#he cannot help himself. he just has to serve

[kingkaisen]

Prompt idea: Royal knight Kento or Suguru that falls for the princess they’re protecting

VULCANIA — Kento N.

♛ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: the king has given kento nanami one very important task and no say in the matter: protect you, the beloved princess, with his life. however, the knight can’t help but wonder . . . if you ever found yourself in danger, could he protect you? Would he protect you?

♛ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: spicy kissing scene but overall sfw, feral nanami, angst, fluff, major violence, mentions of war, minor character deaths, slight enemies to lovers, brief mention of arranged marriages, geto, gojo, & sukuna make an appearance. this takes place in a mythical world! oh, and animals adore you.

♛ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 10k (sorry, I was having a blast)

♛ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: dividers by @uzmacchiato!

Kento Nanami wanted to hate you.

Truly, he did. He tried.

After all, his bloodline’s only purpose was to shed blood; to die in service of whomever sat on the throne, as well as their spoiled spouse and privileged offspring. 

An unstable, overemotional king would often start a war over a bruised ego and an insatiable thirst for power. And every time — every single time — a king declared war on another nation, be it near or far, members of Kento’s family would die a pointless death on a battlefield.

More land and subjects for the king. Another funeral to attend for Kento.

The Nanamis were widely known as one of the most loyal families within the kingdom of Umarith, born and bred to serve the royals through knighthood.

Therefore, he was prepared for the day he kneeled before the king and received the title of a knight, as he had practically learned how to hold a tiny wooden sword and swing it before he learned his ABCs.

However, what he wasn’t prepared for, was to be less of a new knight — an honorable warrior who maintained order within the villages while protecting the weak until called into battle — and more of a personal bodyguard, one who would be responsible for protecting you, the princess.

“Your Majesty,” Kento Nanami glanced up from the polished ground he kneeled on, locking eyes with the king himself. “With all due respect, protecting the princess sounds like a task that should belong to a knight of a higher ranking than myself. I’m just a newbie.”

“You officially became a knight only a month ago, yes, however, your ancestors served the throne as knights! Your descendants will too! I cannot think of a knight more worthy of protecting my beloved daughter than a Nanami.” The erratic king paused, stepped away from the kneeling warrior, and headed for his gold-lined throne. A sigh escaped his lips as he sat down. “Your father was the first knight to throw himself in front of me when an enemy drew his sword during the Cursed War. I trust that, should the princess ever find herself in danger, you will do the same for her. That is how you were raised! Raised!”

Kento lowered his head. If it wouldn’t send him straight to the dungeons, he would have slammed his gauntlet-covered fist against the king’s jaw.

His father’s death was pointless. Unnecessary. He took a sword to the heart to protect a man who wanted wealth. And here Kento was, kneeling to said man. Kneeling to the man who expected him to do the same thing. Expected. It was expected.

But if the palace was overrun by murderous thieves, or the kingdom found itself in war yet again, or a massive fire-breathing dragon released scorching flames throughout the palace, would Kento save you?

The daughter of the man who was responsible for his father’s demise?

And his uncle’s?

And his suffering mother’s misery?

He didn’t know if he could truly be so selfless. 

Even with a cloud of angered confusion hanging above his head and the burden of being responsible for a royal’s life resting upon his shoulders, he simply stared down at the marble floor, parted his lips, and mumbled, “understood, Your Majesty. I will protect her with my life.”

— ♛ —

The stranger he promised to protect with his life was waiting for him at the other end of the palace.

What an exhausting walk. Kento grew to despise you more and more with every step he took. The servants that lingered behind him had undoubtedly climbed the never-ending grand staircases multiple times a day, but even their faces had grown red, their chests heaving as they waited on you hand and foot.

The endless torment that was knight training — was this all it would amount to? Had he unknowingly been preparing to just climb stairs, nothing more? At least he wasn’t sweating or breathless like the servants who darted back and forth around the castle.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

He was sweating a bit. He could feel the warm droplets accumulating on his forehead, making his loose blonde strands stick to his skin, but it wasn’t from exhaustion.

He was nervous.

When Kento was four and the royals celebrated your birth — which would become an official holiday honored with festivities and balls — it began then. The kingdom-wide worship.

His own mother would tuck him into the straw-filled bed he shared with his siblings.

“Goodnight, my loves,” she’d whisper, kissing their foreheads. “May the Vulcania Princess bring us warmth and bless us all.”

While your father ruled Umarith officially, it was you who mattered most. The Vulcania Princess. The precious gem of the kingdom. Everyone, from the privileged to the peasants, praised your nickname during their prayers before mealtime or before their slumber.

Those with the right amount of gold and the right amount of time traveled for days to fall to their knees before you, begging for you to bless their children or their crops. 

As Kento aged, the curriculum surrounding his education primarily focused on knighthood and the royals. He sat criss-crossed on the floor of his raggedy one-room school that smelt of old wood, and listened to his elderly teacher ramble on, on, and on about you, you, you, her eyes glistening with admiration behind her round glasses. 

The people of Umarith originally attached the name Vulcania to your princess title following your birth, as during that cherished year, the brutalizing cold seasons came to an end, and the warm seasons were the hottest they had ever been in centuries. Sleeping volcanoes were once again active. Creatures of all kinds who sought warmth — even those thought to be extinct due to the prolonged cold weather — would sneak their way into your palace. Flowers bloomed. The hungry were able to grow food once again. The sun shone brighter than ever. 

Before your mother, the queen, passed away, she claimed that your skin was always warm to the touch, as if your soul was aflame. 

Therefore, the people wanted to give you a title that represented a connection to fire, warmth, and passion. 

Kento tried to recall any and all facts he was forcibly taught about you as he approached the double doors of your bedchamber. He had only come to know your appearance through the statues and famous paintings spread throughout the villages, but never before had he sat his eyes on you.

Well, that was all about to change.

Kento raised his fist. As his knuckles tapped three times against the door, he thought about The Statue of the Vulcania Princess — an enormous, intimidating sculpture in the center of his village that touched the sky. 

All at once, as Kento thought about the endless worship be it from humans or animals that followed you everywhere — and as a red-haired servant opened the door and let him inside — it hit Kento that he wasn’t protecting a mere princess.

He was protecting a goddess.

Shit.

The Goddess of Fire was sitting on a lavish sofa in front of a fireplace, that much he could tell from where he stood. It was rather difficult to make out your mysterious features, your extensive bedroom was dark aside from the flickering flames illuminating your face just a bit, and you hadn’t yet turned your head to look at whomever was entering your bedchamber, but even so, Kento ignored the thumping of his heart, cleared his throat, and bowed.

“Your Royal Highness, I-”

“Stop bowing.” 

Kento raised his head slowly. He was careful not to let his face reflect his confusion, offering a blank expression instead.

“We are going to be spending plenty of time together whether we like it or not, so we can do without the formalities. It tends to get annoying.” You paused, as if waiting for him to speak, but it was as if Kento’s mind decided to forgo any prior knowledge of how to formulate words. 

He turned his head to face one of the servants standing against the wall, as if seeking confirmation from the quiet, redheaded young girl that you had, in fact, told him to stop bowing.

“You are my personal knight, yes?” 

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“You’re not very good at following directions, are you?”

“Forgive me. This is the first time I’ve ever been told to act informal with a royal.”

You sighed, leaning back on your sofa, which put more distance between yourself and the flames of your fireplace — It was quite identical to how your father would sigh and lean back in his throne. As if doing nothing and being a pampered royal was oh so hard. Like father, like daughter — and your new position rid Kento of the small details of your features he could see. Now, you were nothing more than a dark figure. 

Just why was your bedroom so dark?

“Come here.”

Metal clanked against metal, filling the silence, as Kento made his way around your sofa and in front of your line of sight, blocking part of your fireplace. The flames that were able to dance around him illuminated him well, and your eyes darted across every feature of the knight standing before you.

“Blonde hair, brown eyes, well-built . . . you’re a Nanami, aren’t you?”

Kento met your question with silence. 

Truth be told, he hadn’t heard your question, because from this short distance, he finally got a somewhat decent look at your face; your mesmerizing, undeniably gorgeous face. 

It all made sense now, why the Vulcania Princess was the one everyone, rich and poor, fell to their knees and prayed to during both their darkest hours and happier times. Why the Vulcania Princess was the one who could end devastating, catastrophic world wars with a couple of mere words. Why the Vulcania Princess had princes and kings from kingdoms near and far eager to start said devastating, catastrophic world wars to wipe out their enemies just for the mere chance of dancing with you at a ball. 

Never before had he seen someone so devastatingly beautiful.

The paintings and statues he had seen of you throughout his entire life failed to capture the glistening stars within your bright eyes, or the smooth, though plump appearance of your skin. Your soft, tempting lips were as enchanting as a love spell all on their own.

“Tell me the truth. Do you hate me?”

Your soft voice snapped Kento out of his daze-like state. His eyes widened for a moment before he regained his composure.

“No. I don’t hate you.”

“You do. I can see it in your eyes. I’d love to know why.” You tilted your head a bit. “Were you hoping for a different career path within knighthood? One more exciting than being a guard dog to a princess? Did you want to be on the front lines during a war, perhaps?”

Kento gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching a bit. Despite the way his body showcased his true feelings, his words tried to convey the opposite. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong first impression, but I-”

“What’s your name? Your first name?”

“Kento.” 

“Kento.” You gave him a gentle smile. It ignited a new flame of infuriation within him. “Be honest with me, Kento. No formalities, no lies. Why do you hate me? Tell me the truth.”

Kento frowned with uncertainty. Answering your question honestly went against every bit of his training, every lesson forced into his body and mind, but could he truly pass up the chance to say his peace? Could he?

“How do I know the truth won’t get me hung?” He asked.

“Rest assured knowing my father chose decapitation as a form of execution.” Your words were met with silence. This, in turn, led you to speak again. “See? You didn’t laugh at my awful joke. People who admire me would have faked a little chuckle, at the very least. So, why do you hate me?”

Kento shifted his feet. “Why do you want to know so badly?”

“I think my curiosity is only natural. I’m sure if someone hated you, you would like to know why.”

“Not if it was a complete stranger.”

“What if it were a stranger who was responsible for your safety? A stranger who was supposed to die for you without hesitation?” You crossed one leg over the other, the silk gown covering your body shifting slightly. “Do you see why I’m desperate to know?”

“That’s why.”

“Hm?”

“That’s why I . . . dislike you. I’m supposed to die for you. Becoming a knight is the fate of all Nanami whether we like it or not. My father was a knight. His father was a knight. My cousins are knights. I am a knight. If I have a son, he’ll become a knight, and he’ll have to watch as I kill and die protecting you royals, because it’s the only way to put food on the table. My father died protecting yours, and I’m sure I’ll die protecting you. I could refuse. I could pick a different career path, but then my mother and my siblings would starve, all because I’d be a disgrace, blacklisted out of every other potential career. Nanamis are expected to become knights, or to rot and die.” Kento glanced down at his heavy hand, covered with armor. “And the pay is quite low.”

“I see.” 

When Kento glanced up at you yet again, he could see the gears in your head turning, your mind taking in every word. But, even so, all you managed to say were those two, simple, meaningless words.

That was the first and last time you and Kento spoke to one another that day.

— ♛ —

TWO WEEKS LATER

One would think that protecting a dear princess who often did nothing more than sit by a fireplace would be an easy task.

One would think.

Over fourteen days in counting had passed since this aggravating honor was bestowed upon him, and one thing he learned was that your presence was indeed enchanting, and all living creatures wanted to enjoy your warmth. More often than not, the knight was pushing starstruck — or, rather, godstruck — subjects away from you that managed to break free from knight-patrolled crowds whenever you left your palace. 

Animals, however, were okay. 

And he learned that the hard way.

“A heads up next time would be nice,” Kento once said, rather breathless, releasing the handle of his sword and letting it fall back into its scabbard. His heart rate hadn’t yet returned to normal.

There you were, sitting on the floor of your private library, stroking the mane of an enormous lion that rested its head in your lap.

As massive as it was, as dangerous as it was, the lion rubbed its head against your gown as if it were pouting. Both it, and you, rolled your eyes at Kento.

“Surely you were told that animals sometimes inhabit the palace to seek out my warmth.”

“I was, but . . .” he paused, blinking in bewilderment. “A lion?”

Your lips pointed downward into a small pout as you stroked the creature, as if to comfort it and say: “It’s okay, I’ll protect you from the big bad knight, it’s okay.”

“This isn’t just any lion. This is my lion. He wandered far from his home when he was only a cub. The poor thing was cold and was hiding in my garden. I found him, raised him, and he comes and goes whenever he pleases. You should apologize to him.”

“Apologize? To a lion?”

“Yes,” your frown deepened, and your eyes found Kento’s. “Can’t you see you hurt his feelings? You pulled your sword out on him.”

“I was trying to do my job and protect you. I didn’t know it-” 

“He.”

Kento released a heavy sigh. Just what sort of nonsense had he gotten himself into? “I didn’t know he was a pet. Are there any other animals I should be aware of? I should consider making a list.”

You scoffed, knowing quite well he was hinting at the sudden appearance of bunnies sitting on his chest when he awakened one morning, just last week.

Three days ago, butterflies were swirling around your head. Four? Three birds — two small, one big — fluttered around you, landing on your hands and shoulders as they pleased.

“May I ask what a lion is doing in the library specifically?” Kento questioned.

Folding your arms across your chest, staring at him as if the answer was rather obvious, you said, “I was reading to him, clearly. Animals enjoy tales just as much as humans and faes.”

Just then, Kento’s eyes flickered over to the open book resting on the floor beside your thigh. He shook his head in disbelief. 

“Right, of course, well,” he awkwardly scratched the side of his head, fingers messing up his blonde strands. “I’m sorry to you, and to the lion.”

Your hand raised; you were motioning him over.

He was hesitant, but Kento kneeled. He couldn’t help but widen his eyes in surprise when you removed one of his armored gloves and grabbed ahold of his hand with your own.

His cheeks burned. Your eyes; they darted up briefly at his reddening cheeks, but you didn’t make a verbal comment. He was rather grateful.

His apparent blushing wasn’t due to the sudden skin-to-skin contact — at least, that’s what he convinced himself — but rather, he viewed you as fragile. Soft. Like the glass of a valuable mirror. And his hands? Well, swinging swords and perfecting the art of combat during years of knight training had left him with scars and calloused fingertips. He viewed himself as rough. Hard. Like sandpaper scratching against uneven metal. 

Your soft hand warmed his rough one as you guided it towards the lion’s mane. Gently, you rested his hand against its thick hair and released it, and Kento found himself missing your warmth.

How odd.

“Apologize properly,” you demanded. You nodded your head down to his hand. Spending all of his time with you had gifted him with the ability to understand your every intention, and with a sigh, Kento stroked the lion’s mane.

“I’m sorry.”

“Reo.”

He looked at you. There was no hint of amusement in your eyes. You were quite serious.

He returned his gaze to the big, pouting lion, and said, “I’m sorry, Reo.”

And with that, Kento left the library — only to stand outside the doors as a guard, of course. As he shut the heavy library doors behind him, he heard you mumble to the lion, “Try to forgive him, Reo. He means well.”

The creature groaned in response.

Kento ran his bare hand across his face. “Did that really just happen?” He thought.

But, a more pressing thought — one more shocking than apologizing to and petting a lion — presented itself within his mind like an intruder. 

“I miss her warmth already.”

— ♛ —

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Greetings to all! Welcome to the Vulcania Princess’s Birthday Ball!” 

Esteemed guests dressed in stunning ballgowns and extravagant tuxedos let their applause fill the enormous ballroom. Oh, was it enormous, with golden and white accents decorating the walls and pillars, and marvelous chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. On the other side of the ballroom, there was an entire orchestra performing on a balcony, only stopping their classical music to hear the king speak.

The king stood beside your throne as he prattled on with greetings and thanks. Kento himself was like a guard dog, standing a little ways behind your throne, eyeing the crowd.

He toned out most of the king’s speech. Most of his guests did as well, but their eyes glowed with admiration — not for him, but for you. After all, it was you, and this evening, you were wearing a puffy, lilac ballgown adorned with flowers, and a bright tiara sat perfectly on your head — every strand of your hair was styled to your liking.

At some point, the king finally stopped talking, and guests continued to mingle and dance. Kento stood back and watched as three well-dressed men approached your throne. Their attire was more sophisticated than that of a standard — albeit wealthy in name or fortune — guest, and Kento gathered that they were princes from other kingdoms.

