#Which like no way am I replacing my pillow every year

[crushed-oranged-angered]

Has everyone been regularly replacing their pillows? We all just use the same pillow for 7 years right?

[st0ryf1lms]

home, that's a weird word ➳ ken sato

pairing: ken sato x reader

word count: 1.5k

genre/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, undertones of xenophobia, basically how i interpreted the last thing kenji said to ami on their first interview, grammatical errors (most likely), no beta we die like men, personal assistant!reader

synopsis: the word "home" always left a weird taste in kenji's tongue when he said it.

a/n: AAAAAAAA I'VE FINALLY WRITTEN A THOUSAND WORD FIC AFTER 2 YEARS IM SO HAPPY!!! and i'm really hoping u guys like this bc i really am so proud of this sooo enjoyyy!!

It had been a long day, as far as Kenji is concerned. Way too long for his liking. All the cameras and microphones pointed at his direction, all those flashing lights-- a man could only take a few for so long, and Kenji has had enough of his share for the day. As he gets off his bike, all he can think of is the comfort of his own bed, how his pillow would feel against his head and how the duvets would feel covering his skin.

He opened the door to his house, surprised to see you sitting on the couch with the living room lights turned off. Your back was facing him, and with your laptop's glaring LED screen being the only source of light in the room, all he could see was your crouched silhouette.

"Already settling down, huh, Y/N?" He spoke, breaking the silence in the room. "Oh, Mr. Sato, you're home," you say unfazed, as if the only thing that was powering you right now was your laptop's battery. "Just wanted to stay for a while to catch you so I can brief you for your schedule tomorrow." You stated, closing your laptop and standing up to turn on the lights on the dim setting. Kenji sighed and closed his eyes as he plopped down on the couch in front of you, serving as a signal for you to start.

"Okay, so, first thing in the morning, Mr. Sato, you have baseball practice which Coach Shimura insists you attend, an interview scheduled…" Your voice becomes buzzing in his head as he looks out the window, a view overlooking the city. The sound of laughter and joy drifting out from the street below, making him feel very alone in this somewhat new town. "…Sato. Mr. Sato. Are you even listening to a word I say?" You say exasperatedly, not sure if your asshat of a boss actually understands that you came from a 12-hour flight, too, and want nothing to be in the comfort of a nice and comfortable bed. You follow where his gaze is at, looking out the window where the busy streets of Tokyo are hustling and bustling as the nightlife slowly rises. You look back at your boss, sporting a solemn yet longing look on his face- earning a tilt of confusion from your head.

"Can I ask you a question, Y/N? Off the record, please." He asks, eyes remaining trained on the window. "Have you ever felt like you've never belonged? Like, no matter where you go, no matter who you are, you'll never find yourself home?" He finally looks at you, noticing your once tense figure now replaced with a relaxed yet calculating stance, figuring out what to say to him. The silence feels like forever as he awaits an answer from you, Kenji letting out a sigh as he hangs his head down low.

"Ever since I had moved to LA, I lost all sense of the word 'home.' Hah, even saying it right now leaves a weird taste in my tongue. All those kids back there, they always told me to 'go back home,' and when I did go back to the house where my mom and I lived, she'd always tell me that we were right at home. Now that I'm actually back in my 'homeland', it feels so weird to even call it that now." He blurted out, his previously relaxed figure on the couch is now one of a crouched one, his head still glued facing down on the floor. "In LA, I felt too Japanese to fit in. The culture shock hitting me every single time I try to do something I was used to. Now, here in Japan, I feel too American now to even call myself a local. Even speaking in my own tongue feels weird to my mouth and my throat."

He finally looked up at you and saw a blank yet somehow shocked expression adorning your face. His eyes slightly widened and his breath hitched in his throat as he quickly realized the gravity of his words and who he was speaking to about a sensitive topic. You, on the other hand, was internally slack-jawed. What the helllll, is this really happening???? You rhetorically think to yourself as your boss, The Ken Sato, the egotistical baseball superstar, literally just spilled his guts in front of you, his personal assistant whom he keeps at an arm's length.

"I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" he stuttered as he racked his brain, trying to make up an excuse for what he said. You still stayed silent and eerily still. "A–are you still there? Hello? Earth to Y/N?" He asked, cautiously waving a hand.

"Yes," you cleared your throat, "yes, Kenji." You say, his contorted face relaxing as he hears his name slip your mouth. You clear your throat once again before starting.

"You know, if I may, I'd like to believe that home is a construct you make and that a place doesn't really define it. Sure, in kindergarten, we get taught that the definition of home is a place where you live in but as we get older, don't some things actually change? And I'd like to say that the word 'home' is one of those things. As a child, we would say home is where our parents live. As teenagers, we'd say home is with our friends as we laugh and joke with them on various different occasions of our lives at school. As adults, I believe we can be left to define 'home' what we fit it deem to our liking. After all, home is where the heart is, am I right?" You ramble on, pacing around the living room as you animatedly explain with your hands as Kenji follows your every move.

Realizing your mouth once again moved with a mind of its own, you straightened up and cleared your throat. "Ahem, sir. Right, well, I better get going. Long day tomorrow." You nervously chuckled, refusing to look your boss whose privacy you've seem to have invaded as you spoke without filter. You tentatively grab your things and slowly head to the front door, feeling your boss' eyes on you follow your every move as if saying you've overstayed your welcome.

As Kenji trains your every movement, he realizes what you're about to do and stands up abruptly from his place in the couch.

"Y/N, wait."

Your hand hovers above the door handle, eyes closed as you brace for the impact of what your boss is about to say. Please don't fire me, please don't fire me, please do-

"Do you mind if you stay the night?" He says and your head snaps back to look at him, as if he'd grown another head.

I- I mean, not like that, b- but, well… Well, you know what I mean." He sheepishly clarifies, his hand bringing up to scratch the nape of his neck. The silence is awkward and deafening, and he was about to open his mouth to take back what he said but you beat him to it.

"Sure. I'll stay the night, Mr. Sato." You face him with a soft smile.

"Please, Y/N, Kenji's fine."

He leads you to the spare bedroom he has in the house and asks Mina to deliver a fresh set of clothes where you'll stay.

"I just want to say thank you, Y/N. I know I don’t say it enough and I'm sorry for that. I appreciate everything you do." He sincerely told you, looking into your eyes with nothing but pure admiration and gratefulness. "It's all in the job, sir." You say before realizing, wincing as the honorific accidentally leaves your mouth. You open the bedroom door before saying,

"Good night, Kenji."

"Good night, Y/N."

BONUS:

Kenji wakes up to the noise of cooking downstairs, with a pair of voices talking back and forth. He rubs his eyes free of sleep and lifts the duvets off of him, getting up from his bed and out of his room.

The voices become clearer as he goes down the stairs on the way to the kitchen, where he makes out your voice and Mina's, seeming to be guiding you as you follow a recipe she reads out. "Y/N, he's awake." Mina alerts you as you turn to face him.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Sato. I hope you don’t mind, Mina told me you barely use the kitchen anyway." You nervously chuckle as you focus your attention back on the stove. "Please, Y/N, what did I tell you?" He visibly cranks up at the mention of his last name early in the morning.

"Right, Kenji, I mean." You quickly recall, still stirring the pot. "That smells amazing, what's that?" He says as he walks over you, looking over your shoulder.

"I know it isn't really for breakfast but Mina told me how it was your favorite, so I made curry. Or, at least, attempted to make it." You explain cautiously, slowly looking over to your boss who's currently sporting a look of surprise.

"M-may I?" He gestures to the spoon. You nod and hand it to him, scooting over to give him a taste. His eyes close and you start to feel anxious, building up an excuse in your head to tell him.

"Tastes just like home."

[just-shairahhh]

The Way I Couldn't Love You

~ A "The Way I Loved You" story continuation.

Summary: Will you and Eddie get a second chance at what you lost? Or will the history tear through everything you had once built together?

Note: This post is a continuation of the story, "The Way I Loved You".

"And there you were, years later. Again. Sobs breaking through your chest. Again. Sending tremors in his heart. Again. Except this time, Eddie Diaz knew who they were for. "

Everyday. Every single day of the first year since you moved away, you imagined in your head what it would be like to see Eddie again. A thousand scenarios swirling in your mind, tentacles of the nightmare you had to live through every day, creeping into your broken heart and imprisoning it in a tight grip, as you lay there. In the same dark corner. For hours. Until sleep showed you some mercy and reeled you in. Everyday.

Anger. Hurt. Betray.

You’d imagined it all. It was as if you could picture his stormy, hazel eyes pierce into you, the storm brewing in them upending your life all over again. And then you stopped. Squeezed your eyes tighter and stopped. You could feel the bile rising in your throat at the mere thought of seeing hatred in the eyes that had only ever looked at you with love. Pure, selfless love. No, it was too soon. You can’t see him yet. So you picked up your phone from the corner of the sofa you had slammed it in and replied to your sister’s text in a single word, “No”. And that was the hardest thing you had ever had to write, which was funny because once in a Spell-Bee competition you thought, “Embourgeoisement” was hard.

Your sister’s question did not leave your mind for the rest of the day, though. Or the coming week. Or the months that followed.

“Eddie was here again. Asking for an address or a contact. Said he really needed you. And that everything was falling apart. He looked worse than before, y/n. Should I send him your address?”

What did he mean everything was falling apart? Is he okay? Are his parents hurting him again? You tried to shut the voices out. You'd be back home on the next flight if you let them come in. Plus, he had Shannon now. He would be okay.

"I am sorry, Eddie. There's nothing more I want than to be right next to you. But if I fall again, I won't be able to get up. I can't. I need to heal. I really, really need to heal. I cannot live in this pain anymore. I am so, so sorry". You whisper into the night as you snuggle further into your pillow.

.....

“I don’t want dinner, mom! Leave me alone. Please.” The last word already more breathless and shakier than you’d like.

“That’s too bad. Cause I got you your favourite; that disgustingly sugary sweet abomination in the name of coffee” Eddie said as he entered through the door and made a very disgusted face as if someone had asked him to take Tabasco shots. Someone had once, by the way. It was you. And he had still made a better face. “And Chef Eddie’s personally mastered craft, tacos and enchiladas.” He said, proudly smiling and throwing around chef kisses.

You gave him a blank stare. And a second later, he relented.

“Fine, my abuela made them. God, woman. Lighten up. You broke up with an el tonto. I always warned you he was an el tonto. Not even a real man. Maybe you were a bigger idiot. But eh, what’s done is done. I’d say we celebrate”.

And just like that, at the mention of Josh, fresh tears broke free, replacing the now dried ones.

"Hey, hey, hey. I am sorry. I was kidding. Come here.” Eddie stepped in closer, about to engulf you in a hug.

But you pushed him away. “Go away, Eddie. Seriously. I don’t want to see you right now.”

“I will not, y/n. Not unless you eat. Your mom said you haven’t eaten anything for hours.” His light-hearted banter now long gone, a more assertive voice stepping in. You knew it meant that he was concerned but you hated when he took that voice with you. It was very different than the one he took with Shannon. That concern was always laced with a soft plea at the end or a light kiss behind her ear.

Shannon. Just her name, brought out the anger you’d been trying to hold in.

But you try once more to not let the agony engulf you. To not be the person you are about to become if Eddie does not listen to you. “Go. Away. Eddie. I will have the food when I am hungry.”

Eddie, however, was not having any of it. “Come on, here. Let me get this for you. If you try one –”

And that’s when you lost it and screamed at the last person you ever wanted to raise your voice at. “GO AWAY! WHAT DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND!” He tried to reach out again but you swatted his arm away. Hitting him on the chest once. Twice. Thrice. So he would just listen to you. Why is he not listening to you? He needs to go.

The long suppressed agony now letting itself out completely. Josh was not a good boyfriend to you. But he was a good friend before that. And when you broke up with him, you knew you’d lost that. This was all Eddie’s fault. He left you. All alone. And he went to Shannon. And you thought maybe, just maybe if you start dating, it will all go away? This... this hurt. All this pain. But it did not. But you knew. In your heart, you knew that it was not Eddie's fault. That he did loved you. He would do anything for you. Just not in the way you wanted. And that tore at you every day but that was not his fault. It couldn’t be.

And then you realise you that you are still hitting him. What are you doing? You stop as soon as you realise that and look up. There he was, your best friend. Taking it all in. Not saying anything. You feel so awful, so absolutely broken. And you feel tired. So very tired. So with a barely held sob, you slump forward, into his arms. Which were waiting for you, as if knowing. Waiting. Understanding.

So, you sob harder. Because that was the first day in all these years it had truly set in that Eddie would never be what you craved in him. You'd always thought one day it would all come back. That he would come back. But now you knew that he won't. He would always be here though. Just never yours.

But what you didn’t realise that day was Eddie’s heart was also breaking. If not more, then just as much as you. That was the first time he felt his best friend was slipping away and he was unaware. So very unaware of how much his best friend had loved this guy who broke her heart. He cursed himself for not understanding the gravity of the situation. What he didn't know was that, the sobs breaking through his chest, causing tremors in his heart were not for Josh but for him.

You didn’t notice the bandage on his knuckles for the next few days. You also didn’t notice that Josh Lawson was gone longer than the bandage had stayed.

And Eddie never told you either.

.....

“y/n?”

“Eddie.” You whisper softly.

You couldn’t recall how long you were spaced out for. When cold, familiar tears slid down your cheeks as easily as they used to, only then did you start to process the situation again.

“I- I... I have a few engine supplies to check. I should...” Buck slowly started.

No! Evan! What must he even be thinking? You slowly raise your eyes up at him. Expecting the worst. But his kind face only held understanding in them. He gave you a tight lipped smile before taking a few steps backward.

“Oh, this” you softly started and he followed your eyes and and looked down at the basket in your hands.

“Right.” He quickly took the box from your hand. “Muffins are my favourite! Ooooh, blueberry!” He gave you one last smile and walked back.

You still hadn’t looked at Eddie but you could feel his eyes follow you. With a deep breath, you somehow muster the courage to look up and nothing would have prepared you for what you saw.

You wished it was what you feared it all those years ago. You truly did. Anger. Fear. Betray. But he wasn’t any of those things. He was simply... lost.

Third Person POV:

There comes a time in everyone’s life when we lose something precious. A person, a memory, an object, a feeling; something we always, effortlessly considered a part of us. We would look everywhere, drive ourselves insane and would not know how to survive without it.

But then we learn. Slowly. Painfully. We grasp on how to survive without it and we start living again. But then one day, it turns up. But by then we don’t know how to feel. We have learnt to live with what we have lost but that doesn’t mean we have not felt incomplete in our existence. And just like that, we are back to the day we lost and we were lost. As clueless now as we were then.

Eddie Diaz was lost. He didn’t know how to take in what he had learnt to let go, now standing right in front of his eyes. The day that y/n left, she didn’t just take away his best friend, she took a part of him with her. A part that he had willingly given away to her to safekeep the first day he saw her across the fence looking at him with eyes that promised him the world. A part that was always meant to be hers.

A soft sob escaped y/n’s lips. Tears now freely slipping down her face. She had run this day through her head uncountable number of times. She thought it would all come back. The ghosts of her night and the nightmares of her day. The girl she used to be. But they didn't.

All that came back were the memories she had long buried down. But this time they didn't strike her like a snake, angry and hissing, it's fangs out, ready to poison her. This time, the memories hugged her like Eddie used to. Soothe her like Eddie used to. Make her feel understood... Like Eddie used to. And in that moment, all her doubts dissolved, and she knew that she had made the right choice when she decided to leave. Had she stayed back, she would have started hating Eddie, every memory she had of him and she knew that she would have started hating herself.

But she had still done Eddie wrong. She knew that. While her heart had healed for her, it also tore through her for what she had broken. There was no escape. Her only escape from everything life threw at her for the longest time, was now standing right in front of her; eyes wide, mouth agape and tears, years worth of tears threatening to spill through the barriers of his eyes behind which Eddie had managed to hide himself for a long time now.

"You're not in uniform" y/n whispered out. Her heart had started to spiral down several dominoes of emotions. And she could no longer think straight. Instead, she decided to focus on the patterns on his mustard yellow shirt.

"Yes, because my uniform totally should be your first concern after you just up and left the night of my wedding. While you're at it, why don't you go inside and check the logs to make sure whether I was on time for my shift or not?" Eddie replied.

What further pushed y/n down the ledge was the fact that Eddie did not shout, or scream or throw the words at her. He simply sounded... Defeated. Long gone was the boy who held fire in his eyes. Standing next to her now was a man who had seen it all fade away.

Soldiers. Friends. Humanity. His best friend. His Marriage. And maybe somewhere, himself. Or atleast the version of him that she used to know. She could not stand there pretending he had changed when she was the one who pulled away first.

So, she kept quiet and focused on the colours running checks on his shirt.

Brown. White. Blue.

"You left me, y/n. Why." He did not ask it as a question. More like a statement. As if he too, had gone through that one moment he found out y/n had left. For a very long. In a never ending loop. And when you do that enough, your mind starts to give you answers. Not the one you necessarily seek but the ones that bring out your worst insecurities. And there he was, her heart's closest confidant doubting all that he was, for himself and for her, on the basis of a single memory that turned both their worlds upside down all those years ago.

Brown. White. Blue.

"You told me you would be there for me forever but you weren't. During the worst trials of my life, you weren't".

She could feel his voice tremor slightly as he slowly stepped closer. A single treacherous tear making its way down his beautiful face.

Y/n's POV:

Brown. White. Blue.

"You told me you'd always be my by side. But maybe you didn't mean those promises enough"

Brown. White. Blue.

"Or maybe I wasn't enough. Your family obviously knew everything. And our friends did too, I'm guessing. Everyone content with your decision, happy for you. I felt it."

Brown. White. Blue.

"And there I was, the only one left in the dark. Driving around like someone took away a part of my soul. And guess what? That is exactly what happened".

Brown. White. Blue.

"And I waited. For the longest time. Because I couldn't have imagined my life without you. Because I loved you. And I thought you did too. So why?"

"It's because I loved you." You scream at him through the tears, each word that he had said, striking all the cords that you had yourself been stricken by before.

You looked up at him through your clouded eyes and knew, that still, he had no idea.

Well, what time like the present? Infront of a firehouse, where he works. Where you'd come to meet one of his colleagues. What would be a better place to share the most vulnerable, sensitive corners of your heart?

"It's because I loved you that I let all the hurtful emotions of a teenage heart tore through me but stayed by you when you needed to talk about your relationships. It's because I loved you that I stood beside you and fought against your family so that you could marry the woman you loved, when all I wanted to do was scream at you, ask you to not marry her. It's because I loved you that I left the people, the home and the family I'd known all my life so that I didn't end up hating you. Everything was always because I loved you. And it was because you couldn't love me back".

You fall apart, sobs wreaking through you but no sound making it out because you were pressed into his comfortable, warm chest. One hand tightly holding you, as if he still couldn't believe you were here, as if you would disappear if he let go. The other weaving through your hair. Like he used to do all those years ago, something he knew would always calm you down.

And there you were, years later. Again. Sobs breaking through your chest. Again. Sending tremors in his heart. Again.

Except this time, Eddie Diaz knew who they were for. As everything started to make sense to him.

"You know I loved you. I always did." He spoke softly into your ear. His voice heavy with emotions, trembling at every pause. His cheek pressed against your hair.

You could feel the realisation coursing through him and the guilt digging in his chest. It was Eddie. You knew him better than yourself on some things. The way he pulled you closer and tightened his arms around you, burying his face into your hair; told you enough.

"Yes, you did. But not the way I loved you. And that is so okay. I couldn't be more at peace. But that's now. That was not what was going on then. I needed to leave, Eddie. I am sorry. I really did. Every corner of that town spoke to me of us. I felt suffocated in my own home. I needed to be there for myself. I never meant to leave you. But if I hadn't, I would not have been able to be there for you either". You whispered back. Putting it all in your words. Hoping he would still get you like he always did.

He nodded. Just once. Softly.

"There's a chinese place down the block. I just got off duty. Wanna get some food? Maybe I will tell you about this y/e/c eyed beauty Buck couldn't stop talking about ever since he met her. I'm guessing that would be you?" Eddie smiled down at you. It wasn't a lot. But it was a beginning. Or the promise and hope of one. But where would you be today, had you not been living for the hope of it all.

"Actually, tell me about you first. And the very handsome Christopher. I know there's a lot to catch up on but spring rolls are a very good place to start. But then we are jumping right back to what Evan said about me." You smiled back as he led you to his car, shaking his head at you.

Things might not be okay for a long time maybe. It will take time and efforts. A lot of both. Some things you've to let time heal, others you have to work on for an even longer time. But it's efforts you're willing to put, maybe more than Eddie this time. And that's okay. Both of you are gonna be okay.

"Oh, you won't believe who I met in LA. And right on my first week. A little piece of shit we went to high school with. It was so annoying. Character development really is not for some people. Also, about Evan.... Uhmmm..."

.

.

.

[leo-muscle]

I’ve heard a little bit about this King Leon guy. Who does he think he is to call himself a king? Seems far to pretentious if you ask me. I wouldn’t be caught dead bowing to someone like that. Not in a million years.

Sure I’m the most basic looking white dude on the planet. My face gets lost in the crowd and my body is light enough to be blown by a breeze. But a king can’t change that, and I would like to see him or any of his subjects try to.

