#and they are THE LOVELIEST BROWN EYES I HAVE EVER SEEN

[skinreflectsthesun]

One thing that gives me life entirely is watching people cosplay as characters from ACOTAR, and I’ve just stumbled upon ONE GUY WHO IS THE PERFECT RHYS omg

[loviatarsluv]

chapter one: lavender silk

pairing: Gale x f!tav (my own oc, Elara)

(takes place mostly after the events of the game with some flashbacks sprinkled throughout)

rating: mature

CW: (f) masturbation and (separately) (m) masturbation, fantasizing about one another and pining and yearning and aching for each other while being in the same house (I mean seriously guys)

in summary: After the fall of the brain, and her home having been destroyed in the chaos, Gale offers Elara sanctuary with him back in Waterdeep. She struggles to deal with the feelings she has been harboring for him and the guilt that she’d been the one to prevent either of them from taking the relationship any further a few months prior. Yearning and pining ensues

a/n: rewrite of this gale fic because I lost inspiration and motivation for it a while back but I miss writing about my sweet wizard man and also I want to write romantic gale smut !!!! I crave it I need it !!!!

word count: 6.8k

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i.

She has always loved the color brown. 

It was easily one of the most overlooked colors, one so common you almost forget it entirely— one we so easily take for granted. 

Yet, some of the most lovely things in life come in the warmest shades of brown. 

A cup of hot tea on a chilly day while the rain pours and patters against the windows. The leather bindings of her favorite book that brought her boundless comfort more times than she could count on either hand, worn from the years of reading it and tucking it into her bag so that it was always at her side. The rough bark of the great oak tree near the tower in Waterdeep. 

She spends many mornings sitting on the roots of that tree, the large and weathered trunk shielding her from the harsh rays of the rising morning sun, either reading a book she nabbed from the library in his office or scribbling nonsense in her notebook. 

Occasionally her newly befriended tressym companion, Tara,  joins her, sitting beside her and allowing the sun to warm just the back half of her, basking her fur and wings in a beautiful golden glow. There are brown spots on her fur. She’s lovely. 

The loveliest of things, though, were the things she tried with everything within her not to think about— like Gale Dekarios’ long chestnut brown hair, or the silver streaks that adorned the dark waves near the top of his head like it were a crown atop a prince’s, and the way he would tie it back into a messy half updo that perfectly accentuated his face and neck. The small pieces of hair that would fall into his eyes that she so desperately wanted to brush away. His perfectly groomed facial hair that had matching gray streaks and how he’d run his hands through the bristles on his cheeks or rake his fingers through his hair when he was deep in thought. 

And his eyes— gods, his damned eyes. So warm and kind and full of a genuine sweetness that she’d never seen in another person’s eyes before. Eyes that seemed to read her so well as if she were a book he had read a dozen or more times, especially when she least wanted her pages to be turned. Eyes that when in the right lighting, appeared golden, like the richest honey in all of Faerun. Eyes that really seemed to see her. Many had looked at her before— few had ever really seen her. 

No, she certainly didn’t think about it. Not often, really. 

Only when his hands would brush against hers as he took the scroll from her hands that he kindly asked her to fetch for him. Or when he would utter a groggy but kindhearted good morning to her as he ambled into the kitchen first thing in the morning, the first light of dawn breaking through the parted dark velvet curtains that drape over the large windows, the golden streams beaming on him in just the right way to make him appear otherworldly. Or when she would fall asleep on the chaise in the study and wake to find a blanket draped over her body. 

Not often. Not really.

One would assume it would become easier after a while; to be in his presence and not ache at every smile, or every laugh, or every kind gesture he ever made. But it wasn’t a simple ache that could be balmed by rest and a special tea or a healing potion— it was consuming. It flooded her veins and extended to every extremity of her aching body.

Only made worse by the fact that the blame for her own misery fell solely upon her own shoulders. 

The thought of that night made her shudder— what a fool she’d been and continues to be. 

The others always teased her, telling her that the obvious pining was painful to witness to which she would shake her head and refuse to admit that every part of her physically hurt to see him struggle, or how badly she wanted to hold him until the stars burned out of the sky and shield him from all that threatened him. 

Selfishly, the original reason she’d given herself to justify ignoring her feelings was the orb— it was safer for everyone that way, at the time. 

Then when Elminster stabilized it she scrambled to find a new excuse, settling for the fact that he had been considering detonating the orb, as Mystra intended. 

It was to save herself from the heartache of loving someone who in a matter of days would be reduced to mere stardust and wasted potential due to a spiteful god whom she had once worshiped herself. 

Then when she had finally successfully talked him off of the proverbial edge, she was at a loss. What was truly stopping her from loving him as she knew she would whether she expressed it to him or not? 

She turned him down the night prior, but so much transpired in such a short time that the opportunity to rectify it never came to pass. 

And now, here she remained, reaping the bitter consequences of her own lack of communication. 

She watched Gale read a letter that Shadowheart sent for them as he sat at his large mahogany desk, his glasses balancing just at the end of his nose and his brows furrowed as he read. His expression didn’t change or seem anything other than relaxed as he read, so she took that as a good sign. She relaxed slightly into the plush cushions of the chaise, a weight she didn’t realize she’d been bearing lifting off of her shoulders. 

She lounged on her favorite spot in his office where she would spend hours reading and researching with him, or where she would sit as she intently listened to him bestow her with random tidbits of knowledge that he found riveting, his cadence as he spoke about it making her feel just as excited by it as he was. 

“I wonder how many more times any one of them will promise to visit before they actually do,” she jokes, breaking the comfortable silence. 

Gale huffs air from his nose, never looking up at her from the assortment of scrolls, parchment, and tomes scattered across the surface of his desk. “Knowing them, they have all got their hands quite full in their own lives. Especially Shadowheart. I imagine keeping Astarion in check is keeping her on her toes.” 

She chuckles lightly and sighs, leaning her cheek against the back of the chaise. “I imagine you’re probably right.” 

Another comfortable silence fills the room, as it often did while Gale busied himself with whatever studies he found pressing enough to indulge in, these days mostly consisting of vampirism and potential cures or anything to aid with the symptoms, at her request as Astarion outright refused to ask Gale himself. 

She typically assisted with this, finding her own books and tomes to sift through for any pertinent information that could assist in any way, but today her mind was anywhere but in the present. Each page she had tried to read looked as though they’d been written in unintelligible scrawl.

She quietly hops off of the lounger and pads over to the large open window on the other side of the room, perching herself on the windowsill and gazing at the vast expanse of the ocean below, the sun shimmering on it in hues of orange and pink as it began to set over the horizon. 

The breeze is pleasant and the faint salty scent of the ocean drifts toward her with the wind and fills her senses. Her eyes shut as she indulges in it for a few moments, feeling a kind of serenity that she hadn’t felt in a while. 

When she finally opens her eyes, she finds Gale has turned in his seat and is watching her with a peaceful grin on his face. She holds his gaze for a moment before she has to tear herself away as she squirms under his intense gaze. 

“Would you care to accompany me for a stroll? It’s a beautiful evening,” he asks, leaning against the back of the chair, his chin tilted up as he watched her.

Gods, give me strength, she thinks to herself. How could she ever think living in the same tower as this man was a wise decision? 

“It is,” she nearly chokes out, then clears the lump from her throat. “Almost reminds me of—”

“That evening in the Shadow Cursed Lands. When I showed you Waterdeep. This very room, to be exact.” He reminisces, his tone neither bitter, nor pleasant. She hadn’t expected him to bring it up, and the shock of it nearly caused her to topple over the sill and fall out of the open window. 

Great. 

Gale jolts in his seat, preparing to rescue her from her own potential idiotic demise, before she quickly hops down and plants her feet firmly on the ground and shoots him a reassuring glance. 

“I’m alright,” she holds her hands in front of her, her breathing uneven as she recovers. 

“I don’t think my heart can handle being around you, at times,” he jokes. His eyes widen and his face pales, and he clears his throat nervously before he continues. “I didn’t mean it that way, it’s just— that’s the second— no, third— time you’ve nearly fallen out of that window. I am beginning to consider casting an arcane lock on the damned thing.” 

I don’t think my heart can handle being around you.

Her stomach flips and somersaults as she replays it in her head a million times over within a second, despite him quickly correcting himself. Little did he know, she felt very much the same way around him, but likely for an entirely different reason. 

“Apologies,” she whispers, her eyes dropping to the floor sheepishly. “I’ve never been exactly graceful.” 

He sighs, silently chuckling and shaking his head. “So I’ve gathered. Though, you could always hold your own in battle, to your own credit.” 

He stands and joins her in front of the window, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back slightly as he mimics what she’d done just moments prior, minus the potential self-defenestration.

A stronger breeze passes, blowing back his chestnut waves and his lavish looking robes with it. His slightly aged and weathered skin bathed in the peachy hues from the sunset made him appear as if he’d been painted rather than real and standing just beside her. She shudders. 

“What do you say?” He asks, turning to her once again, his hands clasped behind his back. 

She swallows hard. The thought of a stroll in the warm twilight with him while she was in this state could potentially prove to be disastrous. She fiddles with the bottom hem of her blouse as it flowed loosely down her frame, her gaze fixed on a random point far off into the horizon. 

“I—I’m actually not feeling very well… I believe I may need to lie down for a bit. But perhaps… another time?” She stammers, her voice meek and unconvincing. At least to herself. 

Stupid, stupid. 

Gale nods, but is unable to entirely mask his disappointment, a slight frown gracing his features that would almost be impossible to notice if it weren’t for his always expressive eyes. Her heart nearly shatters at the way his dark irises resembled a puppy who’d just been denied a treat. Was it too late to take it back? 

“Are you well? Is there anything I can do for you?” He takes a step closer, concern replacing the disappointment in his eyes as his brows softened and his hand raised as if he was going to reach for her, before quickly lowering it and dropping it to his side. 

Her body stiffens and her back straightens, her heart pounding. How did she get to this point— where something as simple as him extending base level kindness to her was enough to affect her this greatly? It was torture— and the more time she spent with him, the more she ached to bridge the seemingly vast gap between them. To be close to him in every way, to tangle herself in him and pray the knots never loosen. 

But she had already accepted that she’d ruined her chances many months ago, and that it would be best to try to move forward until the feeling eventually fades as if it had never been present to begin with. That, for now, all she could do was endure. 

“I’m fine, really. I think I just… perhaps I just need a nice relaxing bath, some time to myself.” She offers, throwing it out meaninglessly then realizing that a hot bath sounded absolutely divine. 

An unreadable expression flashes across his face for a flicker of an instant before he recomposes, then smooths the front of his coat down with his hands and clears his throat. He offers her his usual warm grin, and nods. 

“By all means. Perhaps I’ll start dinner while you do. It should be done by the time you’ve finished.” 

She can’t hold back the thankful smile that teases the corners of her mouth.

She nods. “That sounds good. Thank you.” 

Without exchanging another word, they disperse, him retreating downstairs and her essentially running to her room to grab her towels and toiletries. 

She grabs two towels, one for her body and one for her hair, then the soap that she’d gotten the last time she went to the market to pick up a few of her personal essentials. The shopkeeper let her know that it was a special soap, made particularly with ingredients that had calming effects on the user. 

How appropriate. 

She pads out of her room, closing the door behind her and making her way to the large washroom at the far end of the hallway. 

Gale had a way of leaving his mark on every space he inhabited, and this one was no exception. 

The room was cozy, draped in various deep violet curtains and several houseplants that looked as if they’d been cared for by the most skilled of botanists, not a single dead leaf or weak stem. 

There were robes neatly hung on the wall closest to the large clawfoot tub on one end of the room— his robes. She mindlessly runs her hand across the soft fabric of one of them, noticing a small tear in the collar and a few scuffs and singed marks throughout it. She imagines what mischief he’d gotten himself into while wearing it, and whether she had been present for it. A smile creeps across her face at the thought. 

She tears herself away from her thoughts and his clothes (that still smelled strongly of him), and approaches the tub, turning the ornate handle for the hot water and watching it run, slowly filling the marble basin. She perches herself on the edge of the tub, staring blankly into the rippling water. 

She thinks of how many times Gale had probably done the exact same thing as she was doing right now— how he would sink himself into the water and finally rest his weary and aching bones, and wash away the stresses of the day even if it were only for the small duration of him being enveloped in the comforts of a warm bath. She wonders if he ever— 

No. Another thing she absolutely could not think about. A thought to avoid at all costs if she intended on ever being able to look him in the eye again. It was hard enough already as it was.

The tub finally fills just as she shakes her head to clear herself of the beginnings of what were certainly very perverse and not very platonic thoughts, thankfully allowing her to now focus on something else. She quickly disrobes, folding her clothes neatly and setting them aside on the chair in the corner of the room— a habit she’d picked up from watching him do it and knowing that neatness was his preference in most things. 

The room, apart from the heat radiating off of the water in the tub, is chilly against her flushed skin, instantly raising gooseflesh all over her as she peels away the thin layers of clothing she’d been wearing. The tile feels icy against the bare soles of her feet as she returns to the tub, reaching over and grabbing the soap off of the shelf she’d placed it on earlier as she begins to submerge herself. 

The second her body dipped below the surface and the warm water completely enveloped her, she felt all tension in her body release like it had never been there to begin with. She hadn’t even used the soap yet and she felt the calming effects of it from the smell alone as she dunked it underwater. Lavender and a hint of citrus. 

Sometimes she caught a whiff of lavender when the window in the kitchen was open and the breeze would jostle the lavender plant that sat on the sill. She remembered Gale telling her that he loved the smell of fresh lavender. Not that that was the reason she bought the soap. Not at all. Not really.

Her body sinks lower and lower into the bath until only her nose and everything above it remains above the waterline, her slow breaths causing ripples in the water. 

Her mind wanders back to him— picturing him with his hair down, loose and wet tresses falling over his face, tan skin glistening. The long column of his neck stretched, Adam’s apple bobbing with his head thrown back as he—

No, no. 

Gods. What is wrong with me?

She clenches her legs together, in hopes to subvert the throbbing between her legs. She leans her head back against the edge of the tub, inhaling a shuddering breath. 

Maybe this was what she needed— just a minute of bliss. Her own personal bliss. 

Against her better judgment, her hand slowly travels down her body, but in her mind it was his; the way his roughened hands would feel as they trailed the length of her torso. The way his fingers would feel as they chased her pleasure, coaxing it out of her the way one would coax an animal out of the shadows. 

Was he as giving of a lover as she pictured? Was he selfish? Did it even matter? 

Her breath catches in her throat as her fingers expertly circle the swollen bud where most of her pleasure resides, now realizing how badly she’d needed this. Release. Guilt aside. 

Unaware and completely lost in her fantasies, soft moans and cries fell from her lips, some sounding suspiciously close to his name. She couldn’t care less in this moment, she was already so close—

“Oh, hells!” 

The door had burst open, Gale standing slack jawed in the doorway for a second that felt like several before quickly shielding his eyes.

She gasps loudly, reflexively standing from the tub, before realizing that was worse than just staying where she was, one hand moving to cover her mouth in shock and the other arm shielding her chest to maintain whatever shred of modesty or dignity she had left.

“I— I thought—  your bedroom door was closed, so I assumed you were— forgive me! I just—  um—” He clamors over himself trying to make any sort of sense at all, never moving his hand an inch out of the way of his eyes, closing them tightly for good measure. “D-Dinner is finished and on the table waiting for you when you’re ready. Take your time.” 

He darts out of the room, slamming the door behind him and the sound of hurried footsteps down the hall preceding. 

What in the hells just happened?!

Her heart pounds anxiously in her chest as if it were a wardrum and she’s almost certain that she might actually die of embarrassment. That is if she doesn’t resort to drowning herself in the leftover bathwater to avoid going downstairs and facing him, first. 

That seemed like the safest option. Sinking back down into the water and staying there until she rotted away. 

She remained in the water for what felt like both an eternity and not nearly long enough until the water had officially turned cold, sincerely debating dunking her head under and not letting herself up for air to spare herself the misery of facing Gale after—

Oh, gods, how much did he hear? How much did he see? 

She groans loudly, covering her flushed and surely beet red face with both hands. Her shriveled fingers and hands serve as a sign to dry off, much to her dismay. 

Fine. The world’s most awkward dinner ever, it is. 

She quickly stands again and wraps one of the towels around her body, then the other around her shoulders for extra coverage before peeking her head out of the door, checking if the coast was clear before dashing down the hallway and into the safety of her bedroom. 