“Kneel before my daughter!” The king shouted.

It wasn’t customary for princes to kneel to someone of an equal rank, but the three men took a knee in front of your throne with no hesitation.

The king, now satisfied, looked down at you.

“I’ll leave you to it, my dear,” he said before walking off, eager to partake in the refreshments.

“Your Royal Highness,” a man with long, black hair began to speak. “I am Prince Suguru of Ravane, your closest partner in trade. We met briefly during the Fae’s Flower Festival last year. Please, allow me the honor of gifting you three necklaces made with the rarest and finest gemstones that can only be harvested by faes alone, all in exchange for your first dance this evening.”

“Pardon the interruption Your Royal Highness, but,” the man beside him, one with white hair and a boyish grin, suddenly interrupted. “As someone wise enough not to gift you something you own a thousand of, I think I should be the one to have your first dance. And you’re probably wondering why, right? Well . . .”

The man rose to his feet, wrapping his fingers around the handle on top of a tiny crate he had sat beside him. He started to approach the throne. As his feet moved, so did Kento’s. Though he was careful not to interrupt, he was close enough to your throne to make his presence known; a silent warning to the white-haired man: don’t try anything foolish.

The man opened the tiny crate. Suddenly, a small, red creature unsteadily flew out of the open door.

You held out your hands, and it landed there, as if it knew — it knew — that was where it belonged.

“A baby dragon! Oh my goodness,” you grinned down at the animal.

“Prince Satoru of Soulan, my love,” the man winked.

“Home of the dragons. Of course.” The incredibly tiny dragon spun around in two circles before settling down, resting its head on your palm. “And what kind have you gifted to me?”

“Well, in my kingdom, rumor has it that you spend most of your free time sitting in front of your fireplace. I figured there must be some truth to it, considering you’re called the Vulcania Princess and the Goddess of Fire for a reason. Because of that, I think it’s only right for you to own a Flame Dragon. Whaddya think?”

“Damn, giving her the most common type of dragon in your kingdom, huh? Sounds to me like you don’t think she’s worth the effort.”

The interjection came from the third prince, a buff man with pink hair and an unfriendly gaze.

Satoru turned to face him, stepping away from your throne. “Oh my god, get lost, Sukuna. Didn’t your kingdom try to burn hers to the ground, what, two or three years ago? Why are you here to begin with?”

“Something about makin’ peace with your enemies,” the buff prince smirked.

“You’re both being awfully informal in front of the princess. Watch your mouths,” Suguru, now joining in, rose to his feet.

Satoru rolled his blue eyes, mumbling, “I heard that your little kingdom is surviving off of tomatoes or something. Is that why you . . .”

The three bickering princes continued on and on, but you paid them no mind, too preoccupied with the tiny creature in your hands.

Kento leaned down a little ways across your throne.

“Perhaps I should hold on to the dragon for you. It could be dangerous,” he said.

“No way! He’s already bonding with me. Look!” The dragon alternated between crawling on its four legs and fluttering its way up your arm with its tiny, dark red wings. “What should I name him? What should I feed him? I know nothing of raising a dragon. Do you?”

“Afraid not.” He watched the dragon make a bed out of your shoulder, resting against the crook of your neck. “They only taught us how to slay one.”

That statement made you glare up at Kento.

“I won’t hurt him, I promise,” he said defensively, yet gently. “Once he grows, I might be out of a job. He and that lion of yours could protect you better than I ever could.” 

“I have a feeling you could protect me very well, you just refuse to do so.”

Your words caught him by surprise. His disdain for his career was no foreign topic between the two of you, but even so, he hadn’t expected you to bring it up. Not right now. Not like this.

Especially considering that, well, he instinctively found himself doing just that in one way or another. Protecting you.

“I-”

“I understand, Kento. I don’t like the idea of anyone dying for me just as much as you don’t like the idea of dying for someone.” You paused, looking away from him and back at the three, arguing princes. “Let's go for a stroll. I have a feeling these men are about to start fighting one another. I’m not looking forward to picking one to dance with.”

— ♛ —

There was only one place you deemed perfect enough for a stroll: the vast gardens surrounding the palace. Hedge mazes, luscious trees, and colorful, blossoming flowers of all kinds were illuminated by the bright moonlight. Together, you and Kento walked in a comfortable silence.

A little while after passing one of the greenhouses, Kento spoke.

“When I was younger, learning about you royals was just as important as learning how to read or put on armor. I remember what they taught us about you.” “Oh?” You mumbled, though you didn’t give him a look of surprise. “What kind of things did they teach you? Can you recall any of it?”

“Well, for starters, they told us how much you adored spending time in the garden, especially during the warmer months.”

“I don’t see how that knowledge benefits any of you.”

“It doesn’t, but now, I enjoy figuring out what might have been true or false. Clearly, that part was true.” 

A soft smile as gentle as the moonlight appeared on your face.

“What else is there to know about you?” Kento asked. 

Internally, his curiosity puzzled him. Just why did he care? 

He couldn’t explain it, but his heart and soul felt like it was caught in a game of tug-of-war, and the rope was a very thin line between love and hate. Love.

No.

No . . . that couldn’t have been it.

Not for the woman who sat by her fireplace all day. Not for the woman who never had to work a day in her life. Not for the woman whose biggest obstacle in life was deciding which ballgown to wear or which animal to cuddle with.

Not for the woman who was the daughter of the asshole of a king who got his father killed.

Kento tried to grimace at the thought, but that thought brought him no trouble. 

Oh, how he wished it did.

A small, baby fox with large ears dashed out of the shrubbery surrounding the walking path, darting across his foot. 

“Hmm, well,” you paused in thought, paying no mind to the sandy-colored creature that decided to follow you, hopping along with every step you took. The sudden sound of your soft voice snapped Kento out of his pleasant — though he wished they were unpleasant — thoughts. “My tiara makes my head itch. I’ve been told that my taste in music is . . . unique. I secretly add extra spices to my food when the chef isn’t looking. I’m a very sensitive person, believe it or not. It took everything in me not to cry after finding out you, a complete stranger at the time, hated me. Lastly, I have saved and nurtured twenty-seven creatures, and that only includes the ones I claim as pets, not ones I’ve simply befriended on a journey.”

“Were any of them as humongous as that dragon will turn out to be?” Kento asked, pointing to the dragon fast asleep on your shoulder. 

“Can’t say. I’m struggling to wrap my mind around the fact that this tiny creature will grow into a gigantic, fire-breathing being. I’m excited.” You halted your footsteps. The small fox trailing you took the opportunity to climb up the back of your dress, claws digging into the puffy, lilac fabric that adorned your body until it sprawled across your other, free shoulder, but you didn’t seem to mind. It was a tad bit bigger than the dragon, and Kento figured that having two small animals resting on your shoulders couldn’t have been comfortable, but you simply smiled, and greeted the baby fox with, “Hello, sweetheart,” before turning your attention back to Kento. “Anyway, I’m sure my father will oppose the idea of me keeping a dragon. He thinks I’ll be responsible for my own demise.”

“We have our differences, but I might have to agree with the king on that one.”

“Be that as it may, I refuse to let him take little Blaze away from me.”

“Blaze?” Kento raised his eyebrows, stifling the urge to laugh. “I wanted something related to fire in any sort of way. Is it too uncreative? Silly? Should I keep brainstorming? I want to name him something he’ll like.” You gazed off at the stars above, biting your lip, puzzled.

After a moment, you glanced back at Kento, and a small pout grazed your moonlit face. “What? You’re being very unhelpful.”

“Blaze is a perfect-”

“You’re trying to flatter my dear dragon so he won’t set you ablaze when he’s older.” You smiled gently. Kento blinked. You then sighed and continued to stroll through the garden. “We talked about this, Kento. You’re supposed to laugh at my terrible jokes to boost my self-esteem.” 

“What?” Kento cleared his throat. “Sorry, I’m pretending that I couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh,” you shook your head. “Just you wait until I teach Blaze how to . . . bite your ankles.”

A genuine, heartfelt laugh escaped Kento. God, how long has it been since he managed to do something like that? It wasn’t anything drastic, nothing more than a somewhat small chuckle, but it occurred to him that, perhaps, he couldn’t remember the last time he was blessed with the chance to truly laugh.

His laugh made your smile brighten — not a gentle, polite smile that he had gotten used to seeing, but a real, full grin that made Kento wonder why the world’s most gifted artists never painted you with such a facial expression.

It was breathtaking.

The stroll resumed for another six minutes. During that time, you and Kento discussed everything from his mother’s favorite meals to make to the new hit play that premiered last week. However, the closer you both ventured towards the entrance to the ballroom, the more your precious smile started to fade.

Kento glanced down at your hands, which fiddled with the necklace around your neck.  

“What troubles you?” He asked.

“You’re wise, so I’m sure you’ve already put the pieces together, you’re great at that I’ve noticed, but . . . this evening, I am not just picking a dance partner, but someone to marry.” You spoke softly. Kento could tell from your tone that this was a bothersome topic for you. “I get to choose, but my choices are limited to those three men. I know how it feels to be born into a role you didn’t ask for. I understand what you’re going through, Kento.”

The knight stopped walking.

As soon as that last sentence slipped from between your glossy lips, Kento’s heart and soul once again felt like it was playing a game of tug-of-war. Love and Hate. And right now, as a wave of anger washed over him, the latter was winning.

“With all due respect,” Kento released a shaky breath. He wouldn’t lose his composure so easily, but he had to speak his mind. He had to. “You don’t know what it’s like. You live a pampered life. Your hands are free from scratches or burns or anything that signifies hard work, and you have never known hunger and loss like I have — hunger and loss that is a direct result of the actions you royals take. I’m sorry you have to pick between three rich, attractive princes who are ready to go to war for you and you find yourself incapable of doing anything more difficult than sitting on a sofa all day, but that in no way compares to . . .” 

He felt his composure slip. His tone was getting dark. Voice was getting harsh. Taking a deep breath, avoiding your gaze all the while, Kento parted his lips, preparing to let an apology slip from between them, then suddenly, you said, “You should take a break. Stay out here a little longer to get some fresh air by yourself. I’ll be fine.” You gave him a sad smile. Pulling the dragon, Blaze, off your shoulder, you held the sleepy creature against your chest, as if seeking its comfort. Though you tried to hide it, your smile couldn’t disguise the glistening hurt within your eyes. You were sensitive. That’s right.

“I should head back inside,” you mumbled. “Everyone will be looking for me.”

“Your Royal Highness, please forgive me. I’m sorry. Not having a say in who you want to spend the rest of your life with is terrible. I don’t know why I . . . please forgive me.” Kento called out, his words sincere, face twisted in anguish, but you continued walking. 

Then suddenly, you paused. He thought that, perhaps, you were reconsidering parting ways with him, that you were going to smile and tell him to drop the formalities, but your momentary falter was just to let the small fox descend your body before you reentered the palace.

The tiny creature ran across the gardens, and you were gone.

— ♛ —

Kento sat on an outdoor bench made of stone. The garden that stretched before him represented you in every way. After all, it was you who brought the very warmth that made the variety of flowers in this garden bloom. Your existence, the flame within you, brought an end to a Cold World; saved the shivering animals and children on the brink of death, blossomed plants that fed the poor and starved, and ended the days of endless freezing. 

Kento was only four when you were born, but, as he sat on the soft cream-colored bench that you undoubtedly picked out yourself, he thought about the faint memory of that day. The day of your birth.

The terrifying blankets of snow and ice melted. Animals thought to be dead and extinct were running, jumping, and hopping about. Fleeting citizens from the western villages crowded the cobblestone streets as a sleeping volcano suddenly awakened. Flowers and plants sprawled spontaneously — his mother, who was pale and shivering as she held on to her children moments before, stepped outside and plucked a fresh grape off a grapevine that had appeared outside of their raggedy cottage.

Suddenly, the rope involved in the game of tug-of-war between his heart and soul had snapped, and it hit him all at once.

Your father was responsible for his father’s death, yes, but you . . . you saved him. You saved his mother.

A bittersweet smile graced Kento’s face. His stomach churned; was it butterflies? Knots? He didn’t know. Perhaps, he’d never come to understand the feelings you evoked within him.

But he knew one thing for certain.

The idea of your beautiful face frowning as tears threatened to fall from your eyes — on your birthday, nevertheless — from the words he spoke made his heart ache.

Kento rose from the bench. Just as he took a step towards the entrance of the ballroom, a sudden force of energy made the ballroom windows shatter. Heat and light filled the sky. The world itself shook as an ear-shattering boom blasted from one side of the palace. 

The knight found himself falling to his knees, as the impact was strong enough to send a shockwave through the garden. His wide eyes witnessed the enormous puff of flames, and part of the palace started to cave in.

Rubble filled the ballroom.

“No. God, no.”

Kento’s legs were numb, but they carried him out of the garden — where frightened animals screeched and ran — and he forced his way inside the ballroom through a broken window. Dark smoke, dust, flames, and never-ending screams of terror filled the air. He coughed, his brown eyes burned which created tears that slipped down his ash-covered face, but he hoisted himself over fallen rubble until he made it to where your throne used to be. 

Now, it was nothing but . . . it was nothing.

His eyes couldn’t make out the mess of debris and flame. The smoke made it difficult to distinguish bodies from stone, but he knew well that before him was that familiar gigantic beast, clawing at the rubble, whimpering. Your beloved lion was searching for you, digging for you. The sight of it gave Kento the devastating confirmation he needed that you were there.

Underneath smoldering embers, a destroyed throne, and pieces of a collapsed ceiling, Kento saw the scraps of a torn lilac ballgown. He ran for it.

Armored hands pulled and pushed away at fallen wreckage so heavy, Kento gritted his teeth due to the pure strain on his body. But, damn it all, he used every bit of his solid muscle to lift, pull, and push, until he saw a bruised, ash-covered leg and heard a weak cry.

Then, all of the debris felt weightless. 

“I’m right here,” Kento called out, careful to keep his voice steady and calm. “I’m coming, just hold on.”

Slowly, your injured, trembling body revealed itself to Kento after he shoved shattered pieces of one of the massive chandeliers. You were face down. As if you were made of glass, fragile, he carefully flipped you over, only to see a scared, but otherwise okay, tiny dragon cradled in your arms.

Your position, and thus, your wounds, told him that you must have shielded it. 

He gritted his teeth. Seeing you like this . . . it was unbearable. Who could have done this?

Kento pulled you into his arms, holding on tightly to your smaller frame.

You whimpered. Blood spewed from your lips, decorating your chin, and Kento pulled you close.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here-”

The ballroom shook again. There was another deafening boom, followed by a wave of piercing screams. Another explosion within the palace. Kento could hear the crackling walls and ceilings, and he knew what that meant.

He folded your body underneath his. Reo, your lion, too placed his body over yours. Kento shielded you with his bigger, armor-covered frame, and more rubble started to collapse. Feeling it fall against his protected backside — god, did it hurt. It hurt like hell. But it wasn’t enough to kill or bury him, so he hooked his arm underneath your knees, his other arm cradling your upper half, and he rose to his feet.

“Stay with me,” he glanced down at you as best as he could through his blurred vision. “I promise I’ll protect you. Just stay with me.”

Your eyes fluttered open. Suddenly, they widened, and you began to turn your head frantically every which way as Kento carried you. He parted his lips to tell you to lie still, assuming that you were falling into a state of panic, but before he could utter a single word, you started to squirm around. You wriggled yourself out of his grasp.

You landed on your feet and started running — or rather, limping — in the opposite direction, breathing erratically with every twist and turn of your head.

“Where are you going? We need to leave, now!” Kento shouted.

In your condition, you couldn’t make it far. All he had to do was reach forward, wrap his arm around your waist, and pull you backwards until your back hit his chest.

“Blaze,” you cried. “ . . . Must’ve dropped him! I can’t . . . can’t find him! And there are people still in here, a-and my animals . . . Reo . . . just let me go!”

He tried to ignore your cries. Saving you was his only priority. It had to be. But, as he went to lift you yet again, another explosion, further away this time, sent a violent vibration throughout the ballroom, and he lost a bit of his balance.

That was enough for you to wiggle free. 

Kento shouted your name, but you paid him no mind. The fires scattered throughout the ballroom wouldn’t hurt you, but the collapsing rubble? It could.

