#the medieval clothing got me

[poorlemons]

im falling into a phase of faux historical outfit drawing

[softersinned-arc]

@balldwin said: [ TUG ]: the sender tugs the receiver close against them by resting a hand against the small of their back, pulling them flush against their body.

She wakes at the first blush of morning, a sliver of the sky visible from a gap in the curtains and glowing a pale violet. It catches her off guard some mornings, when she wakes here, and if she asked him to move the bed he certainly would, but the moments afforded to her now are precious and rare, and she guards them. She remains still for a long moment, listening for a change in his heartbeat, and when she hears none she turns, slowly, slowly, to face him, taking care not to disturb his rest.

          The older she gets, she’s been promised, the deeper she’ll sleep; as it is now even the subtlest change in the light can wake her. Some part of it is, no doubt, the natural consequence of a long period of adjustment. Even as a warmblood, Astoria loved mornings, and she woke early even on the days she could sleep in. And she would climb quietly out of bed and tiptoe in bare feet across the floor of her bedroom to the balcony, where she would sit, balanced carefully on the railing, her knees drawn to her chest and her arms around her legs and her hair loose as she watched the sun climb and color ripple through the sky.

          A few of the habits of her first life have remained with her—the way she holds her breath as she settles again, watching him for any sign of change, is one of them. But Baldwin sleeps, and after several minutes she relaxes.

          It’s not the first time she’s woken in his bed; she doubts it will be the last. Last night, as she has half a dozen other times, she leaned in his doorway and waited, a crooked smile playing at her lips, her curls damp but drying behind her, wearing a nightgown and nothing else. The woman he had been entertaining, perhaps expecting to stay the night, had stared back at her with open hostility; she looked to Baldwin, obviously expecting some sort of defense, but he’d only laughed under his breath and stood to gather her clothes. Astoria had noted with some pleasure that they were nearby, no doubt left there in anticipation of her arrival.

          (She’d excused herself when he arrived home with her, feeling agitated and ill at the thought of hearing what she knew would follow, and had gone out to hunt, asking the woman to attend to her to have a bath prepared in two hours’ time. He didn’t keep her as a prisoner or demand to know of her comings and goings, and so she took her time, savored the hunt. Perhaps she should have anticipated it but instinct drove her to seek out something, anything that reminded her of his scent, of saddle leather and fire, and it took her out of the city, towards the woods where a pair of highwaymen had settled in for the night. For near an hour she watched them, made noise only to stoke their growing fear. The savagery of their wounds would suggest an animal attack of some kind; she left them with enough blood in their bodies not to prompt suspicions that the attack was the work of wearh and came home with her cheeks flushed and blood soaking the front of her dress, hidden beneath the cloak she kept held closed around her.)

          (She heard the movement on the second floor slow when she entered and she smiled in spite of herself—she had felt his eyes on her through the window when she left and she could feel his awareness of her now, could practically hear the sharp intake of breath when the sweet perfume of blackberries and plums, colored by the heady scent of blood, reached him. As he could no doubt smell when she reached the top of the steps, deliberately taking her time and allowing the wood to creak beneath her feet. As he could no doubt smell when she unwrapped the small bar of white soap and began to wash the blood and dirt from her skin and hair.)

          And when the unwelcome guest was gone, shown out by the same woman who had drawn Astoria her bath, Astoria climbed into the bed beside him without a word and settled in to sleep, pressed close against him, determined to overwrite his lover’s scent with her own. He’d been amused by her jealousy and possessiveness, as he always was, and welcomed it.

          It’s something softer that directs her now. The sliver of light takes on a warmer tone as the sun climbs slowly higher and she settles her gaze on his sleeping face. These days it’s easier to understand what it is she feels for him—desire, certainly, and hunger, and need, and she understands all of this well enough without much thought, though the intensity of what she feels leaves her breathless at times. But there is something else, something that overrides even desire, something warmer. She thinks of the mornings in Henry’s court that she woke alongside Iain and remembers thinking that she understood love and she realizes now that what she felt then was a pale and poor imitation, and that she was a fool to believe she understood much of anything.

          The slope of his nose drives her to distraction. The curve of his cheekbones could make her mad. One morning she found herself so enamored with the freckles on his forearm that she idly began to count them. Yet another morning she searched out the shadows cast by his eyelashes. The sound of his heartbeat, his breath, his blood is a song—and as a witch she heard blood singing to her all the time but as a wearh the only blood that sings is his, slow and sonorous. She used to imagine she heard God in the water around her but this sound is infinitely sweeter than God’s voice could ever be.

          You sound like autumn, she’d told him once, finally finding the words to describe it and delivering them with absolute wonder, like the last thunderstorm before snow. It had been her favorite sound, and she had been certain that after death, she’d never hear it again. That first time she recognized it she cried, leaving streaks of pink down her face that he swept away with his thumb,

          She listens now, and she watches the way his face glows in the warming light. When he wakes she’ll have to share him with the world: he will be a de Clermont again, and everyone and everything will demand his attention. He’ll find the woman she drove away last night, or someone new, to tease out that jealousy again. Or perhaps he’ll focus the staggering weight of his attention on her and revel in the way he can throw her off-balance, like no one else. No; she hadn’t been in love, then, even when she and Iain laid tangled together and made promises they had no hope of being able to keep. She had been infatuated, but it hadn’t been love.

          This—so profound a physical sensation it leaves her weak at the knees, so deep that it reaches into her body and makes a home in her bones—this is love, and it is incomparable. He is incomparable. And when he wakes she will do what she must and share him with the world, and bite her tongue when the urge to tell him that she loves him so much she doesn’t know how she can bear it, to have all of that love inside of her, begins to overwhelm. But in these moments he belongs to her, and only her. He is Mars at rest, fierce even in his slumber like a sleeping lion, and beautiful. She thinks of the artists she loved as a girl, the sculptor her grandfather patronized and the way he could coax the shape of a face beneath a veil from a block of stone, and she thinks that even the most delicately detailed of his creations ugly and crude in comparison.

          She’s about to try and chase another hour’s sleep when his eyes open. The first thing he sees when he wakes is her face, her hair a mess around her and her features framed by that same sliver of light by which she’s been admiring him. Mars gazing upon Duellona, the god at rest beginning to stir. The corners of his mouth quirk upward and the sight makes her breath catch in her throat.

          Someday she’ll tell him everything. Today the words are nowhere to be found, though she lets her lips part as if she hopes they’ll come out all the same—but no words suffice when she wants to tell him that he is her heart and her ribs and her lungs. Baldwin rolls onto his side and tucks an arm under his head as he does, his other hand coming up to take her chin and his thumb stroking a slow and tortuous line along the curve of her lower lip. When her breathing is sufficiently ragged and her cheeks are flushed with pink, he releases her, lets his hand skate over her arm and down to her side before he settles it at the small of her back.

          Gently, he pulls her closer, as close as he can, until they’re chest to chest and she’s staring up at him with wide dark eyes, her pupils blown so wide there’s barely a ring of honey gold left around them. And then he rolls onto his back again and draws her with him, so that her head comes to rest on his chest; he moves his hand again to catch hers and he rests both against his sternum, and when she looks up at him again his eyes are closed as if he intends to fall back asleep. She hooks her leg over his, settles comfortably against him, and he lets out a quiet huff of laughter.

          She could try to speak now, but she thinks it would shatter the peace around them, and so instead she remains silent. She falls asleep again minutes later, with her ear pressed to his chest and her fingers laced into his, and the sound of autumn storms filling her head.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Run Away To Me (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, being hunted/chased, medieval period-esc standards, arranged marriage insinuations, toxic family insinuations, angst, protective Johnny?, etc.

A/N: This series is so Lord Huron coded

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You rush through the low-hanging branches of the reaching pines, their green arms tearing at the once perfect and virginal white dress clothing your body; waves of delicate fabric like bird’s wings. Shredded and torn, you sob in large gasps while the shouting gets louder behind you—the pound of vile hooves along cobblestone. 

“After her!” Blood was rushing down a long slice in your palm, dripping to the verdant grass as you traversed the off-trial paths, the roads of animals and bandits—monsters in the night. 

Flashes of torchlight had gone out long ago, the rain slamming the ground with ancient purpose as the storm got angrier. Tree trunks slam into your shoulders, the wedding dress ripping away in strips as pine needles pierce the bare skin of your feet. Your shoes had slipped off as soon as you had started this mad dash. 

“She went this way! Quickly!” You run faster, shuffling down a long hill as mud gets packed into your flesh; infecting wounds with its slimy make-up. 

“Please,” your voice begs lowly, hiccuping out vowels as you drop to your knees at the bottom of a ravine before you sob and grit your teeth. Wading through the stream of chilled water, you dig into the ground and shove yourself up on shaking legs as rain pelts your head. “Please, I can’t go back.”

Even your thin clothes are heavy on you—body weighed down by terror and a desperate plea. Because what you said was true. You can’t go back. Can’t go back to the search party, can’t go back to the ceremony…and you can’t go back to the man you were supposed to marry. No, you’d rather face the woods. 

Scaling up the other edge of the ravine, you slam a bloody hand down to the rocks atop, pebbles flying past your face as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminates your field of view. Noises reminiscent of an animal carve their way out of your esophagus, teeth gritted as feet slip and strain. 

You heave yourself over and fight the weakness in your arms. Coughing, you pray the storm will wash away any trace of your charge to freedom—the blood and the tracks. With any luck, the hounds won’t be able to pick up your scent even with the strips of your dress left behind in the branches. 

Pushing away the water from your forehead, you stumble onwards on unsteady feet that pound with pain. Grasping at your gushing palm, you cry out as the burning pain echoes up your forearm.

“Whatever God is out there,” You speak in gasps, slurring the words as your dry throat grates. It’s all but lost to the wind in its great bouts of staggering attacks through the trucks of the trees. “Please, offer me sanctuary.” 

Lightning is the world’s answer, more streaks of light that make your soaked body flinch and shake even more. Yet, in that tiny second of light, there had been something in the far distance—a shadow. 

Your eyes peer harder, the calls from the riders suck in the back of your mind as they taper off as the search is re-routed. 

What was…?

Wooden sides, three separate rectangular shapes that stand firm in the rampaging elements. Your feet slide over the ground as you limp in the direction you’d seen them, the flesh of your body so cold that you had gone numb in the sheets of rainfall. 

A heart fills with senseless hope.

A homestead! With no other option, you take a deep, ragged, breath and continue on as quickly as you’re able; dress hanging off one shoulder. When you reach the front door some ear-ringing minutes later you’re barely standing upright—legs teetering and thighs shaking with dying vigor. 

Panting, your first banging to the wood is weak at best, barely a sound above the thunder and the slap of rain. You strangle a sob and wrench your shoulder back, landing three hard hits that act more like punches. Pain blossoms in your hand, but you continue striking the wood. 

There’s a loud ruckus from behind the blackened barrier, a yell, and before your knuckles can make themselves bleed from fear-filled adrenaline, the door is whipped open. A dim firelight spills out from a low hearth and you find yourself staring into the narrowed eyes of a man and his exasperated expression. 

There’s the beginning of a growl, heavy with an accented voice, “Now who in the hell is—!”

A strong jaw goes slack, brunette stubble stilling. Blue eyes like cobalt instantly peel back to show the whites, words strangled away in a sharp inhale. 

The man is in his late twenties, stocky, and clothed in a loose sleep shirt made of thin linen with black pants. His shoulders were near large enough to knock on the frame of the door as he stood in it, built with the strength of a boar and then some. His large, lightly-tanned hand on the door slackens as his eyes speedily dart down your disoriented form. Biceps the size of your skull.