Once inside, she shuts the door with a loud click, then leans against the wood and sighs. 

Within one singular day, within at least an hour of each other, she’d rejected his very kind offer of a nice walk under the sunset, and he’d walked in on her in what could only be the worst situation for him to walk in on, and he’d likely seen her entire naked body.  

They had experienced their fair share of awkward exchanges in all of their time knowing each other, but nothing quite as catastrophic as this. What could she even say? Should she pretend it never happened? Should she apologize?

Her back slides down the wooden door until she lands on the floor with a loud thud, her head dejectedly falling against her knees as she pulls them to her chest. 

Accidents happen, and he just so happened to accidentally manage to walk into the washroom at the exact moment her fingers were inside herself and she’d let his name slip from her lips which he may or may not have heard. Things happen. It’s fine. 

She recalls him saying that her bedroom door was shut and that was why he assumed it was safe for him to come in. She’s not sure why him noticing something like that made her stomach twist and do flips as if she were tumbling very suddenly down a hill, but it did all the same. She wonders what other things he notices about her, if anything else at all. The thought makes her throat run dry.

With a huff, she stands. She paces around the room for another few or ten minutes before her stomach begins to rumble. Shit. 

She pulls on an oversized blouse that fell well past the top of her thighs as well as a comfortable pair of pants, feeling the need to cover as much of herself as possible to maybe cancel out the fact that he’d seen everything only moments ago. It didn’t work, of course, but it was worth a try. 

Realizing that he was probably sitting at the table and waiting for her to join him before he began eating, as he always did, she finally forces herself to face the inevitable. 

Perhaps he hadn’t seen anything. 

Hopefully. 

She peeks around the corner and sees him exactly where she expected him to be— the same seat he always sat in for any meals, opposite the chair she always occupied, staring blankly down at his plate, massaging his temples with his fingertips. He looks equally as perturbed by their encounter as she does, and she can’t tell if that is a comfort to her or if it made her want to run while she had the chance. 

She catches a flash of auburn and gray fur as Tara flies in from an open window and perches herself on the table beside Gale. He doesn’t acknowledge her physically, but utters a quiet ‘hello, Tara’ that sounds more like a groan. 

“Mr. Dekarios, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost!” She chirps, pawing at his bicep with concern. “Where is my favorite reading companion? Have you finally scared her off?”

Gale swats her paw off of his arm and shoots her a look of annoyance. “Not now, Tara.”

“Did something happen between you two? About time, I say. I do rather like having her around, you know.” The feathered feline continues, pacing in front of Gale and nearly stepping right in the middle of his plate before he scoots it away.

“I fear she may run for the hills like a bat out of a crypt after today,” He groans. “I’ve made a complete ass of myself. It seems to be my specialty these days.” 

“Mr. Dekarios, I may just be a simple tressym but I have it on good authority she won’t go anywhere.” Tara says, her tone meaningful and full of insinuation as she pokes and prods Gale’s arm once again. 

He looks at his companion with soft eyes full of despair, his entire body seeming to sag in his seat in contrast to his usually perfect and poised posture. “I hope you’re right.”

Silence fills the room as Tara comfortingly bumps her head against Gale’s shoulder, eliciting a sweet smile from him that makes her insides feel fuzzy. She waits a few moments more before exiting the stairway so as to not appear suspicious or that she’d been eavesdropping. Her steps are extra quiet as she carefully tiptoes into the dining room. Tara notices her first and greets her warmly. 

“Elara! There you are! How are you, my friend?” Tara calls to her, strutting across the large wooden surface of the dinner table to her side, sitting right next to her plate. 

She glances at Gale for a brief moment, his eyes boring into her as if he were anticipating something terrible to come from her mouth. She offers him a shy smile, then turns her attention back to Tara. 

“I’m well, thank you. I missed you this morning, Tara. Find any juicy pigeons to snack on?” She jokes, patting her head gently. Tara purrs and bumps her head against Elara’s palm, almost appearing to smile at the affectionate gesture. Gale’s eyes darted back and forth between his two companions rapidly, an unreadable expression on his face. 

She tilts her head at him in a silent inquiry, to which he simply waves his hand and invites her to sit.

“Oh, yes, of course. You’ll have to come with me some day.” She offers, and Elara chuckles. As silly as it was, she knew how sweet it was for Tara to invite her to join her for a hunt, regardless of whether or not she ever actually would. 

“I’d love to.”

The chair legs squeal as she pulls it out from under the table and sits, eyeing her plate and finding that somehow her food was still steaming hot as if it were fresh, while Gale’s appeared to have gone cold and stale. 

“I warmed it for you.” He says, answering her question before she even had the chance to ask. She smiles a grateful smile before taking a bite, not realizing just how hungry she’d been until the very second the food landed on her taste buds.

They eat mostly in silence, aside from the sound of Gale’s fork scraping against the plate as he pushes his food around. She wants to ask why he didn’t bother to heat his own plate as well, but doesn’t want to pry. Perhaps he just wasn’t that hungry. 

The echoes of something she overheard Gale say in response to Tara’s teasing linger in her mind, reverberating off of the walls of her skull as if he’d shouted them into the mouth of a cave. 

I hope you’re right. 

He hoped she’d stay. He wants her to stay. 

The sound of Tara taking flight startles her from her thoughts, catching a glimpse of the tail end of her as she flies toward the staircase, likely heading to her favorite spot in Gale’s office on a blanket right in front of the fireplace. The departure of what acted as the buffer for the awkward tension between the two of them made it impossible to ignore the proverbial owlbear in the room. 

“I should have—”

“I’m sorry you saw—”

They stare at each other for a moment, then both chuckle.

“You first.” She says quietly, her smile dying as she braces herself. 

Gale’s voice cracks nervously, and he clears his throat before trying again. “I apologize again— for earlier. I should have knocked.” 

She waves him off, dropping her gaze back down to her plate as she pokes and prods at the vegetables that remained. “Things happen.” 

He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I just fear that I’ve made you uncomfortable more than once today.” 

Now her gaze is locked right on him, confusion coating her features. When he notices, he sighs. 

“When I asked you if you wanted to go for a stroll. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

Oh. 

Gods, why is he so damn considerate? 

“No, no,” she says, her voice softening and her eyes matching it. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all.”

It’s his turn to be confused now, his eyebrows knitted together and mouth pressed into a line. “Why did you say no, then?” 

What answer could she give him that wasn’t entirely incriminating? ‘I said no because I’m hopelessly, idiotically in love with you and you make me nervous’? Not a chance. 

“I… I’m just feeling a bit off today. It’s nothing, I just— I would rather not burden you with my issues.” 

He eyes her and suddenly it’s like she’s completely naked under his gaze once again, only she nearly feels even more exposed now than she did when she was actually naked. He can tell there’s more to it, but he doesn’t push. He never pushes.

“Well, do know that I’m always here if you need to talk. If there’s something burdening you, I don’t mind helping you carry the load.” 

Only there isn’t anything he can do to help— hells, even this conversation is doing the very opposite of helping. 

“Thank you, Gale. Really.” She smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry you— you know.”

He waves his hand in front of him as he goes to take a long gulp of his wine. He barely finishes swallowing before he speaks again. “You’ve no need to apologize.”

Silence fills the room again. Lighter, this time, at least, but not lacking most of the tension it held before. There were things unsaid on both ends, both too scared to break the peace. So silent it remained. 

She clears her throat after a while and after she’d finished her dinner. “Thank you, for dinner. Delicious, as always.” 

“My pleasure,” He breathes, pushing his chair back and standing with his plate in hand. “I apologize, but I may turn in early tonight. Don’t worry about your dishes, I will take care of them in the morning.”

She watches him as he scrapes his plate into the waste bin and then places it in the sink basin, rubbing his hands together before turning to head for the stairs. He breezes past her and she catches a whiff of that familiar scent she’d caught from the robes hanging in the bathroom— sandalwood, bergamot, and a hint of old parchment. Something she would try not to think about if she weren’t reminded of it everyday that she spent surrounded by him, still feeling as though he were in the room with her even when he was away.

Just before his foot lands on the first stair, she turns and calls to him. He pauses, turning his entire body at the sound of her voice.

“Goodnight, Gale.” 

He beams at her, his smile reaching his deep brown eyes that she could see the twinkle in even from across the room. She swears she would be able to see it from miles away.

“Goodnight, Elara.” 

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Lavender. Gale loved the smell of lavender. 

It lingered throughout the halls and wafted out from the washroom for hours after her bath, and he found himself stopping just outside the doorway without realizing it, as if some invisible force was drawing him to it. As if that smell were a siren’s call, and he was a fisherman lost at sea being lured right into her claws. He smelled it on her when she came downstairs, her long azure tinted waves still damp and falling in her face, her skin still flushed from the warmth of the water. 

Selfishly, he could not get the image of her out of his head— the elegant curves of her body and the way it glistened as the hazy light of dusk paired with candlelight cast an ethereal glow that almost made her seem like nothing more than a conjured illusion. Though, he was sure no wizard would ever be able to conjure something as meticulously crafted as her, something that exquisite couldn’t have even been sculpted by the gods. 

The muffled sound of her voice from the other side of the door replayed in his mind as well; he hadn’t heard much, but what he did hear almost sounded like—

Impossible. 

It felt wrong and he felt the crushing weight of guilt on his shoulders for violating her privacy tenfold, and yet, his brain could not seem to let him forget for even a fraction of a second. He was incredibly thankful he was able to make it downstairs and hide his arousal under the table before she saw him again and was truly put off by him once and for all. He cursed himself internally for being unable to contain himself— one can’t always be a gentleman, it seems.  

It was purely a miracle that he managed to contain himself as he walked past her to finally retire to his bedroom after what felt like the most mentally exhausting day. It was a miracle every day that he managed to contain himself around her, really. 

Especially on days that she wore dresses— he adored dresses on her. He pictured taking her for a proper evening out in Waterdeep. Greeting her at the door with flowers, walking hand in hand and buying her dinner, showing her all of his favorite places in the city he loved most in the world, then kissing her goodnight on the stoop and smiling like a giddy schoolboy the entire rest of the night after they departed. 

He’d been enraptured by her from the first moment he laid eyes on her, that fateful day on that beach amongst the wreckage and chaos. Her face being the first he saw as he emerged from that portal felt all too fitting, as hers was the only face he had been able to think of or dream of for months now.  

Even after she turned him down in the Shadow Cursed Lands, his affinity for her did not subside. If anything, it burned brighter and brighter in the weeks that followed as she showed more care for him than another person aside from his mother and his tressym had done for him in what felt like a lifetime. As she did everything in her power to save her friends one by one, as well as the rest of the world. 

After it was all said and done and he’d seen that look in her eyes after the brain and the crown fell into the Chionthar, and all of her newly acquired friends had departed while she remained— he knew he could not allow her to think she had nowhere or no one in the world to turn to. 

While you’d think having the object of your desires right within your own home at all times would make things easier— it did not. It only further complicated an already somewhat complicated situation. 

He valued his friendship with her greatly, and feared that he would jeopardize it if he attempted anything romantic— but something was telling him he needed to try. To be patient and if nothing ever came of it, he would give her a safe place to lay her head at night. 

She was worth trying for. She was worth everything. 

Now, he’s tormented by her being so close and yet not close enough to touch. To occupy the same home as her, but never the same space was downright agonizing. 

She had become the bane of his very existence, only because every day she made it even harder to resist her. 

For example, the way she interacted with Tara— whom, mind you, generally disliked most other humans or humanoid creatures aside from himself and his mother— the way Tara greeted her with such ardor, not too different from the way she would greet him. The way she not only allowed her to pet her head, but even purred as she did so. Tara is many things, but easily swayed by people is not one of them. And yet, she welcomes her into their home as if she’d always been there. As if she’d been simply waiting for her to come home all this time. 

It had begun to feel that way for Gale as well— his heart ached at the thought of her finding her own place and leaving. While he respected her decisions no matter what they may be, he could not deny that he’d miss her presence in this house much more. 

He felt himself going mad. Absolutely and truly around the bend crazy over her. 

He certainly wasn’t proud of what he’d done the second he made it into his bedchamber for the night. 

To make matters worse, it wasn’t even the first time he’d done such a thing. 

The pained straining of his erection against his clothing was making his entire body ache along with it, as if it were punishing him for neglecting it for as long as he had. The second he released it from the confines of his pants and underclothes, a bead of precum leaked and he groaned. 

Gods, this is madness. 

Perhaps maybe if he did this, he could get it out of his system and forget about it all in the morning. Yes, he thought, that makes perfectly logical and reasonable sense. 

He clumsily strips his day clothes off apart from his underwear, uncharacteristically discarding it into a heap beside his bed before jumping into the expanse of the large mattress in the center of the room and making himself comfortable. 

He looks down at his own pathetically swollen and throbbing cock, and he almost wishes he could call her into his room and show her the effect she has on him. 

He pictures her long dazzling blue tresses fanned out across the pillows at the head of the bed, the way her tanned complexion would be complimented so beautifully by the violet silk sheets beneath her, her legs spread wide for him, like an offering. The way he’d devour her and drink her in as if she were the richest wine or the sweetest peach in all of Faerun. The way his name would sound cried from her lips in pure ecstasy. 

The thought alone was enough to bring him closer to the edge— hells, he was sure he’d been on the brink of orgasm for longer than he would like to admit. He was almost certain the second he began to pump himself into his fist that he’d be done for. 

He started slowly, hoping to savor it for at least a few minutes and give himself more time to indulge in his fantasies. His chest heaved and his cheeks flushed with desire. He had to bite down onto his fingers to try to keep himself quiet on the off chance that she would overhear him. 

Despite his efforts, he grunted softly as his pace quickened, now pumping himself with a steady rhythm that felt right— that if he closed his eyes, he could picture her on top of him, riding him like her life depended on it. 

That didn’t last long, as within a minute he was spilling onto his own chest and coming completely undone, chanting her name in breathy whispers over and over as if it were a prayer. 

He grips himself as he rides out the aftershocks until the sensation was entirely too much and he had to let go, his entire body going limp and exhaustion finally presenting itself to him and each one of the muscles he’d just expended in that process. He looks down wearily at the mess he’d made of himself, and throws his head back into the pillows. 

He wonders if her pillows smell of lavender. He imagines that they do. 

⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆

next chapter ❥ masterlist

[creative-heart]

"Make a wish my darling" Enzo Vogrincic x (fem!) reader

A/N: Hi my lovelies! So, given today's my birthday, Happy bday to me! I wanted to post a little fanfic with the oh so handsome Enzo, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it 💜💜🥰🥰🤞🤞 I also apologize if bff's name is the same as yours, feel free to change it 😊

TW: Just a lot of Fluff, Enzo being the best bf ever, a little hint at smut, mostly some talk and thoughts, 3p POV.

Word Count: 1.4kish

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Y/N half wakes up keeping her eyes closed as she rolls on the bed, arms trying to find the handsome man she shares a bed with to lace around his waist, but Enzo is nowhere to be found, she whines and opens one eye to look around the room sitting up on the bed, “En, babe?” she calls out softly, voice still raspy with sleep. She huffs at  the lack of response from the dark haired man and lets herself fall back on the bed covering her eyes with one arm for a short minute. 

She hasn’t even realized what day it is, her birthday has had no special meaning to her for years, just another regular day. Enzo hated the relationship his girlfriend had with her birthday, to him, it was the most important day of the year, seeing as how that was the date perfection made person had entered this earth, so he was set on making it the most special day ever for Y/N.

Enzo moves around the kitchen swiftly, humming softly to himself as he makes the gorgeous sleeping woman upstairs her favourite breakfast - brown cinnamon sugar french toast, a mocha and some orange juice-. He woke up early today, went out to the florist to get Y/N the most gorgeous tulip bouquet- it was always tulips, she loved how colorful they were- he then made his way to the cake shop, to make sure they would be delivering the birthday cake he had ordered for her, later on that day to Pipe’s house, they had decided to throw her a surprise party at his place as it was the one with the biggest garden. When he got home he had made sure she was still sleeping, and started making her breakfast to take to bed.

The dark haired guy wants to make this tradition, breakfast in bed with flowers, a showering of gifts, from whatever she’s got in her Amazon cart and or whislist, to anything he’s seen her looking at a second too long through the window of any shop and a book, always a book. Y/N loves reading and is always in need of something new to graze her brain with. He’s so far in his own world, dancing around the kitchen lightly that he doesn’t even hear Y/N coming down the stairs, she sees him and rests her body against the kitchen island “didn’t know you were a dancer on top of being an actor my love” she chuckles lightly. He jolts slightly and turns around surprised, seeing her.