You ran across rubble and shoved your way through panicked, running guests, but alas, through the smoke and ash clouding the air, you made out the tiny red creature amidst the debris, fluttering and shrieking. Your dear, frightened baby dragon was searching for you, calling for your help.

You extended your arms, reaching for him. 

That was when you heard it; it, being an unfamiliar voice, one that shouted, “There’s the princess, fucking take her already, dead or alive!”

Someone was charging at you. The nearby burning fires gave you enough light to make out a masked figure, dressed in black, who clenched a knife between his fists, so ready and eager to drive it into the side of your stomach.

Just as the knife nearly grazed your corset, a sword suddenly pierced through the attacker’s stomach, blood and sharp silver steel poking out of him as the light left his murderous eyes.

The sword was then yanked out of him. 

Kento watched the man he murdered fall to the rubble-covered ground with a thump, then his eyes were on you, quickly scanning your body for any new injuries.

But there was no time for you to thank him. No time for him to grab you and run. 

More masked men with knives and swords drawn started to charge at you both.

“Run,” Kento commanded. 

But it amounted to nothing. The masked men circled you both. There was no escape.

Kento turned slowly, counting them. There were five. Five men he would have to kill.

He sighed, deflecting an oncoming attack with ease, driving his own sword into the guts of yet another man. Though he was actively taking someone’s life, his eyes were on you, watching as two men charged at you without weapons: clearly, their preference was to take you alive.

“Shit,” Kento thought, pulling his sword out of the man. 

Your tiny dragon rapidly flapped its wings, fluttering high enough to latch its small mouth to the ankle of one of your attackers. The victim of the little attack winced, reaching down to his ankle in an attempt to pull him off, but you tried to reach for your baby dragon first.

The other masked man took that opportunity to grab a fistful of your hair. He yanked you. Hard. Your head was already bruised and battered from the initial explosion, and this forced a pained cry out of you. 

Kento heard it. He was in the process of stabbing two other masked men when he heard it. 

He clenched his jaw. He gripped the handle of his sword with such force, he could hear his own knuckles crack.

When the masked man who held you by your hair felt the presence of someone behind him, he turned around. His eyes widened at the sight of that massive knight looming over him, one who was already quite big to begin with, but seemed twice as big now. More like a beast than a human. 

“Get your hands off of her,” Kento warned. 

The man was going to reach for his knife, hold it against your neck, and prattle on with some ultimatum, but Kento didn’t give the man a chance to even gasp at the sight of him before he strategically placed his hands around his head and snapped his neck with an unpleasant crack.

As for the final masked man, between dealing with a pesky little dragon who was biting at him and spitting tiny little bouts of flame at his flesh and that pissed-off giant of a knight making his way towards him, he shouted, “Damn it, to hell with all this!” and tried to run away.

He made it four steps before Kento threw his blood-covered sword like a javelin, and it was launched through the masked man’s chest. 

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Kento leaned down. He gazed at you with the softest, worry-filled brown eyes. His thumb grazed your cheek with an utterly surprising gentleness, considering how brutally he had just murdered several men moments before.

You shrugged. “I’m . . . alive. Thank you, Kento.”

He smiled. 

But as the sound of stomping footsteps approached, Kento rose to his feet. This wasn’t over. Whoever was attacking your kingdom, so desperate to capture you, they weren’t planning on giving up just yet.

Kento walked over to the man he had killed last and pulled his sword from his chest as more masked men charged at him, and he found himself in another battle.

You scooped up your dragon and limped towards a broken window, crawling over a mix of fallen debris and corpses. 

“Go,” you mumbled to Blaze, extending your hands to release the small creature. “Return to me when it’s safe, sweetheart.”

Though he was hesitant, the baby dragon groaned with understanding and fluttered away.

You didn’t have the strength of a knight, nor a hard-working subject. But you didn’t let that stop you from grabbing hold of the collar of a random person  — the first living person you could get your hands on. You dragged the whimpering, injured person towards the window, tripping over your ripped lilac ballgown as you gasped and strained, breathless, but you hoisted the person over the window’s ledge and out of the smokey, collapsing, fire and rubble-filled ballroom.

Thank goodness it was on the first floor of the palace.

You fell to your knees. Your breathing was loud. Strained. Every bone in your body ached. New spouts of fresh blood seeped from your wounds, mixing with the ash and dried blood coating your body, but, even though your heart pounded as if it wanted to give out, you rose to your feet. You moved your hands throughout the rubble, and they landed on a torso. One that was rising and falling with shallow breaths. 

One that was small.

“You’ll be alright, my love. Help will come,” you whispered, though your voice was shaking with uncertainty. 

You cautiously put the child out of the window. Then another person. Then another.

You hoisted one woman over your shoulders. She was a tiny thing, but with your exhausted and bruised body, you were certain you’d struggle to carry a small bag of potatoes. But you recognized this woman’s uniform. Though her youthful face was covered with soot, she was one of your servants — the redheaded one who was always in your bedchamber, tending to your needs. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to check whether or not her chest was rising or falling. You only carried her to another broken window, your knees threatening to buckle, and you pushed her out, hearing a little gentle thud as she hit the shrubbery.

“Please let help come. Please let it come,” you whispered.

There was another vibrating explosion in the distance. Orange flames that could be seen from the windows brightened the ballroom. It knocked you off your feet for a moment, but you regained your footing and grabbed the arm of someone on the ground. You strained as you attempted to pull the person free from the fallen pillar they were stuck under, but there was no use. You collapsed in defeat. 

Their visible body was hard to make out, but you ran your hand across their face until you found their nose. No puff of air hit your finger.

With a defeated sigh, you rose to your feet. It was then that you noticed those lifeless, open eyes. And you recognized that shade of blue.

A shocked gasp escaped you. Reaching down, you closed the eyes of Prince Satoru with trembling, bloodied fingers. “I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m sorry.”

The next several minutes were a blur. 

There you were, using the last of your strength to drag the unconscious, heavily injured body of Prince Suguru across the wreckage, when heavy hands gripped your waist. One second, you were lifted into the air, and in the next, you were being thrown against a fallen, sharp stone. The impact resulted in an explosion of searing pain that was too much for your mind and body to tolerate. You could taste blood.

You were screaming, but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything. You could barely see anything — the last thing you caught a glimpse of before slipping into a realm of unconsciousness were the black boots of a masked man walking towards you, and Kento . . . Kento dashing in front of the man’s raised sword, and getting stabbed through a gap in his ruined armor nearest his lower abdomen.

Your surroundings became nothing more than a black abyss, and there was one, final explosion.

— ♛ —

TWO DAYS LATER

He was staring at a familiar ceiling. 

It was brown. Wooden. Raggedy.

As Kento Nanami blinked, blinked, and blinked, it hit him.

He was home.

He sat up in bed, fighting the burst of pain that surged through him from the bandaged wound on his shirtless lower body. When he looked down, there was a familiar, tiny red dragon resting on his thigh.

“You’re awake. That’s great.” The soft voice startled him. Only then, turning his head to the side, did he realize that you were sitting at his bedside. A brown cloak was draped across your head, a choice clearly made to conceal your identity while walking among your subjects.

Or, given the recent events that were coming back to Kento’s memory, bit by bit, it was, perhaps, a choice made to conceal your identity for your own safety.

“How is it that you’re awake and I wasn’t ‘til now?” Kento’s voice was hoarse, and he coughed. “Last I remember, I was the one carrying your unconscious body out of-”

He coughed yet again.

You walked away for a moment and returned with a cup of water.

“Drink this,” you said.

He took it with thanks. As he gulped it down, he recalled the last of what he could remember. 

He took a sword to the stomach to protect you. There was another explosion. The biggest of them all. Part of the ceiling collapsed on the man who stabbed him. The entire ballroom was becoming a sea of falling rubble and flames on a greater scale than before. Kento scooped up your unconscious body and ran, jumped; did whatever he had to do to get across the debris. He used all of his remaining strength to toss you out of the window first. With the ballroom falling apart second by second, he wasn’t certain if he’d have enough time to crawl out of the window and save his own life, but that didn’t matter. 

Your safety came first.

You came first.

He didn’t remember anything after getting you out of that ballroom. He was alive still, but-

“After our medics found you and patched you up, I decided to bring you home. Your mother and I spent the last two days taking care of you. I actually just finished washing your face and brushing your teeth.” You suddenly spoke, as if reading his thoughts. “It wasn’t out of kindness, really. Our hospitals are . . . it’s a nightmare. Thank you for saving me, Kento.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, holding on to the empty cup of water. His thumb tapped rapidly against the side of it, and he frowned. “That attack was a long time coming, wasn’t it?”

Your teary eyes locked with his. You gave him a sad, knowing smile. “Like I said, you’re great at putting the pieces together.”

It all made sense. 

After all, why now did the king insist on you having a personal knight? 

The king must have known that there was a group from another kingdom who wanted to get their hands on the Vulcania Princess, dead or alive. 

Kento rubbed his face out of pure exhaustion.

“Why host a ball when your life is in danger?” Kento questioned. “Greed. That’s it, right? The king couldn’t pass up the chance to receive praise and gifts and kick-start your engagement, even if it meant putting you at risk. What is he thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead.”

Kento allowed the silence to fester. During which, he grabbed ahold of your hand, stroking your soft skin with his rough thumb.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t lie to me.” You mumbled, but despite your cold tone, you didn’t pull your hand away from him. “There’s no time to mourn. The kingdom is in shambles. We’re vulnerable. Weak. People are dead, from our kingdom and others. And now? Now I’m queen. How am I supposed to . . .”

There it was, the mourning you tried to swear off.

Tears fell from your eyes. Kento didn’t waste a second before gently moving the sleepy dragon to an empty spot on the bed before swinging his legs off the side, and ignoring the pain as he leaned up and pulled your chair closer to him. He wrapped his arms around you gently — aware of your potential wounds though he couldn’t see them right now — and he pulled you against his bare chest.

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly. “It’s okay.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t cry in front of anyone.” You pulled away from him, wiping the tears that fell from your right eye, and he stroked away the ones that fell from the left with his thumb.

As he did so, he couldn’t help but let his thumb hover over a deep, healing scratch on your cheek. 

“It’s okay to cry. You’re just a person.” 

“Am I?”

“Of course you are,” his brown eyes gazed into your sad eyes. “You like warm things. Warm drinks, warm weather, warm blankets, fireplaces, fire-breathing dragons . . . you take a walk through your garden when you need to clear your head. Though you’ve never held a sword or a shield, you don’t hesitate to protect others, and not just people who are important to you, but strangers as well, and all kinds of creatures. Your jokes are so awful, they’re funny. You bite your bottom lip when you are lost in thought, and if those thoughts are worrisome, you play with your necklace. You cut people off when they’re speaking, but you don’t do it out of malice, you’re just brilliant, and you already know what someone is going to say. You’re unintentionally ignorant. Quite ignorant. But you try your hardest to overcome it once something is brought to your attention. It was you who ended wars with a simple speech. Recently, you argued for an increase in pay for knights of all ranks, I’m certain of it. And yet, you didn’t tell me, because you don’t feel the need to brag about your good deeds either.” Kento’s thumb hovered over your bottom lip. He whispered, “Hm, maybe . . . maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you aren’t just a person, because I’m certain I’ve never met anyone else like you.”

Amidst the sadness, there was a shimmer of something else within your eyes. A little spark of hope.

“Is that really how you see me? I think . . . this is the first time someone has given me a compliment that has nothing to do with beauty. At least, most of that was a compliment, I think.” You gave a soft smile that stretched the scratch on your cheek. “Wait, did you fail to compliment my beauty because you no longer find me attractive? I couldn’t exactly blame you if that’s the reason.”

“You’re mesmerizing. Inside and out. Your wounds don’t change that. But don’t worry. I’m sure they’re mixing up the strongest healing elixir known to all just for you. Your wounds will exist only as a memory, just you wait.” 

That shimmer of hope within your eyes brightened. Kento wanted nothing more than for it to stay that way, but it couldn’t. Not when your life was still in danger. Not when there were people out there who wanted to hurt you.

Kento placed his hands on either side of his legs and started to push off his bed, but suddenly, your hands shot out, pushing against his thighs and seizing his movements.

“What are you doing?” You asked urgently.

“Trying to leave my bed, if you’ll let me.”

“Have you gone mad? You were stabbed. I won’t let you leave this bed until you’ve recovered fully. Try to leave again and I’ll . . . tell your mother . . . when she returns.”

Kento frowned. “Your life is in danger. I can’t just-”

“It’s not your duty to protect me anymore.”

That frown deepened, his brows furrowed in utter confusion. “What are you saying?” He asked.

You were silent for a moment, but when you spoke yet again, you couldn’t look him in the eye. You didn’t have the nerve. “I'm the ruling monarch now. I call the shots. I’ll pass a law to make it illegal for employers to discriminate against members of certain bloodlines that have decided to stray from the career path chosen by their people.” Your eyes fell on his bandaged abdomen. “In other words, you no longer have to serve as a knight. Go on and enjoy a different career of your choice. In the meantime, I’ll make sure your family is well fed. It’s the least I can do.” 

“No.”

You looked at him, eyebrows shooting up in pure shock. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m not leaving you. Not now,” Kento said.

“Kento, there’s no need. There are plenty of other knights who actually want to be knights. They can protect me just fine.”

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving your side.  I don’t mind dying for you-” 

“Damn it all, Kento, I said no. Look at your condition! Look!”

Your sudden shouting stunned him. Based on the way your tears fell, and your hand clenched and unclenched around nothing, it surprised you too. “That wound of yours is all my fault. I should have left when you told me to. I won’t allow something like this to happen again. I won’t have it.”

“Look at me.” His hand was once again on your face, but not stroking your cheek. This time, his long fingers gripped your chin, forcing you to stare into his eyes. “I won’t have you dying a preventable death because of incompetent knights while I waltz around my village baking bread or sharpening knives.”

“Is this an ego thing?” Do you think you’re the only knight strong enough to protect me?”

Though your question was a serious one, Kento couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “I understand everything about you down to which foot you step with first, but you don’t understand me at all.”

“What do you-”

It was sudden, but Kento was fed up with your lack of understanding. He released your chin, but only to snake his hand around your head and pull you close, closing the gap between you by crashing your lips together. The kiss was warm. Your lips were soft — so damn soft — and he couldn’t help but hold on to you even tighter, melting into the kiss because he needed more. Though his tongue rubbed against yours, though he was breathless, and though it hurt his injured stomach to do so, he still wanted more; one large hand hooked around your thigh, the other against your back, and he pulled you onto his lap.

Your hand pressed against his muscular, broad chest. He swallowed a soft moan that escaped your lips. 

“Kento,” you gave a little whimper.

“I know,” he whispered against your wet lips, the words barely leaving his own lips before he reconnected his mouth to yours. He pulled you against his mouth even harder, made you straddle his lap even tighter, and kissed you with lips and tongue even deeper.

When the kiss ended, Kento looked at your face, your skin softly illuminated by the flickering light from the candles scattered throughout his house. 

“Do you understand now?” He asked softly.

You nodded, then smiled. “I didn’t know that was coming, but I'm glad I brushed your teeth for you.” 

Kento couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh, pressing a kiss against your cheek.

Your fingers played with the blonde hair at the nape of his neck, and he pressed yet another kiss against your jaw, then your neck, all before pulling away.

“Tell me the truth. Do you love me?” He asked, his breath patting against the skin of your collarbone.

“I do, but if you have to ask, then you might not understand me as well as you think you do.” 

Kento pulled away from your neck, but when his eyes met yours, all he saw within your gaze was pure sadness. 

“But, Kento, Umarith finds itself in yet another war, and our enemies won’t give up until they have me-”

“Then let me kill them all for you.”

“Kento,” you frowned.

“Your Majesty,” he gave your chin a quick kiss, his large hand rubbing your thigh. “I mean it. I will save you. I just need you to let me.”

You bit your lip in thought. “Fine, but on one condition. No, two conditions.”

You leaned in; you were so close, he could feel your breath pat against his ear.

“I refuse to be a kindhearted damsel in distress once again. They want to capture or kill me, the Vulcania Princess- or I guess, queen now, because they think it’ll put an end to the brutal snowstorms killing their crops and their people, so I’ve been thinking, since they crave my warmth so badly . . . I should burn their kingdom to the ground. Allow me to fight by your side and do so.”

“And what’s your second condition, Your Majesty?” Kento whispered.

You pulled away from him, staring into his brown eyes. Your warm hands cupped the knight’s face.

