#he's so beautiful!!! he has stolen my heart once again

[faerenjun]

(⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄‸o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝)੭ ♡

[nicoline1998enilocin]

“I fucking love you and that scares the hell out of me!”

I can hear Glen say this, so can you write something with him and this prompt? please and thank you!

I f*cking love you

PAIRING || Glen Powell x Actress!Fem!Reader

WORDCOUNT || ~ 900 words

SUMMARY || You've been working closely with Glen while filming a new rom-com movie, and you two can't help but let the feelings on screen seep into your daily lives. Once your feelings for each other are out in the open, something unexpected blooms between you two, and your intense chemistry is clearly visible, both on- and off-screen.

RATING || Teen (T)

TAGS || RPF. Mutual pining. Idiots in love. Unexpected love confession.

A/N || This drabble is part of Nicoline's Summer of Drabbles. I had a lot of fun writing this story, as it's my first time writing for Glen! I'm looking forward to writing more for him in the future, but I hope you will all enjoy my first attempt at a story for this man. This is not proofread - any and all mistakes are my own. 🤍

Photo: Source || All other graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin

Main Masterlist || Glen Powell || Summer of Drabbles

Working together with Glen has been nothing short of a dream, and to be working as a lead in a romantic comedy alongside him is the cherry on top. You have been working hard to earn your footing in Hollywood, and this will be your first major role, which only makes it much more special to be working with your celebrity crush.

However, you don't know that he's harboring the same feelings for you, but he's scared to admit it. While he's open to falling in love, he never expected to find it in you - a sweet, soft-spoken girl who has stolen his heart from day one. He never used to believe in love at first sight, but that all changed when he met you. Your shared moments on set, the laughter you've shared, and the way he looks at you when he thinks you're not looking, all these things have made his feelings for you undeniable.

Glen has invited every member of the filming cast and crew to a barbecue and pool party at his house in Austin, and everyone's having a great time. Still, all you can focus on is Glen, his ridiculously delicious hairy chest, and his beautiful smile, which lights up his features.

"Are you even listening to me, or are you too busy drooling over Glen again?" you suddenly hear a woman say, and it's only then that you're snapped back to reality.

"I- uhm- Sorry. My mind was somewhere else," you admit shyly, and just when you look away, Glen looks over at you, but you don't notice. A wave of disappointment washes over him as his attempts to catch your eye fail - he hasn't been able to stop thinking about them for the longest time - but he's run out of luck.

"Why don't you just go up to her and tell her how you feel?!" Glen's trainer says, and Glen turns a deep shade of red at the thought.

"I- No! There's nothing to tell," he says with a bit of a grumble, but it's pretty clear to anyone but the two of you how the other feels. The chemistry between you two practically jumps out of the screen when you're working together, and while everyone's well aware it's because of your mutual pining, they also wish you two would get it over with. And that same night, it finally happens.

The pool party finished a while ago, and you and Glen are seated on a large couch he has in his backyard, cuddled under a soft, warm blanket as it's getting rather chilly, while watching the stars. The twinkling lights above you reflect in his deep, brown eyes, and the cool breeze ruffles his hair. He's sipping on a beer while you're enjoying a soda, and it's the perfect ending to a fun day.

"Can I tell you something?" Glen asks out of nowhere, and your heart starts to beat faster as he pulls you closer. You hum in response, your eyes closed to enjoy the moment for as long as possible - waiting for the moment he'll tell you that he's in love with someone other than yourself.

"I- I fucking love you, and that scares the hell out of me!" he blurts out, and you immediately sit upright, your eyes shooting open as your gaze meets his. A deep red blush covers his face and creeps down his neck as he confesses his love for you in a way he never would have envisioned. His voice trembles with fear and anticipation, and his eyes are filled with a mix of hope and dread.

"Y- You love me?" you ask, and he looks at the beer in his hands as he nods. He knows he won't be able to look at you as you reject him, but he couldn't be more surprised at the words that he hears next.

"Can you look at me, Glen? Because I have to tell you something, too," you say, and he does after sighing and gathering all his courage. Once his eyes are focused on yours, you're getting lost in the green of his irises, and they remind you of so many beautiful memories you've shared.

"I love you too, Glen. I'm in love with you. I have been for years now, as you have been my celebrity crush for as long as I can remember. You're very kind, and there's something special about you. I enjoy spending time with you, and never get bored when I'm around you-" is all you can say before you're cut off mid-sentence.

The warmth of Glen's palm radiates through your entire body as it cups your cheek, and the softness of his lips makes your nerves feel like they're on fire. Your hands land on his hairy chest, your fingers reveling in the feeling of its coarseness underneath them. And most of all, you're getting lost in his taste.

The beer he's been sipping combined with something so him has your mind going into overdrive, and when he pulls away, you can't help but smile like a teenager who just had their first kiss. You lock eyes with him and see the shimmer in them that you've fallen for. The shimmer that lets you know he's happy and that he's in love with you. One that's only visible when he's around the woman he loves: You.

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: My newest series is finally here, and it's one that I am incredibly excited about. I'm not going to say this is fully a reader-insert, because there will be a few minor characterizations for the main girl, I even considered writing this in third person but at the end of the day second person is the style I'm much more used to and comfortable with. However, I believe it is still "vague" enough that it can be considered a reader-insert too. All in all, I sincerely hope you can enjoy this story, I promise it'll be a good one. <3

Word count: 2k

Masterlist

"Tell me again."

From one of the highest points in the Red Keep, you could see the immensity of King's Landing and the waves of Blackwater Bay crashing to shore.

"Tell you what?"

The wind was cold yet gentle, dusk settled on the horizon; painting the skies and clouds in deep golden.

"The story of how you found your dragon."

You smiled, easy and knowing. Aemond has heard this story a dozen times already, yet you never refused to tell him just one more time, whenever he asked. From the glint in the young prince's eyes, you knew that it gave him hope that one day he would find a dragon of his own.

"My father, Laena, my sisters, and I were traveling again, we had stopped by a small town to let the dragons rest. And there, they told us they had spotted a rogue dragon. As wild as a lioness. She'd come out to hunt at night, during heavy rain and lightning storms." You motioned theatrically with your hands, an excited grin on your lips as you recounted the fateful night you'd met your dragon.

Aemond listened closely, as he always did, leaning his elbows on the balcony's balustrade and keeping his gaze attentively on you.

"One night, when we were staying at a house at the edge of town, I walked out while everyone was asleep. Do you know why?" You bit at the inside of your cheek, playing the usual game.

"You heard her," Aemond answered with the same spark of youthful joy.

"I did," you whispered as if it was a well-guarded secret, leaning closer to the boy. "I could hear her outside, the sound of her wings, her heavy steps on the ground. It was raining, and dark, but I felt as if... as if she was calling to me." You placed a hand over your heart.

"I think Caraxes heard when I got out, I think I ended up waking him," both you and Aemond chuckled. "But he kept quiet when he saw it was me. I walked for a while during that night, until..." You paused dramatically, and Aemond grinned. "Until I saw her, feasting on a stolen lamb."

Aemond's eyes were sparkling, he was drinking in every word.

"She was so pretty," you recalled with a soft smile, looking out to the horizon and the darkening sky. "I could see the dark blue of her scales, and then the brighter blue of her wings. Her horns were long and pointy, and she had this patch of fur in between them and on the back of her neck that I'd never seen before."

"She didn't attack you," Aemond mumbled, more a statement than a question; he knew the answer.

You shook your head; "No, she just looked at me with those beautiful eyes, they looked like they were glowing. And then she came closer, baring her teeth, but I asked her to stay calm. Told her I was a friend." You picked at your nails, a fondly nostalgic look in your eyes. "She followed me back home after that. I think she liked that I wasn't afraid of her. Father was furious for what I had done, but I think he was even more curious about my new dragon." You shrugged, with a cheeky grin, "The next morning, I chose to ride her for the first time, and she let me. We don't know if she ever had a rider before me, but we share a deep bond now."

"You are so lucky," Aemond told you, his voice low and eyes downcast; not because of your story, but because the boy wished to have the same luck you did.

Turning your head to try and catch his gaze, you spoke with conviction, "You're going to find your dragon soon, Aemond, I know you will. And when you do, we're going to fly together over all of King's Landing, I promise you."

Despite the solemn look in his eyes, the young Aemond smiled.

You extended a hand to him then, "Come on, your mother will be mad if we're late to supper… again." Wiggling your fingers for him, you held back a grin.

Aemond rolled his eyes halfheartedly, taking your hand anyway.

You walked together through the hallways of the castle, blissfully innocent and unaware of the amused whispers between the maids about how you two would still marry someday.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Two nights later, Aemond did find his dragon. However, it came at a cost.

The day had been one filled with grief. Laena had passed away after trying to give birth to her third child. While she was not your birth mother, you had spent enough years by her side to consider her something similar to it; as she was, after all, the closest thing to a mother that you knew. She had always been kind to you, treating you no different than how she treated your two half-sisters.

You mourned her loss, the salty air of the sea mixing with the salt of your tears as you watched the ceremony unfold.

As soon as she had learned of her third pregnancy, Laena wanted to return home. Your father eventually agreed to halt the travelers life for her sake, and once King Viserys got word of your return he offered all of you a home in King's Landing again. Laena had been happy with the agreement since her brother lived there too.

And so that's how you came to meet Aemond. That was several months ago, yet it sometimes feels like it was just yesterday.

Tonight, you had gone to bed with red and puffy eyes, but it didn't take long for the distant sound of fast-paced steps and arguing to pull you from your sleep. You got up, rubbed your still tired eyes, and tiptoed towards the commotion, bare feet padding over the cold stone floor of Driftmark.

After turning corners and almost getting lost in the infinite hallways, you found your family. Everyone stood around the lit fire of the throne room fireplace while the Maester tended to someone you couldn't yet see as the back of the chair they were sitting on blocked your view.

Alicent was shouting, Rhaenyra and her sons were shouting, everyone was shouting; you heard the sharp words yet couldn't make much sense of them.

You spotted your father leaning against a pillar, a couple of feet away from everyone, and ran up to him, immediately clinging to the fabric of his vest and looking up at him with questioning eyes. He didn't speak, simply lay a hand on your back and then on your head, in the best comforting manner he could muster.

The shouting match continued until Viserys had to raise his own voice, everyone in the spacious room stayed quiet for a moment then. You could hear your shaky breath, feeling it in your bones that something was wrong. You gripped tighter onto your father, leaning your head against him.

Breaking the silence, Viserys demanded answers from Aemond, and your heartbeat sped up at the sound of your friend's name. And then his mother was speaking about the injustice of him being maimed. And when Rhaenyra mercilessly demanded that he be questioned, Aemond finally looked in her direction, and consequently, yours.

You saw it then. Deep red blood glinting in the low light of the fire, painful stitches stretching skin while also holding it together, his eye sewn shut. You couldn't hold back a gasp at the sight of him, the whole left side of his face now forever marked with an angry, deep cut that went from his forehead, over his eye, and down to the middle of his cheek. Seeing your friend like this twisted your stomach in all the wrong ways and made you feel like puking out your dinner, you were almost poking holes in your father's vest with how tight you were gripping it, already feeling your eyes burn with unshed tears.

Aemond met your gaze from afar, he looked almost as stunned and lost as you; but he was also quick to look away and hide behind the back of his chair again.

You didn't hear much of the rest of the fight then, all turning into muffled noise to your ears as your father took hold of your hand to pull you forward with him and into the commotion when Alicent picked up a dagger, dashing towards Rhaenyra. The sight of Aemond's bruised and slashed face forever burnt into the back of your mind.

The only voice you clearly heard again, was his; "Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

You were only able to meet Aemond again on the next day, minutes before both of you had to leave Driftmark.

You found him in a secluded hallway, he looked out at sea through the large windows, watching as they readied his ship for departure, the left side of his face carefully bandaged to keep the cut clean. Holding onto the sides of your dress so as not to step on it, you ran to him.

He heard you, of course he did, you were hardly the sneakiest of people. Part of him wanted to turn away and leave, deeply ashamed of the fresh scar marking his skin; perhaps even afraid that it might scare you off. But you were his friend. His only friend.

"Aemond..." you spoke softly when you reached him, biting at the inside of your cheek and nervously gripping onto the cotton fabric of your lilac dress. You were only kids; you didn't know what to say to someone who'd just lost a part of himself, and Aemond cowered under your gaze, making himself smaller as shame and timidness filled his gut.

"Does it... hurt?" You chose to ask, voice hesitant.

The young prince took his time, pursing his lips as he looked down at his feet and then out the window again. "Yes," he admitted, "but less than it did last night."

"I'm sorry," you said without a second thought.

Aemond glanced in your direction with the corner of his good eye, refusing to turn toward you completely. "Are you not upset that I claimed your step-mother's dragon?"

The corners of your lips turned up into a small smile, it held sorrow and affection in equal measures. "I'm not." You stepped closer to him and turned to look out the window as well, watching as gentle waves washed to shore. You bumped your shoulder onto his. "I'm glad it's you."

For several moments you stood in silence, simply enjoying the easeness that came with each other's company.

Alicent's voice was the one to eventually break the quiet. "Aemond," she called.

Both you and him turned in the direction of her voice, finding her looking at you with a fond smile on her lips. "It's time to go, my dear." She gestured outside, to where their ship awaited, now ready to set sail. Aemond nodded at her words and she turned around, making her way to the docks.

The prince, however, made no effort to leave, he kept his gaze focused outside, following a flock of birds that overflown the ocean.

You followed it too, the sight bringing an idea to your mind. You had a tentative smile on your lips before you even started speaking; "You should go," despite not looking at you directly, you noticed Aemond's attention shifting to you. "I'll meet you again once we reach King's Landing, and... now that you have a dragon, perhaps we'll soon be able to fly over it together, right?" Your voice held a hopeful tone as you spoke.

For the first time since he had lost his eye, Aemond smiled; a real smile that stretched the fresh stitches on his cheek and gave a prickling feeling to the sensitive skin around them, but he didn't mind. He finally turned to look at you fully, all hopeful excitement and pink cheeks.

"We will," he affirmed without losing his grin. He held your gaze for a moment longer, lips parting as if he wanted to say something more, but didn't.

From the same window, you watched, now alone, as Aemond's ship sailed away; the colossal figure of Vhagar flying close to it, as if to protect her new rider.

Later this same day, your father married Rhaenyra, taking both you and your sisters to live in Dragonstone without ceremony.

You never said goodbye to Aemond. You would have, if you knew you would not be seeing him again for many years to come.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter

Aemond's taglist is open, let me know if you'd like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this chapter. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

[radio-fmm]

Kiss

Ace x reader

fluff drabble + fem reader

“Oh god, I don’t even remember the last time I was kissed” embarrassment and booze tinted your voice as you giggled at your hopelessness, the moon hanging high above you the only witness of your statement besides your dear commander and friend

Ace’s eyebrows jump in surprise, surely you were just being modest right? You were the most beautiful person that had crossed his path, funny, clever, easy at conversation and so unique; there was no way you didn’t had people begging for your attention and at least a peck, hell he’d give everything for just one kiss of yours

“You’re joking” your face drops, that natural shyness creeping its way to your cheeks making him regret his teasing tone

“Am not” you say now serious as you balance yourself on the edge of the ship, eyes looking at the bottom of your glass in regret or embarrassment? Ace couldn’t tell since his attention was being stolen by your pouting lips “Before becoming a pirate, I only dated this one guy,”- you trailed off, your tongue running lose and a sour taste spreading at the memory.- “He was not only my last kiss but also my first”

Ace stays silent clinging at every word that leaves your pretty mouth. You’d always restrained from talking about your love life whenever the crew bring the topic to the table, staying still and quiet as you listened attentively, claiming to never having anything important to say on the matter, and he now understands why

“Do you… love him still or…?” The idea of your heart belonging to someone else made him burn, nevertheless he would understand, after all, he wasn’t that big of a deal and in his eyes you deserved better

“Absolutely not”- it’s almost comical how you were quick to answer. -“I did love him I guess once upon a time, but he wasn’t a good lover” your eyes trail off again now to look at the ocean waves crashing below, there’s certain hurt that fills your atmosphere that has Ace’s mind reeling

He wanted to show you how you deserved to be loved, every fiber of his being burning at the thought of this stupid guy taking you from granted; you alway caring and thoughtful, witty and kind heart that accompanied your otherworldly beauty that had charmed him

So lost in his thoughts he doesn’t catch how he’s looking at you heavily, eyebrows angry with a frown that makes you take a swing of your drink already hating the course of the conversation

Your voice brings him back to earth “You must think I’m a loser”- an awkward laugh follows, hanging in the air as you wished you had more alcohol to down

“NO!” Ace practically screams, immediately feeling embarrassed as your big eyes gaze at him surprised- “I respect that”

The silence that follows his statement makes you want to crawl out of your skin before the ocean takes you away and spits you out on the opposite side of the grand line, too ashamed to even walk away and run from him you remain focus on the stars twinkling above the commanders head, alike the ones that paint his face

“But if you want to change that, I could help” your vision quickly falls on him, his freckles that you had recalled before being dusted in pink, his brown orbs patiently awaiting for a response as they trace every inch of you over and over

Your breath starts to pick up speed, your breasts peeking from your shirt when you take in air that you fight to keep in but it just escapes you. Your mouth stays agape as it struggles to concoct a yes or a no, only luring the man before you like a light house in the middle of the merciless sea. You wanted this so bad like nothing ever before, your heart that laid on the hands of the fire fist the moment your eyes met now being close to combust

“Yes, I would like that” a whisper could be louder than the words that had escaped you, landing right into Ace’s heart

He can’t believe it, his ears only understanding the yes that started your sentence as the rest died before he could make them out. He had been dreaming of you so long it was almost pathetic

Your eyes stay still taking in their favorite view of each other as he walks closer caging you in, his wide frame covering you like a warm blanket against the cold sea breeze. One of his hands travels to cup your cheek, immediately melting under his touch like wax over a candle. His face shows his hesitation, afraid you are already regretting this but you immediately reassure him by hanging by his neck, your hands grasping his raven locks making him hold in a shaky breath of pleasure

His head finally falls so he can meet your lips halfway as you reach up. The moment he delicately grazes the lips he had been staring at the whole night making hi mind buzz

Ace kisses you with much feeling, basking in the way your mouth fits in his, having to stop himself from losing control of his actions as to not scare you away. Eventually as you grow more confident after feeling acquainted with the way he kisses, you let go. It becomes urgent and greedy, breaths mingling as your mouths open so you can access more of each other, a dance of lips, tongues and yearning that numbs every other sense

However, you cannot kiss forever, so it ends as Ace steps back to allow you to catch your breath, an understanding sinking in both of you as you finally realize that the thoughts and feelings that plagued you also went after him

“Let’s do that again”

Masterlist

[cntloup]

Mafia!Simon x Bartender!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“So? You coming or not?” Simon asks and takes a small sip of his whiskey. 

