#I just know I've written her in something that's already 'published'

[pastafossa]

I have two questions:

1. Have you ever considered writing a book that you would want to get published?

2. I wonder if you will explore Matt’s blindness in TRT. Like for example at the end of the day Matt did lose his eyesight and maybe sometimes wished he could see Jane. It doesn’t have to be a big thing because Matt has accepted his disability but like a moment when he’s just really wants it. Idk I thought it would cool

1. I’ve thought about it, yes! And I’ve actually got an (unedited) trilogy of vaguely humorous, post-apocalyptic scifi adventure books that’s like... halfway written, and that I’d love to get published. I was actually in the process of working on Book 1 when Covid hit, and then my writer’s group kinda... collapsed, which is when I promptly discovered that as an extrovert, I desperately need interaction to make The Story go. No interaction, no drive (and that’s also why fic works fine). And sometimes I toy with the idea of starting up again, maybe with a new writer’s group. I’m also looking into taking a lot of the original elements of TRT and then self-publishing that (with some changes to get Disney off my back obvs), which would let me keep the fic up, too. Not sure! I definitely have plans to try to get a book published eventually though!

2. Sometimes I’ve thought about it! I may touch on it eventually, though very, very delicately. Like you said, it wouldn’t be big because I really do think Matt’s accepted he’s blind and he doesn’t see it as a bad thing, and it’s really not. I do admittedly think he probably still gets understandably frustrated at how blatantly inaccessible some things still are (ex: i literally walked by a coffee shop that had a printed piece of paper inside the window in small print that said ‘large print or braille menu accessible on request!’ and I was like... ok but a blind/visually impaired person can’t read that???). Cause that’s the truth of it - he is still blind. He’s got a disability that affects his day to day and even if he’s happy the way he is (or that’s how I read him), he still needs his aids. I’ve tried to make that clear in TRT - Jane’s taken up his labeling system with braille, she leaves things in *very* specific places because Matt’s got an organization system he needs, he uses his ear pieces and refreshable braille display. And yeah, as someone who’s disabled myself, I could see him now and then going... ‘I wish I could see just for a second’ when there’s no solution for something - when he’s touching old pictures of his dad, or now and then when he’s with Jane, in the same way I’m sometimes like, ‘I wish I could literally run somewhere without pain, just to feel the wind’. It’s a passing thought usually, but it’s probably there now and then for him. So the thought’s rattling around in my brain, definitely. If the right moment in fic comes I can see touching on it!

[sl-vega]

[ 💌 ] - VOICELINES ABOUT YOU - genshin x reader

✮⋆˙ voicelines that the characters would have about you in game, whether you be a partner or someone they have feelings for <3 + voicelines other characters would have spectating your relationship (open to doing more characters if requested!)

��� characters: kazuha & venti

cw; potentially ooc, lowk cringe, reader is not shown but only stated, the characters are talking about (y/n) to the traveler (kept vague onto whether it's lumine or aether), reader is gn, relationship with y/n + the characters varies <3

divider creds to @anemichorizon2 <3

KAEDEHARA KAZUHA - [🍁]

↳ about y/n

"The person from Yae Publishing House that you always see me with? Ah, you must be referring to (Y/N)! I've been acquainted with them for quite some time, whenever Beidou and I visit Narukami Island, they always manage to show me any new books they have in stock. They've been dabbling in writing poems here and there as well, their eyes light up whenever they show me a new piece that they've written, it's quite adorable really..."

"Hm? What was that traveler? My...relationship with them? Why we're friends of course, what else?"

"...What's with that expression on your face? Ah, no it's not like that...you sound just like Beidou whenever I bring them up around her, you know that?"

beidou - about (y/n) and kazuha

"Kazuha's insisted on taking stops by Narukami Island a lot more frequently as of late, thankfully he doesn't bother playing the fool with me-he knows that I know him well enough to see right through an act like that- as for why you ask? To visit that little shop clerk that's caught his eye of course."

"Last time I saw them together, he was looking at them as if they were the only person in the world. Not to mention how he's constantly gushing about the poems and haikus they exchange, and whenever we arrive in Ritou, (Y/N) is always the first person to greet them, they get all sappy whenever he has to leave with the rest of the crew as well. I do have to admit that they make a good pair, he's happy with her, and as cheesy as they are, I'm happy he's found someone that makes him feel that way. Don't tell him I said that though."

yae miko - about (y/n) and kazuha

"Ah, you want to know more about my favourite employee and their silly little school girl crush on that samurai? It's straight out of a romantic light novel in all honesty, the way they look so dreamy-eyed and entranced whenever he comes to visit, simply and positively adorable. Whenever they call in sick or ask for someone else to cover their shift I always find out that Kazuha happens to be in the area on the same day, ah...young love."

VENTI - [🎼]

↳ about y/n

"Traveler! Look at this bottle of Dandelion Wine I managed to snag from the Angel's Share! And no, I didn't steal it mind you, someone gifted it to me. You know (Y/N)? Oh, you haven't met them? Well they work part-time as a bartender at the Angel's Share, and they're wonderful company."

"I always make sure to grab a drink whenever they have a shift. They're very sweet on me too, sometimes they give me a discount, and if I'm lucky, they give me something on the house!"

"They always listen to my tales and performances at the tavern as well, and they always have the most witty and amusing commentary to accompany my performances, I honestly think that they're one of the few reasons that Diluc doesn't kick me out that often anymore..."

diluc - about (y/n) and venti

"Venti's been coming to the tavern a lot more than usual, which is saying a lot. Whenever I'm working part time as a bartender at the Angel's Share and he comes to order something he always looks incredibly disappointed when he sees me there. Hm? Don't worry I'm not daft, I already know why. Just...let me know if it ever looks like he's getting too close, (Y/N) treats him like some lost kitten, a few whines and a sad little look and they fold just like a frame sign. I don't want him getting into the habit of expecting free drinks all the time either."

kaeya - about (y/n) and venti

"You know that bard's sweet little partner? Well, they aren't actually partners-not yet, at least- and they're quite lovely, whenever they serve me at the tavern they're always so polite and kind. Me and Rosaria have a little bet going on regarding their relationship with Venti. What does the bet entail? Why who will ask who out first of course! My money's on Venti, Rosaria put her mora on the cute little bartender. Why do you ask? Wanna join?"

🍓 TAGLIST; @shrii-kk

[leclarifies]

Girlie, please do part 2 to letters!! That was so good!!!

kiss me, under the paris twilight (MV33)

part II to letters

꒰ max verstappen x childhoodbestfriend! reader ꒱

synopsis┊after max announces his retirement and the both of you publishing your relationship to the world, he has a devious plan up his sleeve.

genre┊fluffy, slight smut.

word count┊3.1k

aria yaps┊ask, and you shall receive!!! anyways, i FREAKING LOVED WRITING THIS as per usual, this has been my favorite series i've done so far. it's so fluffy, so cute. the traction the first part got had me SCARED. the amount of people asking for a part 2 was crazy, so here it is! i hope you enjoyed it! i threw in some social media posts in there to keep it entertaining as well :3

"(blue eyed dutch boy) got me trippin', how your skin is always soft? how your kisses always hit? how you know just where to-" - lisa, "moonlit floor (kiss me)"

PARIS, FRANCE.

max had wanted to get away from the landscape of formula one, he had told her that he wanted some alone time after being away from her for so long and she accepted, not being in belgium long even though she just moved there.

her mother had some things to say, not knowing that it was max who planned the trip but when she explained herself to her mother, she had a twinkle in her eye and told her good luck with raised her eyebrow.

they had arrived to paris in the night time, wanting to get a bit of rest from their flight before exploring paris, just the two of them.

she was doing some skincare in the bathroom when she felt a familiar presence behind her, it was her max, looking at her through the mirror, "you look beautiful," he murmured in her ear, she could only smile softly at her boyfriend.

yes, boyfriend. he had practically shouted it out to the world when he claimed her as his, not literally though. he wanted to keep things quite private since their relationship was quite new, not wanting to shove her into the spotlight like that.

"thank you liefje," she had responded back, equally as soft as she continued her ministrations on her face, wanting her skin to look nice, not only for herself but for when she was inevitably thrust into the public-eye.

max littered kisses on the side of her face, hands on her waist, pulling her closer to him, he had been so clingy. so much clingier than what she remembered. maybe is was the time and distance between the last time that they met that made him this way, but he absolutely did not want his hands not on her.

eventually, they both got settled into the bed of their suite. she had scolded max for getting a room so expensive but he responded with something along the lines of, 'i am no longer that little boy that you first met, let me spoil you.'

she wanted to smack him but he didn't care, all he wanted to do now was spend the money that he earned from being in formula one on her. he didn't need that much money, but she knew how much money girls spent to keep their appearance, so if it's his money that she used, he didn't care.

max rested his head on her chest as the both of them put a movie on to watch, something about a fighter pilot romance, she didn't really understand but he picked it, so she didn't complain.

"did you end up reading all the letters i sent?" max asked with a quiet voice, his hand caressing her hips mindlessly, just wanting to touch. she shook her head no, he had written her a lot. she had barely gotten through half of them. the letters were filled with love, always asking about how she's been, his achievements and how much he's missed her.

"you had written me a lot of letters, maxie. i can't get through all of them, i've been back barely two weeks," she had reminded him and he could only hum a response back, his eyes were already drooping, tried from the flight and today's activities.

her hand was on his head, softly petting max. she only stopped when she heard his soft breaths, signaling that he was indeed asleep already. she wanted to laugh at how fast he fell asleep around her, he had complained about it at first, not understanding why he fell asleep so fast in her presence. he just wanted to spend time with her without feeling sleepy.

she then later researched about it and found out that max felt safe around her, and that's why he felt sleepy a lot around her. she didn't tell him though, figuring it'd be nice to keep this one thing a little secret between her and herself.

she fell asleep not long after, feeling quite sleepy in his presence as well.

hand in hand, max and her were walking through the streets of paris. she understood why he picked paris though, it's the city of love after all.

"i have a place where i get my pastries, i really like it," max had spoke as she continued to walk with him, "i've been there a couple times just as a vacation by myself, i think you'll like it too."

she smiles at max before letting him lead the way, eventually they found themselves in a small quaint corner of the city, entering the bakery. the smell of freshly baked bread and pastries entered her senses and she sighed in content.

max made the initiative to go up to the counter and ordered a few pastries that he thought she would like while she looked around to see what she would like, maybe a pain au chocolat? she's been wanting to try those ever since she got to paris.

"liefje, maybe a pain au chocolat for me?" she called out to max, and he nodded. he had ordered it first because she's mentioned it a few times on their trip, he was very attentive when it came to her needs, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable or unhappy with him or the trip. he just wanted her content and that's how she felt, fortunately for him.

they exited the bakery with a few pastries and a pain au chocolat for her in her hands, she bit into it and a cute sound escaped her lips, "oh my god, this is so good maxie."

max could only smile, he hated that he had to suggest the bake shop first, now they couldn't hold hands. he was very big on skinship and skin-to-skin contact, she could tell.

lunch was where they were headed next, and she hoped that it was going to be as romantic as how the day was going.

liked by charles_leclerc, danielriccardo and 98,054 others

mv33updates some fans spotted max with a mystery girl around france, who could she be?

user1: NOT CHARLES AND DANNY BEING IN THE LIKES

user2: PFT NO WAY I JUST SAW

user1: THEY ARE SOOO MESSY AND THEY KNOW WHAT'S UP

user3: are we sure that's max? his face is covered in most of them 😭

user4: GIRL ARE YOU BLIND?

user5: honestly very happy for him and the mystery girl! he looks like he likes her very much

user6: they look so cute with eachother :(

user7: she looks pretty tho, can someone let me know who she is??

user8: from research and a little snooping around, i think she's @/yourusername but!!!! i may be wrong :D

MONACO.

"uh oh," left her lips as she scrolled past something on her instagram explore page, "maxie, i think we've been found out."

max was sitting up straight on their bed now, eyebrows raised in panic.

no, this was not how it was supposed to go, they were supposed to have a small private trip to france outside of the public eye. he really screwed this one up.

"i'm gonna call my lawyer," max said as he took out his phone but she stopped him, looking down where he was sitting. he was mad at himself for letting this happen, of course fans were going to be everywhere. he should've thought about that before inviting her out to france.

"maxie, stop. it's okay. you're worried over nothing, it's just fan speculation. they don't know until you react and by sending them cease and desist letters will only confirm that it's true," she had reminded him, and he knew she was right.

max captured her in a hug and sighed against her stomach, "i'm sorry schatje, i just wanted to keep you away from the public eye for as long as possible," he mumbled, he knew how harsh the media was going to be, it was always hard when new relationships were forming.

they were back home in monaco now, settled in max's apartment, safe from being bombarded with paparazzi. his big blue eyes were now looking up at her, she gave him a small kiss on the forehead, "you are fine max. maybe if you want, you can take the horse by the reigns and post something yourself?"

"your mind amazes me sometimes, schatje."

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 1,709,348 others

maxverstappen1 Hi, just wanted to come on here to say that I do indeed have a girlfriend and we had a fun time in France 🥐 Please be nice to her, she is my best friend and the love of my life and I hope all of you have the respect to love her as equally as you do with me 😊 Don't bombard her Instagram as she would like to keep it private for the time being, please respect that. I didn't want to share her with you guys at first, but here she is. I love you schatje 💕 tagged: yourusername

yourusername: i love you too, liefje. liked by creator ♡

maxverstappen1: 😘

user8: OH OKAY MAX, DEFINITELY NEEDED THIS ON THE TL THIS MORNING.

user9: hand placement??? max, the man that you are.

redbullracing: ❤ liked by creator ♡

user10: nooo, her insta is private :(

user11: please respect her privacy, max said it himself.

user12: woah, we can barely see her face but i know that she's gorgeous...

user13: right????

user14: please drop more faceless y/n content, we wanna see T__T liked by creator ♡

user15: fist in my mouth rn

user16: NEW WAG ON THE STREETS

"schatje?" max's morning voice croaked out from the bedroom, she was in the kitchen with the two cats cooking some breakfast for the both of them, she called out from the kitchen, saying that she was cooking them both breakfast before she felt arms wrap around her middle and face being buried in the crook of her neck.

"you left bed without me," max mumbled, and she hummed a response, still focused on the stove which was still on. it's been a few months of her being back and he's been savoring these lazy mornings when he could.

there was a two week formula one break, which meant more time with her and max loved spending time with her and she knew how much he did, the clinginess was going down a bit more everyday, maybe because he was getting used to her presence being a constant in his life again.

they spent a lazy morning together, eating breakfast in bed with the kitties. they seemed to love her, preferring her to feed them over max. she would laugh when max would feel betrayed after calling them over when they were in your arms, not wanting to move an inch.

he understood why though, he loved her as much as the cats did, maybe more.

SÃO PAULO, BRAZIL.

a beautiful performance by max on the race, and an even more beautiful face waiting for him as he finished first place. the first person he ran to was her, it was muscle memory at this point. wrapping her in an embrace, even though the race suit he wore was soaked in rainwater and clung onto him like a second skin.

"this one was for you, schatje," he whispered in her ear as everyone erupted into cheers for max. he had an incredible drive, starting from p17 to finish off winning the race. an absolute masterclass if she did say so herself.

to say that he only specifically dedicated this race for her, was a lie. he dedicated every race to her, and she was always there for him whether he finished first place or maybe got the result that wasn't satisfactory to him, he still dedicated it to her and she was always there. cheering him on, unconditionally.

he was so proud of himself, and so happy that the love of his life was able to watch his incredible performance.

kisses were trailed down from her neck all the way down to her stomach, max was going to worship her tonight if it was the last thing he did.

she was wearing his favorite set he had bought for her, maybe because of his win earlier today, maybe just to relieve some stress but he didn't care. all that he cared was his girlfriend looked delectable and he was there to feast tonight.

his kisses ended just right as he reached her core, a soft whine erupting from her throat before he gently tugged away at the panties that were covering her.

god, he loved her so much. she looked like a goddess on his hotel bed like that.

and feast he did, he pulled her legs apart and ate.

her hands automatically reached for his head of hair, tugging on it gently as moans escaped her, whether she was willing or unwilling to let them out.

he knew how to make her feel good and he was going to exploit that tonight.

the next morning, she was sore all over, bending in some weird positions max insisted on trying. she wasn't mad though, just a tiny bit sore, "you okay, liefje?" max mumbled against her lips, they were both very indecent under the covers.

she pecks him on the lips before she had a sparkle in her eye, "i think i'm ready to take this thing officially public."

"oh i've been waiting to show your pretty face off, schatje."

ABU DHABI, UAE.

"AS MAX VERSTAPPEN CROSSES THE FINISH LINE, HE WILL BE CROWNED KING OF THE WORLD DRIVER'S CHAMPIONSHIP. AN INCREDIBLE DRIVE FROM HIM, MARKING THIS HIS FOURTH IN A ROW."

the first face he searched for in the crowd when he got out of the car was hers, the smile she had on her face was unforgettable. she looked so proud and happy for him.

she almost fell over from the force of the hug that she was captured in, she had so much love in her heart for him and seeing him win his fourth world driver's championship in person was so much better than seeing it from the screen.

max kissed her, hard. he worked so hard for this. he earned this with blood, swear and tears all so he could impress his pretty girl, he promised that he would all those years ago, and here they were.

"i did it for you schatje, i want you to be proud of me, so i got my fourth wdc," he spoke after he disconnected from the kiss, and all she could do was smile at him, not having enough words.

soon, he was whisked away to celebrate with his team and all he could see when he looked back to meet her eyes filled with love.

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, danielriccardo and 5,09,643 others

maxverstappen1 As the year comes to an end, I would like to announce my retirement from Formula 1. It has been such a pleasure to work with splendid people whilst at @/redbullracing, I could have never asked for a better team. Cheers to spending the rest of my life with @/yourusername!

tagged yourusername

yourusername: we look so cute in the new years photo :( liked by creator ♡

maxverstappen1: You are the cutest, liefje.

yourusername: i love you

maxverstappen1: I love you too.

user17: is this.... an marriage announcement........

user18: WELL HE DID SAY "CHEERS TO SPEDNING THE REST OF MY LIFE" SO...

user19: patiently waiting for the engagement post...

user20: she is so pretty T___T liked by creator ♡

"this is the area that i used to live in," she had offered a trip around asia, wanting to feel the various seasons that asia had to offer, their first stop was korea, she wanted to show max where she basically grew up in. the area, the food, the culture. she loved every piece of korea even though it did prevent her from being with max.

it didn't matter though, they were here together now.

she walked max through all of it, her school, her university. her favorite places to eat, and meeting up with some of her high school friends, all of them not knowing that she were indeed friends (and dating) the ex-formula one driver, four time world champion max verstappen.

the looks on their faces were priceless, she wished she could've snapped a pic. all of them were formula one fans, of course. courtesy of her, she forced them to watch the races even when they didn't want to and turned them into fans of the sport. now they watched on their free time, she never mentioned that she used to know max though, not wanting to sound delusional.

"it's fucking cold here schatje," max's teeth were chattering against eachother, she could only laugh. the winters here were definitely colder than the ones he would usually experience in belgium, so she wasn't bewildered when he didn't feel comfortable with the cold nipping his skin, "how the fuck did you survive this for ten years? my ass is freezing out here."

she could only laugh before hooking her arm around his and guiding him to the nearest convenience store to warm up.

liked by maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux, and 193,093 others

yourusername hi everyone, i've finally decided to unprivate my instagram due to popular request. me and max are very much having such a fun time holiday-ing in asia! thank you for supporting max through his formula one journey and i hope you will continue to support him as he retires and moves onto new things <3 tagged maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1: The third picture basically sums up how much I love you. liked by creator ♡

yourusername: oh stop it.

maxverstappen1: You love me, don't deny it. liked by creator ♡

yourusername: that i do :D

user21: OH MY GOD SHE IS SOOOO PRETTY? liked by creator ♡

user22: better than my expectations, she blew it out of the park.

alexandrasaintmleux: finally the world sees what i see every week! you are such a gorgeous girl, i'm so happy max has you as his girlfriend. liked by creator ♡

yourusername: oh stop it, you are too sweet alex <3

user23: SO UR SAYING U'VE BEEN SEEING THIS EVERY WEEKEND WHILE WE'RE STARVING?

user24: oh my goodness, you look beautiful liked by creator ♡

fransisca.c.gomes: lovely girl! hope you're having fun touring around in asia!! liked by creator ♡

yourusername: thanks so much kika!

lilymhe: omg you should come visit me and alex in thailand! the food is superrrr good here liked by creator ♡

yourusername: we'll stop by once we reach south east asia!! i promise!!

PARIS, FRANCE.

max had planned everything out, once they finished their tour around asia, he would fly her out to paris to finally propose to her. he had it planned for months now, he didn't want to ruin this. he wanted this to be perfect so he had both sides of the family be there to celebrate the occasion.

he had always dreamt about proposing to her in paris ever since their first trip when she first came back to europe, he just wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, it was crucial to his well-being that she was going to be there for the rest of his life or else he might throw a tantrum (he says he's joking but i bet he will).

max had been in contact with her mother, planning it to her expectations, making sure that every single detail was in place and nothing was going wrong.

his heart was beating out of his chest when they boarded the jet to go back to 'monaco', she absolutely had no idea and he needed this to go perfectly or he might have a heart attack.

getting settled in the plane was easy for her, it was second nature at this point by how much they were traveling. she would always ask the cost to max but he would avoid the question and tell her that it doesn't matter what the cost is, as long as she's happy.

she would roll her eyes and blow him a raspberry at the response.

"you are such a child, schatje," max would laugh but she just pouted and looked the other way, not wanting to see his face while he teased her. it was annoying, but she loved him either way.

she had fallen asleep in his arms halfway through the flight and max thought that this would be a perfect opportunity for him to surprise her.

she was confused at first when she arrived in paris, she did remember correctly that max had told her that they would be going back to monaco in order to wind down and just relax after the long year of the two of them traveling around the world to chase races.

but what confused her even more was the blindfold, what the hell was max planning?

max had a grin on his face the entire time, he felt giddy even though he was the one proposing. he just couldn't wait to see the look on her face when her blindfold was off.

"so what are we doing in paris again, liefje?" she had asked but max could only laugh in response, he didn't want to reveal whatever he had planned, so he simply just told her that it was a surprise and she would know once she got there.

he had booked out an entire restaurant, wanting this to be a private event just for friends and family. they were arriving soon, and soon enough, they were setting foot into the outdoor part of the restaurant.

"keep your blindfold on until i say so, okay schatje?" max had told her and she nodded in response, all of their friends and family were in attendance, watching quietly as max got into position. he had ordered the words "WILL YOU MARRY ME?" in big bold letters filled with peonies, her favorite.

and in the middle was him, holding out a little ring box while being on one knee, "okay my love, take off your blindfold."

a gasp escapes her lips when she sees what's in front of her, realizing that this was indeed a proposal, tears quickly pricked her eyes as she saw max kneeling on one knee, "hi schatje, we've been best friends for our entire lives, and i want to ask you to be my best friend forever. our lives have been filled with ups and downs and i want you to be there for every up and for every down in my life. so what do you say, schatje? will you marry me?"

a sob sounded out from her as she covered her mouth, tears spilled out freely before she choked out a 'yes, of course i will marry you max verstappen'.

max came up to hug her as the crowd erupted into cheers and applause from behind them which scared her, she cried even more when she realized how much thought was put into this surprise, all of her family and friends were there, celebrating their engagement together.

"oh my god, you did all this for me?" she sobbed into max's embrace before he chuckled and nodded, he wanted this day to be so special.

the couple shared a loving kiss before greeting the crowd.

taglist > @seonghwaexile @dying-inside-but-its-classy @angstynasty thank you so much for the support on the first part, i absolutely adore every single one of you guys <3

[rafesbabyg1rl]

The Watcher ~ Part One

Part Two, Part Three,

Summary: Rafe Cameron x Reader, Stalker!Rafe x Pogue!Reader Reader's parents work late on Friday nights, which she spends alone. Except Reader hasn't been alone in a long time, not that she knows of at least. Rafe has watched you for years, he's very good at it. He has no plans of formally meeting you, as he's satisfied with the current arrangement. He likes it better when Reader doesn't know he's watching. But his idea of staying an anonymous stalker is ruined when reader catches him in her bedroom one Friday night. Rafe has to figure out how to fix his mistake before he loses the only thing that makes his life worth living.

Warnings: Rafe stalks reader...that's literally the entire plot. He's pretty pervy in this, I guess. Masturbation (Rafe) in front of unconscious reader, strong/vulgar language, somnophilia (I guess?), death threat(?). If I missed anything from this part that I should include in the warnings, please let me know!

Word Count: 5.9k

Author Note: My sneak peek got a few likes, so thank you if you liked it, y'all are the reason I'm finally posting this part! I'm not sure how I feel about this fic so far, I definitely have a habit of overly critiquing my own work and never being fully satisfied with it, but I'm trying to get over that. I don't have plans for this fic, it's just going in whatever direction I can think of as I write, so if you have any suggestions, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEE let me know, I'll write pretty much anything. This is my first work published on tumblr and the first thing I've written in years, so I hope it's at least readable, and maybe even a little enjoyable. If just one person enjoys this, then my mission is accomplished. Thank you, I hope you enjoy! And do NOT be shy to share feedback or give suggestions/requests. Again, thank you!

For those of you that DID read the sneak peek, a large portion of this part was included in the sneak peek, but I highly suggest reading it over in it's entirety. This draft has undergone several additional rounds of editing and I believe it is better than the version I published as a sneak peek.

CREDITS: The foundation of this fic was heavily inspired by/ based off of one of @faiszt 's bots on character ai. So, if you like this and you like character ai, I greatly suggest that you check out the bot!

One thing about humans is that we always want what we can’t have, especially when everyone else wants that same thing. It’s just something all humans do; but what happens when you already have more than you need and everything you could ever want? Well, almost everything. Rafe Cameron has more money than he could spend in his own lifetime, he can practically buy anything he wants. Except one thing, you.

At first he just thought you were pretty, but the more he saw you out in public the more and more he liked you. The way you’d talk or laugh when you were out with your friends…god, he could tell just how sweet you are. Too delicate for him to touch, like the wings of a butterfly or the petals of a flower. This is when he went from wanting you to needing you. 

See, another thing about humans is that we admire things. And, admiration can easily turn into obsession. Everyone has been obsessed with something or someone at some point in life, it’s normal. Obsessions will come and go, like a cycle. You get obsessed with something, you get over it, and you let it go until a new obsession marks the beginning of the new cycle. But things are a bit different for Rafe, he has never gotten over anything like, ever. Not once has Rafe Cameron ever let anything in his life go. When Rafe wants something, when he needs something, he will do whatever it takes to get it. And oh, how he needs you.

Rafe’s fascination, his obsession with you has been going on for years. He won’t ever admit it, but his perfectly curated collection of your personal items in his closet proves just how bad he’s been obsessing over you. The first thing he had ever stolen from you was your drink, you had been at the same party and you left your red solo cup about three-quarters full. Nobody noticed anything when he casually picked up the cup and finished the rest of your beer, purposely lining his lips with where yours had touched the cup, which was perfectly marked by the lipstick you had been wearing. After you’d leave a restaurant, he’d take the straws from your drinks. Rafe eventually worked himself up to breaking into your house and stealing your things when nobody was home. And Rafe made sure to explore every single inch of your room. All of your favorite panties? Gone. He’d take everything, your shirts, bras, whatever he liked really. You had noticed things kept disappearing from your room, but you’d just think you misplaced it–whatever it may be, or left it in a bag somewhere. Rafe had a good system. He knows exactly how much and how often he can take from you. 

Rafe knows he’s sick. He knows that it’s wrong to watch you from outside your bedroom window, that it’s wrong to follow you around in public, to purposely bump into you so you have to mutter a ‘sorry’ as you move around him. He just really, really needs you. And in Rafe’s twisted, dark, mess of a mind he believes this is the best way–the only way. He couldn’t treat you like every other girl, no, you were special. You were his and you just didn’t know it yet. Starting early on in his life, Rafe has always been neglected, always pushed into the shadow of his younger sister, Sarah. He’s been told he ruins everything, that everything he touches turns to ash. And you’re way too perfect to ruin. So, he follows you around like a creep, lurking from a distance. Of course you didn't know he’s been following you everywhere…he liked it better that way.

Rafe knew the line had already been crossed. Hell, the line had been crossed a long fucking time ago. He doesn’t care anymore, he needs you. Heaven is smelling like you; and not because you had left your scent on him, but because he had bought the same perfume as you. He needed to know what you smell like, how sweet you are…how sweet you taste. Heaven is watching your chest rise and fall as you sleep peacefully in your bed. Heaven is you.

What Rafe has been doing to you for years could be defined as worship. Rafe was worshiping you. He’s your good boy; your loyal man and he was going to take care of you; protect you, even if you don’t know it yet. You’re what he lives for; you’re all that keeps him going, the only thing he cares about. 

Since he’s been watching you for years, of course he knew your schedule. Of course he knew that on Fridays your parents work late at the local bar & grill that they own. This means you slept in your house by yourself practically every Friday night. So every Friday night, Rafe would sneak in through the back door that you always forget to lock. He just wants to check on you, he wants to see his pretty girl sleeping beautifully, he wants to know that his baby is okay. This is not a crime, it’s not a crime to care; he’s not insane, he’s just in love–if you could even call it that. How can it be wrong to protect what’s his? Oh, and god forbid anyone ever get in the way of his stalking routine, if anyone were to take you away from the inevitable path of meeting him…oh, the things he would do; whatever it takes.

