#//truly a short king <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[cashclown]

@pridefell sent: 📏 + 166cm this man is tINY

❝ i think ya need a taller hat, luci, mate! can barely see ya down there. ❞

[resssistance]

Happy 25th birthday to Shoma Uno! To all your smiles, and many more that are yet to shine. Thank you 💙

[novococain]

🦴

[vitanithepure]

Hello! Got a prompt for you if you are still doing them? A steamy kiss for Karlach/Gale pairing, please. I love them together so much!

Yes, I am still doing them with no intention of stopping :)

This was such a treat to write! I hope you enjoy reading it, nonny, because they do hold a special place in my heart as well!

Very mild nsft below.

***

“Haha!” Karlach’s laughter raised above the fray, her battle axe swinging wildly. She was impressively going toe to toe with a giant metal construct just before the gates of the city.

After reaching Baldur’s Gate, they got welcomed by an unusually huge presence of Flaming Fist mercenaries, accompanied by the newest addition to the city’s defenses - the Steel Watch. Now, in pursuit of finding a way in, they split up into smaller groups. This was to both save time and remain undetected.

Karlach and Gale certainly did not accomplish either.

“Send Gortash my fucking regards!” The tiefling charged the construct, slamming into it with her shoulder. For a moment it wobbled, trying to balance itself, but ultimately came down crashing to the ground with a loud, metallic clatter. Not far away from them, the sound of a rumbling thunder shook the stone bridge they fought on, as Gale cast his spell, throwing the mercenaries down into the water below.

An explosion behind him has drawn his attention. Small bits and pieces of the construct scattered and bounced off the pavement, but Karlach seemed unharmed, despite the carnage she walked away from. She was moving towards him, all focused and determined.

“Not what we planned, but I–” he didn’t get to finish the sentence. Karlach dropped her battle axe and flung herself at him, the force of it making them both stumble until hitting something solid to find purchase on. The wall was cold and uneven against Gale’s back, but that hardly mattered as all his senses drowned in the searing kiss he received. 

And she also lost herself in it, pouring everything into this ferocious kiss. From the moment her infernal engine allowed it, she all but forgone trying to express her feelings with words. She held no mastery over them, and they sure as hell didn’t do what she herself could. Karlach could never say anything to make her lover groan like he did now, lifted up to meet her lips, her hands gripping his thighs. 

Gale, in turn, proved to be a very appreciative partner, not shying away from her way of doing things. He was nothing if not a man of unrivaled versatility, so even if he could do things to her with just his words, with his lips currently otherwise preoccupied, he did the next best thing - raking his fingers through her hair, shoulders, trailing down to her back to dig in for purchase.

Karlach finally broke the kiss, leaving a small nip at Gale’s lip as she lowered him down. Reluctantly because, oh, the things she could do to him while he was looking up to her like this, pupils blown, making his eyes look almost black, still gripping to the straps of her armor, gasping for air with his kiss-swollen lips…

“Halt! You are under arrest for assault and public…indecency!” Not at all surprised they missed incoming reinforcements, a fresh wave of Flaming Fist accompanied by a Steel Watch construct was almost upon them. 

“Aw, shit, here we go again…” Karlach picked up her previously discarded axe from the ground and threw a beaming smile at still a bit dazed Gale, “to be continued, soldier!” 

And with that she charged ahead, her laugh once again heard far and wide.

[bumblingbabooshka]

‘tis i, nonbinary transfem tuvok enthusiast and recently i’ve been pondering the dynamic between her and transmasc b’elanna torres…. i love thinking of them having long conversations together about gender and cultural histories and their life paths and mental issues (real)

also tuvok’s quote of “there is nothing wrong in choosing to live” would be such an emotional statement to tell b’elanna who canonically has depression (they just like me fr). anyways these are my thoughts today take care my friend!! <3

I don't personally see Tuvok as being a positive person for B'Elanna to talk to about much of anything personal without like, some sort of change to how they interact with one another since I think he'd both intentionally and unintentionally antagonize her BUT I can absolutely see them looking at each other and feeling the gender envy even before they know what that particular sensation is. Knowing B'Elanna I bet she'd worry she has some kind of weird crush on him hehehe~ Someone starts a group for queer members of the crew to meet but it seems like more of a dating thing and they're all human and no one else is trans so B'Elanna leaves and runs into Tuvok and is like "Oh! I didn't see you in there." because it's common knowledge by this point that Tuvok's trans but Tuvok just does that 'obviously.' look and goes "...No." so B'Elanna leaves her alone but they happen to run into each other next week and the week after and it eventually becomes an unofficial thing and it's a real rollercoaster. It's a real russian roulette of what kind of a time you're gonna have - sometimes it ends in a fight and sometimes it ends in the most insightful realization you'll ever have. Such is life on Voyager... Thank you so much and I hope you have a wonderful day too~!!

[huggybearswife]

Why is he so short lolll

He’s looking so good tho

[fallloverfic]

I went overboard (and kinda cheated cause some of these were just a lot smaller to nonexistent when I started posting for them, but are definitely not now), so with the caveat this is only going by Archive of Our Own stats (and also thank you to all the amazing tag wranglers who have wrangled tags that have been the only fic in that pairing/fandom for ages, small fandom authors love you so much):

Blind Men has 15 fics total, mine is the most recent (over a year after posting), and it is the fifth Hunter/Keegan work.

Captain Laserhawk: A Blood Dragon REMIX had 5 fics before I posted the first Alex Taylor/Dolph Laserhawk fic. There are now 213 fics total and 21 Alex/Dolph fics.

It's hard to tell with this fandom because of active fandoms, backdating, and crossovers, but I posted the second fic for Castlevania: Nocturne and Mizrak/Olrox (I know because I went immediately to the tag after watching and I checked it before and after posting mine). There are now 216 fics in the fandom tag and 86 for the pairing. I also posted the second fic for Alucard/Olrox (it's been shifted out of order because another fic either backdated or added the pairing, but one reason I finally put mine up was because the only fic for the pairing at the time was one solely based on the games that predated the show by 8 years). There are now 6 fics for the pairing. I posted the third of the now 12 Olrox/Richter fics.

I created the Dorus/Styxx pairing for the Dark-Hunter Series. I still have the only fic. Dorus isn't an original character (he's a minor acquaintance in the book who meets Styxx twice), but I almost completely retconned his backstory and personality.

I started and was the entirety of the Dear Monster tag for some time (I wrote 3, there are now 4, with one published almost a year after my last fic), and I also published the only Faeryn/Allen fic.

I posted 1 of the 26 Rouxls Kaard/Mettaton fics for Deltarune/Undertale.

I posted the only Ameridan/Kordillus Drakon I fic from Dragon Age: Inquisition. I published the first Lacklon/Roland fic for Dragon Age: Absolution. There are now 19 fics. As I recall it was only like the third or fourth fic at most in the fandom tag at the time, but this is another fandom that's hard to track due to active fandoms, backdating, and crossovers.

Element of Fire has 6 fics. Mine is the most recent and I posted the only Roland Fontainon/Gideon fic. And Roland Fontainon/Falaise, but I don't fully consider that the fic focus so. I think it's also the only one that even includes Roland.

I posted 1 of the 38 Augus Each Uisge/Gwyn ap Nudd fics for Fae Tales - not_poignant. That's 1 out of 15 if you only count fanworks, since all the canon and official AUs are included in the tag. I published both the 2 fanfics for Eran Iliakambar/Mosk Manytrees (the other 4 works are all canon and an official AU). I published the only fanwork for Anika/Terho (the other fic is a canon extra).

I created the crossover pairing Wing/Murata Ugetsu for Hunter X Hunter and Given and have the only fic for it.

I posted the only tagged Clark Kent/Lewis Lane fic for My Adventures with Superman. But I can't believe there isn't something else out there for a character who's technically existed since 1980. There may be one in German and another in English that's tagged for Louis Lane, the 1980 character(s), but they both predate My Adventures with Superman by some years.

I posted 1 of the 11 fics for Brad Boimler/Jack Ransom for Star Trek: Lower Decks.

I posted the most recent 2 of the 4 Van Fanel/Allen Schezar fics for Escaflowne.

I posted the only Lisava Ormevar/Aathis Rohethar fic for The Chronicles of Osreth.

I posted the 2 most recent The Hunt fics, and all 3 fandom fics are for Hendrey/Cash (fic 1, fic 2).

I posted 1 of the 32 Link/Tauro fics. I also went looking back when I posted and at least back then I couldn't find Link/those funky tower mechanical arm tentacles, so maybe I was the first with that? Only two fics pop up when I search for them now.

This is another fandom where it's hard to track things due to active fandoms, backdating, etc., but I recall I published the second Jaskier/Radovid V fic, and maybe the first focused on the Netflix show version (the one prior to that, as I recall, was game and/or book focused). I remember being surprised there still weren't that many when I posted my second one. Pretty sure the pairing was still in the double digits. There are now 326. I published one of the first couple fics for Filavandrel aen Fidhail/Vesemir, and I believe the first or second to specifically focus on their incarnations in The Witcher: Nightmare of the Wolf. There are now 37 fics.

This isn't a pairing but I somehow published the only fanfic for the Tomb Raider Top Cow comics tag? Similarly, I started the Golden Sparkle by Minta Suzumaru tag.

I published 1 of 32 fics for Anna Valerious/Gabriel Van Helsing for Van Helsing (2004).

I published the third of 5 fics for Dietfried Bougainvillea/Claudia Hodgins from Violet Evergarden. I think the last published before mine (that's currently a WIP) one came out cause I went on a sort of hiatus while posting.

This is another fandom where it's hard to track things due to active fandoms, backdating, etc., but my fic is listed as the 9th for Rand al'Thor/Ishamael. There are now 45.

My Shutendouji/Ryo fic is the seventh and most recent fic for the pairing for Ronin Warriors. When I originally made this post, it was the sixth. I assume someone backdated a fic or retagged it.

I published the second of the now 10 Jin Marito/Tahide Outa fics for a fandom with now 82 works (Bucchigiri?!).

This is another fandom where it's hard to track things due to active fandoms, backdating, etc., but I think I posted one of the first 20 Gongyi Xiao/Zhuzhi-lang fics for The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System. There are now 96. I posted 1 of the 30 Liu Qingge/Zhuzhi-lang fics.

There are 46 works in the Kyuujitsu no Warumono-san webcomic tag and 8 in the anime tag. I think I posted the third Akatsuki Red/Shogun fic (and there are now 13), and the first Rooney/Shogun fic. There are now 3. I've posted the second of the 2 Shogun/Yoiyami Black fics.

I posted fic #4 in the See You My King/The King and Me tag, and the first Xiao Wei/Evtiti fic. There are now 2/3(?) (it's hard to tell because the tag hasn't been wrangled). I also posted the eighth and most recent Mimi/Zhang Li fic. There are 10 fics total.

I posted the first fic for Lang Qianqiu/Xiao Mengyou or Lang Qianqiu/Xiao Shiwei, but I believe the second fic about Xiao Mengyou (the first one didn't name him). There are now 12 fics in the tag.

I posted technically the second fic of the 2 for Peach Blossom Debt. The other fic is just two words that say, "Coming 2024". Mine is the only one for Song Yao/Hengwen Qingjun.

I posted the second most recent of 9 total fics for The Imperial Uncle, and it's the second for Jing Chengjun/Liu Tongyi.

I posted the most recent 2 of still 3 fics for The Deer King, which includes 1 of 2 fics for Hohsalle Yuguraul/Van Gansa, and the only fic for Hohsalle Yuguraul/Makokan.

I posted the still only fic for Joseph Huh/Yongsoo Ahn in a fandom that I think had a lot fewer fics before mine back when I posted it, but it has 55 now. I am using the official English translation spellings. I'm not sure what Ao3 is using.

I posted one of now 9 total fics for Choi Jong-In/Sung Jin-Woo in Solo Leveling.

I posted the second and most recent fic for Jaehwan/Karlton Javier for The World After the Fall. The fandom tag has 31 fics now.

I've posted 2 of the 15 fics for Anubis/Khnum in ENNEAD (fic 1, fic 2).

I've posted apparently the second of 3 works tagged for Lee Hakhyun/Yoo Joonghyuk for Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint.

I've posted the second of two fics for Chronos/Zagreus in the Hades fandom. I've posted the only Heracles/Icarus fic. I posted the first of now 10 total Odysseus/Moros fics.

For Blood of Zeus, I've posted the latest of 5 fics for Apollo/Seraphim. I posted the last two Seraphim/Heron fics in the 10 fic tag (fic 1, fic 2).

Not a ship, but I posted the first Mithrun & Milsiril fic for Delicious in Dungeon.

I'm currently writing a series of non-existent ships in the Ayashi no Ceres tag. Thus far I've posted one for Alec/Ryurik and another for Alec/Kagami. I have five others planned, all for unique ships that have zero fics. The only m/m fic in the fandom tag is only tagged for characters from another series.

I've written two of the 12 Lawrence Bluewer/Edgar Redmond fics for Kuroshitsuji (fic 1, fic 2).

For The Sea Beast (2022), I wrote one of the five Jacob Holland/Original Character fics, and the only tagged Jacob Holland/The Surgeon fics.

For BoJack Horseman, I've written one of the 69 BoJack Horseman/Mr. Peanutbutter fics.

For Bridgerton, I've written the only Anthony Bridgerton/Lord Lumley fic.

For Epic: The Musical, I wrote one of now seven Eurylochus/Odysseus fics.

For Dark Rise, I've written one of 46 Anharion/Sarcean fics.

Reblog and put your rare pair in the tags/comments! I want to see the depths people will go to create, for the most random two characters in the most obscure media.

[3bagshotrow]

middle-earth dashboard simulator

🏵 hobbitc0re Follow

pippin was 29 years old???

🏵 hobbitc0re Follow

he should've been at the green dragon

( 420 notes )

📸 daily-middle-earth-photos Follow

#gates of argonath #argonath #amon hen #middle earth landscapes #photographers of middle earth #travel #dark academia #lmao pls reblog this i almost fell out of my boat taking this photo

( 79 notes )

🦢 elfposting Follow

my hungry ass could never travel with lembas

( 9,839 notes )

🐟 sojuicysweet Follow

.

#the entitlement i see on this site sometimes is disgusting #y'all will just post about having easy access to lembas when we can't eats hobbit food??? #we must starve??? #vent #do not rb

( 3 notes )

🗡 shieldmaiden Follow

CALLOUT FOR GRIMA WORMTONGUE

I've talked a lot about this already on this blog, but I want to have everything collected in one post so next time some dipshit with a white hand icon slides into my inbox to call me a liar I can just link to this post. tl;dr grima wormtongue has been poisoning my uncle and the land of rohan for the past few years, and here are the receipts:

Keep reading

( 38 notes )

🧙‍♂️ bignaturals Follow

i stg if one more of you tells me I should've sent frodo on the eagles I'm asking iluvatar to take me back

( 1,930 notes )

📖 booknerdofbree Follow

recent read: there and back again: a hobbit's tale by bilbo baggins

I thought this was SOOO fun and cute! I'm usually not into rpf but did anyone else think there was something between bilbo and thorin? 👀 I can't be the only one who saw it. but the ending made me cry my eyes out.

4.5/5 stars

#booklr #there and back again #bilbo baggins #recent read #dark academia #light academia #book review

( 12 notes )

🌲 elvenking69 Follow

who up mirking they wood

( 58,274 notes )

🐛 manofsirith Follow

wtf the new king of gondor just bowed to these four random short guys?? everyone else bowed too and I just went along with it lmao 😅 am I missing something????

#this is right after he sang a song and made out with some hot elf chick #truly the wildest coronation i've ever been to

( 85 notes )

🥵 firstagebaddiebracket Follow

ULTIMATE HOTTEST FIRST AGE BADDIE TOURNAMENT FINALS!!!!

