#ashes to the waking sea

[lavampira]

ngl I think I might change gabriel to my canon warden 🧍‍♀️

[nikoisme]

actually the fact that odysseus knew he'd be gone for 20 years makes the gears in my brain turn. You kiss your son goodbye knowing you will miss every milestone of his. He will be a grown man and will not remember you. You will be a father only by title. Your wife will lay alone in your wedding bed, she will wake and see the side you've slept on is empty. You won't hold each other for a long, long time. Your parents may not even be there to welcome you back. You know you will return, but the war stretches on and on. Your comrades fall. Your ships are on fire. Your best warriors are nothing but ashes in an urn. But it's eventually over, you can go home. But still, there's more time left. First it's a storm. It's winding up in strange lands. It's hunger. It's temptation. Your men grow weary. You have twelve ships and then you have one and then it's only you on a single timber. You know you will return, but everything has gone so horribly wrong that you can't help but wonder if the fates fooled you. Everyone you know is either dead or are living again. You are the only one stuck in between. Neither dead or alive. You sit on a beach staring out to the sea from the moments the birds sing til the sun dips over the horizon. Every day is the same - you sit on the stones and weep, you trek the shores, during the night you're in her bed. Your skin is cracked and sunburnt, your beard long and tangled, your hair etched with more and more silver hairs. Your eyes are dull, sunken. Your bones ache when you walk, your breath is shorter. The sun rises and sets. The waves wash away your footprints. You are growing old but the island is the same. You are left behind. Your home will change and you won't change with it. In fact, everyone will change, but you will not recognize what's different. Some of the lines under your eyes will be the hauntings of war, while your wife's will be from the sleepless nights of buying you time. You flinch when you see each other. You expected to see someone else, and she expected to see no one at all. You could once hold your boy in your arms, but now it feels like he's the one holding you. The trees in your orchard have grown taller. Some of the houses in your kingdom are empty. The children that sat on your knees now have their own children on their own knees - or they lie dead, by your own hand. Who are you? Who is your son, your wife? You will get to know each other, you will change together eventually. But there will still be something off, like a brick not fitting quite right in the foundation. Off like a living man among the dead, someone who wasn't fated to die, but was supposed to die a long time ago. A dead man among the living. You will not belong, even though you are the father of your son, the husband of your wife, the son of your father, the king of your land. There will always be something missing, something aching.

And you are willing to let it all happen when you lift your baby son from the field, away from the plow.

[kasagia]

Let me follow II

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Fremen!soulmate! reader Summary: Na-Baron tirelessly pursues and tracks you across Arrakis. You hide in the sands of Dune as best you can, but will it be enough to escape your soulmate with whom you want nothing to do with? Warning: violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; soulmate au!; Taglist: @avidreader73 @wo-ming-bai @shara-ne @alana4610 Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Part I ~•♤♤♤•~ Part III ~•♤♤♤•~

You close your eyes and hide your face in the brown scarf around your head. You listen to the sounds of the desert, the gentle sound of sand blowing in the wind, and the gerbils around you, trying to find some shade from the Arrakis' sun.

You breathe evenly and calmly, hearing the blood pulsing in the veins of the animals around you. You freeze, feeling heartbeats that are too loud and rare to belong to any of the creatures of Dune.

Your fingertips brush the sand beneath you, drawing patterns in it. You're manipulating the thick blood in their veins, and by the way you're having a hard time controlling it, you realise who your sudden guests are.

The Harkonnens.

"Did you sense something?" Your father asks while kneeling beside you. You sweep the sand with your hand, making your drawings and patterns disappear from view.

"The Harkonnens. In the southeast. At least 10 of them." You reply, poking your head out of your hiding place. You can't see anything in your line of sight, but you can clearly feel several heartbeats, unlike anything that lived on Arrakis.

"I'll tell the rest. Stay back. We need to make sure we don't have anyone following us if we want to get back to our sietch."

"He won't give up." You answer him, still staring at the desert. "Na-Baron. He will chase after me until he gets me." You don't have to tell him about it. He knows as well as you do that the Harkonnen's patrols have become more frequent and that you have had to escape from them faster than usual.

Na-Baron was looking for you. He made no secret of it. You know from your scouts that he himself commanded one of the units, moving through your territory like a snake, avoiding your ambushes, and entering your sietchs, leaving behind only ashes, ruins, and a sea of blood.

"He will never..."

"Are you so sure?" You interrupt him, scolding him for still clinging to false hope.

One day he will finally get you; the only question was how long it would take you to run away from him again after he catches you. And how long will you be able to enjoy freedom again in the sands of Dune.

"I… really would like to believe that I am." Your father admits it with sadness. You both turn towards the vast sands before you.

The sun burns down on you, making your body sweat more and more. The droplets flow into the tank in the suit. This is your only consolation. At least you're not wasting your water on your run.

"You don't have to protect me. I know Arrakis; I have my power. I can run away as long as I want." You say, glancing briefly at your father.

Now that the threat from the Harkonnens is even more real, you'd rather keep him away from it all. You wouldn't want them to capture him and use him as leverage against you. You didn't want him to get hurt because of you. Or anyone.

"You can run as lons as you are able to." He corrects you and pushes you back towards the rest of the group. You sigh, obediently following him. "And I want to make sure that you... are ready for what is waiting for you at the end of this race."

"Race with fate or time?" You ask him skeptically. You reach for your powers and try to refocus on the location of the Harkonnen group. Their hearts beat faster. You unconsciously wonder if Na-Baron is with them this time...

"You should try to get some sleep." Your father helps you to get on the sandworm you had previously put into a coma. You wait patiently until the entire group gets on the creature and wakes it up. Sand hits your face as the animals start to move and cross the desert.

"I... I have to be aware of our surroundings." You answer evasively, sensing Harkonnens. They were far behind you. For now.

"You can't be like that all the time. Go to sleep. I will take care of everything." Your father assures you and places a kiss on your temple.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You hadn't slept soundly for several nights, too afraid that you would meet Na-Baron in your dreams. If you did nap, it was only during the day and only for a few hours—at times when he couldn't contact you through dreams. You wonder if Reverend Mother could help you block this… connection between you two. But before you travel north, you must first hide out for a few weeks in the safe corridors of your sietch.

Maybe you'll manage to lose the Na-Baron who chased you so tirelessly. You were curious if the stars would show you such a great blessing.

"Thank you, father." You reply with a small smile, deciding to follow your father's wishes and try to take a nap.

So you snuggle up in an unfolded blanket and place yourself on the sandworm's back, allowing the walls of your makeshift shelter to keep you on the back of the rushing creature. The sound of the sand blowing through the air and the heartbeat of other people on it lulls you to sleep.

But as Na-Baron promised, you will soon find that there is no escape from him.

Even during the day.

There is blood around you. A lot of blood. It's pouring through holes in one of your hiding places' corridors. You cover your nose with your elbow and walk forward, your shoes soaked in the crimson liquid as you walk forward towards the exit. The blood reaches your knees when HE stands in your way.

"What is this?" You ask him, letting a drop of blood fall from the ceiling onto your lips as you move your elbow away from your face. The smell of blood fills your nostrils. But you can't hear any other heartbeats than yours and Na-Baron's.

"The future—if you keep running away. I must admit that each time it takes me a while to track you, but eventually you will make a mistake. And I will patiently wait for that to happen." You shiver, hearing his low growl close to you.

He acted so casually, as if there wasn't crimson blood dripping from the ceiling on you. He was too sure that his plan would come true. You wanted to tear away this overconfidence from him.

"And how can you be so sure of that? After all, you didn't even get a chance to take a few glimpses at me these past few days. How is your leg, by the way? I hope it hurts just as much as you hurt my people in your… prison." You scoff, not considering this small, cramped cell in the Harkonnen's stronghold as a real prison. It was a place of carnage, filled with death, the stench of blood, fear, and the helplessness of your people. And behind it all was your own soulmate…

"I'm very glad you are concerned about my well-being, darling. Especially since you were the one to stick a dagger into my knee. Fortunately, I have excellent healers. You'll find out about it yourself after our wedding night." You laugh mockingly at his words, shaking your head in disbelief.

How delusional he must have been to even assume that you would rather marry him than gut yourself before he even had the slightest chance to lay his little finger on you again?

"I would rather be eaten by a sandworm." You reply and push past him to leave. Feyd lets you in, inhaling your delicate scent as you walk past him. He grabs the scarf covering your head and untangles you from it. The material stays in his hands as you run away from him as far as possible.

Feyd takes a second to bury his nose in the scarf and inhale its delicate scent. He promises himself that next time he will inhale your scent directly from you—and definitely not in his dream.

He comes back to you, silently walks up to you, and hugs you from behind. He catches you by surprise and pulls you into his chest. You fight against him, struggling in his grip, but he just puts his chin on your shoulder and nuzzles his nose into your neck, not caring about your attempts to fight him.

"Are you enjoying the view?" He whispers into your ear and runs his tongue over your lobe. You shiver in his arms, and Feyd relishes every moment of how you feel in his strong grip. Like a small, trembling kitten that needs to be taken care of—taken care of by him and only him.

You acted so differently. In his dreams, you were a perfect little mouse that he could play with as he pleased, but in reality, you showed that you had a lot of rebellion in yourself to use. And while he was amazed by your cunning, thoughtfulness, and courage, it became irritating as he chased you halfway across the desert without making much progress. The itch in his pants was equally irritating.

"I'll never let you do that." You snap at him, pained to see the sight of a colonised Arrakis.

The Harkonnen's machines worked to extract the spice, and the bald men themselves... cleaned up the bodies of your men, feeding them to the sandworms. You felt sick just looking at it. And it was just a dream. You're afraid and wonder: What would be your reaction if it all happened for real?

"I'm afraid there's not much you can do. Especially from your little hiding place." He wraps his hand around your throat and squeezes it tight. You gasp in shock, struggling for air. You grab his hand and try to pull it away from your neck, but he's not strong enough for you to even make him move an inch. "Either you leave your little hiding place willingly, or I will chase you out with smoke, fire, and the blood of your people."

“Possibly…” You breathed out, wrapping your hand around the hilt of his sword. "But first you have to find me." You gasp and pull his blade from its sheath.

You swing, aiming for his exposed neck, but he anticipates your attack. He pushes you, disturbing your balance. You fall to your knees on the sands of Arrakis, breathing heavily as air finally flows freely into your throat.

However, this small moment of bliss does not last long. You roll onto your back and block his attack. Your blades clang as they meet, sweat dripping down your forehead and your heart racing, pumping adrenaline further through your system.

Na-Baron is on one knee, pressing his black steel sword at you. You shiver, feeling your muscles slowly give out, tiring as you try to push him away.

You gasp, pushing both of your blades out of each other's hands. You squeeze his neck in a tight grip, at which he does the most astounding, shocking thing—a thing that you didn't expect anyone to do in this situation.

He takes advantage of your surprise and disarms you. You growl, digging your nails into his neck and squeezing as hard as you can, cutting off any air he can get, but that seems to do no serious harm to him. You gasp as he collapses on top of you, pinning you to the sand with his full weight, and captures your lips in a passionate kiss.

There is nothing gentle about this kiss—and you don't expect it to be. You've learnt that the Harkonnens are rough, brutal, and sadistic. Their leader must therefore be far worse than they are, representative of the thoroughly disgusting nature of his people.

And though you fight and squirm, trying to break free from his grip, you can't say you don't like the way his mouth takes control of yours. You find it strange that even though you hate his insides and everything he stands for, somehow his touch, kisses, and scent still numb you in a… pleasant way.

This must be another spell of his, another trick he uses to draw you into him. You're still not sure exactly how he created this... connection between you, but you know it's definitely not natural. He may have been your soulmate, but centuries ago someone made sure you didn't feel any connection to the person you were supposed to be with.

You shiver as he caresses the skin of your wrist, where a centuries-old scar with the initials of your soulmate is visible. His initials, as it turned out.

"Tell me your name." He demands, pressing wet kisses along your jawline. You hiss at the feel of his cold, black saliva on your skin, the way it soaks into you... you can't waste any water...

You shake your head, trying to pull away from his small kisses, but that only gives him more room to manoeuvre on your skin. You can only sigh and bite your lip as he caresses you through the layers of your clothes, searching like a snake for a place he can crawl into to feel the softness of your skin.

"Your. Name. My. Desert. Rose." He growls with each press of his lips to your skin, fighting against your grip on his neck as you try to strangle him. Which proves to be a difficult task since you’re distracted by sensations he is giving you. Sensations you are ashamed of feeling. But your body can’t recognise an enemy like your mind can.

“Fuck off,” you say, glad for the little bit of control you still have over your body. Your lower half inevitably responds to his demands, growing wet and desperate for his touch. It takes all of your control not to join in his fun and grind against his thigh in time with the way he rubs the growing bulge in his pants against you.

"Oh, I will. As soon as I get my hands on you, I will." He growls against your neck with every last bit of air he has.

You shudder as his teeth sink into your flesh; he groans as if he's just tasted the finest, blood-red wine. The fingers of his hand dig painfully into your hips as he grinds against your core. You bite your lip, barely holding back a moan as you feel his hard length.

"I will find you. I will find you and fuck you until you forget you hate me. You will cry with pleasure, scream, and beg for more. I will turn you into my perfect, obedient whore, my desert rose. I will claim you as I claim Arrakis and your people. You will be a beautiful embodiment of my power—my pretty little prize." He growls against your skin, slowly removing your top layer of clothing. Your body shivers; goosebumps rise on your skin with each gentle brush of his fingertips.

You move your hand to the back of his head, digging your nails into the pale skin. He hisses, sucking a hickey on your neck, unaware that you've stolen his dagger…

You feel him freeze as you drive the dagger straight through his neck. Black blood drips down onto you, running along your collarbone and soaking into the fabric of your bra.

"You… will be mine…" He growls with his last strength, spitting blood at you as the connection between you closes. And you fall into the black void of dreamless sleep. A void where you deeply ponder what you've seen.

~•♤♤♤•~ A month later... ~•♤♤♤•~

You stroll through the marketplace, your nose buried in your black scarf. You discreetly observe the Harkonnen soldiers patrolling the area as you push through the sea of people to get to the waterskin stand.

Some women give you a sympathetic look, seeing your "mourning" attire; others try to look away. You mentally praise yourself for choosing your cover. It wasn't so easy to get a widow's black outfit, but it was worth the effort. The Harkonnens, despite their reputation for great brutality, didn't touch widows and didn't talk to them; they weren't the object of any interest or suspicion. It was strange that in all their brutality, lack of morality, and so on, they respected the period of mourning, especially for women.

You had been on the run from Feyd for a month now. During that time, you had separated yourself from your father and your group so that you could at least protect them from the wrath of the furious Harkonnen who was searching for you.

Although you must admit that the chase after you has slowed considerably in the last few days. You suspect that this had something to do with the baron's arrival on Arrakis. And his... unexpected death.

Yes. Feyd-Rautha became the new baron. You suspected that was why his men had been searching for you so intensely. However, to your great disappointment, he did not leave to Giedi Prime but remained on Arrakis.

You had thought long and hard about the reason, Na-Baron... Baron had decided he had to have you. Sure, you were his soulmate, but why had he decided now that he wanted you on his side? What did you have to offer him that made him willing to slaughter all of your men, destroy Dune, and devote practically all of his soldiers to finding you? There had to be something to it.

Your soulmate mark was the same enigma. There must have been a reason someone decided to cut out your skin with Harkonnen's initials tattooed on it, leaving you with only a faint scar.

You buy water, straining your ears to listen to the rumours carried by the Fremen whispering around you. Everyone was talking about only one thing.

A possible attack by Muad'Dib on the Emperor, his daughter, and the new Baron. These three had gathered recently on Arrrakis to discuss some of their business. Perhaps the main topic of their conversations was the new messiah of your people—the one they had spoken of for centuries, the one who would bring heaven to the sons and daughters of the desert.

You had only seen Muad'Dib once. And you preferred to keep it that way. You didn't read his eyes well. Instead of the expected messiah, you saw a coldly calculating man hungry for power, willing to do anything to avenge those who had brought ruin to his house. Paulk Atreides might have been less of a threat to your people than the Harkonnens, but he was still a threat. Especially his Bene Gesserit mother, who had become the reverend mother. And even more so the child in her womb.

The Harkonnens brought destruction and death. But in your visions (on those nights when you didn't dream of your soulmate/nemesis), you saw Paul Atreides pouring a sea of blood onto Arrakis, which seeped into every tiny sand of Dune.

Neither of them were good choices for your people.

You flinch as a hand lands on your shoulder. You peek out from behind your veil and meet Stilgar's stern gaze.

"What you are doing right now is a profanation." He snorts at you, leading you through the crowd of people and away from the watchful eyes of the Harkonnen soldiers.

"At least I don't attract as much attention as I would without this outfit."

"Let's get out of here. Muad'dib will arrive soon. You'll see, he'll do everything right." He assures you as he leads you out of the market. You shiver as you feel the eyes of passersby on you.

You stumbled upon Stilgar a week ago by accident while travelling to the main city. Your original (crazy) plan was to sneak into the landing site and grab one of the less guarded ships. And a pilot of some sort. It's not like you've had a chance to learn how to fly those weird metal contraptions.

However, your plans changed after your conversation with him. He planned a coup with Muad'dib to get rid of the Harkonnens from the lands of Arrakis once and for all. And your... extraordinary abilities were not unknown to him. You were to help in overpowering the troops so that their messiah could get to the council chamber with his men.

It was supposed to be a quick and short action.

So of course it wasn't like that at all...

You manipulate the blood of the guards, quickly and silently stopping the Harkonnen hearts. Stilgar and Muad'dib and their men follow you through the fortress corridors. You stop only in the council chamber, where the Emperor and the new Baron of Giedi Prime were supposed to be.

But there is no one in the room.

A moment later, Harkonnen troops surround you. You reach out to use your powers, but the moment you try to manipulate the blood in the Harkonnen veins, an unimaginable wave of pain passes through you. You kneel, clutching your stomach, and take a few quick breaths, looking around the room. Your gaze falls on an old Bene Geserit, who is whispering something under her breath, playing with a stone in her hand—a moonstone.

As you writhe in pain on the floor, you are oblivious to everything around you. You feel like every fibre of your body has been burned by the sun, but there is nothing you can do to end your agony.

"One more move, and I will kill her!" Muad'dib screams, pulling you roughly by the hair and pressing his blade to your throat.

Bloody tears begin to flow from your eyes. All you can see is red, your lungs burn, and your breathing becomes too ragged for you to make any kind of threat. Besides, in this state, you have a pretty low level of intimidation.

"Put it down, Atreides... before you do something you will regret." You shiver as you recognise the voice of your soulmate.

"Then let us pass, and maybe I'll spare your bloody witch."

You knew that if they didn't come to an agreement, there would be a real massacre here. And maybe the Fremen seemed to be in a weaker position now, but everyone knew perfectly well that one of their warriors was worth six Harkonnens. But neither side could be sure of victory. After all, it happened more than once that the outcome of the battle was unexpected by both sides.

"You know this is non-negotiable. You're in no position to make demands on me… and she's not worth this much trouble."

"Is that why you chased her across half of Arrakis with your men?"

"It was while we were conquering more territories. I never said that this expedition was specifically dedicated to finding her. As far as I'm concerned, you can cut her sweet throat. My only regret will be that I wasn't the one holding the blade that would inflict her final wound." The man behind you tenses, his grip on your hair tightening in anger and the dagger at your throat twitching dangerously, causing a trickle of blood to leak from the small wound he’d inflicted on you.

"One word from me, and the Atreides' explosives around the spice mines will be destroyed. Including those around the stronghold. I may not get out of this unscathed, but I will drag you all with me to my grave."

"You're bluffing." The Emperor replies coldly, but you can sense the underlying fear in his tone. You didn't know Paul Atreides, but from the rumours about Muad'dib, you could tell he was unpredictable. He could lie just as easily as he could tell the truth. You don't know which was worse.

"Let her go and face me if you want to accomplish anything. As you said earlier: Enough blood has been spilt."

"Since when do you dislike bloodshed?" You can actually see the mocking smile on Muad'dib's face without even having to turn to face him.

"Since I'm not the one who's having the most fun with it." The silence and tension in the room become more noticeable to you than the searing pain in your insides. The tears have stopped falling from your eyes, but it still hurts to breathe. However, you've gotten used to the pain enough that your vision returns, and the blurs in front of you become real people. "Let's finally put an end to this. One-on-one. Winner takes all." The growl of your soulmate sends a cold shiver down your spine.

You weren't quite ready for what was to come, and though you saw flashes of visions of this duel, the outcome never presented itself to you. However, you felt that after this, nothing would ever be the same.

"Rautha..." The Emperor begins with a warning, but before he can finish his sentence and express his concerns, Atreides speaks first:

"I accept."

These two face each other, just like in your dream. Both prepare for battle and present their blades to the other with a mocking "May your knife chip and shatter." The fight begins; both of them deal equal blows to each other, but after a while you realise that it is not Harkonnen who emerges victorious.

The visions you had start to replay before your eyes. You know perfectly well that if you don't react, Feyd will die. And while you liked the idea before, now the thought makes you feel sick, and the pain in your chest only increases.

Suddenly, the sounds around you stop reaching you; all you can hear are the whispers of the Reverend Mother. And suddenly, before you know it, your soulmate scar opens up and begins to bleed. Only your blood isn't red—it's black. You bite your lip to hold back a scream and feel SOMEONE reach for your powers. You are forced to direct the blood in Harkonnen's body and stop the bleeding from the Atreides blade.

This gives Harkonnen enough time to launch a counterattack and deal the final blow to the Atreides.

You gasp in shock, unable to explain why your powers went out of control. Or why blood suddenly began to gush from your wrist. But before you lose consciousness and slump to the floor, you see the dead body of Muad'dib fall to the floor next to you.

As you expected, you wake up chained to a bed with a muzzle in your mouth. You try to break free from your bonds, but it's futile. All you manage to do is shake your chains and make a noise that attracts the attention of the bald Harkonnen's servants.

Five women surround you, trying to keep you in place. You scream and struggle, trying to push their hands away from you as the door swings open with a loud bang.

They freeze the moment Baron Feyd-Rautha enters the room.

He barks a few words at them in their language and waits for them to move away from you. You shiver as you are left alone in the room with him, completely at his mercy and whims. He takes a few slow steps towards you, watching you closely.

"I knew you'd look beautiful chained to the bed." He says teasingly and strokes your cheek with his ring finger.

You tremble under his watchful gaze, your heart beating like crazy, but when you reach for your powers to use them, you feel blocked. You hold your breath in shock as he continues to draw patterns on your cheek, moving lazily to your neck.

"Surprised? I'm a patient man. Very patient. As soon as I heard about your little special ability, I had to find out the source of it… and learn exactly how to control it so you wouldn't rip my heart out of my chest the moment we will be finally alone."

His hand slides down to your chest. You sigh as he cups your breast in his hand, massaging it slowly, digging his fingers into it. You hiss, but no sound comes through the gag. Harkonnen hums, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning closer to you as he continues to abuse your breast through the material of the new clothes you don’t recognise and the blanket you’re covered in.

"Hmm… I think I'd rather hear those little sounds of yours." He says thoughtfully and leans towards you. His nose brushes against yours as you lie frozen beneath him. "And kiss those sinful, irritating lips."

Before you can react, he presses the dagger to your cheek. You shiver as the cold steel grazes your heated skin. Harkonnen takes his time. He plays with you, drawing patterns into your skin, drinking in every hitch in your breath, the quickening movement of your chest, and the look in your eyes as you give him one of your furious ones.

"It's amazing how even after having all your fangs pulled out, you don't lose your ferocity, my little, wild, dessert rose." He cuts your muzzle and removes it from you. You grunt and cough, feeling your throat become terribly dry, almost as dry as it was on Arrakis during the worst sandstorms.

He places a few pillows behind your back, moves you into a sitting position, and holds a glass of water to your lips. You have no choice but to drink, hoping that he doesn't intend to poison you since he went through so much time and effort to find and trap you.

His intense gaze pierces through you, and you wonder what is more uncomfortable—the chains around your wrists and ankles or his blue irises focused entirely on you.

As he places his glass on the table, you finally decide to speak to him.

"I see that I should have stabbed you harder." You growl, looking with distaste at how well he moves. His knee is practically healed.

"I see I should have tied you up tighter." He responds to your attack with equal venom.

"What did you do to me? What did your old hag do? Why don't I feel…"

"Take it easy, little warrior. You don't expect me to tell you my tricks before we get home, do you?" The blood is boiling in your veins. You have an irresistible urge to slow down his heartbeat and make him faint and hit his head on the floor, or better yet, some metal rod, but you don't feel anything. You can't manipulate the blood; you can't feel the hearts beating around you. And you feel so damn defenceless because of it.

"I am at home." You growl angrily, trying your best to fight back the tears that were dangerously starting to form in your eyes.

"No, you're not. Your home is where I am. Which is currently Giedi Prime. We'll land there in two days." You stiffen when you hear this. The knowledge that you're leaving Arrakis and that you'll likely never see your friends and father again hits you like a slap in the face.

"What do you think gives you the fucking right to…"

"As your husband and soulmate, I have the right to certain things." Now you freeze completely at his words. Husband? What the hell? What husband?

"What the fuck?"

"Language." He hisses at you and sits down next to you. He gently smooths your hair, and you catch the glint of a black wedding band on his finger. He smiles when he notices you see his newest piece of jewelry. "We'll have to work on that. Since you're a Baroness, a certain degree of… courtesy and manners is expected of you. But don't worry. I'll make sure you learn the skills you need quickly."

"I'm not your damn wife. Or your soulmate."

"Look at your left hand, my darling."

You reluctantly do as he tells you. You gasp in shock when you see that instead of the familiar scar, you have a black tattoo of his initials. And a huge ring on your ring finger. A matching ring to the one Harkonnen wore now.

"How..."

"A Bene Gesserit sister restored the link between our souls that you so brazenly severed. As a child, I believe. Tell me, were you that afraid of me, my love? Did you never even think for a moment that maybe you should get to know me before you try to destroy such a sacred connection?"

"You will pay for this... I swear you will." You vow to yourself and to him furiously, now only reassuring yourself that you were right about him all along.

