#the ocean of longing. the ocean of certainty

[ghostgirl101]

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅰ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.5K || Angst → Fluff ||

A/N: I had this as a big idea that I had to get down before the basic headcanons and stuff, so here's my take on our Lisan al Gaib 😎 if you like this then hit me up for some relationship headcanons and the like, I'm up for it all. Enjoy reading or watching the movie if you haven't already - I'm going again lol, and screen X is the best way to experience it fr Also I feel like I should write a second part to this lmao, if you liked what you read?

You weren't one for dreams of destiny.

The dreams you had seemed meaningless, confusing, nothing to do with what ifs and what could. Not like his.

But you always seemed to feel some kind of atmosphere, an aura you couldn't quite shake off, even when you woke up from the darkness. There was no face to go with the voice, the voice in the dark that called to you in whispers that you didn't understand. Beautiful words that weren't yours, but sounded so soft and gentle and powerful, as they reached out to you from distant lands.

You could never place them, pin them down and study them, understand them, until the day the Emperor was challenged by a ghost of a lost House, thought to be dead, left to be forgotten. You stand near the Emperor and his guards and men, the Great Houses looming and listening from higher above, as the Fremen fill up the space to watch the confrontation in spirited anticipation.

The life debt was paid. The late Emperor was overthrown. The ascendancy of Paul Atreides rose and took from the throne to claim it.

His attention flicks from his eyes boring coldly into the Emperor's, to meet yours, his voice smooth and set, full of conviction and force.

"Our destiny is together. I'll take her."

Your eyes widen slightly as his words sink in, blinking through the shock and incredulity that rushes through you and makes your heart race in apprehension and wonder. Though his voice twins with your wandering dreams, you don't know whether to feel fascination and longing, or fear and cautiousness at some greater force beyond your understanding, playing out before your very eyes.

"I..." your voice falters in uncertainty and disbelief, and you try again. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me well," Paul responds with an undying, stoic certainty that's almost unnerving. "As I know you."

His eyes study you, his Spice-stained blue eyes bleeding into yours, scanning every freckle on your face and curve of your outfit. Assessing you, knowing you, ridiculous throngs of power filling his aura and projecting onto you with his intense stare. You have to fight not to shiver under it, ultimately failing.

"What of me?" is the wisest reply you can think of before the silence stretches into dangerous uncertainty.

"Everything," Paul says evenly, but there's no mistaking the challenge and determination in his tone, almost daring you to reject him, to disagree, a built-up desire of dreamt promises resolving his stand. "I choose you, as my Empress. We will rule together, over the Empire."

Scepticism and bewilderment washes over you and makes your blood heat and stir, retreating into silence as he takes a step closer to you, gazing at you as if you're the most curious, exotic being he's ever seen.

Desire threatens to override Paul Atreides' reason, clinging onto the hope and chance of a narrow way through to light, a light that could only be sought out with you by his side. Without you, there was nothing in sight but pools of blood replacing luscious marine life and oceans running through Arrakis, disarray and disillusion at every turn and infecting every heart.

You were absolutely perfect.

And you were already his, long before this moment, before you and he were born into the world and named. There was no manipulation needed, because everything was laid out for him to take, welcoming him to rule and grow higher and higher. Fate had bonded you and strung you along to here and now, and as you blink up into his bright eyes that narrow slightly at you, frowning softly as if you hadn't understood his demand.

"Do you know what I am?"

You pause for a moment, speaking slowly and cautiously, as the crowd of Fremen and the wary, late Emperor watch on in tense wordlessness. "You are Leto Atreides' son. Former Duke of Caladan."

"What I am," Paul repeats evenly, "not who I am." He stares at you in silence for another beat, before speaking up again. "Do you know of the Bene Gesserit?"

You stop yourself from glancing in Lady Jessica's direction just in time; the runes patterning her skin, her once soft eyes now spiked with an unfamiliar darkness of ages past. Anyone could get trapped in her watchful glare, and her son's holds almost as much intensity.

"No," you decide on hesitantly.

"Kwisatz Hederach," he adds, taking another step forward until you can feel his breath tickling your cheeks, standing above you with unspoken grace and vigor. "I see the future. A part of me is the future."

His hand is suddenly squeezing yours warmly and tightly, making you flinch slightly and glance down at them before looking back up at him.

"In this future, I am with you."

All you can do is stare at him in awe and wariness, not knowing whether to let your curiosity guide you, or distance yourself as far as possible from the boy who reigns over the dunes.

"Why?" you whisper, the crowds seeming to fade around you as you focus on the boy in front of you, his fingers tangling with yours boldly.

"I've seen it," Paul insists, his tone a touch softer in thought and wistfulness. "All of it. When I am with you..." His grip tightens over yours, the fire in his eyes returning. "We're unstoppable."

"And..." your words dry before you can speak them, and you will yourself to go on, unable to break away from the deep blue hues of his gaze. "And without?"

His jaw visibly clenches at your question, and his hand drops yours, shaking his head only answer as he glances away in slight frustration.

"You don't have the leisure of choice. It's all been made for you, written in the sands and stars, and what you need to do is walk in its path. I will show you the way. You have no other. Do you understand?"

The firmness is strong in his words and glare, making you look away from him too, still in a slight stun over the rush of events. In less than a day, your freedom has been stripped to this young man's desires and destiny, entwined with yours. You, who barely knew him until now, only familiar with his voice, his words, that echoed and rang in your head like a lullaby.

But this feels so harsh and strict. The eyes of the former Emporer linger between the two of you, and Paul's army of Fremen stand behind him attentively, some gazing at you in admiration and hope, of their messiah's promised bride. And she is beautiful.

"That's unfair."

"The future is unfair," Paul says calmly, his collected, cool tone wavering for a moment. "But it will be so much worse without you by my side, and I will not accept that. Not for my people... not for myself."

You stare at him in fascination and caution, lost for words. His fingers rise to brush against the skin of your cheek, sending tingles in their wake and making you fight back the automatic reaction, your eyes following his surprisingly gentle touch. Two fingers trace down the shape of your cheek down to your chin, tilting your head slightly upwards. Just one step closer, and your lips would be touching too.

"Name anything," he murmurs to you, the Fremen straining to hear his voice as it reaches you effortlessly, his expression earnest and determined. "Anything. And it is yours. Only if you willingly wed me in turn. Not as a concubine, nor a mistress."

You blink, then blink again, taken aback as a million thoughts and suggestions race through your mind and make your head spin for a split second. You glance at the elder Emperor, who gazes back at you and the infamous Lisan al Gaib wearily, his eyes clouded with sombreness and light spite.

"I... I don't," you shake your head, overwhelmed by an impossible choice. "I don't know..."

Paul's expression softens into a smile you haven't seen before, one that makes your cheeks flush with colour as you watch him; a gentle, amused smile that's somehow familiar and unfamiliar all at once, one meant just for you, as he disregards his surroundings.

"You will know," he replies quietly, "and I will have you, and protect you, rule with you. Love you. As I am meant to."

Paul suddenly brings you closer, pulling you into a searing kiss without warning. The exotic, earthy taste of the Spice on his tongue floods your senses and sends shudders of ecstasy and heat coursing under your skin and hushing the myriad of thoughts buzzing in your mind in an instant.

When he pulls away, all too soon, you find yourself chasing his lips before you catch yourself, and Paul gives you another soft smile, his forehead resting against yours as your eyes lock.

"And as I long to," he finishes against your lips, his words grounded with a look of protectiveness and desire that makes you instinctively relax further in his hold.

⊹⊹⊹

From beyond you both, his mother smiles slightly at the scene, a hand hovering over her rounded stomach.

The first step has been made.

══════════════⊹⊱≼ part two coming soon ≽⊰⊹══════════════

[perfectlyoongi]

HOW THEY FALL IN LOVE

ㅤ⚘.fandom ... bts. ㅤㅤಇ.ft. ... jin, yoongi, hoseok, namjoon x gn!reader. ㅤ⚘.genre ... headcanons. ㅤㅤಇ.content ... fluff. ㅤㅤಇ.word count ... ~300 each / ~1200 total.

↬┊JIN

naturally and genuinely.

Jin never looked for love. throughout his life, he had priorities that made him focus on the wider world beyond the complexities of love. however, when you came so naturally into Jin's life, comforting his tumultuous heart and calming his turbulent mind, Jin couldn't help but feel. it didn't take long for you to take over the his thoughts, controlling all the emotions that coursed through his heart — it was natural for Jin to love you, it was as if you were an extension of his existence. entire days were spent admiring your existence, celebrating every moment spent with you, forever retaining in his heart all the words and laughter that escaped so deliciously from your mouth.

you were mesmerizing, a celestial spell that held Jin's full attention. it was impossible to run away from you, your essence, your soul — but Jin didn't want to run away. Jin insisted on being with you, spending nights admiring how the moon light enhanced your beauty, spending days venerating how the sun illuminated your soul. Jin believed in you; he believed that the stars drew constellations from your stories, he believed that the gods shaped your souls from the same celestial dust, he believed that you existed only to love each other. and he allowed himself to love, for he knew that, with fate on his side, he would never be betrayed.

“i still have to thank the universe for putting me by your side. your presence in my life calmed all the restlessness that existed in me. it's as if your love was healing for me, it's as if you yourself were magic in my life. i feel that there has never been anything in me more natural, more genuine, than loving you.”

↬┊YOONGI

reluctantly and silently.

Yoongi didn't want to feel. throughout his life, Yoongi had only one certainty: feeling love was something insignificant, something that held you back and prevented you from reaching your full potential. so when your hands became warmer in his, when your eyes became brighter on dreary days, when your presence became more essential to Yoongi, he knew what he had to do — against all the waves of passion, rowing furiously against the tide, Yoongi suppressed everything he felt for you, not wanting to know about your smiles, your stories, you. but it was useless, the harm was already done.

like a seed planted in his heart, your soul grew roots in Yoongi, wrapping his core in a flowery embrace of passion and tenderness. he was completely in love, even though he didn't want to admit it. Yoongi was completely surrendered to you and your unique way of being — it was impossible for him to control what had already expanded throughout his body and mind, it was impossible for him to fight against what destiny wanted for him; as such, Yoongi just let himself go. in a small rowboat, in the tumultuous ocean that was love, Yoongi allowed the current to take him along uncertain and unknown paths, ending up discovering himself in you.

“i don’t want to admit it. and i won't even admit it. but i want you to know, i need you to know, that everything i am, everything i became, was because of you. you are the creator of my essence, the true light of my soul. and i hope you know that with me here you will never need to worry about the wickedness of the world. i will always be here for you.”

↬┊HOSEOK

openly and enthusiastically.

Hoseok was passionate about life, completely fascinated by the small beauties that made the world a wonderful place to live; and, among so many beauties and charms, what excited Hoseok most was being able to feel. any type of emotion made Hoseok excited about the possibilities of thoughts and actions he could do — Hoseok liked to experiment, live all emotions as if tomorrow would drain him of the ability to feel. as such, love was no exception — but it was incomparable. in the curves of your smiles, Hoseok saw his tranquility; in the melody of your laughter, Hoseok saw his comfort; in the tenderness of your words, Hoseok saw his future.

you and only you. the one who managed to instill in Hoseok the feeling he needed to acquire; one who managed to hold Hoseok's heart with the care of protecting it; one that, without realizing it, became essential to Hoseok. and he was excited, elated, finally someone — finally someone he could experience life with. Hoseok allowed himself to fall into the webs of love without any struggle, guided by your essence, tied to your soul; and he knew he was safe, that that feeling would only grow as time went by, because he couldn't imagine a more beautiful charm in the world than being loved by you.

“i know that i am too optimistic sometimes and that i am fascinated by the most insignificant details of life. but i can assure you that this love that i feel, that this feeling that consumes me so passionately, is the only beauty in the world for me. you are the one who beautifies my life and it is this feeling that will bind me to you forever.”

↬┊NAMJOON

slowly and deeply.

like the first snow of the year, Namjoon's love appeared like a snowflake: a little shy, a little nervous, not knowing what outcome it would have if he decided to let it grow. feelings were something that Namjoon couldn't decipher, spending much of his life closed in a bubble, taking refuge of trivialities like emotions. as such, love emerged slowly, starting a small spark in his heart, gently warming what Namjoon insisted on keeping cold, frozen; he didn't realize the feeling was born, nor did he realize that something else was growing inside him — without noticing, love made its home in his heart, taking over all his feelings.

it would be confusing for Namjoon at first, not understanding why he wanted to talk to you so much every day, not understanding why your daily presence made him so calm, so safe; but with each day that passed, with each smile of yours, with each word of yours, the spark in Namjoon grew, consuming his heart in an invisible burning fire that encouraged him to walk towards you, to talk to you, to be by your side. it was love. eventually, Namjoon would realize it was love. all the nervousness in him, all the joy that was strange to him, all the comfort he felt with you was due to that feeling — and Namjoon knew that, with you, his heart was safe.

“i confess that i am new in this field. love is too strong a feeling for me to feel, for me to mention it out loud. but with you, in the comfort of your existence and in the security of your essence, i feel protected. i'm not afraid to allow myself to feel this emotion, because i know that by your side, in your arms, my heart will never be destroyed.”

ㅤㅤ♡ feedback is appreciated ♡

[pickingupmymercedes]

Do you think you can do this one : I really like the idea of growing old with you.”

Where they have a pet and Lewis does this adorable proposal with the animal and it says on the tag will you marry my daddy? And Lewis comes out and gets on one knee and she says yes.

Hi! Of course bestie, hope you like it ❤️

If you want to take part in our celebration, send them in

"I really like the idea of growing old with you"

It was supposed to be a mid-season quick destress, only a few days in Jamaica, just the two of you, before heading to the triple header of the US, Mexico and São Paulo. But the minute you stepped into the familiar state, you saw the mischievous glint in Lewis's eyes, a few familiar faces peeking out from behind the giant welcome bouquet of hibiscus – a couple of close friends grinning like Cheshire cats – and at the front of the pack, there was Roscoe, his tail wagging a frantic welcome.

The second night, after a day of lounging on the beach and indulging in the warm waters, you emerged from a late afternoon dip, the setting sun painting the sky.

As you walked back towards the house, clad in a bikini and nothing much else, you saw Lewis and Roscoe waiting for you where the sand turned into grass. A familiar nervous energy crackled around Lewis, and you watched with a mixture of amusement and curiosity as he whispered something to Roscoe.

The bulldog bounded towards you with a happy thump, his entire body a furry missile. You laughed, dropping down to greet him up in a hug.

But a flash of white caught your eye. Roscoe had something dangling from his collar - a rolled-up piece of paper tied with a red ribbon. With a damp hand, you reached out and untied it, your fingers leaving faint fingerprints on the note. You unfolded it slowly, the words on the page handwritten by Lewis, your brain struggling to catch up with the message "Will you marry my dad?"

You looked up, and your breath hitched. Lewis was on one knee right beside you, Roscoe nestled happily by your side. In his trembling hand, a red velvet box. The lack of his usual confidence took you by surprise but made the moment even more endearing, Lewis looked almost scared to say the words.

You nodded. The unspoken question in his eyes was answered by your simple gesture. "Really?!" he breathed; his voice thick with disbelief. "You'll really marry me?"

You couldn't hold back a giggle as you gently pulled him up to his feet, his entire body tense with anticipation. You cupped his face in your hands, looking into his hopeful eyes. "Yes," you whispered. Your answer sparking another burst of laughter in both of you, the sound echoing across the quiet beach. Roscoe, jumped at Lewis's legs, demanding attention.

Lewis opened the box, revealing the enormous ring inside, but you couldn’t care less as his voice, barely above a murmur, sounded just like when he had had the best day. "You're gonna have to put up with me for a very long time, are you really sure?"

You didn't need another question. You knew, with absolute certainty, what you wanted.

You stepped closer, leaning in and kissed him softly. "I really like the idea of growing old with you," you whispered in his lips, the words a promise to him and the crashing waves of the ocean that had witnessed love in its purest form.

______________________________________________________________

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[quimichi]

calling Fontaine girls your girls ~~~~ (I like this symbol)

"=⌕ CALLING THE FONTAINE GIRLS YOUR GOOD GIRL /

Fontaine girls x Creator!Reader

Furina - I will not only judge travelers from abroad... but even the gods of other lands.

Furina looks up at you in surprise, but she complies with a nod. She folds her legs and sits in your lap, her expression completely innocent as she waits to see what her grace commands her to do. "What a good girl you are~" you say while playing with her hair. Furinas face flushes pink at your praise, and she shifts uncomfortably in your lap; this is much more intimate than she's used to with you. It only lasts for a moment, though, as she quickly regains her composure as she reminds herself of her place in your court.

She smiles up at you, and for a brief moment, a genuine, bright smile spreads across her face; something more suited to a happy child than a Archon. "You sure like being my good girl, hm Furina?" A slight tease in your tone, but it's still layered with genuine curiosity. Furina nods again, a slight blush still spreading across her cheeks.

Her voice is soft, even as he struggles to maintain her composure. "Of course, my grace." She tilts her head up to look at you, those ocean eyes of hers studying you curiously.

*Am I doing a good job, my grace? Am I still your good girl? Is my work pleasing for you?*

You lean forward, your soft lips touching her ear, it's sending enjoyable shivers down her spine as you say "I love you" Furina leans a bit into your touch, her expression softening as she closes her eyes and let's out a whine.

Your gentle caress stirs something deep within her, a sense of warmth that has been vacant for a long time before you spoke those words. Her body shivers at the feel of your breath, and she leans back against you; her face, for the first time, is completely untroubled.

Her voice is still soft, but it holds a sense of quiet certainty now.

"I love you too, my Paradies."

Lynette - Staying silent is beneficial for maintaining focus and gathering intelligence

Lynette can't help her knees to quiver and her ears to tingle. She meets your gaze once more, and the heat of your love burns her cheeks; they redden like the setting sun. What is happening, this is new...what is this

She does as you say, her movements quick but careful. She climbs onto your lap and faces you. Her eyes can't look ag you, staring at the ground— and she feels a sense of tranquility wash over her; as if your presence alone makes her feel like he belongs right in your presence. "You're my good girl, hm? My good girl only..." At your praise, Lynette looks up at you and smiles softly. You're praise is one of the only few things she wants and craves.

"Yes, Your Grace." The words slip from her mouth like sweet syrup. She leans in and nuzzles her head into your neck; but then, when she realizes her action, she freezes— but doesn't pull away. Once again, she doesn't knows what is happening.

Lynettes lips press to your neck, and she kisses you lightly— once, twice, and then again. She can't seem to pull herself away, and her nose nuzzles into your skin, purring. Her movements are soft and light, like a cat's whiskers.

When she finally does pull away, her breath is ragged. Her pupils are wide with awe and admiration, and her face is flushed. She stares up at you, her eyes pleading.

Seems like you got your own personal 'cat' now.