“You drop the formalities like I’ve been asking you to,” you paused. “Unless, in due time, you allow me to call you my king.”

Kento couldn’t help but gaze at you with pure astonishment. It was the same look he had in his eyes when he first saw the enormous statue of you in his village. He should have put the pieces together then — that he was nothing more than someone else who worshipped you.

Kento’s lips found yours, once again letting his kisses speak for him. And this kiss told you several things: 

Kento Nanami wanted to hate you.

Truly, he did. He tried.

But in the end, he couldn’t stray from his bloodline’s only purpose to shed blood; to die in service of whomever sat on the throne, but this time around? A Nanami would survive, and Kento would become your cherished spouse and, when the time came, protect your offspring. 

Kento Nanami wanted to hate you, but now, the knight’s soul wanted nothing more than to love you, and kill for you.

♛ — What did you think? Please let me know! Reblogs & comments are appreciated!

♛ — @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @thequeenofcurses @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @preciousamethyst @iwanttohitmyself @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @he11okitty-mari @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @koikohib @http-bell

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Snake Eyes 6

Warnings: noncon, coercion, manipulation. Proceed with caution.

Note: thanks all for reading and I hope you’re excited for this one. All feedback is more than welcome and loved and appreciated. Reblogs are most helpful.

Part of The Club AU

“I’m afraid that we cannot dock again. Not until the end of the event,” Sif shrugs. “What exactly is the issue? 

You accept the answer with a nod. It’s about what you expect. You know the truth won’t help you. When has it ever? 

“I was only asking. I... if I had an emergency or anything...” 

“We’ve paramedics on board. Safety measures.” 

“Well, off the boat. Just. Family,” you lie. “Really, I was only asking because I was curious.” 

“Fair enough,” she looks past you. 

You don’t bother with a response. She’s already onto her next task. She sets off in her rounds and you head back to the bar. 

As you pass between two tables, someone makes a noise at you like a cat. You ignore them and keep walking. It’s nasty, the way these men act. 

“Darling,” a familiar slither coils through the air. “You aren’t ignoring your customers, are you?” 

You turn to face Loki as he stands nearby. His posture is as rigid and derisive as ever. “I didn’t hear anyone speak to me.” 

He smirks, “ah, yes, well, you are serving such fine drinks, we do forget our manners.” 

“You got my attention. Did you need anything? Water?” You ask. 

His lips curve deeper and he bring his knuckle up under your chin. He leans in, looming over you. He snickers. 

“You will know what I need, when I need it,” he drawls. He winks and swipes his thumb over your cheek. “Go on. I didn’t hire you to give me such a look.” 

“Sir,” you look him up and down. 

You back up and turn. You strut away on your heels, focusing on keeping your gait steady. You know he’s watching and waiting. You are too. 

🐍

The night stretches almost until dawn. After clean up, the room littered with half-finished glasses, broken tooth picks, and dribbled alcohol, you head back to your room. At least you’re alone, even if the space fits little more than yourself and your bag. 

You sit on the bed and wipe away your make up. You pull another wipe from the package and press the cool cloth to your face. It takes three to get rid of the clown paint. 

You tuck away your pouch of cosmetics and strip down to your underwear. You pull on only a tank top and spread out on the mattress. It’s thin but not entirely uncomfortable. You stretch and yawn. You roll your back to the room and bend your arm over your head. 

Your leg hooks over the blanket. The air is stagnant. You usually sleep with a fan. Your eyes close and your muscles relax. The only thing you like about working late, is how easy it is to fall asleep. 

You wake with a start. The room is dark. You can’t see more than the outline of the door. You sit up and peer through the shadows. 

There’s a tapping on the door frame. You look down at the floor. Someone’s standing on the other side. Their feet darken that line of light. 

“Darling,” the voice wafts through and sends a shiver up your spine. 

You pull the blanket over both legs, as if hiding from the man outside your door. Your heart pounds. You locked the door. You know you did. The handle jiggles at that thought. 

“You cannot hide forever, darling,” Loki taunts. “Or perhaps you like to swim.” 

He raps on the door one last time and laugh. His soles scuff then tap away. You frown and lower yourself onto your back. You stare up into the dark. 

That man has wrapped himself around his grudge like the very snake he reminds you of. 

🐍

Breakfast sees less diners than the previous night. You expect at least half the guests are hungover, just like your coworkers. Zadie is moving particularly gingerly. 

You serve two plates of sunny side up and sliced avocado, with a fruit cup and seasoned potato. You wear a smile as you retreat. Simple work. Even if you’re already tired as hell, it’s easy. Pretend to listen and keep that stupid look on your face. 

“Dear, you seem to be the only one without a pocket full of advil,” Sif greets you. “Perfectly so. Won’t you do me a favour. There is a private table is the Asp Lounge. There.” She points. “They need someone who can balance a tray. Table of four. Mimosas to start.” 

You follow her gesture. Please, your luck can’t be that bad. It won’t be him. 

“I can handle it,” you assure her. 

You go to the bar. You make the drinks. That’s nothing. It’s old hat. You put them on the tray and cross the large dining hall. 

You go into the lounge, just behind the curtain. There are four men. He’s there. Loki sits with Mr. Shelby, Mr. Pine, and another man you don’t recognise. 

You put the drinks down, serving your de facto boss last. As you do, he brushes down your rear. You twitch but don’t say a word. The other men are glancing at their phones and tossing out numbers. It might just be a dick-measuring contest. 

“Anything else?” 

“Men?” Loki prompts. 

They grumble and shake their heads. You retreat. Thank god. They hardly seem interested in the mimosas. 

You take the tray with you. You wipe it off and put it back on the stack. You go to help pit some more cherries with Tara. You expect more prep than serving throughout the day. 

“Big to do tonight,” Tara says. “You must know all about it.” 

“Oh?” You glance at her. “To do?” 

“Mr. Laufeyson must’ve said as much. Since you served him last night.” Her tone grates with envy. 

“If you’d like to takeover tonight, please, be my guest,” you say. 

She scoffs. “You act like you’re so much better than the rest of us. You’re a replacement.” 

You shake your head. “I earn my tips, same as you. Think maybe you’re reading into this. It’s pouring liquor and carrying plates. Not that hard.” 

“Ugh, you are so... snobby. All the girls noticed. They said—you don’t want to talk to any of us.” 

“You haven’t exactly tried,” you turn to rinse off the knife and your hands. “Maybe it’s better if we don’t.” 

You dry the knife and place it back in the tray. You dab the moisture form your hands and hang the cloth. You spin and Tara gasps. 

“Darling,” Loki beckons to you from the other side of the bar. “A moment.” 

You stare at him. Tara looks over her shoulder, her eyes as sharp as darts. You let a sigh out through your nose. 

“Sure,” you snip.  

Stay or go, you’re not winning. 

[pflanzidiezimmerpflanze]

+ bonus:

[rollingeevee]

What did the minions first think of darling for both beast and ancient cookies

SORRY FOR THE ABSENCE! Been feeling not super amazing health wise so I took a small unannounced hiatus (sorry about that) and am still a lil iffy so will probs be slow for at least a couple more weeks ^^;

Now onto the answer!

For the minions we have so far (Cloud Haetae, Nutmeg Tiger, Candy Apple, Black Sapphire), I can say this

Cloud Haetae Cookie:

• I have a feeling they instantly became attached!

• Their master seems really fond of you, so that means they should adore you, right?

• Adoption time? Adoption time- aidhcj

• They are at your beck and call, more than happy to serve you in any way they can! Except for escape, of course. That would upset their master.

• They love being around you in general. Mystic Flour is not very outwardly affectionate, but you make up for that and give them plenty of attention.

Nutmeg Tiger Cookie

• I don’t see her liking you at first, perhaps seeing you as unworthy of The Great Destroyer. What ploy did you use to make him so infatuated with you?

• Burning Spice is quick to shut down any hostility she may have towards you. The only reason he didn’t crumble her right then and there was because you begged him not to.

• She felt a lil indebted to you afterwards, and given how quickly fierce and angered Burning Spice became over a small glare your way, she knew you were here to stay

• She tried to make it up to The Great Destroyer and you by offering to train you and help you become stronger, something you accepted and that Burning Spice approved of

• Tho she’s a lil gung ho when it comes to fighting and serving the Great Destroyer, her company is the closest thing you can consider to normal in your new life as the recipient of Burning Spice’s bite

Candy Apple Cookie

• Oh boy she hated you at first. Technically still does

• She adores Shadow Milk and has always desired his attention, and here you are with just stealing it away without any effort?! UGH!

• Shadow Milk is quick to notice her attitude,, but leaves it be. A test to see if she’s smart enough to obey his desires and leave you alone.

• A test she fails.

• She had never been punished as severely as when she tried to bring harm to you. She was lucky Shadow Milk didn’t crumble her. Her only saving grace was how much you seemed to like her and tried to get along with her. One of the few tethers keeping you compliant for the moment.

• This did not get rid of her jealousy, but it did pacify her. She tolerates you at most.

Black Sapphire Cookie

• Black Sapphire is a follower of Shadow Milk above all else. If Shadow Milk says you are to remain in the Spire, that is where you are to be. If Shadow Milk wants you attached at his hip, Black Sapphire will do his best to ensure you remain there.

• He’s not necessarily fond of you per se- not any more than he needs to be at least.

• Shadow Milk trusts Black Sapphire around you much more than he does Candy Apple, and allows Black Sapphire to get physically close to you and attend to you when he himself cannot, but he’s a fickle contradiction. He allows the close proximity but gets grumbly about it later. You can’t win with this guy ughhhhh

• Anything his Lord Shadow Milk wants, he gets. Shall he attend to you while Shadow Milk is busy? Of course! Oh- he needs to leave- ok-

• Unlike Candy Apple, Black Sapphire is fully aware of what you are, including your importance to his master. He’s been around longer, knows what that mark on you means, what that possessive attitude entails. I feel when Black Sapphire was younger, he might have been bratty with one of or perhaps Shadow Milk’s very first bitten, something he quickly learned was a no no, much like Candy Apple.

• And as much as Candy Apple annoys him, she’s still his sister, and he does his brotherly duties to make sure she doesn’t do anything too stupid and get herself killed by their master

[sugurouge]

— yes, my lady : sebastian michaelis x f!reader

content warnings! reader is a descendant of the phantomhive family, power imbalance (master/servant) but also (human/demon), somewhat monsterfucking if you squint (i wanted to make use of his ‘true form’ a little), smut, size difference, manhandling, praise, pet names (my lady, darling, dear), orgasm control, sacrilege, a tiny bit of blood, topics of loneliness

summary: after another tiresome day out in the world, you are greeted with your recent mistake—sebastian. a hand-me-down from your ancestors that you summoned by chance and who now apparently has a contract with you. yet this modern world, working women, independence, and your awfully bratty attitude are challenges that are entirely new to him. however, he did swear to serve you. so, allow him to take care of his tired "mistress"

wordcount: 5k | my kinktober masterlist

It’s not every day that your job becomes stressful enough to fully tire you out. But today, today was even more draining than you had anticipated. Deep red eyes watch your tired form from across the hallway, raking over your figure as the owner remains quiet. Sebastian hasn't quite understood the fulfillment behind humans working themselves to the bone, nor the desire for young women to eagerly venture out to conquer “corporate,” as you once called it.

Yet, understanding or not, he is sworn to serve you and look after you. You are in his care until the contract is completed.

For this, he steps forward, his touch as sultry and gentle as his voice that welcomes you home. “My Lady,” the demon begins, as strength returns to your figure upon the stabilising hold of his hands on the small of your back while you remove your heels. You meet his smile with a glare from your pretty eyes, still wary of your newly added decor.

“I can handle myself just fine, Sebastian.” Yes, you’re a feisty one. Sebastian has been well aware of that fact since the moment you met. You dislike men staring at you in the street, loathe the forced small talk with them at work, or having to humour one of them when all you want is to be in the safety and comfort of your home. The once safe haven you now share with some sort of butler, or so he proclaimed. Never would you have expected such an outcome from your family’s antiques.

But here you are, the independent woman from before, now with a handsome devil at your beck and call. “You appear particularly exhausted tonight. Why not let me take care of you and help you to a restful night?” Sebastian proposes with gentle calmness to your vervour as his hands return to rest behind his back.

He irritates you. His act of concern for you when all he truly cares for is your soul. The motive is clear, yet he play-pretends to be something you cannot wrap your head around. “And what could you do for me?” you challenge in return, crossing your arms in front of your chest as the tip of your nose lifts a little higher to meet Sebastian’s gaze. “Anything you wish,” replies the butler, without a hint of malice in his words. “I would propose running a hot bath, brewing a warm cup of tea, and—” he pauses, clearly having caught himself with an idea you would despise.

The proposal sounds pleasing, almost exactly what you would do if you weren’t feeling too lazy to run a bath for yourself. But he doesn't need to know that. Your expression remains unfaltering, almost challenging. “And what? Speak, Sebastian.” The quirk of your brow ticks Sebastian off in just the right way, your confidence and demand a challenge he secretly enjoys.

The distance between your bodies grows smaller, and a gloved hand tips your chin up as red hues draw near. “A massage for your exhausted figure, my Lady.” He drawls the title, a pinch of condescension hidden in his words. You can’t resist the idea of standing on your toes, leaning further into his space to see him shrink away as your lips almost brush Sebastian’s while you speak: “Carry me, Sebastian.”

Yet, he does not shy away. He feels your pulse quicken, hears your heart drumming a beat of bravery, while your sweet lips could offer a relief he hasn’t felt in millennia. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth upon your demand and, without hesitation, you find yourself in his embrace. Knees and shoulders pressed firmly against his body, Sebastian carries you to your bedroom.

He knows tonight won’t be easy on him. Sebastian is well aware of the mischief you try to conceal, to seem more mature than you actually are. But tonight you appear different; tonight, you bring new challenges to your rendezvous once your head finds its rest on his shoulder. The tease of your breath against his neck, your smaller fingers playing with his necktie as you wet your lips. Nothing good comes from those pretty lips, Sebastian notes.

“Sebastian?” How can you suddenly say his name so softly? He looks down to you, the crimson tinge to his eyes making him appear like a starved hunter under the faint lights of the streetlamps and mood lights in your apartment. “The water is already set and at the perfect temperature for the female body.” Of course, he had heard your footsteps from afar and decided that tonight would be perfect for a bath. He is an expert at planning, at being one step ahead of everyone else. That is, until you continue speaking. A simple command, short and to the point, too alluring: “Undress me.”

You need to try harder if you wish to get a rise from him. For now, you find yourself seated on your bathroom counter with a newly found frown adorning your face. It doesn’t suit you, but it entertains Sebastian. “Your wish is my command,” he speaks an octave lower, honey almost dripping from his words before skilled fingers smooth out the fabric of your blouse. Sebastian’s gaze does not meet yours while he unbuttons it; he stays focused on the task without lusting over your exposed skin.

Suddenly, you wish he would want to devour you. The gloved touch that teases your upper body is not enough, yet so close to the fulfilling feeling of desire that you miss.

The clothing item is pushed off your shoulders before his touch ghosts along your waist. “May I continue?” The question is accompanied by one hand held out to you, palm facing up for you to grasp and rise to your feet. In one swift move, you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror as Sebastian spins you around to undo the intricate buttons of your skirt you had struggled with this morning—why must designers place them in such difficult spots?

To nobody’s surprise, they are undone as quickly as your blouse, before your silk dress follows suit and pools around your ankles, leaving you in nothing but a tantalising set of underwear—dark red, almost a perfect match to Sebastian’s eyes. You eyes meet through the mirror and you refuse to shy away. No, like the little vixen that you are, you lean forward just enough to expose yourself further to your demon as you pretend to busy yourself by wiping off your lipstick.

It feels humbling to witness his gaze remain unfaltering; Sebastian continues to look into your eyes rather than the places you want his greed to be. “I will prepare your tea now,” he states as business continues as usual before leaving you alone.

A sigh is all you allow yourself as your shoulders slump. You really tried to seduce him. At the thought, you find a smile tugging at your mouth, the lust to be desired something that has been missing for a while now in your life. You know work, you know how to overwork yourself, and you have no time for flings or meaningless encounters. That was when he entered the picture.

Upon Sebastian’s return, he finds you seated in the bathtub; You’ve made sure to keep your hair out of the water and expose your neck, for hungry eyes to appreciate the shein layer of damp on your skin. The plate beneath the teacup meets the ceramic of your bathtub as your widened—nearly pleading—eyes shoot up to challenge his. If only you had acted a second quicker, you would have caught him staring at your cleavage, barely covered by the water and foam.

