, which he’ll then relay to Merlin.

Reluctantly, Leon agrees. 

So when Merlin prepares to meet Arthur that night, he knows something is up and asks Gwaine to come with him for backup. They also plan for Gwaine to hide somewhere and whisper lines to Merlin in response to whatever Arthur says. 

They meet out behind the castle and it’s working out great. 

Until Gwaine and Leon run into each other in the bushes. 

“What are you doing here?” “Leon! What a surprise. I’m just. You know. Doing my trimming.” “Trimming?” “Lots of trimming, lots of gardening. Nighttime is the best time to do it, too.” *whispers to Merlin* “Say you would love to. You’re free tomorrow.” “Who’s free tomorrow?” “Hm? Oh, the bush! You know, I like to. Set them up. Talk to them. Make dates.” “...okay.” *whispers to Arthur* “Say you’ll bring lunch!”

And it’s still going alright in the midst of all of this, neither Leon nor Gwaine realizing what the other one is doing and try to convince each other to head up to the castle so they don’t get caught. 

Gwaine, in the bushes: I’ll see you tomorrow. I do my best trimming by myself. Leon, also in the bushes: That’s alright. How about I go escort you back up to the castle? Arthur, not in the bushes to Merlin: How about I go escort you back up to the castle? Gwaine: Nah, it’s really okay.  Merlin to Arthur: It’s really okay.  Leon: No, I insist! Arthur: I insist! Gwaine: I’m alright Leon, I’ll see you tomorrow at practice! Merlin: I’m alright Leon, I’ll see you tomorrow at practice!

And this goes on for some time-- Merlin and Arthur repeating Leon and Gwaine’s argument until they both storm off together, leaving Merlin and Arthur very confused and very frustrated that neither of them were able to convey their feelings. 

Leon, however is a smart man. He’s in bed that night, thinking about the events in the bushes before he figures it out. 

He goes to Gwaine the next day, who promptly tells Percy, who tells Lancelot, and the cycle repeats. 

And soon, all the knights of the round table are trying to get Merlin and Arthur together. 

On more than one occasion, Gwaine will “trip,” sendng Merlin flying into Arthur. 

Lancelot and Elyan have intense discussion about who’s the top.

It’s also Lancelot who coins the term “Merthur.”

Percival starts a betting pool, and they all have claims on when they’ll finally get together. 

(Leon wins 2 months afterwards.)

[its-deputy-caleb]

hello! can i have some touch starved micah with a gentle and caring fem or gn reader?? thank you :))

omg yess anon, u can have touch starved micah any day! now ngl its like 3AM and i decided to write these after such a long day so this probs makes no sense and i didn't like the way they turned out at all so i might fix it up later

but still please enjoy this mess and a friendly reminder to anyone that reads this that my rdr requests are still open (but dw there's still more to come) i'm just really enjoying getting back into red dead!!

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

It had been a relatively long night for Micah, or so you’d noticed as you watched him leaning against a tree for almost the entire afternoon and long into the night, just sharpening his knife and mumbling under his breath.

You knew something was bothering him and apart of you couldn’t help but be a little worried and it wasn’t because of the robbery you have with him the next day. No, deep down you had a soft spot for him.

But Micah Bell had his walls up high even around someone like you who is one of the few people he considers a friend. Talking to him, little alone approaching him is more of a challenge than a bet in five finger fillet and you had an inkling that he’d appreciate being alone.

So with a heavy sigh you stood from your place at the campfire, bid the last few remaining members a goodnight and headed towards your tent— there needed to be one of you with at least four hours of sleep, otherwise you’d never be able to pull off this robbery.

As you turned around to close the flaps in your tent, you couldn’t help but notice Micah’s gaze directed at you and it had been since you stood to leave. When your eyes met his own and you gave a soft smile he immediately turned his attention back to the knife and whetstone in his hand, hiding how flustered he was under the brim of his hat.

You waved goodnight to him but of course he didn’t see it, he wouldn’t dare look your way until he knew for certain that you wouldn’t catch him doing so. In all the time you’ve gotten to know Micah, you’ve seen him argue, fight, yell and even flirt with the gang members and total strangers but you’ve never seen him flustered or nervous quite like the way he is with you.

The thought makes you giggle as you settle into bed, you could only guess that he likes you but to say that you hate the idea would be a lie.

-

The next morning you were walking through camp with a cup of coffee in your hand as you went to find Micah and prepare for the coach that was coming in from Annesburg. It wasn’t difficult to find him since he was still leaning against the tree, the only real point of difference was his slightly slumped posture and obvious bags under his eyes.

“Here, I thought you might want this after last night.”