Heart hammering, you stare for a moment longer, rain pelting your back and looking like a wet dog. It’s as if you’ve forgotten to speak beyond gasps for air, but your eyes implore enough for you. The stranger recovers from his surprise at seeing such a beautiful lone woman at his door with a clearing of his throat.

“...Christ, Dearie, you’re soakin’ wet out here.” He shoulders the door open wider without another question. “Inside, now, quickly.” 

You wrap your arms around your waist and speed into the shelter of the home, water dripping down to the wood as you shiver and your teeth clatter. Not for a second did you think if this might be safe or not, too scared of the riders and their hounds than anything. You wouldn’t allow them to drag you back to your husband-to-be. Not in a million years. 

Your voice is hiccuping as you speak.

“I…I don’t mean to i-intrude, I’m very sorry, Sir.” The man looks around his home before he spots a large bear fur by the messy bed in the corner—he rushes over and grabs it. “I ask forgiveness for w-waking you at such an hour.”

“Jesus, is that what you’re worried about?” Blue eyes crease at you as the heavy fur over your shoulders; your hands snap to catch it, the entire thing swallowing you as gaze up in confusion. The man frowns, staring back as water drips from your nose. “Let’s just focus on gettin’ you dry, yeah? You’ll catch your death like this, Little Lady.” 

A wide hand presses to the expanse of your spine, prodding you forward as you squeak at the sudden contact. You’re guided to a small chair in front of the hearth, plopped down and the sides of the fur are hiked up to your neck quickly.

The stranger kneels down in front of you, focused, and his tired eyes alight with worry. He makes sure the fur isn’t going to fall as he blinks over the state of your hands. He pauses, his large grip stalling at the sight of spreading blood. 

Your wound—you’d almost forgotten. 

“Now what’s this, then?” The brunette's words are quiet, very in-tune with your state as you try to catch your breath and shiver. It was like coaxing a wild animal. 

Blinking, you shift your hand farther under the bear's fur, bringing it to your chest. 

“I won’t be here long, Sir. I promise,” you try to change the topic, but quickly jerk your nose into the crook of your arm as you sneeze, bending over slightly as mud and blood stain your skin. 

Lips tighten along a square face.

“It’s Johnny, Miss.” The world outside rages on, blocked out by the four walls of this nicely sized home of wooden logs and boards. It was well-made with pine and cider, the large hearth in the back wall with inlets near the shuddered windows and various crudely carved pieces of art. 

Weapon displays lined the walls, various makes and models hung on pegs. Axes and swords, spears with red-leather shafts set next to halberds of black steel. You blink at them in slight concern, not used to being around weapons. 

Johnny, as he calls himself, sees this and quickly explains as he rubs at the back of his head, eyes crinkling. 

“Ah, Johnny MacTavish, the blacksmith, that is,” a small, rough chuckle echos out. 

You ease at that. 

“Mr. MacTavish,” you give your name and offer a kind, yet still anxious, smile. “I give my thanks for allowing me shelter. A-and the fur.” 

His gaze slips down to your hidden hand once more, face swirling with an unidentified emotion before studying your torn wedding gown.

“Well, I’m not one to leave a person out on my doorstep in weather like this. Certainly not a Lady.” His brow raises, head tilting. “You going to let me clean that wound a’yours or am I going to have to fish it out myself?” 

Your body tenses slowly, bare feet shuffling over the floor. Staring at Johnny, you gaze at the strangely cut hair atop his head and the messy strands that speak to a night of shifting on his bed. His face is honest and open to you, blinking in soft question as his head angles to the side with an easy twitch of his lips. 

“It’s really not necessary,” you try to chuckle but it falls flat, eyes red and heart still speeding. 

Johnny sighs and glances at the fire, blinking before he shifts to grab another log and toss it in with no concern for the heat of the flame that lap at his fingers. You watch his muscles bunch under his shirt and quickly look at your lap. 

“I’m not the greatest doctor out there, Dearie, but I can do good with washin’ out a cut an’ wrapping it.” You study him and nervously tighten your lips. Johnny’s face seems to soften, hands going up and wrists tilting as his knee stays connected to the floor; firelight on his face. A small smile blooms. “C’mon, I’m not that scary of a bastard, am I?”

You spare a tiny chuckle, shoulders jumping as rainwater slips down your chin. Your shivering was still going on, and would until you got a change of clothes, but the warmth from the fire was helping tremendously. Already feeling was returning to your limbs. 

“Ah,” the blacksmith huffs a laugh, “there’s a smile. Now, let's have a little look-see shall we?” 

Under the fur, your hand lightly shifts, coming back into view, slit palm and all. Johnny’s eyes darken, face going serious behind his stubble. Brown brows turn in. 

“Now where in the hell did you get a—” Just as his gigantic hands were about to circle around yours, there was a violent knock at the door. 

You shoot up in an instant, jerking away from the blacksmith as he snaps his head to the front, eyes lighting. He stands up slowly as you back up a few paces, eyes frantically darting back and forth. The knocking starts up again and thunder peels from outside. 

Your form flinches.

“You can’t let them take me back,” you say quickly, breathing catching up in speed again. Fear burns your lungs and suddenly you’re ten times colder than before. “Mr. MacTavish, please, I can’t go back.”

Another round of knocking shakes the barrier. Blues eyes stare at you blankly, half-turned face pulled in visible confusion as Johnny’s jaw clenches. 

A voice echoes from under the door as the blacksmith once more lets his eyes linger down your battered frame; taking in cuts and the limp you carry. Muddy feet and water stained red. His hands twitch at his sides. 

“These are the guards of Lord Wilkin, would anyone in this home come to make him or herself known? It is of the utmost urgency!” You grow more fearful, head darting to find any other exit in this home but you land on nothing besides the windows. Your fingers shake with panic.

No, no, no.

Confusion gives way to deep concern.

A hand grasps your upper arm and you’re being hurried to the corner wall by the front door with fast feet and a firm, iron, grip. An accented voice mumbles quietly by your ear, “Keep quiet for me, Dearie. It’s alright, you let me take care of it.”

He stands you there and takes one last look at you, blinking, before grabbing the bear fur and pulling it above your head in a swift motion. There’s a quiet chuckle as you tense and slam a hand up to the brown material instinctually before Johnny darts around the corner and opens the door. You hold your breath and listen.

“Well, steamin’ Jesus, you bastards have any idea what time it is?! And in this damning weather, you show up at my door reamin’ on the wood like you’re the one who has to keep it anchored to the frame.” There’s a fast conversation of apologies and explanations that you can't catch above the yell of the rain.

“Does it look like I give a shite about a lost bride? Not my fuckin’ place to keep ‘er…I’ve seen nothing besides you…anyone out in this storm is as good as lost…” You listen and stay completely still, holding your breath as if it’s a prisoner in your lungs. 

You can hardly believe it. Why was this man…lying for you? A wounded stranger that had shown up at his doorstep in nothing but a tattered gown and babbling through tears. Anyone else would have turned you over—especially to your betrothed, Lord Wilkin. He owned these lands and held fiefs by all who lived here. Not a man to mess with, if your slit palm was anything to go by.

“Go on!” Johnny calls loudly, and the door closes a second later, the latch locking. There’s a moment of nothing, before the clearing of a throat and a soft call. “Well, they won’t be back, least.” 

He pops around the corner and smiles comfortingly. 

“Sorry about the yellin'.” You part your lips in innocent awe and you take a deep breath before speaking slowly.

“Why would you do that?” His expression tightens, crossing his arms over his chest. Under him, his large hips shift.

“Ya asked, didn’t you?” Your blank expression only serves to make him chuckle heartily, head shaking. Johnny hums, “I won’t press you about it all tonight, though I well should. You’re in no shape for it.” Cobalt eyes glance at the food before looking back up. “But I’m guessin’ you have a good enough reason to sneak off as I hear you did.” 

The very blood in your body heats with warmth.

You’re waved back over to the chair by the hearth. “Let’s get that injury looked at and I‘ll get you a change of clothes. You can take my place for the night,” eyes twinkle, “there’s no bed bugs in it, Dearie, knight’s honor.”

“What about iron shavings?” You call back softly, lips jerking up momentarily. The man’s actions had given you a large amount of trust in him. Johnny blinks in surprise at your joke, but a large grin grows moments later as you walk over delicately.

“Can’t say for certain, but I promise there’ll be no weapons under the covers. If anyone breaks in they’ll find my fists to be the first iron they get a touch of.” 

Your laugh bounces off the walls, hand coming up to cover your mouth in the picture of a cultured upbringing. Johnny chuckles in turn, looking smug. He liked your laugh, it seems.

“That was detestable, Mr. MacTavish.” You sit down, and Johnny kneels where he had been before—his hand outstretched where you carefully place your wounded limb. 

Immediately you feel the scrape of old burns and calluses, hands hardened by long hours of labor and intensive demands. You’re certain these are the hardest hands that have ever touched your skin, but it astounds you by how gently you’re being caressed and turned. People with far fairer flesh have never handled you like this. As if you would break apart with the barest of pressures.

Your breath stills as the blacksmith, with all the care of a butterfly, tilts your cut into the light and studies it, thumb absentmindedly brushing up and down your wrist. You hold back a shiver. 

“Ah,” he grumbles, still smiling yet more focused on your injury now. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You hum under your breath and try not to flinch when he wipes away a stain of mud near your wound. The blacksmith grunts to himself, gentle pressure at your flesh like the scuff of tree bark. But it wasn’t unpleasant. No, you thought, not at all. 

The two of you fall into a hole of soft silence, Johnny leaving for a moment to grab a bucket of water and bandages, saying in a mutter that he had plenty of the former to go around.

“Have a habit of burnin’ myself on my bad days, y’see,” he shimmies past, pausing before pulling back up the bear fur from where it had slightly slipped down your neck. “Comes with the job.”

Your face burns as he grabs what he needs, eyes stuck on your lap. You were astounded by the man’s ability to put away his obvious confusion for your care, how he was content to wait for answers until you were rested. It was honorable of him. 

Thinking back to Lord Wilkin’s guards at the door, your thighs shift over the chair. They’d be looking for you until they found you—be that days or months, it didn’t matter. The Lord wasn’t someone to let what he wanted get away from him. Like senseless beasts, your family would undoubtedly help. Your chest is stiff with worry. How would you get away with this?

The scene you’d made at the wedding wasn’t exactly subtle. 

Johnny comes back carrying a small bucket of fresh water, ladled from the wash basin, and a bundle of clean white cloth. 

“Alright,” he huffs, “let’s get this sorted, eh, Dearie?” The wound was very obviously a slice from a knife, anyone could see it. 

Johnny takes your hand once more and holds it in his palm, glancing up at you before dipping one of the cloths into the water and beginning to clean the cut. 

“Is it…bad, Mr. MacTavish?” You ask, worried about the likelihood of scarring. That would be the last thing you would want. The blacksmith looks up from where he pats the edges, the fabric already going red.

“Just Johnny, if it pleases you,” he smiles, hulking form seemingly all a facade to hide a cheeky and loyal Scot. “And…no, not bad. If you’re worried about a mark, don’t be—it’s deep but only at the beginning. A slight discoloration, no more.” His brows pull back, teasing, “You’ll not end up like me, at any rate.” Your shoulders ease back, and you let him work with a thankful comment and a giggle.

You watch and take in the way his jaw clenches and loosens as he works, completely focused as if he was fashioning an axe and not helping a complete stranger. 

“There’s no harm in scars,” you settle on saying, thinking over his last comment. Blues lock with your eyes, head tilting like a hound. Your face gains a slight heat to it and you stutter, “It’s just this one I’d rather not carry, Johnny.” Smiling warmly, you see the man’s lips part, his motions stalling for a moment as he looks up at you and blinks. “But yours suit you if…I’m allowed to say.”