One unforgettable Friday night, you fall asleep on your couch watching a rerun of one of your favorite shows. You enjoy being alone. If only you knew you haven’t been alone for a very long time. You’re woken up by sudden, loud noises coming from your bedroom, but you think maybe it’s just the cat, or maybe you didn’t shut your window. You get up from the couch and in several slow, cautious steps you tiptoe over to your room. When you enter your doorway, you’re immediately greeted by the sight of a tall and broad man standing in the center of your bedroom holding the last shirt you wore to his nose, breathing in your scent. The sight of all this makes you immediately freeze and stand motionless in your bedroom doorway, staring at him blankly. 

Rafe doesn’t startle when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Instead, quite the opposite actually. He’s actually a bit amused, relieved even; if you hadn’t caught him just now, he never would’ve been able to work up the nerve to finally talk to you. He didn’t want to have to be creepy about things between you two, but he couldn’t talk to you like a normal person. It’d be too unpredictable, too unknown. Meeting you like this…he has all of the control. 

“There you are,” he grinned. “How beautiful…” The strangely offputting man gloated in your fear and it was obvious.

You take a step back from where you had been frozen. He takes a step forward. This cannot be happening, you think. Your brows furrow in hopelessness and defeat. Again, you freeze where you are standing, even more afraid to move now. 

You feel like you’ve seen the man before, which you have, plenty of times; but he was careful to never have too big of an interaction, so that you couldn’t recognize his face. You have no clue that you’ve been and always will be his.

 “W-wha…who are you? W-why are you in my house?” You try to keep your voice as strong as possible, but the way your words shake with trepidation betrays you. 

The man takes a quick step forward, slowing to a stop and putting his hands up in mock surrender as you jump back. “Woah, woah, hey…calm down, alright?”, he chuckles when he sees the utter horror and complete fright in your eyes. His tone switches into one of a little more seriousness, “I'm not here to hurt you, you don't need to be so scared...”.  If you didn’t feel like your only choice was to look him in the eyes, you might even believe him. But, you had no other option but to witness the animalistic spark in his eyes that lit up with each word he spoke. With each step he took, you took one further back—your heart dropped into your stomach at the sight of his cocky, twisted smile and the way he looked at you…like you’re a zebra grazing in your natural habitat and he’s the lion waiting to pounce and attack you in your own home. 

“I just wanted to see you," he leaned up against your dresser, taking in the look on your face. His face almost instantly drops the predatory look and adopts one of mock concern, almost convincing enough to hide his amusement. “Hey, it's okay, baby, it’s okay…”

“Please,” you beg. “If you leave I won’t call the cops. I won’t tell.”

Rafe cocks his head and lets out a slow breath, as if he’s disappointed in your reaction; you aren’t supposed to want him to leave. “Hey, hey…I’m not gonna hurt you. Just listen to me…you don’t wanna have to call the cops at three in the morning,” he elaborated. He’s trying to be as convincing as he can because he cannot screw this up. Even so, he still can’t help his smile that only grows at the sight of your terrified face. He shakes the smirk off, adopting a serious expression once more. “Especially when the cops won't be able to do a damn thing.” 

He continues to step closer to you with each word. He stops once his figure is looming over you, looking at you like a lion about to pounce on its prey. “You should really be more careful, sweetheart, leaving the back door open like that at this time of night, when you’re all alone…you never know who might be out there.” His voice is cold as he warns you about the dangers of the world; the dangers of himself. 

“Who are you?” You repeated. The man looks so familiar but you just couldn’t quite place his face anywhere. You just need to know what he wants; who he is. 

“That’s not important right now baby…we’re focused on you, yeah?” The man’s eyes widen, taking in every detail of your face; the only other times he’s seen you this close is when he watches you sleep. 

You could feel his breath on your face as he spoke. The look in his eyes tells you to take another step back, but when your back collides with the wall you jump; there’s nowhere left for you to go and that was exactly how he wanted it. He wanted you like this alone, afraid, and cornered. He loved your fear. The man stares at you with a predatory look although aside from the darkness and lust in his eyes, you can see something else, but…what is it?  

“W-what do you want?” You ask, keeping as calm as you can. Even though with every passing second the air gets thinner and thinner. Your stomach is in knots and your throat starts to close up. Not to mention the stinging tears in your eyes, threatening to fall at any given moment.

“Me?” he cocked an eyebrow, his eyes shamelessly roaming your body as he blew out a huff. “I just wanna have a little chat, that's all...” The unknown man takes another step towards you, invading your personal space, his tall frame towering over you as his bottom lip finds a home between his teeth. Rafe reaches up and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “No need to be so scared, baby...”

“T-talk about what?” You have no idea what this man who you don’t know, could possibly want to talk about with you. Why is he acting like he knows you when you’re sure you’ve never even seen him before? Why is he…admiring you? No, that couldn’t be right. The mystery man is so confusing, all his twists and turns giving you whiplash. 

“Ah, you see...” he responds, pausing to place his other hand on the wall behind you, almost trapping you in. You feel his hot breath against the sensitive skin of your face, burning you like hot steam. His breath was slow and steady. He was completely calm. He liked this. He gave you a genuine smirk, bringing his face closer to your ear. “It’s more of a proposition really…”

“What is it…?” You ask. Not out of curiosity because honestly, you’re too afraid to know. But because you figure things might, just might go better for you if you play along. He stayed silent for a moment—enjoying the look in your eyes and your erratic breathing.

“All this fear…all this trembling...” he trails off as he brings his hand up to your chin, his thumb slowly tracing the outline of your lower lip. “It's nice to finally meet you...” He chuckles and leans in so that his lips nearly touch your ear. “Will you stop shaking like that if I tell you what I want?” His thumb moves from your bottom lip and he tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear; he doesn’t want anything getting in the way of his view of your pretty face.“Hmmm?” he challenged. “Or will you still be shaking like a scared little puppy?”

“I-I don’t…” You stutter, not being able to speak or even think clearly with the way he’s glaring at you. 

“Shhhh… ” he tutted, bringing his other hand from the wall to your lower back and drawing you even closer to him—until your body was almost flush against his, his touch surprisingly warm. “You're not answering my question,” he whispers your name as he runs his fingers through your hair, it’s softer than he’d imagined. 

“Please just…” The tears were no longer threatening as they began to fall down your cheeks. “Please…” Hearing this man who you do not know, say your name, was probably the most frightening thing to happen to you yet. 

“Shhh, stop that...” he calmly commanded when he saw the tears falling from your pretty eyes. Rafe's voice was soft but stern—he hated seeing you so distressed. His hand moved from your lower back to your chin, making you look up at him. “Hey it’s okay…it’s okay baby, no need for tears. I just wanna talk to you is all." You almost believe him for a moment with how sincere the glint in his eyes appeared. But you’ve picked up on his manipulative expressions. 

“My parents will be home soon…” You vaguely remember your parents mentioning something about something and blah blah blah…they’re closing early tonight. You really hope it’s true and isn’t just a figment of your imagination; something your mind is making up so you don’t completely give up. 

A cocky smile returned to his face as he let a small huff of amusement slip past his lips. He knew your parents were working late, just like every other Friday night. "Bullshit,” he chuckled. His hand moved back to your lower back, holding you against him. “It’s just you and me, pretty girl.” He grabs your waist and within the next second, you’re on your bed and he’s hovering over you. You can feel his hot breath in your ear, you can smell him, feel the excessive heat radiating from his body. He speaks quietly now, more serious than he’s been this entire time, “Don’t ever fuckin’ lie to me again. Got it?”

His words provoke a small whimper from you. How long has he been watching you? What’s he gonna do? What does he want to talk about? Your mind is filled with questions you’re too afraid to ask. “I-I’m not lying.” He leans down, his lips almost touching yours. Rafe’s eyes are looking straight into yours, admiring the complete and utter fear your eyes possess. He doesn’t want you to be scared of him. But fuck, does he love it.

“Oh yeah?” He mumbles as he presses his face into your hair, taking in your scent. He can’t believe he’s finally this close to you. He didn’t think it’d ever happen, and if you didn’t catch him tonight, it probably wouldn’t have. It’s meant to be, he thinks. “What did I tell you about lying, hm baby? I know you’re fuckin’ lyin’ to me, so you wanna try that again?”

Before your brain could muster up some bullshit response, the sound of the front door unlocking echoes through the hall and into your bedroom. Rafe holds his breath and puts his hand over your mouth, causing your eyes to widen as he leans to the side to glance down the hallway at the front door. “Shh…”, he whispers. You weren’t lying. Your parents came home from work early and they’re about to turn the doorknob and come inside the house. Rafe looks at you, the look in his eyes beyond unsettling. “Tell the cops…tell anyone, and I’ll come back and fuckin’ kill you, okay? This is our secret. Don’t make me come back and hurt you babe, I really, really don’t wanna have to do that, alright?” 

He has to be bluffing, right? But, when you look up to meet his gaze, you can tell; you can tell he meant every single syllable that he spoke. It’s not like the cops would believe you if you said you had a stalker anyways, you’re a pogue. And cops never believe a pogue. Rafe doesn’t need a response from you, the fear in your eyes tells him all he needs to know.

 Just before you hear the front door open, Rafe smirks at you. “We’re gonna have so much fun together baby.” Reluctantly, the disturbed man leans back and takes his hands away from you. Without another word, he walks over to your bedroom window and pushes it open. Before ducking to climb out, the large man looks back at you. Your breath hitches even further if that’s even possible.

 “Goodnight puppy.” The outline of his smug grin is visible even in the darkness of your room. Just as you hear the quiet voices of your parents enter your house, the dark figure turns and exits your window. When the man is outside you sit up and rush over to shut and lock the window behind him. 

With caution, Rafe watches as your mother comes to peek her head in your bedroom. She only lingers in your doorway long enough to see your dark shape laying in bed. Covered in blankets, you pretend to sleep, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to hold a casual conversation with your mother at the moment. And the last thing you want to do is raise any alarm. Not while he’s out there–whoever he is. Hot, salty tears fall from your eyes, wetting the soft skin of your cheeks. When she shuts the door, you let out a shaky breath, finally being able to breathe.But, you keep your eyes sealed shut. At least then you can’t see if the man is still watching you from outside your window. You lie awake for hours, how are you meant to go back to sleep after whatever the hell just happened? All you can do now is wait. Is he coming back? When will he come back? Who is he? Why does he want you? There’s a million different questions and worst scenarios circling around in your head. So, you just wait, it’s all you can do. 

As you wait, the hours turn into days, days turning into a week as the next Friday approaches you; you spend your time worrying about having to be home alone again. There still had been no sign of him since your encounter last week, but you decide to stay the night at a friend’s house, not wanting to take the risk. The second Friday after you came face-to-face with your stalker, you get a friend to spend the night with you. And now, after four weeks of waiting there’s still no sign of the deranged man. Although, if you had no knowledge of him stalking you for years he clearly is good at staying hidden. As the fourth Friday approaches, you think over your options. You can go to a friend’s house or have a friend stay over, as you’ve been doing. But, you’re tired of waiting for something to happen. You’re sick of not feeling safe in your own home and of having to look over your shoulder at all times. You used to love being alone, and now it’s been weeks since you’ve spent any time to yourself. You’ve had enough. This Friday you’re not hiding, you’re done being a coward. You will not allow this creep to keep taking away everything you love; you won’t allow yourself to waste any more time worrying about that psycho. So, you stay at home by yourself. He’s not gonna show, right? He was just bluffing or on drugs or something, that’s what you convince yourself.

You pull back the fluffy comforter on your bed and climb in. You pull the covers up and completely over yourself, you used to do this as a little girl when you’d have a nightmare or you’re scared of the thunder or the monster in your closet. If the blanket could protect you when you were little it should work now…right? Well, maybe it’d still work if you had a nightmare, but logically, what is it gonna do against your stalker? But no matter how much you force yourself to believe that he’s not coming back, you still find yourself praying. You’ve never been very religious, but recently you pray to whoever will listen. 

You had bought some sleeping pills from the store a few days after you discovered your secret stalker. They helped you sleep, since your brain hasn’t once stopped thinking about him since the whole fiasco. Reaching over, you pull out the drawer of your nightstand. You grab the bottle of pills, you swallow a couple dry and set the rest on your nightstand. The pills start to kick in quite sooner than usual, must be because you took double the amount…you’re gonna need them to fall asleep tonight. Your first night alone in weeks. In just a few short minutes, you’re out cold, buried underneath an absurd amount of pillows and blankets.

Rafe spent the past few weeks feeling overwrought after what he did. He feels wrong–a feeling he’s not used to experiencing. But it’s because he knows he’s ruined any chance he might’ve had with you. Before you caught him in your bedroom, he had a chance that you could meet him regularly and think he was just a normal guy. But now, all hopes of you ever thinking he’s ‘normal’ have been abandoned. He actually feels shame and…regret for his actions? He’s been seeing less and less of you, and it’s making him angry, so fucking angry. Your schedule has been relatively the same for the past years and now you’re switching it up? You’re hiding from him; running from him just like everyone else in his life. Maybe the things his family has been saying about him for most of his life is true; maybe everything he touches does turn to ash. God, why does he ruin everything? 

You are the one thing, the only thing that Rafe did not want to ruin. You’re the one thing in his life that’s too perfect to ruin…too innocent. But, the damage has been done. He doesn't have many options left. He could leave you alone, but then he’d be weak for not sticking to his word and he can’t have you thinking he’s weak and that you have the power. He could go back, but then what would he do? There was absolutely no way in hell you’d seriously talk to him, and he didn’t want to force himself onto you. He really wanted you to need him back, you have to want it. But everything you do or say now will be out of fear, it’ll be you trying to stay alive. He wanted you to be desperate for him, not desperate to get rid of him. Either way, you’re never gonna forgive him; you’ll always hate him now. Since you’ll feel the same no matter what he does now, he decides that he just needs to see you, he needs to talk to you again. It’s been far too long since he’s been close to you. He can’t take another goddamn second without seeing his reason to live.

He hurries over to your house, parking an entire block away as usual. He makes sure no eyes are on him as he sneaks around to your backyard. Rafe tries peeking through the curtains that block your window to see if you were in bed or not, but he can’t get a good view. He needs to know if you’re home. He needs to see you. 

Rafe sneaks around to the side of your house, checking all windows and doors in the process, but he has no such luck. But he doesn’t give up yet, he’ll get in, he’ll find a way. He tries the side door that leads into your garage. He lets out a giant breath of relief when the door clicks open. Once he’s inside the garage, he takes a quick glance around to analyze his surroundings and burn every inch of your house into his memory. When he finally enters your house, he takes his time to look around. Obviously Rafe knew you were a pogue–he knew everything about you, but you never really looked or acted like one. However, the inside of your home puts your life on display, making it very clear you’re a pogue. 

You sleep soundly, only being interrupted by the occasional dream; completely unaware that your stalker is making his way down the hall and into your bedroom. Rafe opens the door quietly. Your room is dark like the rest of your house, but the moonlight shining through your thin curtains provides just enough light that he can see the outline of your sleeping body. Now that your presence has been confirmed, he feels like he can finally breathe and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

Before he became totally obsessed with you and he’d see you occasionally in public, you used to just make him horny. He’d catch a glimpse of your smile or hear the softness in the way you spoke, or the innocence in your sweet laugh and his dick would be hard within seconds. And when his obsession grew and he’d watch you more frequently, sex with other girls started not doing anything for him. He needed you…he needs you. When he actually started paying attention to the way you spoke, the way you acted, he fell in love–what he thinks is love anyways. Rafe realized you’re the sweetest, most pure person he’s ever known. He didn’t think people like you really existed. His discovery led him to watch you more closely, he started taking more risks just because he needed to find your flaw. There’s no way you’re actually this perfect, it has to be an act. Now, after years of watching you he can confidently say that you really are just that perfect. Rafe needs you for more than just getting off now, he needs your comfort, he needs the kindness that radiates off of you. Which is why he’s always trying to find a way to get closer to you, he needs to absorb your sweetness. But hes really done it now; he’s fucked up big time. You hate him.

He hadn’t realized that the hate he brought upon you would tint the kindness that radiates for your being. He has to get you to let go of the hate he’s caused you, he needs you to be yourself again. He just doesn't know how, if it’s even possible.

 As you sleep soundly, his large frame towers over you as he stares down at you through the darkness. You look so peaceful, so innocent. It physically pains him to know that he’s taken away parts of your innocence. All he can do is stare at you as he mentally curses himself. He can’t wake you up and ruin your small moment of peace. It’s better if you don’t know he’s there. 

Your stalker slowly raises his hand and uses his thumb and pointer finger to pull your blanket down to your knees. Even with the blankets pulled down most of your body was hidden from him. Almost everything is left to the imagination in the loose, patterned pj pants and the oversized, long sleeve shirt that you’re wearing. He can only see a small portion of your lower stomach due to your shirt slightly riding up. And that small bit of skin is enough to trigger his memories of you. Because of course he’s seen you countless times; he’s got your body memorized.

He’s practically panting as he takes in the sight of you, imagining that you’re unclothed beneath him; his memory is sharp enough to almost see it. His cock grows to press against his jeans and his eyes trail up to your beautiful face. The ache in his needy cock starts to become unbearable. Your name slips past his lips in the form of a mumble when he starts to palm himself through his newly tightened jeans. 

Okay, Rafe has definitely jerked off to the thought of you, your smell…everything about you makes him lose whatever control he ever even had to begin with. Something he hasn’t gotten to do yet is jerk off with you right in front of him as a live viewing source, fresh for his eyes. He’s gonna be able to cross that off the bucket list soon enough; he can’t wait any longer. His hand stops its ministrations over his jeans as his head turns and he moves over to your closet, grabbing a pair of delicate, worn panties from the top of your laundry hamper. He brings the treasure up to his nose to smell you. God, he could cream his fucking pants right now. He quietly walks back over to you, taking a look at the pill bottle on your nightstand. He picks it up with his free hand, eyes quickly scanning over the label. He smirks as he sets it back down. Rafe turns his head to look back at you. His smirk grows even wider as he leans back, cocking his head as he observes you. Yeah, you’re definitely gonna be out for a while.

With his pants and boxers around his ankles, he stands over you. Your panties between his hand and his cock as his fist slowly pumps up and down his length. His other hand meticulously pulls your shirt up to reveal your chest.

“Fuckkk…” he whispers under his breath as his bottom lip is held captive between his teeth. Your perfect tits are spilling out of your bra as you lie asleep on your back. He lightly fiddles with the ends of your hair as his hand pumps over his dick repeatedly and without rhythm. He takes his time, Rafe never likes to rush this. Especially not with you.

Your subconscious mind reacts to his light touch and sounds, pulling you into a wet dream; seeing as a main side effect of the medication you took was vivid dreams. You’ve also been unusually horny lately, probably because you’d been too afraid to touch yourself when you thought you were being watched twenty-four/seven. His fingers trail up your stomach and into the valley of your breasts with feather light touch.

You stir a bit, not because you felt him, but because the dream you’ve been thrown into by your subconscious is starting to get your body all worked up. You’ve been extra horny recently and keep having sex dreams since you haven’t been able to touch yourself the past few weeks, having a stalker and all. As he leans down to lightly kiss the skin in between your boobs, a moan slips past his lips, vibrating off of your skin and interrupting the mostly silent room. The only other sound that can be heard in the quiet room is that caused by Rafe’s hand quickly moving up and down his cock; the friction caused by the soft fabric of your panties generates a quiet noise. Pre-cum leaks from his slit and seeps into the fabric of your recently worn panties. He leans back down to create a hickey on your chest and hopes that you won’t wake up from the sudden feeling, although if you did that might be even better. Shaking the selfish thought out of his head, he sucks strongly at the smooth skin between your beautiful tits. He pulls his mouth off with a pop! Leaning back to see the mark he left, he smirks knowing you’ll see it too eventually. The already rhythmless movements of his hand gets even more erratic the closer he gets to reaching his orgasm. 

The man standing above you runs his hand back down your chest and abdomen as you sleep. Completely unaware of what's happening to your physical body right now, you begin to get all wrapped up in your dream. You only ever get sex dreams when you’re so overly horny, which you’ve been the past few weeks. That combined with the sleeping medication you took, made this particular dream feel different; it felt so…real. The only dream-like part about it was that you couldn’t see the man's face for whatever reason. 

While you’re in a deep sleep, you involuntarily let out a needy whine as your active mind plays games with you. When Rafe hears you he thinks he imagined it, until he hears you do it again. He wonders if you could feel him, except he’s not even touching you right now. Realizing that's clearly not the reason, he furrows his brows in confusion. He pulls the duvet cover completely off of you to reveal the way you keep periodically squirming as your body searches for the same feeling your mind is experiencing; and the way your toes tighten up and curl as you’re tricked into thinking you feel pleasure. 

He can’t take it, not when you look like this. The man hovering over your unconscious figure lets out a lewd moan that corrupts the silence as hot strings of his cum spurt out of the pink, glistening tip of his cock and onto the pair of your panties that he's got clenched in his fist, immediately soaking into the fabric. Surprisingly, when he gets through his orgasm, he adoringly covers you back up with your blankets and leaves your house, locking the door he entered through to be sure you were safe. He got enough to satisfy him for now as he works on a plan to change the way you think of him.  He’ll be back for more of you soon enough. He has to fix this; the biggest mistake he’s ever made and the only regret he’ll ever carry. 

To be continued...

Thank you for reading! I hope this was enjoyable and not a waste of time. I spent a lot of time on this part, especially with the editing since I never really feel done with anything. If you have literally ANY feedback, questions, or suggestions, PLEASE feel free to let me know! I don't really have any solid plans for this fic so if you have any ideas I just might include them, there's not much I won't write!

I'd like to thank @faiszt for inspiring me to write this fic!

[ponderingmoonlight]

Can you do a tengen uzui x jealous reader like she tells as if he’s been ignoring her and distant but at the end it’s all good

Hehe I love that request as I already wrote something pretty similar a loooong time ago and this is the perfect excuse to publish it. Hope you like it even though it's a little more than what you've requested <3

(y/n) finding out her boyfriend Uzui Tengen cheated on her he did not

Pairing: Tengen x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,7k

Synopsis: Catching your boyfriend Uzui Tengen with another woman mid-action shattered your heart into pieces and made you leave him without hesitation. But is what you've seen the whole true?

Warnings: mentions of cheating, language, this is one of the first fics I've ever written in english (worked on it last in june lol) so please let me know what you think, a loooot of angst, comfort in the end

The way his fingers linger through her hair makes your stomach turn. Tengen’s touch traces down her neck, to her shoulders, before grabbing her hips passionately. You know the look in his eyes all too well, the fire inside them. It is foreseeable what will happen next.

Of course you know, given the fact that you are his girlfriend, his fiancé to be precise. Only you should know these intimate truths about his behavior, that his fingers will trace around her bellybutton next before gently pressing against her lower back. But you’re standing in the ice cold rain at night while she sits on his lap and enjoys his caresses.

You’re heart goes numb, the only thing you are able to register is your own blood rushing through your ears and the heavy rain running down your spine. You never expected that he would cheat on you. He is an attractive and strong man that is well liked by the ladies, but you are a striking and powerful woman yourself. A hashira, a former kunoichi. You thought that was adequate for him, that you were enough for him. Well, obviously that was not the truth.

Actually, you shouldn’t have been here at all. He left for an important mission this evening, stating he’ll be back in the morning. He gave you his usual breathtaking smile, devoured you in his strong arms. He said he loved you. But how can he love you when he touches another woman like he touched you a few hours ago?  So the weird feeling that brought you here was right.

Thick anger begins to radiate through your whole body, making your hands shake uncontrollably. You can’t let him get away with this. You are far too valuable to put up with his behavior. He needs to know that you caught him, that you are well aware of his affair. And this bitch should know who she messed with. After all, his engagement ring is still sitting unmistakably on his finger. 

Without thinking twice, you toss your throwing knives into her direction with usual precision. You never miss your aim, not even when you whole body shakes in rage. She cries out cowardice, the sleeves of her kimono caught under your blades before she is able to touch his stupid perfect face.

Fuck. His heart begins to race in panic. Tengen doesn’t have to look up to know it’s you with your signature rushing past his ears. Why the hell are you here? He told you he’ll be back in the morning. Your enraged face makes him swallow noisily, the way your dark hair sticks to your face, your uniform soaking wet from the durable rainfalls of the night. You look like a kunoichi ready to kill.

“How could you?”, you breathe out, locking your eyes dreadfully with his.

It hurts him to see you like this. He swore to never hurt you, always keen to never break this promise. But now you’re standing in front of him, your face twisted in anger and pain, the veins on your forehead pulsate hazardously.

“(y/n), what are you doing here? Let’s talk about it at home.”

Another throwing knife crashes just millimeters from his ear into the wall behind him. Fuck, you’re absolutely furious. To be honest, he would be too if he were in your place. Damn, why are you here?

“Arrogant boy, this is the end. I will never speak a word to you again. We are strangers.”

He frowns. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This shouldn’t happen, you shouldn’t be here, you-

You are gone.

Frantically he jumps up from the futon, not the least bit interested in the cries of the woman behind him. Tengen’s mind races, his hands begin to tremble in pain. He knows you well enough to realize that you’ll make your words come true.

-(y/n)’s POV-

You run. Through the dusky forest, away from him and this sight. Your heart scorches with pain in your chest. How could he do that to you? If he at least told you the truth beforehand, if he had stated you that there was another woman for him…You would never had thought that Tengen Uzui is a cheater. He treated you so well, the loving gleam in his eyes seemed so convincing to you this morning.

Now it’s all a pile of shards. Your past, your future - all gone. Bitter tears of disappointment burn your eyes and mix with the pelting rain. You really thought you knew him, that you knew his heart better than anyone else. Oh, you were so wrong.

Your unfocused feet stumble under a root, making you fall to the ground before you are able to react. Your hands clench in the sodden forest floor while your face contorts in pain. No, it’s no longer possible. You can’t hold it back any longer. A pained, bloodcurdling scream echoes through the lonely woods. Tears now take your sight completely, desperately trying to forget what you just saw. You were always so strong, so confident, but now you feel like your emotions are ripping you apart from the inside. He tore your heart into a thousand pieces, you wish it would stop beating within your longing chest. Why? Why does he just throw your life away like that? You thought you gave him everything he needs. Was it not enough for him? Did you do something wrong?

Your gaze wanders up into the starry sky. No. You gave him everything you have. It’s not your fault that this coward can’t see what you’ve had in each other and decided to betray you. Stand up, pick yourself up from the dirt and keep your head held high for at least a moment. You stand up gradually and look ahead.

“Mayumi.”

Your crow immediately sits on your shoulder at the sound of its name, briefly rubbing its head against yours. Normally you’re both not good at expressing your feelings to each other, but today she seems to understand you without further words.

“Lead me the way to the butterfly estate, please.”

“Of course, (y/n)-san”, she squeaks immediately in response and flies in front of you a few meters ahead.

As always, you move quickly and gracefully through the opaque forest around you, so you soon arrive at the butterfly mansion. This is the only place you want to be right know. Shinobu is a good friend of yours, never pushy or too curious. She always seems to truly care about you and your wellbeing, even though you seem a bit cold to some people. She understands you – hopefully also this late at night.

You knock on the door stridently. There’s no way you’ll be going home tonight, not if he could be there. But what if she doesn’t open the door? Where should you go then? Maybe Rengoku, but you couldn’t stand his optimism, Mitsuri surely burst into tears, Sanemi-

“(y/n)-san, we didn’t expect to be honored by your presence tonight!”

The little girl in front of you, Sumi you assume, breaks out in a sweat.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t announce myself beforehand. Is there any way to talk to Shinobu-san and stay here for the night? Of course I don’t want to impose my-“

“That is absolutely no problem, we are honored to invite you for the night, (y/n)-san! Please let me show you your room and call Shinobu-san!”

“That would be perfect, thank you so much”, you even manage to gift her with a small and rare smile.

The little girl leads you to a small but well decorated room with a freshly made futon in the middle. This room would be anything but flamboyant enough for him…You shake your head rigorous. No, you need to stop thinking about him. He isn’t worth you thoughts, your tears, your time. What he did was unforgivable.

“I didn’t expect to welcome you at my estate this late my dear. Oh, you are soaking wet! Sumi, please bring our guest a fresh yukata!”, Shinobu’s kind voice echoes through the room.

“I’m truly sorry for interrupting your peace this late at night, I just couldn’t go home”, you reply bitterly while staring into the distance.

As much as you want to forget him, he always catches up with you. Damn, why is this so hard? Isn’t his betrayal enough to keep your strength and self-respect?

“You know that I would never impose myself, but you are always welcome here and if you need a talk, just call for me.”

“He betrayed me, Shinobu. I saw him with another woman tonight”, you breathe out.

Her eyes widen in horror. Now she understands why you visit her in such a state. Without hesitation, she crosses the room and sits next to you on the futon.

“I shouldn’t feel sad, ashamed or guilty. What have I done? Why did he feel the need to run into another woman’s arms? I know my worth, Shinobu, but it truly haunts me. I really thought he loved me, I thought we had a future. It just…hurts.”

