#him observing the Living Armour:

[coriandher]

There's other things wrong with this guy man he's playing with his food

this scene but from another angle

[eddiesxangel]

Eddie’s Fantasy | Knight!Eddie x Princess!Reader

Semi proof read. Based off this blurb

2.4k

CW: Roleplay, reader addresses Eddie as 'sir' but not in a dom way, more of a respect kinda thing... it goes with the roleplay, you'll get it. Pure porn with some plot, oral (m+f), p in v, unprotected sex, breeding/cream pie, f!reader.

Needy kisses were passed between the both of you. You and Eddie sat on your bed, his hands gripped your hips, guiding them back and forth over his strained cock that was trapped beneath the black fabric of his jeans.

"Tell me your fantasies, baby," cooed him as you twirled a piece of his hair and sat in his lap.

The sex is always great and amazing, but you feel like Eddie is holding back on you; there is something he wants to share with you but is too timid to admit it. You’ve only just started dating. You’re at the stage where he just asked you to be his girlfriend, and you can’t keep your hands off one another.

"I-I-" he stutters as his eyes drift to the book sitting on the opposite side of your bed.

You follow his eyes and look over to see the book you had been reading before Eddie came over. You observe the cover he is looking at; a knight carrying a princess as he saves her from her capturers.

"Oh, baby, you want me to dress up like a pretty princess?" You smile.

Eddie nods his head profusely, mouth agape.

"Are you going to be my knight in shining armour? Do you want me to reward you for saving me from the dragon?" you ask with no judgment in your tone.

You hear Eddie curse under his breath as his chest rises and falls rapidly.

"Have my tits all pushed up in a pretty pink corset for you?" You lean in to brush your plush lips against his skin. "You wanna watch how they bounce as I ride my knight in shining armour?"

"Y-yes," he stutters.

"Okay, baby, I can be your damsel in distress"

You had it all planned out: You found your old Halloween costume, which you embellished a little with a pink corset like you promised, some petticoats for volume, and some extra jewels to really sell it. You curled and pinned your hair with smaller braids, just as he liked it.

You arranged to meet him at eight. As you were fixing your makeup, you heard a light knock on the door. You don't need to let him in, as he has his own key.

“Hey babe,” he calls out into the empty living room, seeing you were not in sight.

“Eddie! Quickly im in here!” You say with urgency.

You can hear his sock-clad feet pad down the hardwood floors as he rushes in to investigate, but he stops dead when he sees what you’re wearing.

You quickly turn, and he can see everything, the pink and blue lacy gown adorned with a lace corseted bodice that your breasts are pushed so far up his dick was hard in an instant. He loved the dainty curls that fell by your pretty face. You looked like a fairy princess, and he swore that’s when he fell in love with you.

“Oh, Sir Knight, thank goodness you are here!” You flung yourself into his arms. I never thought I would be saved!” You cupped his confused face and kissed him passionately.

“Baby, what is?—”

“Shhhhh, the dragon is so very hungry, they said I haven't much time.” You look around your room frantically.

“Ohhhhhhh!” And then Eddie gets it, and holy shit is he excited.

You give him a look to not break character.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “I’ve travelled far and wide trying to track you down, Princess. It’s been an awful long journey.” He takes your hands in his and brings them up between your two chests to kiss the back of it.

“How could I ever repay, Thee?” You bat your lashes at him.

“It is my duty as your knight to protect you, Your Highness.”

“There must be something?” You creep closer and closer to him, letting your hands twirl a loose tendril.

“Well, there might be one thing,” he chides.

“Yes, Sir Knight?” You speak as you lean into his neck, gently brushing away his curls so you can leave a soft kiss on his neck.

“Shit, that’s good,” he whispers as your mouth travels lower to his collar bone and your hand glides down to his already erect penis.

“I would like to express my gratitude, Sir. Can I?” You start palming him through his cotton pants.

“Y-yes, Princess, I’ll do anything for you.” God, he was such a simp.

You give a satisfied smirk and sink to your knees. Your dress pillows out, and Eddie can’t help but moan, seeing your breasts falling out of the corset at this angle.

“Fuck baby, you’re too good to me; I am not worthy.” he cups your face, and you nuzzle into it. You’d do anything for him.

“Anything for my knight in shining armour.” You bite your lip, gazing up at him; your doe eyes don’t break contact until your hands finally help his cock out of its cotton confines.

You hear Eddie take a sharp breath as your glossy lips touch his reddened tip. You can taste the salty pre cum as you place it in your mouth.

Eddie wants to grip your head so badly in his hands but doesn't dare, knowing you spent all this time preparing for him. To be his pretty Princess. Just the thought alone was going to make Eddie cream his pants.

Eddie watches, not wanting to blink; he can't miss a moment of this. Your perfectly outlined glossy lips swallowing down his cock, your beautiful eyes gazing up at him lovingly.

You break eye contact when you feel Eddie's bush tickle your nose. Trying to slowly breathe, you swallow down and hear your knight moan from above. Slowly, you pull back, tasting every inch of him on your tongue before you push your head back into him at a much quicker pace.

You pump your hot wet mouth on Eddie's cock, enjoying every minute. You loved having this hold over your boyfriend, as you were the only thing he was focused on in the world.

"You suck my cock so good," he hisses, trying not to cum just yet.

With a pop, you release his cock from your mouth and replace it with your hand as you move lower to suck on his balls. No longer caring about your makeup, you smear your face into the wet skink of his undershaft, needing to worship him like he deserves.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" Eddie was so close, your hand was jerking his so smooth and fast he almost exploded, but he stopped you just in time.

"I need you, princess, please." He begged.

"How do you want me?" You stand back up, and Eddie flips you around so you're facing the bed. You walk over together, and Eddie instructs you to lie down on your back while he undresses.

He gently guides your head down on the pillow, ever the gentleman.

"Need to treat you like the Princess you are." he hums as he gently peels up your skirts layer by layer to see you're not wearing anything underneath.

Eddie could see your pussy was already soaked, his mouth watered, and as he got closer, he could smell your arousal, which drove him insane every time.

The sweet aroma filled his nostrils; he had to taste you. Slowly, his soft lips trailed the inside of your thigh, leaving small bites to claim you as his. He crept closer and closer until the small hairs from your mound tickled his nose.

You hear Eddie take a deep breath and inhale sharply as you watch his eyes flutter shut, finally satiated.

Your eyes are closed, soaking up the moment; you feel a hand trail up and squeeze your breast as the other circles your entrance. You move your hand to cup the one that’s cupping your breast and guide it so the fabric releases your nipple.

Eddie loved your taste so much he could bathe in it. His sloppy kisses make your mind go blank as his saliva and the mix of your slick coat your inner thighs, the bed sheets and his face. You open your eyes and can see his face is glistening. You're absolutely dripping for him.

"B-baby! Baby! Baby! Baby!" You chant as your breath quickens. He loves seeing your chest rise and fall as he looks up at you through his lashes. Your sweet moans are his newfound favourite genre of music.

His tongue flicking over your clit over and over and over. Nipping and sucking and swirling as your wriggle beneath him. His strong large hands have your hips pinned down as you try and grind your pussy on his face. His fingers are diving into your plush hips, and the rough stubble from his chin and upper lip only makes the feeling much better.

Your orgasm hits you and your cum it's like liquid gold on his tongue. Eddie doesn’t hesitate to lap up your cum leaking out of your hole catching every. last. drop.

"Such a good job for me," he hums into you, sending waves of aftershocks through you. You gasp into his eyes, swearing you’ve never felt so loved, even if you have yet to speak those three words to one another.

“I need you, please, Sir.”

Eddie has totally forgotten about the roleplay until now. He was so consumed, pussy drunk, that your words only had him aching for you all over again.

“Time to show me your gratitude, Princess.”

You sit up and make room for Eddie to lie down on the bed because your usual position was for you to ride him. He loved to watch your tits bounce, to latch on your nipples while you bounce on his cock like his little bunny.

You go to take off your skirts because Eddie loves to watch as he disappears inside of you, but this time, Eddie stops you from undressing.

“No, please leave it on.” He asked while stroking his cock. You watch as his big hands grip the shaft, only making your pussy clench around nothing. No longer could you wait; the anticipation was too much.

Bunching up your skirts the best you can, Eddie guides your hips to be aligned with his shaft. He nods, and you sink down while he pushes himself up into you.

The sight before him is enough to have him cumming instantly. Your tits are so far pushed up that they’re basically falling out of your top, your head is flung back, exploding your neck, daring him to mark, your dress falls as you grip his shoulder for balance, and he is enveloped fully inside of you.

“Fuck you’re so tight.”

“You’re so big, I’m so full,” you moan as you raise yourself on your knees so you can ride him.

“You’re so perfect, my perfect Princess,” Eddie mumbles, leaning in so he can press his face in your chest. You start off slow, building up speed with each bounce.

A loud moan leaves your throat in reply to his praises.

Eddie is consuming you; even if he’s under you, you’re being devoured by him. His hands, his mouth, his thick long cock filling you so good you’re about to cry from the pleasure.

“Gotta take what’s mine,” he grits before he pushes the both of you up, and you land on your back, and he’s hovering over you. Quickly he pounds into you, eyes not veering from your chest as he watches your tits bounce.

“Are you mine, Princess?” His hips slap so hard into you that you feel his balls slap you with each hard thrust.

“Yours! All yours!”

Eddie swears his heart melts when the admission leaves your lips. He’s always waited for a girl like you to come around. Now you’re here, doing this for him and enjoying it? He never thought he’d be here with you.

“More,” you moan

“Not good enough for you, your Highness?”

“I-I-I,” you can’t speak, but Eddie knows what you need.

“Gonna fill up this pussy so good.”

Before you know it, you’re being flipped around, and your head is pressed so far into the mattress your neck is craned, and it hurts, but you pay no mind because Eddie has you propped up on your knees, your dress is flipped up, and you’re all spread out, and he is ravaging you with his mouth once more.

His nose pressed into your ass as he tongue fucks you.

Your moans are muffled by the plush pillows your face is stuffed into. A small wet patch is forming on it from your drool. Your eyes are rolled back, and you're in absolute heaven.

Eddie's hot wet tongue runs up your soaked slit before he pulls back with a moan before he breathes you in as his face is drawn to your pussy like a magnet.

“More” you need his cock once again. Nothing will be able to satisfy your needs.

“You want more Princess? You want me to fill up this pussy so good your belly will swell with my seed?

“Yes!” Your white knuckle grip on the pillow almost tears it apart.

"Mmmmm, that's my good girl. Tell me what you need. " he encourages as your mains rip from your throat.

“You, My Knight! You, you, you!” Your pussy clenches over nothing once more.

You're so close that you feel it building up more and more until you break. Eddie feels you quivering beneath him, and he pulls away and quickly inserts himself before you feel a sharp slap on your ass.

“Eddie!”

Nothing pleases him more than to hear you blissed out because of him.

“Oh, Princess!” He cried, flinging his head back, fucking you with reckless abandon.

Your legs almost give out as your body shakes with ecstasy. You can’t hold it any longer; everything is Eddie, everything is beautiful. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. You hadn’t even released. You were changing his name as your pussy clamps down on his cock like a vice.

Uneven thrusts continuously pound into you until you feel the grip of Eddie’s fingers dig into your flesh so hard as he cums deep inside of you, you squeak, and Eddie loosens his grip immediately.

“Need you,” you slur mindlessly.

“You got me, Princess.” You both collapse on the bed, and Eddie's weight is comforting.

“And they lived happily ever after?” You try and roll over to look at Eddie; he pushes up and but so you can roll back over.

He kisses your nose. “And they lived happily ever after.”

Tagging some mooties: @jamdoughnutmagician @littlexdeaths @voyeurmunson @ceriseheaven @munson-blurbs

[writerslittlelibrary]

So, I'm not a prisoner?

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 extra

summary: you did not expect that your mission to take down the traitor, could end in such a difficult situation for you…

pairing: Natasha x Red Room teen reader

warnings: fighting, weapons, stabbing, blood, implied sexual abuse

genre: fluff, angst

words: 3073

a/n: I wanted to do a fic like this for so long!!!! anyway, I just kept scouting tumblr trying to find fics like this, so I figured I’d finally write one myself :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

A quick in and out. That was your mission. How on earth did you manage to screw it up so bad. In and out. Assassinate the traitor and come right back. 

Dreykov would’ve been so proud. 

But that didn’t happen. No. Every single aspect about that night failed to go according to plan. You snuck into the event Stark had hosted, was able to blend in with the other party goers, and you were able to hide when most of the people started to leave. 

Once it was just the Avengers left, you stayed in your hiding spot, observing them. You were here to kill Natasha Romanoff, and Natasha Romanoff only. 

You could not afford any casualties, so you had it all planned out. 

You’d wait until the Avengers would leave, and you’d take Natasha out before she could make it to her living quarters. You knew that once she made it to the living space of the Avengers tower, getting to her would be a lot harder. 

However, against all odds, Natasha excused herself from the group quite early, saying she wanted to get a good nights sleep. 

You internally cursed yourself, hating that this wasn’t something that you had planned for. 

Around the couches were still some Avengers sat. You recognised all of them. Clint Barton shouldn’t be too much trouble. He was only a guy who’s good with a bow. For Maria Hill could be said the same thing, except she’s very skilled with a gun.

No, you were worried about the other Avengers still seated. Tony Stark could call upon his armour in mere seconds. Thor had the power of thunder for god’s sake. Wanda Maximoff has exceptional powers, and therefor, if you were to attack with her still in the room, you’d be immobilised in an instant. 

You were fairly certain you didn’t need to worry much about Bruce Banner. Sure, he could turn into the Hulk, but he didn’t turn often, and lately, the Hulk hasn’t been spotted in the battlefield, meaning he probably had many trouble turning into him. 

Pietro Maximoff shouldn’t bring you a lot of trouble either. 

Your main concern were Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. One Super Soldier you could handle, but two? While fighting the rest of the Avengers? That wasn’t going to work. 

Lucky for you, Wanda Maximoff had excused herself from the gathering a while ago. If you didn’t make to much noise, she wouldn’t be much of a problem. You could be outside before she’d even make it to the party deck. 

Your original plan was to just wait. Natasha Romanoff would have usually sat through a party until far into the evening. You’d know, you’ve been watching her for weeks. 

However, now that Romanoff has announced she was returning to her bedroom, a slight panic ran through your body. 

Dreykov gave your 5 weeks to finish this assignment. That’s longer than any assignment you’d ever been on. You could not disappoint him with this. You had to kill the traitor. 

You figured now was your only chance, and so, as Natasha Romanoff made her way towards the elevator, you followed her. 

However, not even to your surprise, she stopped in the middle of the hallway. 

“You know I’m an assassin, too? You’re good, but you’re not un noticeable,” she states, calmly turning around, being met with a gun to your face. The moment she stopped, you were wise enough to draw your gun, holding her at gunpoint for any sudden movements. 

You could see a slight surprise appear on her face, before her face returned to her poker face once again. 

“You’re just a child…” Natasha spoke slowly, seeming almost disappointed. 

“You’re a traitor,” you spoke, loading the gun, taking a step closer. Natasha simply shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she spoke, before leaping towards you. You shot your gun, but Natasha was too fast, avoiding your gunfire as she ran past you, back to the other Avengers. 

How on earth could you have missed that shot? She was right there.

Pathetic. 

You don’t hesitate to run after her, determined to finish this tonight. 

Very much not to your surprise, the moment you run back into the party hall, the Avengers are already standing up and ready. Ready to fight you.

You don’t hesitate to move forwards, and after fighting Clint Barton for mere seconds, you quickly realise they have no intention of hurting you. You could use that to your advantage, and you do.

You kick Barton hard, leaving him on the floor, heaving for air as you move forward, taking on Maria. 

However, the moment you get close to Maria, two strong arms wrap around your body, pulling you back. They’re holding you tightly, and it doesn’t feel like they’re planning to let go. 

You struggle in the hold, fighting against who ever is holding you as you try to break free. A small panic runs through your body. The fear of being captured by the Avengers taking place in your mind. You do not fear the Avengers, but the thought of being seen as a traitor by Dreykov hurts your heart more than words could describe. 

“Stop struggling. We can help you,” you hear a voice behind you speak, and you soon come to realise the person you’re fighting is Captain America himself. 

No wonder you couldn’t get loose. 

Knowing it’s a Super Soldier, you’re quick to outsmart him, making him think you’re getting tired, relaxing your body is his hold. Because of this, the Captain lightens his grip a bit, giving you enough room to wiggle your arm free, moving it backwards to hit him in the face with your elbow. 

Because of the surprise, he lets you go, allowing you to stand again. 

The moment your feet hit the ground, you dash forward, holding up your knife as you use everyone’s shock to your advantage. 

Everyone is surprised by your capability of escaping Steve’s grasp, not realising your already moving towards Natasha again. You reach her quickly, stabbing your knife into her stomach as far as it can go. 

Natasha gasps, and you pull the knife out, watching as all the blood starts to seep from her stomach. 

Slowly, Natasha sinks to the ground, Maria catching her, helping her down. 

You move towards Natasha again, determined to get the job finished, but are quickly stopped by another pair of arms wrapping around your waist. You immediately recognise the metal arm, knowing that the Winter Soldier holds you in his grasp. You can’t escape him. You never have. 

He pulls you backwards, pushing you to the ground as he tries to punch you. However, you regain yourself quickly, rolling away from under him and kicking him in the face. 

Suddenly, you’re moved across the room. You forgot the damn speedster…

You raise your knife quickly, stabbing him before he has a chance to make another move. 

“PIETRO!” you hear a voice yell, and you turn your head to the right. Shit. Wanda Maximoff must have heard the commotion and went down to take a look. You have to get out of there. You will never win a fight with her.

You move quickly, running towards the stairs. However, before you could reach them, you felt a stabbing pain in your left shoulder, the sound of a gun shot following soon after. You had been shot. Bucky Barnes had shot you in an attempt to slow you down. 

But you didn’t let it. 

Instead, you went towards the stairs a little quicker, dashing down the hundreds of flights of stairs to get to the main floor. 

Of course, all SHIELD agents on the main floor were already expecting you, and you were followed by Steve Rogers, but you were quicker than him. You knew that. 

You dashed past all the SHIELD agents, avoiding their gun fire as you made it towards an emergency exit. 

The moment you stepped outside, you started your escape route. You already planned it, knowing exactly which way to go, no matter which way you would exit. 

Steve followed you outside, but the moment he set foot outside the door, you were gone. You had disappeared into the night, leaving no trace. 

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

Back in the Avengers tower, the team was recovering from your attack. Natasha was in bad shape. Your strike had been an attempt to murder her, and you didn’t miss any organs as you pierced your blade through her abdomen. 

Pietro was much better. He was back on his feet quickly, seeing as though you stabbing him hadn’t been a murder attempt. You merely wanted to distract him. 

It didn’t take long for Natasha to get back on her feet either, even though she was advised to stay on bed rest after the surgery. 

Natasha was determined to find you, and she quickly got to work. 

Even though you had made it out of the Avengers tower quickly, you were still hurt, and some of you blood had fallen on the floor as you made your escape towards the stairs. Clint and Maria had collected that blood, running multiple tests, only to find out you were not registered anywhere. 

There was no record of your existence. Were you just another ghost story?

What they did find were traces of the Super Soldier serum. However, they were modified, almost as if they were genetically a part of your system. 

Did that mean you were just another Hydra experiment? Natasha did hear you calling her a traitor. That had to mean you knew Dreykov, right? Who else viewed her as a traitor. I would make sense. Sending a modified teenage assassin after her, knowing Natasha was above killing children. 

Even in the Red Room, she always hesitated when sparring against the younger students. 

Dreykov must have had a lot of faith in you to send you after her. Natasha can only hope you’re not a graduate yet…

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

After the incident in the Avengers tower, you had fled to Germany. You figured it was best to leave the United States completely. And why would they ever search for you in Germany? 

You had rented an apartment, loving the small town you had chosen. Dreykov had given you 5 weeks to finish the assignment, and now, you had only 1 week left. There is now way that you’re going to succeed in killing Natasha within the week. 

They know you are after her now, and they will be prepared for you to make a return. You screwed it up.

Sloppy. 

Right now, you were just heading back to your apartment. You had taken a walk, deciding to make the most out of the freedom you had in the moment. The week would be over soon, and the moment Dreykov would send for your return you are certain you will not be seeing daylight any time soon. 

After you arrived in the apartment building, you instantly felt watched. 

Had the Avengers found you?

You made your way up to your apartment, pushing the key into the lock and walking through the small hallway. Someone was in here, you could feel it. 

You walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, keeping your back towards the living room. 

“There are not a lot of places to hide in this apartment,” you spoke aloud into the emptiness of the apartment. Soon you heard a set of footsteps, and you felt another presence enter the room. 

“You’re very skilled for your age,” you heard a voice behind you say, and you immediately recognised it as Natasha’s. 

“And you are stronger than you look. I mean, even for you, I didn’t expect you to be on your feet so quickly,” you stated, turning around slowly. Natasha wasn’t holding a weapon in your face, something you were definitely expecting. 

You scanned her quickly, seeing the weapons she held on her belt. 

She didn’t come unarmed. Good. She’d be stupid to. 

“I don’t mean you any harm,” Natasha said, taking a small step forward as she held her hands in the air, showing you her every movement. 

You didn’t look impressed, instead just staring at her as she moved. 

“Then you are a fool,” you told her, and you spotted a small smirk flashing over Natasha’s face. “And you are very full of yourself,” she said, moving towards the kitchen island, leaning on it. 

“I can’t say I blame you. You took on a lot of the Avengers on your own. Even two Super Soldiers. That’s impressive,” she stated, giving you a small smile. You didn’t return it. 

“What? Jealous someone better took your place when you betrayed us,” you asked Natasha, determined to get on her nerves.

Natasha’s smile dropped quickly. 

“Quite the opposite, actually. I hoped no one would ever have to go through it again,” she told you, a hint of regret almost identifiable in her expression. Now it was your time to give her a small smile. 

“You think you’re so important that everything should’ve ended with you?” you asked her, moving towards the kitchen island as well, setting your glass down, still holding onto it. 

Natasha shook her head.

“What I am curious about, however, is the genetic Super Soldier serum that runs through your DNA,” Natasha paused, adjusting her stance before speaking again. “Tell me, was your dad a Super Soldier?” 

You let out a huff of amusement, surprising Natasha. 

“You think I believe you’re just here for a conversation? There are SHIELD agents placed on every corner of every street. Don’t think I didn’t notice it. The lovely young couple, drinking coffee at the restaurant downstairs? Amazing disguise, if you were trying to trick nine year olds,” you stated, finishing your glass of water. 

Natasha smiles, clearly impressed with your observations. 

“You’re right. I’m not here for just a conversation, although I do hope we can prevent violence,” Natasha started, but before she could continue you interrupted her. 

“You’re here to bring me in.” 

Natasha nodded, and the look on her face was almost apologetic. 

“No one needs to get hurt. If you just come with me, there’s a big chance you could avoid confinement,” Natasha explained, yet you just scoffed and shook your head. 

“Avoid confinement? Yeah right. There is no way, that after what I have done, your people won’t lock me away.” 

“I can be very persuasive,” Natasha simply replied. 

There was a small silence. Natasha knew you were debating your options. You didn’t seem like a brainwashed sheep. She knew that you knew better than trusting Dreykov’s lies. Sure, you still believed she was a traitor, but there is no way that you didn’t see that what Dreykov is doing is wrong. 

“You know going back after a failed mission will result in punishment,” Natasha started, trying to get through to you. Trying to give you that little push you needed to go with her. “If you go with me, you’ll never be punished like that ever again,” she finished. 

You looked up, deep in thought.

“How could you be so sure?” you asked her, and Natasha didn’t hesitate to respond. 

“We can keep you safe-”

“I found you. I nearly killed you. Who’s to say some other Widow won’t come after me as well?” you replied, and Natasha gave you another small smile. 

“I escaped the Red Room when I was 20,” Natasha started. “It took him 12 years to send someone after me. We will make sure we’ll take him down before he even has the chance to come after you.” 

“How many times, did you try to kill him, exactly? Because I believe you attempted his murder twice already, both of which you failed. You blew him up in Budapest, and then another time when you took the air facility down. Do you honestly think you’ll succeed now?”

Natasha shook her head, seemingly recollecting her thoughts. 

“I failed twice, and that was sloppy, but both times I didn’t have the Avengers on my side. You ran the moment you saw Wanda. You know what she is capable of. Taking down the Red Room for good shouldn’t be too difficult with the Avengers on our side,” Natasha explained, yet you just shook your head. 

“I’m not like you,” you told her, yet Natasha just looked at you in confusion. 

“I’m not some disposable widow like you were. I’m more important,” you explained, and Natasha gave you a sad smile.

“Everyone is just a disposable widow to him,” she started, but you interrupted her. 

“I’m not. You tested my blood. You know I carry the Super Soldier serum. I’m not just some girl he picked up from the streets,” you explained, and Natasha gave you a small nod, encouraging to keep going. 

“I can’t explain it, but he won’t just let me walk. He put too much time in my creation. He would never just let it go to waste,” you finished, looking down, avoiding Natasha’s gaze as you turned around, putting your glass by the sink. 

“We’ll help you. I know that we can,” Natasha tried. 

“Is it worth the risk? My life is not great, but it’s not terrible either. Dreykov values me, and I am not treated like a piece of meat, unlike you might suspect.” 

“So the punishment is worth it, then? Knowing that in three days time, Dreykov will have you be recollected, and once you return to the Red Room, you’ll be punished severely for a failed mission,” Natasha paused, allowing you to let her words sink in. 

“Or, in three days time, you could know you can go to bed without worrying about someone joining. You could know you can be safe, and sleep through the night without anyone disrupting you. Knowing that, is the choice really that hard?” Natasha finished, and you were almost at your breaking point. 

Was it worth it? Was going back the best decision? Dreykov would hurt you, you knew that, but you deserved it. Didn’t you? 

“Please, just come with me. We can help,” Natasha spoke, nearly begged. 

You sighed deeply. 

“Fine, but if you put me in a cell, I will go on a murder streak,” you told her, and Natasha let out a chuckle, before seeing your facial expression, and realising you were dead serious. 