It’s then that you realize that a slight flush has come to his cheeks, starting from under his stubble and leaking out to his cheeks like a red blaze—his gaze burrows deep with hidden fire that rivals the dancing shadows from the hearth.

Noticing, your own face burns all the hotter as the blacksmith quickly clears his throat, snapping his eyes away. Fingers once more cleaning your cut, he grunts out, neck now shifting to a blush of crimson, “...Thank you, Miss.” 

You stay in silence for the rest of the delicate process; the air heated and rolling with something. Electricity sparks when Johnny’s hands rub across yours, large enough to break you in an instant but acting like moss over a stone. You find yourself falling into a sort of comforted state you hadn’t felt in a long time—the fur over your shoulders and the tingle of skin-on-skin contact that expects nothing but offers all. 

“There,” Johnny says at last, and a part of you wants to cry when he pulls back, standing slowly. A firm but malleable wrapping is over your palm, a tiny knot tied in the middle to keep it from falling off. 

You bring it to your abdomen and blink, the other hand going to run over the material. 

“Thank you, Johnny. Truly. If I hadn’t found your homestead, I would have been lost.” The man rubs at the back of his neck, tunic bunched up by his elbows. 

“Gah,” after a second of bruising off the comment, he waves a hand while his wide chest puffs with pride. “It’s no trouble, really. Keeps me on my toes.”

Outside the storm continues to beat the walls, and the blacksmith can’t help but feel his eyes drawn to your dwarfed form under the large fur, the dripping water, and the weight of your gown. Based on the information from the guard, he had a decent story already forming in his head. 

A runaway bride and an angry Lord. By his own role as the fiefdom’s accomplished blacksmith, he should be turning you over. But your eyes had been flooded with tears when you’d pounded on his door; soaked in rain and mud—blood. No shoes. Freezing. 

You had looked so afraid, his heart had hurt for you, a strong need to shelter you stuck like a knife into his ribs. Johnny had seen much in his life, war, and death, but your desperation had stuck a cord in him. 

He’d keep you here with no charge, offer food and shelter, and do what he can to understand your situation. If not for simply hospitality sake, then because he had heard your laugh and had found it to be like a bird’s call in the wake of a dew-coated morning. Your soft skin like the wisps of fire from his forges. Your voice like a rippling spring. There was no way to describe the way he wanted to help besides to admit to himself that he was a good man. 

And, while cocky, the blacksmith had never once been self-absorbed.

He watches you rub at your damp cheek and starts out of whatever trance he had been sucked into. 

“I’ll…” Johnny rubs at his neck again, “I’ll get you that change of clothes, Bonnie. You just wait right here.” 

You stare at his back as he strides over, the fatigue washing back over you now that the adrenaline leaves in its stupendous sweep of heavy heartbeats. Anyone else would have given you up. Your face softens, seeing the quick dig of hands into the stack of clothes in the dresser. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man huffs, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dearie, all I’ve got are my tunics and pants.” Black and pale cream linen is held up on display. 

“Oh,” you mutter, “I don’t mind,” your chuckle makes his lips twitch with care. “I would just prefer to be out of this…thing.” Your eyes glare down at the tattered gown, breathing softly. “Anything is perfect.”

“Well, then I hope you don’t mind the smell of fire,” Johnny hums. “Here you are.” As much as his insides twist to understand the story, making sure you don’t run a cold was more important. 

Your legs push you up and you walk over softly, gliding over the wooden floor to take up the articles and dig your fingers into the warm and easy texture, thin stitching, and cuffed wrists. There was a cut down the neck with a tied cord looped through, making up an ‘x’ pattern. 

“I would say thank you again,” you begin, “but I think you’ll be getting annoyed with how many times I’ve already said it.”

Johnny laughs, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his feet. 

“Ah, perhaps only a little.” Silence laps into a minute, and you study him with slow puzzlement, tilting your head. For a moment, the man wonders what he’s done. The blacksmith’s dark brows furrow, lips moving back. He looks down at the clothes again and starts with a wild blinking of his lids. 

“Oh! Hell’s bells, right,” Johnny walks to the other side of the room and swiftly turns his back to you with respect and a burning neck. He cringes. “Christ.” 

You laugh brightly, letting the fur fall to the floor as you undress and shimmy into the borrowed clothes. Your nose takes in the scents of metal and fire—fatty linseed oil used to protect a blade against corrosion. With the crackling fire, you slip the large tunic above your head and find that it falls heavily over you; far thicker than it seemed and very comfortable, ending at your lower thigh. 

But those scents make your head spin, rolling up the cuffs as you bring your nose to the collar and once more take it in with a slow breath. You hum and move, throwing the bear fur back atop your shoulders and grabbing your ruined garments from the floor before calling out to the rod-straight figure. 

“Johnny?” His arms lightly jerk, as if he’d been unfocused, but he doesn’t turn around. “Where would you like me to throw these?” 

The blacksmith delicately tilts his head to the side and utters with his eyes stuck to the side wall. “Bin by the door is just fine.” You look to the container holding scraps and other garbage to be taken out and drop the gown in before rubbing your cheek. 

Wide cobalt eyes stare at the clothes you wear heavily, jaw loose before he re-set it and averts his gaze. Johnny chuckles to ease himself and loops his thumbs into his waistband, embarrassed.

“Do you need anything else, then?” Your eyes blink with fatigue.

“No, I…I don’t think so.” Gazing at the home, your lips thin. Your family would have a heart attack if you even mentioned that you were staying the night at a complete stranger’s homestead. No protection, no way to beat off a blacksmith beyond a well-placed punch, and running from your betrothed. To say that you’d cause anything less than a heart attack would be generous. But Johnny felt different. Firmer in his emotions and intentions. Far more than the Lord. 

That was really all that matted. 

“Are you really sure this is okay,” you still ask hesitantly, gargantuan clothes atop your frame. Johnny is already nodding firmly.

“It’s my pleasure. I won’t be turnin’ you back out to the woods in a storm like this.” For whatever reason, the next words fall from his lips like an oath. “There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.” 

Your hand burns with the memory of his gentle grip and your heart skips beats. You feel as if a great weight is lifted, even if only for a night. 

“Alright,” your words barely make it to air, and you grip the bear fur harder to stop yourself from kissing this man’s cheek, wanting to take him into a tight hug. 

Johnny takes a blanket from the bottom of his bed and shuffles over to the inlet below the shuddered window, sitting down while you slowly walk forward. 

“But, Little Lady,” you rest on the edge of the bed and look up to find him watching you intently, leaning back with a hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. The fire still crackles, the storm still dances outside, and the room is still tight with something you can’t put a name to. Like you’re caught in a trap of soft pillows and the scent of metal, you listen to the blacksmith with bated breath. “I’ll be needin’ answers…you hear?” 

Licking your lips, you nod tersely. “Tomorrow,” you agree. 

Johnny gazes off into your eyes, the runaway bride that had shown up on his doorstep and captured his attention like a bird made of a white wedding gown and panicked breath. He sneaks a peek down at your wrapped hand as you settle on his bed, burrowing into his furs and his covers—wearing his clothes. 

For some unknown reason, the smallest of blood stains makes his chest roll with bright anger. 

“Tomorrow,” he grunts through a tight jaw before he fights to turn his head away from you. It’s a long while before he sees any type of sleep, listening to the sound of your soft breath and the crackle of the fire.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[byuntrash101]

behind the mask

f!reader x yunho smut | mdni 2.7k it's halloween night and your sweet golden retriever boyfriend wants to have a little harmless fun link + nsfw tags under the cut

#17: mask kink + outdoor + primal play (twt p☆rnlink) sweet bf!yunho, also ghostface!yunho, also big cock!yunho, knife play (not cutting skin only clothes, no blood), fear play (chasing through the woods + threats), degradation (slut, whore), outdoor/semi public setting (a deserted park at night), nipple play, spanking, backshots, unprotected sex ("im not angry, im disappointed"), creampie, implied aftercare (because when the mask's off he's your sweet lovey dovey bf ♡)

a/n: im back again on my bs. did you miss me? enjoy <3

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Halloween was your favorite holiday. There was something so fun in everyone dressing up and acting silly for a night. Every year you volunteered to take the kids of your small town trick or treating. You always liked bringing them fun memories. And halloween was just that much more fun when you looked at it through the eyes of a kid. 

This year wasn’t any different. Only this time your boyfriend tagged along with you. Which was a blessing in itself because the group of children was going to be more manageable with another set of hands on deck and another pair of vigilant eyes.

You adjusted the red hood over your head and pulled on the thigh high tights to bring them as high as possible, concealing the lace under your knee length skirt. It wasn’t freezing cold outside but still pretty chilly as the night was falling over the small town.

“Thank you for helping me,” you said to your boyfriend as you hoped in his car and headed to the local school where the parents had gathered the small group of children to take out trick or treating. 

“No worries;” Yunho said, smiling in your direction as he pulled into the parking lot. “Sorry for the costume. I only had time to pick up that mask” He pulled out the ghost face mask from the backseat. And pointed at the rest of the ensemble that consisted of a black hoodie with a black leather jacket thrown over it and a pair of ripped jeans. “That’s all I got” he said scratching the back of his neck, his lips pulling into an adorable, reserved smile.

“Oh no problem!” you said hurriedly, throwing your back pack on your shoulder, the modern item contrasted greatly with the medieval red riding hood costume. “Sorry it was on such short notice” And Yunho took your hand before you had the chance to open the car door.

“I’m just glad to spend time with you, really” he smiled at you adorably, his eyes turning into crescents. Even though you’d only been dating for a few months you felt very comfortable with him. Mainly because he was very sweet and gentle. So much so that initially you thought it was all an act to get into your pants, given how good looking Yunho was you knew he surely didn't have to do all of this “white knight in shining armor act” to get sexual attention. Unfortunately you fell for the lies and deceptions of others before and ended up getting ghosted after a night of at best mediocre sex. But Yunho was different. He never pressured you into anything and then when you finally caved into your desire for him… well it was gentle. He paid attention to your cues, made sure you enjoyed yourself and he made you feel safe, loved and good, very good.

“Don’t you think it’ll scare the kids though?” he said, placing the mask over his handsome face. 

“Scare them?” you laughed out loud as Yunho’s features dropped in confusion. “You’re so not ready for the little monsters” you laughed. “Let’s go” you said before opening the door.

You smiled and slipped the mask off before stepping out of the car. Yunho watched you being greeted by the kids. They were all jumping around in excitement, gathering around you like evil little minions of the night. The scene warmed Yunho’s heart as he smiled behind the mask.

“Mister! Mister! Your mask is very cool” a little boy with green face paint and stuffed leaves cosplaying as Hulk pointed at Yunho.

“Wooow scary~” a small girl with a peppa pig dress stomped her little feet and laughed, barely able to contain her excitement.

“Yes kids, that’s Yunho. He will come with us this year” Yunho took the mask off, ruffling his dark hair before smiling widely at the children.

“Hi kids” he waved.

“Oh” the small peppa pig girl let her words trail off. “Are you y/n’s boyfriend?” she asked very directly. Which made Yunho chuckle and her blush looking in awe at him.

“Yes. I’m the boyfriend” he said, half laughing. The girl then turned to you. “Does he have a little brother?” she asked as quietly as possible and you also laughed. “How about we ask him later, huh?” you whispered to her and she nodded timidly, throwing another curious glance at the handsome stranger. 

The parents waved goodbye to the children and left. Probably excited to spend a night in peace.

As the round of houses went by, the children’s bags became filled with candies and chocolate bars and of course the occasional apple from the more concerned parents. 

Yunho was a great helper. He settled arguments when kids thought the distribution of candies was unfair, he encouraged the ones that were scared to walk past a particularly convincing automated witch stirring her cauldron and he was just a joy to have a round. Even under the mask you could hear the smile that was spreading on his angelic face from ear to ear, contrasting greatly with the spooky mask.

