#and perhaps a dash or hint of

[clambuoyance]

[DC] just a rose and a demigod

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what’s mine is yours

synopsis. suguru is a good best friend—he shares everything. just this once, he shares you too

word count. 2.1k (it's short i promise)

contents. fem! reader, reader is suguru's girlfriend, minors do not interact, virgin satoru <3, cuckolding, fingering, safe sex (who am i ?? jk suguru would not let satoru hit raw lol), petnames (princess, baby, and sweetheart), suguru teaching satoru how to fuck <3

notes. dash pls look away. i am horny at 1 am

satoru, for all his big talk and loud front all these years, is still a virgin. suguru finds it a tad bit funny—but out of the kindness of his heart, he decides to help his best friend change that.

how? you, of course.

“be careful how you handle her,” suguru says with a sly smile, “she’s still my girlfriend—and i have to take care of her. isn’t that right, baby?” his gaze turns to you, finger stroking your cheek gently as you whimper.

“so wet,” satoru mumbles, fingers sinking curiously into your dripping cunt, flexing slowly to pump in and out of you as you whine. his fingers are long, maybe longer than suguru’s—but not nearly as skilled.

“yeah?” suguru chuckles, “bet you like that, huh? careful though, satoru—don’t get used to this. she’s still mine.”

suguru, the ever gracious best friend, has always been one to share. he decides perhaps he can extend the favor to include his girlfriend too—but you’re precious, sweet and kind and oh so doting. he can’t share you permanently. no, it’s a one time thing—after that, satoru will have to find his own perfect little pussy to savor.

“you really get all of this? all to yourself?” satoru marvels, thumbing your clit as you gasp, your hand reaching over to clutch at suguru’s pants. his hand rests over yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he hums soothingly.

“yeah,” your boyfriend grins, “every day. whenever i want. right, baby?”

“uh huh,” you nod—and then you cut yourself off with a squeal when satoru’s fingertips brush against that sweet spot deep within your walls, making you flutter around him with a tight squeeze. he doesn’t find it as easily as suguru, doesn’t know how to angle and curl the tips of his fingers when he sinks into you.

and fuck, satoru thinks, suguru is so damn lucky.

“she’s a vocal one,” he chuckles, “you’ve been living the dream.”

“you should hear her when you use your mouth,” suguru chuckles—how embarrassing. you want to crawl onto his lap and hide away in his neck, hide away from satoru’s eyes that are watching you so carefully. satoru has good eyes—the best, even.

but you also like it. for some reason, when his eyes stare down at you with a darkened shade of blue you’ve never seen before, you feel the slick pooling from your core, smearing down your thighs and glossing over his fingers, wetter than ever.

satoru has that effect on people—even if he is a bit inexperienced.

“do i get to do that too?” he asks, sending your boyfriend a lopsided smirk.

suguru raises a brow, tightening his hand’s grip on yours before grunting a low, “don’t get ahead of yourself, satoru.”

“you said it yourself, suguru,” he chuckles, “what’s mine is yours.”

“not her,” suguru growls. and then, sweetly, he turns to you before pecking your forehead with a gentleness he keeps for only you. “you ready, princess?”

“princess,” satoru repeats thoughtfully, “yeah i guess you’re a bit of a princess, aren’t ya?”

“p-please,” you sniffle, tugging on suguru’s wrist, “need more, sugu.”

“yeah? he’s not doing his job, is he?” suguru pouts in sympathy, but his eyes are laced with amusement—like he’s enjoying the show in front of him. you’re sure he is, if the throbbing erection he sports is of any hint.

“hey,” satoru gasps, wounded, “i’m doing exactly what you told me—”

“here,” suguru throws him a condom, cutting him off, “put that on. you’re out of your mind if you think you’re feeling her. that’s only for me.”

“fine,” satoru huffs. you watch as he rolls the condom over his neglected cock—it’s red, swollen and aching, flushed at the tip and drooling with pre cum as he hisses when his hand wraps around it.

it’s pretty, you’ll give him that. satoru isn’t as thick as suguru, but he makes up for it by being a bit longer. he curves a bit with a thick vein running along the underside of his cock, balls heavy as they hang painfully, achingly full. he’s neatly trimmed—messy white strands of hair unlike suguru’s dark ones. you don’t know which one you prefer, if you could even pick one of you had to.

you watch with wide, fascinated eyes as his mouth parts with a low gasp when he accidentally teases the tip a bit as he clumsily works the rubber over himself. he’s sensitive at the head—just like suguru. gives those sweet little breathy whimpers when his slit is thumbed at. it’s cute, you think, maybe not as cute as suguru—but it’s still pretty adorable.

“go slow when you go in,” suguru warns, “if you hurt her, i’ll kill you.”

“she’s tough, she can take it,” satoru pats your cheek with a sly grin, “aren’t you, princess?”

“watch it, satoru,” you hear suguru growl, “don’t get too comfortable.”

“aw, it’s all in good fun, right? she’s taking it so well.”

you do take it well—you let satoru’s fingers play with your for ages, let him learn where to find that sensitive spot is in the back of your walls, let him rub your clit slowly—even if you ache for those fast circles suguru always gifts you with. and now, you’re even letting him slide into you, slowly but surely, inching his hardened cock into your impatiently wet cunt with agonizing patience.

“that feel good, baby?” suguru asks you once satoru’s buried to the hilt, splitting you almost in two as you breathe unevenly and nod. and satoru? well, he’s not faring any better—grit teeth and clenched jaw, panting harshly as he focuses on not cumming right then and there.

you’re tight—way tighter than his hand, and way warmer too. fuck suguru for making him wear the condom, and fuck suguru for landing such a perfect pussy too. he doesn’t know how he’s meant to go back to using his fist after a taste of this.

“you can move now—go slow at first, and then go faster when she’s close. she likes that. and don’t forget this,” suguru’s hand travels to your clit, giving a soft little pat that makes you whimper before he rubs it with those quick circles you love so much. “she likes when you touch this too. they all do—so when you get yourself your own girl to fuck, make sure you remember that.”

“i know what the clit is,” satoru grumbles, “i’ve watched porn, y’know.”

“i bet,” suguru chuckles, “is this your first time seeing a clit in person? pretty, isn’t it? everything about her is pretty.”

“suguru,” you whine in embarrassment, burying your head back into the pillow as much as you can, “you talk so much.”

“baby,” he insists, “someone has to humble him. he’s all bark and no bite.”

“i can too bite,” satoru grunts—and to prove it, he angles his hips to pull out, almost completely, before thrusting back into you. you cry out—clutching suguru’s hand tightly as your tits bounce. satoru let’s out a choked moan, gasping as you squeeze around his sensitive cock, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure.

it’s so good. suguru has it so good. you’re so good—perfect, even.

“f-fuck, more, need more,” you sob, and because suguru can’t help himself, his hand grabs at your tit, pinching and tugging at your nipple as he lets you squeeze his other hand in yours. “please, please—faster.”

“you heard her,” suguru hums, “she needs it faster.”

satoru’s good at fucking you—for his first time, he’s got your back arching and toes curling rather quickly. the blunt head of his cock brushes against your sweet spot with ease, long and curved enough to nudge against it with every roll of his hips. of course, no one knows how to fuck you until you see stars like suguru—but he comes to a close second.

your gasps have turned into long, wanton moans, and satoru moans in sync, head falling next to yours on the pillow as his breath fans over your shoulder with every harsh pant. his hips are rutting into you, slamming desperately as he feels you squeeze around him with every deep thrust. you can hear the squelching sound of your arousal as he bullies into your dripping cunt, smeared along the insides of your thighs. it’s messy, it’s rushed, it’s desperate and it feels so, so good.

satoru has never felt this good—and you? well….you have to admit you’ve never felt like this before either. it’s new, maybe not better, but certainly not worse.

“oh, fuck,” satoru groans, voice cracking as he whines against your shoulder, “f-fuck your so tight—‘s so good. so, so good….’m not g-gonna last much longer.”

“are you close, baby?” suguru strokes your cheek, watching as your eyes squeeze and your face twists in pleasure, “can’t have him be the only one cumming. that’s no good.”

“close! ‘m…’m so close, sugu. gonna cum,” you gasp as you nod.

if satoru wasn’t so lost on the feeling of your tight walls constricting around him, fluttering so perfectly that he almost feels like he can’t move, he might have protested that you addressed suguru and not him—he’s the one fucking you after all. it should be him you’re telling that you’re close, not your boyfriend. just because suguru is your boyfriend doesn’t mean he’s the one who gets to bear the reward for making you cum.

right now, that’s satoru.

“aw c’mon, sweetheart, you’re gonna—o-oh, shit,” he cuts himself off with a breathy moan, “you’re gonna make me cry. say my name too, yeah?”

“satoru,” suguru warns lowly.

“see? jus’ like that. yeah, pretty? say it just how suguru did,” satoru, murmurs against your ear, biting your earlobe softly.

your hand, much to suguru’s dismay, tugs from his grasp so your arms can wrap around satoru’s neck and cling to his large figure as he towers over you, fucking you mercilessly. his pace is frenzied now—that steady ache building up in his throbbing length is about to burst, and that coil in your belly feels like it’ll snap any second too.

“s-satoru, please—‘m c-close, so close,” you mewl, “wanna cum.”

he grins, blue eyes raking over your body as his thumb finds your clit and rubs harshly over it in that way you’ve been craving.

“yeah? you close, pretty? ‘s good to hear. i am too,” he murmurs lowly, finishing the sentence off with a shaky gasp as you squeeze around him.

and then you fall over the edge—he sends you hurtling into your high before you can ever register it. it’s new, satoru thinks—it makes his hips stutter for a second when he feels you spasm around his cock like that, sucking him in and squeezing around him enough that he chokes on a whimper and cums right then and there too. he thinks it’s a miracle he held out just long enough to cum after you, thanking anyone who’s listened to his prayers of lasting. it’s almost impossible not to finish immediately with how your walls hug around his length.

by now, his hips have lost any rhythm they might’ve had before, sloppily rutting into you as he desperately rides out his orgasm, thick ropes of cum spilling into the condom that separates him from fully feeling your warmth. he’s sensitive—his cock is throbbing even as he lets go of that built up tension in the form of white, hot release. you milk him until he’s almost certain he’s got nothing left to give, dry and worn out from the way you pulse so harshly around him.

“so good—m-make me feel so good,” satoru breathes in wonder as he finishes, thumb slowing itself along your clit before his body slumps over yours.

it’s hot, it’s sweaty, it’s a mess of limbs as he rests over you, still quivering over your body from the aftershocks of his orgasm. it’s earth shattering—how you make him feel. has he really been missing out on this all this time?

“you’re heavy,” you grumble, patting at his shoulder. he chuckles into your neck, catching his breath.

“yeah? heavier than suguru?”

“i’m careful enough to collapse next to her,” suguru mutters from the side.

“fuck, that was amazing,” satoru rolls over, sprawling himself on the mattress next to you, chest heaving as he breathes, “i see why suguru spoils you so much. you keep him happy, huh?”

“oh yes,” suguru drawls, eyes narrowing. gently, he grabs your wrist and tugs at you, making you sit up as you eye the bulge in his pants and the large wet spot of pre cum staining the fabric. “you’ll see just how happy she makes me in a second here—she’s good with her mouth too.”

idk what possessed me to write this i rly don't. all i know is i want them both carnally

NO PART TWO — please STOP commenting that

[libbybee]

THE BENEFITS OF CARING — SA

◜pairing: astarion ⨯ fem!healer!reader ◜rating: MDNI 18+ ┊ wc: 13K ◜cw: fluff, sweet-dirty talk, wounds caring, previous sexual tension, feelings, rain, porn with some plot, first time sex, body worship, bodily fluids, piv, masturbation [F, M], blowjob, cock warming-riding, creampie, overstimulation, aftercare, morning talk.

▹ summary. one brow arched. “oh, really?” he asked sarcastically. “then perhaps you can explain why you’re straddling me like you are, love.”

A/N. english isn't my native language, sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

AO3 ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ PLAYLIST ┊ IMG

‎

‘He was foolish. Reckless. Utterly stupid.’

Those words spun like a storm in your mind as you watched Astarion dash into danger. All because Gale, with one of his grandiose schemes, asked him to be a distraction—a distraction, of all things. The sheer absurdity grated on you, especially after that cocky, charming smile Astarion showed.

For all his talk of survival and his centuries-old staying alive, he seemed oblivious to the risks he took, as if he actually believed he was invincible. That careless swagger, that excitement in his eyes—it frustrated you to no end. Why does he have to be like this?

You were the only one in the camp capable of tending to wounds after Shadowheart decided to go off on her own because of a disagreement. And he knew it all too well.

He’d charged straight ahead of a group of Flaming Fists, who’d been hell-bent on killing you all after a disastrous misunderstanding. How you’d managed to escape with just minor injuries was still beyond your reach, but one thing was clear: if his recklessness didn’t kill him, you might do it yourself.

When he came to you later, sheepishly asking for a hand with his wounds, you were ready to refuse—but then he looked at you, with that pleading puppy look in his eyes that seemed to make all your frustration melt in an instant… and you just gave in.

You stepped out of your tent, dressed in your camp clothes and carrying a small bag with bandages and supplies. The moment the cold night breeze swept over your face and bare arms, you regretted your clothing.

But you headed towards Astarion’s tent. And as you crossed the camp, the faint patter of raindrops began to break the silence, with cool droplets striking the ground. You quickened your pace; the last thing you needed right now was to catch a cold.

The flap of the tent swayed gently in the breeze as you lifted your hand to brush the canvas aside and stepped in.

Inside, there was a warm setting given by some candles, and the rich scent of Astarion quickly enveloped you—hints of brandy and rosemary. And there he lay, reclining on his bedroll against some plushy pillows, with an opened book resting idly in his hands, though he wasn’t reading. His crimson eyes lifted rapidly to meet yours by the moment you entered, his brow raising slightly in surprise before a smile spread on his lips.

Astarion set his book aside with an elegant flourish, sitting a bit as his hand reached to help you enter in. “Ah, my darling... at last. I was beginning to think you’d leave me alone all nigh—” His words cut off abruptly as your palm connected sharply with his cheek.

“That’s for risking your life like a fool.” You snapped as you sat beside him on his bedroll.

He lifted a hand to his cheek and soothed the stinging sensation, shocked but faintly amused by your unexpected reaction. Before he could even part his lips to say something, you raised a finger to cut him off while dropping your bag on the bedroll with a firm thud.

“Honestly, Astarion, what in the hells were you thinking?” You demanded, already taking a cloth from your bag. You didn't even wait for him to reply and just reached for his arm, where a nasty wound marred his porcelain skin. “Running in like that without a second thought...” You murmured to yourself, furrowing your brows in worry.

Letting out a sigh, you carefully wiped the wound. “What if I hadn’t been there? Or if you’d got ki—” You shut yourself, swallowing down the knot of anxiety that had lodged in your throat since the fight ended. Memories of that night at the Tiefling’s party appeared in your mind—when, just for a moment, he’d looked at you beyond his enchanting demeanour. And how that left you feeling fragile in a way you weren’t ready to confront.

After a moment, you spoke more calmly, “You can’t keep doing this, Astarion. You can’t keep risking yourself as if you don’t matter.”

As you dabbed carefully at another cut, his face tensed in a grimace, and you couldn't hold back any longer. “I don’t care how bold you think you are, Astarion—there’s no excuse for being so imprudent. You’re not some disposable distraction, no matter what Gale or anyone else thinks.” You noticed how one of his eyebrows raised with that glint in his eyes. “And don’t even think about giving me that look.”

For once, he simply fell silent, watching how your hands moved in his arm with the cool cloth with... perhaps an affectionate expression. Then his voice dropped, gentler than you'd ever heard it. “I didn't realise you cared about me... quite this much.”

Your hands froze briefly, feeling a heat rising to your cheeks. You controlled your feelings. “Well, someone has to keep you in line, and I’m fairly certain neither of our lovely friends would be up to the task.” You clarified, somewhat exasperated, but with some gentility in your tone.

You heard a soft chuckling from him, as he was aware of the truth in your words. Gently, his hand reached out to caress yours. “It means... more than you think. To have someone caring.” As your eyes dropped to his hand and then his face, you saw past his charm for a fleeting moment, past his sly smile to the man who hadn't known kindness in far too long. “Thank you.”

Your eyes widened while your cheeks rose even more, quickly looking again to his arm as you wiped another open wound. You cleared your throat. “Just... try not to make me need to patch you up every time we get into trouble, alright? For my sanity, if nothing else.”

He gently caressed the back of your hand one last time before letting his hand fall to his lap. “Oh, and miss all the attention you give me?” He looked into your eyes, pouting a little but taking in the seriousness in your face. “Fine. I’ll be more careful, love.” His voice was laced with a teasing warmth, easing the sting of worry in your chest, making it almost worth it.

The rain began to fall harder, the deafening through of it slapping against the canvas. When you looked at his shirt, there was something about how it had dark patches of blood through that caught your attention. You could almost see the bruises starting to form and the scratches beneath the fabric.

You glanced up at him again. “Astarion, take that shirt off; I need to see what’s under it.”

He raised one of his eyebrows. “Eager, aren't we?” He smirked. “I suppose I can indulge you, darling...”

You gave him a soft smile for his tease, speaking exasperated but amused. “I’m sure you’ve got wounds under there, Astarion. Just take it off.”

His smirk widened, clearly enjoying. “Such impatience... Very well, love. You’ve earned the right to see what lies beneath.” Then he reached for the hem of his classic white shirt, the delicate fabric gathering in his hands before he tugged it over his head in one fluid move, slightly disheveling his curls.

The shirt slipped away, revealing his chest and the sharp definition of his collarbones. The flickering candlelight danced across his skin, casting shadows over the subtle contours of his physique. His movements were unhurried as he was offering you a glimpse.

As he tossed the garment aside carelessly, it landed in a heap near the edge of the bedroll. The air between you seemed to shift. His crimson eyes showed a slight hint of vulnerability that he quickly masked with a smirk.

“Better?” He drawled, his usual charm creeping back. “Is the view satisfactory, or are you planning to strip me further?”

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth blooming in your cheeks betrayed your mock tiresomeness. “Oh, stop. I’m only trying to see how severe the damage is. Not everything has to be an invitation for your theatrics.” With the cloth in hand, you pressed it gently to a scrape on his shoulder.

Trying to focus solely on the task at hand, you tried not to stare too long at the sight before you, but the way you moved closer left a sense of intimacy that you couldn't quite ignore. The quiet hum of your fingers tracing his chest and the lines of his abdomen made you feel the way his skin seemed to breathe beneath your fingertips. And you could swear that you heard almost inaudible sighs from him when your hands brushed over particularly tender sites.

The storm raged harder, hammering relentlessly against the tent as if the heavens insisted on being heard.

The wounds were worse than you thought—a mixture of gashes and dark bruises, a few of them with a touch of infection already setting in. Your eyes faltered briefly when your heart tightened at this sight as you moved from one injury to the next, cleaning them.

Astarion's gaze remained fixed on you, changing between your hands and your preoccupied expression. For once, the usual, confident, and charismatic vampire who normally danced with danger and seductiveness had taken his mask off. Showing the face of someone who, for once, truly trusted in someone else and allowed you to take care of him.

His breath caught when you reached a particularly deep gash along his abdomen, and you had to steady yourself to not flinch with him. The sound of his discomfort sent a tremor through your hands. Still, he kept his endurance and didn't flinch away from you; this only made your chest ache more.

He broke the silence with a low mutter with an odd weariness. “You should stop doing that.”

Your fingers froze, halting mid-motion. “Stop what?” You asked, but not looking up, trying to maintain your focus.

“Caring so much,” he replied quietly. “It doesn’t suit you.”

You stilled, taken aback by his words, before you finally looked up to meet his gaze. “You’re a fool.” You shot back.

He let out a soft laugh, but it wasn’t the usual mocking sound; no, it sounded with a subtle trace of gratitude, or perhaps something far more complicated for him.

“You know,” he added after a long moment, his voice lower now, “I’m not used to this. To someone looking after me.”

You let your hands rest on his waist, looking up once more. “I’m not doing this because you’re special,” you replied with a snark tone. “I’m doing it because you’re an idiot, Astarion. And if you keep getting yourself hurt like this, I might just tie you up next time to keep you out of trouble.”

His lips showed that smile of his again, though more tenderly. “Ah, my very own personal keeper. What would I do without you, darling?”

After you grabbed and secured a bandage around his waist for his deep wound, you allowed your hands to stay on his body moments longer than necessary. You could feel the enveloping air between you; the silence was tense, though neither of you moved or said anything. Astarion's pupils were dilated looking at you, and they held a certain depth that seemed to pull at you.

Your mind was still so wrapped up in the care you'd given him that you barely noticed the shift in your own position until you relaxed to adjust the posture of your body. That's when the realisation hit you like a punch to the gut—you were straddling him.

Your knees rested on either side of his hips, and you could feel the constant pressure of his pelvis against yours in a way that felt far too out of place.

A sharp breath caught in your throat, and you instinctively stiffened while a rush of hotness flooded your chest. Your mind started to race: ‘How long have we been like this? How had I not noticed this before?’ The tightness of your hips against his, the way your bodies seemed to fit together so... naturally—it was impossible to ignore.

But Astarion? He didn’t falter even for a second. His body remained relaxed beneath yours, with some sort of steady confidence, like he had no intention of acknowledging the shift in the dynamic. There was the faintest shift in his posture, a barely perceptible tightening of his grip on your thigh, but it went away in an instant.

“Getting comfortable, darling?” He spoke smoothly, with a dangerous and devilishly enticing tone. His lips curled into that signature grin of his, but this time it was different; there was no teasing edge, no light-hearted mockery. Instead, there was a subtle weight to it, as it appeared to hold more meaning than it usually did.

“I must admit, I didn’t think you’d be so forward, love.” He purred. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his voice, the quiet thrill touring his body of the intimacy at that moment.

The hand on your thigh slowly slid to your hip, allowing his fingers to linger there briefly before trailing up to your waist. You straightened up immediately, your face flushing while your pulse hammered in your chest because you had never been this close to him before—really close. Too close.

“I wasn't... trying to be forward...” Your voice tumbled, feeling a nervous tension twisting in your gut. Your words stumbled over each other, sharper than you meant them to be. “I was just trying to—”

“Trying to cure me, I know,” he interrupted, his soft chuckle rolling over you like a sensual caress. “Though, love, such a delicate position for a healer. Wouldn’t you agree?” His voice dipped, low and molten, sharpening his smile into something far more dangerous. His eyes were locked on yours, unfaltering, almost daring you to react.

Everything else blurred into insignificance. All you could hear was the erratic pounding of your own heartbeat and his breathing, far too steady for the situation.

“I...” you started, but the tightness in your throat made it difficult to say a word. You didn’t know what to say; you didn’t even know if you wanted to break the silence hanging between you. “We should probably...” The sentence fizzled out, as useless as your resolve to push away the growing tension.

Before you could even think of anything else, the heat of his touch burnt through the fabric of your pyjamas, making your skin tingle in its wake. His hand slid up your side, grazing your ribs and the curvature of your breast with his thumb before setting at your waist to grip it firmly. The way his thumb slowly began to stroke the curve of your waist only made your nervousness get worse. His touching wasn't just casual—it was as if he wanted to test your reaction.

A rush of sensations made it impossible to think clearly, your body betraying you. His posture—his other elbow propped for support—the constant pressing of his crotch against yours, his hand on your waist—it all pulled you into a current you weren’t sure you could fight.

“Go on,” he purred with the faintest hint of mockery. His gaze moved to your lips, as though he could draw out the answer with nothing but his stare. His fingers flexed slightly against your waist, the pressure sending a ripple of heat skittering through you. “What was it you were saying? Something about what we should do?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing on your hands as they rested awkwardly near his chest, fingers twitching. The heat building between your thighs crept upward, spreading through your belly like a forest fire. You felt flushed and shivering, not just from the closeness but from the way he was glancing at you—like you were the only thing in the world worth his attention.

You weren't prepared for this; you hadn't anticipated that the barriers you thought were between you would collapse into nothing so abruptly.

Astarion’s voice cut through your thoughts like a blade. “Are you going to keep me here all night, love?” His tone kept low, almost a growl.

You struggled to string together coherent thoughts before saying something. “I didn't know you wanted... I didn't think...” The words stumbled out again, barely audible as your voice betrayed you.

His smirk deepened, and his crimson eyes held a predatory gleam that made your stomach twist and flutter all at once. “Don’t play coy with me, darling.” His voice was velvety enough to bury each word into your ears. “I know you’ve thought about this—about me. I can see it, feel it. You want this as much as I do.” You tried to look away to escape his gaze, but it was impossible. His eyes held you captive, burning with something raw and unapologetically ravenous.

Your eyes widened as he tugged you closer with a calculated ease that made you perfectly aligned with him—causing your pussy to rub directly on his cock. The feeling made every inch of you stand on edge, your body betraying you with a tremor you couldn’t suppress. Then he reclined back against his pillows more comfortably before his other hand glided up your thigh. “Relax, darling...” He purred lowly, his tone a sensuous command that curled around you like smoke.

You became instantly conscious of the burning sensation beneath you—the growing hardness pressing insistently against your cunt. Your thoughts whirled, panic and desire colliding in a tumult. ‘How did I end up like this?’ But the answer was painfully clear—he had led you, and you’d followed without resistance for being distracted caring for him.

“I... I wasn't planning... this.” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but his eyes—bold and piercing—made it impossible to hold.

One brow arched. “Oh, really?” He asked sarcastically. “Then perhaps you can explain why you’re straddling me like you are, love.”

His hardening length was impossible to ignore, even through the barrier of clothes, the sensation making heat surge through you in torrents. You swallowed hard. “I… It’s only because you moved me—” You tried to protest, but Astarion pressed a finger to your lips to silence you before leaning in to kiss your neck. “Moved you, did I?” He teasingly whispered against your skin. “Then don’t even think of moving, love... you're not going anywhere.”

Those words echoed in your ears. You knew you’d been fighting with your feelings since that night with the tieflings—when you’d seen him in his tent with his wine focused entirely on you, ignoring everyone else. You’d told yourself it was just the wine, the moment, but now you could hardly keep up the pretence.

For a hesitant moment, you thought about pulling away—but then his expression softened, almost looking if his black pupils were begging for you to stay with him, to kiss him when he noticed your intentions as you stared at his lips and slowly you hovered them with yours; the distance seemed endless.

With a small effort, you leaned in and kissed his lips, and you could feel how he smiled, clearly delighted by your boldness and the way your hand curled at his nape to draw him to you. The motions of your lips were slow, unsure. But as soon as you felt his opening slightly against yours, the shyness began to fade.

His hands clamped on your hips to pull you closer until there wasn't any space for doubt or even space untouched between you, and you could feel him—all of him. The pressure of his cock perfectly aligned with your entrance provoked you to gasp against his mouth; even in the hesitation, he gave you no choice but to lean into him, to crave more and push past the uncertainty that had held you back.

He just seemed to want more, that he couldn’t get enough of you. His mouth felt as if it were burning yours. The kiss started slow and tentative, but that didn't last. His lips grew more insistent as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head and parting yours with ease to slip his tongue between your lips in a hurry. This made you pant by the initial shock of it, racing your heart. Your thoughts began to dissolve, leaving only the moment, and you simply surrendered to the sensation.

The swipes of his tongue weren’t gentle at all. He was implacable, exploring your mouth, moving deeper. His kiss wasn’t just a kiss—it was an invitation, a way to encourage you. And as you accepted, you met his tongue with your own, unconfident at first, but he gave you the courage to match his boldness. Astarion groaned softly, a deep sound that reverberated in your lips, sending an intense pulse of arousal to your pussy.

There was no going back now, and you knew it. This was it—the pull to him, the demand of his touch, and now you could feel the indescribable connection that had been building between you from the very first time your eyes had met.

His lips pulled away just enough to speak. “You’re mine tonight.” He groaned roughly as his hands drifted to the sensitive space between your inner thighs, cupping your pussy and slowly kneading it with his fingers. “And when I’m through with you, you won't even remember what it felt like to be without me.”

Your chest tightened as his words hit hard, but you found yourself barely able to even think, unable to do more than just nod as you looked down at him. Your lips parted while you took your breath, while his hand moved with a voracious elegance, dragging his fingertips along the seam where your trousers joined. The air was charged and burning before he did what he did.

With a sharp tug, Astarion tore the fabric between your thighs. The sound was violent as the seams of your trousers gave way under the force of his hands, almost merciless. The rip clearly was strategic—exposing just enough to reveal what was hidden.

But the regret rushed over you the moment the cool night air hit your exposed area. You hadn’t been wearing any panties, and now, with nothing to shield your nakedness, you felt scandalously vulnerable. You cursed yourself for all the nights you decided against wearing anything, thinking no one would notice. Now, the decision turned painfully foolish.

His eyes dropped, and his pupils dilated further at the sight of his no longer hidden treasure, curling his lips with delight. A low laugh escaped his throat. “Well, well,” he purred, distinctly pleased. “It seems you’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you? No panties? How deliciously bold.”

You mentally damned your stupidity, your cheeks heating in embarrassment. The simple choice of not wearing underwear before going to sleep now felt like an invitation, one he seemed all too eager to accept.

The shock of it left you momentarily motionless and without words, feeling the cool air kissing the exposed skin of your thighs and your core. His hand brushed over the tear he had just created, grazing his fingers very close to where your pussy was.

“I can still see that shy little spark in you, even now.” He talked again, locking onto you. The playful smirk on his lips softened as he watched the blush across your cheeks. “It's almost... adorable.”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to escape his penetrating stare, a nervous pout forming on your lower lip as your hands clutched at his shoulders for some sort of stability. But a sudden gasp escaped your lips when his middle and ring fingers slid between your folds with smooth precision, parting them easily. His fingers let your clitoris be positioned right between both; your sensitive bud responded instantly after so many winters without another’s touch, and your grip on his shoulders only grew firmer.

When they finally clamped on either side of your clit, his fingers massaged it with a slow back-and-forth motion, sending an uncontrollable shiver through your nub. Your hips instinctively moved due to his stimulation, causing a soft tremor in your pelvis as the tingling sensation built. The exact pressure he exerted made you melt further, caught in the heat of it and masking your timid instincts.

All swipes of his fingers coaxed your body to react in ways you could barely control. Astarion's smile widened as he enjoyed watching the last traces of your shyness slowly dissolve beneath his touch. Eventually joining his thumb to the dance, finally rubbing directly over the skin covering your bud before pressing down in slow circles that made your thighs tremble against his hips.

“Just like that…” He murmured approvingly. “Feels good, doesn't it?”

His fingers slid forward slightly, pressing his palm against your clit while his middle finger traced the outline of your entrance. The anticipation held you captive, instinctively arching your hips, silently urging him to end the wait. And then, with tantalising slowness, he slid one finger inside you, the feeling both stimulating and exhilarating all at once. The filling was perfect—gradual but firm—and soon, a second finger joined to push in and out without pulling them out entirely.