“Noo, you’re supposed to still be asleep princess” he whines coming over to place a quick kiss on her lips, before making her turn around and go back upstairs.

“Wha-why? I’m hungry and I can smell the french toast” she whines giving him her best puppy dog eyes- god those eyes, he’d do anything for those pretty hazel eyes-  but turns her back around.

“No, today it’s breakfast in bed for the birthday girl” he leans over her and whispers in her ear “Happy Birthday my love”.

Y/N frowns and crosses her arms definitely not liking this attention “no, I WILL NOT be having breakfast in bed, come on En, you know I hate my birthday, can’t we make it a normal day?” she sighs as his boyfriend shakes his head, the most boyish, devilish, loveliest grin on his face.

“I know you do, and I’ve made it my life’s mission to make you love this day once again, but I can give into breakfast down here”, he hugs her tightly bringing her into his chest and kissing the top of her head long as he feels the blonde woman wrap her arms around his waist nodding softly.

As the day goes on, he makes sure to repeat to Y/N happy birthday every 5 minutes, giving her a present for each year of life. They’ve been sitting on the couch for a while now, as she opens the last of the presents, a weirdly wrapped box, Y/N gives Enzo a confused look as she tears the paper open revealing a container with several little holes on it and looks back at it “what is this love?” she asks confusion evident in her tone as she opens it with a gasp and teary eyes, seeing the tiny calico kitten and picking it up out of the cardboard carrier “are you serious Enzo? oh god, I can’t believe it, she’s absolutely adorable, look at that little face” she coos in a soft tone as to not scare the kitten a few happy tears rolling down her face.

“Of course I’m serious honey, I know how badly, and for how long you’ve wanted a cat, and she just looked perfect at the shelter, I couldn’t resist, you should give her a name” his smile brighter than ever looking at the love of his life beam like a 5 year old on christmas morning.

