#au: on our fates alight

[reassambled-dragoon]

The Destroyer

   Cold. Why was it so cold? Why did the air taste of loosed magicks, terror, and death? The very star was screaming, the world a cacophony of shrieking metal, sobbing men, and the ungodly roar of something that should not be.

   Stone. Why was she flat on her back? Why couldn’t she move? Wasn’t she in bed? Surely she was, though why was it hard and unyielding, and why was he staring at her, a red veil over unblinking emerald eyes?

   Light. Why was the sun flying towards her? Why was it splitting into countless orbs, trailing streamers of luminescence? How were the suns emanating from a winged form? Perhaps it was an angel? Though no angel she had ever heard of radiated such mindless hatred.

   Clarity. Sound and sensation returned, and with them, memory crashed into her with the force of a rogue wave. Distant pain bled into removed fear fed into a rising tide as she stared into the lifeless eyes of the man she had called ‘husband’.

   Loss. Birthplace, gone. Childhood friend, gone. Comrades, gone. Son, gone. Friends, gone. Sister, gone. Husband, gone. Oh, Twelve…oh, Fury…oh, Rhalgr…

   Snap. Pain, gone. Cold, gone. Stone, gone. Grief, terror, loss, all braided into rage. Into a need to destroy all who had taken, taken, taken, and left naught but blood and ashes behind.

   Rise. You are not finished yet, my daughter. As I once destroyed the meteor, you shall be the vessel that destroys the winged avatar of hatred. Let our face be the last that he sees…and when he, too, is ash, we will turn our wrath upon those who loosed him.

   Eyes of cool silver close. Eyes of gold, of molten fury, of rage unchained…

   Open. 

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

on our fates alight-- living nightmare

It was as if Site Sixteen had risen back from the dead, opening up its ever-hungering maw to devour them whole, back into an abyss of pain and suffering--

------

( #on our fates alight )

(a big thank you to @saesama for helping me with poses!)

[scalefeathers]

Vierapril - 15 - spark

“Onti . . . “

You should feel something. You know that you should. But that knowledge is distant, detached; like all other knowledge, all feelings, like everything has been ever since they strapped you into that gleaming silver machine and cut away your connection to Tungli as a chirurgeon cuts away a tumor. 

You know who she is. You know what she once meant to you. You had believed her dead, all this time. As she stumbles and falls to her knees before you, you know she is dying now. You know, but you do not--cannot--feel.

“At last . . . I’ve found you . . .”

She reaches toward you with a shaking hand. Brushes back your hair, does something to the collar around your neck that makes it loosen and clatter to the floor. You lack the will to tell her that it doesn’t matter. That even without the collar, your connection to Tungli is gone; and even if it were not, it still wouldn’t matter, because the part of you that would have the will to reach for it is also gone.

She looks at you, her eyes brimming with tears as she searches yours for something no longer there. She says your name again, more like a question now. She cups her hand against your cheek, something metal brushes against your skin, and you–-you feel something.

You. Feel something.

Just a spark. Just the faintest mote of light amidst the vast, numbing darkness. The barest twitch of something familiar. But you feel it, deep in the place where your heart used to be. 

Whatever sparks in you now, she must see it in your eyes too, because relief and joy break across her face even as the tears spill down her cheeks. Tears you want to wipe away. How long has it been since you wanted something? Wanted anything?

But inertia still has a hold on you. The spark in you is only that: a spark. You remain motionless as she sags against you, dropping her head against your shoulder. Her arms and scent enfold you, the latter saturated with blood and iron, but still so familiar. 

Your limbs may as well be made of stone, for the effort it takes to move them. But move them you do. You can, because you want. Because something you thought forever lost is flowing into you, flowing into that emptiness inside you; from her, and from what you now realize is a ring (your ring, your mother’s ring, Tungli’s ring) she wears on her right hand. 

With the last of her strength, she holds you; and with all of yours, you raise your arms to hold her, too.

__________________

(Bylka's pose adapted from this pack)

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Feral Princess - Part 4

Marvel AU

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Theme: Soulmate AU / Medieval / Fantasy / Soulmate Marks

Summary: Bucky and Steve have known they were soulmates since they were children. Fate bringing a then sickly Steve and the future King together. War takes them apart and throws them back together over and over, in and out of each other lives, arms and beds. But something is missing and throughout, they know they are missing their third and final piece. The kingdom is now Bucky's and Steve's, the latter now a leader and no longer a sickly child. Both are war heroes, with the respect of their country and those that surround it. They are a force to be reconned with, admired and respected within the other royal houses. They could have any maiden or princess they wanted, but they don't want just anyone. They want their soulmate. They want their princess. Even if she is known as The Feral Princess.

Chapter Summary: Bucky starts his journey to fetch the reader.

By the time Bucky arrives at Lionheart you are long gone. Word has spread as to why he’s there and the villagers are in the know.

“She’s long gone!”

“Good luck taming our Tulip.”

“You won’t find your princess here your majesty.”

Bucky wonders if it’s a ploy. If they’re simply saying that and you’re hidden somewhere in the castle. He knows in his heart though that you aren’t. Thinking back to the day he met Steve, he had felt his mark get warmer and warmer until he had found him, squaring up to a bully twice his size, Bucky’s mark burning on his ankle. He wonders then if you’ll have the same temperament. From what he’s heard, you’re probably even more of a handful than Steve. He sighs at the thought. Steve would fight a bully. You would apparently stab them without a second thought.

When he arrives at the first set of gates he finds them heavily armoured, much more so than when he had visited as a child. His horse, usually obedient and sturdy rears up and becomes unsettled. As do those of his travelling companions. Natasha rides forward from their group and stands to his right. She goes to speak but Bucky is quick to stop her.

“Do not ask me again if I am sure Natalia.”

Natasha’s mouth snapped closed. Bucky moved his horse to allow him to knock on the heavy gates, glancing up at the guards of the tower who is clearly ignoring their presence. Before he has chance to knock both the gates begin to open, startling them all.

Bucky leads them through into the Barbican. He discovers it now has another set of gates at the end. Again they are heavily armoured and closed. The gates behind slam shut when the last of Bucky’s knights enters, causing the horses to startle and for them to be plunged into darkness.

The group were experienced, hardy fighters, and it doesn’t take them long to get their horses under control. Each held their reins tightly with one hand, with the other gripping their weapon of choice.

A fizzling sound is heard as the fire torches alight one by one. When the room is lit Bucky notices a hunched over and hooded figure in the corner. Their head is dipped, the hood and shadows making it hard to see their face. The voice that comes from it is deep but well spoken, and a little familiar.

“Purpose of your visit.”

“I come to fetch my soulmate, future wife and queen.”

He can’t be certain but he’s sure the figure is smirking.

“This way," The figure replies, a hint of amusement in its voice.

The second gates begin to open and daylight streams through. Bucky blinks to help his eyes adjust. He hears Natasha muttering something in their old tongue and he quickly sees why. In the courtyard are lines and lines of soldiers and knights in Lionheart colours. Every single one is almost the same build as Bucky, they are all battle ready and armed to the teeth. There’s a least a couple of hundred and Bucky knows from battle and rumour there are more somewhere.

It’s eerily quiet as the hooded figure leads them through the courtyard. None of the soldiers or knights move or glance at them. Bucky wonders if some are holding their breath due to the lack of movement.

“You wait here.” The figure says gesturing at Natasha and the others knights, leaving them standing between the lines of Lionheart’s finest. “You, your majesty, this way.”

Bucky unmounts his horse and passes the reins to Natasha. He glances up the castle walls and sees the lines of archers along the top, each pointing arrows towards them.

He knows he’s never going to hear the last of this from Natasha.

Bucky follows the figure through the stables, past one of its many armouries and through what seems to be the royal boot room. There are riding boots, cloaks and swords of all sizes and he quickly spots a cloak in Loxley green. A spare of yours perhaps?

The figure comes to a stop at a door and pushes it open as it steps inside. Bucky follows.

The first thing he notices is how warm it is, the large open fire roaring and filling the room. In front of it is an ornately carved wooden chair and desk. The banner of Lionheart hanging above the fire indicating the room is Richard’s.

“Take off your cloak James and make yourself at home.”

The voice was deep and firm. Richard. Bucky turned abruptly expecting to see that the other king had entered the room behind him but finding only the figure from before. Bucky went to speak but stopped as the figure rose from its hunched over stance and grew in size. It turned away as it untied the cloak, pulling it off and hanging it on a hook on the wall. Bucky recognised the figure, now man, instantly.

Easily over six feet, broad shoulders and a strawberry blonde beard scattered face, hair that met his shoulders but lighter than his beard. Hair that gave likening to a lion.

Richard of Lionheart.

“So, I hear you want our Tulip.”

Meanwhile deep in the forest 100 miles from Loxley.......

"How many times will we be moving? Lionheart, Loxley, now here. Should I unpack or not bother? " Lady Dawn asked, sarcasm filling her tone.

"We have to be one step ahead and I did say you didn't need to come." You quipped back.

"And miss you in a white dress and a veil? Never."

You and Lady Darcy snorted with laughter. Little John approached, having recently joined your travels at your Uncle Robin's request. He cleared his throat to announce himself.

"The traps are set Tulip."

"Thank you John."

"Out of interest, and for plans sake Princess, should I send the men on to scout another location?" John asked enquiringly.

"No John, this will be our last spot. Let him come. Let him find me."

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@animegirlgeeky @sebastians-love @mrsevans90 @salvatoremeanssaviour @forgotmenotsexy @thriving-n-jiving @abaker74 @otterlycanadian

[quitealotofsodapop]

HOLD ON THE F€€k YOU MEAN FEMALE SAI TAI SUI-

IF THIS IS HEADING WHERE I THINK IT IS DOWS THAT MEAN JING IS- OR NEZHA MIGHT-

prev.

Well its more like...

LEF: "Hey since you denounced me as your goddaughter - mind if I steal your strongest (and now mortal) son as my husband? K thanks! Byyyyyeeee!!!" Li Jing: "EHHH!?" Nezha, on earth:

The character I'm referencing is: Lady Earth Flow/Half-Guanyin/Golden Nosed Albino Rat/Mouse Spirit. An infamous literal and figurative maneater, so much so that most adaptations show her as a vampire. Her MO is to target monks to SA and eat them for their yang energy. Tripitaka is nearly a victim in the novel, if not for the fact he was deep inside the monastery with a cold. Wukong however is nearly assaulted in his monk glamour - which he responds understandably by trying to kill the spirit with Ruyi Jingu Bang.

Later it is discovered in the villain's lair that she's a goddaughter to Li Jing - he spared her life after she became an uplifted mouse spirit. But she took the opportunity to become something even worse...

Curiously, Li Jing mentions having a little daughter in Jttw - a six year old girl named Zhenying who's not even old enough to fly or cause mischief. He briefly gets very confused when Wukong shows up claiming his daughter is assaulting and eating monks. Though Zhenying likely only exists for the joke.

Lady Earth Flow is subdued by Li Jing's army and is denounced as Li Jing's goddaughter, her fate left up to the Tathagata Buddha.

-

So here comes the TMKATI au; where its been a couple hundred years, and Nezha is on earth after getting exiled from Heaven by the Jade Emperor. He's about his awkward and rebellious late-teen years, and he and the Noodle Family have been arguing for some time about what he'll want to do when he graduates.

Lady Earth Flow, having escaped/revived, decides to exploit a boy's trust so to take a hit at him and his father... Living as a school counsellor, she has many victims ripe for the picking - but for the Lotus Prince to fall into her lap is a chance far too good to miss.

Don't worry, nothing too bad happens to our dear boy. Even if him and his guardians are arguing, he still shoots off a text to his little siblings + Sandy about where he's going. And no matter his age he's pretty distrusting of authority.

LEF severely underestimates how much the depowered god can fight back. And how much Li Jing cares for his son...

LEF has gained power in last few centuries, albeit lazily; pinning the Pagoda King with spiritual clones when he comes to his son's rescue.

LEF discovers the poppet made from Nezha's shorn hair and laughs. He's still crying about him? His little boy is about to become a man!

The mouse spirit alights the poppet with the fire from her oil lanterns.

Li Jing sees his youngest son's life flash before his eyes. And sees red.

He hugs Nezha tight afterwards, telling him that it's ok and that it's all over, all whilst covered in his former-goddaughter's blood. Nezha stares blankly, hugging his father tighter than he's ever had in last thousands of years. He saw the memento his father held so dear - one made by a parent in mourning.

The rest of the parents show up shortly afterwards, worried out of their minds for the same boy.

Lady Earth Flow is sent packing to King Yama himself. But not before she gets arrested by mortal police for her crimes.

[wispmotherr]

Vessel/II as Achilles/Patroclus? My wrath at your loss will etch both of our names indelibly into history? In turning divine we tangle endlessly?? Is this anything?