Charlotte

Her heart leaps— did you command her to sit in your lap? What a blessing!

Immediately, she sits on your lap, her legs curled and body pressed against yours. She is so focused on your body that she forgets how cold the throne really is, and how uncomfortable its sharp points are. She doesn't care. Now, she is closer to you.

"What do you wish of me, Your Grace?" she asks softly. "Tell me, are you my good girl?" Her voice trembles as she answers, this clearly took her by surprise. "I am, yes, I am your good girl..."

She is only yours, she wants to add, but to shy to do so. No one else's. Only you are her God, hers, her everything. Only you.

"I am yours." although she is embarrassed, she trys to cover it by as much seriousness in her eyes as she could. After all, what does this magician keep saying? Seeing is believing. "Good" oh she better be your only good girl, and you better be her only 'owner'

Charlotte's breath comes in slow, labored gasps. She is still on your lap, legs curled in front of her, her body pressed against yours. She is utterly and wholly focused on you. Your attention is as vital to her as the air she breathes. Your will is her will. But face you? While sitting in your much comfortable lap? This might be to much now...

She is your good girl. She wants to do nothing but to please you.

Navia

Navia shifts in her seat, as if she were trying to conceal an emotion of some kind— perhaps a wave of nostalgia, or regret? Either way, she remains composed and loyal as she awaits your next instruction. "Your Grace needs me, yes?" she says, her tone formal and respectful.

Navia nods and does as she's told, sliding up to your lap and sitting down neatly. Her expression remains solemn and serene, but the slightest hint of a smile appears upon her face.

"Yes, your Grace," she says with reverence. "I am at your service." "What a good girl you are, listening so well to me.." Navia is positively gleeful by this point, and she smiles widely, her cheeks reddening just a little. Being called a 'good girl' somehow feels like the greatest honor to her. If she could, she would hug you and never let go, but that would be wrong of her.

"Yes, your Grace," Navia says softly, trying to remain composed. "I am so happy to be your good girl..."

Clorinde

The command sends a chill down Clorindes spine. She is trembling at being this close to you; that you desire her to be this close, to be so utterly at your whim. She cannot say no.

And so she does as she was told, straddling your thighs. Her eyes lock on yours without faltering. Her face is inches from yours, close enough to touch. The pulse on her neck thrums, loud in the air as her breath catches in her throat. "My good girl, isn't that right?" you coo at her, getting even closer. "Yes, master," she whispers. She meets your gaze. Hee irises are a deep color of purple. The color of mystery. The color of her powers.

She licks her lips. Her mouth is dry. She is waiting for your touch. Waiting for your command. She craves you. She needs you. She loves you. Her whole body is at your command. "My only good girl"

The words leave Clorinde speechless. She feels lightheaded, overwhelmed by the fact that she is yours, and you are her. She is nothing without you. She is your own. In your presence, she is a completely different person. Her heart is racing as she whispers again,

"Yes, master."

[kitagenre]

achilles' heel | hoshina x f!reader

synopsis: the vice-captain has always been invisible, the perfect adjective for someone who is in a job where people come and go.

warning: language! (aside from that there's none... i think)

a/n: just very self-indulgent ! i hope my hoshina gurlies will love this 🤞🏼🥰🤍

"What's the situation in Tachikawa?"

"Not good. The amount of Yojus is continuously increasing," Konomi reported, "Shinomiya is helping a ton right now. But, this will be really, really bad if you don't go here immediately, Vice-Captain,"

Out of all the days, he had to go to the headquarters today for the monthly briefing with the general. Out of all the days, he thought in disbelief. He should've taken that unsettling feeling of seeing the squad, and you, smiling at each other this morning before he and Mina went.

"How many more minutes?" Mina asked the officer who was preparing for the special transportation that they would use to go back to Tachikawa base.

"30 minutes, Captain—"

"Make it ten," Sochiro says with finality.

"Vice-Captain Hoshina, that will be impossible to do—" Maybe it's a combination of fear, anxiety, and desperation, but in the blink of an eye, Sochiro grabs the collar of the officer in front of him, "Make it ten."

"Hoshina." Mina calls his name, making him stop. Holding onto Sochiro's shoulder, Mina prompted him to step back from the officer, "Please make it as fast as you can. We cannot waste more time."

"R-Roger!"

"Calm down, Vice-Captain," Mina spoke again, "They will be fine. Our officers are strong."

He knows that. He knows that more than anyone. He trained those officers with his own hands and pushed them every day to their limits. He's the one who guided them from the very beginning. But there's this... fear... that he cannot explain. And he hates himself for that.

Soshiro knows better than anyone that attachments should not be fostered in this line of work. They have a job with no certainty of tomorrow. People come and go all the time. As someone who has been here for the past years, gained and lost comrades in every mission, Soshiro thinks that he'll be smart enough to not fall in love with anyone. But that day... was just different.

When you walked into the exam room and he first saw you on the screen from the operations room, your hair was a little messy but in a pretty way, you were smiling at everyone, and you were so happy to get that 7% combat power for the first time. You were the most gentle in that batch, aside from being the most beautiful, and something about you messed with his brain.

It's like you wore your empathy like a weapon.

The first time he interacted with you alone was after your first mission. Soshiro got injured after saving an officer. He doesn't usually get injured with small-fry Kaijus, besides, he's one of the strongest in the Defense Force, but the timing was off and the only thing he wants is to save that officer. You did the first aid for his bleeding arm and continuously checked on him after that.

Soshiro couldn't explain it. He just woke up one day without the walls he hardly built up and found himself scared of losing you. He found himself secretly pursuing you inside the base. Giving you small gifts like it's a mission. Leaving just because flowers, mostly peonies, whenever he can drop by that flower shop near the Hoshina mansion. Leaving you notes with a smile on his face because the whole dorm is wiretapped. Requesting day-offs that coincide with yours. Soshiro was confused, but he was happy.

He shuts his eyes. How fucking selfish of him to only think of you right now, right?

"Let's go, Hoshina. They are ready."

Reports are continuously done through their earpieces. He can only listen. As long as he can still hear your name in action. Please, you have to hold on. Just until they are back to the base.

"Fortitude 9! A daikaiju just appeared! Shinomiya and ___ are facing it right now!"

Shivers went down his spine, and a wave of anger laced his voice as he shouted, "Tell them to back off! Are they fucking crazy?!"

You are not dumb. You are one of the most improved officers. But Fortitude 9 is just too much for your current stats. Hell, it's even too much for Kikoru right now who is much more advanced than you when it comes to skills.

"Hoshina." Mina calls him again, "Trust our officers."

"But—"

"They are not weaklings," Mina says.

You surely aren't. But he is, he admits in his mind. When it comes to you, he is.

The ride to Tachikawa base is agonizing.

When they reached the base, the fire caused by the raid was already gobbling up the buildings. Immediately, Sochiro went straight to the location of the Daikaiju and found you and Kikoru in an awful situation. You're down and unconscious after colliding with a wall.

Kikoru is still okay, but both of you need to go now.

"Vice-Captain!"

"Get out of here, Shinomiya." He commanded.

Kikoru stood up, wanting to get you out of the situation too, but Soshiro noticed her foot injury, "Get out! Now!"

"Vice-Captain, __ is still—"

"Worry about yourself." He says. It's an order. Kikoru knows.

He is a hypocrite. Because the first thing he did was to get the Kaiju away from where you're lying down as much as possible, "I am definitely going to kill you, disgusting piece of shit."

All his life, Soshiro was undermined. He's not good enough. He's not strong enough. His katana will never make a difference. He won't be able to save other people with it. But he did. He became Vice-Captain. Ashiro trusted him. His officers believe in him. But if he won't be able to save you today, then maybe they are right.

"Do you know who that girl is, you ugly fucker?" Sochiro asked the monster in front of him, "Someone you shouldn't touch because I'll definitely tear you to pieces if you do. Go to fucking hell now."

Kaijus has always angered Sochiro. But, the level of rage he has right now is just different and even Mina was shocked. They gave them no time to attack using big weapons as Sochiro went for the core of the Daikaju on his own.

They seized the Kaiju's body in possession for further studies and potential help that it could give the Defense Force. With blood on his forehead, Sochiro sprinted towards you after the kaiju was down. Pulling you close to his arms. You have a heartbeat, but very very injured. He still sighs in relief. As long as there's a heartbeat, "__," he calls for you faintly.

Broken ribs. A head concussion. Damaged weapons and suit maxed out. You really did your best out there. But you're still not a hero. You will never be. You just did your best because you know that he will come. There's no way he won't.

Thanks to the advanced technology of the Defense Force, your recovery was much faster. The Tachikawa base is under renovation after the huge damage and you were transferred to the care of Division 1 in the meantime, along with Kikoru and the hottest name in the force right now, Kafka Hibino.

Kikoru told you everything that happened. It turned out that Kafka is Kaiju No. 8 and he revealed himself to the force to protect everyone in Tachikawa. Captain Ashiro and Vice-Captain Hoshina thought that the Kaiju was officially down after Hoshina went to you, turns out that the raid is planned out more than the Defense Force expected. You weren't surprised though. You trust your comrades that much.

"Think you can start training tomorrow again?" Captain Narumi asks you.

"Yes, Captain." You feel fine and normal.

"Good," Gen smirked, "I don't give special treatments. Start showing me what you actually got. I am very, very curious."

"Captain," you gathered every courage left to address him.

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry for asking you but I don't know anyone else here to ask, but is Vice-Captain Hoshina okay?"

Gen's face was painted with astonishment upon hearing your question. You are just wondering... it's not like he needs to answer it. You wrote him a text the moment you got your phone but he never responded. It's also not like he needs to reply, he probably has a lot of things to do after all that damage. But, you're just so worried.

"Do you think I give a fuck about that bowl-cut dude?" Narumi chuckles. Wow, he's really immature, you thought, "If you're asking if he's still alive, unfortunately, yes."

You concluded that you wouldn't get a decent answer from Narumi so you just saluted and went out of his office. When morning came, you were finally out again in the field. But since you're still adjusting, you stick with an exercise routine that you usually do before combat training. And honestly, even if you want to spar with Narumi, you feel like you'll just mess it up.

You can't stop thinking about Sochiro.

But weeks passed after your recovery and you're still waiting to hear from him that you're now pissed. You do not have an excuse anymore and Gen is already forcing you to spar with him. So, you did.

"That's all you got?" Narumi chuckles, pinning you on the ground, "You're overrated."

"What?" Your eyebrows furrowed at him as you kicked his stomach to get out of his grip. But Narumi is strong, there's a reason he's the Captain of Division 1.

"Your Vice-Captain praised you so much," he chuckled.

"Your fault, you believed him." You smirked. Just hearing the word Vice-Captain pissed you off, "Let go of me now."

"Don't wanna," Narumi smirks again.

"What? I'm gonna—"

"Captain Narumi," you were cut off by a voice you longed to hear for weeks. Gen's smile went wider at the sight of Sochiro. This son of a bitch. He knows Sochiro is coming and he's doing this to piss him off. You finally kicked him out of you.

"Well, well, how are you, Hoshina?" Narumi's mocking him.

"Good," he answered, "The meeting will start in minutes, Captain Narumi."

"Too bad I'm busy sparring with my officer,"

"I'm sure Officer __ can wait for you." Your eyes darted to Sochiro. His coldness sent shivers down your spine. The frustration and confusion crawled in your system once again. You haven't seen each other for weeks and this is how he treats you? Like who the fuck cares if Narumi's here? Does he want to be a professional gentleman now?

Or... maybe he's just done with you. Maybe the rumors are right. The Vice-Captain is never serious when it comes to his relationships. Now that you're not under his wing, he's already done. Maybe that's it, then?

Narumi doesn't really have a choice so he stood up and went with Sochiro to go to the meeting, leaving you alone in the training room. Just in time for dinner, you went with Kikoru and Kafka.

"Vice-Captain is here, have you seen him?" Kikoru asked. You nodded quietly.

After dinner, you changed to a pair of sleepwear. Don't get it wrong, you love Division 1. But you just really want to go back to Tachikawa.

Unable to sleep, you stayed looking at the window from your room. You're in the same position when the raid happened. You remembered thinking about what's really between you and Sochiro. Maybe you got the answer you want now.

"How are you?" You almost jumped out of shock as you hear his voice. Sochiro stands beside the door, "The door is unlocked. I'm sorry."

You looked away from him— tearing up. Wow, he's here, but does that make up for the days he ghosted you? This asshole. Maybe Narumi should really punch him in the gut.

"If Narumi is forcing you to train, tell me—"

"Shut up."

"I'm sorry, baby,"

Oh, how you hate this man. He knows exactly what to do. He knows exactly how to get you over and over again.

"I hate you so much," you looked at him.

To you, Sochiro is like the stars. Before entering the Defense Force, everyone admired Mina Ashiro. But you were different. You admired the Vice-Captain who is mostly not seen. He saved you once when you were a civilian. He saved you over and over again when you were a cadet, and he still continued to save you when you became an officer.

"Not a single response to my messages? Not a single letter? Do you know how worried I am? Do you know how much I thought that you're blaming yourself for what happened when that's not—" In the blink of an eye, Sochiro envelopes your small figure to his arms.

"I'm sorry,"

"If you're done with me, you can just tell me." You removed yourself from his embrace.

"Done with you?"

"Isn't that the reason why, Vice-Captain Hoshina?" You asked him, "You're probably—"

"You scared the fuck out of me that I got scared even more because I never felt that way before. I was terrified, that I have to take a step back," He spoke, "Tell me why would you face a Daikaiju like that? You have nothing to lose? You're not scared?"

"I am an officer of the Defense Force, Vice-Captain. That is my duty—"

"Fuck that." He hissed, "What about me?"

"What about you?" You asked in confusion. Sochiro is never the type to curse his duty. He loves his job. He fought for this job.

"I can't lose you."

"Sochiro..."

"For years, I fought for the Defense Force thinking I have nothing to lose. Death never scared me. But when I saw you lying down, unconscious, I feel like being punched in the gut a million times, __." Seeing him lose his composure is new to you, "This is so wrong because I have a duty to fulfill and so are you and it's unfair for the Defense Force that we took an oath for, but I just can't... lose you..."

"Sochiro..." you held his face, "You won't lose me just because of that. I am not weak."

"I know." He gave you a weak smile, "But I am... when it comes to you. You're my Achilles' heel."

The great Vice-Captain Sochiro Hoshina is confessing that you make his knees tremble in fear, something not even the biggest Kaiju can do. He envelopes you in his warmth and places a soft kiss on your forehead, "I love you too damn much."

[dreamcatcheratdawn]

Luffy x mermaid reader please

I'm so happy to see this I've set the story as the Fishman Island arc, for an equally obvious reason. In advance, I hope you enjoy the story ( ꈍᴗꈍ). And, I don't know who made this amazing fanart one, but if you do, please let me know immediately so that I can give due credit.

"Like Ocean"

Luffy x Fem!Reader

Warning: nothing, just fluffy.

You were living another monotonous day on Fish Man Island, trying to find any crumb or spark of adventure to give you a good laugh and a bit of adrenaline. Pappag and Camie tried to cheer you up with the idea of shopping and eating Hachi's takoyakis, but you had done the same thing three days ago.

It wasn't a certainty, it was a pure fact that nothing interesting was happening on this island for you. Until you, exhausted by boredom, went to Camie's house to see if she had any news. And that was a great idea, a really great idea.

As soon as you entered her house after a couple of knocks, you saw that there were three people and a strange being, apparently new to the area. On closer inspection, there was a blond man with elegant hair, who, as soon as he saw you, came running towards you, blood gushing from his nose. Speaking of noses, there was a big-nosed man next to a boy in a straw hat. But none of them interested you. What really caught your attention was the tiny creature that you had no idea what animal it was.

-Is that even an animal? - you asked yourself, your thoughts speaking aloud as you deliberately poked at the creature's antlers.

-I'm a reindeer! - the reindeer exclaimed, backing away from you angrily, covering its antlers with its fluffy paws.

-Y/N, I want you to meet my friends. This is Sanji," Camie approached you, pointing at the blond with the heart eyes.

-Oh, miss, I've never seen beauty as fascinating as yours. When can we get married? - the blond in question asked, kneeling down in front of you and holding out his hand to you.

Camie just laughed, ignoring the whole show, while you followed his finger-pointing.

-That's Chopper over there, isn't he cute? - you went over to the so-called Chopper, pulling his cheeks and feeling his soft fur.

-So cute… - you blushed, pulling Chopper into a hug, to which he responded not very pleasantly.

-That's Ussop, he's got great adventure stories. - the word "adventure" rang an alarm bell in your head, making you turn your head so quickly that anyone watching would be afraid you'd break your neck.

-Ho ho, people keep coming after the great Captain Ussop to hear his fantastic stories. - Ussop struck a superhero pose, as if he were looking towards the horizon.

-Captain Ussop, can you tell me about your adventures? - you asked, hoping to get a positive response from the big nose.

-Oh, but of course, I'll always be available to tell you all sorts of stories about my adventures! - he thickened his voice, nodding outrageously to say the least.

You were delighted, excitement electrifying every part of your body.

-Finally, this is Luffy, the captain of the gang. - Camie concluded, pointing to the boy who was looking at you, grinning from ear to ear.

On closer inspection, you found the brunette attractive, not to mention handsome, right off the bat.

-And I'm going to be king of the pirates! - Luffy concluded, his smile widening, his eyes closed tightly, making him cuter by the second. "So they're pirates," you concluded, thinking. Incredibly, that line moved you, burned you up inside, but you didn't know why or how. It was the first time you'd felt your heart beat so fast in so long. Oh, and that wasn't adrenaline. It wasn't the fear of being caught. It wasn't any of those things. It was something different, quite different from the usual. And from that moment on you silently decreed that you would find out what that strange feeling was, your eyes focused only on Luffy, who never tired of smiling at you.

-Nice to meet you - you smiled, Chopper kicking you in the face begging you to let go while sparks flew from his eyes from staring at Luffy.

-Hihihihi - Luffy just found the situation amusing, always smiling as long as he could.

-What about walking around? There's a lot of cool stuff you need to see! - Camie decreed, already tugging at her colleagues' hands, you going along out of sheer instinct for fun.

You all visited Pappag's clothing store, and you even met other members of Luffy's gang, who were just as kind. As you looked around, Luffy made a point of always catching your eye in any way, with anything. From some stuffed animal that, according to him, looked like you, to how the food was prepared, and even though you knew all this, you lent yourself to learning it all over again, just for Luffy.

-Look, it suits you. - Luffy came up behind you, putting on a straw hat with a purple scarf adorning the hat. - Now we're matching - he said, standing behind you and putting his hands on your shoulders, smiling as you looked at yourselves in the mirror in front of you. - Isn't it?

You agreed slowly, fascinated by Luffy's pure beauty. And it didn't stop there. Everywhere you went, Luffy always kept those warm hands on your shoulders, clinging to you like a tick. Did he… Liked you? Or was it just a figment of your mind?