"Are you sure about that?" The bartender told you. You had just arrived on your vacation in Haiti, and the resort's bartender had decided to strike up a conversation with you over drinks. He was enormous, seven feet of pure surfer boy muscle, with a thick gut that was the very picture of strength. He would have been the most beautiful man you had ever seen, if you weren't in the middle of a massive rant.

"Oh, absolutely." You continued. "Whoever these 'kings' are, I don't want anything to do with 'em. Who are they to declare rule over the entire world, and who are we to listen to them?"

It was true, of course. Much of Africa, the British Isles, Central America, and even the islands you were now in had been united under the rule of these Kings. While many praised them for their novel social reforms and exponential increase to quality of life in their domains, many others, yourself included, remained attached to the old ways. Even this vacation was a scouting trip, to see if whatever propaganda these Kings were putting out was true.

"On the contrary, my friend, I am perfectly happy to listen to the rule of my King. You should have seen this island before King Kai came here. Homelessness, poverty... it's all been amended since he arrived."

"Really?" You asked, taking a big swig of your drink, savoring its tingle on your lips. "And NO one's uncomfortable being ruled by just one person?"

"People love King Kai. He is kind and just, like any good king should be. You'll see that soon enough." The bartender said.

"What do you mean by that?" You asked, your heart racing.

"Oh, nothing much. Just give it a few seconds."

"What are you-- UGH!" You doubled over, your skin on fire with a sensation entirely alien to you.

The bartender walked out from behind the bar, and soon, his magical hands went to work. With his kingly essence in your system, you could be molded into a respectable citizen of the world.

He started with your pecs, cupping them from behind as they burst through your tropical shirt with new strength. They were enormous, voluptuous pillows, jiggling with muscle and a thin layer of fat.

He then moved his hands along your shoulders, pumping them into cannonballs of strength. The moment his hands reached your arms, they pulled and pushed, leaving your twiggy biceps and forearms as but a fleeting memory, replacing them with pulsing, powerful cannons of strength. In awe, you flexed your right arm, forming a mound easily as big as a baseball if not more.

You moaned softly as King Kai's beautiful hands lightly traced a six-pack onto your stomach, each ab popping into existence, forming an impenetrable wall of strength.

Soon, his hands navigated south, one massive hand palming your flat ass, while the other grabbed your tiny three-inch cock. You moaned, long, low, and hard as both of his hands began to move out from your body, pulling your cock and ass with them. Your cheeks rounded out into a big, bouncy bubble butt, bigger than most women's. It shook with strength and sexuality with every slight movement you made, much like your cock, which had grown so big with the King's touch that no pair of pants could conceal your enormous bulge. His touch was electric on your shaft, causing you to pre almost endlessly.

Your mind was in heaven as he continued to your legs. Your cock was at full mast at its enormous eleven inches as he took his hands to your legs, and blew them up into corded steel pillars as big as any christmas ham. You moaned, your cock firing blanks as he looked you deep into your eyes, placing one hand to completely cover your currently-unchanged face.

"As much as I love my people, we cannot be a global community if all my citizens are homogenous." King Kai said. "Hmm, where should I send you..."

Your skin flickered through thousands of shades in a single moment, before settling on a tone a few shades darker than your original. Your hair darkened to black, and you instantly sprouted a thick dark mustache, and a chinstrap beard to match. Your eyes became narrower and monolid, your stare intensifying into a sexy smolder. As King Kai leaned in and kissed you, your bulk increased, and your muscle became padded with a thin sexy layer of fat.

"Cum." King Kai commanded you, his voice sexy enough to send you over the edge.

You had been reborn, a Vietnamese stud in the Carribean. Your brain was aflame with new neurons, making connections faster and better than ever before. You knew you had been improved, in every conceivable way. You were stronger, smarter, wiser, and you had no one but your new king to thank.

[bucksangel]

okay you’re straight up ATTACKING ME!!!! It’s been two days and i’m still losing my mind (which is the natural response to seeing sebastian) this will be quick but it’s giving me soooo many ideas😫😫

pairing: alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader

word count: 870

warnings: 18+ minors dni, mention of oral (f receiving), alpha!bucky being a complete menace, kinda dom/in charge!reader??, that’s it i think

It’s hard, so fucking hard trying to ignore him. It helps that you’re standing with your back to him, but you can feel his gaze - glare more like. He’s been like this ever since you woke up this morning: pouting when you refuse to kiss him, whining when you wiggle out of his hold every time he manages to wrap his arms around you, he even shuffled to the couch and flopped onto it with a dramatic huff when you slapped his hand away when he tried holding yours.

Bucky Barnes is a baby, but you’re too stubborn to give in to his wishes.

“Come on, darling,” He whines from the couch, and the low rumble he lets out soon after makes you want to give up the act, makes you want to sink to your knees and crawl to him, forgiving him for the earlier incident. “I said I was sorry, don’t you wanna come let your Alpha apologize properly? I’ll get on my knees -”

You cut him off by throwing a nearby pillow towards him, glancing over your shoulder for a brief moment to see that he’s now sitting up, resting one hand on his thigh with his other arm thrown over the top of the couch. It takes all your might to force yourself to look away and focus back on making your tea, but you do it anyway.

It lasts not even five seconds, because then Bucky pulls out the big stops, lowering his voice as he says, “Omega… Come on.”

With a huff, you turn on your heels, placing your hands on your hips and glaring at the man you’ve called yours for over two years. His pout is gone, replaced with a smirk and a raised eyebrow as he waits for the inevitable.

“No,” You say harshly, but your heart’s not in it. You want to forgive him so badly, but he needs to learn his lesson. “You threw away all of my underwear! What am I supposed to wear when I go out now?”

“First of all, I didn’t throw all of them away. I left you a couple of thongs and those sets I love so much.” Bucky’s musky Alpha scent is slowly filling the room, the sheer dominance he radiates is clear to anyone who comes in contact with him but it’s more prevalent now with his leather jacket hugging his biceps. “Plus, we hardly leave the house anyway. And you know very well how I feel about you wearin’ panties around here.”

It’s true, you do know. In the beginning of you two living together, you quickly learned it’s best to not wear pants. You don’t like wearing them in the comfort of your own home anyway - something Bucky is extremely appreciative of. But especially panties, they merely get in the way of his desire to fill you up at any chance he gets. And it’s not like you’re complaining, oh god no. The day you’re not ready to take Bucky’s cock at any given moment will be the day you die.

It’s just… You liked the pairs you had, and they were expensive. So for Bucky to just throw them away - even if you know he didn’t mean any actual ill-will by it - kind of irks you.

Though not nearly as much as the infuriatingly smug grin on his face as you falter, he knows you’re going to cave, you always do. You’re weak for him, always have been, and always will be.

It’s just good that he’s the same way. He’d jump fifty feet in the air if you asked him to, he’d go out at one in the morning and get you food if you even suggested you were hungry, and he’s proved time and time again that he’s worthy of being your Alpha.

But right now, all you want to do is continue to gripe and make him buy you more. But then an even better idea pops up, and it’s your turn to smile deviously.

“You’re right,” You start, crossing your arms over your chest and slowly walking towards him. “You and I both know how you feel about my panties, and I guess you did leave me the good ones. But a verbal apology isn't going to be good enough.”

“Ome-“

“No.” Your harsh tone shuts him up, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “You’ve already ripped up quite a few because you’re too impatient to actually take them off. But throwing them away is too far.” Stopping about a foot in front of him, you have to will yourself not to laugh at the shock on his face.

“Your ‘apology’ will be me sitting on your face until you give me as many orgasms as the underwear you tossed out, okay?”

At that, Bucky straightens up one of his eyebrows raising as he leans forward with his forearms resting on his knees. “Omega, you have no idea how okay with that I am.” With that, Bucky shoots up, wrapping you in his arms and literally sweeping you off your feet as he carries you toward the bedroom.

It’s going to be a long day, and it’s a good thing you don’t have anything planned.

[aiko0invalid]

Oct.1-Sun-2:30 am

Wrote this while super tired and delirious 😎

TW: Pet names, Omega Fem!reader, human/civilian Bang Chan, slight breeding kink?, P.I.V, intentional un-protected sex, slight blindfold kink, scent kink

☆

I can just imagine his dick inside you, pressing against the soft ridges of your gummy walls feverishly.

His hips not stopping for a moment as he snaps them against your ass like an animal. He’s a little peeved by your moans being muffled by the pillow that your face is currently stuffed into, your tears soaking the fabric that covered your eyes.

“What’s that baby?” He grunts, teasing you with a grin as you moaned loudly again. “Huh? Speak princess.” He mocked as his hand left one of your hips and gathered your hair into a low ponytail.

Swiftly, he tugged on your hair which forcefully lifted your head from the pillow. It was like you were a dog, being pulled by your hair as if it was a leash.

His thrusts didn’t falter one bit as he pounded into you relentlessly. “Come on baby, tell me how good you feel.” He cooed, an obvious smirk in his tone you could imagine even though you couldn’t see him.

“S-so… mh-hm…” you could barely get the words out, whimpering and moaning at the sheer impact of his thrusts meeting your core. You swore you would feel his tip bruising the entrance of your cervix.

He hummed again, feigning annoyance at your lack of words. “Speak.” He commanded, playing into the fantasy of you just being a needy omega. A damn mutt for him to play with.

Your mind was clouded, the omega in you bursting with happiness and pleasure as she felt her needs be met by the mer human that had saved you all those years ago.

You were also grateful for Chan, of course you were. Saving you from that illegal omega breeding ring was the best day of your life, but the day he finally helped you with your heat quickly topped it.

And that day was today. After 3 hopeless years of begging every time your heat came he finally caved in and decided to help you. Now you could stop that pathetic act of humping his pillows, of surrounding yourself of his scent despite him not even being an alpha.

All humans had scents, and thanks to your heightened senses during heats you could smell it more clearly.

Usually only an alpha’s scent could satisfy the need of an omega, atleast enough to not make him/her/them crazy. But for some reason Chans was enough, it was always more than enough but also almost not enough if that made sense.

It was enough to stop her from clawing her way out the house and looking for someone to fuck her like an actual dog in heat, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the ache in her core.

Again, usually only an alpha’s or beta’s cock could satisfy her hungry need of being filled up and used.

Chan somehow, did even more than that. It made her stupid, it made her so stupid she was drunk off of the feeling of him inside her.

With each delicious thrust she was only growing nearer to her release.

“C-Channie..” she moaned, chest heaving as she felt a bead of sweat trickle down her face. He knew she wanted something, she had a question but he wasn’t going to go easy on her.

“Spit it out puppy.” I whispered, kissing the shell of her ear while continuing his merciless pounding into her.

She whined and moaned, breath faltering a bit as she babbled on her words. “B-back, on my back!” She pleaded, wanted to face him before she had her first ever orgasm with him.

He graciously gave her what she wanted and pulled out slowly to flip her on her back. “Is that all baby?” He asked, a loving tone replacing the teasing one he was using just a few minutes ago.

“See you, I want to see you!” She begged, asking him if her blindfold could come off.

He chuckled a little bit before uttering the word ‘cute’ and slowly untying the fabric that was covering her eyes.

She stared up at him with glossy eyes that were a bit red from the tears of pleasure that was rippling through her a few moments ago.

He gave her a few cheek and temple kisses as she adjusted to the red LED’s lighting up the room.

Her nose instinctively buried into his neck where his scent was the strongest and she let out a groan at the smell she grew to love oh so much.

“Ready darling?” Chan whispered softly, his hands sliding down to grip onto her hips. She nodded slowly and with that he began pushing in.

His mushroom top of a dick provided an amazing stretch to her core and she let out a few pants at the feeling she wished she could have every day.

She could hear his soft chuckles of delight as he looked down at her flushed and fuck-out expression on her face.

Inch by inch, he slowly eased in despite not having to because she was dripping with slick and she was already stretched out by his delicious fat cock.

“M-move.” She squeaked, her hands already making a move to grip onto his shoulders and nails into his shoulder blades. “Shit baby, do I make you feel good? Huh? Omega’s happy?” He grunted, nose scrunching at the feeling of her tight walls squeezing his length and nails digging into his skin.

“Yes! Yes!” She squealed, head thrown back to the pillow as he finally bottomed out again. “What do you want sweetheart? Rough or sweet?” He questioned with a grin, knowing the fact he wasn’t moving at all was irking her a tiny bit.

She whined a little at the question, her brain not being able to pick and just wanting him to move. “R-rough, I don’t care!” She whimpered, one hand cupping the back of his neck as the other reached farther down his back to claw at the soft, smooth, skin.

He grunted again before chuckling darkly at the feeling of her lips colliding with his when she pulled him down.

“You asked for it~” He whispered against the soft, pillowy, pink lips of his precious omega.

Without a second to waste he leaned back a bit to slowly pull out. It made your eyes open wide at the alarming thought of his filling pulling out. “Chan-!” You’re cut off before you get the chance to beg him to not pull out when he slams back in.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as he picks up the speed from before, effortlessly pounding into you over and over again.

The familiar feeling of his tip pushing against your cervix made you clench around him in awe. He was just so big and long to be able to do that.

Your little whimpers and moans mixed with his groans and grunt filled the room along with the sound of skin on skin compact and the smell of sex.

The atmosphere was just right, it was perfect in fact. This was your 6th heat since living with Chan, you get 2 annual heats per year. One at the beginning and one at the end. Only now were you able to properly get through one of your heats.

You had imagined it to be sweeter, all cozy and soft, maybe not even during the night but afternoon, an hour before the sun even sets.

You imagined the soft golden glow encapsulating you and your alpha as he spoiled you rotten with his love.

That was what you imagined before you met Chan, before you were kidnapped at the age of 17 and shipped country to country for the idea of using you as a breeding omega. It was the same year you had discovered your secondary gender.

You had only told your close family and a few ‘trusted friends’. It was during the time when omegas were getting kidnapped left and right so you had a good reason to not want to tell many people.

Obviously someone let it slip and that’s when you were ambushed on your way home from school, beaten half to death and dragged to a van.

They made sure to cut your hair short, dying it and giving you a tattoo in the symbol of a star, trying their best to make you like the exact opposite of what you looked like so you weren’t recognizable if someone were to see you.

You were chained every day and fed sloppy seconds as they tried to beat you into submission.

They tried to brainwash you, make you think this was all good. They were only making your job easier for you, you wouldn’t have to look anymore to find someone to ease your omega’s desires.

You had fought back at every guy that had bought you, clawing and not letting them get anywhere near your panties.

They often gave up quickly, not wanting to deal with a hardheaded omega and returning you back to the illegal omega breeding ring.

Right when you turned 24 was when cops found out about the ring, finding the hideout quickly and catch everyone that was involved. Every omega got transferred to their family’s, to any family they could find at least.

But yours? Somehow the guys that kidnapped you were able to wipe you off of the face of the earth.

No family, no medical records, No high school or middle school registration, not even elementary school!

You were nothing, you had nothing.

But than Chan found you, he had heard the news of the illegal omega breeding ring being busted and founded out and went down to the police station where they were asking for volunteers to help house any omegas that didn’t have any family to go back to.

The idea was to help them until they had a stable job to have their own life.

There were other people in that day, majority of them being A/O/B, all but Chan.

He was the only human that cared enough to help, and maybe that’s why you walked over and tried your best to catch his scent.

It had shocked him really, you were so tiny, visibly shaking as you tried your best to walk.

Your eyes were wide and as soon as you made eye contact with his brown eyes you melted.

It was like any other omega meeting a kind alpha. Expect, Chan wasn’t an Alpha and he didn’t even think about anything romantic towards you for a while.

It was only during this last year did he start to see you in a different light.

At first when you begged him to help with your heat he was so shocked and horrified that he panicked and freaked out.

That wasn’t ethical at all, I mean, what kind of person would he be to sleep with an omega who just came out of a breeding ring?

Obviously it was just her omega talking, she didn’t know what was happening and she was completely controlled by the wolf inside her.

He would never take advantage of her. The second year was far worse, that was the year he suggested he stayed out of the house during her heats so she wouldn’t be tempted to try and sleep with him.

She was too embarrassed to disagree with him and instead just nodded, letting him do as he pleased. During the first annual heat he stayed over at a friend’s house like he said and it completely ruined her.

Yes, it was hard having his constant scent around her, almost teasing her and mocking the fact she couldn’t be railed by him.

But the lack of scent drove her absolutely insane. Only the faint scent of him on his sheets and clothes were able to ground her even though she felt like ripping the whole house to shreds.

She was going absolutely feral without him and she made sure to express that when he got home after her heat.

“Please don’t leave ever again! It was torture.” She pouted the second he walked through their door.

He was confused and surprised by it before she jumped into his arms, face nuzzling into his neck.

Thankfully he stayed during her second annual heat of that year and she did much better.

Now it’s the 3rd year, it’s currently her first annual heat and she’s in utter bliss.

She only explained her feelings for him after he made another suggestion.

“What if I find you an alpha to help you through your heats? I have a few friends that could help, obviously it would be consensual but maybe that would help you?” He asked, they were on the topic of her heat since it was scheduled to start in a week.

If it was any other situation, if he was any other person, she would probably agree with him. Tell him to ask around, reassure him they would be using the alpha’s house so he wouldn’t have to hear this animalistic breeding sounds.

But this was Chan, this was the human the single handily made her hot and slicked up without it even being her heat. Without even knowing and trying to arouse her.

She felt so loved and protected by him, his sweet side making her want to see him in a different light.

Wanting to see just how rough he could be, how commanding he would be in the bedroom. The fantasy of having a soft and loving first time changed into an erotic and dirty first time with the one and only Bang Christoper Chan.

“No.” She pouted, leaning against the kitchen island as he was on the opposite side with a mug of tea in hand.

“What?” He questioned, a bit surprised by her curt and serious tone as she answered. “I don’t want my want my heat with someone else, I want you.” She lightly whined, continuing to pout as his cheeks flared up.

She wasn’t under the influence of her omega right now, she was still in a stable mind so he couldn’t make an excuse of saying it was only her omega talking.

“Chan.” She started, walking around the kitchen island to stand in front of him, resting both her hands over the top of his. “I need you. My omega doesn’t crave just anybody to scratch her desires, she craves the man that has mine and her’s full trust. Our full heart.

She tried her best to explained, she wasn’t attracted to him because he was the closets male to her, that reason wasn’t even on the list.

He was shocked at first, breath hitched at the confession.

Is that why she was more brazen lately? Only wearing one of his shirts and those thin navy blue panties around the house.

Or a pair of super-short athletic shorts and matching white sports bra.

She no longer locked the door when taking a bath, even barging in to use the toilet whenever he was using taking a shower.

She was getting more comfortable around him and he noticed it quickly, thinking it was her way of playing the long run and getting him to finally fuck her through her heat.

“But- I-I’m no alpha..” he said, stuttering a bit as she grew closer to him. “I know, it’s weird and confusing to me too. But your scent.”

She paused, her mouth watering and she had to suppress a groan once catching a whiff of his scent. “Your scent drives me crazy, it makes my omega scream to be bred, to have you pump me full of pups.”

He could hear the whine on her voice, the utter thirst she has for him and he felt slightly dizzy.

He would be straight up lying to say he didn’t find her attractive, she was the definition of beauty in his eyes. Her hair was at the perfect length that frames her face, eyes always doe like whenever in heat, pupils blown up 3x their regular size.

She was so tempting, and he felt so bad about it. He felt like he was taking advantage of her, or her primal instincts whenever she was in heat. Maybe this was her preheat, yeah, that had to be it.

It was unheard of an omega wanting a human. That wasn’t possible, it wasn’t in her nature.

“Chan.” She said again, more timely as she gazed up at him with a pleasing look in her eyes.

“Please Chan, trust my words. I’m telling the truth.” She whispered, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt into little balled up fists.

Her insides churned with nervousness, it would absolutely break her if he rejected her again, she would probably cry and hide away in the nest she already built on her bed.

The same nest she wanted him in, to cuddle and cradle her to sleep, she wished the nest was on his bed instead.

“Ok..” his soft voice drew her out of her thought, her head snapping back up to meet his slightly less guilty looking eyes. “Ok darling, I’ll help. But this is totally consensual right? I will never do this again if you regret it in the slightest.”

She nodded her head vigorously, a huge smile gracing her feature. “Thank you Channie!” She squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck and using the position to sneakily catch a whiff of his scent.

“Can we move my nest then?” She asked, smiling a bit more shyly with redden cheeks.

“To where?” His eyebrows furrowed, he hadn’t even seen it yet, making sure to stay clear of her room because he had read that omegas are very strict about who gets to enter their nest. He just didn’t expect to be the lucky one to be accepted into it.

“Your bed, please.” She slightly whined despite Chan not doing anything to detest to her question. “Ok, I guess… if that’ll help with your heat. Do you need help moving it?”

She nodded her head again and dragged him to her room, opening the door as his eyes widened at the sight.

He felt crazy every day because it seemed like his clothes were slowly going missing, he was sure the washing machine was eating them up.

Instead it was his omega, his omega who needed his scent more than anything.

The nest was huge, seemingly too big for even his bed that was a California king.

Still, they moved it slowly but surely into his room, the omega rearranging it many times until it felt good enough for her likings. Despite Chan not having the same instincts as her he still tried his best to help her out and rearrange anything that she told him to.