"Two years with me, and I'll make sure you don't even think about hurting me, let alone running away from me. Besides, it'll be quite a task to run away with a baby on your breast, don't you think?" He whispers, leaning into you. You move to bite his nose, but unfortunately he pulls away before your teeth can even lightly graze his skin and chuckles darkly.

"Once I get my powers back, I'll make sure you die a long, slow death. You'll beg me to kill you." You growl through your teeth, giving him a hateful look.

He just smiles and strokes your jaw gently, treating you like you were a child who has a tantrum. You want so badly to break free from these chains and hurt him...

"Don't worry, honey. We have plenty of time to get to know each other. But let's get started, what do you think?" Before you can react, he straddles you and crushes his lips against yours.

You buck, trying to somehow throw him off balance and push him off of you, but he only tightens his grip on your arms and presses himself closer to you. His hips grind against yours, showing you all too well how lustfully he reacted to your little struggle with him.

He tangles his hand in your hair and pulls your head back, giving himself better access to your neck. He trails kisses from your lips, along your jaw, and down the column of your neck as he settles his attention on your collarbone. You bite your lip as he bites into you with a growl, much like a wolf gnawing at its prey.

"No lip-biting. I want to hear all the little sounds you make."

"Fuck off, psycho." You growl, struggling beneath him and trying to get away from him. He clicks his tongue at you and runs it along your neck, up to your ear, leaving a wet trail of saliva.

"Is that how you address your dear husband? Haven't these wild rats taught you anything?" He mocks you and pulls out his dagger. To your protests, he cuts your dress in half one swift movement, exposing your bare chest to him. You gasp, surprised when he immediately sucks onto your breast, nipping and teasing your nipple.

Your hands grip the sheets beneath you, and even though you hate him with all your heart, the sensations he's giving you are… more than pleasant. You blush as he slides between your legs and moves his mouth lower and lower.

"My beautiful soulmate and wife, I have waited for you for so long." He mumbles against your skin, brushing his plush soft lips against your breast. You clench your thighs, wanting to block his access to you, but it only stops him for a moment.

In one powerful movement, he spreads your legs and buries his head between your thighs. You cry out as he brutally sinks his teeth into your thigh, marking you and drawing your blood. He licks his lips with a groan, as if it were the sweetest nectar he'd ever tasted, and runs a finger over that new, sensitive wound, spreading your blood up your thigh and all the way up to where you were shamefully wet for him.

These sensations are even more intense than when you were dreaming. You don't know if it's because you now realise that this isn't just a dream and that he poses a real threat to you. You also feel... overwhelmed by emotions. Your desire is much greater, and for a moment it seems to you that your emotions are no longer really just yours...

You sigh as his tongue teases your soaked folds. You try to crush his head between your thighs, but that only seems to encourage him more. You moan as you feel his tongue reach parts of you that you didn’t think he could explore in this position.

Suddenly your hands are free. You pretend not to notice as he undoes the handcuffs on your hands. Your brain works at an incredible speed as you think about what you should do in this situation. Without your powers and weapons, you could do very little, chained to the bed.

He clearly wanted you to give yourself to him, to feel what he felt for you. You could play that game for a while—just until you got your powers back. Then maybe you could somehow escape from him again...

So instead of trying to strangle him, you dig your nails into the back of his head, pulling him closer to you with a soft moan.

He groans at the feeling of your hands on his head. He strokes your hips with his thumbs, drawing meaningless patterns. At least for you. Feyd unconsciously 'writes' various words in his language on your skin. Mainly: mine, wife, baroness, darling, etc.

He mumbles words against your cunt that you can't make out, but from the way he takes ragged breaths and grinds against the mattress beneath him, he's probably whispering hoarse curses in his native language.

You are so close to the edge that you no longer care who is between your legs. Well, at least as long as you are about to reach your blissful pleasure.

His fingers caress your aching core, teasing you as he gently slides the pad of his finger into your very empty pussy. But just as you’re about to reach your release, he pulls away from you, a wicked smirk on his lips as he does so.

"Delicious. Perhaps if you learn to respect your new husband, we can both enjoy this, my darling." He gets up from the bed. He licks his fingers, groaning in appreciation as he watches you closely.

You gasp, sweat dripping down your face as you try to understand why the hell you feel, in addition to immense frustration and anger, also... satisfaction and pride. You blink a few times, catching your breath as you look at him suspiciously.

"You'll see, I'll turn you into my beloved little wife…" He speaks in his native language, gently stroking your cheek and playing with your hair. You frown, unable to understand what he's saying.

You gasp as he suddenly turns and walks towards the entrance.

"Wait! You can't just leave me here like that!"

"Rethink your behaviour, honey. A good wife doesn't call her husband a psychopath. I'll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Y/N." You scream after him, throwing a pillow at him, but instead of hitting him, it bounces off the closed door behind him.

You groan in frustration, both at the loss of your orgasm and the fact that your ankles are still chained to the bed and you can't even go and grab a blanket to cover yourself with.

As you lie there, you wonder how you ended up here. He admitted to researching you, but how on earth did he manage to block your power? And why did your soulmate mark become a black tattoo again? What gave him the right to marry you when you were unconscious? And how the hell did he find out your name?

You realise you've grossly underestimated him. And now you have to pay the price. You sigh, closing your eyes and listening to your surroundings. The ring on your finger is a stark reminder of your defeat. Luckily, the war has only just begun. And this time, you'll play your cards a lot better.

[searchingforserendipity25]

There are some things Davenport knows.

He counts them sometimes, the things he knows.

His name; how to tie his shoes with twelve different knots; how the Madame Director likes her coffee.

The rules of playing Fantasy Chess, and how to cheat at Fantasy Chess too.

How to tell when someone is afraid

How to make his bed, so tight and neat he can drop a coin on it and it jumps, newly polished and gleaming, right back into his hand

How to bandage up to twenty different kinds of injuries

How to make the best sea chowder on the Moon Base, and also on the planet

How to press a uniform so it lasts a week and several explosions with no crinkled corners

How to organise reports with proper colour-coding techniques

Not a great many words, when it comes to that - slippery as fishtails, words, hard to grasp in the mind and impossible to put into his mouth

How to laugh, and how to cry

How to be helpful, if not always in the most efficient way

Some very complicated geometry and arithmetic, though not the word for geometry, nor how to write down an equation to explain how he got his results.His name, the names of his colleagues, where he is, what time of the day it is, what happened yesterday.

His name, his name, even when he doesn't know anything else, his name is Davenport -

Most days, anyway

He cries, sometimes, over bowls of spicy soup and at cute dogs, when someone leaves a book half-open on the table - when he sees groups of people laughing, and when he's alone for a long time. He is rarely alone. The Madame Director finds him, every time. Brings him biscuits and jam, shares puzzles, gives him folders to file.

She tries to teach him new words from brightly coloured books, sometimes. Not often; Davenport hates to make her unhappy, and she looks very sad, whenever he fails. He hates failing - this he knows for certain. But regardless of what he does, the Director is sad a lot of the time. Busy, busy; but she goes very still, late at night, and writes lists in strange languages with shifting characters, and then burns them, with a look on her face like stone, like a closed fist. He sweeps the ashes, afterwards; there's nothing in them he can understand.

No one sees her in those hours. Only Davenport is there, with no one else around. Davenport does not count as company, really. Or at least the Madame Director trusts him enough to let him see her when it's very late and she is very tired, and there is too much work for a night's rest.

It's nice, being trusted. Davenport likes it, likes his little tasks, his schedule and his friends. He knows every corner of the Moon Base, except the ones he is not supposed to enter; he has a little map sewn into his coat pocket, for when he forgets he knows every corner of the Moon Base.

He loves slow music, and sea chowder, and to drink his tea (the Director makes it, sometimes; she knows just how he likes it) while standing behind the transparent windows and watch the planet down below, all green and blue and changeful, like a face with many moods.

He knows he likes these things.

It is only that, sometimes, Davenport is very full of a painful feeling, a feeling like being full of smoldering fire, a feeling like --

Anger has no face, no colour. Davenport does not know a lot of things; sometimes he grasps at the softened edges of his mind, looking for something sharp enough to cut himself with. Davenport is angry, sometimes, though he has no words for it. Sometimes, anger is the only real thing in Davenport's world, the first thing he ever knew.

And then he forgets about it.

There are few things Davenport knows. He can feel the shape of something very important, prodding at him, filling him up with a warm, unpleasant energy. It is there when he wakes, for a handful of moments - every day, in the dreaming place between wakefulness and sleep. Like a dream, it fades before he is done dressing for the day. He has no words for it. The truth is, most days Davenport only knows his name is Davenport, and the worst of it is Davenport forgets there might be anything missing.

[orshii]

Crashing Waves and Second Chances

☆ Summary: You’re enjoying a well-deserved vacation with your best friend after finishing college in Greece when you run into Wooyoung, your first love from high school. The unexpected encounter stirs up old feelings and unresolved issues from your past. As Wooyoung tries to explain and make sense of what happened between you, you’re faced with a choice: revisit the past and seek closure, or move forward and see if there’s a new possibility for your relationship. Will you let him explain and explore the chance for a fresh start?

☆ Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x female reader ☆ Genre: fluff, angst, idiots in love ☆ Word count: 6,8 k

☆A/N: Waa this is my first Wooyoung ff and I'm crying. Wooyoung recently is so insane like?? I just love him and he reminded me he also exists next to my two biases :'(( But I'm back in my Wooyoung era again, yess!! And as I want to be in Greece I wrote this story, because I'm going feral staying home. And of course, because it's Greece I needed to include some Greek God references too haha. It is worth reading it till the end cause I kinda died. :D Also sorry for the mistakes I am still learning. Soo enjoy this little drabble hihi!! Byee! (divider)

The slight waves of the turquoise sea crashed along the sandy beach, sparkling from the sun beaming at its highest point. The sound of the waves lured me into a daze as the world's nestled sounds slowly disappeared. The sun burnt my skin like I was in the underworld, the sun being Hades himself, looking at me with hungry, burning eyes. But then a slight chill ran through my body as the summer breeze crawled through my skin, trying to cool down the heat I was feeling. Suddenly I felt like I was in heaven as I walked on the beach, the waves of the cool sea crashing against my foot, the wind blowing through my hair, through my white dress, as the sun slowly went down, creating a breathtakingly beautiful landscape as the sky was full of orange and red colours, the sea copying its beauty, making it look like the sky was never-ending, just as the sea.

Then I heard screaming.

And that was the moment when I opened my eyes quickly as something cold wetted me and I immediately sat up from the sunbed just to realize I was, in fact, next to the sea, but the screaming came from a little kid that just ran next to me and he just needed to get rid of the water dripping from his hair next to me. The next thing I noticed was me being as red as a crab because I fell asleep under the sun. Great, now I'm going to sleep on my back for a weak and look like half-cooked meat. I squinted from the pain as I wanted to stand up to get into the water to cool down at least.

My best friend next to me looked at me through her sunglasses a book in her hands and completely under the umbrella's shadow. She smirked at me enjoying my suffering.

"Thank you for waking me up to not burn into ashes," I said to her ironically as I squinted my eyes at her.

"You looked like you had a good dream, I just couldn't wake you up." He said acting innocent.

"Whatever, I'm going to drown in the sea," I said joking to her as she giggled at that.

"Be careful, you might get dragged down by Poseidon himself." My best friend shouted after me as I was walking towards the shore.

"I wish, dude, I wish." I turned back for a quick moment to say it to her with a smirk.

Then as I hit the water, I felt relieved because the cool water chilled my hot body and mind a little. I quickly went deeper into the sea, diving underwater just to open my eyes and look around the crystal-clear water, where I saw a few little fishes swimming around –actually swimming away from me because they were scared little shits—well I would be too if a shark would swim towards me that is no question.

The water was sparkling around me from the sand that flew upwards from the bottom of the sea, and as the sun beamed through the water it sparkled and I just lived for it, because it was so mesmerizing, I honestly could live as a mermaid, I would volunteer—

I swam around a little, cooling down so I could feel like a human again, I turned on my back and just floated on the water like garbage, pretending I was dead. Meanwhile, I thought about how I was waiting for this moment, to get away from the full-year pressure I was under, with my best friend, as we planned to get away from home for a vacation after we just graduated, leaving the stress and the pressure behind trying to figure out what is going to happen next. We just wanted to enjoy our little time together here and close out the responsibilities that came with us being unemployed as we finished college.

We decided we were going to travel to Greece, which was both of our favorite places on earth, because we felt like this place connected us, and a little piece of our hearts just felt like it was made from the soil of this landscape. We just felt a connection towards it, that pulled us towards this place. And let's not talk about the tell stories of the Gods, each of them beaming a uniqueness that didn't exist on this Earth. And when we finally arrived, we couldn't stop smiling, every stress and uneasiness leaving our souls just to feel a little relieved.

As I walked back to our sunbeds, where my best friend, Bora was sitting, still holding a book in front of her, being lost in the imaginary world, I glanced through the beach and my eyes immediately got caught on people surfing on the big waves of the crystal water, the waves making a tunnel where the professional surfers went through. I immediately got excited, wanting to try it, as I arrived at my best friend with an excited smile.

"People are surfing, look!" I pointed towards the shore, where two surfing tutors were standing, helping people out to try this sport. "And those tutors might be our next catch, just saying." I winked at her, to catch his attention, as she looked towards them with now an interested look. Her face looked like she was thinking, calculating if it was a good decision or not.

"Please?" I interlaced my hands and looked at her with puppy eyes. I always wanted to try out surfing, and this was the perfect occasion. And not for the tutors that I wanted to check closer, not at all—

Bora sighed. "Okay, let's go, surfing seems fun. And the two men there look interesting from the back." She smirked at me as I nodded in agreement as we collected our stuff and wore our flowery beach dresses.

We approached the spot, where the surfing boards with different kinds of designs were stuck into the sand and when I spotted a well-defined back with a tattoo on the nape, that was too familiar to me, I immediately regretted my decision of wanting to learn surfing.

But it was too late because before I could signal somehow to my best friend to turn around, the black-haired one with the tattoo, who wore only black swimming shorts, turned around and his eyes immediately landed on me.

And I just wanted to shout for Poseidon to drag me deep into the sea and make me his slave, because that was better than being here standing in front of my first love that broke my heart, and he didn't even know about it.

Well, he was my high school crush and I was head over heels for him, and he gave me signs that were so questionable, he made my little heart believe he wanted something from me as well. But in the end, he got together with a blonde girl with perfect red lips and a perfect body. So, eventually, I needed to let it go and get over him somehow that felt impossible. I managed to forget him with time as I didn't see him for years. But seeing him now still made my heart beat crazy like we were back in high school. And I hated it.

As he saw us approach, he nudged the person next to him, who had black hair with some blonde stripes in it, and he turned as well just to his eyes start to sparkle with excitement his lips in awe, seeing us. His dimples slightly showed from the smile he beamed at us, wearing light blue swimming shorts, his well-defined body on the sight.

They were standing there, waiting for us to approach, looking at us with different expressions. Song Mingi with pure happiness and Jung Wooyoung with wide eyes.

Jung Wooyoung the black haired and Song Mingi with the oreo hair, we were all classmates along with my bestie, Bora. The four of us were kind of inseparable. But when I started to feel more than friends towards Wooyoung, things got complicated and when we finished high school, we never saw each other. That was why some uneasy feelings swam back to me, when Bora hugged Mingi in excitement, their friendship ending just because both their best friends were fools, it wasn't fair, but this was a best friend's job after all, to be there for your best friend.

Then I just put aside all my thoughts about the past and hugged Mingi with a generous smile, I really missed Mingi, because he was like my brother back in high school. We had been friends since the beginning of school and with time Wooyoung and Bora joined us, but before them, it was just me and Mingi, we could speak about everything and anything, making us inseparable. But after what happened between the four of us it suddenly disappeared, the friendship we built through the years lost like it never existed.

When I hugged Wooyoung it wasn't sincere, I still hated him, for treating me like he did in the past, and it made me want to run away as quickly as possible.

"What are you guys doing here?" Bora asked as she hugged Wooyoung as well.

"We got a summer job here," Mingi spoke up as I avoided Wooyoung's gaze on me, focusing on Mingi only. "We are teaching people surfing and we are on a vacation at the same time, isn't it perfect?" Mingi said with excitement, his eyes shining from how sincere he was with his emotions that were always so obvious if you knew him sincerely.

"I didn't know you were into surfing," I said a little frowning, as I looked at Mingi as Wooyoung's presence still annoyed me.

"Well, we tried it out with Wooyoung for fun, and here we are, aren't we Woo?" He nudged Wooyoung with a smile, who was quiet the whole time, which was very unlike him, he just never shut up back then, and it was weird seeing him staying in silence. When Mingi nudged him a little that was when he caught up on himself and smiled back at Mingi.

"It's a vacation and we even get paid, is it heaven?" Wooyoung said as he chuckled, then looking towards us, well at me, with sharp foxlike eyes that I hated at that moment, but loved back then. "And you girls? On vacation?" He asked staring into my soul as I unwantedly looked through his still-handsome features, the unforgettable mole under his left eye, his wet hair a few strings falling into his eyes, making his gaze more intense, his bare torso on the sight, a new tattoo on his ribs that was a writing in another language.

"Yeah, we graduated and we are celebrating," I said shortly, with a fake smile as I averted my gaze from his handsome face. I hated how he made me lose my mind by only looking at him, after years of not seeing him.

"That's so nice, sometimes I regret that we missed out on college, it could have been wild," Mingi said as he chuckled looking at Wooyoung for a slight moment, who chuckled in agreement, then Mingi looked towards us again. "So did you want to learn how to surf or you just wanted to say hello?" Mingi asked curiously.

"Y/N wanted to try it out," Bora said quickly side-glancing at me with a knowing smile. I am going to kill her, so she can stay in Greece for the rest of her 'not' life.

I looked at her, somehow not too obviously telling her with my eyes that—I did not want to anymore.

Mingi clasped his hands together, "Cool, then you found the perfect men to teach you and it's even free for you girls." Mingi winked at us with a proud smile.

I wanted to back up, but I just couldn't be childish like that, to run away because my high school crush was in front of me years after, I wasn't like that…but I sincerely hated him at that moment.

With that Mingi started to explain the tactics of surfing, and firstly they showed us how to stand on the board on the dry so we would have at least a little knowledge of how to do it on water.

Meanwhile, Mingi taught Bora, next to them Wooyoung and I were standing as he explained to me how to hold the paddle, that beginners needed to use at first. I avoided his eyes in every moment I could. It was awkward and I counted the time so we could say goodbye to them and avoid them for the rest of the trip. But the education lasted a while, because we tried it out on the shallow water as well, sitting on the boards at first with the paddle and the first mission was to stand up, which I was struggling with at first but after countless fallings into the water I finally managed to stand up on the board.

Eventually, I had fun, I really did, because I put aside all my concerning thoughts and how I hated the man in front of me, who just sincerely tried to help me and catch me whenever I fell off the board. My emotions were a mixture of letting go of the past to start over and a mixture of not letting myself fall into his trap again.

But when I fell off the board again—because I celebrated my standing successfully on the board too hard—arms circled my waist to pull me up underwater, just to meet with two sharp eyes gazing at me with a smile, I lost against my own rules. It was just impossible not to fall into his trap when his wet hair fell damp on his forehead, his dimples showing from the curve of his lips, his chocolate brown eyes staring down at me, which looked almost orange from the sun shining at us. I just wanted to get away from him, because my heart started to beat fast, and I didn't want these feelings to eat me alive, it destroyed me and I didn't want that again. And as he smiled at me his face close to mine, where waterdrops fell to his chest, the thoughts of his girlfriend came back to me and that made my heart ache as I just felt overwhelmed by the fact, I nearly fell into his trap again.

So, after separating from him, I swam back to the seashore saying 'That was enough for today.' And I knew I seemed weird in their eyes, I knew my best friend also looked at me with questions in her eyes, but I just wanted to get away from there so I could breathe again normally.

My plan of avoiding them for the rest of the trip, seemed to completely fail because we just bumped into Wooyoung and Mingi every day. And we started to hang out together like in the old times. It was weird at first but after a little, I relaxed a bit and I didn't let my feelings fuck up my well-deserved vacation. So, I started to be there with them, to laugh with them and just enjoy our time together.

One evening, Mingi told us we should celebrate our graduation with some drinks, which seemed the best idea because we hadn't really drunk for our success with Bora, so we agreed immediately.

"So, how's it with Wooyoung?" Bora side-glanced at me while putting lipstick on her thin lips that was a strong red color standing in front of the mirror in our hotel room.

I scoffed at her. "Nothing? You know I sincerely hate him." I started looking at him quite sharply.

She looked at me from the reflection of the mirror as I stood next to my bed, thinking what should I wear. "C'mon, Y/N, it was a long time ago, just enjoy yourself," Bora said, closing the lipstick she used.

"I know, it's just…" I sat down on my bed staring down at my hands. "He still owes me some explanation of what happened in London and with everything, like I'm so confused from day one, Bora, it's insane how I can't forget what happened." I rambled to Bora as she turned around to look at me with concerned eyes.

She came next to me and sat beside me to caress my back. "Yea, it was so fucked-up, that whole trip was a disaster, and you really deserve an explanation of why he did that." She smiled at me genuinely, "And I'm sure Wooyoung wants to talk to you, he wanted to since we met with them, you just avoided him the whole time."

"Yes, because I can't fucking look into his eyes, without my old emotions coming to the surface and I hate it…" I looked into Bora's concerned eyes.

"Well, I think you two should talk, because it looks more complicated than it is." She said as she smiled, her eyes forming crescents.

I scoffed at that. "Just help me pick out an outfit." I leaned down towards my luggage which was a mess just like myself.

"So you could look pretty for Wooyoung?" He nudged me with his elbow, smirking as I hit his upper arm in response.

"I want to look pretty, for myself and not for others."

"Great, you should absolutely wear this," She pulled out a little black dress with a v-line and some ruffles on the end. "It's cute and sexy at the same time." She winked at me.

I rolled my eyes at her and ripped my dress out of her grip annoyed just so I could wear it. When I looked into the mirror as I was wearing the black dress, a confident, cute, and sexy girl stared back at me as Bora said. The dress reached a little above my knees, the v-line leaving my neck empty, so I put on a silver necklace with matching earrings. I left my hair to fall onto my shoulders naturally, the shorter strings of my hair falling into my eyes. As Bora stood next to me to check herself out as well, she looked gorgeous, she was wearing a tight purple dress, highlighting her perfect body line, and her black hair was in a tight bun with some silver earrings and rings. We looked hot and we were ready to gradually celebrate our graduation.

We arrived at the bar next to the pool that was lightened up with a few colorful led, that matched with the lights of the bar that was surrounded with tables and bar stools. It was already close to midnight as we were searching for the boys. Then Bora spotted them and we walked towards them between strange people, who enjoyed the free drinks as well in the perfect night weather.

When I spotted Wooyoung, who was standing next to a table with Mingi, drink already in hand, I just couldn't take my eyes off him, as my heart started to beat fast. He looked so handsome in his black shirt, the last two buttons undone, his sharp collarbones on the sight, paired with black denim shorts, that reached above his knees, his tattoo peaking a little that I just noticed he had, then my eyes landed back to his face, where his hair was wiped back a few strings falling onto his eyes, making his sharp gaze, more intense. His silver earrings hung low from his ears with a few piercings that matched with his silver necklace. He eyed me up and down very obviously with his intense gaze. And I just prayed for Poseidon to kidnap me, because it was hard to keep up, above water.

Mingi was standing next to him, wearing a bright purple shirt with blue denim shorts and a lot of accessories like necklaces, earrings, and a lot of silver rings. And we just needed to laugh because we unintentionally matched with each other, this was our dynamic, and it wasn't the first time.

As we started to drink a few cocktails and some shots the party started, the colorful lights making us disappear into the crowd that surrounded us. I danced with my hands held high jumping to the beat of the music as I felt free after an overwhelming year. The four of us were standing in a circle as we made a few silly dance moves laughing at each other. My eyes met with Wooyoung's a few times, which was a very big mistake because I felt his gaze on me the whole night the tension between us heavier and it made me uncomfortable because all of this was unfair.

So, I decided I needed more drinks and went to the bar counter to ask for a lighter cocktail and sat on the barstool until it got ready, watching the bartender in awe as he made the cocktail with some tricks.

Then suddenly I felt a hand on my waist and a strange black-haired man's face came in front of me. He was wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned his well-defined chest and abs in sight, his shoulders broad and a silver necklace ending with a cross on his popped-up chest, as he was wearing sunglasses, and I frowned.

"Am I blind or the sun is somewhere up above?" I asked the strange man in confusion as the alcohol made me feel woozy as I looked around.

The stranger chuckled at that and lifted the sunglasses to his forehead lifting his hair, making his undercut more visible. His sharp eyes were now on the sight, which reminded me of a cat. "Yes, it's up don't you see it? It's everywhere." He showed around with his hand to the lights that surrounded us and he plopped down to the barstool next to me. He smiled at me as his deep dimples showed and made his face more handsome.

I giggled at his statement and reached for my drink, sipping from it as I looked at the strange man.

"So, what does a pretty girl like you, do here alone drinking?" He leaned closer to my ear so I could understand what he said as the music was too loud.

"I'm with my friends, I just came for a drink." I pointed towards my friends, where my eyes immediately met with Wooyoung's, who was just standing there with folded arms, looking at us with killer eyes. It was my time to shine.

"Are they only your friends?" He asked with a knowing smile.

I just nodded.

The stranger hummed. "I'm Choi San." He leaned closer again and I barely heard what he said. "What's your name, pretty?" He looked deep into my eyes and suddenly I forgot my name.

"It's uh—Park Y/N." Finally, I could somehow stumble my name out as I reached my hand towards his to shake the handsome man's hands. And when he accepted it, he smiled at me and pulled me closer to him so he could whisper into my ear. "Will you dance with me, pretty?"

The alcohol swam around my body making my mind not to think at all, so I accepted his invite and I found myself dancing with a total stranger on my strange vacation where my high school crush shot daggers into the stranger's back.

As we danced along to the music, our bodies flushed together swaying our hips to the rhythm of the music, enjoying ourselves, suddenly we were separated by a hand that belonged to Jung Wooyoung himself, as he glared down at the stranger standing in front of him, they were the same height, but the expression on Wooyoung's face just made the stranger slightly smaller, as Wooyoung mumbled a few words to him that I couldn't expel. I only saw that San lifted his hands in surrender and grabbed Wooyoung's shoulder with one hand mumbling something back that seemed an apology. And with that, the stranger who looked like Ares himself just disappeared. And I looked after him wide-eyed, then at Wooyoung as I scoffed at him and turned around, trying to escape from the torturing crowd.