As the night progressed you dropped off the kids one by one to their house and soon enough the last kid left and you and Yunho walked back to the car.

“Thank you for tonight, it was great” you said as you walked past the deserted park. You turned to him and smiled. “I really owe you one”.

Yunho pressed your body against yours, startling you a little. He slipped the mask off, he was slightly disheveled after wearing it all night. 

“Maybe there’s something you could do” he said, smirking, and you tilted your head in interest. “What about we play a little?” 

His demeanor had suddenly changed. But his dark serious eyes stirred something within you. You would lie if you said you hadn’t been fighting a kind of dark desire that sparked within you when Yunho first slipped on the mask but you kept the curious feeling at bay for the whole evening only to let it resurface now.

“You know,” he started his eyes falling from your eyes to your lips. “I've noticed the way you look at me when I wear the thing.” He dangled the mask next to your face. And you pinched your lips between your teeth to hold a gasp. Were you this obvious?

“Wouldn’t it be fun to play a little game? How about a little chase through the park?” he chuckled when he saw your eyes grow twice as big. “If you escape me you win. But if I catch you… well it’s not fun if there’s no surprise” the ominous statement made you whimper quietly as instinctively pressed your thighs together. “I’ll even give you a headstart” he smirked as he slipped the mask back on. 

He let go of your waist so abruptly that you almost stumbled back but found your balance in time. 

“Go ahead, little one.” Yunho said as he grabbed a kitchen knife from the backpack. “Start running” the laugh that escaped his lips was the furthest thing away from the usual warm laughter you were used to. It was cold and threatening. It made your stomach churn and not only in fear.

Without thinking you ran into the park and engulfed yourself in the dark woods, adrenaline coursed through your veins and you left the path to venture deeper into the woods. As you were running and jumping over the branches and roots of the trees that were sticking out of the dirt you heard the maniacal laugh come closer. 

Out of breath and panicked you decided to hide behind the thick trunk of an old oak to catch a small break and hopefully to escape the bloodthirsty man on your track.

“Where are you?~” Yunho singsang. You laid a hand over your mouth to hopefully steady your breathing. He was close. “You know there’s no point in hiding, little one,” Yunho said, his breath itching in his throat. “You know… I will… find you!” he said, suddenly circling the tree trunk, the big terrifying mask shoved in your face. You couldn’t even scream, you only started to run full speed, Yunho following you closely, knife in hand. 

But your skirt got caught on a thorn and slowed you down before you could accelerate again, completely ripping the piece of fabric, leaving you in a torn miniskirt barely concealing your ass. 

But that misadventure was your doom. Yunho was able to catch up to you. He caught your arm with his big and cold hand, gripping so tight it was bruising your delicate skin and pushed your back against a tree.

“Gotcha~” he said, even if you couldn’t see you could distinctly hear the predatory grin behind the disfigured mask. “I win”

“Please” you whimpered, your heart thumping in your ears. You didn’t really know what you were pleading for but when you felt your boyfriend’s hard on pressed onto your hip, you realized you were begging for him to take you. To claim you right here in the cold winter night in the middle of the woods. Like a wolf finally sinking his teeth into the delicious and tender flesh on a fawn. 

“Look at you little one” Yunho was growling, his threatening tone was stirring more arousal in the pit of your guts. “All nice and ripe for me to pluck,” he said, bringing the cold blade of the knife to your cheek, pressing the flat surface onto your hot skin, making you shiver. 

With his other hand he ripped the red hood off you and harshly pulled on your buttoned blouse popping just enough buttons to see your black lace bra. 

“Little one wore lace for me tonight” he slipped the tip of the blade between your breast and under the article of clothing and cut it clean off, earning a frightened gasp from you. The cold air blew on your bare skin making your nipples harden into tight buds. “Much better” Yunho sighed, groping your chest with his cold hand and pinching your pebbled nipples between his long fingers, you moaned from the stimulation, more arousal pulling in your underwear. He flicked and pinched and circled the hard nubs until you were a whimpering mess, each moan you let out becoming visible fog in the chilly open air. 

Yunho kept on rubbing his hard cock onto your hip, humping you slowly but purposefully grinding onto your soft side, groaning with each movement until he’s had enough of those games.

He pushed you to a boulder covered in moss and bent you down until both your hands laid flat on the cold stone and your ass was sticking up in the air. Yunho landed a sharp slap before putting the knife to good use again. He slipped it under your underwear, you felt the cold metal of the flat of the blade run against your throbbing hot and drooling little pussy, making you moan at the contact, fighting the urge to grind your greedily little cunt against it.

With a precise movement Yunho cut the undergarment letting your glistening cunt shine under the moonlight, the article was now only pathetic hanging by your waist. 

“Fuck you’re already so wet, bunny” he breathed out, swiping one finger along your drenched folds. 

“Please fuck me Yun-” you cut yourself. “Please ghostface fuck me”

You felt Yunho’s cock throb against your ass at your words.

“What an eager little slut” he said before bending down next to you and stabbing the knife in a tree stump next to you. “I’ll give you what you want”

A second later you felt his two big hands slap against your bare ass before his hot tip glided against your folds. Responding on instinct your back arched deeper and you pressed your ass against him, urging him to fill you up.

Without more prepping he slid his thick cock into you to the last inch in one swift move making you moan loudly, your eyes shutting tightly. 

“Oh ffuckkk” you moaned in the cold night.

“Fuck. So wet and tight for me, bunny.” Yunho said, taking a bruising grip around your waist. “Your slutty cunt is already throbbing around me. You liked it that much when I chased you around?” 

“Please” is the only word you could process through your foggy thoughts. You only wanted more of him.

“Who knew the cute little one liked to be preyed on?” He drew out of you only the slam back right in.

“God fuck- yes” you screamed at the sudden surge of pleasure.

Yunho settled a deadly rhythm, smashing himself between your hips, your wall gripping his fat cock tearing you apart every time it pulled out and welcoming it back in everytime he pushed in. Making your mind fuzzy, your ears seemed stuffed with cotton as you could no longer concentrate on the animalistic grunts Yunho was letting loose into the night and only on the way his enormous cock felt inside you.

He continued to screw his cock deep into you on this unbelievable rhythm. His hand left your waist to toy with your nipples again, cupping your breast and teasing your hard nipples, rolling them in his fingers until you couldn’t stand anymore, your legs threatening to give out at any point under the crushing weight of your oncoming orgasm.

“Fuck m’ gonna” you started.

“Not yet, whore” Yunho said, slapping your ass once more and abruptly pulling his cock out. You whined, your high was fading away as it was within grasp a second ago.

Yunho grabbed the knife again and put the sharp side on the skin of your neck, not pressing enough to breach the skin but enough to be threatening to do so. He shoved his cock back in.

“You better work for it. Wanna cum? Help yourself.” He laughed again. “Bounce on my cock like a good little slut”.

Your cunt clenched at his word, making him gasp sharply. You  don't need to be told twice. Without thinking, your mind completely drunk on the idea of chasing your high you started to back up against his cock and grind his cock into you. Smashing your ass back and filling the night with the sound of his grunts and skin clashing. 

“Fuckkkk. That's my good little whore. Keep going… m’close” Yunho praised. 

“Yes please cum.” You pleaded out of breath. “Please fill my tight little whore cunt with your cum”

Such foul words dripping from your innocent lips had Yunho crossing the edge right that second. Thick white ropes of cum spurted out his huge cock that was throbbing inside you. The warmth pooling inside you took right along with him, your walls gripping around him and fluttering as you arched your back to somehow push him even deeper inside you, his hand digging into your skin while the other one gripped the handle of the knife still pressed to your skin.

You both stayed right there for a hot minute, his cock deeply sheathed inside you while you caught your breath before he finally slipped out letting the unbelievable amount of cum run down your weakened and shaking thighs.

Yunho slipped off the mask and helped you stand up, interlacing his arms around your waist and surrounding you in his warmth. He was back to his usual self. 

“Happy Halloween baby” he said, smiling fondly at you. You chuckled.

“I didn’t know you were into such things” you said, hitting his chest playfully. He gasped with exaggerated shock.

“I didn’t know you were into such things!” he said, hugging you tightly, trying to shield you from the cold winter breeze. 

He drew back a little to look at you, your hair was ruined, your mascara was smudged, your ripped skirt was barely covering you and cum was coating your inner thighs. You were so beautifully ruined for him. You looked perfect. He couldn't help his heart swelling with unconditional love for you. 

“Here” he took off his leather jacket and tied it around your hips. “Let’s head back”

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[xhoneygirlxx]

WANTED U

Eddie Munson x Best Friend Reader

summary: when your date is ruined by your best friend, can you stay mad at him when he reveals a secret you've been dying to know?

warnings: fluff, slight angst, Eddie is deep in his feels, two idiots in love. Minors DNI 18+ ONLY! mentions of drinking, Eddie gets drunk. swearing. p in v, creampie (wrap it up kiddos), fingering, body worship and praise. Reader's race/ethnicity is not mentioned! she/her pronouns used. Both Eddie and Reader are in their twenties. Also not proofread, spelling errors and horrible writing!

*if I miss anything please let me know!

a/n: Hi honey bunnies! I just want to thank @ali-r3n for this really cute idea! I'm so sorry it took me forever to post and I'm sorry about the shitty writing! Smut is not my strong suit and I've been plagued with the horrible writers block, so I hope this is okay! I hope you like this and thank you for being so wonderful and patient <3

All you wanted to do was to go on one date. One singular date. For the first time since your high school prom, you were going out with someone who was interested in you. A tinder match that led to multiple conversations, that led to having drinks, to hopefully going back to his place for a well needed time in the sheets. 

That was the plan for the night. Then your phone started to blow up with phone calls and texts, an apparent SOS that couldn’t wait. So you had to cancel, mid-date, telling your date that there was a family emergency. You knew walking out of there that Jordan wouldn’t text you back or ever take you up on the second date offer. 

It wasn’t like you were heartbroken over it, however you were a little bummed. The whole reason you even got on the dating app was because you were trying to get over your best friend. Eddie Munson stole your heart at the age of fifteen and had yet to give it back. It was a sick cycle that you have been going through for nine years. 

You were the lovesick best friend, who just couldn’t take the hint, following him around like a lost dog. Eddie had you wrapped around his finger and you didn’t care. Canceling plans just because he wanted to see you, doing whatever he asked just because, and never dating with the hopes of him finally falling for you. 

Those dreams were fruitless however, because Eddie didn’t see you as anything more than a friend. All the pining and unrequited love was killing you, a slow painful death that would put medieval torture devices to shame. It’s not like you could blame the brown haired boy, it’s not like you can pick who you fall for, but that didn’t stop you from wishing it would happen. 

So therefore you took the giant leap and put yourself out there, trying to ease the ache of your heart. In the end you ended up in Eddie’s apartment, helping him in his drunken state, get to bed. The emergency that Jeff blew your phone up for, was this. A night out with the guys turned into Eddie getting belligerent and refusing to leave until you came and got him. 

The whole car ride there you were disappointed in yourself, the whole reason for your dumb date was to stop yourself from running to the rescue every time he called. You were annoyed and heavily frustrated with the outcome of your night. It almost felt like the universe was against you, whatever god above watching you and laughing every single time you failed to move on. 

As much as you wanted to hate the grown man sitting in front of you, you simply couldn’t. His whiskey colored eyes round and glossy, nose and cheeks rosy with the heat of alcohol coursing through him, and his hair messy from the cold night wind. He was so pretty and it was hard trying to stay mad at him, especially when he had a deep dimpled smile adorning his face. 