“To a ball? You know I'm not one for that kind of stuff!” you respond and throw a wet rag on the counter and start rubbing the stains off the black marble. 

“I'm asking you to come with me... as my date... and it won’t be that long. I promise. We’ll get out of there whenever you want.” he mentions, eyeing you from the edge of the glass that meets his lips once again. 

“Fine! But I can’t promise to be good company. I have no idea what to do in that kind of setting!” you say with a light chuckle. 

“You’re always the perfect company, love. And don’t worry about it. Just stay by my side and look pretty... as you always do.” he mutters the last part, but your sharp hearing doesn’t miss it. 

You smile and look over at him, noticing the slightly flustered look written on his face which makes your smile even wider, “Thank you.” you murmur as quietly with a bashful smile and of course he catches that. 

“Wait! When even is this ball?” you ask, remembering that he never mentioned it. 

“Tonight!” he replies, “What?! I can’t get ready ‘till then! Simon, what the hell?! I don’t even have a proper dress!” you say in an agitated tone, a shocked expression etched on your face. 

He only chuckles and places his credit card on the counter, “Go buy yourself a dress. I'll pick you up at 7.” he says nonchalantly and leaves. 

‘bloody fuckin’ hell’ you grumble under your breath and let out a frustrated sigh, deciding to close up early to go get ready for the ball. 

And it slowly starts to dawn on you. He has literally asked you on a date! Why would he if he didn’t like you? 

And soon, the familiar butterflies return dancing in your belly and you look around the bar to make sure no one is there before letting out a loud squeal like a school girl! 

----- 

He picks you up at 7 sharp in a black Rolls Royce. 

His breath hitches in his throat the moment you walk out the door in your beautiful dress, all dolled up and pretty... not that you weren’t before... you’re always beautiful in his eyes. 

“You look beautiful, dove.” he mentions before kissing your forehead, “You’re not too bad yourself! You clean up nice, Mr. Riley!” you say with your gorgeous smile while lightly touching the collar of his suit. 

‘you’re gonna be the death of me!’ he thinks to himself as he gazes into your beautiful eyes, the very eyes that have stolen his heart. 

“Shall we?” you ask and he gestures to the driver to open the door for you. 

Most of the drive there is silent... but a comfortable, peaceful silence. It's never awkward with him. You've always liked spending time together in silence, just enjoying each other’s presence.

----- 

You arrive at your destination, the fancy ballroom and all the pretentious people smiling and laughing together, acting as if they’re friends when in reality, they will stab each other in the back without hesitation if the opportunity arises. 

But you manage to keep a joyous and warm facade as you mingle with the other guests and the night goes fairly smoothly. 

Apart from the nosey people asking if you two are in a relationship only for you to deny and say you’re only good friends much to your own dismay in order not to embarrass him or make him uncomfortable. 

But what you don’t notice is the disappointed look on his face every time you mention that you’re nothing but friends. 

But there is something you do notice. You spot the familiar figure in the distant corner of the room. A man you have seen at the bar on a few occasions. 

Who is he? Is he following you? 

There's a slight churn in your stomach at the mere thought of it and you tell Simon that you’re not feeling well. 

He places a hand on the small of your back and guides you to the car to take you home as soon as you mention it to him.

-----

“Simon?!" you call out nervously as you see a vehicle approaching in the rear-view mirror when you're halfway from your home.

"I think someone is following us!” you say, but it’s too late as you hear shots firing and then... nothing.

@luvecarson

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ౨౿  ׅ ۟   ֪ 𝓐cross 𝓣he 𝓢tars ۪ ׂ   𓈒 ୭

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ knight!miguel 𝓍 queen!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. after an assassination attempt, a personal bodyguard is assigned to you by the court. an old childhood friend. as time goes on, you two rekindle your friendship but it blossoms into something more that risks both your occupations.

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. royal!au, anidala coded, sorta futuristic setting (like star wars), forbidden love, slow burn, tension, fluff, angst, smut (mild and fluffy), pet names, mention of assassination attempts, secret pregnancy, hispanic/latina!reader ( mdni )

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓛𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄. for my fellow anidala stans, this one is for you. even tho star wars day already passed, imma still post this. ngl one of my favorite fics i’ve ever written! enjoy, mis amores! ♡

an assassination attempt.

fear plague the streets. citizens remain locked in their homes. whispers of fear and concern for their queen throughout the city.

the court was in pure chaos. members shouting at one another, demanding answers for this troubling incident, questioning who dares attack their queen. the room was consumed with fear and anger. an authorized investigation is underway, handled by authorities and military officials. in the meantime, a collective proposal was constructed.

a personal bodyguard.

you aren’t opposed to it, since it was your final say on the proposal. it was logical, protection against the opposer. nueva york looks up to you, their queen. they love and worship you. admire your devotion and dedication to them, the selfless spirit you carry. always putting your people’s needs as your top priority. serving what’s best for them.

to see their queen almost assassinated breaks their hearts. losing you is like heaven losing an angel. you are aware of their love for you. this assassination attempt is not going to pause your queen duties.

once the green light was given, a bodyguard was found in a manner of minutes.

general miguel o’hara.

an old childhood friend. a friend you haven’t seen in 10 years. a friend you were desperate to see again.

when he was brought in, your breath was stolen.

handsomest face on a man. chocolate curls with sprinkled gray streaks within, sharp cheekbones, and a incredible physique with of pure muscle. more than the average male. stands tall at 6’9 which makes him a tower compared to you. perhaps an intense growth spurt. he was already taller than you but now a tower. a faint scar on his right cheek, possibly from battle.

he grew up, from a shy young boy to a charming knight. he has changed so much.

“your majesty.”

oh his voice is so low yet charming. it sends shivers down your spine but in a pleasant way.

his height became more apparent when you have to crane your neck all the way up to simply meet his gaze. the height difference is quite amusing.

“general.”

your breath wasn’t the only one stolen. the minute he walked through those sliding glass doors, miguel was immediately captivated. it’s been years since he saw you personally. of course he had seen you before. the yearly ceremonies, festivals, and balls. your friendship may have ended but he observed you from afar, watch you blossomed into a beautiful, intelligent woman, his queen. beautiful couldn’t describe you best. ethereal is more accurate. his love for you never vanished from all those years.

with each step he took closer, he grew more anxious. by the time he stands before you, miguel is utterly enthralled. your beauty is truly beyond this world, this universe. those portraits of you don’t do you justice. how angelic you appear. white is your signature color, hence why the public refers you as the “angel queen.” god he truly believes an angel is gracing his presence right before him. it’s an honor to witness your beauty, the queen of his city.

the angel of his heart.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

it was simple protocols. miguel follows where you go, attached to the hip, eyes never leave your figure. stands beside your throne as you converse with the court or other officials during meetings. strolls alongside you with hands behind his back as you walk. offers a hand to assist you stepping in or out of vehicles. gently shields you with an arm from approaching individuals who wish to gain your attention. it’s a habit considering he’s a bodyguard and your life is currently at stake.

miguel is constantly on high alert for any potential threat. the crown is in his protection, your life is his responsibility. he vowed to not fail and keep you safe. he has to protect the angel he loves deeply.

in the beginning, it was a simple professional relationship between bodyguard and client. miguel remains at your side at all times and you continue with your duties as queen. your old friendship still lingers but you remain with a professional relationship with a small acquaintance.

however, those feelings of desire and admiration began tearing down that wall of professionalism.

it starts with innocent glances and soft smiles. acknowledging and appreciating each other. no one could suspect anything serious. just a queen showing her appreciation for her gentle knight.

then, those light touches.

passing large crowds, your breath hitches when you feel a large hand gently resting on your lower back as miguel guides you through the crowd. a tingly sensation invades your body. cheeks grow warm, heart fluttering, butterflies in your tummy.

that was a reoccurring hand placement. miguel’s hand resting either on your upper or lower back. most of the time on your lower back when in private.

both of you feel like a bashful mess. your heart fluttering at the intimate touch and miguel going insane at softness of your body, even through your dresses. he worries it’s an overstep of your boundaries but you kindly remind him it’s not.

the light touches grew more intimate.

during an private visit to your parents’ home, your foot missed a step which caused you to slip. but thanks to a pair of sturdy arms catching you just in time, you collide in your bodyguard’s chest.

“¿estas bien, mi reina?” miguel voiced his concern, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

looking up at him with fluttering eyes, your heart skips a beat by the close proximity.

“y-yes, estoy bien.” you whisper, blushing.

you remain in his arms for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. you feel his slightly nervous breathing gently hitting your face, yours hitting his chest. you can’t resist how comforting it feels being in his arms. a sense of comfort and safety. miguel relishes your soft body against his rough one. adores how tiny you appear, how perfect you fit in his hold. the fear of getting caught makes you pull away from his arms. blush creeping on both your faces.

he mumbles an apology but you kindly assure him and thank him for catching you. that moment replays in your minds for the reminder of the day.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

not only intimate touches but longing gazes at each other when one isn’t looking. private conversations began taking place, learning about one another. what occurred after your friendship ended. your journey to queenship, miguel’s training, changes in both your families. you rekindle your friendship.

the more time you spent together, feelings began forming. feelings that one should not feel, especially between a queen and her knight. you try burying those feelings. the last thing you want is ruining this relationship, make things awkward. it’s strictly a professional one yet those feelings prove otherwise.

you couldn’t allow these feelings to consume you, distract you from your duties. you shouldn’t feel these feelings towards miguel, your personal bodyguard. it’s forbidden, a queen can’t fall in love with her knight. it goes against royal morals. however, you can’t deny your heart. those feelings are something you’ve never experienced before with any man. miguel demonstrates what it’s like to long for someone. being around him, you feel safe and happy. he’s the only man to make your heart race and fill your belly with butterflies when he looks down at you or leaves gentle touches on your skin.

even after 10 years, he still has an effect on you.

miguel, on the other hand, is on the verge of insanity. he knows he shouldn’t feel those feelings for you, his queen. the woman he admires and cherishes since childhood. the same woman he vowed to protect with every fiber of his being. a queen and a knight don’t belong together, a forbidden relationship. of course he is aware of this issue. those feelings are forbidden but no matter how hard he fought against them, battling with his inner thoughts for days, his feelings for you only grew stronger.

during a private getaway at a reserved villa, you and miguel take a stroll among the lakeside. no one but you two, complete privacy. other guards remain at the villa. while you babble about childhood memories of the lake, miguel is admiring you the entire time. the lake dress you’re wearing makes his heart flutter, cheeks blushed. how could you look more beautiful? he swears he must be in heaven. walking alongside an angel by a lake sounds so dreamy. miguel mesmerized by your beauty once again.

you return to the balcony where it showcases the lake and mountains. leaning against the stone fence, you look outward towards the beautiful view of the lake. miguel stands beside you, briefly admiring the lake before turning his attention back at the true beautiful sight. the sweet, angelic tone of your voice smooths his workaholic mind. pure music to his ears. everything about you calms him.

those feelings began bubbling in his chest as he continues admiring you. he can’t help it you look so ethereal in the vibrant sunlight, the gentle breeze flowing in your hair. god he wants to give into the temptations but he knows he shouldn’t.

but all self-restraint flies out the window the moment you turn and look up at him with those gorgeous eyes he loves so dearly.

you two stare at each other, lost in one’s eyes. the doorway to the soul. both your hearts pounding your chests. the soft waves of the lake and birds chirping in the background. your heart flutters as you watch his gaze fall to your lips. those exact lips that have been taunting him for weeks in his sleep.

very slowly, miguel starts leaning towards your face. or more so, bending down a little due to the height difference. his back will hate him afterwards but miguel doesn’t care at this moment. he moves very slowly, hesitantly to give you space to move away.

but you don’t.

you feel frozen, utterly mesmerized by those soft brown eyes. your breathing grows heavy as you watch him lean closer towards you with fluttering lashes. your faces are only cemeteries apart, lips brushed against each other, eyes fluttering.

then finally, your lips collide.

the mark of your sin.

wow, his lips feel incredible. but yours, oh miguel is losing his mind. so soft and sweet. a divine taste that leaves a man yearning for more. your lips intertwined a passionate kiss. seeking for more, miguel changes the angle with a head tilt and applies a little pressure into the kiss. he holds back a groan when he hears a soft moan from you due to the pressure. unable to resist any longer, his tongue licks your lips for passage. you happily oblige and he doesn’t waste a moment to slip his tongue past your lips, eliciting another heavenly moan from you.

your lips intertwined in a dance. relishing the feeling of each others’s lips. his plump ones against your soft ones. the kiss is so passionate, you feel very floaty. he takes you away to cloud nine. the stress of being a queen and the assassination vanishes from your mind. his lips takes it away.

then, realization kills the moment.

no, you can’t do this. it’s an overstep of your relationship as bodyguard and client. queen and knight. but what you’re truly afraid is being caught, another pair of eyes lurking from afar.

much to yours and miguel’s disappointment, you break away from the kiss and avoid his gaze.

“no… i should never have done that.” you spoke barely above a whisper.

miguel is taken aback by the sudden change of heart. not even a minute has passed and he misses your lips against his. but he realizes what has happened and he has never been so disappointed in himself. he allowed those temptations to consume him and look at the result. you turn away from him and feel ashamed, the one feeling he never wants to make you feel about yourself. you mean so much to him.

“lo siento, mi reina…” hint of regret and shame in his tone, making your heart ache.

there no intimate touches or moments after that. however, those restrictions only lasted a day.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ �� ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

during one night, after having internal battles with yourself about your feelings for miguel and the consequences, you finally accepted your heart.

for once, you allow your heart to speak.

during this past month under his protection, spending every minute with him, you fell in love with your gentle knight. you love miguel and only want him. he has stolen your heart.

slipping on your silky robe and walking down the hallway, you head to miguel’s bedroom. standing in front of the door, a few inches away from it opening by itself, you stare it as your heart races in both excitement and anxiety. you’re about to confess your love for your charming knight. the man who has been by your side, protecting and caring for you.

inhaling a deep breath, you take a step forward and the door slides open. upon hearing the door open, miguel quickly walks over to see who is visiting him at this hour but stops when he sees you.

“mi reina, ¿que pasa? are you unwell? is there something wrong?” he asks with each step he takes towards you. a huge concern look on his face.

his worries fade away when you shake your head but he’s still curious about your sudden arrival.

“i need to speak to you.”

now he grew more curious but also a bit anxious. stepping to the side, miguel allows you entry to his private quarters. flashing a small smile as a thanks, you pass by him and walk towards the bed.

“what is it you wish to speak to me about, mi reina?” miguel asks softly as he follows you, standing behind you since your back is to him.

it’s silent for a moment. the anticipation lingers in the air. if you had advanced hearing, you’d hear both of your racing hearts. pounding like a drum.