“Is there anything else you may need?” Sebastian inquires. He hates to admit it, but tonight seems like a greater challenge than he anticipated. How the simple word “You” could weaken a demon of his calibre is something for future Sebastian to concern himself with. Present Sebastian relishes the desire tugging at his stomach, the way you stare at him so submissively. Until you continue speaking: “Massage me, my butler.”

You turn your back to him as he takes his place behind you on the edge of the bathtub. Would you still be so smug if he grabbed your cheeks between his fingertips? If he forced you to look deep into his eyes while coaxing the cutest sounds past your lips? How can you act this way when at night you hump your pillow and beg for more, something better? Yet in the daylight, you behave like a spoiled princess, and he only adds to that imaginary status of yours. How badly he would love to ruin it. One or two more slip-ups, and he might find a loophole in your contract and commands.

To your dismay, gloved hands meet the skin of your neck. “Take them off, Sebastian. Touch me fully.” Your words bounce off the bathroom tiles, and his reply of “Yes, my lady,” echoes back. Shivers elicit along your neck as his skin touches yours, and the strength behind Sebastian’s touch massages the knots and the sorrow from your shoulders.

The moment is sweet enough to let your eyes fall closed, your head resting against Sebastian’s thigh as you sigh a gentle moan of relief. The sound snaps Sebastian’s attention to your face. With your eyes closed, he allows himself a moment to admire your features. Even a demon can admit that some humans are indeed beautiful. Sometimes, that beauty doesn’t surpass their soul, but in your case, there is something so unique about you that captivates Sebastian’s attention and lust.

You catch him staring as your eyes flutter open, the position you find yourself in so vulnerable, with him leaning above you. “Naughty butler…” you tease, and Sebastian wants to wipe that cheeky smirk right off your face. “If you have so much time to stare at me, you might as well wash my body for me.” The disrespectful teasing, as if he were nothing more than a pet, reminds Sebastian of someone else, someone he couldn’t wait to devour many years ago. But what else could he do but make himself useful for now?

In a swift move, Sebastian shrugs off his jacket and pushes up the sleeves of his buttoned shirt before kneeling beside your bathtub. He appears disinterested again, putting on a perfect mask of nonchalance as he runs the washcloth along your shoulders and arms, warming your figure and letting rose-scented water wash the sorrows away.

Until you’ve had enough of this act. Until you grow overly confident as you lean into his proximity: Your fingers lace around Sebastian’s wrist like a personal handcuff, your eyes locking onto his. “Be more thorough, Sebastian. Wash away the filth.” You go as far as to help him run the cloth over your chest. The drag of his nails against your sensitive skin sends shivers down your spine, and Sebastian watches you attentively, to witness your pupils dilate, the pink tip of your tongue darting out to wet your lips as your noses almost touch. He has never obeyed such a troublesome person before.

You start to bring out the worst in him—something that wants to teach you a lesson, something to remind you how different the roles could be if it weren't for this contract. The washcloth is pushed over your breasts and dips beneath the surface of the water to run along your stomach before being abandoned entirely as Sebastian’s fingers dip into the supple flesh of your thighs. Blunt nails drag along your inner thighs, and he loves to watch the shift in your demeanour; how you grow shy beneath his touch, your stare faltering as he draws dangerously close to your sacred area.

There is no bite to your bark as you cry out his name, your need for him too evident while you try to maintain a pretence. "S-Sebastian!" Finally, you act as your thighs press shut around his hand, panic ever so evident in your pretty eyes he can't stop the devilish smirk from spreading across his features. "My dear, don’t tell me you expect to play with fire and come out unharmed…"

The next moment, your back meets the cold stone as Sebastian races forward, hands placed left and right from your figure on the edge of the bathtub. The impact forces a puff of air to escape your lips as your eyes snap up to meet your butler’s dark pair, searching for a trace of humanity in those pools of crimson. "Behave…" you attempt to regain control, which is met with a chuckle. "I only follow your commands," he challenges as the cloth returns to clean your body. "You wanted me to be thorough, let me be thorough."

However, the lips that crash against the racing pulse in your neck have nothing to do with the command of cleaning your body. Sebastian acts upon his own selfish accord, upon the lust you’ve ignited by teetering too close to the dangerous territories of demonic desires.

And he makes you feel too good as he ravages you, suckling and nipping at your skin until you can't help but moan, your head falling back to offer him more space. You can't even think of a fitting command, the sweet words for him to "Don’t stop, please," a much more natural reaction as his palms cup your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples until you whimper ever so prettily.

"Who would have thought you could turn into such a sweet darling?" Sebastian teases with whispered words against the shell of your ear, the hum that follows so deep and low it has your stomach fluttering. Your fingers lace between his dark strands, effectively holding him in place as you return to being face-to-face with Sebastian. Shamelessly, you allow yourself to rake your eyes over his sharp features. You've never wanted anything more than him. But the thought evaporates upon the sharp sensation of nails against your waistline and hips, upon the pair of fingers pushing between your folds before rubbing against your clit.

Oh? How willingly you part your legs now, Sebastian muses.

"Is this thorough enough, my lady?" he mocks as his fingertips press against the opening of your pussy, your eager hole giving way slightly as he pushes past. He knows what he’s doing to you. He sees it in the crease of your brow, feels it as your hips buck against his touch. "More, Sebastian, I need more tonight." Like the greedy thing you are, you take it upon yourself to play with your breasts, yet the silent plea in your eyes tells your butler all you want is for him to take care of you.

“Oh dear,” he whispers gently, but smiles victoriously as your moans tumble from your trembling lips when two of his fingers push inside you. "Do you give yourself to me? Allow me full reign, hm?"

The idea sounds great, perfect, until you manage to flutter your heavy eyes open and see the devious apparition in front of you. Sebastian’s eyes are more slanted, set ablaze, deep pink hues now replacing his usual red, with lust overflowing past his thick lashes as pointed teeth hide behind his full lips. Giving yourself to a demon doesn’t seem like the best idea, but the fingers stimulating your gummy spot have you nodding regardless. How lucky you are that you need to use words under these circumstances.

“Darling, tell me,” Sebastian urges as his thrusts become harsher, uncaring for the water or your comfort as your tits bounce and your walls clamp so promisingly. “N-no, no, Sebastian! Just, ah—” you falter as you try your best to stay present, to keep control over this demon while he fingerfucks you. “Think, speak, quickly, little Lady,” he further pressures you. What he wouldn’t give to do with your body whatever he wants. “Just-, just tonight! Sebastian—” the way you moan his name makes you a sinner itself, it should send you to all seven hells as the echoes ring inside his mind. “Look after me, tonight,” you finally manage to cry out as your walls pull in desperate need. “Make me feel good,” your final demand.

But instead of sweet release, you feel the disappointing emptiness as he retracts his fingers, leaving you a heaving mess in your bathtub—only now do you notice how cold the water has turned. “You can ask more nicely than that, my dear.” There is little consideration to be spared for the length of your bath once a strong arm wraps around your waist. Sebastian wastes no time in having you seated on his lap, your wet form drenching his clothing as he spreads your legs over his thighs and presses you flush against his chest. “I will look after you until the day you die,” he whispers into your ear, and maybe if the words weren’t so true and less intimidating, you could consider them romantic.

You notice that Sebastian’s form has returned to fully human, with almost tender eyes meeting yours this time around, turning your desire mellow and seasoned with sweetness. “Kiss me, please.”

He follows suit as your lips crash together a moment later, his palms stabilising your back in his hold. “More…” you breathe. Your fingers reach out to guide one of his hands on your back, between the valley of your tits, down your stomach, until you ultimately buck your hips against his, seeking further friction in desperate need. He tightens his hold on your body, tugging gently at your frame as he leans forward to suck on your wet skin, leaving marks in his wake. A small grin tugs at his lips as a soft whimper escapes you. “What’s wrong?” The whispered question makes goosebumps spread over your skin as the chill of his breath battles with the warmth of your bathroom.

“Want to be ruined by you.” The words that fall past your lips seal your fate. “Please, make me feel good, Sebastian.” You sound so desperate, only a fool would resist. “Taint me,” you shamelessly sigh against his ear, “Let me feel you.”

“Taint you…” he murmurs, halting his movements momentarily to witness you grow impatient before one of his arms holds a firm grip around your waist, restricting your movements as you’re now fully pressed against his chest. “How much more does my little Lady want to be tainted?” His free hand ghosts along your puffy lips, your slick making the drag too easy, too appealing to not draw circles into your clit, only pulling back any time he feels you squirm on his lap. Your little cries are music to Sebastian’s ears. It’s so good, too good, the way his fingers move, almost as if he already knows all your weak spots. “Do you wish to experience bliss only I could give you, and ruin yourself for all eternity?” His questions urge you to wrap your arms around him, to hide your face in the gentle embrace of a monster, as though you’re trying to hide from judgement itself upon your immoral fantasies. “I wish for that, Sebastian.”

No further words are needed, not when your lips convey more as they meet Sebastian's. A kiss so fierce, he may steal the air from your lungs and drag you to hell himself. Teeth pull at your bottom lip unapologetically, his tongue meeting with your own, entwining with another until you taste him. Meanwhile, the familiar stretch of his fingers, accompanied by the filthy squelching of your arousal, threatens to overload your senses. The teasing returns as your lips part to allow Sebastian a front row seat to your desperate play, as his thumb presses into your clit. You really yearn for this orgasm, don’t you? Of course, you do, with how tightly you clench around his digits, pulsing as though you’re trying to keep him inside—as if he couldn’t offer you a much better alternative.

“Let go, my dear, you look so beautiful right now, I want to see you come undone for me.” Sebastian encourages, as his fingers expertly curl against your walls, each time pushing past the limits of what you’re able to take. So you let go, finally, allowing your eyes to shut as your fingers fist the fabric of his dress shirt. He’s never received praise in a prayer-like form, the sighing thank-yous tumbling free between your moans, so unlike the feisty thing you pretend to be. You are adorable. “Very good, my darling, just like that.” Sebastian whispers, as the movements slow down until his fingers still inside you, until the heaving of your chest and the trembling of your thighs calms, and you fall into his embrace.

But much to Sebastian's surprise, and despite his predictions about your exhaustion, you return his previous affections. Your lips kiss along his neck as you undo his necktie, fingertips already so eager to free him from the confines of his clothes, it makes Sebastian wonder who the real glutton between you two is. “My Lady,” he innocently halts your advances as he entwines his fingers with your own, kissing each tip while holding eye contact. “Shouldn’t we proceed to your chambers? I don’t wish to bring needless discomfort upon you—you need your strength to handle me.” At that, you feel his tongue drag along your pointer finger before a final kiss is placed on its tip, while a devious smile returns to Sebastian’s lips. If only you wouldn’t look so adorable each time he teases you. But you are already too far gone to keep up pretences, when you can instead allow someone else to finally be your resolve.

So it's only natural for you to command Sebastian once more. “Bring me to my bed,” you mumble while your arms already lace around his neck. He follows.

Yet it catches you by surprise once you’re simply dropped into your bouncy mattress and sea of pillows. However, in the next moment, you find yourself caged underneath Sebastian. Your hands roam free to undo his dress shirt and shrug it off his figure, allowing your nails to drag over his pearly skin until you reach his pants and finally feel what lies hidden behind the dark fabrics.

You seem in control, until firm hands spread your thighs and Sebastian leans in, to nibble along your inner legs, shining in the moonlight as he dives between your thighs to lap at your cunt, his tongue pushing past the tight ring of your entrance before dragging all over your hot and puffy pussy. He then licks and kisses his way up your stomach, sternum, and nipples, while the surprising satisfaction of his cock—hot, hard, and leaking with pre-cum—coats itself with your juices. He grinds against you until you writhe for more, until his hands find rest on the back of your knees so he can press your legs up against your sides, fully opening you to thrust into you without struggle, without restraint, as lust overcomes him.

You shake your head at the stretch of his girth welcoming your pussy, sweet pleas mixed with whiny complaints escaping your lips without much thought. “‘S too much, Sebastian… can’t…” you admit. The chuckle that follows is devious, before a soft sigh in satisfaction follows as tender lips place an adoring kiss to your cheek. “You will,” Sebastian whispers, followed by the command “Now just surrender to me.” His lips seek out your own once more as he picks up a relentless pace.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving red streaks that run deep. You can’t look at anything but him—his strong body on top of yours, the visible strain to his muscles while he ruts into you—until you find yourself once more captivated by his eyes. He almost looks at you lovingly, no hungrily. But Sebastian doesn't just want to consume your soul; no, his desires reach beyond basic greed. He wants to own you, to keep you to himself, to reign over you until your best years are over. You can see it clearly while swimming in crimson. But with the delicious drag of his cock inside your walls, you might just let him. Who would have expected you to be tamed this well by getting fucked?

“Please, please, please,” you exhale as your head lolls from side to side, writhing beneath your very own demon. Oh? You’re quick to beg. Quick to turn desperate, so eager to have more of something that should never have been yours. “Sebastian, Sebastian,” you repeat like a mantra as his hands hold your fragile body, digging into your hips to force you into a perfect arch for Sebastian to ravage your skin. He litters kisses over your chest, laps at your nipples, and drags your hips back down to snap against his while he is guided by gluttony.

“Give yourself to me,” you demand with no trace of shame in your bones, finally giving him a task worthy of your beautiful soul. “Stay with me, be mine…”

You almost feel dizzy with how easily Sebastian hoists you up until you’re on all fours, ass perfectly exposed for him to fully sheath his cock inside you, effectively pushing your upper body into your sea of pillows. But in stark contrast to his rather harsh handling of your body, his lips return to press soft kisses along your back. “I am yours if you are mine, my darling.” The words flow like honey before your blood coats Sebastian’s tongue as he breaks the skin, engraving himself on your skin.

Your fingers dig into the cushions, searching for support as you struggle. But the strong arm lacing around your body is all the comfort you will need from now on; his cold touch will soon set you ablaze.

Sebastian is deep inside you, the head of his cock finding your sweet spot almost naturally as he perfectly curves against your velvet walls, hips snapping against your ass with unforeseen fervour. His hands dig into your hips, surely bruising your hip bones for the coming days, but you’ve never felt this good before. Never so full, never as cared for as by the monster that is in love with your soul. You moan his name in delight, making Sebastian proud once you eagerly bounce back into his thrusts.

The husky sounds of pleasure grow clearer as his movements slow down. You feel yourself being further pushed against the mattress, to spread your legs wider and arch deeper, for his penetration to slowly steal your sanity. Who would have expected the pressure of his palm against your stomach would make you clamp around him this much? Moaning, whimpering, pleading as you beg for mercy, trying to tell him it’s too… “Too good, Sebastian, I’m—”

His movements are slow but precise, accentuating the way you desperately clamp around him in an attempt to hold him inside you for eternity. “Yes, fall apart. Let go for me,” Sebastian’s eyes roam over your smaller body beneath him—a sweaty, shaking mess. He will take care of that right after you are done. For now, instead of worrying, his hands grab at your ass almost aggressively, spreading your lower lips even further as he ruts into you.

The high-pitched squeal that escapes your throat when he picks up his pace again serves as a perfect display of your misery. Tears prick at the sides of your eyes as your hips are pushed back to meet Sebastian’s relentless thrusts. “Make me proud, little Lady...” his final demand, with sneaky fingers returning to play with your clit as he hoists you off the bed, holding you tightly against his chest.

You’re fully seated on his cock, entirely engulfed by his embrace and consumed by the demon, just as you bask in the sweet release coursing through your veins. Sebastian allows himself to be lost in your pretty cries and the way your pussy practically drips from both of your orgasms. True to his nature, he watches you like a devil on your shoulder; dark red eyes witnessing your fucked-out expression while the cutest smile illuminates your features.

His lips caress your neck as he whispers, “Do you feel better now?” You hum and let your fingers card through his hair, a tired “I do. Thank you, Sebastian” exchanged from your mouth to his ear.

Swiftly, Sebastian moves to carry you back to your spacious bathtub and lets it refill with warmth. “How about my Lady actually relaxes this time around?”