“Alright Eds, I need you to change out of your clothes.” You say sweetly, the pile of his pajama’s hanging in your hands. 

Following your instructions, he tries to lift his shirt over his head, only for it to get caught on his head. “Sweets, I need help.” He sounds like a helpless child trying to tie his shoes, and you have to stifle a laugh. 

Placing the change of clothes next to him on the bed, you swiftly pull the stuck fabric off of him. When his head is released, he shakes his hair out of his face so he can see you. A childlike wonder flits in his eyes as he looks at you, admiring the way you’re being so gentle. 

A small thank you is whispered, you hum in response as you pull the new shirt on him. His eyes close as you gently tug his arms through the hole, soaking up the amount of attention you give to him. It feels like you’re changing a newborn, so docile and content with the way you handle him. 

“Can you take your pants off yourself or do you need me to help?” Your voice breaks his sleepy demeanor, droopy eyes looking up at you. 

“You gonna buy me dinner first?” Wiggling his eyebrows, he playfully smirks at you. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan, yet your heart beat picks up at his innuendo. 

Surprisingly, he’s able to take his bottoms off and replace them with the pair you picked out for him. Pulling the jewelry off his wrist and fingers, you place them hastily on his bedside table. His eyes follow your every move, like a curious kitty watching their owner. Pulling back the covers on his bed, you gently lay him down and prop his head up with pillows. 

“So you have your bottle of water right here,” You show him by picking it up off the table where it’s sat, “And the bottle of Tylenol is right next to it. Now if at any moment you feel like you have to throw up, the garbage can is right next to you on the floor. Okay?” 

Humming to you in understanding, he closes his eyes once more. When you think he’s about to pass out, you turn on your heel to grab clothes for yourself. Not getting far, his big hand wraps around your wrist gently, bringing your attention back to him. This time his expression isn’t as content or happy. No, his eyes are glassy with unshed tears and his bottom lip jets out in a pout. 

“Please don’t leave.” It’s a whispered plea, innocent and childlike. 

“I’m not leaving Eds, just grabbin’ some clothes to change into.” Even with your assuring smile, he’s still frowning at you. 

“Please just, don’t leave.” Tugging your arm slightly, he brings you closer to the bed. 

“Eddie, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” You’re now concerned with the state of your best friend and why he felt the need to beg you to stay. 

“Promise? What about Jacob?”

“Eddie, what are you talking about?” Although he closes his eyes again, you still press for answers. 

“I don’t wanna lose you t’some douche. You needa be with me, sweets cause I love you s’much. Don’t wanna lose you to him.” It’s all a slurred mess, his words mumbling together as they fall out of his mouth. 

“If you mean Jordan, no I’m not going to leave you for him” You giggle softly, “I left my date with him to come get you. Plus his stories about kayaking were starting to get boring.” You try to lighten the mood, but it only makes his lip wobble more. 

“I shoulda made a move, I wanted to b-but I-I was scared. Gareth told me I lost my chance with you and he-he was right.” A few stray tears fall down his cheek and you lift a hand to wipe them away. 

The same brown eyes you fell in love with, all those years ago, stare up at you. The heart that’s bleed for him for nine years is starting to heal, the words you so desperately wanted to hear are finally coming to light. 

With your own tears glistening in your eyes, you look down at him like you always do. With the biggest heart in your eyes and brightest smile on your face. “You should stop listening to Gareth, Eds. I think you still have a shot, but we’ll talk about this later. When you’re not drunk.” 

Bobbing his head the best he can, he squeezes your hand once before retracting it. With his eyes closed and steady breaths leave his parted lips, you get changed and turn off the lights. Maybe the universe wasn’t against you, maybe it was on your side the whole time and just had a funny way of showing it. 

__

The bright sun pouring through the window, wakes you up. The sight before you is one you’ve seen before. The side profile of your best friend’s face, wild hair sprawled over the pillow that lays beneath him. You take this moment in to study his features, the slope of his nose, the way his eyelashes kiss the tops of his cheeks, and how kissable his lips look. 

Not much later is he stirring, stretching his limbs out after his wild night out. Cracking one of his eyes open, he winces slightly before running his hands down his face. Blinking once or twice, he finally lets himself wake up, staring straight at the ceiling. You wonder if he remembers what he said or if you should bring it up. Instead you choose to play it cool, or at least try to. 

“Good morning drunky! How’d you sleep?” Reaching a finger out, you poke his side.

“Drunky,” he snorts,” I actually slept well, thanks to my wonderful nurse.” He takes a peak over at you, a smug smile already pushing his cheeks up high. 

You try to ignore the butterflies in your tummy when you hear his voice, thick and husky with sleep. The giddy feeling rushing through you is written all over your face, covered up by a bad attempt of biting back a smile. 

“Well, I’m glad you don’t feel so shitty.” You say, stretching your body to distract yourself from his burning gaze. 

“What time is it anyway?” His question comes out in a yawn, loud and exaggerated. Propping up on your elbow, you lean over him to get a look at your alarm clock. 

“A little past ten.” Eddie huffs, muttering something about it being far too early. “I know it’s too early for you but that just means we can go to Jerry’s and get waffles to soak up whatever's left in your system.” You coo at him mockingly, fake pouting as you look at him. 

“Ya know, I don’t enjoy your fake pity.” Eddie rolls his eyes at you, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Oh I’m sorry, Eds. Want some ketchup with those cries?” Eddie’s frown deepens like a bratty child, and you eat up every second of it. “Oh, I know! I’ll call a wambulance.” You throw your head back, laughing at your own joke. 

With your attention off of him, he sees the perfect opportunity to laugh. At lightning speed, he grips your hands, flipping you over on your back. With the weight of his thighs bracketing you and his hand gripping your wrists together, you’re defenseless. 

With a wild glint in his eyes, Eddie wastes no time in attacking you with a finger to your side. Relentlessly, Eddie tickles you to the point there are tears in your eyes from how hard you're laughing, and your pleas for him to stop are swallowed by the oxygen that’s being stolen from your lungs. 

“It’s not so funny when it’s your turn, huh?” Smirking down at you, his attack doesn’t relent. 

Thrashing around the best you can, you try everything to get him off but with the way his thighs squeeze your legs together makes it hard to do so. 

“Okay, Okay! I’m sorry, Eddie! Please!” The last word comes out as the softest moan, so soft that you would miss it if you weren’t paying attention. However, Eddie was and his fingers stopped digging into your sides immediately. 

The sound of your heavy breathing is the only thing to be heard. Eddie stares down at you, eyes unblinking and cheeks dusted pink. The usually brown eyes are now dark, the dark pupil over taking the iris. You stare right back at him, chest rising and falling dramatically and lips parted slightly letting the air from your lungs flow out easily. 

It feels like the world has stopped, time frozen still for eternity. The mid-morning light painting the two of you in a portrait, cementing the moment forever. Two heart beats synching up together, beating against the bones of your rib cages. 

“Fuck it.”

Eddie rushes in to smash his lips against yours. Years of waiting and wondering if this moment would ever happen, now finally laying to rest. The taste of him has been the missing part of your life this whole time and you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. 

It’s sweet and slow, his tongue slipping inside your mouth softly. Morning breath be damned, the two of you make out for what seems like hours on end. Parting from each other for much needed air, a small giggle leaves your mouth. 

“What?” Eddie smiles, his face as dopey and gooey as you feel on the inside. 

“I just wanted this for so long.” You admit, making his smile pull wider. 

Leaning back down to you, he peppers kisses all over your face. The snickering that’s leaving your mouth is slowly turned into a whimper when his lips find their way to your neck. A gasp pulls from your chest the minute he finds that spot, eliciting him to suck on it. Hissing when it becomes too much, Eddie is quick to soothe the sting with his tongue. 

Pulling his face away from the crevice of your neck, his eyes find yours as his hand glides to find the hem of your shirt. Tugging on it and raising an eyebrow in question, you nod overenthusiastically. 

Ripping the oversized shirt over your face, he takes his time to memorize all the details of your skin. The heat of his stare becomes a bit too much, worry overtaking your brain causing you to bite down on your lip. 

“I just want you to know that I’ve waited since freshman year to see these bad boys.” Attention still drawn on your bare chest. 

“Well, do they live up to the hype?” You question, tone not as confident as you think. 

Eddie’s head whips up to you, mouth agape and you swear you can see drool pooling from his lips. “Sweets, you have no idea.” 

Diving in, he kisses the doughy flesh of your breasts, going back and forth between the two. Like a magnet to a fridge, his lips find the hardened bud and latches on. Switching between sucking and flicking his tongue, you squirm underneath him trying to find some sort of friction for the ache in between your legs. 

“You have no idea how many times I jerked off to the thoughts of this.” Eddie mutters as he moves his attention to the opposite nipple. 

Between his admission and the feeling of his warm mouth on your sensitive skin, you moan loudly. The feeling of more wetness pool in your panties alerts you, the overwhelming feeling of need buzzing through you. A small whine comes from you and it catches Eddie’s attention. 

Pulling away from your breast and peering up at you, he cocks his head to the side. “What’s wrong, baby? Want some cheese for that whine?” 

When his canine teeth shine through his devilish smirk, you whimper. You hate that he’s using your game from earlier against you, teasing you like he doesn’t know what you want. 

“What is it, sweets? Tell me what you want.” Fake pity drips from his question and it only eggs you on more. 

Eddie’s got you so worked up that you can’t even speak. Lifting your hips to show him what you need, you frown harder when he laughs at you. 

“Oh, princess,” He coos, running his thumb along your lower lip, “Be the good girl I know you are, and ask. Can you do that f’me?” Nodding your head, he encourages you with an assuring smile. 

“C-can you touch me, please?” Your voice sounds so small and you’d honestly cringe if it weren’t for the fact that you know you’re dripping out of the fabric of your panties onto his bed. 

Sighing heavily, Eddie gives your bottom lip a small tug with his thumb, letting the bottom row of your teeth show before it bounces back up into place. 

“I would tease you more but you asked so nicely.” Shuffling down your body, he loops his fingers through the sides and guides the thin material down your legs. 

Pushing his way through your thighs, Eddie runs the tip of his middle finger up the slit of your sex. His finger grazes lightly over your bundle of nerves, causing you to jolt from the feeling. 

“You’re really fucking wet.” Eddie says breathlessly as he parts your glistening lips apart with his fingertips. 

Not waiting for your response, Eddie circles his finger around your entrance before plunging it in slowly. The stretch from his finger makes you arch slightly, a muffled moan falling from your mouth. Using the pad of his thumb, he swirls your clit in alternating circles and figure eights. 

“More, Eds. Fuck, please!” You beg and who is Eddie to deny you. Pushing another finger inside, he curls them just right and starts going faster. 

“Fuck you’re so greedy, baby. Isn’t that right, you’re s’greedy for me, huh?” With his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks a pretty burgundy shade, he looks just as fucked out as you. 

Writhing underneath him, you babble nonsense as his fingers hit that spot you always struggle to. “Yes! M’so greedy - Shit!” 

“You gonna let me taste you? Gonna let me eat this pretty cunt?” You don’t even get a chance to answer, your body already doing it for you by clenching around his fingers. “Oh she likes that, huh? You like imagining me in between these pretty thighs, baby?” 

“Think ‘bout it all the time.” You moan, hips rocking against his hand as you try to chase your high. 

“Yeah, sweets? Think about me when you play with this pretty pussy?” 

That’s all it takes for you to come undone, gushing around his fingers with a muted scream. Your back arches off the bed, eyes rolled into the back of your head, as the feeling of your orgasm washes over you. 

Eddie helps you ride through it, continuing his motions until your tense muscles relax into a jelly like state. When you come back down from your high, you whimper at the loss of his fingers. Moving your eyes to him, you watch as he sticks his middle and forefinger in his mouth, moaning when the taste of you hits his taste buds. 