The cracking of your unusual composed voice causes Shinobu’s heart to drown in compassion. Oh, you didn’t deserve this at all. Even though you seemed a little cold from time to time, she knew too well that you have a heart of gold. You could always be counted on – both in combat and in private. As a former kunoichi it wasn’t easy for you to break with your old habits from time to time. Nevertheless, all other Hashira knew how dearly you loved Tengen. You two were even engaged. How? How can he just throw all of that away?

“I thought Oyakata-sama entrusted him with a mission tonight. Oh, (y/n), please…Don’t you ever blame yourself for the things you have seen. You are a truly outstanding woman with striking beauty and a heart of gold. Any man would be lucky to have you by his side. It’s not your fault in any way that he can’t see your worth!”

Her words leave you speechless for a moment, tears swell up in your eyes once more. The emptiness he left inside you makes it hard to breathe. Now that Shinobu has said it again and you’re sitting in her mansion, it’s getting too real. You will never wake up next to him, soak in his sleep drunken smile, his arms will never wrap around your waist so tightly again. You loved him so much. His betrayal shattered your heart into a million pieces.

  “I loved him and our life together so much. We-we…we wanted to get married next year in the cherry blossom season. All the things he said to me were worthless, as well as the life we built up together. He threw it away this night. He hasn’t even tried to explain himself for me, he just said that he will talk to me at home.”

You can’t help yourself. Crying seems to be the only thing that feels right at the moment. Shinobu holds onto your shaking frame tightly, not daring to let go of you for even a second. No, you didn’t deserve this. But if this is what you need, she will gladly sit beside you and hold you in silence until your heart feels lighter. 

A ray of sunlight hits you in your face harshly. Your eyes seem to be glued together, you are only able to open them with difficulty. A gaze around makes you realize immediately that you are at the butterfly estate, with Shinobu curled up in a small ball on the futon next to you, breathing softly. The pain of this night hits you like a wall all over again when your sleep-drunken brain begins to realize why you are laying here and not in Tengen’s arms.

“Important message! Important message! Oyakata-sama desires to see all the Hashira for an important meeting at his estate! Please hurry!”

The sound of Shinobu’s crow wakes her up from her sleep immediately.

“Oh, I must have fallen asleep here. I hope you didn’t feel disturbed by me, (y/n). A meeting you say? But we just met. Well, maybe something important has happened. We shouldn’t let them wait any longer!”

Your stomach twists in disgust. A meeting of all Hashira means that Tengen must come too. No, you’re not ready to see him yet, you might break down when his gaze wanders to yours. Your hands start shaking all over again.

“(y/n), listen. I understand your anxiety at the thought of this meeting, but it’s not worth making you feel this way – he is not worth making you feel this way. You are the strongest woman I know with a tough will that is unmatched. If anyone is capable of coming forward immediately after a betrayal like this, it’s you. He doesn’t deserve the pleasure of your grief. Stand up, put on your uniform and clean your face from the stain of tears. You are strong, you are brave and you are a Hashira. You are more than enough by yourself, (y/n).”

Shinobu is right. You are a warrior, your abilities outstand those of other demon slayers by far. It is not your reputation or attitude to let your grief show. Tengen should see what he has lost.

“Give me 10 minutes to get myself ready. I’ll meet you outside”, you instruct Shinobu with your usual firm voice.

You put on your uniform, wash your face and brush your hair. In the mirror you look like the woman you generally are. Only the faint hint of dark circles and your slightly red-shot eyes tell a trained gaze that you’ve had a rough night. As you position your throwing knives in your belt, you lift your head with one last look in the mirror and step out into the fresh air of the morning.

You will get through this meeting and build your own future afterwards.

-the meeting-

Tengen is uneasy and more than concerned. You didn’t come home tonight. Well, considering what you saw it would have surprised him if you had, admittedly. But where are you? Are you alright? Dark circles decorate his face. As if he could have just closed one eye not knowing where you have been. You weren’t supposed to see him like this, in the arms of another woman. He knows you well enough to be aware of the fact that he is dead for you. But he has to explain himself, you have to at least give him a chance to see you, to talk to you. Will you be present at today’s meeting? No matter how hurt you are, your sense of duty will surely not let you miss it.

“Shinobu, (y/n), it is so nice to see you again! I feared you might not come when Uzui showed up alone!”, Rengoku’s strong voice shouts out.

His eyes snap up immediately to catch a glimpse of you. Damn, you look so good. Even with the slightly blood-shot eyes that betray your flawless face, you’re appearance is still breathtaking and composed. But your eyes don’t even look for him in the crowd of Hashira. Instead, you greet Rengoku with a small smile.

“Well, the last time wasn’t too long ago. I wonder why we meet again so soon. Something important must have happened”, you reply calmly.

You can sense him immediately, the way his eyes dart all over your body the second Rengoku announces your entrance. Your heart almost beats out of your chest, your knees go soft as butter. A new wave of aching and wrath washes over you and leaves you dizzy. No, you must stay focused. Don’t let him throw you off course.

“Welcome, my children. Please join me inside, the clouds in the sky look like rain”, Oyakata-sama announces calmly.

Out of instinct, you bow down in front of him immediately. You didn’t even see or hear him coming. Focus on the meeting, don’t look at him. You will get through this.

Shinobu gently grabs your arm and pulls you back up to follow the rest of the Hashira inside.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you”, she gently murmurs into your ear.

You can’t help but gift her with a smile and squeeze her arm softly. You can’t thank her enough for being such a great support to you during this difficult time. Will you ever be able to reciprocate with her?

“Thank you for blessing me with your presence, even though we just met a few weeks ago. I’ve tasked Tengen with a special mission that will bring us closer to our goal of finding and slaying Muzan Kibutsuji alongside his Upper and Lower Moons. Tengen, would you mind explaining to all of us what you have accomplished?”

Out of instinct, you glare at Tengen’s back in front of you while your mind is battling uncontrollably. A special mission? Closer to our goal of finding and slaying Muzan Kibutsuji? Why didn’t you know about all this? What mission does Oyakata-sama mean?

“I have been observing and investigating the area around the entertainment district for some time. Unexplained deaths, countless attacks in the nights, women that leave without explaining. A place that only comes alive in the darkness seemed like the perfect place for a demon, maybe even an upper ranked one. And given the fact that I am the flashiest men within the pillars, I decided to examine further. I talked to the women there and let my flamboyant charm play so that they dared to tell me something. Tonight I was able to find out that one of the oiran seems to be particularly cruel and females who got in her way always mysteriously disappeared or were found dead. Unfortunately, I could not find out the name of said woman, but I am almost certain that she is a part of the Upper Moons.”

You threaten to spill the contents of your stomach down Giyu’s neck in front of you. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is that why he met this woman? Is that why he put up with her caresses, to get information? Your ears are ringing deafeningly loud while you can’t help but stare at Tengen in disbelief. All of this pain, his betrayal, your tears, all of this was a lie?

“Oh my…”, Shinobu breathes out next to you, covering her mouth with her hand.

Is that really true? Was all of this for nothing? Now what are you supposed to do with this information? Your head begins to spin in confusion.

You need to get out. Now.

“Sorry, I need a moment”, you mumble under your breath, stumbling awkwardly into the direction of the door.

“(y/n), wait!”, his strong voice shouts behind you.

The last thing you want to do right now is talk. You are absolutely confused and furious. If it was all about a damn mission, why didn’t he tell you before he flirted with that woman? He hasn’t told you a word about his investigations. Not.a.single.word. You thought you were partners, you trust him with your life. Why did it have to come to this?

“(y/n)…”

You see nothing but red. With a swift motion, your small frame lunges over and pins him to the text wall, your throwing knife pressed against his neck.

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

For the first time since last night, your eyes lock with his. Oh, he looks absolutely gorgeous with his hair a little messy and his sorrow-filled gaze. But no, you can’t break your façade now. He trampled on your trust, your feelings, your relationship.

“I’m sorry I had nothing to say that night, but it was-“

“That night? You lied to me the whole time! You infiltrated the entertainment district every day for weeks without telling me! How can I trust you? How do I know that what I saw last night was just an act?”, your toe-curling yelling echoes through the estate of Oyakata-sama.

Fuck, you couldn’t care less about the fact that everyone just heard you. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, desperate for air. Suddenly he grabs your arm smoothly with one hand, turns you around and now pushes your frame against the wall he used to lean on a moment ago. Your throwing knife falls to the ground rustling.

“I did this to protect you!”, he taunts tormented, his face now only inches away from yours.

“You don’t need to protect me, I’m a pillar-“

“This ain’t no walkin’, (y/n). It’s one of the upper moons, the strongest demons to ever exist. Exposing you to this danger, allowing you to interfere…I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror anymore if I’d allowed that”, he interrupts you with unusual low voice.

“I thought you were cheating on me, that everything we built was a lie. When I saw you in her arms…”

You have to stop mid-sentence with hot tears swelling up your eyes once more. This night was the ultimate hell for you. If felt like you’re dying from within every time your thoughts wandered to him of their own accord. You tried to be strong and independent, told yourself over and over again that you don’t need him when in reality, all you hoped for was for this to be a misunderstanding.

“I would never cheat on a woman as flamboyant as you. (y/n), I hope you understand that I had no other choice. Both you and me know all too well that you couldn’t have held back, risking the mission’s success along with your life. Let me handle that, trust your flashy fiancé and his skills”, he whispers, gently caressing your cheek.

God, his touch burns like a thousand fires on your skin. All this time you thought you’d never get that pleasure again. You can’t help but snuggle your face in his hand, eyes closed to allow yourself this intimate moment. While you won’t easily forgive him for keeping you in the dark, you’re just glad that your dark fears of tonight are not reality.

“Just be glad I missed on purpose”, you mutter into his hand.

[apolloscastellan]

You roll like thunder when you come crashing in | Luke Castellan

Pairing: Luke Castellan x female zeus!reader.

Summary: Luke gets injured during capture the flag and you go crazy, it forces you to confront your feelings (Angst+fluff).

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: injury, loss of blood, use of y/n, female pronouns used to describe reader, ig this is ooc Luke, pre-tlt. Not beta'd we die like men, english isn't my first language, etc.

A/N: This is my first ever time publishing anything I've written so pease tell me what you think!

Luke feels like he’s been struck by lightning the first time he sees you. He is sitting down beside Thalia’s tree, talking to her absentmindedly, when he hears the most gut-wrenching scream he has ever heard. He sees you stumbling up the hill, covered in blood and dirt. You are holding up the body of your satyr protector, who struggles to walk. Catching up to you alarmingly quickly is one of the most terrifying monsters Luke has seen in a long time. You seem determined to keep running, even as your protector attempts desperately to get you to leave her behind. Luke knows he shouldn’t, but as he watches you give up trying to run away and prepare to fight, he wants to step outside of camp limits and help you. It seems like you don’t need his help, though, as you pull out a dagger from the back of your cargo pants and charge against the monster. Luke unfreezes then, calling out for the campers who can hear him to go “find Chiron!” When he looks back at you, you’re finishing the monster off. He forgets every protocol and safety rule when he sees you stumbling, sprinting towards you and catching you just in time before you pass out on his arms.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that you are not in your room, or anywhere you recognize. You’re also not outside, the view of the sky that had become usual to you covered by a wooden ceiling. You sit up and look around, no one seems to be there, and when you look out the window you realize that it is probably because it is already dark outside. This must be the camp your protector was talking about, you realize. They are not very good at welcoming newcomers, it seems. Once you find a mirror to check that you don’t look crazy you decide to go outside to try to find someone who can confirm where you are, and hopefully help you settle in. When the wind hits your skin for the first time, you feel a chill run down your spine, you wonder how long you were unconscious for. You follow the voices you can hear singing to a plain terrain. A huge campfire lights up the place, teenagers and kids of all ages congregate around it singing, talking, laughing and eating s’mores. They are all wearing matching orange t-shirts. They look like a cult, you think, and the thought makes you giggle. That seems to pull somebody’s attention, and before you can realize what’s happening, there is a quiet murmur going around and everyone is looking at you. You freeze, suddenly feeling like you are crashing a party you were not invited to. You’re about to turn around and run when a boy with dark brown curly hair and a mischievous smile runs up to you. He couldn’t be older than sixteen, but something about him makes him look as if he is in charge.

“You’re finally awake” He whispers with a sigh.

“Sorry, I really don’t mean to be rude but do I know you? Also, where am I? And Why is everyone staring at me? It’s a little creepy”

He laughs openly, turning around to stare the rest of the kids down.

“Everyone, go back to your own conversations, there is nothing to see here” It’s a little crazy that he thinks it’s gonna work, but it’s even more crazy that it works, and everyone turns around within seconds. He extends his right hand towards you “I’m Luke Castellan, welcome to Camp Half-Blood.”

“y/n” you say, still shocked by his obvious power and shaking his hand. “So, this is the place Leela was talking about.”

You look around, Luke’s eyes fixated on you. Leela was your satyr protector, you met her only a couple weeks before arriving at camp. He is still looking at you when your eyes finally find him again.

“It is. The safe haven for demigods. How much do you know about Greek mythology?”

“A fair bit, the same about Camp Half-Blood, is that how you called it? I’m curious and there’s a lot of awkward silences when you’re traveling across the country” she jokes. “I know about the idea of camp, and about the cabins, the godly parent… When will I get claimed? Leela never told me that.”

The smile immediately drops off his face, an awkward grimace taking its place. He looks around, as if trying to find an excuse to run away. He comes back to the conversation empty handed.

It has been a year since you had arrived at Camp Half-Blood. You had found your place, in more ways than one. You were surprisingly good at sword-fighting, archery and Greek, and you had made many wonderful friends. But still, something was missing. You hadn’t been claimed. And because you had never met either of your parents, you couldn’t even rule out half of the options. You had tried everything, from becoming the best at every activity, to giving the most generous offers, but nothing seemed to work. Luke, who had become your best friend, was pulling his hair out in frustration. In your behalf, because how dare the gods ignore someone as wonderful and kind as you, but also in his because no matter how much he knew he loved you and wanted to be with you, he could not make a move without the fear that Hermes might claim you someday. His dad was not the most reliable of fathers. So he went about his life pretending he wasn’t dying inside to be able to kiss the sadness away from your face. The same sadness that was overwhelmingly present as you got yourselves and your team ready for capture the flag.

“Okay” he said as he clapped his hands to get the attention of the rest of the kids, knowing expanding your winning streak would be the easiest way to make you feel at least a little bit better. “Everyone knows what they’re doing? Good, if you don’t, go see Annabeth right now. Blue team, this victory is ours!”

The kids scatter as he walks back up to you. You’re fiddling with your armor, visibly frustrated. He lets you continue to try on your own until you groan in desperation. He takes the strap from you and buckles it himself.

“What’s wrong?” he asks next, his voice soft.

“Today’s the anniversary of when I first got to camp” you whisper. “And I know, I know that people wait for longer, that some never get to know who it is but I can’t help feeling this way. I’ve tried everything, it’s not fair.”

Luke’s heart breaks hearing you talk about your godly parent, the one person who is supposed to take care of you. But that is how the Gods work, they only care about themselves. He promises then, that he’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. For now, he pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around your body and placing his chin on your head. You pull apart as the bell that signals the start of the game rings through the forest. 

“I’ll see you after our win?”

“Definitely.” The smile on his face stays as he picks up his shield, running away from you.

He turns around right before you lose sight of him, giving you a military salute with his sword, pulling a giggle out of your mouth. You have been tasked with watch-out duty. You are a decoy, pretending to guard the flag so the kids in the other team come after you. You’re a good enough sword fighter to keep them entertained for a while on your own. You are bored for a while, until a group of three young Ares kids surrounds you. They are inexperienced and eager to prove themselves which makes them reckless. You could fight them off easily, and get them on their way, but you know that part of your mission is to stall them so you do your best to not give them your best moves. You’ve been sparring for a little bit when something throws you off. Someone is screaming your name. Through the forest you can see a little girl running towards you. Annabeth looks like she’s crying, which is enough to worry you, Annabeth never cries. The Ares kids try to use the distraction to attack, but you dodge their hits, quickly disarming them before running towards the girl screaming your name.

“Y/n! Come quickly! It’s Luke!”

He is the first thing your eyes lay on when you get to the clear Annabeth has led you to. He is on the floor, unconscious, his face covered in blood. You fall to your knees next to his body. Your hands are shaking, aching to do something, anything. There is not much you can do. You haven’t prayed in a while, having given up, but now, as you tear apart your t-shirt to cover the wound and stop the bleeding, and yell at the younger kids to “go find Chiron!” you beg any God that will listen to not let you lose your best friend. Someone touches your shoulder, whispering that you should move away. You’ve never felt this much rage. How dare someone tell you to walk away, to leave Luke’s side in this moment.

“Get off me!” You don't recognize your own voice as the scream leaves your mouth.

You realize slightly too late that the voice telling you to move was Chiron, but as you turn to apologize you are left speechless. The floor where Chiron had been standing just seconds before was completely burnt. When you look up, you realize why. There, shining above your head, was a lightning bolt.

“Zeus” Chiron said, his voice solemn, as the campers who had gathered to see what had happened, kneeled. “Energymaker, King of Gods, Father of Men. Hail, Y/n Y/l/n, Daughter of the Sky God.

You sit outside the back door of the infirmary for three days, unwilling to talk to anyone. For almost all campers, you’ve disappeared. They won’t let you see Luke, the Apollo kids take turns trying to convince you to go to your Cabin and get some sleep. You refuse. That's a new development, you have a Cabin now. A place where you belong, forever, not a temporary solution, or a rest stop, a place of your own. But the thought of walking into an empty, eerily silent mock of a home has you wanting to crawl out of your skin. You’ve become so used to sleeping through the noise of the Hermes Cabin’s campers you doubt you’ll be able to sleep on your own. And what are you going to do without being able to walk two steps and lay in Luke’s bed? Luke, who is currently unconscious inside the infirmary. Luke, who for some stupid reason you are not allowed to see. Luke, who is the reason why you haven’t even processed that you have been claimed. You have been claimed by Zeus no less. The king of the Gods, one of the Big Three. You can’t think of the implications, not when your best friend is battling between life and death so close to you, yet out of reach. You play with the food Annabeth had brought you, trying to forget the worry in her face as she tried to get you to say something. You know that Luke would have wanted you to move, take care of her and all the other campers, but you can't. He can’t be disappointed when he is unconscious. Still, you try your best, nodding at her words so she knows you’re listening. The door opens as you give up eating for the night. Mark, the Head Counselor of the Apollo Cabin looks down at you. He motions you to follow him with his head and you do so wordlessly. You don’t know what to think, and then you see him. He is sitting down, his back propped up with a pillow. He has bandages covering his reopened scar, and he gives you a sad smile when he finally spots you. You freeze for a second, unable to believe your eyes, before running and launching yourself towards him.

“I’m going to kill you” you say through the tears streaming down your face, hiding in the crook of his neck. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

You try to pull away but his arms stop you. You feel him shake his head.

“Don’t you dare, I’m fine.”

“I thought you were dead. I thought…”

“I’m ok… I’m ok now.”

“I got claimed.” You spit out suddenly, which makes Luke pull back, looking at you with wide eyes, a silent question in his face. “Zeus”

You can see his expression turn mournful as he remembers his old best friend. You’ve heard about Thalia, the quiet resentment you held for the girl who had undoubtedly held Luke’s heart had once made you feel terribly guilty. Now, you feel a sort of kin with her you had never felt before. You wish she was still here. You can see in Luke’s eyes he feels the same way.

“Daughter of the king of the Gods” he says finally, trying to be upbeat. “What a power trip. Hope it doesn’t get to your head. How’s the empty cabin? Much easier to sleep I hope?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been there yet” you breathe in and out. “I couldn’t leave you. The thought of anything happening to you…”

“Y/n…”

“No, let me finish. I need to get this off my chest.” 

Alone with yourself for the past three days, you had had a lot of time to think. That is all you had done. Think about yourself, and your dad and your friends and the danger all of you were under just for being born. But mostly, you thought about Luke. And how he was the only person you felt truly comfortable with. And how you had this weird, guilt-inducing dislike of Thalia, not because she wasn’t good, you had never met her, but because she had Luke before you ever did, and you couldn’t stand it.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past few days,” you finally breathe out. “And I have come to a couple realizations. Luke, I'm in love with you.”

It comes out of your mouth like a shot, unplanned and unbridled. You don’t know how you had planned to say it, but it was not like this.

“You’re what?” too embarrassed to look him in the eye, you shift your gaze to your lap.

“I’m in love with you. I don’t know how it happened, and I honestly don't know why I’m telling you. I guess watching you almost die made me realize life’s too short to keep secrets. You don’t have to say anything at all, but I love you.”

He’s already looking at you when you finally look up, his eyes wide, his mouth open. Nobody says anything for a couple of seconds. You search your brain for a joke, something to say to dispel the tension. You shouldn’t have said anything. You should’ve just kept it to yourself. Before you can continue further down your spiral he finally breaks his trance, pulling you towards him from the front of your ripped t-shirt and kissing you. Your lips move against his almost instinctively, and you can’t think of anything that’s not the taste of his tongue when it finally makes its way to your mouth, or the weight of his hands that have now shifted to your waist. You pull away when both of you need to breathe, but he doesn’t let you get very far.

“I love you too. I’ve loved you from the first day I met you. I’ve always known, you are it for me. I love you.”

At a loss for what to say, you kiss him again. Your hands cradle his face before moving to his curls. You kiss each other as if trying to convey the magnitude, the finality, of your feelings for each other. Luke is right. This is it, for both of you, You have finally found your person. Everything else is background noise from that point forward. You don’t care that the Gods are unfair and neglectful, or that you were born to a world destined to kill you. As long as you have Luke, you know it’ll be alright.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

hi! sorry if you've answered this already, i tried to search your blog and didn't find much, but we all know the tumblr search function is...uh...but i'd be deeply curious to hear your thoughts about Stephenie Meyer's "The Host," specifically re: treatment of the issue of souls' colonization and possession of other species...and obviously, since i'm asking you, an animorphs blog, this, my curiosity is definitely coming from a place of comparison to animorphs, but that doesn't have to be your focus!

from the posts tumblr's search algorithm did grant me, i gather you see it as wanda unlearning the colonizer's propaganda stance she takes at the start of the story, which i agree with!

but i guess every time i read it, i really can't help but feel...unsatisfied? with the way it actually engages with the horrors and colonization of it all?

sort of like, okay, The Host is this one very individual YA romance story in a sci-fi setting, which is obviously different from a heavily-Star-Trek-inspired middle-grade series about guerrilla warfare and is going to grapple with these issues differently...but still! i don't leave feeling satisfied with how it engages with consent of "host" bodies the souls are in, and i don't feel satisfied with how it engages with the souls' systemic behavior!!! but i can't really put my finger on why, and i just...was curious, i guess, whether this was something you had thoughts about.

(full disclosure: i'm asking you specifically because one of my HUGE points of existential dread on my first adulthood reread of The Host was how Jodi never wakes up, and her boyfriend just starts implied-dating the soul who's in her body? or how kids who are infested from birth are just...gone, and they were like "well sweet we can just put Wanda in there, this is a perfect solution!" and that I think hit me so hard in comparison with having read Eleutherophobia--which is, by the way, a masterwork of fanfiction that wrecked me, overwrote canon a little bit in my brain, and I think fundamentally changed how I see the possibilities of writing and narration, so, you know. thank you for that!)

(also like, i know there's different worldbuilding where it's implied most hosts just...go away...but do they actually? because Mel and the Seeker's host are still there, which kind of implies to me that it's more of a problem than the souls want to admit?! and even outside humans, all the memories, and compulsions toward certain behaviors are still there! what makes a person in this universe of Meyer's?! it's kind of fundamentally horrifying?!)

apologies for this extremely long ask, haha, and i hope you're doing well, love your blog, your writing, and all your thoughts!

Oh my god, ALL OF THIS. I thoroughly enjoy the first 98% of The Host. It's a romance novel about consent! Where the characters have to struggle to resolve the plot in a way that gets the permission of everyone in the love quadrangle to boink everyone else, and spends over 500 pages doing exactly that! It's anti-imperialist as fuck! It's got an amazing supporting cast, like every Stephenie Meyer novel! The imagery is unparalleled in its richness and coolness, because Stephenie Meyer! I've written fan fiction about it! I have an extremely normal relationship with Kyle O'Shea!

And then Sunny. And then Wanda's unnamed second human host.

I think that Meyer, either because of romance genre conventions or pressure from publishers, felt she had to write a happy ending. But the book does such a good job of setting up an unresolvable moral dilemma — either Wanda gets to be with Ian, or she does the right thing by giving Melanie's body back — that there is no path to a happy ending. If Ian did as Wanda asked and sent her in a jar to some other planet, romance fans would feel cheated. If Doc did as Melanie asked and let Wanda stay in her body, then the book's anticolonial message would be for nothing.

But resolving it through PARASITING A KID IN A VEGETATIVE STATE? What if Doc makes Wanda a nice robot body? What if Wanda stays in a jar, but Ian finds a way to join her in the jar? What if she and Melanie set up a time share? Uuuuuugggggghhhhh. The Host was THIS CLOSE to being the best anticolonial novel ever written, and then falls on its face inches from the finish line.

Which, aside, is the reason I don't think Animorphs would ever work with a happy ending. "Happy" for the protagonists would never be morally okay in the bigger story.

[mandalhoerian]

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 5 (finale)

< PREVIOUS

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but to the chance of one last glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 25K of pure smut

warnings:. here we go... sexual roleplay, submissive leon, light dom/sub, masturbation, kinda body worship, catharsis through sex, role reversal and we shift to soft dom leon, sex education, body exploration, cunnilingus, fingering, intercrural sex, degradation kink, leon tweaks again and goes full dom, vaginal orgasm training, corruption kink, marking kink, edging, overstimulation, dacryphilia, possesive sex, unprotected sex, coming inside. what else? and ooc and fluff. yay!

author's note: we are at the end of my very first multi-chaptered xreader work, thank you so much for bearing with me while i was tormented by becoming what i hated the most and constantly crying over having to bump up the chapter count. to think this was supposed to be a two-shot... special thanks goes to @chesue00 for starting this madness. this plot and pre-written snippets already existed inspired by her art before i reached out to her, but i still can't believe i've come this far since publishing this on september 14th... insane. this is what dopamine and a little attention does to a girl 😭 please look forward to the masterlist because i have to make one now with how long this is....

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

It's a heady feeling, having this strong, powerful man kneeling before you, his muscular body on display for you, undivided attention fixed on yours with a mixture of desire and trepidation. You run a hand through his hair, enjoying the silky softness of it despite being wet, and he leans into your touch, glazed eyes going out of focus for a moment. Your own heart speeds up at how his mouth falls open, panting, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving them glistening invitingly.

It dawns on you that you don't know what you're doing right now. Are you trying to prove a point, or are you just indulging in your own fantasy? Is it okay to do this to Leon? You've had many men on their knees in a completely different context devoid of this kind of intimacy, whether it be for healing, blessing, or for sineating. All for the sake of helping them, with the holy light of Ethelion running through your veins, flowing to the believers. This isn't anything like that, but it can be. You can make this a blessing, for him to heal from the self-loathing he seems to be suffering from. That is, if he'll let you help him...

"Are you okay with this?" you ask, and he nods immediately, eagerly.

"Yes," he breathes, his gaze fixed on your face, drinking in every detail, committing them to memory as though it's the most precious gift he's ever been given, even though you haven't even started doing anything. Leon's gaze flickers down to your towel-covered lap and back up to yours.

"You can say no anytime you want," you remind him gently, stroking his hair once more, and he leans into your touch again, this time with a contented sigh. His eyelids flutter shut and open again languidly as if in slow motion, and when he looks at you, there is something different about him. The tension seems to have melted away, leaving behind a man who seems... almost peaceful? It's a startling contrast from earlier, when he seemed like a caged animal ready to lash out at anything within reach, and it makes your heart ache unexpectedly at how beautiful he looks like this.

"I want to do this," he says firmly, no trace of hesitation or doubt evident anywhere within those oceanic depths staring straight into yours without wavering even once. "Please."

"Okay," you reply, nodding in agreement, because how can you deny him this when he asks so sweetly? You tug at his shirt lightly. "Then take this off, Sir Leon."

His fingers move deftly over his shirt's buttons, undoing them one by one until he shrugs it off his broad shoulders easily enough before letting it fall to the floor behind him.

Your gaze trails over every ridge and dip on his bare torso, taking in all the marks left behind after years of battles fought against foes both seen and unseen by others besides himself; some faint silver lines barely noticeable beneath tanned complexion while others remain angry red welts raised thickly above otherwise unblemished flesh. There are several long slashes across his abdomen that must have been painful when received judging by how jagged their edges are where they healed incorrectly. A particularly nasty gash just below his collarbone stands out amongst the rest due to its length stretching almost entirely around the side of his ribcage, and disappearing beneath his arm. Another smaller but deeper cut runs along his hip bone leading downward towards his navel area.

He hasn't received the temple's healing because of his oathbreaker status.

It gives you an idea.

Since he's comfortable within the bubble of kneeling before you as the saintess and reverting back to the holy paladin that he was, then you'll play along and offer him a 'blessing'.