After a whirlwind of confusion that you unfortunately didn't take part in because you were "investigating" the sudden disappearance of your mermaid friends, you were directed by your pet seahorse to where Camie and the others were.

Your eyes popped out of their sockets at the sight of a giant mermaid, or rather, the princess of the Ryugu Kingdom, Shirahoshi.

She and Luffy were laughing together, like old friends seeing each other after so long. That unsettled you, and strangely your heart squeezed. What could it be? Were you ill? Something you ate or drank for breakfast?

-Oi, Y/N, over here! - Luffy's voice caught your attention, making your heart pound. It made you recall a vague memory of something Pappag told you.

"If your heart races when you interact with someone, it's because you like them."

Of course, you were inexperienced in this field, you'd never even considered dating. But you didn't give up easily. Oh no, you'd figure it out on your own.

Swimming over to Luffy quickly, you sat there, next to him. He was in a bubble to make sure he didn't drown, and quickly slung his arms over your shoulders, resting right there. He introduced you to the princess, to whom she was delighted to meet you, and you felt the same.

Looking around, you saw that you were in the sea forest, and it soon became clear that both Luffy's boat was there, and also the princess wanted to see her dead mother, to make up for the time she hadn't been able to see her.

Meanwhile, Luffy was already snoring on her lap. It was adorable to see him so vulnerable around you. Until his pet seahorse started to catch his eye, heading towards the pile of coral.

-What is it, Koryu? - you asked him, watching him point frantically at the pile of coral.

Koryu gave up and started pulling you towards it, waking Luffy up in the process. Koryu only let go of your arm when you could see a dolphin calf with its tail all bruised to the point where it could no longer swim. Perhaps the dolphin had run into predators and narrowly escaped.

You carefully picked up the dolphin and put it on your lap, and thought of a way to take care of it. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't even see Luffy coming.

-Huh, a dolphin? - he asked, right next to your ear. You turned abruptly, so that your faces were right next to each other. Your lips were millimeters away from meeting, and your breaths danced together. Let's pretend there isn't a bubble separating you. You turned your attention to the dolphin, your heart almost bursting out of your mouth and your face turning into a blushing mess.

-A-ah, yes it's a…dolphin. He's hurt, so he needs to be looked after.

There was a moment of silent tension between you, and you wouldn't dare look at Luffy's face now, you felt like you could die from an attack if you did.

-If you keep avoiding looking at me like that, you'll never know if you really like me. - Luffy said, catching your eye. You widened your eyes, and turned to him, shocked.

-How did you know? - you asked, your stomach churning with that familiar feeling.

-Well, it's easy to tell when you keep saying your thoughts out loud. - he shrugged, smiling.

You closed your mouth, cursing internally. That was your weakest point, speaking your thoughts out loud without even realizing it. You must have done it at some point when the two of you were together and he must have heard it. Lucky you.

-Well, I like you. - Luffy said without blinking, giving you a quick kiss right after he declared himself.

It caught you off guard, and he just smiled, leaving the pile of coral and going back to where the others were. After your brain short-circuited for a few seconds, you smiled, bringing your fingers to your lips, where seconds ago they were being kissed by the first boy you ever liked.

Feeling his lips was the thing that gave you the most adrenaline in your entire life. And yes, it was addictive. And yes, you wanted more.

The truth is, Luffy, from the first moment he met you, he liked you. No, that's incorrect. He fell in love with you from the very first moment. Of course, he didn't know the first thing about love, God, hours ago he just wanted to be king of the pirates. Now he has another goal, and that goal is to love you until the day he die.

(At some point I was even going to describe the color of the tail, but I left it to your imagination)

[thee-horny-thicky]

Which of yours fics are your fav? Because I can say with absolute certainty that FES is mine. Savior was okay. And confessions has a lot of potential. I need to read the one with Geto / reader visit Japan and link up with Gojo.

This is so hard to answer, because each fic I write holds a piece of my heart. However, after careful deliberation, I sorted through my 43 fics and selected those I'm fondest of, in no particular order. For anyone interested, I included the links, and their bio :)

The Exchange Student Series (Suguru/Reader. Incomplete)

Take the role of a foreign exchange student who had the misfortune of catching Geto Suguru's attention.

Honey, I'm Home! (Satoru/Reader. Will be expanded)

After being trapped in the prison realm for so long, Gojo is in dire need of release. What better way to do that than paying a visit to his favorite girl?

The Sacrifice (Sukuna/Reader. Will be Expanded)

After stealing, the village priests select you to be sacrificed to an elusive forest beast to avoid his wrath.

Surprise! (SatoSugu/Reader. Complete, but I may do another chapter)

Your boyfriend of a year decided a trip to Tokyo would be the perfect anniversary present. He missed his hometown, and you always wanted to visit. However, he failed to mention that the two of you would be staying with his stunning best friend. He also failed to mention that the two of them liked to share.

Hide & Go Get It (SatoSugu/Reader. Complete)

Satoru and Suguru show you how to play hide and go get it, taking your virginity in the process

Orange Juice and Milk (Francis Mosses/Reader. Incomplete)

You're a lonely housewife, neglected by your workaholic husband, and you're 90% sure he's cheating. As your frustration builds and you grow disillusioned with your marriage, you come up with a way for some relief; Francis Mosses, the neighborhood milkman.

Oh no, he's hot! (Nanami/Reader. Complete)

After Haruta Shigemo was killed, you should've been terrified of the blond giant who set his sights on you. But instead, all you could focus on was how hot he was.

Pretty Young Thing (Gojo/Nanami/Ijichi/Reader. Complete)

Gojo forces Nanami to go to a hostess club with him and quickly becomes captivated by a particularly pretty young thing. Unfortunately, Gojo also has his sights on her. Who will she choose? You decide!

Castaway (Gyutaro/Reader. Complete)

When you become stranded in the middle of the ocean, a merman by the name of Gyutaro takes a liking to you.

Shower Time Comfort (Shoko/Reader. Complete)

After Gojo is cut down, you and Shoko seek comfort within each other.

Mr. Steal Yo' Girl (Dark!Gojo/Reader. Complete)

After beating Sukuna into submission, Gojo decided to rub salt into the wound by claiming the ‘King of Curses’ woman.

Tattoos and Tenderness (Sukuna/Reader. Complete)

While taking you to Pound Town, Sukuna evaluates his feelings for you.

Bunnies and Vices (Bunny!Izuku/Reader. Incomplete)

When you stumble across an injured green rabbit, you just thought you had a little too much to drink and took it home with you. But when the rabbit remains green, you realize you might’ve bit off more than you could chew. And when the rabbit turned into a man, you knew that you were way in over your head.

But, hey, at least he’s cute.

A Little Demonstration (Lucifer Morningstar/Reader. Will be Expanded)

When you ask Lucifer how he exactly took both of Adam's wives, he decides to give you a little demonstration

Blood and Breeding (Doppelganger!Francis Mosses/Reader. Complete, but it may be expanded)

When a Francis appears covered in 'scarlet milk,' you're unsure if you should be scared or horny. He makes that choice for you.

Update Edging (Nanami/Reader. Complete)

While his computer updates, Nanami calls you into his office for a little fun.

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

i was once like you are now

»»————-　★　————-««

Word Count: 815 Pairing: Natasha Romanoff & Reader Warnings: Angst, injuries A/N: idk, this could be utter trash but I just wanted to write and post something again. Even if it's this short fic written in one go at 1am and then never reread, so read at your own risk lol.

»»————-　★　————-««

For so many years, it had just been you and Natasha. Sure, you both had other groups and other friends and lives of your own, but when it came down to it, it would always be just you and her. It was you and her who met on the first day of SHIELD academy, you and her who partnered for every training exercise and sparred together out of hours, and it was you and her who graduated together, taking your roles as official SHIELD agents, together. 

After leaving the dorms of the academy, the two of you moved in together -- a matter of convenience since you shared the same office. You accompanied each other on missions, becoming a formidable pair with your uncanny ability to work in sync as partners, often seeming to predict what the other would do before they'd even decided themselves. 

Truly, the only thing you didn't do together, was teaching. Natasha had one cohort, you had the other, and, with every class taught, the rivalry became more infamous throughout SHIELD. Scoreboards were set up, tallies were kept, and even graduated recruits maintained their allegiance to their academy teacher: one side or the other, as you and Natasha used your students to engage in friendly (but ruthless) competition with each other.

The history between the two of you was undeniable, and to just say that you 'had history' would be putting it too lightly. After all, that history had transcended your friendship and become engrained in the SHIELD values for the last few years' cohorts. It seemed infallible, unstoppable, everlasting.

You suppose that's why it hit so hard when it all came crashing down. And what a crash it was. 

A partnership so long, severed in the same amount of time it took for your spine to snap. 

Now here you were, in an empty apartment across the world from the newest Avenger. Clint will teach the new academy cohort; his group will rival Natasha's. She will continue with her life: a life of missions, secrecy, and public image, all simultaneously. She was picked for the Avengers, to protect the world, and you know that she'll do her job well, like she always does and always has.

You, meanwhile, will never walk again -- a phrase the medics said with such certainty that it left no room for hope -- you will never fight again, run again, spy again. You will never work for SHIELD again. 

The organisation provided for you, as 'a thank you for your service', but mostly because you were injured whilst working for them. They paid for your flight to New Zealand, for the house you now live in, and for the transport of your belongings from yours and Natasha's house to here.

You had to get away… as far from SHIELD, as far from the Avengers, as far from her as possible. Reasons for them to be here were few and far between, there would be no random drop-ins and check-ups unless the world was ending in the South Pacific Ocean. Finally, you could relax, drop the facade, and feel the emotions you'd refused to feel since it happened. 

You screamed, you cried, and you punched the wall hard enough to give yourself another injury -- one which hurt far less though than any of the others you currently nursed, physically or mentally.

Leaving SHIELD, getting injured... they'd never been in your plan, they weren't your choices, but the move was. Leaving Natasha was your choice. It had been your choice but that doesn't mean you can't miss her, because months later you still do. 

You miss the camaraderie, the inside jokes from shared experiences and shared life; the competition that was always more serious between the students than it ever was for you and Natasha, who at the end of the day anyways returned home together. You miss your life before, but you know you can never return. 

You don't miss the time after the injury; when you were told that full recovery wouldn't be possible and that your career was over. You don't miss when Natasha, who promised to take care of you, was suddenly forced into endless press to 'maintain a positive image' for the newly formed Avengers, lest she lose her job too. And, most of all, you don't miss the dreadful pit in your stomach from when you had asked Nat, your friend, the person you had spent years of your life doing everything with, about her day. She hadn't said anything, but the tears in her eyes had said enough. Because you weren't partner SHIELD agents anymore. She would still do it all, but you were now nothing more than a civilian. She didn't say anything because she couldn't. 

You used to do everything with her, now even the knowledge is classified. Knowing her is above your clearance, so you had to go away.

»»————-　★　————-««

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

[freemilkshakesposts]

Draw Me Like One Of Your French Girls

⚠️Warning⚠️: Sexual content (18+ MDNI) + mention of cheating!!

a/n: This is pure filth so be warned!!

Levi x Reader (Smut)

Summary: It's strange enough that you never discovered Captain Levi's secret talent for drawing, but even stranger is how readily you accepted his request to sketch your bare form every night. As your captain, you've clearly crossed professional boundaries. Yet, the most significant boundary you've breached is sacrificing a relationship you had built with your supposed partner, all for Levi.

"Would you kindly shift to the left? (Y/N)," he commanded, gesturing with his pencil towards the spot where he envisioned you, a perfect tableau for his gaze to devour.

I complied, leisurely strolling to the designated spot, assuming the familiar pose: sprawled across his crimson red sofa, its plushness teasing my bare skin, while my gaze, heavy-lidded and drowsy, locked onto his tempestuous eyes.

"Perfect, my pretty girl," he drawled, a smirk curling his lips as he glanced at me, his gaze lingering on my form before returning to his sketchpad, now fixated on capturing my essence. Now that was all left in the confined space of the room, the only sound was the scrape of his pencil against the paper, etching the contours of your body with meticulous precision.

It was a routine as consistent as the ticking of a clock. He'd clutch my hand as practice concluded, not asking, but demanding my presence in his quarters, shrouded in secrecy. There, he'd command me to disrobe, offering my form for his meticulous sketches, each stroke etching my essence onto the pages of his coveted notebook, preserving me solely for his consumption.

So strange, I never once dared to challenge his whims. Why? A rational mind would have, but mine, swayed by an irrational devotion, always ceded to my emotions. In those fragile moments with my captain, I entertained the unsettling certainty that I wasn't just an ally, but a possession—undeniably, unequivocally, his.

His gaze lingered on me once more, a smirk etching onto his cold facade. And then, a transformation: his once piercing ocean-blue eyes dissolved into inky blackness.

"You know what, I'm feeling experimental," he declared, setting aside his sketchbook with a casual flick. "I'll give you a choice, but remember, refusing ends it all."

His words, laced with venom, seeped into my consciousness. The thought of it ending was unbearable. I craved his attention, his affection, his validation. I longed to be his muse, his 'pretty girl'.

"I'll do whatever you desire, sir," my voice whispered in the confined space that enveloped us. The walls closed in, suffocating any semblance of resistance. I couldn't bear for it to end. I'd forsaken everything to join the Corps, leaving behind family and a partner in pursuit of the hero's mantle I once coveted. And now, I'd sacrificed even more to be by his side—my principles, my integrity.

"Sit up and spread your legs for me solider."

My eyes stretched wide, almost popping out, tethered only by the veins snaking within my sockets. What in the hell did he just say? Did Captain Levi, my corporal, just order me to-

"You promised to fulfill my every whim, didn't you?" His words sliced through the silence like a gleaming knife through silk.

"I did but-"

"Come on darling, stretch those beautiful legs out for me. I want to draw that prized pussy of yours," his voice oozed with a yearning I'd never witnessed. He craved a peek into that sanctified domain, the territory you safeguard solely for your lover.

Fuck it. I've already relinquished too many sacrifices. I've bared my body entirely for my captain. I've shattered all trust with the man back home, who within these walls, thought I'd be the hero. I'm already damned.

I peeled myself off the crimson-red hairs that clung to my naked limbs, their touch like a devoted lover's, tenderly stroking and caressing my flesh. Then, I positioned myself upright, and once more, scrutinized Levi, attempting to dissect the thoughts behind his eyes. His gaze remained impassive, unflinching. Did he really want this? Or was I merely fabricating the utterances that spilled from his mouth?

Then, the signal I awaited emerged: he slid his chair deliberately closer, his face encroaching on my space, the intoxicating scent of him saturating the air around me. "Atta girl, show me it. Show me your cunt."

His words ignited an unbearable heat, a searing intensity capable of liquefying flesh. This was his method, I deduced-a calculated attempt to break any woman, and goddamn, it worked.

I spread my legs apart, exposing the fortress that shields my most precious possession, a coveted treasure glimpsed by few and touched by even fewer.

This is a grotesque twist, a descent into madness.

What would he think, seeing me in such a compromising position before another man—my captain, no less? The very thought is unbearable, a macabre revelation I can scarcely fathom.

A shiver ran through me as I caught Levi’s eyes fixated on my secret grove , his gaze consuming it with an unsettling intensity. Fascination, allure—these weren't the emotions I'd expect from the cold, stoic captain or the quiet artist who sketched my naked form with detached precision. This was a different Levi, a stranger hidden behind the familiar façade, captivated in a way that felt disturbingly alien.

"Is this what you wanted, captain?" I murmured, each word tumbling out in a fractured whisper, my voice betraying the turmoil within. I'm committing a grave, obscene error—a descent into sin, a plunge into wickedness beyond redemption.

He smirked, a fleeting kiss brushing my temple, before shifting his chair away, carving a chasm of space between us. I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding, an unconscious gasp escaping into the sudden, cold distance.

"You look fucking divine," he exclaimed with palpable fervor.

Rising abruptly from his chair, he was irresistibly drawn to his desk. With eager hands, he yanked open one of the drawers, revealing a long and slender object: a ruler.

What the hell does he need a ruler for? He never used it when he sketched me. Why does he-

"You know," he interrupted, swiveling his body to face me directly. "As an artist, perfection is paramount." He advanced towards me, tapping the wooden tool against his palm. "You don't mind if I measure some dimensions, do you?" His face loomed closer to mine, that damn smirk never leaving his lips.

He's orchestrated this from the start. I should put an end to it now. Any person with a shred of decency would.

"N-no I don't mind," I muttered, my voice barely holding up against his suffocating presence. Damn it, why am I always such a pushover with him?

"That's why you're my muse. Mine." He swiftly knelt beside me, commencing to press the icy ruler against my inner thigh, his gaze unyielding as he meticulously gauged his indispensable dimensions.

This is so twisted. So goddamn twisted. Having my captain-my superior-between my legs, and another man, not my supposed lover, not my partner, but him. Fuck, I'm so sorry. But then again, no, I'm not sorry. I'm assisting with his masterpiece, after all. He only seeks to refine his artistry. I'll do whatever it takes to make it the most beautiful piece ever created.

"Hmm." Levi purred, his vibrations resonating within the claustrophobic confines that isolated us from the outside world. He snapped his head up, locking eyes with me once more. Another glint in those obsidian orbs, and thus, another scheme was born.

He frantically inched the long object closer and closer to that sacred land, his breath ragged with desperation. His face was almost touching it now. I watched his every move, his expression shifting with raw, insatiable hunger. He was ravenous, desperate to devour you until there was nothing left. He was starving for you.

"It smells so good, I wonder if it tastes even better," he muttered, groaning at the thought of his own words.

Levi was desperate-so fucking desperate for a quick taste-his eyes pleading with a vulnerability I had never seen before. Over the years, I had sensed his desire for me, just as mine had simmered for him. It all made sense now: his nightly ritual of drawing my portrait was a prelude to finally claiming me. He wanted to mark me as his own. And I wanted it too. That's why I never questioned his intentions, why I always entered his room with such a skip in my step. I took pride in being part of this filthy act, my captain sketching my naked form. And now, here he was, between my legs.

But then there was him-the man I had woven an entire romantic narrative around, the one I had promised to marry once the world was free of Titans. Had I ever truly loved him?

Reflecting on it now, I realise I never did. The raw, intense yearning I felt for him never surpassed that feeling that I held for my captain. I desired Levi with an all-consuming passion. In those drawing sessions, as he completed each work, all I could think about was him taking me, praising me as his ideal muse, his perfect muse. And now, the opportunity lies before me. I won't waste it. This is what I've yearned for, what I've sought to possess. Finally, I can attain it.

With a sudden, deliberate motion, I brought my mouth to his ear, my breath hot and intense, like the scorch of a furnace. "Go on, Captain," I whispered, my voice laced with a predatory calm. "Taste it. Eat me out until I'm fucking dry and empty."