“Duly noted,” Natasha said, before motioning you towards the door. 

What had you done…

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @simp-erformarvelwomen @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @mxximoffswifey

[the-fiction-witch]

I Like Him P3

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Oscar Tully Couple - Oscar X Reader Reader - (OC) Jaerra Targaryen [Daughter of Daemon Targaryen & Rhea Royce] Rating - 15 Word Count - 1250

Requested -

Need. More of this so bad P3! I beg!!! Plz Part 3 of I like him More Oscar! More please!

The great fortress of Harrenhal bustled with activity as armies were being raised and prepared, gathering within the ancient walls. The grand hall was filled with a sense of urgency and purpose, with every seat at the round table occupied. The Riverlords convened in the grand hall, their seats arranged around the ornate table. Daemon sat at the head of the table, emanating an aura of authority, with Lord Strong positioned to his right and Jaerra to his left. Lord Oscar occupied the seat beside Jaerra. The table was covered with an array of dishes, although it was not a lavish spread, the quality of the food was more than sufficient for the lords in attendance. A group of musicians in the corner softly played melodic tunes, creating a pleasant ambience for the guests to enjoy while engaging in lively conversation and savouring their meal.

As the evening unfolded, Oscar couldn't help but steal frequent glances at Jaerra as they engaged in conversation and shared a meal. Despite growing tired, they silently acknowledged each other as the youngest ones at the table, silently agreeing not to be the first to leave. They both knew that leaving early would inevitably lead to playful teasing and inside jokes at their expense, so they decided to stay put, exchanging a wordless understanding between them.

Jaerra had changed since earlier in the day, wearing one of her black gowns with red knotted embroidery around her waist and hems with Juliet sleeves that flowed long past her waist, Jaerra found herself feeling a bit disengaged as she sat at the table, the lively conversation around her fading into the background as she became entranced by the music playing in the room. Unconsciously, she started tapping along in sync with the enchanting tune, with her elbow on the table and her chin on her hand,

Oscar's attention was drawn to a subtle vibration beneath his feet, prompting him to glance down at Jaerra's feet before returning his gaze to her face. As he pondered the situation, an idea struck him. With a glass of wine in hand, he took a sizable gulp, draining the glass in one go. He fixed his clothes a little having removed his armour from earlier and he stood, turning to Jaerra with a smile and extending his hand towards her. "My lady?"

Her eyes flicked to him, glancing down to his palm and back to his eyes before she spoke, "Yes, my Lord Tully?"

"May I uhh, May I-" He stuttered a little, "Would you like to dance?"

A gentle, subtle smile slowly appeared on her lips as she gracefully turned in her seat. With a flourish of her hand, she made a dramatic, lady-like gesture that added an air of elegance to her movements. "Why yes I would my lord,"

She rested her hand softly on his own, and with a wide smile rose from her seat.

Oscar could barely believe it but he hid his smile as best he could and led her around the table to the stones in front of the musicians,

"Forgive me, I do not recall the last time I danced," she admitted,

"I- am not so sure I ever have," Oscar chuckled,

As they began to dance, they moved with a gradual and tentative manner, being careful not to step on each other's toes or miss the other's arm. Over time, they found a rhythm with the music and with each other. As they danced, their smiles continued to grow, and they couldn't help but laugh with each other.

The other lords paid them little mind, too busy focused on wine and food.

Lord Strong, with a warm smile on his face, leaned back in his chair and observed the two of them dancing. It was as if he were a proud grandfather, taking in the joyful scene before him. "How very sweet," He cooed,

Daemon heard this and looked up from his food to notice his daughter, he watched Jaerra and Oscar dance with a disinterested look but found himself flooded with thoughts inside his mind.

He felt... protective of Jaerra, for perhaps the first time in her life. He didn't like the idea of his daughter dancing with a man let alone the young Lord Tully a boy he didn't exactly have the highest opinion of.

But he also felt he didn't wish to end it, he knew he could if he wanted to. Simply a word would end this whole thing but when he saw her smile so widely he found himself chewing on his inner cheek unable to call it to end.

The longer he watched the more he thought, he wished to look away but found himself unable to.

He thought of his children, all of the young in his household. He thought of Jaerra, of Beala, of Rhaena, of Jacaerys, of Lucerys, of Aegon, of Viserys and even of Visenya.

It occurred to him just how little he thought of the children, he of course did think of them always in his mind but... so often pushed to the back of whatever else he had to deal with.

He pondered the uncertain future that lay ahead, the impending war that loomed on the horizon. For the first time, he contemplated the staggering number of lives that would inevitably be lost, and the immense suffering that would unfold. What had once seemed inconsequential to Daemon, merely a part of the brutal reality of war, now weighed heavily on his conscience. As he observed Jaerra and Oscar twirling in a graceful dance, his mind raced with thoughts of the losses. He envisioned each of his children, positioned steadfastly at the forefront of the battle lines, wielding swords and dragons soaring through the sky. In an instant, it all vanished. The melodic sound of Jaerra's laughter enveloped his senses, gradually transforming into the joyous giggles and playful sounds she once emitted as a baby, filling his heart with both warmth and sorrow.

"Reminds me of my sweet Eleana," Lord Simon Strong cooed,

Jaerra and Oscar finished their little dance with a final linked arm spin, but Oscar kept his hand with hers and brought her knuckles to his lips pressing a tender kiss to her skin, closing his eyes as he did before glancing up to meet Jaerra's eyes.

She smiled and bent her knees to lowly curtsy never breaking their eye contact.

A few lords gave the two some gentle claps, Simon Strong included.

But Daemon did not, he waited seething.

Jaerra and Oscar returned to their seats at the table but before a word could be spoken or a cup could be sipped, Daemon grabbed Jaerra but the wrist.

"Go." He demanded,

"What?!" she protested,

"Go. To. Bed." He demanded through gritted teeth,

"Let me go, I'll go to bed when I'm ready,"

"I am your father. And I say you are going to bed. Now." He growled,

"Fine." She sighed pulling her hand free, she turned to Oscar and smiled, "I'm heading to bed, thank you for the dance my lord,"

"Of course, thank you as well," Oscar smiled back, "Did you want me to walk you to your chambers?"

Jaerra was about to answer but Daemon shot her a look, "No thank you, it's alright. Have a pleasant evening."

"I see, well sleep well Jaerra," Oscar smiled,

"You too Oscar," She smiled before she stood from her seat giving Daemon a glare before she turned and left the hall.

Daemon and Oscar met eyes, and each shared a dark look between each other. 

[pedrito-friskito]

// track 9 - the prophecy //

-> can I write a fic about din djarin without piling on the exposition? absolutely not. also bonus, this is my submission/entry/funtime for @prolix-yuy’s #bangathon2024! the wheel bestowed upon me the placid embrace, and I embraced the HELL out of it. fair warning this is unedited, I’m squeaking under the bangathon deadline here, but I had an idea and I ran with it! hope y’all enjoy 🤍

word count: 8.4k

warnings: canon-typical violence (a bit bloodier), possibly slightly OOC din djarin, descriptions of female body, unprotected p-in-v (wrap your shit in space too ok), din has a lot of feelings and has zero idea what they mean, the helmet comes off, reader is a seer/has visions, still not sure if I love the ending but here goes nothing!

He just can’t seem to catch a break.

“I don’t have the parts,” the smith is telling him, looking at Din’s broken vambrace with a pinched brow. “I can order ‘em in, but it’ll take a day or so to get ‘em here, another day or two to fix it. You gonna be here in four days?”

He takes the hunk of metal back, sliding his hand through the opening with a shake of his helmet, securing it back around his wrist. “Thank you for your time.”

The market is bustling with people. He can’t remember how long it’s been since he was on Batuu, but Black Spire Outpost is the same as it was the last time he touched the Crest down for repairs and refuelling. Except this time, there’s a tracking fob at his hip, a puck detailing his current bounty tucked into one of the pockets on his belt. The fob has been beeping slowly since he disembarked at the port, reluctantly paying the obscene amount of credits it cost to leave his ship for a day.

Not that it matters — the amount he’ll make on this job more than covers it. Two times over and then some. Once he delivers, he can go back to Nevarro, get his armour fixed, and onto the next one. The cycle continues, such is the life of a bounty hunter.

It’s not the life he would have picked for himself, he muses as he makes his way through the Outpost. But then, he wonders how many people in this galaxy have the lives they would have chosen, given the chance. Even the one he’s hunting.

Especially the one he’s hunting.

Din had been half-listening to Karga’s regular spiel about the bounty, but his ears perked up at the number of credits waiting for him at the finish line. “The ones who ordered the bounty, what planet are they from?”

“Savareen,” Karga had replied with a slight shudder. “Some backwater place on the Kessel Run. Don’t know how this coven got their hands on enough credits for something like this, but I know better than to ask questions. And the bounty isn’t on Savareen. She escaped and made it to Batuu somehow; I’m fuzzy on the details. All I know is the intel we have has her there still, and she killed both the fighters the witches sent after her. Feisty thing.”

“They didn’t give you anything else?”

“Only that she’s very valuable and they need her back before the next full moon.”

He’d slid the bounty puck across the table to Din then, the hologram flickering to life as he did. The face before him was too young, too innocent. You’d killed two fighters? Looking at you, Din wondered if you knew which end of the blaster to hold. But he held his tongue; he’d judged other bounties too quickly in the past, and had the scars to prove it.

Continuing through Black Spire, Din keeps his head down, but his eyes peeled. The fob is still beeping slowly, but as he turns down an alley, away from the busy market, the noise picks up. He keeps going, coming to a stop ahead of a small group of people. He lingers back, not making himself obvious as he observes. 

An elderly man with a thick beard stares up at the sky, murmuring under his breath while two younger people seem to hang on his every word, holding his arms up for him. More people sit on the ground before the man, all staring at him intently.

The cloaked figure hanging at the edge of the group, hood obscuring their face, catches his attention. Their stance is tight, nervous, feet shuffling in the dirt with every word the elderly man says. To an untrained eye, they would look no different than Din himself, observing the group, lingering at the edge. But Din knows better.

The figure takes off as he takes a single step forward, hand resting on his blaster. In a flutter of dark fabric, he takes off after them, dodging the enthralled people on the ground, careful not to knock anyone over as he darts up the alleyway.

The fob is beeping rapidly now, quickening with every inch he gains on the cloaked figure, on you.

He grunts beneath his helmet, arms pumping as he runs, legs burning with exertion. He can’t remember the last time he sprinted after a bounty.

You’re relentless, taking hard lefts and rights any chance you get, but your scared movements are predictable, and Din finds it too easy to follow you, despite his racing heart and the sweat gathering on the back of his neck beneath his helmet. But your constant turning leads the chase back into the heart of the Outpost, and you’re moving too fast to stop from sliding into the large cart that pulls out suddenly into your path.

Din winces at the crash, your body crumpling to the ground and the cart’s contents pouring over your head. The merchant pushing the cart tries to help you up, but Din is quicker, hiding his heaving chest by straightening his shoulders, grabbing you by the arm and hauling you up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” the merchant starts, and Din lifts a hand, silencing him as he pulls a set of cuffs from his belt and slaps one around your wrist. You don’t fight him, surprisingly, offering your other wrist for him to clasp the cuff around. He’s grateful you can’t see his expression, the mix of confusion and surprise that has his brows shooting up beneath the helmet.

Strange.

He flicks the merchant a credit. “Did half the job for me,” he says, and grabs you by the shoulder, maneuvering around the stalled cart and back in the direction of the Razor Crest.

You don’t protest, keeping pace beside him, the corner of your mouth twitching as you walk. “You took longer than I thought you would, Mandalorian.”

+

The visions started when you were small.

They’ve always been a part of you, long as you can remember, and before you knew their true purpose, you thought them dreams, blips of darkness that occasionally came to call, taking you over and leaving you with knowledge that, most of the time, you didn’t want.

You were only seven when your family gave you to the coven. Your parents — scared of you, scared of the truths that spilled from your lips, truths you had no right knowing — sent you off without a second thought, assured by the coven’s leader that they would do right by you, that you’d grow to control your gifts, and could someday return home to Naboo a different girl. 

But the control never came. The visions only grew more sporadic when you were under the coven’s care. They cared for you, that much was true — they fed and clothed you, gave you a roof over your head, a bed to sleep in. Someone watched you constantly, and anytime a vision struck, you were to immediately relay what you saw, provide as many details as you could, and on life would go.

Twenty years later, and still your control has not surfaced. But something changed.

The visions showed you the truth. You don’t know what gods are watching over you, if the Maker has any hand in it, but you know what you saw.

From the moment you had been handed over to the coven’s care, they had been poisoning you. Your drinking water sullied with a rare toxin from plants only native to Savareen. The toxin blocked out any control you might have over the visions, leaving you at their mercy. And you weren’t the first — they’d done it to a hundred seers before you. You just happened to have lasted the longest.

Anything you saw that was of use, names you couldn’t make sense of or planets you’d never been to, was cross-referenced across the coven’s expansive database of knowledge, created by the seers’ visions. And anything of true import was fed directly to the Empire. 

And if you revealed what you knew, the truth of their game unraveled, they’d sacrifice you in the name of their god, as they had with every seer come before you.

When the vision finally released you, your warden of the day ready to record what you’d seen, you spat out a lie. A pretty one, with as much detail as you could muster that wouldn’t sound suspicious. The lakes on Naboo you once swam in, cool water warmed by the sun, the glint of sunlight off metal. A dream you’d had many times. Your warden seemed to believe it, scribbling away in a journal before sending you on your way. 

It was obvious, what needed to be done. If you wanted to live, you needed to leave.

Easier said than done, unfortunately. The coven lived in a commune deep in the Savareen forests. Far from any marketplaces or spaceports. You would be travelling for days just to get away from them, and days longer until you came upon anything of use.

So it became a process — quietly gathering what supplies you could, explaining it away when your warden questioned you, sneaking around in the night while the coven slept. The first time an opportunity presented itself, you grabbed your things and ran, ducking away under the cover of dark.

More than a week, you walked. You rationed the food you’d taken, slept on the hard ground with a knife in your hand. You only slept a few hours at a time, forcing yourself to your feet and travelling another few hours before allowing yourself more rest. The further you got, the better.

You drank only fresh water from the streams, boiled over a fire to make it safe, and as you travelled, something akin to control settled over you like a blanket. The visions still surfaced, peeling away the edges of your mind, but they were easier to push back, easier to hold at bay until you had a moment to entertain them, to watch with a keen eye rather than a startled one.

You saw him on your fifth night. Stopped at the edge of the forest, the desert spread out before you, you rested. The coven elders rarely let anyone past the commune’s borders, though you knew they’d send someone after you. But that night, your visions promised peace, a good night’s sleep beside your small fire, the blanket of stars and moons above you standing vigil.

So you let the vision take over. You saw a helmeted man, his armour having seen better days. Your mind recalled the style of the armour, a holo-pads the coven used to educate you about the galaxy as you grew — or to make your visions more potent, you wondered now.

A Mandalorian.

A torn cloak fluttered behind him, a rifle strapped to his back. As you watched, he held out one gloved hand to you, the other lifting his helmet just enough to expose his mouth — unfairly full lips and a patchy beard. His name whispered on the wind, a voice that sounded like your own.

Din Djarin.

He stepped toward you, hand still outstretched, closer and closer until the warmth of his palm cupped your cheek, his thumb swiping your cheek.

“Safe,” he whispered, the word sinking into your chest with a warmth you couldn’t quite understand.

And then the vision faded. You came back to yourself, to your small fire and your blanket of stars, and without another thought, you slept. 

The moment you reached the spaceport — if you could even call it that — you snuck onto the first cargo ship you spotted, tucked yourself in with the crates and hid the best you could. It didn’t matter where it was headed, you just needed out.

The cargo ship brought you to Jabiim, and it was safe, for a time. You stole when you needed to, found the odd merchant willing to pay you for a day’s work, sold the few things you’d taken from the coven for credits. You holed up in a boarding house, flexing your control over your visions like training a muscle.

You waited for your Mandalorian to appear.

He didn’t, but two of the coven’s warriors did.

They couldn’t have known the visions had warned you. Couldn’t have known that you’d booby-trapped every inch of your room in the boarding house. They didn’t know you’d seen not only that they’d come for you, but the how and the when, that you knew how you’d keep yourself alive.

It was bloody business, and had you slipping out the back door before morning came, hiding on the next cargo ship that left the spaceport.

And the cycle continued, until you landed yourself on Batuu.

You haven’t been here long. Black Spire is the biggest outpost you’ve ever seen — not that you’ve seen many to compare it to — and it works to your advantage at first, offering a plethora of trails to lose your pursuer. You know it’s him, knew it was him the moment he stepped up to the group of people listening to that old man preaching about the stories in the stars. The tinted armour, each piece damaged in some way, the pristine helmet. The way he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall was familiar to you, and your chest fluttered with the word he’d murmured to you in your vision.

Safe.

Except, you’re anything but. You can hear the beeping, see the way his hand hovers over his blaster. As soon as you see an opening, you take it, and it’s almost enough.

Until that cart comes out of nowhere — you didn’t see that in any vision — and knocks you on your ass. You give your hands over willingly to the Mandalorian when he hauls you to your feet, letting him cuff you, start to drag you off through the Outpost.

You try to suppress the grin that tugs at your lips. “You took longer than I thought you would, Mandalorian.”

He seems to balk at your claim, his shoulders going tight, not that you can see his expression. But you can imagine those full lips clear as day, the patchy beard, the bare spots the perfect size for your thumb to fit into. 

Strength and a certain kind of ferocity seems to roll off of him, pushing every person out of your way as he leads you back toward his ship. Your head throbs with every step, your tongue numb where it got caught between your teeth when the cart hit you. It makes your blanket of control waver, a hole appearing in your armour, and your pulse quickens.

The Mandalorian all but pushes you up the ramp and into his ship. It’s nothing fancy, full of spare parts and rusted metal, but when he steers you toward the back of the ship, you see the carbonite chamber, people of every species encased in black, their expressions pained. Your heart is in your throat, rioting around, making your palms sweat.

“Go,” he tells you, gesturing at the empty platform in front of you, the chamber’s tubes steaming as he flicks a switch.

“P-please,” you manage to squeak out. Your control is gone, replaced with fear and anxiety. You pull against the cuffs, trying to turn your body away from the machine, but it’s too late.

The vision takes over, and everything goes dark.

+

Din catches you before you hit the ground.

In an instant, you shift from every other pleading bounty he’s shoved into the carbonite chamber, into something more. Your eyes roll back in your head, your body going limp, and it’s a miracle he manages to grab you before your head cracks off the metal. But he does it, grunting with the effort, wincing when he feels the jab of your shoulder in the crook of his elbow.

And he freezes.

Something in his chest goes tight, a taut string that has his ribs in a vice. It whispers that he knows you, that he’s seen your face a million times before even though this is the first day he’s ever set eyes on you. Like a part of his heart calls for yours.

It makes him stumble back a step, jostling you, your body leaning more fully into his. He’s enveloped in your warmth, the scent of you sneaking beneath his helmet, tormenting him.

I know you I know you I know you.

His gloved hand shakes as he brushes the hair from your forehead, looking at your face more fully. He studies you, the slope of your nose and the fan of your lashes. He has half a mind to take his gloves off, to feel your hair slip between his knuckles. The blood in the corner of your mouth makes something like panic shoot through him and he slips his other arm behind your knees, lifting you up and off the ground.

It takes some maneuvering, using his elbow to jab the button that lifts the door to his bed. He lays you out carefully, reaching for the medkit he keeps stashed near his pillow. He pushes back the strange feeling, focusing on the task at hand. He’s dealt with his fair share of head injuries, knows how precarious they can be. And he’s figured it out, over time — the best place to put the bacta patches, what mednog helps more than it hinders. 

Din places the last of four patches behind your ear, right along the curve of your neck. You let out a quiet hum, arching your head into his palm, and he inhales deeply.

“I know you,” he murmurs, and doesn’t quite realize he’s said the words out loud until your lashes flutter, eyes shooting open and your body following suit. “Easy,” he commands, grabbing your shoulders, making you flinch. “You’re alright, just don’t move too fast.”

Your breath comes in short bursts, and Din realizes there are tears lining your eyes, one single drop sliding down your cheek. His fingers itch to brush them away, but he resists the urge, releasing you and curling them into fists instead.

Your eyes finally land on him, and the corner of your mouth twitches, like it had in the Outpost.

“Who are you?” he asks. You know her, his mind counters.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you retort, rubbing a hand across the back of your neck. You must find the bacta patch, because your brow furrows. “You…helped me?”

“Don’t think much of it,” he tells you, bracing his hands on his knees and pushing himself up off the cot. “I’m taking you back to Savareen.”

He sees the fear cover you like a veil, watches it pinch at your eyes and tug at your lips. The feeling rears its head, screaming at him that he’s doing wrong, but he beats it back.

“Please,” you say again, the same squeak you’d let out before you passed out in the carbonite chamber. “Please don’t take me back. They’re going to kill me, they’ll—”

“They’re paying me a ridiculous amount of credits to bring you back,” Din answers, cutting you off and turning his back on you. “And I’m gonna do just that.”

“At least listen to my side of the story,” you call after him. You pause a beat, and then— “Din Djarin.”

He can’t remember the last time he heard his name on a woman’s lips. Hearing it on yours is something else entirely.

His mind is at war with itself as he whirls. “How did you—?”

“Let me tell my side,” you reiterate, holding your hands up, surrendering. “And if you still want to take my back and collect your bounty, fine.”

He doesn’t say a word, but leans back on one foot, crossing his arms over his chest. You take it as a yes, leaning back slightly, straightening your back. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and Din clenches his teeth.

“I’m a seer,” you say slowly, eyes darting everywhere except his helmet. “I have visions. Always have, long as I can remember. I was born on Naboo, but my family gave me over to the Savareen coven when I was seven. They raised me, and it was all well and good until my visions told me the truth.”

You don’t continue right away, eyes finally landing on Din’s visor. “What truth?” he prompts.

“They were poisoning me,” you said, your voice shaking. “And the poison took away my control of the visions. A seer should be able to allow the visions to come when they wish, not be constantly at their mercy. They wanted me to see as much as I could, and everything I saw, the elders ran through their databases. Anything useful they fed to the Empire.”

The mention of the Empire makes him jump.

“And I’m not the first. They’ve done this to a hundred seers before me, and killed them all as soon as they figured out the truth. It’s a cycle, one I played into the moment I escaped. They know that I know the truth, and they’ll kill me for it and tell the rest of the coven that I was a willing sacrifice, for the safety of the rest of them.”

A sad laugh passes your lips, and Din’s chest feels hollow.

“And the worst part is: they’ll all believe them. The people that raised me, my friends, if you can call them that. They’ll believe I died willingly, for the greater good.”

You drop your face into your hands and everything in him begs him to comfort you, hold you, keep you safe.

No good will come of this, the rational part of him says. He could ruin his reputation with the Guild, and where would that leave him? Bounty hunting has always been his trade, his talent. He would go back to the Covert, ashamed.

But the sound of your voice has him quickly grasping for compromise. A final kindness, to please the beast in his chest.

“I’ll give you one thing,” he says, and your head shoots up. “One last…wish, I guess. Before I take you back.”

Din swears there are stars in your eyes. “A wish?”

He nods the helmet slightly. “Name it,” he says, “and don’t say setting you free.”

You think for a moment, a million emotions crossing your face before you seem to make your decision. “Naboo,” you say, your expression calm, almost serene. “Take me back to Naboo. I want to swim in the lake, like I did as a child. One last time, before I die.”

+

You think he’s going to fight you on it. You studied galactic maps with the coven, part of the studies they allowed, and you know just how far it is from Batuu to Naboo — you know it’s about the same distance as Batuu is from Savareen, in the complete opposite direction.

You wait for the no to reach your ears, for the disappointment and acceptance of your lot to settle in. But instead, he just nods again, turns on his heel and disappears from the ship’s hold, leaving you alone, still sitting on the edge of the Mandalorian’s bed.

A moment later, you hear the tell-tale hum of the ship’s engine. Another beat, and his voice sounds through the intercom beside the cot. “Get up here and strap yourself in. Don’t need you getting thrown around down there.”

Swallowing hard, you get to your feet and walking slowly toward the ladder he’d disappeared up. The rungs are cold beneath your hands, a reminder that this isn’t all a dream, or one of your visions.

He doesn’t turn his head when you step into the ship’s cockpit, doesn’t say a word as you settle into the chair in the corner of the space. You fumble with the belt straps, tightening them around you as his gloved hands move across the ship’s dashboard, pressing buttons and turning dials. The engine grows louder as the ship starts to hover, and you brace your hands on the armrests of your seat.

You’re both silent, the entire trip. After the initial jolt through hyperspace, you find the movement relaxing, and you don’t realize you’ve nodded off until you feel a warm hand on your ankle, the Mandalorian having reached for your outstretched foot to nudge you awake.

“The drop out of hyperspace can get a bit rocky around this sector.”

You nod at the warning, ignoring the sharp tug in your stomach at the rumble of his voice through his helmet. Adjusting yourself in the seat, you find yourself staring at the back of his helmet, the curve of the metal. When he turns his head to speak to you, you catch a glimpse of his chin, dipping as he talks.

“Hold on tight.”

The jolt makes you shut your eyes, gripping the armrests as tight as you can. The ship wavers and dips, the hull shaking and groaning with the effort and you bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

“Almost there.”

You don’t open your eyes until the ship has stopped completely, the sound of the engine whirring into shutdown making your breath come easier. When you open them, you’re met with a lush forest, a clearing just large enough for the ship to touch down in.

Naboo.

You’re out of your seat in the flash, nearly tumbling down the ladder back into the hold, desperate to be out and breathing in the fresh air so close you think you could taste it. The Mandalorian follows at a slower pace, reaching around your bouncing form to activate the ramp and open the door.

“Don’t go far,” he tells you, warning lacing his tone. “If you—”

“I won’t leave your sight, Din Djarin,” you tell him, quietly revelling in the way his entire form stills at your use of his name. “I promise, you won’t need to chase after me.”

You leave him to ponder your words, and step out and into the sunlight. 