You lean forward, your breath ghosting over the scar on his collarbone, and press a light kiss there. His skin is warm and salty, and you can feel his pulse pounding under your lips. "By the power blessed by Ethelion, I will heal you, his devout and faithful knight," you whisper against his skin, letting the holy words roll off your tongue.

He sucks in a sharp breath at your words, his entire body tensing beneath you. Then he relaxes again, his head tilting back just a tad as he gives himself over to your touch.

Kissing seems to have pleased him, but your vantage point on the bed isn't exactly ideal to reach the rest of his body. "On the bed," you order him softly. "Lay on your back."

He does so immediately, scrambling up onto the bed and settling himself on the center of the mattress. He looks so vulnerable like this, spread out before you, and you can't help but marvel at the sight of him. You take a moment to drink it in—the way his muscles shift beneath his skin with every movement, the slight sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes heavily through parted lips.

He looks up at you, and his gaze is full of longing and anticipation. You feel a rush of power go through you as you realize just how much control you have over him right now. It's intoxicating.

"Stay still, Sir Leon," you command. "My blessing won't work if you move." And then you're crawling onto the bed with him, straddling his thighs, feeling them tense beneath your legs at the contact. You can feel him hard and hot even through his pants and your towel, pressing insistently against you. The sensation sends a jolt straight to your core and leaves you aching for something more that you don't know the name of.

You trail the path of the previous wound you kiss with the tips of your fingers, featherlight touches that make him shiver. Then you lean down and kiss it again, letting your lips linger this time. He sucks in a shaky breath when your tongue flicks out to taste the salt on his skin.

Acting entirely on instinct to keep pleasing him, you move lower, trailing kisses along his shoulder, down his chest, stopping to lick and suck at his nipples. His hands fist in the sheets as he struggles to keep them still, his breathing becoming increasingly erratic.

You move lower still, tracing the lines of his abs with your tongue, dipping into the indentations between each one. He moans softly when you nip at the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his pants. His hips jerk upward, seeking friction against yours, and you have to bite back a moan of your own at the feeling.

"Saintess," he whispers desperately, his hands flexing in their grip on the sheets like he wants nothing more than to touch you but is holding himself back somehow.

"Stay still, my paladin. My blessing isn't finished," you remind him, and he falls silent, biting his bottom lip hard enough that it looks painful. He throws his head back, giving you a sensual look at his throat and the underside of his chin.

You can kiss there as well, you realize, and do so, kissing his chin and jaw, then moving down the column of his throat until you reach the hollow where it meets his collarbones again. His pulse flutters wildly under your ministrations as you continue exploring every inch of him within reach like this: licking here and sucking there, nibbling gently along the way. Your hand rests flat on his pectorals and stomach alternatively, feeling how rock-solid every muscle is underneath his smooth, somewhat sweaty skin, and reveling on the occasional shudders rippling through his body that he can't suppress.

He gasps and whines when you pay extra attention to one spot or another that seems to be especially sensitive or ticklish for him, and his reactions encourage you further. You're enjoying every second of this—exploring his body like a map only you have access to right now—learning what makes him squirm beneath you and what gets those interesting little noises he's holding back loose.

By the time you reach his navel again, he's panting hard enough that he's practically wheezing with every exhale, his entire body trembling finely like a plucked bowstring being tuned tighter than ever before. And yet somehow he manages to remain motionless throughout it all except for the occasional twitch or jerk here and there.

You spend several long moments lavishing attention on his abdomen area alone as you're planning how to go along with this. Your knowledge on sexual matters is scarce since the church was always very particular in what kind of information they allowed the Saintess to access, and the directions given for your wedding night consisted of laying back and letting Leon do his duty on you. Which ended up being useless, and now you have to navigate this on your own. It's thrilling and scary at the same time, but you're determined to see this through.

You decide to try something daring then: sliding down between his legs until you're kneeling on either side of them instead. This puts you face-to-face—or rather face-to-crotch—with his erection straining against his pants. It's hot even through layers of fabric separating it from your skin, and you find yourself staring at it curiously while trying not to think about its size too much before your nerves fail you completely.

"Saintess," he says again hoarsely after what feels like forever spent just staring at him without really doing anything else besides hesitating. There's an unspoken question hanging in the air between the two of you—a silent request for permission perhaps?—but he doesn't ask outright and neither do you answer because truthfully speaking neither of you know what exactly needs to happen next either. "May I remove these?" he pleads, tugging on the waistband of said pants ever so slightly, hinting on what he wants to do next.

It's strange how much more sexual hearing him calling you that title has become when it used to sound so reverent, and now it almost sounds dirty somehow. You find that you like it quite a lot.

Getting an idea to teach yourself a thing or two going forward, you sit back on your heels, careful not to let your towel ride up too far, and nod. "I want you to show me how you please yourself," you order, watching him with rapt attention, your face flushing at your own boldness, and at the fact that you're about to see a man naked and aroused for the first time in your life. "I will bless your body, but I need to see it first."

He lets out a shivering breath as if he'd been holding it in for ages before finally moving again. He lifts his hips off the mattress enough to push his trousers down over them, exposing himself fully before you—his cock standing proud and tall amidst a nest of dark curls at its base—and you can't help but admire how beautiful he looks like this: all long limbs splayed across rumpled bed sheets, skin stretched tautly over chiseled muscle, broad shoulders flexing beneath your gaze...

But then your attention zeroes in on his cock, and your previous thought about its size comes back tenfold as you stare wide-eyed and wonderstruck at its length jutting upwards towards his stomach, thick veins running along its shaft disappearing beneath smooth skin covering its tip almost completely except for a small slit where a bead of clear liquid glistens invitingly under candlelight. You've seen illustrations of male genitalia during your anatomy studies, but those were all very clinical and sterile-looking. This is anything but clinical or sterile; this is raw and primal and utterly fascinating.

His hand wraps around its girth tentatively at first—almost shyly almost—as though unsure whether he should touch himself like this with someone else present even if they asked him explicitly beforehand. You reach forward and place your hand on the head of his cock, the little bead of liquid smearing onto your palm. It's slick and warm against your skin, and you can't stop yourself from rubbing it in circles over his heated flesh experimentally, marveling at its velvety texture, until he sucks in a sharp breath and his hips buck forward seemingly of their own accord.

You immediately withdraw, not wanting to get ahead of yourself and ruin everything by rushing things. "Confess, Sir Leon. You'll only be blessed if you do. Do you imagine anything at all when you're usually doing this to yourself?"

"I–I think about you," he blurts softly between short breaths, his hand gripping tighter around his cock as he begins slowly moving it up and down its length, hissing through his teeth when his palm brushes past the head, which seems to be the sensitive part. "I've dreamt about this ever since the day I met you, Saintess..."

"And what happens in these dreams?" you press further, your curiosity getting the better of you despite knowing full well that you shouldn't pry too much into someone else's private thoughts like this. But it feels so good to hear him talk like this—to know that he desires you even half as much as you desire him—that you just can't bring yourself to stop him from continuing any further.

"In some... I worship you, body and soul," he groans, his hand starting to pick up speed as he strokes himself faster, his hips rising to meet each downward stroke halfway, his breathing becoming ragged and shallow as he speaks, his words coming out in short bursts interspersed with low grunts and hisses of pleasure, "I lick your nethers until you cry from pleasure, and when you can't handle it any longer, I fill you up."

The mental image of him between your legs makes you throb between them, and you squirm unconsciously, pressing your legs together.

To reward him, you lay your hands on his thighs, marveling at how they tense and flex beneath your palms, before sliding up to his hips and then settling on his lower abdomen. You splay your fingers across his stomach and push down, feeling his muscles ripple beneath your touch as he thrust upwards into his fist again. It's a promise you'll do more if he keeps talking.

"In others, you're still back at the temple, and... I break my vows, and I take you to a secluded corner, and have my way with you," he continues, his free hand reaching down to cradle yours gently against his skin while the other keeps pumping steadily away at, and you closely pay attention to how he pleases himself. "Sometimes I dream of taking you in the gardens, sometimes in the baths, and sometimes even at the altar... I dream that you're begging for me, and I have to keep quiet because if anyone hears us... we'll be punished. So I kiss you to muffle your cries."

You swallow hard at the thought of him kissing you like that, imagining what it would feel like to have him pressing his lips against yours like this, tasting him on your tongue as he ravages you completely...

"Do you... do you dream of me doing that to you now, Sir Leon?" you manage to croak out after a few moments spent lost in thought.

He lets out another shuddering breath as his hand slows down considerably until it's barely moving anymore, his cock twitching visibly beneath his grip, his face flushed with desire as he stares up at you from underneath long lashes damp with sweat. His mouth falls open just a touch, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before disappearing back inside again, and he nods wordlessly.

You lay down on the mattress beside him, and lean in close to him until you can smell the scent of his arousal mixed with his natural musk filling your nostrils—it smells earthy and spicy like freshly cut grass after rain mingling with something else entirely unique to him alone—and you breathe it in deeply before letting it fill your lungs entirely. Then you lean even closer still until your forehead rests lightly atop his shoulder, your nose grazing lightly across his collarbone as you inhale again deeply, taking in more of his scent as though trying to commit it permanently within memory.

"Let me bless you with that, then," you whisper in his ear, and then press your own lips to his.

It's soft and tentative at first—a simple sweep of skin upon skin—but when he doesn't pull away immediately, you press harder, doing whatever feels right; nibbling at his lower lip and sucking it between your teeth, licking along the seam where his lips meet, tasting him fully, feeling him shiver beneath your touch as he moans into your mouth, his hips jerking upwards into his hand once again as he resumes stroking himself faster than ever before.

Remembering that the head was the sensitive part and he liked you touching there, you reach down and cup it in your palm, rubbing it in circular motions, and he groans louder this time, his cock throbbing hard against your fingers, more liquid coming out to slicken the movement.

Something slimy slips into your mouth, and it takes a moment for you to realize that it's his tongue invading past your lips and teeth, seeking entrance further within. It feels strange—odd but not unpleasant—to have another person's tongue exploring inside of you like this, and you find yourself responding instinctively to him taking the lead, opening up wider for him to delve deeper inside of you, meeting his every stroke with one of your own. You're completely inexperienced, but he doesn't seem to care, instead seeming to enjoy teaching you what he likes.

You're both panting heavily now, gasping for air every so often in between fervent kisses, the sounds of flesh against flesh growing louder and louder alongside the wet friction of his hand stroking furiously away at his cock and yours rubbing insistently atop it. He breaks off from the kiss with a guttural growl, throwing his head back against the pillows, exposing his neck which you immediately latch onto, kissing and nibbling along his jugular vein, feeling it pulse wildly beneath your lips, tasting salt on his skin as you suckle lightly there.

"Saintess!" he cries out desperately as his hips start jerking erratically beneath you, his hand pumping frantically faster than ever before, and you know he's close by the way his cock twitches violently within his grasp, his balls tightening up against his body as he approaches climax.

"Perfect, you're doing perfect," you coo, and completely losing yourself in how beautiful the sight of his head thrown back is, you take your free hand and wrap it around his throat, feeling his pulse quicken even further beneath your fingertips as he sucks in a sharp breath through flaring nostrils. You don't squeeze, just hug the sides of his muscular neck, but the effect it has on him is immediate and dramatic: his entire body stiffens up like a bowstring drawn taut, every muscle tensing rigidly beneath you.

"Release, and be blessed," you order, and with one final cry, he does exactly that. Thick ropes spurt forth from the tip of his cock and splatter across both your stomachs and the sheets beneath him, coating everything in their path with sticky white fluid. His hips keep thrusting upwards into his fist for several more seconds after the last spurt has been expelled from his cock, until finally, his body relaxes completely under yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath he draws in, his cock slowly beginning to soften within his grip.

You release his throat and press your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and enjoying the scent of his skin mingled with sweat, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath yours, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow down from its frantic pace earlier.

"Ethelion's grace be upon you, Sir Leon," you murmur against his neck, and you hear him exhale shakily beneath you as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him, curling around you as though trying to shield you from some unseen danger looming nearby. "I absolve you of your sins."

"Thank you, Saintess," he whispers hoarsely back at you after a few moments spent simply holding each other close like this, neither of you saying anything further aloud but rather communicating everything needed through actions instead of words. It feels nice being held like this—being sheltered within someone else's embrace—and it fills your heart with warmth knowing that he trusts you enough to let himself be vulnerable.

He shifts around underneath you, causing you to lift your head off his chest to check on him, thinking he's uncomfortable in the position you're in, but when you look up at his face, you find him staring intently back down at yours, his gaze soft yet intense all at once.

"Where did you learn all of that?" he asks quietly, an imperceptible, suspicious crinkle between his eyebrows. He’s almost searching for the answer in your face before you can give it to him.

"Learn what?" you ask, puzzled by his question. "I just followed your lead"

"You don't realize what you just did?" He frowns just a touch, looking concerned now instead of curious. "That was…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

"God no," he said quickly, shaking his head. "It was incredible. I've just never had anyone take control like that before. Especially not..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at your position.

"Oh," you reply, feeling somewhat embarrassed now that you realize your actions could have easily been misinterpreted as something more sinister than innocent exploration. You wonder if perhaps you crossed a line somewhere without realizing it earlier. "I hope I wasn't forcing you or anything..."

Leon's hand came up to cup your cheek. "You didn't overstep at all. I loved every second of it. I'd do it again in a heartbeat if you asked."

You smile shyly at him before placing a quick peck on his lips, causing him to hum contentedly, his hold around your waist tightening, pulling you closer toward him once again until there is hardly any space left between the two of you at all anymore.

"I'm glad then," you murmur softly against his mouth. "Because I think I liked doing it too."

But there's really this intense pressure between your legs and you think you have to use the chamber pot, so you squirm out of Leon's embrace to do just that. However, as soon as you get off the bed, a gush of liquid comes out of you, and you're terrified thinking that you just wet yourself in front of him. It's not that much to completely have soaked through the towel, and you're able to make it to the washroom without giving anything away to Leon.

You remove your towel and stare at the mess between your legs. But it isn't urine, since the liquid is clear and doesn't stink, and it's thicker, viscous almost. You come to the conclusion that if you did pee yourself then it would feel different than this does right now.

You clean yourself with water and a washcloth, and when you wipe between your legs, you feel that intense pressure again, and you have to sit down to wait to pee this time, but nothing comes out. You try pushing it out, but all that happens is a little bit more of that clear fluid. It's strange, and you're worried about it. You don't remember ever experiencing anything like it before and wonder if perhaps you hurt yourself during your earlier activities or caught a disease somehow, but nothing seems wrong with you otherwise, so you brush it aside for the moment, making a mental note to ask Lady Margaret for advice later when she arrives tomorrow morning. But for now, it's time to get back into bed and cuddle up with Leon again.

You wake up the next morning to find Leon's arm draped across your chest, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and his body pressed up firmly against your back. It's warm and comforting, being held like this, and you can't help but enjoy the sensation of being surrounded by him like a protective cocoon.

His hand moves in a subtle manner, flicking over one of your nipples, and you feel a jolt of pleasure shoot straight through you from that simple contact alone, your thighs pressing together as a sudden heat blooms low in your belly. It feels good having his skin touch yours like this, making you want more of him touching even more places elsewhere on your body, especially after he had made his desire for you clear last night. He wants you, and that knowledge sends another thrill through you, leaving you feeling giddy and excited.

He lets out a soft groan behind you as he pulls you closer towards him until that want is pressed firmly up against your buttocks. You can tell he's already hard, his arousal evident even in his sleep, and you can't deny the effect that has on your own growing neediness that goes beyond wanting to touch him like that again. You remember how good it felt last night when you touched him, how much pleasure he gave himself while you watched him do so, and you find yourself wanting to experience that kind of pleasure firsthand now, too.

You've been told that the women don't experience it, that they have to endure it and that's why the temple made the act of coupling such a chore. But you know that itch between your legs isn't going anywhere anytime soon, that it was real yesterday as well, and it felt amazing when you got what little friction you could by moving around. You wonder how to alleviate this feeling without Leon's assistance. Surely there had to be a way to do it by yourself?

But as you try to move away from him to try and see how you can do it, he tightens his hold on you and buries his nose further into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. "Don't leave," he mumbles sleepily. His lips brush against the sensitive skin there as he speaks, causing you to shiver involuntarily at the sensation, and you feel his cock throb where it's nestled snugly between the cheeks of your ass.

"Good morning, Leon," you say quietly, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, and you're rewarded by his cock pulsating again, his hips rolling forward against yours instinctively.

"Mmm..." he hums contentedly, nuzzling into your hand. "Morning." His other arm comes up to wrap around your waist and pull you even closer to him, his body seeming to mold perfectly around yours as though the two of you were made for each other. You can't help but sigh happily at the feeling of being held so intimately like this. It feels right somehow, natural even, and you find yourself wanting more of it, wanting to wake up every day like this, safe and secure in his embrace.

But the feeling of his hard shaft rubbing against your backside reminds you that there's something else you need right now, and that thought sends another shiver through you, the heat in your belly flaring brighter than before.

"Leon," you say softly, trying not to let too much of the neediness you're feeling seep into your tone, though you're sure he can feel the tension building inside of you anyway, especially with the way your hips keep twitching backward indiscernibly as though seeking out friction where there is none yet. "Can I ask you for something?"

"Anything," he replies instantly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "Anything at all."

You hesitate briefly before continuing. "Do you know if I can do to myself what you did yesterday?"

He goes completely still behind you, his entire body tensing as he processes what you've just said. Then he lets out a shaky breath, his grip on you loosening partly as rises on his elbow, leaning over to look down at you. His pupils are wide and dark with desire, his face flushed, and his breathing roughly controlled as he gazes into your own half-lidded ones.

"What?" he whispers hoarsely, his throat bobbing visibly as he swallows hard, his eyes darting everywhere on your face. You bite your bottom lip nervously before repeating yourself.

"I want to do what you did yesterday. To myself," you say slowly, carefully enunciating each word so he understands exactly what it is you're asking of him here. "Can I do that? Will it help this...?" You gesture vaguely towards your groin area, unsure how else to phrase it without sounding crude or indecent. "This itch?"

"Fuck."

Your eyebrows shoot all the way up to your hairline when you hear him cursing for the first time in your presence. He's always so respectful that the sudden change is quite jarring.

"Is everything okay?"

He drops his head back to your shoulder and groans quietly in frustration, burying his face into your hair. "You can't ask me things like that," he says in a pained tone.

"Why?" you ask, genuinely confused by his reaction. It seems perfectly reasonable to you given the situation at hand. "You were enjoying yourself, weren't you? I'd like to try it."

"Shit..." He lifts his head again and looks down at you, his expression serious and faintly exasperated. "That's called 'masturbation'. And you can do it. And yes, it will ease that 'itch' for you."

"Oh. That's a relief." You smile brightly at him. "Will you show me?"

"Saintess!"

"What?"

"It's broad daylight in the morning, you can't do this to me," he exclaims, his face reddening even more than it already is, and you can't help but giggle at how adorable he looks. You turn around to face him and reach out to cup his cheek, gently stroking your thumb across his cheekbone in an attempt to soothe him.

"I'm not trying to torture you," you assure him gently. "Just tell me how to do it and I'll leave you alone for a bit, alright? Please?"

"You play too much," he complains gruffly, but nevertheless leans into your touch, closing his dark-ringed eyelids and exhaling slowly. He seems calmer now, less frantic than he did earlier, though there's still a noticeable tension in his body. You wait patiently, watching the rise and fall of his bare chest under the blanket, listening to his heartbeat gradually slowing down from its earlier frantic pace. "Lay back."

You comply, settling comfortably atop the mattress, and he takes a moment to study you like that, lying naked beneath him, exposed and vulnerable yet somehow comfortable nonetheless. His gaze travels over every inch of your body, lingering here and there, essentially the same way you studied his last night. It's strangely arousing being observed so closely like this, and you find yourself trying to fend off your squirming under his scrutiny, wanting to cover yourself up somehow but resisting the urge to do so. Instead, you let him look his fill, your own cheeks warming in a blush as you return his stare through lidded eyes.

"Spread your legs," he eventually instructs. You hesitate briefly before obeying, parting your thighs slowly, the cool air of the room caressing your skin as it is exposed to the open space. Leon's breath hitches visibly at the sight, his pupils dilating further as he drinks you in.

This is way too embarrassing. Why did he get to lay perfectly horizontal on the bed yesterday while you're the one on display today? You almost want to ask him if you can switch roles and have him demonstrate it instead.

But it's not like you can take it back now. He's looking at you with such intensity that it makes you shiver, and you can feel the slickness between your legs increasing with each passing second. Your nipples are starting to stiffen and tingle, your breasts feeling fuller than usual, and there's a faint throbbing sensation deep in your pelvis, a need building up within you that demands attention and relief.

"Touch yourself," he orders quietly, his tone low and gravelly, his gaze never leaving yours even for a second. You hesitate once more before reaching down, tentatively running your fingertips along your inner thighs until they finally come into contact with your sex without quite knowing what to do next. "Explore."

"Explore?"

"You're discovering yourself. You have to know where everything is, so you know where to pay attention to the most."

"Everything?" you echo uncertainly. "There's more than one thing?"

"Saintess..." he moans in exasperation, his forehead dropping onto your inner thigh, and he shakes his head slowly, his hair tickling your skin.

"Sorry!" you apologize on the spot. "I just... don't understand."

He sighs again heavily, lifting his head to look at you again, his expression softening. "I'll guide you, okay?"

"Okay but why do you know more about me than I know about myself?"

"Because I've studied it. And I've imagined it a lot," he admits, blushing furiously at his confession, and you can't help but giggle again at how cute he looks like this.

"Oh? You've imagined my... this?" You gesture vaguely towards your groin. "A lot?"

Him looking up at you between your legs like that feels very strange. You're aware of how close his mouth is to you, and it's making the pressure in your belly increase exponentially. It's like there's a string connecting your heart and sex, and every time you look at Leon, that string is pulled tighter, and to what end, you have no idea. All you know is that you want it to keep happening, and you don't want it to ever stop.

"Less talking. Spread yourself open for me. Like this." He takes your wrist in his hand and guides two fingers towards your slit, spreading it apart gently to reveal all its hidden secrets, including the little bud of nerves hidden at its apex. It's so sensitive when air touches it that it's making your hips twitch and your back arch. "Do you see this?"

"Y—es," you stutter, trying your hardest to remain still as he continues guiding your fingers across your folds, teaching you about yourself and your body as he goes along.

"This is your clitoris," he says softly, pressing your fingers against it lightly and causing another shudder of pleasure to course through your entire being, "and it's very sensitive. You can rub it, tap it, flick it, or even suck on it."

"Suck?" You can't imagine yourself bending to that degree, one has to be especially flexible and you're not sure if you are. You've certainly never tried before. "How would I suck on this? There's no way I can bend like that..."

You see that he wants to laugh but presses his lips together at the last second so as not to offend you.

"I can do it for you," he says right after, his tone eager, his words coming out faster than normal, his pupils dilating visibly once again. "I mean... only if you want me to, of course."

You nod shyly, your face heating up considerably at the thought of what he's offering to do for you, and then he shifts lower on the bed, positioning himself between your thighs. You instinctively try to close them but he gently pushes them apart again, keeping them open wide enough so he can fit comfortably without hindrance. His hot breath fans across your sensitive flesh, sending shivers up and down your spine, and you have to fight the instinctive urge to squeeze them shut again.

He's looking at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and the intensity of his gaze is almost overwhelming, making you feel vulnerable yet strangely empowered at the same time.

He places a soft kiss directly on your clit and you gasp audibly, arching your back as a wave of pleasure washes over you, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you in an attempt to ground yourself.

He looks up at you again, his dark lashes lowered and fluttering, and then he leans forward and places another kiss on your clit before parting his lips and sucking it into his mouth.

The sensation of his tongue flickering over it is indescribable, and you moan softly as he begins licking it in earnest, alternating between slow, languid strokes and quick flicks of his tongue, each one sending sparks of pure ecstasy that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the embarrassing noises you're making.

"No, don't do that," he protests after a few moments, pulling away from your sex briefly, and then he reaches up and takes your wrist in his hand and pulls it away from your face, "don't stifle your beautiful noises. I want to hear you moaning for me, Saintess. I want to know exactly how good I make you feel," he murmurs, and then resumes his task, his lips closing around your clit once more as he resumes his ministrations, his tongue flickering across it faster than before, the suction stronger as well.

"Le-on, this is... Too embarrassing," you whine, your entire body quivering as he continues pleasuring you, his mouth hot and wet against your most intimate parts.

"You'll get used to it," he says reassuringly, his tone gentle yet firm as he looks up at you again, mouth still wrapped around your clit so his words vibrate through it. He releases it with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to it momentarily, and smiles crookedly. "We're just getting started."

His hands come up to grip your hips, holding you steady as he continues to devour you with his mouth, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your buttocks, kneading them roughly, and you're not sure how much more of this you can handle.

You've never felt anything like this before, and you're not sure you want it to stop either, despite your protests, because the pleasure he's giving you right now is unlike anything you've ever experienced. You're completely lost to the sensations, your mind a haze of lust and desire as he continues to worship you with his tongue, his lips and teeth nipping and scraping across your clit and swollen folds, and you're pretty sure that if he were to keep this up, you would explode from the sheer intensity of it all.

He moves lower, his mouth leaving your clit and moving downwards towards your entrance, and he pauses there for a moment, his breath warm against your slit as he takes a deep breath, his nose pressed firmly into the folds, and he inhales deeply, his entire body shuddering violently. "You smell amazing," he breathes out reverently, fiercely as you squirm on the bed beneath him, the heat in your belly flaring up even brighter than ever.

"Please..." you beg him without knowing what you're asking for. It makes him look up at you with a strange light shining in his eyes, something at the opposite spectrum of the reverence you had seen in them last night, and the sight of it sends a thrill of excitement down your spine.

"Please what?" he prompts softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles over the skin of your inner thighs.

"Please... don't stop," you plead quietly, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you tightly.

"Okay," he agrees simply, lowering his head back down to press a kiss against your slit.

Then he plunges his tongue inside you and you cry out loud, your back arching as your hips buck upwards. You have to bite down on the noise, because you can't believe the sounds you're making, and you're not sure you want him to hear them, even if they're caused by the pleasure he's giving you. But he doesn't seem to care, too focused on his task, his tongue thrusting in and out of you, his fingers digging into your buttocks so hard that it will likely leave bruises later. You're not sure why but the idea of having his marks on your body sends a new wave of desire coursing through you and you can feel yourself gushing into his mouth.

"Leon," you moan, your fingers finding their way to his head and tangling themselves in his silky hair, "I—I need... I—"

He hums questioningly against your cunt and the vibrations make your hips jump, the coil within your belly tightening even more, and you're not sure how much longer you can last, your entire body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release, and you're pretty sure you're about to explode into a million pieces.

"I'm... I'm...," you pant breathlessly, unable to articulate the rest of the sentence properly.

He seems to understand something you don't, lowering the arm that's holding you down so the thumb of it can draw circles around your clit, and sliding the fingers of his other hand towards your entrance, circling it before pushing inside, causing you to gasp at the intrusion.

He pumps the digits in and out of you slowly at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and you can't help but moan loudly as the pressure builds within you, your muscles clenching around him as the pleasure becomes unbearable, and you can't hold back anymore, you're going to burst, you're going to burst, you're going to burst—

"Wait, please, wait, stop," you gasp, your hands pushing at his head weakly, and he pulls away from your sex instantly, looking up at you in concern. His chin is slick with your fluids and his lips swollen from his ministrations. He's breathing heavily, and in daylight, you can see how red from chest up he is.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks worriedly, his hands rubbing your inner thighs soothingly.

You shake your head, avoiding his eyes as you have to disappointingly say, "I have to use the chamber pot."

You're not sure if this is the right time to say this or not but it feels necessary given the circumstances, and you're afraid that if you don't speak up now, you'll regret it later.

He blinks owlishly, seemingly taken aback by your statement. "What?"

"I have to pee," you say, face burning furiously as you try to explain yourself further. "I don't think I'll be able to hold it any longer if you continue."

He stares at you for a long moment, his expression completely blank. Then suddenly he bursts out laughing, throwing his head back as his entire body shakes with mirth, his shoulders trembling as he struggles to contain himself, his laughter ringing out loudly in the quiet room.

You frown, feeling a bit offended. "Why are you laughing?!"

He wipes away the tears from his eyelashes with the back of his hand as he tries to compose himself, taking several deep breaths before he finally calms down enough to answer you. "I'm sorry, it's just that... Well, it's normal. It's not actually pee, and you don't have to worry about it leaking out or anything."

"It's not pee?"

"No. It's called orgasming, and it's completely normal," he assures you gently, his tone softening considerably. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. I did too yesterday when you were touching me, remember? That white liquid?"

You nod, relieved to hear him confirm your suspicions, though still somewhat embarrassed by the fact that he knows what happened earlier. "Okay," you mumble shyly, covering your face with your hands, unable to look at him directly.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning forward until he can kiss each knuckle, and then he pulls your hand away from your face and kisses the tip of your nose. "It's okay. There's no need to feel ashamed of your own body."

You nod again, biting your lip nervously. "Okay."

"Can we continue now?" he asks, his tone hopeful. "I want to make you come."

"I've never... come before," you say, fiddling with the sheets between your fingers. "How would I even know if I did?"