I felt angry at Wooyoung because what did he even think? Was it normal to send off a stranger that tried to just fucking dance with me? We were back when we were teenagers, back when I didn't understand anything he did, and it made me feel sick of him.

As I got out of the crowd, I just felt Wooyoung was following me with angry steps. And when he reached me, he grabbed my wrist and turned me around to angrily face him.

"Do not fucking run away from me!" He said as he yanked me closer to him, he looked pissed.

"What the hell did you think there?" I said with a sharp expression, trying to free my wrist from his grip, when I succeeded, I folded my arms in front of my chest. "Oh, I'm Jung Wooyoung, I should totally send this dude off, because he is flirting with her, and no one should touch her, only me. Even though I have a girlfriend." I started to ramble my thoughts out, as I gesticulated with my arms stressed.

"What are you talking about? I don't have a girlfriend." His expression changed from angry, to confused.

Words got stuck in my throat for a moment. "What about that blonde girl?" I asked confused.

He sighed, puffing air out of his lungs. "Nothing, she wasn't my girlfriend..."

 "Well…it doesn't matter. Let's just leave it." I said as I wanted to turn around.

"No, Y/N!" He grabbed my wrist again turning me around, not letting me go this time. "Stop this stubborn attitude and let's talk!" His voice raised as his face became a little impatient.

"I don't want to talk Wooyoung! We should have, a long time ago, but it's too late now because I'm so sick of your games, I can't do this Woo." I said as my voice became lower, whispering his nickname that I loved so much.

"What games are you talking about?" His grip on my wrist became a little stronger as he held my other hand in his hands pulling me closer to him. "You confuse me just as much as I do you," He whispered it close to my face.

I looked down at our hands, and I was thinking about the fact, of how much my younger self would have liked this situation. At that, my emotions suddenly hit me and I was just too tired for this conversation.

"I'm talking about London…" My voice was barely a whisper, as I still avoided his staring eyes.

He scoffed at that, letting my hands go as he ran his fingers through his raven-black hair in frustration. "London was messed up, we both made mistakes there."

I scoffed. "Yeah, whatever you say," I said giving up.

"No for fuck's sake, don't fucking do this, Y/N! You have no idea how much I had suffered because of you." He grabbed his hair stressed as he looked at me with an emotional expression.

I was too stunned to speak, my heart pumped blood into my ears as I barely heard what he said.

"If you—If you would have told me to stay…back in London, I would've Y/N! But you said nothing and let me go, it was all on you." He said stepping closer to me, his eyes watering.

I shook my head as I stepped back. "You can't fucking say that! You knew I liked you, Wooyoung, haven't I given you enough signs?" I raised my voice at him, losing my patience.

"No, you haven't! Because you were always with that fucker, Yunho and it seemed he was more important than me the whole trip." He lifted his hands shrugging his shoulders with a disappointed look.

I laughed at that, we both acted so childish and it made me feel sick. "You know what?" I stepped closer to him as I lifted my head his face close to mine. "It was a long time ago, let's just forget it. But one last thing." My eyes stared into his sharp eyes. "You can simply fuck off," I said as he looked stunned, and I turned around walking as fast as I could to disappear from there because I had enough of him.

My life was so easy after we finished high school, it was so easy without Wooyoung…too easy. But four years later he had to come into my life when all I wanted to do was to relax a little, but he had to knock on my door and step into my life again. What was the point of it? We did not belong to each other and I learned that a long time ago.

 It was 4 a.m. already as I was lying in my bed after I slammed our hotel room's door. My thoughts drowned me as I was just staring up at the white ceiling, Bora nowhere to be seen. I was thinking of the things Wooyoung said and remembered all the things that happened in London.

Well long story short—We travelled to London as a celebration of finishing high school. The things that happened there weren't a big deal thinking about it now, but back then as I was still young, life throwing out into the wild to experience the things that would make me stronger, to experience love and heartbreak at the same time, was unforgettable for a young girl.

It was our second day in London, and we went out to see the nightlife of the city. It was the four of us and a few classmates, who joined us for the night. And yes, Yunho was a good friend of mine and yes, I might happen to be with him a lot. But I was just trying to forget Wooyoung because I knew he did not return my feelings. As we got deeper into the night Wooyoung was by my side all night, holding my hand, and hugging me the whole time, and then the boys made a bet, where Wooyoung needed to kiss me out of the blue. And he did kiss me and he did tell me that he liked me, but I did not know what to do with that information as he was drunk and it might have been part of the bet.

That kiss was the best kiss of my life, it made my feelings grow deeper for him, he made me believe he felt the same, but on that night as we walked back to our hotel I unintentionally eavesdropped and heard that he did not like me it was just a bet. Then the next thing I saw was that he was kissing a girl from our classmates in front of his hotel room. And that broke me into pieces. From then I ignored Wooyoung the whole trip, not wanting to see him. Then thanks to my luck, he needed to go home sooner for some unknown reasons and I did not beg for him to stay, because I simply did not want to see him anymore.

As I was deep in my thoughts I heard the loud ping of my phone, which broke the silent bubble that embraced me. I checked my phone and it was an old group chat that I thought I was never going to see again. It was a group chat that the four of us used back then.

-Mango to 4 makes 1 team- Guys where are u??! We've been searching for u everywhere... Woo-woohoo sent a picture.

As I opened the group chat the picture that Wooyoung sent was of his hands that held a can of beer and the sea, as he was sitting on the beach, I assumed.

Mango Bro, what are you doing? Do you want to die? Woo-woohoo I'm with me, myself and I, we get along a lot. bahahahshbdwef Mango replying to Woo-woohoo Dude are u okay?? Woo-woohoo I wish the water would wash me away to Londonn. Y/n-ooo If you depart now, you might get there by the morning. Borie Guys, are we really stuck in the London situation? Woo-woohoo I don't even know what I did there... Y/n-ooo Breaking my heart? Woo-woohoo ??? Can we talk Y/n? Please... Mango These two should be locked into a dirty cell in the middle of the Pacific Ocean...istg, get your shit together you creatures!!

I sighed as I just realized I couldn't just ignore the things just because he broke my heart years ago, I was too stuck in the past that didn't even make sense.

Then another chat popped up on my screen.

Woonderland sent you a voice message.

"Y/n c'mooon, let's talk, I have no idea what I did in London but I'm sure I can explain…like the night I kissed you was the best kiss of my life and I was so glad the boys made that bet…how could someone so beautiful like you, like me, a boy who was so over himself, I couldn't believe that, I was confused, I was young and I didn't know anything about love…oh my God what am I even saying…I'mma just drown in the sea, see ya, u know like the sea. Hah, that was a nice joke."  His voice stumbled the whole time I assumed he was drunk as a skunk. His words did not make much sense. I needed to find him and clear things up.

Y/nnie Where are you?

As I was walking on the beach the waves of the turquoise sea crushed against my foot, the water felt warm against my skin as my foot sank into the soft sand leaving footprints behind me, that the water washed away immediately. The wind blew on my white dress that I changed into, the sun was slowly rising from the other side of the sea, still painting it red and orange, creating a breathtaking view of the sea.

Suddenly I felt peace as my dream popped up in my mind, where I was walking on the beach. It was the same feeling, but it wasn't a dream, there weren't any kids that could wake me up screaming next to me. I was heading towards a drunken Wooyoung that I would've never imagined because if somebody had said to me, I am going to meet with my first love who broke my heart, and I was on my way to forgiving him, I would've laughed at their face in a blink of an eye.

Then I spotted Wooyoung, who was sitting on the seashore his legs pulled up to his chest a can of beer in his hands as he was staring into the infinity of the bluish sea in the twinkle of the sunrise.

As I approached him, I sat down on the soft sand next to him folding my legs under me, and stared in front of me, mimicking Wooyoung. We sat in a comfortable silence then he reached the can towards me that I took and gulped from it, the beer left a bitter taste in my mouth that went down to my stomach, leaving an emptiness on the way.

Then I just couldn't hold back anymore and I tilted my head towards him to look at his sharp side profile, he looked like Aphrodite's son, who got banned from Olympus because he was too reckless. His jawline was as sharp as Mount Olympus, his sharp eyes gazing at the sea where Poseidon was waiting for us, the sun slowly getting up as Hades cursed our blooming connection.

"So, what happened in London, from your point of view?" I broke the comfortable silence that embraced us, breaking the peace to make peace again.

He slowly turned towards me, as his eye with the mole under was now visible, which made him look more like a God. Then he broke the eye contact and stared down at his hands, fiddling with them.

"Well, when we kissed, I told you I liked you. But you did not say anything to that. It made me believe you didn't feel the same as me, so I just gave up…I just simply gave up, because I was an asshole." His voice stumbled as he explained the situation.

"I saw you kissing that girl," I said as I averted my gaze from his face towards the sea.

He looked at me wide-eyed, as he face-palmed himself. "Fuck, I was so stupid…I did kiss her, but only because I wanted to make sure it wasn't just a fling, I wanted to know if I only imagined the sparkle with you…" I felt as if he looked at me, trying to find out what I was thinking. "But then, you ignored me the whole time…which I understand now."

I just hummed. "Can we just forget the past and start over? I'm sick of this push-and-pull game we are playing…we were just two idiots…" I looked up at him with sincere emotions as he was closer than before.

"Two idiots in love?" He beamed a sincere smile at me, as his dimples were showing, making his features more handsome. And we were just staring at each other like we saw each other for the first time. We really did start it with a clean slate.

"You are so beautiful." He whispered with so much emotion in his eyes as he leaned closer to my face his breath warming more my already blushed cheeks.

I giggled at his compliment trying to hide behind my hands.

"Hey, hey, don't you dare to hide from me." He caught my wrist taking them away from my face with a smile.

Suddenly I stood up. "No, no. I'mma just go drown in the sea, I might get a lover there." I started to walk towards the sea with a smile. Then as I looked behind my back all I saw was Wooyoung getting up from the ground and running towards me.

"Not without me." He shouted as he tried to catch me. I screamed from excitement as I was running from him, nearly waking up the whole hotel. When Wooyoung caught me, he lifted me and held me on his shoulders as my head swung towards the ground. I screamed as I saw the world upwards and he started to run towards the sea crashing into the chill waves, wetting us immediately, as he finally took me down deep in the water that reached both our chins. Both of us were laughing as I started to splash him with the surprisingly warm water, our clothes long soaked as we did not care about that. The beach was echoing with splashing water and our sincere laughter, the shore was nearly empty because of the early hour as the sun just had risen, with only a few people lurking around to watch the sunrise.

As I got a little away from Wooyoung in the little splashing war we had created, he suddenly started to swim towards me and when he reached me, he caught my waist underwater, his hands encircling me, holding me strong, then he suddenly brought the both of us underwater, as we were sinking down towards the bottom, slowly opening our eyes to look at each other's mesmerizing features, both of us looking like Poseidon's stunning creatures, with our hairs flowing around us like a crown. The water sparkled around us with the sun shining above us. When we ran out of oxygen, we swam above water, just to Wooyoung pull me up close to his wet body, I naturally wrapped my legs around his waist, as his hands travelled under my thighs holding me close to him. My arms did the same as I was staring into his foxlike eyes, the waterdrops on his features perfectly slipping from his face to be one with the water that embraced us. The shirt that was glued to his skin, made his collarbone and chest peak out, where a black necklace was hanging with a moon. As my eyes found their way to his lips, I couldn't avert my gaze from his perfect red lips, salty waterdrops highlighting the mole on the bottom of his lips. My eyes met his, where desire burned with a passion that came from hell, making him look like Hades and Eros the God of carnal love.

And when his lips met mine as he held me close to him in the blue sea where we were floating like two paper-made ships, I felt like I could drown in the sea, because as his lips moved against mine, I felt like all the Gods kissed me at once, it was passionate and full of lust that made us whole again. My fingers crawled into his wet hair while we kissed pulling at it slightly as he moaned into my lips, at that my tongue found its way into his mouth discovering all the hidden places. When he got his senses back a little his tongue tangled with mine, fighting for dominance, as his hands lifted me a little to find their way on my ass as he pulled me impossibly closer to him, the water splashing between us.

When we separated after an eternity our foreheads met and we stared into each other's eyes with joy, the waking sun beaming at us from above, painting us with colors of yellow and orange that made the both of us look like a God and Goddess that could rule the world together rewarding the good and punishing the bad.

A/N: I might write Bora's and Mingi's stories as well because they aren't just old friends, they also have a complicated story. :PP

(Ateez masterlist)

[holybibly]

This is a little preview of my new series and yes, bunnies, this is a whole series from me. I hope everyone is ready for an erotic dystopia?

Decadent dystopian erotica with majestic dragons - second teaser for today

Glass House Ateez x reader

Everything changed in an instant. 

The king was dead, and thousands of dragons took to the burning skies. The old world was over, and a 'new age' was in the making—an age of gods and monsters. 

A thousand years ago, the fires of revolution blazed across the face of the world. Dragons—the creatures of ancient legends and children's fairy tales—reduced the once prosperous world to ashes in a matter of minutes. Rivers of black blood coursed through the veins of the streets, flooding the cities and lands in their wake. The sky was a blaze of purple flames and electric shocks. The church was reduced to rubble, and the royal family was executed in a public display. In the eyes of the dead, the unspoken horror in front of these majestic creatures remained forever, and in the sparks of the flames, they shimmered like precious sea stones. 

There was a bitter smell of burning flesh and ash in the air. It was the smell of dreams on fire—the smell of a future in decay. 

It was the beginning of the end of ancient life. The beginning of a new world. The Age of Immortality has begun. 

All the legends turned out to be true; dragons did exist. They had always lived close to us, lurking in the velvety darkness of the night, waiting for the hour. Waiting for the hour to come when the power would be in their hands. Dangerous, unbridled, wild creatures of magic and the elements, predators at the top of the food chain. They had come into the world to rule, not to obey, and now, at long last, their time had come. 

The world was at anarchy. Dragons were killing, raping, and enslaving races and lands as if it were an amusing child's game. They drank blood as black as the night from golden bowls, and they ate our succulent flesh as our bones cracked under the pressure of their razor-sharp teeth. They would hold orgies in the midst of the torn corpses and revel in their omnipotence. Those were the days of darkness. A time of terror, when the very word danger was a synonym for life itself. And so it went for several years, until the ultimate power fell into the clutches of the deadly Children of the Night, the oldest of all dragons. 

The majestic Hala. 

Eternal as the moon itself and deadly as the uncharted depths of the ocean, they inspired burning terror in all who encountered them. To their people, they were nothing more than a myth, a legend written on fragments of tablets. Forefathers, ancestors—they had hundreds of names, but each one inspired more fear than the last. They were predators among predators, bristling with animal dominance and primal, unbridled sexuality. They exuded power and sinfulness. They were the ones who defined the rules and set the boundaries of what was permissible. 

With the arrival of Hala, a new phase in the history of the world began. 

Humanity was enslaved, and dragons became the dominant species. As the years went by, the human population began to decline rapidly, with fewer and fewer humans, until "our" species reached the status of gatherers. Angelicus Nova, or Angel Stars, was what we came to be called. Human existence took on a strange religious orientation; we were worshipped, idolized, and adored, but despite all this, humans remained nothing more than a rare exchangeable currency, nothing more than an expensive trinket that was prestigious to own and could be broken with a flick of the wrist. 

The human being also became one of the ways in which money flowed endlessly. These institutions were known as "glass houses." Gateway to heaven. They would be the equivalent of strip clubs or luxury escort houses if you and I were in the old world. The rules were the same: "Look, but don't touch." Girls and boys were expensive pieces of family jewelry that rested under the glass of fancy display cases. Our masters showed us off to the greedy eyes of the world with all the pride and ostentation that dragons have. 

In spite of their possessive, animalistic nature, dragons were nothing more than swaggering bastards with inflated egos and delusions of grandeur.

Humans could be anything as long as dragons owned us—a muse, an innamorata, a nymph, an angel, a siren, or even a goddess—but like everything else in the universe, we came at a price. 

The 'glass houses' were only in operation at night. During the day, all the 'jewels' rested and tidied up after tiring hours of contemplation of the world through the bluish glass of the display window. Nice, obliging workers in starched white collars were busy with the cleaning, scrubbing the baroque decorations of the vetrines with great care from a mixture of sperm, drool, and other secretions. You looked at it with an almost reverent awe, finding it disgusting to the point of bordering on the pornographically beautiful. 

You could see it as real art—crude and original, but art nonetheless. There was something particularly mesmerizing about it, almost hypnotic, about the way the thick, pearly sperm dripped slowly from the golden flowers. 

Of all the glass houses that ever existed, "Eros" was the most beautiful. It was the jewel in the crown of the New Empire, and you were its goddess. There were rumors that the Hala themselves were customers of 'Eros'. But rumors were only rumors. If they were ever to visit your 'home', you would know about it, for they would be where all men ended up—at your feet. 

You were content with the life that you were living. There was no tragedy and no misery, no abusive family or abusive peers, no bullying and harassment at school—no, you had it all great. You were born here at Eros—the growth and blossoming of a beautiful flower. Your whole life has been within the confines of glass rooms and silk sheets, but unlike your dreamy friends, you weren't in need of rescue. 

Your name is Aphrodite. Born in the radiance of the Creator. A goddess among goddesses, carved out of marble and mother of pearl. Your hair falls to the ground in waterfalls of pearls and silk. Your eyes are the eerie silvery moonlight in half-darkness, the deadly attraction of jewels in velvet lashes. Your lips are the succulent, juicy, forbidden fruit that every man would like to taste. The pain of your kiss is going to be the last pleasure of life. 

You are not a delicate, pure lily; you are not a passionate, fiery rose; you are a narcissus reveling in the crystal of mountain waters. You love yourself to pain, to death, to despair, and in all the New Empire, there was none more beautiful than you. 

Original sin. The primordial beauty. You are desire in all it manifests and begins to manifest. 

The naked goddess, clad in snow-white fur like armor, is the goddess of love and ecstasy. 

You've never been conceptualized; you've always been enigmatic. 

You have been the object of worship. Your beauty has been sung in songs, and your love has been professed in a thousand languages. "Eros" was the site of visits from the mightiest and most powerful dragons of the New Empire. They all crawled at your feet, stroking their thick, greased with their cum cocks, greedily as they burned your skin with their golden gaze. They licked the deceptively thin glass of your display case with their long, sometimes split tongues, leaving muddy streaks on the perfect surface of the glass. The mighty and great dragons, unaccustomed to humiliation and submission, urinated like bitches in heat at the mere sight of your bare shoulders and long neck covered with diamond serpents, their eyes shining like stars in the twilight of your silken chambers. They would drip their sperm onto the icy marble floor until it collected in small, glistening puddles, and then they would lick it up as if it were the sweetest nectar in the world. Ambrosia in the truest sense. 

Behind the glass walls of Eros, they were dominators, predators, and the rulers of this world through fear and pain, but here in this garden of Eros, they were nothing more than whores—shameless and needy. Slaves to your beauty, desperate to please you. 

Their moans are always a delight to you. The moaning of your name. 

The scenarios have been repeated to the point of being painful. Sugar-sweet subs with outstretched tongues and pretty, tear-stained faces. Dominant alphas with sweat-glistening skin and eyes rolling with pleasure.

Dragons fucked other dragons; orgies and bacchanals were staged; they were subjugated and subdued. They growled, moaned, squealed, and purred; some were fucked like a port slut, and some were licked for hours until they passed out from hyperstimulation. Some masturbated in front of your window, enjoying the fact that you were there to watch them, and there were others who would spend their heat and ruts in front of your window. 

The list could go on and on: bondage, darkphilia, breeding, voyeurism, humiliation, objectification, and breathing games.

You were saturated with this game. 

There were so many ways in which you could spend your evenings in the company of others. It was all designed to excite you, to make you beg, and to make you plead. Each of your visitors secretly hoped that one day you would strip off your luxurious furs and assume the position that was right for them—submissive, naked, and ready to accept whatever it was they were giving you. 

It was an act of power; it was a position of strength, but here you were the strength. You were power. 

No one would ever have the temerity to lay a hand on you. Goddesses are always untouchable.

You entertained yourselves by teasing them, mocking them, and fanning their flames of desire and passion. Dragons are creatures that are very dependent on their emotions and their desires; they feed on their power and their magic, but when they do not get what they want, it burns them from the inside; it breaks and crumbles them, like a cookie that has been bitten.

It was delicious, but you were full. Thank you, next.

You never denied that you were a sadist; you had a taste for pain; maybe it was a kind of revenge for the destruction of your family; maybe not. They came to you for that feeling; the dragons wanted to be punished and tamed, and the feeling of pain made them cum harder. As they say, Orgasm is a little death.

You could play this game for hours on end, letting the fur expose your boobs and pressing it against the cold glass as you went. It was magnificent—tall and plump, as if it had been milked with milk—with pink nipples the color of magnolia blossoms. There was something animalistically seductive about it—an appeal to their natural reproductive instincts—that evil thought of possible pregnancy. Their whimpering made you laugh, and the sounds they made were so sweet—desperate pleas and long, long moans.

"Let me taste you; I want it so much. I was a good boy, such a good boy."

There were other days when you would let your hands run over the bare skin of your thighs, leaving long red streaks that stood in erotic contrast to the silk of your pale skin. You smeared the clear, shimmering liquid of your juices along the line of your neck, in that most exciting place for dragons, where their teeth locked in a mating mark, as if branding their mate in the most perverse of affiliations.

"Tell me I belong to you; please say it. I'll do anything you don't want. Own me, use me; I want to be your toy.".

Sometimes other girls would be brought into your shop window to put on an erotic show. Exquisite nymphs and rosy-cheeked Lolitas would explore your tender skin with their soft, wet tongues, leaving traces of hungry kisses, until at last their lips would close on the most intimate spot between your thighs.

On days like this, the whole of 'Eros' would shake with furious, jealous growls and thunderclaps. Dragons were terrible possessive, and even though the "scene" itself would excite the hell out of them, the jealousy would burn through their veins from the inside out, like a deadly poison.

"You belong to me, and only to me. You are mine, mine and mine alone. I will tear this girl apart, and we will fuck in her blood until there are no more conscious thoughts left in your pretty little head, until you remember nothing but my name.".

But no matter what their words were to you, you didn't have a care in the world. Nobody would dare touch the goddess, and if they tried, they would not only lose their hands but also get killed.

That was the law of the New Empire—all the people who were left were protected and sheltered in an incredible way. There were very few of you, and if there had been any harm to even one of you, it would have been a real tragedy.   Only once has there been a breach of that law, and the consequences have been terrible. No one wants a repeat.

In any case, your life in the Garden of Eros was a pleasure. Maybe it was some kind of perverse way of looking at the world and love, but you didn't have any desire to change anything; everything was great.

Have you ever wondered if there might be another version of you out there? Perhaps, somewhere in a parallel universe, humans would still exist as the dominant species, their countries and cities would be prosperous, and you would be living a different life—a normal one. There, in that other universe, that other Aphrodite—no, not Aphrodite—you would have an ordinary name, not a divine one, something cute, something sweet, and always with a hint of shyness. It is probably there that you would have experienced your first love, that you would dream of a prince who would take you off into the sunset, and that "and they lived happily ever after." You would have been embarrassed to talk about sex, and you would have blushed horribly if his fingers had been in your knickers. But you weren't her. And she wasn't you. You don't want to be saved from sinning; you want to become one of them. You want to experience forbidden pleasures. You want to subjugate and dominate.

You're not in need of a prince; you've already had a king, or rather, eight kings. The day will come when everything you have ever dreamed of will come true, even if you haven't met any of the Hala yet.

You want power; you want to sit on a golden throne in a castle high up in the sky, and so it shall be. They say that love is a great strength, but they fail to mention that it is also the greatest weakness. And you, like no one else, know how to use it to your advantage.

This is not a pink fairy tale. There are no rainbow ponies pooping rainbows and eating fairy dust. No, this is a rotten world. It is full of debauchery, violence, and sex. You could say, "Come and rescue me. I'm waiting for  you," but no, you have to rephrase it as "I'm waiting for you to crawl on your knees and lick my heels, and from that moment on, I will own you.".

Yes, that sounds much better.

It's already eight o'clock; time to get ready; you're leaving soon.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the most famous glass house in the New Empire. Tonight we have wet aesthetic cunnilingus as our main course, and for dessert, a mind-blowing orgasm. You have a choice of starters. Drinks are on the house. We accept cash and checks. If you wish, you can leave a tip for one of our "jewels.".

Our hope is that your time at Eros will be an unforgettable experience.

[danydidnothingwrong]

“When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone."

You all now stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Mereen, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains and THE PRINCESS THAT WAS PROMISED!

VINDICATION! DAENERYS STORMBORN OF HOUSE TARGARYEN IS THE ONE TRUE PRINCESS THAT WAS PROMISED! Daemons vision of the Song of Ice and Fire proves It beyond a shadow of a doubt. Dany fans, we won. From the ashes we rise again.

[swordoffrivolousthings]

The gods in PJO are not godly enough, in my opinion

I will start this rant by saying that this is only one of my problems with the PJO series. I understand why Riordan has humanized them, I know this is a middle school age book series. But I am older and I want to make them freaky and strange and kind of eldritch. With little to no explanation as for my choices.

ZEUS. He is the Olympian king of the gods, god of the sky, weather, law and order, destiny and fate and kingship. He is the law, as any king is. Every word he says is godly law, every little order will be followed. He is the king. So, he is stone-faced, made of marble, with no expression other than thoughtfulness and severeness (even if he sometimes isn't). His eyes are pure lightning, the hurricanes that ravage the world and the gentlest of summer rains. Most days, when he speaks of future events, they tend to happen that way, if not overruled by a higher power. His very presence is the ozone layer being brought down, heavy, tiring mortals and demigods out quickly. He treads lightly, with steps like gentle patters of rain, but his every breath is thunder.

HERA. The goddess of marriage, women, the sky and the stars of heaven, and the Olympian queen of the gods. Marriage, despite her own being something less than aspiring, is sacred. Couples that marry are under her protection, she still blesses their marriages. She sky shifts with her emotions, getting darker and night starting to fall. Her himation worn over her head, the only garment visible, reflecting the sky above. Her eyes, two bright stars, seeing something more than human perception can begin to understand.