“té quiero.”

those three words linger in the air. miguel is speechless, eyes wide and lips slightly agape. heart fluttering at your confession. a confession he has been dreaming since the beginning. a confession he reciprocates, wanting to share his own.

slowly turning around, you nervously meet his gaze. “i know i shouldn’t have these feelings for you… but i don’t care, not one bit.”

miguel remains speechless also enthralled. you feel the same. you long for him just as he longs for you. however, the fear still lingers.

“pero… the consequences? the scandal? it would ruin your reign.” miguel does not want to jeopardize your legacy, your reign as queen simply because of him. you’ve been an incredible monarch, serving the people of nueva york. betraying their trust because of your love for him is something he can’t allow.

“i can’t deny my heart.” you say softly.

fuck. his heart did a summersault. his love for you blossoms more than ever before.

“mi reina, ever since i was a child, i’ve always loved and cared you.” miguel takes a step closer, closing the remaining space between you two. “you consume my thoughts everyday. i can’t hide my true feelings for you anymore.”

your heart flutters, a warm sensation flowing through your body. slowly raising your hands, you gently cup his face. “then let’s not hide them anymore.”

miguel leans closer and you stand on your tippy toes, your lips meet once again in a passionate kiss. his large held your smaller shoulders, holding them as if they’re delicate. his gently grips on your robe, a silent ask. he feels you nod and he slowly pulls of your robe, exposing your shoulders but taking it off completely. it quietly drops onto the floor, pooling at your feet. now you’re left in your silky white nightgown. his heart flutters at the feeling of your soft skin. his hands slowly move down your back, settling on your waist. you shiver at the sensation, goosebumps forming on your skin. wrapping your arms around his bulky shoulders, your fingers dig into his hair. that elicited a muffled groan from him.

giving into his desires, miguel sought to deepen the kiss, altering the angle. it becomes more heated, sneaking a bit of pressure which elicits a soft moan from you. his lips leaves yours, brushing kisses along your jawline then to your neck. your mouth hangs slightly open, soft sighs spilling from your lips at the sensation. broad hands roam over your back, gently groping your curves through your nightdress. you melt under his touch, growing putty in his hold.

“miguel…” you whisper breathlessly.

he softly grunts in response, mind hazy from how heavenly his name sounds from your lips. continuing leaving kisses on your delicate neck as his hands continue roaming over your soft body. miguel is practically going insane of finally touching you, having you in his arms after years of longing.

“make love to me.”

before you even know it, you find yourselves on the bed. you resting on the plush mattress and miguel hovering over you, positioned in between your legs. your fingers dig into his chocolate locks while his hands gently grope your curves as you continue your passionate makeout session. his lips kiss every inch of exposed skin. from your jawline, your neck, down to your chest. a soft moan escapes you as his lips suck where your nipples would be through your nightdress. with consent, miguel gingerly removes your silky nightdress, leaving you bare to his gaze. your white panties as the only source preventing you from being completely bare to his eyes.

miguel takes his time worshiping your soft delicate breasts. kissing, licking, kneading them with such tenderness. almost experimentally. his tongue swirling and flickering your perky sensitive nipple. his plump lips sucking on it. each action rewards him with those heavenly moans of yours. music to his ears. miguel shows same affection towards your soft tummy, adoring it with kisses and licks.

with your consent, your panties were removed and now completely bare to your handsome lover.

miguel doesn’t hesitate and dives into the fountain of youth in between your legs. the room is filled with your moans and whimpers, the sounds of pleasure miguel was providing you. his tongue ravishes your wet core so experimentally. reaching those spots you’ve never knew existed, making you arch your back. as you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy, miguel devours every drop of your sweet nectar, drinking as if it’s an oasis. this man made you feel things you never felt before, so revolutionary.

once he removes his clothes and is bare, he settles in between your legs once again. your mouth falls open as his thick length slowly sides through your tight, wet walls. there were a few pauses in between, allowing yourself to adjust to his larger than average size. once he’s completely settled inside, you couldn’t hold back a soft moan. the bulbous tip of his cock rests against that sweet spot inside.

with a slow rock of his hips, a soft moan erupts form your throat. pleasure consumes both your bodies, your minds dazed. your tight walls squeeze his cock, making the man groan in pleasure. your nails leaving marks and idents on his muscular back as miguel continuously thrusts into you slowly. his bulbous tip repeatedly hitting your cervix, making you arch your back off the sheets. the mixture of your moans and his grunts mingle in the air. the four walls of the bedroom concealing your love-making session.

miguel softly whispers words of praise to you that makes your mind floaty. how beautiful you look as you take him so well. he relishes your expressions of pleasure, gazing at the angel underneath him. god you look even more ethereal. he can finally worship you properly. ecstasy consumes you entirely that you can only respond with whimpers and moans. he leaves soft kisses on your neck as he continues thrusting. your hands interlocked together, gently pressed against the pillow beside your head as your love-making progresses.

as you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy for the second time, you coat miguel’s cock with your sweet nectar. he follows suit not long after, releasing his thick seed deep in your womb, painting your walls white. a shared moan echoes in the air as you both climaxed. you softly pant in unison as you both come down from the peak of pleasure.

you wake up the next morning in the arms of your handsome lover. the beginning of your love affair.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

a secret relationship.

you and miguel continue this forbidden love affair for a few months. holding hands when one wasn’t looking. sharing intimate moments when alone. passionate kisses here and there. reoccurring nights of love-making in your bedroom. it was pure love.

the love was so strong you two married in secret. at the lake house where you shared your first kiss. the only witnesses were your trusted handmaiden lyla and miguel’s younger brother gabriel.

you knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with miguel and he wanted to spend it with you. even though the marriage is a secret, you’re forever together. once your reign is over and a new queen is elected, you and miguel will be able to live a free life.

the assassin was found but miguel remained as your permanent bodyguard, by your request. life in nueva york continued thriving until a conflict with another city ended it. the military was preparing for war, which included miguel since he was a general. you plead for him to not go, even thought about convincing captain stacy to not allow miguel to participate in the war but you know you can’t do that.

miguel eases your worries, holding you in his arms with a protective yet comforting grip. a hand gently stroking your hair as he calms you.

“i’ll return to you, mi reina. i promise you.”

with one final kiss, his eyes bore into yours, large hands cupping your tear stained cheeks. it pains him to leave you. to see tears trailing your angelic face. tears that he caused, it’s a stab to the heart. he can’t breathe without you. miguel doesn’t to go fight off in war but unfortunately it’s his duty, especially since he’s a general. but he promises to return to you.

“té amo.”

with that, you watch him walk away. tears trailing down your flushed cheeks. you want him to stay, by your side, but he has a duty to do and you have yours. all you can pray is for his safe return.

it’s been a week since miguel left for war. a week deprived of his love. during private moments, you speak to each other through holograms. he informs you with updates on the war. it’s still a long shot but there is progress. hopefully it’ll end soon.

one morning, you wake up with nausea. bolting to the restroom, you unleash that ugly feeling into the toilet. after cleaning up yourself, many thoughts invade your mind. what could possibly upset your stomach like that? was it the food you ate from last night’s dinner? no, dinner was delicious. are you ill? none of your handmaidens or staff members haven’t caught anything, at least what you know.

then, another scenario pops up.

you haven’t bled in a while. in fact, you might’ve passed the prediction date for your next cycle.

could you possible be…?

thankfully for the advanced technology you have, getting an answer would be easy. after doing a test with the help of your personal med droid, your eyes widen in shock at the results.

pregnant.

you’re pregnant, with miguel’s child.

part of you feels elastic about having a child with your secret husband. but the other part of you realizes how jeopardizing this would be.

a child with your personal bodyguard? that would cause the court to break out into chaos.

the scandal would threaten the crown.

you only have a year until your term is over and a new queen will be elected. however, that’s a year. it’ll only be a matter of time until your belly grows. hiding it is the only solution. from the court, handmaidens, staff and family members. the only person you would tell is lyla, your childhood best friend and loyal companion. she knows you like the back of her hand. you trust her completely with this shocking reveal.

unfortunately, you won’t be able to tell miguel until he returns from the war. and who knows how long that will be. you pray it ends soon and he returns.

until then, you have to keep another secret.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

four months has passed and the war has finally ended. the streets of nueva york cheer and celebrate now that peace has finally been restored.

it also means miguel is returning.

excitement flows through your veins. your husband finally returns home and you can’t wait to be in his arms after four months of deprivation. also, to share news of your unborn child. during these past four months, you’ve been wearing large gowns to conceal your swollen belly. luckily, no one has suspected.

dressed in a white silk cloak to hide you four month belly, you rush down the halls to greet your husband and father of your unborn child. oh how you missed him so much. it’s quite unbelievable how you managed to life without him for four months. without him by your side, without his touch, his comfort.

as you rush down the hall, you spot a figure tall figure dresses in black towards the end. your heart skips a beat, a smile forming on your face.

just as you reach him, your steps slow down and your enthusiasm dies down as you look up confusingly at the man in front of you. it’s miguel but he looks… different. normally when he’s with you, he has a gentle smile on his face. instead, it’s a scowl. furrowed thick brows and lips flat. he’s not even looking at you, instead the ground. he hasn’t even acknowledged your presence yet.

this confuses you. why is he behaving like this? cold, silent, angry. maybe the war has done some damage, it’s expected. but you expect him to overjoyed to see you as you are with him. those calls through holograms were prove. how badly he wanted to return to you and stay with you. seeked for your touch, longing to return to your arms.

now he has return and is the complete opposite.

“miguel…?”

taking a step closer, a soft gasp escapes your lips when his eyes finally meet yours. a horrified expression on your face.

his eyes are red. glowing and pierce.

you don’t recognize him. his eyes were brown like coco beans. sometimes stern but always soft when they meet yours. this time, red like blood and full of rage. the longer you stare, fear settles in. a feeling you never wished to feel when you look into his eyes.

his lips part open and your breath hitches. it’s unclear if you’re imagining things, but you saw a glimpse of fangs. pearly white fangs.

this can’t be your miguel. your husband. the father of your unborn child.

what happened to him?

who did this to him?

then, those red eyes soften. the scowl vanished, replaced with the old soft, loving expression he always had reserved for you.

“mi reina.”

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @lazyjellyfish300 ( just for you, queen ! )

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[ghadasaftawi]

A Playground Silenced: War's Toll on Innocence The vibrant chaos of crayons and finger paint used to be the soundtrack to my mornings. Dropping my child, Yousef, off at kindergarten was a symphony of shrieks, giggles, and the occasional tear – a beautiful cacophony of childhood. But war, a cruel conductor, has replaced that melody with a chilling silence. Yousef's kindergarten wasn't just a building; it was a castle of color, a launching pad for dreams. The walls were adorned with construction paper masterpieces, a testament to tiny fingers exploring creativity. The playground, a haven of laughter, echoed with the joyous shouts of tag and the squeals of delight from the slide. Now, the building stands as a hollow shell, a monument to the war's senseless destruction. The news reports were sterile, devoid of the human cost. Buildings destroyed, infrastructure crippled – just statistics on a screen. But the reality for us is far more agonizing. The sight of the kindergarten, its roof caved in, windows shattered like broken dreams, is a constant reminder of the stolen innocence. The silence where laughter once danced is a physical ache that no bandage can heal. Yousef, robbed of his carefree world, doesn't quite understand the gravity of the situation. he asks, with a heartbreaking innocence, "When can I go back and play with Jad on the slide?" Explaining the concept of war to a child so young feels like trying to explain the color blue to someone who's been born blind. The words hang heavy in the air, a woefully inadequate response to his wide-eyed confusion. The destruction of a kindergarten is more than just bricks and mortar. It's a blow to the very heart of a community, a symbol of the future stolen. It's a generation of children forced to confront a world they never asked for. War may silence the playground, but it cannot silence the hope that burns within these children. Rebuilding the kindergarten will be more than just bricks and mortar; it will be a testament to the enduring human spirit, a promise to our children that laughter will rise again.

[hippiegoth97]

Where Is My Mind?: Eddie Munson x Reader

Collage by me :)

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Description: It's your two-year anniversary with Eddie, and you both spend the evening exchanging 'gifts'...

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: Smut, female reader, fingering, oral sex, squirting, consecutive orgasms, embarrassment, crying, overstimulation

Word Count: 4.8k

divider by @firefly-graphics

Where Is My Mind?

"Oh, God, Eddie!" You cry out as an overwhelming orgasm rocks through you. Your hands are tangled in Eddie's hair as he's been going down on you for the last hour or so. You’ve already cum three times, but he refuses to let up. You're soaked in sweat, your body sparking as he keeps licking and sucking on you to build you up again. "Baby, haven't you had enough? Your tongue must be getting tired." You whine, feeling your insides tighten in preparation for yet another orgasm.

He stops for a second to answer you. "Not at all angel, you taste so good. I could do this all night, and I love hearing you scream my name." He immediately dives back in, sticking his tongue inside your soaked cunt. His cock strains against his jeans, but he manages to get a little friction from kneeling against the side of his bed as he works on you.

Earlier tonight, the two of you had been celebrating your two-year anniversary. Eddie made spaghetti for dinner, and he gave you a beautiful bouquet of your favorite flowers. He also made you a mixtape, one he said was perfect for eating you out. Eager to test it, he popped the tape into the portable stereo and pounced on you. You hadn't even had the chance to give Eddie his gift, he was too preoccupied stripping you of your clothes and kissing every inch of flesh on your body.

Eddie has managed to keep all of his clothes on, he knows he'll get what he desires from you soon enough. But he wants to show you just how much he loves you. You're his whole world, a queen ruling over his cynical heart. Until he met you, he'd never truly believed in love or romance before. He thought those things were just make-believe bullshit made up by The Man to force people into model nuclear families. But he swears the moment he laid eyes on you, everything changed for him.

Funnily enough, you'd met him in a land of make-believe, so to speak. A Renaissance Faire in Indianapolis, to be exact. You'd gone with some friends, the lot of you were highly obsessed with medieval times and the mythology surrounding it. Eddie went by himself, unable to convince anyone to go along with him. He figured this was the only way to experience anything resembling Lord of The Rings and D&D in real life. Neither of you had high expectations, you assumed it would be pretty cheesy or mostly meant for little kids.

Once you'd arrived however, what you saw before you blew your minds. The entrance to the Faire was a giant castle, with a moat and a drawbridge. Everyone was dressed up, and all the employees were deep within their characters. It was a fantasy nerd's paradise, you thought you'd died and gone to heaven. And you hadn't even stepped foot inside the fairgrounds yet. But once you paid the admission and walked through the gates, your brain exploded all over again.

There were stalls of handmade jewelry, wands, swords, leather-bound journals, costumes, tiaras, fairy wings, the list went on endlessly. A field was blocked off for the knights to joust on massive horses, and rows of games lined the other side of the grounds. There were fortune tellers, face painters, people dressed as fairies and elves and royalty. A regal food court boasted giant turkey legs, popcorn, many sweets and treats, and more than enough booze to knock you on your ass. It was all so much to take in, but in an odd way it felt like you'd been waiting to find a place like this your entire life.

You and your friends explored every inch of the Faire, unable to resist buying the cute trinkets from the little shops. You watched the noble knights joust for the honor of marrying the fine princess, the winner giving her a big kiss for everyone to see. It was surprisingly romantic, sending your heart aflutter. You've always loved mushy things like that, waiting for your own knight in shining armor to save you from your boring life.

After a while, your stomach started growling. Your friends wanted to keep playing the carnival games, one of which was throwing tomatoes at a jester's face as he insulted you. You told them you'd come right back, heading to the other side of the Faire to try one of those famous turkey legs. It's at this point that Eddie spotted you from afar, though you took no notice of him. Your stomach lead you blindly to the smell of roasting meat, blocking out everything else happening around you.

Eddie caught a glimpse of you as he was walking the other way to check out the games, stopping dead in his tracks. He saw you were dressed in a long, red chemise, which left your shoulders bare. A black, corseted overdress sat atop the chemise, pushing your tits up for the perfect amount of cleavage. Your hair was tied in braids, which were wrapped immaculately around your head. Some loose strands of hair framed your face, and he was instantly enchanted. He decided to follow you, to perhaps buy you an ale or something. He hadn't expected to really interact with anyone outside of the employees at the Faire, but you seemed special.

You sidled up to the stand selling the turkey legs, ordering one for yourself. You'd contemplated buying for your friends too, but the legs were probably too big to carry so many at that great of a distance. You paid for your food, and made your way to the busty woman selling beer. You were just about to order when you heard a voice speak to you. "May I be so bold as to buy a fair maiden some ale?" You turned to see where the voice came from, stunned to find a very handsome man standing before you. He was tall, slender, with long, curly hair and a devilish smile on his face. He was wearing a red, billowy shirt that exposed some of his chest, and tight, black leather pants that tied with laces in the front. Matching leather boots adorned his feet, and a rather large sword sat sheathed at his hip. His hand rested over the handle of the sword, which made you take notice of the chunky rings on his fingers. He was the most beautiful man you'd ever seen, and he was talking to you.