He stares numbly at the cup of coffee you’re holding out for him to take. He seems almost startled out of his thoughts at the first person that’s actually approached him in hours.

“I don’t like coffee.”

“—Half of its filled with whiskey.”

One of Micah’s typical sly smirks comes to rest on his face, one that’s laced with over confidence so that he can put his walls up higher and keep everyone thinking that he’s not trying to downplay whatever’s bothering him.

“You know me too well, sweetheart.”

However, you’re not just anyone and happen to see straight through his charms. When you place the cup in his hand you instantly notice the way he seems to tense up when your hand lightly brushes his. You couldn’t help but think the soft sound that left him was, for lack of a better word...cute.

His hand instinctively reaches forward into you more before pulling away to fiddle with the cup.

“Common now, I need you feeling sharp for this robbery and its a long ride to Annesburg from here.”

The tension leaves him when he realises you’re not going to push for answers or make a scene and he’s clearly comforted by the small smile you’re giving him.

-

The robbery as a whole goes fairly smooth. The coach guards were easy to take down with there being only three of them plus a driver. The issue arrived when the law showed up and there was a hell of a lot more than three.

The coach had been flipped at this point, the horses well and truely bolted but it offered the cover you needed in order to take out the flock of lawman.

Standing beside you, you can’t help notice how Micah seems completely out of it. You’ve seen him at his best, just how well he can shoot during a gunfight. Hell at Blackwater you saw him take out at least twenty pinkertons before you all even made it off the boat. No, the Micah standing beside you could barely even aim straight.

Eventually, the coast is clear— it took a while but the shooting finally stopped and left only silence as Micah went over to crack open the safe containing the payroll.

“Oh shit—“

Before you know what you’re doing, you take three quick steps forward and push Micah as hard as you can against his side. He hits the ground with a loud thud but you don’t stop to think about it as you fire your revolver at the lawman who’d managed to sneak up on you.

You don’t take your finger off the trigger until there’s no more bullets left in the chamber and the lawman is well and truly on the floor. You holster your revolver before turning around and offering an arm out for Micah to take, who is still sitting in the dirt with a stunned look on his face.

“Are you alright?”

You gently hoist him up and squeeze at his hand in hopes that he’ll understand just how worried you are about him right now.

Micah doesn’t give you a verbal response, instead choosing to groan but you didn’t mind, you suspect that his ego took more bullets than the lawman had. That didn’t mean you didn’t miss the way his hand squeezed yours back tightly.

“Oh Jesus, you’re bleeding!”

It seems Micah himself hadn’t even noticed the vibrant red stain of blood on his already dirty white pants.

“It’s just a graze, ain’t nothing to worry about.”

Unfortunately you don’t have time to argue with him about as he’s already loading up the cash onto Baylock before saddling up himself.

“Fine, but yer letting me patch you up when he get back to camp.”

-

To your surprise Micah actually follows you to your tent so you can at least bandage and disinfect the wound but that doesn’t mean he isn’t gonna put up a fuss. It takes you a good ten minutes just to get his pants off so you could clean it and it takes you even longer to place your hands anywhere near him.

“I can wrap my own damned bullet wound!”

You stare at him with an eyebrow raised, watching as he has an internal battle with himself on whether to push you away like he does everyone else, or to cave and let you in.

“Alright then, I’ll leave you to it.”

You decide to call his bluff, placing the bandages on the crate beside your bed before dusting yourself off and standing to leave the tent, only to be stopped by a hand on your wrist. Finally, you see something snap inside him and he sighs, almost defeatedly.

“Please stay…”

You pick the bandages and the old rag back up and sit back down on the edge of the cot. He jumps slightly when your hand is placed on the outside of his upper thigh, just under where the graze has torn the skin.

“Relax Micah, it’s okay.”

Micah is staring up at you with hopeful eyes as he leans on his elbows on the cot. You give him a reassuring smile but he only starts to really relax when your hand moves in slow circles against his thigh.

After the old rag has been drenched in whiskey you, offer him an apology before placing it over the wound to disinfect it. Micah hisses through his teeth and falls flat against the cot, trying not to bite his tongue off at the sharp burning feeling that’s travelling up his leg.

-

When his wound has been properly cleaned and bandaged, you lean forward and take his chin in your hand and guide him to look at you.

“Now was that so bad?”

Your eyes stare into his icy blue ones and you notice just how tired he seems. You decide to make a decision before second guessing yourself and lay down next to him on the cot that’s too small for the two of you to really fit on it.

Nevertheless your arms come to wrap around him in a tight hug. He tenses again but only for a moment before melting into you, exhausting clearly winning out.