🔘 haldir-deactivated30190303

here y'all go again pitting two bad bitches against each other

🌀 aragornsbigtoe Follow

🌊 helcaraxebaby Follow

everyone who voted galadriel is a kinslayer apologist #luthiensweep

( 4,271 notes )

🔥 beaconboi Follow

fuck my job so much. everyone manifest an attack on gondor so I can finally warm my fingers on this beacon fire.

🔥 beaconboi Follow

by eru this can't be happening

( 38,386 notes )

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Dress Up, Part 1: The Proposal✨

IT IS DONE HOLY SHIT! Yeah, I had to change this fic 3 different times, I'm really sorry this one took so long. Hopefully you all like this one and thank you for your patience <3

Consider this a reward for kicking Vox's ass in this poll and declaring our short king the ACTUAL hottest character in Hazbin Hotel lmao

Edit: This is now going to be a multi-chapter story! Look forward to more! Thank you all for the support 💖

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Summary: Lucifer takes you dress shopping for a special night out, but for some reason he's been acting a little strange lately...

Warnings: 18+, smut, public teasing, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v

Lucifer excitedly told you that he wanted to take you dress shopping today. It wasn't out of the norm for you two to go out on the town and indulge on some sort of spending spree together. Plus Lucifer absolutely loved buying things for you; whether it be precious jewelry, beautiful flowers, or brand-new clothes. But you had to admit it's been a while since you've gone out, what with Lucifer spending a majority of time at the hotel assisting his daughter Charlie. You were so happy that they were able to rekindle their bond after so many years of being apart. You were more than happy to help with the hotel as well! You found ways to help Charlie with whatever she needed, which somehow ended up being more than you initially thought. It was exhausting to say the least, but you enjoyed it nonetheless! You were very much looking forward to going out today with your beloved king. And of course he was taking you to one of the most esteemed shops in all of Hell, Vivacious by Velvette. He truly spared no expense when it came to you.

But for some reason, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was…off about Lucifer today.

He didn't seem upset or angry or anything of the sort. More like, he was scared? Or perhaps nervous about something? You couldn't think of anything that could be making him feel this way. The hotel was doing great, Charlie and Lucifer’s relationship was better than it’s ever been, and you and Lucifer have been nothing but enamored with each other. You were just clothes shopping after all. You two had been dating for some time now; you remembered how Lucifer used to be all kinds of flustered during your first few outings. You thought it was adorable the way he stumbled over his words when he brought up the newest duck he had added to his collection or when he complimented every single outfit you’ve ever worn. He still did those things, of course, but he slowly became more and more comfortable and confident around you. But today was something you’ve never seen before. The wary smiles he’s been giving throughout day, the jitteriness of his movements anytime you approached him, his rapid speech patterns…was he hiding something from you? You intended to get to the bottom of it.

You walked down the streets of Hell with Lucifer by your side, his arm linked with yours. You stepped into the lavish shop, dresses of all kids hung from the racks: ball gowns, sun dresses, cocktail dresses; anything you could think of was there! Lucifer told you to take your time and to pick out as many as you wanted to try on while he waited for you by the dressing room. Despite the plethora of options at your fingertips, you only found yourself intrigued by a handful of dresses. Some with more material than others but you'd thought you'd give them a try regardless; you weren't shy when it came to your body.

You grabbed the three dresses that appealed to you the most and made your way towards the changing rooms. Just as he promised, you saw Lucifer standing at the end of the hall waiting for you. But he didn't seem to notice you at first, his attention was elsewhere. Next to the changing rooms was the most impressive collection of wedding dresses you'd ever seen in Hell and even on Earth, each more breathtaking than the last. You noticed Lucifer staring at the wall of dresses with an almost wishful expression, reaching out to touch one of the dresses' lacy sleeve, gently massaging it between his fingers. You smiled and quietly walked over to join him.

"They're really beautiful, aren't they?," you said, snapping him out of his trance and making him jump a bit. He smiled at you, his hand still holding onto the sleeve.

"Absolutely stunning," he beamed. Although, with the way he was looking at you, it didn't seem like he was referring to the dresses. You felt a small blush creep across your cheeks.

One of the employees walked up to you and directed you to an empty changing room. Lucifer waited outside patiently, smiling at you as you closed the sort behind you. The first dress you wanted to try on was a simple black sheath dress. Once you slipped it on, you reached behind of and attempted to grab the zipper. You can only manage to pull it up so far before it wouldn’t budge anymore, causing you to huff in frustration. Slowly, you opened the door to see Lucifer’s eager face staring back at you.

“I need your help, hon,” you admitted. “I can’t reach the zipper.”

Quickly, Lucifer stood up and followed you into the changing room. You turned your back to him and lifted your hair up and out of the way so the zipper couldn’t catch it. Lucifer placed one hand on your hip and the other on the back of your dress. You heard the zipper moving, but it only took you a second to realize it was moving in the wrong direction. Cheeky bastard, you thought to yourself.

“Up, Lucifer,” you said with a smirk, glancing at him over your shoulder. You heard a light chuckle escape him.

“Sorry, darling,” he apologized almost insincerely, peppering kisses down your neck, “can’t help myself when it comes to you.” Lethargically, he pulled the zipper up to the top, finally letting your hair fall back down. If he wanted to play games, you were more than happy to participate. Because you knew how to win. And just maybe, you could get him to admit to whatever he was keeping from you.

“I wouldn’t start something that you’re not ready to finish, sweet pea,” you threatened with a smug grin.

Before Lucifer could get a word out, you spun around and pushed him gently against the wall, eliciting a small yelp from him. You placed both of your arms on either side of his head, effectively trapping him. His eyes widened, sucking in a breath as he realized how vulnerable he was in this new position he had found himself in. His head and hands became flat against the wall as he looked into your now ravenous eyes.

“My love, p-please,” he began to stammer, “I-I didn’t want to-HNG,” you effectively cut off his meek pleas as your one hand traveled down below his belt. You maneuvered your hand up and down at an agonizingly slow pace. Nonetheless, you felt him start to harden underneath his pants almost instantly. You flashed a devious smile, but he didn’t see it, as he had screwed his eyes shut. Baring his clenched teeth, he tried desperately to hold his breath as to not make any lewd noises. You took that as a challenge, of course.

“So it’s only alright if you get to tease me, is that it, Luci?,” you questioned, leaning your head forward with your lips now pressed against his ear. “Now that doesn’t seem fair at all, does it?”

Lucifer gulped as you continued your teasing ministrations. “I’m s-sorry, sweetheart,” he looked at you doe-eyed. “P-Please don’t-mmph…don’t do this, not here. I won’t be able to hold back, not today…”

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” you retorted. “You know you’ve been acting out of sorts all day, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Maybe if you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll show you some mercy.”

Lucifer audibly gulped at your words. "It's…it's nothing, angel, I promise, I just-fuck," you pressed your hand in harder against the growing tent in his pants, silencing his response.

"You hesitated just now," you told him. "If that's how you want it to be, so be it. You don't have to tell me. But you're not off the hook, not by a longshot." You pulled away from him, giving him a chance to breathe normally once again. You gave a quick glance to the mirror to finally get a look at the dress you had adorned. It looked nice! But it came off as something you would wear in an office setting; not really your style. You looked back at Lucifer who was instantly frozen in place from your gaze.

"I'm not feeling this one," you remarked, "help me with the zipper?" You turned your back to him once more, feeling his hand tentatively grab the zipper. "You can only touch the dress, understand? I'm off limits."

"M-mhmm," Lucifer agreed. He behaved and only tugged the zipper down halfway until you could reach it yourself.

"Good boy."

You discarded the dress quickly, leaving you in only your lacy black bra and matching black panties. Lucifer forced himself to look away from you, trying to reach for the door handle.

"And where do you think you're going?," you asked coyly, stopping him in his tracks entirely.

“I umm, just uhh…giving you privacy?” He tentatively went for the handle again, but your arm shot out, keeping the door in its locked state.

“Oh, we’re way past decency here, Lucifer.” You maneuvered him away from the door and sat him down on the large white bench that was affixed to the wall. You leveraged your foot against the area just below his hip and rested one hand on the top of your thigh, the other on your hip. “Besides, you’re not really in any condition to be in the public view” leaning forward and shooting a quick glance down at his crotch, “now are you?”

Lucifer could only shake his head.

"Glad you agree," you smiled and pecked his lips, a pathetic little whine leaving Lucifer's throat. "I have a few more dresses to try on. You can look, but you cannot touch unless I say, alright?"

"Yes, love," he murmured obediently. You smiled and turned around to pick up the black dress you had let fall to the floor. You bent over slowly to pick it up, giving Lucifer a lovely view of your barely covered ass. You heard a deep inhale behind you followed by a shaky exhale.

You hung up the black dress and moved onto the next dress; a beautiful lavender colored Bardot dress with sleeves that hung off your shoulders. Luckily this one didn't have a zipper, you only needed to step in and shimmy it up your body. You adjusted your bra straps and hid them under the sleeves for the time being. You liked this one more than the last, you did as few twirls in front of the mirror checking every single angle.

"What do you think of this one, hon?," you asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror. It seemed as though he was gripping that bench with just a little too much force.

"Ravishing," Lucifer breathed. You had given him permission to look, and he was taking fully advantage of your generosity. He was chopping at the bit, fighting every urge to pounce right then and there. Lucifer's eyes were hungry, his lips curled into a smile to try and hide how badly he needed you at this moment. You admired his will power…but how strong was it truly? You made your way back towards him, chuckling playfully. Without warning, your knees found their way onto the bench, now fully straddling the mess of a man beneath you.

"W-what are you-mmph!" Lucifer tried to ask you but was cut short by your lips suddenly on his. You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a small peck to his forehead.

"You always say just the right things, Luci," you cooed as you began to shift your hips against him. Hearing the mangled moans coming from Lucifer was nothing short of euphoric. You noticed he had released his grasp on the bench and began to move towards your hips. You gripped the back of his head, his hair firmly between your fingers, and tilted his head back gently. Lucifer grunted softly as you brought your lips to his neck. "Ah, ah, ah, what did I say, love? No touching," you scolded, now sucking and nibbling at his tender skin, desperately needing to mark him.

Lucifer whimpered and reluctantly brought his hands back to their original position on the frigid bench that paled in comparison to the feeling of your warm body that was pressed against him. "I-I can't do this f-for much longer, darling," he whimpered, "I can only h-handle- hnng, so much, I…ssshhhhhhiiittt-" Lucifer's hot breath became increasingly labored as you continued to rock your hips against his painfully growing bulge.

Just then, you heard the sound of a door closing. Someone had just entered the room next to you. With the threat of being heard now looming, you lifted yourself from his neck to see that Lucifer's eyes had turned an ominous red. It felt as if his slit black irises were staring straight into your soul, attempting to burn you from within. He was losing control fast. But you weren't done with him just yet. With a smirk, you placed a finger over his soft lips. "Shh," you whispered almost inaudibly, "you may want to keep your voice down from now on."

A low guttural growl erupted from Lucifer, not of anger, but of pure lust. His obedience hanging by the thinnest of threads as you removed yourself from his lap and stripped yourself of the purple dress. At this point, you couldn’t really care less about the dresses. This was much more entertaining.

The last dress you had grabbed was a form fitting strapless dress decorated entirely in ruby colored sequence with a long slit up the side. You held it against your body in the mirror, but something didn't look quiet right. But then in donned on you, and a devious thought had crossed your mind. You made your way over to Lucifer once more, noticing his claws were now digging into his thighs.

"Can you hold this for just a moment, dear?," you asked innocently. He looked up at you with his still crimson eyes, outstretching his hand silently. Once he was holding the garment, you reached around the back of your bra and unclasped it, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud. Lucifer's eyes became saucers, bunching up the dress in his hand with a clenched fist. Your soft and tender breasts were mere inches from his touch and yet he found he could only sit there motionless, writhing under each new temptation you threw at him.

"You…you are…" Lucifer began, finding it agonizingly difficult to steady his breathing.

You smiled and tugged the dress back from Lucifer's powerful grip. "The dress wouldn't look right with the bra on, silly! I should have brought one of my strapless ones, but oh well, live and learn!" You giggled to yourself and turned away from the fallen angel who's resolve was deteriorating with each passing moment. And with that final move, you had definitely won the game.

Or did you?

While you were mentally congratulating yourself on your perceived victory, you hadn't noticed that Lucifer had moved from his seated position, picking up every article of your clothing that you used to torment him. All you felt next was something wrap around your waist tightly. Was that…his tail?

"What the-AHH!," you tried to question, only to be pulled backwards through a portal that had been summoned, dropping the red dress in the process. The pale white dressing room vanished from sight and you were left standing in the middle of your bedroom. “Lucifer, why did you-" but you couldn’t finish your question. When you turned around, your lover was on his knees behind you, his demonic horns now on full display. He lifted his head, his eyes brimming with tears that threatened to fall at any moment. "Oh, Luci…"

"Please forgive me, I-I'm so sorry, my angel," he cried, "I know I've been acting strange all day and I know that you know I've been keeping something from you. I swear on my immortal life that I will tell you, but I'm begging you…" you kneeled down with him, cupping his face with your hand, "no more teasing. P-please…I-I need you…"

You gave him a loving smile and brought your lips to his. He melted from your touch, grabbing at your hand that held his cheek. "You know I love you, Lucifer," you breathed as you pulled away, "I'm sorry if I took things too far back there, I never want to upset you. You don't have to tell me anything if you're not ready to do so. I can wait. But first…" You stood from your kneeling position and offered him a hand up. The way his demonic form had taken over from just your teasing had you desperate for him beyond belief. Not that your previous bouts of teasing him hadn't worked you up already. You needed him too. Now.

You laid flat on you back against the soft sheets, beckoning him closer with a curl of your finger. Lucifer finally flashed you a toothy grin and in an instant, snapped his fingers, completely removing all of his clothing. Normally he liked to make a show of his undress, but you were both too far gone to care at this point. His tail swished behind him as he excitedly climbed up to join you in bed. He stared down at your crotch, licking his forked tongue across his lips. Without hesitation, he removed your panties and spread your legs apart, taking in the sight of your completely drenched pussy. He leaned down quickly and began to leave sloppy kisses and nips along your inner thighs before stopping right at your entrance.

You chuckled lightly at his eagerness to please you. "Luci, you know you don't have to do this. Especially not after what I put you through today."

Lucifer, in response, let two of his fingers slide against your folds, earning a hardy moan from you. "Trust me when I say this, darling," his voice was low, dripping with lust, "I will never deny either of us this pleasure." You felt his steamy breath against your womanhood as he looked up at you with half-lidded eyes, sending a shiver down your spine. "You may want to hold on, sweetheart."

Without another word, Lucifer ran his snake-like tongue against your cunt like a starved man. You arched your back in pure ecstasy, unable to focus on anything other than the way he was making you feel. He hooked his arms underneath your legs and brought you as close to his face as physically possible, digging his claws into your soft thighs and wrapping his tail around your calf. You realized what he had meant with his last statement and reached out to grip his devilish horns. Your grasp forced a moan out of him as he worked his tongue on your sensitive nub, circling it relentlessly. You knew how skilled he was with his mouth, but it never failed to awe you every time he used it. It wasn't long before you felt a different sensation, that of two clawed finger thrusting into you at a rapid pace.

"Lu-Lucifer, fuck, f-feels so good," you whimpered in between your heavy breaths, "right-SHIT… right there, d-don't stop, please don't stop!" Your pleas only fueled Lucifer’s hunger for you and his desire to make you come undone around him. His tongue and fingers worked in tandem, bringing you closer and closer to your release. Your knuckles were turning white with the amount of force you were using to hold onto his horns. You let one hand drop to tug at Lucifer's hair, another broken moan escaping him as you did. His fingers curled up into you, hitting your g spot repeatedly as his lips sucked on your clit with reckless abandon. That coil in your stomach was on the verge of snapping. "S-so close…gonna c-cum, fuckfuckFUCK LUCIFER!," was the last thing you could utter before your walls clenched around his fingers, feeling yourself pulsate with waves of pleasure. Lucifer helped you ride out your orgasm while lapping up every drop that escaped your body as if it was the nectar of the gods. Once your body finally relaxed, Lucifer removed himself from your thighs, your mess glistening off his chin. He flashed you a wicked grin before using his tongue to clean up the remains of your essence from his face.