You smiled at him, blushing at his deep brown eyes boring into you. "Why, thank you, kind sir. I'd be honored to indulge in a libation with you." You said, giggling at how silly you sounded with a terrible accent. He chuckled at you, reaching out for your hand. You gave it to him, blushing even harder when he planted a kiss to the back of it. He led you wordlessly to the line for drinks, ordering for you when it was finally your turn again. Once he paid, he found a nice quiet spot for you to talk. The two of you sat on a bench, knees touching as you positioned yourselves beside each other. You'd forgotten all about your turkey leg at this point, but you didn't really care to remember it when you were in the company of this mysterious man.

"So, what's your name, my lady?" He was still playing along, though you weren't sure how long the act could be kept up.

"Y/N. And yours?" You said coyly, sipping from your metal mug.

"Eddie, it's nice to meet you, Y/N. What brings you to the Faire?" He chugged some of his own drink, belching loudly which made you laugh. "Pardon me." He said sheepishly, wiping his mouth with his hand.

"I'm here with some friends. We've always liked medieval stuff, so we figured this would be a fun time." You couldn't keep speaking in Olde English, it was giving you a headache to think of the correct phrasing. Eddie took notice, relaxing his shoulders as it seemed he was also struggling to keep up. "What about you, Eddie? Are you here with anyone?" You asked, worried that maybe he had a girlfriend or something. A man as handsome as he was, he had to be taken, right?

"Nope, I'm here all on my lonesome. Well, until I saw you, the most gorgeous young woman I've ever seen." He put a hand on your knee suggestively, which made you tense up. You were struck by his words, no man had called you something so flattering before. Your eyes met his again, and you couldn't resist licking your lips. He continued speaking, much lower in volume. "And I also quite enjoy 'medieval stuff' as you called it, though I think you already figured that out." You set down your beer, and he put his aside as well. He brushed one of the stray strands of hair behind your ear, smoothly making a move to cup your cheek afterwards. "May I kiss you, princess?" He asked softly, his breath shaking with nerves. You'd barely spoken to each other, and yet there you were, centimeters away from your lips meeting.

"Yes, kind sir. You may." You replied, too caught up in anticipation to laugh. He closed the gap between you, gently pressing his mouth to yours. He tasted like beer, and tobacco. You were instantly hooked, pulling on his shirt collar to bring him closer to you. You both moaned down each other's throats, enamored by how thrilling it was to kiss someone you'd just met. You began to feel quite warm, tempted to straddle his lap right there for anyone to see.

A little bit later, the jester from earlier brought everyone's attention to you. He ran up to your bench, standing behind you as you kissed. "Well, it seems we doth have some rather rambunctious lovers in our midst! Perhaps we shall quell their burning lust, lest they shed their clothes for all eyes to see!" The jester jumped in the air, ringing a loud bell which hurt your ears. You broke apart, blushing madly at being called out. Passersby stopped to see this display, eager to watch your public humiliation. "Ah, and you dare to waste such fine ale? In favor of lashing tongues at one another? For shame!" He shouted, and the crowd mimicked his final words.

"FOR SHAME!" The bystanders were all laughing at you, though it was all in good fun. The jester picked up your mugs, holding them over your heads. You looked to Eddie, unsure of what to do. All he could do was stare back, blushing just as hard as you were while he shrugged his shoulders.

"FOR SHAME!" The jester laughed maniacally, dumping the remains of your drinks onto your heads. You shrieked as the cold beer soaked through your clothes and hair. You stood up, swatting at the jester in an attempt to hit him. He quickly dodged your blow, tutting at you. Eddie reached out to reel you in, but you took no notice. "Oh! I see you have quite the fire inside you, young maiden! Methinks one ought to quench thine whorish flames!" You felt another cold splash of liquid rain down onto you, much larger than the last. Eddie gasped, horrified that these people would go so far to humiliate you. You turned back around to see a burly man holding a large wooden bucket, which you guessed previously held the water that was poured onto your head. You glared at the jester again, unamused at getting soaked like that. "Oh, sweet lady. I beg thee to calm thyself. 'Tis all in good 'jest'!" He laughed again, dancing a jig before he went on his merry way. The onlookers also left to go about their business, the little show was over. Your friends caught the end of it, watching as you struggled to stand upright, the ground beneath you melting into sloppy mud.

"Y/N, are you alright?" Eddie asked quietly, reaching for your arm. You flinched at first, still shaken from being made a fool by the fool. You just nodded, trying not to cry. You knew it was just a joke, and you had made the mistake of making out in public when the performers loved any opportunity to make a silly interaction. Eddie pulled you close, innocently holding your waist to calm you. "I'm sorry, this is all my fault." He sounded sad, guilty for causing this whole ordeal.

"It's alright, I should've seen that coming. I'd heard the workers can be quite mischievous." You wiped your face with your hands, and your group came up to ask what happened. They were also very intrigued to find out who the handsome man next to you was. You explained it all, introducing them to Eddie. They eyed him up and down, making various approving noises or remarks in the most unsubtle way. You tried to apologize to Eddie for their rudeness, but he thought nothing of it, in fact he found it quite flattering. He walked with you and your friends to the exit, considering you being drenched made it quite uncomfortable to stay at the Faire.

You'd coincidentally parked your car right next to his van, and he clumsily dug around inside his vehicle to find a scrap of paper to write down his phone number for you. Eddie kissed you again before you parted ways, his wet hair rubbed against your cheeks as he slipped the paper into your hands. The feeling of his lips on yours stole the air from your lungs, but a warning honk from your friends signaled it was time to let him go. You held that little scrap of paper tightly the whole way home, eagerly dialing him later that evening. And the rest was history, from that moment on, you and Eddie had been inseparable.

Returning to the present, Eddie's tongue is furiously flicking against your clit to drive you over the edge for the fourth time this evening. An endless flow of moans falls from your lips, and Eddie drinks it all in. He loves the sounds you make, they're so vulgar and beautiful at the same time. He inserts two fingers into your soaking pussy, taking his mouth away to have a small break.

Eddie's eyes scan over your glistening body, watching you squirm and ball up the sheets with your hands. Your tits bounce as every touch he gives you makes your body jolt. Tears stream down your cheeks, your mouth fixed agape. "You're so gorgeous like this, sweetheart. So perfectly fucked for me. Do you want me to make you cum again?" He purrs at you, pumping his fingers inside you teasingly. His pace is excruciatingly slow, it brings you right to the edge without letting you fall off.

"Yes, please! I'm very close, Eds. Make me cum, I can't take the teasing." You're so needy for him, your tone making his cock even harder as you speak. He picks up speed, watching your head dig further into the pillow. Your back arches off the bed, and your pussy flutters around his fingers wildly. You're so, so close, and you want him to see you lose control. "Just like that, baby. Fuck, you make me feel so good." He adores when you praise him, it always casts his self-doubt about his performance aside.

"I'm happy to please you, sweetheart. Be a good girl and make a mess on my fingers." He coos at you, watching every micro-expression that swipes across your face. He moves his digits even faster inside you, using his thumb to rub vicious circles on your clit.

"Eddie!" You scream as another explosion of bliss engulfs you. Your legs shake violently, arousal pooling into Eddie's hand. Your insides are on fire, your abdomen sore from your muscles flexing involuntarily with every orgasm. He stills his fingers, letting your high fade away before slowly pulling them out. He brings them to his lips, hungrily sucking your juices from them. He moans at the taste, sucking down every last drop of you as his eyes flutter closed.

"Mmm, so fuckin' good, baby." Eddie observes you again, admiring how spent you look. You're panting, your face staring at the ceiling. Your hair clings to your sweat-soaked face, and your whole body glows with lust. Tremors rock through you randomly, making you whimper as they shock your clit. Eddie’s really done a number on you. You're sure if he dared to simply blow air against your pussy, you'd lose it all over again. He crawls over to you on the bed, laying next to you carefully. He turns your face to look at him, smiling lovingly at you. "Did you enjoy yourself, angel?" He asks.

"Y-yes, Eds." You stutter your words, shivering slightly as your sweat turns cold. He pulls you close, quickly warming you back up in his gentle arms. He kisses you tenderly, and you can't help melting into putty. "Do you want your present now, baby?" You ask quietly, nuzzling your head into his neck.

"Sure, sweetheart. Stay here though, I'll grab it." He lets you go, stepping off the bed to grab the small box you put on his dresser as he ambushed you earlier. He gets back into bed, bringing you back into his embrace. You quickly snuggle him again, eager for his body heat to radiate into you. Eddie opens the box, finding a beautiful ring inside. He removes it from the box, inspecting it closely. It's chunky and silver like the ones he has already, but in the middle is a large, blood-red stone in the shape of a heart. The band itself is an intricate weaved pattern, and there's an engraving on the underside of the stone. It reads: 'For Eddie, My Heroic Knight' in an elegant script. He's speechless, he never expected you to get him something so nice.

"Do you like it, darling?" You ask, playfully stroking his chest as you watch his awestruck face. It's amusing that you seem to have caught him off guard, which is not an easy feat. After a moment of admiring the ring, Eddie slips it on one of the free fingers on his right hand.

"I love it, angel. It's the best gift anyone's ever given me." His eyes meet yours, his hand cupping your cheek. Your lips touch again, but this time you climb on top of him as you kiss. You straddle him, his hands gripping your ass roughly. Your mouth leaves Eddie's, migrating to his jaw and neck. He moans as you suck dark hickeys onto his flesh, marking him as much as you can. Your cunt rubs against Eddie's hard cock over his jeans, and you're eager to get him out of his clothes. You sit up, tugging his shirt up his chest. He helps you out, quickly discarding it to the floor.

"You're so handsome, baby." You tell him as you stare at his beautiful chest. You lean down to kiss his tattoos, nipping his skin playfully. Eddie groans, fixated on every touch you give him. Your mouth meets every inch of him you can reach, slowly traveling down to the small trail of hair above his jeans. You lift your head, smirking at him as you unbuckle his belt. He grins back, resting his head on his hands to observe your actions. You unzip his fly and yank his pants down his legs, tossing them aside. You glance down at his boxers, a tent formed in the thin fabric. Licking your lips, you shed Eddie of his final layer of clothing, watching his dick stand at attention. You kneel between his legs, leaning down you lick a long stripe up his length.

"Fuck." Eddie sighs, wanting to shove himself down your throat so badly. But he lets you take your time, not breaking eye contact as you do so. You teasingly swirl your tongue around the head, swallowing the precum that's gathered on it. He moans, an almost tortured look on his face. "Baby, please don't tease me." He begs, needy for your hot, wet mouth. You happily sink your lips down onto his cock, letting him hit the back of your throat. More noises spill from Eddie's lips as you work him, deepthroating him expertly. He loves when you give him head, there's nobody else on this earth that does it like you.

"Mmm." You moan on his length, increasing your speed. Sure, you mainly wanted to send vibrations through Eddie to drive him mad, but you also really enjoy sucking him off. Watching him whine and moan and praise you, it gets you unbelievably hot and bothered. You massage his balls gently in your hand, feeling them tighten as Eddie's high draws closer.

"Keep going, sweetheart. You're such a good little slut for me. Can you bring your pussy over here while you do that, though?" He asks, insatiable lust tinging his voice. You roll your eyes goofily, of course he wants to eat you out again. You already know it won't take long for him to make you cum, you're still so riled up from before. You continue blowing him, carefully maneuvering yourself to put your cunt in his face. He notices the arousal dripping from you, groaning at the site. "You love having my dick in your mouth, don't you, baby?" He says rhetorically, he already knows the answer.

"Mmhmm." You reply anyway, humming on him again. But it quickly morphs into a moan as Eddie's tongue begins toying around with your clit. He stops for a moment, biting your ass cheek to get your attention. You look back at him best you can, letting his dick slip out of your mouth. "Yes, my love?" You ask, quite used to this form of communication with him.

"Slow down on me a little, angel. I want you to focus on enjoying yourself." He strokes your thighs sensually, his tongue playing at the edge of his mouth mischievously. Eddie's always been so giving in bed, even when he's obviously desperate to have some pleasure of his own. You nod at him as you bite your lip, before turning away to take him back in your mouth. You slowly bob up and down, your tongue swirling around his length languidly. "That's it, keep that pace, Y/N." He groans again, trying to hold back his impulse to buck his hips into you. Eddie savors the feeling for a second, calming himself. You can feel his breath stuttering as it fans over your pussy, mentally smirking at just how close he is.

You want his mouth back on you, though he seems to be a little distracted. You lean your behind backwards to him, tempting his tongue to see just how sweet you taste. He chuckles at your wanting, before giving you what you need. Eddie sucks your clit back into his mouth, focusing his moans onto your core. The vibrations are nearly enough to make you lose it, you practically scream on his cock. You want to go faster, make him cum down your throat right now. But he asked you to go slowly, and you'll do anything to make him happy. It takes everything in you to maintain your pace, due to Eddie's moves making your head spin. You're sweating all over again, and it feels like your brain is melting.

Eddie relentlessly licks and sucks on your pussy, drinking up any arousal that drips from it. There's a nonstop cycle of moaning from the two of you, sending tremors through your flesh where you need it the most. You instinctively push yourself closer to his face, and he takes this as his cue to shove his tongue inside your needy hole. Your fifth orgasm takes you over, your walls clenching his tongue. Juices run out of you, spilling down Eddie's chin and onto his chest. He holds you steady as your legs threaten to give out, they tremble violently as pure bliss cascades through you. Your release brings Eddie to the end as well, his cum shooting in thick ropes down your throat. You swallow every last bit, your head falling onto his hip once he's finished.

But Eddie doesn't stop using his mouth on you, building you up yet again like his life depends on it. "Fuck, Eddie. You're gonna make me cum again." You cry out, tears stinging your eyes. Your high doesn't end, only dulls as he tries to give you another. His hands are hooked around your hips, holding you firmly in place. He's like a goddamn machine, whose only purpose is to get you off. "Oh, god!" You scream, your nails digging into Eddie's thighs as you cum on his face, even harder than all the previous times tonight. He's getting absolutely soaked by you, but he still doesn't want to stop. You hear your arousal leaking onto him, almost worried he's going to drown. But he keeps going, not letting you have a second to breathe.

You're panting wildly, constant tears staining your cheeks as his fucks you with his mouth. He keeps moaning against you, trying to make your head blow into smithereens. You've almost drawn blood as you continue to cling to him, making ungodly sounds as you're on the precipice of yet another fucking orgasm. His lips leave you for just a second. "Come on, angel. Just one more for me, be a good girl." He's breathing so hard, it's like he ran a marathon. Though when you think about it, he kind of has in a way. He adds his fingers to the mix, hammering them into you while licking your clit again.

"Eddie!" You scream, loud enough that you suspect the whole trailer park can hear you. Yet again, Eddie has managed to make you cum harder than you ever have before. It's like you're splitting in half, blinding white heat engulfing you in thick flames. An obscene amount of juices gush from you, more than you thought humanly possible. It all splashes onto Eddie, soaking his face, his hair, his chest, and the bed beneath you. You collapse, laying over Eddie's body. All you can see is stars, and your legs won't stop convulsing. The oxygen has been stolen from your lungs, you've forgotten how to breathe. Once it comes back to you, your chest heaves harshly as you gulp in air. You sob uncontrollably, unable to move.

"Y/N?" Eddie asks, watching you lay helplessly on top of him. He notices you crying, quickly slipping out from under you to rush to your side. He helps you sit up, taking a spot next to you. He's shiny with sweat and your cum, holding your head close to his chest. "Shhh, it's okay, angel. Just relax and breathe, okay?" He coos at you, stroking your damp hair comfortingly. Eddie keeps holding you, trying to calm you down. You focus on your breathing, eventually getting it mostly back to normal. You sit fully upright, gazing into his eyes. He looks so worried, but he shouldn't be. "Was it too much, baby?" He asks, cursing himself for how overzealous he was with you.

"No, Eddie. I promise it was amazing, I've never cum so hard before. God, I love you." You pull his slippery face to yours, kissing him deeply to show how much you mean what you're saying. "It wasn't too much for you, was it? I was worried you were gonna drown." You ask as you pull away, but he just smiles.

"I love you too, baby. And you were absolutely perfect, Y/N. So fuckin' sexy, though I imagine we'll both need some water and a shower." He chuckles, glancing at the head of the bed. "Probably some clean sheets too." And you both laugh heartily together. "Let's get cleaned up, darling. Then we can cuddle in bed and I'll read to you." Eddie stands, taking your hand to lead you to the bathroom.

Once you're nice and clean again, and the bed has been tidied up, the two of you get under the covers. Eddie pulls out a Stephen King novel, opening it to the dog-eared page he left off on. You lay your head on his chest, eagerly waiting to hear what happens next in the story. "Happy anniversary, Eds." You say just before he begins to read, craning your neck to give him another kiss.