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[plaguewormart]

Once again thinking about Vincent as pope…

Vincent hating the attention he’s given for doing simple things such as carrying his own bags, knowing the Swiss guards names, hugging children when they run up to him. Vincent despising how every human thing he does immediately becomes a headline: “Pope listening to music!” (He was wearing headphones and listening to some old favorites while hanging out with the turtles) “Innocent XIV goes shopping!” (He forgot to bring a book to the airport and just wanted to buy something to read on the plane) “The pope wears converse!” (He’d owned the same pair of shoes for three years, and he’d stitched them up himself after the fabric tore)

Vincent feeling more isolated than ever. Despite never being alone, there is not a single person who treats him as a person. He’s constantly watched, yet never invited into casual conversations, no one asks him to join them for coffee, no one rants about their boring work or tells him about their favorite books or talks about the weather.

Vincent waking up in a cold sweat most nights. Dreams of war haunting his sleep, the faces of the dead burned into his mind. He wakes up gasping for air, or screaming, or running to the bathroom to throw up.

Vincent sleeping on the floor more often than the bed. Vincent flinching at loud noises and always scanning the room for threats and ways to escape.

Vincent having flashbacks and panic attacks on the floor of his bathroom, not being able to call anyone for help because he’s the pope, he’s not allowed to fall apart or ask for help or take a break.

Vincent who cannot handle being snuck up on from behind, who can’t have meat that isn’t well done, Vincent who hides his shaking hands behind his back as he speaks about the saints who were stoned to death, because he knows what that looks like.

Vincent who once gets so startled by the bang of a bible being dropped onto the floor of St Peter’s cathedral while he’s holding mass that he instinctively ducks behind the altar, covering his head, sure that he’s back in the war. Vincent who has to continue his sermon with shaking hands and voice, with his normally so present and kind eyes suddenly showing a far-away look. And Vincent who has to read the headlines afterwards, despite Aldo doing his best to shield him.

I also think about Thomas.

Thomas who tries to joke with Vincent about how the masses have never seen a pope young enough to have the strength to carry his own bags, Thomas who reminds him that even though he is the pope, he’s still human.

Thomas who, despite this, is unable to call him Vincent. Thomas who has always seen the papacy as closest to the God he has such a hard time reaching, and Thomas who no longer sees Vincent when he looks at the pope.

Thomas who tries to comfort Vincent, but keeps calling him Your Holiness, and watching as Vincent pulls away more and more.

Thomas who once entered Vincent’s room at night to leave him an urgent document, and found the pope curled up on the floor.

Thomas who always sees when Vincent’s hands start to shake, who can sense Vincent’s breathing quicken and his eyes start searching for escape routes. Thomas who can’t do anything to help, because the pope cannot be seen having to be escorted away because of anxiety.

Thomas who tries to learn what triggers Vincent, Thomas who takes notes on what makes the pope flinch or shake or hide away. Thomas who discreetly informs the rest of the staff closest to Vincent about how important it is to never sneak up on him from behind, or serve him anything resembling torn off flesh.

Thomas who finally sees how Vincent is actually doing once the incident at mass happens. Thomas who argues with everyone to try to allow Vincent to end mass early, but failing. Thomas who sends the altar boys and deacons away from the sacristy once mass is over and finally greets the pope by his original name.

Thomas who opens his arms and his heart as he sees the shaking man in front of him. “Oh my dear Vincent” he says, and his heart breaks as Vincent falls into his arms and sobs.

Thomas who holds him tightly, whispering apologies for letting this continue, who promises to be better. Thomas who helps Vincent change out of his sweat soaked vestments, and who lets Vincent explain the horrors he’s seen.

I also think about Aldo

Aldo who’s in the background of it all. Who sees how the new pope seems to be getting even thinner than he was. Aldo who tries his best to minimize Vincent’s amount of paperwork on the days where the pope arrives to breakfast at 5 am with bloodshot eyes and holding his mug of tea with trembling hands.

Aldo who more than once has held up Vincent’s hair as he throws up after stressful meetings with world leaders who are decimating entire populations. Aldo who sometimes pretends not to see invites from some of the dictators he knows Vincent hates the most.

Aldo who tries his best to keep the news away from Vincent whenever he’s in the headlines. Aldo who brings Vincent hot chocolate whenever he knows an article will have upset him.

Aldo who always remembers to make his steps louder or clear his throat if he’s walking up to the pope from behind. Who will always make sure there is a vegetarian option that won’t remind the pope of wounded and dead bodies.

Aldo who every so often sees the pope’s eyes flicker to the side, and knows it means Vincent is quietly suppressing the most horrible flashbacks, even with a smile on his face. And Aldo who always makes sure he has an excuse ready to get Vincent out of situations when it happens.

Aldo who tries his very very best to make Thomas realise that Vincent needs him.

Aldo who feels a weight leave his heart once he sees Thomas leading a shaking Vincent through the halls of the Santa Martha, and who smiles when they both enter the Homy Father’s room.

[dollishmehrayan]

# TAKE EVERYTHING AS IT WAS WRITTEN FOR YOU ── .✦ ( batboys x writer!reader who writes ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

dollish note ౨ৎ: hey so I’m back from the dead apparently, anywaysss omgg I missed you guys Hii and I will posting more content from now on and taking this seriously and these past days I was super stressed out over moving but hey my lovess anyways I decided to base this writer s/o over like anyone, like whether you write fan fic like me or write actual books, it matters to this hcs !! Tags: (batboys x writer!s/o)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

# DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

He loves that you're a writer ( listen he just LOVESSS creative women like hello !? God forbid a guy likes creative people 🫠) he's your #1 fan and biggest hype man.

Tries to read your work over your shoulder while you're typing, even if you hate it “Babe, I need to know what happens next!” Like constantly over your shoulder seeing what you’re drafting and etc.

Occasionally offers cheesy plot ideas like “what if the love interest also knows parkour?” (His ideas suck)

Will 100% brag to everyone: “Yeah, my partner’s a genius novelist. Ever heard of them? You will.” OOOOO

Falls asleep listening to you ramble about story arcs and character development. It's his favorite sound.

Writes you little encouraging notes like, “You got this, Hemingway 💪” and sticks them on your laptop / tablet or wtv you have bbg.

# JASON TODD ── .✦

Loves your dark, gritty writing especially if there's violence, angst, or moral grayness involved since a lot of people don’t write angst that casually.

Offers surprisingly insightful edits or plot ideas: “This villain's motivation is weak. Give them a tragic backstory and don’t make them redeemable.”

Low-key wants you to base a character on him but will pretend he doesn’t care.

Has a soft spot for reading your fluff pieces though and will be quietly emotional about them.

Will threaten anyone who leaves bad reviews on your work. "Just say the word. Username 'Booktoklover93'? I got 'em."

He buys you fancy notebooks and pens and acts like it's no big deal, but he's proud of himself.

# TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Absolute king of writing dates you'll both sit in a café typing furiously and sipping terrible coffee.

Helps you fact-check obscure things at 3am without complaint (okay, maybe some complaint).

If you write mystery or thrillers, he treats it like solving a real case. “Wait… that clue in chapter 5…”

He totally has a secret folder on his computer labeled “[Your Name]’s Writing – Favorite Stuff” with all your pieces saved.

You’ve accidentally inspired him to write fanfic once and he WILL take that secret to the grave.

Sends you prompts or memes like “this is so your OC.” (Sorry I just keep cringing at oc 🥲)

# DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

At first, he might not get why you write fictional stories… but then he reads them.

He's completely blown away and demands to know what happens next immediately.

Occasionally critiques your logic but ends up emotionally invested in your characters.

“Why did you kill him off?” Because it served the story—” “You’re a monster.”

Will sit next to you while you write, drawing or sketching your characters in his own style.

Has probably told Alfred he thinks you’re a genius at least once when he thought no one was listening.

# BONUS WHICH MR WAYNE! ── .✦

Loves that you're creative and has the patience of a saint when listening to you rant about plot holes.

He doesn’t read everything you write, but when he does, he’ll quote it back to you at random times like a proud husband.

“Chapter 7 really showed growth. I was impressed.”

Offers to fund your writing career or self-publishing venture without blinking. “You’ll need an editor and marketing team.” SIGN ME UP !!

He also gently reminds you to eat and sleep when you’re on a deadline: “You’ve been writing for 16 hours. Come to bed and go to sleep.”

[misstycloud]

Platonic vampire father x reader

• Vampire, who is greatly feared and treated as a legend among the townsfolk. He’s the one parents tell their children will come for them unless they start to behave. Living alone for hundreds of years was alright by him, vampires were mostly solitary creatures anyhow. He slept during the day to regain his strength, then fed by nightfall. Sometimes it was just one or two humans, other times he took the lives of entire families in one giant serving. It was all simply fine- until it wasn’t. For one who had lived so long in solitude it seemed humourous to feel lonely all of a sudden.

• The vampire had not meant to have a child. It occurred without plan. However cold he may be, something urged him to keep you; the tiny, defenseless(not by human standards), and certainly hungry child he’d created. It was a hoax, that vampires could not procreate in the traditional sense; made up by the few vampire parents who did care enough about their children to ensure no one should hunt for them. If humans knew there were multiple ways and how easy it was to make more of this damned race, then the search for these children would be endless. Plus, burning the children would surely be easier than to behead a fully fledged adult monster?

• Now that you were sleeping soundlessly within his grasp, how could he ever let you go? There was no way he could let you run around like a child needs to, should the two of you live close to any civilisation. So he fled, deep into the wilderness where no one ought to find you. Yet it wasn’t too far out so it’d be impossible to find prey- especially with the help of his knowledge and ability to travel far distances. Good luck his uncle had a large castle standing empty for your use. Further luck was it that vampire father had killed him long ago, otherwise there’d be an unpleasant battle for territory.

• You were hopelessly adorable when you latched onto his wrist, teeth bared and fangs ready. They were small, but vicious. There was no question you’d be ruthless when you grew up. During the first year after a vampires birth, they had to feed from their parents. It was similar to how human babies gain nutrients from their mother whilst in the womb, and later rely on her milk to survive the harsh conditions of the outside world. He’ll find the best humans to eat so you’d be getting the finest nutrients afterwards.

• He loves getting you cute dresses and styling your hair. You’re like a fine china doll. Playing is also fun. You’re so full of energy that even he- exceeding physical abilities and all- had to take a break every now and then. He cannot count how many times he has been forced to chase you high-speed around the castle in order to prevent you from knocking anything over. An ordinary human would never have vitality to care for a vampire child. Apart from the likelihood of being drained on the spot, vampire children are very high maintenance and would tire a human beyond compare in less than a week. His favourite activity with you is teaching you to hunt. It’s a fantastic way to bond. He’ll make sure to encourage you and give you good opportunities; the complete opposite of how his parents taught him. They were rough and did not care at all, which was not rare for vampires but still.

• No matter how wonderful you looked while tearing the coachman’s throat out, vampire father would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the old days when you were younger. You didn’t have to wristfeed anymore and could do nicely by yourself. As he rested within his coffin, he reassured himself he was still needed. You would not reach adulthood until you were 150 years old, and even then you would still be his child- you would need him yet.

• Vampire father has servants who work in the castle. Maids and butlers who clean(no chefs of course) and are human. Whenever you asked your father about where they came from, he responded with ‘I took them to work here for us’. You noticed three things about the servants: they were a lot weaker than you, constantly scared in your or your fathers presence if their erratic beating heart was anything to go by, and they were often replaced. It was one night, you were reading, and a maid walked in to sweep the floor. You’d recognised her as Zoe. She was one of the only few who’d managed to stay(alive) for more than four years. However, the Zoe in your memory was youthful with dark hair and bright eyes; this one in front of you was worn down and grey.

• This realisation opened up your mind for curiosity aimed towards humans. Previously, you hadn’t really noticed them or cared. You saw them as food and disposable, just like your father did. But now you began thinking about the differences between you as species. Clearly, vampires were the superior race, being faster, stronger, more durable and free of illness. Although the loneliness of a vampire could count as a disease itself, the only inevitable, natural suffering of a creature of the night. So if vampire were superior, how come you all live in shadows? Why, despite there being fewer of you, did you not rule as royalty? And how come weak beings such as humans were almost happier than a vampires ever been? You wished to know the simple joy humans knew. You wanted to understand how they could be so happy as they were. How did they chose what path to dedicate their lives to when they had such short ones? You desired answers to the question on wether one could really be fulfilled in a mere 100 years; a lot of humans didn’t even make it past that age.

• You were more intrigued than ever. You just had to learn more about humans and their strange perspectives. They were so different from you. Unfortunately, your vampire father did not like your newest interest. He had taken you into the forest to hide you from humans and now you actively sought them out? You would end up chased or burned in sunlight! He would never allow that to happen to you. He’s your father and he’s sworn to stand by you.

He’ll protect his little doll.

[yandere-romanticaa]

Yandere Fae!, who keeps you hidden away deep inside his castle, away from any unnecessary prying eyes, be it human or the eyes of other immortals such as himself. Your meeting was one of chance and the years of fighting have taught him to cherish all the things he wishes to keep.

Keep your enemies close, but your friends even closer. That was his own personal spin on that old saying.

Yandere Fae!, who is just content with you being close. It does sting with how hard you try to escape but he is sure that his home will grow on you.

He is a lonely man. He has fought valiantly for his king, serving as a knight for his realm for ages. Many of his peers said to him that he ought to take on a human lover, or several if he so wished. While eternal life was tempting to many, the taste and vibrancy of humanity was too good to just be ignored. Humans always aim to please, which always made them such marvelous little lovers. He never understood how so many of his brothers and sisters fell head over heels for a human by simply glancing at them.

Yandere Fae!, who upon first seeing you all alone treading deep within his mortal domain, cannot help but to be smitten. You reek of sweat and sweetness, his pupils dilating dangerously as he pictures what it would be like to sink his teeth into your soft neck. He feels his wings fluttering behind his back, urging him to make a move.

Even from this current distance, he can sense the hot blood pumping through your veins, deceiving you into going straight into his arms. Gentle specks of magic dance carefully on his fingertips, the glow just barely visible in the lush green of the forest.

He may be immortal and eternally youthful but it all paled in comparison to how he felt about you.

Yandere Fae!, who showers you in endless silk and gold, also cannot help but to mess with you just a wee bit.

It's in his nature, he cannot help it.

His tricks keep you on the edge of your seat - will he trick you into thinking you're back home just to see how you'll react? Will he cast a completely different illusion on you? Will he put something inside of your food, forcing you to either dance or weep against your will?

It was horrifying, trying to keep up with all of that.

But, that was the nature of the Fae.

[tsuutarr]

Yandere Otome Isekai Lawyer x Reader

Elliot Armstrong is the youngest child of the Armstrong Estate, which means that he’s often given scraps in favor of his older brothers. It also doesn’t help that Elliot has never been too fond of the physicality of combat despite being part of a family of military might.

Instead, the battle of wits is what enthralls Elliot. Chess, riddles, puzzles – all of it captivates him. Perhaps that is why it is no surprise that Elliot has found himself fascinated by the human psyche, too. Humans are interesting specimens – they’re simple but also quite complex.

Elliot’s interest in humans is what draws him to pursue law. The variety of cases that fall in his lap – some more intriguing than others – always make his daily life that much more interesting. He can observe a great variety of people, which excites him to no end. Besides that, due to his awareness of his own intellect, he likes winning against other humans, too.

After all, brain is better than brawn. He’s much better than his brothers, his parents, his ancestors. He is the most superior Armstrong – the superior human.

Others just cannot compare. They’re too easy to manipulate, too simple once you understand their inner workings.

Well, all humans except you, somehow. 

The Heir to the Arrington Estate – you hadn’t really caught his eye before, being the quiet but rather dry child of the infamous Duke Arrington. Yet somehow, one day, out of the blue, you began to stand out.

Elliot remembers the exact moment you had become a centerpiece of his thoughts, someone he spins and spins inside the crevices of his brain just so he can make sure he never forgets anything about you. 

It was a few moons ago, when his family had been tried for their involvement in embezzling the Royal Family’s fortune. With his silver tongue, Elliot had managed to come out unscathed, unlike his idiotic family who had all been put to jail – it was all karmic justice, really.

The family that had ostracized him now begged at his feet, imploring him to save them. Hilarious.

It was quite difficult holding back his laugh, but he managed just fine. Perhaps he managed too well, however, since so many nobles began to pity him. They pitied him – him!

He’s much greater than they are, to the point that he knows all their secrets and yet they had the gall to pity him. Disgusting worms, the lot of them. 