His pillows created support to her head as she laid in the middle of the nest, softly panting.

She was growing dizzy at how much of his scent she was able to have on her, her brain short-circuiting.

“C-Chan.” She whined, eyes shooting up before sitting up. “Help.” she whined, alreayd rubbing her thighs together as she felt a throbbing ache in her core.

“But, but- your heat isn’t for another week.” He said, shocked that she was already begging for him. “Early.” She simply answered, her chest heaving as she crawled over to him and clutched onto his shirt like in the kitchen. “Early Chan, it came early.” She further explained and he silently cursed.

He felt like she needed more time, more time to think it over but now she was clouded by her needs. “Are you sure? 100%-“

She cut him off with a long whine, pulling him into her while falling back and into the bed. “Please Chan! I need you to mate me, I need you to fill me up and make me go dumb. I want to cry on your cock and arch my back off the bed, I want to be so lost in the feeling that I shake like crazy!!”

She begged and begged and he couldn’t let it go for any longer. He finally caved in, and he finally decided to strip his and hers clothes off so he could satisfy all her needs and desires.

Now they were on round 3, with each round growing more brave with the positions, with the kisses and pet names.

Each time Chan edged her, not quite letting her cum and even pulling out to spill himself on her tummy. Each time she whined and begged for him to let her cum, or to at least not pull out when he finishes.

“Eyes on me gorgeous.” His rough voice said, her eyes immediately snapping toward him as they grew foggy with tears. “Awh, poor baby.”

He cooed, grinning while leaning down lightly to kiss her cheeks while simultaneously wiping away the few tears that fell.

His hips never faltered, almost like a pistol that fires off every second. Her mind was incredibly clouded with lust, moans erupting from her at every slight shift he made.

“Close! S-so close~” she whined, her nails digging into his back which created shallow scratch marks that burned his skin. Maybe he was a bit of a masochist? Because he absolutely loved the feeling.

“Close? Gonna cum? Am I going to let my princess cum?” He mocked, a sob emitting from her as she cries out in pleasure. “Please Chan!!” She begged, nails digging in harder and her eyes widened as he only went faster.

He was silently giving into her cries, this time he was going to let her cum, finally.

She babbled out, chanting his name over and over again that only fueled him more. He dipped his head, biting into her shoulder as a means to ground himself which only made her moan louder.

Her legs shook, and her back arched off the mattress as the white hot coil in her lower abdomen snapped and she came all of him. His hips faltered a bit before also cumming, his semen shooting into her like a rocket and painting her wall white.

She huffed and whined at the feeling of finally being filled up, her core sore and felt like it was bruised from the powerful thrusts of him inside.

“Thank you Channie.” You whispered softly, finally feeling your omega within calm down.

Chan only grunted in reply, his muscles relaxing as he slowly laid on top of you, his hands sliding up from your hips and around your waist. “Did such a good job baby, took me so well.” He praised, whispering softly into her ear which only made her smile brighter.

She couldn’t help but purr in satisfaction, wrapping her arms around his neck and scent him once again.

“Round 4?”

[hannyoontify]

jihoon and the comfort of his studio

not a fic! i'm currently experiencing a minor writer's block (hence the lack of posts and activity on my acc the past couple days 🥲) i got this idea but i am physically incapable of putting this into readable, story-like words so here's js.. a ramble 😭 maybe once i'll get unstuck i'll turn this into a drabble tee hee

so let's say you're a light sleeper. like from a young age, you struggled to fall and stay asleep, even in your own bed, so imagine how hard it is for you to fall asleep in unfamiliar settings.

except, you can fall asleep in jihoon's studio js like that.

when you and jihoon first started dating, you told him abt your struggles with falling asleep and staying asleep for long periods of time, which jihoon could relate to bc he was also a light sleeper himself. so the first time he brings you into his studio (which by the way, he doesn't show js anyone) you notice that there's a sofa OVERFLOWING with pillows and blankets. you ask him about and he's js like 'i sleep here sometimes when i'm working overnight' and js casuallyyy mentions that you're always welcome to crash in his studio if you ever have trouble falling asleep.

(when you ask vernon and hoshi a couple months later, you find out that he replaced his dingy, almost 10 year old couch with the newest, most expensive model on the market only a couple weeks after dating you, and he bought a whole bunch of pillows and blankets and made sure to put them through the laundry TWICE. AND he also restocked up on refreshments in his mini fridge except they weren't filled to the brim with energy drinks and caffeinated sugar water, as vernon liked to call them. rather, it was filled with water, almonds, walnuts, chilled chamomile tea as well as chamomile tea packets and and melatonin gummies. apparently, he also learned from minghao different meditation techniques to help a person (you supposedly) fall asleep)

so you become a regular at jihoon's studio now bc of COMFORTABLE IT IS. like you can fall asleep to the clicky clacky noises of his keyboard and his soft humming. he would check up on you every hour or so js to make sure you're doing okay and HIS SOFT SMILE UGHGHHGHG SOMEONE GET ME A JIHOON RN

like this is js jihoon's way of taking care of you. silent actions that might go unnoticed to some people. he cares for you sm like he js wants you to get some rest :((

a/n : i wrote this last night and then fell asleep like right afterwards LMAOA oops �� anyway this was super messy and i’m not very satisfied with the result (same goes for everything i’m working on rn 🥲) but hope you guys enjoyed!!

[farawayfromsomething]

As I make my way into the house, I attempt to keep a low profile and avoid getting in anyone's way. However, my efforts are in vain as I suddenly hear my mother's voice booming through the hallway. "August, come here this instant!" she calls out, shattering any hopes I had of blending into the background. I walk towards the lady that somehow made me. She is tall and has bleached blonde hair unlike me.

“What is this?!” she yells, even though i'm standing right in front of her. She holds up my test, which I thought I hid quite well in my blanket cover. It’s 89% only, not 100%, which is mildly infuriating since I was the highest in the class and my humanities teacher doesn't give out 100’s.  

“WELL?” she screams so red she's almost purple.

“Well my teacher doesn't give out 100’s” I say so quietly it might as well be a whisper.

“THAT DOESN’T EXPLAIN THIS 89% NOT 100%” I sigh. After about 30 seconds that somehow felt like a year she yells again. “ YOU ARE GROUNDED FOR THE REST OF THE YEAR!” as if I care I don't have anywhere to be.

I make my way out of the kitchen, mum is still yelling at me but I am no longer listening. The words have fallen into one big scream. I climb the wooden stairs, I step on each step, one creak after the other I walk my way towards my bedroom. ‘My’ is an overstatement because it's filled with the junk my parents don't want. I make my way towards my bed, a mattress fallen to the floor with clothes I use as pillows. Every corner is a reminder of punishments. A shattered computer in the corner, that my mum slammed into the floor when I was sick and vomiting and had to be sent home. I fall onto my bed and sink into it as the floor fills the comfort of the bed. I reach over behind the boxes and boxes and boxes of stuff that my parents have shoved in here, some filled with old clothes that I use, some with old kitchen utensils that are replaced and some that I've shoved books from the library. I open a box filled with books and open a book and escape.

*****

a short story i wrote a while ago, i might continue might not

[legionofpotatoes]

I am trying desperately to cling to her memories that are slipping away. I hate how ready I was for all the big ways in which her death would hit me, yet I was caught completely unaware of the million little things that would change along the way. She touched so many tiny parts of my life and now they're all withering away and no amount of photos or videos are enough to keep them from getting further and further away and it feels maddening. I don't know how to hold on to them.

analytically I understand that eventually I will have to let go of all that and accept that things will not be the same. that not every measurable point of contact that she imprinted upon the world will stay frozen in time. and I know that it shouldn't. but I still felt such an odd mixture of pain, anger, and confusion when I saw Yen hop on the pillow she always used to sleep on; when I saw her fill in the spaces and patterns that were always Bastet's. I know a silly little cat isn't intentionally trying to replace the life of another, that is a childish thought to have. but it still tugs and tears at the hole in my gut and confuses me. I've never felt so lost.

It's the maddening realization that life just carries on full-throttle and not a single god damn part of it will stop and honor her memory for even a second. it all just hurdles on and the soils of linear time keep rolling over and burying the old while ushering in the new with unrelenting cruelty. And I'm supposed to be so cool and accepting of that because? what? that I have the capacity to quantify it? none of this feels fair.

eventually I'll forget how the two floorboards creaked whenever she would go for a nighttime walk from the bed and into the outer room. I'll forget the way she'd nag for food and scrape at the balcony door in the mornings. her purrs were like an iron kettle seconds away from beginning to boil, in that momentary rattle on low fire; quiet and bubbly, a low rumble of contentment. she carried herself with dignity and grace, sharing the same space as us but always at a respectful distance. she was one of those chill hang best friends, but in cat form.

she was also the most striking example of one half in an animal/human companionship; I always joked that she shared a soul with my partner. I never knew my SO before Bastet, and I always felt like they were born of the same cosmic splinter and mirrored one another in things both big and small. their personalities, their temperaments, their beauty, their naptimes. they would even curl up in the same exact poses and it never failed to make me chuckle. it's all so dimmer without that half now. I've never seen my partner so alone. it breaks my heart for her.

Bastet was a mixed breed tortoiseshell; she was either pushing her late 17th or early 18th year, we have some birth date discrepancies that I cannot get to the bottom of. her eyes were striking green since childhood and then changed as she aged, her right one turning fully yellow by the end. she always liked a good meal and kept herself relatively chumby throughout the years. I don't think we ever crossed into unhealthy levels of pet obesity, though. she just had that raccoon-like silhouette that we loved to joke about, and a way of keeping her front legs slightly apart when she perched that made for the most charming poses. she took herself oh so very seriously, but she was our round little guy.

she had yellow-black beans and a black nose, and her breath was stinky. we loved her stinky breath. I'll never be able tell her off anymore for initiating one of her full-body baths right next to me as I was trying to eat. she also had a wonderful patch of dusty aroma right on top of her head and between her ears; something hard to place, but incredibly homely. It was a rare treat whenever we'd catch her for a quick noggin smooch. I'll never feel that smell again.

her jellies were very soft and loose, but she hated having them touched. she liked a good rub under the chin and especially across her cheeks, sometimes ending things with a small love nibble. she grew up drinking out of cups instead of bowls, and it became a calcified habit; we knew to always cover stray beverages with napkins with her around. I shudder to think of the next time I'll do it instinctively.

she was very rarely clumsy. My partner's bed frame sits flush against her wall radiator, and Bastet loved hopping on there and wedging herself between the wall and the headboard. we loved how her belly fats would spill over the edge when she did that. trouble arrived, however, whenever she'd decide to turn around and face the other way; that would generally involve carefully backing up for a long while before doing a full rotation. I would always hit her with the ole' truck reverse gear beeping when I'd catch her do it. she'd give me the stinkiest eye.

She wasn't a very playful cat, which we always found strange. She'd get the odd zoomie now and then, but was primarily a dignified lady. She'd slap you around like no one's business if she decided you deserved it though. She never learned to get along with Yen, our second, younger, and dumber cat; we tried smell swapping and shared mealtimes and every trick under the sun to get them to play nice. And we kept trying because Yen, with not even two braincells to rub together, was incredibly curious and forthcoming to spend time with her, yet Bastet was out for blood from day one. We eventually learned to partition them across the house and paid with more than a few fun incidents. Bastet would always get a few good licks in and Yen would learn exactly nothing and try again the next day.

She was territorial like that. She loved my SO like I've never seen an animal love a human. Even her jealousy towards me took almost a decade to erode, and even then, she would never let us cuddle or sleep without making sure to find a good spot to keep an eye on me from. I learned not to admonish but to respect that about her; I was never going to outgrow the depth of their relationship and it became a type of honor to feel accepted into it. I was just happy to be in a place where I could bother her with pets and not get eaten alive!

Best time to do it was when she slept. She was a deep sleeper, and could rip a snore that would scare a flock of pigeons away. We'd quiet down and hurriedly tap one another and then point at her whenever that happened, like silent mimes in a frenzied panic, desperate to hear just one more little snort. It was the best time to gently curl around her and give her a tap and a tug. Most of the time she wouldn't even wake up. She was very soft and huggable.

I know torties aren't considered the prettiest breed, but I always found her coat to be mesmerizing. She was a beautiful cat in that understated sort-of way; well color-coordinated, evenly patterned, and appropriately mannered. She took very good care of herself so we didn't end up bathing her too often. The price for that could be severe and bone-deep, so we kept those decisions tactical. She was an angry fluffball.

I wish I could feel her warm, soft sides again and hear her loud complaints as I attempt to scoop her up. I want to squish her toe beans as she sleeps and see her snicker at something tasty in her dreams. I want to see her demonstrably stretch in front of everyone in the room before flopping to her side and starting her morning bath. I want to see her gently tippity-tap towards her water, give it a long sniff, and then stick her paw straight in to start drinking her own special way. I miss seeing her go about her little tasks and vividly color the periphery of my life in that apartment. it's all so empty now.

Truthfully, most of those habits went away well before her death; as she retreated away from us in her last months, she barely ever exhibited her prior personality. As crushing as this was, it felt almost like a way for her to help us taper away with a gentler ease rather than a hard fall. I know that is not why cats do it. I know that it's not great to anthropomorphize her pain into some amorphous expression of wisdom and compassion towards us. It wasn't. She was in pain and we were desperately trying to help her until it became too senseless to try. But it did end up cushioning the blow just a bit. I suppose that's all I can say about that.

She went away in her sleep. We did it at the clinic, it felt humane. Taking her home would mean a far greater shadow over our day-to-day as her condition had become irreversible and was guaranteed to terminally deteriorate in a matter of days. My partner made the decision, as she rightfully should have, and with far greater bravery than I. I felt lost and cornered and unsure and I was bargaining when I knew there was nothing left to bargain for except for her prolonged suffering. I feel so bad for my selfishness. I know I'm still typing all this driven by it. I want to write down these memories so I can keep coming back to read them and escape her growing absence. But there's no typing out everything that she was and all the ways she touched and bettered us. I know that too.

I suppose in time I will find a way to make peace with the fact that I will forget some of these small things. but I'll make sure to never ever lose anything singular and definitive about her. I talk to her ashes so I can have a reason to say her name out loud. I can't let it slip away from everyday use. And as corny as it sounds, I will always see a reflection of her tiny self in my partner's eyes. They shared the same soul. I hope I can see them reunite again someday.

Today was the first day since her passing when her absence didn't feel temporary. It didn't feel like some unwelcome bump in the road. I truly know now that she's never darting out from under the bed and bonking my hand as it hangs from the armchair ever again. That realization is an endless, bottomless pit. I don't know what to do with it

[protokirby]

Last night.

I woke up at exactly 3:02. Times are a thing I remember for some reason of all things.

The dream I had woken up from was all forgotten instantly except for the last few seconds of it. It was just the sight of Crispin. (If Crispin is in a dream, my odds of remembering the dream are very very slim for some reason. Forgetting everything except a feeling that he was there. Only this time I distinctly remember seeing him) He looked surprised as flip and the angle was lowering as if it were pov: I'm falling. And the surroundings were just nothing but black darkness other than the Surprised Crispin.

That's when I woke up.

But as I was in the process of waking up, I was in the process of getting up- like full on lifting myself up- as drool was falling out of my mouth??? While I was still just waking up, I was getting up??? Somehow??? What the whirl- I had to replace my pillow cover because of the amount of drool. I don't have a history of creating puddles of drool in my sleep so that is somethin new to me. I have had a recent history of almost drooling after waking up but nothin like this lol It's a wonder I didn't feel the urge to go wash my hands. They were exposed to the river but I was too tired to care I guess? Just wanted to go back to sleep to be awake enough for church in the morning.

There was one time (years ago) that I stood up and got out of bed (back when I had a bed) the half second of waking up. This was a one time thing I had been wanting to do just to see what would happen. My legs gave out then because of course they would if I stand instantly after waking. Such concentration and focus it took to remember to do that and actually do it in less than a second of waking up.

But this time.

This time waking up at 3:02 in the morning.

I was getting up while still waking up and I don't even know what the how the huh?? And the drool! Huh??

But hey ya know. I'm weird at times so it's natural to assume something of that nature would happen one night or another. Still insane though and I'm of course confused.

But the main thing I'm wondering about is what even happened in the dream itself? I have a sneaking suspicion that I shielded Crispin from an attack at the moment before waking up which means that's most likely what happened. The visuals I remember check out too. So I don't have any doubt that's what happened.

And when I woke up, I had a special kind of disorientation that normally accompanies a wake up from a dream I have control in. So based on that, I can come to the conclusion that I had better thinking capabilities in that dream.

With thinking abilities, plus my typical knowledge that I am indeed dreaming, of course I would shield my imaginary friend from an attack. I just escape to the awake world if I die in a dream. Meanwhile, with the continuation my dreams tend to have, I wouldn't have an assurance that an imaginary friend isn't going to have a permanent death if they're killed. It's happened before :[ If I can help it, I will defend my imaginary friends with my imaginary life. I can come back every time I fall asleep. These folks that exist only in the mind do not have that option under normal circumstances.

Another thing is the pure black background. That certainly wasn't a heavily detailed location. Most detailed thing there was Crispin who looked exactly the way he does in the game. I think it was very likely that I had an awake-level of thinking power, not only because of the "I could control this dream" kind of wake-up-disorientation, but because this dream didn't sacrifice processing power in favor of graphics. At least in the last few seconds I remember where the surrounding area was just pure void.

All of this along with the fact that the dreams that contain Crispin that I'm able to remember at all have most often been totally fun adventures, I can say that this dream was definitely something else.

I'm annoyed that I have no idea what else happened.

Presumably big adventure that I definitely have my usual awareness and self-control for? Wowie. That's like- something that would be super awesome to remember.

Not really worth being annoyed about anyway but - I am. Currently a little bit annoyed that I don't remember. I'll get over it in a couple hours or less

I wonder if in heaven I would be able to replay my dreams on a projector thingy or somethin-

[sargassos]

I've been avoiding doing this, cause I'm not the best at sharing, and cause its the suckiest life update ever. Obviously, this is not an art post.

I'm gonna make a short thread of photos out of this, so, hope im doing this part right, but CW: animal death, pet death ahead, in case you dont block those tags already.

Just under 8 years ago, I adopted the best dogo I have ever known. We had ranch dogs when I was a kid, so I've had a LOT of dogs; Tsavo was something super special. I mean, kid leash trained himself an hour after I adopted him. He had zero trouble learning new things, from go.

He was great with our other animals, tho he ate my favorite feather pillow and carried my not yet planted flowers around like a trophy.

And he was tiny tiny when he first came home; I was told he wouldn't get very big (i did not believe them one bit.)

Apparently neither did he. In fact he took it as a challenge. He capped out at 102 pounds at his peak, and healthy. He was a hiker, a camper, and a lake dog (tho he didn't swim well. Imagine, a lab who can't swim??)

He would sit with me when I was gardening, hang out in the garage when we were working, would lay around and watch the chickens...his second name was "In-The-Way", but in a good way.

He even helped fetch tools when we were working (nothing sharp or too heavy, he knew his limits)

He was always patient with us taking photos (of which there were so. Very. Many.)

In spite of my best attempts to socialize him, he never did quite get the whole, personal space & canine body language thing. But luckily he made friends pretty easily.

Which was helpful when we brought home a kitten who decided "slow introduction" was too slow for him.

He was an all season idiot, and made everyone happy with his persistence in fetching items when requested; bags, tools, shoes (matching pairs!)...And if he didn't know the item you were requesting by name, he would bring you every single sock he could find to make up for it.

He helped me come down when I came home in tears from work, when I was stressed from a nightmare, or if i woke up in a panic after an episode if sleep paralysis.

He was, inequivically, the absolute best dogs I've ever known, and could have asked for.

Now the sad part. I posted recently on Twitter that Tsavo hasn't been doing great. He developed a limp in late October. I took him to work for a checkup.

We thought it was a torn mcl, that would heal. It might not even need surgery, since his xrays weren't showing much.

We were wrong. It was cancer. And by the time we realized it, it had already spread from his leg into his chest.

I was not mentally prepared for how fast everything went downhill from there, but given the tone of this post, and the censor, I suppose its obvious where this goes.

He stopped eating. He couldn't get comfortable, even with pain meds. His leg seemed dead and cold below the knee, and he started coughing only days after we got the results back.

We opted to euthanize Tsavo last Thursday, the 1st of the month.

I am very very not ok right now.

I'll get another dog. I know I will, I've proven in the past I dont like not having one around. I love dogs. I'm going to meet one this weekend. I feel selfish being excited when I'm still this broken, but this last month has been a nightmare in itself, so I want to be happy too.

But I firmly believe getting a new pet is never a replacement for an old one. And it couldn't be anyways. There will never be another Tsavo like my great, amazing boy was.

I can never be grateful enough for what this big, stupid, idiot goofball brought to my life.

And im just as grateful for my friends, who have been helping me deal with this for over a month now.

I love this dog, with my whole heart and everything I have, and I will miss him forever.

He really was the bestest best boy ❤

[angelbluediary]

2022 Reflection

It has now been a full year since I moved to [Redacted]. My first year ever of living alone. First year being a single adult woman. First year not being a student.

I'm still here, which is all I can really ask for at the end of the day.