POSEIDON. Olympian god of the sea, earthquakes, floods, drought and horses. His body is not, just from the corner of the eye, made of muscle, bones and tendons. Water, swirling and moving in the shape of a man, the odd strand of algae. Then you turn and he is barely human, but not saltwater. The waves seek and tug at his heels whenever he walks along the beach. His eyes, oceanic tectonic plates crashing, sending tsunamis to devastate the world. The air around him is salty, sea air clinging to his skin. Algae appear in his wake, reeking of the sea.

DEMETER. Olympian goddess of agriculture, grain and bread who sustained mankind with the earth's rich bounty. In her wake, every step makes a grain sprout, growing tall and healthy, and nothing can take it down. The seasons are slowly blooming and booming in her presence, the spring more verdant, the summer hotter, autumn plentiful beyond measure and winter always frigid. From behind her ears sprout oats and barley, always young and vibrant green, crowning her in the coming bounty. Her eyes are the colour of wheat, and when the wind blows the shadows in her eyes move with it.

ARES. Olympian god of war, battlelust, courage and civil order. He is war, bloody and cruel, senseless, personified. His very presence makes fights break out, indignities and betrayals happen. He is an oppressive force that bring the bravery out of the people, along with all the hate. If he stays long enough in one place, even Olympus, war breaks out, be it civil or not. This is why he never stays in one place too long. He is luting for blood, but war had wearied him. He will not do the same mistake twice, even in war. His eyes are the open wounds of soldiers, bleeding, infected, dying skin and rotting meat.

ATHENA. Olympian goddess of wisdom and good counsel, war, the defence of towns, heroic endeavour, weaving, pottery and various other crafts. Every tapestry and pot and garment worked by hand that is not up to her godly standard shrivels and turns to ash in her presence, obliterated by her beyond-human perfectioned craft. Towns are instantly protected when she is there, good grace and godly favour. War, like Ares, follows her. It is not kinder, nor is it bearable. Calculated, cold, some would argue that her wars are crueler, sadistic. Eyes like garment fiber and shattered pots, blood covering them.

APOLLO. Olympian god of prophecy and oracles, music, song and poetry, archery, healing, plague and disease, and the protection of the young. The sun, a power passed on, burns under his skin. It is the worst in the summer months, when the sun is more preeminent. His music, lighting every room in shades of enticement, is otherworldly, his voice, be it in song or word, is a mastery of perfection. From his hands, a single touch can be salvation or sickness. His arrows, silver for his twin, always strike true, no matter the target. His presence brings prophecies and fates to light. The power of the sun is in his eyes.

ARTEMIS. Olympian goddess of hunting, the wilderness and wild animals. She was also a goddess of childbirth, and the protectress of the girl child up to the age of marriage. Around her sprout forests, wild and untainted, a world where humans could get lost in and never be found again. Wild animals prowl after her, protectors and friends of her hunters. When the night is darkest, a power inherited, her skin lights up, a moon to shine in the dark of the shadows. Her hunters, her girls, are protected and her wrath is painful and cruel, like her domains, and they are recognisable by their golden arrows.

HEPHAESTUS. Olympian god of fire, smiths, craftsmen, metalworking, stonemasonry and sculpture. Beneath his skin flames are visible, a moving part of him, like tattoos. Every piece of metal he works with, no matter how briefly, turns into beatiful and powerful tools, an art all of their own. His buildings are steady and everlasting, the stone protected by his touch. His eyes, the hammer hitting metal, are coloured in such a way that they resemble statue's eyes.

APHRODITE. Olympian goddess of love, beauty, pleasure and procreation. Born of sea foam and godly blood, the salt clings to her. Curls her hair and makes her glow, the power of the sea just under her perfect skin. Everyone finds something beautiful in the face of beauty. It is enchanting, a spell most can hardly exist. She is everything everyone could ever want, a goddess for everyone's taste. Yet her anger is born of the sea, a cruel and unforgiving sort of death. To make love dislike you is to lose it all in the blink of an eye. To disrespect a goddess means death.

HERMES. Olympian god of herds and flocks, travellers and hospitality, roads and trade, thievery and cunning, heralds and diplomacy, language and writing, athletic contests and gymnasiums, astronomy and astrology. He speaks in languages long lost, and his travel notes are written in queer glyphs and writing systems. Sheep like him, without doubt. The souls of humans clash and itch to follow him when he enters a room, beyond willing to be taken to the underworld. The stars illuminate his path, a road he knows by heart but they don't care. They will guide him, no matter what.

DIONYSUS. Olympian god of wine, vegetation, pleasure, festivity, madness and wild frenzy. Vines grow from his footsteps, water and seawater and nectar and any other drink turn to wine in his hand. Where he is, the frenzied, happy and drunk follow, a retinue of people that enjoy and enjoy and enjoy. There is nothing not to like at first glance, and only at first glance. When one looks closer, the insanity begins. It is like sparks in his eyes, a nonsensical word past his lips. When you look closer at the people, there is no happiness in the thaws of madness.

HESTIA. The virgin goddess of the hearth and the home. It does not make her kind, because the gods rarely are. It makes her steady, the fire in the home that keeps the chill away from making itself at home. The fire that lights the way back home, sacred in temples and to extinguish it is to forsake her favour. Homes she has blessed are cozy, full of love, of safety. It does not make them fireproof.

HADES. The king of the underworld and god of the dead. He, king over bones and lost memories. His wife, unnamable, his presence like the heavy hand of time on mortal shoulders. Bones and skulls and the wispy whisper of the lost are his retinue. Half decomposed corpses his servants and valets and butlers. His name, scorned, is never said but on the eve of the winter solstice, when death is the surest companion. His eyes, dark but brittle as bone, promise something any other god can't understand.

PERSEPHONE. Goddess queen of the underworld, wife of the god Hades. She was also the goddess of spring growth. Her presence brings with it the smell of the first flowers of spring, little by little making the world greener. But her steps are always silent, always just a little far from the ground. She is a queen, death is her and her husband's domain. Of course she is ghostly, terrifying. Her perfume is of freshly dug earth and autumnal rain, the weeps of widows and widowers, the death of the young and elderly. Her name is unspoken, a curse when invoked. You will not hear her name on Olympus, in mortal mouths. Kore, Despoena, her titles are safe. Her eye is not benevolent, when it's attention is captured.

[kaidabakugou]

𖤐 OCTOBER 7TH | "PLAYING WITH FIRE" 𖤐

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑! 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀 𝐗 𝐅! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

♱ — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜʀᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴛᴇʀᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʀɪᴛᴜᴀʟꜱ | ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ | ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ | ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇꜱ | ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ/ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴋɪɴᴋ | ᴘᴜʙᴇꜱ | ʙɪᴛɪɴɢ | ᴍᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ | ꜱᴘɪᴛ | ɴɪᴘᴘʟᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏ | ʜɪɴᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴡᴏʀꜱʜɪᴘ | ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜱᴇx | ꜱᴄᴇɴᴛ ᴋɪɴᴋ | ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ | ᴍᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʀꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ | ʜᴇᴀᴛꜱ | ᴛᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ | ᴋɴᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ | ᴋɪʀɪʙᴀᴋᴜ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ | ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀ ꜱᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ | ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴋɪʀɪꜱʜɪᴍᴀ

♱ — 𝐖𝐂: 6.4ᴋ

♱ — 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: ᴇᴇᴇ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇʀᴇ!! ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ, ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟɪᴇꜱ!! ꜱᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴋɪᴄᴋ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴏᴏᴋʏ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʏꜱᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!!♡

𝕹𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖆 𝖆𝖌𝖔,

𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙.

The taste of ash weights heavy on your tongue when you descend through the clouds towards the glare of fire below. The heat from the smoke prickling at your skin causes you to tighten your grip around the black spikes on Kirishima's back where you sat atop the crimson dragon as he rushes towards the commotion below, massive leathery wings tucking close to his large body - far too large for a juvenile like himself as his shadow swallows the night sky behind him when you emerge from the sea of smoke revealing the magnitude of destruction the town has suffered in mere moments. Streets that were once booming with vendors and some of the finest establishments you could find this far south of the kingdom, now nothing but ruins that further crumble under the weight of the wind from the red dragon’s wings as you continue to hurry towards the source that caused such calamity.

You'd traveled from the west with Bakugou, the dragon prince, and his dragon Kirishima, the Crimson Dread, under the orders of the king to deal with the issue of a fiery dragon that's been rumored to have gone rogue and has been terrorizing the southern towns at night. Upon your arrival the immensity of the situation was evident when the ancient bridges that connected to the neighboring towns were demolished for the river below to swallow, something only the great scaled beasts could manage, leaving the southerners to result in new measures and travel by boat.

It was only your second night in the town when you were setting up the fire place in your inn with Kirishima whilst you waited for Bakugou who ventured into the other side of town in search of something to cook for the three of you for the night, when the thunderous sound of an explosion in the distance alerted you. Rushing to the open area of the plaza where Kirishima could shift without causing damages to the housing nearby as you quickly mounted the dragon and headed towards the commotion. The orange glow of fire blazing in the horizon only feeding the worry that sat heavy on your chests knowing Bakugou was near that area of town, and now as you fly through the core of where the beast continues to wreak havoc, you could only pray to the gods above that he was okay.

A piercing roar ahead pulls you from your thoughts as it collides with the crackling sounds of Bakugou’s explosive magic followed by the clashing of steel from his dual swords. The silhouette of the onyx dragon comes into view amidst a pit of fire, your eyes frantically searching for your prince as you spot him beneath one of the beast's hind legs trying to wriggle out from between its three prehensile talon-tipped toes that hold him captive as the chest of the dragon begins to glow a deep orange hue, preparing to spew a stream of deadly fire upon him that was sure to leave a flaming crater in its wake from the force - one that not even Bakugou’s fire resistance could survive.

Swallowing the vile lump that builds in your throat at the thought, you lean forward against Kirishima’s back, the rough scales of the dragon’s armor brushing along your palm when you reach for the large spikes of his torso. The ones that prepare him to attack once you give him the command, but just as you take a sharp inhale to give him the order you're interrupted by the rumbling of snake-like hisses building up a thunderous roar as Kirishima leaps towards his opponent.

Catching the attention of the onyx dragon as he directs his fire towards you, but the Crimson Dread is not only known for his size, but also for his abnormal speed and agility that was rare for a beast of such calamity as he quickly rises to flash his hind legs. Sharp claws locking onto the beast’s neck, pinning him down as the horrid screeching of both dragons clashes together - one from anguish in a desperate attempt to be released and the other from a raging hunger for blood as Kirishima's claws pierce through the black scales, slashing the dragon’s throat open causing it to wriggle beneath him as it chokes in its fiery blood. But the red beast remains unsatisfied as he leans down to grasp the head of his victim in between his dreadful maw before tearing it from its body and tossing it into the fiery pits of its own creation followed by a victorious roar that seems to further agitate the flames that surround you.

You press your palm to his scales in an attempt to calm him despite how taken aback you were from his actions for he has never acted on his own without his rider’s orders regardless of the ravenous creature he was. Gently caressing his heated scales whilst you coo down at him as his snarls slowly shift into low rumbles under your touch when your soft voice reaches his ears between haggard breaths. Shaking his head with a final blow of smoke through his nostrils as his scales shudder from head to tail until he returns your pets with a content purr, letting you know he's calmed down before directing your attention towards Bakugou who was already climbing up the dragon’s side to join you on his back. Unharmed, lest a few scratches that oozed with blood yet nothing you couldn't heal later with your magic.

“All good?”, bare chest pressing against your back as he leans forward to press his palm to the crimson scales alongside yours as you look over to your side where his head rests on your shoulder. Only answering with a nod when your eyes meet his vermilion ones, not all there as he looks lost in thought before your gently nudge him with your elbow as they focus on you again, sharing the same concern for your dragon but nothing to fret about right now considering the long night you've all had as you feel him relax against you before signaling Kirishima again. Taking to the skies once more as you fly back into town for the night since you couldn't do anything else for now until the fires die out with morning come.

The ache in your muscles melts away as you sink deeper into the hot springs, the warmth enveloping your body when you rest against the edge to peer up at the night sky where remnants of the smoke from the fires obstructing your view of the stars as the faint orange hue of the horizon begins to fade, letting the sound of the water around you prevent your mind from thinking back on the prior events.

Once a dragon bonds with one rider, no other person can bond nor ride them throughout their life for they will remain loyal to their mount until they are parted by death, but Kirishima is the first ever dragon to bond with two riders. Claiming both Bakugou and you as his mates, a rare case in history that not even the wisest of maesters could decipher, tossing it up to be a result of his shifter abilities. But being a mate to the great fiery beasts of this era was not for the faint of heart as dragons undergo different stages in their lifetime that could be overwhelming for some, and your dragon’s recent stubborn behavior could only mean the beginning of one thing.

You lean over the edge towards the tray that rested on the rocks near the natural basin, reaching for the bowl of hot water to pour it over the previously strained matcha before taking the chasen and begin whisking. Too distracted to notice the water rippling behind you but your ears prick at the sound of low purrs approaching, hearing him before you feel him as sharp claws circle around your thighs. Curving along the plush skin of your hips to trail up your sides causing the hairs on your spine to rise towards your nape as he presses his nose above your rear before following the prickled skin up towards your shoulders in a slow calculated pace that causes your toes to curl against the hot stone below until his nose finds the crook of your neck - inhaling deeply as he savors your scent, the smell unlike any other causing his tail to slowly sway from side to side through the water whilst the purring amplifies. Feeling the vibrations against your back when he presses his hot chest to your skin as you lean into his frame, claws circling your abdomen when scaled arms hold you close causing you to hum at his touch as you settle back into the water.

The heat that radiates from him rivals the one around you as hot puffs of air fan across your skin, feeling the tips of his forked tongue ghost along the back of your ear where his nose is nestled into your hair. An occurrence that wasn't foreign to you since the three of you often slept wrapped around each other and Kirishima would find solace in sleeping with the smell of his mates right under his nose, but there was something different in his current demeanor.

When a dragon's heat is near, there are often visible warning signs to heed to avoid falling in their grasps when overcome with lust. The scales along their skin tend to darken in color, one of the more elusive signs to notice considering the change is very minimal but easily spotted for those that are in constant contact with the scaled giants. Their breathing patterns as well as their purring shift from long and passive inhales to heavy huffs followed by exhales of higher temperatures to their regular hot breaths. Every dragon's purrs are slightly different in melody but it's often deeper while in heat, emitting from somewhere further down their chest and at a much quicker pace than normal. The most identifiable of the signs are their behavioral changes, although already territorial, dragons tend to be more aggressive and jealous towards others lurking around their den and mates as well as seek out physical touch more often and show higher levels of affection. All signs that usually begin to manifest weeks in advance.

But Kirishima’s changes only began hours prior. Even though it wasn't the first time his heat had started abruptly, another unknown factor that the maesters could only assume as a product from his shifter abilities, it was the first time you've been in battle when it happened. Which justifies your worry while seizing the onyx dragon earlier.

The air around you felt heavy and the tension was almost palpable with the way he was holding you, like prey caught in the jaws of a predator as his claws travel along your skin, occasionally gripping at your flesh while his hold on you tightens. Moments like these remind you of the danger that he kept hidden from you most of the time until he had you in his grasp - so pliant and at his absolute mercy, he could do anything he wanted and you’d let him.

A sharp dark claw travels across your abdomen in slow back and forth motions beneath the water before trailing up the exposed skin of your chest. Circling your tits in a teasing matter that has your nipples hardening at the threat knowing it wouldn’t take much effort for those claws to rip into your skin. Kirishima smiles against your neck when he feels the way your heartbeat increases under his touch, how the rise and fall of your chest quickens the more he greedily explores your body. Savoring the way your smooth skin feels against his calloused one, the sweet scent of you downright intoxicating as he feels his teeth ache at the thought of you on his tongue. Moving his mouth to rest at the juncture of your neck at the temptation to feel your skin give under the force of his fearful maw, tearing into your flesh and watching you bleed for him as his purring deepens at the thought knowing how pretty you’d look covered in crimson to match that of his scales.

His tail curls around your ankle as it slowly travels up your leg until it’s wrapped around your plump thigh, squeezing the fat of it while scales drag against the curve of your rear. The scaled pointed tip ghosting along your inner thigh as it occasionally brushes through the tuft of hairs above your cunt at slow, almost ticklish pace that had you suppressing your moans against the edge of your cup as you bring the warm tea to your lips, enjoying it while you can knowing that it will soon be forgotten with the way Kirishima’s scorching breath was fanning over your skin alerting you of how close he was to your vital spots.

“Fuck, my love”, the searing touch of his tongue licking along your skin makes you gasp as thick drips of drool burn onto your skin, “I need you”.

“Your heat becoming too much, baby?”, you hum against him before drinking the last of your tea as you reach forward to return the cup onto its tray.

“I could just devour you right now”, he purrs close to your ear as he takes a deep inhale of your skin, continuing to let your scent invade his senses. “Will you let me, love?”

“Go ahead”, you tilt your head further giving him access as your voice falls into a breathless whisper at the feel of sharp teeth grazing against your skin. “Tell me how I taste”.

A guttural growl ripples from his chest at your words as his tongue laps at your skin again, more drool dribbles against you before his lips press to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder sucking on that spot as you arch your back with a sigh, the feel of his teeth digging ever so slightly into your skin behind closed lips sends a whirlpool of emotions to your gut. The moans you suppressed earlier ripping from you when his fangs finally break through your flesh as a rush of warmth spreads across your skin where he eagerly drinks from you, letting your blood quench his thirst before he sucks bruising kisses higher up your neck making you squirm against him.

Tightening his grasp as he slowly moves your bodies towards the edge of the natural basin where claws circle your waist to spin you around as he looms over you, caging you between the warm stone that digs against your back and his large body as he presses himself against you. Gently nuzzling his nose into the top of your head before slowly trailing down the center of your forehead to meet your nose as your eyes lock with deep pools of scarlet staring back at you. Your hands reach for his biceps, feeling the scales shift under your touch as you continue to trail upwards towards his nape where your fingers brush through the crimson strands of his hair whilst your other hand reaches for a stray strand on his forehead, securing it behind the dark, curved, and angled horns that protrude on either sides of his head that would demand submission from even the most endowed elks that roamed the enchanted forests, a grin spreading across his lips when you do before he leans down to press his lips to yours.

Hot breaths melding with each other as claws curl around your throat pressing his purlicue beneath your chin causing your head to tilt further, giving him more access as his lips move frantically against yours - messy and wet as spit smothers against your skin while your tongue tangles with his long one until the need for air becomes inescapable. Leaning back to catch your breath as far as his firm hold around your neck allows you but he can't help but chase your lips with his sharp teeth, keeping his intentions gentle against the delicate skin but still so, so hungry for you as he nibbles on your bottom lip until it splits for him. The sting makes you hiss as lustful eyes meet your equally lewd ones when he slowly pulls back, sucking the small dribble of blood into his greedy maw until your lip slips from his own. Not giving you enough time to recover as the warm pads of his digits digging into the sides of your neck twitch as they pull you back in to meet his lips - mouths bruised and swollen as his tongue swipes against you to lick into the small cut.

Parting from your lips to press kisses on your jaw and down your neck as his hands reach down to grip your waist and hoist you up onto the edge. Stopping when he reaches the valley of your breast as he leans back to look at your body now fully on display for him, mesmerized at the sight like the first time he saw you like this and he can’t help the shudder that ripples through his scales and settles at his pelvis where his cock twitches beneath the water.

Fiery pupils dilate when they rake along the curve of your breasts and settle on your nipples, wet and glistening and so inviting as he dips his head down to capture the erect bud in his mouth. The feel of sharp teeth scraping against your skin threatening to pierce through your flesh sends shivers down your spine followed by the smooth contrast of his warm tongue alternating between fast flicks and tight curls against you that causes your hips to slightly grind forward as arousal begins to gather at your core. The faint smell of it hitting his nose only riles him further as he suckles on your tit harder while roughly kneading the other as he pulls and twists the bud between his clawed digits.

Only stopping to sink his teeth into the flesh of your chest again and again with low mumbles of ‘mine’ whispered into each nibble as he continues to trail them down your abdomen. Drowning in the increasing scent of your arousal the closer he gets to the source, his mouth unable to stay away from you other than to quickly move to another unmarked spot on your skin as his breaths become haggard at the mouth watering aroma of your drooling cunt leaking onto the stones below. Calloused hands curve beneath your thighs as he spreads you open for him, ankles resting on his broad and scaled shoulders while his mouth never leaves your skin as it reaches your pubes. Inhaling deeply into the tuft of hair as he feels the way your body twitches against his touch when he slowly pulls the hairs between his lips, his warm breaths feels almost ticklish but the sensation is quickly replaced by the slight sting from his tugging before he releases the hairs from his lips.

Diving forward again to run his nose through them, his head dipping lower and lower until the slick feel of your pussy lips meets with his own, savoring you a little longer as he trails his nose through your swollen slit causing it to part as he does. Eyes fluttering at the feel of your arousal coating his skin before finally surging forward into your heat making you arch in your spot as your arms stretch behind you to support you further from the intensity of his mouth against you. Tongue pressed flat on your pussy as he wriggles it from side to side while thick globs of saliva drip from his thirsty mouth onto you - creamy slick and viscous spit mixing together as both of you become more and more lost in pleasure.

Moans falling from your lips without a care if others residing within the inn could hear you for you’re unable to hold them with the way his tongue laps up towards your clit, circling it with just the tip before his lips wrap around the sensitive bud while his eyes look up to meet yours causing something to ripple in your stomach the closer you get to your release. Watching how they darken when he feels your fingers skim across his pointed ears, ghosting along the wet strands of hair before wrapping around one of his horns knowing it would get a reaction out of him with how sensitive they were, especially during his heat and you can't help the grin that breaks through your features when you see his lip curl with the nastiest growl you've heard resonate from his chest thus far. Strong enough to make the water around him shake causing it to ripple at the same thundering cadence while his hands pinch and knead at your thighs, feeling how the muscles clench and tremble under his touch when you feel the vibrations of his snarls against your pussy.

Causing your features to morph into a whine as you let your head roll back onto your shoulders to release a moan up towards the sky while briefly closing your eyes before your entire body jolts when Kirishima slots his hot mouth onto the length of your puffy slit. Demanding your attention as your eyes meet again, a newfound hunger in his fiery orbs as your clench around his imposing figure when the tips of his forked tongue tease along your entrance before wriggling it’s way inside - velvety walls tightening around the incredibly long and thick muscle as it spreads you open, greedily slurping every last drop of creamy arousal that pours from your messy pussy.

Both of your hands now wrapped firmly around his horns to pull him closer and the snarl that follows causes his sharp teeth to scrape dangerously against your swollen clit, sending you over the edge as static rings in your ears making the world around you spin as your release gushes into his awaiting tongue. Claws dragging up and down along your thighs leaving red, throbbing marks in their wake before they press into your hips, threatening to pierce the skin as he holds you down when your hips continue to jerk and twitch. Overstimulated as he continues to drink every last drop of your sweet nectar, not stopping until he gets his fill as your cries clash with the loud and wet squelch of your pussy ravished by his hungry maw.

Slowing his movements to ease you down from your high as his tongue slithers out of your warmth, running it through the red and swollen folds of your sopping wet pussy before leaning back to watch the pretty mess he created - thin threads of syrupy slick and viscid spit clinging to his skin causing it to glisten under the faint moonlight emerging from the smokey clouds as the distant fires begin to die down. Whimpering at the empty feeling as you fall back onto the stones breathless, your hands slipping from his horns in exhaustion only for scaled ones to catch them as he brings them towards his face, nuzzling into your palm to lay kisses onto your wrists - soft and tender unlike the previous ones as he repeats the actions on the other one before trailing up the length of your arm while slowly rising from the water to slot his body above your own.

Warm droplets of water dripping onto your skin where he continues to lay gentle kisses as his lips press against your stomach to travel up onto your breasts, briefly nibbling on the plush skin before dipping towards your collarbones; feeling how he follows the outline of your protruding bones with the tip of his nose to settle at the small hollow at the center where his searing exhales fan over your skin causing you to lean your head back to allow him more access as he wanders up the length of your throat where he slows down to feel it contract against his lips when you swallow, eliciting his purrs to return as they vibrate into your jaw until he curves along your chin to finally capture your lips in his. Tasting yourself on his tongue when it tangles with yours as it freely explores every inch of your mouth before he pulls away to peer down at your pretty face, noticing your eyes glossy with tears as he smiles down at the sight before leaning in for a kiss once more.

So enthralled with each other that you don't hear the distant call of your names when the wooden door of your room slides open. Only the feel of something hot dripping against your thigh capturing your attention, making your breath hitch into him as he pulls back to press his forehead onto yours for the both of you to peer between your bodies to reveal his large cock.

A mass of dark pubes trailing from his belly button towards the base where thick veins throb with need around a swelling knot as they fork out onto the ribbed crimson ridges that matched those of his scales leading up to a tapered tip that dripped molten globs of creamy white onto your skin where it hanged heavy causing it to curve downwards from the weight and size as it twitched the more his knot continued to grow with the overwhelming and carnal desire to empty load after load of the sticky cum that resided within the hefty balls that rested hulking between his muscular thighs inside your heat.

The same thighs that slide closer to press behind yours as a clawed hand slides along the side to grip the back of your knees and guide one leg around his waist, mirroring the action with your other leg as they lock at the dip of his back where his long tail sways languidly from side to side. Securing your bodies together as he lowers his hips to meet yours, slotting his cock between your thighs to slide his pulsing length through your weeping slit. Gasping in unison when he grinds his hips harder through the slickness as your hands snake around his broad shoulders to bring him closer, his lips already chasing yours as claws tangle in the hairs at your nape where he cups your head to deepen the kiss. His thumb smearing away the stray tears that stain your cheeks at the feel of every ridge and curve of his cock rubbing through your slick pussy, getting caught against your clit with each thrust making you mewl into his mouth as he swallows every sound.

Groans and purrs vibrating softly against you when he feels your hips roll up and fall into rhythm with his. Smiling against him when your actions elicit a broken whine to rip from his chest, amused at how such a feared beast could be reduced to such a needy thing when it came to moments like this, entangled with each other in such ways that it's uncertain where one begins and the other ends.