OH ITS SOMETHING ANON. (this is likely not what you were hoping for probably but im just do some word vom because i shit you not i have a weird fantasy au wip that run really close to this idea/concept so now you just get whatever is going on down there sorry sorry sorry) --- In the space left by the absence of name and station, a single vestige of the life torn down by an angry, dying god remains in the bond between Vessel and Two. The shadow of who Vessel might have been Before only exists where Two is; where his unflinching loyalty to the man hints at what might have once been, what might still come back to them. Two offered his devotion to Vessel long ago, long before their journey began, long before the curse and the Sea and her; before he could have even possibly understood what he gave and the depth and solemnity of his promise yet he gave it all the same and never once faltered. Because to his mind there was no other path to follow, no other fate he would rather entwine himself into than to follow where Vessel would lead: to be his hound and his hawk, his guardian and companion. In Vessel he saw all that was absent in himself; softness and kindness and gentleness and he longed to preserve those things, to see them take root in Vessel and bloom; would have offered his devotion again and again, would live a hundred, a thousand lives if it meant Vessel remained. Vessel knows he doesn't deserve this devotion. He knows, viscerally, that he is unworthy of the other man. Two is steadfast and honorable and strong and beautiful and would lay down his life for Vessel and that fact alone destroys and rebuilds the man every time he is reminded of it. To know that Two would hand his own blade to Vessel, would expose his neck, would show him where to press the sharp edge to let him spill crimson like too much wine, like roses and rubies and ink that's yet to dry if it meant keeping Vessel safe, keeping him alive, giving him whatever chance he needed to break his curse is a power Vessel cannot bear to hold. And yet Two presses it into his hands with every lingering glance, every gentle, idle touch, and stolen, fervent kiss. So what else can he do but match this fidelity, this devotion and loyalty that runs deeper than he can explain, that means more to him than his own life? Vessel would drink the Sea and set the sky alight for Two, would defy an angry, dying god and give all of himself, if he had to. He would do whatever it took to earn him.

[evenhisfacewasanalias]

Fragments of Eros (Part 9)

Lady Jane Grey/Guildford Dudley

Rating: Adult

The last of the embers turned to ash, and something brushed her hand. She let out a small cry at the brief touch, the anticipation of claws or teeth that followed. But none did.

Only the feel of a warm circlet of gold slipped around her ring finger by human hands. The sound of a man’s voice, gentle, and not a beast’s.

“With this ring, I thee wed.”

A Cupid and Psyche/(Beauty and the Beast) AU, inspired by and encouraged by schokoleibniz.

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter 9: The Queen

At the sight of Guildford, human still and helpless against the flames that threatened them both, Lady Jane lost all remaining caution. She turned and thrust both sword and torch back at Lord Seymour, setting his velvet doublet alight and slicing at his hand. His sword she took for herself.

Seymour, at the double blow of disarmament and conflagration, ran from the passageway back to his Queen above. Many of his men followed as smoke rose from the bonfires behind them. Those few that remained held fast to their prisoners, as Jane and Guildford battled to liberate father and son. Another battle was waged within Jane herself, who wished only to look upon her newly freed husband and take him in arms. But the way ahead was still treacherous, and there were many obstacles yet to face.

Greatest among them was her own heart, which would not allow her to leave their fellow prisoners trapped down here. With all of the regal authority left within her breast, she commanded the freed Dudleys in pulling the pins from the cell doors, and freeing the inhabitants, even as smoke and ash began to fill the remaining passages. They would face the remaining guards side by side.

Several among the inmates, thankful for their freedom, aided Lady Jane and the Dudleys in freeing their neighbors. Others simply fled, desperation and fear hardening their hearts toward the plight of all but themselves. Some, who had been there so long they could no longer remember what freedom meant, remained within their cells, and welcomed their fate.

Even with their new band of merry rogues to aid them, Jane dreaded what they might find as they ascended the steps of the dungeon to the outer world above. Surely Queen Mary and her men awaited them there, to witness the final capture of her prey. Though Lady Jane was often quite clever, she only recognized the trap for what it was in hindsight, her love of Guildford having been played against her doubly in the setting of it.

And Jane's thoughts proved true, for Mary with the entire Kingsland guard and a cadre of Spanish soldiers awaited them on the Tower Green.

But Jane needn’t have feared, for the three armies of their allies had already begun waging in war against Queen Mary above, and the battle was well underway by the time of her arrival.

First among them were all manner of Archer’s creatures, the birds that swooped and the beasts that clawed. Archer himself had helped to tear down the gates of the tower, and Jane easily spotted the darkly furred shape of him at the center of the fray, his fearsome growl quaking the ground below.

The second, she saw, were Wyatt’s men, as they shouted death to Bloody Mary, and death to the Spaniards in their midst. They fought side by side with the beasts, and with equal ferocity though they were but men.

The third was her cousin Elizabeth’s own army, wearing her colors as they marched into battle. Elizabeth herself sat resplendent as a Queen atop her silvery gray mare in the moonlight. These were the least fierce among them, for Elizabeth was fighting not an old enemy but a beloved sister.

Lady Jane had long since lost any tender feelings toward her cousin Mary, she was only held back by her desire to protect her husband from further peril. But Guildford himself leapt into the fray as soon as they left the dungeons behind, even weakened as he was by a week’s harsh imprisonment. 

From some deeper strength gained at this proof of Jane’s love, he transformed himself at his own will for the first time. No longer a ghastly bloodied monster, but simply as a dark chestnut stallion - ordinary though powerful. His visage no longer struck terror into the hearts of Mary’s men, but with Jane still wielding her sword in full armor sat astride him, they made for a fearsome pair in battle.

The battle waged on for many dark hours. But finally Elizabeth, in Queenly manner, cried out for mercy for her sister Mary. Jane saw the reason for her plaintive cry - her oldest friend, in falcon form, had clawed at Mary's eyes, while other birds pecked at her soft flesh. The soldiers bearing Elizabeth’s golden crest shielded her from a worser fate as they held her captive - along with Lord Seymour and many of his men, ending the battle among the English. For the Spanish among them, Wyatt’s mens would not rest till they had chased them from England’s shores, and they ran to spare their own lives.

Several among the dungeon’s inmates who had also entered the fray were now embraced by brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters found within the triumphant armies. Others - those less innocent among them - fled with the Spaniards.

The two lovers were happiest among all those gathered at the battle’s end. The two reveled not only in their triumph over Mary, but also in Guildford’s own salvation, his freedom from his curse. He pulled Jane within the circle of his arms, and they looked upon one another with eyes full of love and wonder at the dawning of a new day.

****

Elizabeth was named Queen, as Mary’s successor and as triumphing monarch in the Battle of the Tower. Her crowning was as it always should have been, and all were to be united under Queen Elizabeth’s gentle and patient rule. Human and beast, Catholic and Anglican, all were named equal under her reign, and they accepted her gladly, for all had witnessed what Mary’s cruelty had wrought. The once Bloody Queen herself was sent to live out her days in exile in the North, with her once paramour Lord Seymour, both of them left greatly marred by the battle.

Lady Jane was glad as well to relinquish her claim to the crown to her beloved cousin, having never herself wished to rule the Kingdom. In turn, Elizabeth restored Jane and the Dudleys to their former ranks and places at court, and she herself presided over their second wedding, attended this time by all their friends and relatives - including among them the newly wed Katherine and William Seymour. 

Their wedding was a joyous occasion for all, filled with friends and family, old and new. The nuptials took place within the gardens of the Greys’ ancestral home, still a site of such happy memories for Jane, and far more comfortable for her beastly guests. Though many took human form for the occasion, the celebration was made even more magical by the attendance of birds of every shape and color, and all manner of creature that walked on four legs or more - even a delightful miniature pony that so resembled Guildford’s own chestnut coloring that Lord Dudley nearly named him son.

Jane’s new wedding gown was even more beautiful than her first had been. Rabbit had crafted it for her in the ancient style, which Jane herself had also grown to love for its freedom and history. The silken fabric was of a pale gold, woven through with delicate embroidery and fine pearls, the long, voluminous sleeves split over a diaphanous underdress beneath. At its hem, Rabbit had embroidered the scenes of their courtship and victory - embellished of course, by Rabbit’s own imagination - with each of their friends and family represented. Jane had nearly wept to see the faces of her family, the falcon at her shoulder and the small rabbit at her feet, and the many forms of her husband so lovingly stitched into the silk. 

Atop her loose curls she wore a circlet of flowers made by her sisters. She laughed to see the bright red poppies and small white clusters of hemlock, the various medicinal herbs, woven in among them. A far more fitting crown for the Lady Jane.

All eyes were on Jane as she walked down the garden pathway. She looked as though a faerie queene in the soft afternoon light, surrounded as she was by bright blooms and scattered rose petals, but her eyes were only for her bridegroom. She knew she would never tire of looking on his face, so much more dear to her for having so long been denied its sight. He was dressed handsomely as well, in a suit of velvet and golden leaves, but his eyes too were focused entirely on her. Warm brown eyes met with hazel as they had always longed to, and familiar hands held her own as the priest again read them their vows.

“I plight thee my troth.”

How much sweeter the words sounded from the lips of her own dear husband, and how much more easily the words fell from her own lips at this second vowing. Cheers could be heard from all around them as they sealed their vows with a tender kiss.

The lavish celebration of their marriage lasted well into the night, all in attendance glad to honor Jane and Guildford as well as their new Queen. Jane spotted Lord Archer, newly restored to his Barony, among those who congratulated her cousin.

“It seems your schemes worked out even better than you hoped, with Elizabeth now on the throne.” She smiled at her friend when she chanced to speak with him alone.

“It was as we had always intended,” he smiled back.

Jane puzzled at these words. She had not realized Elizabeth long planned to take back the throne, nor that Archer already knew of this. What role could she have played with the line of succession right restored?

“Then you never had any need of me at all?”

“For myself, no.”

Understanding suddenly filled her. “You knew how I might help Guildford - but why did you not simply tell me?”

“Susannah and Elizabeth spoke much of you before you came to us. I knew that had I revealed to you from the very beginning that your love could break his curse, neither of you would have believed me. Nor then would he have been so open with you, and you so accepting of him. You are both far too stubborn for your own good. This fatal flaw within you both was why we felt the match might prove true.”

Shock and no small amount of indignation passed over Jane at his words, but the truth of them was undeniable. 

“I take it back - you are no politician at all. You are a romantic,” she accused, her smile one of good humor.

Lord Archer laughed at the recrimination. “I cannot deny the charges, my lady.”

Guildford too met word of this kindly meant trick with equal parts indignity and humor, though Lord Dudley heard it with greater sadness.

“Perhaps, if I had spoken earlier, told you that I-”

But the words still did not come easily to the man, though Guildford now seemed to understand them all the same, and embraced his father heartily.

Jane embraced her mother too, for she was beginning to understand her better as well. Her sisters she kissed, and saved a kiss for her new brother too. He did not resent her for the hurt and exile she had caused his father, and in him she saw a member of her own family and not of Lord Seymour’s.

After much feasting, the party all danced until the dawn had nearly risen, human and beast hand in hand as the music played on. Jane was loath to leave her place at Guildford’s side, and he from hers, so all rearranged the dance so that the happy couple might remain together. They only party briefly, to share a dance with her sisters and Susannah. For a brief step a smiling Lord Archer caught her hand, but she was swiftly whisked away once more by her bridegroom, and Lord Archer was rejoined with his own Susannah. Stanley begged a dance from her Lady mother, while the elder Lord Dudley and Rabbit sat on the sidelines and watched the younger people promenade. 

Many of the gathered Lords offered their hands to Queen Elizabeth to join in the dance, but she gently eschewed them all to watch the festivities from her seat at the head of the party. She smiled at Jane and Guildford to see a love she knew she would not find for herself.

Thus was Jane married to Guildford with all the proper ceremony.

****

In lieu of a second honeymoon, and with Elizabeth’s blessing, Jane was sent forth to bring learning to the Kingdom, alongside her husband and a great deal of gold and silver. But they took this, the dawn of the second wedding, to revisit the site of their first.

How different it was now, the ancient sarsen monument of the White Horse Stone bathed in morning light. No more the tomblike qualities she had once thought to have seen in it - now it seemed only an altar of nature’s own making. The trees no longer loomed, tall and shadowy overhead, but stood as gentle sentries of their peace of solitude here.

Guildford brought with him a soft quilt to lay across the stone altar, so unlike the funereal black velvet of before. The morning was temperate and dewy, and with a light breeze that carried the fresh scent of oak and moss. The forest had just begun to wake, and everywhere was the gentle buzzing of insects, and the songs of the morning birds.

But the greatest difference was in Lady Jane herself. No more were her fears and uncertainties in this place. She had come unbounded, of her own will. And she came alongside her beloved, whose heart she knew as well as her own. That she could now see him with unmasked eyes was a privilege she meant to take full advantage of. 

Guildford too, seemed to relish the opportunity to see her out here in the open, where she could look back at him readily in the dawn light. In the days following the Battle of the Tower, they had been kept busy each day with tending to the wounded, and the heavy work of reuniting the kingdom. Each night they had held each other close, greatly exhausted and still bruised from the battle themselves. It had been many weeks since they had last enjoyed one another beyond the simple gratification of their sight - something they had both yet to tire of.

And their eyes hardly left one another as he moved to set aside her floral coronet and her wedding jewels as they stood before the stone. As he had on their first night together, he carefully loosened her laces at the back of her gown, allowing it to slip free from her shoulders. The long underdress she wore was nearly sheer, the pale gossamer crepe covering her form from ankles to wrists but hiding little. Only her shoulders were left entirely bare, and he pressed a kiss to the tops of each, mindful of the lingering bruises that lay just below. He moved to kneel at her front, slipping the shoes from her feet. Jane’s breath hitched at the sudden change in his position, as she looked down at him bowed before her. She watched as his gaze drifted from the teasing outline of her breasts, to the faint dark triangle of her sex, barely obscured beneath the silk. She would not allow herself to blush, no matter how naked she felt beneath his regard. 

She anticipated he would next remove this final barrier between them, but instead he rose to his feet, and guided her gently to lay back across the stone. Her hands stretched above her head, not quite as they had been before, but enough to position herself at the greatest advantage. Jane knew she had been successful at the darkening of her husband’s eyes, the way they ran over her form before locking with her own again. Jane could feel a familiar heat already beginning to stir throughou her body as his gaze burned through the sheerness of her dress. She heard a similar warmth in his voice as it rumbled over her.