With each slow thrust of his fingers, his palm rubbed on the skin of your clit, adding a delicious, pleasurable dual stimulation that sent spasms through your pussy, making it impossible to stay still. The strokes were maddeningly controlled, his fingers reaching and curling deeper with every smooth push, as though he knew exactly what you needed and how to give it to you. Astarion’s gaze never left your face, his piercing crimson eyes bright with pleasure, absorbing every sigh and shiver you produced.

“How sensitive, darling...” He breathed softly as he drew closer to meet your lips with his, causing a sweet pulse to your core, intensifying your throbs.

He angled his hand just slightly to reach deeper, and you gripped him tightly. You found yourself helplessly following the increasing tempo he set, encircling his neck with your arms to pull him closer and losing one of your hands in his silky curls.

Astarion's smile turned avaricious against your mouth, sensing your walls vibrate and deliciously clench around him, drenching his hand in just a few minutes. He curled his skilled fingers inside to stimulate a sensitive spot you didn't know was there, just perfectly, his touch implacable against your clit while he fucked your cunt.

Your mouth was being claimed with an eagerness that made your blood boil—he was devouring you in the kiss. His smooth lips moved against yours, insistent and hungry, coaxing you to open for him as he gently bit your lower lip. As you complied, his tongue rapidly swept in, tasting your saliva mingling with his. It was dizzying; your senses flooded with the taste of him and the coolness of his pale skin, creating a high contrast against your hot, wetting pussy and just adding to the sensations.

A low groan gurgled in his chest as his lips pressed harder, the tips of his fangs grazing your bottom lip before pulling back slightly. Just to slam his mouth to yours again with even more fierceness after taking his breath. His fingers curled more rapidly against that delicate spot within you, utterly submerging you in the magnetic pull of his caresses and the incredible hunger in his kiss.

He pulled away, his lips brushing against yours as he did, a soft, breathless hum escaping him. “I wonder,” he began, “how long it will take for you to break, darling.” His eyes glinted as he continued. “But I’m in no rush. We’ll savour this. I will…”

Your grip on him tightened, slightly pulling his hair as your hips rocked back and forth with the pace he set, lost to the growing pleasure he built for you. His touch was relentless, almost coaxing you to the brink, but every stroke was carefully calculated, carefully slow to keep you teetering, hovering in a blissful tension that left you frustrated.

Astarion watched you with predatory attention, centred on the slightest whimper that escaped your lips, as well as that exquisite pussy between your thighs. The very sight of you brought him as much pleasure as his hand brought to you.

Your breathing grew ragged as your body instinctively sought more of the pleasure he promised. The fullness of his fingers, though they were quite close to what you needed, only left you aching for more. You could feel your desire intensifying with every subtle movement, letting your hands drift lower in his chest with the need to touch, to claim him as yours. ‘At least for tonight’.

“Astarion... more, please... I want your cock inside me.” You pleaded, looking into his eyes with desperate want. “Take off these trousers...” You added, letting your fingers trail down his abdomen to where his waistband circled just below his waist, urging him to remove the last barrier between you.

He held your gaze, his eyes smouldering as a slow, indulgent smile appeared on his face. “Oh, you’re even more delicious when you beg...” He honeyed with approval, pulling his fingers out of your pussy and watching with keen interest as you trembled at the loss, the delicate quiver of your hips only adding to the pleasure he found in your vulnerability.

Before doing so, he slowly brought his dripping fingers from your cunt to his mouth, taking great pleasure in licking them clean and savouring the sweet, intoxicating juices made by your body. A soft, pleased hum escaped him as his eyes gleamed with wicked glee as he drank in the sight of your flushed face.

Only then did his hands drop to the waistband of his trousers. He didn’t rush, of course; instead, his movements were maddeningly slow as he began to slide the fabric down. The gleam in his eyes told you everything—he was savouring every second, drawing out the moment just to test your patience, fully aware of how much it would irritate you.

But just before sliding them for once and for all down, he stopped within a second. His eyes trailed their way down to your breasts, marked against the cloth, still covered while his torso was bare since you made him take off his shirt; the contrast stirred something within him. His fingers gently trailed along the fabric of your shirt, brushing down and against the edge, before his hand slid inside to grip your waist.

He looked back up, meeting your gaze with desire and playful intent. “Darling,” he purred, “don’t you think it’s only fair that you join me in shedding the rest of my clothing?” His eyes gleamed as he showed his damned puppy-like eyes for the second time that day. “I want to feel all of you against me,” he added, his tone rich with faked sorrow as his lower lip made a soft pout. “Take it off, my love...”

Oh, this definitely made you smile, feeling a spark of mischief as you looked down at him. You could tell he hadn’t quite anticipated the thought that crossed your mind.

You let your fingers drift along his bare chest again, savouring the coolness and smoothness of his porcelain skin before cradling his cheek, taking in every detail of his expectant look.

“Well,” you leaned close, letting your lips just a few inches away from his. “After tearing my favourite trousers,” you whispered, trailing your thumb teasingly across his lower lip, “don’t you think it’s only fair that you ask me—politely—to take the shirt off?”

Astarion raised one of his brows; his smile wavered for only a moment as he considered your request. Then, his expression softened, his smirk playing again on his lips as his hands slid up your sides under your shirt. “Oh, I see,” he replied smoothly, “you want me to beg, do you?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Yes.” You savoured every single letter that slipped from your lips. “I am dying to hear you beg, Astarion.”

A moment passed before he gave a soft chuckle, and his gaze, brimming with delight and want, locked with yours. “Please, my love.” He said lowly, needy. “Let me see those surely precious breasts you must have. I’ll be good, I promise.” He pleaded sweetly. “Take it off... just for me...”

His words only made you want to tease him more.

The diabolical glow in your eyes grew as you leaned forward, letting your thumb trace the line of his chin. You could feel the light tension in his posture, the way the red in his eyes darkened, his lips parting just a bit as he waited for... maybe a kiss? He wasn't quite sure with you. His hands on your waist tightened to pull you a bit closer, but you resisted, holding him at bay.

“Good, you say? I’d like to see that.” You tilted your head as if considering his plea. “Are you sure you’re capable of it?” Your fingers slid down his chest again, skimming over his nipples with your fingers just enough to provoke him a small shiver.

“More than capable.” He replied roughly for the restraint you demanded of him, but not being entirely sincere.

You breathed slowly as you caught his lie, but somehow, your desire for him only grew, knowing he didn’t intend to ‘be good’ with you at all.

Your hands went down to lift the hem of your shirt, but you didn’t pull it up yet. Instead, you let your fingers there. “If you want it so badly, Astarion,” you said softly, “you’ll have to ask again. Nicely.”

His expression shifted to one of purely wanting as he tightened his hands on you. “Please, my love,” he replied in a low tone. “Take it off.”

Finally, you slowly lifted your shirt to reveal your torso and the defined curves of your breasts, drawing the fabric over your head to set it aside on his bedroll and finally being completely naked to his eager stare. Astarion’s eyes glistened with a glow that spoke volumes as he devoured every detail of your flushed skin like a long-awaited treat. You couldn’t help but arrange your hair and adjust your bracelets; you felt a mix of nerves and exhilaration at his intense attention.

Astarion’s hands reached for your breasts with a speed that almost startled you, sinking his fingers into your supple flesh as he kneaded it and leaned forward. His lips found one of your nipples, capturing it along with a portion of your breast, sucking passionately before planting a warm kiss above your nipple. He repeated on its twin, savouring your body before finally looking up; the surprise etched on your face, the blush on your cheeks, and the widening of your eyes seemed to light pride in his gaze.

Astarion revelled in the comfy warmth of your flesh under his cool hands as he continued to knead and massage your breasts as thoroughly as it was slow. Trailing his lips down to run messy kisses along your sternum before returning to one of your breasts once more. He opened his mouth, homely, to get your flushed breast inside, sucking it and swirling his tongue around it, rumbling an eager hum. His hands went to your waist and your other breast to take care of it too, holding you as you leaned against him with a soft moan escaping your lips. He seemed almost like a starved child desperately seeking milk from his mother's breast.

After a long, leisurely moment, he pulled away with a final and slow brush of his tongue over your nipple; his lips glistened with saliva from his attention. A desire that seemed to consume him was burning in his eyes, and when they met yours, a slow smile spread across his face. “You know,” he murmured, “I could lose myself in you like this, so easily.” His fingers slowly contoured your waist. “But I’ll need more than just this beautiful view.” He leaned in to graze his lips on your ear and whispered, “Imagine, darling, how it’ll feel when I’m deep inside you—how I’ll make you forget everything else, until all you can think of... is me.”

Your body received a delicious tremble, an almost inaudible moan escaping your lips because of the intensity of his voice saying those words to you. Your fingers tangled in his hair to pull him closer, feeling yourself getting wetter. The simple thought of him inside you, fucking you until your legs couldn't respond any more, grew your pulse faster.

As his hands wandered lower, the ache between your thighs grew unbearable—the need to have his cock growling in your throat; you could barely stand it. Impatiently, you moved to straddle his thighs, finding with your hands his waistband.

“I need you, Astarion.” Your plea spilt out unprocessed, begging for him to end the teasing and give you what you craved. “Please take them off. I can’t wait any longer. Finish what you started.” The final word fell from your lips almost like a cry, leaving no doubt that you were beyond ready, beyond wanting. You needed him—now.

Astarion chuckled as he looked at your hands, tracing his abdomen. He laid back slightly against his soft pillows, clearly enjoying how you were so eager for him, but he didn’t move anyway. Instead, his eyes flickered to your fingers as they were about to start tugging his waistband, and his lips curled up.

“Please, Astarion.” You pleaded again. “I can't take it any more. Stop teasing me. Take them off. Please.”

He hummed, amused, with a wicked glint in his crimson eyes. “Ah, so desperate, are we?” His eyes slid downward, pausing to take in the way your pussy soaked through his fabric, already dripping as you set yourself on his thighs. “Look at that sweet little cunt of yours, dripping for me already.” As soon as he finished speaking, he let out a soft chuckle. “Can’t wait to feel me inside, I see.”

You furrowed your brows in some annoyance at his incessant chatter that only made your patience thinner. But then, his demeanour shifted nonchalantly, capturing your attention when he propped his hands up on the bedroll and lifted his pelvis fluidly, giving you room to slide his trousers out of his legs.

“Help yourself, darling.” He purred softly with that grin on his lips.

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing down, captivated by his posture. When your eyes fell to his crotch, where your hands had settled either side, you saw the clear shape of his rigid cock outlined beneath the fabric, straining against the material and angled a little to one side. The thickness and length were evident, making your entrance painfully clench around nothing and heat your cheeks.

‘How didn't I look at it before?’ Your breath hitched at the graphic, raw sight of it—exquisite and so irresistibly tempting. The aching sensation in your pussy grew, not just from the visual but from the rush of desire that quickly followed. Despite yourself, your eyes went back to his face, finding that same teasing, excited expression as though he were daring you to take the next step.

As you began to slide your fingers inside the waistband of his trousers, you brushed lightly his skin, sending a shiver to your fingertips.

And then, pulling his trousers down, you slowly revealed more inches of his pelvis and his white curls, and you could feel his intense gaze smouldering into you. His cock twitched against the fabric, building your excitement until it sprang free, making you inhale sharply at the sight. Your eyes traced his exposed skin as you slid the fabric the rest of the way down his legs. A soft rustle marked their removal from his ankles, and he lay naked before you.

His erect length was blushed and visibly soft, with subtle veins running up from its base, contrasting sharply against his swollen, rosy head. The pale expanse of his skin was almost luminescent; only the tip of his cock seemed all the more vivid. And there was precum already seeping from its slit, a trail that slid down to his sac.

For a brief, delicious moment, you simply stared. The long shape with a slightly tapered head was just stunning, and it made you realise just how perfectly he would enter and fill you. You couldn’t help but let your fingers drift to your clit, stimulating lightly to ease the relentless ache building. The wet heat spread between your thighs, growing stronger as you took in every detail.

A subtle sigh left your lips, caused by the strong beating of your puffy bud against your fingers. You traced the ridges of his hips with the other hand before brushing over from the base to the tip of his cock. It was warm, soft but firm with the ridges of its veins, and the precum that gathered there only added to its silkiness.

Your mind raced with thoughts you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to process—how new this was, how thrilling and unfamiliar it felt yet so drawn by it. Astarion was nothing like the lovers you had before. You didn’t have a long list of conquests, and that made your inexperience clear. But the way he looked at you and how his moves commanded every piece of your attention drew you deeper into something you were both eager and frightened to experience.

Without thinking any longer, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, feeling its thickness as you slowly began to stroke him in sync with your own stimulation, smoothing with your thumb the head with each pass. His lips allowed a low, appreciative sigh to escape him, sending a wave of emotion through you and racing your pulse. And with one final glance up at his face, you slowly positioned yourself between his thighs to lay down and let your stomach rest on his bedroll.

As you let your lips hover near the tip of his cock, you could feel the heat radiating from him and smell the intoxicating scent of his arousal as he smelt yours. You could almost drool at the sight before you—how you see the shift in his expression—from humour to impatience. The anticipation was exhausting for both of you, but you didn’t rush. Instead, you kissed the tip tenderly, feeling the weight of him against your lips before letting your tongue slip out where his glans started to the high point. Tasting the warmth and saltiness of his cock because of his precum.

You felt the coolness of the storm kissing you and of the bedroll beneath your stomach, grounding you as your hands remained on him, steady and assured. Astarion’s thighs tensed under your touch, caught between the impulse to take control and the pleasure of simply letting you explore at your own pace.

Each time your thumb swept over his tip, his cock twitched, responding to the rhythm of your touch and your lips. You swirled your tongue around his head, licking clean the precum that had gathered there and along his length. The taste was different than you expected—rich and heady, like a Vermentino wine, lingering on your tongue in a way that was deeply intriguing.

The low sounds slipping from his lips spurred you on as you pressed messy kisses to his length and tip, tracing with your tongue the subtle lines and ridges of his shaft. His sharp intake of breath told you just how deeply he felt every small touch, and the sheer pleasure in that knowledge emboldened you further.

“Mm, look at you,” he purred, honestly surprised and pleased. “Not so shy now, are we, darling?” His words were meant to tease as always, but the note of admiration was unmistakable, making clear just how captivated he truly was.

Your eyes met his quietly before slowly lowering your mouth to take him inch by inch. The stretch of him filled your cavity as you went deeper, feeling his rigidity slide against your tongue. You let inside more of him until you felt his tip reach the back of your throat and the hair on his pelvis brushing your nose. His reaction, the involuntary twitch, and the low hum from him sent a thrill through you as you adjusted him inside your mouth, savouring the moment.

As you set a slow up-down with your head, Astarion’s lips started to make soft, broken sounds that were like a lyrical to your ears, urging you to continue. His hand reached out to rest on the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair as he let out a silent growl. The anxiety in his grip was obvious, yet he kept his touch gentle, guiding without forcing and letting you take the lead, trembling under your care.

You slid your hands down his thighs, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingers and feeling how his body responded to you. Each time you drew him deeply, your tongue caressed his lower vein, lavishing attention on every inch of him that his cock met with an appreciative palpitation.

Astarion moaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “Slow down, my love... Let me enjoy this.” He breathed as he allowed you to fully take him, his hips flexing slightly. His fingers tightened slowly in your hair, a silent encouragement for you to continue as he gave himself completely over to you.

With one hand still supported on his thigh, you drifted the other to his sac to massage it gently inside your palm. The action caused a louder moan from him, his hips jiggling involuntarily as you kept your mouth moving steady and more slowly, never breaking your rhythm. His low groans came quicker and even rougher, sounds of pleasure spilling freely now like an invitation to go on, filling the tent and dispersing the strong rain outside.

He moved his hand from your hair to your cheek and stopped you momentarily, cradling it in a surprisingly tender gesture as he glanced down at you. “Look at me while you do it, my darling...” He sighed, gently caressing you. “Feel how hard you make me...” His head fell back once more, unable to hold back a guttural growl as you continued with an intensified sucking, feeling his cock pulse and grow impossibly hard against your tongue.

With a measured squeeze, you tightened your grip on his sac, rolling it delicately with your fingers while your other hand remained anchored on his thigh. They trembled involuntarily, just like his cock, each movement drawing a delicious reaction until he could no longer keep still, his hips instinctively arching towards your mouth.

His hand returned to the back of your head, gripping tightly as your tongue traced the underside of his cock. All of him seemed to shiver under your touch, and he still allowed you to take control, guiding him into this sweet, little death.

But, after a few moments, you let his cock slip free from your lips with a slow drag, watching it emerge slick in your saliva and instantly cling to his lower belly because of its hardness. The dampness left a glistening trail between your mouth and him, breaking only as you leaned back, lifting a hand to wipe the last of the moisture from your mouth. He let out a disappointed sigh at the loss of you, then looked down to watch how you had left him all reddish-coloured with a sheen because of his precum mixed with your saliva.

Without a word, you rose on your knees and moved to straddle his hips, feeling the firm press of his thighs beneath your ass cheeks as you settled your weight onto him. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, gripping your sides in a way that felt almost impossible to avoid.

You could feel the hardness of his cock pressing between your folds—a solid, delicious presence. Each pulsate of its head against the own palpitations of your puffy bud felt incredible.

Bracing your hands against his chest, you pressed down gently and took a moment to enjoy the feel of him, tracing the lines that defined his chest with your fingers. His eyes were locked on you, watching the way your pussy just wrapped around his cock.

Gradually, you began to move your hips, grinding down your clitoris onto his glans with a slowed tempo that turned faster. The friction was amazing as you brushed against his slick skin, adding a sensuous layer of lubrication as you moved back and forth against his perfectly nestled cock. You could feel yourself drenching him wetter, mixing your juices with the slickness left from your previous oral.

His hungry gaze roamed over your pelvis, tightening his grip on your waist as he let out a rough sigh, savouring the way your pussy slid so enticingly along his shaft until you leaned forward. Repositioning your weight on one hand, you reached down to trace your fingers along his length, wrapping around it to guide it upwards. You pressed the tip on your entrance, dragging it slowly along your slit, feeling it start to pulse against your inner lips. His lower lip formed a slight pout as you continued to tease, drawing the moment out with almost cruel patience.

But with a final pass, you positioned him straight to your entrance, vacillating just on the edge, and looked at his face to watch his reaction—the way his eyes were focused on your pussy, waiting for you to cut the last bit of separation. Then, with a slow downward, you began to sink him inside, feeling the exquisite stretch his tip made as he filled you, inch by inch, making your walls instantly clench around him for the sudden fullness.

He let out a pleased moan, now holding harder your hips as you settled onto him completely, feeling so deep and stretching you deliciously wide after so many years of solitude. The warm pulse of him between your walls, every subtle movement of his length—an insistent throb—made you simply sit there for a moment. Letting yourself adjust to the sensation of him fully within you and the friction of your clit as it rubbed against his silvery pubic hair. He flicked up his eyes to meet yours with an intensity that made his eagerness clear as he waited for you to move.

You gently cupped his face and caressed his pointy ear, the other hand resting over his shoulder. You softly brought his face closer to yours, locking your eyes on his.

“Astarion...” You whispered. “Can you feel it? How incredible this is?” You gave him a dulcet smile before closing the distance, pressing your lips against his as you traced the line of his cheekbone and chest, feeling his pulse beneath your fingers.

Gently, you lifted yourself just slightly to sink back down, the exquisite friction sending a burst of pleasure through both of you. Astarion’s grip on you tensed again, tightening as his hips surged up to meet yours, letting out a low, throaty noise. Your lips remained together, deepening the kiss as your mouths moved in time with your bodies, setting a slow, constant pace where you rose and fell smoothly over him.

The sounds of your bodies intertwined moving together began to fill the surrounding little space—the slapping of skin on skin, the lewd, sensual noises of your pussy swallowing his cock over and over again blending with the muffled moans, and the relentless raindrops against the canvas.

He forcefully gripped your hips to dictate you, abruptly being the one controlling the pace as he broke the kiss to catch his breath. His lips hovered close, both hot exhales mingling as you rested your forehead against his, matching your rhythm. The tantalising climax drew closer and closer with every thrust, making everything else seem distant, the storm outside being insignificant compared to the tempest building between you.

His hands roamed over your body, tracing your spine before one circled your waist and the other gripped the back of your shoulder to pull you closer, urging you to press down against him more fully.

The deeper you sank, the more you felt him smack against your vaginal walls so passionately. You leaned forward, your hands wrapping either side of his waist and slightly digging your nails into his skin as you picked up the pace. The position shifted just enough to drive him pleasantly deeper in each downward stroke, with a perfect angle that made his tip hammer against your cervix.

Suddenly, the hand against your shoulder gripped your cheeks, pulling you down to capture your lips in another hungry kiss. His tongue tangled with yours, both tasting the other's mouth, becoming something truly addicting, as if he just seemed to want to devour you whole, and you couldn't satisfy your own craving. His hand slid to your nape as the kiss deepened, just like the rhythm of both pelvises grew faster.

Every thrust proved how he was losing himself, both of you spiralling higher and higher. He whimpered against your lips, a sound that vibrated deep in your mouth, feeling the tension coiling tighter within your lower belly, your body feeling worn out as it yearned for release.

His hands were everywhere—guiding, pulling, encouraging. You couldn’t help but moan against his lips, the pleasure overwhelming as your movements grew more frantic. He was holding you just right, pressing his open thighs up against your ass cheeks, lifting you just enough to make you feel perfectly aligned with his cock.

His lips parted from yours with a shaky groan as he looked up at you, consumed by the burning need you were becoming. At that moment, with the weight of your hips moving over his, your voice came out shaky, broken by the effort of holding yourself glued to him. “Am I... am I doing it right?”

The question left you trembling because of its vulnerability, making your pulse race as though the very act of asking had laid bare everything you hid beneath that little girl you were for him. You felt so desperate for his confirmation, for him to tell you that this was all he wanted.

For a moment, he looked as if he was caught off guard, eyes widening just a fraction before he composed himself.

Then his hands tightened his grasp on both your ass cheeks with determination. He pressed your hips down more strongly, making his cock burry inside you to the hilt and making your lips crush against his pelvis. “Do you feel that?” He kept pressing you down harder, grinding his hips up to meet yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, and it’s perfect. Move just like that—don’t stop.” The words slipped out raw and unfiltered, as if he couldn’t hold them back.

The way he said that broke whatever fragile restraint you’d managed to hold onto, unleashing a fierce, unstoppable heat within you. The only thing that existed now was him—all of him—buried balls deep inside you, turning every nerve in almost an animalistic way.

An uncontrollable need surged through you, overtaking all thoughts, as your hips immediately started to move impulsively, slamming down against his. Your body was just demanding to take everything from him, driven by a thirst he had created that couldn’t be denied. The ache of his cock stretching your entrance open and filling you that much was the divine sensation of him, the incredible pleasure of his flawless body moving exactly in time with and inside yours.

You were in pursuit of more—more of him, more of this satisfying connection. You let out a series of desperate moans, each one of them spurring you both deeper into your carnal urges, neither of you able to stop. The immediateness of it overtook you both. Your breathing was ragged as the intense pressure built, feeling him fully as he lifted his hips to force his cock impossibly inside you, aligning you just right, so deep that you could feel it in your very bones. The edge of your release was so close.

His hands dug into your ass, pulling you more forcefully against him to guide your frantic pace and stoke the fire on your clitoris as his pelvis writhed beneath it. “Just a little more...” He growled, strained, like a man on the edge of breaking. “I’m so close, love…” His words were almost a pleading cry, a raw reflection of the need that overtook him because of you.

You could feel it, see it—his control slipping away, his body trembling beneath yours as his hands gripped your hips now to urge you on, both bodies acting just like animals in heat do with an almost agonising intensity that could leave your womb aching for days. You both moved harder and faster, slapping together with an unbreakable pace. The pressure in your core was unbearable now, so close to snapping that it made your legs shake in both of the sides of his hips with the effort of holding on.

Suddenly, one of his hands slid between your bodies, finding your clitoris to circle his thumb over the painfully swollen nub with expert knowledge. Just like if he was already aware of how to trigger your sensitive spots to push you to the heavens. The friction was impossible to bear in the best, perfect possible way, making you cry in pleasure, unable to control the whimpers that tore from your throat.

You couldn’t hold back any more. His touch, the pressure, the movements of his body—it all became too much. The tension inside you snapped, and with a loud and uncontrolled moan, your walls tightly clenched and pulsated around him, your climax crashing over you in pure, consuming pleasure. Hitting you so hard that you felt like you were floating, holding on to him with the tremors of your hips.

But Astarion didn’t stop. He never ceased the maddening stimulation on your clit or fucking your cunt, coaxing another renovated sensation from you, pushing you past the point of stimulation. You tried to pull away to catch your breath, but his hands clamped down, forcing you to stay in the moment, allowing him to draw even more from you. He was relentless as the need to overstimulate you took control.

“Don’t stop, not now.” He gasped, his voice breaking as he thrust up into you harder, his thumb continuing to rub and circle your bud, trying to force your body into another climax. “I need you, my love. Please…”

The words were the spark that made you give in with a desperate cry as ecstasy crashed over you, smashing everything. You felt him pulsating and releasing with a ragged, almost feral growl, leaving his sweet lips, his body quivering beneath yours as he exploded into you, the rush of his climax pushing you to the edge. The sensation of his warm semen spurting against your cervix and filling you sent you into your second release of the night, the new pressure in your body finally exploding in waves of sheer. The powerful sensations of both of you reaching that peak at the same time made your vision blur.

Every spurt of his release throbbed deep within your womb, drawing low, tired moans from your lips as his cock continued its task to fill you, spreading his seed inside you with each pulse of the head. You pressed your hips down, grinding to take him impossibly deeper as your labia were already crushed against his damp pelvis, letting you feel every twitch and tremor between your aching walls. He groaned softly as he tightened his grip on your hips, and you fucked his cock instinctively in answer to coax out every last shudder from him.

His hands guided your hips to keep you pressed down hard as his cock stroked every sensitive inch of your walls, filling you in a way that made some of his cum slowly spill out from your pussy. Your bodies met again and again, making him feel unable to resist the pull of you as you moved perfectly up and down, simply feeling lost in you as you milked him.

Then, you both collapsed together, sweaty bodies shaking with the intensity of your simultaneous culmination and the aftershocks of your climaxes, leaving you both drained. Your breaths came intermittently, laboured, and it felt as though the camp outside had momentarily ceased to exist. The air between you was impregnated with the smell of sex and your scents, but there was also something tender about the way your bodies were embracing each other that made you feel... nice.

Astarion’s hands moved with a strange gentleness now, gliding up your back with soothing strokes in the cosiness of the moment. His lips pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, his breath still unsteady with a warmness that contrasted the freshness of your lovemaking and the way his cock kept pulsating while softening within you.

He dragged you against him. “Are you alright, darling?” His voice abruptly soft, touched with... care, concern; an unknown tenderness that caught you by surprise.

You nodded against his shoulder. “Yes…” you murmured, fluttering closed as exhaustion settled in and the comfort of his presence lulled you, feeling his quick heartbeat beneath your ear. “Just... give me a second.”

A sweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips, looking at you with adoration as he brushed a damp lock of hair away from your face, fingers running gently over your neck. “I’ll admit, I didn't think I’d be the one left wanting more… but here I am.” He said quietly. “That, my love, was truly something else for someone so lovely.” He pressed another sweet kiss to your cheek, remaining just a little before pulling away.

You let out a shaky laugh, the closeness between you both grounding your still-tingling nerves. Lifting your head slightly and reopening your eyes, you met his gaze with a warmth that made your heart swell. “You know,” you started, “I might just have to keep you around a little longer. You’ve made it hard for me to want anyone else, Astarion.” You reached to cradle his cheek as your hidden confession floated in the air between you.

He leaned into your touch, his hand hovering over yours in a loving gesture. “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?” Astarion said, feigning frustration, though his eyes softened with a rare sincerity in his voice. “I had plans, you know. But it seems I’m not allowed to have anything for myself any more.” He let out a mock sigh. “Guess I’m yours, darling. For now. Don’t get too comfortable with it.”

You smiled softly, tilting your head. “Oh, how tragic,” you teased with mock frustration as well. “I didn’t realise you had such grand plans, Astarion. How terribly cruel of me to steal you away from them.” Your fingers gently traced the edge of his ear, a smirk playing on your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll learn to live with it. Just try not to get too comfortable, either, darling.”

Astarion let out a soft chuckle, his fingers leaving your hand to cup your cheek tenderly. “Well, well, what a vile little thing you are,” he said with a playful smirk, grazing your cheekbone with his thumb. “Using that sweet face of yours to get your way... You really do enjoy this, don’t you?” His laugh was light, almost like a caress, before he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow kiss that left you aware of all the emotions he couldn’t express using words.

He held the kiss for a moment to savour your lips before pulling back to rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he basked in the shared closeness.

After that, he slowly adjusted your position so that you lay more comfortably against him. Once settled, he pulled a soft blanket over you both, wrapping his arms around you snugly.

“Rest now, my love.” He murmured softly. You felt his words settle over you like a soft lullaby, and you snuggled closer to place yourself against him, wrapping your arm gently around his waist.

There, in his embrace, you let yourself fully relax in the quiet comfort of the moment with the rain outside. The feeling of his skin against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the gentle sweep of his fingers through your hair and your arm—it was everything you needed, a perfect, tender end to the passion from minutes ago.

With a contented sigh, you pressed a soft kiss against his chest before your eyelids started to grow heavy as you drifted into a peaceful calm in his arms.

As the hours passed, the heat of the night slowly faded, leaving you both tangled in each other’s embrace. You both drifted into sleep, your bodies still flushed and sweaty from the intensity of your passion that night. Astarion’s arm was wrapped around you, pulling you closer. The odd warmth of his body against yours was comforting.

As the soft light of dawn filtered through the tent, the storm was now nothing more than a distant memory, and a sudden weight pressed down on you.

Your mind, still slow to fully wake, started to be flooded with vivid recollections—the sex, the words shared, the undeniable connection you felt...

A sharp pang of awareness hit you as you became acutely aware of every quiet sound. 'Had I really just done that?' The question lingered in your mind, though it wasn’t that you regretted it—not with him, not when everything felt so unexpectedly right. But still, a knot tightened in your throat. You’d never been this irresponsible before, never allowed this kind of situation with someone you’d only known for a couple of months.

You slowly pulled yourself from Astarion's embrace. The warmth of his body left a mark on your skin nonetheless. As you sat up, the blanket tangled around your hips, and a sudden rush of cool air hit your naked chest, causing an uninvited shiver to you that woke you a little more.

Your eyes drifted to him, still peacefully asleep beside you. His bare chest rose and fell in slowly, and his expression was soft and relaxed in the morning, a sharp contrast to the intensity of your previous night.