+

He stands on the Crest’s ramp longer than he should, watching you step out into the clearing. He found a good spot to land, forest wrapping around, a large lake sprawled out before you. The air is warm, fresh, invading his senses.

He watches you take off toward the water, shedding your cloak and top as you go, tossing the fabric aside. The bare expanse of your skin makes his throat go tight, makes the waist of his flight suit feel tighter than normal. As you reach the water’s edge, you crouch to pull off your shoes, straighten to shuck your pants down your legs.

Din only gets a brief glimpse at your bare lower half before you’re sprinting into the water, your laughter loud enough to send birds to the skies, disturbed from their homes in the trees. Beneath the helmet, he smiles.

You swim for hours. Din lets you take your time, your excitement getting the better of him. He tracks your head along the surface of the lake, turns his gaze to the ground when you float on your back. Din calls you back when the sun starts to set, finds something resembling dinner from the crates and boxes in the Crest’s hold. He leaves a blanket at the water’s edge as you swim back, and you eat sitting side by side on the ship’s ramp, your warm body inches from his.

A million questions dance on his tongue, the heat gathering beneath his helmet spurred by the way you lick your fingers clean when you’re done eating, sucking the juice of the fruit he found off your thumb.

How did you know his name?

Why does he feel the way that he does?

Why does he know you?

The sun dips lower, painting the sky a brilliant array of colours, orange into yellow into lavender and back again. The air is still warm, but a cold breeze blows, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Or maybe it’s the way you rise from your seat, the blanket draped around your shoulders, the way the sun covers you in a glow. He watches you make your way back to the water’s edge, but when you’re halfway there, he stands and follows you.

Din pauses when you reach the shore, the blanket dropping into a puddle of fabric near your clothes. You’re backlit by the sun, a silhouette he wants to trace again and again. “You could join me,” you call over your shoulder, stepping further and further into the water. “The water’s warmer than the air, you know.”

“Helmet takes too long to dry out,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I—”

“You could take it off,” you tell him, and his blood spikes. He wants to.

He knows you.

Din looks at you, and you meet him eyes through the visor, whether you know it or not. “I’m a Mandalorian,” he answers, “I don’t—”

“I know what you are, Din Djarin,” you answer, and he wants to record the sound of your voice saying his name, play it on a loop over and over until he has it memorized. “But I’ll be dead this time tomorrow.” You wade out further into the water, until it laps against your chin. “The secret of your face dies with me.”

You turn away from him, disappearing beneath the surface and reappearing further out. The sun is nearly gone, the last dregs of the sunset fading from the sky, the stars and planets taking their rightful place. The water still has a certain glow about it, the sounds of frogs and other night creatures filling the silence of the clearing.

Before he can second-guess himself, he hooks his fingers in the edge of the helmet and takes it off.

“Don’t turn around,” he calls out, reaching up to release the clips holding his cloak to his shoulders. It slips to the ground and he leans down to set the helmet atop it. One by one, he sheds each piece of his armour. The chill in the air makes him shiver, goosebumps rising on his skin as he slides down the zipper on his flight suit. He’s acutely aware of his nakedness, his eyes glued to the back of your head, bobbing in the water.

You listen; you don’t turn around.

He can’t stop his sigh when he steps into the water. You weren’t lying — it’s warmer in the water than out, and he steps quickly, feeling the ground slope beneath his feet as the water rises to his knees, his waist, his chest. Then it evens out, and he realizes you’re standing on tiptoe in the middle of the lake, your arms floating at your sides, head tilted back as you stare up at the sky.

“I’ve seen so many things,” you murmur as he comes to a halt behind you, leaving a good few feet between your body and his. If he lets his eyes dip, he can make out your slightly blurred figure beneath the water’s surface, but he keeps his gaze on the crown of your head, your face upturned to the stars. “So many places and people in the furthest corners of the galaxy. Things I’ll never truly see, but I’ve seen them just the same.” You take a deep breath, raising your arms just enough that your hands break the surface of the water. “And yet, I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as the skies on Naboo. I remember swimming in a lake like this, as a child. Before they sent me away. I remember the stars looking just like this.” Your eyes flutter shut. “Thank you, for bringing me here. You’re a good man, Din Djarin. A better one than you allow the galaxy to believe.”

“How did you know my name?” he asks, the words spilling past his tongue before he can stop them. “How do you know my name?”

“I dreamt of you,” you say simply, as if it’s the most normal thing. You push your hands through your wet hair, and Din’s fingers long to copy you. “A long time ago, if we’re telling truths. Your face has come to me often —first when I was small, when we both were. I saw the destruction of your home world, though I didn’t know what I was seeing. I saw you pledge yourself to the Mandalorians, saw you earn your armour in the Covert. I dreamt of you long before I started running for my life. I always knew you’d be the one to find me, Din. The one to save me.”

It’s guilt, he realizes, that pools in his stomach, propels him forward until there’s barely any space between you. Until you’re close enough that he can hear your sharp inhale as he lifts his hand from the water, lets his dripping fingers trail up the curve of your shoulder, follow the curve of your neck to the space behind your ear, where he’d placed the bacta patch earlier. He’s so close he can feel the shiver that runs like a current through your body.

“Close your eyes,” he tells you, his voice a low rumble, “and keep them closed.”

You nod your head slightly, and he waits a beat before letting his fingers hook around your chin, using that leverage to turn you to face him. Your lips part gently, your breath warm on his skin. He drags the pad of his thumb across your lower lip, presses softly as you release another shaky exhale.

Din hasn’t kissed anyone in a long time. Longer than he cares to admit, and nervousness replaces his guilt as he tilts your face toward his. His hand rounds your head, cupping your skull in his palm, and your hair slides like wet silk through his knuckles.

The first kiss he gives you is soft. It’s tentative, your bottom lip captured between his, a quiet sound rising in your throat as he pulls away. Your lashes flutter slightly, but your eyes don’t open, and your hand reaches up, curling around the back off his neck and pulling him back down to you.

He grunts at the second kiss, your body inching closer to his beneath the water. His other hand finds purchase on your hip, digging his fingers into your flesh, and he swallows your groan, leaning deeper into your kiss, tightening his grip on your hair.

You give as much as you take, your free hand flattening against his ribs, your fingers fit in the spaces between his bones. The kiss is so familiar and so new, all at once. He’s done this a million times, and has never once done it before now.

I know you I know you I know you.

Pleasure shoots through him when your teeth scrape at his lip, your tongue darting out to soothe the ache you’ve left behind. It’s a welcome ache, and his hand drops from your hip to your thigh, hooking around the back of your knee and dragging your thigh over his waist. The sound you let out goes straight to his cock and he drops his lips from yours only to close his mouth around your pulse. You lean into him, both hands around his shoulders now, more soft noises of pleasure meeting his ears as he kisses a line up to the shell of your ear.

“When you dreamt of me,” he murmurs, your head leaning into the sound of his voice, “did you dream of all the ways I’d touch you?”

He accompanies his question with his fingers along the inside of your thigh, toward where he can feel you burning hot, your body warmer than the water that surrounds you both. Your lashes flutter again as you moan, digging your nails into his skin hard enough he’s sure you’ll leave little half-moon marks behind.

“This is better than anything I could ever dream up,” you whisper back, using your grip on him to pull your body flush to his. “I knew you’d find me, but I didn’t know you’d want me, that I’d want you.”

He pulls away, heart racing in his chest. Rejection flickers across your face, pinching your brow, but he grabs your hand beneath the water, squeezing. “Come with me.”

Din leads you out of the water, his grip tight on your hand. You still don’t open your eyes, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as he wraps you in the blanket and then leads you back toward the Crest. He brings you inside, back to his bed, and pushes at your shoulder until you’re sat at the edge.

“Don’t move.”

He head back out into the night, the sun now long gone, and collects his armour and your clothes. His body hums with need, leaving his armour on top of a crate, your clothes and his flight suit tossed into the fresher to deal with later. He closes the ramp, locks the door to the hold, and returns to where you’re still sat, the blanket tucked around you.

“Move back,” he tells you, and you obey instantly, letting the blanket fall away as you slide back on the mattress. Electricity shoots through him at the sight of you, the dim light above his bed a meagre replica of the sunset. He can’t stop himself from reaching out, dragging his hand up the centre of your body until he reaches your chest. He cups the weight of your breast in his palm, swipes his thumb over your nipple and revels in the way it peaks at his touch, the way you shiver as he does it again and again.

“Din,” you murmur, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head.

“Say it again.”

“Din.”

He leans over you, plants a hand on either side of your body as you lean back, your head resting on his pillow. Still, you don’t open your eyes.

He kisses you again, angles his head so his nose brushes along yours. You arch up into him as he settles some of his weight against you, making a home between your spread legs. He can feel how wet you are, the heat nearly radiating against his cock, and he can’t stop himself from rutting against you, burying his face in your neck and fitting his mouth to your pulse once more.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmurs, and your nod is nearly frantic.

“Please.”

Din lifts himself off you, leaning back to kneel between your legs. His palms ride the curve of your spread thighs, thumbs swiping at the crease of your hip. It makes your whole body twitch, and he swipes a finger along your cunt, the wetness coating his finger, and your back arches up off the mattress.

He sucks his finger clean. “Sweet,” he whispers, and you let out a soft whine, a whimper.

Hands dragging down your legs again, he curls his fingers around your calves and lifts your legs until your knees are hooked around his hips. He feels your ankles cross at the small of his back and leans forward slightly, taking his hard cock in hand, shuddering at his own touch.

“Open your eyes,” he tells you, hearing the hitch in your breath as he drags his tip through your wetness, “the moment I’m inside you. You understand?”

You don’t answer at first, writing against the blankets, but when he taps his cock lightly against your clit, you shudder. “I understand.”

Dragging down through your folds, he notches his cock at your entrance, pleasure making sparks shoot across his vision as he moves his hips ever so slightly. He reaches beneath you, both hands at your lower back, and lifts your hips off the mattress, holding you aloft as he drives into you.

+

Your eyes shoot open, and you see his face. His whole face.

And Gods above, he’s more handsome than you ever could have imagined.

Every moment since you stepped off the ship has been more than you could have dreamed, but seeing his face, studying those dark eyes as he pushes himself inside you, it’s everything.

His brows knit together as he forces himself deeper. Your body jolts with the movement and you bear down, tightening yourself around him. It makes him tip forward slightly, close enough that you can wrap your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his dark hair.

The lips you remember, the patchy beard that scratches your skin when he turns his head and places a kiss against your wrist. His nose is different than you pictured, more hawkish with a scar cutting across the bridge. There are other scars too, littered across his chest and shoulders, a few even snaking down his front. You want to trace them all, memorize every ridge and dip.

He gives you a particularly hard thrust, and your vision goes white with pleasure. Your thighs quake with the intensity of it, feeling him drag against that sweet spot deep inside you. You tighten your grip on him, clenching your legs around his waist and keeping him where you want him.

“You feel…” he trails off, his lips parting as his hips roll into you over and over and over again. “I can’t…”

His groan spurs you on, lifting your hips off the mattress to meet his thrusts. The friction between your bodies grows more and more intense, his pelvis rubbing against your clit in a perfect rhythm. You can feel the pleasure growing, coiling at the base of your spine, and when he drops his head to your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple, you’re done for.

Your release rattles through you, seeming to draw Din’s from him. You shudder together, feeling the warmth of him spread through the deepest parts of you. He plants his head on your chest, hot breath fanned across your skin as you both move through it, limbs twitching and soft moans filling the air. He tries to pull himself from you too soon and you whine, refusing to loosen your hold on him.

Eventually, you let him go, instantly regretting your decision when the welcome weight of him moves off of you. He disappears for a time, but returns with a damp cloth from the fresher, and cleans between your legs before letting you move. 

He doesn’t tell you to close your eyes again. You leave to use the fresher and when you return, he’s laid out on the cot, laying slightly to the side so there’s space for you. His eyes lock on yours as you slide into the bed, watching as he lifts the blankets for you and tucks you against his side.

Sleep seems to come easily for Din; you aren’t so lucky.

+

He wakes to an empty bed.

The hum of the night echoes through the hold, and Din scrambles out of bed when he realizes the door is open, that the cool night air is pouring in, and that you’re gone.

A million different possibilities flit through his mind; have you seen what happens? he wonders.

He pulls his underclothes on and finds his blaster, stepping slowly onto the Crest’s ramp. The clearing is the same as you left it, the only difference is the water is now as still as anything, the moon perfectly reflected in the surface.

You’ve left an obvious trail, and he tracks you easily through the forest. It’s a good distance from the ship, and when he finally finds you — and the altar before you — he hides in the brush, listening.

He doesn’t know what gods the carvings in the stone depict, and he wonders if you do, or if you’re just talking to anyone who might be listening.

“It’s not fair,” you say, your voice loud enough that he can hear the waver in it. You sink to your knees before the carvings, your hands dragging on the stone as you stare up at the sky. “I can’t see what comes next now. I don’t know what he’ll choose. I never asked for this!”

Din holds his breath, wondering if the sky might cloud over at your shouting, that thunder might rumble in response to your plea.

“Why lead me to him only to put my fate directly into his hands? Why allow him to bring me to life, only to snuff me out?”

The guilt returns, turning his blood black, making his mouth run dry.

“Is anybody even listening to me? Does anyone even care?”

I care, he nearly shouts in response, but the guilt ties his tongue in knots.

“I don’t want to die!”

Your hands curl into fists, slamming against the stone wall, flattening and your nails dragging along the carvings. Your shoulders shake with sobs, and half of him wants to run to you, the other half wants to disappear.

He returns to the Crest, the guilt crawling up into his chest and making a home there, a rival to the beast that demands he keep you close. They spar between his ribs, demanding to be heard.

Only he can decide which one he’ll listen to.

+

Din is right where you left him, when you return to the ship. Sprawled on his back, his arm outstretched where you’d laid your head. You close the ramp and the door, press the buttons you’d watch him press to lock the ship, and climb carefully back into the bed. Your tears are still wet on your cheeks as you fit yourself against his side. His arm curls around you, holding you closer, and fresh tears fall.

You wake up alone. Your body aches in a good way, your limbs groaning as you find your clothes. The ship hums, and it takes you a moment to realizes you’re moving. Not through hyperspace, just flying.

When you climb into the cockpit, he’s sat in his chair, all his armour back in place. He doesn’t acknowledge as you sink down into the same seat. You force your eyes to move away from his helmet, to the world outside the ship, and your heart feels as though it may shatter in your chest.

Savareen.

It’s good to know, in a way, that Din Djarin is a man of his word. You misjudged him, it’s true, but you can’t fault him. He’s doing his job. He hasn’t seen what you’ve seen.

Maybe not all your visions come true.

The spot where he lands the ship is not one you recognize. You’re far from the coven’s commune, that much you know for sure. As the engine’s hums die out, Din comes and stands before you, the same cuffs he’d used on you on Batuu in his hands.

You give your hands to him willingly. You won’t fight him, if this is your fate.

You don’t know what comes next; you haven’t seen it.

He’s silent as he leads you out of the ship and onto the planet’s surface. The air is that same cloying heat you remember, clinging to your skin and making it crawl.

As you descend the ramp, you see a familiar face — one of the coven’s elders, flanked by two of the same warriors who had come for you on Jabiim. The same man who had come to collect you from your family on Naboo, all those years ago. Who lied to your family and said you’d be in good hands. Who lied to you your entire life, forcing you to be at the mercy of your visions.

Bile rises in your throat as you draw closer, Din’s hand tight on your shoulder, your bound hands limp in front of you. “So good to see you again, my dear,” the elder starts, and everything in you screams at you to run away, but you never get the chance.

And you don’t need to.

As the elder reaches for you, Din draws his blaster and fires a single shot. The man drops to the cracked desert floor, a smoking scorch mark in the middle of his forehead. The warriors lunge forward, drawing their swords, but Din produces another blaster and moves in front of you, his stance protective, both barrels aimed at the warriors.

“Take another step, and you die,” he nearly growls, and your fingers curl around the fabric of his cloak. The warriors’ weapons clatter to the dirt. “Go back to your coven, and give your elders this warning: if they do not stop harming the seers, they will all share the same fate as him. She leaves with me, and if they send anyone after her, they share the same fate as him.”

With a nod, the warriors turn tail, sprinting off into the desert, leaving you alone with your Mandalorian. He turns to you, unlocks the cuffs from around your wrists. Your mind reels, trying to catch up with what’s happened, what it all implies.

“You…”

Din removes his helmet, holds it against his hip as he leans in, two fingers beneath your chin as he leans in to kiss you. You sink into it, elation seeping through your body, cupping his scruffy jaw in your hands, your thumbs fitting into the patches in his beard.

The kiss feels like a promise, like an oath.

“I’ll take you back to Naboo,” he tells you when you break apart only to breathe. “You can go back to your family, back to—”

“What if I want to stay with you?”

The corner of his lips twitch, and you lean in to kiss it. “Then you’ll stay with me.”

+

The moment you step foot back on the Crest, you freeze. Your gaze goes out of focus, your body a lead weight against his. Fear floods Din’s body and he grabs you, worrying you’re going to pass out again, that he didn’t do enough with the bacta, that you’re—

You come back to yourself quickly, blinking hard and gulping down air. “Nevarro,” you tell him, your voice tight. “We need to go to Nevarro, to the Guild.”

“I can’t do that,” he tells you. “I just broke my contract by not delivering you to them. They won’t—”

“Shh,” you hush him, two fingers pressed against his lips. “Listen to me, Din. We need to go to Nevarro. Karga will believe you when you tell him what happened, and he has a new bounty for you. An important one.”

His brows lift. “You had a vision? You saw Karga?”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I saw much more than Karga,” you reply, your breath slowing. “I saw your son.”

the end

// TTWD track list //

[llamagoddessofficial]

You don't have to read this, but I've been thinking about ways to escape that situation. I would consider this a test run because we don't know their hunting strategies. Instead of focusing on running away, I would focus on understanding their patterns, as we know they are Mafia workers who search for people, and we don't know what kind of roles they have in their search. I'm considering whether or not to tell Dust about something, but I'm worried that he or my home might be bugged. If I do decide to tell him, I'll write a note explaining my reasons and wait for Horror to watch over us. While I wait, I'll inspect the garden for any weak points in the walls and observe the usual guard shift times. I might also pretend to have trouble sleeping and ask for some sleeping medication. I know Nightmare would attempt to help me, but he can't be available 24/7, and he won't be there every night, and I would ask for some sleep medication. And when it's Horror's turn I will dump the appropriate amount in his food or drink to mask the drugs when adding drugs to food or drink, I would use sugar to mask the taste and spices to cover up the smell. He is the main person hunting us down, and it's frustrating for Killer and Dust because they primarily used him to track us from the beginning. I will use the tough fabric of our curtains to tie knots and cut them to make a makeshift rope. Then, I will hail the nearest taxi, pay in cash, and instruct the driver to take us to the docks. I would take a boat tour to travel to the other side of the lake assuming that we live near one. They usually don't ask for ID, but I would choose a cheaper one just in case. I would be willing to pay extra if they do ask for it. Once I reach the other side, I would go to one of the destinations and start my new life without them.

An admirable attempt, to be sure. And there's a genuine chance you could get some distance away before they find you, which is no small feat. But there are some pitfalls you might have overlooked.

Guard shifts overlap. Nightmare has been in the game long enough to know the common breaks in armour. He's not just keeping you in; he's keeping his enemies out.

The boys might be dumb, but they're not stupid. They're incredibly observant. They would be able to tell that you're watching the guards.

Nightmare will be able to smell mounting anxiety about an escape attempt.

Where would you get the cash for the taxi? Additionally, you are really throwing the dice by getting a cab from outside Nightmare's home. Good luck finding a driver that isn't on Nightmare's payroll. In fact, good luck finding anywhere in the city where there isn't anyone loyal to Nightmare. There's a reason Dust was so agitated by Nightmare liking you... there's a reason he told you you can't leave.

You're gonna need a lot of fucking sleep meds to knock Horror out for any significant amount of time.

Horror is the fastest at finding you, sure. But if he's out of action, Nightmare will happily take his place on the hunt. And that isn't a good thing for you.

Also... perhaps the biggest issue.

You know food is sacred to Horror right? Incredibly sacred. To him, it's synonymous with love, with care, with connection. Food sharing in the Underground was how you told someone you valued their life. And accepting food was how you expressed the ultimate vulnerability. Horror doesn't accept food from just anyone.

Not only did you tamper with his food, you offered it to him under false pretences. You took advantage of the fact that he cared for you enough to eat/drink whatever you offer. I hope you realise you've absolutely shattered his trust.

He will never believe you, or let his guard down around you, ever again.

You monster.

[echooefrost]

LANYON LORE TIME (YIPEEE)

I wanted to post some lanyon Lore for my Medieval Au because he's probably the most different to Canon-Lanyon. Jekyll/hyde stay pretty much the same, and they don't need much explanation, however lanyon does. so here it is.

EARLY LANYON

Growing up as a prince, meant that Lanyon was constricted to many duties and couldn't really live a normal life as a kid, this caused him to build up much resentment towards his father and in turn, made him a very reckless and rule-breaking, rebellious teenager. His name like Tgs (and novella) is also Hastie. Its very common for medieval royalty to pass down names [eg. Henry VIII] So robert would've been 'Hastie II' however little Babyon wanted to be nothing like his father and started going by 'Robert'. Lanyon never wanted to be King. Ever. He holds contemptment for his Royal duties and often dreams of running away from it all (but ever since a certain someone entered his life, he's found it awfully hard to leave...)

YOUNG-ADULT LANYON [PRE-HENRY]

Due to his rebellious nature, Young Lanyon would often end up sneaking out late at night go to the local pub, and let loose. He often wears a cloak so others don't recognise him. Lanyon likes to get very drunk and forget about all his responsibilities, (he's not one bit responsible) His Father disapproves and often reminds Lanyon that he is a 'disappointment to his family' (FUN!! SELF HATE?? ikr??) SO to address, Tgs Lanyon's playboi era, that doesn't really happen here, IN the Au as a part of finding his own freedom, he sleeps around alot, and has multiple one night stands but those involve both parties not expecting any strings attached. Lanyon still gets to be a slut but he also isn't a massive dick. He can also play the fiddle, he secretly enjoys this (but shh don't let his father know) and occasionally brings it to the pub. I headcanon that Lanyon has a really nice Singing voice, so in this Au Lanyon can sing, but he gets very embarrassed about it and never does it in public (unless incredibly drunk)

PRESENT LANYON

Present lanyon in the Au is in his early 20's (same with Jekyll) As part of His Duties as Prince, he must also be Knight and Fight in battles, this entail lots of training, Lanyon's been training since a young age, but ever sine Jekyll arrived, he always watches him practice so he can 'observe how to defend himself' and definitely NOT to see his cute crush/bff wear dashing armour, no.... Lanyon actually doesn't mind being a Knight that much but he doesn't Like Violence all that much and thinks there are better ways at solving disputes, however this does not mean he won't try to kill you if you threaten those dear to him (you can guess who)

In the AU, Robert is a bit more awkward around Henry, as they both are enamoured and always in Gay panic mode around each other, so there dynamic is a bit more 'cute' per-se compared to Tgs where Lanyon is Dom and Jekyll is Flustered mess. Lanyon gets to be a bit more a flustered mess in this Au too.

Yes, I know it's been a while, but no, the Au is not dead. I am going to do things with it I just haven't had a lot of time. Anyway thanks for reading, it means alot to me that people care about this, as always; if you have no idea what 'Au' I'm yapping about go to the Og post here (wow its kinda old... oooh old art) ...I think I'll do one of these with Frankenstein.

[un-lawliet]

OH THANK GOD UR DOWN bc i just read beast and i was like.... abby would absolutely kill this so now i'm here as little humble cas anon once again asking for ur writing talent for beast!Dazai ahhhh <3

i think something like reader is working for the PM and just sort of observes Dazai as boss and how he seems so detached/lonely like he's planning something that only he knows abt and reader basically tries saying they're here for him if he needs to get anything off of his chest but naturally he would reject any and all warmth offered to him at this point but maybe you or someone else can come up with a better idea i'm just so? hype that u would consider writing this at all i love uuuu

THANK YOUUU FOR THE REQUEST (sorry for taking ages to post this) i hope ur well and i hope i did this justice !!

Pages (Beast!Dazai)

— In which you beg Dazai to let you in.

The Port Mafia Boss isn’t kind.

You know this as if you breathe it, you know this in the same way you know how your chest rises and falls rhythmically to the sound of your breath escaping your lungs.

Osamu Dazai, is not kind.

A man who wears stained bandages like armour, draped in black from head to toe, a constantly persistent smile stretching out his full features.

As if he and the Mafia are interlinked in a sick relationship, in which he himself became his own twisted personification of destruction when stealing the title of “Boss.”

Your skin crawls when he looks at you, your heart pounding within your chest, a melody of trepidation and what should be hate.

And yet when you stare at him under yoru apprehensive gaze, fearful to catch his eye and hold it, you pity him as though blind to your own sullied breath.

And Dazai knows this, and he loathes it, like he loathes his own understandings.

You are not a character in his plan, nor a plot in this narrative yet you reoccur timelessly in each chapter, a smudged, incomprehensible word on each page in which he can’t decipher.

This isn’t real. He repeats to himself again, moving his hand from his face and onto the cold wood surface of his desk.

His office is dark, the natural light from the day diminished in the dark curtains drawn across the windows, isolating him in blackness.

There’s a single light on his desk, painting a dull ray of light across his written ponderings, Atsushi’s name circled and underlined beside Aktugawa’s written in the same manner.

His writing looks frantic, written in a passionate haste of forethought. Each pen stroke getting more and more aggressive as you follow the line of text until arriving at the abrupt conclusion.

“Odasaku lives”.

There’s a knock on his door and he knows it’s you.

You always knock in patterns, a slight hesitation after the first time your knuckle meets the door surface, before following it through with two more knocks.

You don’t wait for him to allow you in, assuming you missed the sound of his voice, the door swings open and you walk in.

“Y/N” He greets, his gaze cutting into your narrowed eyes, adorned with a frown.

You bow your head slightly, attempting to grace him with a greeting devoid of apprehension.