The growl that festers deep in his chest pulls you from your thoughts as a heated sting spreads across your bottom lip when he draws the sensitive flesh between his teeth to get your attention once more, prying your mouth open for him as he chases your bloodied lips with a carnivorous hunger that elicits another growl to crawl up his throat as clawed digits wrap around your wrists to capture your hands in his and stretch your arms above your head, pinning you beneath him and rutting his hips desperately against you until the bulbous head of his leaky cock finally presses against your entrance. Both of you falling silent as you peer down between your bodies, watching how your pussy splits open and swells around each girthy bump of his cock until it reaches the curve of his knot as it presses against your slit; ceasing his movements to relish the feel of your heat wrapped around him while you bask in the way it stretches your pussy so good you could almost feel him in your throat as you lips part around a silent moan.

Heavy knot throbbing against your entrance, not quite ready to slip inside just yet as he rolls his hips back - your pussy molding perfectly to each ridge as the friction makes you arch your back so beautifully into him. Both of your hands restrained under one of his while the other curls around your center to hold you close as his lips press along your jawline, whispering sweet praises in his mother’s tongue as he falls into a steady pace that has the telltale coil winding tightly inside you sooner than expected as white spots cloud your vision when you sink into sweet ecstasy. Soft kisses and nibbles morphing into feral bites as he grows wretched with need at the taste of your blood mixed with the tight clench of your silken walls gripping his cock so deliciously he feels he could devour you whole.

Slowing his thrusts to a gentle rock as his lips find yours again in a sloppy and panting mess - the sound from your heaving chests echoing through the area loud enough to quiet the heavy patting of feet against the damp stone floor approaching your position until a shadow obstructs the dim light of the candles that surrounded the hot springs, looming over you as it waits for the two of you to notice its presence.

“‘M gone a few minutes and you two can't keep yer’ hands off of each other that long, eh?”, both of you peer up to meet vermilion irises staring down at you with amusement. Grin spreading across his features when your eyes simultaneously trail down to look at his cock fully displayed before you, the thick vein beneath his shaft throbbing all the way up his leaking tip where milky beads of white coat his skin.

Meeting his gaze again, your sultry smile matching his own as you feel lips press to your jaw followed by the slight tickle from Kirishima’s hot breath fanning over your skin as he speaks.

“You're just in time, my prince - our little princess is just about ready to take me whole”, a dark claw brushes through the stray hairs that cling to the damp skin of your forehead as he tucks them behind your ear to press his nose to your own, voice falling into a whisper. “Aren't you, baby?”, nodding into his touch while he beckons Bakugou closer.

“Come ‘er, Katsuki… I want to watch you both as she takes my knot”, to which he complies as Bakugou lays down beside you. Pulling you towards him when Kirishima leans back from his position as you straddle the blonde, his eyes wandering down your skin as his fingers trace along the wounds that adorn your body - bruised and bloodied.

Digits stained with red as he brings them towards his lips for a quick taste, eyes fluttering when he does before he reaches for your skin again to collect more of the blood that dribbles from the bites left by the dragon, bringing them up to your lips this time where it mixes with the drooly blood from your bottom lip as you wrap them around his fingers to languidly suck on them.

Clawed thumbs dig into the fat of your hips as Kirishima positions himself behind you, curling along your spine to press his chest against you. His large physique overpowering the both of you when he stretches his wings, briefly casting a daunting shadow that consumes you before he tucks them back into place. Leaning in close to nuzzle his face into your neck as Bakugou mimics his actions to your other side, their warmth encompasses you entirely like a heavy cloth draped over you on a cruel winter. Bakugou’s lips press tender kisses along your mangled skin while a long, wet and hot tongue laps a stripe all the way to your ear where he nuzzles into you once again.

“Hold still for me, my love”, arching into Bakugou’s chest when the tip of Kirishima’s cock presses against your cunt, dripping heavy glops of precum that seared against your skin - so impossibly hot like it was made from the molten steel used to make the finest of swords. Spreading it through your slit as he strokes it up and down causing syrupy strands of arousal to leak onto Bakugou’s thighs before his cockhead catches your entrance.

Immediately feeling the stretch of every ridge and curve again as your lips part around a loud whine, both men reacting instantly as hands roam every inch of your body in a mixture of soothing touches and hungry kneads from sharp nails that twitch at the urge to tear at your skin to elicit more of those sweet noises to rip from your body. Kirishima doesn't waste time to settle on a fast pace that knocked the wind from your lungs, lost in the way your pussy sucked him further - squeezing him so tightly he couldn't help but to nibble on the skin of your neck again, fangs piercing anywhere they could reach causing his purring to morph into wet gurgles from your blood while Bakugou leaned back to ogle at the sight.

In all your years together, nothing riled him up more than moments like these. The both of you look ethereal above him - recalling all the times he had the same thoughts and he fears they might fall short to the sight before him. The first time he laid eyes on Kirishima when the crimson hybrid shifted into a fierce dragon for him to ride after many had failed to mount the fiery beast; the same beast that never allowed anyone to get too close to him, yet there you were mounted on his back treating a tear to his wing while cooing down sweetly at the scaled giant while all his rider could do was just stare at the two of you in awe in that field of freshly bloomed blue irises all those springs ago. He never thought that just winters later he would find himself by a ditchfire and a chalice filled of your joined blood, a scar on each of your left palms to prove it - wed by fire and blood to be sealed by a long night of mating.

And now, as the hard stone cushioned by a the thin bedding of moss forming on the rocks dug into his back as he stared up at the two of you above him, your skin riddled with bites and blood with Kirishima still latched onto your neck as you cried out into the night to soon take his knot, the sight before him rivals all the others for he thinks he's never seen the two of you so beautiful as this very moment.

His heart skipping a beat when both of your eyes meet his own, reaching for him as your hands curl around his shoulders while claws press against the dip of his skull to bring him closer to your bodies. Your lips pressed against his while Kirishima nuzzles the crook of his neck, smiling against Bakugou when you feel his breath hitch at the dragon’s fangs piercing into his flesh. The taste of both of his mates blood mixing on his tongue turn his thrust violent, extremely so you can't contain the overstimulated squeals that ripped from your chest and before you can register it he thrusts forward in a hard roll of his hips until you feel it - a wet pop as you're stuffed to the brim with his knot. Your eyes rolling while you feel lightheaded at the mixture of his thick, knotted cock grinding deep inside of you along with the heat that radiates from their bodies engulfing you completely.

Claws suddenly digging into your flesh as Kirishima yanks your bodies closer to him, switching from marking Bakugou’s neck to yours back and forth while lips brushed against skin in a mantra growled in the old draconic tongue.

Mine mine mine

“You're mine, yeah? My blood?”, each question is followed by a pull of his lips against your skin and all you can do is desperately nod against him as salty tears stain your cheeks while your cunt spasms around him, squeezing and pulling him deeper as he grinds rapidly into you.

“Both of you were made for me”, he snarls as his lips chase Bakugou’s next, piercing his bottom lip in a much more hurried manner than he did yours causing a groan to vibrate loudly from the blondes chest as the redhead devours him.

“You were born bound to me, right?”, your bodies were dripping in sweat and your brains were fogging with the overstimulation of both pleasure and pain, as the dragon reminded you who you belonged to while switching between your bodies; licked, sucked, and bitten into the skin of the familiar things pinned beneath him. Chasing your sweat with teeth and tongue, drunk on the scent of home - of mate. Many would call the love Kirishima felt for the two of you an obsession, but that pales in comparison to the unwavering hunger and passion he felt for you.

His thrusts turn vicious, borderline animalistic as he rolls his hips forward once, twice, three times until you finally feel it. The rush of cum pouring in hot, always so impossibly hot, heavy globs against your velvety walls as he ruts his hips close to bury himself deep in your pussy to ensure you were plugged up and stuffed full with his seed that continued to pour inside of you in a never ending river that had the both of you falling depleted against the blonde making him groan at the sudden weight pressed against him. All three of you panting as your bodies relax against each other, hearts beating as one while you let the soothing sounds of the water splashing behind you ease you down from your highs.

But the Crimson Dread was nothing if not insatiable, leaning back as clawed digits captured Bakugou’s chin between them to bring him closer, pulling him into a kiss while you trailed kisses along the blonde’s jawline. Your ear pricking when you hear the redhead speak into the kiss and you can’t help the grins that follow at his words.

“Your turn, my prince”, he whispers while maneuvering your bodies into the warm water to soothe your wounds and prepare you for the long night ahead.

[the-californicationist]

Riptide

Price/FReader for @glitterypirateduck's Oh, Captain! challenge 🩷

Challenge #2 (First time being intimate) and #91 (Snuggling under the stars)

TW: female reader, come play, a bit of casual exhibitionism

After a long mission, you’re slowly making your way back to England, hitching rides with local extraction teams to avoid Russian detection. Somewhere in the Mediterranean, you and the 141 make camp on an island beach and discover an old bottle of rum. Once the sun sets, the rum goes straight to your head, and you and your captain get tangled up in a hammock. 

The captain was dressed in his boonie hat, a pair of running shorts, and nothing else, swaying back and forth gently in an old rope hammock. The sunset glowed ruby red, just like the tip of his cigar, and the heat of the day slowly surrendered to a cool, island night. 

You’d never seen a pure purple sky before, and you watched it fade until the stars came out, twinkling on the horizon line just above the crashing waves. Your toes were being lapped at by the bright white foam, and every time the tide came toward you, it licked at your skin deeper and deeper, threatening to pull you into its riptide, taking you along with it, claiming you for the sea. 

Gaz, Soap, and Ghost were chatting by the fire, nursing one of the bottles of rum they’d discovered amongst the old shipping crates. You’d been skeptical at first, but when Price took a big long swig right in front of you, proving it wasn’t poison, you followed him into the drink. The two of you had made half a bottle disappear before he grew oddly quiet, giving you a strange look and retreating to his hammock bed. 

You peered over at him again. A steady flow of blue, milky smoke floated up from his full lips, tangling itself in his beard before blowing away with the night wind. You wanted to taste it. You wanted to feel that fire of his on your tongue. You wanted to be burnt by it, to smolder into glowing embers and ash right along with him. 

You looked over your shoulder to make sure the men were distracted before changing out of your wet sports bra. You were wearing a white button down over your black bra and panties, every bit as utilitarian as you had been trained to be, but the damp fabric was making you cold. And perhaps, if he chose to take a look, now that your breasts were unbound, a certain captain might be able to peer into the gaping neckline to see your nipples. You wanted him to see them. 

Trying to be very casual about it, you marched over to the roaring bonfire where the boys were sitting and hung your bra with the other drying clothes. You were all in some state of undress, but as you approached, their boisterous conversation lulled, and they watched you fidget once more with your top, choosing to unbutton it just one button further. 

“Tsk… You got it bad, sergeant,” Gaz whispered, nodding over to Price, judging you shamelessly. 

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “So?”

“Both of you,” Ghost shook his head, taking another swig from the bottle. 

Before you could ask what he meant, Soap slung his arm around your shoulder and whispered in your ear, 

“Just watch.”

Then, he let out a loud wolf-whistle and stood up with you, spinning you around the fire. The other boys laughed, understanding his game. 

“Bonnie lass! You’ve got moves, hen, I’ll give you that.”

“Aye, she does. Been hitting the gym, haven’t you, babes. Quads are lookin’ tight,” Gaz commented loudly. 

You realized they were trying to goad the captain, making him jealous. Sure enough, he was staring right at you, his bright eyes shining in the orange blaze of the fire, even though he was too far to do anything about it. He took another drag from his cigar, but he didn’t take his eyes off of you. 

Ghost shook his head again and muttered under his breath, 

“Gonna wake the dragon if you’re not careful, you muppets.”

You smiled, taking the bottle of rum from his hands and tipping it back, letting the sweet liquor flow down your throat. You wiped your lips with the back of your hand and returned it to Ghost, making your way over to the hammock. 

Price watched your approach the whole time, and maybe you added a little extra sway to your hips as you tread through the sand, and maybe… maybe you let the wind billow under your button down, making the gap wider, showing more and more of your breasts until it was almost indecent. 

“Got room for one more?”

He watched you from his swinging bed, making you wait for his response, puffing his smoke toward your bare belly where your shirt was knotted up. Then, in that deep voice of his, he nodded and said, 

“Aye, if you’re willing to be the little spoon, Sergeant.”

“Sure,” you shrugged, sitting on the edge of the ropes carefully, putting your weight in the middle and lowering yourself until you were laying with your back against his hairy chest, feeling the stickiness of his skin, coated in salt and sand and sweat. Your feet tangled together. He did not move to untangle them, so neither did you. 

He was quiet behind you, but you could feel his breathing. Every now and then, creamy bands of smoke would tumble across your cheek. You followed it with your nose, looking back at him, scooting down a bit so you could see his face.

“Can I try?” You eyed the cigar. 

“You know how?” He asked gently.

You shook your head. It was a lie. You knew how to smoke cigars; who didn’t? But, you wanted him to feel like he was showing you something for the first time. More than that, you wanted to see how he would teach you. The butterflies in your belly railed against your nerves, fluttering like mad to see him make you into his student. 

He handed you the stick, giving you his commands, 

“Pull it into your mouth, but not your throat. Keep it on your tongue. Taste it. When you’ve had enough, let it all out.”

You stared into his bright blue eyes as you followed his instructions. You sucked in the smoke, feeling the heat and tasting the sweetness of the tobacco. You let it linger on your tongue, and then you blew it out, letting it coat his chin and flow around his neck like a smoky collar. 

“Mm,” he murmured, disapproving, “Too fast, love. Like this.”

He took the cigar and put it to his lips, taking in a huge puff. Then, to your surprise, he leaned over you, putting his mouth in front of yours close enough to kiss you, but he didn’t. He let the smoke fall out of his mouth and into yours, watching it pool into your lips and beyond your teeth. It filled your senses, making you reel from its intensity. Price had a gleam in his eye, and you knew he was trying his best to get under your skin. 

You smiled back. Two could play at this game. 

After the smoke cleared, he pulled back, leaning away from you but still looking at your face, waiting for your reaction. 

“It got cold quick, didn’t it?” You let out a little shiver. 

“Sure did,” he nodded, smirking, “Maybe if you had more clothes on, you’d be warm.”

“Do you want me to put more clothes on?” Your voice dripped with lust, your desire for him wholly unmistakable. 

When he looked down at you now, his pupils were blown wide, inky black, taking all of you in, memorizing you like there’d be a test. His gaze fondled you, making you feel like he was peeling you apart even though he hadn’t laid a single finger on you yet. His eyes traced down your neck and into your top, stopping to stare with wonder at your bare tits in the open fold of the shirt.

With the cigar still balanced between his fingers, he used his thumb to delicately lift the fabric away from your neck, peering inside like a newly opened gift, his eyes wide with excitement. You wanted his fingers to touch you, but he played with the buttonline of the shirt instead, making it gap more and more until your breasts were almost fully exposed to the cool night air. 

You made a show of glancing over to the boys by the fire, whispering to him,

“They’re gonna see us.”

“Aye,” he said matter-of-factly, moving to untie the bow of the tail of your shirt, trying to peel it off of you like you were a ripe fruit. 

Suddenly, he took a final drag of the cigar and tossed it forward into the sand. It smoldered there, half-buried. Your body prepared for him to squeeze your tits, to pinch your nipples cruelly, to satisfy his obvious hunger… but, it never happened. Instead, he lay his hand on your belly, using his fingertips to pet you, lazily caressing you in small circles. 

It was making you squirm. You wanted him to go further. He seemed so hungry for your body and yet here he was, holding himself back. You rolled your ass into his crotch, hunting for the hard prod of his cock. You felt it, and he let out a gravelly sigh. Success. 

Yet, it didn’t change his tempo. He kept caressing you, petting your ribs, never quite reaching the swell of your breast, but stopping short over and over. 

You reached back and put your hand on his furry belly, full of rum and relaxed from his odd position in the hammock. Beneath your hand, his skin shuddered, feeling every movement that you made and responding to it eagerly. Inch by inch, you made your way to the elastic band of his trunks, reaching inside, searching for his hard rod. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Sergeant,” he whispered. His voice was soft and deep, almost too low to hear. 

You needed him, and you were about to show him exactly how much. When you found his cock, you pulled it out of his trunks and shoved down your panties with your fingers, fumbling around with the fabric, trying your best to stay quiet. You rocked your hips back, allowing his head to slide between your legs and press up against your wet folds. Without his help, you couldn’t fit him inside of you, but you rocked against him anyway, smearing your stickiness all over his shaft. 

Back and forth you rubbed him, working yourself up into a fever. Still, he did not help you. He didn’t even move to fondle you. His hand never plucked at your nipples, and he did not explore your swollen lips hidden behind your panties, the same lips his drooling dick was rutting through. 

The elastic of your panties trapped him inside with you, keeping him close. Otherwise, he just went on with his sensual touching, brushing your hair from your face, running a finger along the curve of your rib cage. 

“So wet. All for me, soldier?” He hissed into your ear. 

“Yes, sir,” you panted. 

“Shh. Slow down. Breathe with me.”

You were tucked in closer to his chest, and you matched his inhales and exhales, your own body rising and falling with him as the hammock swayed you back and forth. You watched the boys laughing and joking. If they had noticed you, they were giving you your privacy. 

“That’s it. We’ve got all the bloody time in the world. What’s your rush?”

You looked back at him, pushing your nose against his scruffy jaw,

“Want you to touch me, Captain… please.”

“How do you want me to touch you, soldier?” He moved his hand beneath your shirt collar for the first time and you held your breath, “With my hands?” Before you could answer, his mouth closed over your earlobe, suckling at it, lightly kissing your neck, “Or with my mouth?”

“Yes, sir…” You let out a small mewl, trembling under his touch. 

He chuckled darkly, 

“Greedy little girl…”

When he finally ran his palm over your pert nipples, you jerked from the pleasure. It shocked you, and you felt yourself melt between your legs. His calloused hand was all you could think about. When he used his thumb and forefinger to lightly pull at your peaks, you had to stop yourself from moaning aloud. Instinctively, your body bucked into him, painting his cock with layer after layer of your slick joy. 

You watched as he snaked his hand out of your shirt and licked his fingertips. Then, he returned them to your breast, slipping his spit over your sensitive flesh, heightening your sensations. 

He shifted his weight and your shoulder fell back, twisting your torso until your breasts were freed from your shirt. You were fully on display, the light of the fire dancing across your skin. If the boys looked over at you, they’d see everything. They could watch how their sunkissed captain was craning his neck, knocking his hat back to lick and suck gently on your nipple, playfully plucking at the other one absentmindedly. 

You had to bite your cheek so you couldn’t scream, but Price saw the panicked look in your eyes. He paused, reminding you,

“C’mon, love. Breathe for me. Relax. You’re alright.”

The only problem was when you did finally relax, you felt the bright, crackling sense that you were about to come. 

“I can’t,” you hissed through your teeth, “You’re going to make me come. I’m gonna come. I’m… I can’t…”

“You can,” he suckled your breast deeper into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, “Deep breath in, let it all out. Let it come. That’s it. Good girl.”

You knew he had felt you come. You didn’t even have a chance to hide it. You were bucking against him hard enough to make wet little noises from your grinding. Your panties were wet. You’d come so hard it had felt like you had a bruise deep inside of your belly, and your legs shivered, quaking from his barely-there touch. 

“Beautiful…” He commented, returning to his delicate sucking, “So eager.” 

You were beyond consciousness. Everything was gleaming and glittering in your vision, and you could feel the flush of blood moving up your chest and onto your cheeks, hot and full of sexual energy. 

“You want me to touch you?” He asked quietly, hard as a stone but seemingly unbothered by your ecstasy. 

You nodded, whispering your desperate yeses to him. 

“In front of my men?” There was a darkness in his voice that felt like a hand gripping you around your throat. 

Shame and erotic desire warred in your belly. You nodded anyway, too cock-starved to care. You’d never wanted anyone so badly in your whole life. 

Price’s hand moved lower, flat against your skin, and his pinky finger dipped into the waistband of your underwear. His hand cupped your mons, finding his cockhead nuzzled beneath your clit, nudging the tight bundle. He used his hand not to touch you, but to instead hold his dick and draw little circles in your flesh with it, moving it against you rhythmically. The soft head swiped below your clit over and over, enough to tease and not nearly enough to soothe. 

“Soaked, love. So wet that I can smell you. So sweet.”

You turned your head to look at him. You wanted to see his face, wanted to see desire painted there, and it was. His eyes were watching you like a wolf, witnessing you fall limp like easy, pliant prey. 

“When you come,” he smiled, knowing you were getting close again, “I want you to look at me. Don’t look away. Show it to me.”

“Yes, sir…”

You struggled to hold his gaze. Your body was doing everything it could to fight you, to force you to close your eyes in the face of your pleasure. As you felt yourself approach that glaring point of no return, you locked eyes with him, pleading with him, begging him for help he couldn’t give you. 

“Captain!” You gasped breathlessly. 

“Don’t… don’t look away,” he growled from his throat with a half-moan that revealed his desire. 

You were bursting from the inside out, and it felt like you had caught fire. Your skin was hot, and you broke out in a sweat, the salty sheen making your sunburnt skin glow. 

“Good,” Price purred, “So good, love. So pretty.”

You rested your forehead against his neck. He hadn’t even put his cock in you, and you felt like you’d been through hell — or heaven. One or the other. Maybe both. You were dizzy. 

You felt his heart slamming into his chest, and you could smell the tobacco lingering on his breath. He was still pushing his cock against you, and your body continued to make loud, sticky come for him, enough to drip and smear onto your thighs. 

You looked out at the dying bonfire. The boys were quiet now, laying around, aiming for bed. As the fire lost its height, Price became emboldened. 

He fisted his cock more vigorously, jerking himself against you, his huge hand bulging inside of the fabric of your panties.

“So fuckin’ messy, love. So wet for me. Gorgeous,” Price snarled, talking into your neck in a hoarse whisper. You could tell he was approaching his own charged bliss.

You kissed his neck, sucking on his skin, enjoying each and every sigh. Your body was begging for him, contracting over and over, wishing for something to squeeze. As if he could read your mind, Price sank a thick finger into your pussy as he jerked himself off onto your folds, finding some sort of punishing pattern, ripping another round of joy from you. 

He moved his mouth over yours, letting it hang slack, sharing your breath and resting his forehead against yours. His eyes were watching yours, showing you his orgasm just as you had been made to show him yours. He was right. It was beautiful. You could see the sparking desire in his eyes, built up with a sort of intensity that was almost frightening. Price cried out under his breath, right into your open lips, his face full of serene relief. 

Then, you felt something warm and slick coating his hand and your lips. You realized he was coming on your folds, painting your soft skin with his white, thick cream. It was everywhere; you were so sensitive, you could feel it. It dripped onto your swollen clit, and you could feel it slide down into your stretched hole where his fingers were making you tremble. Your panties were soaked through, and you realized he was using his hand to pull out more and more of your juices, letting them run down your legs and into the cleft of your ass. 

He stilled himself, breathing heavy, still gazing into your face, his eyes full of longing. Then, he pulled his cock away, letting the wet tip loll against your ass cheek. His fingers slid out of you, one by one, ever so gentle, and he used them to rub his orgasm into your flesh like lotion, mixing you together in a lurid ritual. Carefully, he removed his hand from your panties entirely, replaced the elastic where it belonged, and began to massage your pussy through the fabric, making sure his sticky come was there to stay. 

“That was…” Price sighed. 

“So fucking good, Captain,” you smiled, petting his cheek, letting the sway of the hammock rock you as you came down from your high.

You looked down at your legs, gleaming in the low firelight,

“I better go wash off.”

“Don’t you dare,” Price snarled, hugging you closer to him, trapping you with his heavy arms. He grinned slyly down at you, taking an obvious glance down at your panties, teasing you, “You’re gonna keep me right here, love,” he shoved his huge hand between your legs, resting his palm over your clit, “At least until they start their snoring. Then…” You felt him teasing your pulsing hole through the wet fabric, “I’ll give you some more. Let you keep it nice and warm inside this time.”

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[longhardtransitionreturns]

Twilight Sleep

Colonel Hutcherson's blonde bombshell wife has been making waves in our small town since the moment she got off the train in a bright red pin up dress with more creamy cleavage on display than our poor farm boys had ever seen. Her sea green eyes, red lips, and shapely hips on top of the longest set of gams in stilettos to ever set foot here immediately made her gossip fodder for the bar flies and the busy bodies.

They said she couldn't buy bras off the rack because her breasts were so big. That she sent all the way to New York for her stockings. That her hair was falling out because of all the peroxide she bought to keep her hair a brilliant platinum white.

Either she already had a baby growing in that flat belly of hers when she came to town or Colonel Hutcherson put one in her right quick because it wasn't long before Ashley Hutcherson’s already obscene titties were spilling out of her tops and her belly was growing straight out like a bullet. She wore her dresses so tight the whole town knew the very day her belly button popped from an innie to an outie.

I knew Ashley, of course, because I was her OBGYN. One thing I figured out quickly is there were no thoughts behind those pretty eyes. Ashley was so dumb she could barely string a sentence together and I had to explain to her how her baby was going to come out of her tiny little fuck hole. The look of horror on her face when she realized she was going to have to push a watermelon out from between her legs was priceless.

And that was without me telling her that she had an extremely narrow pelvis and Colonel Hutcherson made such large babies his last wife had labored for 3 days to squeeze a 14 pounder out. She could barely walk for weeks and she was a regular size farm girl.

Ashley was so relieved when I told her about the miracles of twilight sleep I almost popped in my pants right there. She was delighted she’d just go to sleep and wake up with a baby, none of the mess of having to push it out. 

When the time came, Colonel Hutcherson delivered her to my home surgery when her pains were regularly five minutes apart. She was so swollen by that point she was wearing nothing but a white silk robe trimmed with lace over her shoulders. Her pretty face was screwed up in discomfort when I opened the car door to help her out.

Her eyes lit up with relief when she saw me. 

“Oh, doctor, I’m so glad to see you. I’m ready to go to sleep now. I don't like how my tummy feels. It hurts!”

She clutched my arm with one hand and her massive, straining belly with the other as we walked inside. We bid goodbye to her husband at the door and I promised to call him. Her kissed her on the cheek and told her to mind the doctor. 