"It's pretty unmistakable," he chuckles, and he kisses you softly then, his tongue darting into your mouth to taste yours, and he moans against your lips as you reciprocate the action eagerly, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

The kiss lasts longer than either of you intended, and by the time he pulls away, you're both breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed from exertion, the need within you growing stronger than ever, and you can't wait any longer; you want him to make you come, and you want him to do it now.

"Would you like to go to the bathroom first, just to be sure?" he asks quietly, his hand resting on your hip.

You shake your head. "No. Just continue."

"Alright." He smiles and kisses you once more before returning to your sex, and this time, there's no hesitation or gentleness, only pure lust and desire as he plunges his tongue inside you again and resumes thrusting his fingers into you, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit, and what's been cooling down starts building back up slowly, and you can already feel yourself clenching around his fingers as the pressure within you grows.

The pressure on your clit dissipates for a moment, and the next, he's removing your hand from the grip you have on the sheets, and places it on his head, and guides your fingers so they curl into his soft locks. "Hold onto me," he says, and he resumes eating you out, his fingers pumping faster than ever, and he's relentless, his tongue and lips working in tandem to bring you closer to the edge, and you're moaning louder than before, your hips rolling upwards to meet him halfway, the coil within you tightening even more.

The noise he makes when you pull his hair goes straight towards your belly, and the way he's lapping and slurping on your sex like that is obscene. You're pretty sure he's licking all the way back to your ass, but you can't really focus on that right now, the pleasure within you mounting rapidly.

"Tell me how I'm making you feel," he says after a few moments, his mouth still pressed firmly against you, the eye contact he's maintaining while he does so making your insides clench.

"I— It feels good," you manage to say through gritted teeth, your entire body trembling.

"Yeah? Just good? Tell me more," he encourages you, his tongue darting into you again, and your hiss transitions into a loud moan as he continues to work you over.

"I'm so close," you gasp, your thighs closing around his head, "I'm... I'm..."

"Come for me, then. Don't fight it. Let it happen," he murmurs, his words vibrating against your clit as his tongue flickers across it rapidly, his fingers pumping in and out of you harder than ever.

"Leon..." you whimper, your grip on his hair tightening as he sucks your clit between his lips and flicks his tongue over it quickly, and you're done. You cry out loudly as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your back arching as your thighs clamp down around his head and your hips jerk upwards, and he holds you steady through it all, his tongue never leaving your sex until every last drop has been wrung out of you. You've been dropped off a cliff, and the fall has your insides quivering and your hips spasming. You're not sure what's happening, but you're pretty sure you've died and got your first glimpse of Ethelion.

The euphoria is incomparable, the pleasure overwhelming, and you're not sure how long it takes before the waves of ecstasy finally subside, your muscles relaxing and your body going limp beneath him.

He pulls away from you slowly, his lips lingering on your sex as he kisses you one final time, his tongue cleaning the remnants of your climax from your slit and inner thighs before moving upwards to lick his own fingers clean, the sight of which sends a jolt of arousal straight to your core.

When he's finished, he crawls up to lay next to you, pulling you close to him, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. "You're so beautiful when you come. It's a shame you can't see it."

You're sure you've made the most embarrassing faces and sounds, and can't begin to fathom why it would be attractive to him at all. But the feeling of him holding you is comforting, the warmth of his body soothing, and you find yourself nodding weakly as he strokes your hair gently, his touch gentle yet firm, and he's so strong, and so solid, and he makes you feel safe and secure, and you know that nothing bad will happen to you as long as he's here, that you're protected from harm.

"Was it as good as you thought it would be?" he asks after a few minutes of silence, his tone light and playful.

"I didn't think I would end up screaming," you say quietly, burying your face into his chest. "How come you weren't screaming like that? It's unfair."

He laughs and kisses your sticky temple, his lips caressing your skin affectionately, and he hums thoughtfully as he considers your question. "I suppose I've had some experience."

"You have?"

"Mm." He tilts his head, and you wonder who he did these kinds of things with. It was probably a lot of people, considering how skilled he is. The thought of him touching other people like this sends a sharp pang of jealousy through you, and you can't help but feel a twinge of envy at the thought.

You try to ignore the bitter feeling in your chest and instead focus on the way he's holding you close to him, on the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear, on the way he's caressing you with such gentleness and care.

"Is there anything else you'd like to try?" he asks after a while, and you lift your head to look at him, and he's smiling down at you, his dark lashes lowered, his pupils wide and dark, and the expression he's giving you is so full of adoration and desire that it makes your heart flutter.

"I suppose the only thing left is you putting it in?" you suggest hesitantly, not sure how he'll react to the idea of taking your virginity, but he only grins widely, and he rolls over on top of you, his weight settling between your thighs as he presses himself against you, and he kisses you deeply, passionately, and it makes you moan softly into his mouth as you wrap your arms around him.

"There's so much more to it than that, and I'll show you all of it," he whispers against your lips, his hips rocking gently against yours, and you can feel his cock, hard and thick between your legs, and it feels good, so good, and you can't wait any longer. "But first, let me give you a chance to catch your breath."

He rolls them over so you're on top now, your thighs splayed over his, and he leans forward to kiss you again, his hands running up and down your back soothingly.

"I don't want you to spend your day sore all over, so the sex will have to be postponed to a time where we can afford the time to be lazy," he says, and you nod, understanding his reasoning. It would be unwise to do anything that might hinder your ability to work later today.

"That's fair," you agree, running your fingers through his hair. "What can we do?"

"Let me teach you more," he suggests, and then he's pulling you closer to him, his mouth latching onto your neck, his tongue and teeth grazing your skin lightly. You tilt your head to give him better access, letting out a soft sigh as he sucks on your pulse point. His hands wander down to your hips, gripping them tightly before sliding around to cup your buttocks, squeezing them firmly. He's still hard beneath you, and the feeling of his erection rubbing against your inner thigh has your insides clenching in anticipation of what's to come.

He seems content just to touch you like this for now, though, his lips moving slowly from one side of your throat to the other, leaving trails of kisses along the way, his tongue tracing patterns on your flesh, his teeth nipping gently at random spots here and there. Every so much he pauses and looks up at you, eyelids half-closed and heavy-lidded, and the sight of him gazing up at you sends a shiver down your spine and makes heat pool between your legs once more.

He lays you down on the mattress, then sits back on his knees between your thighs, looking down at you with an intense hunger that has your breath hitching in your chest. His gaze travels over your body slowly, his pupils expanding as he takes in the sight before him, his lips parted just enough to show the tips of his teeth as he runs his hands along your sides and over your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your nipples teasingly.

The next second, you find yourself on your belly, Leon on top of you, the thick head of his shaft pressing against your slit, and he's rubbing himself along it in a slow, tantalizing rhythm, the friction sending little jolts of pleasure through your core.

"This is called," he says, pausing to kiss your shoulder, "intercrural."

You try to concentrate on his words, but finding it difficult as his length slides between your folds, the sensation making you gasp and arch beneath him. His cock is leaking, slicking the way for him as he continues to grind against you, his breath warm against your skin.

You shift to get him inside you, but he moves with you, his length never quite reaching your entrance. You groan in frustration, trying to lift your hips to meet his thrusts, but he simply pushes you back down into the bed with a chuckle.

"Leon, please," you whine, wriggling beneath him impatiently, and he laughs again, his fingers digging into your hip as he holds you steady.

"What do you think you need to do?"

"Ask nicely?"

"Nice try, but no. Do you remember what we’re doing?"

"Intercrural?"

"Yes. Good," he praises, rewarding you by pushing the tip inside you briefly before pulling out again. Your entire body shudders at the feeling of having him inside you, however briefly, and you push back against him eagerly, wanting more. "Up."

With a firm grip on your torso, he lifts you up so your back is flush against his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you in place, and he resumes grinding himself between your thighs, the new angle letting him slide deeper than before, and the pressure against your clit has you moaning loudly as he rocks against you, his other hand coming to your front to play with your nipples, rolling and pinching them between his fingers.

He's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his lips find your earlobe, nibbling on it as he grinds harder, his cock sliding between your folds faster, his hips snapping forward sharply, and the wet sounds of his shaft rubbing against the crevice between your tightly pressed thighs and sex is lewd and loud. The heat building within you is becoming unbearable, your body trembling with need, and you can't help but cry out as he continues to tease you, his fingers pinching and twisting your nipples mercilessly.

"Leon," you whimper, reaching behind you to clutch at his hair, and he growls low in his throat, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he picks up the pace, his movements growing rougher and less controlled, and the head of his erection is bumping against your clit, and it's driving you mad with lust and desire.

"Saintess..." he groans in your ear, and then his hand slides lower to rub circles on your clit, the added stimulation sending you over the edge. "My Saintess... Fall with me. Fall with me!"

You whimper as you come, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your vision blurring as stars dance across your eyelids. Your walls clamp down around nothing, and you can feel yourself clenching and spasming as your orgasm rips through you, your juices gushing out of you and coating his length in your essence. He keeps rubbing at your clit throughout, drawing out every last ounce of your release until there's nothing left, and then finally, his hips still against yours, his cock throbbing against the crevice of your thighs as he spills himself between them, coating your inner thighs in thick ropes of release.

He slumps forward on top of you, his weight heavy and comforting as his cock softens against you, and he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder blade, his breath warm against your skin. You lay there together for a while, both of you panting heavily as you come down from your highs, and you can feel his heart pounding against your back, its rhythm matching your own. Eventually, however, he rolls off you. He gets up and comes back with a damp cloth to wipe the stickiness between your legs, and the coolness feels heavenly on your overheated skin. Once he's done, he tosses the rag to the floor before climbing back into bed next to you.

"Bath?"

When you wake up again, Leon isn't next to you, but there is a note on his pillow that informs you he had to go to the border for urgent matters and will be gone for at least two days.

The note makes you want to curl back up under the covers and fall back asleep, but you can't. You have duties to attend to as the Lady of the house, and you can't afford to spend all day moping in bed. So instead, you drag yourself out from beneath the blankets, and stumble to the bathing chamber with a pep in your step, where you splash some water onto your face to wake yourself up.

You look at yourself in the mirror, studying the reflection staring back at you. Your hair is disheveled and messy, and there are dark circles under your red-rimmed eyelids. Leon told you he wouldn't push your body to its limits, but wrung every drop of pleasure he could from it, and it left you boneless and exhausted. Every muscle aches pleasantly, and every inch of your skin feels tender to the touch, especially where his bites have broken the surface.

But none of it matters. You've never been happier.

You finish dressing and make your way downstairs. You have several letters to write today, not only to keep the correspondence with Jill and Claire updated, but also with other ladies they've introduced you to. With each letter, you hope to expand your social network a little bit more, so you may form friendships beyond their group. You've been told to be careful about networking before branching out about investments and business deals by Jill, since men tend to take advantage of women who want to venture into those fields, something her mother warned them about. At least she trusts you enough to take things at a leisurely pace to test waters before jumping at every opportunity that presents itself.

Jill has even invited you to have lunch at her mansion and introduce you to more women involved in similar fields as soon as possible the next season, something you happily accepted.

Even though you're tired beyond belief, there's something almost electrifying coursing through your veins that leaves you feeling energetic despite your lack of rest. Gaining back that connection with Leon, now stronger than ever, has you elated to no end. If someone told you years ago that one night would change your life forever, you wouldn't believe them; now, however, it seems like the most natural thing in the world to experience this level of fulfillment and joy in life, because you never knew just how lonely you truly were until he stepped back into your life.

Leon is panicking.

It's a sensation he isn't accustomed to, not since his days of rigorous training, when his captain had drilled into him the importance of remaining calm on the battlefield. Panic had no place there. Fear had no place. In war, emotions were vulnerabilities—open wounds to be exploited. He had learned to close those wounds, to stitch them up tight and keep his composure, no matter the chaos surrounding him. For years, he had perfected the art of restraint, his face a mask of stoicism, his body a fortress of discipline.

But now, sitting in the dim interior of his carriage, away from the sanctuary of your presence, that fortress is crumbling.

His heart hammers in his chest, and his hands tremble where they rest on his thighs, clenched into fists. His pulse thrums in his ears, a deafening rush of blood that drowns out any sense of calm. It’s disorienting, this unshakable sense of losing control, of being unmoored from the anchor he had always relied on—himself.

His thoughts race, each one more torturous than the last. He can't stop them from spiraling, can't stop the rising tide of emotion that's threatening to break the dam he's worked so hard to maintain.

Fuck. He loves you. He’s loved you for as long as he can remember. Since that first moment when he had seen your face at the temple, luminous in the soft glow of the candles that surrounded you, bathed in the light of Ethelion's grace. He had been young then, just a boy, but even then, something had stirred inside him—a yearning, a devotion so pure, so all-consuming, that it felt like a divine calling. To protect you. To serve you. To worship you.

But never to love you. Not like this.

He hadn’t allowed himself to call it love, not in the beginning. It had been too dangerous, too close to sacrilege. How could a man like him—a knight, a mere mortal—dare to love someone chosen by the gods? He’d convinced himself, over and over again, that what he felt was nothing more than infatuation, a boyish admiration for a figure of holiness. He had to believe it. Anything else would have been unbearable.

Because to acknowledge the truth—that it wasn’t just devotion, that it wasn’t just admiration, that it was a deep, aching love—would mean admitting that you were forever out of reach. You weren’t just anyone. You belonged to something greater, something higher. A god. Ethelion. And Leon? He was allowed to stand beside you only as a protector, only as your shield. But never as your lover. Never as your equal.

And yet, despite all of that, despite the walls he had built around his heart, he had fallen. Harder than he could have ever imagined.

He’d done the unthinkable.

He’d claimed you.

The memory of last night surges forward, unbidden, vivid in his mind. The taste of your lips, the feel of your body pressed against his, the way you had called out his name—his name—as he brought you to the brink of pleasure. You, the Saintess, the epitome of purity and virtue, had wanted him, had given yourself to him. Willingly. No hesitation, no fear.

It had been everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever denied himself. And it was wrong.

But it had also been the most right thing he had ever done.

Leon groans, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if he can pull the thoughts out of his head. He feels himself hardening again at the mere thought of you—the way your body had responded to him, the way you had looked at him, not with judgment or disappointment, but with trust. With desire.

And that terrifies him.

You trust him. You, the one person in the world who should be beyond reproach, beyond the reach of sin, had trusted him with your body, your heart, your soul. You had chosen him. And that trust, that willingness to let him in, is what scares him more than anything.

What if I break it?

That’s the question gnawing at him, the one that keeps replaying in his mind like a dark, endless loop. You gave yourself to him, fully and without reservation, and now he’s terrified of what that means. Terrified of what he’s already done.

Because he has defiled you, hasn’t he? He’s tainted you with his desires, with his need. You were meant to remain untouchable, a beacon of light, a symbol of all that was good and pure in the world. And now? Now you’re his.

He half-expects to be swallowed up by hell after that thought.

Fuck, he can’t stop thinking about it.

His breeches feel impossibly tight, and Leon curses under his breath. The heat of arousal courses through him, his body betraying him even now, when his mind is at war with itself. His thoughts shift, darker, hungrier. He remembers the way you had whispered his name, your voice soft and breathless, your body trembling beneath his touch. He remembers the look in your eyes—like you wanted to be consumed by him.

He wants that. He wants to make you his again, to feel your body wrapped around his, to hear you moan his name, to see you come apart beneath him. And the worst part? He knows you want it too.

He should be ashamed. He is ashamed. But there’s a deeper part of him, a part that he’s been trying to suppress for years, that whispers something different. It tells him that you’re his now, that you’ve always been his. And that he has every right to take what you offer. Every right to claim you, again and again, until the entire world knows that you belong to him and no one else.

The thought makes him groan again, low and desperate. He can already imagine it—the way you’d look beneath him, the way you’d whisper his name like a prayer, the way he’d ruin you, over and over, until there was nothing left of the saintess, nothing left of the woman you used to be.

Just his. His to worship. His to defile.

Leon shifts uncomfortably in his seat, willing his body to calm down, but it’s no use. The arousal is too strong, the desire too overwhelming. And it’s not just lust. It’s love. He loves you. He has always loved you. And now that he’s had a taste of what it’s like to be yours, to have you want him in return, he knows there’s no going back.

But even with that knowledge, the fear lingers. The shame lingers. Because you’re still the Saintess, aren’t you? Even though you’re no longer bound to the temple, even though you’ve left that life behind, you’re still... untouchable. Or at least, you should be.

God, what has he done?

Leon feels sick with it, the weight of his own desires pressing down on him like a vice. He’s tainted you, hasn’t he? He’s dragged you down into the mire of his own lust, his own sin. And yet... you came willingly. You wanted him. You chose him.

He can still hear your voice in his head, soft and soothing, telling him that it was okay. That it was what you wanted. That you weren’t ashamed. That you didn’t regret it.

But he does.

No, that’s not quite right. He doesn’t regret you. He could never regret you. What he regrets is his weakness. His inability to stay away, to be the man he’s supposed to be. The man you deserve. He should have kept his distance, should have respected the boundaries between you. But instead, he let his feelings control him. He let his desires control him.

The carriage jolts as it hits a bump in the road, and Leon’s breath catches in his throat, the movement jarring his already fevered body. He’s hard—painfully so—and the more he tries to suppress it, the more it overwhelms him. His hand is still resting dangerously close to his aching cock, blunt fingernails digging into his thigh as he tries to resist the temptation to touch himself.

He should be above this, he thinks bitterly.

Another bump causes his thumb to slip down towards the inside of his thigh because of the force with which he was pressing on it, the friction sending a shiver up his spine. Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the seat.

Sir Leon, you had whispered during that night, your tone soft, commanding, with a cruel kindness that only made him more desperate. He’d been on his knees before you, trembling under the weight of his own shame, of his desire. And you had looked down on him with that serene, knowing smile, as though you had always known what he wanted, what he needed. You had given him permission to feel, to want, to submit.

He shudders, his hand brushing over the front of his breeches as the memory takes hold, the rush of arousal overwhelming his guilt. His mind drifts back to that night, to the way you had taken control, how you had made him feel safe in his submission. You had taken his hands in yours, guiding him through the motions, making him believe that it wasn’t him acting on his desires. It was you.

“Sir Leon,” your voice echoes in his head again, and Leon’s breath hitches as his fingers twitch involuntarily over the bulge in his pants. He tries to ignore it, to focus on the scenery passing outside the carriage window instead, but it’s no use.

His hand moves of its own accord, cupping himself through the fabric, the pressure making his hips jerk forward. He can feel himself growing harder, the ache intensifying. He shouldn’t do this. He can’t do this. He’s already defiled you enough. He should have more restraint.

In his mind’s eye, you stand before him again, the ex-Saintess, your hands on his shoulders, pushing him down until he’s kneeling in front of you. The image is so vivid, so real, that he can almost feel the warmth of your touch, the softness of your skin against his.

“Look at you,” you say softly, your tone so sweet it feels like a knife twisting in his gut. “Kneeling there like a dog for me. You’ve fallen so far, haven’t you? My Sir Leon…”

Leon lets out a choked breath, his hand moving to unbutton his breeches as he succumbs to the fantasy, his body trembling with need. His cock springs free, hard and throbbing in his hand, and he bites down on his lip to keep from groaning aloud. The carriage is still moving, the faint sounds of the wheels turning and the horses trotting providing a strange rhythm to his spiraling thoughts.

He strokes himself slowly, his mind lost in the fantasy, in the way you had looked at him that night with such grace and poise, your words cutting into him with a cruel, gentle precision. You had known exactly how to break him down, how to strip away his defenses until there was nothing left but the raw truth of his desires.

"How pathetic," you say in his fantasy in mock sympathy, your lips curling into a smile. "What would Ethelion think of you now? His most devout, debasing himself for me, stroking yourself like a common pervert. You’re not fit to call yourself a knight, Sir Leon."

He shudders, balls tightening as he imagines you standing over him, watching him with that amused, almost bored expression, like you’re barely interested in his suffering, in his need. It’s humiliating, degrading, but somehow that only makes the pleasure sharper, more intense. He can almost hear you laughing softly, a cruel, teasing sound that sends a shiver down his spine.

"Look at yourself," you say, dripping with scorn. "You’re a mess. A disgrace. You’re not worthy of serving me. Not like this."

The words cut into him like a blade, but instead of recoiling, Leon finds himself pushing closer to the edge, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his hand moves with a frantic urgency. He’s so close, so damned close, and your voice only pushes him further, deeper into the depths of his own shame and lust. He doesn’t care if Ethelion sees him like this, doesn’t care if the world sees him like this. He just wants to feel, to chase the high of release that only you can give him.

"You want to come, don’t you?" you ask him, and he nods, a choked sob escaping his lips as his strokes become more desperate. "There are people right outside of this carriage listening in to their lord shaking his hips like a dog in heat with his tongue out, and you want to come. You’re not even a man, you’re a slave to your own desires. A slave to me. Go ahead, Sir Leon. Make a mess of yourself. Show me how pathetic you truly are."

And he does, he begs and pleads for mercy, for relief. His hushed words are a jumbled, incoherent mess, a litany of pleas and apologies as his hips buck wildly, seeking that final release. You watch him with that same knowing smile, your eyes glittering with something like amusement, like satisfaction, and Leon can’t help but wonder if you’re enjoying this, if you’re reveling in the power you hold over him. The power to reduce him to this, to this desperate, needy creature, pleading for your mercy.

"Come," you command, your voice soft but firm, and Leon’s breath catches in his throat, his body tensing as the orgasm finally hits, a wave of ecstasy crashing over him as he spills his seed onto his cupped hand, his body shuddering and shaking with the force of his release.

For a moment, he feels weightless, euphoric, the world fading away until there’s nothing but the pleasure, the relief, the satisfaction of being broken down and rebuilt under your touch. He collapses back against the seat, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat as stares down at his hand, sticky with his own cum, and a wave of guilt washes over him, the shame so intense that it nearly chokes him. But even as he feels the guilt, the shame, there’s a small part of him that revels in it, that takes pleasure in being the broken, debased knight, the one who has fallen from grace and found solace in his own humiliation.

He sits there for a long moment, his breathing slowly returning to normal, the guilt and shame settling over him like a heavy cloak. With a sigh, he reaches into his satchel for a handkerchief, cleaning up the mess he’s made of himself, trying to erase the evidence of his sin, of his desire, of his submission. But no matter how much he tries to scrub away the stain, he knows that it’s there, a permanent mark on his soul, a reminder of the man he’s become.

He’s a sinner, a lost cause. But he’s also a man in love, a man willing to sacrifice everything, to debase himself, to surrender to you, his Saintess, his salvation and his downfall.

Leon arrives back at the manor well past midnight, the long hours of travel evident in the tightness of his shoulders and the way fatigue clings to his bones. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically, but the thought of seeing you again fills him with a strange mix of yearning and dread. After weeks spent at the border, surrounded by soldiers and the heavy tension of political unrest, all he wants is to be near you, to feel your presence.

The halls are silent as he walks through the dimly lit corridors, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. His boots are heavy against the stone floor, but he keeps his steps quiet, not wanting to disturb the sleeping household. His thoughts race as he makes his way toward your shared bedroom, the weight of his emotions settling heavily in his chest. He’s been gone for so long, and every step brings him closer to the moment he’s been imagining for days.

When he finally reaches the door, Leon pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob as he takes a deep breath. He pushes the door open slowly, the hinges creaking softly in the quiet night, and steps inside, and the sight that greets him makes him linger on the threshold.

You’re curled up on the bed, fast asleep, the blankets twisted around you as though you’ve been tossing and turning. The soft rise and fall of your chest are a sign of peaceful slumber, face turned away from the moonlight spilling in through the window, the gentle curve of your body bathed in a soft glow. Drapes of rich fabrics adorn the canopy above you, creating an intimate space that wraps around you like a cocoon, making it appear as if you were held aloft, suspended in time. It's a painting come alive, the kind he'd seen in temples and palaces on a much grander scale, a testament of humanity's greatness. It makes him feel insignificant yet like a god among men to share his room, his life with you.

The sight makes his heart swell with affection, the worries and concerns that had been weighing him down giving way to something warm, something tender. He closes the door behind him carefully, not wanting to wake you, and begins to undress, shedding his clothes as quietly as possible until he's left only in his tunic and trousers.

As he slips into bed next to you, he lets out a contented sigh, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He feels restless and worn out in equal parts, but there's comfort too in having you so close. The warmth of your body radiates against him as he lies there, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest, marveling at the delicate curve of your jaw, the softness of your hair splayed out against the pillowcase.

He reaches out tentatively, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, and you stir in your sleep, a soft murmur escaping your lips. His touch lingers on your skin for a moment before he withdraws his hand, not wanting to disturb your slumber. A small part of him wishes you were awake, that he could talk to you about the events at the border, but he pushes those thoughts away.

You stir again beside him, rolling over to lay on your side and facing away from Leon, and it feels as if he's somehow in the shadows away from the gaze of god, the moon, and the stars.

It starts small, innocent enough. His fingers barely graze the fabric of the blanket bunching around your waist, a featherlight touch, as if testing the waters. The warmth of your body seeps through the material, igniting a spark in his chest that quickly spreads, making his breath catch in his throat. He pulls his hand back, flexing his fingers as if he’d been burned, but the sensation lingers, ghosting over his skin.

What the fuck is he doing?

He squeezes his eyes shut again, trying to shake off the haze that clouded his thoughts, but the need only grows stronger. Listening for any changes in your breathing, making sure that you were deep asleep, he inches closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

He's zeroed in on the bare skin of your shoulder where your chemise has slipped down. His hand moves again, slower this time, hovering just above, fingers trembling. He wasn’t touching you yet, but the proximity alone made his pulse quicken. He could feel the warmth radiating from your skin, so inviting, so tantalizingly close.

This isn't exactly wrong. I'm allowed to snuggle up to my wife.

The thought gives him permission, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He lets his fingers skim over your shoulder, the contact sending a jolt through him that makes him let out a long sigh. The softness of your skin beneath his fingertips is divine, the smoothness so different from anything he’s ever known. He can feel your warmth seeping into him, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing against his touch.

A small part of him knows he should pull away, that this was crossing a line, but the need was too strong, the desire too potent. He traces a finger along the line of your collarbone, marveling at the delicate curve, at how something so simple can make his heart race. He lets his hand rest at the crook of your neck, feeling the soft thump of your pulse beneath his palm. He can't help but think of the way your heart beats, how it's the same rhythm as his own, and how this shared lifeblood connects him to you in ways he never thought possible.

You shift again, humming something incomprehensible, and Leon freezes, his heart pounding in his chest. But you don't wake, and after a moment, he relaxes again, his fingers resuming their gentle exploration.

He lets his hand drift lower, tracing the dip between your collarbones, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your sternum. The fabric of your chemise shifts beneath his touch, the material so thin that it feels like almost nothing at all. He can feel the swell of your breasts, the way they rise and fall with each breath, and he aches to cup them in his hands, to feel the weight of them, the softness.

Fuck. Fuck.

He bites back a groan, his cock growing uncomfortably hard in his trousers. He wants you so badly it hurts, wants to bury himself in you, to claim you in every way possible. But he holds himself back, contenting himself with these small, stolen touches, the ones that make him feel alive and terrified all at once.

He's so hard that it almost hurts, and he wants to grind his hips against you to relieve the pressure building inside him. But the thought of taking things that far, of crossing that line without your knowledge or consent, makes him recoil from himself.

No. This isn’t right. It’s not right at all. You’re better than this, Leon.

With a sigh, he withdraws his hand, pulling away from you reluctantly. The absence of your warmth leaves him feeling cold and empty, but he knows he's done the right thing. He rolls over onto his back, his body rigid with tension as he stares at the ceiling, trying to ignore the throbbing of his cock and the ache in his chest.

He closes his eyes, taking deep, measured breaths, willing himself to calm down.

He tries to focus on the sound of the wind outside, the creaking of the old house as it settles in the night, the distant hoot of an owl somewhere in the forest. But no matter how hard he tries to distract himself, the image of you—soft, vulnerable, trusting—is seared into his mind.

Yeah, he needs a bath.

Careful not to disturb you, Leon pushes himself up out of bed and pads across the room, the cool floorboards soothing against his bare feet. He opens the door, the hinges weakly creaking, and slips out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The corridor is dark and silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering in through the windows. He makes his way down the stairs, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness, and heads to the bathing chambers.

Once inside, Leon lights the candles, illuminating the room in a warm, flickering light. The room is spacious and luxurious, with a large tub of gleaming marble and an assortment of bottles filled with fragrant oils and soaps. He walks to the wooden bucket and pumps water, the rhythmic sound of the handle filling the room, and once it's full, he pours the water into the tub, letting the steam curling off the surface fog his face and warm his skin.

He strips off his clothes, his muscles tensing as he feels the cool air against his heated flesh. He can't ignore his erection, the way it throbs and aches with a desperate need.

He steps into the tub, hissing at the sensation of hot water against his skin. He sinks down into it, submerging his body until only his head remains above water, and he lets out a sigh of relief. The heat soothes his tired muscles, relaxes his tense shoulders, and he feels himself drifting, his thoughts becoming hazy and unfocused.

He closes his eyes, trying to ignore the insistent throb of his cock, the way it strains against his stomach, demanding attention. He tries to focus on the sensation of the water against his skin, the way it licks at his flesh, caresses him, but his mind keeps wandering back to you. To the soft curve of your shoulder, the way your skin felt against his fingertips, the warmth of your body so close to his.