The King of Hell crawled up the length of your body until he was hovered directly above you. "I can truly never have enough of you, my queen," he praised. Through your lustful haze, your barely rational mind latched onto what he'd just said. Queen?, you thought, he's never called me that before. Not that you minded in the slightest, you loved it, in fact. Regardless, you clearly weren't in any condition to question his choice of words. Not when you were desperate for his cock to be buried inside you already.

Lucifer caught your lips, his tongue begging for entrance, to which you happily obliged. You could still taste a faint amount of yourself on his lips as your tongues met in a fiery display of passion, twisting and fighting against each other as if trying to establish dominance of the other. You pulled his head closer as he devoured you, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth. His tail refused to recoil as it kept its grip on your lower leg. His hard on pressed against your thigh and you were becoming increasingly impatient. You whimpering against him and bucked your hips up, essentially begging for him to take you completely.

“Please…” was the only word you could force out once you pulled away from his lips. Lucifer smiled, pressing his lips against your ear just as you had done to him earlier.

“Your heart’s desire is my command,” he cooed as you finally felt that familiar pressure between your thighs that you so desperately craved. You felt the head of his cock finally press into your sopping wet cunt, slowing inching himself into you he bottomed out inside of you. You moaned together, now feeling completely whole. Together as one again. Out of nowhere, Lucifer’s wings sprang out behind him once he was fully sheathed inside of you, adding a bright angelic glow to his otherwise hellish appearance.

He was beautiful.

He laughed awkwardly, a hard blush spreading across his face. You reached up and captured his lips once more. He hummed into you, folding his wings around you, completely blocking the outside world. In that perfect moment, the only thing that existed was you and him. After what felt like an eternity, Lucifer finally began to shift his hips, pulling himself out only to thrust right back into you. Slowly at first, relishing every single mewl and whimper you let escape your throat as he rutted into you. But it wasn’t long until his pace quickened, the sound of your slapping skin driving him to the brink. He rested his forehead against yours, refusing to look away from your loving gaze. You felt that coil in your stomach begin to clench once more, making it near impossible to form any coherent sentence, the pleasure his cock was providing was overwhelming you in the best way possible. He noticed this and brough his hand between you two and started circling your already overstimulated clit. You were not going to last much longer. And you could tell his composure was falling apart at the seams as well.

"Hng…fuck…me," Lucifer stammered, his breath hitching on every word "close…I'm close, g-gonna…c-ffffuuucckkk!" He resorted to latching his sharp teeth onto your shoulder, causing small patches of blood to flow out as he came, his hot seed painting your walls white. His wings twitched and spasmed when he finished inside you. His orgasm coupled with his hard thrusts and torturing of your sensitive nub pushed you over the edge for a second time, screaming his name as you clenched around his thick cock. Lucifer lapped up the blood he had drawn from you before he collapsed on top of you, his demonic form finally subsiding, as you both tried your best to catch your breath. You both laid there for a minute or two before even thinking about moving again. Besides, you loved the feeling of his full weight on top of you, it was comforting.

"Remind me to tease you more often," you joked, running your fingers through Lucifer's soft blond hair. He shot his head up and glared at you with a clear 'don't even think about it' look. "I'm kidding! Mostly…" Lucifer rolled his eyes playfully and planted a small peck to your lips. He finally found the strength to pull out of you and roll over onto his side, exhaling heavily.

"That…didn't really go as planned," Lucifer chuckled nervously. Up until now, you had completely forgotten what had even led up to this moment! You guessed you weren't getting a new dress after all, not that you minded, you had more than enough in your closet as it was. "What SHOULD have happened was you were going to pick out a new dress, I was going to take you out on a beautiful romantic candlelit dinner, and then I...I was…" he paused and gulped. "Oh, to hell with it!" He quickly sat up straight and turned to you, using both of his hand to grab onto yours. You sat up as well, your stomach filled with butterflies for a reason you weren't really sure of. "You were right, you know. I was keeping something from you. I am a very bad liar and I'm even worse at keeping secrets. Especially from you. You told me that I didn't have to tell you right now. But that was the problem! I was fighting with every fiber of my being to not tell you immediately! Because I love you with all of my heart and soul and I want to spend the rest of eternity with you by my side and...and..." he exhaled harshly. With a wave of his hand, a small black velvet box appeared. "My love," he opened the box to reveal a ring, "will you do me the incredible honor of becoming my bride?"

You looked down at the precious jewelry before you. A golden snake for the band, with its body wrapped around a beautiful ruby gem in the shape of an apple. Your eyes swelled with tears, you couldn't stop them from flowing down your face. Lucifer panicked and started to wipe them away.

"I-I'm sorry! Please...please don't cry! I didn't mean to-HMPH!" His apologies were cut short when your lips found his. After you pulled away, you laughed, tears refusing to stop. Lucifer's mouth was agape.

"Yes, Lucifer," you bawled, "yes yes yes, a million times yes! Of course I'll marry you, I've never wanted anything more!"

Lucifer sat there in disbelief. But only for a moment before joining you in your crying, wrapping his arms tightly around you, both of your sobs echoing throughout the room.

"You've made me the happiest person in all of Hell, my dear," he cried as he peppered kisses all over your face, clearing away more of your tears. "I love you, from now until the end of time. I promise to be the best husband I can possibly be."

"You're already the best person for me, my King," you smiled. "You don't have to change a thing. I love you, Lucifer Morningstar."