The slight tip in your step blows your cover and you wince as an atonement of your failure.

“Are you busy Sir?” You ask, your hands clasped behind your back.

Dazai flicks a stray piece of paper away from his body, it floats off of his desk and slides across the floor towards you.

“I’m always busy.”

Your eyes flicker towards it and away, trying to absorb any and all traces of curiosity as you ignore the cursive writing before you.

It’s not your place to read into the Bosses writings.

You wring your hands thrice, feeling the indents of scars beneath your skin, they ground you, reminds you of your humanity in front of a man seemingly so devoid in anthropomorphism.

You clear your throat and start again, ignoring him entirely.

“You took me off the mission with the White Reaper.” You say, raising your head in indignation, “Why?”

And Dazai is sighing, he expected this, yet he is bothered by the accusation resting in your tongue.

“I’m the Boss of the Mafia, it’s not your place to question my actions.”

You shake your head, “No, you misunderstand me Sir…I’m questioning your change in actions.”

“You shouldn’t be questioning at all.”

His voice is dull with deflection yet devoid of defence.

You scowl.

“I’m perfectly capable in dealing with the agency.” You start, stepping forward, “My results prove as much, there is no reason for you to-”

Dazai raises his hand to silence you, and you fall short in your speech.

The conversation is a standstill.

It reminds him of every other time you had had this same conversation with him, this same issue.

You come into his office, your pretty face darkened with curiosity, brazen and confrontational.

He would find it endearing if he didn’t have to focus on his goal.

He doesn’t yearn for your company, in the same way as you do not yearn for his, yet, Dazai’s comically cynical adoration for what he cannot have, seems to always leave him lost.

Lost in your repeated silent battle of confrontation, in which your gun is your glare and his, his position.

And Dazai decides then and there, that whatever…this relationship was, he needed to lose it before it evades him and leaves him disjointed.

You hate how you tremble, and you hate it even more when he smiles at you from his cluttered desk.

Teeth bared, features stretched.

He’d be ugly if you hadn’t grown so use to his indicatives. If you hadn’t lost yourself in your pathetic persistence for empathy.

God, how you wished you could hate him.

“I’m not interested in your previous results.”

“Then what else do I have to-”

“I am interested in your reluctance to obey.”

You pause, your head cocking to the side like a mutt.

“I’m sorry?”

Dazai places his hands in-front of him, indicating that you are now being questioned, not him.

You’re trapped within his gaze.

“In every judgement I make, you are a constant…resistance.” He begins, still regarding you with that grotesque grin. “Why?”

You blink, your eyelids are a lot heavier when under investigation.

“I-”

“I am the boss, you are my subject.” He continues, cutting you off sharply, “Yet you protest every role I place you in, and attempt to disrupt the narrative I have planned for the Mafia.”

Your mouth parts, and you lose yourself in staring at him. His eyes narrow, the smile slowly melting off of his face into something more grim, even sinister.

You looked into his eyes, he couldn't look at you. Or perhaps, he looked right through you.

You couldn't tell.

His eyes were empty. He barely breathed. He was like a catatonic painting of a former human being, and a sadness, a paralysing, overbearing sadness seemed to flow through him like a river that had frozen up and died, killing all the life in it conclusively.

“Forgive me, Sir.” You whisper, your voice trailing off. “I didn’t realise I came across so strongly.”

You step towards him, your lip between your teeth.

“I took you off the mission, because you are not needed in this task.” Dazai replies, looking at you through his eyelashes as his head drops to look at the papers before him.

There’s a small crack in the curtains, allowing the sun to sneak into his office, its beam trails up his face and rests in his eyes. The honey in his eyes appears to reject the intrusion, and they appear more dead when illuminated.

You find it odd how he describes every mission as if they all are acts; leading to a grand finale, as if everything is meticulously planned to the end.

You wonder what the end even is.

Your hands shake.

“Is there…” You hesitate, “A bigger picture?”

Dazai’s head snaps to you and you freeze, hands raising as if begging for mercy for a crime you didn’t know you committed.

“I mean- A reason why you’re so exact with your mission plans.” You rush to finish, eyes wide.

Dazai just looks at you, his face flushed, eyebrows raised slightly.

He looks like a boy you think.

A tired, unenthused child, determined to get his way.

He’s hesitant, for the first time since he became Boss.

You step forward again, closing in on his desk.

Dazai doesn’t move, his eyes stuck on staring into yours, you almost miss his periodic blink.

“What are you suggesting?” He chooses to say, a guttural need to be understood overpowering his desire to be cunning.

You say nothing, reaching out.

He's statuesque to the touch. Cold.

You trace the curve of his face, trying to carve your way to the core, digging your nail into the plush of of his cheek to get him to feel something, to respond to anything.

You breathe in tandem to his silent gasps for air, smothered with the consequence of letting you see him so frail.

The inexpressive expression of himself taunts you. He knows too much, you wonder if that’s the sacrifice of being an agency leader: Giving up everything for a cause that becomes you, drinking the currency of blood that bathes the foundations of the mafia.

His scarf ends seem to bleed lose threads, and yet he doesn’t care to fix it, to replace it.

It’s not important what one should wear when ones’ intention is to die.

His hand grabs yours and you still, momentarily forgetting your place.

“Who are you?” He whispers, and you almost miss it.

His voice is lost in the space between the pair of you, it creates a wall of understanding which builds itself upon the uncertainty of your place.

The pair of you appear to still.

An amalgamation of typographical stratagems bundled together to create one sullied page, in which the boy finally lets someone read the misery carved deeply within blacks of his eyes.

“What is going on Sir?” You plead, desperate to understand, to fathom him and the entire working of the Mafia.

You hate not knowing what your purpose is, and so you rely on him to tell you, to trust you.

Your figure casts a shadow on his desk, and Dazai’s eye falls onto his desk.

“Odasaku lives.”

It’s as if a switch has been flicked, how he suddenly sits straighter, and smiles.

And God you’re so close you could slap the smile off of his face.

“Miss Y/N.” He says, his voice stronger, powerful.

You straighten, taking a step back, awkwardness flushing your face.

“Sir.” You reply, defeat settling in your gut.

“The Mafia, or more so, how it operates, should not concern you.”

His voice is harsh, tucked under a fierce need for order.

“I order, as your Boss, to not return to my office unless the matter is important.”

“But this-” You start.

“Fail to comply.” He pauses, “And I will have to remove you entirely.”

His voice is so cold, so…

His smile, once so filled with determination, had cracked into something bitter, almost remorseful and you swear you could see regret swarm him.

He gestures to his door, “If that’s everything, please, see yourself out.”

The Port Mafia Boss isn’t kind.

A man who hides his secrets like the skin on his arm, draped in a constant melancholy, a persistent string of deceit hidden within his smile.

You know this like you breathe it.

And so, you do as your told, his door swinging shut behind you.

Masterlist <3

(A/N: i don’t think i like this as much- as in, i don’t think it’s my best :( beast dazai is hard to write !!!!! but i miss CAS anon so i hope it’s alright </3 sorry for making u wait for months i love you and thank u for the request !!!!)

[sleepnowmychild]

Depictions of Hypnos (an analysis??)

I’ve come to notice some commonalities in the way Hypnos had been depicted in art, compared to writing. Here’s my observations.

Always a young man, sometimes a baby when depicted with Nyx.

Always clean shaven

Always two temple wings (which makes me wonder why he shows up with only one for me)

Almost always naked, not uncommon for Greek gods in art. But it’s only really more recent depictions that have him clothed, and said clothes are very simple robes.

Pale, which contrasts how he’s written to have almost grey-ish skin described ‘like fine soot’ I assume it was mostly due to the materials used at the time, the ‘fine soot’ tone he’s written to have I believe is meant to resemble the colours of a night sky since he’s sleep, son of night. That being said though, it makes sense someone who lives in Erebus, darkness, would be pale.

Doesn’t often have back wings, but when he’s with Thanatos he does. Maybe it’s to show they’re twins.

Hair is always dark and curly, loosely tied back (again I wonder why he had white hair for me? My guess is to resemble clouds??)

Poppies and his horn are really all he has in terms of accessories, no armour, jewels or weapons.

Ironically, he’s usually awake in art.

Always quite androgynous and soft featured. Not that muscular, slim with a bit of a soft curve (hello that’s my body type :’))

Ears are typically hidden by his wings and hair

Make of all this what you will, I just find it interesting he’s stayed rather consistent in his depictions over the years.

[hobbit-historian]

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Warnings: HEAVY on the angst. Like, sucker punches you in the face with it.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader.

Light is a brilliant thing.

It shines and sparkles, illuminating all.

It radiates out of her eyes, highlighting her irises as she laughs.

Ghost can see her clearly, can feel how she takes his breath away, and hear her voice through all the other noise.

Hes sitting on the brick wall, arms crossed, feet stuck out in front of him. People pass by, but the ignore the man in the mask.

She doesn’t.

“It’s a party, Simon! You have to let loose a little bit.” She does a little shimmy with her shoulders as she grabs his gloved hands.

Her eyes shine brighter than the stars above.

“Come dance with me Simon.”

He shakes his head at first, hesitant to be observed.

She leans close. “Don’t leave me, Simon, don’t go someplace I can’t follow.” She kisses him on the cheek and tugs on his hand again.

So he sighs and begrudgingly follows her to a quieter spot on the dance floor.

Light is a harsh thing. It cuts between objects, lays everything bare, and shines upon all. How it hides in corners and jumps out to rain down on people, how it waits in windows and glass and clouds.

Simon leans down over her, lifting his mask so that he can kiss the top of her head. She’s nestled in bed, wrapped in a think blanket. A small sigh escapes her as his lips connect with her hair and Simon stills. The light has not yet crept its way into the dark bedroom, and he’s needed elsewhere. He hates to leave, hates to leave her and her love, but he has a job to do.

And every job that gets done means that she gets to live in a safer world.

So he leaves one last kiss with her, praying that she feels it, and leaves.

Taped to the bedroom door is a note.

It’s scribbled out in her handwriting, light and airy, like her.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

He pries the note off of the door and stuffs it in a pocket to look back at later. A smile creeps up on his face at the note. He never though he would ever be someone smiling at the thought of getting a love note.

One last glance back at her sleeping figure and he has to steel his resolve.

He has to leave.

It’s for her safety.

Light is a stupendous thing, how it bends and conforms to the confines of its surroundings, but is always its own entity.

Simon watches as she laughs with the children, wishing it was his family that he was looking at. She hands over some candy and compliments their costumes. Simon has to lean over and ask as they leave what they were supposed to be. She just laughs again and tells him: “I have no idea. But that’s the fun! Guessing!”

Simon smiles as he pulls away and settles a hand on her waist. Halloween has never been a big day to him, but she loves it, so now he does too.

She insisted that he wear a different mask than normal - one that covers his whole face. It’s the helmet piece of some ridiculous armour from a movie that Simon could never get into.

But she loves it, so he watches it time and time again just to make her happy.

She is dressed in the complementary costume, and it shines under the porch lights, sending light radiating out every which way.

As more kids clomp up the driveway, she laughs again, inviting them to her side, bribing them with promises of full-size candy bars. Their squeals of delight bring a bigger smile to her face.

Simon squeezes her hip. “That could be us someday, love. Walking our kids around the neighborhood.” He juts his chin out at the parents who offer and awkward wave in thanks as their kids run back.

“We’d probably be just as pissed about the sugar high these kids are going through,” she laughs.

As the night wears on, Simon gets more tired. He wants to go inside, to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie with her, to hold her tight as she sleeps, to listen to her heartbeat as she rests her head on his chest.

She can tell that he’s getting restless and leans over.

“Don’t you leave me, Simon Riley. We’re not done yet.”

But she offers a reassuring smile and follows it up with a promise. “We have the rest of the night to do whatever we want to.”

Light is a marvelous thing, how it breaks known rules of science to make its own, how it expects you to follow, to not question.

So he doesn’t question as he follows the light along his path. As he watches it take him along the bright spots in his life.

There is no mystery to him that she is in the center of all of them. How she shines and sparkles in every single one. She is the greatest thing that could’ve happened to him and he desperately wishes that she knows it.

So as the pain dulls and the blood spreads, he pulls her close and whispers “you are my light.”

Her tears fall faster and she shakily tells him, “don’t leave, Simon. Don’t go where I can’t follow.” She presses a salty kiss to his brow.

The light gets brighter and beckons, warmly, and soft hand extended. It has her face, her shape, her smell. Simon follows gladly. It’s for her.

His chest stills.

She sobs harder. Her tears pool on his cheeks and she kisses them away, begging for him to come back, to not leave her.

Price is there, tugging at her, getting her to move. He reminds her that they are in an active war zone, that they cannot stay.

But she mourns, and her heart breaks.

When she is allowed the time to grieve, her soul shatters. Big fat hot tears fall and there are no words that can turn them off.

Gaz soundlessly offers a hug and she takes it, sobbing into his shoulder.

“You know, they say that as someone dies, their brain shows them seven minutes of their life over again.” Gaz offers the words as comfort, but she finds little in them. “Do you think he suffered?” She sniffles.

“No, I think all he saw was you, and that was the greatest comfort he could’ve had.” He brushes her hair out of her face and whipes the tears from her cheeks.

She sniffles again but gives a half hearted smile to that.

“Me? And not any of you?”

This earns a slight chuckle from Gaz. “Maybe. But I know we weren’t as pretty as you.”

This garners a shoulder-shaking laugh from her. “You may be right about that.”

So she straightens her shoulders, sits upright, and whipes the remnants of the tears from her face.

“There you go,” Gaz whispers.

She looks out of the window towards the light, heart fluttering.

Light is a brilliant thing.

It shines and sparkles, illuminating all.

It radiates out of her eyes, highlighting her irises as she smiles.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Demon Knight: Odel 2

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Part 1  |   Part 2

A/N:

I wasn’t expecting the number of likes from the previous part, and I want to thank everyone for the kind comments! I’ve been a bit low and didn’t think it would get any likes, so it means the world!

I honestly didn’t know how else to write it, apart from the two of you discussing what to use as a ring.

-

Ad Laetitiam et Pacem Part 2

Sir Odel was a mighty knight indeed: armed and readied for anything to protect you with.

He was one to keep you close and possible enemies away: lending travellers little or no sight of you, pretending the Whitehaven Hold was merely a sight of ruin. You opted for a life of seclusion, finding it rather quaint not having servants at your whim, and the title of runaway seemed to suit your needs.

Odel was a great companion when you needed one in the loneliness: learning more and more about him by the day. He told you of the previous lord he watched and protected, his family, the life he lived and how he came to the pact of defence.

Turns out, it had been a usual occurrence for a demon like himself to make a living out of service to another. He had been a lessor lord in the underworld, a knight bound by service and duty.

He was older than you imagined, older than the soil of the world, borne before all life was created.

“What you’re offering to me,” Odel began, watching as you knitted by the well-lit fire, occupied in thoughts and peaceful silence. “this marriage pact, do you have a ring?”

You snapped up to look at him. “I never thought of that,” you thought carefully. “I guess I said it at the moment. Usually, a lord provides the ring—that’s what my father told me.”

“Your father is most correct,” he said. “Thought there are other items that can be used to replace a ring.”

“How so?”

“Well, some cultures use a sword, an axe or a great axe.” He stated, polishing his sword. “It is for both to present a sword. It represents a ring to give to one another.”

“That’s rather interesting,” you pondered. “Though I don’t think I have the strength to offer you a sword.”

“How about a dagger?”

You watched as the demon knight unsheathed a dagger from his hip, its hilt as black as obsidian, a ruby gem embedded in its hilt in all of its beauty. “I offer you this dagger as a symbol of our marriage.” He stood, walking towards you, his armour creaking as he went.

Before you, he knelt once more, the dagger held up for you. Cautiously, awaiting, you did not grab for it just yet. “I will protect and swear arms to you. Protect you in sickness and in health. For as long as you may live, your life is mine to protect and love.”

You blushed heavily, gingerly taking the dagger carefully in your hands, observing it in amazement. The blade was unlike anything you had seen crafted, the blacksmiths of your father’s kingdom had never seen the likes of this material, nor did you believe it was of this world.

“Wait—how about this.” you patted yourself down quickly, remembering you could have something to offer. The ring was given to you as a gift of your birth. It was small, but with some string, you found on you, you tied it around the ring, offering it closely to the knight to wear.

“I offer you this ring, as a symbol of our marriage.” You began. “I will keep you close to my table, and provide the needs any husband requires.”

“Requires?” He inquired.

“Needs—erm, like kin?” You hesitated, realising how incredulous you sounded.

Odel was silent for some time before a loud chuckle resonated from his armour, old and powerful. “You shan’t expect that from me.” He reassured. “I swear it.”

You nodded, continuing. “I shall adore you, in sickness and in health. Now until the moment of my death.”

Odel looked pleasured, reassured by your words, embracing the ring to his chest. He tied it around him, and the simple act was enough to make you feel a level of comfort.

Princess you had been, now, forever in peace.

[ebrysteria]

Temptation

Kang the conqueror x (fem) reader

SUMMARY: you found Kang a while back when his ship crashed, you offered to help him and you've now known each other for months. You go out to try and seduce someone for an important part to fix it but he cant help but get jealous even if its just an act... Warnings: Smut 18+, wrap before you tap, jealous Kang, understanding of feelings, fingering, unprotected PnV (be responsible guys), giving into temptation

Note: So I went onto tumblr and searched for Kang fics and there were none at all?! I decided to write my own but this is my first ever time writing so please let me know if you enjoy it, I might make a part 2 and comment any suggestions on what you want me to write next.

———-

Nothing much surprised you down here anymore. It was all the same really. Landing in the quantum realm 20 years ago had changed you. Your way of living and scavenging to survive.

Most of the civilians weren’t that bothered by your arrival but many were sceptical. They were scared of an outsider being in their realm and many didn’t trust you. You couldn’t blame them though as you would feel the same if someone with no resemblance to you at all suddenly started living in your own home.

You got used to your way of living, you learnt how to hunt for food and supplies. You’ve been through a lot and have seen nearly twice as much.

But what you haven’t seen since you arrived was a ship come crashing down from the outer world. Naturally you were curious grabbing supplies just in case whatever it could be was dangerous. What you didn’t expect was it to be a man, around the same age as you.

He didn’t look like most of the people in the realm, he was different. He had deep scars running down each side of his face, travelling all the way just to the top of his plump lips.

He stood by his ship taking in his environment as you watched him, he seemed annoyed? Angry? You weren’t too sure. You didn’t know his motives so you decided to just observe.

“Damn you idiots, I’ll be back you can’t keep me here forever” he mumbled to himself whilst staring down his ship. It was smoking and in bad condition. It barely even looked like a ship with the state that it was in.

A loud screech emerged from in front of him, whatever it was was obscured by his body but you caught a glimpse of blue creatures lunging themselves at him.

You quickly aimed your blaster at the things, praying you wouldn’t accidentally hit the man. You quickly shot the creatures off of him rushing over.

“oh my god are you okay?” you asked offering your hand to pull him up.

He eyed you quizzically while dusting himself off.

“just about, thank you” he grabbed your arm as you pulled him up.

“I saw your ship come crashing down, I didn’t expect it to be a human from the outside world. You are human right?” You looked him up and down.

He wore an armour that consisted of purple and blue colours. Well what was left of the armour, it was damaged, torn and practically falling apart. Whatever happened to him must have been hurt.

“Yes very much human” he smiled chuckling slightly. “Why? Are you not human yourself?

You grinned at him, loosening the grip you had on your blaster slowly placing it in your blaster holder on your hip.

“Yes I am human, most inhabitants here aren’t, they all speak their own language and most were born here unlike us”

“Unlike us?” He said looking you up and down.

“Well yes I wasn’t born here, I broke open a gateway when experimenting with time. I didn’t expect to end up here.” you said quietly, you didn’t speak much of your past with anyone. If they knew what really happened you’re life would be over. “Besides, it doesn’t matter now I’ve gotten used to the way of living in this treacherous hell hole” you gestured to your surroundings as he looked around.

He didn’t look too surprised with his surroundings, he looked more uncomfortable. Then you realised you were still out in the open when any more threats could arise by the minute.

“Yes well this place isn’t on my bucket list of places I would like to visit” he looked back at his ship, crouching down next to it. He pulled open a panel and smoke puffed up into his face. “God damn it”

“What’s wrong?”

“My ship, it’s broken and I can’t power it. If I can then this would be my ticket out of here.”

“Wait you’re saying that thing can travel outside realms?!” you were shocked, no one had technology that advanced except from the people you worked for before your life got turned upside down.

He got back up turning to you.

“Well yes if it was working”

You looked around, it wouldn’t take too long for you to make it back home on foot. You don’t usually accept strangers into your home but he was human and you felt empathetic for the man

“hey the place I’m staying at isn’t that far from here, do you want to come with me just for tonight. I have a spare room and food. It’s just something to get you back on your feet before you figure out what you’re going to do next” you suggested. It would be nice to have some company as living alone for 20 years hasn’t done the best for you. It was a lot safer than staying somewhere with the other inhabitants but the isolation got painful at times.

“Thank you I appreciate it, I don’t even know your name yet

“My name is Y/n” you said whilst turning around beginning to walk. He quickly began trailing behind.

“Okay y/n lead the way”

“Aren’t you going to tell me yours” you said stopping turning around to raise your eyebrows.

He extended his hand outwards to you.

“Kang”

You reached for his hand, it was soft and he shook gently it.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Kang” you said softly smiling.

——————

Turns out it wasn’t just one night.

He happily accepted his room and you got used to living together, it had been 6 months since he had moved in. You decided to help him repair his ship agreeing that he would help you out of here as well and during this you two got closer. You often went out to the market to find spare parts while he helped you around your home. He cooked you wonderful meals and if you didn’t know better it seemed as if he cared for you. You managed to extend your living space to accompany the two of you. The only thing you really had to share was the bathroom as you only ever had one considering you weren’t used to living with someone. But it wasn’t a problem. You both had your own schedules and you worked well together.

You stared at yourself in the mirror humming. Tonight was important. There had been one particular piece for his ship that was very rare to come by and Kang was beginning to feel hopeless when you told him that material like that was unlikely to come by in the quantum realm but you had heard through the market-place that a man named Quaz was actually in possession of some. You planned to speak with him tonight. You didn’t want to say you were going to seduce him but you were determined to get the piece for the ship as it was unlikely you would ever have an opportunity like this again.

You ran your hands down, smoothing out your white long silk dress. You wanted to be humble but you did look good. There was never really much reason to dress up in the quantum realm so it felt nice to have some sort of normality in your life. You hand came up to the dainty necklace that hanged from your neck fixing it into place. You gave yourself one last look before opening the bathroom door.

Kang stood just outside the door and when the door opened he was shocked. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you and how your skin looked exposed by the dress. You felt him drag his eyes down your figure. He quickly looked back up and went to open his mouth but he quickly closed it shaking his head.

“Where are you going dressed like that?” he asked demandingly.

You were taken aback by his tone. You thought you looked good.

“I’m going to the bar, I found some good news on that impossible piece you needed for your ship. I was going to tell you but you were busy fixing your suit and I didn’t want to disturb you”

His eyes softened staring at you. It made you blush slightly.

“You- You look good please be careful” he said reaching out to run his hand down your arm.

“I always am careful you know that, this could be our chance to get out of this place, I shouldn’t waste time because we could lose our opportunity” you quickly rushed out leaving a quick kiss on his cheek and left the house.

He froze and stood there shocked. He feet were rooted to the ground. That shouldn’t have done something for him but it did. He couldn’t stop thinking about you in that dress, how thin it looked. How easy it would be to just pull it off your shoulders. He needed to calm down.

“Get a grip” he mumbled to himself walking into the bathroom.

As he washed himself in the shower he couldn’t stop thinking, no one else should have the privilege of seeing you like that when you're out. And what if they tried to make a move on you? Or hurt you? He wouldn’t be there to help you. Every bad thought went rushing through his head until he decided he was going to go the bar to keep an eye on you. Just to keep you safe. Right?

—————

The place was busy. Busier than usual. The dance floor was filled with swaying people and flashing lights making you feel a little energised as you think back to all the enjoyable nights you’ve spent here in the past. Typically you enjoy this type of stuff. But tonight you only had one goal.

Get the piece.

You move further into the bar, looking around for your target. You have a gun hidden in your dress so if anyone tried anything you were prepared. You looked around with caution until your eyes fell on a man, slightly younger than you drowning himself in ooze. You were never a fan of the drink, maybe because the last time you were forced to drink it to be able to communicate.

You were getting distracted just staring at the man so you moved over and took the high seat next to him. He eyed you as you ordered.

“hi can I have whatever the handsome man next to me is having” you said flashing him a short and sweet smile.

He gave you a drunk smile back, running a hand over his face shuffling closer to you.

“I must say I haven’t seen you around here before, I would’ve remembered a pretty face like yours” he said extending his hand “my name is Quaz”

You took it gently shaking it, lingering it slightly longer to get him interested. You gave him a made up name not wanting anything being traced back to you. He admired your dress.

“That’s a nice dress you’re wearing”

You blushed at the compliment, flirting back with him. What you didn’t realise was a certain someone coming into the bar staring at you from just beside the crowd.

---------

He didn’t know if it the fact your target was flirting with you or if it was you flirting back but jealousy began to spread within him. He tried to remain calm, reminding himself you are free to do what you want with your life but Kang couldn’t stand it. They way some random man moved closer to you, making you smile like that. It should’ve been him. Not some disgusting drunk man obviously only trying to get in your pants. He clenched his hands trying to ground himself. Seeing you two laughing together. It felt wrong even if it was just flirting.

It was worse when he saw the man begin to make advances on you. Resting his hand on you, carelessly stroking the outside of your thigh. Every time he rubbed his hand across your smooth delicate skin he felt the heat, anger and possessiveness within him getting worse. No one but him should be seeing you in this dress. You looked beautiful in it sure but it should be reserved for his eyes and his eyes only.

-----

It turns out that he doesn't keep the piece hidden at all; instead, he stores it in an ordinary old bag at his home. You almost got him where you wanted him; you joked with him in an effort to learn as much as you can about the piece. It was so simple that it was hard to believe.