“When I first caught sight of you here, your lovely gown had grown damp with mist, and your veil as translucent as your shift is now,” he recalled, his voice low and reverent, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek.

Jane could not resist teasing him for the rosy tint of his memories, “I was half frozen that night, and nearly drowning in my veil. And I did not see you at all.”

“I came here as Archer bade me too because he told me that I might save you, and that your cleverness might save me in turn.” His words reminded her that they were both of them in a less than fortunate position that night. “But then I saw you, not only beautiful, but like a great Queen prepared to face down an entire army of foes. You were completely fearless, as if you already knew you’d win.”

“I was very much afraid that night,” she admitted.

“You hid it well.”

“And any resolve I displayed was mere stubbornness. I’ve been told it is my greatest flaw.”

“And it is my favorite of yours. When you turned that heated iron on me I believe I was already halfway to in love with you.”

“Only halfway?” She laughed, though she can feel an answering tenderness swelling in her heart at his words. Jane remembered well her brazen attempts to defend herself before she had realized she was safe with him. “Was that when you decided to seduce me?” 

“As I said, you were also quite beautiful.” 

His fingers traced over her features, slipping down the long line of her throat to run along the edge of her dress. His eyes left hers but for a moment as his warm hand cupped the soft swell of her breast through the silk, thumb teasing across the peaked tip of it. Jane shivered at the work of his fingers, arching into the touch and growing desperate for more.

“And that was enough to sway you?”

He grinned. “Was it not enough to sway you? I seem to recall you warming to me after you held my face and learned my features.”

Jane knew she could not argue this, and did not try.

“If only your manners had been as handsome.” She says instead.

“Had I been so docile and well-manned, I believe you would have eaten me alive that night.”

“Perhaps I may still do so.”

At this she sat up to capture her husband’s mouth with her own. She nipped at his grinning lips and the strong line of his jaw. Her hands pushed at his clothing, for she no longer wished him alone to have the advantage of her. She slid the unbound velvet double down over his arms, and tugged at the undershift beneath.

“I seem to remember your hands being bound to this stone before,” he jested, though he did not shy from her touch.

“They are not bound now, so you will have to face their liberty.”

“I will gladly submit to them.”

And gladly he did, as she ran her hands beneath his linen shirt, teasing him as he had her, before freeing him from the garment. Jane drank in the soft flush of his newly revealed skin, framed only by the necklaces her fingers had traced so many times before.

“Then lie back, for I have gone far longer than you without being able to look upon my lover.”

Together they finished undressing him before her bridegroom was pushed none too gently to lay across the stone altar as she had, and Jane moved over him to look down upon the sight of him below. This dramatic alteration in their positions allowed Jane’s eyes and hands to trace over the visage of her lover, at once so familiar and yet so long remained unseen. 

The dark curls she had so often threaded her fingers through were now badly mussed by her hasty removal of his shirt. His eyes were darkened with his desire but ringed with a thin edge of deep brown as they looked back at her. Miles of skin, long unseen, faintly seemed to glow in the early morning light, as her hands traced the musculature of his arms and chest that she had become so acquainted with. She numbered each previously unknown freckle, the small scars that had healed so nearly as to be invisible to her fingertips. He was not so thin as he had been when he had been freed from his captivity, his ribs no longer so starkly pronounced. The bruises had faded from both of them, though her eyes still sought the memory of their purples and greens, his fingers ever mindful of remaining scars. But her hands pressed more firmly against him, and his answering groans were no longer of pain but of delight at her touch.

Jane imagined for a moment that their roles had been reversed that night, that it had been Guildford laid out across the sacrificial altar for her to take as husband, knowing that they might save one another. She pictured being able to see him first, without him seeing her. She knows she would have felt a little as he did - not love, at first, but sympathy, and certainly desire. Her husband was handsome, and she discovered she rather liked having him like this. Would she have seduced him that first night, as he had her? She had not known how to at the time. But now…

“If our positions had been reversed, at our first wedding -” she began.

He smiled at the recognition of her train of thought. “I recall we were neither of us free to make our own choices that night.”

“Yes, but had you been lying here in the dark, unable to see me?”

The low rumble of his laughter buzzed through her own body.

“Had you sat astride me as you do now, you could have had me on this very stone - even without your beautiful face to tempt me.”

Jane could feel her lover’s body responding beneath her to their conversation and to the work of her hands, the tiniest movement of her hips. Each touch drew out a small shudder, and an even sweeter sound. He kept his hands from her as if bound, as hers had been, and let her do as she willed to him. Her fingers threaded through the faint dusting of dark hair at his chest, before trailing lower. As her hands shifted, his breath quickened. When she gently took the hardened length into her small hand his eyes slipped shut, hiding them briefly from her view. Jane commanded them open again, smiling as he did as he was bid and rewarding him with a firmer touch.

Though after only a few moments, Guildford halted the work of her hands, turning her so that she lay below him once more. “I think I was always fated to adore you, no matter how we began.”

He pressed a kiss of apology to her lips, and nosed along her jaw, breathing her in. With his lips he mapped her form through the thin gossamer of her dress, placing tender kisses across her breasts, her belly, the damp curls of her sex, before freeing her from the final barrier that remained between them.

For many long moments, the two lovers lay side by side, simply drinking in their fill of one another, seen for the first time by the full light of day with nothing to obscure their vision. The soft whisper of their hearts’ confession filled the space between them, no longer held back by either. “I love you,” whispered again and again, the three words having not yet lost their power.

By now the sun’s chariot had passed well into the highest point of the sky, and the sun grew warm against their bared bodies. Jane might have been tempted to fall asleep then and there - having danced the whole night with all those she loved - were it not for the thrumming of her body, the urge to bring herself ever closer to her lover. She met his lips once more, drawing herself closer and pressing into the hard planes of his body, further augmenting her desire rather than satisfying it. Their kiss deepened, the sweet taste of his tongue sweeping past her lips as his fingers clung to her. Jane guided her lover to lay back across the stone altar, softened as it was by the quilt below them, and moved to settle herself astride him. She breathed out his name as she took him inside herself once more. She had dearly missed this. 

Jane savored the sight of her husband below her again, flushed and breathing labored as his hips rose up to meet hers in a familiar rhythm that promised pleasure for them both. She studied his expression as she moved over him, the furrowed brow, the parted lips. She traced them with her fingertips, and smiled when he drew them into his mouth, nipping at them with blunt white teeth. With damp fingertips she followed the pink flush of his cheeks and throat down to his chest and belly, watching the muscles there as they flexed with each thrust up into her. She memorized the shape of each of his fingers as they gripped at her sides, or dipped between them where she was most sensitive. 

Jane leant down to kiss him once more, relishing the feeling of their bodies pressed tightly together. Here she could catch the familiar scent of him, taste the sweetness on his tongue. The movement between them grew with their renewed urgency. They were moving ever closer to the precipice, the rolling of her hips and the circling of his fingers against her pushing them higher. Guildford clung to her as they tumbled over the edge, never pulling back even as he shuddered out his own release.

With trembling limbs she fell easily into his arms, and he tucked her close to him as he had even that first night of their strange nuptials. As now again, as Guildford held her within the circle of his arms, Jane began to believe in fate too.

[cryxtal-moon]

hey stranger | knj

Summary: It would be nice to know his name.

Genre/warnings: writer!Namjoon, editor!reader, slice of life au, strangers to lovers, fluff, set on a train, no dialogue

Word count: 1k

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Author’s note: Inspired by a song by Madds Buckley titled Hey Stranger. It’s amazing; I highly encourage listening to it here (time stamp, 00:00). Namjoon's name isn't mentioned, but the stranger is him, as you can tell. I hope you like it >_<

Autumn. 

It was the season of change, blazing maple leaves painted in fiery tones cascading off a nearby tree branch with one sweep of a gentle breeze. Some drifted to your feet, pausing only for a moment in their pirouettes across the floor before the wind picked up again, bringing about not only a new destination for the vibrant foliage, but also a stranger whom you had been seeing over the last couple of weeks.

Hey stranger.

His brown hair was a shade lighter than that of the falling maple, styled and flopping gently against dark lashes while revealing quite a bit of his sun-kissed forehead. You stood on one side of a door, and he stood at another, the same positions you had always taken as though you were going to perform a dance with the platform as your stage.

But never once did you move, nor say a single word.

It’d be nice to know your name.

You could only watch out of the corner of your eyes the way his tan coat fluttered about in the air while the desire to say something burned with an ever-present desperation in your chest. A swatch of sapphire blue peeked out around its edges, coating the entirety of a button down he paired with black jeans falling loosely around his ankles. The beret he tugged over his head only made him look like that much more of an artist, not a writer like you knew him to be.

Waiting on our nightly train, we trade glances everyday,

His briefcase gave him away, gold letters inscribed on brown leather reading Mono Publishings which was undoubtedly custom-made. It blended seamlessly against the neutral pastels of his ensemble, briefly admiring the glint of light off those words till you realised you were now gazing at him fully.

And apparently, when you looked up, so was he.

You ignored the heat searing your cheeks as you swiftly turned away.

And I can’t help but imagine how I’d mess it up if I said “hey”,

The train pulled to a smooth stop in front of you just then, and you hated your mind for excitedly noting his gentlemanly gesture of letting you on board first, hanging back despite no one alighting.

But I wanna know you all the same.

Hey stranger, it’d be nice to know your name.

⊱✿⊰

Hey stranger,

I notice every book you read.

Three seats down was where he sat.

The clasps of his briefcase snapping open, you marvelled at the metallic clicks echoing off the walls a notch louder than the mechanical hum of the wheels against the tracks. In the reflection of his figure on glass windows, he removed a book, one you instantly recognised to be a personal favourite, pristine and bookmarked on your shelf at home.

You finish them so fast,

I could never match that speed.

Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. Just another volume in his seemingly endless collection of stories. You could only aimlessly guess where he was at, a gap within the pages that just surpassed the halfway mark.

The Little Prince was yesterday’s choice. Tomorrow would be different, too.

So I can’t even find a way,

To start a conversation with “hey, I’ve read that one too!”

Was it fate? Or coincidence? These things were all a mystery, identical to his name, and the place your courage hurried off to.

But I wanna know you all the same,

Hey stranger, it’d be nice to know your name.

⊱✿⊰

I’m a coward in sheep’s clothing,

Cause I watch, and wait, and hope, and pray.

You could have found a distraction in the fading light of sunset shining out across the city ahead of you, a shimmering gold brightening the tips of rooftops and the horizon line threatening to be overcome by azure. You could have watched the moving shadows disappear each time the train dashed past a skyscraping building, the sun vanishing and reappearing like it stopped to blink for a fleeting moment. And you most definitely could have pulled out your earphones to listen to some piano songs, rather than the peaceful silence enveloping the carriage with its warm embrace.

But the auric glow was the same one illuminating his silhouette, his slanted stature cast against the opposite row of cushioned seats nearly melding with yours. Music, well, that was relative; the soothing tunes of paper rustling was enough of a melody, indicating each turn of a page and occasionally paired with a chuckle in accordance to the beat of the train’s consistent rhythm.

None of which you would have caught by being uselessly distracted.

All the hours we’ve spent seats apart,

I could have tested fate.

⊱✿⊰

I’m a fool,

Who watches you,

Get off at the stop before mine.

It was so painful how you claimed to know this stop better than you knew him, only because it was his.

Clematis Avenue, those gorgeous purple blooms decorating the edges of the platform benches, were a beautiful yet heart wrenching sight. You were powerless to stop him, and even more so to hope he wouldn’t recognise the familiarity this station brought him. Because he did, every time.

I’ll see you tomorrow…

You bid your first goodbye to the book he placed back inside his briefcase. There was no way you’d see it again – he would have finished it before the strike of midnight – but you knew the same couldn’t be said about him, and that gave you the confidence to look at his retreating figure.

Precisely when he looked back.

…but as you go, we catch each other’s eyes.

⊱✿⊰

Hey stranger,

Before you hopped off the train…

A hand clasped itself over your heart…

…why’d you wave, why’d you wave at me,

With a smile on your face?

…the image of him smiling as he offered a wave of goodbye forever ingrained in your mind.

My heart is doing cartwheels,

And there’s a fuzzy feeling in my brain.

You didn’t glance elsewhere, even as the train began to move, afraid that if you did, the moment would have been ruined and faded with the final descent of the sun behind a vast ocean.

I wanna know you all the same,

Tomorrow, it’d be nice to catch your name.

Tomorrow, you decided.

I wanna know you all the same,

Tomorrow, you’d find out his name.

Hey stranger, it’d be nice to know your name.

[reassambled-dragoon]

18: Hackneyed

Yep, this one has a song as well. Please enjoy.

   Our thoughts and prayers are with you and yours. How terrible a loss, I simply can’t imagine what you’re going through. How horrible for your children to lose their father. If there is anything we can do to help…

   How she made it through the first guild meeting after returning from Carteneau, Storm would never know. Instead of discussing guild business, everyone present had watched her with pitying expressions that veiled sharp, cunning eyes. False sympathy didn’t do a damn thing to coat the useless, worthless, poisoned, hackneyed words that dripped from simpering lips. She didn’t even hear any of it anymore; each syllable made her head throb and seemed to pulse under her skin, as if levin forked through her veins.

   Storm whipped around as someone touched her shoulder; her raised fist stopped half an ilm from smashing into Lord Manderville’s face. He hadn’t even attempted to block the punch, trusting on what remained of her self-control. As she began to tremble with too many emotions to count, he gently, carefully, as if handling the most delicate of filigree, laid his gloved hand onto her fist.