"And I you, Mrs. Morningstar."

~~~~

Congrats on becoming the new Queen(s) of Hell babes 😘

Taglist: @alastor-deer-demon @kermitdafroggy @thonethatflies620 @luc1fersducky @a-okay-rj @bat-boness @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis @misfitgirlwrites @animationmovieshipps @orbitinglumps @ramenkitten @blaackbiird @bigfatbimbo @lucisaspen @bvnnyangel @seulace9 (I'm sorry if I missed anyone!)

[pullhisteeth]

saturn return | eddie munson

hello! I'm back :) will leave a little author note at the end of the fic for u. but in the meantime: enjoy this medieval slow burn fluffy smutty monster of a fic (which has not been proofread because I am so tired) <3

in short: you're from royalty, and the illicit crush you're harbouring on your sworn protector is threatened when your father, the king, reaches the end of his tether and finally begins the search for your husband.

medieval/fastasy au with knight!Eddie and fem!princess!reader, smut (18+ only, minors dni!), implied virgin!reader, (one attempted) assault, general fluff and angst and fun fantasy frolicking, mention/threat of arranged marriage (brief), enemies to lovers if you squint but mostly a bodyguard au but he wears armour and you live in a castle.

14k words (!!!)

-

You had only seen your knight without his cuffs and cloak once before in your life.

When you were nineteen, you had a fling with one of the boys who tends the horses in the stables. It had been a wet summer and against your father’s wishes you’d spent many evenings returning to the castle sodden and smiling. Your afternoons were adventurous - too much so for your age, your mother would say over dinner - and your escapades to the woodland beside the keep resulted in muddy fingerprints up the curve of your thighs and difficult-to-hide bruises blooming below your collarbone.

You may have been reckless, but you knew better than to show up to court with purpling bite marks where the collars of your dresses did not reach.

On one of the rare sunny evenings, you had stolen away after supper to the balcony that extended across the western wing of the castle. It stretched from your quarters around the side of the building, ending at the room that had belonged to your sister before she had been married to a man who lived across the sea. The sun was low and the air was thick and so in your nightgown you prowled the terrace, fingers dancing along the worn stone and up the wilting vines. As you rounded the corner there he was - your sworn protector, a man who could be barely a year your senior, hunched in an old chair over his armour. You stopped behind the wall with enough haste that he didn’t spot you - or if he had, he never let on - and while he was engrossed in the work of polishing the silver, you watched.

He’d done away with his undershirt, most likely because of the stubborn, close heat, and though he was side-on to you, his chair facing out towards the mountains in the distance, he was hunched to his left, leaving you with a view you much preferred to the vast one beyond the wall.

The muscles across his back rippled as his arm moved back and forth over the metal. In the quiet of the evening you could hear small grunts and sighs, and as your eyes adjusted to the light you spotted silvery marks of healed flesh across his side. His back was speckled with freckles and as he moved, you took notice of his mop of hair.

Though your father’s knights were never required to wear their helmets in the castle, the hair that now flowed freely was usually tightly bound at the nape of your knight’s neck. You had never realised how long it truly was - nor how unruly. Brown curls stood in what seemed like every direction, swaying back and forth in tandem with his shoulder, glowing a slight auburn in the setting sun.

You had watched him for a while, listening to the sounds of his efforts and drinking in the way the light made his skin gleam golden. It wasn’t until the sun had set that you had made your escape, bare feet padding silently across cool stone.

Ser Munson - Edmund, or Eddie as he preferred - was assigned as protector of the King’s first daughter when she came of age, at sixteen. You had been a moody teenager, belligerent and stubborn, determined you did not need protecting, even if the protector in question was broodingly handsome and a challenge to crack.

Thus, you lingered around the castle while your sisters sought husbands and new lives. Your father, though a cunning ruler, was soft when it came to his girls, and so no man was worthy of a single one of them unless he made her happy.

And no man ever had made you happy. The ones who put themselves forward as candidates for your hand were, in most cases, perfectly nice men. Mostly wealthy, often handsome, but always boring.

It was always the same: they believed you to be the most beautiful princess in the history of the realm, and they would be honoured to wed you. But as your father’s eldest daughter you knew one thing to be true: every one of them wanted the throne, and would marry you to get there.

So you sought fun in lowly servant boys, stealing kisses from cupbearers and kitchen porters, running wild in the vast gardens of the castle, just out of grasp of your grumbling mother. One day, you’d tell her when she chastised you over monstrously glutinous dinners. One day a man will come here and sweep me off my feet. Until then, I am content with my lot.

After that evening when you were nineteen, you had not looked at Eddie the same way. His job was to follow you everywhere - well, mostly everywhere, unless you were behind a tree with the stableboy again - so it was difficult to not look at him. But those aimless adventures became tiresome, and your daydreams became occupied instead by the man who tailed your every move. Stableboys were getting married, all your sisters were getting married, every eligible nobleman for a hundred miles was getting married - but you remained, as did Eddie.

“So it doesn’t hurt?”

“No, your highness.”

Eddie stares straight ahead, off into the distance, answering your childish questions through gritted teeth. You grin at him, elbow on the arm of your chaise and chin cupped by your hand, enjoying this latest instalment of your petty little game: you ask him silly questions, Eddie’s cheeks go pink, and you get a good giggle and a kick out of teasing him. It began as something lighthearted, a test of the waters after that late night wander changed your perspective, but that was two years ago and understandably, Ser Munson is getting increasingly tired of your games. 

“Your highness, can I suggest that you get dressed? You’ll be late for-”

“No,” you yelp as he stands to move, sword clanking. “I’m sorry, I’ll bite my tongue. Don’t go.”

“But Miss-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll dress, just wait outside the door, will you?”

“I always do, your highness,” he says. “It is my duty.” You cannot see the smirk he sports as he turns his back to you; it is one he reserves only for himself, lest your ego get too big.

You deflate into your chair as he leaves, the heavy door swinging open. Three young maids are by your side as it slams shut, lifting you from your doze and tying you into a corset and skirt. Today you’re offered a deep navy gown, the colour of your family’s flag and perhaps the colour you look second best in.

At least it matches Eddie’s cloak.

You knock softly twice on your bedroom door, your handmaids tugging at the final details, and the guards who stand watch pull it open for you. You breathe in quick and deep, hands smoothing the satin across the top of your skirt, and step forward into the hall.

Eddie stands to one side, awaiting your direction. You follow your usual morning route, down the wide corridor to the stairs, which roll out into an even wider hall like dropped silk. Eddie’s cloak slinks across the stone floor behind you, and you yearn to make a joke, prod at him, get under his skin but you cannot, for many eyes are upon you now.

The Great Hall sits at the opposite end of the atrium to the staircase. The walls between yourself and the huge, towering doors are decorated for the brief return of your youngest sister, the most recent to wed - she is pregnant, and so there must be celebrations.

Floral garlands follow you as you make your way across the room, where, at the far end, your father stands in the doorway, watching, your mother by his side.

Peering glances follow you until other guests arrive and attentions are diverted. So you slow your step just slightly, enough that Eddie does not notice immediately and falls in line with you. Before he can correct himself, you lean in.

“Ed- er, Ser Munson,” you say, tone playful but slightly sinister, an indicator that you are brewing one of your schemes.

“Yes, your highness?” he responds neutrally.

“Ser Munson, would you please do me a favour?”

Long ago, Eddie learned to never respond to this query the way he is supposed to as your protector: Anything, your highness.

Instead, he asks: “What can I do for you?”

“You know that sword?” You twist slightly, tapping the hilt of his blade where one of his fists seems to permanently rest. “You’ve killed people with it, right?”

“Only when I have to, your highness.”

“How many, would you say?”

You hear him take a sharp breath in. You smile softly.

“Eighteen.”

“Eighteen,” you repeat. “Care to make it nineteen? Do me a favour and slice through my guts so I don’t have to bear another one of these idiotic ceremonies?”

If you’d paid closer attention, rather than sharing your gaze between Eddie and your father, who was ever-nearing, you’d have seen that your dear knight almost broke. This would have been the closest you’ve come to getting a laugh out of him, your stoic, stone-faced hero.

“That’d be highly inappropriate, your grace,” he says, composed. “And I’d surely lose my head.”

“Oh, but that’s your job,” you whisper. “To die for me! And anyway, I can’t go to hell alone, you’ll need to keep me company. And protect me from the ghouls. So maybe make it twenty instead.”

This time, you do catch it. The corner of his mouth twitches and something in his eye, the way it dodges you, gives him away. In your peripheral vision you see him open his mouth - it’s close to your ear, you almost hear the beginning of a word - but you’ve reached the end of the hall, and your father awaits. Eddie falls back again, a step or two behind, as you drop your shoulders and brace yourself.

-

Being one of many sisters is a difficult life. Impossible to prevent yourself from comparing their hair to yours, their eyes, the slant of their shoulders, their waists, their hands, and worse is the bickering, the competition.

Being the only one of them not to be married is the worst.

Twenty minutes ago, you stole yourself away to a corner of the Hall with a too-full cup of wine and three slices of the best bread. Here you camp, munching on the final crust, eyeing up the table across the room. How do I get a refill without someone asking me to dance?

With your eyes squinted and shoulders hunched in, you scarcely notice your knight down the wall. He’s on guard, back straight with his hand on the hilt of his sword - watching, as he is supposed to. Only his attention is distracted, because in his peripheral vision is you, alone, as always.

It’s only when you hear the familiar clinking of sword sheath on armour that you turn to see that he’s beside you, and in a rare moment of peace, he’s leaning back, letting the wall take his weight.

“What’re you looking at?” You eye him suspiciously, swallowing the final sip of wine. “Come to ask for a dance for one of those snivelling Harrington boys?”

You hear him scoff, though he’s smiling just slightly. “No,” he says quietly. “Why, do you want to dance with Steven?”

You scoff. “Do I fuck.”

“Language, your highness.”

“Please stop calling me that when dad isn't around.”

He glances at you, smiling still, and rolls his eyes. “Why aren’t you with the other ladies?”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “The Buckleys aren’t here. It’s no fun without Robin.”

“And your sisters?”

“Oh yeah,” you drone. “I just love being reminded by all four of them how lucky a man would be to have me and how I must get married because, oh, weddings are so lovely!”

He turns to look at you properly, silver collar creaking, and reaches over to take your goblet. “How many of these have you had?”

You drop your hands behind your back, looking down at your slippers like a naughty child. “Three.”

To your surprise, you feel the damp rim of the cup meet your chin, pushing your face up. Eddie looks back at you and keeps the pressure under your head so you can’t divert your gaze. Your cheeks warm, heat blooming under his watch.

“Fine,” you sigh, eyes dropping closed in defeat. “Seven.”

You brace for a scolding, expecting a telling off from your faithful knight, but when you look at him in the silence, you find him grinning down at you.

“You’re going to feel awful in the morning,” he tells you.

You look back at him a little dumbfounded, because he’s very close to your face and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him in such detail before. There are creases by his eyes from smiling, and there’s an old, white scar across his nose, which is crooked, presumably from old punches.

“Will you take me to bed, then, please?” you ask softly, and he lowers the cup slowly, placing it on a nearby table without looking away from you. You look back at him, trying your hardest through the fog to give him your best pleading eyes, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He’s close, still; time suspends as he nears even more and runs his thumb along the underside of your chin. It is the first time in your life that your knight has ever touched you.

 You watch as he brings it to his mouth - it’s a deep, bruised pink, dyed by the wine from the rim of the cup where it had held your face up - and, taking his eyes off you, slides it between his lips.

It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been breathless around him, but it is the first time you’re face to face with him as the air leaves your lungs in a slow, desperate whine. It feels criminal, illicit, standing in the shadows at the back of the room, within reach of anyone who cares to look for you, watching Eddie lick wine off the pad of his thumb.

The festive music on the other side of the room ends and people around you cheer. Eddie’s smile drops and he straightens up as though kicked in the back, looking around like he just woke from a dream.

“Uh, yes- Your highness. I’ll escort you to your quarters.”

He steps back but holds his arm out for you to take. For a moment you just stare at him, incredulous, before wrapping your fingers around the cool leather covering his forearm and lifting yourself off the wall, your heart wilting as his guard rises again and your fun, playful protector is lost to duty once more.

-

The ceiling of your bed chamber hasn’t changed in fifteen years. You know because you’ve had many nights like this, staring at it forlornly, yearning for something you cannot and will not have.

When you were six, your father had the sleeping quarters across the whole castle redecorated, and you requested a fresco above your bed. Under the guise of education, telling your father that it would help you practise your knowledge of Arthurian legends, you asked for a depiction of the knights of the round table. Truthfully, you wanted to be able to look at Arthur every night before you slept.

Now, it makes you feel sick. It’s an ugly, truthless fairytale, spun to make little girls giggle and you despise every inch of it, regardless of how beautiful it may have appeared to you once.

In the dark, you can still make out Arthur’s faded features. He is plain, with cropped blonde hair and a silly chestplate, looking over the expanse of your ceiling to Guinevere, whose clasped hands by her cheek make the picture of a woman in love.

You turn over, frustrated, and cover your head with a spare cushion.

-

The stone of the balcony wall is cool beneath the palms of your clammy hands. In the courtyard, your sister’s carriage is leaving, followed by many horsemen from her husband’s house. They’ll return only when the baby is born, to christen him in the family chapel.

You sigh as she leaves the gates and lean your weight on your hands. It’s still hot out, too hot for so many layers under your dress and a corset so tight, and you’re too exhausted to carry the weight around. Your maids are nowhere to be seen because it’s the middle of the afternoon and you should be socialising, but you’re an adult. You can dress - and undress - yourself.

As you return indoors, you reach behind your back and tug at the knot at the base of your corset. After a couple of frustrated tries it finally gives, loosening so that you can hook your fingers under each stretch and pull it undone. You gasp for air, filling your lungs properly as your ribs expand, and use your shoulders to pull it loose enough for you to remove. You take care to place each layer gently over your chaise - corset, overdress, skirt. You’re left in your undergarments - a long, loose slip made of cotton - when you hear an unexpected knock and the door begins to open.

You jump, feeling suddenly exposed in so few layers. It’s unlike anyone to disturb you at this hour.

You tense even more when your knight, with his hair loose and his cheeks pink, pushes the doors wider. He stops in his tracks for a moment as he spots you across the room, flushed your own shade of mortified.

“Eddie,” you hiss. “Shut the fucking door.”

His eyes widen and he straightens up, knocked out of his daze. You expect him to retreat, but he moves inside and pushes the doors closed behind himself.

“I meant with you outside them, ideally,” you bite.

“I- Uh, sorry- My apologies, your highness, I-”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Sorry! Sorry, shit, I- It’s important, sorry.”

“So important that it requires you to see me indisposed?”

He looks at you blankly for a second. “I mean, technically I see you like this every morning when you interrogate m-” 

“Oh, shut up,” you spit, eyes narrowing. Your arms are still crossed over your chest, even though you’re covered from neck to ankle. “You know that’s different. There’s no robe or slippers between us now, Ser Munson.”

His cheeks bloom at that, pink slipping into fiery red. He breathes impatiently through his nose, clearly irritated by your prodding, and steps closer.

“Your highness,” he says pointedly. You roll your eyes. “Your father- His Highness requests your presence. In the throne room.”

-

“I refuse.”

“Darling, I-”

“No!”

Your father stands at the other end of the table, his head hung and his hands on the wood in front of him. You are in the room in which he has his important meetings with his council. Over the years you’ve tried a hundred times to get in here during such meetings, to no avail, but now all you want is to get out.

“You are twenty-one,” he says after a breath. “I’ve given you time, five years of it. You can’t remain unmarried any longer.” This conversation has only been happening for maybe two and a half minutes, but it seems more like an age; you’re exhausted from yelling already, especially at him. But it feels like the walls are closing in, your entrapment in a loveless marriage with a stranger now a certainty rather than a possibility. It’s beyond your power to stop the tears falling.

“You can’t make me,” you say through the thickness of your throat. Your arms wrap around your waist, squeezing, breath hiccupping on its way out.

“I can,” he sighs. “But I really don’t want to. It doesn’t have to be horrible. Your sisters, they’re all happy, why-”

“I don’t care about them. I want to be-” You stop yourself, because this isn’t something to talk about here, with your father of all people; you’d barely even talk to your mother about this stuff. But he’s looking at you again over the expanse of mahogany and his eyes are sad, because he’s fighting with his first daughter, and you break. “I want to be in love, father. I don’t want to be sold off to the highest bidder because I’m the eldest. That can’t be my life.”

He sighs again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It is. There are fifteen houses coming here tomorrow, each with an eligible son. I’m letting you choose; it’s the most I can do.”

Your nose burns with betrayal and terror. Your cheeks are wet, tears falling into soft, wet spots on the front of your dress. Your arms squeeze your middle one last time before you turn, pushing past the Kingsguard who stand at the door, past the cupbearers and the maids, and past Eddie, who has been waiting for you outside. For the first time ever you don’t hear the familiar sound of armour following you, and for a moment you almost stop to turn and look for him, but you’re still crying and although it’s the middle of the afternoon, all you want to do is hide.

-

“It’s true,” Robin sighs. “I’ve been looking in our library, and I’ve counted at least three instances.”

You roll onto your back. Robin sits beside you on the plush of your bed, which has been remade by your maids so that there are no remnants of your painful, sleepless night. She strokes your hairline softly, looking down at you with sorry eyes.

“The most recent was eighty-three years ago,” she continues. “Lady Flora. She ran off with her knight, to be fair… But still!”

“I’m the eldest, Robin,” you tell her, trying your hardest to stop your words coming out in a hiccup; you only stopped crying this morning, and you’re in no mood to begin again now. “There’s too much expected of me. I can’t run off. I have to pick the right person.”