I moved in with an armchair, two small cat towers, a coffee table, and a matching end table. Now I look around, and I'm astonished that everything within my reach is something I bought and/or built for myself. The bamboo mattress and the bed frame. The gaming chair. The computer desk. The small dresser. The miniature bookshelf. The vanity. The couch. The kitchen stools.

I spent so much time this past year hating my circumstances and where I live, and things could have been better for sure, but I'm content during quiet moments like this one. It's 4 pm and the sun is coming through sweetly through my window, onto my bed. My bed feels cozier since I started loading up pillows and blankets and my Squishmallow onto it. One day I'll have a nice bed frame, not a canopy frame, it’ll be sturdy and spacious feeling. But the canopy can be deconstructed and pieced into a cardboard box. I'll be grateful for it next time I move... when I replace the canopy with something else, that'll be a sign that I've finally settled. Whether in a place or with a person or both.

I think it's just this time of year, but I've been feeling nostalgic and achey about [Redacted]. The gentle lightbulb moment in the shower yesterday as it dawned upon me, over a year later, that I will never receive closure for this. Any of this. No confirmation for cheating. No confrontations about money. Probably no "I've been thinking about you, hope you're doing well" at an even later date from either of us. What a thought. That you can live completely intertwined with someone for almost 6 years and become strangers in a week.

Life is a series of hopeful sacrifices.

It's obvious I still haven't moved on. In a romantic way, the moving on happened before we broke up. I just can't move on from the way things used to be, or from the unfairness of how things went down, or the fact that I am in a new position during a new era of my life and I don't know how anything is supposed to go, anything at all. I get sad when I put myself out there. I get sad when I don't. I lose myself by the day, float back in a haze, and forget to write down the words of wisdom that occasionally unfurl in my mind. Then I feel uncomfy with where I am in my life and I smoke so that the music sounds better, my skin feels softer, my escapism is gold-paved.

Will I feel rooted somewhere at 26?

Why am I like this? I sat down only with intentions to celebrate this past year. Like noting:

attending two big kink events this year

experiencing FWB arrangement

scoring my apartment of choice and paying my rent/bills on time every damn month

filling out my apartment with my own belongings

getting $750 in a single "just because" tip

clubbing and being bought drinks

having the big conversation with my parents about my feelings and needs

What do I want this year?

money in savings

exciting perfect quiet cozy move in June

ideal remote job in writing or copyediting

new friendships/connections

exercise discipline

heart-pounding meet-cute with someone that turns into LOVE

more singing in the car with friends, or just general vibing times

clarity on who I am and what I want to do

[reverie-starlight]

im not sure if you're still taking requests, or if you'll want to do this but-

sakusa x clingy!reader, and how he reacts when the reader gets clingy-?

thats all really- hope you like my request, and have fun with it~!

YES YES YES YES YES I HAVE WAITED MY WHOLE LIFE FOR THIS MOMENT

Gn!reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As someone who loves sakusa and has been told is very clingy, I ADORE this request.

so, the way i portray him is kinda (very) different than how I’ve seen most people portray him… and similar to how I’ve seen some of my favourite blogs portray him. i am definitely going to project my own headcanons and ideas about him in this. absolutely no angst in this, which I see is the case with a lot of “clingy s/o” works (and I will always read them no matter what be cause angst with a happy ending is the only angst I can tolerate)

first things first he is SO SOFT FOR HIS PARTNER. he isn’t very affectionate or even all that friendly when it comes to other people, but i love the idea that when it comes to you, he is just so soft and sweet and doting. so he wouldn’t really mind all the physical affection that comes along with loving you.

of course he’s still sakusa, so in public i think he’d keep it to holding your hand, or at an event he’d keep an arm around your waist. you were never thrown off by his cold demeanour in public, you adored every side of him. you were happy that only you ever got to see his happier, carefree side. now, on days where he’s maybe not having it and doesn’t want to be touched or something, he’d be honest with you. i don’t think he’d snap at you or anything, he’d just ask you to give him a bit of space and that’s that. very mature about it, good communication between the two of you that definitely had to be developed over time.

but on most days in the comfort of your apartment? when you get home from work and he’s starting on dinner already? when you come up behind him and refuse to let go unless he promises to pick you up and cuddle with you in the bedroom for a bit? he lives for that shit. he loves that you want him, he loves that you feel comfortable enough with him to even ask for affection as often as you do, he loves that you trust him enough to be clingy with him. he’s certain that you wouldn’t be this clingy with someone you didn’t trust to handle that fact with care and understand whatever reason you had behind it. you’d never cling onto someone you weren’t sure you loved. he knew this and so he never stopped indulging you with affection. he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t nice to be so close with someone after years of distancing himself from other people. our boy was a little bit touch starved before you tbh.

his favourite thing is when you get shy about asking for whatever it is you want. when he’s in a playful mood, he would definitely tease you about it and wouldn’t indulge you unless he heard the words come out of your mouth. what he likes even more is when you get frustrated and don’t ask, you just shove your head under his arm, flop down on top of him and glare at him. that glare/any trace of annoyance is washed away, however, when he starts running a hand up and down your back and whispering sweet nothings to you. your frown is replaced with a dopey smile, which he absolutely adores because he just loves being the reason you’re smiling.

on days where you’re more needy than usual and he’s either busy or he’s maybe not paying enough attention or both, you will jump on him. and he will either do one of two things:

tackle you onto whatever soft surface is closest- he’ll turn it into a play fight, pinning your hands and tickling you, hitting you with a pillow, wrestling and making sure you won’t have the upper hand. then when you’re giggling and begging him to stop, he’ll just grin and say something along the lines of “oh but i thought you wanted my undivided attention?” before either wrecking you again or giving you the world’s softest cuddle session.

bring you close to him and pepper kisses all over your face and neck until you’re sick of him (which you both know could never actually happen). if he chooses this option, you’d better be prepared to run, cause once you get out of his hold, he’s chasing you in the name of “making sure you’re satisfied”. this usually ends up with the two of you making out, ngl.

playful sakusa kiyoomi <3

he also appreciates the clinginess when he’s had a bad day and all he wants is to be wrapped up in your arms. your affection is automatic, you don’t even think about it most of the time, it’s just so natural for you. and he loves it when he comes home, very tired, very upset, and without even looking at his face you just give him a short hug in greeting. you only clue in that he’s had a bad day when he doesn’t let go and instead lets out a sniffle. that’s when you take his coat and lead him to the bedroom to give him some comfort cuddles.

so all in all i think he’d be super sweet with his clingy partner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I love how this turned out, I love this request I love Sakusa Kiyoomi. feel free to leave more requests!!

[abibliophobiaa]

Another Love - tasm!peter parker x f!reader (3/3)

a/n: well, here we are. almost 50k words later and we are at the final part of this crazy brain-child i had one day after i knew i would be doing an april au event over on @spidervee’s page. i've loved every minute of it. also, definitely the first time i've written this much in a long time. or ever, for that matter.

warnings: 18+ to be safe - minors dni. blood. gore. typical time period violence. i've also mentioned pregnancy multiple times in previous chapters, so just want to throw out that it is mentioned. briefly. and peter and reader are parents by the end. also mentioned only briefly, as i know not everyone is into that. but it is a royal!au and heirs are a thing. 

cross-posted on my ao3. 

| PART ONE | PART TWO | MASTER LIST |

*

“holy water cannot help you now,

see i’ve come to burn your kingdom down.”

seven devils - florence + the machine

*

Time was a fickle thing. One moment, you were careless and free. Troubles all a faraway memory. Thoughts pushed far from your mind, focused instead on the present. 

Of running through fields. Dancing beneath firelight. Whispering poetry against wine drunk ears. Playing chess in no more than a fur cloak to cover your form. Hot eyes trailing along bare flesh. Of plush pillows and heated hands. Of pleasure so deep, it made your head swirl. Dragged beneath the depths of it. A breathless surrender. 

Even then, you knew it to have been limited. Merely shards of sand falling through an hourglass. Counting down until this very moment. 

You had two months. Two months of wedded bliss at last. Selfishly, it wasn’t enough. 

You kept repeating those words in your mind as Peter dragged you back to the garrison. Lifting your armor he had fitted for you when you began training. Helped you into it as you stared off into the distance. 

Not enough time. 

I am out of time…

“I need you to try to avoid battle as much as possible. Your primary goal is to assist the other healers.”

You barely heard him. Eyes drifting to his face to look at him. Taking in those kind eyes, full of assurance toward you when all you felt was dark, cold dread. It swallowed you in those inky, black tendrils. Till all you knew was breathlessness. 

“Did you hear me?” He asked. Curled his finger around the tip of your chin, turning your head to him. “Hey. Hey…look at me. I am here. I am right here, please do not go where I cannot follow you.”

Your fingers reached up to cup along his cheek. Memorizing every feature. Every line and sharp angle. The thickness of his brows. The curve of his nose. The gentle slope of his jaw. The indent just above his top lip. The way his bottom one jutted out just so. Perfectly made for your own. And his honey brown doe-eyes. Always so full of emotion; your favorite as of late being the love he so deeply bore you. 

“I heard you.”

Your words were so soft, you weren’t even sure you’d truly spoken them. Hollowed, just as your chest felt at the reality etching its way into it. Replacing every shred of joy and replacing it with bitterness and fear. 

“You got a little quiet on me. You are generally very outspoken.”

You forced out a laugh. Your lips dragged downward once more, eyes trailing over your breastplate. Over the family crest; the name you shared with your husband, emblazoned on the metal. 

“We are out of time.”

“Do not say such things.” He demanded, forehead pressing forcefully into yours. 

“What if it is true? What if we have been given a short glimpse at eternity and that is all we get?” Your eyes watered, pinching shut as you shuddered on an exhale. 

“Then I will die happy knowing it was spent with you,” he said, tugging you to your feet.

“Please…do not speak of death like it is an option.”

His hand smoothed down the side of your neck. Your shoulder. “Love, it is not an option. As I said, we will see the sunrise again. I am certain of it. We have many years yet, all of which we will spend with one another. You may even grow to tire of me.”

“I would never tire of you.”

He leaned forward and kissed you once more. Lingered for a bit before Lord Bartrand cleared his throat, hand crossed over his chest. Peter quickly dressed himself and turned to the man, clasping your hand in his. 

“You must address the army, Your Grace. Morale is high—though Carstell soldiers have still not arrived.”

“How many soldiers did Hollowhall bring?”

Lord Bartrand glanced down. “It looks to be thousands. Likely three—maybe more.”

“We are outnumbered,” you whispered out, feeling your heart stutter in your chest. 

Peter turned to you then, smiling. “It is the hearts of the soldiers that matters. Not the number.”

You believed him. Had to believe him. And it was hard not to when he looked into your eyes with an assurance that made you feel like every inch of you glowed. His words inspired. That heart of his steadfast and brave. You loved him. Reminded him of such, as Lord Bartrand looked away for a moment to give you the privacy of a whispered affection between the two of you. 

“I am sorry your honey moon has been cut short,” Lord Bartrand said, as the two of you fell into step beside him. “But your people need you more than ever, Your Graces. We may lose many lives before the battle is over.”

The reality of it settled on you then. Knowing that many of the soldiers here today might meet the end of a blade today, dying for something they believed so fiercely in. Brave soldiers who had a heart for their country—and those of your father’s, coming to defend their once gilded Princess. 

As you stepped out and into the open fields near the garrison, you were met with the countless soldiers standing pressed together in a sea of bodies. Their swords were already in hand, raised with their fists as they shouted their love for the King. And for you. 

You remained at Peter’s side, never allowing your hand to part from his as he tugged you nearer to his chest. Ran a hand along your armored side as Lord Bartrand moved to attach a billowing red cloak to your husband’s armor. The wind made it trail behind him. Stark against the midnight sky, illuminated by torch light. 

Those faces staring up at you made your breath catch as it settled in the back of your throat. So many of which you didn’t even know the name of. Faces you might find buried in a few days time. Whispering words to console to grieving widows, to their children…loved ones. They lived and breathed for Ayelandia. For the hope of a long reign to come. You would not disappoint them. 

“People of Ayelandia! People of Glendhaven! Hollowhall soldiers stand at our doorstep. They would hope to overtake our lands—to take what is ours. But we will not let them. Our hearts beat for our home, and we will do whatever we can this day to preserve it!” Peter began, his voice loud and clear over the din. “In the words of late Queen Gwen, ‘No matter how buried it gets, or lost you feel, you must promise me that you will hold on to hope and keep it alive. We have to be greater than what we suffer. My wish for you is to become hope.’ So we will do that. We will be a hope for our people. A beacon. We do not surrender!” 

Shouts of Long live the King and long live the Queen permeated the air. A chant that beat loudly in your ears as you stepped down the stairs leading toward the swelling crowd. Greeted the soldiers with an arm across your chest as you passed. Reminding them tonight you were one with them. Golden ring twined in your hair, symbolic of your training and acceptance from the Guard. 

So, with your heart beating wildly in your chest, your husband gripped your hand in his own and led his army toward the fields of Ambrosen. 

To war. 

—x—

A healing tent had been prepared some weeks ago on the fields of Ambrosen. Lined with numerous cots, bandages, linens and herbs and ointments which you knew would be vital in the hours to come. As soon as you entered, you counted everyone within. Ten healers. You hoped it would be enough. Hoped none of them would come in the line of battle. 

Bronwynne appeared at your side, wearing only a slip of chainmail over her simple frock, and an apron overtop. You reached forward to wrap your arms around her neck, drawing her near to you. She trembled beneath your grasp, eyes leveling with yours. 

“This is really happening?” 

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yes. You go ahead and make sure everyone is prepared. I am to join my husband briefly, but I will be right back.”

Bronwynne, with a newly secured assurance, began making her way about the room. Distributing orders to the rest of the healers. You had argued with Healer Agatha to stay behind with the other women and children of Ayelandia, despite her many protests. But she had conceded eventually, understanding it was in her best interest. 

“We are all well equipped thanks to you, Healer Agatha.”

Her eyes had burned with unshed tears. Her palms coming up to clasp your forearms. “We are so very blessed by you, Your Grace. Lion heart. Ayelandia will see you and your husband reign for years to come.”

You brushed at your eyes, slipping from the tent to join your husband where he stood on the rampart. Overlooking the field of soldiers baring torches, ready to fight. His fingers tangled with yours, lips pressed against your cheek. 

“Archers, prepare the first volley!” 

Peter shouted, archers all around you moving their arrows into position. You had gripped a bow as well, alighting the tip with flame. You met his eyes briefly, before he gave the order to release the first wave of flaming arrows. 

The results were immediate. Soldiers at the front line screaming and shouting their agony. Some silenced immediately with a bolt to a head or a throat, while others screeched in their pain as fire licked at their forms. Your breathing halted, hands trembling as you reached for another arrow, watching your husband move into position as he prepared one as well. 

The second wave was released a moment later, and all hell broke loose on the battlefield. Hollowhall soldiers rushing forward toward those of Ayelandia and Glendhaven on the lower levels. Swords clashing in a flurry of rage and ferocity. The sound elevating itself up and over the ramparts, amplified only by the screams of the dying men and women below. 

You shuddered beside Peter, preparing to grab another arrow as his hand curled around your wrist. You gazed up at him, understanding settling over your face. You pressed your forehead against his, nodding slowly. 

“I will go join the other healers. Strike lucky and true, husband,” you whispered. 

The teased title curled his lips. Memories of your earlier days flashing across your minds. Of banter and displeasure at first. And then a companionship…melting into curiosity. Morphing into love—a love so deep and so certain. You had never known anything like it. Would never again, you were certain. 

“I love you,” you reminded him. 

“As I love you,” he said softly, kissing you one last time before you began running toward the stairs leading toward the battlefield. 

Nothing prepared you for the sights within the healing tent. You had seen wounded men before. Had witnessed death. Watched a man lose his life for treason many months ago now. But experiencing the men and women struggling on cots in varying degrees of distress eradicated any experience you had thus far. 

People moaned and cried around you. Healers flitting in and out of cots, tending to each of their patients. Deciding what methods might be used to save one—and what methods might bring another relief in their final hours. 

You held the hands of the dying as they slipped away from the world. And whispered words of comfort to others as you stitched their wounds back together, before bandaging them and sending them back into battle. For what felt like hours, bodies kept filtering in and out of the healing tend. Each one worse than the next. Each making you feel all the more helpless. 

Your breath halted when one of the familiar faced recruits you had trained with was brought inside and presented on the bed nearest you. His face twisted in pain. Hand pressed against a bleeding wound on his stomach. Charred marks scoring his body, where a Hollowhall soldier must have gotten him with a flaming arrow or a burning spear. He reached out for your hand, breathing coming out in short, puffed breaths. It wouldn’t be long now, you assumed, from the amount of blood seeping from the wound. 

“Please…please, Your Grace. I do not want to die alone.” 

Bronwynne glanced up from where she stood with her own patient. Bloody palm print scored across her face. Stained there by the woman who had died under her care only minutes ago. You glanced back down at the young man, settling down on the cot beside him. Hand clasped around his own as his murky eyes raised to yours. 

In the distance, one of the other healers began to sing. An unfamiliar Ayelandian tune. Of crossing over into freedom—of passing beyond into death. A comforting tune of a life outside of this one. Of a peace in death. A hopeful thing to ask for as you watched the man’s eyes slowly begin to close. His breathing becoming slower as you pressed your fingers against his throat. Counted the far and few in-between heartbeats beneath your skin. 

“You are not alone, my friend,” you whispered, inhaling through your tears. Brushed your face against the sleeve of your shirt. “You have served well. You can rest now.” 

His head nodded once slowly. 

Then again. 

And the beating against your fingers stopped. 

You slipped away in your mind for a moment, then. Like a phantom in the night as you stood to your feet, wiping your bloodied hand on your pant leg. Watching as soldiers lifted the body from the cot and replaced it with another. Watched as soldier after soldier met the same fate. Bleeding from wounds no medicine would ever be able to heal. 

It seemed futile. Your capabilities limited. More—you wanted to do more.

“You need to take a moment, Your Grace. You look as pale as death,” Bronwynne muttered, stirring you from your stupor. “I will tend to this patient.”

You nodded, walking over to grab a canteen of water. Sipped it briefly before your stomach churned and betrayed you into the nearest bucket you could find. You pressed the back of your hand to your forehead, breathing slowly in and out of your nostrils. Trying to block out the moaning around you. The grief-filled cries. The requests to tell loved ones of their dying family members last words. 

You took another sip of water and returned to your patients. One after the other, passing in and out like the waves on the Ayelandian shores. Cleaning and tending to wounds until your fingers ached. Until you felt you were unable to do anymore. 

It was on your second break to grab water that you smelled the fire. Rushed out of the tent to watch the smoke billowing high above the ramparts separating Ambrosen fields from the gates of Ayelandia. The white cloud unfurling into the sky, and the amber glow radiating beneath it. Your heart lurched. Icy, cold dread spilling into your gut. 

Your eyes searched around the battlefield to find your husband. Your sword drawn and poised at the ready. Commander Ayla spotted you first, rushing over to your side as you walked across the fields. 

“You are not meant to be in the heat of battle,” she grunted, intercepting a Hollowhall soldier with her sword. Kicked him backward and sank her blade deep into his chest. 

You gasped at the way his blood bubbled in his throat. “I need to speak with the King.”

“I will take you to him, Your Grace. Stay close to me.”

Nodding, you rushed after her. Eyes trying to not focus on the people battling around you. Men standing over one another as they dealt final blows. Throats being slit from behind, spraying arcs of blood into the winter air. Arrows sinking into flesh and silencing life. It was chaotic. Constant movement resulting in death. 

Multitudes and multitudes of death. 

There, in the distance, you finally saw him. Red cloak flowing behind him as he struck down a soldier. That golden crown on his head catching your eye. Muscular arms hewn from years of training flexing and moving with each swing of blade. He was a vision on the field. The true king defending his kingdom. 

His eyes darted toward the two of you as you approached, his hand immediately rushing out to grasp yours as he rushed you away from the heat of battle. Pressed you against the trunk of a tree once distanced enough.  

“It is the healing houses,” you gasped, clutching at Peter’s arm. “I must go. Someone has lit them aflame—you can see the fire from here.”

“You will absolutely not race headlong into a fire.”

You squeezed the hand around his forearm tighter to draw his attention, ducking as a Hollowhall soldier ran toward the two of you. Stabbed straight and clean through the heart by your husband as you tugged him along behind you. Gasping for breath, hand tugging at your increasingly too-tight armor. 

“Our storages are there. I cannot help anyone if we run out of supplies. Do you understand?” You pleaded with him, glancing up into those horrified brown eyes. “I have seen so much death; we will experience even more if I do not do something.” 

He nodded. Understanding the reality of the situation you were presented with. Either run and try to save whatever you could or remain on the battlefield and suffer many more casualties. There was no easy decision—though Peter leaned down and kissed you all the same. 

“You come back to me. That is an order from your King.”

“Giving me orders now, love?” You smirked, pressing another kiss to his mouth. “I will be right here as soon as I am able to. I will bring Bronwynne with me; we can bring along sacks and try to salvage as much as we can. I fear we will lose many preventable deaths if we do not.”

“Promise me.” It was a whispered plea. Anguish deeply set on that handsome face. 

You imagined he was thinking of Gwen. Grown cold in death. You would not leave him this night. He had promised a lifelong love. A love that continued even after death. You would find him. Your heartbeat in tandem with his…its perfect partner. 