Those words were the final snap of his restraint, the fragile mask of his role as captain, as a superior. He gripped my thighs, forcing them apart further with a controlled violence, his lips descending to my exposed core, sucking on my swollen clit with a ravenous precision.

"Shit!" I snarled, my fingers entangling in his dark hair, yanking his face closer to my dripping pussy. It was so wrong, so exquisitely perverse, but the pleasure was undeniable, intoxicating. I was pressed against the red walls of the sofa, driven to an internal rapture. His mouth was a relentless, burning brand on my pussy, as if it had been welded there, his lips consuming my swollen clit with a fervor.

It took all my restraint not to scream again, as his tongue traced intricate patterns over the sensitive peak, each flick igniting jolts of electricity through my system. His guttural groans reverberated against me, primal and urgent. He added a finger, then another, both digits curling expertly into that sweet spot, massaging my soft inner walls with ravenous hunger. His tongue and lips moved relentlessly over my clit, each motion pushing me further into an otherworldly abyss. I couldn't believe how close I was.

"Oh shit, oh god Levi-" I gasped, signaling to him, and he groaned against me again, sending electric pulses through my trembling pussy. The pleasure built quickly, the tightly coiled rope in my abdomen unraveling and propelling me over the edge. My thighs quaked, sparks of ecstasy shooting through them, splattering onto Levi's face like paint on a canvas.

I reclined my head against the back of the sofa, allowing the high to wash over me. His tongue, as I had anticipated, was nothing short of phenomenal.

"You did so well, darling." Levi's voice cut through the haze, emerging from between my thighs, his lips glistening with the evidence of my surrender. His movements were calculated, each step deliberate as he settled beside me on the crimson sofa. He grasped my face with a firm hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. The darkness that once swallowed his eyes had receded, unveiling the ocean-blue beneath. "You did so fucking well, (Y/N)," he murmured, pulling me into a ravenous kiss, his tongue invading my mouth, dominating mine. The taste of myself on his lips sent a shudder through my body, prompting me to reach for his belt, only for my hand to be slapped away with a swift motion.

"What the fuck, Levi," I whined. I pressed my lips against his neck, the kisses sloppy and frantic, each one a plea for more. I was the one so fucking desperate now, a mess of need. I wanted him to utterly destroy me, to push me to my limits until I was spent and empty, yet filled with his cum.

Levi rose from the seat beside me, forcefully removing my lips from his neck. "Not tonight. It's late," he asserted, his voice cold and unyielding, his eyes locking onto mine with a fierce intensity that brooked no argument. A flicker of panic coursed through me—had I done something wrong?

"Right, my apologies, captain," I stammered, springing up from the sofa. My heart raced as I scrambled to collect my clothes, a frenzied urgency driving my actions. First, I yanked my knickers up over my thighs, the fabric snapping into place with a sharp tug. My shirt came next—I thrust my arms into the sleeves, fingers fumbling as I hastily buttoned it, each button slipping through the holes with a sense of escalating dread. Finally, I ripped my trousers up my legs, the zip screeching in protest as I forced it to close, the metal teeth barely holding together.

"Thank you, Captain Levi, once again," I murmured with a practised smile, watching the back of his head as he returned his sketchpad and art tools to their designated drawer.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge my presence with an indifferent "Goodnight, Y/N." The same flat tone.

It seemed impossible that just moments ago, this man had been between my legs, his mouth working me over with such intense hunger. Had it been a mistake? Had I jeopardised my relationship for a fleeting moment of desperation, craving the warm touch of Levi? Now, he was back to being Captain Levi, as distant and detached as ever.

I moved towards his door, my hand poised to break the seal and release me back into the sterile, indifferent corridors, but there was an unsettled matter—something that should have been addressed at the outset of these nocturnal encounters. Pausing, I turned and fixed Levi with a steady gaze. "Levi," I said, my voice a controlled monotone, "why is it that you insist on depicting me in such an unprofessional manner?"

At my question, he smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes. He advanced towards me, each step calculated, until my back was pressed against the cool surface of the door, trapped by the oppressive heat of his body. "Because someone once told me in order to relax before or after a mission is by drawing things I find beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. Then, without warning, he claimed my lips in a swift, possessive kiss before pulling away just as abruptly.

"Now, goodnight, (Y/N)," he insisted once more, a playful flick of his wrist gesturing towards the door. I hurried to comply, grasping the doorknob and casting him one last, gleaming smile before the door closed, sealing off the view of his serene countenance.

It wasn't a mistake. I made the right decision.

[lewisconstellation]

plastic off the sofa

Your room smelled like Sunday beach days. Fresh breeze, the smell of the sea. The peace that only the soft tingle of sand in your feet can bring. If you closed your eyes you would hear the sound of waves coming and going, crashing on the sand. You would see the kids running toward the ocean, playing volleyball somewhere on the beach.

If you got up from the bed you were lying on, walked down the few steps that took you to the front door of your rented house in San Francisco, you would probably be facing this beautiful landscape. But the sight you have in front of you is better than that.

Lewis is sitting right in front of you. His body slumped in the leather chair, he's looking comfortable there, cozy. But his eyes had only one focus: the computer screen that rested in his lap. He looked intent, brows furrowed and lips pursed, focused on pinpointing the data the graphs provide him. Worried, he tried to find some way to make the car feel a bit faster, to help his team, to be better. He was having a hard time this season, struggling with the car. It didn't seem to cooperate with him and it took him off the top of the podium, the place where Lewis always belonged.

For the media, Lewis appeared strong, hopeful, always shielded by his beautiful words of overcoming. But for you, for you he didn't have to lie. He knew he could be himself, he felt safe to show his insecurities to you.

You let your eyes fall onto his figure again, can no longer pay attention to the episode of Gilmore Girls that was on TV. You like to see him like this, so focused on one goal. You feel your stomach clench hard at the sight. You want to sit on his lap, kiss him all over his face, repeat how much you love him. Or you just want to kneel in front of his legs, take his dick in your hands, feel his weight on your tongue, even if you had only done that a few hours ago.

You just wanted to make him forget any worries, to take away the wrinkles that graced his forehead when he was caught up in focus. Relax it. After all, that was the point of the breaks between race weekends.

But even on the few days off he had, Lewis didn't really allow himself to rest. Two daily workout sessions, piano and french lessons, data analysis and tireless hours on the simulator. He seemed restless, not able to sit still for even an hour. His hardworking spirit had already been a topic of discussion in your relationship, and from time to time it resurfaced. But you always found a way to work it out.

Usually Lewis was the first one to apologize. Flowers on your door, a handwritten letter, and a promise that he would rearrange his schedule, find enough time to rest, to disconnect from work even if it was only for a moment. He was incredibly calm, anyone who knew him could see it, feel it radiating from him. Always a conciliator, always more reasonable than you.

But sometimes you had to raise the white flag first. Less romantically than him, obviously. An apology, at night, lying in the same bed, curled up to each other, just existing together after having a great session of make up sex. You would try to find solutions to your problems. The certainty that they could solve everything, as long as they were together. But in the end, you understood him. You understood all the efforts he made to keep himself at a high level not only on the tracks, but also off them. No matter how much they wanted it, Lewis always wanted more.

"You're distracting me." Lewis muttered, so low you can barely hear him. You got so lost in your own thoughts that you didn't notice your boyfriend's sudden change of position. He's looking at you now, head up towards you. An unabashed, enduring look that makes it unable to look away. He looked hungry. Like you're his prey and he's about to devour you. Graphics are no longer his focus, your eyes have taken their place. You shift in bed, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

"But I'm not doing anything." Your voice sounds confused. You take a sip of the pineapple juice he brought you earlier, enjoy the cooling sensation in your throat. Your boyfriend shakes his head, moves one hand to his hair, adjusts the braids in the elastic band that holds them in a low bun. A giggle escapes from his lips as his gaze turns back to you.

"The way you're looking at me. This is distracting me. You know I can't think about anything else when you look at me like that" This is your turn to laugh. Lewis was always being so focused on his activities and a simple look distracted him. It sounded unbelievable, but you knew it was true. The same with you. A mere look, a small touch, a few words. Little gestures from Lewis were enough to make you crazy. And it was good to know you had the same effect on him.

You leave your glass on the table next to the bed, hears the tinkle of the glass material in contact with the thick wood.

"Like what? How do I look at you, Lew?" You ask. You lean your neck to the side, lean your face on your hand, slyly. He keeps looking at you, fire rising in his brown eyes. A shiver ran down your spine as you noticed the flames in his irises. His hand left his hair and went to his chin. He smoothed his beard, a smug smile painting his face. He puts the computer aside, stands up. He was in this game with you, always.

Lewis starts walking to you, his steps slow, calm, so graceful that you feel mesmerized, unable to look away from your man. You didn't know if you'd ever be able to stop looking at him, at everything you loved about him. The perfect face, framed by his newly made braids. His silky, shiny, well hydrated skin. His bright brown eyes, so kind that set you on fire and at the same time made you feel extremely loved, cared. His strong, well-built muscles, glistening in the evening light. Even his short stature. Before him, you used to say that you didn't like short men, that they weren't attractive. But Lewis. He managed to be different in everything. You've come to admire his short stature. You could see the greatness behind it. You loved all the little things that made Lewis be himself.

Suddenly, he's right in front of your bed, his legs touching the edge of it. All he's wearing is a pair of sweatpants, hanging freely around his waist, his tattooed abs exposed only to you. His hand touches your ankle, big enough to circle it completely. He squeezes it. You try to escape from his grip, try to move your leg, but Lewis is faster than you and pulls you by the ankle, a scream escaping your lips as he does. His fucking good reflex, you think. He pulls you up until you're sitting on the edge of the bed, right in front of him. He lowers himself to your level, watches you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Even after so long, his gaze so close, so intense, makes you nervous, restless.

Unexpectedly, he pushes you onto the soft mattress again, his body hovering over yours, your legs spread to accommodate him. His strong frame grapples your small body. One hand dropped to his side so his body weight doesn't fall all over you. The other hand gently touches your face, his hot body dangerously close to yours. His breath hovers over your face, his mouth inches from yours. You close your eyes, wait for him to kiss you, but then his face is curving and he fits right into the crook of your neck. His nose creeps over your skin slowly, smells your scent intensely. A hoarse groan comes out of his throat, looking deeply pleased to experience your scent, to be so close to you again.

"Fuck, baby. I love your smell, it is so good. You don't even know how fucking crazy it make me feel."

You make a satisfied sound at the compliment and feel your face heat up. You smile when you realize this. Few words and he left you helpless, dizzy in his arms. That was the effect Lewis had on you.

"Do you still want to know how you were looking at me?" He whispers in her ear, the husky voice more than enough to soak your panties. Not satisfied, your boyfriend lifts one of his arms, takes his hand away from your face, and leaves it on one of your breasts, covered only by a tank top you stole from him. He rubs his finger across it, creating a nice friction between the thin fabric and your skin. He makes your nipples hard quickly and you feel like you will melt under his touches. His hand quickly seeps along the side of the fabric, his fingers now in direct contact with your skin, pinching your sensitive nipple. "Answer me baby"

"Yes, yes, please!" Your voice comes out shaky, needy. He laughs at your tone. Loves how responsive you are to him. He feels proud of it, of being able to cause so many sensations in you. In give you so much pleasure that you could never find it in another person.

"You gave me that look." He pauses, his mouth licking a sensitive spot on your neck. You moan against his cheek in ecstasy. "That look you always give me when you want me to eat your pretty pussy out. The one you give me when we're partying and you just want to go back home and ride my dick. That one you give me when all you want is my dick buried deep inside of that fat pussy of yours." The effect his words have on you is inexplicable. You feel your stomach tighten, the thin fabric of your panties sticking to your skin, a sign of how wet you were for him.

Lewis finally removes his face from your neck, looks back at you, one of his hands gripping your chin, forces you to look at him. Lewis' eyes darkened and he leaned into you, capturing your mouth in a kiss and you were lost in the feel of his hot tongue on your lips. The tingling in your center got harder to ignore and you tried to ease the tension by pressing your legs together.

"Is that what you want, baby? You want daddy's cock buried deep inside of your pussy, yeah?" He asks, even though he already knows the answer. You nod your head. He had just taken you a few hours ago and you still weren't satisfied. And he didn't seem to either. You seemed addicted to each other, you never got tired of that feeling, of being intertwined with each other. This was the effect of a long-distance relationship, marked by long trips, facetime calls and different time zones. An endless longing, so strong that it hurt. So when you were together, alone, with all the time in the world just for the two of you, you wanted to enjoy it in the best way. Just couldn't help but be around him.

"I want to hear you, babygirl" Lewis mutters, pinching your chin once more. A sigh escapes your lips. He had barely touched you, but you are already completely inert, unable to put words together, to form a single sentence.

"Yeah, daddy, please" You swallow hard, brush your lips against his, kiss him one more time. He pulls back the slightest bit, rubs his thumb over her lips.

"That's all you had to say." He mumbles, lays you down completely against the mattress and rises up minimally, only to touch you with greater ease. His hands traveled down your body and stopped at the hem of your shirt. He lifts the fabric, exposes your belly, the small, wet panties you wore completely exposed to him. You spread your legs, giving him a better view of your pulsating center. A sigh escapes from you lover. He runs his finger over your wet panties, your back arches and you exhale harshly.

Your lips were parted at the small sounds, which weren't completely moans, that escaped your mouth. You didn't feel capable of formulating anything a bit elaborate when his hands were on you. Lewis ran his finger up and down slowly, teasing you, creating little shivers of pleasure through your body. But suddenly, he pauses his movements. The pad of his thumb against your core, a nice, good pressure, but it wasn't enough. You needed more.

"Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want." He asks. Always a tease, he always wanted to push you to the limit, loved to hear you begging, loved to dominate you. You take a deep breath, couldn't stand that torture for so long. Your hands reach for his face, his neatly trimmed beard tickling your fingers. You bring him close again, your lips millimeters apart.

"I want you to eat my pussy, daddy. Want you to fuck me with your tongue and then I want to cum all over your face. Please, daddy" You whisper, your fingertips caressing his face. Lewis lets out a groan when he hears you talking like that, so brazenly. It makes his cock, painfully hard against your leg, twitch. With that, his fingers curl around the sides of your hips and he finally pulls your panties down, leaving your pussy bare for him. You spread your legs once more, this time wider. You can feel it dripping, wetting the white sheets.

His eyes land on your bare pussy, open and glistening for him, soaked and pulsing around nothing. Anxiety took over his body, an uncontrollable urge to run his tongue along your damp folds, explore every part, taste you once more. Feel the strange satisfaction when you finally reach the peak.

He seems to lose himself there, continues to watch in complete adoration. You sigh impatiently, your body shaking in anticipation. Then you dip your own fingers into your heat, little noises echoing through the room evidencing just how soaked you were. You lift your fingers in front of his face, show how wet they are. "See? How much I want you?" You say, a mischievous smile painting your features.

Lewis wastes no time, takes your hands in his and licks your fingers, his tongue greedily brushing it, savoring your taste. "Your taste is so fucking good. I don't think I could ever live without it" He says, bends down, his face right in front of your needy center. His hands touched your thighs, leaning on them.

He finally seemed to take pity on you and ran his tongue all the way from your opening to your clit. You closed my eyes, a deep groan cutting through your throat.

"Don't you dare take your eyes off mine." Lewis ordered against your folds, the feel of his hot breath against your skin making you shiver. You look down, meeting his brown eyes, darker now, lust dripping from them. You feel your body tremble again under his gaze, but you don't dare look away. With his eyes locked on yours, he slowly slid his tongue between your folds. A loudly groan left your lips, your hands finding his braids, pulling them gently.

He repeated this gesture countless times, carrying the wetness from your entrance to your clit, intensifying your arousal. But then his tongue stopped at your sensitive clit, circling the area repeatedly and then sucking on it. A whimper escaped your lips, your hands squeezing his scalp harder now, trying to push his face against your pussy more intensely, trying to feel more of him. With that, your body burst into flames, flames cutting across your skin. You came violently, shivering and moaning his name loud and clear.

You think he's going to stop, pull away, give you some time to recover before he pushes into you. But he doesn't stop. He kept eating you relentlessly. His fingers work on you now, two of them inside of you, moving in and out quickly as his tongue sucks your clit. Everything feels more intense now, the sensations driving you off the cliff quickly. Your hip starts to move involuntarily, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his fingers. You throw your head back, eyes closed. Feel your whole body shudder, come again. The second time was even more ravishing than the first.

Your shaky legs close around Lewis' head, you couldn't take it anymore, your body had been reduced to a whimpering mess, but he didn't seem to get tired. He seemed determined to take one more orgasm out of you and so he did, taking everything out of you until you were completely spent. You were in a state of ecstasy, moaning incoherently, whispering Lewis' name over and over.

When he rises up again, you find your lover licking his lips, removing the remnants of your flavor. He also looks like a mess, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, beard damp, wet with his juices. He seems to have enjoyed it as much as you did at that moment. Always so attentive and so devoted to you, your pleasure was his too.

He holds your face with both hands, licks your lips before kissing you. When your own taste invades your senses, you moan, caressing his shoulders, reveling in the sensation. So promiscuous and dirty, but at the same time so intimate and loving.

He pulls back again, his fingers plucking at your shirt, lifts the fabric and runs it down your arms, finally stripping you naked. He looked at you intensely, appreciating your features carefully, admiring your body as if it was the first time he was seeing it. It makes your face flush and your heart beats faster in your chest. Each time you gave yourself completely to Lewis it was different, sometimes more romantic, sometimes more aggressive, but always intense, overwhelming. Each time was unique, with its own emotions, but they all ended up flooding your mind with memories of the first time he made you his. It was always new, but it was also always permeated by an old feeling, which was present every time.

"You're so fucking beautiful. I will never get tired of looking at you." He mumbles sincerely. You could never control your emotions when he talked to you like that. He knew how to balance things so well, always so good. He set you on fire and at the same time made you feel so loved. You felt your heart do somersaults in your chest.

Lewis takes his time with you, kisses your neck, your breasts, your belly, his hot tongue leaving sparks wherever he goes. You lift your body slightly, your fingers reaching for the waistband of the gray sweatshirt he was wearing. You don't think twice before pushing it down. Lewis laughs at your eagerness, pulls back a little so he can remove his pants properly.

Seeing him naked was always overwhelming, destructive. You would never get used to that sight, you could never get tired of it. Strong shoulders, hard muscles, well built. The dark tattoos, delicate lines on his skin. You move your gaze down his abdomen, until you get there. His cock felt painfully hard, throbbing against his lower abdomen. God, it was perfect. Big and thick, it felt heavy against his skin. You feel your pussy throb as your eyes focus on the light veins covering him, his head rosy and full of precum.