And yet you, the Heir to the Arrington Estate… you were the only one who showed him genuine compassion. It surprised him – most nobles are self serving (him included) and care very little for others. Yet you care. Perhaps a little too much, really. But it’s nice, he won’t deny that. Being acknowledged, praised, for his intellect. Being shown compassion for his “plight.” Being shown the kindness in those lovely eyes of yours. 

Oh, Elliot just adores it all. Your attention, your kindness, your praise – he desires it all.

So, of course Elliot offers to be your personal lawyer. You’re kind, but perhaps a little too kind for your own good when, really, you only need to show kindness to him. Besides, your… Father, is a piece of work. You’d be much better as the Head of the Arrington Estate, so of course Elliot needs to be there so that he can ensure your position and safeguard it from your greedy relatives.

Oh, yes, you need him. You definitely, most certainly do.

Just like he needs you.

[sunderingrivers]

The Queens Who Never Were 〚18 / 17〛

╰┈➤ ❝ Robert will never keep to one bed. I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale. Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature. ❞

The only daughter of Lord Rickard Stark, Lyanna was described as iron-willed, wild and free-spirited. She loved horse riding, the scent of winter roses, and may have even practised tilting; with her brother, Ned, telling his own daughter that Lyanna would have picked up a sword if she could. She is remembered not just fondly but also vividly by many of the Northmen for these things, and those memories seem to be the truest indicator of her nature separate from the romanticised descriptions of the South.

As she grew up, she began to develop what is described by most who knew her as beauty, so much so that it remained fabled and honoured decades after her death. Robert Baratheon became infatuated with her, and after bringing his suit to Lord Rickard, secured their betrothal. Despite this, she remained mischievous and tomboyish, attacking the squires who bullied Howland Reed with a tourney sword and even being rumoured to have ridden in his honour as the Masked Knight of the Laughing Tree - beating the knights those squires served.

During that same Tourney, Prince Rhaegar, a man of 22 years, passed over his own wife and named Lyanna his Queen of Love and Beauty at 14 years of age. The following year, he abducted her with the help of two knights of the Kingsguard, spurring Robert's Rebellion as the Starks, Baratheons, Arryns and Tullys all raised their banners in her name. It is unknown what Rhaegar did with Lyanna; some, such as Robert, claim he r***d her, while others claim they were in love. All that is known, is that when Eddard found her at the Tower of Joy, she died "in a bed of blood", weakened by fever. Her last words were "promise me Ned".

Perhaps the ultimate Queen Who Never Was, both of Lyanna's hypothetical paths to becoming Queen are mutually exclusive. Had she married Robert and lived with him peacefully, he would never have rebelled and become King; were it true that Rhaegar took her with the intention of marrying her, and himself become King and thus her Queen, Robert would never have rebelled, or may have failed. A near-mythological figure in the current ASOIAF timeline, it is widely theorised that Jon Snow is her son by Rhaegar, as is shown in the Game of Thrones TV Show.

[sanjisleggy]

let your husband help you (red-haired shanks x reader)

req: [...] with a fem!reader (if possible) that has wings and sometimes the wings with feathers require molting and there are areas that cannot be reached closer to the back and requires help to remove the loose feathers

a/n: (i am playing valorant as i write this help) ty for the request anon! :D the enthusiasm is very endearing ;;0;; hope you enjoy reading! also man i love writing for Shanks :3c

contents: a bit of angst (fem!reader is having a hard time), descriptions of itchiness and pain, comfort, fluff :D, a tad bit suggestive bc it’s Shanks

wc. 1.2k

wanna be on my taglist?

i.

these past few weeks have been torture. today especially so.

alone in your bedroom aboard the Red Force you writhe in itchiness and pain as your back aches in a way it hasn’t in a long time. lying face-down on your bed, you feel your wings twitch and tremble as you contort your arms to reach behind you as far as humanly possible; only to groan in defeat when the most you can do is brush the offending feathers with your fingertips.

for days now a small part of your brain has been nagging at you to go get Shanks for the sake of your poor back and wings but you’ve heard from your crewmates how busy he’s been so you’ve pushed the urge aside. now, though, the idea has forced its way to the forefront of your mind out of desperation, no doubt.

holding back a sob of frustration that threatens to make its way out of your throat, you nuzzle your face into your husband’s pillow, hoping that his scent can serve as a distraction of some kind. more than anything though, it simply acts as a poor placeholder for the real thing and only makes your aching heart (and wings) yearn for him even more.

“c’mon, (Y/N), don’t be shy,” his gentle voice called from outside the utility closet in which you’d chosen to hide–away from him. you felt your face heat up at Shanks’ persistence to help with something he wasn’t even totally aware of; he just knew you were in pain so he had to help.

“it’s okay, i can deal with it myself,” you lied, wincing when one of your wings brushed against a shelf behind you. most of the molting feathers had already been dealt with but your wings had grown a lot since the last time you molted and now they were far too big for your hands to reach. “just leave me alone.”

“if you don’t tell me what’s up, i’ll tell Rayleigh.”

“no!” you protested instantly. as much as you trusted the first mate of your crew with your life, this was far too embarrassing to get him involved. “if you tell anyone i’ll leave the crew, you asshole.”

you had meant it only as a false threat but the sudden silence told you Shanks took it a bit more seriously than you thought he would.

“okay, fine,” he replied and you could hear the pout on his face. “i just wanna help. there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. you know you can trust me to take care of you.”

a particularly sharp pain shoots through your spine from your right wing and the whine of discomfort slips past your lips before you can help yourself. too far gone to care about anyone hearing from outside your quarters, you let yourself sob aloud, the relief from crying doing little to ease your discomfort. 

the immense helplessness of your situation makes you realise how pampered you’ve been all these years. how lucky you are to have had such a loving friend-turned-lover who always took it upon himself to care for you. now here you are: alone in your bedroom, struggling with a task that you long should’ve learned how to deal with yourself.

you nearly give in to the urge to seek out the one person you trust to alleviate your pain but at this point, you’re too tired to even get off the bed. maybe it’s for the best, you wonder to yourself. your eyes flutter closed as you pull Shanks’ pillow a bit closer and bury your face deeper into it as you allow yourself to be lulled to sleep by your exhaustion, hoping that at least you can sleep away the next few hours of aches and itching.

ii.

letting out a sigh of relief, the one-armed Emperor takes his time returning to his ship after a grueling few weeks of settling disputes between several smaller pirate crews. normally such tasks would never take this long–hell, most of the time he didn’t even have to step in–but civilians’ lives were at stake so he had no choice.

now, as Shanks nears the dock and sees the Red Force coming into view, all he can think about is taking a nap with you. not only have his duties kept him away from you all day every day, he’d also been going to bed at ungodly hours, crawling under the sheets beside you long after you’ve fallen asleep. though he can’t wait to spend some quality time with you, he wants nothing more than to rest by your side with the knowledge that he’ll finally be able to wake up after you for once.

“hey Captain,” Benn calls out from aboard the deck once Shanks reaches speaking-distance. “i think (Y/N) needs your help.”

“see, what’d i say?” you could practically hear him smiling as he sat behind you, tenderly plucking out the final few loose feathers. “there’s no need to be shy around me.” Shanks tugged at a particularly stubborn feather and when it finally came loose, you couldn’t help the moan of relief that came out of your mouth.

you felt your cheeks rapidly heat up in shame as you buried your face in your hands, fully prepared for the boy to make fun of you. but it never came. instead, Shanks stayed quiet as he soothed the particular spot of skin with his fingers in a manner so tender you couldn’t believe it was him.

“there, all done,” he said. you were grateful but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around and face him even though you knew you had to in order to thank him properly. 

as though sensing your dilemma, Shanks leaned forward to press his lips against your shoulder blade, right above where your wings sprouted from your back. it sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps appeared all over but you didn’t tell him to stop, if anything, you wanted him to continue.

you’re ripped out abruptly from your dream when the door of your quarters slams shut. from your face-down position in bed, you’re unable to see who it is but only one person in this world would be brave enough to make such an entrance.

“welcome back,” you groan, using your arms to push the upper half of your body off the mattress as you turn your head to glance over your shoulder.

“why didn’t you call for me?” your husband responds, tossing his cape onto the floor before rushing over to guide you back down into a resting position. Shanks pulls over two other more pillows and places them in a way he knows, from years of experience, makes you the most comfortable. “how long have your wings been molting?” 

there’s a slight hint of frustration in his voice but you know it’s not directed at you. it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty, though.

“it started… two weeks ago…” you mumble into Shanks’ pillow.

“you–” he cuts himself off with a deep sigh before he says anything impulsive. the Emperor understands you just didn’t want to disrupt his work and he appreciates the sentiment greatly, he’d just hoped that after all these years of marriage, you’d know how he’d do quite literally anything for you. this, he decides as his eyes scan your twitching wings and tangled feathers, is a conversation for another day though.

“poor thing,” Shanks coos instead, leaning down to press kisses all over the back of your neck and around your shoulder blades as he runs his hand down your side. you can feel his lips smile against your skin when your body shivers in response. “you must’ve been in so much pain, hmm? let your husband help you out.” 

—

taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui

[jukashi]

If we take a break for a moment from the funny meme or self-aware kink indulgence understanding of the 'bimbo', and instead examine it as a sort of sexist fantasy - that is, literally a fantasy of ideal womanhood as imagined by a sexist - then we can come to understand that the 'himbo' is not the masculine counterpart. There is discourse to mine out of the idea that the himbo represents a sexist fantasy of ideal manhood, but I think that the himbo actually represents a sort of halfway step between the bimbo and her true counterpart.

The bimbo embodies sexist 'ideals' of womanhood, taken to an extreme and bent to the desires of the sexist (presumed straight, male) imagination. She is:

1) physically attractive in sexual terms, to an extreme - both a pleasure to possess and a status symbol to display to others

2) always horny (thus, always sexually available)

3) unintelligent in the traditional sense - not good at organization, STEM fields, academic learning, etc. this keeps her...

4) nonthreatening - she won't outshine a man in any domain of (the sexist ideas of) male competence, and

5) dependent - in need of a big strong smart man to provide for her, reassuring said man's sense of self-worth

All of these line up with traditional sexist ideas of womanhood - where the bimbo has flaws, they're not feminine flaws, and she still possesses feminine strengths (according to the sexist mindset).

So, the male counterpart of the bimbo should embody sexist ideals of manhood, taken to an extreme and bent to the desires of the sexist imagination. If we compare to the bimbo's features listed above, then:

1) physical attractiveness is desirable for men but not a key feature - a man can be manly while being ugly in a way a woman cannot be womanly if she is ugly.

2) horniness is not seen as desirable for men - it is expected and excused by sexists, but it's considered threatening to those who are its targets and a lot of sexism towards men is based in this assumed threat.

3) traditional intelligence is considered manly, but emotional intelligence isn't - in fact, it's seen as unmanly.

4) being threatening is harder to extract from manliness, as is...

5) being dependent, but it is possible, even required - men are just expected to be non-threatening and dependent in a different way.

Remembering that we're looking for a sexist ideal rather than a sexual ideal, we need to identify how sexism towards men works. Men are not sexually objectified under traditional sexism, but they are still objectified. This objectification is based on utility - an objectified man is reduced to a tool. He is wanted for what he can do and how well he does it, not in himself. His personhood is reduced to what makes him useful and controllable, and when he is not being of use he is unseen. He does not feel pain, he does not feel emotions that make him less of a perfect undemanding worker or soldier, he is permitted to suffer or rage or weep only for the things he serves and never for himself.

The male counterpart of a bimbo would be:

1) physically obviously useful - big and strong and tough, to an extreme, convenient for whoever he serves and an implicit threat to their enemies

2) seldom horny (thus never sexually threatening)

3) emotionally unintelligent - lacking the ability to understand or express the feelings of others or even his own (if he even has them) - in order to help make him:

4) unthreatening, in the sense of being easily controllable and socially inferior, and

5) dependent - in need of an inspiring leader, abstract ideals or a sole source of comfort to fulfill his emotional needs, further securing his loyalty and obedience.

I put it to you, then:

Space Marines are the male counterpart of bimbos, and becoming one is bimbofication.

[transformers-spike]

"Is this why the Autobots are fond of humanity? To indulge their sweet heat cycles? How many human mates has Optimus taken for himself? It seems as though their motives to protect them were never altruistic, much less noble." PLEASE, PLEASE GIVE US A SUB-STORY WHERE THIS TIME IT'S OPTIMUS AND A HUMAN SO IN THEIR HEAT CYCLE PLEASEEEE

Idk am I creating a humans in heat universe for the TF Fandom? I know people like making the bots go through it but I think the humans being affected is so much funnier. Just begging these massive robots to fuck us lmao

How must it feel to burn from the inside out? Betrayed by your own body, rendered unable to function by the fire in your core. You described it as an aching, an insatiable need to appease the hormones overtaking your nerve endings. A mere touch is enough to worsen the ache, it’s what your body dictates in the throes of a heat cycle.

Cybertronians are forged by Primus Himself, their interfaces exist for recreational pleasure and bonding, but your species is biologically programmed to reproduce, like most of the fauna of your planet. It’s a systemic sacrifice, one rendered obsolete by the sentient status of your species. Drugs have been produced to suppress your heats, or at least lessen the effects. Unfortunately, among a dozen varieties of medication, you are either allergic or completely immune to them, leaving you susceptible to your hormonal whims. He is sorry. You must go through so much pain every few months, but you barely show it, brushing off his concerns with a laugh, saying “it is what it is” and moving on as though your body isn’t on a timer. He admires you for it. In spite of your discomfort, you haven’t given up. Once, you told him: “So what if they don’t work on me? I just gotta roll with the punches and hope for the best, it’s been my M.O. since I got the damn thing.” Meeting them for the first time… was turbulent to say the least, but you’re safe and sound, relocated to Jasper, having adjusted to your new life with the help of Agent Fowler. You’ve told them many times you’re infinitely grateful to be in their lives (barring the near death experience at the servos of an Insecticon). For them it’s a pleasure to ease your burden. You’ve eagerly established your consent, although only Arcee is the right size to properly take care of a human. Digits and glossas can only do so much compared to a spike. He tries not to pry, your privacy is yours to divulge at your leisure, but he cannot ignore the charge building up behind his interface when he sees you with the others. Yes, he is an occasional participant, but he will rather cover shifts and allow them some well-deserved respite in your berth. They deserve it. He dares not imagine Arcee’s spike pumping in and out of you, satiating your aching body, filling you to your limit as you beg for more. 

Your scent lingers in the air, caressing his sensors, a gentle hand tugging him along by the servo, pulling him in your direction. They try to keep it to themselves, but his team is beyond a doubt intoxicated by your presence alone. Thankfully, it has (almost) never impeded their judgment during missions; perhaps it has even served as motivation to make it back to base in one piece. He tries to ignore the gleam in his old friend’s optics after quelling your urges, if only for a night. Or Bumblebee's praises coming to you as a slow stream of beeps while he nuzzles your face. Or Bulkhead cradling you to his chassis like a precious artifact as you discuss what late night movies you should watch. Or catching Arcee kissing you over the mezzanine and pulling back with a smile she hasn’t worn since Cliffjumper’s death. You bring them together in your own special way, even if you blush and sheepishly deny it, claiming you should be thanking them instead  Recent discoveries have yielded an impressive increase in energon and brought forth new opportunities. With unparalleled quantities at their disposal, they can now mass displace. The transformation is no small feat, it exhausts their system and rapidly drains their energon level. But he will not forbid Bumblebee from using it to play with the kids as long as it’s not in excess. Nor to join you during heat cycles. Much like Bulkhead. And Wheeljack. And especially Ratchet. Primus forbid, his old friend has every right to enjoy himself to the fullest after all of his back-breaking work. He’s been meaning to pay you a visit, but he hasn’t found the time until now. In the temporary abode you set up in the base, away from the prying eyes of the kids, you prepare yourself for another heat. Some refurbishing was done to meet your needs (in no small thanks to June Darby and agent Fowler’s financial help); the mattress and the mini fridge was a given, but you’ve added a variety of personal belongings and entertainment; a television, a writing desk, a few “bean bags” here and there, and a pile of old magazines to scrapbook. He wonders if you consider this place your home more than your actual house in Jasper. You greet him while downing a bottle of water, holding up your hand to signal for him to wait. Once emptied, you place it next to the mini fridge, among a wide array of bottled water crates. That would explain the groceries June had brought in with Arcee’s help. As a medical professional she’s especially fretful over your condition, doing her best to prevent the risks of heat cycles, bringing you plenty of calorie dense fuel to combat the massive loss of nutrients. He has not forgotten the fear they experienced when they found you shaking from the deficit, having completely overlooked your hunger in a midst of desperation. In this form, he can appreciate the full extent of your body without fear of hurting you, kneading the supple flesh beneath his digits as you giggle and pull him into you. He does not tower over your reclined form as much as he encases you in a careful hug, hearing the rapid thrum of your human spark directly against his audials; he may sense your pulse rate, but experiencing it is a new wonder of its own. You tell him you missed him and you wish he would let himself go and come out to “obliterate your pussy” more often. He nods and apologizes for his absence even as you shush him and insist he enjoy himself as well. He is… the largest Cybertronian you’ve taken, you remark while adjusting to his size.