“She’s Harlow, little Harley” she wipes the tears from her cheeks and kisses the top of the cat’s head “mama loves you little Harley” Y/N leans back against her boyfriend’s chest as Harlow makes herself at home on her lap.

~~~~~

Y/N looks at, well she more like stares at Enzo through the reflection in her vanity mirror while he gets ready for wherever he’s taking her this evening, of course he has said nothing about the place, or event.- I could very well not go anywhere right now and just bring him over here and..Make up, focus Y/N- “baby…” she says in the most seductive way she can master right now “where are we going?” she bats her lashes at her boyfriend, and for a moment she almost had him, before he chuckles shaking his head.

“Already told you it’s a surprise, and as much as I would want to stay here, and take that sexy fucking dress off you…we’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry my love, so please, don’t try this” he places a long kiss on her cheek and walks downstairs still buttoning his shirt. He laughs as he hears Y/N huff loudly at his response.

Not long after Y/N finally walks downstairs, while getting her earrings on, black satin mini dress on, matching high heels and her hair in the most exquisite high pony tail. Enzo looks up from his phone as he was arranging the last details for the party and looks over at his girlfriend, eyes immediately darkening at the sight biting his lower lip, taking an extra moment to scan the gorgeous woman in front of him- those goddamn legs are gonna be the end of me- he thinks to himself. Y/N catches him staring and smirks “changed your mind Vogrincic?” she states in a low teasing tone and laughs at the growl she gets in response. Grabbing her bag she holds his hand making their way to the car.

Y/N looks out the window as they drive, Enzo’s hand on its natural place on her inner thigh. She frowns in confusion as they park outside Pipe’s house “what are we doing here?” she looks at Enzo.

“I just need to pick something up babe, come on, let’s go and we can be on our way” he smiles innocently and gets out wrapping his arm around his girlfriend’s waist making their way in.

“SURPRISEEE!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N” a chorus comprised of the whole cast, plus Y/N’s friends comes at her like a million waves as soon as they step into the house and she freezes in her step looking around before looking up at Enzo with teary eyes.

“Did you-Did you know?”she whispers and sheds a tear at his nod and proud smile “you planned this” she keeps whispering and looks over as her best friend Bella walks over with the most gorgeous birthday cake- decorated with pastel buttercream tulips all over-, candles lit as everyone singing happy birthday to her. Y/N stands there hand over her mouth trying not to keep crying so that she won’t ruin her makeup and looks around before looking at the cake.

Enzo keeps his firm arm wrapped around his girlfriend’s waist and leans in whispering in her ear “make a wish my darling”. She closes her eyes, trying to think of what to wish for, taking some time to finally realize, everything she could have ever wished for is right there, in front of her, the most loving boyfriend, a huge group of friends who would do anything to see her smile, and the first birthday that she’s truly enjoyed, for this time, it wasn’t spent alone on a huge solitairy house, but surrounded by love and laughter.

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A/N: Oh What I'd give to spend my bday with that man loving on me 🥰😍

@madame-fear @cyliarys-starlight

[allyricas]

a loosely inspired imagine me & you steddie/ronance au

where steve and nancy are high school sweethearts finally tying the knot because well, it's expected. it's what you are supposed to do. get married, have some children, etc. it feels a little like the end of the world and less like the start of the rest of their lives, but hey, they'll take that secret to the grave, even from each other.

eddie and his band are playing the reception, and he's playing the music for the ceremony. he's witty, tall, handsome, a bit alternative with tattoos and has the loveliest long, curly brown hair. though, it's his big, brown doe eyes that first entrance steve.

robin is steve's best man in the wedding and best friend in life, but has been in love with nancy for years. she would never make a move on her best friend's girl, but watching nancy marry steve is heart wrenching. she wants them to be happy, but neither seem very happy at all. she hates this.

nancy and steve are comfortable and misinterpreting friendship love for romantic love. sure, there's never been a spark but that's not a real thing. they care about each other and that's enough, at least they think it is.

so when steve and eddie first lock eyes as the bridesmaids start their march down the aisle, steve has to force himself to look away from eddie. he can barely keep his gaze on nancy as the soft piano plays. she looks lovely as always, but he can tell she's uncomfortable. her mother picked out the dress.

he wants to run, he wants to stop this whole thing, has a moment of pure panic because what is he doing? why are he and nancy going through with this? why didn't he tell his parents to fuck off when they insisted he needed to ask nancy to marry him.

but their families and friends, and the money, the expectations. what was he to say, "sorry, i just saw the hottest guy i've ever seen and i think i fell in love at first glance so cancel the wedding"...yeah that is not real life. and he's not...that way. he can't be. he's marrying nancy afterall.

steve doesn't know that nancy has the same panic. that she threw up several times before finally managing to put on the wedding dress she'd have never chosen for herself. that she was tempted to make a break for it, runaway bride julia roberts style. that she can't imagine a life with steve because there's no lust, no passion, no romance- just a familial, soft affection that doesn't feel strong enough to build the life they both deserve. she loves him so much, but she's never been in love with him the way she is supposed to be.

he wants a family. she wants her career. she wants soft curves instead of hard lines and no, she has to stop thinking that way.

she sees robin and yearns for something she thinks she can never have. she knows it isn't fair to make steve into her unwitting beard, but stopping the ceremony and admitting the why of it all would be too much. if only she knew steve has the same fear. if only they'd communicated honestly for one moment in their entire sham of a relationship.

steve who foolishly thinks he can befriend eddie and that will be enough. of course, they fall madly in love. the spark he thought a fairytale thing only in movies is real. it's fireworks and butterflies and can't eat-can't sleep every single cliche possible because all he can think about his edde's eyes when he smiles or the way he smells and the way their hands fit together perfectly.

nancy and robin who spend more and more time together, but refuse to come to terms with how they feel for one another. nancy will not think about the soft brush of robin's hand against hers as they walk through the park. she will not think of robin's adorable rambling and how she squeaks whenever she's surprised or nervous. she will ignore the way she wants to lean and press her lips against hers.

cue a lot of yearning and angst and misunderstandings, but one hell of a gay happily ever after when steve and nancy eventually annul their marriage and come out of the closet.

steve who has to promise both robin and nancy that he wants them to be happy, that he's sees them together and it brings him joy not pain. nancy who has to promise steve that she's not mad he fell in love with someone else, because eddie is steve's soulmate. it's so clear that they are meant for one another. she is the one to finally admit out loud that she and steve were never in love, but that it doesn't mean they love each other any less!

just imagine the potential angst of closeted steve AND nancy both trying to fight the truth about themselves and their feelings. and then how guilty robin and eddie would feel thinking they are just a pair of homewreckers.

someone should write it.

[munson-blurbs]

Hello my darling sister wife! How about a little angst where reader meets Eddie and he’s all touchy and affectionate with her and she thinks he likes her back, but then she realizes he’s that way with everybody! Up to you if it’s a happy ending or not 🥰 - @corroded-hellfire

Went with angst to fluff because apparently I have an aversion to leaving things angsty :/

Warnings: some language

WC: 1.1k

--

"So this is the crew!" your co-worker, Robin, makes a sweeping motion with her arm. "You already know Vickie and Dingus, of course; and this is Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie. Everyone, this is Y/N!"

Nancy and Jonathan give shy waves, with the girl throwing in an obligatory, "Robin's told us so much about you!" You smile back at them.

Eddie, on the other hand, throws a tattooed arm around your shoulders and brings you in for a bear hug. "Welcome to our weird little family," he says with a laugh. "We've been expecting you!"

You get butterflies at his touch; it doesn't help that his deep brown eyes are the loveliest you've ever seen and his smile could light up a room. His hands leave your body too quickly for your liking, and you try to hide your disappointment as he picks Robin up and swings her around.

It seems that Eddie's a touchy-feely kind of guy with all of his friends: bumping chests with Steve when they win the coin toss for movie choice, tossing a piece of popcorn in Vickie's mouth from across the room and high-fiving her when she catches it, and laying himself across Nancy and Jonathan's laps with and teasing, "don't make any Byers babies tonight, you two!"

It’s embarrassing how much you want him to flirt with you, how much you crave his attention. While he’s bothering Jonathan and Nancy, you take the opportunity to plop onto his chair, pretending like you don’t notice his jaw drop in mock-offense.

"Hey!" he calls out, rolling off of the annoyed couple and marching over to you. "Get up, you little seat stealer." He grins as you stick your tongue out at him defiantly.

"Finder's keepers," you tell him, snuggling deeper into the La-Z-Boy, your legs dangling from the armrest.

"Oh, that's how it's gonna be?" Eddie leans over and slips his arms underneath you, scooping you up from the chair. A heat creeps through you as one hand wraps around your torso, the other around your thighs. You expect him to place you back on the ground; instead, he seats you on his legs. "Here, we'll share," he compromises. The rest of the group seems unfazed by this display of affection, further confirming your suspicions that this is simply par for the course with him.

When the movie ends, everyone stays where they are. You're certainly not complaining.

"God, that Alex woman was crazy!" Eddie groans. "How could he not see that from the start?"

Steve laughs. "Please, Munson," he jokes, "if that was Chrissy, you wouldn't notice, either."

You wrinkle your nose at the mention of the girl's name. "Chrissy?" you ask, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. "Is that your girlfriend?"

"He wishes," Robin snorts. "She was his crush all throughout high school, always lusting after her and her pom-poms." She waggles her eyebrows at the double entendre.

She was a cheerleader, you think woefully. Probably had a perfect body, perfect hair, perfect...everything. You shift slightly so that you're looking at him. "You never asked her out?"

"Nah," Eddie shakes his head sadly. "Almost asked her to prom, but then I chickened out."

"Plus, Jason would've kicked your ass," Nancy adds, and Eddie flips her off playfully.

"Fair point," Eddie mutters. "'Scuse me, sweetheart," he says to you, and you smile at the pet name, "gotta take a smoke break." Jonathan stands up to join him.

Once they leave, you work up the courage to ask your friends the question that's been on your mind all evening. "So, um, what's his deal?"

"Eddie?" Nancy says. "What do you mean?"

"Like, we just met and he's already sharing seats with me and calling me sweetheart," you explain, chewing on your bottom lip anxiously.

Steve laughs. "I swear, that guy flirts and doesn't even realize what he's doing." He doesn't say it to be mean, but it still stings, like there's a reason Eddie shouldn't be flirting with you.

Vickie notices you wince at Steve's comment. "If you're interested, we can totally do some snooping," she jumps in. "I think you'd be cute together, actually."

You shake your head. "No, it's okay," you mumble. The last thing you need is a blow to your ego when he inevitably replies, "Yeah, she seems nice, but she's not my type."

"I'm gonna head home," you tell them with a sad smile. "It's been a long day." It truly has been; you'd worked a double shift at Family Video before coming over to Steve's place for movie night. You hug everyone goodbye as you grab your bag and walk towards your car.

You pass by Jonathan and Eddie sitting on the steps, deep in conversation as they take drags from their cigarettes.

"Whoa, hey," Eddie says softly as you scoot by. "Where y'running off to, sweetheart?" There's that nickname again; you pray he can't tell that you're blushing.

"Wha-oh. 'M just tired; gonna go back home." You're suddenly too shy to look at his face. Your brazen move of taking his seat seems foolish now that you know he wasn't actually flirting.

Eddie stands up and fixes his jacket. "Aw, okay," he pouts. He glances down at Jonathan, who gives him a small nod and stubs out his cigarette before going inside.

"It was nice to meet you," you tell him, desperate to make your escape, but he gently grabs your wrist before you can run off.

"Hey, um," he stammers, "do you like pizza?"

You almost burst out laughing at the question. "Yeah, who doesn't?"

"People without tastebuds, I guess," he looks at you through his long eyelashes. "Would you maybe wanna get some with me? Some pizza, I mean? Like, tomorrow or something?"

"Like a date?" you ask, hoping you don't sound too earnest.

"Y-yeah," he nods. "If that's okay with you. If not, we can hang out as friends. Just wanna get to know the girl who dared to de-throne Eddie the Banished." His bravado creeps back in with the last statement, making you giggle.

"A date sounds great," you answer with a big smile, and you see his shoulders relax. "Pick me up at 6?"

"6 is perfect," Eddie replies, and you give him your address. "See you then, sweetheart." He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before re-joining his friends.

And though you're already halfway to your car, you can hear a loud chorus of cheers when he announces that he's scored a date with you.

--

[toomanyrobins2]

Our Manhattan

Summary: An orphan all her life, Y/N is simply too old to remain at The Bowery Home any longer. That is where an anonymous patron has swooped in to send her off to college and all he requires…a monthly letter of her academic progress.

Based off the book and musical “Daddy Long Legs”

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

last part // series masterlist // next part

Notes: I'm finally getting around to updating this fic! If you would like to catch up and get more consistent updates to this story and others I would go to by AO3!

24th March, maybe the 25th

Dear Batman,

I don't believe I can be going to Heaven—I am getting such a lot of good things here; it wouldn't be fair to get them hereafter too. Listen to what has happened.

Y/N Abbott has won the short-story contest (a twenty-five dollar prize) that the Monthly holds every year. And she's a Sophomore! The contestants are mostly Seniors. When I saw my name posted, I couldn't quite believe it was true. Maybe I am going to be an author after all. I wish Mrs. Lippett hadn't given me such a silly name—it sounds like an author-ess, doesn't it?

Also I have been chosen for the spring dramatics—As You Like It out of doors. I am going to be Celia, own cousin to Rosalind.

And lastly: Harriet and Barbara and I are going to New York next Friday to do some spring shopping and stay all night and go to the theatre the next day with 'Master Brucie.' He invited us. Harriet is going to stay at home with her family, but Barbara and I are going to stop at the Martha Washington Hotel. Did you ever hear of anything so exciting? I've never been in a hotel in my life, nor in a theatre; except once when the Catholic Church had a festival and invited the orphans, but that wasn't a real play and it doesn't count.

And what do you think we're going to see? Hamlet. Think of that! We studied it for four weeks in Shakespeare class and I know it by heart.

I am so excited over all these prospects that I can scarcely sleep.

Goodbye, Bats.

This is a very entertaining world.

Yours ever,

Judy

PS. I've just looked at the calendar. It's the 28th.

Another postscript.

I saw a street car conductor today with one brown eye and one blue. Wouldn't he make a nice villain for a detective story?

 

7th April

Dear Batman,

Mercy! Isn't New York big? Worcester is nothing to it. Do you mean to tell me that you actually lived in all that confusion? I don't believe that I shall recover for months from the bewildering effect of two days of it. I can't begin to tell you all the amazing things I've seen; I suppose you know, though, since you live there yourself.

But aren't the streets entertaining? And the people? And the shops? I never saw such lovely things as there are in the windows. It makes you want to devote your life to wearing clothes.

Barbara and Harriet and I went shopping together Saturday morning. Harriet went into the very most gorgeous place I ever saw, white and gold walls and blue carpets and blue silk curtains and gilt chairs. A perfectly beautiful lady with yellow hair and a long black silk trailing gown came to meet us with a welcoming smile. I thought we were paying a social call, and started to shake hands, but it seems we were only buying hats—at least Harriet was. She sat down in “front of a mirror and tried on a dozen, each lovelier than the last, and bought the two loveliest of all.

I can't imagine any joy in life greater than sitting down in front of a mirror and buying any hat you choose without having first to consider the price! There's no doubt about it, Bats; New York would rapidly undermine this fine stoical character which the Bowery Home so patiently built up.

And after we'd finished our shopping, we met Master Bruce at Sherry's. I suppose you've been in Sherry's? Picture that, then picture the dining room of the Bowery Home with its oilcloth-covered tables, and white crockery that you can't break, and wooden-handled knives and forks; and fancy the way I felt!

I ate my fish with the wrong fork, but the waiter very kindly gave me another so that nobody noticed.

And after luncheon we went to the theatre—it was dazzling, marvellous, unbelievable—I dream about it every night.

Isn't Shakespeare wonderful?

Hamlet is so much better on the stage than when we analyze it in class; I “appreciated it before, but now, dear me!

I think, if you don't mind, that I'd rather be an actress than a writer. Wouldn't you like me to leave college and go into a dramatic school? And then I'll send you a box for all my performances, and smile at you across the footlights. Only wear a red rose in your buttonhole, please, so I'll surely smile at the right man. It would be an awfully embarrassing mistake if I picked out the wrong one.

We came back Saturday night and had our dinner in the train, at little tables with pink lamps. I never heard of meals being served in trains before, and I inadvertently said so.

'Where on earth were you brought up?' said Harriet to me.

'In a village,' said I meekly, to Harriet.

'But didn't you ever travel?' said she to me.

'Not till I came to college, and then it was only a hundred and sixty miles and we didn't eat,' said I to her.

She's getting quite interested in me, because I say such funny things. I try hard not to, but they do pop out when I'm surprised—and I'm surprised most “of the time. It's a dizzying experience, to pass eighteen years in the Bowery Home, and then suddenly to be plunged into the WORLD.

But I'm getting acclimated. I don't make such awful mistakes as I did; and I don't feel uncomfortable anymore with the other girls. I used to squirm whenever people looked at me. I felt as though they saw right through my sham new clothes to the checked ginghams underneath. But I'm not letting the ginghams bother me anymore. Sufficient unto yesterday is the evil thereof.

I forgot to tell you about our flowers. Master Bruce gave us each a big bunch of violets and lilies-of-the-valley. Wasn't that sweet of him? I never used to care much for men—judging by Trustees—but I'm changing my mind.

Yours always,

Y/N 

 

10th April

Dear Mr. Rich-Man,

Here's your cheque for fifty dollars. Thank you very much, but I do not feel that I can keep it. My allowance is sufficient to afford all of the hats that I need. I am sorry that I wrote all that silly stuff about the millinery shop; it's just that I had never seen anything like it before.

However, I wasn't begging! And I would rather not accept any more charity than I have to.

Sincerely yours,

Y/N Abbott

Bruce stared down at the check. He had barely thought about it when they had been out in the city and once Y/n had sent the letter, he’d dispatched the check without a second thought. 

Clark Kent, who had been present during the discussion about Y/N's shopping woes, entered the study with a knowing expression. "Having trouble with the whole 'helping' thing?" Clark quipped, a  smile playing on his lips.

Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to make things a bit easier for her. She didn't have to return the check."

Clark leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. "Bruce, you know Y/N at this point. She's independent and proud. Accepting help might not come naturally to her, especially from someone like you."

Bruce frowned, the frustration evident in his eyes. "But I want to help. She shouldn't have to feel lesser than her peers."

Clark nodded, understanding Bruce's genuine concern. "Maybe it's not about the help itself, but how it's offered. Try sending her a letter with a short note explaining why you sent the check. Make it personal. Sometimes, a few carefully chosen words can make a big difference."

Bruce considered Clark's suggestion, recognizing the wisdom in his friend's advice. "You think that might work?"

"Y/N's a writer, Bruce. Words matter to her. A thoughtful note can make the gesture feel less like charity and more like a friend looking out for another," Clark explained.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce reached for a pen and paper. 