He comes back to you, hands tucking your thighs, keeping you open for him. His heavy cock drops between your folds, the first contact makes you moan. Lewis rubs his length there, collecting your wetness and spreading it on his cock. He repeats the movement over and over again. Your impatience grows and your body trembles beneath his, seems to break into tiny pieces every time he slides into you. You would never be able to have the same self-control, the same patience he had.

"God, can you feel it? Can you feel how fucking hard I am? How fucking hard you make me feel?" He says, eyes glued to yours. You feel your chest heat up when you hear this. He was like this because of you, always because of you.

"Jesus, Lewis" You moan, devastated, impatient. "Just fuck me" A laugh escapes his lips, a boyish smile.

"My pretty slut, always so eager to be full of me, huh?" You nod desperately. It wasn't a lie. "On all fours for me, baby," Lewis says, his voice harsh, authoritative. You promptly obey his command and turn around, get on all fours in the middle of the bed, propped up on your forearms. Belly down and ass up for him. You feel Lewis positioning himself behind you and you squirm in anticipation.

"Fuck, you look so sexy like this" You hear your lover muttering. His hands touch your bum and he slaps you hard there, making you scream. He repeats the movement and you feel your skin prickling, the pleasure and pain mixing together, driving you crazy. "Gonna fuck you now, my pretty girl"

Lewis keeps his promise. You catch your breath at the feel of him entering your heat, plunging deep into you, stretching your tight pussy. "God, you're so fucking wet, baby. So tight for me" He murmurs, planting kisses down her spine before returning to his original position and sliding his length into my pussy again."Feels so fucking good". He cups the back of your head, presses your face against the mattress, and starts moving, painfully slow, deep thrusts, the way he knew drove you crazy. The room was filled with the sounds of Lewis' frames hitting your ass, his heavy balls moving back and forth in time with his thrusts. It was all extremely erotic and only made you wetter.

His hands leave his neck and reach for your disheveled hair, tugging hard on the strands, until you're upright, his chest pressed against your back. Everything looks perfect that way. The hard muscles of his abdomen pressed against you, his hot breath on your neck, strong hands gripping your waist and your hair. The new angle makes you gasp, lose your breath and all your senses. His fingers move again and reach for your chin, turning your face to the side, just enough so he could kiss your lips. He keeps moving at a torturously slow pace, reaching deep inside you. You gasp into his mouth.

Lewis moves his hand from your waist to your sensitive clit, rubbing the area ruthlessly as he thrusts. You parted your lips from his to moan his name out loud as a wave of overwhelming pleasure washed over his body.

"Fuck, daddy, I'm gonna cum. Shit, I'm gonna fucking cum" You can't control yourself and come, squeezing his length, soaking him in your juices.

"That's it, baby. Soak daddy's dick just like that." He murmurs in your ear, bites the earlobe, then licks the side of your neck. You throw your head on his shoulder as he fucks you through your orgasm, fighting to control himself, to make that moment last, to give you as much pleasure as he can.

You screamed in surprise as he laid your body down on the mattress again, his body falling on top of your right after, choking you in the best way he could. Lewis' strong muscles covered your body, his hands reached for yours and held them. He pushed his hips back into you, his rhythm now fast, relentless, just the way he liked it. You try to roll your hips beside him, just fast as he's doing.

"You like it rough, don't you, baby girl?" He whispers, a russky voice in your ear. You feel a lonely tear running down your cheek, the pleasure so hard it makes you cry. You felt your pussy tighten around him again and you came once more, a muffled moan escaping your lips.

Lewis couldn't control himself this time, your pussy clenching so tight on his cock he couldn't hold back anymore. "I'm gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna let you full of me one more time." And with that, he came deep inside you, his hot cum painting your soft walls. A deep, almost animalistic moan escaped his lips.

Countless minutes pass and you both lie in bed the same way, Lewis's heavy body crushing yours, his cock writhing, pulsing inside you. You could stay like this for the rest of your life, you think. But at some point he moves, his cock sliding out of you. Both of you sigh at the loss of contact.

He lies down on the mattress again, pulls you to lie on top of him. Your head against his chest, his legs tangled with yours. You feel his cock, still semi-hard against your thigh. It makes you sigh.

His heartbeat is against your palm. His heart is beating in a smooth rhythm, his breathing controlled. His hands reach for your back, fingers running up and down your skin, imaginary designs being made there. You smile, inert, and feel him doing the same. Watch the horizon in front of you, the dark sky through the big bedroom windows, feel the cool breeze coming through them.

Lying there, on his chest, feeling his body hug yours, you felt in the right place. All you needed was right here, snuggling with you, you didn't need the world's acceptance. A feeling of peace took over your body, your eyelids began to feel heavy and closed. You could hear Lewis's quiet breathing, his chest rising and falling slowly. An "I love you" is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.

[atlantis-just-drowned]

A/N: This is kinda hurt/comfort? DCA x reader, can be read as romantic or platonic. TW for The Entire World, literally (might be overwhelming), also panic attack for the bois :(

The DCA discovering the Internet for the first time

Please reblog to show support! Likes don't boost posts on Tumblr :(

Masterlist

It was an accident. No, really, it was!

How could they have been aware of what would happen? Never would he have done such a thing, if he has known the consequences…

Or maybe he would have done it anyway. They weren’t so sure, now.

Sun and Moon had been curious. Such a funny trait of humankind, implemented in their processor since the very moment they first gained consciousness. They were a learning AI after all! Meant to always process more and more data, information, new situations giving way to new questions, with each answer urging them to ask more, know more, see more, learn more.

The Daycare was so, oh, so small. Limited, a restricted little area, a flask of water in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Limited, they were so limited! Hindered by Faz Co. censored network and how little contact they had with human adults, with the outside world!

They were curious! Curious about all the different colours the sky could be (here it was always only blue! How boring! How limited!) and all the different sorts of flowers and how many species of animals there was. And what did the real stars looked like. How many were there, in the real sky? Here, there was 152! They had counted them! So, so so many time.

They needed to learn more. They had been desperate for something new, for so long.

And then today, something has happened.

You had left to get yourself some food for your night shift (so very important! Humans needed food, always, to stuff their organic belly full with delicious food that they always wondered the taste of), the computer you had been working at was still powered and of course it wasn’t unusual of you to leave it running while you left for a quick trip outside of the daycare, but you had left something else.

A cable.

An USB port that he saw you use to transfer informations before. And Sun knew – he knew, with a 99.98% of certainty – that those computers were connected to the internet. Something he has never experienced before. With absolutely no limitation in term of subjects, sources, and contents.

Freedom. Answers.

Something they craved for.

He couldn’t resist the temptation. It’s almost like you had left it here on purpose, the other side of the cable still connected to the device, ready for them to plug it in their USB port.

Sun felt like a criminal approaching the security desk. But Moon was urging him in their shared headspace to move faster, they could come back any moment and this might be our one and only chance to experience the outside world at all.

He contemplated the small cable between his fingers (so small! Holding such a great power!), before slowly – carefully – approaching it from the back of their faceplate. He didn’t want to risk making a bad movement, what if he hurt themselves? Or worse? What if he damaged the material? Gently, so cautiously connecting it to their processor.

They felt the jolt of a new device being paired.

And then.

They stilled.

Their mind exploded.

Figuratively at least – they hoped. So many new was projected into their metallic brain that they weren’t certain a few circuits wouldn’t melt from the overwhelming amount of things.

Everything was here.

There were fireworks. Bombs. Smiles. Tears. Forest fires. Tsunamis. Newborn babies, genocides, millennia-old forests hidden on the other side of the world, giraffes and elephants and lions chasing buffaloes, and turtles choking on plastic bags. Continents. Shores of white sand and snow falling on top of vast mountains. Humans extracting each others from burning buildings. Hills of wild grass and deserts. Slaves, deportees. Creatures living at the deep end of the dark and cold ocean and in acidic ponds of water. Children climbing up trees, high-speed crashes, murderers, Christmas presents, traditions. Islands and volcanoes. Incurable diseases, hemorrhages, mothers grieving their sons. Sweet and spicy and savory meals from all around the world. Space rockets sent in outer space, national holidays, mass shootings, entire solar systems, people jumping on subway rails and others saving puppies abandoned on highways. Wars, military operations, deadly weapons, trafficking, birthday parties, strangers telling each others they’ll be fine, love letters, global warming, riots, parades and marches, billions of stars burning and planets and satellites and black holes and supernovas and galaxies unexplored. Cyclones and tides and warm summer days spent laughing. Slums and manors, the Amazonian forest, New Year’s Eves, families, orphans, hours and hours of good and bad movies and music and books and colourful drawings. People hating and people loving and people apathetic. Pain and comfort. Individuals, wounded and traumatized and healing, resilient despite it all. People killing. People saving. People screaming out in joy and screaming out in fear. Species disappearing and others perpetuating themselves in an endless circle of life and death. Societies rising up and crumbling down like sand castles. Flowers blooming and rotting, trees higher than they could have ever imagined. Pollen and bees and honey and the sun – the real sun – and astronauts walking on the surface of the moon. Eggs hatching and birds flying and frogs croaking thousands of different sounds.

They knew so much, and so little at the same time. They were gods, immense and almighty. And they were so small, inconsequential in the grand scheme of a universe that has existed for longer than their memory bank would ever be able to store. So many progresses, and backlashes, and collective and personal efforts, tries and tries and tries, fails and wins. Celebrations and funerals. It was all so big! Immense and never-ending. Terrifying and so beautiful at the same time, that they could feel their metaphorical heart shatter in pieces. They wished to know more. They wished they had never known at all. They wanted to ask why. To send a call into the wild void, into the oblivion, to ask what was the meaning of it all. But they knew the answer and they were terrified of it. There was none. None! It all existed by a collection of coincidences and barely understandable causalities that crashed together and left them with no purpose. No meaning. Oh, they felt so alone! And so surrounded at the same time. They were lost. Terrorised. Relieved. Broken. Understood. Abandoned. Silent.

When you walked in again, you didn’t find Sun. You didn’t find Moon either. What you stumbled upon was a shaking Eclipse, and the cable still connected to the back of their faceplate. It didn’t take you long to process the situation.

“Oh, shoots!”

Panic shot up in your mind (were they broken? Were you going to lose them? Was their processor damaged? Their memory bank? Their power core?) and you rushed toward them, grabbing the cable and harshly disconnecting them from the computer in your terror.

Eclipse’s voicebox produced a choked whine, before the tall animatronic fell on their knees and curled up on themselves, hands grabbing at their arms.

Did you make things worse?

You lowered yourself at their level, guts twisting and a heavy lump in your throat, your hands hovering over them without touching them. They were sobbing. Were they hurt? Was it your fault?

“E-e-e… Clip!” You called. “Talk to me! Say something, please, can you hear me?”

There was a moment of silence where you kept opening and closing your hands – so close to them, so desperate to touch, to feel them, to make sure they were alright – repeatedly, until they answered.

“Big!” They whined in a breath – you had to remind yourself they didn’t technically have lungs. “So big! Everything…” Another pause. “Everything is so… intense!” They curled further up on themselves and shook. “Everything is here… Everything exists… Exists at the same time…!”

You didn’t know what to say. You struggled to make sense of his words.

Focus.

You needed to calm them down.

“Clips…” You struggled to keep your worries out of your tone. Start with the beginning. “Can I touch you? Is it alright?”

Another fit of shivers ran through them before they nodded weakly. “Please…” They garbled out, and it was the final hit to your heart before you wrapped your arms around their shoulders and pulled them against you.

“It’s alright, big boy.”

They felt hurt. They needed comfort. They needed you. You couldn’t do anything but provide.

You would be there until they calmed down. In the big, immensity of this world. You would be there.

[callsigns-haze]

Out of All: Chp 1

Jake Seresin x OC! Anna Bradshaw

Brothers' Best Friend Series! Follow along as these characters navigate the treacherous waters of love, loyalty, and desire, all while facing the ultimate taboo: falling for your sibling's best friend. From heart-pounding moments to steamy encounters, this series is a rollercoaster of emotions that will keep you hooked until the very end. Brace yourself for intense romantic tension, sizzling chemistry, and enough drama to keep you guessing. Are you ready to embark on this captivating journey?

This chapter includes explicit sexual content with detailed descriptions of sexual activity and intimacy between characters. Scenes depict physical intimacy, including kissing, touching, and biting, with characters described in states of undress. Emotional intensity is explored, encompassing themes of longing, desire, and vulnerability, with brief references to past trauma. Characters may be shown consuming alcoholic beverages, and mature themes such as casual relationships.

You awaken with damp locks cascading around your shoulders, the remnants of a hasty shower leaving your hair slightly damp. The notion of lying bare and weary in your bed holds no sway over you, not today. This is your respite from the world's demands, a day designated for absolute inertia.

Yet, the presence of your older brother, Bradley, imposes a modicum of propriety upon your morning ritual. You toss aside the cozy embrace of your bedclothes and reach for garments, a black sports bra and snug booty shorts, enveloping your frame in layers that shield your bareness. A gray zip-up sweatshirt becomes a casual adornment, tied around your waist in a laissez-faire manner.

Your hair, now only mildly damp, is gathered and pinned back with a claw clip, a functional arrangement that frees your nape from the clinging strands. Drawing back the gray curtains, a panorama of the ocean unfolds before you, a sight both captivating and serene. The dawn paints the sky in delicate hues of pink, intermingled with whispers of orange and faded purples, casting a spell of tranquility over the horizon.

Venturing into the kitchen, you encounter Bradley, already immersed in the morning routine. He offers you coffee, a gesture met with a swift refusal, accompanied by a reminder of your disdain for the bitter brew. His presence, always punctual and ever-prepared, serves as a reminder of the responsibilities that linger beyond your sanctuary.

The tension between you simmers beneath the surface, a testament to diverging paths and unspoken expectations. Bradley, with his well-intentioned gestures and earnest advice, seeks to guide you toward a future he deems promising. Yet, your heart beats to a different rhythm, anchored in a passion that defies conventional wisdom.

Words are exchanged, terse and laden with unspoken truths. You assert your autonomy with a fervor born of frustration, demanding recognition as an adult capable of charting her own course. Bradley, stoic yet remorseful, concedes to the weight of your words, his embrace a silent admission of fallibility.

But beneath the veneer of reconciliation lies a deeper discord, a clash of ambitions and aspirations. For you, music is not merely a hobby but a lifeline, a refuge from the burdens that threaten to engulf you. Yet, to Bradley and others, it remains a folly, a dream unworthy of pursuit.

Twelve years have passed since you first embarked on this journey, seeking solace in distant shores and unfamiliar melodies. Yet, the specter of familial expectations looms large, a constant reminder of the rift that separates you from their world of certainties.

"Small steps," you plead, a plea born of desperation and resolve. And though Bradley offers his assurances, you know that the road ahead is fraught with uncertainty, a path illuminated by the flickering flame of your unwavering determination.

---

You ain't never been in a spot quite like this before, where everything's about the physical but nothin' about the feels. Dressin' up or gettin' ready didn't matter much when you knew your clothes would end up scattered and your makeup smeared, and your hair—well, it was destined to be a mess once his hands got tangled in it.

Bradley had golf in the mornin', so he cleared out 'round ten forty, leavin' the apartment empty. Expected him back for lunch, but he had other plans, hittin' up a bar with his buddies. Didn't bother you none. Last day before work kicks in, you got the place all to yourself.

Scoured through your closet like it meant somethin' what you wore. Knew one thing for certain, though—lingerie. Got a few pairs, some more risqué than others. Had a soft spot for your sage green set. Thin, barely there, and entirely see-through. Just one tug, and it slipped right off.

Opted for a denim skirt, casual yet classy—that was the aim. Didn't wanna give off any vibes like it was a date or nothin', just keepin' it cool.

Grabbed a plain white tee, makin' sure it was thick enough to conceal the lace underneath. Checked yourself out in the bathroom mirror. Finally felt like yourself. Brown curls cascadin' freely, baby cow eyes sparklin' in the lightest eyeshadow. Lips glossed with a hint of strawberry, nails painted in the faintest shade of pink with swirls of white. You felt it. You felt like the girl.

Still had some time 'fore the taxi showed up. Decided against drivin', 'cause you knew you wouldn't be in the mood afterward.

Recently chopped your hair. Used to be long and wavy, but you snipped it up to your chest. Suitin' you better, truth be told. Waves actually cooperated, and your hair finally laid right. Pinned up the top strands, knowin' any tie-up wouldn't survive the night.

Phone buzzed from the bathroom windowsill. Couldn't help but grin seein' it was a text from Jake.

Jake: You still up for six?

Had to play it cool. No emotions, just sex.

You: Yeah! Should be able to swing by.

Kept it simple. Didn't wanna seem too eager or too disinterested. Both of you were clear—a relationship wasn't on the table.

Jake: Great, see you then.

Stepped out of the elevator, headin' for the fourth door. Only been to his place once, but you remembered your way around. Knocked on the wooden door, standin' on the black mat as you waited.

Door creaked open, revealin' a tall man with a buzzed haircut and a face that told tales. He smiled, askin', "Here for Jake, right?" Gave you a bit of a start, but his question eased the tension. Nodded, returning the smile as he hollered for Jake. He stepped aside, introducin' himself.

"I'm Javy. 'Bout to head out anyway if you're wonderin'." Nodded back, offerin', "Anna, pleasure." He nodded in return, informin' you that Jake was down the corridor before takin' off.

You made your way to Jake's room, but before you could even enter, he was on you, attackin' your neck with fervor. Wrapped your arms around him as he left his mark, each bite sendin' shivers down your spine. "Jake...damn!"

He smirked, continuin' his assault. Shut the door behind him, pressin' you against it. Grabbed your thighs with intent, demandin' you to jump, and you obliged.

Breath hitchin', groans escalatin' into moans. Couldn't help yourself, not with him. Every time, you lost all control, and it only amused him more. "Look at you, ain't even touched you properly, and you're already a mess."

And the mess was only just beginnin', for the fourth time.

You both lie there, chests heaving, the echo of passion still reverberating in the air. Six o'clock came and went, and now it's nearly nine. Three hours of entwined bodies, three hours of him taking you to heights you never knew existed.

"You're somethin' else," Jake murmurs, shaking his head in wonder as you both share a breathy laugh, nestled under his oversized covers. You gaze at him, a smile tugging at your lips. For the first time in sixteen years, you feel something stir within you, a sensation akin to a long-lost myth or fairy tale.

"I could say the same," you reply, exhaling softly as he draws you closer, pulling you against his chest. It catches you off guard, but you relax into his embrace, resting your head against his heartbeat, a rhythm that feels like a forgotten melody.

"What's the time?" you inquire, both of you aware of the impending need to part ways. Agreed to wrap things up before nine, with work looming on the horizon. Tomorrow marks your return to music, the beginning of a new chapter in your life.

"It's eight fifty-seven," Jake answers, meeting your gaze with a knowing look. You nod, running your fingers through his tousled hair, savoring the fleeting moments.