She shivered when I led her into the delivery room and she spotted the steel table in the middle of the room. Her eyes went immediately to the stirrups.

“We’ll put your legs up there to help the baby come, honey, but first we have to get you ready to go to sleep.”

I coaxed her out of her robe, taking a moment to admire her dark, swollen areolas and how the baby had settled low in her elongated belly. She was so big I had to help her up on to the table. She let out a grunt of discomfort as she lay back and the full weight of her overloaded womb and her massive milk laden tits settled on her small frame.

She was pliant as I strapped her legs into the stirrups but she gasped sharply when I ran my finger through her folds. 

“Let's get you ready, Ashley.”

I didn't bother to explain what I was doing or apologize for the cold temperature of the shaving cream as I spread it over her vulva. She had just a smattering of blonde curls but I ran my razor over them anyway just to have a clean work surface.

“That's a good girl,” I reassured as Ashely moaned through a contraction while I wiped the cream and hair away. She was a groaner but she was clearly trying not to writhe too much in the stirrups.

I let her recover from the contraction while I prepared the enema supplies. When I approached her with the tip of the tube and a bit of lube, I saw fear flash across her face for the first time.

“Where's that gonna go?”

I smiled reassuringly. “We need to clean out your insides to make room for the baby.”

I slipped it in quick, shushing Ashley's yelp of protest, and allowed the warm water to start flowing. She was dumb but quickly figured out what was happening when an urgent pressure started to build in her bowels.

“Ow, ow, my belly, it's too full already! It hurts!” She rubbed the underside of her aching orb, trying to twist to the side to alleviate the pain in her gurgling gut but stopped by the straps on her ankles in the stirrups. “I feel like I need to poop, why are you doing this? Ow!”

I pressed my palm against her pelvis, rubbing firmly. She cried out in protest.

“We wouldn't want you to poop on me or your baby's head, no would we, Ashley? I can't believe you're being such a bad girl. I'm sure the Colonel told you to do as the doctor says.”

Ashley looked betrayed now, scared, in indescribable pain, exposed on a table with no way to know what was coming next or to do anything to stop it.

As if to illustrate the point a contraction gripped Ashely's roiling abdomen and she screamed, full throated, as tears streamed down her face. The agony of contracting with a full bag of warm, salty water in her ass broke any last semblance of composure and Ashley started begging me to make the pain stop.

I secured the catch bag underneath her and prepared the drugs I would need to administer twilight sleep while Ashley screamed and pleaded her way through three more contractions. I realized quickly she would need extra restraints while under because she was tossing her aching body wildly, huge tits swinging. 

When I finally removed the plug the noise the laboring woman made was so erotic I got hard instantly. It was a groan of agonized relief followed immediately by a yelp of pain when yet another contraction closed around her middle. 

Ashley was spent, legs splayed limply, her bowels empty and her ass clenching. The baby had dropped so low by this point she was starting to feel him in her aching hips. She was unimaginably full and the ordeal of the enema had taken it out of her.  After the pain passed, she gathered her composure enough to look up at me beseechingly. 

“Put me out now, please. I don’t want to hurt this bad anymore.”

I had to adjust my rock hard cocktail before moving to her side to slip my special cocktail into her IV. I stroked her face as she started blinking and nodding her head from side to side. I watched as awareness left her eyes and her mouth dropped open with a weak groan.

“Ashley?” I tapped her cheeks, moving her jaw from side to side. Her green eyes stared up without recognition. I reached down and tweaked her engorged nipple and her lips opened to emit a moan of pain.

This was my crowning, pun intended, achievement. I'd perfected a scopolamine cocktail that turns the patient’s brain to mush but leaves her aware enough to feel and respond to the pain of labor in order to be a beautiful, brain dead birthing doll for my and my patron's pleasure.

I left Ashely lying on the bed, contracting now about every three minutes and really feeling it, measuring by her noises, to make a phone call. Then I put an oxygen cannula under her nose, cleaned her up between her legs, checked her dilation, and wrapped her wrists and ankles in towels so there wouldn't be any questions about bruises. 

When John Hutcherson arrived, he looked as eager to get the night started as I was. We'd met during the war when I served as the chief medical officer of his battlefield command. We found out one pregnant local girl later that we shared some frowned upon predilections and now, ten years and a lifetime of experience later, we partake of his wealth and my medical genius as often as we can without raising suspicions.

It's John's wife so, of course, he gets to go first and however he likes. He loses his pants quickly after he walks in and sees her strapped spread eagle, her arms straight out and tied to the table and her legs secured in stirrups. She's screaming through a contraction and oblivious to our presence.

John moves on her like an animal in heat, plunging his generous, throbbing member into her exposed, dilating cunt without any preamble. She shouts as she is brutally and unexpectedly skewered on his cock while a contraction is still ripping through her. He doesn't give her even a moment before he starts pistoning in and out of her so hard her back is slapping up and down on the steel table.

Her titties bounce lewdly, slapping from side to side atop her grotesquely swollen belly, as he rails her with all his strength. I finally go up and hold Ashley’s head to keep in from hitting the table due to the force of her husband’s pounding. Her leaking green eyes are filled with fear and pain but it’s also clear the struggling woman isn’t capable of understanding what’s happening to her. Her world has narrowed to the pain and fullness in her tits, hips, and cunt, and as far as she is concerned, it’s never ending. 

Hutcherson blows his first load when she has an especially hard contraction on his cock. He lets out a surprised gasp and then he’s jerking as he’s milked by his wife’s laboring uterus. Their cries blend in the air, one of utter pain and the other of blissful pleasure. 

When he’s finally able to pull out, his flagging cock plops loose with a squelching sound. His cum mixed with blood and amniotic fluid floods out of her and on to the cloth below. 

The brutal pounding leaves Ashley listless and moaning with a little bit of drool making its way down her chin. It’s part of the beauty of the drug that even though she’s blasted out of her mind, her body is going to push the baby out no matter what. 

Over the next several hours, we take turns playing with her engorged nipples, sucking them to induce contractions. John sticks his hand up her through a couple, shivering with arousal when she cries out and tries to get away from the intrusion. Eventually her agonized sounds change to desperate screeches as transition hits and the contractions become longer and unbearable. We each dip into her a few times while she endures the most painful part of labor and both barely keep from cumming when she clamps down on our dicks and wails. 

It takes her hours to get the baby down but it’s huge in her tiny pelvis and when it gets lodged in her hips, she starts vocalizing low, loud grunts as her body tries to expel the huge head. I almost blew my load too soon when I wedged my dick up against her massive stomach and rolled her hips side to side to help urge the huge load down. 

She screamed bloody murder when it finally crowned and John held it there for a good long while, stroking her engorged clit and easing the head out so she didn’t tear. The body was huge, however, and we had to put her legs as far back as we could to help her deliver the shoulders. Her cries of pain echoed off the walls as I roughly jerked the rest of the body out of her sore cunny. A huge flood of liquid shot out of her bloody slit and she was left with her pussy bared, gaped open and dripping birth fluid. 

I handed the baby off to my loyal nurse who maintained the nursery in the next room and turned back to my friend. He was hard a rock, stroking his wife’s ruined cunny. She was still visibly hurting, both from the sheer size of what just came out and the after birth contractions. 

I climbed on top of the beg, squatted over her deflated belly, and put my dick in between her massive tits. Behind me John let out an erotic groan as he sunk his massive length deep into his wife’s loose, bleeding pussy. It made a nasty squelching sound when he pulled all the way back out and slammed back in as hard as he could. He proceeded to brutally rail his wife’s post birth pussy and I came all over her tits while she flopped up and down on the bed, screaming from the pain. 

The next time I saw Lucy, she was back in her white silk robe, a 17lb baby suckling at her ample breast. She’d reapplied her lipstick but her eyes were bloodshot and she looked like she’d been through hell. She woke up initially screaming about the pain in her pussy and she was still sitting awkwardly, an ice pack on her bruised and throbbing sex. 

That being said, she was thrilled she didn’t remember a single bit of it. She thanked me profusely and told her husband she wanted me to deliver all of her babies. Once her poor little cunny healed, of course. 

Josh and I shared a look over her head. We were already counting down to Ashley’s next labor and delivery. 

[the-midnight-blooms]

​ ᴠɪꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ

pairing: king!choi san x general!reader

AU: historical au, royalty au

word count: 8.5k

ATEEZ as angst tropes series:

Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

masterlist

Trope: Forbidden Love

Choi San.

Borne from the roots of a pious tree, sprung from the ashes of his father's shadow was the Kingdom of Qiān's esteemed Crown Prince, scholar, charming bachelor and skilled swordsman. His name roamed in the villages of foreign nations, where the people believed his rubric was the elixir of eternal strength and beauty. For his mere presence intoxicated weakened souls, harbouring an essence of rebirth within the individuals that sook a replenished health. Though it was merely an old wives tale, Choi San was indeed a potent, renown individual who rose to power after the death of his predecessor: King Choi.

King Choi, on to contrary to his beloved son, was by no means the greatest King to ever rule over the ambitious lands neither was he the poorest. Though, he was the reaction intermediate, used to form something much more powerful. A much more historical ruler ascended to the throne in his wake.

The once coddled prince, who spent his carefree childhood sauntering the seven seas, reading books until the stars blurred into the dawn, playing chess with the strategists, could no longer escape from responsibility. His father's weakened hold on his hand had almost drained the life out of him. Momentarily, he had felt soul meander towards his ancestors; though they had rejected him.

Show them how powerful a King can be.

Hunched over a small desk, in a large tent, sat Lieutenant Seok- Qiān's first female high-ranking officer. With a quill fixed between her nimble fingers and a sore back, she scribbled away at her commanding officers report transcribing his poorly written work for the King. The dim light from the candle swayed in the desolate tent, bending to the will of small wisps of wind that flooded in through the slits between canvas fabric. With a tired sigh, she settled down her pen at last exercising the tense fibres in her muscles. A patter of loud footsteps ascended from outside the tent, her head piqued up as the fabric tore revealing Major Seong, his eyebrows creased in irritation as he stalked towards her.

"Hand me that." Snatching the sheet in front of her, her hands remained hovered in the air repressing the urge to roll her eyes at his short-tempered antics. His stern, hazel eyes peered over the sheet down at her as she stretched out her arms to correct the complacent stiffness. "King San requests your attendance his office. Major Baek will be there too." Momentarily, the Lieutenant felt a pulse of shock run through. The King requests my presence? She wasn’t aware that the esteemed King knew who she was. After all, her superiors had made many attempts to dissolve the rumours of there being a female military official. It didn't occur to her why, surely that was something to be proud of, yes- it defied convention but this could potentially further Qiān's image internationally catalysing the need for society to become modernised. Besides the Royal Army had, historically, suffered from a shortage of its members-if women had to fill the shoes of men then so be it. Unfortunately, her commanding officers did not share her contemporary mindset so she left the advocation for her less passive successor.

"Hurry up or it'll be off with our heads." Major Seong deadpanned, apologising profusely she shot out of her seat grabbing her jacket off the back off the chair before disappearing out of the tent.

Lieutenant Seok dashed through the ostentatious palace walls, her boots smacking against the marble floor heart pounding against her chest. Fixing the lapel of her jacket, she snatched a quick glance at her appearance through the blade of the guard's spear.

Chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in.

A slight nod, and the heavy doors to the King's office were heaved open, the crystal white paint of the room blaring in her eyes. At the top, first and foremost sat the King's ebony chair and desk, along the expanse of the wall behind him was a bookcase full of books, the vestigial walls plastered with portraits of the preceding Kings. Large royal blue velvet curtains hung over baroque windows, reminiscent of the crests symbolic metallic silver and deep blue colours. Her own uniform was a navy blue jacket, shoulders padded with an expensive silver beadwork, and a long pleated skirt. Along her breast jacket sat her ribbon rack, adorned with all of the honorary medals she obtained during her service. Elegantly, she strode down the aisle; the King's careful eyes following her as she fell into a deep bow.

"Your Highness." She rose with grace too, hands firmly fixed at her sides, lowering her gaze before the King. "I am Lieutenant Seok." San cocked his head to the side, raising from his seat. Major Baek, the mentor to Seok stood adjacent to the King's desk sending a small sheepish smile, an odd emotion lingering behind it that she could not quite put her finger on. He was an old man, of about late sixties with thinning grey hair and a crinkled smile that stuck on his face throughout his life. He was renown for being the more compassionate of military officials she had ever come across, immediately taking the younger girl under his wing as soon as she stepped foot into the camps.

Being the only female lieutenant was more threatening to the cause than inspiring. Typically, women were not allowed to serve, in the military, unless they were Nurses or Administrators. Despite this, Lieutenant Seok's quick wits and admirable strength had her soaring through the rankings though she hated to admit that her father's occupation as Military Strategist may have been what allowed her to even step foot on the soil, or even what got Major Baek to show her some kindness. They loved to remind her of that. Though he was not the one to get her that far. Hell he had even died before the thought of joining the military had even crossed her mind.

The King rose from his chair, moving to stand in front of his desk waving a stack of papers in hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, she shifted her gaze to Major Baek who only avoided eye contact.

"Here, I have all of Major Seong's reports. Very meticulous, very well-written. Such is what I expect of my men." The pulse of her heart rose, blood rushed through her veins at a palpable speed, clenching her pleated skirts within the tight fist of her sweaty palms. Had he realised that she was the one writing all of his reports? "Except there's a slight problem and I need you to fix it for me." San provoked, she shifted uncomfortably under his hard stare.

"Look at me whilst I speak to you." Her eyes widened, was this King deranged? Who dared to even look into the King's eyes? Tentatively, lifting her chin, she bored into his crescent eyes. His high cheekbones and defined jawline created an intimidating impression, a current of virtue circulated around him as he spoke. His robes accentuated his broad shoulders and cinched waist. "In the Battle of Myeongnyang, by how many men was Admiral Yi Sun-Shin outnumbered?"

"333 to 13." Lieutenant Seok answered before San could blink, he fought back the smirk dancing on his lips.

"In which battle did he die?"

"Battle of Noryang on December 16, 1598."

"Exactly as its written here." San held up the report again, sharing a look with Major Baek that she failed to read. "So when I asked Major Seong, why did he say Pyeongyang?" Oh God. She thought as quickly as she could, reeling her mind through ways to answer the King.

"Everybody makes mistakes, Your Highness." she answered, settling upon the weakest argument one could make.

"He said December 14, 1598. I don't think this is a mistake Lieutenant. Now, I'm not concerned that our military officials don't know our countries history. I should be, but I'm not. This here." He shook the paper as furiously as he could. "Means nothing. But I asked him to recite basic facts from this report and he stuttered like a man with a lisp." Flinching at the King's harsh insult, she fixed her gaze to the ground again realising that the King knew that all along she was writing Major Seong's reports for him, which was one of the biggest crimes one could commit as a member of the Royal Army.

"I could ask you, on the other hand, and you would read this off like it's the back of your hand. Do not lie to me, Lieutenant, have you or have you not been writing Major Seong's reports and carrying out his duties which are significantly above your pay grade?" The King's voice seethed with anger, a large gust of wind emptied into the tense atmosphere as if the wind itself was mirroring his vexation. Once again, she fleeted her gaze back to her mentor who was painfully silent during this assembly. "I asked you, not him."

"Yes." She responded, weakly. "I did, Your Highness." San sighed, dropping the reports on the table with a loud thud. He didn't need to question why, he already knew that despite the fact that she was a particularly hard-working individual committed to carrying out her duties diligently, she was also just a woman- being punished for her sex.

"As you know, every King gets to choose his General. I have to be able to trust that my General can lead me into war and win." He paused, a breath hitched in the night's air. "How does General Seok sound?" Her eyes lit up at the sound of ‘General’ in front of her name, the urge to gasp out and cry was hanging heavy on her tongue. Looking into Major Baek’s eyes, they were full of joy and admiration for his mentee. Prior to this meeting, he had spoken with the King, believing it was time Qiān had elevated their distinguished reputation further through their first ever female General.

"With all due respect, Your Royal Highness, there are many Majors and Lieutenant Colonels who have much more leadership experience and the desired skill set to fill this role. I am not sure if I possess the qualities that you are seeking." Besides, why had he even called her into his office? To humiliate her before giving her the title of General, to prove that even though she would have the power of the military in the palm of her hands-above all King San held a more divine power that only she could dream of?

San saw in both her eyes and her slight discomfort of her face, that it pained her to say such words. Then why did she say them? Was it the fear of being rejected by those who looked down on her? The fear that accepting this esteemed position would exacerbate the conditions she was living in. Men hated powerful women, history made that story known. Though, there was something about the woman before him being by his side, ruling his Royal Army that magnetised him.

“I disagree. You are General Officer Seok’s daughter, who helped us win a number of battles. Before he died, he told me you would win a thousand wars for Qiān.” Major Baek inputted. She always thought that her father had a hyperactive imagination; simply put he said the things he said to motivate his daughter. But her father was never wrong.

Is this not what she always wanted? Was King San not giving it to her on a hot silver platter dish? Yet, did this not mean her hands would be drenched in blood even more than it already was?

“Sacrifices have to be made, pet. In war, you sacrifice your sanity.”

"I accept this position." Falling into another deep bow, she rose as a wilted plant once did when it was blessed with water from the skies after a deserted period. "Thank you, my King. I promise I won't let you down."

General Seok strode down to her office situated in the East Wing of the castle, yet a distance from the King’s quarters. It was usually derelict at this time yet as she walked down she felt the burning stare of a hundred military officials, all jealous of her rank. She recounted the wave of discontentment that spun over the room like a wild fire, all questioning their noble King’s decision. Her mind fixated over the way her name reverberated through the room, a wave of gasps infiltrating the tense air. The officials heads snapping towards her, their mouths gaped.

"Men will never take you seriously if you are too afraid to look them in the eye." Staring at her father from across the chessboard, she bit her lower lip. "Are you afraid of me, my child?" Shaking her head no, she captured his bishop with her rook. With a contented humph, her father got up.

"Then look at me next time, when you have won. Show me that you are more powerful than Generals, wits great enough to be our Queen."

Pushing past the door to The General’s office, the large room was wavering with a warmth, the shut of the door silencing the bustle of movement outside the wall. Bookcases were plastered across the walls of the room, the palace brimmed with profound knowledge each published piece of literature could be found in Qiān's halls. A large mahogany table with a soft leather chair resided by the glass pane windows overlooking the garden. On a much smaller table, in the far corner, sat a chessboard- two chairs on opposite ends. A bundle of ink quilled pens rested above the table, a stack of plain books on the right hand corner. Sighing, she dropped the pile of books in her hand onto the table.

“War is looming over us. Freyr will not rest until they have seized our lands and we will not rest until we have secured ours." Over several generations, from the beginning of time when Kingdoms were forged from molten rock, a foreign tension bloomed between two of the most powerful nations of Earth. For the longest time, Qiān had always been imperilled with the possibility of war; they had just been harmless threats from a King that was too dim to strike against an equally powerful nation that would cause mutually assured destruction. Until now, King Jeong proved one of the more impulsive of Kings from his ancestors. Her kingdom's safety was now at stake and she needed to protect it with her life. "Over the next few weeks we need to prepare for a potential war-” She was cut off by the grumblings of the militia.

"I will not have a woman lead me into a war."

"How pitiful, death awaits for you from the male Generals that have this country running in blood."

"You sound incredibly confident, General, that you'll lose the least number of men." One mocked, the crowd of men let out a taunting laughter only be silenced as San rose from his chair.

"Had I believed we'd conquer this war by a man, would I have not chose him to stand by my side? Do you think me unintelligible of making a wise decision?" A deafening silence punctured her ears, her head dipped under his omnipresence. Did they go reticent out of sheer embarrassment or because they thought that King San would be one to disperse their Kingdom into ashes? Granted, her first assembly as General was a disaster, the uproar from her comrades induced a thumping headache; her forehead hit against her table a long groan escaping from her lips out of sheer exhaustion.

"My, my General-you're going mad already." Hastily, she jerked up her head straightening her posture as the King slumped into the chair opposite her desk. When did he enter?

"Your Highness, should I call for some tea?" San snickered, dimples adorning his cheeks. His heart fluttered slightly at her disorientation he could not put his finger why. Perhaps it was that for the first time, the organised, composed General had been caught off guard by his surprise visit. There was something so domestic about the fact that she was summoning tea for him; he didn’t even get to say ‘No thank you, I’ve had three cups already and it’s one in the evening.’

Certainly, the woman before him was beautiful- he noted that on first sight. He did not know how to feel now that he assigned her the role as his General. The whole world could see her sacred beauty, she was not something for him to lock up in a treasure chest and keep her all to himself. How dare she sway his heart into unchartered seas that San had spent the duration of his life running away from.

“Your Highness, the maids have told me that you haven’t had lunch yet. Perhaps we can have tea another time.” She stood by the doorway, arms folded as if she was his wife scolding him on his lack of appetite.

“First of all, I didn’t come for tea.” Her face heated up in embarrassment; pressed in her palms in realisation that she had jumped to a sudden conclusion. “Secondly, I’m not hungry. I’ll drink your tea anyway.” Huffing, she grabbed the tea tray from the maid thanking her before shutting the door with her foot. She picked up the porcelain teapot, the air fulfilled with the aroma of Jasmine tea; tranquillity succeeded the exhaustion felt by both King and his General.

“Jasmine tea?” San questioned, he preferred green tea with its grassy undertone. Jasmine tea was too floral for him.

“Yes, it’s good for calmness and mental clarity.”

“So that’s your secret, lots of Jasmine tea.” She nodded, placing the teacup in front of him. He sucked in a breath before raising the cup to his lips. Oh, it’s sweet. A lot sweeter than the cups he had been forced to drink as a child.

“I added honey.” The General added, on cue as if she had read his thoughts. “With respect Your Highness, if it wasn’t tea you came for: how can I help you?” He settled down the cup, clearing his throat.

“I excused Major Seong. As of tomorrow morning, he will be a normal civilian working in his father’s farm. He’s best off serving the country in another way.” Her chest heaved in shock, she leaned back in her chair chewing on her lip as she could not help but feel that she was to blame.

“He was still the best of us.” She retorted, after a long, painful silence.

“Not good enough. Otherwise I wouldn’t have dismissed him. Also, I don’t know if Major Baek has told you but he is retiring.” With her elbows perched on the desk, her face rested within her palms.

“Don’t you have anything good to tell me, Your Majesty.” He laughed, shaking his head at her forlorn attitude.

“Call me San.” He retorted, the beauty of his name flew her heart into oblivion. “Tell me something, that reads like poetry.” He blurted, though his claim was abrupt a part of her understood where he came from. Tell me what’s on your mind, he wanted to say.

Tell me what your deepest wish is so that I can fulfil it.

“I believe, in a hundred years time, my successor will be the vessel that tells the people of Qiān that a woman’s rule can be as bold and as true as a man’s.” His eyes narrowed, infatuation settling into his heart, bewitched by his General's moving words. “I will be the woman to win the wars against our enemies. She will be the one to win against society.” A comfortable quietude penetrated the tense atmosphere, San sat still in his chair, afraid to make a sound as he swallowed her words with a heavy heart. For the first time since his father's death, he felt weak. As if he wanted to fight the war, that she was fighting, with her. Her wish was one those that even as omnipotent as he was, he could not fulfil.

"I shall take your leave. Enjoy the office." Smiling, San strode out of the room, his powerful aura remained suspended in the air in his absence.

Within the subsequent weeks General Seok was burdened with bourgeoning responsibility, abetting a series of migraines that not even Jasmine tea could fix. They ranged from completing reports, training soldiers, attending her own training-during the day that was. Then at night, she read books on the Freyr-learning about their language, culture, and then reading upon all of their wars. She managed to find books on previous Generals that served the Freyr Kingdom, noting their battle strategies. She became reserved to her study, papers scrawled across the floor, hooking up drawing pins as she noticed trending schemes. There were multiple different outcomes, like a game of chess. One move by the opponent unravelled up to ten to the power of a hundred and twenty-three potential outcomes, much like war and its soldiers.

"You just started your job and it's already exhausting you." Her mother claimed, as she placed her book on her nightstand. Sat at the foot of her bed, the elderly woman looked at her daughter's tired eyes-witnessing the same determined gaze; once held by her husband.

"I know, a big position only means more responsibility. Besides, I think I've got most things worked out. I have a meeting with the King, tomorrow and then the whole day to myself." Letting out a stifled yawn, she sunk into her cotton sheets hair sprawled across the pillow.

"You've been busy, General." With a single nod, she watched as San drew his eyes down her veraciously detailed report. A pair of round glasses sat at the bridge of his nose, she could not help but notice how they heightened the sharp features of his face. "Your work ethic is incredible, even I don't think I could have done this in the time span you did. You can rest now."

It did not occur to her that she had fallen asleep in the King's office, right in front of His Majesty's eyes. The sight of her tenacity lead his heart to swoon a little. General Seok was a sight to behold, especially with the way the soft afternoon light streamed in through the window, beaming across her face forging a halo. Her hair which was usually straightened and fastened tightly behind her shoulders had become loose from its knot. She breathed gingerly; the strands of hair that fell structurally over her face drifting as the air spun around it. He wanted to outstretch his hand and brush the hair from her face.

"I need tighter security, here." she ordered, pointing to the farming village, the kingdom's most vulnerable district. "If I were the Freyr, I would attack here. It's unscrutinised and connects to the Valley-perfect for pushing equipment and aid through. We need to block any shipment through these borders." The valley connected to the farming village became one of the fundamental ways that the Freyr and Qian people traded over centuries.

Gathered in the War Room, the military officials were all stood around large chestnut table, a map of the world and it's seven seas. Adjacent was a black box, which she recognised as holding pawns, figurines, as well as odd bits of trinkets. The dark walls were plastered with weapons of all sorts, a preview of all the artillery they held in the War Inventory. Despite the spectrality in the thin air, there was an odd sense of comfort to be found here. Something like she could spend the rest of her days trapped within these four walls and she'd be surprisingly at comfort with it.

"If we close the bridge, how will we trade?" Major Baek questioned.

"We can trade at the Centre." Her finger fell over the busiest and the most surveyed port in Qiān. "Let's just tell them it's closed for repair." An influx of complacency infiltrated the room. Her eyes glanced towards San, who was staring intently at the map over her shoulders, with a calculating look.