“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna have to eat you out.” Eddie grins at you and you roll your eyes playfully back at him. 

“That sounds absolutely wonderful, but” You begin to say and his face drops with the fear of rejection, “I’m going to need you to fuck me in the next thirty seconds.” You smirk and his jaw drops. 

After fifteen seconds of pure shock, Eddie shakes his head and tries to play it cool. 

“Yeah totally, let me just-” His sentence is cut off when he begins to struggle out of his own clothes. 

Once he’s stark naked and hovering over you, you laugh giddily up at him. Putting his forehead to you, he studies your eyes for any sort of regret or doubt. 

“Eds, I promise you I want this.” You reassure him, making sure to prove the point with a loving kiss.

With his confidence boosted, Eddie snakes his hand down to guide himself into you. When the tip breaches your entrance, the both of you gasp at the feeling.

Pushing in slowly, he brings his lips back to yours, swallowing your moans. Once he's all the way in, Eddie gives you a minute to adjust before he starts moving.

Nodding your head to let him know you're good, he pulls almost all the way out before ramming back into you, knocking the wind from your lungs.

"Fuuck, sweets. S'fuckin' tight." His voice trembles as he pounds into you.

"You're so big, I can feel you s'deep." You slur, drunk on the way his cock stretches you, hitting that sweet spot with every drag of his hips.

Eddie resituates himself, pushing your knees up to your chest, before bringing his chest back down to yours. This way you can feel him even deeper, which you didn't even think was possible.

You're on fire, belly burning bright with fire. Eddie's everywhere, he's all you can see, hear, smell, touch, think, he's invaded every single one of your senses and you can't get enough.

His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes closed with the pure bliss of being inside of you. It's so intimate yet so dirty and it's driving you insane.

Opening his eyes, he looks down at you like you've hung the stars that shine in the sky.

"I wanted this for so long, sweets. I wanted you, so Fuck-" He hangs his head, speeding up the movements of his hips. A roaring sob comes out of your mouth, the fire in you burning hotter with every drag of his thick cock.

"I'm so in love with you, sweets. Been yours since I was sixteen." Finally he confesses, letting the sacred secret out, only this time he's drunk off of you.

"I love you too! Fuck-I love you so fucking much."

"Tell me you're mine. Please, tell me." He begs and you comply, growing closer and closer to the edge.

"M'yours, been yours since I was fifteen." You confess and it feels like the weight of the world has lifted off of you.

With one last thrust, you come undone with a loud cry. Eddie doesn't let up his movements, now only focusing on his own release.

The way his hips stutter, you know that he won't last too much longer.

"I want you to cum in me, Eds. I wanna feel s'bad." You coax and that's all it takes for the metalhead to come with a stuttering grunt.

Lazily thrusting into you, he finally stops when he becomes overstimulated. The room is once again calm, the now afternoon sun blinds you as it seeps into the room. Heavy breathing and content hums fill the room, while the scent of sex lingers in the air.

Shyly removing himself from your chest, Eddie looks at you sheepishly. "Now what?"

If you didn't know Eddie you'd probably think he's being rude, but you know that he really is just overthinking everything that just happened. In his mind he thinks you're probably regretting everything, even though you told him you felt the same way.

Using your hand to pull some of the hair that sticks to his cheeks away, you smile affectionately at him.

"Well, I was thinking we could still go to Jerry's for breakfast," Eddie still looks at you like he's waiting for the ball to drop, "Then I thought you could keep your promise and eat your girlfriend out. That is, if you're not too full."

"Really?" He looks like a puppy who just heard its favorite word, excited with it's tail wagging back and forth.

Snickering up at him, you nod your head rapidly. Pulling out of you quickly, Eddie runs out of the room and you can hear the chaos of clattering from behind the door.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" More giggles fall from your lips as he races back in with a wet wash rag in his hand.

"Gotta clean you up before we go out to eat, baby. That way I can recreate our masterpiece later." He says wiggling his eyebrows.

Yeah this was the dork you fell in love with and who you were going to love for the rest of your life.

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Thank you all for reading! I'm sorry it's not the best!

[rubiatinctorum]

Okay so I'm not such a pedant that I require all "medieval-inspired" content I consume to be completely historically accurate in culture and costuming and all of that, and pseudo-medievality can work very potently and quickly in audience minds to establish certain ideas of the setting and characters, like a shorthand. This is all very well and good.

But if you say your setting is "medieval-inspired" I somewhat expect not to see your villain show up in 21st century business casual attire and have this be a completely normal fashion there wholeheartedly and earnestly with no taking the piss involved at all, while having one of his main interests not even be named and practiced in a close manner to how it is in the text until the mid-19th century. If you choose to invoke the shorthand, why should you not be expected to provide either any the hallmarks of the tropes associated or some level of historical connection? You must intend to invoke something, certainly!

[frogchiro]

Idk if this has been done yet, if so please tell me, but lately I've been toying around with medieval aus combined with my good old Witch!Reader au...So how do you guys would feel about Reader who is a very high ranked court magician? I'm talking like she's basically the Queen's right hand when it comes to all kinds of magical and supernatural affairs but the thing is, while obviously incredibly clever and wise, she still is quite young (early 20's) and very spoilt, all about the luxury life, lush furs and revealing dresses, rare jewelry from around the world and is quite the temptress; running around in dresses that leave little to the imagination, flirts with guards and eats up all the attention she's given :((

Imagine the CoD men, all in different positions, pine after the beauty even if she's spoilt, a little naive due to how sheltered she was outside of magical and court affairs and her being a little whiny and bratty when she was once send out to a military fort to sort out a magic anomaly and when she was shown her chamber which, to no surprise, was a huge downgrade from her large, luxurios palace chamber, was whining to Knight Commander Simon 'Ghost' Riley about 'this thing looking like a dungeon and where she was supposed to put all her things', all he could think of was about what he wouldn't do to put you in his lap and spank your ass raw :((

Or or nasty pervy mercenary-turned-guard John 'Soap' MacTavish whom you oh so much despise :(( But no one can blame you!! He's so damn huge and burly and beastly, you have no idea where your Queen even got someone so barbaric!! His accent is weird, his hairstyle is weird, even his clothes and armor! He's so loud and boisterous and has not a single gentle or elegant bone in his huge body >:(

You often catch Johnny leering at you, whistling or making crude comments which leave you angry and flustered but he doesn't do anything about it and just laughs!! Tells you to be quiet and now yowl like a cat in heat!! Is he insane!?

The worst is whenever you bathe in a lake or even a bathtub whenever you can get one and he's always there and perving on you, not even trying to hide his nasty gaze and smirk :(( While usually you'd tease the handsome guards back in the palace and preen at the attention, now it's the opposite! You can scream and curse at him, telling you'll cut his balls off in his sleep and make a sacrifice off of them and Johnny's only reply is that 'he hopes it will be to some smokin' hit fertility goddess so she can grow his balls back to stuff you full' >:(

[zhongrin]

series idea (that i'll never write) from a silly tag game a friend tagged me in:

cw. yandere

you got isekaid to genshin.

except.

you got isekaid into a medieval!au genshin fanfic, which your friend was in the middle of writing. and as if that's not enough, you find out that you're just one of the nameless npcs who's destined to die from a plague outbreak just a week away. and you know jack shit about medicine (or even if you do, you have zero idea how to implement modern medicines/remedies in this new civilizations ー heck, the plants in teyvat are different!). to top it off? your friend is a yandere, dead-dove-do-not-eat writer.

rest in pieces, [name]. maybe you'll find love before you die? or do you wish to cheat your death and risk derailing the wheel of fate?

possible love interest:

dottore // royal physician who has a hobby of experimenting with... a lot of things. ignore the way he always seem to carry a pouch of scent-masking herbs in his coat.

baizhu // just a soft-spoken, gentle village doctor. who seems to be a little too overprotective of his daughter(?), qiqi. never, ever go into the door that says 'staffs only' when you visit his clinic, okay? good.

wriothesley // grand duke of the north who's surprisingly not cold and feared too much by the masses? he's actually pretty friendly! maybe he'll help you! just play dumb when you catch a glimpse of the darker stains on his black clothes and the unusually sharp glint of his fangs!

zhongli // just a silly man who tries to purchase tea and was horrified when they served him fannings steeped in a bag and charged him 5000 mora. he's always happy to talk to you despite you being a nobody. what's that? the missing emperor of liyue sighted in this region? my my. what an amusing tale. people have such vivid imaginations these days.

[vinceaddams]

Top 5 historic clothing items we should bring back into style (stockings on men, big cuffs on coats etc.)

Well I am very biased, because my everyday clothes are mostly 18th century menswear inspired, but for a list as short as 5 it's good to narrow it down!

1. 18th century shirts. Big puffy soft linen shirts. Best shirts. Comfiest shirts. Though tragically, since they get softer with more washing, they're at their absolute most comfortable right before they wear out.

(This one's from the post where I copied the tiddy-out violinist painting.) Besides being the nicest softest comfiest, they're also the most economical, being made entirely from rectangles. And they're versatile, they look good with lots of different garments! Someday I will do a very detailed youtube tutorial for my machine sewn shirt method. I've done so many now that I think I've finally got it down.

2. Adjustable waistbands. Why did this ever stop being a thing? 18th century breeches have lacing at the back, then in the 19th century trousers have a buckle tab. Now they do not, even though we're all still humans with bodies that change. (These are my orange silk breeches)

Do you know how many hours of my life I've spent taking in or letting out the waist seams of modern trousers? I don't know either, but I've been an alterations tailor since 2019, so it's got to be a fair amount.

All that waist altering wouldn't be necessary if they still made them adjustable! Waistlines fluctuate, so too should waistbands!!

3. Shoulder capes attached to coats. This was a thing in the late 18th century, and in the 19th, and I think into the early 20th too. It adds extra protection from the rain and snow, and it looks cool.

(c. 1812, The Met.)

(c. 1840-60, MFA Boston. The cape on this one is detachable)

You can make them long or short, and stack them up like pancakes or just have one. I've got 2 small ones on my corduroy coat, and one on my dark blue wool. Both cut from almost the same 1790's-ish pattern.

I also want to give a shoutout to fitted sleeves! I love me some two piece sleeves with a distinct elbow! And the coat pockets were bigger back then.

4. Indoor caps. I don't care what era or how fancy you go with it, I just want people to wear caps indoors when it's cold! This one's super simple, it's just a tube of linen tied with a ribbon.

(Detail from Le Marchand d’Orviétan ou l’opérateur Barri by Etienne Jeaurat, 1743.)

If it's cold in your apartment you need slippers for the feets and a cap for the head. Speaking of which.

5. Medieval hoods. This one is wayyy outside my usual era, but the wintery below-freezing weather has just started here and the knit hat I've been wearing isn't quite long enough to cover my ears. I want to make a simple hat with ear flaps, but I also wouldn't be opposed to trying to work something vaguely similar to this into my wardrobe. It looks so warm!

(Image source. Also she has a printable pattern available!) I actually made one of these once, an entire decade ago. But it was scratchy blanket wool and I've since given it away.

That's some of the main things I think we should bring back! There are lots of other things too, like men's nightgowns, and waistcoats with little scenes embroidered on them, but for this list I tried to be mostly practical.

[peachesofteal]

Medieval/and or fantasy ghoap x reader AU? Ghost and Soap are Knights under the 141 legion and happen to walk into a town where everyone is accusing reader of being some demon/ practicing witchcraft (she has anxiety).

🏰🗡️🔮 okay, okay. With a few changes. A lot of changes, sorry! 18+ MDNI / rescue, comfort, etc no smut

“You cannot p-p-possibly-“ the magistrate stutters, hands out in front of his body as if he even has a sliver of a chance of fending them off.