Your hand comes to tangle in his hair and gently massage his scalp before placing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Is this why you’ve been acting so off recently?”

Micah nods into your shoulder, more relaxed than ever now that he’s receiving the affection and intimacy he’s been craving for months now. He’ll probably beat himself up later over a bottle of whiskey for being so needy, but right now he couldn’t care less.

“Micah, when was the last time you had a hug?”

Your question is soft, non judgemental as you gently detangle his hair from where there are small knots. This time, there’s no answer and he only sinks further into your arms around him, as if he’s trying to literally avoid the question.

It doesn’t take a genius however to guess how long its been.

“Hey its alright, it doesn’t have to be like that anymore.”

His head comes up from your shoulder instantly, a desperate and hopeful look in his eyes. Your noses are almost touching and you can feel his slightly shaky breathe as he attempts to calm his nerves.

You lean forward slowly and place a soft kiss to lips, feeling him smile against you. His moustache manages to tickle his top lip and you can’t help but giggle which only makes the two of you smile more.

-

That night, Micah finally gets a good night’s rest with his head resting upon your shoulder. He’s lulled off by your hand rubbing slow circles into the back of his neck and soft but frequent forehead kisses.

He’s just about to doze off into a peaceful sleep when he feels you whisper against his skin,

“I love you Micah, just relax and get some sleep now”

The next morning he’ll wake up from one of the best sleeps he’s had in a long time knowing you held him all night.

[vvitchering]

32. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” for bobadin?

This is my first time writing for this ship and my second time writing Boba so I am FEAR (TM) but I think I actually like the way this came out?????

~ It’s been a month and a half since the beroya had come to stay at the palace. Six since the loss of his child and his creed. Boba doesn’t like to think about what Din had been doing to himself in the time between handing his son over to the jetii and when Boba had finally managed to track him down halfway across the galaxy. He hadn’t known Din long at that point, but anyone could have seen the defeat and hopelessness in his posture and demeanor. 

If Boba had taken any longer to find him, he isn’t sure there would have been much left to find.

Given purpose once again as a hunter and personal guard for the usurper king of Tattooine, Din is flourishing. Now, Boba counts on him almost as much as he does on Shand. She may be his right hand, but Din is as close to clan, aliit, as either of them are going to get and that means something to Boba. They’re both orphans, survivors from a scattered culture; and in every word of mando’a they speak to each other, every nostalgic smile, every instance of innate understanding, they grow a little closer. 

Things have been going well, possibly too well, suspiciously well. So while it isn’t a complete shock when Din begins to pull away again, it still hurts. They haven’t shared a meal in days. The mats laid out for combat practice have gone unused. Din hovers at the edge of Boba’s vision when he absolutely must make an appearance and he all but evaporates like a desert breeze the second he’s no longer needed. 

Din begins to stay out on hunts for longer stretches of time. He reports the relevant details on his return and disappears again until he’s summoned. His absence burns like acid but Boba tries to give him his space. He doesn’t know what he’s done to offend the man, but it’s clear there’s been a shift in their relationship and if he doesn’t want to lose the wayward beroya yet again, he’s going to have to do something soon.

He gets his chance one afternoon after he’s yelled at his court to disperse and he’s made his way to the chambers they use for exercise and weapon storage. Din is already there, moving through his forms, beskar spear in hand. His movements grow stiff and unnatural the moment he realizes he has company and Boba feels the last of his restraint snap.

“Do you have some issue with me all of a sudden?” he asks. Din flinches like he’s been struck. 

“Have I offended you in some way? Made you feel uncomfortable or unwelcome?”

Din fidgets with the spear and shifts his weight from foot to foot as if he’s debating making a break for it. Boba frowns. He’s never pressured Din to go helmetless, he knows he finds a certain kind of comfort and familiarity in keeping that part of himself intact, but he finds himself wishing for the umpteenth time that Din trusted him enough to remove it in his company. 

Right now, it feels like just another impenetrable barrier between them.

“No, it’s not that.” Din finally responds, tilting his head as he speaks in that curious way of his.

Boba moves closer, motioning for Din to continue. They’re having this discussion, no matter how much Din looks like he’d rather take off running. Whatever he’s hiding, it’s hurting them both and Boba can’t, won’t, stand for it any longer. He’s come to value Din’s companionship in a way he’s quickly realizing is frighteningly irreplaceable. The thought of losing it permanently sends cold shivers up and down his spine in a way nothing else ever has. 

Boba sets his jaw. Despite the avoidance techniques Din has been favoring lately, he is still Mandalorian, as is Boba. They will clean the air as their kind have done for centuries. 