While you stood there, tracing with your eyes his form, the weight of what had just happened was still pressing heavily above your shoulders. Embarrassment crept in, not just for the passion you’d shared but for the place you were in—his tent, in camp, with your friends only a few meters away. The unsettling thought wormed its way into your mind: what if they’d heard you?

Your eyes flicked towards the opening of the tent, a bead of cold sweat rolling down the back of your neck. You pressed your palm to your forehead, the reality sinking in. What if they had? The embarrassment felt like it was growing, and you had to swallow back the rising anxiety carving in your chest.

The thoughts swirled and twisted in your mind. Reaching for your shirt, you slowly sat up a bit more; you felt a sting pain in your muscles from the night’s activities. Your fingers fumbled clumsily to the fabric as the weight of your thoughts made everything feel more difficult. You tried to dress as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the fragile calm of his slumber.

The texture felt harsh against your sensitive skin, while the cool morning air grazed over the parts of you exposed and between your thighs as you raised the shirt over your head to dress it.

Just as you finally managed to pull it into place, you caught a soft shift beside you. Astarion’s eyes fluttered open, his vision still cloudy with sleep, but his attention immediately locked onto you. He didn’t speak right away; his focus was on the way you moved.

He curved his lips into a small, lazy smile. There was a softness in his expression now that you didn't see before. “Good morning... sneaking off already?” He sighed with the remnants of sleep in his tone. He looked down to where your fingers grabbed the fabric of your shirt, then back to your face, his smile growing wider. His hand reached out to grab your arm, pulling you back towards him gently. “Didn't peg you as the type to leave me after our first time, darling...”

The way he still wanted you close stirred something within you—a warmth despite the storm of emotions inside you. You couldn’t help but smile softly at the thought. “I wasn’t going anywhere...” You replied quietly.

Astarion’s hand moved to your waist, his touch fierce yet tender as he pulled you closer, guiding you to lay back completely against his body. His chest pressed against your back as he nestled his chin in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses there. You could feel the weight of him, enveloping you in a way that was both comforting and deeply intimate.

His arm wrapped securely around your waist, drawing you even nearer as he gently adjusted his position, making sure you were comfortable. You could feel the tension in your body melt as his movements spoke of quiet care, though the nervousness inside you didn’t entirely dissipate.

He must have sensed the shift in your mood. “Is everything alright?” Astarion murmured softly, concerned. His lips brushed over your ear as he spoke, a gentle kiss to your cheek that seemed to reassure you, though you couldn’t quite shake the lingering anxiety that clung to you.

“I... I just—” You broke off. “What if they heard us, Astarion?”

“We’re safe, darling,” he murmured, his voice a soothing caress that chased away the remnants of your worry. “No one knows a thing. The storm was our shield last night.”

Astarion’s hand lingered at your waist as he shifted his weight, guiding you gently. And with a slight motion, he turned you to lie on your back and face him fully. His gaze locked onto yours, his crimson eyes glimmering with something unspoken. He propped himself on an elbow beside you, sliding his other hand from your waist to cradle your cheek.

Seeing the faint worry lingering in your eyes, he offered a small, tender smile. “You know, love,” he began, “this is different. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. I never imagined I’d feel like this—like I’d actually want this... someone.” His thumb brushed softly over your cheekbone, as if the gesture alone could convey what words struggled to express. “Last night wasn’t just indulgence, not with you. It was... real.”

The way he looked at you then was as though he’d laid down his armour, revealing a part of himself you’d only glimpsed. “I’ve spent centuries taking what I was told to, living by someone else’s twisted desires. Wanting something—someone—for myself? I’d almost forgotten what that even felt like.” He hesitated. “But here we are... and being with you, feeling this... it’s more than I ever dared to hope for.”

Your breath caught, and the sincerity in his voice made your chest feel both heavy and light at once. You swallowed, a warmth blossoming where your anxiety had been. “I want you to know that I meant every word,” he whispered against your ear.

As he drew back, his fingers entwined with yours, and he gave you a small smile, one filled with that rare sincerity he reserved just for you. “So, let’s not let the world outside intrude on this, hmm?” His eyes gleamed with a quiet plea. “Not yet.”

The words hung in the warm morning light, soothing the unease within you. Astarion shifted slightly again to recline back onto the soft bedroll, pulling you with him. You instinctively wrapped an arm around his waist to hold him close.

But as your fingers traced along his side, you brushed against something you forgot. A faint crease formed between your brows as you looked down. There was the bandage you had tied the night before, stained with a faint bloom of red where his wound lay concealed. A quiet ache of worry unfurled in your chest as your hand rested against the edge of the bandage.

Without thinking, your fingers traced lightly over his abdomen, avoiding the more sensitive area near the bandage. “Astarion,” you called softly with a new urgency. “Are you... alright? I might’ve moved too much last night.”

Astarion’s eyes opened a bit more as he recognised the genuine concern in your voice. “Oh, my love,” he purred with a smirk on his lips as he glanced down to where your hand rested on his stomach. “If anyone could survive your... enthusiasm, it would be me.” His tone softened as he covered your hand with his.

You bit your lip, the persistent worry stirring as you recalled the intensity of the night before. “Still, I should've been more careful with you,” you replied with a faint blush warming your cheeks. “I didn’t even think about it last night... I just... wanted you.”

He shifted slightly, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched, his lips barely brushing yours as he spoke again. “Believe me, last night... was everything I never knew I needed,” he said, with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You've given me a moment of calmness I never thought I’d experience again.”

Your hand pressed lightly against his chest; he let out a quiet, contented sigh. His own hand drifted down to rest against your waist, drawing you even closer.

He brushed his lips softly against the tip of your nose, placing a sweet kiss there before he spoke. “The truth is, I’m not used to someone worrying over me. I’ve learnt to dismiss my wounds and to push through the pain alone. You make me feel seen, darling…”

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back just enough to catch your gaze, reaching with his hand your cheek to rub his thumb along your cheekbone in a gentle, absent-minded swipe. Your heart softened as you wrapped your arms around him, letting yourself melt. You nestled closer to him, the soft heat of his body a constant pull as your fingers traced lightly over his skin, careful not to touch the bandage.

Astarion’s fingers moved in slow strokes along your back, his touch lingering at the small of your waist. The quiet way his body urged you nearer made your pulse race in a way that was both comforting and thrilling. You could feel the passion of the night still lingering in the air between you, a magnetic pull that only seemed to deepen the longer you were in his presence.

“You know,” he murmured lowly, his velvety voice wrapping around your thoughts. He leaned in, his lips brushing over yours as he closed his eyes briefly. “I find myself wanting more.”

A small shiver of anticipation ran through you. He moved slightly, shifting his body to bring you closer, his hand sliding down your side until he could grab one of your buttocks. It stirred something inside of you—something that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

You pressed your lips to his to give him a soft kiss before pulling back to meet his eyes. The intensity in his look made you ache with longing. “Astarion, are you sure you’re alright?” You asked softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing with something dark and intense, and then he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and sensual, tasting of the night and everything you’d shared. His mouth moved against yours with a quiet eagerness, and you let yourself melt into him, your hand sliding to his waist, feeling the bandage beneath your palm.

But you pulled back slightly, concern flitting through your mind again. Astarion’s eyes glimmered, his expression a blend of amusement and something achingly vulnerable. “Darling,” he replied, his voice a rough, affectionate murmur. “I can handle anything you give me.”

You leaned into him, grazing your lips with his as you spoke, “I just want to make sure you're alright... I don’t want to push—” Without letting you finish, he leaned forward to kiss your lips again to silence you. His mouth moved against yours with a quiet desperation, a demand for attention.

Astarion’s hands slowly roamed your sides as he shifted, positioning himself above you on the bedroll. You could feel the warmth of his body radiating into yours, his thighs pressed tightly against yours.

Your hands moved instinctively, sliding around his waist, bracing yourself against his lower back, feeling the curve of his muscles tense under your touch. The kiss deepened, slow and calm, as if he tasted every inch of you, pushing any lingering uncertainty away.

One of his hands moved to catch your hand and entwine his fingers with yours before pressing your hand down against the pillow. His other hand found your other wrist, lifting it gently above your head and pinning it there, his grip firm yet laced with a sensual care that only deepened your wanting of him. His thighs pressing tighter against yours.

Astarion’s breath was shallow against your lips as he finally broke the kiss to meet your gaze, his pupils wide with a need that mirrored your own, his mouth curving into a wicked smile as he held you in place. The subtle weight of him, combined with the feeling of his fingers interlocked with yours, created an undeniable sense of belonging, a wordless claim that ignited every nerve.

“Don’t worry about me,” he murmured roughly because of his desire, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “Just stay here. With me. That’s all I need.”

‎

[urbeachboy]

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇

⋆˙⟡ — req : hey,, psst,, you got any.. leona kingscholar x reader..? with maybe.. a dab of fluff.. and maybe.. something with napping together.. a dash of yearning.. maybe.. (from whomever you desire).. plz and thank u.. also!! can i be 💀 anon?

⋆˙⟡ — synopsis : Leona Kingscholar does not have a soft spot. Not for his brother, for his sister-in-law, for his nephew, nor for anyone. And then you came along.

⋆˙⟡ — content : Leona Kingscholar (twisted wonderland) x gn!reader. Reader is a people pleaser. Cuddling. Kiss kiss fall in love!! Inexperienced Leona. Fluff. Lots of fluff. Some hints of angst.

You’ve always been a giver. It’s essentially instinctive- second nature, really.

Perhaps it started at the age of four, when you cried crocodile tears over a wounded bird. A bird that you had tried so desperately to save, yet alas, fate hadn't been so nice to poor little young you.

Or maybe rather, it was at the age of seven, when you had refused to step a single foot out the threshold of your room when your pet hamster, Squibbles, had passed away.

And it may have been the idea of losing anyone else- or standing by watching as someone else lost someone- that truly clung to you. That feeling of despair you felt like claws scraping down your back, all while the ugly dread clung to you like a leech, only truly letting go when you had ensured that nobody got hurt.

Maybe it was a bit selfish- just a small bit. For you knew best that you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself knowing you’d let someone down, even if they weren’t quite counting on you to keep them up.

So to say, Twisted Wonderland was a nightmare for you.

Little boys who thought themselves men, and men who thought themselves little boys. They scrambled, reaching for any semblance of control, for any semblance of comfort. 

You're not quite certain if it was the first overblot or the second, but by the fourth, you’d already made quite a preceding reputation for yourself. You’re not sure if there wasn’t anyone in Night Raven College who was not aware of your name or your game. I.E: Save the School from going up into flames once or perhaps even twice a month at times.

In fact, many people knew you quite well–with the becoming ribbon you twisted your striped tie into, and with your nature; approachable and sympathetic, it was difficult to not get acquainted with you on more levels than simply knowing. A few of these people? 

Ace Trappola, the boy from Heartslabyul with cards and tricks alike up his uniform sleeve.

Deuce Spade, a friend of Ace’s as well, also from Heartslabyul, and having quite an affinity to cauldrons, you think.

Jack Howl, what with all his ivory hair and sun-kissed skin, and that body he’d achieved through tons of rigorous training, no doubt.

Epel Felmier, with a Southern twang that you only ever hear sometimes- though you think it’s especially adorab–no! Very.. very manly. And he’s treated you to apple pie once, as well. Home-made, you think he said it was?

Sebek Zigvolt- you’re unsure how you’d managed to befriend him of all people, but it does not go to say that you enjoy his presence any less. His hair stuck up perpetually as if he had been struck by a lighting bolt, though he may as well be every time he’s asked about his dearest Liege.     

There’s also the strange horned man with dark hair and green eyes that pierce through your soul, but all he ever seems to want is a chat about architecture- mostly Gargoyles and Grotesques and all that- never your soul.

But as strange as he, Tsunotarou, may be–you find one is stranger. Leona. Leona Kingscholar. A prince, you’ve learnt. With his hair that you could call brunette, resembling black coffee, and his eyes like emeralds, which you’re sure he has a ton. 

You’re not sure why he acknowledges you at all, really, but it’d begun ever since after his overblot. It had begun slowly- surely, though-

First, he would fall asleep at the table you and your friends often occupied during lunch, and all of you far too afraid to wake him or make him budge. You found it funny how he always dozed off on the seat just next to yours- Grim’s reserved seat, upon not receiving which he would grow exasperated. He would soon quiet down when offered a seat on your shoulder (which he found much more comfortable than any seat, as irking as it was to have his tail thump against your face or the back of your head every now and again), however.

Then, he would get food for you. You’re not sure if you were to feel humiliated at the thought that he most likely assumed you have no money to get it yourself (he isn’t wrong–you don’t, because Dire Crowley is such a generous man), but it was admittedly nice to have a sandwich sitting on your plate when you got to your table. And a rather sleepy lion. Well, on second thought, would sleepy be the right word if he was already asleep?

And after that, he began speaking to you more. And, trust me on this–Leona Kingscholar does not speak to just anyone. Not the way he does with you, at least.

A tired groan that would escape his full lips as he looked up at you through hazy, lidded eyes. “..Herbivore,” he’d grumble, “Y’changed your hair.”

And…so you did. And no-one’s noticed (which is understandable, because it really isn’t a prominent change- you would barely know it unless you were really looking for it), up until…well…Leona.

Or maybe he’d notice the way you had decided to tie your tie into a bow this time instead. Like Epel (see, you always liked the way he tied it, though you could never get it right. So, your dear friend Epel had provided some assistance).

He’d tilt his head back, just barely skimming his eyes over it before turning his attention back to the very interesting wall. “Your tie’s different.” You would perk up, a smile painted on your lips. “It’s cute, right? I saw how Epel always did it, and I was like ‘aw, that’s cute’—only in my head, though, Epel would kill me if I said it out loud—and I wanted him to teach me, so I asked him, and he said Vil taught him and then he taught me anyways, and–”

“It looks stupid.”

So, obviously, he’s a real charmer. 

And, charmed as you were, you didn’t protest the first time he had wordlessly pulled you into his arms with his eyes still shut after you’d fortuitously disrupted a precious nap of his.

Then he did it a second time, a third, and a fourth.

Since then, it’s become sort of tradition; napping together. The two of you never speak of it, and you’re not certain if anyone else is aware about it at all, either. You think Leona likes it to stay that way.

You still don’t retort, don’t kick and squirm. It’s as if you’re able to see the child in him, the child that only wanted to be seen; to be known. To be acknowledged. What’d he ever do, but ask for love? And is love, if requested of one of the same blood, far too much to ask for?

So you humour him. As you are right now. You’re in Savanaclaw, barely tangled in Leona’s sheets, in Leona’s room, with the aforementioned clinging to you with a generous amount of space (ie: a hair’s breadth, which is technically still generous in terms of Leona) between the two of you.

It’s about six, sunset; the sun is low but you can see the glowing saffron of it just peeking out from behind the rocky mountains, almost shy to show its true self- its true colours, the neon orange as opposed to the usual blinding yellow-white. You think it’s somewhat like Leona, and the thought makes you chuckle to yourself.

“Mmh,” Leona groans, and the sound is a low rumble in his chest. “What’s so funny, Herbivore?” he murmurs, his voice hushed and husky. It’s a wonder how his braids never get messed up by the different positions he sleeps in, every which way his body contorts for the ultimate resting experience. You wish you had half of his privileges- you can’t blame him, you’d lounge around, too, if in his shoes.

You only shake your head at his words, not an ounce of sleep in your eyes (much unlike his), and a small smile playing on your lips. “Nothing. You just…remind me of the Sun.”

He’s silent. His breathing is slow, gentle—he fell asleep. Again. You let out a sigh, playfully rolling your eyes.

His skin is sun-kissed, his eyes (when open), most would say are like jades or emeralds or some other materialistic, shiny object. You, on the other hand, believe they’re like the prickly bushes that, albeit hurt much to get through, bear beautiful blossoms once you’re past the thorns.

His hair is like honey, some parts are darker and some are lighter- maybe it’s more like caramel? Either way, it’s something sweet. And silky. You reach a hand out, beginning to gingerly comb your fingers through his hair.

He stirs then, reaching out just like you, wrapping an arm around your waist. You’re almost afraid he’s woken up, or is in the process of doing so, but his eased shoulders and relaxed expression says otherwise. Leona’s always tense when he’s awake. Even if he doesn’t realise it, his jaw is clenched.

Your smile widens. You curl your fingers into his hair, humming a gentle tune ‘neath your breath. Your eyes continue to rove over him, landing on his lips. His upper lip is fuller, darker. He’s beautiful. He’s beyond beautiful, you can barely describe it in words.

Should one feel such a way for a friend? If you could even begin to consider Leona a friend, that is.

You don’t think so.

“Like what you see?” You almost jump out of your skin, or perhaps go tumbling down the bed if it weren’t for his almost vice-like grip around your waist.

You blink in surprise, taking a bit to compose yourself. You see how Leona maintains his previous expression, though his lips—his very pretty lips—are quirked up at the corners. “You were awake this whole time?” you question, a bit frantically. After all, it would be quite flustering to know that a friend(?) had caught you all but checking them out.

He hummed. That’s a maybe. And then he’s silent again.

…Does he want you to sleep? Usually he’d just chastise you to stop moving, stop breathing so loud.

He doesn’t now.

Maybe he.. wants to talk?

You swallow your spit, your eyes lingering over his face, before beginning earnestly; “You’re very pretty.”

He opens both eyes at that. You absolutely must be in a World-Record book now. Both of his eyes, like lily-pads. Submerged in the water, so close to drowning and yet, holding something so beautiful within. A lotus; tender, soft.

Leona doesn’t look surprised in any usual way, but that’s because he’s Leona, and he’s far from usual. He snorts, keeping his eyes, half-lidded, on you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you respond decidedly.

Silence falls over the two of you like a veil once more. This time, it isn’t so comfortable. His eyes are glued to your face. They drift just slightly lower than your eyes, and they’re, you think, on your lips. Like yours were once on his.

Your tongue subconsciously darts out to swipe at the supple flesh there, wetting it almost like it grew drier than the desert just from his glare alone.

It’s silent, still. You glance away for a second, then back at him, and then you get an idea. You snicker and tilt your head, peering up at him. “You wanna kiss?”

It’s smart, you decide. If he declines and assumes you’re weird (which is likely), it’ll just be a joke. And if he accepts? Jackpot.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, his gaze dragging back up to your eyes.

You’re awfully nervous, you hope Beastmen can’t smell those sorts of things (obviously they can’t—they don’t smell fear, for god’s sake. They’re not demons). You, in turn, raise an eyebrow towards him as well, in hopes of seeming a bit more in control of yourself than you truly were.

Then, Leona huffs. At least, you assume it’s a huff, because it sounds halfway through a huff and a small laugh. You hope he’s not laughing. It’s not that ridiculous of a question to ask, is it?

It is. Whatever.

“What if I do?” You notice he’s completely dropped the ‘Herbivore’ gag, and you’re not sure if you should feel grateful or not. You don’t find yourself having much time to dwell on that, however, for his words peak your interest far more. “Then you should do it,” you test your limits.

He only stares at you. Like a big cat waiting to pounce. You assume he is—that’s what lions do, don’t they? They watch, wait for a moment of weakness.

Your brow twitches.

Then they strike.

Leona leans in quicker than he could call any human being who evidently eats and enjoys eating meat a ‘Herbivore’, pressing his lips against yours (though it’s somewhere between that and smashing his lips against yours).

One hand of his goes up to your chin, the other resting on your waist, still.

He’s inexperienced, that much is easy to tell. You’re not sure why you’d expected him to not be inexperienced. Him. Leona Kingscholar. Infamous for shutting out anyone and everyone who got a millimetre too close.

He’s haphazard and yet it still feels nice, likely because his lips are just naturally made for kissing or something of the sort. They move nicely against yours, and occasionally, the two of you apaty your lips a bit and your teeth clink against eachother’s, and you shoot each-other a glance. A light-hearted glance, as if you’re about to burst into silent laughter.

That’s just what it is, actually. For something so intimate, the atmosphere is so light-hearted. With the half-draped curtains casting bold shadows on your frames in turn, and still leaving space for you to see the Sun (if you were to turn around and look through the window, but with Leona’s lips attached to yours, you’re not sure he’d make that very possible) only showing itself an inch, a little more than halfway below the mountain, and a little less than fully below the mountain.

Leona tilts his head, pulling your face closer to his (almost tugging, really). He seems to forget himself, seems to forget how to be gentle and nice. The only way you can tell he’s apologetic is by the way his grip immediately loosens by a lot, and the pad of his thumb subtly traces along your jawline, rubbing soft circles.

You tap on his shoulder when you feel you’re a few ways from losing your breath, and he seems to get the memo, parting from you with a sigh from his side, and a gasp from yours. His hands don’t leave you, though. Your hands that had settled on his shoulders a while ago hadn’t left there, either.

Leona only stares at you. Not like Leona Kingscholar stares at everyone, no—not sharp and unbothered, finding anyone’s presence to be a nuisance—but like Leona stares at you. Tender and gentle.

His nose twitches. And for the first time, you see a smile on his lips that doesn’t mean bad news. A smile that isn’t filled with malice or vicious intent.

A genuine smile.

“Pretty sure you’re the one who’s like the fuckin’ Sun.”

⋆˙⟡ — a/n : i’m so sorry for not posting often!! i’ve been super busy irl but i promise i’ve been working on stuff 😞

⋆˙⟡ — NOT proofread — wordcount : ?

[tender-rosiey]

king teatime — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: sukuna forced into playtime with daughter LETS GO

your daughter, a bundle of energy and enthusiasm, is setting up her tea party on the coffee table, her tiny hands arranging an assortment of plastic cups and saucers with meticulousness.

from where you’re seated nearby, you watch the scene unfold with a mix of amusement and affection.

your daughter babbles on, her high-pitched voice bubbling with excitement as she fills the cups with imaginary tea and hands them out with exaggerated ceremony.

sukuna, while visibly disinterested, maintains his position with a begrudging tolerance. his gaze flickers occasionally towards you, perhaps a threat that you roped him into this.

you chuckle and shrug your shoulders, “papa duties, my dear husband.”

he is about to retort, but your daughter interrupts him.

“papa, you have to drink your tea!” your daughter insists, her big eyes shining with earnestness as she thrusts a cup towards him.

sukuna raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the flimsy plastic cup with a look of mild distaste. “right. and what exactly is this supposed to be?”

“it’s tea!” she replies, her voice tinged with a note of exasperation, as if the answer should be obvious. “you have to pretend it’s delicious.”

sukuna’s eyes twitch at the command, but he swallows his protests for the time being. he takes the cup with a practiced air of detachment, bringing it to his lips and pretending to sip.

his gaze shifts to you, catching your eye with a hint of reluctant amusement. you offer him a playful wink in return, enjoying his silent struggle.

“is it good?” your daughter asks, her voice filled with hopeful anticipation.

“splendid,” sukuna replies deadpan, placing the cup back on the table with a precise motion.

she seems to take his words at face value, her face lighting up with a proud smile. “I’m glad! here, have some more!”

as she continues her animated chatter, sukuna’s attention wanders back to you. his eyes hold a crap ton of exasperation. you suppress a laugh. sukuna sends you a little look, and you instantly go quiet.

“brat, can’t you let uraume play instead of me?” sukuna mutters under his breath.

your daughter’s head whips around, her face instantly clouding with indignation. “no! uraume is not my papa! you’re my papa, and I wanna play with you! not anyone else!”

sukuna’s expression remains unchanged, but you can see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. his eyes meet yours again, and this time, there’s a hint of reluctant acceptance in his gaze.

he doesn’t say anything.

you grin, thoroughly entertained by the interaction. “looks like you’re stuck with tea time, honey,” you tease lightly, your tone affectionate.

he narrows his eyes slightly, “I see that.”

your daughter, undeterred, continues to pour imaginary tea, occasionally placing a cup in front of sukuna with a flourish.

“more tea, papa!” she demands with a commanding tone that leaves no room for argument.

sukuna accepts the cup with a resigned sigh, lifting it to his lips and pretending to sip again. “how can I refuse such a generous offer?” his voice is dry, but nonetheless, he indulges her, even if in the tiniest bits.

your daughter beams, and she clicks her cup against his before drinking her tea—very dramatically. your husband places the cup on the table, seemingly have had enough.

your daughter looks at you proudly and declares, “papa has become very good at teatime!”

“right?” you agree, “as expected of the king of curses.”

“do not mock me,” he grumbles, standing up and dusting his clothes. he folds his four arms against his chest. he looks down at your daughter, “that is enough.”

she pouts for a second before smiling mischievously, “papa, how about you wear a skirt?”

“how about I chase you and eat you for dinner today?”

your daughter shrieks and runs out of the room, laughing. she got used to her dad’s empty threats—much like you did—but he still is pretty scary.

you watch her dash out the room before bursting into laughter, “that—” you wheeze, “that was the best entertainment of my entire life, oh god!”

a large shadow looms over your figure, and you cover your mouth. small giggles escape your lips, as you lock eyes with your husband. a scowl is ever-present on his face, and he continues observing you.

he cocks an eyebrow, “looks like you’re having fun?”

you purse your lips and rapidly shake your head. he lets out a breath, obviously unconvinced, “I have been too lenient with you two.”

“we love you too, honey!”

he clicks his tongue in annoyance, but the hand that ruffles your hair speaks a whole different story.

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[lordprettyflackotara]

fill the void || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+

It felt odd in a way, being alone for the first time.

Usually you were surrounded by your fellow Slytherins, the smell of cigarettes and cologne something your nostrils had grown accustomed to. The sound of vicious insults or bitter rants making a nest in your ears. The sight of scowls with liquor in their hands, their knuckles typically bruised and bloody.

But right now, all of that was gone. The air in the courtyard was clean, the breeze blowing past you providing you with the smell of the earth. Your sights were centered on a giant oak tree, as well as the moon that dimly illuminated the area below. It was an odd change, your surroundings being so settled. You couldn’t help but wonder what you would’ve become if you hadn’t been placed in Slytherin. Maybe yellow would’ve suited you better.

It wasn’t that you despised your housemates, even if they were a group of misfit toys. Mattheo protected you, Theo tutored you, Draco was always glued to your side. It wasn’t them that troubled you. It was what wearing the sickening shade of green meant. Submission to the dark lord. Following the ideology of pureblood nonsense. Especially being one of the only prominent girls, there was always the lingering question who’d you marry and reproduce with.

Yuck.

“Am I interrupting?”

You didn’t need to turn around. You’d recognize a Weasley’s voice anywhere. “Unfortunately not,” You admitted. You hated to admit you knew which Weasley twin it was, a lanky Fred Weasley plopping down beside you on the concrete steps. He stretched out his long legs, mere inches separating both of you. “Is there a reason you’re perched out here instead of doing shots with your friends?” Fred asked. How could you explain why? Oh yes, I am having an existential crisis because of the fact my dress is emerald. Want to go inside and split a chocolate frog?

“Where’s your other half? Didnt think you two separated,” You quipped, brushing off his question. Fred took the hint, leaning back on his hands. “Currently snogging Angelina Johnson,” He answered. This caught your attention, your head snapping to look over at him. “The chaser that wiped the floor with Blaise last season?” You asked. Sometimes you forgot how small this dreaded University actually was. Fred nodded, shrugging. “Aggressive on and off the field, just the way George likes em,” He replied.

You snorted. “Ahh yes. Makes sense a Weasley would enjoy being slutted out,” You snickered. It was too easy of a jab. Fred began to man spread, his long legs in your personal bubble. “I wouldn’t be so hasty little serpent. A few of us know how to put a brat in their place,” He smirked. The cocky motherfucker winked, heat dashing across your cheeks. You must be in a different dimension. There’s no bloody way a Weasley made you blush. “You’re cute when you blush,” Fred praised. He couldn’t help but notice how good you looked in the moonlight, the beams highlighting your features.

“Are you complimenting me Weasley?” You questioned. You avoided his gaze, trying to ignore the fact your heart skipped a beat. “Obviously not, i’m flirting with you,” Fred replied, unable to control the smile creeping across his lips. You were just so easy to tease. “What makes you think you can flirt with me?” You asked, turning your head to look over at the ginger. He shrugged, meeting your firey gaze with ease. “Perhaps it’s because we’re in the same boat, sitting out here alone in a bloody courtyard while the yule ball is less than five hundred feet away,” Fred explained. You audibly scoffed. “Weasley’s can’t afford a boat,” You spat.

Fred chuckled at your insult, your venom harmless to him. “Considering you’re out here I think it’s safe to say your boat has sank. Guess we’re on the same island together then,” He replied. You couldn’t help but find his facial expression smug. “Great,” You grumbled. You rested your chin on your knees, contemplating your life decisions. Fred sighed. “Well, if my presence really isn’t that valued i’ll relocate,” He said. He began to rise to his feet, your body doing a one eighty. You didn’t realize your hand was gripping his wrist until it was, desperately holding him in place.

“Sit down Weasley. I-,” You paused, looking up at the ginger. “I’d prefer it if you stayed.”

Fred grinned down at you mischievously, resuming his place beside you. “Figured you’d say that. Just wanted to hear you say it,” He gloated. You slapped his arm. “You’re unbearable. You know that don’t you?” You grumbled. Fred couldn’t help but laugh. Your annoyance was adorable. “You seem to like it,” He replied. You frowned as he stood up in front of you. “Do not,” You argued.

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

Fred extended his hand in front of you. The faint sound of classical music could be heard over the stillness, the wind having faded out. “Care to dance?” He asked. The choice was standing right in front of you, demanding an answer. You could say no and continue moping on the stairs. You could say no and go back inside, all eyes on you once again. Or you could say yes, potentially having a good time with a boy you didn’t belong with. Dancing with a Weasley? Draco would have a field day with this one. But Fred’s hand never looked more appealing than it did in that moment.

Hesitantly you took his hand, allowing him to bring you to your feet. Even in heels he easily towered over you, the ginger not hesitating to bring you close to his chest. “You know you can drop the bad girl act with me, I won’t tell,” Fred said, guiding you back and forth. You were an awkward dancer, despite the endless ballroom dancing classes your parents put you through. “It’s not an act,” You argue. Fred looked down at you, his face painted like he knew you. Like he could see right through your hollow shell.

“Sure it isn’t. And i’m not the best prankster in Hogwarts,” He quipped. You slowly spun you around, giving you time to catch up as you almost tripped in your heels. “You’ve really got quite an ego, don’t you Weasley?” You asked. Fred grinned as he pulled you back close to him. “Thats a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” He asked. You glared up at him. “I think not,” You argued. Even though your words were laced with venom, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed his touch.

So gentle but so assertive, guiding you. Your mind strayed away, imagining him guiding you a different way. Guiding you to take his cock, to ride him until the sun came up. “Hey? Are you listening little serpent?” Fred asked, his voice coming back into frame. You blinked a few times, trying to regain your composure. “Sorry, what?” You asked. Fred slowly guided the dance to a stop, the song ending. You couldn’t help but wish it’d last forever. “I was asking what you’re thinking about,” He said.