"So… do you want to go out of here?" He asked softly, bringing his hand higher to the inner part of your thigh.

All contact abruptly vanished, and you swiftly turned around to see him being pushed off of you and onto the ground. Kang gives you a short glance before tightly grasping your waist.

"You touch her like that again and i wont hesitate to kill you" he spat quickly putting a bruising grip on your wrist dragging you out of the bar.

"What the hell are you doing! I almost had it! We could've gone home!!" you yelled trying to shake out of his grip.

He didn't budge staying silent, continuing to pull you along with him until you arrived at your shared home. He harshly slammed the door shut after you both walked in.

He stares at you intensely looking at you up and down almost as if he's contemplating what to say.

"Stop ignoring me and tell me what's wrong, you literally just dragged me out of there with no explanation whatsoever" you questioned first.

"Did you not see that guys hand literally touching you all over?! Its ridiculous I should've punched that smug smile off of his face"

"It was part of my plan!" you scoffed, you couldn't believe he was jealous after you literally told him you were going to get the piece.

"The piece isn't worth that much" he mumbled looking anywhere but you. He seemed- embarrassed?

You walked closer to him "I cant believe you ruined it because you were jealous"

"I am not jealous"

"sure seems like it"

He moved closer staring at you more intensely than before "I cant believe you were going to whore yourself out just for some stupid material"

"What the fuck!! I wasn't going to whore myself out" you said, quickly pulling your dress up slightly to show him the gun you had strapped to the side of your other thigh.

He just stared at your flesh for a moment. Before slowly reaching forward to remove the gun from its holder. It was only then when you realised how close you were. How you could feel his breathing as he looked down at you. It sent hot shivers within you, the warmth spreading like some sick disease. It starts in your stomach and spreads throughout your body - a hunger, a hunger to feel him, closer, that the hunger and heat transcends within you in an unexplainable way

He clicked the gun out and then threw it on the couch. "you could have gotten yourself killed" he whispered leaning down slightly lower. Your breath hitched. His eyes darting downwards as you licked your lips, you could feel a pair of warm hands rubbing over your sensitive skin of your thighs just below where the gun was, moving upwards gently.

That's when he realised what he was doing, dropping your thigh creating some distance between the two of you. "look we will find another way to get the piece okay, just go to bed now its late" he quickly muttered storming off to his room without another word.

You felt hot all over, a part of you wishing he never stopped touching you. You rushed to your room quickly closing your door thinking about what just happened. The way his hands gripped your leg so gently as if you were the most delicate thing in the world, the slight hunger that seeped into his eyes and he traced small circles along your flesh. You wondered what happened if you continued. It was making you begin to feel wet and you knew you had an attraction towards him but you never knew he could be that...

…sensual

----------

He briskly shut his door rubbing his hands over his face. What the hell was he doing. Touching you like that. He almost gave in. Temptation was getting the better of him. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs, his whole chest constricting with the thought of him calling you a whore. He couldn't believe himself. But God the way you looked at him, the way you stood so close to him all would have to do is move an inch and he would have kissed you. claimed you as his, he wanted you so badly. watching you work for him everyday, determined to fix his ship. He wasn't aware that he was falling for you, but he ought to have seen the warning signs. The fact that he went out of his way more to be nice to you than he has for anyone else. Making sure you returned home safely, sneaking out to punish everyone who had ever upset you, ensuring that your favourite meals are prepared, and bringing you back to bed if you accidentally nodded off on the couch at night.

He should've kissed you then and there.

He got out of bed and began heading to your room...

----------

You keep thinking about the tension between the two of you, he couldn't leave you feeling like this otherwise the heat will swallow you whole. Pulling yourself to your feet, you swiftly get up and swing your door open.

Kang was on the other side, wide eyed, unblinking with his hand half raised in a fist as if he was going to knock. He stared down at you frozen on the spot.

He gazed at you with an intangible nature that is impossible to describe—a sense of learning something new, a revelation. Perhaps it was a knowing look but you didn't seem to care under the intense stare that he had you under.

"What do yo-"

And as you were about to inquire him you were abruptly cut off as he brought you into a searing kiss by cupping your face with his warm, soft hands and making you gasp into his mouth. You eagerly accepted the kiss, gripping onto him as he pushed you further back into your room.

He hurriedly pressed you against the wall to your right and shut the door behind him, his hands frantically and needily roaming your body desperate causing you to whimper in pleasure. He seems to never want to let go of you as he holds you between his arms, up against his chest, and against the wall. He makes it a goal to kiss every square inch of your face, imprinting every detail of it in his mind.

He lets out a moan as your nails scrape his back on his shirt, the flex of his muscles makes you blush and begin to lose balance from the lack of oxygen of him kissing you breathless, and he's ready to take most of your weight when the kiss gets heavier, deeper, your tongue frantically searching as he holds your face, never wanting to let you go.

"I couldn't stand it" he mumbles moving to the side of your neck trailing his plump lips teasingly, "i couldn't stand the way he was staring at you in this dress" his hand comes up to trail behind your back, pushing you further into him as he began to nip kisses into your neck and travelling lower to your collarbones causing your breath to become even more laboured. You felt him slowly tugging at the strings at your back of your white silk dress. "All i could think about was pulling it off in front of everyone and showing them who you really belong to" finally releasing the strings from the back causing the front of your dress to falter slowly revealing your breasts. "I would've made them all jealous making them know none of them can have you. None of them can make you feel the way i make you feel," he said then he quickly sucked on your nipple causing you to let out a soft feral noise.

"God those sounds you keep making are so pretty, keep going. Just like that" he encouraged looking up at you from your cleavage as his hand gropes at your breast. He moved his other hand shifting it down to the lower part of your body to cup you, a wet spot forming on the fabric covering you from his fingers. You whimper as he pulls your panties aside to reveal your beautiful puffy lips that are drenched from your want for him "Keep making those sounds for me" he whispered into your chest as his fingers dipped and found your clit causing your head to tilt back.

"Fuck Kang.." you whimper loudly again and he came back up to capture your whimper in a strong kiss. He traced your pussy lips with his fingers before thrusting one of them in causing you to release a loud moan. He kept pumping in and out of you adding a second finger and your whines kept getting louder and louder. You were getting so close, legs beginning to shake, your walls tightening around his two fingers as he curls them inside, making your back arch. You realised you were closer than you thought. He must have known because he removed his hand completely, placing it on your waist dragging you away from the door.

The back of your knees caught at the end of your bed as he gently pushed you onto it while removing the rest of your dress leaving you almost completely exposed to his hungry eyes.

"My god you are so beautiful" he said against your lips. In a tangle of limbs he began removing his clothes. You ground against him above you causing you to rub him enticingly. He let out a needy moan, gripping onto your hips harder as he used one hand to undo his zipper.

“Please don’t stop…” you begged, and the hand clutching your waist squeezed your flesh in an reassuring way that told you that he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t. Not when you tastes so good and sounded so angelical. Not when he needed you so bad. He had been dreaming of this for months. 6 months of pure torture of the need to be inside you and be claimed as his.

"You see what you do to me? Do you know how hard its been for me to try not to be tempted to fuck you senseless when you sat in the chair of my ship when you were fixing it.

You sat up eagerly helping him pull down his zip and rubbing over his covered crotch causing him to groan as he leaned forward into your neck to leave darker marks. ��Don’t you know the power you have over me?”  he groans again.

You gradually begin pulling down his pants and you become dizzy off of want from the root hairs that slowly begin to get exposed with the rest of him, it cause something dangerous inside of you to stir as you wrap your hands around him. Like an inextinguishable fire that could only be put out by him.

He releases deep, grave gasps when he bucks his hips into your hand and his sloppy lips land on back on yours as if whispering a silent prayer.

"I need to be inside of you" he moans softly against your lips pushing you back down removing your panties completely. He continues kissing you with so much passion and desire. Its been so long and he's scared that if he stops he will awake from whatever dream that is possessing his senses in a crazed manor.

He began lining himself up with your entrance and looked at you for confirmation, you nodded quickly as he gripped your hand pushing above your head against the mattress.

Slowly he began pushing inside.

You sobbed in response to the sensation, reaching out for his back with your free hand and scraping your nails against his skin as you felt the sting of pain that accompanied the pleasure. Your back arched and he leaned into you moaning.

"You feel so good. Fuck.." you moaned tilting your head back further into the pillow.

He removed his hand from yours and gripped your waist plunging into you further making your eyes roll back.

"I want you to remember the way that I'm fucking you right now, no one will ever fuck you the way I do will they?" he smirked from above you.

You nodded back frantically biting you lips creating them all wet and swollen.

"Use your words love" he said while brining up a hand to clasp your chin to make you look at him. He saw the hunger in your eyes. The way he was making you feel.

"No one will fuck me the way you do" you moaned loudly as he picked up his pace. Both of your moans and whines loud with the slick lewd sounds of skin connecting.

You were getting so close, you could feel the coil begin to tighten as he pounded harder into you. Your nails dug deeper as his hips began to snap into you. "Always so kind to me, so beautiful…"

Each of his now sharp and rapid thrusts silenced your whimpers and groans. There was no room between the two of you, and you could feel it in the way he kissed you and the way he fucked you into the mattress. You could also feel it in the way his hands held your hips and hurt them as he drew you impossibly close to him.

"Kang fuck I'm close" you moan gripping onto him tighter as your legs begin to shake.

"give it to me, give it to me baby. Cum for me please, please, please, Fuck"

You moan loudly clenching around his cock as it his you. You feel euphoric as your vision clouds from the intensity of your orgasm.

As your pussy clenches him it caused his cock to twitch and white spurts of cum go up washing inside of you. Painting your walls with him. You milk him as he slows down pushing the cum further back into you until he eventually pulls out. He looks down at you and sees your fucked out droopy eyes.

He gets up from you leaving the bedroom, you go to call out for him to stay but your throat hurts from the loudness of your moans.

Not much longer he returns with a cloth crouching down to clean you up gently, staring into your eyes with a promise of him not leaving. He kisses your inner thighs before putting the cloth back in the bathroom and coming back to your room.

He comes beside you lifting you under the covers with him, he cradles your cheek like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen while he leans back and pushes the hair out of your face, straightens your brows, he kisses your lips softly, giving you fatigued tiny pecks here and there till you are content and can feel him forever.

Your heart stopped when one of his arms surrounded your waist to pull you closer and against his chest. You looked down and realized that he had folded everything including your dress so that neither of you would stumble over it the next day, rather than getting dressed. When you stared at him, It was then that you noticed it in his eyes. This desire, this affection, which he has never permitted himself to express to you. His touch still makes you feel buzzy and electrified. 

You nuzzled closer into him, maybe life in this realm wasn't as bad as you thought...

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

A/N: so how was that? I hope you enjoyed it, please comment if you do and comment any suggestions you may have for me to write.

[gomzdrawfr]

Royal AU

heavy sigh LISTEN, this brainrot has taken over me so hard that I physically cant even make anything shiny au related(dragon!Price one) so pLEASE, lemme show u what this au is all about:

an attempt at the emblem has been made, and honestly? im not gonna do any more of this bcuz god i suck at designs HAHAHSKDJHSAD

some lore if you're interested:

so Raven is adopted by Vik, who was the previous Royal Guard for Price's dad, and because Vik doesnt have any son, he makes Raven to grow up as one

The general story is like this, Vik was also part of a society, Cobra who wanted to throw the kingdom into chaos, and so they plot a plan to assassinate Prince!Price, because they think another prince is more fitting to be the next king, however this ended up in an unfortunate turn of event where Vik killed the king instead of Prince!Price, so Price had to ascend the throne pretty early on

In other words, Vik also had other intention when he specifically trains Raven to be the next royal guard, since he wants Raven to get close to Price for her to kill him -> and this fact is disguised as a fact that "oh hey Raven you need to be a guy to continue this "FaMiLY tRaDitIoN"

okay, dialing back a lil, let's talk about the relationship between Price and Raven for a sec, they're childhood friends as mentioned.

Basically, young Prince!Price who likes to sneak out and hang out with the royal guard's "son", Raven, in secret of course

they often like to hang out in one of the sealed off room in the palace, to which they managed to find a way to enter it of course, so lets call this the "childhood room"

expanding on the lore, when they both grow up they start hanging out lesser due to their respective roles and duties. Keep in mind, all these time Price thought Raven was a dude, until "event" happened of course

so what's this "event" you ask?

basically, around the time when Price was announced to be the next heir to the throne, he decided to take a break from his work and visit the childhood room, it has always been a safe haven for him. Just before he wants to leave though, an injured and soon to be Royal Guard Raven stumbles into the room(she cant go to the infirmary in risk of being exposed), with one hand around her abdomen area

Price decided to stay quiet and observe, he hasnt seen "him" in such a long time afterall, and thats when he saw Raven wearing a binder underneath all the armour as she wrapped a bandage around her abdomen, which reveals her gender after all this time

so technically, Price knows Raven's true identity since early on, but never commented on it, but it definitely does throw him off for...several reasons :]

anyways....idk how else to expand this but i do have a general idea, maybe something about Vik forcing Raven to kill Price in one of the events, but she retaliates instead, and as a result she tries to off herself since she has been lying to Price the entire time, insert angst and more angst, then idk timeskip to Price finding out Raven's real real identity ((because keep in mind, Raven's adopted, not blood related to Vik)) is a forgotten Princess or sum, and then they get married and live happily ever after((LET ME BE DELULU))

but yeeeeeeeeeee XDDD thats about it

[kylobith]

Long Live the King!

In honour of Bernard Hill (1944 - 2024)

Rays of light caress the grass on the mounds of the Barrowfield at the foot of the mighty hill of Edoras. They bathe the landscape and the mountainside in their glow, enlivening the colours of the earth and the last snows of the season. What ochre dirt usually lies under the canopy of the sky now glows bright gold, nearly rivalling the roof of Meduseld, perched up far above it on its throne of stone. The land comes alive in the hues of the realm’s colours, proudly displayed on flagpoles held by soldiers.

Gathered around the newest mound on the Barrowfield, they line up the path to the temporary entrance. Heads held high with their helms down to their brows, their teary eyes behold the sky as the etiquette demands of them. Before them, closer to the path, courtiers stand in reverence, their weeping disturbing the otherworldly stillness of the scenery. By the carved stone frame of the mount’s threshold, a group of women cry out an ancient chant as armoured pallbearers carry forth the wooden stretcher upon which rests their fallen king.

Upon a cushion of green velvet embroidered with gold rests his proud head, once bearing the crown of his elders. His blond hair cascades upon it like a halo highlighting the kindness of his heart. Oh, a heart bearing much burden, yet that retained much affection for his demanding court and realm, and never once turned away from his family. Not deliberately, that is.

Behind him, what remains of the royal family follows. All are clad in black mourning dress, except for Éomer, whose shoulders are covered by a fur-lined cloak passed down from his uncle. His hand holds that of his betrothed, with her Gondorian hair braided in a Rohirric fashion. Across his chest, with its polished hilt resting on the crook of his left elbow, Herugrim awaits to be laid to rest in turn.

Following her brother is Éowyn, clasping an embroidered handkerchief to her quivering lips, supported by her husband-to-be. She leans against his shoulder, her trembling hand clutching his until her knuckles turn paler than her tear-streaked cheeks. Seldom has she managed to utter a word since she arose earlier this morning, so deep her grief stirs within her.

The pallbearers come to a halt before the threshold and those who followed them come to stand on either side of the pathway. Éomer releases Lothíriel’s hand and bows before his beloved uncle. The women cease their chants yet continue to weep, softly enough to bring attention to the king’s nephew. Keeping a firm grip on the crimson leather, he unsheathes Herugrim and holds it up above him, letting the blade reflect the sun’s glow.

‘All hail Théoden King!’ he cries out with his brow furrowed and a gleam of determination twinkling in his mournful eye.

And all respond, with the banners held high in their backs.

‘All hail Théoden King!’

Éomer solemnly lowers the sword and places it upon his uncle’s chest, closing his cold hands, which once ruled with firm grace over Rohan, around the handle. His sister steps forward and receives a small bunch of simbelmynë carefully picked from Théodred’s barrow from a soldier. She kisses the flowers and tucks them into her uncle’s grip. With a last caress on his brow, the Lady of Rohan murmurs.

Another sob wracks through her and warm tears flood her delicate traits.

‘Be at peace, son of Rohan. Your children shall never forget you, nor your gentle heart. Oh, find your fathers and embrace our beloved Théodred in our stead!’

‘Farewell, uncle, farewell!’

As she stumbles back, she collides with her brother, whose hand rests upon her shoulder. They look upon Théoden in grief as the women resume their laments, whilst bystanders bow their heads.

Faramir observes Éowyn from the corner of his eye. His heart sinks at the thought of her suffering, and never has he felt so helpless. What can one man do in the face of mourning? What more can he do besides embrace her when she needs it and listen to her memories of her childhood? Not that he minds any of it, he would wear his arms thin from holding her if he could, drown his fingers from brushing away her tears, grow deaf from hearing her speak. And he would do it all over again in a heartbeat, a thousand times over, if given the chance!

But the sight of her slouched shoulders when he knows how proud they always are triggers a pain greater than the arrows that pierced his body. Yet patience is all he must show. Patience and compassion. These virtues he has never lacked, despite his misplaced humility when praised about them.

And so, he listens to the laments sung in words whose meaning evades him, his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the shieldmaiden and her brother. When the chants end, Théoden is brought inside the barrow, beheld for the last time by the orphaned children he once considered his. The tomb is closed, and the crowd soon disperses, retracing their steps towards the Golden Hall, where a banquet will be held to reminisce about the great deeds of the fallen king and honour their new monarch.

Faramir stands by the pathway, nodding politely at the soldiers, courtiers, and those he has come to meet in Ithilien and Minas Tirith. Lothíriel, his cousin, comes to place a kiss on his cheek, squeezing his arm with a brief smile, before walking away. Éomer bows his head at him and Faramir pats his shoulder in silent support, which the new king of Rohan accepts gladly by placing his hand over his future brother-in-law’s.

But Éowyn remains by the mound, her eyes fixed upon the stone now separating her from her uncle. He awaits her, keeping his distance at first to allow her to mourn in peace. As long minutes pass, he pinches his lips and draws nearer, not wanting to startle her.

‘I would have you smile again,’ her sweet voice rises before he even reaches her, ‘not grieve for those whose time has come.’

Éowyn peers over her shoulder, her eyes brimming with tears.

‘That is what he once told me. Before the battle, before he—'

She turns again, choking up on her words. Faramir’s arms encircle her and press her gently to his heart as he rests his chin on the top of her head.

‘He must have been a great man, for him to earn such devotion from you,’ he whispers.

‘Far beyond that.’

With a sniffle, she looks up at him, speaking in a firm tone which contrasts with the vulnerability in her eyes.

‘I intend to respect his word, Faramir. So, I beg you never to make me weep.’

Faramir tucks an untameable tress of her golden hair and offers her a tender smile.

‘Beloved Éowyn, I would never dream of it.’

Nestling her head underneath his chin again, she lets out a sigh of relief. A smile grows on his cheeks.

‘I fear that I have spoken a lie. I can think of three instances where your crying would be welcome. The first is if one of the most moving poems recited from my lips by the hearth in our home would stir you so that tears would grace your eyes. The second would be our wedding day. And the third, if I dare dream of it, is the day that you hold our future child for the first time.’

Éowyn grins against his neck and places a kiss in its crook.

‘How presumptuous of you to believe that I would show any emotion in such instances!’

‘Would you not?’ he asks, his eyes widening in surprise.

A chuckle escapes her and her hands cradle his face.

‘Of course, I will. And I am ready to bet that you would weep before I do in all three situations.’

Faramir laughs along and brushes his lips against hers for a moment. A single instant where there is no place for grief. When he pulls away, his thumb traces her cheekbone.

‘We must return to Meduseld. You are the one to present the cup to your brother.’

‘Very well. Go ahead, I will be right behind you.’

Faramir nods and begins to walk away, respecting her wishes. Éowyn turns to the barrow and comes forward to graze the stone mantel with her fingertips. She presses a kiss to it and takes a deep breath.

‘Farewell, uncle. Be at peace; I am smiling again.’

[eggedbellies]

Everyone go ahead and thank @final-girl-lorde for this one! I am SO sorry it's taken so long, thank you for your patience.

Title: Deep Cavern. Words: 4064 Kinks: body transformation, breeding, eggpreg, minotaur, tentacles, drider, adventuring idk. Summary: Max has spent his whole life training and being a hero and adventurer. But now he's determined to explore the one cave nobody has ever come out of.

It wouldn’t be false to say that Max was pretty well known around here by now. He had been an adventurer for a few years; focusing his whole life into heading down into the various deep, dangerous places in this world. He had honed his body since he was young, realising that what he wanted was to be a hero. And there was definitely money to be made, although he preferred to do what he could to help those who may have lost things or been endangered – it still came down to getting what money he needed to live, after all. So here he was, staring into the entryway to yet another dungeon.

Max cut an imposing figure. Tall, broad shoulders, the leather and mail armour he wore all added to the effect. And Max was proud of it, too; he’d been working out for such a long time, and each dungeon increased his skill and prowess. Now, facing down the entryway, he slipped the small vial of potion out of his pocket, holding it up and tilting it up in the light. It glittered, softly translucent, blue and glimmering. This small drop had cost him nearly all the treasure he’d managed to snag in the last journey he’d taken, and Max was hoping it would be worth it.

Whitehold Cavern had been a dangerous place for a long time, now. In years, no adventurer had emerged – many had tried. Of course, so many. From powerful wizards to other burly beefcakes like himself, and yet there was never another person who had come out. The rumours of what existed deeply inside – not just the monsters and beasts of darkness, of course, but the treasures that had been snatched away and taken down over the many years – that would be what had driven most of them there. Magical artefacts, gold, even bones of the beasts within…

And now it had come down to this. He was ready, confident, determined. Max was going to enter those depths, gather gold and riches, find what was hidden away, and be the one to make it back. And this potion was going to be the feather in his cap that was going to guarantee his name going down in history. All the money that he had gained and then spent in order to get here – every penny would be worth it. The seller had been oh so determined that it was exactly what he needed to survive, thrive, and become a legend. So here it was. Peering down into the depths, past the unassuming entrance of the cavern – apart from all the signs and warnings scattered around – he girded his loins, popped the lid on the vial, and tipped it into his mouth.

The fluid was strangely thick, for how it had moved in the vial, but it dribbled out into his mouth. At first, sweetness flooded over his tongue, flourishing and spreading a strange, tingly numbness. And then heat, like the spiciest orc chilli he had tried, burning and spreading. No matter how he swallowed, it wouldn’t clear away. Exhaling sharply, he adjusted his armour just slightly, a little looser, cooler. Then – doing his very best to ignore the increasing amount of people who seemed to be coming out in order to observe another fool going to their death – he tensed his shoulders and began the walk down.

After about ten minutes of steady clanking, he was feeling disappointed.

Nothing had yet come for him. There were sloping walls, a faint smell of damp and moss, but – no great monster had struck for him. Was there a sudden drop? The light was fading quickly, so he reached back to strike against the runestone on his hip. A soft blue glow began to spread into the space around him, a subtle but steadily increasing source of vision. A gift from a mage he’d saved in another town, that had been endlessly useful to him. Muscles were great, but he’d always had a smartness that so many others didn’t have, at least as far as Max considered himself. This would be fine. He let go of the sword on his belt, relaxing just a little – and kept walking.

There was no sudden drop. He wasn’t going to starve any time soon. And still that heat was suffusing from his mouth, now spread through his muscles. Liquid heat in his legs, all of his joints – it must be the power that the potion was giving him. Max pulled the armour away from his neck a little more, revealing a touch of flushed skin, exhaling sharply. Wrapped up in the adjustments, he missed the patch of moss underfoot – and slipped. Foot going out from under him, the warrior landed heavily, finding himself slipping and sliding down – shoulder cracking against the stone wall, and something shifting below the plates.

“What -?” awkwardly, managing to pull himself up, he pressed a little more force against the wall. There it was again – a movement, in the rock. A foot against it, now the boulder began to properly move, revealing a concealed passageway in the wall. Peering back the way he’d been walking, a sense of smugness settled onto Max’s shoulders. Of course, it was fated! And so he crouched, wriggling through the hole – and as he emerged into the cavern on the other side, he almost missed the movement ahead.

The blue light from his rune shone over something slick, wet – brow furrowing as he straightened, the tentacle reaching for him caught his eye. In a moment, his sword was loose, and there was a screech as the severed limb fell to the ground in a pool of blue blood. His eyes seemed fixated on the twitching tube, dripping in fluid, and that heat rushed straight to his groin. Shaking it off, his eyes came up just in time to see the beast heaving itself toward him. The next one wrapped around his leg, and another, a flurry of tentacles as his sword snick-snicked, but it was heading towards overwhelming him as he stumbled away, looking for a vantage – and the squeezing around his legs wasn’t helping with that burning.

He could feel himself – dripping, inside. And that was insanity, sure, he’d heard of some strange adventurers who may seek out a tentacled beast like this, but they were as likely to kill and devour you as anything else. As he lunged at the main body, more slender tendrils drove themselves under his mail, leaving cool-hot slick on his bare skin – and he skewered it, feeling the last squirms of it’s searchers as it died.

It took time to clear the goo off his skin, and the air in the cave felt better against that burning. After a moment’s hesitation, he shed a layer of leathers; leaving them piled next to the oozing carcass. It was strange, they felt – tighter, and more than just the sweat. He would move easier without them. Wiping his neck, Max exhaled sharply, heading down deeper. Pausing, listening, he carefully avoided a nest of Viper-strikes, and found another hidden tunnel – sword thrust and ready, but no tentacle beast awaited here – and paused to take a drink. Time was hazy, hours had most likely slipped away as he traversed…

And the cave had to be getting hotter. His armour was feeling tighter, stranger, by the moment. As he hefted his sword up to his shoulder again, it didn’t move quite as easily as before. He’d never hit fatigue this early – a magic must lay over the cave… or the energy from the vial was fading. But the sorcerer had insisted it would last for as long as he’d need it, deep down here…

“Whoa.” it came out as a sharp little breath, stopping on a natural ledge, awkwardly dropping to a crouch as he stared down into the pit a half-dozen feet below him.