“We’ll have to have a talk with the foreign diplomats, otherwise good job General.” With a single nod, he left from the room signalling the end of the meeting. All left except Major Baek, sat in front of her, sipping on the Jasmine tea she had called for.

“You’re doing incredibly well, dear. If it’s any reassurance.” A genuine smiled plastered on her, soothing the agitation in her muscles.

“It is. I can’t believe you’re retiring. What was a few more years? I can’t do this without you.”

“You can, you already are. Besides it’s not like I was ever going to become General.” He joked, they shared a small laugh that echoed in the dim light of the War Room, where for the last time: the man who had treated her as if she was his own daughter was soon to be a name written in a history book, his memory lost to the wind.

General Seok found that the women of the palace grew indifferent towards her success for they taunted her with dirty looks as she surpassed them. Their snake like tongues spat venomous rumours, claiming that whenever she entered the King's chambers she was carried with a promiscuous sense of duty. To which this enraged her but there was simply nothing she could do, because they were just rumours; there was no substantial proof that they were rallying against her.

"Here comes the whore." They sang in an undignified manner as she strode down the hallways, a book pressed against her chest. Biting down on her lip so she did not release a snarky remark, she merely ignored them as their giggles venerated through the hallways. Pushing through the doors to his chambers, Seok entered his bedroom finding him sat by the balcony reading a book. Her anger had diminished at the sight of him, following the pout of his pink lips, the crease between his eyes as he revelled the words; the breeze tousled his hair. Within this moment he was no longer the King that ruled over his kingdom with a tight fist and sharp mind but rather an amiable man with a thirst for knowledge. Clearing her throat, his head craned to find her standing by his desk. A strand of hair fell over his dark eyes, he rose from his seat; gaze travelling up and down her body.

“You’re dressed like a bride.” He blurted. My bride. Clearing his throat as his cheeks blushed pink, he stuttered over his words, "Eastern brides traditionally wear red on their weddings days." Handing over the book, she sat herself down on the chair, dazing out of the window. To think of it, why did she always dress so ostentatiously around San? Was it his nobility that intimidated her? Or the need to live up to the King's standards as his General?

"What's wrong?" San chimed. She shook her head, as if there was nothing wrong with herself. Maybe the women were right, she was gnawing at his attention trying to keep him to herself. There was no denying Choi San was beautiful with his sleek dark chair, cut-throat jawline, his angelic eyes, his benefaction. His concern whenever she tired herself, slaving herself over her work. Then came his desire to stand next to her in every meeting, his body pressed close to hers fighting of all of the griping stares as she fought gruellingly to protect their kingdom.

"Nothing, nothing." With a wave of her hand, she brushed him off. He slumped down onto the chair opposite her, chin resting with the palm of his hands cupping the sides of his cheeks.

"Oh its something, something." His crescent eyes peered into hers, she wanted nothing more than to delicately kiss them. Then to drag her lips over the bridge of his nose and then his plump lips. "Is it not your duty to share the people's concerns?"

"No because I am not a member of parliament." She quipped, with a smirk that made him scoff. "My duty is to protect you."

"But you did not protect me from you." He got up from his seat, walking around the table to face her. His hands outstretched towards her face, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear, with his lips dangerously close to her own, she basked in the sight of her King as a hungry soul reaching for the fruits of love to which only she could hand down to him.

“San, what am I to you, if not your general?”

"You are my heart and my soul. You are what keeps me beating, and what brings me back to life every morning. You are everything I want and even more. It is painful to be so in love with you, so tell me you don't love me and free me from this anguish." As if he had knocked the life out of her, her body glissaded under his devotion. How cruel of him to beg her to purge herself of the profound emotions she held for him. Did she not want him too, in all ways whether it may be forbidden?

"We shouldn't do this." Her mutter reached to him through a series of rough, passionate kisses-a fire burning wherever his touch lingered upon her skin.

"Then tell me to stop" But she could not as her hands ran into his hair. Her every scent pulled the strings of his heart, every pulse was hers as their arms circulated around each other in the darkness of his chambers. Every touch felt as if they would never feel again, every sight relished as if they would never see again. Their clandestine marriage of hearts was so potent, it was enough to send them into a drunken haze for eternity.

The Royal Palace was struck with chaos- servants bustling around in desperate attempts to create an illustrious image of decadence, in honour of Qiān's annual banquet held in order to improve international relations. This year it was to celebrate the strong tradesmanship formed between the Qiān and the East. That also included inviting their enemy, Freyr, to maintain an image of agreement to their people. Of course, this enraged her as the Freyr became more hostile, finding multiple ways to pose threats on their country. For all she knew, they could see this as a perfect opportunity to strike as the Qiān would not want to damage foreign relations by keeping a tight security. Having raised this with the other military commanders, they all mocked her by deeming her paranoid.

“I agree.” San’s cold voice bellowed over the War Room. “Our allies may perceive our tightened security as a threat. The Freyr were already adamant to not attend the ball, convincing them was hard enough.”

“Your Highness, this is exactly what they want. We should at least have tighter security at the border and ports.” He shook his head in disagreement, a pang of annoyance jutting through her.

“Stand down, General. You are not a member of parliament.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she sunk her head in humiliation. He had never disagreed so bluntly before, if he had ever disagreed: he would raise the point so gently or provide another solution, not outright dissipate her suggestions. Later that day she was huddled up in a chair in her office; finishing up the finality of her report. She was so wrought with exhaustion she wished for some comfort. A pair of arms would soothe the headache from the burden of stress that persisted on her shoulders. As soon as she walked in through the doors to his chambers, he invited her with a look of irritation.

“What do you want?” He snapped, flinching at the harshness of his tone- she rushed forward to hand the report to him. Next time she’d hand it to the Royal Secretariat if he was going to act this way. Turning on her heel, she hurried out of his chambers biting down her quivering lip. Wrapping her arms around herself, as if it would reprimand the damages he inflicted upon her.

Hidden behind a pillar, her head was thrown back-hands pressed over her abdomen in order to soothe the persisting ache residing. San's voice carried out of the room, to which she listened to his manufactured speech which rendered their hearts into submission. General Seok, herself, was clad in an embellished silver dress her ears and neck were bejewelled in a matching set of silver with the infamous General’s sword to her hip. Her eyes peered through the open doors to the ballroom-a sea of fabrics enveloping the white marble ceilings as a cacophony of sounds emptied into the room. Despite its elegance, an ominous feeling was pensile within the humidity, a dark cavern with a haunting soul ready to be unleashed onto the crowd. It was too liable, susceptible to attack.

Something felt off.

At the top through the window, she noticed a glint penetrate through the glass. The silhouette of a sharp blade pointing down in San’s direction as he spread his arms wide summoning the attention of the nobles. Her hand reached for the hilt of the sword, but the figure retreated. Instead, she sought a shadow move closer across the skylines, as soon as he placed one foot on the chandelier, his arrow pointed straight at the King of Qiān. Swiftly, she stole a knife from the nearest guard. His bowstring pulled back. Dashing towards San, she drove his body into the floor as the arrow penetrated through the air, landing less than a foot away from his feet. Chucking the blade into the air, the dagger pierced through the rope holding up the chandelier- the glass sinking in the ground releasing a camaraderie of panicked screams.

Unsheathing her sword, she struck down at him only to strike again, the rim slicing through the surface of his skin. This time, he pounded a harsh blow against her to which the colliding of his weapon against hers created a screech loud enough to bleed ears; the sword in her steadfast grip was growing heavy and acuminating at her tiredness. The attacker stumbled backwards, falling to his knees under her powerful blow. The full length of her blade impaled through his heart, ripping the seams that held his soul together- blood bursting from its banks. A breath hitched in his throat, a loud thud gratified the throne room. Her hands shook as the adversaries screams mimicked the cries emptying into her detached soul; thick scarlet blood painting her fingers as her body roamed through the folds of his dead body. Bingo. Ripping the crest from his body, she threw it at San's feet.

“I want this castle searched for any more intruders.” When the Royal Guards did not move, rage flooded through her. “Now!” She roared, parading out of the room.

Her back slid slowly down the wall of the War Room, tears sliding down her cheeks. Tucking up her knees to her chest- her body wracked as an excruciating wail echoed into the room. General Seok felt the derisive stare of the chess pieces, the maps, the strategy books. What kind of General was she? One who could barely protect her king. They were right. All of them: the nobles, the ministers, officials, the noblewomen and even the servants. A woman was in no position to protect the country, she had spent hours, days and weeks cooped up drawing out plans, playing out schemes in her head, sketching them out like role play over the board. All of that work seemed futile now that the enemy was daring enough to unleash an attack against the King. The painful creak of the door snapped at her attention, she roughly wiped away her tears with her sleeve a harsh stare befalling on her face.

“I thought I told-Your Majesty.” Her rough tone transgressed into a soft voice as she bowed deeply, San rushing into the room.

“Are you ok? You’re not hurt, are you?” She shook her head no, avoiding his gaze. “My love, look at me.” Hesitantly, her red eyes bored into his own. Cupping her cheeks, he pressed his lips to her forehead. That was enough to break her walls again. Digging her face into his neck, she erupted into a fit of sobs, her weary body slumping against his robes. His slender fingers pulled out the clip to ease the strident tug of her hair gnawing at her scalp; his hold around her waist tightening.

“I should have listened to you. The faults mine.” Lifting her head she looked at him, mouth parted as if to reason. Placing a finger on her lips, he silenced her. “No- none of this was your fault. You couldn’t have possibly known any of this was going to happen. In fact, you told me this was a possibility and I didn’t listen. It was an uncharacteristic and a foolish attack. General Seok, we have the upper hand now.”

"That's what they want us to think. God, San, my head hurts. I'm struggling. I can't come to terms with what they want."

"For now, you need to rest. You must be exhausted."

"I can't rest. Tomorrow the officials will be at my necks. 'General Seok you never saw this coming, did you?', 'This is why you should leave it to the men.' They won't see how I almost sacrificed my life to save yours, they'll only see the fact that you were endangered in the first place."

"I've warranted a search for the rest of the attackers around our villages too. More royal guards have been posted, security is much tighter. King Jeong seemed unsurprised, but not his son. This was an attack by Freyr. I saw the crest" He ambled towards her, sinking to his knees in front of her. Her breath hitched in her throat, a king kneeling to his servant? Had this man gone mad? His hand drifted towards her cheek, “You need sleep. You’re unwell, my General.”

"Get up, if anyone sees you kneeling before me, it will look nasty for the pair of us." He shook his head.

"I don't think I care." Encasing an arm around her neck and under her knees, he effortlessly lifted her up from the chair. "Don't say anything." he warned, walking to the other end of the room towards the large banner pinned to the wall. Moving the fabric with a few fingers, he grunted twisting the door handle. Leaning against him, her eyes fluttered to a close as he surpassed into the hidden passageway. The next morning, she was prescribed with escorting the Crown Prince of Freyr, Yunho to his carriage. They strode down to the horses in silence, wind brushed against them, left with tired sighs and quiet hums to serenade the airs.

"You are ok, aren't you General?" Nodding gratefully at his compassion, they stood outside his carriage, ready to exchange their final goodbyes. Yunho, himself, despite his incredibly tall stature, and depictable strength, held more altruism in the tip of his finger than his father held in his whole body. In comparison to King Jeong, whose violent tendencies and insatiable appetite for destruction was now the impending cause of his deteriorating health, he was renown for his charity work and advocating for peace instead of war. However, at times she could not help but think he was executing a carefully constructed façade to move the hearts of the Qiān officials. Primarily, herself. For she sought the way that he looked at with the same level of infatuation that San had. "I'd love to get to know you General and I feel as if soon we will be obliged to work more closely together. I know you understand that our countries enmity is a product of egotism, which I hope we can soon come to a conclusion on." Her head nodded slowly, as Yunho have her one last final smile before entering his carriage.

The officials were bashful in the following meeting. A few spoke of an outbreak of a plague, San walking into the meeting late addressing the militia's concern.

"The village is under lockdown?" she questioned.

"Yes, and some villagers were on their way to Freyr too." A thought processed through her mind, vaguely. They needed something against Freyr. Something to make them pay for attacking her Kingdom.

"Nothing is immoral in war, pet." her father beamed at her as she sat in his bedroom reading through his journal. "Don't let emotions cloud your judgement, the second it does? You're as good as dead."

"That's it, Mr Seok! Stop trying to turn our daughter into a tyrant!" Her mother’s cry clamoured into her bedroom. Sharing a smile with her father she turned back to her book.

"What if we sent some of them to Freyr?"

"We can't do that, there'd be an ou-." Her cunning grin censored his reasoning.

"Can we not?" she challenged, the officials all shared a look. "Meeting adjourned." Is this what you meant Father, when you said nothing, in war, was immoral?

Nestling her head in the crook her neck, she sat on his laps staring out into the dusk. Pressing his lips to her cheeks, he breathed her in as if she was oxygen.

“The council is talking about your marriage now, aren’t they?” He hummed in agreement, sadness provoking through her. Was it possible for them to be together for eternity? Could she be both General and Queen? Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself, what if his intentions weren’t marriage? What if he wanted a little bit of fun? As if he read her thoughts, he rested a hand upon her cheek to console her.

"I’ll find my way to you, if not I’ll make my way.” But just how would he make his way to her, when he could not even do as much as hold her hand for longer than a minute under the table? How would he do so, when he had to drag her into the nearest empty room to stoop her into a dulcet kiss for a mere second before they played their respective roles again? The sweetest things are forbidden. The things you desired the most are the ones you cannot have. Therefore, did she desire him more than she desired to be great and true? Was it love that she was seeking rather than power and intellect?

It was one or the other. It was San or General. How could the universe make her choose? It was like when she was asked if she preferred her mother or her father. When she was younger she always chose whoever had bowed to her wishes and pleased her the most. Her father-tending to her every need whereas her mother taught her that patience would give you more than what you desired. What was she to do now? She waited, and she became Qiān's acclaimed military official standing next to their eminent King. What would the people think? What would the naval think? They already hated the fact that she ruled over them, but as their Queen no witty remark would slip past her.

“I can make you my wife, right here and right now.” I love you, but I can't have you. "Marry me and let me make you Qiān's most powerful queen."

"San, do you think they like the fact that a woman has to tell them how to win a war? Do you think they'll like me even more when I become their queen? Your duty to this kingdom is to be its face, to unite, create stability between yourself and the people. Mine is to protect."

"You also have a duty to your heart. What does it want?” The booming of their incessant souls prevailed, the strings attached to them, curtailing. His tantalising aura pulled her in, yet the fact that she could not have him drew her away. It hurt that he did not belong to her, having spent the remainder of her life ruled by rationality than emotion, she knew it was better to let go of what she desired.

"It wants you. But we can't always have what we want. We have to live with that San."

"Then I won't marry. This kingdom can die with me, for all I care. After my death they can tear this palace apart. When my ancestors ask me why I broke their legacy, I'll say I fell in love."

"Don't be ridiculo-."

"I am irrevocably in love with you. My heart beats to your name, I'd abdicate-" Her hands pressed up against his lips. Tears rushing to front of her eyes.

I want you, I want you so badly.

"San, you fool.” she sobbed, her hands sliding down his face before settling on his chest.

"Can't you see? I'm a fool for you." He kissed away her tears, slowly inching towards her lips. The taste of it so sweet, so divine, something to get drunk on every night until her soul was too intoxicated to stay alive. “I’d let kingdoms fall for you.”

“We can build this kingdom together, just not as King and Queen. Just as King and General. As it should be.”

“Please. Think, we can make our way to each other, we can make it work. I beg.” Her hold around his neck tightened, he gripped her so tightly as if he would lose her and it seemed that any second now: he would.

“The Freyr have surrendered their threats? They wish to organise a peace treaty?” Her voice rose by an octave with every word as the Major revealed to her the latest political news. “Why wasn’t I informed of this? This is great.”

“Mainly so, King Yunho has requested to meet with you rather than His Majesty.” Once the migrants had reached the Freyr border, unbeknownst of the news of a disease- a sudden epidemic occurred across the nation, the death count inclining exponentially. Freyr’s army depleted significantly with the plague, Qiān locking its borders- keeping the spread of infection on a tight leash. Finally, when the disease had reached the palace- King Jeong became a victim; with his prolonging amenability, his life was taken from him a new ruler acceding to the throne. “I hear he may be visiting soon, after a period of isolation- of course.”

As claimed, Yunho made his way to their kingdom with a restricted access to the palace grounds and movement to prevent the spread of disease. She caught him traipsing across the guest's quarters with white gloved hands and a face mask- to meet with San who wore the same protective dress. Entering the room, the King of Freyr was sealed behind a transparent white fabric. Joining San on the opposite side, she greeted him with a deep bow.

“Your Highness. To what do we owe the pleasure?” The treaty was signed now, the threat of war had been consumed. Was he after something more malicious?

“I was thinking what would be better way for us to create an efficacious partnership than to bind our kingdoms together in matrimony.” She shared a look with San.

“Are you talking about the Freyr Princess, Yeji?" He nodded, dubiously.

"We'll have to think about this prospect, Yunho. Our people will not take lightly to a Freyr Queen." San spoke, his careful words penetrating through Yunho's heart. His way of speaking was hypnotic enough to make his counterpart submit under his command. Through the sheer fabric, a long arm outstretched before hers dragging her body violently towards his.

“I know this was all your doing General Seok. You are a very clever woman and I respect that you will do whatever it takes to defend your country. Do not mistake my lack of maleficence for weakness.” He whispered, before releasing his rough grip on her. Pounding out of the room with his officials on his tail, her ears rung, the sonority of voices calling her name fell deaf to her ears. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, blundering out of the room her palpitating heart pushed into the furnished hallway knocking over porcelain vases.

“General? General Seok!” Her head snapped up from the picturesque map pinned to wood. The naval all scrutinised her from the top of the table where she sat nursing a headache. She couldn’t care how weak they thought of her now. Yunho knew. How did he know? Was there a spy within her troops she did not know? Or was he sharper than she had forseen? The latter brimmed her heart with solicitude.

“Go on, Major Kang. Tell me, I didn’t see that coming. Tell me that I have driven this country into the ground with my wit.” Her noxious tone reached out to them through gritted teeth. For the first time in her life, there was an odd sense of sympathy in the room that wasn’t foreseen before.

“General Geon cried in this very room when he lost his precious battalion to the Freyr in the Valley. In front of us all. We do not care if you ripped your hair out in front of us, we care that you move us forward.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, battling the tears that threatened to leach out of her eyes, her head oscillated. “It’s ok to not know what to do, General.”

“I can’t have the Freyr Princess in this kingdom."

“Then Qiān will be sunken under the sea.” San spoke, a mutter of agreement fulfilled the War Room.

“If we have to shed blood, let’s do it now. Their troops have minimised, we’ve blocked all ways in, they’re still suffering from a chronic disease. If they declare a war, they won’t win.”

“He doesn’t have to declare war now. He can declare war in ten, fifteen, twenty years time. Will we win then?” San argued. Under their heated gaze, the officials left the room leaving their General alone to rally with the King.

"I can't and won't stand here and watch another woman take my place in your heart." Tears pooled at the bay of her eyes. He drew closer to her, pulling her into his chest.

"I'm afraid you have to."

"Sannie, my love. Please." she begged, weakly. He turned his head away. "You can't do this to me." A painful sob escaped from her lips as she sunk to the floor, dragging San down with her. Her cry weakened him, breaking down the exterior of a powerful King that had been fabricated from his coronation.

"If I were to hold you in my arms, in front of them all, that would be all the more reason to let you go. You are my heart and my soul. You are everything that keeps my body moving. But to love you is a sin that would condemn me to eternal damnation."

“I would lose a thousand wars, willingly, if it meant I could have you." she choked out. His lips fell into a pout, as his own tears forged from the ardent fires of his love.

“Anything to win a war, right?” Their heads pressed together, pearly tears staining her supple flesh. “You will always be my queen.” With a final kiss pressed to her forehead, he got up escaping through the door. Her heart entwined between his fingers, blood dripping down the palace walls as they were mercilessly parted by fate.

•••

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DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘seok’ meaning stone

A/N: I decided to remaster the whole thing because I was a bit iffy about the first version, since the first half is different I just didn’t want to edit the older version. lmk if you find this edition better!!!

tagging some folks who read the old version, hope you don’t mind!

tags: @potatos-on-clouds @n0v4t33z @jean-swolo @wooyoungjung99 @yeontaegu @butterflydemons @ajuniceagain @chocosuh

[vinomino]

MORTEM

Immortality and reincarnation

Featuring: Suo.H x f!reader

Contents: sfw, immortal!Suo, mortal!reader, angst, hurt no comfort, death

Since the dawn of time, humans have been dreamers. Dreaming about immortal narratives. Embrace or avoid, the human psyche comforts itself in the wake of such thoughts. There are countless ways to die and it could happen at any time. Death is relentless. So to take away death is to take away the human essence itself.

Suo is clad in black. He sits on that bench again, staring out into the sea. The sun brings to rise, forming bright pebbles that ripple along the surface of the dark blue water. You had left him again. He’s lost count of how many times the two of you met. No matter what he does, he would be unable to prevent your death. During the year of your 28th birthday, you’ll always die. He should be wise, he’s lived for millenniums after all. But he cannot bring himself to let you go. Suo can only faintly remember what happened the first time he met you during your first life. In contrast, he can pinpoint the exact year it was, exactly one thousand and three hundred years ago. 

They forewarned him about falling in love with a human, it was condemned. A human lifespan will go by in a blink of an eye. You swayed his heart and kept coming back to haunt him. He witnessed your death over, and over, and over again. All the children you two had departed. He outlived all the babies he made with you. Suo was immortal, he couldn’t age, and he’d always be stuck on this earth, in this same form. 

You always came back. Whether with a different name or background, he will always recognize you. Since it was a face he’s spent his whole life trying to forget. A woman who torments him relentlessly. However, Suo can’t let you go, if he isn’t there, you’ll fall in love with someone else, and he can’t bear to witness that. But whenever you see him, you’ll fall in love, always, that’s how it goes. The indestructible cycle that he can’t break. It decays him out and whole. Suo lives in isolation waiting for you, then you leave, and so he returns to his loneliness until it lifts again. There’s nothing he can do. 

“You’ve met me before?” You chuckle at his unbelievable confession, tracing your finger over his cheekbones. “Like in a past life?” 

“Something like that,” his throat squeezes shut, trying to prevent him from continuing. “But, you always left me.” 

You watch a wet film slip over his red eye. “I won’t leave you.” 

“You will.” Suo pulls you into his bare chest, pressing you into himself, as if he were trying to force you to become one with him. His legs are intertwined with yours, this short peace that he knows will end. It will be ripped from his heart, leaving him bleeding out.

“And there’s nothing I can do.” He rasps out.

It’s helpless. Even if he locks you in a cell for a whole year, keeping you healthy and fed— no matter what he does, you end up a lifeless heap in his arms. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper and peer up at him. Suo wants to believe it, he so desperately wants to make it real. His time with you will be fleeting, he’ll be left incomplete. For someone who can’t die, Suo’s scared of dying. If he’s gone, you’ll wander this world without him until the end of time. He promised to never leave you alone. 

The lily in his hand starts to droop. The restored innocence of the soul of the departed. He took this one flower with him, unable to leave it behind. Your body no longer has a form, only existing as a pile of ashes. Suo only needs to wait twenty or sixty years to see you again. He hopes you’ll take longer to be reborn this time. To give him some peace in this suffering. 

[thegnomelord]

Shark

- 🦈

(WOBSVHDVUH. HOLY MOTHER OF SHARKS. HOW DO YOU WRITE SO GOOD. Gosh you, darn you, daum you. Fuel my god daum brainrot.

Now im thinkin of angst. DONT WRITE IT, I CANNOT HANDLE YOUR WRITING IN ANGST. THIS IS JUST A BRAIN BLURB.

Price is close to death whether it be the ultimte battle between the destruction of all that can die or of a horrid enemy, they have yet to defeat.

Price is alive, but too far to be ever saved. The boys want to summon their captain's ole friend, to say a well had goodbye, maybe even save him. But no books, no scrolls, nor anything etched in stone on the surface depicts them. Nothing.

Price dies knowing hes lived a good life, praying to all the gods that his beloved eldritch dosent destroy the surface he called home.

The only way the poor eldritch finds out, are when Prices ashes are swallowed by the waves.

In every storm, waves tower over the heights of skyscraper, to the point not even those that could fly can cross. Death is quick when it comes to the ocean, like it trying to collect all power it can withhold. Creatures are cruel when it comes to what has killed their gods beloved, relentlessly acttacting what they can. Sharks are rare, to the point their sighting have come near myth or legend. Yet, they will always come come towards any that is draconic for they miss them. Ocean creatures, humanoid or not, would cry with no control, close to fire, dragons or smoke. They grieve. They all grieve.

But, Dragons seem to live longer when close to the waves. Saving them in dire situations when the fall from they sky, wounds healed when submerged in the salty sea. Even if you were pure fire, absolute whole magma. You'd be saftely cradled in any and all water. Water is the safest, the safest they have ever felt in all of their exsistence. They know this feeling, it is old, it is familiar, it is embedded in blood.

For the ocean rembers, it always remembers.)

Okay honestly your brain farts are always so good but. . . But . . . I'm so sorry sharky. This came to before you even wrote your ask and now I have to do it, you're just the sacrificial goat. . .

CW: SFW, angst, made myself cry :/ Got some idea inspo from @heliumknife

John Price doesn't die on a notable day. He doesn't die on the day of reckoning, doesn't die on the day fire rains from the sky and blood muddles your oceans, doesn't die alongside human gods, doesn't die on the day he may meet what made him and hear he was a good man.

John Price dies on a regular Tuesday night.

Not even a blip on the radar.

Having saved the oblivious world yet again he retches a bloodied cough as he stumbles on the beach he'd ended up on. His legs give out, the course sand rubbing his skin when he falls, red blood slowly seeping between the grains. Distantly he can hear his boys calling for him, watching the waves wash onto the shore, the tide too low to reach him; too low for you to sense him.

He can feel Gaz scrambling to stem his bleeding, Soap desperately searching through the first aid kit, Ghost barking on the coms that Price is hit. And as the world begins to grow quiet, the low murmur of waves washing upon the sand filling his ears, washed up amber glittering in his blurring eyes, the scent of seaweed and brine filling his rapidly slowing lungs—

Price smiles — he'll slumber with you soon.