She takes in a breath. “Who says he isn’t the right one? Or that you’d have to run off?”

“Centuries of historical precedent,” you tell her flatly. When you meet her eye, though, you watch as she tries and fails to hold in a laugh.

“Since when have you ever cared about historical precedent?”

“Never, but that’s the problem.” You sit up quickly, knocking her affectionate hand back into her lap. “I can’t… This isn’t right. None of it is, but especially… Him.”

“But in the centuries of historical precedent,” Robin says, a poor imitation of you, “There were people like you.”

“And what happened to them?” you ask with a huff, standing to pace beside your bed. “Exiled, abandoned, cut off, ridiculed… I can’t live like that, Robin. But- But I can’t exist here while he’s always around, right behind my back. He’s like my fucking shadow. I can’t-” You hiccup, a wet sound that heralds the return of tears. “I can’t move on.”

Robin watches you with eyes laced with a pity that makes you furious. You want her to fix this; it’s entirely irrational, but you’re lost, and surely someone somewhere has to take responsibility for this, fix it so you don’t have to feel anything anymore. Remove Eddie, replace him with someone lifeless and unfunny and ugly, hand you a beautiful, attentive husband on a platter and, most of all, take the pain away.

But it doesn’t work like that. You know it doesn’t.

“Your Highness,” Eddie says in a raised voice from beyond your door. “It’s time.”

You look at Robin, who looks back at you, her eyes wide.

“I’ll be a minute,” you shout back hesitantly as she rises and rushes over. You let her help you adjust your dress and she dips a cloth left behind by a maid into the basin of cool water by your bedside, wiping it gently over your cheeks in an attempt to reduce the blotches there.

Neither of you say another word. She takes your hand firmly and squeezes.

-

You hate this.

Although you’re desperate for anything but a pre-arranged marriage pact, part of you had quite genuinely hoped for some kind of miracle, that one of your suitors would be The Guy. In your restlessness the evening prior, you’d even let yourself fantasise that one of them, strikingly handsome in your daydreams, would appear at the foot of the throne and you’d feel it in that instant: love.

But in every version of this delusion, The Guy was faceless, nameless, a blur of a person until he wasn’t. Until he was Eddie.

In reality, your knight is out of sight for once, and you’re nearing hour three in the gardens, where the court musicians entertain the countless guests and wine is flowing freely for everyone except you. (With your father at your elbow all afternoon, it’s impossible to get a second cup. Your mouth is dry and your boredom inflating.)

You know better than to assume Eddie’s left the gardens completely, but there are too many people for you to see him.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp elbow nudge your rib.

You turn to your father and find him wide-eyed and pink in the nose - a tell-tale sign of frustration - nodding to the man standing opposite the two of you.

“Hm?” you hum, painfully aware of how obvious it is to the both of them that you weren’t paying a lick of attention.

“Lord Carver was telling us about his hunts,” your father says through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” you sigh, turning to the stranger. “How… Interesting. What do you hunt?”

“Deer, mostly,” he responds, puffing out his chest. His cheeks are blotched with pink and the caramel blonde of his hair is unpleasant. The pleasure of your attention is clearly feeding his ego. “Started on pheasants when I was ten. They’re far too easy now; I’m heading out tomorrow to try for a stag. Say, care to join me?”

“Oh, I’m flattered,” you say with a saccharine giggle and hand to your chest that your father can certainly see straight through. “But I don’t hunt. Thank you, though, Lord Carver.”

Lord Carver seems to take this somewhat personally, despite your almost sincere attempt at a polite curtsy. He comes over stoney, steel-eyed as though you’ve wounded him.

“No matter. Your highness,” he says flatly, bowing quickly to your father before turning on his heels and marching away.

You barely listen as you are accosted by the king for being so blatantly rude. Lord Carver is far from your mind because across the heaving mass of strange bodies, you can see your knight, looking straight back at you.

Your father hisses your name but you do not listen.

“I’m taking a walk,” you tell him. “Sorry, father, I just need a break. And… A glass of water.”

It must have rained this morning. The grass is damp beneath your feet, soaking slowly through the velvet of your lilac slippers as you push your way between bodies as politely as you can manage.

With your focus on the ground you do not see Eddie’s eyes following your figure through the crowd; you also do not see Lord Carver six steps behind.

The latter reaches you first, by quite a margin, a moment after you’ve broken free of curious strangers and can finally breathe again. Everything happens very quickly. In the shadow of a high wall, the man reaches for your arm like a viper. His fingers coil and the fresh garden air is replaced by his coddling breath on your cheek. He spun you so quickly you feel momentarily winded, enough to catch you off guard as your face scrapes the old brickwork. Spit hits your cheek and mixes with fresh blooms of blood as his pink face looms, dominating your field of vision - like a bear in a trap you feel helpless, his fingers around your wrist so tight you fear he may break your bones. In a moment you’re frozen stiff and he takes his chance, his lips pushing angrily into the stretch of bare skin above the collar of your dress.

“You’re a bitch,” he says, muffled by the skin under your jaw. You writhe and whimper but you cannot scream. “You humiliated me. See what happens to cunts like- Ungh-” 

The force of your knee between his legs is enough force to knock him back. Stumbling, he lurches forward again, only to meet your elbow, sharp and swift at his throat. The pathetic choking sound he makes mixes with the familiar sound of heavy boots; you turn to find Eddie, pink in the face, fist on the handle of his sword.

“Christ,” he pants, “Are you okay?”

Lord Carver coughs as he struggles to regain his balance.

“You-” Cough. “You bitch,” he spits, hand at his collar.

“Watch yourself,” Eddie growls, towering over the spluttering lord, his sword pulled only a few inches from its sheath - a warning: I will not hesitate. “I suggest you take your family home, Sir.”

Lord Carver looks up at him, red eyes watering and breath still catching. For a moment he seems to contemplate fighting back, but even you almost find yourself laughing at the possibility, until you look to Eddie and find a version of the man you’ve never seen before.

Your life, which Eddie tails endlessly from a few paces behind, always, is quiet. Mundane, boring, unadventurous; you rarely leave the castle grounds and when you do, it’s inside a carriage. Your bravest adventure since you were sixteen was taken barefoot, that evening after dinner, up on the balcony where you’d stumbled across your knight, bare-chested and panting.

You’ve teased Eddie before about how the lack of danger in your life must mean his own is boring. Though he never once gave into you, deep down you worry that it’s true.

Now, though, your knight is coloured a shade unknown to you. He’s come over like a shadow, eyes hard and brow set, and there’s a vein visible above the collar of his cape. Lord Carver seems to halve in size beneath his frame, and though he has never shown himself like this in front of you before, you’re sure of one thing.

Your pleading cry is too late, too weak - before you can intervene, Eddie’s fist makes contact with Lord Carver’s cheekbone. There’s a crack that, to you, is as loud as thunder, though the skies are as blue as they’ve ever been. As his back hits the floor, Lord Carver yelps like a wounded dog, and Eddie moves in on him.

“Eddie,” you plead, voice weaker still, your hands grasping his arm, “Leave him alone, I’m okay, please.”

In the commotion, you’d failed to notice your growing audience. You’re sure that if you let him, Eddie would give another punch, and another, but the man on the floor is bleeding from his nose and from a wide gash under his eye and your slippers are drenched through and so is the collar of your dress where your tears, unbeknownst to you, have been soaking the cotton.

“Please,” you hiccup, your hands squeezing, pulling Eddie backwards with as much strength as you can manage.

“Asshole!” Carver spits, his voice broken. Two men who resemble him are helping him up off the ground, the small crowd murmuring between themselves as they watch him stumble away. “You’ll regret this!”

It’s an empty threat. You barely hear it, in fact, because Eddie is finally turning to you, his shoulders dropping. His face softens the moment he looks at you.

“Are you okay? Did he- Where did he hurt you?” He asks again. People are dispersing but you pay them no mind because Eddie’s hands hold your face and it stings when he runs his gloved thumb over the gash on your cheek. You wince and his grip on you tightens, as though you might slip away if he lets you.

As his arms wind around your shoulders, you push your face into the embroidered crest that sits by his heart.

“You’re okay,” he tells you firmly, sweet words murmured into your hair. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Your father’s booming voice cuts through whispering strangers like a whip. Eddie moves away from you so quickly that you almost choke.

Tears mix with old blood and you want to scream. You want these strangers to leave your garden, you want Eddie to clean your wounds, you want to run away.

You cannot have what you want.

-

Two and a half weeks ago, your father replaced your knight via a letter.

Ser Munson has been reassigned.

After two nights of bed-rest in your chamber, wherein you were seen only by your mother and two alchemists, your new knight - an older man, as old as your father and then some - made himself known at your door. He informed you of his new appointment as your sworn protector. When you asked after Eddie, he closed the door.

Two lonely weeks entailed many downward spirals. One evening after countless days spent rotting, refusing the attendance of your mother or father, you find yourself staring blankly at your reflection in the glass beside the chest that houses your dresses. The girl looking back is gaunt and her eyes are bloodshot. There’s an old cut on her bottom lip, close to healing but you’re sure you’ll bite it open again soon enough, splitting the skin so that deep red plumes can burst through and begin the process again.

You think about Eddie. What would he say if he could see you now? Over the weeks you’ve spent more hours than you can count thinking about how he’d held you, the words spoken into your hair, low enough to avoid unwelcome ears. His hands had gripped you so firmly that you’d almost felt whole again after Lord Carver’s grubby paws had violated you so horribly. Now you’re hollow.

His reassignment was surely your punishment: how dare you let yourself be so distracted that you humiliate a noble Lord to the point of such anger? How dare you humiliate him such that he wants to hit you, bite you, kiss you, hurt you?

Meals delivered by your maids go uneaten. You do not speak to your new knight, only catching a glimpse when he opens the door for attendants. 

At the dawn of a Thursday, your mother delivers the news that you are to stay behind while your parents visit your sister. You’re not sure which one of the four it is, but you do not care. With them gone, maybe you can go out; it’s early summer, after all, the weather is glorious, and you’re gasping for some sunlight and some respite from this stupidity.

-

When the sandbag splits, old hay spills onto the muddy ground.

Eddie’s sword is freshly sharpened and slices through the woven material like a hot knife through butter. He imagines Lord Carver’s face where the bag is tied together with string and watches it fall limply to the floor.

Outside in the courtyard, the sun is hot and shade is rare, and sweat beads on his forehead and drips to his chin. Other knights spar around Eddie, practising for nothing. His new position in the Kingsguard is, quite obviously, a downgrade, but only a few of his fellow knights have tried to get the why out of him: why have you stopped tailing the eldest daughter around? Why are you now forced to watch the southern walls in the dead of night? How did it happen? What did you do?

He chances a glance upwards, to the higher balcony along the wall, squinting under the sun. He doesn’t know if what he sees is you, standing in the shadow, or a trick of the light.

-

Your parents have been gone for two days, and the castle is like a ghost town. It’s never like this; even on late night escapades through the hallways, there are always maids at work, cleaning ladies and cupbearers. Guards on constant rotation, your father’s advisers wandering the halls having hushed conversations.

Tonight, though, there’s nothing. Your family’s absence is a moment of respite for the staff, who get a rare few evenings off to venture into town for some fun. You’re completely alone.

The long corridors look almost blue. The full moon is rising over the horizon and you’re enjoying an evening of freedom.

With most of the court staff out of the castle walls, you can’t be sure if you’ll find what you’re looking for tonight. He may have gone off with them, with his friends in the guard, down to a pub, getting drunk because he can, stumbling half-blind into a brothel like the rest of them do.

You shake the thought off because it turns your stomach, despite having no claim over the boy. It’s true that he may have gone but you’re searching anyway, because you’re driving yourself mad with guilt, and secretly you’ve missed him horribly.

You miss knowing he’s right outside your door, only ever a few paces away if you need him. You miss the blooming pink across his cheeks whenever you tease him, his stumbling answers and poor attempt at staying stony-faced and stoic. And you miss the smirk, though you’re sure he thinks he hides it well, that creeps across his face whenever you finish your teasing.

It’s your first time in this corner of the castle. Almost twenty-two years of living here, you’ve never had a reason to venture to where the knights stay. It’s a long way from your own wing - you’ve been walking for ten minutes and you’ve only just spotted a door. You’re treading softly in your favourite ruby slippers which, though you’d never admit it even to yourself, were surely chosen on purpose. You dressed yourself this evening, so there’s no use blaming your maids for the decision to drape you in scarlet.

As you come to a stop outside the room, you hold your breath and listen. You haven’t seen a single knight - not even your own new one - this whole time, but there’s somebody in there, and it sounds like they’re pacing.

Your hand reaches for the handle but just as you touch the iron, it twists on its own and the door flies open. You stumble forwards, losing your balance, but a familiar hand steadies you.

“Your highness?” He breathes, helping you back up. “What the- What are you doing here?”

You look at him. The man staring back at you is wide-eyed, those browns as pretty as ever but framed by new, dark circles. It’s difficult to see in the low light but he’s more tired than you’ve ever seen him. And though he seems sleepy, he’s dressed up in most of his on-duty getup, without the cape and sword.

“Eddie?”

“I thought the- Aren’t you supposed to be seeing your sister?”

“No, I… I stayed behind,” you tell him. A half-lie.

He looks back at you blankly. “Well,” he sighs. “We should… I should escort you back to your chamber.”

“No,” you say firmly. He does not invite you inside but you step over the threshold anyway, pushing past him into what you assume must be his bedroom.

It’s a plain room. The bed is low with old sheets, and there’s one candle burning on a table by the window. On the wall above his bed, he has hammered what looks like a letter into the plaster. And to the left of that-

“Is that mine?” You point plainly to the embroidery hoop. Even in the near-darkness you cannot miss the rosy flush you ignite across his face.

He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “Yes.”

It’s a small hoop, one you must have done years ago. A deep red rose, your favourite.

You look at it for a moment, and then to him. “Where have you been?”

He drops his hand. “I was reassigned,” he tells you.

“Why?”

“I don’t-”

“Why?” you press. He sighs and leans in the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest.

“After the… Incident with Lord Carver, your father thought it best that I be moved.”

“And now?”

“Now,” he sighs, “I’m on the nightwatch.”

“The nightwatch?!” you parrot. Even you, with only superficial understanding of the mechanics of your father’s guard, know that that’s one of the worst jobs. “But you… Why would he punish you?”

“Ask him,” he says bitterly, and so quickly that you know he regrets it instantly. “Sorry,” he corrects, “That was out of order.”

“Don’t apologise,” you say back, stepping past him into the wide hallway. It’s a brighter blueish-grey now, the moon nearing its highest spot in the night sky. You stop, turning to look at Eddie, and there’s a beat of silence.

He’s watching you quietly, and it takes him a moment to realise that you wish him to follow you. Under the moonlight you’re effervescent, your skin almost sparkling. The soft glow of the moon reflects a million times in your eyes like tiny diamonds. You’re so pretty it’s difficult to look away.

Eventually he closes the door behind him and falls into a familiar step, just behind your left foot. You walk and talk as you meander through random hallways, clearly unsure where you’re going but he says nothing, silently grateful to see you again and willing to walk every hall of the castle if it means stretching out the time before he has to leave you again.

“Why do you say that?” he asks. You turn your head to look at him, lost. “You told me not to apologise.”

You huff, striding forward. “You don’t have to respect my father around me, Eddie. It’s not like he respects me, or anything.”

“I don’t understand,” he says quietly. You bristle, frustrated that you’ve allowed the conversation to move to you. You’d intended to find out where he’d gone, not tell him about this.

“He can quite easily forget about me,” you tell him over your shoulder bitterly. “I’m happy to forget about him for a few days.”

“I… I don’t understand,” he repeats, and it irritates you double.

“For God’s sake,” you spit, stopping so abruptly that he almost crashes into your back. You spin and stare him down. “I’m a disappointment, okay? They left for their trip, and they left me behind. I’m useless. No man likes me, not enough to marry me, only stupid stableboys have ever come close to me. Something went wrong somewhere and now I’m here, heir to the throne and without a husband. And it’s. Your. Fault.” You jab your index finger to his chest for emphasis, but it’s meagre because you can feel the tears returning and you want nothing less than to be seen crying by Ser Munson. 

You cross the remainder of the hallways alone, Eddie left behind. Whether by choice or because of shock you don’t know, and frankly you don’t care. When you finally return to familiar halls, you push your way into your chambers and slam the heavy door as hard as you can behind you.

After a few minutes of pacing, having make-believe arguments with yourself in hushed tones, there’s a soft knock. So soft you almost miss it, but the eerie quiet of the castle has you jumpier than usual.

“Sweetheart,” you hear through the thick wood. “Let me in? Please?”

Maybe it’s your fear in the silence, or maybe it’s the way the rare sweetheart makes your stomach drop; either way you cave, rushing over and heaving the door open.

On the other side of the threshold, Eddie stands, hair unruly like he’s run his hands through it a few times. The curls stick out at odd angles and stand out dark against his alabaster skin.

Something in his eyes makes you break. The tears come thick and fast and before you can hide or apologise or close the door, arms wrap you up and his hand is on your back, smoothing patiently up and down.

It’s not the most comfortable hug; his armour is mostly leather and cloth but the toughness of it all makes it difficult to completely lean into him. As though he senses that, he pulls back, though his hand lingers on your arm where he gives you a squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup, palms smudging wet tears across your face in an attempt to dry your eyes. “That was so mean of me, I’m sorry.”

“I just want to know what you mean,” he says, his eyes sadder than you’ve ever seen them. You dreaded this inevitability the moment you let the blame fall from your lips, but you owe him that much.

You sigh, look down at your feet, and resign yourself to truth.

“Father… He loves me, but he loves the throne just as much. And I’m the eldest, and I’m almost twenty-two, so…”

In your peripheral vision you see him sag, his shoulder dropping in premature realisation.

“He brought all those men here, and not one of them was even slightly as interesting to me as you.”

Eddie looks at you, at the tears that periodically drop from your cheeks to the floor, listens to you sniff and hiccup, and wonders how on Earth you exist, let alone how you’ve landed here, with feelings so profound for him of all people.