"Happy anniversary, princess." He meets you in the middle, his heart skipping a beat as your plush lips touch his. "Now, be quiet so we can see what happens with this evil clown." He chides you jokingly, making you giggle. One of his arms wraps around you, while the other holds the paperback open to find his place. You hum lowly as his fingers stroke your back, barely brushing against your skin. He starts to read, his words and warmth putting you in a very content state. "Henry Bowers had gotten too big too fast to be either quick or agile under ordinary circumstances..." He goes on, reading calmly to you in a velvety voice until you fall asleep.

The end.

[ushiwhacka]

IT'S A KINDNESS, HIGHNESS | gojo satoru + fem! reader | 4,500 words | mdni | royalty au, gojo is the most obnoxious, annoying, charming prince ever <3

⇥ summary: your betrothed is unlike anything you ever imagined. he's improper and brash and delights in embarrassing you - but he wants you. and he always gets whatever he wants. ⇥ warnings: corruption, oral (f! receiving), spit, pussy job, food play (just a tiny little bit), reader is a virgin, satoru is so impatient

for my most beloved char <3 thank you for being so patient and for this super cute request (and also for reading but shh)

You were bred to marry royalty. It’s what you’ve been told since you were old enough to know the meaning of it. You were raised to marry royalty. To sit with your legs flawlessly tilted. To sing like a delicate bird. To speak low and curtsey even lower still. A perfect daughter destined to become a perfect wife. 

A resounding click as you close the locket once more. The intricate flowers are warm under your skin, worn out with how many times you’ve run your fingers over them. Clutching it to your chest, giddy with thoughts about the man who looks back at you through the heart-shaped frame. The many nights it has spent tucked under your pillow as you dream of chaste hand kisses and dancing with your betrothed as everyone else looks on. 

“Do you think he’s as handsome as his portrait?” You peer down at the now opened heart again, sighing wistfully as you think of looking into those shining eyes. 

“Keep your head straight.” A sharp reprimand before you feel another pin scrape at your scalp. And you do your best to swallow an audible wince. “It does not matter if he’s handsome, he’s a prince. And one day, he will be king and you will be queen.”

“But, mother —”

“And you will provide him with as many heirs as he wishes.” Her thumbs press into your bare shoulder blades as she regards you in the mirror. A familiar expression on her face, her mouth taut in a thin line, she levels you with steely eyes. “This will do.” You swallow your questions. “Now go.”

There is a whirlwind of kitchen maids and footmen carrying silver trays overflowing with food, dusting the railing, adding wood to the already roaring fireplace. It all comes to a sobering still at the sound of galloping horses and wheels rolling over gravel and the clamour turns into concealed whispers and feet scurrying away. 

Two years since your betrothal. Two years of waiting and wondering. Two years worth of daydreams and fantasies of saccharine words and stolen glances and promises made tucked away behind secret corners. The air lodges in your lungs.  

The silence in the room is so heavy that you can hear your heart thumping in your chest, faster and louder as the steps in front of the door grow nearer. A click. Then the thumping stops. 

He is just as beautiful as his portrait. And yet, he looks nothing like it. There’s something so brazen about him, how strands of messy, white hair fall over his eyes. How his shirt is too loose and untied, the deep opening showing the pale skin of his chest. 

You follow the contour of it. Wide eyes taking in the dip of his throat, the swell of muscle just underneath. It feels forbidden, something you shouldn’t be allowed to see. And still you cannot peel your eyes away. Watching as he draws closer with every long step. Your feet feel like lead sinking into the hardwood floors. 

Curtsey. You’re supposed to curtsey, low and steady. You’re supposed to bow your head before the prince. 

“Ah, my future wife.” It’s too late. “You look ravishing.” 

Before you know it, your hand is in his hand and you can barely breathe. Your chest straining against the fabric of your dress. He looks at you in a way no one has before, like a predator who’s about to devour his prey. Then he brings your hand to his mouth, his lips warm against your skin. 

And he looks at you. Impudent eyes burnt into yours for too long. It’s lewd. It makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks heat in embarrassment. 

Your head is reeling, hand clutched into fists as you follow the group into the dining hall. You had only read of such behaviour in forbidden books hidden in the depths of your family library. It was inappropriate, a stolen moment of intimacy. Still, you can feel the shape of his lips on the back of your hand, stinging like a brand. Thumb pressing into it as you sit on the table with your hands in your lap and head hanging low. 

He sits with his chin propped on his fist, looking around with lidded eyes, the very picture of boredom painted on his fair face. Every word out of his mouth comes drawn out and lazy. But you can still feel his gaze following you, the bob of your throat as you swallow, the tiny drop of red wine sauce on your lips, the nervous fidgeting of your fingers. 

The rest of the world feels like noise, blurs, falls away under the weight of his curious eyes until it’s just you and him. And there’s nothing else to feel but how he drinks you in, how he lingers in all the forbidden crooks of your body. Like you’re already his and his alone.

You’re almost afraid to look at him. The way he stretches in the chair, legs spread wide and slouching over the armrests. Every attempt of your father’s to make polite conversation is thwarted with a disinterest that is almost insulting. Current affairs, politics, and tomorrow’s hunt pale in comparison to the way your hands trembles around the fork. How it clatters against your plate when you feel his hand brush the side of your thigh under the table. 

“Are you feeling unwell, My Lady?” The conversation halts when the prince speaks, heads turn to focus their attention on you. 

“I — I am quite alright.” You feel as though you might choke on the very air you breathe. “You are kind to ask, Your Highness.”

It must have been an accident. You try to reason with yourself that it was an accident. But you suspect it wasn’t. Not when his companion turns to glare at him. Not when his mouth quirks up ever so slightly in satisfaction.

Not when he looks at you as a child looks at a new toy. His new toy. There for his amusement.

Feet patter softly against the floor as you pace around your chambers, watching the sky turn black then lighten again. The pillows feel too warm and your bedding is scratching against the skin of your legs. And every time you close your eyes, you see him, you feel the warmth of his hand on yours, his plush lips on your knuckles. 

You press your mouth to the patch of your skin he kissed, you wonder what it would feel like if he kissed you. Would he be loving and tender? Or would he simply take and take some more, leaving you breathless and trembling? 

It is your duty to give, give him whatever he asks for. That’s the purpose of a wife. You had heard the same lecture nearly daily for over two decades of your life. But there was never an explanation. What must you give? Which part of you would he want for himself?

There’s a fluttering feeling in your belly. Like a sense of frustration that builds and grows with each new thought. Spreads lower still and your whole body comes alight. Like you might not mind giving as many parts of yourself to him as he may want, even if it’s all of you. It makes your chest heave and sweat bead at your hairline. Persists until you succumb to the mercy of exhaustion.

You spend the next morning avoiding anyone with a pulse — the gossiping servants, your mother, and especially him. Walking softly and peeking around corners until you find refuge in the library. The tips of your fingers grazing across dusty books as you read the titles. None of them particularly exciting. And either way, none of them have answers to the questions swirling through your mind. So you resign yourself to your thoughts, fingers dancing over the spines of dusty tomes.

“There.” Before you even know you are no longer alone, your body is pressed forward into the shelves, a chest flush against your back. “Just what I was I was searching for.” 

The sound of his melodic voice makes the blood simmer in your veins. He’s toying with you. You know he has no interest in any book your library could offer. And you’re angry. Angry because you know none of it is an accident. Angry because he is not the man you had imagined. 

And all that rage turns to ice in your veins when you turn around to face him, neck craned upwards only to be met with his bare chest peeking out of the crisp white shirt and a wolfish grin. 

“Your Highness, you —”

“Did you like my portrait?” His fingers inch towards you, rest on your collar bone as he examines the little silver heart that hangs around your neck. “I sat for it just for you.”

“It is in your likeness.” 

“You wound me.” His face is much too close to yours, so close that his breath fans over your skin when he breathes out a laugh. You’ve never felt smaller. “Do you think I’m handsome?”

“Your Highness —”

“Satoru.” He interrupts you again. His lips brushing against your ear. “If you are to be my wife I want to hear you say my name.” Your skin prickles up as he whispers, raw where his words fall over your neck. 

There’s an eerie quiet wrapping you together. Like anything beyond those towering shelves falls away. And all that’s left is the sound of his calm breaths and your heart pummelling against your ribs.

“Satoru.” It feels foreign in your mouth, fills it up. Sits heavy on your tongue.

“Good girl.” 

Then he leaves you. He walks out of the grand room with a spring in his step and a wave. And you’re gasping for air, one hand splayed over your chest where he had touched you, the other digging into the wooden shelves as a means to keep you upright. 

You feel watched, his shining eyes follow your every step. He finds you in the library again even when you’ve tucked yourself away in the most private of nooks. He finds you in the kitchens late at night, sneaking a few bites of cake and milk before bed. He finds you in the garden too as you sit on a bench overlooking the pond, tucked in the thick shade of a weeping willow. 

You’ve grown used to his presence in a way. Used to the quickening of your heart at the mere sight of him, at the sound of his voice. Used to the way your tummy coils when he touches you with near unbearable familiarity. 

Satoru sits next to you and puts the tray of lemon cakes on his lap. He’s too close again, his knee touching yours. And you allow it. Again. 

He shuffles in his seat, taps his fingers on the bench, then sighs deeply — making his presence known, waiting for you to acknowledge it. 

You don’t. 

The silence only lasts for one brief moment. “Have a taste.” He brings the sweet to your mouth and nudges your hand away when you try to take it. “No, no. Open wide for me.”

That feeling that sits low in your belly comes back, twists your insides. But you do as you’re told and part your lips. You’ve learned by now that he enjoys watching your face twist with embarrassment. Just loves that you will disregard every lesson in proper behaviour you’ve been taught for him. 

The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, lingers there too long. The cake crumbles on your tongue, tangy and sweet. And his mouth hangs slightly open as he watches the way the cream sticks to your teeth, his lithe fingers resting on your chin. It’s suffocating, like the air has thickened in the space between you. Like you cannot breathe until he tells you to. 

“Why are you squirming?” 

The question catches you off guard. “I’m not.”

“Do you like it when I touch you? Does it make you feel strange between your legs?” He leans into you as he speaks. “Is your cunt all wet?”

Your eyes widen in shock. He’s not supposed to say that word. So filthy and unbecoming.  And it makes you feel all… wrong. Too aware of how your body preens for him.

“That is not an appropriate way to speak to a lady.” It takes every drop of strength you possess to not trample over your words. To ignore how he looks at you, barely surpassing his amusement. To stand on your feet and stomp away from him. 

But still, when you slam the heavy doors to your chambers closed, all you can hear is his voice, deep and sanguine. And all you can think about is how it feels to be so close to him, to breathe in his scent and feel the warmth of his skin on yours. How you sink into every touch and every brush of his knuckles. How you feel dazed and light-headed when he speaks words he shouldn’t. 

How you wish to know more.

He finds you again that same night. Walks into your bedchambers wearing a shirt pulled further apart than usual. Feigns innocence as you regard him with stern eyes and your mouth pressed into a disapproving line.

“You really cannot be here.” You fold into yourself, suddenly aware of how he can see you, see all parts of you through the nightgown that’s turned translucent in the candlelight.

“I must have lost my way.” His voice hushed, but you can still hear the insincerity in it. “It’s a big house.”

“I’m certain you’re used to bigger.” You pull your arms closer to your chest. “Now go.”

He doesn’t. You can feel how his eyes rake over you, take in every detail as you stand almost bare before him — how your hair looks when it’s not neatly arranged and adorned with pearls, how your fingers dip into your shoulders, how the tops of your breasts peek from behind your forearms with every heavy breath.

“You’re beautiful.” He takes a step toward you, long fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Satoru, please.”

“Tell me you want me to leave.”

You swallow thickly, throat tight around your words, swallowing them. Your eyes dart away from him as embarrassment climbs up your legs, warms your cheeks. 

He reaches out, holds your chin between his thumb and index finger. Tilts your head so that you have to look at his face, so that he can see up close the quiver of your lips as you succumb to him. “I’m waiting.” Because you will succumb to him.

The air between you feels suffocating, sticks to you. You turn your head, desperate to breathe, to escape what feels inevitable. But you’re met with the palm of his hand, searing in its tenderness as it pulls you closer to him. 

His lips hover above your own, impatient but still waiting for your resolve to fracture and crumble in his grip. The flicker of your eyes brimming with anticipation is enough of an answer. A shared breath and the distance between you dissipates as he kisses you. 

You’re standing on the tips of your toes, your body extending to dissolve into his. Like it knows its place. He’s gentle, his lips plush and soft and oh so warm as they press on yours. And you feel like you might lose yourself to this feeling, to his touch, consumed by his hunger. And when he pulls away you chase after him.

But he stops you with a hand around your jaw. “Don’t be greedy, now.” His thumb swipes across your lips. “You’re such a good girl, yes?” A dazed nod and his finger pushes inside your mouth, runs over your teeth and pushes onto your tongue. He stakes his claim on you. You’re his. Every last part of you. All of you. His to touch as he pleases. To have as he pleases. His and his alone. “And did they teach you what husbands and wives do together?”

You shake your head.

He swipes over the plump of your lips again, coating them in warm spit as you struggle to keep upright, light-headed, feet tingling with trepidation and something unfamiliar. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Y-yes.” It comes out shaky and breathless, like it should have remained in your throat, died there. Like you should have said no. But there’s that feeling in your belly again, starved and growing, and it wants him. And everything that may entail.

He kisses you again. This time it’s different, firmer, he forces you to open yourself up to him, his tongue licking inside your mouth. Holds you in place with a hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Devours you. Your every sense is alight with the feeling of him, forbidden and yet there in between your eager fingers. 

There’s drool dripping down the sides of your chin, so unbecoming, so embarrassing. Yet it doesn’t compare to the sting that spreads to your cheeks when his tongue darts out to lap it up, lick you clean. Then he kisses you once more, even deeper than before and no drop of himself he has so graciously given you goes to waste. 

You can’t escape the scrutiny of his crystal eyes, shining with pride at the result of his efforts as they take in the sight of you. From your swollen lips, down your neck, to your chest heaving with every laboured breath, and your arms folded together in a feeble attempt to protect your modesty. 

“Let me see you.” His voice trembles just for a moment. As if he, too, is being held together by delicate seams, bursting with want, with the need to have you. 

His fingers snake around your wrists and your breath hitches. But you still let him peel your arms off your body, let his knuckles ghost over the thin material, let him undo the bow that holds your nightgown together. 

You can hear how hard he swallows, see how his throat bobs with the effort, how his mouth goes slack at the sight of your perky nipples peeking out from underneath the white cotton. “Are you nervous?” 

“A little.” 

Knuckles ghost over your clavicle as he hooks a finger around each strap of your nightgown. He looks into your eyes as he pulls them over your shoulder. “Don’t be.” And the dress falls around your feet in a rustle.

The look on his face is unlike anything you have ever seen before. Something primal and fierce. Like a starved animal, a wolf about to devour the lamb caught in his paws. He will take everything, carve it out of your core and grind it between his molars. And you will let him. And you will ask for more.

Feverish lips leave a trail down the column of your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You hold onto him, nails digging into the base of his neck as he moves further down, watching in awe as he licks a stripe in between your breasts. He’s watching you too, eager to see how your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, how you try to bite back the moans that tumble out anyways.

His hands move to cup your tits and he takes his time watching how the fat spills from in between his fingers. Touches your nipples so lightly it tickles, then latches his mouth onto one. It’s obscene, the prince on his knees, your skin glistening with a thin layer of his spit. And oh the noises he makes, whining as he sucks on the hardened buds, the pop as he releases one, only to move to the other side and do it all over again. 

The blissful smile on his face as he looks at you coming undone in his arms. 

But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough to fill the emptiness that’s spreading inside out you. “Please, Satoru —” Your voice weak and desperate, begging for something, anything that will make you feel whole again. 

“What’s wrong, My Lady?” He stands to his feet, curving into you. “What do you want?”

“Satoru…” You say his name like a prayer, like it’s your only salvation.

“Do you want me to touch you —” His fingers dip between the fat of your thighs “— here?”

And you gasp oh so sweetly as his middle finger presses into your folds. Your legs buckle, nails digging deeper into his skin. You want more. And you squeeze around his hand like your body knows what you need when even you don’t. But it’s too late. He’s already holding his finger in between you, dripping with your slick. Then he pops it in his mouth, looks into your eyes as he swirls his tongue around it. 

“Mmm, sweet.” It’s like he delights in embarrassing you even now. “I want more.”

He carries you to the bed, sets you down gently before pulling the shirt off his back. He can see you and, at last, you can see him too. The peaks of his chest, drops of sweat running down between the ripples of his abdomen. So broad. Not even marble statues, perfectly carved works of art, can compare to him. 