   Godbert, of all the people in that hellish meeting, had been the only one who kept silent. The only one who hadn’t stared, who hadn’t judged, who hadn’t smirked or cried false tears. Indeed, he had been the only one who had welcomed her back, then had strictly kept to business until the crowd had drowned him out.

   Now, here, away from any possible eyes and ears, he quietly spoke. “If you are still willing to listen to me, Master Styrmsatza, I must make a critical suggestion for your safety.” He waited until she jerked her head in a curt nod, then continued, his voice still barely audible. “Suppression cuffs are ugly things, but surely a master of your caliber may find a way to fuse function with beauty. If you wish, I am willing to assist with the initial concepts.”

   “Why?” she croaked.

   Godbert’s expression was as solemn as his touch was light. “Because the gods’ gifts are a burden, and I would not see you suffer more than you already are. If you trust me, I would do what I can to help shoulder that burden.”

   Storm felt like she might fly apart, she was shaking so hard. Her silver eyes bored into his, and slowly, heartbeat by heartbeat, the levin pulsing in her veins slowed enough to let her process the offer. She sighed, her breath holding a faint touch of thunder that faded to nothing. “...you will not ask me about–”

   “I will not ask you about your losses,” he promised, resting his free hand over his heart. “May the Destroyer be my witness.”

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Ice shall be thy tomb!

It shall not be mine, but yours!

[autumnslance]

BLINDSIDED and HELPED for the meme!!

(Yes these are taking me awhile. I do not control the rate at which I respond to prompts. You'd think so, but you'd be wrong. *pokes OCs with a stick, gets slapped back*)

send HELPED for a scene from my muse's past in which someone helped / saved them

“I can’t use magic,” Aeryn whispered, the admission stinging. “I’ve tried and tried, and I know it’s there, but it just…won’t come.”

The old woman nodded. “Perhaps one day you will find out how to change that,” she said. “But there is more than magic.”

Aeryn couldn’t help wrinkling her nose.

The old woman chuckled. “Yes, all the platitudes and reassurances you’ve doubtless heard before—but also more than that. Aether is not the only way in which we interact with the world.”

“But aether is everything,” Aeryn answered.

The old woman chuckled. “Spoken like a well-taught academic. Well, my teachings are not those of a university curriculum.”

Aeryn watched and listened, a small frown on her face, head tilted in curiosity. There were those who said the old weaponmaster’s wife was a witch. She hadn’t given the rumors any thought, when her stepfather had arranged her instruction for her requested nameday gift.

The old woman smiled, reaching a hand out. “Tell me, dear, in all your many readings, what did you learn of akasa?”

—-

(This one got a little long, so going below the cut, BUT how about something from my Free Company’s FF16 AU "On Our Fates Alight"…)

send BLINDSIDED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did

Everything was supposed to have been better, once Emelia brought her children to Thavnair.

Away from Coerthas, away from its never-ending war. Away from the Inquisition and the dragoons, away the betrayal of the village priest.

Away from the loss of her husband and home.

Instead, she stood in the opulent chambers of the Meghaduta, trying not to tremble in the face of divinity.

The great wyrm sighed heavily, pain in his motions. Her eyes flicked to the wounds and burns scarring his massive form. “Worry not,” he intoned, the words clear in her mind as much in her ears. “I shall heal.”

“I’m so…sorry,” she said, the word trite and absurd for the enormity of the situation. “I had no idea…”

Aeryn, so small and young, so timid now since the events in Coerthas, had panicked—and the Manusya Eikon of War, Asura, suddenly stood in her place, roaring in fury, light and fire and storm flashing with each of her many blades.

So Zaine, to protect his sister, had rushed forward, heedless of danger. And then in his place stood Daivadipa, the Mrga Eikon of War, drum rumbling, snakeheads hissing, as he met Asura in battle.

It had taken the island’s protector and true ruler, the Great Wyrm Vrtra of the First Brood, to stop them from leveling Vanaspati.

Her children were Dominants. Her children were Dominants.

Vrtra shook his head. “Thou has but recently returned to our shores, and while the Eikons often take time to manifest, thy recent struggles hath primed thy children to accept the gods’ favor.”

Favor. Not how they would say it in much of the world. Memories of the Inquisition, rumors of Garlean hunters, crowded her mind.

“What do I do?” she asked, voice small.

“The children must be guided, as well as guarded,” the wyrm answered. “They shall be my wards, and I will teach them to control the divinity within. To the rest of the world, they shall be under the care of the Satrap—those of Alzadaal’s line who maintain my secrecy. You understand you are now part of this secret.”

Emelia nodded, mouth dry. “I want to stay with them.”

“Of course,” Vrtra replied, a warm gentleness in his tone she had not expected. “I would not separate them from thee.” He looked away briefly in thought, and she could swear he was frowning. “Emelia, what dost thou know of Aeryn’s Eikon?”

She blinked. “Asura is the Goddess of War; not always well-regarded among our people, who ever strive for peace, under your all-seeing eye. She wields many blades, and has many faces, all aspects of why one fights in war—justice, vengeance, conquest…”

He nodded, stretching his torn wings with a groan. “I hath known many a Dominant of Asura in my time. Yet none have also wielded the power of dragons.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Asura drew not only upon her own power, but upon Aeryn’s own. The inherent qualities of her bloodline have affected this manifestation of the goddess.”

“What are you talking about?” Her voice came in a hoarse whisper, her heart hammering in her chest. What was happening to her baby?

Vrtra’s head hung low. “Many Coerthans carry within them part of my sister, Ratatoskr, betrayed by mortals a thousand years ago. And in the time since, those men call heretics have found ways to strengthen the dragon within, by consuming the blood and essence of other dragons, as their ancestors did her.”

Emelia stepped back, bile rising in her throat. “That’s not how I’ve heard the story,” she said. “They only speak of Nidhogg, and his rage. Regardless, my daughter is five—she’s no heretic, and we’ve never…eaten…a dragon!” The very idea was blasphemy, even if it wasn’t already disgusting.

“No, she hath not committed such a sin herself,” Vrtra agreed. “And yet I sense my sister’s daughter’s blood within her. Thou hast obviously not partaken. Which leaves—”

“No,” Emelia sobbed, clinging to herself.

They had said the old priest was a heretic, secretly corrupting others for decades. Corran had been one of the men in town to spend time with Father Comfraire. Corran had so often worked longer, later, than some of the others, with certain comrades. Strange behaviors, strange scents and stains, strange secrets she had never looked much into; she had her own harmless friendships and interests, didn’t she? She trusted her husband implicitly, why shouldn’t she?

Emelia had seen Asura’s red draconic face, in the place of fiery Vengeance. Heard the goddess cry out in the draconic language as she had slammed magics into the wyrm repeatedly as Daivadipa tried to wrestle her down.

Vrtra tried to continue to explain in his gentle, rumbling tone, but all Emelia could do was fall to her knees and scream.

--

(No I did not proof Vrtra's Elizabethan language maybe later when it goes on Ao3.)

[scalefeathers]

Vierapril - 9 - damage

Together, Bylka and Onti can handle just about anything... but not this.

[ncitygirls]

forgive - hyunjin x f reader

angst, fluff, smut, royal au, 4.1k

to die just as one graduates to motherhood is the tragic fate of countless women of your time. though there is no shame in falling victim to eve’s curse, one does feels a deserving sense of pride in their ability to look the devil in the eye and turn one’s cheek. to crawl through the forest of death and drag oneself towards the light. many are denied the privilege of survival. living is a sign from the heavens that perhaps there is a reason for such trials. that strife is a lesson in one’s journey, a meaning to life.

but to die before bearing your husband a son is a fate you would readily accept in place of the dark nothing you nearly surrendered to. the thought drifts into your mind the moment your greatest trial and grandest reward shifts in your arms, your daughter’s wails slowly rising in pitch and frequency as you smile loftily at her bundled form in your lap. she sings a song most would call unbearable. the screech so shrill, it pierces through even the most impenetrable guard. but never through you. you could continue to find peace in the deafening sound had it not been for your husband. your dear, sweet husband.

your king.

your king, whose presence thus far escaped you. that is until he asked, just a decibel louder than the wailing infant, “could you please settle her, sweet?”

“oh,” you glance at his rigid form, across your living quarters, to find his pretty scowl trained on his heir, only softening when his eyes meet the familiar orbs of his queen. “my apologies, hyunjin. is she distracting you?”

“no,” he breathes, allowing his head to fall back on the loveseat, his sculpted cheek puffs. “it’s just annoying.”

“it?” your eyes quickly return to him, only to be met by the back of his morning paper. “i do hope you are referring to the sound itself and not to your child, my love?”

“does it matter?” he sighs, realising moments too late that the room has stilled. “my dear, i did not mean to offend.’

“of course not, your highness,” ah, ‘your highness’. you call on the title in the times you wish to hurt him most. “she is but a child, of course you meant her no offense. i ask for your mercy, sire.”

“i sense hostility in you.”

“shall I call on a nurse for you, your grace?” he wonders for a second what the reason could be before you readily come to his aid. “it is most unlike you to use sense of any kind.”

“that was out of turn-”

“me? my king, you believe it is i who is out of turn?” hyunjin knows there is no answer to such a question. because yes would present grounds for annulment and no would mean he is wrong. and kings cannot be found in the wrong. “not the new father who refers to his daughter as ‘it’? of course it is not he who is speaking out of turn, not when he is a king.

“when he is a man.”

“ah, ‘men are the source of all the world’s ailments’, must we hear excerpts from your manifesto again, my love? it is only noon,” he assumes you hear only humour in his tone and decides to take it a step further. “is it in your plans to fill the house of hwang with women just to spite me?”

“oh,” you breathe, smiling softly as he watches, “is it a son you desire, hyunjin? is that what you want?” his eyes squint as he watches his love rise to place his only heir in the cot before you glide over to him, sweetness vanishing from your eyes as you succumb to your wrath. “you want a son, king hyunjin? then give me one.”

“leave us.” the servants standing by flee the room, quick to abandon a maid who halts as hyunjin blocks her path. “take the child.”

she takes a hurried step towards your child before she is stopped once more. “take my child and i will take your hand.” the poor girl is quick to abandon her king’s direct order before fleeing the scene, closing the door as she departs.

a biting silence takes the place of the bodies that once filled the chamber, thickening every corner of the room. minutes pass before hyunjin realises you have no further interest in him. “if it were not for the fact my heart beats for you, my beloved, i too would take my leave.”

“your heart? is that what beats in your chest, hyunjin? a heart?” he scoffs, unbothered by the deflection masked by your jab. “kings are meant to rule, not jest. do not humour me.”

“was your tea cup mistaken for a bedpan?”

“i almost died, jinnie!” he withers as you tremble, your eyes misting as you try to find someone resembling your beloved in the man sat across from you. “i almost lost my life bearing you the heir you prayed for, only for you to treat her with the same regard one does a child born in illegitimacy.” he wishes to deny it, and you see it too. but your eyes are alight and hyunjin swears he sees his end in them. “she is your child, hyunjin. and should she be your only, she will wear your crown with pride and rule as well as any boy ever could.”

“i know that.” your scoff stung like a strike to the cheek and winds him like a blow to the gut. “i do. y/n, i swear it to you.”

“then perhaps you should act like it.” he finally sees what fuels your rage and rests behind your eyes: disappointment. “you cannot love me and not my kin, jin. i won’t allow it.”

“my love,” he reaches for you but you repel, moving instead to the babbling baby. “you mistake my desire for a son as a lack of joy for my daughter.” pulling your hands from the sides of the cot, he dwarfs them with his own. “i love her with everything i have in me. i swear.”

“had my father received me as you did our child, i would not believe that to be the case.”

“forgive me, my love.” you’re quick to cast your gaze elsewhere, ignoring his puppy eyed plea. “i will pray the heavens take mercy on me, but i need you to first. please believe me when i say i love her. i do. she is half of the greatest woman to ever walk this kingdom, i worship her.”

“then why? why the cold shoulder? why treat her this way?” he suddenly finds himself unable to answer, opting instead to rock the baby, basking in her glow. with a soft sigh, you raise a hand to his cheek, offering him reprieve as he burrows into your palm. “what troubles you?”

“nothing, my love.” your disbelieving gaze sends his shoulders south, his whole frame sagging. “it’s just my dealings with the courts.” of course. the courts. “i spent every night bowed in ceaseless prayer. i prayed for your health, for your life, for our child. i prayed until bruises formed on my knees, my love. and still i prayed. but as i prayed for my family, they prayed only for my successor, for a boy.” though you find it impossible, he manages to lower himself further. folding himself into you, almost in two, hiding his long face from view. “once I caught wind of their talks with the lord, i condemned it. i condemned any prayer against my wishes but the court can do as they please in their solitude and i know we do not rule on fear but after her birth, for the first time in my life? i wished we did.” it was inexplicable, the difficulty you had beholding an enraged hyunjin, the skin curving around his knuckles and jaw as they tightened with every word he uttered, your heart tightening in kind. “i wanted to make heads roll, to end them for the disregard they paid my child, my family, my wife.” it starts to make sense now, his grinding teeth and red rimmed eyes. his late and sleepless nights. the nights hypnos granted him even a slither of reprieve were spent clinging to you, a cold sweat soaking the sheets, puzzling you beyond belief. it all makes sense. “the courts have filled me with doubt. they warned of foreign enemies who would hear of our heir, of our girl. that they would see her as a sign we are weak, that we are lesser.”

“but how can they speak in such a way? we are ahead of such things.”

“my love, you must see past the likes of lord kim and baron han. the rest of the men in my court are old, and stuck in old ways. our nation has not seen a queen on the throne since the likes of my widowed great, great grandmother.” his hands cup your face, bleary eyes blinking back the tears his heavy words summoned. “i love you, y/n. and i love her. all i want is for you both to be safe. but i live in constant fear that i cannot keep you safe with enemies outside our walls and evidently within.”