Webbing was strung over the space; judging by some shapes that were left in it, animals – god, he hoped they were animals – had been caught and wrapped. Adjusting, he began to cautiously edge down the natural holds in the wall, careful not to ping any of those webbing lines. The monster that belonged in it wasn’t currently visible – he had to make sure not to summon what beast it was. He was going to best the cave, find it’s treasure, and he wasn’t going to pick a fight where there wasn’t one… feet found the floor, and he edged, ducking, catching – oh, no – a rough edge in the floor – a clatter as he landed on the ground and froze.

“Oh, little one.” a voice hissed from above. “Aren’t we trying so very hard? I can smell you from here.”

His blood ran cold. It wasn’t the first time he’d faced a drider, but instead of his body arming, ready to fight, that heat was flourishing deep inside him again. God, how good would she feel, deep inside him? What? No! No, he didn’t… fuck, his head felt strange. What the hell was going on? Stiffly, he managed to get up, doing his very best to avoid the web strands – wouldn’t do to get caught, even as he reached for his sword…

“Don’t worry…” she slipped down from the ceiling on a strong, thick white line, the pale skin looking near translucent in the light from his rune, six eyes fixated on his form as she adjusted to walk on those lines as if they were thick planks and not the shockingly delicate web. “I’m going to help you, now… with all that heat in you… and then you’ll be a perfect little reward for my kind act.” He looked down. His hand was trembling on the blade. It barely seemed like his hand. All he could think was how good she would feel inside him, but the threat of death lingered, a heavy weight pushing through the heat in his crotch.

She was upon him, in a shockingly fast motion, chitin legs reaching down, grasping at him – mouth open, venom glittering on her fangs – he released the strap on his shoulder plate, dropped down, rolled, swung his sword – severing the webs she was on. Her body crashed to the floor, front legs still clutching hold of the armour he’d released. Unwilling to think about how desperate his body was to bare itself for her, Max ran, clattering down the path he could see, urgently – he was making too much noise, the light on his hip swinging wildly, and despite the weight now missing, he didn’t feel any lighter.

When his legs came to a stop, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he couldn’t hear the drider behind him. This cavern seemed narrow but empty, and he sat down heavily on a rock, swigging from his waterskin and taking off his helmet to wipe at his face. “Shit, what was that?” his face was soaked in sweat. All of him was, his linen shirt the last protection on his shoulders, and he wiped his face on that. He tapped his chestplate; sitting a little strangely because of his lack of pauldrons, only the strap felt – tight. Slipping off the arms of his armour, he stared at his flesh. Different. The muscle definition was fading. Softer, less – powerful. What the shit was happening to him? His strength… less intimidating. More breedable.

Max blinked at the ground. What the hell was going on in his head? He’d gone too far to go back, now. And the idea of abandoning this idea, when he could finally get filled by something wonderful – no, no – honour and glory, right? Honour and – he jerked on his arms again, stumbling onward. He had to keep going. He had to. And so he kept moving, into the next cave, and along; searching for more secret passageways. A strange musky smell was drifting up as he clamboured up some wall holds to a narrow gap that looked suspicious, driving his hands into it, and – yes – there it was. Another passageway. This time there was a – slide? He was so sick of sliding into the unknown, and yet here he was, and heading deeper, and oh the smell was overwhelming – but it was hard to fit into the gap. Cursing, he released his chest plate, tucking it onto the ledge below and sliding down.

The pit he ended up in rattled. Bones on the floor. Not good. A great huff, and a shadow turned towards him – backlit by a low fire. The heat was stifling, not just the temperature but that whole burning in his skin suddenly overwhelming. Great curved horns that nearly hit the ceiling. Wide ears, strong legs, a clip-clop and oh, shit, that was – a bull. With a chest that was greater than even his, but as Max glanced down, that strange disorientation hit again. Because his muscles were near gone, now – still strong, but no abs, just soft flesh. As the bull man grabbed ahold of him, for a split second he feared death – and then his legs were spreading as it huffed and sniffed his neck. A hand – monstrously large – forced his crotch-piece away and slipped into his underthings, pressing against his near-liquid, aching flesh.

“Fuck -!” he cried out, as it slipped in, pressing against his cock, throbbing against it’s immense finger. He bucked, and it snorted, as if amused, pulling away and leaving him trembling. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Why the hell was he losing his mind, right now, in this cave? His body – his body – it wasn’t acting like his, he’d never wanted to be bred like this – and there was the minotaur, hard, member so thick and long – and he wanted it – and his hand itched to his sword – and so he stumbled from the wall, and past it. Astounded, distracted perhaps, the minotaur was slow – and as he tripped and kicked the fire behind him, Max was out, and now the minotaur was running – he had to go, go, go, not fall, not present, there had to be something else here that he was looking for – and then he was falling, falling -

The ground never hit, but the world sure did go dark.

When he came to, his body was throbbing. Struggling up to his feet, Max inhaled sharply. His rune had gone out – the room was lit, somehow. Stumbling towards the light, he tried to think. Every inch of him was now aching, adjusting the swordbelt on his waist, the linen shirt that was hanging open. As he stumbled into the crack in the wall ahead, all he could think of was the need to pack his dripping, throbbing hole again. His belly was aching, hot, as his whole skin felt aflame. He was still strong, of course he was, but his body felt nothing like it had before. Max wasn’t sure he cared, about all the work that was lost now, because it didn’t matter. He had no intention to fight, not any more, all that mattered was that his body needed to be filled, bred, used… the glittering piles of gold and magical items that he wobbled past were unimportant now. He didn’t give a damn about them. Heat and faint smokey smells were drawing him on and on into the dark depths.

And as he fully made his way into this cavern, he saw it. A glow rising from somewhere deeper and further ahead, he realised there was a huge, heavy head lifting from the ground. Deep red shimmered; acid yellow eyes were opening. The jaw was as long as his entire body was tall, and the mouth was starting to part, hot fetid breath drifting over his half-bared body. The creamy fangs, the deep pink of the tongue – all of it sent a shiver through him that settled right in his aching core. Everything that had come before, had stretched and prepared him, leading to this – none of it had mattered really. Because right now, all that mattered was the way he was falling to his knees in front of the beast.

It moved forward, nostrils flaring, sniffing against him. The rough scales of the snout pressed into his chest, and Max leaned his hands forward, running them, trembling fingers that they were, over the large, hot flesh in front of him. He could feel each bump, the slightly rough and uneven edges, the gusting of the in and out breaths disturbing both skin and fabric. The intelligent eyes were fixed on his form, as the tongue slid out of it’s containment. The pointed tip – as thick as Max’s wrist – slipped it’s way between his legs, and drew up, over his throbbing dick, his lips, and over his painfully empty belly.

Apparently pleased by what it tasted in Max’s body, it huffed, moving back – a gust of hot air from both nostrils, and he slid back just a touch. Swarming shapes were appearing now, smaller than Max’s form themselves, scales and tails, a wave of colours – kobolds, he thought, distantly. They helped pull away the last of the clothes, ill-fitting on his new softer shape. They chucked his sword into the pile of metal in the corner, chittering and fascinated, a dozen small sharp hands pressing into his skin. The last few bits of armour were taken, peered into, but his focus was more on the fascinated, draconic creatures that were exploring him.

“What..?” he mumbled, distracted. They had realised there was saliva on him; got to work licking it off, spreading him, one trailing it’s tongue over his dick as he gasped, grabbing onto a horn, not sure what he wanted only that everything was throbbing and this was right, this was good, he would be the dragon’s toy, his soft body perfect to carry it’s heavy eggs – and so the beast appeared again. A low growl, and the kobolds dropped back, blinking up with love filled, round dark eyes at their master. It sniffed deeply of Max, nuzzling into his chest again, gently sealing it’s mouth around him. And whilst he could feel the immense power, the deadly teeth, he didn’t panic as it lifted him; moving him tenderly, gently, and laying him on something – soft. A pile of musty furs and fabrics, part of it’s hoard, and releasing him there. Shock, or perhaps something more, knocked him clean off his feet, landing heavily on the pile. He leant back, breathing heavy, exhilirated by the danger, the thrill, and the trust. And now the dragon pressed it’s muzzle deep.

It didn’t hesitate to slip it’s tongue inside his soaking body. He cried out in raw pleasure as the heat thrilled through him; not sated yet, the potion still burning, but he had reached dthe end, and this was it, his reward; his gift; to become part of the dragon’s hoard, after all. And it would be bliss, he was sure, as his cock convulsed and he tensed and cried out, flopping back again into the furs and bucking it’s hips. There was no doubt the dragon was pleased, pulling away, eyes sparkling as it growled something almost like a laugh at how easily he went. And as it drew back, sitting up slightly, a paw went down to palm at it’s cock. As long and thick as his forearm – Max was sure he’d never be able to take it. The beast sniffed at him, as if contemplating the same, then turned away. It’s wings shuffled, tail lifted, and he saw the heavy balls hanging between it’s legs… thought of all the seed packed away and twitched hard, halfway to cumming on just that thought…

When the beast returned a few moments later, it lowered it’s mouth and opened it above him; a perfectly round, softly glowing crystal, smooth and gorgeous. It huffed slightly, as he took it – and felt the warmth within it. A magical artefact… more powerful even than his glowing rune. A gift? But the dragon’s eyes met his, and he understood, the wonderful creature – the lover – able to communicate more by the moment. And so he slipped it inside himself, gasping at the sensation, the pleasure. His body gripped, pulled, and he squirmed, moaned; then the tongue was back, and it was pushing deeper and deeper. No pain, only warmth, pleasure. A faint pop – and when he looked down he could see it glowing, deep inside him, before it steadily faded. This was nothing like the spicy heat from the potion, but a settling warmth, changing him from the inside out. Now he looked at their cock, and laid back, spreading his legs again.

As he climbed over Max, the cock hung low, drooling thick pre. Ridged, shimmering and – beautiful. The tip was pointed, and tiny spines hung off the eddge of the head, as if it was designed to go in but be unwilling to come back out. Fuck, it looked – so good. With trembling fingers he stroked and then led it down, leaning his body up, as it made the first kiss with his entrance. A deep, old curse growled from his lips. Then inch by inch, he spread around it. Cursing turned to panting. Pain never came, but instead bliss at just how hard his body worked, the magic inside him doing it’s work. He knew he’d be able to always take his lover’s cock, now, and lay any egg, no matter the size, and what a thought, to fill him with such a deep joy that he came. Clenching hard, howling, and his partner laughed, and began to rock. In moments they settled to a rhythm, Max’s mind a foggy mess, soft body rising and falling. He placed a hand on his tummy, feeling when each thrust went to it’s deepest point… time became a foggy mess of pleasure and drooling.

When his master began to pick up the pace, Max rocked with him, rasping words of encouragement, of pleasure – feeling the swell, and the push, and then – oh, fuck, so tight – pushing the boundaries of the magic in his flesh – and pumping. Gods, the pumping, each twitch so powerful, a firehose of cum blaring inside him. Twitch and pump and pulse, and he could feel his belly swelling, breeding, gasping and groaning, as his body went entirely lax and all he could feel was being filled. He rubbed the lump as it went from a grapefruit, to a melon, to a greater size than he could quantify. There must be at least a barrel of potent, burning dragon cum inside him – and finally, easing the ache the potion had left in him. A dozen more aches to take it’s place, but for now, he was limp, drooling. The dragon adjusted carefully, holding him safe, as it rested, still driven deep into his body. He felt like a toy. It felt like bliss.

When the movement started again, Max’s brain was floating. He couldn’t quite believe it. The knot had slipped down, just enough for Mechaus to start moving again. When they struck deep, his belly sloshed, and it made his head spin all over again. Time slipped by, lost in a haze, lost in pleasure and fullness and bliss. And when the dragon began to speak, clear in his messed up head, it was words of love and hope and everything he could have helped…

-

‘You can do it, my love.’ whispered the deep rumble in his head. He groaned, wrapping an arm around their neck, lifting him with great difficulty to his feet. The clutch was unbelievably heavy – he was sure some of his back muscles were coming back in. Although Mechaus insisted he liked Max just the way he was – perfect for supporting the clutch they were going. “How much longer?” he grumbled, huffing between his teeth. ‘Not long. Do you know, my Kobolds spotted something earlier?’ the dragon whispered into his brain. ‘Another intrepid explorer coming on in. They happened to visit a little shop on their way down… one of my acolytes owns it.’ and the dragon rumbled a laugh, and Max huffed. “You’re incorrigible.” he muttered, even if he was smiling slightly. “They won’t make it down here. Nobody ever gets this far.” ‘Only one.’ Mechaus whispered, and Max rolled his eyes, then gasped. “Oh.” he whispered. “Think we’re out of time.”

[hwaightme]

Long exposure

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR STAR'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🔳 pairing: seonghwa x afab!reader, wooyoung x afab!reader 🔳 genre: smut, angst, dark themes, fluff if you squint 🔳 summary: as you struggle to see a future with your boyfriend, Wooyoung, and spiral into an obsession over your boss, Seonghwa, you hope to see a different world through the lens. 🔳 wordcount: 14.6k 🔳 warnings/tags: photographer!seonghwa, sculptor!wooyoung, everybody in this fic is toxic I swear (this is FICTION pls don't do this), boyfriend!wooyoung, boss!seonghwa, cheater!wooyoung, cheating on the cheater, language, hints at violence, arguments, passive aggressive behaviour, photography, art, living in black and white, unhealthy social relations, kind of edited kind of not, lmk if anything else 🔳 taglist: @doom-fics @layzfeelit @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 🔳 a/n: Hello, this has been haunting me... hope you enjoy, any reblogs, comments, likes appreciated, much love and big hugs!!

🔳 NSFW warnings/tags: slight corruption, pictophilia, fingering, masturbation (m&f), light voyeurism, deriving pleasure from taking pictures of someone with them not knowing, blowjob, wet dreams galore, perhaps cuckolding, degradation, petnames, boudoir, soft dom hwa, jealous/teaser woo, dom-ish woo, implant and pull out (irl pls wrap that before you tap that)

You were no stranger to pleasure. You watched him share it many times. Each one, an offering to the altar of hedonism. Such was his work, his vision.

Park Seonghwa was a man who dedicated his life to passion. The greatest satisfaction imaginable, on the brink of after life and illusion, the closest to heavens above that a person could ever experience. He had an eye for it, discovering its many manifestations in the smallest of things. Rarely was there a place that did not bear its traces in his magnificent, deep brown eyes. To the unenlightened, ones who had not had the honour of being in the vicinity, let alone sharing musings with this enigmatic man, this amounted to nothing more than phosphenes that they assumed had permanently corrupted his vision. But you knew better. His art was an ode to raw human nature, an address which only he would dare reveal and be capable of subjecting himself to the rolling waves of judgement that came with it.

You were not sure who you wanted to be. This was a question that plagued you every time you entered the photography studio and let yourself sink into its monochromatic elegance. Did you want to be the decor - the paraphernalia occupying the white, low shelving units off to the left from the entrance, or the potted ivy, suspended by chains that your teacher had painted with mars black acrylic, cascading to blend with the barely-there tulle? Would you turn into an object so you could spend your days in motionless awe, observing the master at work, embracing art in pure desire? Perhaps you wanted to be one of the models - the goddesses, clad in armour of lace, performing seduction through a complex sequence of motions with a ritualistic sanctity, irony leaving the beholder intoxicated. Maybe you would be willing to expose yourself down to your intricate network of capillaries, tear yourself apart to translate and immortalise pleasure with the click of the shutter, nothing more than a vessel for the artist's higher meaning. One this was certain, however. You did not want to be him. The creator. The bearer of the prodigal eye. The tormented soul curating fantasy. For that place was only ever for the Park Seonghwa as he was - his essence, his flair.

This, you had been confident in, for as long as you could remember, so, for as long as you had been dedicated to following the photographer's work. You were partial to the coiled intensity contained within each piece, and had spent many hours poring over collections, published photobooks, specials in editorial magazines. This had become a near religious act, carried out in silence, in the illusion of privacy of the tiny apartment that you shared with Wooyoung, who, acting like more of a ghost than a man, would lurk behind you to catch a glimpse of the beauties who you could never compare to. In those moments, you would choose to dissociate from the dysfunctional, cacophonic home life and tap into the memories you had with each piece. Be it the past or the present. The grayscale, interestingly enough, possessed more colour than all else you were meant to hold dear.

Tracing the curves of the bodies frozen in time, treasure maps to your personal safe haven, you traversed the avenues of your own memory: from what you had helped shoot and what was now gracing your shelves as a reminder that you were worth something to someone in your home, all the way back to the beginning. It was the triptych that you had analysed for one of your modules way back, when you barely knew anything except the basics of what was now your craft. It was a composition set in what you had later found out was Seonghwa’s secluded seaside studio down in the south, one which he used extensively in the summer months. It had been your first dive into learning of Gestalt grouping, and how easily a photographer could actually influence a viewer – a couple of miniscule tweaks, and the world was changed. Much like yours. The three pieces were terrifically entrancing in their proud solitude, but, in tandem, were a wave that covered and drowned you. The Rembrandt lighting, in contrast to the gentle waves made by white and shadow grey bedsheets, framed the centrepiece, the guideline to observation – rolling hills from waist, to hip, to the hint of a black stocking. Perhaps a person not in the know would try to argue that since the image was in monochrome, just like every other of the photographer’s works, it was not possible to infer hue, but you had the honour of knowing: Park Seonghwa lived in black and white. Floor, set, attitude – a balanced divide. The mind was loud, he had told you. If the composition needed physical colour, it would be able to complete the picture for itself. Otherwise, the colour of sensation was the underlying theme and mission.

That piece was what had started your lighthearted interest, or so you had naively called it. From mild appreciation of his works, to warm enthusiasm for the inner workings and technique, to going down the spiral to feverish adoration of all that Seonghwa captured. It was a glimpse into how he saw the world, and how he wanted to aid others in perceiving it. The initial embarrassment that had come with studying his photobooks that you had checked out from the library had subsided as you ceased to avoid the concept of eroticism. On the contrary, in some of your projects you had made attempts to emulate the master’s style, which had earned the attention of one of your professors and closest mentors. After confirming that you had not gained access to a closed early showing of the photographer’s exhibition, he had been kind enough to extend an invitation, thereby changing the course of your life.

The event had been an extension of the man, complete in the same hues, down to the very last detail. Even the guests were all a part of the scene, blurred to emphasise the subject, the creator. He was gallant, attentive, guiding you from masterpiece to masterpiece even though he had hordes of hardened professionals and eagle-eyed critics to entertain. He had made you feel central to something other than your obligations. Deserving of time and space. And left you with a business card where he had neatly added his personal mobile phone number, making you promise to consider working with him as soon as you could.

After a year of stalling on any decision, you had applied, and became his apprentice. You had discovered that Seonghwa had been keeping tabs on you, producing printouts of your own work during the informal interview he had organised, and asking you to elaborate on aspects that you had intentionally hidden away. You realised that it was impossible to hide anything from him, your mind was behind an open door. Rapidly, his world became yours, and you turned to seeing it in the beautiful black and white.

You took a sip of your hot coffee from your beloved dalmatian patterned mug cradled in one hand, scrolling through social media with the other. Checking works tagged with anything relevant to your teacher’s studio and works had become a habit for you, and as such, you continued to do it even though Seonghwa had hired a social media manager a couple of months ago. To your defence, most of their work was done remotely, so you could take pride in being the first one to see your favourite artist break out into a megawatt grin, giving you a peck on the cheek if you were lucky. In those moments, you swore you would do anything just to see and feel it all again. A smile crept onto your lips as you indulged in your fantastical daydreams, one which you tried to mask by taking another long sip.

“Your boss really should let you catch a break. This is not even intern level stuff.” You had not noticed your boyfriend’s presence behind you, and with a glance behind you noticed that he was lazily eyeing your screen. Good thing you were deep in some nature photography at least, rather than your boss’s or the studio’s page. It had been a touchy subject recently. And by recently, it meant the entirety of the time you had been hired there and had been earning a steady income from what Wooyoung had called your ‘hobby’.

“Call it market research. It is important for any artist to keep a finger on the pulse, otherwise they will be left behind, and won’t be able to innovate.” You locked your phone for good measure, placed it face down on the table and spun yourself around on the bar stool. You had insisted on having a pair at the breakfast table to be economical, seeing as the area was simply an extension of the kitchenette’s counter space. Plus, they were a wonderful snowy white and matched with your recent furniture upgrades.

Wooyoung appeared less than amused, though it was not much of a surprise to you.

“But the guy will be taking the same fap material pics anyways, so what’s the point?” he countered, running a hand through his dark hair. There was something you knew for certain about the man you had been with for the last one and a half years, and living together for nine months. He was hilariously easy to read. Past the façade of biting comments and cheeky quips, he was as good as a flyer on a posterboard at keeping things hidden from you.

“I see you have your day planned out, huh?” Your response was quick and venomous, and you noticed Wooyoung roll his eyes and trail the gaze to a print hanging on the wall to your right, in the living room. It had been a gift from your boss, a ‘less stimulating’ piece perfect for family life, as he had elaborated, making you laugh. After giving you a soft embrace, he had let his hands linger on your waist, and whispered his congratulations on your moving in with your boyfriend right against your ear, sending shivers down the spine. You were not ashamed to say that it was Park Seonghwa’s touch you had thought about during your first night, in your own apartment, together with Jung Wooyoung.

“So do you. Dolled up and ready to impress, I see?” a classic response as of late. Equal parts aggressive and accusatory, equal parts hinting at his still lingering desire for you.

Irritation. Jealousy. That was what had been fuelling your relationship since the start. Truth be told, you were surprised it had lasted as long as it did, considering how you wanted nothing more than to slam his head against the wall sometimes. That was what happened when two individuals who had sold their soul to the creative arts decided to live under the same roof, under the illusion that they had found their lifelong muse. You had been there, in the very beginning; confident that Wooyoung was the one likeminded collection of visions, the closest thing there was on this earth to a soulmate. You had melted under his touch, much like the intricate sculptures he crafted and carved away, but it only resulted in you eventually being burned and the ceramic of your heart - cracked.

Nothing gold couldn’t fix. Or, in your case, it was the hours you spent at the studio, letting yourself get carried away by the intoxicating sensuality you were tasked with capturing. If it were anyone except you who was with Wooyoung, they would have probably started a riot and confronted him, but his behaviour gave you an excuse to mentally reduce him to an abstract expressionist dot on your canvas and dedicate yourself wholly to your idol. You told yourself that you were engaging in these mind games only until your lease were to run out. Then, you would quietly not renew it – to your advantage, Wooyoung was not much of a documents man, leaving it to whoever was closest, which just so happened to be his ‘dearest’ with a vengeance. It was not a matter of taking it out on Wooyoung because you had been scorned – oh no, it was because you found it unfair that he could act this way while your conscience had deemed this to be taboo. Besides, you needed something above you, a higher legislative power, to take that final step.

But who were you kidding? Had you the ability to control the way in which you thought of Seonghwa, you would have probably had the resolve to pack up your things and go anywhere, as long as it was far away from Wooyoung. He would remember you by the pieces he had sculpted in your honour, inspired by your frame, by the fire that had burned out some time ago. But even then, say you had left, and your black suitcase with metal decal at the ready, camera lazily slung over your neck, where would you go, when your feet could only remember the route from this loveless apartment to P.SH Studio?

“Mm, you know it. Rough day today, so I will probably be back late.” Not that you would notice was left unspoken. You wanted to at least finish your coffee before the bickering started.

“Just how you like it. Isn’t it right?” He was pushing your buttons, purposefully twisting your worlds into lewd euphemism. Wooyoung enjoyed driving you up the wall – probably the closest he came to actually giving you some kind of excitement in recent weeks. Otherwise, he was perfectly satiated, and you might as well be décor, sauntering around from room to room. It was as if he took pleasure in knowing that your mind was hazy, but the distance between you concrete, and only getting larger.

You swivelled back around to face away from your boyfriend, but caught his darkened gaze at the last moment. Head lowered to make his dark hair fall slightly over his eyes, a dangerous smirk dancing on his lips, still in your vision as you stared at the bottom of the cup, thoughtlessly moving the remaining grounds that were suspended in rapidly cooling droplets. You listened to Wooyoung pushing himself off the cupboards, and step towards you, until his chin was hovering just above you shoulder, and you could count his breaths.

“Want me to give you a little pep talk?” he whispered, turning to peck your earlobe a couple of times. You gripped your mug, not wanting to satisfy Wooyoung with a reaction.

In these moments, you almost wished you were still infatuated instead of subjecting him to impersonal evaluation. The attention would have then felt special, instead of as an apology in advance for inviting his assistant over to your shared accommodation. Again, his habits and methods were very traceable and blatantly obvious. But at least it let you think of the man you were going to be spending the entire day and evening shooting with, and helped you get rid of your frustrations early, so they did not bother you as much while you watched your master with unbreaking focus. And like in long exposure photography, eventually, everything except him became a blur. It was impossible to associate your own satisfaction with anyone else, so when you felt Wooyoung’s hot, needy lips trailing from your ear to the lower jaw, and his hand snaking up your thigh, pushing your black skirt up with it, you merely shut your eyes, and thought of him.

To your delight, Wooyoung was not being vocal like he usually would as he continued to caress you, his other hand now having found its place on your waist, effectively making him wrap around you. His sturdy chest was pressing against your shoulder blade while he nipped at the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. You cursed yourself as you felt a moan threatening to escape you, and bit your lower lip. Oh, to imagine yourself as one of those models in monochrome, revealing their true nature for the first time only to him. He never touched them, at least not in front of you, but oh how they wanted to be. You understood them wholeheartedly – your imagination being the only thing to get you closer to Park Seonghwa.

The hand that you mentally removed from its owner slinked away from your thigh, completely hiking the skirt up and slipping under the band of your black panties. You liked to think that your strive to match inside and out gave you more desirability, thus enabled you to be more confident at work – a silly way of masking your subconscious intentions. Who were you trying to fool? The other slid under your shirt, and, without bothering to take it off, tugged your bra aside to reveal your shapely breasts. The sudden change in temperature proved to be stimulating, leading to your nipples increasing in sensitivity. The hand carefully, patiently brushed over the tip of its erectness. You inhaled sharply and gave a little further into the feeling. No harm done, right?