His hands are smoothing over your legs, firm, like he’s trying to commit every dip and curve of them to memory. His kisses start chaste, airy over the bone of your ankles, tickle the back of your knee. Slowly, they turn hungry, demanding as he buries his head between your thighs. He sucks on your soft flesh there, his mouth hot and needy. Then his tongue laves over the teeth marks imprinted into your skin, soothing the sting of it. 

He stops for a moment. Desperate eyes taking in the sight of your pussy, wet and sticky with arousal. He runs his fingers over the sensitive skin, listens to you sharply inhale at the contact. 

“You’re mine.” The world stops. “Say it.”

You can only manage a strangled whisper. “I’m yours.”

Then you feel it, the warmth of his breath as his mouth hangs just above your core, how wet and thick and hot his tongue is when it licks between your folds. How it curls around that spot that makes you whimper and call out his name. And he wraps his lips around it, sucks on it and you cannot stop the cry that erupts out of your mouth. 

Your belly tightens. And you have to hide your face behind trembling hands, hide your panting and the way your cheeks could burst with shame. But you cannot stop how your body leans into him, how your legs wrap tightly around his head, pulling him closer still. 

“You’re doing so well.” His voice vibrates against your centre and you moan, high-pitched and strained. “Just let go for me.” 

You can feel the sheets grow wetter beneath you, him cursing under his breath about how perfect you are, his tongue all over you, lapping up your slick and dipping into all the perfect places. And that feeling snaps, spreads until your legs are shaking and you can do nothing but wail and scratch your nails across his scalp. 

Lips move across your tummy, sloppy wet kisses mix withe the damp of your skin. He kisses you again, cradles your neck, holds you in place. It’s forceful and his mouth is so hot on yours, dripping, covers you in a taste that’s salty and sweet and intoxicating. 

His hair is tussled, face shiny with you. And he looks at you with some kind of twisted pride in his eyes. “Have I won My Lady’s favour?”

A weak nod.

“Then —” He starts as nimble hands undo the ties on his breeches, “— I should show you what you have done to me.”

It’s a sight unlike any other. His cock, with soft white tufts of hair at the base, thin veins curving around his length and a blush pink tip leaking something clear and thick. And when he rests it on top of your tummy it feels heavy and it goes all the way up to your belly button. 

“When we’re married I intend to have you like this every day.” His eyes are glued to where your bodies connect. “Perhaps more than once. We need heirs, don’t we?” Excitement tingles in your fingertips.

He runs the fleshy tip over your slit so agonisingly slowly. Follows every little movement with such intensity. And he feels like velvet against you, warm and throbbing over your core. Each buck oh his hips catches that sensitive peak between your folds and you feel your insides coil again. Writhe with want, with need to feel that release again. 

You reach out to touch him, feel how he ruts into you. And he moans at the contact, a little choked out and whiny. You run your hand over his length, encouraged by how his lips part so prettily. And he feels so thick, so firm in your grasp.

“You’re a fast learner.” His mouth stretches, a picture of satisfaction.

But his tip catches against your entrance, and his eyebrows knot uncomfortably and he grinds his teeth. Knuckles white around the crumpled sheets as he tries to ground himself. Resist. Just for now. But never again.

His thrusts become more erratic, reckless as he surrenders to the tenderness of your flesh. And you follow closely along, hips bucking into him, looking for more friction, more of him. Your name falling from his lips, and his from yours. Like a sacred choir chant, or a cry for mercy, or something no words could ever convey. 

He finds his release with his head hung and a low grunt. Spilling all over your belly, white and sticky and hot. He’s spent, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest heaving. You like the way he looks at you, bright eyes dimmed and hazy. Softer. And you think you must have taken a part out of him too.

He clings to you, lets you lay your head on his chest, your ear just above his heart. Its steady beat is oddly soothing. And so is the way he gently rubs little circles into your back, grounds you, binds you to him. Unexpected but not unwanted. 

“Do you want to marry me?” He looks so different. Vulnerable and entirely too human, gaze locked onto the carved wood of your ceiling. As if he’s afraid of your answer, the truth in your eyes.

“Hm.”

“Hm?” His chest tightens.

“Only if you promise to sleep in my bed for as long as we both shall live.”

He turns to you with a click of his tongue. “I think they will have to drag me out by my arms and legs.” A wistful sigh. “There might even be casualties.”

thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[espace--positif]

This image from the third Elden Ring Book of Knowledge on SOTE has been circulating, and people are citing it as proof that Radahn was a willing participant in Miquella's plans. I don't think these words can serve as definitive proof, and I maintain that Radahn was controlled by Miquella. Here's why.

Image credits: @/Siofra_Mariner on Twitter

To me, the words "their order" and "their cause" don't prove that Radahn is united with Miquella by choice. These deliberate words make me think of Leda's group, Those United in Common Cause, who end up at odds with each other when Miquella's charm inevitably breaks. I think that that very same influence is being alluded to here, with Miquella having used his influence to control Radahn and join him to his cause.

The words "Miquella will intervene once again" imply that Miquella has to fight against some form of natural current, has to change the course of fate, in order to succeed (or try to succeed) at defeating the Lord of the Old Order; to me, the first time he intervened and changed the course of fate is referred to in the first paragraph, where they detail his resurrection of Radahn's body, free of scarlet rot. The text also refers to Radahn's "deserved rest" - again implying that Miquella's resurrection and use of Radahn is somewhat unnatural and morally wrong. If Radahn truly were a willing participant, I don't think that it would have been referred to this way. The story of one intervening with another's fate ironically occurs earlier in the base game, with Radahn stilling Ranni's fate by holding back the stars.

Next, I want to talk about, guess what, more wording.

"Miquella's wish to instill Radahn as his Promised Consort upon his ascent to godhood, a promise he made to Radahn in their childhood."

Note that the wish is Miquella's wish, not Miquella and Radahn's wish, not their collective wish. The word promise is also interesting if we look at the way Miquella uses the word in the DLC dialogue, and towards whom it's directed.

"I promise you, a thousand year voyage, guided by compassion."

Miquella says this to the Tarnished when they are grabbed. Two grabs, and the Tarnished gets their "Heart Stolen", charmed by Miquella forevermore. The Tarnished is resistant, and this is one way through which Miquella deals with resistance.

To Miquella, promises and vows are not shared agreements, but they are the way he enacts his will and influence upon others. They are unidirectional, assured, and a means to an end. His compassion extends to all, but strips all free will, and Radahn's is no exception.

A few notes that didn't fit into any of the above points:

This is my interpretation of the game and the text, and I always enjoy reading other people's interpretations. I think that's the great thing about Elden Ring's ambiguous lore; there can be many readings, and we'll really never know which are right.

I'm very biased when it comes to the topic of Miquella's desecration of both Radahn and Mohg, one in body, and one in soul - I feel like it really cemented how wrong Miquella ended up turning after abandoning all those aspects of himself in the Land of Shadow, and I felt all kinds of icky and sad when I finished the DLC because of this. St. Trina's being discarded and her death was devastating, especially when she was one of the most human and compassionate characters in Elden Ring, granting respite to all the frenzied merchants out of true compassion.

I do believe that Miquella is a victim of the cycle, though, and that he lost himself in more ways than one after witnessing what happened to his mother. To Miquella, the only way to make people stop doing horrible things is to stop them from doing anything of their own volition at all. In theory, it works. But it is so sad. I'm reminded of Melina's dialogue when you choose to inherit the frenzied flame: "However ruined this world has become, however mired in torment and despair, life endures. Births continue. There is beauty in that, is there not?" I sympathize with Miquella, I really do. I understand that he did all this because he not find any alternatives. The world being comprised of cyclical happenings that one person cannot fix is a recurring theme in Souls in general, and Miquella is just another victim of another cycle, which ends up begetting more violence, much like the violence enacted on Marika which prompted Miquella to try and fix things in the first place.

That’s it! I really needed to get this off my chest, and it definitely didn’t fit into a tweet (which is where all the discourse is happening lol). If you made it to the bottom of this yap, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this as well! Thanks for reading my ramblings <3

[elysian-chaos]

i didn't know what it felt like to have my heart stolen - suguru getō

summary: you just like being cuddled up in suguru's arms

word count: 1.2k

contents: suguru get x gn!reader, established relationship, could be read as no curses au (college au) but if you don't want to read it like that it's probably canon divergent (in the sense that suguru doesn't defect), this is just pining, straight up pining, fluff, reader somewhat pines over gojo, satoru pines over geto in reader's memory, potential for satosugu x reader, petnames loads of 'em (included but not limited to: pretty, baby, lovie, my love), reader mentions a memory about a magician to themself and i did actually see it on tv once and was traumatised, reader is whipped (whipped is too less of a word) devoted to suguru, soft sugu

author's notes: i have not written in four years please be nice to me, i beg. this thing has no semblance of a plot, the idea came to me before an exam when i was delirious from climbing ten stories worth of stairs (don't ask) other than that, thank you @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat and @cowboyhatetcetc for reading this for me, you are my life savers. also @literaila because if it weren't for you and your suguru obsession, angel, i never would have gotten into jjk so this is for you. oh also, forgot to mention, banner made by yours truly (it took me an hour to make T.T)

𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟

“sugu?” 

your voice, however soft and quiet, had broken the undisturbed silence of suguru’s dorm room.

the two of you had been laying on his bed, smushed together on the narrow mattress with his upper arm under your neck while his hand stroked through your hair. you were laying on your back, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars you and satoru had pasted on his ceiling on a dare. the stars were glowing softly, pale green with not nearly enough luminosity to light up the room but the pattern of the false constellations was clear. 

suguru hummed in reply, signalling his attention as he turned his head slightly in your direction, waiting for you to continue.

“it’s a stupid question.”

“you know i don’t mind baby,” his hand stopped at the edge of your jaw, brushing the skin softly with his thumb, “what’s your pretty little head thought up of now, hm?”

your body moves along the mattress, turning to him to grace your eyes with the sight that is suguru’s profile. suguru is a picture of beauty; silky smooth hair tied in a ponytail spread over the pillow his head lays on, eyes half open while the long, dark lashes on the corner of them stick together. soft light filtering in from the dark blinds in his room light up the highs of his face along with the little baby hair and flyaways, giving him a fuzzy glow. an angel just for your eyes.

you lift up your hand, almost cautiously circling the gauge plug in his earlobe, “does stretching out your piercings hurt?” 

your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper but suguru hears you loud and clear as if you are talking loudly like you do when you’re with your friends; goofing out with gojo and haibara or gossiping with shoko and nanami, howling with laughter as the three of you would discuss the latest piece of gossip that had come your way.

“it’s called ear gauging, pretty,” he offers, “and yeah, somewhat. it’s more uncomfortable than painful for me but that depends person to person.”

and it hits you again. why you love geto. how sweet he is, just endlessly kind. there’s never a hint of malice in his tone (except when he talks of the higher ups but all of you speak of them with varying amounts of discontentment). always so happy to help, not even a hint of condescension while he offers it; whether it be correcting satoru about a topic he is brashly ignorant or explaining a new concept to one of the juniors. your boyfriend is almost a saint, an angel incarnated as human, you are sure of it.

nevertheless you hide your thoughts in exchange for the way your eyes widen because the thought of you gauging your piercings, that are currently occupied with dainty dangling pearl earrings, sends shivers of dread up your spine. it sounds painful and to hear him say it isn’t seems unrealistic to you. 

so you question his statement, “it really doesn’t hurt?”

“just a little, lovie. do you remember when you told me about the time you bought a pair of earrings and the post was thicker than your original ones and it made your piercings sore?” he continues once you nod in confirmation, “well it’s sort of like that. you just need to be very very careful because it can hurt a lot if you do it wrong.”

your lips part slightly, forming a soft ‘o’ shape as a whispered exhale tumbles out from between them, causing him to nod slightly and let out a quiet “yep” in response to your reaction. 

you bounce back from the silence which takes over as you digest the new information with another quick question, “will you ever wear those ring gauge thingies? i think they’re called tunnel gauges? i’ve never seen you wear any even though you have so many of them.”

the picture of tunnel gauges forming in your brain pulls you into a memory from your childhood. you recall a pleasant evening from the eyes of your seven or eight year old self, watching tv with both your parents; a show about a magician whose name you have long forgotten. through the hazey, nostalgic filter of your mind you remember the magician linking together the ears of two people with tunnel gauges as if they were pieces of chain and he a metal worker before walking away from the scene. the memory makes you wonder if that was the reason you never even considered gauging your ears but you brush it off in favour of looking up at suguru as you wait for his answer. 

he lets out a little huff of a chuckle, wording the answer in his head before speaking, “i don’t really think they’re my style, honestly. i discussed them with satoru once—bad choice, i know. the next day he bought enough of them to make a small mountain. i kept a few but i made him return the rest.”

“enough to make a small mountain?”

“it’s an exaggeration, pretty,” he rolls his eyes at you, nothing but fondness on his face as he watches you echo his words with wide eyes, unbelieving of the quantity of jewelry that was bought for him. 

you fix your eyes at him with a half-hearted but pointed stare, “i know that. it is still a lot. maybe not in gojo terms, but for normal people? i can only imagine.”

the anxiousness in your brain had made you analyse and overanalyse satoru in the early days of knowing him. you could not for the life of you figure out the seemingly bubbly, white haired boy. he had been so very reserved when it came to you but a stark contrast with the rest of your little group and even closer with suguru. as it had turned out, growing up as he had, he had built up sky high walls when interacting with new people but he seemed to melt around the people he cared about; often expressing his love in the form of uber expensive gifts because he didn’t know the right words or perhaps the right feelings. you had been on the receiving end of such gifts over the course of your friendship; always so anxious and hesitant to accept them but not wanting to hurt his feelings but you had grown since then, a lot less anxious and skittish and fawnlike, so had he. he had learnt to express his emotions in words instead of gifts (not that the gifts had stopped, they were just more... personal now than before) and it wasn’t uncommon to hear the blue-eyed boy murmur declarations of love in soft moments albeit hesitantly.

“anyone up there?” 

suguru’s words pulled you out of your thoughts with a jolt, his lips hovering over your forehead as he looked down at you through his lashes. “yeah, i’m fine,” the words escape you with a sharp exhale, neck jerking once as you snap back into the real world. 

“do you just wanna stay like this for a while?” he questions softly (and the words pop up in your head again ‘endlessly sweet, endlessly kind’). you nod in response and he kisses your forehead after he whispers, “whatever you want, my love.” leaning his neck to plant a soft kiss to your lips and then just below where your hairline starts. 

the stars are still glowing a pale green and you wish on the shooting star stuck to his ceiling for more moments like the one you are in, etching the feeling of his embrace in your mind for the rest of your life.

𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆞 𓆟

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

could you write a azriel/reader fic where he only starts dating reader because elain and gywn are not interested in him and she's available and she overhears someone else talking about it a few months into their relationship but sees azriel being involving in their relationship and deludes/convinces herself into thinking he really likes her, but something happens and they fight(jealousy? you can choose a reason tbh) and he tells her that he only dated her bc elain/gywn weren't interested in the heat of the moment(maybe she brings it up? or he could say it himself tbh, idm) and has to grovel. you can take this whichever direction you want to, if you have other ideas about certain areas!

I see her in the back of my mind

He was a thunderstorm. Lethal yet so beautiful. Like a pyre, lighting up the darkness and calling you in. Calling them all in. Weaving the traps and lurking in his shadows. The unlucky soldier of love. Falling and falling and falling but never finding the right one. Never finding the satisfaction. Never finding that peace deep within. It was that sad part of his that called to you. That made your heart cry out for him. You understood that pain. That need. That desire to have someone. To hold someone and feel them holding back onto you just as tightly.

It was a surprise to you when he sat by your table at Rita’s. For the most part, he had only been polite to you. But his eyes had never lingered. He had been seeing Gywn too at the time. And you weren’t a home wrecker but it didn’t last long. He crawled back to Elain only to be thrown over the curb again once she slithered back to Lucien after a couple of weeks of ruffled sheets with the spymaster.

“You look in need of company”, he mused. Although now that you look back on it. It was his gaze that kept on going back and forth between your table and the one he had abandoned. “You look in need of water”, you chuckled watching him sway even while sitting down. “It’s nothing”, he hiccuped with a smile, “I just had to come to say hi, you had my attention all night”. Your heart had skipped a beat. Who wouldn’t have dreamed of being admired by the spymaster of the night court? “Just pretty words”, you brushed him off. “If I swung over to your shop tomorrow and told you the same thing stone sober would you believe me?” You had thought nothing of it. Nothing until he showed up. And said the exact thing he had promised just hours ago.

Everything that followed suit was a whole mess of everything. Stolen kisses. Long nights spent talking. Hand-written letters. He was there. Always. Everywhere. And innocent touches had quickly turned into racing heartbeats. Sweaty bodies. Cries of pleasure as he unraveled parts of you, you didn’t know existed. It was sweet. Blooming slowly.