“hyunjin, my love,” he settles at the soft spoken call of his name, the loving address soothing his forlorn heart. “i will burn the court to the ground before they bring harm to my kin. or to you.” it is not unlike you to let your anger consume you. in fact, it is but a facet of what made him fall in love with you. what continues to bother him is the fact he was not the first to make such a bold promise. “my love?”

“fret not, my queen,” his nimble hands gather his daughter from her cot, his lips pulling in a soft grin as the child gargles, reaching up for him. “it is just, with my brains and your ferocity, i believe this hwang might be the greatest queen- no, ruler levanter has ever seen.”

“forgive me, my love,” the apology fills the space to his left, from where your temple rests on his shoulder, fingers toying with his undershirt. “but you do not suggest that this girl will be inheriting her brains from her father-”

“watch your mouth.”

“watch it for me.”

“careful,” he warns, dropping his lips to yours for a brief peck before withdrawing but an inch, “i might just give you that son you asked for.”

“careful, or i might just let you.” your rebuttal has him fanning your lips with a breathless chortle, urging you to rise to the tips of your toes and connect your lips to his once more. when you withdraw, he follows, resting his forehead on yours, smiling softly as your eyes meet. your voice is barely a whisper as you enquire, “what do we do now, my love?”

“now, i will handle the courts,” huffing, hyunjin places a kiss to the crown of his daughter’s head, smiling as he does. “i am afraid you will just have to handle everything else.” the regret in his words do not match the smirk on his lips, though he confesses, “i do not envy you, my love.” placing the baby in the cot once more, he pulls you into his chest, resting his cheek at the uppermost point on your head. “but i will keep you both safe. i put my life on it-”

“sire,” you warn, leaning up to kiss his neck. “your life is no longer yours to wager.”

“is that so?” hyunjin only grins at your assured affirmation. “my queen, is there anything that is mine in this kingdom?”

“me.” even after all these years, hyunjin is undone by you. from your matter of fact utterance, a breathless admission of submission to your glowy eyed gaze, eyes shining with pure adoration. “i belong to you.”

“you do?” he sighs when you nod, the small bounce of your head forcing his own head up and down. his eyes and hands slowly trail down your arms stilling at your fingers. slipping his digits between yours, he raises them to his pouted lips, slowly pressing each one with a kiss so soft and so sweet, you nearly jump as he speaks. “and these? do these belong to me?”

“yes, sire.”

“good,” he breathes, joy flashing behind his eyes. “and what about this?” he whispers against your lips, his plump lips tangling with your own. only after playing with your tongue, sucking on the muscle and swallowing your whines does he ask, “is this smart mouth of yours mine?”

“all yours.”

he nods in agreement, fingers gliding down the side of your neck, dusting over your chemise to cup you over your stay. only to find you bare. “were you that hastened to join me for tea?”

“no,” you laugh, hitting his chest as he pulls you closer, enjoying feeling your near bare chest on his. “i breastfeed.” you love your king. for as slow as he is, he is twice as loving. you watch realisation dawn on him not once but twice, a slight pout stealing his lips, exaggerated by their natural downturn. “what is it?”

“i just,” he stops, laughing to himself. “i just realised these-” he cups your tender breasts, thumb barely dusting the sore nubs. “-they’re no longer mine.”

“hyunjin!” his laughter picks up before it stills, the sleeping princess nearly awoken by the delight of her parents. “no, they’re on loan.”

“that’s fine.” he sighs, ducking his head to kiss the center of your chest. “i’ll wait.”

“i’m proud of you.”

“thank you,” your pride does not last long, as he lowers his hands to cup your ass and pull you flush against him. through your chemise and slip, you feel him. all of him. he deftly slips his tongue between your gasping lips, filling your mouth in ways that force your panties to dampen, the fabric soaking with every roll of his hardening cock to your aching slit. “but this is mine,” he reminds you, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “do you understand?”

“y-yes.”

“yes, who?”

“yes, your grace.”

“good. now, go get a nurse for the princess.” the king proclaims, emphasising his point with a firm slap to your ass as you almost sprint out of the room. as you return with the nanny, you feel your heart swell to almost double its size. you find hyunjin by your daughter’s basket, a soft lullaby floating in the air as he gathers her in his long, folded arms. you watch him pass her to the nanny, his fingers passing over her puffed up knuckle, in awe of her inherent daintiness. “sleep well, my dove.”

you fear he might have forgotten you as the two leave and he stares in quiet longing. you finally approach him as his sniffles begin. “hyunjin?”

“i have missed her.” he whines, wet eyes cast skyward, guilt staining his face. “i have been a terrible father-”

“no.” your scold has his gaze falling, his shining eyes searching your frowning face. “not terrible. never terrible. just a little distant.” you soften as he nods, understanding pouring into him as you craddle his face in your palms. “you know now.”

“yeah,” he agrees, leaning to press a wet kiss to your lips. “please forgive me, my love.”

“there’s nothing to forgive.” you hum against his pouting lips, moulding your mouth with his as you try and tear him from this spell of despair. “come sit,” you whisper, guiding him towards his original seat.

when he lowers into it and feels you lower in kind, though to the ground, he frowns deeply. “i-” he stalls as you palm him through his slack breeches, fingers gripping him through the fabric. he grinds up into your closing fist, eyes squeezing shut as you momentarily silence him. the peace is short lived as he moans, realising what you’ve done to him. “i wanted to pleasure you.”

“and you will,” you quickly assure him, smirking when his frown deepens. “once i pleasure you.”

“fine.” he concedes, crossing his arms as you unfasten his breeches. you glare at him through your lashes until he huffs, stiffly raising his hips to allow you room to lower his garments down his thighs. “is there anything else i can do for you, mrs hwang?”

“that is all.” you chortle, fanning the reddened, leaking head of his cock. the sound forces a smile on his face until your tongue glides against his glistening slit. he almost chokes when you gaze up at him suddenly, eyes full of too much love for one king to fathom. “you just relax, okay?”

he can barely make himself nod as he fills your sight with his lovesick smile. “i don’t deserve you.”

“i know.” you rise to your knees to swallow his retraction, enjoying the lurid way he melts under the touch of your lips and palm. you offer languid strokes up and down his length, thumbing at his slit as he practically dribbles down himself. “jinnie, you’re making a mess.”

“‘m sorry.” the whine isn’t worrisome, but rather his second admission of guilt. with a gentle shake of your head, you raise your unsoiled hand to his lips, smearing your mingled saliva across his chin.

“i like you messy,” you admit, watching his eyes glaze over at your confession. “you’re always so proper now. you were never like that.” you squeeze him tighter at his base as you speak, dragging up the length of his cock, forcing a mewl from his throat as he releases his bitten, spit slicked lip. “remember when you were still a prince, and i just a lady?” he nods dumbly, head rolled to the side as drool pools on the corner of his mouth. “you used to fuck me in the greenhouse as it rained on a starry night. and behind the guards’ stables. even in the old maid’s quarters-”

“tha-that’s because we couldn’t anywhere else.”

“true,” you tut, wiping his chin as he fucks up into your closed fist. “yet now the kingdom is yours, you only ever fuck me in the castle.”

“but i always fuck you well.” when you just smile his hips falter, brows knitting as you massage his tensed thigh. “say it.”

“say what?”

“that i always fuck you well.”

“you do fuck me well,” you knowingly half agree, pumping him in your tight fist before he grabs your wrist. only a few seconds pass but the small fire ignited by your defiance burns for an eternity. the warm embers blazed to a full village fire when you squeeze at his base, moving to restart your ministrations. hyunjin only scoffs, clicking his tongue with a soft shake of his head. “a king’s ego should not be so dependent on his queen-”

before you can finish, his fingers cling to the base of your neck, squeezing in a way that traps the words in your throat. he feels you swallow, his dark eyes watching how you struggle to breathe. it’s dizzying. the way he eyes you, flitting between your expanding chest and gasping mouth. he presses the back of his hand to your chin, tilting your lips toward his mouth as he leans in. “it seems my ego rests on the mocking words of my smart mouthed wife,” he whispers into your open mouth, sucking softly on your bottom lip. “so, my queen, mightn’t you humour me? tell me that which i desire to hear.”

“you-” he senses an unfitting retort on your tongue and tightens his grip, marvelling at the delicious way your eyes roll back. he only loosens when theu water, gleaming in pitiful surrender. “you always fuck me well.”

“like i will now.”

“li-like you will now.”

“good,” he grins, proud of your slow but gratifying progress. helping you stand, hyunjin gathers the hem of your chemise in his fists, hiking it up to your waist before placing the fabric in your waiting hands. he feels for your undergarments, fingers gliding along the soft skin of your belly, purposely missing the waistband of your panties. he watches your breathing change with every long second he teases you, missing your sex in obvious ways. when you whine he only tuts, watching a frown kiss your features. “it’s not nice to be kept waiting, is it?”

“no,” you mumble, jutting out a full blown pout. “please touch me, hyunjin.” you too can sense your lover’s utterances before they are ever fully realised. like now, when he smirks, knuckles dusting over your throbbing heat. “properly.”

your emphasis has him chortling, the sound delighting you in ways you cannot explain. how long had it been since you had him like this? warm and open, delighted by the trivialities of foreplay. excited by your pending coitus. it brings a sudden joy to your heart, and, to your husband at least, an inexplicable grin to your bitten lips.

“what tickles you, my love?”

“i just missed you.” you confess, not too dissimilar to his earlier realisation. “i want you happy always.”

“oh,” he breathes, finally pinching your panties and sliding them down past your ankles. “one can feel nothing but joy when you are near.”

“is that so?” you hum as he pulls you to his lap, his thumb dipping into your soaking cunt before slow dragging it along your swollen clit.

“it is so,” he affirms, offering soft pecks to the taut skin of your neck. “it’s why i married you.”

“really- oh,” words stick in your throat as he dips a lone finger in you, his thumb still circling as he presses against your walls. your lips find his in your daze, somehow still embarrassed by the awe with which he regards you. your hips roll against his cramped hand, chasing the beginnings of a tightening coil in the base of your belly. “you’re still infatuated with me?”

“always.” he removes himself without leaving your lips, swallowing your taunt as he guides you onto his awaiting cock. time stills for a moment as you adjust, brain whirring as you both realise the time that has passed since you had him like this. your throbbing walls clamped around his pulsing cock. the subtle tremor of his thighs as you sink onto him, buttocks resting in his waiting palms. he offers a gentle squeeze, one of comfort and question. “can you move?” you nod against his skin, damp forehead pressed to his as he guides your motions with gentle tilts of his wrists. his tongue slips into your mouth, readily lapping at your own as you wrap your arms around his neck. his hands rise to your hips in time, guiding you with a firmer grip, enjoying the slow rock of your hips on his aching cock. he feels you squeeze around him as he sucks on your tongue, his thighs shaking with a looming orgasm. he pulls you in closer, lifting you inches in the air before leaving your slippery lips. before you can even think to protest, hyunjin snaps up into you at a steady pace, enjoying the mewls he conjures from you.

“jinnie, i’m- i-”

“it’s okay,” he groans, on his own verge of release. “it’s okay, my love. let go.”

and you do. moments later you let go, loudly soiling his lap and favourite loveseat as he fucks into your soaking cunt. seconds later he follows you, head thrown back as he releases in you, fearful of nothing but the stained upholstery as he thanks the lord above that you are his wife.

“you owe me a new chair.” he says suddenly, still panting as you pepper soft kiss along his shoulder blade. “and new breeches.”

“it is you who is to blame, sire.” he watches with a raised brow as you rest on his knees. “you always fuck me so well, how could i help myself?”

“ah, right.” he folds when you laugh, the sound forcing his hands upward, along with the corners of his lips. “forgive me, my love.”

“i love you.” you whisper instead, settling against his chest as you both ignore the compromising position you’re in. “so much.”

“and i you,” he swears. “always.”

[dreamsofteyvat]

~ diluc x reader

~ reincarnation/soulmate au, fluff but mostly angst...

the moon is full and silent. her presence is comforting.

"here we are... again," his voice is quiet, steps slow as he sits beside you.

"again," you repeat. the word is bittersweet on your tongue. once, you might have rejoiced at the word. but now, all you feel is nothing.

"do you remember?" diluc asks aloud.

you turn your gaze to him. his hair is out of its usual ponytail, cascading like waves of muted flame over his shoulders and back. in the moonlight, he glows, set alight by the silver beams.

"i remember," you reply.

and you do.

you had been his princess, once. his muse, another. once you had been a sailor. you had been a queen, an artist, a warrior.

and you remember. in each of these lives and countless more you had met him, that crown of vermillion adorning his head as though the sun itself weaved light through his locks. his serious eyes, his baritone voice.

you had loved him in every one of your lives.

and he had loved you.

"i remember," you repeat. "when we promised our eternities to one another."

"when we swore never to love another," his voice is still hushed.

"when we dreamt of all our futures."

"when our hearts would intertwine, and when we would long for each other, and when we swore to meet again."

"when we still loved each other."

at this, diluc smiles. it's melancholy, this smile.

"how tiring."

you laugh, and agree.

"i wrote of your laughter, once." diluc says, holding a hand up as if to cup the moon. "it sounded like the rushing waters. it was clear like a bell, and beautiful like a siren's song."

you shake your head slightly, "and I had written of your hands. how you could hold the world if you wanted, how you could pluck the stars and the moon from the sky and play marbles with them."

there's a pause.

"why are we here, y/n?"

"because we are brought together."

"brought together."

"that is what it is to be fated for one another. but tell me, diluc. how long has it been?"