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me,” he tells you honestly. You look up at him and the sight winds him: you’re crying, and it’s sad and stressful and difficult but you’re so beautiful.

You giggle and to him, it’s the ringing of a thousand bells by a thousand angels. It’s golden and brilliant. “I’m surprised,” you say, your smile lingering. “You’re really very lovely.”

He steps forward and reaches up, taking your chin in his gloved hand. You look back at him and sigh without meaning to as he moves his hand to cup your cheek and wipes stray tears away with his thumb. It takes your mind back to loud music, seven goblets, and a wine-stained thumb between his teeth.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells you quietly. There’s no one around but this still feels painfully scandalous, like glass that could - and will - shatter at any moment. No sudden movements.

You smile into his palm. “Stop it.”

“It’s true,” he says as his thumb moves across your skin, over the remnants of the cut across your cheekbone, over expanse of skin to your lips.

You watch him as he takes a deep breath in.

“I wasn’t reassigned,” he admits to you. You match him, breathing deep through your nose, preparing for the truth. “Well, I asked to be reassigned. I had to plead, really, because your father… He’s a good man.”

You roll your eyes without thinking and feel your bottom lip quivering again, the tears reemerging.

“He told me I’d never be able to see you again,” you tell him in a whisper.

“That’s my fault.”

“What?” You lift your head upright and he drops his hand, bringing it to his hair instead to run it through the curls again.

“I asked that I be kept away from you.”

“Why?! Why on earth would you… What could possibly possess you?”

“I couldn’t go through that again,” he says. “I couldn’t be near you. It was too… Too painful, and I let it get the better of me when I punched Lord Carver.”

“You were protecting me,” you say flatly. “That’s- That was your job.”

The emphasis hurts. “I know,” he sighs, “But… I wanted to kill him.”

“I don’t understand,” you tell him. You despise the whimper your words come out with, the way your jaw clenches to hold back more tears. What you can see of his neck above the collar of his thick tunic and under the cover of ringlets of tired hair is blotchy, coming up rosy in uneven patches. Is he stressed? Nervous? Both?

Your vision blurs with tears and your nose burns. He looks back at you softly, just like always, his eyes dark and inviting. Your lip wobbles again and you hear his breath hitch in the quiet.

“Let me show you,” he offers as he holds your cheek again. You cannot help but lean in, head tipping to the left to feel the expanse of leather over your cheek, his thumb dancing softly across your skin.

“No, I- You have to explain yourself, I don’t-”

“Please?” He looks at you with those fucking eyes of his and you want to kick him and kiss him all at once. “Do you trust me?”

The urge to kick him persists but you nod anyway. Perhaps the kicking is not a frustration aimed at him but at yourself instead: why can you not tell him how you feel? Why does the possibility of what he’s about to do scare you so much?

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit to him in a whisper. You feel naked before him, though there’s layers of thick velvet and scuffed leather between the two of you, a hundred barriers of material, an aching yawn of distance that you find yourself disliking immensely. 

Can Eddie read your mind? It feels that way right now - you only uttered six words but he seems to understand you entirely at this moment. He drops his hand from your face, takes a step back, and as you watch him wordlessly unbuckle his armour, your stomach contracts and your soul becomes hollow in anticipation. He removes the belt that the sword usually sits on, and then his leather gauntlets, pulling each finger from the gloves and placing them, too, on the table. As he peels off each piece of his uniform, creating a growing pile on the wood and on your floor, you see, for the first time since that night when you were nineteen, the bloom of his flesh under his billowing undershirt. He’s paler now than he was then, though the moonlight seeping in through the cracks between heavy curtains over your windows is no match for the golden wash of colour he had once basked in. If you had any sense you’d laugh at the display before you: endless metal defences and leather covers come away from his body and pile noisily beside him. But you’re transfixed, fingers fidgeting, bottom lip absentmindedly between your teeth.

You do not notice him glance at you every so often. Between removing each greave, he looks up at you again, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the flurry of blood to his cheeks. He’s baring himself, and you’re looking at him like he’s edible; perhaps, to you, he is.

After many minutes filled only by the sounds of deconstructed armour, metal and leather, he’s free of it, and he stands before you in a loose shirt and cotton slacks. His pale chest is visible behind the deep, un-tied collar and your fingers itch, fidgeting still, yearning to know what it feels like.

“Talk to me,” he whispers. “Don’t go quiet on me now.”

“I saw you like this, once,” you say quickly, voice so low it’s almost a whisper. You’re looking at everything - his arms, his legs, neck, chest, hands - except his eyes.

He’s taken aback. “What?”

“Years ago. I was nineteen. You were outside-” You turn to look through the open balcony door behind you, at the bright white gleaming down on the stone beyond. “-polishing. It was so beautiful out there, but I remember watching you for ages.”

You turn back, eyes on his finally. As ever, they’re wide and deep brown and beautiful. “Sorry. I know that’s strange. And forbidden, I guess.”

“No,” he breathes, taking a step towards you. “No, it’s fine- It’s okay.”

The air is thick and between that and your corset, you can barely breathe. He’s inching closer and it’s difficult to know where to look.

Nobody has ever been this close to you before. Not truly; you kiss your father and mother on the cheek before heading to bed each evening, you give your sisters fleeting embraces, you've fooled around with stableboys and, of course, you once loved to lean into his space whenever you teased Eddie, but this is different. Someone electing to be so near, choosing to breathe your air and not flinching or pulling back, instead lingering just to let his eyes dance over yours once more - it’s new, and it’s addictive.

He’s breathing your air but you’re also breathing his. The hills of his cheeks are mere whispers from your own, and his nose, crooked at the bridge where it once broke, nudges yours so lightly that you ought not feel it. It takes your breath away anyway.

At the sound of your gasp he smiles, only slightly, but you’re so close you see it in his eyes. Crows' feet emerge, wrinkling happiness beside his temples, and you can’t help but return it. As you fight the urge to close your eyes you watch him as he watches you, bated breaths and whimpers. All of a sudden he meets your gaze and you stumble where your foot had been resting on your other ankle. The heel of your slipper slides across bare skin and your balance goes, but before you can panic or cry out, you are pulled in breathless by his strong arm around your back. There may be layers upon layers of fabric but you feel it anyway, the electric jolts up your spine where his palm presses firm into your waist. Whether he means to or not is unclear, but you’re chest-to-chest with him now, the firm bones of your corset pushed against his shirt.

Your fingers spread across the fabric of his shirt. Without meaning to, you venture upwards, fingertips meeting the small smattering of coarse hair there, under the cotton. You watch your hands like they’re moving on their own, until his finger, hooked beneath your chin, tilts you up to meet his eye again.

It’s happening, you think to yourself. But then his arm, still around your middle, tightens briefly and he’s gone.

You watch him cross your room, the few steps he takes to your bed suddenly a criminal distance, too far, far too far. He sits upright on the edge of it, legs parted.

“Come here,” he says, his voice a melodic tug at your core. You move to him, sliding each of your slippers off on the way, and stand hesitantly between his knees, holding your breath without thinking to. 

You can’t look at him. You caught a glimpse of his eyes and the way they’re looking up at you and you can’t. It’ll surely kill you.

He thinks you’re perfect, standing here, towering over him, relenting. His tough palms smooth over the layers of deep red velvet that lie over your hips, and for a moment he allows himself to relish in the small noises of shock you’re making before he urges you to turn around.

“You know,” he begins as his deft fingers untie and release the intricate ribbons at your back. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You turn your head towards him, as far round as you can. “What?”

“The… What happened, that afternoon. The way he spoke to you…” Eddie’s fingers still for a moment and you hear him take a deep breath. “The way he touched you. I don’t know what your father- what His Majesty said about it, but it wasn’t your fault.”

His left hand begins pulling at the ribbons again, but his right rests safely on your waist, as though he’s demonstrating something: how you should be touched, the way you deserve, soft and kind and gentle and wanted.

You hum in agreement.

“And I truly am sorry I punched him,” he says. “It- If I’d just told him to back away, it never would have become such… Such a thing, a big deal.”

“Eddie,” you breathe, grateful that you can get a lung-full again. You turn back to him in his grasp and take his face in both hands. Your palms are warm but they’re nothing compared to the flames of his cheeks, which almost burn under your touch. “I’m not mad that you punched him. I wish I’d done it, truly. But I’m never mad that you want to protect me.”

Your hands on his face startle him. You both sense it in the moment, how unlike you this is, to touch him so willingly and so carefully.

“I don’t think you needed me to protect you,” he says quietly, a smile emerging though he tries his best to hold it back. “Your elbow seemed to do a good enough job of that.”

Ah! The sound of your feather-light laugh fills a yawning gap in his chest that appeared two and a half weeks ago. It sounds even more beautiful than before, a twinkling spark of a sound, just for him.

“You’re funny,” you tell him. “I’ll always need you, Ser Munson. Don’t worry about that.”

He looks up at you from his seat on the edge of your bed with eyes that sparkle like the sky outside. Perhaps it’s the reflection of the faded stars painted onto your ceiling, or perhaps it’s just the sight of you.

Both of his hands are on your waist, now, as you stand between his legs. There’s a lot of material in your skirt, though, and it feels too distant still, so you reach behind your back to pull the remainder of the ribbons keeping your corset on, and pull it over your head. Eddie helps where he can from such a low vantage point, and as soon as it’s off and disregarded on the floor, his eager fingers are pulling the velvet dress down and away from your body.

“Fucking hell,” he heaves, “How many things do you have on right now?”

“You’re one to talk,” you giggle. “It took you five whole minutes just to free your arms.”

“Okay, but that’s important. I don’t want to lose my arms. This must weigh a tonne, and… For what?”

You hold his cheek in your left hand again while he unties various laces and undoes buttons. Your skirt has fallen away, as has the underskirt and the other, thicker layers. You’re left in your underdress, a simple white cotton embroidered at the collar. It’s nicer than the one he caught you in all those weeks ago, moments before your life seemed to tilt and slip away beneath you.

Under the fabric, your nipples harden in the cold, jutting out and catching Eddie’s eye.

“Is this okay?” He asks, pulling you in anyways, standing you safely between his knees, his wide hands tentative on your hips. “We don’t have to-”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “Please, yes.”

His hands slide over the hills of your behind to the backs of your thighs. He’s still looking up at you, eyes drooping when your fingers dance through his hair. 

“I meant it, though,” you say. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” he sighs, standing slowly. “I have all the time for you.”

The moonlight bleeds a sharp bluish hue but it doesn’t matter. Right now, as he says those lovely words, the boy is a golden ball of light, humming pinks and warm ochre. Your yearning arms wind over his shoulders as his breath mixes with yours once more, his nose nudges the swell of your cheek, his hands press firm into your waist. He’s slow with it, tantalising, keeping you whimpering and desperate, until he finally dips into you, lips on yours with a surprising urgency.

It’s magic, you are so sure of it. His mouth moves over yours with certainty: he wants to be here, he wants to kiss you. He’s wanted to kiss you.

All those fairytales that your wiry old school teacher told you were real, about spells and conjurings and spirits: it’s all real, surely, and it’s in this feeling. There’s no other way you can understand it, though in truth your brain isn’t entirely clear because his fingers are smoothing lower, bunching your dress in his fists to pull the fabric up over the stretch of your legs. All the while his kisses never cease; in fact, once you feel the cool air over the material of your underwear, you gasp and welcome his tongue with your own. Air is worthless to you now; all you want is Eddie.

Much to your dismay, he seems to disagree, pulling back from you to take a breath and lift your dress over your head. He whispers up and you raise your arms, letting him undress you quietly, and once he has, you daren’t open your eyes, instead winding your arms across your chest. You feel the nighttime breeze across the backs of your thighs and you tense knowing that you’re bare in front of him.

There’s a slow beat before you feel his hands again. You hear the dress discarded on the stone floor and then his rough fingers are gently, oh so gently, holding your waist. It’s like he thinks you could break.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Of course you can.”

You expect more solid grabs of flesh, hands smoothing over the expanse of your stomach, maybe even venturing upwards, but you take in a surprised breath when you feel his mouth on your sternum.

His rough hands hold your lower back and he kisses, framing each of your breasts with rows of feather-light pecks, dancing blossoms of affection. You drop your hands to his hair as you let out a breath of satisfaction, tangling your fingers in the curls as his mouth rises.

The whine of your name that leaves your lips is met with his hands tightening, fingers almost curling into the flesh of your back. His kisses turn eager, frantic, crossing the mounds of each of your breasts. His hands leave you to pull his shirt over his head and it’s too much all at once: too much to see, feel, know. You can’t take it in before he’s kissing you again, less than kind as his arms pull your bare chests flush.

Your fingers explore new terrain, which is littered with freckles and white, years-old scars that stretch over his alabaster skin, each one a story that you hope he will tell you one day.

“Eddie,” you pant. He returns the sentiment, breathing your name over and over into your mouth as he sits back down and pulls you into his lap.

The rough of his slacks sends an unfamiliar jolt up your spine when your hips meet his. In the heat of the moment he’s pulling at you a little rough but your gasp draws him out.

“You good?”

“Just… Slow down,” you tell him, resting back on your heels with your hands on his broad, bare shoulders.

“Sorry,” he says. His face is flushed pink and his dark eyes are drooping. “Want to stop?”

“No,” you respond, too quickly to keep your cool. You shake your head. “No, I just- I’m scared I’ll go too fast. I like you too much.”

“I told you,” he says, moving in with his eyes on you. You nod, almost imperceptibly. He kisses your collarbone and then your shoulder. “I have all the time in the world for you.”

“What if someone catches us?”

He pulls back again and reaches up, moving hair from your face and putting it behind your ears. Tidying you up. Fussing over you. It’s nice.

“I promise that everybody who would even think to come anywhere near this room tonight is gone until at least tomorrow afternoon.” He kisses under your jaw, and it returns the shivers back down your spine. “They’re too busy getting drunk. Nobody’s thinking about us.”

“You promise?”

He kisses your chin. “I promise.”

A few years ago, your father entertained a visitor from one of the bigger cities. They had been on a ship for some years and they brought goods the likes of which you’d never seen before: round, vibrant, sharp fruits, powders that made food taste wildly different, and, your favourite, a small collection of fireworks.

In the light of a small bonfire, your father helped the visitor set the wooden tubes alight. They flew off into the air and sparkled, fizzed, popped. It was a display that you couldn’t help but gawk at, enjoying the sizzles and the colours in the deep January sky.

That’s what this feels like. His lips plotting a map across your bare neck, up over your jaw, until they reach your mouth, it feels like seeing fireworks. You keen into his mouth as he licks across your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth gently before letting go, meeting your tongue with his own. His hands at your back pull you in and that flush returns between your legs. He keeps you moving slowly, a lethargic push and pull across his crotch. The dips and folds of the tough fabric there, paired with the growing hardness beneath, give you a friction that you chase instinctively. It’s coupled with a litany of praises whispered into your skin between kisses, and the combination is clearing your head and sending you dizzy.

“That’s it, you’ve got it,” he coos, “Nice and slow for me, yeah? Just-”

Through drooping lids you watch him, his face scrunching in pleasure as you rock against him. It is not lost on you that this feels just as good for him, but you can tell he’s holding something back.

His face relaxes, and he meets your eye. “Hey.” He nudges your nose with his own and takes a deep breath. “You have to breathe, deep breaths. Doesn’t feel half as good if you stop breathing, promise.”

You let out a sigh and a twinkling giggle and he smiles, wide enough that you can see his dimples. He continues showering you with sweet praises, urging you towards oblivion. Look at you. I don’t even need to tell you what to do. You’re so beautiful.

“Fuck- My god.”

The pace quickens as you chase the abyss. His hands don’t move, keeping you anchored to him, moving you back and forth. It’s bliss like you’ve never felt; your own hand could never get you this far. The friction of his pants between your thighs is perfect and your need is ferocious as your stomach winds like a coil.

“C’mon,” he encourages, “You can do it. You’re doing such a good job, c’mon-”

You fall forwards and rest your forehead on his shoulder, whimpering something desperate into his neck as your stomach tenses and bends. Please, Eddie, please, please, please.

A white-hot light sears the darkness behind your eyelids as you come apart for him. He’s calling you all sorts of filthy things but you can barely hear him, brain too occupied by the burning in your belly and his hands, which are seemingly everywhere all at once.

“Good girl,” he whispers into your hairline. He scatters kisses there as you catch your breath.

“Thank you,” you sigh. “Thank you.”

He laughs and you feel it reverberate through his chest.

As you slouch into him, feeling returning to each limb, you feel a foreign yearning in your gut, a relentless feeling that prompts you to squirm. Wriggling, your restless hands paw at his arms and his back and they move lower, until you meet the waistband of his slacks.

You whine into his neck when he won’t move to accommodate your impatience. His hands lure you back from your resting place so he can look at you, with your kiss-swollen lips and happy eyes.

“I need to know that you want this,” he whispers. He rests your foreheads together, the tip of his nose nudging yours.

All you can do is whine. You’re too elated to care to form words, but Eddie’s not having it.

“I need to hear you say it,” he tells you sternly. His eyes do not betray him: they’re steely and suddenly darker than ever.

You dip your head to kiss his jaw, nosing at his cheek, lips and teeth dragging along his skin.

“I want you, Eddie,” you tell him. His fingers tighten at the nape of your neck and pull you back, gentle but firm, as he watches you speak through obsidian eyes. “Please.”

He says nothing as he gives you one more kiss, soft as anything to the pillows of your lips, before helping you off his lap and laying you between the pillows at the head of your bed. You curl up there, the breeze colder still against the wetness between your thighs, which you squeeze together as you watch him stand.

He’s all lean muscle and long limbs. You let yourself gawk for the first time since that night on the balcony; you usually have to ration your glances at him, and he’s always covered by so many layers, so you allow yourself this luxury.