Simon stalks forward, bloodied sword gleaming in the candle light, silver stained with ruby ichor, the remnants of the hired protection outside, all slain, all dying.

The hired protection that he paid for, with the coin he made off of you.

“Ye cannae possibly believe,” Johnny snarls, steps vibrating with rage. “That ye’ll be talkin’ yer way out o’ this one.”

“She’s possessed, she-“

“Do not bother to lie. You do not believe it. We know you’ve been using her.” Simon barks. “We’ve heard the tales. The tongues wag far and wide over the rumors about your seer.”

“She needs healing, and my healers are uniquely qualified, experienced with witchcraft.” The magistrate whines, still stepping backwards on his heels, eyes wide, sweat dripping from his temple.

“Ye stole her!” Johnny roars, shouldering past Simon. “Ye waited until we were called away and then ye broke into our home and took her.” The magistrate shakes his head.

“She needs-“

“She needs nothing from you. Except to be free.” Simon cracks his neck. “And for you to be dead.”

“No. No, you can’t. I’m a- a noble. You cannot just-“

“Aye. We can.”

“Tell us where she is, and perhaps, we’ll let you live.” Simon counters, and the magistrate relaxes, body going languid like a fool.

“She’s in the room. At the end of the hall.” He grabs at a key around his neck, and Johnny rips it away, worn leather string breaking free without much effort.

“Johnny.” It’s a hum, an order, and he grins with his answer, whistling his way down the hall.

The last thing the magistrate sees is the swing of Simon’s sword, cleaving through the air, headed straight for his neck.

“Darling?” The room is dark. It smells, reeks of blood and bile, and his stomach turns. This is where he’s been hiding you? After all the coin that heathen made from your visions, this is the best he could give you? “Darling? Are ye in here?” There’s nothing, no response, no whisper of your sweet voice. Just the sound of shaky breathing, whimpering. ���It’s me. It’s Johnny.”

He can just barely see the outline of your shoulder under the window, and he crouches, reaching towards your knee, brushing his fingertips over your skin.

“N-no.” You whisper, and he frowns.

“It’s Johnny. Simon’s here too. We’re here now, darling, ye’re safe.” The doors swings, banging into the stone wall, you startle, flinching against the window.

“Johnny?” Simon murmurs, coming to stand behind him, hand on his shoulder.

“Ah dinnae- she-“

“Those who walk in the woods will see their feet stained with blood.” You croak, shivering.

“Wot?” Simon questions, but you don’t respond.

They can just barely make out the sight of your dress, more of a sack, torn and tattered, encrusted with dirt and blood and goddess knows what else.

“We need tae get her out o’ here.” Johnny’s voice stays low, cautious. Worried.

“Darling, can you hear me?” Simon tries, but you still say nothing, little noises coming from your mouth every other moment.

He rocks forward to take you into his arms, hoping the familiarity will calm you, bring you back to yourself.

But you let out a bloodcurdling scream instead, the terror in your voice so rich, so real, he nearly loses his grip on your struggling body.

You fight them. Clawing and ripping and tearing, hands wild, tugging at Johnny’s hair, Simon’s clothes, until they’ve got your arms pinned down, Johnny cooing to you softly.

“It’s alright, it’s alright. Breathe for me, darling. Jus’ breathe.” You’re still struggling, still trying wrench yourself free, and when you thrash, you face catches the moonlight.

That’s when they see it.

Johnny chokes on his gasp, and Simon cups your chin, tilting your eyes back towards the light, back towards the window to reveal the horrifying truth.

Your eyes are completely white. Pupils, irises, blood vessels, all fogged out, covered with creamy, milky white that looks more like the moon than your beautiful eyes that they’ve known, loved, so dearly.

“No.” Johnny whispers. You whimper, head swinging, eyebrows creased, chest heaving.

Their worst fears, realized. They always knew this was a possibility but… for it to happen when you were being held captive. When they couldn’t be here. When they weren’t able to help you, comfort you.

The terror you must have felt.

“She only sees with the Sight now.” Simon says. “It’s why she doesn’t recognize us. She’s lost herself to it, to the Goddess.”

You blink rapidly, like you’re hearing them, head cocking slightly toward their voices, and Simon strokes a thumb down your cheek.

“Shhh.” Johnny hums, and you settle, a bit dejected, but quieting in their arms as they hold you. “Just breathe. Good girl, nice an’ slow for us.” After you get two lungfuls, they shift, Simon’s arms curling around your body and holding you close as Johnny opens the door.

“Let’s go home, darling.”

[dicenete]

Finished Silvio's route, solid 8/10. I mean I still have questions and things I wanted to see explored. Like more about Silvio's past and why he behaved why he did. I mean I got a glimpse of it in the dramatic route a bit. Maybe I will do the romantic route too someday. Congrats Silvio, you got into the second playthrough team. But I'm satisfied with this. So here are some sketches of the ultimate tsundere. I really love that the guy that is all about the money and wealth has taken blue as his primary color. And it is that Lapis Lazuli kind blue = one of the most, if not, the most expensive pigment made. I'm really curious why his hair has a small tuft of dark blue color there. Has he dyed it? Is it natural?

Also more my ramblings... In the prologue, as they set the world, they talk about how this game takes place in late medieval time. (of course a fictional world, but not like fantasy, with magic and such (shame really, I would love there to be some magical elements there)). BUT the clothes... the fashion... They are very modern in many aspects. I know, i know, this is very nit picky of me. This is pretty much like Bridgeton. A period fiction. But really, they didn't need to go give us a reference to a certain time period xd They could have left it even more vague. But alas... This is not really a criticism, as I can totally see past this. I just find it funny.

BUT ONE THING THAT MADE ME PUT MY PHONE DOWN FOR A MINUTE WAS THIS:

My young horse girl self just was ready to smack Silvio off his horse. You don't use reins to encourage horse to go faster! Not even with the carriages either. But especially not when you actually ride a horse. Reins are for steering and slowing down. You use weight and your legs to apply pressure to horse's sides to encourage them to go faster. (ideally you could do this only by using weight, but that needs skill and a sensitive and well trained horse.) Routes and ratings so far (my opinion purely, there is nothing else to it really): 1. Clavis's route, dramatic ending + epilogue. I laughed so much and the theme was very interesting. Cyran was MVP. 9/10 2. Silvio's route, dramatic ending + epilogue. He was an asshole, I wasn't disappointed. Enjoyed the ride and the political shit with usage of money. Giving me Itachi vibes with the gesture of messing your hair. Could have used more Carlo. Also where is Emidio?? 8/10 3. Licht's route, dramatic ending. He edgy but sweet. I wanted to see more of twins being twins and I got some of that. I was happy :slight_smile: And he loves horses, more points from that. 7.5/10 (the reason why I didn't do epilogue for Licht was because I didn't use walkthrough and I didn't want to start paying for those points :0 4. Nokto's route, dramatic ending + epilogue . Playboy, got what I asked for. Entertaining. Could have needed more time with Licht. I want to see brothers being brothers. 7/10 I see my style evolve and I kinda like it. Indulging my teenage aesthetic. Sometimes face shapes get all weird and I'm not sure if it is because they are weird or that I'm becoming blind to them and am just trying to find something weird.

[homebeccer]

Hi I'm just. So pissed about AI.

There's a cute VW bus plant pot that a parent got for me at work and I wanted to get an image of it as a reference for a game jam I was working on and I just!!! I just fucking google it!!! and AI images pop up!!!

HOW ARE THEY FUELING MORNINGS WITH RETRO FLAIR WHEN THAT IS AN AI GENERATED IMAGE AND THUS THE SUBJECT OF THIS IMAGE DOESN'T EXIST

WHAT BENEFITS ARE THERE TO AI IMAGES POPPING UP IN EVERY GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCH I MAKE???

I went to google an image of a fucking coffee cup in front of a fireplace!! AI images!!! Are there really not enough images of coffee cups in the world that you need to AI generate more????

Google search references for medieval clothing!!!! AI IMAGES!!! How fucking historically accurate is this conglomeration of cosplay outfits gonna be???

People making YT videos for their VOCALOID/SynthV covers and generating AI images - I'm sorry, are there not enough images of fucking Teto that you had to go make a computer draw it for you? Fucking TETO????

IM SICK TO SHIT OF THIS and this is only the beginning!!!!!!

[lady-ashfade]

What about medieval Percy Jackson? Literally anything. I just like the idea

-£ Medieval Percy Jackson x reader

-£ warnings: short, being chased, Percy getting into trouble as usual, just really for fun.

passing through the streets he tried not to knock anyone down but the path was so packed with people, of course he had to run through the market streets. the guards behind him shouted for him to stop and didn’t care who they pushed to catch up to him. classic.

the kings men always thought they were better then the common man.

his eyes found a stall with clothes on it and he noticed a regular black cloak. running by it he quickly snatched it from the table and yelled his apologies to the man running the stall.

for what felt like years he finally passed through a bigger crowd of people. he thanked the gods above and pushed through to lose the guards. he made his way through and he could hear the men’s voices slowly drown out. throwing on the hood to disguise himself he made his way to the alleyway between the building. 

once get got into the shade he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. he was getting sick of running away every day. even though he never did anything wrong.

a sharp point carefully pressed against his back and his body stiffened at the familiar feeling. “got something for me Jackson?” he knew that voice as well as being held at blade point. the same person who always took his missions from under his fingertips. always one step ahead.

“not really. I have a bad apple on my bag if you want that.” he cracked a joke that made the them huff out in amusement too.

“where is it?” He looked around to find half of their face. if only he could know what’s underneath that mask. “don’t give me that look, give it.”

the blade pressed harder but he knew they wouldn’t do anything or at this moment at least. they liked to play with their pray. “can’t you just let me have this one?”

he saw them smirk under the mask and roll their eyes, dropping the blade from his back and step back. “that’s the thing,” they sighed and kept their eyes on him. something about their tone made him confused…

“I’m actually not here for the cup.”

their foot hit his stomach before he could react and he dropped to the ground only to get tackled down. he struggled but they were clearly skilled in tying up someone. the ropes tugged against the skin of his wrist as he groaned in pain.

“I can pay you double if you let me go.” he tried to bargain with them. they chuckled again and leaned up after finishing up with the ropes.

“no you can’t.” They stated. he knew he couldn’t but it was worth a try. he was pulled up and forced to stand as they held onto him. “where are taking me?”

his worry struck him and who they had been paid by. the king, the monsters he haunted, many people wanted him. “luckily for you, you aren’t going to die. but I think your dad wants a visit.” they said. he was pushed and almost tripped but he caught himself. he groaned at the mention of his father.

“let’s go pretty boy.” the nickname made his ears ring and his cheeks flush.

[unboundprompts]

hii! can i request a dialogues prompt of princess x their guard (i think it’s leaning to medieval times tho for the setting), non-smut/fluff or smut, i don’t mind, anything you’re comfortable with!!

and if i may ask for a second request, i’d like a request of dialogues prompt between two best friend, in which he is actually secret superhero, she likes to patch his injuries etc etc and well yeah they just have a crush on each other thingy, do what u think is good for a story🫰🏼

tysmmmmmm✨🫶🏼

I'm in love with both of these ideas!! I'll make them into two separate posts and tag you in the other.

Prompts for a Princess x Their Guard

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

"Do you think our love is doomed?" he whispered to his princess, his lips hovering over hers. He wanted nothing more than to close the gap, to show her how much she truly meant to him, but there were so many worries that lingered heavy in his chest. She glanced to his lips, then looked up at his eyes with a hurt on her face that made his heart ache. "Why would you say that?" she asked him. His hands fell from cradling her face, sliding down her arms and then her hands. "It's just..." he began, struggling to find the words. "You're a princess. The princess. And I'm just some guy. They'll never allow us to be together, you know that."