Boba lunges. 

The attack catches Din completely off guard and they fall to the mat covered floor with a muffled clatter. Din loses his grip on the spear and it rolls away out of his reach. He struggles under Boba’s weight in a weak attempt to avoid being pinned down, but Boba has him just where he wants him. He leans almost his full weight onto Din’s chest, keeping him down, and presses his forearm into Din’s throat. He takes care not to press too hard; he wants to subdue and restrain, not hurt. 

Din inhales raggedly but goes obligingly limp, unwilling to fight back. It’s like the fire that they’ve both worked so hard to kindle has left him again. Cold fear zings through Boba, mingling with the adrenaline from their short lived tussle and he feels sick to his stomach as he realizes this might be the last time he’s allowed this close to Din. 

“Tell me. Please.” He begs. And it is begging. How far the mighty Boba Fett has fallen, pleading with a no-name beroya from some backwater covert for forgiveness for some unknown slight. He’d fall even further if it meant he could keep Din by his side just a little longer. 

He can’t see Din’s eyes behind the dark of his visor, but he can feel the strength of his gaze. He can feel him tense again beneath him as he registers Boba’s pathetic pleading. There’s a moment of complete stillness before the world tilts and Boba gasps for breath as Din manages to swap their positions and slams him into the ground. It’s not gentle. There’s force in his movements, real intent, and Boba would sigh in relief if he hadn’t just had the air mercilessly knocked from his lungs.

“I have lost everything in my life that mattered to me,” Din begins, and his normally calm voice is edged in steel. “My home. My family, twice over. Everything I had left fit inside a storage locker in my ship and that’s gone, too.” 

“You’re not the only one who’s lost things, Din.” Boba reminds him gently.

Din laughs miserably. He’s shaking slightly, Boba can feel the tremors where Din is pressed against him. 

“Sometimes I think I’m cursed.” Din says quietly. “I never get to keep anything important. My creed, my ship, the kid, everything I loved...” He trails off, viciously biting off what sounds like the beginning of a sob.

Din’s hold on Boba loosens significantly as he falls apart and Boba takes the opportunity to grasp at Din’s wrists, gripping them lightly but securely. He’s not great with words and even less so with comfort, but he can do this at least. He can anchor Din, help him weather the storm he’s fighting through, and see him safely back to shore.

“I pulled away because I thought if I ended this myself before it turned into anything it might hurt less than waiting for something to come along and end it for me. Cut something out of my life on my own terms for once, you know? Couldn’t do it, though.”

“Din--”

“Ne’johaa, I’m not finished.”

Boba swallows his interruption and stares up at Din pointedly. 

Go on. Get to the point of all this. 

Din takes a measured breath and then lets it go. 

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified. I don’t want you to be another thing I lose. I won’t survive it. Not again.”

“Oh. Is that all?”

“Is that all...Boba--”

“Now it’s your turn to shut up. C’mere.”

Boba shifts his grip to hold Din by the forearm with one hand while the other slides up over Din’s shoulder to pull him down by neck. Their helmets clink together at their foreheads and the sound echoes through the chamber. Din makes a short shocked sound and throws his free hand down beside Boba’s head to support himself but makes no attempt to pull away. 

“I’ve lived through far more than my fair share of hardship in this life. You don’t get to look like I do without having survived some absolute shit situations.”

They’re separated by the metal of their helmets, but Boba would swear he can feel Din’s warmth seeping through.

“If this is something you want to pursue,” he continues, “I’m amenable to that. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere any time soon, verd’ika.”  

Din makes a strange wheezing noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh and sniffs loudly before collapsing slowly on top of Boba in an exhausted but relieved heap. 

“Not that I’m not enjoying you sprawled out on top of me like this, but do you think we could relocate to a more comfortable surface? A training mat isn’t exactly an ideal place for a cuddle.” 

“Trying to get me into bed already? You’re shameless.” Din laughs, clear and true, and it’s the sweetest sound Boba has heard in a long time.

--

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, do a writer a favor and reblog! Likes are nice, but they don’t get this story out there for more people to see. I’m also toying with the idea of putting this one up on my ao3. Thoughts?

mando’a words beroya - hunter Ne’johaa - shut up verd’ika - literally “little soldier”, used here as an affectionately insulting term of endearment as its usually used for little kids

(I really like Mando’a as a language, I think its fascinating, and writing a ship that consists of two Mandalorians gives me the perfect excuse to WAY over use it because I barely ever get to. I apologize for NOTHING. I wasn’t expecting this to be so long. I’m fully planning on coming back to this when I have fresh eyes and revising and editing some parts where the pacing feels a little off!)