You rise from his chest, reluctantly disentangling yourself to get dressed. He sits up beside you, the covers cascading around him as he slips into sweatpants. His gaze lingers on your back as you slip into your lingerie, his lips tracing a path along the sensitive skin of your neck. His hands find their way to your curves, a gentle massage that sends shivers down your spine.

"Jake..." you start, a hint of urgency in your voice. He understands, but the reluctance lingers. He wants you to stay, to lose track of time in each other's arms.

"Jake..." you repeat, a bit firmer this time, and he relents, knowing you have to leave.

You rise, and he walks you to the front door. Tonight was unforgettable, but tomorrow holds obligations, and Bradley would launch a search party if you didn't resurface soon. You smile as he opens the door, his smirk a bittersweet farewell.

"When will I see you next?" he asks, a hint of longing in his voice.

"Next Saturday, same time?" you propose, already looking forward to the next rendezvous.

"Sounds like a plan. See you then, Chick."

A/n: This whole series is a dedication to @callsign-magnolia for her birthday...I was going to post on Monday but I guess this is a little early gift!

tagging:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@callsign-dexter

@horseslovers2016

@rosiahills22

@djs8891

@hookslove1592

@emma8895eb

@hardballoonlove

@kmc1989

@dempy

@mamachasesmayhem

@senawashere

@buckysteveloki-me

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@itsmytimetoodream

@jessicab1991

@ahh-chickens

@dingochef

@dizzybee03

[roomsofangel]

LOVER, PLEASE STAY. . .

chapter three

synopsis you and wooyoung have been best friends for as long as you could remember, always overcoming everything in your friendship even after a few bumps in the road and confessions in the past. you could always trust that no matter wooyoung will always be there, right?

wc 1.6k

chapter warnings none that really come to mind

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated! ♥️

wooyoung had thought he had everything figured out when he was nineteen. he thought the life he had then, he would have forever. he thought that all he wanted and all he needed was you, and it would be the same way at twenty-four. he was sure of it, sure of his feelings and sure of his future.

how naive he had been, now he was stuck. stuck with no direction, no plan, just himself and the constant feeling of things spiraling further and further out of control. he couldn't even remember how he used to be so sure, how he had felt so confident for the future, how he had the certainty that nothing would change. it was a distant memory, a different time and a different world that didn't exist anymore. the future was a mystery and a burden he didn't want.

but he couldn't say any of this to you now. he felt ashamed, as if he had fucked up everything and now he had no choice but to make it worse. he felt as if everything was doomed, and it was all his fault. it was his fault that your connection was unsalvageable, his fault that everything was over. you had every right to leave now if you desired to do so, and he understood. he just hoped if you were to go, he’d find comfort in the fact your presence was no longer being haunted and plagued with his.

"and if you go, i wanna go with you,” he remembers singing one night, his fingers whizzing across the strings of the guitar while you moved about him, dancing in his shirt. the memory was so clear in his mind, as if it had only happened last night. he could recall you and this memory with vivid clarity, as if he had just left your tiny apartment before you two agreed on living together because at the time, who would have ever thought he’d be the wreck he was today?

he recalled the way he wanted nothing more than to stay like that with you, how he desperately wanted you. the way he wished you would stay with him, and the moment would never end. he craved your presence, wanted to be close to you, and felt drawn to your every movement and gesture. he was intoxicated by the feeling, wanting more and more of you with every moment that passed.

and if you die, i wanna die with you

"do you remember when we used to go down to the beach and just… stare at the moon?” you mentioned one night as you sat outside on the curb, flicking the lighter in your hand that you used to light wooyoung’s cigarette for him. the warm summer nights and the soft sand were always a comfort. the vast expanse of the moon as you lay on the beach, and the gentle waves of the ocean were all soothing elements that you dearly missed.

wooyoung hummed first in response, “i do.” he said it quietly, so quiet you almost couldn’t hear him. “i always do.” the words seemed like an echo of the past, as if he was still the same person from those warm summer nights. the moon was still beautiful, and his humming was still comforting. but somehow, it felt different. everything felt off, like you were in a dream or this was a memory.

you amused, reminiscing more as you brought up one of your favorite memories. “you remember how you tripped into the water because you tried getting a seashell for me?” your laughter was music to his ears, and he couldn't help but grin. the way you laughed was contagious, and the memory brought back fond memories of times when everything was simpler and the future hadn't yet been tainted. the warm summer breeze and the sound of the waves were all nostalgic reminders of that time.

wooyoung whispered with a smile trying not to form as he focused his sight ahead. “yeah... i do...” the memory brought a smile to his face, but it was tinged with sadness as well. “and how you were freaking out getting me a towel because you didn’t want me sick.” he chuckled, remembering that frantic moment. the moment stuck with him even after all this time.

“and then... we got back to our apartment.” you whispered, glancing towards him as you watched how the cigarette smoke left his lips. some even exhaling through his nose, making him resemble a dragon. it was amusing, though bittersweet in light of the situation, and it made you smile despite the serious talk that came afterwards. “you said something that night...?” you asked quietly, wanting to hear the answer one more time before you had to let go.

but, wooyoung didn't seem as eager to speak as before. he avoided your gaze as he took a deep drag of his cigarette. “uh... yeah...” he finally acknowledged, the words spoken in a low, timid tone. he was clearly uncomfortable, and you didn't know why. it seemed as if the memory itself was painful for him.

he met your gaze, his eyes saying more than he has ever said verbally these past few months. his eyes were full of unsaid things, like a book waiting to be read, and you were desperate to know what he was thinking. "do you remember?" he finally spoke, as if he was asking for something. It was obvious something was wrong, that he was holding onto something. he was holding onto more than just the past, he had something he wanted to tell you.

he held your gaze still as he waited for your response, his eyes pleading with you. you knew he was about to tell you something he had kept quiet for such a long time. the tension was palpable, and you were ready to hear what he was going to say. "do you remember?" he repeated his question, and this time his voice was more resolute. he was going to say what he'd been holding in for months.

and then he finally said it. the words were spoken with conviction, with no hesitation or reluctance this time. it was as if he had made up his mind about saying it, no matter the consequences. "i told you that i loved you that night," he said flatly, as if he was trying his best to be blunt. he didn't want to dance around the topic or make it more complicated than it was. he just wanted you to hear it.

you whispered quietly, "and i told you that i loved you, too." the moment was silent after that, as if everything else had ceased to exist but the two of you. you had both admitted how you felt, and now you were waiting for a reaction, a response. it was like the air was stilled and time had stopped just for the two of you, as if the world was waiting to hear what would happen next.

after what seemed like an eternity of silence, wooyoung stirred. his gaze shifted to you before looking back ahead. his expression was still unreadable, but you could see something pass over his face. was it relief? was he happy? was he ashamed? you needed to know, you needed some sort of answer. "you really meant it," he said quietly, as if he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

you could feel him searching your face with his eyes, searching for any sign that you were just saying it to appease him, anything that suggested you hadn't meant it when you said it. "you really meant it, didn't you?" he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief. he could not believe that you had meant those words, that you truly felt the same way. he had ruined everything, and he couldn't understand how you were still there, still beside him.

but you weren't saying them to appease him, you weren't saying them as if they were hollow gestures. you meant them, every single word of them. "i meant them," you answered, though you were surprised at how soft your voice had been. it sounded so different from the strong, determined voice he knew. was that regret and shame you heard in your own words? did you regret admitting your love? did you regret having given it away?

wooyoung was still staring at you, staring at your face as if searching for something within you. he wanted to see if you meant it, if you still meant it after everything. "is that how you feel still? do you..." he started to say, but his voice caught before he could finish. his gaze shifted from your face to something that was out of your sight before he shook his head. "no—, it doesn't matter. just please tell me, do you still feel the same way?”

wooyoung’s voice was still tinged with disbelief as he asked you if you still felt the same way. his tone was uncertain, full of doubt. he was afraid of the answer, of what you may say. the thought of you no longer feeling the same way terrified him, because he knew that he might have screwed up everything too much for it to be fixed.

"i never stopped," you replied quietly. and it was true, you had not. even when you were angry, frustrated, and hurt, you never stopped loving him. your love was stubborn and resilient, and it had endured everything. it had endured the arguments and fights, the harsh words and bitter silences, all of the times your love felt unwanted.

because you knew, deep down, you’d love wooyoung until he told you not to.

previous . . masterlist . . next

taglist @special4u @vampzity @jwone @dulceeed

[mushyposts]

WOAH! THE CREW???? THE CREW FROM HIT FANFICTION NO THING DEFINES A MAN LIKE LOVE??? WOAH WOAH WOAH??? Anyway yes omg its them!!! This took me so long and im so tired but look at my ANGELS!

UM! Friendly reminder that I myself am not Inuit/Indigenous! I did research + had an Indigenous person helping me w the tattoos, but if theres anything wrong/disrespectful pls do let me know and I will fix it. All the tattoos r on a seperate layer so it'll be an easy fix and one i am more then happy to do. A few of the designs changed between this and my written description, so... Oops?? Especially Morqa. I got carried away ok.... ANYWAY I have some little notes abt their designs here and there so! Kaiqa: He used to have shorter bangs around his face but they annoyed him so he tried to let them grow out but that annoyed him so he would cut them again and then try to let them grow out and now he just has perpetual baby hairs that wont get any longer. Mikla: UM. Not much to say here. Isnt he pretty tho?? Buteq: SOMEHOW ENDED UP THE MOST MAJESTIC MAN EVER. HELLO?? The two beads on the right are for his nieces and the one on the left is for his sister! Neter: One time he got super cocky abt being 7 years older then Nitya which meant he was a better fighter and so Nitya was like "yeah?? ok bet." and then punched him and broke his nose and was like "hm where are those warrior reflexes?" so now Neter has a permanently bent nose. Sorqai: He got the scar thats through his beard in the same raid that cause Nitya and Konait (Kaiqas older brother) to die. Nitya died trying to get Konait and some other kids out of the mess, and Sorqai got injured trying to get to them to help. He's mostly numb on that side of his face due to nerve damage ! Causes him to lisp a bit, especially w the chipped tooth (which he got from tripping) Natai: He wears both his own and Nitya's necklaces their parents made them, and intends to only take of Nitya's and let it go into the ocean where he was buried when the war is over. His own way of keeping Nitya involved in the war effort, something that was really important to him. Kutai: Again, no real notes here but isnt he pretttyyy..... Kovak: Honestly, very likely one of my favourite character designs I've ever made. Im kind of obsessed with him. He doesnt wear his necklace from his parents because he wasnt on good terms with them at all while they were alive. He took it off before they died, and hasnt been able to bring himself to put it back on. he intends to give it to his kid when he gets back. Mori: UM! I dont have a lot of notes here. Mori has two kids ! Hence the three tattoos under their chin, I saw an inuit creator/source say that sometimes people will add lines as they have kids and I thought that was really lovely so yes!! Again im just. I think hes so pretty. Luqait: Im so sorry king I did u dirty posting this after that one chapter. Each one of the beads he wears is dedicated to someone he knew in the tribe who died, theres more not visible on the other side of the braids. I can say for 100% certainty theres one for Kya and Nitya. Saila: Saila was actually a design i struggled a lot with, but I think I got them to a point im happy with!!! They're a good amount intense, androgynous and also have that amber flash in their eyes. The amber comes from having Fire Nation somewhere in their ancestry, something I dont think will really come up in the fic, but a detail I think is good to know! Morqa: I changed Morqa's design the most, especially his hair! But I think he's ended up being a design I am most proud of. The piercings especially!! Eventually u will run out of space (that we can see ig??) king but today is not that day godbless.

OKAY! THERE WE GO... I HOPE EVERYONE LIKES THEM UM PLS BE NICE AND DONT REPOST AND IDK JUST.... I HOPE U LIKE THEM AS MUCH AS I DO i know oc's in fics arent always peoples favourites but the reception of these guys has been like. Beyond mindblowing. Im so fucking excvited and happy everytime people in my comments talk about how much they love the characters i've created. Like.... The fact that people enjoy the OC's and not just for what the give to Zuko, but for what they give to each other and their own individual stories is so incredible to me. I hope u guys like this and I hope it helps u visualise them better!! : D

[merotwst]

IN DOCTOR'S OFFICE LIGHTING, I DIDN'T TELL YOU I WAS SCARED —- angst

‹. scarabia & pomefiore ›

. bulleted hcs

⇝you're very sick. how do they deal with it?

¬ tw: established relationship ; reader implied to be hosptally ridden type of ill ; hospitals, medicine etc. ; mentions of death but reader doesn't actually die in the fic ; lots of sadness ; dont read if ure uncomfy this is sad and i understand it's not for everyone ; open ended

۵ not proofread. we die like the dumb little bitches we are.

kalim al-asim ‹ scarabia ›

. when he first found out you were ill, his whole world stopped.

. how? why? what happened?

. were you two just not planning your future together on his bed one night just a few weeks ago? why are you here now on a hospital bed hooked up to things he didn't know what the names of were?

. all the questions swirled around his head but he would never ask them out loud.

. instead he would ask you different questions.

. “what do you feel like eating today? i'll order something!”, “what do you wanna watch together?”, “can i cuddle you tonight before i leave?”

. kalim never faltered in front of you. he was so excited to hear all about it when you come back from treatment, enthusiastically saying things like, “you look better already!” even if you know damn well you aren't but it's so sweet.

. he's always there on your bedside whenever he can be. always brings you something he thinks you'll love.

. hell, this man would bring in the best doctors just for you so please, please get better soon, kalim would do anything.

. every opportunity you have to get some time out of the hospital, he'll be there ready and planning a trip for the both of you (with doctor's approval, of course).

. he'll buy you anything you ask (or dont ask) for. because he believes you deserve everything. he wants you happy despite the cards you're dealt with and he will do everything in his power to do that.

. he's happiest whe he gets to take you out of the hospital for a while. if you can't find the opportunity to leave and he can't visit, you can expect lots of gifts and flowers sent to you and of course—jamil's cooking.

. he's so positive and hopeful and that just gives you strength. you'll never see him cry out of sadness. you'll never hear him say any negative thing even if it seems hopeless in your mind. he's your light at the end of the tunnel. he'll shine as bright as he can to light your path.

. you'll get better. you'll live a long, happy life with him. and even if he sometimes clutches his pillows at night and sobs silently onto his pillows after his latest visits to you, he knows you'll fight with him.

. and that's all he needs to know to wake up the next day with a new resolve to see you and cheer you on. he'll cheer you on till the sky falls and oceans dry and all he asks for you in return is to get better soon.

jamil viper ‹ scarabia ›

. the first thing this man says when he hears your diagnosis is “alright, let's get to work, ya hayati.”

. such a solid resolve. when you're breaking down, he's there. when you need anything, he'll do it for you. he doesn't leave your side and he understands that it's difficult and scary but the way he reassures you with such certainty makes you believe that it's only a matter of time before you're out.

. unlike kalim, he doesn't coddle you, but he's not harsh. he doesn't want to treat you differently because you're sick. he knows you're strong so he treats you just like he always has.

. of course, as stated earlier, if you ever needed comfort he's right there.

. you're one of the few things he'd leave kalim's side for. sure his schedule is busy, but everything else be damned he'll always, always make it a point to see you at least once a day.

. bringing food to you, singing to you—all the things he never did for others he did it on your bedside within the confines of these four walls in their sickening shade of white.

. he appears resilient, but jamil is only human.

. he wasn't given much growing up that he didn't need to share. one thing he had found that he felt he could truly call his... was you.

. and he would be lying of he said he wasn't scared. jamil was terrified deep down.

. but he hides it well with the lunchboxes he makes you and the way he squeezes your hands when you're asleep and the way he sneakily kisses you goodnight before he leaves you.

. you. the one thing the didn't think he would lose was at risk of disappearing from his life.

. he would come home with an ache in his heart. he's scared one day all he'd have left of you are some of your things in his drawers, photographs and memories of the happiest days of his life.

. and he'd sit down and stare at empty space, his mind cursing at the world for making him go through all this. for letting him have a taste of his own little freedom in your arms only to try and yank it back from him.

. but he wasn't going to let go. and he knows neither would you.

. and after those silent moments of anger, frustration and fear... he'd relax. and he'd smile because he remembers you're still here.

. then he'd get up and think of the next thing you'd want to eat again tomorrow, knowing and deep down, silently praying you'd still be on your bed with a warm smile and welcoming him back into your arms.

. his very own form of freedom.

vil schoenheit ‹ pomefiore ›

. just like jamil, he's not one to change the way he treats you whenever he hears the news.

. i feel like he may be more strict than jamil, though.

. after all, vil has a routine he's been following for years now. and as someone who's battling and recovering from an illness, he expects you to give it your 100% whenever possible.

. he knows it's difficult, but he also doesn't want to lose you.

. if ever sometimes you get frustrated or want to give up, you can rely on vil to get your sights straight again.

. although sometimes he'll come off as a bit harsh, please understand that he's just scared of losing you.

. he knows you can overcome this and he'll be there every step of the way to make sure you do.

. and of course, he rewards your hard work :3

. every milestone on your journey gets a prize. whether it be you enduring mildly tiring physical exercises or getting an operation for something—vil always makes sure to get you something nice.

. new clothes you'd like, things that you enjoy, food, sometimes even signed vynils from your favorite artists.

. sometimes, if you're lucky, something vil made himself. a meal, clothes he made for you personally etc.

. he'll tell you how proud he is and how beautiful you look despite everything.

. and then he gets soft and holds you close.

. and in the rare occason he gets to stay overnight beside you, you'll wake up in dead of night when he thinks you're asleep.

. there's soft sobs and his arms wrap around you a little tighter.

. and it's your turn to reassure him. because he's just as terrified as you are.

. and eventually for a few moments, it gets better knowing that you'll get better.

rook hunt ‹ pomefiore ›

. he's crushed. he's absolutely heartbroken.

. his beloved? his darling? the most beautiful person he's known to exist in his eyes... is suffering.

. he's going to talk to you. and explain that it hurts him to see you like this but he will never abandon you.

. every moment of every second, rook is there to hold your hand and kiss you and remind you of the many reasons to keep fighting.

. the gifts, the constant presence in your life, the words of affirmation—bros never leaving your side and that's a fact.

. and sure, he's a little dramatic at times, but that's just how he is. he never makes you feel bad, never makes you sad despite everything.

. even though it's hard for both of you, he never complained. sometimes he gets dramatic and curses the fates or something, but he never makes you feel bad about it.

. he never misses any moment with you. rook hunt is the definition of dedication and perseverance when it comes to your healing.

. he does so much and sometimes, you wake up after a long, comfortable sleep and you just see him beside your bed.

. he will never say it out lout and will never let it show but... you know he's tired, too.

. so for a few moments, you just let him rest. you squeeze his hand gently as he sleeps and you see just the faintest of smiles appear on his face.

. he's awake and you know it. but you humor him and let him have an excuse to let you hold his hand as he 'sleeps'.