Miss Abbott, I go against my rules by penning this letter but I find myself unable to let this matter go. This check is not charity but a gift from a friend who wishes to see you excel in all matters. I wish you to be able to experience all that your peers are able to. I have never sponsored a woman before and I confess that I lack the knowledge to ensure that you are equal to your peers.  I kindly request that you keep this cheque as an apology for my own failings as your patron.  Mr. Smith

As Bruce sealed the letter, he handed it to Alfred, who was passing by. "Alfred, make sure this gets to Miss Abbott. And let's hope this time, she accepts it."

[taduki]

Nadia’s Mehndi

A fluffy little drabble of my apprentice doing Nadia’s henna. I wanted it to come off naturally, but I’m not in the mood to edit it right now 😭😭, so I’ll just hope and pray it comes off nicely and there are no errors. 💕🙏

The Countess spared no expense treating her lover with the loveliest of delicacies as gifts. Alas, her lover was a simple woman who distinctly cherished the one thing money could not buy — her time.

Nadia was a symbol of grace and resilience. She often reminded Taduki of gorgeous sculptures of women, the epitome of beauty. Though she found that, regardless of what she looked like, she would love her all the same, which is why she wanted to decorate her with a special treatment.

She presented her love with a modest, cone-shaped tube of Henna in the palace gardens.

“Oh, my! I haven’t seen this for quite some time.” Nadia smiled. She sighed and rubbed her temple, “My sisters used to draw on themselves for hours. It was at its worst when they insisted on collaborating on my body… But I do have fonder memories of this, my dear.”

Taduki cut off the end of the tube with a pocket knife and placed the tip of the henna on her love’s arm. She hummed and asked, “Would you tell me?”

Nadia watched her fluffed up curly mess of hair move around while she worked. She let out a giggle and said, “Sure.” She had it done during her wedding with Count Lucio. Yes, it was customary in Prakra, but she also saw it as a testament to the first step in her new life.

She stopped herself. “Darling?”

“Mhm?”

“Where did you learn to do Mehndi? During your travels?”

“Yeah”, Taduki replied. “We did performances and stuff, but not everyone was looking for a show. It actually started because I saw this super bored kid and I offered to draw something on him. It spiraled into a service after that.” She laughed.

Nadia planted a sneaky kiss on her forehead. Taduki looked up and grinned, then asked suddenly, “Say, Nadi? Why do you call it Mehndi?”

Nadia subconsciously played with her lover’s coily black hair in thought. After a moment, she raised an eyebrow. “Is that not what it’s called?”

“I call it henna”, Taduki returned to her work. “I’ve heard people call it Mehndi before, but I have no idea why! It’s just so different.” She squinted.

Nadia sat back on the edge of the fountain, careful not to move her arm. She looked at the sky in thought and inquired, “Henna comes from the henna plant” — she stopped herself. “Wait, no. It’s the other way around! Henna is the plant itself.”

“Yeah, and then Mehndi is the brown stuff.”

“Oh, goodness. Well, when you put it like that—.” Nadia hid a disgraceful snort behind her hand.

Taduki shoved her and laughed. “Do you remember—.” She interrupted herself with a cackle and a wheeze. Nadia gently held her arm, a big grin still stretched over her face, and laughed, “Stop that! You’ll hurt yourself!” Taduki held her stomach and hiccuped. She wearily fanned herself and continued, “The dinner at Vlastomil’s…”

Nadia let out a raucous laugh and clasped her hands together. “Yes! Yes, I do!” She nodded.

“Ewww!”, Taduki recalled herself saying out loud. She wheezed and rolled onto the grass, still shaking with laughter. Nadia followed her and fanned herself off before holding her. She waited for her lover to calm down and catch her breath, but by the time she did, she must have been half-conscious. She took a deep breath in and out. “Never let me tell a joke ever again, please”, she groaned.

Nadia smiled and pat her stomach. She hummed, “I’d miss you.”

Taduki wearily looked into her eyes and hummed back, “Me too.”

Nadia’s shoulders shook and she mouthed, “What?”, before shaking her head and leaving it be. She sighed dreamily and stared into her eyes.

The grass made for a soft cushion and their eyes were starting to droop. Their bed was neatly made in the palace, but they drifted further and further into their sleep, for it did not matter where they were or that one’s mehndi was smeared. They were safe, and they were together.

[goodbye-alchemy]

“To Be Seen”

Following his ascension, Astarion was more than pleased to discover that not only could he walk freely once more under the sun, but he could also finally see his reflection again. After so many centuries of simply guessing about his appearance, he was overjoyed to discover that he was still yet world-endingly handsome, and had not aged a day since his final mortal hour. He spent hours sitting on his throne in the palace ballroom, studying himself in a silver hand mirror. To see his own skin again, however sallow, was deeply comforting, though he didn’t care much for the red eyes.

After many idled days spent gazing into that tiny looking glass, he decided to fill the entire palace with grand floor-length mirrors. He never wanted a single moment to pass in which he couldn’t admire himself as he lurked through those halls in all his anointed glory. It was also, admittedly, driven by a deeply-seated fear that he might lose sight of himself again, and he wanted insurance. He had his growing horde of spawn servants carry them in, with the largest mirror positioned right in front of his throne, where he felt the most powerful.

He put on his very best, most luxurious robes, slicked his white curls back, and excitedly walked up to his gilded royal seat. As he slowly sat down, eyes closed, he felt a surge of control ripple through his body. He took a deep breath and smiled, knowing he, at last, had everything he had ever wished for in all those years of anguish that he suffered. He opened his eyes and peered up, meeting his stare in the glass.

He looked… incredible. He looked positively divine. He cackled, throwing his head back, ecstatic at the sight of his intimidating stature. He dared anyone to try and lay a finger on him now. He clapped his hands maniacally as he reveled in his vanity.

A slight movement in the shadowed corner caught his eye. A familiar figure stood, stiff, with only two glowing red eyes to mark their presence. They shifted a bit as Astarion turned to face them.

“Darling,” Astarion cooed. “Come here to me.”

The figure, still silent, walked slowly out of the darkness, revealing themselves. Pale as the risen moon, hair dark as raven’s feathers, and eyes unbearably, violently red.

“Robin, my sweet,” Astarion gestured for her. “Sit with me here, why don’t you.”

Eyes blank, she trudged towards him weakly. The minimal light from the window cast upon her body, revealing a brittle shell of the vibrant woman she once was. Astarion patted his hands to his lap, motioning for her to sit. She obeyed, draping herself across the throne, hands wrapped mechanically around Astarion’s neck. She looked up at her lover, voiceless, as he gazed upon her dotingly.

“My love… I have the very world at my fingertips. I can give you anything you desire.” He caressed her cheek, running his other hand through her hair. Robin only blinked in response.

Astarion, slightly annoyed at her lack of reaction to his romantic gesture, scoffed. She would come to appreciate all he’s given her in time. He remembered the agony of becoming a spawn and he empathized with her, truly. But to him, she looked as beautiful as she ever did, if not a bit pitiful. Maybe even more so. And she was his. He planted a loving kiss on her forehead. The loveliest songbirds are to always be kept safe in the finest of gilded cages.

Suddenly, he caught his own eye once again in the grand reflection before him. As he glanced up, he saw himself, laden with opulence and influence. He saw that man of power, of dominance.

But that was all he saw. There was nobody in the room, it seemed, but him.

He had forgotten for a brief moment that she could no longer be reflected. Her soul was now bound to the underworld, as he had made it so. She did not show even on the glossy surface of his eyes. Though he wondered briefly if it was a mercy that she may never see herself this way. She did always say she loved her brown eyes, as they were just like her mother’s.

He felt his stomach tighten. It began to creep into him, once again, like a festering plague. Contrition.

No, he thought. I’ve done nothing wrong.

Despite their best efforts, the words fell dead to the floor as he continued to look at his solitary form. The feelings of lamentation, which seemed now to be his only natural enemy, were beginning to cloud over him once again as he looked back down at the lifeless face of his lovely, flightless songbird.

He would find it near impossible to accept that, in his folly and quest for asylum from his fears, he had brought his very last chance of true freedom to scorched ruin.

Leering upon his own imposing figure now, finally shown to him after two centuries, he was made to submit to the verity that he was now more abandoned than he had ever been. Not safe, but rather imprisoned in a form that was untouchable, unreachable, and inescapable.

No matter how supreme he became, and no matter how many spawns were created in his name, he would always be banished to that unending fate.

To be void of life, without equals, and irrevocably alone; trapped in his eternal and desolate exaltation. Godhood in an empty monastery, a wretched deity left to rot into the core of his own holy rituals. Though he could now step into daylight, the darkness had, in secrecy, claimed him for good long, long, ago.

He ripped a hidden dagger from his belt and pelted it with all his force at the looking glass, shattering its surface into an ocean of glistening, jagged scales. All that was left behind was a gold frame, surrounding a black void.

As his anger began to dissipate, he felt, for the briefest of moments, that he wanted nothing more than to be swallowed by it in utter, brutal, totality.

(written by jellie)

[jaim-inhothekid]

♪ 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠

[ W.C ! ] : 2.1k

[ Summary ! ] : When attacked by a devil fruit user with the power to turn of taking 50 years away from their age, Brook is surprised to see himself as human again. Velouria takes advantage of it. | NSFW ; OC x Canon

⌗ ✎ Author's Note : This is a work commissioned by the lovely @uminozerol !! If you're interested in commissioning me as well, here's my sheet!

“So… how do you feel?”

Velouria stood by Brooks' side as the man gazed upon his own reflection in awe. Not believing the vision before his eyes.

The unusual predicament Velouria and Brook found themselves in was initially quite shocking, after being ambushed on an island the crew stopped by to gather supplies before continuing their journey, Brook received the burn of the attack once he jumped in front of Velouria to protect her from any damage – what both didn't know, was what exactly the attacker was capable of.

A devil fruit user capable of taking fifty years out of their target's age. With a span so large, it was expected that whoever was struck by the powers was either rendered useless or killed instantly, which was definitely what the pirate was aiming for when they went for Velouria. Brook, being… different than the usual human, had a completely contrary reaction to what was intended to.

The mirror Brook stood before reflected back a man, a human man. Brook's jaw fell slack as he stared at an image of himself that died a long time ago, one that he never thought he'd see again outside of memories increasingly more blurry, small details losing themselves from his mind with time. Brook ran his fingers through his hair, pinched at his skin, pulled at his eyes and lips while staring wide-eyed at the mirror. Blinking rapidly as if trying to clear up his mind from a hallucination. Skin, flesh and muscle – veins and nails and a pulse, numb yet hyper alert of his old… new? Strange, body.

The scar on his forehead and the discolored patches of skin around his eyes and mouth, placed exactly how he remembered having them, told him that he was not dreaming. That and the harsh pinch he gave himself on the arm, of course.

“I don't know… Alive? Well, more alive” Brook chuckled awkwardly, turning his face from side to side and looking at himself from various different angles, scratching at the hair on his chin – was he always able to feel the blood rushing in his veins when he was human? He doesn't know, but it sure feels extremely odd. The sound of his pulse thumping in his ears like the steady beat of drum distracted himself from the bizarre vision of the prominent veins in his arms, was he always so… cardiovascular, when alive? How strange. “God, I can hear my pulse– is this normal? Can you hear yours, too? Oh, my skin feels warm, and… sweaty, ew.” Brook made a face at the long grown unfamiliar sensation of clammy hands, rubbing his fingertips together and wiping his palms on the fabric of his coat. “Now my skeleton jokes won't make any sense anymore, how tragic, the ladies loved ‘em”

Staring with a loopy smile at her partner's sharp features, Velouria felt her cheeks grow warm to the touch. Brook happened to have the loveliest brown eyes, warm and intoxicating like a rich, strong liquor that ran down the throat and left a burning sensation on its trail. Those irises beckoned her over along with the curve of his crooked nose and the handsome, silvery smirk framed by the most kissable full lips she's ever seen. Sun kissed skin complimenting slithe, elegant figure. Hot, she totally would've been a groupie back in the day – we're groupies a thing back on his day? Anyways, with a hot musician like that, she would've been pioneering the movement for sure.

Velouria had no idea of what Brook looked like before the whole ‘dead but then not quite as dead but also not totally alive’ event. Now seeing his tall, lanky figure in all of its once glory, Velouria felt a bit light headed – oh, how dreamy.

“I think you look great,” Velouria sighed, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from giggling – she felt like a little girl with a crush all over again. Butterflies filled her stomach and tickled her throat with the overwhelming urge to kiss her man senseless, Brook has lips now, pretty and plump and inviting– “come here”

Velouria left no room for Brook to speak as she immediately went to grab on the collar of his coat, urging the tall man to bend down at the waist to meet her halfway as she stood on her tippy toes, she cornered him against their mirror – the glass rattling lowly as his back came in contact with it.

Brook's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the suddenness, freezing with shock upon the new feeling of their lips meeting. Velouria's touch felt heavenly, her soft mouth molding against his own like puzzle pieces never meant to be taken apart. Brook allowed the entrance of Velouria's tongue, shuddering when the muscle gently prodded inside his mouth – wet and warm and passionate, Brook felt incredibly overwhelmed, raw and vulnerable in the hands of the woman he loved more than anything. Brook relishes in the blissful sensation, taking him apart at his core and giving him the dizzying rush only a man who reached the high of a drug he never experimented before would relate to, the taste of Velouria branding itself into his taste buds, Brook wished nothing but to never get rid of it.

Her tongue massaged his gently, their teeth barely grazing together, sighing and groaning into each other – their sounds promptly swallowed. They separated by millimeters before clashing again with more and more urgency each time, palms and fingertips explored every inch of exposed flesh – treading between strands of hair, grabbing at waists and rubbing at necks, Velouria's touch felt so familiar yet so alien it ached deep in his chest – Brook's skin felt so otherworldly underneath Velouria's palms that for a moment she wondered if she was about to wake up from the most wonderful dream of her life.

When Velouria pulled away, Brook's lip, swollen and wet, quivered in desperation at the loss of contact. A thin line of saliva connected their mouths, and Brook barely resisted the urge to break it by pulling Velouria to another kiss. “I need you,” Brook rasped, his hands trembling with barely contained desire. Velouria panted and quickly shook her head in affirmation

“Lay back for me,” She urged, pulling at Brook's coat once again to move him away from the mirror. “Let me undress you, please?” Velouria begged so prettily it felt like heresy to even think of refusing, Brook grabbed at her waist and pulled her along with him as he wobbled towards the bed, his back hit the mattress once the back of his knees met the bed, Velouria following him on the fall and laying on top of his chest.

Slowly and deliberately, Velouria slid her palms over his shoulders and down his torso, Brook's abdomen clenched and trembled under the touch of her fingertips – barely there grazing that didn't even wrinkle his shirt, but still enough to make Brook's whole body tense in anticipation. With each button Velouria undid, Velouria's mouth replaced her hands to plant feverish kisses on every revealed inch of bare skin. Soon enough Brook's coat and shirt were discarded, thrown on the floor as Velouria laid between his legs, cheeky eyes adorned a mischievous smile that held the zipper of his pants between teeth.

Like every nerve on his body had been exposed, even Velouria's presence at the moment had him gasping for air – already crazy with overstimulation, Brook bucked his hips up against Velouria's face, his zipper clinking softly in between her teeth. Liquid fire pooling over his groin, Brook's vision swayed, a muscle in his jaw twitched as he clamped his lips together, biting back a moan when Velouria freed his erection from his pants. Long and thin and curved prettily, following the shape of his stomach. His tip colored an angry red, leaking precum like a broken faucet, begged to be touched.

“I hope you stay like this for a looong time,” Velouria whined, grasping the base of his cock with a firm hand, Brook trembled at the sensation of that soft palm touching him. Velouria rubbed the tip over her lips, smearing precum like lip gloss, then tapped it over her cheek – covering herself with him. She made quick work of her shorts, hurrying it down her legs and kicking it over to a random corner of the room. “You're the most handsome man I've ever seen.”

As her hands went down to her panties, intending to take them off as well, Brook quickly shook his head, Velouria stopped in her tracks. “L– Leave them on… I love this pair” Velouria giggled at the request, but obliged anyway. Pushing the fabric to the side to expose her cunt to her lover, Velouria pressed her folds against Brook's dick. Rocking her hips up and down over his length with the intent of lubing him up further with her essence, whimpering when her clit caught on his cockhead, closing her eyes in bliss when she rubbed herself over the veins of his cock just right.

When Velouria grew desperate enough, she lifted herself up on her knees, legs on either side of Brook's hips and pussy hovering over his cock, dripping steadily over his tip. Brook's hands flew up to her waist, squeezing with anticipation, knuckles turning white as he struggled to ground himself. She grabbed his dick at the base once again to line it up with her hole, rubbing the tip over her folds before sliding it in her entrance.

Close to losing his damn mind from the pleasure, Brook shot up and pressed his chest to Velouria's, her tits squeezed against his pecs, he hugged her waist and slammed the rest of his length inside her in one go. Brook held her tightly as Velouria moaned loudly at the intrusion, his hands shook and his dick twitched madly inside her core, he felt cold sweat beading in his forehead at the feeling of her gummy walls massaging his length.

“Keep still, just a little bit,” Brook begged, a whiny tone to his voice. Afraid that if she moved too much he'd cum right then and there. “You feel heavenly, my beauty– give me a second, Oh.” He buried his face against her neck, breathing in deeply the sweet scent of her perfume. He whimpered pathetically, a bloody indent on his lower lip from biting it too hard.

For what felt like an eternity, Brook allowed Velouria to move, guiding her movements with gentle hands on her waist. Steady up and down movements, moving her hips up so only the tip remained inside of her and lowering herself down until her clit met his pelvic bone. Squelching sounds of sex filled the room along with the rhythmic squeaks – their mouths met again in a desperate kiss, Brook swallowed her pleasured sounds like the sweetest ambrosia, his hands flattened over her spine and he tried to draw her even closer. Brook's chest ached with yearning as Velouria's heartbeat thumped against his ribcage, his embrace was tight, afraid of the thought that if she let her go, she'd slip through his fingers. At the same time he wanted their hearts closer, and closer, until they became one.

Long, nimble finger wrapped around Velouria's throat, pressing softly against her neck just enough to mess up her breathing. Brook was enamored, completely and utterly mesmerizing by her, her movements and her sounds, he could feel her pulse beating under his fingertips when he pressed at the right spot. How beautiful, he thought, being able to feel beneath his fingertips his favorite sound in the world.

“You sound like a melody,” Brook breathed against her lips, Velouria's thighs wrapped around his waist and her mouth went slack, trying to answer him but the words coiled around her throat just like Brook's fingers cutting her airway, only broken moans of his name came out. “Keep singing for me, pretty.”

Jerking her hips back and forth, she clenched tightly around him, the tip of his cock bullying her cervix with each thrust. Her gummy walls spasmed deliciously against his cock. Velouria's hands flew over to his back, raking her nails down his spine and leaving bright red marks on their wake, she bit at the junction of his shoulder to his neck. Velouria whrites in his lap as her orgasm washes over her, coming undone with her cunt splashing all over his lap and cock, minty hair stuck to her forehead with sweat.

The clamping of her walls is enough to milk Brook through his own high, breathy moans escaping his lips as his cock twitched inside of her, shooting hot, sticky cum into her pussy. His muscles clenched and his vision grew spotty for a moment, the force of his orgasm taking him by surprise.