"You're the one person that makes me feel safe."

"You shouldn't be here." The knight stared at the princess, who was standing in their dirty barracks in her nice, lavish clothing. She watched them from the doorway, taking in their appearance now that they were no longer dressed in their uniform. "I wanted to see you," she answered, as if that were reason enough to explain why she had made the hike unaccompanied. "This is no place for a Princess." They began to dress themself, ignoring the blush that was growing hot on their cheeks. "Let me walk you home."

"If you asked me to run away with you, I'd say yes in a heartbeat."

"Your job is to protect me," the princess said, smirk pulling at her lips. The guard's heart was hammering in his chest, and he prayed that his expression was just as stoic as it was meant to be. "So," the princess continued, wrapping her arms around his neck, "protect me."

The princess dragged the guard into her bedroom, closing the door behind them. She pressed her back against the door with a mischievous grin, blocking their only exit. The guard stood stiffly in the center of the room. "What are you doing?" they asked the princess. She rocked back on her heels. "I got you something." "You got me something?" She moved to her dresser and began to dig through her drawer. The princess held up a necklace to her guard. It was a stone carved into the shape of a star on a simple silver chain. "So you'll think of me," she told them, "anytime you wear it." The guard's heart was melting. "I already think of you," they answered, "all the time. I'm never not thinking of you."

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[writing-for-life]

Art by Michael Zulli

Fellow art lovers, we need to talk about this one…

I love Zulli (as many of you might have noticed by now), but this one’s got me stumped. Because we know everything in his art has meaning, up to the tiniest detail.

What am I looking at here? We see the ruins again, which are a recurring theme in Zulli’s work (e.g. in the painting with Dream, Death and Hob. I’ll talk about that one separately soon because I think interpretations have been “retconned” a bit to make it fit what people want to see in the show, instead of looking at the deeper symbolism).

But what are the ruins referencing in this case? And what is he wearing? What time reference/frame are we looking at? Medieval (the sort of over tunic makes one think so)? Why the holes in his trousers?

This one is hovering on that eerie spectrum between court jester and priest garb-wise, and I’m trying to make sense of it. I even thought about archetypes and tarot cards, the Fool and the Hierophant/High Priest specifically. The latter might not be as obvious to some, but as a lapsed Catholic and now resident family heathen, I can’t look at the green/purple overtunic and not see a priest’s stole/chasuble and cincture. Green is for pretty ordinary times, but purple is always lent and passiontide, sacrament of reconciliation and the dead. And the fact there’s also a lot of red in there (Good Friday, all the martyr’s days), but no white unless we count the holes (white would be actual Easter and the resurrection) also makes me think. Quite possibly overthink 🤣

The Fool is always the protagonist of the story (oh, Morpheus would not agree with that, but of course we all know he has his own story, even if he pretends he doesn’t). And he then goes on his journey. And apparently falls apart (ruins and tattered clothes)?

The Hierophant gives me connotations of the balance between law/rules and freedom (many decks even have symbols for that in the actual card). It also makes me think of righteousness, keeping things in order, sometimes captivity.

And all of these make sense in certain ways. As does the sunset/autumnal feel. This one is really, really interesting, and I feel there’s more in there.

What is everyone thinking?

[lycheedr3ams]

Death's Angel

Part 5: When No One is Watching

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, possessive!konig, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6

if you asked to be tagged on the taglist and you aren't there, that means tumblr wasn't letting me tag you, or i missed you on an older post. i'm not ignoring anyone! i'm very grateful for the support!!!

.......

series inspired by the art below!

your first sexual encounter with konig truly spelled the end for you as a well-to-do, behaved princess. when people were watching - your sisters, parents, family members - you were sure to act your civilized, royal self. you kept up with your studies and your duties in the royal court when in the public eye. to everyone, it seemed as though nothing had changed: you were the same girl that you were before konig entered the castle. you still curtsied exactly like how you were taught, you still covered your mouth when you chewed food, you still were educated and prim and proper.

but when no one was looking? when every living soul in the castle was asleep at night? that was a different story. you would - almost nightly - sneak down to konig's quarters and let him have his way with you time and time and time again. whether it was his cock shoved down your throat, his tongue slurping on your cunt, or his cock pounding you from every position imaginable, the princess you once were was long forgotten. konig never took the mask off, but you didn't mind. you once admitted to him in the midst of a rough session that the mask really turned you on.

there were even some nights that you'd have to stay in his room with him. nights when he fucked you so hard for so long that you would fall upon standing, or you'd simply pass out once he finally pulled out of your irresistible pussy. on those nights, he'd hold you close and gently caress your head and whisper things to you that you had no hope of remembering. all you knew was that he only spoke those words when it was clear you wouldn't remember them. on nights like these, when you had to stay in his quarters, he would wake you up very early to give you time to sneak back to your room and bathe before you had to don the royal facade.

there were some nights when konig would come all over your body, when it would cover your tits and ass and stomach and sometimes face. you quickly ran out of spare cloths, and had to sneak some more down each time you went. as for the cloths that got ruined, well, you had no choice but to burn them. there was no way they would ever truly be clean again. just like you, in a way.

when you would see konig outside of his room, the days you had to watch his executions, you ruined a pair of panties each time you saw him at his trade. the way he grunted and swung his axe had you hot and needy in minutes. there were some days when you couldn't wait until it was night, and konig could barely clean the blood from off his hands before you were pulling him into some spare broom closet for him to fuck you with his large, calloused hand clamped over your mouth. you'd clench around him so tightly when he did that, and he never last long during those specific encounters.

you found that you could barely focus during the day. acting like the pure princess you once were was now a quite tiresome task, and was not your true self, as you saw it. your true self was when you were on your knees for your executioner, or when his cock was rammed all the way up to your cervix. you couldn't admit it, but konig was right. he did ruin you.

the length of your conversations varied. sometimes, there was barely any words exchanged before he'd strip you bare. but there were also days when you would sneak him down some food from the royal table, and you'd watch him adoringly as he ate and muttered about how good it tasted. he would never tell you, but he loved it when you brought him food.

there were some conversations you had that konig told you to forget. conversations where he talked about how sweet you were, how you were truly an angel.

"you are an angel, you know that?" he whispered one night as you lay catching your breath with your cheek against his chest.

"hm?" you asked, not quite hearing what he said.

"Du bist meine Engel."

despite konig wanting you to forget those words, you never would. when you asked him why he wanted you to forget, he'd whisper things like "you've made me soft." you would always smile at him when he said that, and he would always avert his gaze.

there were times when he felt disgusting and dirty for treating one of the Austrian princesses like she was a whore on sale during happy hour. there were times he lay awake at night and wondered why he was so disgusting, why he loved corrupting a beautiful, sweet, innocent creature such as yourself. but he couldn't ever feel disgusted with himself for too long when he saw the way your eyes would roll into the back of your head, or how you'd moan his name as you clawed his back red. if you were his angel, you had fallen from heaven, but not from any fault of your own. he had dragged you down, and you fell willingly.

you had never felt so free, though. in konig's quarters, surrounded by stone and dim torchlight, you could forget about the social rules and niceties and courtesies that littered your mind each day. you could look konig in the eye, not have to bow, not have to cover your mouth when you laughed or worried if your dress was sitting properly. konig's quarters was the one place in the whole castle where you felt you could be yourself, and more than just sexually. there were some times when you two wouldn't fuck at all. you'd just lay on his bed, and he'd listen as you talked about your day as he ran a hand gently through your hair. he never talked much about himself, but his lips certainly got a bit looser when you snuck your hand under his shirt.

...

"you can talk to me, konig," you whispered in his ear one night as you gently dragged his shirt halfway up his chest and rubbed his abs. "you can trust me." you could tell that something had been bothering him the last few days.

konig pursed his lips under his mask and closed his eyes. you could feel the way his stomach rose and fell with each of his breaths. you kissed what skin you could access on his shoulder before he finally spoke.

"if anyone finds out, they'll take you away from me," he whispered quickly, as if he didn't want you to hear it.

you stopped stroking his abs and sat up a little to look at him. "no one's gonna find out," you soothed him as you gazed into his grey-blue eyes. "don't worry. we've been careful."

"they'll take you away from me," he repeated, gazing at the ceiling now rather than at you.

you kissed his cheek through his mask, and he blushed. but you wouldn't know. "if anyone manages to find out, I'll take care of it. nothing will come between us."

you laid back down and stroked his chest once again. "if we were to, I don't know, run away, where would you take me?"

konig blinked and wasn't sure if he heard your question. he mulled over your words, and hugged you a little tighter into his side. "as far away from here as possible."

"if I wanted to run away with you, you'd come with me, right?" you asked as you looked up at him.

"that's not a good idea," he scolded, but his attempts at setting you straight were feeble given how broken his voice sounded.

"I didn't ask if it's a good idea, konig," you said gently as you snaked your hand up his chest towards his hooded face. "I asked if you would come with me."

"yes." he said without any hesitation.

...

as the next month flew by and you and konig got closer, it got ever harder to hide your relationship with him. you two had never officially declared your status to each other, but konig's affections for you were beginning to be expressed in ways other than him fucking you senseless. if he saw a pretty rock in the stream he washes his clothes in, he'd save it for you. if he found a colorful feather on the ground, a shiny coin, any little trinket, he would give you. most times, he would take your hand in his own and place the gift in your palm before turning his body to the side. "I thought you might want this," he'd whisper uncertainly. you always smiled and thanked him so sweetly for his little gifts. signs he was always thinking of you. you were used to always receiving lavish gifts of jewels and clothing, makeup and rare gadgets. but Konig's gifts of little things he stumbled on throughout the day warmed your heart and meant so much more to you than any other gift you'd ever received. his gifts had a childlike innocence to them, and almost made you forget how he ruined you most nights. those gifts hinted to you that maybe you meant more to konig than you thought.

...

sometimes, you would fantasize with konig about what life would be like if you two ran away.

"what would you do if you weren't an executioner?" you asked him after a rather soft session. he was spooning you and gently rubbing your hips with his thumb. your head rested on his firm bicep.

he thought for a moment. "probably be a knight, or mercenary for hire. i am not fit for normal jobs."

you giggled softly. "yeah, I can see that."

"what about you?" he asked. "what would you want to be if you weren't a princess?"

your whole world stopped, and your eyes went wide. no one had ever asked you that. you were the one living the life that all the little girls in your kingdom dreamed of. what you were every day of your life, is most women's highest fantasies. why would anyone ever ask you if you would want to be anything other than a princess? what else would you possibly want to be? you paused for a while as you thought and chewed your cheek.

"i...i don't know, konig," you admitted quietly. "maybe...just living in a little cottage by the countryside. just enjoying each day, doing what I want. maybe be a village herbalist, have some cows and chickens."

konig gently squeezed your hip. "that sounds very peaceful, Engel."

you went silent, but the warm tears that fell on konig's bicep spoke more than your words ever could. he hugged you tighter and closer to him.

"if you want me to take you away from here, i will. you have my word, Engel."

you sniffled. "you can't do that konig. you have a job here, you can't just mess up your life for me."

"my life was messed up the moment i first looked at you," he said sincerely. rough around the edges, but you knew he meant well. "there's no going back. I don't want to go back. if you want to go, we go."

your head spun. "but how will we pay for everything?"

"do not worry, Engel," he said as he stroked your hair. "i have money saved, and i'm sure you could sneak some of your own on the way out. all will be well."

you held onto his bicep as you cried, and he soothed you as best as he could. you finally managed to stop crying, and now lay tired and limp against him.

"just say when, Engel," he whispered into your hair. "just say when, and we will go."

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