You could feel yourself turning red, your filthy thoughts flooding to the forefront of your mind. You felt tongue tied, unable to confess your dirty fantasies. “Ohh, I see,” Fred said. You couldn’t bear to look at him in the eye, embarrassed enough to be in this position. You felt his slender fingers slide under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. You allowed him to guide you, his eyes boring into yours. You liked that, allowing him to guide you. Even if he was supposed to be bad for you, his touch put you on cloud nine.

“Do you like that? When I guide you? Take control?” Fred asked, his voice dropping an octave lower than before. You could’ve dropped to your knees in an instant. “Maybe I do,” You replied, not wanting to cave, not just yet. Fred leaned down further, pressing his lips against yours. His lips were warmer than you thought they’d be, filling the void inside of you. The void that craved approval and validation. His lips provided all of that and more. He guided you towards the giant oak tree, pinning you against it.

The sharp bark scraped at your back, a groan escaping your lips as Fred’s refused to stray from yours. You raked your hands throw his hair, pulling at the roots roughly. Fred whined into your mouth, smirking as he pulled away. “Cute,” He murmured. His eyes flickered behind you, ensuring no one was around. “As much as i’d love to make you squirm, we can’t do much here,” He whispered. You pulled him back to your lips, sliding your tongue into his mouth. You couldn’t get enough, your body craving him.

“That eager, are we?” Fred asked, pulling you back in for another kiss. You gently bit his bottom lip, pulling it towards you. “Fuck me, at the very least Weasley,” You ordered weakly, your body betraying the attempt at dominance you were spewing. Fred grinned mischievously. “Turn around for me pretty girl,” He purred. You did as asked, his large hands pushing you against the tree. You could hear the clinking of his belt, your core throbbing in anticipation.

His large hands pushed up your dress, pulling your panties to the slide. “You’re lucky we’re in the courtyard, otherwise i’d make you beg and scream for me to fuck you,” Fred purred. You felt his tip brush up and down your folds, a moan escaping your lips. One of Fred’s hands flew to your mouth. “Gotta keep quiet little serpent. Dont want anyone to hear you being a whore for a Weasley, do you?” He taunted. He pushed himself inside of you slowly, your body feeling like it may split in two.

“You’re fuckin soaked for me,” Fred mused, placing a sloppy kiss against your shoulder. Your moans were muffled by his hand, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. “I’m bigger than Malfoy aren’t I?” He asked teasingly as he bottomed out inside of you. You grabbed onto his wrist, yanking it away from your mouth. “In your dreams Weasley,” You spat, whimpering as he bucked his hips ever so slightly. Fred began to suck at the side of your neck, harsh enough to leave a hickey. “Dont leave marks on me,” You argued, moaning as he began to thrust into you. Fred released your neck with a pop, satisfied as the skin began to turn purple.

“Whys that? Afraid your boy toys will find out you’ve let me in between your legs?” Fred asked, beginning to pick up the pace. His pace was brutal, his hand flying back over your mouth to muffle your sinful noises. “When they ask tell them. Tell them how I ruined you. How a Gryffindor made you cum in a courtyard like a dog in heat,” Fred huffed. He continued to viciously snap his hips into yours, his cock abusing your g spot with each thrust. You moaned his name into his hand, gripping one of his wrist and the tree for support.

“You’re so fucking tight, so perfect,” Fred groaned into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He removed his hand from your mouth, his hands taking their rightful place on your hips. “I’m going to make you cum on my cock. You understand me? You’re going make a mess for me,” Fred ordered. His orders were hypnotizing, your legs beginning to shake as he held onto the fabric of your dress. You could feel the knot inside of you tighten, a familiar feeling coming.

“Please make me cum Freddie, fucking please,” You pleaded, your orgasm coming faster than you’d like to admit. Fred chuckled, fucking you mercilessly against the tree. “There she is, there’s my sweet whore. Go on, cum for me,” He panted. You squeezed his wrist tightly as you came, euphoria washing over you as you came on his shaft. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out on you at any moment. You felt Fred’s hips stutter, the ginger pulling out of you.

He guided you onto the ground, your bare knees hitting the dirt below. You stuck out your tongue, allowing Fred to cum inside of your mouth. “Holy shit,” Fred moaned, watching as you swallowed every last top. You both sat there for a moment, your highs subsiding as you soaked in what you had just done.

“Hey y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna grab a butterbeer sometime?”

“Shut up Weasley.”

[jojoboisimagines]

Jojos react to you accidentally punching them in the face while roughhousing

Jojos (1-7) react to accidentally punching them in the face while roughhousing

.::.

Jonathan Joestar

Jonathan, surprisingly, isn't completely made of brick and instantly grips his nose after you strike it rather hard.

Once you apologize over and over, he lets out a strained chuckle, not wanting to worry you even longer despite it still hurting.

"beloved, you sure have a hand on you..."

He laughs, regarding of the ache that made his head spin for a moment.

"Hang tight Jojo, I'm getting some cream!" You quickly dash off.

"wait, darling, its not that bad-" Before he finishes, you had already left to get something to ease the pain

It was gone in a couple of minutes, he was a tough guy..but perhaps play hitting is off the table for a while-

Joseph Joestar

"Owowowow---did you do that on purpose??"

He's quick to accuse. It probably wouldn't be the first time you wanted to hit him for real, but this time was an honest mistake.

"no Jojo, it was just an accident!" you swear up and down, but it takes a bit before he actually believes you.

Eventually he leaves to get an icepack for his nose before Lisa Lisa or someone else sees, which would be infinitely more embarrassing.

"maybe we should just stick to tickling or something.." He mutters in a defeated manner, holding the ice up to soothe the ache.

it was admiteddly a little funny, but for the sake of him not staying mad at you, you'll withhold your laughter for now.

"I want compensation for my beautiful eye!" He holds out his hand, expecting something.

"wh--I said i was sorry! I'll get it later!"

Jotaro Kujo

Jotaro lets out a pained hiss, facepalming as he needed a minute.

Concern quickly overcomes you and you pull his hand away to make sure there was no mark or anything broken.

"Lets stop." He's no longer in the mood for play fighting--if anything he thought it was a bad idea in the first place in fear of him hurting you--when it turned out being the other way around.

You feel awful for punching him that hard on accident, especially since you knew he was probably upset or wanted to pretend he isn't hurt.

"I'm sorry, Jotaro.." Putting a comforting hand on his arm, you lean over to look at his face that had been turned from you.

"it was just a punch, i've had worse." He was right on that front, but a punch is a punch.

"alright tough guy, but at least tell me when something hurts.." You put a bag of ice on it, making him wince.

"was it not obvious-" he argues.

That was enough to make you scoff in both humor and disbelief.

Josuke Higashikata

"Oi Timeout timeout!"

Josuke makes the T gesture with his hand and heaves, now hunching over with his hands on his knees.

"..Josuke? You good?" You lean over his crouched form, not realizing how strong the impact on his face was.

"im..i'm good, just give me a minute-" he bluffs, clearly being out of breath. You didn't believe it for a second. He never was that good of a liar, to you at least.

Ignoring his protests, you go and get the first aid kit in his house's closet, coming back with some ointment and a bandaid

"There, now you look like more of a delinquint at least!~" you smile after placing it across his nose.

"True but...lets just not tell anyone this came from you punching me in the face, alright?"

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno has a...delayed reaction for lack of a better term. He certainly stops hitting and stumbles, but it takes him a moment to actually register that what he's feeling in his cheeks is actual pain

To spare your feelings, he'll act like it didn't hurt as much as it did, only rubbing the spot a bit and standing normally again.

"..giorno? You good?" you eventually ask, since he isn't really giving any hints as to why he went silent.

"i'm fine, dearest." Giorno is actually pretty good at playing it off, but you could tell his tone sounded a bit different

He likely isn't going to admit that it hurt, so you have to make the call to stop roughhousing. It wasn't worth it to mess up his pretty face.

You'll just...subtly get him some ice cream as an apology

Jolyne Kujo

"oW! you dick!"

Jolyne punches back twice as hard, which probably wasn't the best thing to do in this situation, but she's been roughhoused enough times in her life-

Now both of you were hurting, holding your heads in pain.

"j-Jolyne, did i hurt you?"

"Yeah! I said ow, didn't I?" She snaps back, rubbing her cheek.

She won't hold it against you for long, but you figure you should buy her a snack or something to 'regain her trust' again

"..need me to kiss it better?" You suggest, both as a tease and honestly.

Jolyne's eyes dart around...well, there was no one around to see, so maybe just this once. "..fine.." She unfolds her arms, scooting towards you.

Johnny Joestar

"Okay Okay I get it!-"

Johnny puts both of his hands up to shield his face from your assualt, and for a moment you think he's joking, before a whole minute goes by with him like that and not saying anything.

"..hey, Johnny, let me see..." Your hand gently coasts over his, slowly pulling it away.

His face was super red. Tears were partially visible at the corners of her eyes.

it was almost humorous, as it usually is when his face reddens, but he was also in pain

"do you need something? I can get a bandage." You suggest, not knowing where you hit to cause that reaction

"i need you to stop hitting me that hard, goddam-"

he was only making it harder not to laugh, but you were truly sorry and will treat him to coffee to make his pout go away

[tmleia]

his

in which he needs to rethink his ways of letting it be known that you are his.. -a bit suggestive at the end, fluff!!!

neuvillette never was one to display public affections, though he couldn't help but grasp onto your hand as you walked through the court of fontaine. he saw the way people couldn't keep their gaze off you, looking as if they'd want to eat you alive. so in conclusions, he always had a hand on yours hoping people would take the hint. unfortunately for him, many people thought of this as a friendly gesture. “e-excuse me?” a man said, interrupting you and your lover as you shared brunch. “I just wanted to tell you that you're gorgeous..” he said, completely ignoring the squinting judge sitting across from you.

you smile sheepishly, “thank you, sir..” awkward silence follows after. your lover continues to stare at the flushed man. “would you perhaps like to grab a coffee ton-” “they will not.” neuvillette interrupts the man and proceeds to take a sip of his freshly brewed tea. the persistent fellow narrows his eyes at him and says, “how are you to make decisions for them?”  neuvillette raises an eyebrow at this in confusion. he’d thought it was quite obvious you were his lover. before he could respond, you speak up, “hes my husband, sir” you say as you put your left hand up, showing the shiny right that matched your lovers. your husband flushes, he’ll never get used to you calling him that. He reaches under the table to cradle your hand. “ indeed i am, so if you'd kindly-” the man had already dashed off before he could finish his sentence. he sighed and gazed at you softly, “it seems as if the ring on our fingers dont state clearly enough that you are mine, hm?” you giggle at him, “it seems so..” you say while staring at him lovingly. “shall i find a alternative way to show my claim on you, my dove?” neuvillette whispers suggestively. your ears burn and you stutter, “neuvillette!”

published 9.25.23

[anantaru]

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ i like the way you kiss me, i can tell you miss me

synopsis. ⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ your ex boyfriend childe recently found out that you've been seeing another guy lately. // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡

cw. jealous! childe, rough & needy, exes missing each other but not admitting it, hinted at a previous toxic relationship between you two, fem! reader ♡

"did he touch you like this?" childe mumbles against your ear as his hand slowly slid over your curves, touching your body.

the impact this brazen question had on you made your body shudder in embarrassment, not only that but you could feel your own blood being forced to frenziedly race through your shape with every new drag of his cock dashing ripples of glee into you.

he knows what he's doing, he's planned this.

the harbinger knows everything apparently, or perhaps he's actually made up an entire different story to what he thought happened on your date.

he cups your cheek and runs his thumb across your bottom lip reverently, "or was he rougher?" slower?" he taunts, and there's an instant jolt of pride up the harbinger's spine when he notices how you're embarrassingly averting his satisfied gaze.

he hasn't lost his grip on you yet, he's sure of it, and he welcomed that you're so easy to read, to the point where you'd choke on a cry consistently, more so when he rushed through that one spot he would never forget to stimulate.

"w-why does it matter?" your words come out quicker than your mind could've properly processed them as you whimper out wetly to him.

you quirk up a brow, feeling a tender hold of confidence aid your frame, "aah— it's not like we're dating anymore or anything,"

that breathy, almost belittling laugh that tumbled over your parted mouth reached his heart, fracturing his vitality.

"we're broken up, ajax, please," you shuffle your arms around his neck before abruptly pulling him towards you, so your lips could brush against his ear shell as you whisper seductively;

"i can fuck whoever i want,"

tilting his head, instead of falling for it, childe confidently cocks a brow before planting a wet kiss on your cheek, "huh? archons, what a mouth you got on yourself," as he spreads, burns and dominates your glistening walls until he's certain you're where he needed you to be— vulnerable to him, perhaps even admitting the truth and stopping your bratty mouth to spill anymore wrongs.

"come on, will you? come on," he laughs manically, his hips jerking hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs as your breasts bounce in tandem with his ruthless thrust, "don't pretend like he'll ever catch up to me, fuck— baby..." he grinds deeper, watching how a nasty ring of white covers the majority of his base.

you roll your eyes but know he's right— because no one could ever unlock the love you've had for ajax before you two had broken up. those rough hands of his were your everything, in comparison to how he used them against his enemies, towards you, he wielded them lightly.

you squeeze and squeeze him, practically telling him that yes, you've missed him so much but no, you're not willing to ever get in a relationship with him again. for that, you've put in too much work already to forget about ajax, the man you loved so unconditionally.

"doesn't matter," your voice echos like a soft whimper as you hug him, desperately wanting to feel how all his inches were painfully throbbing while squeezed by your walls, "we. don't. work." concurrently to his sultry rolls, you pant out a crushing reality.

childe didn't want to hear that, not now, not ever again.

he pushes inside and groans out hot against your ear, before forcing himself to move his hips slower, despite the expanded lust inside of him wanting to slam right into you, fuck— the harbinger was aggravated, frustrated and saddened at the same time. not because of you, yet due to the fact that primarily, it was his fault that things ended on how they did.

a candid confession should never find its way inside of a situation this unrepeatable, "i love you," he whines, his cock plunging with passion as if to emphasize his spelled out words.

your mouth opens instantly for a rebuttal as he swiftly runs a hand down your breasts, pinching your nipples, desperate to swallow up your mewls and keep them stored within him.

foreheads pressed against each other, no words said out loud.

childe regrets everything right now, because you are just his everything, his all.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[kabsey]

The moment the last of the Antaam fell, Rook dashed across the battlefield, hurrying to Harding's side. Lucanis shielded his eyes from the Rivaini sun to try and see what had prompted such a response, but all he saw was Harding laughing as Rook tugged her down to sit on the grass. Then Rook's gaze swept the area, and when it landed on him, she called his name with such urgency that he found himself moving just as quickly as she had.

"Keep her upright," Rook ordered as he knelt beside them, and he immediately placed a supportive hand on Harding's back.

"Rook, I'm fine. It's barely a scratch," Harding protested. "I'm not going to faint at the sight of a little blood."

Rook didn't answer; she was too busy dumping the arrows from her quiver. When they lay scattered, she reached into the quiver to her shoulder and fished out a circular leather case. When she unlatched it, it split open. One half held a set of miniature tools, and the other bristled with tiny vials in a rainbow of colors that sparkled in the afternoon light.

"Rook?" Harding's voice had gone quiet.

Rook glanced up with only a hint of her usual boisterous smile. "You're going to be fine. I promise."

She went straight back to picking at the wax seal on one of the vials. Lucanis shared a glance with Harding and then they both silently watched Rook work. He had never had the opportunity to see her perform such a delicate task or to witness her concentrate with a singular focus. In the short time he'd known her, constant movement had seemed to be her natural state. In combat, she flipped and flittered from enemy to enemy, and outside of it, she seemed to relish the simplest motions, always pacing or stretching or even dancing when the mood struck. He had found himself wondering how someone as cerebral as he knew Viago to be wound up with a protégé so steeped in the physical.

As he watched Rook's hands measure out precise dropfuls of liquid into an empty vial, she suddenly appeared as a de Riva to his eyes. Her fingers were long and elegant, tipped by shaped and buffed nails. Unlike nearly every other part of her, the backs of her hands were free of freckles. They looked pale and soft in the sunlight, though he knew they were likely as calloused as his own. Their weapons were similar. Did her calluses match his? Palm to palm, would they be mirrors of each other? And why did that thought strike him as familiar?

He hadn't intended to lapse into reverie, and it broke at the sound of Harding swallowing heavily.

"I feel a little strange," she admitted.

Lucanis glanced down at her again and was alarmed to see her face had gone white behind her freckles. He shifted closer, allowing her to lean against his side.

"You have nothing to worry about," he assured her.

"Oh, yeah?" She lifted one of her booted feet in a weak poke at Rook's side. "You could have mentioned I was poisoned."

Rook only flashed her a brief smile before resuming her work.

"Every Crow in Antiva knows that Viago de Riva is the best among us at creating poisons and antidotes, which means he is likely the best in the world," Lucanis told Harding. "You've met him, yes?"

Harding nodded, her head lolling a bit against his chest. "He trained Rook, right?" The last word came out as barely more than air as her breath ran short.

"Yes. For many years."

"But you and Rook... never met?"

Lucanis shook his head. "Perhaps he did not want her entangled with the Dellamortes. My house has many enemies."

"More likely he thought I'd embarrass him," Rook said. She held a vial to Harding's lips. "Drink."

Harding obeyed, though she seemed to have a bit of trouble swallowing whatever antidote Rook had mixed. Lucanis shifted again, trying to guide her head to tip back slightly against his shoulder. When she finally drained the last drop, he let out a soft sigh of relief, one that Rook echoed.

"Well, that was fun," Rook remarked.

She rocked back on her heels and began tucking the various elixirs and tools back in their case. Once that was safely settled at the bottom of her quiver, she scooped up her remaining arrows, dropped them in, and then swung the quiver over her shoulder. A moment later she was on her feet and stretching her arms over her head.

"Thanks, Harding. I was afraid I was getting rusty."

"Don't mention it," Harding replied drily.

Already her voice came steadier, and Lucanis thought her color was returning, though it might have been wishful thinking coupled with the ruddy light of the setting sun. Rook grinned, her usual good humor restored. She trotted off down the beach, searching the Antaam corpses for potions or coin or Maker knew what. Lucanis stayed with Harding, and they sat in comfortable silence broken by nothing but the waves, the birds, and the flies buzzing around the bodies. He took a moment for gratitude that none of his new allies were among them. They were all still reeling from the devastation they'd seen in Minrathous; Neve had not yet returned to the Lighthouse. To lose one of their number—and one with such a vital spark as Harding—might have broken the fledgling team.

Instead, thanks to Rook, Harding was getting to her feet with Lucanis's help in a matter of minutes. She scowled down at her torn sleeve and the still-bloody scratch in her arm that had nearly been her end.

"I'm gonna go wash this off," she said and headed down to the shoreline without the slightest waver in her step.

Soon after Rook returned to his side and showed him a simple but sleek-looking throwing knife that ended in a loop with a red tassel. "The Antaam's favored delivery method for poison."

"How did you know?" he asked.

"All part of a de Riva education." She tucked the knife carefully into a pouch at her waist. "Fortunately they generally use a fairly standardized compound across all their troops. Probably brew the stuff by the wagonload in Par Vollen."

She sighed, and her brow pinched in thought. "I'd love to carry the antidote premixed, but as soon as you add the reagent, the efficacy starts sliding down a steep cliff. If you wait too long to administer it, you're left with nothing but a foul-tasting tea. And it's not even hot."

Gazing at her as she pondered her alchemical dilemma, Lucanis was struck again by the feeling of familiarity. His eyes traveled over her face and caught on the little wrinkle that furrowed the space between her eyebrows. He knew she and Viago shared no blood connection, but some sort of resemblance teased at him. He remembered the summer nearly a decade before when he and Viago had worked together to track down a target who had poisoned several members of a rival family. Working side by side with the man, witnessing firsthand his intellect and confident competence, had been the first time Lucanis had ever understood the attraction his cousin seemed to feel for every woman that walked past him.

Rook tilted her head at him, and he noticed the smooth line of her neck, the way the strands of long hair that had escaped her messy bun teased at the skin there. He was surprised to find he was curious about that spot as well, how it would feel beneath his fingertips.

How it would feel beneath his lips.

Rook raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

Lucanis blinked at her, caught with a wandering mind for a second time in a single afternoon. "What?"

"What's that look?" she asked.

"There's no look."

"Uh-huh." She smirked at him. "Hey, Spite. What's Lucanis thinking right now?"

In a moment of instinctual panic, Lucanis snapped his head to face the demon, who grinned back and crowed, "He Likes! Rook! Wants to Kiss! Rook!"

He felt a hint of warmth suffuse his cheeks as he turned back to Rook, whose smirk had widened to an open grin.

He frowned. "Why would you ask him that? You can't even hear his answer."

"No, but you can," she said. "You're cute when you blush."

He huffed in annoyance despite how one corner of his lips twitched with the urge to curl upward. "It's just from the sun."

"Uh-huh." She turned and began walking backward toward the water. "Let's go make sure Harding hasn't gotten into any more trouble."

She twirled again and then marched down the sand with a long, easy stride, arms swinging, as though she hadn't a care in the world. She moved with the grace all Crows were trained to, but on her it seemed effortless, natural.

Lovely.

"Mierda," he muttered to himself. Suddenly it didn't seem like Harding was the one in imminent danger.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Nine Months

John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, light angst, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), breeding, creampie, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), mating press

Word Count: 1.5k

With John leaving for an extended deployment, you ask him to leave you something to remember him by while he’s gone.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // summer 2024 collection masterlist

The orders are a brand on the kitchen table. It’s just white paper. Black ink. It’s such a simple thing, and yet it aches every time John brings one home. Some orders are like this—physical. Other times, it’s a phone call in the middle of the night, and John peels himself from your arms to dress and depart with a quick kiss.

“When do you leave?” you ask, wrapping your arms around John’s torso and resting your head against his broad chest.

You don’t dare look at the paper yourself. You want to hear it from your husband’s lips.

“Three days from now,” he replies softly, responding to your touch by wrapping his own arms around you, holding you close to him.

Leaving is always the hardest. It’s the fear of the unknown—of what might happen when John is not in sight. With returns, you know he’s alive and well. The relief is palpable. This is sour. Dreadful. You hate it every time.

John squeezes slightly—a comforting hug. He loves his work, but even he doesn’t enjoy leaving you alone.

Three days.

That is all the time you have with him.

Three days. And then John will be gone for nearly six months. Perhaps longer.

It’s happened before, but you’ve never understood why. There are some things John does not share with you, and the realities of war are not one of those things. Things happen. Plans change. You are aware of this even though it’s utterly out of your control.

You turn your face toward him, and John greets you with a kiss. It’s slow. Tender. And you seek more. John gives them, allowing you all that you wish to consume. They shower upon you like raindrops, and you eagerly catch them with your tongue.

There is a hint of cigar smoke on him. A dash of whiskey. Indulgences he loves but not as much as you.

“John,” you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair.

His response to his name on your lips is a contented groan—one that vibrates against your chest and has you pressing closer to him.

“I want to feel you,” you murmur against his lips. “Feel you for the next few months.”

You want to ache between your legs, to remember him for a bit when he’s gone. Every parting could be the last, and nothing is more urgent that spending time with him as a husband and wife should be.

“A few months?” he chuckles, seeking another tantalizing kiss. “I’ll give you something you’ll feel for the next nine.”

His admission leaves your breathless. You start to pull back, but John’s groan is low and feral as he grasps the back of your neck and hauls you back to him. He claims your mouth, dominating until you surrender to him, melting into his arms.

Hands roam. John is everywhere. Touching. Seeking. You know you’re clawing at him, fingers digging in, but you’re too absorbed in his touch to know where the two of you begin and end.

John’s hands slide over your hips and then circle to your ass. He squeezes hard, landing one sharp slap to the left cheek before he delves further. Clamping down on the backs your thighs, John bends slightly at the knees, and then you’re in the air as he lifts you from the ground. Instinct has you wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, and your heels hook over his ass.

His lips never leave yours as he walks. There is only his taste and the strength of his hands gripping the undersides of your thighs. The kitchen is a distant memory. You don’t remember the hallway at all. There is only John and you—and then your feet on the ground again, John’s gaze a burning thing that turns your insides into an inferno.

“Take off your clothes,” he says, an underlying roughness to his tone.

You fall into the command without thinking as John takes a step back, observing your undressing. While you’re eager for him to be inside you, there is no quickness in the way you reveal yourself to him. But you do not take your time. It is steady, and yet your fingers are on the brink of shaking, the need to have him a buzzing between your bones.

There is a deep ache—a longing that you wish to fill. It burrows and expands until your heart pounds in your ears.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs once you’re entirely undressed.

John takes a step forward, his hand rising, fingers lightly brushing over the curve of your waist and hip to trail over your stomach. His touch is feather-light. A shivering thing. Between your thighs is a slickness. A need.

“On the bed,” he instructs. “Spread those legs.”

Then it is John who is undressing, removing pieces of clothing as you settle back on the bed, sliding backward until you’re comfortable, thighs spreading to show him how wanton you are.

Broad shoulders, strong arms, and a thick chest with brown hair is revealed to you. Then it’s muscled legs and large feet. The last thing to go gives you an uninterrupted view. John is bare and delicious, his cock already hard and jutting.

There is nothing left between the two of you. There is only air. Distance.

John steps forward, one knee resting on the edge of the bed. Between that and the moment his hands brush over your knees feels like an eternity. But it stretches and then comes crashing forward as he slides down onto his stomach and tongues your pussy like it’s his last meal.

With his arms locked around your legs, you are at John’s mercy. He teases and tastes, sliding his tongue into your pussy before swirling up to play with your sensitive clit. Your fingers dig into his scalp and arm, your hips undulating, riding his tongue as your body responds to his attention.

It is a crushing thing—splitting. The orgasm is sharp. A blade across the skin.

You cry out. Come off the bed. And even then, John continues to tongue you through it. The first turns into a second. Or, perhaps it’s the same, and John is drawing it out. Whichever it may be, it is enough to turn your cries into wheezing gasps.

Your breath is retreating. Escaping. The world is spinning.

Everything is overly sensitive. On edge.

You need air. You need calm. You need to come down and have a moment of peace before anything else continues.

John’s hold on your legs loosens, and your legs collapse to the bed. Your chest heaves, and a bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck.

Easing up from between your legs, John guides them open and up, pressing them toward your chest. He settles between, the head of his cock rubbing against your sensitive pussy. You whimper, hand reaching between your bodies to grasp him, guiding him to where you want him the most.

John groans, and sinks in.

The stretch is always a shock at first no matter how much he preps you for it.

“That’s it, love. You can take me,” he croons softly, rocking his hips, feeding you more. Inch by inch he disappears. “I’m going to fill this pretty pussy. Over and over again.”

His first thrust is a test. The next is not. You are pinned to the bed, and John is over you, his hips snapping against your own. It is loud in the room, eclipsing all other noise.

“Gonna fucking breed you,” he grunts between thrusts. You grasp the backs of your thighs, drawing your legs wider. John adjusts, one large hand planting itself above your head on the bed.

“When I come back, your belly will be swollen with my child.” It’s not a question. Not even a suggestion. “Do you want that, love? Do you want me to fill you up?”

“Please, John.”

He groans loudly, his thrusts becoming erratic and wild. You are pinned. Trapped. Completely at his use and will. It’s a lovely sensation to be under him like this—to allow John whatever he wants.

John’s breath hitches, and then he’s grinding forward. His release bursts from his cock, filling you, making everything slicker and wetter between your thighs. As he retreats, your legs start to fall but John clucks his tongue.

“No, love.”

He snags a pillow. Guiding your hips up, he slides the pillow beneath, and then supports your legs, keeping you elevated.

“Don’t want to lose any of that.”

John keeps you elevated like this for a bit. You think he might be done for now, but it’s hardly the start. Over the course of several minutes, you watch as his softening cocks begins to harden again.

He notices you watching him in that moment. And his grin is knowing.

“Want more?”

There is only one answer. And that is yes.

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[vixenofthemist]

EVERLASTING VOW Abysswalker x Princess!MC/Reader Word Count: 20.9k Warnings: mdni, smut, arranged marriage (but not between rafayel and mc), Princess uses She/her pronouns, Slavery is discussed since this is set in the Golden Sands Myth

It was suffocating the amounts of perfume in the air, yet Her Highness, the Princess with the Eternal Heart, could only wrinkle her nose in displeasure before taking another sip of wine. 

“Natasha, how much longer do I need to be present?” She whispered to her maid. “The feast is done, and the dancing has begun. Surely I'm not needed for much longer and can soon retire.” 

if Natasha could have without seeming rude, she would have shook her head and deeply sighed. But, with the King and Queen nearby she did not dare.

“Please Your Highness, you must admit this evening has been pleasant! Why not try and enjoy yourself with fervor rather than counting down the seconds as if this is a sentence.”

 Looking around cautiously, Natasha then whispered in an even more hushed tone: “After missing your own coming of age ball, forgive me if I am not as lenient as usual. You really must take these events more seriously!”

Shifting slightly, Her Highness felt a little bit of guilt. Natasha had been completely white faced when the Princess returned from her outing with Rafayel. The stress of pretending to be royalty during such an important event had been more than anticipated, and Natasha was shaky for days afterwards from the nerves. 

“... I suppose it hasn't been the worst evening.” Her Highness relented, fanning herself with increased speed as the heat from the fireplace warmed her fast in the heavy gown. Natasha brightened.

“It has been indeed. OH! Look, I think a Duke is coming over to ask you to dance.”

Following Natasha's indication, Her Highness observed the man approaching her with a curious eye.

Lord Anthony Dashing, Duke of the Third River. A second son who had to take over his father's estate young after the untimely death of both father and elder brother. The Princess has known him in a cordial way for much of their lives, and perhaps could consider him a friendly face amongst the sea of nobles.

In addition, he was not awful on the eyes with his dark hair tied at his nape and blue eyes that smiled at her and Natasha as he approached.

If she had to fulfill one dance for Natasha to consider this ball a success, then he was not a bad candidate. 

“Good evening, Your Highness.” He greeted with a low timbre, and Natasha bowed back to give the two of them space. “I hope you are well.”

“Lord Dashing, it has been some time! You've returned from your trip I see.”

A hint of puzzlement came over his face.

“Ah- yes. I have been back for some time… Do you not recall our conversation at your Coming of Age Ball? I traveled back purely to attend.”

Shit, she hadn’t thought to ask Natasha who she'd danced with that night. She'd been too caught up with thoughts of Rafayel and his surprisingly pouty lips beneath the mask to consider anything else that night.

“Forgive me, that ball is a blur. Much was happening and I talked to, it felt like, everyone in the kingdom. As well, the mask was awful to see through. I could hardly tell who I was talking to!”

That seemed convincing enough, and the Duke's face eased from his suspicion.

“It was a peculiar choice of ornament, especially for your Coming of Age event, but I am confident His Majesty had his reason.”