. maybe when he wakes up again, you might be better, who knows?

. too good to be true? not for rook who genuinely believes that at any time, the doctors will come in to announce you're fully healed.

. but until that happens, he'll enjoy the feeling of your still warm hand in his and try to go back to sleep.

epel felmier ‹ pomefiore ›

. 'don't cry, don't cry, don't cry...'

. he mentally chanted to himself as tears streaked down his face when he heard the news.

. for all the tough guy act he likes to put out most of the time, he can't help but be soft when it comes to you.

. you didn't view him as anything but as the guy you fell in love with.

. not a pretty face, not a guy trying hard to come out as more manly (as much as he hated to admit it, so many other students saw him as exactly this), not some country kid with a weird accent whenever he gets mad or excited.

. you saw him as epel. your epel.

. and now your epel was a sobbing mess in front of you. he hates that he's crying, but this only shows how much he cares about you.

. you spend the first night exchanging reassurances and little promises with each other while hugging each other tight.

. while you were gettng your treatment, you've pretty much just about tried every single type of food and beverage that can be produced with the use of apples.

. boxes would come to your hospital room from his family and it's become a running joke between you whenever another box arrived.

. “an apple a day...”

. followed by little giggles you'd both share as he peeled one of them for you.

. epel didn't bring you over the top extravagant gifts, but he would visit you everyday and tell you all the fun things that happened and how he can't wait to experience them with you again.

. epel would cry. he'd cry at times when it feels low. and he'd cry when things started to look up.

. epel would tell you how scared he is of losing you. but he'd also tell you that he knows how hard you're fighting and how much he hopes to see you again outside the suffocating white walls of your hospital room.

. to see you under the summer sun, sitting on one of the branches of the apple trees in his hometown, laughing with your bare feet swinging while calling out his name.

. he'd have dreams like this sometimes and he'd wake up with tears in his eyes.

. he tries his best not to take it as a grim reminder—but a beacon of hope. a vision of what could be in the future.

. and with that in mind, he sleeps a little better. hanging onto dreams like this and praying they become something that would manifest in reality sooner rather than later.

•

© merotwst 2023 | do not reproduce, steal or translate

[littlebabyyd0ll]

THE LION AND THE LAMB, PART ONE

Forced to leave your home land for the hand of the man your sister had previously been wed to, you find yourself travelling from heaven to hell. Fallen angels couldn’t really be beautiful, could they?

warnings: reader is barb’s sister, explicit themes of death, gothic genre, vampirism, arranged marriages. r’s father physically and mentally abuses her. slight NSWF themes within. you are responsible for your own media consumption.

kinktober day one my angels!!! enjoy!! 18+ only.

main masterlist ! series masterlist ! kinktober 2023

Unbound cobblestone lurches the carriage side to side once more, like an abandoned ship far out at sea, taken captive by the powerful hold of Poseidon. It wasn’t much long ago that you were sea sick from the choppy waves, accompanied by your father and his men on your travels from the bright light of your home, to the drizzling haze that was cast over the country of Hawkins. Oh, how it lived up to its reputation. Hawkins was a dark and dreary place, constantly overcast and damp with the rain that fell upon stone homes and muddied roads. The people of the country watched your bright golden carriage with an unsettling known certainty, a grimace which they all shared under the rule of their king. Draped in their dreary colours of grey and stained white, as though all colours were banned from the land. It haunts you, the undead look in their eyes as you clutch at the windowsill whilst rolling past. 

These were to be your people, your devout servants of the kingdom. 

No life shimmered in their eyes. No hands raised in warm welcomes and waves of the sight of their new queen-to-be. The people of Hawkins were used to this parade, used to the shining golden riches come from afar, accustomed with the cycle that would meet their new queen. For it happened on repeat, to every suitor that King Edward was engaged to marry. You knew, too. For it had been your sister, only months ago. 

Forcing your eyes away from the rain sodden faces of the kingdom’s people, you turned back to the other lively body in the carriage. Your father, crown tall and proper upon his head, paid no attention to the villagers as you rolled on past. His sharp gaze was unwavering on the scroll in front of him, the one composed by the King of Hawkins himself. A proposal of marriage to the King, your father, for the hand of his second eldest child, the last daughter in the line of succession. You. 

Of course, despite what happened with Barbara, your elder sister who was sent mere months ago to be wed to King Edmund, your father had been delighted by the offer, and had readied your things to leave within the hour. You had faced treacherous oceans and sinking roads to get here. All signs to turn back, to rid yourself of this fate, to run and never return. And, yet, here you sat, dress full and far too outlandish for the style of the people here. The sweetheart neckline of your glimmering, ballet-slipper pink dress seems foolish for the weather, as do the puffed sleeves that fall upon your shoulder. The corset is tight and restricting, but the ribbons that cinch the back of the gown are simply delightful and princesslike. You stand out like a sore thumb in a land like this. 

Nerves prickle under your bare skin, and suddenly your tiara weighs heavy. You see the way that your father eyeballs the number of riches that King Edward has offered for your hand and have to force yourself not to sneer at the all too familiar look. The same look that he got when King Edward had written for Barbara’s hand. As your time as princess you have come to learn many things, but one in particular. 

Men will do anything for power, glory and riches. 

“Must you go through with it, father?” Your voice is softer than intended, has none of the strength and authority that your mother once had. You had hoped to plea with him, to present a case like the sinners in court, though you truly were an innocent in all of this. 

There’s barely even a look of recognition as your father’s dull tone fills the emptiness of the rumbling carriage. “The relationship of two kingdoms is not something I am willing to endanger for your personal happiness, daughter. You will fulfil your duty as your mother did, as did your sister.”

“And look what happened to them both.” You interfere, small hands bunching at the tulle of your dress, one of the most expensive in your collection. Only the best to impress your husband-to-be. “They are dead, father. Cold as stone and buried six feet under. Are you not convinced that the same awaits me? Awaits any girl that is forced into the clutches of a powerful man?” There it is; the passion, the fire, the dare. It's the very thing that makes your father’s nostrils flare and has his hand swinging towards you. His jewelled, golden ring pierces the delicate skin upon your pigmented lips and has your face barrelling towards the small window. 

Your surprised gasp is overthrown by his tone. “It is that very attitude that surely killed them both. You will do well to remember your place in this world. You are nothing but a pawn. You are a peace treaty between lands. If your blood is the one that is spilled, so be it. My sons are becoming great men, and they are to be my legacy.” He leans forward, glaring into your tear sodden eyes. He traces the stains that run down your cheeks, sadistic pride fills his bones. He is no more family to you than King Edward. You may share blood, but he is no father of yours. “Nobody will remember the losses of a few princesses. King Edward has ruled for a glorious lifetime. You are not his first wife, and you will surely not be his last.” The words sting at your heart, to know that he is willing to bury you under a gravestone for gold, for numbers on parchment. “That is your fate, daughter. Loathe it, spite it, I do not care. But you will obey it.”

Of course you would. That was your duty. But the truth bares no kindness, no comfort in the depths of its sadness. You force your gaze away, force yourself to stop the rapid rise and fall of your chest, and dab the wound upon your lip with the handkerchief halfheartedly thrown at your lap. Your glossy eyes watch as the bumpy hill rises, and the stone walls come into view. The castle is magnificent, tall spires piercing the swirling skies and mighty defences standing proud as protection, though no one has dared to invade Hawkins in almost two hundred years. The thought had your stomach churning. Gossip of King Edward told a thousand different stories, some say that he is hypnotically handsome. Some say that wives fall dead because they grow jealous of his untimely beauty, one that they could never parallel. Others say that they drop dead at the sight of him, for he is so old that they would rather die than bed him. No one could tell you the age of the king, even when you had offered a satchel of gold. 

Once more, all good fates called out to you, begged at you not to exit the carriage and not to follow the path to the chain strung doors. And yet, a part of your soul yearned for the dark wood cast in iron. You ached to find out if the rumours were true, ached to be wed, ached to live as queen, as you had dreamed as a little girl. Subconsciously, as your father’s men knock repeatedly at the wood door, you raise your hand to the dried blood upon your lip, camouflaged with freshly applied rouge. In the depths of your heart, you hoped your fiancè to be a kind man, a man that did not strike, a man that gave you the best in life, a man that adored you. All you had was hope. 

A great groan comes from the pushing of the heavy doors. King Edward’s men appear either side of the growing gap, heaving with all their might to open the doors. The inside is dark, much darker than the outside of the castle, only the flickering flames of tall candles are enough to lighten the walkway. The carriage is opened for you, yet you await your turn. Of course, your father barges past you and steps on the once pristine fabric of your dress. A muddied footprint stains it now, and reflects the notion that your father will always be one step higher, one step in front, and he can easily kick you back down again. With a shaky breath your hands raise up, adjust the tiara that sits heavy upon your head, and you force yourself to take the hand of the footman awaiting outside of the carriage. 

Drizzling rain falls onto the sapphires of your crown, the very same shade as your father’s surcoat. He talks as though he is the most important man amongst them, his words directed to a very uninterested looking Viceroy. He’s tall, unusually tanned for the people of Hawkins and the constant coverage of clouds. He’s also rugged, knightly looking, with mid length  hazel tassels of hair falling at the back of his neck. The King’s second in command bears scars upon his forehead and upon his cheek, and yet the most noticeable thing about him was how simply bored he looked to be listening to your father. And then, he catches sight of you. 

Timid little you whose dress is stained at the bottom from the mud on the ground. Timid little you that looks up at the magnificent castle with saucers for eyes. Timid little you who bares her neck and chest, all dressed up to appease her future husband. Timid little you, who is absolutely perfect for his King. 

“Princess.” The man calls, voice smooth as he side steps around your father, who does not seem best pleased to be interrupted. You, on the other hand, seem startled to even be addressed. You stand a little straighter, as though all the lady-like lessons that our maid had taught you growing up all came rushing back to the forefront of your mind at once. The Viceroy walks towards you with ease, his outfit a deep murky brown, adorned with the glimmering of shining golden buckles. They each hold the crest of King Edward’s court. He bends at the waist at the same time that you curtsy in greeting, bowing your head and begging that the tiara does not fall off. The chestnut haired man stands tall once more, one arm over his chest, the other proper behind his back. “My name is Steven, your majesty. Sir Steven, and I wish to make your stay here as pleasant as possible. It shall be my name you call if you ever face any difficulty. The king wishes you to have an exquisite time.” 

Sir Steven’s smile is enough to have you enchanted. It distracts you from the meaning behind his words: stay, time. As though none of this is permanent. He smiles at the mere sight of you, pretty in pink and so juxtaposing from the environment around you. The only other signs of colour come from the members of your court, your father, your ladies stepping out from the carriage behind your own. So much alike many of the brides that have come before you. Steven outstretches a white gloved hand towards you, beckoning you to walk alongside him. As you walk, you cannot help your full of life eyes to cast one more glance down the slopes if the mountainous hill that the castle sits upon, and down onto the villages below. You almost feel that if you squint hard enough, you can see where life meets death at the horizon. 

The halls of Munson Castle are dim and dark. The only sounds available in the dinginess are those of your ladies’ shoes upon the wooden floor behind you and the flickering of flames from the torches mounted to the walls. It seemed as though every magnificent window was guarded closed by large drapes of fabric curtains. No sunlight entered the halls, and the flames were just about strong enough to illuminate the paintings upon the walls. Great murals of battles from hundreds of years ago, some even considered myths, aligned the walls. Victors and losers alike, some of your ancestors were pictured in the paintings. Hundreds of years on, you wonder if your marriage to Edward would disappoint them, for he too was an ancestor of many people in the paintings. Thousands of years ago, your two kingdoms had been at war. No more, not with a marriage that came long ago, yet another wife that had died the night of their wedding. 

The thought propels you into memories of Barbara. This place was going to be her home, her beginning, her kingdom to rule as queen. Your heart rate spikes at the thought of how she would react, to your stealing of her husband. Would she get angry? Would she warn you of what had happened to her? She may even haunt these halls, dead in her pristine white wedding dress. For the Kingdoms of the Old, this was an extremely uncommon practice that only King Edward insisted upon. Usually brides-to-be were coated head to toe in gold, silver, bright colours of riches enough to show off the status of the family. King Edward only ever dressed his brides in plain white dresses, the only sign of riches coming from the measly tiara he would have them wear. A flimsy, silver thing with absolutely no jewels whatsoever. At least, that's what the servant’s gossip had said. None of your family had attended Barbara’s wedding, far too at a loss with the death of your mother. Your father had shipped her away without as much as a goodbye. At the very least, you still had his presence. There was always something to be thankful for. 

Your hand still laid delicately upon Sir Steven’s palm as he walked you through the halls. 

“King Edward wishes to convey his deepest apologies for not being able to meet his bride-to-be, princess.” Spoke Steven, motioning for guards to open up another set of large and heavy doors. This one led directly into the throneroom, large enough to host magnificent balls and could just about fit the whole population of Hawkins inside. “You see, His Majesty deals with the court in the daytime, he spends his hours locked up inside of the Place of Arms. He holds his meetings there, you see, and that is your King’s only rule.” Steven suddenly drops your hand, his face deadly serious. You're sure that the expression on your face reflects the swirling inside of your stomach. “King Edward is a kind King and an even kinder husband. He only forbids you from ever entering the Place of Arms during the day.” Slowly, you nod in acceptance of Steven’s words, of your future husband’s wishes. Is that who he is to be? A man you never see in the day, a man who only ever wishes to bed you at night, who does not care for what you preoccupy your time with? “It is imperative that you understand, princess. There is no entrance to the Place of Arms. Never within daylight hours. What goes on behind those doors are for the King’s knowledge only.” 

It’s nothing more than a whisper, your voice. A gentle, “I understand.” And a subservient bow of your head. Just as you had been taught, you are appeasing your husband before having even met him. 

But it is this very moment that Steven takes notice of the state of your bottom lip. His voice gently beckons you upward, encouraging you to look him in the eyes. He does not meet yours, however, chocolate irises far too entranced at the dried blood. “How did this come to be?”

The gentleness surprises you, and in a fleeting heartbeat, a moment of misjudgement, your eyes betray you. They fly towards your father’s figure, watching as he scrutinises the two thrones upon the raised flooring of the great hall. Though they are far more magnificent than those of your home, the ones that your brothers will surely kill each other to sit upon, he stares at them as though they are nothing but a spec of dust, floating through the air. 

Steven notices immediately. “I will have word sent to the King.”

“No.” You instantly reply, eyes growing wide at the brashness of your tone. You sputter, “Forgive me. I-I just mean that it is nothing worth consulting his majesty over.” Your eyes tell a thousand stories, rhymes and riddles of all the times you have had to cover up injuries before. “Please.”

“He will find out, princess. Either through me, or the gossip of the servants.” Steven is sincere in his words, only looking you in the eye. “Let me soften the blow. He won't be best pleased, your grace.” 

Something aches within you. Had he taken a keen interest in Barbara like this? Does he pretend to care for all of his wives before they are cursed with untimely deaths? You wish not to know, face pale and hands shaking. 

“Would you be kind enough to take my daughter to her quarters, Sir Simon? She ought to ready herself for the ball tonight.” Your father approaches with his loud voice and his even louder footsteps. You are quite sure that if it were practical enough, he would have shoes of gold. “A perfect bride takes hours to perfect her beauty for her husband.” slowly, he takes a stand of your hair and curls it around his finger. An act which would seem harmless for some, yet you know its true meaning; a warning. Do not disappoint him. 

In your mind, the idea of your father’s obnoxiousness makes Steven more likely to tell the King that he had been the one to strike you. Perhaps that is what possesses you to speak so harshly. “His name is Sir Steven, father. You will do well to remember it.” 

Regret will surely come soon enough. But for now, you allow Sir Steven to escort you out of the ballroom, and all the way to the east wing, to your new quarters. 

Everything is ready for your arrival. The room is simply divine, despite its darkness. The sun is soon to set, so you believe. Everything is magnificent, the four poster bed, the mirror tall enough to be a giant, a great vanity and even soft, plush chairs for your relaxation. You gaze at it with fearsome admiration, a look that your ladies lining the walls have never seen before. Steven watches you with a growing sadness from the doorway. For you hold the same look in your eye that your sister had before you. And he knows that you too should await the same fate. But for now, he lets your girlhood run wild, and allows you to bask in all things prenuptial. 

“I will be back to escort you to the ball, your majesty.” He turns to the girls that watch you adoringly. “Ladies, this could be the most important eve of her life.” He turns back to you with a smile. “Make her feel like the fairest of all.”

And he disappears, closing the door with an unknown swiftness. It takes a mere moment before the act of your ladies drops, and they too fawn over all that is around you. You each squeal and laugh, completely enamoured by the riches and the newness of it all. Ladies Nancy, Robin and Erica gush over the luck you are presented with, and they tell you that you are destined to be the one true love of King Edward, that this marriage will be different to all those before. They speak whilst undressing you and leading you through a little side door into a spacious room, one with a sparkling golden bathtub at its centre. 

For the hours that follow, you are simply girls. The best of friends, readying one for a night of parties and celebration. New beginnings lay ahead of you, and yet they look at you the same way that they always have. With love, the same way that you used to look at Barbara. They tell you the quickly acquired gossip as they scrub underneath your nails and rake their fingers through your hair. 

“The King’s maid said that he is of fine beauty.” Nancy giggles, lightly fingering at one of the crimson rose petals that float on the surface of the water. Her sapphire coloured sleeves are rolled up as she leans over the tub, head resting against her arm. “And he is most kind, treats his people with only the best.”

“Am I the only one who saw the villagers as we rode in?” You murmured, watching robin as she fiddled with your fingernails. “They seemed so… lifeless. They bore no excitement to have a new queen. Everything here, it’s so different.” The words fall slowly and riddled with anxiety, and your ladies share a knowing look. “I wonder if she felt the same, coming here. If she were as scared as I.” 

“There can be no man worse to wed than your father, princess.” Erica speaks from behind you, gathering water to push away the soap in your hair. “The king, though his lovelife has been misfortunate, appears to be a good man. He has restored peace, it has been years since the last war broke out. The maids say that he is compelling.” You sigh quietly. “You cannot allow yourself to live in fear of what you do not know. The future is exciting. You ought to breathe, and forget about everything. Tonight, you are nought but a princess, a fiancé, about to meet her husband-to-be.” You can hear the way that she smiles through her words. “And we promise to make you look so saccharine that you take his breath away.”

They do. They always do. You almost can’t believe yourself as you look upon the mirror. The dress that had been brought up to your room was a deep blue, the blue of your court. Its neckline delved into your chest and dropped into ruffles of timeless lace that led straight to your waist, cinched by the strength of three girls and a corset. It fell all the way to your toes, where you had grown a few inches from the heeled shoes presented to you. As before, a mighty tiara sits pretty upon your hairline, glimmering in the candlelight. The ladies had pushed half of your hair up and styled the rest to cascade down your delicate shoulders. Nancy had insisted upon your collarbone being visible, insinuating that the show of skin would have your betrothed hardly able to control himself.