“Accompany me to a ball in spring tomorrow night?”, he whispered, kissing your shoulder. “Tomorrow night?”, you gasped, “I have nothing appropriate to wear”. You shook your head. “Don’t worry it’s taken care of”, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, “I wasn’t gonna go, but… plans changed and quite frankly, I would love to show you off”, Azriel smiled at you. How your heart had soared when the thought of being his officially crossed your mind.

But you should have known that it was too good to be true. Should have seen the signs. Should have known. From the moment you opened the box with the dress. To pull out a baby pink gown, laced with flowers. You had frowned slightly, imagining that he would have wanted you to wear something close to his sapphire blue, to the depths of his shadows. But you had pushed it all aside. Maybe it was a themed party in spring. Maybe light colors were a must.

Then there was a whole lot of him being distant. He was close to you, yes but his mind was elsewhere. Azriel’s eyes barely stayed on you. Instead, he was scanning the crowd. Pulling you with him as if you were only an added accessory. “Az, are you looking for something?”, you asked starting to feel frustration bubbling. “No, just… need to see someone”, he muttered. “Can you do that alone? Or do I need to be dragged around like a dog”, you huffed, pulling your hand out of his. “Don’t be childish…”, he grunted.

And then he halted. Making you slam into the side of him. And you wished you hadn’t looked up because you imagined knew who had his full attention. There she was in a yellow dress. Golden curls flowed down her shoulders. She was stunning. You got the appeal. Azriel stepped forward. Your hand was forgotten. A light gasp slipped past your lips as you watched him go. “Az”, you called out walking right after him. But he never answered.

You watched him embrace Elain. Watched her smile at him. A fire burning you from within. You had no idea what part of you possessed you to walk towards them. But you did. “Azriel”, you called out once more. “Elain”, he muttered, “this is yn”. “I’m his girlfriend”, you added, extending your hand to her. She only smiled at you. “Love the dress”, she looked you over. “Azriel got me the same one but I didn’t love the color so I sent it back”, your face fell, alongside your heart. “And the necklace. Didn’t you give this to Gywn?”, she chuckled, before tapping your cheek, “You sweet thing”. Her eyes turned to Azriel for a brief moment, “You know where to find me”, she whispered. And even if Azriel didn’t nod. Even if there wasn’t a single way to know what was on his head. You knew his mind was made. You knew where those late-night calls took him.

You let out a bitter laugh before turning away from him. “Y/n”, he called out but you were done. Done being plaid. “Your bitches shit? Seriously Azriel? You gift me the same shit you gave to other bitches you fucked?”, you hissed turning to face him. “Don’t call them like that”, he muttered. Your wind eyes watched him, “The audacity… You are a fucked person”, you practically spat at him.

“I needed you, okay?”, he hissed, walking after you. “What for? To be your punching bag? A heartbreak fuck?”, you whinnied, pulling at your hair. “I liked you, okay, you caught my eye”, Azriel replied, making you halt. “Past tense. You used the past tense”, you turned to face him, “Liked”, and your eyes looked him over. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I just…”, he started. “I curse you, Azriel from the night court. I curse you in love”, an angry tear slipped past your cheek, “May you never find peace with any of your future lovers”.

[jolalibrary]

i. to fix a porch

joel miller x f!reader | chapter one of honey stained hands

chapter summary: it’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged. and all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you.

wordcount: 3.5k warnings: typical canon-angst. my spelling. joel trying to fit in and be good for ellie. an: i am so nervous about this. i hope you like. huge thanks to @guyfieriii + @thetriumphantpanda for holding both my hands.

The world had gone to shit, but the world hadn’t gone to shit.

It still grew, expanded—and changed.

Just as it once had. The grass didn’t stop turning green. The trees didn’t stop rustling, the flowers didn’t stop pollinating between bones and disintegrating fabric.

Nature, in all its immensity, didn’t bow to the cordyceps that stole minds and whispered destruction along roads and grass. Nature didn’t allow the rot to take the seasons, as it had done with so many other things.

The end of times wasn’t allowed to touch the moon’s schedule. It didn’t have an impact on how the daylight grew shorter and the night span longer. It had no bearing on the way leaves turned golden, the dew appeared on tall grass, or how both danced under amber-rising and lemon-setting suns.

The outbreak took souls, but it didn’t rid the craved scents of stews and freshly baked apples—two aromas that flooded Jackson's roads.

Mostly, even if something else thrummed along the ground, and spoke in claimed lives, it couldn’t try and claim to have any effect on the way frost made the morning path glitter—or how it made the world still feel magical.

Fungus had stolen a lot. Had spread its poison across state lines and once happy towns. But it couldn’t thieve the natural beauty that shifted in three monthly turns.

Joel wakes in a sea of sweat, panic and desperation. Forehead clammy. Salt and pepper hair clinging in thin spider-leg lines against the creases of his frown.

Each morning, since Joel has been here, has followed the same pattern. The shadowy nightmares were still there, ever-present—swirling and twirling, not ready to stop their dance. Even if the sun is blasting through, informing them it’s morning—it’s the time their claws should retract and allow him to experience a new day.

They never really do. They remain, hanging in the edges of his thoughts, his eyes—even as sleeping thoughts diluted into the present day.

Just the same as he did yesterday and the day before, his closed fist rubs in gentle circles against his chest—right over his heart. Where it thumps and beats, hammering quickly. Fingers and palm attempting to soothe it, half-wishing he could weave under milk-white bone and release the guilt-wrapped tendrils around it.

It doesn’t matter what his routine involves, it’s all in vain.

Little to nothing alleviates it. Not the circles of his hand over the bobbled t-shirt he sleeps in or the way he wills himself to breathe, to fill his lungs—advice given against his will.

Joel has attempted a lot of things, but the tightness always remains. The imaginary vines forever constricting, all stemmed with thorns, digging in, tightening their hold as he struggled to gasp, never mind breathe. It’s like a fungus of its own, a thing poisoning him, ruining him, blackening what’s left of his soul.

All because he made a choice—one he’d make a thousand times (if given the chance).

Blinking, he slowly sits. Back aching, body groaning as the honeyed sun coats the place he calls his. It flutters over the set of drawers, the flannel draped over the handle of his closet, and the strings of the guitar, gifted by Tommy to keep him busy and out of trouble.

It’s a good place he’s found himself in. A normal place—one found in the centre of moving on and trying to live life. Something he gives enough of a shit not to let it be torn from him and a thing he worries is being tugged from his grip all the same.

One wrong move.

That’s what he hears, even if no one says it. It never leaves their lips, but instead is etched into the faces of everyone he has been introduced to. It was discernible on his sister-in-law's face when he and Ellie appeared; it was poorly concealed by his brother when he’d handed him the instrument.

So much so, that he’s become worried all of this—the safety, the future for Ellie—will be taken from him if he breathes wrong. If he makes eye contact a little too quickly, a little too sternly, too forcibly and not followed quickly enough by a half-smile.

He tries. Not for him, but for her. The same person he keeps his jeans close by and his t-shirt on for—the one that makes him sleep on the side so his good ear can hear a scream of his name—just in case. The same person who manages to shift off the worry, dusting him down without knowing the impact she has on him—the young person who forms him, shapes him into someone half-decent, who is willing to try, who is willing to do things with his hands that isn’t fighting or shooting.

The only time Ellie has shouted for him since being here, though, is for breakfast.

Now, the house is silent—too silent. A smile almost appearing all on its own. An image bubbling, appearing, blanketing over the nightmares that tried to linger. One of her, in her new bedroom—the one she keeps talking about painting—all asleep, mouth open, catching flies.

Joel snorts, swallowing it back. All of the darkness that is weaved inside of him. Focuses on the little flecks of dust that glitter in the glow of a new day, how they fall absently in the space between light and dark—making a choice, one he makes each day, to be here. To try.

His hand slides from his chest, landing on his wrist. Sighing, he closes his eyes and lets his thumb slide over the broken glass of his watch—the one he never removes—another thing he does daily. Another thing that has become a routine.

He knew what Jackson was when he arrived the second time. A communal, a place where everyone chips in.

Joel had expected something more to be requested from him. Almost braced to be told he would be stationed on the other side of the gate—in a more permanent role than others. But, he wasn’t.

If anything, he was given tasks.

Menial things, but tasks all the same.

Little jobs, all reminiscent of a handyman back before things to fungus and rot. Oddities, bits and bobs. Projects half-finished or never begun at all—assigned, handed to him, chosen for him because he’s there and capable. And not, as Tommy explains, is because no one trusts him.

The first had been his own porch. The wood split, cracked, creaking—an accident waiting to happen (a thing he’d muttered to Tommy when he’d first walked up the steps of it), more so as the days became shorter and the nights loomed closer.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find a toolbox placed at his feet the next day. A smug look on his younger brother’s face: think it’s time y’fix y’damn porch, brother. A clap on the back to cement it, a promise silently exchanged—that he could ask more of him when he was done.

And Tommy did, just not how he expected.

His breath mists the same as Tommy’s when he sighs, the weather biting as the two hovered on his newly repaired porch: got something else for you to do.

Maybe he should have said something when the silence filled the air when Joel suggested after. That he’d be good on patrol, that he could help in ways that weren’t repairing porches, front of shops and whatever else he brought to his door. If not for the fact he was grateful for the chance, for her—for the girl who is slowly making friends, who is beginning to smile—he may have done. The old Joel would have. He’d have pointed out that his skin isn’t stained with scarlet, that his hands are worn, but not smeared with the guts of those who’d crossed him. That he’d hung up as much of the former demons as he could.

He suspected, deep down, that Tommy could still see them haunting him. Knew that they kept him awake when the world went silent—that Joel didn’t sleep until the moon was at its highest, and woke with them jeering at him, perched on his shoulders, poking holes into his soul.

Joel also presumed that Tommy could see the way guilt had looped itself inside of him, strangling, making truthfulness harder to spill. Even if Tommy had no idea. Even if Joel hadn’t whispered to even the animals, never mind a person, what happened before he and Ellie had arrived.

So, he doesn’t argue, not as he’s handed another task, and another, then another. Days seep into weeks, weeks ticking into another month. Each time, his jaw grits, and his head nods, all well-versed, practised, as he picks up his toolbox and heads where he’s needed.

Except, today, when he’d finished up the fence that contained the sheep, a request came from someone else—a person he had spotted, but never spoken to. They were weary, guarded—approaching with caution as though bracing for him to snap, to become the callous individual they’ve likely heard through the whispers of gossiped stories.

In time, they approach, asking, burying their hands into their pockets as they do, before they continue with their reasoning for the request—one not for themself, but another person in Jackson.

A person Joel realised was his neighbour.

He’d been a good neighbour once, almost a lifetime ago.

Had hoped that it would come to him when Tommy had introduced him to you the following morning after he and Ellie returned. Your hand in his, smaller, but warm, a smile that was inviting, but slid over to Ellie upon Tommy’s introduction.

You usually rose early, that he had learnt when he’d begun to watch the sunrise before the leaves not just changed, but began to litter the floor in an array of shades. A pattern of habits he had picked up when he’d descended his own staircase, finding you already passing his home or your lights were on, already busy ticking off the hours of your day.

Today, he’d spotted (thankfully) the latter. His coat was thrown on, boots stepped into, toolbox in hand before he closed his door behind him and headed over. Your name on the tip of his tongue, all heavy, thick—an array of unsorted letters he’s hoping will shift into something as he climbs the steps to your front door. The syllables there, desperate to form, but in no order when his hand lifts to knock.

Air is what greets him, as the door rips open before his knuckles can even make contact.

Now, he’s standing in front of you—again. Your eyes land on him, brushing over in thick strokes of warmth, and all he can focus on is how you don’t step back in fright or stand a little taller. If anything, you don’t react, don’t move, as though it’s normal he’s there standing, talking to you.

“Oh, hi? It’s Joel, isn’t it?”

It’s kind, sweet, your tone. Eyes wide in a way that reminds him of a surprised, small animal—except, you’re grinning, not spooked. No sign of fear or question sketched across your features, or into the rest of your face, not as he stands, hovering.

It’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged.

And all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you. Something that has remained, that has weathered the storm of whatever it is, and however you came to be. Your smile rises, sliding into your cheeks, as his brain snaps a Polaroid of it and stores it somewhere less dusty in his mind.

“I just have to nip out, do you need something?”

Your hand sliding a jacket—one he’d just noticed in your hand—around your frame. It buries you, smothering, hiding yourself into it as you pull it around, watching, studying him as he does the same to you.

Shaking his head, he glances at your porch. “No, ma’am. Jus’ here to fix your porch.”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I make one comment and… anyway, I don’t want to trouble you. You don’t have to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Looking down, you stare around at the porch. Him waiting, watching. “Guess it’s lucky for you, I wasn’t planning on taking it with me.”

It tugs from him, not forcibly pulled, but rather rolling from his mouth willingly: a laugh. It’s gruff, covered in cobwebs and sheets. It’s different, laughing with an adult compared to a pun book in the hands of a child.

“Well, definitely makes my life a bit easier that you’re not.”

Smirking, you lick your lips—a thing he spots, and finds makes his cheeks burn. “Yeah, guessing that following me around the animal pen wouldn’t be your favourite thing… after the other day.”

His eyes narrow, attempting to follow—until it dawns. Until it slams into him.

“You saw.”

“I did. Roscoe is a very boisterous sheep, though. So, it’s more on him than you.”

Cursing under his breath, he dips his head. Trying to stifle the embarrassment, the one rising in him like a phoenix, swarming up.

“Anyway, do you need any tools…”

That’s when he notices how your voice dies, your smile fading. Your words all fall from existence as the warmth around the two of you suddenly chills, as though he’s been plunged into a snowstorm. Your eyes had dropped, landing on the box in his hand.

It’s long, too long.

Almost prolonged, the quietness shifting into awkwardness until you’re blinking, head lifting, chin rising, determined and full of insolence.

“I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

Nodding, he swallows. Ignoring, for your sake, that your voice cracks before you’re hurrying past him. Watching, and staring until you’re a blip, a little figure in the distance of the cold morning—unable to forget about it, the look, the one that unhooked something in him.

Because it made him question—made him want to ask.

His hand shifts around the handle of the toolbox, staring down at it—the one he suspects belongs to someone you knew, someone you were close to. One that is in the hands of someone you don’t know, someone you live next to, that you know nothing about.

Except stories.

And fuck, Joel knows the stories can’t be good.

Joel had maybe made an assumption that you’d never speak to him again.

Sarah’s voice, barely discernable, wafting around his mind, assumptions make an ass of you and me, dad. He blamed it on being bitter, tired—or grumpy, as Ellie liked to call him. The kind of qualities he’d rather be known for, than the ones he sees reflected in the eyes of the people living here, wondering the kind of man he was to go back out there and then return.

He’d made the assumption based on the way your eyes flicked to the toolbox when you’d eventually returned home—him halfway done, waving away your offer to help. You barely spoke, and skirted around him, only placing a glass of lemonade on the welcome mat as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

He drained the glass, and hated how good it tasted. Keeping in mind to leave the toolbox outside when he rapped his knuckles on your open door to bring the glass back in, inform you that he’s done. You call out to him, eventually coming into view—apron on, doused in flour, cheeks and smile smothered in it.

For a moment, he could almost forget an outbreak had even happened with the way you looked at him—the way you looked in general. Something out of one of those cooking shows that play at ridiculous hours of the night; a thing that’d had a street talking about with sweet you sounded.

“I bake—sometimes,” you announce, hands down your apron, leaving flour-finger strokes against the navy blue.

He could see that. Placing the glass on the side, thanking you—watching you glance around him, likely for that. He almost tells you, informs you it’s outside, left on your porch. But, he waves himself off as a beeping begins, that he’ll get out of your hair, because you’re busy—knowing deep down it’s the right thing to do.

That’s how he left it.

Nothing more, nothing less.

His thoughts sliding to you when he saw you talking to others; his mind unable to rid himself of the way you’d looked at the box he’d been given to be a helping hand.

So, it surprised him when he watched you climb the steps of his porch from outside Tommy’s. Something in his chest narrowing—different from the way it does when he wakes up in the morning. Observing how you’re nervously shaking your free hand, moving from one foot to the other—a thin t-shirt covering your frame (no coat or jacket on your arms) as you try to stand still in the chill at his dark doorstep.

It’s only as he nears that he sees what your other hand is holding. A bottle, the contents from appearing amber in shade. The hesitancy woven into your figure is more prominent as he reaches his own boundary, unsure whether to clear his throat—and only doing so when you knock.

“Heard he’s out fixing more porches.”

Turning, he finds you smirking. Spinning around on your heels, slowly taking a step down—still above him—before your hand gestures for him to take the bottle. “A thank you.”

Thank you, he thinks, staring at it. His thumb catches your fingers as he tries to ignore the twist and knot of his stomach when he eyes the label. It used to help, for all the wrong reasons. It’s why he’d tried not to drink since arriving here, still able to remember how it used to scratch an itch, how it smothered over scabs—ones that never healed.