So you nodded, turning on the heel to find Bronwynne fending off a soldier with a tiny dagger, before Lord Bartrand ended his life. Shouting for the both of you to make a break for it while you had an opening. 

You rushed along with her toward the gates. Only to find them already lifted. That wasn’t right. Your heart picked up in your chest, fear pumping into your blood. There were supposed to be guards posted. 

Where were the guards? 

“Wynne, something is amiss.”

Her eyes drifted to the distance. Unfocused and rounded. “The men were slain. Look.”

You trailed your gaze to where she was looking. Hand coming to cup over your mouth at the sight of the guards with their throats slit on their posts. 

“There are women and children here. We must help them evacuate—”

“The healing houses, Your Grace!” 

“These are our people, Wynne. We will search the healing houses first and then help the people. Have you ever held a sword? You will need it.”

“No,” she muttered, as you reached to grab one from the ground. Settled at the booted foot of the soldier slain before you. “But I will do what I must.”

You made your way through the streets on quiet feet, entering the healing houses. Coughing at the cloud of smoke billowing from the highest point of it. Fear propelled the two of you forward, rushing down toward the lower levels before the fire overtook them. Packing as many supplies you could carry into slings positioned at your back. 

That was, until you heard the coughing from the corner of the room. Lifted your head in the direction it had come from, feet drawing you nearer. There, in the corner, you spotted Healer Agatha. Hand splayed over her stomach. Covering a bleeding wound beneath her apron. 

Bronwynne’s footsteps echoed behind you as you moved the healer’s hand aside and lifted the edge of her apron. Saw the blood pooling beneath it. By your estimation, she did not have long now. Mere minutes separated her from death. Your hand clutched in her own, eyes boring into hers, pleading. 

“What happened? People were supposed to be evacuating to the tunnels. There were boats docked at the ports to rush the women and children to Carstell—to stay with our ally.”

She gasped out a breath. Eyes searching for your face. Clouding. “It was if someone informed them. The Hollowhall soldiers. They cornered the civilians. Cut them down in the streets—”

“No,” you breathed out. Holding back a sob as you glanced over your shoulder to Bronwynne. 

She didn’t meet your eyes. Only stared off into the distance. 

“They…lit the houses on fire. To draw out the other healers. Killed them, too. I tried to fend them off—” 

She broke off into a fit of coughing. Blood dribbled at the corner of her lips, your thumbs coming up to brush it away. 

“You fought well,” you said, noting the dead body of a Hollowhall soldier near to her hip. 

“Your Grace, you must leave here. You must…I fear there is a plot…”

Her head rolled to the side. Eyes staring up into nothingness. Gone now from this world. You lowered her eyelids, pressing your fingers to your lips before positioning them in the middle of her forehead. Standing straight on wobbling legs. 

Too much. You had seen too much death today. But you could not shake the sinking feeling her words had instilled. Someone had warned the Hollowhall soldiers the citizens of Ayeladia would be escaping to the boats. 

An informant lived in your midst all this time. 

But who?

“Your Grace, we can still help the surviving women and children to safety. There is hope to be had yet,” Bronwynne reminded you, pulling you back to reality. 

You slid your eyes toward hers. Noting the blood all over her hands. Her dress. Her face. You were certain you looked the same now. Unrecognizable. You supposed war did that. 

Wondered if anything would ever be the same. 

But she was right. There were lives to still be saved. Death still capable of being prevented. 

So the two of you worked to do just that. Searching through the homes to find the living. Greeted time after time with loss. Grief settling like rocks in a pool in your gut. Each door darkened by the Hollowhall soldiers who had already managed to get there before you had. 

You prayed many had already made it to the tunnels. Knew the courtiers likely already had, spilling from their chambers to rush to Carstell aid. But these people were just as deserving. Your people. The blood of your husband and therefore your blood as well. Spilled in vain, for a nefarious king’s selfish gain. 

Your fingers brushed across the forehead of a woman, sprawled out in the street. Rage pooling violently in your chest. 

You heard it then. The faint cries of a young babe coming from the tavern. The door cracked ever so slightly, you questioned you had seen it properly. 

Gesturing for Bronwynne to follow, the two of you slipped inside and your heart leaped at what you saw there. Dozens of your people filled the room, wielding chairs and knives and tankards in their hands. 

“It is the Queen!” Someone whispered, and the room began to grow louder in volume. 

You stood atop a table. Drawing their attention to you.  “We must make haste. The castle is not far from here. I promise you that you will be safe yet. The tunnels are still opened and there are ships prepared to take you away from here. But we will need to be brave—to fight. Are you all with me?”

Those faces which greeted yours were full of uncertainty. Many already grieved by loss—you could see it in your eyes. They were tired; you did not blame them. Were tired yourself. All seemed lost already. But there was hope. 

A little boy stepped forward first. Gripped an empty tankard in his hand and walked over to your side. His tiny hand reached upward to touch yours dangling at your side. Fingers curling into your own. You glanced down at him, heart shattering with the weight behind his young gaze. 

“I will fight with you, Your Grace.”

“As will I,” a woman said, stepping forward, clutching an unlit torch in her hand. 

“And I,” said another, wielding a broken off leg of a chair. 

Your eyes watered as the room erupted in an endless sea of children and adult alike coming forward and taking up arms. Bravery so gallantly displayed before you in the face of uncertainty. 

The unlikely band of soldiers walked behind you through the streets of Ayelandia. Defending themselves to the best of their ability as enemy soldiers attempted to attack. Thrusting lit torches at them. Throwing chairs. Goods in the market. Anything they came in contact with at them.

The Hollowhall soldiers were met with skirmish after skirmish as they attempted to attack the Ayelandian citizens. Your people rising up to defend one another, even if it meant laying down their own lives to do so. These were you people. This was what your husband had meant. About it not mattering that you were outnumbered…because it was the hearts that truly matter.  

Bronwynne walked beside you at the front, hands curled around the hilt of her sword. Shaking and uncertain, though she had no time to think as a soldier rushed toward her with his sword at the ready. 

You rushed forward to defend her, grunting as his blade slammed hard against your own. Gasping at the weight of him, you pushed as hard as you could forward. Screaming in your rage as another woman came forward and crashed into his side, knocking him off his feet momentarily. 

You seized the opportunity. Slid your blade through his chest, striking that vital organ within. Stomach immediately curling inward on itself at the realization. That you had ended a life. His eyes growing wider as his blood pooled around you. 

Felt yourself growing sick as you vomited onto the cobblestones below—uncaring of those around you. Shrugged off Bronwynne’s hand as she reached forward to console you. To tell you everything was okay. 

Because it was not. Nothing about this was. 

Still, you could only push onward. The castle itself was eerily quiet. Still luckily guarded by soldiers. Unaware of what had occurred in the town only a mile or so away. You loathed to think of it as the men settled their eyes on your bloodied form, shouting for the doors to be opened for the Queen. 

Parted them to allow the people of Ayelandia safe passage. The halls were nearly emptied inside—many of the people already evacuated. Save for the few who trickled here and there toward the tunnels. 

The pace of the people behind you picked up. Certainty beginning to imbue every footfall. Of safety being within reach. You noticed Bronwynne’s disappearance soon thereafter as you ushered the women and children toward the doorway to the underground tunnels. Bidding them safe travels as they rushed onward with torches lit in their hands. Muttering their thankfulness toward you. 

Only saw Bronwynne once more some time later. Her eyes rounded in fear. “There are children hiding in the library!”

Bronwynne’s words struck fear in your heart. There are children hiding in the library! 

Yelling at the others to run and make their way down the underground tunnels, you raced back the way which you came. Legs burning as you darted up a flight of stairs and sprinted through the halls of the castle. Berating the decorator for placing the library so far from anything else. 

Gasped out loud at the sight of the guards who had been posted at the doors to the castle now in bloodied pools on the ground. Prayed that there were no enemy soldiers chasing the women and children through the tunnels—that they would find safety at the end, and not the end of a sword. 

Panicked breaths reached your ears. Mind only recognizing they were yours as you raced after Bronwynne. Not understanding why she wasn’t slowing down for you. 

The door opened in the distance, her form slipping inside, as you slipped in behind her. Searching for her familiar, slender silhouette as you worked your way through the unfamiliar stacks. 

“Bronwynne, I do not hear anything,” you whispered in the night. 

Wondered, briefly, if the soldiers had already silenced the young ones. Shuddered to think of the dozens of broken bodies you might find, slain before their time. Only there was nothing. No light was visible, save for the few candles left lit earlier that evening. Now nearing the end of their wick, flame flickering dully from their containers. 

“Wynne, where are you?” You asked, frustrating rumbling in your gut. “This is not funny. There are ships awaiting our arrival. We must get the women and children out and rejoin the battle. There are people dying.”

You stepped down another path. Noting the brighter flicker bouncing off the wall. Casting the shadow of a form against it. A man, you presumed, by the width and height of it. Slouched against what looked to be a plush couch. He shifted to stand, silhouette growing as he moved in the night. 

Exhaling shakily, you gripped Poison at your thigh and slowly slid it out from its sheath. Pressed the blade to your lips for good luck as you crouched down into a hunter’s position. Heart thudding in your chest like a drum beat. 

Your foot skidded on something beneath you. The object slid across the flagstones at your feet. Your hand clapped over your mouth, trying to hide the rapidly increased breathing. Air trying to escape your lungs. Every inch of your body trembled in panic, dreading the moment someone might find you unguarded and exposed in the library. 

Bronwynne appeared to your left, then. Her eyes trained on your face. Rounded and bright and full of…tears. Your resolve crumbled. A raw awareness replacing every bit of worry had spun you into a panic only moments ago now. 

“You should be heading to the ships, Wynne. You need to get far, far away from Ayelandia for now.” You whispered the words. 

Heart splitting into two as the familiar form of Prince Harry slipped into view. Icy blue eyes and slick brown hair. A silvery crown sitting lopsided on that proud head. He twirled his dagger in his hand, looping it around and around as he whistled. Eerie smirk curling those lips upward. Eyes roving your form as he stood there, taking in every inch of your being. Enjoying every second without remorse. 

“Wynne…go to the ships,” you pleaded. It sounded like your throat was being scraped by shards of glass. Felt like it, too. 

“I cannot.” 

“P-please.” 

It was a mere beg.

A last resort.  

“No.”

Betrayal spilled into every beat of your heart. The downcast eyes. The forlorn expression. The way her teeth chewed miserably at her bottom lip. It throbbed in you. Ate at you, until it became every fiber of your being. You thought back to every encounter. All those moments spilling together in front of you like pieces of a puzzle. Tried to distinguish the moments you might have known. Moments where she had shown her hand. Pieces of a deeper deception you had never seen coming. 

Those early days in the storage room. Secrets shared. Stories of your childhoods told. Jokes exchanged with hysteric tears in both your eyes. Problems worked out from the struggles in your marriage. Her desires. Her many wishes. Her dreams. The inner workings of your own thoughts. Machinations of your mind. 

As of late…war planning—war planning.

An informant; you had supplied an informant. 

The way she positioned herself at his side. As if he drew her to him by some invisible force. They were lovers; had been, for some time now. All those memories of her writing to an unnamed man. Her wondering if she would see another spring. The fear and guilt imbuing her every word. You hissed to yourself, reaching toward your hip to draw your sword. A last, futile attempt at freedom. 

A careless swirl of metal against his own. Grunting as he blocked yours and kicked your wrist. Your blade clattered into the corner of the library. Books tumbling as you threw yourself forward and tossed some sitting atop a bookshelf behind you, making a break for it. Screamed as Prince Harry gripped you by the back of your head. Fingers wrenching you to him. 

“Do not hurt her!” Bronwynne shrieked. 

You snarled at her. How dare she even try to save herself now? You roared at him. Kicking limbs furiously from the tight grip he held you in. Dug at his flesh with your fingers. Whimpered as he hooked an arm around your neck, pressing something into your nose. You inhaled, eyes growing heavy at the scent of the ether. Your eyes grew hazy around the edges. Color seeping into darkness, swirling and blending behind your eyelids as they drooped. 

“So happy I did not marry you. I wanted a tamed wife, not this beastly thing he turned you into.”

Your legs tumbled from beneath you. Fingers growing limp around his forearm. His breath fanned along the shell of your ear. The scent of the concoction and liquor filling your nostrils. Your limbs grew heavy and useless. Head fuzzy, like there were thousands of bees buzzing within them. You opened your mouth to speak—but your mouth came up dry. Tongue like cotton, swollen and unable to form speech. 

“Sleep, Your Grace. You are going to need your rest.”

There was darkness. You surrendered to it. 

You saw Peter. In the wispy fog billowing around the floor. His form bent over, hand cupped around his eyes. 

Searching…searching for you. 

You worked your mouth into a scream, only to find no sound came out. Why wasn’t Peter seeing you? Where had he gone? 

Wasn’t the field of Ambrosen littered with the dead now? All the gore and decay of battle marked earth. This couldn’t be, and yet with further clarity, you knew it was. Your feet moved forward. Carried you toward him. Toward those beautiful arms extended toward you. Waiting for you. 

He called your name and you raced toward him. Fingers reached out to touch him. Gripping onto the fabric of his tunic, his eyes widened as they took you in. Hands reaching up to brush the hair away from your cheeks. Kissed you soundly. 

The taste of iron spilled into your mouth. Bitter and acrid. A coughed whisper of your name spilled into your flesh. Peter’s breathing shallowed. Blood seeping past his lips. Down his throat. Pure, unfettered horror lined those features as he stumbled forward. Crashed down onto his knees, blood spilling from a wound in his gut. 

You glanced down and saw it then. The dagger embedded there. 

Poison, streaked with his blood. Red. So red. Life spilling onto the grass before you. Growing, growing…growing. Spreading in a deep, dark pool beneath him. There was so much. Too much. Life draining home him rapidly. Horror lining his features. 

“Why?” He asked you. 

Eyes trailing downward. 

“I…”

“How could you do it?”

You followed the line of sight. Gasping. Screaming, as you pulled your dagger from him. 

Watched the life seeping from him. Pulsating from him as his own heart gave out. 

As if the blade were the only thing keeping him alive. 

“I love you.” He tried to whisper, only blood bubbled against his lips. 

Perfect rosettes spilled onto the grass. 

Dropped. Dropped. Dropped. 

Bled into the puddle. Joined together like a marriage. 

In the next moment, you were nestled beneath Peter beneath a canopy of leaves dancing in the wind on branches above. One hand cradled against your cheek as he rocked into you. A slow, steady movement. Sending you closer and closer to completion. 

Gasped pants against skin. His lips against your chest. Fingers rubbing at that highest point between the apex of your thighs. 

Each thrust another promise. 

He loved you. He cherished you. He worshipped you. He adored you. Would spend every day for the rest of his life reminding you. 

A memory, yet also not. 

“Open your eyes, dove.”

Tendrils of sleep curled in your vision. Noting the way the scene warped around the edges. The heaviness of your mind as you stared up at him. Those kind, longing eyes only for you. 

“I do not want to. Just want to stay here forever with you.” 

The words were yours, and yet they weren’t. Muffled somehow. As though you hovered inches from your body and the words took some time to form in your own mouth. 

“Open your eyes…”

“Just a while longer. Please.”

“Only a little while longer,” he whispered, pressing his forehead into yours. “I will never tire of you like this…”

You rolled up and over Peter. Pinned his hands against your hips. Watched his irises turn black as you rose above him and sank down against flesh. Moved. Slowly at first, and then with abandon. Chased that string of webbing closer and closer to the brink.

“Open…your…eyes…” 

When you woke, Peter wasn’t there. Instead, the darkness of the tent filled your gaze. Hand locked into place by a chain. Tethered off at the end to a rig in the ground. Tugged at it. Screeched until your throat rubbed raw from the strain. Begged for someone to come. Anyone. Shouted his name over and over again until you rocked forward on your knees and sobbed into the earth. 

There was a moment of silence before you tried once more. Screaming for help. Shouting your husband’s name in the dark. Bronwynne’s. You remembered, then. The way she curled at Prince Harry’s side. Her comfortability in his presence. The way she looked at him with love. In a way you had never seen her before. Driven enough by it to betray you. 

The memories of your dearest friend in Ayelandia stricken by it. Bitter anger burned in your gut. The thought of retribution howled in your veins. Revenge for the betrayal. For so blindly trusting her these many months. You felt stupid. Screamed once more at the reality of those dead because of Bronwynne’s betrayal. 

Healer Agatha. Those soldiers. Women. Children. Did she grieve at all for them? So blinded by her adoration toward the Prince. 

“No one is coming.” 

Bronwynne glanced up at you from the other side of the tent. Positioned behind a desk, feet propped up on the wooden surface. You growled at her low in your throat, clambering to your feet to rush at her. Clawed at her face with your hands, only to come up a few inches short. Whimpered as your wrist screamed in protest. 

She had sealed her fate. There was nothing you could do to save her now. Either she died by your hands or by your husbands, treason against the crown was punishable by death. Even in Ayelandia, where there were lesser rules and regulations. Order needed to be maintained. Yet it grieved you still; despite her betrayal. To watch the young woman who had been a confidant, always present at your side, lose her life would leave an irrevocable scar on your heart. 

There was, however, the matter of getting yourself free from your bindings. The rig buried deep into the earth as if it had been prepared for you. You knew it was likely it had been. That this, too, was planned months ago. During the stormy season in Hollowhall, before death marched onto your doorstep. 

“Whatever you are planning, it is not going to work,” Bronwynne said, shifting on her chair to better look at you. 

Those sad, rounded eyes met yours. 

You found hatred there in your heart burning for her. 

“Do not look to me with pity,” you hissed, tugging once more on the chain for emphasis. “I am your Queen, I cannot help you in this. You will be beheaded, Wynne. You understand that, do you not?”

“I will be far away by then,” she said, waving her hand in the air in a mindless circle.

“And where do you expect to be? We are in the middle of a war. There are only two ways this can go. Either Ayelandia or Hollowhall wins.” 

Bronwynne’s lips quirked upward. Wistful. “Prince Harry said he will marry me. Can you even think of it? Me, a Princess.”

You tampered down the desire to snort. To roll your eyes at the careless nature she carried. That there weren’t the sounds of clanging swords and dying men filling the campsite that very moment. Instead, the woman stared far off into the distance. As if recalling a memory, or conjuring a fantasy in her mind. 

“Do you honestly think King Norman will allow you to wed his son?” You pleaded the words with her. Crawled across the tent and sat before her. “King Norman. Do you know what his desire was and has always been for as long as I have known that man? He wants to rule not just one country but many. His son intended to marry me, but my father would not have it. Did Prince Harry tell you that?”

“He did not wish to marry you—he loves me.” 

“Wynne, what he feels for you likely is a form of love. But people like Prince Harry…people like me cannot afford to love. Not truly. It is not the way; we are often bought and bartered, like sows on a market. It is how it has always been!” You cried out, just as Bronwynne slammed her palm down on the desk. 

“What do you know of it?!” 

You inhaled slowly, shaking your head. “Prince Harry’s marriage contract to me was drawn up before I ever married King Peter. His father, King Norman, wanted Glendhaven to join them. We have a large army. We have skilled soldiers. We are next in weaponry only to them. A marriage bond between Hollowhall and Glendhaven would have amounted to King Norman having dominion over large portions of the world. It was his goal.”

“What does this have to do with me?” She asked, narrowing her eyes.  

“Prince Harry will not marry you, as he cannot marry you. You cannot offer his father anything to advance his kingdom. You have been used—”

The slap echoed in the tent. You felt like you’d been dragged over hot coals. Cheek burning as you reached up to touch it. The woman sitting before you bore you no love. How had you ever thought of anything otherwise? There had always been a goal. Some secret mutterings in the dark; an ulterior motive driving passion. A ringing clanged in your ears, eyes pinched shut against the blinding pain. 

How far the two of you had come, now. From two giggling women in a storehouse to enemies. Thought back to that day in the clearing when the two of you had played like children. Minds focused on nothing but the warmth of the sun and the joy elevating your hearts. 

Only now it was tarnished by blood and ruin and death. Lives lost by her hand, and in some part for trusting her, your own. You loathed thinking of it. Swallowed the pain burning in your chest at the memory of Healer Agatha bloodied and open-eyed at the moon. Ripped from the world. Those children and their mothers, frozen in horror where they lay. Mouths rounded in silenced screams.

“He will marry me. He told me himself countless times. I am to be his wife.” 

The words sounded frantic in your ears. As if even she struggled to believe it. Wanted to believe it herself. You turned from her then, stalking over back to your crumpled-up bedroll in the corner of your makeshift jail cell. Ran a hand against your stricken cheek as your eyes rolled up to her once more. 

“What is King Norman’s plan for me?”

“You will be used as a bargaining chip. The acceptance of Hollowhall as ruler over Ayelandia, so long as King Peter turns himself over for you.”

You laughed. A horrifying low and chilling sound. Disbelief rattled you to the core. “A bargaining chip? Even if my husband rescinds the throne to King Norman, they will take him as a prisoner and murder him. And then after that, I will be killed as well.”

Bronwynne shook her head. Those blonde curls bounced over her shoulders. Reminding you she was still a young girl. Hadn’t seen much of the world, yet harbored such darkness in her heart if she would have sold you over for a lie of lover’s affection. So innocently foolish. You almost pitied her for it. To be so doe-eyed and captivated with a man you failed to see how deep the poison in his family ran. 