The marble of the bath feels cool against his nape as he rests his head on the rim, the heat from the bath causing sweat to bead on his brow and dampening his hair. His breath echoes off the walls of the bathing chamber, the sound of the water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub providing a soothing background noise. But even that can't drown out the insistent throb of his arousal, the way it pulses with each heartbeat, demanding attention, demanding release.

He ends up dipping under, the water enveloping him, and he opens his eyes, staring up at the distorted image of the ceiling through the rippling surface. His hair floats around his face, and he feels weightless, suspended between the reality of his desire and the fantasy of his mind. It feels like an eternity passes, his lungs burning as his heart thrums, and just when he thinks he can't hold his breath any longer, he resurfaces with a gasp.

He combs his fingers through his wet hair, pushing it away from his face, and—

"You're back."

He startles, jerking upright and causing the water to slosh around wildly, his heart hammering wildly in his chest as he turns to face you.

You're standing there in the doorway of the bathhouse, your silhouette outlined in the candlelight, and there's a look on your face that he can't quite read. You seem surprised to see him there, your eyes wide and bright, reflecting the flickering flames. Your lips are parted slightly, as if you're about to say something, but the words seem caught in your throat.

He can't help but admire the way you look in the dim light, the soft curves of your body visible through the sheer fabric of your nightgown. His eyes linger on the way the material clings to your hips, draping over your thighs and accentuating every movement as you step further into the room. He has to force himself to tear his gaze away from the outline of your breasts, the delicate swell of them drawing his attention despite his efforts to remain respectful. He's suddenly aware of his own nakedness, of the way the water licks at his skin, the way it exposes him to you in a way that makes his breath catch and his pulse quicken. He tries to sink lower in the bath, hoping that the water will hide his body, his desire, but it's no use.

"Why did you come all the way over here? We have our own bath," you say quietly, sitting down on a stool and leaning against the edge of the tub, resting your chin on your folded arms. The fabric of your nightgown shifts slightly, revealing the bare skin of your shoulder, and his eyes are drawn to it like moths to a flame. He's acutely aware of how close you are, of the way he can reach out and touch you, the way he can smell the faint scent of soap and perfume on your skin from your nightly bath. He wants to lean in closer, to bury his face in the crook of your neck and inhale your scent, but he holds himself back, his muscles tensing with the effort.

He swallows hard, trying to find his voice, the sound echoing off the walls of the bathhouse. "I didn't want to disturb your rest."

There's a beat of silence, the sound of dripping water and crackling candles filling the space between you. Your gaze is steady, unyielding, as if you can see right through his flimsy excuses and straight into his heart. And maybe you can, because you've always been able to read him like an open book, ever since that day in the temple gardens when you found him as a young boy, struggling to breathe through an asthma attack and crying from the fear of dying.

"You're not doing a very good job at that," you finally say, the corner of your mouth quivering in a wry smile that makes his chest tighten and his pulse race. You know him too well, know all his secrets and fears, and yet you're here, sitting beside him in the bathhouse, offering him comfort and companionship.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. And he is sorry, sorry for waking you, sorry for being so distracted, so consumed with thoughts of you that he can't seem to think straight anymore.

"Don't be," you reply, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. Your touch is gentle, tender, and it makes him ache with longing. "I missed you."

His eyes flutter close when you start carding your fingers through his hair. It feels so good to be close to you again, to be touched by you in such a simple, affectionate way that he can't help but savor it. But then his thoughts wander again, imagining you in the bath with him, your naked bodies pressed together, the water lapping at your skin as you move against him. He can picture it all too vividly, the way your breasts would feel against his chest, the way your legs would wrap around his waist as he thrust into you, the way your voice would sound in the stillness of the night, gasping and moaning in his ear. He shudders, biting back a groan, and tries to push those images away, but they cling to the corners of his mind like shadows.

"You're so tense," you observe, your fingers still moving through his hair, and there's a hint of concern in your voice.

"It's...it's nothing," he lies, trying to sound casual, but his voice comes out strained and breathless.

"Too tired, huh? Let me wash your hair. Can you hand me that?"

He hesitates for a moment, the water swirling around him, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, slowly, he reaches over the edge of the tub, grabs the bar of soap, and hands it to you. You dip the soap into the water and rub it together in the palms of your hands until suds form. You begin to work the soap into his scalp, massaging it in slow circles, your fingers firm but gentle against his skin. His eyes drift shut, his body relaxing under your touch.

The feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp is almost unbearable, and the way you're looking at him, with so much affection and tenderness, makes him feel weak. He can't remember the last time someone has touched him like this, with such care and intimacy.

"This is lily soap," you muse, your fingers continuing their slow, deliberate movements. "Did you know these were on the brink of extinction in the capital for a while that I thought I could only find one on an auction or something? Fun fact, when you're a maid, you wash both yourself and your clothes with the same soap, so it has a shorter lifespan. But even with that it was so jarring to find out store after store and apothecary after apothecary didn't have this. I wasted an entire off-day running around to find a bar of soap that the next day it was like I worked on a construction for a week. It's funny to think how I used to have to be so careful in not wasting even the tiniest bit, and now I can have a whole basket to myself."

Leon listens to you talk, his mind foggy. He's never washed with your signature smell before, and now it's clinging to his hair and skin like a second layer. It's like you've somehow claimed him as yours without even realizing it. The scent is so strong that he can almost taste it, and it's making him lightheaded in a way that has nothing to do with the steam from the bath. His scalp tingles, and he has to fight back a groan when your fingertips brush against the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

He wants to tell you how much he's missed you, how he thought about you every day while he was away, how he's been longing to feel your touch again. But the words catch in his throat, and all he can do is sink further into the tub, letting the hot water envelop him as you continue to wash his hair and entertain yourself by twirling strands into shapes and figures, or perhaps just to play with it.

"Don't fall asleep, now," you say with a laugh, splashing water on him.

"I won't," he murmurs, but his eyelids are already growing heavy, the warmth and comfort lulling him into a drowsy haze.

"You're not very convincing," you tease, your voice low and soft, like velvet. "I can see those eyes closing. What's so interesting about a bathtub's rim anyway?"

He opens his eyes to look at you. Your face is hovering upside down from his perspective, and you're giving him a small smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. There's a playful glint in your eyes, like you're enjoying teasing him. He can't help but smile back, feeling a surge of affection for you.

You lean down to give him a chaste kiss, your hair falling in curtains around him, your mouth warm and sweet against his, "I'm going to wash this off, alright?"

He closes his eyes as you begin to rinse his hair, the water cascading over his head in a soothing rhythm. The scent of the soap fills his nostrils, and he can't help but breathe it in, letting it envelop him like a warm blanket.

"Alright, I'm done," you announce, your hands moving to massage his shoulders. "Feeling better, Leon?"

"Much better," he murmurs, his voice low and soft, his eyes still closed. "You're too good to me." He can't remember the last time someone has taken care of him like this, with such care and tenderness. It's a feeling that he's not used to, but one that he finds himself craving more of.

"Let's get you to bed, then."

He opens his eyes to find you standing beside the tub, a towel in hand. He stands up slowly, the water cascading off his body in rivulets, his skin flushed from the heat and the attention. As he steps out of the tub, you immediately wrap the towel around his hips, pulling him close to you. He's acutely aware of his nakedness, of the way his skin presses against the thin fabric of your nightgown, of the heat radiating between your bodies.

You move another towel in small circles across his arms, his shoulders, his chest, the fabric soft and absorbent as it soaks up the water from his skin. Droplets from his hair trail down his neck, and you follow them with the towel, pressing it against the back of his neck and gently patting it dry, your fingers soothing against the damp curls that cling to his skin. He can't help but shiver at your touch, his breath catching in his throat as you work your way down his body, your movements slow and deliberate, like you're savoring the moment as much as he is.

"Turn around for me," you instruct, and he complies, his skin tingling with anticipation as you start to dry his back, the towel gliding over his skin like a soft caress. You move the towel down, tracing the lines of his muscles and the curve of his spine, and his heart races as you reach his hips, the towel brushing against the edge of the one wrapped around his waist. He can feel your fingers slipping underneath the edge of the fabric. It's harmless on your part, but he's so sensitive to your every touch that he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning out loud.

And his erection had just gone down as well.

"All done," you say, your voice soft and a little breathless. He can feel the warmth of your body as you move around to his front, your eyes lingering on his chest for just a moment. "I didn't think to bring a bathrobe instead. It's a bit of a walk to the room, would you mind if I go and get it now?"

"It's fine," he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough. "I can handle a little cold."

It takes every ounce of willpower not to take advantage of the situation. Not because he doesn't want to — God knows he does — but because you deserve better than some desperate coupling in the bathhouse. It's going to be your first time with each other, and even though your body isn't technically new to him, he won't make it uncomfortable for you, not when you haven't actually been together. You should be somewhere familiar, comfortable, with sheets clean and soft enough to let you drift off afterward, wherever sleep may take you both. You've deserved better than what life has given you so far, so damn right he'll deliver on the bare minimum.

The night air is cool against his skin as you lead him from the bathroom. The corridors are quiet and shadowed, and there's something oddly intimate about walking naked through the sleeping castle with only you by his side. You don't speak, but he doesn't need words to know what you're thinking; your hand clasped tightly in his says more than anything else could.

It doesn't go according to his subconscious expectations, though, as he finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed and you between his legs, furiously drying his hair while he's trying to avoid getting hard. He has to say that the vigorous motion of your arms is helping his case.

He's not sure if he imagines it or if he actually hears the small, suppressed giggle.

"You look like a sheep," you say, and now he's certain the amusement in your tone isn't imagined. You reach down to press your lips to his temple, the sensation of the towel on his head halting abruptly, and he's left staring up at you as you straighten.

Before he can think better of it, his arms sneak around your waist and pull you closer until his head is resting against your stomach. You don't hesitate in wrapping your own arms around his bare shoulders in return, holding him close, and the two of you just breathe together for a moment.

"Thank you," Leon murmurs after a long pause, his voice muffled by the fabric of your nightgown. He's not sure what he's thanking you for exactly, but it's the only thing he can say. You've taken such good care of him tonight, made him feel loved and cared for in a way that he hasn't experienced, and he's not sure how to express that gratitude in words. But the way you hold him tight tells him that you understand.

He lifts his head to look at you, and he's struck by the beauty and affection in your gaze. It's the kind of love that he's dreamed of his entire life, the kind of love that fills his soul with light. And for the first time in his life, he realizes that he doesn't have to dream anymore. He can reach out and touch it, feel it, hold it in his hands.

You reach up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and the feeling yanks him from the edge of sleep. "Do you want to sit in front of the fireplace?" you ask him. "Or would you rather just go straight to bed?"

"Stay," Leon says, his voice thick with emotion. He doesn't want this night to end, doesn't want to let you go just yet. He needs more of you, more of this warmth and love that you're offering him. One arm unhooks from around your waist and he trails a path down your forearm, his palm closing on the back of your arm as he turns his head around to rest his lips on the inside of your wrist. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks. "I want to stay here a little longer with you."

"Alright." You nod, and then your hand is trailing up his neck, your palm coming up to cup his cheek, fingers tracing the line of his cheekbone and then the edge of his ear. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and his throat works to suppress a shudder. He can feel your gaze on him like a brand. "Let me just... get this off of you."

You reach up and pull the towel from his head, tossing it onto the ground behind you, and your fingers comb through his damp hair. He's never realized how good it feels, how much he craves the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp, the way you scratch your nails lightly against his skin, the way you tug on the strands to angle him how you want.

"Will you take me tonight?"

Your voice is low and husky, full of desire, and Leon can't help but let out a groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of your chemise, bunching it up as he tries to maintain control. His cock is fully erect again, straining against the towel still wrapped around his hips, and he's so turned on, so desperate for you that it takes all of his willpower not to push you onto the bed and take you right then and there.

"Are you sure? I know this is your first time, and we can wait, take things slow—"

"I want this." One knee goes on the side of his left thigh, making the mattress dip. And then the other, and then you're straddling him, hands cupping his face as you press your lips to his, the kiss slow and languid. Leon melts into your embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. The taste of a sweet treat is on your tongue, something fruity, perhaps a dessert wine, and he chases it, wanting more. "I love you, Leon," you whisper against his lips, and he can feel your breath fanning across his face. "I want you to make me yours."

Those words are like a key, unlocking something deep inside Leon.

"You love me?" he repeats, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye.

"Yes." You nod, your hands still cradling his face, your touch gentle and loving. You look at him like he's the center of your universe, your eyes shining with affection and desire, "Yes," you breathe out, your fingers trailing down his neck to rest on his chest, right where his heart is beating wildly beneath his ribcage. "How can I not?"

"God," Leon murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion, "I've dreamed of hearing you say that for so long, I—" His throat tightens, cutting off his words, and he pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, and he can feel your pulse against his lips. He can't believe this is real, that he has you here in his arms, that you want him just as much as he wants you. He can feel your heartbeat, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the warmth of your body seeping into his bones, and it's all so overwhelming that he can't hold back the emotions that flood him. "I love you too," he whispers, his voice breaking, and he presses a kiss to your collarbone, feeling your skin warm and soft against his lips. "I love you so much."

Your fingers are in his hair, tangling and pulling as he leaves a trail of kisses up the column of your neck. His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin behind your ear, and he feels you shudder in his arms, your breath quickening. "I can't believe you let me pull you down from Ethelion's arms," he says, his voice muffled as he sucks on the lobe, tongue dipping into the crevices, the heat between you making him dizzy. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your hips, your waist, the dip of your spine. "No... I can't believe you willingly fell for me. That you're here. That you're mine."

"Always," you whisper, your nails scratching against his scalp, and Leon groans, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. Your touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through his body, and he can't get enough of you, can't stop touching you, tasting you, feeling you pressed up against him. "I have always been yours."

You tilt your head, baring your neck, and Leon is powerless to resist. He bites down on your shoulder, leaving a mark, and you gasp, your body arching into his. "So beautiful," Leon says, his words coming out in a low growl, and he's almost embarrassed by how animalistic he sounds, but he can't bring himself to care, not when you're looking at him with so much desire, so much love. You're perfect like this, with your hair disheveled, your lips swollen from kissing, and your eyes glazed over with want.

"Then why do you keep me waiting, my lord husband?" you whisper, and Leon can't help but smile at the teasing tone in your voice, the way you're challenging him, daring him to take what he wants.

"Because I want to make this good for you," he murmurs, his hand slipping under the hem of your chemise, his fingers dancing along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You shiver, and he can feel the muscles in your legs tensing as he gets closer and closer to your center, but he's in no rush, and he wants to make this last. "You need to be ready to take me."

"I am," you say with a breathy moan, and Leon can feel your wetness as his fingers glide against your entrance. He's been dreaming about this for weeks, fantasizing about what it would feel like to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him, and he's not going to rush things now. He wants to make sure you're as ready as you claim to be, wants to make this experience as pleasurable for you as possible.

He can't wipe the smile off of his face. "In spirit, maybe. But I need to open you up first. I don't want to hurt you."

He can see the uncertainty in your eyes, the way you bite your lower lip, and it's endearing, but also a little heartbreaking. You're so young, so inexperienced, and he wants to make sure that your first time is everything you deserve, that it's perfect in every way.

"Don't hold back," you whisper, and it's a plea, a request that makes his heart swell. You're saying that without even knowing what that truly entails, but he's not going to question it, not now when he has you in his arms, when you're so willing, so eager. "I want all of you, Leon. Please."

And who is he to deny you?

He stands, lifting you with him. The towel hanging on for its life around his hips drops to the floor, and he can feel your eyes on him, on the way his muscles flex and strain as he moves you to lay on your back in the center of the bed, the soft mattress cradling your body. He climbs onto the bed, kneeling between your spread legs, his cock jutting out from his hips, hard and heavy. Leon reaches down and takes hold of the hem of your chemise, lifting it slowly, his eyes devouring every inch of skin that's revealed to him, the way your stomach tenses as the air hits it, the way your chest heaves with each breath you take. He leaves it bunched right underneath your breasts and wraps his fingers around the waistband of your drawers, tugging them down, down, until you're completely bared before him.

"Look at you," Leon breathes, and there's wonder in his voice, reverence, as if you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he's trying to memorize every curve, every freckle, every inch of your skin. He runs his hands up your legs, parting them further, and you tremble. He's basking in the pride of your body responding to his touch like a flower opening to the sun.

“I want you to relax,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

His fingers trace a path from your ankle to your knee, the muscles in your thighs tensing, and his touch is feather-light as he reaches the apex between your legs, the place that's already wet and aching for him. He teases you, his thumb circling your clit, "I know how good this feels for you. But we need to get you used to being penetrated. I'm going to start with my fingers. Is that okay?"

"Yes," you gasp, and there's no hesitation, no doubt, just a desperate need for him.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, and his voice is thick with desire, with love, as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "So brave. So perfect. So beautiful."

His fingers slide between your folds, and he's slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving your face as he watches your reaction, the way your mouth opens, the way your eyelids flutter shut, the way you shift around on the bed, your hips arching towards him, wanting more, always more. He pushes one finger inside of you and you sigh, your walls clenching around him, and he can't help but hiss in response, his own pleasure mounting, his cock throbbing as he imagines what it will feel like to sink inside you, to feel your heat, your slickness, your tightness.

He watches you closely, looking for any sign of discomfort as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, the tight walls of your cunt gripping it like a vise. It's not long before he adds the second one, stretching you further, and he curls them both inside you and searches around.

"Fuck," Leon mutters under his breath as the tips of his fingers come into contact with a patch of slightly roughened skin and your body jerks like you've been struck by lightning, your hand shooting down to wrap around his wrist in an iron grip. "There," he says, and there's a smugness in his voice, a satisfaction, as if he's discovered a secret treasure that only he can access. "Found it." He rubs his fingers over that spot again, and you writhe beneath him, your grip on his wrist tightening even further.

"Leon," you whine, and there's a note of desperation in your voice, a need that makes him shudder. He leans down, pressing his lips against the side of your knee as he hooks it over his shoulder.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your skin, and there's a promise in those words, a vow that he intends to keep as he starts to fuck you with his fingers, slow and steady, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit, rubbing circles into it in time with the thrusts of his hand. Your grip on his wrist tightens even further, the bones grinding together in your grip, and it's only through sheer force of will that he manages to keep a slow pace. "Can you try to loosen your grip a bit, love? You have quite a vice grip there. You'll break my wrist if you're not careful." You whimper and ease the grip a bit. "There you go. Don't be afraid to feel it. Talk to me, let me know how this feels."

"It's..." You gasp, and your hips jerk up, trying to take him deeper, your walls clenching around his fingers as if you're afraid he'll take them away. "Not enough. More, Leon. Please." You're panting, your chest rising and falling, and he can hear the desperation in your voice, the way it cracks and wavers, and it only fuels his own desire, his own need to take you, to make you his, to make you come undone. "Up. Touch up."

"I need you to focus on the feeling inside," he instructs, and there's a hint of a command in his voice, a firmness that you're not used to from him, but it's not unkind, not harsh, just insistent. He knows you mean your clit, and eases off the pressure. "I don't want you to focus on the outside right now. Just on how this feels." His fingers crook and curl inside of you, and you whimper, your head falling back against the pillow, your eyes squeezing shut. "Can you do that?"

You nod, a shuddering sigh escaping your lips, and he can feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, gripping and releasing.

"I can't with this," you whine, and you sound wrecked and frustrated, your words almost slurring together. You release his hand to grab at the pillow behind you, your knuckles white as you grip the fabric. "It's not enough." Leon chuckles. He knew it would take some time to make you come like this, but that's half the fun. He wants to watch you struggle and squirm as he takes his time, opening you up for what's to come. He wants to savor every second of this, wants to make you feel as much pleasure as possible.

"I suppose I can indulge you, just a little," Leon murmurs and presses his thumb against your protruding clit. "I want you to tell me when you're about to come. Focus on what your cunt's doing." He's rewarded with another shudder and a broken whimper as he rubs slow circles over your clit, his fingers still thrusting inside you. "And remember to breathe. You need oxygen to come."

You do as he instructs, taking deep, shuddering breaths, and he can feel the way your body relaxes, the tension in your muscles easing as you let him guide you through the pleasure. Your hips begin to rock in time with the thrusts of his fingers, and he can see the way your toes are curling, your heels digging into the bed. You're close, he can feel it, the way your walls are fluttering, gripping him, trying to keep him inside.

"Leon," you moan, and your voice is so full of need that it sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin, making it throb. "It's... I'm going to... Please, don't stop."

He leans down and presses his lips to yours, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that's more teeth and tongue than finesse, his fingers never stopping, his thumb still rubbing mercilessly against your clit, "Let me see you fall apart."

As if on cue, you shatter beneath him, your back arching off the bed, your hips lifting up as you come, a guttural cry tearing from your throat, and he swallows it, his mouth still on yours, drinking in the sound of your pleasure. He keeps moving his fingers, drawing out your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure until you're twitching and gasping, your body writhing beneath him.

"So beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, his voice ragged with his own desire.

He doesn't let you come down, doesn't let you catch your breath. Instead, he continues to work his fingers inside of you without touching your clit, taking that orgasm to associate it to what his fingers are doing. He wants you to come on his fingers, wants to teach your body to respond to his touch in this way, and he's not going to stop until you do.

"I can't," you gasp, your hand coming up to press against his chest, trying to push him away, to create some distance between your bodies, but he doesn't let you, doesn't relent, his fingers still working you open, stretching you wide. "Leon! Ah, it's too sensitive! Too much!"

"Shhh," Leon soothes, and there's a note of authority in his tone, a command that he doesn't realize slips through. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing over your lower lip, and your mouth parts, a soft moan escaping. "You can, and you will. I'm going to take care of you. I want to see you come apart on my fingers. Can you do that for me? Only from my fingers? Not from the outside?" He presses a kiss to your temple, and your breath stutters, your eyes squeezing shut. "I'll stop if you really can't handle it. I know it's a lot, but I promise, it'll feel so good if you let it."

"I don't know if I can," you whisper, and there's a note of fear in your voice, a hesitation that he understands. You've never done this before, never had someone touch you like this, never had someone take you to the edge and then hold you there, dangling over the precipice, and he's asking you to trust him, to let him take control, to let him guide you.

"You can, I'll get you there," he assures you, his voice soft and gentle, and his fingers never stop moving, never stop stroking, never stop stretching. "Listen, you hear that? How wet you are? That's your body's way of telling us you're ready for more. You're taking it so well. Just try to relax, and let me show you what your body's capable of."

A third finger teases at your entrance, and you whimper, your hips canting up to meet his touch, your body responding to him in a way that he knows is instinctual, primal. You're so wet that his fingers are practically dripping with your juices, the sound of your cunt squelching obscenely with each thrust, and it's music to his ears. "Gods," you gasp, your head falling back, your neck exposed, and he can't resist the temptation to lean down and nip at the sensitive skin there, to suck a mark that will bloom on your skin like a brand.

"It's just me in here with you," he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot against your skin, his words a whisper of reassurance and encouragement, and you shiver, your body trembling beneath him, as if you're trying to hold on to his words, to let them anchor you, ground you. He has to hold you down with his body weight to keep you from thrashing and bucking too much, the pressure on your clit gone and you can't grind up against him to get the relief you need. "Just us in here. No God. Just my fingers. Just focus on what my fingers are doing. Can you feel how wide they're stretching you?" He nips at your earlobe, and then soothes the sting with a swipe of his tongue.

"Oh, god..." you moan, your voice low and ragged, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you, your knuckles white as you cling to the fabric.

"No God," Leon repeats, and there's a dark satisfaction in his tone, a possessiveness that you can feel in every fiber of your being. "I'm not going to let you rely on Him. I'm the one who's going to take care of you from now on."

One kiss mark on the side of your neck turns into another, and another, and soon, he's sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his, claiming you in a way that goes far beyond the physical. He wants to leave his mark on every inch of your skin, to erase every trace of Ethelion's influence, to make sure that you know that choosing Leon meant choosing to fall to his level, not the God who abandoned you. And when you're covered in his love bites, when you're writhing and gasping, your body shaking with need, he'll move on to the next patch of unblemished skin, and start all over again. Because for all the shame and guilt he felt for tainting you, he can't help but feel a dark thrill at the thought of corrupting you further, of showing you pleasures that you've never known before. Plucking an angel from Heaven and making them his. This is his worship. This is what he wanted to do all along.

"Leon!" You cry out his name like a prayer, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, the desperation and need in your voice like a siren song that he can't resist. There's hardly any resistance against his fingers, you're so soft inside, and you're so wet that his hand is drenched in your slick, his palm starting to rub against your clit, the heel of his hand putting just the right amount of pressure there to keep you teetering on the edge, but not enough to send you tumbling over. He wants to keep you here, in this place of pure sensation, where there is nothing but him and his touch, his love, his desire. "Oh, God... please, please... Please, no more, I can't do this, let me off, please, let me..."

"Beg for me more," Leon groans against your neck, and his voice is rough, his own need pressing insistently against the mattress, and he can feel the way his cock is throbbing, the way his balls are aching, and he can't ignore it anymore, can't resist the urge to take his own pleasure in hand, his hips grinding against the bed as he fucks himself against the mattress, head buried against your neck as he licks and bites his way up to your ear. "Tell me what you need."

"I can't," you sob, and the tears are flowing freely down your cheeks now, and he's mesmerized by them, by the way they shimmer in the candlelight, and he catches one on his tongue, the taste of your sorrow and desperation mingling with the salt of your sweat, and he wants to devour you, wants to swallow you whole. "Let me come, Leon, please, let me... I need it, I need you, I need you to make me yours, please, please..."

He kisses you, hard and deep, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim every inch of you, and you moan into the kiss, your hips bucking up against his hand, and he knows that you're so close, that you're right on the edge, and just in time, he takes all pressure away from your clit and focuses everything on your insides, his fingers pumping in and out of you, and you're so wet, so tight, so perfect, and he can't get enough of you, can't get enough of the way you feel, the way you taste, the way you sound as you call out his name, for him to let you come, to give you what you need.

"I'm not going to let you come from the outside," he says, and he's panting too, his own desire clawing at him, the sheets below him damp with pre-come as he grinds his hips against them, his cock seeking relief, but he denies himself, because he wants this to last, wants to make sure you're thoroughly satisfied before he even thinks of his own release. "You need to come on my fingers, need to get your cunt to associate this with an orgasm. Come on, baby. Come for me. I know you can. You're doing so well, you're being so good, you need to breathe," he reminds you, and you do, your chest heaving as you gasp for air, your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin, and he welcomes the pain, revels in it, because it's a reminder that you're here, that you're his. "That's it. Just let go and let it happen. I'm here. I've got you. I'll always have you."

"I love you, I love you," you chant, like a litany, like a prayer, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, the words falling from your lips like a benediction, and he can't help but groan, his own need pushing him to the brink, his hips grinding harder. "Please, please, please—"

Your voice breaks off in a keening wail as your body goes rigid, your back arching off the bed, your head thrown back in ecstasy, your mouth open in a silent scream as you come, your cunt clenching around his fingers, your thighs shaking, your heels digging into the mattress as you ride out the waves of pleasure. And he can feel it, the way your walls flutter and pulse around his fingers, the way your body grips him, and he's so close, so close, so fucking close...

"That's my good girl," Leon grunts against your neck, his own breath coming in ragged gasps as he continues to thrust his fingers into you, prolonging your orgasm, drawing it out until you're limp and trembling beneath him. "That's it. Let go. Give in to it. Give me everything."

He milks you for every last bit of pleasure, and when you're finally spent, your body lax and boneless beneath his, he kisses you again, softer this time, his lips gentle against yours.

"You're so perfect," Leon whispers, and he means it, he means it with every fiber of his being, because you are, you're everything he's ever wanted, ever dreamed of, ever imagined. "I knew you could do it. I knew you were a good girl. You were so good for me, so perfect, and I'm so proud of you, so proud of you for letting go and trusting me. You did so well."

"Leon..." His name is a whisper on your lips, a plea, a prayer, and he cups your jaw, nestles your chin in the slope between his thumb and pointer, and pushes your head back to kiss you again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim every inch of you. You're exhausted, spent, your body limp and heavy, but you still manage to wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close, and he can feel the way your heart is still racing, your pulse fluttering like a captured bird. Your tongue can't quite reciprocate the movement of his, and he can taste the exhaustion, the way it's settled into your muscles, made them weak. "I love you," you breathe against his lips, and he's sure his heart is about to burst, it's so full of joy and adoration and love.

"I love you too," he murmurs, and he means it, he means it more than he's ever meant anything in his life. His hand is still between your legs, cupping your sex, his fingers still buried inside you, and he feels the reaction those words elicit, "Fuck, you want more, huh? Even though you're exhausted." You nod, expression woozy and slackened, and he smiles, his lips curving up against yours. "I can feel you clenching down on me, even though I'm barely moving my fingers. I wonder if we should see if you can have another one like this, on my cock this time. Do you think you can do it?" He pulls back, and you blink slowly, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, lips swollen from his kisses. Your shoulders, neck and collarbones all littered with bruises and bite marks.