“Father has always been one for eccentrics.” The Princess noted, glancing over to the man who had adopted her. “Surely you remember the year he had all the noblemen hunt a specific type of sand seal for his Coronation anniversary, all because he wished for a new crown out of their tusks. Or, goodness, I had almost forgotten myself, Mother's birthday when he had her greet everyone behind a curtain because he did not think anyone else should see her.” 

A memory of Lord Dashing himself popped to mind, and a teasing smile curled her lips. 

“If I'm not mistaken, you tripped on the curtain, did you not Lord Dashing?” 

Sheepishly he nodded.

“I did indeed. I was but a child with two left feet at the time. I promise, however, that I am much more coordinated now. Might I prove it to you with a dance?” He was a picture perfect example of a gentleman as he held out his hand. 

Yes, this will satisfy Natasha enough to let her retire for certain!

She closed her fan, and accepted his hand.

“Very well. I will be judging your coordination growth with my own two eyes.”

Unfortunately, any hope of escaping this suffocating social event was soon dashed as accepting one dance broke the dam. Mama's flocked to introduce their sons and have them ask her to dance in droves. An hour had passed, and feet were starting to throb. She wanted nothing more than to leave.

Dreadfully, however, just as Her Highness thought she might be able to slip away the Queen approached with Lord Dashing in tow and grabbed her arm.

“Dear, I can tell you are getting tired but I declare that this last dance must be with Lord Dashing! Not only did he provide the star entertainment tonight, but also his continued diligence in establishing our relationship with Starfell Kingdom must be rewarded”

Sending him an expectant look, he answered. 

“I would be honored to have a second dance with someone as beautiful and esteemed as Her Highness.”

“Have it you shall.” Arm was passed from the Queen to Lord Dashing. “Go now, be center stage.” The Queen commanded, and both of them had to comply.

In front of the symphony pit, commotion was happening as staff hurried to and fro in preparation for this penultimate song, and curious eyes were drawn to the curtains rising up and revealing a tall woman with beautiful features and long curled hair.

She was dressed well in a sparkling gown of blue, but there was an unmistakable weight on her leg to show she was shackled beneath all the finery.

A Lemurian slave, Her Highness realized as Lord Dashing led her to the dance floor.

Thoughts at once were of gorgeous duochrome eyes above a mask carved with jagged teeth.

The Princess’ hand might settle on Lord Dashing's shoulder as the weight of his palm brought her waist closer to his body, but her mind was not present with him, nor anywhere in the fourth ballroom of the palace. 

Rafayel would be a good dancer. He was light on his feet and agile, with a sturdy body for the lifts and fully capable of carrying her.

Perhaps she should ask him the next time he came to see her… he would be reluctant, but he was not one to deny her whims for long.

  Inevitably he would shake his head with a sigh she would dare hope held affection, before holding out his hand and taking hers and-

A hand with too wide of fingers disrupted her fantasy.

Like a mirage shimmering from a beautiful oasis into the reality of endless sand, the handsome face that was the only source of water that could quench her endless thirst shifted to that of Lord Dashing lit by the swaying chandelier above. 

The orchestra had started playing, and feet carried on well practiced patterns without much need for thought, and the Princess tried to hide the disappointment in her heart with conversation.

“So it’s true then. There are other kingdoms beyond the desert?” It was a question she had been brimming with curiosity about ever since her father told her of the treaty. Rafayel had said there was only desert left of the ocean, but perhaps other places still thrived? Perhaps even, there was a sea somewhere out there…

“Indeed, there is much beyond the desert. Though tis a treacherous journey to get to the end of the sands, and even more dangerous to climb the rock face between our land and our neighboring kingdom of Starfell.”

That was intriguing news she hadn’t heard before.

”A rock face?”

Lord Dashing nodded, but before he could expound an enchanting voice rose along the current of the music and caught everyone’s attention toward the main stage. The Lemurian woman had begun her song.

“Perhaps I can tell you of my adventures some other time, Your Highness. This moment should be for appreciating the now.”

The second time Lord Dashing had disappointed this evening, but the Princess merely pondered his offer.

Getting called upon by a gentleman held expectations of courtship, and she had fought hard to hold off such things till her coming of age; yet her curiosity had always taken propriety over caution. A fault one had to grow when confined to a singular place their whole life.

It wasn’t all that bad of a habit, however. It had led her to reunite with Rafayel.

”I would like to hear more.” 

Lord Dashing’s smile was almost boyishly shy as he briefly broke eye contact.

“I hope I make a more lasting impression this time, Your Highness.”

The Princess gave as encouraging of a smile as she could before her gaze swept across the ballroom as the rhythm continued to carry the dance onward. 

All attention seemed to be on the two of them; as if they were the gossip that would fuel the rest of the season with this single dance. Only the Lemurian women was not paying them a lick of attention, her focus towards the rafters as she swayed.

In turn, the Princess was the only one who cared to notice and wonder what was so interesting in the ceiling above, and she got her answer when Lord Dashing dipped her at the crescendo and her whole vision was now the vaulted ceilings and beams as her head craned back till it almost touched the floor- 

There, in the darkest shadows where no flame dared touch, she met the burning gaze of a twilight above water. Making direct eye contact with her.

The Palace and surrounding city went to sleep that night spreading the news of how the Princess had never before smiled so happily as she did at the end of dancing with Lord Dashing.

Unbeknownst to all the gossip, Her Highness at last retreated to the sanctity of her bedchambers and disrobed herself of all the jewels, make up, and clothing of the evening as Natasha prepared a bath.

Everywhere hurt. 

From her heels to her scalp where pins had held hair up tightly for hours- even muscles she had not known could become sore were making their presence known.

”People finding such engagements enjoyable astounds me. I’m in pain everywhere, and where I am not in pain I tire.” She sighed as she sank into the warm water. “Though, I suppose this might be the first ball in years where I am not reprimanded. I behaved myself too well.”

”You always say such things as if it is bad. Did you truly not enjoy anything about tonight, Your Highness?” The smile that grew on Natasha’s face was almost teasing. “What about Lord Dashing? He seemed enjoyable.”

The Princess made a noncommittal noise, bringing her sudsy hand up to rest her chin on it as she gazed toward the light of the moon..

”The music was beautiful. I… did not know the family had received another Lemurian. Did you, Natasha?”

The maid shook her head.

”I am merely your lady in waiting, I am not privy to many things about the castle. That’d be the head maid who’d know such things.”

Memories of how Rafayel had looked when she’d received him flashed through her mind. How thin his wrists had been in his shackles, and the marks of whips against his flesh… How, when offered food, he had admitted he had not eaten in days…

”Send her a meal from me.” The Princess ordered, hand falling outside of the tub as she stared at the ceiling. If only Rafayel were in these rafters too... “A filling one. By my standards too. Make sure the cooks know that.” 

She was known to have an appetite, the cooks would understand.

”Was her performance that pleasing to you, Your Highness?” Natasha asked, surprised. Before her hand came to her mouth and her eyes sparkled. “Or… perhaps what happened while she was singing pleased you? You did permit Lord Dashing to call on you… A rather marking occasion I would say!”

”If that’s what you’d like to think.” Her Highness dismissed, finding it too troublesome to insist that the dance with Lord Dashing hadn’t been anything to write home about. Her toes felt like they were going to throb off her feet. “Go do it now, please. I’d like to be alone for a while so that I might properly relax.”

The room was silent for only fifteen minutes, before the slight opening of the balcony door caught in her ear and familiar footfalls padded across the room.

Her heart leapt.

”I-I’m in the bath!” She yelped, bringing her hands up to cover her chest as she turned towards the divider separating her from the rest of the room. Water sloshed slightly onto the floor at the sudden movement and an amused chuckle came from the assassin as he briefly stopped to tap at the glass of the fishtank. 

“Did you think I was going to pass the clear divide?” Rafayel asked, bemusement written all over his voice, and his shadow stepped into view through the folding screen. Backlit by the candles behind him. “Or did Your Highness hope I would?”

”I- AHEM, I’m permitted to be cautious!” Her cheeks were burning, and she was grateful the light was not as prominent on her side, so he would not be able to make her out like she could him. “You’re always far too comfortable in someone else’s bedchamber, you know.”

”I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He said, bringing the total amount he had told her those words to six. He never seemed to keep anything in mind, despite it. “However, I am in haste this night to ask you a favor.”

”A favor?” Her Highness asked, bringing her knees up so she could rest her still warm cheek against the hard surface. “Oh, do you want me to help you free the Lemurian women who sang tonight?”

He paused, and she took that as a yes.

”Of course I’ll help, I do owe you many things for taking me beyond these walls. What do you need?”

”You’ve presumed far too much as usual, Your Highness.” Rafayel sighed, shaking his head. “It would be dangerous- perhaps even treasonable- to help with that endeavor.”

He did not deny that he planned to free the women, so the Princess pressed for more information.

”Is she your lover?”

”Wha- no!” Rafayel’s shadow looked taken aback, and slightly disgusted at the very idea. 

Good. 

The Princess hummed, picking up a grouping of bubbles into her palm.

”Then I shall help free her! I do not care for keeping anything trapped within these walls, not merely myself. It would break up the monotony of the day to day, certainly, to do something as exciting as a heist!”                      

“… If Your Highness is volunteering, then I shall not argue. However, it is still not my favor.”

The bubbles melted into water, and she tilted her palm so that it streamed back into the tub.

”What is it, then?”

”That Her Highness is more cautious with those she dances with. Not all who are men are gentle, despite how they might act.”

Not expecting that, she froze for a moment. 

Blinked.

Then giggled.

”Perhaps I ought to dance more next time, if only a few spins around the room is enough to get you to visit!”

”Her Highness misunderstands.” Rafayel pinched the bridge of his nose.

”I tease!” She laughed, stretching one leg out as it was starting to cramp a little, and the water echoed her movements throughout the room. “Truly, I have no problem fulfilling your wish this time. Most of those dances were dreadful, and my feet hurt something awful!”

A moment of silence was interrupted by a knock, but before he was gone, Rafayel muttered into the air, emotion leaking through his usual facade: “So you enjoyed some of them?”

====

The sand beneath her feet was wet, and brought up from beneath the sea by waves that crashed and curled a dark gray. 

The Island was not small, yet she did not care ever to go inland; She always continued on her path. Walking the beachside as cold water rammed around her ankles before retreating back to the depths.

She was waiting for the sea to come swallow her, yet it only ever tasted. Nipping at her wrists with splashes that burned like fluttering kisses or rushing up to engulf her when she sat- willing it to just take her to end this eternal damnation- but it always returned without her. Caressing her thighs as if to taunt her.

Reminding her of how lonely she was.

Reminding her that she did not deserve the sea.

—-

The Princess awoke drearily, yet forced herself to get out of bed.

Her fish Blu-blu was fed with sprinkles of dry flakes fluttering down into the water from her fingertips, and after he’d gobbled his fill she leaned down to eye level.

”Hey, I have another message request O’ Emissary of the Sea God. Tell Rafayel that… to get a full understanding of how much I like dancing, I need to dance with him first.”

Her finger pressed against the side of the tank, and the blue fish swam up and bonked gently against the glass separating them. Whether that meant message delivered or not, she couldn’t tell. But it made her feel better to do anyway.

”Thank you!” She gave him a little extra food, as a treat.

Natasha soon arrived with her itinerary for the next few days. Scheduled for her by the King and Queen.

A usually boring affair filled with nothing, so Her Highness only glanced at it- preoccupied with breakfast- but as her tired brain registered what it said, she choked a little on her sausages.

”This cannot be right!” She declared, giving the list her full attention now as she picked it up. “When have I ever been allowed this many visitors?! And all of them are men?”

Blu-blu in its tank gave a glub of disbelief as horror dawned on her.

”Natasha- NO! This cannot be!” Breakfast forgotten, she stood up with enough force to shake the table. “Are they- do they want me to marry?!” 

“You are of marriage age!” Natasha noted, attempting to help. “However, do not fret too much for it will not be sudden! Your heart is the very salvation of this kingdom, which means your hand is the highest prize a man could ask to receive, and His Majesty will not accept just anyone.”

”What about me? What if I do not accept them?!” Her Highness demanded. Natasha swallowed, and there was sympathy in her eyes. 

“I fear most marriages are not one of love, Your Highness. OH- I know that does not please you but consider how wonderful it might be!” She walked closer, and took the Princess’ hand. “You remember my older sister, yes?” At the nod, she continued. “ She got married two years ago and you would not BELIEVE the change in attitude she’s had! Turns out, the cause of all her issues were-well-“ Natasha paused, looking around as if she and the Princess were not the only ones allowed in this chamber (and Rafayel, though Natasha did not know that). “Our parents.”

That, caused Her Highness to still, and listen a little more intently.  

“Now that she has a husband, she lives with him. The rules and beliefs of our parents no longer rule her, and she has grown incredibly happy, despite not loving her husband!”

”Are you saying that… maybe… if I get married… I could leave the palace?” The words left Her Highness’ mouth slowly.

”Not exactly but… it is a possibility that you should not shut out.”

Swallowing, still braided hair moved with her nodding.

”I… will consider it.”

Unspoken was the addition: I will consider it if I am unsuccessful at escaping.

As soon as Natasha was gone, she made her first solo escape attempt since meeting Rafayel.

It went as well as it usually did, and ended with her being escorted on either side by guards straight to the Queen’s parlor.

The Princess met the Queen’s unamused look with a smile.

”Morning Mother! I thought it a beautiful day to walk the city but, as usual, I was not allowed.”

”Of course you were not, child.” The Queen sighed with a great shake of her head. “The Lemurian rebels stalk the streets and would for certain see to have you killed! Which is why you should joust any thought of leaving the palace from your mind and come sit. We are meeting guests in thirty minutes and we must be prepared.”           

Reluctantly, the princess did so. 

“I see it came to your attention that your father and I are looking for a marriage for you.” 

“Grateful that you asked for my opinion.” Said dryly. 

“Why would we ask when we know you would not see how it is for your benefit?”

”Well, you are wrong, mother. I am not against getting married, I am against it being forced upon me!” The Princess huffed, crossing her arms with a scowl. “In fact, I’ve always dreamt of getting married, but you would not know that about me, would you? Well, if you doubt it, ask my old Nanny and she’d tell you how I used to dress up as a bride and throw pretend weddings to a stuffed animal as a child!”

That caught the Queen by surprise.

”I- Do not accuse me of being a bad mother, I can hear it in your tone!” 

“I do not need to accuse-“

A sharp sting rapped against knuckles, as the Queen’s fan hit the Princess’ hand. Hard.

”Silence this instant! We will be receiving four potential suitors today and you must be on your best behavior- and that includes respecting the woman who has raised you!”

The woman next to her had never been a mother. She’d just been the wife of the man who happened to stumble upon an abandoned baby in a cave with a heart that can make a Kingdom thrive even in a desert.

She hadn’t even wanted to keep her. Only allowed it because her husband promised to bring in his mother to help care so she did not have to lift a finger. Her tune changed swiftly, when the King found out about the gift and arrived to take the child. 

When her husband refused, the wife killed him as a sign of loyalty and gave the girl to the king to become Princess. Eventually earning her spot as Queen by his side.

The Princess sometimes mourned the father she never got to have. The one who loved her enough to refuse the riches of a King.

Perhaps that father would have liked Rafayel.

The Princess liked to think he would have, because she liked Rafayel.

However, he was long dead, and she was forced to spend every day of the next week meeting and spending time with men who talked of her as if she was an object in a vault.  A fanciful cage of flesh holding the true treasure they all sought- the divine powers of her heart.

It was rather impressive that she held out till the fourth day to reach beneath her pillow and retrieve the fish tail beacon. 

“I've had the most dreadful week!” She said to Rafayel as soon as she saw strands of purple hair peer into the room. She sat up and swung her feet off the side of the bed, properly tying her robe to cover her nightgown. She might ask the man to come to her bedchambers, but she still held some sense of decency! “It will only get worse I fear- everyone has gone mad!”

“I've been out of the city and far from the palace, I'm afraid I know not what Your Highness speaks.” 

Beads shifted as Rafayel lifted them, and at last his face was clear in her view… yet she found herself unable to look at him.

She just let the words fall from her lips as she looked anywhere but him.

“It has been decided that I should marry.”

His movement halted out of the corner of her eye at once, and he became a statue, yet still the Princess kept her head down towards her knees. Fists clenching the bedsheets.

“A year ago I would have been thrilled to meet so many people, but now it feels like I'm being set in front of one jailer after the other each day.” Her stomach knotted as she remembered overhearing a group of these “suitors” talking. “And those who are not jailors feel like brutish dogs salivating to get a meal…” 

A shiver of disgust coursed through her, springing her to her feet as she began to pace. Not noticing the way Rafayel's jaw had clenched and his eyes stayed fixed to where she had been sitting.

“I cannot stand to be forced to wed! Are they truly not satisfied in holding me prisoner that they have to dictate my marriage as well? How dare they try and force the only chance of happiness I could find out of my hands!” Feet halted in front of the fish tank, and she bent at the hips to look at the fish staring back at her. “Not even mentioning the caliber of men they are presenting. See that horrible rock?” A finger jabbed in the direction of a geode half settled in the corner of the tank with a rather peculiar formation. “Everyone’s talked non stop of how thoughtful of a gift something so beautiful is, and he certainly had much poetry to wax when giving it, but as soon as he thought I was gone he referred to it as “a representation of what the Princess could give me the wedding night”-“ 

 Bead strands snapped in half in Rafayel’s fist as a flicker of a flame blossomed through his fingers, scattering half on the floor and half on the bed. She didn’t notice however, too caught up in her anger.

”That’s when I took a closer look and realized what part of a woman it resembled. I almost chucked it at his head, but a maid picked it up before I could and put it in the tank. I’d get it out but I’m too short and chairs and stools get removed each night so I don’t use them to escape. UGH!” Long hair flipped around as she stomped/turned, folding her arms as she stalked away from the horrible thing. “I did not think life in the palace could get any worse, yet here it is!”

Footsteps stuttered to a halt when Her Highness realized just how long it'd been since Rafayel spoke or moved. It was entirely unlike him.

Turning, she walked over, calling his name.

”Rafayel?”

No response to verbal, but he caught her wrist as she went to poke the exposed part of his cheek, turning his attention to her finally.

She wished that she could read his eyes, for they seemed to be screaming a phrase over and over as they stared at her, taking in the features of her face as if drinking her presence like it was sustenance. The intensity made her flush and a tingle of thrill coursed up her spine.

Boldly, she pushed back against his grip and he relented in allowing her to reach for him. The backs of four fingers brushed past his bangs to his brow bone, then down to the tops of his cheek right below the eye.

His lashes fluttered, and he leaned into the touch. His breathing was getting heavier by the second.

It emboldened her to step closer, past his knees. Her emotions felt caught in her throat as a strange mixture of indignation and something much deeper coursed through her.

”Rafayel I… I don’t want to marry any of them.” Her figure collapsed against him, arms flung on his shoulders as one hand gripped the chain at the back of his hood while the other found a strap to hold. “You don’t want me to either, do you?”

She buried her face against his shoulder and tightened her grip. Sheltering herself from the world and what his lack of reaction could mean in the darkness of his hood.

“Please say something.” She begged, voice low and pleading. 

A sharp inhale reverberated from within Rafayel’s mask, before an arm was around her waist lifting her onto his lap. Her legs were on either side of his hips, nightgown riding up to her thighs beneath the robe but she couldn’t care any less.

Rafayel was hugging her.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held.

“No one in this palace of thieves and villains deserves to marry you.” Rafayel’s voice trembled low in anger. Wrapping her even tighter in his embrace. It emboldened her even further. Right hand releasing his back to grasp his face as she turned her head to look at the outline of his jaw in the dim light.

“Then- then take me away!” She pleaded, pressing her face further into his neck; nose brushing against the sensitive skin beneath his ear. Inhaling his scent in her next shaky breath. 

Saltwater and leather and steel.

She felt his throat bob beneath her lips as her exhale sent her warm breath across it.

“I do not want to belong to anyone but my most important person.”

A kiss was pressed to the delicate flesh beneath his ear, and his whole body shuddered in response and she could hear the strangled groan that rumbled from his chest to his mouth. She kept going, trailing with more fervency down along the edge of the mask. Punctuating in between each desperate kiss with a “please”.

His hands were on her shoulders as her lips just barely grazed his adams apple, pushing her just far enough away that she could now see his eyes.

They were an almost blazing shade of pink like the deepest pools of water beneath the morning sun, and Her Highness felt like she was getting drunk off the intensity of them and her own emotions. The tip of her nose bounced against his- still covered by the mask- as she swayed. 

“Is that your wish?” Rafayel asked, his tone low as he steadied her with a palm on the side of her head. Thumb resting at the corner of her mouth.

It was. But more importantly-

“I want it to be yours.” She confessed in a whisper, before leaning forward and kissing the spot on his mask where she knew his mouth was beneath it. The leather was pliable enough that it sank beneath her weight till the resistance of him halted it.

With eyes closed her senses devoured every sound of his labored breathing and the texture of the mask against her lips as she peppered kisses wherever her blind aim landed. So when his hips bucked -ever so slightly- as her hand settled over his heart she felt every inch of his pants rise and drag against her thighs but not reaching where she needed it most.

The sensation still rose a whiny moan from her, and Her Highness went to press onto his lap but in a blink she was on her back on the bed- pink robe slipping out of its knot to spread around her as Rafayel hovered over her, Holding the offending wrist as the other hand tore the mask off his face so he could press a torrent of kisses and nips into her palm and fingertips.

Moonlight filtered in through the drapes surrounding her bed, showing the flush of his face and ears to her and the occasional flash of teeth before it sunk ever so slightly into the flesh of her thumb. A whimper came from her throat, and an apologetic tongue flicked over the indentation of teeth. Eyes opening to meet hers.

“Are you sure, Princess?” He poised the question before nuzzling his nose down to her wrist where the remnants of her perfume lingered just enough to keep him from going completely feral over her natural scent. “All you need do is command me to stop.”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything.” She breathed, inching her hips down towards him. She needed to be closer. He was always too far yet so within reach and she couldn’t bear for him to be distant tonight. “Rafayel, you’re too far away~”

A chuckle accompanied the hand grabbing her leg and dragging her towards him. Her nightdress fully over her hip on one side by the time she was situated against one of his knees.

“Always so demanding, My Princess.” 

The way the words “my” rolled off his tongue made her bite her lip; her thoughts only of how he was leaning closer and closer and closer-

She raised up to meet him, and their first kiss was anything but chaste.

Open mouths slotted against each other and tongues danced for both of them were starved. 

Seconds passed without breaking, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as her lungs began to burn the longer they kissed, but she only held onto him tighter. Clutching his hair to push him more into her mouth.

Her Highness felt possessed with the need to drown in him.  For him to take all her breath- to devote her final moment of life to be with Rafayel’s lips on her and their left hands intertwined- but he pushed distance between them and her lungs rose with a rush of fresh air.

He fumbled to find his mask as his own breathing came out ragged and wheezy, and realizing it was the thing prodding against her back she hurriedly shifted to grab it and give it to him. 

Slotting it over his nose, Her Highness held it there so that he could regain whatever life force Lemurian’s needed without the ocean in this tepid desert. Watching his beautiful face scrunch with sweat and desperation as his chest heaved, a little bit of guilt tugged at her heart.

”Are you okay?” She asked once able to talk, hips rolling slightly against the leather of his pants and he pressed it further against her clothed core as he nodded. Sweat beading down his forehead.

”More than okay.” He rasped, grabbing her hand gently to remove the mask. His skin felt feverish as he pressed a kiss up the column of her neck. “Never felt easier to breathe.”

”Y-you’re burning up Rafayel!” Her Highness gasped as he sucked at her pulse point. Shuddering up into his chest as she kept seeking friction against his leg. 

“Yeah. You make me this way, ya know?” The zipper of his shirt was pulled down, and she tried to wiggle to a position where she could see his skin, but he held her firm in place as he nipped her ear. ”Only you Princess…”

She whined, one knee hooking around his leg to try and get more pressure against her aching center as she urged him down for a kiss.

He was ever attentive, and he unwrapped her leg to reposition it on his hip. Shifting so there was room for his hand to push aside her garments and slide his middle finger down through her tender folds.

Princess broke the kiss with a gasp- looking down to see in the moonlight the glistening on his gloves as he now pressed a thumb to tease her entrance with delicate circles.

The texture of his glove felt electric, and she keened in approval.  The hand not holding the mask flying down to encourage him to go faster with a grip on his wrist.

“Yes! There- need you there!” She muttered breathless.

”As my Princess wishes.” Rafayel obliged, hair sticking to the sweat on his brow as he kept his eyes locked on the sight of her beneath him. Thighs trembling in anticipation for him to stop teasing.

He moved downward to prop himself on an elbow near her hip, shifting her leg onto his shoulder. In this position, the sliver she could see of his defined abdomen made her lick her lips- though quickly her tongue was replaced with teeth as he dutifully inserted a finger.

Pants of encouragement fluttered out of her lips as he moved the single digit in and out. Reaching places in her walls her own hands never could, and when his middle finger joined Her Highness found herself babbling. Squirming her legs around the sheets and his shoulder while fisting the corner of a pillow as words tumbled out of her.

“OoH  y-your fingers shouldn’t be used for holding d-daggers RafAyelll they should be for something wonderful like paaainting or or piano or-“

”Making you feel good?” He interrupted her rambling, curving one of the fingers inside her and her back ARCHED at the sensation.

”YeaaHHHhhh-“ She moaned in agreement. Rafayel was pistoning at a faster pace and she felt the intensity inside of her building- it was nearing the precipice of going over and his thumb grazed a bundle of nerves that made her see stars-

But it all was interrupted as a blood curdling scream ripped through the air from somewhere in the palace and all at once the motion stopped.

Rafayel was alert, looking over his shoulder as he listened.

No no no no no she had been so close but his warmth was gone and he was off the bed moving to look out a window.

”Rafayel?“ She panted, rolling over and reaching towards him. “What’s the matter?”

A curse in a foreign tongue made dread seep into her heart.

”TCH! The guards are on the move.” The blazing pink in his eyes was gone when he looked back at her, moving with great speed as he snatched his mask off the bed. She missed grabbing him by seconds, flinging herself onto her other side to try and catch him but he was too quick. 

“Are you leaving?!” She asked, panic rising her voice. 

“I have to.” Is all Rafayel said in response as he put the mask back on.

“But what about…” Me.

Rafayel looked at her, laying on her stomach now with her clothing in disarray. Eyes blown wide and panic written all over her pretty face that was still flushed from the pleasure HE had been giving her moments ago. Body still crying for attention she only wanted from him.

He took in a deep breath, and zipped up his shirt.

“I'll explain later.”

Her Highness’ entire body deflated in dismay and tears welled in her eyes as he hurried to the balcony. He was leaving. He was actually leaving after- after she had begged him to not leave her here!

She jerked her head to face the opposite wall as tears stung down her cheeks. She couldn’t watch him go. Watch him leave her shivering and lonely and ACHING. Fuck was she aching and unsatisfied. 

She could stop him with a sentence, but selfishly, she wanted him to make the choice. Wanted someone to choose HER and not her heart for once in her fucking LIFE but if not even her most important person would then- then-

Her scream/sob of anguish was muffled by the pillow she grabbed to dull it, but it still reached Rafayel’s ears as he climbed down the wall.

His entire body was revolting at him to go back to her. She needed him, his beloved bride had been beneath him while her walls pulled him in and throbbed around his fingers and she’d BEGGED him to take her in marriage and in body and he was just leaving her-

But his duty to the Lemurians who relied on him kept him moving down. Away from her. 

Rafayel knew what happened to cause the scream. Algie and Marietta.

Algie had promised to stay hidden. Had begged and begged for weeks for him to let her observe life at the palace from the shadows, and tonight he had relented because the summon of the fishtail beacon always made him too eager to think properly. 

The blood of whichever human they had killed was on his hands, not theirs. They were young still and freshly filled with the bitterness of vengeance. He, however, was the God of the Tides. He should have instructed better. Observed more closely.

That was why he had to make sure they weren’t caught and punished by the humans.

The lake was in sight, but Rafayel paused to allow himself another steadying breath. He had to be focused on helping Algie and the others, not back in the high bedroom where his twitching desire begged to return. 

Despite his rightful title as the Sea God and how much he was able to control his mind, at his core he was still just a Lemurian deeply and utterly in love. Which was why, before going into the water, he looked at his wrist where the gleam of her slick still clung; and he licked it clean.

====

The Princess was unwell the next morning, so her meetings with suitors were postponed till the afternoon.

It didn’t stop Natasha from sharing the news that was all about the palace: The gruesome murder of the head cook.

”Eyes clawed by nails too sharp to be human the maids are saying!” Natasha shivered as she swept the beads on the floor up. “I dread to think the rebel Lumerians are able to make it into the Palace… does not the very thought make you frightened?!”

From beneath the cocoon of blankets the Princess gave a vague noise of response.

She felt like she’d barely stopped crying on and off since she’d been left, and the dehydration left her with a pounding headache. 

A lemurian rebel was the very cause of the mess Natasha was cleaning up, and part of the princess found it humorous. But most of her just ached.

Natasha was unfettered by the lack of response, and kept talking.

“It scares me something dreadful! I don’t understand how the markets seem so unphased with all the murders that have been happening, but I suppose since Lemurians are a luxury only the highest of nobles can afford they’re clueless to what they are I bet. Though the Lemurian singer has caused quite the intrigue among commoners because of your acts of giving her food. As usual Your Highness is an emblem for the people to follow and-“

”Natasha?”

”Yes, Your Highness?”

”Be quiet, and stop talking about Lumerians.” 

“Y-yes Your Highness.”

Natasha left her soon after that, and at last sleep found the Princess though so exhausted was she that she had no dreams. 

Or perhaps even the oceans of her mind followed Rafayel’s example and discarded her.

She could not sleep the day away no matter how much Her Highness wanted to, as a few hours later Natasha was back and she had to refresh herself for the upcoming visitations.

A lie about how she’d dropped a book on her neck while reading was enough for Natasha to not question the dark spot on her throat, and a dress with a high collar was chosen to hide it. 

As Her Highness stood, looking in the mirror as Natasha laced up her dress, she tried to steele her resolve. She refused to be defeated and just lay around and let things happen to her. If marriage was an unavoidable option then she was going to delve headfirst into making it happen in a way she approved.

Not in the way she wanted anymore… that option had left her crying all night, and she couldn’t bear to think of it any longer.

”Natasha do you… truly think a marriage might save me?”

”Whatever do you need saving from, Your Highness?”

”Forget I said anything.”

The fruit trees had yet to be harvested when the Princess strolled through them to the sitting area circled round a fountain with the royal family standing center stage as marble statues.

It was built to commemorate the wedding of the King and Queen and the establishment of the royal family that would lead the desert kingdom into a new age of prosperity, yet Her Highness barely spared it a glance as she sat on a bench. 

She was readying her resolve for the afternoon of callings, and she couldn’t allow herself to get distracted. 

Natasha stood off to the side, and the Queen was watching from a balcony above as guards escorted the first hopeful suitor into the orchard.