He knows you’re watching, so he makes a little show of it, bending down to get rid of the slacks. Before he does, you notice that the brown has deepened around his crotch with the stains of your pleasure. Acknowledging this makes you shiver, and though you feel you should be disgusted, it’s oddly comforting instead.

When he looks over at you, finally bared and unflinching, he takes a moment to take you in.

You’re still glowing, perhaps more so than before. Some of your hair is stuck to your face, plastered there in the heat of your first orgasm, but the rest of it is laid out around your head like a halo. It’s unfair that you can be so casually magnificent. You’re also not looking at him - well, not meeting his eye, anyway. The tip of your index finger is between your teeth as you take in the sight before you, Eddie as hard as he’s ever been, just for you.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

You look up at his face and break out in a grin. “Absolutely.”

He’s slower than you want, leaning over you, his knees on the comforter beside you, mouth lazy as he gives you kisses. You take and take, happy under his touch.

His hands are everywhere again. Your skin is on fire, aflame from the praise and the affection and the attention. The sensation of being so close to another person while naked like this is achingly unfamiliar but learning it is nice, new, natural. Though it’s nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced before, you’re finding that you like it. You like smoothing your hands over his back, feeling the dips and peaks of his muscles there, or around to the slight pudge of his stomach, just above a thatch of hair similar to your own. You like the feeling of his palms on your shoulders, down your arms, across your waist. You like that when he kisses you, you feel the nudge of his nose beside yours. You like that he appears breathless to you, like your kisses are preferable to air, especially when he becomes restless and impatient.

Above you, his hand moves south, fingers burying their way between your legs. Without realising it, you’ve been squeezing them together, desperate for any relief you can find, but his fingers are certainly better. They push your knees apart so that he can climb into your space, his waist framed by your thighs, the weight of him crashing into you as he dips again to kiss you silly. You wind your arms around his neck and pull him in, enjoying the proximity rather than fleeing from it, and feeling desperate without shame.

One hand hooks under your thigh while the other plants firmly on the mattress beside your head.

“You ready?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“I’m going to go slow,” he tells you, his lips moving against yours lest he get too far away. “Just tell me if you want to stop, please?”

“Yes,” you pant, “Yes, of course, please-”

The hand beneath your thigh escapes and he holds himself as you wind your arms under his, around his chest, pulling him in tight.

It’s definitely slow. A slow, tantalising push between your thighs, filling that gaping yearning within your gut. He’s big, though it barely takes you by surprise because of course he is.

He’s panting, biting his lip above you. “Fuck-” he gasps, “Shit- You okay?”

You nod as fervently as you can because words are escaping you and all you can think about is him, hovering over you, pushing into you, breathing your air and nudging your cheek.

“You feel- You feel so good,” he breathes, pushing further. You nod in agreement and tug him closer still, until he’s in as far as he can go, filling you to the hilt.

The proximity dazzles you as you open your eyes and examine his face. The scrunch between his brows, the freckles across his crooked nose, his teeth biting firm into his lip. It feels only natural to lean up and plot a path of kisses across the hills of his face, bright, happy kisses that relax him until he can kiss you back. He lets the weight of his body fall into yours, keeping some pressure on his arm so as not to crush you entirely, but the feeling of closeness is too comfortable for him to forego.

He speaks into the flesh of your cheek when he says, “I’m going to start moving, okay?”

“Yes,” you pant, and he does, pulling slowly away before pushing back. The friction of the movement over your clit adds to the swelling feeling of fullness each time he returns to you, and the pleasure is almost overwhelming. You take heavy breaths until they become moans, matched by his own noises. Your head is empty and all you want to do is become him; being here, underneath him, is never quite enough. Instead you wish you could, in this moment, under the stars and the moon and wrapped in the night breeze, merge with your knight and stay here forever.

Your lazy daydreams are interrupted when he groans and mutters some kind of praise into your hairline: You’re doing so well. Fuck, so good. And then, to your surprise, you feel his free hand traverse the expanse of your body, between the two of you, over the hill of your stomach until the pads of his fingers find your clit.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Perhaps you haven’t melted together, but this somehow got even better. His cock moves just as quick as he draws lucid circles with his middle and ring fingers over you. He kindles the flame like an expert as his mouth drops kisses messily across your own lips. That’s it: everything is messy, lazy, desperate. He moves and kisses and whispers please, come on, come for me, are you okay? I know you can do it, you feel so good, you’re beautiful.

The hot wire returns. It burns as it coils, tighter and tighter around an abyss in your gut, tugging on each limb like you might implode and become a black hole right here in your bed.

“Eddie, oh my god-”

“Come on.”

“Unngh- It feels s- So good-”

“Come on, sweetheart.”

His movements never relent as you come, the wire burning out in a white-hot bang. You yelp, moaning his name, and he keeps going through it all, kissing you silly all over your face. It’s only when you start to squirm that he slows, brings his busy hand out from between the two of you and smiles. He allows himself a moment to watch you, face lax and mouth agape, sweaty brow and hair a mess, before he taps your hollow cheek with his knuckles.

You open heavy eyes to look back at him and watch as he smirks down at you and brings two messy fingers to his mouth. He’s still inside you and he feels it, the way you squeeze him just slightly as he tastes you on his tongue, making a little show of it for you. He hears you gasp, panting like a dog, and even the moan that leaves you when he pulls his fingers free and they glisten in the low light. “Holy shit,” you breathe, and he breaks out in a grin before he can stop himself. “Holy shit, Eddie.”

“Happy?” he asks.

“Happy? Fuck yeah, I’m happy.”

His laughter is deep and loud, a rumble from his chest that makes you grin back at him.

“What about you?” you ask, eyes drooping again, bringing the back of your hand to your forehead. It burns there, like you have a fever. You must look a state.

“I’m more than happy,” he says, smiling. “You up for a little more?

You look at him. “Hm?”

“I, uh… I’m hard as a fuckin’ rock,” he admits, flushing, “And you… You feel so good, and I’d like to… Y’know.”

He feels bad for a second when your eyes widen and you look down quickly. “Oh, Eddie, shit, did you not- Oh my god, I’m so selfish, are you okay?”

Your hands are everywhere all of a sudden, pawing at his arms and his chest, your fawning interrupted by another bellowing laugh. When you giggle back, he winces, feeling it in the way your body pulls him tighter.

“I’m fine,” he assures you, “But I want to try something.”

“Of course,” you say.

“You sure you’re okay to keep going?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “I want to help you, I want you to feel good too.”

“Hold on, then,” he says, threading an arm between your back and the sweat-damp mattress. You wind your arms back around his neck and yelp when he swings you around, all the while keeping his cock firmly inside your walls.

“Fuck,” you splutter, planting your hands either side of his head.

He likes this view. Your face hovering over his, your knees either side of his waist. He holds you by the hips, feeling the curves and dips, pushing impatient fingers into the flesh at the base of your back.

“God, you are gorgeous,” he says. He likes this view, too, watching you flush and bat your eyelashes, made nervous under his gaze and by his lovely, genuine words.

“Not too bad yourself,” you respond, smiling, lifting one hand to push curls from his warm face.

This feeling is new but it’s lovely. Gravity pulls you onto him and it feels as though he’s somehow even deeper than before. His hands at your ass fist at the flesh there and he tells you he’s going to help you, that you may be worn out and that’s okay, and as he helps you lift yourself upwards, you get the hang of it.

You plant your hands firmly on the expanse of his chest and drop yourself down before pushing yourself back up again. It helps to sit upright so you do, letting him hold you and watch you and god, his face is a picture.

He’s scrunching his nose again, eyes tight as he huffs each time you drop onto him. He’s droopy and blissful as you move up and down, circling your hips just a bit, letting him guide you. It burns after so long but it’s nothing compared to the warmth in your chest watching him near the edge. His stomach tenses, the muscles flexing between your thighs, as his breathing becomes more ragged. And suddenly his arms come up your back and pull you down flush and inside your walls, his cock sits as far in as he can push it. You feel him stiffen and shudder and the warmth as he comes inside, hugging you close, his forehead on your shoulder.

He warns you as he pulls out, and then you lie still, spent, limbs going soft together. The sky is a pale blue-green now, the sun soon to cross the horizon. You can hear birds, and the soft morning light coats your skin in a kind of effervescent glow.

Eddie’s breathing lulls you into a doze, but after a short while he stirs. The space between your core and his is sticky and damp and it’s uncomfortable for a short moment, until he tells you quietly that he’s going to get up and get a rag. He moves you softly onto your back and you sigh, a happy, contented sound, watching him move around your space so comfortably.

He returns from the water basin with a damp cloth, cleaning the remnants of your night from between your legs. You wince when he does, only because you’re tired and sore and the cloth is cold, but he apologises and kisses the inside of your knee.

“Eddie?”

He’s at the basin again, rinsing the rag. “Mhm?”

“Do you really think everyone will be gone until the afternoon?”

You catch him smiling at your question, like he knows what’s coming.

“If you want to play it safe, lets say noon.”

“And what time is it now?”

He looks over to the clock, which sits above your mantlepiece, ticking softly.

“Early,” is all he says. “Early enough.”

“Stay with me?”

He drops the rag over the side of the basin and pads over to you. The mattress dips as he rejoins you, this time lifting your sheets to bury the two of you beneath them.

“I told you,” he says quietly, kissing the peak of your shoulder and pulling you in, his arm around your waist, “I have all the time in the world for you.”

-

The castle is bustling. People rush here and there, carrying armfuls of floral arrangements, buckets of wine, heaving plates of food. Your home is lively and noisy and your mother is pacing, directing the placement of each bouquet and chair.

In your chamber, the noise seems far away. Your maids finish tying your corset and your shoe ribbons before filtering off to complete other tasks. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror above your fireplace. Red really is your colour.

There’s a resolute knock at your door. The maids stand to attention and move out of your way as your knight pushes the doors open and you step through to the hall.

“Thank you, Dustin,” you say to him.

Your new knight, a replacement both for Eddie and for the man who took his place all those months ago, bows kindly at your regards. He’s young, younger than yourself and Eddie, but keen and worthy and you’re more than happy.

And then he appears, your beacon, a gorgeous vision of handsome beauty.

Eddie, Ser Munson, your knight. Or, rather, your former knight. He’s been promoted to fiancé.

He stands at the top of the stairs, looking back at you like you hung the stars. To him, you may as well have. You are all he has eyes for now, especially now, after giving up his duties and telling your father: Your daughter is my true and only duty.

“My god,” he breathes. You step over to him, too giddy to maintain any air of grace or class. Your step is more like skipping, your love for him giving you far too much energy to merely walk to him.

He holds his arm for you and you take it, leaning up on tip-toes to give him a chaste kiss to the cheek.

“How do you do it?” he says in a low voice, dipping his head so you can hear him as the two of you descend the stairs, Dustin in step behind you.

You’re smiling while you cling to his arm. “Hm?”

“How do you keep getting more beautiful?”

“Just think, Munson,” you say in a whisper, “By the time we’re one hundred, think of how beautiful I’ll be by then.”

“I dread to think,” he says sarcastically, squeezing your arm with his. You look up at him and the noise and fervour of the castle falls away. He looks back down at you and smiles, and it’s truly the only thing that matters.

The engagement party, your sisters, your parents, your birthright - what is any of it for, what does any of it mean, when you have the one thing you ever wanted?

-

author’s note  Hey! Thanks for reading (or scrolling all this way). It's been so long since I uploaded my last fic and I’ve been lurking ever since - I miss u all but there isn’t really any room in my life for writing anymore. I have loved doing this and thank you all so so much for reading everything! I’ll be about, so the blog will stay and you can read whatever you want whenever you want. I love ya, I’ll miss ya, see ya l8r!

[wheneverfeasible]

Omegaverse AU where Steve presents as an alpha just like his father always wanted, just like everyone expects, just like he was supposed to. He exclusively dates betas, scoffing and saying omegas weren’t good enough for him. He said they were too needy, too annoying, too pathetic. He was an alpha.

He hates it.

The truth is that Steve always wanted to be an omega, always wanted to soft and taken care of, wanted to be pupped up, wanted to avoid the stupid knotheads that he was forced to surround himself with, forced to pretend to be. He never dated an omega because he wants to be one and wants desperately for another alpha to take him as their own.

Enter Eddie, an alpha unlike any other. He scorns alphas like Steve and Tommy and Billy and all the other knotheads who act like they’re so much better than anyone else just because of their secondary gender. He rants on top of cafeteria tables about it, has ever since he presented and actually had the other alphas try to talk to him at first as if he was one of them.

No fucking thank you.

Steve is…not enamored, but curious about the super senior. Nancy broke up with him, he and Tommy are sort of on the outs though still barely friends, and Billy has a one-sided rivalry for the crown Steve currently wore, not that Steve truly cared about it.

Blah blah blah, Steve propositions Eddie after watching him for a while, realizing that Eddie might just be the sort of alpha who would fuck Steve and let him pretend to be an omega for a little while, meanwhile Eddie thinks King Steve wants to start shit with him like a knotheaded alpha and is wary and lightly mocking at first, until he realizes what Steve wants.

Steve and Eddie become fuckbuddies, nothing more, where Steve gets to role play as an omega and have Eddie dominate him, who seems to know that Steve wants to pretend to be cared for rather than playing the slut role he’s been doing as an alpha, and Steve actually breaks down in tears the first time Eddie calls him “good boy” and “good omega” though they both pretend he didn’t.

And you see, bitching isn’t really well known yet. It’s not really a thing that’s spoken about amongst polite society. So neither of them clock it when, as their feelings for each other grow, Steve becomes a little more emotional, a little more irrational in regards to Eddie’s attention, and they use scent blockers and neutralizers all the time to keep their affairs secret, so they don’t notice Steve’s scent changing, or the fact that he’s starting to become more than just artificially wet, or his knot doesn’t really pop like it used to because they both steadfastly had ignored it for so long to play the role right.

And it’s just not known. It’s not something that’s really spoken about, so they’d never think about it.

So no, they don’t notice anything until it’s too late, until it happens, and Steve is suddenly thrown into a spontaneous heat after an intense basketball game or something, the final stages of his transition. There was too much sweating, too much testosterone, that the blockers and neutralizers don’t really cut it anymore.

Billy makes the winning shot as the heat hits, making Steve’s legs collapse under him as slick coats his drawers and shorts, dripping down his thighs. All alpha heads suddenly towards him as his new true scent bursts out, surprise on all their faces, even hunger on some.

Billy and Tommy both take a step towards him but are forced to stop by a growl that reverberates through Steve as if it were his own as the familiar scent hits him of blockers and tobacco and weed and leather and that stupid cheap shampoo/conditioner/body wash 3-in-1 that Eddie uses as strong arms wrap around him and dark hair cascades around him.

Because he’s there. His alpha. He’s always there, hiding in the corner or under bleachers or somewhere where Steve can’t see him and he’s always there because this stupid thing between them has become so much more than either of them ever expected and he’s so protective of his omega because Steve is his omega even when he was an alpha because he was always an omega even when he wasn’t biologically.

It isn’t ideal. It far from fucking ideal, but Eddie whisks Steve away in his arms, whispering those words of praise that used to only belong in their role play, but Steve is burning up and he can’t wait can’t wait can’t wait can’t wait can’twaitcan’twaitcan’tfuckingwait—

And Eddie pulls him into classroom, locks and bars the door with desks and chairs and whatever else, and then he’s there he’s there he’stherehe’stherehe’sthere.

Eddie wants to bite, wants to mark, wants to claim, but he knows now isn’t the time so all he does is help Steve through it while he’s all but delirious from the sudden heat rewriting him completely.

Afterwards, they will talk. They will confess. They will admit. They will acknowledge that they were his alpha, his omega, and had been for longer than either of them realized. They will slink to Eddie’s car, go to Eddie’s trailer, will wash off all scents artificial and other until the them, finally just them and they will find the truth in each other. They will find a love that thrived against all odds. A love that beat fate itself.

Eddie does eventually bite him, and Steve completes it with his own, and eventually Steve gets his and his alpha’s pups like he always wanted and he can bask in the knowledge that he was exactly where he was always meant to be, with an alpha that loves and cherishes him exactly as he is, with a pack both of his own pups and the pups he all but adopted as their babysitter and real friends he gathered along the way he never thought he would be lucky enough to have.

It’s not easy at first. Of course it’s not. Something practically unheard of happened in a small conservative town like Hawkins. There were bigots and hateful people galore, and at times it even tested Steve and Eddie, but they always survived and always came out on the other side hand-in-hand and triumphant in their growing love.

They know that the best things in life are worth fighting for. And they vowed to never stop fighting. For themselves, for each other, and for everyone and everything they hold dear.

And they have fantastic sex along the way.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

♥︎PAC: 🧡💐Messages from your Future Spouse 💐🧡

•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

🫧✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!🫧

🪅If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🪅

💐Masterlist💐

���Pile 1: The Fool, Page of Wands and The Magician.

Hi Pile 1! Your FS is coming to let you know that everything is gonna be okay. If you have been in a transformative journey, doubting yourself or just feeling lost, your FS wants to let you know that you are capable of everything and more.

Don't be scared of the future, and, most of all, don't sell yourself short. You have the power to achieve all your goals, and your person wants you to let go of your lacking mindset regarding yourself. They are you #1 fan Pile 1, so don't be so hard on yourself, "i wish you could see yourself the way that i see you" is what i heard.

Focus in the present and don't worry about what can go wrong, when in fact you should be excited for whats coming next.

You have everything you need in yourself, you don't need anyone else approval pr help, start trusting yourself more!