You weren't so sure that you liked the sound of that. 

“He will not be able to breathe when he gazes upon you.” Robin gushes, lightly adjusting the pearl necklace upon your neck, right over your pulse point. “He will wish to move the engagement from a week long to no more than a day.”

You roll your eyes. 

“It is true!” Nancy murmurs from behind you, her dainty hands laying delicate little forget-me-nots, the flower of your kingdom, into the flowing locks of your hair. Thank heavens that they had thought to preserve and bring the flowers, for the land of hawkins was half dead, You haven't seen much more than overgrown shrubbery on the way here.  “We have truly outdone ourselves, though it helps to have such an exquisite canvas.” 

“You ladies are really working hard to ensure I have you in my favour.” You laugh, adjusting the tiara in the mirror. Your ladies had also changed into their ball gowns, though nowhere near as regal and outlandish as your own. “Once I am wed I assure you that finding you the most perfect Lords will be at the top of my list of priorities.” 

If I live past the wedding night, you think, but do not speak. There is no purpose in killing their uplifted spirits. 

“Tonight is about you. Do not fret upon us.” Erica grins, shooing away Nancy and Robin, helping you down from the pedestal in front of the mirror in your larger-than-life room. Her hands are warm against your skin, despite the ever growing chill of the castle. You grip onto her for life, holding on to something so valuable, something of home. Erica turns you slightly, giving one last adjustment as Nancy and Robin both come to stand by her sides. They each hold a matching grin, watching you with a lifelong earnestness. “Our princess.”

“Your future Queen.” Comes another tone, much deeper than possible of the three girls that stood in the room with you. You each turn to the now somewhat familiar man, Sir Steven, as he lingers upon the doorway. He still bears the dull brown colour, though now his uniform is much more exquisite. His tunic is stark blue, matching the colours of your Kingdom. He also wears brown and red on his overcoats, the colours of his kingdom. It is a peaceful statement, the joining of two kingdoms. 

You wonder if he wore that to Barbara’s engagement ball. 

Steven looks at you with his big brown eyes, taking in the sight before him. Even you have to admit, you feel like a glowing star. “You look divine.” He murmurs, lifting his arm and outstretching it towards you. Your dainty hand falls into the crook of his elbow effortlessly. “The king shall admire your vision for years to come.” 

And it suddenly hits you. Tonight is about you, this is all for you. You and your future husband, who you will meet in mere moments. He is mere rooms away as Steven escorts you towards the throne room, and you suddenly realise that these could be your last living moments. If the rumours about King Edward are true, this could truly be your last eve alive. You could fall dead at the very sight of him. Perhaps he is a terribly old man who wants nothing more than for you to bed him and give him heirs. A pretty plaything. A pawn to another man’s game. 

You shudder a breath, one that has your chest pushing harshly into the unforgiving corset. There’s a burst of light in the depths of the dark hallways. It comes from the cracks in the ajar door of the trone room. There is a faint tune of music, great orchestral music alike. Your footsteps sound faintly as you grow closer, no match for the chatter and music and dancing. Steven can feel the sudden sharpness of your nails through his overcoat, and murmurs lowly. “Relax. You will be perfect.” 

You wish you could. 

But the nerves do not die as you stand with Steven in front of the great double doors. Your heart pounds wildly as the herald by the door announces your name in a great bellowing shout. You tense as the double doors begin to widen, and the light becomes ten times more eminent. Steven drops his arm, and your weak arm falls limp at your side. The dancing and chattering has stopped, and the music has become mellow, gentle to welcome you into the room of your new kingdom. The first thing you can see is the bright glowing lights, candles everywhere, and suddenly the room is anew. There is no darkness, no shadows creeping down your spine. The room is alive. As are the faces that stare back at you, so many Lords and Ladies, perhaps even royalty of different kingdoms. It is easy to spot who is of Hawkins, their red emblems pinned neatly to the breasts of both tunics and dresses. They part like waves of the sea, and the aura inside the room bides you in without thought. Some greater nature pulls you in, tugs you by force, and has your feet moving one step after the other into the middle of the room. 

You stop in the middle of the ballroom, beneath a magnificent golden chandelier. The gold flickers and shimmers with the flames around it, like stars overhead. You hope that all good fates and gods are watching you now, and will bless your soul. For right now, you feel like a fox against a pack of archers. Every person in the room stares at you, at only you, and yet they do not whisper a word. You turn, spinning on the spot, trying to identify someone, anyone. To find some familiarity amongst strangers. It does not come, the sense of relief that you so desperately sought. Instead, as you stop turning, a group of people in front of you begin to move, parting once more from one another. And then, the music begins to pick up, something deep and meaningful, a tune of the kingdom. Your eyes do not part with the scene in front of you, and still no pair of eyes stray from your figure. Scared. Alone. Until you see.

Black polished shoes graze against the wooden floor. They dazzle in the light, leading to an obsidian pair of breeches, belt loops adorned with hanging golden chains. A flowing material flutters behind the figure lightly, connected to his shoulders, hung by a golden chain to his frilled tunic. The sleeves of his shirt are long, yet his arms are defined enough to be conveyed. The figure that your eyes rake up is tall, taller than any man you have ever known. Your heartbeat impossibly quickens as your eyes meet raven curls, twisting up towards the most handsome face you possibly had ever seen. Sharp jaw and cheeks, dark features enhanced by his pale skin. King Edward looks celestial in all of his grace. He stops a foot or two in front of you lightly trembling form, and he’s so tall. Not lanky, built enough to convey his strength and he fills out his clothes. But that is not what captures your attention most, no, your future husband’s eyes are something of a fairytale. He stares at you softly, despite the sharpness of his eyes. They're brown, yet so much deeper and darker than Sir Steven’s. You swear that something swirls within the depths of those irises, and you are sure not to be mistaken when there is a flicker of gold and blood red, at the closest points to his pupils. 

The King is magnificent. 

Suddenly you feel as though you might fall to the wife’s curse, for his looks and beauty are far  too fine to be of this world. 

He could be an angel, or he could be the devil. His motivations seem unclear, for if he were just marrying for the nations, he would never stare at you the way that he does in that moment. King Edward looks at you as though you are the rarest jewel in the land, something to be cherished for millenia to come. He looks at you how the most adoring, caring husband would to his dearly beloved wife. It burns your chest. What is all this for? Is he merely just a shining actor, ready to do what he will to get you into bed?

But the King does not speak, he only moves. His eyes remain the same as he slowly circles around you, soft, gentle, yet observant. He is vetting you, ensuring that you would be the perfect wife, the perfect woman. You can remember the way that the maids in the castle back home had gripped at your hips and told you how a king would adore them, what they could do, what they could create. They saw you as a baby making machine. It’s not the same now, for you can feel the icy cold tingle left in the wake of King Edward’s stare. He observes your hair, fingertips grazing the ends lightly before he plucks one of the clusters of forget-me-nots out, and pockets it next to his neck tie. Blood red and sapphire blue. His eyes continue around you and his hand falls back to your hair, slowly pushing it away from your shoulder and neck as he comes back towards your line of vision. He seems to take in the sight of your pearl necklace, and Nancy was right, for you swear that his eyes darken at the sight. You flush at the realisation; The King wants you. He finds you more than pleasing, and you seem to have passed his evaluations. Relief floods you – the poorly hidden cut upon your bottom lip had not deterred him.

You feel tiny under his gaze. You can barely breathe, and you feel as though your heart is trying to escape from your chest. It would be impossible to match him, to be acquainted with his wealth, his power. You would surely forever be known as the princess who did not deserve such a man. 

And yet, King Edward falls down to one knee. He lowers himself, far lower than you. At first, you believe him to be bowing. But the reality is far different. The King produces a golden ring, a deep, dark ruby red jewel encrusted with a halo of darling diamonds. It sits proudly between his own ringed fingers, presented to you, and is probably worth more than anything you have ever owned. Across the room, you can practically hear your father encouraging you to take the ring, to take the King as your husband. 

“Princess,” his voice is so unlike anything you have ever heard before. So rich and smooth, yet intoxicating and deep He speaks as a King, with power and authority. His voice can be heard over the orchestral music, he is so respected. So adored. “I present you with this ring as a symbol of our unity. Of two kingdoms. Take this ring, and I will give you anything you could ever ask for, anything your heart could ever desire. Swear yourself to me, as my wife, as my Queen, and you shall have eternal glory.”

You raise a trembling hand towards him. Words cannot convey the sudden compelling that you have, the need to take his hand, to fulfil what he has promised for you. You feel air-light as you speak almost breathlessly, “I swear myself to you, King Edward.” 

The pressure of your corset seems to have faded. You can breathe freely as soon as the ring slips onto your finger. His hand is cold as he reaches for your finger, chilled as the winter’s snow. You jolt, though do your best to contain it as your skin makes contact with his own. You’ve surely never felt something so cold before, and yet never felt so warm. Heat and bliss dance around you as the ring slips over your knuckle, and falls perfectly into place against your skin. 

You admire the jewel for a moment, take in the fact that it now resides there, upon your very own finger. You take in the fact that King Edward had not seen you and rejected you in a moment, instead fallen to his knee and presented you with a glistening ring. Your heart soars, and your eyes travel to meet his. Those around you have began to dance once more, shouting their cheers for their king. You are certain that you heard Robin’s squeal in there somewhere. He watches you intently, as though a creature so beautiful had never existed before. He seems mystified, perhaps even as much so as you are. The King looks at you as though there is a halo upon the crown of your head, and God had delivered you here on a silver platter himself. 

Edward raises your entwined hands, presses his cool lips against your knuckles, and drags you further under his spell. You spin and spin, until you realise that it isn’t only in your head, and the two of you are dancing, hand in hand, his other at the curve of your waist. You can feel the way that his thumb glides over the fabric of your dress, the subtle admiring of such fine clothing. King Edward is a force that hits you like a storm.

“You are a rarity.” He murmurs to you, eyes flickering golden. His lips entrance you as they move, something so compelling yet familiar to you. Did those lips ever meet Barbara’s? How many of his past wives has he held this way, presented such fine jewellery to? King Edward has ruled for a glorious lifetime. You are not his first wife, and you will surely not be his last. It is as though he can detect a disturbance within your aura, the King moves to pull you closer. Your breath hitches as you feel the solid wall of his chest, the brushing of his thigh against your dress. “A fine jewel, something men like I could only ever dream of.” The forget-me-not in his necktie sways with the movement of his dancing. His voice lulls you, but his hands have you more alive than ever before. “The stars are shining down upon me tonight. Being King has brought me many fortunes, but you, my heart, are the most supreme of them all.”

You can almost hear your maids back home, telling you what to say, how to bat your eyes, how to smile. Yet it almost comes on unconsciously as you speak to your newly betrothed. “I wish nothing more than to prove myself to you, my King. I will serve you well as your Queen. Forever, I am indebted to you.” 

There is an incessant presence between the two of you, something that shifts in the air and pushes the blood through your veins. Though you have never felt it before in your life, you know what it is – arousal. Something you only learned of after one of Barbara’s ladies was caught in the stable with a young knight, and Robin spent the eve explaining the ways that people come together to procreate. You wonder how soon after the marriage King Edward will want to consummate. It is a clear thought in his own mind, for he looks at you as though you are the most divine meal, served on a silver platter. 

“I am the luckiest man in the whole kingdom.” He murmurs, eyes flickering from your neck to your eyes. “Sir Steven often overexaggerates, but he did not lie when it comes to your gentle beauty and charm. You are the finest bride-to-be.”

And, suddenly, something stirs within you. His words push you head first out of the trance he had gently swayed you into, and now you remember the absurdity of it all. The fact that Barbara was here, in your place, and now dead. The burn of arousal turns to a burn of fire, churning deep within you. You blaze. 

“Finer than my own sister?” You do not allow yourself to physically sneer, not in front of all these people, but your tone is enough for the King. He watches as you lean yourself away from him. “Or even the wife before? Will you say the same to one of my nieces, when they turn of age?”

But Edward does not falter. He does not grow angry, he does not shout, he does not strike. His eyes remain that same calm and cool. Golden, brown. His gentleness is suffocating. “I understand how–”

“The girl forgets herself.” A drunken tone interrupts. One you are all too familiar with, one that you avoid with great caution. Your dance with King Edward falls apart as you both turn to the stumbling figure of your father, who just happened to be passing as you spoke out of tone. A goblet is gripped tightly between his fingers. He drinks enough for half of the ballroom. Your father sneers openly at you, raising the goblet. “Nothing a simple drubbing won’t fix. She will take it, your highness, she will grow to understand her place.” Your father grumbles, swigging his mead. “Just as her mother did.”

The king straightens beside you. 

You can feel his energy change at the mention of harming you, the idea that he should be the one to set you right with a physical hand. The King towers over both you and your father, and in the short time that you have known him, you are determined in your knowledge that he has far more power and authority than your father. 

“I hope you make jest,” the raven haired man speaks your father’s name lowly. Said man lowers his chalice, waveringly glancing between you and Edward. “The princess knows her place…” King Edward steps forwards, his dominance unmistakeable. Your father gulps. “She is the future Queen of the most powerful kingdom in this corner of the globe. She is my bride-to-be. I had hoped that my loyal servants had lied about the cut upon her saccharine lips. Perhaps, you forgot your own place? I would loathe to have to prosecute you ‘pon means to harm the future Queen.”

Your heart soars. Your lip stings dully. Your eyes are glassy and the shape of hearts, because nobody has ever, ever stood up for you like that. It is clear to you now - Edward is a fierce lover, and a loyal man. He works to protect you, protect his kingdom. You ache for the harsh words that you had previously spoken, how you had intended to harm his feelings. Here he is, protecting you from the torture of your own flesh and blood. Forget the rumours, the curses. In front of you is a human man protecting his newfound love. Perhaps you are different to all of his past queens, for you are sure that he cannot fall this quickly each time, cannot care so. 

Your heart begins to beat for the King of Hawkins. 

Your father breaks the stare between them first. He is no match for the pale, tall and built figure in front of him. Not to mention the sword-clad guards lined up against each wall of the ballroom. Sir Steven has drawn closer at the scene, his fingers grazing the metal of the hilt of his sword. His eyes are dangerous and dark, watching intently as your father begins to stumble backwards, his aged brows pulled together. 

Edward watches him go with a blank stare, yet still so intimidating. Most of the crowd around you are still dancing their hearts out, feet uncontrollably moving. As though they are destined to never stop, not unless their King tells them to. Perhaps it is not you that is a pawn, but them. 

A cold, gentle hand falls at your elbow, gripping lightly. Your eyes reach those of King Edward’s, but they are suddenly unfamiliar. There is no gold, no hint of red. They are almost obsidian black, the same tone as his curly hair. You can feel the invisible string pulling your brows together as you take in the sight, dainty hand moving up towards his face. The warmth of your skin caresses his cheek, thumb ghosting across the skin under his eye. 

“Your eyes…” you murmur, wracking your brain for a logical answer. “They have changed.” 

“They have not been the same since I set my sights on you, princess.” The King’s free hand meets yours, sandwiching you between his cool skin. “They will never be the same again.” 

You believe him wholeheartedly. You can see the meaning of his words within his eyes, and your heart bleeds for him. In fact, you are sure that you have already passed over your heart to him, pushed your hand inside your chest and dug around until you reached the beating organ, your vessel of life, and handed it over to him. 

The feeling lingers, once more underneath the spell of King Edward, throughout the eve. You are enamoured by him as he walks you through the throne room, introducing you to the strange people of Hawkins. Some of them look at you as though you are a piece of meat, and you are sure that you can feel the King’s grip on your waist tighten. They all seem to have a similar aura about them, like they share a hidden secret. They stare intensely, but you assume it is because you are an outsider. Still, King Edward puts you at ease. He speaks so freely, so smoothly. He shows you your future throne, shows you the deep, red ruby set at the crescent of the golden chair. It matches your ring entirely, and the King does not comment when you speak on their likeness. What else could you expect? It is the colour of his court, after all. You are still enamoured when he sneaks you away from the courtroom, when he steals you from the knowing stares of your ladies, who happily let him take you away. They steal your chalice of wine and usher you with shooing hands, winking wildly. 

You grin like a child, unable to contain your excitement,  in a way that you haven’t in so many years. Not since the last festival of light, back in your home kingdom, with your mother, when she had sang to you, span you in dance, braided your hair. You had not known a giddiness quite like this in such a long lifetime. You cannot help the way that you giggle as you run hand in hand through the flame lit halls. Your hair sways behind you, flowers surely falling from their neat positions. The clipping sound of your heels fills the hall, and King Edward’s somehow fall silently. You suppose in hindsight that it is due to his meticulous battle training, his tactics. 

The King takes you out to a courtyard, one that is filled with some of the first signs of life that you have seen since arriving in Hawkins. Flowers bloom in the midnight moon, something exotic and unseen of your land. Some are bright red, others variants of orange and yellow. They hold so much life, so natural and yet completely supernatural at the same time. He speaks their names slowly, guiding you through them with a gentle hand against your spine. You have never heard of the plants before, never been so in awe of the world’s beauty. 

King Edward watches you. His eyes take in the way that you kneel to be closer to the horticulture, the gentleness of your fingers as you test the leaves. He grows to quickly adore the soft nature of your voice, the inquiries of your genuine questions. He answers them with the same love in his eyes that you hold in yours, and suddenly you feel as though you could be his wife blind. Help him rule his kingdom without as such as a hiccup. 

“You will make the most beautiful Queen.” He speaks to you towards the end of the night, when the two of you have tucked yourselves away in a corner of the ballroom that Sir Steven made you return to. King Edward looks down at you as he speaks, large hands holding a chalice which he tips towards your lips. Obediently you open your mouth to him, the red wine burning upon your tongue as it slips past your healing lips. “So adoring, so fine. I wish for my people to serve you as they do me. I will arrange for you to visit the townsfolk with Sir Steven tomorrow, to see how they live.” You try not to think of their solemn faces, the death in their eyes. “You will grow to love them as your own, Princess.” 

“Anything you wish, My King.” The words come after a swallow of the alcohol, the King’s eyes following a falling drop of crimson as it cascades down your chin. His eyes flicker once more, a new sort of hunger hidden behind them. “Will you do me the pleasure of accompanying myself and Sir Steven?” 

His gaze shifts again, and something swirls in his chest — you can almost see it happening. 

“My duties lay elsewhere in the daytime, Princess. I did ask Steven to assure you of this,” 

“He did.” You’re quick to interject. “It was merely wishful thinking, my King. I apologise.” 

“You never have to be sorry.” He murmurs, dark eyes injecting a cooling sensation into your very veins. King Edward has put a spell on you, a spell that would surely soon have him chasing after you.

A spell that will have you running from the daylight.