"too long. our love has already lasted many eternities."

your heart fills. you still love his man, but for a different reason than you once did.

diluc plucks a dandelion at his side. after a second, he blows, the seeds scattering in the wind.

"i will see you again."

"yes. let us meet again, old friend. after all, what is an eternity more?"

[someonestolemyshoes]

So at risk of stepping out of line here are some prompts of many genres for you! I dont know if any of these tickle your fancy.

Hange Survives the rumbling

Magic AU (specifically what would they be skilled or not skilled in. I always picture Hange as being good at illusions and Levi being good at combat magic but best at house hold charms for example)

Zombie apocalypse AU (Levi was a little disgruntled at first to have a tag along but warms up to her pretty quickly and mostly against his better judgement. He is forced to concede having someone to watch his back is nice after she saves his life though )

The exact moment other characters realized Levi had feelings for Hange.

Hange and Levi pranking Erwin in increasingly elaborate ways while keeping their identity a secret. As he gets more and more frustrated.

Just straight up angst with a capitol A

Ive honestly thoroughly enjoyed everything you've written and look forward to seeing more. I dont know etiquette for offering prompts and hope I didnt offer too many. I just thought they sounded cool.

I have saved all of these because there are so many good ideas BUT on this occasion I have decided to write the following: The exact moment other characters realized Levi had feelings for Hange. This was also inspired in part by something @glassesandswords said earlier regarding Levihan and ballroom dancing. There is no (real) dancing, but there is a ballroom.....does that count? 

They were greeted politely at the doors, and led through a huge, carved entryway, intricate pillars stretching from the shiny marble floor to the high, mural ceiling. It was a beautiful architectural feat, but the effect was wasted on Erwin's small group, who observed the space with contempt, or else in Hange's case, stared only at the floor where their reflections shimmered in the polished surface.

Sweet music played through a closed set of double doors up ahead, carrying with it the hum of many voices interspersed now and then with a raucous laugh, or the clink of cutlery on expensive ceramic dishes. Two men, dressed in matching uniform, bowed politely and pulled the doors open, and the sound from within spilled into the entryway, echoing into the vast space.

The ballroom was beautiful.

** 

The carriage pulled up in a stone-paved courtyard outside one of the most extravagant buildings Erwin had ever seen. Much like everything else in Sina, money had been thrown about without restraint, to create halls and mansions and castles each bigger and more gaudy than the last. They functioned almost exclusively as a show of wealth, save for the occasional ball or banquet where the space was welcome, and the rich were more than happy to showcase their spoils.

Tonight, this particular hall had the honour of hosting the Benefactors Ball. It was an opportunity for the military factions to rub shoulders with nobility, and garner themselves some additional funding—politicking disguised as polite conversation over glasses of champagne, each one likely costing more than the monthly budget allocated for the Survey Corps as a whole.

Erwin stepped down from the carriage and took in the space. The building was tall, all white stone and huge, arched windows, polished until they shone, reflecting the evening sky. A wide staircase led to a set of great oak doors, thrown open and exposing a glimpse of the entrance hall within. The interior was full of buildings like this, large enough to hold hundreds, but vacant for most of the year, while the people within Wall Rose lived like cattle, penned into cramped houses with one room for a whole family.

Behind him, the carriage creaked as Levi climbed down. He stopped beside Erwin and stared up at the lavish building with his lip curled, his distaste evident. He made no efforts to hide his disgust at the gaudy display of luxury, and did not bother lowering his voice when he said, "stinks like pig shit. Filthy rich bastards can't pay someone to wipe their asses properly?"

Erwin cleared his throat, swallowing the urge to laugh. He perfectly understood Levi's disdain, for the sentiment was widely shared, both throughout the Corps and much of the land outside of the interior. People lived in poverty, struggling to make ends meet and fighting for rations while the rich ate decadent banquets full of more food than they could ever hope to consume, growing fat and idle in their comfort.

To his left, Mike had alighted from the carriage and was busy straightening his suit. He showed less restraint than Erwin, snorting and garnering some scathing looks from the passing attendees. Erwin fixed his face into a pleasant, appeasing smile, and spoke through the side of his mouth. "Better not to insult our company if you want to eat over the winter."

"We're already eating scraps like dogs," Levi protested with a sharp click of his tongue.

"And you'll be eating less than that if they cut our funding. Behave, please."

Mike shrugged a shoulder, unbothered by Erwin's scolding. Levi shot him a scowl, but did not argue and instead turned to talk over his shoulder, barking out. "Oi, four-eyes. The hell is taking so long?"

There was some shuffling inside the carriage. Erwin could hear Hange grumbling to themself inside it, and then their voice called out, somewhat petulantly, "I feel ridiculous."

"We're running late," Erwin said. "Come on."

Hange swore quietly, then sighed. More shuffling  and Erwin heard the carriage stairs creak as Hange climbed their way carefully down them, manoeuvring awkwardly with all the loose fabric around their legs. They stood stiffly beside Levi, adjusting the thin, silk shawl across their shoulders and pulling it over their chest. The neckline of their dress cut too low for their comfort, which Hange had complained about endlessly on the ride here, and the midnight blue fabric fell to brush the tops of their feet, where they had been forced into a pair of flat, thin-soled shoes that were already rubbing the skin of their heels raw.

The dress was very pretty, and in truth, Hange looked very pretty in it, but their discomfort showed painfully in their high, drawn shoulders and slouched posture, curved over themself to make their long, thin frame appear as small as possible.

"I don't see why I couldn't wear a suit like everybody else," Hange said, huffing to blow their fringe out of their face. Nanaba had fixed their hair in a delicate half-up do, a pretty, intricate bun fastened at the back of their head while the rest of their hair fell in loose curls just past their shoulders. Already, they seemed annoyed with it, constantly pushing it away from their face and neck. Mike turned to examine the view and Levi, who had been watching Hange slyly from the corner of his eye, slid his gaze forward and away. Erwin cleared his throat, but made no comment. The organisers had been clear about their dress code requirements—no military decoration, suits for the men and dresses for the women. Hange's military record had decided their fate for the evening, and no amount of arguing or pleading could change that.

After a pregnant pause, Erwin politely held out an arm for Hange, and gave them a somewhat apologetic smile. "Shall we?"

Hange kept their hands to themself. They shook their head and made a vague gesture for Erwin to walk ahead, following closely behind him and Mike, whose combined height and bulk blocked them from view. Erwin felt a little guilty, for forcing Hange to come, and for refusing their multiple requests to dress in something they felt more relaxed in. But Erwin understood well how the benefactors operated, knew that a pretty face in a nice dress had sway where stoic men in suits did not. Hange's frosty attitude towards him was enough to convince him that they understood, too.

They were greeted politely at the doors, and led through a huge, carved entryway, intricate pillars stretching from the shiny marble floor to the high, mural ceiling. It was a beautiful architectural feat, but the effect was wasted on Erwin's small group, who observed the space with contempt, or else in Hange's case, stared only at the floor where their reflections shimmered in the polished surface.

Sweet music played through a closed set of double doors up ahead, carrying with it the hum of many voices interspersed now and then with a raucous laugh, or the clink of cutlery on expensive ceramic dishes. Two men, dressed in matching uniform, bowed politely and pulled the doors open, and the sound from within spilled into the entryway, echoing into the vast space.

The ballroom was beautiful. Long tables lined the walls, piled high with more food than they had ever seen in their lives, steaming joints of meat, fresh and tender, and fish, vegetables steamed or roasted and coated in unfamiliar herbs and spices. The combined smell was mouthwatering. Beside him, Mike breathed long and deep through his nose. There was a huge, open floor in the centre of the room where the attendees were mingling, the men dressed in sharp, well-fitted suits and the women draped in elegant dresses, fine jewelry studding their fingers and wrapping their wrists, pearls and gems hanging from their necks. A great, ornate chandelier hung overhead, lit with what felt like hundreds of candles, the firelight ducking and weaving, shimmering from the hanging crystals and casting pretty, shifting shadows on the floor below. On one wall, huge windows ran from ceiling to floor and displayed a well-groomed garden flushed pink in the setting sun, dotted carefully with trimmed bushes and pruned flowers, a great stone fountain set in the centre,

The four of them stood in a line in the open doorway. Erwin observed quickly, efficiently. Many faces were already blushing a little red, from the heat and their full stomachs and the champagne, ferried around the room by waiters carrying trays, darting about the space with choreographed ease. He spotted a few of the key benefactors, those with the fattest wallets, and took note of the drinks in their hands—tumblers of amber liquid, whiskey or brandy from the bar, or else goblets of deep red wine that stained their lips and teeth. A glass or two more and enough sweet, sickly compliments, and Erwin felt confident they could come to some financial agreements.

He turned to look at the others. Mike's expression was neutral, eyes masked by his long fringe, but his posture was relaxed, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. Levi's eyes had once again roved to one side, where Hange stood, taking in the room with one arm covering their chest, their nails scratching absently at the skin of their neck. Levi clicked his tongue at them and reached up, flicking their knuckles.

"Stop doing that, idiot," Levi said. "You look diseased."

Hange's neck had indeed turned a deep shade of red where their nails had raked at the skin, swelling in thin, raised welts that threatened to split open with much more abuse. Hange pulled the shawl tighter around themself.

"I have a few people I need to speak to," Erwin said. He shot them each a look in turn. "Mingle, but please, stay out of trouble."

Mike nodded. Levi shrugged a shoulder. Hange glared at him, the candlelight catching and glinting off their glasses. Erwin trusted the group, but not completely. Mike had a penchant for dry sarcasm, and Erwin had observed of late that Hange and Levi could make an explosive pair when left to their own devices, equally as volatile whether they were conspiring together or else at each other's throats. Collateral damage within the Corps was easy enough to iron out—traumatised recruits were simple to deal with. Offended benefactors and interior personnel were a whole other matter. Smoothing out Survey Corps relations with their funding parties was a headache Erwin didn't need, if he could help it.

Hange, though, looked ill-equipped for mischief. Erwin couldn't recall a time he had ever heard them seem quiet, or seen them so tense. Of all the soldiers Erwin had ever known, Hange was the most loose, relaxed, with little regard for military hierarchy, no sense of personal space, and a lack of shame so absolute it bordered on admirable. He had never seen Hange so subdued, before. He might have found the reprieve from their usual exuberance peaceful, if not for the itch of guilt that came with it.

But he didn't have time to dwell on it. There were more important matters to attend to, and Erwin took his leave from the group with a stern nod, leaving to greet Pixis and Nile where they were talking politely with some bloated, red-faced nobles.

The evening passed in endless addresses. Erwin flattered his way around the room, speaking humbly with innumerable men, smiling and taking their backhanded compliments with grace while pushing another drink into their greedy hands.

Over the shoulders of one stout man with yellow teeth and breath like tobacco, Erwin caught sight of Mike, dutifully nodding his head as a gaggle of older women flocked around him. He panned his gaze around, searching for his two missing soldiers, until his eyes landed on Hange where they stood near a corner of the room, engaged in awkward looking conversation with a lanky man who seemed to share Hange's usual sentiments about personal space. He was taller than Hange, but had stooped until their faces were close, and in both of his hands he held one of Hange's, stroking over their knuckles as he talked. Hange had a forced smile on their face, but even from this distance Erwin could see the strain in their neck, the tightness in their face, their free hand white-knuckling a fist full of their dress at their side.

Erwin had known Hange long enough to understand the concentrated effort with which they were holding back. He would have to thank them later, for not causing a scene, but he could have hardly blamed them if they had. As he watched, the man brought one hand up to Hange's hair, following a loose curl from the crown of their head, past their cheek, and to their shoulder, where his fingertips danced lightly at their collar. Hange's face was pale in their anger, and Erwin was mentally preparing the kind of speeches he'd have to give to excuse Hange's indiscretion, when a figure appeared at their side offering a glass of champagne. Erwin's brows rose.

Levi had come out of nowhere. He pressed the glass insistently at Hange, who quickly pulled both of their hands free to take it. Their admirer looked sufficiently displeased by the interruption, straightening to his full height and looking down his nose at Levi. Levi stared back impassively, gaze unwavering as Hange spoke, gesturing towards Levi, and Erwin watched with some smug satisfaction as introductions were made, and the sleazy old man realised exactly who had joined their conversation.

He stuck around for only a moment, before taking his leave. Hange watched him go, then visibly sagged in place, taking a long gulp from the delicate flute and bringing their hand up to their throat. Levi said something that made Hange laugh. Their smile was small and the shake of their shoulders was slight, but it was genuine. Levi slapped weakly at Hange's hand—they had been scratching again, the skin of their neck red and irritated. He took the champagne flute from their hand and drank the rest, depositing the empty glass on a nearby table and pulling a face, running his tongue over his teeth. Hange laughed again, a little brighter this time, some delight reflected in their face as they watched Levi's twisted expression, and when Levi said something that looked suspiciously like piss off, they laughed loud enough that Erwin could just hear it. Levi nudged at Hange's ribs with his elbow and Hange grabbed onto his arm, wriggling away. When Levi stopped his prodding, Hange didn't let go of him. And then the crowd shifted, a throng of men heading towards the bar, obscuring Levi and Hange from his view.

Huh.

That was interesting.

Levi had been with them for just over two years now. He had opened up very little in that time, remained almost as stoic and distant as he had been when he had first been recruited. He spoke little, and what conversation he did make was always rude and often perfunctory, coaxed into short, one-word answers or non-committal grunts. He dealt with Erwin because he had to. He tolerated Mike due to proximity alone—where Erwin went, Mike was never far behind.

His forbearance of Hange was more confusing.