"Yes," you say without hesitation, without a single doubt, and it's a miracle that he can even think straight, that he can focus enough to move his hand, to slide his fingers out of you. Your slick clings to them, a thin string connecting you to him before he smears it all over his length, the slide of his palm against the shaft as he coats it making him groan and his hips stutter. "Please. Please, Leon, I need you inside me."

He's never heard anything so sweet, so perfect, and he's powerless to resist you, helpless in the face of your desire. "Anything you want," he murmurs, and he means it, he means it more than anything he's ever said before.

His hands have a faint tremble to them as he helps you out of your nightgown, baring the upper side of your body to him completely. The jarring difference between the marked skin from the clavicle up and the blank canvas of your chest makes his dick twitch in anticipation, and he licks his lips as he imagines how much further he can take things with you. You let out a soft sigh as his palms skim up your sides to cup your breasts, massaging them gently as his thumbs roll across your nipples. You arch your back, pressing your breasts into his palms, and Leon grins as he continues teasing your sensitive flesh.

"Always so responsive," he breathes, crawling up to nestle between your legs, his broad form draping over yours. His hands drop down to grip your waist, his fingers tightening slightly on your heated skin, and then he tugs you against him, rolling his hips forward, grinding his erection against your center, and the friction is delicious. "Do you like having my weight on top of you?"

"Mm-hmm," you nod, your breath coming in quick pants as he starts rocking his hips, sliding his length along your slit, coating it with your slick.

The feeling of his cock gliding against your folds is intoxicating, the sensation amplified by your previous orgasms. You squeeze your thighs around his hips, and he moans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as he continues to move against you. His movements start to spasm when the tip of his dick catches on your entrance, and he sucks in a breath between clenched teeth, unable to help himself as he pushes forward slightly. You gasp at the pressure, and Leon pauses, knowing it must be overwhelming after he spent the better part of an hour working you open with his fingers. You'd be incredibly tight even if he was average sized — which he isn't—so the size difference has the potential to cause real problems for you both.

Your hips jerk forward, and Leon groans loudly as your body wraps tightly around the tip of his cock. A wave of intense pleasure courses through his veins, radiating out from his pelvis. It's almost enough to make him come right there and then, but he manages to regain some self-control, despite how badly his body yearns for release. But damn... it feels incredible, and he needs you, needs to feel that again.

For a while, he loses himself in the repetitive motion of popping the tip of his penis inside of you only to withdraw immediately afterward. Over and over, again and again, until you're sucking him in on your own. Each time, he struggles not to plunge himself fully within you. Every single ounce of restraint is focused on holding back, letting you adjust. By the time he's able to sink past halfway without making you squirm or whimper, you're coated in a layer of sweat. Your breath comes quickly as your fingers wrap around his forearms caging your head, clutching him, nails scraping red lines over his skin, like scratches from wild cats.

You tremble beneath him, gasping, biting your bottom lip to contain the sounds building in your throat. When the crown of his dick hits something solid inside of you, you shout his name.

"Leon, please! So big. Oh gods, oh gods. That can't—that shouldn't fit." The sudden shift into awareness worries him, breaking his concentration, and he nearly slips completely free of you. You're looking down between your joined bodies, and seeing yourself spread wide over his girth, pupils blown, sends you right back to delirium, arousal winning out over panic. "Why do I want it? I'm so full, Leon. I'm gonna explode."

"Not yet you aren't. Don't be tense, I’ve got you, everything’s okay. Relax."

But he needs you to let go for just a minute. A second. If he keeps trying now, he'll hurt you.

Breathe in. Breathe out. He waits, stroking your clit lightly, bringing you back to that blissful state of near-orgasm where all coherent thought ceases, as the passage softens. Finally, he hears it, the soft pop and subsequent sigh of relief. The muscles loosen around his cockhead as he slides further in. Only a little more now. Just enough to—there. Home base. Sheathed entirely within you.

His control frays dangerously close to snapping as he stares at your face, overcome by raw desire. Sweat runs down his spine, drops clinging to the strands of hair at his nape, threatening to fall into his eyes, but he doesn't dare blink lest he miss a single instant. He wants to remember every detail.

Your eyelids are half closed, dark lashes fanning flushed cheeks as your eyes roll back. Lips parted slightly, you pant softly, each breath a moan. "So full."

A thin film of moisture coats your brow, glossy trails winding down your temples to disappear in your hair. Chest rising steadily with each inhale. Hips undulating instinctively against his restraining palm. Inner walls squeezing and releasing sporadically like a massage. His own breathing speeds up and stutters. You feel amazing. Better than he ever imagined. More than anything his dreams could conjure, you are perfection, wrapped in silk and honey and lust.

He starts babbling. "You feel divine. Look at you taking me, being so good for me, relaxing, opening up for me. Gods above I love watching you let go," he groans huskily, leaning forward to nuzzle your jaw. Your soft skin pressed against his forehead, your fragrance filling his nose. The tip of his tongue darting out to lick along the seam of your lips before dipping in between them. Without pulling back from where he's sheathed, he starts slowly rolling his hips, careful not to thrust hard yet; just shallow rocking movements meant to get used to the stretch. Gradually easing both of your bodies into a rhythm. "I was so afraid to ruin you, break you, destroy everything you represent..." A harsh intake of air, followed by a low rumble as he pushes forward, drawing another moan from you, "And now you're here... giving yourself over to me like this..."

He traces the line of your throat with gentle kisses and nibbles. "Tell me how it feels. Is it painful? Am I hurting you at all?" Another tremor, another groan. Your fingers dig deeper into the muscle of his triceps. "If something becomes uncomfortable, tell me immediately. Okay?"

A stream of whimpers and garbled words drip from your lips as they descend lower to trace along your throat. One hand lifts up to twist through his long locks while the other seeks out the small of his back to pull him closer, urging him deeper. "Oh, f-fuck! Shit..."

His motions change from rolling strokes to short thrusts. The pace remains slow but steady. The angle forces the base of his erection to drag over your swollen clit with every inward slide. It stimulates that tiny bundle of nerves continuously. Your legs lock tighter around him. Feet pressing against his ass to lift you higher and push down at the same moment. Seeking more stimulation. Greedy for more sensation.

"It does hurt," you gasp as his lips latch onto a particularly sensitive area below the curve of your jaw, teeth grazing over delicate tendons before licking across to soothe away any soreness left behind. He hums low in his chest at the admission, and you add quickly, "But it's a good kind of pain, I don't know...! Ahhhhnnn—yes!" You lose track of your thoughts briefly when the head of his shaft bumps into some resistance deep inside you, causing an involuntary flinch and then a strangled keen.

"Oh yeah, right there? You like that?" Leon asks wickedly, repeating the action while reaching down with a hand to grab one leg above your knee and toss it over his shoulder. There's plenty of give to allow flexibility even with his broad frame crowding yours but with this new position his penetration increases dramatically. When his hips press flush against your pelvis, his whole length stuffed inside, his cock reaches even further than before and hits that exact spot dead center.

"Oh my gods--"

"No God," he snarls possessively, lowering his head next to your ear, "Just me. Can you feel how deeply you've let me in?" With purposeful intent he bucks sharply upwards, knocking a startled grunt out of you.

His mouth latches onto your neck again and sucks hard, pulling blood vessels to the surface and creating red blooms all along both sides of your windpipe. As his hips rock back and forth, their tempo picks up until you're practically bouncing from the force. "Who is filling you right now? Sinking into this tight little hole, fucking you into oblivion?" he growls savagely against your damp skin. In return, he earns more unintelligible cries mixed in with the occasional affirmation. The words "please" and "more" fall frequently off those lips. "Do you like it when I talk to you like this? Hm? It turns you on to hear filth instead of reverence, doesn't it? I know," he smirks before switching to something equally vulgar, "because you are dripping wet. Dripping... down... your thighs. Oh, Saintess. My filthy little saintess."

Leon rumbles deep within his chest when there's no answer forthcoming aside from pleasured whines and moans. In retaliation he nips roughly at your jugular, catching sensitive nerve endings between sharp teeth and threatening to break skin without actually biting down. His wide open hand finds your slick back and pulls you up a little to latch onto your chest, and rests the other forearm above your head to brace himself against.

Your chest is covered in a layer of perspiration that he laps away eagerly, swallowing gulps of water between every swipe with his tongue over stiff peaks. You writhe beneath him like an animal caught in its death throes. The movement only serves to intensify the friction between your bodies; both the external teasing of your clitoris rubbing against him and internal massage as his length scrapes against hot walls.

Everything smells like sex, like heat. Like two humans consumed by each other. Everything feels slippery wet, slippery soft. Every time either one of you moves the slightest bit there's a squishing noise emitting from somewhere beneath that makes your face twist and his manhood jump harder within its confines.

"So warm, so tight." Leon grunts harshly after diving down to bury his head between the valley of your breasts. "Can't hold back any longer..."

"Leon..!! Oooh gods...!" Your nails dig into his biceps, raking red streaks over smooth skin, sending goosebumps racing along every inch of exposed flesh.

When the initial shock wears off, he takes advantage of his current location and attaches his lips firmly onto one nipple while snaking a hand underneath your derriere and lifting slightly to tilt your pelvis upward so that with his next thrust there's a direct strike straight into your core, striking gold repeatedly.

Leon lifts himself back up, bracing against the bed for leverage, to hover over your limp body; chin resting atop his knuckles pressed deep into the mattress between your bent knees, staring intently at where your connection joins. Watching hungrily as he pistons into your soaked cunt with quick, shallow strokes meant for maximum friction. His balls swing forward in rhythmic thuds, slapping against the curve of your ass, coating themselves in sticky juices. "Keep looking," he commands gruffly. "Don't take your eyes away for a second. Want you watching stuff you full and mark what is mine."

Your breaths become more labored but your gaze remains fixed, focused solely on where they join together repeatedly. Your lower abdomen clenches tighter as he pounds into you, your head arching backward exposing delicate pale skin for him to continue littering love bites all over.

"Leon, I'm close, I'm close again please!" You cry out, chest rising rapidly off the ground, pushing against his mouth still ravishing one nipple between blunt teeth, swirling his tongue expertly over hardened nubs. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't ever stop I want more forever, please...!"

His movements are erratic, desperate. Frantic to reach his own climax. He hasn't had enough yet though, so he resists it stubbornly even as his vision threatens to blur around the edges due to sheer sensory overload from all angles.

"No." And abruptly he ceases thrusting entirely, simply leaving his dick sheathed inside your fluttering cavern, letting you feel how deeply he fills you. How closely he presses against places that have never been touched by anything other than a fingertip before tonight, if ever. The word itself wasn't spoken with hostility or anger but rather affectionate reprimand. "Tonight is about training. About making sure you learn this lesson properly. It won't do if we finish prematurely when there's still so much to learn and do first."

When your frustrated whines subside to mere frustrated whimpers, he begins again, slower now but with firm intention aimed directly toward prolonging the experience further, ensuring maximum pleasure and education. His head lowers once more into position directly beside your left ear, voice whispering huskily and intimate against your cheek. "My sweet saintess," he murmurs soothingly while rolling his hips slowly forward, eliciting several soft sighs and gasps from below. "Let go completely. Surrender yourself to me."

He slides out of you with agonizing care before helping you turn onto your stomach. Once finished positioning you just so, he straddles your calves in order to lay atop you. Your torso is completely flattened out onto the bed, pinned under his weight. He brings a hand behind himself and guides his engorged cock into your wetness once again; guiding, encouraging your thighs apart while simultaneously spreading those soft inner globes wide open until your entrance yields readily beneath his tip. Then slowly pushes home until bottoming out against your deepest barriers, whereupon he withdraws nearly completely again before repeating the cycle.

"I'm going to go weird," you warn feebly. Not exactly coherent speaking material given present circumstances but still understandable nevertheless. "I'm going to break, please, I'm sorry, I can't stop—" You sob as another wave of warmth crests, rolling down from somewhere deep within, drowning everything else in its wake, dragging under and tearing apart all preconceived notions of reality and time and place until only bliss remains, eternal and infinite.

Fuck, yes, he thinks, fighting not to come prematurely when your walls start rippling around him uncontrollably. It's him who did this to you. Who took apart your composure piece by piece until nothing remained but trembling limbs and whimpers escaping dry mouths, lips parched for air. His chest swells with pride at witnessing your body react viscerally to his touch. It's like staring Ethelion right in the eye while he fucks what is His, claiming ownership without reservation or remorse. No god will ever fill you more than Leon can—will always satisfy you beyond compare, leaving you a shattered wreck incapable of coherent thought besides Leon.

"Yeah?" he whispers hotly against your nape, pushing your hair to the side with his nose before nibbling gently on supple flesh beneath. He wraps himself around your back like a blanket, enfolding you completely within the cage formed by his arms, his hips slapping mercilessly into your asscheeks as he continues pummeling relentlessly onward, faster and harder and deeper than before, stretching you far beyond capacity yet somehow never enough. "Break, then. Go ahead and shatter for me. I'll catch you every single time, hold all the fragments together. Give yourself entirely until nothing matters anymore except how good you feel when I'm fucking you."

The sounds he lets out against your ear is embarrassing when your instantaneous orgasm squeezes violently down around him, milking him furiously even though he hadn't been expecting it.

"Fuck! No, wait, waitwait—don't do that, I'll—" His cock twitches painfully within your spasming walls as they begin contracting uncontrollably again despite his orders otherwise; not stopping nor slowing for a second, forcing the rest of his sentence to trail off into a broken groan. He's fucking coming. Already.

Against his best efforts, a guttural whine tears loose from deep within his lungs, echoing throughout the room as he pumps out rope after thick rope into your welcoming womb, coating every possible surface until saturation point has already surpassed capacity and excess seed oozes out copiously around his shaft as evidence of his release. He keeps pumping, desperately seeking extra traction whenever possible but soon running out of reserves to keep up pace. After a few final shuddering thrusts that border on overstimulation, he sinks further into you one last time before allowing himself to collapse and spoons you securely from behind with both arms cradling tightly around your front like a protective shield, breathing heavily.

"You almost sucked the life outta me." Leon mumbles into the nape of your neck, panting hard against soft skin, still half-hard and buried inside of you. "Wasn't supposed to happen like that. Had plans. Wanted to make this perfect for you, wanted you to remember this night forever."

"Are you kidding me?" you slur, sounding delirious. Your head lolls sideways against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering weakly. "That was incredible."

"Really? I didn't hurt you?"

"I mean... I definitely think I would have died if we kept going according to your plans. But honestly? I think that's a small price to pay considering what happened instead."

He chuckles lightly at that, relieved and delighted by your positive response, before turning your chin towards him and pressing his mouth to yours, kissing deeply and tenderly. He tastes the saltiness from sweat and tears on his tongue and smiles inwardly knowing that he was the one who made you cry. That you willingly let him have this, give him everything without question or doubt. That's the real victory here, isn't it?

As you relax further, relaxing into the mattress, your breathing evens out, becoming slower, calmer. He watches intently, fascinated by how peaceful you look lying next to him. His cock twitches inside of you once more, reminding him that he is still hard. Still wants more.

"We can still keep going," he offers quietly, reaching between your legs, fingers trailing lightly along the outer edges of your labia, stroking softly, coaxing them to part further. His thumb brushes gently across your clit and draws out a hiss from you, and a delicious roll of your hips that forces him deeper inside of you.

"You're going to kill me," you whisper, leaning in for another kiss, and he complies readily, capturing your lips with his own. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and press yourself against his chest, sighing contentedly as his fingers begin working their magic.

"If you die, it'll be because I loved you too well. Which would be an acceptable way to go."

The golden hour of late afternoon casts long shadows over the estate, the air warm and filled with the gentle hum of life—buzzing bees, chirping birds, and the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze passes through. Everything feels tranquil, as if the estate itself has finally come to rest after the flurry of its construction. Leon basks in the glow of success, having achieved something worthwhile here with his own two hands—or at least supervising its creation. It's comforting to feel like a person instead of a weapon, especially when such simple pleasures bring so much joy.

And there you are, kneeling amid the lilies you’ve finally managed to grow. They sprout from pots scattered throughout the greenhouse, adding bright pops of white to the green of the plants already thriving. You hum happily while tending to your collection; you've taken great care to tend the soil carefully, pruning away any brown or yellow leaves, keeping them watered regularly, and providing proper sunlight each day. And they've paid dividends, resulting in a stunning display. Each pot contains a variety of different types, ranging from delicate trumpet flowers to majestic magnolias.

Leon watches fondly from the doorway as you work diligently, using the watering can to dampen the rich black earth before tucking a fresh bloom into place amidst the greenery. He'd bought the seeds specifically with you in mind when he heard of their beauty, hoping to surprise you upon delivery—but was disappointed when it took longer than expected. Now here they stand, proud and vibrant, blossoming fully in preparation for spring, brought into existence by your tender loving care.

Much like him.

Leon isn’t sure if you realize how much those flowers represent more than just your determination to build this garden. He does hope that perhaps you recognize a hidden truth embedded within these stems and petals; that as long as someone believes enough to nurture growth, nothing will ever truly perish—especially not love.

He takes a step forward, his boots crunching softly on the gravel path. You don’t turn, too engrossed in your work, your fingers gently brushing over the petals of a nearby flower. He watches the way your hands move with such care, such tenderness. It’s a far cry from the woman he first met—so unsure of herself, so afraid of what the world might think. Now, you are here, fully in your element, having created something beautiful from nothing. And he cannot help but admire how far you've come, how brave you are, how determined to make a new life for yourself.

"They've grown well," Leon says, coming up beside you, taking care not to disturb your concentration. His eyes follow your motions, noticing the way the sunbeams bounce off your cheeks, highlighting the curves and lines of your face as you smile proudly.

"Look, my pretties. He's praising you," you say fondly, caressing another blossom with the back of your finger. "Go ahead, praise them more."

He laughs softly. "Alright, then. Um, very nice job, lilies..." Leon trails off awkwardly, unable to shake the feeling of foolishness that comes with complimenting plants like they understand human speech. "Good work on the pollination?"

You burst into giggles as soon as his words leave his mouth and he smiles sheepishly, trying his hardest not to blush. Maybe this kind of thing doesn't suit him, but he wants you to know how happy it makes him seeing your efforts come to fruition. All of this—the flowers, the greenhouse itself, even your little house down by the lake—were ideas that came straight out of your brain and were built here by your hands. And damn it, he wishes there was a manual for what to say to express just how amazingly impressive that is!

But when you glance back at him with shining eyes full of excitement, Leon realizes that maybe he doesn't need fancy vocabulary after all.

"And great job growing garden, my lady." He grins broadly, patting the top of your head fondly. "I knew you would do it if you believed enough."

Suddenly you turn to him fully and throw your arms around him tightly in an excited hug. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Nah, this was all you."

"Okay fine, yeah it was pretty much just me... But seriously!" You insist, looking up at him with serious eyes that glitter like gemstones. "Thank you."

"What is this, 'thank you'? You should be saying 'I did a good job!' Come on, say it."

A smirk curls at the edge of your lip before morphing into an expression so warm, Leon feels it spread deep within his chest like sunshine melting snowfall. "We did a good job. Thank you for believing in me enough to see it through. For sticking by me during tough times, cheering me on no matter how discouraged I got. This is our home now."

A soft sigh escapes his throat involuntarily and he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist loosely while resting his chin atop your hair. "Mmhm... That sounds much better."

Hearing those words, hearing you accept this space as theirs, makes him incredibly happy. Part of him wonders if you truly comprehend just how significant this moment actually is—that neither of you have belonged anywhere since childhood; tossed aside or forgotten, ignored or scorned, pushed around by others' expectations—yet here stands a place where everyone knows exactly who they are meant to belong with and where they belong. A sanctuary of peace built around love alone.

After all those years trapped in that crumbling temple and their orders, forced to endure pain and suffering under constant scrutiny from those seeking power through control, Leon never could imagine things turning out so perfectly for himself. Not when he lost faith so long ago, surrendering himself entirely to Ethelion's command in hopes he might someday find salvation elsewhere; yet ultimately falling short of such aspirations time after time. Yet somehow now, even despite everything—despite being branded a traitor, exiled, stripped away of everything including his name—he is grateful, contentment flooding through his system, settling comfortably within his bones.

In your arms, there is freedom. In your heart beats a home.

[captnsundy]

lis de: a rant

i've never been a person to publicly rant about games like this, but considering how life is strange is one of my favorite franchises ever, and how it's being absolutely SHIT on by the current devs and publisher..

we need to talk.

i was there during the OG days of the original game's release. granted, i was only 14 and a dumb teenager, but i definitely used tumblr when people called this game "life is tumblr".

i remember the theories. i remember the lets plays. i remember the excruciating wait between episodes. the fanart. the fanfics. i remember the extreme disappointment with the endings, but also how people came to.. accept them. to some degree.

that won't happen this time.

d9 and square enix fumbled this franchise so hard by putting out this new "so-called" sequel to the first game. the blatant disrespect for the characters created by dontnod, who seemed to put actual love into their characters, is just fucking insane.

i'm not a huge shipper in general, but even *i* know, as someone who was there during the original release, how much a profound impact pricefield have had on people. hell, it even helped 14 year old me, who struggled with massive internal homophobia, already at that point start to question my sexuality.

pricefield helped me become comfortable with who i am.

to reduce their relationship to something as.. people moving on because its realistic??? it's a fucking supernatural game. there's nothing realistic about it. there's already such a HUGE lack of *happy* sapphic relationships, and pricefield was one of those that deserved a happier outcome. you're essentially punishing those who picked bae, but also bay-ers by staining chloe's memory. making her seem like nothing more than an bitch in both endings.

we waited 10 years for this bullshit?

it's so fucking obvious that these corpo assholes hate chloe and everything she stands for, and that we should forget about her. ironic really, considering they made a whole ass game about her in BTS. what even *happened*?

"move on". hell, it's literally *written* in the game. they're trying to essentially reboot max so they can keep pushing new games with her.

if pricefield is truly dead, with 0 chance of coming back because they wants us to "move on" - i hope life is strange is over. i hope whatever plan they have for another shallow entry in the series crashes and burns. the fans deserve better, and so does the d9 devs that might've pushed against this happening in the first place.

whatever the full release may be (which, going by devs statements and leaks won't be any better), know this:

this game doesn't have to be canon.

you can ignore it.

fuck deck nine. fuck square enix.

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil, I wanted to ask about giving feedback on a loved one's work.

My brother sent me a short story he'd written and asked for my comments as I did my BA in creative writing, have done some freelance articles for a website so he wanted my opinion, and writing persuasive copy is part of my job.

Unfortunately my opinion is that the story is bad.

I've written constructive feedback, found some helpful resources, asked two friends who don't know my brother to sense check my comments and to let me know if they thought any of them weren't fair or justified, and I even told my brother my feedback wasn't sugar coated and he still asked for it.

But I just can't bring myself to send any of it to him.

I love him so much, and he's already written a whole novel that he hopes to get published (I haven't read it yet, he's still making revisions) and I don't want to negatively impact his ambition, but it really is a bad story. One of my friends couldn't even bring themselves to finish reading it.

If you have any advice on how I can give this feedback to my brother, or tips for how to keep writing after constructive criticism, I'd really appreciate it!

Jane Yolen, who is very wise, once told me that she will ask anyone who wants her to read something and give her feedback what kind of feedback they want. Do they want encouragement? Do they want to feel good about themselves? Do they want the kind of un-sugar-coated serious critical response she would give if she were your professor, or reviewing it in a newspaper? Do they want to make what they have made better, or to feel more like someone who has brought something home from school for their parents to appreciate?

Because lots of people don't want to know what you think about it.

I am not like Jane. If I read a story from a friend and it is very bad, I will either lie about having read it (I will have run out of time), or I will try and be encouraging about something, if I can. But not in a way that then allows them to ask me to send it to my agent, or publisher or use what I said as a blurb.

[severeangerissues]

SO ABOUT THE TRUYERABI GATE

You've probably already seen the post about the artist Truyerabi, who is accused of drawing incest and eroguro. The person who posted this said they did it "just to inform" But they clearly didn't do it just to inform, because if that were the case, they wouldn't have defended their actions and called the artist disgusting. This is already becoming personal and is clearly more than just informing.

Please don't skip this post, it's important if you're against false accusations and bullying and canceling people.

Truerabi knows that she draws disgusting things, and it is important to understand this. The accuser, let's call them that, said that she was hiding it, but in fact she was not.

Next I will provide translations of the post from Truyerabi's telegram to prove that she is not as bad as she is demonized.

I want to point out that Truyerabi actually draws these things and if these pictures are trigger for you, I advise you not to follow her telegram channel. You can follow her tumblr because these pictures are not there.

Let's also remember that the Internet has always drawn and will draw guro, ero-guro, and other abominations. It was like that from the very beginning and that's how it is. There is no point in fighting what has always been.

Please note that the translation may contain strange punctuation or something else. But overall, I translated everything that was written here honestly. Except that I didn't use swear words and adapted some sentences because this is the great and mighty Russian language /hj

Left is the original, right is my translation. I've highlighted the important parts in pink, but you should still read the whole post to get more details.

1.=~=~=~=~=~=~~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=

The first important part. Truyerabi does not support what she draws, and you should understand this. There is no need to demonize her, she is a human being just like you. Yes, she is a pro/comshipper, but that doesn't put a cross on a person. Just like any other label. People can be like this for completely different reasons and it is wrong to lump everyone together. You must understand this.

2.=~=~=~=~=~=~~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=

Here Truyerabi mentions that she puts warnings on her works, which is proof that she herself knows very well that her works are not something good. This also proves that she does not draw it "in secret", "in the shadows" or "behind the scenes" as some have accused her of. Because if that were the case, she would not published it on her blog, describing everything in the picture in a trigger warning. It's not very secret when you describe everything that's "secret", is it?

The accusation that she does this "in the shadows" comes from the fact that she only publishes explicit works on Telegram. And is this logical? There is no strict moderation in Telegram. But she does this mostly because she doesn't want to trigger anyone. The argument that she doesn't post it on Tumblr is just empty words to further defame the person. By the way, the prosecutor eventually published the works that were hidden from sensitive eyes without any censorship. They didn't even hide them under a cut. This is rather reckless, don't you think? Who ended up triggering more people?

*-You may have noticed that Truyerabi is not the only one being accused, but I translated the post she wrote "from herself"

3.=~=~=~=~=~=~~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=

⚠️The third argument contains a mention of self-harm, if this is a sore subject for you, read with caution or skip the 3rd point!!⚠️

In this screenshot you can see that Truyerabi is not a crazy fetishist, but a person who uses shock drawings as vent art. She is well aware that these are disgusting topics, horrible actions. And it helps her "let off steam". Everyone has their own way of dealing with problems and she is far from the only one of those who preferred this method, believe me.

Now it is quite wrong to blame a person and insult them for something that is an outlet for them. It's still incest and ero-guro and you shouldn't watch it if it upsets you, but putting it out there in public and telling others that the author is disgusting is just wrong.

⚠️WARNING, THE BOTTOM SENTENCE CONTAINS A MENTION OF SELFHARM, READ WITH CAUTION OR SKIP IT!!

⚠️Someone told her "I think self-harm is healthier than proship" What? What for the hell? Are they saying that drawing non-existent people who have already died many times in many different ways even in the official media is worse than REAL self-harm? What? What kind of soulless bastard do you have to be to say that? It's not better at all. Anything is better than self-harm. This is an indisputable fact and arguing with it is idiotic.⚠️

4.=~=~=~=~=~=~~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=

Here is another argument that Truyerabi does not romanticize incest and so on. She's right, the pictures don't depict Scout as someone who is happy with his situation. I don't think the person who wanted to normalize this would portray the characters as unhappy. On the contrary, it portrays incest as something negative, something that causes rejection and discomfort, something that harms a person.

Here she also says that it is unfair to say that her vent art is not vent. We don’t know what she went through, we don’t know what emotions and memories she puts into these works. It's wrong to blame her for the way she copes with her problems. She doesn't have to tell anyone what she's been through or what's going on in her head, but that doesn't mean she can be bullied.

5.=~=~=~=~=~=~~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=

An argument with which I completely agree. I don't think that if you are a real internet hero, a public figure, you will hide behind a clean account. If you haven't noticed, the person who published one of the posts is an empty account with an anonymous nickname. Doesn't this seem strange to you? If the author of the post simply wanted to inform you, then why did they create a separate account for this, if they could fit everything into one post on their main one? Could it be that this person is a person who is upset with Truyeraby for something and does not want to be recognized. Because they might be recognized? I don't want to theorize, but it seems to me that in order to inform people, you won't create an empty account and hide behind it like a coward.

They also justified themselves with the argument that “I was disgusted by these works, that’s why I informed others.”

That's fucking weird dude. You were so disgusted by the work that you went into the person's account, looked at their work, saved a few TO YOUR DEVICE and posted it UNCENSORED to a platform where people are not ready for this, where there are many minors. They could, again, have hidden the work at least under a cut, but they did not do this. This is a thoughtless act. I think if you want to warn people, you'll write about it, you'll say it, but you won't call the artist disgusting, make up reasons out of thin air, and demonize them. You'll just warn people. But without inciting hatred towards the artist. Which, by the way, has really begun. We don't know exactly what people write to Truyerabi in her askbox, DM, anonymous messages on Telegram, but I saw that they wished death on her, wished death on her subscribers. THIS IS NOT NORMAL. This is not something a person should deserve, even if he draws something terrible.