Tapping into your mind palace, it conjured an external image of what was happening to you, the subject of the moving photograph. It was a surrealist, fantastical performance, challenging the imaginary viewer with physical abstraction. You could not help but wonder if how you were unravelling right this moment would look good through the lens. What settings would be used for this shoot? You ran the numbers, and with each one, turned more and more pliable, a putty in the strong arms that had permeated into this early morning day dream. Two fingers slipped into your half open mouth, and teasing, you ran the tip of your tongue over them, wordlessly giving full access and commanding they stop teasing you any longer.

A 105mm lens would do it. Focus should be on the act, other elements fading into the background and removing any undesired presence – a mechanical fog, heightening your desire. Heat pooled to your core as you felt what could only be equivalent to sparks of electricity coursing from your exposed and stimulated breasts down to the now aching arousal. He would probably praise you for being so responsive to him – any task, no matter how small, had earned you the warmed gratitude before, so why could that not be the same here? He would give you his undivided attention, slipping those fingers, coated in saliva, down to the pleading sex, poking your inner thighs to give him better access. You obliged, visualising how a gentle, approving smile would settle on the beautiful man’s every feature, down to the slight squint of his eyes. He leaned in closer to you, his chest hitting against your back once more as he suddenly squeezed your nipple, and ran his digits over your hard clit, coaxing out a gasp.

Your molars sank into your inner cheek with such power that you thought you would draw blood, as the fingers continued to tease you, moving in painfully slow circles around the nub, making your muscle clench and inadvertently grind your hips forwards, for even a small bit more friction. The action spurred him on, and soon enough you felt a pair of soft lips trailing across from your jawline to your collarbone, occasionally stopping to pay special attention to what he knew would make you scream. Barely being able to contain yourself, you stopped preventing the sinful melody from escaping you, and moaned to a particularly precise adoration of skin on the side of your neck. Fingers, which had been mercilessly abusing your impossibly sensitive clit, slipped between your folds and glided down their length, coating them in your own arousal. You had not realised just how wet you had gotten, raw desire coating the inside of your panties.

This had to be shot in the same rush as the one you were being enveloped by – handheld, manual, shutter speed at 1/200th – it only made sense to do so. This had to be sultry, less exposed to the lamp lights. A sensuality meant to be contained in the shadows. With a final flick, which made you groan in pleasure, only begging for more, the fingers travelled down the length of your soaked pussy lips, practically hooking it in and curling themselves into you. The entry of the digits into your trembling cunt sent your thoughts into a flurry, clouding you from seeing anything except stars and the man who shared his name with the celestial apparitions.

If not for the heat building in your lower half at an astounding rate, you would have been more amused at your conclusion for best using ISO 800 for this scene – high sensitivity, indeed. How terribly you wanted to capture this intimate portrait, encapsulate the dreamlike tenderness that you were visualising for none other than Park Seonghwa. Black and white. Lustful and loving. Fast and slow. He was a man of contrasts and unthinkable combinations, he was the only one who could understand your vision.

The rhythmic, accelerating pumping of masterful fingers into your pussy was caused you to lose focus, attention span reduced to mere instinct. Writhing in the chair, you were about to fully transport yourself into the studio, forgetting to set the shutter speed for the pretend shoot, when you caught the last voice that you wanted to hear in the building of your high:

“I bet you’re thinking of him, you dirty girl.” Wooyoung hissed right into your ear, an unsaid challenge in his tone. A flash of guilt ran over you as you were caught red-minded but did not want to go through the trouble of denying that what he said was true. Blame sculptors and their skilful hands, bringing you to a certain ruin.

“Shut… up, ah!” you yelped as you felt your boyfriend’s thumb pressing against your bud, moving at an entirely different pace as it stimulated just the tip, shifting your folds further apart.

“What, don’t want to hear me in your daydreams?” he teased you, knowing full well that you would agree if you weren’t so secretive. He had clocked some time ago that you were not indifferent to your boss, however he did not realise just how far gone you were. In his mind, the claims he was throwing out were a mere improvisation, the best he could conjure to fuel his hate-driven passion towards you.

“I- mfph, said, shut-”

“Such a needy little slut for him.” You were insufferable. When you were like this, trying to regain control of the situation even though you were clay in his hands, melting under him, he was regretful that you could not be the only one in his turbulent life.

If it was not work, then it was the mood. If it was not the mood it was something he did wrong. And if, somehow, he did nothing and you confirmed that, you simply pitied him. That was the power you held. You ignited within Wooyoung a ferocious need to destroy the pedestal onto which he had elevated you in the very beginning. But as he gave you distance, toppled one platform after another, you only seemed to soar higher above him, just within reach but still, not someone he could control. He was no longer a figure of romantic authority for you – perplexed by the exact timeline, he assumed that it was simply meant to be that way. Carnal pleasure in this united destruction.

“I know you want his fingers in your tight cunt, don’t you, my darling?”

You could not respond as Wooyoung continued to pick up the pace, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. The pet name was obviously taken from the snippets of conversation between you and Seonghwa that your boyfriend had overheard. Whenever he would have an idea for another series, or changes to some details for already planned scenes, he would run them by you, always interested in your opinions and taking them as the most valuable pieces of the creative puzzle. You really were here, getting off to the thought of being listened to, the master's hums and approvals at the forefront of ideation. You had to give it to him, Wooyoung knew how to make you come undone, even if it was by guesswork.

The vocalisation of the real source of your climb had flipped a switch, and Seonghwa flooded your mind. Wooyoung did not speak up again, and you were gone from regular consciousness, the dark lustful abyss surrounding you. Park Seonghwa was right there with you. You dashed from vision to vision, stringing them together to describe how he would feel. How it would feel for him to be the one to capture soft, supple tenderness of your throat with his enticing mouth, and how his arms would embrace your form and crush you in boundless pleasure. For the first time, he could be in front of the camera, together with you. The blur of the background disappeared as you adjusted the focus to the lewdness, the wet sounds of his outrageous rhythm. His face was now crystal clear before your eyes, his sharp features, half-lidded eyes as he brought you to your orgasm, praising you for being such an obedient little girl for him.

Your orgasm came crashing down on you with unexpected force. Overwhelmed, you let the sensation wash over you like a tempestuous ocean. Seeing only those two beloved colours, you felt for the seat beneath you to support your unsteady form. You could not yell, could not let out as much as a whisper as the etchings of the man you so desired glinted before you, lips parted in a silent proclamation of brutal, unrefined passion and obsessive adoration. Comical, how it was his manifestation amidst your sensual release that was the embodiment of love and lust, and not the man who you intentionally possessed with the role of Seonghwa.

“So fucked out, Y/N, shit. Just look at yourself.” Wooyoung chuckled as he watched you coming back to reality, trying to blink away the haze of the climax. He had remained still, wrapped around you almost in a protective gesture, his chest serving as a support for your arched body. His own arousal was frustrating him, trapped under a layer of denim, the friction only making him more impatient.

“Vulgar, as always.”

“Says you – look at this precious little mess you made, my sweet. Or can I even say ‘my’ anymore?” He demonstratively twisted you, so you were facing him, and with the hand that was attacking your breast now on his hip, he lifted the other away from your pulsating sex and lapped up the nectar that remained on his fingers, eyes lowered and scrutinising you through fluttering lashes. The bulge of his crotch commanded your gaze, albeit only for a split second. You were far from being in a Wooyoung mood. You squeezed your legs shut, feeling the soaked panties rubbing against you, and rolled your eyes.

“So, why in the world did you do that?” your nonchalance was painfully fake, airiness taking away from any impact you had intended for your question to have.

“If I told you I missed you, what would you do?” he countered, throwing the ball back in your court.

“Tell you to shove that bullshit where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Way ahead of you there, sweetheart.” He winked, completely dispelling your sensual musings.

“Run that mouth one more time, Woo, I dare you.”

“Oh, so you want my mouth to treat you right too. How greedy. Plus, I bet you would much rather have a certain someone else do that.” He kept on going, goading you into a spat. What had previously been a joke now transformed into a hypothesis, and Wooyoung was keen to see how far you would go to keep the truth from him.

“Shut u-”

“I’ve seen the photos you have of him, sweetie. All ‘focused with tongue sticking out’, or ‘making a playful face in a selfie’. Even I can imagine as far.” He could see that he was close to cracking you.

In your vulnerable, stupefied glory, the barrier between your pursed, plump lips and cruel heart was as weak as it could be. He needed to hear that you did not love him anymore. Not because it would give him any particular relief. Mainly for minimising regret over his actions. Convincing himself that what you two had was long gone and you were stuck in a routine. He needed to hear you say it. Wooyoung needed you to utter the words, be explicit that you wanted someone else. He peered into your eyes, unwaveringly, in search for at least a hint. The rise and fall of your chest was still uneven, yet you managed to return a glare, outwardly unfeeling, unresponsive, and worst of all, indifferent. He wondered if his little act of service was actually an act of pity on your behalf.

“I’m leaving.” Silence turned to bitter disappointment. It was time to slip away, very noticed, but that was the intention. Wooyoung pulled you closer to him by pinching your collar, letting you observe how a natural grimace underwent a metamorphosis into a boyish grin, as though he genuinely wanted to wish you the best.

“Have a lovely day.”

“Have fun being a ‘hand me down’,” you mercilessly quipped, fed up with his taunts. If one were to objectively compare you and him, the answer to who was the instigator of this shipwreck was clear enough. You were confident that it was not you, since up until this point, you had remained strictly theoretical, and did not dare bring up neither his unfaithfulness nor your dissatisfactions. “Fuck, I have got to change these now…” you stated, mainly to yourself as you hopped off the stool and made a beeline for the bedroom to grab a fresh set of lingerie.

Wooyoung fell into deep contemplation, leaning back on the counter with his elbows, and letting out a soft whistle. So, you did know of his escapades, as he had assumed. He had to give it to you, you were a phenomenal actress, and all these months that he had been indulging in one temporary partner after another, you had maintained a cool demeanour, letting your own evolution and walk through life without considering him in the present nor the future. Had you really so readily accepted his dismissal of you? His disrespect? Were you not seeking… vengeance? Could you not openly hate him for his sake?

He regarded you with indignation as you rushed from room to room, intent on ignoring his presence. Had you spared him any more emotion than basal instinct, even if it was just demanding his silence with rude yells, Wooyoung would have been content. But all he had left now was to watch your silhouette, now donning that oversized shirt dress, gathered at the waist with a black leather corset which had never failed to drive him wild, disappear out of the apartment, front door shutting softly behind you and leaving him alone with his demons and the divine shapes of your body that his hands had memorised. For the first time on his own volition, he cancelled that day’s rendezvous. He would only be able to think of you, anyways.

You were late. Terribly late. And no excuses about public transport or traffic could cover for you. And like hell you were going to say to your boss that you were late because you were fantasizing about him while your cheating boyfriend fingered you. To be frank, you could mention that you could not board the trains since they were overcrowded, but you encountered the issue only because you left the house at peak commute time, like an utter fool. Shame had settled into you as you were travelling across the city, squeezed between passengers, faceless and much the same as one another. You had tried to avoid touching anything, relying on your platform shoes to give you balance - you did not want your filth to embed itself into the doors and handles. How was what you had allowed yourself to do at all appropriate? And how had you conceded to Wooyoung's accusations and teasing, accepting his conjectures as soon as he played into your darkest dreams? Stuck in this blameful loop, you had almost missed your stop and had a number of glares sent and not so kind words muttered in your address, as you lurched through the crowded carriage by sheer inertia from the train stopping, and out of the doors.

It was nearly forty minutes past the hour on which you had agreed to begin preparations today, which meant even less time until the arranged boudoir shoot with the model Seonghwa had signed to work with. Thankfully this did not require too much effort, since for the most part you and your boss had the bright idea of beginning last night: setting up the backdrops, readying the series of props and leaving the clothing rack with pre-selected outfits out by the set. But the fact that you broke a promise that you had made to your boss, the master, was what aggravated your brooding.

Once you flew up the stairs that led from the entrance to the main part of the studio, you crept into the space nearly folded over. Bowing repeatedly in apology, you could barely see where you were going, and instead of making an uneventful entrance, were halted by a hand on either one of your shoulders, grinding you to a halt and making you straighten out.

“Woah there, beautiful, don’t run me over.”

You went pale as you came face to face with none other than your boss. The one who you had just been thinking about in less than professional ways. You grinned at him sheepishly, lowering your head and choosing to focus on his outfit. Black Oxfords, slacks and shirt, black hair in the elegant 4:6 parting… of course he would be embodying this timeless hue. He had explained to you before: the reason why he was dedicated to the monochromatic palette was because if one were to consider its formulation, black was the most ‘colourful’. Seonghwa was enamoured with everything around him, and thought its predominant use to be the optimal method of honouring nature.

“Hey, my eyes are up here.” He chuckled, while adjusting the top of the dress from invisible creases, giving you a discreet onceover. It was impossible for you to remain composed, and an indecipherable amalgamation of ‘sorry’s and haphazardly mashed elaborations that all amounted to nervous white noise began to pour.

You were cute when you were shy, he concluded to himself as he took in your presently meek form, cooing that you need not worry. Though the illusion was broken as soon as he spotted what was, unmistakably, a fresh hickey that was only just gaining prominence on your delicate neck. A playful smirk threatened his lips as he raised an eyebrow and cut your monologue short.

"A kiss from your boyfriend wishing you a good day at work, my love?" The odd combination of words sent your heart ablaze. It was like Wooyoung's existence did not matter one bit to him, he was above it.

"Huh? What, sorry?"

"Your neck." You were caught off-guard by the handsome brunette pointing at his own neck, and then tilting his head towards you. An unreadable smile was on his lips as he watched your checks heat up and you stuttering out a barely audible curse. It was endearing, watching how you, normally unphased and professional, crumbling at the slightest mention of something even the tiniest bit suggestive if it was related to you.

Did you want to appear 'pure' in front of him? Unaffected and innocent? Whilst it was admirable that you had been holding out for so long, be it because of your so-called commitments or something darker, it was the not-so-subtle glances you sent in his direction that drove him to the brink of insanity, igniting a demonic creativity that led him to shoot one masterpiece after the other. Your hesitation blended with an undeniable desire was his strange addiction.

When Seonghwa had met you at his exhibition all that time ago, within you he saw a sophisticated fragility, like that of a precious artwork, or of a spring flower. At the beginning of your journey as a photographer but showing much promise, the sparkle in your eyes left him dizzy. There was something about you that reminded him of a cherub, a sweet creature untainted by misery and heartbreak. Or so was his initial perception that had given him the push to take a deeper interest in you. As he observed your rise in the circle, be it through his extensive web of connections or his own eyes, he noticed your expressions morph into showcasing a grotesque chiaroscuro. A daunting heaviness of your portrait miniseries for a class, where you had placed every pore, every wrinkle of your subjects under scrutiny in the stark light, left an inkling of fear and concern in Seonghwa's heart. This was work done in passing, an experiment for a module where you had to present your interpretation of an assigned theme, with yours being 'heartbreak'. He had found out about it by accident while catching up over a coffee with your professor for that class. And yet, it was this collection that demolished any doubts that he might have had about your future as an artist. You lived through each portrait. Your soul was shared with the model, and immortalised. A collection of portraits of people who had lost love.

You had a story to tell, and what better way to do it than through photography? Any description of his joy when you had asked if his offer of mentorship and fulltime work was still standing would be an understatement. He wanted to play a part in your development. To help you harness the immeasurable talent you had and give you the opportunity and resources necessary for a newcomer to the otherwise cruel industry. Seonghwa felt the urge to be your protector, someone who you could turn to and rely on. While you two maintained a professional relationship, he could not help but treat you with extra care and affection – it came naturally. And it only increased once he found out that, apparently, you had an excuse for a significant other. What little rationality he had left when it came to you proclaimed he should distance himself, but by a risk-hungry democracy, he only inched closer to the fire. Although you were always hesitant to share anything about your partner, he managed to piece the facts together. You were hanging on by a thread, and Seonghwa wanted to cut it and be there to catch you.

He felt it tighten once again as you dashed for the full length mirror standing in the corner of the room, inspecting the bruised skin, mortified. If only he could have the key to that gorgeous mind of yours to know just what you were recalling as you stared into the mirror and attempted to raise the collar of your dress to cover it, but to no avail. The corset – a neat contraption with a convenient zip at the back, highlighting your graceful features, was holding the article stubbornly in place. As you began to search in your bag for the concealer which you just so happened to forget due to the disturbance of your routine this morning, Seonghwa stalked towards you, raising his hand to place it over yours, reducing agitation to mere shock. The surprise on your face as he guided you into a more relaxed stance accelerated the pace of his heart to unprecedented heights.

“Do not worry about it, hey, look at me, Y/N, are you okay?” you had refrained from lifting your head.

Everything was going wrong, and you were the only one to blame. Automatically, you moved to cover the hickey, pressing a palm against it. Did Wooyoung do this on purpose, to send some sick message to you and your boss? Claim ownership over someone who was, emotionally, already lightyears away? How you despised that man, but even more, how you despised yourself for the utter lack of control you had. Splitting into thousands of pieces, you offered too many parts to the one and a half years of an illusion, clearly not having enough left to make a concrete decision and dare to spread your wings. Even if you were to be burned by the sun, you would give up anything for the smallest chance to not be plagued by the conundrum and would soar. The ghost of a touch that Seonghwa applied to your knuckles sparked your internal pleas, and again you availed yourself of safe formality, and let apologies overflow.

Confused, Seonghwa let the weight of his hand become more noticeable as he turned you a little more towards him, meeting you half way with a side step. Taking the purse out of your hand and setting it down on a painted bench set right by the mirror, he was about to pull you even closer but hesitated.

“Sorry, may I put my hands on your upper arms?” you glanced up to meet Seonghwa’s earnest expression, “Would it be alright with you?” only once you nodded did he let himself do just as he had explained, and lightly squeezed the muscle. “Y/N, what happened, talk to me.”

This man was going to be the death of you. Asking for permission over things Wooyoung did not even consider. Ever. Not even when he was just trying to ‘woo’ you, for the lack of a better word. If your heart had not melted before, it sure did now, as Seonghwa continued whispering phrases of reassurance, concerned but not pushing you to reveal more than you wanted. Presenting himself as your safe haven. He was normally open about physical affection with those close to him, but respect was an even higher priority.

“Seonghwa, I-… I am not sure I can talk about it… at least right now.” You mumbled, dropping your arm to your side.

“I get that. Sure. You okay to do the shoot? If you need to go home-”

“Anything but home! Uh, I mean, yeah. I am okay. I just need to cover this… thing… thank you for spotting it. And again, I am so sorry you had to set all of this up and I am a mess and-”

“Ma belle, what you need to cover is your responsibilities. So, if you’re sorry, get to it.” The sudden sternness snapped you out of your mental drift, and you widened your eyes. His finger dug into your skin, not quite as strong as to leave marks, but enough to make the temperature begin rising. Voice dropped into a whisper, but still bearing traces of near maternal attentiveness, he explained:

“The make up artist will be here in about fifteen minutes, but I assume you don’t want anyone to see it, so if you don’t mind, I have an accessory for you to try on.” He moved away to stride to a cabinet on the other side of the room and retrieved an item from one of the drawers.

Upon closer inspection, you recognised the item to be a thick black leather collar, with a circular silver detail at the front. This was a prop from one of the shoots you had collaborated on a couple of months ago – a series that took inspiration from dominatrix culture and bondage. Your cheeks began to heat up as Seonghwa raised it closer to eye level, and smiled sweetly, as if he did not have the same association with the object as you did.

“This should do it. And if not, you know we have some items with more… substantial coverage,” you hummed in agreement, unsure of how to proceed. Seonghwa was expectant, motioning for you to let him help with the choker.

Not finding any reason to disagree with the proposition, you lifted your hair, while he walked behind you and slid the item around your neck, positioning and fastening it in such a way that the bruise was fully concealed. As he worked on the miniature buckle, a strong sense of déjà vu overtook you, making you even more sensitive to his proximity. This was too close to what you had been playing in your head; a couple of steps going south, and it would be a re-enactment. You bit your lip nervously, listening to every breath.

When Seonghwa requested that you show the now completed outfit to him, the intensity with which he was affected by it was unforeseeable. He barely managed to utter a compliment, clenching his fist to suppress an urge to ruin the beauty. Here stood the one who he had been searching for in his art. The one who he had subconsciously been dedicating work to. The Aphrodite, and at the same time, the visionary and his partner in crime. And in that pretty collar, there was no longer any reminder that you should be off limits. The forbidden fruit. To hell with common courtesy-

Seonghwa dipped his head towards you, and once millimetres away, shut his eyes and sank into the feeling of his lips locking with yours. Just as he had thought, you were a sweet paradise, leading him into a paralysis - all he could ponder was how far he could go. You did not push away, joining him in the passionate abyss and getting drunk off his delicious and soft lips. In unison you were satiating your hunger, the current proximity simply not enough. To deepen the long-awaited kiss, you ran your fingers through his hair and gently tugged at the back, causing him to break away momentarily, revealing darkened, carnivorous orbs. He stepped even closer to you, his hips almost touching yours as hands travelled to your waist and pulled you in. Perhaps it was good that you had as little control as you did – or were just this willing when it came to this dazzling man.

There was no good reason for this to be happening. In fact, had your life been a show, most of the audience would likely say you were to blame, that you were a cheater, a whore living two lives, but to you even these seconds, turning to minutes, were worth it. With each caress you were erasing your memories of early morning, and of the fiend who, undoubtedly had organised his own fun. Didn’t a girl deserve to smile too?

Nothing felt real. Floating, life forever altered, relishing in the fact that there was no turning back. Finally, the thread snapped. A precious little bird, freed from the confines of losing oneself, day in, day out. Seonghwa noticed how you entered a flow state, hypnotised by the taste of your personal heaven. The Birth of Venus, your vibrancy brought to light by none other than him – couldn’t the other man see that you could not be carved nor moulded? You needed the spark, the energy, the worship. For that, you would go to the end of the world, but now, Seonghwa was the only one who had the power to choose if you did.

A sharp ringing of a phone interrupted your dizzying sensuality, making Seonghwa groan as he took out the vexing device from his pocket, flipping it to answer. As he talked, however, it was as though the moment still continued, with him not taking his eyes off you a single time, only motion being his mouth outlining the contours of your jawline, moving to your reddened lips to wipe away smudged lipstick. You could not move, fixated on his mellifluous low tone as he continued to admire you. Like you were his magnum opus.

“My darling, our time to shine. The whole crew will be here in five.” He covered the speaker, sharing with you what the manager on the other end of the line had stated. Unwillingly, he had to part from you, but was halted by your nimble hands cupping his face and returning the favour, clearing his face of any traces of your makeup. As a way of thanks, he turned to give your fingers a peck, a brief amused chuckle escaping him as you raised your eyebrows.

Though it was customary for Seonghwa to be a little more physically affectionate than most when it came to working in a professional environment, the significance of his attention towards you had changed drastically and did not go unnoticed by either of you. Each lingering caress held a universe, and served as silent reassurance, communication of the ongoing symbiosis between you and him. As he would reach over to grab a different lens, he would just so happen to brush past you, and send you, just you, a smile. While his hands were pressing all the right buttons, and he was uttering the right commands that the manager was translating to the model – as it turned out she did not speak a word of Korean nor any of the languages Seonghwa had picked up during his travels, and generally preferred to remain void of emotion, his thoughts were entirely on you. As he guided the model from one position to another, directed the feeling that she was supposed to be embodying, but ultimately failing, his only salvation was pretending what it would be like if you were on that chaise longue sofa, clad in elegant lingerie.

Far too many long, gruelling hours had passed by, and Seonghwa had shown far too much patience with the solemn, rigid woman on the set. The sun had already gone down, so he was trying his best to retake some of the shots, with you running from reflector to studio light, endlessly readjusting. Both you and him were winded, exhausted both physically and mentally as you, the model and the manager were the only ones left working – upon Seonghwa’s request, you had dismissed the stylist and makeup artist, agreeing that if any last touch ups were needed due to the heat from the lights, you would figure it out. Art school had taught you how to improvise in times of crisis.

At this stage, it would be better to simply wrap up for the day and pick up again tomorrow; it could be that the ‘energy’ for the shoot was off for someone, or everyone. Could be that there simply was dissonance between certain people on set. But it could not be any worse than what you had waiting for you at home, so, in some ways the long shoot was a blessing in disguise. With the new dynamic between you and Seonghwa to explore, you had almost forgotten about the fact that you had a significant other, at least until your phone began to ring incessantly in your bag, forcing you into a run across the room. As soon as you checked the caller id, your blood ran cold, and with a hardened expression, you swiped to answer.

“Y/N, hello there, sweetheart!”

“Hi.” You could not remember the last time Wooyoung had called you out of the blue. You thought that such behaviour had remained in the flirting stage for him.

“You sound stressed. Hard day at work?”

“Yes. It isn’t over yet, so I need to go.”

“Aw… And here I was, about to ask you what you would like for dinner.” He elaborated. You could hear the pout that he was undoubtedly wearing, along with some shuffling.

“Back so soon? No fun at work?” you remarked, implicitly jibing.

“Yes… terribly uneventful. Was thinking about you all day, replaying this morning…” he was acting too sweet for your liking, and for his present character. Had he been conversing with anyone else and you were listening in, you could have made more sense of it. But this made your skin crawl.

As he babbled away, your focus drifted. Never before had the man on the call felt so foreign – more distant than a stranger. It was like the dull words being uttered were entirely inaccessible, nothing more than the ghost of lost meaning, thrown into a gust of wind. His efforts were lost on you, for you had no heart to tolerate Wooyoung anymore. With an unprecedented tranquility, a conclusion had been reached, and it felt right to step away. That decision, that snap that you had been seeking had finally happened, and you were observing him while pretending to listen to the incessant chatter. The dream, the fresh start, the possibility. Seonghwa had captured your heart long before you had even met Wooyoung – so, maybe, it was you who had been unfair. Getting into a relationship when you had been simply fooling yourself.