Only when the morning tide comes in do you sense his blood, do you rouse from the depths like lightning, waking from a nightmare to find it has followed you to the waking world.

You're too late.

Like always.

He's so still.

Peaceful — worry lines and wrinkles smoothed out and face relaxed you could delude yourself into thinking he's just sleeping. Oh those dragons with their slumber; he'll grumble when you go to wake him, demanding five more bloody minutes of your attention as if he's the god here. Cling to you like a barnacle and growling like a kitten until you give in and lay down next to him. Give a rumbling purr and laugh at how he got a god wrapped around his finger until you shut him up with a kiss.

But you can't.

Your vessel's eyes keep darting to the blood staining his clothes, the crusted red lines trailing from his lip down his chin, the stillness of his chest, the silence.

They tell you John Price died protecting his team from a brutal foe. John Price died protecting the world. John Price died protecting the very people who in your recent shared memory had been happy to sharpen sticks and melt rock into to steel all in an vain attempt at glory. . .

John Price died a hero.

Your John died.

And you weren't there.

"Hey. . ." You look at Gaz when he speaks, standing on the opposite side of the medical table they've laid his body on. ". . .I know you two were, close." He chokes up, voice rough and nasally, fresh tear tracks staining his cheeks.

You envy him for it. For once you wish you were the ant on a circuit board instead of it's maker, just so you could see the world like they do, mourn like they do — open, visible, showing you cared, showing he wasn't just a toy in your sandbox. That Price was the voice you'd hear when loosening the noose of the rope, the beckoning call beyond the reach of your waves, the one that held that wretched excuse you call a heart.

But you can't.

All your treacherous vessel manages to achieve is a small dip in the corner of your lip. "So were you." Your voice is low and garbled like you're drowning, the rumble of icebergs scraping on the ocean floor filling the silence behind each syllable.

Gaz flinches like he'd been slapped, unable to look at the man he loved as much as you did. "Yeah," His gaze flickers everywhere like fleeing fishes in a reef, "I'm sorry." He blurts out.

"Don't be." You don't look at him, your cold hand reaching out to trace Price's jaw, coarse beard scratching your flesh. "You loved him when I couldn't." A part of you wants to be angry at Gaz for harboring John's affection and attention, that it's not fair for him to be able to mourn when you've known your John long before Athenians and Spartans decided to throw hissy fits in your waters. But you can't call yourself a lover he deserved when you met him so rarely, a blink of the eye for you and a century passes.

"Are you going to kill us now?" Kyle asks, not scared, as if he's expecting it.

It shames you, but you thought about it; of sea life growing gigantic and voracious under your influence, of making the sky weep in your stead, of violent waves rising up and devouring the planet for taking away your world. What's the point of it's existence when the one who made it shine has been snuffed out?

"No," You sigh in resignation. You can't, not while there are still people and places John loved, not while vestiges of him remain. You can't kill what's left of him, protect them like you couldn't do with him.

Gaz tells you they plan to cremate him in line with dragon customs, only to take a step back when you pick your John up to cradle in your arms, his loose wing draping over your shoulder, his head resting on your shoulder, nose buried in your neck as if he's scenting you once again.

"I'll come to collect the rest of you when you pass." You say before disappearing with Price, because if you had to answer Gaz's questions — Why are you taking his body when you weren't even there when he died? Why do you act like you care when you saw him so rarely? Why are you taking him away from Gaz when he was the one who loved Price? What gives you the right? — you would have drowned a country.

Water rushes around him the moment you are back in your element, holding him in a cradle made of your waters like the first time he'd fallen into the ocean so many millennia ago. Water bubbles escape his open mouth as your waves caress and kiss each inch of him, crusted blood muddling the brine around him as you pull him as close to your real body as you can.

Searching.

You can feel his soul once your waters have kissed every inch of his skin, faint yet stubbornly clinging on somewhere in the aether, no doubt giving Death a headache.

You were once a soul too were you not? Just a dead thing too dumb to know it died; somewhere deep beneath the individual writhing sharks and decaying corpses and fossilized bone making up your body resides your original one, nothing but a chunk of rock with the imprint of what you had as a skeleton at the time.

For if Death doesn't come to claim it, a soul won't die until the body's gone. You had slipped past the cracks, grew fat and large on the other souls until Death could no longer touch you without fear of being swallowed whole.

You doubt it would let Price slip through like it had with you, fortunately you put claim on his soul long ago. You swim to the deepest part of the earth where burning geothermal vents spew minerals into freezing cold waters, where you slumber and feed on the souls of the dead.

You curl around him, living and dead bodies parting until Price rests wrapped around the oldest part of you.

Embracing you like he always wanted to.

He waited so long for you.

Now it's your turn to wait. This time you will be there.

And if the oceans above rage for months, if the season long rain floods the streets, if the weather makes it so that in the crushing depths no one can pick out your tears from the ocean brine, all the better.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hello Darling

Summary: Tiriel desperately searches for Astarion as he loses his immunity to sunlight.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, post-game, named Tav, established relationship, f!tav, patch 6 update

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

The burn left from the fight and dulled by the tadpole pierces  Tiriel’s stomach and she falls to her knees, paralyzed by the pain.

 It's over.

The tadpole is gone. She is free. She will never become a mind flayer, she will never have to face  that blasted dream visitor. 

Then, she hears the scream. It's a cry of pain, of despair, familiar and shocking.

Astarion is burning in the sunlight.

His beautiful face is gray like ash, his eyes white as if he were blind. Astarion reaches out his hand for Tiriel as if she could save him from  this peril. She has saved him so many times, she can do it again!

But her own pain pierces her body. Tiriel presses her arms to her stomach. She is going to die, she thinks. They both are.

"Astarion, hide!" someone cries out, and Tiriel loses consciousness.

The blissful darkness takes her.

No nightmares, no horrors, no dream visitors. Nothing. Just beautiful nothingness.

She wakes up in a dimly lit room. Her head hurts as if her skull had been crushed by a hammer. She is half naked, her belly heavily bandaged. The throat is sore and her legs are numb.

Tiriel is so exhausted she could sleep for a few weeks.

Four months of non stop traveling. Of fear, anxiety, and never ending stress. Tiriel had never had to make so many decisions in her life. Excusing orders, negotiating, and planning. She is just a lonely traveler, for fuck sake, not a warlady!

And now she can just rest.

The memories slowly crawl into her head and she remembers Astarion’s desperate cry.

A wave of panic  crushes her.

Where is he?!

Tiriel’s only known him for four months, but she is sure they were meant to meet each other. She had never loved anyone before him. His cold body, his pale skin, his sharp mind, his… radiant hope. 

What if he died?

Tiriel makes herself sit up. The idea that her love turned into ashes horrifies her. He was in such pain, he was so afraid. What if he is gone?

Life is truly unfair, isn’t it?

It couldn’t end well. No happily “ever after” for the undead.

Tiriel makes an effort to calm herself down. There are many places to hide. Basements, houses, debris… The whole city is in ruins, he has enough shadow to hide in…

The other realization makes her sick.

Sunlight isn’t his only enemy anymore. He also can’t go inside without an invitation.

He could have burned down in front of the open door to the darkest room in Baldur’s Gate because no one invited him in!

Still dizzy, Tiriel puts on her camp clothes (no need to attract unnecessary attention with her shiny Drow armor) and rushes outside the inn.

The city has been truly destroyed by the Netherbrain, and whatever future lies ahead Baldur’s Gate will never be the same. 

Tiriel wanders the street for hours—she visits the graveyard, the ruins of the vampire lord’s mansion, dozens of places but  Astarion is nowhere to be seen.

He’s known the city for centuries. Tiriel, whose first impression of the city was ruined by the mind flayers, stands no chance of finding the vampire.

By the end of the night, she feels like a lost child. Tiriel hasn’t felt so miserable since the day she woke up in the mountains all alone and cold. She was fifteen, and her rage blurred her mind making her run away from an abusive household. She wanted to go back, to the warmth of the house, to sit by the fireplace even if her stepfather would have beaten her again. To just be somewhere she belongs, not in the middle of nowhere with no weapons or armor.

The sun is slowly rising above the sea and the skies slowly turn blue. Tiriel sniffs. She's gotten too used to NOT being alone, a very unfamiliar concept to be honest. 

Well, if Astarion isn’t back, if she fails to find him, she will have to go. This city makes her sick, it’s too big, too dirty, too crowded. She will walk the roads of Faerun just like she has ever since she was fifteen. The memories will fade and she will probably question why she fell for Astarion in the first place. He is a difficult person, traumatized, angry, his bruises and wounds are invisible to anyone, and the facade of lies is inseparable from his personality.

Tiriel’s heart sinks at the very thought she might not ever see him again.

A tear flows down her cheek and she immediately wipes it away. She is a warrior. A barbarian. No one must see her cry or in pain. Women like her are alive as long as people perceive them as emotionless marble statues. Weakness turns people like her into victims.

But it felt so nice to be weak in Astarion’s arms. To let him tend her wounds, to cry in his arms… He would never admit it, but she knew he loved protecting her.

The night search exhausts Tiriel and she returns to her room in the inn. The warrior locks the door — she doesn’t want to deal with intruders —and falls on the bed, pressing her face against the pillow.

Astarion is gone. If he is alive, she will never find him. If he is dead, she will never bury him. In any case, Tiriel the Barbarian is on her own again.

She  makes herself a promise not to fall for anyone ever again.

When she wakes up hours later, her head doesn’t ache anymore and her whole body feels rested. 

“Hello darling”

She startles at the familiar voice.

Astarion lies beside her, with the palm of his hand under his cheek. His eyes are soft and tender and he has the stupidest smile shining on his face.

“You…” she gasps. “You are back!”

“Of course I am”, Astarion leans to her and kisses her forehead, and then rests his head on the pillow. “You are so adorable when you sleep.”

“I thought you died,” she whispers. “Where were you?”

Astarion touches her cheek. “I was hiding.”

“But you could have returned to the inn once the night fell! I was looking for you!”

His face darkens. “It’s because of hunger. It…blurred my mind. The sun damaged me and once I got to the shadow I was starving and just forgot everything. Who I was, who you were. I fed on… something… I don’t remember what and my mind returned to me. And I was so embarrassed by what I truly am and was afraid to come back”

“But you did.”

“I did.”

They lay in silence contemplating each other’s faces. Tiriel's heart melts at how adorable he looks. He doesn’t pretend, doesn't play, doesn’t act. That’s him, that’s the real him. Hidden and concealed for two hundred years.

“How did you get inside?” she asks. “This isn’t the room we lived in. I thought you needed an invitation?”

Astarion shrugs. “I do need to be invited if I don't want to bump into an invisible wall I can’t go through. When I picked the lock I was sure I would just stand there unable to enter. But apparently… I was invited anyway.”

Tiriel nuzzles his collarbone and wraps her arms around him.

“Tiriel?”

“Hm?”

“You aren’t going to… break up with me, right?”

His voice sounds so helpless and vulnerable that it makes Tiriel hug him tighter. 

“Of course not.”

He cups her cheeks and kisses her. Tiriel leans to him pressing their bodies against each other.

Then Astarion starts talking.

He speaks about freedom, the future, the places they may visit, and things they can do.

“Tiriel”

“What is it, my love?”

“I need to… rest. Can you stay by my side until I wake up?”

Tiriel kisses the tip of his nose. “Sure. I will be right there.”

Astarion buries his nose in her chest, and Tiriel lulls him to his trance.

As she promised, she doesn’t go anywhere. Time to time she moves a bit not to let her limbs stiff.

Then, she notices Astarion slowly waking up. His eyelids are half-open, his mouth cracks a smile. Tiriel draws an invisible line along his nose.

“Hello, darling,” she whispers to him.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen

[bowieandqueen11]

Moonlight Dalliance / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: I wrote this a couple of weeks ago but I think I might have accidentally deleted it off Tumblr because I can’t find it now! Hope you enjoy and I’ll have another request out asap! 😘

Warning: spicy, implied sexual content, sword fighting, mentions of blood and some strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or it’s characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Before you had even reached the deck, you could hear the clashing of steel reverberating through your bunk.

If it hadn't been for the pouring of sawdust through the cracks in the ceiling beams that rained down like ash over your nostrils: if it hadn't been for the graceful leaps of careful footsteps lightly stepping in box squares above your hammock, you might have chalked down the noise to Roach's snoring. In fact, as you swing your legs over to your side and try, as quietly as possible, to land on the floor of the recreation room without waking as many as your ship mates as possible, said cook was trying to do his best impression of what could only be called a foghorn mixed with an incredibly rusty blender.

'For God's sake-!' The sound of Lucius' voice disturbing you as you were trying to tip toe towards the door almost makes you jump out of your skin. Unravelling Black Pete's arm from around his waist, he gives a final groan into the side of his pillow before throwing it in a wide arch straight at Roach's head. 'If you don't stop snoring I'll stick my wooden thumb, splinters and all, straight up your ar-.'

Thankfully, the sound of you wincing as you grab onto the handle and inch the hinges slowly backwards is drowned out by a stout HMPH as Lucius' pillow lands on Button's stomach. You can't help but let out a snicker at the way the man shoots straight up from his slumber like a scarecrow being raised in a field. He arches one eyebrow and glanced around intently. 'Attack, we're under attack!' You take the opportunity of your fellow crewmates either lunging out of their hammocks, or being tipped out onto the floor during the frantic hustle and bustle that followed to escape out to the helm of the ship. In fact, Wee John seemed to take far too much pleasure out of twirling the Swede's hammock so that the man ended up a mess of tangled limbs, yelping like a fly caught up in a spider's web as Oluwande tried to grab his arm and pull him back out. You didn't mind the good natured jostle of your friends: you had spent so much of the evening tossing and turning, unable to get the thought of one arrogant prick in particular out of your mind, and so the excuse to leave your bunk and get some fresh air was more than welcome.

The sea air - god, the sea air felt so kind on your tired lungs.

The night seemed fragile, the moonlight tender as it spilt over the creaking boards of the ship and pooled in a warm puddle around your feet. It seemed to widen within your eyes, a fine mist spraying like a wicked phantasm from its shadows and coating the surrounding sea in thin tendrils of smoke. With a mind hazed with tiredness, you rubbed at the corners of your eyes and tried to chase away that dream-like glow only the late night could bring. The sails caught in the mild wind and groaned above you, masking out the sounds of Izzy's short pants as he wiped his forehead with the untucked end of his shirt. In fact, not realising yet that you were standing only a mere few metres away from him, he grabbed his shoulder and tugged his shirt off completely, discarding it with a frustrated throw at Stede's cabin doors.

Two hands grip tighter on the wood, willing its body to relax. The tang of salt could do nothing to burn away the fizzling want banging against your ribcage, nor could the cool pinch of the helm railings distract you from the fact that you had spent every second of that day restless; as if on repeat, every time you closed your eyes, or had your thoughts distracted away from repairing the helm, or talking to Lucius, or exploring the islands Stede had insisted you all stop at so he could take Edward off on some grand adventure, you were taken back to that afternoon. The feel of Izzy Hands, the soft ache in his eyes, so desolate, so hopeful: when he had been congratulating you on a job well done fighting off some remote Englishman who had tried to ambush your crew once you had docked, and behind the thrum of his beating heart he hadn't the wit to stop his arm from reaching out and brushing the back of his knuckles against the droplets of blood splattered on your cheek.

His smile had dropped almost immediately of course, and he had run like a gun was being unloaded against his heels back into his quarters and hid there for the night, but the look in his eyes when he had touched you... god, if it wasn't enough to make Davy Jones repent his sins, for even his adoration for Calypso would seem like hatred in comparison.

Yet only the smoky gleam of the moon melting over the champagne waves kept your aching head company. The moon, being a sneaky temptress, was in fact the one thing that drew you to the cause of your distraction; squinting down onto the deck, it took you a minute to remember the reason you had come up here in the first place.

Izzy Hands. In the flesh. And lots of it, if the sweaty gleam of his bare chest was anything to go by.

It takes a moment for your mind to shape the shifting umbra into a perceptible form: he looks angry, furious, even, as his sword slices the misty air like swiss cheese and gives lashes to the main mast. The cherry wood cracks easily under the weight of his blows, the poor shaved shards that land by his feet obviously taking the brunt of the walloping you can only assume is meant for your captain.

Swallowing your nerves, you call out to the fickle shape. 'What are you doing wandering about at a time like this?'

He startles as you wander across the ship towards him, perching back against the side of the mast he was currently tearing to shreds. Incredulously, he looks you up and down before bowing his sword. Your laughter sweetens the edge of his blade, and for a moment Izzy's step falters at the sound.

‘I could ask you the very same thing. Don't you know that all the horrifying creatures slink out from the depths after the full moon rises.' He tilts his head at you, pushing his tongue up against his teeth to stop a smile from breaking like welcome dawn across his face. 'Would hate to see you get dragged away by something... wanton.'

You scratch your cheek, trying your best to hide how you were growing flustered at his words. 'Well, at least if I get dragged away I'll be going with clothes on.’

He flushed at that, head tilting down as he crossed his arms gruffly over his abdomen and blinked languidly.

'What are you actually still doing awake?', you ask, crossing your arms and doing your best not to fantasize about leaping forward and ripping the rest of his trousers straight off with one tear.

'I couldn't sleep.' What he didn't tell you, was that he couldn't sleep because he was so in love with you his heart felt like it was going to bleed out of his fucking chest any time he tried to distract himself from thoughts of you.

'Yeah, neither could I.' What you didn't tell him, was that you couldn't sleep because you were dreaming of grabbing Izzy by that scruffy collar and kissing him silly.

A tense silence suffocated the two of you, sliced only by Izzy shooting his sword through the air with one last precise carve through the freshly hollowed mast. Izzy whips out his wrist, clenching his fingers into a tight fist to try and alleviate some of the burning tension running through his joints at the desperation to touch you.

‘You did well today. As much as I hate to admit it, you can fight better than any of those other morons.’

‘A compliment? From Izzy Hands? Pinch me, I must still be dream-‘

‘Your footwork is a little rusty, though. Could use some work, so you don’t trip over and fall on your own bloody sword.’

‘There we go. There’s always a but with you, isn’t there? You can’t just give the compliment and leave it hanging.’

'I'm just saying... it would be a real shame to pierce such a breast.' Your breath hitches as his eyes dip down to contemplate the sliver of skin still on show between the free flowing buttons of your dress shirt. He sniffles, fingers almost indiscernibly tightening around the metal of the hilt as he did his best to stifle the overflowing shiver that was running up and down his legs. He keeps a tight watch on you for a moment, before biting his bottom lip with his top teeth and darting his eyes out towards the ocean, both incredibly aroused and also incredibly sheepish from having shown such weakness.

'And to ruin such a fine blade.'

He runs his hand across his beard, motion tired yet calculated. Too jolted to speak, let alone run away back down to your bunk and hide your head underneath Oluwande's arm for the rest of time, you leave Izzy the perfect opportunity to pounce.

’Here… come here’, his knuckles fold as he beckons you forward with one hand, his other still resting on the hilt of his rapier as he jabbed it into the floor and let it drop after a moment. If he had let it go just then, as he watched the swish of your hips approach him, he had a pretty good feeling his knees would buckle underneath him. ‘I have far more experience than you do. You ought to learn from a real pirate. Not the hoity toity arsehole that runs around this ship like a headless chicken.’

‘If I remember correctly’, you say sharply with a growing smile, ‘you lost against that headless chicken.’

‘Don’t.’ Before you have time to realise what’s happening, Izzy has grabbed you by the waist and rugged you back. He prays you didn’t hear the hoarse groan that jilted from the back of his throat as your buttocks bounced back against the tensed muscles of his lower abdomen. His voice is gruff and warm against the shell of your ear, but his fingertips burn with the ferociousness of a thousand lantern fires as he snakes his free hand around your shoulders and grips onto the bottom of your chin.

'Don't tease me. It won't end well for you.' His thumb digs into your jaw as he tilts your head back, and you can feel his smirk branding it’s way into the bare strip of skin between the nape or your neck and the hollow of your earlobe. Your head is fully resting back against his forehead now, and his vice on you only lessens once he’s content that you’re too far gone to step away from him.

'Put your foot... here', he guides your right foot forward with the toe of his boot, almost sinfully slowly so he could feel every twitch and tense of your quadriceps against the inside of his thigh. 'There you go, lean your weight forward-'.

He tips you then, doubling you over so your back is pushed down against his groin. You swear you can feel the curls of his hair fall in loose curls down against the small of your back, gathering that his head must be hovering just above your tailbone. For your own sake, to stop your legs from turning into jelly and letting your full weight fall so easily into Izzy's grip, you pretend the haunting moaning sound you hear must be from the hinges of the sails as they turn through the night sky.

'Perfect form', he breathes out in a short gasp against the shell of your ear once he's collected himself, his arm tightening around your stomach as he places you. His right hand drags down your arm, teasingly burning a trail right down over the back of your hand and onto your fingers as he entraps them with his own. He turns your hand, his own clenching so they fold over your own. 'That's it, now jut forward and strike.'

His knee pushes against the side of your buttocks as he jumps the two of you forward; he shoves a little too harshly, though, and just before your feet nearly trip backwards over the rotund exterior of a rogue barrel, Izzy's hand has shot out like a viper to latch its teeth around your wrist. His fingers squeeze as he tilts you upright again, a sharp exhale whistling out of his nose at how close you come to falling into his chest.

'You're not a bad teacher', you manage to laugh out between gasps, 'but unless you're packing... who doesn't bring a weapon to a sword fight?' Straddling to the side, you manage to slide down and grab onto his discarded sword, sweeping the tip through the air until it landed just below his chin. Tilting the skin up, you gaze down at him through dropped eyelids, his fingers now nearly convulsing against your wrist.

You manage to break free of his hold, grabbing onto his bare arm and pulling him so now he was the one caught in your trap. Your bicep holds around his stomach, moving with each tremble of his breath as you graze the sharp edge of his rapier down across his face and jut it under his jaw.

The bastard only smiles as you hold the edge of his blade against his throat.

'Did you really think you could win this fight?', he asks between the tight lips of a knowing smile, and it takes you a second to realise that his free hand has wrapped round to hold onto yours on top of the handle. He shoves the blade away, kicking out with his foot so you trip backwards. He easily catches you before you hit the ground.

You dance your fingers up his chest as he holds you tight against him, dipped down like lovers do during the first dance. All the stars burn deep within the depths of his soul, pouring out like razing destruction from his eyes as he keeps darting a path between your nose, and back down to your lips.

'I don't think you won this either, Izzy Hands. In fact, I think we both lost something here.' You spread your fingers out over the bare skin across his pec, feeling the flittering thud of his heart pound out against your fingertips.

By god, if he had ever been so delighted to lose.

His lips ravish you like a man shrivelled under the island sun, desperate to drown; before your gasp can fully deflate from your lungs, your legs have been kicked out from underneath you by a swift and skilled kick from the side of his boot.

Oh, he had been planning this for a long time. Had been thinking of nothing but this since he had boarded this vessel. The tightness of his arm as it snakes around your back and stops your shoulders from taking the brunt of the bounce off the boards: the way he throws his rapier behind his back without a second care, instead replacing his clenched fingers with the reddened meat of your hip as he levers you down was far too precise and meticulous to be a mere spur of the moment, subconscious thought.

An uncomfortable heat shivers over your torso and settles as an anchor weight in the pit of your stomach as Izzy grazes his right hand over the top of your thigh. Plop. Plop. Plop. His leather gloves ball as he taps his finger one by one, teasingly, against your inner thigh, using them to shove your legs wider apart. His lips pull away with a sickeningly sweet pop from your neck only for a second, as he breathlessly glances his eyes in a jagged path across your face.

He looks wonderstruck.

You can't help but reach out to touch the tough muscle of his left peck, swirling your finger across the short strands of his chest hair. The soft scrape of your fingernail soon turns into your fingers fully spreading out like the tendrils of a swift current once you feel him bury his head into the curve of your neck; his chin juts into your pulse point and the bastard has the audacity to whimper at the feel of your palm brushing over the hardened tip of his nipple.

If he wasn't living out all of his deepest, darkest dreams, the man nearly collapsed on top of you may have felt embarrassed at the way his pelvis began to buck down and brush the tightening leather over the rising line of skin underneath your belly button. In your turn to be bashful, you can feel a flush crawl over your cheeks as Izzy grabs onto the bottom of your thigh and tugs you closer, fist clenching over your ankle as he throws your right leg up and over the side of his hip bone. His hands are surprisingly soft, surprisingly gentle as he claws and kneads and mewls into you, his lips dragging down and over to the side of your jaw now with quick, tempered nicks.

You're scared his skin is going to melt off at the bone with how it burns against your hip: it holds tightly to the side of your pelvis, his thumb toying with the tassels hanging from the band of your trousers as he impetuously grinds down against you again. You can feel his shit eating smirk as the flat edge of his tongue licks a hot streak up to the shell of your ear; he bites down, tugging at your earlobe and clenching his fingernails so tightly into the soft skin at the side of your buttocks that you were amazed he didn't draw blood.

‘What on earth was that noise?! What’s going on up here! Which hooligan is up making a ruckus on my ship? And so late! I know you wanted another bedtime story, but I told you, we all need our beauty sleep!’

The glim flicker of a handheld candle illuminated out from the stairway as the ruffled hair of your captain peered out past the door like a startled meerkat. With wide eyes, he mustered the courage to lift up the skirts of his nightshirt and take a step out onto the deck, away from the safety of Ed's gentle snores as they billowed out through the crack.

Before your captain can spot the two of you caught in such an awkward position: Izzy grinding against you like a needy dog, your hand bunched into a tight fist in his hair and your legs wrapped tightly around his taut waist, he shoves a gloved finger to your lips. Annoyed at being disturbed, you tilt the hand gripping his hair backwards and smirk to yourself as Izzy dips his head down to land between your breast bone to try and hide his groans.

Before you can tease him anymore, he's gripped onto your wrist and is tugging you up; he's near carrying you bridle style in his arms as he slips past the railings of the ship, mingling in with the shadows. His hand covers your mouth to stop your giggles, carrying you off down to the bunk of his room so the two of you can carry on your midnight dalliance where your poor, confused captain wouldn't be able to hear the pounding of the bed as its frame shudders against the wall and your screams echo out against the silent moonlight.