He was dismissed ten minutes into the call, for he was not of high enough rank to provide any leeway of freedom to her if they would marry, and the next man did not last much longer for he kept staring at her bosom.

Six suitors in all in 3 hours.

Number three seemed to have potential, till he slipped that he’d crave a treasure of a woman like her to never leave his side and bitterness was immediately in the Princess’ mouth as she asked him if he often traveled. 

He had never once left the palace, nor did he have any plans to ever leave his manor.

Number 4 was old enough to be her great grandfather, which could open options of independence if he was to soon die- but quickly Her Highness remembered her heart did not allow the denizens to pass away of natural causes, and though she was not opposed to having him assassinated the only one she know who could do that was… 

With a sniff to hide the immediate sadness and pulse of longing that wanted to sprout at the thought of him, The old man was sent away.

Five lasted thirty minutes, but he also seemed to think of her as something to be put in a display case, and he dismissed her as anything but a breathing jewel.

Number six was Lord Dashing.

”Your Majesty.” He bowed. “Forgive me that I was not able to call upon you sooner to finish our conversation of my adventures, but your time seems to be highly sought after these past few days. Completely understandable of course but… I brought you something to make it up all the same.”

From behind his back, he produced a bouquet of strange flowers.

”I’ve never seen these before!” Her Highness gasped, taking the bouquet to inspect each unique bud. “Are these from-?”

”Beyond the desert? Yes.” Lord Dashing smiled, glad to see she was excited. “Not only that, they’re fascinating flowers that only grow during something other kingdoms have- winter.”

He explained what winter was, and the Princess just could not wrap her mind around the concept.

”Nights are cold out in the desert I’ve heard, but you’re saying if rain and cold happen at the same time something called… snow happens?”

”Hard to imagine, I know.” Lord Dashing chuckled, now sitting beside her on the bench. “But I swear I saw it with mine own eyes. Water that falls from the sky gets so cold that it becomes soft ice that is gentle to the touch yet burns you still. If I could have bottled some up for you, I would have. However… the heat of the desert takes it almost immediately back to water. ”

For the first time since last night, Her Highness felt a spark of delight.

”I’d like to witness snow in the desert one day! It sounds… magical.”

”It truly is a wonder. The locals thought me mad the way I was fascinated with it. But it coats the trees like icing sugar on a pastry! I commissioned a local artist, recommended to me by the Crown Prince of Starfell, to paint me landscapes of the snow so I might take the wondrous view back home. When I get it, I shall have to show it to you.”

”I’d like that! Tell me more, you mentioned trees? What kind.”  An hour passed, and Her Highness picked Lord Dashing’s brain of all the questions she had.

Forests existed, which were large grouping of trees much like an orchard yet naturally occurring. Lord Dash had gone on an expedition with Prince Xavier and his knight in one of these forests and encountered something called a mountain. A large rock formation that was taller than the palace.

Lord Dashing, Her Highness slowly realized as they talked (a little reluctant to even think of it), was a good option for marriage. He traveled often, so she would have time to herself to escape or even maybe sneak along one of his travels, and he was not bad conversation when they had to be together. Perhaps this was the marriage of convenience everyone talked of. 

The Queen seemed pleased by this, drinking tea and smirking with satisfaction as she looked down on them.

 However, the conversation took a swift pitfall.

”The oddest thing about traveling to such a far away place is objects we take for the norm are unfathomable to them. For example, they’ve never heard of Lemurians as anything but myths! They could hardly believe me when I told them I can have one gifted to his Majesty Lightwood.”

Her Highness’ back stiffened at once, yet Lord Dashing did not notice. He continued talking.

”Speaking of Lemurians, I’ve often wondered what became of the one that my Father gifted you for your birthday years back.”

What.

WHAT.

”I… did not know that was your family.” Her Highness spoke as her mind reeled but one thing was immediate and certain.

Lord Dashing was off the marriage list. She could not marry into the monsters that gifted her Rafayel.

“Quite alright Your Highness.” It made her skin crawl the way he was talking about this in the same tone he had in speaking of a peculiar rock he’d picked up from beneath his boot. “It was lacking the usual markings to show it was from us, but because it was for you father thought it rather crude to brand it.                                                              . He prided himself on the trade of Lemurians, and though it is not my main pursuit I do keep up the family business. My question still stands, however. Might I know? I’ve never seen him around the palace.”

”I’d-I’d rather talk about anything else.” Her Highness said numbly. The sun felt too bright all of a sudden, her throat parched and unbearably dry.

She’d had no idea. The gifts given to her were always a blur of faces and voices, and Rafayel had mattered more than anything else that happened that day. 

Rafayel- Rafayel DID matter to her still. More than anyone on Philos.

“I would not take offense if you had him killed.” He had the nerve to say and then CHUCKLE. “It’s difficult to keep them alive sometimes, fickle things for supposedly being so magical.” 

That was the final tinder for the fire that sparked in the Princess’ soul, and she stood up. The bouquet hit his chest with a hard THWACK. Petals scattered all around.

”HOW DARE YOU! To even insinuate that I- I would KILL him is-” She could not even get out the words. She was beyond furious. “If I had known you had such a foul aspect of your soul, I would have dismissed you much earlier! You may go.” 

She ignored the combined calls of Lord Dashing and Natasha for her to wait, and she stormed out of the courtyard. Slipping down hallways and passages blindly in her anger.

She was not going to marry Lord Dashing, not anymore. He was off her list. Fuck, everyone in this wretched palace and surrounding city was. Red hot tears blurred her vision, and she almost ran into a side table holding a vase when an arm dashed out of a room and pulled her in.

”HEY-“ She yelled in protest, yet the words halted when her forehead hit against a familiar chest and her vision became all purple leather.

OH. She hadn’t expected to see him again so soon.

”Hey to yourself, Your Highness.” Rafayel’s voice was almost apprehensive as he secured the handle with chains to keep it closed. “Hope you don’t mind the interruption but I thought we might need to talk.”

”Yes, we do.” Clearing her throat and quickly wiping her eyes, she pulled out of his hold and walked further into the room with her chin high and arms crossed. It was an unused parlor, with white sheets over the furniture and curtains drawn to let in sparse light. “I am in a rather bad mood so let’s make this quick. Or are you distracting me again so someone else can be murdered?”

”That is not what happened last night!” He protested, but the Princess’ temper was already high so she snapped easily.

”So you can tell me it wasn’t a Lemurian who killed the cook?”

”I cannot, because it was.”

She hadn’t expected him to admit that so quickly.

”Well- for what reason then?”

”It’s complicated for humans to understand.” 

Arms crossed, she finally looked squarely at him.

”I would say our current relationship is complicated. Try me.”

His sigh was tired as he rubbed his forehead. Maybe he had slept as well as she did.

“Alright. I’ll tell you because I want Your Highness to understand why I had to leave.” The reminder made emotions immediately roil in her chest, but the next words out of Rafayel's mouth caused her whole world to halt. “There are two young girls in my care. One four and ten years and the other nine.”

Of all the things Her Highness had expected, that was not one of them. She blinked rapidly, processing the information that Rafayel was a guardian to children while he continued talking. 

“The youngest is Marietta. She’s lived a difficult life, even for a Lemurian because she is one of the last of us who is- I believe the humans use the term “purebred”.”

Her Highness had heard those words before, when she’d been handed Rafayel’s chain.

“It is rare nowadays for Lemurians to successfully have children with each other, because when the oceans still existed it was dictated by the moon controlling the tides when fertility was at its highest potential, but that connection is no more and so it’s a squandering chance for two Lemurians to produce a child. Most Lemurians have human ancestry because humans are…” Rafayel paused briefly. In that pause though, a million potential words flung through the Princess’ mind. “A species that relies heavily on repopulation.”

“You make us sound like rabbits…” Her Highness coughed, looking away to hide how her face burned. 

“Or gerbils.” She could hear the teasing grin in his voice, yet it quickly dropped back to serious. “Either way, a human involved is the easiest way for many magical species to carry on. Lemurians, Dragons, gods- no matter how many generations pass humanity never overtakes the essence of magic within blood. It is why slavers do not care if a Lemurian babe has been sired with a human. They’ll sell them all the same.”

This reality of the world they lived in made bile build in her throat, and she swallowed. 

“A child born to two Lemurians is treasured by us but seen as nothing but a chance at a higher price point for humans. Marietta’s first few years of life were in a dark cage trapped with her mother till she would be old enough to sell. I intercepted the caravan on the way to the auction, and her mother shoved her into my arms through the bars.” There was a far off look in his eye as he recalled the moment. Sorrow evident in his voice. “I couldn’t save them both.”

“Rafayel…” She stepped closer, but he kept looking at the grandfather clock between the windows. Draped like it was, it almost resembled a body covered in a funeral shroud.

“Her mother was sold to the head cook of the palace, and he murdered her a few months ago when she would not love him.”

“So Marietta…” 

Rafayel nodded. Regret creasing his brow.

“She was not supposed to leave the base last night, but when I heard the scream I just knew Algie snuck her out. I had to make sure they were not caught since they are my responsibility. Not to mention just children forced to live in a cruel world by circumstances they had no say in.”

A wave of foolishness coursed through Her Highness as she looked at Rafayel- handsome even in this dust dappled light and with tired eyes- who had weights on his shoulders she hadn’t even bothered to find out about. Even though she claimed he was her most important person she hadn’t cared enough to find out about him beyond what he does when she calls for him.

Too stuck in her own little bubble reflecting her own worries back at her to notice how many people Rafayel had to care for. She was a pampered princess who had never had to be beaten or starved like the Lemurians… people deprived of their very home in these twisted sands and forced to servitude by the people who took up the space they should freely roam.

 How many worshippers did he have in situations like Marietta, yet he still relented to her silly whims and requests when she called for him? He was truly a merciful god with more kindness in his heart than anyone else alive. More so than she for certain, with her supposed divine heart that humans worshipped because she merely existed. 

What right did she actually have to ask him to take her, she realized with widening eyes. What had she ever done to deserve the attention and devotion she’d pleaded of him?

  Her hand hovered near his cheek, and when he noticed her hesitation, he leaned into her palm.

“It’s unlike you to be left speechless, Your Highness.”

“I’m sorry.” Was all she could get out. And she was, for so many different things. 

For being just another burden on his shoulders. For being angry at him without waiting for him to explain like he said he would. For having thought she could be with anyone else.

“Why are you apologizing?” He asked, gently grabbing her arm to bring her closer. Hand sliding down to her laced wrist.

“I thought you abandoned me. I was so scared and angry that I convinced myself of it completely and I… almost accepted an arranged marriage.”

He was stunned for a moment, before his eyebrows lowered in urgency.

“Did you?”

“No. No I did not and I was a fool to ever think I could.” She must be a selfish person down to her very soul because even now she sought his embrace for comfort. He gave it to her. “No one is as good as you nor even close to as handsome. You were right to call them all villains.”

His laugh reverberated against her ear. Humorless.

“Good. If you had accepted a marriage I would have had to kill them.”

Her grip around his torso tightened. Her heart beat with a thrill at his words but her mind frowned.

”I’d rather you kill me so I would not have to live beneath the thumb of the King and Queen anymore.”

Rafayel’s breath caught in his throat and he stilled unnaturally till she could not even feel his breathing lift and lower his ribs against her cheek. 

Her Highness rested her chin on his left pec and peered up at him, surprised by the storm in his eyes as he looked out the window.

“Rafayel?”

He did not answer her just yet, and a hand moved to the back of her skull so he could position her gaze away from him. Right when her nose started to become cold from touching the cool zipper of his shirt, his mask pressed against her forehead.

“I have someplace I wish to take you, but the preparation will take a few weeks and the journey will be long.” 

Excitement thudded her heart against her ribcage in such a way he had to be able to hear it. 

“I can wait however long you need! Just… do not abandon me. That is all I ask.”

Rafayel’s finger hooked beneath her chin, and raised her gaze. Devotion she didn’t think she deserved was in his eyes replacing the wall that’d been there earlier.

“I promised I would come back for you all those years ago, Your Highness, and I will keep that promise as long as I have breath.”

Reaching up, she removed his mask. Swallowing hard as her lower lip trembled slightly at the overwhelming emotions coursing through her.

She felt immense love towards him. She felt hatred for herself. She felt anxiety that they would be torn apart. She felt a heart that was never her own for once aligned with her body in want, and she stood on her tiptoes. 

This kiss felt more like a first one than their actual one had. Tender and chaste and only lasting a moment.

“It’s unfair for you to be the only one with a promise, so I’ll make one too.” Both of her hands grasped the sides of his face, and she tried to convey how much she meant what she was about to say through her entire being. “I promise that I’ll become someone worthy of being by your side in these weeks.”

His throat bobbed.

“You don’t-”

“I do.” Her Highness cut him off, shaking her head. “A spoiled princess is not deserving to be with a god. I realize that now. If I want to leave the palace walls, I have to be prepared to be more than just a Princess.”

“If… that is your wish.” He brought her left hand up to his lips, and pressed a kiss to the knuckle of her ring finger. “As long as you stay your silly self at your core. I quite like you, ya know.”

With a giggle, Her Highness ignored the distant sounds of guards and maids calling for her, and let herself drown in Rafayel a moment longer before the door handle rattled and they had to separate.

“Your Highness?! Are you in there?!” Natasha yelled through the door. “Please come out and talk with Lord Dashing he wishes to apologize-”

Rafayel had stepped one foot back, looking around to sneak out yet at the name of the Duke he seemed to change his mind. A slight squeak erupted from the Princess as her walk towards the door was interrupted by an arm snatching her waist and bringing her against Rafayel’s firm frame.

“Don’t tell me that duke was the one you almost agreed to?” Rafayel’s low voice rumbled next to her ear. Bitter and possessive.

“I didn’t know he was a Lemurian trader at the time!” She hurried to explain, twisting her neck to look back at him. “Believe me; I wish I had something harder to throw at his face than just flowers.”

Rafayel’s eyebrow raised. 

“What did he do to get you so upset?” 

Natasha answered for her.

“Your Highness must understand that your feelings toward Lemurians are unique! He did not know you valued the Lemurian that was gifted to you but I explained it to him and now he’s willing to apologize. Please, Your Highness-”

“GO AWAY NATASHA!” Her Highness commanded, and her voice must have been filled with enough authority that she complied. A defeated huff followed by footsteps retreated from the door, signaling Natasha had left. 

 Rafayel pressed a kiss to Her Highness’ cheek. Bending her over slightly with the weight of him against her upper back.

”Cause of me, huh? I’m honored Princess.” The curve of his smile was gentle upon her skin as it gave another kiss to her increasingly warm ears. 

“Of course because of you.” Her fingers traced along the softness of his jaw with a slight pout. Savoring how it felt in ways she couldn’t the night before. “He dared insinuate that I had you killed, it was the most insulting thing I’ve ever been accused of!” 

A sharp intake of breath, before his voice against her ear was low and ticklish.

”I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be pleased that a stray mention of me is the only deterrent from you accepting a brutes hand. If I had not come up, would Your Highness have taken him?”

“... I wasn’t in my right mind.”  She muttered, embarrassed.

One of Rafayel’s hands rose from her waist. Leaving featherlight touches up to the bottom of her ribs where he splayed out his large hand against her stomach. Thumb grazing against the bottom swell of a breast through fabric.

“After finding this out, I am more inclined to hold you to your promise.” He confessed. “I asked you to be careful around him and this is what you do at the first opportunity? Tsk tsk, how could you, Your Highness?”

”I meant it when I said I was sorry and I need to do better.” Her cheek puffed out a little. “You should know though it’s incredibly difficult to have a clear thought when your mind is so distracted from-“ Realizing what she was about to say, she stuttered to a halt. “Er, nevermind. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Really? You’re not going to tell me what keeps you from having a clear head? I think that’d be rather useful information to have, don’t you?” Rafayel’s chin rested on her shoulder, gently swaying her back and forth. 

“It… it’s a rather human thing.” The Princess tried to brush aside, swallowing heavily. 

“Even more reason you should tell me. Humans think they have Lemurians all figured out yet we’re left clueless to humans. It’s unfair. Your Highness should rectify that as your first step in improving human and Lemurian relations.”

Her smaller fingers danced anxiously over Rafayel’s knuckles and wrist. Trying to think of how to say it without exactly saying it.

”It’s difficult to think well when you’re promised a breathtaking view yet right at the precipice of,” A swallow, and she tried to hide her face with her hair. “Pleasure, it’s taken away and you never reach the satisfaction of the journey. You’re just left with a trembling ache of what could have been…”

A beat passed.

”Do you want me to make it up to you?” Rafayel’s voice followed by his teeth grazing her ear was enough to make her knees weak. The hand that had been on her stomach moved to palm the weight of a breast. “I don’t want Your Highness to be left suffering.”

Living in the desert meant fabrics were often thin yet layered to help with cooling, so even through all she wore she could still feel the way his fingertips pressed in slightly to squeeze. It elicited a gasp and her eyelashes fluttered. Her neck stretched back, and taking the opportunity Rafayel dove in to press a trail of kisses along her jaw.

“They- they know I’m in here.” Her Highness reasoned. Catching the hand that was beginning to slide down her hip from wandering too far down. “I don’t want you to be caught, Rafayel.” 

His sigh was heavy, yet he eased his hand back down to her stomach.

”You are fulfilling your promise too fast. If you achieve your goals so soon you’ll have nothing to look forward to.”

”Of course I’ll have something to look forward to!” Turning her head, she nuzzled her nose affectionately against his. “You making it up to me~”

One last kiss (that lingered more than either of them should have allowed with the racket of guards approaching) before Rafayel released his hold on her and put his mask back over his smile.

“I’m going to go first, so all the attention is on me.” Her Highness decided as she made sure her clothes were in order. “Be safe, Rafayel.”

He nodded, unshackling the door and watching as she slipped out before slamming it closed loudly, alerting them that she left with a loud question.

“IS HE GONE YET OR DO I NEED TO MAKE MYSELF MORE CLEAR?!”

The way the castle staff moved around her yet never for her was evident as at once almost everyone ran from the room as a hoard. 

It made Rafayel chuckle, before it faded to quiet contemplation.

Elder Amund swore Her Highness was the reincarnation of the usurper who stole the Heart of the Sea God eons ago through trickery and deception, and the others believed him. Rafayel had believed him, once.

 Had allowed himself to get captured into slavery because he knew it would get him in front of her to begin a retaliation using the same methods the Elder’s swore had been used thirty thousand years ago…

It had been easy to believe it was right being forced to his knees and chain yanked so he would properly bow his head. Dressed in faux clothes of luxury that were nothing more than glorified wrapping paper with a bow on top presented to her as a rare pureblooded Lemurian who could sing and dance to her hearts fancy.

Rafayel had forced down a snarl. It was his heart, and he was going to get it back one day so these wretched sands would get flushed beneath waves and sea once more and all these humans would drown. Or he would burn them.

The spoiled Princess especially, who regarded him with wide innocent eyes sheltered in a palace of luxury while Lemurians suffered. His fingers twitched with the desire to carve into her chest and rip the still beating heart out of her, yet he could not be rash. 

This was a long game of deception and trickery. He had to earn her trust. Had to reach a point where she’d give the heart to him willingly.

It was off to a good start, he supposed, when she gestured to the spot next to her feet for him to sit. 

His disgust only increased as he watched every noble in the city bring forth their birthday present for her. Pointless displays of wealth that she barely even blinked at before she dismissed them to bring in the next person. He did pick up on patterns, however, as the hours went by.

Food seemed to be the number one interest for her. She’d perk up and actually listen if it was a dish she didn’t know of and she’d look like a kicked puppy when her Mother sent it away to be eaten later.

As well, cute animals made her smile and emit a loud squeal that could have made a person go deaf. It was odd, how she would get handed the animal, and then turn to him and present it. As if looking for his approval.

“Isn’t this cute? I think a cute dog like this deserves a name like… HMM… I don’t know many names actually… You’ve been outside the palace though, haven’t you!” She’d said with sudden enthusiasm, pressing the puppy towards him. “You can help me name it later then! That’d be fun.”

He doubted that would be fun, but the dog was cute, and was the only other thing in this room wearing a collar. He scratched behind its ears and shrugged.

That was enough for the Princess, and she put the puppy back in its basket and a maid carried it away.

That started the odd habit of her getting a gift, and then looking at him to see what he thought of it.

Most of the time he’d notice her gaze, and shrug. Not having an opinion on any of these that wouldn’t get his tongue cut off. But when he couldn’t contain the slight flinch when a cat was presented with a pretty bow around its neck, she noticed with a frown.

He thought he was about to get his first scolding, but instead:

“This can be your cat, Natasha.” The Princess hummed, and dumped the furball into the arms of her lady’s maid. “I want it to have enough attention so it will grow healthy, and with all the pets I have I don’t think I could. So consider this a make up for all your birthdays you haven’t let me get you a gift!”

As the maid fumbled through accepting it, Rafayel supposed he was one of those pets.

 Yet, the first thing her Highness did when night fell and she was allowed to return to her room (tugging Rafayel along with her), was unlock the shackles on his wrists and they clattered to the floor.

“What’s your name?” She’d asked, conversationally, as if her actions hadn’t completely gone against everything he had expected her to do. 

Where was the cruelty? She looked incapable of even hurting a fly as she flounced about in a dress that shaped her like a pastry.

But, reminded himself, he had to stay vigilant. Tricks would not work on him this time.

When he did not answer, she pouted.

“That’s okay I guess. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Names are important! That’s why I wasn’t given one.” She picked up a stuffed animal of a sand seal and held it aloft to the light. Fidgeting the flippers around so that it was waving. “At least, that’s what father tells me. He says if I had a name the commoners would use it to curse and be rude, and bad people would try and control me with it so… everyone just calls me Princess.” She sat down, crisscross, and sighed. Her voice getting quiet. “Having a name sounds nice though, which is why I want to make sure I name my new dog something fitting. Because if it doesn’t have a name, how would anyone really know it?” 

Rafayel still didn’t speak, but he sat down on the floor as well. She took that as a good sign, and kept talking. He was hardly listening, however. 

She was right, names held power, and that control you could have with a name was exactly why he was never going to give her his- but how could she not have one? Someone who’s very essence and soul had left an imprint on the Tome of the Sea God was just sitting in front of him with just a title to be called? Did the humans not hail her as their savior from death? Right now the festivals in the city were about to begin celebrating the birth of the Princess-

But did any of them actually care for her?

It was better this way, Rafayel had supposed. Would be easier to kill someone who is more concept than living.

The last question she asked him before she went to bed, was if he did have a name.

He nodded that he did, and she smiled brightly. 

“Kids who get names means their parents love them, so I’m glad you have a name! Though you’re probably very far away from your parents here…” She fell silent after that, and crawled into her bed and rolled away from him. “I’m sorry.”

That night, Rafayel had a dream that he knew as a memory as soon as he awoke.

He had been in Lemuria before the fall, had met a human girl when she’d been tossed into the ocean by humans, and- 

And he had fallen in love with her, and she with him.

He had stood in the halls of the Sacred Flame and asked her to be his devout follower. She replied with a tease about how asking for something so important would need something of equal value in return.

Rafayel had offered her his heart.

He woke up in a cold sweat and the realization that the Elders were wrong. The Princess was no thief, the heart had been given willingly.

His whole world felt like it had been tilted on its axis yet also he had never understood what he had to do so clearly as he did then.

An undertaking only he could shoulder.

All these years later, Rafayel stood in that empty parlor listening to Her Highness’ voice get farther and farther away, and he apologized for lying in his head.

The preparations for the trip would not take as long as he said, but there were other matters he had to be sure of before he went to Elder Amund and told him it was time. But also selfishness spurred the untruth.

For the Lemurians, they would think it a trip where at last the thief will be punished. 

For Her Highness it will be a journey of starting anew.

But for Rafayel… it will be a farewell.

Closing his eyes, he placed his hand over the cavity where his heart should be:

“Six weeks. Stay mine for six weeks more, my beloved bride.”

====

There was tension in the palace the next few days, though over what Her Highness had no idea. 

Sure, the Queen had been furious that she refused to even consider Lord Dashing anymore, but the Queen was always mad at her for something or another so that couldn’t be why staff were skirting around corners like frightened mice.

Whatever the cause was, Her Highness decided to take advantage of the distracted state of the castle

It was perfect to claim she needed a private concert to soothe her nerves, and she was guided to the locked room where the Lemurian singer she’d promised Rafayel she’d help free was living without question. 

It was so easy to demand the guards turn their backs, and though the woman could barely contain her scowl at the very sight of the Princess, she relented to sit across from her.

”Does Your Highness have a specific request in mind?” The woman asked, voice carefully even tempered.

”Hm, something… calming.”

With a nod and straightening of posture, humming began as she set the tempo for herself before words flowed out more beautiful than any bird.

 As the song went on, and Her Highness was sure everyone was distracted, she slipped the Fishtail beacon out from her dress and held it tightly in her hands as out of sight as she could.

The Lemurian noticed, however, and her eyes widened while catching on a word. Quickly recovering, she now watched as the beacon glowed a soft purple in the Princess’ hands with a confused divet in her brow. 

Satisfied that Rafayel now knew where the songstress was being imprisoned, Her Highness hid the beacon once more and settled herself to fully enjoy the song. Closing her eyes and swaying a little from side to side.

 When it ended, the Princess declared she was pleased, and left.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

At the break of dawn a day later, the Lemurian singer was gone.

It was the catalyst in the most unsuspecting way.

That afternoon the King summoned Her Highness to his study. His face grim.

”It should never have come to this but the Lemurian rebels have forced my hand.” He began with a sigh as he stood and strode to a tall window. Hands clasped behind his back as he looked out. “I’ve kept you here, in this palace, to keep you safe. Protected from the vermin out there who’d take advantage of your miracle heart. However, it’s become more and more apparent that these walls are no longer safe. Over the past few months three nobles have been assassinated, and just this last week the Head Cook was murdered a stones throw away from your bedchambers. The Lemurian Rebels are getting bolder, and they will one day come for you. I know it. They’ll expect you here, however, so… the Queen has convinced me to allow you to leave the Palace.”

Leaping out of her seat, Her Highness was sure she was dreaming. There was no way this was real. Yet all she could do was stare in utter shock as the King continued.

”I’m sending you to stay at the Duke of Third River’s manor.”

The excitement and hope that had surged forward immediately was replaced by dread. No, the Duke of Third River? that was-

“Lord Dashing?!” Her Highness could not hide her contempt. “Why him of all people?”

”Because this is a trial run for him to prove he’s worthy of my approval.” 

Her blood ran cold.

”You cannot mean approval of marriage?!” She rushed to grasp his sleeve. “Father tell me it’s not!” 

“That is exactly what I mean.” The King did not even try to be reassuring in his tone, nor did he even bother to look at her. “He has asked me directly for your hand, and after much consideration I’ve concluded he might be worthy enough to marry you, the Princess of our Kingdom.”

”But-“ Her Highness was aghast and speechless. Floundering to try and form a coherent sentence through her shell shock. 

“Nothing you say will change my mind for me and the Queen are in united agreement. You’ll leave before nightfall, for I fear the Lemurians might strike under the cover of darkness. Natasha has already packed your things. Guards, escort her to the carriage.”

”Wait- but I need-“

He wasn’t listening, turning now to pick up papers off his desk as guards flanked either side of her and lifted her by the arms. Carrying her all the way as she kicked and protested with increased intensity and fear.

She did not have the Fishtail Beacon with her. 

Natasha was waiting for her by the wheel of a carriage Her Highness had used to dream of being able to ride, but now she didn’t even want to see it. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. She was being physically forced to go to Lord Dashing and Natasha could only look a little sheepish.

”I was ordered not to tell Your Highness, in case you tried to escape.” The maid explained, and her Highness scoffed as she was finally set down. Wrenching her arms free and sending the guards a searing glare.

”Because I’m supposed to allow myself be kidnapped willingly?!” 

“It is not a kidnapping, it is Lord Dashing’s apology! I told him that the highest likelihood of you forgiving him was if he was able to fulfill your deepest wish, which has always been to leave the palace. Is it not romantic that he’d fight so hard to gift you this?”

No. No it was not romantic.

Romantic was Rafayel always offering his hand before guiding her to the balcony to escape. Romantic was how he’d always rub his thumb- fleetingly yet firm- overtop her knuckles before securing the grip more tight. Romantic was how Rafayel said her title like he was actually speaking to her and not just the concept of her existence.

Beneath the dark edges of his persona she’d seen the cracks revealing the inherent romanticism of Rafayel that he had to suppress in the reality of a dangerous life. Had felt it in the way he held her. Kissed her.

For Natasha to even compare Lord Dashing’s behavior to him was infuriating. Insulting. A deepest betrayal!

“I don’t want to hear another word out of you.” She snapped at the maid as hands tried to encourage her into the carriage but she braced herself against the doorframe to prevent them. That only made their attempts more forceful, and with enough shoves they eventually got her to topple in and hurriedly closed the door behind her. Sealing her into darkness with only a glimmer of light.

The birdcage was not enough, it seemed. They now were transferring her like a prisoner and she didn’t even have the fishtail beacon to tell Rafayel where she was. 

They- they were not going to marry her this weekend, right? 

No, father had said this was a trial. Which meant there would be time after this to tell Rafayel. There was also time to do as much as she could to get Lord Dashing to not want to marry her anymore. Stubbornness was a trait of hers that she could wield like a weapon and make herself insufferable.

As she sat, stewing in her frustration, she realized that here she was. Leaving the palace at the command of her father like she had begged for her entire life yet she couldn’t even be happy about it because it wasn’t a sign of freedom. It was just another corral to force her like cattle into the way of life they wanted. Another way for her to be the Princess and not the person.

She could hear commotion of people talking as her carriage went past. People of the city wondering who was in the royal carriage perhaps? But there was not enough space to look out and see what kind of streets she was passing. Though- she was hearing another large gate clanking as it rose, meaning she was only now leaving the palace? 

That would make sense, yet another two gates passed before the talking increased ten fold and now calls of merchants drafted through the air which had to FINALLY mean they were really out of the palace.

She wished she could see the path they were taking, but when at last the carriage came to a stop she knew it would be within another set of walls.

====

”Your Highness, it is my deepest pleasure to welcome you to my home!”

Lord Dashing greeted as a footman opened the door. Hand outstretched to help her out the carriage yet moments ticked passed and she sat stockstill. Arms folded in defiance and staring straight ahead as if she had not heard him.

There was a hint of annoyance in his sigh.

“You’re still mad at me I see. I’d been rather hopeful that your Lady maid had been right that bringing you here would cause your forgiveness but… that is a matter I feel no rush in absolving.” Grabbing one of her hands, he pulled Her Highness out of the carriage with a heavy yank. She had no choice but to fling her hands out to balance on his chest and he looked down at her triumphant in his smile. “Supper is upon us, Your Highness. I’d be honored if you joined me.”

The only choice she had in all this was to hold her tongue, and so she did.

She didn’t respond to a single thing he said over dinner, and rebuffed all attempts at conversation during a brief stroll with him through a courtyard. 