“He will not. That was part of the deal. They told me you would be left unharmed.”

“They lied, Wynne.” You shook your head, standing to your feet. “Even if they take Ayelandia, there will be people who will rise up for my cause. Those who would see me still on the throne. Loyal supporters of my husband. There will never be a day of peace again in my country. There is also the chance I am with child. If that is so, do you not think my child would have a claim to that crown that threatens Prince Harry’s? They will have to kill me, too. To silence any chance of unrest.”

Bronwynne shook her head. Eyes watered. “No, he promised me.”

“You have sold me to my death, Bronwynne. I know you now to be cruel, but never knew you to be a murderer as well.” 

“No. You are wrong,” she rushed over to you, clasping your hands in her own. You hated the fact she was touching you. Felt burned by it. Yet met her gaze anyway, tears brimming on her lashes. “He will not kill you.”

“What else did he promise you?” You asked, breathlessly. 

“He said once King Peter rescinded the throne King Norman would declare Prince Harry as the King of Ayelandia. We would then marry.” 

“And of my role?”

Bronwynne’s mouth worked on the words. Eyes dropping. As if she finally understood. Pain bloomed in her features. Stark as death, in the way she looked at you. As if already picturing you in a grave beside your husband. Gone from this world. 

“He…he never mentioned it.”

“Do you understand now, Wynne? What he intends to do? I know you care for me…in a way that is hard to grasp in this very moment; but please know his intent was never for me to survive this war.”

She swallowed. Your own chest burned as she squeezed your hands tighter. Her bottom lip trembled. “He p-promised.”

“He lied,” you whispered. The sorrow in your voice was genuine this time. “You must help me. Free me from these chains…please.”

Bronwynne shook her head, teeth pinching her bottom lip. “I cannot do that. You know I cannot.”

“Please.” 

She exhaled, running a hand through her blonde curls. “I do not have the key. I am not even certain of where it is held.”

You returned to the other side of the tent, dropping down onto the bedroll. “Then I am as good as dead yet.”

You weren’t certain of how long they kept you there. Locked away without so much as food or drink. You could tell the sun was beginning to rise, the darkness dissipating into golden light. Your wrist ached where you’d tugged against it for the past few hours. Skin already bruising around the edges. 

You hung your head low. Wondered if you might yet start screaming again. Maybe earning the pity of a defecting soldier, fueled by a sudden desire to honor Ayelandia’s royals. Sighing, you curled up onto your side and brought your knees upward toward your chest, hugging them. Pictured your husband’s face in your mind. Prayed he was still alive this very moment. 

Wondered if you’d ever be able to run your fingers through his hair ever again. If you’d ever be able to reach upward onto your toes and press your lips to his. If you’d ever even hear his voice. You wished you could hear him now. If only to comfort you—remind you that everything would be okay, when in all actuality it felt like everything had fallen apart around you. 

“Oh good, you have stopped your incessant screaming,” Prince Harry said, sauntering into the tent with a dagger in hand. 

You jolted upward onto the bedroll. Feeling his eyes on you as you shifted onto your knees before him. Bronwynne entering a moment later, taking up residence once more at the desk. 

Prince Harry leaned down toward you. Pressed his pointer finger and thumb to your chin. Pinched it as he shifted your jaw toward him. Wincing, you met those icy blue eyes. 

“Things are going to get exciting soon,” he said, smirking. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

“I am a Queen,” you hissed out. 

“For how much longer is questionable, my dear.” He released your chin. Twirled that dagger around in his hand. “You know, it will be fun seeing King Peter. The last time I saw him…he was in a bit of distress. So sad what happened to his wife. It is such good luck for him he found a new one.”

Ice spilled down your spine. “What did you just say?”

His lips only turned further upward. Those eyes closing as he tilted his head upward, laugh spilling from his lips. You knew then. You knew his intended meaning. Screamed and raced for him, his cackling only strengthening as he dodged your attack and stepped away far enough you were met with empty air. 

His wife. Peter’s wife. He had been there. Harry had been in the room and…no. 

“You did it. You killed her.”

“See…that was quite an unfortunate event. I had intended to kill your husband instead. She had gotten in the way, but it weakened Ayelandia all the same.” He laughed again. “We could have avoided a war if it had been him that day. But this is more fun, do you agree?”

You thought of Queen Gwen in Peter’s arms. Body broken and bleeding onto the stone floor as he held her to him. Begging her to stay with him. To hold on just a while longer. Until a healer could come—until he could put her back together again. As if his love might have stitched her mortal wound.

You thought of your people on the battlefield. Fighting for their lives this very moment, while a coward of a man stood before you. Taunting you.  

You hated him. Hated the both of them. All of Hollowhall. Screamed at him, incoherent words spilling from your lips. He had taken so much from your husband, and now he intended to rip him from you as well. You wanted to kill him. To watch Poison slip between his ribs, right in the spot Peter had shown you would kill a man, and watch as his own life seeped from him. 

“I had help, of course. How do you think I slipped out of the castle so easily after?” Prince Harry said, running a hand down the side of Bronwynne’s neck. “Thank you for that, my love.”

She glowed under his affection. Like a flower blooming beneath the sun. 

So even then Bronwynne had been dreaming of sitting beside her Prince on the Ayelandian throne. Had pictured it for years now. Waited for the perfect moment and was willing to commit regicide to do it—had actually committed regicide, despite the intention being for Peter to have been the one to die that day. And she was willing to attempt once more, solidifying her rule once and for all. 

Your stomach heaved. Limbs carrying you to the nearest bucket, emptying out the contents of your stomach there. Prince Harry wrinkled his nose, tossing you a dirtied rag. 

“Clean yourself up. We have a gathering to attend.”

“The two of you, then. All this time…?” 

Prince Harry’s lips dragged into a smirk. “Ayelandia was always our ideal first step. Some of its land resides close to Hollowhall’s border. Technically it should already be ours. But we had planned on Glendhaven helping us invade it.”

“It is why you intended to marry me,” you said, grimacing. 

He nodded. “Your father’s army is impressive. And I would have had a pretty wife. There are worser things a man of my station could be given.”

“You are disgusting,” you hissed at him. “You killed an innocent person.”

Prince Harry paused in his pacing, head turning to look your way. “It is the cost of war—of ambition. Lives will be lost along the way. You and your husband are no better. You beheaded one of my soldiers as well.”

“They attempted to kill us—”

“Fighting for something they believed in! Do not look down upon me for the loss of human life when you have ended lives in the name of your kingdom. We are no different, Your Grace.”

“Darling, this is a waste of time. Let us eat before we begin the negotiations.” Bronwynne reached up to press her hand to Harry’s cheek.

“So today, then.” Your words were soft. Laden with fear at the prospect of watching Peter be killed.

Prince Harry reached down and pushed a strand of hair away from your face. Tucked it behind your ear. You trembled as he leaned down and pressed his lips to the hollow of your ear, inhaling slowly as he whispered. 

“Oh, but we would have been so happy.” He said, and you shivered against him. “You certainly would have kept your pretty little head if you had married me instead.” 

And then the two of them were gone. Slipped out of the tent leaving you trembling in their wake. Wondering, at last, if you were finally running out of time. 

—x— 

Bronwynne returned sometime later with a bucket and fresh linen. Some sort of delicious smelling soaps had been dropped into the water, and you nearly sighed into the cloth as she reached up and pressed it to your cheek. Wiping away the smell of sickness. 

Neither of you spoke for some time. The discomfort between you thick in the air. Her recognition over the fact you were no longer friends hanging in the air. The woman before you wanted your throne. Would be willing to put you and your husband to death to do so. It wasn’t something you could or would ever forget. 

“I am sorry. I know you do not believe me, but you must understand I was mistaken. He assured me nothing would happen to you.”

“He lied to you. You see that now, do you not?” You whispered, staring up at her through your lashes. Frowned. “What else might be be lying about? Think of it, Wynne.”

She exhaled, pressing the damn cloth into your chest. Grimaced to herself. “I looked for a key while he was distracted by some of the other men. Believe me when I say I tried to free you.”

She had no reason to lie to you now. You were likely to be placed in a jail cell in a few hours time depending on how the evening rolled out. 

“I did grieve Queen Gwen, I hope you understand that. I am not this unfeeling woman. She was never meant to die; it was a needless death. Harry told me there were things we needed to do…obstacles we needed to overcome to ensure we could be with one another,” she said, brushing near your lip. “I never meant to like you, though. Becoming your friend—that was all real for me, Your Grace. I love Harry, yes, but I love you too.”

“Then help me,” you begged. 

She glanced down at the bucket. Tossed the linen inside. “I am trying. I will do whatever I can.”

You nodded, understanding she was limited by what she might do in order to help. Without a key, the only person able to free you was the very man who intended to become King of Ayelandia after the bargaining took place. 

“I know we can never be friends. But I never wished for him to hurt you.”

“I know.” 

The words were a forced out lie. But the uncertain smile lining the girl’s lips before you brought some peace to your aching heart. You stood up then, running your fingers through your hair. 

“When will they begin negotiations?” You asked. 

“Prince Harry had a Hollowhall informer speak with Lord Bartrand. King Peter has been summoned.” She exhaled softly. “You will be brought before the King in an hour’s time.”

So soon. 

In an hour you would see your husband. Very likely for the last time. Your heart twisted at the notion of it all. Of seeing those eyes fall on you one more time before he was taken from you. 

You had a year—twelve months with him. 

It hadn’t been enough. Though part of you understood that no amount of time would have been enough for the man who had earned your heart. The person who filled those crevices and filled them with himself. Entwined his soul with yours, in a way only two people made for each other could. 

Your hand wiped at your eyes. A sob spilling unwillingly from your mouth. “Then it is to be done.”

“It is to be done,” Bronwynne whispered, glancing off into the distance. 

Part of you wanted to blame her. To shout at her and remind her this was all her doing. That when the life slipped from Peter and you lost your love, it was because of another woman’s selfish ambition. But you reminded yourself there was still some time yet. A possibility Prince Harry revealed his hand and Bronwynne was able to free you once and for all. 

There would be no negotiations without anything to bargain for in the first place. If Prince Harry lost his captive, Ayelandia still had hope yet. All was not lost. Your kingdom not yet fallen. 

The two of you settled into uncomfortable silence as Bronwynne returned the bucket into a far corner of the tent and kicked her feet up onto the desk. Leaned back in the chair and tilted her head to the ceiling. Your fingers plucked at the earth, finding it so strange now to sit in a room with her and want nothing to do with her. 

There had been a time Healer Agatha would have raced down into the storehouses to reprimand the two of you for causing a ruckus. Now, it was as if you both were strangers; in a way, had always been so. 

Sighing, you tilted your head up and took in Bronwynne’s profile. Her pretty jawline. That slender nose which upturned at the edges. Freckles dotting the highest points of her cheeks. You’d loved her once. Part of you still did. 

You played on her sympathy toward you. 

“Do you know where he put my dagger?” 

Your sword had been discarded somewhere in the library. But if you managed to get your hands on some sort of weapon…there was an opportunity to attempt a final attack. A last ditch effort before submitting to whatever fate had planned for you these next hours. 

“Your Grace…you know I cannot.”

“You can, Bronwynne. You can.”

“It is not beyond me to think you might try to kill him. I cannot let you do that.” 

You toyed with the chain at your wrist. “Your lover is going to kill my husband.”

She had no words for that. The silence which greeted you bringing no comfort. Countless lives already lost. How many mor sufficed? To what end would one go for absolute power? 

“At least there is comfort in knowing I will join him soon thereafter.” 

You thought back to the moment in the alcove. Basking in the afterglow of simply being with him. The way his words had burned into your skin. That he would love you long after you departed the earth. How foolish to imagine you had a whole lifetime stretched out before you. 

It almost came as a relief when Prince Harry and Bronwynne entered the tent after slipping out for some time. Ignoring Bronwynne’s affection as she reached forward to press a kiss into his cheek. Her face dropped as his footsteps carried him over to you and unhooked the chain from the post. Before moving to lock both your hands together, despite your protesting. 

“So you do not stab me in the back,” he said coolly, dragging you by the arm in front of him. 

“My love, you promised,” Bronwynne reminded him, voice shaken. 

“Will you mind your tongue, woman? My father already has half a mind to leave you behind in Ayelandia.” He grumbled out, your eyes narrowing at him as Bronwynne paused in her footsteps. “Let their people do whatever they wish of you once they have heard word of your actions these years.”

“Do not speak of such things,” she whispered. The sound seemed choked on your ears. 

“Then do not pester me so incessantly and I may not be inclined to listen to him.” 

He whirled on her, face inches apart as his eyes bore down into hers. His lip curled up a moment afterward, ire slipping into something sensual. Something wicked which made your stomach churn as his hand spanned upward and around her throat. Fingers pressed into flesh, her eyes blown out in fear. 

“This is what you wanted, is it not?” He leaned forward and pressed a slow, forceful kiss to her cheek. “Then mind your tongue and do not question what I am doing.”

“Can I have a moment? With my friend before…” Bronwynne asked. Voice low. 

“I suppose. Make it quick, we have a meeting to attend,” Prince Harry grumbled, slipping out the parted flap of the tent. 

“What is it—”

Bronwynne cut you off with her palm flush against your mouth, finger pressed to her lip to try and shut you up. Understanding, you watched as she pulled her hand away, moving toward the top of her corset to pluck what looked to be a key. You nearly cried with joy as she pressed the metal piece into your palm, leaning closer to you to speak, so as to not alert the guards posted outside. 

“Too many are near us now for you to run. But as soon as there is an opportunity, you run. I cannot save your husband, but I can at least try to wipe some innocent blood from my hands this day.”

“How did you?” 

She smirked. “There are ways, as you know, a woman can obtain exactly what she wants.”

“Thank you for this kindness. Wynne, I cannot save you from punishment. But…my husband may yet be merciful,” you whispered, leaning forward to wrap your chained arms around her neck. 

This time, the affection was not forced. You could not deny the life laid on the line for a chance at your own safety. Exile was a kinder punishment than execution; Peter might be inclined to allow her life outside the walls of Ayelandia, instead of forfeiting it completely. 

“Now this might hurt a bit—”

“What?” 

“My love, we are ready to move!” Bronwynne called. 

You reeled back as Prince Harry entered the tent once more, Bronwynne’s hand connecting with your cheek. You grimaced at the feeling of your already bruised face burning once more. The split lip you bore parting as blood dribbled onto your chin. The moan which spilled from your lips brought a smile to Harry’s face, those cool, blue eyes trailing your features as he tugged you beside him. 

“Wynne, you did not have to ruin her face more than you already have,” he cackled, giving her a playful shove as you walked through the campsite. 

“I needed to remind her of what her place will be when you come into your power, My King.”

Your heart lurched at the title, though you steeled your face into an unfeeling mask. Eyes narrowed. Jaw hardened. Shoulders tucked back. You imagined a string from your belly button to the top of your head, pulling your spine straight. Tilted your head up, imagined you were sitting on your throne back at the castle. You were fierce. You were lethal. A beautiful, deadly thing as your husband had called you. You would not break. 

Not even as soldiers parted around you. Blood staining their armor. Some missing limbs. Some groaning in the throes of agony, bleeding from sword wounds. So many Hollowhall soldiers. You knew Ayelandia had to have been depleted. Carstell delayed for battle due to choppy seas. You whispered a silent prayer there was still hope yet. Glanced up at the sky and saw the beginnings of the sunrise starting to form. 

It had been at least one day since you had seen your husband. You anticipated as much, given the fact you had been drugged and left to sleep for hours. 

You had lived through another sunrise. 

And today you had lived to see another. 

You kept your eyes locked on the ground as you walked toward the fields of Ambrosen. Heard the comments from jeering men as you passed. Of being the foreign bitch. Of what they would have liked to do with you had you given them the chance. These men, who viewed women like possessions. Objects to be attained. You wanted to kill every last one of them. Nearly screamed it at them all. 

Instead, turned toward the crowd and growled out, “I cannot wait until my husband and his men repay you for every atrocity you have bestowed our lands.” 

Prince Harry tugged you along harder at that. Your feet skidded beneath you as you were whipped against his side, your heart pounding as the battlefield stilled at the sound of a horn blowing. Men and women soldier alike separated. Every eye turning your way as Prince Harry pushed you forward. 

It was then you saw him. Peter, in all his battle regalia, whirling toward you. That red cloak billowing about his shoulders. Blood seeped from a wound on his forehead. Dirtied features on his face dropping as he beheld you. His relief rushed across his face, ignited something within your chest. You wanted to run to him. To wrap your arms around his neck and never let go—slip away from the brutality of war for just a moment. 

King Norman approached Prince Harry on your path down the battlefield. His voice echoing on battle scorched land as he shouted. “King Peter, it seems you have lost this battle. You are outnumbered. We have your wife. Give us your word of concession of your crown and we will end this war. There need not be anymore bloodshed.”

Prince Harry allowed you a brief moment, muttering, “I am not so cruel as to not give you a moment to say goodbye. You get one minute.” 

Your feet stumbled to reach Peter where he stood. The two of you dropped to your knees before one another. His hands coming to press against your cheeks. Fingertips running across your bruised face. The split lip. The burns from the fire at the healing houses. 

Those eyes—his beautiful, kind eyes watered as he took you in. As if he were seeing a ghost; in many ways, you felt the same. Sitting before him, your forehead pressed into his as you sobbed against his mouth. Disregarding the men and women standing around you as you kissed him. Over and over and over again. Aware it may very well be the last time. 

“I am here, dove.”

“So scared…I have been so scared.” You leaned forward to kiss him once more, whispering, “It is him. Prince Harry. He killed her.”

He nodded then. Understanding. “Everything is going to be okay. And look, my love, we made it to sunrise.” He swallowed, standing to his feet and bringing you with him. “I did promise you.”

“I love you.” 

You whispered the words. Heart splitting as he mouthed them back to you and turned to look over your shoulder at Prince Harry. 

“It has been some time, my friend. And what a situation you have yourself in,” he laughed, twirling that annoying dagger in his hand. Leather jerkin rippling as he moved. “You know…to lose one wife is a tragedy. But to lose a second one? Well, that is simply irresponsible. Which is why you must give up this fight. You do not need her loss on your head as well.”

You turned to Peter. The short jerk of your head meant to be a screaming ‘no’ from your own lips. But you found you could not form words. Only began working with the bindings at your wrist as Lord Bartrand and King Peter began talking amongst themselves. Prince Harry and King Norman a few paces away. Leaving you there in the center, trying to gauge who was nearest to you. 

Commander Ayla and a small group of your fellow recruits were nearby. Enough so, that if the opportunity presented, you could run and find cover with them long enough to obtain a weapon and fight. You saw another group a little further away. You could even form a shield wall under your command if needed. 

Sighed in relief as the latch around your wrist popped. Pushed the links together enough so no one would be likely to notice you’d managed to free yourself. Glanced over to Bronwynne as she stood there. In her too large armor. 

Many things happened in tandem then. The glint of metal was the first. Your heart pounded as Bronwynne approached the Prince, her small knife hidden up her sleeve. No one saw it coming as she sunk it into his side. Her screamed ‘RUN’ coming out garbled as Prince Harry slashed a blade across her throat in the next second. 

You tumbled over your feet as you raced toward your husband. Him and Lord Bartrand calling for defense against oncoming arrows beneath the veil of a shield wall. Body crashing into Peter’s as he tugged you into the center of the group, chains around your wrists at last clattering to the ground.

Through the little gaps you could see in the shield wall you saw it then. Bronwynne’s body on the floor. Her hand stretched out toward you. The other cupping the ugly wound scoring her throat. 

To stop the inevitable. 

To plead with her lover as the life and love seeped out of her. 

Your first friend in Ayelandia. Your betrayer. Now gone from the world before she turned one and twenty just as she feared. You thought back to her words. A hoarse sob at the time. She had thought she might never see another spring—and your heart lurched at the notion she had not.  

“S-she—he killed her. Peter, he killed her…they were lovers—”

“It is not the time, my love. Right now you need to pick up a sword and prepare to fight. Hollowhall outnumbers us, but Ayelandia and Glendhaven are strong. We will not submit to their rule, do you hear me?”

You nodded your head, standing to your feet as a soldier tossed you an extra sword. Your body ached from the hours of captivity, but will ruled out. The world exploded around you in a flurry of steel and blood and destruction. Your movements limber as you ducked and rolled away from oncoming soldiers. 

Striking down foe after foe as you fought for your kingdom. Hollowhall soldiers dropping every where you looked. A newfound strength pumping in the hearts of your soldiers. In your own self. 

Your husband battled nearby. His back turned to you as he blocked and swung at his enemies. Slaying them as they drew closer to him. Your heart battering in your chest as you moved closer, breathing easier once his back pressed against yours, the two of you striking down your enemies in tandem. 

Until, that is, Prince Harry snarled and rushed at the two of you. Breaking past the soldiers littering the field around you. You brought your blade down to attack him, grunting as his sword clanged against yours. His foot came up then, kicking you backward onto your rear as Peter attacked the Prince. 