They sat there for a moment, Brook's softening cock still inside of her, their heaving chests pressed tight against each other. Brook wiped the sweat from her brow and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, heavy lidded green eyes staring deeply into his own, brown ones.

“I think you look great.”

[ailendolin]

*pokes head in*

Norne for ☕️- Classic AU Setting 😁

Thank you so much for sending me a prompt for my silly little ship, dear! This somehow turned into a ficlet and I have no regrets 😂

Headcanon ask game can be found here.

☕️- Classic AU (Bookshop)

Nigel was nervous when he opened the door to Button Books. It was a tiny shop that had obviously seen better days, one he'd normally walk past without a second glance. It was also his last hope of finding the book his niece had asked for for her birthday, so he took a deep breath and stepped inside. A little bell rang and the young man behind the counter looked up and offered him a polite smile. He looked handsome in his brown vest and white shirt, and Nigel quickly ducked into the cramped aisle of the children's section before his gaze lingered too long. He looked for Cecily's book - "It's the first Merdyn the Wild book, Uncle Nigel." - but struggled to read the titles when the letters began to blur together.

"May I help you, sir?" the shopkeeper suddenly asked from behind him.

Nigel knew he'd never find the book without help - if it was even here - so he swallowed his embarrassment and told the shopkeeper what he was looking for.

"It's right here," the shopkeeper said and reached for a book that was right in front of Nigel's eyes. The relief was so overwhelming in that moment- He has it! - that Nigel didn't even realise he started rambling - "Thank you so much!" And "Sorry, I have trouble reading." And "It's my niece's birthday today and I was sick last week and couldn't get. the book sooner" And "You're a lifesaver!" - until the shopkeeper steered him towards a chair, told him to sit and pressed a fresh cup of tea into his hands.

Later, Nigel learned that the man's name was Thomas and that his co-owners - his cousin of all people, and the woman he'd loved - had opened up another business elsewhere, one more promising than a bookshop. "That's why the place looks so rundown. We planned to renovate it but without Francis and Isabelle ..."

The heavy sigh that followed made Nigel's heart ache. So did the revelation that Thomas used to be a poet who self-published his poems before the world told him he wasn't good enough. Without thinking about it, Nigel added his collection of works to Cecily's book.

"I liked the one about the sunrise the best," he told Thomas a week later when he went back to the shop. And then, trying to be brave, he asked, "Would you read it for me?"

The smile Thomas gave him was the loveliest Nigel had ever seen.

[roseadleyn]

waiting for the day i see more roselyn posts 🫶🫶

alright, you lot have earned yourself physical headcanons for her

𝘗𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘺𝘯.

she's a pretty girl

slim, slenderly built, with well rounded curves, prominent collarbones and shoulders wider than hips

small wrists and hands that are soft and scented like japanese cherry blossoms

smooth, fair milky white skin that she washes and moisturizes and has a ten-step skin care routine for; she'll be damned it she lets herself break out

wide, doe eyes, almond shaped, dark, deep brown with flickers of light brown

hands down the prettiest out of all the Imperial heirs, they all are quite good looking but she has a beauty that outstrips everyone

her hair is long, dark and wavy. she brushes it religiously and does it wonderfully in a different hairstyle every day. dislikes the feeling of messy, unwashed and greasy hair, and every morning her routine is to first brush her hair thoroughly, wash it, and brush it again.

gets compliments on her hair alot, and how sweet she smells.

however, her scent is deliberate. roselyn takes good care of herself and knows her perfumes throughly. she knows sweetened body butters and soft scents are key to getting what she wants.

has the softest, prettiest lips ever. they're not that plump and all, but she applies lip balms only and lip gloss at the most important events. she doesn't use lipstick since it doesn't suit her, and she doesn't want to use the slightest thing that may harm her lips.

her nails are so clean because she brushes them with a stiff brush every night until they're snow white and clean. cannot stand the sight or even the thought of dirty nails.

speaking of nails, her hands are also so pretty. i know i already mentioned them, but they are — long, nimble fingers, bracelets, and never painted nails.

her voice is lilting and reminds of jade beads, of spring sunrises.

she's of average height, not too tall, not too short, even though some of her friends would disagree

has the loveliest smile, with slight dimples, pink lips stretching into a grin

even with all this, her appearance... it surprisingly doesn't mean that much to her. she takes such good care of it since she's done it her whole life, and when you grow up a certain way, it becomes the only way you can live.

—

she's like spun gold, you think, like the embodiment of the sun. watching her form on silk bedsheets, slowly stretching herself, looking at you with bright eyes that demand for fun. dark, wavy hair falls loosely down her back, golden anklets wrapped around her ankles, she leans forward, into you.

you feel your heart tear. of course, you knew she was beautiful, but everytime these moments happen, you're always caught off guard by how truly lovely she is. you feel as though this girl can see into you, know all your secrets, with those firm, penetrating eyes of hers.

looking entirely unimpressed at what she has seen in you, roselyn turns away.

—

tagging; @elychee, @mysticmeena, @parkykwho, @d10nsaint, @rouecentric / @hmerus, @lady-navier0357, @nxccolo, @dxmoness, @giyuus0nlywife, @that-one-pretty-bitch, @dion-s-lawyer, and @loekas.

[asnowfern]

Hello! First of all, happy Christmas and I hope you had the loveliest time! May joyous moments always follow you! 🩷🩵

Now, do not read/open this if you haven't watched the 12th episode.

I loved this episode. It was filled with so much angst and misunderstanding. As much as it is funny to see them struggling to express what they really wish for, it is also heartbreaking. Loved how Gyokuyou was visibly disappointed when Jinshi informed her that Maomao will no longer be working for her. What I was not expecting was the indirect kiss that Jinshi and Maomao shared! Also, can't wait to see how they will continue their relationship. One thing that confuses me is the moment where we see Jinshi at Lady Ah-Duo's palace, where clearly he is sad. So now, is he sad because she left and he lost a motherly figure, or does he know that she is his real mom and she left?

PS Since you shared your brilliant elucien!au idea I can't stop thinking about it! Thank you so much for sharing! 🩷🩵🩷🩵

Hello! I hope you had a great Christmas too!🎉🥰 It’s another long weekend and I am so excited to be treated with another new episode of the Apothecary Diaries soon!

The most recent episode had such amazing and frustrating idiots in love vibes, which is honestly one of my favourite tropes! Jinshi is such a tease (one that even Mao mao couldn’t resist this time🤣) and I love it!

I definitely think that Jinshi knows about his heritage and who Lady Ah-Duo is to him. The meaningful looks they exchanged at the end seems to hint towards that too?

Also also this is all I have written right now but maybe a vibe check?✨😅

Elain files into the room with the other girls, her head kept obediently low to avoid drawing attention from the man presiding over the table. Once they are all gathered, she ducks her head in a respectful bow before lifting it. And oh.

Oh.

No wonder all the maids rave constantly, powder their faces and check their hair before every inspection.

This man, Lucien. He is the most beautiful man she has ever seen, most certainly unfair for someone like him to be truly this attractive. From the flowing auburn hair to the chiseled jaw on tanned brown skin and his mesmerising russet eyes, eyes that narrow in the slightest as they have gathered.

Dragging out the moment, he carefully draws out three bowls and lifts the lids. Herbs of different varieties are chopped and haphazardly spilled into the bowls. Two of them are common mixes often used for tonic soups but the last one - herbs that counteract each other and could potentially have ill side effects.

The potential consequence sends a jolt of excitement through her and Elain is unable to stop the smallest gasp slip through her lips when Lucien lifts the bowl to his mouth. He pauses at the very instant, the edges of his mouth quirk. He sets the bowl on the table surface.

“You are all dismissed,” he commands with a flick of his wrist. Elain subdues a frown at the utter waste of time this has been but is quick to lift her arms in a respectful retreating bow.

Only for her path to be blocked by a soldier stationed at the door with a subtle but firm shake of his head. Her eyes immediately search for his superior only to find the enchanting eyes already glinting at her, just daring her to defy him.

Shit.

Elain freezes, her head still bowed, splitting the path of the other servants leaving the room, a rock in the moving stream. He announces once the doors to the room close with a resounding click.

“Starting tomorrow, you will serve as Lady Vassa’s attendant.”

[meatmechapilot]

AU August 2022 Day 2 - Artist's Muse

Portrait of an Omega

Summary: Lord Willy Tybur commissions artist Levi to paint a portrait of his wife, Eren.  The artist and the subject fall in love.

Chapter One

Levi Ackerman, a renowned portrait painter arrived at the home of his latest client.  He's been commissioned to paint Lord Tybur's new wife.  Levi's the go to portrait painter for the powerful and wealthy, as such, he's become quite wealthy himself.  Lord Tybur's manor is clear in the countryside and far from the city, where he resides.  Normally, he did not like taking commissions that would force him to travel too far, but Tybur's new wife was rumored to be a renowned beauty, the most desirable omega in the country.  Levi was intrigued about the famous omega, so he agreed to take on this job.

The Tybur estate was huge and there were many servants.  Levi's carriage stopped at the gate, and he was ushered into the main estate by half a dozen servants, helping him to take his art supplies inside.  The butler greeted him at the estate's door, and he was brought to the study to meet the lord of the manor.

"Ah, Master Ackerman, so good to see you."  Lord Tybur greeted him.  "I must introduce you to my wife, your subject for the next few weeks."

Levi's eyes went to the figure seated on a chair and his breath stopped.  The omega before him was the most exquisite creature he'd ever seen.  The first thing he noticed about the omega was his eyes, they are the loveliest shade of blue green, like a warm tropical sea that Levi could drown in.  His hair is a rich, chestnut brown that's done in an elaborate updo held together with bejeweled hairpins and a comb.  Lady Tybur's clothes is similarly rich as his hair ornaments, the dress he's wearing is made of the finest silks and perfectly tailored to his body, accentuating his lovely figure.  For a wild moment, Levi was thinking about challenging Tybur to a duel for his wife.

Tybur, blissfully unaware of Levi's increasing covetous thoughts, introduced his wife as Eren.  Levi committed the name to memory and noted to himself to get a few extra portraits of the omega for personal use.  During the introductions, Eren's eyes met Levi's from across the room.  Levi felt a shiver of excitement run down his spine.  The way the omega didn't immediately lower his eyes filled Levi with hope, maybe the interest isn't so one-sided.

---

The next week saw Levi move his studio into Lord Tybur's manor.  It was Eren's idea, he implored his husband that the artist shouldn't spend so much time traveling and that the lord should give the artist room and board until the painting's finished, so that the master can concentrate on his craft and not worry about mundane things.  Servants should also not disturb the painting sessions unless directly summoned.  Lord Tybur immediately agreed, used to giving only the best things to his wife.

Levi was grateful that he was able to have a substantial amount of alone time with Eren, in the interest of not disturbing the artist at work.  He can drool over the omega without any servants sticking their noses where they don't belong.  

Eren has some ideas about what his portrait should be like and made his opinions known the first time he sat down for the portrait.  Levi had never been so productive in his life.  In addition to making progress on Eren's portrait, the omega provided inspiration for many ideas, and he filled three sketch books in less than a month.

It's getting harder and harder to simply look at Eren every day and not touch the omega.  Each night, Levi's plagued with dreams, each more erotic than the next.  Each morning, Levi wakes up disappointed that Eren wasn't his.  Levi discovered that Eren was not the typical demure omega wife of a Lord.  The omega was very opinioned and outspoken and also very exacting with it comes to his portrait; the painter unable to proceed until everything was perfect to the last detail.  

Levi was glad for this because it would mean that work on the portrait is slow going, and he has a chance to be alone with Eren for longer.  Frequently, they would be lost in conversation, the portrait forgotten.  It took two weeks for Levi to realize that Eren's pickiness was a delaying tactic, and that the omega was also trying to keep the painter on site for as long as possible.  After this realization, the conversation between them became bolder and less appropriate, revealing forbidden desires.

"What would you do to me if I'm your omega?"  Eren asked one day.  Lord Tybur was away on a business trip to the capital and the time was ripe to act upon their feelings.  They've been dancing around each other for a month, since the painter moved into the manor so he could devote all his time to paint the portrait.

"I would certainly not go on business trips and leave my omega alone with a strange alpha."  Levi replied, attempting to concentrate on his work, but failing, for the anticipation was too great.  Eren was already scantily clad in loose robes instead the buttoned up, conservative fashion of the day.  They decided that the portrait should be that of a fantasy setting.  The omega now started to take his clothes off, until only a see-through shift was left, leaving very little to the imagination.

Levi, who's already hard, took off his own clothes in record time.  He stalked toward the omega and finally put his hands on him.  Levi carried Eren toward the bed at a corner of the room, it was moved into the room as a possible prop, now it will find use for something else.  Levi gently laid Eren down into the bed and pulled off his shift so that the omega's body is finally bared to him.  Levi lowered his head until their lips met, finally consummating their attraction.

The artist's canvas lies forgotten in the great room, as the erotic sounds of lovemaking filled the room.  The alpha head is buried between the omega's legs, his tongue lapping up the omega's slick.  The omega sobbed as he's driven to distraction by the alpha's tongue, and soon was overtaking by pleasure, coming on the alpha's tongue alone.

Levi quickly positioned himself on top of Eren, and lined his cock up with the omega's cunt.  Their eyes locked, and when Eren indicated he's ready, Levi pushed himself inside, bottoming out with a groan.  The omega felt heavenly and judging by Eren's moans, the sentiment is reciprocated.  When Eren gave the indication to move, Levi started pounding into the heavenly heat.  Levi's been fantasizing about this moment ever since he's laid eyes on Eren, and he's going to savor every moment of this.  Eren apparently had a different idea and he pushed Levi into a sitting position so he could climb on his lap and rode his cock.   This new position allowed Levi access to the omega's chest, to which he took shameless advantage.  He started teasing Eren's nipples, laving his tongue and lightly nipping with his teeth.  This drew a lustful moan from the omega, and he stopped his movements.  Levi then flipped Eren on his hands and knees in no time, he's thrusting into the omega's tight cunt again.  This time, Eren moved his hips back to meet Levi's thrusts.  Soon, Eren came with a wail, squirting slick all over Levi's cock.  Levi's movements were erratic, he too was close.  

Levi's knot formed as he came inside Eren, locking them together.  As he flooded the omega's insides with his seed, an immense sense of satisfaction filled the alpha.  He collapsed on Eren's back, his nose on the omega's scent gland.  With tremendous will power, Levi refrained from biting the omega's neck.  Instead, after his knot went down, he got dressed and helped Eren into his robes.

Chapter Two

[luveline]

pretty sounds | tasm!peter parker x reader

summary peter encourages you to make noise during your first time together

warnings nsfw (18+ please) shy!reader and adoring peter, fem!reader, p in v sex, idiots in love, sickly sweet sex, praise, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader [word count: 3.4k] requested here

<3

Peter's thigh is warm and big where it presses into yours. He's pulled your arm into his chest, one hand holding you to him and the other running lightly down your skin, up and down and up again. His touch is soft as a downy feather and you're a melted puddle under his ministrations. 

Your face is burning hot. You're no stranger to Peter's tickling, the opposite - he does this whenever he can get his hands on you. He's the loveliest boyfriend ever. You can't tell whether he likes doing it or if he knows that you love it, but you adore him and his hands, and usually you'd be slouched into his side and drowsy by now, completely floored by his attention. 

But you're not. Peter's confused by this, you're ashamed, and your warm skin is giving you away. 

"Something on your mind?" he says, quiet, half as loud as the TV. 

"Nothing," you whisper. 

He hums, tickling coming to an end. He hugs your arms and tips his head against yours, soft brown hair brushing your cheek as he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your bare shoulder. 

"You sure?" he asks, rubbing the tip of his nose into your skin. 

You don't like lying to him. He's never given you any reason to, and maybe loving someone means that you owe them honesty, even when the truth is scary to admit. 

"I was thinking," you begin tentatively, voice a shard of its usual volume, "about, um…" still, it's hard to say. 

Peter raises his head to watch your face patiently. 

"Do you want to take the next step with me?" you ask, staring at the beauty mark under his nose. You can't look him in the eye. 

"Are you proposing?" he asks, and at your aghast expression, "I'm sorry, baby, I'm just joking. Forgive me," he soothes, apologetic, the beginnings of excitement creeping into his voice. 

"That's so mean," you complain under your breath.

"I'm sorry," he says again. He's on the edge of laughing, wrapping his arm around you, hand in the well of your shoulder. "How can I help teasing you when you react like this?" 

He feels your cheeks with the back of his hand. "Y'burnin' up." 

"Your fault." You sink deeper into the cushions and away from his probing. He drops his hand. 

"You want to have sex?" 

"With you." 

"With me," he adds lightly. 

"I'd like to," you manage, shying away from his gaze. 

"In general or right now?" he asks. 

You look down at your chest, watching it rise and fall rapidly. "Now, if you want to." 

"Do you want to?" he asks carefully. 

"Yes," you admit, louder than you mean to, like the bursting of a dam. "Yes. I want you," you say. You don't miss how desperate you sound and neither does Peter. 

He has a look on his face that you've never seen before, and his answering exhale is erotic. He shifts so his back is pressed against the arm of the sofa, arms waiting on either side of his body. 

"Come here?" he asks. 

You bite the inside of your lip and stare at him for a few seconds, trying to calm down, trying to come to terms with what you're about to do, what he's about to do to you. You slowly climb up onto your knees and crawl to him. He grabs your thigh, his touch electric, and pulls you over his lap. 

You steady yourself on his shoulders, looking to him for permission. He nods encouragingly. You set yourself down over his lap, hands trailing down his lovely arms until you find his fingers. He's quick to twine them together, and so you straddle him, your heat overtop his pelvis and your forearms pressed together. 

You move your face towards his slowly, careful and scared. He waits, a statue. He's holding his breath. 

You hesitate with your lips and inch apart from his. They suddenly feel chapped, and your tongue darts out to wet them. 

Peter slowly steals his hands back, first to soothe your shaking arms, then your upper chest, fingers spread wide. One moves behind you to the small of your back, and you close your eyes as he pulls you forward. 

His kiss is languid, hand climbing from your chest to your face, thumb digging into the corner of your mouth as he opens you up. You're a blooming flower with him, always, lips parting.

His tongue is warm. You sigh as he probes your mouth, pushing forward ardently. His arm tightens around you in response, pulling you in, and you think for the hundredth time that Peter can read your mind. The unexpected friction pulls a sound from you that you don't mean to give, breathy and high pitched and enough to make your cheeks burn. 

Peter breaks the kiss abruptly. "That's was fucking adorable," he says, eyes wide. "You gonna make that sound again?" 

You shake your head, smiling against your will, pushing in for another kiss, and another. Maybe you mean to or you don't, but you rock your hips against his with your arms wrapped around his neck and feel the evidence of his arousal grow underneath you. 

This makes it worse, the puddle of heat in your abdomen turning to a pond, a lake, a vast ocean of wanting. Peter's arm is like steel around your waist and spiteful, dragging you up against the shape of his cock. You moan again, feel your embarrassment crest. 

You break the kiss and sit there above him panting, forehead pressed to his forehead and eyes shut, determined to never look at him again. He slides his hand up your face, reverential in his movements. So gentle it burns. 

"You wanna move to the bed? Yeah?" he asks. 