They love you a lot and wants to see you loving yourself the way they do!

🧡Song:

🧡Pile 2: 3 of Wands, Page of Swords and King of Swords.

Hi pile 2! Your FS wants to let you know that you are on the right path and it's time to celebrate yourself. Your person has a sassy energy pile 2, it's really charismatic and clever with their words. They want you to go out, have fun and just live to your fullest. You may have achieve a big Milestone in your life or you will achieve something big soon.

Your FS wants to remind you that you work hard so you also deserve to "party hard" is what i heard. They want you to take care pf yourself and remember that you are also a person and not just a robot. It's okay to not be productive 24/7, and it's more than okay to have fun.

Start celebrating your success, even the little ones; you come so far already that they want to give you "a big kiss" is what i heard 😅 Your person is truly something pile 2! Lucky you!

🧡Song:

🧡Pile 3: King of Cups, 10 of Cups and 5 of Cups.

Hi pile 3! Your FS just wants to let you know how much they love you. It's such a beautiful energy to have around honestly. If you have been feeling lonely, they want you to know that they are always around you, taking care of you and loving you always. Doves and Birds in general could be significant for this pile.

They want you to know that you are not alone and that you don't need to change. You are perfect the way you are and they wouldn't want you any other way. If other's don't see the value that you hold, then is their problem, it has nothing to do with you.

Remember to put boundaries and don't let other's take advantage of you; they love your kind and loving energy, but they also know that other's see this as a chace of tricking you. Make sure that you are feeling good and surronded by lighthearded people that loves you as much as they do. You deserve nothing but love and light, and they want you to know that they will be ready to give you the love that you deserve 🩷

🧡Song:

🧡💐Thanks for reading and tell me if it resonated!💐🧡

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Rook Hunt - Savanaclaw Dorm Uniform Voice Lines

Savanaclaw Dorm Uniform Rook does not have a vignette

When Summoned: I vow here and now upon my ever-burning tenacious spirit that I shall repay this favor!

Summon Line: Welcome to Savanaclaw! ...I kid. It's a rather strange sensation to stand before you in this attire.

Groooovy!!: For the sake of bringing back the beautiful world that I cherish... I must strike to put a stop to this treacherous dream!

Home: Ah yes, I feel the spirit of persistence flowing through me.

Swap Looks: Time for a short break.

Home Idle 1: My hair is easily damaged by UV rays. If I don't take proper care of it, it starts to develop a wheat-like texture.

Home Idle 2: Oh là là! There are holes in my denim jeans around my knees... This would always happen whenever I would get caught up in chasing after animals.

Home Idle 3: You know how we stay in shared rooms until our junior year? As I thoroughly enjoy private time to myself, I found it quite nervewracking.

Home Idle - Login: I never would have imagined being able to traverse through a dream like this. ...My heart leaps in anticipation of the beautiful world I will witness!

Home Idle - Groovy: I truly do wish to see a movie where Neige-kun and Vil are both together the lead roles. One day, when that happens, you and I should go watch together!

Home Tap 1: I had forgotten just how easy it was to move around in the Savanaclaw dorm uniform... It's a refreshing sensation, especially since I'm more used to the Pomefiore dorm uniform now.

Home Tap 2: Are you interested in the paper I keep in my waist pouch? I keep these on hand to easily sketch my observations, or attach notes to arrows.

Home Tap 3: The King of Beasts overcame adversity and after strenuous efforts, was able to secure the throne. I absolutely hold his persistent spirit in high regards.

Home Tap 4: Truthfully, in the past, I would always just cut my bangs with a knife. At the time all I cared about was to keep my vision clear, after all.

Home Tap 5: My hat is dirty? Ah, you're right, it's covered in leaves, sticks, and even dirt... Fufu, if Vil were to see this unsightly mess, I would be in for a tongue-lashing.

Home Tap - Groovy: I find it slightly embarrassing to have others witnessing my innermost thoughts. Of course, you would keep to yourself anything you see or hear in my dreams... Wouldn't you?

Duo: [ROOK]: Vil, I dedicate this victory to you! [VIL]: Do ensure that you take them down, Rook.

Requested by @thelonepearl.

[nervoushottee]

Go For It | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: Steve has been your “movie guy” at Family Video for a while now. Little does he know that the main reason you’ve been buying these movies is to flirt with him and just maybe ask him out…

Warnings: Steve being oblivious babygirl

Note: hey hottees! Happy New Year! I hope to be writing a lot more on Tumblr💗

(Possibly might be a Smut Part 2?? Let me know if you guys want one?)

——————-

The bell chimes as you enter the door of Family Video. A smile on your lips and an intent in mind as you walk confidently toward the front counter. “There’s my favorite customer.” Steve says to you with his signature smile.

Steve Harrrington, the “boy next door”, the ex- “King Steve” or for your case, “The hot Family Video employee that has a hard time understanding that you’re flirting with him.”

For the past two weeks you’ve been coming into the movie store in need of new movies to watch. The first time you came was truly because you were in need of something new and Steve in all his strong, beautiful and delicious glory helped you no problem with finding a comedy for you and your girlfriends to watch one night.

You could hardly understand half of what he was telling you about the movie when you were purchasing it. You were too busy ogling his toned arms and the many freckles across his face. You wondered if you played your cards right, you’d be able to see if there were any more freckles in other more delicate places.

The movie he recommended wasn’t actually bad and you jokingling made him your “movie guy”. You had said it to flirt and make him laugh but Steve took it seriously. He stood proud, almost cocky saying, “If you ever need a new movie, I’m your man.” pointing his thumb towards himself as you return the movie back to him a few days later.

You did in fact let him be your man and nearly spent half your pay checks each week to come in and buy movies. You would flirt and banter with him and Steve would laugh and banter right back with you.You could tell he enjoyed your company but you weren’t too sure if he was getting what you were throwing down.

One day, you came to return a movie and Steve was on his break so Robin did it instead. The two of you both knew of each other. Being in the same classes from time to time throughout the school years but you never had any mutual friends. You both talked as Robin ringed up the movie for a return and a calm silence covered you both.

Your rings made clinking noise with every tap of your fingers with the rhythm of whatever song was playing softly through the store speakers.

That sudden calm was quickly interrupted by an eager Robin.

“I think you should just go for it.” she blurts out to you.

You turn your head to see the girl staring back at you. Not too sure (you’re pretty sure) what she was referring to you tell her as such. “Go for what?” Robin looks back to where you assume is the back room door to see if Steve was coming out.

“Ask Steven out.” she whispers to you with an amused gleam in her eyes.

You peek over to the same door Robin had looked back at only seconds before, before you lean over the counter closer to her and whisper. “You think?? Because I’ve been subtly flirting with him for almost a month and he hasn’t shown much interest.”

The short haired dirty blonde eyes widen in shock, “Pfftt. Oh he’s totally interested. Number one, I mean look at you you’re gorgeous, I mean your pretty cool gal. Number 2, Steve doesn’t know if someone is flirting with him unless he’s the one that seeks them out. I know he had this “reputation” a while back but that ship has long sailed for a while and he hasn’t been doing that well in the flirtatious department if we’re being honest.” Robin says all this to you rapidly, adding finger quotation marks when she says “reputation”.

“And Number 3 and please listen when I say this. Sometimes Steve isn’t the brightest fish in the sea. If he was a dog, you would need to tell him that the bone is a treat before you give it to him or else he’ll think it's a friend and play fetch with it or something.” she finishes.

You try to take in all that she said as much as you could, trying to understand the innuendo she threw in at the end. Nodding at her words you eyes going unfocused as you get lost in your head in thought. After a few seconds you eventually grab the receipt Robin hands you.

“So yea I think you should go for it. Trust me you won’t be disappointed.” she says with a smile.

You tell her that you’ll keep it in mind and thank her before leaving the video store.

The conversation between the two of you was a few days ago.

But today, today was the day you were going to ask Steve out. You made the decision the night before. You put on your favorite outfit, listened to the songs that make you feel the most confident and didn’t forget to tell yourself some positive affirmations before you left. There was also a pint of mint chip ice cream waiting for you in the freezer just in case Robin was lying and this all didn’t go how you wanted to. (You were just making sure to check every box.)

So here you were at the counter that Steve stood behind as he leaned over to get closer to you as he spoke. “So did Jim and Janine like “Die Hard”?”.

Jim was your neighbor who you’ve known since you were young. Him and his wife Janine were in need of something new to watch and you offered to get them a movie. Saying that you knew a guy who gave out pretty good suggestions. Was it another excuse for you to show up at his job and flirt with the boy? Yes but your neighbors didn’t need to know.

“They loved it, it is definitely going to be a favorite for them.” you say to him. Steve is clearly happy with your response telling you as always that he’s happy to help.

You try to take a subtle deep breath to gather as much confidence and bravery before speaking. ‘Here it goes’, you think to yourself. “Aside from returning this,” you place both hands over the movie you placed on the counter. Rings clinking against the plastic cover.

“I am looking for something to watch for myself and I’m in need of your recommendations.” You say to him.

Steve nods his head, “No problem. Any genre you in mood for? Maybe a little action movie for yourself or a good comedy.” He places the “Die Hard” movie in the return pile next to Robin who you had no clue was even there until just now. You lock eyes with her briefly as she gives you a subtle thumbs up and mouths “go for it”.

“I think I’m in the mood for romance. Any suggestions?” You tell him softly.

Steve drums the table with his hand repeatedly as he thinks. You assume he has a movie in mind once he walks from behind the front counter and walks toward you. He places his hand lightly against the middle of your back and leads you toward the romance section. “I have a few movies in mind that you might like.”

The two of you are in the romance aisle. Between two shelves that cause you both to be a lot closer compared to the distance you were before. The front counter made a barrier between the two of you. But now you can see every detail of Steve Harrington. The small freckles against his arms, the sweet yet warm scent of his cologne as he passes you to pick up a couple movies for your suggestion. The tip of his tongue sticking out against his lip as he concentrates. Looking between each movie to choose the perfect one for you. Fuck, he’s too cute and you hope he says yes to your proposal.

“Here we are m’lady.” His voice brings you out of spacing out thinking about how cute Steve was. You smile to bring yourself back and hope Steve couldn’t tell you were staring at him and daydreaming. He raises two movies, one in each hand out to you.

“We have the great “Sixteen Candles”. A very cute and classic Rom-Com deal.” He starts to tell you about the movie, a short and sweet summary of the movie without giving any spoilers.

“And if you’re not feeling for that we’ve got “Endless Love”, a bit more of romance and with a good amount of dramatic flair.” He gives the short rundown of that movie without giving any spoilers for that one also.

You nod your hand and act as if you’re thinking of choosing one or the other. “Both good choices.” You say to him which earns you a beautiful Steve Harrington smile.

Here it goes.

“There’s a new movie that came out not too long ago. I don’t know if it's on video yet or if you guys even have it. It’s um- I can’t remember the name. There’s a guy works at a laundromat in the movie-” you start, looking a bit confused as you act as if you’re trying to remember the name of the movie that’s been repeating in your head about a thousand times since last night.

“Oh yea we do I think. One sec.” Steve walks further down the aisle and skims the shelves for the movie you were talking about. He picks it up and walks back toward you waving the movie in his hand. “This is the one right?” He hands it to you.

You nod happily, “Yea! That’s the one.” you look up at him smiling brightly and he’s smiling right back you. He asks if you were searching for any more movies and with a shake of your head, he leads you back to the register to cash out the movie.

Robin is no longer standing behind the counter but she’s acting as if she’s making herself useful. Stocking a few shelves with movies. It’s her subtle attempt to give your privacy to ask Steve out but still be able to eavesdrop on the whole thing.

Steve walks behind the counter and begins to ring up the movie, muttering the lyrics to the song from the radio in the background. You think to yourself that now is a good time as any to ask him out. You won’t get this opportunity again. Despite Robin teling you about Steve’s lack of dates, you doubt that’s going to last forever. I mean look at him, he’s Steve Harrington.

You clear you’re throat before speaking, “So uh-How many movies does a girl have to buy for you to ask her out?”

Steve freezes in what he’s doing, the movie in his hand as he stares at you. His eyebrows raised in curiosity and shock. “What?”

You don’t let his confusion or shock stop you. You’re on a roll now, you can’t just quit.

“This movie is still in theaters. It’s not that busy now but I still would love to see it on the big screen. Maybe instead of me getting this tape,” you grab the movie softly from his hands. Steve still so frozen in shock he lets you. You place the movie down on the counter and slide it away.

“Maybe you and I can go see it? If you want, that is.” you finish.

You look up at him sweetly and Steve blinks once, twice, a few more times. He swallows like theres a lump stuck in his throat and before he speaks, he nods.

“Ye-Yea.” he starts, his voice cracking at first before he clears his throat and shakes his head subtly to get shake himself out of it.

“Yea uh that’d be great.” He finally responds.

You smile brightly at him. You go on your tippy toes to reach over the counter for the pen that was in the front pocket of his jeans. You hear Steve gasp slightly before you go back to how you were normally standing.

You grab his arm softly and he lets you and you uncap the pen. “I’m free on Saturday but you can call me so we can figure out a time that works for you.” you say to him, writing your number on his arm. You put a heart and small smiley face at the end of it before handing the pen back to him with a smile.

You don’t let him say anything else to you as you say goodbye and begin to walk away. But that’s before you see Robin out of the corner of your eye who gives you a wink and a big thumbs up. You exit Family Video and walk a few paces before letting out an excited squeal when there was no one around.

You just scored yourself a date with Steve Harrington.

��� — — — —

(Did I use Joe Kerry’s song as the title…maybe)

HEY HOTTEES OMG ITS BEEN SO LONG <3

Small life update, Im a working girlie so thats where most of my time goes and im way too tired to do anything else but sleep. But hopefully this year that changes!

I miss my friends on here and I hope to make new ones so please don’t be shy to send me a message!!

Hoped you enjoyed this fic of reader being down bad in need for Steve

[aloeveratarot]

what do others admire about you?

pick a card ᡣ𐭩

note: this is just a short general reading so if anything does not seem to resonate please simply let it go. feedback and requests are very welcome.

pile 1:

page of cups, king of pentacles, the empress, death

ᡣ𐭩 other people admire that you always seem to be organised, structured, well-dressed and put together ~ you may be the type of person with super neat hand-writing or your makeup always seems to look very clean. you seem polished and beautiful. what you wear seems to harmonically add to your very admirable appearance ~ hair, jewellery or sense of fashion.

ᡣ𐭩 other people also admire your seemingly effortless femininity ~ you may speak softly yet it has an impact. you may also be able to see through people ~ on first impressions you seem sweet but really there is a lot more to you, especially when it comes to your intellect.

ᡣ𐭩 another message that i'm getting is that others admire your ability to persevere through difficultly ~ this may be a trauma, loss or any major struggle that you have faced. for those who do know of what happened admire your strength and are amazed at the person you have become.

pile 2:

nine of wands, ten of wands, the sun, the high priestess

ᡣ𐭩 other people admire all that you are able to take on ~ responsibilities and hard work. for some of you, you may have been through a very tough or even devastating situation in your life and other people admire your bravery for having gone through that. you've done so much and come over the other side and yet you still radiate warmth, positivity and light. you may be very courageous or strong willed too.

ᡣ𐭩 again, with this pile you seem to not pass on your struggles to others ~ you never burden others and you always show up with an uplifting energy. you bring joy to the life of others simply by being yourself.

ᡣ𐭩 another message that i'm getting is that you may be highly intuitive and other's see this as a gift of yours. this makes you mysterious as well and others love this about you. you seem to know things instinctively. plus, you may be really good at giving advice and guidance to others.

pile 3:

four of pentacles, five of cups, seven of swords, the lovers

ᡣ𐭩 you are a very trust worthy person and others admire that they can be open and vulnerable with you. you may always be there for others and tend to give them more so realistic advice. others feel safe around you as well ~ you can keep a secret, you're truly there for others and are not easily lured in by gossip or drama.

ᡣ𐭩 you're vey empathetic and caring. you may easily feel the emotions of others and you're always there to do what you can to support them. although, i'm getting the sense that you're not only emotionally intelligent, you also have very good discernment when it comes to judging other people's character. other's wish they could see that too.

ᡣ𐭩 if you're in a relationship, other people may idealise it and admire it greatly. if you're single then i'm getting the sense that other people admire your attractiveness ~ especially when it comes to the opposite sex. i'm getting a slight bit of jealousy mixed in with that sort of admiration though ~ so be a little cautious.

[astrotruther]

What's going on with your future spouse? [short PAC]

Group 1. Yoongi —–► Group 2. Suga —–► Group 3. Agust D

Group 1 ➛ 3 of Wands, reversed.

They could've travelled quite a bit but chose to settle in their home country eventually. They may have had a long-distance relationship that didn't end well. They may still have baggage from it which is why they're hesitant towards commitment. They are an optimistic person and their energy seems a bit shy.

Group 2 ➛ The Devil

They have a long journey of growth ahead. If their Saturn Return is near, that's a good sign. I feel like that would be a significant time in their life. They need to work on either one or all of these things: shadow self, materialism, addiction. They could be trapped in an unhealthy lifestyle currently. They have to pull themselves out of it and be free.

Group 3 ➛ King of Swords & King of Pentacles

This person is in a very high position in their field, and are very respected within it. They're the top dog! A mentor/ role-model. They're also self-made which makes them even more inspirational. They're intelligent and know how to make money. They might have one or multiple streams of passive income. They're truly reaping the rewards of their hard work. They might wanna work on their sensitivity though because they seem a bit detached, almost too practical. Some could be workaholics or use their work as escapism.

Thank you for reading my first PAC, sending lots of love and healing to all, especially those who are struggling with personal demons. You will heal and the world will witness as you rise from the ashes like a phoenix! 𓆩♡𓆪

Click daily to help Palestinians🍉🙏🏽: https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/