There was no real need for them to spend much time together. Outside of meetings and events like these, compulsory gatherings where Erwin preferred to bring his most trusted subordinates, the pair of them were never required to be in each other's company. He'd had no doubt that Hange would be pushy; they were fascinated by Levi and had been since the beginning, keen to observe as much as they could, to understand and employ whatever technique it was that allowed Levi to move so quickly, to fight so efficiently. He had been unsurprised to see Hange hovering around Levi shortly after their first mission together—"like a fly on horse shit," Levi had said—and it had been no shock to him at all that Levi's dismissal had fallen on deaf ears.

But time had passed, and despite Levi's constant grumbles and complaints, seeing the two of them together had become an increasingly familiar sight.

Things weren't always amiable. There was a lot of bickering, loud disagreements where Hange would whinge and push and prod and Levi's anger would build until he was steaming, and there had on one occasion been a physical fight, the kind of feral scuffling in the dirt usually reserved for children. Erwin had broken that up himself after battling to the centre of a watching crowd, and the pair of them had sat down across from him at his desk, their faces resolutely turned in opposite directions, their hair and clothes coated in dusty, dry soil, with  swelling bruises on their cheeks and split skin on their knuckles. They pointed fingers, each laying the blame squarely on the other, and neither had admitted the root cause. Erwin eventually dismissed them with a headache, and demanded that whatever their issue was, they resolve it—civilly. He had wholly expected another scrap, but had been pleasantly surprised at finding the pair of them sitting together in the mess hall that evening—they were arguing about Hange's ludicrous notion to capture a titan when he had passed them, Levi jabbing his fork at Hange's hand when they slyly reached for his bread, but there was a familiar light in Hange's eyes, one that told him this argument, at least for now, was not serious.

Erwin had been pleasantly surprised to see a similar expression reflected on Levi's usually flat, stoic face. He had ripped his bread loaf in two, and dropped half of it silently onto Hange's plate as he told them, "for the last damn time, no."

Levi afforded Hange for more leniency than he did to anybody else. He would pull a face when Hange threw an arm around his shoulder, but he never pushed them away anymore. He'd grumble if Hange dropped next to him on Erwin's sofa and wriggled their does under his thighs for warmth, curse them for putting their dirty feet on the furniture, but it had been a long time now since Levi had knocked their feet back to the floor. He would badger them relentlessly about their greasy hair or the dirt under their nails, and in the same breath he would tug on their ponytail, his fingers sinking easily into the knotted, unkempt hair.

And now, this—Levi barely tolerated using communal utensils, opting often to clean his own cutlery before eating. To drink directly from the same glass as anyone, let alone Hange, who Levi notoriously butted heads with over their personal hygiene, was unimaginable. And yet.

Erwin was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of his name, and turned back to his companion, falling easily into conversation once more.

The evening dragged on. The sky outside the great windows was full dark, the stone fountain pale in the moonlight. The water shimmered, dark and spotted with the light from the stars. Erwin's throat was dry and sore from talking, but he felt satisfied—he had secured plenty of meetings to negotiate funding, enough that he wasn't all too worried that they would inevitably lose a few offers when the alcohol wore off.

He found Mike near the bar, finally alone. Erwin crossed to him and greeted him with a nod, ordering a drink and leaning against the bar beside Mike to enjoy it.

"Calling it a success?" Mike asked. Erwin hummed.

"I think so. I'll wait until we are safely back at the barracks before I say for certain."

Mike snorted quietly into his glass. He was sipping from a glass of fragrant whiskey, something deep and smoky. Erwin took another mouthful from his water.

"And you?" Erwin asked. "Would you call it a successful evening?"

Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "A very lovely lady left me her address. She insisted I write to her."

Erwin's lip quirked. He hid it behind his glass. "Will you?"

Mike shrugged. "Maybe. I figure she might leave me a big fat inheritance if I do."

Erwin chuckled, and looked about the room.

The crowd had thinned some, and those who remained spoke in loud, slurred voices that sounded over the lazy music played by the band. They stood around in small clusters, picking at the plentiful food and chugging down their drinks, bellies swollen behind shirts bursting at the seams. Pigs ready for slaughter, if it weren't for the work of people like them, who put their lives on the line for humanity every time they set foot into titan territory.

Mike elbowed him. Erwin hummed, and Mike nodded his head towards a corner of the room. "How's that for a success?"

Many of the candles in the chandelier had gone out, leaving the room with a smoky haze and the lights lower than before, a warm orange glow that barely reached the corners. Hange had sat themself on the corner of one of the tables, their feet dangling a little way off the floor as they drank from another glass of champagne. Their shawl had been replaced with Levi's jacket, buttoned just over their chest to cover them, and they had kicked off their shoes, bare feet swinging back and forth as they drank. Their hair had been thrown up into its customary ponytail, messy and shaggy at the back of their head. They looked much more like Hange, more relaxed, more comfortable.

Levi stood close beside them, his hip cocked against the table edge, Hange's shawl folded neatly and draped over his arm. The pair of them were talking between themselves, observing the room—Hange kept snickering, and Levi kept hiding his own smile with his champagne glass. Both of their cheeks were flushed pink, noticeable even with the distance. Hange twisted their head to look at Levi, still laughing, and reached up idly to fuss with his hair. Levi continued talking to Hange as though they hadn't touched him, his eyes glued to their face as they broke into a loud, tinkling laugh, the kind that carried like windchimes over the rest of the noise. Levi's eyes were a little wide, brows relaxed out of his customary frown, and his lips were a little parted as he stared openly at Hange.

"You think he knows he looks at Hange like they put the sun in the sky?" Mike said. Erwin laughed and shook his head.

Whatever Hange said next must have been teasing. Their lips spread in a sly smile, showing teeth, and their eyes pinched behind their glasses. They leaned a little further into Levi's space, and Erwin noticed Hange's leg drift sideways, their toes brushing against Levi's calf. Whatever Hange said made Levi grimace, but he put no distance between them. One of his hands settled on Hange's knee as he leaned even closer, and the other came up between their faces to pinch at Hange's nose. He shook their face back and forth until Hange brought their hands up and wrapped them around Levi's wrist. Levi relinquished his hold, and Hange lowered their hands down into their lap, playing with Levi's fingers as they fell back into conversation.

Levi put no distance between them. Erwin and Mike watched the pair of them, watched as Levi swayed even further into Hange's space, his fringe brushing against Hange's brow. Hange was watching him curiously, their head tipped a little to one side—Levi initiating any kind of proximity must have been new, even to Hange, but they didn't seem at all bothered by his closeness.

Mike let out a low whistle. "Little street rat has a soft spot."

Erwin gave Mike a warning look, and Mike raised his hand in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. Just surprised to see the captain has feelings, is all."

"It's that hard to believe?" Erwin said. "He cared a lot about his friends, too. He has a heart."

"Somewhere."

Erwin rolled his eyes. Levi and Hange were still standing close, and Levi looked very much like he was debating something in his head. His eyes flicked over Hange's face, and his fingers curled slowly around Hange's, gripping one of their hands in his. Erwin found himself holding his breath, watching them, waiting with a childishly eager anticipation. As their superior, Erwin certainly shouldn't encourage interpersonal relationships between his soldiers—but they were his friends, too. If they could afford themselves a moment of happiness in this hellish world, Erwin wouldn't stop them. Not for one night.

And then Hange's eyes flicked their way. They grinned widely, turning their face and lifting a hand to wave enthusiastically across the room. Unthinking of their attire, Hange bent a knee up and braced one of their heels on the table edge, exposing entirely too much skin to the remaining patrons in the room.

Erwin waved calmly back. Mike raised his glass. Levi stepped out of Hange's space, pausing only to pull a face and silently drape Hange's shawl over their lap, to cover them where the dress had ridden up their leg. He slipped his hand out of Hange's and jammed it instead into his pocket, and shook his fringe over his eyes, looking at Erwin and Mike through it. His scowl was back in place, but the colour in his cheeks had intensified.

Hange spoke to Levi, then hopped off the table grabbed his hand again, turning backwards to keep a hold of his hand as he bunched up their shawl and scooped to pick up Hange's shoes, dangling them from his fingers as Hange dragged him barefoot across the ballroom floor. Levi followed behind, caught helplessly in Hange's wake. In the middle of the floor Hange paused, and turned to him so quickly the hem of their dress rose, twirling around their legs. Whatever they said made Levi shake his head, and then shake it again, more firmly, but Hange laughed that bright, tinkling laughter and held the skirt of their dress in their spare hand, dipping into an exaggerated curtsey. Erwin wasn't sure what had done it, whether it was the alcohol or the jacket covering them up, or perhaps it was simply the presence of good company, but Hange was behaving more like themself again, bubbly and alive, and Levi was as ever their hopeless victim, cringing when Hange spun themself down the length of his arm, paused briefly with their body pressed tight against his chest, and then back out again, teetering on their toes to keep their balance. 

They tried valiantly to coax Levi into a few off-beat steps, moving to a rhythm Erwin couldn’t identify. They smile was bright, their face pleasantly read, and they were wholly unbothered by Levi’s lack of commitment. Levi looked at them sternly, but the threat of it was lost in the bright red flush of his cheeks.

"You're no fun, Levi!" They whined, close enough now that Erwin could hear them. Levi clicked his tongue.

"You're acting like an idiot."

"I'm having fun," Hange said, tugging on Levi's hand. "You should try it! You might like it."

"Brat."

Hange grinned as though he had complimented them. Levi's lips twitched, but he held back any urge to smile and curled his lip in a snarl instead, hitting Hange's leg lightly with their shoes and urging them to start walking again. Hange saluted him and together they crossed the rest of the distance and stopped before Erwin and Mike. Hange kept a casual hold on Levi's hand and Levi made no move to part from them, but he glared at Mike and Erwin as though daring them to say something. Mike smirked, and Levi flushed deeper, but his grip tightened around Hange's fingers.

"Are we done?" Hange asked. Erwin nodded. "Good. My feet are killing me—who the hell designed shoes like? And I’m tired of creepy old men—which reminds me,” Hange reached into the top of their dress and pulled out a handful of napkins, which they handed over to Erwin. “These perverts seemed pretty eager to spare a pretty penny for a nice young lady like myself.” Hange pulled a face as they said it. “I can't wait to get this dress off."

Erwin noted with interest the way Levi's eyes slid to Hange, roving down the length of their body and up again.

Mike downed the last of his drink. "Finally," he said, stretching and following as Erwin led them towards the door.

"Tired after wagging your tail for all those grandma's?"

Hange snickered, and Levi's mouth pulled into half a smile. Mike, unaffected by the jab, only grinned.

"Exhausted. What about you, though? Eager to head back and pop some pain killers?"

"Hah?"

Mike's grin widened. He leaned closer to Levi, and Erwin had to strain his ears to hear him.

"I heard being whipped hurts."

This time, Levi did let go of Hange's hand. Quickly.

There was a carriage waiting for them outside. Erwin took the stairs quickly, eager to sit and rest for the duration of the journey back to the barracks. He opened the door and turned, waiting to let the others in, but only Mike was behind him. Levi and Hange were still at the top of the stairs, Hange holding Levi's shoulders for balance as they slipped back into their shoes. Their face was curled in a pained grimace as they descended the stairs and Levi was watching them closely, one of his hands hovering at their back. Mike looked delighted as they approached, and took great pleasure in offering Hange his hand to help them into the carriage before Levi could. He climbed in and sat beside Hange, leaving Levi to take the seat opposite them. Once they were seated, Erwin knocked on the box, and the driver urged the horses on.

Hange sighed loudly. They kicked off their shoes again, and dumped their feet into Levi's lap.

"Oi," Levi said, though there was no malice behind it. Hange wiggled their toes until Levi closed his hand around Hange's foot, thumb digging into the arch with practiced ease. Hange sighed happily and slumped in their seat.

Mike made a show of sniffing the air, and pulled a face. "Smells weird in here."

"Like what?" Hange asked sluggishly. They had let their eyes drift closed as Levi worked absently on their foot, the buzz from the champagne mellowing in the darkness of the cab.

Mike sniffed again. "Horny teenagers."

Levi's ministrations paused briefly, thumb and fingers stilling until Hange made an impatient sound and lifted their foot, shaking it in his face.

"Fuck off," he hissed, but continued. Hange poked out their tongue and gave him a satisfied grin, then rolled their head towards Mike.

"I think your nose is broken," Hange said. "'S probably just my feet."

"They do reek," Levi added. Hange sunk right the way down in their seat and pushed both feet at Levi's face this time, dodging his grabbing hands and wrestling with him when he caught ahold of them, until he slammed both of their feet back into his lap, victorious, and pinned them down by the ankles. Hange's face was a little flushed from the exertion and their laughter was breathless. Levi looked a little triumphant, eyes alight with something like humour.

Levi was having fun.

Erwin tipped his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

"I don't know, Hange," he said, smiling. "I think Mike might be onto something."  

[miss-smutty]

Forbidden - Chapter 2

Summary- Jess couldn't stop thinking about the guy she'd met in the coffee shop, he was drop dead gorgeous, mature and everything she's always wanted but how would she find him again when she didn't even know his name?

Word count- 3.1K

Pairing- Prof!Chris Hemsworth x OC

Warnings- Swearing, slight smut talk

18+ only!

Disclaimer: This is an entire work of fiction/AU and has no affiliation to real life what so ever! This is a fictional story about fictional characters who happen to share names and faces with some real people.

Posted: 13th August 2021

Taglist:- @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @jjpogueprincess @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires @monet-belle

Chapter 1

The only thing was, he didn't know I was only twenty and I had no way of finding him again.

If fate did bring us back together, would he mind that I was still a student? That I couldn't even drink when we went on dates? 