By the end of the day, her jaw was tense from how hard she’d been clenching it, though she could not fully rest till Natasha had left her as well.

She felt tired, yet it  was too odd laying in an unfamiliar bed to fall asleep. Tossing and turning didn’t help because the pillows were uncomfortably soft with no support, and the silk bed sheets slid off her body at the smallest movement.

There was no moon to tell her what time it was, but her eyes had long adjusted to the darkness. When she sat up she could move around the bedroom without bumping into anything.

 She slowly opened the door and stepped out into the sitting room attached. Her best way of telling how much time had passed was by listening to the voices of the guards stationed outside in the hallway, and sure enough it was a different pair then who had been there when she’d first been led here and locked in.

The guards were talking of how Lord Dashing had been terse by the end of the day. Displeased that he hadn’t yet won her over. The Princess was very pleased about that and with herself for staying strong in her convictions, and she stepped away from the doors to not alert them she was nearby. Looking around at all the shadows around her.

Part of what made these bedchambers so unrestful was the stiff air and scent of cleaning products, so she went to a window and unlatched it open a touch. Just enough to let the wind cycle in some freshness.

There was a chaise lounge nearby, and she settled herself on it and stared up at the night sky. 

Usually, on nights like this where sleep evaded her, she’d reach beneath the pillow for the Fishtail beacon and call Rafayel to her and ask for a story to aid her in reaching slumber. But here, she had no beacon for Rafayel to find her.

Sighing she slid down the chaise with her arm above her head and closed her eyes.

Frustration was quickly descending into sadness now that she was alone. 

  Years of thinking Natasha was a friend who cared for her, yet she was really beginning to question if it was true.

How could an actual friend keep insisting that Lord Dashing was romantic when this whole visit was a charade to show he was just as capable of locking up the Princess as her parents? 

The signs of it were everywhere, even in this very room. 

Hidden as decorations were bars across the windows that she could not slip through, and the locks had been reversed so the outside controlled whether she stayed in or not. 

It was not surprising that a man who made his money off the slave trade was good at making inescapable cages, but it still was terrifying to be in one.

Terrifying still was how Her Highness foresaw the ending of this trip being pleasing to the King. He’d approve of Lord Dashing’s methods for sure. The way he prettied up his security so that it befitted a princess to outsiders who ooh and awe at the very idea of her existence, yet it would not allow for any behavior that the King had always thought uncouth.

Would this be her future if she married him?

She certainly feared it would. 

Every piece of furniture had a place on it for a chain to attach a shackle, and if she disobeyed him too much would he find it necessary to put one on her?

 Would he clamp her ankle every night to make her sleep in the same bed as him?  She could see it in the way his eyes drifted that he was considering it even now. He’d said it did not matter if she would not speak to him, for her presence was all he needed, and there was no doubt he had been telling the truth. 

He’d care not if she bit off her own tongue because she could still be dressed up and displayed as an achievement on his arm to balls and tea.

And Natasha still thought it all romantic.

The maid came in early the next morning to find Her Highness still on the chaise, and she sang the praises of how good of a match Lord Dashing was as she hurried to get the Princess dressed for breakfast.

Her approval only grew when Lord Dashing had quite the itinerary for the first day.

A morning walk in the garden where he talked about his upcoming plans and the Princess easily ignored him as her focus stayed on the winding water of the Third River that cut through multiple points of his estate. 

She was just considering if jumping into it would alert Rafayel that she was here when the Duke’s voice cut through her musings.

”Though of course I had to decline King Lightwood’s invitation because our honeymoon will be happening at that time.”

Natasha, walking a few steps back, could not help but giggle in delight at the thought while Her Highness gave him a pointed scowl, yet held her tongue from snapping at him for he would consider it a victory if she talked to him at any point during this stay.

”Hehe, you’re very cute when you’re being difficult, Your Highness.” 

Oh, she wanted to punch him for how pleased with himself he sounded but instead she clenched her fists and returned her gaze back to the river.

She needed to just grit her teeth and get through this so she could get back to the palace. To her Rafayel. 

She could endure anything as long as at the end of it she could put her arms around Rafayel and complain of it as he held her.

She was going to have a hefty list of complaints indeed, for after the garden, Lord Dashing fancied tea and grabbed her hand and would not let go the whole march to the gazebo. His hands on her shoulders forced her to sit, and then he took the seat across from her as if he had done nothing.

“I’ve been told this tea is your favorite. As expected, an exquisite woman has matching tastes!” He tried to honey it on as a maid poured the tea, and a waft of the blend reached Her Highness’ nose.

Immediately, she scoffed, turning as much of her as she could in her seat away from him.

The Queen’s favorite tea, of course.

She might have known that woman had everything to do with this but that only confirmed it. That woman either loved nothing more than to pretend the Princess was a replica of herself or simply could not care enough to remember what anyone but herself liked.

The good thing about the gazebo she was now stuck in, was that it was over the water. 

The bad thing about the gazebo, was there was nowhere to escape Lord Dashing.

“You know Your Highness…I must tell you that I’ve had feelings for you for quite some time.” Lord Dashing said as he lowered his teacup. “When we were children I would get giddy at the very thought of seeing you. You were always so far away, however. Always standing so beautiful out of reach. But now, at last, you’re within grasp.”

Her Highness lurched back as his fingers suddenly grazed her cheek. She pressed up fully against the back of the chair as she looked at him astounded that he would have the nerve-

As usual, he found her contempt for him amusing, and he smiled wickedly. 

“It’s never been fair that you’ve been forced to stay within the palace. Your existence is a miracle that everyone should be able to witness so they know exactly who they’re thanking their eternal life for. Foreign emissaries don’t even believe you exist. The Princess of the desert is just a lie the Kingdom made up to make ourselves seem grander than we actually are… but, when we marry, I can prove them all wrong.”

His face shifted from amusement to an almost crazed stare.

“You’d like that too, wouldn’t you? To marry me and end all the rumors and falsehoods that circulate you?” Lord Dashing stood. His body blocking out the sun as his shadow completely covered her. “After our vows, there will be a parade that will take us through the entire city. Calming the fear of those who think their life could end and convincing those who dare claim you are not divine that you are.”

He was leaning over her now, and her knuckles clung to the armrests so hard they were white and her nails scratched the paint off the wood. She tried to look away and push him off but one hand clamped down on her shoulder to keep her from getting up, and the other grabbed her chin to look at him.

“In my travels to other kingdoms I’ve realized how close sighted everyone is with the potential of what you could do. Why is the limit natural causes? Ever since my father and brother were murdered I’ve wondered if it is within your power to grant someone complete and everlasting immortality… but something as special as that could not be given to anyone. No, your heart would only grant such a thing to the one you love. I will become that person you hold so dear that you can’t stand the thought of me dying!”

Fear was starting to overcome the anger, and Her Highness brought her hands to try and claw his grip off of her- but it only made him tighten his hold, and grab the side of her head to keep her from flinching away as he kissed her cheek.

If he had something else to say as a part of his grand monologue she did not give him the time.

She felt like a caged animal scratching and pushing to free herself- drawing blood from his hand as her nails raked across the back and she hit him in any place she could reach till at last she was able to get out of her chair and stumble to grab hold of the railing. 

Her mind was reeling to try and figure out how to escape from this. How to get away from Lord Dash who was standing between her and the exit.

“Tch. The more you try to resist the harder your future will be.” The table was knocked to the side and Natasha’s scream mixed with the sound of the tea set shattering. The Duke’s shoe slammed into the puddle of tea as he advanced towards the Princess. “I’m the best option you have, and it’s about time you stop being difficult and agree, Your High-”

A blade of a dagger pierced through the hand Lord Dashing had reached out towards her, causing him to stumble back and slip on the mess he’d made.

Amongst the spurts of his blood, Her Highness’ hope soared.

She knew that dagger.

“Rafayel!” Her throat was hoarse from lack of use as the name tore out of her. Hurrying to her feet and looking down into the river. There was a split second where she wondered whether she should wait for Rafayel to come to her-

But that was the stupidest thought she’d ever had, so with the strength of adrenaline she hoisted herself up and over the railing and down into the cold water below before anyone could say her title.

====

Her Highness was cold, wet, and incapable of getting two steps behind Rafayel as they weaved through a busy street of the city. No one spared them a glance as her dress was hidden beneath a large cloak, but the adrenaline had long faded and now anxiety clutched at her heart and the only lifeline she had that she was truly away from the Duke was Rafayel beside her with a hand on the small of her back.

Rafayel led her to a door made of untreated wooden planks, took her up a flight of stairs that creaked beneath her feet, and did some sort of magic to unlock an otherwise unsuspecting entrance.

Urging her inside, he did one last scan behind them before closing the door and redoing the magic lock.

Her Highness lowered the hood of the cloak as she took in the place she’d been brought.

There weren't many personal touches, but a trunk was open against one wall revealing purple leather, bandages, and an assortment of fish like trinkets that looked like children had made them. 

She barely had time to process this was Rafayel’s apartment before she was being turned around and wrapped in a tight embrace.

“Are you hurt?” Rafayel asked, voice extra muffled against her hair.

“No. Just… scared.” Her Highness admitted as tears pricked at her eyes. Everything she had experienced in the last twenty four hours was crashing down on her and she felt exhaustion take her legs out from under her. Rafayel didn’t let her fall. “Tired too. I couldn’t sleep at all last night. Oh, Rafayel it’s been awful!”

“You can rest soon, but first you need to dry off lest you catch a cold.” There was a tenderness to Rafayel’s voice and touch as he carried her to a stool and knelt down to take off her shoes. A thumb pressed into the sole of her foot and an appreciative hum was his reward for easing the tense muscle.

“Rafayel…” She breathily said his name out of sheer want to have it roll off her tongue and have his eyes flicker to her. 

While waiting for her to tell why she had called him, his hands gathered her skirt to her knees and it made her hyper aware of her stockings and how they clung frigid to the skin. Though whether she shivered from the cold or Rafayel’s fingertips sliding under the skirt edge she did not know. 

The palm followed the fingers to press against the see through white stockings as his large hands traveled up either side of her thigh. 

(Leaning her hands on the edge of the stool, Her Highness immediately thought of her dreams and they way the ocean would caress her)

 Rafayel’s destination was found not at the apex of her thighs like Her Highness had hoped, but at the garter securing the stockings. One hand took the garter while the other was close behind to roll the sock down and off. When that leg was free, she slightly lifted the other one to beckon him do the same, and he did not need to be asked twice.

Her legs now bare, a kiss was pressed to the indentation left by a heel strap around an ankle before he stood.

“I don’t have any clothes that will fit you on hand.” Rafayel went to the trunk, rummaging around before pulling out a simple linen shirt. “This should be comfortable enough, however.”

Her heart beat quicken as she fumbled with the ties of the cloak. It fell to the ground as Rafayel placed the shirt on the table beside her. 

“I cannot undo the corset myself.” The Princess confessed, drawing her hair away from the ribbons in the back. “Help me?”

”Who else would?”  It was a statement of fact for there was no one else here, and she’d have it no other way.

With great dexterity he began untying and loosening, and Her Highness removed all her rings and bracelets from her person to the table. They did not talk; the room was only the sound of metal hitting metal and the occasional snap when he pulled a ribbon through quick. His progress was evident as her sleeves slid more and more down her shoulder till they collapsed to her elbows and this time it was chill that made her shake.

A towel draped over her head, and Her Highness closed her eyes and leaned backwards slightly as Rafayel began drying her hair. Tousling it from side to side while using his control over flames to seep warmth down into her scalp.

“Mm~ Rafayel,” She spoke after an apprentice hum. “How did you know where to find me?”

The towel fell to her shoulders, and his thumb pressed lightly into a tension knot at the base of her neck and rubbed careful circles into it with his heated fingers.

“You called for me, didn’t you?” 

“I did.” She admitted with no shame. “I wanted you to rescue me so desperately I almost threw jewelry into the river in the rare chance it would catch your attention. But selfishly I delight in your ability to always find me, so I don’t regret not losing my favorite ring.”

”Why your favorite?” He asked.

”I thought offerings to a god needed to be something important, no?”

A humor filled puff of air left his nose, but he didn’t dispute it.

“Hardly the practice anymore but I accept the olden ways when it’s the right person.”

 His ability to release tension in her shoulders felt like something that should be worshipped, and she was lost for a moment in the relief and pleasure of his hands.

 “Mmmm~ maybe I should expand your title to include master masseuse.”

“I have a title? Am I the last to know?”

With a curling smile, the crown of her head bumped against his chest so she could properly look up at him.

“Rafayel, you are the most important person to me, the only god I believe in, and the man who I’m in love with. Does that not deem itself worthy of a title?”

It was mesmerizing. The slight catch of his breath and the widening of pupils as his hand raised to cover the parts of him that shone the most beautiful shades of pink from her view.

“You shouldn't say such things so casually, Your Highness.”

“It's not casually. It's with my whole heart, mind, and soul.” Her Highness hooked a finger through one of his collars and yanked him down so their noses brushed. “I realized an undeniable truth about myself these last two days… I do not care where I go, as long as you're with me.”

Her words coursed through him like water from a broken dam and she watched the multitude of emotions fight for centerstage in only his eyes and brow. When he was like this, he was rather like the different kinds of ocean she saw in her dreams.

After a moment, she laughed.

“You'll make me feel embarrassed about my love confession if you keep your eyebrows tightly notched like that, Rafayel!” Pressing a quick kiss to the spot right above his nose and between the brows, Her Highness stood. Letting her dress fall completely off of her so she was just in her chemise. The white cotton soaked so thoroughly that it was transparent at the parts where it clung to her. “I really don't want to catch a cold though so I'm going to change now and then collapse into a deep slumber!”

 “I’ll leave you to it.” He made his way to the door. His ear still pink despite how he kept his voice even keeled. “You need clothes for tomorrow and my spares will not do. The wards will keep you protected while I’m gone, and I’ll be back before nightfall.”

With Rafayel gone, Her Highness felt a little more open to bring his shirt up to her face and give it a hopeful sniff.

It smelled like him, and it helped her drift off once she was curled up on the thin mattress. Even though this was the first time she’d ever slept in a place not within the palace, she felt content to do so because Rafayel was her safety.

She truly could go anywhere as long as he was beside her.

Time had passed enough for the room to be cast in orange when Her Highness was brought from her deep sleep by the mattress indenting beside her as Rafayel sat. 

The calloused, bare skin of his fingers trailing up her arm.

“Change of plans, Your Highness. The journey I wish to take you will begin in the morning.”

”Okay…” She agreed blissfully. Not opening her eyes as she grabbed his wandering hand.

She dozed off content and of the clearest mind she'd ever had. Holding Rafayel's hand tightly against her forehead as the world faded into dark…

====

Her Highness woke up disoriented and confused. The culprit for her early morning the sun streaming through the Palace windows directly onto her face. 

She rolled from her side onto her back. Blinking up at the draped fabric framing her four poster. 

Had she… been dreaming? 

No, there had been no dream.

Why that felt so disorienting to her she had no idea. She'd never been one for frequent dreams, had she? 

She didn't know.

Getting out of bed was a sluggish affair that took a few minutes, and as soon as she stood she regretted it. 

Tiredness was her constant companion, the truest one she’d ever had these eighteen years. 

Her feet moved on their own as her mind numbly buzzed around in her skull.  She blinked, and she found her hand moving up and down to scatter fish food into the large tank.

She forgot what she kept in there, but she'd seen flashes of movement among the crevices of rock and wood occasionally, so whatever it was, it still lived. So, she kept feeding it.

There was a geode in one corner of the tank that caught her eye as she set the container of fish food down. 

A grimace briefly pulled on her lip remembering the suitor who had given it to her, but any contempt drained out of her to be replaced with the murky waters of indifference.

None of them mattered anyway.

Today was her wedding with Lord Dashing, wasn’t it?

Right. Yes, that was why she'd forced herself out of bed, because Natasha wanted to elaborately do up her hair and make up before they left for the temple.

Having no motivation or strength to do anything else, Her Highness sat at the vanity and waited for Natasha to arrive.

When she did, she seemed shocked to find the Princess still in the room. 

“OH! Goodness, I'm glad to see you did not try and escape Your Highness…” Her tone of voice gave way to worry.

“Why… Would I do that?” 

Natasha’s fingers on the case she was carrying grew white. 

“Because you've always- Never mind.” Natasha cleared her throat. “It doesn't matter. Let us get you ready for the ceremony.”

Blink.

Her hair was brushed.

Blink.

It was being pinned into a bun.

Blink.

Strands were curled and Natasha was carefully framing them around her face.

Blink.

Her face was covered in make up.

Blink.

She was standing, wearing an elaborate white gown trimmed with floral lace, and Natasha was circling around her pulling the edges of the skirt out so it was at proper fullness. 

Natasha stepped back to observe all she had done, but there was a notch of concern in her brow that she covered up with a smile that was genuine.

“You look like the most beautiful bride, Your Highness.”

Bride?

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

She was still standing in the same spot she'd been before. In front of the large floor to ceiling mirror, yet she felt awake for the first time even though the clock on the wall told her she'd been up for hours.

 “Bride?” 

It did not sound right whispered from her own lips. No, her voice was too high and sore from lack of use to be what she was looking for but- but she was looking for something.

“Bride.” She said it louder this time. “I'm… someone's bride.”

“... That's right, Your Highness. You're to wed the Duke of the Third River today.” Natasha did not sound convinced of her own words.

“No.” The certainty in Her Highness’ voice shocked her. “Not Lord Dashing's.” 

A flicker of blue in the fish tank caught her eye in the mirror, and she turned and moved past Natasha to stand in front of it and gaze at the blue fish as it swam out from its hiding spot. It was looking directly at her.

“Natasha… who gave me this fish?”

“Why, your most important person, Your Highness.”

Her heart was beating fast as if confirming Natasha's words to be true.

“But, why do I not remember who that is?” 

“I don't know, Your Highness. You… have not been well these past few weeks. Perhaps I should get a doctor?”

Her Highness had stopped listening. Bending down eye level with the fish, she could faintly see her reflection looking back at her. 

She loved this fish. Memories were coming back to her of all the mornings spent talking to it like it was her closest friend. Memories from back when she was a child to just two months ago. 

She’d said something to it… about dancing?

 There was someone she'd wanted to dance with. A figure in her minds eye that was shrouded in shadow cast by a large, flickering flame. Featureless and out of reach.

Was he her most important person?

“Ah, that knock must be the head maid and guards. I'll… Tell them to wait a few more minutes, but then it will be time to leave.” Natasha left.

Her Highness wanted to meet this important person. So badly, her heart HURT. 

Physically hurt. 

A burst of searing pain hit throughout her entire body with a jolt, and she lost balance and collapsed to the floor.

 A hand flew to her chest to clutch at the center point of these pulses, and she stagger crawled to the comfort of her bed. Hauling herself up by clawing at the sheets and shifting the entire bedding around by the time she managed to get to her feet.

Her vision was blurred and her breath ragged, and blindly she felt around for something her mind didn't know but her heart did.

Fingers wrapped around something cold, and the pain eased to just a dull throb.

Blinking into focus was an odd object that'd been hidden beneath the mountain of pillows yet revealed by her unceremonious disruption of the bedding.

 It reminded her almost of a hairpin, the way one end was dull and pointed while the other was decorated in the shape of a fishtail. 

Walking back to the mirror, Her Highness slipped it into her hair amongst the flowers Natasha had decorated her bun with. Tucked where it was, it was disguised as purple leaves to a rose.

That felt right. She should never lose this, and she felt a brief bite of frustration that she'd forgotten it.

“It's time, Your Highness.”

Natasha opened the bedroom door, looking solemn, and this time… Her Highness felt the same way.

====

In the carriage to the temple, Her Highness tried to take advantage of the lonely ride to remember SOMETHING about her most important person, yet there were only 2 things she knew for sure by the time the horses stopped:

She did not feel whole without him

The more she tried and could not remember, the fiercer and more frequent the pain in her heart became

It almost took her to the floor as she exited the carriage, but many hands caught her.

A chorus of voices asked her if she was alright.

“My- my heart…” She gasped out, sweat pearling from her forehead. “It hurts-”

Silence. 

Not a single person breathed as she was half carried inside, yet soon the worried whispers started.

Blink.

She was sitting down in front of a large mirror in the bridal suite of the temple, and the head maid was requesting the King and Queen be summoned at once.

“I do not think that would be wise! Their presence might even make it worse and- and what if her heart gives out??” 

Natasha.

She knew who her most important was, and the realization gave Her Highness renewed strength as she whipped around and grabbed Natasha's wrist.

“Tell me!” Desperation and pain oozed from her words. “Tell me who my most important person is Natasha PLEASE!”

Confused, Natasha stuttered.

“It- it Is the Lemurian you were gifted for your birthday many years ago. He had purple hair, I believe? I’m not sure you released him the next day so I did not have much time with him. But as thanks for your kindness he gave you your fish. Why are you asking me though? Surely you remember him much better than I do for isn't he the one who's been sneaking you out of the palace?”

The silhouette in her mind gained purple hair and the pose stopped being lifeless as a hand lifted- beckoning her to take it like he was escorting her somewhere.

“Purple Haired lemurian?!” The head maid gasped. “Is that not the description of the Rebel Lemurian's leader? It was him who assassinated a Baron of the Seventh River last week.”

Natasha was now being interrogated by everyone as more and more people filtered into the room and picked up on the conversation. The head of the church themself arrived out of concern of the news that the eternal heart was hurting, yet Her Highness tuned out them all.

She could feel leather gloves beneath her fingers as she accepted the silhouettes hand. A dagger was put on his hip, as that was the weapon of an assassin, and his face was half hidden by a hood and mask. 

She knew the curves and dents on the mask. Remembered them against her lips.

His chest was firm and sturdy, and she'd pressed both palms against it a few weeks ago in a tent in the desert. She’d straddled him, and her thighs were indented by belts and zippers. 

She had known his name then. Had said it in a begging tone as she told him she was cold. That she wanted to be warm.

She'd been so warm when their bare skin pressed together in sweat and passion. He had a beauty mark on his left pec and she'd worshipped kisses against it as she had no strength anymore to match his thrusts, but she needed him to know she loved it. Loved how he felt inside her throbbing and large-

His shuddering breath and pants had been directly beside her right ear when he finished. 

In the present, her hand moved to press against the lower part of her stomach, currently covered with the maiden white of her wedding gown, and she leaned closer to the mirror. Staring into her own eyes to try and see if his complete form was in them.

Eyes.

His eyes looked down at her with amusement as she complained she was too sore to walk. The firelight he'd summoned making the pool of pink in the blue stand out.

The most gorgeous mix of colors she'd ever seen. How did she forget them?

Why had they been in the desert? 

He… he had needed to show her something. He was taking her someplace. 

Yet… she had already known it. Clarity coursed through her mind at seeing- seeing something and she had known where to go. Known how to find something.

A black flame was in the palm of his hand. Her own blood had brought life back to it for but a moment.

Her most important person needed to kill her to save his people. 

Yet- yet here she was in the temple. Alive and breathing (though for how long with the way her heart was, she didn't know). He hadn't killed her.

His whole face was suddenly complete and colorized in her mind. Full of sorrow as at last his voice completed the physical image of him.

“Goodbye, my beloved bride.”

Her Highness stood up with such force her chair clattered to the floor.

“Rafayel.” She turned, looking now at all the people who had gathered as they stood silent and confused. “I need to find Rafayel!”

“But Your Highness-” The Archbishop stepped in front of her. “The wedding is-”

“I'll die.” She cut him off. Chest heaving with pain and certainty. “If I am not with the one I love my heart will not last another year.” 

Gaping in shock, the archbishop seemed, for the first time, to look at her fully.

He took in her sickly features, and thought about how he had woken this morning to his bones aching in ways they hadn’t since she’d become princess. His wife as well hadn’t been able to get out of bed for her coughing was so fierce…

“Your words are true.” The Archbishop realized, and a gasp carried through the room. “So our Kingdom will not fall, Her Highness must not marry Lord Dashing!” 

“I- I must alert the queen of this at once!” The Head maid ran out.

”Who is it? Who does Her Highness need to marry, then?”

A voice called.

”The Lemurian Rafayel?” Another guessed.

”YES!” Her Highness yelled, turning to that person with urgency. “I need to find him. Where is he?”

”The Lemurians base was found last night.” The Archbishop told her. “They’re probably fleeing the city as we speak but- but if it is so my wife will not die I will pardon all of their crimes in the eyes of the church!”

”My mother- she’s sick- will she die if Her Highness does not find this Lemurian?!”

”Wait- if Her Highness marries a Lemurian leader does that not mean a Lemurian will be king?! I-I’m going to free the Lemurians I own right now!!”

”Someone go lock Lord Dashing in his room so he does no interfere!”

”GUARDS! ALERT EVERYONE THE KILL ORDER IS REVOKED AND NO LEMURIAN WILL BE HARMED TILL HER HIGHNESS FINDS HER LOVE!”

The voices were all too much and not important, yet they followed her as she ran out onto the steps of the temple. 

Up on its raised dias, the temple overlooked the entire city and palace and she felt hopeless to find him in all the streets and buildings below her. 

She looked left, then right, then left again as she took the steps two at a time till she reached the bottom.

How did she summon him before? She would do SOMETHING that would bring him to her but what?!

Her hand flew up and her bun fell out of place as she pulled the fishtail beacon free and held it in her hand.

Behind her, the King and Queen’s voices were shouting, arguing with the Archbishop and nobles but Her Highness couldn’t care less. 

She took off running. 

She ran and ran. Not noticing her left hand bleeding from how tightly she was holding the beacon. Her heart was thumping loudly in her ears, guiding her with relief and jolts of pain through paths she’d never taken before till she reached the gates separating the palace from the city.

”OPEN THE GATES!”

”LET HER HIGHNESS THROUGH!”

”DON’T STOP HER!”

People were still following her, shouting orders to the guards who scrambled to raise the gates.

The sun was almost at high noon, yet the closer and closer Her Highness got to the outskirts of the city the better she felt. More alive. 

She hadn’t realized how deprived of energy she’d been. How her body was slowly edging towards eternal slumber till now that it was back to its usual vibrancy.

There was a group gathered near one of the city exits, and Her Highness recognized the style of their clothes.

A ripple of shock coursed through them as she pushed through, though they were much more concerned about the group behind her to pay the bride in white clutching a blood covered fishtail beacon more than a passing glance.

She could see him. Standing in the sands next to a camel and the Elder who for once was not scowling at her. 

Rafayel was there, staring at her too shocked to even move till she collided into him. Leaping into his arms knowing he'd catch her. And he did. The momentum shifting him back a few steps and turning them a half circle till he balanced and her feet were back on the sand.

“Your Highness, how-”

“HOW DARE YOU!” Her bloody fist hit his chest as she looked up at him. Eyes welling with all the emotions she had tempesting inside of her. “Our bond is eternal; Our vows everlasting. How dare you try and sever them! I am your devout follower yet you- you abandoned me to be someone else's bride!?” 

The tears began falling, and his face became blurry but his grip on her waist tightened. His breath sucking into his lungs sharply. 

“I am yours Rafayel. Whether the Tome of the Sea God says it or not!” His hand curled around her trembling fist clenching the beacon. His forehead resting against hers and she closed her eyes. There was no pain. Her heart was unnoticeable and beating as it should again. “I'm either your bride or no one's. I'm by your side or dead.”

She nuzzled her nose against the stiff leather of his mask.

“Please. Please don’t sacrifice us.”

He let go of her hand, and pushed her back by the shoulders.

She tensed, preparing for her heart to crumble at his next words and she stared down at the blossoms of crimson on her gown. Her tears staining the golden sand.

“Our bond is eternal; Our vows everlasting.” Rafayel's voice was devoted and clear as he grabbed her left hand and brought it to press against his chest. “I'm either by your side or dead... What kind of god would I be if I denied such a heartfelt prayer from my Beloved Bride?”

“A cruel one.” Her Highness sniffed, blinking the tears off her lashes as Rafayel pulled her against him and guided her to look at him. His mask was hanging around his neck. “But you've already done one cruel thing to me, you're not allowed another!”

He smiled, the moisture in his eyes glimmering.

“I’ll make it up to you by showing you the sea.”

[vesperaominosum]

OMGG I'm so glad!! ok ik ur writing a story rn but if u have any free time I have a story prompt: fem reader with Leon Kennedy (established relationship) and she's bratty with him, like she's got attitude and she's snappy, but Leon doesn't mind bc he knows how to deal with her 🤭🤭 but yeahhh feel free to make it smutty or not, it's up to you <333

Summary : Journey through the pages of Leon figuring out how to handle a bratty girlfriend and accepting himself (kind of, implied)

Pairing : RE4 Leon! × Fem Reader

Tags : Established relationship, bratty reader, self deprecation (Leon being dramatic), some levels of generally harmless toxicity, angst, fluff, hints of hurt/comfort (maybe??), no smut but allusions to what grown ups do and a couple of curse words.

Word count: 2891

A/N: I'm in the middle of working with lots of translations for work and it's multiple different languages so my brain is #freid, so this is super rushed and all over the place but I've been thinking about this prompt and this is what I have to sayyyy. Anyway, sorry for prompt being "he doesn't mind" and the whole fic HE DOES MIND VERY MUCH HES GONNA CRY IF YOURE MEAN TO HIM but this is the prequel!! he doesn't mind after all that anymore hahaha i hope you like it anyway

Leon knew how to handle you.

It didn’t come to him naturally, it couldn’t. You were always difficult. Throughout your childhood you recall most of your caregivers - nannies, teachers, family friends and whoever thought it was their duty to comment - uttering “It’s going to be really hard to find someone who’d put up with her” after witnessing another one of your spectacles. Kinder ones would say “She’ll grow out of it”.

And they were right.

You grew up to be extremely caring, generous, kind and an all-around outstanding young woman. Attitude dissolved into calm confidence and you were very pleasing to be around. It wasn’t just your family who noticed those qualities bloom – everyone loved to be in the presence of your welcoming warm, yet joyfully prickly energy. This is exactly why special agent Leon S Kennedy was drawn to steal your attention at first. It seemed like you had no baggage. It seemed like you were unable to have any baggage. Like whatever hardships were placed your way simply melted and disappeared to the sound of you laughing away all the troubles, making another lighthearted joke that put everything into perspective. You had a magical ability to turn all problems in the world into something meaningless. Perhaps, it was just Leon being in love that made it possible with such ease, but it did not matter. It worked. And he was in love. It wasn’t a crazy concept.

You made him want to become a better person. Not on a grand scale, none of that illusive bullshit, but in everyday life. He counted his blessings and watched out for your feelings, deep down he knew that your carefree façade isn’t all there was, and he was afraid to hurt you. He was attentive, he thought about the things he said and tried to go out of his way to make your day better. He wasn’t the best at relationships, but he genuinely tried. It’s the least he could do for someone who brought him back to life. That if he was around.