You don't expect to be carried when you agree. You gasp as he lifts you up, hands steadfast around his neck and face pressed into his jaw. Peter laughs like an idiot as he walks, hand braced behind your head. 

Your thighs are still wrapped around him as he drops you on the bed in his room, quick to realign your lips and kiss you silly, your spine pushed into the mattress beneath you. 

He starts careful, grinding his hips down into your with the slightest pressure, a natural rhythm. You push his face from yours, knowing that his actions – this core-melting friction – will have you a mewling mess, and that his kisses will steal any awful sounds you make before you can suppress them. 

He's not discouraged by your actions, instead choosing to track kisses down your neck, your throat. His face fits into the curve of your neck like it was made to, and his teeth find a spot they know well. You bury your fingers in his soft hair, lips pressed tightly together to half-smother a moan as his clothed cock presses into you again. 

He finishes up a round, bruising hickey in a rush. "Don’t do that,” he says gently. 

"What?" you ask, cupping his cheek. 

He frowns at you, characteristic sweetness in his pout. "Lemme hear you," he murmurs pleadingly. "Please? Y'sound so pretty." 

"Pete-" 

"Please, baby. If you want to make noise, you should.”

You miss his kiss and his heat, agreeing without thinking, "Okay.”

He grins salaciously. You regret your haste and attempt to backtrack, find his lips silencing yours quickly. "Thank you," he says into your mouth, kisses firm, "gonna have you making the sweetest sounds, dove. Promise." 

You tease the hem of his shirt and he pulls it off, you reach for your own and he's twice as quick, the two of you shirtless and grinning and breathing too fast. 

Quickly you find yourselves shrugging out of your pants, then your underwear. He struggles with your bra. You giggle at his ineptitude and reach up to smooth the stressed crease between his eyebrows, furthering his frustration. 

“Babe,” he huffs. 

Once he manages it he ravishes you, mouth biting and cruel. He's played with your tits before, and he knows them well. Soon, your nipples are aching and kiss-bitten, shining with his spit. 

He kisses down your ribs, your naval, takes a great big scraping mouthful of your soft tummy. 

You pull him up to your mouth again before he can do what he wants to. 

"Let me eat you out," he says. 

You shake your head with a smug smile. He whines. 

"Let me! Let me get you ready, baby, please." 

"Just wanna feel you, Pete, please," you say bravely. 

You do want him to eat you out, in a desperate, burning way that almost has you saying yes, but the idea of it is too embarrassing for now. You hope your admission will distract him, and it does, his hardness brushing up into you as his hips buck. 

"Fuck," he says. "Fuck it. Fine, but consider this an IOU." He presses a kiss to your cheek.

You wiggle underneath him as he sits back, hand reaching between you. His thumb brushes from your wet entrance to your clit and you gasp, turning your face into the pillow beneath you. 

Unhappy, Peter pinches your sensitive inner thigh. You protest, indignant. "Ow!" 

"You don’t have to hide," he says, an awe in his voice as he spreads you open with his thumb. 

He pushes into your clit. You let yourself gasp. His jovial smile is enough encouragement to do it again, and again, and again, frenzied by his tight circles and his teasing fingertips where they circle your entrance. 

"Am I okay to keep going?" he asks, pausing. 

You swallow. He looks so pretty like this: lips red from kissing, hair mussed and eyes bright. He's kneeling, an Adonis, carved muscle and hot-blooded. You follow the V of his hips and find your eyes glued to his cock where it’s head brushes the skin under his belly button, throbbing. 

"I was gonna offer to get you ready, but…" you whisper, mostly joking, rewarded by his roaring laughter. 

He pulls your hips towards him and your heart skips a beat, caught off guard, thinking he's going to fuck you, but it's just to bring you close enough to kiss, bodies wedged together as he slides his smiling mouth over yours. 

He finds your hand and brings it down to his dick, hesitating a centimetre away. You take the leap, wrapping your fingers around his shaft as lightly as you can. He hisses, then grins. 

"There, feel how hard you make me? All those pretty moans," he murmurs, looking down between your bodies where your hand explores his cock. 

"All those lovely sounds you make, baby," he says. "Want you to make 'em for me again, yeah? Can you do that?" 

He spits in his hand and replaces yours, giving his cock a few ruthless tugs. He's rock hard. Your eyes water and your insides are a mess, and you know without looking that your entrance is a dewy well. 

"You gonna do that for me, baby?" he asks when you don't answer, searching for your enthusiasm, to see if you're okay. 

You want him bad, rolling your hips, forcing his cock to brush up against your wet centre. "Yeah, Peter. Please." 

He cradles your face in one hand, giving your cheek a quick squeeze before he rises off of your chest and takes his hips into your hands. It's pornographic, you think, the position you’re in, thighs spread wide over his thighs, chests rising in tandem. You like seeing Peter Parker on his knees for you, like knowing you're splayed open, waiting to take him. 

"Ready?" he asks, rubbing the head of his cock in your slick. 

You twitch at the contact. "Yes, baby," you utter, completely enamoured by his cock. 

He starts slow. The first thrust inward more of a dip, spreading you open over his cock with every inch of care you'd expected from him. His breathing is laboured, amorous, as he works. You know he's taking his time for you, that he's desperate to push into you. You raise your hips from the bed in encouragement, centre alight. 

He smiles. He pushes in. His thrusts are slow and each one widens. You realise how stupidly happy you are when he's halfway inside you, giggling and rolling your hips down. 

"You want it, huh? Want it all?" he asks, voice similarly stained by joy. 

"Yes," you blurt out. 

"You're not very polite," he says, raising his eyebrows. 

"Please," you say urgently. "Please, Peter, I can take it." 

"I know you can.”

His hips snap forward. You half-sob, shocked at how good it feels, hands around his wrist as he pulls all the way out. You know what he's doing before he does it, snapping forward again; he's trying to get you to moan loudly, and his actions make it easy to oblige him. 

"Fuck, baby, you're so fucking tight, feel fucking amazing," he says. "Fuck, how's that, you like that?" 

You nod, panting, and he pushes your thighs away, towards your chest, shifting so he can fuck into you quicker. When he's fully sheathed inside you he hugs your thighs to his chest and rolls, the head of his cock brushing your walls emphatically. 

"Tell me." 

"I like it. I like it," your breath hiccups as he leans forward, cock driving into your sweet spot, "I like it." 

You can't believe how quickly he's unravelled. He can see the smugness on your face, you think, because he leans down and kisses it away roughly, nose crushing your nose as he fills you up. 

You whimper at his probing strokes. "You okay?" he asks quickly. 

You barely manage to nod, so excited, over excited, hooking your arm around his neck so he can't ask you anymore silly questions. 

The sound of your fucking echoes, a firm slap, damp panting, your awful moaning and his pleasure-lined exhales. He sounds close, though you're not sure, and you endeavour to draw his climax from him, squeezing your walls around his cock. 

He groans and his hips stutter, burying his face in your cheek. You cover the back of his head with your hands. 

"Can you go faster?" you ask. 

You can feel his smile and his teeth as he kisses your cheek. "Yeah, I can go faster," he says innocently. "Just- tell me if I do something you don't like?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Full words, dove." 

"Yes, I'll tell you." 

He needles his arms under your body and holds you tight as his hips snap, fucking you fast, fast enough that your whimpers and moans and expletives slip from you without really thinking, blurring into a mess of pleading. 

"Please, Peter," you say, tears in your eyes. 

"What, baby, what do you want?" he asks, words staggered between thrusts. 

You don't want anything except for him to keep going. 

The bed springs bounce beneath you, your headboard scrapes the wall, and you've never felt so safe and close to him as you do now, hips aching with every deep thrust. 

Peter ruts into you, grinding his hips into the back of your thighs, your knees pushed into your chest. He dots a thousand tiny kisses wherever he can put them. Your legs wobble with the force of his strokes and your hips are numb, the only sensation that matters is this growing tightness in your core. 

You can feel the mess growing between you, wetness pulled out of you with each drag of Peter's cock. You hug his chest close to your chest, hands at first clinging to him for dear life and then, cock drunk and dizzy, sliding over his skin lovingly. 

"Love you," you whisper. 

He laughs and pulls his face away from your sweaty skin to look you in the eyes. His eyes are bright, brown and dark, hedged in thick lashes. He brushes the tip of his nose into yours as he thrusts, like they’re kissing. 

"That might be my favourite sound yet," he says softly. 

You groan at the corniness of it all and he slows, driving in slower, looking so deep into your eyes you worry he can see your soul. 

"I love you," he says. "Dovey, I love you so much. You're beautiful." 

"You're beautiful, too," you tell him. 

He kisses you sweetly, eyes scrunched shut, and you know he's close. You rock your hips against his and let him hear every ounce of pleasure you're feeling in your breathing. You take a shuddering inhale as he digs his cock into your walls and it send him over the edge, his own breathing sounding slightly tortured as he cums, a hot wetness blooming between you. 

He thrusts one last time, cock bleeding pearlescence and mess inside you. You tighten your arms around him and plant your own sweet kisses all over his cheek and his neck, overcome by a swelling of affection. 

You want to tell him how hot he is, how good it feels, but you can't make yourself say the words. You hope he can feel it in your palms as they stroke his back. 

He pulls away. You let your tired thighs fall to either side of him, spread, and he takes them in his big palms, massaging the flesh there. You both catch your breath, though you realise he has no real plans of stopping as his fingers find your clit. 

“Sorry, baby,” he murmurs quietly. “Didn’t mean to leave you hanging.”

You shake your head from one side to the other - you hadn’t cum, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t felt good, or hadn’t enjoyed yourself immeasurably, hadn’t felt loved beyond words. 

“Gotta take care of my girl,” he says, more to himself than you, cock still inside you. You gasp as he rolls forward, chills moving from the deepest part of you all the way to your fingertips.  

His thrusts are languid and his fingers quicker, voice warm and rough as he showers you in adoration. 

You whimper and squirm under his touch as the coil tightens, thighs trembling.

“Pretty baby, so fucking good for me, need you to cum on my cock, yeah?” Peter whispers, thrusting forward again. Buried this deep, every movement is a shooting of ditzy pleasure around him. 

His wet thumb is diligent as it circles. He leans down to kiss your thighs, your kneecap, resting his cheek against your leg as he pushes you over the edge. You gasp out his name without thinking, a warning, and feel his cock twitch inside you as you contract around him, pleasure tightening the muscles in your abdomen. 

You sob without tears, hand grabbing his wrist to stop him from dragging your orgasm on any longer. He stops with his hand pressed flat to your cunt, breath hot on your skin as he laughs. 

“There we go,” he says, pressing another kiss to your skin. 

Your chest heaves. If he doesn’t hug you in the next ten seconds you’re probably going to burst into tears, urgently pulling at his arms. He gets the memo quickly and sits up on his haunches. He’s covered in your sticky mess and you don’t care as he pulls you into his arms, your face seeking refuge into the side of his neck. He steadies you with one hand behind the small of your back and the other buried in your hair, and you sit there like love drunk idiots breathing in the other's smell. 

“You’re okay,” he says, and then quietly, “right?”

“I’m fine. I’m really fine. Just needed to be close to you,” you admit.

“Okay, okay. You’re okay” he says, nodding. 

You take a deep breath, half laughing and half gasping. “Fuck,” you say. 

“Fuck,” he agrees. “That reminds me - you have such a potty mouth when you’re getting fucked, did you know?”

“I’m an angel,” you say. 

“I never said otherwise. An angel, makes the prettiest little sounds all wet and lovely,” he pauses to laugh when you pinch his sides, angry at his teasing now that you’re in the aftermath, “and she swears like a sailor.”

His kiss is bruising at your temple. “Fuck, I’m lucky. How’d I ever get so lucky?”

You clench your thighs around his, wondering the same thing. 

<3

𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

thanks for reading ❤️

[sukirichi]

dutifully yours. [01]

Attached to the could’ve been’s of a promised happily ever after with the Crown Prince disguised under a scheme for power and greed, you are torn between choosing your happiness — or abandoning it to fulfill your duty as the future Queen.

→ unedited bcos i’m brave lazy. implied patriarchy. angst in future chapters. pure romance and fluff for now. royalty au. eventual smut. prince naoya !! i love him sm i could cry. this fic will break me, okay. naoya is close to canon but with my twist if that makes sense. drama in future chapters. oh and listen to this while reading <3

→ massive shoutout to my besties for always hyping me and helping me uwu, i present this token of prince naoya being an ideal husband okay cry cry i love him sm im crying. anyways pls enjoy bcos i poured my heart out to this and bcos i want more people in the naoya fucker club :>

one | next (to be posted)

Ever since the day your mother taught you how to read, you’ve had your nose buried in a book. Losing yourself in different worlds, swooning over fictional princes, and fantasizing for a love story ripped out of fairytale itself with such burning, passionate romance – you’d been through it all, dreamt of it all. And yet, you struggled to stop yourself from tugging at your dress.

The tight corset hadn’t even been the main focus of your worries, and neither was the heavy rivière resting on your collarbones.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Beside you, your mother pursed her lips, fingers decorated with jewels stopping in their movements of fanning herself. The temperature hadn’t been particularly high inside the limousine that evening. You supposed it was the mere sight of you tugging and gulping audibly every now and then, gloved hands running over the hems of your collar.

You ducked your head down. “Sorry, Mother. I can’t help it.”

“Dear, your anxiety is written all over your face,” she sighed, turning your face to her as she cupped your cheeks. Smiling tenderly like a mother always did, your heart felt soothed even by the slightest bit. You wished she could keep holding you like this – like you were a fragile flower she was afraid of breaking; a fragile flower that needed more care handled than most. Tonight, however, you felt a hundred years older. Like you’d accidentally clicked on fast forward and got launched to the future. A future that seemed so unclear yet so...perfect. So right.

“How would the Prince fancy you if you’re sweating bullets like that? It’s not a good look for a marquess’ daughter.”

At the mention of the Crown Prince, your heart sank again. “My apologies, Mother. I’m just rather nervous. It’s the Crown Prince we’re talking about here.”

“He is quite the looker, isn’t he?” she giggled behind her fan, “Strong and handsome, as well.”

“My ladies. You are not fantasizing over the Crown Prince in my presence, are you?”

Crossing her leg over the other, your mother leaned forwards, elbows on her knees as she winked at your father. The marquess had his torso half twisted from the passenger seat, glaring playfully at your mother’s unabashed features. “It is of no seriousness, My Lord. I’m simply easing your daughter’s nerves.”

Your father sighed in worry. “What’s got you so worked up, child? You are beautiful. The Prince would be blind to not notice you.”

Each fibre in your body screamed in desperation for your father to be right. Tonight was not just any other night – the entire Kingdom, including noblewomen, foreign royals, and unwed daughters from honourable families had been invited to the Zen’in Castle for one purpose only: to find his Crown Prince a suitable wife, one that would be fit to be the next Queen as well. As the daughter of the marquess, you’d naturally received the invitation. It felt just like yesterday when the mail arrived and you’d cheered so much in joy the chickens went flying out of their coops, your horses galloping and whinnying at surprise, and now you here – minutes away from the palace where you were soon to be deemed worthy or unworthy to be beside His Highness.

With a shaky smile, you dug your nails into your thighs. “Well, we’ve only met once, Father. I doubt the Prince would remember me.”

“Just smile, darling. You will do great.”

To no one’s surprise, the Zen’in Castle brimmed with people and esteemed guests. Men and women danced with one another as muted chatters and chuckles blended in with the grand royal orchestra, everyone dressed to the nines and making you feel completely out of place.

The moment you’d been welcomed by the knights and led to the palace doors, your dress began to feel tighter than usual, your ribs clenching uncomfortably from the pressure. Your hands had not stopped trembling either, not even when you hid it behind your back and nodded at the people passing by. There were governor-generals, dukes, earls, professors and royal advisors and even families of the royal family’s inner circle of knights. Everyone looked like they belonged here. Chatting amongst one another over the finest of wines or discussing conspiracies on where the Kingdom of Zen’in would be in the next sixty years of the future King’s reign, no one here seemed to be out of place.

Everyone except you.

A warm hand was suddenly placed on the small of your back, making you gasp. Your mother’s smile was nothing short of warm as she held you close to her one last time, leaving a kiss on your forehead. You didn’t even realize how much you shook until she clasped her hands with yours. “Calm down, dear,” she reminded, “You’ll be on your own now. This is where we leave you since we’re not supposed to mingle with potential princesses.”

“Mother!” Your eyes widened in embarrassment. Looking around frantically, you bit your lip in fear someone must’ve heard.

Of course, while it would be no surprise most guests – if not all – hoped that their daughter would be the Crown Prince’s chosen fiancée, it still felt wrong to boldly assume such when you could barely keep up with the events of tonight.

However, your mother merely laughed. “I am proud of you, dear. Never forget that. It doesn’t matter whether you are chosen or not. We’re only here for formality and respect to the King and Queen’s demands.”

“You say that as if the Crown Prince really would not bother with me.”

“We didn’t mean that,” your father cut in, a flute of champagne already nested between his calloused fingers. Ever since you arrived, he’d been snatched away by fellow earls and barons, disappearing into the crowd for a ‘hearty conversation over one’s lands.’ You knew better than that, though. That statement always translated to which leader got to have more chances to wine and dine with the King, to which your family was ridiculously reminded of that you’d been stationed to the most faraway land where even hearing news from the royal papers was but a privilege.

“Just be yourself, alright? And enjoy the party. It’s about time you met with girls your own age and made some friends.”

“I – Father, wait!”

A slender young woman slithered to your side out of nowhere, her golden brown eyes following the silhouettes of your parents. It wasn’t long before they completely disappeared. Left alone with the stunning woman that was – for some reason – dressed in a plain black curve hugging dress too modest for tonight’s appropriateness, you took three steps away in caution. “You must be from way up North,” she noted, her head to the tipped to the side. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

God, was she beautiful. Long, thick eyelashes and short hair chopped in messy yet elegant curves, you struggled to hold her gaze. “Oh, yes, I come from the Terratian Borders. My family is stationed there under His Majesty’s orders.”

She hummed to herself. “The Terratian Borders are mostly forests and fields, no? The last time my family and I visited there, I came across the loveliest dandelions I’ve ever laid eyes on. Shame they died on the way back,” offering her hand – again, bare and empty with decorations yet still littered with faint scars and cuts – she beamed at you. “I’m Mai, by the way. Mai Zen’in.”

Zen’in?

Hands cupping your mouth, you bowed deep until your back ached. “Lady Mai!” you shut your eyes closed, unable to live with the shame. Mai Zen’in; one of the iconic twin pair from the extended Zen’in royal family, both a fashion icon and a legend for being a rumoured female knight. To have her in your presence was an honour. “My apologies for not recognizing you any sooner, Lady Mai!”

“Stand up, I’m not a royal,” she sniggered, “We’re just relatives of the actual monarch, but don’t let the family name fool you. The Crown Prince barely even acknowledges us being of the same blood.”

Albeit hesitant, you followed her gestures of making you stand up. You straightened your back and cleared your throat, fighting the urge to go haywire the moment his name was brought into the conversation. Not only would you be seeing Prince Naoya again in real life for the first time in years, but you’d also made acquaintances with his distant niece. However, his name was spoken with malice.

Frowning, you faced Lady Mai in all seriousness. “Prince Naoya? Why so?” Lady Mai looked at you like you’d grown two heads.

“He’s an ass, that’s why.”

“I-I don’t think he is,” you defended, “The Prince has been nothing but kind to me.”

“I didn’t know he was capable of kindness,” she muttered more so under her breath, low enough you were unsure whether you were supposed to hear it in the first place. Lady Mai then shook her head to herself before stealing a flute from a waiter passing by. Chucking it your way, her face turned dark and grim. “Take it as free advice: stay as far away from his as possible. The Crown Prince is nothing but good news.”