Who am I kidding? Of course he would mind, he could get any woman he wanted, why would he want me?

"Morning, you feeling any better?" Ellie was awake before me as usual, she spent hours getting ready in the morning and was now sat at her desk finishing her make up.

"I suppose, can't beat myself up forever can I?" I was more the get up and go kind of girl, I could never understand why she'd take hours getting ready just to go to class but I suppose you never know who you're going to bump into.

"No you can not. Not when there's literally thousands of guys here to take your pick of." 

"Psh!" I finally pull myself out of bed after thinking about the thought of possibly bumping into my hunk again I changed my mind about making myself a little more presentable.

"What d'ya mean psh?" Ellie turns to look at you, her mascara wand in her hand and only one eye made up, she looked ridiculous. How could you take her seriously looking like that? 

"I mean I'm not interested in these childish boys anymore El, I want a man." 

"Fuck me, you spoke to the guy for two minutes and already you're acting like you've lost the love of your life." Wow, that hurt a little.

"I didn't say I was talking about him although it would be nice. I just meant I'm sick of playing all these childish games and never knowing where I stand. Don't you get sick of being the one who always falls deeper? Getting messed about and then being the one who's left hurt?" I joined her at the desk, putting on a little mascara and eyeliner. "I want a man who knows what he wants and treats me better. Don't you?"

"Well shit, when you put it like that I can't argue with you. It would be nice, hey I wonder if Mr Aussie has a brother?" She waggles her eyebrows at me, making me laugh. "I gotta go babe, what class you got?" 

"My first Comms class this morning." I did not sound excited at the prospect because I really wasn't. I'd put it off in freshman and sophomore years but thought I better get it over and done with before my senior year.

"Oh really? I didn't know you'd taken that class. I heard a load of seniors talking the other day and apparently the Professor is drop dead gorgeous. I was thinking about taking it up too just to see what all the fuss was about." 

"Well that should make the class a lot more interesting, maybe it isn't going to be as bad as I thought."

"See, every cloud and all that. See you tonight, fancy the bar?" She shouts over her shoulder as she walks towards the door.

"Sounds good, see you later."

I looked over my outfit I'd already chosen for the day, just some jeans and a plain t-shirt and realised it wouldn't do. Not when there's the prospect of a hot Professor to impress. My wardrobe desperately needed an update, especially now I was focused on finding myself a man and not one of these easily pleased college boys, that were happy with anything as long as I showed a bit of leg and tits. I settled with some tight black jeans with a black, lace-rimmed, cami body suit and a cute little cream, cropped blazer to finish it off. It made me feel confident when I checked myself out in the mirror and if I do say so myself I looked smoking hot. I checked the time on my phone, realising I was going to be late I quickly ran the curling tongs through the ends of my long blonde hair before grabbing my bag and rushing out of the door.

In the hopes of catching the eye of this new professor I'd completely forgotten about the hottie from the coffee shop, which was probably a good thing, it's not like I'm ever going to see him again. I kind of wished I would though, especially when I was looking and feeling this great but hey, on to bigger and better prospects.

I thought that being late would mean I'd be stuck with a lame choice of desk in class but luckily the back row was practically empty and I could hide in the corner of the lecture theatre. I laughed to myself when I realised that practically all the girls were occupying the front desks, obviously they'd heard the rumours too.

I pushed my hair behind my ears and fumbled in my bag for my pen and notepad, when I glanced to the door and caught the eyes of a student I hadn't seen before. I couldn't deny how attractive he was, with his bright blue eyes and floppy hair, oh and that smile. Wow! He smiled brightly at me as he made his way to the back of the class, his eyes glinting, shining like diamonds as he ignored the whispers from the girls at the front. The whole row of desks were free so when he chose the desk right next to me, my stomach fluttered.

I kept my eyes on my notepad, doodling on the front cover so as to avoid that eye contact with him again. I could see a cheeky glint in his eyes and I'd learnt from experience what that meant, trouble. I wasn't ready to get myself back into a situation like that again.

My eyes shot to the front as I heard the room erupt into wolf whistles, the girls at the front giggling and whispering to each other, I rolled my eyes at them, how embarrassing. 

Then I realised what all the fuss was about and my heart almost stopped beating, thudding against my chest at an alarming rate. How is this even possible? How the fuck could he be a professor? Surely he's not old enough. Oh fuck.

I sank lower in my chair, willing the ground to just swallow me up or maybe if I got low enough I would escape his notice. No such luck, his eyes scanned the class and when they fell on mine, his face lit up with anger? No not anger. A hunger. His eyes scanned my body, falling over my hair and down to my cleavage. I felt hot under his gaze, was I blushing? Sweating? Oh god, I've never wished for class to be over so much in my life.

My professor was the guy I'd been shamelessly flirting with in the coffee shop. I don't understand how this could be real, I know I wanted to bump into him again but this is such a cruel twist of fate. I'd never even suspected him to be a professor, he was so damn thick and muscly. The clothes he wore were so stylish and he looked way too young to be a professor. He must be so embarrassed that he'd been flirting with a student, I definitely was embarrassed that I'd been flirting with a professor.

I was so panicked, I didn't have a clue what to do in this situation. Squirming in my seat, trying to look anywhere but at the Professor but I could feel his eyes on me as he prepared for the class to start. People were still whispering amongst themselves and I risked a glance in his direction, that made me bite on to my lip to stop myself from screeching. His eyes were still on me, subtly glancing up from the pile of paper he'd just taken out of his bag, his eyebrows furrowed as he studied me. He certainly didn't look embarrassed infact he looked downright feral and the thought of it made my pussy clench, so much so I had to cross my legs under the table.

"I guess you're obsessed with this new Professor too, huh?" The guy next to me leant across his desk to whisper and fuck me if I wasn't imagining it but he was Australian too. Like have we just suddenly had a huge delivery of hot Australian guys arrive at the University? This was just downright unfair, how was I meant to cope?

"No, what makes you say that?" Why did I ask that question? Like it wasn't obvious how much I was sweating and squirming in my seat. Luckily he didn't have time to answer when my eyes were drawn back to the professor as he stood at the front of the class with his hands casually in his pockets and cleared his throat to get our attention.

If I wasn't mistaken, now he looked angry, the muscles in his neck more prominent as he glared between me and the guy next to me.

Was he angry that my attention had been taken away from him and was on another guy? Or because we were talking when we should've been paying attention?

"Now I've got your attention, we're going to use our first session to get to know each other a little better. You'll be doing quite a lot of speeches so it's best if you feel comfortable with one another. I'll start by introducing myself." That sexy accent makes me sweat even more, nevermind the fact that his eyes keep finding their way back to me. "So, I'm Professor Hemsworth and I'm originally from Melbourne in Australia." His eyes meet mine again, a knowing look in them.

"G'day mate." Some idiot from the back shouted, making everyone laugh and I couldn't help but join in a little. Professor Hemsworth smiled at the joke, his eyes creasing in the corners and his smile growing wider when he looked to me and saw me giggling.

"Yeah, very original. Alright, alight, settle down now." His voice is so commanding and authoritive, it's such a turn on. "So, I haven't been here for very long and I'm still getting used to how different things are here. The weather for one." He earned a couple of laughs from people. I couldn't keep my eyes off of him, he was so mesmerizing. The way his face animated as he spoke, his eyebrows raising and lips curling.

"I was going to ask you all to go easy on me but that's not going to happen is it?" He got a couple of head shakes and sympathetic looks from the girls. "No, I thought not. Well now it's my turn to torture you. I'll start alphabetically, stand up and tell everyone something about yourself." I swallowed back my fear, this is the reason I'd put off this class until now and as if it wasn't hard enough talking in front of a whole class I now had to do it in front of Professor Hemsworth too.

"Claire Abbott." Fuck. He'd started, at least my name would be one of the last ones.

"Hi I'm Claire." The tall blonde at the front stood up, twirling her hair around her finger and giggling like a child. I rolled my eyes at her and caught the Professor smirk in my direction. "I erm… I don't know what to say?" She looks up at the Professor questioningly.

"Just anything about yourself that we might find interesting, the first thing that comes to mind." He replied.

"Well I own four horses and I'm the cheer captain." I rolled my eyes again, scoffing quietly and Professor Hemsworth had to hold in a laugh as he looked in my direction.

"Talk about predictable." The guy next to me leaned over to whisper to me again.

"Totally." I laughed back at him and when I looked back at the Professor he was glaring straight at us again, his face set sternly.

"You two at the back, we'll wait for you shall we?" Professor Hemsworth said sternly, everyone turned around to look at us but I barely noticed, I was too focused on the way his stern voice made my cunt flutter when he called me out.

I didn't speak for the rest of the class, although I had the urge to, just to hear the way his voice sounded when he was angry. I couldn't concentrate on what the other students were saying, too focused on watching the way the Professor's face changed everytime he looked my way, which was pretty often, to my suprise.

"Jake Hudson." In my peripheral, I saw the guy next to me stand and when he did, Professor Hemsworth's eyes narrowed.

"Hi I'm Jake." He pushed his hands in to his pockets cooly, glancing at me as he did. "I'm also from Australia." He looked at the professor slyly, a smirk forming on his lips, laughing at the other students shouting G'day mate. "I was forced to move here but I'm glad I did because I've just met the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." The class burst into rounds of whistles and cheers as Jake sat down, smiling at me cockily. I could feel my cheeks blushing, I was flattered, he was absolutely gorgeous but hadn't I sworn of boys my own age?

Professor Hemsworth looked even more angry now as he loosened his tie a little, that black tie that draws my view down, like a arrow pointing straight to his cock. I tried to keep my eyes down on my desk, doodling in my notebook so I could avoid that hungry gaze, anxiously waiting for my turn. What the hell was I going to say?

"Jessica Watson." Shit. I stood slowly, trying to give myself more time to think, I couldn't stand everyone's eyes being on me especially the Professors and Jakes.

"Hey, I'm Jessica." I smiled nervously, tucking my hair behind my ear. "These last couple of days have been pretty eventful for me." I looked away from the chalk board so I could search Professor Hemsworth's face. "I'm living the life of a romance novels heroine and I'm excited to see what the next couple of days bring." I sat down keeping the gaze of the professor, I'd forgotten I was in a room full of people until I heard the ooh's and ahh's and my cheeks turned scarlet. The Professor's eyes glowed with heat as he watched me sit down before shaking his head and turning back to the class. Jake also caught my eye as I sat back at my desk, my cheeks still burning, he smiled at me, the kind of smile that crinkles your eyes. I felt kind of bad that he probably thought I was talking about him when in fact I was talking about our professor.

"I hope we all feel a bit more comfortable with each other now, some of you shared some pretty revealing things." He looked at me again. "Some of you, not so much." He raised his eyebrows at a group of guys. "I'll have a schedule for you all next time I see you, anybody that has any questions can see me after class, everyone else is free to leave." His eyes scanned me as he turned around to sit at his desk, I watched a couple of girls approach him predictably.

"Are you going to the party at our frat this weekend?" I had to reluctantly pull my eyes away from the Professor while Jake spoke, so he was a Alpha Kappa, not surprising really.

"Yeah, I think so. My roommate mentioned it."

"Oh good, I'll see you there then. Jessica." He smiled, standing from his seat.

"Jess." I corrected him. I hated being called Jessica, it was so formal.

"Well Jess, I'll see you around." He winked at me as he pulled his backpack on to his shoulder.

There were still a couple of girls taking up the Professor's attention and I wasn't sure yet whether I wanted to sneak past or wait to speak to him. I thought about it for a minute my fingertips drumming against my desk when the girls left and he was alone. As soon as the door closed, his gaze was on me and I could hear the silence in the room like a ringing in my ears. We stayed like that for a couple of seconds, staring at each other, no one saying a word until her cleared his throat. I blinked a couple of times, realising how stupid I must look before getting up from my seat and packing my things away.

"Did you need to talk Miss Watson?" I could hear amusement in his voice as he sat back on his desk casually, his arms folded across his chest.

"I erm…" I walked towards him, my legs feeling like jelly all of sudden and trying not to fall down the stairs. "I wanted to apologise, I had no idea you were a Professor." I said as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I didn't know what to do with myself but I was nervous about getting closer to him. He made the atmosphere feel tense, like if I was to reach out and touch him I would burn my fingers so I stood awkwardly at the bottom of the steps.

"There's no need to apologise Miss Watson, I also had no idea you were a student but I was hoping to bump into you again. Funny how things work out isn't it?" He cocked his eyebrow at me, still looking amused as he watched me squirm. When he said he'd been hoping to bump into me again it made me feel more confident, like I wasn't imagining the way he'd been looking at me for the last hour.

"I think fate can be rather cruel Professor Hemsworth." I smiled at him as I finally closed the distance between us, watching his eyes flare with hunger when I called him Professor.

"Oh really? Why is that Miss Watson?" His eyes narrowed, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat as I got close enough to touch him, I didn't though. I didn't dare break that boundary, not yet.

I smiled at him through my lashes, biting on to my lip. "I was hoping to bump into you again too, only now the thought of what could've happened will have to remain a fantasy." Wow! I was not expecting that, did I sound like a slut? Shit. I looked back up at him and caught him gulp, that hunger in his eyes shining, his pupils blown with lust, he loosened his tie even more and I caught a glimpse of his smooth chest and chickened out. The tension was way too much and I was about to do something I was going to regret, I could live with being a huge tease instead.

"I better get to my next class, we can't have anyone thinking I'm your favourite now can we?" I smiled to myself when I noticed the muscles in his jaw tense as he ground his teeth together. Turning to leave I looked back over my shoulder and his eyes were glued to my hips, watching them sway as I walked and I realised I had him exactly where I wanted him but was it worth the risk?