“Except maybe Wheeljack,” you add cheekily, already bucking into him. Your composure evaporates as he works you up, not to say that he is much better. He steadies himself over you, charge trickling down his interface as your walls clench around him in a vice-grip. You beg him for more, plead that he frag you until you can’t take it anymore, but he has grown used to your requests and knows when your body has reached its limit. You whimper and claw at his back plates, flush against his frame yet dragging him closer as though to merge your human spark to his.

If only he could.

Slow and steady, he frags you through your overloads, each one adding a new surge of spark down his frame until he comes to his end. You are small and shaking, but in this form he can properly hold you against his chassis and comfort you through the afterglow, bringing you another bottle of water and a Clif bar (chosen for the human scaling a mountain with “If you eat this you can kill God” in big bold letters).

You stir and sit up on shaky knees to accept his offerings. Halfway through your meal, you eye him up and down.

“Are you going to stay some more?” you ask with hopefulness, still chewing on the “ultimate nuts and banana power” concoction advertised on the packaging.

“I’m afraid not, Ratchet has been hard at work deciphering Decepticon encryptions, I will be taking on his duties for the night,” he tries to break it gently, expecting crushed expectations, not your bemused expression looking up at him.

“So you’re sending him my way?” You give a chuckle. “Wish we could have spent more time together, but work is work. Just…” you crawl into his lap and hug him as tight as you can, head resting against his chassis. “Please come back tomorrow. Or after tomorrow. I miss seeing you this way. I won’t get between you and… whatever you have going on, but please visit me more often. You have no idea how nice it feels to be around you.” His gaze softens, glowing faintly against your hair. “So I’ve been told,” he says, a smile on his lips. “As long as it lightens your burden.”

[thetrasha]

Hello! I was wondering if i could get Ace, Marco, and Rayleigh, (maybe shanks, beckman and hongo if youre able to!) On their favorite thing they love about you!

Sure thing! I modified the request very slightly (just so I'm able to spin this into a short scenario with a catchy title🫡💕[you guys know I love my titles lol]), hope that's okay with you!! Thank you so much for such a diverse cast LOL I'm sorry I didn't include Hongo - it's just that I never heard him talk and saw him basically once in my life 😭But I included Kid and Mihawk instead just to balance it out (I was randomly inspired to choose these two), it's like a 2 for 1 deal so I hope it's not too bad (✿◡‿◡)

PS. German-speaking op fans...? My people 🤝

He Can’t Resist You…!

feat. ACE, MARCO, RAYLEIGH, SHANKS, BENN BECKMAN, KID, MIHAWK

ACE …when you listen to his troubles and comfort him!

Ace is often pretty hard on himself. He cannot count how many insults and beatings he had to take just because someone else thought the idea of the son of Roger existing was either a fabricated lie or that said child should have been killed on sight. That’s how Ace learnt to fight, took on much bigger and stronger opponents as the years went by, which eventually made him who he was. He earned his spot as one of Whitebeard’s commanders and has accepted this new family, but that doesn’t mean that rejection isn’t hard-coded into his brain. He fears not being enough and firmly believes that if he didn’t push himself so much, he’d be a disgraced pirate, terrible son and worse brother. But… he’s forgotten how to be kind to himself – he has plenty kindness for everyone around him, but Ace is a master at punishing himself for things that do not matter. It’s gotten better, though.

You’re suddenly there – and you care very much… about everyone, but mostly about him. This presence next to him that cannot be swayed is a great source of comfort for him. The first time he opened up to reveal some things about his upbringing, you were so upset that you were close to tears. How sweet… he hasn’t cried about these things in years, too intimately familiar with the pain to cope with its sorrow, but you decided to share his grief and pile it onto your own out of the pure goodness of your heart and love for him. Ace thinks it’s one of the greatest gifts he’s ever been given.

MARCO

…when you help him out!

Marco is a pretty busy man who’s always needed somewhere. Quiet days actually unsettle him; it’s like the universe is just out to get him and will decide to hand him a freshly infected open fracture if he can enjoy his morning coffee in peace… The crew is made up of excellent fighters and these men and women are just dying to test their strength time and time again, protecting their dad who’s very much capable of taking care of himself in a fight despite the chronic issues he’s dealing with. Marco has never lost his kind spirit though, meaning he’s willing to help anyone who needs it. Having you helping the man who’s vehemently trying to aid all the others is thus the best part of the day. You’re always there, even if you’re not physically present… you often leave him little snacks that remind him to eat, there’s always a pot of coffee waiting for him in the med bay, and – the best thing, honestly – at the end of the day, you come into his room just to make up for the time that you’ve lost throughout the maddening daytime. You talk, laugh and just exist together. It’s domestic bliss for Marco, who finally feels like he can wind down and relax with you curled up in his arms, chatting about your day and how you can’t look at Vista ever again because he shaved and he looks so weird and-

He listens to everything, but rarely offers his own commentary. He’s just happy you’re there with him.

RAYLEIGH

…when you look at him like he’s your hero!

Silvers Rayleigh – a name that strikes the fear of God in most people. His infamous image is that of a terrifyingly strong man who served as Gold Roger’s right-hand man; he’s amongst the few lucky men who conquered the Grandline and lived to tell the tale… at the same time, to most naive rookies on Sabaody, he’s a senile old man who keeps “escaping from” his handlers and ending up in the same auction house over and over and over again. You happen to know that strange man, though. “Dark King” Rayleigh… being in the same room as someone like him… what an honour! You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, alerting him of your presence immediately. At first, he thought you were looking for a fight. He’s seen your bounty poster near the port and wow, your picture doesn’t do you justice, sweetheart and wait a minute… oh, those eyes aren’t hostile at all. He flashes you a smile, noting how nervously you shifted around all of the sudden, looking at your crew to subtly celebrate this moment.

Well, Rayleigh cannot help but love an opportunity to show off in front of a pretty face, so… he just offers to teach you some tricks. That’s how you got to know him in the first place, having long realised that he’s just some man who know a thing or two about piracy… but every single time you come back to him, you look at him with the same look of reverence. It’s very flattering to know that he’s still got it… and he’s got the confidence and shamelessness to make a move on you. That hand on the small of your back? Oh, sorry, love, must’ve been lost in thought… You still give him the look and bashfully chew on your lip, though. Nothing’s changed. Hm… maybe the hearts in your eyes did become bigger… heh.

What a lucky man he is indeed.

SHANKS

…when you care for him like he needs it!

Shanks is just as much of a living legend who cannot go anywhere where people of a certain calibre won’t cower in fear before him. How ironic that a man like him just loves when you have to fight him just to go to bed before the daylight greets him, he absolutely adores when you repeatedly push your index finger against his bare chest to tell him that he cannot keep drinking like this if he wants to find the One Piece and he is so weak for you who berates him whenever you have the chance to do so. He could sigh like a lovesick fool at your stern eyes and firm words, knowing that your love for him runs so deep… that you’d be willing to not just take on your captain in protest, you’d take on Shanks.

He is free to be just… himself around you; he needs it more than he needs air. You respect him as a man but you don’t respect him for his status at all, you push him around more than he does his crew for God’s sake!

He loves it.

And whenever he cannot keep up the facade anymore, when flirtatiously telling you to drop it and let him keep his bad habits, you’re right there with him in his private quarters, letting his head rest on your lap as you play with his deep red locks. And you let this lovesick, drunken fool rant about his problems like he isn’t Shanks – like he doesn’t have to save the world all by himself.

BENN BECKMAN

…when you engage in deep conversations that stimulate the mind!

He’s far more dangerous than his broad frame would suggest since he’s both pure brawn and brain. His intellect is one of his greatest assets, but with such a crew… It’s honestly a trait that makes rather lonesome. Benn is extremely laid-back despite being such a serious guy – that’s many because he has never been challenged properly. Nothing is mentally stimulating enough for him to fully lock in. You’re different… Shanks, of course, didn’t recruit you because of your intelligence, that’s a skill much better suited for the city rather than the sea, but you happen to have both brawn and brain as well. Benn noticed that immediately, you’re just as resigned as he is and nothing can quite satiate that natural curiosity in you for all the sea offers are battles and fever dreams… Still, you chose this life for a reason and thus, Benn Beckman himself starts following you around. It’s weird to watch your vice captain hunt you down like you’re the enemy when you’re just trying to mind your business aboard the Red Force, but he cannot help but ask you what you’re up to. Your suspicion only ever goes away after a few times, after you noticed that he’s just… trying to talk.

His opinions are fascinating. He takes you stargazing and casually asks you what you think about the passage of time, what it means to be alive, what you hoped to become – he’s throwing all these deeply profound questions at you and instead of stammering through them like a silly child, you answer them with just as much seriousness as he hoped you would. You understand the gravitas of his words, process them quickly and you never say things without meaning them. You’ve become his happy place – a place where he can express himself.

KID …when you talk back!

Kid expects everyone to just fall in line with what he says… no matter how stupid his “suggestions” actually are. If he has a plan, he wants to see it executed. Someone else might offer up a better plan down the line, but Kid would be so bitter about not having the same thought first that he’d double down on his initial idea and make the crew work even harder just to prove a point. Everybody knows that he’s a complete and utter hypocrite, but they put up with him – they believe in his ability to lead and they all want to see him become King of the Pirates since he’s offered something very few captains could: Unconditional freedom. Regardless of how unconventional and socially unacceptable someone was, they’d have a place on the Victoria Punk as long as they managed to prove themselves worthy of being there and didn’t belittle anybody else’s aspirations.

…But you knew that Kid just couldn’t help dunking on people left and right due to his explosive anger. Once he feels slighted in any way, he’s making it everyone’s problem. So – after the captain called everyone on deck to rant about his loyal crew just minutes after reading that Straw Hat Luffy has acquired a new bounty in the Newscoo newspaper, you couldn’t help yourself either. As soon as the captain got to you, your unimpressed glance turned vitriolic – you went off on your captain, telling him that everyone here chose to follow him because he’s the best option, because they want to be around him and that he has absolutely no business being this upset over someone else’s bounty when he believes that he can conquer the Grandline first. He should suck it up and prove his frenemy wrong! You screamed at him, your passionate speech getting drowned out by the deafening silence of… Captain Kid…

Honestly, Killer and Heat thought you were toast.

But nobody anticipated that, with ruby red cheeks, Kid suddenly dismissed everyone on deck and gave all of you tasks that… didn’t make any damn sense!

MIHAWK

…when you trust him first!

Mihawk is the apex predator – lethal, efficient and an unprecedented danger. People instinctively know to keep their guard up around him… as does he. He would claim that he prefers it that way, but you happen to, after literal years of knowing each other, let him in, slowly but surely. Even if he can go no-contact for months on end, even if you have your own life to worry about, you both find yourselves returning to each other and maintaining a weird… friendship (?), if you could call it that. Mihawk isn’t one for talking to random strangers, but you’re no nobody. You’re capable of handling yourself and he’s seen your strength, secretly thinks you’re quite impressive even, but you’re certainly no match for him… Still, you seem to trust him to keep your secrets safe, to keep you, by extension, safe. You firmly believe that he wouldn’t abandon you.

And he wouldn’t. Trust doesn’t come naturally to someone like him. He distrusts the world and doesn’t tell anybody anything, but he does appreciate it when he isn’t viewed like a cold-blooded killer whose only goal is to maintain a reputation that came with a title.

You want to see him for who he is, you roll over and show him your belly; you basically gave him an opening to kill you – all voluntarily. You’re so vulnerable when you talk about your burdens, but you also look like confiding in… a friend (?) heals all those wounds.

Somehow, he’s determined to prove himself to you now. It’s a slow puncture wound, but your trust will eventually pierce his heart.

[draconic-desire]

THE NAIVE DARLINGGGG

I can imagine darling crying into Sunday.. at first refusing going to home, expressing her insecurities. So when Sunday drags her back, she just pleads with Sunday. All darling wants to to serve at least some purpose to Sundays life. She begs Sunday to let her cook for him .. or in her sobbing fit shr muttered how even having Sundays baby would serve some usefullness.. Darling didnt want to seem like a burden to Sunday..

At the mention of babies, Sunday gets the idea of how sweet little children will tie darling to him forever

The baby will come out a lil skrunkly , in a cite way of course <3 a fat plump baby who looks like a dumpling with chicken wings attached to the back of its ear :"(

sunday would 1000% babytrap his darling at some point, you cannot convince me otherwise. but if YOU came to HIM about it? girl bye you’re done for

Yan!Sunday x Fem!Reader

warning: nsfw thoughts from sunday, mentions of pregnancy

After Sunday leads you back home, it doesn’t take long for your thoughts to spiral again.

Walking through the halls of the spacious pavilion, eying the grandeur that is Sunday’s home, pondering his status as the head of the Family…you start to wonder what you bring to the table.

He claims he loves you, that you are unique and irreplaceable, but what does that really mean? You have no money, wealth, or fame, no notable skills that could contribute to the Oak Family lineage.

Well, except…

Your hand falls to your abdomen. It’s something Sunday has mentioned in passing, the need for an heir, the desire to expand his family, but you never thought he meant doing so with you. But perhaps…?

Your head shakes violently, and you turn to wipe away a stray tear. How foolish of you. Sunday doesn’t keep you around for that sort of thing. His hier will be delivered from a queen, befitting of the same status as him, and not some nobody like you.

Like always, Sunday is more attentive than you give him credit for.

He thinks it’s cute, how naive and oblivious you are sometimes. Except when he notices that this time, you are attempting to hide your crying behind the palm on your hand.

“(Y/n), my love, what troubles you?” He gently pulls your hand away from your face and instead turns you to face him.

Seeing him like this, his tender gaze trained on your form alone, suddenly makes you burst into tears.

“S-S-Sunday,” you sob, “please let me help! I’ll do anything!”

He blinks, confusion written across his features. “Help? With what? (Y/n), it’s been a long day, let me take you to bed—”

You clasp his hands in your own, looking up at him with (e/c) eyes brimming with tears. “Please, don’t throw me aside for someone else. I-I promise I’m not a burden. You need an heir, right? So please, let me carry that responsibility.”

He inhales sharply, his amethyst pupils dilating.

…Did he hear you correctly?

You want to have his child?

Sunday momentarily forgets how to breathe.

Oh, how he has fantasized about this very scenario; it has taken all of his willpower to hold back, to fool you into believing his charming, domestic mannerisms, when he truly wishes to claim every part of you, to brand himself upon every inch of your flesh. Lovely, beautiful, naive little you would never expect the dark desires hidden beneath the surface.

In reality, the thought of you begging for his seed permeates his waking and sleeping dreams. He’s lost track of the amount of nights spent with his hand around his cock, picturing your tight cunt wrapped around it instead.

Never would he have imagined you in this position willingly, practically on your knees for him, desperate for his cum, for his child growing in your belly. The idea arouses him more than you can ever know, and he has to shift to hide his growing erection.

Instead, he scoops you into his arms and nuzzles his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent. Oh, how lovely you’re going to smell when you’re glowing and round with his heir! He imagines how adorable his Halovian child will be, and how he wishes to pin a pair of wings behind your ears as well—a matching set for father, mother, and child.

The wings are, of course, the very ones ripped from your own back—you’re just too entranced by Sunday to notice it was he who plucked them from you to begin with.

And now, Sunday is through with holding back. You’re going to be fully and irrevocably his, tied to him forever. Like a fly landing on a venus trap, your own actions seal your fate. You don’t have a moment to react before the jaws of the predator swallow you whole.

“How could I deny you, my angel?” he coos, pacing towards the bedroom as he begins to pry at the buttons of your top. “And what better time to begin than the present, hm?”