When he would go away for work, you wouldn’t speak for weeks, sometimes months. This arrangement made it difficult for your relationship to progress naturally. Every time he came back, you two fell back into the very much juvenile day one: blushing, smiling, flowers, dates, shy kisses that felt like the first… As much as he enjoyed it, he wanted more. It was scary leaving your dashing self alone in the world full of people who could… see you. He wasn’t the unreasonably jealous type, and you never gave him a reason, but it was only logical that you deserved more effort. The lack of which wasn’t an issue, there just never been enough time for it to feel natural, but oh how he wanted to move in together. Sometimes Leon would imagine you in his kitchen and it made him feel shy. He had to better himself, to learn all about how to treat a girl this deserving, then it will fall into pieces.

It was coming along, until he found himself between trying to figure out whether he’s doing too little as of yet or it’s too late as of now. The thing was: you fell into a weird pattern.

Every time he came back, you loved him up and down, held him in your arms and told him all about how happy you were seeing him so close, but approximately on day four… You would switch up. Out of nowhere you’d appear cold and dismissive. He never saw this in you before. A sweet sunshine of a girl he wanted to care for, wanted nothing to do with him. You made borderline rude remarks, paid him no attention and even avoided his touch. One time Leon tried to kiss your shoulder and you snapped at him for ruining your makeup. He apologized and spent a long time trying to figure out what makeup could he possibly ruin by gently touching your shoulder, out of all places, with his lips.

Regardless of your behavior, before he had to depart for work, you were always caring. The juxtaposition messed with his head and he had no clue where you stood. He tried to be understanding, he tried to be kinder and softer, he tried and tried and tried… Day to day, while avoiding dangers his work instilled upon him, he was holding onto hope that much needed space would settle it down. And you would be back to your kind and sweet self. And it did, for approximately four days.

It was day six of him being back and you planned to meet up with your friends together. Well, you planned it and Leon agreed, as he usually did. Leon was familiar with your best friend, not much with the rest of them. Your best friend was a clever girl, beauty and brains, witty but careful, very diplomatic, you sure knew how to pick them and knew that early, you were friends since school. You also had a small circle, just a couple of trusted friends, it was always quality over quantity with you. This thought is what made Leon sick to his stomach. He felt like he was slipping out of a place he didn’t fit to begin with. The idea of you two splitting made all the problems in the world heavy again. The weight that accumulated while he didn’t pay it no mind would crush him.

He tried to figure out what was wrong for the past month, falling asleep to same questions every day of his mission. Why were you pushing him away? Are you tired of waiting? Could it be that you lack courage to break up with him and want to give him a reason to take on this task? Did he scare you away? What if you grew bored of him? After all, dating an agent is exciting, but a life with one… What if you realized it’s a dead end? All the thinking convinced him to act. If you want him to take it further - he would. If you don’t want to - he’d change. He’s bending out of shape as it is to make you happy. Or at least to make you less of a… Less cruel.

So just a day ago he did ask you to move in with him. Prepared for any reaction other that the one you spit out, he stared at the wall, processing your answer. “For what? So, I get to wait for you in another four walls? No, thanks.”

“I could quit” – he said, not looking away from the damn wall. You laughed and patted him on the shoulder and you walked by, - “And do what?”

Right now, you were away, doing your nails or hair, he couldn’t remember. All this remembering and being attentive amounted to nothing anyway. It was slipping away and there was no fixing anything. All he wanted to know was why. All he was not ready to find out was how.

He met you outside of the restaurant, you were late and Leon didn’t want your friends to know you arrived separately. He didn’t want anyone else in the universe to register that you could be separate. To make it one step closer to becoming a reality. The idea was scary. You got out of the taxi, complaining about the driver taking a longer route, like you two were fine. Like you were okay. Like you didn’t reject his proposal to move in with him last night. “You know, I could’ve taken you…” – “To the hospital?” – you snapped, there was no malice, but the look on your face was something he couldn’t read. Was it just hate powdered with playfulness… Was it because you were about to face your friends and had to keep up the appearances? Were you really joking? “What do you mean?” – “You know you’re a terrible driver. I’m so not getting into a car with you. Like, ever.” – and you gracefully chimed into the restaurant. Leon looked like he was slapped, not because of your joke, but because of everything that gripped the hope of fixing that “us” thing he treasured was just shattered. One more time. He walked in after you.

You were radiant, laughing with your friends, who greeted him, exclaiming “The man himself!”. He felt sick. He couldn’t do it. Not in front of your friends, he couldn’t look at you with questions in his heart, and he never learned how to mask his emotions. Maybe that’s a reason you fell out of love. He excused himself barely saying a word and went to the restroom.

Your friend followed him with sorry eyes, honest concern on her face, before gripping your hand, - “That must be hard… Is he always like that when he comes back from… work?”

He washed his face with cold water, pushing wet hair away from his forehead and gripping the sink, Leon looked at himself in the mirror. His heart was heavy, beating with an annoying irregularity that made him nauseous. It was hilarious really, he wasn’t moved by any monstrosity on duty, yet this… He couldn’t afford another part of his life to turn ugly. It wasn’t fair. He did everything right and yet everything was turning out wrong. Now that he started questioning you, it felt like a part of him that he tried to build for you came crushing down. Maybe, had he known his parents and observed their relationship, he could figure out a better way to act, would be more convincing at being this version you would like longer. And he really wanted to be him. He didn’t care who he was, as long as you were there. But he couldn’t make you like him. Maybe that’s what you saw - there was a level of dishonesty in that act. Trying to appeal to your idea of a partner. Whoever that man was – he failed. And Leon was staring at the mirror at the only person he could be. The only company he deserves, it seemed.

Exhale. Inhale, exhale. Whatever goes.

He got out of the restroom and dragged himself to join you and your precious friends. No thoughts, until… Right before turning the corner where a large plant was hiding the hallway from the dining room of the restaurant, he heard parts of your conversation. It was your voice that made him stop. Gentle and kind, just like before. But what made him stay, was what he overheard.

“-no, no! That would never happen, and even if it does… You know I’m just happy he’s back. In one piece. I wouldn’t mind if he came back in more though…” – everyone exclaimed your name and laughed scandalized, - “No! I don’t mean it like that! You know what I mean, stop it! I just… He could be in a wheelchair and it wouldn’t…” – by the pause and laughter it was obvious your friends were making faces, you groaned, - “I hate you, stop making it weird. All I mean is I love him, okay? Whatever happens, in any shape or form, I’m just… I’m happy to…” – your voice got less confident and you started searching for words, - “You know, I get so worried yes, but…”

He felt like someone had to save you from being put on the spot, so he made his way to the table and with a quick “sorry” sat next to you. Everyone put on their best impressions of inconspicuousness and you looked down, almost shy. You noticed the change in his demeanor, he sat closer than you expected after walking on imaginary eggshells for days, intentionally letting his leg touch your thigh.

“Damn, did you take a shower?” – asked one of the men at the table looking at his wet hair, could be your friend, could be your friend’s boyfriend. “Almost. Got really car sick on the way here, had to cool down. Had a terrible driver.” – “Really? We thought you drove here!” – your best friend started fussing immediately, looking for a waiter to fix your boyfriend a real drink instead of a mocktail.

“Yeah” – Leon smiled – “I drove here”. You felt your cheeks burn, as your friends laughed at the joke, without a clue it was aimed at you, and even though he wasn’t looking, you could tell he noticed you turning red, which made his smile wider.

“Took you forever.” – you muttered, annoyed. Were you still trying to play this game?

It was hard to process his emotions. He wanted to squish you in a small ball for making him think all those ugly things, at the same time he wanted to kiss you for finally releasing him from this limbo. Knowing you didn’t want to end things made him euphoric. He still had no idea what was up with your act, but it didn’t matter anymore. He heard your quivering voice when you talked all about just how much you loved him, and he knew sincerity when he came across it. Had to learn it the hard way.

All he wanted to do was to pick you up on his shoulder and carry you away, the problem was – he still had no idea what he wanted to do with you. He was angry, but filled with joy. It was like waking up from the worst nightmare. With morning wood. Almost made him spiral for nothing. He would not let it slide. You were more silent than ever, sipping your milkshake, or whatever it was, and smiling. It was like you sensed you were in trouble and it made you happy. Amusing. As soon as he figures out what to do with all of this, you’re not going to be so giggly.

Evening was coming to an end, he opened the door of his car for you, looking at your much expected insulted expression, - “I said…” – you started, as Leon rolled his eyes and put his hand on your waist, - “Get in” – he pinched you, not hard enough to hurt, but it was enough for you to squirm away into the car.

The road was silent before he took one sharp turn and you followed it with, - “This has to count as attempted murder.” – “Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna find out.” - “Oh, they will, when they find my body,” – you took the front mirror and checked your makeup, - “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of your body”, - he smiled, looking as you let go of the mirror and tried to hide your smile and act offended.

Yeah, ever since that day Leon knew how to handle you. Turned out all these people from your childhood were right, as they usually are: it was hard to find him, but it was worth it.

For months you waited for him to snap and drop the act, you hated seeing him treating you like you were holy. You hated seeing him trying to change his ways around you, and him insinuating that you want something else - someone else - with his modifications was insulting. You could have a boring gentleman if you wanted. You wanted original Leon, and you wanted him to want you at your worst.

To this day you remain clueless about the overheard conversation, completely convinced that it took you insulting his driving to get him there. You were prepared to get on his nerves, you always knew he’d show himself, crawl back into himself for you, to take what he needs, to make you you again. You put all your trust into it. And he did not disappoint. He picked it right up every time.

Even now, as he came back to his apartment after another mission, he was not surprised by the lack of greetings at the door. He was not surprised to find you on the bed with a book in your hands as well, sparing him one disinterested glance, - “You’re late.”, - you turned a page, - “Who even let you in?”

He smiled, crawling into bed, and taking the book away from you, - “I welcomed myself”, - he smiled into your lips, holding the book up, as you whined and pretended to try to reach it before finally wrapping your arms around him and returning the kiss. The switch up was always fast with you, and soon he was the one, who tried to pull away, as you kissed and tangled your body into his. He managed to hold you still for a minute, as you ran your fingers through his hair, until the playful look in your eyes softened as you noticed him looking at you with so much care that it made your heart drop. “I missed you so much” – he placed a tender kiss to your chin and you felt hot tears fall from your eyes and make their way into your ears as you hugged him, pulling him closer into your neck, you started crying silently.

He held you up and turned you both around to grip you tighter without crashing, letting you hide in his chest as he held you, caressing your back and kissing your head.

Sometimes you hated him for making you worry so much, sometimes you hated yourself for hating someone you loved so much, sometimes you wanted him to hate you to even it out. Sometimes you didn’t understand yourself and it was okay.

Because Leon knew how to handle you.  

[cece693]

kind of a weird request but could you do hannigram and reader with a reader who’s really into collecting candles, but ONLY the weird ones. like they definitely have a few pot-roast or bacon candles lying around- just the cursed candles that you would never expect to see. and of course, they also have some of the funky shaped ones too

idk feel free to ignore this😅

You Kill, I Collect

pairing: hannigram x gender neutral reader tags: hannigram is supportive as fuck, kinda au kinda not, weird can't even begin to describe what you bring home, didn't know how to end it so it's kinda abrupt

You glance at your phone to check the time just as you enter the softly lit living room of Hannibal's home. Golden lamplight spills over the polished floors, and in the corner, Will is hovering near a shelf, studying one of your latest finds: a candle shaped like a baby arm clutching a rose, the wax dyed an unsettling shade of gray. Hannibal stands beside him, eyebrow raised in fascination. They both look up when you come in, and you grin sheepishly, cradling another box of peculiar candles in your arms. Will sets the baby-arm candle back down—carefully—and offers you a smile. “What’d you find this time?” he asks, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“Well,” you start, carefully placing the box on the coffee table. “I thought our pot roast candle was lonely, so I got a bacon-scented one.” You lift out a squat pillar candle, the swirled pattern resembling strips of fatty bacon. “And if that’s not enough, I found a dill pickle-scented cactus candle too. Check this out.”

You hold up a small, cactus-shaped candle in a glass jar. The label claims it smells of dill pickle brine, though somehow you suspect it might have a dash of some unidentifiable scent as well. Will tilts his head at it, intrigued but also mildly concerned.

Hannibal steps closer, taking the cactus candle from your hands with precise elegance. His hands brush over yours for a moment—just the faintest warmth. “I do appreciate uniqueness, though perhaps,” he says, turning the jar as though examining the wax for quality, “we should keep this one away from the kitchen, lest it confuse our guests.”

You can’t help but grin. “I’ll make sure I label it. Don’t want anyone thinking we’ve decided to serve pickled cactus as a delicacy.”

Will laughs under his breath, and the sound is warm and reassuring. He looks over to Hannibal. “It’s not entirely out of the question though, is it?”

Hannibal inclines his head with the smallest hint of a smile. “One might say anything is possible if done with care.” His attention shifts back to you. “You must tell us, my dear—how did you become so enamored with these…unconventional candles?”

You place your hands on your hips and feign an air of solemnity. “A collector must have a passion, Hannibal. Some people collect stamps, some collect jewelry and I collect cursed candles.” You gesture toward the small menagerie on the shelf—lumpy geometric shapes, orbs that look like eyeballs, hot dog-themed candles, and the infamous pot roast candle that started it all.

Will leans against the edge of the table, sliding the hot dog-themed candle closer to his side. You can see the corners of his mouth twitching, like he’s trying not to grin. “You know,” he says quietly, tapping his knuckles on the tabletop, “collecting cursed candles is definitely something I haven’t heard of before—at least not so enthusiastically.”

You shrug, letting your facade of solemnity slip into a comfortable half-smile. “At first, I just liked the idea of having unusual scents around. Then I noticed how niche and downright bizarre some of these are. Like, a pot-roast candle? Why would anyone make that? And I knew I had to have it.”

Hannibal draws closer, the subtle shift of his tailored suit catching the lamplight. “Pot roast,” he muses. “As though someone intended to capture the memory of a Sunday dinner in wax.”

“Exactly.” Your voice softens, remembering when you first found that candle—buried behind rows of apple pie and lavender-scented ones, practically begging to be rescued. “Once I started collecting them, I realized there’s a whole world of them out there. Bacon-scented, dill pickle-scented, candles shaped like severed hands or eyeballs…” You gesture to the baby-arm candle with a wry grin.

“You must invite us along on your next expedition,” Hannibal says, ever the gentleman. “I’m sure we could find some intriguing designs that would add to your menagerie.”

Will chuckles, folding his arms over his chest. “I can’t wait to see how you’d explain our presence in a novelty candle shop, Hannibal.”

Hannibal inclines his head in Will’s direction. “I’m sure we can maintain a certain mystique.”

A small laugh escapes you, imagining Hannibal’s sophisticated form strolling around a kitschy candle store, picking up bacon or onion rings–scented candles and examining them with utmost seriousness. “Oh, I have no doubt you’d hold your composure,” you tease.

Will moves to lift the jar lid, taking a careful whiff before quickly putting it back. He grimaces playfully. “Alright, that’s definitely pot roast. Good to know.”

[randoimago]

May I ask for Astarion, Wyll, Shadowheart, and Gale having a 'Wait, why am I jealous?' realization of their romantic feelings for Tav? (For the record, Tav is romantically interested in the companion, too, because I can't handle angst right now 🥲)

Realizing They Have Feelings

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character(s): Astarion, Wyll, Gale, Shadowheart

Type of Request: Headcanons

Note(s): Might be tiny hints of angst just because of character backstory mentions, but I did my best with these for you!

Astarion

He doesn't get jealous. People get jealous because of him. And yet, the way he sees one of the harpers at Last Light look at you. That look of reverence for saving them.

One that almost looks at you like a god and a face that flusters when you catch their stare. Astarion, feels the twisting in his gut and it causes him to pause.

Yes he's flirted with you. He's lied and said he's into you. But now, he's not sure it's lies anymore.

And that scares him a bit. With how uncertain the future is, his survival, dealing with Cazador, well it's just a lot of uncertainty and does he even have the time to think of his feelings? Well, Astarion is nothing if not selfish.

Of course he knows your feelings towards him and that makes his admittance a bit easier on his part. The confessing about his intent on manipulating you was a bit harder to get off his tongue especially with the hurt you display.

But you accept his apology and Astarion is so lost on how an actual relationship or whatever you both have is supposed to go. But he's happy to explore it with you.

Gale

Gale flirts with you quite a bit. He doesn't even hide the fact that he finds you attractive. You have a very attractive face, why would he hide his affection? But it never really was anything beyond just simple flirtations.

And then he sees how that tiefling blacksmith smiles at you, how you smile back and he can't help pouting.

For a split second, he's a bit frightened that the weird feeling in his stomach is the orb before he sighs in relief that it's just jealousy.

And then he gets more pouty at the fact that he is jealous. Perhaps his fondness of your pretty face is about more than just your face.

It takes a bit of practicing his speech, redoing certain sections and sighing loudly at how ridiculous this is (but he also finds the amusement in it too).

Eventually, he tells you the truth of his affections. His harmless flirtations had evolved into actual romantic feelings towards you. And the brightest smile crosses his face as you return them. Now you just got to help him not explode and you'll be great.

Shadowheart

Shadowheart thought she was ready to kill Lae'zel before. But now she's hearing comments about your scent and how the gith wants to claim you.

The cleric can't help but scoff and take a sip of one of the thousands of bottles of alcohol that you have in your pack for some reason. Maybe she could throw one of the copies of Traveler's Guides books at her since you have so many copies for some reason.

What Shadowheart doesn't understand is why she's so upset. You're an adult, you can make your own decisions and enjoy yourself with whomever you wish.

And yet, you saved her. You've accepted her silence and wish to keep secrets. And it's at that moment, Shadowheart realizes that she's jealous and she can't help scoffing again because how did she get so pathetic?

She wants to stay silent, keep her feelings a secret as well, but she can't hold them back. Especially when her secrets are revealed to you and then you ask about her favorite flower of all things.

Her feelings end up coming out and instead of turning away and rejecting her (like she expected of all her reveals), you accept them as well. And even reciprocate. She's going to need another bottle of alcohol and this time, she hopes you join her in the drink.

Wyll

He's not really one for jealousy. A dash of disappointment, maybe, but he's got enough demons and devils that he doesn't need to think about the green one.

That's why whenever he sees you flirting with another, well it does give him some disappointment that perhaps he is too late due to his slow realization.

There's also some self consciousness that comes with it too. After all, Wyll isn't as charming or handsome as he once was with the new horns growing out of his head.

Still, he can't help but cherish the memories he had when asking for a dance and you agreeing.

Considering he had gotten this far with a dance, Wyll decides that he might as well tell you his feelings that have been slowly, but surely growing.

Imagine his surprise when you accept him, half-devil appearance and all. Wyll can't help finding his worries silly in hindsight, but he'll laugh at himself later. After he's had that dance.

Taglists: @reo-the-leo @unhelpfulnpc

[fun-k-board]

MARVEL RIVALS - Christmas time!!

Characters included: MAGNETO, SCARLET WITCH, LOKI, STORM, MOON KNIGHT.

Note(s): This includes a lot of headcanons because I'm not sure the full lore and characterisation of things like the X-Men, what version of Moon Knight they're going for, what have you. So, I'm doing it on what I prefer from various comic runs, movies, shows, etc over the years. Some are a little lackluster because of this.

MAX EISENHARDT / ERIK LEHNSHERR / MAGNETO

Erik personally doesn't celebrate Christmas, and that's due to the religious connotations of the holiday even if it's become less Christianity based over the years. But, he doesn't mind the excuse to give you a gift and spend time with his family if you do celebrate. Even if, at this point, the 'family' is just you and him.

He won't put up decorations if you're spending Christmas at his house or if you share a house, he won't wrap the gift, he won't have Christmas themed dinners or anything, but he'll always accept your gifts and give you one back if, as mentioned before, you happen to celebrate. If you don't, he most likely won't give you a gift or mention it as the holiday's existence will simply slip his mind. More of an afterthought than anything else.

Of course plenty of mutants on Krakoa celebrate, and plenty don't, and plenty have a weird in-between where they participate but don't really celebrate. So, it's not entirely out of sight out of mind. In all honesty, Erik is just happy mutants get a chance to have any holidays alive and happy with one another at all.

If you prefer to go all out for Christmas, as in all the things he wouldn't do that I mentioned before, Erik wouldn't mind. All he asks is that you leave both his room and the public parts of your home alone. Assuming you share a room, then he plainly asks that you don't decorate it, but if you must, to keep it at a minimum.

If you don't share a house and he's simply spending holiday time at your house then he politely comments on the decorations, maybe giving a bit of backhanded and passive aggressive sass if he thinks they're ugly. But, it's your home. It's not his place to say what goes and what doesn't.

Speaking of that situation, if you have family staying at your house for Christmas / you live with family, he's very awkward, and I don't believe he'd go at all if nobody in the house is a mutant. Erik doesn't doubt they know of him, it'd be strange if they didn't, so I think you two would give him a secret identity for your families safety. He'd be very silent and still during opening presents, with a dash of silent judgment.

I don't think he'd outright refuse to help you with decorations, he'd do that old man thing where he stares at you with a huffed look on his face until you ask him for help, in which case he mainly uses his powers if there's metal involved. Sometimes he'll say something like 'really my dear, did you truly need help or is this an excuse to spend time with me?' But hey, he's pretty tall so if you happen to not be tall, he's a great help!

I think he'd gift you something like jewellery, metal, but also with other things like, well, jewels. He wants something simple, but that shows heartfelt meaning. It's covered in intricate patterns, perhaps ones that reflect your place of origin to show that he loves you, even where you were born.

Erik's eyes tilt up, following your lingering gaze. He nearly lets out a laugh at the mistletoe hanging above you, but it comes out as a small huff. 'what a silly tradition.' he'd hum, before leaning close and giving your lips the most unsatisfactory peck he's ever given them. At your look, whether outwardly dissatisfied or with only a hint of disappointment in your eyes, he'll act like it wasn't purposeful, sighing as if this is some chore as he leans in for another. But you know him well, you know that hidden loving look in his eyes.

WANDA DJANGO MAXIMOFF / SCARLET WITCH

Wanda, for the reasons in Magneto's section, also doesn't celebrate Christmas. Although, I don't see her continuing on any holidays in general or family traditions, her broken connection to her father most likely created a fractured connection to anything associated with him. She just doesn't seem like a 'holiday' person to me.

However, if you two either happen to share a house or she's at yours in time for the holidays, she doesn't mind helping you put up decorations or helping you cook for Christmas. If you have family, she's doing a mix of doing what she can to impress them whilst refusing to do anything that makes her go past her comfort zone.

I absolutely think she's a good cook, and if she doesn't unintentionally hijack the kitchen, she will help whoever's in there. Whether that be you or your family. Any attempts to tell her that 'you're a guest' and 'you should be relaxing' are met with a wave of the hand and a small, awkward smile. As much as she does just love to help your family assuming they're sweet and accepting of her, she also is very peculiar with food. I think Wanda would make her own side dish just in case.

Honestly, I think she would invite Pietro and Lorna if you and them are close enough? She knows Christmas is a family event, and since that's her family, why not invite them, right? She hopes you see them as your family too, because they've spent too long without something stable. Even though deep down she does have some love for her father, although maybe not as deep down as she thinks, she doesn't want to and would never contact him for Christmas with you and especially not with your family.

Wanda loves to do that thing where she hugs you from behind, absolutely astounded that she has you. She's astounded that you love her, and that you appreciate her so much. Not many do, and she can't help but find so much comfort in that. I think she'd do it whenever she gets emotional but doesn't want to show it, a hug from behind to tell you that she's hurting, but you're helping her heal.

Wanda doesn't like the feeling she gets when opening presents in front of your family, especially if they've given her something. It's usually something they've got an idea from after asking you, so maybe a candle or something handmade, and as much as she appreciates and even loves the gifts she's given it's still a weird almost performance she needs to put on. The feeling isn't as uncomfortable as it is just a bit awkward.

I think she'd only give you a gift if she knows you're getting her one, through communication. She won't ask what it is or peek through your mind to find out, she doesn't really care what the gift is exactly, and she trusts you enough to gift her something she likes and would find useful. I think Wanda does love little mutual acts of affection, so she wouldn't miss out on an opportunity to give you something.

Her eyes flick up before yours do, and Wanda can't help but give you a small chuckle, the most amused look in her eyes that you've ever seen. 'oh? Isn't this convenient.' she purrs, her hand outstretches, capturing your own in a comforting embrace. She whispers, 'I can't believe I got so lucky, my love. You're wonderful.' before giving you a short but comfortable and loving kiss.

LOKI LAUFEYSON

Loki thinks your celebration is more than a little silly. I mean, who cares about this guy who gives presents to kids? Why not the adults? He does far more in a day than some snotty brat has done in their entire lifetime!

Oh- he's not real? Well, then where are his presents, mortal?!

He will say that even if you're not a mortal by the way. It's his personal way of saying 'you're under me and I'm perfect compared to you' without actually saying it.

He absolutely refuses to stay at your house for Christmas if you have family over, because he knows that he will cause mischief and you will get angry at him for it and he would rather you gift him your devotion than be under your wrath. Don't tell him he could kill you easily, he knows that, and he will if you keep pittering on. (He won't). Unless, perhaps, you don't have the best relationship with your family. Then he can probably convince you that it's fair game.

Loki will not invite Thor or Hela, don't even entertain the idea. He will leave.

I think he'd give you a dagger of some kind for a present, even if you're a regular Joe and don't have a use for weapons, you can always display it. And have an engraved stand that tells you your mighty lover, Loki, God of Mischief and notoriously handsome trickster, had gifted you it for your silly holiday.

He will not help you cook or put up decorations unless you literally beg him to, even then he can mainly do some pieces of meat at least decently well. It'd be best to have him do some parts of the cooking while you're preoccupied with the other. He tends to only help with the decorations he knows you'll struggle with, although he won't tell you that outright it's pretty obvious. Especially if you're shorter, less strong than he is, or have any kind of physical disability that could cause trouble with putting up decorations.

Will puff up his chest and grin when you compliment his efforts to help and or compliment his gift. He loudly proclaims that of course he'll give you something so beautiful, because he's beautiful and he very clearly has taste. But, you simply couldn't ignore the way his gaze softened a little when you were speaking. The way you could feel his eyes looking you up and down with adoration.

Loki raises a brow at your expectant look, slowly following your gaze until it reaches the mistletoe. Oh, you've explained this to him, the strange little kissing ritual you midgardians have. His expression twists into something different, his eyes sparkling with mirth, but he doesn't go right in for the kiss. Instead, he holds your chin in his hand, pulling you close until you can breathe in each other's air. 'what a silly mortal.' he mutters, making you tilt your head so he can kiss you. He doesn't intend it to be a small peck either, his kiss is as deep and passionate as you allow it to be.

ORORO MUNROE / STORM

Ororo finds amusement in your tradition, the decorations, the gifts, it makes her heart warm. It's a time for family, and she reminisces over the X-Men's past Christmas times. It's never dull, lots of mutations being used when they're not supposed to, frequent arguments and drama, it was perfect. Not to mention, always the best meals from Gambit and Rogue. She adores the look on the younger mutants faces when they receive something special.

And, in her personal opinion, she's the best gift giver in the X-Mansion.

Ororo would absolutely help make meals, and she jokes that she's not as good at it as Gambit or Rogue are, but she'll try her best. She then proceeds to make one of the best meals you've ever had. It's perfectly flavoured, the texture is just to your liking, it's absolutely delightful. And if you're spending time with family? Expect her to go all out.

Your family will adore her, no doubt about that. No matter what the situation is, whether you and Ororo share a house, you live on your own, you live with family, or you and your family visit the X-Mansion for the holidays. She charms them with her sternness and discipline, her strength unimaginable, but her warmth and friendliness is what truly seals the deal in their adoration for her.

Unwrapping presents tends to be a long process for the X-Mansion. There's a lot of people there, so it's normal to open them all at once and try to get it through as quickly as possible, cleaning as you go with trash bags at the ready to throw in any waste. With a whole family, or perhaps just you in the mix, it can be a bit awkward and even a little overstimulating if you're not acquainted with the X-Men. She's never felt the need to pretend, so she assures you that you don't need to be happy the entire evening because Logan isn't and everybody still loves him, you'll be fine.

The one thing Ororo loves to do most is listen to you. Whether it be generally your life, what you had for breakfast, a story from your childhood, it creates something easy where she can bounce off the conversation with something of her own. It continues the conversation until either of you end it, and causes the conversation to flourish where it would've died otherwise. She uses this to find out what present you'll want for Christmas, so it'll heavily depend on what you actually want.

It honestly doesn't matter what you get her, she'll be appreciative all the same. She knows just how hard it can be to afford things, to create from seemingly nothing, no matter how much effort you put in. To her, the fact you gave her a gift at all is something meaningful within itself. So, even if it's some poorly made easily breakable bracelet, she will wear it with pride.

When she finds herself under the mistletoe with you, her lips curl into the most amused smile and she'll use her powers to twirl the leaves, a teasing hint to her true might. 'was this your plan all along, my dear?' she'll ask, leaning closer, waiting for you to capture her lips. If you take too long, however, she'll raise a brow and mutter a teasing 'don't test my patience' before kissing you herself.

MARC SPECTOR / MOON KNIGHT

Marc is, well, he's not the most jolly guy, and it's been years since he's even bothered to tune into Christmas time when it happens. It's not like he has anybody to spend it with. He would much rather you spend Christmas with Steven or Jake, they're better at that kind of thing, and they're a lot more friendly, buddy buddy with you.

Of course Marc loves you, and if you really want to spend time with him for Christmas he will do it, but he isn't going to act differently for you. He will be the same edgy, broody man. He will absolutely say something like 'the Christmas lights are too bright, it ruins my outfit.' in the gruffest voice you've heard.

I think he'd be a good cook. Nothing that blows you away, but you can definitely eat enough to get full and be satisfied with it. Jake probably leaves some recipes around, and if it does end up becoming a disaster he can always take over and salvage the situation before the house burns down.

He doesn't mind the house being decorated, assuming it's either his or your shared one, as long as it's not like so many Christmas lights it's hard to see or so many decorations you get whacked on the face with them whenever you want to walk somewhere. He'd also help if you asked him to, but I don't think Marc would just hop on and help. He'd assume you have it all covered.

I don't think there are many universes where Marc would consider meeting and visiting your family for Christmas, especially not the Marvel Rivals one. If you're really insistent and passionate about it, he supposes he can. But don't expect him to stay for long if they're not accepting of you or him, he doesn't have any tolerance for that. Plus, he doesn't want to hear Khonshu complaining in his ear that he isn't committing murder while he's around your family, they don't get him or his Identity as Moon Knight like you do.

'Mistletoe, huh?' he muses, his voice would sound almost annoyed to anybody else, but you know him better than anybody else. Or, at least most other people. He crosses his arms as you look up and realise, clearly having forgotten at some point. With his expression a strange mix between a firm sternness and amusement, he pats his lips with his pointer finger twice. 'you put it up, you initiate.'