Rage burned in his eyes. Unbridled and terrifying. The knowledge of one wife’s murder fresh in his mind as his blade came down against Harry’s again and again and again. Paired with the fact he had captured you and held you hostage. Used only as a bartering piece for a kingdom he would never rule over. 

“You will never touch another person I love, if that is the last thing I do,” Peter shouted at him, swinging upward with his blade. Meeting metal. 

You whirled on your feet, parrying an oncoming attack from a Hollowhall soldier. Grunting as you kicked him square in the chest and ducked below his blade, before stabbing upward in a deadly arc. Grimaced as blood poured onto your wrist. Dark and final, as his body slumped forward at your feet. 

It was then you heard Peter’s strangled cry as Harry’s blade sunk into the vulnerable gap in his armor. Your own scream deafening on your ears as Peter pulled out a dagger and jabbed it low into Harry’s neck. Silencing him immediately. You rushed to his side then, pressing your hand into his wound. 

“I am okay. I am okay…” He ground out, covering your hand with his own. 

“Peter—”

You heard it then. All of you did. The thunderous pounding of what sounded like a drum beat. Faraway at first, before it became deafening. Echoed on every ear on Ambrosen fields. The pounding, you realized, of hundreds upon hundreds of Carstell soldiers, led by King Eugene bearing the Carstell flag. 

He whirled it around above his head, the Hollowhall soldiers shifting in the direction of their newest enemies. Uncertainty filling their gazes, searching for their king to direct their steps. Their now decimated ranks clearly outnumbered. 

Your hand pressed tighter to Peter’s side as soldiers from your newest ally’s began pouring onto the fields. Their swords and arrows finding purchase in enemy Hollowhall soldiers. Screams of ‘THE PRINCE HAS FALLEN’ and ‘RETREAT’ bellowed from King Norman and the garrison commanders. 

The world swirled around you in a flurry of chaos. Soldiers rushing back to their encampments. Hollowhall men retreating with haste, carrying the dead body of their cruel Prince as they escaped back to their camp. Carstell soldiers chasing them down,  ending their lives before they might slay yet another. 

Only you remained at Peter’s side, grimacing at the way his breathing had changed. Becoming ragged. Face breaking out into a sweat. Cheeks flushed as you lifted his chainmail and inspected the wound below. A wound that would not normally kill a man—thankfully. But you knew right away he needed to lie down and rest. 

“You are okay,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek as Lord Bartrand appeared at your side, requesting to know the health of the king. “He has been wounded. We…the storehouses have been depleted, but I will need fresh water, linen and thread. Anything to sew up his wound. He has lost a bit of blood.”

“Bind it for now,” Peter grunted out, squeezing your palm as he stood to his feet. “I must address our ally’s.”

“Peter—”

“Please, my love. I will be a quiet patient after I thank the people for allowing us to see another day.”

You hated the suggestion, but still rose at his side as he did. Winced as his form hunched over as he stepped toward the center of the field. His voice rang out clear above the crowd as a horn sounded. An Ayelandian flag erected in the middle of Ambrosen. Cheers ringing out as Peter declared Ayelandia free from Hollowhall influence. 

It was a sight to behold. The thousands of soldiers coming to crowd around the King, awaiting to hear what he had to say. Adrenaline still pumping in all the hearts of the men and women standing around you. Those who had fought and lived to see another day. To bring peace back to your country. 

You stood beside Lord Bartrand in the distance, stained with the blood of the many lives you had slain in the past two days, glancing over toward the woman left behind by Hollowhall soldiers. 

Bronwynne, who had betrayed you and spared you all in the matter of days. Stirred by love into betrayal, only to find the love she bore Prince Harry was contingent upon what throne he sat upon. 

As Peter gave a speech of bravery and of friendship, crowd raising their voices in victory, you found yourself stepping closer to Wynne’s body. Dropped onto your knees and closed those beautiful eyes once and for all. Pushed her bloodied blonde hair from her face, wiped at the dried blood on her fingers with the hem of your tunic. 

“Sleep now, Wynne.”

And as the cheers around you lifted toward the sky, your gaze drifted upward. 

To the sunrise. 

To the promise of spring to come. 

You were, at last, free. 

—x—

As requested, you were brought supplies to your bed-chamber. Husband currently sitting in a bathing tub filled with soaps you knew to carry healing properties within them. You kept the needle and thread on a nearby tray, presently focused on the task at hand as you rubbed a lavender scented concoction into your husbands hair, cleaning the bloodied strands as he sprawled backward leisurely into your touch. 

He’d been like this for some time now. All honeyed moans, happiness and comfort radiating from him despite the fact his skin appeared paler than you would have liked. His under eyes a blueish hue, veins straining against skin. You knew he needed sleep, but there would be time for that yet.

Your fingers roamed through the strands once more, before sliding down the sides of his neck and settling over his shoulders. Fingers pressed into the highest point there and began rubbing. Slow circles along muscular flesh.  

“You are a dream, my love.” He sighed, gripping your hand mid massage to press a kiss into the inside of your wrist. 

At your shudder, he tugged you closer to him. Tilted his head back so your lips would press against his. Moved against his mouth slowly, still grateful you were reunited with him once more. As his mouth opened beneath yours, you trailed your tongue along his bottom lip. Heat making your toes curl as a moan rumbled against your flesh.

“There is more than enough room for you to join,” he said, smiling up at you with hooded, blown out eyes.  

“You are in no condition for any of that.”

“A man cannot enjoy a bath with his wife without it leading to something else?”

“Precisely, my love.” You pressed another kiss to his lips, reaching to grab a cloth and run soap along your husband’s bloodied face, grimacing at the cut on his forehead. “This one should not need to be stitched.”

“I will keep my looks then?” 

He teased, tugging you closer still. You groaned in acquiesce, stepping into the bathing tub in your thin sleep shirt you had slipped into. He shifted to allow you to sit between his legs, back pressed against his chest. Careful to not aggravate the wound on his side. 

“You will keep your looks yet,” you murmured sleepily, smiling as his arms slid around your abdomen and settled there. Hugged you close. You closed your eyes, humming quietly. “I could sleep for ages.”

“And we will once we have dinner with the soldiers and citizens.”

You shifted in his arms, glancing upward at his face. His profile was on full display,  your fingers inching upward to trace the slope of his forehead. The line of his nose. Brushed along his bottom lip as he opened his mouth against it. Pressed a slow kiss to your flesh before reaching over with his palm to cup your cheek. 

Those dark eyes met yours before fluttering shut, lips slanting over your own. A slow, sensual kiss that promised more. Your breathy sigh fueled him onward, hands coming to shift your hips over his. Slotted your thighs on either side of his, careful to not aggravate his wound. Pulled back as a stuttered breath slipped from his lips. 

“You should be resting,” you whispered, eyes rolling backward as his fingers curled around your throat. A nip and scrape of teeth against your collar bone. “Your wound—”

“I do…” He pressed you flush against him, rolling your hips in a circle onto his. “Not care…” Awareness building in your stomach at just how little he truly did not. “About the wound.”

“Peter.”

He kissed you once more, fingers brushing beneath your sleep shirt. Trailing around the side of your rib cage. ��I am a man who just wants to make love to his wife. Will you have me?”

Your nodded reply was all he needed. The two of you became a mass of tangled limbs, lips, fingers and teeth against skin. Of panted gasps as you allowed him to tug your sleep shirt up and over your head, before you lowered yourself down onto him. Watched his head roll back with his eyes as you began to move, his fingers trailing up your spine. 

You came together a second time after Peter had finally allowed you to stitch his wound and bind it with a new dressing. His smile warm as his form shadowed your own, fingers hooking around a knee as he parted you to him before settling himself there. Swallowed your gasp as he moved over you, and then within you. 

And in a way…it had become like that. All the parts of him you loved most, woven intricately in your own heart. Stitched into the innermost parts of your own self. 

And you knew, simply in the way he looked down at you, he felt the same. 

Creating a moment so infinite...so wholly yours. Untouched and unmarred by the world. 

Hours later, as soldiers drank and celebrated in the vast courtyards of Ayelandia, you walked around the exterior of the party with your husband. Arm looped through his own as you went. Your heart soared at the idea of another day within his love. Of being so cocooned in it, you might never resurface. 

Today, he had told you, you would celebrate the war won. Tomorrow, you would come together as a country and mourn the lost. To remember those loved and now gone. 

“When I heard you were taken…I did not think I would ever see you again. I nearly lost myself when they informed me. Having you here now, I find that I never wish to let you go,” Peter whispered, brushing his lips against your own. 

“Every moment I was gone it was your love which kept me grounded.” You cupped your hands in his own, squeezing them. “We will never be parted again. Promise me.”

“I promise you,” he breathed out, drawing you closer and kissing you deeper still. 

Wrapped his hands in the back of you gown and bunched the fabric there, pressing himself further into your body. Breaking off in a pained moan. His hand moved toward his side, palm clutching where he had been stabbed. 

“You need to rest.” You admonished. “You have already exerted yourself too much.”

He smirked down at you. “If I remember correctly, my wife, you were very happy to participate in such exertion.”

“You are very…persuasive.” You teased, drawing him alongside you. “There is something I wish to tell you, however...”

He turned to look at you then. Curiosity brimming in his gaze. “What is it?”

“Your Graces,” Lord Bartrand said, approaching the two of you on the walkway. 

“Lord Bartrand, you fought bravely, my old friend,” Peter said, chuckling as his drew the older soldier toward him in a hug. 

You lingered behind, palms smoothing along the bodice of your gown as the Lord in question looked over your husband’s shoulder in your direction.

“Your Grace, the people are already singing your praises. Said you led a band of women and children through the castle like a true commander.”

“Now…I would not say that,” you mused, coming to stand beside the soldier as the three of you continued on your stroll. “Though some of the women did smack Hollowhall soldiers over the head with chairs. And that was the bravest thing I have ever seen.”

“You must tell us all about it,” Peter said. 

And so you had. News you wished to share with your husband placed aside as you recounted the stories of what happened when you rushed to the aid of the healing houses. How you had found the women in the tavern. Their bravery as they took up arms with a willingness to fight for what they believed in. 

Shared the story of Bronwynne’s betrayal. Of Harry’s plotting. Your eventual capture after leading the people to safety. The true confession of Gwen’s murder. And even the too-late redemption of Bronwynne coming to your rescue. The sadness in which you regarded her love gone cold. How it must have felt in those final moments as her lover ultimately murdered her. 

So foolish. 

And yet your husband gripped your hand in his own. Brought it to his lips and kissed it slowly. Thanked Bronwynne for the sacrifice that had led you back to him. 

You carried on for what seemed like hours. The firelight basking the soldiers in an orange glow as you eventually joined them. Joining in the celebrations and drink with your husband. Until your eyes began to flutter closed at the table you were settled upon, Lord Bartrand seated on your right as Peter jested with your step siblings and King Eugene by the fire. 

“Does he know yet?” Lord Bartrand asked, eyes sliding toward yours. 

You lifted your head from your palm, sleep clinging to your vision. “I do not know what you speak of,” you said, barely containing your smirk. 

The next morning you woke curled against your husband’s chest. Uncertain of how you had managed to end up there. Could vaguely remember the events of the night before. Sighed and stretched your arms above your head as you shifted out of his arms and walked over to the mirror in the corner of the chamber. Sliding your eyes to your face there. The purpled cheek. The split lip. Burn scoring your forehead. You had survived. 

You shuddered, pinching the bridge of your nose as you pushed memories of the battle and death from your mind. Instead, searched through your wardrobe to slip on a simple black gown. A Queen garbed in black to honor the dead. 

You were midway through brushing a comb through your hair when your husband appeared over your shoulder in the mirror, fingers sliding along the side of your neck. He held out his hand for the brush, gripping the cool handle as he ran it through your strands. Stopping every so often to press a kiss into the skin of your neck. 

“Today we will honor the lost. I just cannot help but to be overwhelmed with gratitude that you were not one of them,” he whispered, voice shaking as he spoke. 

You tugged him down onto the chair beside you, smoothing your palm up his chest. Rested it over his heart. “It was you who promised me we would live. Prince Harry is gone now. He cannot hurt anyone else we love now.”

He pulled you against his chest then. Fingers threading through your hair as your arms slid around his waist, ear pressed over his swiftly beating heart. Squeezing him tighter as he cried into the crown of your head. Remaining there as an anchor. In whatever way he needed you. 

“I am here, Peter. You have me…for the rest of our lives you have me.” 

“And even beyond that,” he echoed, kissing your forehead. 

“Even then, my love.”

You stayed like that until the two of you were required to join your people for the mass funeral to be held for all those lost. Soldiers had begun to gather the dead in the wee hours of the morning, lining them across the fields of Ambrosen. A mass grave was dug out, and bodies were settled within to be laid to rest. 

Bronwynne, naturally, had been left on the field. Traitors were not buried with the fallen, you knew this. But she had saved you in her last moments. Changed her mind before time had run out. A fact that Lord Bartrand repeated to two soldiers as they grabbed her fallen form and laid her within. 

You walked beside Peter onto the fields. Both of you donning black mourning clothes to honor those killed to see your throne secured. Sacrifices not in vain. 

“You said you had something to tell me,” Peter said as you approached the grave, looping your arm through his own. “What is it, my love?”

“Now is not the time. I will tell you later.” You promised, coming to stop before the freshly filled grave. 

Lord Bartrand stepped forward to raise his voice above the crowd. Speaking of the lost. Of lives so bravely lost. Of lost loved ones. Fathers who would never see their children. Sons. Daughters. Children to parents. Wives. Friends. Simply put—people. Innocent people. 

Memories of those who would never be forgotten. Even as winter turned into spring. And spring into summer, their memories would linger in the hearts of those who loved them. 

You brushed at the tears in your eyes as soldiers began to filter away from the burial site. As men and women alike clasped arms around shoulders with the promise to grab ale together and toast to life. To celebrate the dead. You lingered behind with Peter, dropping to your knees in the grass. 

Glanced over to him as he settled down beside you and watched you grip a handful of fresh soil in your palm and tossed it onto the pile. For the women. The men. The children. 

For Healer Agatha. 

For Bronwynne. 

He did the same. Fingers curling around dirt and tossing it over the grave. Pieces being swept across in the wind as it whipped your hair about both your faces. 

And in the fading sunset, the two of you walked back to the castle. Looking ahead. 

To the future and to restoration. 

To a new beginning. 

Ayelandia celebrated that night. Instead of sitting shrouded away in the shadow of death, the people toasted to life. The women and children carried off into the safety of sea retuning as the moon grew to the highest point in the sky. 

The joy of seeing loved ones reunited bringing a smile to your lips as you sat beside your husband, a goblet of wine pressed into your palm as he stroked a slow circle along the back of your palm. 

You watched as the little boy who had grabbed your hand in the tavern ran over to his father, jumping into his arms and giggling as he spun him in a great circle. As parents were reunited with their sons and daughters. Joyous crying as they wrapped each other in warm embraces. 

The weeping of new widows and widowers as they found comfort within the arms of friends and other family members. 

You looked over to him then, placing your goblet of wine on the table as you extended a hand to him. Grinned as he led you onto the dance floor. Spinning you round and round in a circle as the people flitted about the room. Your step brothers raising a glass in salutation. Father beaming as he clasped hands with King Eugene. Lord Bartrand dipping his head to the two of you. 

To success in the Battle of Ambrosen as many had now titled it. To your marriage. To your lives. To your reign. 

And later, as your feet had begun to hurt from dancing and your heart felt lighter in your chest, you settled back down beside Peter as your guests continued in their feasting and celebration. 

At one point, reached over and gripped his palm, pressing it over the lower portion of your bodice. His eyes rested there, realization dawning across his features. Eyes widening as they glistened with tears—of joy unbridled. You reached up with your free hand and brushed at the tear that rolled down his cheek. 

Nodded in answer to his unspoken question. 

“I was not certain at first, but it seems flowers will not be the only thing blooming come summer.”

—x—

EPILOGUE:

TO SEE THE SUNRISE

“I am upset with you, husband!” You grumbled, walking into your bed-chamber to find Benjamin and Peter nuzzled up together beneath the downy furs on your bed. 

“Can you be upset with me a little bit more quietly? Benjamin just went down for a nap,” he asked from the bed, eyes closed as his son curled up against chest. 

Your smile grew at the sight. Their dark hair spilled over both their foreheads. Peter with his arm curled around the one year old prince, as the little one pressed his hand into his father’s chest, thumb in his mouth. 

Sighing, you lifted your skirts a bit as you climbed onto the bed beside your two favorite boys, running your hand down your husband’s arm before curling up beside your husband and son, running your fingers down his little cheek. The curve of those chubby arms. 

“I have been informed you picked out a dog for our son. A son who is not even old enough to appreciate or understand the responsibility of having something living to take care of.”

“My love, how could I not? One of the stable dogs had puppies and Lord Bartrand thought it would be a great gift—”

“You are not blaming Lord Bartrand for getting yourself a puppy.” You teased, batting your husband’s hand away as he reached over to run his fingers through your hair. “Where is this puppy, then? If I will be a mother again, I would like to see the little one.”

He pointed toward your bathing chamber door. Your feet immediately moving to take you over to it, opening the door wide and watching as a blonde haired pup with massive paws came barreling out. Jumping up onto the bed and plopping down beside your husband and sleeping son. 

At your crossed arms and unamused expression, Peter chuckled uneasily. “What can I say? He loves me already.”

You groaned and settled back down on the bed. Watching as the pup wiggled over to you, paws toying at your dress clad thigh. Nose bumping your hip. You reached out tentatively and giggled as the thing leaped in response and swiped his tongue across your cheek. 

“Okay…okay. He is cute. We can keep him.”

The months after the war proved to be challenging. Those first months of winter some of the most grueling you had experienced since becoming Queen of Ayelandia. The alliances forged through your marriage had become a blessing. Goods being sent from Glendhaven as your country rebuilt. 

Many had come together to start the process of fixing the destroyed homes and burned healing houses. Roofs being rebuilt as the lives of those affected within learned to continue on. The streets those first weeks were empty. Somber in nature. Nobody seemed to truly mill about until the spring arrived and the weather started to warm. 

Lady Cecilia and her children had revisited as new buds began to form on the trees in the gardens. Her little girls now talking and excited over the prospect of their new ‘cousin’ coming in a few months time. 

Lady Cecilia overjoyed at how much had changed in the months since you had last seen her. Over the way your husband seemed only that much more in love with you. Worshipping the ground you walked on.  

Hollowhall had grown silent, King Norman’s throne now unsecured with the loss of his son. Though there were whispers of those who still hated King Peter and wanted to see him uprooted. Those whispers squashed, however, before they could come to any fruition. 

You continued your work at the healing houses for some time, despite Peter’s many worried of you working yourself too hard. Those first few weeks of walking in without seeing the familiar faces of Healer Agatha and Bronwynne breaking your heart all over again. You still mourned them both, and were certain you would for many years to come. 

But time healed the lands, just as it did anything. And before long you found the people settled into a new routine. Found new things to be grateful for—to be happy about. 

Peter had found that in the gift you kept nestled away beneath your heart. In the first cries of your son as the spring turned into summer. Would never forget the way he had settled down on a chair that day, looking down into Benjamin’s eyes with a love so deep it had split your heart in two. 

You were finally at peace. 

Sighed against the downy pillow as you reached over to grip Peter’s palm in yours and twined your fingers with his. The puppy coming to rest his snout across his new father’s forearm. 

But you did have to admit he was adorable. What with those floppy golden ears and sagging lips as his mouth puffed in his sleep. 

“We should be getting ready. The court is practically buzzing at the prospect of celebrating Benji’s first cake day.” You mused, watching as Peter lifted himself and the sleeping prince into a sitting position. 

“They just wish to use it as an opportunity to drink and be merry,” he said, pressing a kiss to the little boy’s forehead as he stirred. 

“Precisely,” you said, circling around the bed to kiss your husband soundly. “So let us drink and be merry, my love.”

The prince in question did not care for the party. Only enjoyed spending time within Lady Cecilia and Queen Freya’s arms with his fist in his mouth. 

Had thanked Lord Bartrand and Lady Cecilia when they offered to take the boy for a while when you and Peter eventually decided to slip out into the gardens, giggling as he laid you down on a his fur cloak beneath a tree on a patch of grass. Watched as the leaves danced above your head. Dappled light casting shadows over your husband’s face. 

“I had dreamed of this once—or something like it,” you muttered dreamily, reaching up and untying the leather keeping his now shoulder length hair tied behind his head. Toyed with the strands as they fell forward. 

He snorted, blowing a strand away from his face. “Did you now?” He curled you up against his side, arms circling your waist. “And what exactly happened in this dream.”

You tugged at the strings of his britches. Freed the shirt from within and ran fingers along bared flesh. Gasped as he leaned down and pressed open-mouthed kisses into your skin there. 

You reached forward and guided him where you wanted him. Skirts tossed up around your hips as he moved against you. Peppering kiss after kiss against your lips. 

“It started just like this…” You whispered, back arching as his finger brushed against that sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“And then?”

“And then…” 

You shoved him over onto his back, palm pressed against his chest to keep his back rooted to the ground as you moved above him. 

Like in your dream, each roll of your hips another promise. 

You loved him. You cherished him. You worshipped him. You adored him. Would spend every day for the rest of his life reminding him. 

When you parted in a panting tangle of arms and legs, you curled your arms around his waist. Nuzzling your face against his chest as you settled down with him. Basking in the fading summer sun dancing along your skin. 