It unlocks that part of him that worries that they’ll become inflamed again. All raw, hot to the touch.

“Y’didnt need to.”

“Well, it was alcohol or baked goods—and you strike me as a drinker over shortbread.”

Snorting, he lifted his head, swallowing. “I do like shortbread.”

Your face lights up—shimmers—under the slowly setting sun. A part of him wishing you’d brought him a tin of those instead.

Because the main reason he hadn’t been to the Tipsy Bison is that he preferred the version of him that didn’t drink. The one from before all of this happened—the one with a clearer mind. One that isn’t trying to run but rather settle and live—the one that comes out when he tastes something akin to what he shared with Tess.

The bottle in his hand demands his attention—a note attached to it that reads the same as your words. Gratitude humming, rolling from you, all in plenty. The entry at being neighbours suddenly ajar, the door taken from the hinges so it can never be closed again.

“Next time, then?”

You say it purposeful, full of genuine nature. And, it makes him roll his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek. Palm and fingers still clutching the bottle—unsure if he likes this. The neighbour thing—the pretty neighbour thing. Especially one who looks at him with a sweet smile and who makes lemonade just because.

“I should go, don’t want to interrupt your evening—”

“Well, the only thing you’re interrupting is whether or not I should open this now or wait.”

You stop moving at that, coming to a stop in front of him, smile broadening, almost turning into a smirk. “

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighs. “Got another job in the morning. Be a lot on my own.”

“What problems to have, ay?”

He snorts.

But then, he finds you nodding, licking your lips. “How about this, for the safety of the porches of Jackson, I’ll help you with your problem.”

“And what’s my problem?”

“You don’t wanna drink alone—likely worried about what it means if you do.”

You say it nonchalantly, as though seeing through him was a relatively easy task. Your body is still not moving; the cold either not bothering you, or you are faking it all so well.

“Alright.”

“Alright,” you say, slightly more chipper than him.

CHAPTER TWO ->

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 018 }

- boyfriend headcanons with sung jinwoo -

notes: i have a little bit of a writer's block, so have some headcanons + drabbles with the man that has completely stolen my heart ♡ unedited because i am just dumping my thoughts into this little story.

having sung jinwoo as your boyfriend was nothing short of being a dream come true. in fact, the moment he confessed to you, you swore that you were living in a fantasy world...

"what...?"

your gaze was honed in on the tall, s-rank hunter. in his hand was a bouquet of your favorite flowers (just how did he even know?) and you could feel your heart pounding in response to the mere sight of him.

he gently calls out your name, still gingerly holding on to your bouquet with a sheepish expression, casually running his hands through his hair.

"uhm, you heard me correctly, i want to go on a date with you... i want to call you mine."

were you being pranked right now?

or were you caught up in a dream? your fantasies come straight to life with sung jinwoo actually confessing to you?

feeling nervous and filled with uncertainty, you look behind you to see if there was anyone else.

did he mean to say this to hunter cha hae-in?

as you were left gaping like a fish with the sheer amount of times your mouth opened and closed in response to his confession, jinwoo finally decided to take matters into his own hands as he comes closer to you.

you were suddenly forced to hold on to the bouquet as jinwoo leans down, grey eyes shining with mirth and adoration for you. he caresses at your cheek before whispering to you, "hm, it seems like you don't believe me. i suppose actions do speak louder than words after all."

"wait-"

you were given little time to react when jinwoo presses his lips against yours in a kiss, making you melt against him. the moment he feels you kissing him back was the moment jinwoo smiles against your lips, further setting your heart aflame with love and devotion for him.

he checked off every trait you had wished for in a boyfriend: extremely attentive to you and your emotions; had such a deep, unconditional love for you that it bordered on the cusp of worship- jinwoo was your ideal soulmate in every sense of the word.

"oh my god, i did not think you would be such a dork."

you had been dating jinwoo for merely 3 months now, yet he was such an adorable dweeb that he ended up celebrating each month with you.

for the first two months, he had given you a special bouquet and two gifts that he knew you would love:

for the first month, a gorgeously crafted diary complete with a lock and key;

for the second month, a cute dress made of the finest fabrics as you wore it to dinner that night with him.

and now for your third month together, jinwoo had struck yet again.

his grey eyes were shining once more, giving you his usual, extravagant bouquet, but this time, it was accompanied by a slender gift box wrapped in gold while tied up in an onyx ribbon.

your eyes meet with his in a questioning glance, seeing a small pink blush dye his cheeks.

"sarang, don't be shy... open it."

setting your bouquet off to the side, your hands were slightly shaking when you tore into the wrapping, revealing a long and slender velvet box. once you had opened it, you felt a gasp escape from your parted lips.

"oh, jinwoo... it's so beautiful!"

within the confines of the velvet box was a gorgeously crafted bracelet made up of your favorite gemstones. you watch as the gems catch the light, capturing rainbows from within it. jinwoo admires your awed expression for a few seconds before letting out a chuckle, taking out the bracelet as he sets the box off to the side.

"here, let me help you put it on."

he grabs your right wrist and clasps the bracelet onto it, giving you a loving smile before taking a hold of your hand. as his large hand envelopes yours, you felt your breath hitch the moment he leans in closer to press a kiss against your knuckle.

"it is indeed beautiful. a perfect fit, really."

feeling overwhelmed with love for him, you end up wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you as you captured his lips within yours in a searing kiss.

also, you don't even have to worry about getting sick or suffering through that time of the month! jinwoo has already got you covered; ever since you moved into an apartment with him, he has been the most doting malewife boyfriend ever!

you were curled up in bed, clinging to your favorite plushie in a tight manner when a fresh wave of cramps hit you. never before had your monthly period become this bad; it felt as though your body was in a constant state of distress, clenching your abdomen as it brought you new waves of pain.

jinwoo had texted you earlier today, asking you if you wanted to go out on a date after his meeting, but you politely declined. you admitted in your text how your body was just not well enough to do any sort of activity-

but when your boyfriend left you on read, you felt a newfound sensation of anxiety coursing through you.

why didn't he answer back with an 'okay' or 'i understand, honey' like he usually does? was he mad at you for being rendered immobile because of your immense cramps?

should you try to tough it out and agree to go on a date with him anyways?

should you text him back and tell him that you changed your mind?

and were you really getting anxious at being left on read by him (yes, you were getting anxious).

just as you were close to forcing yourself out of bed, you hear jinwoo returning home as his heavy footsteps were heard walking through the hallways.

his sudden appearance within your doorway makes you jump back in bed, seeing his flushed expression as he carried several bags within his hand.

"hey sarang, here, i bought you all of your favorite snacks and a heating pad, too. when jinah had her first period, i panicked and didn't know what to do when she kept crying because she was in so much pain."

jinwoo settles the bags of snacks off to the side while gently lifting up your shirt. he takes a heating pad and carefully applies it to your abdomen. "so i'm proud to say, taking care of my sister has helped prepare me for moments like these."

a proud smile graces his handsome features when he pulls down your shirt once more, "now, i know i can take care of my woman with ease."

he turns away and was about to get you your favorite ice cream when you stop him, throwing your arms around his neck while pulling him closer to you. tears of happiness fill your vision as you thanked him over and over again for his kindness-

for his willingness to always take care of you.

jinwoo was caught off guard by your words, but ends up smiling down at you, wrapping his arms around your back as he brought you even closer to him.

"don't even worry about it, honey." his lips were pressed against your hair, "i am your lover, so it's my job to keep you safe and happy."

now you might be wondering, does jinwoo ever place any of his shadow soldiers into your shadow? the answer is an absolute YES. whenever jinwoo had to travel to faraway places, he would only keep his strongest soldiers close to your side, placing his entire trust within those who were the most loyal to him.

"my queen, where is it that you would like to go?"

"ah, are you bored? shall we accompany you to a movie of your choosing?"

you giggle while spending some time in the city with beru and igris talking your ear off. they were always so eager to follow you, growing a deep fondness for you solely because their king loved you so much. in fact, they took great pride in being consistently chosen to protect you when jinwoo was away.

you smile back at them, ready to reply when you felt someone bump into you. letting out a sharp hiss of pain, you look up to see a rather rude looking business man run into you.

"oi, watch where you're going!"

"excuse me? you were the one who bumped into me!" your nostrils were flared as you stood your ground, not letting the rude man treat you like a pushover.

"oh, so she has an attitude? do you know who i am?! i am-"

yet the words die against his throat when beru and igris reveal themselves out of your shadow, taking a protective stance in front of you as they were ready to defend you at any cost.

"oh, would you l-l-look at the time, i am late for my m-meeting. if you'll excuse me m-m-miss." the businessman ends up stiffly walking away from you, leaving you alone with jinwoo's most trusted shadow soldiers.

with a sigh, you brush back your hair. "did jinwoo see any of that?"

"yes, he did. he is taking the next flight back to seoul as we speak." igris tells you with a smug expression, making you let out a groan in response.

"please! convince him to stay in america! he has very important matters to discuss with the u.s. association branch!"

"our king says that he does not care. you had been disrespected, so he is on his way home now. he has rescheduled such a meeting in order to comfort you, my queen."

feeling the heat become stronger against your cheeks, you were left hiding your face within your hands, feeling exasperated at your overprotective boyfriend-

but truth be told, you still loved him all the same.

truly, you could never imagine a life without jinwoo. he fit you so well, like a perfect puzzle piece. jinwoo being by your side made you feel complete - and you wouldn't want it to be any other way.

while you slept peacefully in bed, jinwoo continues to admire you, looking down at you with his eyes filled with love and devotion for you alone.

he takes a moment to admire your beauty. even when your hair was a mess and there was a thin trail of drool seen from the corner of your mouth-

you were still the loveliest woman he had fallen madly in love with.

not a single day passes where he doesn't think about you.

"heh, i guess i'm completely obsessed with you after all."

he smiles down at you, whispering to your sleeping form when he leans in closer to press a kiss against your cheek.

"i'm gonna need to make you mine soon... or else i'll go completely insane if another man tries to flirt with you and take you away from me."

with one last whisper of your name, he gives your cheek a lingering kiss all while smiling against your skin, whispering to you about his promises of forever while giving you a ring first thing in the morning.

a.n. - i love jinwoo so much,,,, sobbing because he's not real... 🥹

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[harfanfare]

Unique Kisses: Honest Fellow

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

a/n: fluff, implied female reader (”princess” pet name). I have no idea how to deal with the brainriot that came with the appearance of this shady man, like what.

Honest Fellow (teasing kisses)

“My little star,” Fellow’s lips trail your knuckles, and you can feel a smile against your skin as he senses your pulse quicken. He has the audacity to look so gentlemanly, oh so very blithely, as if this idea has just struck his head under this evening’s romantic atmosphere. “May I have this kiss?”

You’d like to reply, really, but in the next second there are lips on your jawline and a glowed hand that raises your chin; the words you had on your tongue die as you gasp slightly, your eyes fluttering open by the sudden sensation.

Well, you’re charmed. Infatuated with love or ensorceled by a thick layer of Fellow’s unique magic, you don’t reject those dramatic touches, scenic enough to feel like being pulled into a play where a gentlemanly prince kisses a princess.

And while Fellow might have the reputation of being a gentleman, he’s too impish, too rouge to be one. He can only play the role, the facade might even drop, but dumb princesses—you dare to compare yourself to one as Fellow uses that pet name, among countless others—are known for falling even for twisted men.

“Why so quiet?” He asks, and you quiver with frustration, as he seals your lips again. That damn bastard; he thinks the navy suit he wears makes him look sleek and the way he tucks his holey gloves off is luscious enough to make your cheeks blush. He isn’t that wrong, yet…

…It is infuriating to dance to Fellow’s tune in a choreography he is a lead to. Even if you love him.

“Stop… teasing me like this,” you manage to lift your head enough so that you break the kiss. Fellow snorts at your poor attempt to catch a breath and at the weak try to keep him at your elbow’s distance, as he holds you close to his chest. The sweet scent of the cologne he wears makes you even more dizzy.

He moves his hands to your hair and tucks the stray locks behind your ear. If he could grab the camera, he would capture the adorable expression you wear—but he doesn’t want to waste his time searching for that fickle thing, no, no. He isn’t able to concentrate on anything else, and he needs to satisfy the whim of alluring you (once again) before he’ll be physically able to move away.

“My, you don’t sound very convincing,” he smiles and strokes your cheek so gently. “But I will believe you. Loveliest, just say a word, and I’ll just kiss you goodnight for the last time.”

Like you could’ve expected, you aren’t granted a chance to say anything else. He kisses you more and more, and at this point, the most fastidious princess would be already satisfied.

…Fellow might be scared. He might not want to hear your answer, even if the look in your eyes and the way your heart beats should be enough to suffice any of his questions.

If you could utter a word, you would confess your love once for the thousandth time.

“That’s right. The silence says it all,” he whispers as his thumb traces your lips. “You are so gorgeous, and you are mine.”

Like a doll. But you’re no doll, you’re more beautiful than any masterpiece magic could ever create. You’re free, and you choose to stay with him. There are no strings attached to your hands that keep him at his side. There is just one, tightly knotted on your heart and it’s a cherished bond you put on yourself.

He doesn’t have a puppet in you. He has a lover who will shower him with selfless love, yet he still can’t believe anyone would have given it to him for free.

So, he must’ve stolen it.

He smiles. “By obligation of being a thief, I will steal your heart all over again, and keep it safe with me.” I love you. "That’s the duty I owe to myself as you are my treasure.”

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Stolen Moments: A Fairy Tale

A spur-of-the-moment story for @inklings-challenge

The princess steps into the center of a whirling masquerade. She is resplendent in green as the Queen of May. A man slips through the crowd and stands before her, dressed all in brown as the Autumn King. He bows with a flourish, silently asking for a dance.

She stands like stone. “You should not be here,” she says.

“Can I not dance with my wife?”

He reaches for her hand. She pulls it away. “I have no husband.”

“In this place, no. Yet I remember otherwise,” he says. “And so do you.”

She turns on her heel and strides away. He follows, quick as ever. The dancers part around them like water. She scowls. He was always too clever for her, always too quick. Even a world of her making bends to accommodate him.

“Do you know what I’ve done to find you?” he asks. “The countries I’ve crossed? The mountains I’ve climbed? I’ve fought gryphons and giants. Searched for treasures lost since the invention of time. Flown to the moon and tunneled to the center of the earth.”

“I’m sure you enjoyed yourself immensely.”

“I bargained with the four winds, gave up my shadow, traded three days of my life just to have this moment with you.”

“I am sorry you wasted your time,” she says. “Do what you will, you cannot take me from here.”

“No,” he agrees. “You are trapped here by your own will, and only by your will can you escape.”

She chose this day well when she arranged her escape. The grandest ball the Mountain King ever held, the day of her sixteenth birthday. Long before she ever met that too-curious trickster who stole away her heart with cheap promises. Here there is music, beauty, bounty, every pleasure she can imagine. She will gladly live in this day forever if it means freedom from her ties to him.

“You think you can persuade me,” she sneers.

He laughs. “No one in the twelve worlds can do that.”

“You think you can steal me.”

Even behind his mask, she can see his gaze darken. She has offended him. “I will not steal a wife.”

“What do you call our wedding day?”

“You chose me.”

“Do you call it choosing, when you hid your true face behind so many lies?”

“You had your own secrets.”

“Do you blame me for hiding them?”

“No,” he says.

She stops. Of all the things she imagined him saying, this was not one of them.

“No,” he says again. “You were right to keep your secrets. I was wrong to seek them out.”

She turns to look at him. He removes his mask, revealing his deceptively young face. His eyes, once blue, have turned greenish-gray. His face has three jagged scars.

“You hid from me,” he said. “As I hid from you. I should have been patient--proved that you could trust me. Instead, I forced my way into your secrets and destroyed everything. I'm sorry.”

She is speechless. She expected excuses. Dazzling explanations.She had never expected contrition.

He reaches beneath his jacket and removes a small glass pendant. It shines the same bright blue his eyes had once been.

“This is yours,” he said.

Her heart. Taken from her in a childhood curse so long ago. Only her husband could put it in its proper place, if it remained unbroken during five years of marriage. Prince of thieves that he once had been, he had found it and broken it on the eve of their second anniversary.

“You repaired it,” she said.

“I replaced it. With mine.”

She has seen him in a million lies. This is not one of them.

“You may stay here if you wish,” he says. “I came only to atone. I do not expect you to forgive me.”

He places the pendant in her hand, bows, then turns away.

When he leaves, she knows she need never see him again.

“Wait,” she says. She removes her mask. “Don’t leave without your wife."

He stops. The other dancers disappear.She puts her hand in his and kisses him as she did on their wedding day.

He is alight with joy as she pulls away. "Does this mean--?"

“I forgive you,” she says.

He laughs aloud.

The heart he gave to her, she freely gives to him. The blue returns to his eyes as their hearts are restored, new and whole.

As the curse crumbles around them, they leave the ballroom behind.