A conversation between your boss and the manager, which had previously been level and measured out, was growing more heated by the second. You perked up at the elevated volume, and pulled the phone away from your ear to tune in.

“…I can’t work with her when she is not even trying to work with me!” Seonghwa exclaimed, clearly upset as a familiar southern lilt had seeped into the phrase, naturally deepening his voice and leaving his interlocutor taken aback. But not for long enough, as they recovered and snapped back:

“She’s pretty, isn’t she? Making her look good in a frame is your job, so, do it.”

Eyes wide, you whispered some excuse to Wooyoung, cutting him off mid-sentence. You wished you felt bad, to preserve some social dignity, but it was liberating to finally be the one to elicit shock.

"Honey, what did you say? I'm worried."

The fingers of your free hand curled into a fist as you registered the urgency in his voice. A drastic change from even a mere couple of minutes. You fell silent, processing your reaction. Why did you freeze? Why could you not just... leave?

"Y/N, darling, are you there? Do you need any help? I'll be right there if you need me..." he continued, concern growing with every syllable as you began to dig your nails into the soft flesh of your palm.

Part of you was still attached, it seemed. Some subconscious element that had been thoroughly trained by none other than Wooyoung, trained to believe him and only him. That toxic portion was still confident that he wished for nothing more except for you to be well and in a blissful harmony. In his shadow. A gifted sculptor, whispering watered down droplets of affection, softening up the clay of your innocent heart until he could leave his permanent mark. Wooyoung was here. Wooyoung wanted to be your creator. But the magic trick ceased to be impressive as soon as you realised, and now could take the risk to fight back.

"I'm okay, I'll... I'll see you later." You wanted to conclude the conversation as soon as possible, seeing as you could see that Seonghwa was beginning to lose his patience. It was a rare occurrence but unpleasant enough to avoid... at all costs.

"Is he hurting you?" A sharp jab, out of the blue, right into the arguments that you had been collecting against the man on the phone. He? Was Wooyoung really accusing Seonghwa of something you could not even begin to imagine him doing?

"What?" You mumbled, so quietly that it could have been to yourself.

"I can hear the shouting, Y/N. Not only is he overworking you, but... resorting to violence? Who does he think he is?"

Your eyes darted to the black-haired angel on the other side of the studio, about to hang his halo on a clothing rack in the strive to prove a point to a person who did not want to listen. Surely, that was an appropriate reaction? And was he not the one who gave you what you swore to be your first love-filled kiss?

"Sweetheart, just say the word... do you need to go home?"

Wooyoung was your boyfriend still, wasn't he? Many promises and commitments later, many months as one whole. He couldn't recommend something downright outrageous, since he would have to face your wrath in close proximity. Yes, you were still safe there. Home. Not perfect, but a home nonetheless. What did Seonghwa promise? Do? You were a colleague to him, a subordinate. An inexperienced photographer who barely graduated from being a pure amateur. Maybe you would be doing him a favour if you went home right now. Home to the person who had officially called you his.

"I..."

"Mm?"

"Y/N! Can you give me a hand?" You winced at the question turned command that Seonghwa boomed. It did little to dispel your assumption that Wooyoung might be right in saying you should leave, but at the same time, cleared your head just enough to realise that here you were again. Falling into the same pattern of blind obedience.

"Was it him? Say no!"

"Sorry what? Can't hear you I think you are breaking the connection is so bad so sorry I really did not understand bye-" you stuttered out, ending the call, and letting out a sigh of relief.

You felt dizzy. Exhausted. The brief conversation with Wooyoung had drained you more than the photoshoot, leaving you numb and dreading the end of the workday. Just how much strength would it take to cut all ties? You had not noticed that you had been absent-mindedly playing with the choker, and only when Seonghwa had sent a glare in your direction did you fall from your musings in a cold flash and followed his pointing gestures.

He was turning livid, his expression darkening. You slipped into the background, approaching the model, and gestured for her to follow you. Seeing as she was bored to be here, she was more than happy to follow you to the neatly folded pile of her clothes, paying no mind to the standoff occurring a mere couple of metres away. You cowered as the manager leered at you slyly, and dismissed yet another one of Seonghwa's rational suggestions for how to switch up the shoot to take at least couple of salvaging shots. As the model took her time to get ready, not having heard from her supervisor whether it was time to go or not, you saw Seonghwa's eyes bleed into a ghoulish abyss, barely containing what would be the foundation for a catastrophe.

“How about this, I can find another model, and you can find another photographer to complete this lady’s portfolio. I think both of us would be satisfied with that outcome.” he hissed, refraining from stooping so low so as to use informal language, even though the other man had been disregarding the common principle for the better, or worse, half of the day.

"Who, this... girl?" All eyes were on you, and you could not feel any smaller than you did at that moment. The manager gave you a wry side glance and crossed his arms. "Can she even model?"

"I'd say my co-creator and muse can model. Yes. And better than... many." Seonghwa bit back the offences that had accumulated, but the weight of his words was enough to hint at the lack of welcome. He nodded at you in an attempt to subtly share some comfort, but could not find your eyes, which were tracing lines between the white floorboards.

Muse. The title he had given you with such ease and pride. The title that no artist dared to use lightly out of fear of cursing their inspiration. A warmth spread over your body as the notion ate away at the embedded agitation, washing over the soul and taking, with each wave, the rotting floatation left behind by the person who wanted to sculpt your fate. A muse. And there was no better place for a muse than in a place of art and innovation. Wooyoung could enjoy his dinner by himself.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, it is late, and I don't think this should continue for any longer." The manager broke the silence, though nothing except his indignant utterance littered the ambience.

"Adieu."

The duo had departed, thankfully, in a hurry, with the manager practically pushing the lady with the stony face out of the door. As soon as Seonghwa, from his position by the window, having lifted the tulle away from it with two fingers, saw the pair appear on the street and start in the direction of the busier road that was in the studio’s vicinity, he let out a low, exasperated groan and ruffled his hair. The camera, which had weighed down on his neck not dissimilarly to a ball and chain, had found home on a high stool, while the photographer stormed towards the main set, and crashed onto the chaise longue.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight. His right arm was grazing the floor, while the other, palm pointed outwards, was pressing into the bridge of his nose with the wrist. One leg slightly bent, the other fully lying on the plush material, he had landed in a threateningly sensual position that set you ablaze. It was impossible to tell whether this was purposeful or not, but at that moment you began to question why this ethereal man had never made an official appearance in front of the camera. The lights gave him a mystical sheen, only further enhancing the dreamlike quality Seonghwa possessed. You took a tiny step closer, careful to not produce a sound with the thick rubber soles of your boots.

He was worn out. It was painted, clear as day, across his face, and yet he still retained a regal quality, his profile – a timeless elegance. He would not hurt you. It had to be a crude lie said in egoistic anguish. The magnificent individual before you was a healing luminescence, filling up the room, embodying it, spreading the monochrome across your universe until you were hesitant to even consider external matters. This had to be immortalised. You raised your mobile phone, swiping to remove the notifications of messages that Wooyoung had apparently sent you, instead switching to the camera. The angle was not perfect, since you were on the side, the outskirts, but with a careful zoom and some manual finetuning to the settings, you could see the opportunity for a shot. Steadying yourself, you adjusted your hold on the device, and snapped away.

An unfamiliar sensation began to course through you as you focused on Seonghwa’s every detail, eyes devouring him and guiding your secret shoot. The thrill of acting on your own accord, capturing an intimate moment for yourself only was leaving you feverish. Enraptured by his slightly parted lips, you went for an extreme close up, leaning further forward and adjusting the settings once again to drop the ISO to 280 and adjusting the shutter speed to a 1/750th. Through the lens you could witness divinity embraced by pitch black, broken only by his grace. One click. Another. You were losing rationality. Snapping away, hypnotised.

“Use the proper camera. It’ll be good practice.” You froze as you were met with Seonghwa’s smouldering gaze, sent right into the lens. With a gasp, you locked your phone and shuddered, flaring up in embarrassment.

“I-I am s-so sorry, I didn’t even a-ask-”

“Apologising to me an awful lot today, aren’t you?” you could not respond, and merely followed Seonghwa’s movements as he raised himself back up and, while still on the sofa, spun to sit facing you. Legs slightly spread apar, he positioned his elbows at the knees, and intently studied you with a smug grin. “A photographer’s calling is to capture beauty as they see it, so if anything, I am honoured, my love.”

A knot began to form in your stomach as you regarded the man. How could he treat your actions so lightly? Should he not be mad? Where was the enraged Seonghwa, who had been on the verge of letting hell break loose? His unreadable nature only proved to elevate your excitement, and you eagerly approached him as he beckoned you:

“Would you show me the photos, darling?” you nodded, taking a seat to his left and unlocking your phone.

Careful not to scroll up, nor to hit any buttons to unleash the guilty pictographic altar that was the candid photographs you had taken at earlier times, you clicked on the first one you had taken this evening and tilted the screen towards the interested man. Prior consideration of your actions as only adorable rapidly evaporated as he inspected the work, astonished by its quality. You had managed to surpass the awkward positioning of the equipment from where you had been standing and made the phone work with you. Seonghwa manoeuvred to be pressed against you, thigh to thigh, and used your startled state to fish your phone out of your hands and scrutinise the pictures freely.

Judging by the reluctance to let go, he could sense that you were hiding something from him. You were heavily interested in where and how he was swiping, and one of your hands was hovering next to his. It was his duty, and his pleasure, to find out what the fuss was about. There was something unequivocally compelling about your transfixion – no dispassionate photographer would be so loving and involved in any image. Even his own works, on occasion, exhibited the ‘technically perfect, and yet far removed’ quality. Seonghwa had a sneaking suspicion about what kinds of pictures you had, but did not want to show how the sheer idea affected him. As he indulged in your reflection on the screen, your trepidation proving irresistible, a spontaneous ruse spawned in his mind, and was rolling off the tip of his tongue in an instant.

“Y/N, could you get me my camera, please? This shot reminded me of one I had taken…”

Waiting for the moment you were outside of arm’s reach, making a beeline to the requested object, he pressed on the back arrow, and within a couple of clicks and scrolls, his guesses were confirmed. A hidden album containing only him. Bursts of his profile, his physique, occupying your gallery. You appeared to be quite selective in when you took the photos, too. More often than not, you emulated Rembrandt style lighting, and the pictures you had favourited were those that reminded him of ancient Greek etchings and sculptures. When did you have the time to do this? How had he not discovered this before? He could not wipe the smirk off his face in time as he saw your shadow fall over him. Far from innocent, weren’t you? The grasp over the camera grew slack, only saved by the habit you had formed of wrapping the strap around your hand to not let it hang loose. With a victorious raising of the eyebrows, Seonghwa turned the phone to you, showcasing what he had ‘just so happened to stumble upon’, and declared:

“I think we have a lot to discuss here, love. Take a seat.” Just when you were about to stiffly settle in the same place, he roughly pulled you to him and onto his lap, grunting as you collided with his powerful thighs. One arm immediately found your waist, fingers toying with the base of the corset, while the other, phone on display, rested like a guard over your legs.

“Now, let’s see… what a collection! How long has it been?” he scrolled slowly, making sure to elevate your sense of shame, though judging by your facial expressions, you were more than happy to be treated how you were at that moment. Eyes half shut, ragged breaths, you were alert and in anticipation. “You kissed me, so you can tell me.” He emphasised, raising up the phone to poke you lightly under the chin.

“A… about seven months…”

“Wow… and how long have you been together with mister Jung Wooyoung?”

“A year and a half…”

“And how long has he been… not satisfying you?” you gaped at Seonghwa in shock. He locked your mobile and set it aside, choosing to play with the metal loop attached to the choker he had picked for you, and tugging just enough for the pressure to build.

“What?”

“Well, evidently there is something that is not there anymore… and these hickeys don’t count, my love. So tell me, what is it?”

“Cheating. He is cheating...” It was challenging to muster up the courage to say the words out loud. It was the first time you openly acknowledged the act for what it was. No euphemisms, no bent truths. It was almost too much for you, as that lump in your throat that had formed during your last conversation with your boyfriend made an irksome return.

“How long?”

“I have had my suspicions for… eight months, confident for… three.”

“I see. I am so sorry, darling I-”

“Now who’s the one apologising?” You joked, a small smile returning to you as you let Seonghwa take the camera from your hands, his chuckle making you shiver.

“Then I hope you won’t need one from me when I do this,” Seonghwa’s voice dropped into a sultry tone before he traced your jawline with his fingers and closed the minimal space between you.

Hands roaming your body, gentle, barely there, treating you like you were a priceless centrepiece made of glass. Compared to the first you had shared, this kiss was an ocean, commencing with a series of lulling waves – a reminder that you need not worry about anything except yourself and what you desired. A crescendo with a building breeze, awakening you from a forlornness and leading you into a glowing, rekindled wanting. The climb towards the crashing tsunami, consuming you as, finally, you felt wholly acknowledged, adored, affirmed.

Your yelp was stifled as he deepened the kiss and let you down slowly onto the velvet fabric of the chaise longue, making sure that your head was lying on the miniature pillow in the corner of the seat by protectively cradling you. Once your back was against the material, Seonghwa hovered over you, a hand on either side while his right knee positioned itself between your legs, with it pushing your dress upwards. His tongue pressed against your teeth, begging for entrance which you readily allowed, and sighed at the feeling of it filling your senses, Seonghwa quickly becoming the only thing you ever wanted to taste. With a tilt of the head, it moved even deeper, while his body was radiating an immeasurable longing for you, its friction against yours nearly making you question your own sanity.

Once you broke apart for gasps of sweet oxygen, sharing the hot air and watching a lewd string of saliva stretch and break between you, you mumbled out a breathy question, which you knew to be your last as you were growing more and more desperate for this man’s heavenly touch.

“Seonghwa… but why?”

“You can only see me. I can only see you. It simply makes sense, no?” he responded, giving you a quick peck on your reddened lips, followed by a couple more on your cheek, until he was right by your ear, “Let me show you that you deserve so much more, darling. Let me show you worship. May I, my love?” his beautiful, dark eyes staring into yours as he awaited your agreement.

“Yes.”

“Très bien.”

With that, the choker flew off you in one swift swipe, and, suddenly, your neck was exposed to him. Hungry orbs trained on the mark that your boyfriend had left, and soon enough Seonghwa’s lips were abusing the same sensitive spot, teasing the skin. After giving it his love and special attention, he moved to another area right beside it, repeating the action, while his knee moved higher for more support, accidentally brushing against your clothed core. You could not help but use the opportunity to buck your hips a little to add to the pooling desire. Unfortunately for you, Seonghwa had caught on too fast, and with satisfied lick, rose up and pushed himself off the chaise longue.

He regarded you through half-lidded eyes, his own arousal starting to build. No longer were there traces of the other man on you. You were free to choose whomever, and you chose him – Seonghwa. This moment had to become timeless.

“Darling, as much as I would love to ravish you right here right now, we have some photos to retake.” He could barely contain himself as you whimpered with frustration, rubbing your thighs together. He reached over to grab the camera and your phone, and added a request for you to undress. Completely.

Erection rubbing against him as he ambled towards the stand, Seonghwa heard a zip, followed by a series of rustles. “You can throw them off set for now, I do not mind.” He called out, his back still to you. A thump, and quietude. Finally at his rightful place as photographer, he let himself retrain on the scene, and felt his heat rise to unprecedented heights. He realised – this was exactly what he had been imagining every time he had a model work with him. Every time he had anybody over, this was what had been guiding his vision. You. Only you. Sat patiently, waiting for his direction.

You heard the clicking of the aperture, and took in Seonghwa’s black-clad form on the stool behind the camera. It was easy enough to guess why it was uncomfortable to remain in one place, but you were not about to ruin the photoshoot. You were a professional, after all.

“Do you think you can show me how you touch yourself?” he asked, readying his camera. You were still a little shy, so he urged you on: “You have so many photos of me, darling, show me how you get off to them. I know you do, my love.” Blushing, you finally acted, and Seonghwa could not believe it.

Sliding a finger between your slick folds, you wetted it with your own arousal and began to rub slow circles over your sensitive clit, head tilting back.

“Legs a little wider for me,” a flash, “that’s it, well done. What are you thinking of, ma belle?”

“Ah… y-you…” the sinful mumble was electrifying, and one of Seonghwa’s hands drifted towards his bulge, which had grown even larger, starting to become problematic for his concentration.

“What specifically, Y/N?”

“H-how you could take me, right here.”

“Take you? Elaborate, tell me everything. And yes, just like that, beautiful.”

Your hand began to move faster, flicking the nub, while the fingers of your other hand took to producing unimaginable sounds as they curled to stimulate the clit even further and progress to glide into your pussy with ease. A course of flashes and clicks signified that Seonghwa particularly enjoyed this course, so you did not hold back and let yourself moan, whispering his name as your high started to approach.

“How you could- ah! Make me come. In any way- AH, Hwa, I’m close-” beloved fantasies floated before you as you continued your performance.

“You are gorgeous, Y/N, I’ll make you come, not to worry, darling, just one more shot, okay?” he cooed as he continued to palm himself through his trousers, watching you bring yourself to a euphoric ruin.

“I- I am n-not sure I’ll la-ast-” you cried out, the orgasm imminent.

“That’s perfect, Y/N, show me.” His finger hovered over the button, like a panther lying in wait to capture its next kill.

“S-Seonghwa!”

“Yes-”

A flurry of shots surrounded you as you shut your eyes and were hit by a satisfying climax that caused you to sink back into the sofa and left your sex pulsing, hot juices trickling out and coaxing Seonghwa out of his digital hiding. It was virtually impossible for him to contain himself any longer, so with a few quick changes to settings, he set an automatic interval timer, for the camera to continue capturing the intimacy, but now with him in the second starring role.

Not taking his gaze off you, Seonghwa slipped out of his Oxfords, and neatly folded his button up and trousers, while having been reduced to a miniscule tremor due to the never-ending pressure on his trapped member, which had already leaked precum onto his boxers. Another flash, and he was walking towards you, ablaze from how you studied him, so alluringly dishevelled and dedicated to him.

A real life Adonis, a mortal blessing seeking you out and yearning for your caress. His equally well shaped cock twitched as he stood off to one side of you, at an impeccable ninety degrees from the camera to capture his length and salaciousness of the scene. Having recovered from your high, you were enthusiastic to please and dropped to your knees as Seonghwa gave the member a couple of pumps. Crawling forward, you innocently opened your mouth, lolling your tongue out. A perfect picture, you knew it.

“Care to prepare me before I make you feel good, ma belle?” he did not need to ask twice.

As soon as he let his hand fall to his side, you replaced it with your own, and with the other massaged his balls, attentive to every flex of muscle, every groan he held back. Now, that was not acceptable. You wanted to hear this man say your name at least once if he truly held you in his heart. You shot him a quick look, and upon seeing that he had bit his lower lip and he was already hazy, took his tip in your mouth, circling it with your tongue and giving it a couple of light sucks. A gasp promoted your continuation, and you teased his hole while not ceasing to give his base thorough focus.

Shaken, Seonghwa could only manage a low, guttural moan as you moved to take in half of his length, still keeping up the intoxicating patterns with your tongue. He gingerly pushed a lock of hair out of your face, unable to utter anything when you gazed up with curiosity. With that, you took a quick breath, and by pulling yourself forward using Seonghwa’s legs, you took him in until the cock hit the back of your throat and caused tiny tears to well up.

“Ah- Y/N, you- mfph-” nothing had ever sounded better than this you leaned back, with only the tip remaining between your lips, and then slid back down,  speeding up as you listened to Seonghwa’s sinful vocalisations.

Feeling his member harden, you were about to pick up the pace even more, but your endeavour was cut short by Seonghwa placing his palm on your crown, and tapping you with his index finger a couple of times.

“Th-thank you, love, now I want to make you feel good.” A loud pop resounded as you removed yourself, resulting in the man fighting back a shudder. “Ah, but I don’t have-”

“I have the implant, and you don’t have to come inside.”

“Wasn’t planning to, love, I want to paint over you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Seonghwa sat on the chaise longue, much as he had done at the very beginning while still clothed, and reached out to take your hand and walk you to him. Only you existed to him, a realisation that turned to fact as he sped up your movements, roaming your body and helping you lower yourself onto his throbbing dick. Prior to giving him the full pleasure, however, you ran the soaked pussy lips, softened by a climax and yearning for more, across it, to coat and lubricate it with your nectar. And finally, you sank onto the member, the dizzying feeling of fullness making your walls clench around it, and Seonghwa’s nails dig into your waist.

He let you remain motionless to get used to him, and to have the camera do its magic, but was ecstatic once you rose again, and began to ride him while lazily rolling your hips. You were now moaning without inhibition, Seonghwa’s name sounding simply right. When you cried out, his cock hitting at just the right spot, he rushed to soothe you by stroking circles over your pelvis, but the concern quickly dissipated as you uttered, much to his delight:

“Seonghwa, this is so-so good…”

“You’re perfect, my love. So perfect for me.” He mumbled back, kissing your shoulder blades.

Only fate could have brought him to you, or you to him. It was as though you had been made for one another, fluid and communicating through exquisite body language. A flash. Another. A priceless collection marking yours and Seonghwa’s evolution into a divine creative partnership. Undefined by standards, understood by inspiration and artistry.

“Mm, love how you fill me up so well, Hwa, please-” the knot in your stomach continued to grow as you grinded on his dick.

“So amazing, my darling, my muse.”

Seonghwa reached over and stimulated your clit while your breathing turned shallower, and you attempted to speed up. The action proved difficult, as with your climax fast approaching, your movements became more disjointed and dysrhythmic. Clearly, they became so uncontrollable, that he decided to take matters into his own hands. Melting into his touch, you followed as he stood up, careful to keep his member inside of you, and told you to bend over, keeping your ass up in the air.

Arranging for the best angle, he checked the camera, and, once confirming that the shot was going to be ideal, inhaled and glided his length into you, progressively picking up the speed until what had been a slow exploration was now him pounding into you, skin on skin, slapping against one another. You let out the uncontainable yelps of pleasure, tuning into a higher and higher pitch until your comments were mere incoherent babble. Thoughts clouded over, you could only focus on Seonghwa and your state on the verge of orgasm.

“AH…ah… Please… Hwa… don’t stop- I’m about to-”

Your yell was interrupted by him increasing the pace to an unprecedented level, accelerating you into an unthinkable crash as you shook with your climax. The way in which you enveloped him, and how you reacted to his demands and touch was becoming too much, and a bead of sweat was threatening to roll down his face as he prayed he would not come while your pussy clenched around him, the walls mercilessly pulsating as he built himself up to his high, which came sooner rather than later, and only just in time did he manage to pull his member out, and watch as strings of cum decorated your lower back and buttocks.

You collapsed on the floor, while Seonghwa fell onto the chaise longue, the back hitting his, and the two of you silently rejoiced in a shared ideal, illuminated by the continuing flashes.

“My love?”

“Mm?” you hummed, listening to Seonghwa stepping around you and shutting off the camera, only to approach you again.

“May I pick you up? Let’s go get cleaned up.” Sleepily, you raised your arms and let him lift you up, first to stand, and next to pick you up bridal style, making you giggle. “Off to the showers we go! Oh, the benefits of having a guest room at work.” He rambled light-heartedly, pecking you on the cheek, grinning, and disappearing into a dark corridor.

For the first time in a while, you felt, as Seonghwa had said, satisfied. Nothing could be more right.

You had insisted that you still needed to go home, even though it was long past midnight. But you did promise that, on that exact morning, you were going to break the news that you were leaving your soon to be ex. Life was looking brighter, and the taxi driver had already called you and Seonghwa a couple, which both of you had actively welcomed.

“I am going to Europe. In two weeks.” The brilliant young man stated as he held your hands in his while standing by the taxi, at the entrance to your apartment building.

“Oh… uhm… where?” you tried to conceal your disappointment, failing miserably.

“Brussels.” The cheeriness in his voice confused you, but as you tried to pry yourself away and mumble a “Bon… voyage?”, he beamed and embraced you.

“Two tickets, darling. You are coming with me. And I won’t accept no for an answer.”

“Then I won’t say no. All the more motivation for me, Hwa.” You snuggled into his trench coat, memorising the aroma so it could help you last the next few hours in that damned apartment.

“Let me know how it goes, okay?” his concern did not fail to make your heart flutter, and you hugged him tighter.

“If you see me at your doorstep in these same clothes, you’ll know it went… supremely well.”

“That’s why you have your good luck collar on.” Seonghwa joked, freeing one arm to poke your leather-covered neck.

“Ha, sure. Well, I’ll be off and see you soon.”

Sharing one final kiss, you departed into what you were looking forward to no longer call your home.

Upon entry, you needed a moment to adjust to the darkness. Assuming Wooyoung was asleep, you decided against entering the bedroom and occupying the sofa. If you were to breakup, it was better to start hyping yourself up early by separating yourself. There was no emotion attached to the walls, to the rooms, to him anymore. You just wanted out. As soon as possible. There was no place for you here, not when Seonghwa was waiting.

You lied down on the couch, exhausted, and what you had assumed to be five minutes of shuteye quickly turned into a deep slumber, recounting the beautiful revelations and your destined happiness. If only the man who was blankly staring at the ceiling, felt the same way. But it was impossible to, after he had spent the entire day lost in memories of you and him, of how you had been before he had gone astray and found temporary fun.

He had prepared an elaborate dinner in an attempt to impress you, only for it to be stuffed into plastic boxes to grow cold and inedible in the refrigerator. Had grown sick with worry over your disappearances and ignorance of his emotional state. And then, the final straw. You, and him, revoltingly enamoured, sharing saliva right under his damn windows. Wooyoung had vowed, today, to change, so who had allowed you to do what he had done? Were you not better than that?

Wooyoung crept out of the bedroom to at least catch a glimpse of you, and there you were a sleeping beauty. He had never seen you smiling in your sleep before. It was because of him, wasn’t it? That bastard, stealing what was not his. Or were you just so ready to give yourself away? Were you not the epitome of loyalty, standing by Wooyoung’s side no matter what? Who gave you the right? No, this could not be. This was wrong on all levels. This was not you, this was an impostor. A possessed version of you, about to do something you would regret. How could he prevent you from leaving, he wondered, toying with the clay-cutting wire in his hands.