“To think, when we met we were mere strangers,” you said, thinking back to those early days. 

To your wedding day. Standing before him as a quiet princess, uncertain of who she was. 

“I was a beast to you.” He brushed a hand along your cheek lovingly. 

You remembered those early dinners. The clanging of silverware as you danced around one another. Figured out how to navigate the murky waters of your relationship. 

“We became friends, though.” 

“We did become friends.” 

He kissed your nose as you pictured him. So long ago now in that tent, looking at you overtop your makeshift pillow barricade to separate the two of you. 

“And then there was a flirtation,” you said, running your hand along his chest, moving toward the waistband of his pants. Then lower still until he shuddered against you. 

Your mind conjured up the sight of him in your bathing chamber. Looking over at you with heat swirling in his gaze. And even after still, to those first exploring kisses over a game of hangman’s noose.

“I was a beast again,” he groaned, chuckling. 

You felt your skin as it flushed at the memory of sparring with Peter at the garrison. Mere moments before he confessed he had done the unthinkable and fell in love with you. 

“And now you are my heart,” he said, kissing you soundly as he rolled back over you. 

Making love to you anew in the grass as images of the last months continued to flit across your mind behind your closed eyes. 

Those first moments of new intimacy. The moment you were reunited on the battlefield after the war when you had feared you might never see him again. The first time he had learned he was to become a father. The tentative way his palm had settled over yours that day when you had felt Benjamin quickening for the first time. When he looked at you for the first time with his son in his arms, as if he had fallen in love all over again. 

And even still, as he looked at you now, reverently. Like he had been searching his whole life for a treasure and found it within you. 

The two of you ventured back to court some time later, earning the curious gazes of the other royals who would dare not say anything of what you had gotten up to. Instead, you pushed past them and lifted Benjamin from Lady Cecilia’s arms, as Peter bid the rest of court good night. 

You settled the little Prince down in his bed and smiled at the pair of arms that had come to slide around your waist. Leaning into the warmth of the man leaning his chin against your shoulder. His fingers brushed along the mop of brown hair on Benjamin’s head, your sighs echoing in the chamber. 

“I love you, you know?” You whispered. 

He turned your head to the side, your eyes locking with his. “And I you. I am yours. Until my dying day.”

“And even then.”

“Even then.”

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[hollandsmushroom]

That Was Hot

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

AU: Frat!Tom

Word Count: 2,356

A/N: Um, this is pure filth and it came to me when I watched How To Get Away With Murder and Asher said that was hot like i want you to sit on my face hot and I couldn’t get it out of my head. 

Warnings: Drinking, Drunkenness, unwanted Sexual advances, jealousy, face sitting, oral(fem receiving), cum eating, cum play, dry humping, frat boys. 

You weren’t drunk, tipsy? Sure, but drunk? No. Your words were clear as ever but your aim was a little wonky as you stood across the table from the two frat boys who you recognized but did not know the name of. You saw your boyfriend walking up to you, always loving to watch you do literally anything and destroying his frat bros at beer pong was one of his favorite things. The boys you were up against were blatantly waisted, their aim probably already off with how much alcohol was coursing through their veins, you were confident that you were gonna win. 

“We so got this” One boy slurred to the other, putting a hand up for a high five, receiving nothing but a brush of pinkys as his teammate almost entirely missed his hand. 

A smile grew on your lips as you watched the interaction, and untamed laughter passing your friends lips causing you to follow suit, hunching over as laughter gripped your sides, it was a drunk laugh, messy and uninhibited. Tom’s eyes were trained on you as he watched you fall apart, he knew your reaction was overstated but he didn’t care, he just loved seeing you happy.  

“What's so funny?” one of the boys inquired incredulously, his words prompting you to eye your friend again, still biting back laughter at the boy's childish response and lack of self awareness.  You both knew how this was gonna go, both confident in your ability to win, so why not have some fun while you're at it. 

“Just you guys thinking you’re gonna win” you taunted, only riling the rowdy frat boys up even more. You held the ping pong ball, flicking your fingers, tossing the feather light ball up and catching it without even looking, it was your silent tease, a taunt of challenged masculinity. One of the boys leaned forward, placing his stubby nailed hand on the beat up ping pong table, which at this point seemed to be held up together with duct tape and the spite of broke college students. There was a snarl wound tight on his lips. 

“If you’re so sure that you’re gonna win, why don't you back up your words then,” his voice was angry, and in your periphery your could see Tom about to come over and tell the guy off for talking to you like that but with a quick glance you told him that you got it, and he respected your wishes, maintaining his stance but a little more defensive now. “If I win, then fine, you beat us, but if we win, you have to do something that you really don’t want to do” You almost cackled, his inebriation limiting his ability to even come up with something to torment you with.  

“Kissing you it is then” you spoke, your voice a sugar coated venom. You tried to hold your persona but you knew that you had bothered Tom, his body tensing even more than it had after the boys taunts. You felt his hardened gaze training on you, his face twisted into the visual representation of and angry “What the fuck?” not thrilled with even the slightest possibility of your lips on someone else's. But you both knew that if you did lose the fame, a fist would sooner come in contact with that face than your lips on his. You knew that even though his eyes conveyed anger there was part of him that was proud, a small smirk tugging on his lips, appreciating the witty remark that belittled his frat brother. You turned all the way to him, giving him a warm smile, bringing your hand to your lips, placing a kiss on your palm before pursing your lips and blowing it Tom’s way, winking as his anger melted entirely and a soft smile replaced the smirk. Turning back to the boy you spoke up again, ignoring the angered look on the boy opposite yous face “I’ll play better if I am playing not to kiss you, let's get this over with” acting like you were exhausted by the notion of actually playing the game, you weren’t, in fact you were excited, thrilled by the idea of of crushing these boys machismo.  

You tossed the ball, watching as it floated through the air, barely denser than the atmosphere that surrounded it. The tension evaporated as you sank the first shot, a groan sounding from the boys mouths as you and your friend cheered. One of your opponents took the ball out of the cup, drinking down the tepid beer before setting up his shot. He over shot any of the cups by at least a foot, you caught it easily, placing it in your friend's hand so she could make her shot, and she did, easily landing it in the cup and leading the other boy to have to drink as well. The game continued this way, you and your friend absolutely obliterating the two boys.

You held your breath as you took the final shot, knowing that you would still have opportunities to try again but you really just wanted to get it over with so you could return to Tom’s arms. The shot sinking into the cup, an excited shout leaving your lips as you jump up and down, high fiving your friend. Tom smiled as he saw your true joy, thrilled that the simplest possibility of you kissing someone else was no longer on the table, the only thing left being most of the cups of beer on your side of the table. 

“Hey” the frat boy that you would have kissed if you lost spoke up, quickly moving to your side of the table and standing all too close. His breath was hot and sticky, heavy with the alcohol that was tainting every pore in his body. He reached out moving to touch your face but you stepped back. “I know we lost but I still want that kiss” he was pressing you up against the table. 

“Um, no thank you, that was the punishment” you spoke fiercely, trying to hide the fear that was growing in your chest. The boy went to open his mouth again but was cut off as a hand was placed on his chest, pushing him away from you. 

“Back off mate, leave with whatever fucking dignity you got left, and don’t you fucking dare try to touch my girl again, we clear?” Tom's voice was harsh, every word he spoke he pushed the boy farther and farther away from you, poking him in the chest with his final words to emphasize the point. 

“Um, yeah, yeah we clear” the boy exclaimed, tense under Tom’s piercing gaze. 

“Good, now fuck off” Tom growled, stepping back to let the boy scuttle off to where ever the fuck, you didn’t care and Tom only hoped that it was far away. Turning back to you, Tom cupped your cheek with his hand, letting you nuzzle into his palm. "Fucking cunt" he muttered under his breath. 

“You okay, baby?” his voice was much softer than it had been when he spoke to the frat boy, it made you feel cherished. 

“Yeah, baby, I am okay” you hummed “I just kicked ass at beer pong, I’m feeling pretty good” he leaned in, kissing your nose softly. 

“You did so good baby, it was hot watching you beat them, like I want you to sit on my face hot” his words were heavy, laden with libido and the promise of a good time. Your eyes widened at his brashness, sending a jolt straight to your core, a rushed nod seizing your neck, prompting him to grab your hand, guiding you through the muddle of people, up to his room, passing couples with tongue in each other's throats, messes of red solo cups and lust. The final flight of stairs was short, not intended for the attic to be a room, but here you were, your hand wound with Tom’s as you stood in the A slanted den. 

There was a pull on your hand, dragging you down onto the large mattress, the wooden frame creaking at the sudden weight of two tangled bodies on it. You landed on top of him, the soft unkempt blankets shifting beneath your knees as Tom’s hands gripped your ass, pulling you as close to him as possible, your clothed core dragging across his covered cock. 

“Tommy” you moaned into his mouth, his hands on your ass continuing to rock your hips against his, the friction not something you knew you needed. Right as you thought things were getting to it Tom pushed you back, a confused look cementing on your face as you watched him.

“Take your trousers and pants off, Love, was serious about wanting you on my face” he smirked at your lust stricken features, immediately removing your bottoms leaving you bare, the dim light from Toms’s bedside lamp catching on the slickness between your thighs, glistening and making Tom’s mouth water. “C’mere” he elbowed himself up, grabbing you by the ass and pulling you back onto him, this time your core ending hovering above his eager tongue.

“Tom, I need you” you whimpered, feeling his breath on your heat. He didn’t dignify you with a response, simply shoving his face between your folds, lips wrapping around your clit eliciting a moan from you. You found yourself beginning to grind against his mouth, feeling his cheeks move against your thighs, presumably into a smirk 

His hands wound around your waist, pulling you down on top of him, the added pressure of his hold pressing you farther onto his tongue, his nose nudging your clit as he lapped at your core, drinking you up like he hadn’t had a drink in years. His teeth grazed your folds, a shiver running up your spine, grinding farther down onto his face, fingers wound around his curls, tugging at it from the roots, a moan escaping his lips and vibrating through your core. He ground helplessly into the heated air, his hard cock begging for friction, the tip poking out of his waistband, leaking precum onto his lower stomach. He needed something. 

Tom twisted his hips, holding you tight against his face, he flipped you over, your back landing flat against the worn sheets, your head delving into the pillows. Tom now laid on his stomach, immediately grinding his hips against the bed, giving his dick the friction it had been yearning for, wanting to feel any kind of touch, desperate for release. His hip bones became exposed as the gyration of his hips pulled his jeans down a little more, exposing his shaft further. The harshness of the fabric against his contrasting to what he normally felt, it was nothing like the velvety muscled lined walls of your tight cunt, not comparing to the tight grip of your hand, and subpar compared to your mouth, but then again, everything that wasn’t you was a downgrade in his mind. 

“Fuck” he moaned into your heat, pressing his cock farther into the mattress, knowing that the feeling was building up more rapidly than he would like to admit. He knew he shouldn't. He knew that it would push him over the edge to look up at you but he couldn’t resist. His mouth not leaving your pussy he dragged his eyes up your body, toffee colored eyes widening as they fell upon your face twisted in pleasure, your hands gripping at your breasts and pinching your nipples. It broke something animalistic in him, bringing a hand from your ass and smacking yours away, aggressively groping the soft mounds of flesh and pinching your nipples. 

“Tommy, I’m go-gonna cum” you cried, your back arching helplessly off the bed, your thighs clamping shut around Tom’s heads, only resulting disappointment was that he couldn’t fully hear your moans, but he say your face as you fell apart under his tongue and it sent him with you. He moaned loudly into you, cock twitching against his shorts as he came onto his stomach and the bedsheets. 

Once you had both ridden out your highs he pulled away, looking up at you eagerly, meeting your gaze, your eyes carrying a similar longing to the one that was in his. 

“Fuck Tommy, you felt so good,” you panted, your praising words causing a smile to take his thin lips. “I want you in me Tommy” your voice sultry, having maintained more of your breath. 

“I want that too love but I um,” he scratched the back of his neck, tearing his gaze from yours and down to his cum smeared abdomen. 

“Oh, I see, you got off on eating me out, didn’t ya baby boy” you teased, grinning at your bashful boyfriend, pride awakening in your chest that you had caused him to cum without even touching his cock. You were amused with the embarrassment in his red cheeks. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m really sorry, love” 

“Hmm, that's okay I guess, I’ll just have a different kind of treat” you shrugged, knowing what you were about to do would have the repercussions you so desired, it would leave you full in more ways than one, cum dripping down your legs as you slept, you knew what you were doing. 

Your fingers dance on his flushed skin, gathering his cum on you fingers and bringing them to your lips, sticking out your tongue like he had done earlier, smearing it across your taste buds before leaning into his face, licking at that slickness that was dripping down his chin, the combined taste of your cums in your mouth making you hum. You licked over his lips, giving him a bit of a taste of the treat that resided between your lips before closing them, swallowing the rest. He licked his lips eagerly, eyes rolling back as your spunks mixed together, feeling the blood already starting to rush south once again, his refractory period dramatically shortened by your actions.

“On second thought, I think I can go for some more” he growled.

@spydeysense

[kittyymew]

Accidental Surprise

Story Summary- Levi walks in on you pleasuring yourself. You, the Reader, and Levi are not a couple in this scenario, however, both of you like each other romantically without each other's knowledge.

********

You groan as you enter your room after a long stressful day, plopping down on your bed. You were tired, annoyed, angry, and frustrated. Hell! Why wouldn't you be? Another failed mission, and the worst part of it all? You were blamed for the unforeseeable factor which caused the mission to fail. Well, at least there wasn't a single casualty. A rare occurrence.

"Urgh fucking great! Of course, it's my fault! I mean yeah I controlled the titans who made us break our formation!" You let out in an exasperated tone, sitting up on your bed as you start undressing out of that stupid, uncomfortable uniform, tossing it all in a corner.

""Y/N! WhAt aRe yOu dOiNg WhY aRe tHeRe sO mAny tItAns? WhY DiDn'T YoU TeLL uS thErE aRe gOinG To Be sO mAnY aBnoRmALs iN oUr wAy?!"", you mock Levi's words as you get up from your bed and make your way over to the closet to get a change of clothes. He's been like this, blaming you for the most irrelevant things, ever since you were assigned a squad leader yourself. You tried ignoring his condescending remarks, illogical arguments, and wrongfully placed blames in the beginning but it's getting more and more unbearable with every mission you go on.

"Um... I don't know... MAYBE THE FACT THAT THERE WAS NO WAY I WOULD'VE KNOWN!" You yell out in the empty room.

"I can not believe I used to like-like him. Who am I kidding? I still like that stupid ass head! URRRGH WHY DID I HAD TO HAVE FEELINGS FOR HIM OUT OF ALL PEOPLE?!", you shriek out in an irritated tone, opening your closet door with such force that a box tumbles down from the top shelf, spilling its contents on the ground.

You sigh, closing your eyes and massaging your temples in an attempt to calm yourself down. You glance down at the box that had just tumbled out of your closet, seeing a pair of cuffs and a collar that had fallen out of the box. "Oop," you think as you realize it was your sex-toy box that had fallen out of your closet.

"Oh... I forgot I even had these things..." You mumble, bending down to pick up the items and the box, making your way back to your bed and emptying all the contents on the mattress. The collars, handcuffs, vibrators, dildos, butt plugs, ropes, etc. You had bought most of these items when you were with your ex.

Amidst the breakup and you gaining more responsibilities in the scouts, it's been a little over a year since you've used any of the items inside the box. Hell, you barely have any time to pleasure yourself with your fingers, let alone have sex with someone or have the luxury of using all these toys on yourself.

You pick up the pretty pink coloured wand-type vibrator, pressing down on the power button, the vibrator buzzing to life. You didn't think it was even charged. Well, at least you hadn't ran out of luck... yet. You turn it back off, biting down on your bottom lip, contemplating whether you should use it on yourself right now or not.

You quickly get up and get rid of your panties, climbing back on your bed as you crawl to the center, propping the pillows against the headboard, turning around and leaning back on it, spreading your legs.

Your mind automatically travels back to the one person you've liked for so long. As creepy or weird as it may feel, you can't help it. How his lips might feel against yours, or his hand wrapped around your throat, his fingers tangled in your hair tugging on it, or how his fingers would feel inside you... or even better his d-

*SIGH*

Taking a deep breath to relax, you trail your fingertips down your chest, stopping at your nipples to gently squeeze and tug on them.

"Maybe this is how his fingers would feel..."

You bite back a small moan at the sensation, it's been a while since the (Y/N/C) buds received any attention.

You take your sweet time to rile yourself up, switching between squeezing your boobs and pinching and tugging on your nipples. Your mind clouding up with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts and you can already feel the heat pooling between your legs by just stimulating your nipples and by the thoughts of how Levi would fuck you...

You keep your left hand on your left boob and trail your right hand down until your fingers touch slick folds, your fingers rubbing up and down, spreading your arousal. A small, almost inaudible whimper falls off your lips as your fingers finally connect with your throbbing clit.

In the blink of an eye, your fingers are moving in a circular motion over your clit, applying just enough pressure to have you squirming and moaning. It's been so long, even the slightest touch has you going crazy.

You begrudgingly disconnect your fingers with your clit, just for a few moments until your fingers were replaced with the head of your wand vibrator, your other hand spreading your folds as you press down the vibrating head against your clit. You throw your head back, moaning loudly as pleasure spreads through your body like wildfire.

"O-oh... fuuck..."

You moan out as you apply more pressure, moving the vibrator up and down your clit slightly, the movement combined with the intense vibration causing your toes to curl and your eyes to roll at the back of your head in pleasure.

Sliding your fingers down towards your entrance, you push a finger inside your wet cunt that slides in with ease, and curl it upwards in a come hither motion, with your walls clenching around your finger as the tip rubs against your g-spot and the vibrator's sweet assault on your clit, it doesn't take long to feel the knot in your lower stomach tighten.

Throwing your head back in pleasure, small moans and whimpers fall off your lips, quickly adding in another finger inside, plunging them as deep as they can go, the tips rubbing against that sweet spot inside your tight pussy, as you draw your orgasm closer and closer with each thrust and movement of your fingers against your g-spot, combined with the intense vibration against your swollen clit.

"Fuck fuck fuck... oh... god... L-Leviii fuck...!"

You scream out in pleasure, applying more pressure on your clit with the vibrator, your fingers halting their thrusting movement as your cunt clenches around them, your lower stomach fluttering, your toes curling and back arching, as the euphoric sensation takes over your mind and body.

Pulling your fingers out of your throbbing pussy and turning the vibrator off, you try to catch your breath, still coming down from the high of the orgasm you just had.

"I- uh... *ahem*..."  Your head snaps up towards the direction of the door, the moment you heard someone clear their throat, and there he stood in your doorway, in all his red-faced glory, your soul leaving your body when you see his face.

It takes a moment for your brain to register, but you snap out of it when you see Levi take the tiniest step forward.

"FUCKING SHIT! LEVI WHAT THE HELL?!"

You yell as you jump up to cover yourself with the blanket and hastily trying to hide the multiple sex toys that were splattered all over your bed.

"I- uh...." Levi opens and closes his mouth, failing to realise that he's gawking at your naked figure. He averts his gaze only after you pull the blanket up to your chest and awkwardly try to hide his hard-on. He quickly turns around, his mind finally processes the situation, but not before you catch a glimpse of his situation down there.

"I just... came here to apologise for how I had been acting towards you over the past few weeks Y/N," Levi says, trying to make everything less.. awkward?

You just stare at the back of his head. You're way too embarrassed to even breathe at this point. How long was he standing there? How the hell did you not hear him come in? How did you even forget to lock the door before your genius self decided to masturbate?

Levi breaks the silence when you don't say anything. "Y/N...? I'm sorry the door was open and I-..."

"How long were you standing there for?" You ask.

You'd much rather die of a heart attack or something at this moment instead of having to face him. It'd be much easier than having to go through this.

"A while I guess...." He replies, scratching the back of his head.

*bonk*

You throw the first thing that you could reach. It was a purple dildo.

"Hey, Ow!" He mumbles, rubbing the spot where the dildo just hit him.

"AND YOU JUST STOOD THERE WATCHING ME INSTEAD OF LEAVING OR AT LEAST SAYING SOMETHING?!?!" You yell at him, throwing a pillow at his head this time.

"Well, you did moan my name brat!" Levi sasses in response when the pillow hits him.

"Stop throwing things at me brat!" Levi says, turning around on his feet to face you with a glare until he catches the sight of the purple dildo lying near his feet. He bends down to pick it up and smirks at you.

"Or I can just remind you whose name you were just moaning..." He says as he dangles your purple dildo in front of him

"LEVI!" You yell at him again, moving forward and attacking him by throwing everything that is within range at him.

"OKAY SORRY! SORRY!!!" Levi laughs as he dodges everything that's plunged in his direction and he's on the bed in front of you, holding your wrists down.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the close proximity between the two of you and you freeze up.

"I never said I was complaining about it. If anything it's nice to know that you think of me when you touch yourself. Because it just means that I wouldn't have to worry about you liking me back when I ask you out tomorrow" Levi says, letting go of your wrists and booping your nose with his stupid cocky grin before turning around and leaving your room.

"What just... happened..."

You think to yourself as you're left alone in your room, dumbfounded, to say the least.