And again. Everyone has their own limits of disgust. Someone might find what you draw or like disgusting, but they don't go humiliate you and publish a whole post about it, because no one cares. And if they do, then they are not mature people who are not able to cope with distress on their own.

So what do we have as a bottom line?

YES. Truerabi draws incest and ero-guro. If this is triggering/shocking/problematic content for you, DO NOT FOLLOW HER TELEGRAM UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.

NO. She doesn't hide it, she doesn't romanticize it, she doesn't find it normal and it's ultimately just her vent art. She has other great normal pictures that you can see on her Tumblr blog.

PLEASE. Don't write anything like "this is disgusting, this artist is disgusting" and don't spread the qwertypsdfgh's post, because it leads to even greater cruelty. Better explain to your audience that they should be careful what they watch. But you can't bully a person for it.

REMEMBER. Before you accuse someone of such terrible things, figure everything out, because you can only make things worse for the person. You can make their life even worse. Think about your actions when they affect other people before you do them, and our world will be a happier place.

На круглой планете, гуляет круглый ветер

По кругу гонит облака.

На круглой планете, есть место всем на свете

Пускай она не велика.

[riddles-n-games]

So I've finally read through the excerpt of the six chapters of That Night in Prague. I love the character art at the start and good on to whoever guessed Pain at the Right Gun is an anagram. Now, my initial thoughts are that the set up is a great start to this scavenger hunt around Prague and Jameson and Avery are being the competitive couple they always are. However, that being said, the romance is faltering. Yes, there is clearly a show of hidden romantic Jamie and helpless romantic Avery from before but I think JLB has forgotten how to write romance between them.

She is definitely changing certain things and I wonder if that is because she herself or her publishing house is pushing her to cater to booktok trends or something even though her og trilogy already is a household name in YA mystery. As I said earlier, the romance isn't romancing. I know Avery and Jameson are two years now into their relationship but Avery sounds not quite herself. She sounds like Jameson did in TBH but also more different at the same time. I feel like JLB forgot how she wrote her own character in TFG just two years earlier and it doesn't coincide with this one now. She is still 18 here and Jameson 19. I understand the physical aspects of their relationship regarding touch and kissing but this is where the disconnect happens for me regarding how she wrote them just two years ago versus now.

The innuendos are frankly getting annoying in my opinion and it feels so forced. Like, sorry, it translates awkwardly after the way the first books were written and if JLB really wanted to experiment with this, it could have been in another series or book. Not changing the style after being already six books into this world which also makes me wonder why she's now throwing this into so many POVs, it makes it hard to distinguish the character voice. I'm not saying that there shouldn't be a level of maturity but frankly, given the timeline, this sounds like a much older Avery, not the same 18 year old we are going back to.

When I remember what we were told regarding this book, "There is nothing frivolous about the way a Hawthorne man loves." I immediately thought of the loyal, vulnerable Jameson that came with his heart on his sleeve in THL, giving Avery the chance to choose who she wants to be with. I remember the way in her vulnerable moment when she wanted to be left alone after the discovery of her mother's postcards having hidden letters, he was the first to push aside the need for new answers. I'm not saying there weren't some moments like these already present but that's what I want to see.

I want flirty Jameson and Avery but I do not care for what I see currently. There doesn't seem like a proper bridge to that gap in their relationship which is saying something because the transition between THL and TFG regarding their romance was better than a gap that was smaller than that from TFG to now, just some months prior to the events of TBH. Call me a Debbie Downer, but since TBH, I've seen my expectations for proper integration of something new while respecting the old not being met as I thought.

Of course, as always, this is simply my opinion and if you agree, great. If you don't, well that's fine, too.

[agirlandherquill]

truths

goodness it's january 1st already, only feels like yesterday that i typed up the final post for writeblr - which was such a blast, and thanks again to all who participated - and even if you didn't, it's never too late to use the prompts for a little inspo! - anyways, for the past couple of days i've been working on a little story, something completely outside of my usual comfort zone,

for starters, it's not fantasy, in my mind it's a contemporary thriller, and it's written in first person (cue the nervous butterflies)

and incase the title wasn't a give-away, i've decided to give this story a very simple title - truths.

it's a story about a journalist in a small town trying to solve a series of murders terrorising the community, and she's teaming up with a private detective to do it - which is bound to have it's chaotic moments, just like the case and the story she's trying to write

and for once in my life, I've come up with a little blurb (queue sarcastic applause, because blurbs are the bane of my existence)

"Three murders and counting plague a small town, where no-one has a clue who's responsible, not even the police, and it's the greatest story to hit the local papers in years - only it's not been written yet, because journalist Bette never publishes an unfinished story. She is going to find the truth, find who's responsible, and finish the tragic story for her community, once and for all. Only she's not alone. Someone else is along for the truth-seeking ride. Private-Detective AJ appoints himself her partner in crime - or truth, if we're being specific - and he has no intention of letting the killer walk free. Let the search for truth begin - for all of them. Because the truth is twisted, it is tragic, it is different, from every angle. And for Bette and AJ, the truth could be just as deadly."

have i got your attention? read on if you'd like a sneak peek to the story, with the first chapter :) (and if you want to read more, i'll be sticking the chapters up on ao3, which you can find here)

He’s looking at me again.

For the fifth time in the last hour, I pretend to sip from my empty mug, using the opportunity to catch a glimpse of him. Only this time as I shift in my chair, someone walks past, crashing into my table. Coffee spills from their mug and onto my shirt. 

I stand up with a gasp at the shock of it, then try to swipe a few napkins from the rack on my table, dabbing frantically at the stain while the person whose coffee has now ruined my day leaves the shop without another word. 

“Some people hey? Are you all right?”

I look to my left. A man, early twenties, unruly brown hair and blue eyes stands there, offering me a few more napkins. Oddly nice of him. Nicer than anyone else in here. 

“Thanks. I’m all right.” I take them, and make a pitiful attempt of rubbing the stain out of the material. “I can’t say the same for this though.”

“At least it didn’t damage anything more important.” 

“What?” I look at him, confused. Is my shirt not important? Is it not important to not look like a coffee-stained slob at 11:33 in the morning? 

He gestures to my laptop, sitting next to my empty mug. The criminally empty mug, which he spots, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Oh,” I sigh, reaching and double checking nothing had spilt on it. It was fine. “Yeah, I guess so.”

That’s when I notice it. The table where the staring man had been, was empty. I look away, then to him. “I guess this was just the perfect excuse you needed to come over and talk to me, wasn’t it?”

He props a hip on my table. As though he has the right to do so. I fold the useless napkins into a ball and stuff them in my empty cup before I look at him again. “Get bored of staring for an hour?”

“I didn’t need an excuse to talk to you.”

“No?”

“I just needed to know the right thing to say.”

I tense. “I’m sorry?”

He blinks, then holds his hands up. “I swear, I’m not one of those guys that tries to pick girls up in coffee shops - I’ve never- I don’t-”

Why is it on me to stop him digging his own grave? I sigh. “It’s fine. Look, I’ve got a busy morning ahead of me, and I’d rather not stand here in a stained shirt and become a spectacle, so if you want to say something… Go for it.” 

He clears his throat. “I’ve been here for the past couple of days, wondering when you’d come in.”

“Right,” I stare at him. “Because that’s not creepy.”

“No, no, I-” He rubs his neck, clearly flustered. “I was told, that if I wanted to talk to you, that this was the best place.”

I should be more alarmed by this, shouldn’t I? But there was that usual nagging at the back of my head, curiosity doing its usual tactic of becoming irresistible. It’s going to become a problem for me one day, I know that, but for the past 23 years of my life it’s not steered me too wrong so far. I sit back down in my chair, scoot my laptop out of the way, and nod for him to sit. He looks surprised that I’ve not told him to scarper. He sits down and I take a minute to take him in. His shirt is white, new, I think, judging by the lack of creases. All of the buttons are done up, save for the one nearest his throat. He likes to be presentable, but not so uptight that he’d rather not breathe. Brownie points in my favour. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who act as though they were born with sticks shoved up an unspeakable orifice. He wears a blazer - if I had to name the shade, I’d go for slate - Not too obtrusive on the eyes, but nice all the same. And it fits him well. Tailored? No. I think that’s muscle under there, not fabric. 

That’s when I realise I’ve been staring for a fraction too long. He’s smiling at me, an awkward one, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Then again, if he’s been watching me for the past hour, I’m allowed to return the favour, right? 

I prop my chin on my hand. “So, first off, who told you I’d be here?”

“Alfie.” Down at the Piper. Course he did, mouthy bastard. I’m not allowed to have my own private schedule down there.

“You want a job down at the Piper then?” I’m surprised. He doesn’t strike me as a journalist. In fact, he looks too nice for that.

He shakes his head, and I have to admit, curiosity digs its claws into my mind a little bit more. “What then?”

“I-I think it’ll make more sense first if I explain to you who I am.”

Policeman. Christ. He’s come to tell me I can’t use my sources on this story and without them, I’m-

“I’m a sleuth.”

I have to hear him say it again in order to believe my hearing’s not just left me and gone to hell. “What?”

“A… Sleuth. A private detective, whatever name you want to call it.”

Private detective, not an actual one. Phew, I’m in the clear. I tilt my head. “Go on then, Detective, tell me about yourself.”

He shifts in his seat, as though the mention of the title makes him squirm. “Well…” He looks nervous. I pity him. He’s not the sort of person I like to see squirm. For starters, his suit hasn’t come from the posher shops way down the high-street. I raise a hand to the passing waitress and order us two more coffees. He looks at me, blinking, before he seems to relax a little and goes on. “My name is AJ, I’m investigating the…” He stops as the waitress brings us our coffees, I slip her the cash and take a sip of mine, while he waits for her to be out of earshot before he continues.

“I’m investigating the Chapel Murders.”

I very nearly spit my coffee in his face. It scorches my throat as I force it down and reach for my laptop, discreetly shutting the screen. The screen of the story I’m writing for the Piper’s front page, about the very same thing. If he’s seen anything- No, he can’t have. But how does he know I’m the one that’s writing- Oh. Alfie. I’m going to drown him with the water fountain one of these days, then he’ll keep his mouth shut.

I take a napkin and dab at my lips, gesturing for him to go on.

“I’ve been asked by one of the families to find who’s responsible, and since the police aren’t about to do me any favours, I thought I’d come to you.”

“And you think I know anything?”

“I think that you’re the best chance I’ve got in this town, and you’ve been typing for 30 minutes straight, you’ve got something.”

“Listen, there’s such a thing as credibility and I can’t have you putting mine into question,” I sigh, packing my laptop into my bag. I pick up my coffee and stand. “It’s been nice talking to you AJ, I wish you the best of luck but I’m afraid I can’t help you.” No matter what Alfie’s said.

His face falls. I didn’t expect to see him so disappointed, but then I remind myself. He’s a P.I. He’s got to be used to doing things on his own. I raise my coffee cup to him. “Have a nice day.”

I leave The Brew, my favoured coffee spot in town, at precisely 11:48, when I check my phone and round the corner. I get to the zebra crossing when someone touches my arm. I jolt. My phone flies out of my hand and clatters to the floor. Someone reaches it before I do. I turn and see AJ, holding it out. “Look, I’m sorry, I just really need your help.”

“So you try to give me a heart attack?”

One of the cars at the crossing beeps at me. I shoot them a glare. Drive past then, it’ll be my funeral if I step out. But I’m busy right now. They beep again and I wave them through, turning back to AJ, who is still touching my arm. “I told you, I can’t help.”

There’s something in his eyes that stops me from bolting immediately. He looks… Sad? 

He takes a deep breath, then pulls his hand away from my arm. “Matt Colton. The second victim. He’s my brother.”

I pause. His face did feel familiar. But when I’ve spent the last two nights staring at the photo we’ve put out for Matt’s eulogy, it would be one I wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Guilt kicks me in the ribs. I can’t just tell him to get lost now, can I? He deserves to know. He deserves to find the truth about who took his brother’s life. Isn’t that why I took this job? For the truth? For people’s stories?

I thrust my coffee cup into his hand. “Hold this for me.”

He stares at me, but takes it. “Why?”

“Because, I can’t write with my hands full.” I fumble with my bag for my pen, then take out my notebook, flicking to the back page. I scribble the address for the Piper on it, then my email address, then I tear the page out and hand it over to him. “Meet me there, 7:45am tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

I take my coffee from him, a small part of my stomach fluttering at seeing the hopeful smile dawning on his face.

“Thank you. I mean it. T-Thank you.”

I salute him with my coffee and head across the road, only to be stopped by someone shouting. 

“Hey! Hey!”

I pivot on the curb, confused.

“I called about you at the Piper, but Alfie never gave me your name.” He gave you everything else though - Christ, I’m having words about privacy when I get back to the office.

“It’s Bette.”

He smiles at me, and waves. “I’ll see you tomorrow Bette.”

And then he walks away on the other side of the street, and strangely enough, I find myself looking forward to it.

~ ~ ~

now for the tag list!

(p.s if you'd like to be included/notified too, interact with this post :) p.p.s im finally getting around to updating it, so bear with me :))

@humbly-a-doppelganger @imawholeassmood @frostedlemonwriter @yrndrgn @abditorywriting

@riveriafalll @lead-to-code @casualsuitturtle @floweryprosegarden @joeys-piano

@catwingsathena @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings @anaisbebe

@drchenquill @leahnardo-da-veggie @tiredpapergirl @pastelpinkhobbies @a-mimsy-borogove @the-letterbox-archives @corinneglass @darkluminosity @kuebiko-writing (so sorry for the super late addition!)

[panelshowsource]

my IMMEDIATE thought is judi love, right?? her and roisin 1000% not even one show each, A SHOW WITH THEM TOGETHER 😍 and it's called JUDI & ROISIN'S DOUBLE DATES 😍

hahahaha absolutely! do you remember the stationary shop / pun guessing task that tim vine did on taskmaster s6? i always thought victoria would have enjoyed every single thing about that, just my intuition...

hahahaha this is so cute! they got married not to terribly long ago, so no worries. don't you love how sweetly they speak about each other 🥹 you know, when i saw richard at his last book signing in new york, he told a quick story about how ingrid had recently written for a doctor who publication and that she is super engrossed in & proud of the doctor who world 🥹🥹🥹 (made me so happy!!! bc i'm also a massive dw fan (i make those gifs on my main!) 🥹)

this is my modest richard and ingrid tag 🥹 i hope to flesh it out even more over time hehe

yes i've been listening to these!! they keep teasing a nish kumar one coming up that is supposed to be very special in some way?

anyways the richard osman one was very sweet because there was tons of kitten talk (LOVE) and you can tell how much richard adores david — which means he had a lot of fun teasing him hahaha that's what makes richard such a good podcast guest: he's such a comedy fan!

also enjoyed the eps with ivo and sam campbell, and i'm gonna listen to at least ed gamble, rose matafeo, and amy gledhill this weekend!

are you guys liking it??

i've def seen it (i saw the comedy blogs advertising the pilot) but i'm gonna be sooo honest and say i haven't had time to give it a listen yet TT have you?? i'm obsessed with both of them and will DEF listen to it this week! i'll post my thoughts :)

honestly, i think there are more comedy writers and comedy actors than proper comedians that i would like to read bios of. simon pegg comes to mind first! i also think it would be fascinating to read a kind of day-by-day journal of a proper circuit comedian, someone who could humorously and truthfully document the lifestyle. did you have someone in mind who hasn't written one?

as for books that are already published, i really want to read bonkers by jen saunders as well as richard e grant's semi-new autobiography (i'm worried it's going to be exceptionally sad since he'll always be dealing with the passing of his wife and he's very open about grief 🥺), so hopefully i get around to those before too long!

i haven't, tbh i never watched miranda, not going out, or even call the midwife — so even though i've obviouslyyy seen her around, sometimes on panel shows, and absolutely acknowledge how big she was/is, i don't carry enough nostalgia to read her whole bio. THAT SAID, i agree she was so so touching on graham norton and i think her stories both about her health and about finding love were SO LOVELY 💜 but if you tell me it's a must read then i'll definitely check it out!

and for anyone who's interested i added the audiobook to my drive :)

okay this scared me HAHAHA because as much as that is obviously not true if one uses a single modicum of common sense i am so easily fooled—

anyways it was a sweet episode! i don't really listen to that show but i was hoping to hear more about joe's particular approach to parenting, and even though he is clearly very private it was endearing. i love how much he loves birmingham (as someone who doesn't really have a hometown it's something i'm always fascinated by and envious of in others), and he really put his foot down about his sexuality! he was like "bi is bi, pan is pan, it's on you if you wanted to call me gay anyways" and PERIOD KING !! anyways, super happy for him. i have a feeling he won't post very much about it or even talk much about it in general, but i selfishly hope he does 🥹

it was a cute episode!! highlights for me include rob being extremely new to the concept of kimchi, rob claiming he doesn't understand why people care so much about seasoning (my fellow americans, have fun with that one), and rob roasting steve coogan lmaooo also i never get sick of the alan bennett impression i love how it's almost tom courtenay it's hilarious to me

i've loved a lot of the recent eps, especially the ones with matthew macfadyen and richard e grant (funniest man alive)! and i watched the gordon ramsay episode like 5 times, it was sooo interesting and soooooo sweet to hear about his relationship with angela!

one thing i really like about this show — besides how awesome angela is — is that nick asks the genuine questions someone who isn't big into cooking would ask. like, when they were eating the rib eye, he was like, "if someone wanted to make this at home, what would they ask the butcher for? is this a specific cut of meat?" and even though it's like 'lol yeah nick...rib eye...' people who aren't familiar with cooking beef wouldn't have known that! he asks about cuts, measurements, cooking times, that sort of thing in a way that feels genuine and curious, which i appreciate (as someone who doesn't cook a lot lmao)

for sure!

hello anon! these are always posted on reddit every single night that they air, i recommend sending a polite "hello would you kindly add me to the sub?" message (you don't need to get fancier or more specific than that; they have to keep the sub private for obvious reasons so no need to feel intimidated) to r/TV_NCA so you can snag those links each week

sure anon i'll work on that for you this weekend xx

—

PANEL SHOW WATCH LINKS / NON-PANEL SHOW WATCH LINKS FAQ / ASK

[mimi-is-so-horny]

okay, so... you know how sometimes a day starts lovely, and then it goes to shit? and sometimes, you feel like you've done this to yourself? actually, you have done it to yourself. anyway.

i made a point to wake up early today to make Sir and Anna breakfast and to write them a note thanking them for fucking me so well yesterday, and for being pretty much the best thing in my life right now. i felt very grateful and i know i'm very lucky. i think they appreciated that, too.

i blew the candles on my birthday cake naked on Sir's lap - i've been 25 for a couple of days, and i usually hate my birthdays, but Anna insisted we should do the whole birthday thing properly. Sir wrote me a birthday card that almost moved me to tears. He groped my tits as i blew my candles.

for context, i used to want to enter academia in combination to committing to a totally different career path. what i'm doing right now isn't even my Plan C, so of course, i feel a bit like a failure. i'd written a chapter in a book that discussed some recent developments in my field and placed them in a behavioural/institutional context - the book was published this year, and the complimentary copy they sent to authors arrived on my birthday. i should be happy, right? but i feel so defeated, and so dumb, and like this is the first and last good thing i got to do before giving up on my aspirations completely. sure, i'll still apply to enter a more commercial side of my field next year, but that's still just more "sustainable", financially, and more difficult than i thought it would be. all this effort for something i won't really value or enjoy, yuck. and what if i fail, again? anyway. Mimi's whiny ass.

so Sir asked me to read my chapter, and i said yes, sure. He wanted to "see how i think". why not, right?

He fucked me yesterday, and this morning, and at noon, and it felt so good. and now He came to my room, to tell me He read my chapter, and while i felt vulnerable i tried to look cool asking Him what He thought of it.

and He showered me in compliments, and asked me why am i here, and not at a Big Prestigious University™ doing research? i told Him that's why i tried, and the Big Prestigious University™ didn't do shit for Mimi in a post-covid job market where she had to care for her family and couldn't work Prestigious Unpaid Internships™. and still, with no network or real mentors that cared more about guiding me than fucking me, or plagiarising me (lol), my options narrowed. and He knew that, so why was He asking me? and then He asked more questions, and i got increasingly angry and i cried and told Him to leave my room, please. well, at least He did.

so now i have to go downstairs and apologise for lashing out at Him for essentially caring. that was just me projecting - how mad i am at myself for failing, and for giving up, and and for being too lazy to try again - on Him. but i also don't want to do that, because i can only taste how i'm not working in the city i want, and how the people i work for are surprised when i can introduce better corrections than them, and how i am a grown woman that is already bitter about not being where she wanted to be. how i pretend to have given up, when in reality i'm still kind of grieving the people i thought i could be, and realising it can always get worse. am i making myself into a victim: poor-me, poor-me? or am i entitled to my anger and sadness? i don't know, and Sir knows something sad happened to me without my consent, a long while ago - so what if He sees me as a victim, too? am i really that stupid and that passive? what if i'm wasting His time, too?

i don't think i use kink as a coping mechanism or as a distraction; i'm just happy it's an area of my life i'm currently getting exactly what i want, exactly in my own terms and limits - i've rarely gotten that much respect and reciprocity in "vanilla world" - be it work, or education, or friendships. but that fact also makes me sad. why can't i have some of the things i want, sometimes? why was it "Rejection Letter"+"Your Flatmate Lost Your Cat And Now Won't Help Or Speak To You"+"Your Supervisor Wants To Fuck You And He's Angry Now!"+"Your Family Is Asking For Money, Again!!!", and not, like, slightly better? it's hard to feel empowered now. that sad six-year-old is here again, and she wants good stuff i don't know how to give, because i'm out of fucking candy (or, y'know, drugs. because i don't do that shit anymore).

anyway, that will be a difficult conversation. and i feel sorry for Him, for having to deal with me.

well, that was a very self-centred ramble by a fairly self-centred person, so i'm sorry if you read this? but also it was your choice to do so, meh. drink water, wear sunscreen.

[saranova]

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup

aka It's 2025 and I'm just getting to it now

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going! Tagging @feetreadyheartbeatsteady @fantasywithkassidy @thoughtsaboutshows because I don't think I saw any of you do this, but no pressure!

Thank you to @ubiquitouslyme @lizardsrunfast @oh-no-its-dragons @overjoyedisland for the tags! I haven't actually participated in one of these tumblr things before and being more active on this platform is a 2025 goal of mine so here we go!

I'm not on Tumblr a ton, but I'm trying to be better and, yes, I know it's already 2025 but there's no time like the present to recap my 2024.

How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

According to AO3: 382,988 um ... what!?!?

How many fics did you complete this year?

Seven! The rest are WIPs.

That Infamous Infantry Guy - A Halden/Violet prequel story exploring the theory that he was her famous infantry ex.

The Mile High Club - A one-shot modern AU where Violet and Xaden meet on a transatlantic flight.

The Music of The Night - Iron Flame Violet/Varrish fanfic for the Riders Quadrant winter solstice fic exchange (for @lunatrixart)

Tropical Temptation - A V/X/L Modern AU one shot for the Rider's Quadrant winter solstice fic exchange for @shipmistress9 that I co-wrote with @tegantales

Secrets Die With Those Who Keep Them, So What's One More? - A canon compliant short fic where basically everyone is feeling horny and experimental. B/I/V, B/I/G

A Ray of Light in Shadowed Clouds - A Tairn/Sgaeyl piece for the Rider's Quadrant Summer Solstice Fic Exchange.

Measure Up - A Xaden/Dain piece for the Rider's Quadrant Summer Solstice Fic Exchange

How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

Nine

The Golden Dragons - My first ever fanfic, my baby! I had no idea what I was doing, I just started writing one day and this modern college AU has evolved. It's fun and I don't take this one too seriously, its a bit of satire and a lot of silly with a touch of serious.

My Adversary, My Abyss - An in-canon Mira/Syrena fic I began back in September as part of the Fourth Wing femslash week organized by @oh-no-its-dragons

One Manhattan - Modern Riorgail AU set in New York City. Co-authoring with @tegantales

Two Manhattans - Companion Piece to One Manhattan, sharing supporting character POV's.

XOXO, Aaric Graycastle - Basgiath's Gossip Column. A fun and silly series of tabloid style articles for Basgiath shenannigans.

Samara Man - Like Florida Man ... but at Samara. Spoiler: it always comes back to Garrick Tavis.

The Choreography of Combat - A series of one-shots of Bodhi Durran sexy sparring all the hot guys.

What was your favorite thing you wrote?

This is a really tough one. I love Golden Dragons b/c it is where my journey writing fanfic began ... but I wouldn't necessarily say it's my favorite thing I've written. Honestly, probably Chapter 6 of That Infamous Infantry Guy, it was my first time experimenting with writing something dark, and I love how it turned out.

What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

Probably The Music of The Night. It was my first time writing something that was really inspired by music and incorporating it's lyrics into the prose. It ended up being far more poetic than my usual works and is very dark and twisted. But I loved how it turned out so much.

Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

I was definitely surprised how much I loved writing Music of the Night, I wasn't sure how this Violet/Varrish pairing was going to come together, but once the idea came to me, the words just poured out of me.

I think the fandom's reaction to One Manhattan surprised me the most. I mean, I knew it would be fun and a wild ride, but I didn't expect so many people to take the ride with us and that has been awesome!

Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

Definitely My Adversary, My Abyss. Though the response to it has been small, it's been SO positive. The comments and messages I've gotten about it have been some of the most supportive and appreciative I've ever received. There's a lot of M/M fic in the fandom, but there really isn't much in the way of F/F so i am very determined and motivated to finish this one!

Who is an artist that inspired you?

Both @oh-no-its-dragons and @ann7av have created fan art based off of my works and if that isn't inspiration to keep writing, I don't know what is!! The fact that I wrote something that inspired artists to create absolutely blows my mind in the BEST possible way. It's the most wonderful thing, isn't it, to continue inspiring one another with our creations?

A shout out also to @lunatrixart for her amazing Tairn & Sgaeyl piece she created for the Rider's Quadrant Winter Solstice exchange. I started following her after I was assigned her as my giftee - I love how the exchange introduced me to so many creative and inspiring authors and artists!

Who is an author that inspired you?

I have met some really incredible authors this year in the Fourth Wing fanfic fandom through AO3 and the RQ Discord Server. Though, I have to call out @ubiquitouslyme because her Xaden Year 3 is the first fanfic I ever read. It was what I discovered when looking for a cure for my FW/IF book hangover, and it led me here! And for that, I will be forever grateful.

Additional shout out to Lydi (who's tumblr name is escaping me) for bringing me into the RQ Discord Server and introducing me to the fandom in a deeper way!

There are just too many authors to count because everyone inspires me in one way or another! I appreciate every comment, every encouraging word, every kudo, every meme, and just all our general discussions. Thank you to this fandom for welcoming me with open arms, it's been such a wonderful journey!

Who is a new author you discovered?

Well, I am so new to this fandom that literally everyone is a new author to me! So can I just say, all the authors of the Empyrean Fandom? There's just so much talent here it's unreal. This is such a tough one because there are so many on the RQ server.  

@overjoyedisland @lizardsrunfastt @fantasywithkassidyy @thoughtsaboutshowsows @suebswrites @yanny-77 @shipmistress9 @greeneyedwildthing @pillowqueen26 @sarcasticmothwrites @oh-no-its-dragons @june-s-pumpkins @tegantales @hockeyspiral23 @siobhanbooks @essjaywrites Mint (who's tumblr name I don't know) and everyone else I may have forgotten because I'm terrible with tumblr and don't know everyone's names on this platform (yet)

Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

I did!

I've been writing One Manhattan and Two Manhattans with @tegantaless. I am not actually sure how it started, I think one of us was like, "Hey, I like your writing, we should write something together" and the other responded "Yes, same. I'm in!" and then we just did. It clicked for us immediately, and it's been so easy to co-author together. It kind of snowballed from there - we've now met IRL and have probably 100K words and three different published works between us in just a couple months?

What accomplishments are you proudest of?

I have three things I'm most proud of this year:

I started writing. Period. Hard Stop. I've never written anything creatively before and just decided to try it and see what happens. To say I've surprised myself is an understatement.

As someone who had never read smut or fantasy before 2023, I have now written both. To say it was intimidating when I started would be an understatement, but I'm so glad I went for it!

I pushed myself beyond what I was initially comfortable with. I've now written smut, m/m, f/f, poly, fluff, angst, and some super dark stuff. It's hard for me to believe I started writing fanfic for the first time in May!

What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

That nothing is perfect. That every chapter doesn't have to top the last. That sometimes you just need to build out the story. That it's okay to walk away from something if you need a break or aren't feeling inspired, your writing will be better for it.

What is your advice?

Write what makes YOU happy! Write for yourself, not everyone else. 

Connect with your readers! One of the things that brings me the most joy as a writer is interacting with those who follow my work. I love it so much, that my first fic, The Golden Dragons, turned into an interactive fic where I have surveys and linkouts embedded and then draw from those responses to make it more interactive.

Support each other! I am a very slow reader, but I try to read as much as I can because I enjoy both the stories and supporting the other wonderful authors in this fandom!

What are your creative goals for 2025?

Finish my current Empyrean WIPs, flesh out Mile High Club into a multi-chapter AU fic, complete one original fiction.

Write at least one piece for another fandom. I'm coming for you @acourtofladydeath