“Is it because he has lots of lovers?” you inquired with a small voice, “Uhm – well – It was an assumption. With a title and handsomeness like that, it would make sense everyone would want to be the Crown Prince’s lover.”

Lady Mai’s lip curled upwards. “Prince Naoya won’t bother with lovers. He is too occupied for that.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Heard from whom?”

“The Royal Declaration from His Majesty himself,” you said, “Was it not the purpose of this ball? To find worthy candidates to be the Crown Prince’s betrothed? His coronation is coming soon.”

“Right. I forgot today was technically a bridal market,” she scratched the edge of her brow, falling silent for a moment. Her eyes scanned the lively crowd for a brief moment – watching with you as everyone laughed and danced to their heart’s content – the grand final event of the routine personal dance with the Crown Prince himself slowly approaching to reality. “You are joining in the festivities, are you not? Later, when he arrives, he shall meet you.”

“I am obligated to as a noble bachelorette, though I doubt His Highness would even look my way. There are far richer noblewomen here and even daughters of duke that would be perfect as his wife. ”

“You may have a point for that,” she hummed to herself, unaware that her agreement to the Crown Prince not paying attention to you left a sting both in your ego and heart. Not that it lasted long, for Lady Mai was already tugged on the arm by another equally fiercely beautiful woman – her older twin, Maki Zen’in. Soon to be governon-general of the Kingdom.

Lady Mai smiled in apology. “I need to go now since I’m not a part of this event. But hey, if ever I come around to visit the Borders again, perhaps you could entertain me?”

“I would be honoured to, Lady Mai.”

“You are sweet and innocent,” it was her sister who spoke this time, glasses perched high on her nose that concealed the wariness of her gaze. “I hope the Crown Prince never gets to your routine.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s nothing; she was talking to herself. Maki does that a lot,” Lady Mai’s forced chuckles were barely heard from the music. “You enjoy the party now. Don’t drink too much lest you want to embarrass yourself in everyone’s eyes and be talk of the Kingdom. Prince Naoya would hate it if you took the attention away from him.”

“Oh, uhm...”

“It’s a joke, Lady Y/N. Relax.”

You bowed once more. “My apologies.”

“The dance is about to begin,” Maki tapped on your shoulder, making you look up right where her eyes zeroed in. And exactly in the middle of the grandiose hall, under the sparkling golden chandeliers where he made all the gold in the world look incomparable next to him, the Crown Prince stood in his fully glory. Blond hair with the ends stained of midnight gelled back to reveal his forehead, the Crown Prince’s beauty never failed to shine. Whether it be in the papers, in the tabloids, in the billboards that you passed on the way to the city, or from way back when you met him for the first time as a naive, innocent teen – Crown Prince Naoya came straight out of a magazine cover.

In the back of your head, you could hear either of the twins murmuring good luck. Maybe both of them had said it – you had no idea. All of your attention, all the sensibility and coherence of your state had been switched the next instant, as if your heart and soul was born for the sole purpose of being bewitched by your Crown Prince.

And as if feeling someone’s gaze on him, the Crown Prince’s eyes trailed over the crowd. Almost boredly, his sharp eyes bounced from one giggling woman to another, the ends of his lips smirking upwards for just the tiniest bit. It must’ve stroked his ego. Until his eyes connected with yours. The Crown Prince’s eyebrows knitted together. You had no idea how you looked in that moment, and quite frankly, you didn’t care. Because the Crown Prince was looking at you, and you were looking at him with hearts in your eyes along with your heart pulsing at the tip of your tongue.

“Let us begin,” his lips moved from the distance, “Play the music. I shall dance with my bride.”

The air shifted in a split second. Murmurs were thrown over the room, women and men alike turning pale. Even the orchestra was stunned from the Crown Prince’s entrance – and it hadn’t even been dramatic to his standards – yet the whole castle fell mum from just a few of his words. A few seconds later, the crowd recomposed itself, and the strings began to dance along with its bows.

You are pushed into the crowd. Nearly colliding into the arms of another, you quietly thank the masked man who was to be your first partner of the night.

All the men joining the dance floor dressed with the intention of making the Crown Prince shine. Prince Naoya stood out from the throng of white as per the colour code, his blood red uniform as both Prince with the  golden crest of the military leader pinned to his right breast. The other men meant to be filler partners until all the potential brides got to their designated three minutes with the Prince were all dressed in black, faces covered behind a plain black mask. None were allowed to talk. None were allowed to utter even a word, and so your partner pursed his lips in displeasure at your apology.

Whatever. You just had to wait a few more rounds before the song finished and transitioned into a new one; the song where you’d been informed would be your time alone with the Prince.

You’d been so lost in your head you barely breathed the entire dance. From partner to partner, you blanked. Your heart drummed so wildly in its cage it begged to come out, and strings of apologies were let out each time your masked partners grimaced for a brief second when their hands came in contact with your sweaty ones. Around you, all the lovely women smiled and danced graciously, mouths moving in unreadable conversations shared with the Crown Prince. Not once did you look at the six partners you’ve danced with. Not once did you worry about tripping on your own feet. Not once did you care that some of the masked men held you a little too roughly for your comfort. Your entire reason for existing in that moment was to witness the Crown Prince himself, mirroring his frown that got deeper and deeper with each woman retreating to the sea of people he’d rejected.

Not once did you even think about being one of them – the girls who’ve ducked their heads down as their parents comforted them over not being the chosen one, of bringing ‘dishonour’ to their families that the mighty Crown Prince had deemed them unworthy. Tears streamed down their faces until black ink followed afterwards, lips trembling from silent sobs.

Despite their broken prides – although there was that minority who simply sighed in relief after returning to their own families – no one would dare interrupt the Crown Prince’s dances.

All of these thoughts crossed your mind too late and at the exact time your masked partner pulled away from you, body half bent in a bow with his arm outstretched to the side. Following where he was gesturing at, your eyes met the Crown Prince’s tall and lean stature, a few blond fringes now fallen from his movements.

Even though a thin layer of sweat shone from his face, Prince Naoya remained ethereal.

And like a snake charmed by the musician’s seductive tone, your feet moved on its own. Fingers stretching until it met with the Crown Prince’s large and warm ones, you were now in front of him. With him. Holding him, touching him, meeting him eye for eye and realizing – gold. His eyes burned a deep shade of gold, elegantly rich and heartbreakingly stunning your heart ached.

Before you knew it, your hands began to tremble, feeling as if your body had been corded into a corset three sizes smaller. You could not breathe, and the Crown Prince took notice.

“You are stiff. Do I make you uncomfortable?” Good Saint. If only possible, you would’ve closed your eyes and basked in the deep warmth of his voice. It reverberated from deep within, breathed out with an air of natural authority and profound confidence it made your knees weak. As if sensing his effect on you (though for the wrong reasons, it seemed), Prince Naoya hummed to himself. “This routine shall last for a few minutes before I can let you go, I’m afraid.”

You instantly realized the implications of your silence. “N-not at all, Your Highness! I am honoured to be dancing with you.”

“There is no honour in a choreographed dance. Everyone will dance with me. It’s nothing special.”

Your heart fell. Prince Naoya not only sounded dejected, but detached as well. As if he found no pleasure or specialty in this event, at a time where he had every opportunity to meet his lover, and that this ball was merely a task to be checked off in his already long list of responsibilities. It wasn’t disappointment, per se, but rather melancholy that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Not because Prince Naoya held little to no regards for something you treasured, but because he sounded terribly alone. Like he was simply waiting for it to end out of discomfort.

“It’s special to me, Your Highness,” you blurted out faster than you could stop yourself. For a moment, you feared you may have offended him, but the Crown Prince only laughs.

And when he did – saint, when he laughed – his eyes crinkled into half moons, pearly whites flashing against the bright lights and his whole chest shook with amusement.

You’d never seen him smile this way before.

Prince Naoya’s laughter didn’t cease. Around you, your gut instincts told that people were now beginning to look; the Crown Prince’s deep rumbles of laughter sounded exquisitely like music as well, after all. “ Is it special to you because you are now dancing and within the Crown Prince’s proximity? As much as I presume how exhilarating it might be for those who mostly see me in the papers and in the tabloids, I assure you, dancing with your Prince is not an honour. Especially when you are all sent the invitations based on your status and not your worthy traits.”

“It’s special to me,” you mumbled, growing shy all of a sudden when the Crown Prince nodded at you to continue. “Because...because it reminds me of the first time we met.”

The Crown Prince hummed in amusement.

“We have met before?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’m from the Terratian Borders – my father is a loyal servant of His Majesty. You visited the borders when you were eighteen and I was sixteen. Do you remember it, Your Highness? You stormed in my private library.”

Indeed, the young barely-out-of-his-teens Crown Prince barged into your home’s library years ago. You were not previously informed he and his parents would be visiting since they arrived wordlessly, so you were stuck in your chambers as usual, killing time if not for sleeping and tending to the animals. Perched on a ladder, you attempted to reach for a book on the upper shelf when your foot slipped beneath you. At the age of sixteen, you were dramatic enough to say your life flashed before your eyes. You would’ve screamed then had strong arms not appeared out of nowhere, the Crown Prince staring at you with wide, golden eyes as they were now, his breathy rasped as he asked, are you okay, my lady?

The mere recollection of that fateful memory had your cheeks warming in delight. “You were so charming and heroic back then. Even when I had no idea you were a royal, I would have still believed you to be princely,” you said rather absentmindedly, blinking once then twice at your words. “Of course, it’s understandable if you do not remember, Your Highness!”

“My apologies. I do not remember, though Terratia is a wonderful place. Such a shame I was not informed beforehand they had a lovely daughter.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you cheered back, cheeks and jaw beginning to ache from how wide you were smiling. But could anyone blame you? You felt absolutely silly that you were a breath away from passing out minutes ago, and now here you were, dancing with the Crown Prince and sharing memories with him like it was a daily occurrence. The words it’s true love when you feel at peace with them suddenly rang back at your head from that latest romance novel you read, and you turned away, hoping the Crown Prince would not read your thoughts to your face. However, Prince Naoya’s lips pursed into a thin line, all traces of humour now disappeared. “I’m sorry – should I not have laughed?”

“No, I don’t mind,” he mused with his jaw locked tight, “I just haven’t seen anyone react that way before.”

“Like what?”

“Like my words meant the entire universe to them. I may dare even say you look terribly in love, though I cannot blame you on that one, can I?”

Prince Naoya shook his head the minute the words left his mouth. Forcing himself to believe it couldn’t be real, perhaps, you truly did not know anymore. Your only plan for tonight was to see the Crown Prince and get to live out your dream of seeing him once more even for just a brief moment before you travelled back home while he married another, and yet – “Your Highness, I’m in love with you. I have always been since the day we met.”

You could no longer stop the words. The voice at the back of your head begged you to shut up and not cause a scene, that your time had passed up and people were staring, yet you remained in his arms no matter how much you wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole.

“Please do not misunderstand me, Your Highness. I did not come here to attempt to steal your heart and be your wife, though I will admit I have dreamt of meeting you again for so many moons. I...I only want to tell you this. That I love you and even though it was a brief moment, I think the love I’ve always read about felt real and possible for the first time in my life,” chuckling nervously, you gather to courage to face him, adoration shining for the Crown Prince stood shock still before you, however stunned he may be. “I love you, Your Highness. I love you. And to whoever lucky woman you choose to be your betrothed, I hope she takes care of you and showers you with all the affection you are deserving of. You would make a great King. So God help his Crown Prince, and may you lead us all into a better world.”

Prince Naoya did not budge a muscle. His eyes remained hard on yours, breath warm as his nostrils fumed. With each passing second that he did not speak, you grew restless and tugged your arm away from his hold with a disgraceful smile.

You’d truly crossed your line. The repercussions to be faced for this impoliteness would destroy your family’s honour. You had to leave. “Your Highness? The song has changed. It’s time to let go—”

The Crown Prince inched close enough until his hair tickled your cheeks, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as he pulled you close, close enough that your lower bodies touched. Skin ablaze with heat, you dared not move an inch. “Do you mean it?” he demanded lowly, his fingers ghosting over your wrist to hold you in place. “Do you truly love me? Not for what I have, not for who I was born to be, but me as a person itself?”

Closing your eyes to shudder in a deep breath, you exhaled. “Of course, Your Highness. Even if you were not born as a Prince, I’m sure I would’ve still loved you in a different universe.”

“But I do not know you.”

“We don’t have to know each other, Your Highness, and we never will. Once you let me go, I’ll return to the shadows where I belong, and I will continue supporting you until the day of your coronation.”

“And if I refuse to let you go?” he clicked his tongue, “What will you do then?”

The Crown Prince’s spicy perfume must be an aphrodisiac or hypnotizer of sorts. Everything he did messed with your mind that it was too late – the music had stopped and people were no longer drinking or chatting. Everyone’s eyes were on you and the Crown Prince. You could only imagine how controversial this position must be; with his lips trailing dangerously close to that sensitive spot in your neck where you nearly moaned. You really needed to leave.

“P-people are looking, Your Highness. You do not want this affair with someone you won’t choose—”

“Who said I won’t choose you?” Finally, he pulled away. But Prince Naoya never once tore his gaze away from yours, nor did he allow you to look at anyone but him as he caresses your jaw so light and feathery you wondered if he was truly there.“Who said I haven’t laid my eyes on you the moment you walked in here? This ball is for naught because of you, Lady Y/N. I’ve already made my choice, and you helped me confirm it as soon as you danced with me.”

“Your Highness...”

“Look at me,” he ordered, your eyes flitting from his pinkish lips to his sharp nose and then to his fox-like gaze. Only this time, Prince Naoya was no longer harsh. “Don’t be scared.”

“But they’re looking.”

“You are with me, of course they’ll look,” he teased, “They wish to be you right now. But ignore them and dance one more time with me.”

It wasn’t like you had a choice, but did it matter? One nod from him was all it took before the orchestra fumbled back to their spots and a new song played, Ode of Moonlight Lovers, and the Crown Prince was guiding you back to where he had originally danced with you.

From the corners of your eyes, you caught a glimpse of your parents with their mouths gaped open; your father looking like he was on the verge of passing out. However, you felt nothing but joy, nothing but the adrenaline pumping through your veins as he danced and twirled you in his arms. When the music stopped and you were both panting for air with silly smiles on your face, it dawned on you that you were with the Prince. No, rather, it was only you and the Prince alone. Even in the sea of people whose faces began to blur, he prevailed crystal clear.

You could recognize him anywhere, find him everywhere.

Prince Naoya stepped impossibly closer until your chests touched, hearts beating as one. Cupping your jaw, he was near enough that he swallowed all your shaky breaths with a small, teasing smile like you both shared a secret the entire world could not know.

“Do I still make you nervous?”

Laughing, you nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. I feel like I’m going to explode.”

“It’s beloved now,” he corrected, face inching closer and closer to a point you could count the number of his lower lashes. “And what do lovers do to seal their union?”

“M-Marriage?”

“Close, but this is much better.”

If anyone were to tell you that you would have a love story ripped out straight from a fairytale, you would’ve laughed at their faces. You were no Cinderella, nor were you a goddess of beauty that could’ve possibly caught the Crown Prince’s eye. Yet, his soft lips were on yours, kissing you with as much passion you could only dream of that you cried.

Strong hands guiding the back of your waist, Prince Naoya dipped you lower to the ground – the grand of finish of his dance. He had chosen his bride.

The crowd cheered and rejoiced all around you, making you smile into the kiss. Fisting his collar to bring him closer to yours, your mouth burst into metaphorical fireworks as soon as his tongue mingled with yours for an experimental taste. He was bitter yet sweet; expensive wine resting on his tongue, yet a delicate vanilla sat heavily on his soft lips that molded with yours. It was a taste you could spend forever being addicted on. And you were crying, crying so much your chest ached and the Prince’s cheeks grew damp from yours. You’d dreamt of this for so long, too long now.

Prince Naoya slowly pulled you away, his thumb wiping the tears away from the pads of your cheeks with tenderness in his touch. However, the Prince was not satisfied. The crowd whooped as he leant down to kiss your forehead. “You are mine now, my princess.”

Looping his hands with yours, the Crown Prince led you out of the castle. The crowd parted naturally to make way for the new couple, and you were left staring at his broad back and the tuft of blond hair where you’d soon find out how soft it would be. Sending one last glance to your crying parents, you waved goodbye. You had no idea where the Crown Prince would take you but you were already bunching your dress up, heart completely filled with trust you did not question it. What mattered tonight and for the rest of your life was that it felt right. That it was him – your beloved Prince Naoya Zen’in and soon to be husband – that you’d follow through the moon and back.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

You're probably the main Félix simp blog on this site and you're so right about it, every time I draw him I love him even more, he's the perfect shape and has such a big heart and he moves so sensually, ugh I just love him

One, if you draw him while you follow me, you have to show it to me, it's the law. Second, he's worth simping over??? I mean??? lets fucking observe this man for a hot second.

First, we go over the obvious, his appearance;

He has just BEAUTIFUL hair. Like, it holds such a nice color to it, and the grayness? He really embraces it, as well as the rest of his hair? It's easy for a man to be self conscious about old age, but Félix ISN'T?? His ass knows his hair is immaculate (ESPECIALLY his chest hair, wish I had a non blurry image). Combine that with his full face and his lips that I totally look at a normal amount- my dude will take his handsome face to his deathbed (don't even get me started on his eyes, they're SO pretty, just the loveliest brown you've ever seen). Now let's look at this boys SIZE

Hes THICK. Like, dude built wide as SHIT, build like a fucking brick wall, but he's simultaneously short as SHIT. Short king XL, we fucking love it. But we ESPECIALLY love, you guessed it,

HIS HANDS. LOOK AT THEM. THEY'RE H U G E. SHE HAS TO HOLD ONTO ONE FINGER. THESE HANDS ARE MEANT FOR HOLDING,

FOR WOOING,

FOR SUPPORTING HIS WIFE? IMAGINE WHAT HE COULD DO TO MY ASSH-

And, if we ignore all of this, ignore the fact that he could seduce someone with his touch, with his looks, and his VOICE (seriously voice is for the gods), he's sexy over his PERSONALITY. HE LOVES HIS FAMILY.

HE HOLDS NO SECRETS TOWARDS MIRABEL, NOR HIS WIFE. HE IS SO OPEN WITH THEM, YOU CAN TELL HE ADORES HIS BB DOLORES, HIS DAD INSTINCTS ARE SO IN TUNED HE SAVED ANTONIO LIKE IT WAS NOTHING-

MY GUYS EXISTENCE IS SEXY. BUT HIM BEING AN HONEST, LOVING, ON THE FUCKING BALL DAD? THAT HITS THE DADDY ISSUES PART OF ME LIKE YOU WOULDN'T FUCKING BELIEVE. THE WAY HE SWOOPED IN FOR HIS BOY- I WANNA SUCK THIS MAN'S WHOLE ASS DICK. I COULD LITERALLY GO ON, BUT THERE'S A PICTURE LIMIT THAT HAD TO BE SAVED FOR THE MOST IMPORTANT PIECE OF EVIDENCE;

DUDE HAD MORE CAKE THAN THEIR WHOLE ASS WEDDING CAKE-